welcome to keopihaus

"I am and I know you're Y/N," he grins, showing off sparkling pearly white teeth. "I'm happy to meet you, Taeyong's other best friend."

You laugh, "If you want me to argue with you about who the top friend is, you're going to lose."

"That's exactly why I came here," he chuckles along with you. "Just joking. I'm actually starting to move into the business here and am building my portfolio," he smiles, adjusting his heavy and large bag slung across one shoulder. "I've done other kinds of jobs before but he told me that you were looking for someone to take some photos for a personal project?"

"Did he really say personal project?" You ask, rolling your eyes. Taeyong, your best friend, is wonderful at getting information from you, but is an absolutely unreliable source of the truth. He knows how much you like keeping a wall around your life's most intimate details and, like the good friend he was, he had conveniently failed to mention a couple of things when he made the call to hire a photographer to take pictures.

"He did," Johnny laughs. "He said it was very hush-hush. But I'm guessing from the shoot location, the outfits and all the props," he eyes the lingerie and other gear scattered in your living room, a confident twinkle shining from his bright eyes, "that it's, maybe, more along the lines of a boudoir shoot?"

You purse your lips in a mixture of bashfulness and amusement, shy, but not completely caught off guard, "You're perceptive."

"Heeey, no shame here," Johnny puts his hands up in mock surrender. "No judgments. It'll be my first boudoir job but..." He flashes a brilliant grin, obviously happy and completely unfazed by the possibility of capturing someone else's sexy secrets on camera. "It'll be fun," he enthuses, rubbing his hands together as he shrugs off his leather jacket and tosses it to the side, revealing muscular forearms. The way Johnny says 'fun' makes your heart beat a little faster in your chest. 

"And between you and me," Johnny leans in with a conspiratorial whisper. His tone drops, voice pitched lower, full of mischief and sincerity, his fingers dancing lightly against his lips. "You'll make one hell of a sexy muse for any guy."

There's no hint of the leer or innuendo that normally accompanied lines of that sort. Just pure, unfiltered honesty in the compliment as Johnny flashes you that killer smile.

"Who's the lucky person who gets to see all these?" Johnny gestures towards the gear on the floor and asks while crouching down to the array of props and get his camera gear organized. His fitted t-shirt is struggling with the task of containing the huge expanse of broad shoulders and thick biceps that flex as he shifts the heavy bag of camera equipment down beside him, his back muscles bunching as he stretches. You try not to ogle his ass, hugged so tight in form fitting jeans, and find yourself blushing at how effortlessly hot he is.

"No lucky person," you try not to sound disappointed as you grab an armful of sheer black nylon and lace off the floor and carry it into the bedroom as Johnny's gaze follows your movement, tracing your body. His eyes lock on you from behind and it's as if there's heat from the fire in his stare searing onto your skin. Your lips quiver slightly as you shift them into a smile before you turn away, Johnny's eyes burning, still roaming and exploring your body in appreciation as the bedroom door slowly closes between the two of you. "There is no lucky person."

"That's a damn shame," Johnny's voice floats under the gap, deep and warm. A thrill races down your spine, that thrill of possibilities, wondering just how hot this guy could get. How hot he could make you get. "Nothing hotter than a woman that's confident in her sexuality," you hear Johnny exclaim through the bedroom door. He doesn't try to hide the obvious admiration in his voice.

"Can I ask you something?" you call out, trying to hide the shiver that danced in your voice.

"Shoot," Johnny's reply floats under the door and hits your ear in a warm baritone.

"Why did Taeyong ask you to do this?" There's a hint of laughter in Johnny's answer, as if the question had hit right on target and amused him greatly. "I thought he would have asked his fiancee since she's a photographer herself."

"Haseul? Nah," Johnny's voice rises and falls, muffled by the wooden door between the two of you, though you're picturing him lounging against the other side. You bet his arms are crossed and he looks so dashing and adorable while thinking of the right words to reply. "I mean, she could probably do this shit blindfolded," he continues, a boyish lilt in his voice. "But," and the word stretches long and soft in the space, a tender vowel that forms an indescribable pause, "she's not me."

"Arrogant, are you?" you tease, slipping on the long, silk robe and running your hands along the sleeves, enjoying the feel of cool smooth fabric on skin.

"Confident," his reply was instant.

"Those sound like the same thing," you laugh, pushing open the bedroom door.

There's Johnny, still bent over his camera equipment, his back muscles stretching against his t-shirt, thick bicep flexing and teasing you with the slight peek of a dark tattoo hidden underneath the edge. 

"I guess confidence has many faces," he murmurs, peering over his shoulder and giving you another heart stopping smile. Your heart quickens just a tick as his eyes trace your form, slow, indulgent, appreciating every inch of you. "Go ahead and get comfortable," he turns his body towards you as you stand there in your robe, and that glint of interest in his eyes makes heat bloom and pulse between your legs. "You're in charge here. We can do whatever you're most comfortable with and see what we come up with. Just let me know if you wanna take a break or if you change your mind about anything, 'kay?" 

He sounds so calm, so unbothered, as if he had no problem photographing naked women all the time and you couldn't even believe that his breathing isn't staggered at all when you could barely believe yours.

"That'll be great, thanks," you beam at him, settling onto the couch, drawing a leg up underneath your body, fluttering the robe so it falls away a little bit to reveal more skin. You're rewarded with his eyes slowly trailing from the exposed line of your neck, where you pretend to lazily finger a couple of stray strands behind your ear, to the subtle swell of your breast and finally lingering on the glimpse of thigh.

"Perfect," Johnny licks his lips and, for a brief moment, you can't help the urge of imagining those thick, glistening lips against your hot flesh. "So why a boudoir shoot?" Johnny casually asks, and you take a moment before responding. There was something about the tone of his voice that felt so soothing, so easy to open up with him, so honest.

"To remind myself that I'm still sexy and confident even if I haven't had a chance to date anyone for a while. My last boyfriend cheated on me, and I just need a way to remind myself that, regardless of the messy relationship, I'm still a sexy and strong woman and I deserve better," you say matter-of-factly.

Johnny gives a low whistle as you rattle off the info, as if the ease with which it all left your lips was shocking. Maybe you were too candid, too upfront. Too forward with all the pain you've endured and just how shitty it has been for you emotionally, the strain that it took and the toll it placed on the rest of your life. There's a quiet huff of amusement from Johnny. 

"Damn straight," Johnny holds his camera at waist height and squints, one eye closed, through the camera, clicking without hesitation, capturing the moment your mouth hangs open in response to his approval, the shutter speed steady and silenced. There's a slight smirk on his lips, soft and proud, as you tilt your head at him, the twist of his mouth almost suggestive, and he clicks again. "Any man that cheats on a gorgeous woman is either out of his mind," and the flash goes off again and you see his face lit in the slight glow, lips pulling up at the corners and into a big grin, "or incredibly stupid." And you can't help but chuckle lightly with him.

You pose a few more times, the light from Johnny's camera flashing with each click, and you see the joy dance behind the lens, his grin widening.

"That's great. That's really great," he says approvingly, then setting his camera down for a moment and leaning forward to give you some quiet direction. "Okay, so if you want to play up that 'sexy, but confident' look we can make this a lot of fun," he coaxes, placing a heavy hand on your bare thigh and leaving it there, and there's no need to see his face to feel the warmth radiate off his eyes and smile, "how about, you open your robe up just a touch, get a little peek of lace," Johnny squeezes lightly, feeling the plump of muscle under skin as you sigh, watching his eyes take you in, "maybe a little hip? Get that sexiness, that confidence, just a bit more teasing," Johnny continues, hand drifting further up your thigh, creeping closer and closer to where you're already burning.

"How about..." you inhale deeply, gathering your confidence in a deep breath, fingers hovering near the tie to the robe, feeling Johnny's eyes burning into yours. "I take the robe off?" 

Johnny's eyes widen just a touch, before quickly relaxing and a gleam dances behind them, a lustful sheen to the dark brown that leaves your spine tingling. "If you're comfortable with that, I'm ready when you are," he breathes, voice slightly husky as his fingers deftly start to move his camera to a new angle.

You shimmy out of the robe and throw it on the floor, revealing the beautiful, barely-there lacy lingerie. Johnny's breathing is staggered and the glint behind his eyes is burning even stronger. You raise an arm, hands threading through the loose strands of your hair and run down the side of your neck and arm, imagining an imaginary trail of eyes looking down your body and enjoying every minute of the sight of your form. You pause there, hand against the swell of breast, your thumb grazing across a peaked nipple and can't stop your breath hitching for just a second and a gasp escaping from your throat.

The clicking of the camera intensifies, rapid shutter as Johnny starts snapping picture after picture, the slight tingle and prickling of hair rising on skin as Johnny continues clicking, eyes roaming, the intent obvious.

"Can you turn and face the couch? Hand on the back and give me the back view," Johnny's instructions are husky, heated, and you make eye contact before moving and catch him unconsciously biting his lower lip, hand caressing and making adjustments to his lens and camera settings.

There's no embarrassment, only anticipation, as you slide into position, bending over the back, turning back and bending your back ever so slightly, giving that perfect glimpse of ass. The moment seems to draw out and Johnny's not quite taking the picture just yet. There's something off. You crane your neck and check over your shoulder and see Johnny still standing there, still setting the camera, his eyes raking over your figure.

"Damn," Johnny mutters under his breath, just loud enough to be heard. It's low and breathy and sends a wave of desire to course between your thighs. The next click of the camera rings a bit louder.

"Spread those legs. Get them wide," Johnny says. "And arch that back more," and as the words leave his mouth, he presses a large, flat hand on the small of your back and slowly pushes down, gentle, yet insistent, as if savouring the way the curvature of your spine pressed into his palm. His hand is warm, strong, solid and thick.

"Hold it right there," Johnny's hand lingers. "That's real good," he whispers appreciatively, and you swear you can feel his breathing hasten. You wait just a beat, maybe two, enjoying his hand on you, imagining those rough palms rubbing and massaging against more intimate and sensitive areas. The next click of the shutter sounds so sexy you couldn't stop yourself from closing your eyes to listen to its soft echo and imprinting into your memory.

"Fuck yeah,” his voice, husky, deep, needy, sends a wave of pleasure to dance within you, that anticipation bubbling and simmering. "That's a perfect fucking shot." 

"Johnny?" you breath, testing the name out on your lips, loving the way it rolls so effortlessly.

"Yeah?" His tone is soft and oh so sensual.

"Do you...want to get a bit closer?"

"Fuck," is the answer. He closes the gap in a second, body flush to you, the hard, muscular body sandwiching yours between him and the couch back. It's hard not to enjoy the sensation of hard, delicious heat. He leans forward, his breath, soft, quick and hot, fanning across the side of your cheek. 

"Is that what you want?" His voice lowers a few notes, dripping with seduction as his hot mouth closes around the edge of your earlobe and captures it, sucking softly. "Closer?" He pulls back and you're missing the heat, but not for long, his voice just as warm as his breath caresses your neck, soft and needy and greedy and so demanding. 

"You want close?" He licks at the soft, sensitive flesh of your ear and it is as hot and wet and perfect as the words. "Because we can get really close," he promises, mouth going back to tasting the side of your neck and his hips push against your ass in promise. It's Johnny's turn to gasp this time, the quick intake of air followed by a throaty groan as you push back, rolling your ass hard against him. 

"Oh my god...we can definitely get super close," the moan that escapes from his throat sounds so delicious that you feel a spasm as if someone had touched you directly in the soul.

Johnny pulls back before plopping on the couch, legs spread, dragging your body on top of his lap. A hand caresses the side of your face, pulls at the loose hair, twisting the soft locks between thick fingers, gently angling your head and the camera snaps another shot. You grind against him, enjoying the thickness trapped beneath his jeans pressing against the front of your sheer panties and you wiggle and sway.

"Sexy." Click. "Very sexy," and the shutter flutters.

He leans back to place the camera onto the couch and starts pulling off his shirt. He laughs, eyes wide and brilliant and shakes his head, "Look, I never sleep with my clients." He shrugs his shoulders. "Never. And I have enough respect to keep my dick out of this shit," he trails his fingers down the valley between your breasts, and pauses as you let out a gasp. "But fuck," his voice lowers into a needy growl and he shudders as you drag his hand onto your panties and press his fingers onto your clit. You're already soaking and he can feel it. "I'm changing my rules for you." His voice hitches into a breathy groan. "And only you."

"We're going to keep seeing each other a lot, I'm hoping?" You ask, shifting and slipping off his lap to your knees before him and start to work on the buckle to his pants. You can feel your pulse hammering within, an over-arching hunger and want and need rippling through your limbs.

"Every goddamn chance we fucking can," he grunts, lifting his hips and pushing pants down just enough for his hard cock to spring up and smack against his stomach. He's huge, thick and already dripping with pre-cum and it's hard not to salivate. "And when can we start?"

You flash a smile up to him and a glimmer from between your teeth reflects the light. "How about we start right now?" Your tongue is immediately out and against the glistening tip of his throbbing cock and, although his legs jerk slightly, he remains perfectly still, as if afraid to interrupt.

"Fuck yeah," the curse spills out, and the camera comes into his view, raised at eye level as it snaps, and you lick along the underside of his dick.

Click.

You pop his cock into your mouth, tasting and sucking and tonguing against the leaking flesh and the shutter keeps going off as it catches his expression.

Click.

There are hisses and the snap of the camera. His legs spread and your fingers graze the length of his shaft.

Click.

A hand grasps at the back of your head, caressing, pushing you lower. The camera captures you taking him deeper and deeper.

Click.

"Look up," he urges and you do. There you are, a dark mess, cock stuffed between your lips, the camera aimed directly down as you drag your tongue up, slowly, tortuously. Your saliva strings, sticky, wet, glistening from your mouth to the tip of his dick as he sloppily takes another shot.

"And who are those photos for?" You ask, flicking your tongue against the slit of his tip.

"Those," there was a deep throbbing growl, the hand pushing the back of your head and his thick, meaty dick forcing his way into the back of your throat, "are definitely for you."

"For me?" You pull back and stroke his saliva covered cock.

"Unless you want other people, say our friends, to see you gobbling down my dick?" He jokes with a wicked smirk.

"Nope. Not sharing or showing your dick to anyone," you laugh, smiling and enjoying the sweet taste left behind by the tip of his dick.

"Perfect answer," he moans. "Now get up here," Johnny groans, patting at his empty lap. "I wanna fill you," he insists. "I need you sitting on my cock right this second."

You pull the sheer panties to the side and raise up, sinking down on to him slowly. With his girth and length, the sensation is both a familiar ache, stretching and filling, and a burning need, slow but precise. Johnny tosses the camera back onto the couch beside him as both hands latch onto your thighs and push you down further onto his shaft.

"Fuck," you sigh, fully seating yourself on him and taking a moment to adjust. "So big."

"That's it," his voice is a ragged purr of encouragement. "Fucking take it."

And you did. Hands flat against the thick expanse of chest before you, the muscles corded, taut. Nails rake against his flesh, dragging red marks and Johnny responds in turn, jerking up, hips pushing as deeply as he can reach. You lean forward, capturing his lips against your own, drinking in his guttural moan as you rock, circling your hips. Johnny pulls away, and you admire the sinful smirk, a sense of pride and smugness in it. A shudder hits hard when his hands find their way onto your waist and squeeze, fingers pressing against your hip bones, squeezing the generous thickness.

"Goddamn, girl," Johnny laughs, the sound and sensation tickling as it hits your ribs. "Never thought a photoshoot would wind up like this."

"Am I hearing a complaint?"

"Nope," Johnny snaps up, mouth sealing over yours again, licking past your lips, hungry and impatient. His teeth graze at your lower lip and sink, lightly and you moan into his mouth. "Not in the least."

It's been months since you and Johnny hooked up and neither of you have spoken to your friends about the relationship. A boudoir photoshoot ended up as a spontaneous fuckfest that blossomed into something deeper. At first, the hook ups were just once a week. Quick. Thorough. Nothing fancy. You could go without it and didn't need the relationship, and neither did he. Just casual and stress relief and that was all there was to it.

After weeks, though, you found yourself looking for him more often. During gatherings and parties, you'd be watching the room, knowing full well Johnny would be a few feet away, feeling his eyes tracing your curves. Little secret glances and eye fucks that could fill a lifetime. Sneaking off, making up an excuse about the bathroom, waiting five or ten minutes until the coast was clear, running down the hallways to find a quiet and vacant spot and a quick fuck. 

"So you and Johnny..." Taeyong asks one day, perched on a stool at the breakfast counter of your kitchen as he and Haseul came over for breakfast. There's an amused interest to the question, but genuine curiosity all the same.

"Spill," Haseul stands in front of your oven, eyes narrowing at you as she's flipping a couple pieces of bacon and setting them back in the pan.

"Nothing is going on between us," you point the end of a rubber spatula at them and shoot a suspicious glare.

"Deflecting, are we?" Taeyong returns an even firmer look.

"Hmmm," Haseul purses her lips and squints. "You've been hanging out with Johnny a lot and you're saying nothing went down? Why the hell not? He's hot. You're hot. If I wasn't with Tae, I'd definitely bang him." She turns to Taeyong and pinches his cheek teasingly. "Sorry babe."

"If I was into men, I'd bang him too," Taeyong shrugs, grinning happily as he nabs a piece of crispy bacon out of the frying pan and dodges the playful swat that's aimed in retaliation.

"We're just friends," you say again, pretending to look anywhere else, busying yourself at the coffee maker, keeping your voice a forced indifferent, trying hard not to betray any interest with the mere mention of his name.

Taeyong tilts his head and eyes you quizzically. "Yeah, I got the feeling you're lying."

"You can think what you want, Tae," and he narrows his gaze at your evasive answer, watching your actions.

"Anyway," Haseul changes the topic, and you think the matter has been dropped for the moment. "You never showed us those photos from your boudoir session. Can we see? Or are they too racy to have any friends see them?" She teases, wagging her eyebrows. "Y/N, it's been months. Come on and let us see. Pleaseeeeee?"

"Hold your horses," you laugh and set a dish of food down. "Close your eyes, Tae. No peeking," you wag a finger at him and he pouts, obediently pressing the palms of his hands over his face and Haseul giggles.

You grab your tablet, unlock it and access the drive where Johnny sent the photo shoot. The photos appear, row upon row, each one somehow better than the last. A warm, tingling sensation sweeps over your body at the thought of each photo, each pose, each camera flash that had brought so many vivid and steamy images to life, not to mention the fond memory of how his hands had felt. 

Johnny really knows how to take a good photo, the composition, the angles, the framing and perspective. Just enough of your face is caught in a closeup, sultry, intimate, enough to make your mind race wondering just who's at the other end of that stare and who those lips belonged to. The rest is the ideal mixture of silhouette and teasing curves. Enough for the mind to wander, to wonder and to guess just what's under all that darkness. The desire in the photos was raw, wild, unbound and exposed, everything you've imagined but somehow even better, the hint of emotion and sensuality a little stronger. There was no hiding your personality, and it had come off as perfectly sultry, charming, beautiful. And if he made you feel sexy in these, god only knows how sexy he could have made you actually feel in real life.

Haseul stares and gasps and sighs as she looks at the photos. Each flick to the next photo has an amazed look plastered across her face, jaw almost to the ground.

"These are, honestly, pretty damn gorgeous," she exclaims. "He's got talent," Haseul looks up. "Oh, he's got lots of it," she smiles.

"Tell me about it," you beam.

Taeyong holds a hand over his closed eyes, waiting impatiently. "Come on. Is it safe for me to look?" his voice whiny and teasing as you slide your fingers on the screen and swipe to the next photo, "Or is it gonna be just too racy for me?"

"Shush, you," you laugh and run the finger pad over the tablet and go to the next image. A happy little giggle erupts out of you. "Okay. I think you're safe. One eye open. Just one. Hold on, wait for it…" you smile, enjoying the cute and dramatic reveal. You tap a few more times and swipe through the next couple of photos. "Here we go," you nod.

Taeyong is immediately speechless, jaw dropping and staring open-mouthed at the screen, even though a hand still covered a good portion of his field of view.

"Holy fuck," is all Taeyong can mutter.

"Breathe baby. Don't forget to breathe," Haseul is snickering beside you while taking a big bite of toast, watching her fiance's jaw flop open and close, and no sound coming out. She reaches across the table and snaps her fingers. "Hello? Doofus?"

"Haseul, I need you to do a boudoir shoot for me," Taeyong mumbles, glancing at Haseul. She laughs and throws him the crust of her bread, and they bicker back and forth, half playfully as the conversation spirals into something decidedly not PG. 

"Okay lovebirds, why don't we finish the rest of breakfast and plan your wedding while we're at it?" You pick at them good naturedly and stick your tongue out when Haseul wrinkles her nose in mock disgust. "And seriously, thanks again for the introduction. Johnny has real talent," you say.

"What'd I tell you," Taeyong points out. "I've seen his work, but god damn you really look stunning in those pictures," Taeyong enthuses, breaking his glance away from the pictures only when Haseul smacks him hard on the butt. "Not that my girl doesn't already look gorgeous," he quickly kisses her on the temple, placating her fake anger.

"Ahem, what I wanna know," and Haseul makes eye contact and purses her lips and raises her eyebrows with a mischievous look, "is why you didn't bang him? I mean," she nods and looks back and forth between you and Taeyong as if speaking to a child, "he's clearly into you. He'd be a fool not to be."

There was no way that you'd tell your best friend and his fiancee that you and Johnny already did the deed and made sweet sweet love in your living room...multiple times. Or that you hooked up multiple times at events, after parties, and a handful of other secret rendezvous. 

"Maybe the universe is telling us that it's not the right time," Taeyong ponders, absently stirring sugar into his coffee, "Maybe the both of you will fall madly in love with each other a decade down the road." Taeyong grins. "Oh that would be so great," his eyes widened comically as he clasped his hands together, voice sounding dramatic and dramatic. "You can tell your future children that their Uncle Taeyong helped introduce their parents. What a hero."

"Spoken like the romantic that you are," Haseul smiles, stealing a sip from her fiance’s cup.

The rest of the lunch passed quickly, Haseul and Taeyong dropping the boudoir talk for a time and filling you in on their travel plans and the possibility of having the wedding up near their parent's houses so they could have a nice summer party.

You give Taeyong and Haseul the hugs as they leave and spend the remainder of the afternoon cleaning up the mess.

"Alright," you mutter out loud, cleaning up the dirty plates and turning the kitchen tap on. "You're a strong and independent woman, so don't wallow, wash these damn dishes and stop thinking of that hunky man named Johnny," you mumble, getting lost in your thoughts and letting the rhythm of the water and clinks of china calm your nerves. "Time for me to hit the shower and turn the fan on high." You continue to lecture yourself, closing your eyes. "Maybe even take care of that itch before doing some work tonight."

There's a sudden buzz of vibration against your countertop, knocking you out of the brief reverie and your eyes snap open, focusing and adjusting to the soft, hazy sunlight that's pouring through your windows, its warm rays lighting up your kitchen, giving you that quiet feeling of calm and warmth.

You dry your hands off quickly on a dishtowel hanging off the oven and scramble to look at the message on your phone.

Johnny: Hey Johnny: Got a favor to ask

Your heart stutters the moment you see his name, flutter in your chest with hope, butterflies beating and thumping inside with anticipation. The idea of getting to see Johnny again is sending those damned endorphins off.

You: Yes? Johnny: Any chance you're available next week? You: Maybe. Why? Johnny: Hoped it was a definite yes and not a maybe You: I'm a busy and a popular gal. Gotta work late, then date some. Johnny: Killing me here, haha You: Just tell me why and let me decide

You're waiting there, leaning against your countertop, waiting, hoping, eagerly waiting for a response that feels like an eternity, trying to swallow down the giddiness and butterflies and stupid smile.

Johnny: You and me. Yuta’s wedding. What do you say? Johnny: There's gonna be free food, booze, and a handsome guy by your side all night

It takes all your self-restraint not to giggle into the kitchen tile at Johnny's charming humor and effortless good looks. The man could melt glass and the butterflies start to stir again, warming your tummy and bringing a lovely glow of delight over your entire body.

You: And who is this handsome guy?

Johnny replies with a selfie of himself, leaning his head down low, pretending to look up like a school kid, all puppy dog eyes. You save it immediately, because goddammit, he's adorable and sweet and already sending a blush of pink to your cheeks.

You: Lol. Guess now I have a copy of your photo. You: Gonna put it to good use ;) Johnny: Glad it found a good home Johnny: Enjoy my pretty face

You laugh, hard and full, Johnny's words tugging at your insides as a strong pulse of affection begins to creep and swell inside. You can't keep the smile off your lips and for the first time, you're looking forward to the days ahead.

You: And yeah, I'd love to go with you :)

Johnny smiled, gently turning his phone over, the happy chat with you continuing and he laughs out loud at the adorably smug text you've sent. He really, really, liked this woman. The pictures of her are sexy and amazing and show a tantalizing, intriguing glimmer into a whole world he'd love to see. Her. All of her. Her body and heart and soul.

Johnny lay on his back in bed, sheets all crumpled beneath his frame. The afternoon sun poured through the blinds, hitting his back and shoulders. The apartment is quiet, with only the soft hum of the fridge and air conditioner on low. Johnny sighed happily, relaxed, stretched his body. He closes his eyes briefly, thinks about the pictures of you and that confident, sexy, smolder you give to the camera. He lets his thoughts linger on the feeling of your naked skin beneath his fingertips, the smoothness of your thigh, the strong curves and muscles. 

He thinks of the sensations of your lips, of the sharp sting when you bite his shoulder and then followed the pain by softly kissing the marks left behind. Think of your heavy pants, the throaty, gasping moan you had uttered out while on his dick. The taste of you lingering on his mouth, and his tongue flickers at the corner of his lip, remembering just the tiniest hint of salted caramel sweetness.

His dick's rock solid. Johnny groans to himself, freeing his hard length and gently wrapping a large hand around and gives himself a testing squeeze. He closes his eyes and smiles again, already replaying that moment where your nails scratched against his flesh and that electric bolt runs down and brings him back to full attention. Johnny thinks of your softness and the silky slide of you sheathing his dick with your warm, tight, wetness. The tight heat of you sinking around him. He jerks himself slowly and loosely.

Fuck, he needed more. But that had to wait for later.

Right now, it is going to have to be quick and easy work. Something to tide him over until he could feel you around him again.

He works his cock, thoughts drifting in a fantasy to the idea of having you ride him, of spreading you across his lap and watching that ass of yours bob up and down as you're getting slammed into from behind.

His hand starts moving faster, harsher, a fist pumping and tugging his shaft. There's the slick noise, the wet heat of his fist and the intense ache inside.

Just the thought of you being wet was making his legs quake. He pictures how you would arch your back for him and those strong thighs flex as you come.

The precum dripping down his shaft coats his fist and he moves faster, fisting the slick skin and jerking with fervent strokes.

Your hips move faster and he thinks of the way you'd say his name when you're nearing your peak. The idea of you bent forward, ass thrust high, his palm covering a whole ass cheek and kneading and grabbing, urging, caressing as he slams into you, rutting desperately.

"Fuck," he breathes out loud, thrusting up and burying the heel of his hand deeper into his palm. "Fuck," his voice hoarse, breathing getting harsh and raspy.

With a jerk and a gasp, he finishes, spilling hot ribbons of seed over his fingers and his toned abdomen and groans, deep and slow.

Johnny lies there a while longer, the need and hunger that had been simmering within, temporarily sated. The sticky cum on his stomach is thick and hot, cooling rapidly in the room. Johnny gets up eventually, towel in hand and washes himself.

His phone buzzes. Johnny picks it up quickly, hopes it's another text from you.  But it's just Taeyong, calling him with the inevitable questions about how it went with the photoshoot.

"Hi, buddy, what's up," Johnny asks, pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder, fishing through a drawer for some boxers. He slides them on and a pair of shorts after.

"Don't act like you don't know why I'm calling," Taeyong says accusingly, yet warmly. "You and Y/N. What's going on?"

"Just friends, TY."

"Oh, just friends..." Taeyong sounds unconvinced, suspicious. "I had breakfast with her this morning and I saw the bruises on her neck that she tried to deny, saying it was just an allergic reaction. I KNOW WHAT HICKIES LOOK LIKE, SUH. I see a woman naked once or twice a day. I KNOW."

Johnny laughed quietly into the phone, holding his laughter back for a second. It came out eventually as a quick chuckle, before taking a few deep breaths. "Okay," Johnny laughs a second time and takes a breath, "we're fucking. Have been for months. Happy?"

"You break her heart and I'll break you, bestie or not," Taeyong warns sternly. "I know you too well, asshole," Taeyong threatened, half playfully, half serious.

"No breaking anyone's hearts, alright," Johnny agreed, rubbing the back of his head and feeling awkward, and even worse, a tingling sensation of hope and nervousness. "I like her Taeyong. Like. A lot," Johnny confesses, smiling. "I don't want to fuck anything up, and god knows I'm pretty good at screwing up relationships," Johnny mumbled, flopping onto the sofa in a depressed heap, remembering his last ex.

Taeyong pauses for a moment and he hears a long sigh. "Johnny. Don't play this one light. Y/N's not like the other girls. She's different. Sweet. Amazing." Another pause and the muffled sound of a phone changing hands. "Johnny. If you play around, I'm telling you, this time I WILL kick your ass," Taeyong growled out threateningly, low voice rumbling in a growl. "She's one of my best friends and if you-"

"We're going to Yuta's wedding together," Johnny waits for a beat. "I was planning to tell her how I feel after the wedding."

There's the slightest intake of a surprised breath on the other side, and then the moment of surprise turns into Taeyong's amused laugh. "Congrats, fuckwad," Taeyong's laughing.

"Too soon to celebrate. Just wanted your blessing, asshole," Johnny laughs back.

"Sorry. Okay, sorry," Taeyong snickers into the phone, still slightly out of breath from the initial surprise, "My congratulations. You have mine and Haseul's approval."

"Great," Johnny drawls, still laughing. "I'm hanging up. Go bother someone else."

"Tell me you love me first."

"No." Johnny finishes his phone call to Taeyong. By the time he's hung up the phone, it's early evening, the sky growing a bit darker. He goes through a few chores around the apartment and makes dinner, takes a few other calls, and eventually settles in front of his laptop.

He opens his photography software, pulls up the photos of you, a mix of the soft, intimate shots he managed to get and the other sensual pictures he'd taken. Johnny took his time selecting a few, narrowing it down, combing through thousands of images and setting the good shots into their own separate file. When he finally got down to a dozen or so, his gaze lingers a bit too long on one of you sucking his soul out through the camera.

The picture was an ideal shot, the background dark, your body beautifully in focus, an alluring glow surrounding you and you giving the camera a gentle, provocative stare and biting your lower lip. A perfect little hint of seductive coyness. It's got his mouth dry, lips parting slightly, jaw going slack.

There's no way he's ever letting these photos out of his possession. No goddamn way. If it were up to Johnny, he would've claimed and hoarded every last drop of film he took with you, hidden each image under a lock and key. Johnny's saved every last moment into his memory and it's still not enough, still wants more.

"You're screwed, Suh," he mutters to himself, shaking his head slightly, still transfixed at the laptop screen and his beautiful muse. He feels himself begin to grow hard, pants tenting. Again, he's rock hard, fantasizing about all the things he wishes he could do and be. Your teasing wink and smile and your impossibly smooth thighs and soft hands and...god he couldn't get his mind off you for too long. It was frustrating yet equally exhilarating. 

"Screwed," he mutters out loud.

Dressed and ready to leave, you wait patiently for Johnny to knock at your door. You run a quick check in the mirror, touching a stray piece of hair, the very last strand of effort you make towards your appearance. It was an easy decision to make, hair pulled back in a loose bun, leaving a couple of wisps on your forehead, the rest curling against the exposed neck and falling against the shoulders. It's an effortless style that goes with the floral, tiered summer dress and light, tan shawl draped over your shoulders. The fabric and dress are light and airy, perfectly casual enough for an outdoor summer wedding.

The doorbell rings. You give yourself the once over one more time before looking through the peephole. Even though you already know who's waiting on the other end, you have to force yourself to stop giggling like an adolescent teenager with their first crush.

You're not disappointed one bit with your handsome, tall man standing there. Draped in his own smart suit, the charcoal fabric looks incredible and crisp against his broad, large frame, the vest highlighting a slender, yet muscular physique.

"Looking handsome there," you grin, a blush creeping into the cheeks as Johnny gives you a big, radiant grin and steps close and cups your face, then brushes his lips against your cheek in an innocent kiss. You breathe him in, that all too familiar cologne and a hint of body soap and aftershave and delicious smell that was wholly Johnny.

"Well aren't you lovely," Johnny smiled and gazed intently, looking at the way your soft curls fell, how your eyes twinkled and danced, the curve and stretch of your beautiful smile. "You ready?"

"I was born ready," you reply. "We're meeting Taeyong and Haseul at the venue right?"

"Yeah," Johnny chuckles and offers an arm for you. You gladly link arms, allowing your frame to be enveloped and pressed against his large body, grinning with affection. "He wanted to carpool with us but I shot that idea down fast. I wanted to be alone with you."

There's a bright sparkle in Johnny's eyes. "Yeah?" Your heart leaps up and you feel the happy giddiness bubble over and you smile in return and chuckle.

"What?" Johnny feigns offence. "You've got a problem with being alone with me?"

"No! No, no, no," you laugh and squeeze Johnny's elbow, stroking a thumb over the crisp suit fabric, pretending to primp him, fuss and tease. "Not a problem in the least bit," you snort.

"Good," he nods, smiling broadly. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, squeezing them tightly for a moment and you see the fondness and delight dancing in Johnny's deep, dark brown eyes.

It doesn't take long before you're packed in your vehicle and rolling along on the main road, chatting lightly with Johnny, singing to songs on the radio, laughing, making goofy faces, all the typical first-date jitters and fun.

Johnny holds your hand, fingers tracing delicate patterns, circling the digits in a slow caress as your conversation continues. He rubs your soft skin, caresses the knuckles. And just like the night at the photography studio, there's an intensity between you, sparks flying between your touch.

"You know..." Johnny starts off slowly, not wanting to break the peacefulness but needing to fill the gap. "I know you'll probably smack me in the arm, but I kinda, might have possibly, revealed everything to Taeyong," his voice is cautious, non-threatening and mellow, even though it's unsure. There's an audible sigh at the end of Johnny's admission and you see the tips of his ears grow pink.

"Everything?" You turn around and make eye contact. "Define everything," you probe.

"That we've been hooking up," Johnny murmurs and steals a quick glance at your reaction.

"Nooo..." Your eyes bulge and you laugh incredulously. "Not Haseul and Tae!" You start giggling and clutch Johnny's hand tighter. "So cat's out of the bag, huh? And what else did he say?" You continue to smile.

"You're not mad?" Johnny looks more relieved than usual.

"It was bound to happen anyway," you snort and roll your eyes, not all that bothered and huff in slight indignation. "Besides," you reach a free arm out to lightly punch Johnny in the bicep, "we're both adults who know what we're doing."

"Oh really?" Johnny winks and bites the inside of his cheek, keeping a careful eye out for the next exit and turn.

"Mmmhmm. I know what I want," your voice is coy, hinting, purposely tempting Johnny and feeling the warm weight and curl of his fingers clasped tightly around yours.

"So do I," Johnny hums, stroking a thumb across your knuckles.

"If it's not clear enough," you nudge his strong frame lightly with your elbow and smile cheekily, "I really like you, Johnny."

"Good," he rasps, feeling a heat burning through and lighting up his skin as Johnny returns the grin, "'cause I really, really, like you too."

The wedding is lovely, outdoors under a warm, gentle, sun and pleasant breezes. The wedding officiate speaks his piece, saying words of love and loyalty, sharing a small portion of poetry and positivity. Yuta and his bride have sweetly heartfelt vows written for each other. Haseul tears up and clings to Taeyong, bawling. Taeyong teases her and passes an extra handkerchief over.

The reception has all the pomp and circumstance as any other party and you are free to sit and eat where you want. Food and booze flows and soon enough the happy couple takes to the dance floor for a beautiful dance, twirling and hugging, whispering and touching as their first dance ends with a kiss.

With the food, laughter and music, it's an exceptionally fine evening. Johnny takes random pictures of you on his phone camera when he thinks you aren't aware. Shots of you talking to your mutual friends, dancing, smiling. Every time you look away or glance back at the camera, he shoots.

"Quit stalking me," you tease when the sixth or seventh picture goes off.

"It's for future reference," he shrugs. "So, when you're not around, I have pictures of your smile and those sparkling eyes to think back on and daydream about you," he teases softly.

"Fine, fine, shoot away," you muse. "Do whatever you want." You lift your glass to take a sip.

"Any other comments or requests?" Johnny jokes, fiddling with his camera to prepare for the shot.

"Maybe later tonight," you lick your lips and give him a provocative smile, all sensuality and raw magnetism. "You can take pictures of me in your bed."

"Don't tempt me."

"Why?" You raise your chin slightly in defiance.

"Because I'm happy to leave right now and go do exactly that." Johnny grins mischievously, an eyebrow raising up with playfulness. "The photos will end up on my bedroom wall."

"Good," you wrapped your arms around him, chin on his chest as you looked up at him. "You should be lucky that your girlfriend is an incredibly sexy muse and can pose perfectly for all your artsy pics."

"Girlfriend, huh? So, what you're saying," he hums low in his throat, pleased that your relationship seems to finally have a new direction and path laid before him, "I can do this now?" Johnny tips your chin up and draws your lips close and kisses them, softly yet confident. You press yourself flush and return the kiss, adding pressure to the kiss.

"Yes," you nod and press a few smaller, fluttering kisses over Johnny's lips and part ways, eager to return to the event but savouring the feel and memory of the sensation of his mouth on yours. "Now my handsome boyfriend," you're a tad breathless, "should we go give Yuta our gift and congratulations before leaving?"

"Absolutely," he's equally eager to be leaving and eager to be holding you, kissing you and enjoying time with you. He links his hands with you and together, hand-in-hand, you walk to meet Yuta and his lovely bride.

Johnny has you in his apartment within an hour. The moment the apartment doors closed and locked, Johnny pressed your smaller form up against the entrance wall and began running his fingertips along every square inch of your skin.

A finger traced a shoulder.

Another brush past the collarbones.

Softly touching and exploring, a gentle finger resting just against your sternum, feeling your chest rising and falling rapidly as you inhaled sharply.

His fingers ghosting, lingering against your abdomen and ribs. His thumbs rolling over your clothed nipples, rubbing small, tight circles. The whole while Johnny stared straight into your gaze, transfixed on you and your reaction and responding in return.

"Let's take this," his words are low and slow and deliberate, "somewhere else."

It doesn't matter who started it or who made the first move, just that your clothes are rapidly stripped and flung to the sides. Mouths collide again, sloppy with passion. Johnny kisses the corners of your lips, tongue darting out to trace, tasting the soft flesh. His arms lift you, cradling your hips and lower body as he effortlessly hoists you up, legs wrapping and arms clinging and your naked torso pressed close to his.

His warm, solid body is smooth to touch against the bare breasts and thighs, a heady thrill courses through. Hands trace over the muscles and sculpted bones, squeezing the firm flesh. Johnny nips and places wet open mouthed kisses over your shoulders and jawline, pauses at the crook of your neck and sucks deeply, bringing up bruises in his wake.

He dumps you in the middle of his large bed, hovering above as he gives you a long, deep kiss before retreating to rummage through his drawer and fished out a small camera. You giggle in the low light and Johnny takes the opportunity to sneak a shot, and then another, and another of your nudity, open and sprawled against the sheets, laying like a Greek statue. You give the camera a sultry smile and stretch your arms above your head, showing the round curves of your chest and hips in silhouette.

"Tease," Johnny snaps another photo and presses a few kisses on your shoulder, cupping a bare breast with one hand, thumb kneading a nipple, softly teasing at first and rolling the nub harder as you start to pant, small, breathless noises coming from you.

"What are you going to do with these photos? Hang them on your wall like you told me back at the wedding venue?" You whisper, reaching a hand out and caressing Johnny's cheek as he crawls over you again.

"I'll hang it on the ceiling so that when I lie in bed, I get to be greeted by a sight of a goddess," he gives you a little pinch of the nipple and another shot with the camera. He looks into the camera display and sighs, clearly aroused and already hard.

"Cheesy and corny but," your breath hitches as you watch the way he is looking at you, the way your body arches to his touch, your chest heaving, body quivering, aching with pleasure as he works. "Adorable. And hot. Very hot, babe."

He moves, crawling down the bed, away from your embrace and your touches and parts your legs. Johnny settles on his stomach, the camera in one hand and his other resting gently against your inner thigh. You whimper softly and clutch the sheets.

"Smile, baby," Johnny winked. He pressed the camera shutter and you smiled, heart hammering. 

"At this point, you might as well just film us having sex," you hummed. He placed a kiss to your thigh before a soft nip, hands reaching and stroking.

"Amateur porn's not really my style," Johnny murmured into your flesh, sucking and drawing blood into the surface and pulling his mouth back to admire his creation, then pressing another deep suck, a kiss to your inner thigh. Your fingers find a handful of his hair. "But something about taking photos, catching your most intimate moments," he pulls a leg to his shoulder, positioning your frame to his liking and snaps a picture, admiring the result, "this is way more erotic for me."

"How so? Explain it. Tell me." A wet tongue glided over the sensitive lips of your sex, drawing a startled gasp.

"Anyone can make a sex tape. Amateur porn's a dime-a-dozen these days, and almost everyone has access to making their own content and sharing it," he spread your legs open, another camera click. "It's an age of social media, TikTok and Snapchat and Facetiming and sending naughty videos back and forth. But with photography?" 

Johnny blew cool air over your core, causing you to shudder. Another camera click and his mouth lowered, drawing his tongue down the entrance, giving you a long, delicious, thorough lick and pulling off with a satisfied, obscene pop. "With photography, every frame and angle is a meticulously planned shot. Each moment needs to be studied and explored and thought through. There's a composition, a scene, an artist's inspiration." 

Another lick, the tip of his tongue focusing on the most sensitive of nerves and dipping inside briefly. "Porn? One person can make a porno, and a few people can make it into a movie. Photography takes time and effort. There's a personal drive, motivation, inspiration that sparks an entire project. I feel a million times more satisfied at creating a book full of sexy photos and scenes, than releasing a 3 minute clip to the internet. I want to reimagine and reshape each image over and over. I want to keep shooting these erotic pictures for a lifetime of inspiration. Even after my career is over and the camera retired and stored away," his lips lock around your sex and he sucks and kisses deeply, pausing to finish his statement, "your pictures will keep me going."

"So poetic," you moan as his tongue finds purchase deep inside again. "Are we ever going to do the naked deed?" You reached a leg over his broad shoulder, calf slipping up the length of his back. "Put the camera away and fuck me, please?"

"Alright," Johnny raised an eyebrow with amusement, chuckling deeply. "Haven't seen you quite this demanding," he murmurs, smirking as he begins to kneel upright, abandoning the camera on the nearby side table, "It's kinda hot."

"Stop laughing at me and let's bang already, dammit," you're giggling at the stupid exchange and reaching and tugging his torso down.

"There's that seductive language I like," Johnny chuckles again. The weight of his strong, large body sinks you into the mattress as he presses you and sinks down to capture a kiss, sloppy and tasting of sweat and arousal. "So impatient."

