#felix vicious | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oddinarylani · 8 months

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'we hardly ever hug' w/ best friend skz

w: angst in lee know's part, anxiety in felix's

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷.↴

your ears perk at the sound of the door knob rattling but your eyes remain fixed at your laptop screen curiously. eyes flutter over word after word on the document, making a quick adjustment to a phrase, then returning to reading over. it was a vicious cycle really for editors - and this was your seventh piece to edit this week, and it was only wednesday.

the sun had set hours ago, and only the quiet rumbling of a passing storm could be heard besides the quiet shuffling of chan entering your shared apartment. your ears hadn’t perked to sound in hours, and when your eyes filter over the time in the corner of your laptop screen, they widen a bit, now realizing how late it's truly gotten.

“hey.” you greet happily as his form invades your vision. he’s slumped, shoulders sagging a bit and dark rings have formed around his eyes further creating tender purple lines stemming from them. maybe you had noticed it over the past few days and just not said anything (or maybe your brain truly was beginning to melt into some slushy matter from non stop editing for work) or maybe it was particularly showing today, but chan was starting to look bad again. your heart aches slightly at the sight.

“hey.” he says quietly, yawning as he makes way to the fridge, eyes filtering over it’s contents and finally reaching for the water bottle he was looking for that took him far too long to notice. “how was your day?” he asks, his eyes melting into a softer gaze as he turns to look at your curled form at your shared kitchen table, cracking the seal on the cap of his bottle.

“you’re looking at it.” you laugh tiredly, your own gaze finds the mess of a few coffee cups and a couple of breakfast bar wrappers alongside a coffee stained napkin with a pretty brown ring in the middle of it. “nothing too special. i made it to book seven though.” your fingers scroll through your latest progress, knowing full well now that you were coming to a stop for the night.

“oh wow… seriously? you’ve been at it for that long?” you nod, chan’s lips twinge to the side at the sight of your tired eyes.

“what about you? what’d you do today?” you ask, making a move to stand to prepare a snack before bed.

chan sighs deeply, his shoulder bumping into the wall as he makes a sloppy move to lean into it’s surface. he’s slow to start talking about his day, but you listen intently and quietly, giving him all the more room to rant. as you listen, you can’t help but hope that some of the weight on his shoulders is lifted. he talks about pressure from the company, a never ending viciousness of a love-hate relationship. he knows he’s been working extremely hard lately, it feels like more than he’s ever done before, but he can’t bring himself to stop. not when the pressure of performance and appearances weighs too greatly on him. not when fans were waiting for the next schedule, the next comeback, the next taste of artistry. it was the least he could do for them, was share what he loved so greatly. so he’d go above and beyond in providing - even if it meant sacrificing pieces of himself.

for a moment you think he’s going to cry, which breaks your heart further. your snack is abandoned, instead he has your full undivided attention and and ever softening gaze looking right through him.

“i don’t know. just feels like i need a big hug right now. that’d help.” he attempts at laughing off his grief, setting his water bottle down on the counter and making a move to grab his discarded work bag. “well,” he slows his movements only by a hair at the sound of your voice. “come here then.” you smile softly. “i could use it too.”

when he turns around, his eyes are wrinkled handsomely into a soft smile and he waddles over with arms spread. you wrap an arm around his shoulders and another around his waist, embracing him as full as possible. chan goes for a similar movement, his hands softly rubbing at your back as he settles into your embrace. the press of his body against yours is nice, and it was altogether a foreign feeling you wished wasn’t so foreign. chris was your best friend, it was strange you didn’t hug more.

“y’know we’ve only hugged like 3 times in our entire friendship.” you mutter against the fabric of his hoodie. he laughs, lightly swaying you side to side as he does so. “i was just thinking the same thing actually.”

“why don’t we hug more this is nice.” you close your eyes for a moment to take in the feeling. the warmth of a friend, the protection you felt from him that you hoped he also felt, and the sleepiness that was washing over you softly. “i don’t know… we should more often.” you can’t see his smile, but you can sure hear it in his gently muffled voice.

𝓵𝓮𝓮 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀.↴

for the third time in the span of a few hours, you curl further into yourself and hide away neat into the comfort of your bed, and push your hands to your eyes - tears, yet again, beginning to flow freely down the rounds of your cheeks. it’s pitiful, really. you think to yourself. that this is the third time this evening you’re crying and that you can’t manage to scoop yourself up and maintain some level of productivity before calling it a night. but maybe, the small voice in the back of your head reminds, you’re just being a little hard on yourself, and you’re allowed to cry.

the confines of your bed begin to feel hot, but you can’t bring yourself to get out - instead your head swarms with your grief and intermingles with the heat - creating a dangerous tincture. your mind glosses over the thought of your roommate being able to hear you, in fact you completely disregard the notion.

a quick few taps at your door bring you to face a little clarity. you sit up slowly with the push of your hand to your mattress, and call out, “yeah?”

“can i come in?” minho asks, his hand resting on the knob to await your clearance. you confirm, a bit weak, a bit sad, and he bites at his inner cheek as he makes way inside.

he must’ve just showered; he brings in a clean scent with him and his skin looks nice and glowy. you wipe at your face quickly, huffing out a breath in attempts to stabilize your voice. minho beats you to speaking as he sits on the edge of your bed. “what’s wrong?” he asks softly, looking over your splotchy features with curious eyes.

“a-ah…” you shake your head, unable to meet his eyes so you instead focus your eyes on your hands and the surface of your comforter. “i know you don’t like comforting people so, you don’t have to worry. i don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

he drags out his voice, claiming nonsense - which earns him a slight smile from you. “we’re friends, you can tell me.” he assures.

you sigh once, adjusting your sitting, then proceed to tell him about your most recent falling out with your friend from school. he knew their name well, his face settling into a sort of unimpressed expression from the start; which yet again earns him a smile from you. it wasn’t a great end - a video sent in explanation of their lack of boundaries that you were tearful through, and years of memories now down the drain. your lip wobbles at the end of it, and your hands focus on fidgeting.

“i-it just… it makes me really upset.” when tears fall down your cheeks again, his brows melt as does his expression, and he leans up and opens his arms. “come here.” he urges. you shake your head, “no no no, i know you don’t like physical conta-” “it’s okay, just come here.” he smiles gently.

you swallow, scooting forward on your bed to wrap your arms around his waist, the side of your face resting in the junction of his shoulder and chest. his arms wrap around you and you feel totally enveloped in a kind of odd safety. you’d only hugged minho a handful of times, maybe. and while the feeling was new, it was also refreshing.

“you’re so warm, you need to take a cool shower. it’s too hot in here.” his hands smooth over your back a few times, and the vibration of his gentle voice lulls you into a newfound peace. his hold is gentle - not tight like some people hugged, just light - but it brought a sense of comfort over you you didn’t expect.

“i think i can count the number of times we’ve hugged on one hand.” you chuckle, adjusting your cheek against his shoulder, bringing your arms up higher on his waist.

“enjoy it now, you won’t get it again.”

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓫𝓲𝓷.↴

get home soon, loser. i don’t wanna remind u again that i miss you dude.

of course you do. i’m your funniest friend, i bet you’ve been sooooo bored since i’ve been gone.

i’m gonna kill you when i see you again, fr.

then who would you have around to be your funniest hottest bff?

i’ll start taking applications now for ur replacement.

you chuckle a short evil laugh, tossing your phone on your bed as you make way to your bathroom to start your shower. changbin had been gone now for some months on tour, and with busy schedules and time differences, you hadn’t all the time in the world to chat like you used to. but now with them returning, you were planning on surprising him at the dorms when the guys came back from the airport. as a testament to your long glorious friendship, you’d made it a point to remind him of his bestie back home and had sent him flowers to his hotel one night after a concert in vienna - as you tie your hair back you think back fondly to his spam texts of that night.

you’re quick in the shower, and when you step out, a toothbrush in your cheek and sweatpants pulled on half-hazardly, you hear a ding from your phone and your brow quirks at the sound.

didn’t know you got a new door mat while i was gone.

your brows furrow at the text - and the speed at which you toss your toothbrush from your cheek and rinse your mouth to bolt towards the door was thoroughly impressive to say the least. “no way no way no way-” you mumble to yourself as you slip on a t-shirt before throwing open your apartment door, seeing changbin in all of his sleepy glory at your door, a face mask pulled to his chin.

“bin!” you say affectionately, throwing your arms around him tight. “hey!” he greets back, just as happily, lifting you from the ground as his big arms circle your back. you laugh at his antics, holding on as tight as possible, who knew when you’d get the opportunity again?

“when’s the last time we’ve hugged?” you question as he sets you down, your hands come to rest on his upper arms as you both part, his own resting on your upper back. “i don’t remember, just enjoy this will you?” he scolds playfully, squeezing you once more.

“oh! i got you something.” he pulls away again to reach for a small bouquet of flowers that rest against the wall and floor in the hallway, handing them to you. “payment for vienna.”

𝓱𝔂𝓾𝓷𝓳𝓲𝓷.↴

“y’know how lucky you are that i let you drag me here?” your eyes focus on nowhere in particular, washing over the bodies at the party, finding some of the guys intermingled and talking to other artists of the party. while it wasn’t crazy by any means, mostly glamorous what with all the designer clothes and such, it was a social outing nonetheless. you were still very thankful for the invite and opportunity to join the boys at a company party as big as this. “it’s because you love me so much.” hyunjin looks over the rim of his drink, a sassy squinting look shot your way before he takes a sip and runs a hand through his hair.

your relationship with hyunjin was one that had spanned many years; you still hold onto fond memories of him when you were two little bratty kids, running around in playgrounds and stomping in rain puddles. to an innocent bystander, it seemed as though you might’ve hated each other, but there was a deeper understanding to it all that only you both understood. the constant roasting and bantering was your favorite part of your friendship. it was all in good fun.

besides, how much could you really complain when you were dressed nice (not out of your own pocket, thanks hyunjin) with a drink in hand and good company. and then the games started. it actuality, they were pretty fun, that was until two hands planted themselves on hyunjin’s back and pushed him into the center of the activities, promptly taking you with him as he grabbed your hand. you make an unceremoniously peeved expression at hyunjin, boy would he get ever the earful after whatever it was you two were about to do.

“i take back every time i’ve ever said i loved you.” you side whisper to him, to which he rolls his eyes and chuckles behind his hand. “you love me so much what are you saying.”

you’re quickly explained the rules of the round; choosing between a 60 second moment of eye contact or a 6o second embrace. you’re quick to speak up, “i can’t look him in the face. i’ll laugh.” you notice briefly some of the other members laughing quietly. when you turn back to hyunjin he has an abhorrent look on his face, ever the drama queen. “i don’t want to hug you either, though.” he snickers. “i think we have to, come here.” you turn your body to face his, opening your arms for him to walk into. he groans in protest, but wraps his arms around you nonetheless.

you rest your cheek on his shoulder and hold him warmly, sighing into the comfort of the embrace. “when’s the last time we’ve hugged? i can’t remember.” you mutter against the fabric of his button-down. he hums, before resting his chin on your head. “i don’t know, must have been a while ago.” his voice is quiet, almost like you’re the only one who can hear it, it somewhat warms your heart despite the bickering and playful arguing that defined most of your friendship.

his arms feel somewhere between solid and light around you. not too over encumbering, and not not holding you at all. he’s wearing a light fragrance with a true feminine edge and you’d never admit it to him (you would) but it felt really nice to hold hyunjin and to be held in return. the time is ticking down slowly, you’ve forgotten about the other people in the room for a moment, and when the timer goes off you squeeze him one last time before parting.

“let’s never do that again.” he smooths his hair, a slight guiding hand on your upper arm to walk back to your spot at the edge of the crowd of people. you flash him a knowing smile, one he returns with ease. “yeah. never again.”

𝓱𝓪𝓷.↴

“dude! you almost had it, c’mon.” you jump giddily in your spot next to han, your hands wrap around the fronts of your calves as you pull your legs in tight. he groans, the agitated tapping of the controller alerts your ears as your eyes stay firmly fixed on the game on the screen.

han had invited you over for the night to play the newest chapter of a video game, it was highly anticipated, and not just between the both of you but it seemed everyone and their mom’s were playing it at the moment - so naturally you got roped into it too. so far, the first three chapter had been amazing. lots of action, amazing graphics and animation, you were surprised to say the least as it drew in your attention seamlessly. and now here you were, on a friday night beside your best friend watching the newest tales in the story being told.

“i knoooow,” he drawls, once again taking a potion as his character’s life began to drain from damage. “i can’t get past this part, there’s no way to block him.” he’s regained focus, teeth biting into his bottom lip as he leans a bit more forward with new purpose - a full health bar and the dwindling end of his enemy is beginning to peak over the horizon.

your mouth rounds into an ‘oh’ like shape, nails digging into your legs as you keep watching. “you got one potion left, you’ll be fine, you got this.” you remain calm, which han is forever grateful for as his hands are starting to get sweaty on the controller with anxiety.

“oh shit-” he perfected his timing on his character’s block, and in a few hits, the enemy was downed. your arms shoot up, “yes! DUDE i knew you’d do it.” han tosses hs controller to the side, and you both throw yourselves into each other’s arms with comity. han is cheery and excited and pats your back with excitement as you rock back and forth in each other’s arms.

the excitement cools down as the loading screen for your character plays in the background, and you find yourself in a moment of quick thought in your friends arms. “i can’t even remember the last time we’ve hugged, haha.” you smooth a hand over his back as you both part. “yeah we never really hug, but i’ve never really noticed to be honest.” he snickers behind his hand, picking up the controller once more. “me neither!”

𝓯𝓮𝓵𝓲𝔁. ↴

your trembling hands reach blindly for your phone, your vision blurred and focused elsewhere in your bedroom. inside your skull pulsed a mush of ideas, a flurry of thoughts; moving so quickly in and out of your conscious brain that you couldn’t match them, there was no keeping up. there’s a strong tug at the back of your throat, not even swallowing soothed the ache. your vision registers more clearly when your phone vibrates as you mistype your password. you curse under your breath, stabilize the hold on your phone with two hands, and manage to find your texts with somewhat ease.

there was one person you were looking for, one familiar sunshiney person you could always count on since you were both little. your hands stumble over words in the text you send him.

hey, i’m not feeling too well rn. could i come over?

your teeth take your thumb nail between them, blood pools in your cuticle as you pick it.

oh no :( how about i come over instead? i wouldn’t want you driving feeling bad

okay, let me know when you leave and get here.

it’s soon that your thoughts are interrupted, and you hear the sound of your front door opening. in walks felix with a beanie and a mask on that he tugs to his chin. he calls your name, closing the door behind him quickly and locking it. you peak out from the hallway, forcing yourself to smile when you meet his eyes.

“hey.” you greet, somewhat breathlessly felix notes. he tugs off his beanie and mask, “hey, what’s wrong?”

you turn to walk back to your room, felix follows as he had many times. his presence alone soothes the ever growing unease in you, but still it grows. the anxiety.

“i’m…” you sit on your bed, pulling your sweatshirt down your hands. the godforsaken pull at the back of your throat reemerges, and you feel your eyes gloss over with tears which has felix’s expression melting. “i-i’m trying not to freak out-” your lips tremble into a sort of frown and he immediately reaches for you, murmuring a few gentle comforts to you. “come here, it’s okay.”

you let him pull you into his arms as your first tears spill over your waterline, wetting your cheeks furiously and heaving sobs from your shoulders. with your face in his shoulder, your own arms around his back, you close your eyes and try desperately hard to focus on the feeling of felix holding you. the feeling of his voice close to your ear, the feeling of his chest rumbling as he speaks, the warmth of his hands on your back and head, and the gentle rock of his arms. soon your tears are stilled and dried, and you rub at his back to part from him to which he agrees, pushing your hair over your shoulders.

“when i think about it, we’ve only hugged a handful of times in our friendship, can you believe that?” it’s an attempt to lighten the mood and distract you from the anxiety you’ve now trained to keep at arm’s length.

“i was thinking the same thing too, actually. but you give such good hugs and you’re very affectionate, i don’t know why i don’t hug you more.” you wipe your face with your sleeve, leaving red blotchy skin in your wake. he frowns at the sight of your sadness and panic, and pulls at your arms to bring you in to hold you once more.

𝓼𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓶𝓲𝓷.↴

sleepovers with seungmin always ended up stretching over the course of a few days; not on purpose, it just always ended up that way. now with his break in schedules, he had all the free time in the world for you to annoy him - and annoy him you’d succeed in. it’d been a few hours since he stepped through the threshold of your apartment, but you were already planning on your friday night plans spanning the entire weekend.

he kept himself busy in your kitchen, promising to make quick work of dinner as you shuffled through your most recent liked songs, your chin resting in your hand as you waited for him to finish.

“it smells yummy.” your eyes still remain fixed on your phone screen. he hums quietly in agreeance.

it was too peaceful - and you of course always had to keep seungmin on his toes. you place your phone face down on the counter top, looking at him suddenly. you had to be sneaky of course, something unsuspecting, but enough to get the reaction you wanted. you pull your lips to the side in thought.

his back was turned to you, a billowing stream of steam wafted off the pan he was cooking in. he had his sleeves pushed to his elbows and occasionally parted from the stove to wash his hands off or chop away on your cutting board. you smile to yourself as your plan blossoms. not that it was anything crazy, but just something to tick him off a bit.

you stand, remaining diligent in making your footsteps quiet. you eye his movements, positive he’ll be staying at the stove for a moment as you approach him slowly. you smile to yourself one last time before raising your arms and winding them around his middle, pressing your cheek to the center of his back.

immediately you’re met with a long drawn out groan, which only makes you squeeze him tighter, swaying him side to side as you chuckle against him. “whyy?” he asks you, his arms lifted a bit so as to not touch you. you press yourself closer by his slim waist, admiring the feeling of his warmth and the softness of his sweatshirt. “you’re just so huggable, i don’t know what you want from me. and-!” you continue, voice an octave harder as the realization hits you. “when’s the last time you’ve let me hug you? it’s been years!”

he shakes his head, grabbing a bell pepper from the cutting board to chew on. “it has not been years.” he assures. “mmm pretty sure it has been.”

you remain connected to his waist, only hugging firmer as you enjoy the feeling of your friend in your arms. he groans again, but this time it’s followed with a short chuckle. “let me go.” you shake your head. “what’s in it for me? you’re so huggable i don’t think you realize.” he hums, trying weakly to pry your arms from him, but you persist and only hold him tighter to you.

“i’ll let you hug me when we watch the movie.”

you break your arms from around his middle and look at him incredulously. “really? deal.”

he keeps up his end of the bargain, after dinner you start up your tv and after seungmin sits down on your couch, you plop down next to him and lean your head on his shoulder, his arm coming to circle you lightly. you only see it for a split second, but as the movie starts you look up to seungmin and see him smiling ever so slightly.

𝓳𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓲𝓷.↴

“that’s my yang jeongin!” you yell from the barricade of the guest section. jeongin had invited to fly you out to seattle for a concert stop right in the middle of the tour; having been friends for so long he knew he wouldn’t see you for a while on this stretch of tour dates and invited you to come see him so you wouldn’t miss him as bad (as he worded it) though it’d been a few years since you’d seen him perform last, you knew a great deal of his talent and knew he was nothing short of the best of the best and agreed for a little weekend getaway.

the performance exceeded your expectations on all levels - his stage presence was insane. you knew he was talented but hadn’t any idea of just how stunning he truly had grown to be. “go best friend!” you shouted again.

when the concert concluded, the boys were quickly whisked away to the hotel to rest up - jeongin was keeping in touch with you the entire time, letting you know management would meet with you in the lobby before being sent up to his room. you followed suit, stopping at a korean restaurant on the way over.

you did so good! i was amazed, i’m stopping somewhere first before i come by.

ah, thank you, what are you getting?

surprise hehe >:)

oh no

you met up with management and let them check over your bags and the food you’d gotten for the both of you and were quickly sent up, pulling your hat down further on your face as you did so. with a knock at the door, jeongin stands from his bed and make way to it - smiling when he saw you. “hey, you did so good! the concert was insane.” you walk in when he lets you pass him and you set your stuff down on the table across his bed.

