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chlorinecake · 2 months

Note

HELLO

Please PLEASE make a fic about the songs church- chase Atlantic!!

It's my latest obsession, next to enha ofc

leading you on | l.hs

♱ plot: from the shy boy you first met at church camp who your parents once adored to their biggest fuckboy nightmare, you and heeseung reconnect on an online platform where you became a popular streaming duo together, leading to some steamy (and eventually forbidden) connections between you two…

loser!streamer!heeseung x fem!streamer!reader

♱ contains: SLOW BURN, swearing, sneaking out, mentions of bulges (multiple times), oral and fingering (f. r.), slight corruption kink, y/n stripping in front of a large audience (on camera), unprotected sex + virginity loss, y/n deliberately disobeying her parents, angst-ish, ft. other kpop idols, roughly 7k words

a/n: this is my first time writing a one shot all about Heeseung so hopefully I did our favorite loser boy some justice in this fic... have fun reading!

Heeseung. He was always just so... flirty with you.

Not emotionally, that is, but physically.

Leaving lingering touches on your thigh during Bible study, whispering dangerously close to your ear in that bedroom voice of his, or texting you random pictures during the day with his bulge obvious in almost every single one.

Two little voices battled in the back of your mind whenever you were around him, one voice wanting him to take things further while the other found it strange how he did such things so shamelessly.

The boy's got sex written all over him, your friends would warn alongside your Christ-converted step-sister Giselle who'd had her fair share of 'guys like Heeseung' in the past.

But you didn't see him that way. Despite his flirty tendencies, you figured those were just attributes that made him who he is.

Who you've always loved him to be.

However, those Holy, Holy, God Almighty church days were long gone by now, being no more than a distant ninth grade memory to you and most of everyone else who attended back then.

Everyone except Lee Heeseung, who could never shake his adolescent infatuation with you... ____, the girl who accepted his flaws and eventually stole his heart.

You and Heeseung reconnected a few years later by chance, the same day of your one year anniversary on your streaming channel.

Initially, your content consisted of one-hour long broadcasts where you'd just talk with random strangers, hearing out their problems and giving righteous advice.

However, Heeseung became a recurrent visitor on your streams, coaxing you to speak on topics more interesting than whether its modest to wear glam makeup or if kissing should be saved for marriage.

Your channel amassed a whopping 20,000 new followers in the first month of Heesung partnering with you, and its part of what led him to becoming an anticipated guest to your growing fanbase.

A dynamic duo, some commenters would call you two... and much to your parents chagrin, at that.

Off camera, things were the same.

You and Heeseung had grown closer than ever, sacrificing sleep to text each other all night, doing fuck-all on your web streams for hours, and even considering meeting up in person for a broadcast after he shared with you that he still lived in the city.

But then... something changed.

Or more accurately, your overly controlling mother put her foot down.

|Messaging| 💬

Heeseung: So we're not allowed to hang out together this Friday ?

You: Not alone... and honestly, not on the streams anymore, either...

Heeseung: Don't tell me its bc ur shyyyy

You: Nope… pArEnTs ^^

You'd say your mom had it out to get Heeseung more than your dad ever did, resenting the mere mentioning of his name at weekly church gatherings.

"That daughter of yours has gained quite the audience on social media," one womann would say, "too bad she seems to be losing her Faith to that poor Heeseung boy..."

"Such a shame," another would agree, adding to the heat-bubbles boiling in your mother's blood-

"Our faith teaches forgiveness and kindness," you defended yourself, just as your mom gave you maybe her third lecture this week on why you should cut ties with him.

"It also advises caution and wisdom when it comes to who we allow into our social circles," she hummed back, taking a sip of her morning coffee, red lipstick staining the rim of the white mug, "I'd be no better than a fool to sit here and support this meaningless friendship between you and that... man."

You internally rolled your eyes at her words, thinking of something, anything to say in order to change the subject right now.

"Well, I have plans with some friends from church tonight, if you don't mind-"

"Will Heeseung be there?"

"What? No," you lied, and not for the first time, either.

It helped you to feel less guilt whenever you blamed it on the little voice in your head, "Just me and the girls," you clarified.

"Mhm," she smiled facetiously before continuing, "I'm afraid I still can't trust you to go, though... especially not after that little stunt you pulled online..."

Your hand halted at the kitchen countertop as her words settled in your mind, "What stunt?"

FLASHBACK

It all started with a picture.

A stupid picture you got dared to leak by an anonymous tipper who offered a $1,000 donation in exchange for a steamy photo of Heeseung.

Chelbear03: God, he looks so THICK

Chelsea, one of your viewers said in the streaming chat, practically moaning at the photo of Heeseung, biting her lip as if she could feel him inside her just by looking at the screen.

Chelbear03: PAINFUL 😩

pucca_princxss: Need a tissue for your drool, Sea-Sea? 🧻

Danielle, another fan joked.

Chelbear03: Okay, FIRST of all, I have drool coming from TWO holes rn- Secondly, I'd rather just have him lick it up 😔

Chelsea typed back, a nuance to her words that you couldn't tell was meant to be either comical or serious.

"Lick up what?" a curious voice asked from the screen.

That's when your hand flew to cover your mouth, eyes going wide at the sight of Heeseung coming back into frame after saying he'd be "afk for a bit while showering."

His hair was still a bit damp from what you could tell, a towel draped lazily around his neck as your eyes unfortunately fell to the lump hiding behind his pants.

Oh God-

"N-nothing! Uhm... it's not important," you chuckled dryly, only adding to the awkwardness everyone was starting to feel from behind their screens.

pucca_princxss: OOP speak of the papi-

Chelbear03: Please forgive me, Hee-man 🧎‍♀️ ... bc I am disrespectfully foaming at the mouth as we speak-

Chelbear03 has left the stream

A notification of Chelsea having left the stream popped up in the chat almost immediately after she sent that message.

"What was that all about?," Heeseung smirked with confusion, looking between both you and the server comments displayed on his screen for an answer that never came.

"Fine then, keep your secrets... its not like I can't just rewind the stream highlights anyway," he added, just as you felt frantic emotions overcome you.

"Heeseung, you really don't wanna do that, just let me explain-"

His jaw dropped, not necessarily in shock, but with intrigue, the raunchy photo of his semi-hard cock through his sweatpants being displayed on the screen, right before his glossy deer-like eyes.

The same picture he'd only ever sent to you.

"I guess this is my mini Drake moment then," Heeseung chuckled to himself, a heavy sigh escaping your lips at his fortunately chill reaction.

"I did it for 1k, Heeseung, I'm sorry," you whined, pulling your knees up in your chair before burying your face behind them.

"Don't be... everyone already knows I'm your slut at this point," he said in a deeper voice, making you freeze once again as your eyes shot up to view the screen, almost in denial that such words even left his mouth.

anonymous tipper: worst thousand $$$ I ever spent... how abt I multiply the price by two for a sexy picture of the lady ?

yxstar3ject: ooo, but i was thinking maybe a double feature instead ? would luvvv to see how she treats this little slut of hers 🤭

Heeseung snickered so loud, you almost felt it on your skin, watching his facial expressions change with each suspicious message that filled the chat box, throughly entertaining him

"Guys, cut it out before I end the stream," you giggled shyly, revealing your full face that looked a little less flustered than earlier, "Heeseung isn't my slut either, okay? Just a good friend, I swear..."

pucca_princxss: you two need to stream in the same room one day bc this long distance sexual tension thing is so not the vibe :|

"Maybe one day..." Heeseung's voice faded off as he turned off the lights in his room, getting ready for bed...

"Maybe~~," your mother repeated in a mocking tone at the memory of your "filthy fest" of a stream that day, disgust displayed all over her before she took the last sip of her coffee as if it'd soothe her.

"Hope that refreshed your memory sweetie, but either way, my answer's no. Not with that slut on the streets and especially not without my supervision..."

“If you’re referring to Heeseung with that vulgar comment, I’m sorry to correct you, but it’s not right to just bash him with words like that,” you went on, leaning your elbows over the counter.

“Please, any guy who sends raunchy dick pics, let alone to a girl he’s not even dating, is a slut, ____,” your step-sister Giselle voiced while walking into the kitchen, dressed in athletic wear as she filled up her water canteen with a lemon flavored electrolyte packet, “not to mention those other weird things he says about your relationship on the stream.”

Despite how much your family claimed to dislike Heeseung, they had no problem with bringing him up every five seconds in a conversation.

You glanced at her through a side eye, shaking your head at the fact that she was just eavesdropping on your conversation, “That was hardly a dick pic, and you should know that better than me, Jizz-elle,” you retorted, putting extra emphasis on the first syllable of her old nickname.

“Yeah, real mature, ____… you can slut shame me but not your little online boyfriend?”

“Ladies!,” your mother raised her voice slightly, pursing her lips at the tension built up between you two, “that’s enough of this discussion…”

You noticed the way your mother’s eyes lingered on your step sister for a moment, “And where do you think you’re going?”

“To the gym,” she answered shortly, walking past your mom and out of the kitchen with haste.

You scoffed out loud, “Not gonna interrogate her like you did to me?,” you said, laughing as if humored when it was really just a way to mask how irritated you were.

“No,” your mom said with a delayed reply, “Giselle is not my blood… I must take her word for what she says to avoid conflict with your step-father… you, on the other hand, will—”

“—abide by your rules… got it,” you finished for her, knowing better than to continue going back and forth with her in this matter.

You left the kitchen, going up to your room and plopping yourself on the bed, staring at the ceiling as you entered into a deep thinking space.

One in which you'd strategize on how to successfully sneak out of the house to hang out with Heeseung tonight.

|Messaging| 💬

You: So, you want me to meet you where again ?

Heeseung: Just take a hard right past the first stop sign from your place and a few steps past that one brown house (pls ignore my Dora ass instructions rn 🗿)

You: ok ok 😭, smart tho !! … that way, none of my neighbors will see your car :D

Heeseung: Exactly. U sure u still wanna do this, tho ?