"And needy," you gasp out between breaths. You sigh into the kiss, Johnny's tongue grazing your bottom lip. You run the pads of your hands and fingertips over the rigid expanse of muscle and bone, committing the sensation, the warmth and movement to memory. "C'mon, please."

He settles between your legs, feeling the tip of his hardened cock line against the entrance, teasing a bit. A sharp intake of breath. The sensation of being full and filled and connected, your bodies connecting, and your moans and gasps fill the silence.

He stretches and fills you so well, perfect in shape, the tip of his cock barely grazing against that most sensitive spot and your legs cling tightly against his strong frame, heels digging against the dimples on his lower back as the movements begin and escalate, climbing higher and higher.

"Fuck Johnny," you swear and he breathes your name in response. His powerful body stretches and arcs against yours, skin slick with perspiration as he groans and thrusts, pounding his cock in you, again and again.

"Harder," you beg and he complies, hitting against your most pleasurable and sensitive spots and watching your eyes screw and roll back, mouth falling open in the heat and intensity.

Your cries reach higher. Moans and groans mingle and bounce off the bedroom walls. Skin slapping, and wetness, the obsceneness of the situation sends shocks of electric arousal and you pant and claw harder at Johnny's back, breaking and leaving scratches, and marks.

You grip his strong arms, big and bulging with muscle as they pin you in place, gripping and clinging for life as your peak approaches, all-consuming and overpowering.

"Fuck fuck fuck, please," you pant and Johnny lets his hands rove, exploring and caressing your curves and shape. One large palm captures a full breast and his fingers brush and pinch at your nipples, caressing the undersides as your body arches and curls at the sensations. "Please, oh god, right there..." Your breath hitches, rising higher and faster as he continues to rut and grind in, making the bed sheets shift, the furniture rocks and bangs against the nearby wall.

His mouth trails from your lips down to your jaw and ear, peppering hot, searing kisses and murmuring dirty and sweet and romantic. You thread your fingers through his messy black hair and grip his face, moaning and muttering his name, muttering gibberish, barely coherent. You look into his dark chocolate-brown eyes, his dark hair hanging messily over the sweat slicked forehead, expression twisted, intense yet dream-like as he continues to pound.

"Yeah," he rasps, cock pushing deeply within your sopping and tender sex, rubbing at the ridged, sweet spot deep inside and coaxing more and more cries. "Look at me." His gaze is firm, unyielding as your eyes connect with each other. The look is enough to trigger and send your orgasm washing through your entire frame, bliss spreading from toes to head, a low cry escaping your lips.

"C'mon baby, look at me," Johnny coaxes, groaning as your body pulses and shakes, spasming and tightening as the orgasm roars through, "c'mon... yeah that's it." He sighs, relaxing his jaw. Your moans reach high and you clutch at the thick forearms, mouth dropped open.

He leans down and holds you close, feeling the aftermath, feeling your sex twitching around his cock still buried deep and his hips work again, dragging his throbbing length within your sensitive pussy. He rests and groans in the curve of your neck, feeling you beneath him as his pace grows harder and quicker, chasing the euphoric release.

He leans down and holds you close, feeling the aftermath, feeling your sex twitching around his cock still buried deep and his hips work again, dragging his throbbing length within your sensitive pussy. He rests and groans in the curve of your neck, feeling you beneath him as his pace grows harder and quicker, chasing the euphoric release.

You clutch his shoulders as the motions escalate, sweat dripping from his hair, onto your frame. "Oh... God Johnny..." you whimper, sensitive as the movement escalates and grow sloppy and loose, irregular, growing higher and harder, rising like a tsunami, wave crashing through his own body and the bed shakes, banging against the wall. "I'm close, please please please..."

"Right, with you, baby," Johnny's words come out jumbled as he rocks his hips down, pounding against you again, dragging his teeth against the delicate collarbone. "You feel so good..." he mutters and groans low in his throat. "You feel so fucking good and so hot around me."

"Johnny, oh god, please, right there, yes..." You rake a hand over his sweat slick back, a trembling breath. Your second orgasm rolls and builds up again, surprising yet unsurprising. You tighten a leg around Johnny's back, whimpering his name and shuddering hard.

"Shit," he grunts, your name hissing from clenched teeth. He goes quiet, only soft moans and throaty groans escaping as the pace turns frantic and rough. His abs contract as his release spurts, spraying and coating the insides in warm fluids. Johnny stays in and holds you close as his body calms and relaxes. He remains soft and comforting, letting you cling close and rubbing small circles.

A moment or two passes before you breathe in deep, inhaling the scent of sweat, and skin and hair and sex. "Don't move, stay right there." Johnny whispers, trying not to let your limbs or position unhinge.

"Yeah?" You mumble, words sleepy and slow. "Okay."

Johnny shifts, reaching to pick the camera off of the nearby nightstand. He puts it to his eye, aiming the lense towards your shared bed and presses. There's the faint click and flash as he holds his pose for another half second and finally lowers the camera.

"One last sexy photo." He presses another kiss to your swollen and moistened lips. "One last photo, just like this," Johnny grins cheekily and rolls on his back, drawing your exhausted form close against his solid body, "tangled in sheets, laying together, messy. One last photo and then we can sleep."

He draws you in for a kiss, camera clicking and recording the post-coital bliss. He lingers on you and looks into the display, eyes drifting shut.

"Beautiful." He chuckles and sets the camera back down, wrapped close around your frame. You shiver as he presses kisses on your temple. "Go to sleep, baby."

Finals are over and done with, and summer is well under way. Your best friend Wooyoung invited you to the annual summer road trip that he and his other friends from the ATZ frat take every year. They rented a pretty decent sized SUV and would spend the weeks on the road, ending back on campus in time for the school's end of summer party. You always wanted to join them, since you were good friends with all 7 of Wooyoung's other friends, but you've been busy working and saving up money to get your own place off-campus. This year is the first year you find yourself free.

Everyone is super excited at the chance to finally go camping on the coast. Usually, they spend their time at amusement parks, small attractions and malls along the route. Hongjoong took charge of booking their cabin, and it would be big enough to accommodate everyone, even if some people might have to share a room.

There are plenty of ways this is gonna suck, namely being trapped in a moving vehicle, for hours on end with 8 guys. And by "guys," you mean idiots, whose idea of fun included pranks, drinking, and vulgarity. They are quite a wild bunch, but who are you to complain? You're just as rowdy as the rest of them, if not more. They never let you live down that one time you got shit-faced drunk and streaked the quad during finals week last year. The eight of them spent a majority of the trip retelling the story between laughs, much to your disdain.

You watch as Jongho, Hongjoong, and Mingi race against Yunho, San, and Yeosang to a spot towards the pier, dropping their things. The waves roll up against the sandy shores, creating a soft ambiance as you soak the sun's rays, inhaling the ocean air into your lungs. Wooyoung jogs up to join you at the bottom of the hill and catches the smile tugging at your lips.

The way the bright summer sunshine shimmers in your eyes is truly enchanting. How many times had he passed you in the hall on his way to class, secretly thinking about how much the way your whole face lit up resembled sunshine? You were friends with many of his friends, but you'd always been his best friend, ever since middle school. 

He has an embarrassingly long memory of you two on your first school trip, sharing a room at the hostel and staying up late after everyone had already gone to bed. He was the first person you told that you had a crush on his older brother, and you were the first person to console him after his first heartbreak. The two of you spent your whole high school years together; every game, every class, every important milestone... you were always the first one he shared them with. You would always be the first one he sought out when he had something exciting to tell someone. You've seen a lot together over the years, and even though he wasn't totally ready, the possibility of something developing between the both of you has always lurked at the edges of his mind.

"Don't you guys dare throw Y/N into the water!" Seonghwa’s shout interrupts the thoughts in his head. Wooyoung watches San and Yunho trying to sneak up behind you, waiting to snatch you and dive into the freezing cold water. You have absolutely no time to prepare as Yunho and San sweep you up and launch you over their shoulders. Your screaming is quickly drowned out as you land right in the chilling sea, coming right back up a few seconds later for air.

"Oh, you're dead meat! Get back here!!" You bellow. Your friends erupt into hysterics at your dramatic reaction to your unplanned swim. While the rest of the boys continue to laugh their asses off, Wooyoung swoops in and helps you out of the cold water. "I'm cold, Woo. Ugh."

"I'll help you get payback, later," Wooyoung reassures you as he wraps an arm around you and leads you towards Seonghwa, who has a towel at the ready. "Let's get settled into the cabin first, and then we'll figure out how we can exact revenge on the two clowns."

"Sounds good," you huff, still grumpy. Once you've finished getting dried off, Wooyoung picks up your small duffel bag and makes his way into the direction of the cabin. His hand meets yours, briefly, and he opens his palm. A slight jolt runs up his forearm when you interlace your fingers. 

Wooyoung also has an embarrassingly long list of memories involving how warm your palm feels when clasped together with his own. For some reason, he always remembers the feel of them better than all the other things. He knows his brain is playing tricks on him, trying to convince him that the way your palms perfectly fit together is because your body was made for him. In those fleeting moments of intertwined hands, a heat blossoms within the depths of his soul. If he was just a little bit braver, he would have closed his fingers over your hand, squeezed it, and refused to let go until there was no more fight left in you.

...But he wasn't that brave yet.

"Jongho, being the winner he is, wants a room to himself," Hongjoong explains after you enter the door of the cabin.

"I won fair and square," Jongho's eyes gleam at his friends, a toothy grin spreading across his cheeks, reminding the group that he demolished almost all the others at an impromptu arm wrestling competition before the trip. They really should've seen this outcome coming.

Everyone paired off in the room they chose. Hongjoong and Seonghwa choose the room closest to Jongho's, Yunho and Mingi claim the other room on the lower floor, Yeosang and San choose the room closest to the top of the stairs. You and Wooyoung take the room furthest down the hall and it overlooks the beach from the window.

You have your reservations about this part of the trip, mainly because you’re the only girl traveling with eight boys. You often share a room with Wooyoung and vice versa. It makes  perfect sense. The two of you know each other's boundaries and aren't afraid to bring each other down a peg when it comes to annoying the other. After dropping your bags next to the door, Wooyoung surveys the room with its king size bed.

"Shit," Wooyoung curses at the sight of the single mattress. "I knew there was a reason Hongjoong gave us that look..."

"Hongjoong has some issues and needs a swift kick in the head," you laugh. Your friends would often joke about you and Wooyoung hooking up, despite the fact that there was absolutely nothing going on between the two of you, much to the others' amusement. You and Wooyoung often fanned the fire with the way you flirted with each other and teased the others, but never did it ever come to anything real. 

But what if it did?

A loud stomach grumble disrupts the air of contemplation. Wooyoung erupts in laughter after hearing your stomach's announcement. "Let's go get some food in you," he sniggers and throws an arm around your shoulder to direct you out of the room. "Sounds like your stomach's ready to eat me at this point."

"At least you'll be a tasty meal!" You chirp before wrapping an arm around his waist and following him down the hall. Wooyoung hopes you can’t feel the slight tremble beneath his skin, caused by the excitement coursing throughout his body. The way you fit perfectly into his side causes a spark deep down in his gut. There’s no better feeling than that, in his opinion.

When you make your way into the dining room, the whole group is discussing what their first activity should be for the day. You're eager to take advantage of the summer season and soak in the sun and salt air, so you vote on finding a secluded spot for everyone to have a picnic. Since you'd rather spend your time in the great outdoors, the others agree to take advantage and spend the day playing sand volleyball and swimming in the ocean.

As the others are sorting through their belongings to get ready, you go to grab your bag with your bikini inside. You put on your bikini, and before you're able to grab a coverup, Wooyoung emerges into the room and announces his presence.

"Are you almost done? I've got a towel, my sunscreen..." His eyes meet yours in the full-body mirror, and he trips. "Shit," he hisses and nearly tumbles forward, just catching his balance before the two of you collide. A scarlet hue coats the tips of Wooyoung's ears and spreads onto his cheeks.

It's not like he hasn't seen you in a bikini in all his years of knowing you. His mom often threw pool parties during the summer, and the two of you spent an exorbitant amount of time together during childhood. But you look nothing like how he remembers, all these years later. Growing up, you'd been just like him, skinny and awkward. Wooyoung noticed you changing, slowly, as if nature itself had molded your curves carefully to perfection. It started when your clothes became too tight in places Wooyoung had no business looking at.

"Wooyoung? Hello, earth to Wooyoung," your hand appears in front of his face, fingers snapping to capture his attention. 

Wooyoung looks at the bikini, immediately averts his gaze and scrambles over to where his duffel bag is. "Uh yeah, I'm- uh, almost ready. Shit, uh... fuck I'm-"

"You're acting so weird," you mumble quietly. Wooyoung slips back into the bathroom to gather his composure. Even though he felt his soul nearly depart, his best friend shouldn't see him break, especially because it's only her wearing a bathing suit.

Once you're both ready to go, the whole group walks over to a secluded spot near the cove. There were some families out and about enjoying the sunshine and ocean breeze, but the stretch of beach you and the gang find yourselves in is mostly unoccupied. Hongjoong unravels the beach blanket, spreading it out for everyone to get comfortable. The others pass around the bottles of beer and snacks that everyone brought. The delicious scents of grilled meat fills the space, and the clinks of ice floating in their drinks compliment the lazy sound of the ocean breeze.

"Wooyoung! Can you put sunscreen on my back?" You ask as you sit down and hold out the bottle.

"We're in the shade. What good will that do?" He argues as he takes the bottle.

"Come on! Better safe than sorry!" You huff and pout a little in Wooyoung's direction. "Do it for me, please!"

"Fine. Fine," he relents and scoots himself up behind you. To be fair, he'd rather be the one doing this instead of any of the other seven hooligans. Wooyoung probably wouldn't forgive himself, had they gotten even the chance to run their hands over any part of your soft skin.

"Let me undo the straps so you can apply sunscreen there too," you mention as your hands trail to the back to loosen the knots. You're holding up the front of your bikini, and the image alone makes his mouth dry.

"Uh... um..." his breath is taken away, like how a gust of wind carries the strength to sweep the air from his lungs.

"Woo? Hello?" your giggle rings across the otherwise peaceful coast as you tilt your head to face the source of your amusement. "Help a friend out? I don't want to get burned, even if it is just a little sun."

Wooyoung blinks away and starts working the cool cream against your neck, focusing hard on keeping his touch as light as he could, before spreading it lower to the parts that are going to be most exposed to the sun. He makes his way down from your shoulders to your upper back and downwards. All the while, his senses were working overtime, registering the silk-like sensation of your skin, memorizing the precise way his fingers dragged along, but most of all, Wooyoung is hyper-aware of the intimacy of the moment. Had anyone watched the interaction unfold, they might assume that he was just helping you apply sunscreen, like friends often did, but Wooyoung wasn't naive enough to completely deny the slight charge to his fingers at their first brush across your spine.

He's not in his right mind when his sunscreened fingers are reaching around your front and when his fingers brush against the bottom of your ample breasts. Your sharp intake of breath nearly short circuits him, sending a bolt of electricity directly through his cock, stiffening him in a second.

"Wooyoung...?" you voice quietly, letting the ends of the syllables hover in the space between you, "I think I'm all good now." You swallow as the hairs on your neck rise and a shiver rocks up from your belly, lingering on the delicious feeling of Wooyoung touching you like that, and the realization that something might happen, "I think I'd rather...put the rest myself." You offer gently.

"Ah yeah. Umm..." Wooyoung slowly slides his arm back, "Sorry I uh, slipped a bit," he smiles nervously and hopes that you can't read his thoughts as you face him once again.

"No harm done. Thanks, though!" you laugh and pat Wooyoung on the leg a few times.

You're not sure how, but the two of you manage to behave around one another and keep your feelings from showing throughout the rest of the afternoon. This might be hard, however, since whenever Wooyoung closed his eyes, all he could remember was the feeling of your hot skin.

What in the heck was that? As you walk away from Wooyoung in the direction of the shore, the space between your legs warms considerably as your heart rate picks up. You swallow at the memory of his featherlight touch grazing just beneath your breasts, as his front brushed up against your back. Your body reacts of its own accord, and your legs wobble and threaten to buckle. How the hell are you going to stay cool like this? Your blood boils with the heat rushing through your body, spreading, taking over. You turn the corner of a rock and dip beneath a shaded spot where you can catch your breath.

His hands were warm, so damn warm. And he was close. so damn close and... and his scent is making your brain a mushy, confused mess. As much as you would love to deny the warmth spreading between your legs and your fingers aching for you to take yourself over the edge, you're unable to. Fuck, fuck. If this keeps up... If he were to kiss you right now... you would let him.

Fuck.

You sigh out, try to calm the fuck down, and steady yourself against the cold stone of the cliffs. Once you've gathered the resolve, you make your way toward the group of your friends, who are currently deciding between a round of volleyball or a dip in the sea, or both. They are in various stages of removing clothing, eager to start their day at the beach. Wooyoung chooses that exact moment to join you guys and remove his shirt, making you falter a little before regaining your balance. The sharp angles of his face contrast the gentle waves of his bangs as they dance along his forehead, blown about by the ocean breeze.

You know your body is in deep shit the moment you see that his skin is flushed from the sun. 

Fuck. He's hot. 

With that revelation, a tiny bit of doubt rises up. This man isn’t anything like he was when you were teenagers, and it's suddenly glaringly obvious. Wooyoung isn't the kid you remember him being and neither are you. You're very clearly adults now and yet somehow... the feelings you had as a girl haven’t gone anywhere. Maybe Wooyoung isn’t aware of them yet, or perhaps he is, but you suddenly get a really strong sense that maybe you and Wooyoung are walking around with the same feelings, even as grown-ups now. It's incredibly unnerving, knowing what you know now, and knowing what's ahead, should he return your affections. It'd be really cool if someone told your stomach that, because it seems to be doing everything possible to throw your system out of whack right about now.

The sun, while merciful thus far, is nevertheless unkind in its attention to the lot of you. Mingi is the first victim, and boy was he a sight to see with a cherry red back, but before long, the group has endured its own round of sunburns. Ha, serves them right for not wearing sunscreen. 

Wooyoung hasn't really taken his eyes off of you, except to laugh at his suffering friends, and you really think about what it would be like if things went further and wondered if... well, if he had the same ideas about the two of you. If so, and you two ended up together, could things turn out okay between the both of you? You feel so lost when it comes to stuff like this because you and Wooyoung are essentially starting over from a zero base with each other, and honestly, it’s pretty overwhelming to be faced with the reality of that right now, and also what this summer holds for the both of you.

Your mind is swarming with ideas, when all of a sudden Seonghwa screams "DON'T YOU DAREー" as Wooyoung tackles you into the shallow waters, throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of rice and running for a short bit before splashing into the water himself. 

"Not again!" You scream but a shriek quickly turns into hysterical laughter as the sea engulfs the both of you. He surfaces first and grabs hold of you as soon as you resurface as well. You're grateful the water's hiding your tears from his little stunt.

"Your hair's all messed up!" Wooyoung laughs, and then begins untangling some pieces of hair stuck between others. A rush of embarrassment washes over you, but is immediately cut short when he brings a strand up to his nose and smells it. His smile gets softer and warmer after. "Hmmm, you smell good."

"It's the sea, you dummy," you giggle.

"You smell like the sea, and your shampoo, and summer," he says simply, then continues combing through your hair until he's satisfied that he’s removed all of its tangles. "Okay, perfect!"

"Is Wooyoung a stylist too? He sure does know how to treat the ladies right!" San remarks loudly, catching the attention of the rest of the gang. 

You see their smirks, and it makes you groan out in annoyance. You really can’t give them any more kindling to encourage them to meddle with you and Wooyoung, or god-forbid... actually intervene, because who knows what type of matchmaking shenanigans your idiot friends are capable of?

Wooyoung laughs, a hand splayed across your back as you both make your way back out of the water and onto the beach. "She's an old lady and needed assistance in fixing her hair." 

"I am not old!" you complain. "My bones and back creak sometimes, though," you mumble under your breath.

"See? An old lady."

"Oh my GOD shut up," you shove Wooyoung as the group erupts into a laughing fit and you hurry towards Seonghwa who is offering a towel to you. "At least someone isn't mean!" you stuck your tongue out.

"Ready to go back?" Hongjoong asks and stretches, offering to help roll up the blanket. The sky is starting to turn a multitude of colors as the sun is setting on the other side of the ocean. As much as you all want to watch the sunset on the beach, the gentle breeze in the air turns cold in the evening, and the thought of sitting in a wet bathing suit is less than ideal.

"Can we swing by one of the convenience stores first? I think my stomach just started rumbling again," you pout.

"What kind of hunger monster is she?!" Mingi shouts, earning him a solid flick against the forehead from you.

"I promise I won't let my stomach bug you guys," you rub your belly, "but this monster will not be quelled until it gets its meal!"

"Greasy food it is. Let's go!" Seonghwa orders, effectively ending all complaints. Everyone heads in the direction of the road, grabbing their stuff and locking up the cabin.

As you're walking, Wooyoung presses his body up against your own, knocking his hip into your side a couple times. You'd been joined at the hip ever since you were kids; everyone around you used to say that the two of you were as thick as thieves. So when Wooyoung slides up next to you like this, it isn't weird. You wouldn't want it any other way. The only thing you would wish for is the ability to know what he's thinking when you catch the tail end of a soft smile adorning the handsome curve of his lips, and a dusting of a blush that graces the tips of his ears.

The gang piles into a family van and races towards the closest convenience store on the roadside. "No dawdling!" San screams as he hops out the sliding doors. "Get your food and then go back to the cabin!"

"Don't forget to pay!" Hongjoong screams through the open windows as you and the other boys hop out. Everyone grabs what they came for and rushes to the registers. As you're making your purchases, Wooyoung meets you at the register and begins laying out his own items, clearly giving the impression of two people on a date, making dinner together.

The cashier gives the both of you a smile, the corners of her mouth stretching further as she watches how Wooyoung interacts with you. You notice the way she keeps looking between you and him, the growing interest in how closely Wooyoung places his hand on your wrist to prevent you from grabbing your wallet out of your bag. 

"You two are on a date, tonight?" she questions.

"I don't know if I'd call it a date when we have those hooligans waiting for us," you giggle and point towards the van. Wooyoung joins in laughing as Hongjoong turns back to flip the two of you the bird, and Seonghwa slaps his arm to reprimand him.

"My mistake!" The girl beams brightly and smiles wide at the pair of you, "You two just look really cute, so I got my hopes up a little."

Wooyoung softly thanks her and intertwines his fingers with yours as he pulls you towards the parking lot to join your other friends. You don’t have a chance to hear the response that Wooyoung mumbles, but you do notice that his grip is a tad tighter.

"Took you two long enough. Sheesh!" Seonghwa complains as you climb back in.

"But now we can get to eating and eating!" Yunho says excitedly, "Back to the cabin!"

Dinner consists of beef bulgogi and white rice, with an assortment of kimbap rolls to share. No meal is complete, especially not around here, without alcohol, though, so you grab everyone a glass and pour the chilled beer. In the evening, it's often a comfortable warmth in your chest that spreads and blooms the longer you all spend time talking and laughing.

Everyone is well fed, and more importantly, they are buzzed after several glasses. The only thing that hasn't waned is how warm you feel deep inside, the fire stoking within your belly. You realize it's getting late, the hour growing later by the minute.

"Is anyone ready for the main event?" Yunho sings as he stands from his chair, setting aside his glass on the table. He's also a lightweight, and giggly drunk at that. "Truth or dare? Spin the bottle, truth and dare edition. When the bottle lands on you, either choose truth or dare, or drink. Got it?"

"Fuck. Why not? Bring it, Yunho," Yeosang says. The others are either cheering in excitement or groaning in frustration.

"How 'bout you, Y/N? In or out?" San questions as the group looks over at you, eagerly awaiting your response.

"Let's do this," you breathe out a little and crack the bones in your neck and stretch your fingers, getting ready to take whatever's thrown at you.

A few turns in and you've landed with a couple shots, a couple questions and a dare. Thankfully, no one has tried to take advantage of your current, inebriated state and went all out with questions. Most were pretty generic, if not a little boring. Seonghwa has a huge crush on their philosophy professor. Jongho secretly collects pornographic literature and owns a few magazines. Even though Mingi won a hand-stand competition, he can't keep his balance. Hongjoong has a list of every man, woman, and gender-neutral creature that has caught his attention. Yunho would wear a skirt, if someone asked him nicely. San once hooked up with their librarian in the supply room. Yeosang was actually dating one of the phys ed girls and it's going pretty well. And lastly, Wooyoung...

"Dare," Wooyoung chuffs out, proudly showing that he wasn't afraid of any of their stupid dares.

"Hmmmmm..." San, Yunho, and Yeosang immediately put their heads together. Wooyoung, unfazed and knowing them for too many years already, waits calmly as the three brainstorm what his fate will be.

"Make out with Y/N for a full minute!" they all shout simultaneously, each pointing to their victim.

"You shitheads are gonna be in big trouble next round," he grouches. The boys all howl with laughter as they watch the color rise on his cheeks, dusting his ear tips pink.

You know it's just a stupid little kiss. So what if your heart's beating fast? So what if your palms are already sweaty at the mere thought of touching his mouth? Wooyoung is attractive and has always had girls falling over themselves to catch a date with him. So you would never understand the magnetic pull that drags you closer, leaving a lingering uncertainty over exactly how close you should get to his lips.

But even now, his hands slide through the thick strands of your hair to gently pull your face closer. The warm sweetness of his breath grazes over your lips, and as the last strings of courage fade, the drunken haze slips away. You close your eyes, and when your lashes flutter, you're startled back into reality when the wet warmth of a hot tongue slips against your lips. Wooyoung makes it look easy, this kissing game. His fingers are tracing small circles on the nape of your neck, and you melt. The instant spark that flew up your spine and ricochets up against your skull leaves you weak. You sigh, the moan dying in your throat, and you fall deeper under the spell of his kiss. It's in that moment, you can sense something building between your bodies, creating an energy so palpable you'd swear your clothes could've ripped in an instant.

A cacophony of groans and exaggerated sounds of disgust infiltrates your moment, effectively bringing back everyone from your trance.

"Go to your room if you're not going to stop it there," Yunho pouts and turns his back on the two of you, covering his eyes for extra effect.

"Yeah, please continue somewhere where none of us have to see it," San waves his hands. The both of you are still staring at each other, your hand gripping tightly to his wrist as you scramble back into the space behind you, putting as much distance as possible between you and your best friend.

The game continues on, and you are able to laugh everything off. No one really pays you any mind, and the rest of the evening is just spent laughing and singing with some drinks. There are a couple of card games and a lot more truth-or-dares thrown around. By the end of the night, you find yourself already sleepy. The boys, all together, decide to continue their silly game a little longer while you excuse yourself from the table.

When you're almost in the bedroom, Wooyoung comes up behind you and grabs you. "So?" he asks, with his warm body enveloping you, arms and legs spread on either side of your frame, wrapping you up.

"Yes? What's up?" you whisper quietly, surprised he came to you, instead of staying with the others. He wants to ask you something but hesitates. He needs to get it off his chest, he thinks to himself, otherwise Wooyoung won't be able to sleep at night. "Wooyoung, do you want to go further?"

He doesn't answer and tightens his hold. The air grows warm and heady, swirling the longer the two of you stay stationary. Finally, you take his hand in yours and lead him through the threshold. It's dark, but there is still just enough light filtering through the slats of the window to give the two of you a vague idea of what you are seeing.

But before anything can really happen, you were both snoring into the pillows of your shared bed.

The van is loaded up, and you are heading towards the next destination on your road trip. After several hours, the group is collectively losing their minds. 

"Okay, let's switch. My butt is sore," San groans and pops his joints as he exits the driver's seat, turning it over to Yunho. The exchange doesn't last long, and before you know it, it's only noon and everyone was antsy as fuck and impatient and frankly, driving Yunho to the brink of his sanity.

It’s your turn to drive the rest of the way, and the boys are clearly anxious about letting you take the wheel. "No no, come on, Y/N, I think Yeosang will want another go at it."

"No, it's my turn to take the wheel," you flash the biggest smile and snatch the keys out of his hand. "Any complaints, speak now or forever hold your peace." You laugh evilly as the boys quiet and silently file into the vehicle. "We'll vroom vroom!"

"If you get a speeding ticket, I won't defend you. Just so you know," Jongho shouts at you from the back as you're peeling away at the highway.

"Yeah, yeah!" you shout back and set up the GPS before pressing play on your favorite driving playlist. "We'll be safe. Now, strap up and shut up. Time for the fun part!" You step on the gas pedal, and the tires squeal a little bit as the boys scream out their disapproval.

In the time that you drive to the next town, the group settles into their respective spaces for the remainder of the ride, occupying their phones for entertainment and keeping each other company, taking occasional detours from the car to use the restrooms and stretching out their legs at the stop areas along the way. At some point, the others in the back start to drift off and snore softly, and you smile fondly to yourself.

It’s already been a long day and everyone is so tired out that once they finally get a taste of peace and quiet, they fall asleep, heads swaying on top of shoulders or curled up at the window side, wrapped in the plush coats. Even Seonghwa's head has rolled to the side, his own jacket being used to prop himself upright and his mouth hung open in slumber.

Not that the quiet bothers you, because it’s soothing having your favorite music playing quietly in the background as you drive. Wooyoung is sitting in the passenger seat and isn’t quite asleep, but the relaxed state that his shoulders have eased into assure you that the journey to his next destination hasn't been an unpleasant one.

There’s no sound except for the snoring and the love song that’s playing in the background, the mellow voice soothing your souls.

Wooyoung takes your free hand and intertwines your fingers. "Is this okay?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, it is," you hum gently in affirmation, and he tightens his grip, letting out a small content hum of his own.

As you continue to drive, Wooyoung remains wide awake, occasionally lifting the cup to sip on his iced coffee that has mostly melted by now. His eyes scan the landscape, watching as the horizon speeds past him. At this point, you can feel the slightest pressure at your core building again. But this time, it feels different; more powerful somehow. 

He notices and breaks the silence first. "Are we... gonna talk about it?" His tone is even and careful, and there are no hard edges to his voice like before, just a gentle prod.

"What's there to say, really?"

"Don't play that," Wooyoung mutters, shooting you a look that says 'Really?'

You sigh and wipe your palms, shifting your grip on the wheel as the conversation turns heavy. "I honestly have no clue where we even stand," you admit. It's not a lie, but it sure does feel like one. "Where do you think we are?"

"Honestly..." Wooyoung answers carefully, making it obvious he’s trying hard to choose the right words, "Honestly, I don't know where we are going. I don't know. Not anymore." He waits, leaving a weighty silence to settle between you both, before speaking again. "But I really, really like you." He pauses for another beat, waiting as if expecting a response, then carries on. "Like, not as a friend," he explains quickly, then swallows thickly before starting again, "not as just... not a... as someone I grew up with."

"So..." you start, unsure how exactly to proceed. "Does that mean you have feelings for me?"

He considers the question for a second, but then responds bluntly. "I've never not had feelings for you," he mutters quietly. His reply is both unexpected and surprising and also, oddly reassuring.

"Good to know," you whisper, lips quirking upwards. "And I don't wanna sound corny but..." you start but trail off, not knowing where to go next. How do you express that what you really feel is that maybe there's a possibility that you and him have always belonged to each other without sounding lame as hell? "I really, really like you too."

There's an awkward pause, and you're glad the others are all asleep in the back, unaware of the confession of feelings happening in the front row seat. You wait as Wooyoung clears his throat and looks up at you. Your eyes dart to the rear-view mirror for a quick sweep to check the others again. Thankfully, everyone else seems to still be sleeping and completely oblivious. 

"Our next rest stop, and I'm going to kiss the absolute life out of you. Fair warning," you mutter so quietly it's barely audible, and you can almost feel the blush bloom across your cheeks.

He raises his eyebrows at you, but his mouth ticks up with mirth. 

"No complaints here," and he chuckles, the sound comforting you. Then, he throws his feet onto the dashboard, crosses his arms across his chest, closes his eyes, and settles in for a little while, to rest and dream of nothing but you.

Soon, you pull into a highway diner and wake the gang to stretch their legs and grab some food to snack on until the next full stop, giving you ample time and privacy to settle what needs to be addressed between you and him.

Wooyoung waits patiently as the group mills about, wandering inside and grabbing the table.

"Thank fuck, I needed a toilet. Like, so bad," Jongho complains loudly as he sprints straight towards the facilities at the corner of the entrance.

You head inside as well, getting a big smile on your face, already thinking about what you are going to eat for lunch and where your next adventure will begin. After a half-hour of chatting and scarfing down your food, and taking a good amount of time to relieve yourselves in the restrooms, the group makes its way to the parking lot once again.

"Whose turn is it to drive next?" you call out to the guys, who all groan in unison. "I can go again but this time I'll actually vroom vroom!" You rev the engine to emphasise your point and you hear laughter erupt out of the pack.

"No vroom vroom," Hongjoong laughs and steps up towards the steering wheel. "My turn, little monster. Hand it over." 

He reaches a hand towards you and pries the key from your grip. The rest of the crew pile into the van, and the radio plays loudly as Hongjoong races out the parking spot and swerves onto the road, successfully startling everyone within the vehicle and sending them toppling over each other.

"Oh, so I can't vroom vroom but you can?" you cross your arms in defiance in the third row, Wooyoung laughing next to you.

"I'm a great driver!" Hongjoong boasts from the driver's seat as he navigates out of the busy lot and into the rush hour traffic.

"I love you, but you drive like a demon possessed!" San shouts from beside him.

"Dramatic," Hongjoong chuckles. "Alright, settle in folks," he smiles over at the group. "The road's ahead of us, it's gonna be a looonnngg ride!" He floors the gas and merges onto the highway.

You settle closer to Wooyoung's warm body, and his hands pull you closer, cradling your shoulders. He places a featherlight kiss on your hairline. "Later," he mumbles.

A small sigh escapes as the warmth envelopes you whole. This would have to do. "Later," you whisper, nuzzling deeper into his embrace.

Night has already begun to descend as everyone was falling in and out of sleep. The adrenaline from the early start and subsequent stops is finally waning, leaving a nice sense of calm and security blanketing the entire crew.

Everyone seems relaxed. 

"Y'know..." Yunho suddenly begins, rousing from a long snooze. "I gotta take a piss."

"Yunho... We're in the middle of nowhere," you sigh, slightly amused but also quite annoyed, "can't you go for a few more miles?"

"A few more miles my ass! I gotta pee, like, RIGHT now!" Yunho continues whining. "Come on, man, please pull over at the rest stop coming up!"

"I gotta go too. We'll stop," Hongjoong acquiesces to his demands and pulls over at the next rest stop available.

Everyone piles out, and as they stretch their limbs, they go their separate ways to tend to their respective business. You and Wooyoung shuffle over towards a bench to sit down and relax, tiredly. "When we get back to Seoul," you huff out as you plop your ass down next to him, "I'm taking the longest nap known to humanity."

"We can nap together," he smirks, leaning in and letting his lips press against yours tenderly. The way his mouth fits yours perfectly leaves a shudder running all over your body.

"Just a nap?" you whisper into his lips.

"Just a nap," he promises, smirking harder now. "Unless you have another idea?"

"Oh, I'll tell you soon," you hum thoughtfully, wiggling your eyebrows teasingly.

A deep laugh reverberates in his chest, filling the cold air around the two of you, and for a brief moment, the two of you could forget the reason that you even met for this trip and focus only on each other. His mouth opens to continue, but another voice cuts through the serene tranquility. 

"We're about to hit the next town. Is anyone hungry?" Seonghwa stands before the both of you, clueless and unaware of the tension you both shared. "We're gonna spend a few nights at the next town and do some sightseeing and what-not." He grins at the both of you expectantly, awaiting a response.

"Oooo," you exclaim, genuinely excited to visit the next location, "yes, I'm starving."

"You're always starving!" Jongho yells over, and the others all laugh and agree with him.

"This will be interesting," Hongjoong chuckles heartily before announcing, "Look alive people, because the show is back on the road! Hustle your asses back into your seats, and fasten your belts tight!"

"Is it me or is he turning into a worse version of me every time he drives??" you blurt out, incredulous at how much of a reckless driver he’s becoming. "Who are you and what have you done with Hongjoong?!"

Hongjoong lets out a full body cackle at your remarks, shaking his head at your nonsense, "Settle in, crazy."

It isn't the town. It isn't the culture. It isn't the people. You have only one desire... and only one goal... to touch Wooyoung.

Or rather, let him touch you.

"Hurry back to the hotel room," you mutter through clenched teeth as the two of you ascend in the rickety elevator.

You know how you sound, desperate and thirsty and weak for him, but you honestly couldn't give a fuck. This has been going on for far too long; all this lust and frustration and pent-up desire that has built within the both of you. There was only one way to find release now. And it started by going back to your room and fucking like you meant it.

You and Wooyoung had to find the perfect opportunity to escape. While your friends were busy playing games and drinking themselves silly, the two of you snuck out of the room and booked it back to your shared space and fell into bed, panting and giggling and falling harder.

And now, here the two of you are, staring hungrily, heatedly, lustily into each other's eyes, breath ragged and bodies heavy with want. Wooyoung quickly puts up a Do Not Disturb sign outside the door before pushing his way back into the room and locking it behind him, and then the two of you meet, your fingers grasping his soft tresses tightly, pulling him closer.

"Are you finally going to kiss the absolute life out of me, now?" he whispers huskily, hands tangling through your locks.

"Maybe I'll do even more," you answer quietly, leaning in until your foreheads bump together gently.

"Yeah? Whatcha gonna do, huh?" he challenges, wrapping one strong hand around the back of your neck and the other cupping your jaw, thumbs pressing firmly on either side, a sensation so delicious you almost pass out.

"Fuck the fuck outta me, fuck me til I can't breathe anymore," you sigh and lean into him. You stare at his face and you can see that your words are really affecting him. But your mind isn't focused on what's happening anymore; no, all you can think of now is getting that cock between your thighs, buried in you.

"Yeah?" Wooyoung mutters. He slides his palm across your cheek and slides a thumb over your lips. It's such an innocent movement, but the implications send blood racing throughout your whole body, setting your skin on fire. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" His thumb presses harder, testing you. Your mouth falls open and he slips his thumb inside, your tongue laving at the digit eagerly, your breath becoming more shallow. "Yeah, you'd really, really like that."

When his gaze meets yours, it's hot. Desperate. Lustful.

But most importantly...

Devoted.

"And I would want that too," he whispers and when his lips press onto your burning skin, they are so soft you don't notice his touch is the same. Everything changes then. His kisses are sweet. They leave a trail of butterflies in your stomach, goosebumps rippling in their wake. He bites your earlobe. His grip tightens on the nape of your neck and holds your gaze steady.

A moan catches in the base of your throat, spilling over his lips. It makes your knees go weak and your heart pound in anticipation. He eases your shirt off and drops it on the carpeted floor. His fingers caress your sides as if you were the most precious piece of art he had ever seen. When he cups your breasts and rubs the hardened peaks between his thumb and forefinger, it's enough to push you over the edge, leaving you weak and wet in need.

"Do you have any idea how hot you're making me right now? Just seeing you in that bathing suit the other day... It took everything in me not to rip them off you and take you right there in front of everybody," he hisses, breath hitching, and kisses your neck, his teeth grazing along your throat and earlobes, his thumbs still circling your nipples.

"You sure can talk big, Woo," you laugh breathily, raising your chin just enough that he can bite on it, your spine shivering in delight. "You can promise that I'll never need anyone else after tonight?"

"Trust me," his voice is raw, raspy even, dripping with arousal.

"What would that entail, hmmm?" you wonder aloud.

A chuckle vibrates his whole chest as he shakes his head and purrs, "I can show you better than I can tell you."

That's when things begin to escalate. That's when his hands slide down your belly, fingertips teasing at the hem of your jeans. He leans his head close to yours, lips brushing softly over your lips, tongue trailing along them before darting in and out, drawing the outline of them with precision, mapping each curve, tracing a line over every crease. His hands caress up and down your torso, caressing everywhere, while his tongue explores and savors you.

Your knees buckle as his hands drop lower, fingertips brushing the waistband of your panties, rubbing slow circles. A soft, blissful moan escapes from between his parted lips. He bites lightly on your neck, his hot tongue probing, teasing, licking along the sensitive flesh there. He tastes the sweet salty skin, taking it between his teeth, giving a light nibble to the point you'd feel it every time the pleasure inside you increased, the tension increasing between your thighs.

He pushes down your jeans and panties together. They drop heavily around your feet. As soon as your clothes fall onto the floor, your back hits the mattress and you find yourself pinned underneath Wooyoung. The sheets are cool but he's warm and the heat radiating off of him feels incredible.

His mouth travels down your torso, moving further and further lower. Every touch sets off fireworks through every nerve ending in your body, each wave more intense than the last, building slowly.

Your hips arch when he gets near your pussy, eager to have him taste you. "Wooyoung, please." 

You don't mean to beg. But that doesn't stop the pleading words escaping from between your lips.

He growls appreciatively, "Tell me how bad you want me."

Your voice is almost a whimper, "Really, really fucking bad." 

You bite down hard, swallowing the urge to shout out loud, as he parts your thighs and settles his shoulders between them, spreading them even wider. His lips hover dangerously close and all of the muscles in your stomach contract violently, anticipating his next move.

"Want me to eat you up, baby girl?" He teases.

A little, "Oh yes," is all you can get out. Your thighs squeeze tighter together.

And that's all he needs to hear. His fingers part the soft folds and dive straight for the most intimate part of you. When his mouth closes over your wet slit, you swear to god you've died and gone to heaven. His tongue flicks out and probes your aching entrance. He sucks greedily, greedily drawing all of your juices into his waiting mouth as your fingers tighten their grasp on his head. A choked sob escapes from your chest as he devours you, drinking up every last bit, and it sounds like a fucking symphony.

Your hips writhe in response, your clit swollen, aching to be touched, begging to be rubbed against his tongue. His mouth is pure fucking bliss, and when the tip of his nose finally bumps your engorged nub, it sends electricity dancing through you. Your body jerks involuntarily, a string of incoherent pleas tumbling from your lips. He spreads your legs even wider now, so far apart your ass lifts a couple inches from the sheets. Your heels dig hard into shoulder blades as his tongue flattens and runs the length of your slit.

You begin rocking, your hips undulating, trying desperately to get a rhythm going, but Wooyoung pulls away, removing himself. "Now, now. You have to learn to ask nicely if you wanna get fucked." A predatory grin flashes across his face. His finger ghosts along your mound and slides between your folds, gathering up some moisture from the tip, before teasing its way to the tip of your swollen clit.

"Please... please," you choke, thrusting up desperately, your back arching off the mattress.

"Say 'pretty please.'"

You moan, "I'll say anything you want, as long as you put your mouth back where it belongs." Your hand reaches blindly for him and pulls his face back against your pussy, running fingers through his hair, digging nails into the back of his skull and tugging sharply to bring him closer. "Pretty please."

Wooyoung grunts happily, sinking his chin against your slick pussy, your sticky sweet juices coating his chin. Then, with his other hand he runs his index finger lightly, feathering, stroking, feeling along the length of the hood of your engorged clit. With the tip he strokes circles over your tip, running his nail lightly over the hood before circling round, then moving it from side to side, creating friction, sliding it back and forth, coating it in wetness.