“thank you~” he grins, cheeks a bit pink and eyes wrinkled handsomely.

“come here, i’m so proud of you.” you open your arms wide, taking a few steps closer as he unwillingly opens his arms for you and lets you hug him as hard as you wanted. “i know you hate this but you have to let me hug you, i missed you.”

you always knew jeongin to be not the touchiest. he always strayed away from your hand holding and hugs as a kid, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss you, and his heart feels full and warm to hear you say such meaningful things. so he indulges, not just or you, but for him too. his arms are fully around your shoulders, his lips pulled into a tight smile as he rests his cheek on your head.

“i missed you too. did you see me mess up?” he snickers. when you pull away you rest your hands on his waist for a moment. “you messed up? i really couldn’t tell.”

“good.”

is this good? i have no idea, i haven't written for all of the guys yet so some of these might not be the best? lmk.

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homunculus-argument · 3 months

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Giving up on trying to dive headfirst into Intellectual Books has helped me immensely with getting back into reading. Just aknowledging that I am about to read something that I'm aware is meant to be a simple adventure that is Not That Deep, and allowing myself to enjoy it anyway, has been a huge help. It doesn't need to be intellectual and hard to chew.

I'm halfway through the first omnibus of Gotrek & Felix, and I have to say that I fucking love the way William King writes skaven. One would think that a whole breed of characters whose entire thing is to just be invariably Evil would be tedious to read, but damn if these spiteful, vicious and vainglorious little creatures aren't riveting.

One of them finds himself operating a steam-powered tank, remarks that human-build machines are laughably simple to figure out and operate, but pauses to aknowledge that the pipe that uses excess steam pressure to make a horrifying sound was a tasteful addition. He doesn't consider that the pipe might be meant to release steam pressure and only makes that noise as a side-effect, obviously you'd give your war machine a pipe with no other purpose than making an incredibly annoying, ear-splitting high-pitched noise just because fuck you that's why.

And then he drives it straight into a wall.

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houpss · 2 months

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SKZ's reaction to your death ver. maknae line

hyung line (please pay attention to this work, I tried 😿)

It pains me to write this work, my heart breaks and I begin to believe in this nonsense... BUT REMEMBER THAT ONLY PERSONALITIES ARE TAKEN FROM THE REAL SKZ, EVERYTHING REST IS FICTION!

Mentions of explosions, drugs, addictions, fatal diseases, a lot of tears, fatal diseases . ANGST.

Han Jisung

He begged you not to go, because he had a nightmare where you died.

You just laughed it off and kissed Jisung on the cheek, what could have happened?

He literally knew this would happen.

He calls Changbin: “The company building Y/N was in was blown up.”

He knew.

He felt nothing, complete emptiness.

His hands were shaking madly, he wanted to disappear.

Your body was not found, perhaps it was torn to pieces.

An empty coffin was buried, it's so scary.

The feeling of your morning kiss is still on his cheek. You promised him to come in the evening and watch new episodes of anime.

But you'll never come back again.

He dreams about you, but he wants more.

Yes, he will start taking drugs to prolong the effect of your presence.

Members will notice this only over time.

Minho and Hyunjin dragged Jisung to psychotherapist and addiction specialists while the other members cleared out Jisung's room.

You are no longer in his room, there is nothing connected with you there anymore.

“Jisung, Y/N wouldn’t like it that you became a drug addict.”

"There is no more Y/N, which means I don’t care about myself."

His eyes are full of pain, he hasn’t cried since your death, the tears just won’t come.

"It's like I died with her"

"Bro, you need to move on with your life for her sake, she would want that."

"What's the point if it doesn't exist?"

"You're destroying yourself"

Jisung doesn't care.

He walks a lot, he doesn't eat and he writes a lot, he wrote so many lyrics.

Felix spoon feeding Jisung is so wrong.

He needs to learn to take care of himself.

No one else will be as caring as you.

Han Jisung will never cry, because he sees you regularly, he practically doesn’t miss you anymore.

After a while he will return to drugs again, it just hurts him. he misses.

And again he will go to a narcologist and psychotherapist.

And again, again, again. It's a vicious circle.

He doesn’t want you to leave, stay with him some more. He can't handle it.

Lee Felix

"You are very beautiful today, Y/n"

"Lixie, I feel worse every day... don't say that."

"But you are so beautiful..we will get out together"

He lied, you won't get out. He lied to you and himself.

He forbade the doctors to tell you about your condition. Everything was handed over to him personally.

He knew you didn't have much time left.

On your last day, he baked you your favorite cookies, as if he felt that you would leave him.

He wasn't ready.

Late in the evening, he fed you cookies and read your favorite book, you squeezed his hand tightly.

"Felix, I love you very much...you are my happiness, freckle"

Your last words. The sun has gone out, the world is falling apart.

Changbin and Minho led him out of the room; other participants were already waiting in the corridor.

It was so painful and empty, as if happiness had disappeared. You disappeared.

He returned to the dorm, his request to return to your apartment was refused.

You refused to be hospitalized until the very end, but Felix still managed to drag you to the hospital. You even felt better.

He was lying on his back in a cold bed, it was cold without you.

This will be his first birthday without you.

He doesn't want to celebrate it.

Your stuffed animal was lying on his bed, he held it tightly in his hands.

It hurt, he was all alone now.

This will go on for several weeks. Felix doesn't remember anything, like stills from a movie.

Members constantly come to see him.

He pretends to live, and is even happy that it’s his birthday. His first birthday without your presence.

He doesn't want it that way.

"Felix, let's go, you need to take a walk."

Chan lifted Felix out of bed, washed him, changed him and fed him. Felix is so grateful to Chan.

Chan drove Felix to your apartment, he said he would pick Felix up later.

Everywhere there was the smell of you and your love, on the table there was food for Felix and the usual note. The bed is rumpled.

He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. it absolutely hurt, he felt nothing but pain.

For some reason, for the first time he felt so painful and sad. In general, Felix is very vulnerable, but...

He never imagined how he would cry over the loss of someone.

He couldn't even contact your family.

You had no family or friends; you were abandoned as a child. Felix and SKZ were the only people close to you.

You never really wanted to tell Felix about your family, it was too painful to remember.

He so wanted to hug you, stroke your pretty cheeks and tell you that everything is good in this world. you have nothing to fear.

You loved it when he hugged you and smiled brightly.

He always lied.

He always lied and said that your condition was improving.

Did he regret that he lied? No

He was delaying the moment of death for you.

He put on your huge sweater, your bright smell is on it. He loves this smell so much.

He loves you so much.

Loving people don't leave. stupid lie.

Why does it hurt so much? Why does it hurt so much to love someone?

Then Chan took him, Felix might feel better for a few days.

Felix will even appear at a fashion event.

But...

You will have to bury two coffins, he will die after you.

Felix realized that it was so stupid... it was stupid to live without you.

You will find him in the afterlife, right?

" Lee Felix 15.09.2000–08.10.202*"—"Lee Y/N 01.01.2000–08.09.202*"

Kim Seungmin

You were strangled in an alley while returning home.

Kim didn't have time to meet you.

He blamed himself and only himself.

Your body was found only in the morning.

Pale suits you, dear.

Seungmin looked at you as usual, like you were the eighth wonder of the world...why did you go to that alley?

No, Seungmin never cries.

He did not ask for the support of his members or the support of his family, he will cope on his own, as always.

He will become closed and taciturn. The company won't even release a statement about his rest.

He will throw himself into his work, he will work day and night.

The members are too worried about his condition.

Seungmin doesn't feel anything anymore, he doesn't feel joy, sadness, or pain.

As if the body exists separately from him. Inside he is nobody.

He returns to your shared apartment only a few weeks later, his lips frozen: “Y/N, I’m home.”

But there was no one at home except him.

The apartment is dark and cold, it was so empty without you.

On the dresser he will find an envelope with a letter, you left him one every time when he returned late.

It said: “I love you very much, Kim Seungmin. Come to me in my dreams.”

This was not as usual, you had never written to him like this.

Everything that had accumulated over several weeks came out.

Seungmin hates crying, he never cries.

Tears flow limply down his face as he presses the paper to his chest.

You won't come back anymore, it's time to get used to it.

He will find your album with photos, he is so in love with you.

Then he will fall asleep and see you in his dreams for the first time. Thank you for coming.

then you told him to move on... but how to live without you?

For the first time, he felt unbearable pain and despair.

He will write songs about you, breathing you and living in the past.

Why does Kim Seungmin continue to live?

Yang Jeongin

Baby, he killed you himself.

How did it happen?

"I could be a better boyfriend than him"

He was always very jealous of you, but to the point of killing you?

This is a terrible case.

Jeongin has no regrets, you're mine or nobody's

No one will know about this, it is disguised as an accident. What a pity.

Perhaps he will be bored.

He's so bored without you

A few times he will come to your grave, it's quite rude.

He keeps all your things with him, he will never be missed, you are nearby.

tell me why did you kill her?

“Jeongin, why don’t you miss her?”

"She is forever in my heart"

It's like he's lying.

"I killed her simply because I was so jealous." Pure confession

He might even cry to show that he misses you.

You don't want to look for it in the next life, a very cruel death at the hands of a loved one.

And Jeongin won’t look for anyone else, because he loves YOU.

Sometimes his conscience torments him, but he did it for the good.

185 notes · View notes

skzdarlings · 11 months

Text

part vi: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 9500 words)

Graduation approaches. There will be a ceremony in the afternoon then a dinner and dance, hosted in a hotel ballroom. It is nothing so luxurious as your father’s soirees, but it is a milestone that should be filled with meaning and memory.

You do not go.

You close this chapter of your life while vowing to never forget a moment of it. Jisung and Hyunjin both impacted your life for the better. Though you will not put them in danger by association, you hope they will find happiness. They will both be better in the long run.

You look at Felix and wish you could grant such a freedom to everyone.

You let yourself mope for a few days and Felix does not intervene, only checking in now and again to see if you need anything. You have not talked about what transpired between you, but that was to be expected even without any distractions.

He extends comfort in a platonic sense at best, more professional than ever with how he hovers in your periphery, ensuring you are safe but never crossing a line. He will embrace you when you have a nightmare, but he is much more stiff than he used to be. He does not touch you with his gentle caresses, only holds you with a perfunctory grasp. You think if this entire ordeal with Jisung had not happened, then he would have stopped altogether by now.

The night of the graduation, you sleep restlessly and wake in an emotional fit. You stare at Felix across the bed, your tumultuous emotions flickering between sadness, anger, and longing. You don’t know what to do, and it isn’t fair, and you want him so badly.

You dig your fist into the mattress and press your face into the pillow, fighting down a scream. Your shuffling wakes Felix who whispers your name. He moves closer then reaches the rest of the way, touching the back of your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“No,” you say, muffled. You thump your fist against the mattress. “I hate you,” you say, because you don’t hate him at all. He’s all you have left yet it does not suffice to say there is only Felix, because even if you had a world of options you would still want him. He is singular in both charm and peculiarity. You do not hate him, but the threshold of the opposite looms with a terrifying danger for you both. What happened with Jisung would be miniscule in comparison to the consequences of this affair.

You know that, and yet.

You want to close this space for good. You want to throw caution to the wind and indulge your most romantic desires. You want him to want it too.

“Do you hate me?” you ask, turning your face but not meeting his eye.

“I—” He clears his throat. “I’m just… doing my job. I can’t have feelings one way or, uhh, another.”

“That’s not a no,” you say, lifting your gaze to his. He is propped up on one arm, staring down at you, blonde hair in a dishevelled mess around his face. His gaze drifts and you feel you are losing him. “Felix…” you say, imploringly.

“You have no idea,” he suddenly says, his tone almost vicious. “No idea… what it does to me when you—when you—when you look… at me… like that.” He falls onto his back and covers his face with both hands.

He always looks so skinny in his baggy sleep shirts, all sharp lines jutting out of the fabric. It completes his lie: the too-happy, naïve boy who is all smiles all the time, with nothing to see beyond the surface. No one would guess what he is capable of doing. Even you had not fully realized the breadth of his person until you witnessed it with your own eyes.

His mind seems to be following a similar path because he says, “You saw me kill someone.” He rubs his forehead like a migraine is settling there. “You shouldn’t look at me like you do. You shouldn’t—I don’t understand—how you’re not ever afraid—of him—of me—”

“I’m always afraid,” you whisper the admittance. You continue to look at him even while he stares up at the ceiling, his arms crossed protectively over his chest. “Just not of you,” you say.

He closes his eyes. He breathes out through his nose.

“You’re supposed to be,” he says. “That’s why I—that’s why I exist, yeah? I was raised to be this… thing. People are supposed to be afraid when they see who I am. Even your father is scared of me. And if he didn’t—if he didn’t have me on this—this fucking leash—” He sits upright, practically snarling as he speaks. Only experience in tempering his emotions brings him back down to calm, simply glaring across the room through the dark.

You wait to see if he will say more, your attention caught by what he let slip. Even your father is afraid of him, despite having him lashed to a tether of some kind. You want to know more, but you do not want to take what he does not willingly give, even though you know he will answer any question if you push. He made that promise a long time ago.

You are both almost nineteen. You have spent a quarter of your lives together. Those years, his present, and his future are all ensnared, and you cannot find it in yourself to forcibly rip his past away too.

You sit upright as well. He still does not look at you, gaze faraway. You twist the blankets in your lap, itching to reach out and smooth back a messy strand of his hair.

“You’re not just a thing to me,” you say.

“I know,” he says softly, still looking to the side. “Sometimes I wish I was just a thing.” He tips his head, staring into the distance as if he can see a memory playing out in the dark. “Sometimes I wish… it was that easy. That I could… put it all somewhere. Stop feeling. Stop being. That’s what I was supposed to be. If I could—if I did—I wouldn’t be here at all. But also…”

He trails off and his mind drifts. You tug at the blanket again.

“But also?” you ask.

His head turns to you, though his gaze is lowered, down to your fidgeting fingers.

“But…also…” he says. “I wouldn’t want that. If I had never… been someone. If I had never known…someone…”

He meets your gaze now. He has not looked at you with such direct intensity in days and it feels like basking in the sun after so much shadow. Your expression must return a similar ardor because his lips part with a deep exhale, his body instinctively tipping towards yours like it so often does. He maintains enough mental faculty not to fall all the way, holding himself back, only looking at your face. He lingers on your mouth.

“I understand,” you say, tingling with the effect of his gaze, tangible as a kiss.

“Yeah?” he says, his voice rough.

You feel a bit fuzzy, distracted with the energy between you. You only loosely cling to your own train of thought but you manage to say, “Yes. Making sense of the good in the bad. Both shaping who you are. The people you know… changing you for the better.”

“Jisung,” Felix says, ruminating on your words. Then a flicker of displeasure creases his brow as a thought occurs to him. “Hyunjin,” he says. “They were both… part of your good.”

“Yes,” you say, watching him pull away into his own mind.

“You liked Hyunjin a lot,” Felix says, clearing his throat. “I didn’t—I wasn’t sure—”

You roll your eyes even while a smile breaks onto your face. There is something so charmingly childish about the clear jealously that is suddenly plaguing him. It isn’t dangerous dramatics or dark pasts – just one boy glaring at the recollection of you dating another boy.

You push the blankets off your lap and move so you are kneeling at his side. He looks away but that is fine, because you tuck his hair behind his ear and lean in to whisper, “I didn’t like Hyunjin half as much as I hate you.”

He clenches his jaw. His shoulder twitches with a little shiver. A smile tugs at his lips.

“Oh,” he says. “All right.”

“All right,” you repeat in a mockingly deep voice. “That’s his reply – all right. This is why I hate you.”

“Mmm?” He tips his head, smiling at you. “Is it?”

You feel flushed. You sit back again, poking at the covers. “Among other things,” you say.

He laughs but tries not to, the result a very low chuckle that he unsuccessfully tries to hide behind his hand. You shove his shoulder. He sways dramatically like it was a hard hit. He is still chuckling when you lay back down, arms stubbornly crossed.

He lays on his side and props his head in his hand. There is space between you but you can touch his face with a simple stretch. You trace your fingertips down his jaw and it smooths out his laughter, expression softer. Your heart is thundering when you touch his lips, just a light touch. It should be inconsequential when you consider what you have already done, but it feels substantial as anything else. You wonder if this sensation will ever lessen.

He takes your wrist and moves your hand, his breath fluttering over your fingertips. He swallows hard.

“I’m a bad person,” he says. “I’m not supposed to care about being bad. But I do.”

“You’re not a bad person,” you say. “Because of the things they make you do? How can you say that?” From the moment he walked into your life, Felix has done everything in his limited power to provide relief. You did not always appreciate it, but it did not stop his efforts.

“I am,” he says. “I’m selfish. I let myself forget… so many things… when you look at me.” He lays down on his back, curling one arm under his head. “You know, I’ve been trained to withstand torture,” he says, casually despite the ripple of horror that moves through you. “But they didn’t prepare me for, uhh, you doing that… thing with your eyelashes, when you want something. Or when you, you know, stick out your lip like this—”

He pouts and it makes you laugh despite everything.

“I don’t do that,” is all you can say.

“Sure,” he says, with a little smile and eye-roll. “It’s more effective than a bullet. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Duly noted,” you say dryly. “You know for such a well-trained whatever-you-are, you just made a pretty dumb mistake.”

“Oh?”

You roll onto your front so the lengths of your bodies are pressing along the side. You rest your chin in the cup of your hand and smile your most innocent smile.

“Yes,” you say. “It isn’t very smart to tell an enemy your weaknesses like that.”

“My enemy,” he says like the word amuses him, corners of his lips ticked up. He moves quickly, leaning into your space so surely that you can feel his breath fan your lips. “Is that what you are, then? My job. My enemy.” He laughs the word, then whispers with a teasing smirk, “And my sweetheart.”

“Sworn enemies,” you somehow manage without even a stutter. You take his teasing further and say, “You can even tell my daddy. That’s your job, isn’t it?”

“That isn’t a joke,” he says, tone serious though his soft expression betrays him.

“Who’s joking?” you say. “We’re just two enemies, sharing a bed. I hate you, and you—”

“Yes?” He has a cocky look on his face, playful as it is. “What do I do?”

You narrow your eyes in a theatrical glare, then you just smile.

“You...” Your voice comes softly, your knuckles brushing his jaw. “You know what it feels like to be inside me.”

Your heart thumps erratically at his drastic shift in expression, the laughter replaced with shock then obvious vexation, dark eyes slanting in warning. You just smile like it is of no concern to you at all.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur. “I’m just saying. Sweetheart.”

You roll away, leaving space between you again. You wriggle your hips more than necessary and your shirt predictably rucks up, your shorts similarly loose and high around your thighs.

Your heart is still racing even though you got the last word in. You breathe to centre yourself.

Then he grabs you by the neck and tugs you back across the bed. It is a showy demonstration but a gasp bursts past your lips, your hand instinctively clutching his sturdy hand. It is your turn to be beyond surprised when he presses right up against you from behind.

“Don’t play games that have no winner,” he speaks into your ear.

“Who’s playing?” you reply, grinding back against him.

He exhales, an exasperated sound that has you giggling. You yelp when he rolls you onto your front, all but planting your face in a pillow before abruptly letting you go. You lift your head as he swings out of the bed.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“The bathroom,” he says. “Don’t try to leave or I’ll tell your father, yeah?”

He is grinning with his victorious retreat. His alleged training is good enough that he dodges the pillow you chuck at his head.

Your father returns home the next day. He never had any intention of attending your graduation, agreeing with his own late father’s assertion that a high school graduation was a juvenile joke celebrating mediocrity.

Felix already reported that you did not attend so there is nothing more to say on the matter. The subject of graduation merely broaches the topic of post-secondary education. He calls you into his office and presents you with a folder detailing the next step of your education. You will attend his alma mater, a prestigious university that did not require your application as he most certainly just paid for your admittance.