You: Yeah, ofc ! Had enough of my mom nagging me all day ☝️ I need a release BIG time

Heeseung: Haha, okay then ! I’ll see you at 10:30pm

You: Cya ! 🐒

THE LAST TIME you and Heeseung met in person was back when you were both young teenagers, navigating hormones and puberty while aiming to keep God at the center of it all, so to speak.

You didn’t know what to expect from meeting up with him, and especially not under such circumstances.

Still, you had a pretty good feeling that all this trouble wouldn’t be for nothing.

It was currently 10:34pm as you turned off all the lights in your bedroom, wearing an all black outfit to ensure you weren’t seen.

You double checked to see if you had everything with you before leaving: phone, spare cash, and a well-rehearsed story in case you got caught.

Opening your bedroom window, you stuck out a leg, suddenly feeling thankful for your step-dad giving you the bedroom on the first story of his home.

Both your feet were on the floor now, your hands finding the window sill as you closed the window back, careful not to accidentally lock it back so you would be able to get back in later.

You then followed the instructions Heeseung outlined in your texts, walking a few blocks down and taking a right turn once you reached the stop sign.

That’s when you caught sight of his dimly lit side profile under the lights of his car and through the tinted windows.

His eyes were on his phone until your figure blocked the streetlight that shined in his car, drawing his attention to your face as a smile spread over his own.

His eyes lit up like you were the candle to his soul, stepping out of the sleek black car to come around and give you a hug.

“Oh- hi,” you chuckled shyly, hands hesitating to wrap around him before he pulled away, looking you up and down while bracing your shoulders.

“Hi,” he smiled back, “I was just about to text you when you showed up at my window… nice black fit, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you said in a playful voice, watching as he opened the car door for you to get in.

“Would it be wrong of me to assume your panties match, too?,” he asked teasingly, joining you in the vehicle before pulling out of his parked position and cruising out of the neighborhood.

“Wow, you’re really representing this slut persona of yours, huh?” You teased back, putting on your seatbelt.

“Mostly because I can’t help it,” he shrugged, flashing you a smile before looking back at the road, “the fans ship us anyway, so we might as well commit to it, right?”

“Righttt,” you answered suspiciously, poking his thigh before looking back out the window, “gosh, this is crazy…”

“What is?”

“How long we’ve known each other and still happened to maintain a solid friendship despite the distance.”

“Yea,” he agreed, turning down a lane decorated with flowers that somehow still shined in the dark of the night, “We’d be fools to give up this bond we share, though… fools not to explore it further.”

He pulled into his driveway a few minutes later, showing you around his place before leading you to his bedroom, a familiar sight to you thanks to the streams.

“Oh- you’ve still got your monitors and mic set up?,” you asked curiously, noticing how the screen of his computer was on the streaming website.

“You remember what Danielle said on our last live? About us broadcasting in the same room together sometime…” he started shyly, pushing out another gaming chair for you to sit in.

“You really think it’s a good idea to stream right now?,” you rationalized, watching as he joined you in the nearby seat, “I mean, I’m obviously down for it, but what if my mom sees it again? Or Gisel—”

“I’ve already blocked your mom's account, ____, we should be fine,” he smiled, “and… if not… I’ll exchange another photo with your anonymous tipper for some forgiveness cash,” he shrugged, pouty lips making you melt a little inside. "Deal?"

You always knew that Heeseung was cute, but you didn’t think it was possible for him to get any better looking from behind the screen.

“Okay then,” you agreed with a sigh, hoping that your nerves would calm down once the broadcast started.

Almost instantly, 100 viewers joined when Heeseung pressed the “stream” button.

You both began with greeting everyone, trying to get past the chat’s excitement about finally getting to see you two in the same room together.

yxstar3ject: OMFG YALL ACTUALLY DID IT ❗️ this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for 🤧

Chelbear03: holy fucking fuck, how is she so CALM NEXT TO HIM 😩

mrloverl0ver: everyone in favor of them playing truth or strip for us, spam the chat with W’s

pucca_princxss: hoon, you raging perv- WWWWWWWWWW XD

Chelbear03: ✨ W ✨

laylaspapi: W no homo wait, why's my name pink now ;-;

yxstar3ject: I took orange the other day ~ sawwy Jakey W <3

You watched as the chat box started to flood with W's and other random comments, feeling Heeseung sat a hand on your thigh as if to make you feel more comfortable.

"Alright peeps, chill out with the chat spamming, we see it," Heeseung said, laughing off some of the tension, "It's not like you guys didn't get a free show the other day, anyways," he added.

"I don't know..." you started, voice and logic trailing off as more letter W's filled the screen, "it might be fun?"

"____," Heeseung said more seriously this time, "it's a pointless game, y'know? We're honest with the fans... they already know most of secrets, so its silly to do truth or strip..."

"Great. That'll only make it more challenging for them to get our clothes off then," you smiled, suddenly feeling excited about playing, a bit of your competitiveness rubbing off on the initially cautious boy.

"Fine then... we'll do it," Heeseund said, eliciting a few viewers to send gifts to your broadcast, "I'm gonna need a drink for this first, though."

Heeseung was doing a good job of making it seem like he wasn't totally down for this, even though on the inside, he was mostly concerned with making sure you felt comfortable, too.

He left the room for a moment before coming back with two canned cocktails in his grip, placing them on his desk in front of you two.

"I'm guessing you don't drink much," he said, popping open a can of sugary fizz with his teeth while making eye contact with you, "so take it slow with this, yeah?"

"Sure, dad," you joked, taking a sip from the can, hoping that the alcohol would maintain your fleeting confidence, considering that you'd just agreed to strip in front of hundreds of people online.

Chelbear03: alr, first question heheh, starting easy !! :))) when was the last time you got upset and why

Chelsea was the first to initiate this little "truth or strip" questionnaire. Heeseung read the question out loud before humming to himself in thought.

“Hmm... maybe when I overcooked my ramen this morning?”

"Who eats ramen for breakfast?" You asked with a dry laugh.

"Don't judge me because I have good taste, ____," he replied, shoving your thigh with his knee a bit, "and you're dodging the question..."

"Oh- right," you chuckled shyly, thinking of what to say and whether to be honest, until you remembered the consequence would be to remove a piece of clothing.

“It was um... over some stupid things my stepsister was saying about a friend of mine… also this morning...”

"Does that friend so happen to be me by any chance?," Heeseung asked knowingly, giving you a look that you quickly brushed off.

"Moving on, next question!"

anonymous tipper: name the last person you hooked up with $100 donation on the line here, btw... plus someone's modesty 🙈

Oh God, you thought to yourself, dreading how this anonymous tipper knew you'd do almost anything for money.

It was really a bad trait of yours...

"Wow, just jumping to the extremes, aren't we?," Heeseung mumbled between a sip of his drink, the wet condensation drawing your attention to his glistening digits for a quick second.

How were you just now noticing how thick his fingers ar-

laylaspapi: uh oh someone looks nervous ...

pucca_princxss: mission accomplished 👹👹👹

In all honesty, you didn't really have an answer to that question, but to avoid coming off as prudish, you opted to take a pair of clothing off instead, lifting your hips in your seat to pull your pants down.

"____, what the-" Heeseung started before choking a bit on his drink, not just at your sudden boldness, but at the sight of your lace panties hugging the natural curves of your hips, pants getting bunched up at your ankles before you kicked them off under his desk.

yxstar3ject: 😭😭😭😭 DEFINITELY wasn't expecting that, oml-

Chelbear03: your turn, hee 🙏🙏🙏

Something about how frazzled your usually calm and collected best friend became at the simple act of you undressing before him gave you a feeling of exhilaration.

By now, your top barely covered the flesh of your thighs, a few commenters saying things about "wanting to take a bite" before Heeseung cleared his throat, hoping that they'd stop making things worse for him.

"Well uh, I'm not willing to strip a layer just yet, plus I could use the $100, so I'll be honest..."

The chat stalled momentarily as if everyone watching paused in eager anticipation of who and what Heeseung was going to say.

"It's been a while, I'll admit," he chuckled dryly, staring off as if envisioning it behind his sparkly eyes, "but it was around a year and a half ago... with a girl I'd rather not name, but she was a bit older than me..."

"Oh?," you accidentally said out loud, a strange feeling of happiness washing over you now that you knew he hadn't been with any girl since you two met reconnected. You're not sure why this information made you happy... or maybe you're just not ready to admit how you truly feel about him to yourself yet...

"How'd you two meet? Wait- why am I even asking that," you cringed at your own inevitable curiosity, Heeseung taking delight in how his timidness somehow rubbed back off onto you.

"Nah, it's okay... I'm sure the viewers wouldn't mind a little storytime-"

He adjusted his posture in the chair, eyes scanning a few new comments before he spoke, "I met her during my bad boy stage, I guess you could say... we bonded over the fact that we were both born in October until we eventually started smoking together at a friends house of mine every now and then... she and I were both going through some divorce drama with our parents and uh... we thought fucking would be a good emotional outlet? I don't know, maybe it was more of a distraction, I guess..."

Heeseung didn't expect himself to ramble the way he did, but he wanted you to know the main details, even though he left out a few parts for another time and conversation.

Chelbear03: what would it take for me to be that girl ? just for one night 😔

maindancertypeshit: pretty sure Hee just confirmed he's into older girls, Chels ... and ones with daddy issues at that-

You nearly snorted at the sudden comment, up until you realized who the last one came from.

"Excuse me, but what the hell is a toddler doing on this stream?" Heeseung asked sarcastically, obviously referring to Niki.

pucca_princxss: LMAO, looking for his mommy ofc 🤱 (😏)

maindancertypeshit: ayo, wtf??? so dani's allowed but I'm not?? hmph >:{

maindancertypeshit has left the stream

You sighed while laughing slightly, taking a sip of the drink as water droplets now dripped unto your thighs, Heeseung's eyes doing a terrible job of not staring.

