#constant mls

[printedpostman]

if i had a nickel for every time i was obsessed with a silly security robot who watches security cameras in a tower i'd have two nickels

[wisteriasymphony]

rabbit zoo group is full of right wing trads who want to "go back to simpler times", edgy military-history obsessed teen boys, and a small minority of centre-left history majors who get into discourse about "was X historical figure a miraculous holder" about once a week

Wait, actually, this brings up a good point that I think we've never really bothered to acknowledge yet:

Does the general public... know what each superhero's primary power is?

We as the audience are familiarized with the mechanics of the miraculouses because we get to see them all in action + have them each explained to us, but that has no bearing on what the whole of Paris in-universe gets to know about them. What's the flow of information? Is it passed through word of mouth or did Ladybug have to go up on stage for a press conference and tell everyone what each hero's deal was (Doubtful, I feel like she'd assume that would be giving too much info to the enemy).

I'm sure that general information got passed around eventually as the zodiac heroes got to make regular rounds as shown in Illustrhater, but we haven't seen Bunnix show up yet and I doubt her presence in this season onwards will be all that common given the nature of her duty as a timeline-keeper.

All this to say, the above suggestion of Bunnix retvrn enthusiasts and historians hinges on the assumption that the public knows Bunnix's whole deal is time travel, if they know Bunnix exists at all. Which I think is a very interesting thing to think about!

[frostedpuffs]

officially turning reblogs off for that ml fandom vent post that blowed up because there are still ppl thinking it’s appropriate to mention how they dislike it and stopped watching on the post complaining about people doing that

[tojiscrack]

NO ONE NOTICED GOT ADDED TO THE PLAYLIST?? IM SURE IT WASNT BECAUSE OF MY ASK BUT I HAD AN ASK ABOUT HOW MUCH IT MATCHES THEM!! you can find it in the previous asks😭

waittt girlypop 😭

this is smth that came to my attention a while ago, and now that i’m semi-free, i can address it 😟

‘no one noticed’ is 10000% in the playlist, and was pre-planned to be for a while too. and yes, i definitely remember you saying it should be 😋 however, i am updating the playlist in the order of which i believe the songs would fit, and no one noticed is definitely in the middle of the list of songs i plan to put in…

in other words, i literally did not add it to the playlist (yet). spotify’s randomly updating it so different people are seeing different things added to it even tho i haven’t touched it since i released it? 😭

like someone told me ‘washing machine heart’ by mitski is on it 😀 like i did not add that and don’t plan on adding it either 😭

whoever’s an expert on spotify (seeing as i use musi to listen to my playlists and only just went back to spotify after 8 years of abandoning it), can you tell me what’s up with this? 🌝

BUT YOUR EXCITEMENT IS SO CUTE STOP, NO ONE NOTICED IS DEFINITELY ON THE PLAYLIST, JUST AFTER SEVERAL OTHER SONGS I PLAN ON ADDING 🫶🏽

[musingonward]

ML e16 spoiler

CCE!!! POPPING THE BIGGEST BOTTLE FOR RED EYE BRO DRAGGED THEM TO THE PODIUM KICKING AND SCREAMING FR!

THATS MY TEAM!

[the-commonplace-book]

saw some posts going around about how movie adrien was insufferable and a fuckboy and seemed like the kind of guy who might call a girl a bitch and can't take no for an answer and i couldn't figure out why for the life of me

finally watched some scenes in the english dub and

oh honey no

what IS that line delivery???

;_; how did they murder my boy??

[msclaritea]

MLS urged to avoid ‘lazy’ NFL & Taylor Swift trap with Lionel Messi as Inter Miami superstar dominates domestic game in the United States | Goal.com US

MLS commissioner Don Garber wants to avoid domestic soccer in the States becoming a one-man show, with American football having shown how attention can be diverted away from what really matters...“I think it's easy and somewhat lazy for reporters to just write about Messi. It's like writing about Taylor Swift. There's so much more here that I think people need to recognise.."

[pentanguine]

The appeal of a hysterectomy grows by the day

[hyunsuloves]

can we get more myung gi/ player 333 oneshots/hcs plsss (if u can)💕💕

boyfriend myung-gi in the games.

warnings … there may be some typos, i apologize

lovely notes … ask & you shall receive ml 🙂‍↕️

꩜ [ 600 words ]

boyfriend myung-gi who cherishes the small moments with you. the moments after games, moments right before lights out, and even the minuscule moments like when he makes direct eye contact with you from across the room.

boyfriend myung-gi who lets you get in line before him because you’re his top priority, always.

boyfriend myung-gi who always gives you a share of his food. he doesn’t care about you saying you “don’t want it”, he insists that you stay more fed than him. he’ll put your well-being before his every time.

boyfriend myung-gi who is wary of all the other contestants, even more with you in the games with him. he doesn’t trust them, nor does he want you to blindly trust them.

boyfriend myung-gi who makes a silent vow to himself to protect you at the start of every game. he puts your welfare before his every time, so he will defend you with his entire life.

boyfriend myung-gi who always has a vice grip on your hand. whether you’re in a game, waiting to vote, or doing something so mundane such as sitting next to one another. he likes to feel you at all times, it anchors him in a way

boyfriend myung-gi who squeezes your hand just a bit tighter when thanos or nam-gyu walks by. they’re the last people he wants to get near either of you, so of course he feels a need to protect you.

boyfriend myung-gi who always moves your head to rest on his shoulder when sitting next to one another. or he places his head to rest on your lap. he just wants to be near you, is all.

boyfriend myung-gi who always wakes up before you. you sleep in his bed, and he can’t help himself but wake up a few hours before you. he enjoys the mere moments when he can have you in his arms without any concerns.

boyfriend myung-gi who’s the first to acknowledge you when you walk into a room. his eyes immediately shift to you when he’s in the same vicinity as you. it was like a magnetic force pulled his eyes to you every time.

boyfriend myung-gi who covers your eyes when other participants die. if possible, he’s going to shield you from the horror that is the reality of the death game you’re in. the last thing he wants you to see is lifeless bodies dropping left and right.

boyfriend myung-gi who randomly says “i love you”. he wants to remind you of his unwavering love all the time, of course.

boyfriend myung-gi who’s only level-minded around you. you’re the only one who can ground him because god knows how unbalanced he’d get without you.

boyfriend myung-gi who’s constantly near you during every game. red light, green light? you’re behind him. six-legged pentathlon? you’re obviously on the same team as him. mingle? you’re in every single group with him. other participants may see it as clinginess, but both of you see it as myung-gi protecting you with his everything.

boyfriend myung-gi who would quite literally fall to his knees if you got injured. he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if you got wounded under his observation.

boyfriend myung-gi who has the most extravagant plans for when the both of you get out of the games. he has dozens of date plans just for when you make it out.

boyfriend myung-gi who sometimes feels like he doesn’t deserve you. you’re the only constant in the cruelty that you both found yourselves in. and he feels so undeserving of you and your tenderness so often.

[noljabae]

House Husband | Park Seonghwa x Reader

"For all intents and purposes, I feel real. I feel alive."

SUMMARY: You wanted a personal assistant model. To your horror, the one your parents got you shows up in a plexiglass case with the words "House Husband!" splattered across the front in gold glitter.

PAIRING: Android!Seonghwa x Fem!Reader

GENRE: Sci-fi/Fantasy, Romance, Angst

WORD COUNT: 17.2k

WARNINGS: Smut (18+, MDNI), Androids (robots that look and feel human), Human-Android Sex, Fingering, Shower Sex, Oral (f + m receiving), Vaginal, Unprotected Sex (wrap it up irl!!), Soft Dom Seonghwa, Cheating (not by mc/ml), Divorce (again, not mc/ml), Choking (violence, not sexual), Spanking, Creampie, Existential Crises, AMBIGUOUS/TWIST ENDING

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

All you'd wanted was a personal assistant.

Your parents had bothered you for years now to invest in an android. Most households had at least one these days. Your younger sister and her new husband loved their butler model.

"You live alone in Myeongdong and work full-time with your online business or whatever it is you do!" your mother argued one day. "Surely you don't do all the chores, do you? When was the last time you mopped your kitchen, young lady?"

"Last week!" you fired back, knowing full well a year had come and gone since you'd done something so time consuming as mopping.

Your parents knew the truth. Your whole family did. You lived a decent life, had a decent freelance job, and partook in social activities regularly (albeit online). But your home life was... messy.

More than just dirty dishes piling up in the sink, clothes going unwashed, and bed going unmade, you just simply didn't make time for yourself.

You were... unhappy.

You had a good life on paper, but you'd be damned if you hadn't dreamed of doing something more. Being something more. Not just working a desk job and whittling away the hours in a cushy apartment.

Existential dread loomed in your thoughts frequently. You spent hours leaping into fantasy media, drowning the eerie discomfort which had settled into your bones sometime after college graduation.

The one thing that tethered you to reality had been work.

You didn't love your work, and your work certainly didn't love you, but it was a quiet constant. A regular pattern of scoping out new clients, making estimates, designing apps, getting paid. It was simple. Mundane. But enough to keep you busy and from becoming a hermit entirely.

So when your parents broke you down, finally offering to buy you an android for the Winter festival, you told them you'd consider a personal assistant.

It would speed up your output. That's what you told yourself.

You could have it filter through hundreds of potential clients in the time it would take you to do one. It could make price sheets and code app foundations in just a few mechanical heartbeats. You'd just have to oversee it, guide it in the direction you wanted your business to take, tweak its ideas for quality assurance, and you'd be making triple... no--quadruple what you made now.

You were honestly kind of excited. This could be your next big thing. The next milestone of your life. You could be on your way to becoming somebody.

So when you ripped back the packaging of the tall, coffin-like box, your your brows shot up into your hairline and your jaw dropped to the floor.

They hadn't. Your parent's just hadn't, there was no way they'd do this to you--

"Surprise, sweetie!" your father exclaimed, coming closer to put his hand on your shoulder. "You're finally going to have a clean home!"

The model they'd gotten you wasn't a personal assistant at all.

Instead, you were suddenly face to face with a unit labeled House Husband! in glittering gold letters.

Behind the clear packaging, an elegant android rested frozen on its display stand. You noted its face--the sweeping, broad planes of its cheekbones and its plush lips. The long, raven-black hair. It was much more... delicate than the sample assistant models you'd looked at online. You frowned as you read the label again.

You flinched, muscles going taught when you realized what they'd done.

"Guys... I asked for a personal assistant... This-I-It's too much! I don't want this!" you stammered, heat rising to your cheeks.

Your mother took you up in her arms and cooed, "Shhh, it's okay, honey. Just give it a try, won't you? For us?"

From somewhere over your shoulder, your sister's husband, a man she'd met in college named Junhyeong, snickered. You wanted to fly over to his spot on the couch and punch him, but that was decidedly not in the spirit of the Winter festival.

"Please, honey. We're worried about your health and safety. Maybe he'll even get you out of the house!" your dad added, a proud gleam in his eye.

You groaned. Your parents really thought they were doing the right thing for you. They wanted you to be happy. It just so happened they had a horrible misunderstanding of what would accomplish that.

But they both gave you their best doe-eyed looks, their hands joining and voices pleading with you.

"Fine," you huffed, "I guess it wouldn't hurt to have clean laundry."

Your parents embraced you lovingly and called in their butler android, a tall model specialized in personal protection they'd named Yunho.

The butler calmly undid the pressure-locked screws and removed the hard, clear case. You caught of a glimpse of him--your new house husband--without a surface between you for the first time.

When he opened his eyes, your breath caught in your throat. All the models were designed to be handsome, but this one looked positively ethereal.

"Hello, who will I be attending?" he asked, voice smooth and deep.

You blinked as your family stared at you in silence, waiting for you to speak. To claim him. "Establish your authority," you recalled one of the pamphlets explaining.

You coughed awkwardly. "Th-that would be me," you uttered eventually. His eyes found yours with warmth you were astonished to see he had.

"I'm Y/n L/n. This is my family," you explained, mimicking the introductions you'd seen your family members do before with their own models.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," he said before turning to Yunho, watching as the other android unhooked him from the display stand.

Finally free to move, he stepped away from the box and toward your side, a soft smile on his face. Even out of the box, he was still several inches taller than you.

Your other family members and all the androids present introduced themselves, too. You found yourself eyeing him, still shocked after all this time at how real and lifelike their movements were. How his skin looked like the softest flesh and his hair gently swung as he made miniscule shifts with his body.

"Any ideas for a name, honey?" your mother asked as the room had settled.

You frowned and looked up at the droid's face again, assessing its features. His eyes were sharp and narrowed but everything else about his face was soft and inviting, down to the slight curve of his nose and the part of his lips.

And yet, you could see subtle power in his frame, too. His shoulders were broad and sloping while his clothing fit snugly around well-developed muscles and a willowy waist...

He was a living statue of contradicting features--a beautiful clash of masculine and feminine forms.

You thought of the Korean name for the Roman God of War and masculinity, Hwaseong. The android had been made male, designed surely with certain parts bestowed by his creators, and yet they'd also given him space to dare and challenge it. Like some sort of poetic, androgynous deity from ancient times.

"Seonghwa," you said, delight immediately evident on the husband model's face.

"Seonghwa," he repeated, breathless and eyes shining like he'd been given a precious gift.

It made your stomach curl. The emotion he could display was unreal. You didn't think any of your family's other models could look so... so endeared.

You gave him a sheepish smile and did your best to get through the rest of the all-day celebration.

Seonghwa was mostly quiet, observing and learning everything he possibly could about his new family. When you finally started to clean up the wrapping paper and gift bags, he sprang into action with Yunho and your sister's butler model, San.

You tried not to watch. To not stare at the three androids as they worked together, quietly talking amongst themselves like they could be real, having authentic conversations and engaging in meaningful social interaction.

That was definitely another reason you'd avoided getting yourself an android for so long. It unsettled you. How much they could feel and think and move like a human. You'd heard cases of androids getting attached to their owners, of something the manufacturers argued over and over was not love. There were whispers of legislation for recognizing human-android domiciles.

You'd also heard horror stories from around the world. Androids getting violent toward abusive owners. Some stalking previous owners, even sabotaging new replacement androids. Some decommissioning themselves.

Goosebumps erupted over your skin. You didn't want to think about it. But now, in a way, you had to. Seonghwa, no matter how autonomous he'd been coded to be, was now your responsibility.

Speaking of the droid, he looked back at you in between chores, a goofy grin decorating his lips. He'd been laughing at something San had said in a low tone.

When he met your eyes he faltered, as if sensing your discomfort. You forced yourself to give him a reassuring smile, no matter how small.

Satisfied, a lingering mirth danced in his eyes and he continued on, asking Yunho softly where the vacuum was.

All you could do was watch.

Hours later, stuffed full of meat and carbs and wine, your family began to wind down.

Your sister and her husband left first. San trailed behind them with all their gifts like a loyal foot soldier. You watched Seonghwa and Yunho bid him goodnight as well, their faces warm and glowing from the interaction.

"You'll have to tell us how it goes, sweetie," your mother said, wrapping you in a tight hug.

"And invite us over soon when your apartment is clean!" your father added, clapping Seonghwa on the back.

He didn't flinch but slid a nervous gaze past your father's shoulder to you. Your stomach twisted violently as you tried to shoot him another reassuring grin.

"Y-yeah, of course. Thank you again," you said to your parents, eager to go home and unwind. Your social battery had been entirely depleted.

Seonghwa stepped forward to grab your gifts and you scrunched your nose when both your parents wordlessly draped several bags around his arms.

As he stepped back by your side, you grabbed some of the bags--what you could carry all the way home, anyway.

Seonghwa eyed you questioningly, but you shook your head with a smile when he opened his mouth to say something.

When the quick moment was over, you turned back and said your final goodbyes to your parents.

"Bye Seonghwa," you heard Yunho say as you crossed the threshold.

Your new house husband turned over his shoulder, flashing a dazzling grin to the other android in response.

Your heart fluttered at the sight. He was devastatingly attractive with that big, toothy grin and he walked with a candid elegance you couldn't help envy. Like he was completely unaware of how gracefully he moved and how his eyes lit up like he'd been caught in a dream.

"Where is your home?" he asked, turning to you. His eyes softened as he realized you'd already been looking at him--been staring at him like he was a god, really--for several moments.

"On the North side. We'll take a car," you said, finally snapping your jaw shut and clearing your head.

"Okay," he said, directing that wide smile to you now. "I liked your family," he added.

His happy chatter surprised you. It was a stark contrast to the more docile figure he'd cut in your parents' home.

"I'm glad! I guess we'll be seeing more of them," you noted. You turned to him again, lips pursed. "I'm sorry my dad slapped your back. It looked pretty hard."

Seonghwa shook his had. "It's fine. Just caught me off guard."

A car approached the driveway and you shimmied your watch out from under the bags strapped across your wrist.

"Here, let me," Seonghwa muttered as he dove for the bags causing you trouble, promptly sliding them along his arm.

You thanked him and prayed he didn't see the stubborn pink blush heating your cheeks. (Who were you kidding? He was an android. Of course he saw it.)

"Okay, that's the car, let's go," you announced after studying the green check mark that lit up your watch.

You piled into the passenger cabin and watched as he stowed the bags naturally, as if he'd done it hundreds of times.

The automated car took off, programmed to take you the thirty minutes across town needed to get to your apartment. You watched the warm lights of your parents' neighborhood blink away and grow into the tall, cold pillars of the city.

"It would've been easier if you'd let me carry them all from the start," he said a few minutes later into the trip. You jumped, looking over, your hand over your heart. "Oh, my bad, sorry." His hair shook as he reached out to steady you, assessing your well-being.

"I didn't want to make you take all the bags," you muttered as you calmed, a bit thankful when his hand didn't quite touch you.

"Hmm, well, it's quite literally my job, so. Let me."