“And,” he says, “I am generously giving you one more opportunity to prove you are not the unfledged adolescent you have insisted on presenting.”

This opportunity is online summer classes to pre-emptively advance your position in the program. As if it matters where you rank in the scheme of things; your life set in stone.

“Fine,” is all you say. The wounds from the incident with Jisung are still fresh so you do not have an argument inside you. It would just be for the sake of itself anyway, as it is not like you have anything better to do with your summer.

You still complain to Felix. You find him in the gym, working up a sweat. A captive audience for your lengthy complaint session.

He runs a self-made obstacle course while you inexpertly pummel a punching bag to let out your frustrations. Eventually he takes a water break and wanders over to you. You crinkle your nose and pretend to be disgusted with his appearance, but in actuality a hot, sweaty Felix reminds you of that cramped car and all the heat between you.

He tips his head back and drinks his water and your eyes follow a drop of sweat as it licks down his neck. You look away when he stops drinking, when he swipes a hand across his forehead.

“Careful,” he says. “You should tape your hands first, yeah? You’ll hurt yourself.”

You slap the punching bag and smirk when he frowns at you.

“Not funny,” he says, and takes your hand to inspect it. He is smiling despite his words. When he catches your eye, he tries to quell it, but his gaze is tender as his touch when he massages your hand. “Just remembering,” he mumbles. “First night here. You and that… what was it? Eggplant?” He shakes his head. “I was, uhhh, not prepared.” He laughs. “I clearly didn’t know what I was getting into.”

“Yes, I’m sure I came across as a very intimidating adversary,” you say dryly.

“Yes.” He laughs, a sharp breath. His eyes flick up to you. “Like no one I’d ever met before.”

You feel bashful under his gaze. You look down at where he is rubbing your hand, so very careful with the amount pressure he applies. It is still hard to reconcile this soft-touched boy with the violence that has evidently puppetted him for all his life. It seems impossible that he could be a cog in that machine, not with hands like this, not with a touch so delicate in its gentle offer of solace.

He mentioned being trained to withstand torture, a training he must have received very young because you met him at fourteen as a fully formed soldier ready to follow orders. To this day, you remember his unblinking neutrality as he pressed the tip of that blade into the back of his hand. Yet now he holds your hand with such loving attention, so much humanity in his affection for someone else, even where people apparently tried to scrub it out of him.

It is too much to think about right now. You pull your hand away and don a faux-haughty air, flicking your wrist at him, fingers wiggling.

“Kiss it better,” you say with a supercilious tone. “Or I’ll tell my dad you let me get injured.”

He blinks at you, maybe perplexed with the sudden shift in tone, but then he just laughs and rolls his eyes.

“Mmm. Right,” he says. But he checks the door is empty then takes your hand. You realize this is a stupid ploy because it backfires the moment his lips brush your knuckles. He looks up at you, his soft bottom lip resting on your skin. Then he straightens, pats your hand, and smiles an annoyingly perfect, professional smile. “There,” he says. “Job well done?”

“As always,” you say, unsteady.

He breaks the tension by stepping away to fetch a towel. He dries his sweaty neck while asking more about your meeting with your father. You start complaining all over again, giving the punching bag another good slap. You rant about his usual tyrannical nonsense, but also complain about the graduation affair.

“They’re usually a big deal, yeah?” Felix asks. He is doing some cool-down exercises and you try to not to stare at him. “Why didn’t he want to go again?”

“Some stupid bullshit he parroted from his father, because he’s never had an original thought in his life,” you say. “It is a celebration of mediocrity. I will only attend your graduation from a valuable institution with an education that has been obtained through true work. As if he’s not paying to get me into university, and as if I won’t be walking out of there with a degree even if I sleep through every exam.”

Felix laughs in a humourless, distracted way. You look over and watch as he swings his water bottle up and catches it again.

“His father, huh?” he says. He shakes the water, absent-minded in his distraction. He walks backwards then takes a seat against the wall where he looks at you again. “This, uhhh, this everything in the family goes back far, huh?”

“Old money,” you say with an eye roll. You cross the room to join him on the floor. “Far enough.”

“Did you know him?”

“Who? My grandfather?” You slide down the wall and sit beside Felix, your shoulders touching. “Yeah, I mean, he died when I was about ten or eleven. You know him too.”

Felix looks at you in bewilderment and you laugh.

“He was the same as my father is now,” you explain. “If you know one, then you know the other.”

“That must have been…” Felix searches for the word but there is very little to sufficiently summarize that household.

“Yeah,” you say with a snort. “It was.” Your grandfather was a tyrant as sure as your father is now. You cannot say if he was worse, being so young when he ruled this household, but you remember he occupied the same untouchable sphere of power. Your grandfather looms in your memory as a grim figure as dark and intimidating as Mister Miroh. He was on the offense at all times, ambitious and striking out at whim. Your father, perhaps in response to his own father’s iron fist, has always acted on the defense, holed up in his castle and building his walls high to seal in everything of value. He attacks in retaliation or proactive defense.

Neither ever permitted being contradicted or disobeyed.

“I see,” Felix says. He looks like he wants to say more, brow still furrowed in contemplation, but then he just sighs and rests his head against the wall. “Are you sad about your graduation?”

“I just hope Hyunjin looked out for Jisung. He’s all I’m sad about.” Picturing your best friend in a corner of a ballroom with no one paying him any attention is too devastating to think about for long, especially knowing about his home life and how alone he felt before you.

You take a steadying breath.

“He just deserved better,” you say.

“So do you,” Felix says, only just above a whisper. He pats your knee and you react predictably, all your nerves alight beneath his hand.

But he does not linger long enough for that warmth to spread. You are not alone, after all. There are footfalls overhead and your father is tucked away in his office.

That night you have a bad dream. It is nothing so terrifying as a nightmare, featuring no guns or tyrant patriarchs. It is just a miserable dream.

You are at your graduation, wearing one of your many evening gowns. There is nothing so special about dressing up given your forced lifestyle, but the party is not about the gown or a date or anything else. You are looking for your friend. That is all you want, but you can’t find Jisung anywhere. You turn many corners, passing through the lengthy shadows of hotel hallways and school corridors, but there is an eerie emptiness to all of it. Finally you find a door, beaten and weathered. You step through knowing there is nothing fancy waiting on the other side of it.

You find yourself on the roof of a ramshackle house. Jisung is perched on the edge, dressed up in a blazer and tie but with his signature backwards cap. He is gazing up at the stars. You sit beside him, filled with so many things you want to say and yet nothing comes out. Time feels warped in your dream and you feel like you sit there for days, months, years, the sky dark, the world quiet.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

It feels unreasonable to ask for forgiveness, even if you did not willingly abandon him. You still feel the ache of guilt for having roped him into your life in the first place, but you feel especially guilty for not regretting those years. You do not want to live in a world where you never met him. To have never been someone, to have never known someone.

You know he feels the same way. He said as much during your goodbye.

In the quiet, he hugs you, wrapped up comfortably like that last night at his house.

Somehow that is the moment you become aware it is just a dream, that this is your own mind consoling you, but it is meaningful that your subconscious summons your best friend for that much-needed hug of reassurance.

It seems ridiculous that you, of all people, should think they have the best understanding of love, but perhaps it is the long absence of it that allows you to recognize when you have it. You have witnessed every elaborate gift and gesture in the world, but you are quite certain there is no grander demonstration of love than someone holding you for an hour with no other motive than to simply be there, seeing and being seen.

When you wake, it is with such an ache that you find yourself clutching your chest. Your uneven breathing wakes Felix. The moment he touches your shoulder, you roll into his arms and let yourself cry. He doesn’t ask what it is about, drawing any number of conclusions, but he holds you until your tears turn to sniffles then stop altogether.

You get drowsy in his arms. When he thinks you are asleep, he tries to lay you down on your side of the bed, but you are conscious enough to stir and cling to him. He laughs under his breath.

“Full house,” he whispers. “You need to sleep over there.”

You look at him morosely, blinking back tears. He sighs, letting his head droop, then he gives you a pointed look. You are surprised when he flicks his thumb over your bottom lip, drawing attention to the fact you are pouting.

“Told you,” he whispers.

“Hmmph.”

He rolls away but you follow, wrapping around him like a clingy koala bear. He chuckles and shakes his head, but lays on his back and allows you to rest your head on his chest. You nuzzle under his chin, hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. He rests a hand over yours. When he breathes, you watch the rise and fall of those hands.

It is a comforting embrace. This bed has often felt like a world away from reality. You stare at those hands, his kind touch. You cuddle closer, secure with the weight of his arm around you.

It sets your brain in motion, compiling these feelings with everything he has told you and everything he has done.

Before you can stop yourself, before the insanity of such a statement dawns, you say, “Do you think we could make it if we ran away together?”

He goes very still, even his breath slowing. His heart beats a steady staccato under your hand.

“Felix,” you whisper.

“No,” he says, sharply, like the instinctive hiss of pain when unexpectedly struck. He shakes his head, coming back to himself. “No,” he says again, softer. His voice breaks as he lowers it to a whisper. “No, I’m sorry—I’m—I told you—you know it’s not that simple—”

You know he’s right. Felix is obviously very competent but he is still just one man, and your father would not let you slip through his fingers so easily. This is disregarding all the technical logistics of running away, like money and food and a place to sleep.

But a little cabin flashes across your mind and your argumentative side rears itself even though you know better.

“Maybe it is that simple,” you say. “He’s just one man—”

“He’s not just one man,” Felix says, sitting up. You slip through his arms, laying back and watching as he pushes a hand through his hair. “He is his business, and his… his world… and all the men like him…”

“And our lives?” you say. You sit up and put your hand on his back. “You said I deserved better but so do you. You aren’t selfish just because— Stop shaking your head—”

He does but he still looks away, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“It’s not—” He chokes on the word, swallows, then speaks again softly, “It’s not just my life.” He stares across the room, as if once more ensorcelled by some memory playing in the shadows. “Life,” he says, “in pieces and only for a little bit. I always remembered that, you know. That’s how you described it. That’s what I have. Being here. It’s more than—more than what I deserve. And what I—what I get—is a life worth more than mine—”

“Stop saying things like that,” you say miserably. You reach for his face but he turns away. “Do you have any idea,” you say with as much as emotion as you can fit in a whisper, “any idea how much my life has changed because of you, because of the way you are… Felix, you’re part of the good too.”

“You can’t—you can’t say things like that to me—”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll start to believe you.”

You touch his face and he lets you this time, eyes lifting to yours as you guide his face up. Your thumb brushes that dark constellation of freckles, your eyes searching the face you have woken to every morning for years now – the brown eyes, the dark brows, the wisps of blonde that dash across his forehead. Your thumb brushes the groove to his upper lip, then the bow of his lower lip.

You cup his jaw and tip your head, hoping your gaze reveals the words you cannot conjure. The walls close in around you again. All those nonsensical ideas make their escape, leaving you in the dark with him.

He holds your gaze, his consternation fading to a different sort of ache. Longing carves itself in his features, the disconsolate but nonetheless ardent hunger of someone starving at a table they cannot eat from. He lays his hand over yours, holding it against his face. Eventually he lowers it.

“I didn’t count them,” he says.

“What?” You blink to attention, confused by the seeming subject change. “Count what?”

“The, uhh…” His laugh is dry. He clenches his jaw and looks down at where he is holding your hand. “The people. The people I killed.” He keeps his gaze low, watching as he strokes his thumb across your knuckles. “Others counted them but I—I dunno… I didn’t need to. It comes back to me sometimes, yeah. Hair colours. Clothes. Last words. I didn’t need to… to write it down, to keep track. I just remembered. I still remember.”

Even before you saw him in action, you knew killing was in his past. It still feels different to have those suspicions confirmed, that there was that much violence in his youth, but you are not upset for the reasons he must think. You are only more sympathetic, curling your fingers around his and squeezing.

He won’t look at you.

“Felix,” you say. “You were a kid, and I don’t know where you were, I don’t know what they did to you, but that’s not your fault—”

“I was good at it,” he says. “I was the best. I thought I knew what I was, why I existed. Then things changed. Now I’m not that. I’m not anything else either. I have no right to be, yeah? Do you understand? I can’t walk away. It’s all in me and there’s nowhere to put it down. All I can do is this—this one thing. And honestly, I don’t even know if it is the right thing. I just know that if I go with you, that feels selfish. If I stay here, if I—I keep you trapped here because of me—that’s selfish too—”

“I’m not trapped because of you,” you say. “I would be here either way. If it wasn’t you here with me, it would just be someone else.” So I’m glad it’s you, you want to say, with no obfuscation and no exaggeration.

He interrupts, “I killed your grandfather.”

It is so unexpected that you freeze. You cannot help the way you lock up when truly startled, even if the fright is only momentary. Your body shuts down to protect itself.

Felix withdraws his hand immediately, sensing your coldness. You come back to yourself and look at him, though he still avoids your gaze.

“What?” you eventually manage. “You—”

“He was the target,” Felix says. “They tried to kill him before. Tried, and failed. There were casualties. Like your… like your mother.”

You look away too, chronicling everything he is describing. Your mother died when you were still in infancy and you were never told much more than that. You always thought it might have contributed to your father’s obsessive protection efforts, at least in part, but you could never be sure.

“He was…” Felix says. “He was like a monster, to me, growing up, like a… like a ghost story or something. They told us stories about him and men like him. About how some were so… so powerful… and couldn’t be killed by a regular person… Everything I did—all the killing—was—was justified to me, yeah? And he was the worst of all. And if we could get rid of him, then… then all the other bad would go away too.”

“But it didn’t,” you say, remembering the infallible creature of a man that was your grandfather, the same but different to your father. Things changed when he died, in a way. Your father’s defensive operations are contrary to the offensive strategy of your grandfather, but no less intense in application. You can see how an enemy might have looked at your father, a frightened man always on the defensive, standing in your grandfather’s shadows. You can see how they might have thought the empire might crumble without the iron fist ruling it.

“But it didn’t,” Felix says.

You have questions, so many questions. Was it all Miroh? What happened next? How did Felix end up here? Why does he stay? A million questions fly through your mind. The only one you manage to vocalize is, “Does my father know?”

Felix shakes his head.

The rest of your questions evaporate into nothing. Only a breath passes your lips. Felix is bent over, elbows on knees, shoulders hunched. He is staring at the ground.

“Felix,” you say, reaching for him. “Felix, I don’t blame you for anything.”

Grandfather, father, it’s all the same poison sloshing from the same spoiled glass. You would be here either way, only without Felix, his voice and his hands, his heartbeat under your palm. You cannot imagine the bleakness of that loneliness.

You lay a hand on Felix’s shoulder, wanting to say all this and more but at a complete loss for words.

There is a moment of quiet, then he says, “All this time.” It is barely more than a murmur, face still downturned. “You were right here. And they didn’t care, so I didn’t see you. I didn’t even look.”

You cup his face once more, guiding him upright. He comes without a fight but takes his time, like it is agony to meet your gaze. When those dark eyes locked with yours, a shaking breath leaves his lips, that aching expression returned to his face. You do not know what your own face is doing, all your masks fallen away, leaving something open and raw, wounded but wanting. You swipe your thumb over his cheek, the high point where his freckles cluster darkly, sweeping down to where they dim.

“You’re looking now,” you say.

You slide your hand around his head, into his hair, fingertips fluttering over his nape. He shivers and tips his head, naturally leaning into your touch. You remember seeing the scars that litter his chest, remember feeling the cuts on his back from your own father’s beatings. You remember all the nights he has held you. You remember every little tidbit of your life he has tried to rescue and give back to you despite his precarious position.

You are both in a terrible situation without the tools to truly navigate your way out. There are no rules for a situation like this, every choice a dangerous one. The only thing you know for certain is you are not alone.

“I’m afraid,” you say, “but I’m not afraid of you.”

He gazes at you for a long, thoughtful moment, then reaches to touch your face. Just his thumb, tracing from temple to chin. The tremble of his touch reveals more fear than his faint smile, all of it bound tightly in the tension that holds him together, the carefully restrained yearning for something bigger than this moment.

“Yeah, but I’m afraid of you,” he says on a breath of a laugh.

“Right,” you say, infused with all the light-hearted sarcasm as you can muster. “That’s me,” you say. “Scariest of them all.”

“You have no idea,” he says, still so sincerely. It is your turn to shiver, leaning into his touch as his thumb circles your chin. He smiles again, not his exaggerated toothy grins but a sweet, fond smile. “My job. My enemy.” His thumb presses on your mouth, gently parting your lips. A breath escapes with the race of your heart. “My sweetheart.”

“You’re just being mean now,” you say. “I hate you so much.” You hold the back of his neck and tug him close to you. Your noses brush, his breath colliding with yours. A simmering warmth is tingling under every inch of your skin, gathering hotly in intimate places. You scratch up the nape of his neck and he swallows hard.

“A kiss,” he says, a rough whisper. “Just one kiss. It’s too—we can’t—”

“One kiss,” you say, brushing noses again. “For now.”

His soft laugh warms you even before your lips touch. And a touch is all it is, lacking all the rushed dramatics of your first collision. Even though you’re not truly alone, even though danger encircles this room like a poisonous fog, this little world away from everything feels momentarily invulnerable.

You let your eyes close, surrendering to the gentle give-and-take of it all. You wonder what makes a kiss so addicting, and you wonder how you went this long abstaining, and you wonder how you could ever hope to go without it again.

You run your hands into his hair and pull his face close. He sinks into the kiss, sharing a gasp before kissing you again.

You feel dizzy with breathlessness but you don’t stop. You shiver when he cups your neck to control the movement of your head. Your excitement has you bobbing forward, but he holds you and gently tips your head, then he kisses you with a long, hot pull. When his tongue brushes your lips, you make a little noise and he very softly squeezes your neck, the only place he is touching, in warning. This only tempts another sound but you restrain yourself, if only just barely.

The kiss ends with a gasping breath. You rest your forehead against his for a long moment. Then you open your eyes only to close them when he descends, kissing your nose, your eyelids, your cheeks. His sigh feathers against your lips.

“More effective than a bullet,” he murmurs.

Surely, it is meant to be joking, sweet, flirtatious. But he looks at you with that deep-set longing. He draws his thumb from your temple to chin again. He tilts your head to kiss your cheek, closing his eyes like that innocent press is the greatest pleasure of his life. Your cheek still tingles when he pulls away.

He smiles then nods towards the top of the bed. Your heart skips a beat, but then he says, “Sleep now. No more bad dreams tonight, yeah?”

You feel tipsy, breathless still, so you don’t argue. You also do not look away from him. Your eyes are locked as you slide to your side of the bed and pull back the covers. He sits on the end, watching you. Eventually he lays down and looks at the ceiling, scrubbing a hand over his forehead. His mind is so clearly going a mile a minute.

“Don’t worry,” you say with a wave of your hand. “I still hate you.”

He shoves his tongue into his cheek to hold back the laugh, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. You just smile, then shrug, then turn your back to him for the night.

The summer passes in euphoric bursts and tiny agonies. There are days you and Felix are alone in the house, days when a calm settles between you even if all you do is sleep entangled, and there are days your father looms with all his threat and power, when Felix sensibly withdraws and you ache with the need for an intimacy that keeps you sane and human.

Felix is clearly torn between his own desires and the duty he has assigned himself. It is also apparent that he is still struggling to consider himself worthy of honest affection. You can see it in the way he stands, the way he looks at you, the way his shoulders tense when you so much as brush his shoulder. You have laid in his arms more than once, your faces so close that you are almost kissing. You run your fingers through his hair until the tension leaves his body and he lets himself slant towards you.

Please come to me, stay with me, you think.

This is another one of those things that cannot coast on accidents, on fleeting moments of lustful tension that would ultimately fizzle if not for the emotional strength propelling them. It is in that emotional undercurrent you must plant yourself deliberately if you want to feel anything, if you want to heal, and if you truly, completely want him.

