#nmixx fluff

[midatwrtr]

A New Beginning

NMIXX Sullyoon x Male Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst & Smut | Word count: 14k | Tags: Maid, Headpats, Virgin, Blowjob, Missionary, Creampie

Synopsis: You receive a former slave as a gift. What follows is a journey of healing with your new maid.

Warning: Mentions of past bodily harm and psychological distress.

Credits

I. The arrival

It was common knowledge that a 19th-century man in possession of a successful company and a rich heritage was to own a maid. His being didn’t belong in a kitchen; his time wasn’t to be wasted doing laundry. Yet you had little regard for such traditions. Your kin speculated—stinginess, secrets, perhaps a scandal—but the truth was far simpler: you didn’t need a reason. Self-reliance suited you. 

For two years, you’d lived alone in your estate nestled deep in the woods, not only tending to yourself but also hosting guests without assistance. To the surprise of many, the master poured the tea.

It was near dusk, late winter when a carriage crunched its way down the moss-softened path to your door. The horses snorted, breath misting in the cooling air. No grand stone steps. No footman. Only pine wind and silence.

You had just returned from the forest, mushrooms in your hand, sleeves rolled, your white shirt tucked sloppily into worn pants. Had you known visitors were arriving, perhaps you'd have worn one of the jackets your father gifted you long ago.

A knock. You opened the door. There stood a man in a heavy frock coat, posture straight, eyes familiar.

“John,” you exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve never forgotten, my Lord,” the gentleman said. “The help you gave me in the past… I remember you once said you weren’t in the possession of a servant.”

You nodded. “I still am not.”

“Good,” he replied with a faint smile. “Because I have one here with me. And I would like you to accept her as a gift.”

“You want to gift me… a slave?”

“Precisely.” From his pocket, he pulled a golden pin, the symbol of his new title. “I have been appointed royal couturier to the Duke’s daughter. And I owe it all to you—your introductions, your patronage, your faith in a man who once sold thread in the dirtiest corner of the city.”

“You flatter me,” you said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “But it was your talent that took you to the palace.”

He inclined his head in gratitude, then stepped down and opened the carriage. A girl emerged. Barefoot. Wrapped in a threadbare blanket. Her eyes are wide and hollow. Her feet met moss rather than gravel, and her thin shoulders shivered in the cold.

“Please accept this slave, my Lord,” the man said. “I made sure to buy the most beautiful one in the county.”

“She is beautiful,” you acknowledged, “but where are her clothes?”

“She had a shirt and trousers when I bought her. I saw no reason to waste fine fabric on a slave.”

“You’re a dressmaker,” you said, your voice flat. “You should know better.”

He didn’t answer. The girl stared at the ground, her shackled ankles trembling. Her skin was marked with scars—especially her back—but her face had been kept untouched, carefully preserved like fine porcelain.

You sighed and opened the door wider. “Your gift is appreciated,” you said quietly. “I will take care of her.”

“The girl is yours now,” he said, bowing reverently. “Do as you please. My gratitude is eternal.”

The girl turned to you and bowed low. “Good evening, master. Thank you for taking me in. I promise I will be good to you.”

Realising you were still holding the mushrooms, you quickly set them aside and offered your hand. She looked at it, puzzled.

You smiled gently. “It’s a handshake.”

Hesitantly, she reached out and touched your hand, her fingers trembling uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, master. Owners don’t usually greet us with such… respect.”

“That’s the bare minimum,” you said. “Come inside.”

She stepped in lightly, nearly silent. The warmth of the house—faint smoke, pressed leaves—hit her like a foreign scent. You closed the door behind her. There was little needed for a bolt and key. No one lived in these woods anyways.

She clutched a small satchel—too small for any valuable possession. Her clothes were thin and frayed. Her eyes flicked nervously across the room. No canes. No bells. No inked ledgers of punishment.

“You may speak freely here,” you said, like offering her a blanket.

“No need, master. I won’t be in any trouble. You won’t even see me.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

She bowed her head. “I’ll do everything you want, whenever you want.”

You reached for a robe hanging near the door. As your hand passed near her head, she flinched—visibly, sharply. Years of training had taught her to stay still, but reflexes didn’t lie.

“Sorry. Did I touch you?”

“No, master. My fault. I’m sorry.”

You held the robe out. “Take this. You look cold.”

“Thank you very much, master. You’re… very kind.”

You inhaled deeply. “I’m not used to having… uhm… someone to look after me. I have no footman. No housekeeper. No cook. There’s little to do,” you said as you scratched your head. “Sorry about that.”

“I’ll make myself useful,” she said. There’s no reason to keep a maid if she’s not deemed useful. She had to find an occupation, or who knows where she might end up.

“I’m sure you will,” you replied gently. “But not tonight. You’ve traveled far.”

You led her down the hallway—not to the scullery, nor a cot in the corner of the kitchen—but to a guest room. A real bed. A folded quilt. A window without shutters.

She stood at the threshold, silent, unsure.

“This will be your room,” you announced. “It is a guest room but I never have guests over so it is a bit dusty. I apologize for that. However, the bed is quite comfy, I hope that makes up for it.” 

You paused for a moment and gestured for her to come in.

“Are you sure, master? A whole room for me?”

“Where else should you stay?” you asked. That statement alone sounded ridiculous to you. Of course, she needed a room. “Thank you very much. I’m forever grateful,” she said, bowing down in gratitude. 

You tried to imagine her previous owner. The aristocrats you have met at the “parties” always seemed to be polite, but they were never kind. Judging by her responses, she must have had a ruthless man. Maybe he let her sleep in a barn, maybe in the basement, or whatever space she found.

“You can rest,” you replied. “No work tonight.”

She nodded. She seemed surprised but grateful. You gave her a nod as well. “Make yourself comfortable,” you told her. 

Then, as you turned to climb the stairs, her voice halted you.

“Please don’t send me back,” she begged. Her voice was frail and trembled. 

You turned to meet her eyes—worn, weary, yet pleading—and your heart was torn to pieces. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said. You pondered on what could have comforted her but chose to leave it. Nothing could have given her security, only time.

When she was finally left alone, Sullyoon took the deepest breath of her life. She was almost afraid to let the air fill her lungs with the freedom you were letting her have. She wanted to believe you. She wanted to believe you were the gift that the sky had given her in exchange for her pains. For the first time in weeks, she let her satchel slip from her shoulder. It hit the floor with a soft thud. She sat down on the edge of the bed. 

And for once, she could breathe.

When she heard your footsteps leave the floor, she let herself go down on the bed. It was as if all the clouds in the sky had gathered under her back in a warm embrace. She hasn’t felt such softness since she was held in her mother’s arms. It was like a miracle. It must have been a dream. She had to wake up or she’d cry in the morning, again.

Her mother used to tell her that miracles always happened to good people. But she wasn’t a good person, was she? She always got things wrong, and her masters always beat her up for it. Surely, she was a bad person; otherwise, they’d never beat her, right?

While you left the girl in her room, you made your way back into the garden. You wanted to take a look at the sky before doing anything else. However, you were greeted at the sight of the gentleman again.

“You’re still here, John?” you asked.

“My lord, sorry, I’m packing up in preparation,” he said. “I’ll leave immediately.”

“No, no, that is not what I meant,” you corrected yourself. “Do you want to come in? I have some food and drinks inside. You have traveled a lot after all.”

“I wish I could, my lord but I’m in quite a hurry,” he said. “I stopped by your mansion because it was on the path but I have to go to the next kingdom as soon as possible.”

“In that case,” you said. “Wait a moment, please.”

You ran inside and took out the pie and cookies you had prepared the other day, and a bottle of beer and wrapped them in a cloth. You went back outside and gave it to John. He looked surprised at first but then smiled widely.

“Please accept this, it will accompany you on your journey.”

“Oh, my lord, you’re too kind, like you have always been. Thank you.” John accepted your gift with jittery hands and quickly stuffed it in his leather bag.

“That said,” you started, brushing your hands. “Do you have like a… dress? For a servant?”

“For the slave?” he said.

“Well, yeah, the girl.”

“I do have some simple shirts here… I think she might fit in them,” he said taking something out from his carriage. “There’s always somebody who might want to buy them so I always carry them with me… here it is.” He took out a gown, a corset, and some shoes.

“Well that should be fine, I guess.”

“Oh, I have a cap as well.”

“That’s perfect,” you said and got your purse. “I think this should do.”

“Oh, no, please, my lord,” he exclaimed. “I will not let you pay. This is a gift. You have done enough for me, so many investments, it would be an insult to make you pay. Please take it.”

“Very well. They have a good trip, John.”

“Thank you very much, till the next time.” 

John departed. You only had a few memories about the gentleman and had to shake your memories to jot back up the other ones. Nothing seemed to have changed. He was still the same joyful, quirky man that you had met years ago. Still working hard, relentlessly.

You ran back up. The girl heard your heels clacking on the hardwood. She immediately stood up, put her satchel in a more presentable position, and awaited you in front of her room. A maid wasn’t allowed to laze around. 

Reaching her room, you were puzzled by her strange behavior. She was upright against the wall, staring blankly at the wall.

“Hey, so I got you some new clothes,” you said and gave them to her. 

Her eyes moved down to the white cloth in your hands. She nodded and looked at you, waiting for an order. Then she looked at them again, realizing they actually were for her.

Her eyes widened, shimmering with disbelief as she stared at the neatly folded clothes in your hands. For a moment, she didn’t move; she just stood there, frozen, as if the world had briefly stopped turning. Her lips parted slightly, trembling with words she couldn’t quite form. Then, almost shyly, her hands reached out, hesitant, as though she feared the kindness might vanish if she touched it. A soft gasp escaped her, and her voice, barely more than a whisper, carried both awe and quiet gratitude:

“F-For me? I… I’ve never…”

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and a gentle, almost disbelieving smile slowly bloomed. “Thank you very much, master.” 

When she finally took them, she held them against her chest—not protectively, but tenderly, like they were something precious.

“Anyways, I have a bath down the hall. You can go there and wash up.” 

Her disbelief continued but you quickly left before she could question the words that had entered her ears.

The girl took everything in her hands and went in the direction you pointed. She was overwhelmed by your kindness, which she had never received, for most of her life.

Steam fogged the mirror and curled up from the copper tub in slow, visible breaths. A folded cloth lay beside it—clean, soft, white—and a bar of soap that smelled faintly of lavender. There was no bark in the water, no sting of lye, no frozen bite. Only quiet warmth.

She didn’t move at first. Her hands trembled in her lap, curled inward like they might claw back the memory of cold stone floors and cracked nails.

In the last house, water was punishment. Poured cold in the early dark, scrubbed in silence until her skin burned and bled, always watched. There had been no privacy. No soap unless she stole it. She learned not to feel.

“Take your time,” you said, your voice so mild it made her flinch. You kept a stove in the bathroom as well, since you didn’t want to go back and forth to the kitchen. Luckily for both of her, it was that time of the day when you washed up, so there was already boiling water on the stove. You mixed it with lukewarm water in the basin so she wouldn’t burn.

You didn’t stay, you left her alone to herself after showing her everything she needed in the bathroom and closed the door behind you.

She rose slowly. Her fingers hovered over the basin. Then she touched it.

Warm.

Real.

A sound left her—half gasp, half laugh, the kind no one taught her to make. She pulled her hands back as if she’d done something wrong. Waited. No door opened. No voice shouted. The warmth clung to her fingers.

She dipped them again, then her wrists, then leaned forward and buried her face in her wet palms. And there, in the small wooden room, alone for the first time in what felt like years, she cried—not from pain, but from the terrifying unfamiliarity of comfort.

When she finally undressed and stepped into the bath, she did it slowly, reverently. As though the water might vanish if she moved too quickly. She washed herself in silence, not knowing where to begin or how she were a person who deserved this.

But when she emerged, her skin flushed pink and her hair smelling of herbs, she stood a little straighter. Just a little.

When she was done, she went out to the hallway with her old clothes in her hands and simply stood there. She didn’t know what to do. No order, no task to complete, no other maid to tend to. Hearing your rustling in the other room, she figured she might have to ask you.

She stood in the doorway like a shadow that hadn’t decided whether to enter.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting amber light across the wooden floor. The stew simmered on the table, thick with root vegetables and herbs—its scent rich and foreign. You had set two bowls and two spoons. Her hands twisted into her skirts.

She stood in front of you, bathed in the soft light from the hallway, the simple white clothes draping gently over her frame. They weren't extravagant, just clean, fresh, and unmistakably hers now. The white gave her a new innocence, instead of the torn grey drapes that she was wearing when you first met her.

Her eyes met yours, uncertain but open, searching for a sign—approval, maybe.

“It looks really good on you,” you said with a warm smile. Her cheeks blushed.

“Thank you really much.”

“It seems to be a bit big though. Well, it wasn’t really tailored for you.”

“No, it’s perfectly fine, master.”

“Come here, I’ll be ready in a second,” you said, turning back to the pot to taste the stew you had just finished cooking. She didn’t move. Perhaps she didn’t realize you were talking about dinner—her dinner. She was used to stale bread, scraps, and whatever was left behind. 

So she stood there silently, unsure, confused. She didn’t ask—afraid that it could have irritated you.

The firelight flickered low in the modest kitchen, casting long shadows that danced across the dark wooden walls. She stood near the worn wooden table, hands folded tightly before her, eyes fixed on the scuffed floorboards. You watched her quietly from the doorway.

Finally, you spoke, low and gentle, careful not to startle. “May I ask your name?”

There was a question in her eyes, unspoken but impossible to miss. “Why?”

You stepped forward, slowly, making no move to close the distance too quickly. “If you prefer, I don’t have to call you anything at all. But I would like to. It makes things easier… for me.” 

The smallest tremor shook her frame. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “Sullyoon.”

You nodded once, “Sullyoon. I’m glad to know it.”

For the first time since she arrived, she lifted her gaze to meet yours. “You can sit,” you said gently, motioning to the chair in front of you.

She didn’t move.

“It's for you,” you added, pointing at the plate on the table. “It’ll go cold.”

She stepped forward like someone crossing into sacred ground. Her fingers grazed the back of the chair before she dared to pull it out. The legs scraped faintly on the floor, and she winced at the sound.

You served her a ladleful first, then yourself.

Steam coiled up from the bowl—thick, fragrant, unfamiliar. She stared into it like it might be a trick or a test. Then she looked at you, and there was something close to pleading in her voice when she whispered: “I don’t… I don’t know what it is.”

“Just stew,” you said, not looking at her too hard. “Carrots, turnip, a bit of venison. Nothing special.”

She wrapped her fingers around the bowl, just to feel the heat. Her eyes went glassy. Her hands didn’t shake—but only because she was holding herself so tightly together, she had no spare strength left to tremble.

You took a bite, casually, so she’d know it was safe. Only then did she lift the spoon. Clumsily. The first mouthful nearly made her choke. Not because it was too hot, or too strange—but because she had never tasted anything like it. You stared at her, looking at her weird gestures.

She chewed slowly and swallowed slower. Her shoulders stiffened like she expected to be struck by the sound. Then, after the second bite, her eyes welled. She set the spoon down. Not roughly. Reverently.

“I don’t deserve this,” she said in a voice that cracked. Her shoulders shrank.

You didn’t reach for her; she might have flinched like before. Didn’t correct her. You only replied, soft and without ceremony: “You deserve it. You deserve to be fed, everyone does.”

Silence stretched for a long moment, broken only by the quiet clink of  your spoon against the bowl. Then, slowly, she picked up her spoon again. Her mouth moved—almost imperceptibly—into a shape that might one day become a smile.

You continued to eat quietly. She didn’t say anything nor lift her eyes.

II. First days

The first time you saw her washing linen at the stone basin, the sun had not yet reached your windows. You had woken out of habit—there was something about the air just before sunrise that always pulled you from sleep. Outside, the forest was slowly earning the name of the morning. Mist curled along the ground, brushing against the cottage walls, and the trees murmured with the soft voices of waking birds.

She was already working. Of course she was.

She looked small and rigid. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, half hidden beneath a plain brown dress that hung too loosely on her frame. She stood at the basin carved into the back wall of the house, scrubbing shirts in icy water with quick, almost angry strokes. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, her forearms red from the cold.

You didn’t intend to sneak up on her—but you moved quietly by habit. Insects don’t care for boots or sudden motion. You stopped under the old oak in the garden, arms full of pressed ferns wrapped in muslin. You were supposed to bring them inside, but something about the steady rhythm of the fabric against the stone held you in place.

She didn’t react to your presence. Either she hadn’t heard you—or, more likely, she had and chose not to respond. Servants were taught not to acknowledge presence unless spoken to.

You cleared your throat.

Her hands froze, suddenly and sharply. The linen twisted in her grip. Her shoulders tensed as if bracing for instruction—or something worse. Then she turned. Her eyes were wide and unsure.

“Good morning, master,” she said softly and dipped her head in a small bow.

“Good morning, Sullyoon,” you said. “Uh… you may use warm water. If it helps.”

Her voice was quiet, rough from disuse. “Thank you.”

That simple word made something tighten in your chest.

A few silent seconds passed. She resumed scrubbing—not with less effort, but with less violence.

You turned toward the moss patch beneath the elm, kneeling to unwrap your bundle. The maidenhair fern curled like a sleeping creature, damp with morning air. You dipped your pen into ink and began to sketch it in your notebook, trying not to glance too often at her hands.

You both continued your work, side by side in silence. You found yourself curious about her. You hoped she didn’t mind you sitting nearby. You hoped she didn’t think you were strange for that. But she showed no reaction—not a single flicker of thought. You weren’t exactly worried… but it wasn’t a good sign either.

It felt like trying to speak to a wall.

You went on with your day in complete silence. Sullyoon minded her own business. Somehow, she always found something to do. 

In the afternoon, you went back to your studio to complete your notes. The late afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows, casting long, dappled shadows across the polished wooden floor. The study was quiet, save for the soft scrape of cloth on wood. 

Being the clumsy person you were, you spilled a whole bottle of ink on the floor. 

You were on your knees, sleeves rolled up, rubbing at a stubborn stain on the floorboards. The room was sparse, but orderly bookshelves lined with well-thumbed volumes, a sturdy desk cluttered with notes and dried flowers, a simple bed neatly made in the corner.

This was the sort of space your uncle would have loved.

You probably got your character from him. Like you, he didn’t care much for aristocratic life. The rigid etiquette, the hollow smiles at those strange gatherings where everyone pretended to adore one another. The constant presence of servants, hovering like shadows, waiting to tie your shoes or pour your drink—as if you were some fragile, incompetent child. He always said it dulled the instincts. That it made people soft.

Your father had called him a wild cat, but he secretly admired him. He’d vanish into the woods for days and return carrying the carcass of some animal he’d tracked, or a satchel of strange roots and herbs no one could name. “You should do things for yourself,” he once told you, handing you a knife that felt far too large for your hands. 

“Because when the people you depend on are gone, what will you do then?”

He taught you how to hunt a rabbit, which, thinking about it, wasn’t the best thing to teach a seven-year-old. But more than that, he taught you responsibility—real responsibility. That if you broke something, you fixed it. No excuses. No waiting around for someone else to clean up after you.

Which was why you were here now, scrubbing the floor like a fool because you’d been careless enough not to tighten the cap of your flask. The ink had spilled and bled across the boards in a dark, blotchy mess. You could still smell it: metallic, bitter. And with every pass of the cloth, you muttered something under your breath that your uncle would’ve approved of but your mother definitely wouldn’t.

Your knees ached. Your fingers were cramping. But you didn’t stop. This was yours to fix.

Sullyoon paused at the doorway, watching quietly. Her eyes followed the steady movement of your hands, the way you bent low to the floor with focused care. No one wearing a shirt like that had ever knelt like this before, and no one had ever rolled up the sleeves of such a fine shirt.

He’s cleaning. Without asking me.He thinks I’m useless. That I can’t even do the smallest thing right.

Her heart pounded. She could not bear to be seen as idle, or worse, a disappointment. Before you noticed, she stepped inside, clutching a worn cloth she’d found folded in a drawer. “Let me,” she said, voice trembling. “I should be doing this.”

You glanced up, “Huh?”

She dropped to her knees beside you, hands shaking as she took the cloth. She scrubbed at the floor, willing herself to do it faster, better—anything to erase the doubt, the shame that sat heavily on her like a stone.

You watched her for a moment longer, then spoke softly: “You… you don’t have to, I was doing it.”

She bit her lip, refusing to meet your eyes. “I must. It is my duty.”

“Thank you Sullyoon, I appreciate it, but I made this stain, I have to clean it myself,” you said but she didn’t budge and kept her hands glued to the floor. You touched her shoulder to get her to stand up but it was useless. She was convinced. Only then did you notice how skinny she was; you could feel her bones.