"I say we do one more round before ending the stream," you offered, looking at the time as you knew you'd wanna spend more private time with Heeseung before having to run back home.

yxstar3ject: BOOOOOOOO :(

Chelbear03: im too pressed abt riki rn to give a damn bro did NAWT have to dish me the truth like that 😭😭

mrloverl0ver: ok ok, let's make this last question worth it then hmmm ...

Sunghoon typed in thought, just as the bulb in Heeseungs side lamp suddenly shattered, the loss of light coupled with it's piercing sound making you jolt in your seat, half of your canned cocktail spilling on your shirt and chest.

"Shit," Heeseung swore under his breath, happy that none of your drink or any glass from the lightbulb got on his streaming equipment.

That's when he noticed you shivering a bit, the cold liquid contrastingly with the warmth of your body.

"C-can you grab me a towel please?," you asked softly, Heeseung taking the can from your grasp and leaving the room with haste to grab a damp and dry cloth for you.

"Here," he offered when he came back, hooking his hands at the hem of your top and pulling it over your head in one swift movement, making you gasp out loud.

You were now half-naked in front of your best friend, not to mention the tons of people watching from their digital screens.

"Heeseung, what're you-"

He was now taking off his own shirt, holding it in one hand while he wiped your chest down with the cloths he held in the other.

There was something about the way his eyes looked while wiping down your boobs, coming off as romantic despite the awkward nature of the situation.

"Put this on," he whispered so quietly you almost missed it, snaking your head through the head hole of his T-shirt while he flicked the ceiling light on, your mind running in a hundred different directions in this moment.

You're not sure if it had something to do with the alcohol, but your skin still tingled in the spots where his fingertips grazed your flesh... just like old times...

You don't think you ever put on a T-shirt faster in your life, wanting to cover up as fast as you could despite how everyone had already gotten a free show from the both of you.

laylaspapi: B👀BS ?!?!? caught in 4k? just like that !?!??!????

mrloverl0ver: guess that means the games over now since y'all started stripping regardless ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

pucca_princxss: I think Heeseung's house might b haunted :'0

Chelbear03: HEESEUNGS FUCKING ABS RN- IS HE TRYING TO KILL ME !??!?

yxstar3ject: 👁👄👁

The chat was going crazy at this point, their flood of comments honestly being the last thing on your mind as you sat bottomless in Heeseung's gaming chair, wearing his T-shirt as he searched for another shirt somewhere behind you.

A billion emotions were coursing through your veins, still trying to grasp how you went from sneaking out your bedroom window, stripping in front of an audience, and getting flustered from the mere presence of Heeseung now.

"Alright guys, this was fun but we're gonna call it a night for now," Heeseung said as he came back into frame, not even bothering to sit back down as his right hand found the mouse, moving it towards the end stream button.

"Yeah, I think my streaming career might end here," you added jokingly, making Heeseung chuckle a bit at your words, his bright smile doing nothing but make your stomach flutter all over again.

What was going on with you?

"Who knows? Maybe we can work on starting an OnlyFans together ..."

"Heeseung-"

"I'm kidding," he laughed again, looking at your face from the screen, not even aware of how he bit his lip before speaking, "you look pretty on camera though, for what its worth."

The all-too familiar tune of the livestream ending rang in your ears, the screen displaying stats of the broadcast engagement, which surpassed any and every stream you've ever filmed before.

"Wow," Heeseung marveled, just as he shut his computer off.

"I know," you added, stretching your back while sitting, "we don't even reach stats like that in a week..."

"I wasn't talking about the ratings, ____," he returned, the room seeming much more quiet now that the computer was off, even though it's been this way the whole time.

"Enough about that, though," he started again, taking your hands in his to pull you out of the chair, "I haven't been a very good host to you this evening... making you work first thing before properly treating you... allow me to make up my lacking..."

"I mean... you gave me a nice seat and something to drink... you even lended me one of your shirts after I made a big mess of myself," you replied while giggling, feeling silly as he held both of your hands while speaking formally all of a sudden.

"Yes, yes, but I'm serious," he continued, now guiding you down to the rug lying in the middle of his bedroom floor, "you still like candy, right?"

ALMOST ANOTHER HOUR had passed and it was somewhere around midnight give or take, you and Heeseung hardly feeling tired as you sat on the mat together, alternating between eating orange slices and gummy bears.

You were propped up on your elbows, a glow still present on his face from the laughter you've shared together so far, even though there was something less innocent you wanted to get off your chest.

You were feeling completely reckless already, and you figured it wouldn’t hurt for you to push things a little further.

Besides, it’s not everyday that a girl like you gets an opportunity like this just placed in her lap.

It's just like Heeseung said, you'd be a fool to give up this bond you two share and not explore it further...

Plus, you weren't sure how much longer you could hide behind the good girl act.

Giselle was right: Heeseung had sex written in full length parables all up and down his six-foot-something body, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on.... if you said it didn't reel you in, like a burning desire to explore what's corrupted.

To be ruined.

"Heeseung," you started, making him look down at you as he sat with his legs crossed, hair messy from the amount of times he ran a hand through it, "can I ask you something?... It's... kinda personal..."

He popped another strawberry flavored gummy bear into his mouth, "As long as it isn't about your period, I should be good to help you then," he chuckled slightly.

"And what makes you think that I need help with something?"

"Hmm… maybe just that way that your nails keep picking with my wrist watch right now," he answered quietly, drawing your attention to your fingers which tend to get busy whenever you were nervous.

"Oh- I... I didn't even realize...," you laughed at yourself, shying your hands away before sitting up and hiding them in your lap.

"Well go on," he urged, looking back at you with warmth in his eyes, taking off his glasses and setting them aside, "What'd you wanna ask me?"

You let out a breath, clenching your thighs a bit as your sight fell between his legs.

Fuck, did he just laugh? God, he definitely noticed your peeking... you fucking perver-

"I don't really know how to word this but..." you chewed on your lip in thought, "Sometimes... when it's just you and me alone like this... even when we're just video chatting... I feel," you looked up at the ceiling as if it'd help you divulge, "I don't really know what to call it."

He blinked at your words, adjusting his sitting position on the ground, "Are there certain things I do or say that make you feel... whatever it is that you can't explain?" He asked, tilting his head at you, just as his hand inched closer to you on the rug, but not quite touching your skin yet.

"Its a few things, actually-"

"Like what?" His hand was now on your thigh, eyes glued on your shaky figure even though you avoided eye contact, lost in the veins that trailed the pretty skin of his arm.

"When you touch me," you whispered so quietly, the only reason he heard you was because he read your lips, thinking in his own mind what it'd be like to taste them, "like that."

"Speak up for me, I can hardly hear you," he urged, almost as if cooing at you.

"I can't," you said shakily, chest expanding slightly with each heavy breath you took in and let out.

Your idea of being bold was starting to backfire... if only you could stop being so awkward about this for one second-

"It's just me, ____," he whispered with a slight chuckle this time, your hands finding the fluffy rug beneath you as your skin still stung from where he'd last touched you, "be as honest with me as you need."

"Maybe it's best we just pretend I never said anything," your voice trailed off, regretting having looked into his dark eyes that stared back at yours because you felt as though your shield had faltered, his energy coaxing your mind to wander.

"Would you mind if I took a guess?," Heeseung offered with an expression you couldn't read, but you nodded anyway, just as his hand traveled further up your thigh, your breath hitching in your chest as you felt his finger tips meet your core.

"You feel something in here, don't you?," he whispered again, "Hurts, doesn't it?"

Like hunger pains, you answered in your head, finding his shoulder as half of you thought to push him away while the other half just needed to touch him.

You nodded shyly in response, thankful that he didn't move any further so you could catch your breath, already too effected by his actions.

"I feel it sometimes, too. The aching... but I'm sure you're old enough to know there's only one way to get rid of it."

You didn't even have to ask to know what he was implying, feeling tempted to give in to whatever this urge was.

He was right though. It did ache, and so badly, your own core tearing up with a need you never intended to entertain.

That's when his touch creeped closer to your core, your thighs closing around his hand as you struggled to think clearly.

You almost couldn't in a state like this.

It baffled you how the energy was starting to change, but it was only a matter of time that you'd be able to sit bottom less in front of Heeseung looking the way he does before something sexual would happen.

"Are you willing to let me help you?" He asked, gripping your flesh between his hands as a shy sound fell from your lips.

You were having second thoughts.

"As much as I'd like to, Hee, it just doesn't seem right anymore..."

Even though this was all your idea to begin with-

"But doesn't it feel right?" he pressed, feeling his hands gently pry your thighs back open, but its not like you were putting up much of a fight either, "Besides, you wouldn't have told me if you didn't want me to do something about it..."

In this moment, you couldn't care less about maintaining that fleeting sense of virtue all the elders in your life harped on growing up.

You were simply young, horny, lovesick, and in need of a release.

Before you knew it, your legs were parted for him, your back against the rug as his head got comfortable at your heat, fingers barely grazing over your now bare cunt before he started leaving plush kisses against your sweet spot.

The ache was definitely still there, but having him this close to you made it feel better.

Almost too good, honestly…

“Heeseung-” you cried out, clamming your thighs around his head as you felt his thick and warm tongue enter you.

Hooking his hands at your knees, it helped to open you back up for him, feeling your stomach tighten as he continued to lick you down.

“I’m still here, baby…” he cooed, looking back up at you, just as your phone started to ding, "relax for me, alright?"

It was a few random messages here and there, you being too pleasure-drunk to give a damn as he continued lapping at your slick, alternating between one and two fingers as he teased your hole, only making you want more.

“Fuck…s- someone’s calling me,” you whined, propping up on your elbows with tired eyes as you reached for your phone, seeing none other than Giselle's contact number as Heeseung left your core, getting on his knees and unbuckling his belt.