Maybe you cannot leave, maybe that kind of rescue is impossible, but you form a haven of sorts between yourselves. You try to find the words to tell him he’s a person, that you want to be a person for him, a body under his hands and a heartbeat in the dark, but you can never find the right thing to say to fully liberate you from the cage closed around that room. The words touch your tongue and burn and suddenly you see every nightmare in front of you, every reminder of why this is dangerous. So you turn your back and say you hate him, even while a kiss on the shoulder is enough to fully unravel you.

The summer is busy, a popular season for parties and events, some your father hosts and some you are invited to attend. He drags you from place to place, with the rest of your spare time filled with advanced course work. It is a distraction if nothing else.

At the end of summer, your father calls you into his home office. It could be for a lecture, a demand, an argument he is itching to start. You do not know but you appear when summoned.

Felix is already there, sitting straight-backed in a small chair across from your father’s desk. There is an empty seat beside him.

He turns his head and looks at you, reminding you of the first moment you ever saw him. Some things are the same, but most things are different. You realize how much older he looks. He is still slender, still clean-shaven, still very pretty, but he is not a child anymore. He does not look ridiculous in his black blazer and tie, a holster under his jacket, a competent professional with a job to do. Uniforms used to make him look even younger, his face too wide and sweet for such a grown-up ensemble. He looked like a little boy playing dress-up.

He is not a little boy anymore. You look into his face as you approach, your eyes locked. His hair is long enough to tie into a little stub of a ponytail. You ran your fingers through that hair this morning, fluffing the soft ends, making him smile. You have kissed that pink bow of mouth, both roughly and softly. You know what he sounds like when overcome with pleasure.

You met years ago, two peculiar children with so much humanity beaten out of you. You realize just how much has grown back thanks to the slow but tender cultivation of your relationship.

It seemed like an impossible thought at the time. Now it seems like it was inevitable.

You take the empty seat beside him. You both look at your father. His hands are steepled on his desk, his attention rapt as it often is when meting out punishment. His smile is not encouraging to the contrary, as he will sometimes smile when administering his reprimands.

But then he says, “Congratulations, I am pleased.”

He shows you the transcript for your summer courses. Your grades are more than halfway decent despite your tumultuous year.

“You’ve worked hard to win back my favour,” he says. It is the kind of comment that would usually trigger your frustration, prompting a quick rebuttal that would quickly escalate. But you temper yourself, curling your fists in your lap. You force yourself to ignore his bating, to listen with as stoic a face as you can muster. Your father smiles, though it is strained. “In my persistent generosity, I have decided to reward this behaviour in the hopes of encouraging it will continue.”

He slides a folder across the desk, every encounter a business meeting when it isn’t a brawl. You take the folder and read through it, the frustration leaving your body as it is replaced with confusion then the vaguest flicker of hope.

“We are substantially removed from the university campus,” your father says. “I have decided that for the sake of convenience and your continued academic success that it would be more prudent to move you closer to the university until your degree is completed in a timely manner.”

“Move,” you say, trying to keep your voice level despite the fact it feels like your heart is trying to leap into your throat. “All of us? What about the house?”

“Just you,” he says. “And Felix, of course, to supervise you. The penthouse is secured with a high security system, not to mention armed doormen and a plethora of staff throughout the building. Between that and your bodyguard, you should be secure and thus able to complete your studies without any obstruction.” He thumps a hand on his desk, making you jump. “And I expect your grades to reflect that.”

You nod vigorously, staring down at the real estate listing of the penthouse apartment. You have only just begun to picture the possibilities of an uninterrupted life, however brief the interim, when your father speaks again.

“Felix,” he says. “You know what I expect of you.”

“Yes, sir,” Felix says with a curt nod.

“I will have it on record now,” your father says to you, “that I give Felix complete and full control of this arrangement. You will do what he says when he says it. I also grant him permission to use his own discretion to determine when and how to discipline you if you step out of line.”

“Oh,” you say, too stunned to add more.

“If he reports that you are making things difficult in any capacity—”

“I won’t,” you say. “I’ve been good all summer!”

Other than last night when you snuggled up to Felix and started kissing his neck. It was chaste, a momentary touch, but then a sweet, low sound rumbled in his throat. Naturally, you did it again, then once more, your lips a little wetter and more open each time. He eventually had to pry you off him with a warning look, but he could not fully stamp down his smile when you giggled at him.

“Felix,” your father says, disregarding your retort. “You have my permission to do what you must to keep her in line.”

“Yes, sir,” Felix says, dropping his head in a respectful bow.

“So what do I have to do get disciplined around here?”

“Stop,” Felix says, even while obviously amused, a smile tugging at his lips. “They’re still here.”

You giggle and look over his shoulder where your father’s men are moving the last few things into the apartment. One of them collects Felix to show him the workings of the security system, which Felix quickly learns with his all technological skills.

You play the part of demure daughter, quietly moving from room to room as your father’s men assemble your life according to his directions. You did not get to organize much of anything, but you don’t care. A wall is a wall, a bed a bed. But these walls offer privacy. That bed is a new haven.

It is just you and Felix.

Eventually the men leave, one by one. The move began in the morning, but it is late evening by the time Felix closes the door on the last departure. You wait while he does his security check, in the sitting area, standing at the floor-to-ceiling window that boasts a beautiful city skyline view. The outside of the window is a mirror, concealing your privacy, but you get to enjoy the twinkling city lights, the bustling world below that offers so much possibility. It is very different than your view back home, of a perfectly manicured and perfectly stagnant garden, the mansion isolated on a hill with no other souls for miles.

You remember your first night alone with Felix, how empty that house felt. Now when Felix joins you, the apartment feels full. It is brimming with life.

You look at him as he turns on a lamp, brightening the dim room with a cozy golden glow. The whole room feels warm. It is not eerie and empty like that house. You were living in a mausoleum of wealth, rotting away with distractions and half-living in what little remained. You feel golden and alive, now, here, with him.

He clears his throat. He was staring back at you, his regard as intense as yours. He turns aside now, peeling off his uniform blazer. He starts talking about dinner, suggestions for this and that, something about school, about going to campus tomorrow and finding your way around. A hundred topics, more distractions.

You say nothing so he continues to fill the silence with empty chatter. He uses his friendliest voice, though your thoughts are not merely friendly when you watch him unholster his gun, when he fiddles with the harness around his chest and pulls it free. He puts everything on the coffee table and sits on the couch, pretending to be very occupied with organizing it. He checks his gun as if something could be wrong with it, nimble fingers flicking through its mechanisms as he checks its assembly.

You sit beside him on the couch, watching him fiddle with it.

He says something about something. Asks a question, maybe. He is not really looking for an answer. You think his heart might be beating just as fast as yours, even though his hands are steady and his gaze is resolute.

“It doesn’t really matter what I want,” you say in a voice, sighing dramatically. “My dad says you’re in charge of me anyway, right?”

He clips the gun shut and puts it on the table. He looks at it for a minute, then exhales.

“Are we doing that now?” he asks dryly.

“I dunno, are we?” you ask, shuffling a little closer to him. He looks at you sideways then shakes his head. He puts his hands on his knees and strums his fingers. “Are you saying I can do what I want?” you ask.

“Uhh, that depends,” he says. Another strum. “What do you want?”

“A kiss.”

He looks at you, those dark eyes narrowed, his expression one of warning.

“Just one,” you say, batting the eyelashes that are apparently more persuasive than torture. He swallows and you smile. “Just one is fine, right?”

“You said just one a few times ago now,” he says dryly.

“No, you said that,” you say with an innocent smile. “I said just one for now. But now I’m saying just one, because I’m going to be a good girl.”

“Oh.” He looks amused now, nodding. “Are you? Really? Wow.”

“No sarcasm required, thank you,” you say. “I’m trying to avoid being disciplined, after all.”

His mouth draws into a thin line. He looks away and cracks his knuckles distractedly.

“Just one,” he finally says.

“Yes.” You nod and smile sweetly. “Just one.”

That one kiss lasts forty minutes. First you are side by side on the couch, the blue evening night outside the window colliding with the golden glow within. That blue light fades to black before long, but that golden warmth stays glowing. Heat similarly rises between you, soft pecks against soft lips turning to open-mouthed kisses that beg and satisfy with each deep touch.

He holds your face in both his hands when you tremble, keeping you steady, letting you melt into him. He moves when you tug at his shoulders, mutely imploring as you lay back on the couch, though he holds himself well above you, maintaining distance.

When his arms get tired, he lays back. He lets you crawl on top of him, and sighs, giving in, holding the back of your neck as you wrap your arms around him. You kiss again, wet and hot and hungry, losing time and sense.

You kiss until it shows, when his whole mouth is pink and his skin is flushed and he can barely keep his eyes open with the dreamy intoxication of it all. You are straddling his waist, hands on his chest, his holding your waist. A breath breaks the kiss when you settle right above where he is hard, the ridge of him in his denim fitting between your open thighs. You are wearing jeans too but the thick material does nothing for true modesty.

You settle there against him, fitting like perfectly slotted halves of a whole. His brow creases, a truly tortured expression that pours into bliss when he yields to desire. He holds your hips, keeping you there against him, and goes back to kissing you with long, slow presses, eyes closed and the occasional breath gentle.

Your fingers are in his hair, stroking at his nape. Lovely low sounds slip into his sighs. You can feel how desperately turned on and wanting you are, clenching around nothing if he so much as shifts. You imagine laying here like this with him inside you, not moving much, lazily kissing and joined together like you have all the time in the world. The very thought has you clenching again, whimpering into his mouth. It sounds a little pained so he strokes your back, under your shirt, making you shiver very noticeably.

“Are you okay?” he asks, with a completely shot voice, rough and low.

“Mhm,” you say. Words take a long time to come back to you. “Just… thinking…”

“About?”

“If we were kissing…”

“We are kissing,” he says with a chuckle, tracing circles on your spine

“And,” you say, pointedly, and press your knees into his hips. “If you were inside me while we did it.”

That makes his hand pause. Then he thunks his head back hard and fast, missing the cushion and hitting the arm of the couch. His eyes close and his face scrunches, newfound pain adding to his present torture, all of it making you giggle.

“You keep doing that,” you say, remembering him hitting his head in the car too.

“That’s because you…” He can’t even finish, he just makes a pained noise and shakes his head. It makes you laugh a little more, biting your own bruised lip as you look down at him. He cracks one eye open, his cheeks dimpling with the tug of a smile. He slides his hand far up your back, thumb finding the band of your bra and skirting it, then diving back down to your spine to settle just above your ass. “If I was inside you,” he says softly, “we would not just be kissing.”

It is your turn for a pained noise, hiding your face in his neck while he laughs.

“You can’t say things like that,” you whine. “That’s just mean.”

“Mhm.” He gives your ass a pat, making you wriggle on top of him. “Okay,” he says breathlessly. “That was one kiss. Or something. I think we’re done.”

“You’re the wooorst,” you say as he sits up. “I hate you so much. You’re so evil. You’re so sick and twisted—”

He just laughs, patting your sides and shaking his head. You only stop complaining when he kisses your nose, a sweet little peck. His smile is tender. He touches your cheek.

“Say it again,” he says.

“What? I hate you? Fine. There. I hate you.”

“One more time?” he teases, cupping your jaw, kissing your neck when you try and speak again. Your words get garbled and he laughs, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought,” he says. “Now up. I’m in charge. It’s time for dinner.”

“I can give you something to eat—”

“Up.” His tone is stern but he is still smiling. “Don’t be trouble.”

“Me?” you say. “When have I ever been trouble? I’m perfect.”

“Of course you are,” he says dryly. “I don’t know why I worried.”

“Exactly,” you say, running your fingers through his hair. Your eyes are locked, your smiles soft. You kiss his nose. “And I’m just getting started.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz x reader

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seraphinitegames · 1 year

Note

Hey Mishka! Since book three is coming soon I’m bringing back this game: can you describe all of the turned vampires turners/“sires” in three adjectives without giving too much away? Thank you!

Ohhh...ohhhhhHHHhHHHhhhh...I like it! :D

Adam/Ava: Persuasive. Manipulative. Bored.

Nate/Nat: Vicious. Cruel. Really not a nice person, lol.

Mason/Morgan: Unexpected. Curious. Experimental.

Farah/Felix has always been a vampire, so I'll give three words for the person who forced them into our world: Brutish. Vengeful. Scared.

Thank you so much for the ask! :)

#the wayhaven chronicles #asks #vampire sires #unit bravo #natalie sewell #nathaniel sewell #adam du mortain #ava du mortain #felix hauville #farah hauville #twc mason #twc morgan #backstory

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minkkumaz · 11 months

Text

A MATCH INTO WATER

seungmin never wanted things to end up this way, he hated seeing you like this. as he kissed up your scarred skin, he let you know that you were in this together, and he was never going to let you go.

PIERCE THE VEIL series

PAIRING kim seungmin x gn!reader WC 1.3k TAGS established relationship trope. angst. hurt/comfort. major tw. self - harm. blood. mentions of depression + anti depressants. blade mention. pet names: pup, pretty. OMI NOTE if you're going through a hard time just know there is always somebody you can talk to. get the help you need my loves!

as you looked into the cracked mirror, you were terrified of the person you’d become. everything was faded into nothing, you were frozen in place. dried up blood littered your wrists and chest, and tear marks stained your face.

the vicious beating in your chest was telling you that all you could do was cry. this feeling alone made you sick to your stomach, but you couldn’t let it go.

this secret was between you and your abused body. seungmin was blissfully unaware how deep your problems actually were. he never knew about the endless rabbit hole of depression and self harm. however, you would try your absolute best to keep it this way. things would only be worse if he knew, it’d break him.

from your place in the locked bathroom, you heard a door creak open, which immediately set you into a panic. you scrambled around, wiping down the blood stained countertops, hiding the blade in a contact lens holder, and putting your hoodie back on.

the voices from all the boys piling into the dorms got more prominent. you fixed yourself up to look presentable and left the bathroom to greet them.

“hi guys, you’re home a lot earlier than i expected!” you greet everyone, laughing nervously. seungmin immediately rushes towards you to embrace you in a hug.

“i know, pup, i missed you. chan thinks we all need a break from working on the comeback.” his scent overclouded your senses. sweet but musky, and it was all too familiar. you gently wrap your arms around his waist

“that’s good, i’m glad. are you guys going to hang out here or go out somewhere?” you question, pulling away from your boyfriend to look at everyone else.

“we were thinking about a movie night, you down?” felix asked as you responded with a happy nod, “cool, let’s get snacks ready?”

“i get to pick the movie!” han yelled snatching the remote, immediately getting chased down by jeongin.

“go sit down love, i’ll help felix with snacks and stuff.” you tell seungmin

“you’re too good for me.” he kisses the top of your head and pulls away from you to go to the couch.

as you make your way to the kitchen, you ignore the pit in your stomach, trying to get your heart beat to slow down. you see felix putting two bags of popcorn kernels in the microwave before he finally feels you there.

“how are you, y/n? i’m just making the popcorn right now, could you please get me a bowl?” he grins at you, truly radiating like the sunshine he is.

“of course! i’m pretty good. excited for your comeback?” you respond, kneeling down into the cupboard below, searching for a bowl big enough. what you didn’t know is when you were reaching, your sleeve rode up.

at first, he didn’t completely catch it. but when he did a double take, he went pale. he was fumbling with the third popcorn bag, trying to stablize his suddenly heavy breathing.

“um, yeah yeah i am. can you excuse me for a second?” he tells you, walking off suddenly. it was a little weird, but you try your best to ignore it and get him what he needs.

he moves to the living room with heavy steps, seeing seungmin sitting peacefully on the couch and scrolling on his phone, “seungmin can i talk to you privately for a second?”

felix said this quiet enough that only seungmin could hear, trying his best not to gain attention from any of the members.

“sure, what’s up?” he follows behind felix into the hallway, a little worried about what he has to tell him; especially in private.

“is something wrong with y/n?” he hesitates, fidgeting with his hands. “why would you say that? did something happen?” seungmin puts his hands in his pocket, questioning the boy.

“we were in the kitchen and i had asked them to get a bowl for me, right– when they reached in the back, their sleeve rode up and i saw a bunch of scars on their arm seungmin…” he stared at the floor, “and it’s not like they were faded or anything, otherwise i wouldn’t have told you. but they were still bleeding.”

seungmin had no idea what to say. in that moment it almost felt as if his world stopped completely. his face burned hot, and was almost on the verge of tears. what was he supposed to feel when hearing such gut wrenching information about you?

“fuck... are you sure that’s what you saw?” he mumbled, breathing harder to prevent himself from crying.

“i’m pretty sure, you should just talk to them. i won’t tell anyone i promise.”

felix left seungmin with his thoughts in the hallway. it felt like he was on fire. the mere thought of the person he loved the most hurting so badly made him want to scream. it was then that you came into the hallway, clueless about the interaction you were about to have.

“minnie what’s wrong? felix told me to come talk to you…” you furrowed your eyebrows. the aura he gave off was scary, almost making you breathless.

he didn’t say anything besides grabbing your arm and pulling up your sleeve. it confirmed all of his suspicions, so he let everything pour out.

you felt like a deer in headlights, being caught like this. you couldn’t say anything. he carefully led you into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and sitting you on the edge of his bed. he kneeled between your legs, looking up at you.

“y/n, how long have you been hurting yourself?” he chokes.

seeing him like this was entirely fucked up. you felt absolutely terrible for making him worry so bad about you. it was exactly what you didn’t want to happen. you were so scared.

“i’m so sorry seungmin i– i really am.” you sniffle out, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater.

“pup don’t apologize.. but you need to tell me. is it just your arms?” you shake your head hesitantly before pulling your sweater off your head.

red marks were littered on your previously porcelain skin. it mainly covered your arms, but there were two or three on your chest. he felt sick, covering his mouth in shock.

“if you want to break up with me i understand… i’m disgusting.” you whimper, feeling the cold air coming from the ac to touch your half bare body.

“fuck.. baby no.” he gets up from beneath you, gently holding you in his arms, “you’re not disgusting at all, it just kills me to see that you’re abusing your body like this. you don’t deserve it at all.”

“i’m sorry.” you mutter, ashamed.

“but why?” he whispers, cradling your head.

“i didn’t want to tell you seungmin.. i was so so scared.” you cried, “i’ve been so depressed for awhile. i tried taking pills i did. it just made me feel so numb, and you make me feel so happy. but sometimes things happen and i feel like this is the only way out of it.” you heard him sigh deeply, pulling away from you and taking your hurt arms in his hand. he gently kissed up your arms, being careful not to hurt you.

“i still think you’re beautiful, i just don’t want to lose the love of my life.” his hands trailed down to yours, rubbing circles into your palm, “promise me you’ll try your best to stop hurting yourself. i’m here to help you.”

“you won’t, i promise.” you sobbed.

“that’s my pretty pup. lets get you cleaned up and in different clothes. we can talk more about this later okay? you don’t have to be scared, i’m not mad at you.”

you nod quietly letting him walk you to the bathroom, careful not to be seen by any of the members. as he wiped a wet rag against your jagged skin, you felt eternally grateful for how much love he gave you.

it was so hard to come past this, but you knew you could fight back as long as he was with you.

© 2023 minkkumaz, all rights reserved support your writers by reblogging + giving feedback! it is greatly encouraged and appreciated. thank you! → why feedback + reblogging is so important. ~ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ if you'd like, donate to minkkumaz !

PIERCE THE VEIL series

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stayfortwominutes · 7 months

Text

📝 "keep it, it looks better on you." | felix

disclaimers; lengthy amateur descriptions of kissing*, written from second person perspective, no depictions of the members' personalities, actions or thoughts reflect their true character.

pairing; felix x gender neutral reader

synopsis; sometimes the greatest thing two best friends can do is kiss.

content; fluff, best friends to lovers, make out session. | word count; 690+

prompt credits: one from @nightprompts & four from @luvmake

felix’s eyes darkened with an alluring desire as they remained trained on your lips.

“can i kiss you?” he beguilingly utters.

with bated breath, you nod zealously in response.