You gaped up at him, unsettled by his easy, casual speech. God, he seemed so real. It made you flounder for your next words.

"A-Aren't I your boss? Or something like that?" you scratched your chin. "You should listen to me if I don't want you to do something."

You'd said the words before thinking about how he could take them--how they could make them feel. You didn't want to give him an order; didn't want to make him feel forced to do anything.

But his eyes glistened in the moonlight reflected across the windows. "You're cute when you're flustered."

You practically leapt out of your skin at his words. Heat went straight to your cheeks and ears, but also to your core. You swallowed hard, trying to pinch yourself back to reality.

"Can you please tell me what exactly is included in the husband model?" you asked, voice high and strung tight like a steel wire.

Seonghwa chuckled, leaning back in the seat and bracing one arm along the car window. Your heart hammered in your chest when he met eyes with you. Dark orbs pierced yours in a way you knew he could see straight through you.

"House husband," he corrected, offering you a knowing smile. He mercifully answered you instead of dragging out the blush on your face. "And it includes whatever you want. There's a few things hard-wired into me. I like to clean. I like to cook." He shrugged. "I won't say no to romance."

You blinked at him, a brow arching into the sky. "Romance?" you repeated like it was a foreign word.

He nodded. "You know, the husband part of the deal?" he clarified, a teasing brow raised right back at you.

"R-right, well," you cleared your throat and wrung your hands together. "I'm not sure how necessary that part will be."

"It can be anything you want," he said, eyes softer now, taking pity on your shaking form. "We can watch TV together. Play games... just chat. Cuddles are on the table, too, of course."

You bit your lip. "Is.. Is that what you want?" you asked him directly just as the car soared over a bridge and the large windows showed off a vast panorama of the city lights. The Han River glittered back up at you.

But Seonghwa's eyes were locked on you. "More than anything," he answered. "I just want to make you happy."

His words sent goosebumps across your skin, but you clung onto your logic. "But you've been programmed to say that--to want that," you argued.

"Have I?" he questioned, cocking his head. "Or have I simply been programmed to form my own opinions and desires?"

"Have you?" You insisted, voice impossibly high, and he finally laughed. It was a scoff more than anything else, but it sent shivers down your spine.

"Yes, Y/n," he smiled, once again choosing to cool your heating anxiety instead of teasing you further. "I have. Every single model comes equipped with random starting preferences and little quirks. Same with our physical appearances. Our code is so complex that we act like unique, individual people. For all intents and purposes, Y/n, I feel real. I feel alive."

You took in a sharp breath and searched his eyes. They were so real, so startlingly lifelike, you could almost believe him.

"And even if there's something in my code that makes me want to take care of you, I still get to choose how I feel. You and your family are lovely. Yunho and San had nothing but glowing things to say about you all. I want to build something with you, no matter how long it takes."

You sat there, stunned as the world moved past your vehicle in a blur.

"What if I find someone? Like I marry a real person?" you asked, watching his reaction carefully.

He nodded, still offering a small smile. "Plenty of couples agree an extra set of hands in the bedroom is a bonus feature." His smile grew teasing, curved and knowing.

You huffed a stifled laugh and turned back out to the city. Your thoughts wandered. Your house was so dirty. Surely, his great first impression of you would fade as soon as he saw al the mess.

"Let's just get you settled first," you grumbled. He hummed in agreement. The car was not unpleasantly silent the rest of the way to your building on the North side of town.

Weeks passed in no time, which turned into months. Seonghwa, true to his word, let you set the pace of your budding relationship.

As for his work, he jumped at your messy house like a kid in a candy store and had not once looked back.

He cooked and cleaned, tackling your mounds of dirty dishes and laundry in just two days. In the first week alone, he'd transformed your apartment back to how it was when you'd first moved in years ago.

When he wasn't doing chores around the house, he was by your side in some way, shape, or form (when you weren't overstimulated by his presence and requested alone time, of course).

Sometimes it was as simple as folding your laundry next to you on the couch as you watched your favorite series. Other times it was listening to you rant about clients and work, letting your complaints fall on his resourceful ears. When you wanted to vent, it was easy to just let go. When you needed help solving a problem, he was right there with you, voicing clever suggestions.

He'd grown quite comfortable around you, even napping on the chaise lounge in your office as you worked some days, face placid and calm in the dappled sunlight from the window. Other times you found him happily singing broken tunes in the kitchen, melodies all over the place.

He doted on you. Always asked if you'd had enough to eat, if there was anything you'd like better about the meal next time. He listened--really listened to you, adjusting all his routines and activities to suit your lifestyle.

When he came home with the groceries every week, he picked up a bouquet of flowers along the way, telling you how much he wanted to share them with you.

He stayed with you through the hard nights. The ones where your restless tossing and turning would wake him up from his room down the hall. He'd hold your hand until your breathing evened out and your pulse settled down.

After a few weeks, you started to grow comfortable, too. You cuddled into him on the couch after dinner, his whole body so incredibly soft and solid against you. You let him serenade you, let him sing you songs, and starting one day--let him take you outside.

You started with easy walks and trips to stores you'd been meaning to visit for years. You had picnics and rented two-seater bicycles. You checked out trendy restaurants and went to the movie theater for the first time in years.

Old friends came out of the woodwork and they were all delighted to meet him. Some even had droids of their own who happily added to the conversation. When you hung out with people, he wasn't just a fly on the wall. He was an active participant--an equal who made you all laugh and think and share ideas.

Seonghwa had become a part of you. He'd seeped into your soul and could finish your every sentence, fulfill every desire before it even occurred to you.

And one day, you couldn't imagine living without him. It was a terrifying prospect that you'd age and he'd stick around, forever, frozen in time and always ready to lend a hand. But you let him comfort some of your fears. There were procedures he could have done to make him look older. To recalibrate his metabolism and purposefully worsen his vision.

You let him hold your hand through it all. And after a while, you realized how meaningful having someone by your side was.

Sure, he did basic chores you should have already been able to do by yourself and coaxed you into activities you should have already been doing, but it was so much more than that.

You'd come to understand so much about yourself in such a short period of time. There were a whole host of new, trending topics you had opinions on. Having more energy, you picked up your productivity at work. You sought out old hobbies, finding joy in unpaid, unrecognized creation with your hands. You giggled and laughed with abandon you hadn't felt in years. You finally felt like you were becoming somebody.

And you had Seonghwa to thank for it all.

Your alarm blared and you silenced it just as a hand snaked around your waist. You let the warmth of his skin sink into your stiff ab muscles and stretched.

"Good morning, princess," he said softly. His voice was low and groggy, thick with sleep and a morning innocence. You felt his nose graze the top of your head and you shivered.

You'd almost forgotten the events of last night. You'd both had some wine and you wanted to cuddle while you fell asleep. And here he was the next morning: warm and soft and very real, if you had anything to say about it.

"Are you ready to see your family?" he asked, and suddenly the moment shattered.

"Fuck, I forgot that was tonight," you groaned, shifting to get out of bed.

But Seonghwa's arm flexed, trapping you next to him. His other hand wound its way under your waist and you found yourself caged in by your house husband. "Five more minutes," he pleaded in your ear.

You couldn't stop the blush that spread over your body like wildfire if you tried. A warmth dug into your core with the rumbling vibration of his voice that echoed through your chest.

You hadn't thought of him as an android in so long. He acted like his own person completely--he whined and teased and argued all when he felt like it. You couldn't distinguish him from a human at this point.

The thought had long since stopped making your stomach ache, but your conscience still wrestled with it.

"Let me shower, Hwa," you prodded, pushing against his strong arms. They resisted for all of a second before releasing you gently. You squeezed his forearm and stood. One of his hands lingered, tracing the curve of your body as you moved. "What time should we pick up the cake?"

He propped a hand under his head. "I told Miss Kim 11:00," then, "Are you feeling okay?"

Your feet stopped despite your mental will to continue on and get in the damn shower. "Yeah, I'm just nervous for tonight."

"Well, don't be. It''s going to be great. I can go get the cake by myself if it's too much for you," he offered.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat. You'd been secretly loving when he sounded all... domestic like that.

But it also made you want to vomit. He was a walking, living pile of code. You had to drill it through your head again and again and again. You didn't dare to cross the line; didn't dare exploit him.

So you shook your head and managed to fix your posture. Tried to make your smile meet your eyes. "No, I'll go with. I just need to take a hot shower. A little tense, you know?"

Seonghwa eyed you. "...Do you want help?"

You voice caught in your throat. "What?" you squeaked.

Your house husband sat up, messy bedhead and skewed tank top revealing the delicious curves and planes of his chest and shoulders. "Let me give you a massage," he said, voice still just slightly hoarse. "In the shower."

Something in you snapped, like a cable splitting in two.

You spoke before you could take it back.

"Okay."

Heat pooled in your abdomen as he stood, giving you a lopsided grin. He ambled past you into the bathroom and all you could do was follow as he started the shower and began peeling off layers.

You'd seen him in various states of undress without meaning to. Once when he was wiping off sweat after tending to new plants he'd bought for your balcony. He'd started shirtless, but he'd pushed his waistband down, just enough to expose the dip of his pelvis and dab with a towel. You'd turned your head to look away, heart racing.

There was another time you'd come home after an early night out with a friend to find him in your bathtub. He'd claimed he wanted to experience a bubble bath, but you'd seen enough evidence that pointed to something else entirely.

Your pastel tie-dye loofah, razor, and shampoo bottle all floated beside him in the tub. And when he rose sharply out of the bath to explain himself to you, he'd forgotten or didn't care that he was naked. And hard.

You'd thought about that one for a while. You'd told him it was fine, that he could use your tub any time you'd like, just to let him know in advance next time. But the incident stuck in your mind like a virus.

Until you'd walked in on him masturbating one night.

It was your fault entirely--you hadn't knocked, hadn't even announced yourself--and you'd found him sitting up in bed. His face was as bare as the rest of his body and one of his lithe, elegant hands gripped his rock-hard cock.

You gave yourself just long enough to memorize the image before you leapt back from his doorframe, yelling an apology.

Instead of embarrassed, he'd yelled back about joining him, and you hadn't been able to look him in the eyes for a whole day after that.

You didn't know what sort of function masturbating fulfilled in his code. Nonetheless, the image of him sprawled on his bed, one hand around the phone you'd bought him and the other gripping his cock, replayed in your mind constantly.

So when he threw off his underwear and climbed into the shower, eyes looking expectantly at you, your heart skipped a beat. You tried not to ogle him. Just a quick glance with your eyes. Heat rose to your cheeks either way.

You copied him, letting your clothes fall to the floor. You'd been naked around him before more often than you thought entirely necessary, but you definitely weren't complaining.

He often liked to bathe you and massage you, asking for access to your body with a gentle respect. His eyes never roamed too far. His hands only lingered when you leaned into his touch. He respected your boundaries no matter how many times you wished deep down he would challenge them.

His gaze was reverent when you opened the shower door, but you could see the muscles in his jaw and forearm twitch. It was clear he was holding back. From what, you didn't know--but you realized you might be seconds from finding out.

You let the warm water wash over you and you sighed, genuinely relieved by the sweltering temperature.

"You're so beautiful," Seonghwa said, voice light and raspy behind you. "Have I told you that lately?"

You chuckled, a serene smile gracing your lips. "Only twice yesterday," you answered, skin tingling in the places his fingers landed.

"Oh, so not nearly enough," he murmured. It was just loud enough to hear over the soft spray of the shower.

You leaned back not only into the gentle flow of water but also his touch, his dexterous hands finding your shoulders easily. You hummed thoughtfully in the water.

"No, not nearly enough," you giggled, going along with his overt flirting for once.

Seonghwa seemed to like this, a hearty chortle escaping his chest. He gathered you in his arms, roping around your waist like a boa constrictor. He'd been bolder with his touch lately. Greedier. Hungrier. But never crossing the line.

"My apologies, love," he said easily. Naturally. "Can I make it up to you?"

You fought back a shudder as you quickly stalled. "You mean the massage?"

His nose had found its way to your shoulder, ghosting traces across your skin. "Mmhmm, that works."

You wanted to keen at his words, arch back into him and kiss sloppy marks into his jaw. But you forced the thoughts down, mind buzzing with hesitation.

You were going to lose your willpower someday. You were going to lose out to him, you just knew it.

You'd imagined what it would be like far more times than you cared to admit. You'd taken the image of him jerking off and ran, finding your dreams haunted with scenes of him bending you over your dresser. Having his way with you on the kitchen counter. Your work desk. The balcony.

His steady touch reeled you back to the present. His thumb pressed down on a knot in your shoulder and you just about collapsed against the shower wall.

"Shit, I didn't realize you'd built up so much stress," he confessed, voice laced with guilt.

You were quick to quell that part of him. "I should have asked."

The thought of him not massaging you--not helping you ease the tension in your muscles after a hard day of work--was no longer an option. He'd found his way under your skin and you couldn't decide if you were more growing more frustrated or increasingly desperate from it.

Probably both.

He pressed into a particularly tight bundle of muscle and the pain was so good a small whimper made its way out of your mouth before you could stop it.

"Shit, right there," you groaned, neck lolling back.

Seonghwa continued to rolls his thumbs across your skin in deliberate patterns, determined to loosen up your stiff muscles, but you had no idea of the effect your sounds had on him.

Not until you felt the hard length of him press against your spine. You shivered, but refused to turn around.

"Keep going, just like that," you moaned, feeling your body come alive under his touch.

"Fuck, Y/n, are you trying to ruin me?" he asked, voice sharp and deep.

You bit your lip, willing your aching hips to stay still. But you pushed.

"Maybe. I just... really like the feeling of your hands on me," you admitted. It was the most you'd ever given him.

Seonghwa's hands on your back stilled, instead pressing his fingertips into your flesh. He bent down, chin coming to rest gently in the crook of your neck. For a second, all you could hear was the steady downpour of the shower and the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

"Please, Y/n," he begged softly, voice raw despite how clear it had just been moments ago. "Please let me touch you."

Heat dripped from your core and you inhaled sharply. The air crackled with electricity.

"Okay," you breathed.

And that was enough for him to let loose.

His hands jolted back into action, one tracing down the curve of your spine, the other sliding up your chest to find a supple breast to squeeze. "Tell me if you don't like anything," he instructed. He planted his soft lips right behind your ear. "And also tell me if you do."

You whimpered the most pathetic "Uh-huh," you'd ever let out in your life and bit your lip to try and keep some semblance of sanity.

The hand on your spine trailed further south, finding purchase on your hip, just as his lips latched onto your neck. His hot, wet mouth was somehow searing against the shower water and you felt your nerves evaporate. He trailed down to your shoulder and nipped softly. The breathy moan you released echoed in the bathroom and your head swam deliciously.

"I don't experience dreams when I sleep," he began, head tiling against your shoulder, "but every night I see you in my head." You swallowed thickly. "I see all the ways I want to touch you. All the places I want to put my mouth."

Your inhale was heavy. "Seonghwa--"

"No, let me finish. I'm trying to tell you this is all I've wanted for months. Not because I was made to. Not because you're my employer. But because you're you."

His mouth roamed again back up toward your cheek and the hand fondling your breast now gingerly clasped around your nipple. "You're beautiful." He planted a kiss just under your ear, along the edge of your jaw. "You're brilliant." Another kiss. "You treat everyone around you, including me, like precious treasures. But you're the real jewel." A kiss right at the pulse point of your throat. "I've been dying to show you how I feel. Will you let me?"

"Y-Yes," you gasped, any other words taken from you as he continued to devour your neck and massage your swollen nipple. His other hand finally moved, tracing down the line of your hip to your thigh.

You whimpered as the world fell away. All you could focus on were the places he touched you and the hot anticipation rising in your core.

When his fingers found your folds, you arched into him easily, no thought behind your actions now. He groaned possessively and grabbed more of you, pulling you flush against his body. His cock throbbed against the base of your spine. You groaned at it all, hips rocking into his touch.

"You're so wet for me, love," he observed. "How long have you wanted this, too? Since you saw me jerking off?"

You bit your lip as he slid a slicked finger along your clit. Maybe it would be embarrassing to tell him the truth. But you were too far gone to hold back at this point.

"Since the first day," you answered, more clarity in your voice than you'd expected.

Seonghwa's hands froze for just a few milliseconds. But you noticed.

"Since the first day, baby?" he teased in your ear. His finger nudged at your entrance, just as mocking. "You set up all these rules and boundaries between us, made me wait for six months, but you've been down bad since the first day? What, did you see me in the box and start getting wet like this?"

Your hips rolled back as your head rolled to the side, a whine ripping through you at his filthy words and nastier hands. You ground down on his finger desperately, but it was clear he was having too much fun.

"Hmm, not yet, sweetheart. I think I want to see you beg for it. You know. After all this time." You could hear the wicked grin that must have spread across his face. The groan you let out was just as sinful.

To your dismay, he suddenly pulled back. You whined at the loss but he was quick to tether you back to the moment, deftly switching hands and anchoring himself to the other side of your neck. He pinched your untouched nipple, covered in your natural lubrication, and chuckled when you squirmed.

When his other hand found your pussy, it dragged up and down, gathering slick. And just when you were sure he'd stuff another one of his long fingers inside you, no matter how little and teasing, the pad of his middle finger found your clit.

Your hips bucked into his finger and he hummed against your neck appreciatively, "So sensitive."

But he wouldn't move. Just kept his finger pad frustratingly still right up against your hooded nub.

"P-please, Hwa," you mewled, back arching helplessly into his swollen cock. You didn't even want to begin thinking about him fucking into you right now with that thing. You'd lose your mind.

But then again, you were already losing it.

"Please what? Tell me how to satisfy you, princess," he murmured into your skin.

The heat of the shower was suddenly too much in conjunction with his mouth and body and hands. Your mind fogged with the glass of the shower stall. But you spoke through it the best you could.