You got up and sighed. “Thank you again, Sullyoon. I’ll leave you to it.”

Sullyoon was broken. You understood it from the very first moment you saw her, but you didn’t completely grasp its severity until you started living with her. You felt bad for her and you hated being the reason why she was so restless. 

You were cooking again this evening when it happened again. 

You told her that you’d be the one making the dinner while Sullyoon would be putting away the washed cups. She handled the dishes like they were relics. She cleaned them, dried them, and polished them, giving them the attention that you never did.

Then came the sound.  Small—barely more than a clink—but sharp enough to cut through the soft rhythm of your stirring.

You turned just in time to see the cup slip from her hand and fall. It struck the stone floor with a crisp, brittle crack, then burst—blue and white shards scattering across the tiles like startled birds.

Before you could even speak, she dropped to her knees.

“I—I’m sorry, sir—I’ll pay for it, I swear—I’ll fix it, just please—” Her voice was thin and panicked, words tumbling too fast. She was already reaching for the pieces, heedless of the sharp edges, her breath shallow and wild. She cut herself. Blood bloomed along her thumb, but she didn’t react, she was in complete panic.

You set the spoon down and stepped forward. “Sullyoon, no…”

The moment your voice reached her, she flinched—hard. As if struck. As if she expected to be. And when you reached out instinctively, just to help, she recoiled with wide, frightened eyes. She stared at your palm as if a blade was being lowered on her neck.

Your hand froze in the air.

And then, slowly, you did something else. You stepped in and wrapped your arms around her—not tightly, not forcefully. Just enough. You couldn’t do anything else. She had to know. She was safe.

She stiffened at first. You were absolutely still and didn’t let go.

“It’s okay,” you murmured into her hair. “It’s just a cup. It’s all right.”

For a moment, she didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Then—slowly—her fingers, still streaked with blood and trembling, curled slightly into the fabric of your shirt.

You held her in silence. Not to fix everything. Just to let her know nothing else would fall apart today. Not here. Not now. You pulled back only when she did, just enough to meet her eyes.

“There’s a bandage in the drawer,” you said softly, nodding toward the cabinet. “But you can use my handkerchief if you’d rather.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. She was fidgeting with her fingers, and tears were pooling on her eyelids. “It must have cost a lot.”

“No, it didn’t,” you said. “It’s just a cup, it’s not important. It happens. We make mistakes.”

“I’m terribly sorry, I stained your shirt with my blood.”

“It’s okay, you can clean it later” 

She didn’t answer. But her gaze lingered. Not direct. Just enough. And in it, you saw something fragile and flickering, like the wick of a candle just catching flame. She didn’t trust you yet. But for the first time, she didn’t fear you.

III. Connections

The sun filtered lazily through the tall windows, draping long lines of gold across the floorboards. Dust swirled like pollen in the beams of light, and the soft scritch of a broom was the only sound in the room.

She swept slowly, carefully around the cluttered corners of the study—shelves burdened with books, small rocks labeled in neat handwriting, glass jars filled with dried herbs and oddities. The air smelled faintly of ink, old wood, and lavender crushed long ago between pages.

You were sitting on the floor by the fireplace, head bowed over something in your lap. She might have ignored you—she usually did when you were immersed in your own silence—but the way you held the little bundle in your hands caught her eye. 

She paused, tilting her head. She took a long breath and spoke to you: “…Are those flowers, sir?”

You looked up, blinking as if returning from a long dream. A faint smile curved your mouth. “They were. Now they’re bookmarks.”

“Bookmarks?” she questioned.

You lifted a small cloth-wrapped book from your lap and turned it toward her. “Pressed specimens,” you said. “Wild orchids, mostly. Some foxglove, a few I haven’t named yet. I gather them when they bloom and dry them between pages.” You flipped the book open carefully, revealing delicate silhouettes flattened and faded, their once-vivid petals like ghosts of color.

She stepped forward, broom forgotten. “You keep them in books? On purpose?”

“Absolutely. Some men press their legacy into ledgers; I press mine into my herbariums.” You glanced up at Sullyoon. “So that they can learn about themselves.”

Her laugh was soft, surprised, imperceptible. A hum at most.

“They’re beautiful,” she said, fingers hovering near the open page but not touching. “I didn’t know they’d keep their shape like that.”

“Sit here beside me, Sullyoon,” you said. Immediately she obeyed, folding her skirt neatly between her legs and sitting on the floor. She looked at the book open in your hands.

“Some fall apart,” you admitted. “Some stain the paper too much. But the patient ones stay.” Your tone was casual, but something about the way you said it made her calm down.

She met your eyes and didn’t look away this time.

“I think you’d like the marsh violets,” you added. “They grow in shadows and low water, but bloom all the same.”

She listened and gave you a small nod. “I might.”

A pause settled between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Her apron was damp at the hem, and her hair had fallen slightly out of its pins. She didn’t fix it.

You pointed to one of the flowers in the book. “That one there? I found it half-crushed beneath a deer’s print. Saved what I could. I thought it was ruined, but look how the stem curved when it dried.”

She studied the page, then said softly, “Still lovely.”

“A bit like some people I know,” you said, then cleared your throat as if embarrassed by your own sincerity. “Not naming names, of course.”

She laughed again—this time, a little louder. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like that in front of a man.

“Have you ever pressed one yourself?” you asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve only pulled weeds”

“Then let’s change that,” you said and stood up. “Let’s go to the woods. You’ll choose your own flowers.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Come.”

Sullyoon hesitated before putting the broom down and shuffled behind you. 

The woods were quiet in the late afternoon, touched by that soft, golden hour when the light slants through the trees and everything seems to pause. The birds had grown quieter, and only the occasional breeze rustled through the canopy overhead, brushing against your cheeks like a whisper.

You walked a little ahead, basket in one hand and the herbarium in the other. Sullyoon followed behind—quiet, as always, but no longer shrinking. Her footsteps were light on the moss, almost inaudible, but they didn’t hesitate the way they used to.

“This way,” you said, nudging a low branch aside for her to pass. “There are plenty of flowers you can pick.”

She blinked up at you, uncertain.

“Just pick a couple,” you added. “If you see anything you like. We’ll bring them back and press them in parchment between books. They’ll last forever that way.”

She hesitated, then nodded softly. You watched her eyes wander to the forest floor—ferns uncurling at the base of trees, clusters of pale bellflowers, wild violets tangled in the roots.

You didn’t speak much. You didn’t need to. You just wandered with her, pointing out little things along the way. A dew-wet spiderweb stretched between two brambles. A patch of moss that smelled like rain. A quiet clearing where blue stars bloomed low to the earth.

She knelt suddenly.

Her fingers hovered over a cluster of soft, peach-pink wood sorrel growing in the shade of a fallen log. She didn’t pick them—just studied them for a long moment, as if unsure she had the right to touch something so delicate.

“You can take a few,” you said gently. “They won’t mind.”

She glanced at you, then carefully snipped one with the shears you handed her. Then another. And another. Her hands were slow and deliberate, treating each stem like a secret. With time, you began to pick flowers with your bare hands, but Sullyoon didn’t act this way. She was deliberate and gentle.

By the time the light began to fade, your basket was half-full with the things she chose. Nothing bright or showy—just soft, quiet flowers. The kind people usually overlook.

You didn’t say anything, but you noticed.

Back in the mansion, you laid them on the table and took them one by one between the books that you reserved for her. “Put it here.”

She hesitated. “Won’t I ruin it?”

“If it happens, let it happen,” you reassured her. “But your hands are way more gentle than mine so don’t worry about it.”

You guided her through the steps—folding the parchment, arranging the bloom, pressing it between two pages. “What if it comes out all crumpled?” she asked.

You smiled. “Then we call it art and pretend it was meant to be.”

She smiled quietly and stared at the flowers. She felt a subtle connection with them. The phrase lingered in her ears as if the words were about her.

You did it again the next day. Sullyoon asked you with such a gentle voice that you dropped everything you were doing and ran outside.

The day was warm enough that the breeze smelled of sap and soil, soft and green like something just woken. She followed you, her boots crunching gently over pine needles. You told her there was a place you wanted to show her—a clearing, tucked behind the ridge, where the trees gave way to open sky and the ground was covered in wildflowers.

She didn’t know what to expect. You continued to describe it with excitement and wonder but she didn’t relieve you. Not until the trees suddenly parted and they stepped into a world that looked as though it had spilled from a painting.

A carpet of color stretched out before them—blues, golds, whites, and purples swaying in the light like a quiet celebration. Butterflies darted low, undisturbed. Somewhere, a lark sang into the sky.

She stopped dead. Her mouth parted slightly, but no words came out. You stepped into the clearing. The flowers brushed against her skirts, and she turned slowly, her fingers grazing the tops as though afraid they might vanish.

“How did you find this?” she asked.

“I got lost once,” you said. “Found something better than the path back.”

She looked at you. You were standing with your arms crossed, head tilted to the sky, the sunlight catching in your hair. It was like the sun was hugging its long-lost son, and you were telling him about all the things it missed about the night sky. Sullyoon was enchanted. 

Then you stepped forward—overconfident on the uneven ground—and your boot caught on a root hidden under the grass.

You pitched forward with a startled grunt, arms flailing. There was no dramatic recovery. Just a loud, undignified thud as you hit the earth.

For half a second, she froze—her old instincts flaring. Then, unexpectedly, a sound escaped her—a single, breathless laugh. Then another. And then she was laughing, truly laughing, the sound bubbling out of her like water from a long-clogged spring.

You rolled over onto your back and looked up at her.

She quickly covered her mouth, mortified. “I’m—I’m so sorry—sir—”

But you were already grinning, one hand behind his head as if reclining on purpose. “Don’t you dare apologize for that,” you said gently.

She blinked.

“That laugh,” you said, “was worth every bruised rib.”

A blush crept up her neck.

You sat up slowly, brushing pollen from his sleeves. “I hadn’t heard it before. Thought maybe you still haven’t learned to laugh”

“I didn’t know I did either,” she said softly, surprised by her own honesty.

The two of you sat there in the grass, surrounded by the hush and hum of flowers. You plucked a stem of clover and rolled it between your fingers. “I know you weren’t allowed to laugh,” you said after a while. “But I hope you’ll do it more. Even if it’s at my expense.”

She looked down at her hands, then back at you. “I might,” she said. And then she smiled.

IV. Nightmares

The house is completely silent, and so is the outside, if not for the calm breeze of the night. All animals are asleep, and you have told your maid to go to sleep first while you finish your work.

Sullyoon lies curled on the narrow bed, her thin frame trembling beneath a threadbare blanket. The chill in the air does nothing to quiet the storm raging inside her mind. The pupils under her eyelids spin and flutter, her limbs are tensed, and sweat pours down her forehead.

She remembers the cold floor of the basement, the smell of the moldy walls, and the sound of dripping water. The cane is raised high, a looming shadow falling over her small body. Orders, insults, screams—they all come back. The pain sears her skin, but worse is the silence. The suffocating, unbearable silence. She has not been allowed to cry, or to speak, or to exist in any way that is truly her own.

Suddenly, a strangled scream tears from her lips—raw, involuntary, and desperate. It shatters the stillness of the night like porcelain on stone.

You immediately stand up from your desk and listen carefully. It is definitely from inside your mansion. Robbers?

You move swiftly through the hallway, guided by the flicker of candlelight and the urgency in your steps. At her door, you knock once and open it.

“Are you awake?” you ask, trying to be as gentle as possible but still worried.

Inside, Sullyoon sits upright, heart pounding, breath coming in short, ragged bursts. Shadows dance at the edges of her vision, and her fingers clutch at the blanket. She turns around, and when she sees you, relief washes over her. She takes deep breaths.

“I… I cannot sleep,” she whispers, barely audible.

The door opens slowly.

You step in, candle in hand, its warm glow softening the harsh edges of the room. “May I come in?”

She nods, unable to find her voice again.

You cross the room carefully and sit at the edge of the bed, leaving space between you. “Did you have a nightmare, Sullyoon? Was it… a past memory?”

“Yeah, it was,” she says apologetically. She has been working on herself these past weeks to not bother you again, yet here you are, awake, having to tend to her again. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It could have happened to anyone. Especially you, after what you had been through.”

“I tried to forget, like you told me, but I don’t know why, tonight…”

“It’s okay, we’ll just have to give you more happy memories to remember instead,” you say. You sit down beside her on the bed. You figure it could make her more comfortable. Sullyoon scoots herself closer to you and sheepishly looks at you.

“Thank you for being here,” she says. “You have always been so kind to me.”

“You’re safe here,” you say. “No one will hurt you.”

Her throat tightens, and for a moment, she can’t speak. “The nightmares…” she whispers finally, “They come when the house is quiet. I always try to keep myself busy because of that.”

You nod. “Would it help to talk about them?”

She doesn’t speak right away. Her eyes are distant, unfocused, as though looking past the walls of the cottage into a place far colder and darker. Her hands, which have been trembling on her lap, grip the edge of her nightgown.

You can see the hesitation in her shoulders and the stiffness in her posture. Her breath hitches. She is trying to push it down but can’t anymore.

Then she lets the words spill, halting and rough. Her voice comes in fragments, not full words at first but broken letters. The way her lips curl slightly in disgust at the memory, the way her eyes blink hard as everything flashes before her pupils—you understand.

“They beat me for looking wrong. Speaking wrong. For breathing wrong. I wasn’t allowed to cry or rest. I had to be what they wanted. A shadow. Not a person. And sometimes… it was worse.”

Your heart aches, but your expression doesn’t shift. Only your hand moves, slowly, until it rests lightly over hers. Sullyoon takes it and holds it tight. It gives her courage.

There has been pain. Not the kind that bruises the skin alone, but the kind that creeps into the deepest parts of a person—their dignity, their voice, their sense of worth. There has been punishment for things so small, so human, that to remember them now makes her seem ashamed of having once hoped to be treated kindly.

And there has been silence. Long silences. She has no one to talk to, not a pen to write it down, not a hand to hold. She is trained to stay silent and obey. She shrinks herself smaller and smaller until even her thoughts feel too loud.

“I have to confess, sir,” she starts again, after a long pause. “When I learned that they were going to send me to a new master, I was fearing for my life. If my previous master was this cruel, who knew what my next master would have been like?”

“John brought you here, didn’t he?” you ask.

“Yes. My old master died, and afterward, I was sold along with the other slaves. You call me your maid—which feels like a very noble title to me—but where I came from, we didn’t have such names. And yes, John bought me and brought me here.”

Sullyoon takes another pause and this time her grip lightens. “You surprised me, master. You gave me nicer food on my first night than I’ve ever received during my whole life. And you gave me a room, a bed to sleep in, clothes… I couldn’t believe what was happening.”

“Those were the bare minimums,” you say.

“That’s what you believe in because your heart was so pure,” she points out, “but for me, they were a miracle.” She leans closer to you. “I know I was tense the first few days, but I thought punishment was just waiting for me.”

Sullyoon now looks you directly in the eyes. “And when I broke that cup, I was terrified. Breaking something is the worst thing a slave can do and instead, you hugged… me. That was the first time in my life someone had ever hugged me and it happened when I broke something. I don’t even remember my parents hugging me…”

You smile and turn to face her directly, holding her shoulders with your hands. You hug her. Because she needs it now more than ever. She melts right into your arms, a quiet sob leaving her lips. You pat her head and try to make her feel as safe as possible. She does.

“It feels unreal every time,” she says.

“I will be here every time you need it,” you tell her. “Don’t even ask.”

In the days after the nightmare, something shifted between them. It wasn’t sudden, it was a feeling. Silence no longer felt strained. She no longer flinched when you entered a room. Her shoulders, once tense, began to soften in your presence. When you spoke, she met your eyes more often. Briefly at first, then loner.

You didn’t force her to do anything. You didn’t pry. Instead, you showed her day by day that you cared about her. You’d leave a thicker blanket by her door on colder days, a sprig of dried lavender tucked into her cupboard, books by her nightstand. 

When she dropped something, you’d help her pick it up without comment. At first, she still felt fear when it happened but slowly, she started to smile.

Sometimes, she would sit near you as you sketched plants or wrote notes. She said little, but her presence was steady, and one day, she fell asleep in the chair beside you. It wouldn’t have meant much if it was anyone else but for you, it was huge. You didn’t wake her, you just adjusted the blanket so her shoulders wouldn’t chill. When she stirred and her eyes met yours, she panicked. 

“Sorry! I’m so sorry! I fell asleep,” she would say and bow over and over.

You just chuckled and told her it wasn’t a big deal. It just showed that she felt comfortable around you and she needed that rest anyways.

It wasn’t long before her steps took her to your room on the quiet nights when the dreams came back. She would stand in the doorway with the pillow in her hands, making her small in the shadow of the door. She didn’t ask but she hoped you’d take her. You would always move aside and make room for her. She never spoke much on those nights but sometimes she would hold your hand until sleep returned to her. Other times, she would rest her head against your shoulder so that your breaths would guide her back to calm.

Then Sullyoon became more needy.

On a late morning, she stood in the doorway of the study, hands clasped in front of her apron. She had just finished tidying the herb jars, lined them up perfectly by species and potency, just as you liked them. She lingered there, hesitant, watchin you work. She was fidgeting around with the hem and only looked down.

When you noticed her, you smiled, “They look perfect, Sullyoon, thank you.”

Her fingers tightened slightly. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

You tilted your head. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head quickly. “No it’s just…” Then her voice dropped in a barely audible whisper. “May I… have a hug?”

You blinked once, then set the pen down without a word and crossed the room. Your arms opened without hesitation. She stepped into them with caution but she melted into your embrace as soon as she made contact. Her hands clutched the back of your shirted, face hidden in your shoulder. You swore you could hear her purr.

“You never asked before,” you murmured into her hair. “But I’m glad you did.”

From then, it became more usual. She still didn’t want to be too much of a bother so she only asked it when she did big tasks or after a lot of time. When she swept the entire house and cut the weeds of the garden, she would appear at your side a half-hidden smile and her hands between her ribbons. You would chuckle softly and open your arms.

When she learnt the names of every plant in your collection or finally managed to bake the spiced bread without burning it, she’d look up to you, eyes bright, and murmur, “Do I get a hug now?”

You always said yes.

And sometimes, after she completed a task with extra care, you’d rest a hand gently on her head, brushing her hair back and say, “Well done.” She never said much when you did it, but her eyes always fluttered shut for a moment, and her lips curled into the most contented smile. You always gave her headpats when she looked cute, which was most of the time you saw her.

Sullyoon had gone to the city a couple of times to buy you bread and other groceries before. But it was never for herself. So one time, you tagged alone with her. The town was right at the bottom of your hill so it was about a half an hour walk. The people were lovely, friendly and bright. Most of them were your friends and your name was common knowledge at this opint.

When you arrived, she hesitated at the edge of the main square. Every thursday, there was a big market where the streets became alive with voices, bells, and carts full of summer goods. Her eyes swept across the stalls and storefronts, it never looked this lively.

You offered your arm and she took it to anchor herself.

“I brought you here to buy you something,” you said as you passed the tailor’s window. “You’ve been working hard, and you deserve rewards. Whenever you want something, just ask me.”

Her gaze flicked up to you, startled. “But… I don’t need anything.”

“That’s not the same as not wanting anything.”

She looked away again, uncertain. You didn't press her, only guided her toward the dressmaker’s shop. Inside, it was quiet and warm, sunlight pooling on polished floorboards and bolts of fabric spilling like rivers from their shelves.

The seamstress welcomed you both and stepped aside as Sullyoon took cautious steps around the room.

“Hey, how are you doing?” the seamstress said to you. “Need me to reinforce your pants again? I told you that all that squatting would tear them.”

“Shhh shhh—don’t say that with her here,” you quickly shut her.

“Ohhhhh… sorry about that,” she laughed. “Who is she?”

“She’s my maid.” Sullyoon’s fingers hovered over a bolt of lavender linen, then pulled back before they touched it. 

“You can touch them, you know,” you said, smiling. “You’re allowed, right?”

“Yes, of course,” said the seamstress.

She blinked, hesitated, then finally ran her fingertips along the fabric. Something in her shoulders eased.

The seamstress brought down a few samples and quietly asked Sullyoon to pick a color she liked. After a long pause, she pointed to a pale blue cotton with a soft, woven texture. “That one,” she said quietly. “It reminds me of the sky outside your study window.”

You nodded, pleased. “That’s a fine choice.”

As the seamstress took her measurements, Sullyoon stood still and straight, clearly unsure how to react to being fussed over. But when she stepped out from behind the curtain in a simple try-on dress—light and neat, with a ribbon tied carefully at her waist—you saw her glance into the mirror and pause.

“I… I don’t look like me,” she said under her breath.

“You look like someone becoming herself,” you said.