"What're you-"

Your words were cut off as he leaned closer into you, his bulge resting in between your folds as he looked into your eyes and said, "Answer it."

He was already rocking against your pussy as you struggled to stay focused, his boxers being covered in your slick just from how wet you'd gotten, even though you nodded no.

“You want me to help you, don’t you?” He continued, completely aware of your stalling and hesitance as the phone continued to ring, your breathing only getting heavier as he kept grinding against you.

You bit your lip, clenching around nothing as his fingers cascaded over your sensitive spot. Heeseung practically drooled at the sight, your tight little cunt all slick and messy for him.

"Hello?" Giselle asked over the phone, "where the hell are you right now?"

Fuck.

You watched nervously as Heeseung pulled his boxers past his hips, his thickness springing up now that it was finally free to breathe.

"What're you talking about, I was just in my room," you lied terribly, watching Heeseung with pleading eyes as he lined himself up with your entrance, bracing a hand on you lower abdomen while glaring back at you, a glint of playfulness in his doe eyes.

Oh, the way you wanted to smack him across his pretty face right now-

"I wasn't born yesterday, ____. I checked your room an hour ago and you're still not here. Tell me where you are," she continued, voice cracking a bit as you winced through a bitten lip, thanks to Heeseung somehow having slid his thickness inside you.

Well, most of the way, at least...

"____?"

"Y-yes, I'm listening, just- don't worry about me, I'll be back in a bit-"

"That still doesn't answer my question, ____..."

Thud.

You accidentally dropped your phone beside your head once Heeseung pushed all the way in now, leaving a few kisses along your neck to help you calm down.

His hips were still, but for some reason, your breathing remained shaky beneath him, your step-sister still awaiting your reply on the other side of the phone.

"Call you later," you said in a squeaky voice, reaching over to hang up the phone as Heeseung started to move again, your legs trembling a bit as the nerves in your mind traveled through your whole body.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" He asked sarcastically, hand following a trail from your waist, over your boob, then to your neck, goosebumps sprouting on your skin as you suddenly felt cold, your body internally shivering.

"Hee," you said with a whimper, feeling his grip loosen around your neck before he started thrusting into your walls, your slick providing just enough lubrication for him to slide in and out easily.

You couldn't even think in your mind at this point, his actions already becoming more than you could handle given how new everything was.

How nice he felt.

"C'mon, don't get quiet on me now, baby, I just started," he teased, slamming his pelvis against yours to hopefully reel a moan out of you, which obviously worked, your hand flying up to grip the fluffy rug over your head as it became harder to hide your sounds.

He hissed at the feeling of you clenching around him, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked into your eyes.

"So either you like it when I'm rough with you or when I call you baby..." he started in a low voice, "which is it?"

"M-maybe both... now can you stop trying to turn me on with your words for one fucking second?," you asked with labored breaths, feeling your orgasm creep up on you a lot sooner than anticipated.

Sure, this was your first time, but you were glad he didn't treat you like a baby during the whole thing.

There was just something about the way his voice sounded in this moment, the way he was rutting into you like a horny teenager that took you over the edge.

And he was being such a tease, trying to make you talk knowing that your sentences would be broken and whiney thanks to how rough he was going.

He wanted to hear you falling apart underneath him.

He let out the most attractive chuckle you'd ever heard at your words, "But I can tell it's working," he smirked, bracing himself against the floor so you could wrap your legs around him better, "now quit your complaining and keep taking me like a good girl, alright?"

You're sure your clit started doing backflips at the pet-name, coupled with the pretty sounds he was very intentionally humming beneath your ear.

He found your wrists on the rug, sliding up to your hands and interlacing his fingers with yours,

“Stop trying to act tough, I can tell this is all new to you…. don’t even know what to do with your hands, huh?” his said, watching as your eyes get lost in the view of his shaggy hair.

He snickered, “you can touch it if you want…”

Fuck, you thought to yourself. You don’t know why you felt the need to put on some act for him… maybe it was because you assumed a competition between yourself and other girls he’s been with, even though in reality, you’d been the only girl on his mind for a while now.

“I…,” you started with a stutter, “I can’t.”

Your fingers were still interlaced with his, but your inability to touch him had less to do with the fact that he had you pinned down, and more so to do with your nerves.

As badly as he wanted to keep toying with your head in this moment, he could you were getting closer from how your breath kept hitching, so he didn’t have much time to play.

Releasing his grip from your hands, he brought a thumb to your chin, tapping at it for you to open your mouth, “I’m gonna speed up now then, okay?”

He choked out, his own head becoming a little fuzzy as you parted your lips obediently for him, the sight of your tongue laving at his fingers being enough to make him feel like cumming.

He knew you had to get home quick now, but he still wanted to give you the best orgasm of your life.

Once he collected enough of your spit on his fingers, he slid his hand down, circling your swollen bud while looking into your eyes, your hands automatically flying to his shoulders to brace yourself.

“Fuck, Heeseung~,” you cursed with furrowed brows, whimpers that almost sounded like high pitched hiccups falling from your lips as you felt your hips chase his.

There was so much energy coursing through both of your bodies that it could charge your dying phone on the floor right now.

“It’s okay baby, you’re almost- shit, you’re almost there,” he grunted weakly as he continued fucking into your walls with his fingers at your clit, his own eyes closing at how good your tightness felt around him.

You never heard yourself sound like this before, getting all whiny just as he whispered the words “Come for me” against your neck, sealing the space with a kiss and retreating his hand from your core, holding you in place as your orgasm hit like a flood.

You were squirming so much, walls pulsating like a drum as he kissed you down, your hands finally being brave enough to grip at his hair while he rode out your high.

You could tell that he didn’t finish inside you, but he was nice enough to slow down and not fuck you completely stupid.

“I can’t even believe we just did that,” you mumbled mindlessly, eyes staring back at him as he started to gently caressed your cheek.

“Wasn’t too bad for a quickie though, right?,” he asked jokingly while still inside you, not quite yet ready to pull out of your comforting warmth.

To say goodbye to the you he brought out in this sex-filled space.

“No… it wasn’t bad at all,” you smiled back, words sounding somewhere in between a shocking realization and sincere compliment.

“Then I guess that means we can look forward to doing this more often-”

“Heeseung-”

“Kidding,” he whispered softly, meeting your lips in one last kiss before leaning back up to adjust his pants, “now let’s get you cleaned up and ready for home before your mom has me crucified.”

“Okay,” you said while laughing slightly until he pulled out of you, your legs trembling a bit from the missing fullness.

From the feeling in his chest, Heeseung came to fully accept that he was 110% in love with you, not giving a flying fuck about the naysayers who’d disapprove of your now-even-more-complicated friendship.

You on the other hand, came to realize that Heeseung was worth much more than being judged by a bunch of hypocrites, and that you now had the courage to make a lot of your own decisions now, even if they’re solely for the sake of pleasure.

”Still,” you continued, watching as he stood up from the ground to grab a pack of wipes from his desk, “I just remembered that I locked my bedroom window when I left.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” He asked while parting your legs, wiping your sweaty thighs down with your panties hunched up in his other hand.

You admired the view of him cleaning you up with adoration flooding your heart, your limbs letting themselves relax as feathery words fell from your lips, “It means I might have to spend the night at your place for a little longer…”

Fin…

♱ Thank you beyond words to everyone reading this right now! I teased the release of this fic a while ago but ended up changing almost everything that I’d originally written because it was kinda shitty 🥴 but hopefully you all enjoyed this fic anyway! Also, masterlist is here !!

♱ tag list: @fakeuwus @adeoluhh @zerasari @anonant @yaatrickyaaa @depressedandobsessed666 @woninluv @moonshoon @imjakes-wifeofc1 @heesbee @kaykay11sworld @wannieepisod @ilikekpop-c @heesoo11 @idkdykilr @seungjiseyo @nctislifue @ro-diaries @heesushiii @jakehooni @babygirlmarshmellow @jaysdze @princeseung @flowerbe0m @skzenhalove @rayofsunshineeee @wonsbaer @namdeyuoi @tasnim10 @cheruluv @squoxle @nikisvanillaccola @wonbinisbabygurl @addictedtohobi @yourmomscuntis2tighy @ashgonedash

#heeseung x reader #lee heeseung smut #heeseung hard hours #enhypen hard hours #heeseung fic #heeseung ff #heeseung fanfic #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen fanfic #enhypen ff #lee heeseung #heeseung hard thoughts #enhypen smut #enhypen #heeseung smut

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tswift · 5 months

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I'm honestly so tired of reading takes on how "Midnights" is undeserving of awards and not a good album. It's actually a very impressive concept album that is moody, playful and nostalgic. If you look back at the 20 (now 22) tracks on it, it very much reflects Taylor's thesis statement. It ponders adolescence, insecurities and fears, lost loves, adventure and revenge.

These are things that keep most of us up at night, whether it's hyping yourself up (Bejeweled), tearing yourself down (Anti-Hero), reflecting on how far you've come and what you've learned in the process (You're on Your Own, Kid), grappling with grief and trauma (Bigger Than the Whole Sky, Would've Could've Should've), reveling in your enemy's demise (Karma, Vigilante Shit), thinking about lost love (Maroon, Hits Different, Midnight Rain) or simply trying to delude and reassure yourself of something (Lavender Haze, Labyrinth).

The fact of the matter is, Karma, a song that many have mocked over its "cringe and immature" lyrics, is an impressively written and constructed pop song. Being a good lyricist doesn't always mean "ohhhhh this is poetry, this is angsty." What's impressive is someone who can do both.

"Midnights" truly does it all. There's depth, there's poetry, there's tongue-and-cheek whimsy. But it's a pop album. A pop album can't possibly have the same amount of depth, right?

