arabelleum

[arabelleum]

Drawn to You

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: You are Lumine, Aether, and Paimon's new traveling companion! Your existence is unknown and the four of you have been journeying around Teyvat, searching for who you are. Unfortunately, there are no records of you existing in any regions of Teyvat. Lumine, Aether, and Paimon introduce you to many new people, who cannot help but be drawn to you.

Note: This is a different version of "how" the reader got Isekai'd into Genshin Impact. I had this idea pop up in my mind two weeks ago and I wanted to get type it out and get it posted ASAP. If you haven't read the other version yet, it's called Crash Landing in Teyvat (linked below). Only this version won't have an entire backstory of the before and aftermath of the reader being Isekai'd into Genshin like the first post. This fic is longer than last week's fic, so, buckle up! To those who are new readers or not, please remember that I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None that I know of... does the reader getting an allergic reaction to fish count? 🤔

Word Count: 12.8k

Want to read another version of how the reader gets isekai'd into Genshin Impact? Read Crash Landing in Teyvat!

You don’t have any recollection of your memories before you were woken up by two blonde twins towering over you with their floating companion peering down at you worriedly. The only thing you remember is your name, and that’s it. At first, the twins (who later introduce themselves as Aether and Lumine) and their floating companion (she introduced herself as Paimon and in the third person) were a little suspicious of you because of your lack of memory. But the more the twins and Paimon spent time with you, the more they’re starting to trust you. Because they discovered you floating in the ocean between Liyue Harbor and Mondstadt, Aether, and Lumine made it their goal to find out who you are.

You became Aether and Lumine’s other travel companion that isn’t floating! So, their friend, pretty much. Since you didn’t possess a vision, you’re sitting on the sidelines watching Aether and Lumine destroy monsters that stand in the way of your exploration. And now here you are, laying in the middle of the field, five hundred feet from Mondstadt.

“Come on, [Y/N]! Get up! I know you’re tired, but you need to get up so we can get to Mondstadt before the sunset!” Lumine says, nudging your foot with hers. 

You groan and roll over to lie on your stomach. “But Lumineeee! It’s hot outside, and I’m tired!” You exclaim, shutting your eyes and shielding your eyes from the blinding sun rays. 

“Tired from what?! You didn’t fight any hilichurls or mitachurls like Lumine, and I did!” Aether huffs, plopping down on the ground before laying on top of you.

You groan and bat at Aether. “Aether, get off of me! You’re heavy!” 

Lumine rolls her eyes and shakes her head, her hands propped on her hips. “Come on. I know you’re tired, but we can rest up when we make it to Mondstadt. Plus, aren’t you getting a little bit hungry? Cause I’m starting to get hungry,” said Lumine.

On cue, your stomach starts to rumble. You grumble and push Aether off you before getting up from the ground. You dust the dirt and grass off your clothes and turn to the twins. As much as you don’t want to walk, the sound of food is too enticing to give up on. 

“Alright, you got me. Let’s go to Mondstadt now,” you said, smiling sheepishly at the two blondes in front of you.

“Oh, finally! Let’s go now before Good Hunter closes!” Paimon exclaims, appearing out of thin air and stomping her feet in the air with excitement. 

You, Aether, Lumine, and Paimon walk to the closest waypoint (which isn’t close at all) and teleport to Mondstadt. Today will be the first time you visit Mondstadt or any city in the world since your sudden arrival in Teyvat. While you have been traveling with the twins and exploring many locations, you have never stepped foot in any area that is occupied by the people of that region. 

Most of the time, when you need to eat and drink, sleep, or shower, you would go into Aether and Lumine’s shared teapot to do those tasks. After all, that’s what their teapots are for, no? It’s their floating teapot that has a house inside where they can stay and relax during their travels. When the four of you step foot into Mondstadt (technically, it was you, Aether, and Lumine that step foot in Mondstadt. Paimon’s floating), you’re in awe of the architecture of the city around you. 

“Wow, Mondstadt is beautiful,” you whisper.

The aroma of food wafts into your nose, making your stomach growl even louder than it did. Your eyes widen, and you cover your stomach with both hands, your cheeks feeling hot from how loud the growl was. Aether and Lumine snicker at your growling stomach before pulling you to Good Hunter by your arms. You nearly trip over the last step on the stairs, but luckily Aether and Lumine are there to catch you. Paimon is floating in front of Good Hunter, idly chatting with Sara and pointing out what she wants on the menu. You fix your clothes and continue to survey your surroundings.

Paimon pokes you at the back of your head. You blink and turn around, looking at Paimon quizzically. Paimon points at the menu.

“Do you know what you want to eat?” Paimon asks, handing the menu over to you.

You grab the menu and flip through it, trying to find something that appeals to you. Aether and Lumine trade looks with each other, the corner of their lips curving up.

“Paimon, how can [Y/N] know what they want to eat when they haven’t looked at the menu yet?” Lumine asks, propping her hands on her hips.

Paimon scoffs. “Hey, Paimon thinks that [Y/N] knows the basic things on Good Hunter’s menu! After all, they have tried a few things from the menu before!” Paimon exclaims, stomping her feet in the air like a petulant child. 

“I think I’ll have the uh….” you trail off, staring down at the words in front of you, “chicken-mushroom skewer!” you say, closing the menu and handing it back to Sara.

Paimon, Aether, and Lumine stare at you blankly. You stare back at them, unsure why they’re giving you that look after saying what you wanted to eat. You blink, look back at the menu, then at the twins and Paimon.

“Is chicken-mushroom skewer the only thing you’re going to eat? Why not have something that will fill up your stomach?” Paimon asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sara hands the menu to you after Lumine gestures for her to give you the menu. You blink at Paimon and look down at the menu.

“Am I not allowed to eat chicken mushroom skewer? I don’t want the two of you to pay a lot of money on food because of me,” you said.

Lumine brushes your comment to the side. “Oh, don’t worry about Mora, [Y/N]! We would rather have you eat a lot of food than force yourself to eat a little bit because of Mora. Plus, we have plenty of Mora,” Lumine says, patting your shoulder.

“Alright, but I still want to eat chicken mushroom skewers! Don’t take that off my order,” you said.

“Chicken-mushroom skewers, you say? My, don’t you have great taste,” a suave voice coming from behind you interjects.

You freeze in your spot and slowly turn around to face the person that snuck up behind you while you were occupied with the menu.

“Oh, Captain Kaeya and Master Diluc! It’s good to see you two!” Paimon exclaims, waving at the two men standing behind you. 

“What are you two doing here at Good Hunter?” Lumine asks, propping her hands on her hips while she and her brother trade looks with each other. 

The redhead sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. “We’re here to meet up with the Chief Alchemist and the bard for lunch. Lunch is on me, as usual,” the redhead rolls his eyes.

Aether pokes you and points at the menu. “You still haven’t picked your other option,” said Aether.

You turn to look at the menu and pucker your lips, eyes scanning the menu once more. You have tried almost everything on the menu, and yet you’re not sure what you want to eat other than the chicken mushroom skewer. You know that one skewer isn’t going to satiate your hunger, but what else are you going to order? The number of eyes you feel on you is making you nervous. You can feel the heat rush to your face the longer the eyes bore into your soul. 

You laugh nervously and fumble with your hands. “I’m not sure what else to pick to eat, you guys. There’s a lot on the menu that I’ve tried already, but I don’t know what to choose,” You said, turning to look at Aether with a defeated look. 

“Why not pick everything on the menu?” Paimon asks, patting your head. 

You clear your throat and whisper to Paimon, “Remember how I tried doing that last time? And how I ended up puking for the next five hours.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t do that,” a soft voice interrupts. 

Paimon waves at the two approaching figures. “Albedo and Tone-Deaf Bard!” Paimon exclaims.

“That’s not a nice way to introduce me to your new friend, Paimon!” The anemo vision wielder says, turning to you with a sweet smile. “I am Venti, the bard! I’m not sure if these two lads have introduced themselves to you yet, but the grumpy redhead over there goes by Master Diluc. The dark blue-haired man with the eyepatch beside Master Diluc is Captain Kaeya,” Venti says, pointing at the people he’s introducing. 

“I am assuming that the man standing next to you is the Chief Alchemist named Albedo?” You ask, looking over at Albedo.

Albedo nods, not saying a word. 

“We can introduce ourselves to the Travelers’ new friend over lunch,” Kaeya says, shaking his head with a faint smile. 

You look at the four men with surprise. “Oh! The four of you will be joining us for lunch?” You ask, looking at Aether and Lumine for confirmation.

“That wasn’t the original plan, but I don’t mind joining the four of you for lunch,” said Diluc.

“Do you not wish for us to join?” Albedo asks, tilting his head to the side while looking at you curiously.

Your eyes widen, and you quickly shake your head. “No, no, no, no! It’s not like that! I wanted to see if Aether, Lumine, and Paimon would be okay with us having lunch together! After all, the meeting was sudden, and it’d be nice to have someone join us for lunch!” You sputter, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. 

“Alright, then let us all have lunch together then. You can leave the rest of the orders up to us. When the food arrives at the table, you can choose whatever you want to eat,” Diluc says, looking over at you.

You nod and walk to the table next to the food stall, sitting between Aether and Lumine. While Diluc, Kaeya, Venti, and Albedo are ordering food to eat, you rest your chin on the wooden table and close your eyes. You suddenly feel drained. You didn’t expect to be interacting with more people other than Sara from Good Hunter. Let alone four handsome men from Mondstadt, who are also friends with your friends. 

“You never introduced yourself,” Kaeya says, sitting across from you.

You open your eyes and sit up with your back pressing against the chair. “I’m [Y/N],” you introduce yourself.

Venti looks at you curiously. “Judging by your outfit, you don’t look like you’re from here,” Venti says, crossing his legs under the table. 

You shake your head. “And you’re correct, Venti. I’m not from here,” you said.

Now you’re starting to get a tiny bit nervous. What are you supposed to say when they ask you where you’re from? It’s not like you can make up an excuse and tell them you’re from another region. Your clothes don’t look like it's from any of the seven nations of Teyvat. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from?” Albedo asks, propping both of his arms on the table while gazing at you curiously.

You clear your throat awkwardly and look over at Aether and Lumine, who shrug their shoulders, unsure of how else to answer Albedo’s question. Paimon laughs nervously before disappearing into thin air. Aether, Lumine, and Paimon’s reaction made Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, and Venti raise their eyebrows.

“I’m not sure where I’m from. In fact, I don’t have any memories before waking up to Aether and Lumine giving me CPR,” you reply.

Lumine nods. “We found them floating in the waters outside of Liyue and Mondstadt. They were unconscious, and we tried searching for their records throughout Teyvat, but we came to a dead end,” Lumine explains. 

“That’s strange…. So are you implying that there aren’t any records of their existence in Teyvat?” Diluc asks, raising his eyebrows at you, Aether, and Lumine.

Aether nods and looks over at you anxiously. “There aren’t any records of an [Y/N]’s in any regions of Teyat,” Aether breathes.

“Are you sure [Y/N]’s not lying about their name? What if they changed it, or they lied about their name?” Kaeya questions.

Aether points at Kaeya. “That’s the thing. Lumine and I assumed that at first, but there are no missing person cases in any region. Even if there were a missing person case in Teyvat, none of those people look like [Y/N] in the missing person posters,” Aether explains.

“Could they be another outlander?” Albedo asks.

You stare at the men blankly. “Possibly! But I don’t have any memory of what happened before waking up on the seashore. It’s frustrating not knowing much about myself other than my name,” you mutter, hunching forward and resting your forehead on the wooden table. “Do you know how much of a struggle it is for me to wake up every day not knowing who I am?”

“Oh, cheer up, [Y/N]! I’m sure all of your memories will come back to you soon!” Paimon says, hugging the back of your head while rubbing the top of your head with her left hand. 

“Yeah! I’m sure you’ll get your memories back! It takes some time for you to recover your memories,” Venti says.

Venti gets up from his seat and walks to where you’re sitting. He leans down and engulfs you in his arms, rubbing your back. You let yourself melt in Venti’s comforting hug, resting your head on his shoulders, close to his neck, and closing your eyes. The sound of someone clearing their throat pulls you out of your thoughts. You open your eyes and pull from Venti’s hug, rubbing the back of your neck with a sheepish smile on your face.

About ten minutes later, the food arrives, and you all begin eating while conversing with each other. You ate your chicken mushroom skewer, still undecided about what you wanted to eat other than the food you ordered. Whichever food Kaeya, Diluc, Aether, Venti, and Albedo recommend for you to try, you would take one small piece of the food and try it out. Since you have tried the food these men have suggested, you end up sticking to the chicken mushroom skewers.

“Thank you all for the suggestions, but I’ll stick to what I have ordered. Plus, there were a lot of recommendations, and I don’t know what I want to eat,” you said.

Technically you were lying because you didn’t want to hurt any of their feelings if you were to choose one person’s recommendation over the other. Not only that, if you ate what every person had recommended, you would end up overeating and give yourself indigestion. Which has happened before, and you don’t want it to happen again.

“It’s nice meeting all four of you! I hope to see you all again in the future!” You said, smiling at the four men in front of you while preparing your leave for the next region.

You stretch your arms in the air and yawn, covering your mouth and rubbing the tears that formed in your eyes. To you, you probably look like an exhausted mess, but to the four men in front of you (counting Aether, so five), you look cute. There’s something about you that draws you to them, and they can’t put their fingers on it.

“Oh no, are you getting sleepy?” Lumine teases, poking you lightly in the stomach.

You squawked and batted Lumine’s hands away from your stomach with a flustered look on your face. The men stifled their laugh and quickly looked away when you heard someone snort. You blink at them and look over at Lumine. 

You rub your eyes and sigh. “I always get sleepy after I’m done eating, but since I didn’t eat as much as I did last time, I’m not entirely sure why I’m sleepy,” you mutter.

“You can’t be sleepy now! We’re heading off to Liyue soon! Don’t you want to watch the opera in Liyue Harbor or listen to the Storyteller?” Paimon asks, lightly tugging on your hair. 

“I do! But at least let me take a nap first!” You grumble, leaning on the closest person and closing your eyes.

Lumine gives Kaeya an apologetic smile before pulling you off him. “We should be heading off to Liyue Harbor now. It’s a good thing you bought a souvenir earlier before lunch,” Lumine says, patting your cheeks to make sure you’re awake. 

Before Lumine and Aether pull you away from the group, you turn to them and give them a sleepy smile, and wave goodbye to them.

“Thank you for joining us for lunch! It was nice meeting all of you! I hope to see you all again soon!” You said, stumbling after Aether and Lumine.

Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, and Venti watch you and the twins walk out of the city. While they kind of got to know you within almost two hours, they want to continue to get to know who you are and help you recover your memories if it was possible. After seeing you leave, the four men couldn’t help but feel empty. Maybe someday, fate will bring you back to them. And by fate, they meant the two blonde twins and Paimon.

At Liyue Harbor, you’re leaning against the wooden railing of the Harbor, taking in a deep breath with your eyes closed. When you, Aether, Lumine, and Paimon step foot into Liyue Harbor, they’re almost immediately whisked away by Ying’er for a short commission. While Aether and Lumine are hesitant to leave you alone in Liyue Harbor, Paimon volunteers to be your babysitter while the two are out helping Ying’er with her commission. 

“I’m bored! Let’s go get something to eat while we wait for Aether and Lumine to return from their commission with Ying’er!” Paimon says, floating beside you.

You look over at Paimon with wide eyes. “We ate not too long ago! How are you hungry right now?!” You squeak.

“Paimon is always hungry, [Y/N]! Plus, we can always listen to the Storyteller while we eat!” Paimon says, grabbing onto your shirt's sleeve and tugging it. “Now, come on! We can’t be late!” Paimon exclaims.

You hold Paimon’s hand and shake your head. “Paimon, I think you forgot that we don’t have any Mora on us,” you frown.

“So? We don’t have to eat! We can just sit at an empty table and listen to the Storyteller!” Paimon gives you a pleading look.

You hesitate. “I don’t know, Paimon. What if Aether and Lumine finish Ying’er’s commission early and search for us?” You ask.

Paimon lets out an exasperated sigh. “Ying’er’s shop is close to where the Storyteller is! Don’t be a worry wart, [Y/N]!” 

“Alright, Paimon. But we’re not eating anything because we ate less than an hour ago, and we don’t have any Mora on us.” You let out a sigh of defeat. 

“Deal!” Paimon nods happily.

You let Paimon drag you to Third-Round Knockout in Liyue Harbor while trying to dodge the civilians without bumping into them. When you and Paimon arrive at Third-Round Knockout, you notice that all of the tables are taken and that there’s nowhere for you and Paimon to sit. Well, mainly you since Paimon floats in the air most of the time.

“Aw! There’s nowhere to sit!” Paimon exclaims, looking around with disappointment.

You smile at Paimon and pat her head. “It’s okay, Paimon! We can stand to the side and listen to the Storyteller,” you suggest. 

Paimon shakes her head stubbornly. “No way! It’s unfair if we stand to the side and listen to the Storyteller because you have nowhere to sit, and your feet are going to hurt from standing for a long time!” Paimon says.

“I don’t think we’ll be listening to the Storyteller for that long, Paimon,” You say. “Again, it’s okay if we stand to the side and listen to the Storyteller! Maybe we can grab a table when someone leaves.”

Paimon scans the table at Third-Round Knockout when she sees familiar faces sitting at a table close to the stairs. Paimon perks up and waves her hand in the air to grab the table’s attention.

“Zhongli and Childe!” Paimon grabs onto the sleeves of your shirt and pulls you in their direction.

Zhongli and Childe look up from their meals and sees you and Paimon making your way to their table. You can’t help but feel like a child being dragged around by their parent while going out grocery shopping. The way Paimon pulls you over to these Zhongli and Childe people reminds you of when a mother sees an old friend and ends up having a long conversation with them while the child stands to the side for over five minutes while the adults interact.

“Oh, Paimon! It’s good to see you again! Where are Aether and Lumine?” Childe asks, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.

Paimon sighs. “Aether and Lumine are helping Ying’er with her commission right now. I am tasked to babysit [Y/N] here since it is their first time visiting Liyue!” Paimon pats your head.

“Why did you have to put it that way? Why can’t it be two friends hanging out?” You mutter to Paimon while avoiding two pairs of curious eyes.

“Paimon, care to introduce your and the two Travelers’ new friend?” Zhongli speaks up, taking a sip of his tea without taking his eyes off you.

“This is [Y/N]! Aether, Lumine, and I fished [Y/N] out of the ocean,” Paimon pats your head with a smile on her face.

Childe raises his eyebrow at Paimon’s comment. “Fished [Y/N] out of the water? What, are they a mermaid?” Childe asks sarcastically.

“I wish! But unfortunately, I’m an amnesiac,” you reply humorlessly. “Anyway! It’s nice to meet you two! Aether and Lumine have mentioned you two a couple of times to me before. I didn’t expect to run into you two so soon,” you said.

Zhongli sets his chopsticks down on the ceramic plate. “Care to clarify what you mean when you said that you’re an amnesiac?”

You turn to look at Paimon. “Should I?”

Paimon shrugs her shoulders. “That’s up to you!” Replies Paimon.

You and Paimon sit across Zhongli and Childe, explaining your situation and how you end up being Aether, Lumine, and Paimon’s traveling partner. When you mentioned going from region to region to search for your identity and to see if you might be a missing person from the region, it piqued Childe and Zhongli’s curiosity.

“I never popped up in any system. Mondstadt, Sumeru, Inazuma, Liyue, Snezhnaya, Natlan, and Fontaine. None. My name is [Y/N], and I am sure that I did not change my name, and without a doubt, I am certain that [Y/N] is my name,” you said, rubbing the napkin between your thumb and index finger.

“Strange, huh?” Paimon asks, looking over at the two men sitting across from you and Paimon. “[Y/N], you should try this food! It’s delicious!” Paimon changes the subject, pushing the plate of fish in your direction.

You give Paimon a look. “Paimon, this is their food. I’m not going to eat another person’s food, plus I’m still full from earlier,” you said, rubbing your stomach.

“It’s alright. You two can have some of our food. I think we ordered too much anyway,” Childe says, letting his chopsticks clatter on the plate.

You sigh and grab an unused chopstick, breaking off a piece of fish before taking a bite out of it. You chew and swallow the fish, placing the chopstick on the plate. Paimon looks at you with anticipation.

“So? What do you think?” Paimon asks excitedly.

You lick your lips and look around you, smacking your lips lightly. “You know how I have no memory of who I am?” You suddenly ask.

Paimon, Childe, and Zhongli look at you quizzically. “Uh, yes?” Paimon replies in an unsure tone.

“I don’t think I was a fan of seafood or fish, to be more specific,” you said, scrunching your face and rubbing your neck with your right hand.

“What?! What kind of person isn’t a fan of seafood or fish!?” Paimon exclaims.

After hearing Paimon’s exclamation, Childe slowly turns to look at the Liyuen man next to him. Zhongli ignores the look Childe is giving him and quietly takes a sip of his tea. Your mouth is starting to tingle and feel weird, making you furrow your eyebrows and silently smack your lips, deep in your thoughts.

“People who have eaten too many fish and seafood, apparently,” you reply, attempting to ignore the strange sensation in your mouth.

The inside of your throat begins to itch, making you shift around in your seat and clear your throat softly. Ever since you arrived in Teyvat, you have never had such a reaction after eating something. Could you be allergic to the dish?

You cough and rub your throat, eyebrows knitting together with discomfort. Zhongli looks up from his teacup and looks at you worriedly.

Paimon taps your shoulders. “Are you okay, [Y/N]? You’re coughing a lot, and it’s starting to make Paimon worried,” Paimon says.

You give Paimon a weak smile and swallow the saliva, almost visibly wincing when you feel the walls in your throat rub against each other uncomfortably. “My throat is feeling dry and a bit itchy,” you said.

“Do you, perhaps, want some tea to quench your dry throat?” Zhongli asks.

You look at Zhongli and nod your head eagerly. “Ah, a drink! Yes, please, that would be nice.” You croak. 

You clear your throat again while Zhongli calls the waiter over to order you some tea to quench your dry throat. While the waiter went to fetch you something to drink, you continued to rub your neck with your hand, occasionally swallowing to feel the strange sensation in your throat. You look down at the fish and grab your chopsticks, poking it lightly and dissecting it apart to see what is inside of the food. The fish tastes decent; you’re only saying that because you’re not a massive fan of anything seafood or any food with fish. 

When the waiter comes back with your teacup, you give him a thankful smile before lifting the cup to your lips and blowing on it to cool the tea down and take a sip of it. When you drink the tea, you can’t help but wince at the feeling when it goes down your throat. You scratch your neck and cough lightly into your elbow. When you pull your arm away from your face, you notice small bumps forming on your arms.

“Oh no,” you squeak, looking around nervously. “Hey, uh, does anyone know where I can go to the nearest doctor? Or some physician?” You ask, tapping your fingers on the table anxiously.

“Why? Is something wrong?” Paimon asks.

You continue to scratch your neck; you fear that the more your neck itches, the more you will tear your neck up with your nails. “I just found out that I’m allergic to fish,” you sigh.

The sound of chopsticks clattering loudly on the fine china; Childe and Zhongli look at you worriedly, getting up from their seats. 

“How allergic are you?” Childe asks, walking over to you.

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know how severely allergic I am, but my mouth feels tingly, my throat is itching, and there are bumps forming on my arms,” You ramble, trying to soothe the irritations. 

“Get [Y/N] to Bubu Pharmacy immediately,” Zhongli orders.

Childe lifts you up, carries you bridal style, and sprints to the nearest waypoint, with Zhongli and Paimon following close behind. When teleported to the waypoint that is closest to Bubu Pharmacy, Childe rushes up the stairs toward the building. You feel your throat beginning to close up, making it hard for you to breathe. Childe bursts through the entrance, startling the receptionist and other customers.

A green-haired man with a snake around his neck walks out of the back room, looking at Childe, Zhongli, Paimon, and you with confusion. When his eyes lands on you, he looks horrified. You don’t know what you look like, and quite frankly, you don’t want to see what you look like.

“Qiqi, please treat to the Yaksha while I treat the new visitors,” The green-haired man instructs. The little girl nods and walks over to the Yaksha off to the side. The green-haired man rushes over to you and checks up on you and the bumps forming on your arms.

“They’re having a severe allergic reaction. Did they happen to eat something they’re allergic to?” The green-haired physician asks, walking behind the counter and scrambling to find medicine to treat your allergic reaction.

Paimon laughs nervously. “They ate fish, but that was it! Doctor Baizhu, we didn’t know they’re allergic to fish, and neither did they!” Paimon exclaims.

Baizhu walks over to you and jabs your thigh with a long syringe, injecting you with the medicine to treat your allergic reaction. You feel yourself go limp in Childe’s arms, exhaustion coming over you. The swelling in your throat gradually goes away, finally letting you breathe. 

Baizhu retracts the syringe from your thighs and tosses it into the trash bin. “You’re lucky to get them here just in time before it gets worse,” Baizhu sighs, looking over at you worriedly. 

“Yeah, very lucky,” you mutter, your head resting against Childe’s chest, gazing at the green-haired physician with bleary eyes. “I didn’t even know that I was allergic to fish until moments ago,” you said.

“Humans are fragile,” Someone interjects.

You peek your head from Childe’s shoulder, only to see a shorter male stand beside Zhongli with his arms over his chest. You notice a bandage wrapped around his arms and torso, his eyebrows slightly furrowing. You couldn’t tell if he was glaring at you or if it was because he was in pain. Either way, he did not look too happy.

Baizhu looks over at Xiao with a surprised look on his face. “Oh, Xiao! You have recovered quicker than I thought,” Baizhu says thoughtfully. 

Xiao grunts in response and nods. “It’s all thanks to your medicine and Qiqi’s help,” Xiao says, looking over at the small girl behind the counter. 

Childe sits you down on a seat in the corner of the pharmacy. You rest your head against the wall, your eyelids feeling heavy. You’re not sure whether your sudden tiredness was from the medicine that was injected into you to treat your allergic reaction, or if it was because you had a long day and if it’s finally taking a toll on you.

You’re about to doze off when you feel someone nudge your leg with their foot. You open your eyes and see Xiao standing in front of you.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

You stare at him and nod your head slowly. “Yeah, I’m feeling better than I did before arriving at Bubu Pharmacy,” you reply, clearing your throat. You’re relieved that the itchiness in your throat and the swelling went away. The bumps, on the other hand, the bumps are still there, but they’re slowly fading. 

“That’s good to hear. Paimon, Zhongli, that Harbinger, and Doctor Baizhu looked really worried when you first arrived at the pharmacy,” said Xiao. “After seeing the condition you were in, I can see why they were terrified.” 

You smile at Xiao and rub the area where Baizhu had jabbed the syringe into your thigh. “I’m glad they cared enough to help me with my allergic reaction. I didn’t know I was allergic to fish until today, and now, I will be avoiding food with fish in it,” you said.

Before Xiao could say anything else, the door of Bubu Pharmacy flew open, and Lumine and Aether ran through the door, looking around frantically. When their eyes land on you, Aether runs and tackles you into a hug, nearly tipping your seat back and sending the both of you to the ground if it weren’t for the wall behind the chair. Lumine laughs nervously when people look over at your small group weirdly. Lumine shuffles over to where you and Aether are, yanks Aether off you, and gives him a look as if she’s telling him to behave. 

“Where were you guys?! We thought you and Paimon would still be at the docks where we left you two before doing Ying’er’s commission!” Lumine exclaims, crossing her arms over her chest while glaring at you and Paimon.

“Where were we?! Where were you two!? We couldn’t stand and wait in the hot sun for a few hours while you two were running around with Ying’er! Plus, Paimon wanted to hear the Storyteller’s stories!” Paimon exclaims, huffing loudly. 

“She also wanted to get something to eat while we waited,” you interject, getting up from your seat. “I also found out that I am allergic to fish. I think it’s severe,” you add.

“You think it’s severe? Your throat closed up, and you had hives!” Paimon exclaims.

You blink at Paimon. “But I’m okay now, right?” 

Everyone can see the steam starting to come out of Paimon’s ears. “You’re okay now because of Zhongli, Childe, and Doctor Baizhu! If it weren’t for them, you would’ve died!” Paimon screeches, shaking you by your shoulders. 

“Hey! I almost died, and this is how you treat me!? You’re so mean!” You whine. 

You pull Paimon’s hands from your shoulders before hiding behind Zhongli; he looks strong and intimidating. You point at Paimon.

“Tell her to stop, Zhongli! Paimon is being mean to me despite me almost dying from my allergies.” You peek from behind Zhongli and narrow your eyes at Paimon, who glares back at you.

Lumine sighs and rubs her temples. “We don’t have time for you two to bicker right now. We have to leave for Inazuma very soon,” said Lumine.

You walk out from behind Zhongli and stare at Lumine quizzically. “We’re going to Inazuma already? But we arrived in Liyue not too long ago!” You exclaim.

“Yeah! Plus, you two have been out with Ying’er all day! We might as well eat something in Liyue before we leave for Inazuma!” Paimon says.

“Again?” Your eyes widen, and your eyebrows fly to your hairline. “Okay, listen, if we’re going to eat again, please don’t order anything that has fish in it,” you plead, clasping your hands together. 

And now here you are, sitting at Xinyue Kiosk, sitting between Zhongli and Childe while Aether, Lumine, Paimon, Xiao, and Doctor Baizhu are sitting across from the three of you. The food that is brought out and placed in front of the eight of you, you nearly cried. The majority of the food has fish in it. One food, in particular, has caught your attention. You’re about to reach for the fullmoon egg when you see Zhongli shake his head from the corner of your eyes.

“The fullmoon egg has fish in it,” Zhongli says.

You point over at the golden shrimp balls. “Can I eat these? Or is it going to make me go into another allergic reaction?” You ask.

“As long as you don’t have shellfish allergies, then you should be fine,” said Baizhu.

You stare at Baizhu for a moment before shrugging your shoulders. “You only live once,” you said, grabbing a golden shrimp ball and taking a bite out of it. The golden shrimp ball is delicious; luckily, you didn’t have any allergic reaction to the shrimp balls. It’s a good thing you’re not allergic to shellfish because the golden crab got your attention. You reached across the table and took a piece of the golden crab, and put it on your plate before grabbing the small bowl of rice and pouring a small amount of soy sauce on the rice. As much as you would love to try the other dishes in the center of the table, most of them contain fish, and you weren’t that hungry.

You’re still full from lunch earlier in Mondstadt. You eat your food in silence while people around you converse with each other. You subconsciously rub your throat and look at your hands, checking to see if the hives have gone away. To your relief, the bumps are gone, and your neck feels fine. There’s no itchiness and swelling, thank archons. 

“Then we’ll be leaving for Inazuma after,” you hear Lumine say.

You look up at Lumine and blink at her. “So, your plan is that we travel to other nations within one day?”  You ask, raising your eyebrows at her.

Lumine nods her head slowly. “Yes, and you did say that you wanted to meet our,” she gestures between herself and Aether, “friends in the nations we have traveled to! So it’ll be nice to finish it in one day and continue our mission.”

“Huh, I forgot that I wanted to do that,” you mutter, pinching the fat of your chin with your lips puckered. “I don’t mind going to Inazuma after eating, but I think we should rest for a bit before going to Inazuma.”

“If you’re getting sleepy, you can always lay your head on my shoulders and take a nap,” Childe suggests, turning to look at you.

You look at Childe, surprised. “Um, are you sure? Plus, I don’t think it's appropriate for me to take a nap at a nice restaurant like this,” you said, laying your hands fall in your lap. “Actually, I think I’m going to get some fresh air! Hopefully, that’ll wake me up a little bit,” you said.

You give everyone a smile and excuse yourself. You leave Xinyue Kisok and sit on the ground, leaning your head against the wall and closing your eyes. When you left Xinyue Kiosk, you noticed that the sun was beginning to set and there weren’t many people around. 

You hear the restaurant’s door open and someone hesitantly walking towards you by the way they stop halfway. You crack your eyes open and see Xiao standing in front of you, looking at his and your surroundings. You rub your eyes and slowly stand up.

“Xiao? What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be inside with the rest of them?” You ask, rubbing your arms.

Xiao looks at you. “I can say the same for you,” he replies. 

“I’m getting some fresh air. I’m hoping it’ll wake me up, but the cool night air is making me even sleepier than I thought,” you sigh.

Without saying another word, Xiao sits down beside you and makes you lay your head on his shoulders. You scoot closer to Xiao and rest your head in the crook of his neck, your arms brushing against his. You feel yourself slowly beginning to doze off to sleep, but you’re awoken by the cool breeze. You shiver and open your eyes, rubbing them with your knuckles. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to nap out here when it’s cold,” you mutter. You continue to rest your head on Xiao’s shoulders. “Thank you for keeping me company, even though you didn’t need to do it,” you murmur. 

Xiao grunts in response, the tips of his ears light pink along with the apples of his cheeks. You lift your head, and Xiao stands up, holding his hand out for you to take. You grab Xiao’s hand, and he helps you up from the ground. The two of you walk back into Xinyue Kisok, only to see everyone standing from their seats. 

“Oh, is everyone done eating?” You ask, walking over to the table with Xiao walking beside you.

Baizhu looks at you and examines you from head to toe. “How are you feeling?” Baizhu asks.

You rub your leg and give him a thumbs up. “I’m feeling good! The area where you jabbed my leg with the syringe isn’t hurting anymore,” you said. 

“Are you ready to go to Inazuma?” Aether asks, walking up to you with Lumine trailing behind him. 

You nod your head. “Yeah, I’m ready to go! But, uh, where are we going to be staying when it's time for bed?” You ask.

Lumine chuckles and ruffles your hair. “Did you forget that we have a house to stay in the teapot?” Lumine asks, raising her eyebrows at you.

“Oh! Right, yeah, I forgot about the teapot,” you laugh sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m a little bit out of it,” you clear your throat.

“Hey, it’s okay! You had a bit of a rough start in Liyue. Hopefully, it’ll get better in Inazuma!” Paimon says, giving your head a comforting head pat. 

“I hope so too,” you sulk.

Zhongli ends up offering to walk you, Aether, Lumine, and Paimon to the nearest waypoint so you four can go to your next destination. Childe, Xiao, and Baizhu decide to tag along; they say something about wanting to keep the funeral consultant company. Before walking to the waypoint, you stop in your tracks.

“Ah, crap. Is it too late for me to buy a souvenir before we leave Liyue?” You ask, searching for a shop nearby.

Paimon snorts. “With what Mora?” Paimon asks.

You look at Paimon with your mouth agape. “You didn’t need to call me out like that, Paimon.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “And for your information, I do have Mora on me!” You said, pulling out a bag of Mora from your pockets with a proud smirk on your face. 

You end up stopping by the closest jewelry shop in Liyue, buying a Liyuen hair stick with cor lapis, glaze lilies, and glaze lily petals decorating the gold hair stick. 

“It looks pretty! You should wear it now!” Lumine says.

You stare at her blankly and scratch your head. “Can someone help me put it on? I’m afraid I might mess it up and not wear it correctly,” holding out the hair sticks.

Baizhu walks over to you and begins to style your hair, combing his fingers through your hair and putting one part of your hair into a bun and the other remaining down. After getting your hair to be the way he wanted it to be, Baizhu grabs the hair sticks from your hands and sticks them through your hair, letting the glaze lily petals dangle.

You turn to Baizhu and give him a smile. “Thank you for helping me, Baizhu!” 

Baizhu clears his throat and gives you a smile in return, his cheeks turning bright pink when you smile at him. You run over to Lumine, Aether, and Paimon to show your new hairstyle with the hair sticks in your hair. Lumine twirls you around and compliments your hair. Aether stares at you with stars in his eyes, unable to take his eyes away from you. Paimon was the first one to notice and slowly turned to look at the four guests. They were also looking at you that way, unaware that they were staring at you with the same expression Aether had on his face.

“I think we should get going now. Wouldn’t want to arrive in Inazuma when everyone is asleep,” Paimon says, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“Oh! Right! Let's go!” Lumine says, pulling you to the waypoint with the others following behind.

When you, Aether, Lumine, and Paimon arrive at the waypoint, the four of you stand around the waypoint. You wave at Xiao, Zhongli, Childe, and Baizhu goodbye before placing your hand on the waypoint. They wave back at you, watching the four of you disappear in front of their eyes. They hope to see you again; there’s something about you that draws them to you, and they can’t put their fingers on it. 