Her cheeks flushed faintly.

“Yes, I think it’s beautiful. It’s perfect, what do you think?”

“I like it too,” Sullyoon said.

The seamstress folded the chosen fabric with care, wrapping it in brown paper and tying it neatly with twine. Sullyoon stood beside you, her hands clasped in front of her, gaze lowered but flickering with something close to awe.

She hadn’t asked for it. Hadn’t even dared to suggest it. But when you saw the way her fingers lingered on that pale blue cloth, the way she tried not to seem too interested, you knew.

You stepped forward, drawing your coin pouch from your coat.

“I’ll take this one,” you said to the seamstress, nodding toward the fabric. “And the fitting for the dress we discussed. Please make it simple, but well-fitted. Something she can move in.”

Sullyoon’s head lifted slightly, eyes wide.

The seamstress gave you a nod, already scribbling notes. “It’ll be ready in three days. Sooner if I can help it.”

As the payment exchanged hands, Sullyoon shifted beside you. “Wait… you’re buying it?”

You turned to her, gentle. “Of course. I said you could choose something.”

“I didn’t think you meant it.”

“I did,” you said softly. “You deserve rewards. Whenever you want something, just ask me.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Just a breath—a fragile, disbelieving breath—as she stared at the wrapped parcel the seamstress handed to you.

You turned and offered it to her, holding it out with both hands like something delicate. “Here. It’s yours.”

She reached for it slowly, like it might vanish if she moved too fast. Her fingers brushed yours as she took it, and her hands trembled just faintly as she cradled the package to her chest.

“I’ve never… had something new,” she murmured. “Something just for me.”

You smiled. “Now you do.”

As you stepped outside into the street again, the wind lifted a strand of her hair. She looked back over her shoulder once at the shopfront, then ahead, holding the little bundle close like it might anchor her to the moment.

And maybe, in a way, it did.

V. It’s love

The rain had been falling gently for hours, painting silver lines down the windows and filling the house with the steady hush of water and wind. Evening had settled in, soft and dim, with only a few candles lit in the sitting room where you sat reading by the hearth.

Not a lot of work to do today, so Sullyoon had plenty of time for herself to think.

Sullyoon lingered in the hallway.

You noticed her there—partially hidden by the doorway, one hand resting lightly on the wall as if steadying herself. Her hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, damp at the ends from the short dash back from the woodshed earlier, where she’d gone to bring in more kindling. She was still in her blue dress, but something in her eyes made her look entirely different.

“Is something wrong?” you asked gently, setting the book aside.

She hesitated. Then stepped into the room, fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve.

“No,” she said softly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

You waited.

“I…” Her voice caught, and she tried again, quieter. “I wanted to ask if you could come to my room. There’s something I… I want to say.”

Your chest tightened at the trembling sincerity in her voice. She wasn’t afraid—not like before—but she was uncertain. Like someone offering a fragile thing into another’s hands, hoping it wouldn’t be broken.

“,Of course, whenever you need” you slowly stood up, careful not to startle her.

She turned, wordlessly, and led you through the narrow hallway. The candlelight flickered as you passed, shadows slipping across the floor. Her door was already open, and when she stepped inside, she paused near the bed and sat down. You did the same.

Her gaze was lowered. Her hands clasped in front of her skirt, knuckles pale.

“I’ve been thinking about something for a while,” she said. “But I didn’t know how to say it. Or if I should. But now I feel like… if I don’t say it, I’ll regret it.”

You took a small step closer, but said nothing.

“I’ve never had someone listen to me. Never had someone stay. And I don’t know how to be someone worth staying for…” Her voice faltered. “But when you’re kind to me, and when you trust me with little things, like the pressed flowers or your books or just—your company… it means more than I know how to say.”

You were close now. Not touching, just close.

“And I think,” she continued, barely louder than the rain, “that I’m starting to… love you. And it scares me. Because I don’t know what that’s supposed to look like.”

She finally lifted her eyes to yours.

“I just needed you to know.”

You took a slow breath, heart swelling with something warm and full. She stood there, vulnerable and brave all at once, the candlelight brushing soft gold across her cheekbones and the tremble of her lip.

You reached out gently, so she could see your hand coming, and touched her cheek with your knuckles—lightly, reverently. She didn’t flinch. Her eyes shimmered with something close to disbelief.

Then you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, your lips lingering just a moment longer than necessary, as if to seal something unspoken between you.

“I love you too, Sullyoon,” you said quietly.

It was not grand or dramatic. Just true.

Her breath hitched. Her hands, which had been clenched tightly against her skirt, slowly unfurled. Her shoulders loosened. A single tear slipped down her cheek—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming gentleness of the moment.

“You mean it?” she asked, almost like she was afraid to believe it.

“I do,” you said. “Not because you serve me. Not because you’ve been kind or quiet or patient. But because you’re you. And I’ve been falling for you without even realizing how deeply.”

“I’ve also- I’ve been thinking about the books in your library. I’ve read them and I wondered about what they called “love” and what two people do when they love each other.” Sullyoon gulps. Her insides are stirring and her head is starting to go haywire. But she holds your hand and speaks again. 

“Sullyoon…”

“I want to service you, Master. To show you my gratitude.”

“You don’t have to do that, Sullyoon. There are many ways you have to thank me. You should do it only with…”

“I know. But I want this too,” she confesses. “I remember that you said I should be rewarded as well. This is what I want, master, please.” Sullyoon’s breath is getting warmer. She gets closer to you, this time your shoulders touch, and you can feel the heat of her body.

“I want to be closer to you. A hug is no longer enough. If this feeling…”

“Love?”

“Yeah, love. If what I feel is truly love, I want you to take me, master.” Sullyoon swallows her last hesitation. “My body is scarred and damaged. So I understand if you don’t find me desirable. But I still wish to offer myself to you. This is all I have and I want you to have it.”

“Oh, Sullyoon, I do. And I feel honored that you have these feelings.” You say truthfully.

“Really?” She says. “Master… I will show you everything.”

She takes a deep breath and slowly takes off her clothes. First, her long socks, revealing her long, luscious legs, then her nightgown at once, finally revealing her white porcelain skin, shining under the moonlight. Her whole figure, slender and smooth, together with her small breasts, tempt you. Then you saw her scars. Most of them healed, but there were still marks, and some were deeply etched into her skin.

“H-here I am, all of me.”

Your hand gently brushes against them. You observe how her skin reacted and trembled. Sullyoon’s breath is irregular; she tries to hold it and is surprised by the chills that go down her spine.

“Sullyoon you are… beautiful.”

The girl gasped. “...what?! Me? Beautiful…?” She says, trembling. “You really think so? How could you?”

Your hand goes up to her cheek, brushing under her jaw, and you kiss her. Deeply. Because she wouldn’t have believed any other word that came out of your mouth, you just had to show her. Sullyoon accepts it wholeheartedly. She tries her best to kiss you back, moving her lips with yours, but it is her first time.

She doesn’t know what to do and just sits there, feeling your hands around her face and your lips lovingly kissing her like she never knew.

She looks straight into you, with love, desire, “Master… I feel like my heart is gonna jump out of my chest.”

Sullyoon smiles, and your heart flutters.

“Please, master, I want to do it. Sex, I mean. I want you to show me all of these feelings.” She begs you with the smallest of voices. A whisper. Seductive and pleading. “Please. Won’t you allow it?”

You couldn’t resist. How could you? “I will,” you simply say, trying to maintain your composure. She wants you badly but you only want her more. Now more than anything.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Just lie down, here on the bed,” you say, and pat the pillow next to you. Sullyoon follows, making herself comfortable, resting her hands on her belly. She trembles from anticipation.

“Now what—mmh” she’s interrupted by your kiss again. Her hands go on your shoulders as she welcomes you, pulling you in.

A soft gasp escapes Sullyoon's lips as your mouth travels down her neck, her back arching slightly in response. Her breath quickens, her chest rising and falling with increased rhythm.

Your hands come on her chest, caressing and fondling her small breasts. Your fingertips gently pinch one nipple while you massage the flesh of the other. With stimulation coming from two places, Sullyoon has a hard time keeping up with you and starts to whimper helplessly. She breathes deeply between your kisses to accommodate this new feeling.

Your fingers trace lower, skimming across her stomach. Sullyoon's hands tighten into fists, then slowly release. She bites her lower lip, attempting to stifle any further audible reactions.

"Please..." she whispers, though whether it's a plea for more or restraint is unclear. Her body remains mostly still but it’s reacting to every stimulation.

“Arch your back for me,” you whisper into her ear. She complies.

Sullyoon's breathing becomes more labored as you tug her underwear down her legs. She’s desperate. Your hands are so close and she’s so naked in front of you but it’s exactly where she wants to be. She looks at you with eagerness, yearning for your next move.

Once her panties are removed, she’s half-sitting on the cushion before you with legs parted, exposed, and vulnerable. Her expression is still controlled, but the flush on her cheeks deepens, and a bead of sweat trickles down her temple.

She slowly opens her legs wider. “I’m yours now, please do what you want, master.”Her voice wavers slightly, betraying her heightened state of arousal.

Very gently, you start rubbing her swollen clit. Sullyoon's body jerks involuntarily at the first touch, a choked whimper escaping her lips. Her hands fly to her mouth, silencing any further sounds as she struggles to maintain her facade of composure. 

Then you insert your fingers inside her, finding her G-spot and slowly massaging it. You can feel the wetness pooling into your hands, aiding your movement. 

Her hips buck upwards, seeking more of your fingers' movement. The telltale signs of her escalating desire are written across her body - the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the sheen of sweat on her skin, the way her thighs tremble with need. "More… please," Sullyoon manages to say through gritted teeth, her words barely audible over her ragged breathing.

Sullyoon's eyelids flutter closed as she focuses on the sensations coursing through her body. She takes a shaky breath, then opens her eyes to meet yours with a steady gaze.

“Are you okay?” you ask before it gets too much. “Any pain?”

"No pain," she says, her voice a husky whisper. "Please continue…"

Sullyoon inhales sharply as your fingers slide deeper inside her, stretching her to accommodate the added length. Her back arches, nails digging into your hand as she adjusts to the newfound sensation. "Yes," she breathes, "that's it... more."

Sullyoon's hips grind against your palm, clit throbbing in time with the rhythm of your fingers pumping in and out of her. She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood in a desperate attempt to overcome the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her veins.

You take out your hand, now dripping with her juices. She looks at you with confusion and disappointment in her eyes. “Is there a problem?” she asks. No problem. Looking at how much liquid was spilling out of her made you incredibly hungry. You had to get a taste.

As you lower your head down between her legs, Sullyoon gets more worried by the sudden movement. “What are you doing, master?” she pants. “Don’t go there, it’s dirty—ah!”

Sullyoon's eyes fly open as your mouth makes contact with her sensitive flesh, her initial shock giving way to moans of pleasure. Her thighs tremble, muscles clenching around your tongue as you lap at her folds and delve into her core.

"Oh gods, Master!" she cries out, fingers digging into the sheets as you lavishly attend to her most intimate area. "That's... incredible!"

You slurp up her sweetest nectar, nibbling on her lips, sucking on her clit, pushing your tongue into the depth of her hole. Every single movement makes her go crazier. She tastes just as sweet as she looks, and her moans beg you to continue.

Its delightful.

She’s delightful 

Sullyoon's hips undulate against your face, meeting each lick and stroke with increasing urgency. The sensation of your tongue exploring her depths sends jolts of electricity coursing through her veins, reigniting the embers of her arousal.

"Yes, right there," Sullyoon gasps, needy. Her hands finally come onto your head and softly pull you into her. She’s helpless but there’s still that instinct behind her actions that tells her to know her place and not interfere with you. 

But as your mouth seals over her clit, Sullyoon's world descends into chaos. Your two fingers go back into her, stroking her spot, while your other hand pushes down onto her womb to get closer to your fingertips. The pressure on her stomach amplifies her pleasure and her moans turn to screams. She doesn’t know what to say, nor is she able to. You only suck harder and move faster.

“W-wa-wait!” you can barely hear. “Some—something is coming…!” Sullyoon says, almost scared about what her body might do. But you know. You have to make her cum.

A keening wail tears from her throat as the first wave of climax crashes over her, sending shockwaves rippling through every nerve ending.

Her body convulses violently, her back arching as her vision blurs behind a kaleidoscope of colors. Sullyoon's inner walls clench and ripple around your finger, gushing nectar that floods your mouth and dribbles down your chin. It’s thick, white and coats your tongue completely. You carefully lick it all up, scared that it might go to waste.

"P-please, Master!" she sobs, voice breaking as the onslaught of pleasure threatens to consume her entirely. "Don't stop, I can't... I can't..."

As if driven by a primal instinct, Sullyoon starts to grind against your face aggressively, riding out the tsunami of ecstasy. Her moans escalate into cries of pure abandon, echoing off the walls as she surrenders utterly to the sensation.

Finally, with a hoarse scream, Sullyoon's climax crests and breaks, leaving her shuddering and spent in the aftermath. As the tremors subside, she collapses back onto the bed, panting heavily, her chest heaving with each ragged breath.

She collapsed back onto the bed, limbs trembling and lungs heaving as if each breath had to be pulled from deep inside her chest. Sweat clung to her skin in a shining sheen, dripping from her brow, soaking the sheet under her, making her skin saltier. Her cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, strands of damp hair plastered to her forehead.

Sprawled on her side, one arm draped limply over her stomach, she lay still for a moment, gulping at the air like it might steady the pounding in her head. Her heart thudded in her ears, louder than her breaths.

“M-master?” she started. “What was that? What was that feeling? I—something happened, I don’t know…”

You chuckled. “It was an orgasm. You came. That’s the final part of sex, usually. It feels good, right?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Was it the first time?”

A weak nod tells you everything you needed. For a while, she stayed where she was, letting the fire in her lungs dim to a flicker. Her breath slowed—still deep, but no longer desperate. The pounding in her chest began to settle, fading into a steady rhythm.

Slowly, she rose and sat on the bed. “Master, can we do it now? The real thing?” she asked you, even needier than before. If what you just did felt like heaven coming down on her, she couldn’t even imagine what was next.

You started to undress. Sullyoon looked at the bulge in your pants, unattended, that now was starting to hurt from how rock hard it got. You quickly took off your shirt, trousers, and underwear, showing your penis in front of her.

A quiet gasp escaped her lips. She stared at you with excitement. “So… this is your manhood, right?”

You nodded and you kneeled back into the bed. Sullyoon looked into your eyes and asked, “Can I touch it?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” you tell her.

Sullyoon reaches out tentatively, her fingers wrapping around your thick shaft. She strokes you with a gentle, exploratory touch, her touch tentative at first, then growing bolder as she becomes more confident.

"It's so warm and firm," she murmurs, her voice filled with wonder. "I had no idea it would feel this way."

Sullyoon's thumb rubs against the sensitive underside of your cockhead as she pumps her hand along your length. She leans in closer, inhaling deeply as if trying to absorb every scent and texture. She tries to stroke with you more speed, worried she might be doing a bad job but really you’re enchanted by the sight of her doing her best. She’s adorable and it’s turning you on more than you anticipated. 

Her fingertips make you shiver. Despite her hard work, her palms are still smooth and soft.

"I saw the girls doing stuff like this. I want to try it. May I put it in my mouth?" Sullyoon asks, her gaze locked with yours, desire and curiosity burning bright in her eyes. “Yes,” you whisper. It was your turn now to be completely turned on and yearning for her.

With a subtle nod, Sullyoon aligns your head with her lips, then takes you into her mouth, inch by inch. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks gently, her tongue swirling around the sensitive glans. Sullyoon's hands move to caress your thighs, urging you deeper as she begins to bob her head in a slow, rhythmic motion. Her eyelids flutter shut, lost in the sensations of exploring this new intimacy.

After a few moments, Sullyoon pulls back, releasing your cock with a wet pop. She gazes up at you, her lips glossy and swollen, eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

"Is this pleasing to you, Master?" Sullyoon asks, her voice husky from the act.

“Yes, you are doing well, Sullyoon,” you say and pat her head. Sullyoon's lips curve into a sly smile at your praise, her confidence growing with each word. She takes a deep breath, then plunges back onto your cock,determined to take you even deeper.

Sullyoon's throat constricts around the head of your shaft as she gulps you down, her nose brushing against your pubic bone. She relaxes her jaw, allowing you to slide further until the tip kisses the back of her throat.

The vibrations of her moan resonate around your length as she sucks harder, cheeks hollowing and lips stretched tautly. Sullyoon's tongue swirls and teases the sensitive underside, her fingers kneading your thighs for added leverage.

“Mmmh… your lips feel so good,” you let out a heavy groan.

She pulls back slightly, just enough to catch her breath, before diving back down, setting a more rhythmic pace. Sullyoon's fingers dig into your thighs as she suckles greedily, her throat working to take every inch. Sullyoon's head bobs, saliva streaming down her chin as she devours your cock like a starving woman. Her moans grow louder, more urgent, as if she was pleasuring herself.

Her eyes lock with yours, wild and unfocused, as she loses herself in the act. Her mind clouds with lust, every thought centered on bringing you to the brink of ecstasy. With each stroke of her tongue and suck of her lips, Sullyoon strives to prove herself worthy for you.

When you felt like you were getting too close, you pulled out of her mouth. She looked at you, almost disappointed. “That’s enough… i think we are ready” you say, but she can feel the shakiness of your voice.

Sullyoon gazes up at you, her eyes shining with triumph and arousal at your praise. She smiles, the curve of her lips dripping with saliva.

Your hands go around her head and you pull her into a kiss, which she accepts happily. You savor her lips, trying to recover yourself, and adorn her with praises and compliments. Your words alone cause her bodily pleasure and her wetness is pooling into the sheets. 

“I’ll put it inside you now,” you whisper at the end.

Sullyoon's eyes widen slightly at your declaration, a flutter of apprehension momentarily clouding her expression. However, she quickly recovers, nodding resolutely as she realizes your intentions. "I am prepared, Master," Sullyoon says, her voice calm and measured.

She lies down on the bed and shifts position, spreading her legs wider in silent invitation. Sullyoon lifts her hips slightly, helping guide your cock to her slick entrance. Her body tenses ever so slightly as the head of your shaft presses against her, the first barrier to your joining.

"Please…" Sullyoon urges. "Take me now."

Sullyoon's breath catches as the broad head of your cock nudges past her delicate folds, the intrusion is both thrilling and slightly uncomfortable. She bites her lip, tensing as you gradually work your way deeper, the stretch exquisite yet unfamiliar.

You’re knocked back into your senses as well. Her walls are extremely tight, squeezing your cock in its entire length. It’s thanks to her dripping wetness that you can enter her easily. You grit your teeth, you can already feel it coming.

As you continue your measured advance, Sullyoon begins to relax, her body adapting to the new sensation. Her walls clench around your length, welcoming you completely. Sullyoon's eyes lock with yours, you can see the love in her eyes, she’s happy. With a slow nod, she grants permission for you to take control, trusting in your guidance.

"I am ready," Sullyoon confirms, her voice husky with anticipation. "Please… do it."

As your lips meet hers, Sullyoon melts into the kiss, her body responding instinctively to the gentle rocking motion of your hips. She tastes your tongue, finding comfort in your taste while the new feeling between her legs starts to cloud her mind.

Sullyoon's hands come up to frame your face, fingers tangling in your hair as she deepens the kiss. She moans softly into your mouth, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. Her thighs wrap around your waist, pulling you in tighter, urging you to continue the slow, sensual thrusts.

Breaking the kiss, Sullyoon gazes up at you with hooded eyes, her chest heaving with each breath. "More…" she whispers, her voice husky with need. "Please, Master…"

You were trying to hold back for her, but the tone in her voice was irresistible. You start to let go, speeding up the rhythm of your hips bucking into hers.

With renewed fervor, Sullyoon starts to meet your thrusts, rolling her hips to take you deeper. Her inner walls clench around your shaft, the friction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through her veins. Sullyoon's moans grow louder, more urgent, her mind turning hazy from lust, losing herself into your rhythm.

“Mmmh!” she moans. You continue fucking her. You’re chasing your own release now. Sullyoon doesn’t care what you do. Every movement, even the smallest, brings her the most pleasure she’s ever experienced.

You don’t want to last longer. You’ve endured enough. Her nails dig into your shoulders, urging you on, silently pleading for more of the exquisite friction.

"I love you," Sullyoon gasps, her voice strained with effort. "Don't stop, Master. Please, don't ever stop."

The room fills with the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh, the lewd squelch of their joined hips. You didn’t think she could get wetter but she did. You were sliding in and out of her without much effort at all. Your hips were now smashing into hers, kissing her womb at every thrust.

"Yes, Master!" Sullyoon cries out, her voice rising in pitch and volume as she surrenders to the brutal pace. "Harder, please! Make me yours!"

