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jjjjisun · 3 months ago

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My Playmate, My Sister (Part 3)

Hanni X Irene X Male Reader | 14429 words

TW: Incest

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Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

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Hanni was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen; more than that, she was smoking hot. Her adorable facial features, soft blonde hair, fantastic personality, and many other attributes made her beautiful. Her breath-taking body, her breasts, that sexy way she walked, the way she teased me, that's what made her hot.

Hanni had returned from "school" only a few weeks before, and before she did, she had been, first and foremost, my sister. Now, that hadn't changed; we still shared that same love for each other, and I felt I needed to protect her as I always had. However, after the last two nights, we shared, sharing each other, and things deepened between us, and we agreed it was for the better. Hanni had always been a great sister, and we had always been very open with each other; talking about our romantic interests and often touching lightly upon the involved sexual activity was rarely out of the question. But this was a new type of openness; she was my sister and a fantastic lover.

I had seen Hanni on the cover of Playboy, her first shoot with them happening to catch my glance as I walked through a local convenience store. I had seen her in gallery upon gallery of subsequent photo shoots for the magazine, completely naked and sprawled out for me to see. I knew it wasn't just for me, and so did Playboy because they were planning on making her Playmate of the Year for all the success her nakedness had brought them. But when Hanni got home, what I saw was just for me; her sexiness and the perfection she'd brought to the pages of the world-famous magazine was within my grasp. Something clicked between the two of us, and whether it was the way I could not take my eyes off of her or the security and comfort she found in being in her brother's arms, I do not know. However, I know one thing now: I am the luckiest brother in the world.

It isn't all so romantic; having the cute little playmate around me and constantly recalling the feeling of being inside her and the desire to do so again is far from that. But can I be blamed? I mean, it's like everything she does plays right into my desire for her. From how she squeezes my leg as she lifts herself out of the car to the bouncy strut she pulls off as she crosses the causeway onto the boat... like I said, I couldn't take my eyes off her. As we made our way to the sailboat we'd agreed to take a trip on when our parents interrupted what was going to be a sex-filled week for the both of us, even the traveling outfit she wore had me at half-mast all day long. As I watched her checking out the boat from top to bottom, squealing at its more luxurious features, I took her in greedily.

That first day, she wore jean shorts that could have been painted on. Her cute butt taunted me as she leaned over the side rail and looked down at the cool blue water. If our parents and their friends hadn't been right there, I would have come up behind her and let us both feel my hips against hers as I pinned her against the rail. Above the shorts was a cropped, loose, and transparent top that hung over one shoulder at an angle, displaying the soft skin of her shoulder and neck and, of course, the sexy, muscular midsection that I couldn't get enough of. Under the top was a pink bikini, or maybe it was a bra... either way, it pushed her breasts up just so and even though I'd held them naked and complete in my hands, I felt like I'd never seen them before hidden underneath layers of clothing I just wanted to tear off.

She knew it too. Hanni smiled at me with every chance she got, and even wiggled her butt at me when she knew the others weren't looking. A few times, she'd catch my eye and then reach down to adjust her top, shaking her beautiful tits in place and pushing them up further; I had to sit down and catch my breath when she did that. She spent the few hours we took preparing the boat as an opportunity to drive me crazy over her. By the time we finally cast off and were leaving the harbor it was all I could do not to grab her tiny frame in my arm and drag her downstairs to fuck her silly for all the trouble she'd put me through.

But we finally cast off and got out to sea, and things calmed down a bit. We sat on soft, colorful cushions in the stern of the boat with the sail billowing above us and a cool breeze brushing back the wisps of hair that had fallen from behind Hanni's ear. Hanni draped my arm over her innocently, and we chatted about everything under the sun with the adults. When it came to Hanni's college life, I had to play it extremely cool, knowing that she hadn't told anyone from home about her work with Playboy. But we made it through and chatted as the luxurious sailboat cut through the ocean waves and out further and further until land was only a dot on the horizon.

Hanni was hands-down the hottest female under the Pacific sun that day if you asked me, but that wasn't really a fair contest, and another woman aboard was giving her some competition. The man my parents had been invited aboard was an old work friend of my dad's and his new wife. My dad and his friend Jinwoo were successful partners at a law firm and had done very well for themselves, including the women they had married. My parents were getting older, though still in great shape. Jinwoo was much the same: a good-looking guy with a kind disposition and salt-and-pepper gray hair that, combined with the apparent wealth, had brought him Irene. Irene seemed to be a great wife for him, loving and trustworthy, but obviously, that wasn't the only reason he'd chosen her for the long haul.

Irene was young, probably only in her early thirties, and didn't even look that. She had long, wavy black hair. Jinwoo was proud of marrying her, and I'd heard him boasting about his sex life with the gorgeous brunette to my dad on more than one occasion - sure, he was a generous guy, but as money often does to people, he was also kind of a tool. Still, I thought 'good for him' as I saw him not-so-innocently holding his wife against him in their place across from me. I might have even found myself desiring her if I didn't have the soft skin of my sister pressed against my shirtless torso, reminding me that there was nothing more desirable than her. When Jinwoo playfully grabbed at Irene's thigh, I glanced over at Hanni, and when our eyes met, I knew their antics were turning her on.

Irene stood up at one point (I couldn't help but notice that she had a great body as I saw her stretch in front of us) and invited Hanni to help her get drinks:

"Hey girlfriend, want to help me throw some margaritas together for everybody?"

In her usually bubbly tone, Hanni responded, "Sure, Irene, lead the way."

As they headed below deck I watched both of their bikini covered asses swish back and forth on their way to the hatch and then disappear. When they returned, I was blessed with the view of their front. Irene was not as alluring to me as Hanni, but she was just right in her sexy way. Hanni must have caught me checking out Irene because she gave me a squinty, knowing look as she sat down and handed me the slushy drink. We chatted some more, and Hanni kept up her antics. She scooted closer into me and licked her lips when I looked at her; she was unbearable.

By the time Irene suggested that we drop anchor and go for a swim as the sun set, I was completely stiff and struggling to position my penis so that it didn't bare itself for anyone to see. Hanni knew of course, and even wrapped as much of her hand around it as she could when we were the last ones on deck before she hopped in the water. I was going to teach her a lesson that night for sure.

We waded in the water, with more back-and-forth chatter and a floating tray of drinks between us. Everyone stayed pretty warm in the cool water, with all the alcohol being passed around. Hardly anyone noticed when Hanni challenged me to a race and took off before I could say yes, heading for the front of the boat. I caught up to her and grabbed her ankle, pulling her tiny frame back and feeling it brush along as I passed her.

She screamed, "Cheater!" as I swam to the front of the boat and made contact with it before she could. I looked at her with boastful pride as she paddled the rest of the distance to me, defeated. I grabbed her hand and helped her float next to me; she was tired from the swim.

"That's not fair," Hanni complained.

"I'll tell you what's not fair..."

Now, we were concealed from the view of our parents, Irene and Jinwoo, at the front of the boat. I could still hear them laughing and bantering as I lifted Hanni's hands over her head to a bar in the railing. She held them there, lifted ever so slightly out of the water.

"What's not fair is all the teasing you've been doing all day and the fact that I could do nothing about it. That's not fair."

She was stretched out in front of me, and her legs wrapped around me, helping me to float there and pulling me closer to her. So much skin...so much of her flawless body was on display for me, and her beautiful stomach, the subtle protrusion of her ribcage from her lifted arms...I was in heaven.

"What will you do about it, bro?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

I took both hands and planted them firmly on either side of her waist, sending them upwards and hearing her breathe out sexily in appreciation. It was answer enough for her and she approved further when I pushed the tip of my cock against her mound. Even covered in hers and my bathing suits, it was apparent that her head was indenting lightly into her, and if it wasn't, then her involuntary gasp proved it.

"Oh God... this is so naughty with them right over there....just like when you..." I thrust again "Ooohh Oppa..... just like when you fucked me in the car last night."

"Just like I'm going to tonight..." I told her, holding my hands over her breasts and massaging them.

"Mmmm, how about right now?" she tested.

I looked into her eyes, searching to see whether she was serious. I mean, our little secret fuck in the car was risky in itself, but only 30 feet away in broad daylight were four people that could catch us and make for a very awkward sailing trip. She looked serious.

"I don't know about that..." I said.

I knew we were taking too many risks; there was so much to lose, and I didn't think I could stand having Hanni any way other than she was to me now. Hanni knew too, but she seemed too entranced in our foreplay to give it much thought. It may have been risky, but her body just felt terrific in my greedy hands, and Hanni was more than loving the attention. I kept repeating the pressure between her pussy lips and Hanni cooed a few times at the stimulation of her thin bottoms grinding against her clit. My resolve was chipping away by the second...

I heard one of the adults laugh loudly at a joke on the other side of the boat, and it caught Hanni's attention. As she looked in their direction, I promptly took advantage of her distraction and swiped simultaneously at the strings behind her neck and torso. Hanni scoffed and tried to reach for her sui,t but I was too fast. I locked one hand around the fingers of her left hand, holding it immutably against the rail above. The other pulled her top away so fast she couldn't even come close to grabbing it back with her right hand.

"You are ridiculous," she said, looking at me sideways, but I was hardly paying attention.

With her hand over her head her tits hung spectacularly, glistening from the water and high on her chest. I could see her muscles stretching to hold her up, from her flat tummy that disappeared into the water below up to her neck. Dear God, I'll never see a more beautiful sight than that in my entire life.

"Like what you see? Mmmm..." she sighed when I took her hanging breast into my hand and caressed it gently with the tips of my fingers. My fingernails grazed the skin, and then I just held her breast in my hand, feeling her goose bumps against my palm with my fingers on her perky pink nipple. I'd never felt anything so amazing before I swore to myself, and this wasn't the first time I'd had my hands wrapped around her perfect chest. Hanni just kept getting better and better, and I wanted to make love to her right there with our parents and their friends so dangerously close.

"Jesus Hanni, I swear you're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen."

"Awww... you're so sweet ...mmmhh... And just think, I'm all yours..." she whispered, positively glowing from my compliment. She probably knew how I felt before I'd said it; my cock had grown even more enormous and complicated as I continued to prod at her covered slit with it gently. Hanni maneuvered her free hand so that her palm lay against my strong abs, and then she pushed it downward and painfully slowly. Under the waistband of my shorts, it went down further...until only her thumb and forefinger were touching the base of my stiff shaft.

I cringed; the feeling of her tiny hand on my steel-hard rod was phenomenal. I brought my head down to her chest, holding one of her soft breasts up and taking her nipple into my lips.

"Oooh, be careful! I'm really sensitive there," she shrieked. I backed off only slightly, trailing my tongue around the tiny areola before circling the erect little nub. Hanni was breathing harder, and it made me happy for her to enjoy my worship of her chest. As I finally took the whole nipple into my mouth and then sucked at it gently, Hanni wrapped around as much of my cock as she could get her hand on in one swift motion.

"I'm sensitive there too, ahhhh," I mocked. As I said it, Hanni firmly stroked up and down on my shaft, wrapping her palm around my head before she returned her encircling fingers to my base once again. We were like teenagers; neither of us could get enough of each other fast enough as we'd been able to display painfully little affection all day. I kept sucking at erect nipple, and more aggressively now. Eventually, I began pinching it between my front teeth just enough to get her calling my name between deep breaths:

"... oh, Oppa..... If you keep doing that... ugh... I think I might..."

I was still grinding the tip of my cock into the depression in her bottoms that my efforts were making. My tip was now just entering her, impeded by our clothing but pleasing due to the cool water around us. She ensured I was lined up just right as she slid her hand up and down my prodding staff. She was loving it and as her panting picked up and I was stimulating both her nipples and clit I knew that I'd send her into climax soon. Hell, a few minutes more, and I would probably release a gallon of sperm into the water between us.

"gotta be.... OOohhhhH..... quiet," she was tryin tog talk herself into keeping silent but wasn't succeeding all that well. Her attention to my cock faltered but I couldn't have cared less; the gorgeous little playmate's orgasm was all I was focused on and I felt I owed it to her to...

"Y/N....... Hanni!" he sounded concerned. My dad was calling out our names from the other side of the boat. I hadn't even considered that they would worry about us after we had swum off and not returned.

"Yeah, Dad?" I answered, my head settled just an inch or less inside my sister; she was still heaving and didn't stop her attempts to keep my cock massaging her pussy.

"Where's Hanni?" He was yelling over the boat.

"I'm here, Daddy!" I was honestly surprised to hear her pull it together enough to respond.

"What are you guys doing? I don't want you drowning on my watch.

"We were just...mmmh," she was still so aroused and had only slightly come down. "Playing daddy... jeez we're not kids anymore." She squeezed my shaft as she said it.

"Alright, well, come on back over. We've got margaritas waiting for you!" He had no idea.

Hanni slumped into my arms, and I held us up with a hand still gripping the boat. She managed a few more frustrated thrusts against me before she gave in and looked into my eyes. They were so beautiful, even with disappointment for being held back and having been so close. A deep and mesmerizing combination of cool grey and lively green, they peered into me, and I was lost in her. Hanni's naked chest felt terrific against my chest and shoulders, bringing me out of my haze. We cuddled for a few too-short moments while Hanni accepted that I couldn't give her what she wanted unless we wanted to be found out.

She turned around, and I helped her wrap the tiny bikini top back around her, happily pausing to make sure the cups were supporting her breasts in the right way. My hands took their last chance to hold on to the pliable flesh before tying her strings and taking her back to the water. She shot me a glance that told me she knew exactly what I was after and then headed toward our parents. Even how she swam back, cutting through the water like a true athlete, added to her complete and utter prowess and perfection.

We returned to the circle and couldn't risk looking too longingly at each other, though we desperately wanted to—and a lot more than that. Nobody was the wiser, I comfortably assured myself. We chatted until the sun was only a glowing memory beneath the horizon and then climbed back on the deck. Hanni grabbed my arm and pulled me back from the group.

"Did you see Irene?" Her eyes were wide.

I thought I had been caught checking out the 30-something-year-old hottie, so I tried to deny it: "What... who... Oh her, yeah, she seems nice."

"No, silly," Hanni rolled her eyes. I know she's hot; I wouldn't blame you if you thought so. I mean, did you see the way she was looking at us?"

"No, I have no idea what you're talking about," I told her, concerned.

"She was staring at me pretty strangely. I think she knows what's up."

"No way, how could she? We were quiet, and it's not like we gave ourselves away before then..."

Just then, like clockwork, Irene popped her head around the corner. We were leaned over the edge of the boat inconspicuously, so it didn't make me nervous that she was seeing us together.

"Hey guys, so you want a burger or a brat?" she asked.

We both told her what we wanted and then relaxed a bit, she was being pretty normal for someone Hanni had just suspected of knowing I'd had my cock rubbing against my sister's pussy.

"Oh, and by the way, honey," she said quieter now, her grin speaking volumes as she said, "I think your top is inside out."

Hanni and I looked down simultaneously, and Irene disappeared around the corner. It wouldn't jump out at you if you weren't looking for it, but it was obvious. Hanni's suit was inside out, and Irene had noticed it after we returned from our little disappearance, hence the weird looks to Hanni.

"Oh god, do you think mom and dad noticed?" Hanni asked with fear in her eyes.

"No way. We got out of the water last, and they would have definitely said something. Irene must have seen it when we were swimming back. Mom and Dad were turned away from us then." I tried to comfort her, but it wasn't really working.

"Do you think she'll tell?" Hanni was only slightly less worried.

"No, she seems too cool to go making accusations like that." I retorted

"That's true, and I swear she was trying to coax something out of me when she told me she thought you were hot earlier."

I smiled widely, and my heart jumped when she said that. It felt pretty good that a beautiful woman like Irene thought I was handsome or 'hot,' as Hanni had said.

"Oh, you're unbelievable," Hanni slapped my arm. "I guess you can have her for the rest of this trip the," she said as she turned away from me.

"Oh, come on, Hanni!" I pulled at her sid,e but she didn't lean into me like she usually did. "She's got nothing on you. I can't walk around this boat without a huge bulge in my shorts with you in that bikini. It's torture not being able to show you and tell you every second how attracted to you I am!"

She looked over her shoulder at me, pouting but clearly affected by my compliment. I slipped my hand around her waist and felt the band of her bikini tickle my fingertips as they brushed over her hipbones. My hand rested on her tummy, only briefly with the knowledge of our shipmates only feet away. Hanni rotated in my grasp, my fingers trailing around her as she turned face to face with me and pushed in close. She glanced toward the direction of our parents, scanning to see if we were in sight of them. When she was satisfied nobody was watching, she stood up on her toes, the soles of her feet stretching and her back arching to bring her to the right height she planted a soft kiss on my lips. She lingered for only a second or two with her eyes looking right at the lips she'd just kissed, and then I watched my sister walk off around the corner and sit down like nothing had happened.

I followed a moment later (after the bulge in my trunks had settled to a manageable level) and sat down across from her. The last rays of sun skimmed over her long legs, crossed sexily and hanging down toward the wooden deck. I can hardly remember what we talked about now for the hour or so we sat around eating and chatting, Hanni's kiss and the many events of the day had me swimming in my own thoughts and fantasies. I imagined that nobody was there, and I crossed the gap between me and my little playmate sister, pinning her against the plush white cushions and ripping off her clothes.

The only thing to distract me was the delicious food...that and the way Irene had handed it off to me. I had been keeping an eye on her as she fidgeted around in front of the hot grill, scratching her leg with a raised foot here and tossing her hair around. She may have been married but she had not lost a hint of her youth and verve. Her swaying about while preparing our dinner already had me at alert, so when I saw her reach down and obviously fluff her tits in her striped bikini I was finding myself growing stiff already. Then she approached me with a plate of food and came closer than I expected; I was frozen to her. She leaned in, handing me the plate and lingering, bent over at the waist and setting it down on the table beside me. Her breasts were hanging magnificently, the flesh struggling against her top. Just before she stood up she caught my gaze and I knew that she'd seen what I was looking at. I'd have been mortified at being caught red-handed if the look in her eyes and upon her lips wasn't one of subtle mischief.

When the sun had gone all the way down, Jinwoo showed us the beautiful television screen that ascended from a hidden panel in the stern of the boat behind the mini-bar. The seats on the deck were also perfectly set up for viewing the movie he was about to put on: some romantic comedy to please the ladies on their first night aboard. Jinwoo opened up one of the cabinets and pulled out some thick, woven blankets, tossing one each to the couples and apologizing to Hanni and I that he didn't have one for each of us.

"They can share honey," Irene interjected quickly, "right guys?"

"Yeah it's no problem, sir, thanks!" Hanni said happily and tossed the blanket over both of us.

"Please Hanni, call me Jinwoo, Mr. makes me feel like my dad," Jinwoo joked while Hanni settled down and spread the blanket out over us.

The sun was all the way down now, and a light breeze ruffled Hanni's hair gently with her head laid upon my shoulder. She giggled when a few strands caught in my mouth and I spit them back out; I nudged her head to get her back. There was only the sound of the movie and the ocean breeze gently clanging a jib or a hook somewhere on deck. It was a beautiful night to be cozied up with my secret playmate, both the most gorgeous girl I'd ever made love to and my very own sister.

I was still half-mast myself from all of Irene's antics and the desire for my sister I'd been unable to act out all day. As I worked my hand to the inside of Hanni's thigh she wasted no time in finding my hardness through the outside of my shorts.

"Hmmmm....." she whispered in my ear, "you really like this movie huh...?"

"Oh Hanni...." I whispered back as Hanni ran her hand over the outline of my shaft and head.

She then began untying my strings, and the anticipation nearly killed me as I felt her working the laces through the holes to allow her easier access. When she'd finally got it she stopped once more to hold my cock through the fabric. All the while her efforts were concealed by the blanket over us. I looked around, nervous. 'God this is dangerous,' I thought, but I was in no state to object. By the time Hanni finally decided to free me from my fabric confines, I was so hard I thought I was going to rip my suit.

She traced her fingers from the bottom of my pole to the top in one, long stroke; her fingers were barely making contact. When she reached the top she equally slowly encircled me with her whole hand and then pushed it downward in one smooth stroke. It was unbelievable, something told me I couldn't even hope to do better myself. Hanni's nimble fingers, cooler than my red-hot member, felt glorious holding me like they were. I looked down to Hanni who's head was still nestled against me. She turned and planted a little kiss on my shoulder before looking back to the television to keep up our pretended innocence.

The pleasure was building and Hanni began to stroke me more hastily. I struggled to keep a straight face in case my parents were to turn around and look our way. They were dozing off together; my worries about them abated. I then turned my gaze toward Irene and Jinwoo. Jinwoo looked to be distracted with his phone and...............Irene was staring right at us.

Hanni was pumping me quickly now, and a close observer would see the blanket shivering atop us. Irene was a close observer; she didn't take her eyes off us as I neared orgasm. I knew I should tell Hanni that we were being watched....I knew....oh God, her hand was just stroking me so amazingly. Hanni had no idea that Irene could see her jerking her brother's cock under the blanket, and I was too consumed with her touch to risking jeopardizing it. I couldn't....I couldn't let this end before Hanni finished me off. Hanni was grinning as she looked directly toward the screen; she loved how she could feel my body flexing and relaxing and my cock pulsing in her hand. She wasn't the only one smiling though; Irene across the deck was watching the two of us, grinning naughtily and ignoring both her husband and the movie.

She made eye contact with me and raised her eyebrows, I knew we were had, but I could tell that Irene was far from giving us up. She licked her lips and stared at the two of us, brother and sister, nuzzled beneath the blanket her husband had given us and doing something very taboo.

I was close now. My hand was rubbing at Hanni's inner thigh more strongly, grasping at her tight skin and brushing back and forth across her covered mound. Hanni stroked faster, faster...up and down went her tiny hand. My balls ached for release and Hanni pumped above them to bring it. She grasped tighter, stimulating my sensitive head when she reached it each time and then jerking it down with the skin clasped in her tender palms. I could feel it coming, seconds away now. I looked from Hanni to Irene, and Irene could see my state as well as Hanni could feel it; her mouth was nearly opened and her eyes searched mine to see me climax.

A few more strokes...just a few more...Hanni was did not stop for a second, stroking me for all I was worth. I began to cum, my body first flexed in that first second or two. Then I felt the semen rising from within me, jetting across me onto Hanni's side. I was only vaguely aware of Irene's eyes upon me as I shot a second time onto my sister's abdomen and thigh. She was directing my cock toward her beneath the blanket, still coaxing more of my sperm out between us. A pump of it caught her thigh and some of mine; still I kept coming. The jizz was spewing onto her hand now, and my sister jerked me a few more times before I had to grab her hand to stop her.

We were both sticky and covered in my load beneath the blanket, but Hanni kept her hand wrapped around my cock, holding me firmly and not letting go. I looked back in Irene's direction; she smiled at me brightly and then scooted closer to her husband, taking her eyes off of us and back to the movie. I couldn't believe how turned on I was that Irene had just watched my sister jerk me off under a blanket like high-school lovers. I would have dwelled on it further, but I was spent. It was then that I felt Hanni wiping us off beneath the blanket with a towel of some sort. She cleaned off our skin, and then my partially softened penis, which was an unbearable feeling in itself. When she finished, she folded up the cloth and wrapped her arm around mine: a rather unassuming gesture if you forget that she'd just caused me to cum all over her. She took my hand in hers and passed me the cloth. I brought it from beneath the blanket and realized it wasn't a towel at all, it was her bottoms.

The thought of her tiny, naked butt and warm, wet pussy beneath the blanket had my cock swelling again. I edged my hand closer again to her inner thigh, nearing her center when she pushed my hand away and whispered.

"Uh uh uh, just hold me and watch the movie..." I pouted when she said that and she caught the look. "We'll pick up where we left off later, I promise."

That took the edge off a little, besides, having her in my arms was promise enough that good things were to come. She scooted close to me under the concealing blanket. She wrapped her spindly legs around me like a monkey and brought my hand around to hold her. She was warm, so warm and yielding to my touch.

"I love you so damn much Hanni." I told her and waited for her to look me in the eyes,

"I know baby bro, I love you too......." she was so quiet and whispering right into my ear now, "....and I want you to fuck me....sooo hard... when we're finally alone."

I grinned from ear to ear. I couldn't wait to do just that. I held Hanni's lithe, slender frame against me for the remainder of the movie, unworried about our parents as they slumbered away. Irene looked over at us occasionally and I saw her smile knowingly at Hanni more than once.

At some point Hanni pulled on my shirt and whispered to me..."She knows..."

We both knew it now, and we were also much more at ease with the way she was handling it. She gently grasped Hanni's knee on her way below deck with her husband, wishing us goodnight. Jinwoo instructed that we shut the TV off before we went below to the bedroom we'd be sharing. Our parents followed them down, leaving Hanni and I alone up top, excitement building in our hearts.

When we were certain they were gone for sure, we locked eyes and just stared. Hanni began edging closer to me and bringing her puffy, lip-gloss frosted lips near mine. She lingered amount before pushing in; we shared a long, tender kiss and our tongues flitted out to teas each other. She was so gentle and her lips felt feather-light and warm against mine. I ran a hand up her slender body, massaging her as it went. We eventually broke the kiss and Hanni settled her head into my lap.

We talked for over an hour. Hanni shared with me her thoughts and feelings on what posing with Playboy would bring in the coming years and I listened attentively. We talked about frivolous things like friends and food, all the while my hands played over her smooth belly and caressed her lovingly. The tone changed when we started talking about us.

"I really love being with you Hanni..." she caught my gaze and smiled lovingly. Her smile was endearing and lovely.

"Are you sure it's not these you love?" she asked, bringing my hand in one motion up to her breast and sliding it immediately under the fabric of her bikini.

As always I was thrilled to be holding her ample breasts in my hand. They were warm, and her skin so incredibly soft. Despite the feeling, however, I gazed at her deeply to let her know how serious I was about how happy she made me.

"I know, I'm only kidding; you make me feel so happy, and so sexy. I hope you won't mind coming out to California with me because I'm not doing it without you."

I was taken aback by the statement. She breathed slowly then, in and out, awaiting my reaction to what she knew had been a serious proposition. My first thought was to protest; I couldn't just up and leave my home, let alone to be with my Playboy playmate sister. Within seconds however I was coming to my senses; the beautiful creature in my arms was all I wanted. I'd have no trouble finding a good job anywhere I went.

"Do you really mean that?" I asked.

A long pause ensued in which Hanni turned her head upward from its relaxed position in my lap and cast her eyes upon mine...

"Definitely." Her tone was one of complete certainty. It made my heart throb for her, and the thought of endless time and the implied wonderful sex life we'd share had my manhood throbbing too.

Hanni stood up and glanced back over her shoulder toward me, biting her fingernail as she did. When she reached the entrance to the lower deck she turned and leaned provocatively against the frame, casting her hip outward in a way that accentuated her lean form all the more enticingly. She aimed a finger at me and beckoned me toward her the seated position from which I'd been watching her eagerly.

"Come inside with me, I think I need help turning on that big shower down there," she suggested mischievously.

I ambled up after her and held her hand from behind as we headed down the stairs. The inside of the boat was larger than I'd guessed it was, and I was excited for what Hanni and I's room would be like. I was even more excited as I watched Hanni pull her camisole up over her shoulders and then toss it through the doorway to our bedroom, remembering now that she'd never put on her cum-soaked bottoms. I only got to peer through the opening a second before Hanni tugged my hand and pulled me close to her.

I took hold of her in my hands, large and strong in contrast to her tiny, graceful body. She arched her back into me, pressing our hips together and we kissed there in the hallway. We kissed deeply, making up for all the lost time. My hands roamed, her hands roamed, and our need was more apparent with each twirl of tongue against tongue. Once again, my sister was in my arms, clothed only in that alluring little bikini and dying for me to take it off her.

There in the hallway we kissed and touched and pressed against each other, mimicking what we truly wanted. Hanni had just asked me to come with her across the country and be with her, as much more than just brother and sister. I couldn't think of a place I'd rather be. Yet, just then I was getting exactly what I desired as well: every bit of Hanni I could get my hands on.

We continued our foreplay and rolled shoulder over shoulder toward the bathroom door. Hanni would push me off of her and pin me against the wall and then I'd do the same. All the while we stayed locked at then lips and hips, save the short gasps that escaped Hanni's mouth when I connected with a particularly sensitive patch of skin or the whispered

"mmmmh, I love you"s and "oh goddd"s when I touched her just right.

We were so caught up in each other we barely noticed door to Irene and Jinwoo's bedroom slightly ajar. So, when both of us heard a moan from the room nearby that clearly hadn't come from Hanni, we stood frozen there together with Hanni's warm breath brushing my cheek.

Slowly we turned our heads toward the door; phew, it wasn't coming from our parents' room. We inched closer to the opened door, close enough that with my arms wrapped around her I could see over her head the source of the sound we'd heard. I had not been wrong when I'd imagined Irene would be a knockout naked.

Hanni must have agreed too because she gripped tightly at my arms as we watched the scene unfolding before us. Irene's husband lay back on the bed with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed, bent at the knees. Irene held fast to them and was turned around toward us, her breasts swaying as she lifted the sweet behind of hers and dropped it down sharply into Jinwoo's lap. She was tanned and toned, though not quite what I was used to with my sister. She was a bit... fuller, in places but it definitely worked to her advantage.

All the comparing reminded me who I held in my arms and I looked down at her, fidgeting in my arms.

"Like what you see?" I whispered, a line she'd used on me so many times before. She directed one of my hands downward and I knew what she wanted.

"Mmm hmm," she agreed, not even speaking as my hand landed over her uncovered slit, emanating the warmth of her arousal.

I began to pressure her tiny clit and she sank her gorgeous behind into me. We stayed like that, me rubbing her and her absolutely loving it as Irene continued to fuck her husband just beyond the door. We were both watching intently when Irene lifted her head towards us, the few of hair strands that had escaped hanging down over her face as her eyes rose up and landed on the door.

She saw us, she definitely saw us, and Hanni and I held tightly to each other neither moving or breathing. Her eyes met both of ours and she took in what was obviously a completely compromising position. She may have suspected correctly before that my sister and I had been lovers, but with my hand over the place no brother is supposed to go and my other cradling one of Hanni's awesome tits, there was no getting around it now. We were both frozen in anticipation of how she'd react.

Her downward thrusts slowed as she took us in and then........ a smile. Not just any smile, a huge mischievous grin that accompanied with her renewed efforts to take her husband's cock deeper and harder only meant one thing. She approved.

Hanni looked back at me with nearly the same grin Irene had, and she gave my crotch some serious attention with a quick up-down of that peach-like butt of hers over my shaft. I thought I was hard before that, but with Irene being railed a few feet away and the world's hottest playmate/my amazingly fuckable sister in my arms I think I suddenly grew another inch.

Irene watched us for a little while, as if both of her and my sister and I were transfixed and unable to look away. She showed us a few tricks, at some point rotating her hips around in a way that rippled her core and must have felt unbelievably good to her husband. She let out a few coos of pleasure but something told me they were more about seeing and being seen than Jinwoo's remarkably average penis. I guess money can't buy everything.

When we heard Jinwoo start to grunt foolishly Hanni took me by the hand and led me into the bathroom. She turned on the water and immediately grabbed my neck with one of her dainty hands, pulling me in for a needy kiss. She was turned on so obviously I could barely stifle a laugh. She pulled me under the water, my shirt still on. I wrapped an arm around her and her hands pawed haphazardly at me; she was so aroused she barely knew what to do with herself.

I took care of that; I lifted her and pushed her against the shower wall aggressively. She scratched at my back and then pried my shirt up over my head. Her hands pried at my stomach,

"Ugh, I love your abs," she was running her fingers over my muscles while arching her back to push me back a bit and see between us, "you are really fucking strong."

I rolled my eyes, 'women always say things like that,' I thought. I was flattered but compared to her, like a brilliant marble sculpture, I felt like I was made of play-doh.

She read my mind, "I'm not just humoring you, mmmhh, I'm soo attracted to you," she was rubbing that naked mound against my cock now. "No guy has ever made me so hot like you do."

I had to admit, she was flattering my immensely. I hoped that she felt the same way when I told her how gorgeous she was. I was encouraged enough to push her back flat against the wall and thrust along her lips, or what I could feel of them. I was kissing her neck furiously and she and I were clamoring to hump each other below. Somehow we got the water running and it warmed quickly, dousing us and our remaining clothing. My soaked trunks were plastered over my stiff shaft and it made the contact between us all the more purposeful. Still, I wanted more; and Hanni did too. She was fumbling around my shorts and the drawstring holding them tight to me. I was lost in her the long smooth skin beneath her cute chin.

"Oh god," she was moaning and twisting from attention to her sensitive neck, "take them off please!"

She was still lifted off the ground, her beautiful legs wrapping me. I reached for my waistband and she helped me to push the shorts down. She hastily pulled off the last scrap of clothing, her cute little bikini top, and cast it away; her tits jiggled unbearably and my cock jumped with excitement.

I forced her against the wall with an audible thud. My cock made its first contact with my sister's bare pussy in what felt like forever (it had only been about 24 hrs.) my rod split her lips and I felt how incredibly wet she was. She gyrated against me, and with my body sandwiching her between the wall and I could feel every muscle she used to do so. We were so connected in that moment.

"Umhhhh, it's been...too long," she cooed to me as her hips rotated rhythmically, "I've wanted you to put that big cock......mmmmgghh... in me all fucking day."

I loved hearing her talk like that, and I loved the way she looked and felt as much now as ever. Water cascaded over our shoulders, wetting her hair and dancing randomly down her slick body. Her tits were smashed against my chest, forced upward and outward while gliding against me with her constant grinding and flexing.

My shaft slipped again and again between her lips, I could feel my tip catch every now and again at her clit and threatening to sink deep inside her. At that moment we were content to thrust desperately against each other. I sucked hungrily at her neck and she showered my cheeks, ear and neck with kisses as best she could between her labored inhaling and exhaling. I even loved the grazing of her warm breath over my neck, the thought of making my sister so full of lust and sensation made me all the warmer inside.

"Uhhhhnn unnnnhhh, you like that?" she slowed and lengthened the path of her slippery lips on their straddling path over my cock "do you want to be inside me, wanna fuck your little slutty sister? I can't take this much longer...."

"Oh god, you have no idea," I answered her. I knew she was grinning.

Then suddenly from somewhere through the steam...."Then do it already, Jesus," it was Irene's voice 'I don't think I can take it any longer either!" We were frozen once again, held captive by the fear of being revealed.

Irene came into view, but I could barely see her in my peripheral while supporting my sister against the cool tiles on the wall of the shower. She looked to be wearing a nightgown of some sort, small and silky by the looks of it. She approached me slowly from behind; Hanni and I held our breath.

Irene was just outside the shower door we had failed to close in our haste. I still couldn't see her face and I thought that this may have finally been too much for her to see and accept. I felt a hand cover Hanni's on my shoulder. It slid in between Hanni's little fingers and caressed me as it did. Irene was touching me from behind and I could feel her presence heavy on my backside. I began to exhale, not sure yet if I should be relieved or not.

"Oh relax, you two! If I was going to rat you out I could have done it any of the half dozen times you were up to something before." There was an air of confidence and satisfaction in her voice, she was enjoying our little secret it seemed to me.

Hanni fidgeted, reminding me that I was only an inch or so from impaling her against the shower wall, I hadn't softened a bit and Hanni's warm pussy was still pulsing around my invading member. She felt it too, bringing her back to the desperation and arousal that Irene's interruption had only temporarily quashed.

I moved this time: a long, slow stroke that made her arch her back in response. Irene whispered something like "that's it, go on..." and stepped a bit closer. Hanni was fully back in sex-mode now and surprised me when she released her hand from its interlocking position with Irene's and she reached out beyond me. Her hand found Irene's shoulder and nightgown. She pulled, and Irene quickly stepped into the shower. The wide coverage of the showerhead found her nightie; it was a pale yellow number hung loosely over her shoulders with precariously thin straps. It was cinched under her breasts, which were causing mounds to form through the soft fabric, topped with pretty peaks that implied her obviously erect nipples.

Hanni and I were returning, slowly but surely, to the desperate and rhythmic contact we'd been seeking before Irene walked in. Hanni's adorable panting returned and she once again was splitting her engorged lips over the shaft I so eagerly wanted to plunge inside her with.

Irene's entwined fingers tightened their grip on my shoulder, and it seemed to jar Hanni into some new reality. She reached out swiftly and caught Irene's shoulder strap, sliding it off and pulling her under the water and closer to our side. The wide spray of the luxurious shower began to douse Irene with water. It was a subtle, pleasant yellow that darkened as the water turned it from opaque to transparent in a matter of seconds.

First her gorgeous butt showed through, sweet cleft and all as the material began to paste itself to her skin. I was staring intently and hardly noticed as Hanni slipped to the floor and turned to face the brunette vixen and her transforming gown. Hanni's fingers curled around my cock as she took another step toward Irene and came face to face with her.