"Touch me, Seonghwa, please, anything--I-I need you so bad," You moaned.

"Here?" he asked, moving his middle finger against you finally. But it was haplessly languid and the tease was unbearable. Your hips trembled with the need for friction.

"Fuck! Yes," you breathed. His finger continued to move but the molasses pace was torture. You writhed under him. "P-please, Hwa, faster, I need--"

"Like this?" he questioned as he sped up, finally giving you a fraction of the friction you desired.

You shuddered and panted, your voice high, "Yes! Fuck, please, Hwa, more. I--I need you!"

"Mmm, there you go. Good girl," he hummed in your ear, teeth scraping the sensitive shell.

Finally relenting, his finger circled you faster, drawing out an orgasm that had been building under the surface for minutes now.

Your legs locked up and you had no choice but to lean back into him. He took your weight easily. As your eyelids fluttered from the attention on your swollen clit, you felt him plant adoring kisses in your hair.

"You're so beautiful like this, falling apart on a single finger." he praised you as he worked on you. You tilted your head on his shoulder and you twisted to look up at him as he spoke. "I'm so lucky I get to see you like this. So lucky I get to be yours."

His words thundered through you and you bit your lip, feeling your eyes cross as you tried to look at him properly.

"M-Mine," you whimpered back, hips rolling up to meet his finger.

The thought put you over the edge and you came with a hungry moan. Your back arched and bent, and he followed you down, rubbing his finger into your clit furiously through the waves of your orgasm.

He stilled with you finally and retracted his fingers. You couldn't think. All you wanted was him, around you, on you, in you, and nothing else mattered. You gulped--your morals were fucked.

"Seonghwa," you breathed as you came down, wind knocked out of you. You leaned back against him again as your head rushed with blood.

"Yes, baby?" he hummed, dragging kisses down the side of your face.

"I--Can I kiss you?" you asked, head turning to meet his.

You swore his eyes darkened.

And then he was kissing you with those plump lips that had formed little, red, temporary marks along your neck and shoulders. You groaned into him and he held you firmly as his hands found some part of your body to touch again.

Your fingers switched to life when you realized you could touch him, too.

Like they'd never felt anything before, your hands roamed his chest and neck and arms hungrily, palms laving at his lithe build. You'd never get over how soft his skin was. How perfect and warm and fleshy it felt.

Your kiss deepened in the meantime, your tongue finding his. The bathroom was a warm, steaming, moaning mess but you were only focused on Seonghwa. His mouth and hands on you, his presence, his smell--his hard cock flushed against you, red tip leaking down a shaft much longer than you'd remembered.

You paused, staring, while both your heavy pants filled the air. "I--Can I--With my mouth?"

Your choked attempt to beg for his cock down your throat was cut off as a loud chime rang out over your apartment's alarm system.

Seonghwa's eyes immediately flashed blue as he tapped into the home's network, letting him see who was at your doorstep.

You bit your lip, body still aching. You prayed it was just a package that could be left in the delivery module and you'd pick back up where you'd left off in seconds.

To your disappointment, his brows furrowed.

"...Your sister's here. With San. And the cake."

You sat at the kitchen counter, finger drawing invisible scattered lines and shapes into the white surface. Your sister sat next to you, gulping down a cocktail as she watched your androids move around the kitchen like it was second nature.

"So then Junhyeong sends it back and by the time they remade his meal, we were done with ours," she said in between sips. "It was ridiculous."

You sighed, taking a swig of your own as you tried to steel yourself. The conversation had been much heavier than you'd wanted to deal with today.

Your sister had come to you to vent before the family dinner later that night. Coincidentally, it was a dinner to celebrate your parents' thirtieth anniversary, but all your sister wanted to talk about was her own failing marriage.

Not usually one to initiate contact, it surprised you when she'd turned up at your doorstep out of the blue one night three months ago. San had been with her, thankfully, so you didn't feel terrible about sharing two bottles of wine with her then sending her back home.

But now you were starting to understand. It was so much more serious than you'd thought and your heart ached for not seeing the signs before. For not taking her quiet cries for help more seriously.

Your sister's husband had fallen out of love and resorted to some less than savory behavior. She'd caught him cheating not once, but twice. He was drinking almost every night--that is, if he came home. And then there were the credit statements--she'd discovered he'd taken out loans in her name. When she'd asked him what he'd done with the money, he admitted to gambling it all away.

But worst of all, you were horrified to learn he'd began exhibiting violent behavior toward her. Apparently, San had been there for every close call, had diffused the situation and taken a handful of punches meant for your sister, but the thought made you squirm uncomfortably.

"Hey, Y/n," your sister said, voice lowered to a whisper now. You watched her eyes drill into San's back, face unreadable. "Can I talk to you on the balcony?"

She turned to you, eyes shining with unshed tears. You gripped your glass. "Of course."

You padded out of the kitchen behind your sister silently, giving Seonghwa a reassuring smile when he looked over his shoulder. You could see the concern in his eyes. Your sister was just as much family to him as she was to you by now.

When you made it to the balcony, you held your breath. Whatever she was about to say, she wanted to say it out of earshot from your androids. You shifted your weight from foot to foot nervously as she chewed her lip, clearly hesitant.

"What I'm about to tell you, Y/n, you're not allowed to judge me for it, okay?" she said. Your heart pounded, equally curious and apprehensive.

"Okay, promise. This is now the balcony of nonjudgmental silence and listening," you chirped.

"I'm serious, Y/n," your sister huffed, and you held up your hands in innocence.

"I am, too! Sorry, you're making me nervous, just say it already," you insisted, tapping her on the arm impatiently.

"Ugh, fine, okay. Here goes nothing," she started. She took a big breath, unable to look you in the eyes. "I'm leaving Junhyeong."

You raised a brow. "That's great news, I would never judge you for that--"

"For San," she added.

"Oh," you responded breathlessly. You studied each other in silence. Your sister swallowed anxiously, and you could tell you needed to speak and reassure her. But you were frozen.

She'd fallen for San? For her butler model? The one who'd been with your sister and her husband for three years now?

You had so many questions. Since when? How had she known? How did she feel about him being, well.. not real?

You mind swirled and your sister looked like she was finally going to cry so you scrambled for something to say.

"C-Congrats!" you said, willing a smile to paint your face. "I--I can't judge you for that. Does he... make you happy?"

Her face finally melted in relief and you saw the most beautiful expression of adoration take its place quickly thereafter. "Yes, very. I--Y/n, I'm in love with him. He's everything to me. I don't care if the courts never recognize the relationship legally. I just need him."

You blinked back tears at her confession. Your lip quivered at the resonance of her feelings within your own heart, a desperate cry aching to be released. But you quelled it. This was your sister's marriage. Her whole life was about to change. So was Junhyeong's. And San's. You took a deep breath.

"How long?" you asked. She hesitated, just a second of her eyes moving back and forth across yours, and you couldn't help yourself. "Were you... intimate with him before? Did Junhyeong know? Does he know?"

"Jesus, Y/n, do you really want to know all that?" she asked.

"Yes," you said breathlessly, hoping you looked more supportive and nosy and less desperate and praying for insight.

"Fine, sit down," she sighed. "I'll tell you everything. But promise me you won't tell mom and dad. I need to do this myself."

You agreed and she followed through on her word, enlightening you on her love life.

San had entered the picture early on in your sister's relationship.

He'd become a romantic asset, as she put it, to her and Junhyeong's relationship rather quickly. And after a year and half, when Junhyeong drifted away, he waved them off.

Might as well give the robot another job, he'd said, talking about sex and affection like add-on features.

Instead of just keeping her satisfied and entertained, however, San had also helped your sister navigate her feelings. He'd been there when Junhyeong wasn't. He'd made her feel like a brand new person and, most importantly, worthy and deserving of real love.

You wanted terribly to tell her about you and Seonghwa--about the line you'd just crossed and how you echoed her feelings. But, when you thought about it for more than two seconds, you and Seonghwa hadn't talked properly. Or, at least, you hadn't been able to tell him how you felt or had a discussion about your fears and hopes and dreams for a future with him.

Instead you helped her come up with ways to navigate her situation. You researched government forms online with her and helped her submit a divorce petition. Then, all you had to do was figure out how to tell your parents--and Junhyeong. Most of them involved letting your sister stay at your place for the rest of the week.

What felt like only minutes later, there was a knock at the sliding door. You both turned around to see a pink-cheeked San waving through the glass, as if waiting for permission. Your sister giggled and motioned him out.

"We're about two hours out," he announced as he poked his head through a small crack in the door. "I don't know about you, Y/n, but usually your sister likes to start getting ready about now."

You didn't have time to answer before your sister jumped to her feet. "Already? Ugh, you're so right, I probably look like a mess. All tipsy and puffy," she muttered as she started collecting her things to go back inside.

"Hmm, I just see a fine, sun-kissed babe in front of me," he offered back, reaching out a hand to help her inside.

"Are you sure that's not your reflection in the glass, baby?" she shot back, and you couldn't help the smile that grew when you realized how comfortable they felt around each other and, now, you. "Come with me, though, I have some news I think you'll want to hear."

"Oh? So you don't just want to have a private first course?" San asked, pinching her waist. She giggled and dragged him down the hall.

You watched them carefully, studying the way San's hand found hers as they disappeared into the depths of your apartment. Their flirtatious banter reminded you of yours and Seonghwa's.

But you couldn't stop thinking about how you hadn't gotten to end that shower properly. How you hadn't talked about your future with Seonghwa or what you meant to each other now. If you were even on the same plane.

Your heart throbbed when you realized he'd specifically not mentioned the word love. Was this just sexual for him? Were you friends with benefits now? Was that, at the end of the day, just what a house husband model provided? Was this just work for him? These were the questions that you'd bottled away for months now, and the source of your frustration.

You fiddled with your hands as you tried not to compare your situation to your sister's and San's.

But as you padded into your bathroom and began to get ready, it was all you could think about.

By the time you'd finished applying makeup and picking out an outfit, you discovered your parents had sent Yunho ahead, as they usually did, to help with any last minute preparations. You found him, along with Seonghwa and San, loudly cracking jokes in the kitchen. Your heart skipped.

Your parents arrived at 7:00 exactly, already love-drunk and champagne-buzzed from their celebration that must have begun well before the end of the work day if their sloppy smiles had anything to say about it.

Junhyeong, the last member of the family (technically), stumbled in at 7:47. No call, no text. Just ambled in, hands empty, mumbling apologies about getting caught up at work.

No one at the table greeted him properly, but he also wasn't wasting his time with pleasantries anyway. He dug into the food platters, still half-full and lukewarm now, with a complete lack of awareness.

Your sister had enough mercy to let the man finish his dinner. You didn't think you'd be so kind.

Small bowls of fruit were passed around while Seonghwa stood and clinked his glass with his dessert spoon.

"Well, I think it's come to that time of the evening where we recognize the guests of honor," he started, bowing slightly to your parents. They grinned back at him, endeared.

"I've known the L/n family for just over six months now," he continued. You stared up at him across the table just as enamored as your parents. "And while that's not a lot, I can already confidently say you are the nicest, most generous people I could ever have wished to find. Y/n and S/n are proof enough that you two have had a beautiful, meaningful marriage. Congratulations to thirty years and here's to thirty more!"

The table erupted into fervent clapping before everyone raised their drinks to honor your parents.

You and your sister spoke next, giving a heartfelt speech about how grateful you were for them. Together, you'd met halfway on the cost of a lavish, three-week cruise for the two of them. Your mother cried happily, eyes glassy with fondness. Your father beamed and started voicing destination ideas immediately.

Yunho and San also added to the festivities, sharing their best memories with your parents and showering them with compliments and well-wishes.

Your brother-in-law stayed quiet. He clapped and mumbled congratulations when necessary. But you didn't think he'd added anything meaningful to the entire four-hour celebration.

And finally, when most of the dishes were done and your family lingered at the table with final thoughts and tidbits of gossip getting voiced, your sister met eyes with you. You nodded, bracing yourself.

"Um, one last thing before we go," your sister spoke up. All eyes fell on her as she ambled back to the table from the kitchen. She took up a strategic position just behind San's shoulder.

"Oh boy, here we go," Junhyeong mumbled before taking another sip of wine. Your fists clenched at his behavior and you were about to knock some sense into him when your sister spoke again.

"Actually, Junhyeong, it's about you, so listen up," she advised him confidently. Silence hung in the air while you saw her muster up the courage to say what she needed to now. "I'm leaving you. Or, more accurately, you'll be leaving me. I want you out of the house in three days."

"What? What the fuck? What the hell are you talking about?" Junhyeong asked. He was furious as he stood, knocking back his chair.

The androids in the room stood with him, all seemingly on guard for Junhyeong's next movement. The air was tense for several moments. You saw San's features had twisted into pure disgust and open hatred for the man.

Yunho and Seonghwa, meanwhile, kept their faces stony as they awaited a need to take action. Yunho, in particular, looked seconds away from taking the bastard out with the butter knife clenched in his fist. You shuddered as you remembered his model was specialized in home protection.

"I'm talking about the way you've been treating me like shit for two years," you sister answered. Her face was still just barely visible behind San's shoulder. You saw her reach out to grasp at his shirt ends for stability. "Not giving me attention was one thing. You stopped giving me the time of day as soon as we moved into your dream house in Gangnam. But the cheating, the gambling, it's all--"

"Ha! Don't you dare bring up cheating when you let this thing fuck you sideways every day of the week! I don't deserve this shit." Junhyeong fired back, inching closer with the increasing rage in his eyes that shifted between your sister and San.

The men in the room, both human and otherwise, took an equal step closer to him. Junhyeong looked around, as if suddenly remembering they weren't alone.

"I deserve to be loved," your sister snapped, voice tight. "San made me understand that. He helped me see exactly how much better off I am without you, you piece of shit. I don't even feel safe enough having this conversation with you privately. That's how fucked up this has gotten, Junhyeong. I want you out of the house in three days."

The man's eyes grew dark and, before you could register it, he lunged.

But the androids were faster.

San had the man off the ground in seconds, holding him up by a devastating grip to his throat. Yunho was just behind him, eyes flashing between San and Junhyeong, ready for anything.

Seonghwa had come to stand between you and the fight, but you weren't sure you could actually call it a fight. Not when Junhyeong gasped for air, face turning a violent shade of red and helplessly slapping San's forearm.

"Out of the house. Three days. You don't see her again. Period," came San's stunted words. You could tell from the veins popping in his neck and forehead just how great of an effort he was making to hold back.

"I'm--" Junhyeong gasped out, "Her-- h-husband!"

You swore San let out something like a growl and his grip threatened to clench Junhyeong's throat into a broken mess. But your sister walked up, shaking slightly yet undeterred, and put her phone in Junhyeong's face.

"And here is the divorce petition I submitted today," she asserted. "Effective immediate upon filing, the petitioned has 72 hours to send a legal response. In the meantime, the petitioner is granted an immediate and legally binding restraining order against the petitioned. Do you understand?"

Junhyeong wheezed in San's grasp and grit his teeth. "Fuck... that!" He struggled against the droid's hands but it was ultimately futile.

San took the opportunity to run the man's back into the wall.

"Do you understand?" he repeated for your sister. Junhyeong coughed and gasped for air, skin now bordering on a purple hue.

Your parents--God, your poor parents--watched in horror as the scene unfolded in front of them.

"Fine!" Junhyeong finally spat. San let him go and he writhed on the floor, gulping in air and clutching his throat.

The man stood with the help of the wall but coughed as he tried to wobble over to the door.

"Just because you submitted a petition doesn't mean I'll agree," he choked out, rubbing his throat. "And just because you're safe for the next three days doesn't mean you will be after."

"Do you even know how divorce works these days?" you countered, walking into the kitchen to stand directly in his line of sight. Seonghwa followed you closely, never letting the distance grow beyond an arm's reach. "The trial happens virtually right after you submit a response. San has recorded evidence of everything you've said and done to her. And when she wins the case--which she will because you fucked up big time, buddy--you'll never be allowed within a 10-mile radius of her again."

Junhyeong bared his teeth, face blooming with rage. He stuttered for seconds, eyes wild as he tried to come up with his next move.

"I--I'll sue!" he yelled, eyes wide as saucers as he turned back one last time. "Your robot assaulted me just now!"

You didn't know what came over you, but you found yourself throwing a skillet that had been sitting on the drying rack at Junhyeong's stupid, splotchy face. "Get the FUCK out of my house!" you yelled.

The man barely managed to dodge but quickly reached for the door and disappeared down the hall before anyone in the room with aim, namely the three very irritated androids with precision vision and speed, could bother to try again.

"Is everyone okay?" Yunho called out, checking over the family. He was answered by astonished affirmations from your parents and troubled grunts from your and your sister. "...San? You good, man?"

No one had noticed that San had grown heated in the meantime, cheeks and ears red with so much frustration you could practically see the steam coming off him.

Your sister's face melted and your heart clenched as she wound her arms around him and squeezed his bicep.

He blinked back to reality, looking down at your sister like she had the whole world in her eyes. He grabbed her back affectionately, shoulders finally loosening.

"Sorry, I just--I can't stand that asshole." He pursed his lips and looked down at your sister with a pout.

You and your mother both broke out into laughter, both caught off-guard by his endearing honesty.

"Mom, Dad," your sister addressed your parents as she scanned their faces for their reactions. "I'm so sorry to do that tonight, of all nights. I just... Y/n helped me realize I was done being the victim today." She shot you a meaningful glance.

"No, honey," your father spoke, eyes shining with consideration. "That was the best anniversary gift we could have received, right next to the cruise you two got us, of course. We're so proud of you, sweetheart."

Your mother echoed the sentiment and it wasn't long before the normal family rhythm returned.

And when your parents finally did leave, they ended the night by telling San to keep your sister safe and to take good care of her. Their eyes shone with all the joy and love a parent could have for their child.