With each brutal slam of his hips, Sullyoon's body is driven up the bed, the headboard crashing against the wall. Sullyoon clings to you desperately, nails digging into your back as she tries to anchor herself against the torrent of sensations crashing over her.

Her breasts bounce wildly with each thrust, the hard nipples grazing your chest. Sullyoon's inner walls clench, milking your cock. The pressure builds rapidly, her orgasm coiling tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

"Master, I'm... I'm almost—" Sullyoon gasps, her words cut short by a loud, uncontrollable moan as her climax rips through her. Her body seizes, back arching as she comes hard, inner muscles rippling around your shaft.

Her orgasm hits her hard—Sullyoon's hips thrust wildly, and her words turn into a mix of incoherent moans. In the chaos, your cock slips out of her climaxing pussy, and you feel her squirt splattering against you. Your fingers quickly deep into her and you finger her pussy to help her ride it out. She creates quite a mess—not only is her cum all over your legs and cock, yet you keep on fucking more of it out of her.

Her body goes limp, sated, and spent. She pants heavily, trying to catch her breath amidst the aftershocks of her intense orgasm. Then she looks at you, with your penis still rock hard. “Master—you—you haven’t orgasmed yet,” she says apologetically.

“Well, no—” you start but Sullyoon interrupts you. “Please use me,” she begs you. “You have to cum too.”

With your fresh instructions, you get back to what you were doing with Sullyoon earlier. You hold her by the waist, and before long, you're back to pounding her pussy with thrusts. Sullyoon handles each thrust like a champ—she even pushes herself back onto your cock while moaning like crazy. Her eyes are glazed over, her jaw loose, but she still knows how to ride your cock and match every thrust flawlessly.

You thrust your cock deep into Sullyoon's cunt. Sullyoon screams at the rhythm—she's still sensitive from the orgasm, and your pounding of her tight cunt drives her wild—but somehow she still manages to bounce herself on your cock. 

You pull Sullyoon down roughly onto your cock, burying yourself deep inside her. Your cock erupts with thick, hot semen, shooting deep into her cunt, and you hardly move at all—just staying hilted in Sullyoon as you let your orgasm wash over you. All you do is shudder and thrust your hips as each wave of cum leaves your body and fills her up. The only thing Sullyoon can do is moan as the warmth of your release floods deep inside her, coating her walls white with shot after shot of your seed filling her womb.

She finally relaxes when you’re done and can barely raise her head to look at you. “Master… what is that? What’s that white liquid.”

“Oh, well that’s semen. Uhm, that’s what males let out when they cum,” you say, shyly. It’s embarrassing to have to explain such things, even after what you just did.

“As long as it’s from you, it’s fine,” she says. Sullyoon lifts her fingers from between her legs, her digits glistening with a thick layer of your cum and juices.

You see Sullyoon bring her fingers to her mouth. Her tongue peeks out from between her lips, and she savors your cum off her fingers as if it were a treat. She maintains her gaze on you while she cleans her fingers of your seed. 

“It tastes good,” she says casually and laughs. You chuckle as well to brush off the awkwardness. You both remain silent for a few minutes, processing what just happened.

“Thank you, master,” she whispers at last. “You never treated me like a slave. I just… I’m so happy to have you.”

“And I’m happy to have you,” you say, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

She looks up at you, tears welling, her voice trembling. “Thank you, master.”

You smile gently, shaking your head. “I’m not your master anymore, Sullyoon. Not after this. You’re more than that. More than a maid. More than a title.”

She blinks slowly, her lips parting. “Then… what should I call you?”

“I don’t know,” you say, a little sheepishly.

She hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking down before rising to meet yours again, a soft light blooming in them. “What about… darling? I saw it once, in one of your books. It’s what people say when their hearts belong to each other.”

You smile, your chest tightening in the best way. “That’s perfect.”

A breathless laugh escapes her, half joy, half disbelief. She leans into you, her head finding its place against your chest, where your heartbeat thuds steadily and surely. Your arms come around her, not to hold her tightly, but completely. She isn’t just in your arms—she is where she belongs.

Outside, the forest stirs with the hush of wind through leaves, but inside, all is quiet.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” you murmur. “Not of the past. Not of tomorrow. As long as I’m breathing, I’ll keep you safe. Because I love you more than anything in this world.”

Her body shakes with quiet sobs—not of sorrow, but release. She clings to you, trembling with emotion, with the enormity of being loved without condition.

“Thank you,” she breathes through her tears. “Thank you… darling. I love you, too.”

The candle flickers low beside you, casting soft golden light over the two of you as the night folds gently around the house. She had never felt so safe in silence before.

THE END

Written, 27 May 2025 - 9 July 2025

Closing notes:

I promised to write this fic almost a year ago after my post received 160 notes. It took a really long time since I was busy, but I never forgot. It turns out I'm more of a summer writer who returns once a year. I hope you enjoyed the story if you arrived at this message.

I'd like to thank @usedpidemo, @leafostuff, and @4m1rz for editing this story. I would also like to thank @erospandemos, who helped write this story and made the cover art.

[defmaybe]

The Space Between Us: Part I

NMIXX's Bae Jinsol (Smut) & Kim Jiwoo (Fluff) x Male Reader

3.5k words

A/N: Pretty vanilla as far as things go. Another series I might or might not finish, idk.

—

The mini-mart glows against the darkness of the night with serenity. Some whirring from the lights can be heard, sure, but it's mostly quiet, reserved for the passing cars and motorcycles on the main road from afar.

The electronic bell dings as you cross the threshold into the blue of the mini-mart — clean, somehow melancholic. It greets you with the smell of fishcakes and seafood meatballs at the first whiff — so familiar, so disarming as always. Other patrons don't seem to care about your presence, still searching for their stuff. Your fingers tap on the side of your thighs as you walk towards the instant noodles section, breaths getting colder from the thankless air conditioners. It spills into your lungs with ease, wrapping you in the comfort of your favorite place — almost your second home.

You walk through rows of goods into the store. Your desired late-night meal seems to be buried far inside here, along with the kettle and the 'cooking' table. Not that it looks and feels like the land before time, just far from the entrance. You recognize a few faces as you walk deeper into the mart, and you just give them a polite smile. The staff are working diligently, arranging stuff with vigor despite the time closing in on a new day. You've heard that the pay is pretty decent here.

You continue to tread into the store until you find the column — your heaven — and you start to locate the container of the ramen you've been craving. It's sweet. It's spicy. It's dry, and you're expecting more of the same today. You keep searching and searching for it until a black-red paper cup meets your eyes.

Splendid.

You pick it up in a haste before backtracking towards the cashiers. Your hand places it onto the desk, and the sound seems to startle the woman on the store's only computer a little. From behind, the pixie, bleached hair is more than prominent. She looks a layer cooler with it. The blue marine shirt fits her body perfectly. Just a few kilograms different from this and she has to shift a size.

And she turns around.

That's Kim Jiwoo for you.

She takes a quick scan of you and the object you're holding. Her hands are bunched up in the middle between her legs on the seat, and she smiles.

"Aren't you gonna try anything new?" Jiwoo asks with a chuckle, getting off her chair. It creaks lightly as she comes down.

You shrug before replying, "I'm happy with this."

Jiwoo picks up the cup, lifting it to the side of her face. "Could've at least added some vegetables," she tells you.

"Maybe next time," you say, watching her put the cup's barcode to the scanner. A loud beep fills the brief silence between the two of you.

"I should be in charge of your diet."

"Really?"

"Really."

You just chuckle lightly as you whip out your phone to scan the QR code on the doohickey machine every store seems to have — a beep, and the payment is processed. It's as quick as a quick brown fox that jumps over the lazy dog.

"Can I ask you one thing?" Jiwoo utters as the receipt is being printed out. She places her hand on the printer, waiting to rip the paper off and hand it to you.

"Go ahead."

"Do you mind if I walk back with you? I'm clocking out at midnight," she suggests, twisting her hips slightly.

You take a quick glance at your watch — eight minutes left. No harm in waiting for a bit, perhaps.

"Yeah, sure," and you look back at Jiwoo, who's now smiling against the darkness of the night, brighter than the lights of the mini-mart.

—

"So, are you going back home this holiday?" you ask. Each step feels heavy under the unforgiving summer heat, occupying the serenity of the street. It's the kind of climate you've gotten quite used to, but it's still pretty daunting to walk under this temperature.

"Yeah, I'll be gone for a few days," Jiwoo replies. Her bleached white hair shines against the night. She's still in her store uniform from the earlier shift. "My family could use a visit right now. How about yours?"

Your mind wanders back to your parents, a few hours from here. You just talked to your mom yesterday about how your work was going — another model booked for tomorrow, another one next week. Judging from her voice, they're probably doing fine. There's nothing to be worried about for now.

"I'll stay here, maybe splash the cash in the city area or something like that," you say with a shrug. Your hands swing leisurely as you walk through the dimly lit street.

"I'd go with you if I hadn't already booked the train ticket," Jiwoo scoffs, eliciting a breathy chuckle out of your nose.

The two of you continue to tread through the asphalt street into the night. You pass the houses and the apartments and the closed stores with each step. Your eyes sweep around you, taking in the atmosphere of the night — quiet, secure. Strange, you usually don't really pay attention this much walking back alone, scrolling your phone mindlessly every single occasion. Maybe it's the fact that there's somebody with you this entire time, accompanying you back to your place on this peaceful night. Jiwoo's a pleasant company to have, even if the two of you see each other's faces barely an hour per week. She just flips through every page of you so easily.

"What do you usually order at the cafes?" Jiwoo cuts through the calmness of the night as she looks at you. Her right hand grips her bag strap firmly. "I just … don't wanna deal with the silence with you."

With you?

You quickly brush off the lingering thought before replying, "Uh … Assam tea? I think it's delicious."

"Okay," Jiwoo sings. "Any second place?"

"Milk tea, probably Taiwanese?" you respond, raising your eyebrow slightly.

"Too bad I'm a coffee girl, then," Jiwoo says with a chuckle. "We're probably not that compatible, after all."

You laugh along with her. "Opposites attract~"

"Many such cases, I guess."

And the two of you laugh boisterously into the stillness of the night, alerting the residents of your bothersome presence.

Jiwoo asks with the residue of her laugh, "Do you wanna come up to my place and grab a few beers? I need someone to help drink it."

"Woah, that's an incredibly brazen invitation, Miss," you say playfully, pulling yourself away from Jiwoo a bit, and she just chuckles.

"What? Are you scared?"

"Of course not," you rebut. "It's just that I have work to do, that's all."

Jiwoo squints her eyes into slits. She moves closer to you, examining your body language. The faint smell of her sweat hits your nose — familiar, addictive — and that seems to trigger something inside your body.

Suddenly, Jiwoo lets out a raucous laugh into the calmness of the night, making you scrunch your eyebrows slightly.

"I'm just kidding!" Jiwoo shouts, laughing as if she's at the end of the world. "Just grab a few beers from my fridge and go back to your place — just that. They expire in like … I don't know … a week?"

Well, that little fragment of lust burns into ashes quickly. The remnants of her sweat dissipate back into the vast darkness of the night. Then, with a beat, you laugh out of pure comfort.

"You are-you are very good at this, Jiwoo," you say with a hand on your chest, body arching back slightly as you walk through the night together.

Jiwoo just smiles before saying, "Come on, we're almost there."

—

Her room looks mostly neatly kept and cozy, except for the small lump of stuff on her now-unusable table. The bed looks comfortable with the purple sheets, filled with so many kinds of plushies.

Jiwoo tosses her bag carelessly onto the bed, along with her phone and wallet. They land on the sheets with thuds. She then goes to her refrigerator. There's so many assortments of beer inside — Hoegaarden, Modelo, Asahi. What a connoisseur!

She ruminates in front of the cans for a while — Asahi, Modelo, Hoegaarden — before picking up a few Modelos and handing them to you. With that bleached pixie cut, she just looks so fucking cool giving you the beers somehow.

"Here," she says with a polite smile.

"Thanks," and you pick up the beers and place them in your tote bag. Small clinks and clanks can be heard.

"Bye," Jiwoo bids you farewell, so sudden as if she's trying to shoo you away respectfully. The gist of her sweat wafts into your nose, and again, it gets your heart pumping even for a fleeting moment.

"O-oh, yeah," you stammer but sure to hide that glint of desire with a cough. "See you tomorrow?"

"If you come before eight, yeah," Jiwoo responds with a smile, waving at you.

"Guess I'll see you after the holidays," and you chuckle softly. "Safe travels."

"You too."

Her smile is the last thing you see before you close the door to her apartment. Yeah, see her after the holidays.

—

ynotions, 14:48: are you there yet lol

The message was sent about half an hour ago. She's probably busy with her parents, nothing serious.

jiwoolly, 15:23: just got off the train yeah

The notification lights up your watch in the darkness of the studio. Bae insisted on turning off the lights. Shadows are sexy, she said. Your camera was passed to her mere minutes ago along with your casual, so-not-ready-to-impress-anyone clothes. She's configuring on your camera in the manual mode, trying to immortalize you in the most gorgeous way possible. Your bared body quivers in the cold of the studio's air conditioners. You're getting goosebumps everywhere, but you're resisting it for her — for the fucking grace of Bae Jinsol. Your boss probably wouldn't mind. You finished the session early, and you deserve some playtime, after all.

"Voila," Bae utters, aiming the camera at you to test her adjustments. She knows what she's doing, definitely — the way she holds it, the look in her eyes. They just all come together as one hell of a photographer.

"Can you put your arms behind your back?"

You adjust yourself to follow her instructions, stretching yourself lightly to accentuate those luscious curves. Your body bends forward just to look a little hotter in the photo. The studio lights shine on you idly, casting a set of sexy shadows on the white backdrop — curves, ass, cock — and Bae seems pleased with the end product.

"Alright," and she looks into the viewfinder, pointing the front of the lens at you. "One, two, three."

Your eyes squint for a split second with how intense the flash is. Bae pulls the camera away from her eyes as she examines what's on the display, and she smiles.

"You look gorgeous," she remarks before anchoring the camera on the tripod — so professional. Then, she walks towards you, a remote in her hand, to capture what she's going to do.

As Bae reaches you, it's obvious that she's towering over you so damn easily. She swipes her thumb across your cheeks softly. The other hand places itself on your taut abs, and you are shuddering. Your toes curl inside your socks. The scent of her laundry detergent mixed with a certain kind of perfume pervades your nose, and it's making you all dizzy. Your fingers tap on the sides of your thighs as you try to go through the sensation barrage Bae is giving. God, it's just so fucking much.

"Look into my eyes while I'm taking these clothes off, alright? Make it look like you yearn for me," Bae instructs, and you just nod profusely.

In a haste, Bae grabs onto the hem of her white tank top, arms crossed, looking into your eyes with desire. She presses the button — snap. Your hands hold hers cutely, trying to play some role in this undressing. You lunge at her for a kiss, but Bae stops you with her fingers on your now-pouty lips. "Not yet, baby," she coos.

Then, she pulls her top off deftly, and your fingers are struggling to follow hers. Her black bra greets you, and you're doing your fucking best not to peel it off her body immediately. "Come on, look at me, pretty boy," Bae says, tipping your chin up with her finger to keep the eye contact alive for the photo, and you just have to look at her — that goddamn absolute fucking beauty of her. Snap.

Bae hums as she guides your hands to the straps of her bra. Your fingers are shaking uncontrollably under the weight of anticipation, and suddenly, she kisses you. Snap. Your eyes are still opening wide.

It takes a few seconds for you to adjust to the kiss — sloppy, messy, passionate — but you get lost in it, eventually. You hear your lens whizzing from the side — zoom in — immaculately positioned to capture your mouths doing the misdeed, tongues twisting inside each other's mouths hungrily. The zooming stops — snap. Her bra comes off, falling onto the floor with ease. You hear Bae humming again as you begin dragging your lips down her firm body — neck, chest, tummy — leaving a long, filthy trail of spit until your chin hits the rim of her jeans Your tongue lands on her belly button, and Bae moans. Snap. The camera gets her mouth opening wide.

The lens whizzes again — zoom out this time. Bae attempts to continue the undressing with her free hand — futile. You help her unbuckle her belt before carelessly yanking the jeans down. A pair of black panties meets your eyes, and that irresistible hunger takes over you. And without a second thought, you devour her pretty cunt through the flimsy fabric of her underwear.

"F-fuck, shit, I-I'll just film it," Bae rasps before pressing a button on the remote and dropping it onto the floor — red light and a thud. Her hands hold your head firmly in place. The smell of her sweat, even if faint, triggers the primal instinct inside you, and resisting it only results in Bae's louder and more raucous moans.

jiwoolly, 15:28: don't tell me you're fucking the models again lol

Your watch is lit up again. It vibrates softly against Bae's thighs, and she seems to be interested in the business between you and Jiwoo.

Airy, "Wh-who's that, pretty boy?" Bae asks. "Your f-friend?"

You just nod, tongue still pressed flat against the folds of her pussy. Your hands remain on her delectable thighs, rubbing her with no restraints. Bae's body is shaking uncontrollably at your touch.

To Jiwoo, Bae sends a default heart emoji on the watch as a quick reply. Yeah, Jiwoo is going to know that your mouth is too busy eating your model's cunt to even use dictation or send a voice message.

ynotions, 15:29: [Red Heart]

"Th-there, I sent it," Bae rasps.

You just nod. Your fingers are squeezing the globes of her ass now, feeling the tenderness of her spilling between your dainty fingers. Bae moans loudly into the darkness of the studio, and the camera is capturing it all — her mouth, her tits, her flesh between your fingers. You feel her ass plush against your palm — soft — as the tips of your fingers graze the hem of her flimsy panties, threatening with your power to pull them down. That's the fucking tease you're giving her.

Through the thin fabric, the taste lingers on your tongue — salt, musk. Her juice seeps through her panties onto your tastebuds, and your mind is going haywire because of it. You just can't think straight with the intense scent of Bae's cunt and sweat pervading your nostrils.

Her body is struck with spasms upon spasms under the cold of the studio. Each lick pushes her closer to the precipice. Her nails plant themselves into your scalp as seconds tick by — a banner of her bliss — casting little crescent marks on the side of your head. The boisterous moans are filling the studio, erasing any signs of serenity that's left.

Airy, "Holy fuck," Bae whines.

The signals emerge. Her body arches back a little more, pressing her cunt onto your mouth a little harder. You keep lapping at her where she needs it the most — that fucking nerve ending, that fucking clitoris. Her ass inadvertently clenches in your palms. Her pulse surges into a presto. Her moans are sharper and less rhythmic. It's there — her rapture — it's there.

In a sudden, Bae overpowers you at the hem of her panties, finally freeing herself from the last confines of her clothes. You're bewitched at the sight of her wet, puffy cunt in front of your eyes — so drenched, so meaty.

You bury your nose inside Bae's lushness as every fucking signal of her body points towards her impending orgasm. Her ecstasy is approaching. Your tongue lavishes the folds of her perfect pussy, and you're getting yourself soaked in her clear, pristine juice. The aroma of her sweaty, nectar-soaked cunt flares up your nostrils, and it's driving you insane. Her taut ass quivers and writhes in your palms. It's going to be a goddamn wonderland when she bursts onto your face.

"I'm cumming. I'm cumming. I'm c—"

A scream, and the first splash of her juice paints your upper lip wet. It drips down into your mouth — musky. Her body shakes exuberantly in the darkness of the studio, unable to fathom the pleasure caused by your tongue. Nails are digging into your scalp — painful, but fucking worth it. Her hips buck into you as the climax wracks through her nerves. You let the second spurt of her nectar enter your mouth as you latch yourself onto her pretty cunt. Then come the third, and the fourth, and the fifth. You take all of her filthy squirt into your stomach, letting her taste coat the inside of your body. Your tongue enters her heaving cunt for the sake of tasting the wetness of her walls. Bae shrieks even harder with you licking on the inside of her pussy — musk. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," she rasps. Her cunt feels so tender on your tongue. Your air becomes the aroma of her cunt, and you swear you can just breathe in just the smell of her for the rest of your life.

"Oh God, oh fuck," Bae whimpers. Her walls flutter around your tongue as you taste the salty juice from her drenched pussy. She just tastes so fucking delicious. Her legs are holding a lot of tension, trying her best not to collapse on top of you. Your tongue is still doing the misdeed inside her cunt, lavishing the intense taste of her sweat and musk. And God, you can just do this all day.

Her orgasm dissipates gradually, from harsh, deep breaths to softer ones. Your tongue is still working on the tightness of her walls, claiming her in the wake of oversensitivity. Her body shrieks and spasms in a tempo that slows down with each second that passes.