It was like some kind of stand-off of who was hotter (it was admittedly close) or who was more daring, or god knows what those two women were thinking. My mind raced, and my member throbbed with Hanni's hand stroking me gently and pressing me against one soft cushion of her behind. The scene playing out before me was nearly too much to bear; the unfathomably beautiful Hanni, an unmatched playboy playmate vs. a sultry, illusive brunette trophy wife that had an obvious understanding of her own sex appeal and how to use it just right. I could hardly keep my eyes straight as Hanni jacked me, the pleasure and the build-up was indescribable.

Just when I couldn't take it anymore, Hanni closed the gap. Closing her eyes she leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on Irene's lips. It lingered... and just when Hanni seemed to pull back Irene returned the favor. She was soaked through and through in her place under the shower, every inch of the lingerie clinging to her body and revealing its splendor beneath. Irene wrapped a hand behind my sister's neck, her fingernails teasing just at her hairline where I knew her to be sensitive, and she brought them firmly together.

First they just held there sampling the other's lips; then Hanni opened her mouth ever so slightly. Irene swiftly flitted her tongue against the sliver Hanni had opened for her and then Hanni did the same. They playfully darted their tongues together and wrestled them more vigorously with each passing second. I hadn't thought my sister to have enjoyed the company of a woman as she now was, but with the increased pressure and stroking of my cock I could tell that Hanni was enjoying it thoroughly.

Once they had shared a few moments of feverish making out and both Hanni and Irene had begun touching each other gently and tentatively with their unoccupied hands, they slowed to a stop and drew back an inch or two. Simultaneously, both of them smiled at each other as if shocked and pleased by their newest taboo behavior. That was when they also turned in tandem to look at me, casually standing behind Hanni with an arm around her side as she stroked me and I watched them.

I wasn't sure what was in store for me but from the look in their eyes and the way they both glanced down at my cock, looking enormous in Hanni's dainty grasp, I knew it was something good.

"Mmmh," Irene let out and slumped toward Hanni a bit, "it looks to me like you were about to take a bit of a thrashing from not-so-little brother here... don't let me stop you."

Hanni bit her lip sexily and nodded in agreement, giving me an awesome little squeeze. She still seemed a little overwhelmed with pleasure from her first experience with another girl, so when she didn't act fast enough, Irene jumped in. She followed Hanni's arm with a light touch until it came close to where my cock was encased firmly in her grasp.

"Can I?" she looked straight at Hanni as if asking for permission.

When Hanni gave her an exasperated sigh of agreement, she slipped her hand over and Hanni let hers fall toward the floor. Irene set her eyes on me, waiting for me to protest. When I didn't, she wrapped her hand around my shaft completely and closed the gap between us. With one hand wrapped around my sister's taut belly, teasing toward her sweet spot, my other hand was left free. I quickly occupied it, placing it tenderly on Irene's hip.

My touch encouraged her and Irene leaned forward; it was my turn to taste the brunette's tongue against mine. Irene showed little hesitation with me as she had with Hanni. She simply slid into me in one quick motion and we locked together. First we tested only each other's lips, playing and sensing and loving the sensation. Then, when we felt bolder, we found the tips of each other's tongues. She was stroking me more intensely as we embraced and my hands on both Hanni and Irene worked harder in response.

When Irene heard Hanni moan from the pressure of my fingers on her button, she remembered her original intent. She ended her hand's attention to my staff and guided it closer to Hanni's cute behind. She was leaning against the tile and the combination of my stimulation of her clit, the down-pouring shower, and her first experience with another woman had her floating in her own paradise just inches away from mine.

Whether Irene realized it or not, as she hungrily lined up my tip with the entrance to my sister's tight tunnel, Hanni was yet unaware. Lost in her own thoughts and pressed up against that cool, smooth shower wall, she didn't recognize the feeling of my head making contact with her taut outer lips. Nor did she hear it when Irene planted another quick kiss on my lips and said,

"Go ahead honey,"

I split Hanni's lips apart with my first motion, and then began to slide the length of my engorged member into the little playmate's pussy inch by inch. That certainly brought her to, and she craned her neck to look back at who was causing the sudden, intense sensation she was experiencing. As I pressed deeper inside of her I could feel Irene's hand still guiding me and her fingers adding to the unbelievable pleasure I felt as I buried my shaft into my sister.

"Oooohhhh fuckkkk......"she howled with the naughty mouth of hers.

Irene moved around to where Hanni was locked against the wall, her breasts spreading outward from the pressure. Hanni turned to face her as much she could with my invading cock holding her in place. Immediately Irene found Hanni's lips with her own and began to kiss her intensely. While the two probed each other's mouths I finally reached the termination of my path and savored the sensation of being completely engulfed in my sister's tight pussy.

Irene's hand, which had been wrapped in a ring around my rod, lowered to allow me that final inch push into Hanni. She moved it directly to my full balls and tenderly cupped them in her hand. Her other hand had made its way to Hanni's opening, now pried open with her brother's cock.

"Does that feel good Hanni?" Irene asked her cutely.

"Yesss, ohhhh .....it feels sooooo good." she mewed back.

Once her fingers found their way to Hanni's sensitive little clit, I had had bottomed out in my sister entirely. Every bit of my shaft was immersed by Hanni's slick, hot channel and it felt as if I could sense her breaths in and out and the undulations of her beautiful core. My own little playmate cooed at the sensation of my cock seeming to expand inside of her. She was so tight, so unbelievably tight standing there with my cock lodged inside her, able only to cope with the feeling and do little else.

Irene planted a trail of soft kisses and pecks down Hanni's body, stopping for a moment at her delicious breast to caress them in a way only another woman could. As she made her way down, she placed a palm on my lower abs and gently encouraged me to pull out of my sister until only the helmet remained inside of her. Her soft pink lips held tight to my retreating member and pulled outward with it, desperate to keep me within. Just as my head was about to pop from Hanni's opening, she took hold of the exposed cylinder and prevented me exiting.

Her mouth found the connection between my sister and I and she covered it with the expanse of her tongue. That's when her hand, wrapped around me, tugged at me to press into my big sister once more. Her tongue stimulated us both and Hanni cried out as I sank into her more swiftly this time. In seconds I was once more deep within Hanni for the second time, ready to begin taking her fully.

"oh fuck.....Y/N.....it's so....... I can't.....mmmmmmm." She was short for breath and couldn't find the words to describe how I was making her feel.

Irene's tongue was beginning to lap and twirl around our incestuous junction, causing both of us to gasp from the added stimulation. When Irene's hand guided me back once again I was prepared, sliding out of Hanni and stopping just before I was literally out of her tunnel entirely before parting her lips once more and plunging deep inside.

Hanni was beginning to come to, despite the extreme pleasure from the increasing tempo of my thrusts. When I slid backward for the fourth or fifth time I could feel my sister's cute butt coming back to meet me. I kissed her neck from behind and she shivered from the tender contact. I opened my mouth and could taste the freshness of the water, still gliding down her body, combined with that deliciousness of her skin I'd grown addicted to.

As I continued to slide in and out of my sister, spurred on by her return thrusts, I reached down and found Irene's head with her soft locks of hair and I took the back of her head in my hand. I massaged lightly at it as Irene continued lapping at my sister and I from below. I gently tugged at her ponytail and encouraged her to stand up next to us so I could look her in the eye as I fucked my sister before her.

She did as I asked and came up to meet my gaze. Her eyes flitted down to my cock, plunging repeatedly into Hanni as I had her partially pressed against the wall for balance. I pulled Irene close and pressed my lips to hers, kissing her deeply while Hanni did more of the work. As I battled tongues with Irene and reached a hand toward her lovely cunt, my sister gyrated her taut cheeks into me faster and the sensation of her warm folds engulfing me independent of my efforts was near too much to bear. I prayed I wouldn't come too soon.

As my cock experienced the sensation Hanni was causing it my fingers found Irene's opening and teased her wet lips. I thumbed at her clit and she looked into me fiercely due to my daring behavior. I thought she might even push me away when she reached down to my hand, but instead she pressed my fingers inside of her.

"Uhhhhhghh," she moaned, "I needed this."

"Ughhh," I gasped back with another pound into Hanni, "Jinwoo not.....mmmmph.... Getting it done?"

She looked down at my invading cock once more, and Hanni and she made eye contact when Hanni turned to hear her answer. Her hand cupped the entrance to Hanni's pussy and she answered.

"Certainly not like this...." Something about having Irene approve of my rigorous fucking of my sister had my adrenaline pumping. With one hand in Irene's pussy I pressed two digits into her and began finger-fucking her to the tempo of my thrusts into Hanni. My other hand cupped Hanni's breast firmly to brace myself as I fucked her about as hard as I ever had.

"Fuccckkk...." Hanni squealed, "be careful.....mghhhh....I'm fragile."

I hardly listened, careful only not to slam her too hard against the shower wall, which might have woken someone. I continued to jam my cock into Hanni's squeezing sheath, bottoming out over and over and hearing her moan and gasp for breath. My fingers kept pace and Irene was leaning against my sister with one of their breasts mashing against each other.

"God, I might.....ohh.....ooh....cum already." Hanni said almost worried.

"Mmmmnhhh, you're telling me......fuck," Irene added in a breathy phrase.

Irene bucked against my fingers and the dropped to her knees as if to escape the pleasure for a moment, I was sure she hadn't come just yet but she started to minister to Hanni anyway. First her fingers wiggled over Hanni's clit and she trailed kissed to Hanni's tits once more.

I took both Hanni's hips in my hands and pressed her ass cheeks hard against my pistoning shaft. She held fast to my wrist and put a second hand against the wall. Over and over I drove into her, feeling her ass slam back toward me and clapping into my lap, apparently she wasn't THAT fragile.

"Ooohh.....ohhhhh.......so hard.......I think I'm gonna...."

I wrapped an arm across her abdomen and breasts, my other hand fell across her thin neck. She stood upright and I continued to impale her. I could sense her near orgasm as her body began to shake and weaken in my arms and I took more of her weight. That was just fine because my cock had her held up like a coat on a hanger. Irene's mouth found a nipple and she nibbled at it while her hand flew over Hanni's extremely sensitive clit.

It was the most erotic experience of my life, fucking my naked playboy-vixen sis with reckless abandon while she was being worked over by the beautiful adulterous brunette as both her husband and our parents slumbered on the other side of the wall. My fingers pawed at handfuls of Hanni's breasts and ass and I rocked in and out of her until I knew she was at the end.

"Ohhh ohhh, I'm gonna.....mmmmh-uhhhh..... Fuck, I'm gonna come." she was hardly being quiet, considering the proximity of our dozing families - I kept plunging into her nonetheless "It's so biggg.....mmmmph....I love you so.....uhhhh....much."

God she was so sexy right then, I couldn't get enough of her sweet dirty-talk or the flawless body I was currently burying my cock inside of. Just a few more thrusts and she was there. I could feel her pussy grip down on me like a vice and her body convulse against both Irene and I. Irene kept fingering Hanni's pulsing clit and I could feel her pussy wetting with her arousal.

She was bucking against the two of us and spastically taking my rod in and out of her as her pussy both begged for it to be buried inside her and for the unbearable sensitivity to stop. She moaned, she cooed; for nearly a minute she came, riding out her orgasm - my little champ. She was so sexy that I could have filled her right then with my own cum, but something about the naughty look that Irene we giving me... eyes peering at me, one covered in a wisp of black hair, while she stayed latched to my sisters nipple... I knew there was a little more left in store for me.

My little playmate finally stopped her involuntary shivers and kissed the hand I'd laid upon her shoulder. It was a light kiss, a thank you kiss, and I thanked her back by wrapping an arm around her tight tummy and pulling her close. I was still sheathed snugly inside of her and began to withdraw; she hummed a complaint. I gave her one final thrust when I'd pulled halfway out and when my hips made contact for the last time she melted in my arms. I finally removed my cock from her entirely and she turned around to face me, placing her back against the cold tiles and jumping at the sensation of them against her back. She took my chin in one hand and pulled me close; we kissed deeply and sensually; my God she always tasted so good.

Meanwhile, Irene had fallen to her knees again and as Hanni and I finished with each other, our tongues darting out for the last time, I felt Irene take my shaft in her practiced hand. Looking down at her I saw her beautiful body once more: breasts full and high upon her chest, pink nipples standing at attention and her firm abdomen. She kissed my tip and must have intended to suck me into her warm, waiting mouth. As good as that would have felt, Irene had done enough work already and I knew it was time to give her the attention she deserved. With Hanni recovering, eyes closed and face toward the ceiling, I gently took Irene's chin in my hand and coaxed her upward with a gentle pull.

She came up to meet me, eyes full of wonder and lust. She didn't know why I'd stopped her, but soon realized that intended to tend to her and not the other way around. I urged her toward the high bench at one end of the shower, where the water still reached her legs. Hanni followed her there and sat beside her, still zoned out and inattentive. As I sat Irene down carefully on the edge of the seat and positioned my mouth between her taut thighs, I took time to admire the beautiful shape that she'd managed to stay in. I figured her for no more than 34, but for the impeccable skin and luscious curves she carried, she and Hanni could have been roommates.

I massaged at the skin just beside her equally firm cheeks, a spot Hanni always seemed to love when I touched. Sure enough, Irene's dainty toes stretched and her hands reached out to bring me closer to her immaculate and beautiful slit. Her inner lips just peaked out from within her mound and I could tell just by looking at it that her pussy was going to be a snug fit.

I wasted little time; we were both so fired up, me from my intense sex with my sister and Irene from watching and waiting. I looked up at her, waiting for permission to enter a new level of intimacy. Her eyes looked desperate and sensitive:

"Mmm hmm," she hummed to me.

I planted the tip of my tongue at the very bottom of her entrance and wiggled it just inside a quarter of an inch. I then dragged it up within her pussy and to her clit, painstakingly slow. She moaned for the entire ten seconds it must have taken me to reach her button and then let out an exasperated breath. I then worked around her clit, flicking it with my tongue while pressing my hands into every bit of flesh they could reach from my kneeled position between her legs.

Hanni had taken to kissing slowly and sensually at Irene's neck as she grazed her hands over Irene's breasts and midsection. By the time that Hanni had even opened her eyes I was working a finger and my tongue into Irene's pussy, it was getting wetter with each passing second. She was so tight, I couldn't even imagine that she'd had much sex despite how attractive I, and probably any man, found her; obviously Jinwoo hadn't won her over with his size.

When I detected that Irene was building toward an orgasm, I increased my efforts and Hanni, who had perceptively noticed before me had already begun sucking all over Irene's chest and nipples.

Irene reached a hand down and grabbed my hair in between her fingers, running them through my short haircut and caressing my scalp. Then, for some reason, she stopped me. I followed her leading hand back up to eye level again and with her pair of pretty, large eyes, she looked deep into mine.

"It's so good....hmmm," she breathed out what she'd been holding in as her orgasm first suggested itself, "If we keep going, I'm not sure I could stop."

There was sincerity in her voice, and though I thought she may have really put an end to our tryst, the lips that puckered ever so slightly and accepted my kiss so readily suggested otherwise.

Hanni was being mischievous again, and she quickly grabbed my cock in her hand as it hung stiff between Irene and I.

"Why would you want to?" she said seductively as she pressed my tip against Irene's mound and ran it slowly from bottom to top as I had with my tongue.

Irene resolve weakened visibly, the tenseness she'd been displaying since the first thought of being penetrated was melting away in front of me. As my head made contact with her puffy folds, she shivered and her hands shot out to my abs and her pussy. She ran her fingers over the place where my cock had touched, but didn't push me away.

"I shouldn't....Jinwoo," she whispered barely loud enough for us to hear. I leaned into her and kissed her again while Hanni's hand stroked my engorged shaft; it was still slick from her own pussy. I was in heaven - Irene's tongue, despite her protests, was playing with mine enthusiastically, and I could feel her body involuntarily gyrating and pressing her mound harder against me. Hanni was, herself, pushing me deeper and I could just barely feel my cockhead beginning to spread Irene's lips.

"I don't think I can take that....hmmm...... Jinwoo is nothing like it."

Hanni smiled, sensing in the beautiful brunette a weakening resistance. I thought, if only briefly, that I might be offending my sister with my desires for another woman, and my eyes sought hers. Irene hadn't yet given permission, but when Hanni's eyes found mine she knew immediately what they wanted to ask her.

Rather than answer, she took my face in her hand and leaned in between Irene and I. Her perfect tits rested deliciously on my arm as I was massaging Irene's wonderful midsection. She kissed me, quickly and deeply, and I immediately knew what her answer would be.

Hanni was even more impatient than I; she practically tugged on my cock and urged me to slide forward. I still wanted to respect Irene's wishes despite the fact I knew almost certainly she would crack, but Hanni caught me off guard. As we broke our kiss she urged me with a firm tug forward enough for my helmet to slip just beyond Irene's entrance.

Irene gasped. I quickly pulled back and removed myself from her the tight embrace of Irene's entrance. My head shined with the wetness of Irene's pussy and it looked ripe for another plunge deep into the beautiful brunette.

"Hanni....!" I scolded.

Hanni only lifted her eyebrows and motioned for me to look at Irene to see her reaction. I didn't know what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised to find Irene's eyes closed and a look of undeniable satisfaction on her face. When she felt me pull back out after Hanni's bold actions, she interjected,

"Oh God... maybe just a little..." she cooed, "Hanni, do you mind if I ask your lover here for a little more."

Hanni grinned naughtily and leaned in to plant her answer tenderly on Irene's lips. I felt a bit left out for a moment, as if I were just being passed between the two beauties, but then I remembered that my cock was at the entrance to the young brunette and I couldn't possibly feel anything but content. I prodded Irene further, and she opened her eyes with Hanni breaking from her kiss. I began to slide in, inch after inch. Hanni watched intently, and she held my arm so she could still be a part of the action. I held her myself, grasping her little butt firmly in my hand so she could still tell how much I loved her. Even Hanni was growing impatient though, and seeing me draw out my plunge into Irene's pussy, she interjected,

"She just got through making love in the bedroom, I think you ought to give her what she really wants bro,"

I was still reeling from Hanni's newfound spunk, this naughty threesome in the shower of a crowded boat had her talking like a sex-fiend and I liked it. I could have turned back and fucked her again for how much she was turning me on. Instead, I looked back at Irene and saw that Hanni had been right:

"You're sister has a point Y/N, ughhhh," she said as I withdrew to start obliging her, she was almost giggling at Hanni's bluntness "think you can.... mmmmmnghh... make me come with that..... fuckkkk.... big cock?"

But I had already started to try, and with my gorgeous little playmate nuzzled into one side of my body and with my member now buried in the beautiful woman in front of me, there was no turning back. I started to plunge into Irene with little of the gentleness I often afforded my sister. I picked up the pace, and all three of us watched as my cock slipped inside her, causing Irene to gasp, and then slipped out covered in her lubricating fluids -- that part caused Hanni to gasp.

My little sister eventually propped herself up on the same seat as Irene to get a better spot for the action. Without her at my side to grasp onto and savor her perfect body, I opted for the luscious one of Irene instead. I grasped firmly and a bit more roughly than Irene had expected, not that she didn't like it. My fingers pressed into her hips, fuller and softer than Hanni's with Irene's slightly fuller build. I loved the change-up, however, and I was soon pounding into Irene without restraint. It felt glorious, her ass clapping against my thrusting hips and my shaft being squeezed by her slippery insides. Her tits weren't as large as Hanni's, and I looked over at Hanni to see that Irene was palming her breasts and fingering my sister in the most sensuous of ways. Indeed, Hanni's breasts were the best I'd ever seen and I couldn't wait to get my hands back on them, but Irene's... they were bouncing around at my rough pounding in a way that had me ready to spray inside her.

I wondered if Irene would have it however, and looking at both women I would have been equally happy to fill either one. But it was coming quickly, Irene's taut sheath was assuring that, and so was the unbelievably sexual girl-on-girl action unfolding before me. I might have been only and afterthought to Irene had I not been fucking her so hard.

"Ohhhh.......my...... Godddd...." She cried out, breaking a kiss with Hanni. I could see my sister smiling; she must have known what Irene was feeling.

"Irene, I'm getting close," I warned her, wondering what she would say.

At first she didn't respond, savoring my impaling cock further and leaning her head back adorably. But then she looked back at my sister, once again reminding me of the kind of attention a superstar like Hanni demanded and deserved. I slowed my pace a bit but kept ramming her with fervor, I hadn't fucked a girl like that, well....ever. Collecting herself, she asked Hanni:

"Do you want him to.... Ughhhh...." she seemed near orgasm as she spoke, "you know.... Mmmmnhhh... finish with you?"

But Hanni had never been a selfish girl, and she wanted Irene to have just as much fun as she did, plus she probably figured she had me as much as she wanted. "No way Irene, but just let me warn you, he's like a fire hose," Hanni said giggling. Irene's eyes widened, but she didn't stop me. Hanni backed away a bit but took my hand in hers, she just wanted to watch this part. I hadn't stopped fucking Irene the whole time, and she finally refocused her attention on me, not that I hadn't been caught up enough in my onslaught of her gorgeous body. I did catch Hanni's warning and it made me smile, I was looking forward to cumming in Irene if she'd have me. With Hanni's hand in mine I placed it back on Irene's hips and held on tight. Irene had been heading for orgasm long before me, so when I started to feel it, Irene was already howling. Hanni put a hand over her mouth with a worried hush; Irene understood and tried to keep quiet. "Ohhhh fuckkkk..... how can you stand it Hanni..... so fucking big!" she whispered as quietly as possible. Nobody awoke however, and as I thrust again and again into Irene's warm center I knew I'd be over the edge at any minute. Her slick channel gripped me, she began to climax, and hard. Her inner muscles were inordinately strong, more so than Hanni's, and whatever restraint I had left in me was broken when I tried to push passed them without cumming. I was cooked, and I blasted into Irene with reckless abandon. I kept thrusting, rope after rope of semen coating her insides and pumping deep into her womb. I wondered if she'd been trying to get pregnant with Jinwoo, and the risk that she might accidentally do so with me turned me on even more. It seemed to keep me spurting seed into her; it must have been ten times or more.

Maybe it was the fact that I'd just fucked my own little sister against the shower wall, or the fact that she was literally a Playboy Playmate, or maybe it was the fact that I was holding her hand as I came inside our host's beautiful albeit unsatisfied wife. Either way I was in heaven, and Hanni leaned into me once more as I began to slow and Irene rode out her orgasm. She reached down to Irene's clit to keep her going and she spasmed at Hanni's touch. I wished I knew how to stimulate the two women as well as they did, but I was content to watch the two beauties anyway.

Irene was still orgasming, mewing and gasping for air much like I'd seen Hanni do every time I'd been with her since the first time a few days ago. She was beautiful, and I felt nearly jealous that Jinwoo could be with her any time she let him, but then again... I had Hanni. I looked at my little sister and I smiled at her, looking deep into her eyes to make sure she knew how much I couldn't wait to be with her again. She knew though, and her cute grin and kiss she planted on my lips reassured me.

Irene started to come around, "Jesus," she breathed out. She bucked her hips involuntarily when I moved a bit. "I haven't been fucked like that since college," she sang. We all laughed a bit and it lightened the mood.

"So killer, do you think you can take that thing out of me or is it stuck?"

I decided to have a little fun with her and pressed in the inch or two I'd withdrawn; we both nearly fell over we were so sensitive. "I think it's stuck," I joked. I couldn't deny that it still felt incredible to be lodged inside of her.

"It better not be!" cried out my sister.

We all knew why she said that, and it made Irene smile. I finally slid out of her, and some of the mixture we'd created inside came out with me. "Well," Irene commented, "that might not have been my best decision ever." I kind of shrugged my shoulders as she stood up. She looked down between us at my semi-erect cock. It was touching her lightly at the waist and she wrapped a hand gently around it. "On second thought, it might have been."

Irene looked up to me and brought my lips to hers, she planted a sensuous kiss on my lips that tasted like berries; she really was a provocative beauty. The kiss we shared might have been good, but the one she next shared with my sister was better. Theirs lingered longer, and their hands briefly touched each other's bodies. When they broke it was Irene who spoke, "I'm going to leave you two alone," we watched in awe as she took a step away from us and turned back, "if you guys need another playmate this week, you know where to find me."

It was an odd choice of words, and both Hanni and I looked at each other with a bit of shock, she couldn't have known could she? She kept right on walking out the door, grabbing a towel and heading back for her bedroom. I wondered if her husband would notice that someone else had been inside his wife that night, and left something behind.

My attentions were broken by Hanni back at my side, she kissed me, and I kissed her back hard. Our hands roamed everywhere, both incredibly turned on by what had just happened, and inexpressibly glad to be back upon each other. We made out in the shower like that for God knows how long. It was a good thing Jinwoo had invested in some expensive water recirculating contraption because we took our time under the warm downpour kissing and touching like star-crossed lovers.

When our legs began to tire, we finally gave in, and I lovingly washed Hanni's body. I spent extra time on all of the features I love most, and I could hear her start to breathe more heavily when my hands washed over her tiny pussy. She did the same for me, not being too shy when she jerked her hand over my erect member to "clean" it. But she eventually finished the task, and after some more minutes of gentle kisses and an embrace that I could have kept going forever under the shower's streaming heat, we finally turned it off. I wrapped a towel around my sister, sorry to see the playmate's awesome body hidden for even a moment, and took one for myself.

I followed her down the hall and watched her cute butt sway, I think she was doing it on purpose but I could never tell. Before going back into our room I took a final glance at Irene's door, wondering what the rest of the week would be like with the beautiful brunette whom we'd both just made love to. Hanni tugged at my hand and I didn't really care, as long as my sister was there with me I would be in paradise.

We made love once before we fell asleep that night, and another time when Hanni awoke, feelingly naughty, on top of me. In the dim light I held and watched her move about with her own brother inside of her. The boat hitched gently back and forth as we had sex for what could have been hours; we were both insatiable. Neither of us knew what the future would bring but, lying there making love to the only person we'd ever wanted so badly, we finally drifted off into an unconcerned slumber.

#njz smut #newjeans smut #hanni smut #gg smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #newjeans #njz #hanni #smut #kpop #newjeans hanni #njz hanni #irene smut #red velvet smut #red velvet #red velvet irene #irene

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pitlanepeach · 3 months ago

Text

FROM EDEN | Chapter One (1/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a YouTube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings - Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety, depressive episodes + very brief references to skin-picking.

Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY OSCAR 🧡

Sometimes, Francesca felt like her MacBook was an extension of her body.

It came with the territory. She spent six, sometimes eight, hours a day editing. Her management had offered to hire a professional to take over that side of things, but she always declined. She liked the process. It kept her busy. And besides, her audience had come to expect her touch — the specific pacing, the way she layered her clips with the perfect font depending on the theme of the video. No professional could replicate that.

“The team at Penguin emailed last night. They want you to do another collab next month — summer drop. It’s going to be huge,” Katie says, without preamble, the moment Francesca answers the FaceTime. Manager, best friend, chaos in a messy bun.

Francesca blinks, gives herself a second to process, then beams. “Wait, seriously? I mean, I know they had great feedback on the last video, but I just thought…” She trails off, shaking her head and letting out a breathy laugh.

God, it was still hard to believe this was her life. That she’d built this job from scratch — and was actually good at it. Good enough that one of the biggest publishing companies in the world wanted to work with her again, for the second time in less than a year.

“It’s going to be great. I’ll email you the content brief as soon as I have it,” Katie said. She was smiling too, the fine lines around her eyes deepening with joy.

Francesca often thought that was the best part of having a manager who doubled as your best friend — the fact that when something good happened, it wasn’t just her win. It was theirs.

“Pizza at my place to celebrate?” Francesca suggested on a whim, and immediately wished she could take it back. Her spine went rigid, and a glance toward the front door confirmed what she already knew — she wasn’t in the right headspace for company. Not even Katie, who was one of the only guests she’d ever had at her flat. “Uh, I mean…” She felt her face burn with embarrassment as she tried to find a way to rescind her invitation.

“I’m busy tonight,” Katie said breezily, and relief washed over Francesca like a wave. She managed a small smile. “Another night, maybe,” Katie added, her eyes warm and knowing. The softness in her voice made Francesca’s throat tighten.

She was a terrible friend.

“Yeah,” she said softly, and wished — not for the first time — that her brain would just let her be normal.

Just once, it would be nice to exist without wrapping herself in cotton wool, constantly calculating every choice, afraid of pushing too far and tipping into that place she didn’t like to think about. The edge was always there, waiting. And when she fell, it was dark.

“Another time,” she finished, quieter this time.

Katie hummed, then did a dramatic spin in her chair.

Francesca had already figured out she was in her office. It was painted bubblegum pink — hard to mistake for anywhere else.

One day, Francesca would have an office too. She already had a Pinterest board full of inspiration pictures.

For now, her flat was too small — a one-bedroom with just enough space for a two-seater table in the kitchen and a small couch tucked beneath the living room window.

But one day, she'd have more.

The walls would be lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She’d have a big desk, maybe even a chaise lounge to film her videos from — soft lighting, stacks of novels within reach.

Her gaze drifted to the window. Her sixth floor flat overlooked a busy street, which was both comforting and overwhelming. She liked the reminders of life happening outside. But sometimes, the idea of stepping into it — of opening the door and being swallowed by the noise — made her feel physically sick.

“So,” Katie said, her voice deceptively flat. “Read anything good recently?”

It wasn’t funny.

It wasn’t even a little bit funny.

But whatever tension had been lingering between them dissolved in an instant.

One blank look from Francesca was all it took for Katie to double over with laughter — and Francesca followed close behind.

—

Oscar Piastri followed you!

Francesca stared at her Instagram notifications and blinked. She only ever got alerts like that when someone verified followed her, and it always felt a little disconcerting. Being perceived was... weird.

She tapped on his profile picture, waited for the feed to load, then let out a quiet, shocked breath as her eyes widened.

Christ. Almost two million followers.

She read his bio first.

I drive @McLaren F1 cars.

Her brows pulled together.

She knew about Formula One. Her sister — back when they still spoke — had been a hardcore fan. Always waking up at absurd hours on Sundays to watch the races. Francesca had never understood the appeal. She wasn’t ever interested in sports, really.

And if she was remembering right… the cars were bloody loud.

Nonetheless, she let herself scroll through his feed, indulging the curiosity. Why not? He’d followed her first.

Which… she paused, thumb hovering over a video — a clip of him laughing with another guy, shorter, with dark hair, both of them doubled over and grinning wide.

Why had he followed her?

Was he a reader?

She chewed her bottom lip, eyes flicking back to his feed. Nothing about books. Nothing even vaguely literary. Just cars. Fast ones. The kind that had made her cover her ears and wince when her sister had played it on the TV.

Still, she kept scrolling.

There were podium photos, clips from press days, shots of cars mid-race that made her anxious just looking at them. A lot of orange. And still, nothing that explained why he would have any interest in the kind of content she posted.

Before she could stop herself, she opened a new tab and typed his name into Google.

Oscar Piastri F1.

Search.

The first result was his Wikipedia page. She clicked it, scanning quickly.

Twenty-two. Australian. Drove for McLaren. Something about back-to-back Formula 2 and Formula 3 championships. ‘I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press release late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract with Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year.’ Her brain started buffering around "qualifying sessions" and "downforce," so she backed out and clicked Images instead.

Okay. He was… very symmetrical.

She immediately closed the tab, her cheeks flaming red.

And then she opened it again. This time, she searched Oscar Piastri book. Nothing. Oscar Piastri reading. Still nothing. Oscar Piastri favourite books.

No real results. Just an old fan forum thread with a blurry screenshot of him holding what looked like a paperback on a plane. He couldn’t have been older than seventeen. Could’ve been anything.

‘F3 champion and high school student lmao,’ one of the comments read.

Francesca let herself sink back into the couch. She pulled her knees to her chest, her free hand drifting up to her mouth, picking absently at the skin around her fingernail.

“How did you end up here, Oscar Piastri?” she whispered.

And then immediately felt ridiculous.

It’s not like a follow meant anything.

It could’ve been a slip of the finger. Maybe something his management team did to stir engagement. A glitch. Instagram glitched all the time. That was a known thing.

It really was.

Still curled up on the couch, Francesca tapped back into Instagram and navigated to the official Formula One account. Just to look. Just to see if maybe there was something that explained why a McLaren driver might follow a booktuber with anxiety and a penchant for editing videos until 2am.

There wasn’t.

But there was a countdown at the top of the page.

Qualifying. One hour to go.

Qualifying? What was that? Like… sports pre-game? Car auditions?

She frowned. Then, before she could think twice, she picked up the remote and opened the app store on her TV. A few clicks later, she was signing up for a Sky Sports subscription.

“For research,” she told Henry, who lazily stared at her from his spot on the armrest like he was judging her life choices.

“I’m just… curious, okay?” she added, navigating to the F1 channel.

Henry yawned, unimpressed and unentertained.

Francesca pulled her quilt blanket around her shoulders and settled in, one hand on her mug of tea, the other resting lightly on Henry’s back. The TV buzzed to life with dramatic music and fast edits of cars screaming around tracks.

“Oh, they really are loud,” she muttered.

Still, she didn’t change the channel.

The coverage had barely started before the noise hit her full-force — engines growling, tires screeching, the low thrum of commentary that barely kept up with the chaos on screen.

Francesca grimaced. She didn’t like it. Too loud, too fast, too… much.

Henry flinched at a particularly aggressive rev, then resumed kneading the arm of the sofa like he was above letting it actually concerned him.

Cars whipped around corners at impossible speeds, camera angles switching every few seconds. She couldn’t follow any of it. Couldn’t understand the appeal. It made her anxious, frankly — a blur of noise and danger and people cheering for machines hurtling toward potential disaster.

And then one of them did crash.

Right into the barrier.

Metal crumpled. The commentators’ voices jumped a pitch. The screen showed a flurry of slow-motion replays, sparks flying.

Her hand flew to the remote. She didn’t want to see this. She was about to switch off.

But then, like it had been summoned just for her, a name appeared at the bottom of the screen.

Oscar Piastri — overlayed over the image of a sleek orange car pulling into the pit lane.

She froze, her heart jumping in her throat.

The camera cut to him stepping out of the car. Calm. Focused. Tugging off his helmet to reveal slightly flattened curls and flushed cheeks. The camera lingered for a second too long — or maybe not long enough — before cutting away.

Francesca didn’t move.

She didn’t even blink.

“Oh no,” she whispered, sinking slightly lower into the couch. “Absolutely not.”

Henry purred beside her.

—

iMessage – Francesca & Katie

Katie: How’s your evening? Still editing?

Francesca: yep super busy so much to do

Katie: Why are you being weird

Francesca: 😶

Katie: Wait What did you do

Francesca: nothing?? literally nothing.

Katie: Francesca.

Francesca: okay fine i may have accidentally subscribed to sky sports

Katie: YOU WHAT

Francesca: DON’T it was just for a second. i wanted to see what “qualifying” meant.

Katie: Omg Omg Did you watch it? YOU WATCHED IT DIDN’T YOU

Francesca: it was research.

Katie: Research for what???

Francesca: i think i might want get my drivers liscence soon.

Katie: HAHA BULLSHIT definitely not because a certain driver literally just followed you on instagram or anything

Francesca: shut up maybe

Katie: Fran.

Francesca: i didn’t like it i almost turned it off. but then his name came up and i just… idk. i kept watching.

Katie: Omg my baby has a crush

Francesca: shut up no ew

Katie: Right Why did you google “Oscar Piastri favourite book” at 8:07pm

Francesca: STOP STALKING MY BROWSER HISTORY GET UR OWN GOOGLE ACCOUNT

Katie: Nah

—

The Sky Sports app was still open on her TV.

Francesca hadn’t meant to leave it there. It just... stayed. Like the universe was silently daring her to press play again.

She’d lost herself to editing again — that blissful, numbing kind where hours passed unnoticed, her fingers tapping out precise cuts, adjusting audio, overlaying soft transitions like muscle memory. The world outside her screen had faded away, quiet and far off.

But now… now her video was exported, her desk light dim, the flat heavy with stillness.

And she couldn’t resist.

She clicked on Post-Qualifying Interviews, telling herself it was just to see what the drivers sounded like. That was all. She was just curious. Nothing more.

She turned the volume down to a whisper.

Henry flicked his tail in visible disapproval.

“I’m not proud of this either,” she whispered, settling into the couch like she was committing a crime. The blanket came up to her chin. The remote was gripped in her hand.

The first few drivers were all very… race-driver-y. Confident. Loud. Slightly sweaty. Lots of hand gestures and scathing words for their own performances.

And then Oscar appeared.

The interviewer asked him something technical — tires, or grip, or some other concept that meant absolutely nothing to her — and he responded with this measured, thoughtful calm. No bravado. No shouting. Just… collected.

Francesca tilted her head, studying the way his brow creased slightly as he answered, like he really cared about getting it right. The way he smiled softly at the end of his sentence, almost to himself, like a punctuation mark no one else noticed.

She didn’t even realise she was smiling too until Henry let out a judgmental meow.