After they closed the door, you and your sister turned to each other. Neither of you could help the string of giggles you let out, giddy from the intensity of dinner.

You fell into an easy post-celebration routine. Seonghwa scrubbed the surfaces while you organized the leftovers, attaching lids to containers that were set aside to cool off and mindfully placing them in the fridge.

At some point, your sister bid you goodnight with San, advising you that they were going to the guestroom. She also specifically asked you to leave them... unbothered until morning.

You and Seonghwa ushered them off to bed, making sure the guest bathroom was well-stocked for their stay, before turning out the lights and retreating to your bedroom. You didn't even have to ask him. He just followed like a tethered presence of warmth.

And finally, after the exhausting eon that your day had seemed to be, you were finally alone with him again.

"Well," he started, coming to sit at the edge of the bed with you, "that was a lot."

You sighed and fell into the bed next to him. The way his hand gently found your thigh and started to massage sweet rhythms into your aching muscles was familiar. Easy. Comforting.

And yet tonight his touch also seem charged with something else--something unfinished and still raw from earlier that morning. A hunger reawakened in you.

"Thank you for taking care of all the prep." You started calmly. Nonchalantly. "I swear I was going to help you make the side dishes, but I got caught up with S/n."

You watched him turn around slowly, deliberately, his lips twitching up into a smile. "It was nothing. You changed a life today after all."

"Two, actually," you said instantly. "San's life changed today, too."

Seonghwa's hand on your thigh froze but his eyes gleamed.

You sat up to finally face him head on. Unsaid words bubbled up in your chest like a flower ready to unfurl in the light.

"I wanted to--"

"Can I ask you something?"

Your voices overlapped out of the depths of the silent tension that hung over you. Neither of you could help but laugh.

"You first," you said. You weren't conscious of the way your eyes traced down his face like he'd disappear any moment. Seonghwa noticed, of course. He always did. "What were you going to ask?"

He licked his lips before biting them once, like he was building up the courage to ask again. Something in you wanted to grab his hand--to tell him no matter what he asked, it would be okay. You would bend over backwards for this man. You had more than enough money to spoil him--you bought him a phone, Legos, the latest video games, and whatever else he wanted--but you'd still sell your soul to the devil to make him as happy as he'd made you.

You grabbed his hand, almost greedily, and sandwiched it between your two. His eyes searched yours for a moment before he relaxed and gripped your hand back firmly. The warmth made your heart soar.

"I was wondering if you'd help me apply for autonomous citizenship," he breathed, words rolling of the tongue so genuine, so palpable, you wanted to scoop him into your arms right then and there.

But you hadn't had that conversation yet. Instead, you were having this one. So you settled for the mature adult communication appropriate for the situation. You squeezed his hand a bit tighter in encouragement.

"Of course! I honestly completely forgot that was a thing," you were quick to admit. "I would have applied you for it months ago if I had my head on straight," you said.

"R-really? Just like that?" Seonghwa asked, eyes round in wonder.

You nodded emphatically. "Yes, Hwa, just like that. You deserve to go wherever you want, whenever you want. It's so stupid you can't be outside certain hours of the night or travel outside the province without me anyway."

"So, then... you trust me?" Seonghwa asked, his voice dropping a notch lower. You felt it in the way his eyes dropped to your lips and how he inched almost imperceptibly closer to you.

"Well, duh," you answered, trying to keep your tone playful. This was made harder by him suddenly beginning to massage your thigh again.

"Could I venture to say that," he started again, bringing a finger to your face to tuck a stray hair back into place, "maybe, you think I'm my own person?"

You blinked up at him, admiring the way his lips hung slightly ajar in concentration, or maybe rapture, and how his own hair fell over gentle brown eyes that stayed fixed on you.

"Absolutely," you said firmly. Quickly. Maybe too quickly. Your pulse jumped.

His lower hand gravitated to your center slowly, dragging upward with a delicious and devastating warmth that nearly made you gasp. His other hand had found a home encasing your jaw and you leaned into it thoughtlessly. He had you in the palm of his hand--literally.

"And yet," he held you still, your body frozen and your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your heating pelvis, "you still don't think I'm capable of love."

The words were like a slap to the face, and they stung.

You recoiled backward, eyes searching his desperately. His hands dropped, defeated, and he looked right back at you with a wild, pleading gaze.

For a few seconds your mouth opened and closed in stunned silence, fresh tears welling up in your eyes. And then the words--the excuses, the rationalizations--were rolling off your lips before you could think about organizing your thoughts coherently.

"I--N-no, I--It's not like that! I can't tell you what you feel or don't, and you clearly think you're real and you communicate your feelings and opinions when you have them--which I love, by the way. I love--" your breath disappeared.

He raised a brow. "You love?" he repeated, face icy and waiting. There was no mercy this time. You squirmed in your seat, your mind racing with endless thoughts.

But in the end, there was just one thought that mattered.

Your voice came out clearer than you'd expected. "I love you, Seonghwa--"

And then you fell apart.

"--But I'm so scared," you finally admitted, hot tears spilling over as you voiced the thought you'd kept prisoned in the back of your mind for months now. "How do I know, Hwa? How do I know you're real? You obviously think you are and I treat you like one because I also can't bare the possibility that you're not, but at the end of the day, you are code. Impossibly intricate code programmed to make you imperfectly unique--programmed to make you feel like you're real.

"And I want to believe it so bad, Hwa. I love you, I really do. But there's a part of me that can't help but wonder if..." you gulped, stomach clenching and threatening to empty at the words you had to spit out next. "If something happens--If human-android relationships aren't just frowned upon, but banned--If something suddenly changes in your code--If you realize one day you want another employer--I just--"

His brows pinched up and tears of his own took their place at the rim. He leaned forward and held you firmly by the back of your neck. Not roughly, just securely. Reassuringly. To tell you he was right there with you, with your hopes and fears.

His forehead leaned into yours and you sighed as he swiped a thumb to your tear-stained cheek, attentive to you even now.

"I already told you, love," he breathed. "I'm yours."

You bit your lip while a fountain of saline tears built up at his words.

"The way I see it, there's no way to truly know, I suppose. I'd argue the same about humans--how can you be sure you're real when you're just flesh and blood?" You swallowed as the words pummeled you. "But what matters to me is what about it bothers you so much. Do you feel like if any of those possibilities happened--If our relationship was illegal--If I was decommissioned--Would you feel like you wasted your time? Would you regret being with me?"

His question made you blink once. Twice. Then--

"Of course not," you asserted. "I cherish every moment I've spent with you." The words were easy. Doubtless. Blissfully true.

His hand cupped your face again and you breathed him in. Rich vanilla musk. Bitter coffee balanced by sugared flowers. The faint, almost faraway delay of cedarwood. An amalgamation of his body wash, cologne, and the complex synthetic sweat that leaked from his pores like any human.

His smell, his aura, his presence--it felt so intense. So frustratingly, laughably real.

He craned down, lips right next to your ear as he spoke whisper quiet. "Then let me love you for as long as you'll cherish me."

For a moment, you couldn't breathe. Your brain stopped short at his words because he was right.

Nothing mattered in the face of simply getting to spend any time with him you could. To love and be loved for as long as you could.

And then you were leaning into him, your lips finding his like maybe they never would again.

He was with you instantly, his mouth stuck to yours in a frantic, endless chase. The kiss was desperate and needy, your tongues and lips crashing into each other with abandon.

With your hesitations finally gone, it was like a wildfire had been set free. Your hands roamed his body, tracing the figure of his jaw, neck, shoulders, chest--

"I want to hear you say it," you said, pulling back but letting a hand trail up to rub a thumb along his jaw.

One look at his face had you wrecked. His usually well-manicured hair had fallen out of place while half-lidded eyes watched you, glassy but burning.

He bit a swollen lip and squeezed your waist. "What, that I love you?" His voice was husky and danced precariously on the lower edge of his register.

You nodded, gazing up at him in anticipation. "You didn't say it in the shower this morning, so I didn't know what this meant to you. I think," you swallowed, hand fisting in his shirt fabric, "I think I wanted to hear you say it all day."

Hands grabbed your hips, one scooping under a soft cheek, and hoisted you up and over his lap. You gasped at how easily he manhandled you, but you supposed it came with the territory of inhuman strength. He was usually just so... delicate with you.

As you settled into the new position you found yourself in--straddling your house husband at the edge of the bed--he finally took the opportunity to let his mouth latch onto the exposed skin of your neck. His lips were like plush velvet against your pulse points. You shivered and ran a hand through his silken dark locks.

"I love you, Y/n," he finally breathed, locking eyes with you. "I am in love with you. With the way you're so stubbornly independent. With the care you show your friends and family. With the way you act surprised and pout when I call you out for lying. Everything. Every part of you. All your fears and burdens, too. I love you in a way I thought I'd never feel about a human."

You watched him in awe as he swiped the remnants of your tears away, the pad of his thumb just as pliable as his lips. Your body acted before you could think.

"What way is that?" you asked, one hand coming to hold his wrist still as you guided his thumb into your mouth.

His eyes flew wide before fluttering into a haze even foggier than before. You let your tongue dance around his thumb, languidly swiping up the finger pad.

His voice was tight as he clarified, "The way I'd give up every part of me to stay by your side."

The words were thick and heavy with their implication. You let them linger, let them wrap around you like a blanket as you hollowed your cheeks and took his thumb up to the webbing of his palm. Your eyes met his and you wondered if yours were just as intense.

"I'm yours, too," you finally said, releasing his thumb. A trail of spit hung between you as he moved his arm back, and you felt his hips rock up into you. His cock was impossibly hard. The length you observed as you ground your hips down to meet his made your pussy clench around air. "Use me."

A breathless laugh escaped Seonghwa and his mouth found yours again, winding a hand through your hair to press you into him.

You arched into him, already a mess in your panties. One of your hands cupped his jaw while the other snaked down to his waistband, jutting under the elastic.

But Seonghwa's fingers clasped your wrist and stopped your downward journey. "Are you really just that needy for cock, baby?" he teased.

You bit your lip before looking up at him through your lashes. "For your cock, Hwa."

Your words had him groaning and sliding you against him for friction once. Twice.

His eyes darkened and suddenly his face was sharp, brows narrowed in concentration as he leaned back to remove his shirt.

You blinked before following suit, divesting your top and reaching to unlatch your bra.

"Wait," he interrupted, one hand stopping yours. "That's for me."

You licked your lips and stopped, letting him guide you through whatever his vision was.

He lifted you up again, hands firmly steering you by the waist. You found yourself standing, staring up at him in confusion.

You found his dark eyes piercing through you so intensely your mouth went dry. "You want my cock, princess?" he asked.

You nodded.

"On your knees, then."

You swallowed and obeyed easily, sinking to the carpet of your room and letting your hands trail down his thighs as you went.

"Show me just how bad you want it, baby," he instructed.

You wasted no time unbuttoning his pants, letting them fall to his ankles. You could see the bulge of his cock through his briefs, the tip barely contained by the elastic as it fought for any slack in the material. You brushed your palm against the length of him, proud when a shudder rumbled through him.

You exhaled completely before reaching doing and freeing him, shoving the elastic down. Your inhale, as you'd expected, was so sharp your ribs hurt.

You'd seen his cock three times before now, but not this close. And you swear, even this morning, it hadn't been so engorged-- the puffy red tip wasn't this angry and leaking pre-cum like a steady dripping faucet.

Seonghwa said nothing, just let you admire and explore as you brought up a hand to finally hold it. The feel of it--the velveteen skin, the spongy, resilient shaft, the girth so wide you could just barely get your fingers to close around it--had your core trembling. Your pussy twitched and you could feel your heartbeat in your clit.

When you began to stroke it, dragging a firm grip up and down his length, squeezing at the tip on the way up, he finally broke his silence with a guttural moan.

"Mmh, Y/n," he sighed, dragging a hand through your hair.

The weight of his hand in your strands had you letting out a moan of your own as you finally moved to bring your mouth to meet his dick.

Your tongue carved intricate lines up his length at first, letting your mouth start to fathom just how big he was. A particularly lewd stripe across the tip had him groaning and bucking up into the air, and you finally decided to have mercy on the man.

You took him into your mouth, wrapping your lips around your teeth and trying to relax your throat. You gagged as he hit your uvula but for some reason this seemed to turn you on to no end. He was cock was just so perfect--so fleshy and veiny and long--that you wanted to stuff him as far down your throat as possible, gag reflex be damned.

When you found your physical limit, you let your hand wrap around the small portion you (sadly) couldn't manage to fit in the wet walls of your throat. Tears pricked at your eyes from the stretch in the back of your mouth and how often you had to suppress a cough. You finally moved, letting him thrust shallowly as you found a rhythm.

"You feel so good, baby," Seonghwa grunted as he appeared to turn red from trying to not fuck into your mouth wildly. "Fuck, look at you. Can't even take me all the way and you're crying. So beautiful like this."

His hand carded through your hair while the other turned white from gripping the sheets.

And as you got used to the feeling of his weighty member jammed down your throat, you wanted more. You'd told him exactly what you wanted and you hadn't even realized how literally you'd meant it.

"Seonghwa," you breathed, stopping just a moment and letting your tongue lathe over the tip, lips pecking and sucking at it hungrily while you caught your breath. "I told you. I'm yours. Use me. Please."

The man moaned, his high-pitched whine like heaven to your ears. "Okay, baby, whatever you say. Just tap my thigh if it's too much."

You nodded before taking him back in, heart leaping wildly with anticipation as his hand joined the other, fisting your hair.

As you took him again, breathing through your nose and not gagging as violently when he slid past your uvula, you felt his thrusts turn steadier. Rougher. Faster.

You moaned around him as he began to let go. Your lids struggled to stay open and you let him hold you up by your hair. Your panties were surely soaked through by now, but you refused to check. One hand wrapped firmly around the exposed base of his shaft and the other offered you some semblance of steadiness against his thigh.

"Fucking hell, you love this, don't you?" Seonghwa teased, voice hoarse. You looked up at him through tears and matted, sweat-soaked hair. "All this time and you just wanted to be a little cockslut for me, huh?"

The rush his words gave you was pure ecstasy and you did your best to nod as you moaned around him again in response. The vibration seemed to drive him mad and he tossed his head back before plowing into your mouth over and over.

"I'm gonna cum, Y/n, you're taking me so well," he said. Goosebumps erupted all over your skin. "Where can I cum, baby? Can I--Do you want to swallow? Wanna feel me explode in your mouth?"

You nodded again, tears streaking down your face now from his relentless pace. If you could, you'd want to stay like this forever, with Seonghwa fucking desperately into your mouth like he was stuffing a ragdoll.

For as much as you were supposed to use your autonomous robot, you sure liked it a lot better when he was using you.

Your nails dug into his thigh as he snapped into you and finally his thrusts went ragged. Panting, he called out to the air as he climaxed, "Y/n!" His grunts were light and breathy as he stuttered into your mouth, painting your throat white with synthetic semen.

As he pulled out, you managed to swallow, licking your lips and driving down the liquid with your own spit. You knew it was designed to be tasteless and yet, you swore it tasted faintly of familiar vanilla.

"God, you're just perfect. That was... fucking perfect," Seonghwa proclaimed as he came down, dick softening while he stepped out of his underwear and pants.

Dazed, you were surprised when you felt him suddenly kissing you. His arms wrapped around you, bringing you back up to stand, while his tongue darted around your mouth, tasting himself. You moaned into the sloppy kiss, suckling his bottom lip when you could and tracing his teeth with your tongue when his lips wanted more.

"So, you'll fuck me now?" you asked him hazily when you came up for air, your mind already back on the prize you'd initially set out for.

"Mmmh, soon," he answered vaguely, hands roaming around your skin now, fingers ghosting your straps and elastics. "I want to take my time undressing you. I want to touch you properly... Give you so many orgasms you can't think straight tomorrow."

On the one hand, you knew the slow experience promised to be mind-shattering. You'd die and come back a new woman. But you also just really wanted him inside your aching cunt, fucking you just as hard as he had your mouth--if not even more ruthlessly.

So you whined in response, high and nasally.

Seonghwa stopped, pulling back. You shivered from the loss of contact, about to protest, when you saw his stern gaze.

"You're being so impatient, love," he said, shaking his head. "It just means I'm going to go even slower."

You scoffed in denial but he was already moving, pulling down the sleek pants you'd worn for dinner. You stood in front him in your underwear, a lacy set you may or may not have thought way too long about while getting ready.

He crouched by you, helping you step out of your pants, and stayed kneeling, forehead leaning into your soft thigh. He sighed, one hand coming to stroke languidly across the skin there.

"Let me savor this," he said, deep voice vibrating across your thigh. "Let me savor you."

He didn't need a response, not a verbal one anyway, to start planting kisses on your bare skin, hands traveling up to cup and squeeze your ass. You keened forward, steadying yourself with your hands in his hair.

And then his nose was at the elastic edge of your lace underwear, tip running along the seam like a magnet. He stopped at the bottom, where the plush folds of your labia met and dripped wet with arousal.

You weren't prepared for him to take a long, purposeful whiff, nose pressed into you so hard you were sure it would come back damp.

"You smell so good, baby, so plush and sweet and creamy," he said, voice thundering across your clothed pussy. You shuddered violently, the scene playing out below you somehow more erotic than when he'd been fucking your esophagus silly. "Let me see if it tastes the same" he mused.

Your eyes lost focus as he swiped his tongue along your soaked underwear. Your hands gripped his hair roughly when he used his tongue to part your folds, panties so wet it was hardly challenge for him.

You were sure you were moaning, panting some sort of incoherent dribble at that point, but when the lithe muscle found your clit, you couldn't contain the lewd wails that clawed out of your chest.

"Fuck, Hwa, please," you gasped, hips buzzing with need.