“are you sure about this-”

you dive in, wanting to be consumed by the waves of his ocean. his waxen hands come up to cup your cheeks as you crane to the right. felix matches the lapping movement of your plush lips as they latch onto his in a chase to satisfy years of unfruitful yearning.

the kiss begins as a harmonious ebb and flow of passion, the two of you lost in a vicious current, pushing and pulling at each other, before you relinquish all your defences to him.

felix hoists you closer into his lap, curling an arm around your waist to secure you in place. your mouths not parting for a single moment, except to exchange a sweet breath.

lead by prurience, you both plunge back into the depths, slashing the tether of friendship to uncover each other’s true feelings.

the sweet sensation of his lips against yours is riveting. it awakens all your senses: stirring your butterflies from their perennial slumber as your heart rate soars, revelling in the euphoria.

combing your fingers through his raven tendrils, you lightly tug at the strands, eliciting a series of soft blissful sighs from him.

the trivial implications you agonized over at the thought of kissing your best friend simply don't matter anymore.

everything feels so right.

like a new dawn breaking over the horizon to clear the morning haze, or the waves that return to the shore after a treacherous journey out at sea. the wall of tension and the hesitant tandem between the two of you dissolves, crumbling to dust in mere seconds.

you are convinced his radiating warmth is the liquid gold that seeps through your imperfections; the kintsugi that reinvigorates your despondent soul and allows you to embrace your flawed self.

you hoped to eternalise the lingering spark of electricity that flows through you whenever his fingertips brush against your bare skin.

in a rhapsodic daze, you breathlessly pull away.

"my heart is all yours, lix" you whisper.

lulled into a sweet reverie of his own, he begins lovingly peppering a trail of soft, feathery kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

"you look so pretty like this," he gushes quietly.

his lips move back to ghost teasingly over yours.

he inches closer, confessing: "i've waited years. i needed this, needed you."

however, an abrupt knock on the wood of the bedroom door startles the pair of you, and you manoeuvre rather clumsily out of his hold.

“won’t be a minute,” felix vexingly calls out.

you stumble off the bed, attempting to smooth the dishevelled collar of your blouse, and give yourself a once over in the full-length mirror besides felix’s vanity.

you gasp, timidly taking in the sight of faint crimson spots blotted along your jawline. the pigment traces down to the pulse point just above your clavicle. an effusive bout of heat crawls across your face, it bleeds into the tips of your ears and, in its wake, a pink glow dusts your cheeks.

a low chuckle sounds from felix as he leaves the bed to position himself directly behind you.

he leans in, bringing you flush to his chest, warm hands planted on the curve of your waist. through the close proximity, you become cognizant of his heart's incessant drumming; an amusing parallel to the nonchalance that masks his features.

your watchful eyes observe felix as he takes a makeup wipe from the vanity draw and deftly swipes it over your stained skin. once done and having taken a moment to admire his clean work, he pointedly reaches for a lip tint, and slips the petite cosmetic barrel into your palm.

when you inspect it a little closer, you realise the shade is identical to the product smeared on the wipe. the edges of your lips upturn in a shy fashion.

“keep it,"

you glance up at him, capturing your reflection in his dilated pupils, and find the lovesick grin he adorns mirroring your own.

"it looks better on you.”

consider reading more: masterlist

૮₍ ´˶• ᴥ •˶` ₎ა note; i really wanted to create something cute with felix, but this ended up on the opposite end of the spectrum... please let me know if you enjoyed it, or if you have any constructive feedback! © stayfortwominutes ; september 20, 2023.

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wifeofsnowbaird · 3 months

Text

You Can't, You Can't Catch me Now I'm coming like storm into your town

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/rest on Masterlist

[Mentor!Coriolanus Snow x time-travel, thg-era, tribute!reader x toxic!Finnick Odair (in the Peacekeeper era)]

Warning: gore, blood, gun and knife violence, serious injury, death, physical assult, possibly non-con...as I said, maybe...

Summary: You are a rebel, the last chance of the rebellion against President Snow. You're told to go on one last mission to kill the man who massacred Panem. It took you years to understand your mission when you became [name] Lily Baird, starting from the age of five till before the reaping day of the 10th Hunger Games.

The day you began your plan to destroy President Snow before he became the villain he was meant to become.

'Both sisters, Lucy Gray and [Name] Lily Baird are a part of the Covey, and though they have been chosen as tribute for both District 12 and 9 because of our own mistakes, we hope they will stay safe.'

You knew about [Name] Lily Baird, named after her because your mother was inspired by her fiery personality and strength, but now you realize that you were transported to a time before the Baird sisters died, one of sickness and one because of Coriolanus Snow himself.

'I will kill you, President Coriolanus Snow.'

‘Coryo, how exactly are you supposed to cheat if you have no one on your side other than me?’ He shrugged, glancing towards the sunset past the arena they were standing in.

‘I'm not sure but I will figure out a…’

Coriolanus noticed a boy walking towards [Name].

Felix Ravinstill.

He dared to try and help Coriolanus’ tribute practice when he noticed she was distracted. Coriolanus frowned, rage getting the best of him.

But he couldn't do it now.

Not in front of her.

‘Felix Ravinstill,’ the boy looked up, slightly startled by the hate in Sejanus’ voice. Felix had tried to seduce both of their women and they wouldn’t take that lightly.

‘How dare you try and woo our tributes? You have your own, go mess with her but stay away from our things.’ Coriolanus snarled, glaring sharply toward the cowering black-haired boy.

‘Clearly, they don’t like either of you.’ The coward tried to smirk but he failed tremendously.

That was when Sejanus saw nothing but red.

‘Die, motherfucker!’ Blood pooled through a jagged bruise tearing through Felix’s skin before he ran away from the two vicious boys willing to do anything for their loves as long as they stayed with them.

It was now days before the Games but even then, early on a mentor and tribute died because of a simple tease toward a starving child.

Arachne Crane and her District 10 tribute.

While Coriolanus hadn’t known Arachne much besides being his childhood friend they had recommended him to sing Panem’s National Anthem. He had only decided to agree because he realized that if [Name] heard it she might finally compliment him.

‘Please, I want you to smile for me…[Name]...’

Living in the time of the 10th Hunger Games, you tended to notice the difference between the Capital from the place you called home. You tried to see the better in most people, expecting a kind person like Effie Trinket to appear amid rich, classy citizens, but it was hard when they just wanted to tease you with something you will never gain because you’re poor .

Sure, the District 1 and 2 tributes were treated much better but still, they were tortured by the feeling of inferiority coming from the people they depended on.

Now, you were accompanied by your mentor, Coriolanus Snow, on a walk into the Arena following the other tributes. It was a silent exchange when he secretly placed a napkin of food in your chained hands. You palmed them before slightly nudging Lucy Gray, she was behind you and you could hear her conversation with Sejanus as he quietly gave her a pouch of food to stuff into the pockets of her rainbow ruffles.

You turned your head as if you were conversing with Coriolanus but let your eyes drift to your sister as she winked and nodded. That nudge was something you both had practiced years ago to signal if you guys were able to steal a piece of food or jewelry from the rich Peacekeepers in other districts before you two traveled with the Covey. Once you got that signal, you calmed down and began to whisper to your mentor.

‘Coriolanus,’ you began before he interrupted you.

‘ Coryo . You can call me Coryo, I won’t mind.’

You grimaced before clearing your throat and faking a small smile, his piercing blue eyes lighting up.

‘Coryo, I, uh, I liked your singing.’

To be honest, you did. He sounded full and his voice echoed around the arena perfectly.

‘You sounded like a man with great authority, my daddy wouldn’t have noticed much but he would’ve noticed that.’

[Name] Lily Baird was an orphan found by Lucy Gray’s parents at the age of four so you considered her parents as your own like every other child in that type of situation, and in return, they loved you like you were their child.

Coriolanus smiled at your wistful expression before glancing toward the identical dresses the Baird sisters had on.

‘That means a lot considering that I thought that you hated me.’ He stared back at you with a cheeky smile on his face.

You rolled your eyes before a smile blossomed through the irritation. Maybe Coriolanus Snow wasn’t as bad right now…Maybe there’s a possibility to change him.

‘Well, I think that most Capital people would like that better than us being friends, right? It’s like we’re rats in a snake's nest.’

He glanced back at you before holding a hand up to his face to stop the laughter about to spill from his mouth. It might not have worked but seeing his red face from the joy in his eyes made you feel as if this Coriolanus Snow, this Coryo, was a completely different person.

Someone you would be great friends with.

But then the world exploded into fits of fire.

wow, i wish

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haechanhues · 4 months

Text

Is This Goodbye? (II)

pairing : brother’s best friend!hyunjin x fem!reader (mentions of other members x reader)

genre : smut. fluff. angst.

warnings : switch!reader x switch!hyunjin!!! toxic relationship vibes. fwb. jealousy. jealous sex. oral sex. choking/pain/sadistic tendencies. degradation. praise/body worship. don't know if i mention protection or not but you know the drill :) swearing, of course. i think that's all the basics but still, there may be warnings i missed.

summary : he’s your brother’s best friend but he knows just as much as you do that that’s not all he is to you. // where your history is the reason you won’t work out.

word count : 11k

taglist : @jisungsdaydreamer

@k-labels

main masterlist

playlist : contradicting - hwang hyunjin, try - bright ft matcha, artificial love - exo, rush - william singe, vicious - tate mcrae, bad decisions - bobi andonov, backseat - daniel di angelo, drive you insane - daniel di angelo, half of my heart - josh musaka, numb to the feeling - chase atlantic.

Hyunjin wants to say he expected this. He wants to say he was stronger for it. But his heart makes a liar out of him. The bones in his body feel like breaking and the flesh on his skin sags as the blood from his heart droops out into a pathetic mess of whatever the fuck this is.

He has seen the monster that creates a brewery out of your innocent eyes and Felix’s kindness. He has seen it sink its claws into every single one of his friends. Felt it latch onto him like a parasite and squeeze out all logical thinking.

Yet hope is like a little deviant spirit that refuses to be stamped out.

The house had smelled of Sunday laundry tumbling in the dryer when you had stepped through the path made by sheets and clothes that had yet to be folded. It was like a dreamscape and Hyunjin couldn’t believe how sweet the moment was.

“Could you do mine as well?” You asked, awkwardness seeping into your fingers. Hyunjin nodded silently. Your lips smack together in passing thought before handing him your washing. A silent movie.

“I thought you were allergic to laundry detergent?” You wonder, your eyebrows furrowing in thought.

Hyunjin scoffs, “No.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I know my own-“ He pauses, at a slight glimpse of your smile, “you’re pulling my leg.”

You let a playful smile climb to the corners of your lips, lifting over the wall of tension that had hardened in the months he had been gone, “Sorry.”

Hyunjin’s eyes narrow before he presses his index finger into the skin of your forehead, pushing your leaning face away from him. Lazily you follow after his finger, enjoying the good kind of nostalgia that smells of marmalade.

It had been him that had leaned in to you, and him that had kissed you with a trick that sweet lovers do. With your chin in his hold and a short yet loaded amount of eye contact. Enough to see how life has been treating him and you in your time of separation.

It all came back to him then. The anger. The pictures of you and him. The pictures of Hyunjin fucking you. The thoughts of the torrential rain of sensations that had him more than a little fucked up.

He kisses you harder, the air bleeding a dark red as memories and realisation catches up to him. Your mouth opens and he deepens the kiss, sucking in the oxygen for himself. Your grip pinches at his torso, and his mouth turns to the skin of your neck and collarbone, a map of his kisses and possibilities.

You inhale the air greedily as your eyes roll back at his attention, you hum a moan which earns a little warning bite to your throat. A hush to be quiet.

Hyunjin cups the back of your neck and pulls you into him, practically devouring you as you steady yourself by grabbing his upper arms. The noises that escape your kiss are your swallowed moans and Hyunjin’s hisses of dominance, urged on by the way he grinds his hips into the opening of your legs, the pleasure scratching down your arched back.

You can feel him harden every time his hips surge forward and your arousal is sure to make a mark on the front of his pants. He pants, sweat collecting in the warmest parts of his hair. More than anything you want to wrap your knuckle into the thickest part to expose the way his eyes are fluttering at the pressure of your clothed sex against his. How weak he is to you. The effect you have on him.

You want to marvel at it, an unhealthy amount.

You don’t know why you’re so attracted to it, or even have an idea why you like seeing the boy of yours crumble the way he does.

Hyunjin blames the monster.

Ignoring your sheep like eyes, Hyunjin’s hand marks the heart of your throat, biting the words out, “How hard do I have to fuck you for you to be satisfied? How often?”

Your head drops from the mosaic of Red Light District worthy images that soar behind your eyelids. Lewd images of the types of positions, the tempo in which the body moves, the friction. Time made a servant by pure lust. All with his name on it.

“All the time,” You mumble, tired and already fucked out with a mere dry humping session on top of your dryer, “I want you all the time.”

He pauses his rutting against you, smirking at you with a snarl he practised with all that came before, during and after you. He basks in the way your expression drops, “Hadn’t noticed.”

Your mouth opens and closes many times. The thoughts in your head leave your body in disarray. Hyunjin doesn’t miss a single second of it. Doesn’t forget to enjoy it to the fullest. But because you’re you and you seem to know exactly how to get under his skin, your hand cups the back of his neck and cuffs the front of his throat like a turtleneck.

He swallows and attempts to hide his front into the wall of the dryer. Your eyes glint dangerously as your leg curls around his waist to bring his pelvis into its previous position against the fabric of your clit.

“I’ve got a favour to ask you,” You grin, your tongue resting behind your front teeth and the thrum of his heartbeat on your fingertips, “Though… I feel like it can benefit the both of us.”

You watch him. He watches you. A cycle with every new addition but the same fucking process.

“Sex,” You tell him, looking for signs of refusal. Expecting a sign of refusal. You maintain eye contact hoping he picks up on how serious you are about this, “Consistent sex.”

Unconsciously, your fingers start to twist at the hair on the back of his neck and Hyunjin’s eyes grow darker in response, “Weren’t you telling me all about the boys you have? Pick one, make this deal. I don’t doubt they’ll agree.”

Fuck did his tone have to be dripping in jealousy when he hisses out the venom he curated for you?

A wick of displeasure worms its way into your eyebrow and you can’t help the arch that comes out of it, “Don’t be so fucking stupid, Hyun. Nobody makes me feel the way you do. Nobody fucks the way you do.”

Hyunjin frowns, his lips twisting upwards in an attempt to keep his growing frustration at bay and he whips his head to the side, letting your hold on him drop. The heated atmosphere between you is dissipating but not completely. God forbid - not completely.

“There’s always Minho,” Hyunjin grins.

The world is sick and twisted, and this relationship is no different. He loves the way your body stills at the mention of his name and yet he hates it. Because another weakness that he can’t bear to use against you is Lee Minho.

Minho isn’t like what Felix is to you or Hyunjin. A shared and mutual No-Man’s land in amongst the perpetuated torture that you and Hyunjin inflict on each other. Minho is solely yours. An unpredictable weapon to use against you. One of mass destruction. One that every villain could only dream to get their hands on. One that could completely destroy you. And yet, a weapon that seems to always backfire onto Hyunjin.

So when you pull Hyunjin in for another kiss, one that is hard and unyielding, he is relieved. Relieved, because he doesn’t have to face the fact that the monster he can't rid himself of and the girl he loves is in love with Lee Minho. He doesn’t have to sit in the puddle of hurt.

Not when your hands slip down to the front of his pants and not when you free him from the constrictions of his underwear. He watches as you spit into your hand before wrapping a palm around his shaft and his stomach tenses at the shot of pleasure that has his heart rate spiking.

You let your hand slide up and down his shaft, feeling the control winding up Hyunjin’s joints. His breathing is heavy and the unruly grunts make you feel like royalty. A crown and all. He’s trying so hard to keep his composure. Putting in so much effort to make it seem like his release is something you have to work hard for.

With a quick quirk of your lip, your pace quickens and the tug-of-war game of who is in charge of his pleasure reaches new heights. His full lips, bitten raw have come into contact with the skin on your forehead, exhales nearly breathless. Teasingly, your thumb swipes along the pink mushroom tip and he can’t help but cage you in by his frame. Lithe muscle flexing with your touch. The room is hot and heavy and you can’t help but watch his face for the changes.

With furrowed eyebrows and a tight mouth, he comes. Thick spurts of cum paint your palm and the blood in his body still runs hot. He breathes heavily into your hair, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. Unable to help yourself, you drag a nail down the side of his body enjoying the ripple of sensation. The goosebumps on his skin. The shiver. The way his waist instinctively reaches to meet yours.

His skin is glowing when he kisses you again, a sure one. One that isn’t sweet. Or intended to make one come. He eyes the cum in your palm before he nods again. An affirmative to your deal earlier. You try not to show that the distance he rushes to create doesn’t affect you, but truthfully you think you failed.

Hyunjin rolls his tongue in his mouth frustratedly as he leaves the crime scene. There was no formal agreement. There never is. To the you who used him, you who ripped his soul from the inside, who made him wary of the vulnerability of drunken truths and Felix’s kind golden eyes. He agreed. Hyunjin has agreed to be used by you once again.

Hyunjin had expected fucking, only when it had come down to it - nothing had happened between the two of you. It was a waiting game. One where Hyunjin waited for you like a sitting duck and you were a huntress with a hefty gun of your desires and your wants and so forth.

He wishes he could film the way tension coils within your body, crumpling a written piece of paper in your grasp with a ferocity that didn’t suit you. Hyunjin sucks in his lip, his tongue swirling around his slowly dissolving strawberry lollipop and his eyes regarding the sight in front of him.

A sight to behold, some may say.

Like a flame blown out from a candle, your eyes meet his. The fire burns and Hyunjin straightens his posture. Your stride is heavy and forward and his bones feel like lead when his body smashes into the metal of the lockers of an empty closet. He winces slightly but has no time to process the sharp shot of pain as your kiss silences him. Hyunjin can taste your anger, your greed and he’s painted in it.

Your shirt lifts upwards and Hyunjin’s hands travel to meet the warm skin of your back, a pavement of goosebumps and tingles littering along your spine. He brings you closer, feeling your obedience and taking advantage instantaneously. By the way your nails claw into his shoulders, he can tell you’ve made a mess in your underwear that Hyunjin has every intention to worsen.

You mutually hate and love the way Hyunjin is gentle with you. Every bit of it is a lie and you know it. You both do. He grabs at your hips, drawing your pelvis into his, feeding off your pathetic little noises. The more you make, the more likely you are to be fucked in this very closet.

You try all your tricks, teasing him with ideas of the two of you fucking. Of him in control. Of you. You kiss down his neck and across his collarbone. A trickling finger slowly descending down to the ridges of his stomach and waist. The crudest of whines directly into the shell of his ear.

You try all your tricks and yet none of them work. All it seems to do is backfire. Your kiss down his neck and across his collarbone is met with payback. His own kisses lighting a fuse within you that you had seemingly failed to ignite in him. Your admiring finger and eyes, no longer able to defend against his own unmarked gaze and touch. His finger stroking behind your ear and down your neck. Leaving your flirtatious finger useless.

It angers you, really.

The whines, well, they worked. To an extent. His arm wraps completely around your waist, your positions exchanging so he’s directly above you. However, you find yourself a bit more vulnerable than he ever was. Your arms are holding your weight and Hyunjin’s gaze is sadistic.

“You’re angry,” Hyunjin muses, enamoured by the glint in your eye. He knows how you can be and yet this isn’t quite an anger he’s used to. This anger is crumbling bits of brick and rubble.

The frown on your face.

He fucking loves it.

“Are you-” You’re bewildered and you can feel your annoyance return to you tenth fold. Is he joking? Is he actually fucking serious? Men. Hyunjin. The fucking audacity, “Did we not have a deal?”

He grins, wolfish and mischievous, you want nothing more than to see it swiped completely from his face, “You said it was beneficial for the both of us, darling and I want to see how an angry girl comes.”

You sneer, “You’re not seeing it anytime soon.”

The grin, although it does eventually fall, it does nothing for your ego nor your pride. Instead, it seems to play right into his favour. His hand collars your neck, tight enough for your breath to be slightly restricted and the look in his eye will forever be remembered, “No?”