Her body settles eventually. Squirt drips down onto your tongue in small droplets — salty. Bae is still spasming faintly from the earlier tsunami that wracked through her. Her body bends back slightly as you look up. She just looks like an angel in the darkness — ethereal, bright.

Your watch buzzes softly.

jiwoolly, 15:33: have fun

And again.

jiwoolly, 15:33: [Double Exclamation Mark]

With how often you bury your tongue in your models' cunts, it is inevitable that you will receive Jiwoo's messages in the meantime.

Regretfully, you withdraw your tongue away from Bae's puffy cunt. A string of juice links between your lips and her insides lewdly that you just have to touch it, hope that the camera catches it. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes locking with Bae's before you reach for the remote lying idly on the floor.

And cut.

You stand up from the floor slowly, still a tad shorter than her even when your back is straight. Her face flushes red in front of you. Breaths smell of mint, and she just caresses your face fondly. You shiver slightly, and Bae leans in closer to you — a kiss, a soft kiss that makes your body feel warm against the cold of the studio. And she pulls back.

"I taste good," Bae says with a giggle.

You chuckle along with her softly. "Just give me a call whenever you need to get eaten out."

Bae smiles. "So … what's next, Mister Photographer?" and she gently takes the remote away from you. The button is pressed again.

This isn't over yet.

Bae slowly drops to her knees, locking her eyes with you as she does so. You can feel your cock twitch with that look — that fucking naughty look. She settles into a kneeling position eventually, drawing a line with her finger on your cock so goddamn seductively. You can do nothing but shiver at her touch.

"May I interest you in fucking my face and painting my abs, Mister Photographer?"

[eightsh8pe]

Distraction

Genre: Fluff

Length: +1.2k words

Nmixx Bae x Male Reader

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚✩࿐

You’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re a “nerd” ages ago. Studying isn’t something you necessarily enjoy, but it’s a requirement for securing your spot in the real world, where meaningless titles like “nerd” or “jock” hold no substance on one’s success and only those who truly work hard will stand the test of time. With finals inching ever closer, it’s vital to you that you don’t waste a single second—

“What’s up, nerd?”

A light smack to the back of your head tears you out of the flow state you were in while brushing up on previous study guides from the past year. There’s only one person you know that’s dimwitted enough to still throw out outdated insults like that, almost as if she’s a caricature of a high school bully from those 2010’s movies she claims to hate.

“Bae,” you grumble, “Why are you even here? I thought you said you were ‘allergic to the library’?”

She shrugs, plopping down into the empty seat next to you. “I got bored.”

“Okay.” You turn your attention back to the worksheets in front of you, trying to remember where you left off. “Not my problem.”

“C’mon, man,” she groans. “Let’s do something fun.”

There aren’t many things that threaten the future of your success; most issues can be waved away with a quick favor or a helpful push in the right direction. In fact, you already have the rest of your life meticulously planned out in a journal, complete with potential contingencies and multiple backups in case any problems may arise.

Enter: Bae Jinsol. The physical embodiment of everything that could and will stand in your way. You tutored her once two semesters ago, and you’ve regretted it ever since. Not quite a leech—you’re not that cruel—but her unyielding persistence alone is enough to make it so that giving her what she wants is the only viable solution you have. More often than not, this means hours of time wasted that could be spent towards perfecting your mind to the best it can be.

“I’m really busy right now.”

“What could you possibly need to study for, you’re, like, the smartest person I know.”

You raise an eyebrow at her. “Knowing you, that doesn’t mean much—Ow.”

Bae slaps your arm, her lip jutting out in a pout. “That’s mean.”

You can’t help but grin at her expression. “You’re right, that was mean. I apologize,” you say, making an effort to sound sincere. “Now, I have a lot of work to do, so unless you’re okay with sitting there quietly, I suggest that you go and hang out with your other friends.”

She rests her head against the table, turning to watch you with her endearingly round eyes. “I chose to come here. I’ll stick to my decision like a real man.”

“Whatever,” you chuckle before turning back to the study guide.

It’s a bit difficult trying to study with an audience, but not a scenario you’re unfamiliar with. On the rare occasion that Bae doesn’t consistently bug you with her antics, you find her presence quite comfortable. Sometimes she’ll even ask about what you’re working on and entertain your little rants about discoveries you’ve made or thoughts you’ve been having, asking questions if she doesn’t get something. Her motivation to study is nonexistent, but her desire to understand is glaring.

Although, with nothing to talk about today, she gives you a good five minutes before breaking the silence.

“I’m bored again,” she sighs. “Let’s get boba.”

“What happened to sticking to your decision ‘like a real man’?” you tease.

“I’m a woman, jackass.” She leans into you, obscuring your view of the study guide with her face. “And this woman wants boba.”

The world around you freezes as the scent of her perfume lingers past your nose, igniting memories of warmth and coziness. The first crack in a wall that you worked too hard to maintain. 

“Why don’t you ask Haewon to go with you instead?” you suggest, trying and failing to avert your gaze from those perfect irises, like swimming pools of deep obsidian.

“Because…” A light blush grows on her cheeks. “...I wanna get boba with you.”

The crack in the wall splinters and grows, exposing the weaknesses that you didn’t know were there. Or perhaps, you did know and chose to ignore them anyways, spackling over them with cheap excuses.

You scoff at her, a meager attempt to save face. “You just want me to pay for you. Again.”

“I told you I’ll pay you back!” she exclaims, earning a couple harsh shushes from nearby students. “I’m just a little strapped for cash at the moment.”

“Why don’t you try, I don’t know, actually looking for a job?” Your gaze moves back to your papers, desperately trying to escape this stalemate. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.”

Bae clings to the sleeves of her sweater, pouting at you. “Please~?”

Despite her persistence, you dare not move an inch, worried that one small movement could be the final crack that topples the wall. Your eyes reread the same line over and over again, hoping each pass will eventually take, but your mind is too cluttered to properly focus. With the gentle tug of her fingers and the notes of vanilla bean gliding past your nostrils, it’s a wonder how you haven’t succumbed to her demands already.

With a huff of her breath, Bae takes your hand in hers, using her final trump card.

“Baby~”

You want to think that, at that moment, the wall came crashing down in a ceremonious fashion, leaving behind a pile of rubble in its wake, a monument to all the effort you put into your future. But the truth is, she tore down that wall months ago—in fact, you can pinpoint the exact moment of its destruction. 

The second you came face to face with her confused expression in that pre-calc class is the moment that sealed your fate, completely changing your perception of what the future could be like for you. That journal you keep, detailing every single miniscule detail of your potential career? You barely got two pages in before turning it into a scrapbook, filling every inch of paper with words, pictures, and keepsakes that remind you of the girl that refuses to give you a moment of peace.

And maybe that’s a good thing. The world could end tomorrow, rendering all of your plans useless. Why spend your last moments with your nose in a study guide when you could be drinking boba with your girlfriend?

“...You’re the worst, you know that?” you utter, interlacing your fingers with hers. Bae flashes you that wide, toothy smile that you can’t get enough of.

“Wow, you’re actually so obsessed with me, that’s insane,” she teases. “Just a single word and you immediately folded like an omelet.”

You haphazardly throw your belongings into your bag, eager to get out of the library and spend time with her. “I’m not obsessed, stupid,” you say,” I’m in love with you.”

“God, you’re so corny.” Despite her deflection, the blush growing on her face betrays her true feelings. She nervously scans the rest of the room before planting a sneaky kiss on your cheek, warm yet fleeting. “I love you too, stupid.”

It’s a fool’s errand to try and predict the future. No matter how smart you are, how many books you read, how many plans you make, the only thing you can do is hope for the future that you desire. And right now, the only future you want is one just like the present, with you clinging onto Bae’s hand with no intention of letting go.

[tripledubu]

Player No.2

NMIXX Sullyoon x M Reader Fluff A/N: Happy Sullyoon day! 1.2k words

“Did you like your birthday dinner, Yoona?” You ask Sullyoon as the two of you ride the elevator.

“I did, Oppa. How’d you know I love Italian food?” She says as she hugs your arm.

“I saw you scarfing down the pasta and pizza during game caterers. Kinda hard to miss.” You joke.

“Well, it was a great surprise Oppa! But it’s going to cost you. You really decided to load me up on carbs before Mario Kart? That’s like signing a death wish.” She says as she hugs your arm tighter. You chuckle at her attempt to intimidate you. 

With a ding, the elevator opens to your floor. You both walk to your apartment after eating at an Italian restaurant for Sullyoon’s birthday. With some leftovers in hand, she thought the two of you were ready to call it a night. But you had one more surprise up your sleeve. 

“Well I’m glad you liked dinner Yoona, but for Mario Kart night… Well let’s just say dinner was not the only surprise I had planned for tonight.” You say as you open the door. The two of you enter the apartment, with you putting down the leftovers on the table.

“What? What else do you have— IS THAT—” Her eyes widen at the console set up in front of the TV.

“An SNES? Yup!”

“Where did you even—” She says as she rushes to kneel in front of it.

“It’s my older brother’s. He had it boxed up in his attic. When you told me you’ve always wanted to try the original Super Mario Kart, I just knew that I had to borrow it for you.”

“Oh my God…”  Sullyoon’s in awe of the prehistoric gadget, staring at it like it was some sort of relic. “Wait! So you still have the original cartridge?” On cue, you pull it out of your pocket. “Yup. I hid back when I was a kid.” You say as you hand it to her. “I also spent the last few weeks making sure it could still run, and would work with our TV.” Like clockwork, the screen lights up when you press the power button. Sullyoon’s eyes light up as well in amazement. 

“Oppa, this is amazing! But I can’t help but feel like this just to get me to stop using Kirby.” She jokes. “Oh no! You’ve seen through my plan!” You joke back. “But honestly, when you told me you wanted to try it out, I thought it would be a perfect gift. Especially with how many memories I made with it when I was a kid.”

Sullyoon waits for you patiently as she sits down in front of the couch. You take your place beside her with the heated leftover slices of pizza in hand.

“I’m gonna be so bad at this.” She whines as she watches you insert the cartridge. “Oh come on. You’re an ace at gaming no matter what console we use.”

The game doesn’t work on the first go. So you do what you did as a kid. You motion to Sullyoon to come over and help you. Together, you blow into the cartridge before loading it back in. Like how it did back when you were a kid, it somehow worked this time.

“Still, this is my first time on an snes. You’ll probably win against me.” Sullyoon whines as she sits back down beside you, hugging your arm in premature defeat.

“Tell you what, you can be player number 1 and get a few rounds of practice before we race for real.” You say as you hand her the first controller. “Oppa… I can’t. It’s basically your console.” “Yoona, it’s fine. Besides, I prefer being player number 2. I spent most of my childhood playing alongside my older brother. I don’t mind if I have to again as long as it's with you.” You give her a smile of assurance. She smiles back softly to you in reply. 

For the first hour or so, Sullyoon spends the time getting used to the new console. Getting a feel of the controller, adjusting to the graphics, and so on. She rests her head on your shoulder, leaning on you as she goes through each of the courses. You sit beside her, watching her play, chuckling at the little sounds she makes. Every so often you’d hold up a slice of pizza to her mouth, feeding her while she continues to race. She gets into it, like really into it like she does with every new game she tries out. It’s after her second win against the npc’s when she suddenly turns to you. “Alright Oppa. I think I’m ready. Prepare to eat my dust!” Her exclamation is accompanied with a bright smile. 

The renewed confidence makes you chuckle as you grab the second controller. It amazes you how good she got with just a few hours of playing, but the muscle memory and the comfort of your old controller helps you just edge out Sullyoon for the win. Your cheers were met with whines.

“Ugh! I almost had you!” Sullyoon complains. “One more game!” You smile from the challenge, because you know it won’t be just one. Hours pass. Race after race. Game after game. Trading wins and losses. Going on winning and losing streaks. Sharing laughs, whines, screams, and cheers. Soon enough, the sunrise breaks through your curtains. After the… fiftieth game, you finally concede and finish the night (or morning) with a win for Sullyoon.

“Heh, told you I’d get you!” Sullyoon cheers, but a yawn escapes and interrupts her jubilations. “I can’t believe we played through the night.” You say as you lean back on the couch.

“I… didn’t want to… stop on a loss.” She manages to say as her body starts succumbing to the fatigue. 

More yawns start to escape Sullyoon’s mouth as she leans her head on your shoulder. You welcome her weight, letting her get comfortable after your hours of gaming. You can feel her breathing start to slow, letting you know she’s close to falling asleep. You slowly power down the console, not letting her head fall from your shoulder.

For a few minutes, you do your best not to move from in front of the couch. You continue to look at Sullyoon, just remembering how happy she was while playing. How much she was laughing and enjoying herself. You’ll carry her to the bed sooner or later. You always do when the two of you get carried away while playing. For now, you just sit there and let her rest. You stroke a few strands of loose hair from her face before you whisper in her ear.

“Happy Birthday Yoona.”

You lean in close and plant a soft kiss on her forehead. Her lips curl into a soft smile after.

[monkebearness]

Midnight Dessert

Kim Jiwoo (NMIXX) x Male Reader

Tags: smut, fluff, romance, 69, intercrural, creampie

Word count: 6k

a/n: hello again! here's the holiday fic I cooked up. yes, it's a bit late than I intended, but I'm just somewhat glad I finally got to write an nmixx fic, feat. one of my biases too. anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

It was the 26th of December, sixteen minutes past midnight. A man and woman exited the house, bowing and being seen off by two people decades older than them. They took the last bus back to their district, spending almost fifteen minutes in silence. This couple could only steal quick glances with one another, waiting for the other’s turn to break the ice once again amidst this cold night. Although she was always used to the man’s seldom silence, his girlfriend was sensing something worrying and disquieting in her boyfriend, who was just sitting next to the window, staring at the passing traffic with a blank look.

“Come on, oppa…” With her hand, Jiwoo slowly rubbed his wrist inside his coat’s sleeve, warming him with trust and comfort. “I know something’s bothering you.” She carefully took his eco bag from his other hand, laying it on the floor below her seat. “You can just spill it out, arasseo?”

“It’s not that I’m bothered…” He tried to lessen his own discomfort in front of her, sneaking a slight nervous chuckle.

“But?” she asked further, her teasing yet concerned smile urging him. It was just the two of them. Being dismissive to this woman has never been an option to him, and vice versa. It’s how they have stayed together for this long. Regardless of how many obstacles the complex and sporadic adulting life has thrown at them in their late twenties, or even if circumstances had pitted them against each other or made them spin around in circles of blame, they have broken through those walls side by side.

Minseong sighed, leaning his head a little away from her while resting his hand with her. “I was just thinking, that was some family dinner, wasn’t it?” he confessed, conflicted by his own reasoning. “Could have been better… But it could have been worse too, I guess.”

“It wasn’t too bad…” Jiwoo answered with a giggle, although she knew what Minseong was feeling, making her slowly rub his palm with her index finger and thumb. Her recollection was fair and hopeful. The food and drinks were scrumptious, although she barely touched the vegetables—unlike him who engorged himself—save for the fried ones, which they both helped make the whole afternoon while she gossiped and laughed with his family. But she had enough clues about what had been bugging him throughout the night. “Don’t be too harsh on your parents, oppa… You know how old folks are. They’re just being ‘them,’ you know?”

Minseong rubbed the hair above his nape. “I’m not. It’s just… I expected them to pry onto you with so many questions. Like machine gun levels of questioning about stuff you’re not even sure about!”

Jiwoo chuckled, shaking her head. A sign of confidence he saw from her when they argued. “I’ve been running my family shop for four years now… I’ve handled actual weirdos, blabbermouths, creeps… The list goes on.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want my own parents to add more on your plate,” he grumbled. “Especially on your day off.”

“They were nothing like our worst customers,” she insisted, her smile widening. “They are far more welcoming than any salesman at the mall these days.”

“Yeah, but that’s because most of them have been taken over by service bots, so I don’t know if that’s a compliment to them or—”

“It is a compliment!” She shook onto his shoulder. “Your parents are like some of the quickest brainstormers I’ve listened to. They’re like emcees!”

Her vivid description made the man scoff with amusement, but he didn’t deny it “Heck, even your siblings are so wholesome with how they spilled their tea at the same time they were helping out with chores, like come on… Hearing all their stories tonight, I think you’re lucky, dare I say even blessed, to have each other.”

“I think so too,” he nodded with gratitude, feeling his own conflict get washed away with relief. “I’m glad you feel that way.” Resting his unoccupied knuckle on his chin, his lips stretched into a pout. “Maybe I just overreacted.”

“You definitely didn’t,” she assured him right as she rested her head on his. “That’s why I was checking on you in the first place... You’re so sensitive, you know that? Even with other people’s worries… But it’s one of your superpowers.”

From anyone he wasn’t familiar with, those words would have come off insulting or degrading, but Jiwoo made it comforting. She had always meant it as a compliment, after all, which made her not only respect, but adore him, considering the fact she herself wasn’t all that different either when it comes to being open and vulnerable than most people.

Minseong lifted her hand with his and kissed her knuckle, caressing her palm with one finger. “That, I won’t deny.” Their eyes locked in intensity. “You softened my heart, after all, babe.”

Feeling her own cheeks warm up more than the rest of her face, Jiwoo closed her eyes and took this chance to give Minseong a tender kiss. Always enticed by her sweet and tender lips, the man deepened their kiss by cupping her left cheek, letting each other profess their love without the concept of time right until their rationales reminded them that they’re in public. Jiwoo giggled as their lips parted. Minseong almost forgot they’re surrounded by other passengers ‘til he inadvertently stole glances with eyes on the row next to them, flashing smiles of adoration and exhaling chuckles of respect.

“Well, I got to spend Christmas with my caring and considerate boyfriend,” Jiwoo cooed. “I got to spend more time with his family, in spite of his thoughts about them… Or how quirky and complex they may seem.” Minseong chuckled at her assessment while also giving his appreciation in his girlfriend’s warm and soft yet playful confession while their hands intertwined. “I mean, who wouldn’t want that on their holiday vacation?”

Inviting Jiwoo with his family over Christmas turned out to be one of the best decisions they made in their relationship. Fearful and risky, but overall mature. Contrary to their pasts, Kim Jiwoo has always been the bravest, most brilliant, and most beautiful woman Minseong had met. Perhaps, it was almost impossible for things to ever go wrong in her favorite season. At least, as her boyfriend, he would always do his best not to let such a misstep happen to begin with.

“You’re right.” With his smile, his tone elevated. “We got to spend a lot more time this month. I can’t a slightly awkward and almost problematic family dinner ruin our own little traditions.”

The woman giggled as she almost exclaimed, “Majayo!” at him with glee. “That’s the spirit.”

Their sweet moment was interrupted by the bus’ comms, informing their arrival right at Dobong-gu. Expecting the hectic season, they expected their road might’ve been filled with other cars, even at this hour. Finding themselves in a situation luckier than most bystanders, this was one of the few moments they actually hoped to get stuck in traffic. Nevertheless, the couple was in agreement, slowing their walk to his place’s entrance. They weren’t just gonna let this midnight end just yet.

“You wanna have ramyeon?” he invited her, looking down at the woman with her flushed cheeks and wide and giggly expectant smile, something that always made him flutter. “Or we can have some of our leftover desserts, if you want.” He slightly raised their eco bag. “If you’re not full yet, I mean.”

“I’d rather have something else,” Jiwoo retorted as her chilling breath reached his face, raising the man’s eyebrow in intrigue and anticipation, while hiding the fact that her voice sent a shiver down his spine. Her husky voice always made him submissive.

As Jiwoo had suggested, they skipped the ramyeon the moment she tiptoed and gave his almost dry lips a kiss past the doorstep, quickly tossing their shoes, gloves, and scarves before placing their bags on the nearest countertop. As soon as Jiwoo’s hand slowly reached down his bulge, Minseong’s manhood was already elevated and solidified as the chilling sensation spread through his body. Their arms began to tug on each other’s sleeves and shoulders the longer their mouths explored each other. How they missed their touches beyond holding hands and pecking. Public displays of affection are nice and all, but they wanted more than that. Longer skinships. Tongues to dominate over the other. Letting his bulge grind and rub against her clothed folds, making the woman groan on his mouth while pleasure rushed through her spine, electrifying throughout the rest of her sensitive zones. This gave her the surge of strength to hold onto Minseong’s shoulders and plummet him right onto the couch, much to his amazement.

Having spent most of the holidays with conversations at the Hyun Residence’s kitchen, living room, and the dining table, words were no longer necessary between them. The chilling breeze of winter fueled their warmth as their mouths remained locked together in a lustful dance, building up what they were doing next. Keeping her boyfriend pinned to the couch with her kneeling between him, Jiwoo slowly crawled away from Minseong with a tempting grin and fiery gaze. He chuckled with anticipation, slowly shivering from excitement while keeping his elbows on the surface, captivated by her initiative.