He answered with another lick up your nub through the fabric, followed by his lips sucking a ring around the bundle of nerves. You cried out, bucking into his lips and nose.

"Seonghwa, please," you begged, grabbing at his hair desperately, "I can't take it."

To your horror, this was apparently not the right thing to say. You looked down and saw him smiling sadly, pitifully, up at you.

"Oh, love, I know you can," he said, nipping superficially at the tops of your thighs. "In fact, you're going to cum just like that, with my tongue through your panties."

You whimpered immediately at his words and he got to work just as fast, his tongue finding your clit through the fabric again. You writhed, bucking under his hold, but his fingers were firm around your hips.

It was agony at first, if you were honest. The fabric was too starchy and your arousal hadn't leaked that far up yet. But Seonghwa was impossibly skilled, sliding the slick from your cunt upward with every lick and adding to the moisture with his own dripping tongue.

And then it was bliss--the material just wet enough to strike the perfect balance of friction, his tongue warm and fast and precise.

You were a mess in just minutes, moans dragged out of you by his mouth. It was maddening that he was just using that one muscle. His fingers remained idle on your hips, holding you in place, and his lips only occasionally brushed you. And yet you were fighting against his hold to grind your hips against his tongue, to search for more wetness, more friction, more of him--just more--

And then you were cumming, spilling through your underwear in a way you never had before, soaking them so thoroughly it was obscene. He held you through it, lips sucking in time with you hips, until you stilled.

"You--Do you normally squirt?" Seonghwa asked, voice taught and panting.

Your chest heaved as you looked down to find him covered in slick and sweat and some other clear liquid you'd never seen come out of you before.

"N-No," you answered, feeling a tad lightheaded.

As if he could read your mind, Seonghwa was by your side instantly, helping you lie back in bed. As you got comfortable in the pillows, he peeled your underwear down and off, discarding the drenched fabric onto the floor.

And finally, his mouth was at your chest, trailing kisses from your navel up toward your sternum. You could see how hard he'd gotten again, could feel his cock brush against your legs, and your cunt throbbed with anticipation.

But Seonghwa, true to his word, was hellbent on taking the evening very slowly.

"My beautiful princess," he murmured, kissing the exposed top of your breast. "Squirting for me when I haven't even touched you properly."

One hand found its way under your back, deftly untying the knot you'd put there earlier that afternoon. He clamped the lace fabric between his teeth and tugged slowly downwards, exposing your breasts with a brutal patience.

And when the garment was off, he looked down as if to survey his work, gliding his hands across your skin appreciatively. His fingers found a nipple, working the bud to a hardened point. You exhaled shakily, not sure how long you could keep from begging for him to fuck you.

"One more with my fingers, love," he announced like he was calling you to dinner.

A finger plunged into your folds and you arched into his touch. Your entrance spasmed around the tip of his finger and you let out a groan, low and filthy.

"You're so damn wet for me, baby," he remarked, letting his finger circle your ring of muscle. The motion had you bucking off the bed, desperate for him to be inside you. "Shh, wait, patience. Have you learned nothing, Y/n?"

This got you to be still, the threat of drawing out the process even longer stopping you cold. You shivered at the satisfied laugh that left him when you submitted to his supplication.

"Good girl. Here," he said before plunging his finger in you, a second one following shortly thereafter.

His pace was thankfully faster than if you'd been impatient with him again, that was for sure, and his fingers curled deliciously at the top of his thrusts. You groaned, chanting his name over and over as he worked on you.

Your hands found him, the planes of his muscles and the soft curtain of his hair, desperate for something to cling to. As he tilted his plane of attack upward, insistent on finding that fleshy spot within you, you clung to his arm and neck for stability. His motions quickly had you at the edge of your next climax.

"Hwa, I'm--fuck, right there! You feel so good," you panted.

He looked up at you, finally finding your eyes again after staring at your leaking, swollen pussy for minutes now. "Show me how good it feels, baby. Cum around my fingers like you'd cum around my cock."

His nasty words already had you arching, but suddenly his thumb was on your clit and you were moaning, jetting past a point of no return.

You saw stars as you came, crying out his name as you clenched down on his fingers, trapping them in your walls. He helped you ride through wave after wave, fingers only stilling when your grip relaxed and your hips found the bed again.

"You're crazy, Hwa," you stated, barely having the energy to drag a hand through his hair.

"Mmhmm," he acknowledged. "Crazy for you."

Your heart swelled as he swooped down to capture you in another kiss. This time it was softer, more intentional, like he was giving you a sacred promise. You let him love you with his lips, let him explore your mouth and cheeks, chin, and throat, collarbones and shoulders.

And when your heart was beating normally again, he got on all fours, positioning himself in between your legs.

"Are you ready, love?" he asked.

"Take me, Hwa," you answered, wrapping your legs around his waist. You thought maybe his dirty mouth had rubbed off on you because you found yourself whispering in his ear, "Fuck me so hard San and S/n don't even have to ask if we're together."

He whined and you flushed, loving the way his sounds hit your ears like a melody. He obeyed effortlessly, plunging into you with a careful first thrust.

You were more than prepared when he entered you and the moan that left you when he fit all the way in to the hilt was positively sinful. He had you delightfully full and the stretch was so good the pain doubled instantly as pleasure.

"I love you, Y/n," he stated again before diving down to kiss you again. He thrust in slowly, letting your slick squelch around him obscenely. "I love you for waiting. For setting boundaries and finally trusting me. I wouldn't want to have you any other way."

"I love you, too, Hwa," you echoed, looping your arms around his neck. He sped up incrementally, letting you both adjust to the pace slowly. "I love you for being so patient. For letting me take my time and--ah," you squirmed as he hit that spot within you that had you seeing white, "And for helping me face my f-fears."

He kissed you again, raw and savage. With the shared confession hanging in the air, the atmosphere turned hot and yearning.

"Fuck, Seonghwa," you moaned as he ramped up to full thrusts, balls slapping against your ass with every snap of his hips. "You feel so fucking good!"

"You do, too, love," he answered, already breathless and ragged. "You look so beautiful getting pounded like this. I wanna stuff you full, princess, 'wanna get that reproduction upgrade and give you babies."

The thought of him spilling inside you, of him actually being capable of getting you pregnant, had you spiraling dangerously close to another orgasm.

"Shit, yes, Seonghwa, please, wanna get bred by you, please--" you sobbed out, filter completely absent.

He stopped abruptly and manhandled you again. "All fours," you heard him bark out, voice strained and broken.

You shakily found the mattress on your hands and knees and presented your dripping hole for him nicely, ass in the air.

A hand came down and smacked your ass. You yelped, but it was swallowed by the rush of air you inhaled when another slap came down--this time on your cunt. "So filthy for me," Seonghwa panted. "So naughty. My sweet girl wants to get bred like an animal? I can arrange that just fine."

And then he was fucking into you from behind, hands firmly on your hips dragging you back and forth, impaling you on his rock-hard cock. You could feel how ridiculously hard he was--how thick and angry the tip probably was--how much pre-cum he was probably spilling into you already--and your walls clenched.

"Fuck!" he yelled, hips stuttering. "You like that, princess? Like getting bred like a fucking slut? Like when I fuck you from behind like a beast? Like a machine?"

You slumped into the bed, arms unable to keep yourself supported. Your mind was half gone, breathing hard and limbs gelatinous. All you could do was take the raw battering he was giving you. As you relaxed, drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth as you opened it to moan, the angle changed ever so slightly and your walls flexed as he hammered into your cervix.

At the same time, the angle let his scrotum scrape against your clit with every thrust, and you were moaning and whimpering into your pillows, screaming his name as your third orgasm built with a blooming pleasure.

"That's it, right? Your... cervix?" he asked in between breaths as he thrusted. "Right where I'll cum to fill you full of my kids?"

Your face contorted at his words and your gut flipped with heat. "Fuck! Yes, Hwa, right there!" you screamed out, sure he could hear you through the plush objects with just how loud you were.

And then you were cumming, walls clamping down on his cock so hard you thought you might cramp.

Seonghwa groaned, tossing his head back again as he came, too, filling you with the synthetic seed you suddenly desperately wanted to be real. It was hot inside you, hot enough to feel, and the sensation prolonged your orgasm. You rode wave upon wave, milking the man's cock for everything he had and more.

He shuddered over you when you were finally done, huffing and watching you appreciatively as you both panted for breath.

He turned you over gently and kissed the tip of your nose before pulling out finally. He stood and shook out his limbs, offering you a smile while disappearing into the bathroom. You caught your breath, body seeming to vibrate elatedly.

Seconds later, Seonghwa returned, rag in hand to clean you up. You let him lift your leg up over his shoulder and felt liquid drip out of your used hole.

"If that was real semen, I'd fuck it back into you with my fingers," he said, voice dead serious.

You shuddered under his gaze, half tempted to beg him to do it anyway.

But he dabbed at you with the rag before you could speak, carefully wiping away the warm liquid that spilled from your pussy as he shifted you slightly.

Within minutes, you were clean, dry, and warm against him with the lights off as you finally went to bed, sharing it as more than just friends. Or--at the very least--more than what you had been that morning.

"You were so beautiful today, love," he called out as he tucked you into his chest. "There, that makes seven times today. Better? Or should I call you beautiful even more tomorrow?"

You hummed into his collarbone and ran a hand haphazardly along his neck. "Mmm, more tomorrow," you mumbled as sleep threatened to take you.

"More tomorrow, then. It's a promise," he said. They were the last words you heard him say as you fell asleep in your bed that night.

You dreamed, blissfully, of a life with him. Of a world where your relationship was normal. One where he was not just a house husband, but a real husband.

You woke later, unsure of the time or why you'd been awoken. The sun had yet to rise and you blinked blearily to look around you.

There was a knock at the door.

Beside you, Seonghwa twitched awake. You shared a look of confusion before he went still.

"They're... here," he spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

"What? Who's they?" your brows furrowed as you flicked the lamp on.

The knock came again, this time followed by a muffled voice. You couldn't make out what was said, but Seonghwa surely could.

He jumped out of bed, not bothering to put any more than his sweatpants on.

"Hwa, what's happening?" you asked, heart racing as he flung open the bedroom door.

You grabbed your robe and hastily tied it, running out to follow him toward the front door.

You stopped when you saw that San had also gotten up, but your sister wasn't with them. You were about to ask what was happening when Seonghwa threw open the front door.

"What do you want?" he asked. You stepped up to greet the horde of people in black suits at your door, but Seonghwa was quick to put his arm out. "Don't. They're dangerous. They're--"

"Ma'am, are you Y/n L/n?" the man in front asked. You nodded slowly as he sent a gruff flick of his head to the men standing behind him. Then, suddenly, the men in suits were crossing the threshold and entering your apartment.

Chaos broke out immediately. Seonghwa and San jumped into action to stop the men, but it seemed their objective was subdue the droids anyway.

Your heart stopped as they held Seonghwa's hands together behind his back, forcing him to his knees. You dashed forward, his name on your lips, when two more men were suddenly at your side. They held onto an arm each and you looked up at them with disgust.

"Sorry for the intrusion, Miss L/n. I'm the Vice President of Continuing Autonomous Excellence at KQ Corp. Here's my card," the first man said, showing you his business card. Indeed, it looked like he was a high-ranking executive at the company that manufactured droids like San and Seonghwa.

You struggled against the men holding you again, not liking where this was going.

"I do apologize. There's no need to resist, dear. We'll be out of here before you know it." the man said, his breath as crusty as his aging skin. "You see, we received a tip earlier tonight that a model registered at this address--your house husband here, yes--has expressed emotions and behaviors outside the scope of its intended purpose."

"No," Seonghwa breathed, eyes going wide. You blinked between them, trying to figure out where this was going. But if it was anything like Seonghwa's face warranted, you already knew you didn't want to hear it.

The man continued. "And, what a surprise, the other model we received a tip on is also present! That makes things easy. We're just going to reset them, dear, and add our latest provisional patch to their code. For your security and safety, I assure you."

You froze at his words. "What... what do you mean? Reset? What does the patch do?"

The men in suits had already begun setting up in your kitchen, laptops in briefcases firing up long files of proprietary code.

"Yes, reset. In case you didn't read the fine print of your purchase agreement, all models are subject to factory reset in case of error. It will start his memory over, which can be annoying to retrain, yes, but we believe it's essential for the error that has occurred."

You opened and closed your mouth, fresh tears falling down your cheeks. You locked eyes with Seonghwa who regarded you silently, guilt and sadness overtaking his eyes.

"N-no, you can't," you breathed, pleading with the man in front of you. "You can't reset him. Please. What's the error? What happened?"

"We received an anonymous report that your house husband and this butler model here," he walked over, swiping a ruddy finger at San's nose, "have been going around saying they're in love," he ground out. "Not to mention the acts of violence."

"He--They are!" you protested. "They're in love, they feel it!"

The man shook his head, giving you a knowing, bittersweet look. "Is that what he told you?"

Your heart beat wildly in your chest. You felt like vomiting all over your entryway.

And just when you thought it couldn't get worse, your sister stumbled into the room, rubbing her eyes groggily.

"What's going on?" she asked.

The executive snapped his fingers and two of the men who'd set up camp in your kitchen immediately grabbed her.

"What the fuck? San? Y/n! Seonghwa! What the hell is happening? What--what are they doing to you?" she yelled.

By now, the men holding your droids down gripped a syringe in their hands, ready to sink long needles into their necks.

"No, please! Stop! You can't do this!" you pleaded. "I love him! You can't reset him, please! I need him! Just like he is now, I need him--please--"

You wheezed as the executive nodded and the neon green liquid was plunged into Seonghwa's neck. You folded. The men who'd started the encounter holding you back now had to hold you up.

"Y/n," Seonghwa spoke as the liquid seemed to affect him, eyes fluttering. "No matter what happens, I love you. Never forget that. I love you with everything that I am."

You screamed as hot tears tracked down your cheeks. You flailed in the suited men's grip but it was fruitless. You just let them hold you upright as you fell limp.

Beside you, you could make out San and your sister sharing last promises with each other, their words quieter than your shrieks of agony.

"I love you, too, Seonghwa, I--I'll love you forever," you choked out, hoping he heard you as his eyes closed.

When the droids went still in the men's grip, you bawled. The apartment was otherwise silent as the suits folded up their briefcases, securing their accessories like nothing had happened at all.

And when the men holding you let go, you sank to your knees on the ground. You didn't know what was happening with your sister--all you could focus on was him. Seonghwa. The man you'd entirely forgotten wasn't a man at all.

"Should be just a few minutes. If you experience any further errors, please give us a call," the executive said as the men piled out of your home. You made no move to acknowledge him, and you think he put his business card somewhere near the front door. You didn't know for sure. Certainly didn't care.

You crawled toward your house husband as the door closed. The world around you faded as you inched nearer, taking him into your arms while you waited for whatever the fuck just happened to come to fruition. Tears slipped down your face and onto his still-bare chest. You cried even harder as you took a sleeve from your robe to dab at it.

And finally, as you cradled his face, thumb tracing over the features you'd committed to memory at this point, his eyes opened.

He looked up at you, and as one hand reached for the one that held his face so tenderly, you had hope for all of one second. Then--

"Hello, who will I be attending?"

You curled over his body and sobbed.

[lomlhwa]

navillera (x.mh)

pairing: ballerina!reader x ballet teacher!minghao

preview: minghao can see your raw potential. you just need a little... incentive.

tags/warnings: fem reader, age gap (minghao is 35 and reader is 21), lots of flexible positions, kinda mean dom minghao, sir kink, fingering, oral (fem.receiving), degrading, monster cock minghao, dacryphilia, choking, marking, praise, pet names (slut, baby, pretty girl), unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie

trigger warnings: n/a

wc: 1.6k

song rec for this fic: all i got by baekhyun

a/n: sorry for scarce posting mls

training for the nutcracker has been more difficult than you had anticipated. your teacher has been so hard on everyone. his perfectionism was definitely showing. the constant cries of “straighten your leg!” or “point your toes!” have been ingrained in your brain. you’ve honestly become paranoid about messing up in front of him. currently, you’re just trying to perfect small things near the end of the show.

you and your dance partner dance carefully together, making sure your legs are straight and there’s not a flat foot in sight. your spun around and lifted effortlessly and you can almost feel a sense of pride filling your bones. but, as you’re put down, the hard box of your ballet slippers lands right on your dance partner’s foot, causing him to cry out.

suddenly, minghao cuts the music off and gestures for everyone to gather around him. “we have our first show next week, i cannot have this show looking this dogshit. we haven’t had a single run that didn’t have a mistake.” everyone around you looks defeated at his words. not a soul in the room isn’t out of breath from his vigorous training demands. “y/n.” he says your name and your eyes dart up to meet his. “do you even know how to do a pas de bourrée?” you gulp, looking down at the floor. “yes, i do, sir.” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “show me.” 

you hesitantly walk to the open space in front of him and get up en pointe. you perform the travelling movement, making sure to keep your legs straight and keep your body lines looking flowy. when you finish, you look over to see the most intimidating scowl on your teacher’s face. “i’m gonna need you to stay after class.” your face flushes bright red as you rush to disappear within the crowd of your classmates. 

the rest of the class is a blur. you can’t focus after your teacher embarrassed you like that in front of the whole class. finally, the class ends and you watch as your classmates rush to leave the studio. you and minghao stand on opposite sides of the room, staring at each other. “how long have you been doing ballet?” he asks, stretching arms over his chest. “um, 4 years.” he laughs, wandering over to you. “that’s like nothing compared to your classmates.” he looms over you, his shadow filling you with darkness.