As your body writhes uncontrollably, his free hand begins circling your stomach, his fingers curling, exploring, dancing lightly up and down between the sides and center of your hips. They glide gracefully, caressing, playing a tune over and over again, rolling along every curve and contour of your torso, worshipping every inch, memorising, cherishing, loving the shape of every valley and hill, the plushness of every surface. He rubs along every indent and slope, down the insides of each thigh.

One finger, then two, then three plunge deep inside you, curling in a come-hither gesture and setting a brutal, pounding rhythm that has you panting, gasping for breath. Every flick of his tongue sends a jolt of pleasure rocketing throughout every part of your body. Your eyes squeeze shut and your toes curl as your thighs clench, trapping him against you. The bedsheets twist tightly under the ferocity of your grip. A storm of ecstasy builds within you. It rages wild and fierce and violent and hungry. Your brain shuts off. Your vision becomes hazy. The blood rushes in your veins like molten lava, bubbling hot, scorching, threatening to melt everything away. You lose all coherent thought except one single thing:

Let him eat the fuck out of you.

"Ohhhh yes..." You murmur into the sheets. You feel Wooyoung's lips curling into a smile. He teases you, withdrawing from you, the tip of his tongue stroking the smooth wet flesh of your swollen clit. "Fuckkk." Your hands fist his hair and pull his head deeper into your mound, grinding his face against your pussy. "Cumming..."

His tongue strokes every inch of skin possible. And every second brings another surge of euphoria. Each one is growing more intense. Each wave washing over and leaving behind nothing but pleasure. Nothing but euphoric bliss. Every. Single. One. And it seems like nothing but seconds pass until your orgasm finally crests and crashes over you.

The sounds of your moans and grunts fill the entire room as you writhe under his tongue's relentless assault. It feels like heaven and hell combined. You can barely see a thing; your vision blurs and streaks across everything around.

After he eats his fill, Wooyoung returns above and kisses you deeply. Tasting your sweet slick all over his lips. Sliding a tongue in your mouth and kissing you so filthy that your moans are getting trapped.

"Did you like how you tasted, baby girl?" he croons, and your nod vehemently, a giddy smile on your flushed face, your core throbbing in delight and pleasure, your mind completely hazed with the delightful sensations he'd elicited from your body.

Wooyoung grasps the neckline of his t-shirt, tugging it off with ease before carelessly tossing the garment off the edge of the bed. Your eyes dart upwards to the wall before you. He's stripped in a matter of seconds.

Now shirtless and very much naked, Wooyoung swaps positions with you and plants you on top. Straddling his hips, your eyes instantly fall on the tattoos embedded onto his skin. Hands slide up and down your thighs, squeezing gently, and Wooyoung runs his fingers over his own abdomen. 

"Go ahead. Enjoy the view," he winks, looking like the smuggest fucker ever.

You trace the lines etched over his ribcage, outlining every symbol inked into his skin. You explore his chest with your mouth, mapping every line, exploring every dip, and leaving marks upon marks in the wake of your lips and tongue and teeth. Your eyes don't miss a detail as you admire his broad shoulders and lean biceps, which flex as his hands grip your thighs.

"You act like you've never seen my tatts before," he scoffs, running his hands through your hair, stroking your head affectionately.

"Not this close and detailed before, no," you respond, eyeing him lovingly.

Wooyoung is all gorgeous, beautiful tattoos and chiseled muscles and every other aspect you've ever fantasized about. He looks like something carved by the hands of god. Everything about him exudes pure power and domination, from his striking eyes to his handsome features to his hardening cock between your thighs. It is everything, and you cannot resist sinking lower, hips rolling and sliding against the hard shaft and velvety sack.

"Why are you torturing me," he hisses as his teeth catch at his lower lip, biting down.

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. It wasn't intentional. Okay, maybe a little.

"Well," you start, eyeing him in contemplation. He shifts himself on the mattress, hips thrusting, impatiently, but his arms are limp at his side, his body limp and languid, relaxed. He's absolutely content at letting you do as you please. And so, you decide it was time to please him. "Maybe you deserve it," you say, hand snaking its way into his hair, fisting his black locks roughly, while your other hand glides its way over his abs and toned belly. 

Your fingers dance up and down the grooves in between the toned muscle, memorizing the feeling and contour of his body. Your nails rake, teasingly, over his chest, stopping just below his collar bones. You give them both a light pinch and a tweak and enjoy watching him groan quietly in response, before continuing downwards, towards the protruding length below.

"Maybe you need someone to teach you patience. How does that sound?" Your fingertips caress downwards, traveling over his pelvis until you reach the base of his manhood. You wrap a fist firmly around the rigid organ. It throbs, twitching, pulsing. Wooyoung inhales sharply. He shudders and his teeth dig painfully into his lip, preventing any further noise escaping him. You look at his face and wait for him to meet your gaze. When his eyes land upon yours, they are dark, molten fire and hunger burns hot behind them.

"Maybe I do," he chuckles darkly, his hands trailing from your legs to rest atop of yours on his chest, a strong, possessive and reassuring hold.

"And you'd deserve it?" you add, moving a bit more closer to him, sliding your sex more closely towards his erection.

"Maybe," he breathes out, lips parting in anticipation, tongue darting out to lick and wet them.

You move to straddle his hips. Your eyes lock with his again, burning, melting. He raises his hands in surrender, silently giving consent, urging you to carry on with whatever you had planned. So you slide your hips towards him and the head of his cock slides up your dripping lips, and you know it will only be moments until his entire girth is fully sheathed inside you, stretching and filling you. You roll your hips again and gasp. And Wooyoung responds with his own soft grunt.

"Can't believe it... Are we really doing this right now...?" he gasps out, mouth open, cheeks flushed pink and eyelids heavy.

"We'll stop if you want," you respond, teasingly.

"Oh hell no, don't stop," he shakes his head, grip getting even tighter on you and cock harder underneath your warmth. "Keep going, keep going. We've gotten this far... let's just... continue..." he croaks out, breathy, chest heaving.

Slowly, you begin rocking your hips into him, and as you do, his cock eases deeper and deeper. Every movement sends electric bolts coursing through your body and leaves you tingling in sheer excitement. You build the momentum as his length plunges further and further inside you, creating an incredible sense of bliss and euphoria to rise within. The tight friction coupled with the exquisite sensations create a whirlwind inside that threatens to drive you wild, and it is not long until you find yourself lost. The sound of heavy panting fills the room, mingled with the soft slapping of wet skin on skin.

Wooyoung flips you onto your back, and he drives his hips harder and faster and rougher. And you welcome every strike eagerly, holding on to his powerful muscles, and basking in the immense ecstasy of the moment.

"Holy hell, woman, are you trying to fucking kill me?" he groans out through gritted teeth and the sweat trickling down his forehead as he continues pounding and pushing deeper inside of your clenching warmth.

Your hands tighten their hold on his back, clinging onto his form desperately, "Only a little bit, Woo. Only a little bit."

A snort escapes from the deep depths of his lungs, "Hilarious. This is the second best experience of my life."

You decide to mess with him, "Second best? Then what was first?" you can't help the giggles threatening to escape the confines of your throat as you watch his face soften.

"Loving you."

"Ugh, cheesy motherfucker," you playfully admonish, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder, stifling the grin threatening to spread across your face. "Love you too," you say, peppering a couple of sweet pecks along his face and neck.

The bed squeaks and you're sure whoever is sharing the wall next to you can probably tell you are getting laid. But none of that matters. All that mattered was the pleasure. You reach for his hand and lace your fingers together as you feel his thrusts become harder and faster.

The pleasure is unreal. Never before have you felt like this. Not once. Every sensation seems magnified as the pleasure rises within you. You revel in his touch. How he makes you feel loved, worshipped.

"I think I'm..."

"Me too, love," he whispers as you lock gazes again. "Together?" he asks breathily.

You can only manage to nod fervently, cheeks stained red and heart pounding rapidly.

And with the next roll of your hips and the deepest push that Wooyoung provides, your walls tighten around his cock. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hipbones. There's no turning back. You allow the sensation to fill and explode and burst forth from every crevice of your being. Everything stops moving, falling, falling... The room swirls. A bright, sparkling white consumes you, and for a brief moment the universe bursts forth and you swear that you have seen the beginning of time and space within these walls.

And then reality hits, and you lay spent, sweaty, satisfied and wrapped in Wooyoung's loving embrace.

And nothing would be the same after.

When you wake up in the morning, Wooyoung is already awake and gazing down at you in awe and wonder.

"This has been such a long time coming," he confesses, caressing your cheek lovingly.

You take his hand in yours and squeeze lightly. "Couldn't agree more, loverboy," you beam up at him, sending the warmest smile he's ever seen radiating on your glowing face.

"God, I feel so great right now," he laughs joyfully, leaning back onto the mountain of pillows behind him. "Just laying here and staring at you is bringing me an insane amount of happiness."

"Aw, come here, you sappy fuck," you motion him forward and he gladly complies, arms circling around your waist as you sit upright beside him, nestled snuggly against each other's frame.

It doesn't matter what you are wearing or what your hair looks like, you are radiant, perfect and stunning no matter what, and the thought brings the largest smile onto Wooyoung's face, because his feelings were reciprocated. And you both found that solace in knowing that you were all each other ever wanted, needed, wished.

"This vacation could not have been any more perfect," Wooyoung sighs contentedly, eyes falling close for a few beats of silence before he looks over to you.

"Maybe we should go on a road trip every summer," you suggest, shrugging your shoulders. "Just you, and me, and a whole bunch of endless highways and a destination in mind... how does that sound, Woo?"

"It sounds like a plan," he beams at you, grinning brightly.

You cuddle close to him and nod your head. "A plan indeed," you agree and kiss him lovingly.

"Just the two of us..." he trails off dreamily as you caress and cradle him close to your chest, the slow rhythm of your beating hearts lulling you both into a sweet slumber.

ABU DHABI GRAND PRIX 2023 "I can't believe this... I can't fucking believe this."

Joshua’s voice comes through the radio so soft, it’s barely audible over the roar of his engine. Your instinct is to keep your eyes on the screen, confirm that your driver’s tires are fine, fuel levels okay, no other car on his ass. But it’s useless because Joshua is seconds from the finish line with no chance for anyone else to take it and no time penalties to serve.

“Believe it, Shua,” you say into your mic as you swivel your chair around and away from your monitor. Your eyes immediately find his bright orange MCL60 approaching the checkered flag like a bullet. “You did it.”

The words are bittersweet, and if this had been last season, you would’ve been jumping up and down with the rest of the team, screaming into Joshua’s earpiece and losing your goddamn mind. Today, though, you stay glued to your seat. Even when the wind of Joshua crossing the finish line right before your eyes whips at your face, even when the world explodes around you in a vivacious spray of confetti and champagne, even when Joshua Hong becomes a two-time F1 world champion—you stay seated. 

“We did it,” he corrects, sounding as calm as you feel. You wonder if you sound it, though—if you sound lonely too, because you are. “And that’s not what I can’t believe.”

You watch as his car starts to slow across the track. “Oh yeah? Always knew you were going to bag another title, did you?” you joke.

He doesn’t laugh. You clear your throat and sigh, knowing you’ve been skirting around the devastation of this all.

“What can’t you believe, Shua?”

Silence. His car feels impossibly far from you even though it’s only been seconds. You think the irony is cruel. You wait a few more moments for his response, and when you receive none, you assume he’s already disconnected from the radio. Just before you take your headset off, he answers you.

“I can’t believe that you’re really leaving me.”

Your stomach twists painfully. He makes his way back, pulling into the pit lane, where he parks next to the first place sign meant for him. Immediately, staff members are already swarming the car—some to tend to the car, some to offer him water, some to scream and cry and congratulate. But still, he stays inside his vehicle, and he stays connected to you.

There are a multitude of things you want to tell him.

You want to tell him you aren’t leaving him because you want to; you’re sparing both of your careers from the scrutiny that would inevitably come if you stayed.

You want to tell him he’s currently the best driver on the grid. Your absence isn’t going to change that, especially when he’s so seasoned, that most of what you do now is just play music for him and inform him how many seconds he has until he reaches the next car. 

You want to tell him this is the right thing to do, no matter how horrible it feels.

Above all, you just want to tell him you love him—that although you only found out a few months ago, you think you fell in love with him the moment you both turned your radios on the first time you raced together—and that’s why you have to go. That’s why you can’t be his race engineer a second longer.

In the end, “I can’t either” is what you settle on. I’m so sorry rings loudly in your head but never leaves your mouth.

“So this is it, huh?” His breath comes out shaky and you know him well enough to know it’s not from the adrenaline of winning another world title.

“This is it,” you confirm, a knot forming in your throat.

“It was a good run, L/N.” You think you hear a knot in his too.

“The best run, Hong.” You can’t help your voice from cracking when you add: “The best of my life.”

“Mine too,” he says with no hesitation, though his voice sounds watery now. You feel your heart break. 

“Shua,” you croak. 

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For the past five years, for genuinely believing I could get you here, for… being my… my friend.” The word hurts you in unimaginable ways. “The best friend. Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me. It was easy,” he responds. “You made everything easy—all of it. I should thank you… you… you make this sport worthwhile.”

You press your lips together to keep from breaking out into uncontrollable sobs, nodding to yourself as you try to wrap your mind around this being your last real moment with Joshua. 

He sighs deeply, another brief silence engulfing the two of you before he speaks again. “I’ll see you out there?”

You hum because you can’t bring yourself to tell him he won’t. As you take your headphones off, the first of your tears fall and you let them; it’s the one time you can without being judged for being too emotional or too feminine. Every grown man on Team McLaren is bawling right now, anyway. 

You slide off your seat and watch from the pit wall as Joshua exits his vehicle a few moments later and waves at the deafening crowd. For five years, you’ve guided Joshua through every F1 track in the world, you weathered countless storms—literal and figurative—together, and you’ve made him a world champion twice. 

But for almost ten years, since the time you started as a low-ranking mechanic at McLaren, you also endured misogynistic slights from the more old-school members of your team, comments that it doesn’t take much to do your job when Joshua Hong is the driver, and teasing that you were only in this to snag a rich husband off the grid.

You persevered. You clawed your way up the ranks. You earned the respect you wanted so badly, and as much as you want to say fuck it and just stay, you can’t. Because being around Joshua when you’re knowingly in love with him feels impossible. And if you can’t hide it, then you’ll have to say it. And if you say it, your career will be over, and you can’t let it be tarnished now—not when it’s at its peak. Not when Joshua is at his either.

Loving him will ruin everything you worked for. Loving him will not only cut you at the knees, but every woman after you who vies for this position. And it’s not going to happen.

Joshua doesn’t see you out there. You leave long before he even gets off the track and long before his time is freed up post photo ops and interviews. You can’t stay and confront the betrayal that’s been dancing in his eyes for weeks, even though he swore up and down that he was happy you found something new and exciting. You can’t let him wrap his arms around you one last time while he whispers heartfelt thank yous for an amazing season—an amazing five seasons—into your ear, confetti raining down and champagne soaking the both of you through to your bones. You can’t do any of it because if you do, you’ll lose your nerve and you’ll stay.

And you can’t. You have a flight to catch and the best F1 driver in the world to forget about. 

Abu Dhabi two years ago was the last time you saw or heard from Joshua. A small part of you hoped he would reach out, but you knew that was a selfish thing to want; after all, you were the one that ran off without a proper goodbye after a five-year career together. Still, there were a lot of days you looked at your phone and wished he would send one of his silly memes or just ask how the job was going. 

Conversely, though, you never texted either. Not when he bombed his very next season, and not when he lost this season’s title by a hair. 

But now… now feels like as good a time as any to text.

The computer lab is in an uproar as your current class of female drivers stop what they’re doing to leap out of their seats and crowd around the massive flat screen television mounted on the back wall, gaping at it. You gape from your desk at the front of the classroom.

“Whoa, didn’t you work with him, Mickie?” For McLaren—a nickname that kind of irritated you at first but have grown accustomed to.

“She was his race engineer!”

“He’s crazy!”

Saki, who had been at your desk to ask a question when you noticed Joshua on the TV and immediately unmuted it, speaks softly—surely not meant to be heard amongst the other girls’ shouting.

“He did seem tired.”

You tear your eyes off Joshua to frown at the student. You’re unsure if she was talking to you or to herself, but the observation shakes you to your core anyway. You would never admit it, but you watched every single race of his since you left. Before this, you don’t know that you would describe him as tired, but now, you’re not sure if you managed to miss something your student saw. You choose not to respond, finding your way back to your ex-driver’s face.

“There’s no way he’s serious! Is he serious?” 

“Why wouldn’t he be serious? His career has been tanking.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s because his race engineers haven’t been as good as Mick.”

“Maybe it’s time to get ahead of it and just retire while people still like him.”

“Shut up, Sophia!”

“Don’t talk to each other like that,” you mumble half-heartedly, too distracted by the TV to really reinforce the reprimand.

“He’s a legend! He had one bad season—” 

“Two,” someone says.

“Well, that’s not fair, he did pretty well this season.”

“—and now no one will give him a break.”

“Girl. He’s giving himself a break,” another voice chimes in.

“Anything other than first place is for losers.”

“This isn’t a break, this is career suici—”

“Okay!” a voice cuts sharply into the noise. You don’t flinch the way the girls do, eyes glued to the screen as Joshua patiently answers questions. The unmistakable clacking of the CEO’s heels striking the floor have all the girls straightening their posture. “Crazy news, I know.”

The TV turns off and you fight the urge to whine alongside the girls. You turn to look at Park Jihyo, who puts the remote back down on the edge of your desk where she found it.

“I know you’re all excited to be here together, but the season starts in just four months, and we’re hitting the ground running,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and looking every driver in the eye. “And you aren’t going to let news about the millionth man in F1 derail your chances at getting into a major team, now are you, ladies?”

There’s a chorus of nos as Jihyo nods once and claps her hands before making a shooing motion. 

“Good. Because there’s no room for distractions when you’re a woman,” she reminds them. It’s something you’ve heard nonstop since coming to F1 Academy as a technical executive and instructor. Most of the time, you felt like it was being drilled into your head, not the girls’. “Now get back to working on… whatever engineering thing Y/N has you working on.” You snort. “You’re due at the gym for cardiovascular training in two hours and I don’t want to hear that a single one of you was late, understood?”

“Understood!” a bunch of girls chirp as they hurriedly turn back to their respective computers. You sigh, ready to get back to guiding and teaching them, when Jihyo steps into your path. 

She smiles mischievously. 

“What…?” you ask slowly, subconsciously slinking away from her as she leans forward.

“Got a minute?”

You want to say no, but as close as you personally are to Jihyo, she’s still your boss and you refuse to show her any sort of disrespect in front of the students, whether or not it’s a joke.

“Sure,” you say, nodding for her to enter your office ahead of you before turning back to the girls. “Listen up. You feel something off in your steering—slight pull to the right, but there’s no warning on the dash. You’re in the points with 10 laps to go. Give me a few minutes with CEO Park and when I’m back, I want to hear what you’re telling your engineer and what your game plan is.”

The girls don’t bother responding, immediately turning back to their notebooks or computers and parsing out their thoughts. You follow Jihyo into the office attached to your classroom, closing the door behind you. She takes the seat at your desk across from your own, obviously expecting you to sit there. Instead, you plop onto the couch face down, making your boss roll her eyes at you.

“So,” she starts slowly and awkwardly, “how are you feeling…?”

You stare at her blankly, cheek pressed into the fabric of the sofa. “Fine?”

“Pfft.” She kicks her heels off before she sinks lower in her seat, making herself just as comfortable as you. “Joshua Hong just announced a sabbatical and you’re ‘fine’?”

The words are surreal. You just watched a news broadcast of his announcement and the subsequent press conference, and still, your brain wants to convince you Jihyo is lying. The sabbatical is one thing—that was becoming a more normalized event in the sport as drivers started to focus on their families and their mental health. But Joshua’s own words during the interview was another.

Joshua, what does this sabbatical mean for your career? Do you plan on returning to to the track?

I’m not sure at the moment what it means. Maybe it’s time for me to rest and get my head back in the game for next season. Maybe it’s the beginning of an early retirement. I don’t know. I just know it’s needed and I’m grateful McLaren is working with me to make it happen.

No hesitation. The words “early retirement” really came out of Joshua “I’m Going to Be Buried in an MCL60” Hong’s stupid, pretty mouth. You never thought you’d see the day.

“Why would Joshua Hong’s career decisions affect me?” you ask stubbornly, knowing you’re being purposefully daft. “We don’t work together anymore.” You throw a hand up to gesture lazily at your office. “Obviously. You poached me.”

Jihyo lets out a single bark of laughter. “HA! Poached! That’s funny considering you had your foot halfway out of McLaren when I reached out to you. Why was that again?” she asks with fake forgetfulness. “Oh, right! You fell in love with your driver.”

“Every day I regret telling you anything about myself.”

“You didn’t tell me. Drunk you did.”

You wave your hand at her in a silent “whatever.”

“Well, if you’re so ‘fine,’ I have a favor to ask of you.” 

“Okay?” you sigh, feeling very much like the teenage girls outside of your office right now. It’s crazy what a man can do to your mood even two years after completely abandoning him. “You need me to look over more designs for this season?”

Jihyo scoffs like she’s about to say no before stopping herself. “Actually, yes, I do, but that’s not what my favor is. Especially because that’s not a favor, that’s your job.”

You try not to laugh. 

“I need you to poach someone for me.”

You immediately tense. She doesn’t continue, letting the words really sink in. You scramble up onto your knees from where you were sprawled across the couch.

“What the hell are you saying right now?”

“I’m saying that the best driver on the grid is on sabbatical a measly 2-hour flight from here, for who knows how long, and these girls could benefit from learning from the best of the absolute fucking best.”

“Joshua wants to rest,” you immediately argue. “And frankly, he needs it! The man has been behind some kind of wheel for an ungodly amount of years!”

“And you don’t think going from his schedule at McLaren to a schedule teaching girls here won’t be a significant change of pace for him?” she asks incredulously. “Please! Tell me that the transition didn’t feel like a full-on retirement, even for you.”

Jihyo isn’t wrong. 

Being a race engineer was deceptively tiring. A lot of people reduced it to sitting at a monitor for two hours, but your days were long and grueling and a lot more demanding than just race days. You were involved in what felt like countless hours of engineering debriefs, research and development, spreadsheets (god, the spreadsheets), and not to mention, Joshua made you somewhat of his personal therapist, begging you to follow him around the facility when he was in for practice sessions or training. If you stood your ground and refused, you’d find him following you around. 

Not to mention the traveling. Or the actual race days.

Coming to F1 Academy was a breath of fresh air. Sure, you came feeling like the wind had been knocked out of you, but that had more to do with leaving Joshua than anything else. F1 Academy slowed life down for you. 

The schedule wasn’t completely less forgiving; you were still on a race schedule, but instead of traveling to 21 different countries and having 24 different races over the course of nine months, you only had to attend 7 races in 6 different countries in roughly the same amount of time. On top of that, you weren’t a superstar driver’s race engineer. You weren’t anybody’s engineer; all you had to do was supervise and step in if someone was struggling with a student driver. Compared to F1, it practically felt like vacation.

And even more than that, it felt meaningful, cultivating the careers of aspiring female drivers and giving them a path into a male-dominated sport. You know better than anyone else that Joshua would absolutely love it.

“I think this would be good for Hong, and I think this would be good for you,” she tells you. 

You try not to balk at her. “Do you hear yourself? You think it would be good for your technical executive and head engineering instructor to work with the man she left her last position for? You said it yourself! I was in love with him!”

You ignore the way Jihyo very obviously tries to keep from rolling her eyes at your use of the word “was.”

“You can deny it all you want but I know there is something very… unresolved there,” she says, lip curling in mock disgust at the sheer thought of emotions. “And even if it’s not romantic—”

“What do you mean?!” you laugh incredulously. “It should not be romantic if we’re going to be working here together! You should actually be discouraging that as my boss.”

“Pfft,” she waves a hand. “I’m not in HR. That is not my job. If I want to ship two of my employees—”

“He’s not even an employee yet.”

“—then I will ship two of my employees.”

“You are so ridiculous.”

“Besides, you didn’t even let me finish,” she pouts at you. You nod in defeat and let her continue. “Like I was saying, even if it’s not romantic—and I’ll proudly be the first to admit I hope it’s romantic!” she says the disclaimer quickly and in one breath, “I’d still love to see you fix your friendship with him. I know it mattered a lot to both of you.”

Your relationship to Jihyo changed overnight. One day, she was your funny, albeit intimidating boss, and then with the help of several bottles of soju and an Academy staff karaoke night, she was suddenly visiting your office at least twice a day, you were constantly hanging out outside of work, and you knew everything about each other. Including how much you cherished Joshua, not as someone you were in love with, but as a human being you loved, period.

“But I won’t pretend this is selfless,” she sighs. “We’re three seasons into the Academy, going on four, and we have yet to see any of our graduates enter F1.”

You fidget uncomfortably. It’s a stress point for the entire organization and something you’re reminded of in what feels like every meeting. 

“I don’t need to remind you what little time we have to prove this program a success.”

Three more seasons after this next one. 

When the program was conceived, F1 agreed to see what the Academy could achieve in seven seasons. They wanted at least two female drivers in F1 by then, but the stretch goal was to have the winning graduate from every season on a team, even as reserve drivers. That didn’t happen, but they could still get two girls in there; it would just mean having to do it very, very soon.

“No…” you shake your head. “You don’t need to remind me.”

You sit on your couch properly and stare at Jihyo, who refuses to continue speaking. She’s letting you stew in your thoughts, well aware your overactive brain will be better at convincing you than she ever will.

Finally, you groan.

She doesn’t even have the decency to wait for you to agree that Joshua is the best answer before she’s clapping excitedly. She’s infuriating but she’s right. It would be mutually beneficial; the girls would inherit a wealth of knowledge from a driver like him, and he would see what you get to every day: how easy it is to make a difference when your life isn’t solely on the track.

And you don’t know why he’s taken this break, but you have a nagging feeling that’s exactly what he needs.

“Okay, okay, relax,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “How do we even do this? McLaren would’ve had him sign an ironclad agreement that guarantees his return to the team from sabbatical… unless he decides to retire.” You feel your stomach lurch at the idea.

Jihyo waves a hand like the legalities of Joshua’s employment don’t matter to her. “You don’t worry your beautiful, little head about that. While you were all busy screaming at the TV like banshees, I was already on the phone convincing the big guy to let us at him.”

“You asked the CEO of McLaren? And he agreed to you stealing Joshua during his sabbatical…?” 

It doesn’t sound anything like the staunch businessman you came to know over the decade you spent at his organization. He was nice enough, but he was also incredibly greedy—in all the ways that rich men always are. But there was nothing he was greedier about than talent. When he liked a driver—and more importantly, when a driver delivered wins, and therefore money—he kept him forever. Even if that meant convoluted contracts with tricky fine prints. You doubt that has changed.

“No,” she says, smirking and looking incredibly pleased with herself, “I did not ask. I bartered. I already had a leg up since that neon orange eyesore of a company of yours is our biggest proponent.”

If McLaren’s CEO’s greed was good for one thing, it was that he wanted the best of the best, and that absolutely included women. As such, he’s been the only CEO very enthusiastically circling the Academy looking for his next star. 

“I told him if he gave me Hong during his sabbatical, he could have first pick from our litter of talented ladies during any one season he’s interested in,” Jihyo informs you.

You stare blankly at her. “Like the NBA draft…?”

“Girl, I only know cars. I don’t know what that means.”

“Right,” you nod, opting to move on instead of explain. “What if that girl doesn’t want to sign with McLaren?”

Jihyo scoffs. “Then she doesn’t sign with McLaren! I’m not the devil, Y/N; I’m not selling souls here. I’m just giving him the first chance to meet and talk to a driver of his choice before any of the other neanderthals. Convincing her he’s good enough to sign with him is all on him.”

You hum in understanding. “Okay, so why can’t he just tell Joshua himself?”

“So that’s my hiccup,” she groans. “He said he’s all ours if he says yes, but he seems convinced that this is the last thing Hong would want to do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay… well then, he doesn’t know him at all. This is the exact kind of thing he’d want to do.”

You know because he invited you to enough non-profit events he supported in the off season to volunteer with him, join him on a panel about F1, or just show face. This is exactly up his alley.

Jihyo shrugs. “He says, ‘The boy has lost his spark,’” she imitates him in an exaggeratedly deep and hoarse voice. “Even if that’s true, I have the perfect person to give him that spark right back!”

She grins widely, blinking her eyes rapidly at you.

“Your faith in me is astronomical.”

“No, your doubt in yourself is astronomical,” she corrects, rolling her eyes. “I’m willing to bet $100,000 that even two years after quitting each other cold turkey, Joshua Hong is still willing to bend over backwards for you.”

You wince at the wording. You don’t like the idea that you quit him because it wasn’t like that. You quit the chance to stay in love with him.

“He has never bent over backwards for me.”

In fact, you’d argue the roles were reversed. It was kind of in your job description as his race engineer: bend over backwards to make sure your driver becomes a renowned champion.

“Oh, Y/N,” she sighs, smiling softly. “My naive child.”

You glare. 

“No bet?” she asks innocently before shrugging. “Okay, smart move for you, honestly. You would’ve been out a pretty penny.” 

She starts slipping her feet back into her heels, obviously ready to go off to whatever her next endeavor is. Probably plotting what other ways she can complicate your life.

“Look,” she sighs, slapping her hands against her lap when she finished putting her shoes on, “if he doesn’t want to do it, then he doesn’t want to do it and I’ll just have to take no for an answer. It would suck because I’d still have to hold up my end of the bargain with McLaren either way, but we obviously can’t force the guy to do anything. It would just be a nice plus for not only the girls, but for you. I know it.”

You don’t bother trying to deny it, not because you agree; you actually vehemently disagree, and you have the evidence to prove it would not be good for you. 

Exhibit A: in the months following your realization you were in love with Joshua Hong, you were a nauseating mix of absolutely miserable and absolutely thrilled any time you were with him (almost all the time). It was exhausting and it sucked the life out of you. 

Exhibit B: you were always distracted. Maybe never during a race because your only focus was making sure your driver won and that he won safely. But every other moment of the day, you were thinking about Joshua, talking to Joshua, listening to Joshua, trying not to scream while Joshua followed you around everywhere, watching Joshua, averting your eyes when Joshua looked up, talking to Wonwoo about Joshua, studying Joshua’s stats, debriefing Joshua’s last race, wondering if you’d see Joshua, daydreaming about Joshua, getting hopelessly lovesick over Joshua—Joshua, Joshua, Joshua!!!

None of that can be good for you.

You don’t deny that it would be good for you because you agree with her; you just don’t have the energy to confront the questions that would require denying it. The main question being: would any of that even be a problem if you’re not in love with him anymore? Because wasn’t that the point of leaving McLaren? To stop being in love? And if you’re not in love with him anymore, then why are you so worried about having to be in his proximity?

You take a deep breath as Jihyo stands.

“When do I go?” you look up at her as she walks to the door of your office. She looks back at you and smiles.

“I have the company plane ready for you at Heathrow. Wheels up in an hour.” Your mouth drops in shock. She turns to leave before seeming to remember something. “Oh, and your sub is standing in the hall ready to take over for the girls.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Wrong. I’m efficient.”

a/n: eeeep!!! this one’s gonna be a long one, y’all. i’m at a little over 30k rn and i expect to land nearer to 50 🫣 all fics from the collab will post by the end of the month! to join the official c&e studios tag list, click here! please note that this is the collab tag list and not mine. you can choose to be notified of any or all of the authors’ fics! hope you’ll support all 26 of us! ❤️🏎️

It’s already 8 p.m. Bedtime, supposedly. The word "night" seems to apply to every child except yours.

You just want him to tire out. One fall to the floor, one yawn, one blink-too-long—anything, but Jihyun is all fire and no smoke, burning endlessly.

You’re tired, not the kind that sleep can fix, but the kind that settles deep in your bones. Jihoon is still out working, pulling extra hours so the three of you can live comfortably. That leaves just you and the hyperactive tornado that refuses to stop spinning. The only person in this household who doesn’t have a care in the world is, ironically, the smallest one.

God, how you want to scream into a pillow or take a solo vacation, but you remind yourself: he’s just a child, a very loud, very fast child. So instead, you close your eyes for a second and call his name again, this time with a bit more desperation, a bit less hope.

"Lee Jihyun, please."

"But mummy! I’m still being a spaceship!"

Your eye twitches.

You mentally beg the universe for a miracle—a tripwire, a power outage, a spontaneous nap. You glance toward the kitchen, thinking longingly about that untouched bottle of wine sitting beside a half-open bag of chips. You could be sipping it in silence right now. Sweet, sweet silence.

Before he was born, you and Jihoon imagined a quiet kid. After all, you were both introverts—bookworms, homebodies, people who could go days without speaking and not feel the slightest awkwardness. But fate had other plans. It skipped your genes and handed Jihyun a double dose of grandparent extroversion instead.

He has Jihoon’s everything, your stubbornness, and your mom’s party-animal energy.

Once upon a time, you both dreamt of having two kids. That dream was quietly folded and packed away after Jihyun turned three and started climbing the bookshelf "for fun."

And pets? Ha, that was another pre-child fantasy. A cat, maybe. A dog, if Jihoon got his way. Even birds were on the list once. But now? You’ve got Jihyun. And really, that’s more than enough. He meows, barks, sings, and chirps—all in one body. A full-time zoo with one very small, very loud resident.

You sigh again and sink onto the couch, watching your son spin in circles.

At this point, you actually wish Jihoon would come home right now, save you from spiraling into full-blown insanity. And perhaps your soulmate senses really do exist, because just as the thought passes your mind, you hear the familiar hum of a car pulling up by the house. The engine shuts off, a car door clicks closed, and the faint jiggling of keys follows.

Your lips immediately curve upward. It’s almost like energy surges back into your body, as if Jihoon’s arrival recharges you more than sleep ever could.

"Jihyun-ah, your daddy’s home," you say, your voice soft but finally laced with some relief.

Like a switch flipped, the front door swings open, and just like that, Jihyun shrieks with excitement, "DADDY!!" and bolts toward his father.

You trail behind, much slower, watching as Jihoon, clearly exhausted from work, drops everything and catches his son in a hug, lifting him with practiced ease. Despite the fatigue on his face, he smiles at you, and leans in to press a tired kiss against your temple.

"Welcome home," you whisper, like your prince has finally returned from war, saving you from a battlefield made of toys, noise, and spilled juice.

You glance at Jihyun, eyebrows furrowed. "Now that Daddy’s home, it’s bedtime, young man."

"But I want to hear a bedtime story!" Jihyun pouts immediately.

You let out a sigh, so soft it’s nearly a whimper. "Please help..." you mutter under your breath.

Jihoon hears it and laughs gently before turning to Jihyun. "Lee Jihyun, go get ready for bed. We’ll read you a bedtime story only if you’re already tucked in."

"Okay!!" your son yells, wriggling out of Jihoon’s arms and racing to his bedroom.

You exhale, stepping closer to Jihoon and wrapping your arms around him, breathing in the familiar scent of home and love all wrapped into one man.

"Gosh, I missed you so much," you murmur.

Jihoon chuckles and plants a kiss on your neck. "Was he giving you a hard time?"

"More like... he drained all my remaining life force."

He laughs again, and his fingers absentmindedly draw circles on your waist. "You’re beautiful."

You giggle, nuzzling into his neck. "You say that every day."

"Gotta make sure your princess ego stays high."

You click your tongue in amusement. "You do know we can’t see colors, right? Don’t lie to me when you literally can’t see me in colors."

He grins. "Beauty doesn’t need color. I still remember what you looked like before everything turned grayscale. And I’m telling you, you’re just as beautiful now as you were then."

You blink, heart fluttering slightly. "…Well, if that’s the case, then you’re handsome too."

"Mummy! Daddy!" Jihyun shouts from his room, the magic moment cut short—as always.

You sigh heavily. "We seriously need alone time."

Jihoon grins. "Want me to drop him off at your parents’ house tomorrow?"

"Please. Anytime. As long as it’s soon."

He laughs, presses a soft kiss to your nose, and gently lets go of you. Together, you walk to Jihyun’s room.

When you arrive, he’s already tucked under the covers, his eyes sparkling like he hasn’t spent the last hour running around like a tornado. The moment you both sit beside him, one on each side, he immediately perks up.

"What story do you want to hear tonight?" Jihoon asks.

"Anything!" Jihyun beams.

You pause for a moment, a smile tugging at your lips as a random memory flits into your mind. "Alright. How about this..."

"Once upon a time, before you were born, there was a lady who just graduated, rushing her way to-"

"Wait, wait! What is a graduate?" Jihyun interrupts.

You giggle. "It means when you finish school."

"Oh! Okay, continue mummy!"

"Mum, wait- hold on! Where’s my blazer?"

You nearly trip over your long, formal black pants, feet dragging across the hallway like you’re in a half-conscious fashion show. Your hair is a disaster, sticking out in ways gravity can’t explain. Your mum, ever calm in the chaos, walks over and throws the black blazer straight at your face.

"Y/N, you’ve got to prepare everything the night before," she scolds, casual as ever.

You don’t even argue, not when you're still trying to figure out which limb goes where in your clothes. The first-day-of-work panic is a very specific kind of chaos, and unfortunately, it’s one you’re living through right now. You overslept thanks to your loving, but utterly useless, alarm clock. Your savior ended up being your mum, knocking on your door with the force of destiny.

You shove a piece of bread in your mouth, toss your bag over your shoulder, and yell a muffled, "I’m going!" before slamming the door behind you. The bicycle ride is nothing short of dramatic. Hair flying, blazer flapping, heart pounding louder than the traffic around you.

By the time you reach the office building, your legs are jelly. You park your bicycle, lock it in record time, and dash inside the air-conditioned lobby. The sudden drop in temperature doesn’t even faze you. You jab the elevator button, willing it to move faster.

When the elevator finally dings open, you practically fly out. You swipe your card at the glass door-

"Oh, you arrived… on time!"

Your high school friend greets you with mock astonishment. You stagger in and finally let out the breath you’ve been holding since you left home. Dragging your chair back, you collapse into it like a tragic protagonist.

"I’m… dying…" you manage between gasps.

She laughs but doesn’t look away from her screen. "Exaggerate much?"

"Maybe," you wheeze dramatically, "but let me have this moment."

"Yeah, yeah. Wrap it up fast. We’ve got a mountain of stuff to finish today."

You straighten up and turn on your computer. "We just started! It’s literally our first day, since when do we get buried in work like seasoned employees?"

"Apparently, the newbie celebration is postponed," she replies dryly, clicking away.

You glance around. Everyone else looks busy. Tired. Professional. You sigh and crack your knuckles with a small grimace. "Well, guess it’s time to earn our salaries."

The hours blur. Time becomes a mix of typing, replying, writing, fixing, until eventually, day melts into night. The bright blue skies outside shift into a deeper hue, fading into evening.

You stretch your back and sigh in relief, looking down at your watch.

The countdown… it’s almost done.

Your lips curve into a slow smile. Your friend side-eyes you suspiciously as you start packing your things faster than lightning.

"What’s with the rush?" she asks.

You flash your watch in front of her. "Soulmate incoming."

Her eyebrows lift. "Oh? It’s today?"

You nod, cheeks warm. "I already informed the company about the date and time. It’s all logged in, approved and everything."

"Wow. You’re actually glowing right now."

"I feel like glowing!" you laugh, patting her shoulder. "Wish me luck. See you tomorrow!"

With that, you head out of the building, practically skipping. You unlock your bicycle and start pedaling down the familiar streets, humming a little melody under your breath. There's a gentle breeze tonight. Cool, comforting, and filled with possibility.

Every turn of your pedals brings you closer. Closer to someone who’s destined for you. Someone you haven’t met yet, but somehow already feels like home.

Your fingers graze your watch again.

Tonight… you meet your soulmate.

You slow your pace as you near the pedestrian crossing, feet tapping the ground lightly as you balance your bicycle. The red man flashes stubbornly on the signal post, holding back your excitement for just a little longer.

Your eyes flick to your watch. The timer still ticking down, your heartbeat syncing with it. You can already feel your chest tightening in anticipation. The moment is near.

Finally, the light changes. The green man appears.

You start pedaling again, pushing forward with renewed energy. The air feels different now, cooler, quieter, like the whole world is gently holding its breath.

Your neighborhood draws near, and so does the small garden you pass by every day. Just as you're about to ride past it like usual, something makes you stop. A pull, a feeling, a whisper in your chest telling you: Here.

You hit the brakes, the tires skidding softly against the road. You slowly get off your bicycle, wheeling it with you as you step into the garden. It's quiet, the soft rustling of leaves is the only sound, save for the distant hum of cars.

You make your way toward the center, your breath starting to quicken. There’s no one here yet, but your watch tells you otherwise.

Five seconds.

You stop, stand still, smile growing wider.

Three seconds.

You turn toward the side road, eyes watching and waiting.

Two.

Someone walks past the path just behind the bushes, just in view.

One.

Your watch flashes.

Zero.

You gasp softly and, without thinking twice, let go of your bicycle. It crashes softly onto the grass as you run forward, heart thundering. Without hesitation, you reach out, grab the stranger’s hand. You gasp the moment your fingers wrap around the stranger’s hand.

At once, the world around you hesitates, not freezing, but slowing, like a breath being held.

Then, it starts.

Color. Fading. Not all at once, but gradually. The rich green of the trees dulls into muted olive. The sky, once tinged with the warm blush of sunset, begins to desaturate into a washed-out grey-blue.

Your heart plummets.

No- no, no, no.

You yank your hand away like it’s burning you, your breath hitching. You glance down at your wrist-

Your watch is gone. But before panic can fully settle, your eyes land on the man still standing in front of you, his gaze equally alarmed, wrist now bare as well.

His eyes are scanning the space just past you. And instinctively, you turn. Behind him… someone stands frozen mid-step. A man, dressed formally. Wide-eyed.

Your eyes lock. And in that moment, you know. It’s him. The real one. The person your heart was supposed to find. But it’s too late.

Because as you stare at the first man, the one whose hand you accidentally took, you watch his pupils dilate slightly as his gaze flicks to the sky. His lips part in shock.

"Where… where did the colors go?"

You can feel it too, the dulling of the world, like someone is slowly turning down the saturation dial on your life. And then you hear movement.

The real one, your soulmate, lowers his gaze to his wrist. His watch is still there, but flickering faintly. Then, in one last silent blink of light. It, too, disappears.

Your heart clenches. You look at him. He looks at you. And for a second, time holds the space between you like glass.

You whisper, "I touched the wrong person…"

The wrong man looks at you, startled, but your eyes don’t leave the one behind him.

Your real soulmate doesn’t say a word. And now, the consequence settles: your colors are fading… together.

You and the wrong person.

The universe had made its rule clear. And it does not undo mistakes.

"I’m- I’m so sorry," you mutter, bowing slightly toward the man you just touched. He looks confused at first, then his expression shifts as he glances down at his wrist, where his own watch has vanished. Realization dawns on him too. His eyes lose the warmth of colour, turning hollow with monochrome.

You want to cry. Because you knew it. The moment your hand brushed his, it didn’t feel like home. It didn’t feel like the moment everyone talks about. But you were desperate. The timer was at zero, and you reached without thinking.

You forced fate.

"I’m sorry," you whisper again, softer this time, more to yourself than to him, as your gaze slowly lifts to the path where the real one had been.