“I said I’m not proud,” she muttered, hastily backing out of the video.

The silence that followed was immediate and deafening.

She tossed the remote aside and buried her face in her hands.

“Oh my God,” she mumbled into her palms. “I need to go to bed. I need to stop acting like an actual crazy person.”

Henry pawed at her ankle, unimpressed.

She was going to delete the Sky Sports app first thing in the morning.

Right after she watched one more video.

Maybe two.

—

Francesca watched the Grand Prix the next day.

She made tea. She stayed in her pyjamas. She sat through the whole thing, even when it dragged and even when the commentators said things she didn’t understand. It wasn’t thrilling. It wasn’t magical. It just… was.

Oscar finished somewhere in the middle.

She turned the TV off, went to take a shower, and moved on with her life.

There were deadlines to meet. Emails to respond to. A pile of unread books that had started to stare at her like she’d betrayed them. Her expensive Sky Sports subscription went untouched the rest of the week.

But then Tuesday came.

And Tuesday was awful.

There was no real reason. No one thing she could point to and say that’s what broke me. It just felt like everything was a little too loud, her own skin too heavy. Like gravity had turned up a notch and was dragging her down with it.

She didn’t get out of bed.

Didn’t open her laptop.

Didn’t answer Katie’s texts — not even the one with a cat meme she would normally have replied to in all-caps.

Henry crawled into her lap around midday and stayed there, curled against her like a warm, quiet anchor. She lay still, wrapped in blankets, blinking up at the ceiling like it might give her answers.

Nothing did.

It was the kind of day where time slowed and thoughts didn’t. Where brushing her teeth felt like running a marathon. Where everything felt stuck.

She picked up her phone out of habit, already ready to put it back down again.

But then — the notification.

@oscarpiastri liked your post. Her latest one. A photo dump from less than two hours ago — mostly books, a coffee mug, her hand in the sunlight.

Her heart stuttered.

Not in a dramatic, fireworks-going-off kind of way. Just a small, stunned skip.

She stared at the notification like it might vanish.

Henry shifted slightly in her lap. She didn’t move.

It was such a small thing.

A double-tap.

A gesture.

But in the middle of a day where just existing felt impossible, someone — he — had seen her.

Even if it didn’t mean anything.

Even if it was random.

Even if he probably liked a hundred photos that day.

She let out a long, shaky breath and rested her phone on her chest, her hand curled loosely around it.

"Okay," she whispered to no one.

Maybe she could get up later.

Not now. But maybe later.

—

The MTC was buzzing, even though it was only a Tuesday. Debrief done. Media duties had been wrapped earlier in the morning. Everything had settled into that post-Grand Prix lull where everyone finally took a breath until the next weekend came around.

Oscar leaned back against the side of a worktable, scrolling idly through Instagram. Nothing serious. Just background noise.

Until he saw that she’d posted.

Francesca Gold.

He hadn’t meant to follow her, not really. It had been a 2am spiral the night before quali day — his sister had sent him a TikTok of somebody talking about a F1 themed romance novel, which had ultimately led him to her channel, which led to hours watching her recommend fantasy novels with painfully sincere enthusiasm.

It was just a photo dump. Books. Sunlight. Her cat, maybe — very ginger and grumpy looking. He didn’t overthink it.

He double-tapped the photo, thumb pausing just slightly over the screen.

She rarely posted pictures of her full-face. Never showed it in any of her videos. But he knew that she was pretty. Gorgeous, even.

A grin tugged at his mouth before he could stop it.

“What’s that face?”

Oscar glanced up.

Lando was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, looking far too smug for someone who had just received a stern telling-off for his comments to the press after his bang-average race performance.

Oscar blanched. “What face?”

“The one I just saw.” Lando pointed. “The ‘I’ve got a secret’ smile. You were two seconds away from giggling.”

“I don’t giggle.” He argued.

“Mate.” Lando deadpanned. “Come on. Spill.”

Oscar locked the screen and slipped the phone into his pocket, casual. “It’s nothing.”

Lando raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Nothing’s usually something.”

Oscar didn’t answer.

Lando stepped closer, all mock seriousness now. “Is it a girl?”

Oscar gave him a long, slow look. “You’re very nosy.”

“That’s not a no.”

He looked away without meaning to.

“Oh my God, it is a girl. Who is she? Wait—” He snapped his fingers. “I saw something on twitter about you following some… I don’t know what they call them. She reads books.” He said.

Oscar exhaled through his nose, resigned. “She posted on Instagram. I liked it. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm. And now you’re smiling like a man with secrets.”

Oscar didn’t answer, just tugged the zipper of his hoodie down a little and pushed off the table.

“You’re going to message her, aren’t you?” Lando called after him, voice teasing.

“I’m going to find food,” Oscar said over his shoulder. “Stop projecting, Norris.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He ignored it until he’d found a quiet, empty spot to sit.

And then he opened her page again. Let himself look properly this time. The soft light coming from the window. The cat. The books. The half-face showing in the last photo; all dark hair and hazel eyes.

He smiled again.

And this time, no one saw.

—

iMessage – Francesca & Katie

Katie: Hey. Please stay away from Twitter for a bit

Francesca: uh oh why what happened have i been cancelled for not liking the new sjm book? lol

Katie: Nothing major. Just… people noticed something. Some tweets about you and oscar 🤦‍♀️ They’re being annoying. That’s all.

Francesca: … there literally is no ‘me and oscar’ katie. what kind of annoying?

Katie: The “who even is she” kind And the “typical influencer girl” stuff Ignore them. They’re bored and jealous.

Francesca: typical influencer girl. oh my god i’m going to dissolve into the floor now don’t mind me. just fully evaporating

Katie: You are literally FINE You didn’t do anything. He followed you. He liked your post.

FRANCESCA i didn’t even follow him back 😭😭😭 would that make it worse? i might just do it

KATIE Lmao. You don’t have to do anything. Your account, your space, your joy. You’re allowed to post a picture of your cat, ffs

Francesca: henry is a public figure.

Katie: LMAO Okay yeah that’s true

Francesca: god i hate being perceived. i feel gross. like i did something wrong.

Katie: You didn’t. I promise. People will forget about this in like 48 hours. Faster if you don’t engage. Also: do not google yourself. Do not check the quote tweets. Seriously. Step away. People are being disgusting. Talking about your mental health.

Francesca: oh my god they hit the pentagon

Katie: STOP. You’re ridiculous. Don’t make me laugh right now. I’m angry. Go cuddle the public figure Tomorrow, we pretend that this never happened.

Francesca: … okay. but if i die of embarrassment, pls delete my browser history

Katie: Of course.

—

It had been two weeks since she’d worked up the courage to leave her flat.

In that time, she’d dived head-first into the history of Formula One.

She’d developed an emotional attachment to Nico Rosberg.

And every time she saw Oscar’s face or heard his voice, her stomach did this weird little twist she tried very hard to ignore.

She still hadn’t worked up the nerve to follow him back.

Twitter had moved on after a few days. The comments had been vicious — picking apart the parts of her mental health issues that she’d made public, calling her a terrible match for the Australian driver (capital letters, like that somehow made it worse). It was mean, sure, but also probably laced with some truth.

It was laughable. She knew what a WAG was now. And she could literally never.

Cameras, fashion critiques, every movement scrutinised. There was a reason she didn’t plaster her face all over the internet. Sure, most people had pieced together what she looked like by now — it wasn’t some big scandelous secret — but she could still walk through London relatively unnoticed, on the very rare occasion that she did.

And that was how she liked it.

—

Oscar made it onto the podium in Japan.

Francesca had watched the race live, heart hammering against her ribs like it was her out there driving. Henry had abandoned her half an hour in — bored or annoyed or both — but she’d stayed curled up on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen, half-hidden behind her quilt.

When he crossed the line in third, she let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-overwhelmed-sob.

She was proud of him. Which was ridiculous, really. She didn’t know him. He was nobody to her. But still — she'd watched, taught herself the rules, learned the names of the tracks, made a list of all of the weird acronyms, and somewhere between doing all of those things, she’d started cheering for him like it mattered.

She opened the Instagram app before she could talk herself out of it.

Went to his profile.

Paused.

Her thumb hovered over the message icon, heart beating too fast, palms clammy.

What would she even say?

Well done? I was cheering for you from my couch.

No. God, no.

He had millions of followers. He probably got hundreds of thousands of messages. Messages from people he actually knew. From people who weren’t... whatever she was.

She hadn’t followed him back. That felt important. It made her invisible. Safe. Unknown.

And still, the urge to say something curled up inside her, warm and nervous. She wanted him to know. Just a little. That she’d seen it. That she was proud of him.

Her thumbs started to type, slowly, hesitantly:

Congratulations. You were incredible today. I’ve been cheering for you.

She stared at the words.

Then deleted the message.

Then retyped it.

Eventually, she shook her head, hastily swiped out of the Instagram app, locked her phone and let it slide to the other end of the couch.

She buried her face in Henry’s fur, blinking fast.

Maybe next time.

—

bookishgoldie just posted!

liked by oscarpiastri, stephbroher, and 35,768 others

bookishgoldie: enjoying the london sunshine ☀️

view all comments

user1: KING HENRY SIGHTING

user17: i love that cat like he's my own omg

user03: it’s officially spring!!!!!

user63: OSCAR IN HER LIKES AGAIN OH MY GOD

user17: FRANCESCA HIDE BEHIND ME BABYGIRL I WONT LET THE TWITTER DEMONS GET YOU AGAIN 🤺

user60: this is crazy... do u think they're like friends or

user76: no idea. she's so pretty though.

user5: do we even know if oscar pastry is literate? genuine question.

user33: i LOVE your apartment!!!!!!!!!!!

bookishgoldie: i do too!! thank you

user18: my favourite booktuber ever

user2: I’ve been here since the beginning and it’s crazy to me that she’s basically a household name now.

Chapter Two

#from eden #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 rpf #f1 x female reader #f1 x ofc #oscar piastri x female oc #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

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claireswhisperings · 9 months ago

Text

baby, we don't need no towel • i'ma be the one who rub your body now

paige bueckers x fem!reader

synopsis: you can’t help but stare at paige when she comes over to build furniture for your dorm

warnings: suggestive, but no smut

wc: 1.5 k

masterlist

When Azzi enlisted you, Paige, and Jana to build her some shelves, who were any of you to say no to her? You all found your way onto yours and Azzi’s shared living room floor, each building a different part while Azzi sat there ‘encouraging,’ as she put it, all three of you. Two hours have passed with almost no progress being made due to you being constantly distracted by your blondie.

It’s sinful, really, the way Paige looks right now. Toned arms flexing with every move of the power drill, back arching when she leans back up to admire her and Jana’s hard work, her abs that tense when she lifts the shelf she is currently drilling. A thin layer of sweat covers her entire body, glistening when your girlfriend moves in the soft yellow lighting. Your eyes shamelessly rake over the upper half of her body, fully appreciating the fact that only a thin black sports bra is covering the top half of her body.

Azzi sits on the couch behind you, smiling silently when she notices the way you’re gawking at your half-naked girlfriend, not even noticing how quiet you’ve become, or how many pieces of the shelves you’ve dropped into your own lap.

“Hello?” her hand waves in front of your face, breaking your concentration on Paige’s abs. “Little distracted, are we?” she’s subtly teasing you, biting her hand slightly to keep from laughing out loud at you.

Paige, sporting a very cocky smile, ego growing by the tenfold at Azzi’s comments, taking a few steps closer as she turns her back to you to work on the part of the shelf Jana has been doing alone.

“Yeah, anything to share that’s interested you lately?” Paige’s smug voice rings out, slightly raspy. She fucking knows how good she looks to you right now, and you can see it in her eyes before she moves, choosing to turn back around so all you can see is her smooth back.

You roll your eyes, looking back at the building instructions while Azzi and Jana immerse in a conversation about a movie they had both recently seen. From her crouched position on the floor, Paige can feel your eyes subtly admiring her exposed body, choosing to arch her back slightly, leaning up to stretch her arms over her head, and offer you a side view of her body. Her face is painted with a huge smirk as your eyes catch hers, and you know she’s got you right in her trap.

You don’t notice Jana waving her arms and calling for you to get your attention, determined to finally finish one set of shelves. “Yeah?” you ask, slightly annoyed by all the distractions that prevent you from thinking about Paige for longer than you have been.

“Would you please help me, and hold this part of the shelf?” Jana’s voice is riddled with laughter at how long it takes you to respond and help her lift a section of the shelf frame so she can drill it in place.

Jana manages to drill in the last bit of the bar you’re holding, and you can take a small break, dropping your hands into your lap, and leaning back onto your heels. Paige slinks up beside you, nudging you with her shoulder to divert your attention away from Jana, who is muttering to herself about her next plan of action of building the shelf.

You and Paige exchange smirks, and you roll your eyes when her eyes drop to look at your tits, slightly visible in your own bra. “Come on now, eyes up here,” you point to your own eyes, hand dropping down to slightly caress and squeeze Paige’s bicep that she had moved by your head to entice you into feeling her up.

“Hey, no touching each other while I’m hard at work, please,” Jana’s voice rings out in front of you, and you and Paige roll your eyes playfully, squeezing her bicep one last time before you stand up move past Paige to sit next to Jana to help the girl. Paige pats your ass as you walk by, earning a quick swat to the head that she can’t dodge, but does get a laugh out of the girl, and she slumps down and looks at her phone.

Morgan props herself up behind Paige, showing her Azzi’s story, featuring her, Jana, and you. Flashing you a quick smile behind your back, she raises her voice, “Oh yeah, I get the appeal of this.” you turn around in curiosity, rolling your eyes to turn your back on Paige when she flashes you her screen, and you see Azzi’s story.

Paige turns back to her screen with a smile on her lips, seemingly done with teasing you for now. Her eyes zero in on you, sitting on your heels, looking at something way off the screen that shows off your side profile. Your tits and arms are on full display in your sports bra, and Paige’s eyes rake up and down the muscles you’re straining to lift up the shelf. Morgan notices this, laughing a little as she says, “Yeah and I bet you get the appeal of that.”

She gets up to go back to her place on the couch, passing by you to send you a small “Looking good champ.” You smile at Morgan, before turning your head back to Paige.

Azzi had shown you the photo before she posted it, and while you certainly weren’t denying Paige looked good in it, you did too. And you knew Paige liked how you looked in it, just as much as you liked how she did. She sends you a genuine smile, never one to not tell you how beautiful you are.

The shelves are more or less done, and everyone is unwinding for the night, all agreeing that finishing the shelves tomorrow is definitely a better idea. Will they be done tomorrow? Probably not. Does Paige care, when you’re in the kitchen, drinking some water after your work? Definitely not.

The girls are lounging on the couch and floor, moving the previously organised bolts and objects around. Paige finds her way to you, pressing a kiss to your temple when she passes by you to fish around for something in the fridge. You smile at her actions, busying yourself with playing with the rim of the glass with your finger, still eyeing your girlfriend in front of you, who still can’t seem to find one shirt to wear.

Paige’s head emerges from the fridge, face a little flushed from her knowing you’re still checking her out. 3 years together, and her heart still runs when you eye her the exact way you’re doing now. She leans into the counter beside you, eyes locked with yours while she eats something she found in the fridge.

Your own eyes drift down to her toned arms, one hand reaching out to caress her muscles. “You know, you should come by more often like this. I’ll break some things so you can repair them,” you mumble into her ear, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

Her face turns a deeper shade of red, finishing the last bite of her food. Your nails slightly scrape at the skin of her bicep, grazing up and down her arm as she tries, and fails, to keep her composure. Your eyes are drifting down to her lips, biting the inside of your cheek playfully up at her.

“Put a shirt on Bueckers, come on now,” you playfully push her away. “Should you be saying something like that to the hired help?,” she takes the cup out of your hand, and puts it on the counter to move closer to you,

“Kidding, you know I don’t mind, baby,” her tone is seductive in your ears, and you briefly glance at the girls lying in various positions among the shelf pieces, all too tired and on their phones to even pay attention to you and Paige.

You grab her hand, leading her swiftly down the hall, and into your room. Paige shuts the door behind her, and you’re quick to push her against the wall, and grab her face to finally feel her lips on yours. Her hands grab your waist, pulling you closer to her, and feeling the curve of your bare hips that she had been eyeing all night.

You’ve both worked yourselves up, both of you too eager to do anything other than jump the other’s bones. Her face slowly heats up as you continue keeping her body against the door, enjoying the feeling of your hands running across her abs and arms, feeling her up even more than you were before.

“Been needing you all night Paige,” you let out, pressing open-mouthed kisses on her jawline. “Fuck, me too baby. I need you so bad, please,” she pants out in your ear. Her voice has lost all calmness when her hands slip under your bra, fingers grazing over the slightly exposed skin. Her head leans down to suck marks onto your neck, hand landing back on your hips to guide you onto your bed.

You both fall down onto the bed, you landing on top of her, as she whispers promises into your neck of making all your time staring at her worth it by the end of the night. You let out a sigh in her ears when she tugs your bra off, fingers massaging your tits while she lowers her mouth down to your chest.

#claires works #claireswhisperings #uconn wcbb #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn #uconn huskies #paige bueckers smut #paige buckets #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers fic

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seospicybin · 3 months ago

Text

CAM.

CHAPTER II

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

CAM MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Struggling to make ends meet as an art student, Hyunjin never expected his quiet neighbor to change everything. Rumored to be an adult content creator, you offer him a deal—help you with your content, and you’ll help with his financial troubles. What starts as a simple arrangement soon blurs into something more, pulling Hyunjin into a world he never imagined. (23,4k words)

Author's note: Forgot to mention this was a late bday fic for Hyunjin. Hope you enjoy it and pls leave a feedback ♡

The past week has been a blur of paint-stained hands and sleepless nights. Hyunjin barely has time to think about anything else, buried in preparations for his school's upcoming exhibition. His apartment is a mess—canvases stacked against the walls, discarded sketches littering the floor, and his camera resting untouched on his desk. For once, his world isn’t revolving around late-night shoots and Lustre content. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

His brush glides across the canvas, layering deep strokes of blue over the rough outline of a figure. He’s been obsessed with movement lately, trying to capture fleeting emotions in abstract shapes and colors. His professors say his work has soul—that it feels raw, intimate. But he wonders if they’d still say the same if they knew where his inspiration truly came from.

Hyunjin sighs and sets his brush down, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. His eyes wander around his cluttered space, landing on an unfinished canvas propped up against the wall.

Your painting.

It’s a portrait, though he never intended it to be one. It started as a simple study—your figure bathed in warm light, the way your eyes softened when you were deep in thought. But then he kept coming back to it, adding layer after layer, unable to stop himself from trying to capture the quiet allure that had him tangled in knots.

Now, it’s only half-done. The outline of your face remains, delicate but unrefined. Your lips are sketched in, parted just slightly, as if caught mid-breath. Hyunjin swallows, gripping the brush tighter. He should be working on his exhibition piece, but his fingers itch to reach for this one instead.

It’s been days since he last saw you, yet here you are, lingering in the space between his thoughts.

The next day bleeds into the afternoon before Hyunjin even stirs awake. The weight of exhaustion still lingers in his limbs, his body aching from hours spent hunched over canvases and standing in front of easels. He barely remembers crashing onto his bed sometime in the early morning, the remnants of dried paint still on his fingers.

A sharp knock at the door pulls him from the haze of sleep. Hyunjin groans, pushing himself up with effort. The room is dim, sunlight seeping through the closed blinds, casting soft shadows over his cluttered space. Another knock follows, more insistent this time.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffles to the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before swinging it open. You're standing there, a warm smile curving your lips. The sight of you in the soft glow of the afternoon sun makes him blink twice, as if he isn’t sure whether he’s still dreaming.

“Wow, you look awful,” you tease, eyes flicking over his disheveled hair and the oversized shirt hanging off his frame. Before he can respond, you lift the paper bag in your hand. “Brought food. And coffee. Thought you might need it.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment, words catching in his throat. He wasn't expecting you—not today, not like this. But the scent of coffee and something delicious wafts toward him, grounding him in the moment. “…You didn’t have to,” he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Are you gonna let me in, or should I just eat this myself?”

The two of you sitting cross legged on his worn-out couch with take-out containers in hands. Hyunjin eats in slow bites, his body still shaking off the remnants of sleep. Next to him, you sit with your coffee in hand, fingers curled around the cup as you sip at it leisurely. He doesn’t think much of it at first—just you, keeping him company like you have before. But after a while, he notices it. The way your gaze lingers on him, thoughtful, as if you’re weighing something in your mind. You barely touch your food, just sipping at your coffee, lost in thought.

Hyunjin stops chewing, setting his chopsticks down. His brows furrow slightly as he studies you. “Do you have something to say to me?” he asks, tilting his head.

You blink, as if caught off guard, and glance down at your coffee. “No, not really,” you answer quickly, but there’s something in your tone—hesitation, uncertainty.

He doesn’t buy it. He puts down his chopsticks and looks at you. “Come on,” he presses gently. “You obviously have something to say. Just say it.”

You hesitate again, biting your lip as you lower your cup. For a moment, you seem to debate whether to speak at all. He watches you closely, his heart picking up its pace as you finally part your lips to speak.

“I was going to wait until after the exhibition to ask you this,” you begin, your fingers nervously tracing the rim of your coffee cup. “But… the thought of waiting has been making me uneasy.”

He stays quiet, letting you gather your words, his anticipation growing.

You take a deep breath and meet his gaze. “Now that you’ve paid off your debt… I was wondering if you still want to work with me. You know, help me with my content.”

Hyunjin gets a little taken aback. He expected something different, something more final—but this? He studies your face, the way your expression tightens with genuine worry, as if you’re afraid of what he might say. Instead of answering right away, he asks, “Why are you so worried that I’d stop?”

Your lips press together before you sigh. “Because it’s hard to find someone I can trust to do this with.” Your voice is softer now, more vulnerable. “And I trust you, Hyunjin.”

A strange fluttering feeling stirs in his chest at those words. Trust. You trust him.

You continue before he can respond, your words spilling faster as if you’re scared of what his answer might be. “I mean, obviously, you don’t have to say yes just because I asked, and if you want, we can negotiate the numbers—”

Hyunjin chuckles, shaking his head as he leans back against his chair. “Hey, slow down,” he says, amusement laced in his tone.

You shut your mouth quickly, looking embarrassed, aware that you were a second away from rambling on and on. Then, without hesitation, he gives you his answer. “Yes. I’ll continue working with you.”

The tension in your shoulders melts instantly. A smile blooms across your face, bright and relieved, and Hyunjin can’t help but stare for a moment, thinking to himself how effortlessly you light up a room.

The mood in the room shifts into something lighter, something comfortable after that talk. He sees that you can finally pick up your chopsticks and start eating, the sound of utensils clinking against the takeout containers filling the space between easy conversation.

“You really need to eat more proper meals,” you chide playfully as you watch him practically inhale the food.

He chuckles between bites. “I do eat properly,” he argues, though the evidence says otherwise.

Once the food is finished, Hyunjin gathers the trash and tosses it away, wiping his hands on a napkin. Meanwhile, you stand and wander around the room, eyes roaming over the canvases scattered throughout his workspace. Some lean against the walls, others rest on the floor, each one carrying a story in its strokes.

“These are for the exhibition?” you ask, tilting your head at one particular piece.

He nods, stepping beside you. “Yeah, I’m almost done with them. Just a few more details here and there.”

You take your time admiring each one, letting your fingers hover just above the dried paint as if you could feel the emotion embedded in them. Then, your gaze lands on a canvas tucked away in the corner, covered by a white cloth. Your curiosity sparks instantly. “What about that one?”

Hyunjin stiffens. His reaction is subtle, but you catch it.

“It’s nothing,” he says too quickly, stepping forward as if to block your view. “Just a failed one.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A failed one?”

“Yeah,” he lies smoothly, though his voice is just a little too even. “Didn’t turn out the way I wanted, so I scrapped it.”

You don’t push, but you do glance at the covered painting again, wondering what could possibly be underneath. Unbeknownst to you, Hyunjin swallows hard, keeping his expression neutral as he prays you don’t try to unveil it. Because hidden beneath that cloth is something he isn’t ready for you to see.

He shifts his focus back to you, watching your gaze lingers on the paintings, your fingers tracing the air just above the dried brushstrokes. The way you look at them—at his work—makes something warm settle in his chest.

“So,” he starts, hands tucking into the pockets of his sweatpants, “are you going to come to the exhibition?”

You turn to him, a playful glint in your eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hyunjin scoffs, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “So that’s a yes?”

You nod and with a soft smile, you say, “I’d be more than happy to come.”

Somehow, in the pause that follows, your eyes find his, and for a moment, neither of you look away. There’s something lingering in the air between you, something unspoken. Hyunjin wonders if you feel it too.

Then, after what feels like a beat too long, you break into a smile and glance toward the door. “I should probably go so you can work on your paintings.”

He barely manages to hide his disappointment. He wants you to stay. He likes having you here, in his space, talking to him like this. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he nods, forcing himself to play it cool. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll see you later.”

You give him one last smile before heading for the door, and when it finally clicks shut behind you, Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his hair. The room feels quieter now, a little emptier and he hates how much he wishes you had stayed.

As you step into your apartment, the air-conditioning greets your skin, a cool relief after your morning run. You set your phone down on the counter, make yourself a smoothie, and settle into your usual spot by the window. The city hums faintly outside, but inside, it’s quiet—just the way you like it in the mornings.

You take a sip of your smoothie and open Lustre, scrolling through notifications. A few messages from subscribers—some predictable, explicit ones—but one stands out.

mag.shawn

The profile picture is simple: a bunch of purple tulips. No face, no suggestive username. Curiosity piqued, you tap on the message.

"The more I see your pictures, the more convinced I am that you're not just beautiful from the outside, but on the inside too. I hope you have a lovely day, beautiful."

You take another second to reread the words. You’re used to messages from men, but they usually come with crude compliments, detailed fantasies, or straight-up requests. This, however, is just… sweet. A small smile tugs at your lips. You type a reply.

"Thank you, that’s really sweet of you. I hope you have a lovely day too."

After sending it, you lean back, taking another sip of your smoothie. It’s such a small thing—a simple message—but somehow, it lifts your mood. As you're about to have a sip of your smoothie, another notification comes and catches your eye.

Felix [Lustre]: Hey, do you want to meet up today?

Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitating. You knew this was coming—he had already reached out about a collaboration and texted you a few times talking about it—but something about it makes you pause. Maybe it's the uncertainty of working with someone new, or maybe it's the fact that Hyunjin's face flashed in your mind the second you read Felix’s message. You chew on your lip, tapping your nails against the glass of your smoothie. What should you say? Your screen stays lit, Felix’s message waiting for an answer.

You pull your car out of the parking lot, the engine humming softly as you ease onto the road. Just as you’re about to turn the corner, you spot Hyunjin walking along the sidewalk, hands shoved into his pockets, his hair is tied into a loose ponytail, his bag slung over his shoulder.

You slow down, rolling down the passenger-side window. “Hyunjin!” He looks up, surprised. “Need a lift?”

He stops on his track and then slightly bends down to look at you as he kindly refuses your offer. “It’s fine, I can take the bus.”

“At least let me drop you off at the bus stop.” You insist, offering him a look that says you won’t take no for an answer.

With a sigh, he caves in, pulling the door open and settling into the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

As you start driving, you glance at him. “So, where are you going?”

He nods, gazing out the window. “I’m heading to school to help set up the exhibition.”

You hum in response, but before you can say anything else, he shifts slightly in his seat and looks at you, noticing the way you're dressed. “How about you?”

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel for a second. You don’t know why you hesitate, but you do. Then, after a pause, you ask, “Do you remember Felix?”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “The creator who wants to collab with you?”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’m meeting him today.”

His gaze flickers to you before returning to the road ahead. “Does that means you’re doing the collab?”

Another hesitation. You wonder if it's a good idea to share when nothing is decided yet. Then, you exhale. “I’m still considering. I just want to meet him first, get to know him a little before deciding.”

He nods, but he doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. As you focus on the road ahead, you don’t know why, but you feel like you told him something you shouldn't have shared.

When you finally pull up at the bus stop, Hyunjin unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door. Before stepping out, he turns to you with a small, polite smile. “Thanks for the ride.”

You nod, watching as he shuts the door behind him. As you drive away, you steal one last glance at the rearview mirror, catching sight of him standing there, hands back in his pockets, staring off at nothing in particular.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods lingering in the air as you step inside the café. You scan the room, searching for him, and it doesn’t take long before your eyes land on the person you're looking for.

Felix. He’s already there, sitting by the window with a cup of coffee in hand. The afternoon sun casts a glow over him, highlighting the soft waves of his long, bleached blonde hair. You knew he was good-looking from his pictures, but in person, he’s even more striking—sharp jawline, deep brown eyes, freckles dusted his cheeks and a natural pout to his lips. You get it now. You understand why he’s one of the most popular creators on Lustre.

But when he looks up and spots you, a smile breaks across his face—warm, inviting, nothing like the sultry, smoldering persona he portrays online. “Hey, glad you made it,” he greets, standing up to shake your hand. His voice is deep, laced with a natural rasp that takes you by surprise.

You nod, shaking his hand. “I hope I didn't make you wait too long.”

“Nah. Not at all,” he grins before gesturing to the seat across from him. “Please, have a seat. I already ordered for you—hope you don’t mind. I just figured a vanilla latte suits you.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by how effortlessly charming he is—not in an overbearing way, but in a way that makes you feel at ease. Sitting down, you take a glance at the drink he ordered for you, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s actually my go-to order.”

Felix chuckles, resting his chin on his palm. “Lucky guess. Or maybe I’m just good at reading people.”

The conversation flows easily between you and Felix as you sip on your coffee, talking about Lustre, content creation, and the experiences that come with it. He’s easy to talk to—engaging, charming without trying too hard, and surprisingly down-to-earth despite his popularity.

Eventually, curiosity gets the best of you, and you tilt your head slightly. “May I ask why you suddenly want to do a collab with me?”

Felix hums, stirring the remnants of his coffee with his straw. “Honestly? I’ve never done a collab before. I always worked solo, but then I saw the one you did with Sienna.” He leans back against his chair, a small grin tugging at his lips. “And I just thought… that looks fun.”

A smile tugging at your lips, slightly flustered. “Fun?”

He nods. “Yeah. The way you two work together, the chemistry—it felt natural, not forced. And I could tell you put a lot of effort into it, not just in front of the camera, but in the way everything was presented. It wasn’t just content; it was… artistic.”

His words catch you off guard, and you find yourself lowering your gaze, a hint of warmth creeping up your neck. Still, another question lingers in your mind. You glance at him again, hesitating only for a second before asking, “But why me? There are so many other creators on Lustre—some even more popular than I am. Why choose me?”

He doesn’t hesitate for a second to answer. “Because I like you.”

Your breath catches slightly, eyes widening at his direct answer. He seems to realize the weight of his words, quickly raising his hands with a sheepish chuckle. “I mean, I like your content—your artistry, your aesthetic. It’s different from the rest.”

But then, after a short pause, he tilts his head, a playful glint in his eyes. “Though… yeah, I guess I also just like you. You’re beautiful—it’s impossible not to like you.”

You feel your heart skip, caught between surprise and something else you can’t quite place. And from the way Felix watches you, as if amused by your reaction, you know he notices it too. As if you weren't flustered enough, he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table as he watches you with quiet curiosity. “So, what do you think? About collabing with me?”

You let out a small breath, fingers idly tracing the rim of your coffee cup as you think of how to answer. Before you can, Felix speaks again.

“I honestly think this would work,” he says, his voice light but certain. “One, because I like your style—it’s different, and I think our aesthetics could blend well. Two, because I know how to bring out the best in my content partners.” He pauses for a second, a smirk playing on his lips. “And three… because I can already tell you and I have chemistry.”

His confidence is disarming, and you can’t help but smile at his words. He says it so naturally, like it’s a fact rather than a guess.

Still, you take a moment before answering, meeting his gaze. “I only collaborate with people I trust.”

He studies you for a moment, then nods in understanding, his expression softening. “I get that,” he says. “Trust is important in this line of work. I’d probably be the same way if I were you.”

You expect him to push further, but instead, he leans back, completely relaxed. “I just hope you’re not completely closed off to the idea.” His eyes meet yours again, sincere and patient. “Take as much time as you need. And when you’re ready, give me a call.”

The weight in his words lingers between you, an unspoken promise that he won’t rush you into anything and for some reason, that makes it harder to look away.

Being a gentleman that he is, Felix insists on walking you toward your car, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, his steps unhurried like he has all the time in the world. The late afternoon sun casts a soft glow on his blond hair, making him look even more ethereal than he already does.

When you reach your car, he turns to you with an easy smile. “I really hope we get to do this collab,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You raise a brow at him, smirking. “No pressure, huh?”

He chuckles, tilting his head slightly. “None at all. Just putting it out there.”

There’s something about the way he looks at you—warm, expectant, and just a little mischievous—that makes your chest feel light. You unlock your car, and before you can reach for the door, Felix beats you to it, pulling it open like a perfect gentleman. “Here,” he gestures, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Allow me.”

You laugh softly but step inside, settling into the driver’s seat. As you adjust your grip on the wheel, Felix leans down, resting his arm on the top of your car, his gaze meeting yours through the open window. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced by something more serious—more intense.

“Whether there'll be a collab or not, please give me a call.” His voice is deeper and lower now, smoother, and for a brief second, it feels like he’s asking for something much more than just a call.

Your fingers tighten on the steering wheel as your heart does a tiny, unexpected flip. And then, just like that, he steps back, flashing you one last, heart-melting smile.

You drive away, glancing once in the rearview mirror to see him standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you leave. By the time you turn the corner, you realize that you’re smiling too.

The gallery is alive with murmurs of appreciation, soft footsteps against polished floors, and the occasional clinking of glasses from the refreshment table. Hyunjin should be basking in the compliments, engaging in conversations with professors and fellow artists, but his mind is elsewhere. He glances toward the entrance again, pretending to survey the crowd, but really, he’s just looking for you.

The anticipation coils tight in his chest. He’s not even sure why. Maybe because you promised you’d come. Maybe because you looked at him that way—the way that made him feel like he was someone worth looking at. He shifts his weight, nodding along to a professor’s comment about his brushwork, but his thoughts are elsewhere. You’ll come. You said you would.

Hyunjin excuses himself, turning around on his feet and about to check his phone when he hears your voice.

"Hey."

He turns to the side, and there you are, standing by the entrance, holding a bouquet of flowers. His breath catches for a second—maybe from surprise, maybe from something else—but he quickly recovers, walking toward you.

"You're here," he says, relief evident in his voice.

You flash him a grin and hold out the bouquet. "These are from Sienna. She wanted to congratulate you but couldn’t make it."

Still smiling, he gestures toward the gallery. "Come on, let me give you the grand tour."

As the two of you walk through the exhibition, Hyunjin explains his paintings to you, his voice softer than usual. He doesn’t even realize how closely you’re listening, how intently you’re watching him as he talks. But when he finally meets your gaze, something about the way you’re looking at him makes his heart race.

Just as Hyunjin is about to say something else, a voice cuts in.

"Hyunjin, I didn't know you have a girlfriend."

Hyunjin turns to see Edgar approaching, one of his classmates and a fellow artist in the exhibition. Edgar's gaze flickers between the two of you, curiosity evident in his expression.

"This is not my—" Hyunjin clears his throat and then gestures toward you. "She’s my neighbor and a... friend of mine."

You briefly glance at Hyunjin before offer a polite smile and extend your hand at Edgar. "Nice to meet you."

Edgar takes your hand with an easy grin. "Nice to meet you too. You a fan of Hyunjin’s work?"

You glance at Hyunjin playfully before nodding. "Yeah, you could say that."

Before Edgar can respond, Hyunjin hears his name being called from across the room. His professor waves him over, motioning for him to come quickly. He exhales sharply, hating the timing.

"I have to take care of something," he tells you, regret in his tone. He looks at Edgar. "Hey, can you take over for me? Show her the rest of the exhibition?"

Edgar nods easily. "Yeah, with pleasure."

He looks at you one last time with a gentle smile on his face. "I’ll be back soon, okay?"

You nod with a reassuring smile. "Go, do your thing. I’ll be fine."

Still, as he walks away, Hyunjin can't shake the feeling of guilt for leaving you behind.

His professor had kept him occupied longer than expected, and now that he’s free, his first instinct is to find you. He immediately scans the room, searching for you amidst the crowd.

When his eyes land on you, he stops in his tracks. You’re still with Edgar, standing near one of the paintings, laughing at something he just said. There’s an easygoing warmth in your expression, the kind that makes it obvious you’re enjoying the conversation. Edgar, on the other hand, is leaning slightly toward you, a smug grin on his face like he’s proud of making you laugh.

Hyunjin doesn’t know why it bothers him, but it does. It’s not like you’re his. He has no right to feel like this. And yet, the longer he watches, the stronger the irrational urge becomes—to interrupt, to pull you away, to remind you that you came here for him, not Edgar. Before he can talk himself out of it, he makes his way over.