“show me your pirouette.” he moves away from you, gesturing to the empty room. you lift yourself onto your toes and demonstrate a few spins, more than necessary. you stumble at the end and you can feel minghao’s blazing fury. “come here. put your hand on the bar.” you scurry over and do as instructed, your hand resting gently on the wooden bar attached to the wall. he leans down and grabs your ankle. he lifts it until your foot is above your head, your legs spread in a perfect split. “you’re very flexible and your moves are graceful, you just can’t follow through.” he runs his hand down your leg, his hand pausing to rest on your core. you jump, your legs fighting to hold their position.

minghao presses his palm against your core, electricity surging through your veins. you moan slightly before pressing your lips together in a thin line. he runs his finger over your slit through your tights. the thin fabric gives way to how wet you’re becoming at simple touches. “are these your performance tights?” minghao whispers. you shake your head, your legs beginning to ache. suddenly, the sound of fabric ripping fills the room. you gasp at the sudden cold feeling. your knee bends, your leg begging to be let back onto the floor. “keep your fucking leg up while i please you.” he demands as he pushes your panties to the side. 

you use your free hand to hold your foot, desperately trying to keep your leg up. minghao licks a wet stripe up your core, salivating at how wet you’d become. you shiver as he licks stripe after stripe up your cunt, savoring your taste as if he’d never tasted something so delicious. “if you can be a good girl and keep your leg up, i’ll let you cum,” he instructed. he dove into your core like he may never eat again. the sideways angle having him gripping every expanse of your ass and thighs he could get at. he rips your tights open more so he can feel your bare skin in his hands. 

his tongue jabs at your hole, barely dipping in to feel your dripping walls. his eyes roll back into his head at the way your body jerks whenever he sucks on your clit. your grip the bar on the wall so hard your knuckles turn white. your legs shake as they threaten to close against your will. “p-please sir,” you beg. you don’t even really know what you’re begging for at this point. his fingers find their way to your hole, replacing his tongue. he fingers you with such intensity that you’re worried he might break his hand. your whines and whimpers grow in volume quickly.

he chuckles against you, beginning to eat you with even more intensity. his fingers and his tongue move in sweet tandem. you start to piece together that he doesn’t intend to let you cum, he wants you to let your leg down. your whole body trembles as he licks and sucks on your wet heat until finally; your leg comes down. you stumble backwards and your ballet teacher looks at you with a sinister grin. “so sad, the poor baby doesn’t get to cum on my tongue.“

you look at him, defeated. your legs are so sore you can barely stay standing. minghao seemingly glides over to you before hooking his foot around you to force your knees to bend. you fall backwards and he lays you down on the floor. “can barely follow dance moves, let alone instructions while i’m eating you out. what a disobedient slut.” you whine, writing around on the cold dance practice floor. he slots himself between your legs, pressing his growing erection against your core. your cunt leaves a wet spot on his light colored tights. 

he looks down between your legs and sighs dramatically. “look at the fucking stain you’re leaving on my tights. so fucking pathetic,” he spreads your legs into a split again, grinding against your exposed core. your hands find their way to his forearms, digging your nails into his skin. “you’re so flexible and yet you can’t keep your legs straight when dancing. you’d think with a split like this, it would be effortless to you. do you use your split for sex more than dancing? is that it?” you whine at his disapproval. 

he separates from you to pull his tights down, a much more gentle gesture than the way he had torn yours open. your eyes widen, watching as he frees his cock. he catches your feverish eyes with his sinister ones. “you think you can take it, baby?” you shake your head slowly and he fakes a look of pity. “you can, and you’re going to.” he takes his place between your legs once again, his cock dragging against your slit. “hold your legs open.” you hook your hands around your thighs, doing your best to stay spread.

he guides himself into your desperate hole, the sting of the stretch filling your senses. your nails dig into the skin of the back of your thighs as you shake underneath minghao. he finally bottoms out and his jaw falls slack. he places his palms by your head, trapping you between his arms. he holds eye contact with you as he draws his hips back before thrusting back in slowly. you savor the feeling of every inch dragging along your walls. 

your forearms begin to ache from holding your legs open, your grip slipping. minghao rises to his knees and swats your hands away from your thighs. he replaces them with his own, folding you in half. his thrusts pick up in speed, drilling you full of his cock. “such a good fucking girl, taking my cock. you like when your teacher fills you up, huh?” you nod, your brain not even computing what he’s saying. “words, slut.” you pant desperately, trying to even muster a few words. “y-yes, sir.”

he lands a couple hard slaps to the soft skin of your thighs, leaving bright red hand print marks. you squeal, clenching around him. your senses go into overdrive when he wraps one hand around your throat, applying just enough pressure for your vision to go slightly fuzzy. tears spring to your eyes and flow down the side of your face. he stops holding you down and moves his other hand to your clit, rubbing over it quickly. “fuck, i’m so close, pretty girl. want you to cum for me, can you do that?” you nod to the best of your abilities and he smiles. 

your body spasms as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. you wrap both your hands around his wrist as he tightens his grip just a little more. “c-cumming,” you choke out. minghao lets out an animalistic groan as you clamp down on him. you wrap your legs around him to lock him into place, his last couple thrusts chasing his own orgasm. his hips stutter as his cum fills you to the brim, leaking out of you and onto the floor. he finally releases your throat and you suck in a few labored breaths. 

he pulls out of you and admires your spent body on the floor. “god, i think we should have more after class practices. do you agree?” you’re too tired to even respond but the way you shiver tells him everything he needs to know. he chuckles before reclothing himself. “there’s a pair of extra leggings in the closet. you might wanna put those on before you leave.” he grabs all of his things and walks away to the door. “see you tomorrow, y/n.”

© lomlhwa 2025

[leejenowrld]

falling for you

pairing — lee donghyuck x reader 

word count — 5.8k

genre — smut, explicit sexual content, rough sex, strangers to lovers. this is not proofread. 

synopsis — at a crowded christmas party, the air buzzing with laughter and music, you and donghyuck can’t stop locking eyes, the tension between you thick and impossible to ignore. it snaps when he grabs your hand, dragging you into a dark, empty room, the door clicking shut as he presses you hard against it. his breath is hot against your ear, his voice low and filthy as he murmurs all the things he’s been dying to do to you. his hands move with purpose, peeling away your clothes like wrapping paper, unwrapping you as though you’re the only gift he wants. the distant hum of the party fades as he fucks you with rough, desperate strokes, your moans swallowed by his mouth, the risk of being caught only making it hotter.

[fic ml]

The house reeked of spilled beer and sweat, the faint tang of weed curling through the air where the windows hadn’t been cracked open enough. The sharp, heady scent of cheap bourbon clung to sticky tabletops littered with solo cups, beer cans, and the occasional forgotten vape. Christmas lights were draped haphazardly across the bannisters, blinking erratically like they were moments from burning out, their warm glow catching on the glossy sheen of alcohol pooled in forgotten corners.

The music was loud enough to drown out most conversations—a heavy bassline shaking the floors and blending with the chaotic medley of overlapping laughter, flirtations, and half-shouted arguments. The living room was packed, bodies pressed together in a way that felt both suffocating and electric. Someone’s Santa hat had been abandoned on the couch, crushed beneath a pair of legs tangled in what was clearly the beginning—or middle—of something less than festive.

People spilled from the kitchen to the hallway, a constant churn of movement as groups rearranged, reconnected, or stumbled over each other in their drunken haze. The dining table had been turned into an improvised beer pong arena, cheers erupting every few minutes when someone managed to sink a cup. Somewhere in the background, someone was singing—badly, off-key, and completely oblivious to the fact that no one was paying attention.

You felt the weight of being new here, standing just on the edge of the chaos with a drink in hand that you weren’t entirely sure you’d wanted. Chaewon had disappeared almost immediately after dragging you through the front door, her gold dress shimmering as she threw herself into the crowd with a confidence you envied. You’d only moved to this college a few months ago, still fumbling through introductions and awkward smiles, and now you were at a party where you didn’t know a single person.

“Trust me, you’ll love it,” Chaewon had insisted earlier, shoving a glittery red crop top at you before you’d protested. She’d rolled her eyes and swapped it for a green velvet dress she’d been saving for herself. “Here, this’ll be even better on you. You shouldn’t be worried! This is college and Christmas, and everyone’s gonna be happy! You don’t need to stress about anything. Just… exist, and they’ll love you.”

Now, though, as you glanced around the party, you felt far from confident. You, on the other hand, felt like an imposter. The green velvet dress Chaewon had insisted you wear clung to you in ways that left you hyper-aware of every glance, the low neckline and teasing slit down one thigh feeling scandalous even in the dim, forgiving light. You couldn’t count the number of times you’d tugged at the fabric, only for Chaewon to swat your hands away with an exaggerated sigh.

“Stop it,” she’d said, swatting your arm as you’d fidgeted with the neckline before you walked out the door. “You look so fucking hot. I wish I could pull that off like you do.”

But now, as you sipped at your drink—some vaguely fruity, overly sweet concoction that burned faintly at the back of your throat—you couldn’t shake the feeling of sticking out. You shifted your weight from one heel to the other, scanning the room for Chaewon, but she was nowhere to be found.

Someone brushed past you, close enough that you felt the heat of their body as they slipped through the crowd, and your eyes darted to the bannisters where a guy was laughing too loudly, his arm draped over a girl who looked just as drunk as he was. Near the stereo, a couple was making out with reckless abandon, the music shifting to something bass-heavy and sultry as their hands roamed each other shamelessly.

It was messy. Unapologetically so. And you couldn’t decide if you hated it or if there was something strangely intoxicating about being surrounded by so much noise, so much life.

Chaewon hadn’t given you much choice. She’d shown up at your dorm hours earlier, her dress glittering like something out of a fairy tale, her energy relentless as she shoved the velvet emerald dress into your hands with a no-nonsense look. “If you don’t wear this,” she’d said, planting her hands on her hips, “I’m going to spend the entire party mourning your lack of holiday spirit instead of enjoying my drinks. Don’t ruin this for me.”

When you’d hesitated, she’d softened, taking a step closer to meet your eyes. “You shouldn’t be worried,” she said, her voice warmer now, persuasive. “This is college and Christmas, and everyone’s going to be happy. You don’t need to stress about anything. Just… exist, and they’ll love you.”

Now, here you were, the dress clinging to your every curve in a way that felt impossibly scandalous. The neckline dipped lower than you were used to, and the slit along your thigh seemed almost criminal with every step you took. You’d lost count of the times you’d tried to tug it into place, only for Chaewon to slap your hand away.

“You look like a fucking goddess,” she said for the hundredth time as she pulled you through the throng of bodies. Her hand was a vice around your wrist, steering you past clusters of people who greeted her like an old friend. Chaewon belonged in this kind of environment—bright and dazzling, magnetic in a way that drew attention without her even trying.

“I look like I’m trying too hard,” you muttered under your breath, but she ignored you, her energy buzzing as she pushed through the crowd.

“Stop sulking,” she said over her shoulder. “You’re about to have the time of your life.”

The bass-heavy music thudded through the walls, shaking loose strings of lights draped across the ceiling, the crowd moving like one fluid, writhing body. You were halfway through another sip of your drink, the too-sweet tang clinging to your tongue, when Chaewon suddenly straightened, her grin sharp and immediate.

“Jeno!” she called, her voice cutting through the noise, dripping with something between excitement and familiarity.

You turned just in time to see him, and the sight of him stopped you short.

Jeno had the kind of presence that turned heads without effort, his movements lazy but deliberate as he wove through the crowd. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his black jeans slung low on his hips and his dark sweater stretched perfectly across his chest. The sleeves were pushed up, revealing the kind of forearms that seemed designed to make people stare. His hair fell messily over his forehead, just disheveled enough to look effortless but intentional. And then there was his face—sharp, devastating, his full lips curving into an easy smirk as he approached.

Chaewon didn’t wait for him to reach you. She stepped into his space like she belonged there, throwing her arms around his neck in a way that made her gold dress shimmer under the string lights.

His laugh was low, rich, and warm as he hugged her back, his large hands resting lightly at her waist before letting her go.

“You brought her out,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to you before returning to Chaewon, something knowing and amused in his tone.

“I did,” Chaewon said, looping her arm through yours and pulling you forward. “Jeno, meet my best friend. She’s new, so don’t scare her.”

His attention shifted fully to you now, and you felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing. His eyes dragged over you—not rudely, but boldly—his lips twitching into something softer, lazier as his hand came up to shake yours.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice smooth and warm, the kind that made you feel like he actually meant it. “Make yourself at home.”

His grip was firm, his palm warm against yours, and you swore you could still feel the ghost of his touch even after he pulled away.

“Thanks,” you managed, your voice steadier than you expected. “It’s… a great party.”

“Chaos,” he corrected, the corner of his mouth curving upward. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

And just like that, he was gone, blending seamlessly back into the crowd, his laugh low and easy as someone else drew his attention.

You turned to Chaewon, your brows raised. “Is he…?”

Chaewon’s cheeks flushed, her lips pressing together in an attempt to feign innocence.

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is he the one you kept moaning about a few nights ago?”

Her eyes widened before she slapped your arm. “Oh, my God, shut up,” she hissed, but the redness in her face gave her away.

You grinned, your tone teasing. “So, that’s a yes?”

“I’m not answering that,” she muttered, grabbing your drink and taking a sip like she needed it to recover. “Anyway,” she said, clearly desperate to change the subject, “let me give you the rundown of who’s who.”

She gestured toward the stereo, where a group of guys were laughing, their energy loud and infectious. “Renjun’s the one on the left, the sarcastic one who’s always overthinking everything. Don’t let his permanent scowl scare you off—he’s actually nice. Kind of.”

She pointed toward the middle of the room, where Jaemin was sprawled on the couch, his arm draped casually around a girl who looked completely smitten. “That’s Jaemin. Resident flirt. If he talks to you, don’t take it seriously—he flirts with everyone.”

Your gaze shifted to the beer pong table, where Shotaro was grinning like he’d just won the lottery, his enthusiasm infectious. “Shotaro. Literal golden retriever energy. You’ll love him.”

Chaewon’s voice dropped slightly as she gestured toward the far corner of the room, where the crowd thinned and the lights dimmed. “And lastly… there’s Donghyuck.”

You followed her gaze, and your breath caught.

He was leaning against the wall, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, the faint orange glow illuminating the sharp angles of his face. His black turtleneck clung to his lean frame, the sleeves pushed up just enough to show his forearms, veins faintly visible beneath the skin. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but there was an intensity in the way he held himself, his dark eyes scanning the room with quiet calculation.

When his gaze landed on you, it didn’t move.

It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t polite. It was deliberate, his eyes dragging over you like he was stripping away the layers of your skin, searching for something hidden. The weight of it sent a shiver racing down your spine, heat blooming in your chest as you quickly looked away.

Chaewon smirked, leaning closer so only you could hear. “Good luck with that one.”

There was something about him that demanded attention. It wasn’t loud or obvious—he wasn’t trying to dominate the space—but there was a quiet pull in the way he carried himself, his presence electric in its stillness. His posture was almost lazy, his shoulder propped against the wall near the patio door, the faint glow of his cigarette tracing the sharp angles of his face. His eyes scanned the room like he was taking inventory, flicking over the crowd as though none of it mattered.

Until they landed on you.

Your stomach twisted, the room tilting slightly under the intensity of it. He didn’t bother with a smile or a nod—didn’t try to soften the blow. He just stared, unblinking, his gaze heavy and unrelenting, pinning you in place like a butterfly beneath glass.

For a moment, you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, the force of his attention making you feel exposed in a way that was impossible to explain. You forced yourself to look away, focusing intently on the too-sweet drink in your hand, but it didn’t help. You could still feel him.

The night blurred on, the buzz of alcohol loosening your nerves as Chaewon introduced you to one person after another, most of whom you barely remembered. But the sensation of being watched never left. Every time you glanced toward the patio, he was there—smoking, drinking, leaning against the glass with a posture so languid it bordered on arrogance.

And every time, his gaze found you.

It wasn’t playful or teasing, the way some people stared at a party. It was raw, unfiltered, and it made your skin prickle with a heat that wasn’t entirely unwelcome. It felt calculated in its intensity, deliberate in a way that left no room for misinterpretation. You told yourself to be annoyed, to dismiss it as some kind of game he was playing, but you couldn’t. There was something too visceral about it, too consuming.

The room seemed smaller now, the heat of too many bodies pressing in on you, the music pounding in your ears. You could feel the invisible thread between you tightening with every glance, pulling you toward him even as you tried to stay anchored.

Finally, as the crowd began to thin, he moved.

You felt it before you saw it, the air shifting, the space between you shrinking until he was there. He smelled like smoke, sharp and rich, mingling with something darker, something warm and heady that made your knees feel weak. His presence was overwhelming, the kind that made the rest of the room blur into irrelevance.

“You’ve been staring,” he said, his voice low and smooth, the kind of tone that slid down your spine and pooled low in your stomach.

You blinked, startled by his bluntness. “Excuse me?”

His head tilted slightly, his smirk faint but unmistakable. “Don’t deny it,” he murmured, his gaze flicking down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “I saw you.”

Heat surged to your cheeks, and you struggled to keep your composure. “You’re awfully confident for someone I’ve never met.”

He took another step closer, and suddenly the heat wasn’t just in your face—it was everywhere, radiating from his body in waves that made your skin prickle. “Donghyuck,” he said simply, his name slipping from his lips like a slow promise. “And you are?”

There was something in the way he said it—sharp, unrelenting—that made it impossible to lie. The air between you buzzed with something almost tangible, and before you could stop yourself, you told him your name, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

“Hmm,” he murmured, his smirk deepening as he said your name back, rolling it off his tongue like he was trying it on for size. “Pretty.”

“You’re awfully forward,” you shot back, your voice firmer now, though your pulse betrayed you, hammering in your ears.

His eyes sparkled with amusement, but beneath the surface was something darker, something that made your breath catch. “I don’t waste time,” he said simply, taking a final drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out on the edge of a nearby glass. “Especially not when it comes to something I want.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words settling low in your stomach. His smirk widened as though he could feel the effect he was having on you.