When you all step into Inazuma, the sun has already set, and night has fallen. You turn to look at the twins and Paimon.

“It’s nightfall. Do you think everyone is awake at a time like this?” You ask.

Aether shrugs his shoulders. “Who knows! Some are awake, and others might be asleep around this time, but it’s still early in the night,” says Aether.

“I think you meant to say that the night is still young,” Paimon says.

The four of you walk into Inazuma City, searching around for the first person that came into Aether and Lumine’s head. The smell of Inazuman food lingers in the air, making your mouth water. The sound of children laughing, people conversing, and food sizzling fills the night in Inazuma City. 

“Oh, look! It’s Heizou and Itto!” Paimon says, pointing over at where Itto and Heizou are standing.

You turn to look in the direction where Paimon is pointing. You see a magenta-haired male standing beside a tall, horned white-haired man with red streaks in his hair. Approaching the two men are a platinum blond-haired man with a single orange streak in his hair and a light orange-brown-haired man with dog ears.

“And there’s Gorou and Kazuha!” Lumine crosses her arms over her chest. “I wonder if the other two are going to join after Gorou and Kazuha,” Lumine murmurs, stroking her chin.

You look at Lumine quizzically. “Other two?” You ask.

“She’s talking about Kamisato Ayato and Thoma,” replies Aether.

“Let’s go say hi to the four of them!” Paimon says, ushering you, Lumine, and Aether over to the four men.

As you’re approaching the four men, the oni spots you four. Itto’s eyes light up, and he waves in your direction with a big smile.

“Aether! Lumine! Floating lavender melon! It’s good to see you guys again!” Itto says, walking toward you, Paimon, Aether, and Lumine. 

You stifle your laughter. “Floating lavender melon? Care to explain how you got that nickname, Paimon?” You ask, turning to look at the floating girl with a teasing smile. 

“Oh? And who are you?” Heizou asks, gazing at you with interest. “A new face around the city? If I've seen one, I would recognize a pretty face, but this is the first time I see you.” Heizou smiles at you.

“Are you the Travelers’ new friend?” Kazuha asks, his head tilting to the side.

You smile at them shyly and nod your head. “Yes, I am Aether, Lumine, and Paimon’s new friend! I guess you can also say traveling companion since I have been traveling around Teyvat with the three of them not too long now,” you said. 

“Gorou, Itto, Heizou, Kazuha, meet [Y/N]! [Y/N], meet Itto, Gorou, Kazuha, and Heizou!” Paimon introduces you to the four men in front of you, pointing at each person as she says their name.

“Lord Ayato and Thoma will be arriving shortly,” Gorou interjects.

You look at them curiously. “Oh! Are you all gathering for dinner?” You ask.

Itto shakes his head. “Nope! We are all meeting for tea and some beetle fight!” Itto says, propping his hands on his hip and striking a pose. 

You blink at Itto owlishly. “What is a beetle fight?” You ask.

“Huh!? You’ve never heard of a beetle fight?!” Itto asks in disbelief, his eyes wide with genuine shock.

You shake your head, looking at Itto confused. “Is it part of Inazuma’s culture?” 

“It’s not. It’s a game that Itto came up with and challenged many people to it,” Gorou replies. “That is why he has invited Lord Ayato to the Komore Teahouse. To have some tea and to challenge the Kamisato Heir to another round of the beetle fight.” Gorou adds. 

“He lost the previous rounds to Lord Ayato, didn’t he?” You whisper.

“That is correct, and he has not stopped pestering me about it ever since,” a voice speaks up behind you and Gorou, startling the both of you. 

You and Gorou turn around to see a tall, elegantly dressed, light-blue-haired man and a tall, blond man standing at his side. You clutch onto your chest and clear your throat, feeling your face heat up when both men look at you curiously. 

“H-Hi! I presume that you’re Lord Ayato,” you point at the light-blue-haired man, “and you’re Thoma,” you said, pointing at the blond man standing beside Lord Ayato. 

“You’re correct! It’s nice to meet you, [Y/N]! Aether and Lumine had mentioned you a few times when they were visiting the Kamisato Estate when running errands,” says Thoma, smiling at you. 

“Now that everyone is here, I think we should go to Komore Teahouse now,” says Heizou, gesturing for everyone to follow him. 

When you all arrive at Komore Teahouse, you’re all greeted by a dog that goes by the name of Taroumaru. You refrained from letting out the biggest squeal after seeing the absolute cutie before casually making your way over to the dog and petting it.

“You all can go beetle fighting. I’m going to hang out with my new friend,” you said, stroking Taroumaro’s ears happily. “So cute,” you coo.

“We don’t want to leave you out, [Y/N]. Care to join us and watch the battle between Itto and Lord Ayato?” Kazuha asks, holding his hand out for you to take. 

Not wanting to seem rude, you take Kazuha’s offer and grab his hand, letting him guide you to the tea room where everyone is waiting. There on the table sits two large purple onikabutos. When you say that they’re huge, they are huge! 

You back up and point at the onikabutos, eyes wide. “They’re huge,” you point out the obvious.

“Yeah! It’s a shame I couldn’t find any bigger ones, though,” Itto says, hunching over with a small pout on his face. 

You look at Itto in horror. “Are you saying there are onikabutos that are the size of Paimon?” You point over at Paimon. 

“Believe it or not, yeah! There are onikabutos that can grow up to the size of Paimon, maybe bigger than Paimon,” Thoma says, nodding his head. 

You point over to the corner. “I’m just going to stand from a safe distance to watch the beetle fight between Itto and Lord Ayato,” you said, walking to the farthest part of the room.

There’s no way in hell you’re going to stand that close to onikabutos that are almost half your size. No way, no thank you! In fact, you don’t mind booking it to Sumeru immediately if you can! But seeing Aether, Lumine, and Paimon happily munch on Dangos while betting on who’s going to win the beetle fight, you decide to keep to yourself. Lord Ayato laughs to himself and sits behind his onikabuto while Itto sits across from him, hyping up his onikabuto. 

“Who do you think is going to win, [Y/N]?” Heizou asks, looking over his shoulders and in your direction.

You blink at Heizou and look at Itto and Lord Ayato. “I’m going to be optimistic and say Itto! Lord Ayato may have won the previous rounds of the beetle fight; I have a feeling Itto might win this one!” You said.

“Let’s hope you’re right because if Itto loses, we won’t hear the end of it,” Gorou says, his ears flattening on his head. “Itto won’t stop until he wins.” 

Itto and Lord Ayato start to shout incoherent words at each other and their onikabutos, startling you. You find it amusing that someone as refined as Lord Ayato would be playing beetle fight with the one and oni, Arataki Itto. You hide your smile behind your hands and watch the two beetles try to flip the other one over. 

“beetle fight is quite intense, especially if you’re as competitive as Itto,” Kazuha says, leaning against the wall beside you. “Would you ever play beetle fight?” Kazuha asks suddenly, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. 

“Oh, uh, I don’t think so. I would rather be the cheerleader than the one initiating the fight,” you laugh sheepishly. 

Itto hollers from across the room, “Oh, come on, [Y/N]! You should totally try it out! I’ll be your coach and teach you everything you need to know about the art of beetle fights!” 

Lord Ayato snorts. “I’m sure [Y/N] would want someone skilled to be their coach. I have won many beetle fights against you, Itto. Surely I’m the better candidate,” Lord Ayato says nonchalantly, smiling at Itto.

“Let’s not trash talk right now, Lord Ayato. I think you’re going to set Itto off,” Thoma laughs nervously, patting the Kamisato Heir’s shoulders. “But if [Y/N] does want to get into beetle fighting, I’m sure having both of you as their coach would help them a lot! Right, [Y/N]?” Thoma asks, turning to look at you with a nervous smile. 

You nod after catching onto what Thoma is trying to imply. “Ah! Yes! That’s right! Why have one coach when you can have two? I’ll learn more knowledge from two different people!”

Lord Ayato sighs and leans back. “Alright, if two coaches are what you want, then two coaches is what you’ll get,” said Lord Ayato. 

Your conversation is cut short when you hear Aether and Lumine cheer and gasp loudly. You look at the table and see Lord Ayato’s onikabuto flipped on its back, wiggling and squirming around while Itto’s onikabuto is victorious. 

“The winner of this beetle fight is Itto’s onikabuto!” Paimon announces. 

Kazuha chuckles. “My, my, it seems like you have predicted Itto’s victory, [Y/N],” Kazuha says, looking at you with a soft smile.

You feel yourself blush, and you awkwardly look at the table. Itto got up from his seat and ran in your direction before tackling you into a bone-crushing hug. You let out a loud yelp when Itto hugs you tightly, your back audibly cracking. Itto freezes and looks down at you with wide eyes, slowly putting you back on the ground.

“Was that the sound of [Y/N]’s back cracking?” Thoma asks, looking at the others in horror. 

Lord Ayato sighs and looks at you worriedly. “It seems like Itto has underestimated his strengths,” Lord Ayato mutters. Lord Ayato walks to you and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Are you alright, [Y/N]? Perhaps you need to see a doctor?” asks Lord Ayato.

You laugh and shake your head, patting Itto and Lord Ayato’s hands. “No need to worry about me! I needed my back to be cracked. It’s been a rough few days, and it’s nice to have my back popped,” you said, rubbing your shoulder. 

Heizou sighs, feigning sadness. “Looks like I won’t be taking you into custody this time, Itto. Shinobu won’t have to worry about getting a notice from the Tenryou Commission about Itto’s detainment,” Heizou crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Taking him into custody this time? Itto’s been in prison before?” You ask, looking at Itto with your eyebrows raised.

Itto laughs and rubs the back of his neck, trying to find an excuse. You snort and shake your head, patting Itto’s back. As much as you want to question him about his…. Criminal history, you think it’s best to save it for next time. But for now, you have some Inazuman tea and snacks to try out! Even though you ate not too long ago in Liyue. You’re starting to think that this whole “meeting up with a friend’s friend” is actually a way to get you to test your limits on how much you can eat. While you don’t mind trying various cultural dishes, you’re praying that your stomach won’t be negatively affected when you eat more than you can chew.

After having tea, snacks, and conversing with the Inazuman men, you find yourself standing at the waypoint with Lumine, Aether, and Paimon. The night is still young, and you’re all about to go to Sumeru. All the walking and teleporting to different regions were starting to wear you out, and you could feel it. Right when you’re about to touch the waypoint with the twins and Paimon, Heizou calls out to you. You turn in Heizou’s direction and see him running up to you, holding something out to you.

“Ah! How could I forget about my souvenir?” You gasp, grabbing the item from Heizou’s hand and giving him a thankful smile. 

The souvenir that you almost left in Inazuma is a hand fan that the men have picked out for you! Since you’re unsure what to get at the gift shop in Inazuma City, the men offered to pick something out for you collectively. Heizou smiles at you, walks over to where the others are standing, and turns to face your direction.

“We’ll be back soon! But for now, off to Sumeru!” You said, waving to the six Inazuman men with a big (yet sleepy) smile on your face.

Before any of the Inazuman men could say anything, you, Lumine, Aether, and Paimon were gone from their sight. Thoma visibly flinches when he feels a strange tug in his chest, the feeling of emptiness hitting everyone out of the blue. Even though the meeting with you was brief, the men couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity when it came to you, and the emptiness hitting them all was strange. Everyone wanted to go after you to keep you company in Sumeru, but they couldn’t chase after you— especially after you said you’d be back soon.

Upon arriving in Sumeru, you are on the brink of falling asleep. This is the first time you have traveled with the twins without a nap between teleporting to different nations. Your eyelids feel heavy, your limbs feel heavy, and you want to go to sleep. You find yourself falling asleep on Aether’s shoulders when you feel him nudge you when footsteps get closer to where you, Paimon, Lumine, and Aether are sitting.

“Apologies for having us all meet here at Puspa Cafe late in the evening. I hope that none of you have work to tend to. It’s better to meet in the late evening because there’s less foot traffic in Sumeru City,” you hear a man say.

An exasperated voice replies, “All you do is think about yourself, Al Haitham! Some of us are tired and had a long day at work as architects, such as myself! And look at Aether and Lumine’s friend! That poor thing is exhausted too!” 

You perk up and look at the irritated blond man with shock. “Did you just call me a thing?” You ask.

The dark-haired man with giant furry ears laughs nervously. “Kaveh doesn’t mean it like that, [Y/N]. Kaveh is irritated with Al Haitham, and I apologize in advance for both of them because they bicker with each other a lot,” he gives you a sympathetic smile. 

“You’ll get used to the bickering,” the white-haired man says.

A man wearing a hat approaches the table. “I’m still not used to hearing them bicker,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

Paimon clears her throat, glaring at the five men in front of her. “[Y/N]! Meet Al Haitham, Kaveh, Tighnari, Cyno, and Scaramouche. Scaramouche goes by many names, but we don’t talk about that,” said Paimon.

“It’s nice to meet all of you! I, uh, apologize for wanting to meet all of you suddenly. I think it would be great to meet all of Lumine, Aether, and Paimon’s friends from all nations while I continue to search for who I am,” you said politely. 

Kaveh looks at you curiously. “Oh? Are you going on a spiritual journey?” Kaveh asks, resting his arms on the table.

“No,” you shake your head, “I’m amnesiac, and I don’t know where I’m from or who I am,” you reply. 

Tighnari’s eyes light up. “Oh! So you’re the mysterious outlander friend that Aether and Lumine have fished out of the ocean!” Tighnari points at you with acknowledgment.

Cyno elbows Tighnari’s side, making the man wince and glare at him. “It’s not nice to point your fingers at someone you don’t know,” Cyno scolds Tighnari. 

Al Haitham looks at you closely. “Judging by your clothes, you don’t look like you’re from any regions in Teyvat,” said Al Haitham.

“Let’s not point out the obvious, Al Haitham. Lumine and Aether have mentioned it a few times already. It’s not an unknown fact that [Y/N] isn’t from any of the regions,” Scaramouche rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning in his seat across from you. 

You sit in silence while the others around you continue to discuss your origins. While they’re talking with each other, you let yourself space out and stare at the table in front of you. The pastries that were ordered, along with the drinks, look appetizing. But since you ate so much food before arriving in Sumeru, you’re not sure if you can try something new. 

You stare at the pastry in front of you, debating whether you should eat it. You decide not to eat the pastry in front of you and sit back in your seat with your head resting on the top rail. You’re tired, and as much as you want to join in on the conversation, you can’t get yourself to do it. You get up from your seat and walk out of Puspa Cafe without saying a word, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes. 

The chilly night air hits you like a sumpter beast, sending violent chills down your spine. You lean against the wooden railing outside the cafe and close your eyes, letting the cool breeze lull you to sleep. The temperature is the perfect temperature to fall asleep in; if only you were in a bed, snuggling in your blanket, and drifting off to sleep, everything would have been perfect. But instead, you’re outside Puspa Cafe, falling asleep on the wooden railing while everyone else is inside, talking to each other. 

“Wow, you must be exhausted from today’s event,” a voice startles you awake.

Your eyelids fly open, and your head snaps in the person’s direction. Dainsleif emerges from the shadows and gazes at you with an amused look on his face. You feel your face heat up, and you look away from the blond man that now stands before you.

“Although I don’t blame you for feeling this way. You have been traveling region to region with Aether and Lumine, meeting new people,” Dainsleif says casually, leaning on the railing beside you. 

You rub your eyes. “Have you been watching our every move, Dainsleif?” You ask, poking his biceps. 

“Watching? No. Making sure that you, Aether, Lumine, and Paimon travel safely? Yes,” replies Dainsleif.

You sigh and rest your head on Dainsleif’s shoulder, catching him off guard. Dainsleif stands still and looks at you from the corner of his eyes. You look like you could pass out at any moment. Silence hangs in the air between you two, and the sound of crickets fills the air.

“You know, you can join us on our journey. You don’t have to watch us from a distance and be alone,” you murmur.

Dainsleif doesn’t respond. Instead, his blue eyes gaze at the stars that hang over the two of you, then in your direction. Before Dainsleif could say anything, the door to Puspa Cafe opens, and the others step out into the night, stopping in their tracks when they see you leaning against Dainsleif.

“Dainsleif! What are you doing here?” Paimon asks.

Tighnari points at Dainsleif. “Is he your boyfriend by any chance?” Tighnari asks. For a brief moment, Tighnari looks hurt, almost heartbroken. 

You look at Tighnari with wide eyes and shake your head. “He’s not my boyfriend, Tighnari.” 

A massive wave of relief washes over five men standing before you and Dainsleif. You remove your head from Dainsleif’s shoulders and stretch your arms, yawning.

“You suddenly left Puspa Cafe. Is there a reason why?” Cyno asks, his eyes trailing over to the tall blond man beside you. 

You rub your cold arms and shake your head. “Other than needing fresh air, hoping it’ll wake me up? Not really,” you reply. 

Kaveh points at Dainsleif dramatically. “He doesn’t look like he’s from Teyvat. Look at his clothes and his mask! Speaking of his clothes, look at his cape! It looks almost identical to Paimon’s cape,” Kaveh says, eyes scanning Dainsleif from head to toe.

Al Haitham rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t be dramatic, Kaveh.”

Kaveh scoffs and looks at Al Haitham with his hands on his hips, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, glaring at the acting Grand Sage in front of him. You press your lips into a thin line and slowly look up at Dainsleif, who is already looking at you. 

“I’m done with these two,” Scaramouche mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. 

Dainsleif crosses his arms over his chest. “This is my cue to leave,” said Dainsleif.

You’re about to protest, but a portal opens in front of him, and he walks through it. The portal closes once he enters. You let out another sigh and turn to the people in front of you. You’re tired and want to go to sleep, but at the same time, you want to explore around Sumeru a little bit before going to the teapot to get some much-needed shut-eye. 

“Is it okay if we go and explore Sumeru? I know it’s nighttime, but exploring Sumeru would be nice,” you said.

Kaveh points at the sky. “Explore Sumeru in the darkness? I don’t know about that….” Kaveh trails off.

Tighnari scratches his ears. “I think we should explore Sumeru in the morning. It’s safer that way,” Tighnari replies.

“If we all go together, I think we should be fine,” Scaramouche says, taking his hat off and fixing his hair that is blown by the wind. 

Cyno looks at everyone around him. “What do you guys think? Should we go an explore Sumeru?”

“Exploring Sumeru at a time like this is nothing new to me. I’m okay with it as long as everyone is okay with it,” answers Al Haitham.

The last thing you remembered was exploring Sumeru with Aether, Lumine, Paimon, and the five guests (Al Haitham, Cyno, Kaveh, and Tighnari). Now, here you are, sitting in the middle of some forest in Sumeru alone. You have been roaming around the forest for a long time, and every tree, shrubbery, and thicket looks the same. You’re not sure how Tighnari is able to guide the group through the forest without issues.

You run your fingers through your hair and lean against a tree, sliding to the ground. You’re too tired to 

“Yeah, maybe exploring the forest at night was a mistake,” you deadpan. “Well, if it isn’t the consequences of my actions,” you lightly slap your forehead. 

You rest your head against the tree trunk and close your eyes. You would go and try to search for the others, but you don’t think that is a good idea. Maybe this is the perfect time for you to take a nap while the others try and find you. You lay on the ground and curl into a fetal position, drifting off to sleep. 

After what felt like twenty minutes, your eyes fly open when you feel something poke your face. You stumble to your feet when you see a strange being in front of you. It’s small, like, really small. The way it stares at you is unsettling, but it’s kind of cute. You can’t find a way to describe it, but it’s green and has a leaf for a hair… hat? Either way, it’s small and carries a stick. 

“What are you?” You whisper, leaning down to poke it lightly. “Am I hallucinating by any chance?” You ask yourself. 

The tiny creature continues to stare at you, not saying a word. You end up introducing yourself to the green being in front of you, and it eventually speaks, which throws you off guard because you didn’t think it could talk. He introduces himself as Arabalika, and he is an Aranara, a plantlike forest spirit that resides in Vanarana. 

It turns out you somehow wandered to Vanarana, but no need to fear because Arabalika and his little Aranara buddies are here to keep you company. You’re amazed at seeing the Grove of Dreams now that Arabalika has led you to where the Aranaras reside. When you walk into Vanarana, a hoard of Aranaras surrounds you, looking at you curiously.

“Do you think my friends will be able to find me here? I don’t know how much longer I can stay in Vanarana,” you said softly.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to stay in Vanarana. You felt like you were intruding as someone who isn’t a forest spirit. The Aranaras were sweet to you! They refused to leave you alone, and the Aranaras offered to make you something to eat (which you declined because of the amount of food you have consumed today) and provided some entertainment.

While you and the Aranaras are warming up to each other, the people you went exploring in the forest with are scrambling around to search for you. They searched high and low for you, only to find nothing at all.

“Where could they have wandered off?” Al Haitham asks.

“They didn’t wander off; we wandered off without checking to see if they were following us or not,” Kaveh interjects.

Cyno sits on the ground. “Then what do we do? We can’t find them in the forest. We can’t leave them all alone until the sun rises,” Cyno grumbles, yanking the grass from the ground.

“Hey! Don’t do that,” Tighnari scolds Cyno, slapping the grass out of Cyno’s hands before huffing loudly. 

“We’re going to have a [Y/N] search party,” Lumine says.

Scaramouche blinks at Lumine owlishly. “A [Y/N] search party?” Scaramouche asks.

Lumine and Aether look at each other, nodding at one another. As much as they don’t want to disturb others of their sleep, they have no other choice but to get the other men involved.

You sit on the grass, weaving flowers with Arabalika and the other Aranaras. They offered a temporary home for you to rest in, but you refused to sleep no matter how tired you were. Plus, you have this unsettling feeling where you feel like you’re being watched. And you know it’s not Dainsleif because he would have shown up before Arabalika discovered you in the forest. 

Arabalika taps your knees to grab your attention. “What’s wrong, Nara friend?”

You give Arabalika a wary smile. “I feel like we’re being watched, do you?” You whisper to Arabalika.

“It’s okay if you feel that way. We will protect you,” Arabalika says, holding your hand.

You laugh and squeeze Arabalika’s hand, not sure what he’s implying. How can something as small as he protects you from the dangers lurking in the forest? 

“Should we make ourselves known to them?” Dottore asks, his back pressing up against a tree.

Pierro shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s time for us to introduce ourselves to [Y/N] just yet,” Pierro mutters, watching you interact with the Aranaras. 

“Aw, what a shame. I really wanted to introduce myself to [Y/N],” Pantalone laments, leaning against the tree that was a few meters from where you’re sitting. 

“Unless you want to start a problem, go ahead,” Capitano grumbles. “Those little creatures are guarding [Y/N]. It’s strange to see how protective they are of someone that isn’t part of this world,” Captiano peeks from behind the trees. 

You finish weaving the flower crown and place it on Arabalika’s head, and he puts his completed flower crown on your head. You recall one of the Aranaras inviting you to their little concert, so you let Arabalika guide you to where the show is being held. You sit in the crowd and watch them play the instruments in awe. Arabalika waddles over to you, pulls you to the center of the “stage,” and attempts to get you to join in on the dancing. 

You knew that you were not alone in the forest with the Aranaras, but if you were going to die soon, you might as well enjoy your last moments dancing with the Aranaras. While you’re in the middle of twirling around with Arabalika in your hands, you hear a twig snap loudly. The music ceases, and you stop spinning, holding Arabalika in the air, slowly turning to look in the direction of where the twig has snapped. 

Over twenty heads peek from behind the trees. You squint at them and slowly put Arabalika down, shielding your eyes to try to get a better look at each person’s face.

“Oh, it seems like you have found me,” you said.

Venti pouts. “Someone doesn’t sound too happy about being found,” Venti says.

“Sorry to interrupt your performance, but we were looking everywhere for you,” Kaeya speaks up, emerging from the shadows, and walks over to where you stand.

Arabalika steps in front of you, holding his arms out. Kaeya stops in his tracks and gazes at Arabalika with an amused look on his face. 

Dainsleif chuckles. “It seems like the Aranara is trying to protect [Y/N],” said Dainsleif.

You look at the men who now stand in front of you, Arabalika and the other Aranaras. “Why are all of you in Sumeru? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see all of you again, but what are you guys doing here?” You ask. 

“Lumine, Aether, and Paimon came to all of us and requested us to search for you. We heard that you went missing in the forest of Sumeru, and they didn’t know how else to track you down,” Diluc interjects. 

You nod your head slowly. “So… Aether, Lumine, and Paimon traveled to your respective nations to have you all search for me?” You ask.

“That is correct. Although we did arrive earlier than all of you,” Pantalone speaks up, walking out from behind a tree with a smug smile on his face. 

Aether and Lumine look at each other with wide eyes, pointing over at the four Harbingers, now standing behind you. It seems like there are uninvited guests as well. You look at the four Harbingers behind you and then at the other people in front of you.

“I have no idea what is going on, nor do I know the history you all have with each other, but can we not start this now?” You ask.

“And why is that, little one? Are you playing as the mediator in this situation?” Pierro asks, raising an eyebrow at you, the corners of his lips quirked up.

You hunch over and shake your head. “No, I just don’t have the energy to deal with this,” you gesture between the two groups, “and I have spent every last energy of mine dancing with Arabalika and the Aranaras. I want to go to sleep,” you said.

Arabalika turns around and gazes at you. Even with that blank stare of his, you knew what he was implying. Arabalika holds his hand up, and you grab them, letting Arabalika guide you to the nearest Aranara house.

“If all of you are going to fight, I might as well sleep through it. Arabalika will show me to my temporary room until the fight is over,” you announce over your shoulders. 

The remaining Aranaras stare at the Naras (and Paimon) before them. Without saying a word, they all waddle after you and Arabalika, the sound of their footsteps gradually fading away. Just when the men thought they were the only ones drawn to you, the Aranaras are just as drawn to you as they are. However, the Aranaras are drawn to you for a different reason. The men, however, are drawn to you because they feel a connection with you and are also attracted to you. Whoever you are, wherever you came from, it doesn’t matter to them because they will try to have you for themselves. The tension was broken by the sound of Paimon and Lumine snickering with each other.

“You’re all fighting over [Y/N], and yet the Aranaras snatch [Y/N] up just like that,” Paimon says, giggling behind her hand.

Lumine raises her eyebrows. “Good luck trying to get the Aranaras' approval to be with [Y/N]. If you all think that I’m protective of [Y/N], you’re wrong,” Lumine chuckles. “They see something in [Y/N], and it makes them want to guard [Y/N] with their entire being,” Lumine strokes her chin.

When you collapsed into bed and were tucked into bed by Arabalika, the other Aranaras stood in front of your temporary house, guarding the door and watching the people closely. So much for finding you and bringing you back to Sumeru City. Now they have to wait for the next day to bring you back to civilization without causing any problems with the Aranaras, who are surprisingly protective of you.

Note: This fic is long because I decided to type during school while I was at the library when I didn't have any assignments to do for any of my classes. And now here we are with over 10k words of fanfic! Once I post this fic onto my AO3, the Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series will officially have about over 400k words! That is longer than a novel. I think that's the most I have ever typed out for a fanfiction :o Honestly, I'm impressed if someone decides to read all of the stories I have posted from my first fanfic to my current fanfic. I'm currently debating between two requests right now to post for next week, but I can't decide.... 🤔 both are hurt/comfort, but one contains smut... as per the person's request. Eh, that will be future me's problem. Anyway, for those who want to be on my new taglist, here is the link to the taglist [Genshinluvr Updated Taglist Form]! Please make sure that you allow people to mention you/tag you in posts, or else I won't be able to tag you in any future fanfics! And as usual, I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for my Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series and my overall taglist: @alhaitham-scribe, @xyji, @kazuhasmuse, @chirikoheina, @yoru-trash, @kaoyamamegami, @kwelibeeery, @yumakj, @deartoru, @luminarymoonlight, @toobytub, @ins4nebish, @bokuto-kinnie, @honeybedo, @exhaustedcommunist, @jadedist, @mompt2, @living-my-best-life5, @chalksdreams, @rinswriting, @thelost-in-time, @mxn14, @ventisweetheart, @unwantedsleep, @kattythesimp, @hispasian-otaku, @Orah-s, @juuuuuj101010, @nxns3nse, @sickly-falling, @alteeeeyang, @wind1y, @wh0-ta0, @samarill, @testsubject0012, @irisxiel, @HistoryNerd™️, @kazuhaprnt, @lunarapple, @urlocalhothuman, @emilymikado, @mabie, @vinnie-w, @n8mareee, @bajifairyy, @al-haithamsforeveryone, @heyimkay, @smolbeaniezz, @milkpeanuts476, @eliciana, @jellyslimesoffical, @blesstosuisen (If your name has been crossed out, it means that your account did not show up when I try to tag your account. Please make sure to allow people to mention you and tag you in posts and make sure the spelling, symbols, and numbers are correct)

Read more of my works on my Masterlist | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[arabelleum]

when you have a writers block: READ FANFICTION

im not kidding it actually worked so well just find your favorite authors and read/reread some of their works/your favorite works, and boom. somehow.

[arabelleum]

“i’m scared of losing you” but they’ve never even kissed.

[arabelleum]

P☆RNSTAR - Park Seonghwa x Reader

Inspired by the song "P☆RNSTAR" by Nessa Barrett

"Show me who you are, pornstar"

Summary: You're a sharp, ambitious journalist who's assigned on a column about Park Seonghwa, the biggest star in the adult entertainment industry. He's a pornstar. But from the moment he turns his sharp eyes on you, everything shifts. He reads you too easily, teases you too precisely, unraveling every line you swore you wouldn’t cross. What begins as a probing interview turns into a game of control, tension, and exposed desires neither of you saw coming.

Word count: 17K

Genre: Pornstar!Seonghwa, reporter!reader, oneshot, smut

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), oneshot, smut, fem reader (fem pronouns), masturbation, oral sex (f/m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, choking, spitting, unprotected sex, cum play, Hwa is very dominant (he's a pornstar, he knows what he's doing lmao), lmk if I missed anything!

The office smells like cheap coffee and stale ambition. You sit on the edge of a squeaky swivel chair, scrolling through the latest assignment email with a sinking feeling.

New project: “The Lives Behind the Screens” — a column digging into the unseen realities of internet celebrities and adult entertainers.

Great.

You thought journalism would be different. Real stories, real people. Not this digital voyeurism dressed up as “content.” But here you are, fresh out of college, with a degree gathering dust and a boss breathing down your neck.

Your editor’s voice plays in your head: “Next up? Park Seonghwa. The biggest star in the adult entertainment industry. Viral, iconic, untouchable. And you? You’re going to tell his story. Follow him. Watch him. Don’t fall for the fantasy.”

You click the link your editor attached and his face fills the screen, high-definition, impossibly symmetrical, built for the camera. Dark hair, parted just enough to frame his cheekbones like they were carved. A mouth that looks both sinful and soft, depending on the angle. Eyes like velvet, sharp, unreadable, expensive. He doesn’t smile in most of his photos. Doesn’t need to.

The headline reads: "The Pornstar Prince of the Internet."

You roll your eyes. But you keep scrolling.

Clips. Gifs. Edits. Reposts. Commentary threads that worship him like religion. "God-tier performance." "Unreal stamina." "He makes you feel like he’s looking right at you." You keep reading. Watching. Studying.

You find a clip, thirty seconds, muted, of him on a dimly lit set, shirt hanging off one shoulder, smirking at someone off-camera. He doesn’t blink much. He doesn’t need to. His body language is all ease, all control. Not arrogance. Not exactly. It’s more like... confidence that’s been sharpened into a weapon.

You don't look away.

Not because you’re turned on, not really. You’re... intrigued.

***

You show up ten minutes early, because you're not about to let a pornstar, no matter how famous, be the one waiting for you. The building is tucked between a yoga studio and a wellness café, the kind of place with floor-to-ceiling glass windows and minimalist signage that makes you feel underdressed just for breathing near it.

You expected neon lights. Maybe a couch no one should sit on. Definitely something sleazy.

But inside, it’s... clean.

Modern. Quiet. A tall woman with a tablet and black pumps greets you like you’re here for a boardroom pitch, not a profile piece on one of the internet’s most prolific sex symbols.

“You’re here for Mr. Park?”

Mr. Park.

You have to bite your tongue to stop from smirking.

“Yes. I’m with-”

“I know who you’re with,” she says politely, tapping something on her screen. “He’s finishing up a call. Can I get you anything while you wait?”

Water? Coffee? Champagne? You half expect the offer to end in something absurd like cocaine or compliments. But instead, you shake your head politely and she gestures toward a plush couch in a waiting area that looks more like a magazine launch office than a porn empire.

You sit, legs crossed, notebook in your lap, and glance around.

There are no posters. No half-naked shots. No trophies shaped like body parts. Just soft lighting, neutral palettes, and a low hum of quiet professionalism that makes your spine tighten.

You don’t like this.

You were ready for something raw. Tacky. Exposed. You were ready to roll your eyes and keep your emotional distance.

Instead, this place feels... corporate. Intentional. Curated.

You wonder if it’s a reflection or a deflection. You wonder what the perfectly polished floor is hiding.

“He’s ready for you now,” the assistant says, voice crisp but warm. “Down the hall. Last door on the right.”

You smooth your jacket, grip your notebook, and stand.

You walk down the hall, heels dull against the polished concrete, every surface too clean, too careful. The door is slightly ajar, the only one without a nameplate. That feels intentional.

You push it open.

And there he is.

Not behind a desk, not seated with polite formality, not postured for you, just leaning against the wide windowsill, half-turned to the city below, a cigarette balanced loosely between two fingers.

Dark hair, slightly tousled like he hasn’t bothered to tame it. His shirt, black, sheer, loose at the collar. A thin chain around his throat catches the light. And his nails, black polish, chipped at the edges. Purposefully imperfect. Like he’s above caring, or maybe it’s the only thing he cares about.

He glances over his shoulder when you step in. Doesn’t speak. Just watches you.

The eyes are worse than the photos. Darker. Sharper. Too direct. Like he’s already bored, already curious. Like he sees everything, and he’s trying to decide if you’re worth keeping his attention on.

He flicks ash into a small black tray on the ledge. There’s nothing else on it. No papers, no phone. Just him.

He finally speaks, voice low and warm with the edges of smoke, like it could wrap around your neck if you let it.

“So you’re the one who wants to figure me out.” It’s not a question. But his eyes don’t move from yours. They don’t flinch. “You’re not what I expected,” he says.

You offer the smallest shrug. “I could say the same.”

That earns the hint of a laugh. Just a breath, barely there.

He stubs out the cigarette, gestures toward the lone armchair behind you. “You can sit. I won’t bite.”

You don’t say anything. Just take the seat, notebook still closed in your lap. He stays standing. Of course he does. You can tell he likes the distance, the height, likes watching from above. Not out of arrogance, but out of habit. He’s used to reading people, measuring how they move when they’re inside a space that belongs to him.

“I’m working on a column,” you say finally. “Series called The Lives Behind the Screens.”

“I’ve heard.” He nods once. “They sent me your articles. You ask better questions than most.”

You glance up. “You actually read them?”

His mouth quirks into a crooked kind of smile. Dry, a little arrogant, but not in a way that pushes you away. If anything, it pulls you in. 

“I like knowing who’s about to ask if I’ve always been this good with my hands.”

That draws a smile from you, small, tight. Not because it’s funny. But because you expected that line. He’s testing the waters.

“I’m not here just to talk about your sex life,” you say.

There’s a flicker at the corner of his lips. Something amused. Not quite a grin, just a suggestion of one, like he’s trying to decide if he’s impressed or annoyed.

“Shame,” he murmurs. “That’s usually the fun part.” there’s a languid rhythm to the way he speaks, each word stretched just enough to make you feel it.

The silence stretches.

Not uncomfortable. Just... charged. Like you’re both waiting to see who steps forward first.

Across the room, Seonghwa moves toward the bookshelf along the far wall. Not performative, not for your benefit. He’s just giving you time to look at him.

So you do.

He’s taller than you realized. Lean, but strong in the way dancers are. He walks like he knows people are watching, not cocky, just aware. The kind of presence that doesn’t demand attention, it assumes it. And the longer you observe, the more it’s clear: nothing about him is accidental.

The sheer shirt might as well be part of his skin. It moves when he moves. His black jeans are worn soft at the seams, sitting low on his hips. No belt. Just a silver chain around one wrist, around his neck and that single piercing. A bar through his eyebrow.

When he turns to face you again, he doesn't sit.

“I’m guessing you’ve already read everything about me,” he says, voice casual, like he’s talking about the weather.