The woman carefully switched her position, making the sofa squeak with her movement until her ass was flaunting right in front of him. “You should know what to do next…”

Her bottom lowered inches above Minseong’s face like a crane, but the man placed his hand onto her left ass cheek. Due to the season, Jiwoo had been wearing a skirt over her pants, a fashion choice that exemplifies her creativity and convenience, traits that made Minseong adore her. Slowly, he pushed her skirt into the level of her waist, revealing a sight that stunned him aside from the stockings she was also wearing the whole night.

“You like what you see, oppa?” Jiwoo purred while turning her head at him. From his closest view, she was wearing a black thong, a transparent one to be precise. Driven by his curious and libidinal frenzy, Minseong extended his neck, pinched her cheeks, and dug his drooling lips on her soft cunt through the thin fabric, triggering a burst of moan from his girlfriend. “Guess I was right,” she chuckled while shaking her head in disbelief.

Unfortunately, his worrying instincts started kicking in at the wrong time, simmering his arousal down. “Jamkkanman… You’ve been wearing this the whole day? Wasn’t it cold for you outside? I mean, you were wearing your coat and the house was warm, but still…” Jiwoo chuckled, reminded of her own boyfriend’s parents. The irony in itself flew over his head because of his own overbearing concern. Still, she wasn’t ashamed of him.

“Gwenchana. That’s why I wore two layers of clothing,” she explained while caressing his thigh, giving him a calming reassurance. “I just thought, if we ever found a little bit of time for ourselves after dinner—” She gave each of his thighs and knees a salvo of soft and ticklish kisses, her smile persevering. “—I would like it to be a little more… Special.”

And that time was tonight. No parents to update one’s life with. No siblings to squabble or gossip with. No friends to drink or joke around with. Only each other, unchained by nothing and no one but lenient time. And remembering his own words, Minseong had understood her intentions clearly, both in mind and his member. Nothing should ruin their chances of spending more time together. “Wow, uh… I don’t really have much to say,” he admitted, embracing the heat building up in his system just staring at her in awe. “Lead the way, my princess…” His words made the woman bite her lower lip.

Fixing her hair to the side with a giggle, Jiwoo leaned closer to his cock and started leaving kisses, starting with his tip. As her lips descended into her shaft and recently shaved balls, Minseong felt himself being blessed by the saliva of this daring woman, his head slowly arched back and sank on the mattress of the couch, howling with pleasure until his hand covered his own mouth. Of course, he immediately realized how lacking the performance was, not because of Jiwoo, but because of himself. This could’ve been any other blowjob she had done for him, but she switched her positions for only one reason. He had to fight through his own paralysis of pleasure to make even with her.

With her mouth having finally lubricated his cock while listening to the groans of her beloved, Jiwoo lowered his head to take on his length and began bobbing. While the surge of stimulation from his member slowly built up on his spine, Minseong clenched his fists to get a grip on himself and get moving, finally eating out her moist cooch like nectar, pledging to not disappoint the woman as she was working her way on him. With both hands, he continued giving her cheek a slow and scrumptious massage, kneading them like a dough the way he made circular motions. Right now, a certain thought he once didn’t get from his friends sprung in his mind, making the man giggle in his kisses and encouraging him to widen the gap of his lips around her cunt. Thick thighs do save lives, he got off on this idea with how much her legs kept shivering and tightening between his head every second.

They could only feel the rising vibrations of each other’s moans from the lower parts of their body, oddly reminding the man of those thumper devices from those Dune films they’ve rewatched last week. Every slurp they made heightened the most sensitive spots in their bodies, accumulating into one collective pinnacle, the rising sounds they made couldn’t have been more arousing. The heat and buildup of their accelerated paces have just proven to be too much, and within only a couple of minutes, both parties reached their climaxes. Jiwoo took in her partner’s seed right inside her mouth, shooting straight through her throat, while Minseong welcomed her juices from gushing over his face.

The following seconds went by, Jiwoo made a loud gulp down her throat the same time Minseong licked the juices off his lips. While her legs were lying between his chest, the woman laid her head on his right thigh as she gently stroked his cock like a curious cat. It was not as erect, but not flaccid either, widening her smile as she rested, exhilarated by the head start, no matter how quick it went.

Both of them caught their breath. “That was way better than dessert,” Minseong howled.

“Glad you enjoyed it.” She gave his thigh a few light taps, followed by a slower rub.

“I never thought you’d be up for veggies this late,” he brought out of nowhere.

She raised her eyebrows slightly, tilting her head. “Yah… What do you mean?”

He tried holding in his laughter. “I mean, you took mine just now.”

Figuring out the imagery of his humor after three seconds of squinting her eyes, Jiwoo bursted out in laughter before frowning and smacking his shoulder in embarrassment. “Oppa! I still eat vegetables, you know? I haven’t forgotten the recipes you suggested.”

Minseong laughed from his corner. “I know, I know…” He never expected her to still be defensive about that, but he never really minded her overall diet. With her balanced physique, Jiwoo was simply fit and healthy, perhaps even more than him in the last few years. In fact, he may have attributed his recent muscle gains and regular weight losses all thanks to her, having friends who find time to have physical hobbies every week. Then again, it is more of his pet peeve whenever someone rarely eats their greens. Something he mostly both blames and thanks his parents for.

“Out of everyone, I think I munched on the fried mushrooms the most during dinner,” she grumbled, pouting at him while her hand reached to his shaft, giving it a slow and tight squeeze. “Not everyone can be a so-called flexitarian like you.”

“Hngghh…” Of course, like any other sane person would react, Minseong cackled while gritting his teeth due to a sensation that could only be described as being placed between pain and pleasure—mostly leaning towards the latter. He rubbed her hip, contrasting her slight frustration. “I’m just kidding, babe. Come on… Mianhae.”

While teases between them were still common, there was no point in competing with one another in regards to their endurance. What mattered to him the most was keeping each other satisfied. With both their stamina still up and running, engaging in oral sex on the couch was only the beginning of their post-holiday fornication, leaving room for more possibilities.

“Well, you’ve always helped me widen my palate,” she hummed with a more prideful tone. She helped him work out more regularly, he got her to eat more veggies on the daily or weekly. “But… I still can’t help but admit, meat will always be my favorite.”

“And I’ll always treat you for it, Jiwoo-yah…” His delivery with her settled down into something more serious, more unfeigned. “Whatever you want, I got you covered.”

“Hmm… You know which one’s my favorite?” she purred, moving her palm around his member up and down in a gentle motion, which kept Minseong paralyzed in his supine position. Jiwoo got up and crawled onto his lap, to finally face him, but because of her teasing hand, her boyfriend already had something in mind for her, making the next move when it came to undressing each other off their remaining clothing.

After giving her neck one more kiss, the man helped his girlfriend take off her knitted grey and blue long sleeve sweater, while the latter unbuttoned his brown collared sweater and pulled it out of him, before doing the same with his pants. As Minseong took Jiwoo’s top off of her, he was astonished to see her white bra, whose pattern and material matched her thong. To his lust-filled mind, however, what mattered more now were the mounds it was holding back.

Breaking through his own restraints, he went straight between her breasts, his lips kissing them normally before making a vibrant motion akin to a motorboat. Jiwoo arched her back, unable to decide whether to giggle or moan at his quick-witted foreplay, considering she just did both at that moment.

The naughtiness in her reaction made Minseong groan in amusement, prompting him to clash his lips with her, being able to invade her mouth with his tongue with little effort. They melted into this tense makeout session for another sloppy minute, but the second Minseong reached her cunt, Jiwoo broke from the kiss, but not only to catch her breath. At this point, she felt the living room just seemed to be too spacious and bright for their senses to keep going. In an instant, her boyfriend knew what he had to do for her next. Minseong had enough energy to get up from the couch and lift his beloved with him, carrying her like a bride on their way to his bedroom. Jiwoo couldn’t help but mark kisses on his clavicle and chest while wrapping her arms around him.

The bedroom was dimly lit, and the heater radiated more warmth here than the living room. Much better, she thought, before her hands crawled down to the man’s crotch while they stood next to the tidy bed. Under the palm of her sweaty and slimy hand, she was amazed to feel his cock rise up again only seconds into her slow and gentle touch. “Missing me already, hmm?” This same woman was sulking seconds ago.

Minseong huffed into his chortle, lowering his wail while his cock stiffened. “Hnggghh… How can I not be?”

Her eyes darted up at him with a gaze that struck through his heart, more with intimidation than usual adoration. “I was thinking of your junior, right here…”

His head almost tilted sideways while still resting his hand around her waist. “Oh…”

“Kidding,” she chortled, although her sultry tone remained to keep him submissive. She turned around while keeping her arms entangled with his, her left hand tracing his chin and sharp jaw, moving up his cheek. “But, I do wanna ask if we can do something first.”

Her scent was enough to make him close his eyes. A flowery lullaby, gradually building up the lust inside of him. “Anything, babe,” he whispered to her ear, sending a wave of shiver through her back. “Like I said, tonight is yours to lead.” For a second there, she almost broke her dominant front. She had to move before that could even happen.

Although their position was already set in her mind, Jiwoo took Minseong’s hand and walked themselves to his work desk, right beside where the body mirror was the closest. She gave her partner one more surprise by unlocking her bra. Not from the back, where he could reach with ease, but from the front. All he could do was observe and drool with anticipation, keeping himself from touching anywhere but her waist until her next step. Jiwoo widened the gap between her legs. Witnessing her sensual movement, his quick speculations were turned down with one confirmation. “This is your favorite, oppa…” From her breath, straight to his ear. “You can start when you’re ready.”

Excited by her initiation, Minseong inserted his erect and sticky manhood between her  thighs, slowly closing in around him like a seatbelt, like her cunt. Oh, how he must have missed this feeling. Almost as good and as tight as sliding inside her. If he could keep kissing them at the same time, he would, but letting his cock take the glory would have to do for tonight. His hands made their way through the curves of her body, from her hips and waist until his fingers felt her breasts, bouncing to the rhythm of his gradually increasing thrusts. They latched onto them like facehuggers, albeit giving them enough room to keep bouncing right as he started massaging them.

Fucking her thighs was among his favorite positions with her, but he made sure he wasn’t the only one feeling good. Keeping his left hand on one tit, he moved his right down her nethers, sliding his fingers on her clit until she squirted. Watching her holler in front of the mirror was a sight to behold, it pushed him to up the ante of his speed on both aspects.

Although both his hands and cock were enough to make Jiwoo lightheaded due to the layers of stimulation spreading across her body, her boyfriend couldn't help but add his mouth as his lips dug on her shoulder, slowly licking on her skin until it moved to her neck while her low moans broke up into high squeals of satisfaction. Her right hand held onto his head, rubbing from his hair down to his cheek with encouragement. She heard him groan deeper and deeper, sensing the effort he was exerting with every movement.

“Don’t wear yourself out, oppa,” she mumbled, closing her eyes while her lids started twitching out of overstimulation. “I’m, auuuugggh, already feeling sooooooo freaking good! Ngauuuuggghhh!”

In the next ten seconds of thrusting, Minseong moaned on her shoulder before coming between her thighs. A little less unceremoniously than earlier. Although he felt fantastic throughout this session, he was far from fulfilled. Jiwoo sensed his determination from him, only anticipating his next move through the intermission of silence. There was only one other position, a necessity they’ve been yearning, thirsting to do for a while now. He helped Jiwoo take off her panties for the floor to handle. For this round, Minseong got himself on top of his partner, lifting Jiwoo’s legs while inching himself closer and closer to her until his phallus aligned with her entrance, dripping with her juice. Still catching her breath, her excitement kept her heart racing. She knew he would go for a more classic position this time, but she herself hoped for it. In Minseong’s mind, however, he also knew it would give her more comfort, but double the pleasure, despite stretching her body on the mattress.

“Who says you’re not a flexitarian too, babe?” he teased. She immediately got his joke,  touched and reassured by his charismatic cadence. Without a doubt, Jiwoo is perhaps the most flexible person he knows, and he cannot be luckier to be with someone like her.

The woman giggled, before taking a deep breath to brace herself. Missing the hotness of and tightness of her insides, Minseong slowly and smoothly slid his member through her entrance while maintaining eye contact with her. Jiwoo’s smile widened and her gasp prolonged as she took the entrance of his girth and length, almost failing to hide her exuberance. His fingers intertwined with hers, tightening their grip the moment he carefully began to thrust his hips against her.

“Daddy,” she moaned. That term always turned him on when the occasion called for it. The more she called him that or even just ‘oppa,’ the more they could both feel his cock widening inside her chambers as it tightened around his rod. The howls from their own mouths spoke for themselves.

Minseong let go of her left hand and placed his right on her face, rubbing her cheek while she was groaning louder at the feeling of her insides getting stretched. “Yeah, baby?”

“Daddy... You wanna put a baby in me?” she winked at the same time her eyes twitched.

His eyes widened, slowing down his thrusts in the process, but he would be lying if this question didn’t intrigue him in general. “Huh?”

“Just wondering,” she giggled, sounding more like a domineering submissive than a stern dom. “What we talked about earlier…”

He immediately remembered one of the topics his parents brought up. “Oh, yeah…” He chuckled nervously. “That was funny… They were just looking for some topic to talk to you about.” It was nothing new to the family. They’ve asked the same thing about his older sister and her boyfriend. Jiwoo’s question just took him aback for some reason.

Jiwoo herself was no exception when it comes to teasing him. He may be the jokester in their relationship, but his girlfriend’s humor tends to hit harder whenever she wants to mess around with someone. “I know, I know… Gwenchanayo, oppa. Hmm? I know it’s quite a serious conversation, but I’m safe tonight… All I’m saying is…don’t you dare go gentle on me.”

By some instinct driven by unbridled lust, Minseong groaned with a grin before sliding his arms on the bed and wrapping them below Jiwoo’s arms to tighten and close the gap between them, making his shaft go all in her clenching canal. She gasped with jubilation.

From this moment, her sultry whisper gave him the final encouragement to exert more force into his thrusts. As a few minutes passed, Jiwoo’s breathing became more ragged, but she kept grinding against his throbbing manhood, wanting to stretch herself out by this continuous tantalizing impalement. Sliding in and out of her entrance in sync with the squeaking bed, his tip rubbed on her cervix again and again. Their calls and cries of praise and promiscuity intensified with their lustful aggression, it seemed like this sesh had yet to show signs that either one of them was tiring out soon.

Nine more minutes of thrusting went by, sweat was dripping from the man’s skin and dropping onto Jiwoo’s glistening body, having already soaked in her own dampness. He leaned closer to her left armpit, kissing it before opening his mouth for his tongue to lick her clean-shaven pit. Jiwoo craned her neck forward and stuck her tongue out, panting like a dog. It’s a display that increased Minseong’s drive, and an erotic gesture he always understood from her whenever they got closer. Aside from the perfumes she wears, her scent alone was intoxicating to him, perhaps a lot more than the scent of nicotine ever was. Breathing heavily while their mouths were only two to three inches away gave them a sense of dependency.

Even if exhaling itself has little oxygen to provide, the warmth it gives heightened their need to taste each other. Of course, even Jiwoo herself knew that she herself tasted good, but tasting her beloved made things better once their tongues came clashing and dancing. They get to share what they have tasted. Traces of chocolate mousse cake, white wine, galbijjim, stew, soy sauce-marinated crab, fried chicken, even kimchi and all other veggies Jiwoo didn’t touch tonight, and yet, she kept on relishing her boyfriend’s mouth. Although she was too shy to admit it, even to herself, she would probably be willing to eat more vegetables if they came straight from Minseong’s mouth first. It’s not like they’ve done a little bit of foodplay before, but that would take much more effort, and yield more messes than they're already in right now. Besides, their climax was already drawing close.

“Oppa, oppa… Ngauuuugggh…” Jiwoo was the first one to plead, knowing she could no longer handle the duration of their thrusting, no matter how she wanted it to draw out. From her weakening cadence, Minseong knew what she was trying to warn him about. His body felt the same after all, despite practically being on autopilot with his thrusts, forcing his lips to mumble, “Me… Me too… Babe, fuck!” next to her ear. “Sooclooose!” His intrusive thought tempted him to smooch her earlobe, inadvertently salivating it until the slight spark of tingle proved to be the final straw in her lasting endurance.

“Inside, daddy… Fuck, insiiiiiii—” the woman’s voice gave out halfway. She already orgasmed, but Minseong was still slowing down his movement over her in the following moments. Jiwoo climaxed a couple more times, her nails anchored on his shoulders, until it finally subsided. With a final groan, Minseong busted another longer load inside her, extending the note of gleeful sigh that she made, enjoying the warmth of her beloved’s semen filling up her womb to the brim. With her eyelids half-shut and head laying next to a pillow, her smile became the widest it could be. With his own strength partly replenished, Minseong rolled and dropped on to a vacant spot right beside Jiwoo, where he could recuperate alongside her. Almost completely breathless. Had they gone for more on a night like this, one of them probably would have fainted, before the other followed. Jiwoo laid her head on his chest. They found solace in each other’s breathing.

They both exchanged a chuckle of relief and fulfillment, thankful to be in each other's arms. The man inched closer to his girlfriend, rubbing his nose with hers in a soft rhythm, making her close her eyes and giggle at his playful way of comforting. This moment gave him the chance to steal a kiss on her lips. Not just one, but peppers of them. Starting with her forehead, down to the tip of her nose—right on her beauty mark—and giving most of her pecks on her lips until she stopped giggling.

As soon as he stopped to gaze at her otherworldly beauty, at the face he adored and mesmerized at since forever, Jiwoo pulled him right back to her, instinctively closing their eyes while they revel in their soft, slow, and sweet lips for much, much longer. Although he first decided to quit after their second year anniversary, it was on this night, specifically on this luscious and loving moment when Minseong confidently thought he didn’t need any cigarettes after sex, or anywhere else outside it. No regrets.

“I know your parents brought up the whole talk tonight, but I hope you weren’t too worried about that…” Bringing up such a topic from earlier, Jiwoo still had some ounce of concern about him in this certain conversation, making him take a deep sigh. Still, he couldn't help but be smitten by her honesty and care. Her personality is enough to make his heart race faster and louder.

“I was just surprised, sure… When they first brought it up, it made me think about a whole can of other things I never even considered yet,” he confessed. Jiwoo listened while resting her palm on his cheek. “I mean, we go on dates and trips whenever we’re not at work. We hang out and have drinks with our friends. I wondered if all of it was enough for us… For you.”

“You’re enough for me, oppa,” she iterated, not wanting him to make it seem like she was taking a side. She would rather let him hear her true feelings, rather than incite a needless argument like everything or everyone else around them. “And I’d rather not take things to the next level if we’re not yet ready... Or if we’re scared to think about it.”

“Yeah… But, I don’t think that I am too scared. Not the more I think about it.” He held her hand, while his other one went up to fix her remaining disheveled hair to the side of her ear. Jiwoo’s mouth gaped with optimism and intrigue through his ascension in tone. “Because, I don’t think I even wanna have that kind of life with anyone else, Jiwoo-yah… Maybe that’s what scared me.” Her eyes slowly widened at his unfiltered confession. Her heartbeat grew louder. “But with you, I don’t care how long it might take us, or how long we’ll be ready for something, I just wanna take the next steps with you. If you are.”

The first drop of tear left her glistening eyes. Her smile followed. As more tears dripped down her face onto the bed sheet, Jiwoo felt a hitch on her throat as soon as she told him. “More than anything else… Oppa…” Her voice dwindled into mumbles, but he could still hear her as clear as day. It wasn’t a proposal, but it was a promise that cemented the trust they already had. That space for vulnerability and compassion for one another. “Thank you so much for staying with me… For understanding me. Just for being there whenever things got tough… I can’t help but be so lucky… Being with you.”

“I was about to say the same,” he chuckled, before pulling her closer, letting her become wrapped around his arms and snuggled on his chest. “Come here…” Unlike before, Jiwoo no longer cries as much whenever she gets provoked or emotional. It's just when she does cry, it hits harder for her loved ones, most especially for Minseong. Tonight, he could only hear her sniffing and heaving rather than bawling like she used to, but it was enough to make him feel for her, making him tighten their embrace.

Jiwoo is one of the most thoughtful and sweetest people he can be proud of. The most beautiful and jolliest woman in his life. While they are all things which he had always seen in her prior to their romantic connection, Minseong often reminded himself he could not feel any luckier and any more blessed to be with her. Inching closer, he fixed her hair to one side. “I love you so much, Kim Jiwoo…”

She looked up at him with her captivating smile. Alongside her sparkling eyes, her apple cheeks stood out even more, such an ethereal face could effortlessly melt someone. “I love you more, Hyun Minseong.”