He walked away. The person who walked just behind… the one your instincts were really tugging you toward. The one whose presence made your smile widen.

Your knees weaken slightly as you grip your bicycle’s handle for support, biting your lip to stop the sting in your chest from showing on your face. You glance around, but the street is quiet again. No footsteps, no second chance.

You touched the wrong person. And now… your world is grey.

The stranger doesn’t say anything at first. He stands there, unmoving, as if processing the sudden loss of colour in his world. You keep apologizing, voice barely holding together. "I’m sorry… I’m really sorry…"

And maybe, deep down, you expect him to walk away. To leave you here with your mistake. But instead, he lets out a long, quiet sigh, and squats down beside you.

You glance at him through blurry eyes, stunned.

He avoids your gaze. His expression is unreadable, tense even, but he’s here.

He’s mad, of course he is. You can feel it in the silence that hangs between you. After all, your touch didn’t just cost you your colours, it cost him his too. You took away his chance to find his real soulmate. His timer, now useless. His fate, rewritten because of your excitement and your mistake.

But what’s done is done and he knows that. There’s no turning back now. So instead of scolding you, or walking away, he stays. And maybe that’s the most forgiving thing he can offer right now.

You sniffle and wipe your face, whispering again, "I really didn’t mean to-"

He glances at you, then slowly, almost reluctantly, raises his hand and places it gently on your head. A soft pat. Awkward and hesitant, but comforting in its own strange way.

"I’m not forgiving you yet," he murmurs, gaze still fixed forward. "But…"

A pause.

"…we’re stuck with each other now."

He finally looks at you, something fragile and resigned behind his eyes.

"So let’s work hard for our future then."

His voice is quiet, but it reaches you, and it’s enough to keep your tears from falling. You nod slowly, heart heavy, but grateful. Then he reaches out his hand for a truce.

"My name is Lee Jihoon. You?"

"Y/F/N," you say, sniffing as you take his hand.

It’s a strange moment, shaking hands with someone who was never meant to be yours, yet fate somehow chained you together. Numbers are exchanged, and as both of you part ways that day, there's an unspoken agreement: to try.

At first, the following weeks are bearable. You and Jihoon try to build something out of this mistake. You start with simple things: morning texts, shared playlists, lunch meetups. There's an effort, even if it’s awkward. You try to match his pace; he tries to understand your silence.

But it doesn’t take long for the cracks to show.

You can’t stand how Jihoon shuts down mid-conversation when things get tough. He hates how you retreat when overwhelmed instead of speaking up. You forget to respond to messages; he forgets important dates. It builds, slowly, like pressure in a pipe.

Then the first fight happens.

It’s loud, bitter, and filled with everything you’ve been holding back. The argument leaves both of you storming off in different directions, and it bleeds into the following days.

You vent to your friends, words tumbling out in frustration: "He’s so difficult. I’m trying, but he’s not giving anything back."

Unbeknownst to you, Jihoon does the same to his family. "We don’t even fit. She talks like we’re stuck. Maybe because we are."

But your friends aren’t as sympathetic as you expected.

"You touched him first," one says carefully. "You took his color away, Y/N. You caused this. You need to face it."

That stings, because it’s true. You sit with the guilt, let it weigh down your pride. Then, one evening, you knock on Jihoon’s door. He opens it with guarded eyes, arms crossed, but doesn’t shut the door.

"I’m sorry," you whisper. "Not just for the fight. For... everything."

There’s a pause, then a sigh.

Jihoon steps aside to let you in, and after a beat of silence, he murmurs, "It’s okay. I forgive you."

Neither of you says it, but you both know this road won’t ever be easy. Still, for now... you try again.

One year went by, and after weeks of hesitation and overthinking, both you and Jihoon decided to stay together under the same roof. It felt surreal at first—cozy, a little unfamiliar, but hopeful. Yet, the reality of living together wasn’t as simple as aligning your wardrobes or deciding whose turn it was to do the dishes.

Arguments started, and not just small ones. Staying together meant seeing everything: his quirks, his habits, his cold silences when he was angry, the way he always left the sponge soaking in the sink. And for him, he saw how easily you cried when things piled up, how your moods could swing without warning, how sometimes your words hurt even when you didn’t mean them to.

There were nights when one of you would sleep on the couch. There were times when neither of you spoke until the next day. But the arguments were quickly dismissed and recovered from, not because you were magically in sync, but because you both genuinely tried. You both put in the effort to make this wrong soulmate relationship work.

When the wedding preparations came, it was nearly a disaster. Decisions clashed—theme, venue, guest list, vows. It all spiraled until both your parents had to sit you down separately, reminding you of the promise both of you made, and the choice you were now growing into.

And so, the wedding was held successfully. It wasn’t a fairytale wedding. It was something better and real.

Yes, you love Jihoon. And Jihoon, in his own ways, loves you too. But some parts of him still irritated you, just as some parts of you rubbed him the wrong way. It was the side effect of touching the wrong soulmate. The faint sense that something was always... just slightly off. But by now, you’ve both learned how to live with it.

It took a long time to agree to have a child. You were afraid that the constant arguments might come back, especially with the added weight of hormones, fatigue, and stress. But Jihoon listened, held your hand, and agreed to wait until you were truly ready.

Eventually, you both welcomed Lee Jihyun into the world.

That nine months of pregnancy were no walk in the park. You were emotional, unpredictable, and sometimes irrational. There were nights you wanted to pick a fight over something as small as him breathing too loudly. But Jihoon, he always apologized first, always lowered his pride.

And after Jihyun was born, as the cries of a newborn filled your once-quiet home, you slowly started repaying Jihoon in your own quiet ways. You didn’t say "I’m sorry" out loud, but it showed in the way you ran your fingers through his hair when he was tired, in the way you cooked his favorite dishes without him asking, in how you tucked a handwritten note into his coat pocket when he left for work.

You weren’t the right soulmates, but maybe, just maybe, you were building something just as meaningful.

You blink, pulled out of the story as your son turns to face you beneath the covers, his small voice fragile in the stillness of the room.

"So... is this why I can’t see colours as well?"

The question strikes deeper than any blade. You freeze, your lips part slightly, but no sound escapes.

Guilt swells in your chest like a rising tide. Of course he noticed. Of course he’s always wondered. He was born from two people who were meant to see colours—vivid, vibrant, living colours. But instead... his world has always been dull, muted, like a painting washed too many times.

And it’s your fault.

Your fingers clutch at the edge of his blanket, knuckles turning white. You open your mouth to explain, but nothing comes out, just silence.

Before you can gather the words, Jihoon’s voice gently cuts through the room.

"It’s not your mom’s fault," he says quietly from the doorway, arms folded, but his tone soft. "Sometimes... mistakes happen. And they’re not always fair."

You glance up at him. He’s looking at your son, but he spares you a fleeting glance, one that doesn’t accuse. One that still, somehow, holds a trace of warmth.

"Your mom didn’t mean to choose wrong. And I should’ve reached out before it was too late." He smiles sadly. "We both messed up. But even so, we got you."

Your son stares at both of you, blinking. "But... I don’t get it. If you two are soulmates, why did I lose the colours?"

You inhale sharply.

Jihoon’s hand rests over your son’s. "Because by the time we found our way back to each other... the damage was already done."

You turn your gaze away, eyes stinging. You don’t know what hurts more. The fact that your mistake cost your son something precious, or the fact that Jihoon still spares you from blame, even now.

Your son quickly shrugs off the weight of the question, announcing with a small yawn, "I’ll go to sleep now." Maybe he saw how tense you and Jihoon had become, or maybe he already knew the answer deep down.

"Goodnight," you both say in near unison, standing by the door as he nestles under the covers. Jihoon gently closes the door after one last glance at Jihyun.

A quiet sigh leaves your lips. Jihoon’s hand rests lightly on your back, rubbing small circles as he guides you down the hallway toward the dining room. The house is dim, warm with leftover candlelight from dinner.

He pours you a glass of wine first, setting it gently before you before pouring his own. You take a seat, grab a piece of the leftover chips from the bowl, and toss it into your mouth.

The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s loaded, like the weight of the bedtime story still lingers between you both. He sits across from you, quietly observing, waiting. The wine glass sits untouched in his hand, his eyes focused only on you.

"You did well," he says after a pause. "With the story, I mean."

You nod, chewing slower, thinking about your son’s question again, and the truth behind it.

You take a small sip of the wine, feeling the warmth trickle down your chest. Jihoon watches you for a beat longer before rising from his seat. He rounds the table and pulls the chair beside you, sitting close enough that his thigh brushes yours under the table.

Your gaze stays on the dim candle flickering in the center of the table. "He shouldn’t have to suffer for our mistakes," you murmur, voice fragile.

Jihoon doesn't answer right away. Instead, he reaches over and gently takes your hand, his thumb brushing the back of it slowly. "It’s not suffering," he says quietly. "He’s growing up with love. That matters more than the colours."

You look at him, finally. His eyes, though colourless to you, are kind, reassuring, familiar in the way only Jihoon could be. And when he offers a small smile, the kind that tugs a little crookedly at one corner of his mouth, you almost forget the guilt.

"You always say the right things," you whisper.

He scoffs, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple. "I don’t. But for you, I try."

Your eyes flutter closed at the warmth of his lips. Then, turning slightly, you rest your head on his shoulder. "I’m tired," you admit.

"I know."

You stay like that for a while. Just the two of you in the quiet night, wrapped in the kind of silence only people who’ve known each other deeply can share. His hand never leaves yours. And even if you can’t see colour anymore, in this moment, it feels like you don’t need to. Not when he's beside you.

The night hums softly outside the windows, cicadas singing somewhere far off, but inside, everything feels still, and peaceful. Your body leans into Jihoon’s side, and you feel him shift slightly, only to loop his arm around yours.

His fingers trace idle, slow circles over your forearm, no pressure, just presence. It’s a silent kind of love. The kind that doesn’t need to be spoken out loud to be heard. You don't look at him, and he doesn’t ask you to. You don’t have to, he knows.

You sigh quietly, the weight on your chest lightening just a little more. "Thanks for… staying."

His voice comes low, right beside your ear. "I’m not going anywhere."

You let your head fall more comfortably against him, your shoulders sinking as the tension begins to ease. Jihoon doesn’t fill the silence with empty words or solutions. He just exists there with you. His hand still drawing circles on your arm, his body warm beside yours, his breathing steady, like a quiet promise that even if the world spun off-course, he’d still be here.

"I don’t say it enough," you murmur after a while, voice barely above a whisper. "But I’m really glad it’s you."

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just presses a small kiss to the top of your head, lingering. Then he murmurs, "Even if I’m not the one you were meant to meet first?"

You close your eyes. "You’re the one I chose."

His fingers pause for a second, then resume their soft movement, steadier now, like your words grounded him. His other hand gently squeezes yours. You stay like that, not as perfect people or soulmates with clear colours, but as two people who’ve built something with their hands, their time, and their hearts.

Eventually, the wine glasses sit half-empty on the table, the chips forgotten between gentle conversation and silent understanding. You and Jihoon both rise, wordlessly in sync, heading to the bathroom to wash up. The night winds down quietly, like a song you’ve both heard a hundred times but still hum along to.

By the time you reach the master bedroom, the lights are dimmed low, the soft rustle of the sheets greeting you as you both slip beneath the blankets. Jihoon’s arm finds its way around you naturally, his fingers resting just above your hip, his warmth seeping into your skin.

"You okay?" he whispers, voice muffled slightly against your hair.

You nod, settling closer. "Better now."

And so begins a sweet, lingering conversation, one without timelines or obligations. Just stories, dreams, old memories that make you laugh and pause, and quiet questions like "What do you think we’ll be like in ten years?" answered with sleepy optimism.

Your legs tangle under the covers, his thumb lazily brushing along your arm as you talk about everything and nothing at all. Time slips by unnoticed, and the night stretches on like a comforting cocoon—soft, warm, safe.

Eventually, your voices fade to murmurs, then to hums, then, nothing but the sound of two hearts resting easy in each other’s company.

Wrapped in Jihoon’s arms, your head tucked against his chest, you drift off. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like everything is, finally, just right.

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.

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

❑ SMUT WARNINGS  — scene 1: unprotected sex (don’t do), grinding, slight dirty talk, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), piv sex, finger sucking, use of pet names (hers: sweetheart, my love, blossom, my petal/petal, etc.; his: Hwa, baby, etc.), and that should be all here! — scene 2: oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), handjob (m receiving), dirty talk, use of pet names (darling, Blossom), and that is all there is in this scene. — scene 3: mild stripping (lol), unprotected sex (wrap it), oral (m receiving, f receiving), mild face fucking (f receiving), deepthroating, fingering (f receiving), piv sex, first time penetration, dirty talk, cum inside, use of pet names (hers: Blossom, sweetheart, baby, petal, darling, love, princess; his: Hwa, baby), and that’s all here!

Train stations had never been one of Seonghwa’s favorite places to visit. They were busy, loud, and often filthy but he knew they were necessary for long distance travel. He would just have to get over the shrill blasting of the train whistles and the whine of the steam engines as he followed you towards the first class compartments. 

He glanced behind him at his valet, Alfred, before looking ahead to where you were walking with your own lady’s maid, Charlotte. The station around him was crowded, save for the small gap between the edge of the platform and the throngs of people waiting to board and go through inspection.

“It’s this one right here, sir,” Alfred said, gesturing to the compartment as he came to a stop. 

Seonghwa looked up as the door opened, he gestured for you to go before him, waiting patiently as you and Charlotte climbed the steps up to the compartment. Seonghwa followed, Alfred following as they boarded the train.

The train was starting to fill up as you led the way to your assigned rooms. They weren’t too far back in the compartment. You checked the tickets once more, looking up at the room numbers before stopping to turn and look back at Seonghwa.

“It’s this one,” you said softly as Charlotte opened one of the doors and you peered inside. Alfred squeezed past Seonghwa to help Charlotte with the few smaller bags brought onto the train. The larger luggage had already been hauled on board while you and Seonghwa went through inspection. You sat down by the window, looking out onto the platform as Seonghwa sat across from you.

Once the bags had been properly stowed away, Charlotte leant down, whispering something to you Seonghwa couldn’t hear. You shook your head, waving your hand simply. “Would you like me to get you anything, sir?” Seonghwa glanced up before shaking his head no.

He turned to look at you, taking in your focused expression. The door shut with a soft click as Charlotte took her seat beside you. Alfred, no doubt, went to find the facilities so when the time came, he wouldn’t have to ask or check. Seonghwa watched as Charlotte fidgeted in her seat, looking around the compartment at everything except him or you for that matter.

Seonghwa glanced at you again, noticing the way you watched the people outside the window with intense scrutiny. He wondered what was going on in that head of yours, attempting to hide a smile and failing. He cleared his throat, turning to Charlotte. “Could you get Y/N something to drink?” he asked kindly.

Thankful for something to do, Charlotte nodded and jumped up, opening the door before disappearing past the window as the door shut with another soft click. You let out a sigh as Seonghwa turned back to face you.

“What is it?” he asked, now that you were alone. You turned to look at him, a look of shock as you realized you were now alone in the compartment together. “Where did—”

“Facilities and tea,” Seonghwa answered simply. “What were you looking at?” he asked, turning to look out the window. You shook your head, settling back in your seat as you laced your fingers together, placing your hands on your lap.

Seonghwa smiled as he watched you, studying your movements. “What’s wrong?” he asked, brow furrowing when he noticed your slightly worried expression. You looked up, your look of concern fading instantly. “Nothing,” you answered. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Seonghwa leaned forward, taking your hands and pulling them apart. “We don’t have to do this,” he reminded you. “We can just go back, get married, and then start our lives. We don’t have to go through with this,” he added. You smiled, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

“I know,” you replied. “But it’s going to be fun!” you added, a wave of excitement coursing through you. It was infectious. Your excitement for adventure and thirst for knowledge. It was one of your many qualities Seonghwa found extremely endearing.

But despite the excitement that seemed to roll off you at the prospect of adventure and exploration, there was a lurking feeling of dread inside him. He wanted so many times to call off this trip. To let the tickets go to waste. He’d tried in vain to get you to reconsider. He’d even suggested you take the train ride but stay in the city rather than go on this backpacking adventure.

The trip had been a gift from your father and had been announced at your engagement party.

[The sound of a fork tapping against a glass rang out over the dinner table, the tinkling sound drawing the attention of everyone in attendance as your father stood, at one end of the table. 

“I’d like to start by thanking everyone for coming to this special celebration,” he started, holding his champagne glass as more were filled around the table. “My darling daughter,” he continued, smiling down at where you sat in the middle of the table across from Seonghwa. “Is getting married.”

Applause rang out around the table as the guests cooed and awed, making you smile bashfully.

“To a fine, young gentleman who I have no doubts will make her happy,” your father continued. “Seonghwa, who comes from a wonderful family, is an upstanding man who has made a name for himself not only in the business circle but also in matters of the heart. Y/N has made it clear she is head over heels in love with you and I couldn’t be happier that my daughter has made such a perfect match.”

He raised his glass as the rest of the guests picked up theirs. “To Y/N and Seonghwa, we wish you every happiness!” your father cheered. 

“To Y/N and Seonghwa!”

After dinner, the party started, the live quartet your father had hired playing in the corner of the room on a raised platform as couples took to the floor to dance. You refrained from dancing, instead talking with your father’s guests, showing off the ring, and talking about wedding preparations.

Seonghwa on the other hand had few conversations and kept them short as he walked around the ballroom opposite you, keeping his eyes on his soon-to-be bride as he walked around. He nodded politely, thanking guests when they congratulated him but his goal was not to be ensnared in meaningless conversation but instead to ensnare you.

As your paths crossed, he stepped in front of you, blocking your path as the first dance ended. Wordlessly, he held out his hand for you to take, raising an eyebrow as a lopsided grin spread. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you placed your hand in his palm and allowed him to guide you to the dance floor.

“Having fun?” he asked softly as you moved about. “Not nearly as much as my parents are,” you replied, peering over his shoulder where your parents were telling a very animated story though you couldn’t be certain of the subject.

“Are you?” you asked, looking back at him. Seonghwa grimaced. “To tell you the truth,” he started. “I’ve never really enjoyed parties like this. The dancing, the music, the people,” he continued, spinning you. “It’s never really appealed to me.”

You smiled up at him. “One of the many things I admire about you,” you said softly. “You don’t like being in the spotlight.” Seonghwa chuckled. “No,” he shook his head. “I really don’t. You don’t mind it, though,” he added. You shrugged. “I don’t mind it, seeing as I’m the only girl in my family, I tend to get a lot of attention.”

Seonghwa smiled as he pulled you slightly closer. “If you want to throw parties after we’re married,” he started. “I won’t mind. But please do not expect me to attend for longer than necessary.” You shook your head. “I would much rather go out to a party than host one,” you explained. “That way when we’re tired, we can just leave.”

Seonghwa let out a laugh, startling a few of the nearby guests. “I would much rather spend time at home with you anyway,” you said softly. Seonghwa’s eyes met yours and you felt your cheeks start to grow warm before looking away. You felt his knuckle under your chin, tilting your head back to look at him. “Don’t hide,” he said softly. “Always look at me.”

The song ended and the crowd applauded. Through it all, Seonghwa could see your father making his way over to the two of you. “I have a surprise for you,” he said in a low tone. “Come,” he added, gesturing. You kept a tight hold on Seonghwa, linking your arms with his as you followed your father out of the ballroom and through the house to the study.

Once inside and the door was shut, your father turned, beaming at the two of you. “Wow,” he exclaimed. “You do really make a handsome pair,” he said. “You said you had something for us?” you asked, which Seonghwa was thankful for. “I do!” your father said, clapping his hands together and moving to his desk.

You watched as he opened one of the drawers and pulled out a large green envelope. He undid the fastener and pulled out a sheet as he walked around the desk to stand before you again. He held out the sheet of paper which Seonghwa hesitantly took.

Reading over it, Seonghwa was confused so he handed the page to you, allowing you to read it. “The Library of Illusion Expedition?” you said softly, reading the title at the top before you looked up at your father. “They’ve found it?” you asked, your voice quivering.

Your father nodded. “There’s an expedition that’s said to have discovered the location of it and I know how much you loved the tales and lore as a child. I’ve managed to secure a team to take the two of you deep into the Carpathian Mountains of Romania to visit the location,” he said with a smile.

Seonghwa could feel your excitement rolling off you but deep in his gut, all he could feel was uncertainty, dread, fear. He couldn’t place why exactly, but going on this trip felt like it might be the end of something. He didn’t want to go but he knew how much this meant to you.

“What’s the itinerary?” he asked, keeping his voice calm and even.

“You depart next Tuesday from Charing Cross and take a train to Dover. From there, a ferry will take you to Calais where you will catch a train to Paris and board the Orient Express,” he explained. Your eyes lit up as you looked up from the paper. “The Orient Express?” you asked before looking at Seonghwa. “The Orient Express?!”

Your father nodded, smiling. “The very one. It takes a little over three days to travel from Paris to Istanbul on the train but you will be exiting the train before that. You’ll meet the expedition team in Paris on Tuesday night and depart on the Orient Express the following morning.”

“This is the trip of a lifetime,” you said, rushing to your father to hug him. “Thank you so much, Papa!” You turned to look at Seonghwa, positively beaming at him. “Isn’t this exciting?” you asked. Seonghwa knew he couldn’t break your spirit in front of your father and would have to just talk to you in private about it. He forced a smile. “It is,” he said with a nod.

“Indeed, a trip of a lifetime.”]

Seonghwa looked out the window as the train started to roll. He pulled his watch out to check the time. ‘Seven am,’ he thought as he read the time before closing the cap over the face and returning the watch to his pocket. “Right on time,” he whispered.

The train pulled out of the station, gaining momentum and speed as Charlotte fixed your tea before offering some to Seonghwa who declined. He wasn’t in the mood for tea. As the day wore on, Seonghwa spent the time going over some of the current deals for his business. He was in the market to expand and looking over options.

You had started to occupy the time with reading. Seonghwa glanced at the cover and read the title. “The Picture of Dorian Gray?” he asked, causing you to look up. You nodded slowly. “What sort of book is it?” he asked as Alfred put away the portfolio for the last company.

“It’s… philosophical,” you said, hesitating. “Oh?” Seonghwa asked as Alfred opened another portfolio, placing it on the tray in front of him. “What’s it about?” he asked, glancing down but still listening as you spoke. 

“It’s about a man named Dorian Gray. His friend, who is a painter and is infatuated with Dorian’s beauty, paints a portrait of him. When the main character realizes beauty will fade in time, he wants to sell his soul to stay young and attractive forever,” you replied.

Seonghwa glanced up at the book before looking at you. “Is he a vampire?” he jokingly asked. You shook your head, chuckling. “No,” you replied. “He sells his soul to… something,” you say. “Instead of aging, the portrait ages.”

Seonghwa stared at you for a moment. “Is it good?” he asked, noticing you were about three quarters of the way into the book. You nodded, looking down at the pages. “It’s really good,” you answered. “Who’s the author?” Seonghwa asked.

He looked up to find you watching him with a curious look. “What?” he asked. “If it’s a good read, I’d like to have a copy picked up when we return.” You smiled and shut the book before handing it over. “I’ve read it already,” you said as you leaned forward. “Multiple times.”

Seonghwa hesitantly took the book from you, inspecting the cover. “Thank you,” he said as you settled back into your seat while Charlotte perused through your bag. “I think there’s one of those Sherlock Holmes books in here,” she said softly. “It’s alright, Lottie,” you said, patting her arm.

“I’ll just watch the scenery.”

The train ride to Dover was long but by nearly ten in the morning, the train pulled into the station. Seonghwa had finished going over the portfolios, having separated the prospects from the ones he definitely didn’t want. There was a short ride from the station to the ferry and as soon as you arrived and went through inspection, you were allowed to board the boat, your luggage being stowed and you were shown to a private room.

Seonghwa had started the novel, reading the first few pages and being immediately drawn in. There was more to the story than you had previously let on. The ride by ferry only took a few hours and soon, you were disembarking, getting into yet another carriage. Seonghwa’s attention was focused entirely on the book, reading it and absorbing the contents as you sat across from him while Charlotte and Alfred made sure your luggage was accounted for and secured. You gently nudged his shoe with your foot.

Seonghwa looked up from the book as you looked at him before holding out your hand. Uncertain what you were silently asking for, Seonghwa took your hand anyway and let out a chuckle as you pulled him forward, sitting up and leaning in. “We’re in public,” he said softly as you reached up, cupping his cheek. “I don’t really care,” you whispered before leaning in, pressing your lips to his.

Before Seonghwa could fully appreciate the gesture, you pulled away as footsteps announced the arrival of Charlotte and Alfred at the carriage door. They both climbed in and the carriage set off as you settled back in your seat, Seonghwa in his.

The carriage arrived in no time at the Calais train station and per the itinerary, you boarded the train bound for Paris. You chose to sit next to Seonghwa this time, ignoring the raised brow look of Alfred as he took a seat beside Charlotte who sat opposite you beside the window with a knowing smile on her face.

You chose to sit next to Seonghwa so you could lean against him, finding comfort in the warmth emanating from his body as he silently read your book, eyes scanning the page before turning to the next one. It was quiet in the compartment until a conductor came by to announce that a late lunch was being served.

Seonghwa looked at you and you nodded, prompting him to mark his place in the novel and shut it. “I think we’ll join,” he said simply. Charlotte and Alfred accompanied the both of you to the dining car, taking one of the tables in the back corner. You sat across from Seonghwa, next to the window. You liked watching the scenery change as you got closer and closer to Paris.

For lunch, there were a few options. You chose something light, knowing you would get dinner in Paris. As you waited for your meals, you glanced at Seonghwa. “How do you like the novel?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation light as well.

“You were right,” he said, turning his head to look at you after having stared out the window for so long. “It’s very good.” You nodded understandingly, picking up the wine glass in front of you. “What do you think of the main character?”

Seonghwa watched as you took a sip before realizing you were waiting for an answer. “Of Dorian?” he asked. He lowered his eyes to his own glass. “I think he’s… lost.” You looked up at him, watching his fingers drum lightly on the table as he seemed lost in thought.

“He’s seemed to have lost himself to this ideal of beauty, doing things that no one should do and he’s doing them simply because he can,” he continued. You let out a hum as you mulled over his words. “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose,” you answered. Seonghwa let out a light laugh as he looked up to meet your gaze. “How would you describe him?” he asked.

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hands, lacing your fingers together. “He’s depraved for sure but I think that depravity comes from somewhere deep within him,” you said softly. “Like he was always depraved, he just decided to let it all out since nothing would happen to him anyway.”

Seonghwa nodded as he processed your words. “Would you do it?” he asked suddenly, making you look up at him. “If you could sell your soul and anything that happened to you happened to a portrait of you, would you do the same thing he did? Go absolutely mad?”

You laughed heartily at his question before shaking your head. “No,” you answered. “I would make better use of my time,” you added. “I might pursue more academic or scientific endeavors. I wouldn’t visit opium dens, or take part in such debauchery.”

Seonghwa watched as you turned, eyes lighting up as your meals arrived at the table at long last. He thanked the server as they set his plate down before him before looking at you, catching your gaze. “I would. Only if a little,” he said with a smirk.

Your eyes widened but you were unable to inquire further as you immediately dug into your lunch.

After finishing the delicious meal, you returned to the compartment and sat between your fiance and the window while he read some more from the book. Alfred was reading from a small book , Charlotte working on an embroidery piece when you felt the urge to use the restroom. You sat up, prompting Seonghwa to look up from the book.

“I need to use the facilities,” you announced softly. Charlotte made to get up but you dismissed her with a wave and polite smile. “I won’t be long,” you added as you opened the door, stepping out into the hall and shutting it again.

You headed down the hall, passing door after door, some with the shades up and some with them down as you made your way to the back of the train car. You were thankful the women’s stall was empty and immediately stepped in, closing and locking the door before starting to gather your skirts.

It wasn’t extremely difficult normally to do this on your own but in such a small confined space, it was definitely proving to be much more difficult. You somehow managed and flushed the toilet before moving to wash your hands. Once cleaned and dry, you moved to open the door and ran into a man as you tried to exit.

“Oh!” you said, stumbling backwards. He gave you a warm smile but the gesture did not reach his eyes; eyes that were now starting to travel, roaming up and down your figure. “I am so sorry,” you said breathlessly. “My apologies.”

You tried to side step him but he blocked your path. “A young lady like you should not be running about, unattended,” he said. His words sounded concerned but his tone was anything other than that. You swallowed thickly. “I’m not unattended,” you replied. “I was just using the facilities. My attendants are in my compartment.”

You tried once more to move past but instead of stepping in front of you, you felt him grab your upper arm very tightly, causing you to wince and let out a small gasp of pain. “Unhand me,” you said, attempting to pull away but he was much stronger.

“Do you have any idea how easy it would be to drag you into an empty compartment?” he asked, his voice dangerously low as he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “I could cover your mouth, lock the door, and shut the shades and no one would be any wiser.” You opened your mouth to respond but a voice cut through.

“If you do not take your hand off my fiancee right now, I’ll show you how easy it would be to kick you from the back of a moving train.”

The man holding your arm turned and you felt relief wash over you at the sight of Seonghwa standing in the hallway behind the man. “We’re talking here,” the man started. Seonghwa took a single step forward. “Did you not hear me?” he asked, tilting his head slowly. “I said take your hand off my fiancee.”

The man looked down at you and pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned. You took that opportunity to stomp on his toes, hard, as you pushed past him and immediately grabbed Seonghwa’s arm. You tried to turn him and lead him away but instead he stared at the man until he finally slunk away.

You looked up at Seonghwa as he blinked and then looked down at you, his expression softened. “Are you alright?” he asked, taking your chin in his hand and checking to make sure you had no marks. “I’m alright,” you answered. “That was something,” you added, looking to the empty hall and back. “It was nothing,” Seonghwa answered as you started back down the hall to your compartment. “On the contrary,” you said as you stopped, turning to look at him.

“It was extremely attractive. You’re so… seductive when you’re mad.”

The rest of the train ride passed without incident and soon, the train was pulling into the station in Paris. You disembarked, following Charlotte to the carriage with Seonghwa in tow while Alfred made sure your luggage was collected promptly.

After securing all the bags, the carriage took you to a nearby hotel where you would be staying the night before boarding the Orient Express in the morning. You checked into the hotel and were shown to a large suite with two rooms where you could change before dinner.

At the hotel, on the ground floor, was a restaurant where you would be dining. The atmosphere was cozy but chic with small round tables covered in white table cloths. This was the first time you would be dining with Seonghwa without either of your attendants and it suddenly felt much more… intimate.

The maitre d’ was a tall, well dressed man who smiled as he spoke in French and showed you to your table. You thanked him as Seonghwa moved to pull out your chair for you, leaving both you and the maitre d’ speechless. Once Seonghwa sat down, he wasted no time in ordering a bottle of wine, something sweet because he knew your pallet by this point.

Afterwards, the server came to explain the specials and the menu. There were quite a few options to choose from but you ended up choosing the chicken entree while Seonghwa opted for the lamb. You both picked an appetizer to share and the server was gone, leaving you alone.

“This is the first time we’ve been out in public without our valets,” Seonghwa said as he lifted his glass of wine, swirling it gently. You hummed in response, staring at him, watching as he took a sip of the wine. “How is it?” you asked. He smiled as he looked at you. “Delicious,” he answered, setting the glass down. “Very sweet.”

You picked up your own glass and took a sip, savoring the sweetness. There was a tart bite to it as well that you equally enjoyed. “And when we leave the inn in the village outside Sinaia, we’ll be on our own as well,” you reminded him. Seonghwa looked up at you, a darkness to his eyes you’d never seen before.

Well, not never, but very rarely.

“How will we survive?” he joked, breaking the tension.

Your conversation continued, chatting about a few different things. Seonghwa was almost finished with the first half of the book so you continued to ask him about his thoughts until your food arrived.

Everything on your plates was made to perfection, seasoned perfectly and beyond your expectations. As dinner wound down, Alfred arrived. The bill was paid and Seonghwa helped you up as his valet walked over.

“You’re meant to meet the rest of the expedition team, sir,” Alfred said under his breath. Seonghwa nodded. “Where are they?” Seonghwa asked. “At the pub across the street,” Alfred replied. You glanced between them as Seonghwa frowned. “Very well. Could you please escort Y/N back to the room and —”

“No,” you said firmly. “I’m part of this expedition, I want to meet the people my father hired.” Seonghwa gave you a look, brows raised before he conceded. “As you wish,” he said, gesturing for Alfred to lead the way.

Stopping to grab your coats, you followed the two men to the hotel lobby door and out onto the busy street. Crossing the street proved to be much more difficult than you had expected but you managed to make it, pulling your coat tighter around you as Alfred opened the door to what you assumed was the pub.

Seonghwa carefully guided you in, keeping you close as you entered. Alfred took the lead, heading towards the bar. It wasn’t at all what you were picturing. You had expected it to be loud, full of rowdy drunk people and while it was loud, it was mainly due to the quartet playing on a small stage where a very beautiful woman in a red dress was singing.

You turned away as Seonghwa took your arm, guiding you to where a group of men were sitting. “Alfred!” one of the men shouted, clearly excited to see Seonghwa’s valet. “Come to join us for a round?” Alfred offered a polite smile before he declined. 

“I’ve come to introduce Mr. Park,” he said, gesturing to Seonghwa. “And Miss Y/L/N.” One of the other men snorted as he raised his glass to drink his beer. “Who cares?” he said, receiving a smack to the back of the head from the man who had spoken first. He coughed as he choked on his beer, earning a laugh from another man. 

“Ahh pay him no mind, ma’am,” the man who smacked the other. “Charley doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.” You forced a smile. “Especially when he sees a pretty woman,” a sultry voice from beside you said. You turned in time to see the woman who had been on stage walking past you as she joined the group.

Alfred cleared his throat before speaking. “Miss Y/L/N’s father is the one funding this expedition,” he explained. A murmur went around the table with Charley apologizing.

“So,” you started. “What are your names?”

The man who had hit Charley upside the back of the head sat up. He was a younger bright-eyed fellow. “Thom,” he said immediately. “The name’s Thom. This is Charlie,” he pointed to Charley who nodded his head. “Everett, Enoch, and Adelaide,” he continued, pointing to each person until he got to the woman who had been singing. 

“You can call me Della,” she said as two more women appeared with trays of shots and set them down. “This is Sophronia,” Thom said, gesturing at the blonde who lightly hit his shoulder. “I told you I hate being called that!” she whined before looking up ato give you a smile. “Sophie is just fine,” she added. 

“And I’m Euphemia,” the other woman, one with short brown curls said. “Effie is fine,” she added with a smile. “Y/N,” you replied in an attempt to introduce yourself. “Oh you have such a pretty name!” Della squealed as she sat next to Thom. “Thank you,” you said, cheeks growing warm.

“And who is this tall, handsome man?” Della asked, walking around you to Seonghwa, and leaning against the table to fix him with a very seductive smile. “Mr. Park—” Alfred started, only for Seonghwa to interrupt. “Seonghwa Park,” he answered. “Y/N is my fiancee,” he added, which made Della perk up.

“My apologies,” she said, moving back around to sit next to an Asian man sitting on the end. “And this,” Everett started, pointing at the man. “Is our ninja, Hiro.”

The man made a move to hit him but just laughed it off. “Hiro Tadasaki,” he said, standing up and bowing. Seonghwa returned the bow. “Konbanwa,” you said, also bowing. Hiro looked surprised but pleasantly so as he sat back down. “Join us,” Effie said excitedly. 

You smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid I must decline,” you said softly. “I don’t really drink. Just wine with dinner and champagne on special occasions.” Effie nodded in understanding as the guys grabbed for the shots. 

“Moderation is good,” Della said as she picked up her glass. “Not that any of these idiots would understand,” she added, making you laugh and sending a wink your way as she sipped her cocktail.

“I’ll stay,” Seonghwa said suddenly, taking you and the table by surprise. He turned to Alfred. “Please escort Y/N back to the suite,” Seonghwa said as he removed his coat, hanging off the back of one of the chairs. You glanced at Alfred before gently taking his hand.

“Are you sure about this? I don’t think I could sleep knowing you aren’t in the next room.” Seonghwa gave you a reassuring smile. “I won’t stay long. I just need to relay some information and then I’ll be back to the hotel room. I promise.”

You nodded as he took a seat and Alfred held out his hand, gesturing towards the exit. You allowed him to lead you back outside, across the street and into the hotel. The lift ride up to the third floor was uneventful and soon you were approaching the door to the suite.

“I shall return to Master Park,” Alfred said as you opened the door. “I will see to it that he leaves at an appropriate time,” he added. You gave him a small relieved smile. “Thank you Alfred,” you said softly.

He turned and walked back to the elevator as you shut the door and walked into the room where Charlotte was working on her embroidery. “Miss?” she said as she stood up. “Could I get some tea, Lottie?” you asked to which she nodded and moved the door as you sat down.

Some time passed and she returned, shutting the door and walking over. “Would you like to get out of your dinner dress?” she asked, prompting you to look up at her. “Oh, yes,” you said, getting to your feet and walking into the room you would be sharing with Charlotte for the night. 

She helped you out of your dress and put on your nightgown. You pulled on your dressing gown and headed back out into the living area of the suite to wait for the tea to arrive. It did so only several minutes later and Charlotte prepared it for you.

“It’s bedtime, Miss,” Charlotte announced in a soft voice, taking your empty cup that had been in your hand. “I think I’m going to stay up until they return,” you said, stifling a yawn. Charlotte nodded, giving you a small curtsy. “May I be excused to go to bed?” You nodded silently, resting your head in your hand as Charlotte bid you goodnight.

You had no idea how much time passed or when you fell asleep but you woke to the sound of the door being fiddled with and then the sound of someone attempting to unlock the door. You stood up carefully as the door opened and Seonghwa came in, half carrying Alfred.

“Oh my goodness,” you said as you started forward. Seonghwa shut the door with a laugh before guiding Alfred over to the couch and letting the man plop down, a laugh escaping him as well.

You looked down at Alfred and up at your fiance as he removed his coat and crossed the room to hang it up. “Are you drunk?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. Seonghwa turned to look at you. “Drunk?” he repeated.

“No,” he added as he walked over. “No, no, no.” He stopped to look down at Alfred. “But I think he is,” he added, attempting to stifle his laughter as he rounded the couch, taking your hand. “And I am only slightly drunk. Tipsy, I think is what they called it,” he continued, bringing your hand up to his face, pressing a kiss to the back. 

“You look pretty,” he said, holding your arm out and taking a step back to look you over with a look of adoration. “I’m in my dressing gown,” you said with a laugh as he made you spin before pulling you closer, his hands moving towards your waist.

“Dressing gown?” he said with a scoff. “That won’t do.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “How are you going to sleep in that?” he asked, his hands sliding to your hips. “How are you going to sleep in any of this?” he whispered, fingers toying with the silky material of your gowns.

“Should just sleep naked,” he continued. You giggled as he kissed your neck. “Seonghwa,” you whispered, glancing over to where Alfred lay on the couch. “Anyone could see,” you added. He pulled back to look at you, taking your face in his hands.

“Then let’s change the scenery,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your lips. Your hands moved to his chest, feeling him through the material as he parted your lips with his, his tongue slipping into your mouth. It wasn’t like Seonghwa had never kissed you like this before.

It just wasn’t a regular occurrence. You whimpered into the kiss as his hands slid down to your neck, one continuing down your back to pull you against him. “Seonghwa,” you whispered as he broke the kiss, leaving a trail of them down the other side of your neck.

“Hmm?” he hummed as his kisses continued further still. “Shouldn’t we leave this until the wedding night?” you whispered, voice shaking. He pulled back to look up at you. “If that’s what you want,” he started, caressing your cheek gently. “Then of course.”

“But,” he continued. “We could always just take this to my room.” You felt excitement and fear bubble in your stomach. On one hand, you wanted to do just that but on the other, you felt like it was wrong. You’d been told all your life that premarital sex was wrong and sex should only be between a husband and wife.

“I think we should take a step back,” you whispered. Seonghwa sighed but smiled at you all the same. “Of course, sweetheart,” he said, taking your face in his hands once more and kissing the tip of your nose before kissing you on the lips. “I’ll let Alfred sleep it off out here,” he added as he walked you to your door. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, leaning against the door frame as you opened the door and turned to him. “Goodnight, Seonghwa,” you said softly. He cupped your cheek, leaning in to kiss you. “Goodnight, petal,” he said softly. He stepped backwards before turning to walk back to his room.

“Hwa?” you called out as he reached the middle of the room and turned to look at you. “I love you,” you said softly. A smile spread across his face. “I love you too, Blossom.”

The following morning, you awoke when Charlotte gently shook you, telling you breakfast was going to be delivered to the room. She moved to open the curtains, letting light into the room as you sat up, stretching and yawning.

“Is Seonghwa awake?” you asked as Charlotte came to your side of the bed and set a pair of house slippers on the floor for you to put on. “Mr. Park got up early,” she told you. “He went for a jog and came back to shower. He’s sitting in the common area, reading over the itinerary.”

You inhaled deeply before letting out a sigh and rolling your neck before pulling back the covers and scooting to the edge of the mattress. “He was up awfully early for someone who was half drunk last night,” you murmured. Charlotte looked up as she slid one of the slippers onto your feet.

“Drunk?” she asked. You looked down as she grabbed the second slipper. “I was sitting in the common room after you left. I must have dozed off but I heard the door open and Seonghwa came in with Alfred who was particularly…” you trailed off, wondering if you should continue your train of thought.

“Sloshed?” Charlotte asked, raising a brow. Your lips spread into a smirk before you forced it away. “Very,” you answered. Charlotte held back a smile as she finished and stood, moving to your trunk and opening it as you stood, grabbing your dressing gown.

“Which one would you like to wear today, ma’am?” Charlotte asked, looking up as you approached. “I think the black skirt with the white blouse,” you answered. “With the black and gold belt.” Charlotte smiled and started to pull out the articles of clothing you mentioned. 

“Would you like the matching coat, miss?” You nodded as you moved to the vanity, watching Charlotte set the clothes aside in the reflection of the oval mirror before walking over to where you sat. “Could you do light makeup today, please,” you said as you looked at her through the reflection. “We’re traveling all day today and I really don’t want to overdo it.” Charlotte gave you a smile and nodded as she opened the small cosmetic bag and got to work.

Once finishing your makeup and hair, Charlotte helped you into your blouse and skirt before helping you put on your boots over your stockings. She grabbed your jacket and handed it to you before moving to pack away your things as you headed out into the common area where Seonghwa was standing by the window, using the natural light to read over a sheet of paper. He looked up as you entered, smiling at you.

“Good morning,” you said as you walked over to sit at the table, making sure to drape your jacket over the back of your seat. Seonghwa folded the paper and tucked it back into an envelope, handing it to Alfred and asking him to put it back in his luggage for safekeeping. You thanked the kitchen staff as they set a plate on the table before you and moved to pour tea into your cup.

“Morning, blossom,” Seonghwa said as he moved around the table, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek before moving to take his seat. “How did you sleep?” he asked, settling into his chair as the server finished pouring your tea. She moved to pour some for Seonghwa but he dismissed her politely, asking instead for coffee.

“I slept alright,” you answered as you picked up the small ceramic creamer and poured a small amount of cream into your tea before picking up the spoon in the sugar dish and added it to your tea as well, stirring it with your own tea spoon. You looked up at Seonghwa and noticed that despite his late night revelry, he looked well rested.