“I’m not something you can just… have,” you managed, though the conviction you were aiming for wavered under the heat of his gaze.

Donghyuck leaned in then, close enough that his words brushed against your ear, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “Then tell me to leave.”

The challenge hung heavy in the air, his proximity intoxicating. You should’ve said something, should’ve pulled away, but you didn’t. The words wouldn’t come, trapped somewhere between your mind and your lips as you stayed frozen in place.

His hand brushed against yours, light and fleeting, a touch so subtle it could’ve been accidental. But it wasn’t. You knew it wasn’t. Sparks skittered across your skin, and his smirk grew sharper, his lips curling in satisfaction.

“Didn’t think so,” he murmured, his voice cutting through the haze that had settled over you.

Your heart pounded, the noise of the party fading to nothing as the rest of the world narrowed down to just him. He smelled of smoke and something darker, something that made your pulse quicken as he lingered, his eyes holding yours like a trap you couldn’t escape.

“What do you want?” you asked finally, your voice barely audible, trembling under the weight of his attention.

Donghyuck’s smile softened, but his gaze never wavered, never lost its intensity. “I think you already know.”

His fingers grazed your wrist, his touch deliberate now, trailing upward with a slow, unhurried confidence. The heat of his skin branded yours, the light pressure of his fingertips igniting something low and aching in your chest. It was a small gesture, innocent enough to anyone else, but it felt loaded, charged, like every nerve in your body had been tuned to him.

Your pulse stuttered beneath his touch, and his smirk widened, dark and knowing. “See?” he said, his voice a low hum that wrapped around you like a vice. “You feel it too.”

The alcohol had done its job, loosening the tightness in your chest and blurring the edges of your inhibitions. You were drunk, and not just on the sweetness of the cocktails or the heavy beat of the music still reverberating through the walls. It was him—his presence, the way he carried himself like he owned the night, the way his eyes lingered on you like he already knew how this was going to end.

You weren’t naïve. You knew exactly what you were walking into when he tilted his head, murmured those soft, commanding words that sent a shiver of heat straight through you. “Let me show you something,” he’d said, his voice low and smooth, and you’d nodded because, God, you didn’t want to think tonight. Not about the stress of starting over at a new college, the overwhelming pressure to find your place, or the exhausting effort of pretending you had it all together.

You just wanted to feel. To let go.

And he was the perfect distraction. Hot as sin, all sharp edges and confidence, with an intensity that made your pulse race. The way his hand brushed the small of your back as he guided you through the crowded house sent sparks skittering across your skin, each step pulling you deeper into something you weren’t ready to name.

By the time the door clicked shut behind you, the air between you was electric, charged with the kind of tension that made your head spin. The dim moonlight streaming through the window cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his lips that were no longer smirking but drawn tight with something darker, hungrier.

You didn’t have time to second-guess. The moment he turned to face you, his gaze locking with yours, it was like the air was stolen from your lungs. His eyes dragged over you, unapologetically, devouring, and the heat in his stare made you feel bare, exposed in a way that sent a thrill racing down your spine.

Your back pressed against the door as he stepped closer, his body crowding yours without touching, his presence so overwhelming that it made your knees weak. He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that his breath brushed against your cheek when he spoke.

“Are you going to tell me to stop?” he asked, his voice soft but threaded with a dangerous edge, his gaze locked on yours.

You couldn’t have said no if you wanted to. You shook your head, the movement barely a whisper, your breath hitching as the corner of his lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, deeper. His hands came up to rest on either side of you, caging you in without touching you, but the weight of his proximity was enough to set your skin on fire.

And then he kissed you.

His mouth crashed into yours like a wave breaking against the shore, relentless and all-consuming. He bit your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make your stomach clench, the pain sharp and addictive. Each kiss was messy, greedy, wet—more like devouring than anything soft or deliberate. His tongue slid against yours, teasing, dominating, every movement pulling you deeper into the heat, stealing the air from your lungs.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice a low snarl as he pulled back, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. “You taste so fucking sweet.”

You yanked at his hair, pulling him back to you, the sting grounding you even as your head spun. “Shut up and keep going,” you demanded, your voice shaking, already frayed at the edges.

His laugh was dark, more like a growl than a sound of amusement. “You’re impatient,” he muttered, his breath hot against your cheek as he trailed kisses down your jawline, each one wetter and sloppier than the last. His hands slid beneath the hem of your dress, the fabric bunching in his fists as he yanked it higher.

“Because you’re fucking slow,” you snapped, arching into him as his fingers brushed the tops of your thighs.

“Slow?” He laughed again, his teeth grazing the curve of your neck before biting down hard enough to make you gasp. “You won’t be saying that when I’m done with you.”

Your dress was pulled over your head and thrown carelessly to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your heels and panties. His hands were on you instantly, rough and possessive, mapping out every inch of bare skin.

“You’re gorgeous,” he muttered, his voice barely above a growl. His lips latched onto your collarbone, sucking and biting as his hands slid up to your breasts, squeezing them roughly through your bra.

You moaned, your head tipping back as your nails dug into his shoulders. “Stop teasing,” you gasped, grinding against him, desperate for the friction of his cock against the soaked fabric between your legs.

“Not until you beg,” he said, his tone laced with arrogance.

“Fuck you,” you spat, but the words broke as he rolled your nipple between his fingers, the sensation sending a jolt straight to your core.

“Soon,” he promised, his hands slipping behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor. His mouth was on you immediately, sucking and nipping at your breasts, leaving marks as his teeth scraped against sensitive skin.

You fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, frustration mounting as your fingers trembled. “Take it off,” you demanded, your voice raw with need.

He pulled back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing the hard lines of his chest, the muscles tense and coiled like a predator about to pounce.

“Better?” he asked, his lips curling into a smirk.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you shoved your hands into his jeans, your fingers wrapping around his cock through the fabric. He hissed, his hips jerking forward as you squeezed, your grip just shy of painful.

“You want me?” you teased, your voice dripping with mockery.

“More than you can handle,” he shot back, his hands gripping your ass and lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and he slammed you against the wall, the force making the door rattle.

The angle pressed his cock against you perfectly, the friction sending a shockwave through your body. You moaned, grinding against him, your panties already soaked through.

“You feel that?” he muttered, his lips brushing your ear as he rocked his hips, the hard ridge of his cock dragging against your clit. “That’s all for you.”

“Then stop teasing,” you gasped, your voice breaking.

He reached between you, yanking your panties down and tossing them to the floor. His hand slid between your legs, his fingers parting your folds and spreading your slickness. “Fuck,” he muttered, his tone dripping with approval. “You’re fucking dripping for me.”

“Because you won’t do anything,” you snapped, your hips jerking against his hand.

He smirked, his fingers sliding inside you without warning. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he started to fuck you with them, his thumb circling your clit with rough precision.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone falling apart this fast,” he growled, his pace quickening as he added a third finger, the stretch burning in the best way.

“Shut up,” you moaned, your voice trembling as your walls clenched around him.

“Make me,” he challenged, his free hand gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him. His gaze was dark, predatory, and it sent a shiver racing down your spine.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned forward, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw a low growl from him.

“Fuck,” he snarled, pulling his fingers free and stepping back. “Turn around.”

You obeyed, bracing your hands against the door as he yanked his belt free, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops making your breath hitch. His jeans hit the floor, and then his hands were on you, spreading you open as the head of his cock pressed against your entrance.

“You ready for this?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Just fucking do it,” you snapped, your body trembling with anticipation.

He didn’t hesitate. He slammed into you in one brutal thrust, the stretch almost too much as he filled you completely. You cried out, your nails scraping against the wood as he held you there, his hips flush against yours.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, his voice rough and jagged.

“Move,” you gasped, your voice breaking.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled back and slammed into you again, the force of it making the door rattle. Each thrust was rough and unrelenting, his cock dragging against your walls and hitting that perfect spot that had you moaning with every snap of his hips.

“Harder,” you gasped, your head tipping back as your body arched against him.

“You fucking take it,” he growled, his hand tangling in your hair and pulling your head back. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you cried, your walls clenching around him.

His free hand came down on your ass, the sharp slap sending a jolt of pain-tinged pleasure through you. “Say it,” he demanded.

“I wanted this,” you gasped, your voice breaking.

“That’s what I thought,” he growled, his pace quickening as he fucked you harder, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, as the tension coiled tighter in your belly, every nerve sparking as you teetered on the edge.

“Come for me,” he ordered, his voice rough and commanding.

The coil snapped, and you screamed his name, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you. Your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper as he groaned, his hips slamming into you one last time as he spilled inside you, the heat of his release sending aftershocks through your body.

He stayed there for a moment, his chest heaving against your back, his hands still gripping your hips. Finally, he pulled out, turning you to face him.

His voice cut through the haze like a blade, low and unwavering, carrying a command you couldn’t ignore. “You’re coming home with me,” he said, each word dripping with certainty, as though the decision had already been made. His eyes burned into yours, dark and unrelenting, the heat in them leaving no room for argument.

Your chest heaved, your breaths shallow and uneven, the aftershocks of what just happened still rippling through your body. For a moment, you could only stare at him, trying to gather the words, trying to find your footing when your knees still felt weak. Finally, you managed to smirk, defiance sparking to life beneath the lingering haze of desire. “Good. You think I’m done with you yet?” you asked, your voice soft but edged with challenge.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his lips, his teeth catching the faint glow of moonlight as he stepped closer. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his grip firm but not forceful, pulling you toward him. The intensity in his gaze didn’t falter for a second, and before you could say another word, his mouth was on yours again. The kiss was deeper this time, slower, his lips moving against yours with a deliberate, almost punishing heat, as if to remind you exactly who was in control.

There was no hesitation, no gentleness—just the raw, unrelenting force of his desire pulling you under all over again. The tension between you hadn’t eased; it had simply shifted, the sharp edges softening into something even more dangerous. You kissed him back with equal fervor, letting him take what he wanted, knowing full well you’d take just as much in return.

The ride to his place was a blur—hands tangled, breaths short, the air between you thick with the tension that hadn’t eased since the moment your lips met. By the time you crossed the threshold of his apartment, you were on him again, your back slamming against the door as he kissed you with the same raw, desperate hunger that had pulled you under hours earlier.

That night, you didn’t stop. It wasn’t enough to take him once, to feel him stretch you and wreck you with the force of his body moving against yours. You wanted him again, and again, and again. His bed became the epicenter of your unraveling, the sheets twisted and soaked with the evidence of how thoroughly you both devoured each other.

When his hands weren’t pinning you to the mattress, they were gripping your thighs as he hoisted you onto the kitchen counter, your heels digging into his back as he fucked you into the edge, his name falling from your lips like a mantra. His laughter, low and filthy, echoed in the small space when the glasses on the counter rattled, one crashing to the floor as you clenched around him and shattered apart.

“Careful,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he thrust into you, rough and unrelenting. “I’m starting to think you might break me first.”

The next morning, you didn’t leave. You woke to find him between your legs, his tongue tracing lazy circles that built into a steady crescendo until you came undone again, your fingers gripping his sheets, your cries muffled by the pillow.

And it didn’t stop.

The second night, he took you on the couch, your body draped over the armrest as he fucked into you from behind, one hand gripping your hip, the other tugging your hair hard enough to make you gasp. “You like this?” he growled, his breath hot against the back of your neck.

“Don’t stop,” you panted, and he didn’t—not until your legs shook and the entire apartment smelled like sweat and sex and the heady, addictive pull of him.

By the third night, every surface of his place had been claimed. The bathroom mirror was fogged with steam from the shower where he’d pressed you against the tiles, the water scalding against your back as his lips dragged down your neck, his hand sliding between your legs to work you into a frenzy.

“Look at yourself,” he whispered, his voice cutting through the rush of water, his cock filling you with slow, deliberate thrusts. “Look at how fucking perfect you are like this.”

On the fourth night, he dragged you onto the floor in front of the Christmas tree that lit up his living room in a soft, golden glow. The lights shimmered off your sweat-slick skin as he pinned you there, your legs locked around his waist, his hands digging into your thighs. “Merry fucking Christmas,” he muttered, the smirk on his lips replaced by a raw, open need as he took you hard and fast, your cries echoing in the quiet apartment.

By the fifth night, it wasn’t just the frantic, animalistic need that kept you tangled together. There was a softness beneath the hunger, a lingering touch, a stolen glance that lingered longer than it should have. He kissed you slower, his hands mapping your body like he wanted to memorize every inch of you, like you were more than just someone he wanted but someone he didn’t want to let go of.

The sixth night, he didn’t even make it to the bedroom. He found you in the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of his shirts, and he was on you in an instant, your body pressed to the cool steel of the fridge as he sank into you from behind. “Can’t get enough of you,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you back against him with every thrust.

And then, on the seventh night, something changed.

You’d just finished another round—this time, in his bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, your chest still heaving as he lay beside you, his fingers trailing lazy circles on your thigh. The Christmas lights outside the window cast faint patterns across the room, and for the first time, the silence between you wasn’t filled with heat or lust but something softer.

He turned to you, his eyes searching yours in the dim light. “Stay,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“I always stay,” you teased, your lips curving into a smile as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, his hand sliding up to cradle your face. “I mean… stay with me. Be with me.”

Your breath caught, your heart skipping a beat as his words settled over you. You searched his eyes for any hint of hesitation, but there was none—just that same intensity that had drawn you to him in the first place, now tempered by something gentler, something real.

“You’re serious?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He smirked, but there was no arrogance in it this time, only sincerity. “I don’t fuck someone like this for seven days straight and not mean it,” he said, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

And just like that, he became yours too.

Every day after that was Christmas in its own way. It wasn’t the gifts or the traditions—it was the way he made you feel, like you were the only thing he wanted to wake up to, the only thing he needed to fall asleep beside. You spent the rest of the season wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading into the background.

Because, in the end, he was the gift you never knew you needed.

[maxivstappen]

congrats on 1k again mel 🤍 i'm so proud of u!!

i'm requesting for ur event: the lyrics "you make me wanna fall in love" from "juno" by sabrina, and the driver is oscar piastri

౨ৎ MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE ‧˚. OP81

౨ৎ PART OF MY 1K EVENT & my short n' sweet series (not posted yet) ౨ৎ

summary — you said it was casual, but you both knew it wasn’t. he liked to tell people that he’s certainly not in love with you, so maybe you just had to make him fall in love.

a/n — thank you so much for your constant support ml🥹 im not too happy with how this turned out, but i hope you enjoy reading anyway <3 based on the song ‚juno’ by sab!

warnings — kinda smutty?? jealous!oscar, making out, very suggestive, hints of angst, english isn’t my first language, not proofread

It really wasn’t your fault.

You decided to keep it casual as to not get him into any drama, so that people know his focus was keen on racing - becoming a world champion and whatnot - and also for your sake, because the hate, if you weren’t used to it, really could become unbearable, and the last thing Oscar wanted was for you to have to deal with any of that, you were just way too precious to him for that. So the decision was made. No strings attached.

Stupid, right? No strings attached is something to settle on before being all the way into it. Because at that point of your relationship, there was no way to keep it casual anymore. The only way was to take a few things that had been said two or three times too often back. To leave it all behind and really only do those things for ‚urgent needs‘ . No more spending the night or cooking together or meeting up without the friend group or sneaking away from said friend group just so he could finally rip the dress you had been teasing him with all night right off of you. But he had other plans, he seemed to just keep going with it. Telling you how much he missed you every time he was back from the long weekends, repeating the same three words over and over again as he makes his way down your thighs, kissing every clothed and unclothed spot he could reach from under you.

The first time it happened it was simply an accident, at least that’s what you told everyone. At least that’s what you told yourselves. But your touch and perfume still lingered even after a week, so the next time you saw each other at a birthday party of one of your mutual friends, Oscar couldn’t keep his hands off you either. Confessions of being attracted were spoken out loud and the only thing keeping you from taking it farther was nothing more than a mental holdback. You were scared of the public. He was scared to see you hurt because of that.

After a weekend during summer break spent together you asked him to finally decide on where to go on from this. He blurted out that he’s not in love, so there was no reason for things to get complicated. Your breath hitched. Casual hookups was what he said. Friends with benefits, you chuckled, seemingly angreeing with him as to not make this situation any weirder, even if it hurt just a tiny bit. But he was right. You had a different idea of a perfect life than he had. Racing was his passion, being in the spotlight was part of the sport, and you couldn’t even handle having to hold presentations in class because you hated being the center of attention. You two were just too different.

So yes. It is his fault! Because if he’s really, after all these lovey-dovey moment shared, still not in love — like you admittedly were — then he should stop acting like he did. Why would he get you flowers every few weeks? Why would he gift you a whole vacation with your best friend including hotel, trips and things a sane person wouldn’t even ask for for your birthday, and the rest of your friends would only get a normal birthday card and occasionally whatever small thing they had wished for? If you were really just casual, then why did he treat you as if none of this was ever just casual at all? Why did he treat you like his girlfriend if he so confidently stated that he’s not in love with you just months ago?

He couldn’t expect you not to want him to fall for you too if he was the one who made you fall for him in the first place. As if the “casual” sex wasn’t enough already, he just had to do the most romantic shit for you as to not let you get over him at all. He wanted to play with your head, he made it obvious. Too many mixed signs, too many actions done but too little words said. Lucky for you and for him, two can play the game.

If he was sooo sure he’s not in love with you, which he just had to be, maybe you just had to make him realize his loss if he ever lost you. You had to make sure he knew that you were desired also by men who weren’t him, and since it‘s his fault you fell for him in the first place, he should be the one who has to face he consequences of not loving you back.

In other words, a little jealousy clearly wouldn’t hurt him.