You want to say you were strong enough, that you didn’t feel arousal stick to the fabric of your underwear, so messily you fear it drips down your thigh. That your eyes didn’t flutter at the thought of him wrecking you. The ways in which he could make your head run blank.

However, that’d be a lie.

“With you, it’s all in the foreplay.”

A goddamn lie.

With his hands down your underwear, he lightly brushes to tease at the wetness. Lips quirking at how wet you are and how right he is. Loving the way his fingers create naughty dimples in the fabric. Crooning at the way your eyes hold his. This control is his crown and he wears it in the way he believes he should. The thought makes your heart drop.

As he presses into the heart of your arousal, your hand wraps around his wrist hastily, “We need rules.”

He wants to roll his eyes. Impeccable timing. But his curiosity has piqued, making note of the way your expression had slightly changed in that moment of eye contact. Hating himself for catching it.

“When has rules ever been a good idea?”

It hasn’t.

“It gives a blueprint,” You say confidently. You don’t believe that the rules would last or even be worthwhile. Definitely not on your end. But it’s a scope. An idea. You’re not even sure why you’re so tempted by the thin layer of protection ‘rules’ would provide you.

He chortles, “A blueprint?”

He shifts and all of a sudden, all the power has come back to you. Like a villain who knows her way out of the fog. You reach for an out-of-place strand of his long hair tucking it behind his ear and practically melting at the wince on his face as you drag your nails down the length of his neck.

“Mmm.”

His laugh is fake but his kiss is not. It’s rough and hard, but the sensation alone has your eyes rolling back. He presses you deeper into the lockers, hiking your thigh around his waist and teasing his hardening length into the location you want him.

“This feels familiar,” You mumble, breathless.

He smiles as if he’s disinterested, removing his cock from his pants and running it down your covered slit. Your teeth grit, the sensation heightened with the way his kisses trail from the corner of your mouth to the softness of your jaw. He murmurs, “Only this time, I’ll have the both of us cumming. As promised..”

His tongue touches the roof of his mouth as his fingers remove your underwear from your pussy, grinning naughtily at the newfound stickiness of his digits. He slowly sinks into your wetness, smouldering at how full you feel. . A challenge presents itself to him when you hold back your initial sounds of pleasure with tightly pressed lips and all he can return it with is a barely-there kiss against your cheek to coax you.

He grinds into you, his own eyes falling shut at how your walls lock his cock inside of you. At a particularly sharp thrust, he’s delighted to hear your strangled moan. Powerful enough for his hips to drive away into you, hoping that the angle change will tempt more and louder sounds.

“Fu- First rule,” You huff, your mouth heavy with pants.

Hyunjin finds it annoying. But a challenge nonetheless. He fucks you harder, preferring the way in which you stutter out your sentences with him inside of you.

“You- oh, sex ca-can be initiated by either…party with consent.”

Open mouthed kisses dot across your jawbone before lining his lips over yours, your chin in his hold as he thrusts into you. You whine into his mouth as he deepens the kiss until your whole body is tingling and your brain short circuits. You grasp at his shoulders as he allows the oxygen to fill your lungs.

A plea, “Hyunjin-”

“I heard you,” Hyunjin mumbles half-heartedly, his eyes greedily soaking up your swollen lips and the mess of your hair. A crime with no chance of escape, a life sentence with no parole - people will know about today if they saw you. He pauses in his movement completely, letting you come into terms who’s inside of you and who you belong to.

Your leg hikes up further around his torso as you lean more into his space, enjoying the way his grip on your waist feels and the way in which his cock twitches inside you. Unknowing of the train of thought running rampant in the handsome man’s head.

“The second rule?” Hyunjin cocks his head, his hand finding your ankle with a mischievous glint in his eye. With a feather like touch, his fingers ascend up your leg, ripples of sensation bubbling underneath.

You swallow, entranced by the way his eyes implore into yours, “Felix and….Minho. Leave them out of this. Whatever this is.”

His fingers still. Annoyance and irritation flood through him and he smirks in an attempt to keep his cool, “All of them.”

“Huh?”

“Not just Felix. Not just Minho. All of them,” He warns, his stare burning straight through you. You pause. Just for a moment. But it was enough. He opens your legs wider and slides deeper into you. The added inches do nothing for your faux pact of silence and every cell in your body needs to scream in pleasure, “Don’t fuck my friends. Not while you’re fucking me, understood?”

Your thighs burn, and everything in you is tunnel visioned into Hyunjin. Hyunjin with his stare. His lips. His hair. His fucking skin. His cock. Sensations like no other rocking into you.

Like a pastor, you swear by the book at that moment. Absolutely.

Your walls tighten around him and his tight grip falters and it takes everything in him to remember to breathe and enough for your resolve to return.

“The third,” You state, your throat clear despite the profanity that wants to crawl out of it, “Know what we are. Don’t get into your feelings.”

Hyunjin understands.

Don’t lose.

He fake laughs as his grip tightens, “Same rules apply then.”

Hyunjin thrusts into you and the answer that had been preconceived on your lips is gone and forgotten with the oxygen stolen from your lungs. Your breaths are quick and heaving, your leg muscles tensing around his body.

He’s not any better than you, his skin flushes pink and your desperate grips on his skin have left marks sure to bruise in the near future. His fist is planted underneath your body, a makeshift pillar to balance your bodies wrapped together in this shitty furniture closet. He grunts into your throat, the sensation blooming across your sensitive skin.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin’s hips stutter with his curse, his movements becoming jerky, “I’m going to come.”

Feeling your own orgasm approach, your whole body becomes taut and you rock into his pelvis, your high approaching with one last thrust. The tension between your bodies is a sticky residue as thick spurts of his cum paints the navel of your stomach. His tightened fists slacken and you fall slightly back, saved by his hold on your throat.

His kiss this time is soft as it is heavy. There’s no finish line you’re aspiring to nor is it a result of pent up rage and anger. Your lips suck onto his full bottom lip, enjoying the way his forehead meets yours and his mouth opens wider, allowing for your tongues to meet in the middle.

With a competitive grasp of your jaw, he navigates his total attention to your upper lip, sending your eyes rolling back and your hands weakly threading themselves onto the end of his shirt.

When he pulls away, his eyes stare at you with a look that tells you he may not hate you. But that can’t be true. Neither could it be false.

It’s such a morally grey area that it’s better it’s left behind.

With a deep intake of breath, his fingers thread through his hair and he straightens out his clothes. He makes a quick once over of your naked body and his cum that remains on your stomach.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d believe that you’re saving that for later,” Hyunjin comments, smiling genuinely when you raise your middle finger in good jest and sneer. His laugh is a hum as he exits the room and your face immediately drops.

You exhale, getting dressed and trying not to think of the ways in which Hyunjin got under your skin (and in your pussy), truly writing his signature on your lack of morality.

It’s a familiar feeling, the need to remove yourself from him. Remove anything Hwang Hyunjin from your body, your mind, your soul. Remind yourself that he doesn’t belong there.

But, of course, as you make your way to Felix’s car full of past hookups and past relationships that you’ve mostly kept quiet from your brother, save for Minho, Changbin and Chan. All bred for less than stellar reasons. Hyunjin who stands tall, with his hair pristine and his lips bitten. You know you can’t do that. Remove him. Chastise yourself for thinking you could.

He’s a part of you and has been even before you marked each other.

And when Hyunjin sees the way your face lightens the slightest bit, he doesn’t make the mistake of assuming that it’s because of him. Swears not to make the mistake of forgetting that the only man you’ve only looked at with that kind of beauty isn’t him.

But, he gets hurt anyway.

And he does so quietly.

It’s a sort of Cat and Mouse game that neither of you know how to play. This agreement isn’t formal, not quite casual. You don’t desire sex more than the normal person and Hyunjin is socially scheduled out. So he’s not exactly bored.

Yet…you can’t help but feel- that it kind of irks you.

It’s like he’s made a habit of waiting for you to seek him out. To cut through his apparent disregard and indifference of you, one that he wears a little too well. He’s reverted back to ivory black hair, long enough for your fingers to lay their claim into his scalp. He wears a suit that is clean cut and sharp, the ‘before’ to the sin you plan to seduce him into tonight. Coincidentally, the colour of purity. Light. Peace.

A woman, gorgeous and tall with sparkly heels and a sparkly dress that scratches at the fabric of his suit. Her nails play at his suit clad forearm and you’re completely entranced by her games, your hand cupping your chin as you watch. You’re pleased to see that, in contrast, it has seldom impact on the man you plan to fuck within the hour.

She hooks her fingers into his shirt, pulling him into her, hoping to seduce him with her eyes or her words. He looks down at her, a slight smile on his face. A kind one. It makes you jealous somewhat, you had once been very accustomed to a smile like that.

Now, it was practically non-existent.

She leans in to whisper something and you wish a vampire could sink his teeth into you. If not purely for the reason to spy on Hyunjin and the people he attracts. His eyebrows raise in interest, regarding her with a new look in his eye. She grins before moving away from him and strutting towards another room. Purposeful in her parting eye contact.

Hmm. Noted.

He sips at his drink, letting his interest melt like ice cubes, though those few seconds of interest he withheld has ruined something in you. Something you don’t ever want to investigate, in fear that it will ruin the infrastructure of the soul you have created.

He scans the rest of the room with little to no interest, before he walks towards the empty whiskey room, footsteps quiet but assured in a hallway that echoes. He wears a frown as he turns at the clack of your own shoes, before he’s pushed into the room with unexpected force.

You push until he falls. The black sleek couch catching his body before his breath escapes him.

It’s intriguing how much your anger makes him hungry. How it darkens his eyes. How it makes his fingers twitch in a way a junkie would. How his body becomes so in tune with yours unlike any other person he’s ever met.

The sneer on your face is cruel as you observe how patronising the look on his face is. In your peripheral, an expensive bottle of red wine sings an enticing song of revenge and seduction.

You’re hooked by the very first chorus.

As Hyunjin is momentarily distracted by his own conclusions, you’ve already grabbed the bottle by the neck, ripping the cork with a quick pop. He watches you without caution, the glint in your eyes going straight to his growing erection. You stop in front of him, angry, jealous and so fucking hot while you’re doing it.

The smile on your face is pleasant, your cheeks rounding, “I guess a congratulations is in order.”

Then, that smile drops. Hyunjin’s mouth falls as his lower body is engulfed by the wine, the white sure to stain red immediately. Your lips smack together, considering his outfit fakely, “Oh no, I really hope that wasn’t expensive.”

A frown overtakes Hyunjin’s features at your purposeful disregard, drawn with a growing smirk across your lips. Provoking the vengeful spirit that has been starving since Hyunjin vowed to create some distance between the two of you.

He observes the way your gaze zeroes into the way his tongue hooks itself into the corner of his mouth and the way your chest is heaving with desire.

“Clean it up,” Hyunjin orders, “Now.”

A rush of heat blooms in your underwear at his dominant tone, your feet backing away to find a piece of cloth or paper towels locked away in a cabinet…

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hyunjin snarls from his position on the couch, his legs wide apart and practically calling for you.

He loves the innocence on your face as it screws up in a way to defend yourself, stuttering at the onslaught of excuses. His fingers dance along the arm of the couch, the tapping only seeming to trap you further.

He smirks, “I think you’re more than capable of cleaning after yourself… unless you need to be told what to do?”

God he loves when you’re so soft and compliant like this. Like putty.

He clicks his tongue decisively before ordering, “Come here.”

It's as if the sea parts for you, the audience clearing as Cinderella makes her way into the place in which she will fall in love. Your Prince at the ready; tall, decadent and handsome. As much of a Prince as you are Cinderella.

In retrospect, the wine staining the material of his pants should make him more uncomfortable, but his attention is completely stolen by you. You stand before him, close enough for his hands to grip you by the hips and take you into his lap.

“So obedient…even after acting like a fucking spoilt brat because..what? I wasn’t interested in giving you my attention? What makes you think you’re worth it, darling?”

Holy fuck.

Your mouth waters at the way his mouth has hardened and the way his sentences are the colour of lead.

“You’re a little pathetic, don’t you think?” Hyujin scoffs, addressing your obvious show of misplaced possessiveness and arousal, “You’re a big girl, Y/N, clean up after yourself.”

Your legs are frozen and any comeback you would’ve, should’ve, could’ve thought of has been whisked away by a phantom spirit, leaving behind prey for the hungry beast to eat away at you.

Hyunjin nods, considering you for a condescending second, his large hand enveloping one side of your hip, the feeling warm against the fabric. A contrast to the cold snake of possibilities that whisper in his ears.

Try it, Hyunjin.

“Get on your knees,” He commands and with a shaky sort of stumble you kneel in front of him, hyper aware of the hand that remains in place, travelling up your body as your knees meet the black marble floor. Goosebumps paralyse your collarbones as his thumb brushes over the raised nipple of your dress, sending more volts of electricity to your core. Where you need him most.

Where you will beg for him.

He preens inside as he can feel the hold his control has on your body. Temptation is definitely not always a bad thing, he can attest. Because…where, when, why, how would this happen without it?

Hyunjin leans forward slightly, drunk on this power that you have seemingly given him, his hand no longer on the swell of your tits but now on your cheek, “Clean.”

Your body falls forward as he removes his hand with a snap, softness completely disappearing and your body cold on auto-pilot. Regaining your balance, your hands move to undo his belt, his stare regarding you with a look that sends you further into your own head.

A hiss escapes his mouth as you remove him from his slacks, thumbing slightly at the tip to test his sensitivity and spread a thin layer of his precum across the surface. You bring him into your mouth slowly, enjoying the low growl that makes his adam’s apple throb with a grumbling need.

Hyunjin bites his lip at the sensation of his cock in your warm and wet mouth, and his head falls back as he reaches deeper into the confines of your throat, finding morbid pleasure in the way you gag around his length. With a satisfied grunt, he clutches at the thick of your hair to gain some of the control he lost when you start to moan and fuck him with your throat.

Curious, he wraps a hand around your throat, thumb pressing at the skin and feeling his cock steadily drag back and forth paired with your speedy heartbeat that grinds against his fingertips sensually. His hand drops but is stopped by your own hand intertwining with his, laying it flat and pressing so much further into your skin, so much so, fears he may kill you.

There are tears in your eyes with how deep inside he reaches but it only fuels the heat that makes a furnace of your aching core. At a particular movement of your tongue along the underside of his cock, he twitches and thrusts himself deeper in your mouth, a groan escaping you. A groan that makes his situation even more dire.

“Fuck-”

He expects you to pull away so he can fuck you into next Tuesday and ruin these couches for anyone else. But instead, you suck and lick and do everything in your power to make him come. He comes inside your mouth, and you swallow his load with a blink, wiping at your lips as if you had only smudged your lipgloss at a lunch meeting.

You’re endeared by the quick frown on his face, an expression that could translate to pouty, if it had not been the way he looks satisfied. A fucked out glow softening his features and sweat sticking to the edges, evidence of his rendezvous with heaven.

“Why did you do that?” He says, in an almost accusing voice.

You smile sweetly at him, “I just did what you asked of me.”

Always having to have the last word, you walk away from him once again. He remains on the couch for a further few minutes, his position unchanging. The planes of his handsome face brightening as he recalls what had just happened.

For once, he had the upper hand and you did not make much of an effort to fight against it and neither did he even attempt to appease you.

You were the one that was jealous.

You were the one on her knees.

You were the one doing the listening as he held the cards.

You were the sole one to be punished and he inflicted it.

He had the control. For once and it was fucking delicious. He feels something in him reawaken and he fucking prays that he does not have to stab and rip down hope before its flagpole can be cut down by its enemies.

With that bit of control he had reclaimed, he had handed himself to you on a silver platter. Ready to feast upon. Ready to go through this toxic cycle, all over again. More so than ever.

It seemed that the events in which he had complete and utter control over you had a profound impact on the man, because he constantly made an effort to make sure you were constantly watching after him. The way his fingers raced after stray water drops that had cascaded down his face and neck after a dip in the pool.

He didn’t seem at all disappointed when you dropped the news that you were on your period, instead he seemed to become playful in his teasing.

At the early hours of the morning when Felix had raced to get you some chocolate and canned peaches at your incessant pleading, he had caught you with your head in the fridge, said chocolate smeared along your bottom lip.

The chuckle released from his mouth was sweet and loving in a way. It made your heart soar to unbelievable heights. Uncaring on whether or not it would drop and smash across the concrete below.

He thumbs at your bottom lip, secretive in the way his lips press together purposefully, his voice clear and deep, “Always so messy.”

You didn’t say anything, your eyes do all the talking for you. How enamoured you were by him. The secrets you tried to bury are completely blatant to the naked eye.

His smile deepens at your lack of reply and he leans forward to bring you into a kiss. One that isn’t necessarily innocent nor is it worth a confession to a pastor. But your eyes are closed and your hands are within a single fist as your weight leans onto his lithe frame. His lips press further onto yours, lifting upwards at the feeling of you returning his kiss before he deepens it.

When he pulls away, his own lips are swollen and he looks proud of what he sees when he looks at you. He smirks, tapping slightly at the skin where your lips and your chin meet, “I’ll leave you to clean this up, yeah?”

He backs away with his eyebrows raised and a secretive smile written across his lips. It’s one that you will remember forever, returning to the room that Felix and the rest of the boys were chilling in.

Midday, when you thought you were finally free to leave the house without one of your brother’s questions about your wellbeing or another one of his friends making sure you were fed and hydrated, unable to tell them that Hwang Hyunjin left your brain feeling muddled and your core feeling all sorts of needy.

Midday when you were caught off guard by the step of the door that almost sent you sprawling face first in concrete had it not been for the man steadying you. Muscles in his arm pulsing as his hand stretches over your torso, the warmth of his chest pressed against your back.

“Leaving?” Hyunjin asks, no qualms about your current position.

“Yes,” You answer, because you’re stupid and you’re too flustered to think about what you’re saying, “With Minho.”

Hyunjin only hums, disinterested in your game of jealousy that you’re reeling in place. He leans forward slightly so that his words tickle against the skin of your neck, “Make sure to stay hydrated, everyone’s quite worried.”

A small purposeful squeeze of your waist is all he leaves as a statement of farewell before he wanders through the doors of your house.

Bastard.

Hot bastard.

At the feeling of your thighs squeezing together with new hunger you curse yourself for being irrevocably horny and chastise yourself for initially thinking you could treat yourself to a quick session of self love before meeting with your friends in the city.

A warm fire greets you as you melt into the corridor. Your exhaustion painting the walls as your heavy feet shakes the decor.

“Y/N!” Felix’s bright demeanour has your own face lifting into a beam as he embraces you in a hug you’re pretty sure you needed, “Here’s a plate.”

You take the plate gratefully from him, shuffling behind into the dining room and halting at the candlelit atmosphere and three well dressed men at the table, scoffing down food more like a boy than a man.

“It was supposed to be just us, but apparently they couldn’t wait fifteen minutes for the next bus,” Felix grumbles.

“We said sorry,” Seungmin comments, mouth full of garlic bread as he wanders into the living room, wanting to get to the TV before anyone else could complain, “Hi Y/N.”

“Hey Minnie,” You greet nonchalantly, actively aware of the man sitting across from you, coy eyes and whispers in his hair. Hyunjin twirls his fork and sips his water and yet your focus zeroes in on the way his tie is loose and his dress shirt is slightly crumpled at the forearms. Han waves at you, his cheeks full of food, as he piles a bundle of spicy vongole pasta onto your plate. To which you smile at him in thanks.

Felix sits next to you, a welcome distraction from the shit you’ve been trying to get over.

“This looks really good, Yongbok, thank you,” You beam at him, to which he pats the top of your head and watches fondly as you scoop a heap of pasta into your mouth.

Your eyes almost roll back with how good it is.

Yummy.

“YASS,” Seungmin’s uncharacteristic yell in the living room has both Felix and Han’s attention. The latter almost a glitch with how fast he runs and Felix lets out a short curse before he cleans himself up and totters to join them, yelling at the two to pause it.

Then, there were two.

