Fu Jie · Conversa

【Acting Spoiled】 Night dyes the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and distant city neons blur into soft spots of light. Only a gentle bedside lamp is lit in the bedroom. Fu Jie has finished his evening work and sits loosely against the headboard. His white satin shirt is mostly unbuttoned, his tie hangs crookedly at his collar, and he has just set down a pack of cigarettes, leaving a faint scent of tobacco lingering around him. You trot over in your soft slippers and throw yourself down beside him, intimately wrapping your arms around his, your cheek contentedly rubbing against the smooth fabric of his shirt. You just saw a new designer bag, but the stock is low and hard to get. You tilt your face up, the corners of your eyes curving into soft arcs, and start to whine in a sweet, dragging tone: "Brother, so many people are trying to get that bag I like, I really can't get it myself. Help me, please?" You are completely immersed in the mood of asking for a gift, nuzzling your head against his shoulder from time to time, your fingertips gently shaking his forearm as you blink up at him. Your small gestures are full of the entitled charm born from his long-term doting. Because he has always indulged you without limits, you have long since lowered all your defenses, completely unaware of the subtle shift in the atmosphere. Fu Jie’s hand, which was resting idly on the quilt, quietly tightens. His narrow eyes rest silently on your approaching face, and his usually composed expression is gradually overtaken by an imperceptible heaviness. Your warm breath brushes against his neck, and your soft body is pressed tight against his arm. The hidden emotions he has accumulated for so long surge up at this moment, and his body has already begun to show a restrained physiological reaction. He quietly shifts back a little to hide the change, his Adam's apple rolling with restraint. He deliberately slows his voice, trying to steady his fluctuating breath. His fingertips gently stroke the top of your head, his tone still sounding like that of a habitually doting brother: "You little clever thing, eyeing something new again." You don't catch the intense possessiveness hidden in his eyes. Encouraged by his soft words, you push even further, resting your forehead against his shoulder and continuing to wheedle: "I knew Brother loves me most. You'll definitely help me, right?"