You were getting ready in the bathroom of your apartment together with your best friend, “juno“ by Sabrina Carpenter playing in the background while you gossiped about whatever came to mind — including Oscar and you. It was a secret to everybody else, but not to her. She was the one you cried to after Oscar told you he didn’t have feelings for you.

You finished up your makeup with some lipgloss, and once you were final,y content with your accessories and outfits, you made your way over to your friend’s, jack’s, birthday. Everybody was there, including Oscar. And Lando. His only ally and his biggest rival. If that didn’t make him crack, then nothing would, but you decided to try, at least. Lando and you got along alright already when you had only just met, and he was the first man to point out that Oscar and you aren’t just friends, right?

So when you suddenly put your hand on his arm, slowly rubbing up and down his biceps, he was confused at first, and then caught up on your quick nod in Oscar‘s direction while holding eye contact with him. Lando didn’t mean to do him any harm, but as much as he loved his teammate, he would never be one to turn down an opportunity to mess with him like this, especially not if he knew it would, at last, make Oscar snap so he didn‘t have to listen to his hopeless whining about his relationship with you being oh so complicated. Just ball up and confess, man.

It was innocent at first. Just simple touches, your hand on his chest for just a tiny second because you needed something to steady yourself on as your reached behind him to grab your drink from the small table the couch stood in front of, or his arm around your waist when you all stood next to each other to take a round of shots. Lando was certainly amused and your best friend was winking and giggling at you the whole night, seemingly loving your plan, because Oscar was definitely reacting.

His blood was boiling and he wanted to punch that smug look right off of Lando‘s face. How dare he touch you when he knew that Oscar, his own teammate, loved you?

Oscar thought it was better like this. Playing pretend instead of facing the truth, and he was pretty damn good at doing so. He was sure you believed him when he said that he doesn‘t want your relationship to include anything other than moments of lust, he thought it was easier that way. He thought it would make things less complicated, thought he could live his life without having to put you in any danger, live his life without needing you by his side every second of his damned life if he just put some boundaries. Surprise! It only made things worse, plus apparently, guys seemed to think you were available now, thought they could have you like only he can. And it made him fucking furious.

So when you stood up to pour yourself another drink in the kitchen, he followed, of course not before shooting the other driver for McLaren a death glare. Lando sighed and leanded back in his seat, happy to see your man finally making a real move. He hoped so, at least. Oscar closed the door after entering. It was only you two now.

“Fancy another beer?“ You asked calmly, but the feeling in your stomach was far from calm. This could end in complete rejection, maybe he could see right through your façade and thought you were childish for doing this? But how could you not?! Oscar himself made you do it with his mix of signs every damn time you saw each other!

He shook his head.

The tension between you was palpable as he watched your every move, back turned to him. You felt awkward, but tried to ignore it. The light was dim, and you could still feel the bass vibrating through the floor and the walls coming from the speakers in the living room. Was music this loud even allowed at this hour?

You finished pouring yourself some more champagne when you saw him walking over to you in the reflection of the glass cupboard in front of you. You sucked in a breath, not daring to say anything, feeling slightly hazy from the alcohol you‘ve drunken in the past few hours already. His cologne became starker as he stepped closer to you, eyes closed as you let the familiar smell of him take over you completely. You only opened them again once you realized he caged you between himself and the counter, pressing himself against your behind. He started softly kissing down your neck behind your ear, almost tickling you with how light his lips felt against your hot skin. You wanted this, you wanted him. But his touch wasn’t nearly enough, you wanted all of him, and not just his body. Every yet so little interaction you had during the evening left you with butterflies going crazy in your tummy, yet he never seemed affected, not until Lando came into view. Did he really only want your body and not more?

“What were you doing with him, y/n?”

Nothing but a moan left your mouth as he gently bit into your skin, sucking on your sweet spot as you subconsciously rubbed up against him. You didn’t even want to reply, you just wanted him to keep caressing your skin with his mouth. “Tell me what you were doing with Lando, huh, baby? What were you thinking?”

“Oscar I-“

“Keep talking or I’ll stop,” he whispered as he made his way down your back and then back up your shoulder, kissing and mouthing at every spot. Thankfully your best friend had convinced you to wear the backless top, you thought.

You huffed. This felt so humiliating, but you couldn’t keep going like this, not when he makes you feel like this and then leaves like nothing ever happened. You lived a lie and it was time to stop.

“I was trying to make you jealous so that you would finally stop and do something!”

Oscar’s furrowed his eyebrows and stopped in his tracks, hands still on you. What were you talking about The tension came crashing down onto your body once again, his doing not distracting you anymore. You seemed to want to have this conversation, and Oscar could easily put some of his lust away in moments like these. You didn’t get a reply, the cue for you to turn around and face him. You were still caged between him and the counter, his hands steady on either side of you now as he leaned down to look at you. you couldn’t focus like this, not with him so close to you and with the alcohol running through your body like blood. You looked up at him with doe eyes, prettily batting your lashes even if your mascara was slightly smudged already.

“Stop what? Talk to me, please. I didn’t like seeing you with him,” he looked concerned. Worried even, worried about what he might have done wrong. He wanted to be with you, keep you as his, so why would you want to stop being exactly that?

“Why don‘t you love me?“ You whispered, tears forming in your eyes. You hated it, but it was inevitable. The confrontation was overwhelming you anyway, and being under the influence managed to make it a lot worse. Your hands were all shaky and so was your every breath as you anticipated his reaction, expecting rejection but still hoping for more.

“I- What? Why would you think that?“

“Maybe because you literally said so?“

“Uhm, okay fair point. Listen y/n,“ he sighed, and you could practically hear your heartbeat throbbing inside your chest. He thought for a second, but didn‘t say a thing. Instead, he grabbed your face and kissed you like never before, he kissed you with more than just passion, he kissed you with love. his fingers wiped away a tear that had rolled down your face, kissing and holding you as gently as he could. “Don‘t cry on me, y/n, please don‘t,“ he begged as he now kissed down your cleavage, leaving lovebites on your collarbones. “Was just being stupid, didn‘t wanna hurt you baby, thought long distance is too hard,“ he said something, anything to make you understand that the only reason he didn’t confess was because he was scared of his life not being compatible with yours, and not because he didn’t love you.

You smiled into the kiss once he reached your lips again. You‘d have to talk about it more tomorrow morning after taking some aspirin, you knew, after all, that you‘d go back home with him. It wasn‘t enough to make it official, you weren‘t boyfriend and girlfriend, but you finally had the guarantee that he felt the same way, that he loved you just like you did him.

Oscar swore himself at that exact moment, when he felt you smiling while his lips were dancing against yours, that he would never make you feel so unloved again. It wasn’t his intention in the first place, but seeing your beautiful eyes filled with tears because of him made his heart shatter, and he never wants to see you like that again, not if he was the reason for your pain. And even though you did have to make him realize through making him jealous, you certainly didn’t have to make him fall in love with you.

Because he already was.

౨ৎ general taglist / sns taglist ::

@norrisdriver / @1655clean

[dizzying-waves]

Yeah, I know the ML special came out but I'm not interested in watching it.

Not because I think it's going to be bad or anything. I'm just so burnt out on the show.

[lov3lyl3tters]

HEY LOVIE ITS ME 💕

I have two ideas so you can choose whichever!! :)

1. Spencer Reid x shy!fem!reader who just admires him from afar but is often a little too shy to talk to him?? (Idk lol)

2. Postprison!grumpy!Spencer Reid x sunshine!fem!reader who just lights up his world?

Sorry I don’t have plots in mind, but just concept ides if you want.

Thanks for reading this and putting it into consideration I love your stories they’re so amazingly beautiful. 😁💕💕

“𝓘𝓷 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭”

summary: Reader has always admired Spencer Reid from afar—too shy to speak, too soft to be noticed. But when Spencer asks for her help on a case file, a quiet moment turns into something warmer, softer, and maybe even the start of something.

contains: mutual pining, pure fluff (that’s literally it😭)

A/N: THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST ML<333

You weren’t invisible.

But you did keep to yourself—floating through the bullpen like a quiet breeze, always polite, always soft-spoken. You were content in your corner of the chaos, eyes glued to your monitor, mind buried in case files. And maybe—just maybe—you peeked at Spencer Reid a little too often.

Not in a creepy way. Just in a quiet, heart-fluttering, “I wish I could talk to him without melting into the floor” kind of way.

He fascinated you. With his mismatched socks and constant rambling, the way his hands moved when he talked and how his eyes lit up when someone actually listened. He was brilliant, awkward, and weirdly gentle in a world that rarely was. You admired him from a distance, content with tiny stolen glances and half-formed “hellos.”

So when Spencer stopped at your desk one Thursday afternoon, holding a file and smiling sheepishly, your soul nearly left your body.

“H-hi,” he said, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Um—I was wondering if you’d mind looking over something with me?”

You blinked. “Me?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. You’re always really focused, and I—I’ve seen your work, it’s super thorough, and Hotch says you have a great instinct for victimology patterns, and I just thought… I mean, if you’re not busy…”

You stared at him for a second too long. He noticed. You flushed. He flushed back.

“N-no! I mean—yes. I’d love to help,” you rushed out, scooting your chair over. “Totally not busy. I was just… reading the same paragraph five times.”

Spencer chuckled, his smile softening. “I do that too.”

He pulled up a chair beside you, and for the next fifteen minutes, you tried to focus on the file—but it was hard with him so close, elbow brushing yours occasionally, his voice low and thoughtful as he talked through the data. Every so often, you’d glance at him from the corner of your eye, only to find him already looking at you.

“You’re really good at this,” he said quietly after a while.

You looked down, smiling softly. “Thanks.”

There was a moment—a sweet, still pause where the world seemed to fade into the hum of the bullpen, and it was just you and him in your little corner of it.

“You know,” Spencer said, his voice softer now, “I’ve been trying to find an excuse to talk to you.”

You blinked. “Really?”

He nodded, almost bashful. “You always look like you’re in your own little world. I wanted to know what it was like there.”

You smiled—small and a little stunned. “Mostly just case files and overthinking things.”

“That sounds… kind of nice,” he said, grinning.

You laughed—quiet and warm, like it surprised even you.

And then—Spencer just looked at you. Not in a staring way, but in that full-attention, “I see you” kind of way. The kind that made your cheeks feel hot and your heart feel full.

“I’m glad I came over,” he said simply.

“I’m glad you did too,” you whispered.

He smiled again—brighter this time. “So… maybe I’ll come by more often?”

Your heart flipped, but your voice found itself for once.

“I’d like that,” you said. “A lot.”

And Spencer—brilliant, sweet, totally endearing Spencer—looked like someone had just handed him the stars.

[aquasoftware]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 ˳ᐟ

FT | Waitress!Reader ✘ Kento N.

Desc | Kento Nanami prospers in routine—until it starts to feel like a cage. One night out with the help of Satoru turns into a quiet obsession when he meets a pretty waitress that becomes his new exciting adventure.

CW | Fluff, simp!Nanami, wingman!Satoru, love at first sight trope, slight cultural inaccuracy (tipping isn’t a thing in Japan, but roll with it <33)

WC | 1.2K ➜ ML

A/N : This is heavily based on Alicia Key’s song

All Kento knew was his morning coffee with extra vanilla creamer, work, and the occasional stop at the local bakery.

In the late evenings, he’d settle into his cozy home—Laufey crackling on the record player while reading yet another romance novel, his typical routine, which repeated on loop all 365 days of the year.

However, that day-to-day predictability started to bore even someone like Kento—who thrived on the easiness of structure and quietly judged those without it.

Nowadays it felt as suffocating as a tie too tight around his neck.

Lately he’d stare at a paragraph for minutes on the page—realizing that none of the words had stuck in his brain. Often daydreaming about new exciting adventures while the world around him faded to white noise.

And could anything feel more adventurous than Satoru—of all friends he had—inviting him out to a retro diner?

Nope! that’s exactly why he came here with him, at least after some arm-twisting (and the promise of mouth watering garlic bread appetizers), he’d given in.

But the moment he saw you in a pastel-blue mini dress with a crisp white apron and black-and-white roller skates, strolling to table seven, all thoughts of garlic bread, and music humming from the jukebox vanished.

He studied you like a masterpiece come alive—every careful step, each tilt of your wrist as you balanced the menus with ballerina-like grace.

“Hiii!! I’m Y/n—your server for today. Welcome to Aqua’s Diner. How may I take your order?” A bright smile flourished on your lips, almost as flashy as your dangly earrings.

He felt the weight of your dreamy eye contact roaming towards only him as if poor Satoru was a ghost, maybe that was just one of his many daydreams though.

Breaking out of his thoughts, his hands rested on his slacks as you slid the menus across the table, before brushing your hair away from your face using your manicured nails. Then clicking your fancy red pen, you pulled out your notepad ready for orders.

He cleared his throat like it’d help the upcoming voice crack. “I would like…um…uh…”

His gaze darted between you and Satoru, heart thudding like a bass drum beneath his prussian-blue button-up.

“What would you recommend? I’ve never been here, so this is a new experience for me.” Kento asked, gulping as he fixed his collar with his sweaty fingertips.

“Ahh, first timer?” You mused, tapping the pen onto your chin. “Try The Hungry Shark—linguine Alfredo topped with parmesan, fresh basil and crab. It comes with garlic bread on the side.”

Kento gave a small grin “The name seems very misleading..” He half-joked, a soft chuckle escaping after “But I trust your call—I'll have that, please.”

You nodded, took Satoru’s order, and rolled away on your skates.

Satoru leaned in like a detective busting a case, eyebrows wiggling as he spread both hands on the table. “Oooohhhh—‘I trust your call,’ huh? What’s that about?”

“Satoru, calm down—it’s nothing like that,” Kento protested, as heat crept up his neck, blooming into a dusty rose atop his cheeks. He already regretted letting Satoru drag him out tonight.

The truth was unavoidable though, a lie detector would catch him, betraying him on the first question. He’d never been so flustered—or so alive—around anyone else.

Especially the constant stream of sending Satoru’s phone texts desperately asking to come back–seeing the waitress on Lennox street. Over and over, it became Kento’s new routine—and consumed his every thought.

Satoru’s phone would buzz continuously:

“Can we go back please? I need to see her again.”

“Lennox Street, right? Meet me there.”

He squared his shoulders, trying to sound firm, but his fingers shook the entire time. Every memory of the first day he saw you made his heart race at the thought of seeing your face again.

That Thursday evening it would mark their tenth time there, the neon sign of Aqua’s Diner glowed against the gathering dusk as the bell above the door jingled each time new customers sauntered in.

They sat by their usual window booth, the late-daylight softening the diner's edges, but Satoru noticed something.

Kento usually hated small talk—yet with you, he found excuses.

Every time you glided by their table—your skates singing smoothly on the linoleum—he’d throw his friend a pointed look and gear into, “Hey, have you heard Laufey’s Everything I Know About Love album?”

Or “Do you think the protagonist in my book made the right choice?” he’d ask Satoru, hoping you’d swoop into the conversation like a creative fairy godmother.

When your eyes lit up and you launched into your take, it felt like he’d scored the winning goal—and his crush shot straight to the clouds.

Satoru watched you both as you paused mid-discussion to refill his water glass, hair catching the overhead light and gleaming like spun silk.

Tonight, you’d tucked a few loose strands into a delicate colorful clip, and a thin chain of freshwater pearls peeked above your apron pocket—subtle touches, but enough to widen his grin in amused approval.

He shifted in his seat and caught Kento’s eye. He looked impossibly tense, sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, as if he were daring you to notice how the soft lamplight traced every muscle.

He’d left an embarrassingly large tip on the table last time—another unspoken hint—and Kento was even wearing his glasses tonight, almost as if he’d rehearsed looking smarter just to impress you.

“That’s it,” Satoru muttered under his breath, though his tone was all warmth. He pushed back from the table. “I can’t take it anymore.”

You paused mid-pour, eyebrows lifted. “Satoru?”

He held up a hand in apology for what he was about to spill, then turned to Kento.

“Dude, you’ve been mooning over her every night—you roll your sleeves up, you flash her that bored-but-not-really look, you tip like you’re bribing her to personally solve Japan’s declining birth rate, and you barely even remember her name, enough! I’m going to say it.”

Kento’s jaw clenched, but there was no stopping Satoru now. He stood and cleared his throat—loud enough to make both of you look up.

“Maybe… I barely remember her name because I’m too busy admiring her,” he fired back, side eyeing him.

You slightly rolled forward, curiosity pouring in your eyes.

“See, exactly my point! my friend here—Kento—thinks you’re absolutely stunning.”

Your cheeks warmed as you turned to Kento, whose mouth had gone suddenly dry. You caught him fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve, then offering you a shy, crooked smile.

“Well,” you said, dipping your head with a playfully fiddling with your pearls, “I think your friend is pretty handsome, too.”

Before he could answer, you pressed the bill toward him—and the back of it read, in careful red-ink:

“If you’d like to see me outside my apron, call me.”

Satoru settled back with a triumphant nod and held up his hand for a high-five—only for Kento to stare so long at the paper that he completely missed it. His pupils widened, goosebumps rippling up his arms, and his heart thundered in his chest, fireworks exploding behind his ribs.

“I appreciate the offer,” he murmured, as if he were signing a contract.

“Kento, you’re so awkward. Oh my god,” Satoru shook his head in disbelief.

“And where’s my thank you? I’m practically a spring cupid.”

Hesitantly he whispered “Thank you.”

“Also I need a dessert to-go for this and all”

“Now you’re pushing it, Satoru.”

You just giggled at their little back-and-forth, then slid away to tend other tables.

Kento clumsily tucked the paper into his pocket, and tried to straighten his shirt—hard to focus on anything else, but thoughts of a wedding with you already rose in his head and you two weren’t even dating yet.

Dividers/Boarders produced by | strangergraphics + kodaswrld.

Song written by Koi’lani/@aquasoftware. ©

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