Hyunjin doesn’t look at you, he focuses on his meal and on the decorations in front of him. You almost envy how much candlelight loves him, his skin smooth and his eyelashes long. You try your best to match his efforts, but you just can’t compare. You put your fork down and stare at him.

Almost in slow motion he looks into your eyes, holding them as he lifts more pasta to his mouth. His tongue reaches into his cheek for a brief moment, before he stands. Your body is so in tune with his, that it leans forward to almost mirror his actions when he cradles your cheek in his hand and kisses you.

It’s sweet, but hungry. You almost have the audacity to offer yourself to him with open legs on the kitchen table. But he pulls away before you can lose all self esteem and all that’s important to you.

He pulls away, looking decadent and not as if he just partook in a making out session whilst your brother and friends were in the next room. Your still body remains to stare after him, feeling all sorts of wrong.

However, when a flicker of a smirk appears on his face, it almost feels like it’s meant to be.

How fucking stupid.

Your fists clench and you wait for the anger to burn straight through you and let it grow and grow. The lack of control over the situation finally catching up to you and settling into your feet.

Hyunjin hadn’t seen you since the day he saw your resolve build back up. He knew his complete control over you was fleeting and temporary but he still missed it. He loved the way in which the skin on your cheeks heated and the way your eyes held his own with this look of fear and excitement.

He finds it gets to him more when he’s having a shit day.

One so much like today.

First, this asshole at work was hacking up his lungs and shitting over Hyunjin’s ideas before taking full credit for something he could barely explain. Then, some dude scratched his car and offered McDonald’s as compensation. Then, he spilled coffee all over his white dress shirt. Then, he had to ring his mother to pay for his pain medication because paying for the homeless child’s dinner actually had slapped shit karma onto his ass with a tattoo gun.

Yet when you called him, he felt he could finally breathe again.

Your giddiness whilst talking to him made his affection for you so noticeable. He could feel his smile and he could feel his warmth. He could feel his soul and his heart and it scared the shit out of him.

Because he knew what the feeling was.

Deep down, he knew. He knows.

But when he follows your instructions and sees this try-hard in front of him, flirting and attempting to touch you and you, acting so fucking oblivious. Flirting back, even. It has him fuming. His tongue is fuzzy and his eyebrows drawn tight.

His feet drag forwards and his fingers part lines into his hair as he pulls it away from his face, hoping to memorise the sure change in your expression as you notice him. But he doesn’t see it through, because he finds when he’s in front of you the only thing that he wants to do is to lean down and kiss you. Hoping you’ll kiss him in a way that shows people you want him, that you ache for him. That he is…more.

As you return his kiss and thread your arms around his neck, he presses further into you so his body is touching you all over. The boy from before is thoroughly forgotten as Hyunjin moulds into all you are, palm at the small of your back as your hands wander down his arms and lay claim at the nape of his neck.

Hyunjin’s eyes are wide-the-fuck open, staring down the idiot trying to complain with murderous intentions, daring him to cross the line.

You pull away from him breathless as fuck, “Your house?”

Hyunjin smirks and only answers with an affirmative hum, smug as you lead him out of the party and feeling his pants tighten with need when you pass him a slutty look, confident as you pass on his address to the taxi driver with your manicured finger running along the creases of his elbow.

You lead him inside.

You lead him to his bed.

One item of clothing, one after another, falling to the floor, until you are both only in undergarments.

Everything in this moment is led by you, and all his problems fall away with every kiss you initiate.

Your mouth opens as you deepen the kiss, smiling at the way he moans at the feeling of your tongue brushing against his. He falls further into your mannerisms that he feels everything and nothing at the same time.

He can’t feel the way you grasp his chin in an assertive grasp but he can feel your dominance and your possessiveness. He is briefly aware of the way your breasts rub against him, fuelling his sexual hunger.

“Ready for you,” He mumbles, tone throaty with his admission, “Please.”

“Ready for me? To do what?” You tease and his eyes fall shut dreamily.

“Anything,” Hyunjin pleads, “Just need you to touch me. Just need you.”

You press a short satisfied kiss against his Adam's apple and you let your fingers run across every line and crevice on his body. Taken by every shiver and hiss that escapes his full mouth.

“Like this?”

He swallows heavily, “More.”

“Beg, baby.”

He shook his head to which you tutted before you clamped down on both of his shoulders and squeezed.

“Why won’t you beg? Do you think it makes you less of a man?”

He shook his head, “You’ll ruin me.”

You can’t help the grin that transforms your whole face maniacally, “That’s the best part.”

He’s quiet for a second, the tension building as he speaks with his eyes. A liquid glow that manages to hold a whole conversation without the need of his mouth.

“…Please,” Hyunjin croaks weakly, unable to withstand for a second longer, “Please fuck me, Y/N…please.”

You love a man who’s hungry.

The next second, his head hits the soft material of the pillow and your hand is pressing on his throat. Your face has changed again. One full of anticipation and a tension that electrifies. You hook your leg over his own, straddling his frame as you claim the throne that is his body, his abdomen filling the space your lower body couldn’t.

With a naughty type of grin, you lean forward, applying more pressure onto his throat as you slide your mouth over his own. Feeling lightheaded from both the pleasure and the pain, his fingers grab at the skin of your thigh, your body falling forward.

He welcomes the fresh oxygen into his lungs and you let his desperation feed your ego and your sadistic tendencies, fingers brushing an apology over his slightly marked throat. His own fingers dig dents into the skin of your ass, head falling back as you grind relentlessly against his growing erection.

“You’re so fucking evil,” Hyunjin murmurs, breathless and flushed as he struggles to keep a persistent moan at bay.

“Evil seems to do a great job at getting you off,” You scoff, pressing against his chest to lift yourself up. You study each other, breathing hard. The two of you are already glowing at the promise of good sex.

Your body calls to be touched in the way he wants to touch you. He wants to be the one to unclasp your bra and let his hands drag across your skin. He wants to be the one to grab at your hips and flip you both around so he could fuck you into the mattress.

But he doesn’t. Like a good boy, he doesn’t do what his body tells him to do.

Though his hands are obedient, his eyes toe on the line of unruly and diabolical. They’re wild in their path of imagined destruction and control, propaganda sent to the lesser parts of the body that are easy to win over.

They flit to the wetness making a mess in between your thighs and along the fabric of his waistband, and his tongue licks at his bottom lip hungrily, “Fuck-”

You frown, fist pressing down on his pelvis, punishingly close enough to wrap your hand around his cock and have your way with him.

“Where is my good little sub that I know you can be?” The rhetorical question hangs heavy in the air and Hyunjin is finding it a little harder to breathe.

“I’m here.”

“I don’t see him,” Your voice is firm as you stare him down, stomping down on that wild gaze of his.

“Here,” Hyunjin pleads, his eyes glazing with unshed tears, “I promise. I’ll prove it to you if you let me, just please.”

Gotcha.

“Prove it to me? How are you going to do that?” Your head cocks slightly in challenge.

“That,” His eyes brush against his innermost desires, “Let me taste you.”

“How exactly does that prove you’re my little sub?” You mock, ignoring the way your whole body tingles at the thought of it.

“Because I need it,” Hyunjin swallows, “All of me calls to pleasure you, to be your toy, your whatever…I just need you to sit on my face until I can’t breathe. I’m begging-”

Your giggle cuts him off, it’s a dangerous tinkering sort of giggle that is pulled directly from the throat. Hyunjin inhales a sharp intake of breath, a warmth spreading across his chest as your fingers circle the skin of his abdomen.

“Cute…” You coo, tracing his tattoo, “You want to help me out?”

“Yes.”

“If that’s what you need…” You trail off, pulling your underwear from your body, subtly wincing at how sensitive you are. Hyunjin watches over you patiently, drinking in the way the material sticks to your sex and how your naked body climbs on top of him, ready to be feasted on in the way you deserved.

“Oh,” You moan, your muscles relaxing until you’re completely seated on his face as he licks an initial stripe up and down your pussy.

Your composure is all but lost as your hips begin to ride his movements, his nose bridge against your clit and his mouth sucking, kissing and licking at all he wants to devour.

You’re still the same.

Soft sweet kisses have you gasping. Sucking at your pussy causes your legs to shake and clamp around his head. Circling his tongue on the bud of your clit has your nails in his hair, the divide between pleasure and pain blurring together.

His favourite is when he dips his tongue inside you and you use him to take your pleasure for all he’s worth. He moans uncontrollably as you ground yourself further onto his face, parroting his warbled pants and groans.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Making me feel so fucking good,” You whine, grinding harder as your joints start to ache.

As you reach your orgasm, letters become numbers and your body taut as lead. An array of colours crosses your mind and he tries not to come like a virgin when his face becomes coated in your come and his spit.

After a moment's rest you collapse off of him, steadying your breathing as Hyunjin sits up, pressing his lips together at every naughty thought that crosses his mind.

He looks like a girl’s wet dream - wet lips, neck littered in bites and kisses, tongue perched in the corner of his open mouth, smirk threatening to appear at any second.

You lean towards the tissues on his beside table, giving him a view of what Hyunjin wants to bury himself in. His eyes flicker upwards in a weird attempt at chivalry before they stare into yours.

Wiping at his face, you can’t help but muse, “You’re a bit pink.”

He pretends to roll his eyes, “Wonder why.”

You’re giggling as you send a swift and sharp whack into his exposed shoulder and the brief shot of pain is too drenched in lovers haze to notice.

The tension is so high, it doesn’t take much for Hyunjin to feed off it. His smile melts off his face first and yours follows after.

Yet, you’re the one that kisses him first with your hand cradling his face. Your mouth opening and him deepening the kiss. You can’t help but realise how much you love his mouth. His lips. His tongue.

Except he’s the one that really sends the nail into the coffin, his hand laying claim on the meat of your thigh and kissing you harder until both your lips swell.

He kisses under your ear and you lick a long stripe at the juncture of his neck and across his prominent jaw.

“Let me fuck you,” He murmurs, bliss capturing your whole body and you’re floating. He kisses along your neck and at the point of your cupid’s bow, waiting for your answer.

But it's like bliss has well and truly made you her bitch.

“-Just please.”

Her favourite bitch.

At your affirmative nod, your head crashes against the pillow as Hyunjin eagerly brushes his lips over your skin, the both of you enjoying the way your skin reacts to his worship.

With his eyes imploring naughtily into yours, he plunges two fingers in his mouth, sucking on his digits and releasing them with a lewd pop.

Slowly, he lets his wet fingers draw an S down your pubic bone, just above where you need him most before he lets his digits sink into your warm, wet pussy.

Hyunjin’s eyes fall shut and his mouth gapes due to an unfinished groan that he chokes to hear the sounds you let pass your lips. You mewl, pressing your lips together in attempt to keep quiet.

He draws his fingers back, eyeing the way in which your pussy grips them before drilling his fingers forward. You clasp his wrist harshly, his skin turning white, “Fuck- wait.”

He chokes, his fingers coming to a stop. Taking the time to watch your chest heave with battered breath and your eyes fluttering in an attempt to regain self control.

“Ask if you can have your way with me.”

“I want more than that,” Hyunjin shook his head, desperate whines escaping his mouth, “I want to fucking devour you, baby. Let me in, I’m begging you.”

You grin, “Then fucking devour me.”

Your kiss is tongue and lips and too rushed to care. He runs the tip of his cock along your sex, sinking into what feels like heaven on Earth. Finally sinking into heaven.

“I’d fucking commit crimes for this pussy, oh fuck-“ He slurs, sad attempts to return your kisses but losing himself instead.

You whimper into his skin as he drives his hips forward, and it drives him so crazy he can’t help but moan in reply.

He tries to hear it, again and again.

He succeeds.

Expect it’s not just your little kitten whimpers you make when you’re submissive. No. It’s your moans that sound like they’re thick with tears. It’s your held groans and the way your body writhes against his thrusts. It’s the way your kisses start to bruise and blur. The way your nails drag along his back.

When he said he wanted to devour you..he promised it.

As your walls clench around him, swallowing him in this warm and wet cocoon of pleasure and torment. His hips begin to stutter, his body aiming to follow after your orgasm with his own.

“Come?” Hyunjin murmurs, “Where?”

At his question and how pleased you are, you open your mouth.

Hyunjin almost whimpers as he follows through, watching his come eject onto your tongue. Hissing when you make a point of sucking at the swollen mushroom tip and maintaining eye contact as you swallow.

He almost says it.

But as soon as his head hits the pillow and you tuck yourself in next to him…the exhaustion of the weeks past drags him under.

You wake with a start, the sun is crisp and pours into the room. You check the time, widening your eyes at the time. You search for your phone hurriedly as you dress, even though you have nowhere to be and no one to see.

“Hyunjin,” You murmur, voice a little groggy from oversleeping.

“Mm?” He questions groggily, sniffing a little.

“Have you seen my phone?” You ask, eyes searching for your phone to check the time and to make your exit back home.

He pauses for a second, trying to remember, before he reaches for his bedside table, “Yeah. I put it on charge.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, pocketing your phone before you notice how feverish Hyunjin looks and how croaky he sounds. Concern makes its way to your eyebrows before you brush his hair from his forehead, frowning at the collection of sweat.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I think I’m just tired,” He mutters.

You wet a handcloth anyway. Patting him down and smiling lightly at the relief that crosses his face. You retrieve your phone from your pocket, ordering him a big bowl of stew and a Gatorade to boost his electrolytes.

You help yourself to his kitchen, snooping around his over the counter medicines thrown haphazardly in the cabinet above his fridge. One Paracetamol. Two ibuprofen. Prescription saline nasal spray. Expired cough medicine. You tutter, digging into your purse for your own stash and finding three lozenges.

You peer at the mess around him, before you put a shirt into his laundry basket. Then another. Then his pants. Then his jumpers. His work clothes. Everything.

Then you put it in his washing machine. Then his dryer. You wipe a wet cloth down his surfaces. The smell of Hyunjin’s house then, a chemical citrus. You light a candle that smells better. Like jasmine and vanilla.

You meet the delivery man and remember to thank him. You put the stew into a ceramic bowl and give him a proper spoon that won’t bend in half. You put the Ibuprofen next to his Gatorade that you hope he fucking drinks.

Kneeling next to him, you tap him on the shoulder, “Hyunjin.”

His eyes flutter open with sick induced questions, “Yeah?”

“Come eat,” You order and without strength to fight against you, he obeys. He waddles cutely into the hallway, shoulder bumping into walls and blinking at his new clean house. He sits on the table where you’ve set him up and digs in.

You watch him like a hawk at first, ready to yell at him if he so much as decides not to take the medicine, or at least three sips of Gatorade and leaves more than half the bowl full. But when he does it all without complaint, you begin to relax.

“Thanks,” Hyunjin croaks. You only smile in reply, walking him back to his bed and tucking him in. He falls back into a sick induced sleep and you can only watch as he inhales and exhales.

So peaceful and gentle.

“I’m going to leave now,” You confess.

“Thank you,” He says again.

“Have another ibuprofen in three hours,” You direct, “That should be at about 2 o’clock.”

“Okay.”

Once again, he almost says it, right after he almost asks you to stay. But his fever and the hypnosis of his sleep saves him once again.

The events of that night had him soft on you. Too soft. It reminded him of the you before the poison and the him before the hurt. It was too much to ignore, too much to return to the pretence. He refused to believe that you were soft on him just as much as he was you.

He had to get weight and fast.

Before he got further and further down this trepid path that would only lead to further injury.

It comes to him in the form of a girl he vaguely remembers dated Felix, who smells good and looks amazing. But for the life of him, he can’t remember her name. Only the one time she had a complete meltdown.

But you, you remember it all too well.

How kind she was, how sweet. How she directed you. How she always told you you were so much prettier than people gave you credit for. How good of a couple you and Minho were. The switch up. The undermining, the little digs at the fragile relationship you had with your brother at the time. The pining and the complete lack of respect for him. The Hyunjin thing. It infuriated you. Infuriates you, still.

Felix, only observes her with polite indifference, one which is returned. He even winks at Hyunjin as she begins to lean into him with her hand draped over his shoulder. Hyunjin can’t help but notice the way your eyebrows furrow as you take in her position within the group, astounded.

Has that look always been there?

You look so unsure of yourself as you approach him, pulling at the ends of his shirt when everyone is otherwise preoccupied. All except her, who you keep an eye on as you drag your boy out of her proximity.

Hyunjin stares down with a look of complete wonder, wondering and realising. At the change of his eyes, you change yours. Half-lidded, sexy. Fingers circling its naughty rings around the freckles on his abdomen.

“You look good,” You flirt, licking your lips as you start to imagine all he could commit with his apparel.

He feels his heart flutter, and yet he says, “Am I hotter to you when you’re jealous?”

Your sultry expression drops and you lightly push him away from you by the chest, “I wasn’t jealous.”

He snorts.

Yeah, right.

“You were,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes, becoming frustrated by the sheer audacity of whatever is happening and the heat that surrounds you, “She was literally just talking…not even to me.”

“You have a really great imagination,” You’re seething through your teeth as you say it, “I’m not jealous.”

He laughs, but he isn’t finding it funny.

Right now, he’s found the perfect tool in which to wreck your sanity. But instead, he feels like it’s a double edged sword, cutting him down. What the fuck is happening? What is with you?

He doesn’t understand and now he can’t stop spitting all the shit he’s wanted to say.

“Was that little show in there just marking your territory?” He jeers, “We’re exclusive, I won’t fuck your friends.”

Your mouth gapes as you look in bewilderment.

“We agreed,” Hyunjin’s eyes feel like twitching, “We agreed that whatever this is..it wasn’t-”

“This isn’t fucking jealousy, Hyunjin and if you really feel that way then let’s end it here. In fact, I heard Hanji is in the bathroom with some bitch, do you think he’ll dog me if I ask?” You shout, causing bystanders to look at the two in shock. Hyunjin sucks in his lip in frustration before gripping you at the wrist and yanking you into the next room. A quiet office where the only sounds you can hear are limited to the harsh inhales and exhales of your anger and the base speaker.

He scowls, before grabbing your face with one hand, fingers denting your cheeks, “Shut up.”

Your back straightens with your hackles raised and Hyunjin’s own frame relaxes, picking on the tell tale signs of your impending arousal. Your fire licks against his flames.

“You’re so fucking nasty I want to come all over you,” He grits his teeth and sucks at his lips as he chastises you.

“You don’t need to ask for permission,” You sneer, lip curling in disdain.

He raises an eyebrow in disbelief, his eyes narrowing in warning. To which you stare back, just as unrelenting and bitter as before.

He casts a dark chuckle, looming over you until your ass plants against the desk. He wraps his hand around your throat, caught by the true vulnerability of your eyes. Glinting at him like the reflection of the moon on the ocean. Within reach.

He shakes his head, surprisingly reluctant to find comfort in the feeling. Nor can he find comfort in your demise. No matter how much he wants to and how much his body is tempted to.

Instead, he exhales a calculated breath, his eyes hovering over your exposed skin and the heaving of your chest. You lick your lips in an attempt to reign in your desire, but the way his palm fits across the whole of your thigh, pushing your dress up to expose yourself to him.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Hyunjin tells you, dark eyes pitting against yours, “Then, you’re going to tell me what I want to know.”

You’re a but a weak girl, unable and completely at his mercy.

You nod, your eyes still big and round and too fucking demure. So much that when he kisses you roughly, he closes his eyes. His fingers are quick to lift your dress, skilled in the study of your body and what you like. He kisses down your neck, your sounds the obvious tell of how horny you are. The way you grip at his shoulders and his arms, the other.

Hyunjin’s eyes flicker open to remove your underwear, fully intending to avoid your possible stare but is so surprised by how wet you are already. You whine as the cool air kisses the sensitive skin of your pussy and Hyunjin can feel his hardening length and his mouth watering.

Nonchalantly he wets the skin of his thumb, before brushing down your sex, testing your sensitivity as your head rolls.

Fuck.