“I should be asking you that,” you continued, drawing his attention. “Hmm?” he hummed, as he picked up the newspaper brought with breakfast. “Why is that?” he asked.You took a sip of your tea as the server finished setting Seonghwa’s plate before him. “You came in so late last night,” you noted as you set your tea down and grabbed your knife, dipping the tip into the butter spread.

Seonghwa let out a soft chuckle as he looked back down at the paper. “It wasn’t that late,” he replied. “But I went straight to bed after you,” he continued. “Slept very well, in fact.” He glanced up at you. “Until Alfredo woke me,” he added as his valet returned to the room, carrying Seonghwa’s coat. He set the coat down and walked over to the table. “I will fetch the bellhop and have your luggage taken down to the carriages,” he announced.

You looked up from spreading jam on your croissant before looking at Seonghwa. “Carriages? As in more than one?” you asked. Seonghwa looked up at you before turning to Alfred. “Thank you, Alfred,” he said before turning back to you. Alfred walked to the door, following the service cart out and leaving you and your fiance alone.

“For whatever reason,” Seonghwa started as he folded the paper and set it down. “We’re taking two carriages to the Gare de l’Est,” he continued, picking up his coffee and taking a sip before making a face and setting it back down. “Would you pass me the cream? I don’t know why I always expect the coffee to taste anything but bitter,” he added as you nodded, picking up the creamer and moving it closer.

“Why are we taking two carriages?” you wondered aloud. “We took one from the train to the ferry and then from the ferry to the train in Calais.” Seonghwa shook his head as he poured some of the white cream into his cup before picking up a teaspoon and stirring it. “I don’t know why,” he explained. “But the hotel service sent for two. Perhaps it is because we aren’t married yet.” You settled back in your seat, picking at your food.

“I suppose,” you murmured. Seonghwa took another sip of coffee after stirring in some sugar to go with the cream. “Besides,” he said as he set the cup down and glanced up at you. “I don’t think I could sit in such close, confined quarters with you and keep my hands to myself.”

Your eyes widened as you quickly turned to make sure Charlotte was still in your room, behind closed doors packing your things before turning back to Seonghwa. “Keep your voice down!” you whispered, trying to fight the smile that wanted to overtake your face. Seonghwa gave you a smirk as he started into his own breakfast.

“You can’t fault me for having these urges,” he said softly. “Not when you look so enticing every day.” Your cheeks grew warm as you looked down at your food, avoiding his gaze. “Look at me,” he said softly. You looked up at him, cheeks burning even more as you met his gaze. “I mean it when I say that once we are married, I have no intention of keeping separate rooms,” he continued.

“That’s not proper,” you whispered. Seonghwa tilted his head with a confident smile. “I don’t care what’s proper,” he added. “When we’re married, you’ll be my wife and I your husband. Unless you absolutely want to, we’re not sleeping in separate beds. My parents never slept in separate beds,” he stated. “Rules be damned, I’m sleeping with my wife.” You let out a giggle, cutting it short as the door behind you opened and Charlotte appeared.

“I’ve packed your things, Miss,” she said in a soft voice. “Thank you, Lottie,” you said, keeping your eyes on your fiance as he stared at you. Seonghwa held your gaze until the door to the hall opened and Alfred returned with two bellhops. “All the luggage from both bedrooms,” Alfred instructed. “Are Miss Y/L/N’s things packed?” he asked Charlotte who nodded enthusiastically.

“Take them down to the carriages waiting outside, please,” Alfred added as the bellhops nodded and headed into the two bedrooms. You continued eating as they carried the items out of the rooms and from the suite. Seonghwa had resumed reading the paper and you busied yourself with your croissant and tea.

Once the rooms had been cleared and breakfast consumed, the service cart returned to clear the table while Charlotte helped you into your coat while Seonghwa finished reading, thanking the service attendant and stood up, taking his coat from Alfred and pulling it on himself. You walked towards the door, Charlotte in tow and exited only after Seonghwa gestured for you to.

The hall was alive with activity as patrons were checking out of their rooms, luggage piled onto carts to be taken down to the lobby. You stood beside Seonghwa as you waited for one of the lifts which arrived promptly. Once inside, you stood quietly as the lift lowered down, stopping at the lobby to let you out.

The grand lobby was also buzzing with chatter and a frenzy of staff zoomed around as patrons checked out and some lounged around, no doubt waiting for carriages to take them to their destinations. Outside the hotel was a much different atmosphere than it had been the night before. The street was lit by the rising sun, light hitting the cobblestone roads at an angle.

Two black carriages, pulled by beautiful black stallions, stood waiting for you to board. Seonghwa stopped by the first one as the footman opened the door. “Your carriage,” Seonghwa said with an amused smile on his face, making you want to roll your eyes. You took the hand he offered and stepped up onto the carriage step and inside.

Charlotte followed, also assisted by your fiance. You leaned into the window after the door shut. “I wish you didn’t have to ride separately,” you said softly, making him smile. “I’ll see you at the station,” he replied, giving you a wink before he turned and made his way to the second carriage. You sat back in your seat across from Charlotte with a huff.

Amused by your small fit, Charlotte leaned forward, patting your hand. “Soon you’ll be married and it won’t matter anymore,” she said softly. You gave her a small smile, nodding, before you looked out the window. After a few moments, the carriage lurched forward, the sound of hooves clopping against the cobblestone rang out as you were on your way.

The ride to the Gare de l’Est station wasn’t long, thankfully, and soon you were pulling up to the entrance. The carriage door opened and you climbed out, thanking the footman who helped you down as men immediately started to unload your luggage. 

Seonghwa joined you as you looked up at the station while Afred instructed the attendants on where to put the luggage. Your eyes traveled over the stone facade of the building, admiring the architecture and details. “Shall we?” you heard Seonghwa ask from beside you, taking your attention away from the building. Nodding, you took the arm he offered and walked forward into the station.

You were prompt and on time to go through inspection and check-in. Once through, you were directed to a place to wait for the boarding process to begin. You took a seat at a small bistro table, Seonghwa sitting across from you while Charlotte sat next to you and Alfred went to oversee the luggage and make sure it made it to the correct rooms.

“There he is!” a voice called, making you look up to see the team you had met yesterday walking towards your table. Seonghwa smiled, standing up as you watched him interact with the group. Thom turned to look at you, giving you a small bow of the head. “Miss,” he greeted you. “Your fiance can certainly hold his own when it comes to shots,” he said, pointing at Seonghwa who tried to dismiss his compliments.

You forced a polite smile at the man before glancing at Seonghwa. You looked away as he caught your eye and busied yourself with the small menu on the table while the group chatted with your fiance. You tuned out what they were saying as you stared intently at the menu but not really reading it. You just wanted something to look at.

“Are you alright, miss?” Charlotte asked, placing a hand on your shoulder, a hint of concern in her voice. “Yes, Lottie,” you said a little more forcefully than you intended. You placed your hand over hers in a silent apology. “I’m fine,” you added.

“Blossom?” Seonghwa’s voice asked as he took a seat beside you. “Everything alright?” You nodded, not looking up as the group continued to chatter amongst each other. “We’re going to get a couple drinks at the bar,” Charley announced, making Seonghwa look up. “Care to join us?” Seonghwa glanced back at you but you didn’t look up to meet his gaze.

You half expected him to accept but when he declined, citing maybe on the train, you felt both a bit surprised but also extremely relieved. Charley followed the group and you let out a sigh. Seonghwa asked Charlotte to go ask for something for you to drink and once you were alone, Seonghwa tilted your head back to look at him.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, eyes searching your face. “We don’t have to do this,” he reminded you once more. “We can turn around and go back home.” You shook your head. “I want to do this,” you replied. “I want to go on this trip.” Seonghwa studied your face for a moment before conceding. “As you wish,” he said softly, dropping his hand as Charlotte returned with a glass of water.

Time ticked by as you waited. About ten minutes before you were due to start boarding, Alfred returned, a look of frustration on his face. “We have a problem,” he said in a low voice meant only for Seonghwa to hear but you heard it, too. “A problem?” you asked, looking up. Seonghwa told you to wait a moment as he got up and walked with Alfred, who led him over to a short, official looking man with a conductor’s coat and hat.

The three of them spoke quickly in a hushed tone but you were too far from them to pick up on what they were saying, even if they spoke in normal voices. Seonghwa looked positively furious at what the conductor was saying and after a few back and forths with the man, Seonghwa conceded and returned with Alfred.

You looked at him as he sat back down, muttering under his breath. “What’s wrong?” you asked, glancing from him to Alfred and back. “There’s been a mix up with the rooms on the train,” Alfred explained. “They’ve mistakenly assumed you were a married couple and given away one of the rooms to a contessa.”

You stared in disbelief at him. “What?” you asked softly. “I am terribly sorry,” Alfred said, bowing his head. “This is outrageous,” Seonghwa said, clearly upset with the situation. You placed a hand over his. “It’s going to be alright,” you said softly. “You and Charlotte still have your bunks, correct?” you asked, looking up at Alfredo who nodded.

“Of course,” he replied. We are next door to one another,” Alfred answered. You turned to Seonghwa. “Unless someone doesn’t show up, we’ll just have to grin and bear it,” you said reassuringly. “It’s going to be fine. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Half an hour later, you were escorted to the train and once on board, Charlotte and Alfred were shown to their rooms while you and your fiance were shown to your private room by one of the conductors. You thanked him as Seonghwa looked around the room. “Will you be requiring anything?” the conductor asked Seonghwa who didn’t answer. You turned and smiled.

“No, thank you,” you replied. The conductor nodded and headed back down the hall, shutting the door in the process. “See?” you said softly. “It’s not so bad. We’re going to be married soon anyway, so what does it matter?” you asked, moving to turn Seonghwa to face you.

“It matters because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said softly. “Last night we —” 

He was interrupted by a knock and reluctantly turned to face the door. “Come in,” he said in a calm tone despite the panicked voice he’d just had when speaking to you. The food opened and Alfred peered in. “Is everything to your liking?” he asked. Seonghwa nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “If you could just give us a moment?” Alfred nodded, stepping out and shutting the door.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he said softly, stopping only when you gently grabbed his hand and pulled him back towards you. “We will be fine,” you reminded him. “I know what almost happened last night and we’ll just have to exercise restraint,” you said softly, cupping his cheek. “I know we can do that.”

Seonghwa nodded wordlessly, his expression a mix between frustration and solemnity. You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “We’ll be fine,” you repeated.

The rest of the train filled up quickly and as the conductor said, it was a full train. You had opted to stay in your compartment while Seonghwa went to speak to Alfred about your schedules while on board the train. You had retrieved one of your books from your luggage and were in the process of reading when Seonghwa returned, closing the door and taking a seat beside you on the couch.

You could tell he was upset about something, marking the page you were on and setting the book on the table between your end of the couch and the small partition between the couch and the bedroom area. “What’s wrong?” you asked, turning to look at him. Seonghwa glanced at you, arms crossed over his chest and looking every bit of a sullen child.

“It’s nothing,” he said, turning to stare out the window across from where you both sat. After a moment of silence, you sighed, reaching over and grabbing his arm. You tugged gently, trying to pull him closer. Seonghwa looked at you, giving you a look of confusion before you gestured for him to lay down. He hesitated before finally giving in, lying on his back, resting his head on your lap.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t ask,” you said in a gentle tone, running your fingers through his soft hair as you spoke. “But I want you to forget about it or at the very least put it at the back of your mind and just be here, in this moment.” Seonghwa stared up at you as you combed through his hair. He conceded, shutting his eyes and letting out a sigh.

You sat like that in silence for a while before he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said quietly. “For what?” you asked, continuing to stroke his hair, looking down at him with a deep fondness in your heart. Your fondness for him had only grown since he first opened up to you when he was courting you after you had turned him down out of fear.

It was true in the beginning that you had been very apprehensive about Seonghwa. He’d pursued you with a tenacity that scared you initially. You feared he was only interested in you for your looks and social standing but you learned that while his physical attraction to you was true, he’d heard about your interests and your hobbies and wanted to know more.

He proved himself to be interested in getting to know your mind and heart and that had been the final push you needed to accept his attempts to court you. Your parents had always wanted you to make a good match but they also wanted you to be happy with your choice. They were never going to force you to marry a man you didn’t or couldn’t love.

“For all of this,” he said, waving his hand around the cabin. Your brows knitted together. “It’s not your fault,” you reminded him, smoothing his hair down. “The staff just assumed we were married already. It’s really not a problem. It’ll just help us prepare for sharing a bed when we are married.” Seonghwa’s eyes opened and he looked up at you.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said as he looked up at you with the same fondness you felt in your chest. “Since I don’t plan on keeping separate beds once we’re married,” he added as he sat up and turned to face you. “I suppose we can use this trip to help us prepare for married life.” You nodded, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. Instead of letting you pull away, Seonghwa pulled you back in for a kiss.

He let out a groan of frustration when there was a knock on the door. “What is it?” he asked loudly as you fought the urge to smile at his annoyance. The door opened and one of the conductors looked into the room. “Lunch is being served, sir,” he announced. “Thank you,” Seonghwa said, dismissing the conductor and turning back to you. “Would you like to join the dining car or would you prefer to take lunch in your private cabin?”

Seonghwa gave you a look before turning. “In here would be best,” he answered. “Then please look over the menu and make a decision. I will send a server to come get your orders soon.” The conductor shut the door and left you and your fiance alone once more. Seonghwa got up from the couch and grabbed the small menu that sat on the table.

You watched as his eyes narrowed as he read over it. “Anything good?” you asked as he read the options to himself. He stared a little longer before handing it to you. You took it from him, reading over the menu. “Some chicken and beef options and… fish?” you said, sounding mildly surprised. You looked up at him. “On a train?” you asked before chuckling.

Seonghwa snorted. “I don’t know if I would trust the fish,” he added. You chuckled to yourself as you read the menu once more. “Let’s just order something simple for lunch and then for dinner, we can always get something more—”

“Complex?” Seonghwa asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Precisely,” you said, looking up at him. “You choose,” Seonghwa said as he took his seat beside you with a sigh. “I’m not particular.”

You ended up choosing a salad, the beef bourguignon with boiled potatoes, and small chocolate mousse cups for dessert. After ordering, you resumed your book while waiting, Seonghwa resumed laying on the couch with his head resting in your lap as you read quietly.

“What are you reading?” he finally asked. “Sherlock Holmes,” you answered as you turned the page. “Which one?” You glanced down at him. “A Study in Scarlet,” you answered, looking back up at the page. “Haven’t you read that one?” Seonghwa asked, watching your face as you read. “Mhmm,” you hummed. “Many times,” you added.

“Would you read some to me?” he asked, making you look away from the page again. “You want me to read to you?” you asked, feeling slightly amused at the idea of reading to your soon-to-be husband. “Yes, please,” he replied, shutting his eyes as he rested. You took a deep breath and looked back up to the page. “Very well,” you answered.

“‘I  had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as air—or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be,’” you read from the page. “‘Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.”

You continued to read the opening of Watson’s account of his first interaction with the Detective until there was a knock at the door, indicating the food had arrived. You marked the page and shut it as Seonghwa sighed and sat up. “Will we always continue to be interrupted?” he asked softly as he ran his fingers through his hair before getting up and answering the door.

Lunch had arrived and as you took your seat, you were grateful for the small reprieve. Seonghwa sat across from you as the staff set the table and served the dishes. You thanked them, picking up your salad fork and digging in, feeling particularly ravenous. It had been a while since your early breakfast. Seonghwa took amusement at your eagerness to consume your food.

“Hungry?” he asked, his voice mirroring his expression. “Very,” you replied. “Aren’t you?” Seonghwa looked up from the table, giving you a look you recognized. It was one he’d given you twice before: once when you’d shown up to a social party wearing a very figure flattering green dress and again last night when he returned to the suite slightly intoxicated. You could guess what that expression meant.

“Oh I am,” he replied before looking back down at his food. “But not entirely for beef bourguignon.”

Your cheeks burned as you turned your attention back to your food, finishing your salad so you could get the main portion of your meal. Seonghwa had fallen silent as he ate so you felt the need to fill the silence. “Would you like me to resume reading after lunch?” You noticed the smile that appeared on his face before he looked up and looked at you with that same look as before.

“If it pleases you to do so,” he said softly. “Then it pleases me.”

The statement was so simple and yet so much was said with those few words. Seonghwa had never once put his own pleasure or wants before yours. He only proceeded with the proposal after he had discussed it and marriage in length with you. He wanted to make sure that whatever you both did, that you were the happiest. He had often said he would give up everything for you though you saw no need for him to go to such lengths. All you wanted in life was your books and him.

That’s all you needed.

When lunch concluded and the table cleared, Seonghwa was about to return to the couch but instead, you removed your shoes and moved to the bed, settling over the covers against the pillows and patted the bed beside you. He hesitated only for a moment before joining you, removing his shoes before crawling onto the bed and settling down against the pillows beside you.

You resumed reading, reading the entirety of chapters one through four before glancing over at Seonghwa, finding him fast asleep. With a smile, you marked the page and shut the book softly before setting it on the bedside table and turning to face your fiance only to find he had woken up.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked softly. You reached out, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “I thought you were asleep,” you replied. “No,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just had my eyes closed.” You smiled and scooted closer, pressing a kiss to his lips. “If you’re tired, you should sleep.” Seonghwa grumbled. “I’m not tired.”

You giggled as his arms encircled you, pulling you against him as he rested his head against your chest. “But maybe a nap wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” You laughed again as he nuzzled against you. “Or maybe you could wake me up?” he asked, looking up at you. “How would I do that?” you asked, letting out a squeak as he rolled you onto your back, hovering over you.

His hips slotted between your thighs, pressing your skirt against you as he looked down at your face, studying it carefully. “S-Seonghwa,” you whispered, cheeks burning under his heated gaze. He leaned in, lips inches from yours as he stared into your eyes. “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered.

You shook your head, staring back up at him with wide and curious but excited eyes. Seonghwa closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours. The moment he kissed you, a moan sounded from the back of your throat. Seonghwa swallowed it eagerly, rolling his hips and pressing into you.

Your hands moved to his shoulders and he pulled back to look at you. “Are you alright?” he asked softly. You nodded. “I’m fine,” you said, voice shaking. “This is just new to me.” Seonghwa’s expression softened. “I know we’re meant to wait until we’re married,” he started, leaning down to kiss you softly, leaving a trail of light kisses across your cheek until his lips were next to your ear.

“But I really want to undress you and take you right here.”

Your stomach fluttered, the feeling of butterflies erupting tickling you at his admission. It was the same feeling you got when he kissed you for the very first time or when he got down on one knee and proposed to you right after the two of you had gotten caught in the rain. 

You had been on a walk and it was a dreary day but you still hadn’t expected the skies to open and rain to come pouring down. Alfred and Charlotte had been following behind and when the rain started, they took shelter while you and Seonghwa had taken shelter further down under a small overhang. Laughter escaped the two of you as you stood staring at one another, completely drenched.

Seonghwa had pulled you in, kissing you and not caring who saw before he told you that he loved you and got down on one knee to propose. It was completely impromptu. He didn’t even have the ring on him. Instead there had been an entire dinner planned where he was going to ask you in front of all your family and friends but instead, he did it right there. You, of course, had said yes without hesitation.

The same feeling you had then in your stomach had you giving into him as he kissed your neck, one of his hands sliding down the outside of your thigh to grab the hem of your skirt and start dragging it up. You let out a gasp as you felt his fingers against your skin. “If you want me to stop,” he whispered against your skin. “Just tell me,” he added. “And I will.”

You shook your head, grabbing his hand and guiding it up your thigh. “Don’t stop touching me,” you whispered, fingers curling into his dark locks. “I want you—”

A series of knocks at the door made Seonghwa sit up, a look of pure anger on his face. “I am getting really sick of this,” he grumbled as he got off the bed and walked over to the door while you sat up, pulling your skirt down. He pulled open the door, about to tell off whoever had knocked when he noticed Charlotte standing there with a small case in her hands.

“Apologies Mr. Park,” she said softly. “But I need to give Miss Y/N her medication.” Seonghwa sighed and stood back as you moved to the foot of the bed. Charlotte came in, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m real sorry, Miss,” she started as she moved to where you sat. “It’s quite alright, Lottie,” you replied. “You have instructions. I know.”

Lottie set the case down and moved to pour a glass of water before returning to you. “And when I’m not around, one of you is going to have to remember to do this,” she added as you nodded. “How does your head feel?” Charlotte asked as Seonghwa moved to watch her. She was right. One of the two of you was going to have to remember to do this for future reference. “It’s not too bad,” you said softly. “At this point, it’s preemptive.” Charlotte frowned as she opened a small pouch in the case and pulled out a little white pill. 

“The doctor’s orders were clear,” Charlotte said as she handed the pill to you, holding the glass of water. “Once a day and one more if the headache persists.” You nodded as you put the pill on your tongue and took the glass from her, gulping down enough to swallow the pill whole. You made a gagging noise as you handed the water back. “I hate taking pills.” Charlotte pushed the water back. “Drink all of it. And if the headache comes back, send for me,” she added, turning her head to look at Seonghwa.

As she packed up the case, Seonghwa stopped her. “You can leave it,” he said. “Just in case it comes while you’re asleep. We can handle it ourselves.” Charlotte looked from him to you and back. “It’s fine, Lottie,” you said as you finished your water. “Just leave the case here.”

Charlotte nodded and headed for the door, thanking Seonghwa when he opened it. Once it was shut, Seonghwa turned to look at you as you got up, setting your water glass on the table. He walked over, one arm encircling your back as he reached up to cup your cheek. “Will we ever have an uninterrupted moment?” he muttered as his thumb moved, brushing over your bottom lip. 

“If things keep going the way they have been,” you started, voice barely above a whisper. “Then I fear the answer is a resounding no.” Seonghwa sighed, leaning in as his hand slid down to the side of your neck. Before he could press his lips against yours, there was yet another knock at the door. He fought the urge to groan. As he tried turning away, you stopped him, pulling him back to you. 

“Don’t,” you said softly. “Just ignore it.” He chuckled, pressing a short kiss to your lips. The small intimate gesture left you wanting more as he pulled back. “It could be important,” he said softly. “It could also just be Alfred or Charlotte bothering us,” you retorted, making him laugh softly. “It could also be the wait staff coming to ask if we will be joining the rest of the train for dinner,” he countered.

“Would you say that constitutes an emergency?” you asked, one of your hands sliding down his chest, skimming over his stomach. Just as your fingertips reached the waistband of his pants, he grabbed your wrist and another series of knocks rang out, followed by the familiar voice of Alfred. Seonghwa pressed a kiss to your forehead before letting go of your hand and turning to answer the door.

“Sorry to disrupt sir,” Alfred started. “But the staff have asked if you and Miss Y/L/N will be joining the dining car for dinner or if you will be dining in your car instead.” Seonghwa turned to look back at you for a brief moment before he turned back to Alfred. “You can tell them we will join the dining car,” he answered. Your stomach sank slightly in disappointment. “Would you kindly send for Charlotte?” Seonghwa asked. “She can help Y/N dress for dinner.”

You moved towards the bed and sat on the edge as Seonghwa shut the door and turned to face you. “I was hoping you might tell him that we wanted to dine in here,” you said softly as he approached you, a tone of disappointment in your voice. He knelt in front of you, smiling up at you. “We’ll go play society for a couple hours and then come back here tonight and it’ll just be us,” he explained as he took your hand, thumb playing with the ring on your finger.

“Just a couple hours out in public and then we can come back here and you can have me all to yourself,” he added. “Besides,” he said standing up as there was another knock on the door, presumably Charlotte, come to help you dress. “We should probably get to know the rest of the expedition crew before we’re meant to spend days on end with just them in the forest.”

You forced a smile as he let go of your hand and walked to open the door for Charlotte before he turned to look at you. “Yeah,” you said with a heavy sigh, feeling a sense of dread in the pit of your stomach for the night to come, knowing it probably wasn’t going to end as well as your fiance predicted.

Dinner was a much more grand affair than lunch had been. There were bottles of wine, being opened left and right, an array of appetizers being served and the main courses were simply mouthwatering. You had selected a dish with duck that was served with a porcini mushroom risotto. Everything you ate was delicious. 

Your table consisted of you, Seonghwa, Alfred, and Charlotte. Once the meal had been finished, Thom had invited Alfred and Seonghwa to join them for drinks and despite your hopes that Seonghwa would not agree, he did and you sat with Charlotte, poking at your dessert, a small ramekin of creme brulee. 

Charlotte watched your mood sour and darken as time passed and when one of the servers came by a fourth time to ask if you were finished with your dessert, she took the initiative and had them clear the table and take away the dessert before you stabbed your fork through the ceramic.

“Would you like some coffee, miss?” Charlotte asked softly, her voice barely audible over the raucous laughter coming from several tables down. You could see the members of the crew were laughing at something someone said and while what you were sure they said was quite humorous indeed, the sight of your fiance sitting with them left a bad taste in your mouth and without the creme brulee to combat it, you were ready to return to your suite.

“No, Lottie,” you answered, setting your fork down at last and turning your gaze away from the scene as you forced a smile. “I think I’m ready to retire for the evening.” Charlotte glanced over to the table before looking back at you. “Are you sure you don’t want to let Mr. Park know—” You waved your hand, dismissing her question before she even finished it.

“I’m sure he’ll find his way back to our room at some point in the night at which point, I will most certainly be asleep,” you answered, grabbing the white cloth napkin that rested atop your lap and threw it down onto the table as Charlotte stood up, helping you up as well. Without sparing a second glance, you turned away from the crew and your fiance and started to walk back towards the passenger compartments, Charlotte on your heel.

Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see you and Charlotte getting up and walking out the back of the dining compartment but his attention was quickly diverted back to the conversation at hand.

“What about you, Al?” Charley asked, taking a large swig of his drink and looking at Alfred. “Surely, you’ve seen combat. Probably even killed a few men.” Seonghwa glanced at his valet who shook his head. “I’m not at liberty to say, I’m afraid,” he said as he fought the urge to smirk. The table erupted into laughter again as more alcohol was poured into shot glasses.

“And what about you?” Everett asked, catching Seonghwa’s attention. “Combat?” Seonghwa asked. He shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I’ve never been in war,” he added. Charley snorted. “Why would you even ask that, Ev?” he asked. “This fairy has probably never even thrown a punch in his life.” Seonghwa felt a slight burn of anger. He picked up the glass before him, downing the alcohol in one go.

“If you really feel that way, let’s prove your theory,” Seonghwa snapped, drawing the attention of everyone seated at the tables. Alfred’s humorous demeanor shifted instantly as his valet role kicked in. “I don’t think that is wise, Master Park,” he said in a low tone. Seonghwa stood up, removing his jacket and draping it over the back of his chair. “Nonsense, Alfred,” Seonghwa answered as he undid the cuffs of his sleeves and started to roll them back.

Charley looked around at the rest of the group, both dumbfounded and perhaps even a little put off by Seonghwa’s sudden surge of confidence. “I… But—” Charley stammered as he looked around for help. Seonghwa waited for the man to move. “Shall I take this as a sign of your capitulation?” he asked. Charley looked up at him. “What?” he asked, looking bewildered.

Seonghwa sighed. “Are you yielding before we even start?” Charley stood up quickly before stumbling into Everett who caught him. “Oi, don’t do it Charley. You’re fuckin’ knackered. Just apologize to the man before he knocks you out.” Charley protested as he ripped his own jacket off and threw it down, looking up to face Seonghwa. Alfred got to his feet but Seonghwa held up a hand to stop him.

“This is between Charley and I,” Seonghwa said as he stood before the very drunk man. While Everett was trying to make Charley back down, the others were encouraging him to step up to the challenge. “Clearly Everett is the only one with sense,” Seonghwa said to himself as he raised his hands up in an open position. Charley shook Everett off who sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed with his friend’s behavior. “No cry when I bruise that pretty face,” Charley said as he raised his fists.

Seonghwa smirked as he waited for Charley to strike. “I’ll be a gentleman and offer to replace any teeth I knock out,” he retorted, enjoying the look of shock on not only Charley’s face but also on the others. Seonghwa may not look like much to those who didn’t know him but he spent a greater portion of his youth learning martial arts and joining underground fighting rings. He knew a thing or two about fighting.

And soon, he’d prove it to those around him.

Upon returning to your room, Charlotte helped you undress and get ready for bed. Once you were in your nightgown, you got into the bed, grabbing your book to read for a while before you finally laid down and slept. You wanted something to keep your mind of how you thought earlier. Once you’d had time to process it, you felt rather silly that you were acting so… jealous.

You knew that with where you were going and what you were about to do, it was vital to establish a relationship of sorts with the people you would be spending a lot of time with but while Seonghwa was a natural at speaking to people, you on the other hand had a harder time opening up to people. With social events back in London, it was easier because most of the people you interacted with were people you’d known almost your entire life.

Seonghwa was the first stranger you met as an adult and opening up to him had been quite difficult for you not just because of your fears about his sincerity but because of your anti-social nature. It made you feel insecure in some ways that he was able to strike up a conversation with just about anyone while you were stuck scrambling to even greet yourself.

It was one of the reasons you enjoyed reading so much. You got to meet new people without ever having said a word. You got to know them as they went on an adventure and sailed the seas, solved crimes, or traveled to a mystical realm. Characters in a book were much easier than a group of strangers on a train.

As you continued to read the second part of Holmes’ crime solving with Watson, you heard the door handle jiggle and looked up as the door opened and your fiance came in, shutting the door with a sigh. He tossed his jacket onto the couch as he moved through the cabin before he looked up and noticed you sitting there, book in hand and bedside lamp on.

“Oh,” he said softly as he went to remove his shoes. “I didn’t realize you were still awake,” he continued as he started to undress. Your eyes widened and you looked away, clearing your throat. Seonghwa looked up to notice you were looking down, face buried in your book. “Would you like me to change somewhere else?” he asked, an amused tone in his voice.

You looked up at him, the dim, golden glow of your bedside lamp illuminating him more now. Your eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping you as your eyes lingered on the cut in his bottom lip. You immediately threw A Study in Scarlet aside and scrambled up, crawling across the bed until you were in front of him. Seonghwa watched you with a bewildered look as you took his face in your hands.

“What happened to you?” you asked, beginning to inspect the rest of his face for marks. He tried to pull away, letting out a chuckle. “I’m alright,” he said as he grabbed your wrists. “Really,” he added as he held your wrists together and stared into your eyes. “You should see the other guy,” he joked.

Seonghwa let go of you and started to finish undressing, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of you. “What happened?” you demanded as you sat back on your heels and watched him. “Oh, you know. Men being men. One of the guys said I most likely didn’t know how to throw a punch, not realizing I spent a great amount of time during my youth taking martial arts.” You stared at him as he removed his socks, letting them fall to the floor.

Your expression went from shocked to anger to pain. You balled your hand into a fist and hit his shoulder. It wasn’t very hard but it wasn’t a light hit either. “Ah! Why are you hitting me?” he asked, sounding slightly alarmed but also amused as you hit him again. “You’re an idiot, Seonghwa Park!” you said, fighting back tears.

He turned around, catching your hands before they made contact again. “Sweetheart,” he said calmly as you struggled against his hold. “I’m fine,” he reminded you. “It isn’t that serious!” he continued but you weren’t having it. You struggled against him, making small grunts of effort. Seonghwa finally threw all of his weight into it, pushing you back onto the mattress and pinning your hands down on either side of your head as he hovered over you.

“Y/N, stop it,” he said in a commanding tone you’d never heard before but it sent a wave of arousal throughout your body and immediately, you submitted to him, staring up at him with wide but curious eyes, heat forming in your cheeks and other parts of your body as well.

The movement had caused the hem of your nightgown to ride up as well as the force at which he flipped you back, made it rise above your knee, sliding up your thighs. You felt extremely exposed because at any moment, he could pull back and see your lack of undergarments. Silence filled the space as time passed. Seconds ticked by, punctuated only by the sound of your shallow breathing.

Seonghwa stared down at you, eyes flickering between yours and your lips. Without hesitation, he closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours. You let out a small whimper as you felt his thigh press into you, pressing the soft fabric of your nightgown against your core. He pulled back to look into your eyes. “Have I ever told you how absolutely beautiful you are like this?” he asked, moving one of his hands to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over your heated skin.

“No makeup, no dresses, just you,” he continued, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He released your other hand as one of his slid down past the outside of your thigh to your knee and pulled your leg up around his waist as he settled his hips between your thighs. “Hwa,” you whined as he started kissing down the side of your neck. “So.” kiss. “Fucking.” kiss. “Beautiful.”

Your chest rose and fell with each labored breath as he continued to kiss down to your collar, reaching the neckline of your nightgown before looking up to meet your gaze. “Hwa,” you started, letting out  a gasp followed by a moan as he rolled his hips against you, grinding into your already soaked center. 

“You’re drunk,” you tried to continue. “I'm not drunk, Y/N,” he answered, pulling back to look at you. “I drank, yes. But I'm not drunk.” You stared back at him, cheeks heating up as he devoured you with his eyes. “Then why are you—” you started.

“Because I want you,” he interjected. “I want you so bad and each time we've been interrupted has felt like a punch to my stomach. I want everything,” he continued, lips ghosting over yours. “I want to hold you down while I make you mine.”

“I want to taste you,” he continued, eyes dipping to look at your parted lips as he rolled his hips again, grinding his hardening cock against you, the fabric of his pants giving you the smallest amount of friction. You let out a small whimper as you felt his breath against your ear. 

“I want to be inside you.”

You let out a gasp, whispering his name as he kissed down the side of your neck once more, mouth ghosting over the material of your dress as he traveled further and further. He glanced up, meeting your gaze with a mischievous smirk as he pushed your skirt back and parted your knees.

Instinctively you tried to cover yourself up but Seonghwa wouldn’t let you, letting out an impatient grunt. Your cheeks burned as his gaze lowered until his eyes met the place between your thighs, lips parting as he exhaled slowly. You watched as the tip of his tongue peeked out, wetting his lips before he glanced back up at you. “If you want me to stop,” he said in a steady voice. “Just say so,” he added.

“I will not do anything that you don’t want me to. I want your full consent to touch you,” he continued. Your eyes flickered from his face to his hands resting atop your knees. Slowly, you pushed yourself up, propping your body up on one elbow as you reached for one of his hands.

Once you had it in yours, you slid both your hands down the inside of your thigh until his fingers brushed against your wet folds. You let out a shaky gasp at the feeling, keeping your eyes locked on his face as he watched your hand guide his. 

“I want you to touch me,” you whispered, drawing your fiance’s gaze away from your glistening sex. “I want you to taste me,” you continued, moving your hand up his arm as you sat up further. Your hand ghosted over the bulge in his pants, testing the waters and gauging his reaction before firmly pressing your hand against him. 

His eyes fluttered shut as you very slowly, almost torturously so, massaged him. Seonghwa managed to force his eyes open and looked up, meeting your gaze. With his attention on you once again, you delivered what you felt was the killing blow. “I want you inside me.”

Seonghwa let out a growl, lurching forward as he pinned you back against the bed, capturing your lips in a heated kiss as his hand snaked between your bodies, finding your folds and pressing the pads of his fingers past them, working up and down, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves with ease.

You were no stranger to pleasure and had often taken care of it yourself but this was the first time anyone else had ever touched you so intimately. Seonghwa had never spoken about his sexual prowess before because it didn’t matter what he’d done in the past before meeting you but based on the expert way his fingers circled your clit and dipped down to tease your slit gave you the idea that he definitely had some idea of what he was doing.

As he pulled back, he slid a finger into your warmth, enjoying the way your brows furrowed in pleasure, a small gasp escaping your lips, breath hot against his skin as you lost yourself in the feeling. He moved slowly, pumping a single finger in and out of you, watching the change in your expression go from uncertainty to ecstasy. He murmured an apology when you winced, whimpering as he added a second finger and curled them both into the soft spot inside you.

He enjoyed the way you mewled, back arching off the bed as he continued to stimulate that same spot over and over, and the way your thighs started to shake as he drew you closer and closer to your climax. Before you could tumblr over the edge, he pulled away, withdrawing his fingers from your cunt despite your whines of protest. 

Resisting the urge to chuckle, Seonghwa lowered himself, settling on the mattress with his head between your thighs. Licking his lips, he spread your folds, taking in the mess between your legs before giving your clit a very slow, deliberate lick, making your body jump. He was quick to hold you down by the hips as his mouth devoured you. He switched between light sucking and flicking his tongue, making your legs shake as you threw your head back against the sheets.

“Oh merciful heavens,” you gasped, letting out a moan as he flattened his tongue, moving it expertly against your clit. You were wrong yet again from your assumptions: he knew very well what he was doing. He was definitely more than practiced at this. The slight jealousy you felt at the thought of him being intimate with anyone else died as your orgasm drew closer and closer.

One of your hands flew down to grasp his hair while the other dug into the sheets, gripping them tightly as the wave of your climax washed over you, sending ripples of pleasure throughout your body, legs shaking as they tried to close around your fiance’s head. Seonghwa was much stronger than he looked, stronger than you gave him credit for, as he held your legs open while he helped you ride out your high.

Heat, white hot and intense, radiated throughout your body as wave after wave of bliss rolled over you, each one less strong as the one before until you were pulling at Seonghwa’s hair, urging him to stop as you trembled and shook, your body jerking with each pass of his tongue over your swollen and overly sensitive clit. He finally pulled away, lips coated with your essence as he looked up and met your gaze.

You weakly pushed yourself up enough to grab the front of his shirt, pulling him up. A chuckle left his lips as he followed your movements, crawling up over you, allowing you to pull him into a kiss. The taste of yourself on his lips and tongue had you moaning into his mouth as your hands moved, fumbling with his pants. Seonghwa’s own hands grabbed yours, stopping you as he pulled away.

“What are you doing?” he whispered as you tried to free your hands, determined to get his pants off him. “I want you,” you replied, pulling your hands from his and trying once more to undress him. Seonghwa chuckled against your lips as he grabbed your wrists, pinning your hands to the bed. “Do you even know what that means?” he asked, lips brushing against yours.

You nodded eagerly. “Yes,” you answered. “I want you to make love to me.” Seonghwa let out a groan, pressing a long, languid kiss to your lips. “I would love nothing more than to do just that, my love,” he said softly. “But I think this is enough for tonight.” You whined in protest, grabbing his shirt as he tried to pull back. “Please, Seonghwa,” you begged, tightening your thighs around his waist as your fingers curled into the placket of his shirt, trying to pull him down into a kiss.

Once again, you underestimated his strength as he didn’t even move, smiling down at your feeble attempt to pull him to you. He would love to let you seduce him, but tonight was not that night. “No, sweetheart,” he murmured, at least giving in and kissing you. “No more tonight. I would really like to take my time with you,” he continued. “It’s getting late and we’re on a schedule,” he added as he wrapped his hands around yours and pulled them from his shirt.

“When we get back after this trip, I promise I will spend hours, days even if that’s what you want, making love to you. We won’t even leave the bed. I’ll make love to you in the morning, at lunch, at dinner, and all throughout the night,” he continued between kisses. “But we have to get through this trip first.”

You whined into his mouth. “This is the only time we’ll be alone until we wed,” you reminded him. Seonghwa chuckled, nuzzling your nose with his before pressing another kiss to your lips. “Is that really so bad?” he asked softly. “Waiting until we’re married?” You pouted up at him. “I want you now,” you retorted. Seonghwa chuckled again. “Patience, blossom,” he whispered.

“But Hwa,” you whined again, using a nickname you knew made him pliant. Whenever you used it, you usually got what you wanted. “Oh blossom,” he said with an amused tone. “That won’t work on me.” You pouted again, tightening your thighs around his waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to whisper in his ear. “But I’m so wet. I bet you’d slide right in.”

You heard Seonghwa groan, burying his face into your neck. “Please, Hwa? Please?” you whimpered, moving your hips to grind against his cock which was still hard in his pants. “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to be able to stop,” Seonghwa groaned, his voice muffled by your skin as you continued to grind against him, the mess between your thighs no doubt smearing against the material of his pants.

You felt him start to move, matching your pace and meeting your movements. One of his hands moved down to grab your ass, fingers digging into the plush skin of your backside as he started to take control, grinding against you. “Hwa, please, baby, please.” You felt him groan into your shoulder. “If you keep that up,” he said as he lifted his head. “I won’t hold back. I’ll rip that pretty little nightgown off you and take you right here.”

He said it as a threat but in reality, that’s exactly what you wanted. You could feel his cock through his pants and you wanted to feel it inside of you. You want to feel full of nothing but him as he claimed you for himself and ruined all other men, not that you would ever be with anyone else. You wanted him to get possessive, take your virtue, love you with his words and body.

You needed it.

Seonghwa let out a shaky moan as he continued to rut against you. With great difficulty, you managed to snake your hands between your bodies and start to undo his pants. Seonghwa’s hips slowed as he pulled back to look at you. “Sweetheart,” he started. “If we start this, I don’t think I can stop.” You nodded, trying to pull his pants down past his hips. “I know,” you whispered, taking advantage of his lapse in focus to roll both of you over so you were now on top of him.

You pulled his pants down past his hips with ease, freeing his cock which bounced up, settling against his abdomen. With his pants half removed, you sat back, taking in the sight of him lying before you. Quickly, Seonghwa sat up, grabbing your hand and guided you to straddle his lap.

“Before you take it inside you,” he said breathlessly as he laid back and started to pull your nightgown up, holding the hem up. “Just sit down. I want you to feel it.” He gently pushed you down onto his lap, the underside of his cock pressing between your folds and meeting your slit. “Here,” he said softly, grabbing your hips and moving them forwards and backwards, making your wet pussy slide against the shaft of his cock, coating it in your arousal.

It was much different than his fingers or his tongue. For one, his cock was much thicker, and for two, it was hotter, radiating heat as it throbbed and twitched under you. Seonghwa’s head fell back against the pillows, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, groaning while you grinded against him.

You rested your hands on his chest, leaning over slightly as you moved, letting out a gasp when you felt your clit rub against the underside of his cock. You let out a shuddering breath as you moved, guided by his weak grasp and his words of praise. You could tell he was getting close, the chest rising and falling as he struggled to breathe evenly. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed as he bucked his hips, making you cry out.

“I can’t,” he gasped. “I’m close.” You sped up, your wet pussy gliding messily over his cock. “I need to be inside you,” he said suddenly as you chased your high with a whine. “Come here,” he instructed, reaching up to grab the back of your neck and pull you down so your chest was flush against his. His hand snaked between your bodies as he took himself in his hand, stroking a few times before he guided the head of his cock to your slit and pushed the tip into you.

The stretch stung but you couldn’t stop the moan that flowed out of you as he pushed your hips down, sheathing himself inside you in one slow motion, letting out a trembling breath, followed by a moan as he bottomed out. “Oh, God,” he gasped, eyes fluttering shut. “Feels so good.” You moaned, walls clenching around him. “S-Seonghwa,” you whimpered as the pain of the sting gave way to a dull ache.

“What is it, my petal?” he asked softly, kissing your cheek, lips, jaw, whatever he could reach. “Please make love to me,” you begged. Seonghwa moaned as you tried to start moving but he stilled you as you winced. “You need time to adjust, my love,” he said softly. “This is much different. Just be patient.” 