“I tried to,” you admit, finally jotting something down, the way he speaks without looking for approval, the confidence that isn’t loud. “But I don’t think it matters.”

That earns you a longer look. His head tilts. “Why not?”

You don’t glance up from your page. “Because none of it’s yours. It's press releases. Magazine quotes. Fan rumors. It’s the version of you people think they want to believe in.”

He’s silent for a beat too long. When you do meet his eyes again, there’s something softer around the edges. Not exposed. But interested.

“And what version are you looking for?” he asks.

“I’m here to figure out if there’s a man behind the star,” you say, tone even. “Or if you’ve just become the thing people want from you.”

That lands. You can feel it. His jaw shifts slightly, but he doesn’t look away.

“I could lie,” he offers, a slow smirk tugging at his mouth. “Make up some tragic story. Childhood trauma. First heartbreak. Tell you something that’ll look good in a pull quote.”

“You could,” you nod, pen tapping once against the paper. “But I’d know.”

The corner of his mouth lifts again, but this time there’s no amusement in it. Just curiosity. A quiet spark behind his eyes that says you’ve surprised him.

He moves closer.

Only a few steps, measured, unrushed, and then leans against the back of the leather armchair opposite yours. His arms fold loosely across his chest, and he studies you like a mirror. Like you’re suddenly the one under scrutiny.

“You don’t flirt,” he observes.

You blink. “Is that a problem?”

“Most people do,” he says simply. “Even the ones who say they won’t.”

You meet his gaze, hold it. “I’m not most people.”

“No,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing slightly, like he’s trying to work out how you got under his skin without touching him. “You’re not.”

For a moment, something spreads between you. You’re not even sure what it is yet. But it’s there, between you. Not attraction. But interest. A tension that hums like a wire strung too tight.

You look away first, not out of defeat, but control. Your voice is smooth as you ask, “What’s the worst assumption people make about you?”

Seonghwa exhales through his nose. A faint smile, but more thoughtful this time. He leans his head back, eyes drifting toward the ceiling like he’s weighing the cost of honesty.

“That's easy,” he says eventually. “All of it. That I just show up and look good and take my clothes off, and somehow, that’s enough.”

You nod once, pen moving again.

“And is it?” you ask, without looking up.

“No,” he says, without hesitation. “But sometimes I wish it were.”

The vulnerability slips through so subtly, you almost miss it. But it’s there. And he lets it hang in the space between you, bare, unpolished.

You don’t press. Not yet. You just underline the sentence on your page, twice.

When you glance at him again, he’s already watching you.

Not in the way men look at women. Not like he’s trying to undress you.

He looks at you like he wants to know what you look like with your guard down.

“What made you start doing this?” you ask again, pushing a little harder this time.

Seonghwa exhales through his nose, grabs another cigarette from his pocket and lights it with an unreadable expression. He taps ash into the glass tray on the table between you.

“I like sex,” he says simply, lips curving just slightly. “Turns out, I’m good at it. People like to watch. Seemed like a win-win.”

You don’t blink. Don’t smile back.

“I’m sure that’s true,” you say evenly. “But that’s not really an answer.”

His brows lift. Just a fraction. You think you catch the flicker of something else in his eyes, not surprise, exactly, but interest. Curiosity. Most people probably take the bait and laugh. Move on.

You don’t.

“So what kind of answer are you looking for?” he asks, his tone lighter now. It’s playful. Not mocking, but there’s a dare underneath it.

“The real kind,” you say. “Unless that’s too much to ask.”

He looks at you for a beat too long. Then, just when the silence starts to turn into something heavier, he grins. It’s not the polished smile from his photoshoots or the cocky smirk from his scenes. It’s crooked. Defensive.

“You’re intense,” he says.

“You’re guarded,” you shoot back.

That actually gets a laugh out of him, low and warm. He places the cigarette between his lips again, holding your gaze as he breathes in. He smells like smoke and sandalwood, expensive and addictive.

“Is it hard to get hard when you don’t actually want the person touching you?”

That makes him go still.

No smirk. No clever deflection. Just a small shift in his eyes, like a curtain tugged half an inch to the side.

“That’s a hell of a question,” he says eventually, exhaling smoke slowly through his nose.

You wait.

The jewelry on his fingers glints in the soft light. He taps the cigarette out with one hand, stubs it, and doesn’t light another.

“Sometimes it’s hard,” he says eventually. “Not physically. Mechanically, there are tricks. Prep. It’s part of the job. But mentally…” He shrugs. “Some days you show up and your body does the work, but your head isn’t anywhere near it.”

“Where does it go?” you ask.

That question lands harder than you expected. He doesn’t answer it right away.

“You like making people uncomfortable, don’t you?” he says instead, with a sharp little smile.

“I like watching people flinch when they’re used to being worshipped,” you shoot back.

That does it, a soft laugh, almost disbelieving. He runs a hand through his dark hair, the first sign of agitation. Or maybe… intrigue.

“You think I’m used to being worshipped?”

“I think you’ve made a career off of it,” you say. “And I think you’re smart enough to know none of it’s real.”

He straightens up slowly, standing to full height. Not a threat, but a shift in dynamic. He towers, but doesn’t loom. He just exists fully, commandingly, in the space. Smoke, sex, control, all wrapped in the body of a man who knows what power feels like in his palm.

“Tomorrow,” he says, tone clipped now. “Be on set at ten. Don’t be late.”

You nod, but don’t move yet. “And you’ll show me?”

He lifts a brow. “Show you what?”

“What it looks like when you stop pretending.”

The look he gives you is unreadable. Half danger, half fascination.

Then he says, “Careful what you wish for.”

***

You don’t expect to be alone when he finds you.

You’re standing just beyond the edge of the set, not quite hidden but far enough away that you don’t feel like you’re intruding. The lights are half-up, the crew moving with quiet efficiency, adjusting equipment, taping marks to the floor. It’s all so… normal. Not chaotic. Not hypersexualized. Not what you thought a porn set would look like.

There’s nothing cheap about it. No sleaze. No haze of something you can’t name.

Just calm. Controlled. Professional.

Then you feel him before you hear him.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to show up early to this,” Seonghwa says.

You turn.

He’s closer than you expected, but not too close, just inside your space enough to remind you this is his world. His set. His rules.

He’s dressed down. Black pants. Loose black tank. Hair still damp, like he just showered. Barefoot. There’s a quiet confidence to him, the kind that doesn’t need announcing. And that damn eyebrow piercing catches the light when he looks at you.

“I figured you’d bail,” he says, "Didn’t think this kind of work was your thing.”

You glance over your notepad without looking up. “It’s not.”

He tilts his head. “Dedicated. Or just curious?”

“I’m here to work.”

“You keep saying that,” he muses. “Like you’re trying to convince someone.”

You meet his gaze, steady. “Would it make you more comfortable if I pretended to be flustered around you?”

He laughs, soft, warm. “No,” he says. “That’s the problem. You don’t pretend.”

You say nothing, but your fingers tighten slightly around your notebook. He catches it.

His smile sharpens, but his voice stays casual. “So,” he says, “first time seeing something like this in person?”

You nod.

“No nerves?”

“A few,” you admit. “But I’ve done harder interviews.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “Harder than watching me fuck someone ten feet in front of you?”

Your throat tightens, just slightly. Not enough to show. But something shifts in your expression. His eyes track it.

He grins.

You look back at him, carefully composed. “I’m still here.”

“That you are,” he says, quieter now. “And you’ll watch? Even if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“I don’t think it will.”

A beat passes. His gaze lingers on your face. Then he nods, almost approvingly.

“Good,” he says. “Then let’s see how much you’re really ready for.”

He turns, just like that, walking toward the set. The curtain parts behind him.

And just before it closes, he glances over his shoulder.

“Try not to fall for me,” he says with a crooked smile. “It gets messy.”

You don’t answer. You just grip your notebook a little tighter.

You’re here. Watching, really watching.

The red light blinks above like a warning and a promise, casting a harsh glow over the small, claustrophobic set. Seonghwa stands center stage, muscles taut beneath his soaked black tank top, sweat glistening on his skin like he’s been moving for hours.

He doesn’t look up as he starts, he’s not just touching her, his set-partner. He’s worshipping every inch.

She’s moaning, low, ragged sounds that fill the room, vibrating against your skin. His fingers find her, moving inside her with a steady, expert pressure that makes her cry out in pleasure. His mouth covers hers, rough and demanding, teeth grazing her bottom lip, swallowing every protest she might have.

His hips thrust hard, the tank top clinging to every muscle twitch, sweat dripping down the curve of his spine. He grunts low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest as he drives her higher, faster.

And then, just when you think you can’t bear it, he looks up.

His eyes catch yours across the room, sharp and knowing. It’s like he can see right through your carefully constructed wall, the cool, detached journalist trying to stay professional, and he’s amused by it. Maybe even hungry for it. There’s a flicker of cocky challenge there, a silent dare: Keep watching.

The way his mouth curves into a slow, teasing smile sends a jolt through you, and you realize this isn’t just a show for the cameras. This is his playground, and you’re the unexpected audience he wants to mesmerize.

You feel heat rise between your legs, your breath catching in your throat despite yourself. This is supposed to be work. But your body betrays you, tightening, aching, wanting. Your skin prickles as the two of them writhe, tangled in lust and need, so raw, so real, it’s impossible to pretend it’s not affecting you.

Every moan, every bite, every slick slide of his fingers on her wetness is a punch straight to your gut. You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be feeling this. But you are.

And it terrifies you.

You wait alone in the dim waiting room, the muffled sounds of the set still echoing faintly beyond the door. Your fingers drum nervously against the notebook in your arms, mind spinning with what you just witnessed. The intoxicating mix of raw power, control, and vulnerability, everything about him pulls at you in ways you didn’t expect.

The door swings open without warning.

He steps inside, still dripping with sweat, the black robe hanging loose and wet against his skin. His dark hair is tangled, strands plastered to his forehead and neck, but he looks effortless, like he just conquered the world or at least that room.

His gaze lands on you, smirking as if he knows exactly what’s racing through your mind. “So,” he says, voice low and husky, “did the show live up to your expectations?”

You swallow hard, trying to steady your voice. “It was... intense. Different than anything I imagined.”

He chuckles, stepping closer, the heat radiating off him making your skin flush. “I told you, this isn’t some act. It’s real.”

You don’t look away, but take a small step back so you feel the wall behind you. “I saw that. You’re not faking it.”

His smirk deepens. “I don’t do fake. My body knows what to do.” He lets the robe slip slightly off one shoulder, revealing the sweat-slick skin beneath. “But now, I want to see you. What happens when you drop the act?”

Your breath catches. “I’m not the one putting on a show.”

He steps closer, just enough that you can feel his warmth, eyes locked on yours with a playful challenge. “Maybe you’re hiding better than I thought. But I don’t scare easy. You push me, I’ll push back.”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of your chair. “Then push.”

Seonghwa leans in just a fraction closer, his dark eyes locked onto yours with that smoldering mix of cocky challenge and genuine curiosity. The faint scent of sweat and something uniquely his, clean, but with a wild edge, fills the small space between you. He lets the robe slip a little more off his shoulder, just enough to tease, but not enough to give everything away.

“So, what’s your move, reporter?”

His gaze narrows, sharp and piercing as he lets his fingers trail just a breath away from your skin, deliberately not touching, drawing out the moment. Neither of you is blinking.

“You want answers,” he says, voice low and teasing. “But answers come at a price. You think you can handle what you don’t expect?”

You hold his stare, heart pounding, refusing to flinch. “I’m not here to be intimidated.”

He lets out a slow, dark laugh, amused and a little impressed. “Good. Because I’m not here to entertain you… at least, not yet.”

He steps back, letting the space between you swell with the weight of what just passed, then pulls his robe tighter around his frame with a smooth motion. “But here’s a deal: I’ll give you the story you want. The real me, the part behind the flashing lights and staged scenes. On one condition.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Which is?”

He leans in close enough that his breath brushes your ear, voice a rough whisper. “You come back. You don’t flinch. You keep pushing. No matter how messy it gets. You keep digging, even when it hurts. No backing down. And maybe… just maybe, you’ll get more than you bargained for.”

He pulls away, smirking like he’s already won the game. “Think it over. I’ll be waiting.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you alone with the echo of his challenge ringing louder than any spotlight.

***

When the elevator dings on his floor, you step out into a narrow, dimly lit hallway. The walls are a cool gray, the faint smell of leather and something smoky wafting up from behind one door.

You take a breath and knock lightly.

The door swings open before you finish the knock, revealing Seonghwa. “Come in,” he says, voice low, almost teasing. He steps aside, letting you slip inside.

The air smells faintly of cologne and smoke, the leftover echo of whatever he did on set lingering like something physical. The windows are wide, letting in the soft amber of the city outside. It should feel casual. It doesn’t.

You take it all in quietly, feeling the weight of his space, the echo of the man who lives here.

You settle into the dark gray couch, eyes never leaving him as he moves with casual ease.

Seonghwa walks toward the open-plan kitchen, barefoot, hair damp from a quick shower. He’s once again a robe, black, slung loose around him, revealing toned legs and glimpses of his chest when the fabric parts with each lazy step. You pretend not to notice. You do. It’s impossible not to.

He grabs a lighter from the counter, flicks it without looking, and lights the cigarette already tucked between his lips. The inhale is long. Slow. A sigh through his nose. Then he turns toward you.

“You look like you’re in a dentist’s waiting room,” he murmurs. Voice warm. Slightly mocking.

He exhales smoke and walks closer, staying on his side of the room but dropping into the armchair across from you, in the middle of the two couches, slouching low like he owns the place. Which, of course, he does.

The room shrinks around you, charged with something unspoken and raw. You don’t like it. You don’t want it. But you can’t look away.

“Okay, then,” you say, voice sharp. “You like being watched?”

A lazy smirk curls his mouth. “Doesn’t everyone?” He leans forward, arms resting on his thighs, cigarette perched between his fingers. The smoke curls up toward the ceiling.

Then he speaks again. “I like control,” he says. “I like knowing what people want and giving it to them. It’s… intimate. But safe. And when you’re good at it? They forget it’s a performance.”

Your throat tightens slightly, but you nod. “So it’s about power?”

“It’s about reading people,” he corrects. Then, smoothly, “My turn.” He tilts his head, studying you like you’re the subject now. 

“Who broke you?”

Your stomach tightens. “What?”

He grins, slow and wicked. “You walk around like you’re armored, like you’ve got barbed wire under your skin. So who put it there?”

“I’m not here to talk about me.”

His voice drops, velvet smooth. “Show me who you are.”

Your lips tighten. “No one broke me.”

“Everyone’s broken somewhere,” he says, quietly. “You just hide it well.”

He eyes you again. “My turn, again. Because you didn't answer properly before-”

You shake your head. “I’m the interviewer.” you interrupt.

“And I’m interested in you.” His smile grows.

You feel your breath hitch, but hide it behind a slow blink.

The tension between you burns like the end of his cigarette. He stubs it out, stands slowly, robe slipping slightly off his shoulder as he crosses the space between you.

Then he pauses in front of you, not quite touching, looking down.

“You want more access?” he asks, voice velvet smooth. “Then let me have the same.”

You look up, chin raised. “What are you proposing?”

“A deal.” His eyes darken. “I’ll answer anything. All of your questions. But I get to ask whatever I want too. I get to dig just as deep.”

You hesitate. He sees it. Feeds off it.

“And if you can’t handle that,” he adds, soft and cutting, “you should probably go.”

You grit your teeth. Your pulse pounds in your throat. Your body leans forward before your mind catches up.

“Fine,” you breathe. “Deal.”

He grins.

“Good,” he says. “Now, let’s really begin.”

You’re still on the couch when he lowers himself beside you, not in the armchair across the room, not at a polite distance, but next to you. His thigh brushes yours. The robe shifts again, riding high on his legs, revealing toned skin and hints of muscle that make it hard to focus.

He’s warm. Too warm. And the silence between you goes thick and heavy, soaked in everything you aren’t saying.

“Alright,” you say, keeping your voice flat, composed, even though your heart is hammering in your chest. “You made a deal. Ask.”

He smirks, eyes raking over your face like he’s deciding where to begin.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

Your breath catches, like he’s slapped you with the question instead of asking it. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.

“You said I could ask a question,” he murmurs, voice low and honey-smooth. “I’m just playing by the rules.”

You recover quickly, jaw tightening. “Next question.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“You want honesty? Fine,” You meet his eyes, sharp, challenging. “I think about what it feels like to stop controlling everything. To not be the one driving. To let someone else take over, just for a while.”

His expression shifts, only slightly, but you see it. Something almost thoughtful in the cocky glint of his gaze. He leans back, just a little, arm along the top of the couch behind you.

“Interesting,” he says. “So you like to let go.”

Your turn. “How often do you sleep with someone off-camera?”

He shrugs. “Less than people think. When sex becomes work, it’s harder to want it just for fun. But when I do… I make sure it’s worth it.”

Your pulse skips. You force yourself not to look away.

He leans in. His voice drops, brushing your skin like it knows what it’s doing.

“Would you ever let go with someone like me?”

You stare at him. Hard. “Would you ever stop performing with someone like me?”

A beat. A flicker of surprise behind his eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve performed once since you walked through my door.”

“Liar.”

He laughs, low, rough, the sound curling down your spine. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

You should move. You don’t. He’s closer now, his thigh pressing against yours, the robe parting slightly as he turns toward you.

“And what about you?” he asks. “What’s under your perfect little armor?”

You stare back at him, fingers curling around the edges of your notebook.

He continues, tone deceptively light. “You come in here, all calm and collected. Like you’re not flustered. Like watching me get someone off in front of a room full of people didn’t do something to you.”

Your spine straightens.

“It didn’t,” you lie.

He grins slowly. “Sure. Let me guess, you’re just doing your job. You don’t feel anything.”

You don’t answer.

“I think you feel more than you let on,” he says, voice lower now. “But you’re too busy trying to prove you’re better than all of this. That you’re above it.”

You meet his gaze, and something inside you cracks. Just a little. “You think you know me?” you whisper.

“I think you wear control like I wear seduction. Like armor.” He leans back again, watching you with something that’s dangerously close to fascination. “But no one ever asks what happens when you take it off.”

You suck in a breath. “You don’t know what it’s like to have to earn respect in a world that doesn’t take women seriously unless they’re agreeable.”

He tilts his head. “And you don’t know what it’s like to be only wanted for what your body can do, not who you are.”

There it is.

The stillness between you is different now, warmer, denser. It hums beneath your skin.

He says it softer, like he means it. “No one gives a fuck about what I think. Just what I can make them feel.”

The words sit heavy in your chest. There’s a moment of silence. This is biggest crack you’ve managed to get out of his guarded shell.

Then his voice softens again, teasing this time. “Alright, journalist. My turn. Last question.”

Your stomach coils, tight with anticipation.

“Have you ever imagined someone fucking you so good it ruins you for everyone else?”

Your mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t blink. “Not just the act. The aftermath. The kind of sex that stays in your bones, makes everything after feel like a cheap imitation. You ever wondered what it’d take to break you like that?”

There’s no teasing in his voice now. Just quiet curiosity. Like it’s a scientific inquiry. You look at him, really look at him, and it’s suddenly so obvious he’s not just asking for the sake of it.

He wants to know if he could do it.

Your breath hitches.

And he sees it.

The smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, that smug spark in his eye, you’ve just confirmed something for him.

He ashes the cigarette again, slow and easy. “Thought so,” he murmurs.

And the worst part?

You can’t even bring yourself to deny it.

***

You lie on your back in the dark, your sheets cool against your skin but your body too warm.

It’s late. Later than you meant to be awake. Your bedside lamp casts a muted glow across the ceiling, and you’ve already scrolled through every app on your phone twice. But your mind won’t stop replaying the evening.

You shift under the covers. They’re soft but do nothing to ease the heat crawling under your skin.

He got to you.

You hate that. You hate knowing that.

All of it replays in your mind on a loop, the cocky slant of his mouth, the lazy sprawl of his body across the couch, the way he tossed you that question like a match and watched it catch fire between your thighs.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

The nerve. And still, your stomach twisted.

But it wasn’t just the question. It was the way he said it. The way he looked at you like he already knew the answer. Like he could read it on your skin.

You shouldn’t care. He’s your subject. Your project. Your assignment. You’re here to peel back the layers, uncover the man behind the persona.

And yet, here you are. Lying in your bed. Thinking about him.

You open your browser on your phone. Start to type.

Park Seonghwa.

A breath hitches in your throat as the name autofills. You press enter.

Links bloom across the screen in a chaotic sprawl. Clips. Interviews. Promo photos. Glossy thumbnails of sex.

But it’s the one at the very top that stops you.

No clickbait. No dramatic title. Just:

Park Seonghwa – Solo | Intimate POV.

You stare at the thumbnail. It’s dark, soft-red-lit, just a close-up of his face. Damp hair pushed back. His lips slightly parted. His eyes. direct, dark, focused. On the camera. On you.

You hesitate.

Then your finger taps the screen.

The video loads slowly, black for a beat, and then…

There he is.

The camera is positioned low on the nightstand, the frame unsteady but intimate, like it wasn’t meant for anyone else to see. The soft red lighting of Seonghwa’s bedroom casts red shadows over his skin, the familiar surroundings of his private apartment making the moment feel even more forbidden. This isn’t a set. It’s his space. His bed. His sheets.

And he’s standing at the edge of it, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, the waistband barely clinging to his skin. His black-painted fingers trace a path along his abdomen.

His voice cuts through the quiet, low and rough, like he’s talking to himself as much as to whoever’s watching.

“I’m all alone tonight,” he says, lips curling into a wicked smile. “Just me, my hands, and this hard fucking cock. You watching this in your bed, baby?” he murmurs, voice low, laced with that cocky softness that makes your stomach twist. “Lying there all sweet and needy, just for me?”

The waistband slips lower. Your breath catches.

The camera captures it all, his cock, thick and hard, gradually revealed, the flushed head slick with precome, shining under the dim red light. Veins curl along the shaft like cords pulled tight with anticipation, each one pulsing with restrained tension.

“Mm, look at that. Fucking myself… but every thought? You. Every touch? You.” he drawls, spitting into his palm and wrapping his hand around himself with a practiced grip. He groans, low and deep, as he spreads the slickness over his cock. “I wish you were here, on this bed, touching yourself just like I am. Knowing I’m watching. Knowing you belong to me tonight.”

He starts to stroke himself, slow and teasing, watching the camera like he can see right through it. “Don’t touch yet,” he warns, voice sharp. “I didn’t tell you to move.”

He talks like he sees you, sees directly through the screen and into your eyes. Like he knows what you’re doing in your own room, alone, totally under his control.

He leans back against the edge of the bed, one hand behind him to steady him, the other still wrapped around his cock.

Then, his gaze sharpens again. “Alright, baby. Now you can touch. Let me see it. Fingers deep. Rub that clit slow and soft, don’t rush it. I want to hear how messy it gets.”

Your fingers tremble as you slide your hand beneath your clothes, cheeks flushing hot with a mix of shame and desperate need. Your breath hitches as your fingers meet your slick folds. Heat coils in your gut, sharp and needy.

“Good girl,” he groans. “That’s it. Just like that. Take your time. I want you fucking ruined by the end of this.”

He’s so fucking good at this. He’s a goddamn star.

His voice drops, ragged with arousal now. “Faster. Rub that little clit hard, don’t you dare stop. Fuck yourself for me, just like I told you.”

You whimper, body writhing under your sheets. Your shirt is already pushed up, one hand squeezing your phone tightly, the other between your thighs, fingers slick with arousal. Your hips roll into your own touch, matching the rhythm of his strokes.

He groans again, low and filthy, his voice rough with lust. “You better be touching yourself exactly like I told you. I want to hear you come for me, baby. Say my name loud.”

Your breath stutters as your fingers circle your clit faster, the wet sounds of your need echoing in your room. “Seonghwa… I-, please…”

“Fingers deeper,” he growls. “Rub that clit while you fuck yourself, baby, don’t make me say it again. I want you moaning my name, legs shaking, begging for more even when you can’t take it.”

You obey without hesitation, sprawled on your bed, one hand buried between your thighs, soaked with your own slick. 

But it’s not enough.

Your eyes flutter shut, body already moving in rhythm with his voice, his words, his breath. And then you let go. You pretend it’s not your fingers. You imagine it’s him.

That it’s Seonghwa between your legs, kneeling over you on your bed. His hands are the ones parting your thighs, his fingers circling your clit in teasing, torturously slow circles. You imagine the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, the press of his chest above yours, his cock hard against your stomach as he whispers filth right into your ear.

Your eyes snap open. They find the screen in your hand, find him.

“Look at you,” he pants, stroking faster now, spit and precome shining along the thick length of his cock. “Fucking yourself like a good little slut. You’d let me wreck you, wouldn’t you? You’d take every inch and still ask for more. I want you crying because it feels so fucking good.”

Your breath hitches, hips lifting into your own touch, and you pretend it’s him holding you down, not your trembling hand. That it’s his lips grazing your neck as he groans how tight and wet you are for him.

You moan, high and broken, hips jerking up against your fingers. “Yes-, yes, Seonghwa, please, I-”

Tears sting your lashes from how good it feels, how overwhelming it is to be seen and controlled, even from across a screen.

Then, suddenly, his voice softens just enough to ruin you. “Come for me now, pretty girl. Say my fucking name. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You cry out, body seizing as pleasure crashes over you in waves. “Seonghwa-, fuck, Seonghwa!”

And all the while, his eyes never leave the camera. Never leave you.

“Fucking perfect,” he groans, his strokes turning desperate now, almost harsh, as he chases his own release. “Look what you do to me.”

His body tenses, abs flexing, brows drawn tight with pleasure, lips parted as a strangled sound leaves him. And then he comes, cock jerking in his fist, thick ropes spilling over his stomach. His whole body shakes with it, moans leaving his beautiful mouth.

The video ends with him slumping back against the pillows, chest heaving, sweat shining on his skin, his hair a mess across his forehead. The smirk that curls on his lips is smug, victorious, as if he’s just claimed something from you without lifting a finger. 

“Fucking perfect,” he says softly. “Next time, maybe you’ll be here.”

And the video ends.

You’re left panting, flushed, utterly undone.

You set the phone down, heart still racing, skin still tingling. Embarrassment floods you, but beneath it is a darker craving, a need that won’t be satisfied anytime soon.

***

On Friday, you knock on the door, hesitate for a second, then push it open.

Same office. Same dark walls, same black armchair in the corner, same lingering scent of something expensive and musky. But today, none of it feels the same.

Your chest tightens with a rush of heat and embarrassment of seeing him. You remind yourself to focus, to stay professional. But the memory of the other night, the video you couldn’t stop watching, presses against your thoughts, making your cheeks flush.

He doesn’t notice.

Because the man sitting there doesn’t look like the one you met earlier this week.

Seonghwa is sunk deep into the armchair near the window, hood up, legs stretched out. A lit cigarette dangles between his fingers, ash clinging stubbornly to the end. His usual polished precision is nowhere in sight.

And neither is that smirk.

You pause in the doorway. “Morning.”

He lifts his head just barely, eyes narrowing like the light annoys him. “Oh. Right.. Today.”

No charm. No grin. Not even the cool confidence he always wears like armor.

“I texted you last night. Said I’d be here at ten.”

“Doesn’t mean I remembered,” he mutters, dragging from the cigarette. The smoke curls between you, soft and lazy, but his tone cuts through it like glass.

You step into the room, letting the door click softly behind you. “Are you okay?”

He gives you a look that makes it very clear that was the wrong question. “Peachy.”

You pause, scanning him. The hoodie. The mess of papers on his desk. A barely touched coffee going cold beside his laptop. The light in here is dim, drawn shades casting thin slats across the floor. You can feel the heat of his mood before he says another word.

“You don’t have to fake concern,” he mutters, taking another drag. “It’s not gonna make the column sound any less curated.”

Your brows knit. “Excuse me?”

He waves a hand toward you, toward the room. “This. All of this. Let’s not pretend this is anything other than you getting your material.”

You shift on your feet, a slow flare of irritation lighting your chest. “What do you think I want from this?”

“I think you care about getting the most interesting version of me. The wounded, brooding performer with something to hide.” His mouth twists into something sharp. “It’s exactly what you wanted to see, right?” His gaze cuts to you, sharp and flat. “Congratulations. You’re getting it.”

Your chest tightens, but you stay still. “You think I want you like this?”

“I think you want truth,” he snaps, tapping the ash into the tray. “And this is it. The version I try to keep under wraps because it doesn’t sell. Because it doesn’t make anyone hard or fall in love.”

You glance at the clock. “Do we still do this today? Or should I come back another time?”

He exhales a long breath, rubs a hand over his jaw. “Let’s get it over with.”

And for the first time since this whole thing began, you see him not as the man who holds all the cards, but as someone who hates being looked at too closely.

The day unfolds in fragments.

Meetings. Scripts. Phone calls. Camera tests.

You follow him like you’re supposed to, your notebook tucked under your arm, phone in your pocket, voice recorder untouched. Seonghwa walks ahead of you like he forgot you were even there, hood still up, sleeves shoved halfway to his elbows, the fraying hem of his sweatshirt twitching with each agitated movement.

The production assistant tries to make a joke as he hands Seonghwa a stack of papers. Seonghwa doesn’t smile.

It’s the little things. The way his knee bounces restlessly beneath the conference table. The way he pinches the bridge of his nose when he thinks no one’s looking. The way he zooms out when no one is talking.

You’re silent, mostly. Observing. But it’s impossible not to feel how much he doesn’t want you here.

Not just today, maybe at all.

When the others clear out of the room for a break, you’re left standing near the window. He lights another cigarette and leans back in his chair, exhaling with all the exhaustion of a man three times his age.

You glance at him. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t look at you. “Do I look okay?”

“No. That’s why I asked.”

He drags in another breath of smoke, eyes fixed somewhere past the window.

You take a step closer. “I’m not here to-”

“To fix anything,” he says, voice quieter now, less bite in it. He finally meets your eyes, and something in his expression softens just enough to hurt. “You’re here to tell a story. I get it.”

“That’s not all I’m doing. That’s not fair.”

He shrugs, more resigned than cold. “It’s not meant to be. It’s just… easier to believe you’re doing your job than actually giving a fuck.”

And it hits you then, he’s not trying to shut you out to be cruel. He’s doing it to keep himself from hoping for something more. You hate that he means it. That he believes it. That somewhere between the tension and the peeling back of layers, he still doesn’t trust you enough to believe you care.

Today’s studio space is colder than the hallway, industrial lights buzzing overhead, metal rigs stacked along the walls, and a makeshift bed propped under the camera setup.

You step in behind Seonghwa, careful not to bump into the maze of cords and crew. It’s eerily quiet for a shoot day. But maybe that’s because everyone’s waiting for him.

He’s in his hoodie, the hood still pulled over his head like armor. Hands in his pockets, spine tense. His steps are heavy, slow. Like walking into this room costs him something. And the moment people notice him, something shifts. Not respect. Not admiration. Something more primal.

“God, look at that,” someone murmurs near the lighting board. “Even with a hoodie on, he looks like sex.”

A grip elbows his buddy. “Bet they have him jack off again. He’s too good at it not to.”

Laughter buzzes through the set like a current. You pretend not to hear.

Seonghwa doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t respond. You watch his expression from the side, blank. Guarded. Not new to this.

The director finally enters, a man in a designer tee and sunglasses indoors, and claps his hands together with a wide, lazy grin. His eyes go straight to Seonghwa.

“There he is! My masterpiece,” he says with a grin. “Fuck, you’re still so fuckable it’s actually unfair. Even with that tired little pout, perfect. Stay like that.” He steps in close, fingers curling under the hem of Seonghwa’s hoodie and lifting it uninvited. “Yeah, we’ll use this for the thumbnail. Boys wanna be you, girls wanna ride you. And the ones in between? They’re paying double. Let’s not waste time on foreplay, you're losing the pants before we hit four minutes anyways.”

You blink. He doesn’t even ask.

“Today’s just a solo,” the director continues, already talking to the crew. “I want long shots of the buildup. Give me that lazy jerk-off style he does. Like he just woke up and couldn’t help himself. And get tight on his abs when he clenches, viewers love that shit. Make the fuckers at home feel like they’re right there, breathing down his neck.“

He turns back to Seonghwa. “Don’t talk. Don’t think. Just stroke it, look hot, moan a little, and come when I tell you.”

The words land with the weight of indifference. Like Seonghwa’s just a prop. A function. A dick and a face with a pulse.

You glance up at him. His jaw is tight. His mouth a flat line. Not angry, no. This isn’t new to him. It’s routine. Expected. A part of the job he doesn’t get to question.

You speak without thinking. “He’s not just a prop.”

That earns you a look. Not just from the director, but Seonghwa too. Something flickers in his eyes, shock, maybe surprise. 

The director barks a laugh. “Relax. Don’t get righteous. It’s the industry, sweetheart. If you don’t like it, you’re in the wrong room.” He walks off before you can respond, barking something about angles and cumshots.

The silence he leaves behind is deafening.

Seonghwa doesn’t move at first. When he finally does, it’s slow, measured. His jaw works, but his voice is low, almost too quiet to hear. “It’s not about what I want,” he says, eyes fixed on the floor. “It never is.” He doesn’t say more. Just shrugs off the hoodie and walks toward the set.

You don’t say a word.

But the director’s yelling grabs attention, half-distracted by his phone.

“Come on, Seonghwa. Slower. Let’s really feel that stroke. Sell it like you mean it.”

He doesn’t flinch, not outwardly.

You watch him slip into the rhythm. One hand curls lightly at the base of his stomach, the other resting behind him. He’s not touching himself, not yet.

He looks like a sculpture: smooth, stunning, perfect, and completely lifeless inside. The charm is gone. The Seonghwa you’ve gotten glimpses of, the one with the bitter laugh and the razor wit, the one who says too much when he’s tired and smokes like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, isn’t here. He’s been replaced by a fantasy. A tool.

And no one seems to care.

“Yeah,” the director says absently, standing near the monitor. “God, your face does most of the work for you, doesn’t it? You could just stand there and they’d still fucking come.”

There’s laughter around the room. Like Seonghwa isn’t even present, like he’s just a prop they’re manipulating.

And it makes your chest ache.

You take a slow breath and step back from the edge of the set. There’s nothing for you to do here. Nothing to say that wouldn’t sound hollow, or patronizing, or worse, just like everyone else who pretends to care while still benefiting from his body.

So you turn and quietly leave the room. The hallway outside feels colder, quieter. You don’t know what you’re allowed to feel in this moment. Anger? Sympathy? Guilt?

You just know you couldn't watch anymore.

Not when he clearly didn’t want you to. Not when the man you came here to understand was being stripped away, piece by piece, until only the image was left.

And that image? That glossy, controlled performance?

That’s what they want. Not him. Not the real him.

And somehow, that realization hurts more than you expected.

The dressing room smells faintly of cologne, latex, and sweat. You sit on the edge of the black bench against the wall when the door opens. The sound is sharp in the stillness, followed by footsteps that slow as they see you.

Seonghwa walks in, his hoodie bunched in one hand, hair damp, jaw clenched. He’s wearing only his sweatpants, his skin still glistening with leftover oil. His expression flickers, not anger, but something edged. Tired. Wary.

He walks past you, heading to the corner where a small fridge hums beside the dressing table. Rows of expensive liquor line the shelves. Vodka, whiskey, soju, even a few overly expensive wine bottles. Every possible way to forget himself sits chilled and ready. But he ignores them all, reaching instead for a plain bottle of water. He drinks slowly, throat moving, his other hand flexing once at his side like he’s holding something in.

"You left." His voice is rough. Not accusing. Just...surprised.

You meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t think that would bother you,” He drops the hoodie onto a chair, drags a towel off a hook and wipes at his face. “You’ve seen me do worse.”

“I didn’t leave because I couldn’t handle the scene,” you say. “I left because you looked like you couldn’t.”

His movements slow. The towel lowers slightly. 

“I’ve seen you do this before. At the studio, with the woman. You were in it. Comfortable. Maybe even enjoying it.”

He scoffs under his breath and turns away, tossing the towel onto the counter. “That was a different day. Different shoot. Different director.”

“Exactly,” you say. “Back then, it looked like a choice. Like you were in control. Today it didn’t.”

He leans both hands on the edge of the counter, shoulders tense. “You know what the difference is?” He looks at you in the mirror, not turning. “That shoot? I liked the director. I liked the setting. I was in the fucking mood. It worked because it came from me. This-” He laughs hollowly, a crack of frustration. “This was someone powerful enough to say do it or get out. Someone I can’t afford to say no to. So, I did it.”