What makes "Midnights" so different from her past pop efforts is that you can really see the growth in it. You can hear what she learned from making folklore and evermore not only in the production, but also in the lyrics. The lyrics are sharper, rawer and more honest. That is not to say Taylor did not achieve this in her past pop albums, she's simply honed her craft. And that's what you should want an artist to do.

It does not have to be your favorite album. Maybe you just don't vibe with it. But that doesn't mean it isn't impressive. You don't have to belittle something simply because you don't like it as much.

I don't think "Midnights" will win AOTY. But I do think it deserves to be in the category, especially in a year that is not particularly competitive. I can't wait for Swifties to start appreciating it. I give it a year or two, then y'all will change your tune.

#midnights #taylor swift #grammys 2024 #grammys #rambles

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lessbienlesbian · 3 months

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mizu x fem!reader nsfw a-z relationship headcanons

i’m sorry this took so long for me to write, but i hope y’all enjoy!

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

after both you and mizu have reached your peak, she is honestly quite clingy, although she would never admit this to anyone else. she would hold you protectively and press gentle kisses to your forehead and hairline, all while whispering about how well you did and asking if she can get you anything.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

mizu loves her hands. she loves what they look like, how they feel, and most importantly what she can do with them. she is proud of the calluses that cover them and she is proud of the skill and nimbleness with which she can use her sword and make you come undone. her favorite part of your body is your eyes, more specifically the fact that she can look into them and see so clearly that your intentions and love for her are genuine.

c = cum (anything to do with cum)

mizu loves to eat you out. she genuinely thinks that you taste so good, and will bury her face in your pussy until your juices are dripping down her chin as she looks up at you with that stupid adorable cocky smirk. sometimes she will even hold a glistening finger up to the light for you to see.

“look at this baby, is this all for me?”

“god, you smell so good. stay still sweetheart, let me taste you.”

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory)

honestly, mizu’s dirty secret is just how horny and absolutely whipped she is for you. she’s got it so bad and she would do absolutely anything for you. i know that’s not really dirty per say, but she’s pretty open about most other things.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

mizu is not very experienced at all. her only partner before you was mikio, and the sex she had with him was pleasing to her but not particularly outstanding. it also didn’t involve much action or movement on her part, so she would have a lot to learn when first being intimate with you. however, mizu is a very quick and eager learner. it is almost frustrating how naturally good she is at knowing how to touch you in just the right way.

f = favorite position

mizu is a fan of any position where she gets to be as close to you as possible. she really values the closeness and physical intimacy that goes along with having sex. bonus points if she can easily hide her face because she gets hella shy.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

mizu can actually be pretty lighthearted in the moment. i wouldn’t go as far as calling her humorous, but the playful and teasing side to her personality is definitely present. she also enjoys a playful “fight” for dominance at times, she just can’t help it with her competitive nature.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

mizu has very dark brown pubic hair that matches the hair on her head. she has a full bush and doesn’t do anything along the lines of hair removal.

i = intimacy (how romantic are they in the moment)

oh dear god mizu is so romantic. she’ll hold your hand while you fuck her, make eye contact for as long as she can, and whisper sweet nothings and intimate confessions into your ear. like by day mizu is slicing people up on the hunt to kill her potential father, and by night she’s blushing and trying to hide her face while you gently kiss her cute little pink nose. like damn, get you a girl that can do both.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

it is my personal opinion that mizu does not masturbate outside of a brief period of self discovery as an adolescent and then maybe after getting together with you if the two of you are separated for a lengthy period for whatever reason.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

i am a firm believer that mizu is very into praise, both when it comes to you and her. she LOVES to be told that she’s doing a good job and that she’s pretty because let’s face it, this girl does not hear that kinda shit very often (or at all). god she’s just so cute, shyly hiding her face in your shoulder so you can’t see how much she is blushing, biting her lip to silence the small whimpers she’s letting out, tentatively reaching over to interlace her fingers with yours. and those shy little “shut ups” mumbled in your ear are just the icing on the cake.

l = location (favorite places to do the deed)

mizu doesn’t really have a preferred location. as long as the two of you are safe and not in the view of other people, she’s good to go.

m = motivation (what turns them on)

she gets very turned on when/if the two of you spar together. the combination of competition, physical closeness, and playfulness just does it for her.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i’ll just list some off. blood, bondage (her receiving), intense degradation, exhibitionism, cnc, threesomes, intense humiliation, and breeding kink (i’ll explain this one at the end of this section). basically, she is pretty opposed to anything that makes her feel unsafe or like she doesn’t have control over what’s happening to her. that is not to say that she would be unwilling to submit if she really trusted you, she just greatly fears being taken advantage of. okay now to explain the breeding kink. i know this may be an unpopular opinion and while i do think our girl has MAD strap game, i do not think she would be into the idea of breeding. at her core, mizu feels resentment towards those who conceived her because of her hatred for and the stigma towards being mixed race. it is because of this that i believe that anything suggesting the idea of creating more people like her (even if it couldn’t actually happen) would be a major mood killer.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

mizu can be a bit sloppy when she eats you out, but she definitely prefers to give. her lack of experience combined with her tendency to just get fully pussy drunk leads to her eagerly lapping up your cum for as long as you’ll let her.

“mizu please” you groan with your hands tangled in her hair. “my clit, i need you on my clit”

p = pace

the pace at which you have sex with mizu really depends on how much time you have on your hands. she prefers to take her time with you, spending as long as possible worshipping every inch of your body. if mizu is feeling frustrated or stressed, her pace becomes more frantic and desperate as she seeks her and your release.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

if necessary, mizu will have a quickie with you, but she much prefers proper sex. realistically though, quickies are often all that there is time/proper security for, so she makes the best of the circumstances.

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

honestly, after everything that she has been through, mizu is not a risk taker when it comes to her sex life. she would be pretty vanilla when it comes to physical safety.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last?)

when mizu is on top she can go for a very long time. she takes pride in how good she can make you feel; teasing you, edging you, and making you cum over and over until you’re a quivering mess beneath her. however, she is a different story entirely. despite her incredible physical strength and stamina, mizu is so incredibly sensitive and it does not take very much stimulation or very long for her to cum.

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

mizu does not own any toys when you first meet her, as pleasure was not necessarily a priority. however, if you suggest it to her, she would DEFINITELY be open to using a harigata (dildo/strap on) and maybe even a tagaigata (double sided dildo). wearing a strap would boost her confidence an insane amount, and she’d take great pride in how well she can fuck you.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

mizu loves to tease you but is not a fan of being teased. she relishes in the way that you squirm beneath her and beg for more as that cocky little grin spreads over her smug face. but when it comes to her pleasure, as much as she is embarrassed to admit it, mizu is quite desperate and impatient.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

as evidenced by that one scene with mikio, mizu is actually pretty loud. her voice is high, feminine, and desperate. when she is trying her best to be quiet, she will express her pleasure through whimpers, gasps, and soft whispers. when volume is not a concern, the room will be flooded with loud moans and cries.

w = wild card (a random headcanon)

i think that mizu has incredibly sensitive nipples and if she let you touch them for long enough, she could cum from nipple stimulation alone. the first time this happens she is absolutely mortified, but you reassure her that it is perfectly alright.

“w-wait, y/n!” mizu whimpers, her back arching in desperation. her slender body writhes under your unrelenting touch, small gasps leaving her lips as you tug on her aching nipples.

x = x-ray

mizu is slender, toned, and lean. she is incredibly muscular and slim because of the intensity with which she trains and she is about 5’6 or 5’7. she has firm a-cup breasts with average sized pink nipples, but they are typically hidden under the fabric she uses to bind her chest. her pussy is an innie, and unless her legs are fully spread, you can only see her outer lips. when she opens herself up to you, her small clit is hidden beneath its dusky pink hood. her glistening hole is tight and small, and much to her chagrin, clenches and flutters desperately at even the slightest bit of stimulation. the poor girl is just so sensitive and needy.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

as much as she hates to admit it, mizu has a very high sex drive. she gets turned on super easily, especially when it comes to anything involving you. you could literally brush your fingertips against her hip and she would become a flustered mess.

z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

mizu can fall asleep pretty quickly, but she prefers to stay awake until you are asleep. if you catch onto this habit and decide to question her about it, she will deny it. watching over you to make sure that your sleep is restful and you are under her protection for as long as possible doesn’t exactly fit her image in the beginning. then, by the time you’ve gotten to see her softer side, she will deny it more for your sake. she doesn’t want you to know how much she worries about you for fear of teasing, being a smothering presence, and being admonished for sacrificing her own basic needs to make sure that yours are met. as much as mizu fronts as a combative, snarky, and abrasive person, she is also deathly afraid of conflict and abandonment with/from those she truly loves and cares about. that is to say, she wouldn’t want to get into an argument with you about how she needs to take care of herself better. she prefers to close her eyes and just listen to your breathing as it slowly evens out, leaving you unaware of her ploy. unbeknownst to her, you are aware of this “secret” scheme, and you let her get away with it. after all, it’s just another way that she tells you that she loves you, without expecting anything in return.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #bes mizu #mizu #mizu x you #bes mizu x reader #mizu x fem!reader #mizu smut #mizu x y/n