You rested against him, laying your head on his chest as your walls contracted around him repeatedly. “That’s it, love,” he said softly as he stroked your back, the fluttering of your walls lessening as your body slowly accommodated the intrusion.

When Seonghwa felt that you were fully adjusted to the feeling of his cock filling your walls, he pulled your hips up before he gave you a slow, tentative thrust, testing your limits. His cock slid back into you with ease, forcing out a moan from the back of your throat. He gave you another before he rolled you onto your back, his cock slipping into you further.

With one hand he carefully and slowly pulled your nightgown up and until he had tugged the garment off you and tossed it aside before kicking his pants off and removing his own shirt. Once you were both completely naked, he grabbed your thigh, pushing it up and spreading your legs even more to allow himself to slot between your legs, his cock throbbing inside you.

“I’m gonna take it slow,” he whispered, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. He pressed slightly, silently asking for entrance and you granted it, parting your lips and taking his thumb in your mouth, sucking on it as he started to thrust into you slowly. You moaned, his thumb pressing against your tongue as he increased his speed. The room filled with the sound of his skin against yours, drowned out only by the sound of your moans of pleasure.

There was another sound that accompanied it. A knocking sound. It must have been the sound of the bed against the wall but then you remembered you were on a train and the bed was built in. There was no way nor nothing for the bed to knock into except the wall of the train it was fixed to.

Another series of knocks rang out and you awoke with a start.

The shades were still closed from when you had drawn them last night before bed. You could see a minute amount of morning light peeking through at the bottom and you groaned, letting your head fall back against the pillows. You felt an arm tighten around your midsection, making your eyes snap open. You looked over your shoulder at your fiance who was fast asleep but slowly waking up from the knocking that you just realized was coming from the door.

You carefully pulled the sheets back, removing Seonghwa’s arm as you climbed out of the bed, grabbing your dressing gown and pulling it on over your nightgown that was on your body and not on the floor, confirming further that you had been dreaming and that the entire exchange last night had been one, intense dream. You tied the sash and reached the door, unlocking and opening it to find yourself face to face with Alfred. “Morning, Miss,” he greeted.

Light filtering in from the windows in the compartment hall blinded you for a moment and you blinked trying to adjust to the change. “What time is it?” you asked, raising a hand to shield your eyes. “It’s just past eight twenty two in the morning,” Alfred answered. “Would you like me to send for breakfast?” 

It took you a moment to register what Alfred had said and you nodded once you processed the words. “Yes please. I haven’t had a chance to look over the menu,” you admitted. “We’ve only just woken up.” Alfred nodded. “Not to worry, Miss,” he replied. “Shall I have Miss Charlotte choose for you?” You nodded. “Yes please, thank you Alfred,” you answered. He gave you a small bow of the head before he turned and walked down the compartment towards the dining car.

You shut the door, blinking away the bright light as your eyes started to adjust to the darkness of the room once more. You walked back over to the bed and sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. You heard a soft groan and the sheets behind you rustled before the bed shifted. You looked up in the dim light peeking through from under the shades to see Seonghwa had gotten up. He walked into the rest of the suite, stopping to open the furthest shade halfway and let some light into the room.

Seonghwa returned to the bed, leaning down as he placed a hand on your neck, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Morning, sweetheart,” he said softly before moving to pull out his clothes for the day. You looked away as he started to dress, noticing that he wore his pajama pants but he had not worn the matching shirt and was therefore shirtless. You wondered if he had put on the shirt to sleep but in the middle of the night gotten too hot and removed it.

Either way, you kept your eyes turned away as he dressed. He chuckled when he noticed you avoiding his direction. “Could you send for Charlotte when you’re finished,” you finally asked, still not looking up at him. Seonghwa let out a huff that sounded an awful lot like a laugh. “You know I can help you,” he said softly as he finished buttoning his shirt and grabbed his waistcoat.

“We’re not married,” you reminded him. Seonghwa sent a glance your way as he did the buttons before he turned and walked towards where you sat, leaning over, forcing you backwards, managing to catch yourself on your elbows as he hovered over you, eyes looking between yours and studying your face. “Why would we need to be married for me to help you dress?” he asked softly.

Your cheeks burned as you stammered, struggling for the right words.

It- w-would be improper. Inappropriate,” you said, your voice quiet. A smirk started to form on your fiance’s face. “And why exactly would it be inappropriate?” he asked and you couldn’t believe it. He was acting so weird. “Because we haven’t… you haven’t… we…” Your words failed each time you tried to answer, your rambling only made Seonghwa’s smirk grow wider.

“You don’t remember what happened last night, do you?” he asked, inspecting your face. Your heart stopped as you stared back at him. “N-no?” you asked. Seonghwa tilted his head curiously. “I was the one that drank, why don’t you remember anything?” he asked. You stared at him, eyes wide. “Wh-what do you remember?” you asked.

He leaned in closer, lips inches from yours. “I remember my head between your thighs and you making the most exquisite sounds,” he mumbled, his lips ghosting over yours. “Wh-what?” you asked, leaning back to look up at him. “You really don’t remember that?” he asked, a look of concern crossing his face. “I came back from the dining car, you noticed my split lip,” he said and your eyes traveled down to the small cut in his bottom lip which looked a bit better in the daylight.

“Then you kept hitting me, I stopped you, there was kissing, I told you I wanted you, and you asked me to touch you,” he said, repeating the things that had happened at the beginning of your dream. ‘Was it not a dream then?’ You stared at him, a look of mild horror on your face. “You really don’t remember?” he asked, sounding disappointed. You shook your head. “No, I do,” you clarified. “I just thought it was a dream…”

Seonghwa tilted his head, leaning down to catch your gaze as you looked down at your nightgown. “Why would you think it was a dream?” he asked, tilting your head back to look up at him. “Did we… do anything else?” you asked, gulping quietly. Seonghwa chuckled, pressing a kiss to your lips before standing up straight. “No,” he answered. “You wanted to,” he added, looking at you as he finished dressing. “Wanted it really bad but I said no. Promised to treat you as you deserve when we return to London.”

You tore your gaze from him. “When did I fall asleep?” you asked, looking back up as he moved to your trunk. “Just after I told you to be patient. You were almost incoherent,” he added. “Let’s get your day started,” he said as he opened the trunk lid and lifted one of the trays. “How do you feel about charcoal?” he asked, turning to look at you. 

You stared inquisitively at him as he showed you one of the traveling suits Charlotte had packed for you. “Charcoal is fine,” you replied. Seonghwa set it aside and closed the trunk. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you washed up.”

After washing and pulling on your tea gown, breakfast arrived and you ate in silence while Seonghwa thanked the service staff and joined you. He kept his eyes on you, watching you eat. As you finished, Seonghwa was tempted to pick you up the moment the staff finished clearing the table and carry you back to bed. Last night, he had proven to himself that he couldn’t not resist you for much longer. 

Not when you begged him oh so sweetly to make you his. He had said that it would have to wait until you both returned to London, but truth be told, Seonghwa wasn’t sure if he could wait that long. Now that he’s had a taste, he wanted all of you. It was going to be a long couple of days in such close proximity to you.

An hour later you were buttoning up your jacket when there was a knock at the door. Seonghwa answered it and Charlotte looked surprised to see you were dressed. Your fiance let her in and she walked over quickly as he shut the door and returned to your side. “You should have sent for me,” Charlotte whispered as Seonghwa helped you with the buttons on your sleeves. “It’s fine, Lottie,” you answered, picking up your gloves.

“Seonghwa helped me.”

At this Charlotte looked positively appalled. “He’s not your husband yet, Miss Y/N,” she whispered, her eyes widening. “Did he do anything… untoward to y—?” Seonghwa, who had just pulled on his jacket, cleared his throat, causing you to look past your lady’s maid at him and her to turn abruptly and look at him. “What goes on in the privacy of this bedroom is between Y/N and I,” Seonghwa said, giving Charlotte a stern look.

“I understand that, Mr. Park, but Miss Y/N is—”

“My wife-to-be,” Seonghwa interjected.

“But she’s not yet your wife. You shouldn’t be…” her words failed her as Seonghwa’s gaze turned steely. “Charlotte,” you said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine. Seonghwa is going to be my husband as soon as we return to London. The engagement isn’t going anywhere,” you explained.

“But it’s not proper, Miss!” Charlotte replied. A frown overtook your features. “When have I ever been overly proper, Lottie?” you asked, raising a brow. She stared at you, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Please just focus on attending to me. What happens behind that door is between Seonghwa and I. If we’re going to be sharing a bed in a few weeks as a married couple, why would it be such a problem if we share a bed now?” Charlotte muttered something under her breath.

Whatever she said, Seonghwa didn’t hear but you did. “I don’t care,” you snapped. “You know I don’t share the same faith as you, Lottie. I never have. Seonghwa and I are committed to one another and that isn’t going to change. If we want to start acting as a married couple, we are entitled to do so. I don’t need anyone, lest not you, judging me. Keep it up and you’ll find yourself facing unemployment.”

Charlotte gave a small curtesy. “Sorry, ma’am. Will you be requiring anything else?” You shook your head. “No,” you replied. “That will be all.” Charlotte bowed her head again and moved towards the door, giving the same bow to Seonghwa before she opened the door and left. Your fiance turned to look at you with raised brows. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go off like that before,” he said with a chuckle as you moved to join him near the door, grabbing your book from the table.

“Shall we?” you asked, looking up at him. Seonghwa nodded, offering his arm which you took as he opened the door and led you out into the hallway of the compartment. Outside the windows you could see you were surrounded by snow capped mountains, rushing through the countryside.

You spent most of the day in one of the many observation cars. You read while Seonghwa kept you company, enjoying the scenery. Some of the crew appeared, sitting with you and chatting with Seonghwa. You got a good look at Charley and could see that Seonghwa had been right.

Charley had it a lot worse than your fiance did.

Lunch time you took your meals in the dining car before retiring to your private rooms to relax before dinner came. As last night, you joined the dining car but this time, Seonghwa didn’t join the others for drinks. Instead, he accompanied you back to the cabin, dismissing Alfred and Charlotte early so he could have plenty of alone time with you.

The urge to touch each other was strong but you both managed to keep your hands to yourselves for the rest of the night and into the morning. When Seonghwa woke you up the following morning, he informed you that he’d already ordered breakfast to be served in the room as he traced his fingertips along your arm, tickling you. He woke you up with kisses until there was a knock at the door, signaling your food had arrived. He also decided the two of you would stay in your cabin for the day and lunch, only appearing for dinner.

He asked you to read the rest of A Study in Scarlet to him which you followed with Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. By the time dinner rolled around, you had been lounging with each other all day and Seonghwa didn’t see the need to join the rest of the passengers. Instead, he sent word for your dinner to be served in your cabin.

“‘But they were in the well,”’ Alice said to the Dormouse, not choosing to notice this last remark,” you read as Seonghwa watched your face, leaning against the pillows beside you. You chose to ignore his stare, a smirk forming on his face as you continued.

“‘Of course they were,’” said the Dormouse; “‘—well in.’” You felt Seonghwa’s hand slide up your stomach, stopping to rest just under your bust. A shiver went up your spine but you didn’t want to give in so easily. “This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go on for some time without interrupting it,” you continued to read from the page.

Seonghwa’s hand appeared, gently grasping the book and pulling it from you. “What’re you doing?” you asked as he shut the book and set it aside, rolling onto you and settling between your thighs. “Seonghwa, what are you doing?” you asked again as he kissed your cheek, peppering kisses all over your face before taking you in a searing, passionate kiss.

You moaned into it as his hand slid down the outside of your thigh, grabbing the hem of your skirt and pulling it up slowly. “H-hwa?” you whimpered as his lips left a wet trail of kisses down the side of your neck. He pulled back, reaching up to undo the front of your wrapper. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. 

“I just want another taste,” he added as he started pushing the material aside, exposing your collar to his kisses. You combed your fingers through his hair as he kissed his way down your body, thankful at your lack of corset. You let out a moan as he pushed your thighs apart, also thankful for the invention of split drawers. One less layer he would have to remove.

It was impressive, and slightly embarrassing, how quickly he was able to bring you to the brink of orgasm with just his tongue. After making you cum twice, he kissed his way back up to your lips, slotting himself between your legs, rolling his hips against yours and grinding his cock against you. “Do you think this is a dream too?” he whispered. You shook your head, moaning loudly as he continued to rut against you. “Good,” he retorted, reaching down to slide his hand between your bodies, fingers toying with your slit. As he pushed two fingers into you, he froze when your own hand slipped into his pants and made contact with his hard cock.

“What’re you doing?” he asked through a groan as your fingers wrapped around the shaft of his cock. “You’ve made me feel good multiple times,” you explained as you started to stroke him. “Let me return the favor.” Seonghwa let out a choked groan as you continued to jerk him off. “Since you won’t fuck me.” The moment the words left your lips, Seonghwa let out a strangled groaning sound before you felt his hand clamp over your mouth.

“Where did you learn such filthy language?” he asked. “Did someone teach you that?” You shook your head, eyes wide, but your hand never faltered. Seonghwa’s eyes fluttered shut as he gave in to your touch, bucking his hips to match your pace. “Shit,” he hissed, curling his fingers inside you, making you mewl. “Keep going,” he whispered. “Just like that, darling.”

You tried to focus on his pleasure which he made hard every time he curled his fingers inside you or his thumb brushed over your clit. He was lost in his own pleasure but he didn’t want you to miss out, even if his hand stilled from time to time as you sent him hurtling towards the edge. “Please tell me you’re close,” he moaned, burying his face in your chest.

“Mhm,” you whimpered, speeding up your movements as he bucked into your hand, hips chasing his high as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you. “That’s it,” you heard him groan as your walls tightened around his fingers. “Let go. I’m there too, Blossom,” he whispered. 

He pressed his thumb against your clit and that was the final push you needed to go over the edge, taking him with you with a loud moan as he continued to thrust into your hand until you felt something warm and sticky coat your skin. You both continued to massage and stroke each other to help the other come down until Seonghwa finally collapsed on top of you before rolling off. 

You withdrew your hand from his pants and inspected the white substance as he quickly got up and headed to the private en suite to grab a small hand towel which he then dipped into some water and returned, taking your wrist and cleaning your hand. “What is that?” you asked curiously as he wiped the white fluid away. “Semen,” he answered truthfully. He glanced at your confused expression.

“How much has your mother prepared you for your conjugal duties?” he asked as he took the cloth, folding it so the semen was trapped inside and carefully wiped your folds. “Not much,” you answered as he finished and helped you close your wrapper. He got up and dropped the towel in the hamper before undoing his pants and pulling them off to put on his pajama pants and undoing his shirt to pull on his nightshirt.

He returned to the bed, laying back against the pillows and beckoned you to join him, letting you settle into his arms before he started speaking. “What has your mother told you?” he asked. “Just that when we’re married, I have to do my duty to give you children.” Seonghwa nodded as he took one of your hands, lacing his fingers with yours. “Did she tell you how?”

You turned your head to look at him. “Just that I will have to lay with you a lot until I find out I’m pregnant. I know intercourse is involved,” you added, noticing the look on his face. “I’m not that helpless. “Well, that is correct but there’s more to it than just being physically intimate. What I cleaned off your hand just now,” he said, holding the hand in question up.

“Was semen, right?” you asked. Seonghwa nodded. “What is that exactly?” you asked. “It’s a relatively newer concept but in your body, you have these tiny little eggs,” he said, reaching down and gently poking your side. “And inside mine, I have these tiny little things called sperm.” You looked up at him as he explained how the two are essential to fertilization and that for you to get pregnant, he has to deposit sperm into your body and then it has to fertilize an egg.

“It’s still not fully understood,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But that is the basics.” You tilted your head back to look at him. “So when we have intercourse, how does it get inside me?” you asked. Seonghwa chuckled, cupping your cheek. “I think you know, blossom,” he said softly. You stared up at him, the fresh memory of the semen on your hand and your cheeks burned. “Will you explain it to me anyway?” you asked, leaning into him further.

He continued to explain in detail what you had already surmised, taking great enjoyment in your reactions. Dinner was served not long after and after eating, you resumed reading to Seonghwa while he went over some details of a business proposal. You finished chapter eleven when you yawned, drawing your fiance’s attention. “I think it’s bedtime,” he said, removing his eyeglasses and closing the folder.

You looked up at him as he set his glasses aside and reached over, grabbing your book, shutting it, and setting it aside. “You need to put on your nightgown,” he added. You whined, stretching as he smiled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him. “Our last night sharing a bed,” he whispered. “How do you want to commemorate it?” you asked, looking up at him.

Seonghwa chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “How do you want to commemorate it?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. You rolled into him, hiding your face in his chest. “I think I actually just want to sleep,” you murmured. Seonghwa laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Then sleep it is,” he answered. “You still need to put on your nightgown though.”

The following morning, Seonghwa let you sleep in as he got up and dressed for the day. Once he was dressed and breakfast ordered, he walked over to your side of the bed and sat down, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your cheek before he caressed your skin gently. Your brows furrowed in your sleep and he resisted the urge to laugh at how cute you looked.

“Y/N,” he said softly, caressing your cheek once more. “It’s time to get up, sweetheart.” You murmured in your sleep, attempting to turn away from him. Seonghwa stopped you, turning you back carefully. “Y/N, darling, it’s time to get up,” he said a little louder, gently shaking you. Your eyes fluttered open and in the dim light peeking through the window from under the shades, meeting Seonghwa’s.

He smiled sweetly as your eyes met and you mimicked the same expression. “Morning, Blossom,” he said leaning down, pulling the blanket from your face and pressing a kiss to your lips. “Breakfast should be here soon. It’s our last day on the train,” he continued. “We should probably go out and play society so Charlotte and Alfred can pack up our things.”

You frowned, pouting as you looked up at him. “Do we have to?” you whined as Seonghwa smiled at you. “Yes, I’m afraid we do, darling,” he answered. “But first things first,” he added as he sat back up. “Breakfast.” As if on cue, there was a knock at the door and Seonghwa got up to answer it. He stood back as the staff set the trays on the table while your fiance thanked and dismissed them.

Once the door was shut, he walked over to the table, lifting a lid on one of the trays before picking it up by the handles and walking over as you sat up, leaning against the pillows. “I can get up,” you protested as he sat down, setting the tray on his side of the bed. “Take your time, Blossom,” he said cupping your chin and leaning in to place a kiss on your lips.

He got up and headed towards the table. “Aren’t you going to eat?” you asked, looking up at him. He smiled, turning his head to meet your gaze. “I’ve already eaten,” he replied. “I wanted you to sleep in. Enjoy your breakfast, I’m going to speak to Alfred.” He walked the short distance to the door and opened it. “I’ll be back, Blossom,” he said before stepping out and shutting the door.

You looked down at the tray, stomach making a small growling sound. There were two fried eggs, a few sausages, back bacon, pan seared tomatoes and mushrooms, beans, two fried cuts of blood sausage, and one slice of fried bread. A proper full breakfast. 

You got up, moving to the table to fix yourself some tea, adding cream and sugar to the cup. As you started back, you saw a small glass of juice and grabbed it. You took your time eating, enjoying a bit of everything on your plate. It wasn’t often that you had a full breakfast, especially at home where the cook was prone to experimenting with various cuisines.

Knowing it would be a while since you got to enjoy such a meal, you made sure to savor it all, especially the beans and tomatoes. As you were finishing your meal, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” you called, hoping it was Seonghwa but Charlotte appeared when the door opened. “Morning, Miss,” Charlotte said as she shut the door, setting a hot kettle on the table, and moved to open the rest of the shades.

“Have you finished eating?” Charlotte asked, moving towards the bed as you nodded, sipping at your tea. She looked down and let out a whistle. “You must have been hungry,” she noted to which you nodded. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry,” you answered as she started to clean up. “Finish your tea, then wash up, and we’ll get you dressed,” Charlotte said with a smile as she started to clean up.

“Would you like to wear the purple travel suit today, ma’am?” Charlotte asked, turning to look at you. With your nod of approval, Charlotte opened the trunk and pulled out the purple dress and matching accessories. She set it out for you, returning the tray to the trunk. “Mr. Park was up early,” she noted as she walked over, taking your now empty tea cup.

“Yes,” you responded, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and getting to your feet. You moved over to the wash basin where Charlotte poured some of the hot water into a pitcher for you to start washing. You scrubbed thoroughly your arms, legs, chest, face, adding soap to get really clean before wiping yourself down. You had washed your hair yesterday so you saw no reason to do so again.

Once you were finished with your routine, adding powder to your skin and brushing your teeth, Charlotte helped you dress into your undergarments, lacing up your corset snugly. You then put on the next layers, buttoning up your corset cover while Charlotte buttoned the first of your petticoats into place. After another two petticoats were added, she helped you into your traveling suit.

Once you were dressed, shoes buttoned and gloves on, you thanked Charlotte and exited the suite while Charlotte started cleaning and packing up your things. With your book in hand, you headed for the lounge car, passing through sleeper car four to reach the first class lounge. You had expected your fiance to be there but didn’t see him anywhere. Not feeling brave enough to go searching for him, you picked a seat near a window and sat down, opening your book and resuming your reading.

You weren’t sure how much time passed but some time later, someone sat across from you. Glancing up you saw it was a young girl with blonde hair, braided into twin tails. She wore a dark blue dress, the hem reaching just past her knees. She was young, very young. You looked around at the other passengers before turning back to her. She stared at you with bright blue eyes.

The way she was staring at you was starting to unsettle you. There was no expression on her face. You were about to speak when you heard a woman’s voice. “Marta!” You glanced up as an equally blonde woman in a dark green dress came forward, grabbing the girl’s hand. She muttered an apology and all but dragged the child away as she headed for the door that led to the first class saloon.

You watched them disappear before returning to your book to finish the final chapter. When you did, you finally decided to get up, intent on finding your fiance. You tucked your book under your arm and headed for the next door. Inside the first class bar car, you saw many of the first class passengers but Seonghwa was nowhere in sight.

You dreaded searching more of the train but you were getting antsy and wanted to see him. Gathering your courage, you passed through the third class sleeper cars and staff car where you ended up in the bar car that was meant for everyone on board. It was much louder in here than it had been in the saloon car. You noticed several of the team members sitting at the bar along with—

“Tell us another one, Park,” Thom said as he lifted his glass to his lips.

Your fiance was nestled between the crew, sipping from a short crystal glass with an amber liquid in it. Anger started in your stomach. He’d gotten up early, eaten breakfast, and left you alone to come out here to what? Play society with these people? As the anger in your stomach started to rise, you felt a gentle hand on your arm.

You turned to find the three other women of the crew were standing. Adelaide had already taken a seat leaving you standing with Euphemia and Sophronia. “Join us,” Euphemia said, a kind smile on her face. You glanced back at the bar, noticing your fiance chatting animatedly before you turned back to them and nodded wordlessly. You sat across from Adelaide as Euphemia took the seat beside her and Sophronia sat next to you.

“So, Y/N is it?” Adelaide asked as she pulled a small silver case from her bag and opened it, revealing several hand rolled cigarettes. She pulled one out, grabbing a silver lighter but Euphemia stopped her. “Not everyone likes it when you smoke around them, Della,” she said in a low voice. Adelaide looked up and sighed, putting her cigarette back in its case and snapping it shut.

Sophronia cleared her throat as a server came by to take your drink orders. “Absinthe,” Adelaide said as she put her case and lighter back in her clutch. “A martini,” Sophronia said, looking across her to Euphemia. “I’ll take a Jack Rose,” Euphemia said before the three looked at you. You felt put on the spot and froze. “I uh…” you looked around at them staring at you expectantly.

“She doesn’t drink,” a familiar voice said, coming from behind you. The server nodded and walked over to the bar to put in the orders. You turned in your seat to find your fiance standing there, hands in his pockets as he smiled down at you. “For a while I thought you had gone back to sleep,” he said softly as he grabbed a chair from one of the tables behind yours and pulled it up, sitting down.

“I was in the lounge,” you said softly, not looking back at him. “I didn’t see you in there,” he said, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I was reading after Charlotte helped me dress,” you replied just as quietly. You felt your fiance’s hand on your waist just out of sight of the women sitting across from you. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay to help instead,” he said softly. “But I figured I’d come out here and get to know the rest of the team a little more.”

You locked eyes with Adelaide as the server returned, setting their drink orders down. Before he could walk away, you called out to him. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. “Could I actually get something?” The server nodded with a smile. “What can I get for you?” he asked. “A Bijou, please.” A small smirk appeared on Adelaide’s face as the server nodded and turned to speak to the bartender.

“What are you doing?” Seonghwa asked softly. “I’m nervous as hell,” you replied. “I need to calm down. And besides,” you continued. “It’s one drink. What’s the worst that can happen?”

When the train arrived in Sinaia, Romania, you were glad to finally disembark and be back on stable land again. The staff unloaded your belongings, piling them onto the back of one of the many stagecoaches that waited to take you to your destination. You were glad to be sharing a coach once again with Seonghwa while the rest of the team split up accordingly.

Charlotte sat across from you while your fiance and his valet stood outside, talking to Hiro and Everett while the luggage was packed on. “Hey, Y/N,” a voice said and you looked up, looking out the window beside you. Adelaide was looking up at you, a cigarette between her fingers. “Could I ask you something?” she asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke. You nodded wordlessly as Charlotte looked from you to the blonde woman and back.

“What did your fiance mean when he said you don’t drink?” she asked curiously. You chuckled and shook your head. “I normally don’t drink,” you replied. “I’m really not supposed to,” you added. “Makes the medication less effective.” Adelaide’s expression shifted from curiosity to alarm. “Medication?” she asked, her voice mimicking her face. “For wha—”

“Adelaide, come on! We’re ready to go!” Thom called from a few coaches down. Adelaide dropped her cigarette on the cobblestone and stamped it out with the toe of her boot. “Alright, alright, keep your pants on!” Adelaide called back to him before looking up at you. “We’ll talk about this later, yeah?”

As Adelaide walked away, the door to the stagecoach opened and Seonghwa climbed in, followed by Alfred. The door shut and one by one, the coaches pulled away from the Sinaia station. You peered out the window, looking at the mountains that rose above the village and the vast forest that sat at the base, a new kind of excitement taking over as you were one step closer.

You pulled back and turned to Seonghwa, practically bouncing in your seat. It was finally hitting you that you were about to look for the Library of Illusion and hopefully with the help of the team, actually find it.

The ride out of the town was smooth and as soon as you left the limits, the ground turned into a dirt road. You tried to busy yourself with another book but all of the books you had brought, you had read before and knew almost entirely by heart. Their contents were not enough to mask your excitement and anxiety as you left Sinaia behind and headed for the small town where you would meet your guide.

Around lunch time, the stage coaches stopped at a small house where a couple lived and served hot meals for travelers. There you feasted on a delicious meat and white bean stew and thick slices of fresh bread. You lost count on how many bowls you had but it was amazing and when you climbed back into the stagecoach, you were full and ready for a nap.

The ride to the village was going to take the rest of the day and you were supposed to arrive just after sunset. You ended up sleeping off your lunch by resting your head on Seonghwa’s shoulder. You woke with a start as the stagecoach rocked, hearing the driver call out to the horses in Romanian. Seonghwa was fully awake, looking outside the window as if lost in thought.

“What is it?” you asked, startling him. “I didn’t realize you were awake,” he admitted softly. You looked across at your attendants. Charlotte was asleep, her head resting against the side of the seat and Alfred was also asleep, his head tilted back as he snored softly. “Have you been awake this whole time?” you asked. Seonghwa nodded. “We’re almost there,” he said, looking back out the window.

You glanced out your window and noticed you had entered the forest, driving on a very wide dirt path cut through the trees. “How can you tell?” you asked, turning back to look at Seonghwa. “The sun is setting,” he explained. “And we’re supposed to be there just after sunset.” You sighed, trying to stretch your arms and legs but there wasn’t much room to stretch with Charlotte sitting across from you.

“Do you need to stop and get out?” Seonghwa asked, turning towards you, a look of concern on his face. You shook your head. “No. I’ll be fine.” He watched as you settled back into your seat. “May I ask you something?” he said after a few moments of silence. You turned to him expectantly. He hesitated before clearing his throat. “Do we really have to do this?” he asked softly.

Your smile fell as you looked back at him. “I know this was a gift from your father but it just feels…” he trailed off, looking out the window as silence filled the coach, save for Alfred’s gentle snoring. “What is it?” you asked softly. “Why are you so against this?” Seonghwa clicked his tongue before shaking his head. “Nothing,” he finally said. He turned, giving you a smile.

“Forget I said anything.”

You tried to forget it but as hard as you tried, you couldn’t. You didn’t understand why Seonghwa was so against this trip. You also could place your finger on what was wrong. It wasn’t like he was acting scared. More… apprehensive, though you still couldn’t tell what his reasoning for that was.

The rest of the ride was mainly in silence and as you got further and further into the forest, the sun descended behind the mountains, casting a deep, dark shadow over the land. Seonghwa gently took your hand and you found comfort in his touch just as you were sure he found comfort in yours.

As the sky grew darker and darker still, you finally reached the edge of a small village partially surrounded by a meter tall wooden fort. You were welcomed in by the gatekeeper and directed to the inn where you would spend the night. Charlotte and Alfred had been woken up when the coaches stopped at the gate and were now twisting about in their seats to peer out the window as the line of coaches headed for the inn.

One by one, they reached the inn and stopped. Alfred was the first out of your coach, Seonghwa following. You went next, taking your fiance’s hand and stepping down onto the step and then onto the ground. You looked around in the dim light radiating from behind the mountain as well as the few oil lamps that lit the pathway through the village.

You joined the rest of the crew as the owner of the inn came out. The last coach had a small staff of attendants, no doubt hired by your father. They climbed out and set to work unloading all the luggage and trunks, matching them up to their owners in small piles. You took Seonghwa’s arm as he offered it and started towards the inn door.

Thom had already introduced the team and when you and your fiance strolled up, Thom introduced your fiance as well but you noticed that he didn’t say your name. “Ah, Mr. Park,” the proprietor said in a thick accent. “It is good to meet you,” he added with a bow. “Thank you, this is my—” Seonghwa started to introduce you but was cut off. “Mrs. Park, wonderful to meet you as well,” the innkeeper said, giving you another deep bow as he had to Seonghwa.

“Thank you for your patronage,” the innkeeper started, looking around at everyone. “If you will follow me, I will show you to your rooms.” Seonghwa glanced at Thom who gestured for Seonghwa to go first so the two of you followed the innkeeper through the front door.

Just inside the door was a moderately sized vestibule with various hooks, boots, and a few random pieces of equipment ranging from riding crops to what looked to be gardening tools. There was a door to the left that was shut. In front of you was another door, this one propped open. Through this door was the main area of the inn and it was loud.

To your right were tables full of patrons who were eating, drinking, cheering, and some even singing. At the back wall behind the tables was a massive hearth with a huge fire roaring and providing ample warmth. Standing in the corner on a small wooden platform was a string quartet but rather than the music you were used to at the balls and soirees back in London, the music was much more upbeat, faster even. In front of the platform was a small area cleared of tables and chairs where a few couples were dancing to the lively music.

On the left side of the entrance was a bar that spanned a large part of the width of the building. Behind it were a few barmaids and a bartender who were busy filling large quantities of mugs with golden and dark brown liquids. Across from the door you entered was a massive wooden staircase. Next to it, in a small bump out in the wall was a large wooden box on its side. It looked like a crude elevator.

The innkeeper led you to the stairs. “I put you on the first floor,” he said as he started up the steps. “The elevator is for luggage only.” You followed Seonghwa, using the railing of the stairs to climb until you reached a long hallway. “There are six rooms on this floor,” he continued, pulling out a set of keys from his pocket and pulling one of the keys off. He started to unlock the door. “You have five of them.”

He opened the door and stepped in. “This is one of the men’s rooms,” he explained. Charley, Everett and Thom walked in. “I will have your luggage brought up here, write your names on this and hang it outside on the hook,” he explained, pointing at a small slate. “The staff will match your luggage with your rooms. He handed the key over to Thom. “You will return the key to me tomorrow morning before you leave. I will make sure no one comes in to touch your things.” Thom thanked him and took the key.

The innkeeper showed the next room, unlocking it with another key which he handed to Hiro. “This is the other room for the men,” he explained. The next room was for Sophronia, Adelaide, and Euphemia. The next room, the fourth one, was made up for Charlotte and Alfred and consisted of two smaller rooms with a small hall between their doors.

“And this one,” the innkeeper said, unlocking and opening the last door at the end of the hall. It was a little bit larger than the others and had a massive four poster bed against the outside wall with two windows on either side. Against the inside wall was a fireplace with a fire already crackling. “Couples who pass through on their honeymoon use this room,” he explained. “Since you are married, you share a room.” You expected Seonghwa to speak up, to say something but instead, he simply thanked the innkeeper, taking the key from him when offered.

“Once you are ready, come downstairs and get some supper. I have a private dining room set up for you and your friends,” the innkeeper said as he walked to the door and shut it, leaving you and Seonghwa alone. You turned to him, a laugh escaping you. He joined you in your humor and the two of you devolved into hysterical laughter. “Why does everyone assume we’re already married?” you asked as you sat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know,” Seonghwa said as he wiped a tear from his eye.

“I’m not going to complain,” he added as he walked over. “Are you hungry?” he asked. You nodded, taking his hand when he offered it. “Let’s go see what’s for dinner then, shall we?”

Out in the hall, Seonghwa locked the door and you joined the rest of the crew, heading down to the ground level. Alfred stopped Seonghwa, pulling him aside to speak to him in a hushed tone as Charlotte joined you and you filled her in on the room arrangements. She offered to speak to the innkeeper on your behalf but you shook your head, telling her it was fine.

Seonghwa joined you moments later and despite your inquiry, he shook it off and led you towards a door where the innkeeper was standing, beaming widely at you. “This is the private dining hall,” he said, gesturing into the room. Inside there was a table that seated at least 12. There were baskets of fresh bread already on the table and opposite from where you entered was another doorway.

“We will bring your dinner to you,” the innkeeper said as you moved to take a seat, settling next to Euphemia who gave you a kind smile. Seonghwa under normal circumstances would have sat across from you but he could sense your apprehension and instead sat on the other side of you. Once the table was full, several of the inn staff started bringing in plates of food and tall mugs of ale. You opted for wine which they thankfully had.

“So,” Euphemia said part of the way through the meal, catching your attention. “Are you married already or does the staff of every establishment think you are?” she asked, trying to break the ice with a joke which thankfully did make you chuckle. “I guess they think we’re already married,” you replied. “But you really aren’t?” she asked to which you shook your head. “Not yet,” you answered. “The wedding is in a couple months.” Euphemia smiled but on the other side of her, Adelaide spoke up.

“And you’re actually looking forward to it?” she asked, not bothering to keep her voice down. You felt Seonghwa stiffen next to you and raise his eyes, as did everyone around the table, now completely focused on your conversation. You cleared your throat. “I actually am,” you replied. “I’ve wanted to get married since I was young.” Adelaide let out a bitter laugh.

“Indoctrinated from a young age, made to believe your only purpose is getting married and popping out kids,” she said, shaking her head. You felt an anger settling in the pit of your stomach but pushed it down. “I’m not,” you replied. “Sure, it’s something that is preached to us when we’re young but I actually want to get married and start a family. I don’t see it as my duty but as a life I’m choosing to have.”

The entire table had their eyes on you at this point. “Before I met Seonghwa, I thought I may never get married. Most of the men attempting to court me were either much too old or very… superficial,” you continued. “I wanted something more than just a smart match that gave me security. I wanted love. Before I met Seonghwa, I had given up on the idea of love. Sure, my parents had a marriage full of love but not everyone is so lucky. But then I met him and he changed everything. He showed me that it was possible to have it and has shown me nothing but love since he asked me to marry him.”

You felt him take your hand gently. You turned to look at Adelaide. “I’m sorry for whatever has happened to you that makes you think that marriage is the worst possible thing that can happen to a woman but it’s not. There are much worse fates.”

There was a murmur of agreement and everyone went back to their food, chatting softly while the music and loud chatter outside the room continued on. Seonghwa gave your hand a gentle squeeze before he went back to his meal. Afterwards, the men gathered and asked Seonghwa if he wanted to join him but he declined. You had Charlotte ask for a bath to be drawn in your room so you could bathe fully before your trip into the forest began.

As you started for the stairs, you felt a hand on your arm stop you and turned to find Adelaide.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said softly. “I didn’t realize you had something special with your fella.” You smiled softly. “I do,” you replied. “He’s probably one of the best men I know,” you added. “He comes from a well to do family but he’s also wealthy in his own right. He makes smart business decisions not just for expanding his business but so he can take care of his workers.”

Adelaide gave you a look of shock. “He’s very progressive when it comes to labor laws and wants what’s best for the people who work for him. That’s why he pays fair wages and refuses to let children work in the dangerous parts of the factories. He has regular inspections to make sure the equipment is working properly and listens when the workers complain about something. He’s a great listener,” you continued, smiling fondly as you spoke about your fiance.

“That’s rare,” Adelaide said softly. “He sounds like a real keeper,” she added. You nodded, giggling when she lightly nudged you. “Oh!” she said quickly. “What were you saying earlier? Before we left the station?” she asked. “Oh, about my medication?” you asked, smiling when she nodded, looking concerned. “I have frequent headaches and I have to take medication to relieve them,” you explained. Adelaide’s look of concern diminished as a look of understanding came over her.

“Oh,” she replied. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

You bid her goodnight and headed upstairs to your room where a large tub sat full of steaming hot water. Seonghwa was nowhere to be seen. Charlotte smiled as she set a robe on a chair beside the tub. “I asked Mr. Park to step out while you get undressed,” she explained, moving to help you get ready for the bath. “I have your soaps and oils,” she continued as she helped you with your jacket and removed it, setting it aside. “And as requested, I packed your most comfortable clothes into a rucksack,” she explained as you unbuttoned your petticoats, one by one.

“Did you pack my morning corset?” you asked to which she nodded. “We’ll have to pack this one as well,” Charlotte said but you stopped her. “I can’t take the corsets, Lottie,” you said softly. “It wouldn’t be practical for me to be traipsing around the forest in a corset. I’m not even going to be wearing dresses.” Charlotte looked appalled as you sat down once your corset had been removed.

You removed your shoes and stockings and looked up. “Could you please send for some tea?” you asked softly. I’ll take it after my bath.” Charlotte nodded and gave you a small curtsey before heading to the door and shutting it behind her so you could finish stripping before climbing into the tub. You let out a sigh of bliss as you submerged your body in the hot water, eyes sliding shut as you relaxed, sitting back against the high back of the tub.

You heard the door open and shut and sighed. “Charlotte, I said I’ll take tea after my bath,” you called as footsteps headed towards you slowly, stopping behind you. “I’m sure she’ll be back with it,” Seonghwa’s voice said and you looked up quickly. “Hwa!” you said, cheeks burning as you tried to cover yourself in the water. He chuckled and moved to the side of the tub to kneel. “Relax, sweetheart,” he said softly, reaching out to take your chin gently in his hand.

“I’ve already seen most of it,” he reminded you, making your cheeks burn even more. “I wish I had known you wanted to take a bath, I would have asked for it and then we could have taken one together. Saved on hot water,” he said with a wink, as he let his fingers dip past the surface.

“You could still get in,” you said softly, not looking up at him. His eyes had a look in them. That look. You jumped when there was a knock on the door. Seonghwa got up and walked over to answer it. “Oh, Mr. Park,” Charlotte said, sounding surprised. “Is Miss Y/N still in the bath?”

“She is,” your fiance answered. “I have her tea,” Charlotte announced. “Perfect,” Seonghwa replied. “I’ll take it.” A moment of silence was followed by the sound of china clinking softly as Charlotte no doubt handed the tray to Seonghwa. “Thank you, Charlotte,” he said. “I’ll help Y/N out of the tub when she’s ready,” he continued. “Could you finish packing her bag for the trip into the forest. She has a very practical wardrobe picked out. And please make sure to remove the corsets, she won’t be able to wear them except for the morning one.”

“Oh and one last thing,” he said. “Please pack her books. I’m sure she’ll want to read when we stop to make camp.” You heard the door shut and footsteps of Seonghwa approaching. He passed the tub, setting the tray on the table and turned to look at you. “You still want me to join you?” he asked. You peeked over the edge of the tub at him, eyes scanning up and down his body before you nodded.

He started to walk forward but you shook your head, making him stop in his tracks. “Undress over there,” you said softly. “Give me a show.” Seonghwa let out a laugh. “A show?” he asked as he started to undo his tie. “Am I getting paid?” he asked as he pulled the now strip of material from his collar and dropped it onto the floor. You shrugged, giggling as he started to undo the buttons of his waistcoat.

“If you put on a good show,” you answered, giggling again as he hesitated, tilting his head and giving you a heated stare before he continued. Once the waistcoat was undone, he shrugged it off, adding it to the floor. He pulled down the straps of his suspenders, letting them fall to the sides of his thighs as he started to unbutton his shirt. Your eyes followed his hands as they moved down.

Once the shirt was mostly undone, his hands moved to his pants but you stopped him again. “Come here,” you said, your tone much more seductive than you knew possible. Seonghwa didn’t hesitate, instead he walked over to the side of the tub. You sat up, moving your hands to the front of his trousers. “What are you doing, Blossom?” he asked as you undid the button at the front of his pants, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Returning the favor.”

Seonghwa tried to speak but you were quick to tug his pants down, freeing his cock which had started to harden. Without hesitation, you took it in your hand, stroking slowly as you looked up at him. Seonghwa let out a hissed curse, eyes fluttering shut as your hand moved, working his cock and bringing him to his full length.

“F-fuck,” he hissed, his hips starting to thrust into your hand as you sped up. You looked up, taking in the view of his head thrown back as you stroked him. Testing the waters, so to speak, you opened your mouth, taking the head of his cock past your lips. Immediately, Seonghwa swore loudly, hips bucking forward but he was quick to pull you back so he didn’t hurt you.

“You can’t just do that, Blossom,” he gasped. “Warn me next time, alright?” He stroked your cheek gently before he let go and stood back up straight. You nodded, looking up at him. Taking a steadying breath, you resumed your earlier motions, stroking his shaft slowly, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut as he gave in to pleasure.

Keeping your eyes on his face you took the tip of his cock back into your mouth, Seonghwa letting out a low moan. You focused on your breathing as you tried to take more of him in your mouth. Every time you pulled back, you noticed his hips moved forward, chasing the feeling of your mouth around him. It was an entirely new experience for you but you wanted to do for him what he’d done for you a few times now. 

You wanted to make him feel good.

Your jaw was starting to ache but you tried to power through it. “Oh fuck,” Seonghwa hissed, thrusting slowly into your mouth as your head bobbed to meet his movements. “Just like that, sweetheart. Keep going,” he whispered. The only sound in the room other than the crackling of the fire was the sound of your wet mouth.

You felt his hand move to the back of your head. “Just a little further,” he groaned, coaxing you to take more of his cock into your mouth which you were happy to oblige. Your lips and chin were wet with your own spit and it was starting to drip down onto your chest but you couldn’t be bothered. Not when your fiance was making some of the most erotic sounds you’d ever heard.

His hips thrusted a little harder, making the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. You let out a muffled gag but instead of letting him pull back, you grabbed his hips, holding him still as you repeated the action, gagging again. It didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would, after all, even brushing your teeth made you gag but this was somehow different.