“Hey,” he says, slipping into the conversation as casually as he can manage. His eyes flicker between you and Edgar, but his focus lingers on you. “Having fun?”

You turn to him with a bright smile. “Yeah, Edgar’s been telling me all kinds of stories about you.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at Edgar, who only smirks in response. “Oh yeah?” Hyunjin crosses his arms. “What exactly have you been saying?”

Edgar chuckles. “Just a few fun facts.” He glances at you with a teasing look. “Your friend here thinks you’re impressive.”

Hyunjin feels his heartbeat pick up at that, but he masks it with a scoff. “Yeah, well, I hope you weren’t exaggerating.”

Edgar waves him off and then turns to you with a grin. "So, what do you say? A drink after this? A little celebration for Hyunjin’s big night?"

You blink in surprise, then glance at Hyunjin, who suddenly looks like he wasn’t expecting this either. A smirk tugs at your lips as you tease, “Oh? Hyunjin never mentioned anything about drinks.”

Edgar crosses his arms together and chuckles. “That’s because I just came up with it. But come on, it’ll be fun.”

You shake your head, smiling politely. "I appreciate the invite, but I think I’ll have to pass this time."

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, but you notice the way his posture subtly shifts, like he’s relieved. Taking the opportunity, you turn to him. “Speaking of leaving, I should probably get going.”

His expression falters slightly, just for a second, but he quickly recovers. “Oh… already?”

You nod, offering him a warm smile. “Yeah, but congratulations again. The exhibition is amazing, and I’m really proud of you.”

Something flickers in Hyunjin’s eyes at your words, but before he can say anything, you take a small step back. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He nods, and just as you turn to leave, Edgar playfully nudges Hyunjin. “Damn, man. You didn’t even try to convince her to stay.”

Hyunjin ignores him, watching as you disappear into the crowd. And as much as he wishes you had stayed just a little longer, he holds on to your words—letting them replay in his head, over and over again.

You take a sip of your iced coffee as you scroll through your Lustre notifications. Most of them are the usual—likes, tips, and messages ranging from sweet to outright explicit but one message catches your attention. The one user with the purple tulips picture on his profile. You open it, your curiosity piqued.

mag.shawn: “I really liked your new photos. The silk dress suits you beautifully, but what suits you best is the smile on your face.”

You pause for a moment, rereading the message. It’s simple, kind, and—like before—different from the usual messages you receive. There’s something almost personal about it, like he actually sees you beyond just the photos. You type out a quick reply.

"Thank you! That’s really sweet of you to say. I’m glad you liked the photos. Hope you’re having a good day, sweet baby!"

Hearing the knocking on your door, you set your phone down and walk to the door to open it. You don't have to check to know that it's Hyunjin. You step aside to let him into your apartment, he walks in without hesitation, setting his bag down near the couch.

“Want to have a drink first?” you offer because he seems like he's just ran from his art school in a rush.

He uses the hair tie he carries around in his wrist to tie his hair into a low ponytail. “Maybe later. We have a lot to do now.”

The two of you don’t waste time, moving around in quiet understanding as you begin rearranging one of the spare rooms to turn it into a proper photo studio. You adjust the lighting, shift furniture, and clear out unnecessary clutter while Hyunjin sets up his camera equipment, occasionally checking the angles and backdrop.

The silence is comfortable, but after a while, you feel the weight of something unsaid pressing on your chest. You take a deep breath and break it.

“Hey…” You glance at Hyunjin, who is adjusting his camera settings. He hums in response, looking up.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay long at your exhibition,” you say softly, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

He straightens up and calmly responds. “It’s alright.” But then, after a beat, he tilts his head and asks, “Why, though?”

You hesitate, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s just… safer that way,” you finally say, your voice quieter. “I don’t want to risk getting recognized by people.” You lower your gaze, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

Hyunjin frowns slightly. “Embarrass me how?”

You let out a small, breathy chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “For being... with me. For being associated with what I do.”

He shakes his head, almost scoffing. “I don’t care about all that stuff.”

“Yeah,” You lift your gaze to him and, without thinking, murmur, “But other people do.”

Hyunjin falls silent at that. His expression shifts—like he wants to argue, to tell you that it doesn’t matter what others think. But deep down, you both know that’s not entirely true.

The room stays quiet for a moment before you clear your throat, forcing a smile. “Anyway, I'll get the cake.”

He watches you as you get up from the floor and walk out of the room but the weight of your words lingers between you both.

The concept for today is simple—just you against the clean, white backdrop, playing with food as a prop. The first choice is a small, frosted cake, one that you picked up specifically for this shoot. You sit on the floor with the cake in front of you, dressed in a soft, pastel-colored outfit that contrasts nicely against the backdrop.

Hyunjin lifts his camera, adjusting the focus. “Are you ready?”

You give him a thumbs-up. “I'm ready.”

The second he aims the camera at you, you dip a finger into the frosting, bringing it to your lips with a playful smirk. The camera clicks. You swipe a bit of frosting onto your cheek, pouting dramatically, and Hyunjin chuckles before snapping another shot.

"Try smearing some on your lips,” he suggests, his voice more focused now.

You do as he says, dabbing frosting on your bottom lip before licking it off slowly. The camera clicks again.

“Perfect,” he mutters while keeping his focus on getting good shots.

The shoot continues like this—innocent yet teasing, fun but undeniably intimate. You pretend to feed an imaginary person, tilt your head back with a bite of cake on your tongue, even press a bit of frosting onto your collarbone. Each time, Hyunjin captures the moment with an artist’s precision, his eyes trained on you through the lens.

But at some point, you glance up at him, and for the briefest moment, your eyes meet—not through the camera, but directly. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, something that makes your stomach flutter. You quickly look away, dipping your fingers back into the frosting, pretending you didn’t notice the way Hyunjin swallowed hard before lifting the camera again.

As the shoot winds down, you stretch your arms above your head and let out a content sigh. “That was fun,” you say, glancing at the mess you made. There’s frosting smeared on your fingers, your face, on your chest and you’re sure there’s some in your hair too.

He lowers his camera and looks at you, his lips pressing together as if he’s holding back a smile. “Yeah, fun for you,” he mutters. “I have to clean all this up.”

You grin, swiping a bit more frosting onto your cheek just to be annoying. “Well, you’re the photographer. That’s part of your job, isn’t it?”

Hyunjin sighs, shaking his head, but he grabs a cloth and steps closer. “You’re impossible.”

The warmth of his fingers ghosts over your skin as he wipes the icing from your cheek first, his touch careful and lingering longer than necessary. You stay still, watching him through your lashes as he works his way down—your jaw, the curve of your neck, the dip of your collarbone. His movements are slow, deliberate, and you can’t help but tease him.

“You sure this isn’t part of your job description too?” you murmur, tilting your head slightly.

He briefly stops moving, his eyes flicking to yours. There’s something in his gaze—something warm, something restrained. But then he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he moves to clean the frosting from your hair. “And you have to pay me extra for it.”

You laugh softly, letting him continue. But there’s no denying the shift in the air, the tension settling between you both as his fingers linger just a little too long. Even after he wipes most of the frosting with wet wipes, you feel the remnants of sugar still clinging to your skin. "I need a shower," you announce, already heading toward the bathroom. "Order dinner while I'm in there. Get whatever you want."

Hyunjin, now cleaning the mess on the floor, nods absentmindedly. "Got it."

The sound of running water fills the bathroom as you step inside, letting the warmth wash away the sticky remnants of the shoot. The sweet scent of frosting lingers on your skin, but soon it’s replaced by the familiar comfort of your body wash. You’re halfway through rinsing your hair when you faintly hear Hyunjin’s voice outside the door.

"Hey—what do you want to drink?"

You blink through the water running down your face, unable to make out his words clearly. "What?"

"I said—" His voice comes again, a little louder this time, but still muffled by the sound of the shower.

Sighing, you shake your head. "Just come inside, I can't hear you!"

There’s a pause. A long one. Then, the door creaks open hesitantly. "I'm—uh—I'm coming in," He mumbles, clearly uncomfortable.

You smirk to yourself, picturing the way he must be avoiding looking anywhere but straight ahead. "Relax, it's not like you haven't seen me naked before."

He scoffs but doesn't comment. "I was asking what you want to drink," he says stiffly, keeping his gaze locked on the tiled floor as he stands awkwardly by the sink.

Still grinning to yourself, you peek your head out from behind the shower curtain, water dripping down your face. "Just get me iced tea or something," you say casually.

He glances at you for only a second—before his eyes go wide, and he quickly looks away, his ears turning pink. "Okay—iced tea. Got it."

Before you can tease him further, he spins on his heel and nearly stumbles out of the bathroom, shutting the door a little too quickly behind him. Laughing to yourself, you shake your head and return to your shower, amused at how flustered he still gets around you.

Steam clings to your skin as you step out of the bathroom, your hair damp and dripping onto the collar of your bathrobe. The scent of warm food fills your apartment, making your stomach growl. You pad barefoot toward the kitchen, finding Hyunjin setting out containers of takeout, his sleeves pushed up as he arranges everything neatly. Without hesitation, you reach over and snatch a crispy fry from the plate.

"Hey!" He glares at you, swatting at your hand too late. "At least get dressed first!"

You grin as you pop the fry into your mouth. "Why? Does it bother you?" you tease, clutching your robe loosely around you.

He huffs, narrowing his eyes. "No. It’s just basic hygiene. Also, your hair is dripping everywhere."

You glance down, noticing a few stray droplets landing on the table. Shrugging, you steal another fry. "Guess I'll have to eat fast before I make a mess, then."

He groans, grabbing a napkin and pressing it into your hand. "Go. Dry off, get dressed, and then you can eat like a normal person."

You roll your eyes but turn on your heel, waving a hand as you walk away. "Ugh, okay, fine. But don't eat all the fries before I get back."

The two of you sit across from each other at the small dining table, the scent of fried food and warm rice filling the space between you. With your hair still wrapped in towel, you twirl your chopsticks absentmindedly, picking at your food while Hyunjin quietly eats. The atmosphere is comfortable, a peaceful kind of quiet settling between you both—until he suddenly speaks up.

"So…" He pauses, looking down at his plate before glancing up at you. "How did your meeting with Felix go?"

You stop mid-bite, not expecting him to bring it up. "It went fine," you answer, chewing slowly.

He nods, as if contemplating your answer, before continuing, "And what do you think of the guy?"

You shrug, poking at a piece of chicken. "He's nice."

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to say more. When you don’t, he asks, "So, have you decided? Are you going to collab with him?"

You let out a small sigh, setting your chopsticks down. "I don’t know. I mean, he’s great—charming, professional, all that. But…" You hesitate, searching for the right words. "I’m not fully sure about it yet."

He stays quiet, nodding slowly but a while later, his gaze flickers to you. "Why not?"

You purse your lips, unsure of how to explain it. "I guess… I just don’t jump into things like this. I like to trust the person I work with, and trust takes time, you know?"

He hums in response, stabbing a piece of food with his chopsticks. "Yeah. Makes sense."

As you and Hyunjin clean up after dinner, the rhythmic clinking of dishes and running water fills the room. You pass him a plate to dry, your fingers brushing for a fleeting second before you turn back to the sink. You thought that Hyunjin has dropped the conversation until, out of nowhere, he speaks up. "If you're still considering," he starts, voice casual but careful, "then maybe you should do a test shoot with him."

You glance at him, surprised. "A test shoot?"

Hyunjin nods, keeping his eyes on the dish he’s drying. "Yeah. Just to see if you really have the chemistry. That way, you don’t have to commit right away, and it’ll help you decide."

You lean against the counter, thinking. "I never thought about that…"

"It makes sense, right?" He finally looks at you, his expression neutral, but there’s something in his eyes—something unreadable. "If it works, great. If not, then you won’t waste your time."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, mulling over his words. He has a point. And yet, something about him bringing it up makes you hesitate. "You think I should do it?"

He nonchalantly shrugs. "It’s just a suggestion."

You study him for a moment, trying to gauge what he's really thinking. But his face gives nothing away. Instead of pressing, you nod slowly, wiping your damp hands on a dish towel. "Maybe I will."

The night continues with the two of you settling onto the couch with cans of drinks in hands, checking the result of today's photoshoot. Your laptop balanced between you, the soft glow of the screen lights up your faces as you scroll through the photos. Some shots capture the playful chaos—the smears of icing on your skin, the mischievous glint in your eyes—while others are more poised, effortlessly seductive in a way that even surprises you.

"You did a great job," you say, nudging Hyunjin lightly with your elbow. "They all look amazing."

He hums in acknowledgment, his gaze fixed on the screen. "You made it easy."

A pleased smile tugs at your lips, and as you keep scrolling, a random thought pops into your head. "The cake was delicious by the way. Should stick to that bakery shop." You glance at him. "Which reminds me—what kind do you want for your birthday?"

He freezes for half a second before slowly turning his head to look at you, eyes narrowing. "How do you know when my birthday is?"

You grin sheepishly, caught red-handed. "Uh… I may have accidentally found out when I was at your apartment. Your mail was just sitting there, and I—"

"You went through my mail?" He squints at you, but there’s no real anger in his voice.

"Not on purpose!" you defend yourself, hands up in surrender. "It was just there, and I happened to see it. That’s how I know your birthday is next Friday."

He leans back against the couch, his legs parting apart. "Well, don’t get any ideas. There will be no cake."

You nod dramatically, pressing your lips together in mock seriousness. "No cake. Got it."

But then he narrows his eyes at you again, like he knows exactly what’s going on in your head. "And no gift either."

You gasp and then frown. "No gift? At all?"

"None," he confirms.

You pout, crossing your arms. "How come you don't want anything for your birthday?"

"Because I just don’t," he replies simply, as if that’s enough explanation. "And before you ask, no party either. No surprises, no celebrations, nothing."

You lean back against the couch, tilting your head as you study Hyunjin’s expression. He’s still watching the laptop screen, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or hesitation.

With a playful smirk, you decide to test him. "Okay, no cake, no gift, no party," you repeat. "But what if…" You pause, letting the anticipation build before continuing, "what if I was the gift?"

Hyunjin’s entire body stiffens. His eyes widen slightly, and he finally looks at you, clearly caught off guard. "Huh? What?"

You bite back a laugh at how flustered he looks, his ears already turning red. "I mean, if you won’t accept a present, maybe I could be the present," you tease, tilting your head. "Would you accept that?"

Hyunjin blinks rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to come up with a logical response, but failing miserably.

You scoot a little closer, watching his reaction with amusement. "What’s wrong? You look nervous."

"I’m not," he mutters, but his voice betrays him.

You chuckle. "You’re totally flustered right now."

"I—" Hyunjin abruptly stands up from the couch, nearly knocking over the laptop in his rush. "It’s, uh—getting late. I should go."

You laugh, watching as he practically scrambles to gather his things. "So that’s a no on accepting me as your gift?"

He shoots you a glare, but it’s weak at best, his face still slightly pink. "Goodnight."

With that, he heads straight for the door, leaving you grinning to yourself as you hear it click shut behind him.

You sit in your parked car, drumming your fingers lightly on the steering wheel as you wait for Hyunjin to be done with his class. With nothing else to do, you pull out your phone and open Lustre, skimming through notifications until a new message catches your eye.

mag.shawn: "I’m a little nervous today. I’m meeting someone, and I don’t know how it’ll go. But anyway, I just wanted to say I hope you’re having a lovely day."

You smile softly, touched by his honesty. Without thinking too much, you type out a response.

"I’m sure it’ll go well! Just be yourself, and everything will fall into place. Wishing you the best of luck, and hope you have a lovely day too!"

Just as you send the message, a sudden knock on your window makes you jump. You turn to see Edgar grinning at you through the glass. With a sigh, you roll down the window. "Please don't sneak up on people like that."

Edgar chuckles, resting his arms on the top of your car door. "Sorry, couldn't help myself." He tilts his head. "Waiting for Hyunjin?"

"Yeah," you reply, glancing past him as if you might spot Hyunjin approaching.

"Perfect timing, then," Edgar says, leaning in slightly. "Did you know it's his birthday this Friday?"

You nod. "I do, actually."

His eyebrows raise in mild surprise. "Oh? He told you?"

"Not exactly," you admit. "I found out by accident."

Edgar laughs. "Figures. He’s not the type to bring it up." Then, as if suddenly remembering, he adds, "A few of us are taking him out for drinks that night. Just something chill, nothing crazy. You should come."

You blink at the unexpected invitation. "I—"

"It’s at The Blue Moon, around nine," he continues, not giving you a chance to refuse. "No pressure, but I think he’d be happy if you showed up."

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. "I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try."

"That’s good enough for me," Edgar says, pushing away from your car just as you spot Hyunjin walking toward you.

Edgar gives you one last wink before stepping away, leaving you with a strange feeling as Hyunjin approaches and slides into the passenger seat.

Hyunjin glances toward Edgar, then at you. "What did he want?"

You start the engine, glancing at him with a small smile. "Nothing much."

Hyunjin tosses his backpack to the backseat of the car before putting the safety belt on. “So, where are we meeting him?”

You turn the car engine on and it roars to life. “It’s at this hotel not far from here,” you answer, showing him the route on the GPS.

The elevator dings as you and Hyunjin step into the dimly lit hallway of the hotel, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. Room 716—you stop in front of the door and knock twice.

Within seconds, the door swings open, revealing Felix on the other side. His warm smile is the first thing you notice, followed by the familiar brightness in his honey-brown eyes. His long bleached-blond hair is tied back loosely, a few strands framing his sharp yet inviting features.

"Hey, you made it," he greets, pulling you into a brief but firm hug that smells like vanilla and something subtly musky.

"Of course," you reply, pulling back with a small smile. You turn slightly to gesture to Hyunjin. "And this is Hyunjin—my photographer. He’s the man behind all those amazing photos."

Felix’s eyes flicker to Hyunjin, and he extends a hand. "Nice to finally meet you. Your work is incredible."

Hyunjin shakes his hand but remains quiet, only offering a polite nod. You can tell he’s reserved, but you’re not sure if it’s because he’s just naturally like that or because of the situation.

You clear your throat and turn back to Felix. "So, I just want to make it clear—this is a test shoot. Just to see how well we work together, how the chemistry flows. No pressure."

Felix’s lips curve into a confident smile, his gaze holding yours as he playfully responds, "Oh, I don't feel pressured at all."

His words hang in the air for a second longer than necessary, and you glance at Hyunjin, who remains expressionless, his camera bag slung over his shoulder. Something about this moment makes your stomach flutter—but whether it’s excitement or nerves, you can’t quite tell.

The soft click of Hyunjin’s camera echoes through the hotel room as you and Felix stand near the edge of the bed, facing each other under the warm glow of the studio light he set up.

Felix shifts beside you, then pauses, tilting his head. “Is it okay if I touch you?” His voice is gentle, respectful, his dark eyes searching yours for permission.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

With that, Felix lifts his hand, fingertips grazing your wrist before sliding up to your elbow, guiding you subtly closer. The two of you hold the pose, looking into each other’s eyes and he looks at you in a way that makes you feel nervous that you can’t help the way your lips twitch, and after a few seconds, you burst into laughter, flustered.

“Sorry, sorry!” you gasp, covering your mouth as you glance at Hyunjin, who lowers his camera slightly, his expression unreadable.

Felix chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re cute when you get flustered.”

The photoshoot continues, Felix adjusting his stance, letting his touches remain light and respectful—a hand on your waist, fingers grazing your jaw as if to brush imaginary strands of hair away. Hyunjin keeps clicking, staying quiet as he captures each moment.

Between shots, Felix leans in, his voice just above a whisper. “You have the prettiest smile,” he murmurs.

You blush, biting your lip as you try to hold your pose.

Another click of the camera. “Your skin is so soft.”

You giggle, shaking your head slightly as the warmth in your cheeks deepens. Felix just grins, enjoying your reaction. The camera keeps clicking, capturing every moment—but you can’t help but wonder what’s going through Hyunjin’s mind right now.

“That’s enough for now,” Hyunjin suddenly announces, lowering the camera from his face. His voice is steady, but something in his chest feels tight, like he’s been holding his breath for too long.

You turn to look at him, blinking as if pulled from a daze, while Felix exhales a soft hum, tilting his head in thought.

“Actually,” Felix says, still holding onto your waist, “Can we try one more thing?”

Before you can ask, Felix glances down at you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “How about a kiss?”

The camera in his hands acts as a barrier, separating him from the scene unfolding in front of him. But it doesn't stop him from seeing everything—the way Felix holds you so effortlessly, the way you laugh when Felix murmurs something in your ear, the way your body relaxes against his touch.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why he’s noticing these things. He shouldn’t be. But as he adjusts the focus, framing the next shot, he can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t belong here—like he’s intruding on something intimate, something that doesn’t need a spectator.

It’s ridiculous. He’s here for work. Nothing else. Still, he feels like a third wheel.

Felix and you—you make sense together. Felix is confident, charming, a natural in front of the camera. He knows how to play up the chemistry, how to draw reactions from you that look effortlessly beautiful through the lens.

Hyunjin, on the other hand—he’s just behind the camera. A quiet observer.

And when Felix suddenly suggests a kiss, the thought cements itself deep in his stomach.

Hyunjin stills and you freeze, eyes widening as you pull back slightly. “What?”

“A kiss,” Felix repeats, like he’s merely suggesting a new camera angle. “Just a light one. I think it would look great in the photos. Plus—” he smirks now, “—it's how we know for sure if we have that chemistry.”

Hyunjin swallows hard, fingers twitching over the shutter button on the camera. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much—the way Felix is looking at you, the casual way he suggests kissing you, as if it’s nothing more than another pose to try.

You, on the other hand, look completely flustered. “I—” You glance at Hyunjin for a fraction of a second before looking back at Felix, hesitating.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He just waits. And after a moment of silence, you crack a sheepish laugh and nod.

You and Felix are now sitting on the end of the bed and Hyunjin presses record. The camera’s screen frames the moment perfectly—too perfectly. Felix starts slow, his fingers tucking every stray strand of hair away from your face with a tenderness that makes Hyunjin’s stomach knot. Then, Felix’s hands cradle your jaw, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones.

“You’re comfortable, right?” Felix murmurs, his voice so soft that the mic barely picks it up. He doesn’t move forward just yet, just holds you like he has all the time in the world. “You can stop me whenever, yeah?”

You nod, swallowing.

Felix smiles—gentle, reassuring. “You have such beautiful eyes.” Then, he tilts forward—but not toward your lips. Instead, he kisses the corner of your eye.

Hyunjin remains calm but his grip tightens on the camera. The way you suck in a sharp breath, your lashes fluttering at the unexpected touch—it’s too much to watch through the lens. But before you can react, Felix does it again, placing a kiss on the other eye.

The moment is intimate, more than Hyunjin expected. And yet, his hands don’t lower the camera. And then—before you can process it—Felix finally presses his lips to your slightly parted mouth. It’s gentle at first. Barely there. Just the soft press of his lips against yours, his hands steady on your face as if holding something delicate. Hyunjin feels something crawl up his throat as he keeps his hands steady.

Felix pulls back, searching your gaze. “Can I continue?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted. And then—you nod.

Hyunjin swears he sees the exact moment Felix’s expression changes—from gentle to something else entirely. Because this time, when Felix kisses you again, it’s deeper. More insistent. He watches—forced to watch—as the kiss grows, slow and unhurried, but still more intense with every second.

Felix tilts his head, his fingers slipping down to your neck, pressing you closer. Your hands finally move, fingers clutching at his sleeves.

Hyunjin doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the burning in his chest forces him to exhale and for the first time since picking up a camera, he wishes he wasn’t here. He clears his throat. Loud enough. Sharp enough. Enough to cut through whatever moment was unfolding between you and Felix.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice flat, carefully void of emotion. He lowers the camera, stopping the recording. “I got what we needed.”

But Felix—he doesn’t let go. Instead, he keeps his hands steady on you, his thumbs absently brushing the skin of your jaw. His gaze lingers on your lips, like he’s not ready to pull away just yet. Then, finally, a slow grin spreads across his face.

“You’re a good kisser,” he muses, his voice low, filled with something teasing but also… something else.

It takes you a second to react, like you’re only just registering what happened. Your eyes widen and warmth spreads across your face.

Felix chuckles at your flustered expression, his hands finally releasing you. “You okay?” he asks, amusement lacing his tone.

Despite still dazed, still feeling the ghost of his lips on yours, you nod. You scoot to the edge of the bed, walking toward Hyunjin.

“Can I take a quick look on the photos?”

The three of you sit together on the sofa, scrolling through the shots and the video, the room quiet except for the occasional click of Hyunjin’s camera as he reviews the footage.

Felix leans in slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours. Then, softly, just for you to hear, he mutters, “Told you. We have chemistry.”

You glance at him, catching the smirk playing on his lips. It’s confident—almost knowing. You exhale a small laugh, shaking your head, but you don’t deny it.

Felix leans back, stretching. “So, how about I treat you both dinner? My way of saying thanks.”

You smile but shake your head. “I appreciate it, but we should get going.”

Felix pouts dramatically. “Not even a quick bite?”

“I’ll take a rain check,” you say. “Besides, you have another shoot, right?”

Felix sighs, pretending to be put out, but there’s an amused glint in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Work never stops.”

You stand, and Felix follows suit. Before you leave, he pulls you into a quick, warm hug, his arms squeezing lightly around your shoulders.

“I’ll be waiting for your call,” he murmurs.

You smile. “I’ll think about it.”

Felix tugs at your elbow and says, “Any kind of call.”

You smile as you step back, and as you turn toward the door, Hyunjin—who had remained noticeably quiet—only gives Felix a brief, wordless nod before heading out.

During the car ride home, Hyunjin keeps his eyes on the road ahead, but his mind is elsewhere. He glances at you briefly before saying, “I have to admit, I was a little surprised you turned down the dinner.”

You smirk, keeping your eyes on the road. “Oh? Are you disappointed?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “No. Just… surprised.”

“Well, if you want, I can buy you dinner instead,” you offer, sparing him a quick glance. “But I can’t tonight. I have somewhere to be.”

That piques his curiosity. He tilts his head slightly. “Where?”

You only smile mysteriously. “That’s a secret.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at you, watching as you pull up in front of the apartment building. Before he can ask again, you unlock the doors, silently telling him to get out. He hesitates for a second, still wondering where you’re going, but he knows you won’t tell him even if he asks. With a sigh, he steps out of the car and carries his backpack in hand.

“See you later,” you playfully say to him just before he shuts the car door

As you drive away, Hyunjin stands there, hands in his pockets, watching your car disappear down the street and he can’t help but wonder.

Hyunjin has never liked celebrating his birthday. It’s not that he hates it—it’s just another day to him, one that he doesn’t see the need to make a big deal out of. Growing up, birthdays were quiet affairs, just a simple meal with his family, sometimes a cake if his mom had the time. Now that he’s older, he prefers to let the day pass without much attention. No parties, no gifts, no unnecessary fuss.

So when his class ends and he slings his bag over his shoulder, he’s already planning a quiet evening—maybe sketching, maybe watching something mindless until he falls asleep.

But as soon as he turns the corner, Edgar is waiting for him, grinning like he’s up to something. “There you are! Come on, we’re heading out.”

Hyunjin tightens his grip on the strap of his backpack. “Heading where?”

Before he can take a step back, Edgar throws an arm around his shoulders, steering him toward the exit. Two more of their friends appear, flanking him on either side like bodyguards.

“The bar, of course!” one of them chimes in.

Hyunjin groans, knowing well what Edgar planned for him. “I didn’t say I was going—”

“Too bad,” Edgar cuts him off. “We’re celebrating your birthday, and you don’t get a say in it.”

Hyunjin sighs, already regretting not taking a different route out of the building. “You guys planned this?”

“Obviously,” Edgar says, rolling his eyes. “Did you really think we’d let your birthday pass without doing anything?”

That’s exactly what Hyunjin had hoped for. But seeing the determined looks on his friends’ faces, he knows there’s no escaping this. “Fine,” he mutters. “One drink.”

Edgar smirks. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.”

With that, they drag him out of the building, and Hyunjin resigns himself to the fact that his quiet night is officially ruined.

The second you step into the bar, you weave through the crowd, scanning the room until your eyes land on Hyunjin. He’s standing by the bar, drinks in both hands, his expression neutral as he waits for the bartender to return with the rest of the order.

A smile tugs at your lips as an idea forms. Without a second thought, you close the distance between you and, just as he turns slightly, you throw your arms around him from behind. “Got you!”

Hyunjin tenses for half a second, startled, and nearly spills the drinks in his hands. You hear a sharp inhale, a quiet grunt of protest, but before he can say anything, you take full advantage of the fact that his hands are full. Leaning in, you press a quick, sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Happy birthday!” You cheerfully whisper into his ear and you can feel his whole body stiffens in reaction.

You pull back just enough to look at him, grinning as you meet his eyes. He stares at you, his lips slightly parted, clearly caught off guard. The dim lighting of the bar does nothing to hide the way his ears redden.

Hyunjin shifts the drinks in his hands and glances at you, still looking slightly flustered from the surprise hug and kiss. “Why are you here?” he asks, his tone more curious than accusatory.

Before you can answer, he exhales sharply and mutters, “Wait. Let me guess—Edgar?”

You grin and nod, confirming his guess. Right on cue, Edgar appears beside the two of you, a wide smile on his face as he claps Hyunjin on the back before turning his attention to you. “You made it! I knew you wouldn’t miss it.”

You chuckle. “I wouldn't miss a little fun.”

“Now, what are you drinking?” Edgar gestures towards the bar. “First round’s on me.”

Before you can reply, you shoot Hyunjin a playful look. “See? Edgar’s offering me a drink. Meanwhile, the birthday boy didn’t even ask.”

Hyunjin scoffs, rolling his eyes as he finally sets the drinks down on the table nearby. “You showed unannounced and ambushed me. You barely gave me a chance.”

You scoff and dramatically roll your eyes at Hyunjin. “Excuses.”

Edgar laughs. “Alright, alright, let me get you something. What’s your poison?”

The bar is alive with laughter and clinking glasses, everyone in high spirits as they celebrate Hyunjin’s birthday. The moment someone starts singing the birthday song, the rest of the group drunkenly joins in, their voices off-key and words slurred from all the alcohol.

Hyunjin groans, lifting a hand. “God! Please, shut up already.” His protest only makes them sing louder, and you laugh as you watch him shake his head in defeat.

Once the song ends with a chaotic cheer, the night continues with games, and somehow, you and Hyunjin end up locked in an intense match of darts. The two of you stand side by side, taking turns as the others watch and place bets on who will win.

“You’re going down,” you tease, lining up your shot before releasing the dart. It lands close to the bullseye, and you turn to Hyunjin with a smug smile.

Hyunjin clicks his tongue, picking up his dart. “We’ll see about that.”

He lines up his shot, eyes locked on the dartboard with unwavering focus. His fingers grip the dart, his stance firm as he calculates the perfect angle.

Smirking to yourself, you step closer, just enough to lean in near his ear. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you blow a soft puff of air against his skin.

Hyunjin instantly flinches, his body jerking as a shudder runs through him. “What the—?!” His grip on the dart slips, and it flies off-course, landing embarrassingly far from the bullseye.

You burst into laughter, covering your mouth as you watch him slowly turn to glare at you.

“That was sabotage,” he mutters, jaw tightening as he runs a hand through his hair.

Before he can even think about payback, your phone buzzes in your pocket, pulling your attention away. You look at it to check caller ID. “I need to take this,” you say, stepping back.

Hyunjin watches you go, still looking slightly flustered, a dart in hand, but his eyes linger on you for a moment before he finally turns back to the game.

Stepping out of the bar, you take a deep breath of the cool night air. The muffled sounds of laughter and music fade as you slip into the quieter back alley, away from the chaos inside. You glance at your phone screen before swiping to answer.

"Finally," Felix sighs dramatically on the other end. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

You smirk, leaning against the brick wall. "And what if I was?"

"Then I'd have no choice but to call you every hour until you gave in," he teases, his voice warm and playful.

You roll your eyes. "You sound desperate."

"Of course, I’m desperate," he admits easily. "You still haven’t called me back. A lesser man would take the hint, but not me."

"You’re persistent," you muse.

"And charming," he adds smoothly. "And funny. And—"

"Annoying?" you finish for him.

Felix gasps in mock offense. "I was going to say irresistible, but sure, let’s go with annoying."

You chuckle. "Did you even call to talk about the collab at all?"

Felix hums. "Nope. I called because I wanted to."

Your stomach flutters slightly at his honesty, but you keep your voice light. "How bold of you."

"Always." He pauses, then asks, "So, when can I see you again?"

"As a good girl, I have to refuse the first time," you say teasingly. "You have to ask me again in two days."

Felix groans. "Two days? That’s cruel."

"You’ll live," you reply with a smirk.

"Fine," he grumbles. "But can I at least call you tomorrow?"

You pretend to consider. "You can… but I can’t promise you that I’ll pick it up."

Felix lets out a dramatic sigh. "Playing hard to get. I see how it is."

You grin. "Goodnight, Felix."

"Sweet dreams, beautiful," he replies smoothly before the call ends.

Your heart is still racing as you turn back toward the bar’s entrance, shaking off the uneasy feeling that Felix’s call had left behind.

Just as you’re about to step inside, you nearly bump into Edgar. The smell of alcohol clings to him, and his smile is loose, his movements sluggish. "There you are," he says, his voice slightly slurred. "I was looking for you."

You force a small smile. "I just stepped out to take a phone call." You move to walk past him, but before you can, he grabs your wrist.

"Stay with me for a bit," he says.

Your shoulders stiffen. He’s drunk—you can see it in his unfocused eyes. Keeping your distance, you shake your head. "I'd better go back inside."

Edgar frowns. "Hey, come on, just stay with me for a minute."

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to play it off. "I don’t want to make Hyunjin waits."

But then, before you can step back, Edgar’s grip tightens, and he pulls you closer. You freeze. "Edgar, please let go," you say firmly, trying to pull away.

Instead, he pulls you in even tighter, his face dangerously close to yours. "Come on, why are you so shy?" he chuckles.

You twist in his grip, but he only holds you tighter. Your stomach churns with unease. "You’re drunk," you tell him, keeping your voice as calm as possible. "Please, let me go."

Edgar only smirks. "Just one kiss."

You shove him—hard. He stumbles back, his back hitting the stacked crates of empty beer bottles. For a second, you think it’s over, but then he looks at you, his expression darkening. "How much?"

Your brows knotted. "What?"

Edgar tilts his head. "How much should I pay you for a kiss?"

Disgust and disbelief surge through you. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He scoffs. "Don’t play dumb. I know who you are." His voice drops lower, more sinister. "So how much to fuck you?"

Your body goes rigid, the word alone making your skin crawl. "You're disgusting."

Before you can move, Edgar lunges toward you. Your back slams against the brick wall as he pins you there, his hands gripping your arms. Panic flares in your chest. You struggle, trying to push him off, but he’s stronger than you expected. "Get off me!"

And then, suddenly—The back door flies open with a loud bang.

"Get the fuck off her!"

Hyunjin’s voice is sharp, furious. He’s standing in the doorway, his whole body tense, his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes burn with anger as he takes in the scene before him—Edgar pinning you against the wall, your expression twisted in fear.

Edgar only scoffs, barely glancing at Hyunjin. "Relax, man—"

Before he can finish, Hyunjin strides forward and roughly grabs him by the shoulders, yanking him away from you and shoving him backward. Edgar stumbles, cursing.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate—he turns to you, his expression shifting. He reaches out, his hand grasping yours, pulling you up and steadying you. His touch is gentle despite the rage in his eyes.

Then Edgar laughs, low and taunting. "Why are you friends with a whore like her?"

The words hit like a slap and it makes something in Hyunjin snaps. He lunges at Edgar, landing a hard punch straight to his face. Edgar barely has time to process it before Hyunjin punches him again—once, twice. Edgar collapses onto the ground, but Hyunjin doesn’t stop. He gets down, grabbing Edgar by the collar, and raises his fist again.

"Hyunjin!" you cry, rushing forward.

Hyunjin is still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements. His fists remain clenched, his knuckles already turning red from the force of his punches. Edgar groans on the ground, a hand pressed to his bleeding nose, but Hyunjin doesn’t seem satisfied yet. His body is still tense, ready to throw another punch.

Without thinking, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, holding him back. "Hyunjin," you plead, your voice quiet but urgent. "Please stop."

His whole body is trembling, heat radiating off him, but at your touch, his breathing hitches. He doesn’t move right away, as if still caught in the grip of his anger.

You tighten your hold, pressing your cheek against his back. "Let’s just go," you murmur.

Hyunjin’s fists slowly loosen. His breath is still uneven, but the tension in his body begins to ease. For a moment, neither of you move. The only sound is Edgar’s groaning and the distant noise of the bar inside. Then, finally, Hyunjin lets out a slow, shaky breath and nods.