You don’t speak. You let him.

“I wasn’t in the mood. I didn’t want anyone touching me. Didn’t want to fuck, didn’t want to look sexy, didn’t want to perform, but I had to.” He shakes his head. “There are days that feels like a goddamn prison sentence.”

He finally turns, leaning back against the counter now. Arms crossed. His chest rises slowly, like he’s trying not to show how much he said just cost him.

You watch him carefully, the hard edges softening just enough to see the man behind the mask.

“You said you don’t fake it,” you say quietly. “So… what was that?”

He sighs, eyes flicking away before meeting yours again. “Survival,” he admits, voice low but steady. “I love what I do. I’m proud of who I’ve become, what I’ve built from nothing. I own this life. The good, the bad, all of it. But like any job, there are parts you hate. Parts that drain you.” He taps the counter, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “That scene? That was me bending to someone else’s will. I swallowed it because I had to. Because I don’t get to pick every day. And sometimes surviving means doing things you hate, even when you don’t want to.”

The silence stretches between you. Something hangs in the air, too heavy for neither of you to grab.

“No one’s ever walked away before,” he says finally. His voice is lower now. “They usually just...watch. Or enjoy the show.”

Slowly, you rise to your feet, the movement drawing his attention. He lowers his gaze, fingers dragging over his jaw. There's exhaustion etched into his features, but beneath it, something quieter, heavier. Resignation.

“I didn’t come here to feed on the worst version of you,” you say. “I came here to see the real one. That’s not the same thing.”

Seonghwa doesn’t look at you right away. His jaw flexes once. He’s quiet for a beat too long, and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s angry, or maybe, just maybe, it’s because he doesn’t know how to respond.

Then, finally, a dry sound leaves his throat. Almost a laugh.

“Well,” he says softer, glancing over at you again, voice softer, “congrats. You got him.” His gaze sharpens, a little of that old arrogance flickering behind it. “Grumpy. Tired. Mentally undressing people out of sheer boredom. You sure that’s the ‘real’ me you wanted?”

You lift a brow. “If this is you flirting again, it’s deeply depressing.”

He snorts, pushing off the dressing table to pace the small room with slow steps.

“You make it hard not to,” he says. 

There’s something in his walk, looser than before, more relaxed, like some of the tension’s drained from his muscles.

When he speaks again, his voice is lower, more thoughtful. “You know, I usually expect people to want things from me. Attention. A show. Something they can get off to, or write about, or pretend to care about just long enough to take.”

You meet his eyes.

“And what do I want?” you ask.

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” he says, a little smile curling at his lips now. “But it’s starting to piss me off.”

You let out a short laugh. “Good.”

He steps closer.

Not too close. Just enough to tilt the atmosphere again. To remind you of how he carries himself when he’s not being forced to play a role, but when he chooses to.

“Maybe you’re the first one who didn’t want the performance,” he murmurs. “But that means you might actually want me. And that’s… far more dangerous.”

He steps closer. Enough to make you feel like he could cage you.

Your mouth twists. “I can handle dangerous.”

“I know you can,” he says, his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before rising again. “Which is probably why I keep wondering what it’d take to ruin you.”

Your breath catches, just barely. But you recover fast, narrowing your eyes.

“I think you’re forgetting who’s in control here.”

He laughs under his breath. “Oh, I remember. You’ve been trying to control me from day one.”

You smirk. “Trying?”

The air between you charges again, a slow rise of energy you’ve both become addicted to, banter as foreplay, tension as currency.

He leans in just slightly, voice a whisper now. “You keep poking at the beast, sweetheart, and one day it’s gonna bite.”

You don’t back down. You never do. Instead, you tilt your head, eyes bright, tone playful but edged.

“Show me who you are, pornstar.”

And this time, it’s him left watching your back as you leave the room, a slow grin curving at the edge of his mouth.

The day drags on, marked by long meetings, quick walks between sets, and endless discussions about scripts, schedules, and contracts. From the outside, Seonghwa is in professional, his face a carefully guarded mask as he navigates a world that rarely sees past his looks.

But you notice the small things that slip through the cracks.

When a new intern drops a clipboard near him, he crouches without hesitation, helping her gather the pages. “It happens,” he murmurs, flashing a small, crooked smile. She blushes. He doesn’t notice, he’s too focused on making sure the papers aren’t bent.

You see how he checks in with his scene partner when going through an upcoming scene. Not just the “are you okay?” they’re supposed to say, but the quiet, real kind. “Do you want to run through it first?” “Is there a word you don’t like hearing?” “Tell me what makes you feel safe.” His voice never dips into showmanship. He means it.

He holds the boom operator’s ladder while they’re adjusting the rig, just instinct. Offers his hoodie to a grip when the studio AC kicks in too hard. Tells the runner she can take his spot in line for catering because she’s been on her feet all day.

The day’s light was fading as you wrapped up, the set slowly emptying out around you. You felt the weight of the last few days settle in, a strange mix of exhaustion and anticipation. On Monday, this all would be just words on a page, a story told from your view. But tonight, there was still unfinished business. A handful of questions you needed to ask him before publishing on Monday.

He didn’t say much as you left the set together. When you arrived at his apartment, the familiar scent of his space settled around you like a cloak, dark wood, leather, a faint trace of his cologne lingering in the air.

The city outside buzzed faintly, but inside, it was different. More intimate. Raw.

In the kitchen, he opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle. You expect something like whiskey or beer, something to match the rough edges you’ve seen in him, but instead, he grabs a sparkling water and pops the cap with a practiced flick. He drinks without hesitation, eyes locked on the glass.

You watch for a moment. He drinks other things, coffee, energy drinks, soda, but not alcohol. Curious, you finally address it, “You never touch alcohol.”

He exhales slowly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m sober. Used to drink, back when I started all this,” he says, nodding vaguely toward the industry chaos outside. “Made things easier, especially scenes I didn’t want to do. Just numb the brain, let the body do the work. But it didn’t stay easy. Became a problem.”

He shrugs, a little bitter. “Quit cold turkey. Stuck to cigarettes. They don’t fuck with me the way alcohol did.”

You take that in, the weight behind his words settling between you.

He glances up, a spark of that familiar cocky edge in his eyes. “Same deal as last time,” he says quietly. “You get to ask whatever you want, I get to ask you back.”

You hesitate for a beat, then nod, meeting his gaze steadily. “Fair enough.”

The room shifts subtly, the air thickening as you settle on the couch, the glow of the city filtering in through the blinds. He drops onto the couch opposite you, propping an elbow on the armrest and flicking a glance your way that’s half teasing, half challenging. The familiar smirk curling at the corner of his lips, the kind that warns you he’s gearing up to push boundaries.

“So,” he starts, voice low and teasing, “what’s the first thing you want to know? Don’t hold back. You’re not here for small talk.”

You meet his gaze, feeling the heat of it, the sharpness wrapped in that easy confidence. “Alright then,” you say, “what’s the one thing about you that no one’s ever bothered to ask?”

His smirk deepens. “Curious. I like that.” He taps his finger against his chin. “I guess… people never ask what scares me. Everyone’s so obsessed with the surface, nobody wants to know what actually keeps me up at night.”

He leans back in the couch, arm resting casually on the armrest, his gaze locked on you with that familiar cocky glint. “Alright,” he says, voice low and slow like he’s savoring every word. “Your turn to answer. But I’m not asking about your favorite color or some safe, boring shit.” He tilts his head, like he’s about to deliver a verdict. “What’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever imagined me doing to you? Don’t hide it, I know you’ve thought about it.”

Your breath hitches. You want to look away, but his gaze pins you, sharp and relentless. “You don’t know a thing about me,” you say, voice tight but quiet.

“Just admit that I get under your skin.” he pushes.

The air thickens between you, every word a spark, every look a flame. You don’t answer, but the tension says everything.

He tips his head toward you, a slow grin pulling at his lips. “Alright,” he says, voice low and playful. “Speed round. No thinking, just answer.”

You bite back a smirk. “Fine. But same rules for you.”

He raises his hand, palm open in mock surrender. “Deal.” A pause. He leans forward, eyes glinting. “Lights on or off?”

You roll your eyes. “Off.” You don’t hesitate. “What was your first scene like?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Awful. Cheap hotel room, bad lighting, guy behind the camera eating chips the whole time. I hated every second of it, until the money hit.”

You nod, filing it away.

His eyes flicker over you. “Ever had someone make you come so hard you forgot your own name?”

You blink, caught off guard, but you recover quickly. “No.”

He raises a brow. “No?”

You shake your head. “Next question.”

He’s grinning now. “Cold. I like it.”

You tilt your head. “What makes a scene enjoyable for you?”

“Chemistry,” he answers easily. “Real tension. Not just moaning on command.” He doesn’t wait. “Where do you like to be touched first?”

You narrow your eyes. “Really?”

“I’m not here for your journalism,” he says smoothly. “I want the truth.”

You shift in your seat. “Fine. Shoulders, my neck,” You exhale, shifting in your seat. “Rough or slow?”

His gaze darkens just a shade. “Both. Start slow, end ruined.” His eyes glitter as he tilts his head. “When you touched yourself the other night… what did you picture me doing?”

The question hits like a slap, fast, sharp, completely out of nowhere.

You freeze.

It’s just for a second. A breath, a blink. But it’s all he needs.

His smirk blooms, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the flavor of your silence.

“Oh,” he says, voice low and rich. “That’s all the answer I need.”

Your eyes narrow, heart beating faster. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“It was better than one,” he murmurs. “You should see your face right now.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, every line of him tuned in. “So what was it? Me between your thighs? My fingers? My mouth?” He grins. “Or did you watch a video of mine?”

You hate that he’s right. You hate even more how much of this is true. How a few nights ago, in your bed, you had slipped your hand between your thighs with the very image of him in your head, voice, mouth, body, all of it.

And now he’s sitting across from you, as if he knows.

You shift in your seat, your heart beating in your neck, tightening your jaw. “Do you always get off on making people flustered?”

He smiles, utterly unbothered. “Only when they’re pretending they’re not dying to be fucked.”

He doesn’t move at first. Just watches you from across the room, legs spread comfortably on the couch opposite yours, his elbow draped lazily over the armrest like he’s got all the time in the world. 

Then, without a word, he rises.

You don’t track him with your eyes, but you feel it, his slow, easy steps as he walks around the coffee table and then behind your couch. Your breath hitches when you sense him close, the faint scent of his cologne and smoke drifting down as he pauses behind you. You stiffen slightly, unsure of his next move.

And then his fingers touch your shoulders.

His voice comes low beside your ear, thick with promise and filth. “So what was I doing in that pretty little head of yours?”

You inhale sharply, but say nothing.

“Was it my mouth?” he continues, fingertips trailing with maddening gentleness over the curve of your shoulder. “My tongue?”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

His hand pauses, then brushes a little more firmly down your upper arm. “Or were you fucking yourself to a video? The kitchen one, maybe? The way I bend her over the counter and make her beg? That one tends to be a favorite,”

Your legs press together without thinking, and you feel his pause, feel the smirk in it.

“Oh,” he says softly. “So it was a video.”

Behind you, his voice lowers.

“Maybe it wasn’t one of the rough ones,” he murmurs. “Maybe it wasn’t even with a partner. Maybe…” His fingers pause, then brush inwards, tracing just beneath the neckline of your shirt, not quite slipping in, but enough to make your skin tighten. “Maybe it was one of the solo ones from my own bed.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. But the heat climbing up your chest gives you away.

“Those are always my favorites,” he adds, almost conversationally, but there's a layer beneath it, quieter, more real. “No director. No lights. Just me. In my space. Needing something.”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep control, but it’s already slipping. Your thighs press tighter together, and he must know.

He keeps going.

He leans in closer, breath warm against your skin. “Did you watch me stroke myself slow? Did you imagine kneeling between my legs, watching the way my hand moves? Did you-”

A sound escapes you, too soft to be a word, too loud to be ignored.

“Was I good?” he whispers.

Your breathe halters. You scoff, weakly. “You think too highly of yourself.”

He pushes, knowing what this is doing to you. “Did I make you come fast? Or did you take your time, pretending it was my fingers inside you?”

His hands settle gently at your shoulders again, and this time, his thumbs drag over the base of your neck.

“And now I’m right here,” he murmurs. “Right behind you. Talking you through it. Wanting to see when you give in.”

His thumbs sweep in lazy circles over the tops of your shoulders, light enough to keep you aching for more.

“I could make you feel so fucking good right now,” he says, voice silken and low. “You don’t even know.”

You grip the edge of the couch cushion, nails digging in. You still don’t answer. You can’t. Not when your breath is shallow, not when you’re afraid he’ll see just how badly you want it.

He chuckles, not mocking, but knowing.

“I see it in the way you breathe,” he says, “the way your thighs press together when I talk like this. You’re imagining it, aren’t you? Me between your legs. My mouth. My hands. My cock.”

Your entire body tenses, heat pulsing through your core like a current.

“But I’m not touching you yet,” he says, dragging his fingers higher, along the side of your neck this time, slow, reverent. “You want it. But I need you to give it to me. Say the word. Look at me. Move. Something.”

His fingers still, barely resting against your skin.

“I won’t take unless you give,” he murmurs. “But sweetheart, if you do give…” His voice dips, dark and sweet like molasses, “... I’ll ruin you in the best fucking way.”

You stay frozen for half a beat longer, heart thundering, torn between pride and hunger, between control and the deep, unbearable need rising in your chest.

Then, you shift.

Your voice is quiet. Barely above a whisper.

“Then take me.”

And that’s all he needs.

He doesn’t lunge for you. He doesn't devour or drag or tear, no, Seonghwa moves like he’s been waiting years for this, like he knows exactly how to handle something delicate, how to cherish what’s willingly offered. His hands leave your shoulders and slide down your arms, slow and grounding, as he steps around the couch and kneels before you.

His eyes never leave yours.

Your lips part, breath shaky. “I want you.”

And then he kisses you.

Not with aggression, but with intensity, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way you taste, the way your breath catches when he deepens it. His hands press to your thighs, parting them slightly so he can move closer, fitting between them like he belongs there.

You wrap your arms around him, needing him more than you’d ever dare to admit.

His fingers skim beneath the hem of your shirt but don’t push, just touch, warm and open-palmed against your waist, your ribs, your spine.

You let out a moan just from his touch.

He grins against your neck, the cocky bastard, but it’s laced with something deeper, that maddening adoration, the one you’re not ready to look too closely at.

“I’m going to make it better than you imagined,” he says. “I promise you that.”

His tank top clings to his toned muscles, black nail polish catching the light, and that eyebrow piercing, sharp and bold, reminds you exactly who he is. A fucking pornstar. And he owns every part of that.

He doesn’t even look away as he drags down your jeans and they hit the floor. His hands stay on your thighs, spreading them apart like it’s instinct. Confident. Unshakable. His thumbs brush over your inner skin, slow and unhurried, like he’s already memorizing what makes you squirm.

And you do, just a little. Just enough.

“God, you’re so damn easy to read,” he breathes, his fingers trace up, catching at the edge of your panties, not pulling, just letting the pressure build.

One hand stays on your thigh, holding you steady. The other slips beneath the fabric, knuckles dragging slow and hot across your skin. His fingers slide through the slick mess between your legs, and he groans, low, appreciative, like he’s savoring it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough against your skin. “You’re soaked for me. This wet just from my voice, my mouth…” His words brush against your thigh like heat. But it’s his fingers that undo you, two of them buried deep, dragging slow, perfect pressure inside you, curling just right.

You try to hold back the sounds, but you can’t. Not with him looking at you like that. Not with him touching you like this.

“I want to know,” he murmurs, voice dark and steady, eyes locked on yours as his fingers work inside you, steady and relentless. “Which one did you watch?”

You hesitate, jaw tight, breath shaky. His thumb finds your clit again and circles, soft, slow, teasing.

“Was it one of the rough ones?” he continues, cocking his head. 

You shake your head. Your voice barely escapes you, breathless and shame-warm. “It was… one of the solo ones.”

He stills for just a second. “Yeah?,” he breathes, pushing deeper, harder. “You watched me touch myself? Stroke my cock for the camera like I was thinking of someone like you?” He groans, fucking you slow with his fingers. “Was that it?”

His fingers slip out of you only long enough to hook into your panties, tugging them down in one smooth motion. He doesn’t rush it. He watches every inch of your skin as he reveals it, his eyes hot, hungry, reverent.

When they’re off, he drops them to the floor without a second thought, gaze trailing up the inside of your thighs like a promise. 

“Tell me what you liked about it,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh. “That video. Tell me what made you soak your sheets. Was I dirty enough? Rough? Did you picture me fucking you slow, or fast and ruthless?”

You hesitate, but his mouth moves higher, a wet kiss just beside your center, and your hips twitch.

He smiles against your skin. “Come on. You watched me stroke my cock in that bed, didn’t you? The way I moaned, the way I whispered filthy shit to the camera like I knew someone like you was watching.” His tongue traces a line slowly up your thigh. “You fucking loved it.”

Your voice cracks. “You… looked so good. The way you touched yourself. Slow. Like you weren’t in a rush. Like you really felt it.”

He groans, soft and deep. “I did feel it, baby. I was thinking of a mouth like yours. Of a pussy just like this…” He leans in and presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your clit. You gasp, thighs jumping. “And now I get to taste you for real.”

He doesn’t wait.

His mouth is there, tongue dragging firm and slow over your clit like he’s claiming it, sucking it between his lips with a low growl that vibrates right through you.

You arch up, one hand flying to his hair, the other gripping the couch, already unraveling.

“Tell me more,” he murmurs against you. “What made you come?”

You can barely breathe. “When you-” Your hips jerk as he flicks his tongue again. “When you moaned. The way your eyes looked when you came. Like… like you needed it.”

He moans in response, mouth working deeper now, and slides two fingers into you again, curling them just right.

“Yeah? You like seeing me lose it?” he groans. “Wanna see it again, real and messy? Feel it instead of watching it?”

You nod, desperate, hips grinding against his mouth, chasing his tongue. He laughs softly, dark and full of heat. “You’re so fucking responsive. That’s my favorite kind of girl, one who can’t fake it, can’t hide it.”

His fingers work with unrelenting precision, pornstar skill, yes, but this is personal. Focused. For you. 

He eats you like it’s his favorite meal. His mouth and fingers work in perfect rhythm, slow at first, then faster when your moans rise. He pulls you to the edge and keeps you there, not letting up, not letting go, until-

You shatter.

It rips through you like lightning, your moan breaking out loud and needy, hips bucking, thighs clenching around his head. He holds you through it, groaning into your pussy like your orgasm is everything he’s ever wanted.

You’re still trying to catch your breath, thighs trembling, body slack against the couch when he rises up from between your legs.

He looks wrecked, in the most beautiful way. Lips wet, hair mussed from your hands, chest rising and falling beneath that goddamn tank top that clings to him like a second skin. His eyes never leave yours, dark and full of something primal.

“You taste fucking amazing,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss you, deep, tongue slipping into your mouth, making sure you feel how filthy he is. How much he wants more.

You kiss him back, instinctive now, desperate and starved, the lingering taste of yourself on his tongue only turning you on more.

He pulls back just enough to tug his tank top over his head and toss it aside. His body is ridiculous. Toned, cut, a living ad for sin.

He unbuttons his pants, unzips, and pulls them down, revealing hard thighs and that heavy bulge beneath his briefs. You can’t help the way your eyes lock there, at the thick outline of him, the part of him you’ve seen in clips, in curated fantasies, shadows of it from across a room, but never this close, never this real.

He smirks, catches your gaze. “Want to see what you touched yourself to?”

Your throat dries. You nod slowly.

He pushes his briefs down, cock springing free, thick, veined, flushed, already hard and leaking at the tip. Bigger than you remembered. Even more intimidating in person. Even more fucking perfect.

He wraps a hand around himself, stroking once, slowly, eyes locked on yours the entire time. 

“This what you watched?” he murmurs. “Me in my bed, stroking it slow, saying your name without even knowing it?”

You nod again, breathless.

You stay right where you are, seated on the edge of the couch, looking up at him, and he looks fucking godlike. His cock is thick and hard, and he’s looking at you like he’s about to ruin you all over again.

You reach for him, wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, thick and warm and pulsing in your hand, and the sound he makes is low, choked, like he wasn’t expecting how good it would feel already. His head falls back for just a second as you stroke him, your thumb brushing over the bead of pre-cum at the tip.

You lean in and lick a slow stripe up the underside of him, from base to tip, your tongue flat and teasing. His thighs flex, hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I watched you do this,” you whisper, licking your lips. “In that solo video. In your bed. Your hand wrapped around your cock just like this.”

His thumb wipes the mess from your bottom lip, but there’s nothing gentle about it now. There’s a fire behind his eyes, hunger sharpened into something rough, possessive.

“Open,” he says, and it’s not a request.

You do.

He slides his cock back between your lips, his hand finds the back of your head, threading through your hair, not rough, but firm. Grounding.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, breath hitching. “Relax your throat. Breathe through your nose. Just let me in.”

You focus on your breath. Inhale, exhale. You relax your jaw, tongue flat, letting him take up space, letting him show you how.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Fuck, yeah. Just like that.”

This time, when he pushes deeper, it’s smoother. Less panic, more control. Your body adjusts. Your mouth opens wider for him, your throat yielding, and it feels good. Powerful, even.

He groans, deep in his chest. “You feel that? That little click when it goes in deeper? That’s your throat giving up. That’s perfect, sweetheart.”

You hum around him, and he shudders.

“God, look at you. Taking me so fucking well. You learn fast.”

His praise makes your stomach twist, heat pooling low. Your eyes flutter up to meet his, wet and wide, and the look on his face, awe, hunger, something almost reverent, makes you want to show off.

You press forward on your own this time, let him slip fully into your throat.

He hisses, hips jerking.

“Fuck. Good girl. That’s it-, fuck, that’s it.”

His free hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking along your jaw, watching every twitch of your expression like it’s art. Like you’re art.

He’s fucking your face now.

Your nails dig into his thighs, eyes locked on his, and he can see it. The want. The ache. You need this. You need him. He pulls out slowly, finally, letting you gasp for air, spit trailing from your lip to his cock. Your eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, mouth red and swollen, and you’ve never felt more ruined, or more alive.

His hand stays on your jaw, tilting your face up to him.

“You still with me, sweetheart?”

You nod, breathing hard, voice wrecked. “More.”

That word? It’s all he needs.

He grips your jaw, your throat sore, spit clinging to your lips and chin. Your eyes are glassy, lashes wet, cheeks flushed from being fucked so deep, so hard, and he can’t take it.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, staring at you like he’s ready to devour you. “You don’t even know what you look like right now.”

Your lips part like you might try to answer, but he doesn’t let you. He hauls you to your feet with one firm pull, fingers still tangled in your hair, and crashes his mouth onto yours.

It’s not soft.

It’s not sweet.

It’s desperate.

He kisses you like he owns your breath, like he needs to taste himself on your tongue, like the filthy mess you’ve become under his hands only makes him hungrier.

When he finally pulls back, his thumb wipes at the trail of spit along your cheek, slow and deliberate.

Without a word, he turns and drops into the black armchair behind him, legs spread, cock flushed and heavy, glistening with your spit. His fingers curl in a come here motion as he leans back, one brow lifted.

“Come sit, sweetheart,” he says, voice like smoke and sin. “I want to see everything.”

You hesitate, just a second. Enough for his grin to deepen.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he murmurs. “You’ve already had me fuck your mouth. Be a good girl and let me fill you up.”

Your pulse stutters, but your body moves on instinct. You slide into his lap, thighs spread wide, and his hands are instantly on you, firm on your hips, anchoring you in place. He’s so fucking hard beneath you, the thick weight of him resting right where you need it.

“Look at you,” he says, gaze locked on yours. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. And you’re all mine right now.”

You shift slightly, the friction making you gasp, and his hands tighten. 

“I want you to ride me,” he says, voice low, like a promise. “Right here. Just like this. I want to feel all of you.”

He’s a pornstar, yes. But right now, with you, he’s so much more, an expert, a predator, a lover who knows every move to make you unravel.

Your hands grip his shoulders, grounding yourself. His hands slide up your thighs, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin near your hips before he reaches between you both and takes his cock in hand. He doesn’t rush, just rubs the head slowly through your folds, coating himself in your wetness.

“God, you’re soaked,” he groans. “You want me to fuck you, baby? Want me to fill that tight little pussy?”

You barely manage a breathy, “Yes.”

He lines himself up and you sink down slowly, inch by inch, the stretch making your eyes flutter shut, your breath catch. He’s thick, hot, perfect, and when he’s fully seated inside you, the moan you let out is unfiltered, broken.

His head falls back against the chair, jaw clenched. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s how you take cock, baby. Just like that.”

You’re start bounce your hips, both of you breathless, sweat clinging to skin, when Seonghwa leans forward and fists the hem of your top.

“Off,” he growls against your neck, voice low and ragged. “I want to see all of you.”

He peels the fabric up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him without breaking eye contact. His gaze drops to your bare chest, and for a moment, just a moment, he laughs, low and rich, like you're too unreal to fathom. His tongue flicks over your nipple and you arch into him, hands tangled in his hair.

His hand slides up to your throat, not tight, just there, possessive, grounding, as his other arm wraps around your back, pulling you in tighter. He kisses you again, tongue claiming yours, messy and hot and hungry.

Then he shifts, just slightly, one hand sliding between your bodies, his fingers curling around your hips.

“Here,” he says, voice low and firm. “Tilt forward a little. Right there, now roll your hips when I fuck into you. Not just up and down, roll. You’ll feel it hit deeper.”

You do as he says, and the second your hips adjust, your breath catches. Fuck. It’s like the angle unlocks something, you feel him right against that spot inside you, that sharp, aching pressure that steals the words from your mouth.

“Oh-, oh my god-”

“There you go,” he groans, watching your face twist. “That’s it. You feel that now?”

You nod frantically, nails digging into his shoulders as you start to move, slow, rolling circles, grinding down as he thrusts up, every inch of him dragging right over that spot he told you to find.

His mouth finds your jaw, your ear. “Fucking knew you’d be good at this,” he breathes. “Smart girl. Feel how deep I am now? That’s all you. That’s you fucking yourself on my cock, just like I told you.”

You moan, loud and raw, body starting to tremble.

Suddenly, he shifts under you, standing in one fluid motion with your legs still wrapped around him, his arms securing you like you weigh nothing. You cling to him instinctively, arms around his neck, heart thudding like a war drum against your ribs.

He carries you through the dim hallway, but his eyes, his eyes are locked on you the whole way, like he doesn’t dare blink.

When he steps into the bedroom, it hits you.

The layout. The red lighting. The exact angle of the bed. The nightstand where the camera had been.

This is where he filmed it.

Your breath stutters, and he feels it. He knows.

His mouth curves, not quite a smile. More like something darker. “You recognize it.”

Before you can even say anything, he throws you down on the mattress, already dragging your legs apart, standing by the edge, looking down at you like he owns the whole fucking room. Like he owns you.

“You watched me stroke my cock on this bed? Come right here?” he asks, glancing down at the sheets beneath you.

You nod slowly, breath shallow.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, voice dark with promise, “Let’s make it fair.”

His hand moves between your thighs again, fingers spreading you open with no hesitation. His gaze flicks down, then back to your face, hungry.

And before you can ask what he means, he spits.

A slow, deliberate string lands between your legs, hitting right where you’re already dripping for him. He watches it drip, then reaches down to smear it in with two fingers, slow, messy circles that make your hips jerk.

He strokes himself lazily with his other hand, the head flushed and slick as he guides it up against your entrance again, but doesn’t push in.

“Now you’re getting the exclusive.” His smirk is wicked. “First-hand experience.”

And with no more warning, he pushes in, slow, deep, endless, his hips staying flush to yours as he lets you feel all of it. No rush. No mercy.

The stretch makes your spine arch, legs trembling where they dangle off the edge of the bed.

His hands grip your thighs, keeping you wide open, keeping you in place. His hips draw back just enough to make you whimper, then slam back in, harder this time.

You cry out, unfiltered, aching, and his mouth curves up. Another thrust, deeper. Your hands claw at the sheets.

“God-”

“No, baby.” His voice drops, taunting. “Say it right.”

You meet his eyes, panting. “Seonghwa.”

“Mmm,” he groans like it feeds him. “That’s better.”

You yelp, a high, broken sound, and he only grins, dragging your legs up to rest over his shoulders without warning.

“Fuck, look at you,” he pants, the shift angling him deeper, harder, like he’s trying to reach the part of you no one else has ever touched. His hips pound into you in a relentless rhythm, practiced, ruthless, like every stroke is calculated to make your body obey him.

“Fuck-, Seonghwa-”

“Bet no one’s ever fucked you like this. Bet no one’s ever earned it like I have.”

You shake your head, breathless. “N-No-, never-”

Seonghwa keeps his grip locked around your thighs, holding your legs over his shoulders, your body folded perfectly for him. His thrusts stay deep and steady, measured, intentional, devastating.

“Please-, please don’t stop-” you gasp, nails digging into the sheets. “You feel so good-, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” he hisses, thrusting harder now. “You’re gonna take all of it, sweetheart. You’re gonna come again with me standing right here, fucking you like no one ever has.”

The bed creaks beneath you. His grip is bruising now, one hand sliding to your waist to hold you still as he picks up speed, hips slapping against you with ruthless precision.

Your body’s not just close, it’s on the edge, tipping over.

“Good girl,” he murmurs darkly. “Now cum on this cock. Let me feel it. Let me fucking have it.”

Your back arches, your body convulsing as you fall apart again, crying out his name like it’s the only word you know. Your walls clamp down around him, wet and tight and perfect, and he groans deep from his chest, like your pleasure physically wrecks him.

He doesn't slow. Doesn't stop.

"Where do you want it, baby?" he pants, voice low, urgent, dangerous. "Tell me where I can come."

You barely manage to speak, voice wrecked and raw with need. “Inside,” you breathe. “Please-, want it in me.”

His eyes flare. That’s all it takes.

“Fuck,” he snarls, grip tightening on your thighs as he buries himself to the hilt, hard and deep. His pace turns brutal, hips snapping forward with mindless hunger. “You want me to fill you up? Want me to stuff you full like a good girl?”

“Yes-, yes, Seonghwa-, please, give it to me-”

He lets out a desperate, broken sound, then his whole body seizes, cock pulsing deep inside you as he spills everything, hot and thick and endless, painting your walls with every last drop. His head hangs forward, jaw clenched, muscles flexed with the effort of holding himself up.

He stays inside for a beat. Just breathing.

Then he pulls out slowly, carefully, still watching you, and watches as his cum spills out of you, slow and messy, dribbling down your skin and pooling on the sheets beneath.

His fingers drift to your inner thigh, spreading you wider, watching more of it leak from your swollen entrance.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Look at that.”

Then, without hesitation, his fingers press inside you again, pushing gently but firmly to shove back every last drop he can.

“Can’t let any of this go to waste,” he growls, possessive and rough.

You shiver at how desperate and controlling he sounds, but beneath that rough edge, there’s a strange reverence in his touch, like he’s worshipping the mark he’s left on you.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, coated with his warmth, and lifts them to your lips, eyes never leaving your flushed, gasping face. You open for him, trembling, sucking his fingers wet and slow, tasting both of you on his fingers. He watches with that smug, greedy smile, like he’s already claiming you completely.

He leans down, lips pressing against yours in a slow, soft kiss that melts away the sharp edges of the moment. His hands cup your flushed cheeks, thumb tracing gentle circles as if grounding you back to the here and now.

He stands up, flexing his shoulders, and walks over to the mini fridge near the dressing table. You hear the familiar click-hiss of a water bottle cap twisting. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low and rough from everything, “take your time. No rush.”

He walks back to you, places the bottle into your hand, and taps your fingers lightly until you hold it.

“Drink,” he says. “You’ll thank me in twenty minutes.”

You take it, but your fingers are still trembling. Whether from the rush or the way he’s looking at you now, you can’t quite tell.

“Dizzy?” he asks, settling onto the bed next to you. Not touching, just close enough that his warmth bleeds into your skin.

“A little,” you admit.

“That happens,” he says, voice lower now, gentler. “You came hard, probably held your breath. Let your body level out. You’ll be okay. I’m right here.” He reaches up, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his eyes warm and steady.

There’s a pause. You take a sip of water.

“I didn’t expect you to be so...” You search for the word, then settle on it. “Attentive.”

He raises a brow, something amused flickering in his eyes. “You thought I just fuck and leave?”

“No. I just...” You shrug. “Didn’t think the guy who made that video would also bring me water. Be so soft after.”

“It’s not softness. It’s responsibility.” He smiles, a small, tender curve of his mouth that reaches his eyes. “I’m not just the guy in the video, you know. I don’t just show up, take what I want, and disappear.” His voice is steady, warm.

“They don't show this part in the videos. I thought it was different,” you whisper.

He shakes his head gently, as if it’s the simplest truth. “It’s not about being different. It’s about respect. About care. You deserve that."

He leans forward, brushing your hair off your forehead with a gentle touch, like he can’t stop touching you.

“And besides,” he adds, his voice dipping again, “you didn’t just watch the video. You liked it.” His thumb lingers at your temple. “You deserve to be taken care of after finally getting what you wanted.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

As you sip you water again, he grabs a towel from the dresser, and gently parts your legs again. His touch is slower now, deliberate, but no less confident. He wipes you down with care, checking your reaction with every motion, watching for discomfort.

He catches your gaze once, smirking at whatever expression you’re making. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, teasing. “You’re the one who wanted it inside.”

You let out a weak sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

His fingers press a little more firmly at your thigh, not sexual, just grounding. “Still with me?”

You nod.

“Good,” he murmurs, and leans in to place a kiss just above your knee. Then another on your hip. Then your stomach. Not tender, possessive. A little filthy, like a promise that he could do it all over again if you weren’t trembling already.

He pulls the blanket up, not too high, just enough to cover the heat cooling on your skin. He settles beside you, moving slowly like he’s careful not to jostle you. His arm comes over your waist, pulling you in gently, not possessive, not demanding. Just there. Anchoring. And the moment you let your head rest against his chest, he exhales like he’s been waiting for you to do that.

His fingers wander lightly over your skin, warm and steady, drawing lazy circles against your hipbone, then trailing up the line of your side. Over and over, same rhythm. Like he’s reminding your body that it’s safe now. That he’s still here.

You’re still flushed, still a little dazed, but he watches you like he’s tracking every breath. Not because he’s worried, but because he knows exactly what this moment means. This part. The calm after the wreckage. 

“You okay?” he asks, tone softer now. Not teasing.

You nod, your cheek pressed to his chest. “Mhm. More than okay.”

He hums, pleased. “Didn’t expect you to let go like that,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your shoulder without thinking. “You surprise me.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Not sure that’s a compliment.”

“Oh, it is.” His mouth quirks at the edge, and he kisses the same spot again, just because he can. “You were good. So fucking good.”

You glance up at him, the daze still clinging to your lashes. Then, after a long beat, he smirks, voice dipping again into that familiar cocky charm.

“Responsive. Loud. The camera would love you.”

“Don’t get ideas,” you murmur, but you’re smiling, eyes closed now.

“Too late.”

And before you can roll your eyes or protest, he leans in again, presses a final kiss to your bare shoulder, and settles back, satisfied, smug, and still entirely himself.

***

Monday morning light filters softly through your window as you sit at your desk, fingers poised above the keyboard. The weekend had slipped away in a blur, days spent pouring over notes, replaying moments, shaping words into something honest.

Your column isn’t about the headlines, the shock factor, or the rumors swirling around Park Seonghwa. It’s about the man beneath the surface, the one who’s more than just a pornstar or a carefully crafted persona.

You write about his quiet moments, the way he listens, how he’s sharp and cocky but never cruel. You describe how his confidence is real, born from years of experience and knowing exactly who he is, not just the image he projects.

There’s a paragraph about his past struggles, how he battled his own demons, found sobriety, and reclaimed control over his life, a story of resilience rarely told in the industry he dominates.

You reflect on the subtle ways he cares, the small, almost invisible acts of kindness and attention he offers to those around him. How his cocky charm is layered with vulnerability, even if he’s the first to hide it.

With a slow breath, you hit send. The column goes live.

You feel a strange mix of relief and anticipation, this is more than just a story. It’s a reckoning, a quiet unveiling of someone you’ve come to know in ways no one else has.