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noxtivagus · 2 years

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i love perdev sm

#🌙.rambles #my fav class fr #;;; adolescence huh. period between childhood n adulthood... pressure. decisions.#oh man 'is it easy being an adolescent' i have sm to say on that but i'm too tired to speak rn #i'm too tired to recite rn but some of my classmates' answers r pretty interesting. i can rlly see the kind of ppl they are #personally for me tho my answer. less than expectations of society n all #not much ppl quite as talk abt how hard it is to adjust. that middle ground between #missing the past n looking forward to the future #'fit into society' huh. i understand that a lot ;;; less in the comparing way but #there's no point in comparing myself to others. i know i'm mature n confident in that sense #but it's lonely when you /feel/ different from the rest of the world #bcs god i'm not exactly overachieving anymore bcs my mental health has been flopping but #i'm smart. yeah i perform great even in school despite my increasingly shitty mental health #i'm deeply attuned w my thoughts n emotions as well as that of others #i'm proud of my mindset honestly. i love my love for everyone's individuality n my own personal identity. i love my gratitude and grit #i'm a music person. an arts person. a writer.#for a lot of ppl managing all those stuff is hard.#we all struggle but i think there's a different kind of pain when you're self-aware of that struggle #n so ppl like me r stuck between being kind/harsh to themselves.#n oh we really do think and feel deeper than most ppl. n it feels lonely when we can't really share it w others #i know i'm intelligent but when my mental health struggles then social stuff rlly is a big weakness of mine ;;;#yh hmm i'm always improving but i think recently for the past few weeks #it's been harder than usual to manage it all. for numerous reasons i'm aware of #oh yeah this is definitely adolescence;;; n i'm nearly a year older so. yh goddamn that pressure #'as much as you want to achieve this personal independence you still need guidance' yeah .#it's hard to accept that tho. bcs there's feeling like a burden & uh. the reason why i kin to a certain ffxiv character;;;#ms my support systems r falling apart tho . oh god that thought is a bit painful but perdev reminded me of stuff again #as long as i continue to improve n challenge myself. to only be better than who i am yesterday. that's enough. at my own pace #ahh there you go i feel better again. i really just needed to hear it. w another person's voice. i remember again #it's still hard for me these days especially bcs i'm more tired n drained than usual but i really needed that reminder.

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skzdarlings · 7 months

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part ix: 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; 11,700 words)

chapter warnings: the usual dynamics. child abuse history. reader in peril. violence and death. explicit sexual content.

(THE SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER! <3)

You move back into your father’s house after graduation. You are surrounded by all your old pains, your childhood and adolescence written into each familiar brick and tile. Your past overwhelms you at every turn. It is a fight to focus on your future.

But you are ready to fight.

The only question is how, especially when you are battling your own emotions in that house.

Your reprieves are small. You find some solace in routine and the distraction of your job. Your father gives you an internship at his company. The role is honestly superfluous, comprised of busy work and redundant tasks, but it is clear he is not ready for you to meddle in any real business affairs. You are not sure if that is because he does not trust you or because he does not trust his business people with you.

You still see Jeongin and Seungmin, less than you did but often enough. They are both pursuing higher degrees so when you meet them at that campus coffee shop, it feels like a moment back in time. But lingering on the past, even the good memories, is no greater help than lingering on the bad ones.

Because there is also Felix.

You return to silent, secret communication. He will make you feel flushed with just a glance, so much thought in his gaze that you feel it to the depths of you. It seems like he does not even need to touch you to make love to you.

But when he does touch you, it releases you from the prison of your house and your mind. You put your body in his hands for a few precious moments and he takes care of it. And in the long days in which he bears the dehumanizing commands of your father, wearing the identity of a non-person to never arouse suspicions otherwise, then he places his humanity in your hands for safe keeping. You give it back to him with your own glances and careful touches.

It takes so much effort to take care of each other, so the idea of active offense seems nearly impossible. Felix certainly thought it was impossible, the one time you asked, but that was years ago. Things have changed. You and Felix have changed.

You do not know what your father is holding over his head. You only know it is something, and you think it might be time to find out what.

You want to do this right. Felix does not have to carry his burdens alone anymore. You need him to truly understand that you want to protect him as much as he protects you. You know there is a part of him that still believes he does not deserve it.

All your plans are thrown into flux the day your father calls Felix into his office.

Usually when your father summons Felix, it is for routine updates. But this is a long meeting. It lasts at least two hours with the office door sealed shut. Your mind races with the possibility of what is being discussed.

You find yourself gravitating to that side of the house, anxiety worsening the longer that door stays shut. As the clock ticks, your nerves get the best of you. You wander closer, hoping you can hear from the corridor.

The guard at the door stares at you. His scrutinizing regard gets under your skin. Before you can stop yourself, you snap at him, “What? I’m just walking.”

“You don’t need to walk here,” he says and waves you off, dismissive as always.

A lot of the men in your father’s employ seem to get some perverted joy out of dismissing or punishing you. They have since you were a child. Their surveillant eyes played host in your nightmares for years. His smug countenance coupled with his threatening stance makes your blood boil in helpless frustration.

“Fuck you,” you say. You want to hurl it at him, but it spills out of your lips no stronger than a whimper. Your fists are balled at your side and your brain is screaming to walk away, but your body goes cold.

“Do not take a tone, bitch,” he says.

The unwarranted name-calling feels like a slap. It is him flaunting the obvious truth: your father has never taken your side and he never will. You are nothing but a problem that needs to be solved. You are still just a stupid, emotional child who needs a fist closed around her to keep her safe from the greatest danger in her life: herself.

“I said walk away, little girl,” the guard continues. “Your presence is not needed.”

“I’ll go where I want,” you say. “This is my house.”

“It’s your father’s house. Now walk away or I will escort you myself.”

“I dare you to try.”

You feel like you are outside of your body, watching this ridiculous scene unfold with no way to stop it.

He takes a menacing step forward and you stumble back. You bump into the wall and hit a small mirror, barely a nudge but enough to knock it off its hook.

It shatters at your feet. Yu step on a shard of glass and sharp pain lances through your foot. It feels like someone driving a knife straight through it. You scream, the sound ripped out of you in surprise.

The office door swings open and your father storms out. For a moment, he looks alarmed, eyes wide and brows high, but this only fuels his anger when he sees you are unharmed. Fury conquers fear in moments.

“Look!” you cry in protest. You lift your foot because you must have a massive shard of glass protruding from it.

Your father does not even look down. He marches into his office and shouts something that you are too disoriented to register. Your attention has narrowed to a pinprick of a point, centred entirely around the gash in your foot.

You only register what is happening when a familiar face enters your vision. Felix is in a black t-shirt and jeans, his hair in a short ponytail with not a strand out of place. Whatever transpired in that office was clearly not confrontational. He is completely fine.

His thick boots crunch over the glass. On your father’s order, he swoops you easily into his arms and carries you into the office.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you say. Your tears infuriate you. They are the result of physical pain but it is only exacerbating the hurricane inside you. “God, it hurts so much. How big is it—”

“A foot wound hurts more than usual cuts,” Felix says.

He puts you on the couch in your father’s office. You father is standing by his desk, drinking coffee and rolling his eyes. You want to shout at him, purely on instinct, but your coherency is shot when Felix pulls the glass out of your foot.

More tears fall, some in relief. Then you look down and see an impossibly tiny shard. You cannot believe how small it is. It truly felt like it went deeper, like it slashed right through your foot.

“Show me,” your father says.

Felix meets your gaze, his eyes apologetic. He lifts the glass for your father to see. Then another glass breaks when your father smashes his coffee mug in a fit of frustration.

“It really hurt!” you protest, feeling as pathetic as you sound.

“Ridiculous, dramatic child,” your father says. “Felix, close the door.”

Felix obeys. He cannot show any hesitation. He is the emotionless robot that your father wants.

Felix closes the door as commanded then stands against it. He folds his hands behind his back and stares ahead, not sparing you another glance. He looks every inch a waiting soldier. Someone who would sooner drive a knife through his own hand than disobey an order.

“You want to cry?” your father asks, as if you are not already hiccupping on half-aborted sobs. “Do you have any idea about the scale of work I have to accomplish this week? Do you think I play games behind these doors? For you to – to – to waltz around, acting like a child and throwing a tantrum over nothing—”

You must be dripping blood on the hardwood but he does not even care to look. He stalks to his desk where he sits.

“Felix,” your father says, his rage barely suffused in the address. He gestures to you and says no more.

You and Felix meet eyes. He conceals his alarm fairly well. You doubt anyone else would see fear and concern in the subtle crease of his brow. He makes it look contemplative, but you see it. You see him.

And you know he is making a mistake before he even says anything.

“Sir?”

Your father, who was looking at a file on his desk, lifts his head.

You and Felix have been in this office many times. He has watched your father beat you, and you have watched him take as many strikes on your behalf. Your father’s instructions are implicit in the environment, under the circumstances. He is asking Felix to deliver a beating on his behalf. Experience and common sense should be clarity enough for a soldier like Felix.

This confusion, feigned to buy himself a moment, is worthy of your father’s furious stare.

“What?” your father snaps.

Felix hesitates, then approaches.

That moment of hesitation is enough. You look at your father. Just like you can read Felix, you can read that man. You can see the calculation behind his eye. Everyone is a thing, a statistic, a number, something that be crunched and calculated, something that can be used and discarded if the calculations are unfavourable. Things are supposed to function according to his commanded algorithm.

Felix is not supposed to hesitate.

You were correct to assume your father would never suspect your affair based on romance. He does not see or recognize an exchange of true love. But he understands violence. He understands its absence. Felix could kiss you and your father would not notice, but Felix refusing to hit you is worth a second glance.

With very little time to think, you diffuse those suspicions before they take flight. When Felix is near, you do not hesitate to swipe at him. You land a mean smack on his cheek that sufficiently surprises him.

He meets your eyes. They are narrowed with righteous anger as you play the part you must. You know he sees the apology in them. You hope he sees the forgiveness.

Felix returns the smack. He does not hit you anywhere near as hard as he could – even your father would hit you harder – but it is still enough of a crack that your head turns on impact. You clutch your cheek and your whole body quivers, like it is confused by the alternating directions of pain.

“Don’t you dare touch me again,” you say, looking at Felix. “You stupid animal. I hate you.”

That you know he cannot misunderstand.

And so it is within that mute understanding you hand yourself over, as you have so often done. Felix does what he can to lighten the severity, just as he always does, but it still requires a few good hits so your father believes your weepy surrender.