You pulled back enough to take a deep breath in through your nose before taking him deep into your mouth until he hit the back but instead of stopping there, you pressed forward, allowing the head of his cock into your throat. Seonghwa let out a strained moan as your throat flexed, squeezing around the tip. You stayed there despite your lungs starting to beg for air. You swallowed experimentally and Seonghwa lost his composure, carefully attempting to pull you back but he was too late.

He came with a low deep moan, his release spilling into your mouth and down the back of your throat. You tried to swallow what you could, brows furrowing at the salty taste. Seonghwa carefully pulled back, his cock falling from your mouth and starting to grow soft. He didn’t bother tucking himself back into his pants, instead, he dropped to his knees, grabbing you by the back of the head and pulled you into a messy kiss.

Your bath sat forgotten as he pulled back and grabbed the towel on the chair to wipe your face and chest before he threw it to the floor and took your hand, guiding you to stand up before he helped you out. Once your feet were on the floor, he very hastily dried you off before guiding you over to the bed, making you sit down as he finished stripping his clothes from his body.

He moved you to the middle of the bed as he climbed onto the mattress, making you lay back as he hovered over you, pressing soft kisses to your chest and collar before taking you into another deep kiss. One of his hands moved up to your neck as he parted your lips with his, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth. You whined against his lips.

Pleasuring him earlier had sent an aching heat to your cunt and you were in desperate need of some relief. One thing you were starting to like about this new side you were learning of your fiance was that he seemed to be in tune to what your body wanted. Sensing what you wanted, Seonghwa let his hand slide down to your chest, cupping your breast, his palm hot against your skin.

He kneaded, massaging gently and slowly as he kissed his way down the side of your neck until he was level with your other breast, tongue darting out to lap cautiously at your nipple. You let out a sigh, carding your fingers through his hair as he wrapped his lips around it. His hand slid from your chest, moving down your stomach, drawing closer and closer to your wet folds.

You glanced down at him, finding his eyes shut as he focused on teasing your pert nipple with his tongue. You felt his fingers press into you, thumb grazing over your clit and making you gasp, hips bucking involuntarily into his touch. You felt him smile against your skin as his fingers traveled further, finding your slit and pressing into you slowly, stretching your hole.

Your thighs parted further to give him more access. It occurred to you that you were more exposed to him now than you ever had been. He’d always touched, kissed, and pleasured you with your nightgown on. Your cheeks grew warm as this realization hit you. It was quickly squashed as his fingers started to move, pumping in and out of you, slowly at first but starting to gain momentum quickly.

“Seonghwa,” you whimpered, hips moving against his hand, begging for more. “Please,” you whined. “I need you.” Seonghwa chuckled against your skin before lifting his head. “Patience, Blossom,” he said softly. “We have all night.” He kissed down your chest and stomach, removing his fingers from your heat as he settled on the bed, head hovering above your sex.

He glanced up at you before lowering his head, planting soft, wet kisses along the inside of your thigh. You whined, rolling your hips up for his touch. He shook his head before sinking his teeth very quickly into the plush flesh of your inner thigh, making you gasp. As quickly as he’d done it, he was kissing back down the inside of your thigh, skipping over the place you wanted his mouth the most to kiss the inside of the opposite thigh. You whine for him again, combing your fingers through his hair.

“Please, baby, please,” you begged. Seonghwa chuckled again, kissing back down towards your cunt. As he drew level, he looked up to meet your gaze, giving you a smirk as he lowered his mouth, tongue slipping out to meet your clit. He wasn’t forgiving or slow with his movements, instead going right into flicking the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue.

You gasped, head falling back against the pillows as he licked and sucked like he was starved. Your back arched off the mattress as he moved his head, tongue massaging and drawing circles around your clit. “Ah-! F-fuck,” you hissed. It wasn’t considered proper to curse but if your fiance was fine with cursing when you had his cock down your throat, you figured it would be fine for you to curse when he was making you feel this good.

You felt his tongue prod at your hole momentarily before it returned to your sensitive clit. “Feels s-so good,” you whispered breathily. Seonghwa hummed in response, the resulting vibrations making you moan loudly. Your hips started to move on their own, grinding against your fiance’s tongue but he paid no mind. Instead, he let you, holding his head in place so you could find your own rhythm and pleasure.

He only let it last for a few moments before he pinned your hips down, going back to his own pace, flattening his tongue against you and shaking his head. It wasn’t unlike the way he’d done this before and he clearly had a few tricks still left to show you but you couldn’t think about that when he sucked on your clit and everything happened at once. Your thighs squeezed around his head as you came, back arching off the bed with a moan as he coaxed you through your orgasm.

Your body shuddered, an intense heat, white and blinding, spreading throughout your limbs as stars clouded your vision. Your climax was strong and while it felt familiar, it had never been as potent as this. Seonghwa’s movements never faltered as he continued to guide you through it, lapping at your clit until you breathlessly begged him to stop, weakly pulling at his dark tresses.

He finally lifted his head, wiping his lips and chin with the back of his hand as he crawled over you, pressing sporadic kisses up your stomach and chest until his lips met yours in a soft, languid kiss that was nothing but tongue. You tasted yourself on his tongue and it was much like when you had swallowed his seed earlier.

You felt something hard prodding at your thigh and without looking you knew it was his cock. He’d grown hard while eating you out and now it stood at attention and ready. “Hwa,” you whined as he broke the kiss to nuzzle against your cheek. “I want you,” you whispered. “I know, sweetheart,” he replied just as softly. “I need you,” you reiterated.

Seonghwa nodded as he sighed, his hot breath fanning over your skin. “I know, baby,” he answered. “I said we would wait until our return to London,” he started, pulling back to look into your eyes. “But if I’m being honest, I don’t think I can wait that long.” You shook your head. “Then don’t,” you said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I want to feel you inside me.”

Seonghwa leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. “Alright,” he murmured. “I’ll go slow.” You nodded as he took himself in his hand, giving a few strokes before you felt the tip of his head press against your wet folds, sliding up and down to gather your arousal. He spread as much of it as he could. You watched as he let a drop of spit fall from his mouth onto his cock which he then also spread.

He looked up, meeting your gaze once more. “Are you ready?” he asked, to which you nodded. “Yes,” you answered. “Please. I want you to make love to me.” Seonghwa let out a chuckle, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against your lips in contrast to his cock about to enter you. “You don’t need to beg anymore, petal,” he said softly. “Though I do like how you sound when you do.”

You opened your mouth to respond to him but a moan slipped out instead as he pressed into you, the head of his cock sliding into you and stretching your walls. Seonghwa paused, a look of concern on his beautiful face. “Blossom? Are you all right?” he asked softly. You nodded. “Yes, I’m fine,” you answered, brushing his hair back and smiling at him. He studied your face briefly before pushing further into you.

The head of his cock hadn’t provided much pain but as he slowly filled you, the sting you had felt the first time he fingered you had returned. You let out a sharp gasp, grabbing his bicep. Immediately, he stilled, watching your face as you winced. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, pressing a couple soft kisses to your lips and cheek. “Just give me a moment. It’s new. It feels… different.”

Seonghwa obliged, letting your body adjust to the intrusion of his cock. He kissed your face, offering sweet words of praise as you slowly relaxed. “That’s it, darling,” he whispered as he felt the squeeze of your walls lessen. “Just relax and let me in,” he added as he slid further, pushing deeper into you than he’d ever been. You let out a sigh, forcing your body to go lax as his hips finally stopped.

It still stung but you could feel it was starting to be replaced with an ache as the pain ebbed away slowly. Seonghwa waited, letting you adjust more as he kept kissing you, giving you encouraging words. “That’s it. Good girl. You’re doing so well, sweetheart.”

His words made your heart flutter with appreciation. You’d never felt like that when you were praised but most of the praise you had received in your life had been about your looks, never about accomplishments or how you behaved. It was odd but you enjoyed it greatly. The next words out of Seonghwa’s mouth had the same feeling bubbling in your chest but also made your walls squeeze around him.

“Look at you. Taking my cock so well.”

You were taken by surprise and unable to formulate a proper response. Seonghwa didn’t seem to notice your stunned silence as he took that moment to pull out slightly before giving you a tentative thrust. Your confoundment dissipated immediately, a moan leaving your lips. Taking your response as the go ahead, Seonghwa quickly set a steady pace, thrusting into you without being too rough.

“Talk to me, blossom,” he said breathlessly. “Are you okay?”

You nodded fervently, moans increasing in pitch and volume as he sped up. You let out a particularly loud one and Seonghwa shushed you, covering your mouth gently. “You’re going to get us in trouble,” he said softly. Your cheeks burned as he reminded you that the others could potentially hear you. “As much as I would love to hear those beautiful sounds, you’re going to have to keep quiet.”

You nodded, nibbling on your bottom lip as you tried to keep your voice down. Small whimpers and moans sounded from the back of your throat with each thrust. Seonghwa let out a strained groan, burying his face in your neck. You could feel his hips slow slightly. “What’s wrong?” you asked, breathlessly. “I don’t know how much longer I can last,” he replied, hips stilling as he tried to stave off his orgasm.

You ran your fingers through his hair, your heart beating against your chest. “I have an idea,” Seonghwa murmured, lifting his head. You felt him slip out of you, leaving you feeling empty and clenching around nothing. “Here,” he said softly, gently rolling you over onto your stomach. “What’re you doing?” you asked, resting on your forearms as you peered over your shoulder.

You felt his hands part your legs, spreading your thighs apart. “Raise your hips for me, love,” Seonghwa said, reaching over you and grabbing one of the pillows. You did as he asked, lifting your hips off the mattress. You felt Seonghwa slip the pillow, now folded in half, under you. Once he did, you rested against the pillow. “What’s this for?” you asked, tugging lightly at the pillow case.

You felt Seonghwa lean over you, pressing light kisses along your spine and up to your shoulder, his body pressing against yours. You could feel his cock rubbing against your cunt as he teased your neck with a couple kisses before whispering into your ear. “Something to keep your hips up,” he said softly. “Why?” you asked. Seonghwa chuckled, his hot breath hitting your skin.

You felt the head of his cock slide back into you unrestrained and you moaned into the sheets as he bottomed out. “Still want me to answer that?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. You shook your head quickly as he thrust into you from behind, setting a slow but steady pace with languid thrusts. Each rock inside you had your toes curling, muffled moans disappearing into the sheets.

The pace started to pick up and the only sounds you could hear was the wet sound of his cock entering you, the sound of his skin against yours and his low, restrained moans. “Fucking hell,” you heard him curse under his breath. “You’re so tight.” Your walls clenched around him, like a warm tight hug, sucking him back in each time he tried to pull back.

“Is,” you gasped, choking back a moan as you raised your head. “Is that good?”

Seonghwa let out a breathy laugh. “Yes,” he replied simply. “It is.”

Your attempts to bite back were cut short when he gave you a hard thrust, pounding into you. You were unable to shield your face in time and let out a loud cry of pleasure before muffling your sounds with the linens. “Oh to hell with it,” Seonghwa cursed. You felt his hand cup your throat, pulling your head up. “Don’t hold back,” he whispered in your ear, slamming into you now. “Let me hear you. I don’t care who else hears us now,” he groaned. “I want to hear that beautiful cry again.”

Without the sheets to muffle your sounds, unrestrained and wanton moans left your lips, intermingled with cries of pleasure that bordered almost on screams. There was no doubt in your mind that everyone on the floor, let alone maybe the whole inn, could hear you and knew exactly what you were doing. Your thoughts didn’t focus on the embarrassment or shame for long as your mind cleared, giving way to the pleasure your fiance was giving you.

“Wait, wait,” Seonghwa groaned, pulling out of you suddenly, making you whine in protest but he was quick to roll you over, lifting your hips and placing the pillow back under you, raising your hips off the mattress once more. He quickly pushed back into you, grabbing your hips and resuming the same, unrelenting pace as before. 

Your fingers dug into the sheets, trying to hold onto something as your fiance pounded into you. Each thrust had you crying out in bliss. Your mind was full of nothing but the euphoria that was flowing through your body. Your hips moved to match his pace and he groaned, hips stilling for a moment. “Fuck, oh fuck,” Seonghwa gasped, leaning over you. “I won’t last much longer,” he moaned. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down so you were chest to chest. “Don’t stop,” you moaned. “Please.” Seonghwa groaned into your neck, hips moving fervently as he muttered praise into your skin. “I’m going to cum,” you heard him gasp. He tried to pull away but your grip on him tightened, thighs squeezing around his waist and arms tightening.

“Blossom, I need to pull out or I’ll—”

“Do it,” you interjected. “Cum inside me.”

Seonghwa’s response was delayed as he processed your words. He let out a groan, cock thrusting into you harshly as you felt it twitch. It was like when he came in your hand. His cock was hot, throbbing, and you felt the first surge of his release spill inside your walls. His cock continued to twitch as he came, releasing everything into you in short bursts, his hips thrusting a few times more before he finally stilled, pushing his cock as far into you as he could with a shaky moan.

Your own orgasm washed over you as he came undone, walls fluttering around him as you moaned, his name sounding like a mantra you were fine with saying for the rest of your life. Seonghwa collapsed on top of you, head resting on your chest as he tried to catch his breath. You were just as winded as he was, trembling under him as you both came down from your respective climaxes.

You lay like that for a while, uncertain of how much time had passed by. You became aware of something warm and sticky squeezing out of you and you finally had to rouse your fiance.

“Seonghwa?” you asked, your voice slightly hoarse. “Hmm?” he mumbled. “Something is warm and wet,” you announced. He pulled back, sitting back and looking down between your legs. “Oh, that’s gonna be a mess,” he said, quickly getting up and grabbing one of the towels Charlotte had brought in for your bath. He returned to the bed, climbing onto the mattress and started wiping your skin, cleaning it of whatever mess he had mentioned.

You lay there, watching him and taking in how truly beautiful he was. His golden skin with a thin layer of sweat, his messy black hair as he pushed it back from his face and focused with brows furrowed on cleaning your sex. Once he was satisfied you were clean, he tossed the towel aside and crawled over you, pressing feather light kisses up your stomach, chest, and to your lips. 

“We should probably get cleaned up,” you finally said as your breathing was starting to return to normal. Seonghwa hummed in response as he pulled the pillow out from under you, tossing it to the floor and pulling back the sheets, maneuvering around you until he had the covers pulled down.

“We’re really dirty now,” you said as he pulled the covers up over the both of you and he settled into the bed next to you. “Mhm,” he answered, pulling you against him, not caring about your nudity or the sweat on either of your bodies. “We really should clean up,” you murmured again. Seonghwa nodded, placing kisses to your lips. “Okay, Blossom,” he said, hiding you tightly.

“Whatever you want, my princess.”

Grocery runs, laundry, and trips to miscellaneous stores. Mingyu spent Saturday scrubbing the baseboards “to stay busy,” while you sat on the couch pretending to scroll, your chest caving in with every checklist he completed without ever asking how you were doing. You tried to offer to help. He told you to rest. You wanted to scream.

Sunday was worse. He swiffered the floors and deep cleaned the house while humming some romantic songs under his breath; it almost made you cry. He is so good at maintenance, keeping up the house, and making sure you have the material things. But what about you and your needs? It’s like you have to cry like a child to get any attention. The feeling of being unheard in your own home was suffocating. 

It’s Monday again, and everything feels like it’s back to the same routine and rituals, as if Friday never happened. As if you didn't break down in front of him, and he didn't promise to do better while he was on his knees. Sometimes, you just have to laugh at the irony of it all.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu looks at you through the mirror, rubbing product in his hair. He was already dressed, sans his suit jacket.

“I’m fine, Gyu, just tired,” you said softly, rinsing the cream from your face. You felt far from okay, but there was no point in saying anything now.

“Okay,” Mingyu mutters, checking his watch anxiously. “Shit. I have to go; my 9 AM meeting can't wait.” He glances toward the kitchen, the smell of breakfast lingering in the air. “It’s on the table, baby.”

He kisses your head out of habit rather than tenderness, leaving the bathroom before you can respond. You hear shuffling in the closet before he emerges with his suit jacket and walks past you without saying goodbye—not even an "I love you" or a glance in your direction. It feels like just another transactional interaction.

You stared at your closet, taking in the space he had neatly created, one that left no mark of anyone having been there. You blink, the absurdity of it sinking in. A chuckle escapes your lips, soft and incredulous, as disbelief washes over you like a light mist, leaving you both amused and bewildered.

“I can’t fucking believe this.” 

You quickly dry your face and search for your phone, locating it on the nightstand, its screen flickering with a barrage of notifications. Clearing out of them without looking, you go to the contact of Seokmin, your best friend from college, and the only person who knows you as well as Mingyu and would have the right words to say. 

“Hey, are you in town? You want to go for lunch?”

You don’t wait for him to respond before you fire off the following message: 

“I need you to talk me out of something I may not be able to take back.”

Three dots immediately popped on the screen, pending his response. Then your phone chimes. 

“Pick the place and time. I’ll be there.” 

The sound of gloves hitting the punching bag leaves a deafening sound in the barely empty gym. Mingyu does not hold back, letting out his worries and frustrations as he repeatedly hits the bag, sweat clinging to his skin. It’s his lunch break, but he isn’t hungry; his stomach is too tied up in knots. 

All he can see is your face from this morning. You barely looked at him, your eyes were dull, and he knows it was his fault. He was the idiot who fell asleep instead of spending time with you, and instead of manning up and apologizing, he made himself busy with household chores and errands, not willing to hear the truth. 

In addition to today’s meeting, which he was almost late for, he discovered that he might be leading another project. He’s thrilled to be leading another project, but that means more time away from you. The lines between work and home blur even further, and he is exasperated. 

He mops his brow with a damp towel, then collapses onto the worn bench, his elbows resting heavily on his knees, head bowed as if weighed down by the effort. The air smells like a mixture of sweat and detergent. His skin is sticky, his heart pounding from the set he barely finished.

“Are you good?”

Mingyu glances up, blinking at Wonwoo, who has just finished his workout, handing him a bottle of water. Mingyu thanks him and takes the water, drinking it in one go. Breathless, he cocks his head back, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. His thoughts and feelings are at the forefront— his career, you, and what he wants his future to be. Why is it so hard to juggle the two?

“I thought you had meetings today,” Mingyu deflects. 

“I finished them already and decided to get a workout in before I leave for the day,” Wonwoo says, wiping his face with a towel. 

“Oh, yeah, it’s Krystal’s birthday, right?”

Wonwoo hums in agreement, taking a seat next to him. “We have a babysitter tonight, and I am going to take her out for a nice dinner.”

Krystal is Wonwoo’s better half, someone he has known since they were kids. When Mingyu met Wonwoo at the firm, he had just gotten married, and they were new to the city. They became fast friends, and Mingyu found he could lean on him through tough times. Mingyu and you have gone on double dates with them several times and attended the baby shower of their little girl, Lily. When Wonwoo talks about his family, his eyes light up with a joy that could fill the darkest places. He speaks of them with a tenderness and care that can only be seen from a man who truly values and loves his family. 

“Quit deflecting, Mingyu. What’s going on?”

Mingyu throws Wonwoo a look, followed by a snort. “You know what it is. I keep messing up at home.”

“What did you do?”

“It’s more of what I didn’t do,” Mingyu sighs. “I came home, apologized in more ways than one, and she asked me for some time with her when we got out of the shower.” 

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, waiting for the rest. “Okay, so what happened after that?”

Mingyu takes a deep breath, reliving his mistake in his head. “I fell asleep.” 

Wonwoo stares for a moment, then bursts into laughter, his eyes wide with shock. “Tell me you did not go to sleep on YN.”

“I did,” he hangs his head in shame. “And I kind of just avoided her all weekend with household chores and errands instead of talking to her about it.”

Wonwoo continues to snicker, shaking his head as he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Do you even want to keep your girlfriend?”

Mingyu lets out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Come on, man. I already feel bad enough. She’s been trying so hard. Planning little date nights for us, cooking more, practically anything. I’ve been trying to phone it in, but I don't know how to manage both things at once.” 

“You mean work and home?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu sighs. “I really want this promotion. I’ve busted my ass for it, and I can practically feel it within my grasp. But every time I feel like I can breathe again, I forget to text her back, or I am home late, and she is already asleep. I can’t win for shit.” 

Wonwoo silently pulls out a protein bar from his bag, unwrapping it and taking a bite. The silence stretches as if he is trying to pull the thoughts from his head. 

“Look, I don’t think you are a bad person or even a bad boyfriend. You’re just distracted,” Wonwoo says. “I know you are working hard to upscale your lives and give her the world and then some. But don’t forget about her in the process. She is your partner in all of this, and it doesn’t make sense to do all this if you lose her.”

Mingyu stays quiet as he absorbs everything Wonwoo is saying. Once again, Wonwoo is correct. What is the point of working so hard if he has nothing to show for it, and you are no longer here? You are far too precious to him. When he thinks of you, it feels as if his soul smiles, as though he were made for you.

He thinks about your “I’m tired” from this morning. It was more than tired from a lack of sleep, and he knows that. He needs to show up for you and prove to you that he cares, that you still matter to him. 

“I’m going to leave early today,” Mingyu says suddenly. “I’m going to make her dinner and spend time with her. She deserves that.” 

“Is the big boss going to like that?” Wonwoo asks with a smirk. 

“She’ll deal,” Mingyu resolves. “I have more important things to take care of tonight.” 

You sit at the booth tucked in the corner of a small Vietnamese restaurant, the kind of hidden gem that only the locals and broke college students go to when they want a meal that's good from the goodness of someone’s soul. You’ve been coming here for years, and it’s your favorite place. The walls are painted a sun-warmed coral, mismatched lanterns hang like low-hung stars from the ceiling, and tropical plants line the windowsills with a sort of unbothered grace. A quiet playlist of soft pop in Vietnamese hums beneath the clinking of soup spoons and the sizzle of something cooking in the back.

You ordered your usual pho with a side of banh mi, the smell of lime, mint, and broth filling your nose. It smelled delicious, but your appetite was waning. Your stomach is in triple knots, and there is not enough delightful broth in the world that could fix the pain you feel inside. 

“You’re not eating,” Seokmin remarks, looking at your barely touched food. “You must be feeling really bad.” 

Seokmin is good for that. Always noticing things about you when you weren’t looking and keeping you on the right track. In this friendship, you are the high-strung, emotional, mood painter, and he is the carefree, attentive music producer who can talk you off a ledge. Sometimes you wonder how you managed to be best friends. 

You met him in your sophomore year in a photography class you took on a whim. He’d picked the seat next to you, made a dumb joke about shutter speed, and somehow—by the end of that week—you were shooting each other’s portraits in the park and arguing about composition over cheap street tacos. He was there before Mingyu and always saw you for who you truly were, even when you didn’t see it yourself at times. In return, you always kicked his ass in high gear if he felt insecure about his music and doubted himself. 

Seokmin is one of the most sought-after music producers in the world, but he always made time for you, his best friend. 

You wipe your face and lean back, embarrassed. “God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says gently, sliding a napkin toward you. “I wore the ugly shirt on purpose. Easy to cry on.”

You laugh, watery and fragile. “You’re an idiot.”

“And yet, here we are,” he shrugs. “Want to tell me what’s going on, or do you want to cry into my rice paper rolls first?”

You stare at the bowl of pho, the steaming broth rising. “It’s Mingyu.” 

You let out a breath, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes. “I don't know what else to do.  I’ve been trying so hard, Seok. I have been planning dates, cooking more, and staying up late for him. Hell, I even wore one of his favorite shirts with nothing underneath, and he barely reacted. What am I? Chopped liver?”

You take a deep sip of your iced tea, drinking until it’s nearly finished. “It’s like he’s here with me in body, but his mind is elsewhere. I feel like I’m drowning in the ocean; he sees me waving for help from the water and hears me, but doesn’t seem to care. Am I really that bad of a person? Is this who we are now?”

You finally meet his gaze, your voice sharp around the edges. “What if we don’t survive?”

You crumble in the dim corner of the restaurant, hot tears spilling down your cheeks, pooling on the tablecloth like unwanted guests. How did you get here? Why is it so hard to talk to each other? Why is it that every time he is near, it feels like knives stabbing your abdomen? You aren’t supposed to feel that about your partner of almost a decade, the person you started building the rest of your life with. 

You feel Seokmin’s warmth before his arms wrap around you, letting you cry into his shirt. He rubs your back softly, sitting there like a silent beacon of strength while you break down. 

“I’m sorry, Seok,” you sniffle, grabbing a napkin from the table. “I’m just so frustrated. I know he has been chasing this promotion, and he really wants it. I want him to have it, I really do. But what happens when he gets it? Are the nights going to be longer? Will he be even more distracted? I feel horrible complaining about this, but what else can I fucking do?”

Seokmin is quiet for a moment, letting your words sink in while you take another sip of your tea.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do. You know I’d support you no matter what. But,” he lifts a brow, “you and Mingyu built something real. You chose each other. That doesn’t just disappear. It frays, sure. But it doesn’t vanish overnight.”

“I know, but I feel like I am doing all the pulling and the heavy lifting,” you frown.

“Well, then, quit pulling and start talking,” Seokmin shrugs, leaning back into his seat. 

“Talking?” You blink. “Seokmin, all I do is talk.”

“No, I mean really talk. Tell him how you feel. You hold back a lot, and maybe if you had said something in the beginning, things wouldn’t have been this bad.”

Seokmin takes a deep breath, watching as your lip trembles under the weight of your emotions. “Look, I know he loves you and you love him. Tell him how you feel invisible, shut out, or whatever color words you want to throw at him. But if things don’t improve, then you know what you have to do… even if it tears your heart out.” 

You look at him for a long moment, mulling over his words. You know he is right, but are you ready to walk if you have to?

“Okay,” you nod, your appetite slowly coming back to you. “I will try to talk to him. Be more honest with him.” You nudge his shoulder with yours, cracking a soft smile. “Thank you, Seok.” 

“You're welcome, crybaby.” 

You let out a dry laugh. “Whatever.”

The remainder of your lunch went as well as could be expected, as you caught up with Seokmin about life and the new band he has been producing. There is a fire in his eyes when he talks about music; his passion is evident in every word he speaks. You experience a similar feeling when it comes to art and your paintings. Art consumes you and fills your soul, flowing through you as you sit in front of your canvas and create.

“I think I am going to go to the studio and work on something different,” you say out loud in thought. ‘I’ve been working on my project and I’m almost done, but this situation has me wanting to put something on canvas.”

You take your wallet out of your purse, expecting to pay, but Seokmin moves your hand away, giving you a look. “You know you never have to pay when you’re with me.”

“Oh, Seokmin, stop it,” you pout. “Let me pay for once.” 

“Nope,” he shakes his head. “Plus, I paid before you got here.” 

You throw him an annoyed look before breaking into a smile, reluctantly putting your card away. “I’m going to pay one of these days.” 

You slide out of the booth, waiting for Seokmin to leave his tip before leaving the restaurant with him. It’s after one, and the warm breeze sways your hair softly as the sun shifts to the west. Your heart isn’t as heavy, but it’s no light burden. You need to release stress, grab a paintbrush, and let your creativity flow. 

“Thank you, Seok, for listening to me,” you say wholeheartedly, hugging him. “You are always there for me. Are you still coming to my art show?” 

“Of course, I’ll be there,” he says, returning your affection. “What are best friends for?”

He gives you the warmest hug that soothes your spirit, promising to text you when he gets home. You get in your car and head to your studio, your body on autopilot as you drive the familiar streets that lead you to the pink flamingo colored building that you have called your workplace for many years now. It’s funky and has character, and it's the one place you always feel at peace. 

You step inside your quiet space, and the receptionist greets you as you walk in. Making your way into the backroom, you walk into your “chaos room,” as you call it, and survey what’s in front of you. It smells like linseed oil and old pencil shavings. Dust motes float through the golden light slanting in through the skylight. The far wall is covered in half-finished canvases—color bleeding into color, anger layered over beauty, confusion still wet in the strokes.

You pull on your apron, hair up, brush in hand. Your fingers twitch the moment they touch the canvas, aching to say something your mouth can’t. You don’t sketch first, you just begin, letting your spirit guide you as you mix your colors and drag your brush across the canvas. From the outside looking in, you appear erratic, your hands bold and unforgiving as you convey the feelings that have been plaguing you inside—heavy arcs turn to spirals, shadows bloom under your touch.

By the time your hand slows, your chest has loosened. You step back, the golden hour light shining perfectly on your art. The canvas is moody and abstract, full of motion and tension, as if something is straining to hold itself together.

You stare at it for a long moment before scribbling a title in the corner with your brush.

My Soul Is Tired

And for the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe.

“Where are we going, Mingyu?”

“You’ll see, baby.”

It was your anniversary two years ago, before everything was busy and the word “tension” didn’t exist in your relationship. Mingyu said he wanted to take you somewhere special—a place he had discovered while on a work trip—and it immediately made him think of you. He asked you to wear the dress he liked with a bathing suit underneath, and you did it happily. You were brimming with curiosity and excitement through the road trip, your eyes sparkling with wonder as the landscape changed around you. Each bend in the road revealed new sights—a breathtaking skyline, lush green valleys, and vibrant bursts of wildflowers on the roadside. You sketched as Mingyu hummed his favorite R&B tracks, occasionally rubbing your thigh to show affection.

Two hours later, Mingyu parked in a small lot that overlooked a breathtaking beach you had never seen before, in a town that you had only heard about in passing but never got a chance to visit. Ever the gentleman, Mingyu came around and opened your door, interwining his fingers into yours as he led you along the path to the beach. The waters were the bluest of blue, sparkling in the sunlight that made them look whimsical, like a fairytale. You were expecting to go to the beach and get in the water when he led you along the coast, leading you into a cavern that was in the barely visible cut.

“What are we doing here?” You asked as you surveyed your surroundings. 

“Trust me, baby, you are going to want to see this.” 

He guided you deeper into the shadows, where the fading light from outside began to vanish completely. For several moments, the only illumination came from the soft glow of Mingyu's phone, casting flickering shadows on the rough walls as he navigated the winding, darkened path. The air grew cooler and thicker, and an eerie stillness enveloped you, heightening every sound echoing in the distance.

“Mingyu—”

You stopped in your tracks when you saw that he led you to paradise. There was a hidden cove with crystal-clear cerulean waters; the sunlight from a gap in the towering cliffs allowed beams of golden sunlight to cascade down on its beauty. Rich emerald seaweed and schools of fish adorned the waters, creating the visuals that you’ve always imagined when you read novels as a kid. 

“I found this when I was away a couple of weeks ago for work,” Mingyu said. “I was walking along the beach trying to get a picture of this place for one of our upcoming projects, and I discovered it. Do you remember when you told me in our dorms that you wanted to see a hidden cove because of Peter Pan?”

You cast a fleeting, tearful glance at him and nodded, your heart softening at that memory. It was so long ago, you didn’t think he would remember something you said in passing while you were in his arms, half asleep. 

“I wanted to make one of your dreams come true,” Mingyu confessed, pulling you towards him. “I love you.”

“Mingyu,” you say with a shaky breath, barely holding your emotions together. “This is the sweetest thing you have ever done for me.”

You kissed him with a zeal that was heartfelt, needed, and so many unsaid words you couldn’t manage to say. His hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks as the kiss deepened, setting your soul alight. You didn’t have to tell him you loved him too; he knew it, felt it, and that was always enough. If there was a love that could be described as a forever-burning fire that never flickered but raged on, this would be it. He would be it. You two would be it. In that moment, you knew there would never be anyone who would love you like the way he could. And you hoped it would never change.

The house is quiet when Mingyu walks in shortly after six. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that was peaceful or comforting. It is the heavy kind, one that suffocates, and it disturbs his spirit. He slips off his shoes, sets down the groceries on the counter, and connects his phone to the speaker, turning on a R&B playlist he likes to listen to when he is cooking and wants to be in a good mood. He hums softly as he starts preparing his vegetables and getting lost in the music and the aromas around him.  See, Mingyu always believed that when you cook, you cook from the heart and with love. 

And he is deeply in love with you.  

He is going to fix this, or at least try. He bought your favorite red wine and purchased all the right ingredients to make your favorite meal—spaghetti and meatballs. He hadn’t planned this like some grand gesture. It wasn’t flowers or a speech. It was simple. Intentional. Homegrown.

Knowing that you weren’t happy, seeing the fire leave your eyes made him feel like shit. Mingyu promised always to make you smile and never be the reason for you to cry. You are perfect to him, precious, the one person who sees him for who he is and doesn’t have to fake anything. You always put his needs before yours and did it with a smile. You made this apartment a real home, and it would be nothing without you in it. He loves your mind, your chaos, your gentleness, and the way you love. He is going to earn your trust back and bring life back into your eyes again, if it's the last thing he does. 

He turns on the stove and fills the kitchen with warmth: garlic sizzling in olive oil, basil blooming under the heat, meatballs browning slowly in the pan. The sauce simmers, filling the air with a sense of nostalgia. He boils water, humming under his breath, nerves tingling in his fingers. As the pasta softens, he sets the table with candles, napkins folded into uneven triangles. A playlist low in the background—your old painting music. He even put his phone in the drawer.

He was all in tonight.

Just as Mingyu turns off the stove, keys jingle at the door, the lock turning clockwise before it opens, and you step in with a surprised look on your face. 

“I didn’t know you were here,” you say as you take off your shoes and slip on your slippers. “Are you cooking?”

“Y-yeah, I left work early today,” Mingyu replies nervously, fiddling with the kitchen towel. “I wanted to make you dinner.”

You walk into the kitchen, surveying the scene he has set. Your gaze softens, and a small smile forms on your lips at the sight of the spaghetti and meatballs. The look of satisfaction on your face makes him proud.

“This is nice, Gyu, and it smells great,” you compliment him. “Thank you for this.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he says sincerely. “I should have been doing this. You deserve the world.”

He pulls out the chair near the window, your favorite place to sit. “Sit with me?”

You obliged, sitting down as he poured you a glass of wine. Mingyu shuffles in the kitchen while he makes your plate, the excitement mixed with nerves getting the best of him. He wants tonight to go so well, damn near perfect, that it makes you smile for the rest of your life. 

Setting down your dinner, you thank him as he takes a seat across from you, taking you all in. You take a few bites of your spaghetti, moments of silence passing by as the scraping of forks on ceramic plates and the pouring of wine into glasses fill the air.  Mingyu can’t shake the heaviness in the pit of his stomach, wanting to know what’s in that beautiful brain of yours and how he can fix this patch you guys are in. You are magic, his 7th wonder, the light of his life. 

“How’s your art show coming on?” He implores. 

“Oh, um,” you clear your throat. “It’s going alright.”

“Oh?” He leans in slightly, his interest piqued. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of surprise on your face as you lean back into your seat. “Really? You want to know about it?”

Your inquisitiveness twists the knots in his stomach further. Is this far you have drifted as a couple, where his genuine interest in your projects feels unexpected? Your passions?

“Of course, I want to know, baby,” Mingyu says, gently taking your hand. “I’m always going to be interested in what you love. You know that.”

“Do I?” You sigh, shaking your head slowly. “When’s the last time you asked about my art or anything remotely related to my interests?”

The ice in your tone makes him flinch, and there is nothing he could say to rebut that. You are right. He hasn’t had a real conversation with you in a while, nor asked about your projects. It was always about work, his projects, and his ambitions for that promotion; and in the midst of that, he indirectly left you behind.

“You’re right,” Mingyu admits, his eyes reflecting regret. “I haven’t been present, and I get why you may not trust me. But I do want to know about your art show and how it’s going.”

You pause for a moment, as if you are deciding whether he is worthy to know that part of you anymore. You bite your lip, folding your arms across and studying him carefully. 

“It’s going okay,” you straighten up in your chair. “Everything is going according to plan. I worked on a piece today and finished it all in one go. It was kind of a last-minute addition.” 

“That’s great, baby!” Mingyu exclaims, clapping his hands. “What’s it called?”

You shifted nervously, drinking the last remnants of your wine before you finally spoke. “My Soul Is Tired.”

The mood sours like milk that’s been out too long. The connotation was so blunt that he would be stupid to question it out loud. Tired. You’re weary of him. The guilt gnaws at him like a parasite; he fucked up so bad that you don’t even feel joy when you see him.  

You wipe your mouth on the napkin, returning your gaze to him. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, Gyu. Really. It means a lot to me that you made my favorite meal, and you are attentive. But this has been going on for almost a year. I am starved for your attention, affection aside from the transactional kiss on the forehead when you leave or the brief look you give me when I ask you a question. I want passion, romance, the tingling I used to feel just by being in your orbit. I feel all alone. I hate this. All of this.” 

You get up and leave the kitchen, making it halfway to your shared room when Mingyu panics, grabbing your hand and pulling you close to him. His heart is racing, the thought of a future without you in it bringing him to his knees.

“I love you,” Mingyu pleads, holding you at your hips. “I don’t want to lose this. Us. This life we have together. I admit I haven’t been the best partner to you, and I’m so fucking sorry that I make you feel alone. We’ve been together almost ten years—a whole decade. I want to marry you one day and have kids with you. Or pets. Whatever you want. Remember that New Year's Eve when we snuck to the roof on campus and watched the fireworks? I promised you that I would give you the world, and I want to keep that promise and put a smile on your face. I fucking love you.”

“Mingyu,” you sigh deeply. “I love you, too. But it’s going to take a lot more than ‘I’m sorry’ to fix this. You’re always sorry. I’m not going to keep putting up with this.”

Mingyu holds you tighter, resting his head on your stomach. He’s afraid to let you out of his grasp; you're precious to him. 

“Tell me what you want,” Mingyu looks at you with puppy dog eyes. “Tell me what to do to make it right.”

His hands start to slide up your dress, his fingers itching to feel the softness of your skin. You look down at him, your breath hitching as you watch him tug at the hems of your underwear and slowly pull them down your legs. Mingyu has this incessant need to make you feel good, to take away the pain that he’s caused. He’s enamored with you, obsessed, and it’s consuming his every thought.

“Gyu,” you murmur, biting your lip. “What are you doing?”

“Making you feel good,” he whispers, licking his lips. 

Taking your hand, he walks you to the couch, motioning for you to lie down as he lifts your dress. His mouth salivates at the sight of your core, pretty and perfect for him. 

“You’ve been carrying everything,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.” 

He licks so softly at first, his tongue playing with your delicate flower as he savors your taste. He moans as your body arches on the cushions slightly, your fingers finding his hair and whispering his name so sweet and broken, it almost undoes him. 

He’s desperate, groaning into you softly as his tongue laps your juices and drips down his chin. You are the best thing he’s ever tasted, and he can never get enough of the way you squirm at his touch, your thighs trembling as he delves his tongue into you deeper. You lower the straps of your dress and reveal your breasts, pinching your nipples the way that he likes. You’re driving him insane.

“Gyu,” you rasp desperately. “I need you.” 

“You want me, baby?” He cooes, his tongue flattening against your clit. “Is this what you want?”

 “I-I need you,” you breathe heavily. “I’m gonna.. I’m gonna…”

You come with a breathless cry, hand fisted in his hair, and he holds you through every wave. He continues to lick you while your legs shake, coming down from your high beautifully and serenely like the angel you are. Once he is sure you are good, he slowly rises to his feet and gazes at you, on cloud nine. You look dazed, but your eyes are clearer—brighter—and it makes something in his chest crack open.

You reach for him wordlessly, pulling him into a hungry kiss that is mind-numbing and cathartic. You tug at his pants, pulling them down and his boxers down in one go, revealing his hardened cock already glistening with precum. 

“Are you sure?” He asks softly, lifting you off the couch. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “I want you.”

MIngyu lowers himself onto the couch, guiding you carefully to his lap as you hike your dress up higher, sinking onto him slowly. He cocks his head back as your heat swallows him inch by inch, his hands on your hips like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. 

“Fuck,” he curses. “You feel perfect.”

You move gently, your hands on his chest as you set a rhythm, your eyes peering into his soul in a way that sets him ablaze. You feel euphoric, almost forbidden, and when he feels you tighten around him, it makes him want to go harder, deeper. He picks up the pace, thrusting into you harder and pulling you into a deep kiss, the gushiness of your cunt being heard with each thrust. You moan against his mouth, matching his energy and fucking him back, tightening your hand around his throat. 

“Is this how you want it, baby?” He groans. “You want me to fuck you hard and deep until I feel you up with my cum.”

You nod fervently, clearly at a loss for words. But MIngyu will not accept that; he wants you to use your words. 

“Say it,” he grunts, slapping your ass. “Tell me you want me to fuck you hard and deep.” 

“Mingyu. YES! Damn it, please just—”

He snaps, lifting you abruptly and driving into you while he holds your legs, fixated on feeling you clench on his cock. He loves the way your face contorts into pleasure, each stroke he gives you pulling you deeper and deeper into the abyss, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He doesn’t let up, instead walking forward until your back is against the wall. Your hair is messy, you’re both sweaty, skin to skin, and to him, this is perfect.

“You’re close, baby.” his breath is shaky. “I can feel it. I know you.” 

You nod, biting your lip, and he kisses you with everything in him, relishing in your taste and everything you give him until you fall apart in his arms. He holds you through it, not stopping or letting go as his thrusts are becoming rigid, his impending release rippling through him like a storm. He comes with your name on his lips, holding you flush against him, breathing hard against your neck.

Mingyu feels everything at once—his love for you, his desperation to keep you, and your sadness at the relationship reaching this point. He kisses your temple, your nose, and lastly your lips, pulling out of you slowly and making sure you can stand on your own two feet. 

“I’m going to be better,” he whispers, kissing you again. “I promise.” 

You don’t say anything right away. You just pull him into a hug and hold him close. He feels the way your body relaxes and your heart slows against him, and he lets out a deep breath, full of relief. 

Maybe, just maybe, you might start to trust him again.

AN2: What did we think about part 2? I am so invested in these two and all of the events that are going to follow after :)

Part 3 will be coming soon! I have a project that is coming up that is due at the end of August so this series will not be updated as quickly this time :( but I will be working on it in between <3

taglist: @ameliamirabela @dmstoyangyang @codeinebelle @asasilentreader @dibidibidismynameisleeknow @shadowkoo @gyupremacy @superpietom @junplusone @cheolifyme @lovetaroandtaemin @babycaratdeul @junniesoleilkth @childish-fear @chykyu @gaslysainz @gyuwoosbabie @tacitanecdote @gyuguys @hoe4wonwoo @gyutheonlyone4me @ghostvx

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.

In time, you built a home in that apartment. A son, just like he always said he wanted. You became a full-time housewife and a mother.

You say you're a good housewife, but being a mother is new. Still, instinct kicks in whenever your son’s in trouble. That doesn’t mean you always get it right. You sometimes forget how a child thinks, how different the world looks through his eyes. But you always apologize, you remind him, gently, that just as it’s his first time being a child, it’s your first time being a mother. Everyone keeps learning, even after they’ve grown up. And you’ve somehow managed to walk the fine line between being his mother and his friend.

Everything seemed great.

Until it wasn’t.

The pain came out of nowhere. Sharp, suffocating. One moment you were fine. The next, you couldn’t breathe through your sobs.

Photos were sent to your house. Of your husband, Yang Jungwon, caught in an affair. The man you’ve been married to for fifteen years. Your best friend. Your partner. The father of your child. Your hands shook as your eyes fell to the timestamp at the corner of the photo.

Ten years ago.