The day passes at the office, and before you know it, it’s afternoon.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and push through the office doors, stepping into the late afternoon light. You start walking away from the building, the click of your heels echoing on the sidewalk. The buzz of the street pulls at you, but then, unexpectedly, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Hey.”

You stop and glance over your shoulder. There he is, Seonghwa, leaning casually against the brick wall a few steps away. Black tank top, black pants, eyebrow piercing catching the light, and that wicked, confident smirk you know so well.

You try to hide the quickening of your heart.

“Hey” You raise an eyebrow, trying not to react. “You following me now?”

He pushes off the wall with a lazy kind of grace, hands in his pockets as he strolls toward you. “Would you be mad if I said yes?”

“I’d be impressed you admitted it.”

He chuckles, stopping in front of you, close, but not too close. “I read your column.”

Your heart skips, but you keep your tone cool. “Oh? Didn’t peg you as the literary type.”

His voice drops, amused. “Let’s see…” He pulls out his phone and taps the screen. “‘Park Seonghwa is more than what meets the eye,’” he begins, voice low and teasing. “‘Behind the piercing gaze and confident smirk is a man who understands what it means to be seen, truly seen, beyond the surface.’” He looks up, smirk widening. “That almost sounded sincere.”

“I have my moments.”

His smirk deepens. “And here I thought you just tolerated me.” He scrolls a little more, then reads with a wicked grin, “‘And maybe, that’s what makes him not just the best in his field, but someone impossible to forget.’”. He looks up at you. “Now I know that wasn’t for the readers.”

You flush slightly but play it off. “Believe it or not, I write for an audience. Not for your ego.”

He leans in just a little closer, eyes glinting with amusement. “Guess I’m not as bad as you thought, huh?”

You shrug, fighting a smile. “Maybe.”

That’s when he moves.

Slow, like he knows exactly how to set you off. He steps in, close enough that you have to tilt your chin slightly to keep eye contact. One hand comes up, fingertips skimming along your jaw, then drifting down the side of your neck. Light. Barely there. But very, very intentional.

His voice drops, velvet-soft. “So tell me this…” His thumb brushes under your jaw, coaxing your chin up just a touch. “Who’d you really write it for?”

You meet his gaze, lips twitching. “My editor.”

That smirk of his sharpens. “Mm. Liar.”

He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, lips hovering over yours. His hand cups your jaw, thumb tracing your cheek as if daring you to close the gap between you.

“Don’t think this is the end of the story, though. I like where this is headed,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with promise.

You don’t hesitate. Your confidence hums beneath your skin as you step forward, closing the last fraction of space. Your hand presses firmly against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

Leaning in, your lips brush just along the curve of his ear, a breathy, teasing whisper that drips with cocky challenge.

“Then keep up, pornstar.”

His breath catches, just for a second.

You pull back with a wicked smile, tapping his chest once before turning on your heel and strolling off like he didn’t just get flipped on his own script.

You don’t look back.

But you feel his stare, burning, amused, and turned on as hell.

And behind you, Seonghwa watches with a smirk tugging at his lips, eyes glued to your retreating figure.

Yeah. The story’s just getting good.

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[arabelleum]

[arabelleum]

House Husband | Park Seonghwa x Reader

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

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

PAIRING: Android!Seonghwa x Fem!Reader

GENRE: Sci-fi/Fantasy, Romance, Angst

WORD COUNT: 17.2k

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

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

All you'd wanted was a personal assistant.

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

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

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

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

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

You were... unhappy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All you could do was watch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you had Seonghwa to thank for it all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You spoke before you could take it back.

"Okay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Probably both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay," you breathed.

And that was enough for him to let loose.

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

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

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

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

Your inhale was heavy. "Seonghwa--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then again, you were already losing it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swore his eyes darkened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To your disappointment, his brows furrowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For San," she added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the androids were faster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mom, Dad," your sister addressed your parents as she scanned their faces for their reactions. "I'm so sorry to do that tonight, of all nights. I just thought the time was right. I was done being the victim."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I wanted to--"

"Can I ask you something?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you fell apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The way I see it, there's no way to truly know, I suppose. But what matters to me is what about it bothers you so much. Do you feel like if any of those possibilities happened--If our relationship was illegal--If I was decommissioned--Would you feel like you wasted your time? Would you regret being with me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes flew wide before fluttering into a haze even foggier than before. You let your tongue dance around his thumb, languidly swiping up the finger pad. His voice was tight as he clarified, "The way I'd give up every part of me to stay by your side."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded.

"On your knees, then."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you whined in response, high and nasally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you ready, love?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a knock at the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's going on?" she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello, who will I be attending?"

You curled over his body and sobbed.

[arabelleum]

Does it hurt ur feelings when someone calls u cringy and all that shit

There was this one time when I was like 13, when I was in a crowded train and a drunk adult man started trying to flirt with me, when my father was sitting right next to me and did nothing. Like his elbow was touching my elbow on the shared armrest and he just sat there, staring out of the window, acting like he didn't have anything to do with me. I was so embarrassed about not knowing what I was supposed to do or say to make this man go away that I didn't tell anybody about this for fifteen years, when I realised that hold on, my father was literally right there. He was the one who should have done or said something to make this man go away.

When I, as an adult, told my mother about the incident, she just casually shrugged and said "maybe he just didn't notice", in a tone implying that it would have been my responsibility to instruct my father to act like a father is supposed to and to protect his damn child. The fact that it had not occurred to me to turn to my father for help or safety and ask him to act like a parent was on me. She said that I had always been like that, one could never know what exactly it was that I actually wanted or needed at any given time.

So, just to clarify whether I heard heard and understood her right, I asked my mother: "So are you saying that in order to have a better childhood, I should have simply been a better child?"

And she said: "Oh, no. You weren't a bad child. You just didn't know how to communicate clearly."

There's jack fucking shit that a stranger could say on the internet to hurt my feelings on purpose than my family could by the things they'd say casually without thinking even once.

[arabelleum]

lemon-aide | p. seonghwa

ᯓ☘︎ ݁˖ | synopsis: Girl next door helps her favorite nine-year-old CEO run a lemonade stand. Accidentally seduces the CEO’s hot older brother in the process. There’s glitter, emotional repression, and a very judgmental poodle.

ᯓ☘︎ ݁˖ | warnings: smut (unprotected. don't do this kids). Seonghwa has a little sister with a huge age gap between him and his sister (made up character) and she's a COCK BLOCK!!!! fingering. Oral (m receiving)

ᯓ☘︎ ݁˖ | genre: fluff, smut

ᯓ☘︎ ݁˖ | pairing: seonghwa X fem reader (referred lightly as a girl, and has female biological organs).

ᯓ☘︎ ݁˖ | wc: 8.5k

ᯓ☘︎ ݁˖ | a/n: written in < 3 days out of pure horniness and desperation oopsi I WAS LOCKED TF INNN no beta we die like men (when have I ever beta read my fics lmao). Also my first ever formal hwa fic! it should have been reverse Isekai months ago but I abandoned it lmao i should stop writing about hwa only and write for other members but it's hard because I like him so much. Anyway can you believe in order to avoid writing one fic I wrote three drabbles and TWO full fics? Insane. I can't wait for lemon drop. Morse code scene inspired from Taylor Swift but make it Morse code instead of signs and sorry if it's incorrect I used Google and whatever their first reccomended website it. I don't even know where the plot was going lmfao. I should really write for other members, wdyt of an ai san or ai yunho? Like they're human but not quite. Yeah I'll stfu now (might write a spin off with foodplay if anyone's interested...)

Idk what the plot is even but fuck it we ball

playlist: wave — ateez. smart — lesserafim. Sticky — KIOF. nonstop — oh my girl. hypeboy — nwjns.

i.

Pop quiz time: what do you do when your cute next door neighbour comes to help his adorable little sister sell lemonades during summer break?

a.) offer some help

b.) become a loyal customer (support local businesses)

c.) fuck said cute neighbour (the brother, not the sister Jesus fucking Christ)

Correct answer: all of the above.

It all started when Sora, the next door little angel that sometimes come to visit because her parents left your parents to babysit her when they're busy (terrible idea, heh) decided that for summer, she's going to be making a lemonade stand.

Now you're familiar with Sora— She's an adorable nine year old with rose tinted glasses and probably the human personification of a damn coil the way she bounces every second. Sometimes she comes to visit when you're on break from school, and spending time with her is always fun.

The person you're not familiar with however, is her older brother— Seonghwa. From what you know, he's around your age but went to a university overseas so he isn't home much. You've exchanged a few polite nods with him, nothing much. One thing for sure though, he's damn fine. High cheekbones, high nose bridge, sultry eyes and plump lips. Ever since the Park family moved next door three years ago, you've been interested in him. Alas, your efforts to get to know said fine shit is cut short for obvious reasons (cough him moving overseas cough).

So being the damn angel you are, when walking your dog Sparkles (the damn poodle won't stop barking at nonexistent squirrels and you swear to God she's probably possessed) and spotting a small booth with a cardboard sign, the words “LEMONADE” scribbled with a black marker you decided to saunter over. Sora perks up upon seeing you and she immediately sits up straighter.

“seven dollars for one cup, Sora?” You comment upon seeing the price taped to a jug full of lemonade on the stand. “Recession” she hums “mummy said I won't make much if I sell it for five, but I'll sell it to you for five. Just don't tell anyone” she beams. “Do you want one?”

Before you could even respond, a voice came from behind Sora. You didn't even notice Seonghwa was hauling another jug of lemonade until he grunts. “Oh. Hi.” You greet him and he flashes you a smile “You're the next door girl right? Mom told me all about you and how kind you are to Sora. Thanks for taking care of her” he smiles, plump lips stretching to the side to reveal pearly white teeth. “No problem, Sora is an angel” you smile at Seonghwa as Sora pours you a cup and you lean in to sip it.

You flinched immediately— the damn thing tasted like battery acid. But nevertheless, you held it in and smiled at them both. You'll never say to Sora’s face how her lemonade is less preferable than toilet cleaner.

“Mm! Got a unique taste to it” you gave a commercially fake smile towards Sora who, bless her, believed it. She beamed. You don't exactly believe in lying to kids, but you don't want to be the one to break to her that her lemonade tasted like shit. Seonghwa however, gave you a pitiful smile as you handed Sora a crisp five dollar bill and left (because Sparkles was barking at nothing again and tugging on the leash). You pray that no one suffers food poisoning from this.

It rained that night— More than a rain, actually. It was a storm. Wind was howling like an abandoned lover, as rain poured mercilessly from the sky. You were unbothered, snuggling with Sparkles in bed as you binge watched another season of The Resident.

The aftermath of said thunderstorm however, was no joke. Apparently Sora forgot to put her lemonade stand in yesterday after poisoning five aunties who were talking their dogs on a walk and approximately four other kids with her battery acid, er— lemonade. It was early in the morning, cold dew kissing the air as you tugged gently on the leash to ensure Sparkles isn't doing weird any weird shit when you see what mark the storm left on Sora’s little cardboard box sign.

Glitter was running, soggy cardboard, and smudged letters. You stood there, mouth agape when the front door clicks open and Sora appears. A small gasp left her mouth as she saw what happened last night, her bottom lip quivered as she stormed back inside. Not long after, Seonghwa showed up. A plastic bag in his hand as he shook his head.

“I told her I'd help her haul the entire thing in yesterday. But she refuses, said she'd like to start selling first thing today.” He sighs while picking up the soggy cardboard and placing it inside the plastic bag, “she's really sensitive about the things she works hard on” he grunts as he hauls the bag on his back. “Been talking bout this all week long, refused any help, said that she will raise so much money for the animal shelter down the road.”

You didn't know what to say, so the both of you just stood there for a while. Not saying anything. You don't even remember what happened afterwards until you find yourself taking the leash off of Sparkles inside your house. The old dog just shakes off the feeling of the leash before scurrying towards his water bowl.

ii.

Hours later, you're on your bed. Absentmindedly thinking about Sora and her lemonade project. Your eyes trail to the window— Seonghwa’s room is right in front of yours. Most of the time it's empty, safe for the rare occasions there are guests staying over or he comes home. That's when you got an idea.

You grab a rolled-up sock from your bed and lob it toward the window across from yours.

It thuds against glass with a soft, pathetic thump. Seonghwa’s curtain twitches, then opens. He appears seconds later, shirtless (god bless), confused, blinking into the orange of the sunset like you summoned him from a nap. “Did you just throw something at my window?” You point. “Help me remake the lemonade stand.”

He stares. “You threw a sock at me for this?”

You shrug. “All my rocks are outside.”

There’s a pause. He tilts his head, amused. “Sora doesn’t want help. That’s kinda the problem. If she had let us help earlier, it wouldn’t have fallen apart like it did.”

“I know.” You pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them. “But maybe she needs to learn that asking for help isn’t a failure. That it's okay.” Seonghwa leans on the windowsill. “You really care about her, huh?”

“She’s nine. Of course I do.”

Another pause. He disappears. You think he left. But two minutes later, your doorbell rings. He’s holding a notebook, a pencil behind his ear, and a tape measure. “Okay,” he says, stepping in like it’s his house. “Cart or booth? Wood or cardboard? If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” You blink. “You’re just gonna barge in?” as he walks past. “You threw a sock at my head,” he deadpans, settling beside you on the floor. “We’re way past boundaries.”

You end up clearing your floor, dragging a rug aside so you can both sit cross-legged with a pencil and pad between you. Seonghwa sketches while you ramble. “Something with wheels, right? So Sora can push it. Not too heavy. Maybe with a little shelf for cookies.” He hums, focused, nodding slowly. “You think we can repurpose the bike wheels in our garage?” You blink. “You just have bike wheels lying around?” “We’re hoarders,” he says plainly, then glances at you. “But the good kind. Useful hoarders.”

By midnight, you’ve got a design. A narrow wooden cart with two big wheels in the back and a single rotating caster in the front. He says he’ll handle the frame if you take care of painting and decoration. “You’re the aesthetics department.” You point a finger at him. “And you’re the structural engineering team.” He grins. “Damn right.”

The next morning, you’re in his garage, hair tied up, covered in sawdust while he cuts planks of wood with a circular saw. You’re in charge of measuring and marking. Occasionally he looks up and murmurs things like, “Be careful,” or “You’re holding that wrong,” before gently adjusting your grip. Every time his fingers brush yours, your brain shorts out just a little. He doesn’t even notice. Or maybe he does and he’s pretending not to. You can’t tell.

He makes a dumb pun about plywood (??? Why) and you groan so hard your soul leaves your body. “Why am I helping you again?” you mutter, sanding down a wheel bracket. “Because you love Sora,” he says smoothly, reaching for the drill. “And maybe me, a little.” You freeze. He smirks. “Kidding.” You laugh too loud, awkward, trying to play it off while your face burns.

When the frame is finally done, you bring over paints and glitter from your room. You spread a tarp out on the grass and start painting together—light yellow with white trim, sun shapes and lemon doodles on the sides. You go overboard with the glitter. Seonghwa says nothing but quietly paints a lemon with sunglasses on the back panel and names it “CEO Sora.” You nearly die laughing.

At some point, music’s playing from your speaker, a playlist you forgot was queued. It’s soft indie stuff, background noise. Seonghwa’s arm is resting casually near yours. You’re both crouched low, drawing a tiny “Thank you for supporting” sign together. Your knees touch. You think you’re imagining it when he glances at you and says, “You’d make a great older sister.” You snort. “That sounds like a diss.” He shakes his head. “Nah. Just meant… you’re good with kids. Good with her.” You glance at him. He’s watching you again. His gaze is warm. Steady. You look away before your heart does something stupid.

Later, when you’re packing up the supplies, he brushes dust from your cheek. “You’ve got sawdust everywhere,” he says softly. You look up at him, your breath catching. But he pulls back like it’s nothing, like your heart didn’t just lurch. You shove a rag into his chest. “Clean yourself first, CEO Lemonade.” He laughs, low and unbothered, and it makes you want to scream into a pillow.

By evening, the cart is finished. Tomorrow, you’ll surprise Sora. Tonight, you sit on the grass with Seonghwa beside you, lemonade in one hand, cookie in the other, and try not to wonder what it’d be like if he stayed a little longer this time.

(And a selfish part of you wanted him to do so)

iii.

The next morning, you're up early, heart racing like you're about to deliver a TED talk to a room of toddlers. You and Seonghwa had rolled the finished cart into his backyard late last night, parking it beneath the cherry tree where the sunlight makes everything look a little magical. The yellow paint gleams. The glitter sparkles. “CEO Sora” beams from the back panel with his cool lemon shades. It’s stupidly cute (he's also stupidly cute today but you digress).

The hard part, though, isn't the cart. It's getting Sora out of her room. She's been quiet all morning. No bouncing, no knocking on your door, no asking for cookies or drawing requests. Just silence. Seonghwa glances up at her window and sighs. “She hasn't even touched her cereal.”

You nod slowly. “Let me try.”

You knock on her door and gently push it open. She's curled up on her bed, hugging her favorite stuffed raccoon. Her eyes flick toward you, then away again. “Hi, bunny,” you say softly, walking in and sitting at the edge of the bed. “We want to show you something.”

She shakes her head, face half-hidden behind the raccoon. “I don’t want to do lemonade anymore.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But… it’s not about lemonade anymore.”

A pause. Then a tiny, reluctant, “...what is it about then?”

“It’s about not giving up.”

That gets her attention—just a little. Enough for you to hold out your hand and wait. A long moment passes. Then, finally, Sora slides off the bed and takes your hand without a word.

You lead her outside.

The second the cart comes into view, she freezes. Eyes wide. Her hand tightens around yours. She gasps audibly, like you just unveiled a unicorn. “Wh—” she breathes. “Is that…”

Seonghwa steps out from beside the tree, wiping his hands on a rag. “Made it just for you,” he says. “Well, we did. She designed it. I just… didn’t cut off my fingers in the process.”

Sora walks forward slowly, like she’s afraid it’ll disappear. She runs her hand along the edge, traces the lemon doodles, the cookie shelf, the sign that reads “Sora’s Summer Sips 2.0.”

Then she turns to both of you, eyes shining but hesitant. “Why?”

Seonghwa kneels in front of her, soft smile on his face. “Because you worked hard, kiddo. And it sucks when things fall apart. But it’s okay to ask for help when they do. You don’t have to do everything by yourself, alright?”

She bites her lip. Looks at the cart. Then at you. Then back at Seonghwa. “But I messed up. I didn’t want anyone to help. That’s why it got ruined.”

“And now?” you ask gently.

She’s quiet for a second. Then nods.

“I want help,” she says. “Please help me.”

You smile.

Seonghwa messes up her hair with a grin. “Attagirl. CEO mode: reactivated.

And just like that, she beams. Like she’d never cried in the rain at all.

Time for second phase of the plan: Assuring that she distributes lemonade this time and NOT battery acid.

iv.

The next day, Phase Two begins: Operation Make Sure Sora Isn't Accidentally Selling Citrus Poison.

You're in Seonghwa’s kitchen, armed with lemons, mint, strawberries, a bottle of honey, and absolutely zero confidence in your chemistry skills. Sora is seated at the counter, feet swinging, ready to reclaim her throne. She insists on squeezing the lemons herself, proudly declaring, “I have strong arms now.”

Seonghwa’s on cookie duty, tying an apron around his waist like he was born to be somebody’s hot husband. You pretend not to notice. You absolutely fail.

You whip out a notepad. “So. Our baseline is—”

“Battery acid,” Seonghwa cuts in, tossing chocolate chips into a bowl. “We’re working our way up from battery acid.”

You roll your eyes. “We could’ve just let her keep poisoning the community.”

“But then we wouldn’t have this quality time,” he says easily, grinning. You freeze, but he’s already back to mixing dough like he didn’t just say something that made your stomach flip.

You test your first batch with strawberries and honey. Seonghwa sips it and raises a brow. “It’s giving... healthy cafeteria water.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “I am trying.”

“No, no. I taste the effort. It's delicious... adjacent.”

You throw a dish towel at his face.

Sora giggles.

Two more attempts later, you land on something decent: lemon, mint, honey, and a splash of soda water. Seonghwa takes one sip and goes suspiciously quiet. You blink. “What now?”

He lowers the cup and looks at you. “That’s actually good.”

You frown. “Like, actually actually?”

He nods. “Like… I’d buy this. If you smiled at me while handing it to me, I’d buy two.”

You stare.

Then laugh.

Then go right back to scribbling ratios like he didn’t say something wildly flirtatious.

He watches you for a beat. “You’re cute when you ignore compliments, you know.” You glance up, confused. “Was that a compliment?”His smile falters for half a second—just a beat. “Yeah. But never mind.”

You look back down, cheeks warm. You’re terrified of reading into it. Because what if you’re wrong? What if this is just him being nice and you’re projecting because he’s hot and you’ve had a dumb attraction for years? Heck it's not even a crush— you're not close enough with him go call it a crush. You’ve had enough of letting your heart run wild.

So you pretend not to hear him. You hand him the next cup instead. “Tell me if this one tastes like hospital lemonade,” you say.

He takes it silently.

But later, as you’re baking brownies and he helps you clean the mixing bowl with two fingers and a grin, you hear him murmur, “God, you're dangerous.”

You pretend not to hear that, too.

Sora insists on helping with the cookies the second she smells the dough. One moment, Seonghwa’s carefully brushing flour off your cheek with the world’s softest touch—fingertips slow, deliberate, thumb lingering near your jaw like he’s about to say something he’s been holding in since forever—and the next, there’s a loud thud, a stool dragged across the tiles, and a very determined nine-year-old climbing up between you both like Moses parting the Red Sea (hello, junior cockblock).

“I’m head chef,” Sora declares, tying her tiny apron with the solemnity of a master baker. “You two are my assistants.”

You and Seonghwa exchange a look. His mouth twitches, amused. You can tell he was just about to do something—say something, maybe. The kind of thing that makes your breath catch and your brain glitch. But now he’s reaching for the chocolate chips obediently, shoulders slouched in mock submission.

“Yes, chef,” he says.

You stifle a grin and mimic him. “At your service, chef.”

Sora immediately starts throwing ingredients in like she’s summoning a storm. Flour, sugar, half a stick of butter—you lose track. She’s chaos incarnate, narrating her every move like a baking YouTuber while Seonghwa keeps trying (and failing) to get a word in. Every time he turns toward you—eyes soft, voice lower—Sora loudly interrupts.

“do we need baking powder?”

“Seonghwa, can I taste the dough?!”

“Wait! I wanna crack the egg—NOOO you DID IT WITHOUT ME—”

You’re both choking on laughter within minutes. Seonghwa gives up flirting entirely and just bumps your shoulder lightly every now and then when Sora isn’t looking. Once, you catch him just... staring. Not in a weird way. Just this quiet, fond expression while you wipe frosting off Sora’s nose. You glance at him and whisper, “What?” but he only shrugs, smirking.

“I’m thinking about filing for demotion,” he says. “Being a junior assistant. Less chaos.”

“Denied,” you reply. “You’re too tall to escape this mess.”

Later, Sora declares the cookies “scientifically perfect” and insists on making heart shapes with the leftover dough. You’re pressing one flat with your thumbs when Seonghwa leans down beside you, his arm brushing yours. “If I ever ask you out,” he murmurs under his breath, “are you going to pretend you didn’t hear that too?”

You freeze. For a moment, the world quiets. But Sora immediately launches into a rant about how heart-shaped cookies bake faster because “love is lighter,” and Seonghwa just sighs and goes back to rolling dough.

You never answer him.

And he doesn’t push.

But when you hand him a cookie later, heart-shaped, slightly burnt, made with chaos and too much sugar—he takes a bite, smiles softly, and says, “Tastes like a maybe.”

The clock ticks past 11:30 when you tape the last cookie bag shut. The kitchen smells like vanilla, butter, and sweet exhaustion. The table is a warzone of ribbon scraps and sticker sheets, but somehow, between the two of you—it’s organized chaos. Seonghwa leans over the counter, sleeves pushed up, a rogue smear of flour on his cheek that he still hasn’t noticed. Sora’s finally asleep upstairs, curled into a sugar-coma burrito with her raccoon plush. You’d both tried to send her to bed two hours ago. She’d only gone after confirming you’d save her a heart-shaped cookie with extra sprinkles.

You exhale and stretch your back, groaning quietly as the muscles protest. “I haven’t done this much arts and crafts since year eight science fair.” Seonghwa chuckles, dropping another finished bag into the box. “Let me guess. You made a volcano.”

“Please. I was an overachiever. I made a solar system diorama. With rotating planets.”

He raises an impressed brow. “Hot.”

You snort. “I’ll pretend that wasn’t sarcasm.”

“It wasn’t,” he says, quieter. “I think it’s cute you were like that.”

You glance at him, a little off-balance from how sincere that came out. He’s looking at you again. head tilted, eyes darker in the low kitchen light. The soft hum of the fridge fills the silence between you. You suddenly feel too aware of how quiet the house is. How late it is. How close he’s standing now.

He clears his throat, pulling back a bit. “It’s been nice… being home,” he murmurs, picking up the tape again but not really using it. “It’s weird, though. I feel like I never saw you much before.”

You raise a brow, fiddling with a twist tie. “You moved here three years ago and then immediately disappeared overseas. You’re like a part-time ghost.”

He laughs under his breath. “I guess I didn’t time it well.”

“You didn’t. I thought you were imaginary for the first six months.”

There’s a pause. You don’t look up, but you feel it. The shift in his body language. The way he’s facing you more directly now. His voice drops, softer, lower.

“Well, I see you now.”

You glance up, blinking. “Huh?”

His eyes hold yours. “I said, I see you now.”

The air stills.

You blink again, heart thudding. He’s still holding a cookie bag, but his hands aren’t moving. And then, slowly, casually—he steps closer. Just one step. But it’s enough. You’re between him and the counter now, your back to the table. He doesn’t touch you, not yet. Just leans in a little, gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“You keep pretending you don’t notice,” he murmurs, voice brushing against your neck. “But you do.”

“Notice what?” you ask, too fast, too breathless.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, his hand brushes your waist lightly, barely there. And then you feel it: his lips, warm and feather-light, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. Not rushed. Not clumsy. Slow. Intentional. Like he’s been wanting to do it for weeks and only just let himself now.

Your whole body goes still.

Your brain promptly blue-screens.

He pulls back only a little, breath still warm on your skin. “Tell me if I’m wrong,” he whispers.

You don’t say anything.

You can’t.

You are the color red, you are emergency alarms, you are all-caps-texting-your-best-friend-at-2am energy.

And then,a shuffle upstairs.

Tiny feet.

A sleepy voice down the hallway:

“Hwa… I want milk…”

Seonghwa blinks. You both freeze.

He steps back like someone hit a reset button. You whip around, yanking open the fridge like it personally betrayed you, pretending to grab the milk like your heart isn’t punching through your ribs.

From behind you, he chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we’re back to reality.”

You don’t look at him.

You’re too busy trying not to pass out.

v.

Moral dilemma time;

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended you. The fan clicks overhead. The house is quiet again, and Sora’s probably curled up in her tangle of blankets dreaming about lemonade domination. And all you can think about is the way Seonghwa said, “You see me now.”

You did. You do.

You’ve always seen him—even if it was only in flashes. Hauling suitcases out of a car, sleeves rolled, hair damp with sweat. Helping Sora carry an inflatable pool across the lawn with that easy, capable energy that made your stomach flip even then. Sometimes he’d wave. Sometimes he didn’t notice you at all. And that was fine. You were just the girl next door. Babysitter. Friendly face (god. How annoying, his existence that is. Not in a bad way...)

Not… this.

And now you’re spiraling. Because sure, he kissed your neck, but what does that mean? And even if he meant something by it, can you let it mean something? You care about Sora. She's not just some neighbor's sibling, she's your kid on some days. You cut her crusts and helped her rehearse a talent show dance. What happens if this goes somewhere and then doesn’t? Would it be weird? Would she feel weird?

You groan, grabbing your pillow and smashing it over your face. Great. Fantastic. You’re a grown adult, and yet somehow this feels like the most confusing sleepover-level crush you’ve ever had.

You wanted him. You want him still. But now you’re wondering if you’re being selfish for it.

Because what if loving him ruins the thing that matters most?

Not the flirting.

Not the neck kiss.

But Sora’s little world.

And you're not sure you're willing to risk that.

vii.

The lemonade stand opens at 11.

By 11:17, you're almost sold out of brownies.

You hadn't expected the response to be this wild, sure, your little Instagram promo got a few shares, but apparently “CEO Sora’s Summer Sips” hit the local mom group circuit like wildfire. You’ve got toddlers in crocs, dads in visors, middle-aged ladies with lap dogs—everyone is here.

Sora's glowing. Literally glowing. She's got sunglasses on and a little apron with “Boss” embroidered across the front. Every time someone compliments the cart, she says, “My staff made it,” like you and Seonghwa are her unpaid interns. She's thriving.

You're... slightly dying. Not because of the heat. Not because of the stress. But because Seonghwa's been next to you all morning, helping hand out cups and pass cookies, acting like he didn’t kiss your neck twelve hours ago in the same house you’re both now selling snacks from.

He’s calm. Charming. Helping Sora count change, holding a paper cup in that way that makes his fingers look stupidly nice. You, on the other hand, have dropped the same bag of cookies three times and nearly called a customer “mom.”

And then, like a cursed prophecy, a woman in her mid-forties with a giant sunhat and an attitude rolls up. She glances at the menu and scoffs.

“This lemonade’s five dollars? That’s ridiculous. It’s just lemons and water.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Seonghwa gets there first. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t roll his eyes. He just smiles politely, steps forward slightly, and says, “You're welcome to make your own at home. But this one’s made with care. And mint from our neighbor’s garden. And emotional labor. Lots of emotional labor.”

The Karen glares at him.

He smiles wider.

She mutters something under her breath and walks off with a dramatic huff. You watch her go, stunned, and then look at him.

“Did you just... politely obliterate her?”

He shrugs, handing the next kid a cookie. “She underestimated Sora’s empire. That’s on her.”

You stare at him. He glances at you. You immediately look away, pretending to care deeply about the placement of a napkin.

He’s too smooth. Too tall. Too... aware of what he’s doing.

And you’re spiraling again.

Because the kiss happened. And he hasn’t mentioned it. And neither have you.

And now he’s out here defending overpriced lemonade like a knight with a really nice jawline and a soft voice and the ability to kill a Karen with grace.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. You're not melting into a puddle of conflicted thirst and emotional repression.

“this was fun!” Sora chirps, tugging on your sleeve. “Can we do this again next weekend?”

You force a smile, ignoring the way Seonghwa glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Of course,” you say, smiling at her. “Anything for the little CEO.”

vii.

The last day of the stand ended with confetti cake cookies and a lemonade toast.

Sora had counted the earnings herself, nose scrunched in concentration, and walked proudly into the animal shelter with a stuffed envelope of cash in both hands. She’d handed it over like a diplomat making peace with a foreign nation. The workers cried. She beamed. And on the way home, she tugged on your hand and whispered, “Thanks. You helped me make people smile.” Then she gave you a tiny plastic cup of lemonade and hugged you so tightly her glitter stuck to your shirt.

You cried a little in the bathroom during break. You’ll never admit that out loud.

Now that you’re home. Your room’s dark, your legs are star-fished across the sheets, and Sparkles is snoring somewhere under the blanket at your feet like a gremlin. You’re lying there, staring at the ceiling, heart full in the weird way that only happens when something good ends. The kind of full that leaves a little ache.

The flour fight. The cookie assembly line. The stupid amount of glitter you’re still finding under your nails. Seonghwa laughing with cookie dough on his nose. You felt like a kid again. Like someone cracked open time and gave you a soft place to exist for a while.

You roll over with a sigh.

And then you see it.

A flicker.

From across the small patch of grass and fence seperating your house from the Parks.

Your curtains are drawn half open, and from Seonghwa’s window—faint, but consistent—you spot a light. On. Off. Off. On. Flash. Pause. Flash.

You blink. Sit up a little. It’s definitely his phone flashlight. But he’s not waving. You thought he was doing something, raving? At this hour? Alone?

He’s...doing it in patterns.

Your brain jolts. No way. You recognise this (thanks, girl scouts!)

You grab your laptop, fingers flying as you pull up a Morse code translator.

.. / -- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..-

You type. Translate.

I miss you.

Your breath hitches.

You glance back. He’s standing there in the dimness, hoodie half-zipped, phone in hand, like this is normal.

You type back a message and flash your own phone flashlight from the edge of your curtain.

.-.. --- .-.. / -.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / -. . . -.. -.--

Lol you’re needy.

Pause.

Flash.

Flash flash. Long flash.

You translate.

- .... . -. / .. / ... .... --- ..- .-.. -.. / .... .- ...- . / ... .- .. -.. / ... --- -- . - .... .. -. --. .-.-.- / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- / -- .

Then I should have said something. Fuck me.

You choke on your spit.

Your flashlight wavers in your hand.

You stare at your screen, rechecking the translation three times. He doesn’t move. Just tilts his head slightly—waiting.

You swallow, before responding slowly.

.... --- .-- / -.. --- / .. / -.- -. --- .-- / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . -. .----. - / .--- ..- ... - / .... --- .-. -. -.--

How do I know you aren’t just horny?

Long pause.

Then the longest message yet.

-... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / .. / .... .- ...- . / .-.. .. - . .-. .- .-.. .-.. -.-- / .-.. --- ... - / -- -.-- / -- .. -. -.. / . ...- . .-. -.-- / - .. -- . / -.-- --- ..- / ... -- .. .-.. . -.. / --- .-. / .-.. .- ..- --. .... . -.. / --- .-. / ...- --- .. -.-. . -.. / -- -.-- / .--- --- -.- . ... / .- -.-. .-. --- ... ... / - .... . / ..-. . -. -.-. . .-.-.-

Because I have literally lost my mind every time you smiled or laughed or voiced my jokes across the fence.

Your hands are trembling slightly. The phone feels hot in your grip.

You bite your lip and flash one word back.

.... --- .-.. -..

Hold.

You slip out of bed barefoot, heart thundering, nerves on fire.

And across the fence, Seonghwa’s light finally goes dark. And yet you refuse to let this fire die like the other times. You crouch by your window again, the phone cold in your hand this time.

You could leave it. Let it die in the quiet. Pretend the moment passed.

But the ache’s too real. The way he looked at you in the kitchen. The neck kiss. His stupid calm voice when he shut that Karen down. His hands, his laugh, the way he always made room for Sora in every conversation—even when his eyes never quite left you.

So you tap out a message. Slow. Hesitant.

.. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / -... . / ... . .-.. ..-. .. ... .... .-.-.- / .. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / .- ... -.- / ..-. --- .-. / - .... .. -. --. ... / - .... .- - / .-- . .-. . -. .-..-. - / -- .. -. . / - --- / .- ... -.- / ..-. --- .-. .-.-.- / -... ..- - / ... --- .-. .- .-.-.- / .. / .-- --- .-. .-. .. . -.. / .- -... --- ..- - / .... . .-. .-.-.-

I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to ask for things that weren’t mine to ask for. But Sora. I worried about her.

It takes a few minutes. You almost think he fell asleep. And then his light flashes again.

Long pause.

Then:

- .... .-. . . / -.-- . .- .-. ... / .- --. --- / ... .... . / - .- .-.. -.- . -.. / .- -... --- ..- - / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- / - .... . / --. .. .-. .-.. / .-- .... --- / .-- .- ... / ... --- / -.- .. -. -.. / .. - / .... ..- .-. - / - --- / .- ... -.- / .... . .-.. .-.. --- .-.-.- / .- -. -.. / -.-- . ... / .. / .-.. --- ...- . / ... --- .-. .- --..-- / -... ..- - / .. / .-.. --- ...- . -.. / -.-- --- ..- / ..-. .. .-. ... - .-.-.-

Three years ago she talked about you. The girl who was so kind it hurt to ask hello. And yes I love Sora, but I loved you first.

You cover your mouth with your hand, heart tripping all over itself.

He continues before you can respond:

- .... . .-. . / .-- . .-. . / ... --- / -- .- -. -.-- / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- .. -. --. / - .. -- . ... / .. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / --. . - / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- .. -. --. / ... . .-. .. --- ..- ... .-.-.- / -... ..- - / .. - .-..-. ... / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- / .. - .-..-. ... / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ... / -... . . -. / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- / .- -. -.. / .. / .-- .- -. - / - --- / -.- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..- / ... . -. ... . .-.. . ... ... --..-- / .-.. .. -.- . / .-.. --- ... . / .- .-.. .-.. / .-. .. --. .... - .-.-.-

There were so many fucking times I wanted to get fucking serious. But it’s you. It’s always been you. And I want to kiss you senseless, like lose all right.