They were in unison in moments like these, but one would always try and up the other. “I love you—”

“Most?” she grinned, inching herself to his level until her cheek collided with his.

The man only chuckled, his beam widening in submission as their cheeks rubbed against each other. “You beat me into it, but yeah… More than anyone, my love.”

Sealing their love with another kiss, they started to simmer down at this hour. After ten more minutes of pillow talk, they would doze off under the warmth of their blanket and huddled bodies. Of course, work still awaited them in the morning, but not a single fret or worry were revolving around their heads. Until the sun rose, this couple only sought to follow and listen to their beating hearts in each other’s embrace.

= = =

just a quick update this time. I actually had to delay this release ‘cause I made myself write another fic in a whim lol. but that also means: expect another fic in a couple, maybe few, days. I've been challenging myself to write one-shot/quickies for this month, but I will probably get back to more long form, series writing after that.

well, that's it for now. thank you so much for reading and staying tuned if you are. have a wonderful day and take care y'all! ∠(‘-‘ )

[howslemon]

Aperture

NMIXX Jiwoo x Male Reader

Words: 6.7k+

The shutter of your camera clicked for the fifteenth time in the last minute, trying to get the best shots of the guest speaker up in the podium. Shouldn’t forget the shots including them and the good looking PowerPoint presentation behind. The lighting inside the auditorium was really bad for photography but what can you do? You’re just there to take some pictures for the event by your org. It’s just a sub-org by the engineering department so there aren’t a lot that took the role of the org’s official documentation, or at least, not much actually has a DSLR camera they can use. Luckily for them, you happened to have one and there wasn’t any other choice but to volunteer because no one seems to.

It wasn’t really a good choice to take that role all by yourself during your first year in college. You have to be here and there. Trying not to miss any moment that looks important to document. Usually it’s just in this auditorium, but hell this place isn’t really just for one photographer. Especially with groups of students constantly calling you to take a picture of them, while you also have to keep your eye on the stage where the main focus is, while also taking shots of the audience while listening to whatever the speakers are discussing.

“Smile!” Jiwoo’s voice broke through your concentration a second before the flash goes off. You flinched, blinking away the afterimage as she lowered her camera with a triumphant grin.

“Jiwoo—” you sighed, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. Just the exasperation that comes from almost a year of this same routine.

“You were frowning again. Thought I’d document the moment you finally turned into a 50-year-old dad.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, though the corner of your mouth lifts. “Really appreciate the concern.”

She grinned at you, warm and mischievous, before turning her lens back toward the crowd. And as always, her presence shifts the entire rhythm of the job, makes the chaos of the auditorium feel lighter, less like work, more like a shared inside joke.

.

You still remember the first time she crossed paths with your org, first semester of last school year, when every department and orgs set up their own booths in the main hall to recruit new members. You were manning the table with your camera slung around your neck, pretending you weren’t exhausted from answering the same three questions for four hours straight. Why are you even the one answering those anyway? It should’ve been the org president marketing this organization.

Somewhere between a group of freshmen asking if they’d get freebies and an engineering major claiming he “might join if we had better org shirts,” a small cute girl appeared.

“Photography club, right?” she asked.

You opened your mouth to correct her, because it wasn’t a photography club, just a small sub-org under Engineering, but she had already grabbed a signup sheet and scribbled her name with a messy flourish. No questions asked. No hesitation. Didn’t ask about roles, requirements, or workload. She just smiled, thanked you, and walked off to the next booth like she had checked something off a list. Maybe she just saw the DSLR hanging from your neck and decided that “This must be the photography club”.

At the time, she was just another freshman name among the list of dozens that signed up their names on the list. Until the following week, during the general assembly for new members, that she became more than that. Everyone sat in stiff rows while the org officers explained events, committees, and responsibilities. When they asked for volunteers for technical roles, most people stayed quiet, probably just waiting to be asked directly, or their friends to push them to take that role.

Then came the role for documentation. Judging from how it sounded, everyone must’ve thought they’re gonna write some long and boring articles for this role, so you just made it clear that their duty is to just photograph or document whenever there’s an event held by this org. But still, no one seemed to be interested. Well, there’s one. It was that girl who mistook this org as a photography club.

“Um,” she raised her hand shyly, a little nervous, but smiling anyway.

“I… thought this was a photography club. But I already wrote my name, so… I can try helping with photos? If you need someone?”

A few people laughed quietly, not mocking, just amused. She laughed too, scratching her cheek in embarrassment, but she didn’t take her hand down. The org president glanced at you, relief written all over his face. You weren’t even an officer, but you were the only person with an actual camera. So you nodded.

“We only have one in this role, I guess he could use some help if you’re willing to learn.” the president said, nodding back at you.

She beamed, small, bright, like someone had flipped a switch inside her chest. “Of course, I’ll do my best!”

It’s funny now, thinking about it. She realized her mistake during the introductions, when the officers explained the org’s actual purpose, and you saw her eyes widen for half a second the kind of expression that screams, Oh. This is not what I thought it was. But she stayed anyways. Sat through the entire meeting. Listened to every segment.

She wasn’t even supposed to take photos that first week. She just ended up beside you during the org’s first event, holding a borrowed camera with all the care of someone trying not to break something expensive. Every once in a while, she’d whisper questions.

“How do you zoom in?”

“How do you adjust the exposure?”

“What’s ISO?”

“Why does it look different when I capture it?”

“Why is this too bright?”

She struggled, she complained, and huffed whenever her shots came out blurry, but she never gave up. Somewhere between all her mishaps, she began to smile at her own mistakes. By the end of that first event, she had somehow produced a few surprisingly good photos, vibrant moments tucked between chaotic misfires, and she had also started talking to you like you’d known each other for weeks, not hours.

And somehow, that earnest determination to understand a role she didn’t even intend to take made the two of you click together faster than you expected. One event became two. Two became five. She’s surprisingly a quick learner. It didn’t take long before she’s almost at your level. Not that you’re in a high one though, you’d say just pretty average. Until eventually, it stopped being “you and your junior” and slowly turned into “you and Jiwoo,” a pair the org naturally grouped together without thinking.

Now, she stands beside you in the same auditorium, no longer that nervous girl clutching a borrowed camera, but someone who knows exactly how to adjust her aperture when the lighting is awful. She even knows now where to go, which moments to capture, unlike before where she was like a lost kitten, tailing you, waiting for you to tell her what to do and where she should be.

You hardly noticed the speaker’s voice anymore. You’re too focused on her. Standing amongst the crowd (well, beside the crowd), too focused on her own. So you lifted your camera, pointing at JIwoo, adjusting the aperture, focusing to her and only her. It’s like capturing what your own eyes see.

Jiwoo shifted her weight to one side, lips pursed slightly in concentration as she angles her camera upward toward the stage lights. A faint glow catched the strands of her hair, giving her this soft outline, an unintentional halo the auditorium definitely didn’t pay for.

You exhaled slowly, pretending it’s because you’re stabilizing your camera. It’s not. When you looked into the viewfinder, the rest of the world blurred. Literally, because your camera refused to focus on anything that isn’t her. And metaphorically, because so do you.

God, when did this happen? When did a candid shot of Jiwoo adjusting her lens become… this? When did her small smile, meant for no one but herself, start tugging at something inside your chest?

You zoomed in just a little. Her eyebrows knit together. She bit the inside of her cheek, the way she always does when she’s trying to capture a moving subject. She tucked her hair behind her ear, only for it to fall forward again two seconds later.

Your finger pressed halfway on the shutter, the familiar half-click signaling the autofocus. But your heart’s beating way too fast for something as simple as taking a photo. So you steadied your breathing, pretend this is normal, pretend she isn’t the reason your hands feel warmer than they should.

Why do you always look so pretty when you’re not trying to be? The thought came uninvited, unwelcome, and impossible to push away. Before you can overthink it, you pressed down on the shutter.

Jiwoo turned, eyes meeting yours. She doesn’t look annoyed. If anything, she looked amused. Smiling at you, striking a peace sign. So you took more photos of her before giving a thumbs up of approval. You lowered your camera slowly, trying to steady the flutter in your chest.

Not like it’s something new to the two of you. Taking candid shots of each other during an event. Why? Because one time she asked you to take stolen shots of her while she’s taking pictures. Why? Because she said it looks more natural as candid. For what? For memories she said.

You didn’t even ask her to do the same for you, but she still did anyway. When you sent her her candid shots, she suddenly sent you some of yours that she took. Maybe it was because no one would do the same for you, is what made you fall for her. But no, it wasn’t just that.

It wasn’t just the fact that she took photos of you because no one else would. It was the way she did it. Like she genuinely wanted to keep pieces of you. Little fragments of moments you didn’t even know were worth remembering. Like she was paying attention even when you weren’t looking.

Memories. As if she wanted to collect them with you. As if those tiny seconds she captured mattered to her just as much as they did to you. That was the moment you should’ve known. The moment your heart skipped a beat, just like every time she had called your name. But you ignored it at first, thinking it was just nothing at all.

A gust from the hallway sneaked into the auditorium as a few latecomers push the doors open, brushing past you and Jiwoo. She tucked her hair behind her ear again, holds her camera a little higher, and starts taking photos of the crowd. You followed her lead, but your eyes drifted back to her more often than they should. The way she leans forward slightly to get a better shot. The way she bites back a laugh when she sees something amusing in the crowd. The way her fingers tap lightly on her lens cap when she’s thinking. You wondered how many of these small habits you’ve memorized over the past year. You wondered how many of them she knows you noticed. Probably none.

Jiwoo lowered her camera after a few more clicks, then squints at her LCD screen. You can tell from the tiny curl of her lips that she’s seen something, something she finds funny, or weird, or both. She turned her head toward you. Then she starts walking your way. You straighten instinctively, pretending you’re checking your own photos, but your pulse betrays you.

“Hey,” she called softly, stopping right in front of you. “Look, look.”

She tilted her camera so you can see the screen. It’s a picture she took just moments ago. Not of the stage, not of the crowd… but of you. You, mid-focus, eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly open like trying to solve an unsolvable Math problem.

Jiwoo grinned, clearly waiting for your reaction. “Look at your face,” she laughed. “Why do you look so disgusted?”

You choked out a laugh despite yourself.

Right, it was just like this. That the heart-shaped arrow strike through your chest. That it wasn’t just some random heart flutter. The moment you knew you had fallen.

.

First day of this school year. You were sitting on a bench, somewhere around the campus field, checking your schedule during a vacant time. Then you suddenly heard a camera shutter. It was Jiwoo. There wasn’t even an event but she brought a camera. Not a borrowed one this time. Her very own DSLR. She held it awkwardly, like she wasn’t used to its weight yet. The strap was too long for her; it kept slipping off her shoulder as she approached you with this bright, triumphant smile.

“I got it!” she announced, raising the camera slightly as if showing off a trophy she’d won over a competition.

You had to blink a few times. Mostly because seeing her with it felt… surreal. You had to admit, you kinda missed her. Missed her?

“Oh you bought it?” you asked, trying to sound casual. But deep inside, you were already feeling something. Your heart beating faster than they should. Harder than they should. But you like that it won’t go away.

“Yup! And guess what,” Jiwoo nodded eagerly.

“What?”

Without a warning, she stepped closer, taking the space beside you. So close, you could smell her shampoo, something soft and citrusy. She raised the camera toward you, proudly showing the image she just took a while ago. “You’re the first one I took a picture of using this, so be grateful.” She said with a smug face.

You stared at the photo on her screen, your face caught in surprise, half-turned, half-unready, the kind of expression you’d normally delete the second you saw it. But she’s looking at you like it’s something worth keeping. Like you’re something worth keeping.

“Oh,” you breathe out before you can stop yourself. It’s stupid how warm your chest suddenly was. “Lucky me, I guess.”

Jiwoo laughed, bumping her shoulder lightly against yours. “No, really. I was gonna take a picture of the fountain or something, but I saw you sitting here so I thought it’d be nice to have my mentor as my first test subject.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Great. Glad I won over the fountain.”

“Still a good first shot.” She shrugged, still grinning.

You should say something. Anything. Something cool, something smooth, something that doesn’t expose the way your whole world just… shifted a little… tilted toward her.

But nothing came out. Because all you can think about was how happy she looked with that camera. How she dragged you around last semester when she was canvasing for one. How she asked for your opinion even though she clearly already knew which model she wanted. How she lights up around things she loves. And now, she’s looking at you like that now.

“Thanks, by the way.” Jiwoo lowered the camera, the teasing fading into something softer. Something quieter.

“For what?”

“For coming with me when I was choosing this,” she said. “I probably annoyed you with all the specs talk, huh?”

“You didn’t,” you answered too quickly. Too honestly. “I liked it.”

Her eyes flickered, not surprised, not mocking. Just… gentle. “Good,” she murmured. “Then maybe… we can take more pictures together this year.”

“Yeah sure, anytime.” You swallowed, nodding even though you pulse is thundering.

And that was it. The moment you knew. The moment it all started. The moment she unknowingly tied a string around your heart and pulled. The shutter clicked again, her taking another photo of you, laughing softly as she checked the result.

.

The event is now at the final phase, the org president saying his closing remarks on stage, thanking everyone that attended, as well as for the guest speaker who did their best sharing their knowledge.

You and Jiwoo stood beside the editor who’s now finalizing the same day edit video of this event. The two of you provided help choosing the best clips to use, which ones fits better, which ones works the best of all both you and Jiwoo recorded, along with all the pictures taken.

Jiwoo leaned in beside you, hands resting lightly on the table, her eyes fixed on the laptop screen as the final cut renders. A few loose strands of hair fell forward, catching the soft glow of the monitor. You looked away immediately, pretending to check your own camera, even though there’s nothing left to check.

When the video started playing on the stage’s projector screen, the lights dimmed slightly and everyone’s attention shifted forward. A montage of the day flashes by: the booths, the volunteers, the crowd laughing, the speaker gesturing passionately. It’s good, better than good, actually. But you’re barely watching it. You’re watching her watching it.

Jiwoo’s face is soft in the low light, her expression relaxed but proud, eyes shining each time a clip she shot appears. Then one of the clips you took played on the screen, Jiwoo laughing with another org member, sunlight hitting her at the perfect angle. She watched it with a quiet, satisfied smile. You watched it with something closer to tenderness, something you try not to let show.

Jiwoo is focused on the screen, on the work, on the memories you both helped capture. You’re focused on her, on the way the light paints her features, on the tiny crease between her brows when she’s concentrating, on the faint curve of her mouth when she recognizes one of her own shots. You wondered if she has any idea what she looks like right now. She probably doesn’t. And you… you probably looked like someone who’s trying too hard not to stare.

.

All that are left in the auditorium are the org members, cleaning up the place. The technical members arranging wires, some picking up trash on the ground, some arranging the chairs, while you just helped along too, and Jiwoo just following you around helping.

“Alright guys, take a quick break time for now. We’ll have a short meeting later in room E512,” The org president announced as everything is tidied up to how it was before the event.

Everyone scattered once the president dismissed the group. Some headed straight for the water dispensers, others plop dramatically onto chairs like the event drained the last bits of life out of them. You slinged your camera bag over your shoulder and stretched your fingers, your joints cracking quietly from nearly three hours of holding a camera.

“Cafeteria?” Jiwoo tapped your arm lightly. “Huh?” You blinked. “I’m hungry,” she said, smiling as if that explained everything. “Come with me?”

She didn’t need to ask twice. The two of you walked out of the auditorium and into the hallway, echoing footsteps, dim afternoon light, tired laughter fading behind you. Jiwoo walked beside you, a half-step ahead, swinging her camera gently at her side despite being done for the day.

The campus cafeteria was already half-empty at this hour, the after-event lull settling in like a soft blanket. You grabbed iced drinks, yours a black coffee, hers a ridiculous pink fruit shake she insisted “Gotta reward myself after a tiring day.” She took the first sip and hummed happily, leaning over your side of the table to place her cup next to your camera.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, watching students pass by outside. Jiwoo scrolled through her camera roll, occasionally showing you a clip she likes, or a photo she’s not sure fits anything but refuses to delete anyway. Every time she leaned closer to show you something, her shoulder brushes yours. You’re not even sure what’s louder, the cafeteria’s hum or your heartbeat.

Eventually, she sighs, stretching her arms above her head. “We should go to the meeting soon.”

“Yeah.”

.

The room was already half-filled when you arrived. Members sat in clusters, chatting quietly. Jiwoo immediately drape her camera strap on the back of her chair, spinning once before settling down beside you.

The org president stood at the front, tapping on his phone, then clearing his throat for attention.

“Alright, everyone. This’ll be quick. We’re planning a two-day, one-night get-together at the beach this coming weekend. Nothing formal, just team building, bonding, and a bit of creative practice for those who want it.”

A wave of murmurs rolled through the room, mostly excited ones.

“Attendance is optional, but highly encouraged. We’ll cover transportation. Food will be handled by committees we’ll assign later. Rooms will be shared, boys with boys, girls with girls. Activities are still flexible, so feel free to suggest anything.”

You nodded absently, already picturing the trip. The group, the sea breeze, the photos you’ll take… Then Jiwoo leaned closer, just enough for her whisper to be heard only by you.

“You’re going, right?”

“Yeah,” you answered without hesitation. “Of course.”

She smiled, small but bright. “Good. I want to take nice sunset shots, and you’ll help me with it.” she said. You’d be more than happy to help her with anything.

“Alright, any questions?” the president asked.

A few people raised their hands, mostly about what to bring, if there’d be swimming, if alcohol was allowed (which earned a pointed glare from one of the officers). Logistics were clarified, committees assigned, and a rough itinerary laid out. The meeting wrapped up in under thirty minutes.

“That's all, you can go now. Check the group chat tonight for the finalized schedule,” the president said, already stuffing his laptop into his bag.

Chairs scratched against the floor as everyone began to stand, voices rising again with excitement. Plans about snacks, activities, and outfits floated around the room.

Jiwoo slung her camera around her neck, stretching her back. “Beach trip,” she said, almost singing the words. “At least it’s better than last year’s. We just had a small party in this room.”

“Yeah, that one was kinda boring,” you chuckled, slipping your bag over your shoulder. “Just chips, a speaker, and everyone were obviously bored.”

Jiwoo scrunched her nose. “Exactly. This one sounds way more fun. Sunset photos, night shots, maybe even long exposures if we get lucky with the sky.” She brightened, already imagining it as you two walk your way to the bus stop. “And you’re helping me, okay? Don’t disappear like last time.”

“Okay ma’am. I won’t.” You said, as if you’d want to leave her. She grinned, bright and satisfied, as if she already expected that answer. “Good.”

Jiwoo stepped towards the bus as its door opened. She sat near the back, lifting her hand in a small wave before the bus started moving.

Beach trip. This might be the best opportunity you got to finally confess to her. Imagine the two of you, walking by the shore together, under the starry night sky, with only the sound of waves crashing and your sandy steps towards somewhere. This is it, you have to do it then. You have to tell her that you’d fallen.

.

The sun wasn’t even fully up yet when you arrived at the pickup point, the morning air still cool and damp. Most of the org members were clustered around the bus, dragging their bags and coolers, groggy but excited. You scanned the crowd immediately. Jiwoo wasn’t hard to find. Because she’d always find you first.

“That startled me!” You felt someone poke your side. It was of course Jiwoo, hugging a tote bag to her chest, hair slightly messy from rushing. “Took you long enough!” she said.

“It’s literally 5:30,” you said. “I’m early.”

“You’re late for me,” she corrected, poking your arm before stepping back. “Come on, load your stuff. I saved us seats.”

You almost choked on your own breath. “You… did?”

She shrugged as if it was nothing. “Well yeah. Who else am I gonna sit with? The president?” She looked disgusted at the idea, and you laughed.

Inside the bus, she guided you straight to the seats near the middle, she sat first taking the window seat. Her bag was already on the other side. She picked it up and placed it on her lap so you could sit.

The engine rumbled. Conversations died down. The bus lurched forward, and Jiwoo’s shoulder bumped yours instantly, half-asleep already, head lightly resting against the window. But as the city began to blur past, she shifted again, closer this time. Her head tilted slowly, gently, until it landed on your shoulder like it belonged there. “Wake me when we’re there,” she whispered, already fading.

You swallowed hard. This moment. This closeness. This quiet. It felt like the universe was setting the stage for you. Like things were aligning piece by piece. Like maybe, just maybe, your hope wasn’t foolish this time. You pictured it too clearly: the beach, the soft crash of waves, the glow of lantern lights, her hair blowing in the wind as she stood beside you… And finally, the courage to say it.

Jiwoo, I’ve fallen for you.

You imagined her smile. Soft. Warm. Maybe even relieved. You imagined her saying your name the way only she does. You imagined it all, because imagining was easier than believing.