The affair didn’t just happen. It began the year your son was born. You’ve been married for fifteen years. The first five were beautiful. Just the two of you, dreaming and building a future. Then came your son in the sixth year. And that very year, he betrayed you. He started cheating. Not just on you, but on the family you built together.

You crumple the photos in your hands. Tears stream down your face, your chest heaves with broken gasps. Your voice, raw and heartbreaking, fills the empty space of your home. It hurts. It hurts so much. Your heart feels caged, your veins aching with every pulse of betrayal. And in the middle of your grief, your thoughts run wild.

Where is he right now? Is he really at work? Or is he with her? His first love? What should I do? What will happen to us? Will our son accept the truth about his father?

And for one flicker of mercy, you're grateful for time. Grateful that your son is still at school. Grateful that he doesn't have to see you like this, wrecked, crying like the world has ended.

You stupidly, yet somehow sincerely, tried to pass it off like it was nothing. You shoved the photos deep inside the drawer of your vanity, like hiding them could make the truth disappear. You tried to keep living your family life as if everything was still intact. As if pretending hard enough could return things to the simplicity they once had.

You really tried.

You still gave good morning kisses. Still prepped your son’s school bag. Still saw Jungwon off to work with a soft smile. But the hardest part was always the same: when the house finally fell silent, and you were alone.

You tried to make use of the empty time. Scrubbing already clean surfaces. Washing the bedsheets again, even though you did it days ago. Going to the wet market, just to breathe in the noise of strangers. But coming home always felt like a return to a nightmare, especially the bedroom, especially when it was just you. Because the drawer sits there, opposite your bed. And your eyes always find it.

Your brain tells you to look away, focus on anything else, but your heart doesn’t obey. It wants to suffer. It wants the ache. And the longer you stare at it, the tighter your chest begins to feel.

Then finally, you snap.

You stare at yourself in the mirror and barely recognize what you see. Desperation stares back. You look like a woman trying to tape over a cracked wall, pretending everything’s still smooth. But who are you supposed to be? The woman who always knew when to speak up? The one who handled things with maturity, grace, and timing?

So what are you now?

Someone who filters her husband’s betrayal behind locked drawers? Someone who lets herself rot in silence?

You’ve become someone you promised never to be.

And the worst part? You fear you're getting worse. That if this continues, you’ll let him cheat again. That you'll keep pretending, while your son remains blissfully unaware of the danger you’ve been shielding him from.

So you take a breath, you steady yourself, wash your face like it could somehow cleanse the ache out of your bones. Then, with trembling hands, you reach for the drawer.

Today, you’re going to face Yang Jungwon. The man you thought you knew best.

The moment began the second he stepped into the house.

Silence.

No television, no background noise. Just you, sitting on the sofa with your arms folded, eyes fixed on the photos spread across the coffee table. You didn’t even blink. He didn’t notice them at first. He was too focused on pretending.

"I'm home," he said, his voice strained. It used to be sweet, that greeting. Familiar, loving, but now it sounded like a line he was forcing out, like he was performing the role of a husband who still cared.

“Baby?”

The nickname twisted your stomach. You forced yourself to act. To pretend, one last time, that the photos didn’t hollow you out.

You stood. In one swift motion, you grabbed the photos and walked toward him with a steady, unreadable face. No trembling hands, no tears, just resolve. You held them out.

He took them, confused.

Then you saw it: the recognition. His face drained of color. His hands trembled. His lips parted, trying to form something—anything.

“B-baby-”

You cut him off. You weren’t going to let lies taint the truth anymore.

“Ten years,” you said, voice sharp. “A whole decade, Yang Jungwon. You cheated on me for ten freaking years, and you thought I’d never find out?”

Your voice shook, but not from fear, from fury, from heartbreak. The dam cracked, and you let everything spill out. Every ache, every betrayal that had hollowed your chest over the past few days.

“I was stupid- so stupid to love you blindly. I spent a whole decade shamelessly loving you, believing you, building a life with you, while you were cheating on me the entire time. Right after our son was born.”

He fell to his knees at the doorway, crying, hands trembling, head bowed so low, he couldn't look you in the eyes.

“You didn’t just betray me,” you shouted, voice breaking. “You betrayed your son! For a decade!”

He kept repeating it—I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Again and again like it would erase what he’d done. But your ears refused to hear him now. Your chest rose and fell with the aftershocks of screaming. And then, just like that, it settled. Calm, but not peaceful, your tear-streaked face hardened to something neutral, blank and resigned. Then came the words you never imagined saying, but in the calmest, most painful tone of all.

“Let’s get a divorce.”

You smiled. A sad, exhausted smile.

And just like that, you ended your pain.

Life after moving out with just your son isn’t great, but you’re coping.

You’re learning how to live without Yang Jungwon.

Your son, still so young yet frighteningly perceptive, knows enough. He understands that something broke between his parents, but not why. And you won’t tell him. Not fully. Because no matter how much pain Jungwon caused you, your son didn’t choose to be born into this mess. He is innocent, the most innocent part of the family.

You refuse to poison his heart with your bitterness.

It isn’t your job to make him hate his father. That’s not love, and it’s not parenting. What he chooses to feel about Jungwon, he’ll do in his own time, in his own way. You only hope he does so without carrying the weight of your heartbreak on his small shoulders.

You started working again. A simple job. Nothing flashy, but enough. You found a small studio and turned it into a home. The space is tiny, but warm, cozy. In the stillness of the nights, curled up beside your son, you start to feel something close to peace. It’s not happiness, not yet, but it’s peace. And for now, that’s enough.

Occasionally, you hear updates. Though your family cut ties with Jungwon, his family didn’t. Your parents wanted to sever everything, even with his side of the family, but you stopped them.

“This is between me and Jungwon,” you told them. “No one else.”

Because pain is not a license for pettiness. And vengeance is not the same as healing.

So, the occasional exchange remains. And through them, you hear the pieces of Jungwon’s unraveling.

He lost his job. His first love left him. He's alone. His life, you hear, has become a slow collapse of everything he once prioritized over you. And oddly, in that moment after everything, it hits you: Your life… isn’t so bad after all.

You knocked on the apartment door, waiting. When it opened, you bowed politely, formality now standing where warmth used to live. Yang Jungwon looked at you, stunned, as if he didn’t expect to ever see you here again. You kept your voice neutral.

“I’m here to collect my things. And our son’s.”

At the corner of your eye, you noticed the house. A mess: Dishes unwashed. Dust collecting at the edges of furniture. Your housewife instinct itched, but you suppressed it. That instinct doesn’t belong here anymore. You stood still, waiting for his response.

Silently, he stepped aside.

You walked past him without looking back. He didn’t try to stop you, just followed close, but not too close, like a guilty shadow, like a stray dog waiting to be acknowledged. The air between you was heavy, but you focused on what you came for.

The items that belonged to you and your son. You packed them with care, not once sparing him a word.

Of course, it still hurts.

This was your husband. Before that, your best friend. He was by your side for more years than you were ever prepared to count. But now? Now you're not here for history. You’re here for your son. For your future.

You keep your eyes forward.

Then, unexpectedly, his hand grabs your arm.

You flinch, instinctively stepping back, your breath hitching in your throat. His face. tear-streaked and broken, still has the power to shake you. But your walls are up now, high and firm.

“I’m sorry…” he chokes out.

“I’ll change. I’ll be better. I’ll fix this. Please‐ please don’t go through with the divorce. I’ll be a better husband. A better father. I’ll make it up to you. I promise…”

You pause, heart clenching despite yourself. Because somewhere, deep inside, a part of you still wants to believe him.

But you can’t. Not anymore. Not after a decade of betrayal. Not after years of lies delivered with the same voice he used to tell you he loved you.

You look him in the eye, steady and unwavering.

“I can no longer trust you."

One night, your son tells you he’s sleeping over at a friend’s place.

You nod, smile, wish him a good time, and once you're alone, you head out. You find yourself standing on a quiet bridge, one you haven’t visited in years. The night air is cool, brushing gently against your skin. Below, the water flows steadily, indifferent to your presence.

You lean against the railing, eyes wandering across the calm surface.

And for a moment, you let yourself remember. Back when everything felt golden. When you were the girl everyone looked up to, the one who had it all. The grades. The charm. The confidence. And later, the boy you wanted most: Yang Jungwon. You remember the slow-burn love, the way it bloomed over years of friendship. How everything seemed to fall into place—graduation, jobs, an apartment, a child. A life that looked whole.

You smile bitterly.

It used to feel like a dream.

Your fingers twitch, drawn to the weight on your left hand. The wedding ring still sits there, cold and silent. You hold it up at eye level, letting the streetlight catch its shine. It’s strange, how something so small could once carry so much meaning. So much promise. And now, nothing but a symbol of a chapter that’s finally closed.

The divorce is settled.

You and Jungwon are now individuals. No longer a pair. No longer husband and wife. Your family knows. Your son knows. And they support you, not with pity, but with love.

You exhale slowly, and with a quiet finality, you slip the ring off. You stare at it one last time, then let it fall.

The soft plink as it hits the water is almost too quiet to hear, but to you, it echoes like a turning page. A weight lifted and a knot undone. You straighten your shoulders.

From now on, your life is yours again. You’ll recover, slowly but surely. You’ll learn to breathe again without the heaviness in your chest. You’ll balance your healing with the love you continue to give your son.

You may not be whole yet, but you’re on your way. And for now, that’s enough.

You still care about him and love him, of course. You've been together for a long time, having met in art school where he studied architecture and you focused on painting in Fine Arts. From the beginning, there was a strong bond, and he quickly became your favorite person. You shared many things—chemistry, sex, and a connection that felt like meeting your twin flame. After only six months of dating, you moved in together, but it already felt like you'd been a couple forever. He understood you, loved you in the way you needed, and you supported him in his pursuit of his Master's Degree. He always made time to be present with you.

But lately, he hasn’t been present, as if his attention is elsewhere. The fire you felt at the start of your relationship—the vibrant colors you saw when he was near—has faded into gray over the past year. Mingyu was your inspiration, your muse, and now you’re forced to find it elsewhere. You’ve attempted to reignite those initial feelings by spending time together outside the house or cuddling, but often you were met with responses like “yeah sure, baby, let’s talk about it later” or “not right now.”

The reality is your heart doesn’t beat the way it used to when you think of him, and to be frank, it makes you fucking sad. 

You sit at the table, watching him make breakfast with a soft hum like nothing is wrong, like you don’t feel the way you do, and that you haven’t been trying for months to bring that spark back. Is he that oblivious? Is he happy with your lives now? Can he not see how tired you are of this? Of everything?

“Here you go, babe,” Mingyu announces, setting a plate of eggs and hashbrowns in front of you. “Are you sure you don’t want any more?”

“I’m okay,” you respond with a weak smile. “I’m not very hungry.” 

You mumble thanks while you sip your black coffee with sugar and heavy cream, while Mingyu sits across from you with his usual plate of bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns. He eats as he reads the latest news on his phone, not paying attention to you as you pick at your food and take small bites. The forecast calls for clear skies and high temperatures, yet winds and dark clouds are outside your window. You chuckle at the irony in this, thinking of the storm that has been brewing in your heart for the past several months. Can you two survive this? Should you even keep trying?

Losing your remaining appetite, you quickly drink your coffee and pack up your breakfast, hoping to eat it later. Outside, the wind picks up, clouds darken, and leaves swirl in circles. You look at Mingyu, wishing he would notice you didn’t finish your food, see the sadness on your face, or hear your broken heart.

“Hey, Gyu,” you call out to him. “Can we have some time for you and me when we get home tonight?”

Mingyu meets your eyes briefly, giving you a kind smile before returning to his phone. “Sure, whatever you want.”

You nod, then go into your shared bedroom and get dressed for the day ahead. With a distracted motion, you pull on a flannel shirt and a pair of jeans, tying your hair into a loose ponytail. You work in an art studio, and you plan to go in and work on your piece for your upcoming art show. It’s supposed to be a piece that showcases love and passion, and yet you are drowning in misery. 

The thunder makes itself known, followed by a lightning strike that hits too close to home. You hear his footsteps trodding in the hallway, barging into the bedroom, and shuffling around in the closet. It was like you weren’t even there.

Your alarm goes off at 8:00 am sharp, the horn blaring from your speakers and filling your large bedroom. Turning it off, you wait, as in any second now, like clockwork, Mingyu would come tumbling out of the closet with his shirt buttoned and his suit jacket barely on, and you would go in and save the day, fixing his tie and handing him his briefcase.

“Thanks, babe,” he says, on routine, planting a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Before you can respond, he is already out of the bedroom, leaving you feeling desolate and cold. The sound of jingling keys echoed down the quiet hallway, a rhythmic clink that grew fainter with each step. You heard the door crank open and shut, confirming that you are once again left alone with your thoughts swirling in your head. There was no love in his exit, nor passion—just a transactional exchange, like has continued to be for several months now. You deserve to feel loved. Valued. Appreciated

And if Mingyu can’t do that, as much as it will hurt, you will leave him.

Mingyu knows you aren’t happy. He saw it in your eyes when he left this morning. The sparkle isn’t there, your glow is gone, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

He knows that he has been neglectful, distracted by work, and he has let it go on long enough. But he's been on a lucky streak with projects and is on track to get the promotion he has been longing for— to give you the life that you have always wanted. But still, seeing the sadness in your eyes makes him feel like shit. He hopes you can hold out for a little bit longer, and it’ll all be worth it. He loves you too damn much.

“Why do you look like your cat died?”

Mingyu spins in his chair and looks at his best friend Wonwoo, a fellow engineer who leans on your desk. They both work at an architectural firm, overseeing a riverfront project that requires him to be in and out of the field. Mingyu has been unofficially leading the project, drawing up blueprints from his office and visiting the site to make sure everything is up to code and to his clients ’ liking. This has led to more hours spent away from home and less time with you, adding more dullness to your lives.

“No one died, man,” he says, throwing a paper ball at Wonwoo. “It’s just some things going on at home with YN.”

“What do you mean?”

Mingyu sighs, looking up at the ceiling as his heart feels heavy. “I can tell she’s not happy. I haven’t exactly been the best boyfriend and available for her. But you know I have been working my ass off trying to get this promotion.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything immediately, letting the words sync in. He has never been a man of many words, always listening and observing, a contrast to Mingyu, who is always talking and philosophizing about everything.

“I love her man, you know that,” Mingyu confesses. “ She’s a part of me, you know? There isn’t anyone in the world who gets me like she does. I feel that getting this promotion can help us move out of our apartment and into the life we’ve always talked about. She deserves the world, and I want to take care of her.”

“Do you want my advice?” He finally says.

“No.”

“Well, you’re going to get it anyway, smartass,” Wonwoo quips, swatting him on his arm. “Does she know all of this? How do you feel about her? Why you’ve been working so much?”

“I mean sorta. But I have been so busy with work that I haven’t talked to her as much.”

Wonwoo raises a brow. “You know she can’t read minds, right? Talk to her before you lose her for good.”

Mingyu doesn’t answer. There was nothing else to say. Wonwoo was absolutely right.

“I know,” Mingyu lets out an exasperated sigh. “She asked me this morning to make some time for her tonight. I’m going to talk to her and show her I love her.”

“Good deal,” Wonwoo nods curtly. “Shit, here comes the boss.”

Mingyu heard his boss before she arrived, the sound of her heels tapping on the marble tile with each step. Chloe Kim was every bit the formidable CEO, barely hitting 5’5”, but was sharp, precise, and not afraid to stand up for herself or the firm. Mingyu and Wonwoo stood up instantly as she walked by with her assistant Anna, and it wasn’t lost on him that Chloe had a twinkle in her eye when she looked at him. Chloe has made subtle advances in the past, under the guise of work, of course, but he has always turned them down, as he has you at home. Plus, he doesn’t shit where he eats.

She made her way to the front of their desks, the only thing behind her being the picture windows that overlooked the city.

“Everyone,” Chloe announces, her throaty voice catching everyone’s attention. “I have an announcement to make.”

Mingyu and Wonwoo exchanged glances, folding their arms at the same time as they waited for the news. The chairs being pushed back and the paper being shuffled could be heard briefly before the sound of silence descended. Chloe’s expression did not indicate whether the news was good or bad, and that made him nervous.

“Great job, everyone, on the Riverfront project,” Chloe breaks into a smile. “I have gotten in contact with the owners of the building and the contractors, and they are willing to extend their contracts with us on other projects. Your hard work and professionalism have been attracting potential investors, and we are moving in the right direction. Also, thank you to Mingyu for leading this project like a fearless leader and keeping everyone satisfied.”

Mingyu bows slightly while everyone breaks into applause, his cheeks slightly turning red from the unexpected praise.

“As a thank you,” Chloe continues, her eyes staying on Mingyu. “I am treating everyone to dinner at the Hana Tori Steakhouse tonight. Reservations will start at 6:30 pm. You aren’t required to come, but it would be appreciated if you did.”

Her assistant Anna types on her phone and presses send, with everyone’s computer buzzing with an incoming email. “I have sent the directions to the steakhouse. I will see you all later.”

Chloe strides to her office, with Anna trailing behind her as she types on her phone, the smell of her honeyed perfume trailing behind her. Mingyu feels elated, knowing that his hard work is finally paying off. That promotion will be his in a matter of time, and he can give you the life you have always craved.

“Good job, bro,” Wonwoo praises, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Do you think YN is going to understand about tonight?”

Shit. Tonight. Mingyu realizes he will not be home early enough, and his heart sinks to his chest. He promised, gave his word this morning, that he would give you the time you wanted, his attention that you deserved. It’s going to be another broken promise to you, and he is terrified of losing you. However, if he does not attend this dinner, it will not look good to the rest of the team. 

Fuck, he curses internally.

“I hope she does,” Mingyu mutters. “I’m going to call her now and let her know. Hopefully, she will not be pissed.”

His stomach is filled with anxiety and dread as he steps onto the balcony on his floor, thumbing through his favorites on his phone until he finds your contact and presses send. It rings a few times, and he holds his breath, hoping he wouldn’t have to hear the sadness in your voice when you reneg on your promise once again.

“Hey, babe,” you answer on the last ring. “Everything all right?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, slightly undoing his tie. “We got an extension on some contracts, and the boss said I did a good job leading the team.”

“That’s great, baby,” you cheer through the phone. “I am so proud of you. We have to celebrate tonight!”

“Uh, that’s why I’m calling,” he says slowly, his anxiety picking through him piece by piece. “The boss is treating us to a steak dinner tonight, and it will not look good if I’m not there, so…”

“Oh.”

He waits on bated breath, expecting an explosion of anger and shouting, even though that wasn’t in your nature. The call is silent for a while, and he is sure you have disconnected until he looks at his screen and sees you are still there.

“Fine,” you finally say, letting out a deep sigh. “I’ll see you later then.”

You hang up before he can respond, and he slumps on the chair, leaning his forehead on his phone. He would have preferred that you curse at him, scream, or do something that was deserving. Hearing the deflated joy that left your voice felt like a punch in the gut. Mingyu knows that you have been trying to spend time together for months, and he has just been too busy. He’s a shitty partner; he knows that. But he loves you more than anything, and he hopes he can convey that to you tonight.

It’s a quarter before 8, and Mingyu sits near the end of a long table surrounded by coworkers at the steakhouse who are half a glass too deep into company-sponsored alcohol. He sips his whisky slowly, looking at his phone every few minutes, hoping to see a notification from you, whether it's a text or a phone call. Instead, he just sees his lockscreen of you and him, kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. The guilt was building in his chest. 

Wonwoo mouths if he is good from across the table, and he nods solemnly, finishing the last of his whiskey in his cup. 

“Are we done?” Chloe asks smoothly, pointing at your empty cup. “Do you want some more?”

“No, boss, I’m good,” he shook his head. “I still have to get home in one piece.” 

“On a Friday night?” she chuckles, her blouse brushing against his forearm. “Surely you can let loose for a little bit, right?”

“Eh—”

“To the man of the hour,” she raises her glass. “I meant what I said earlier. You carried that project with elegance. And vision.”

“Thank you,” he replies, trying to keep it light. “It was a team effort.”

Chloe smiles, eyes locking on his. “Don’t be modest. You’ve got more than talent, Mingyu. You’ve got presence.”

Mingyu lets out a chuckle, playing with his glass. “My girlfriend at home thinks the same thing.”

He notices her falter, just for a moment, scooting back slightly and knocking back another glass of wine. “Lucky her.” 

“Lucky me, actually,” Mingyu says absentmindedly. 

“You never talk about your girlfriend, Mingyu,” his colleague, Hana, chimes in. “Can we see a picture of her?” 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, showing another picture of you before handing it over. It was a picture he took of you last summer when you weren’t looking. You walked barefoot in the sand, walking towards the water towards a hidden cove that he discovered randomly on a work project. You looked relaxed, carefree, and at peace. It’s his favorite version of you.  

“God, Mingyu, she is beautiful,” Hana says, blinking. “How long have you been together?”

Mingyu hesitates, his thumb still on the screen, watching the light of the image flicker in the reflection of his glass. “Almost 10 years. We met in college.”

The number tastes heavier than he expected. He’s shared his life with you for over 10 years. The good, the bad, and sometimes ugly. 

“That’s a long time,” Hana acknowledges, handing the phone back. “It must be nice, having someone in your life for that long.” 

“It’s the best,” Mingyu reminisces. “She is the best.”

He meant every word. You are the best thing that has ever happened to him. Ever since you walked into the Survey of Art History in college, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. He noticed the way you tapped your pencil on your lip when you were lost in thought or the way your nose wiggled when you laughed. He wanted to know you and be in your orbit one way or another. You were mesmerizing to him; the Galatea to his Pygmalion. When he finally worked up the nerve to talk to you and started hanging out more, he even told you that. You didn’t laugh or think he was being silly or melodramatic. Instead, you kissed him heartfeltedly, and told him you felt the connection too. 

You always believed in him, saw him for who he was, and he would be crazy to let you slip away from him. 

Mingyu and Wonwoo exchange a glance, unspoken words from his best friend that only meant one thing: Go home to your girl. 

“I’m going to head out, guys,” Mingyu announces, pushing out his chair and grabbing his coat. “Thank you for treating us, Chloe. And great job, everyone. Have a good weekend.”

There are a few scattered goodbyes as he walks out the door, Chloe not saying anything but watching him with unreadable eyes. Outside, the night air is cool, a light breeze brushing his cheeks as he unlocks his car. He checks the time—8:06 PM. He taps open his messages and sends one to you: 

Dinner rang later than I thought. Be there soon. I love you.

He puts the phone down, starts the car, and pulls away from the glowing steakhouse windows—chasing, for once, the thing that matters most.

It’s after nine, and you finally decide to stop waiting for him, resolving to shower and go to bed. You still cooked his favorite meal, braised ribs, hoping that he would somehow come home early, and you could finally talk. Be centered with one another. Figure out what is going on in that head of his. But once again, you are left alone, having to pick up the pieces of your already fragile relationship.

Where did you go wrong? This isn’t the Mingyu you fell in love with, or the life you both promised to each other. You used to talk to each other, hold hands just because, kiss because he wanted to feel his lips against yours, or touch in the ways you both craved. Did you do something wrong? Are you not pretty enough? Is there someone else who is taking up the space in his heart that was supposed to be yours? You feel the crevice of your heart break at the very thought.

With a resigned breath, you gathered the leftover food, its fragrant steam curling upward as you carefully ladled it into neat containers. You glanced at the empty chair across the table, imagining him there. With gentle hands, you set aside a portion just for him, wrapping it in a colorful napkin, your fingers lingering for a moment over the fabric. Maybe he’ll see your sincerity then, or at least appreciate that you care about him enough to make sure he eats every day.

Mingyu used to cook for you all the time, and you still remember the first meal he prepared for you. You love pasta, and one day, you told him that your favorite meal was something simple: spaghetti and meatballs. You're a hopeless romantic; you’ve seen Lady and the Tramp a thousand times, and as a little girl, you always wanted to experience a love like that. You told Mingyu about it, who thought it was adorable, and you didn’t think much of it. But the next weekend, he invited you over to his place and made your childhood dream come true—a candlelight dinner with spaghetti and meatballs, with the movie playing on the screen for you to watch when you were finished.

You fell in love with him that night.

You wish you could get back to that.

The bathroom light casts a faint glow when you walk into your bedroom, a reminder that you forgot to turn it off earlier when you came home. You look at your bed, spacious and yet empty, mirroring the way you’ve been feeling lately. You let out a low laugh, finding humor in the irony of this situation. As much as you want it to be, this house is not a home.

You turn on the shower, letting it be as hot as you can handle, as you slowly slip out of your clothes. Stepping into the stall, you stand under the water with your eyes closed, letting it hit your skin, allowing it to drown out the loud thoughts in your head and the pounding of your heart in your ears. You were born in the summer, and you have always felt a deep connection to water, especially the ocean. For the first time today, you experienced a sense of peace.

Slowly opening your eyes, you are met with a familiar figure unbuttoning a light blue shirt and letting it fall to the floor. Rubbing your eyes softly, your vision clears, and you confront the source of your heartache.

“Mingyu,” you breathe. “I thought I was expecting you later.”

“I came as soon as I could,” he says, continuing to undress. “The dinner ran longer than I thought it would.”

“That seems to be a recurring theme lately,” you mutter. You grab the soap and start to lather, washing over your body. “I made you dinner anyway. You can take it with you to work tomorrow.”

Mingyu pauses, your icy demeanor catching him off guard as you intended. You turn your back towards him, attempting to finish your shower without breaking down. You hear the door open, and you feel his presence and warmth wrapped around your waist. He kisses your neck, holding on to you like his life were on the line. This is the closet that you've been in together in months, and your walls are tumbling down. You miss it, crave it, and you slowly feel the sadness uncurling from your skin.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says tenderly. “I’ve been a shitty boyfriend, and you don’t deserve that.”

“You’re awfully perceptive,” you sniff, holding back your tears. “A simple sorry doesn’t fix things. Mingyu. I’m tired.”

“Baby, I know,” he agrees, turning you around to face him. “I’ve been caught up at work, working long hours, trying to get this promotion, and I know I haven’t been here much. But once it happens, I will give you the world and everything you want. I love you.”

“Gyu,” you sigh heavily. “It’s not about wanting things. I have things, I can always get things. I want YOU. Our life back, the connection we used to have.” You place his hand on your heart, hoping he could feel it beating heavily in his hands. “Don’t you miss this? Miss me? This is the most we have spoken to each other in months. That’s not okay.”

You didn’t intend to cry. You wanted to hold it together and give him a piece of your mind, to unleash the hurt and displeasure that you have felt in this relationship for so long. But instead, you sobbed, letting him hold you close as your water gates broke and your chest heaved. He kisses your forehead and holds you close, his hands caressing your back, giving you the comfort you've wanted for so long. It brings you back to the happier times, when you had him unconditionally.

“I want to get back to us,” you sniffle. “The way we used to be. We used to talk all the time, and we were one and the same. I know you’re busy, and I get that this promotion is important to you, but what happened to us? How do we get that back, Gyu?”

“I will be more present,” Mingyu avows, moving your wet hair from your face. “Anything you want to talk about, I’ll be available. If you need me to be anywhere, I’m there. If you need me to hold you, I’m in your arms. I love you so damn much.”

He kisses your lips unexpectedly, deeply, and with a need that makes your knees buckle. But you kissed him back, returning his vigour with all your might, walking him until his back hits the shower walls. His hands ravenously caress your body, finding your derriere and giving it a nice squeeze. You moan in his mouth, your tongue playing with his as it fuels your carnal desire for him even more.

“I need you, Gyu,” you purr, looking into his eyes. “Please, take me.”

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he breathes. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

He slowly bends down, your breath hitching as he becomes face to face with your creamy center. Lifting your leg over his shoulder, he kisses your thighs, trailing his kisses dangerously close to your nectar, aching for it to be touched.

“Do you want me here?” He whispers, placing a wet kiss on your thigh.

“Mmhmm,” you nod fervently, your hands grabbing his hair.

“Use your words, baby,” he coos, licking his lips. “What do you want?”

“Your mouth, baby. I need it.”

You feel him grin against your thigh, giving it a small bite that feels electric. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He blessed you with his lips, kissing your clit with a reverence that made your entire body jolt. The sensation is overwhelming, not just because of the way he is touching you, but because of how present he is. How his eyes stay locked on yours, how his hands grip your thighs, his nails slightly digging into your skin like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

Soft moans escape your lips, your fingers curling in his hair, grounding yourself in him — in the warmth, the pressure, the way he moves like he knows every part of you.

Your head tipped back as he gave you more, his tongue lapping your juices with no rush, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you.

“Just like that,” you whimper. “Please don’t stop.”

His voice was low, almost a growl. “Never.”

He slips a finger inside of you, watching your eyes roll to the back of your head when he inserts another, your hips slowly whining with the rhythm he sets. Despite this lewd act, he looks at you with love, those puppy dog eyes telling you he’s sorry more than his words can, and he is going to please you until you believe him.

“You look so fucking angelic,” he murmurs, teasing your clit with his tongue. “I’d do anything for you, you know that, right?”

You bite your lip, unable to form a sentence as he increases the pace, your arousal coating his fingers as you let out broken moans. You’ve entered into a state of delirium, unable to hold back as the pleasure coils tightly in your stomach, winding and winding until it finally snaps. A cry tears from your throat as you fall over the edge, your back arching off the wall, his name mewls from your lips while he eats you with a fervor that leaves you breathless. He doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied, leaving you with one last lick before he slowly lets down your trembling leg.

When he finally rises, his face is flushed, lips glistening, eyes soft with something that almost feels like love— the way he used to look at you.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips. “I promise to do better. Don’t give up on me.”

You want to believe him, you really do. Because in this moment, wrapped in the warmth of his body and the aftershocks of pleasure, he feels like the Mingyu you first fell in love with. Present. Gentle. All in.

“Are you still up for giving me some time tonight?” You kiss him softly.

“Of course, babe,” Mingyu says, grabbing your soap and the sponge, rewashing you. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

It was more like you cleaned each other up, the comfort in silence meaning more than any conversation that could have been said. You let yourself hope—just a little, that he actually heard you, and things could change.

He leaves the bathroom before you do, promising to spend some time with you, and you begin your nightly routine, your heart swelling with a little more joy. You keep replaying the moment in the shower, where you connected with him, felt his sincerity, and your love for him deepened. You feel like you finally got your lover back.

It wasn’t even twenty minutes when you finished, coming out of the bathroom expecting him to be sitting up in bed and waiting for you with open arms. But instead, you stare at him with furrowed brows, finding him already asleep, clinging to the pillow that was meant to be yours.

Your heart sinks.

All the hope and ideas that you had for the rest of the night deflate out of you like a balloon. Another promise broken by Mingyu, color you shocked. Shaking your head, you slip into the other side of the bed, the anger you thought you had dissipated earlier rearing its ugly head again, stirring something deep within you. Did he think one fleeting moment where you had to beg to be loved like you wanted was enough to be forgiven and forgotten?

You curl towards the edge of the mattress and press your hands to your ears, trying to drown out the voices in your head, screaming at you to leave. Tonight was supposed to be a turning point, but somehow, it feels like the end.

Part 2

Thank you for reading <3 I would love to know what your thoughts are on this part of the series 🥺

Soojin promised to do everything to protect and hide her, keep her from Taeho. She and her husband are loving people who would treat her like their own child.

And even if the pain hurts, Jongho's support gives you the strength to see each new day come to pass. You and Jongho have agreed to keep your daughter a secret to prevent him from having more leverage than he already has. The thought of your children being kept apart sickens and angered you both, but if Taeho finds out that he had a daughter too, you would be signing away any rights you could have possibly had and guarantee the loss of both children.

And if losing one baby is bad enough, you can't imagine how the loss of both of them would crush your entire soul, decimating everything it once was into a fractured husk.

Taeho was out for a business trip as usual and Jongho was at Soojin's, spending time with his daughter when you hear an incessant banging sound coming from downstairs. Your baby boy was tucked into bed for a nap when you had been cleaning up the room and a deep frown etches onto your forehead when he wakes up and lets out a small whine.

"Shit," you hiss when the banging gets louder. Pulling Jongseok into your arms, you make your way downstairs in the dim lights of the mansion. "It's okay, sweetheart. Don't cry, mommy's here," you assure him softly. The boy latches his fist against your chest, settling against you and the banging rings throughout the house. "What the hell?"

When you open the door, you're met with a face of an older woman that looks like Jongho. His mom, perhaps? She sees you cradle Jongseok in your arms and her lips are tugged into a strained frown, mixed emotions written on her features.

"Ma'am?" you hesitantly greet her, glancing at the men behind her, looking more like guards than just visitors. 

"The little one looks like you both," she straightens and lets her mouth lift in a gentle smile. "I'm Jongho's mother."

"Um...please," you sigh and stand away from the entrance, letting her and her team inside the house, leading her and the others towards the living room. "Forgive the state of our house, but-"

"Oh please, darling," she smiles, reaching a hand to touch Jongseok's head. You feel his breath calm and a soft sound escapes the baby's throat. "Don't worry, I understand you've got other priorities rather than taking care of the house," she soothes, her motherly smile blooming at the sight of her grandson and the affection he returns with a giggle.

You settle onto the sofa, pulling a light blanket around the baby. Mrs. Choi sits in the opposite chair, observing you silently, eyes examining Jongseok. Her silence lingers too long and you finally breathe out, gazing into the other woman's eyes.

"Mrs Choi," you begin softly, "not to be rude, but...why are you here?" you ask quietly. The air between is tense, stagnant. You want so badly to cry, scream, rant. Why couldn't anyone see how trapped, miserable, and dehumanized you had become over the years of being married to your own jailer?

"Please, just call me Mina. I’m no longer Mrs Choi," she announces firmly, causing you to pull back a bit in surprise, the newborn squirming. “I'm here to help you.”

"Help me?" You shake your head. "But-"

"I know very well what you're going through," she presses, leaning forward to grasp your hand and squeeze gently, then reach out a hand and runs her fingers along Jongseok's cheek. "You've been trapped under his control. I know all too well what he's capable of."

"I envy your freedom," you exhale a choked sob, a hand covering your mouth. Jongseok wiggles and mewls against your chest, his little hand tugging the collar of your sweater. "You were able to escape from his clutches and gain freedom from Taeho, yet I-"

"Listen, my dear," Mina interrupts, squeezing your hand again. Her eyes turn to steel as the emotions build up in the depths of her chest, a burning flame igniting and spurring her on. "I came here because you're not alone anymore." Her words echo in the darkness. "Let me help you, Y/N. My son, Jongho...he's...my boy," she stutters as a lone tear streaks across her cheek. "He's filled with so much joy, happiness and love every time he visits me. When he talks about you, or his children, his whole world seems to brighten and illuminate like nothing I have ever seen before. Y/N, you and the children are Jongho's light."

"I feel the same way about him," you admit, closing your eyes and allowing a small smile form.

"That's good. But I hate to be the bearer of bad, or maybe it's good news, but there's something more," Mina pauses, letting your eyes flicker up to her face, curious. "Jongho isn't Taeho's son, in the most literal of senses."

"What are you-?" you ask slowly. Your brows furrowed in confusion and curiosity. "What do you mean? Of course Jongho is Taeho's son."

The elderly woman sighs deeply and shakes her head, rubbing your hand between hers. Her eyes were sympathetic and when her attention moves from you, they glistened, a soft hue reflecting from unshed tears.

"I'm going to tell you a tale. A story, so to say, about my past," she utters. "One I had tried to keep buried. I was foolish to think that this could ever truly fade or be kept from the past. Especially with someone as conniving, power hungry, and deceptive as Taeho."

There's a lump growing steadily, heavier and thicker in the back of your throat and you swallow, listening in fear of what horrors she would unveil.

"The thing with Taeho is that he never stopped to question if Jongho was truly his son," Mina muttered. "Jongho is Taeho's brother. Half-brother. I slept with Youngho, Taeho's father, weeks before I got married to Taeho," she tells you, staring at your son as his eyes flutter close. "I know it was stupid of me but Youngho gave me love, understanding and kindness, so different from the man I was supposed to marry."

"You loved him." The truth is already there and your voice doesn't need to say it for it to be a fact. "You and Youngho," you said softly.

"I still do," she confesses, "as much as I hate to admit it. I fell in love with a man I couldn't ever have. Youngho is gone now. Dead and gone," she clears her throat. The baby sighs, small huffs of breath fanning against your collarbone and a faint smile traces the corners of Mina’s mouth. "Taeho never suspected me to be unfaithful. The day Jongho was born he looked just like a copy of Taeho, and no one questioned. Not even I could tell the difference between him and his brother.

"I raised Jongho to think that Taeho was his father. How can I tell him that a man that he calls father is his brother? That the man he calls grandpa is actually his father? I kept a lot of secrets from my son to keep him safe, but now I can see that it's done him no good," Mrs. Choi concluded, "or you."

"Did Youngho ever find out that Jongho was his?"

"Youngho didn't even know that Jongho was his until after I divorced Taeho. And the time for telling Jongho about the truth was too late since Taeho shipped him off to a boarding school."

"This is..." your eyes search hers, brows knit. "This is insane. How─"

"Mother?" a shocked gasp cuts through the air, silencing any other question you might have had, and your body tenses. Jongho rushes over to you, hurried, urgent. A streak of pure panic seeping through the façade when his eyes find hers.

"Jongho, it's okay," you soothe. Reaching out, you take hold of his hand. It's like an instant jolt of electricity races through your bodies, hot and sizzling, electrifying your nerves in mere moments and warming your frozen heart. "Your mother was telling me a story. She has some rather important news."

He turns from you to her, swallowing the lump. Mina takes his hand, wrapping both hers around his trembling one.

"Jongho, darling. You are a strong, and kindhearted young man. And I could not be prouder," her soft words ease his anxiety. "Your father would be proud to see the man you've grown up to be."

"Him, proud?" Jongho scoffs. "All he ever does is give me criticism and demand so much from me and when I do meet expectations...it's never enough," Jongho laments, a scoff falling out with a sigh. "He looks at me with disdain and now he wants to take my children from me? What kind of father does that?"

"Not him, Jongho, not him," his mother denies. "I never meant to keep things a secret but after marrying Taeho... I wanted to keep you safe, protect you. You weren't old enough to understand," she tells him, resting a hand over his chest and patting his arm. "Taeho isn't your father, Jongho."

"What are you talking about?" He frowns deeply, shaking his head. "Of course Taeho is my father."

Mina pulls out an envelope from her pocket. "Here. Your biological father left this for you. It may be painful to read," she cautions him with a sympathetic gaze, "but it will shed a little more light."

Confused, he opens the paper, unfolding the crinkled sheets. "A paternity test? What the..." Jongho falters as the information settles in, a jagged breath choking him. His eyes move between the papers and his mother's face as he whispers. "So grandpa was actually...he was my-"

"Yes," she interjects, "You're Youngho's son and you have just as much right to take over the company and claim everything." Mina squeezes his hand and rises to her feet, clasping his neck and pulling him down for a loving kiss to his forehead, sighing with relief and pressing her forehead against his, peering into his glistening eyes and whispers, "You can finally be free, Jongho. You, Y/N, and your children can finally have your peace."

For once you felt like the weight had lifted from your shoulder, seeing a glimpse of light and hope, of freedom. But the ever-growing problem was what you and Jongho have been dreading the most, his return in two days' time.

Even with the evidence, Jongho wasn't going to take chances on presenting everything in a proper order. Soojin and her husband, Yeongtae, an attorney by profession, assured the two of you that they'd do anything in their power to help and when the time comes, to act swiftly.

Now you're laying awake at three in the morning, the clock ticking loudly against the walls. Jongseok is asleep in his nursery and Jongho is just slipping into bed beside you. A soothing hand presses against your spine, drawing delicate circles against your skin, pressing a kiss to your hair.

"You're home," you whisper, turning to face him.

He hums softly, caressing your cheek, looking into the depths of your tired eyes, peppering you with affection as his lips wander all over. "Yes. I came straight after I talked with the others," Jongho breathes, cradling you with a firm yet gentle hold, feeling you trembling ever so slightly in the cool room, goosebumps forming across your naked skin.

Your eyes wander over his handsome features, a rush of calm warmth overtaking you. His gentle stare meeting yours makes you feel safe, warm, and the fear that had been bubbling starts to subside. He presses his forehead to yours, taking in a slow inhale and murmurs quietly, "You'll get to see Jieun again. I'll keep you three safe, just like I promised."

It doesn't come off as a surprise when you start to weep silently, melting against him in overwhelming happiness, heart surging, hands reaching out and latching into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him against your frame. His lips descend against the apple of your cheek, pressing to kiss away the tears, smiling faintly against your damp cheek.

"Thank you, Jongho," you cried in utter relief, gratitude swelling as the last of your defenses collapses. The waterfalls begin flowing nonstop as all of your pent-up emotions and fears and struggles break forth and your heart was aching painfully in your chest, heavy with your guilt, remorse, and everything in between. "I'm so glad that you're not Taeho's son," the words blurted out quickly as you gasped. "I'm glad that I'm not your stepmom, and─"

He cuts your rambling short with a bruising kiss and the motion, the sudden shift has your heart throbbing loudly, pounding hard and fast in your chest, dizzying. You grasp his nape and pull him closer, opening your mouth wider, greedily accepting every touch, desperate for more of the flames burning between.

"So am I," he groans low and heavy against your parted lips. Jongho eases on top, balancing his weight on his elbows. He nudges one of his strong legs between yours, hiking your thigh up against his own. The scorching touch has you panting heavily. "If anything, I'm just a tiny bit relieved that I can call you my lover, instead of my stepmother," Jongho chuckles hoarsely, nuzzling against your neck, languidly dragging his wet muscle against the column of your throat. The burn from his kisses has your stomach tying into knots, skin erupting in waves of butterflies and you moan, hitching the sound around a hiccup. "I don't want anyone else. Just you."

His firm, insistent hands explore your exposed curves, caressing every inch he can reach, wandering along your skin. He's achingly slow in the way he runs his palm underneath the soft curves of your breast, your soft stomach marred with stretch marks and lingering flabbiness. "I can't believe my children had the chance to grow within you. Right here," Jongho rasps in amazement. His palm presses against the gentle curve of your womb and something inside your soul twists and grows warm with love, making you shudder with intensity and awe.

"How can a beautiful, charming young man like you like someone as old as me, Jongho," you inquire, heat creeping into your cheeks.

"You know very well, how and why, my sweet," Jongho's deep voice was low and velvety, burning against your neck. "And you're not old, Y/N. Not old at all," his hot lips press a flurry of feather light kisses in the crook of your neck, a jittery feeling rushing up and down, your body pulsing, hot and alive, his other hand wandering across your arms, and slowly venturing up, rubbing gentle and soft against the sensitive undersides, "not for me, you aren't. You're just the right amount of everything," Jongho whispers. 

Your bones quiver with emotion and desire as his smooth, honeyed voice vibrates throughout, piercing and pinching like tiny needles of arousal, sharp and sparking in the core of your center. The feeling surges intensely when the flat of his thumbs brush against your nipples and roll them in light touches. 

"Never forget that, you hear me?" He leans close, hovering above you and you see how he swallows, Adam's apple bobbing and when you nod he dives for your parted mouth, invading. Jongho licks between the seam, suckling your lower lip between his own.

You can only breathe out a little yes and tug him back to you, pushing against his broad frame, holding him as tightly as you can muster, your breath shallow. Jongho groans, hands eagerly trailing down until he's clutching your rear and the tops of your thighs.