You release him, stepping back just enough to see his face. His jaw is tight, his eyes still burning with anger, but he’s calming down. He turns away from Edgar without another glance. You take his hand—gently, reassuringly—and lead him away.

Hyunjin sits on the couch, his hand resting in yours as you carefully dab at his bruised knuckles with a damp cloth. His skin is raw, swollen, and angry-looking, but he barely flinches. Instead, he watches you. The way your brows knit together in concentration, the way your lips press into a tight line, the way your hands—gentle yet firm—move with such care.

“You shouldn’t have fought him,” you murmur, your voice laced with both scolding and concern. “What if you seriously hurt your hand? What if you couldn’t paint anymore?”

Hyunjin has been trying to hold himself together, trying to push down the emotions still swirling inside him, but hearing you go on and on about him—worrying about him instead of yourself—something inside him snaps.

"Why do you keep worrying about me?" he suddenly bursts out, his voice sharp. “You should worry about yourself!”

He immediately regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. He watches as your lips part slightly, your breath hitching, and then—your eyes get red. His heart clenches.

Shit.

He inhales, forcing himself to calm down before his voice softens. "Are you okay?"

Your gaze wavers as you stare at him. For a second, it seems like you’re trying to hold it together, but then, barely above a whisper, you shake your head. "Honestly, no," you admit as tears spill from your eyes, "I'm not okay."

He reaches for you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist—instead, you bury yourself against him, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break. He holds you tight. "It’s okay," he murmurs. "I’ve got you."

The two of you stay like that with Hyunjin holding you close as if he tries to absorb part of you sadness. He doesn’t let go even as your sobs quiet, even as your breathing evens out, he keeps holding you, his arms wrapped securely around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip. His hand moves gently over your hair, smoothing it down, while his other rubs slow circles against your back. He doesn’t say anything—he just lets you cry, lets you release everything you’ve been holding in.

Minutes pass like this, the silence filled only by your uneven breaths. Then, finally, you stir against him. You pull back just enough to look at him, your face still wet with tears, eyes glassy and tired. Hyunjin meets your gaze, his heart aching at the vulnerability written all over your face.

"Can you stay with me tonight?" you ask, your voice small, fragile.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate as he nods. "Of course," he says softly.

Your lips tremble, but you manage a tiny, grateful smile.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "Come on," he murmurs, guiding you gently toward your bedroom. "Let’s get you to bed."

You and Hyunjin lie side by side on your bed, neither of you saying anything at first. Just breathing, just existing in the same space. Then, after a while, you break the silence.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

He turns his head slightly, though he can barely make out your face in the dim light. "For what?"

"For… causing what happened."

At that, Hyunjin tenses. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, all you can hear is the faint hum of the city outside. Then, finally, he exhales.

"Why are you apologizing for getting assaulted?" His voice is quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it, like he’s trying to hold back his frustration. "That wasn’t your fault."

You don’t say anything, just stare up at the ceiling.

"If anything, what happened only showed me what kind of person Edgar really is," he continues. "And I don’t want to be friends with someone like that."

Silence settles between you again. Then, after a long pause, you shift closer to him. He feels the mattress dip under your weight, feels the warmth of your body inching toward him. When he looks over, he catches the faint gleam of your eyes in the dark, watching him.

Then, softly, you whisper his name. "Hyunjin."

He hums in acknowledgment. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," you say, your voice barely more than a breath.

Hyunjin swallows. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just nods, even though you probably can’t see it. Another stretch of silence follows, before you whisper again, "Goodnight."

He watches as your breathing evens out, your body relaxing as sleep slowly takes over. He tells himself he’ll leave once you’re asleep. He should go. He should get up, go back to his own apartment, and try to put everything that happened tonight behind him. But he doesn’t move. He stays.

Hyunjin wakes up to the unfamiliar weight of a blanket draped over him and the soft glow of morning light kissing his skin. His mind is slow to catch up, disoriented by the unfamiliar scent of the sheets and the way the bed feels different from his own. Then it hits him—he’s in your apartment. His eyes snap open fully, and he turns his head toward the space beside him, only to find it empty. The warmth lingering on the sheets tells him you must have been there not too long ago.

Hyunjin sits up, running a hand through his messy hair as he blinks away the remnants of sleep. His body feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the events of last night. Still, he forces himself to get up, his movements sluggish as he fumbles out of bed.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. He steps out of your bedroom, his bare feet padding against the floor as he looks around. His gaze sweeps over the small living space, searching for you. For a second, a strange unease creeps up his spine—until he finally spots you.

You’re perched on the window sill, one knee pulled up to your chest, a steaming mug of coffee resting in your hands. You look lost in thought, your gaze fixed outside, watching the world slowly wake up.

He lingers in the doorway, unsure if he should say something or if he should just leave quietly. But then, as if sensing his presence, you slowly turn your head to the side.

Your eyes meet his, and then, just like that, you smile—soft and warm, like the morning itself. "Good morning," you greet, your voice still laced with sleep.

Hyunjin debating whether he should stay or make up an excuse to leave. But before he can make a decision, you tilt your head toward the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, taking another sip of your coffee.

He shakes his head almost immediately. “I should probably go—”

Before he can finish, you slide off the window sill, setting your mug down on the counter. “At least have some breakfast first.”

Hyunjin hesitates. He’s not really in the mood to eat, but before he can refuse, you’re already walking toward him, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder as you steer him toward the dining table.

“Sit,” you say, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He exhales through his nose but doesn’t fight it, dropping himself onto the chair. His fingers drum idly against the tabletop as he watches you move around the kitchen.

A few moments later, you place a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “Here. This should help wake you up.”

He glances at you, then at the cup. He hesitates for a second before finally wrapping his fingers around it, letting the warmth seep into his palms. He takes a slow sip, the bitterness grounding him a little.

You smile in satisfaction. “Good. Now sit tight while I make breakfast.”

Hyunjin hadn’t planned to stay, but now, with a warm meal in front of him and the air feeling oddly peaceful, he finds himself grateful that you insisted. As he takes the last bite of his toast, he feels your gaze on him. He glances up and catches you staring, your expression unreadable. His brow lifts slightly.

“What?” he asks, setting his fork down.

You hesitate, like you’re debating something internally, before finally reaching for something on the chair next to you. Hyunjin watches as you pick up a small, neatly wrapped package and place it on the table between you. His eyes flicker to the gift, then back to you.

“I didn’t get the chance to give this to you last night,” you explain, sliding it toward him.

“You got me a gift?” His voice comes out more hesitant than he intended.

Before he can say anything else, you quickly add, “I didn’t spend much money on it or anything. I made it myself.”

That catches his attention. His fingers twitch against his coffee cup as he stares at the package. He hesitates to reach for it, unsure if he deserves something so thoughtful. Seeing his reluctance, you gently nudge it closer. “Go on. Open it.”

He swallows, then carefully picks it up and begins unwrapping it. His fingers move slowly, peeling back the wrapping until he uncovers a leather-bound case. He unfolds it, his curiosity piqued when he sees the compartments inside. It takes him a moment to process—until realization dawns on him. It’s a paintbrush case. He runs his fingers over the stitching, taking in the effort that went into it.

Before he can say anything, you quickly interject, “I know it’s not perfect—”

“I like it,” He cuts you off, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His eyes meet yours, sincere and unguarded. “Thank you.”

Hyunjin barely has any words left to say after that. He just sits there, running his fingers over the smooth leather of the paintbrush case, admiring the craftsmanship and the effort you put into it. Every stitch, every fold—it’s clear that you made this with him in mind. He doesn’t know how to express what he’s feeling, so instead, he keeps his gaze on the gift, hoping you understand his silence for what it is: gratitude.

A smile slowly blooms on your face at his words, and something warm unfurls in his chest at the sight. Then, you break the quiet, your voice gentle but casual. “And don’t forget that we have that shoot tomorrow.”

He looks up at you, your expression easy and composed, as if nothing had happened the night before. His brows furrow slightly. “Shouldn’t you be… slowing down and maybe take a break?”

You shake your head and absentmindedly stabbing pieces of scrambled egg with your fork. “Nah. Making content takes my mind off things.”

Hyunjin watches you for a moment, studying the way you say it so lightly, like you’re brushing everything off as if last night didn’t shake you to your core. He wants to say something—maybe push you to take a break, to take care of yourself—but he can tell you don’t want to talk about it. He still doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but if this is what you want, he won’t argue. So instead, he just nods. “Alright.”

The air still humming with the energy of the shoot as you lie on your stomach on the thin mattress, your bare legs lazily swinging behind you as you scroll through Lustre notifications. The sheets beneath you are slightly rumpled from all the movement earlier.

Hyunjin is across the room, busy checking the result of the shoot. You let yourself get lost in your notifications, tapping through comments and messages until one catches your eye.

mag.shawn: I really liked your new set. You look beautiful as always. But I think what I love the most is your smile. Whenever I see it, it makes me wish for you to always be happy. That way, I get to see you smile every day.

There's something about his message feels different from the usual compliments you receive—more genuine, maybe. Less about desire and more about… you.

You: That’s really sweet. Thank you for your message. I appreciate it.

You hit send and glance up, only to find Hyunjin standing by the tripod, watching you with an unreadable expression. You don’t know how long he��s been looking.

“What?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand.

He shakes his head, turning away to grab his jacket. “Nothing.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, tilting your head at him, “Dinner?”

“Sure, I'll order,” he calmly responds, taking his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and begins tapping on it.

“And how about we watch a movie after?” you ask out of a whim.

Hyunjin looks up from his phone to look at you and casually says, “Sure.”

The soft glow of the living room lamps mixes with the flickering light from the movie playing on the screen, creating a cozy atmosphere. Hyunjin sits on the sofa, his plate resting on his lap as he absentmindedly takes small bites of his cake. His plan had been simple—stay a little longer to keep you company, maybe distract you for a while. But somewhere between the hearty dinner, and now, sitting here in the warmth of your apartment with you beside him, he realizes something he hadn’t expected. He’s enjoying himself.

It’s not just the food or the movie, though both are nice. It’s the easy, unspoken comfort of the moment. The way you’re curled up next to him, completely immersed in the film, your spoon slowly scraping against the plate as you savor each bite. The occasional hum of satisfaction you make. The way he feels… at ease. He had meant to leave. He always does after the shoots. But now, he isn’t in a hurry.

You suddenly nudge him with your elbow, breaking him out of his thoughts. “It's good, right?” you motion toward his plate.

He glances down at the half-eaten slice of cake before looking back at you. A small smirk tugs at his lips. “Yeah. It’s good.”

Then your phone rings, shattering the comfortable silence. You don’t hesitate to pick it up, casually bringing it to your ear as if you’ve been expecting the call. At first, he doesn’t think much of it, keeping his focus on the movie, but then he can't help but catches glimpses of the conversation.

Your voice, soft and teasing, the slight lilt in your tone as you speak. A light chuckle here, a playful hum there. It doesn’t take much for him to piece together the kind of conversation you’re having.

He doesn’t want to care. He really doesn’t. So he keeps his eyes on the screen. By the time you finally hang up and set your phone aside, he barely lasts a second before blurting out, “Who was that?”

You glance at him, completely unbothered. “Felix.”

He keeps his expression neutral as he asks, “What did he want?”

“He asked if I’ve decided about the collab yet,” you say, stretching your arms above your head before settling back against the pillows.

Hyunjin hesitates before asking, “And… do you want to do it?”

“I think it’s a good opportunity to start something new.”

He frowns. “After what happened?”

You sigh, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. “I know,” you meekly admit.

“Then do you have to do it?”

“Not necessarily,” you say, meeting his gaze. “But I can’t just keep doing the same content and expect a different result.”

He exhales through his nose, still uneasy. “Do you trust him enough to do this with him?”

A small smile plays on your lips as you tilt your head. “The only man I trust to do this with is you.”

And then, before he can even process that, you add, “But since you obviously don’t want to, that means I don't exactly have any options.”

“Let’s do it.” The words slip out of him before he can stop them.

You freeze for a second. “What?”

He swallows, his grip tightening around his plate. “Do it with me.”

You stare at him for a second before laughing, shaking your head as if he just told the funniest joke. "Yeah, right," you scoff, waving a hand dismissively.

But Hyunjin doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even crack a smile. His expression remains serious, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your laughter waver. “I mean it,” he says, setting his plate down. “I want to do it.”

You arch a brow, still unconvinced. “You? Hyunjin, are you actually serious?”

“Yes,” he insists. “If you want, we can do it now.”

That only makes you laugh harder. “Oh my God, stop,” you say, pressing a hand against your forehead. “This is funny, okay, you've got me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of offense crossing his features. His brows pull together as he watches you laugh at him. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you chuckle, wiping at your eyes. “You saying all that with a straight face.”

He exhales sharply. “I don’t see what’s so funny about it.”

You sigh, finally regaining your composure, and shake your head with a small smile. “Even if you want to do it, we can’t just jump into it immediately.”

“Why not?” he challenges, tilting his head.

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbow on your knee. “Because,” you say, meeting his gaze, “there’s something else you have to do first.”

You remember, almost absentmindedly, that your friend’s wedding is this weekend. The realization comes as you sip your morning coffee, scrolling through your phone. A few mutual friends have posted about their excitement—outfit choices, travel plans, well wishes.

That’s when you glance toward the kitchen counter and spot the wedding invitation, half-buried beneath a pile of unopened mail. You set your mug down and pick it up, running your fingers over the elegant gold lettering. The date is clear. It’s happening in just a few days.

But instead of excitement, a heavy feeling settles in your chest. The memory of their engagement party resurfaces, uninvited. The way the night had ended for you. The way you had driven home with a lump in your throat, gripping the wheel too tightly. The way you had collapsed onto your bed, drowning in emotions you couldn’t quite name. You exhale sharply and set the invitation down. You already know your answer. You’re not going.

Turning away, you head toward your closet, pulling out the dress you had bought specifically for the occasion. It’s still in its garment bag, tags still attached—a waste, really. You take it out, letting the fabric slip between your fingers, admiring it for a moment before shaking your head. There’s no point in keeping it now.

Grabbing your phone, you check the return policy. Still eligible. Good. You drape the dress over your arm, grab your keys, and head for the door.

The store is far from crowded when you arrive. You step inside, the dress slung over your shoulder, and make your way straight to the customer service counter. A staff member greets you with a polite smile, and you return it as you place the garment bag onto the counter. “I’d like to return this,” you say, unzipping the bag to reveal the dress inside.

She nods and begins the process, asking for your receipt. As you dig through your bag, you hear footsteps approaching the counter beside you. Then, a familiar voice. “Uh—same here, actually.”

You freeze for a second before turning your head to the side. And there he is—Felix, standing next to you, looking just as surprised to see you. He’s holding a neatly folded tie, still in its box. His brows raise. “What are you doing here?”

You gesture toward the dress on the counter. “Returning this. You?”

A small laugh escapes him. “Returning this,” he says, lifting the tie slightly.

Before you can say anything else, the staff member turns her attention back to you. “May I know what’s the reason for the return?”

You hesitate, not exactly in the mood to explain the real reason behind it. Instead, you go for the easy answer. “I... don’t really like the cut.”

The staff nods, then looks at Felix. “And how about you?”

Felix grins, eyes glinting with mischief as he shrugs. “Yeah, same. Don’t really like the cut.”

It takes a second for the words to settle in before you both burst into laughter. The staff watches, clearly amused but keeping professional as she processes the returns. You shake your head, still chuckling, as Felix leans slightly against the counter. “Guess we both had second thoughts,” he muses, still grinning.

You and Felix found a cozy café not far from the store, the two of you sit by the window, your drinks in hand, watching people pass by outside.

Felix stirs his iced coffee lazily, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “You know,” he starts, “I’ve been holding myself back from calling you again.”

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your drink. “Oh? Now I can't help but think that maybe returning your tie was just an excuse to see me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Damn, you caught me.” Then, with a small sigh, he leans back in his chair, fingers tapping against the side of his cup. “But for real, my mom’s been pushing me to go to these job interviews. That’s actually why she got me the tie.”

You tilt your head. “Job interviews? For what?”

“Office jobs. Boring ones,” he says, rolling his eyes. “The kind where you sit at a desk all day and pretend to care about spreadsheets and meetings.” He takes a sip of his coffee before continuing. “I know she means well, but it’s just not for me.”

You nod in understanding. “So, you didn’t even go?”

“Nah,” he admits, grinning unapologetically before adorablg scrunches his nose. “I told her I’d think about it, but I don’t really want to. I like what I do. I don’t care what people think about it. It makes me money, I enjoy it, and that’s enough for me.”

Hearing that, you feel a flicker of understanding settle in your chest. You know exactly what he means. “Yeah,” you murmur, tapping your fingers against your cup. “I get that.”

Felix props his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you. "And how about you? Why’d you really return the dress?" he asks casually before taking another sip of his coffee.

You shrug, keeping your tone light. "Didn’t like the color."

He hums, unconvinced. "All colors suit you. Please find a better answer. "

You roll your eyes at him but let out a small laugh. He sees right through you. There’s no point in dodging the question, so you sigh, setting your cup down. "Fine," you admit. "It’s for a wedding this weekend… my friend's wedding."

Felix nods slowly, waiting for you to continue.

"I was supposed to go," you say, fingers tracing the rim of your cup. "But I think I'd better not."

His expression shifts slightly, more attentive now. "Why?"

You exhale, looking out the café window for a moment. "I went to their engagement part and it wasn’t exactly a fun experience for me," you say with a wry smile. "People whispering, looking at me like I don’t belong there, some even making comments loud enough for me to hear. I just…" You shake your head. "I don’t want to deal with that again. I don’t want to cause any inconvenience at their wedding."

Felix frowns as he absentmindedly stirring his iced coffee with the straw. "Inconvenience?"

You nod, finger fiddling with the handle of your coffee mug. "It’s their special day. The last thing they need is people gossiping about me in the background."

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, leaning back in his chair. "That’s bullshit," he says, blunt as ever. "If your friend invited you, it means they want you there. You shouldn’t have to miss out on something just because some people don’t know how to mind their own business."

A part of you knows he’s right, but another part still hesitates. You give him a small smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. "It’s easier this way."

Felix studies you for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. "Easier, maybe. But is it what you really want?"

Hearing no answers from you, he leans forward, resting his arms on the table, his warm brown eyes locked onto yours with an almost mischievous glint. "I think you should go," he says firmly. "Screw those people. It’s your friend’s wedding, not theirs."

You exhale, shaking your head. "Felix—"

"I’m serious," he cuts in. "And if you don’t want to go alone, then I’ll go with you."

That makes you pause and then snort in disbelief. "You’d do that?"

"Of course. I’ll be your date. Your supporter. Your personal hype man. Whatever you need." He gestures at himself dramatically. "I’ll make sure no one says a damn thing to you. And if they do, I’ll just blind them with my dazzling presence."

You let out a soft laugh, but something about the way he’s looking at you—so eager to help, so understanding—makes your chest feel warm. Felix is just that kind of person. Confident, carefree, and unapologetic about who he is. And that confidence? It’s infectious.

You find yourself nodding before you even realize it. "Okay," you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I’ll take you as my date."

Felix beams at that until you add, "But," you tilt your head playfully, "I get to pick the tie."

His grin only widens. "Fine. But in that case, I get to help you pick the dress."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Deal."

He raises his coffee cup. "To proving people wrong and looking damn good while doing it."

You clink your cup against his with a quiet chuckle, a strange but pleasant feeling settling in your chest. Maybe this wedding won’t be so bad after all.

Lately, there’s been one message you always expect—one you’ve started looking forward to more than you’d admit. You take a slow sip of your smoothie, the cool sweetness spreading across your tongue as you scroll through your Lustre notifications. And, as expected, there it is.

mag.shawn: I can’t wait for your new post. But what I look forward to the most is seeing your beautiful face—it always brightens up my days.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you read it. You type out a quick reply, letting the warmth of his words settle over you.

You: That’s so sweet of you to say. I’ll do my best to keep brightening your days then ❤️

Just as you’re about to take another sip of your smoothie, a sudden knock echoes through your apartment. You stare at the door for a second longer before unlocking it and pulling it open.

Hyunjin stands there, his long dark hair slightly disheveled as if he had run his fingers through it too many times. One hand grips the strap of his bag, the other tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. His gaze flickers to yours, then away, before he clears his throat. "Hey," he says. "Can I come in?"

You don’t say anything, just step aside and open the door wider. He takes it as an invitation and walks in, dropping his bag near the couch. Without a word, you walk to the fridge, grab a can of drink, and hand it to him. He takes it with a quiet thanks, cracking it open but not taking a sip yet. Instead, he glances at you, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face.

"Can I use your laptop?" he asks. "I need to check something."

You raise a brow but nod, grabbing your laptop from the coffee table and passing it to him. As he opens it and starts typing, you settle beside him on the couch, bringing your smoothie to your lips.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are the soft clicks of the keyboard and the occasional sip of your drink. You don’t press him for details, simply letting him do whatever he needs to do. Then, after a few minutes, he exhales through his nose and turns the screen toward you.

You glance at him before looking down at the laptop. The moment your eyes land on the screen, your breath catches. Displayed in clear text is the result of his STIs test. Negative.

The confirmation settles something deep in your chest. You had asked him to do this before the two of you could make content together, and now here it is—the proof that he actually went through with it. Your gaze lifts back to his, and for the first time since he arrived, Hyunjin looks directly at you. His expression is unreadable, but his fingers drum against the side of the can in his hand, a telltale sign of his nerves.

“Well?” he asks, voice quiet.

“Well,” you echo, taking another sip of your smoothie, swallowing slowly before answering.

A while later, you set your smoothie down on the table, eyes still locked on Hyunjin as you tilt your head slightly. "I just have to ask you one more time. Are you sure you really want to do this?"

"Yeah," he answers without a beat.

His answer is immediate, but you don’t let it slide that easily. You lean back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other as you study him. "You know there’s no turning back once you do, right?"

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You keep saying that like I haven’t already thought about it."

"Have you, though?" You arch a brow, unconvinced. "Because I’m not just talking about the content itself. I’m talking about everything that comes with it. The comments, the assumptions people will make about you, the way this could change things—"

"I don’t really care." His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. A certainty that makes your stomach twist.

You watch him for a moment, searching for any hint of doubt in his expression, but there’s none. He holds your gaze, unwavering, and it’s only then that you realize—he’s already made up his mind. Still, you hesitate. "...Why?"

Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his hair before leaning back against the couch. "Because I want to help you." He pauses, looking away for a second before glancing back at you. "And maybe I just want to do it with you."

That last part makes your heart skip a beat, but you push past it, keeping your voice light. "You say that like you don’t have better options."

Hyunjin scoffs as he rubs his lower lip with his finger. "You say that like I care about other options."

You stare at him, lips pressing together. He stares back, waiting. Then, finally, you sigh and shake your head, a small smile pulling at your lips. "Okay, let's do it then."

At this point, Hyunjin treats your apartment like his own, he moves around with practiced ease, pulling the sheer curtains open just enough to let the afternoon light spill into the room. The soft glow is exactly what he wants for today’s shoot—natural, warm, and intimate. He glances over his setup, adjusting the white cloth draped over the couch, smoothing out any wrinkles. The space is nearly ready.

The sound of your footsteps draws his attention, and when he looks up, you’re walking toward him with two cans of drinks in hand. Your hair is slightly tousled, and there’s a relaxed air about you as you offer him one of the cans.

Hyunjin steps forward, wiping his hands on his jeans before taking the drink from you. His fingers brush against yours for a split second, and he wonders if you notice. "Perfect timing," he murmurs, bringing the can to his lips for a quick sip. The warmth seeps into his fingers, and he exhales softly. "Thanks."

You nod, taking a sip of your own before glancing around the setup. "So... everything ready?"

"Almost," he says, rolling his shoulders. "I want to play with the light a little, see how it looks on camera." He steps back, scanning the room, his mind already piecing together the angles and shots. The sunlight highlights the shapes of the couch, creating soft shadows. It’s exactly what he envisioned.

You lower your can of drink and glance at Hyunjin, who is still surveying the setup with a focused look on his face. “So, what’s the plan for today?” you ask, shifting your weight onto one leg.

He turns to you, his dark eyes settling on yours. “I want to use the light as much as possible. It’ll create a really soft effect, like…” He gestures vaguely with his free hand, trying to find the right words. “Like something dreamlike, almost natural. I’ll direct you, but I also want you to move how you feel comfortable.”

You hum, tilting your head as you process his vision. “So, more candid, less posed?”

He nods, sipping his coffee. “Exactly.”

You shift closer, peering at him over the rim of your cup. “And… Do I have your consent for the part after?”

Hyunjin blinks, then a slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “You have my consent,” he says smoothly, his voice steady, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—anticipation, maybe.

You let out a short laugh, arching a brow as you tease him, “You sound so eager for today’s shoot.”

He rolls his eyes, but the way his fingers tap against his can of drink betrays him. “I’m just committed to making this look good,” he says, feigning nonchalance.

You grin, stepping past him toward the couch. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

Hyunjin adjusts the camera in his hands, his fingers instinctively finding the right settings as he looks through the lens. The natural light floods the room, casting soft shadows across your skin. You’re draped across the couch in nothing but a loose white sweater and matching underwear, your body relaxed, effortlessly beautiful.

He’s done this before—countless times now—but there’s something about this moment that makes him pause. Maybe it’s the way the light caresses the curves of your body, or how the sweater slips just enough off your shoulder to reveal more of your skin. Or maybe it’s just you. No matter how many times he’s taken your pictures, Hyunjin realizes he never gets tired of looking at you. Admiring you.

You shift slightly, pulling one knee up and resting your head against the back of the couch. The motion is so natural, so effortlessly alluring, that Hyunjin forgets to press the shutter button for a second. When he finally does, he exhales a quiet breath.

"You’re staring," you tease, your voice light but knowing.

He lowers the camera slightly, meeting your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, but also something else—something softer. He swallows, rolling his shoulders like he can shake off whatever this feeling is. "Why? Are you shy now?" he teases, bringing the camera up again.

Done taking your pictures, Hyunjin moves around the room for the second time to set the cameras to their tripods at different angles, making sure everything is set up just right. He’s meticulous about it, double-checking each frame, making small tweaks to the lighting. When he’s finally satisfied, he steps away and joins you on the couch.

As soon as he sits down next to you, you turn to him, your gaze soft but playful. Without a word, you reach up and tug the hair tie from his dark locks, setting them free. His long hair falls around his face, a few strands brushing against his cheek.

You hum in approval, lifting your hand to run your fingers through his hair, smoothing it back before letting it slip through your fingers. There’s something intimate in the way you touch him, something gentle that makes his breath catch for just a second. A smile tugs at your lips as you look at him. “Are you ready?”

Hyunjin swallows, his dark eyes locked onto yours. He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you for a moment before exhaling through his nose, a small, knowing smile appearing on his lips.

"Yeah," he finally says, his voice lower than before.

You lift your hand and rest it on Hyunjin’s stomach, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his breath beneath your fingertips. His muscles tense for just a second before he consciously relaxes, his dark eyes still locked onto yours, watching, waiting.

Slowly, you lean in, closing the small space between you until your lips are just beside his ear. You can feel the warmth of his skin, hear the soft hitch in his breath. "Get comfortable," you murmur, your voice soft yet firm, your lips nearly brushing against the shell of his ear. "And follow my lead."

Hyunjin exhales, a quiet, shuddering breath. His hands press into the couch beside him, fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to touch you. His jaw clenches for a moment before he gives you a small, almost amused smile. "Alright," he breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper.

You move with unhurried confidence, shifting onto his lap and settling yourself comfortably as you straddle him. His hands instinctively find purchase on your hips, but he doesn’t grip—just rests them there, warm and solid. Your hands trail down his chest, fingers grazing over the fabric of his shirt. You take your time, carefully unbuttoning each button one by one, your touch light and deliberate. He doesn’t rush you—he simply watches, his lips parting slightly when you finally part the fabric open and slip the shirt off his shoulders, exposing the lean definition of his torso.

Laying your palm flat against his chest, you let your fingertips trace over his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the subtle twitch of his muscles under your touch. Hyunjin exhales sharply, his breath hitching just slightly, and you feel him shiver beneath your fingertips. His hands on your hips flex subtly, his gaze flickering between your face and the way your hands explore his skin. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, voice lower than before when he finally speaks.

“You’re really taking your time with this,” he murmurs, a teasing edge to his tone, but there’s something else underneath.

You simply smile, letting your fingers trace a slow, featherlight path over his collarbone. “Of course,” you say softly. “What’s the rush?”

You tilt your head, watching the way his gaze lingers on your face before dropping lower, his hands still resting on your hips as if he's trying to ground himself. Then, with a soft smile, you murmur, "Aren't you going to help me too?"

His hands tightening slightly before he reaches for the hem of your sweater. His fingers brush against your skin as he gathers the fabric, and he hesitates just for a moment, his dark eyes flickering up to yours as if silently asking for permission one last time.

You give him a small nod, and with that, he slowly lifts the sweater up, savoring the moment as he peels the soft fabric from your skin. His touch is gentle, careful, as he pulls it over your head and lets it slip from his fingers, tossing it aside.

Now bare before him, you feel the cool air graze your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating between you. Hyunjin’s eyes trace over you, his gaze slow and reverent, like he's taking in a painting he's never seen before, committing every detail to memory. His breath is unsteady when he finally meets your gaze again. His hands remain on your waist, but this time, they grip just a little tighter, like he's afraid to move too fast.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The only sound is the soft hum of the camera in the background, recording every fleeting touch, every unspoken exchange.

You take Hyunjin’s hands in yours, guiding them up your body, over the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, and then higher, letting him feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. His hands are warm, his touch hesitant but eager, and you can feel the way his fingers tremble slightly as you place them exactly where you want them, cupping the underside of your breasts. Then, slowly, you let go.

His hands remain where you left them for a moment, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the expanse of skin beneath his palms. When he finally moves, it's deliberate—his hands tracing over you, reveling in the way you feel. He drags his fingertips lightly over your skin, tracing lines only he can see, and the way he does it, so careful, so in awe, makes your breath shallow.

You rest your arms on his shoulders, letting your fingers trail along the nape of his neck, playing with the strands of his dark hair. Hyunjin tilts his head back slightly, his long hair falling away from his face as he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable at first, but then—he smiles. Not a smirk, not a teasing grin, but something softer, something real.

His eyes drink you in, as if seeing you this close, this bare, makes you even more breathtaking to him. And for a moment, he just lets himself admire you, his hands still exploring, mapping out every curve, every line, like he’s afraid he’ll forget how you feel beneath him.

He continues his exploration. His fingers trail up from your shoulders, over the curve of your neck, his touch featherlight. He maps out your skin with delicate strokes, tracing along the slope of your throat, the line of your jaw. His fingertips glide over your cheekbone, then dip lower, ghosting over the bridge of your nose before finally brushing against your lips.

Then, gently, he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, smoothing it away from your face. But instead of letting go, he keeps his hand there, holding your hair in place as his thumb idly caresses the side of your neck.

You watch him closely, your own hands moving to explore him in return. Your fingers drift up, brushing through his soft dark hair before trailing down to his face. You trace the arch of his brow, the sharp yet delicate bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheekbone. Then, without thinking, your thumb sweeps across his lips.

His lips are soft beneath your touch, plush and warm, and they part just slightly as your thumb glides over them. You meet his gaze, your own fingers lingering against his mouth as you softly ask, “Do you want to kiss?”

Without answering, Hyunjin leans in, his dark eyes locked onto yours, but just as his lips are about to brush against yours, you pull back ever so slightly. A teasing smile tugs at the corner of your lips as he instinctively follows, chasing after the kiss you’ve withheld. He exhales sharply through his nose, catching on to your game. His head falls back against the couch, and he lets out a dramatic sigh, his bottom lip jutting out in a soft pout. His hands rest on your waist, fingers idly pressing into your skin as he looks up at you with mock betrayal.

Despite his sulking, you giggle. There’s something so endearing about seeing Hyunjin—usually confident, effortlessly charming—reduced to a pouting mess just because of you.

Still smiling, you cup his jaw, your thumbs tracing the shape of his cheekbones. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he holds himself still, waiting. Then, slowly, you lean in and press your lips to his.

Hyunjin kisses you back like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s thought about it more than he’d ever admit. His lips move against yours, soft at first but it doesn’t take long before his desire seeps through. He sucks on your lower lip, teasingly slow, before tugging it between his teeth, just enough to make you shiver. Despite the bite, you sigh into his mouth, the sensation sending warmth through your body.

Hyunjin swallows the sound, his grip on you firm but never forceful. His lips move against yours with a growing hunger, hungry for the taste of you. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His warmth engulfs you, and the way he holds you—tight yet careful—makes your heart pound just as much as his kisses do. His lips move against yours with more urgency now, deepening the kiss, his breath mixing with yours. Then, without warning, he drags his lips away, trailing a path down your jaw to your neck. The first press of his mouth against your skin is soft, almost teasing, but then he sucks lightly on the spot just below your ear, making your breath hitch.

A gasp escapes you as he continues, alternating between kisses and gentle bites, marking you in ways that feel both dangerous and thrilling. His hands explore your body, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine, skimming over your sides, pressing into the small of your back. His touch is everywhere—palms smoothing over your bare skin, thumbs brushing over sensitive spots, sending shivers coursing through you.

The room feels smaller, hotter, as the two of you stay tangled together, lips and hands lost in each other. Hyunjin has his hands splayed across your back as his lips continue their path down your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver through you as he lingers just above your collarbone. You shift slightly in his lap, adjusting your position, but the movement draws a quiet, unbidden sound from deep within him.

Your hands tangle in his dark hair, threading through the soft strands as he buries his face against you while you decide to continue to tease him, rubbing yourself against his growing erection. His lips brush lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin. The warmth of his mouth makes you exhale shakily, your fingers instinctively gripping his shoulders. As you continue slowly grinding on him, the friction between you both grows, drawing an almost involuntary reaction from him. His breath hitches, his fingers flex against your sides, and when you roll your hips just a little more, a quiet curse slips past his lips.

Hyunjin's hands slide down, gripping you gently but firmly, guiding you as though he wants you closer—if that were even possible. His lips part against your skin, and you feel the soft pull of his mouth, a teasing scrape of his teeth that has you gasping.

For a moment, the two of you simply move together, unhurried yet undeniably in sync. It’s intoxicating—the way he holds you, the way his body reacts to yours, the way the warmth between you seems to build with each slow grind against his swollen bulge.

You kiss him again, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss that deepens with every second. Hyunjin responds just as eagerly, his hands roaming your body, his grip tightening when you roll your hips against him again. His breath stutters when you pull away, but before he can protest, you tilt your head and press your lips to his jawline, then lower—to the sensitive spot beneath his ear, to the column of his throat where you can feel his pulse quicken.

His fingers dig into your flesh as you trail your lips down his neck, your mouth leaving a warm path over his collarbone, his chest. His skin is hot beneath your lips, his breath uneven as you continue your slow descent. You can feel the way his body tenses, anticipating your next move. And then you shift, slipping off his lap with deliberate slowness, your hands skimming down his sides as you lower yourself to the floor. Standing in front of him, you press your palms to his thighs, feeling the subtle tremor in his muscles before you gently part his legs, making space for yourself between them.

Hyunjin looks down at you, his dark eyes clouded with something heavy and overpowering, his lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something—but he doesn’t. Instead, he swallows hard, watching you intently as you kneel between his legs, your hands still resting on his thighs. A quiet beat passes between you, charged with tension. Then, you lift your gaze to meet his, your fingers trailing slowly along the denim of his jeans.

"Still comfortable?" you ask, your voice light, teasing.

Hyunjin exhales a soft, breathy laugh, though his voice is rough when he responds. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Very."

Your fingers begin to move, tracing the waistband of his jeans before dipping lower. Hyunjin's breath hitches as you work the button open, then the zipper, the sound cutting through the silence in the room. His hands, which had been resting on his thighs, twitch—like he wants to touch you, to stop you, or maybe to urge you on. But he doesn’t move. He just watches, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly, his lips slightly parted as if he’s forgotten how to breathe.

You take your time, easing the fabric down just enough, and when you finally free his member out of its confine, his head falls back against the couch, a quiet groan slipping past his lips. "Are we good?" you ask softly, fingers teasing, barely touching his erection.

Hyunjin exhales a shuddery breath, his lips curving into a crooked, breathless smile. "Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough.

For a moment, you do nothing—just let your fingers ghost along his hardening length, featherlight, teasing. You hear the sharp inhale he takes, see the way his stomach tenses as you rub your thumb around the crest of his cock. He’s beautiful like this—vulnerable in a way that makes warmth curl in your stomach, his dark hair tousled, his lips red and kiss-swollen.

"You're so hard, so big..." you sigh, slightly tightening your fingers around him.

You glance up at him through your lashes, meeting his gaze as you begin giving his cock slow, deliberate strokes. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, filled with something heady and unspoken. You take your time, watching him, waiting until he meets your gaze before lowering yourself, you press a kiss to his hip, then another, trailing lower, savoring the way his body reacts to your touch. He lets out a quiet groan when your lips finally brush over the tip of his cock.