You are very quiet after. You can hear your father’s pen scratching across a paper pad. He watched it all then went right back to work.

You remember when you chased the high of his attention just to linger in a pit of despondency for hours after. You do not feel that now. Pure, unadulterated rage flows through you, hot as fire and as all-consuming. You feel no other emotion in that moment.

You look at your father, unwavering.

“I despise you,” you say.

Then pen on the paper stops. For a moment, he seems struck. But then he crosses a line on the page and resumes his work, not once looking at you, your bruises, or your blood. Not acknowledging your anger, the one trait you inherited from him.

“You’ll see,” your father says, with a fair degree of poise and equanimity. Unbothered, like he is talking about ordinary things. You suppose he is. What could be more ordinary to this man than the ominous prophesizing of his self-inflicted horror? “One day,” he says. “When I am gone and you really see the world for what it is, you will understand why I did what I have done. You will be safe and you will thank me.”

I will kill you before I ever thank you, you think, and realize with a shiver you truly mean it.

“Felix, retrieve Domino,” your father says.

Domino is the guard posted at the door. When he enters, he gives you a cursory glance, his cheek dimpled, the amusement towards your situation scarcely concealed.

Your father’s money might afford him influence over this stock of men, but they are all in the business of profitable pain. Military men, ex-cops: they are a dirty and criminal ilk who are accustomed to holding authority in their own right. It is little wonder they never liked you and you never liked them.

“Sir,” Domino says, at attention.

“Take my daughter to her room and see to it she is tended. Then send someone to clean up this mess. I have work to finish here and I will not tolerate any further interruptions. None. Do you understand?”

“Sir,” is the reply, affirmative, with a sharp nod.

“Good. Felix. Sit.”

Your father gestures to the chair across his desk and Felix moves towards it. Unlike the perfect boy soldier who once sat in that chair, Felix kicks it because he is glancing back at you.

You meet his eye for a brief moment, then the world spins as Domino picks you up. It is a grappling yank, like you grab a thing, with no care for injury or a polite touch.

You are carried out of the office and back to your room. One of the crew’s medics patches your foot. You sit through it with a cold detachment, then your room is empty and you are alone, waiting in bed for Felix so you can ask what is happening and discuss what to do.

Felix never comes.

In your wildest imaginings of what transpired behind that door, a job is not what you anticipate. It is at once too strange and too mundane.

A job is not an operation; it is an errand, a sleight of hand conducted in the shadowed crevice of a greater business scheme. It is not unusual for your father to send his men out on these jobs. But in all the years Felix has been in his employ, he has never been sent out. His only occupation is to serve as your bodyguard, and he has proven time and again how he is irreplaceable in that position.

You do not know what makes this job different. You glean only a little information from the chatter of the crew, just enough that you know it is a stealth acquisition and a rare, unprovoked move against Miroh. Your father is known for his defensive tactics, seldom manoeuvring in offense, so you suppose the inclusion of his best solider on a risky venture makes sense. Felix is likely your father’s only guarantee.

But you cannot shake there is something else. Felix is more than just a soldier and Miroh is more than just a businessman. You know their past is tangled together.

You do not get a chance to ask. The next time you see Felix is through a window. You are in the upstairs corridor, staring down at the driveway as he climbs into a van with a few other agents. Then the van pulls away and it is just you in that house with your temporary replacement bodyguard team.

Even your father leaves, though you doubt he will be involved in the physical mission itself. You overhear him telling your security that he anticipates returning in a week. You count down the hours until then.

By the second day, you are sick with worry. Sitting around with your unanswered questions makes the time drag. Hours pass in dissociation, unmoving and anxious. You decide that waiting will only worsen your state. Although you are not keen to wander around town with your security entourage in tow, you cannot sit here either.

The team is made of three men including Domino. They are all as subtle as a scream with their bulk and demeanour, and every bit like all the others.

Though they will undoubtedly report even the most mundane actions, they acquiesce and take you into town. The campus café is one of your father’s approved locations.

You are not sure if you want to run into your friends. The distraction would be a welcome one, not to mention the balm that is a smile from a friendly face, but you also have no idea how you will explain the obvious security. You are exhausted with lies. You are not sure you could spin a convincing story even if you wanted, and you do not.

The café is always quiet before lunch. There are a few students scattered around so even though you feel ridiculous, no one pays you much attention.

One guard waits outside the door, one inside by a window, and Domino stays by your side as you order your drink and take a seat.

You forgot just how invasive and uncomfortable this dynamic was. If you were not so drained, you would be snapping at them just to relieve the tension drawn tight in your chest. Instead, you endure. Every breath feels more strained than the last. You cannot focus on your work any better here. The words on your screen are just meaningless letters and shapes.

You stare at your hands, at their faint, vibrating tremble.

Then you hear your name. The guards have been addressing you as girl, sometimes subject or the daughter when speaking to each other. The gentler murmur of your name momentarily stills the shaking of your fingers, steady as a hand grasping yours. You lift your head and see Jeongin, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder, his dark hair a shaggy mess, and his concerned eyes flitting between you and Domino.

“Hey,” Jeongin says with that dimpled smile. “What’s up?”

“Who is this?” Domino asks. Before you can answer, he turns to Jeongin and says, “Stand back. You do not have permission to stand here.”

“Oh my god,” you say, slapping a palm to your forehead.

You are flooded with childhood memories, idiots like this intimidating everyone who tried to speak to you for longer than a minute. Whether they took the form of a guardian or masqueraded as a janitor or something else, they always made everyone sufficiently uncomfortable. Even Jisung was often disturbed by them, though he drew the wrong conclusions about their identity. He was good with weird.

Jeongin must be made of a similar mettle. He gives your guard a pinched look, lip curled like he smells something bad, but he does not move. He looks at you with a tip of the head, concern once more creasing his features.

“Do you need help?” he asks.

The poor guy must be so confused. You look like you are being held hostage in a coffee shop by a stupidly inconspicuous thug.

All you can do is sigh and shake your head. “I’m fine, Jeongin,” you say, a very unconvincing lie. “I’ll catch you around, yeah?”

“Move along,” Domino says.

Jeongin looks at him. His glance flicks up and down. Then he says, “Your fly is down.”

Domino stares at him, unblinking, as if he can vaporize Jeongin with just a glare. Jeongin stares back.

“Really, Jeongin,” you say. A genuine breath of a laugh leaves your lips. Jeongin could not even throw a punch without smacking a chair, but he is willing to stick up for you. And his annoyance tactic is the funniest defense you can imagine.

Jeongin finally leaves, but with a glance over his shoulder. You fight the urge to throw something at the guards who watch him go.

“Who was that?” Domino asks.

“I don’t know his name,” you say. “He was just a classmate a long time ago.”

You hope that is enough to make him forgettable.

You act casual, taking a sip of your coffee. Then Domino looks down into his lap, quickly checking his fly. Your snorting laughter sprays coffee everywhere.

Fortunately, this does not impact the report. You are allowed to return to the same coffee shop the next day. This time both Seungmin and Jeongin are there, books open but blathering in distracted conversation. Another young guy is sitting with them, maybe a classmate, though he has no books with him. He is sprawled in a chair, holding a coffee and grinning at whatever the boys are saying.

He notices you first, probably because you are staring. He tips his head as he looks at you, black bangs falling across his forehead. He is noticeably stocky and broad, but he smiles behind the brim of his coffee cup and it is incredibly disarming.

He is handsome but the overt flirtation brings only pain. It makes you think of Felix. You barely slept last night, tossing and turning with anxiety. Your stress only worsened when you woke in an empty bed.

You are so fraught with anxiety, your whole body feels taut like a thread about to snap.

Something is going to happen, or maybe it already has. It is bad. You know it intuitively, the way you know which hand will strike when your father is in a mood, the way you know a black car on a quiet street is an enemy, the way you have always known this life is a death sentence, a slow execution by the brutality of weathering.

You look away from the stranger’s smile. Then Jeongin sees you and his laughter fades, concern and curiosity drawing his brows together. He nudges Seungmin who looks too, tipping his head with a questioning look.

You just shrug and take a seat at a different table. There is nothing else to do.

Domino sits with you, as bored with his duty as ever. You believe your whole team is annoyed with their job. Your father would not leave weak soldiers in charge of you, but he also had to take his very best with him. These men are probably too competent for menial work and are likely offended by their assignment. They are the worst of the best.

Which is how you steal a moment to talk to Seungmin. One guard outside, one at the window, and Domino at your table. He lets you leave to get some sugar for your coffee, watching with glazed-over indifference as you fuss at the counter.

Seungmin joins you, pretending he is also grabbing sugar.

“You’re keeping some weird company,” he says in a low voice. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Do you need help?”

You swallow an unexpected lump in your throat. Your friendship with Seungmin and Jeongin was only ever casual, so it is quite touching that the two civilians are so willing to defend you, even when standing at an obvious disadvantage against your thugs.

Your prepared lie gets tangled in that lump. You swallow it down. For a moment, your mouth is open with nothing to say. You both stir your coffee slowly. Eventually you take a breath.

“It’s complicated,” you say. “It’s just to do with my dad. Thank you, though.”

There is a beat of silence before he says, “We’re friends, okay? Just let us know if we can help.”

You have been trapped in solitude for days now. Seungmin provides the comforting reminder that your world is not all bad. Though he cannot do much to help, the sentiment in his simple offer is enough to temper the worst of your anxiety, at least for the time being.

“Thank you,” you say. “Really.” You spare a glance at Domino who is watching you intensely, just waiting for you to slip up and do something that warrants a reprimand or report. “I better get back,” you say. “Say hi to Jeongin, and say sorry from me for yesterday. You guys have fun with your friend.”

“Oh, we don’t know that guy. He just sat with us out of nowhere,” Seungmin says, laughing. “He says his name is Changbin. But he paid for our coffee so he can sit wherever he likes, haha.”