You stare. The words blur. You’re clutching the phone too tight.

Another pause. Then a last line:

- . .-.. .-.. / -- . / -.-- --- ..- / -.. --- -. .-..-. - / .-. ..- -. / .- .-- .- -.-- / ..-. .-. --- -- / -- . --..-- / -... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / .. / .-.. --- ...- . / .... . .-. / ..-. .. .-. ... - .-.-.-

Tell me you don’t run away from me, because I love her first.

You stare at your phone for a long moment after sending your last message.

Fingers trembling, eyes fixed on the darkened window across from yours. The Morse code's gone quiet. No more flickers. No more signals. Just that open-ended silence, like he dropped a truth and disappeared into it.

You swallow, heart pounding in your ears.

Then you type one more line. Phone flashlight filling the dark like lightning during storm. Just a message. Just a whisper across the quiet street.

“Come over.”

No reply.

Seconds stretch long, sticky with anticipation. You shift on your bed, Sparkles still softly snoring at the foot, totally unaware of your mental breakdown. You start to think you’ve misread everything. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe you just—

click.

You hear it.

Across the street, his balcony door slides open.

You scramble up, already pushing your window up with both hands. The night air rushes in, warm and thick. You lean on the ledge, eyes wide as he steps into view—barefoot, in a hoodie, hair messy like he’s been pacing. No phone. Just him.

He looks up.

You nod once.

And that’s all it takes.

He doesn’t say a word as he scales the ledges between the two houses. You've always thought it was stupid how wide your bedroom window was, but right now? Right now it's made for this. For him. For the second he plants his foot on the inside and climbs in, gaze locked to yours, face unreadable but burning.

The second he’s inside, your heart stutters.

You open your mouth to say something—but you don’t get the chance.

His hands are already cupping your face. His mouth crashes into yours with months of restraint finally snapping, kissing you like he’s starved for it—like he waited too long and he’s done waiting. You gasp, and his fingers tangle into your hair, pulling, angling, devouring. He kisses you like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, your jaw, the sound you make when he bites just a little.

It’s fast. Then it’s slow. Then it’s desperate.

You stumble back onto the bed, dragging him with you, and he follows like it’s instinct. His hoodie’s already on the floor, your hands already slipping under his shirt. He mouths at your throat again—same spot he kissed last night—only this time there's no interruption. No Sora. No milk.

Just his breath against your skin.

His voice, low and wrecked.

“I wanted this so fucking bad.”

You arch against him. “Then take it.”

And he does. His hand slides down your waist like it’s been there a hundred times before—possessive, certain—until it curves around your ass and grips. Firm. Deep. He groans against your neck when you jolt in surprise, letting out the softest little sound, somewhere between a gasp and a choked moan.

Then

Smack.

The contact stings just enough to make you arch into him with a breathy, startled, “Hwa—!”

He grins against your skin, wicked and low, as his teeth nip your neck, not gentle, but not cruel either. Just enough to make your skin bloom with heat. “Wanted to do that for a while,” he murmurs, voice dark with hunger, lips dragging slow against the curve of your throat. “Every time you walked away from me. Every time you bent over to grab something and didn’t even notice.”

Your breath catches. “That’s because I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” he cuts in, biting again. “That’s what made it worse.”

His hand squeezes again, fingers digging into the flesh like he’s laying claim. You squirm—eyes fluttering, lips parted, and he just hums against you like your reaction feeds him. Like the sound you made is something he’s going to tease you about later, when your body isn’t pressed so tightly against his, begging for more.

“You always make that face when I touch you here?” he whispers, another sharp smack punctuating the question.

You can’t even answer.

Not when his mouth is back on you like he plans to ruin your name from the inside out.

viii.

You’re already breathless when his hand finds the hem of your sleep shorts, fingers toying with the waistband like he’s asking permission—but also like he already knows the answer. He’s still in that stupidly hot basketball tee, sweat sticking to the neckline, his grey sweatpants riding low on his hips. Everything about him is unfair. Everything about this is reckless.

“Wait,” you whisper as he starts to tug down, only because—

“Rrrrgh.”

Both of you freeze.

You whip your head toward the foot of the bed where Sparkles, your tiny mop of a poodle, is slowly rising from his blanket nest with a low, suspicious growl—hackles raised like Seonghwa is an intruder and not, you know, the man actively making out with his owner.

Seonghwa blinks. “...I forgot he was there.”

Sparkles bares tiny teeth.

You groan, slipping off the bed to scoop him up. “Not now, Sparkles. Go patrol the hallway or harass my siblings or something. Please.”

You pad barefoot to the door, open it quietly, and place Sparkles in the hallway like he’s being exiled from the kingdom. “Go. Go be judgemental somewhere else.”

He snorts—but trots away, dignity intact.

You close the door, click the lock.

And immediately yelp when hands grab your hips from behind and yank you back against him.

“Where were we?” Seonghwa murmurs against your ear, already dragging your shorts, and your underwear—with them down your thighs in one smooth pull. He kisses the back of your neck again, teeth grazing that same spot that made you melt before, and his voice drops into something that makes your knees wobble. “Oh, right. Here.”

You can barely think.

His hands slide over your skin like he’s trying to memorize it—thumbs grazing the soft dip of your hips before he spreads you open from behind, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the view. He groans, low and wrecked, like he’s seeing something he’s dreamed about and it’s somehow better in real life.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so sweet. Like—messy jam. Sticky. Dripping. I want to ruin my hands on you.”

You whimper.

And then you feel his fingers brush between your legs.

Firm. Teasing.

Sliding through like he’s checking how ready you are, and humming when he finds his answer.

You press your forehead to the bed, trembling.

And Seonghwa?

He just chuckles darkly behind you, settling between your thighs like he’s planning to stay awhile.

Gone was the sweet older brother to Sora.

Gone were the terrible jokes and the crooked, dimpled smile that used to make you laugh from across the lemonade stand.

This man—this version of Seonghwa—was unrecognizable.

He was on his knees behind you now, his breath ghosting hot across the back of your thighs, hands gripping your hips like he owned them. His eyes were fixed between your legs with a look that sent shivers up your spine. Not playful. Not teasing. Just hungry. Reverent. Like he’d found something sacred and filthy and his.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick and low, thumb spreading you open just a little more. “You really let me in here like this, huh?”

You could barely respond. Your cheek was pressed to the bed, knees parted, hands gripping the sheets like they’d keep you grounded.

He didn’t wait long.

Two fingers slipped inside—smooth, slow, curling just right—and your breath hitched, hips jerking at the sudden stretch.

He groaned behind you.

“God, you’re tight,” he breathed, moving his hand just enough to hear the sound your body made around him, slick and obscene. “You feel like—fuck, like you were made for me.”

You moaned, biting your lip hard enough to hurt, the burn and stretch already drowning you in heat.

He curled his fingers again, this time deliberately, dragging them along a spot that made your spine arch and your legs tremble.

“Ohhh, there she is,” he whispered, lips brushing your lower back. “Thought I lost you for a second.”

His other hand slid up your back, grounding, calming—almost tender—as he leaned over you, voice in your ear.

“Can I keep going?” he asked softly, like a man already past the point of return. “Can I make you forget your name a little?”

And God help you—

You nodded.

His pace shifts without warning—gentle fingers turning rougher, deeper, faster.

You gasp, the sound ripped from your throat as his long, slender fingers drive into you with intent. Every movement is precise but merciless, like he knows exactly what he's doing. Like all that skill—the way he mixed dough, tightened bolts on Sora’s cart, handled everything with quiet perfection—was meant for this. For you.

His free hand presses into your lower back, keeping you arched as he thrusts his fingers harder, knuckles slick as they drag against that spot that makes your legs shake and your voice crack.

“Fuck, Hwa—!” you whimper, barely able to hold yourself up.

He groans behind you, forehead resting between your shoulder blades for a moment as he watches how you fall apart around him.

“You like this?” he mutters, voice ragged. “Of course you do. Look at how fucking wet you are—dripping down my hand like you’ve been waiting for this all summer.”

You sob his name, back arching helplessly when he curls his fingers hard, sharp, relentless. The slick sound of him working you over fills the room—so messy, so obscene, and so impossibly hot.

He leans close again, mouth brushing your ear.

“These fingers built Sora’s damn cart,” he growls, dragging them deeper, faster. “And now they’re gonna make you fall apart.”

And you do.

You writhe, body trembling, thighs shaking as he fucks you on his hand like he’s trying to imprint himself into your skin. You’re dizzy, ruined, whimpering with every thrust—and still he doesn’t slow down.

Only when your walls flutter tight around him—pulsing, soaking his fingers—does he finally ease up.

Just enough to whisper, “That’s it, baby. That’s what I wanted.”

And he still hasn’t even used his mouth yet.

You’re still trembling, breath shallow, body limp across the bed like he wrung every thought out of you with his hand alone. You barely notice when he pulls his fingers out—until you hear it.

A soft, wet sound. Followed by a low hum.

You turn your head just enough to look over your shoulder.

He’s sucking his fingers.

Slowly.

Like he’s savoring every drop of you on his tongue.

He groans low in his throat, almost to himself, eyes fluttering shut like it’s that good. “Mmm,” he murmurs, licking the last of you off with a lazy swipe of his tongue. “Sweeter than the lemonade. Sweeter than the cookies. Think I’m addicted.”

Your stomach flips. Heat floods right back between your legs even though you haven’t recovered from round one.

And then he does it.

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and drags them down slowly, letting them fall past his thighs. No boxers. Just thick, flushed length springing free—hard, leaking, aching for you.

You sit up on shaky elbows, staring.

You barely think—your body moves first. You slide off the bed and sink to your knees in front of him, wide-eyed and reverent.

He freezes.

“What are you—”

You glance up, and his breath catches.

You look like sin. Knees on the floor, lips parted, face still flushed and glowing from what he just did to you.

“oh?” he chokes out, completely unraveling. “You’re seriously gonna—? Like that?”

You nod once. Innocent.

And wrap your hand around him.

He nearly buckles.

Never in a million years did you think this would happen.

Not in this room. Not like this.

Not with the boy next door—sweet, polite Seonghwa—climbing in through your window at midnight and now standing in front of you, flushed and panting while you’re on your knees, mouth full of him.

But here you are.

And he tastes like heat and salt and something heady, your tongue swirling as you take him deeper, inch by inch, letting him feel just how much you want this. Your eyes flick up to meet his—and the look on his face nearly undoes you. His hand clutches your bedsheet behind him, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to make a sound.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and pulsing, twitching when you suck around him with slw, filthy intent.

“Shit—” he hisses through his teeth, voice low and tight. “Fuck, baby, you can’t just—”

You hollow your cheeks and he groans, head tipping back as his other hand finds your hair, threading through it but not pushing—just holding. Grounding himself.

His thighs twitch.

He’s trying so hard to be quiet. To be good. But every time your lips slide back down, every time you take him a little deeper and hum around him like you’re savoring a lollipop, he chokes on a curse and sways forward slightly.

“Y-You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, hips bucking the tiniest bit.

And you?

You’re already smiling around him.

Because if he thinks this is the end, he hasn’t seen anything yet.

Your hand strokes the base of him slowly, lazily, while your other cups him beneath—gentle, teasing, deliberate. You feel the way his thighs tense, how his breath hitches above you. Every pass of your tongue, every swirl around the head has him trembling, his abs flexing under his tee, sweat starting to bead at his temples.

You’re relentless.

He looks down at you, jaw slack, eyes dark and dazed, eyebrows drawing together like he’s trying to hold something in—like it’s too much. Every time your lips slide over the tip again, he lets out this soft, strangled moan that sounds like it’s been punched out of him.

“F-fuck,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Baby, I—I’m close—”

You hum around him, slow and smug, and that alone nearly makes his knees give out. You feel him throb against your tongue, feel his hips twitch forward—and that’s when his hand suddenly cups your cheek.

Gentle. Steady. Warm.

“Wait,” he whispers, breath shaking. “Stop—wait, wait.”

You pull off him slowly, lips glossy, confused for a second until you look up. His eyes are half-lidded, dark with want, but soft, full of restraint.

“I wanna be inside you,” he says, almost like an apology. “Not just your mouth. You.”

He leans down, brushing your hair behind your ear as he kisses your forehead with trembling restraint.

“Let me feel you,” he murmurs, barely holding back. “I need to.”

ix.

Seonghwa fucks good.

Seonghwa fucks hard.

Note to self: never, ever assume that the soft-spoken, painfully pretty boy next door is a bottom just because he smiles politely and wears pastels. Because right now?

You are getting plowed.

Your face is buried into your sheets, knuckles white as they clutch your pillow, and Seonghwa is behind you—hips snapping forward with a force that knocks the breath out of you every time. His grip on your waist is bruising, holding you steady as he pounds into you like he’s trying to reshape the memory of him in your mind—like the sweet older brother to Sora was just a decoy and this is who he really is.

The sound of skin slapping echoes soft but filthy through the room, the creak of the bed barely covered by the ragged breath between you.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, voice wrecked, leaning over to press a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you deeper into the mattress as his pace snaps. “This what you wanted, baby? This what you’ve been thinking about?”

You can’t even answer. Your mouth opens but all that comes out is a moan strangled into your pillow.

His hand slides down your spine, slow, deliberate, only to wrap around your throat gently from behind—not choking, just grounding. Claiming. His hips never falter, driving into you again and again, the stretch still dizzying, the pressure building fast.

“You feel so fucking good,” he pants into your ear. “So tight for me—like this pussy knew I’d be here.”

You whine—helpless, ruined—and he just groans deeper, lips brushing your shoulder, his sweat dripping to your skin. You feel him twitch inside you, feel the heat coil tighter and tighter in your core.

Both of you are trying not to moan too loud.

Both of you are failing.

And neither of you care.

His thrusts grow desperate—sloppier, rougher—his pace no longer steady but driven by instinct, the kind of need that makes him groan low in his throat with every grind of his hips.

“Baby,” he pants, voice breaking as his grip tightens on your waist. “You close? Tell me.”

Your moan is half-buried in the sheets, your head nodding furiously as your body trembles beneath him. “Y-Yes—yes, Hwa, I’m close—”

“Fuck,” he breathes, and his rhythm snaps again—faster, deeper, each thrust hitting that spot that has you seeing white. “That’s it. Come with me, baby. Wanna feel you—wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You cry out when the coil inside you snaps, body clenching around him, thighs shaking uncontrollably. And that’s all it takes.

He groans—deep, guttural, wrecked—as he pushes in to the hilt and stays there, trembling hard. You feel him throb inside you before it hits—hot and thick, his release pulsing deep as he fills you, warmth spreading with every twitch of his hips.

His hands don’t stop holding you. He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, lips dragging across your shoulder as his voice drops into a shaking whisper.

“Fuuuck—fuck, baby, you feel so good. So warm, so full—shit—made for me.”

You both go still, panting into the silence, your legs trembling as you feel him soften inside you, the mess between your thighs sticky and slick and his.

His breath is still ragged when he presses a kiss to your spine and mumbles, “I’m never letting you babysit for free again.”

You don’t remember falling asleep—just the soft shift of his weight, the warmth of his body pressing close, and his arms wrapping around you from behind.

No teasing. No filth. Just his breath against the back of your neck, his fingers gently stroking your hip as he pulled you into him like you were something fragile he needed to keep safe.

His whisper was the last thing you remember before sleep claimed you.

"Get some rest, baby. I’ve got you."

And now—

You wake up to sunlight pooling across the floor.

No arms. No Seonghwa.

Just your sheets a mess and your body sore in all the best and worst ways. You blink slowly, eyes adjusting to the soft glow as you stretch—and immediately regret it.

Every muscle aches. Every one.

Your thighs, your back, your voice, your soul.

You roll over, half hoping he’s still there.

But the other side of the bed is empty.

Your heart sinks a little. Was it a dream?

You sit up slowly, dragging the covers over your chest as your mind spirals in a sleepy haze.

And then—

Scratch. Scratch.

You blink toward the door.

More scratching. More intentional judgment in every claw scrape.

You sigh, shuffle out of bed, and open the door.

Sparkles stands there. Tail curled. Eyes narrowed. Like he knows.

You stare at him.

He stares back.

You sigh again. “Don’t look at me like that. You left the room. This is your fault.”

He snorts and trots in like you’re the disappointment.

You watch him hop onto the foot of your bed, spin in a circle, and settle with the dramatic weight of a dog who knows everything and will be discussing it at length with his therapist.

You collapse beside him.

And try very hard not to smile at the ache between your legs.

It wasn’t a dream.

You flop back onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, Sparkles curled beside you like a silent witness to your crimes. The ache in your thighs is real, and your dignity? Somewhere on the floor next to last night’s sleep shorts. You close your eyes, still half-lost in the memory of Seonghwa’s mouth, his hands, his everything—

Ding dong.

You groan. Now what?

Your phone buzzes. It’s your mom.

[Mom]: Sweetie, there’s a guest for you at the door.

[Mom]: He’s very polite. Cute. Smells like laundry detergent.

You sit up slowly, confused, hobble to the window and peek outside.

And there he is.

Seonghwa.

On your front porch.

Wearing a clean button-up and jeans, hair still damp from a shower, hands tucked into his pockets like a boy about to ask someone to prom. He glances up and sees you at the window—smiles, shy and soft like nothing unholy happened last night.

You open the door, blinking at him in the morning sun.

“Hey,” he says. “Thought I’d, uh, come by and see if you wanted to walk Sparkles with me. You know. Since we’ve been... busy.”

You stare.

Then deadpan, “Ironic, you asking me to walk when you ruined my legs.”

He turns crimson.

But he beams.

“I’ll carry you,” he says without missing a beat.

You snort. Sparkles trots between you both, judging still, but cooperative.

And as the three of you set off down the street, shoulder to shoulder, you realize it’s oddly perfect. Like the universe handed you a paper cup and said: here, try something sweet for once.

Because love?

Sometimes it is lemonade.

And sometimes it’s Lemon-aide.

Sticky, messy, made from sour things and sugar and effort.

You’re his aide. He’s yours.

And somehow, through lemons, you both made something stupidly good.

end.

[arabelleum]

[arabelleum]

IN ALL YOUR PERFECTS

〔 𝒾 〕 How did you get so lucky as to bag one of the hottest men on campus, Sim Jaeyun? That question rings in your head often, even in moments you shouldn't feel insecure. And every answer is too unkind to speak out loud to the beautiful boy stealing hearts on the lacrosse field and upending your world with every smile he gives you. But he can sense something is off, and if you don't explain why soon, you may just be the downfall of everything.

𝐬𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧 𝓍 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 12.2K ⋮ 18+ ⋮ fluff, angst, smut, plus-size!reader, lacrosse player!jake, semi-fwb au, college au, downbad!jake, insecurites (of the reader), self-manipulation, negative self-talk and thoughts, body worship, praise kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie ᯤ 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈: 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘭𝘥𝘭𝘧𝘦, 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 — 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘢𝘭, 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 — 𝘤𝘰𝘪𝘯, 𝘥𝘪𝘻𝘻𝘺 — 𝘺𝘶𝘦𝘬𝘶, 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 — 𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 — 𝘥𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘴 — 𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦!

⌗ 𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ── First and foremost, thank you for all the love the teaser for this fic got, it makes me so happy that everyone was receptive to this premise and wanted to see the entire story! All of my loves who read this (@lovetaroandtaemin @frenchkisstheabyss @xomakara @innocygnet @tinycatharsis @xylatox @aeristudios and many others), I love you guys and thank you for motivating me to continue it. And to all of you, like I said in the teaser, you are greater than your worst thoughts, and the love that you deserve is waiting for you no matter your size or self-doubts. I hope you enjoy!

You never step out of the car.

It's routine to pick Jake up after every Tuesday and Friday lacrosse practice. You detested the idea at first. You didn't know Jake's teammates and friends—you made a point not to—but you predicted long ago they would smell your anxiety the second you shifted gears on the pavement. "Just have San or someone else do it, please?" You'd responded with something to that effect the first time he asked, and the subject was dropped.

But sticking to your guns became especially difficult once Jake discovered your undoing via his incessant pouting and perfectly-executed neck kisses. Ultimately, your resolve crumbled.

You've driven to and away from the field many times in the past four months, yet your physical reactions in between the driving never change. You sit with bated breath as you see the clock on your dash shift, ten minutes past when you were supposed to be here passing in a blur. Fingers tap against the steering wheel in time to the beat of the song, the melody humming low from your speakers. All of the humdrum habits and safety of your car keep you from feeling small, but the second your head turns, or a sound pulls you from your daze, you're fucked.

Your 2011 Volkswagen is no match for the Audis and Range Rovers surrounding you in the parking lot next to the lacrosse field. In the 9 PM moonlight, they all shine something fierce. The chrome and glossy finishes are in excruciatingly stark contrast to the chipped paint on your front bumper and aged rubber lining your tires.

You can't picture what the field must look like. Booster parents and college alumni's donations ensured top-dollar amenities for the team that you've never seen play once. The Red Hawks have to be formidable in some capacity in order to garner such adoration from your peers and financial support from the school administration.

Jake laughed it off when you said you never went to a game before him and didn't plan on doing so even after ending up in his bed. He just went back to kissing you at the time and let it go because he knew the truth: it wasn't a part of the deal you both agreed upon.

"Yet picking him up is?" Jungwon asked one morning after you told him about taking Jake home the night prior. You lovingly told your best friend to fuck off and mind his business. The questions on his face could have easily cracked through your cool resolve, but you wouldn't let them.

All that can do that is your own nerves, psyching you out in a million ways before Jake can step away from the field and make it to your passenger side door.

Ultimately, though, finally seeing his sweat-soaked hair and cherry-red uniform hugging his body makes the fears dissipate enough for you to breathe normally again. A handful of guys walk off, but Jake and a few friends remain near the edge of the field. You can hear his laugh before he can get to your car, his conversation with his teammates turning from strategy to straight comedy, no doubt. Felix and Vernon share brotherly handshakes with him before making it to their own cars. You tell yourself not to follow them with your eyes, but they betray you the second the two men leave your peripheral vision. The girls waiting outside their vehicles are eager to greet them, sporting denim cutoffs and tank tops meant to show off their midriffs.

Subconsciously, your hand drifts to your own stomach. The skin there hasn't seen the sun in a hot minute. The last time had to be when you were too drunk to care. Now, more than clearheaded, you feel the hard truths come in like tidal waves. The outfit you could never pull off taunts you like the cars do. It's another piece of the puzzle to prove you don't fit in, not really.

The light but purposeful taps to your window pull you from the precipice of another mental spiral. You turn to find Jake fogging up the glass with his quick breaths. His megawatt smile is electric, unfurling your somber mood like a bird's wing. He may desperately need a shower and some rest, but he's never looked more radiant than with his flushed cheeks and damp curls. For how bright the moon shines outside, he's the sun incarnate.

He gets in the passenger side once he sets his equipment in your back seat. After he's settled in, his smile is back on you, warming you with silent heat.

"You smell," you say before pecking his lips. The kiss lasts for only a few seconds, but it could be a lifetime from how slow and smooth it feels, numbing your thoughts to their core like novocaine.

"Oh?" he asks when you pull away, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

"You're lucky I'm into that."

He chuckles. His lips are back on yours in the next second, the sound of his laughter still rumbling on his tongue when it enters your mouth. He presses his hand to your cheek, pulling you into him. The protective taping wrapped around his hand, running from knuckles to wrist, rubs against your cheek with every move of his mouth and fingertips.

You pull away to catch your breath, dizzy from the force of him. He whispers, "Let's go home."

He says the last word reverently, like home is just the two of you and nobody else. Exactly as it should be in his eyes. You try to believe it as you start the car, his hand firm on your thigh as you begin the drive back to his studio apartment. You want to take his words to heart, the only reassurance you'd ever need to quell the fear of opulence and beauty you barely possess, but you know the facts.

It won't last, so you have to enjoy what you can while you have it. But even that seems to be the hardest feat in the universe when you're reminded of what will soon be gone.

"Jaeyun—holy shit—right there." You gasp, moving your hips harder against Jake's soft lips. His tongue swirls around your clit as his fingers enter and exit your spongy walls. The brush of his fingertips hits you as hard as the murmurs of his words against your folds, praise leaving his lips as he admires the essence around his digits. You tighten around them with every swirl of his mouth on the hood of your cunt. He's desperate to make you fall apart once more, nuzzling deeper into you and moving faster.

You made it to his apartment quickly, the tension between you dissipating your earlier worries and transforming them into pure need. He may see it only as an expression of his desire for you, his stamina never-ending despite hours of practice. For you, it's the perfect way to make your ghosts go away, if only for a little while—his shower and rest be damned.

"She's sucking me in so well. Fuck, I love it," Jake comments, more for you than himself. He's a particular type of vulgar in bed. In normal conversation, he barely curses. Sure, he's still a guy surrounded by raging testosterone who possesses some fraction of perverted humor, but when he's lost in you and the sheets, he's feral. His composure becomes frayed in all the right ways when he sees your pussy flutter around his fingers, his tongue, his cock. He can't control it, and you don't want him to.

"God, please let me come again." You sink into his sheets as you arch your hips, chasing the feeling with eager and sweaty limbs. He pins you down harder, squeezing your plush skin between his palms while unraveling you. Jake's too good at this, snug amongst your soaked thighs and warm heat. Maybe he's made to live there in a land of skin and slick, forever existing between your legs.

"Yes, pretty girl. Let me feel it around me this time."

He switches positions quickly, sinking his aching tip inside of you as his wet fingers rub against your clit. He only manages a few strokes before you're losing your composure completely, clutching tightly to his shoulders with weak hands but lit-up nerve endings. His hips flex as your tongue shapes curses and half-completed moans.

"You're so perfect—ah, goddamnit—when you come. It's incredible. You're incredible." Sweat quickly paints his face as he maintains his slow but deep pace. He gains speed only once he feels his high trickling up his spine. "Where do you want it tonight, beautiful?"

You roll your eyes lazily, your head turning into the pillow from his praise. He always asks, although you both know the only correct answer. But you're so lost in him and the afterglow, you swallow the rhetorical barb on your lips and whisper, "Inside, Jaeyun. Fill me up, please? I want it all."

Jake curses once more before he ruts into you. Animalistic, choked cries erupt from deep in his diaphragm when he reaches his orgasm. He already had no composure left to speak of, but it’s as though he's finding it again by letting himself fall apart above you. Ropes of his seed coat your insides with warmth, and you think that this must be what he meant when he said "home" earlier in the car. There's nothing inside or outside of your bubble to fear when you're both so intertwined, so attached to one another in the most primal form.

You lay there together for a moment, evening the tempos of your heartbeats and pace of your breaths together. It's peace at its barest elements. The quiet of your mind feels as foreign as a new language, but Jake makes it easy to learn when he swims the uncharted waters with you.

But that's the trick with ghosts. They creep in the moment after a person believes they've bested them once and for all.

"I gotta ask you something," Jake whispers. He rubs his hands against the expanse of your back, but it's no longer soothing. The warmth you felt a mere ten minutes ago turns to ice, the calm waters transforming into a harsh current you're preparing to drown in. Jake senses the sudden rigidness of your body in the aftermath of his statement. He chuckles and pulls you in closer. "Relax, I'm not proposing to you."

You huff, quietly relieved. "Would've been an odd way to ask, anyway."

His chest rumbles with laughter. Your fear lowers to a manageable degree, but you remain on your toes. Possibilities flicker across your mind, the cryptic message capable of anything. Will he make another stink about you seeing one of his games? Does he want to risk you finally agreeing to attend one of the dumb house parties you've said no to a million times over, only for you to swat him on the arm and tell him to go to bed?

Your throat dries up in anticipation of the inevitable. After a moment, he says, "I want you to meet my parents."

You try silence to listen as Jake explains further, but you're running on half concentration and half inner turmoil. A few of his words play in a loop in your brain as you watch his lips move.

Jake's parents. Home from overseas. He wants to introduce you to them.

There were only a handful of rules established at the onset of whatever your relationship was. One of them was not to make the relationship itself intimately known amongst friends and family. Jake's teammates and your friends are aware you both are seeing each other, but that's the beginning and end of it. There's no showing off photos of each other, no bouts of PDA to make people envious or uncomfortable, and definitely no sharing of personal information.

You like it that way. It keeps the outside world from creeping in and expanding the doubts already adequately sized in your mind. You don't think you can take that reality, the one where everyone pulls their two cents together for the destruction of what little you've scrounged up with Jake, so you live in this one instead. You're at an arm's length from the entirety of him and his life, but he's still reachable. And you're still safe.

Only now, Jake is threatening that safety by wanting what's outside of your bounds, asking you to give parts of yourself you can't breach.

You pull away from him sharply, tasting alkaline metal in the back of your throat. In response, Jake's blush-painted cheeks go white. He presses both hands to either side of your face before you have time to move further away. His touch is so sweet, but it doesn't save you from getting lost in your head. "I know it's a lot, but they'd love you right away. And I—"

"What would we even say?" You interrupt him with bite, your teeth gnashing together in hard clamps. "'Hi, Mom, this is the girl from my organic chemistry class I've been fucking all semester. Dad, that's a nice tie'?"

"I wouldn't exactly put it like that," he jokes. He pushes some of your sweaty strands of hair from your face as he composes his next words. "And my dad doesn't wear ties, so we're good there."

"Jaeyun, you're missing my point!"

"I'm seeing it loud and clear, babe. I'm just saying there's nothing to worry about, especially my dad's fashion choices."

His teasing only makes your stomach sink deeper. How can you make him understand your perspective without cracking open months' worth of anxiety? You aren't officially dating, but it's been working just fine within the parameters of no labels. Why screw it up? "Yunnie, I can't. You know why."

He gulps and rubs one thumb along the apple of your cheek. He says nothing, but his brown irises and downturned lips hold all the questions in the world you can't answer. The biggest one of all nearly upends your willpower: Why can't you want more?

The problem is not that you don't. You do, so much so the desire for it could suffocate you. There's no woman on this planet who could sleep with Jake for this long and not grow fond of him. And that fondness has only grown stronger with time, time to be breathless with him by your side and time for your mind to race around thoughts of him when he wasn't there.

But you can't get lost in fantasy; you must be realistic. There will be a day he realizes you both are on two different planes of existence. You're perpendicular lines that, by some galaxy's grace, converged once and never will again.

He's Sim Jaeyun, lacrosse co-captain and statuesque head to toe. And you're you, the girl who your middle school bully nicknamed "Pudding" as she poked your stomach with a ruler. The teenager who delivered love notes to your friends from boys searching for less love handles and more sex appeal. The woman molded from pitiful pats to the chin and words of judgement caked with sugary understanding. "It's just baby fat, darling. We all get it, and it'll go away when you hit a growth spurt one day."

That day never came, and the extra tissue stayed. But, with time and effort, you grew callous to protect what remained soft inside of you.

Jake is the only person who seems to seep past the hard edges you've built without knowing any of your history, and it terrifies you. It makes you believe for a millisecond that he could make all the intrusive thoughts disappear if you'd let him.

But he can't, not when he asks for things that will never come, and definitely not when you're positive he won't care when he leaves you behind.

It doesn't make the pain on his face any easier to bear, though. It sags from defeat, and his lips turn in the pout you adore when he sees you don't want to hurt him any more than you already have by saying no. Before he can utter another word, or his expression can wound you deeper, you shut him up with something you'll regret later, a trade that feels like a death sentence. "The Hawk's Gala."

His eyes widen. "What?"

"The Hawk's Gala's this Sunday, right? After Saturday's game?" You swallow your fear like a dry pill. "I'll go with you."

Jake asked you weeks ago if you would attend the team's annual gala to celebrate the midway point of the season. One night, he mentioned it when you were too preoccupied with his cock in your mouth to give him a definitive answer. You expected him to not broach the topic again after you left him with no elaboration. But he had no room to complain after you swallowed every bit of his cum and mental energy. Unfortunately for you, he asked one more time after that, and you blew him again to make the invitation disappear from his mind.

Now, you’ve sprung the idea back on him to escape from the original conversation, but it only makes you feel worse as every pore on Jake's face lights up. "Really?"

He's like a kid sneaking a peek at his birthday present, tentative but ready to burst at the seams. You nod, not smiling but not frowning either, and the dam of his excitement breaks.

He squishes you back into bed, unaware of the terror in your eyes as he smatters kisses across your face and neck. His elation breaks your heart evenly down the middle, the hope seeping out of him souring instead of sweetening your mood. He's buzzing with the beginning of something more while you see the slow crawl to your end. The credits are rolling quickly past your eyes, the cackles and judgement ringing in your ears, and you can do nothing to stop it.

Working retail has to be one of the worst jobs you've ever had. It's monotonous to boot, the only upside being the extra money in your pocket for extra college expenses.

For all the glamour of the glitzy tops and convenience of the mall's constant markdowns, you have thought of quitting almost twice a day. Once customers see the name tag pinned to your shirt, you cease to be a person and become another goal post to the shopping bag they'll walk out of the store with.

The only bright spots have been your coworkers. Like Heeseung, who runs a tight ship as the store manager, and Sunwoo, your right-hand man when you need him to help with folding or handling rowdy teenagers.

Well, them, and the rare occurrence when Jake breaks your rules and stops by after classes to see you. It may only be ten to twenty minutes of time, most of those minutes being spent near the pretzel stand adjacent to the store, but it means more than you'd ever admit to anyone.

Today, you know it will be one of the hardest shifts of your life. Watching Wonyoung walk into the store with a random guy on Jake's team on her arm is like the knock of Death's fist on your door. You assume the poor kid is on the team from the Red Hawks letterman jacket he's wearing. The scoff that leaves your mouth is unavoidable. She couldn't be more transparent in her tactics to make her ex-boyfriend jealous when he's not even around.

Her presence makes a knot form in your throat as you finish rearranging the jeans on the display near the cash registers. What could she want in this store on this night when you're one of the few employees working the floor? Heeseung's on his half-hour lunch break while Sunwoo's been delegated to dressing room duty. You could use your walkie, call for backup and pretend the SOS is for a legitimate emergency, but then Heeseung would pry into it as your friend and superior. In short, there's no escaping the situation presented to you on a cruel, platinum-blonde platter.

When Wonyoung appears in front of you with a lacy dress in one hand and her boy candy's hand intertwined with the other, you stifle the bile crawling up your throat and paint on your best smile. "Welcome to Fatal Trouble Fabrics, what can I help you with?"

Wonyoung's own smile is more artificial than yours, saccharine yet glazed with venom. "Is XS the smallest size you guys have? I think it may be too roomy in the hips for me."

Your jaw ticks, and you tug the corner of your bottom lip between your teeth. "There's always alternative sizing options on our website. We go from XXXS to XXXL in almost all of the garments." You can hear the clinical objectivity in your voice, but it's the only way to get through the hell that is this conversation.

She's everything you're not in too many ways to tally up. She's half your weight soaking wet and effortlessly dolled up in the most natural makeup you've ever seen. Not to mention she has two years of experience with Jake to speak for that you'll never measure up to. He’s spoken about her in the rarest of times, only saying it ended badly during his second semester and he would never venture down that path with her again. His reassurance was a slight comfort, but not enough to quell the insecurities she springs out of you.

The second her eyebrow quirks up, your urge to vomit heightens. She can see she's getting to you; with the way her lips purse, she has to have some inkling. Knowing you’re going against a snake ready for the last strike against its defenseless prey, you steel yourself for whatever will come next.

She looks past you to the rack with tube tops in multiple colors. She lets go of Boy Candy's hand to rifle through the clothes, completely silent. Then, she pulls one bigger-sized article off the display before saying, "I'd love to buy this for my sister, but she's a bit chubbier than this. You know, your size."

Boy Candy can't fight the laughter that sputters past his lips. Your face twitches once, only once, but it makes your sight turn to the smallest capacity of tunnel vision you've ever known. She didn't have to go there, yet she did. You don’t have to feel the bruise of her insult, yet you do. It’s all over your posture now, and you can’t avoid it.

You grip another pair of jeans tighter in your hands. Turning to fold them, you say over your shoulder, "You should check out the website, then. It’ll have a lot more options for…easily accessible clothing, if you get what I mean."