The first sound he makes when you take his cock into your mouth is something between a sigh and a moan, his head tipping back against the couch. His hand finds your hair, not pushing, just resting, as if he needs something to hold onto. You hollow out your cheeks and give him a good suck before slowly pulling away. You quickly replace your mouth with your hand to keep the stimulation going.

With your lips wet from saliva, you ask, "Does it feel good?"

"Yeah," he breathlessly answer before letting out a shaky exhale.

You lick your lips before taking him in again, little by little until half of his length disappeared into you. Then, you beging moving, moving your mouth to testing, to tease while watching the way his stomach tenses and his lips part with every careful motion.

"Fuck..." he breathes out, voice wrecked.

His breaths grow uneven, his grip tightening slightly, and when you flick your gaze upward, the sight of him—eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted, completely undone—sends a wave of satisfaction through you.

You hum against him, reveling in the way he shudders beneath you, completely at your mercy. You give him a second to gather some senses and using your hand to pump his cock.

"Don't tell me you're going to come just from this," you tease, dragging your lips down the underside of his length before putting him into your mouth again.

Hyunjin’s breath stutters, his fingers tightening in your hair as you continue your slow, teasing pace. His body is completely at your mercy, and he knows it—you can feel it in the way he trembles beneath you, in the soft, choked sounds that slip past his parted lips. His other hand moves to the back of the couch, gripping it like he needs to anchor himself, his head tilting back as he exhales a shaky breath. "You're—" He cuts himself off with a groan, his body tensing for a moment before melting back into the cushions.

You glance up at him through your lashes, taking in the way his chest rises and falls with each unsteady breath, the way his brows knit together as he fights for control. There's something intoxicating about watching him like this, unraveling under your touch, his usual confidence slipping away little by little.

"What do you think? Am I doing good?" Your lips graze the tip of his cock as you speak.

"You're too good at this," he finally manages to answer, his voice breathless, rough.

You smile, dragging your hands up his thighs as you pull back just enough to whisper, "Just let it go when you feel like it. Swallowing is not a big deal to me "

His eyes snap open, dark and hazy as he looks down at you. There's a pause, his lips parting slightly, and for a moment, you think he might actually hesitate. But then his fingers tighten in your hair, his gaze burning into yours as he rasps, "I–I can't do that."

A thrill rushes through you at his words, at the sheer need in his voice. You hum in satisfaction, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against his hip before resuming your pace, taking your time, savoring every reaction he gives you.

Hyunjin curses under his breath, his hand slipping from your hair to cradle the side of your face instead, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His gaze never wavers, never strays from you, even as his breaths turn ragged, even as his body tenses beneath your touch.

"I'm about to come" he murmurs, his voice strained, almost desperate.

You glance up at him again, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile before pushing him just a little further, just enough to make him lose himself completely.

And when he does—when his body stiffens and his lips part in a silent gasp, his head tipping back as pleasure overtakes him—you know you've won.

You feel his release floods your tongue, hot and distinctly salty, filling your mouth. Then, silence. The only sounds left in the room are your steady breathing and his own ragged exhales.

When he finally dares to look at you, his eyes widen in horror as he sees you sticking your tongue out just enough to show him the white sheen of his seed before you swallow it all down your throat.

The sight stirs something deep within him that he reaches for you and roughly presses a kiss on your lips, his tongue pries open your mouth until you let him taste the remnants of himself on your tongue. Once he pulled away from the kiss, reality dawns on him. His flushed face deepens in color, and he quickly brings a hand to his face, covering his eyes as if that would make the situation disappear.

“Oh my God—” he mutters, voice filled with mortification as he sees a drop of his release landed on your chin. “I— I didn’t mean to—”

You blink at him before breaking into a soft laugh, reaching for a tissue nearby. “Hey, it’s fine.”

But he groans, shaking his head, clearly struggling with embarrassment. “No, it’s not! That was— I should have warned you—”

You smile, dabbing at your skin, before tilting your head at him. “You were a little too lost in the moment. I get it.”

Hyunjin groans again, this time burying his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this…”

Shifting closer, you gently pull his hands away from his face, meeting his flustered gaze with warmth. “Relax. It’s not a big deal.”

He exhales slowly, still clearly embarrassed, but your reassurance eases him slightly. He watches as you clean up without a hint of discomfort, and for some reason, that makes his heart squeeze a little.

You nudge his knee playfully. “If anything, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You simply grin, standing up and holding your hand out at him. “Come on, let's shower before you start overthinking this to death.”

With a sigh, he follows, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what just happened—but there’s something else in his eyes too. A flicker of something deeper, something more than just physical attraction. And as he watches you head toward the bathroom, he realizes just how dangerous it is to let himself feel that way.

It's a successful first shoot with Hyunjin.

Even though he handled the camera like a pro, guiding you through poses and capturing you in the most flattering ways, the moment things shifted—when you turned the tables on him—he completely fell apart. And now, despite how smooth he usually tries to be, he can't stop being embarrassed about how he lost control, especially about how he came in your mouth and your face.

You think about it as warm water cascades down your body, the memory playing in your mind like a highlight reel. The way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled against your skin, and especially the way his face turned crimson afterward, looking utterly wrecked yet so, so cute. You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

Hyunjin—always composed, always confident—reduced to a flustered mess because of you. You’ll never let him live this down.

After finishing your shower, you throw on something comfortable and head out to the dining area, where Hyunjin is already setting the table. His hair escaping the loose ponytail, and he's deliberately avoiding your gaze, focusing too hard on arranging the plates.

You slide into your seat, watching him for a moment before smirking. "You know… technically, I already had an appetizer before dinner."

He freezes mid-motion, his shoulders tensing. He slowly looks up, eyes wary. "Huh?"

You take a sip of your drink, feigning innocence. "I mean, I had a little taste of you before we sat down to eat."

His entire face turns red. He immediately drops his chopsticks, groaning as he buries his face in his hands. "Oh my God."

You burst into laughter, unable to help yourself. "Why are you acting so shy now? You weren’t shy earlier."

Hyunjin peeks at you between his fingers, shooting you a look of pure suffering. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," you tease, grinning. "If anything, you loved it."

He groans again, leaning back in his chair dramatically. "You're not going to let me live this down, aren’t you?"

Despite himself, Hyunjin breaks into a helpless smile, shaking his head. As you both settle into comfortable conversation, the teasing lingers in the air—a reminder of just how much the dynamic between you is shifting, whether either of you is ready to admit it or not.

As you finish cleaning up after dinner, you grab an envelope from the counter and hand it to Hyunjin. "Your pay for this month," you say with a smile.

Hyunjin takes it, grinning as he flips it between his fingers. "Ah, my hard-earned money," he jokes, tucking it into his pocket. Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he leans forward slightly. "Since I’m less broke now, how about I treat you to a movie tomorrow? There’s this screening I wanted to check out."

You chuckle at his enthusiasm but shake your head. "I’d love to, but I already have plans for tomorrow."

He tilts his head, curious. "Oh? Where are you going?"

You set your chopsticks down, wiping your lips before answering, "I'm going to my friend’s wedding."

His expression shifts slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Is it the one friend you were avoiding back at the restaurant?"

You nod. "Yep. That one."

He blinks, clearly surprised. "I thought you weren’t going."

You shrug. "At first, yeah. But then I thought… why not?"

Hyunjin nods slowly, as if processing your words. But you don’t miss the way his shoulders drop slightly, or how he suddenly seems more focused on the remaining food in his bowl. He’s disappointed. You don’t point it out, but you notice it.

"Sounds fun," he says, his voice light, but there’s something subdued in it.

You watch him for a moment, then smirk. "You sound like you’re sulking."

He scoffs, sitting up straighter. "Me? Sulking? Never."

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "You’re literally stabbing your rice right now."

He looks down at his bowl, realizing how aggressively he’s been poking at the food. Clearing his throat, he sets his chopsticks down and leans back in his chair. "I just think my plans sounded cooler, that’s all."

You laugh, shaking your head. "I’ll make it up to you, okay?"

Hyunjin pouts slightly, but the teasing glint in his eyes gives him away. "You better," he mutters, stealing one of your dumplings as revenge.

The morning sun shines through the high windows of the apartment building as Hyunjin walks back from the farmer's market, a bag of fresh produce in one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other. The scent of them—sweet and delicate—lingers in the air, and he glances down at them, suddenly second-guessing himself.

Was this a bad idea?

He doesn’t know what compelled him to pick them up. Maybe it was the way they reminded him of you. Maybe it was just a habit—bringing home something nice, something that adds a little warmth to a space. Either way, he now stands in front of your door, unsure if you've already left for the wedding. A part of him hopes you have, just so he doesn’t have to go through the embarrassment of handing you flowers like some lovestruck fool.

Before he can turn around and retreat to his apartment, the door swings open. You're standing there, already dressed for the wedding, a bright smile greeting him.

"Oh, morning, Hyunjin!" you say, sounding rushed yet cheerful as you step aside to let him in.

He planned to just hand you the flowers and go. But now, with the door wide open and you ushering him in without a second thought, he finds himself stepping inside, still holding the bouquet a little awkwardly.

You move back toward your vanity, where your makeup is halfway done, brushes and compacts scattered across the table. "Sorry, I’m running a little late," you say, adjusting your earrings in the mirror. "What’s up?"

Clearing his throat, Hyunjin lifts the flowers. "I, uh… brought these for you."

You turn, eyes widening in surprise before a teasing smile tugs at your lips. "Flowers? For me? What’s the occasion?"

He shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. "No occasion. Just thought you’d like them."

You take them from his hands, inhaling their fresh scent before flashing him a soft, genuine smile. "They're beautiful. Thank you, Hyunjin."

Seeing you flustered for once makes him feel a little less embarrassed. "I'll put them in a vase for you," he offers, not wanting to stand there while you get ready.

"That’d be great," you say, turning back to the mirror to finish up.

As Hyunjin moves around your kitchen, filling a vase with water, he sneaks glances at you. The way you carefully apply the last touches to your hair, the way the dress hugs your figure just right—it all captivates him. Then, you turn around, smiling brightly at him.

"How do I look?" you ask.

Hyunjin quickly averts his gaze, setting the vase down on the counter as if that requires all his attention. He swallows. "You look… beautiful."

Your smile softens. "Thank you."

Before the moment lingers too long, your phone rings, breaking the air of quiet admiration. You pick it up quickly, saying, "Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute," before ending the call.

Hyunjin assumes someone is picking you up and he also takes that as his cue to leave.

As you both step out of your apartment, he lingers for a moment before saying, "Have fun at the wedding."

You flash him one last grateful smile. "I will. Thanks again for the flowers, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin steps into his apartment, closing the door behind him with a quiet sigh. He toes off his shoes and runs a hand through his hair, shaking off the lingering feeling of something he can't quite name.

But as he walks toward the window, curiosity tugs at him. He tells himself he's only looking to see what kind of car picks you up—maybe a fancy one, maybe not. But when he spots the vehicle pulling up in front of the building, what catches his attention isn't the car at all.

It's the person stepping out of it. Felix.

Hyunjin hadn’t expected that. You’re going to the wedding with Felix?

The thought alone stirs something uneasy inside him, but he pushes it aside, watching as you step out of the building. He tells himself that’s the end of it, that he should look away, go about his day. But then—

You walk straight into Felix’s arms, slipping into his embrace like it’s second nature. Despite the tightening feeling in his chest, Hyunjin watches as Felix leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek before opening the passenger door for you. You slip inside easily, smiling up at him before he shuts the door and rounds the car to the driver’s side.

Hyunjin lets out a sharp breath, rubbing his hand over his face as if to wipe away the thoughts creeping into his mind. What was he even expecting?

A part of him wants to shake it off, to go about his day like this means nothing. But another part of him—one he’s not quite ready to acknowledge—already knows that today, for the first time, he’s feeling something he shouldn’t.

Jealousy.

He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head at himself. Then, without another glance at the window, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving the room in silence.

✨ Chapter III of Cam is available on my Patreon page ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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valkyriexo · 9 months ago

Text

Work of Art | Hyunjin

ᑉ³pairing; Best Friend Hyunjin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Angst (ish?), Smut

ᑉ³warnings; SMUT MDNI, Jealousy, dirty talk, swearing, P in V, unprotected sex , fingering, edging, Semi-public sex, Smut. SMUTTT minors do NOT interact

ᑉ³Authors Note; 1k event Commisson giveaway winner @skzdreamer13 (sorry it took so long ! ) Also... this is a bit longer then i intended it to be i got... carried away hehehe

The art studio smells like paint, the familiar scent swirling in the air as you dip your brush into a swirl of color. The canvas in front of you is slowly taking shape, the blend of pastel blues and soft pinks beginning to resemble the hazy skyline of a dreamscape you’ve been envisioning for weeks. You’ve lost track of how many hours you’ve spent on it, layering colors, fine-tuning the details, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve always loved getting lost in your work.

Across the room, Hyunjin sits at his usual spot by the window, sketchbook propped on his knee as he sketches something you can’t quite see from where you stand. It’s comfortable, familiar, the two of you working in companionable silence. Every now and then, you glance up to find him already looking at you, eyes soft and focused, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of the moment.

You’ve been friends for what feels like forever, bonded over late nights in this very studio, sharing music while you worked side by side.

It’s...... easy with him, always has been.

Hyunjin is the kind of person who understands you without you needing to say anything. He knows your moods, can read the subtlest change in your expression, and you’ve always been able to share everything with him — your art, your frustrations, your dreams. This studio was your place. You’d both stay long after everyone else left, the hum of creativity and quiet conversation filling the space between you.

“What do you think?” you ask, turning your canvas toward him. His opinion has always mattered to you. Hyunjin’s eye for detail is sharp, but more than that, you trust him to be honest.

He looks up, his gaze landing on the canvas. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his eyes softening as he takes it in. “It’s beautiful,” he says, voice low, almost reverent. “There’s something... ethereal about it. It feels like a memory.”

Your heart flutters at his words, the compliment striking deeper than it should. “That’s what I was going for,” you say, stepping back to look at your painting again.

Hyunjin nods, his gaze flickering back to the painting. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just studies it with that intense focus he always has when he’s taking something in. Then, quietly, he says, “You always manage to put so much feeling into your work. It’s one of the things I... admire about you.”

There’s a softness in his voice that makes your heart skip, something unspoken in the way he says those last words. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his eyes still fixed on the canvas, but there’s an underlying tenderness that you can’t quite ignore.

You open your mouth to respond, to say something — anything — but the air feels thick with something you can’t name, and before you can find the right words, the door to the studio swings open.

Han walks into the studio, a burst of energy and excitement trailing in his wake. He’s carrying a bag of takeout, the aroma of food filling the air as he enters. His face is lit up with a wide, enthusiastic grin, his eyes sparkling with genuine excitement.

“Hey, everyone!” Han’s cheerful voice fills the studio as he strides in with takeout. “Thought you might be hungry.”

You turn to greet him, your mood lifting at the sight of his familiar, easygoing smile. Han sets the bags of food on the table with a casual grace. “I brought some takeout. Figured you two could use a break.”

“Thanks, Han,” you say, trying to keep the atmosphere light. You catch Hyunjin’s reaction from the corner of your eye. His smile tightens just a fraction, and he shifts his gaze back to his sketchbook, an unreadable expression settling on his face.

“Perfect timing,” Hyunjin says, his voice polite but lacking its usual warmth. “We could use a break.”

Han begins unpacking the food, his eyes bright as he glances at your painting. “Wow, Y/N, that’s incredible,” he says with genuine admiration. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

You smile at the praise, feeling a warm flutter at Han’s enthusiasm. “Thanks, Han. I’ve been working on it for a while.”

As Han continues to unpack the food, you notice Hyunjin’s shoulders are tense, his focus remaining on his sketchbook. There’s a subtle shift in the air, a change you can’t quite place but that feels almost tangible.

“Mind if I join in?” Han asks, setting up a plate of food for you and Hyunjin. His casual tone and easy smile make it clear he’s just as comfortable here as he is anywhere else.

“Of course,” you reply, “It’s good to have you here.”

Hyunjin finally looks up, his gaze fleetingly meeting yours before he returns to his sketchbook. “Yeah, it’s nice to have a break,” he says, his tone once again polite but detached.

As you all sit down to eat, you find yourself drawn into Han’s stories and jokes, your laughter mingling with his. It’s clear that you’re enjoying his company, and you can’t help but notice how his presence brings a different kind of energy to the studio.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, remains subdued. He joins in the conversation, but his responses are brief, and his attention seems.....

....divided.

The studio hums with the soft sounds of conversation and the clinking of utensils as Han continues to engage with you and Hyunjin over lunch. His attention is focused on you, and you can’t miss the playful glint in his eyes.

Lately, Han has been visiting the studio more frequently. At first, it was just a casual drop-in here and there, but recently, he’s been making it a regular thing. The three of you have been spending a lot of time together, discussing art, sharing ideas, and even grabbing lunch like today. His presence has added a new dynamic to your studio time, and you can’t deny that it’s been refreshing.

When Han started coming around more, it felt like a natural extension of your routine. He’d drop by with coffee or lunch, sometimes bringing along his own sketches to work on. You found some joy in his company , and it was easy to get lost in conversation with him. His enthusiasm for art matched yours, and his friendly, easygoing nature made him a great addition to your creative space.

The more Han visited, the more you two grew close. You started to look forward to his presence, finding comfort and inspiration in his company. You’d often stay late into the evening, chatting about everything from art to life.

But with Han’s increased presence, something shifted. You noticed how your interactions with Hyunjin became less frequent. Where you used to work side by side, sharing thoughts and critiques, you now found yourself pulled into conversations with Han.

“So, Y/N,” Han starts, leaning slightly closer with a teasing smile. “How do you manage to make everything look so effortless? I’ve seen your work, and I know it’s anything but.”

You laugh, a bit flustered by his directness. “It’s a lot of practice and maybe a bit of luck,” you reply, trying to keep things light.

Han grins, his gaze lingering on you. He gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I’d say it’s definitely more than luck. I’ve seen your paintings turn into something incredible. Maybe you’ve got a secret.”

You feel your cheeks warm at his touch and compliment. “Maybe I do,” you say, matching his playful tone. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to share it just yet.”

Han chuckles softly and reaches over to hand you a paintbrush, his fingers brushing against yours in the process. “Well, if you ever decide to let me in on that secret, I’d be more than happy to help you with it.” He gets a little closer, his arm grazing yours as he leans in. “You know,” he says, leaning in a little closer, “I was thinking... maybe we should test that theory. How about we paint something together one day? I’ve got some ideas and I think it could be a lot of fun.”

“That sounds interesting. What kind of ideas do you have in mind?” you reply.

Just as he starts to respond, Hyunjin, who has been quietly watching, stands up abruptly. His voice, though calm, carries an unmistakable edge. “It’s getting late,” he says, his gaze flickering between you and Han. “I think it’s time to wrap things up for today. Y/N, you should probably head home too.”

Han’s expression shifts from playful to slightly confused. “Already? I was just about to ask Y/N to—”

Hyunjin cuts him off with a firm yet polite tone. “I’m sorry, Han, but we’ve all had a long day. We can catch up on the details another time. Y/N, let’s get going.”

You glance at Han, his eyes reflecting a mix of disappointment and surprise, before turning to Hyunjin. “Yeah, I guess it is getting late,” you agree, though you can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you stand up.

Han’s disappointment is evident as he offers you a small, wistful smile. “Alright, Y/N. We’ll talk about it soon. Have a good night.” His words are warm, but there’s a hint of frustration in his eyes as he gathers his things.

As Han exits the studio, you turn to find Hyunjin already heading towards the door, his expression a mix of frustration and anger. He’s usually so composed, but there’s something in his demeanor tonight that feels sharp and unsettled.

“Hyunjin, wait up,” you call, catching up to him as he moves toward the entrance. The studio is now quiet, the clinking of utensils and hum of conversation replaced by an uneasy silence.

Hyunjin stops and turns to face you, his gaze intense. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to rush you, but..." He pauses, his voice faltering slightly as he searches for the right words.

“Actually, never mind,” he says abruptly, his tone shifting to a forced calm. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

He begins to walk toward the door, but you reach out, your voice trembling slightly. “But, Hyunjin? What’s wrong?”

Hyunjin stops, his back to you, and for a moment, you can see the conflict warring within him. He turns his head slightly, but the emotion in his eyes is hard to decipher.

"You've...you’ve been spending a lot of time with Han lately.”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “He’s been coming by the studio more often. We’ve just been working on some ideas together.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens, his frustration evident. “I’ve noticed. It’s just—” He stops himself, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind. It’s none of my business who you spend your time with.”

Hyunjin’s frustration is palpable as he crosses his arms, his gaze fixed on the floor. The usually calm and collected friend is now visibly shaken, and the intensity in his voice is unmistakable.

“Hyunjin, what's wrong?” you ask, concern evident in your voice.

Hyunjin looks up, his expression hardening. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, his voice clipped. “I’ll stop interrupting your time with Han.”

Before you can react, he turns away from you, heading towards the door. The sudden shift in his demeanor makes your heart ache, and you can’t just let him leave like this.

“No, wait!” you call out, rushing to catch up with him. “Hyunjin, please, don’t go. We need to talk about this.”

Hyunjin pauses but doesn’t turn around. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he replies, his tone flat. “I just... need some time alone. It’s better this way.”

You reach out, placing a hand gently on his arm. “Hyunjin, don’t shut me out. We’ve always been able to talk through things. I don’t want to lose our friendship over this.”

Hyunjin stiffens under your touch and then turns to face you, his eyes blazing with an emotion you hadn’t expected. The usually composed and easygoing Hyunjin is now a whirlwind of frustration and jealousy, his features tense and his jaw set tight. The raw intensity in his gaze is something you’ve never seen before — a mix of hurt and anger that makes your heart ache.

You’re taken aback by his intensity. “Han’s just been trying to be friendly and lighten the mood. I didn’t think it was anything more than him wanting to hang out and have a good time.”

“Are you seriously that oblivious?” he snaps, his voice cracking with the weight of his emotions. “I’ve been sitting here, watching him flirt with you, and all you seem to notice is how charming he is.”

Hyunjin’s voice trembles with frustration. “It’s not just about him being friendly! It’s about watching you with someone else, someone who’s clearly interested in you. And while he’s making moves, I’m just supposed to sit here and pretend it doesn’t bother me?”

You feel a pang of guilt, your own emotions a whirlwind of confusion and concern. “Hyunjin, I—”

“Do you really not get it?” he interrupts, his tone harsh and edged. “I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’ve been hiding it for so long, thinking maybe it would go away or that it didn’t matter because we’re friends. But seeing you with Han, seeing how easily he gets to be close to you, it’s like... it’s tearing me apart.”

He stands there, struggling to keep his composure, his breath coming in uneven gasps.

“I... I didn’t know,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Hyunjin, I never imagined you could feel this way. I thought... I always thought you’d see me as just a friend, nothing more. Why would you ever think that—”

Hyunjin interrupts, his voice strained. “Because you are special to me. I’ve been falling for you for so long, and I’ve been trying to ignore it, hoping it would go away. I’m sorry if I’ve been selfish, but it’s killing me to see you with him when all I want is to be close to you.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath as if bracing himself. “But I’ll give you space since it’s clear the feelings aren’t the same. I’m sorry for bringing this on you.” His voice is barely above a whisper, filled with regret and resignation.

Before you can find the right words to respond, before you can process the whirlwind of emotions, Hyunjin turns abruptly and walks toward the door. His steps are heavy, each one echoing the weight of his confession.

“Hyunjin, wait!” you call out, but he doesn’t turn back. The door closes softly behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet studio, your heart pounding.

You stand there, stunned and at a loss, the room feeling colder and emptier than before. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered. Your vision blurs with tears, and you try to hold them back, but they come uncontrollably. You bite your lip, trying to stifle the sobs that escape.

You’ve been in love with him for as long as you can remember, but you never dared to hope he could feel the same way.Standing there, tears streaming down your face, you clutch the edges of the doorframe, trying to ground yourself.

You take a shaky breath, desperately trying to compose yourself. With trembling hands, you wipe at your tears with the sleeve of your shirt, attempting to pull yourself together.

Summoning all the strength you have left, you push open the door and step out into the dimly lit hallway. The cool air hits your tear-streaked face, but it does little to soothe the turmoil you.

As you open the door, you come face-to-face with Hyunjin, who is standing right outside, as if he was about to come back in. His eyes widen in surprise when he sees you crying, and his expression shifts from pained resignation to a mix of shock and vulnerability.

You both stand there for a moment, the silence thick with unspoken words and raw emotion. Hyunjin's eyes are red-rimmed, and he looks as though he's been caught in a moment of hesitation, his own tears glistening in his eyes.

Hyunjin’s gaze drops, and he looks away, clearly struggling with his emotions. “I was just—” he starts, but his voice falters, and he wipes at his eyes quickly, as if trying to regain his composure.

As you both stand there, Hyunjin's gaze slowly meets yours. There’s a mix of desperation and hope in his eyes, as if he’s grappling with the urge to fix what’s been broken.

His expression softens, and with a trembling breath, he takes a step closer to you. The space between you seems to shrink as he closes the distance, his movements slow and deliberate.

Without a word, Hyunjin gently places his hands on your cheeks, his touch tender and warm. His eyes search yours for a moment longer, as if asking for permission. Then, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that is both soft and filled with emotion.

The kiss is hesitant at first, but it deepens as he pulls you closer, his lips moving against yours with a sense of longing and desperation. You can feel the trembling in his hands

As Hyunjin’s kiss deepens, it feels as though time stands still, the world outside the studio fading away. The intensity of the moment pushes you both backward, and with each tender touch of his lips, you find yourselves moving slowly but inevitably back into the studio, the door closing shut behind him.

The kiss continues, now more urgent and passionate, as if he’s trying to pour all the words he can’t express into this one moment.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both stand there, breathless and slightly disheveled, still close together. Hyunjin’s gaze is tender, and he looks at you with a mixture of relief and hope.

"Why me? I don’t get it” you say.

Hyunjin’s smile widens, and he gently wipes away a tear from your cheek. “Why you? Because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted—kind, talented, and absolutely incredible.Because you’re like your art—full of beauty and emotion. Every piece you create reveals a part of you, and I’ve been captivated by that. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to show you just how much you mean to me.”

He kisses you again, this time more desparetly, as if he needs to breathe and your his oxygen.

You can feel his hand slide down your body and he takes your hand in his. You feel your own heart skip a beat, and you can't help but smile as you continue to kiss, as he pushes you back allowing you to sit up on one of the tables in the studio. He takes the opportunity to put his body between your legs.

His tongue explores your mouth, and you can’t help but respond, your own tongue dueling with his.

You can feel the heat radiating from his body. Your hands reach up to touch his chest, feeling the firm muscles underneath your fingertips, and Hyunjin lets out a low groan, his eyes darkening with desire.

“Fuck, I want you,” he growls, his hand gripping your hip tightly.

You can feel his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly, your own desire building up inside of you.

You break the kiss, gasping for breath. Hyunjin’s lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. You arch your back, moaning as his hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples through the fabric of your shirt.

“Hyunjin, please,” you beg, your hands tugging at his shirt.He obliges, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. You can’t help but stare at his muscular chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his abs.

He smiles, looking at you, as if asking for permission with his eyes. You nod and his hands reach towards you to unbutton your shirt. You undo your bra on your own, and together both items fall to the ground. You blush as he stares at you.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands cupping your breasts and squeezing gently.

You moan, your nipples hardening under his touch. You can feel your wetness soaking through your panties, and you grind your hips against Hyunjin’s. He groans, both hands now gripping your hips tighter.

Hyunjin leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and sucking gently. You try to stifle your moan, your hands gripping his hair as he switches to the other nipple, biting down gently. His lips trail back up to your neck as his hands begin to slide down the sides of your body.

His fingers find their way to your panties.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he growls, his fingers tracing the lines of your panties.

You moan, your hips bucking as his fingers slip under your panties and into your wetness. He strokes your clit, and you cry out, your orgasm building up inside of you. Hyunjin continues to stroke you, his fingers moving faster and faster. His fingers are long and slender, and you can feel them stroking you from the inside.

"Oh g-god, Hyunjin" you say, as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"Yeah? Does that feel good baby?" Hearing him call you "baby" sends a flutter through your chest, a warmth spreading in the pit of your stomach. It’s not just the word — it’s the way he says it, soft and full of affection, like it belongs only to you. You’ve heard the word before, but from his lips, it feels different — intimate, tender, and so undeniably right.

Your legs begin to tremble as your orgasm builds. Hyunjin kisses you again, his tongue exploring your mouth as his fingers continue to move inside you.

You break the kiss, gasping for breath. "d-don't stop" you whine. Hyunjin continues to kiss you, swallowing your cries as his pace speeds up. You grab onto Hyunjin's shoulders as you begin to ride his fingers, your body trembling with pleasure. "Fuck, I'm going to cum," you cry, as your orgasm approaches.

"Not yet," he whispers and you feel as he pulls his fingers out of you. "I want your cum on my cock."

You blush, as his hands reach down to unbutton his pants. He pushes his pants and boxers down in one swift motion. His erection springs free, and you can’t help but stare at it.

“Do you want this?” he asks, his hand wrapping around his cock and stroking it slowly.

You nod, your hand reaching out to touch him. Hyunjin groans, his hips thrusting forward as your hand wraps around his cock. You stroke him slowly, matching his rhythm. You pressed your thumb down onto his dripping red tip, and you could hear him whine.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he says as he slowly spread open your legs. He pushes you back a little to line his tip up to your entrance.

"You ready for me?" he asks, teasingly.

"Please," you reply, desperately.

He pushes in, his cock stretching you open as he enters you. You moan, your hands gripping his arms as he begins to move, thrusting slowly at first.

"Please, Hyunjin, please." You begged, as your eyes closed from the pleasure.

"God, you're so tight," he groans, his hands gripping your hips, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, back out, and back in again.

and he feels SO good.

And then he stops..... while still inside you.

Confused, you open your eyes to see a frozen Hyunjin. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I-I...." he stutters. Hyunjin’s face pales as his eyes dart nervously to the canvas behind you. "I spilled paint,” he says, gesturing to the canvas behind you. He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck, visibly distressed. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I know you worked so hard on it, and I just... ruined it.” His voice breaks slightly, and he looks away, unable to meet your gaze.

You look at the canvas, your heart sinking a little. The once vibrant colors you’d carefully layered over days of meticulous work are now smeared and distorted by splashes of dark paint. What was supposed to be a serene landscape, full of soft pastels and warm hues, is now marred by streaks of harsh, misplaced colors running down the surface.

"It was perfect, and I ruined it," he whispers, his voice thick with regret. "I know how much this meant to you."

Hyunjin’s hand is covered in streaks of dark paint from knocking over the paint, and you can see how the paint has seeped into the creases of his hands, clinging to him like guilt.

He stares at his hand, then back at the ruined painting, shaking his head. "I should’ve been more careful," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "Look at this... I can't believe I did this to your work."

He looks up, shocked. "Y/N..."

"Hyunjin," you say. "It's okay. It's just paint."

"But..." he starts.

You cut him off with a kiss. "I'd rather have you than the painting," you whisper. "Besides I think your art is prettier than mine."

"You...you do?"

"Mmhm," You say nodding your head."Besides....I always said I wanted you to paint me one day..."

" You want me to paint you?"

You answer his question by moving his paint coated hands together and placing them both on your chest, leaving his paint handprints right on you.

You've never done anything like this before, but the idea of being so intimate with Hyunjin is incredibly arousing.

You gasp at the sensation, your body trembling with desire. Hyunjin's touch is electric, and you can't help but moan as he continues to explore your body with his fingers. He moves one of his hands and traces a finger over your collarbone, leaving a trail of paint in its wake.

You feel as he begins to thrust into you again.

Your eyes close from the pleasure, and you moan as his cock fills you completely.

"Oh fuck," you say, your voice cracking. You feel Hyunjin's pace quicken as his cock continues to pound into you. His hands roam, allowing more paint to make its way onto your body. You place your hands into an open yellow and purple paint nearby and place your hands on his chest, covering him with paint as well.

"Oh fuck," Hyunjin growls, his voice hoarse with lust. He grabs you by the hips, and lifts you off the table.

"Wrap your legs around me," he says.

You do as he asks, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. His cock is still buried deep inside you, and the new angle sends shivers of pleasure through your body.

"That's it," he says, his voice husky. "Hold on tight."

He begins to move again, his pace quickening as he pounds into you, his cock hitting just the right spot inside you.

You cling to him, your arms wrapped around his neck and your face buried in his shoulder. You can't help but cry out as your orgasm approaches.

"Oh god, Hyunjin," you cry, your body trembling. "I'm gonna come."

"Yeah?" he says. "Me too."

His thrusts become faster, harder, as he pounds into you. Your cries echo in the room, and you feel him throb inside you.

"Come for me, Y/N," he growls.

"Oh god, Hyunjin," you cry, as your orgasm hits, your nails digging into his shoulders. He continues to thrust into you, drawing out your pleasure. You cling to him, your body shaking as the waves of pleasure wash over you.

"Fuck," Hyunjin groans, as he comes, his cock pulsing inside you, completing the masterpiece by painting your walls.

When you finally come down from your orgasm, you look down at Hyunjin and see that he's covered in paint. His face, his hair, and even his clothes are covered in a rainbow of colors.

You can't help but laugh at the sight, and Hyunjin joins in your laughter.

"You look beautiful," he says with a soft smile, his eyes tracing your features. "Like a work of art. Something I'd spend hours admiring, and still, it wouldn't be enough." He places you back down on the table and pulls you into a tight embrace, and you can feel the warmth of his body against yours.

The two of you stay there for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms, before you finally break away.

"We should.... clean up," you say, gesturing to the paint that's covering both of your bodies.

Hyunjin nods in agreement, but neither of you move.

Instead, he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"We'll get cleaned up soon," he says, his voice soft and tender.

"Right now, I just want to hold you."

You smile, a wave of happiness washing over you. "I'd like that," you say, nuzzling against his chest.

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#k-labels #hyunjin #skz #stray kids #skz smut #stray kids smut #straykids #k labels #skzstarnet #supernovanetwork #smut #hyunjin stray kids #skz hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader

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hcneymooners · 5 months ago

Text

thinking of chef!sevika...

suggestive content. men & minors dni.

🫕 and how the two of you met least luxuriously. you had gone on a terrible date - the kind where the conversation was tepid as lukewarm soup, where you watched the other person cut their food into increasingly smaller pieces just to have something to do with their hands.

🫕 you'd stolen away to the bathroom and found yourself wedged between the open window and sill, desperate for air untainted by forced laughter. thinking of how you got stuck and she looked up at you, as if you were suspended in a baroque-era painting, all twisted limbs and desperation. you'd reached out to her, a stranger in the alleyway of a restaurant, and asked for help.

🫕 she'd lifted you free with hands that spoke of years in kitchens - calloused, sure, strong - and you found the ground beneath your feet again, hair slightly mussed from all the movement. thank you, you said and she'd smiled so that you could see the body of the cigar held tightly between her teeth. she had a gap-tooth smile that reminded you of warm bread torn apart, and you thought of it all the way home and even after, constantly.

🫕 thinking of chef!sevika and how you met again, this time at a group function at some lush little eatery off a street you didn't know had any reputation in the city. it was a birthday party so the place had been rented out and you were pressed back-to-back and front-to-front with people who you knew nothing of, but shared memories of the birthday girl with. it was nineteen twenties themed so you'd gotten a jet-black wig, short and curling softly at the apples of your cheeks, and had ornamented yourself with an authentic flapper dress: glittering sleekly in the perfect shade of baby blue. your diamond necklaces were long and layered, your mother's relic.

🫕 the noise had become too much - crystal glasses clinking like wind chimes in a storm - so you'd slipped away, found a door marked 'staff only' and pushed through into blessed quiet. you've tucked yourself into this side kitchen, where the air smells of reduced wine and fresh herbs.

🫕 chef!sevika who's surprised to find you lounging in her extra kitchen, who hides a smile as you dip a finger into a plate of artfully smoked salmon laid out in thin blush slices against a fan of pita and sauce. she's older than you, carries it in the silver threading her temples, in the assured way she moves through her domain.

🫕 her knife work is hypnotic - you watch her hands move with the surety that comes from decades of practice, the blade an extension of herself. curious little thing, she murmurs, but slides the plate closer to you instead of pulling it away.

🫕 you start bringing her things after that night - rare spices from specialty shops tucked into quiet corners of the city, flowers still warm from the morning market, cookbooks with cracked spines from antique stores.

🫕 she teaches you to taste properly: eyes closed, breathing in the steam of broths she's spent hours perfecting. slow down, she'll whisper, one hand on your wrist, savor it. and you learn to do just that - to savor everything about her, about this slow-burning thing between you.