Jiwoo shifted again in her sleep, her fingers brushing your arm. Your heart flipped over. This weekend could change everything.

The bus eventually slowed, winding down the narrow coastal road. The air changed instantly, saltier, fresher, carrying the faint crash of waves against the shore. You rubbed your eyes, still half-asleep from the ride, and glanced at Jiwoo. She stirred slightly, blinking slowly, hair falling over her eyes. “Are we there yet?” she murmured.

“Yeah we’re here, so wake up sleepy head.” you said, earning a playful smack on your arm from her.

The group tumbled out, stretching limbs, hauling bags, laughing at the cramped parking area. You followed behind, letting Jiwoo get a few steps ahead before her hand brushed yours lightly as she grabbed a cooler, but the moment passed too quickly for you to react.

The beach house was cozy, a two-story cabin with a wide deck facing the sea, lanterns strung along the railing and the gentle murmur of the tide in the background. Members immediately began claiming rooms, tossing bags around, and organizing gear for the day.

After everyone had settled in, the org president clapped his hands together. “Alright, team! First things first, we’ll start with some icebreaker games on the sand. Then we’ll split into groups for activities and challenges. Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of time for photos, sunsets, and, most importantly, have fun!”

Laughter and cheers rippled through the group as people grabbed volleyballs, frisbees, and beach mats. Jiwoo immediately tugged you toward the sand, camera swinging at her side. “Come on, let’s get some shots before everyone starts messing around!”

You trailed her, secretly relieved for the distraction. She crouched down, capturing candid shots of members laughing, some falling in the sand, others posing dramatically against the sea. Every now and then, she’d glance at you, nudging you to get a better angle or try something creative. For a little while, it felt like the world had shrunk to the two of you, the soft crash of waves behind, golden sunlight catching in her hair, laughter and shutter clicks blending into a rhythm that was only yours.

A group were already playing volleyball on the net that’s been set by the open area on the sand. Jiwoo’s eyes lit up when she spotted them. “Ooh, I want in!” she exclaimed, dropping her camera strap over her shoulder, giving it to you before sprinting toward the group with surprising speed, joining the group mid-laugh as someone tossed her the ball. The way she moved, light, energetic, completely in her element, made your chest tighten.

You adjusted the strap of her camera and stepped back to capture the scene. Shutter clicks filled the air as you snapped candid shots: Jiwoo diving for a ball, laughing as it slipped past her hands, sand flying around her feet. The sunlight caught her hair in strands of gold as she jumped, her expression fierce and playful all at once. You paused for a moment, lowering the camera and just watching her. Every frame you captured felt like a memory you didn’t want to forget. Even as she yelled at a teammate or tumbled in the sand, she looked effortless, radiant, alive. You didn’t forget to take some shots of the others playing too, just so she wouldn’t suspect anything when she sees her camera roll having only her.

Every now and then, she’d glance your way, catching your eye mid-laugh, tossing her hair back as if daring you to focus on anything else. You did anyway, adjusting the angle to catch her grin when she leaped for a spike, the tiny sand clumps clinging to her legs.

She fell into the sand again, hands splayed, laughing so hard that her teammates had to hold back their own chuckles. You clicked the shutter, feeling a little selfish for wanting to keep every moment of her like this.

By the time the round ended, Jiwoo collapsed onto the sand, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, and you stepped closer, holding the camera out to her.

“Here,” you said quietly, “all yours.”

She snatched her camera back, peering at the tiny screen. “Let me see!” she demanded, eyes sparkling. You handed it over, pretending to be casual, but your chest tightened when you noticed how excited she looked at the shots. “Not bad,” she said after a few moments, scrolling. .

The group began packing up, dragging beach mats, volleyballs, and coolers back toward the cabin. The scent of salt and sunscreen lingered in the air, mixing with the faint smell of dinner being prepared inside.

Dinner was a casual affair, everyone gathered in the cabin’s open dining area, long tables stacked with grilled seafood, salad, and snacks. Jiwoo was unusually quiet at first, focused on plating her food just so, but every now and then she’d peek up at you, a mischievous glint in her eye. You caught her looking, and she quickly looked away, cheeks warming.

After a light meal and some teasing from the others about who ate most of the marinated crabs, Jiwoo nudged you. “C’mon,” she whispered, grabbing her camera. “Sunset shots. Before it disappears.”

You followed her out to the deck, where the wind carried the salty tang of the sea and the waves whispered against the shore. The sky was a gradient of gold, pink, and violet, stretching across the horizon, and Jiwoo was already crouched low, camera in hand, scouting angles with the kind of focus she always carried.

“Over here,” you suggested softly, pointing to a spot where the sand caught the light just right. She nodded, but you were just there beside her, her occasionally bumping your shoulder as she set up a shot.

“Stand over there, let me take a picture of you,” Jiwoo pointed towards the spot where it looked the best, so you just followed through her lead. Watching her point the camera to you so professionally, it was very different from how she looked like before, couldn’t even hold it properly without her almost slipping it.

The golden ray of the setting sun hitting her precious face behind her camera, luscious strands of hair glowing. And gosh, the moment she looked at the shot she took, her eyes, sparkling like stars from millions of miles away. Your heart thumping so loud you could hear it. You couldn’t help but to smile as she took another shot.

“I like that smile, don’t move!”

You froze for a second, caught between holding the perfect pose and just letting yourself enjoy being looked at like this. Her focus on the camera was precise, but every so often, her gaze flicked to you, lingering just long enough to make your chest tighten.

“Hold it… perfect,” she murmured, lowering the camera slightly to check the shot. “Okay, now, look that way, yeah, like you’re staring at the horizon.”

“Your turn,” you said quietly, trying not to let your voice shake. Jiwoo’s eyes lit up, and she handed her camera to you. “Okay! Now you take mine,” she said, striking a casual pose, though there was a hint of mischief in her smile.

You clicked the shutter, framing her against the soft glow of the sunset. She leaned slightly, tilting her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and you caught it all: the golden light in her hair, the subtle curve of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes as she checked the display. “Hold that,” you murmured, taking a few more shots, adjusting the angle just slightly. She tilted her body this way and that, laughing softly whenever you called out minor directions.

You lowered the camera for a moment, watching her in the fading light. The wind tousled her hair, and the world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you, the crashing waves behind, the camera in your hands, and the unspoken pull between you.

“Hey! What are you two doing over here?”

You both jumped slightly, turning to see the org president standing a few feet away, hands on his hips and a teasing grin plastered across his face.

Jiwoo laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “We were… um, sunset shots.” she said, trying to sound casual while her cheeks warmed.

“Sunset shots, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t you two just drop the camera this time and enjoy the time? Hand me the that, I’ll take one of both of you.”

You hesitated, holding onto the camera for just a second too long. Jiwoo nudged you lightly, her grin soft but encouraging. “Go ahead, let him. It’ll be fun,” she whispered.

Reluctantly, you handed the camera over. The president crouched slightly, angling the lens to catch both of you with the sun melting into the horizon behind your shoulders.

“Okay, lean in a bit. Yeah, perfect. Hold it… and smile!”

You felt Jiwoo shift closer, her shoulder brushing against yours, the faint warmth of her presence sending your heart into overdrive. You tried to smile naturally, but the closeness, the soft wind, the golden light, it made it impossible to think about anything else.

“Got it!” the president said after a few more clicks, handing the camera back. “There, a proper memory for the trip. Don’t say I never help you two.”

Jiwoo peeked at the screen, eyes sparkling. “We never say anything like that,” she said softly, a small laugh escaping her lips.

You swallowed, heart thudding, and nodded, keeping your gaze on the horizon instead of letting yourself linger on her just a bit too long. It was perfect, warm, golden, fleeting. And somehow, that was enough for now.

.

The group had settled in for the night, some playing cards on the deck, others sprawled across beach mats, chatting and laughing under the lantern light. Jiwoo approached you quietly, camera slung across her shoulder, a small, almost conspiratorial smile on her face.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Want to go for a walk? Sky’s clear for tonight, the stars should be out.”

You nodded before thinking, heart hammering. “Yeah… let’s go.”

The two of you slipped away from the cabin, toes sinking into the cool sand. The ocean was a dark ribbon stretching endlessly, waves gently rolling onto the shore. Lantern light from the cabin faded behind you, leaving only the moon’s glow and the scattering of stars above.

Jiwoo paused, raising her camera instinctively, pointing toward the horizon. “I want to try some long exposures… maybe catch the waves and stars together.”

You watched her for a moment before kneeling beside her, adjusting the tripod and lens. “Here, let me help,” you said softly, your hands brushing hers for just a second as you fixed the settings. She didn’t pull away.

For a while, there was only the faint click of the shutter and the soft whisper of the waves. Every now and then, she’d glance at you, smile faintly, and return to her work. And every time, your chest would tighten, words on the tip of your tongue that you couldn’t force out.

Finally, she lowered the camera and turned fully to you, the moonlight catching in her hair. “Thanks for always helping,” she said, voice soft, almost hesitant.

Tell her

“Of course,” you whispered. “Anytime.”

She tilted her head slightly, catching your gaze, and laughed softly, a sound that made your chest constrict. “I like having you around,” she admitted.

Tell her

You stepped forward together, shoulders brushing, walking along the shoreline. Jiwoo kicked at the sand lightly, sending tiny sprays of grains scattering along the shore. “Today was… really fun,” she said, voice soft, almost like she was testing the words in the air. “The volleyball, the sunset shots… even the editing session earlier. I haven’t laughed that much in a while.”

You nodded, glancing at her profile in the moonlight. “Yeah… it was nice. Everyone seemed… happier, I guess. Easier to capture, too.”

She laughed softly, nudging your shoulder with hers. “Only you would say that about people falling in the sand.”

You smiled, but your heart was still racing, words still lodged somewhere between your chest and your tongue. Now. Say it now.

“So… the shots you took today, they’re really good,” you said instead, deflecting. “You’ve gotten… really good at this.”

Her eyes softened, and she smiled faintly. “Thanks. I’ve had a pretty good teacher.” She bumped your shoulder again lightly, playful but warm.

You swallowed hard, the words trembling at the edge of your lips. Jiwoo, I’ve fallen for you. I’ve fallen so completely…

You opened your mouth, ready to speak the words you’d been rehearsing all day. But as you looked at her, hair glinting silver under the moon, eyes bright yet calm, you realized the moment was too perfect, too fragile to risk.

Never mind

“Everything okay?” she asked softly, noticing your sudden quiet.

“Yeah,” you muttered, forcing a smile, voice a little rougher than intended. “I… I just like being here, I guess. With you.”

Jiwoo tilted her head, eyes catching yours. “Me too,” she said simply, her smile soft, content.

You wanted to say more, wanted to confess that your days had been brighter since she came into your life, that every photo, every laugh, every small shared moment had built something you couldn’t stop thinking about. But the words stuck, heavy in your throat. So you stayed quiet, letting the night, the stars, and the waves speak instead. You’d rather stay like this, you’d rather hold on to this feeling that she doesn't even know, being by her side, for as long as you can hide.

I shouldn’t tell you that I’ve fallen

And still, being here with her, walking shoulder to shoulder along the shore, felt like enough, for now.

••••••••••

Prompt by @tripledubu

I've always wanted to write Jiwoo she's such a cutie! And bonus that I got to write her inspired by one of my favorite songs Fallen by Lola Amour. Thanks for @tripledubu for hosting the prompt event!

[prplastr]

˙⋆✮ that's so you (b. jinsol)

summary: even between all the chaos of being an idol, you find youself spending a soft moment with your girlfriend jinsol.

tags: idol!bae jinsol x idol fem!reader , reader is the 6th member of itzy , fluff , very short , reader overworks a little , trying to get over my writing slump one short fic at a time

warning: none , we are soft.

the familiar white walls and the vibrations of your own voice surround you again, your sweat slick and annoyingly latching onto you no matter how much you wipe yourself off with a towel.

yuna, energetic as ever, latches onto ryujin as they both spun around— chaeryeong following them around with a camera as the management needed behind the scenes footage. yeji and lia stand on the side, watching as the younger members roughhouse even during tough practice, except for you. 

the dance practice was supposed to be only for recall, after your long filming days in another country for the music video. but it felt like you aren't doing enough, and sooner or later, the general public will have something to say again.

“y/n, take a break for a second.” yeji voiced out, concern lacing her tone as she watched you replay the chorus for what felt like the hundredth time. 

you unknowingly brushed her off, going back into position as the music rings in your ears. everything else felt like white noise, especially the chatters of your group. from time to time, you glance at the cameras around the room, even the ones that the maknae line are toying with. 

the internet always had something to say, and you've seen everything they had to say about you. how you didn't practice enough, how you were one of the weakest in dancing, how you didn't deserve to be part of the group. there were so many moments where you felt so suffocated, and even then you were only gasping for little air that the world offers.

lia talked to you once, about how she saw herself in you at that moment, and how she pushed herself too much. you knew what she implied— to step away, even just for a moment.

but then again, if you took a step back, will the group look back and wait for you like everyone did for her?

“y/n unnie!” a voice calls out to you, and that stops you in your tracks because you were the youngest in itzy. you turn towards the door and find jinsol with cans of refreshments. 

you walk towards her in confusion, and you don't notice the yeji and lia taking a sigh of relief as you pause in dancing. “sol, what are you doing here? didn't you have a schedule?”

“schedule?” her brows furrowed, glancing at the clock of the practice room. “it was finished an hour ago, we just got back. i’m actually surprised you're all still in the studio.”

before you could answer her, ryujin jumps into view, pushing you out the door while handing you your phone and wallet. “please take her away for a second, eat or something. she’s been pushing herself and yeji unnie might have a heart attack."

jinsol, passes the plastic bag full of refreshments, grabbing one for you. “here, sunbaenim! for you and the rest.”

“you’re literally dating my member and you’re still calling me sunbaenim? talk about favoritism, am i right?”

before you could mutter another word, ryujin winks at both of you and closes the door behind her— leaving you and jinsol in the hallway.

“i keep forgetting i can call her unnie when we're not in the public eye.” jinsol, takes your hand, guiding you to jyp entertainment's famous organic canteen.

“ryu unnie understands, it's muscle memory at this point.” you shrug, and your other hand wipes the sweat off your forehead. “she pushed me out and didn't even give me a change of clothes, i’m stinking up the place.”

“really?” she leans towards you, catching you off guard as she takes a whiff near your neck. “you still smell good to me!”

“hey! someone might see us, do you wanna get in trouble with management?!”

jinsol chuckles as she changes course, pulling you towards the lockers. she spots her name, opening it and pulling out an extra shirt which she hands to you. “here, change your shirt or you might get sick.”

you scoff, taking the shirt and recognizing it as an old nmixx merch as you walk towards the restrooms. “are you bossing me around now? don't forget, i’m still older than you.”

“yeah by a few months. besides, i don't think hierarchy applies to us anymore.”

you enter a stall, changing your shirt fast and wiping yourself dry. “since when?”

“since you said yes to being my girlfriend.”

jinsol held a big grin, reminding you of the day she relentlessly courted you even while she was still a trainee. you met her through lily, who you trained alongside and were close friends with. by the time she came into your life, you were already set to debut with itzy, but it didn't hinder your friendship and blooming romance. you were closest in age to her and yoona, and you did go to hanlim with them at the beginning of your career.

a part of you wondered why the company pushed you to debut in itzy, when you were closer in age to nmixx and would've had time to develop more. but then you try to compare yourself in between the two and you couldn't see yourself in the other group, even if you were dating a member from it. 

stepping into the cafeteria, you see some staff and trainees eating or just hanging out, they only spare a glance as jinsol pulls you to a corner. 

“stay here, i will get us some food.” she pulls a chair and sits you down, then she pulls the same can from a while ago, still chilly even if it was stored in her pocket. “drink this, it's very sugary.”

you give your thanks as she walks away, and you watch her from afar as she carefully curated a dish that she knew you would like. a soft smile lingers on your face, you'll never regret being with her, even with all the precautions. 

itzy’s debut was a whirlwind of highs and lows, and everyone expected a lot especially when you were in the same company that made legendary girl groups. it was honestly a lot for a 15 year old you, and it was jinsol who reminded you that even with all the heavy weight of it all, you were still young. 

nmixx was a whole other story, and you remember the times you snuck out to meet jinsol while she cried her heart out. you were so relieved as things took a turn for the better for them, and your girlfriend started gaining her confidence again.

“what are you thinking about?” she interrupts your daydreaming as she sets down an array of dishes and side dishes on the table.

“nothing, just how much i love you.”

you watch as she starts madly blushing, and she suddenly takes your soda can with a big gulp. 

“hey that's mine, isn't it?!” a loud laughter rings through your little corner as jinsol smiles sheepishly and slides the can near you. 

even fleeting moments like this doesn't mean it isn't special, having a moment with jinsol in between the comeback preparations and whispers of another tour is a luxury which you will always indulge yourself in every chance you get. 

“sol..,” you trail off in your mind, and you find yourself staring closely at the softness of her features. “where do you see yourself in ten years?”

jinsol lets out a content sigh, leaning back on her chair as she looked out the window. 

“ten years? i’d like to think i’ll still be in nmixx. i mean, we're still young and all that, but i don't think i’d ever stay in this industry without my members.” a grin spreads out on her face as she turns back to you. “i’d also hope that by that time, we’ll be married.”

you couldn't help but chuckle, holding out a wide grin of your own as you took her hand from across the table and caressed her knuckles gently with your thumb. “as long as you ask me yourself, i’d say yes.”

“of course i would! i'll kneel on one knee and everything and hopefully express my romantic love for you without stuttering. though knowing me, i’d cry immediately.”

“that's so you.” “in an endearing way, i hope!”

[bellaaae]

Yn being the definition of chaos [567k views]

— Clip 1✰

<Yns solo live>

Yn was on her bed doing a live scrolling through the comments.

Comment:Please show your feet

“Show my feet? Is it allowed?” Yn asked staring into the camera.

She paused to think for a few seconds before later showing part of her feet to the camera.

“YN-NIE!” Haewon yelled from downstairs.

Yn made a “oh I do dead” face because she had forgotten that haewon was watching this live.

— Clip 2✰

Nmixx were up doing random things when the door knob twisted meaning the mentor was about to come in

They all rushed to the bed to pretend to sleep.

It was too late for yn to get on top of the bed making her get caught by the mentor.

“What are you still doing up?!” The mentor asked yn in a strict voice.

“Mentor….i really need to pee!” You whined doing the pee pee dance.

“I feel like my bladder’s boutta burst!” You explained to the mentor.

The other members were silently laughing while the mentor sighed and looked at yn with a done face.

“BE QUITE AND GO BACK TO SLEEP,if I come back here and find you still awake-“ the mentor cautioned yn.

“Yes sir!” Yn said and went back to her bed.

— Clip 3✰

<Nmixx have to guess the song based on the emoji>

🥘🧑🍳⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

“DETECTIVE BUNNY! (Yn) X3” Yn yelled raising her hand.

“Stray Kid’s God’s Menu?” She guessed the song proudly because she knew it.

“Correct!” The staff responded.

“Do it like this” haewon advised yn.

“DU DU DU DU DU DU!” Yn said dancing with her hands like she was chopping something.

She looked extremely cute and funny.

She continued the dance before pausing.

“Is the dance step correct?” She asked the staff looking at the camera.

“I don’t think it is?” Jiwoo replied smiling.

“You looked cute while doing it so it’s alright” sullyoon told yn.

— Clip 4✰

<Yn and haewon cooking dinner>

“Yn can you help me crack the egg?” Haewon asked yn politely.

“Sure” Yn said and picked up the egg.

She was about to use a spoon and crack the egg but something came across her mind making her change her decision.

Yn placed the egg on top of her forehead and cracked it hard on her head.

The egg cracked open but not in a very neat way.Some of the yolk dripping off from Yn’s forehead.

She made a disgusted face from the smell.

“Yn are you do-“ haewon said but got cut off when she saw the way the maknae looked messy.

“Don’t worry anymore.Go wash your face and come back!” Haewon told yn shooing her out of the kitchen.

— Clip 5✰

Nmixx were doing a live in the practice room

While the other members were busy other things Yn and Kyujin stood in front of the phone.

Yn suddenly pressed a big mouth filter making her face look funny.

Kyujin screamed while laughing.

Yn was smiling with the big mouth filter.

— Clip 6✰

Nmixx were doing the same pose but yn got it wrongly.

She accidentally stuck out her middle finger.The editors blurred it out.

Jiwoo screamed a little,laughing making the members to look at them.

They were all shocked.

Haewon the leader was in a panic mode.

The members were laughing and in a little panic mode.

She slapped Yn’s fingers and hand.

“Isn’t it the right pose?” Yn asked confused but Jiwoo was still tapping her fingers.

✰𝐍𝐌𝐈𝐗𝐗