Just as she's about to step closer to you, her plastic grin turning to a pissed-off pout, Jake saunters through the store and immediately wraps his hand around her upper arm. You know he's not hurting her, but it still makes your blood run cold seeing him in this protective mode. It's not one he's ever had to use for you, or maybe anyone, before. "Won, don't do this here. I mean it."

"Dude, you can't do that!" Boy Candy interjects with a high-pitched yell. He shrinks immediately when Jake turns in his direction, looking at the smaller and younger kid with rigid apathy.

"Kai, get lost before I tell Coach to bump you to second line just for pissing me off."

Kai raises his hands in defense and walks backwards to the store entrance, leaving Wonyoung to fend for herself. Jake goes back to staring down his ex-girlfriend, his expression on the cusp of explosion. “I’m asking you nicely to not cause a scene. Next time, I won’t.”

She huffs and yanks her arm from Jake's hold. "Whatever. Call me when you get tired of slumming it with food court trash." She looks back at you with a smirk before walking away towards Boy Candy.

You want to throw all the pairs of jeans at her until her smug face disappears from your mind. More importantly, you want to muffle the thoughts now overloading your headspace.

Please keep it together, you tell yourself when Jake puts his hand on your hip with reverence, a gesture that makes your heart swell but your breath quicken. Don't remind me I don't deserve him right now.

"Are you okay?" he asks patiently, moving his hand to run his thumb under your shirt. No coworkers or customers are around to see him be so secretly intimate with you, but you blush all the same.

You nod. "Yeah. I just wanna get through this shift,” You manage a smile, and he visibly relaxes when you affirm you’re fine. “You could've texted and said you were coming by."

"Well, it was a surprise." Jake moves away from you to take a box from his denim jacket. It's wrapped with a white bow, but he quickly unties it in order to open the packaging. "I know you said no gifts, but I wanted to give you this."

A gold necklace appears between his fingers. The rectangular pendant hanging from its center features a cutout of a bird, the negative space forming the shape of a hawk in flight.

You could cry if you weren’t awestruck by the gift’s beauty. Combing through your memory, you realize nobody has ever given you something so precious. It would be criminal to say no to it, although every basic instinct tells you not to fall for the false comfort it provides. But how could it be false when Jake looks at the jewelry like it's his own heart laid bare for you to take?

Without a word of protest, you turn and tuck your hair away from your shoulders so he can put the necklace on you. You can feel his smile without looking, and your knees buckle a touch.

Jake secures the clasp at the back of your neck. The pendant falls perfectly over your heart, shining against the store's halogen lights. His fingertips brush your nape as he moves away. He lights your skin on fire in every way, but the subsequent smile he gives you is what makes your belly ache with need. "I know you're going to look beautiful, but I couldn't have you going to this dinner without wearing something…symbolic."

"Symbolic, huh?" You smirk, feigning confidence, but you feel as vulnerable as he does when you ask it.

"Yeah, I think so." He runs his hand across your waist again, like he wants to pull you closer and harder against him. "If it wasn't unprofessional of you to make out with a customer, I'd have kissed you already."

You giggle, your smile beaming. "I don't think anyone's around to stop you, Sim."

He mumbles a "Fuck it" before attaching his mouth to yours, warming you to the bones slowly. You smile into his kiss and let it wash away the pain. For a moment, you think you might come out of the dinner in a few days without issue. As long as he never leaves your side, you think you can do it. Maybe.

Your fingers were tentative against the bruise marring Jake's shoulder blade. Tinted a shade deeper than his normal skintone but visibly lighter at the edges, the bruise will fade in another few days. You know this from asking him a few hours ago how it happened. "From practice, it's fine—just let me touch you, please," he had said in haste to pull you closer and take your clothes off.

Now, you tread across it gently as you sit shoulder-to-shoulder with him, covers pulled up to your chest to cover your naked skin.

"Broken blood vessels cause the bruise itself," he says. "It can take up to two weeks for the body to break down the buildup of blood, depending on the level of injury." He runs his bottom lip along your forehead, and you shiver against him, making him chuckle. "You could try listening, you know. I'm giving you important medical information here!" 

You laugh into his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. "I am! Just didn't expect you to know so much about the anatomy of a bruise when your degree is for veterinary medicine."

He shrugs, suddenly bashful. For all the talk of Jake around campus as a beast on the field, he's incredibly intelligent. One class was enough for you to see how engaged he was with his studies, more than just some jock you knew by name only. He always asked questions, took diligent notes, and collaborated in discussions without dominating the conversation. In truth, it was a shock that he asked to exchange lecture notes with you over coffee two months ago.

"You're one of the only people who jots down everything Mr. Choi says!" You tried not to sound rude when responding to his proposition, but you were unsure what exactly he wanted from you in the first place. Especially when he was the equivalent of a movie starlet and you…well…

He just smiled and said, "Well, it was kinda hard to do that today when I spent half of his presentation staring at you."

You shake away your bout of reminiscing, coming back to Earth to hear Jake's breakdown of bruises for dummies. He rolls his eyes dramatically after you apologize for losing your train of focus. "Anyway, that's why bruises can be hot to the touch. It's also why they change color little by little as the blood is broken down.

"From black and blue…" Jake presses a kiss to the spot between your eyebrows. He drags his mouth across your face with every pause he takes between speaking. "…to brown…sometimes green and yellow…"

His lips on your neck make you tremble once again under his touch. Your body acts as though he didn't already spread it out for the taking a mere half hour ago.

"…and then back to its normal color," he murmurs before another tantalizing kiss lands on your lips. You stifle a moan, but a partial sound squeaks out anyway that turns your cheeks a rosy hue. "Good as new."

"Now who's losing focus, huh," you jest.

"I think I'm doing just fine in that department, pretty girl."

The edges of your mouth turn up before you press your mouth to his wounded skin. His body feels all kinds of warm against your lips. He groans unabashedly, his own gooseflesh perking up on his arms and neck from your attention. You giggle like a teenager, vulnerable in a way that isn't sounding off alarm bells in your brain.

He's the beginning, middle, and end of safety, every emotion stirred up in your heart cared for with his gentle hands.

"Who needs the body's healing process when you can just kiss it better?" he teases before pinning you between his body and his bedsheets.

You scoff playfully. "Do those lines work with all the girls?"

He pokes his tongue at you before booping your nose with his index finger. "Hopefully just one, the only one that matters."

You think Jake may be your own personal bruise, an unexpected force that's affected every inch of your body. But you don't want him to fade, not now and not ever.

You wake from your dream to the sound of your phone's text alert. Jake's contact photo lights up your phone, but what catches your attention the most is the time on your homescreen. "Fuck," you mutter before leaping from bed. Your hands make quick work of rifling through your closet as a million more curses leave your lips.

You thought a quick hour nap before getting ready would quell your anxieties about the gala in question finally coming around the corner. Unfortunately, your anxieties also made you forget to set a damn alarm, and thus left you with only an hour and a half to get ready.

And the brutality of your nerves smacks you in the face as you scroll through Jake's messages.

J 🤍 [04:15]: Hey, pretty girl. Just in case you forgot and want to coordinate, I'll be wearing red ;)  J 🤍 [04:18]: Well, a red letterman jacket and a dress shirt. But red! J 🤍 [05:05]: Ok, a bit worried you haven't responded, but I don't want you freaking out about anything. You could walk in wearing a sack and you'd be gorgeous like you always are… J 🤍 [05:07]: I mean, don't come in a sack if you think that's too basic, but I'll love whatever you wear. Text me when you're on your way. J 🤍 [05:59]: Is everything okay?

"Damnit," you say before typing a quick response back to him that you're okay despite oversleeping. You end the text with a winking emoji and a heart that will ease his worries.

If only the little pixels could assuage yours.

The pit in your stomach from this morning was the size of a golf ball, manageable until you needed to sleep to take your mind off of its presence. Now, it's the size of a dinner plate pressing down on your ribcage with each and every dress you put on. They all fail to impress you, none of them doing the work of making your burdens disappear. One burgundy dress that falls to the middle of your thighs is passable, but you still want to punch a hole through the mirror hanging on your bathroom door when you see your reflection.

Even as you run heaps of makeup across your face and curl your hair, you feel like a clown that's missing the best parts of their costume. In the next second, you swipe too much lipstick on your upper lip and let out the wail of a wounded animal. It's ragged and spent, tattered from all sides.

At that moment, the first truth becomes an unmistakable blow to the stomach: every pretty garment and expensive cosmetic in the world won't keep you from embarrassing Jake. You will stick out like a sore thumb at that dinner, a stain over the picture-perfect moment he could have if you stay out of sight and mind.

In the next moment, the second truth appears: you won't be leaving your apartment tonight. You set the lipstick tube down on your desk and try not to dry heave, waddling back to your bed to disappear under the covers.

You'll break his heart for breaking your promise, but all you can do is hope he'll allow you to mend it. Maybe some part of him will understand there's a valid reason you missed it, one you cannot verbalize, but he recognizes under the layers of pretty words you'll use. That will be better than knowing the entirety of your excuse for blowing him off.

You don't bother wiping off the wreck you've made of your face or discarding the dress in the heap of clothes you've made on the floor. You toss and turn under the comforter, tears streaming down your face and hands clutching your necklace as the sun sets. Hearing the sounds of the outside world greeting dusk, you feel half your size but steel yourself to sleep with the knowledge it's better this way. It has to be.

Jake has tried to be patient. 

He knows he could not have been more reasonable and nonjudgemental as he watches your chest rise and fall in your sleep. Your figure in the throes of your slumber is so beautiful, especially when your fingers remain wrapped around the pendant at your throat. He swears to himself he could fall in love with you all over again tonight if he wasn't so disappointed and pissed off. And with those emotions too present in his gut to avoid, he knows you've worn his patience down to the quick.

He waited for a half-hour outside of the restaurant for you to show, biting the skin around his nails as each minute passed by with your face nowhere in sight. Texts went unresponded to, calls unanswered, even video chat requests went through dead air. He had half a mind to run away from the venue to make sure you hadn't slipped in the shower or something far more dangerous kept you from meeting him.

Throughout the entire dinner, he brushed the concerned questions from his teammates off and said you fell too ill to make it. The guys said nothing and continued on with the engagement, but Jake remained rattled through the rest of the night. When he said his goodbyes, he felt a small semblance of relief, because that meant he could drive straight to you for the answers he desperately sought.

He didn't expect to find you passed out. You usually greet him at the door with eager arms and peckish lips, but you were too fatigued and lost in sleep to hear him unlocking your front door and stepping inside. He was also floored to find your apartment in ruins, the place akin to a bomb going off in all directions that gave no clues as to what happened to you. So, all he could do was sit at your bedside and watch you, your eyelids and body twitching as you dreamed.

Jake's been patient long enough, more than understanding for you, the girl he loves, but now he needs some sense of direction that only you can provide.

Jake runs his thumb over the lipstick smudge on your cupid's bow, and he curses himself when your eyes flutter open. You look peaceful for a moment as you wake up, but your irises immediately flood with fear at Jake's presence and the darkness surrounding you both. "What time is it?" you ask.

"One on the dot," he responds. "I used the spare key in the plant pot by your door."

You rub your face and rise, shame flooding every part of your body. You ran through the cycle of chastising yourself and swearing you were doing the right thing a thousand times over before you passed out, but facing Jake is a new breed of raw. His hurt is palpable, especially in the quiet cold of the night. It pierces you long and hard when he asks, "What happened?"

You mumble, "Nothing looked nice enough to go out in." You shrug, balling the fabric of your dress between your fists. "And I couldn't come out and meet everyone like this."

"I think this looks just fine," he says with an incredulous expression, still tainted with pain but newly inscribed with wholehearted empathy. "Better than that, actually." 

Jake's hand comes to meet the side of your neck, brushing the gold necklace along your nape, and you bite down on your lip hard to fight the swell of emotion crawling up your throat. "I need you to talk to me," he whispers as you taste blood in your mouth.

You step away from him to grab your hamper, pawing at the heaps of clothing on your floor with trembling hands. If you can't control the conversation, the least you can do is make your house less of a war-zone. Anything is better than facing Jake head-on right now. "There's nothing to say besides that I didn't come and I'm sorry, I really am." You look at him directly in the eyes, forcing some confidence to rise to the surface. "Can we please just drop it?"

He scoffs at your question. "You stand me up, refuse to give me a valid explanation why, and think it's okay to ask me to drop it?" He makes you stop grabbing clothes from the floor by clutching both of your shoulders in his palms. "What is going on with you?"

You shake your head so fast it makes you dizzy. "I can't do this, Jaeyun. Please."

"Baby, I just need help understanding this, 'cause I'm so fucking confused right now." His arms run up your skin to rest on your face. "Is this about what happened the other day with Wonyoung?"

"Partly," you admit. You walk away from his touch again, but he follows behind you as you move around your small apartment. When you've done enough tidying up, you throw the hamper to one side by your bed, unbothered if the mess of clean clothes is now mixed with your dirty laundry. "How about I tell you how the night would have played out if I did show up? Your friends would've looked at me like a zoo attraction but tried to keep the peace by making small talk that means fuck-all to anyone. And no matter how polite or funny I was, they would've thought to themselves or said to their girlfriends by the end of the night that you're fucking insane for spending time with…"

The silence is impenetrable, charged with words you can't say but you hope Jake can make sense of without needing verbalization.

His face morphs in the quiet, seething.

"With what?" Jake invades your space, his quiet voice and stoic face chilling you to the bone. You lose all sense of courage to continue, but he quirks an eyebrow up as his eyes darken. "Finish the fucking sentence. With what?"

You swallow hard, terrified to say the words rattling around in your brain. You settle on something simple, but the two letters feel anything but. "Me."

The tears slide down your cheeks like knives, cutting you open for Jake to see. This is the moment that you've been dreading since the second he made a home in your heart. It won't go back to the way it was before, before every insecurity was laid bare.

"I'm fucking disgusting, Jake," you mutter with despair. "It's a miracle I've gotten past being terrified of you seeing me naked, but everyone in your life knowing that we're together would be too much because it's obvious that—" You choke on the words, the tears now coating your throat like poison. "I'm not meant for you, and you should be going out with someone like your ex, someone who's beautiful by every standard known to man." You laugh sadly. "Or maybe someone who meets even half of that criteria. But not—"

"Fuck you." He slams his letterman jacket down on the desk. A mixture of your makeup falls on the floor when the jacket meets the wood slab, but you barely hear the crack of your compacts or tubes of lipstick on the laminate tile. You're too focused on Jake's appalled and betrayed face to notice anything but him. "You have no right telling me who I'm supposed to be with, who I should want, who to love. That's nobody's business but mine. And you must think somewhat highly of yourself to think you can control that. Screw my friends' opinions or anyone else's." 

"It should! They matter to you."

"You matter more, more than anyone!"

He inhales a sharp breath as his eyes water. You thought his pouts broke your heart before, but seeing him worn down like this is true heartbreak. He's broken from how broken you are, and you wish you had the power to stitch him back together. Clearly, you've made a bigger mess than you intended to, and now there's no going back.

Jake takes a few short, tear-stricken breaths before saying, "Fuck I—I love you, okay? I love you so much that all of the criticism in the world is background noise when I look at you. You're the one person, the only person I've ever known, who makes time stop for me and my problems matter less. And you're so gorgeous I can't think straight sometimes." A hollow laugh escapes him, but you can't react to it properly. Not when you're crying as hard as he is.

"I wish you could see yourself how I see you, so much it kills me, but I can't do that for you. You have to see that for yourself."

You're stunned into complete silence, your heart denying his confession as your brain computes he's walking closer to the door, prepared to leave before you can find an adequate response. You don't find one in time as he turns the knob and prepares to leave.

Before he can, he says with a somber lilt to his tone, "I hope whoever gets to see the version of you who loves herself as much as I do knows they're lucky. Because that girl will be invincible."

The slam of your door is a gunshot, piercing your chest and staining your dress a darker shade of burgundy. You manage to grip Jake's jacket between your hands and hold it close, the only thing keeping your shattered heart held together being his scent on the fabric. What could you have said to keep him, to make him stay? How could you tell him you love him too despite all the disdain you hold for yourself being what drove him away in the first place?

Your cries converge with piercing screams, rubbing your voice raw until there's nothing else to do but continue sobbing silently in a ball on the floor with his jacket as your lifeline.

The last week has been hell, to say the least.

You didn't try reaching out to Jake the next morning when you woke up. You were too hollow, too shaken. At the same time, the last words he said filled you with a sensitivity you could not find words for, and trying to pretend that didn't happen would be disrespectful to both of you.

And, to make it worse, there was no outreach on his end. He didn't show up to class on Monday or Wednesday, and there were no messages or calls from him to springboard off of. What else could you do besides leave him be? Why else would he walk away from you the way he did, spent and out of chances to give, if he didn't want to be left alone?

Hours rolled into days of silence, both parties unsure how to break the now insurmountable block of ice. You felt like a coward with every passing day, missing him desperately in spite of your lack of words. The newfound hole in your chest, inscribed with Jake's name, could only be filled by him, and it grew wider while you waited for the day he'd return or for you to find the strength to undo the pain you caused.

You sweep the store floor with your aching heart, eager to end your Sunday shift in an hour and sink into bed once again. Without Jake, your routine has been heading to work or school, running home to eat takeout, streaming a movie to cry to, and passing out. It's not that dissimilar from the habits you had before he came into your life, but it's even more soul-crushing knowing the before and after of his presence is starkly different.

Just as you walk over to the counter to grab your dustpan to collect the dust, Felix and Vernon appear like phantoms near the register.

"Jesus Christ!" You immediately stick your broom in the space between you and the two men, and their eyes widen at your defensive stance. "How the fuck did you get in the store? We closed ten minutes ago."

"We bribed some blonde kid to let us in," Vernon responds, rubbing the back of his shaved head with a sweaty palm. Although he still looks surprised you're using a cleaning tool as a weapon, his voice is deadpan.

"Fucking Sunwoo," you mutter under your breath. "Listen, you guys might be great with lacrosse sticks, but I'm even better with this broom." You waggle it to prove your point. "So, you should get the fuck out before I knock one of you on the head."

"Please, just hear us out," Felix starts. His deep voice, thicker than his counterpart or even Jake's, stuns you. "J is miserable without you."

"Yeah," Vernon confirms. "He had to sit out of the game yesterday."

You're surprised your heart can still beat after being so perfectly decimated a week ago, but it breaks once again hearing about Jake's disposition. "The feeling's mutual."

"Okay. Then talk to him and say you're sorry, simple." Felix gives you a close-lipped smile, but it seems more forced than friendly.

Your brows furrow as your hand raises up to clutch the pendant close to your heart. "He's the one that left me."

"After you stood him up," Vernon interjects, pointing a finger out. Your lack of a response makes Vernon huff out an exasperated breath of air. Before he can say anything else, Felix cuts him off.

"We shouldn't have come, this is clearly pointless."

"Oh really?" You clench your fist around the broom, the curved plastic biting into your skin.

Felix's lips mold into a deep frown, hurt rather than anger coating every feature on his face. "You made judgements about us before we even got a chance to meet you—"

"Yeah! That's pretty fucked up, by the way. We wouldn't fat-shame you. We like curvy girls!" Vernon defends himself, and Felix fights the urge to smack his older friend upside the head.

"Thanks," you respond. The word on your lips is more of a question than a statement, but you appreciate Vernon's sentiment.

"And yet you were worried we would look at you a certain way," Felix continues.

"Is that so surprising?" you justify, eyes on the verge of watering.

Felix nods before responding with, "Because the things you were so worried about were built up in your own head. It wasn't Jake's or anyone else's doing."

You bite your bottom lip, unable to deny his declarations, but offended. "Tell that to Wonyoung."

"Won's a bitch to almost everyone. She doesn't count," Vernon counters, and Felix can't help but laugh a little and nod.

Felix turns serious again. "Jake loves you no matter what you think others see when they look at you, and if that isn't apparent by now, you're not the person he told us so much about."

Felix walks towards the entrance, and Vernon leaves you with some ultimate words of advice before following his teammate out. "Just…talk to him, please."

You feel like a kid with a stomachache, scolded for eating too much candy and expecting a different result. In a way, your reactions have been admittedly childish, despite every good intention you had keeping Jake on the outskirts of your worst self-critical thoughts. But maybe he wouldn't have shied away from you that night if you had been honest from the beginning about the fears you had beginning a relationship with him. Maybe you would have survived it, perhaps even thrived despite all the monsters insisting you two weren't fit for each other.

But that was the past. Now was undetermined, and maybe it could still turn in your favor.

Sunwoo steps into view after the two guys exit the store. Your eyes burn with ire for your younger coworker, but he raises his hands immediately and says, "I need a new hard drive, and they gave me twenty bucks!"

You let go of the irritation directed at Sunwoo and finally make work of picking up the dust from the floor. If anything, it reminds you of all that still needs fixing, especially between you and the boy you can't forget.

But it's all down to you, and whether you can put in the effort to dispel your own demons once and for all.

You begin healing.

On Monday morning, twelve-ish hours after seeing Felix and Vernon at work, you skip class and head to the university's counseling center. It's two hours of intake forms and appointment setting, but it makes all the difference in the world walking out of that office a few pounds metaphorically lighter.

You talk to Jungwon and Sunwoo in a coffee shop off-campus and unload the fears that have plagued you your entire life, their voices of reassurance being the first ones you've ever heard that allow the tears to lessen and the reality of your situation to settle on your body like a warm blanket.

"You're a human with anxieties," Jungwon says as Sunwoo rubs your back in circles. "You need support like any other person. It's not right to go through it alone."

And you don't. You sit with them through lunch and dinner, drinking coffee and acknowledging your mindset needs to change.

When your head hits the pillow that night, you go to sleep with the comfort of knowing you're taking the first steps to a version of you that's better.

Wednesday, you prepare to talk to Jake. You have the words picked out perfectly in your head, recognition of your mistakes and willingness to change littered throughout. Only he never shows, and your heart sinks. He certainly can pass without a few days of attendance, but if he's putting this much effort into avoiding you, is it too late?

Was this your penance, having figured everything out after getting it so irrevocably wrong?

The answer to the question comes in the form of a sweaty Felix on the cusp of dusk. He grabs your shoulder just before you can get into your car, the day's fatigue and sadness weighing down your bones.

"J's meeting his parents tomorrow for dinner at the Italian place across from the field," Felix says through ragged breaths. "He better look like a dog with a bone when I see him on Friday at practice or I will kick your ass personally, girl or not."

You chuckle, tears lining your eye ducts. "Thank you. Really."

"Yeah. Thank me after you talk to him. He loves you but you know as well as I do that he's a stubborn fucker sometimes." He gives a last nod for good luck before running in the opposite direction.

You park in front of the restaurant with two bouquets in hand and your anxiety shot to hell. Nerves entrench your body from head to toe as you walk into the place, too busy with the flowers to bite your nails.

Before, you would pick out everyone else's clothes and physiques compared to yours like a ruthless guessing game, the only players being you and your harshest critics. Do I look as hideous as I feel? Can everyone tell? Now, that's the furthest thing from your mind. All you care to do now is fix what you've damaged.

"Welcome to Maggiano's," the perky hostess says as you walk closer to the podium. "How can I help you?"

"I'm meeting a party of three. S-Sim should be the last name on the reservation." You stutter over your words. You're unable to see Jake or his parents in the sea of crowded tables under dimmed chandelier lighting, and it throws your confidence off even more.

She directs you to their table, a corner booth off of the kitchen, and you will yourself to make the trek over to them with the last of your strength. Jake's gaze remains focused on his parents, and it's a small kindness that you don't need to face him just yet.

His parents notice you first, and they smile kindly at you. "Hello there," the woman you assume to be Jake's mother says, eyes crinkling with a smile that is all too familiar.

Jake turns to meet the subject of his mother's attention, and a million emotions flash across his eyes like shooting stars when he sees you, brief but telling. Only pain remains when the surprise wears off, and you wish his face held any other emotion but the one you know so personally.

You smile at his parents politely. "I'm Jake's girlfriend. I apologize for being late, but I was busy grabbing these." You hand one bouquet to his mother, her face lighting up at the peonies wrapped in pink tissue paper. You give Jake his own set of flowers, yellow marigolds. "For tomorrow's game. The florist said they represent good luck, not that you need it."

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice hoarse but cheeks immediately flushing pink. He turns to his parents, the couple still surprised and happy to see you. You can only wonder what Jake has told them about you, but Jake cuts your wondering short when says, "Can you guys give us a minute to talk?"

His hand in yours as he pulls you away feels too right, too easy to fall back into. A thousand memories cross your mind as you recognize this may be the last time his skin touches yours. Sleeping in and missing class as the sun rose high in the sky. Nights after practices where you couldn't remember your name unless Jake was saying it in sighs and curses. And the last ones where you were the source of his disappointment.

Can the good outweigh the bad at this point? You can only hope so.

When you're a respectful distance away from the table, Jake stands in front of you with his hands nestled in his pockets. You can see him fumbling with his thumbs under the cloth, a telltale sign of nerves he doesn't want to show. "What are you doing here?"

You swallow heavy air, your gut tightening. "I came to apologize. I should have told you from the beginning that there were these terrible opinions of myself and my body image. And keeping them from you didn't stop them from coming, but I should've given you more credit. You never made me feel like I was unworthy of being with you. That was all me."

He nods, sadness tugging the edges of his lips down. "I know."

"I'm actually turning things around, believe it or not." You laugh, the sound filled with promise rather than desolation. "And it helped me to realize now that living behind a wall I thought kept me safe did nothing but hurt you, the only person I've ever loved, and I'm so sorry."

His face perks up hearing the last few words on your lips. You clutch the pendant on your neck for strength, and his face softens at the realization you're still wearing it. You never stopped.

"I love you," you confess, "the guy who fidgets with everything at his desk when he's bored, and even when he's not. I love you because it's heart-stoppingly cute when you talk about the atomic makeup of random objects just for fun. Because you're an incredible friend, a beautiful person, and someone I want to keep getting the privilege of knowing. You saw and loved me, past all the reasons I found to hate myself." Your words fall apart by the end, voice fragmented from vulnerability, but you continue. "And you may not be in love with me anymore, but you deserve to know that you are loved by me still, and I'm thankful I had the chance to—"

You don't recognize Jake is kissing you until he places both his quivering hands on your face, the brush of his lips on yours being everything necessary to heal the hole in your heart. It's so unexpected, but essential for you to breathe again. Jake kisses you like he knows it too, like he feels the same ache inside of him that needs repairing with your help.

Tears run down your face until you taste saltwater on your tongue, but you don't care. You refuse to waste another second without him. Home is here with him, with all of your ghosts revealed.

Jake pulls away softly. "I missed that," you confess against his lips, water still trickling down your face.

"Me too," he affirms, his own wet lids reflecting in the lights of the chandeliers. "I love you."

You giggle, relief flooding your body. It's cool water over parched earth, saving a being close to the brink of ruin. "I love you more."

Jake laughs too, shaking his head like you've said the silliest words known to humankind. "Not possible." He tucks his hand under your chin before kissing you again, his lips the only salvation you'll ever need.

His dad whistles at the two of you, and Jake begrudgingly lets go of your face. "Lovebirds, we need to put in our order!" he yells from across the restaurant, and almost everyone in the room laughs. You can't fight it, laughing too into Jake's suit jacket as he holds you close.

Tonight, you don't mind the spotlight, especially with Jake nearby.

The ride back to your apartment is so long it feels like you're suffocating with every minute that remains of your ETA. You try abiding by the traffic laws and staying in your lane, but you may die if another stoplight keeps you from taking Jake home. "Patience," Jake murmurs with a smirk, rubbing small circles into your outer thigh.

"Coming from you, that's ironic." You squeeze your thighs together for friction, and Jake chuckles to himself. It's unsurprising the way your body reacts to him and his words, both charged with electric currents you've gone without for too long.

The way up to your apartment is tense, only for the fact you're trying to listen to his earlier warning of patience and not pounce on him the second you both walk through the doorway. He sets the marigolds on your kitchen counter with a shit-eating grin, one that makes it even harder to maintain composure. "Beautiful flowers from a beautiful girl. How did I get so lucky?" He pulls you in, the notes of lavender and sage from his cologne tickling you to the core.

"It helps that you're beautiful also." You hide your face in his broad chest, your necklace rustling against his dress shirt. "Thank you," you whisper into his clothes.

"For what?" He rubs your back soothingly, the responding words easy to release when he's holding you so delicately.

"Not giving up on me when you had every reason to."

"I could never," he admits. He pulls your face away from his shirt to run his fingers across your cheek, adoring you with the simplest touch. "Just wanted to make you squirm a little longer."

You mock offense with a hand to your chest. Jake chuckles and kisses the corner of your mouth. "So mean," you taunt.

"You haven't seen mean, pretty girl." Jake brushes your hair away to kiss the nape of your neck, making you shiver. Trailing his lips down to your shoulder blade, he bites down on the curve of it to elicit a yelp from you. He eagerly swallows the sound with his lips, tongue entering your mouth without protest from you.

Jake knows all the ways to make you acquiesce, to fall deeper into him without thinking of looking back up. He makes you want to live in his touch like a second skin, and it's clear he feels the same when he holds you tight against his body.

Jake's thigh rubs your core through the front of your dress, and you whimper against his lips. He moves you both to the bed, slowly undressing you with reverence and soft kisses to each piece of newly revealed skin.

Once you're naked, save for your underwear, he sits up on his knees to admire the view. You don't shy away or cover yourself, too restless to touch and be touched to feel timid. And there are still too many clothes on him.

You tsk. "Not fair," you mumble, but you make quirk work of unbuttoning his shirt and pants with keen hands. You kiss the pulse point at his neck, his chest, and the tuft of hair below his belly button. By the time you're done, his flush cock poking your thigh and your cunt pulsing with need, you're both shaking with desperation.

"Sit on my face, pretty girl," he whispers.

You giggle, breathless and dazed. "What?"

"You heard me. I've been without this pretty pussy for too long," he emphasizes his point by moving your panties to the side and running his finger through the wetness along your folds. You're already breaking, and he treasures that. "I want to show her how much I missed her."

You both get comfortable, you positioning your legs on either side of his head and Jake running his hands along the outside of your thighs. You hover above his lips, scared to truly suffocate him between your skin, but he immediately slams you down onto his chin and makes work of lapping at your cunt.

His whimpers and whines match yours, his nose bumping your clit with every drag of his tongue along your core. It's like he's never tasted it before, the way he's lapping so vigorously. A starved man waiting for his last meal, so desperate yet so giving. Jake runs his tongue around your hole before sinking it inside, his eyes rolling back at the essence gathering on his tongue.

"Fuck, so sweet," he gasps, "My beautiful girl's dripping down my chin. I love the way you taste, you know that? You're amazing."

You nod, moaning wantonly, without true acknowledgement of his words. He retracts his lips from your cunt, and you whimper at the loss. "Say it, beautiful. I want to hear you say how amazing you are."

Jake teases his tongue along your wet walls again, and you buckle down against his face, riding it harder. "I-I'm—oh shit mmph—I'm amazing."

He hums in pleased agreement. He goes faster, bumping your clit with every quick lick and suck. You thrash with the encroaching release your body ardently craves. It wraps around you with each press of his mouth and tongue, and you want to let him take you to the precipice. "I know you're close, beautiful," he whispers into your mound, drunk on the feeling of your body at his mercy. "Be my good girl and come all over my face."

You do as you're told, crying out as your orgasm takes over your senses, endorphins washing over you in expansive ripples. You ride it out until the waves calm to a steady sea, your body wholly and utterly boneless. "Ah, fuck," you breathe out once you come down.

Jake repositions you so you're resting in his lap, his aching cock leaking pre-cum at the sight of your essence soaking your thighs. He presses kisses all over your face, not bothered by the sweat coating your forehead and cheeks. "So beautiful."

You flush, glowing under his praise. Without warning, he sheathes himself fully inside of you, your wetness making the glide effortless. There is still some give, your walls clenching around him as he slides in like he's finally back where he belongs.

"Oh fuck. You're so tight, every time." His head bumps the headboard as your pelvic bones brush, his hips flush with yours when he sinks you further down his cock. "I've missed this—fuck, missed you—so much."

"Me too, Yunnie. So much." Your body bows, taking him in completely without complaint.

"Think I'd die if I didn't get to feel you wrapped around me again," he babbles, lost in the feeling of your velvety walls encasing him. They flutter around him as you begin riding him, your movements slow but calculated to induce tremors. And he feels it, every touch of your hips against his, your slick thighs against him with each time he bottoms out. It's hedonistic heaven, a serene oasis he wants to drown in.

He groans into your chest before sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. You keen, arching your back into him deeper as you slam your hips down onto him. "Bounce on me, baby," he says, releasing your nipple with a pop before teasing the other one with his tongue. "Show me how much you've missed me."

Under his spell, you cater to Jake's every whim, rocking against him harder and grinding faster to push him closer to his release. He bites down on your collarbones to muffle his cries, the pleasure overloading his senses to the point he needs to occupy his mouth and hands with something else. He kneads your breasts as he sucks and licks the skin of your upper chest with care when it blooms a dark color under his lips. "So perfect, and all mine," he mumbles, rutting underneath you, creating stars when you close your eyelids.

"Fuck, Jaeyun, I'm gonna come again," you mewl.

"Me too, pretty girl. Come with me."

You fall together in pieces, the beautiful parts of both of you intermeshing until you're one again. Jake groans as his semen fills you with warmth, ropes of cum spurting out until you feel both of your releases seeping down your legs in droplets.

It's happiness, a passion so pure shared between two people sheltered from the outside world with their intensity.

It's perfection, the way Jake loves you so well. All you can do now is pray he knows you love him just as much, if not more.

Jake wraps himself around you, encasing you tightly after you exit his lap. Your thighs burn, your skin is sweaty, but you feel lit up from within Jake's arms.

"You look happy," Jake says finally with a dopey grin, chest rising and falling.

Once upon a time, you would've brushed his words off with a quick kiss and witty comeback to hide your denial. Now, you don't deflect. You take him and his words with acceptance, knowing for the first time that his words go beyond the surface, their truth undeniable.

"I am."

This time, you step out of the car.

You nod at the respective girls waiting for their boyfriends as you rest against the passenger side door of your car. Your clothes aren't as revealing as theirs, but that's okay; someday you will be ready to be as confident as them, but the first step was exiting the driver's side. "Progress," as Felix would say with a teasing smirk and elbow to your side.

The girls all smile and acknowledge you, but Winter, Felix's girlfriend, waves back with a jovial energy that makes you wave back. Your heart swells thinking about how close you've gotten to Jake's friend group in only two months, even when you believed you would be shamed or outcasted for your appearance. Sometimes, you kick yourself for believing they would repeat the history of taunts and teases you know too well. Building armor was necessary years ago, but now, you can disarm without fear of judgement.

Sure, people like Wonyoung will continue to exist, and the doubts will always fester somewhere in your head like unpickable weeds. But you can dispel both with self-affirming words and kindness now, no longer weak to the worst skeletons in your closet. You're stronger, for both yourself and the boy you love.

There's not a lot of certainties in life, but one promise you can keep without fail is never coming so close to losing Jake again.

Like clockwork, Jake and your mutual friends walk off of the field with their gym bags in tow and sweat drenching them head to toe. Felix's newly dyed red hair is practically the same color as their practice gear, and you chuckle at the sight.

Hearing your voice, Jake's eyes lock on yours. He rifles the stray bangs from his eyes almost to confirm it's you waiting for him and not an apparition. His ensuing grin is so bright it can put the moon to shame, as usual.

"Whoa, guys," Jake says with a flourish, raising both of his arms to stop his friends from moving further across the parking lot to their significant others. You roll your eyes as you smile, shy for all the right reasons. "That's my girlfriend, right? Or am I seeing things?"

"Can you not be so down bad for her in front of us, Sim? It's gross," Felix teases, but he smiles in your direction when you wave to the guys surrounding your boyfriend.

"Whatever, cherry bomb. Tell Winter I said to go easy on the Splat next time." Jake slaps his friend on the shoulder before running towards you, his gym bag swinging in all directions while strapped to his shoulder. His teammates holler at their captain for his eagerness to be next to you, but neither of you care.

You both may be out of the shadows, but you still feel like the only two people in the world when you're with each other, onlookers and inner critics be damned.

"Hi." Jake says when he makes it to you, his body a few feet from yours. He drops his bag at his side before intertwining your fingers together, his hot and moist palms making a home in your cold ones. "You look beautiful."