🫕 in her kitchen late at night, you watch her alter recipes. she lets you be her tester, feeding you tiny portions from wooden spoons worn smooth with use. too much salt? she asks, and you shake your head, entranced by how she makes notes in a leather-bound journal, her handwriting precise and slanting. you're perched on a counter, legs swinging, and she moves between stoves with the grace of a dancer. sometimes her hand brushes your knee as she passes, and you feel it like a flame.

🫕 she teaches you to make pasta on a sunday morning, the kitchen filled with golden light. her hands guide yours through the motions of kneading, and you lean back against her chest, feeling how your breathing slowly synchronizes. patience, she says, when you want to rush. good things take time. you understand she's not just talking about the dough beneath your fingers.

🫕 your first real kiss tastes of the cardamom ice cream she's been perfecting - sweet and complex and slightly spiced. she cups your face in hands that smell of basil and butter, and you think about how many ways there are to feed someone, to nourish them.

🫕 months pass like honey dripping from a spoon. you build rituals together: morning coffee in the garden she's started growing herbs in, weekend trips to farmers' markets where she charms every vendor with her expertise and that gap-toothed smile. she teaches you the names of every herb in her garden, how to tell when tomatoes are perfectly ripe, the secret to properly seasoning cast iron. you teach her how to slow down sometimes, to leave the kitchen and dance with you in the living room, to let a meal be simple if it means more time to kiss.

🫕 you surprise her on her birthday by converting the spare room into a spice library - floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with jars from your travels together, each one labeled in your careful handwriting. she cries, just a little, and you kiss the salt from her cheeks.

🫕 the proposal happens in her kitchen - where else? - while she's teaching you to make her grandmother's secret recipe for braised short ribs. this is a family secret, she says, and then pauses, wooden spoon halfway to the pot. i suppose you should be family then. you nearly drop the wine you're holding, and she laughs, deep and rich. marry me, she says, let me feed you forever.

🫕 the wedding is in autumn, when the air is crisp and sweet with falling leaves. she spends days in the kitchen you built her, crafting a feast that tells your story: the smoked salmon from the night in her extra kitchen, pasta rolled by four hands instead of two, herbs from your shared garden. your dress is the color of a deep forest, and when you walk down the aisle, she cries again, just a little.

🫕 there are harder days, when eating feels like swallowing stones. she finds you curled on the kitchen floor one morning, the marble cool against your cheek. without a word, she sits beside you, gathers you into her lap like something precious.

🫕 hey baby, she whispers against your hair, and her hands are so gentle as they trace the hollow spaces of you. she feeds you breakfast slowly, carefully - warm bread torn into tender, small pieces, drizzled with honey. each bite is followed by a kiss: to your temples, your shoulders, the soft plane of your stomach.

🫕 you're here, she reminds you, you're safe. and you are - safe in this kitchen that smells of rosemary and rising dough, safe in her arms that have always known how to hold you.

🫕 later, when you're stronger, she shows you another kind of recipe. dark chocolate melting on your skin like sunset, the sharp bright burst of reduced raspberry sauce. the secret, she murmurs against your collarbone, is the canvas. her tongue traces patterns like plating designs, and you laugh, breathless, at how she makes art of everything. my masterpiece, she calls you, and you feel beautiful, consumed, cherished.

🫕 the cookbook comes as a surprise - you find the proof copy on her desk one evening. "recipes for my love," the title reads, and inside are all your favorites. each recipe comes with a story, a memory. "the secret ingredient is time," she writes in the introduction, "and someone worth spending it with." it sells out in weeks, then months. "it's like reading a love letter," the reviews say, and you blush every time, even as you beam with pride at how she's shared your love with the world.

🫕 thinking about how your home becomes a sanctuary, especially for jinx and isha. they come at all hours - after fights, during celebrations, on quiet sunday afternoons when they just need to be somewhere warm.

🫕 sevika teaches jinx knife skills while you and isha roll out cookie dough, all of you covered in flour and laughing. the cool aunts, they call you, but you know it's more than that. it's the way sevika always knows when to start making hot chocolate (the real stuff. none of that synthetic crap, she grumbles), the way you keep their favorite snacks in the pantry, the way the kitchen island has become a confessional booth where secrets are whispered and hearts are allowed to be swollen with grief .

🫕 kitchens are for healing, sevika says one night, watching you all from the doorway. jinx is asleep on the couch, isha curled up beside her, and the house smells like the cookies you'd stress-baked together after a particularly rough day. you lean back against her chest, feeling her heartbeat strong and steady. and for family, you add, and feel her smile against your hair.

🫕 thinking of how the years pass like this - measured in meals shared, in recipes perfected, in late-night comforts and early morning kisses that taste of coffee. your love never spoils, never grows stale. it only deepens, like a good red wine, like a soup that's been simmering all day.

🫕 sevika still feeds you from splintering spoons, still kisses your stomach on hard days, still looks at you like you're the most exquisite dish she's ever created. and you still perch on counters to watch her work, still bring her flowers and spices, still catch your breath at the full force of her smile.

🫕 in the end, it's simple: your kitchen is your heart, and your heart is always full.

me 🤝🏾 my eating disorder and subsequent recovery 🤝🏾 wanting to marry someone in the food industry.

#sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika #sevika my love #arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #wlw #lesbian #sapphic #fluff #light angst #mine ; 🐎.#female!reader #arcane x female reader #fem!reader #sevika x oc

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lazy-ahh · 3 months ago

Text

HOME IS WHERE YOU ARE

pairing jason todd x gender neutral reader

the blood on his gloves isn't yours. the ache in his chest is. it's been there since the first time you kissed him - this relentless, terrifying need that claws at his ribs whenever he's away from you.

the city sprawled beneath him like a living thing—glistening with rain-slick streets and fractured neon reflections, breathing in the way only gotham could. the air smelled like exhaust and distant rain, the kind of chill that seeped into bones no matter how many layers you wore. jason perched on the edge of a rooftop, one knee drawn up, his helmet resting beside him like a discarded thought. the wind tugged at his hair, sharp and insistent, but he barely felt it.

his fingers flexed against the concrete ledge, rough beneath his gloves. he should be moving. should be working. but his mind was elsewhere, tangled up in the warmth of your sheets, the quiet hum of your voice, the way your breath hitched when he kissed that spot just below your ear—

god.

all he could think about was you.

the way your voice softened when you said his name, syllables curling around it like a secret. the way your hands always found his, fingers slotting together like they were made to fit, like you were afraid he’d vanish if you didn’t keep him anchored. the way you smiled at him—soft, fond, like he was something good, something whole, even when he knew the truth of what he was.

he exhaled, slow, watching his breath fog in the cold air.

he missed you.

it was stupid. ridiculous. he’d seen you barely a handful of hours ago, before he’d dragged himself out into the gotham night. you’d kissed him slow, lazy, like time itself had unraveled just for the two of you—like he was something worth savoring. (and you, stubborn as ever, would argue that time spent on him wasn’t wasted, not ever. "time with you," you’d say, voice all soft and sure, "is the only time that matters.") your hands had lingered on his chest, thumbs tracing the edge of his kevlar like you were memorizing the shape of him, and for one reckless, dizzying moment, he’d almost said fuck it and stayed. almost let the city burn if it meant another hour tangled in your sheets, in your warmth, in you.

and now here he was, heart aching like some lovesick idiot, like he hadn’t spent half his life pretending he didn’t need anything at all.

a shout echoed from the alley below, sharp and panicked. the sound snapped him back into his body, into the night, into the work waiting for him.

right.

work to do.

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

blood bloomed across his knuckles, dark and slick, painting the cracked leather of his gloves. the sharp snap of bone beneath his fists echoed in his ears, followed by a choked-off scream that dissolved into whimpers. the air was thick with it—the copper sting of blood, the acrid sweat of fear, the gunpowder clinging to his jacket like a second skin. this was easy. this was simple. this was the language he spoke fluently, the only one that ever made sense in the jagged edges of his world.

but then—

silence.

just for a breath. just long enough for his mind to turn traitor.

how could you love him? how could you look at him—really look—and not flinch away? he was a patchwork of scars and fury, all sharp edges and half-healed wounds, a weapon honed by pain and rage. he knew what he was. knew the weight of the blood on his hands, the ghosts that clung to his shadow.

and yet—

you touched him like he was something precious. like he wasn’t already ruined. your fingers traced the scars on his skin like they were something to cherish, your voice soft and steady even when he was anything but. you held him like he was fragile, like he’d break if you held him too tight, and that was the cruelest joke of all—because he was already broken, and you were the only thing holding him together.

he didn’t deserve you.

he didn’t deserve the way your laughter warmed him from the inside out, didn’t deserve the way you sighed his name like it was a prayer, didn’t deserve the way you looked at him like he was something good.

but christ, he wanted to.

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

the bike roared beneath him as he carved through gotham's veins, tires eating up asphalt as streetlights bled into golden streaks in his periphery. his body ached with the familiar symphony of bruises and cracked ribs, his mind weighed down by the night's violence, but none of it mattered because all he could think was you, you, you—the phantom memory of your hands in his hair, your laughter ringing in his ears, the way your breath hitched when he kissed you like he was starving for it.

the apartment was dark when he finally stumbled through the door, save for the flickering blue glow of some late-night infomercial playing to an empty room. there you were, sprawled across the couch like some domestic daydream, tangled in that godawful batman blanket alfred had gifted you as a joke (the one jason pretended to despise but secretly adored because it meant you were warm, because it meant you were here).

he leaned against the doorframe, just watching. memorizing the way your chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, the way your lashes fluttered with some dream he'd never know, the way your fingers twitched like they were searching for him even in sleep.

then you stirred, blinking up at him with sleep-heavy eyes, and your lips curled into that soft, drowsy smile that never failed to unravel him stitch by stitch.

"hey, red hood," you murmured, voice rough with sleep but laced with amusement. "save any kittens from trees tonight?"

he huffed a laugh, already shrugging off his jacket. "nah, just a few assholes from getting their teeth kicked in. you know, the usual community service."

you grinned, shifting to make room for him. "gotham's lucky to have you."

"gotham's a pain in my ass," he grumbled, but he was already sinking onto the couch beside you, his body gravitating toward yours like it was the only thing that made sense.

his chest tightened when you reached for him, fingers brushing the fresh cut on his cheekbone with a tenderness that threatened to undo him completely.

"missed you," you whispered, like it was a secret.

he leaned into your touch, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in—laundry detergent and that stupidly expensive shampoo you loved and something so inherently you it made his ribs ache. "missed you more."

you laughed, quiet and warm and his, pulling him close until there was no space left between you.

home wasn't four walls or a roof or a city that never slept.

home was you.

always you.

1.1k words, short and sweet, all just about how jason misses you every time he's away from you for longer than five minutes. like. chronically. pathetically. scrap that, three minutes. okay, scrap that too, he'd miss you if you weren't in his sight after five heartbeats- (this man is a 6'2" weapon of mass destruction who folds like a lawn chair the second you smile at him. i respect it and i NEED IT.)

#dc comics #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x gn reader #red hood x reader #red hood x gender neutral reader #red hood x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #AHHHHHHHHHHHH #do you feel me?#you wanna feel me-#biting my knuckles right now WHY IS THIS MAN NOT REAL AND WHY IS HE NOT IN MY ARMS RIGHT NOW

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woso-story · 6 months ago

Text

The Weight Of Love And Loss - Last Part

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Part One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

The weeks after your dinner with Alexia passed in a way that felt both impossibly fast and profoundly significant. What started as sporadic meetups soon became a natural part of your routine again. Lunches, dinners, walks with Mylo—each moment you spent together was layered with the quiet, tentative hope of rebuilding something once lost.

But this time, it was different. There were no unspoken words, no lingering shadows of past pain that hung over your interactions. It felt lighter, freer. Both of you had done the work to heal individually, and now, you were finding your way back to each other with a sense of purpose and clarity you hadn’t had before.

---

Lunches were the first tradition to take root.

Alexia would often text you during the day, her messages a mix of playfulness and genuine interest in your day:

“Lunch break soon? There’s a café that does amazing croquetas. My treat?”

“You need a break from the office grind. Let me kidnap you for an hour.”

And each time, you’d meet her at some tucked-away spot she’d discovered. Whether it was a vibrant tapas bar or a quiet courtyard café, the settings always felt intimate, as if the world was just a backdrop to your conversations.

Dinners, on the other hand, carried a weight of their own.

One evening, Alexia had taken you to a small Italian restaurant she’d raved about. The soft glow of candles illuminated her face, and as she leaned across the table to tell you a story about her teammates’ latest antics, you found yourself mesmerized by her all over again.

“You’re not even listening,” she teased, catching you staring.

You blinked, cheeks flushing. “Sorry, you’re just…distracting.”

Her smile in response was enough to make your heart race.

---

Mylo, of course, had become Alexia’s biggest fan.

Every time she showed up at your door, he’d go into a frenzy, barking and wagging his tail so hard it was a wonder he didn’t topple over.

“Okay, okay, I’m here,” Alexia would laugh, crouching to let him jump on her. “Did you miss me, little guy?”

“He likes you more than me,” you’d joke, but deep down, you loved seeing how easily she connected with him.

Your walks often took you through the park, Mylo leading the way as you and Alexia strolled side by side. The conversations ranged from light banter to deeper reflections on life, and with every word, you felt the bond between you grow stronger.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, Alexia turned to you with a soft smile.

“I missed this,” she admitted. “Just…being with you.”

Your heart swelled at her words, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to fully believe that what you were building with her now could be even better than before.

---

Alexia had invited you to one of her matches and you’d agreed without hesitation.

Seeing her back on the pitch after everything she’d been through was nothing short of inspiring. From the moment she stepped onto the field, she was a force of nature—commanding, confident, and utterly in her element.

You watched her with a mix of admiration and pride, clapping and cheering with every move she made. When the final whistle blew and her team secured a victory, you felt a swell of joy that had nothing to do with the game itself.

After the match, Alexia came to find you in the friends and family section. She spotted you immediately, her face breaking into a wide grin. Without a second thought, she hopped over the barrier, landing gracefully on the other side.

“You were amazing,” you told her as she pulled you into a hug.

Her arms lingered around you a moment longer than necessary. “It means so much to have you here,” she said softly.

Later that night, you joined her and her teammates at a bar to celebrate. Though the lively atmosphere wasn’t usually your scene, Alexia made it worth it. The two of you sat together in a corner booth, laughing and talking as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

When you told her you wanted to head home, Alexia didn’t hesitate to offer to walk you.

---

It was late by the time you reached your building, the city quiet save for the occasional sound of passing cars.

“Do you want to come in for a drink?” you asked, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

Alexia nodded. “I’d like that.”

Inside, Mylo greeted you both with his usual excitement, his tail wagging furiously as Alexia knelt to greet him.

“You’re such a good boy,” she cooed, scratching behind his ears.

You grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses, and the two of you settled on the couch. The conversation flowed easily, the wine loosening your inhibitions just enough to let the words come freely.

At some point, the distance between you disappeared. Alexia shifted closer, her arm brushing against yours as she turned to face you.

“I’ve missed this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve missed you.”

You looked into her eyes, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then, she leaned in.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, as if she were afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you kissed her back, your hands finding their way to her face as the world around you faded away.

When you finally pulled back, Alexia’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining with emotion.

“I still love you,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I know I messed up before, but I want to fix this. I want us to have another chance.”

Her words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding. “Lex…” You paused, searching for the right words. “I never stopped loving you.”

Her face lit up with a smile, and before you could say anything else, she pulled you into another kiss.

---

That night marked the start of something new. You and Alexia weren’t just picking up where you left off—you were building something stronger, something rooted in the lessons you’d both learned during your time apart.

She became a constant presence in your life again, not just as a partner but as someone who truly understood you in a way no one else ever had.

And as the weeks turned into months, you found yourself falling even deeper in love with her—proof that sometimes, the best things in life are worth fighting for.

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The End.

Oh my gosh, I loved writing this story so much. I hope you enjoyed it too.

Happy New Year, everyone!!

#alexia putellas x reader #woso community #barca femeni #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia x reader #alexia putellas #woso fics #woso #woso x reader

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sammywr1tes · 6 months ago

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picking the lighter option

和ー you give your best friend a makeover. he falls in love with you a little more.

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字 bsf!idol!han と crush!gn!reader 《w.c・0.6k》

DRABBLE, humour, fluff, makeovers, 3rd person perspective. ft. hyunjin and felix

sammy note ★彡 - my best friend suggested i write a random hair dying crack fic, but in true me style it ended up involving pining too. good times. also i’m trying out a new layout thing!! kinda exciting. as usual, requests are always welcome and if you’d like to be added to my taglist then please send in an ask/comment. for more fics, check out my masterlist, and for commissions take a look at my ko-fi :)

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“y/n, i don’t think this is a good idea” jisung says, watching your reflection in the mirror. you’re standing over him, wielding a dye brush between your gloved fingers. your other hand holds a normal hairbrush, combing through the knots in his hair. “the stylists will hate me if you screw this up. ”

“trust me, sung, i know how to do this.” you give him a grin through the mirror that only amplifies the fight-or-flight response his brain provides. he shivers a little as you spread the cold dye over his hair, feeling it sticking to his scalp. your steady hand guides the dye down to the ends of his hair, making sure the colour coats the locks thoroughly.

jisung watches the mirror as you work. your hand that isn’t holding the brush moves his hair to paint the layers closer to his scalp. he’s easily distracted by your fingers smoothing his hair out, running through his hair to check for knots, and the sound of the brush’s rough hairs sweeping against his own soft locks.

the mirror lures him away with a reflection of your concentrated expression, pink lower lip tucked between your teeth. your eyes are focused on the movement of the brush, making sure to not miss a strand.

after a short while, you finally put the brush down with a soft sigh.

“okay, you have to keep it in for half an hour before you wash it out. “

he nods, taking in his own reflection in the mirror. the dye sticks his hair to his scalp, making him look like an alien. he chuckles a little, picking up his phone for a silly mirror selfie. the two of you pass half an hour debating if you can dye body hair a different colour with hair dye or not.

afterwards, jisung shoos you out of the bathroom to wash the dye out, then lets you blow-dry his hair. “you should run a salon. you’re very good at hairdressing” he comments offhandedly, feeling the hot gusts of the blow-dryer over his face, warming his skin. you laugh at his words. the soft sound warms the mush under his skin.

when jisung’s hair isn’t damp anymore, you comb through it, leaning over him, close enough that he can feel the warmth of your skin beckoning him towards it. finally, you let him see your self-proclaimed masterpiece, pushing him to sit in front of the mirror.

at first, he can’t find words to say. he stares at his reflection, taking in the sea-foam coloured strands framing his face. you suck your lower lip between your teeth, watching his expression nervously.

“do you not like it?”

“i love it.” he whispers, a hand slowly rising to run through the locks.

you grin. “you look like an underwater deity.”

he chuckles softly, giving you a smile through the mirror, reaching back to take your hand gently. “thank you for making me into one,” he jokes, catching your eye in the mirror. for a moment, neither of you look away, but you break eye contact when you hear the excited knocks of felix and hyunjin on the other side of the door.

“is it done? does it look good?” “can we see, jisungie?”

you roll your eyes and move to open the door for them. jisung’s eyes follow you, then glance towards the mirror again, taking in his appearance once more. he looks completely different to his usual self, but he can’t help but like it, thinking about how you complimented him. his heart warms.

maybe the underwater deity in the mirror will have the confidence to ask you out, sooner than later.

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salmonballsss · 2 months ago

Text

The Violet Hour

(Chapter 13)

You are a young, awkward historian obsessed with the Salem witch trials. One name repeats through obscure documents: Agatha Harkness. She's not supposed to exist anymore. But when you find a book authored in her name and follow the trail to a remote New England town, you're met with a woman who looks nothing like she belongs in your century—and who wants absolutely nothing to do with you…

Word count: 10k

Warnings: none

The rest of the night passed quietly.

No more questions. No more revelations.

Agatha didn’t ask if you were okay. She didn’t try to dig into your feelings or pry open your fears. She just… stayed nearby. Present.

At some point, she walked you to the guest room with slow, unspoken steps. You didn’t talk. You didn’t need to. She lingered at the door for a few seconds longer than necessary, then left with a small nod and not another word.

You lay in bed for a long time, listening to the house creak and settle around you, the memory of her lips on your temple still pressed into your skin like heat. Eventually, you drifted off.

And for once, your dreams didn’t chase you.

Now, you stand in the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, getting ready for your day out with Agatha.

As you scrub, you glance at yourself in the mirror. Your hair’s still a little damp from your shower earlier, curling slightly at the ends. You look halfway human again.

Your brain, however, is in full chaos mode. You think of everything you and Agatha could do today. The town isn’t big, but it’s still something. Coffee shops, bookstores, maybe just walking through the streets and not feeling like the world is haunted.

And suddenly a thought creeps in.

Wait.

Was this… like… a date?

Your cheeks flush instantly. You shake your head hard, spitting into the sink and rinsing it down with cold water from the faucet like that’ll somehow flush the thought away, too.

No way it’s a date. Right?

I mean—yesterday you had a full on breakdown . You vented about how trapped you felt. You got emotional and messy and completely real.

But she was so… surprisingly nice about it.

She didn’t pull away. She didn’t make you feel dumb. She held you. And kissed your temple. You look up into the mirror again and catch your own expression—eyes wide, lips twitching—

God.

You have a giddy little smile on your face. You quickly rinse your toothbrush, flick the water off your hands, and march back to the guest room before your brain can combust.

At your duffle bag, you dig through options, settling on something simple. Nothing too dramatic—you did make a scene yesterday, and you still have that hickey and bite mark from your little… incident.

Jeans. A fitted Tshirt. A jacket layered on top—Hollow Wood’s air is way nippier than Washington’s, and you're not about to freeze trying to look cute.

Still… cute wasn’t off the table. You tug the shirt over your head, smoothing it down, then pause.

If Agatha hugged you… If she kissed your temple… Maybe she was starting to like you?

Well, hell. You two made out like crazy the other night.

Sure, she used the wine as an excuse, but… she never said it was a mistake .Your fingers slow on the zipper of your jacket.

You let out a small hum.

She never said it was a mistake…

A grin pulls at your lips—slow, smug. You sit on the edge of the bed, slipping your socks on like you’re the chillest person alive. Like you’re not absolutely spiraling inside.

Shoes next. You tie them quickly, then sit back and glance around the room, your eyes catching on the paintings hung above the dresser. You stare for a moment, letting your thoughts drift.

That night was just so… weird.

You haven’t had any hallucinations since. Maybe the plantain leaf helped? Maybe it actually did something, warded it off for a bit.

Then there was the kissing. And the flashes. God. Those flashes . Each one burned into your brain. Like film burned too close to the projector bulb. Always distorted. Always feverish.

And always Agatha. Looking at you with those violet eyes. You could say it was a coincidence. Just hallucinations. But the way she said she knew you ?

Not this you. Not this body.

There’s no way she could’ve known you… unless she somehow stalked your tiny, barely followed blog about early colonial court records. And even that wouldn’t explain the certainty. The pull.

You rake a hand through your now-drying hair and sigh. You try to think back—try to reconstruct the night, though the wine blurred it. Just little moments come through.

The kiss. The heat. Her breath brushing your jaw. And then—

She leaned in closer. So close you could feel the heat rolling off her skin. So close you could taste the wine on her breath.

"I can't lose you again," she whispered.

Wait.

Your eyes fly open. Your pulse spikes. Your mind finally catches up.

Again?

Again?!

You shoot up from the bed like you’ve been electrocuted. Pacing. Chewing your thumbnail. Eyebrows drawn together in a sharp, panicked knot.

“Okay, okay, okay,” you mutter to yourself. “Holy shit. ”

Did she mean that? Or was it just the wine—some drunken, overly passionate nonsense? But… who the hell says that while kissing?

“I can’t lose you again.”

Not “I Want you.” Not “You’re so hot.”

Again.

Meaning—

Your stomach twists.

Meaning those flashes—those fragmented images you keep brushing off as hallucinations—could actually be something . Not just a trauma response. Not just your brain glitching under stress. But maybe… a memory . A story. A thread leading somewhere.

You stop pacing mid step, heart thudding wildly. But your spiral is immediately, violently interrupted by a knock on the door. Three firm, composed raps. Your spine straightens like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

You scramble to look normal. “Uh—Y-yeah?” you call out, trying to sound casual. Like you weren’t just pacing in a death grip over the phrase I can’t lose you again.

Your voice cracks slightly anyway. You wince. Smooth. So smooth.

The door creaks open, and there she is. Agatha stands in the hallway like she owns it. Which—fair, she does. But still.

She’s in a Tan puffer jacket, sharp slacks, and a soft charcoal sweater that does unspeakable things to your brain. A black purse slung across her body. Her hair’s down today, messy but intentional. Effortless. Cool. A little intimidating.

Her eyes flick over you—up, down, amused. “You planning to overthink our outing to death or are you coming?” she says, voice dry.

But the corners of her mouth twitch. The tease is there. Light. Easy. You blink. “Oh. Right. Sorry. I’m—uh—just finishing up.”

Agatha leans on the doorframe, arms crossing loosely over her chest. “Don’t rush on my account. It’s only a small town. Doubt it’ll implode before noon.”

You nod mutely, scrambling to your little duffle bag mirror and makeup pouch. She’s still standing there. Watching.

So you pretend you don’t feel her eyes on you as you swipe a bit of tinted balm across your lips, dab under your eyes with concealer, and brush through your lashes.

Then you pause. Your gaze drops to your neck. To the mark. Faint, but definitely there. Still dark. Still shaped by her. You stare at it. One hand hovers over your concealer.

And then slowly… you lower it.

You don’t cover it. You don’t even try. Just to see what she’ll do. Just to see how far you can push… this.

Behind you, you swear you catch a shift in the air. Like Agatha noticed. But she says nothing. You cap your concealer, slide it back into your bag, and stand. “All done.”

She raises a brow. “You sure?” she says. “You didn’t even look in the mirror after.”

You shrug. “Didn’t need to.”

Agatha’s lips twitch again. Like she’s impressed. Or amused. Or maybe both. “Cocky,” she mutters, and turns on her heel.

You follow.

Back when you were still holed up in that little hotel, desperate to kill time and chase leads, you walked these same streets. Took notes. Peered into shop windows. Hollow Wood was small, yes—but it had its charm.

But now?

Now you were walking through it with Agatha.

She stops at the purple door, turning to look at you over her shoulder. “Okay. Stay close to me. No straying, no wandering. If you do wander, I want to see where you are.”

Her tone is firm. Final. And despite how annoying that should be, it sets a small, shameful pool of arousal between your legs.

Which is super inconvenient, because you literally just put on clean underwear. You grumble. “Yeah, yeah, fine.” You wave her off and reach for the doorknob, but Agatha catches your wrist—fast and unyielding.

“Let me check first.” You scoff quietly. But when you meet her eyes, she gives you a look . One of those Agatha looks. The kind that shuts you up instantly.

She steps outside, her boots crunching lightly on the porch. Her head turns slowly, listening. Watching. Still.

You swear she’s listening past the trees. Past the birdsong. Past the wind.

Then, deep in the woods, a crow caws. Agatha tilts her head. Nods once. Like she understands it.

Then she turns back to you. “Okay, let’s go, hon.”

Hon.

Your cheeks a small pink. You follow her out the door, heart thudding slightly faster. Your steps get a little more pep in them as you trail after her down the porch steps. Jacket zipped, boots scuffing the gravel path. The air is sharp and cold, but not unpleasant.

This time it feels different. Because this time it’s not research. Not work. Not survival. This time… it’s her. And yeah, you might be overthinking it. But it feels a little like something close to a date.

You glance at her back as she walks ahead of you—tall, sharp, completely composed. Her coat moves just enough to hint at the way her hips sway when she walks.

Agatha’s lived here for a while, right? She bought the house in 2022, according to the county records you found during one of your more intense sleuthing spirals.

That part checks out. But still… She doesn’t walk like someone who moved in two years ago. She walks like she’s always belonged here. Like she remembers the bones beneath the town. The dirt. The secrets tucked behind every shuttered window.

Like she’s memorized every crack in the sidewalk, every crooked branch hanging over the path.

You jog a few steps to catch up. “Hey,” you say casually, pretending not to examine the way the sunlight catches on her jawline. “So… any plans for where we’re going first?”

Agatha glances sideways, eyes flicking over you before returning forward.

“That depends,” she says, lips curving slightly. “How public are you willing to make your crimes?”

You blink. “What?”

She smirks. “You let the crow inside. That’s at least a misdemeanor.”

Your face burns. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” You don’t answer. Because she’s right.

Especially considering the dumb little smile threatening your face and the way you’re biting your cheek to keep from giggling like an idiot . You even try to walk with a little more purpose, a little more academic detachment—but Agatha’s smirk makes that impossible.

She knows what she’s doing.

You shoot her a look. “That wasn’t even a real crime.”

She hums. “Breaking and entering with a feathered accomplice? Sounds pretty criminal to me.”

“Okay, first of all , the crow broke in. I was only being nice and feeding him.”

“Mm.” She tilts her head. “I don’t remember the feeding part, just where you shoved him up your shirt to hide your crimes.”

You groan and swat at her arm, but she easily sidesteps you, smug and untouchable as always.

The two of you fall into step as youwalk.

You cross the familiar wooden bridge, worn down at the center from years of use, its rails smooth under your fingers. The stream below burbles lazily beneath your shoes.

Then comes the willow lined path—one you’ve taken before, but never like this. The branches sway gently in the breeze, brushing across the dirt like ghostly fingers. You catch Agatha glancing at you out of the corner of her eye. You don’t say anything. Neither does she.

When you reach the cobblestone bridge—the one with the cracked edge and the ivy curling along the sides—she turns right without hesitation.

You follow, your shoes clacking softly on the uneven stones. “You really do know every inch of this place, huh?” you ask.

Agatha doesn’t slow. “Like the back of my hand,” she replies. Then, after a beat “Sometimes I forget how much it’s changed. Sometimes I forget how much hasn’t. ”

You glance at her. Her tone isn’t heavy. Just… distant. Like she was talking to herself more than to you.

You want to ask more. But you don’t.

Instead, you quietly match her stride, the soft click of your shoes falling in time with hers, the quiet stretching out between you again—comfortable this time.

Almost peaceful.

Once you reach the town’s main road, you stop leading and just… follow. You let her set the pace. Let her choose the path.

Your eyes scan the familiar storefronts as you walk—quiet, small- own charming. The coffee shop you frequented during your hotel days comes into view, tucked between a florist and a used bookstore. The one with the slightly crooked sign and the smell of fresh ground beans wafting out the door.

Your steps slow a little as you spot it.

You glance at Agatha—and find her already looking at you. Her eyes catch yours. Blue and unreadable. You offer a small smile. “Uh… while I stayed in the hotel, I went to that coffee shop,” you say, nodding toward it. “It’s pretty cool. The lady who made the coffees even remembered my order after, like, two visits. Made me feel like a regular.”

Agatha’s gaze flicks toward the shop, then back to you. “She probably thought you were cute,” she says dryly.

Your brain short circuited. You blink. “Wait—what?” Agatha’s mouth twitches, but she says nothing else. Just keeps walking.

You scramble to follow, face warming under your jacket collar.

“Okay well that’s one theory,” you mutter.

“She’s not wrong,” comes Agatha’s lazy reply. You almost trip over a crack in the sidewalk. The smugness radiating off her is illegal.

You side eye her. “Did you have caffeine this morning or are you always like this?”

“I’m just in a good mood,” she says.

You raise a brow. “Because I’m suffering?”

“Exactly.”

You snort, shaking your head, but there’s a flutter in your chest. A lightness you hadn’t felt in days.

Not because things are suddenly easy.

But because—for once—they almost feel normal.

“So you take pleasure in my own suffering? What are you, a sadist?” you sass, walking alongside her, hands tucked in your jacket pockets.

Agatha just gives you a look. That look. The kind of smirk that wasn’t her usual teasing curl—it was slower, sharper, and sinister in a way that made your eyes widen for a second.

“Oh my god,” you say. “You are. ”

She shrugs, noncommittal. “Only when the company’s good.”

You blink. You almost trip again. “Okay.” Your voice comes out higher than intended. You pretend that didn’t happen. Agatha—mercifully—pretends not to notice.

The two of you round the corner, the coffee shop’s purple awning coming into view again. That same little bell above the door. The same chalkboard menu still advertising pumpkin spice.

Agatha slows slightly, glancing at the place with an unreadable expression. “You want to go in?” she asks, voice casual—but there’s a slant to it. Like she’s curious what you’ll choose now that she’s here too.

You nod. “Yeah. I kinda want coffee… and I skipped breakfast.” She nods once, like she expected that answer, and reaches for the door handle before you can.

You almost point out that you can open your own doors, thank you very much, but then she holds it open for you without a word.

Oh. Okay. You step past her, and the smell of roasted beans, sugar, and warm pastries hits you like a blanket.

It’s cozy in here. Soft jazz hums from the corner. The lights are warm. You feel the tension in your shoulders start to ease again.

That is—until the barista looks up. Her smile freezes. Just for a second. Like she’d seen something—or someone —she wasn’t expecting. You glance at Agatha.

“Welcome in,” the barista says after a beat, her tone recovering, the forced brightness snapping back into place like a rubber band. She looks at you—grateful for the familiar face. “Oh hey, you’re back! Do you want your usual?”

“Oh! Yes please!” you say quickly, offering a friendly smile.

You step up to the counter like everything’s normal, like there isn’t a woman with eldritch energy and cheekbones sharp enough to draw blood standing half an inch behind you.

The barista’s eyes flick to Agatha again—quick, uncertain. You pretend not to notice. “I’ll get that started,” she says, turning away a little too fast.

You can feel Agatha’s gaze on the back of your head. You look over your shoulder. “What?”

Agatha leans slightly closer, not enough to make a scene—but enough to send a thrill down your spine. Her voice is low, amused. “Popular, aren’t you?”

You shoot her a look. “You’re one to talk.” She just hums, eyes lazily scanning the chalkboard specials as if she’s not making your heart pound.

You move to the side while she orders—something black, no sugar, no sweetness. Of course. The barista tries to smile through it, but her voice is thinner this time. She keeps glancing at Agatha’s face like she’s trying to place her.

You and Agatha take your spot at the pickup end after Agathas pays. It’s quieter here. You can feel the warmth of the espresso machine, hear the milk being frothed, but still—your eyes drift to Agatha.

She’s still looking around the shop, cool as ever. Observing. Cataloguing.

“So… you lived in town for a bit now. Have you ever been here?” You say off handedly making small talk with her.

Agatha just hums. “A couple years back when it opened.” You nod softly, letting the answer hang between you.

When your coffees and bagel are finally ready, you grab yours and—this time—you take the lead. You head straight to the corner table. Your table. The one you always picked when you stayed in town.

Agatha follows without a word. Once you both sit, she takes a slow sip of her drink, eyes flicking briefly toward the other patrons before settling on you.

“Secluded, are we?” she asks, voice mild but knowing.

You smile a little, already unwrapping your bagel. “Yeah. I’ve always preferred it. Plus, you can people watch.”

You wiggle your eyebrows and take a bite, talking around a smirk. Agatha gives you a small smile in return. Barely there.

But it wrecks you.

Your eyes drop to her lips instantly. The curve of them. The way that smile softens just the barest edge of her usual sharpness. Like she’s letting herself settle. Just for a moment.

And God—you wish you could lean in.

Just lean across the table and steal her lips for your own, warm and quiet and slow, like the other night. Your stomach twists. It wouldn’t take much. She’s sitting right there.

You swallow the bite in your mouth a little too hard and force yourself to look away, suddenly far too you focused on your bagel.

Your eyes flicker to hers, and her lips curve slowly.

“Staring’s considered impolite, you know,” she says, voice warm and teasing.

You blink. “I was not.”

She lifts a brow. “You were practically tracing my smile with your eyes.”

You feel your face go hot. “Was not.”

Agatha takes another sip of her coffee, her smirk deepening behind the rim. “You keep telling yourself that.”

You grumble into your bagel. “I hate you.”

“You’re very repetitive this morning.”

You shoot her a look, and she laughs—soft, genuine, low in her throat. It hits you harder than it should.

Conversation flows easily after that. The kind of quiet, natural rhythm you weren’t expecting from someone like her. She doesn’t press, doesn’t interrogate. She listens. She asks just enough.

You talk about your thesis for a while—how you were drawn to the social dynamics of the Salem Witch Trials, but also broader periods of religious panic and mass hysteria.

“You know,” you say between sips of coffee, “people always treat Salem like a one off, but there were so many other examples. Europe was a disaster for centuries. And the American trials weren’t even the most deadly.”

Agatha nods, fingers absently circling her coffee lid. “Bamberg. Würzburg. Trier. The Germanic states were brutal. Entire towns purged.”

You blink. “Exactly.” She smiles slightly, like she’s pleased you caught on.