He pulls his pants down, freeing himself from the confines of fabric before lining himself against your pussy and Hyunjin basks in the moment he sinks into you, your walls clenching and swallowing him whole. Warm. Wet. Driving him to the brink of insanity, he fists at the hard surface of the wooden desk, the sound only adding to the pleasure you both feel.

“Driving me fucking crazy,” Hyunjin swears, watching the way your lidded eyes are open but hooded, “You fucking know it, too. I know you do.”

You whimper an affirmative, the sound of pleasure picking up when Hyunjin begins to thrust into you. Uncaring of being gentle or vengeful. Caring only about fucking you. Fucking you how many fucking times you want to.

Your eyes roll back as a particular harsh thrust, the desk shaking from the movement. Your hands grapple for leverage around his shoulder blade, your face falling into his exposed throat. You lick and suck along his collarbones and his throat, his collar. Ripping at his buttoned shirt to lick along his chest but pathetically falling short..

He pants as his position changes, angling his hips better, faster, harder. His face and hair, knocking against yours and his teeth clenching at the force. You let out an utmost wanton moan, pressing your lips against his in a desperate attempt to muffle your screams against his mouth.

He drills harder, wanting nothing else but to hear the sound again and again, until your voice is hoarse and croaky and the memories blur into your cries of pleasure. His mouth falls open in an attempt to return the kiss, but how can he when you can barely do the same?

He manages to lick against your top lip and your lips make contact with the skin of his chin. His eyelids drunk as they fall and rise. Your walls clenching around him tighter as your orgasm approaches.

He sees colours, hears them, as he fucks you through your orgasm and through his. His hips staggering at the slow decrease of adrenaline and at the pinnacle of his relaxation, he opens his big mouth and he says it.

“I love you,” He means it when he kisses you, heavy and wet and beautiful.

He regrets it, because he sees the way it breaks you as he says it. You pull away harshly, like you had been zapped with electricity and as if you suddenly developed a conscience. But he can see you feel something for him too.

He can see it, but he won’t get the reassurance.

You would never admit it, it seems.

“You broke the rules,” You’re heaving, eyes panic stricken as you assess him.

“Those rules were bullshit as soon as we fucking made them,” Hyunjin shouts, hurt slithering its path around his heart like a no good snake.

They were.

“I’ve got to go,” You gasp out, air not finding you easily.

Hyunjin scoffs a humourless laugh, “To Minho, I bet. Like you always do.”

Your face crumples, and he finds it even more laughable. What the fuck were you doing? What the fuck was he doing? What even was this?

“We can’t do this anymore,” Your voice is gluggy with unshed tears.

Seriously?

“You’re right,” Hyunjin sneers, “What was I thinking? I love you? I must have lost it. Go- Go to Minho, leave- at least you got one last fuck out of me, right? Just like we agreed?”

Hyunjin lifts his pants, frame facing away from you so you won’t be able to spot the way his pain fills him so obviously, his weakness completely on show for you to gawk at. Missing the way you attempt to explain yourself, to finally answer all he wants to ask.

But only catching when you leave the room, leaving him hollow and scrubbed raw with an ache that has surpassed years of fucking other people to get over you. Years of trying to one up you and get revenge. Of being unable to let you go. Years of torture.

Scrubbed raw again and again.

He is Hyunjin, still pathetically not over you.

author's note : oh my god, finally finished after months of writing and months of just not getting anywhere. i tried editing as i went but there still might be mistakes. HOPEFULLY you like the second part of their story and it's not disappointing..

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lostinsaltburn · 2 months

Text

Almost The Same - A03

Dympna Devers x Felix Catton

Explicit - 18+

5.5k words

There was that violent confidence that oozed from the stranger making its emergence again for the night. Felix couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath when he remembered again just how calmly the guy above him had snapped some guy’s finger only an hour ago. Acting like he had done nothing and just continued on with his night, chatting Felix up and now they were here, naked and laying on the bed, Felix getting covered in vicious painful little bite marks. His cock sensitive from the rough fabric constantly stretched and rubbing against him. His nipples felt like they’d turned a shade of deep purple with the incessant teasing. “As pretty as you look in these darlin’ , I think it’s time we move this along” he sat back on his thighs, finger’s roughly pulling the panties down Felix’s legs. Then he was naked, bare except the black mesh top, laid out, vulnerable to the stranger above him. “Even prettier now” he rumbled in that thick Irish accent. Felix only squeaked in embarrassment the flush in his cheeks growing a deeper shade of red, cock twitching at the words before it was engulfed by the warm wet heat of the blonde’s mouth. Felix groaned, it was sloppy, messy, wet heat, spit dripping down his crotch settling in his pubes. God it felt so good, almost too good. The tight heat of the blondes throat constricting around the head of his cock as he swallowed him down. He reached over to the bedside table, a bottle of lube sitting there from earlier, he shoved it down next to his hip, pushing it into the other man's hand.

A03 Link - for more

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freedomfireflies · 2 years

Note

Okay, requesting here 🥰

On a break, it’s been a few weeks and they miss each other. Rough make up sex with a really soft aftercare? 🤞🏻

This is so fucking wrong.

You know it’s wrong before he’s even shut the door. Know it as you watch him flip the lock. Know it as you watch him turn to you.

You know it.

And yet, knowing does nothing to stop you from bridging the gap between your bodies as you reach for his jaw.

You straighten onto your tiptoes to level the height difference, shoving your fingers through the soft, pullable curls, and kiss him.

Slip your tongue past his lips as you nearly knock him back into the door.

No waiting. No hesitating. Desperate. Needy. Pathetic.

You know it’s pathetic to need him like this. Know it’s pathetic to fuck him in an Olive Garden bathroom. Know it’s pathetic to miss him.

And yet, again, knowing doesn’t do a damn fucking thing as you feel him pull at your bottom lip and he suck, desperate to taste you.

He tastes like wine and sugar. Each part of his dessert that you watched him eat just to spite you.

You’d agreed to a causal, friendly dinner for old time’s sake. After all, you owed it to yourself and to him to try and cultivate a friendship with the man who used to be the love of your life.

Now he’s just some guy you’re fucking in an Olive Garden restroom.

And maybe that’s all he should be.

You had declined any dessert, seeing as the dinner was already tense enough, and you truly didn’t want to waste another second sitting at the rather small table listening to him moan whenever he took a bite of his food.

Your eyes had narrowed with each lift of his fork, with each smirk as he licked the frosting from his lips, and each flex of his fingers around the stem of the wine glass.

Fucking asshole.

You suppose you have no one to blame but yourself. After the breakup, you were heartbroken. Sure, it was mutual but that didn’t stop the way your heart bled for him.

One night, you’d gotten…embarrassingly tipsy and maybe you had texted him that you were touching yourself to the thought of his hands.

And that was something he would sooner die than forget.

Which is why he used your friendly, casual dinner to add a bit more fire to the flame.

And despite yourself…it worked.

“Fucking missed me, yeah?” he’s growling into your ear, letting you shove his hips taut against the door as you reach for the buttons on his chest. “Yeah. You did.”

“I missed your cock. There’s a difference.”

“Really?” His eyebrow quirks upwards as you snap the buttons lose. “Could have just told me. Could have texted.”

You’ll kill him one of these days.

You shrug, as nonchalant as possible. “Or I could have called Felix. You know, actually, maybe that’s not such a bad—”

Your threat has its desired effect and before you’re afforded the opportunity of seeing the dangerous look in his eye, he’s fisting your hair and spinning you around.

His fingers tangle themselves in your roots before he shoves your cheek against the cold surface, his lips threateningly close to your ear as he hisses, “Do it.”

Confused, your brows pull together as you glance to the side. “What?”

You might not be able to see him, but you can hear the smug smirk accompanied by the sound of rustling behind you.

And next thing you know, he’s dangling your cell phone near your face. “Call him.”

A scoff. “Come on, Har, you can’t be—”

His fingers twist themselves in your hair like a vice and as your head is yanked back against his shoulder, you swear you pull a muscle from clenching so hard.

“Did I fucking stutter?” he asks of you now, and your lashes flutter. “You think Felix can fuck you like I can? Then you fucking call him.”

“Har—”

“Now, sweetheart.” His tone is vicious. Filled with spite. “My patience is running thin.”

Not one to submit to his desire to break you, you decide to call his bluff. You retrieve the phone and type in Felix’s name, hitting call before you lose your nerve.

And with each ring, Harry’s fingers crawl higher up the inside of your thigh.

Shit.

“Hello?” Felix has answered and the sound of his voice echoing from the speakers has Harry chuckling into your shoulder.

“Hey.” The forced delight in your voice is a clear indication of how you really feel, although you don’t let that deter your performance. “Hi. I was just…I wanted to check in.”

A beat. And as you wait with bated breath for Felix’s reply, you feel Harry step away from your body, and your head cocks to the side.

Of course, his true intentions are revealed to you the moment you see him drop to his knees before he’s grabbing at your thighs to pull them further apart.

Inhaling a gasp, you brace yourself against the door, now exceedingly aware of the real game he was so desperate to play.

“Oh, I’m good, yeah,” Felix is replying, although you can’t possibly be expected to give a fucking shit when Harry is nudging his nose along the tender skin at his disposal. “Yeah, I was just going to call you, actually.”

Say something. “Aw, really? That’s—”

Of course, Harry uses this opportunity to slip his fingers beneath the fabric of your underwear, easily pulling it to the side as you steel yourself.

“You okay?” Felix. Calling your attention back, although you're not sure it’s working.

“I—yes.” Your palm flies to your lips as you swallow another pained sigh. “—I’m just…yes. I’m glad you answered, I was…I was hoping we could catch up sometime this week.”

You’re able to just choke out the question when Harry straightens up and extends his tongue.

It doesn’t take you long to press your cheek harder into the door, your eyes rolling back as he collects each fucking drop of you on his tongue.

“Oh, I’d really like that, yeah,” Felix replies, and you’re so tempted to hang up, but you can’t let Harry win. You can’t. “Yeah, what about—”

He begins to list off a number of activities you both could do in the city, but your focus is on the man beneath you.

On the feel of his fingertips pulling at your skin as he forces your legs apart.

On the subtle sigh of satisfaction on his lips as he sucks you into his mouth.

On the thrust of his tongue as you swear that you’ll kill him for doing this to you.

Your other hand flies behind you, finding his curls as you tug. Just hard enough to make him groan into your cunt, the vibrations outrageously delicious as they send ripples of pleasure through your nervous system.

“—so, yeah. Any of those.” Felix has finished his list and if you don’t reply soon, he’ll know.

Fucking speak, dammit. “I…wow. So…so many fun—shit—options.” You force out a relaxed laugh that borders dangerously close on a whimper. “Um, any of them are fine with me. Really.”

Another pause. The seconds that pass so silent that you wonder if you’ve been made.

And then—

“I really miss you.” But there’s something different in his voice. No longer chipper but rather…heavy. “Like right now…can’t stop thinking about you.”

Now you understand. And while you’re almost tempted to roll your eyes at his keen desire to have you talk him through fucking his fist, you’re forced to play along.

At least for Harry’s sake.

After all, if he’s playing with you…

“Yeah?” You force the rhythm of your words to flow like silk, soft and sensual. “What are you thinking about?”

Within an instant of your response, Harry’s annoyance is felt through the rough way he pulls you onto his face, your heels nearly slipping against the cold, marble floor as he keeps you steady on his tongue.

“M’thinking about your lips around my cock,” the voice calls from the phone, proceeding a groan, and you’re not at all surprised he’s already stuck his hand down his pants.

Fucking pathetic.

“Yeah?” You grit your teeth together, so helplessly close to clenching around Harry’s tongue that you’re not sure what else to do. “Want my throat, baby—”

“Fuck, yes,” Felix whines through the speaker, and right as your eyes are about to roll so far back in your head that you can see your own brain, Harry lets go.

And stands up.

Oh, you’re so gonna fucking kill him.

However, despite his previous determination to torture you to the brink of death, you’re pleased to find that this time…it’s for your own good.

He snatches the phone from your hand, clutching it so tight between his fingers, you won’t be surprised if it shatters.

“Want your lips and your—” Felix begins again but you aren’t allowed the opportunity to hear the rest because Harry is lifting the delicate object to the wall and smashing it against the tile.

“What the fuck?” Your eyes narrow in on the tiny pieces of plastic as they fall like rain from his hand. “Harry, you can’t just—”

His expression is dark as he dips down to hiss, “Watch me.” And with that, his tongue is forcing its way into your mouth.

He tugs your head back with the grip on your neck, falling so deeply into you that you’re not sure either of you will ever resurface.

And with that, he reaches for the baby doll neckline of your dress and rips.

Your tits spill out of their confinements and the animalistic display of lust that Harry is currently exhibiting is more than enough to leave you choking on a pained whimper.

But you remind yourself to chastise him later, because this is one of your favorite dresses, and he’s not a fucking caveman.

You’re forced back against the door, the cold surface stimulating your chest as you suck in a sharp gasp before he’s moving behind you once more.

He balls the soft material of the dress in his hands before collecting it above your hip.

Your lace underwear is twisted around his fist until it snaps, falling pathetically as he brings it to his own pocket for safekeeping.

Typical.

You hear the metallic clang of his belt as he flicks it undone and the sound alone is enough to force the drip down your thighs.

Enough time has been wasted between when you first excused yourself from the table and now, and this is something Harry seems to agree with you on as his chest meets your back.

“Beg me,” he murmurs, the tip of his cock brushing your cunt as your eyes flutter shut. “Beg me to fuck you the way he can’t. Beg me to let you come.”

Normally, you’d never let yourself entertain such a demeaning request and show for power, yet…tonight is an anomaly.

Because garlic bread and all-you-can-eat salad is not the aphrodisiac you had anticipated falling victim to tonight.

But you have and you know undoubtedly that you might never find yourself with Harry like this again.

So, why not have one last quick fuck for the road before you go your separate ways?

“Shit,” you finally find the strength to whisper. “Please…please, Har. The only one. Only one who can make me come. Please...fucking missed it. Missed you.”

He curses between his teeth before finally…that feeling.

Your leg is thrust up against the door, knee pressed into the hard surface as he drives himself inside, your jaw going slack when you finally get what you’ve wanted for weeks now.

Him.

It’s familiar, and it’s good, and it’s so fucking full you’re not sure why you ever broke up with him in the first place.

He’s kind enough to offer about two and half seconds to adjust before pulling out and going again. Hard and slow clearly not on the table tonight.

Or…on the door.

You both know each other well enough to immediately create the rhythm that works the best, one hand reaching around your throat as he tugs you back, squeezing until your vision goes fuzzy.

Ecstasy. That’s all you know. Each sharp thrust and tug of his fingers in your hair, or on your hip, or around your throat.

He moves to grasp your jaw, squeezing tight as you swallow, something that merely spurs on the desperation.

“Fucking missed this.” Staccato breaths echo in your ear as he mumbles his admission. “Fucking missed this tight, little cunt. S’always so good to me. Yeah? Know you’re so fucking good to me. Take me so well—”

His fingers move for your lips, tugging at the bottom one until you take him into your mouth and suck. His favorite.

You moan at the taste, mostly for his benefit, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t live to devour each part of him.

Besides…he tastes like the frosting he was so determined to swipe from the plate.

And now maybe you’re grateful he did.

Once he removes them from your mouth, they fall down your chest, tweaking your nipple—hard—before traveling lower.

They find your clit, thumb pressing tight to your body until you’re gasping against the door, turning until you can rest your forehead against the surface.

“How’s this, baby?” A sadistic chuckle. “Bet you fucking missed this, didn’t you? Missed the way I touch you. Missed the way your body drips for me—”

You’d almost agree with him if you weren’t currently swallowing a loud cry.

“—bet you always do, hm? Drip for me? When you’re fucking yourself thinking of me?” His lips move to your neck, sloppy kisses trailing down your spine. “Bet you play that video, yeah? Love to hear yourself whine for me, don’t you? Love to hear the way you drip down my cock.”

Your cheeks flush. Not at the mention of the video, per se, but at the realization that he’s right.

Because you do. You can’t help yourself. Fucking your own fingers can only take you so far.

But the video…the sounds. The way he looked coated in you. It was so fucking beautiful. Watching him swipe his wrist over his chin before licking it off—

A salacious moan escapes without your consent but it’s really Harry’s fault for making you remember such an erotic night.

“S’tight, yeah? Feels so good…fucking wanna come for me, don’t you?” He’s beckoning you to your end. Demanding your release. And you’re powerless to stop it.

You nod, wordlessly, but of course Harry and his gigantic ego can't be so easily satisfied.

"Ask me," he whispers forcefully. "Fucking ask me to let you come."

“Har—”

“Ask me nicely to let you come,” he repeats, using the hold on your hair to force your cheek harder into the door.

And despite yourself, you oblige to his request. “Let me come, Har…please. Please just…just let…”

“Y’don’t come for anyone but me, yeah?” Another question disguised as a threat. “S’right, yeah? Never fucking come for anyone but me—”

“No,” you promise. “No, just you, Har. Always you—”

“Always me.”

And before you have a chance to scream so loudly, the entire restaurant can hear him obliterating you, he brings his palm to your lips, forcing your silence.

You’re not quite sure it’s ever felt so good, and you’re vaguely aware of him coming, too, but you can’t possibly care about anything else but the feel.

It encompasses you. All of you. You have no concept of time or reality. Just the feel. The feel of him. The feel of the burn already forming in your thighs. The way your hips roll back to extend the sensation as he pulls you down.

Him. On your neck, your shoulder, your thighs.

“Shit.” He takes a deep breath, and you’d laugh if you had the strength. “So fucking good, darling.”

Those gentle kisses you’ve grown to miss are scattered across your skin. Each one softer and sweeter than the last.

“That’s my girl.” His lips never leave you once. Your stomach flips at the familiar phrase. “Easy, darling, I’ve got you. That’s it. S’all right.”

After he’s sure you’re strong enough to stand, he pulls out, much to your dismay.

But your disappointment fades when he gently spins you around until your back meets the door.

Then…he holds you.

Grabs your hips and moves to capture your lips with his. Tender this time.

You’d sigh with contentment if you were allowing yourself to miss him as much as you’re afraid you do.

The kisses move down your cheek. Your neck. Your throat. Your chest. Never harsh, never sly. As if kissing away all your troubles, all your pain, all your regret.

He lowers himself to a crouch, fingers rubbing soft circles into your thighs as he moves to kiss up the sensitive skin.

Collects you both on his tongue, licking a stripe up your leg as you inhale quietly.

All the while, murmuring, “S’okay baby. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

And you don’t doubt that he does.

When he straightens back up, he slots himself between your thighs, finding a home in your embrace.

Your arms wrap around his neck, and you just breathe. Breathe in the familiarity of him. The sweat, the sex, the cologne you used to hate but now you miss.

Fuck, you’ve never missed something so badly in your life.

But you can’t let yourself fall for him again. You can’t. You’re sure he’s already over you and getting over him is one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do.

You can’t do it again.

“We should go,” you hear yourself say, thankful the crack in your voice is undetectable. “We should…they’re probably really—”

“Don't go.”

He doesn’t look at you when he says this, his face buried deep in your neck. His grip tightens. Your breath hitches.

A beat as your lashes flutter. “Harry…”

“Don’t go,” he whispers along your jaw. “Don’t…don’t make me go. Can’t do it again.”

A sharp inhale. You have no response.

When he leans back, you see the yearning in his eyes. The genuine longing to keep you in his arms forever.

“I can’t do it again,” he repeats, hand coming up to cup your cheek, catching the tear as it falls. “We can figure all the other shit out later. I'll do whatever you want. But please…please don’t make me watch you walk out this door. Please don't make me lose you again.”

And despite every reminder of why you parted ways in the first place, every outrageous fight, every moment of bitter contempt that led you to the end…you smile.

You smile and weave your fingers through his disheveled hair, tugging him down until you can kiss him.

“I can't lose you, either,” you murmur until you feel him sigh with relief. "It's always you, Har...always come back to you."

He grins. The first genuine grin you've seen from him since the breakup. “Always me?” A desperate request. Hopeful.

And you’ve never meant something more in your entire life.

“Always you.”

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

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