"You look sweaty." Before Jake can compose a rebuttal, you slam your lips into his, teeth clashing as your tongues meet. Jake kisses you back earnestly, sounds of pleasure muffled against your mouth. He rests his hands on your hips as your fingers weave through his hair, scratching your nails along his scalp. His lips taste like salted caramel and fatigue and home, and it makes you fall in love for the thousandth time. "But I'm still into that," you say with a grin when you pull away.

"Oh, really?" His smirk reminds you of all of his kisses, his touches, and his love that has brought you here. And today, for the first time in a long while, there's no fear at all. No doubt creeping in to keep you on guard or tell you the happiness is temporary.

It's just peace.

"Always."

── .✦ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 (𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘):

@xylatox @tinycatharsis @filmnings @lovetaroandtaemin @gyubookeries @jaylaxies @innocygnet @anormieee @lollipop3 @fancypeacepersona @luvksnn @k1ttyjwon @hii01mii @nithxhoon @cutehoons02 @invsomnixa1 @lilyofthevalley6 @mossarine @blooqz @firstclassjaylee @seongiewon @rairaiblog @jakessrealwife @bbokaricentral

© 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗨; 𝖣𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾, 𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖿𝗒 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗌!

[arabelleum]

When a Character Is Grieving Someone They Never Got to Say Goodbye To

✧ They talk about the person in past tense… then correct themselves. Then stop talking entirely.

✧ They touch things that belonged to the person like they’re fragile, sacred, about to disappear.

✧ They hoard the last voicemail, last message, last anything. Play it. Don’t play it. Just knowing it exists hurts enough.

✧ They leave something untouched, an empty seat, a half-packed bag, a coffee order that isn’t theirs.

✧ They get irrationally angry when someone else seems to be “moving on.” As if forgetting is betrayal.

✧ They don’t let themselves cry all at once. It comes in pieces. Like they’re afraid too much grief will drown them.

✧ They over-apologize. For being quiet. For being distant. For not being okay.

✧ They become hyper-aware of time, dates, anniversaries, time zones, the exact moment everything ended.

✧ They get superstitious. Ritualistic. As if doing things "right" might reverse something.

✧ They smile when they talk about the person. But it’s brittle. And it never quite touches their eyes.

[arabelleum]

Speed

[arabelleum]

࿐ husband neuvillette nsfw hcs (f!reader) ࿐

you didn’t know when you got married to the chief justice that he was that good in bed. like? how? where do you get the time? :// honestly — it’s insane. the way he knows your sweet spot as if it’s what he’s been searching for all this time. when the first time you two did it, it got you dizzy and you cried at the overwhelming love & affection he showered you with.

peppering sweet kisses everywhere, your forehead, your cheek, your chin, right below your ears until he reaches your collarbone !! neuvillette loves to nibble onto your supple skin. gently suckling at the sweet spot on your neck until you get used to it, then switching to a harsher suckle, maybe a little teeth. it’s the territorial instinct inside him which gets him hard and turned on the moment he sees you all vulnerable and marked up.

he loves toying with your titties, he’d literally spend a lot of time on them. massaging them, kneading them with his large, powerful hands and marking them his. the way his tongue twirls into your aching bud and makes you gasp for more. yes, he has made you cum with just your titties alone. you didn’t know it was possible until neuvillette decided it is.

neuvillette is a dom inside out. a pleasure dom who gets off to seeing you writhe under him. you’d always be told to moan out. “come now darling, don’t try to hide your moans. i want to know how it makes you feel.” he’d slowly yank your palm off your mouth. “sing for me.” he cooes as he thrusts inside you, watching your eyes roll back in sheer pleasure.

breeding kink 101. i think he uses a lot of words and phrases like, “going to look so cute with your belly carrying our child”, “going to breed my little angel full of me, she can take it right? of course she can. tell me — tell me you want to be bred full of my seed.”

size kink -> it’s always hard for you to fit him inside, he’s especially huge and girthy, veins decorating his thick cock while he lubes your cunt with his pre. he loves when you get a little intimidated by his size until he has to assure you that he’d always take care of you & never hurt you.

despite him not being too harsh most of the time, he still insists on there being safewords. “don’t want this possibility to ever come true, but still, no harm in being prepared darling.” he’s fine if you make up your own safe word or he is happy to follow the traffic light system for ya.

sometimes though? you want him to snap. best method is to make your territorial dragon jealous. there are often events like banquets held in fontaine & as the chief justice; he mostly attends those. it’s more than easy for you to rile him up by being a tad too nice with others 🤷🏻‍♀️ he’d pin you against the wall, the same stern glare that he carries in court now attacking you. “seems like you’re purposely getting on my nerves darling.” he hums, leaning in and inhaling your scent. “going to make sure to take proper measures so this isn’t repeated. you’re going to like that too much won’t you?” oh yes you will —

he doesn’t do punishments, just funishments. you’d have to ask him to partake in those because let’s be real, you can’t possibly expect the man who’s simping for you so hard to think of the possibility of hurting you. you’d have to tell him you like the pain. 😏 impact play, edging, he’d be partaking in all those for his little darling.

he likes to particularly cockwarm you though. it’s the whole power play high of it and the desperation in your eyes which makes it exhilarating for him. “stay still for me yes? i don’t want you to not cum now. just because you’re greedy.” oh you love it when he gets all in control like that.

whenever he decides to spank you, it’s always going to be over the knee. he wants to feel you close, it comforts both you & him. the impact precise and calculated, watching the color of your ass change with a soft smirk. “you love this too much don’t you? ah~ i can see it.” fingers languidly touching your needy, wet pussy as the spanks push you over the edge.

aftercare king and he’s almost apologetic after every harsh scene. “you okay? sure? i want you to know i love you & you did so well for me. i’m so proud of my wife.” words of affirmation king 👑 along with a clingy cuddle bug. 🤭

[arabelleum]

fem!reader studies Neuviotter! | Fluff 🧸 with Otter Neuvillette… 🔞with Human Neuvillette.

Summary: You're a Sumeru's researcher obsessed with Fontaine otters. So you basically adopt one... unfortunately it looks like that isn't an otter at all...

Warning: 🔞 MDNI. ALL SMUT IS WITH HUMAN NEUVILLETTE! Somnophilia, oral (fem! Receiving), p i v. Unprotected sex.

1.8k words.

Not edited.

⏜︵⊹︵⊹︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜⊹︵⏜︵⊹︵⏜

The prestige of your research precedes you. A diligent student with a flamboyant gait, brilliant ideals and precise knowledge. You arrive at Fontaine from the Sumeru Academy with a precedent never seen before, with your lively, attentive eyes and your notebooks covered in leather the same color as your eyes.

Word spreads immediately that the wise y/n, scholar of the Academia, has come to Fontaine to study a creature that has captured your attention to leave the green land for that of the primordial sea. Could it be that you want to study a mythical creature that lives in underwater caves? Or perhaps a glorious bird has captured your thirst for knowledge?

How surprised your guides were when you shouted with excitement, unable to contain your joy like a little girl, when you spotted a little otter poking its head out of the crystal clear water. You jumped up and down, unable to contain your happiness, exclaiming how amazed you were to see one so close.

Alone, you photograph the otter and go so far as to dive underwater with it, surprised more by how clever it is than by your new curious ability to breathe underwater. What a joy it is to find a group of creatures frolicking with a clam in their midst, spinning in the water and turning to look at you. You may have been down there for an hour.

Back on the surface, sitting on a rock with your feet in the water, you jot down the details in your notebook, tracing with the vague lines of a sketch the elusive shape of the little animals. Concentrating on your task, on defining the details of its snout, you notice on the other bank an otter, different from the others, grooming its head with its small hands.

You watch it carefully, the creature seems a little larger than the others, slender and almost like a gentleman...

"A gentleman otter," you whisper, enraptured by the delicate and magnificent figure grooming itself in front of you. 

The otter makes sounds as he wipes his own face, lying on the surface of the water, carving his features and nose, while his two gnawing teeth peek through his pearly fur. Its small hands wash its own belly, almost ironing its fur as if it were the robe of a great lord. Deeply adorable. You hastily sketch the picture in front of you, not missing a tender detail of the cuddly toy floating carefree on the calm current.

The otter watches you with a lost look, black eyes that seem not to contain a single thought. The bliss of the ignorant. And you wave at him from your rock with a smile.

The otter swims toward you, and when he's within striking distance, he watches you, as if studying you. 

"How smart you look," you say, clutching your notebook to your chest, "and very adorable. Look at you," you show him the drawing.

The otter stares at the paper with a certain analysis, but his unmistakable expression doesn't change. Then he seems to comb an invisible curl out of his furry head and approves your sketch with a formal nod.

"What a gentleman," you squeal, climbing down from your rock and returning to get your things. The otter emerges from the water, shaking his body to dry himself from the water, though he remains fluffy.

"I thought you were waterproof," you laugh at the sight of the expressionless furball, seemingly oblivious to his adorable embarrassment, "you're different, aren't you?" you approach him with a rag, trying to dry him.

You pull him onto your lap, paws up and his belly exposed as you dry his chest with your cloth, as if he were a baby. Then you wipe his little hands and then his paws. His face is now dry. The otter played with your bracelets, making funny noises and showing his little pearly teeth.

"Do you like it?" you ask, putting it down. The Otter nods enthusiastically. "It would look very cute on you," you add, taking off one of your bracelets and placing it around his neck.

The elastic of the bracelet is lost in his white fur, and the pendant stands out as if it were the clasp of a breastplate. 

"You're missing a hat, and you could pass for another Fontaine gentleman," you exclaim, pleased with the result, as the otter poses like an elegant gentleman, his small chest puffed out, almost proud of how adorable he looks.

"It's getting dark, I should get back now. See you another day, Mr. Otter," you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder and waving your hand.

The otter hurries to follow in your footsteps, prancing subtly near you, his wet nose brushing against your ankle.

"You want to come with me, huh?" you kneel before him, and he touches your nose with his paw. "Fine, fine. We'll have a sleepover."

The place you're staying in is small but cozy, and it gets even cozier when you turn on the heat and put food on the table. The otter sits in a chair across from you, on a mountain of books, and tastes several of the snacks you've served him, though you see him going crazy over some consomme purete and the big glass of pure spring water you've served him.

"You like that, I noticed," you say.

"Burp," the otter replies with a burp that he seems to regret immediately.

"You have more manners than many people," you tell him, wiping his whiskers with a napkin.

"Okay, I'll brush your teeth and then off to bed," you say happily, with the idea of reading to the little animal before bedtime.

You sit him on your sink in front of the mirror, lift his jaw and brush his teeth with your toothbrush and toothpaste, first one side and then the other, make him drink some water and then spit it out, although he swallows it.

"Not your thing to waste water, apparently."

The otter nods.

Then you brush his head, chest, back, and tail, letting him groom himself, and when you try to remove the pin, he hides it in his small hands.

"Okay, okay... I'll leave it to you," you smile.

And then you lie in bed with him in your arms, illuminated by the dim light of your lamp, holding a book with an adventure story in it. You read aloud to him, stopping when you hear him whistling and snoring. 

"Good night, Gentleman Otter," you kiss him on the forehead before turning off the light and going to sleep. ....

You're not one to dream, not at all, but ever since you came to Fontaine, you couldn't help but have these nightly fantasies about Iudex Neuvillette. That stoic and serious man, how good his face would look contorted with pleasure as you sucked his cock.

You had dreamed of a similar situation many times, you had dreamed of him against you as he pinned your frail figure against his desk and thrust into you, biting your lower lip. You had had your first fantasy after a trial, thinking how manly he would look behind you, his cock buried in your ass....

All those dreams had been vivid fantasies, and tonight's took the prize.

You lay on your bed, him biting your neck as he rests behind you, his hands playing with your breasts at his whim, his tongue sliding over your skin, enjoying the nectar of your pure complexion, his cock swollen against your clothed ass.

"Mmmmhhhh, Monsieur~" you moan, writhing in his grip.

The wonderful thing about these dreams is that you don't know how you get into these situations, but you know how to enjoy them. Because from one moment to the next, the oh so taciturn Iudex Neuvillette has his face buried between your legs, tasting your folds and your clit with his trained tongue.

"Right there~" you moan, arching your back as you feel the desire well up from his mouth, his tongue drawing lustful strokes across your sex, his deep sighs stoking the fires of your passion.

His hands wrap around your legs, and for a moment you swear it's real, the way his nails dig into your skin, leaving reddened marks in their wake, and his thumbs sink into your thighs, anchored to you with no intention of letting go.

Then you feel him thrust into you, opening your silken walls in his wake, his thick cock making its way to your center, molding your walls to his erect, large form. You feel him rub against you as your insides embrace him with little restraint.

You hear him moan and feel your legs rise up over his shoulders, his cool hands at your ankles pressing down on you, thrusting slowly but deliciously, almost as if you were made for him. 

"Monsieur Neuvillette~" you moan, clutching the pillows, your hips bucking at the growing warmth in your belly, your hands seeking your own pleasure.

"Warmer than I thought," he whispers, "

it is almost like n your dreams... though this time it feels so real...

You look at him for the first time, his face sweaty, his cheeks flushed as his locks of white hair fall down your legs. His strong arms hugging you, his pecs rising and falling, holding breath... lower down, his chiseled abdomen twitching as his cock buries itself relentlessly inside you.

The sound of his balls against your skin blows your mind and makes you realize that it's not a dream, that Iudex Neuvillette is really fucking you (and very well, much better than you expected).

"Monsieur..." you try to sit up, but he has touched your cervix with his cock, and you do nothing but collapse under him, filled with the pleasure of his gentle thrusts.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks you reverently, in a tone of sublime courtesy and lofty superiority, as if he were not mercilessly fucking you at his whim while you sleep.

"Don't stop," you whimper between words, not wanting to waste the opportunity you've been dreaming of since the first time you saw him, "damn it," you exclaim at the wave of heat surging through your chest and legs as you hear him chuckle under his breath, quite pleased with what he's managing to make of your body.

The orgasm hits you warm and rough, just as Neuvillette did with his cock, careful not to leave his seed inside of you. And your breath comes back as you feel him caress your back as if to reward you.

You feel his lips on your forehead, and the way his arms hold you beside him as your eyelids droop at the inevitable.

"How did you get here?" you babble, half asleep, caressing his chest as he draws soft circles on your arm. 

"You invited me," he whispers as he brings your hand to his neck where your bracelet encircles his skin and the charm falls to his chest.

"You'll explain it properly tomorrow," you murmur between confused shuffles...

[arabelleum]

Reuploaded | fem!reader finds out bf!Neuvillette was in Qiaoying Village after the Lantern Rite | NSFW 🔞

This follows the 4.4 Lantern Rite story

Summary: You're Neuvillette's long distance girlfriend as you live in Liyue. After the Lantern Rite you find out he was wandering around Quiaoying Village (where you live) but left kinda angry. So you travel to Fontaine to find out if he's mad at you for dumping him by accident.

Warnings: NSFW 🔞 so MDNI. Established relationship. Dirty talk. Nipple playing, piv, Neuvillette refuses to let you cum, doggy, ah... and he licks you...

Wc: 2.8k

Reuploaded bc I accidentally deleted it 🙃

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵︵‿‿︵ ˚₊

You do not make irrational or spontaneous decisions. You looked at yourself in the reflection of the lake, completely bewildered.

You live in Liyue and eagerly anticipate the Lantern Rite every year. However, that year, you spent a couple of days in Monstadt searching for a location to open a tea branch... 

The Lantern Rite had ended before your return this year, which was a huge disappointment. You missed the main celebration due to work. Additionally, you were shocked to receive Neuvillette's letter late. You had not informed him of your travel to Monstadt. Reading that he would have traveled to Liyue to see you, despite his busy schedule, made you feel guilty and remorseful.

Learning that Neuvillette had been in Liyue only a few hours ago caused you tremendous turmoil. Lady Furina tried to sugarcoat the gentleman's actions, but you know, even with all the nuances of Neuvillette, that he is disappointed.

So when Gaming's father offers you to travel to Fontaine in search of a location for his popular tea store, you don't think twice, moved by the regret of your actions.

It's terrible to think that a love quarrel is the only reason you would leave Liyue. You feel ashamed of the situation you've brought upon yourself. You arrive in Fontaine like an anxious lady seeking forgiveness. If shame falls upon you, it is already too late. You find yourself on the Aqua bus, headed to the Opera Epiclese.  

Your gaze falls on the light blue modern landscapes of the city, which had left you spellbound during your last visit. On a previous business trip, you met Neuvillette, who transitioned from a casual fling to a formal relationship through correspondence and furtive encounters.

Although you have been to this place before, the walls seem unfamiliar, and you are not accustomed to the style and decor. As you enter his office, Neuvillette sits up in his chair.

He looks at you with an unfamiliar expression and says, 'It's late.' The tone of his voice is serious, and his gaze feels like a dagger piercing your heart.

"I know," you say, with your breath escaping your chest. The thought of Neuvillette's trip to Liyue and disappointment at not finding you at home frustrates you. You understand how he feels; if you were in his shoes, you would be deeply upset.

"I'm sorry," you plead, walking towards him and stumbling along the way. This behavior is not typical of you, but he makes you feel so pitiful. "I should have warned you that I wouldn't be home. I had a business trip and... I know you're busy. I shouldn't have taken up your time”.

"My dear" Neuvillette cuts off your words with a warm look and advances towards you, wrapping his arms around your figure, "why are you justifying yourself this way?" His concern is genuine, comforting, his gaze a deep sea of pity and understanding.

"You're not angry?" you ask, your face sunk into his chest, your hands clinging to his back, your fingers tangled in the stitched details of his cloak.

"Why should I be, my love?" Neuvillette leaves a kiss on your hair and soft caresses play down your back, loving rubs on your skin that soothe your so nervous heart.

"I heard you came back unexpectedly from Liyue, and that you seemed somewhat displeased."

He let out a friendly laugh, his voice deep and calm like the sea, his voice dances in the room. 

"You would never do anything to displease me," he whispered into your hair, his lips brushing against your ear and cheek. "And if you ever did, we would talk it over properly. Don't ever think I'm going to be upset with you...What kind of person would I be if I let my emotions guide me? I apologize for any inconvenience my spontaneity may have caused. I understand that you have a time-consuming job, and I would never be upset with you because your priority is your job". He strokes your cheek and lifts your face to join your gazes in a bond of understanding and bliss.

"If anything," he adds, "I'm the one who should apologize." 

"No, don't say that." You said, "It's always welcome a little mess coming from you, my dear judge," you caress his cheek. Then, you add, "Still, I was afraid you'd be wasting your time.

"During my trip, I learned several things. Your village is very interesting, my dear," he said, breaking away from your embrace and walking to his desk. He rummaged in one of his drawers, discovering a small piece of porcelain, a plaque with an engraved figure surrounded by runes.

"This..." you take it in your hands, recognizing the depiction of one of your nation's most beloved adeptic figures. "Neuvi... where did you get this?" you ask.

"I had the wonderful opportunity to learn about various local crafts," he explains with innocent admiration. Your dear dragon has been introduced to a modern world beyond Fontaine for the first time. "I thought you'd be excited about that. Even though it's a trivial detail..."

"My beloved Neuvillette," you rush into his arms, kissing his cheeks with great affection... "Then why did you look so serious when you left? Lady Furina suspected that something had upset you... I thought you were offended that I stood you up. And when I came in, you looked at me angrily..."

"I was worried that you arrived so late, traveling at nightfall is not safe... I told you that you should think more of yourself... I am concerned about your well-being, and your high level of empathy may become harmful to you... though it is certainly one of the aspects that has bound me to you," he says, "On the other hand, my departure from Liyue is due to matters of a higher caliber. Summarized in an old rivalry that I had no intention of taking care of at the time."

All the pieces fall into place perfectly, and you even come to regret thinking of Neuvillette as a curmudgeon. 

"You must be exhausted," he says, taking your hand and kissing the back of it as if you were his queen, "stay with me tonight, rest today, and tomorrow we can go back to your place for the evening." 

His home is warm, warm enough for one who knows little of human customs, and even warmer when he offers you a hot cup. A comforting drink for a long journey. Neuvillette, the oh-so-mighty Hydrodragon, Chief Justice and now ruler of Fontaine, kneels before you as the tail of his cloak ripples like a wave in a graceful movement of his hands. His fingers gently take your ankles between his hands as he removes your shoes, untying the laces with his long, delicate fingers.

His gaze rises to meet yours, his clear orbs reflecting his burning desire to possess your body at this moment, to give himself completely to you for your pleasure. His hands slide over your ankles and knees, searching for the edge of your stockings under your skirt. The warm air of the house hits your thighs as the fabric is lifted and the soles of your now uncovered feet receive the warmth of Neuvillette's body. It's as if his sultry demeanor is flooding the entire room in an overwhelming wave of heat and ecstasy. 

It is as if the dragon is taking control of Neuvillette as you suddenly find yourself in his bed, naked and completely at his mercy. Months ago, this would have seemed like just another encounter, a chance meeting of fate and crossed paths, a lustful night full of forbidden and impure acts, but this time, after countless letters and meetings... it seems serious.

Neuvillette doesn't fully understand human feelings, or the sensations his body surprises him with, like the way his cock swells when he thinks of you at night, or the need to encircle his length when he receives one of your letters bathed in your perfume..... And much worse, he doesn't fully understand the burning that fills his heart when he holds you close, when you look at him with those eyes that are at once fearful and desirous, with an unholy innocence, the dichotomy of your expressions makes him agonize with love, because even though it took him a while, he finally understands that what he feels for you is what humans call love.

That is why he kisses you deeply as he stands over you, crushing your lips with his fervent intention to be reciprocated, to make it real and formal, although your visit has already given him a positive sign. He runs all over you, his hands sliding down the valleys of your body, shaping your figure with his palms, cupping your breasts between his nimble fingers, turning you over on the mattress so that he can enjoy the reactions that run down your spine. His heightened senses are alerted as the current flows down your back, as the skin on the back of your neck rises at the caress of his taut lips on your shoulder blade, the rough sound of his deep voice close to your ear, the warmth of his voice bathing your hearing, filling your head with the chant of his words of pure adoration. 

"Neuvi~" you moan in an icy sigh, overwhelmed by the Iudex's perverse caresses over your body.

"When I knocked on your door and you didn't answer, I thought you didn't want to see me," he whispers against your naked skin, "I began to wonder what I had done wrong..."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Neuvi...ah~".

He kisses your shoulder, sliding his tongue over your skin, tasting the sweat you give off, the salt of your complexion on his tongue, the female poison.

"So delicious," he whispers, sliding down your back, his voice taking over the skin over your spine, leaving wet kisses in his wake and moans of your name as his cock swells more and more.

"I thought you hated me. That from one moment to the next you had stopped loving me," he kisses your waist, leaving faint bites across your curve, using such an informal language...

"I~. Mmhhh..." you moan senselessly. "I wouldn't do that to you..." 

"I know, beautiful," his hands run up your belly, tracing naughty swirls with his fingers, "and for my own good, I will make sure tonight that you never stop wanting me, that you desire me and never anyone else, that the only thing that dominates your mind is the memory of my hands on your body and my cock in your pussy." 

He plays with your hardened nipples, the little buttons straining at the naughty hands of the Iudex, who eager explorers your body.

"Ahg~ mmmm~ Neuvillette..." you mewl as you cling to the sheets that cover the Chief Justice's wide bed.

He shifts your posture as if you were ragged, your body toppled at the mercy of his hands and desires that lift your hips to align with his length. 

The intrusion is slow and hot, stretching your sex to his form, expanding your desire to his hard love, wrapping himself in your wet embrace. The low growl he makes as he feels your pressure on him is opera to your red ears, the guttural moan that comes from his masculine chest is enough to make you wet even more.

"I missed you," he whispers, his shoulders tense and his nails digging into your skin, your hips settling against his, slowly easing into your deep, dripping desire.

His hands run down your back, caressing your waist, wanting to feel every bit of your experience, the cascade of overwhelming sensations escaping your delicate being. He enjoys watching how his cock loses itself inside you and how you wriggle at his relentless invasion. So delicate and so vulgar at the same time...wiggling your hips, rubbing yourself as you let out mellifluous moans and cling to the sheets.

"Neuvi~ I can't," you moan as tiny electric spasms erupt from your center, choking Neuvillette.

"Not so hard," he caresses your ass and thighs, trying to calm you down, "you can hold on, darling."

What a miracle you are in Neuvillette's eyes when he begins to move slowly and you manage to hold him perfectly. When his wandering shock of passion overflows you with the most overwhelming cries he's ever heard. How blissful he is to hear you babble his name as you suck his whole being with hunger and contempt.

"You're doing well, beautiful," his adoration turns to ambition, suddenly sneaking inside you, delivering the first thrust into your cervix, rubbing your knees against the bed.

"Ah!" you stifle a cry as he clasps your hands and rests his forehead on your shoulder, almost lifting your loins.

"Just like that, you're wonderful, y/n," his lips kiss your shoulder as his silver hair tickles your neck and cheek. It's like a sign of affection before the slaughter.

The heat inside you is overwhelming, your mind swirling with every deep thrust of Neuvillette inside you, every forced intrusion of anguish and desire. You cry out his name as if it will free you from the growing flame in your belly, as if it will unchain you from his thick cock slamming unceremoniously against your tight silken walls. You are a provocation, no, you are much more than that, you are the reason he succumbs to the crimes of his lust, his thirst for you. He is guilty of wanting you so much, of longing for your eyes and your body, your voice hoarse with his name like honey on your tongue. And he's a sinner for perverting such a pure angel, for taking your hips and pounding them relentlessly, for tearing strings of shimmering ecstasy that fall down your thighs, for those solid pieces of flesh that vibrate with his every move.

His hand touches your clit and in that moment you become a babble of pleasure, of unseemly moans and erratic movements. He praises you, praises you for how good your skin sounds against his, for the words you spit out between sobs, and freaks out when you beg him to stop, that you can't take any more of him, that he's too big.

"For my precious y/n, everything you ask," his rough voice creeps into your core, forming a steaming knot, "except that...". He just can't let you cum, not when he's willing to keep you at his mercy for hours. 

"Please!" you sob pleadingly. Your voice is clipped and raspy. 

"I need clear instructions, my love."

"Please let me cum," you are pathetic under him, moaning in anguish for a show of sympathy, though he only lets out a bitter chuckle of satisfaction.

"You're too good for me to make you beg this much," he says, quickening his pace, becoming frantic and almost primal, warping your insides and making your body his, crumbling what little sanity you have left, making you contract around him with a scream and cum.

Neuvillette's indiscretion causes him to explode inside you, releasing thick strands into your belly as he lets himself be led into the ecstasy of his madness, losing himself in the swirls of your delirious moans.

"My beautiful y/n," he steps out of you and kisses your forehead, turning your body over and cradling your humanity in his big arms. 

The night is long and when you catch your breath, you discover Neuvillette's predatory eyes peering into the darkness, you like his treasure and he the dragon guarding you.

"Sleep," you whisper, caressing his cheek with your thumb.

"I like watching you sleep," he says, "and smelling you... you have a strange scent.

"Maybe it's the mixture of the soil of my village, the water... and you," you smile, "By the way, when we get back to my place, remind me to offer you some of the local spring water.

"Ah... my precious one. You know me so well that you could cause my own downfall. I had the pleasure of tasting the water in the village, and I am very grateful for your sample. However, I must admit that the spring I enjoy most is between your legs."

"Neuvillette!" you laugh in embarrassment.

"I could eat you all day, y/n," he purrs, dipping his face into your breast, "and yet I would limit myself."

You stroke his hair, the blue strands that creep through his scalp, everything about this man fascinates you.

"Stay at Fontaine," he whispers against your chest, fighting the drumbeat of your excited heart. "I think the new tea branch needs a manager...".

The reality is that Neuvillette would not stand another day of exchanging letters, not when she has tasted you so passionately and cum inside you, not when he is just getting to know these strange and lovely human feelings. He wants to learn to love you as a man would, and so he needs you near him to give you all the love and care that a good lover would give his woman.

[arabelleum]

Neuvillette and his arranged marriage with fem!reader - NSFW

Summary: so... Furina is such a gossipy and she's kinda boring so she wants Neuvillette to marry to some random girl that can be a challenge for him... would he like this traveler?

TW: smut. Has a plot. Kinda angst? p i v. Breeding kink, praising. Unprotected sex with this daddy judge. I think that's all... MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE JUST KEEP SCROLLING.

🎨: @zlidbhypy/@zljdbhypy

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The judge had lived long enough to be carried away by appearances, his image in society was expected of a man with his profession, with his knowledge and his stature. However, in the eyes of Lady Furina, as much a lover of spectacle and scandal as possible, the great judge needed a slightly more modern image to present to the citizens of Fontaine-and perhaps to bring a little gossip as well.

The idea had consumed her so much that at the moment she met you she could think of nothing else but arranging an engagement with Monsieur Neuvillette. You were the living image of what she was looking for: a young woman of society, a foreigner with a wide knowledge of the vast continent and above all, ambitious. 

There was a flash that Lady Furina highlighted in you, a furious soul difficult to tame, a challenge for the great judge. How fun it would be to see that: the distinguished gentleman try to control the disdain of his future wife, lover of saucers with spicy mixes, so friendly to those with vision Pyro... almost as contrary to him.

You met Neuvillette a day before the wedding, when Lady Furina had given him the wonderful news that he would marry you. He could not refuse, not the Archon, and she was aware of that-that made the matter more fun.

Neuvillette looked serene during the announcement, did not give the Archon the joy of a grimace of disgust... of course not, he was not like that...

On the wedding day rain fell so much as to drown the neighboring nations, tormenting those present of the ceremony. Monsieur Neuvillette was outside the compound, admiring the horizon, yearning for the freedom he possessed years before. To this had its existence been reduced? To be a puppet for the entertainment of the Archon? To tie himself for life to a woman he didn’t even know? If only he could return to his old form... spread his wings and get out of that place...

"The rain is wonderful," you exclaimed beside him, tearing from his chest an impression he managed to hide. "I hope the tears of the Hydro dragon are of happiness for the wedding and not of misery".

"They’re just legends, stories for children," he said, though an inch of him, deep down, was delighted by the idea that unlike the rest of Fontaine’s inhabitants, you didn’t dislike the rain... the one he was provoking...

"All legends have some truth in them," you whispered, giving him a sincere smile.

The ceremony had been short because of the rain, yet your happiness was overflowing. Your dress was drenched, your hair was alike... Everything was ruined, Lady Furina kept saying it, and yet you seemed to be living the best day of your life. Neuvillette could not look away from you at any moment, you had bewitched him, a single phrase had sufficed to achieve that...

The room was spacious, exquisitely decorated, illuminated to depth, the details and finishes seemed measured with hard effort... very much like the great judge. You had been unwise to ask if you had separate rooms, that had upset him for a moment... You certainly didn’t seem to have the same scruples as him.

You opened the window of the room, resting your elbows on the frame and sucking the dew that the rain brought with it. Neuvillette stood still in his place, looking at your figure, analyzing every detail of your silhouette, trying to perceive your essence, your energy... There was definitely something special about you.

"Can I come out?" you asked, were you asking permission?

"You must not ask for my consent to be free in the place" actually, he did not think it proper from you to ask permission for something… he perceived you from the first instant as a free being in tune with nature.

"It’s my way of asking you to go out with me to enjoy the rain," you said, approaching him and extending your hand. 

The thick drops of water hit the roofs, the fountain of the courtyard was about to overflow with water, the surface covered of the leaves that the wind had brought with it. You got rid of your coat and your shoes, went into the fountain and sat in the middle, above the water level, your legs dipping, you picked up the dress on your knees. The fabric was thin, almost transparent now that you were soaked and uncovered. Neuvillette scanned the surroundings, hoping no one would look at you, you were his wife... was he jealous? No, it was a simple sense of duty now that he was a married man...

"Come closer" you said from your position, pointing your finger at the place in front of you. Neuvillette, almost hypnotized by your loud attitude, dragged his feet towards your spot, sitting across from you, likewise, his legs underwater. The familiarity of the rain on the current that had formed under his feet was pleasant, almost satisfactory, so much so that it incited him to move his hands on the surface of the water, forming figures that allowed his hydro vision. You smiled at the small spectacle he displayed for you, admiring the sublime movement of his hands, the way his fingers flexed on the leaves and the drops of water ran down his hands.

You leaned toward him, taking him by surprise, joining your lips with his. He did not turn away, but, on the contrary, he dropped his hand against your neck, drawing you closer to him, tasting the nectar of your lips and your tongue.

"I want something to be clear" you dictated separating yourself from him, "we’ll have children... not because the charlatan Archon wants it for her entertainment, no... we will have children because we both want it, it was clear?".

For all the Archons... those words coming out of your mouth, pure poison, so hostile to the Archon, calling her in a way that he could never, with your face framed by your soaked locks and your lips swollen by the kiss... There was nothing he could want but a woman like you. 

The matter of your affinity for the falling flood, added to your folly of calling the archon such a derogatory name... you were an interesting, exceptional creature whose behavior went beyond his control and knowledge. You were a challenge... his challenge... and his enthusiasm grew in his chest as well as in his pants.

You had both returned to the room in sultry form, between kisses and gasps, getting rid of your clothes on the way. He cornered you on the wall of the entrance, his hand in fist resting above your head, his forehead against yours, the other hand holding your chin, joining his eyes. Neuvillette’s chest rose strongly, seeking air, bewildered by the growing ecstasy, the desire among you that was born. 

Taking you by the waist, he turned you against the wall, your face crashing against the cold marble and your palms resting at your sides. You felt his breathing on your neck, his chest against your back, his hands sliding over your curves, right to your hips, over your panties. You let out a soft moan as you felt the fabric slip under your legs and fall to your ankles.

"Monsieur..." you whispered trembling as the cold pouring through the room brushed your thighs and bare ass. 

"You don’t look as bold as you did a few minutes ago," he whispered... low, almost growling, you swore he was smiling, you sensed it in his voice.

"It’s... just... ah~" you cut the phrase in half when you felt him slip into you, separating your folds, forcing you to suck it. Your hands in fist, your hips rising, trying to avoid its passage inside you, your shoulders gathering at the sensation that flooded your center, your sex. 

"Monsieur~" you moaned, your forehead wet against the marble, your hands scratching the wall looking for something to soothe the burning between your legs, the feeling of its length between your damp walls.

You didn’t think the judge would be so vocal. When he slipped into you, he grunted, so pleasantly your legs seemed to melt. You felt the breath of his groan in your ear, your name coming from his lips.

"So soft" he whispered, resting his hands on yours, his forehead on your shoulder, "so tight..." continued advancing, rising to the bottom, "so mine"...

Neuvillette fucked you against that wall as if he was in heat-and perhaps he was-as if you were going to escape at any time from his grip, though you couldn’t. 

The moans and gasps were embarrassing, thanks to the rain they did not cross the walls, the sound of wet skin crashing during each penetration was burning, lustful. The words that came out of the judge’s mouth every time you girded your limb were a sea of incongruities, just as the phrases that your mouth dropped when he caressed your clitoris, that little lump had become his favorite toy.

The onslaught was strong, your breasts pounding against the wall every time he burst into you, rubbing against your delicate interior, which seemed made for him.

"You take me so well," he groaned, as he continued his beat against you, your breasts rising and falling down the wall. You were trapped between the wall and the monster of pleasure the judge had become.

"I will fill you with my seed, I swear..." he gasped again, his voice raspy, with flashes of hunger and lust.

"Neuvillette~" you let out a high-pitched moan, had touched your point, that felt so fucking good, the way he arched to hit that gummy dot on your cervix. He kept going, and kept going, you didn’t want him to stop. Fuck, he was so good at it, who’d say a gentleman of his countenance could be taking you like an animal in heat.

He kept hitting that delicious spot inside you, stroking your sensitive organ, one, two... three times, you suddenly felt a knot forming in your belly.

"Oh my~... don’t stop Neuvillette~..." you begged, eyes closed, lips separated by groans. The sound of his gasps flooding your eardrum... you both were close…

His onslaught lost rhythm, the intensity was almost unbearable, he came out one last time to get into you, fucking you so hard that you felt your orgasm burst and you let out a scream. He would not take long to reach his climax similarly, unloading all his seed inside you

The bed was warm, you needed it after what happened... Neuvillette lay beside you, caressing your cheek, watching the way you fell asleep. 

He looked out the window, the rain had stopped. He was completely happy... so long ago that he did not feel the fullness he had at the time... 

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, curling your head in his chest, feeling the warmth of your gentle breathing. He closed his eyes, falling asleep beside you, yearning to tell you one day about his identity... someday…