You shift in your chair, growing more animated. “But even outside the trials—there’s so much overlap with political transitions. Even something like the discovery of the Gokstad ship changed the way people understood Viking history.”

Agatha tilts her head. "Mm. Norway. 1880."

You pause, brow lifting. “You know it?”

She lifts her eyes to yours, amused. “The first Viking ship burial fully excavated. Almost perfectly preserved. Found in a burial mound. Oak planks, overlapping like fish scales. Two dozen shields lined the sides.”

You gape slightly. “Okay, show off.”

Agatha shrugs, feigning modesty. “You brought it up.”

You laugh, cheeks flushed. “Most people haven’t even heard of the Gokstad ship.”

“Most people aren’t very curious.”

You lean in, elbows on the table now, energized. “Did you know they found a gaming board inside? Like a precursor to chess? And a sled?”

Agatha’s lips twitch. “And remnants of silk. Which means the Vikings were trading further east than people assumed at the time.”

You gape again. “Okay, seriously. Are you just… a walking textbook?”

“I prefer the term well read,” she replies dryly.

You narrow your eyes. “Alright then, Ms. Well Read—who was buried in it?”

“An elite male,” she says without missing a beat. “Possibly a chieftain. Around 40 to 50 years old when he died. Bones were missing by the time they uncovered it—grave robbers, probably.”

You blink. “Okay. Yeah. Fine. You win.”

Agatha’s smile is smug, but there’s something soft in it, too. Like she’s enjoying this. You sit back, sipping your coffee again, heart still thudding faintly in your chest.

She’s looking at you now—not amused, not calculating. Just… quietly fond.

But she’s still smiling as she sips her coffee. And under the table, her foot brushes yours.

“You're insufferable,” you whisper, unable to stop your grin.

“Yet you keep finding excuses to be around me.”

You wave your hand dismissively and change the subject, desperate to reclaim a shred of dignity.

“So,” you say, setting your drink down, “do you have a favorite era of history?”

Agatha tilts her head, thinking. “Depends on the century. The 16th was chaos. The 12th? More interesting than people realize. The early modern period had its charms, if you could ignore the plagues.”

You grin. “That’s vague.”

She shrugs. “History is layered. You can’t pick a favorite when every piece connects to another.”

You hum in agreement. “I always liked the Tang dynasty. Poetry, philosophy, science… It felt like an explosion of culture.”

Agatha nods. “The Dunhuang manuscripts. Discovered in the early 1900s. Hidden for almost a thousand years. A goldmine of everything from medicine to math to religious texts.”

You stare. “You’re unreal.”

She shrugs again, but her eyes are brighter now.

You don’t notice how long you’ve been sitting there. How natural it feels. How rare it is for you to click like this with someone. But Agatha—she challenges you. Matches you. Softens you.

And when you glance up from your empty coffee cup, she’s already watching you. Soft eyed. Slightly amused. You wonder, not for the first time, who she really is. And why every moment with her feels like you’re remembering something you haven’t lived yet.

Your lips part, about to say something more to Agatha—maybe something stupid, maybe something brave—when you're cut off by a voice like a firecracker:

“ Agatha Harkness. ”

Both your heads whip around.

There, standing just inside the coffee shop, wrapped in a burgundy knit shawl and holding a mismatched purse, is Irene.

You light up. “Irene!”

“I see you finally crawled out of your bat cave,” she says, eyes twinkling, “with a pretty girl , no less.”

She turns from Agatha to you and winks.

Agatha goes very still. “Hi,” you say, already laughing. “What are you doing here?”

“I come here every Thursday. You think I live off ghost stories and black licorice?” She eyes your bagel. “And apparently someone forgot to bring me one.”

You scoot over instantly. “Sit! Please.”

She doesn’t need to be asked twice. Irene slides into the booth beside you, purse dropping to the floor, shawl unraveling slightly over her lap.

Agatha hasn’t moved.

“Well,” Irene says, settling in, “you two look cozy. I hope you’re not letting this one boss you around too much.” She jerks a thumb at Agatha.

You smother a laugh. “Only when she’s feeling particularly feral.”

“Oh, so hourly.”

Agatha levels a look at her. “Irene.”

Irene waves her off. “Don’t give me that tone. I’ve survived worse. Married Harry, didn’t I?”

Agatha’s lips twitch—almost a smile—but it’s brief.

You glance between them. “So you guys were… friends?” Sure you knew that they know each other but you didn't think of them as friends… just acquaintances.

Irene smiles, soft for just a moment. “Oh, we go way back. Though Agatha aged a hell of a lot better than I did.”

Agatha’s expression sharpens. “Irene,” she warns.

Irene lifts her eyebrows, grinning wide. “Oh, so you haven’t told her yet. Okayyy, Agatha. ”

Your head tilts. “Told me what?”

Agatha drinks her coffee in a way that says I will throw this cup across the room.

You watch her. Irene watches you watching her. Then, with zero shame, Irene pats your hand and says, “Well, at least one of you’s finally getting laid. Progress!”

You choke on your latte.

Agatha blinks. Then mutters, “Oh my god.”

“You love it,” Irene says smugly.

You’re bright red, caught between laughing and hiding under the table.

Agatha doesn’t deny it. After a moment, Irene leans back with a sigh, her voice softening just a little. “I remember when this one used to actually have fun. We’d sit on the back porch, drink rosé, and she’d mock every man that looked at me sideways.”

“She flirted with the mailman for six months,” Agatha deadpans.

“He had arms. ” Irene shrugs. “And good pension.”

You grin, watching them. It’s the first time you’ve seen Agatha like this—with someone who remembers her from another lifetime. A glimpse behind the curtain.

But there’s still so much you don’t know. And so much she’s not saying. Yet.

Irene turns to you with a conspiratorial look. “So what’s your deal, sweetheart? You doing okay in that big creaky house of hers?”

You blink. “Oh. Uh. Yeah. Mostly. It’s… definitely not what I expected, but it’s fine. Quiet.”

“Quiet?” Irene cackles. “Not how I remember it. Back when Harry and I used to visit, it sounded like a damn séance was happening upstairs half the time.”

Agatha sips her coffee very pointedly. You frown. “Séance?”

Irene waves it off. “Oh, you know. Books slamming, weird music, candles lit all over the place. Agatha’s always been theatrical. It was cute back then. A little spooky now, maybe.” She glances at Agatha. “You still hoarding candles like they’re going out of style?”

“Some of us believe in ambience,” Agatha says dryly.

Irene grins, pleased. You shoot Agatha a mock glare. “You do have… a lot of candles.”

Agatha raises an eyebrow. “You’re welcome to leave in the dark, if you’d prefer.”

You blink. She’s teasing, but there’s an edge to it. A flicker of something you can’t quite place. Irene’s eyes flick between the two of you, and then, after a moment, she shifts the tone. “Remember when we went to that antique fair outside Concord?” Irene says to Agatha, like she’s pulling something up from the bottom of a drawer.

Agatha exhales like she’s been caught off guard. “Vaguely.”

Irene huffs. “You mean vividly . We got caught snooping behind the tents, and that one guy—what was his name? Redhead, beard like a Brillo pad—he tried to sell you that old compass that didn’t work?”

“Because it wasn’t a compass,” Agatha mutters. “It was a paperweight with delusions of grandeur.”

You laugh.

Irene’s delighted now, leaning into the memory. “You scared him off so fast. What did you say again?”

Agatha takes a slow sip of her coffee. “I told him it was cursed.”

Your smile falters just slightly. She says it like a joke. But doesn’t look like she’s joking. Irene doesn’t catch it. “Right! And he tripped over his own feet getting away from you.” She sighs. “God, we were a menace.”

Agatha’s expression softens faintly. “You were the menace. I was the adult supervision.”

“Please,” Irene scoffs. “You just had better boots.”

You glance between them again, trying to picture it. Younger Agatha. Younger Irene. The idea tugs at something in your chest. Something warm and… off.

“How long have you guys known each other?” you ask.

Irene answers before Agatha can cut in. “Oh, God. Long time. Too long, if you ask her.” She winks. “Harry introduced us. Said she was the only person in town who knew what the hell he was talking about.”

You nod slowly. You already knew that—knew about the notebooks, the strange references. The whispers of what Harry and Agatha studied together before he died.

Still, it feels heavier hearing it spoken aloud. Like putting another puzzle piece in place.

Agatha stays quiet. She’s looking at Irene now—not irritated, just… watchful. Irene doesn’t notice. Or pretends not to.

She pats your knee lightly. “Just be careful with this one, sweetheart. She’s got more history in her than most textbooks.” Then she leans closer, stage whispers, “And she’s about as forthcoming as a locked drawer.”

Agatha exhales sharply through her nose. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Always have been.”

You smile softly, watching them. And you file every word away. Because something about this whole exchange only confirms what you already suspect.

Agatha’s older than she says. Way older. And if Irene’s right, she might just be full of stories you’re not supposed to hear.

Irene then leans in, patting your shoulder with affection. “Well! I have to get going. Workout class at one—gotta stay sharp, you know. Even if it’s full of old grannies like me.”

She throws a playful glance at Agatha, then back at you. You smile warmly, already missing her chaotic energy. “And hey,” Irene adds, rifling through her purse like a woman on a mission, “I’ve got a few more documents for you from Harry’s study.”

You practically light up. “Really?! Okay—okay, I’ll text you!”

She gives your arm a light squeeze. “Don’t wait too long. I’m not immortal, you know.”

You grin. “Don’t say that.” She just winks. Then, as if she can’t resist one last jab, she looks at Agatha— smirking —and says

“Bye, Agnes. ”

Then turns and waddles off like a woman who knows she’s just thrown a lit match into a gas leak.

You sit there, blinking. It takes you a full three seconds before you whip your head around to Agatha. “ Oh my god. ” You gape. “ Agnes? ”

Agatha doesn’t even flinch. She picks up her coffee with the slow, unbothered grace of someone who’s had centuries to master deadpan denial .

You stare at her like she’s grown a second head. “You went by Agnes?! That’s adorable. No— insane. I—how did I not know this?”

Agatha sighs. “It was a name. That’s all.”

“Oh no no no,” you say, leaning forward with a grin. “You don’t get to shrug this off. Agnes? What, did you wear bonnets too? Was there a rocking chair? Please tell me there was a rocking chair.”

She levels a flat look at you over the rim of her cup.

You giggle— actually giggle —then lean back, still grinning. “God,” you murmur. “You’re such a mystery. First you know everything about the Viking age, then you’re friends with Irene, now you’ve got a secret nickname—what’s next? A secret child? A cursed painting in your attic?”

Agatha scoffs, rolling her eyes—but you can see it. The tiny twitch at the corner of her lips. The smile she’s trying not to let you see.

You take a victorious final bite of your bagel, still giggling, and brush the crumbs from your fingers with a sigh. “You know, you could just admit you’re kind of fascinating. Would save me a lot of theorizing.”

Agatha raises an eyebrow, gathering what’s left of her coffee cup and standing. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You follow suit, As you step around the table, you feel it. Her hand—light but steady—pressing to the small of your back. Guiding you. You blink.

It’s casual. Thoughtless, maybe. But it sends a flicker of heat down your spine. She doesn't pull away, not right away. Just lets it rest there, warm through your jacket, as you both make your way to the door.

The bell chimes overhead as you step out into the cold.

You glance at her, trying to read her face, but Agatha’s back to her usual self—cool, composed, unreadable. Except her eyes linger on you a little longer than necessary before flicking to the road ahead.

You breathe in the crisp air, trying to calm your suddenly too fast heart. And then, quietly—playfully—you say, “Thanks for the coffee… Agnes. ”

She doesn’t stop walking. But her fingers press just a little firmer into your back.

Just enough to make your breath hitch. And that almost smile is back. “Irene’s going to regret that.”

You laugh again—light, free—and fall into step beside her, your shoulder brushing hers as you both walk

You tug your coat tighter as the two of you start down the sidewalk again, the air crisp against your cheeks.

“Sooo,” you drawl, falling into step beside her, “what should we do next?”

Agatha arches a brow, clearly about to answer, but you cut her off with a dramatic gasp, grabbing her arm and leaning in close. “Unless…” you whisper, eyes wide with mock fear, “the beast is going to eat me alive! Oh, the horror!”

You clutch her arm like a damsel in distress, then giggle.

Agatha sighs. Loudly.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You beam. “You think I’m cute.”

“I know you’re a menace.”

You loop your arm through hers anyway, grinning like the problem you are.

The two of you walk like that—side by side, quietly brushing shoulders—as you drift through town. The wind rustles through the trees, tugging at shop signs and fluttering scarves in window displays.

You stop at a little antique shop tucked between a bookstore and a bakery. Agatha pauses outside it with a look that reads almost… nostalgic? “What’s this?” you ask, peeking in through the frosted glass.

“Nothing,” she says quickly.

Which is absolutely the most suspicious response you’ve ever heard.

You drag her inside.

It’s cramped and warm, the air thick with the scent of cedarwood, old paper, and incense. You poke through stacks of strange trinkets while Agatha casually avoids everything with a cross or Latin engraving.

At one point you hold up a framed oil painting of a goat and whisper, “Does this scream ‘doomed romance’ or ‘please summon Satan in my hallway’?”

Agatha doesn’t even look up. “Both.”

You pass through a few more shops—one with mismatched tea cups that you end up buying just because Agatha mutters “typical” under her breath, and another that sells used records, where you catch her tapping her fingers to a Fleetwood Mac song and pretend not to notice how hot that is.

By the time the sun starts to dip behind the trees, your hands are full of a paper bag and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Agatha’s walking a little closer now. Just enough that your arms brush. She hasn’t said much in the past few minutes. As you walk, the path curves slightly—and you realize where you’re headed.

The ranger park.

The same trailhead you'd taken to get to the old cemetery. Back when you were doing “field work.” God, it already felt like a lifetime ago. But the hike had been fun. Kind of exhilarating. Even with the looming spookiness, it had felt real —tangible.

And maybe… once you figure out how to stop the beast. Once the black vein infection was handled— if it could be handled—you could go exploring again. The right way. Safely. With Agatha.

You smile a little to yourself at the thought. Her pointing out old trees and hidden paths. Maybe even a picnic.

Today had been… really fun. But the sun was dipping low now, bleeding through the trees in long streaks of gold and rose. Thanks to the season, it was only 5PM—but the shadows were stretching longer and the temperature was beginning to drop.

You glance sideways.

Agatha’s gaze has drifted away again. She’s watching the tree line, sharp and still. Throughout the day, you’d noticed the way people kept glancing at her—subtle, but present. Like they knew her. Or thought they did.

Like they weren’t sure if they were seeing a ghost or a legend. You clear your throat. “Uh… wanna stop by the ranger park?”

Agatha doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps staring into the distance. Then her eyes slide to you. “We have to get back before dark.” Her tone is even, but the warning coiled in it makes your brows furrow.

“Come on ,” you huff, nudging her arm. “Just for a bit.”

Agatha exhales through her nose. It sounds like she’s about to argue. But instead she mutters, dryly, “Okay… it’s your funeral.”

You snort. “Wow. Comforting.” She doesn’t answer. But she follows you anyway.

As you walk through the park, your eyes sweep over the people scattered along the cliffs and trails—some teens laughing too loud near the edge, a few old couples holding hands as they watch the sun sink into the horizon. The light paints everything in gold. Like a picture. Almost too perfect.

You smile and drop down onto the grass with a soft oof , setting your paper bags down beside you. The ground is cool under your hands, a little damp. You glance up.

Agatha’s still standing. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. Her silhouette rimmed with sunlight like something out of a gothic novel. “Get your ass down here,” you say with a giggle, patting the ground next to you.

She gives you a long, unimpressed look. “I won’t dirty my clothes to sit in the grass with a 24 year old.”

You roll your eyes and flop backward dramatically. “I think you’re just too old and you’re afraid your knees will snap.” There's a pause. Just the wind. Some birds. The faint sound of teenagers screaming about god knows what.

And then— thump.

Agatha plops down beside you with a theatrical huff , muttering, “So stupid.” You grin wide, eyes still on the horizon.

The air smells like sea salt and cold pine. It reminds you of when you first arrived here—nervous, eager, carrying too many books and not enough answers. You had so many ambitions then. Prove something. Discover something. Become Something .

And… well. You’ve done a few of those things.

Even met Agatha.

You sneak a glance at her. She’s leaned back on her hands now, staring out at the sea with that same distant focus she always gets when she’s quiet too long. Like she’s not just watching the sun set, but remembering every time it ever has.

It makes something twist in your chest.

But before you can spiral too hard, your gaze shifts to your right—where a couple teens are currently devouring each other’s faces under a tree like it’s the end of the world.

You make a loud , exaggerated sound of disgust. “Ugh. Get a room.”

Agatha snorts. “You’re one to talk.”

You whip your head toward her, eyes wide. “ Excuse me? ”

Her lips twitch, just slightly. “You didn't seem to have many complaints when I was doing it to you”

Your jaw drops. “Oh my god. I was emotionally processing trauma and alcohol!”

“Mmhm.”

“Not the same!”

“You moaned.”

“I did not! ”

Agatha leans back further in the grass, completely unbothered. “You definitely moaned.”

You groan and cover your face with your hands. “That’s because you bit me!”

You peek through your fingers, already half laughing—until you see the look on her face. Agatha is watching you. But not with amusement.

Her gaze drifts, slow and sharp, down to your throat. To the same marks you very purposefully didn’t cover this morning. The bruise dark just beneath your jaw. The one shaped almost obscenely like her mouth.

You watch her eyes trace it. And something in her expression shifts. “Mmm,” she hums, low and unapologetic. “That I did.” Your breath catches. The way she says it— like a promise, not a memory —sends heat pooling between your legs, molten and immediate.

You open your mouth. Maybe to joke, maybe to challenge her. Maybe to say do it again . But she’s already moving.

Agatha leans in, one hand still braced behind her, the other lifting slow. Her thumb presses lightly to the hickey—right where it throbs under your skin.

Not hard. Not soft. Just enough to make your pulse stutter. You freeze. Her eyes flick up to yours, unreadable. “You’re not very good at hiding things,” she murmurs, voice low, almost lazy.

You blink, trying not to fall into whatever this is. “I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

“No,” she says softly. “You weren’t.”

Her thumb stays there, and for a second, neither of you speak. Your heart is pounding. Her scent hits you with the breeze, curling around you like a spell.

You swallow hard. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like that.”

Agatha’s smile is slow, dangerous. Her thumb is still on your neck, and her eyes haven’t left yours. The sun is setting behind her like the sky’s on fire—and honestly, you might be too.

You stay like that for a moment, eyes locked, your breathing quickening. You’re not drunk this time. You feel everything. The warmth of her hand. The weight of her gaze. The electricity rising in the space between your bodies like a wire pulled too tight.

Your fingers curl gently around her wrist. Not pulling her closer. Just… touching. Your lips part—your breath catching softly in your throat—and her gaze flickers down. To your mouth. Slowly. Deliberately. And something flashes across her face—something hungry.

Your heart is thudding so loud it drowns out the wind. And then—déjà vu. It slams into you like a wave.

This moment. Her eyes. The way the air feels. You've been here. Not here here—but somewhere. With her . Like this. Like always.

You barely register the word before it slips from your lips. A whisper. “Agatha—” She exhales, just once. Like hearing her name from your mouth knocked the breath out of her.

Her hand tightens slightly around your throat—not rough, just anchoring . Like she doesn’t trust the ground to hold steady without you. “Don’t,” she says. Quiet. Frayed.

But you can’t help it. “Don’t what?”

Her jaw tightens. “Don’t look at me like you remember.”

You blink.

Like you remember?

Your brows pull together, confusion swirling, but then your eyes meet hers—and like always , you feel it. That pull. That magnetic, impossible thread that’s been tugging at you since day one. Your voice is barely audible. But it’s steady. “I’ll remember… if that’s what it takes.”

You don’t even know what you’re saying. Not really. But it feels true. Like your heart knows something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.

Agatha’s eyes widen—just a fraction—but it’s enough. Her breath hitches, her lips part, and you swear the air between you shifts. Thickens. Your gaze drops to her mouth. That mouth. And the hand still wrapped around her wrist?

It tugs.

Softly.

You lean in. So slow. So careful. Like if you move too fast, you’ll break whatever this moment is made of. Agatha doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. Her eyes are locked on yours—open, almost vulnerable—and in that second, she looks nothing like the sharp, composed woman who teased you in bookstores and corrected your historical citations.

She looks like something older. Something aching. Something waiting. Your noses almost brush. Your lips barely a breath apart. She doesn’t kiss you. But she doesn’t stop you either. And the silence? It’s not empty. It’s loud —with everything unsaid, everything denied, everything you’re both trying not to feel.

Then—very quietly—her voice breaks through, husky and almost wrecked. “If you remember… you won’t look at me like this.” Your heart twists. And you don't know what she means. But the way she says it— You know it hurts her.

Your eyes flick up to hers, and she’s still right there , her breath ghosting against your lips. the world narrows to just this—her, you, and the heavy thrum of whatever’s pulling you together.

You can’t even hear the waves anymore. Or the teens laughing. Or the wind. Just the way Agatha looks right now. Like a goddess worn down by memory. Like a woman who’s been waiting too long to be seen. You breathe in. Soft. Steady.

And then, gently—without teasing or bravado—you murmur “Then show me who you really are.”

Her lips part. Just barely. Her eyes search yours like she’s trying to find the lie—but there isn’t one.

There’s only you. Holding her wrist. Waiting. Still here. That’s what breaks her. Her hand slides up to your jaw, slow and hesitant, like she still doesn’t believe you’ll let her.

But you do. You lean in the rest of the way, your forehead brushing hers, and then— Finally— Her mouth finds yours. Soft. Intentional. Like she’s memorizing the shape of you.

this kiss isn’t like the other night. It isn’t drunk or frantic. It’s not about impulse or hiding. It’s slow. Steady. A dance of lips and breath and restraint that trembles at the edges. Your hand slips from her wrist and rises to her shoulders, settling there as you pull her closer. She exhales against your mouth, a sound so quiet you barely catch it—but you feel it.

Agatha tilts her head, brushing her tongue gently across your bottom lip. You gasp. And that’s all the invitation she needs. She deepens the kiss—deliberate now—as her tongue slips into your mouth, tasting, teasing, claiming in a way that sends heat ripping down your spine.

Her left hand drifts to your waist, tugging you closer with slow, confident pressure. You groan into her mouth, your hands sliding up into her coat, fisting in the fabric like you can’t stand to be apart for even a second.

The kiss turns messier by the second. Controlled fire giving way to something wetter, hungrier, your tongues stroking together as her teeth catch gently on your lip and your hips shift closer without meaning to.

Your knees brush. Her thigh presses against yours.

You suck in a breath through your nose, chest rising to meet hers. That low simmering ache that’s been pulsing in your gut all day flares hot—sharp, needy —settling thick between your thighs.

Her scent floods your senses and You’re dizzy with it. Drunk on her. And still—neither of you rushes. Because this? This feels like the beginning of something neither of you have had in a very, very long time.

Her lips part just enough to let out a soft noise—low, quiet, but unmistakably a sound of pleasure.

You feel it vibrate through her mouth, through her chest, straight down to your spine. And it spurs you on.

You kiss her deeper, more urgently now, your hand sliding up the curve of her neck and threading into her hair. Agatha groans again, muffled into your mouth, and her grip on your waist tightens.

The world around you disappears. There’s no park, no cliffside, no teens probably watching this unfold like a live action forbidden romance.

Just her.

Just this.

Your hand drifts lower, then slips beneath the hem of her shirt, fingertips skating up warm skin— smooth and real and somehow still too much and not enough. Agatha pulls back suddenly with a low, breathless chuckle, her lips pink and kiss swollen.

You chase her mouth instinctively with a needy whine, barely registering how desperate you sound. She catches your face in her hands with a smirk that should not be that devastating.

“Needy little thing,” she purrs, voice honeyed and smug. You pout up at her, panting, still trying to catch your breath. She’s not much better off.

Her cheeks are flushed, her chest rising and falling fast beneath her coat, lips slightly parted like she’s only just reining herself back in.

And then she rasps, “We’re still in public.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, shit. ”

You both glance toward the tree line and throughout the park, where it’s not clear if anyone saw anything… but someone definitely heard something.

You duck your head into her shoulder, face burning.

Agatha laughs softly, her hand rubbing a slow circle against your back. “Come on,” she murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Let’s get home before you start dry humping me in front of the retirees.”

“ Agatha! ” you hiss, but you’re already half laughing, half melting.

You swat at her, flustered and laughing, but Agatha catches your wrist easily—her grip warm, steady.

Then she tugs you forward, and before you can blink, she leans down and presses a firm , dizzying kiss to your mouth.

Not drawn out. Not messy. Just certain. When she pulls back, you’re left there blinking, breath shallow, lips tingling, and entirely undone. She stands, brushing off her coat like she didn’t just kiss the soul out of your body.

You stay where you are for a moment—still planted in the grass, cheeks hot, lips swollen, panting softly as you look up at her like you’re trying to figure out which century you’re in.

The sun is nearly gone now, dipped fully beneath the horizon, leaving behind a wash of deep purples and fading rose.

Agatha’s silhouette cuts sharp against the sky, framed by the darkening trees. “You coming?” she asks, glancing down at you with a brow raised, voice deceptively casual—like she didn’t just press you into the earth and kiss you like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

You swallow thickly, rising slowly to your feet and brushing off your jeans, trying to compose yourself like anything about you is composed right now.

“Barely,” you mutter under your breath.

She smirks.

You and Agatha walk side by side, boots clicking softly on the cooling pavement. Every few steps, your shoulder brushes hers.

You keep glancing over—like you can’t help it. Like your body is still on fire and your brain hasn’t caught up. You don’t know if you want to hold her hand… or push her against the nearest tree and pick up where you left off.

But something starts to shift. Subtle.

The sun is nearly gone now, just faint smudges of gold at the edge of the sky. The streetlamps buzz faintly to life, casting long shadows on the brick walls and empty sidewalks.

And Agatha?

She starts glancing around more often. Not at people. Not at you. At the edges. The dark corners between shops. The stretch of woods beyond the town square. The alley behind the diner. Her eyes move with sharp calculation, scanning like she’s reading the shadows.

Her hand flexes once at her side. Then again. Tensing. You frown. “You okay?” She hums in response, but her lips are pursed, the muscle in her jaw twitching faintly. “Agatha,” you press, softer. “What is it?”

She exhales through her nose. “Nothing.” But her voice is tight. Flat. You slow a little as you walk, your heart rate picking up—not from the kiss this time. Not from her smirk or her touch.

From the look on her face. Like she’s hearing something you can’t. Like she’s waiting for it.

You’d usually spiral. You’d assume you did something wrong—that maybe the kiss was a mistake. That maybe she regretted it, that this silence meant distance.

But this time… it’s different. Because your side starts to pulse. That dull, familiar ache. Hot and sharp all at once. Your heart—finally calmed from the haze of her mouth on yours—begins to race again. Not from arousal.

From instinct. The kind that says run. The hair on the back of your neck prickles. Goosebumps rise on your arms.

Something’s wrong. You inhale sharply, your breath shuddering. “Shit—”

Your head throbs suddenly, like something’s pressing against the inside of your skull, and you let out a soft groan, stumbling a half step.

Agatha’s eyes snap to you. She’s at your side in an instant. “Hey,” she says, voice low and sharp. Her hand catches your arm, steadying you. “What’s wrong? What do you feel?”

You blink hard, vision swimming slightly. “My side. It’s—” you grit your teeth. “It’s burning again. And my head. Fuck. It’s like before—.”

Her jaw tightens. Her hand slips from your arm to hover over your ribs— not touching, just… there. As if she’s trying to feel something without revealing how. She curses under her breath—something clipped and ancient. You look up at her, breathing fast. “Is it the beast? Is it— something out here?”

Agatha doesn’t speak. But you see it in her face. The shift. The calculation. Her jaw tightens, eyes flicking toward the woods at the edge of town—narrowing, watching. Like something just moved .

Then— The wind picks up. But it’s wrong. It’s not cold—it’s wet. Heavy. Like it crawled out from underground and wrapped its fingers around your throat.

You freeze. Shadows stretch unnaturally across the pavement, pooling like liquid from places no light should cast them. Curling at the edges. Breathing.

You smell it before you see anything else.

Blood.

Rot.

Like something spoiled and deep and old. Like wet soil and iron and something dead. “Agatha,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “Agatha—what the fuck is happening?” She doesn’t answer.

She’s staring at the treeline now, expression stone still—but her entire body has gone rigid. Her coat flutters in the wrong direction. Her hands curl slowly into fists. Then— A crow.

It screeches— loud , unhinged, sharp enough to slice through your eardrums—and dives from the trees above, wings slashing the air in erratic arcs. It lands hard on the road a few feet away, hopping and cawing like mad, feathers ruffled and wild, beak snapping like it’s trying to warn you.

Agatha flinches. That’s what scares you most. Because Agatha doesn’t flinch. Ever. She grabs your hand. Tight. Too tight. And that’s when you know. Something is here.

“Don’t look at it,” she says, voice low, teeth clenched. “Just walk. Now.”

“But what is it—”

“Move.”

She doesn’t wait. She drags you forward, fast and silent, her grip vice like and shaking. Behind you, the shadows pulse. The crow screams again. And the woods exhale something that smells like death.

Agatha yanks you forward, pace brutal, grip bruising.

The world around you is dimming—like the sun dropped too fast, or someone turned the saturation all the way down. The streetlamps flicker above you like they’re struggling to hold back the dark.

And then—

The growl.

Low. Guttural. Wrong.

It rumbles through the trees, the pavement, your bones. It doesn’t sound like anything with a throat—it sounds made , constructed from every nightmare that ever lived under your bed.

You gasp and stumble, twisting around toward the sound—toward the edge of the woods just past the sidewalk—and that’s when it hits.

The hallucinations.

Again.

Just like before.

Only worse.

The trees start to move. Not in the wind. They twist. Bark buckles, limbs stretching like they’re reaching for you. Roots tear through the soil and pulse like veins, snaking toward the road.

Your vision warps—edges rippling, shadows folding inward like the world is collapsing on itself.

You blink.

And Agatha’s face is changing.

Flickering.

Not disappearing—but layering.

A woman in black, her hair streaked silver, blood on her lips.

Then—

A vision of her in a 1600s gown, pale hands outstretched, voice echoing in a language you don’t understand.

Then—

A burn mark across her cheek, firelight behind her eyes.

Then—

Agatha again.

Modern. Real.

Her mouth is moving but you can't hear her anymore.

Everything’s shifting. Your side pulses hard—like something in the wound is feeding off this. Like it wants you to see this.

You stagger backward. “I—I can’t—”

Agatha’s eyes widen. “Fuck—no—no no no—” She yanks you forward so hard you nearly fall. “Don’t look at it!” But it’s too late. The woods are alive. Faces in the trees—warped, eyeless. The air hums with static. The crows scream like they’re dying.

You see a flash—yourself. But not yourself. In a dress. Crying. Screaming for someone. Agatha’s voice rips through the static. “You’re not there. You’re HERE. With me. Keep walking.”

Your breath catches. You can’t even feel your feet anymore—you’re floating, falling, burning from the inside out. Agatha grabs your face, yanks it toward hers, forcing your eyes on hers. “I know what this is. I’ve got you. You have to hold on, understand?” You nod—barely.

She pulls you again, faster. The growling follows. The hallucinations claw at the edge of your vision. The wind howls like it wants your name. And Agatha just keeps going—furious, terrified, dragging you through hell itself—because she knows what’s hunting you. And she knows what’s waking up inside you.

Branches scrape at your arms—no, fingers, they feel like fingers—and the path beneath your feet is warping, bending, laughing.

You trip again, body jerking as the ground tilts sideways, as the roots reach up like hands to grab you. Your ribs are burning— screaming. The black veins feel like they’re alive again, writhing under your skin, hungry.

“Make it stop—” you gasp, voice cracking as another wave of nausea crashes over you.

“Almost there,” Agatha spits, practically dragging you now. One of your feet barely touches the trail anymore.

You don’t even see the trail anymore. The woods have become something else. Every tree has a mouth. Every shadow whispers your name. And Agatha’s face keeps shifting —one second her eyes are glowing violet, the next she’s the woman from your visions again, then suddenly she’s skeletal, face hollowed out, her voice a thousand whispers layered on top of each other—

“No,” you whimper, shaking your head, trying to cling to the real version of her. “You’re not—you're not her—you’re not real—”

She curses under her breath— harder this time—and pulls you so forcefully you slam into her side. “Don’t look at me,” she snarls—not cruel, but desperate . “Don’t listen to it. None of it’s real. I’m real. I'm real. Stay with me. ”

You sob into her shoulder, stumbling as your vision goes white for a second. You think you see fire. A noose. A woman screaming.

Your voice screaming. The next thing you know, your knees are giving out, and Agatha scoops you up like you weigh nothing—arm under your knees, the other braced behind your back.

The smell of rot follows you. So does the growling.

Something howls deep in the woods behind you—and the crows explode from the trees, screaming, spiraling above. You don’t even register the door until she kicks it open with a grunt and slams it behind you both— hard —the sound echoing like a gunshot.

There’s a flash—something glows briefly at the corners of the door, and you hear her muttering something under her breath, in that language again.

And then… Silence. The hallucinations snap off like a switch. Your body collapses into hers, shaking, drenched in sweat, breath coming in jagged gasps. Your eyes sting. Your ribs ache. Your voice is shredded.

But the silence holds. The house is safe. You’re safe. Or at least you think.

Agatha doesn’t let go. Not yet. She just holds you there, arms still around you like she's trying to keep all your pieces from falling apart.

She doesn’t speak as she carries you to the couch. The old green one in the living room. Now it feels like the only solid thing in the world.

Agatha lowers you down gently, her hands firm but careful as if you’ll shatter if she lets go too fast. The fabric creaks beneath you. Your chest is still rising and falling too quickly, every breath like glass. Your skin damp. Your limbs shaking.

You don’t even blink. You just stare at her. Like you’re memorizing her face. Like you're making sure it’s her—this version, the real one—not the flickering images burned into your brain from the woods.

Agatha kneels in front of you. Hands moving slow, measured. She reaches for the hem of your shirt. “Can I?” You nod—barely. She begins to lift it, inch by inch, her fingertips brushing the skin just above your hips. Her touch is warm. Steady. Real.

You watch her the whole time. Eyes fixed on her face like if you look away, she might change again—morph into another nightmare.

She notices. She doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t tease. Her gaze meets yours, unblinking. “I’m real,” she says softly, fingers still at the hem of your shirt. “Right here.”

Your lip trembles, but you nod again. She keeps going, pulling the fabric higher until your ribs are exposed. And then she sees it. The veins.

Worse now. Black, branching lines like smoke under your skin, radiating from the old wound along your side.

They pulse faintly. Alive. Agatha’s jaw tightens.

You can tell she’s trying not to let her expression change. But you see it anyway—the flicker of fear. Of recognition. She places a hand lightly beside the mark, careful not to touch it directly.

Her voice drops to a whisper. “It’s spreading.”

You swallow, throat raw. “I thought—I thought it was getting better.”

“It was. Until the thing outside started calling to it again.”

You blink, tears gathering without permission. “So I’m still—”

“You’re not lost.” Her voice is firmer now. “I’m not letting that happen.”

You study her. Every line of her face. The crease between her brows. The way her hair has slipped loose near her cheek. The little shadow of exhaustion behind her eyes she tries so hard to hide.

Everything that makes her her. Your chest still rises too fast. Your fingers tremble where they’ve curled weakly in your lap. You feel like you’re going to shake apart again—but then— Agatha leans in, one hand sliding gently to cup your cheek, her other still resting lightly by your ribs, anchoring you.

You squeeze your eyes shut. It’s too much. But then— Warm lips press to your forehead.

You gasp quietly, eyes fluttering open. “I’m here,” she murmurs, voice barely above a breath. “It’s just me, hm?”

She takes your hands—delicate, slow—and guides them up. You don’t even resist. Just let her move you until your palms are resting on either side of her face. You stare up at her, and the panic starts to lose its grip.

Her skin is warm. Her breath brushes your face. Her eyes, blue and steady, are watching you like she’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the world. And maybe she is. Your chest rises—then falls.

A little slower. “That’s it…” she whispers, smiling softly as your breathing steadies. “Good girl.”

You nod slowly, the praise curling like heat in your belly—gentle, comforting, not teasing this time. Just real. A shaky smile pulls at your lips.

Your fingers curl more firmly against her cheeks. And you breathe. Finally.

Agatha watches you, something soft flickering across her features—something almost vulnerable. Like she’s proud of you. Like maybe she needed this moment too. And then—quietly, tentatively—you tug her forward.

She lets you. She leans in. And your lips meet in a small, fragile kiss. No hunger. No tension. Just a silent, sacred press of mouths that says, you’re okay.

When you part, barely, she rests her forehead against yours.

“It’s just us, pet,” she murmurs.

And in that moment?

You believe her.

Next Chapter

Taglist- @morgananyx

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