You smile at his playfulness. He smiles too, then he walks back to his table. Your eyes follow him and settle on the stranger – Changbin.

You want to keep smiling, want to imagine the stranger is just an awkward university kid making friends in a weird way. But Changbin is looking at you again, with the same intensity as Domino. Your eyes skirt his shoulders and biceps and his too-charming smile.

You want to chalk it up to paranoia, exacerbated by the extra stress of the last few days. But something is off about this stranger appearing here, suddenly, at a place you are known to frequent, the week your father is moving against Miroh, when Felix is gone and you are vulnerable. He is sitting with your friends, like he knows they are your friends, like he can trick you into trusting him by their proximity.

He is not like your father’s guards who are blatantly out of place. Changbin is so visible that he is invisible. Just a friendly college boy.

Just like Felix.

You are being ridiculous, you tell yourself. You cannot walk around assuming everyone is an enemy. But you cannot shake the feeling of wrongness, the awful premonition that something is going to happen.

You try to ignore Changbin as you drink your coffee but you are unsuccessful. Your hackles are raised and will not come down, made worse by the indifference of everyone around you. Domino is none the wiser. The other guards have not left their posts. Your friends are laughing with him like he is just some guy.

You ask yourself what Felix would do. You imagine he would not cause a scene or confront Changbin. He would quietly take your arm and usher you to safety, only fighting in retaliation if necessary. Part of his job has always been discretion, but he has never relished in violence anyway. It is always a last resort.

Your instincts have often propelled you into heated action until you freeze, always one extreme or the other. Now, you calm yourself and steady your shaking hands. You comfort yourself the way Felix would. You tell Domino you want to go home. He makes some agitated remark about you needing to make up your mind, that you only just arrived, but you do not rise to his bait. You close your laptop and pack your bag.

It takes one second. Changbin is sitting with your friends, then you look down. When you lift your head, he is gone. The boys think nothing of it. Your guards don’t notice. You want to scream but you know it won’t make a difference. These men won’t listen to you.

You leave with your guards. The large campus is practically a city unto itself, separated from the mainland by a stretch of woods. It is a scenic drive with a deer park in its centre, but all you see is rain ripping through branches and the shadows between each slash of grey daylight.

You are almost relieved when something thumps heavily onto the roof. But the relief that you were right is short-lived when all hell breaks loose.

You close your eyes, arms wrapped around yourself in the back seat. Glass shatters and the car skids to a rough stop, flying off the road and onto the forest terrain.

You open your eyes to the windshield in pieces, the driver frozen with his head thrown back. Domino and the other guard are out of their seats in seconds, making the same mistake as Miroh’s men all that time ago. You know how this fight will end.

You look through the broken windshield. Changbin flies into view and knocks Domino onto his knees. It takes one roundhouse kick for him to fall over, unconscious. The other guard tries to take a shot but Changbin disarms him with a couple sharp moves. You close your eyes when Changbin shoots.

He fights with the same fluidity as Felix. For a moment, you are back there, eighteen years old and frightened and relieved all at once. Except when the back door opens this time, you are not quick to rush out. It is not Felix waiting for you.

Changbin clears his throat and you slowly look over. He is wearing jeans and a leather jacket and does not look ruffled in the slightest. Dark hair falls over his forehead as he tips his head. He smiles, handsome and charming. As unassuming as Felix when his eyes crinkle up with delight and he laughs like he has never known pain. Like he was not raised for the purpose of violence, property of Miroh, of your father, of whoever else, acting as their hand because they won’t get their own fingers dirty.

Changbin gestures to you, curling his fingers, a mute come here.

“Hurry up,” he says. “Time to go.”

You imagine escaping out the other door, trying to make a run for it through the forest. You know you will not get far.

“Are you one of them?” you ask, impulsively. “Miroh’s?”

You already know the answer.

Changbin blinks at you, then laughs.

“It depends,” he says, then tuts like he thinks you are preciously naïve. “I personally think I’m one of a kind. But I guess we’ll find out. Now get out of the car.”

With little choice in the matter, you obey. Your legs wobble when you stand so you instinctively take the hand he offers.

You have not yet steadied yourself when he yanks you into his arms. Though Felix undoubtedly holds strength in his lithe form, he is more dexterous and athletic than outright powerful. He knows how to use his body to its best advantage. But Changbin is strong and he does not hide it, the bulge of his biceps crushing you in the hard, ungiving circle of his arms. Leather and muscle cage you in tightly, so unyielding that you cannot even squirm. Your heels dig at the ground as he hauls you away from the car. A belated scream claws its way up your throat but gets strangled in his chokehold.

Then you feel ice, so cold it burns. Your racing heart propels each freezing shard through your bloodstream.

You realize he stabbed you with a needle. It is a flickering thought, only momentarily realized, then you are plunged beneath the surface of that ice, drowned in black waters, and you think no more.

You are plunged into an oblivion so deep and so fast that you wake thinking no time passed at all.

You hear before you see. The patter of rain overhead is not unlike its tapping against the roof of the car. Groggy, you think you are still there, your arms wrapped around yourself while waiting for the worst.

Then your sense of smell creeps in, overwhelming you with damp and something metallic. A cool breeze pebbles your skin as it washes over you. It coaxes you out of your bleariness.

You blink awake, the blurry world taking gradual shape around you. It is not the world you left behind, no sign of a car or campus or coffee shop. It looks like an old warehouse or maybe a factory, but the room has been stripped to its bare bone essentials. The exposed pipes and rotting damp of the high walls account for the smell.

The breeze blows from your left where a garage door is open. You squint towards the grey light of the rainy day. You do not know how long you have been unconscious. It looks like early afternoon but your body tells you that you have been asleep for longer than a few minutes.

You try to gather your bearings. You see a harbour in the distance, past the pavement and the fence and what must be a drop to water below. Your university is not near any body of water. So you must have been unconscious long enough to transport this far. A few hours at least, but given the light maybe it has been a full day.

That is all you can deduce. You do not recognize the warehouse or the harbour.

You do recognize the man in front of you, though it takes a second. Changbin is no longer dressed like a civilian, wearing a black combat uniform and boots. His shirt covers his arms but fits like a second skin, his bulk emphasized. He is squatting on the ground a few feet from you. He holds a black mask in his hand, one that covers the lower half of his face when he swings it up. He lifts and lowers it a few times, absent-mindedly it seems. Then he realizes you are stirring and fastens it in place.

Your head is pounding. Your petulant side wants to bark a complaint, but even you know taunting this man would be beyond stupid. Changbin is not just any soldier. Miroh did not send one of his regular men. He clearly learned his lesson last time. Even without asking, you know Changbin is like Felix. He did not merely train as a soldier; he was born and moulded into it.

And, unlike Felix, he has had no reprieve from Miroh.

You come into your body, stretching your fingers. Your hands are cuffed behind your back and locked to your chair. One ankle is cuffed to the chair leg. Metal jingles as you move, testing your bonds.

You stop when Changbin approaches, your heart thumping as hot adrenaline melts the ice in your blood.

“Good morning,” Changbin says. “How did you sleep?”

Your body is still slow to respond, but you manage a decent glare. It makes him laugh.

“They told me you were funny,” he says. “That you make your father’s men look like a joke – not hard, to be fair.” He tips his head, looking at you like he is waiting. All you do is stare. “Come on,” he whines. “Say something funny.”

Your stomach turns over itself, not because Changbin is taunting you… but because you think he isn’t taunting you. He does not speak with the sarcastic intonation of your father’s men, dryly mocking your helplessness in his presence. His eyes are big and resolutely focussed, seeming to genuinely anticipate your retort. He is almost child-like with his attention.

This impression only solidifies when he sighs, morose, and crouches again.

“Do you want something?” he asks.

“Let me go?” you say.

It comes out rough but it makes him laugh behind the mask, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Aha, you are funny,” he says and slaps his knee. “Anything but that. But don’t worry your head.” You flinch from his touch, but all he does is pat your head like he is reassuring a frightened puppy. “This isn’t about you,” he says. “Well, not yet. Maybe later. First… Your father took something from us. And he won’t give it back.”

Changbin removes the mask so he can smile, one of those disarming smiles that is so at odds with the rest of him. Felix might switch demeanours depending on the circumstance, but Changbin flickers between faces from one breath to the next.

“We just need it back,” Changbin says. “Then, maybe, we’ll even the score. Maybe. Don’t worry about that yet. For now, you just need to sit. Are you thirsty?”

The distinct reverberation of gunfire comes from the front of the building. You shriek and duck your head, like that will do anything to protect you, gasping as you listen to bullets ricochet off the walls in some distant room.

When everything goes quiet, you lift your head. Your chest is heaving with each deep breath, your adrenaline bleeding out your pores so even the air around you feels like it is humming. You stare at Changbin who has not moved a muscle, still squatting and staring.

“I think we have lemonade,” he says. “You want that?”

You do not even know what to say. His sincere but stunted peculiarity reminds you so much of a teenage Felix even though Changbin looks older than both of you.

There is more gunfire. You duck your head and slam your eyes shut. Changbin does not move until it stops, his mouth open with another comment, but he silences himself when the far door opens. Then he is swift, on his feet with his mask secured. He stands at your side as he silently watches the approach of a small group of men.

You are still reeling from panic, so it takes you a second to realize what is happening.

“Felix!” the cry leaves your lips.

Five of Miroh’s men surround him, suited guards in various states of dishevelment, like they have been fighting for much longer than a few minutes. Felix is bound with his hands behind his back, a yellow bruise already forming on his chin. His own dark uniform is singed with bullet holes. His hair looks like it was slicked back, but he has sweat through some of the product, tendrils of blonde falling into his face.

Despite his state, his attention is all on you. Eyes assessing, scanning you from head to toe.

When you meet his gaze, the whole world falls away. These men, this place, none of it exists for a breath of a moment. Felix is here and that means you will survive. Everything will be fine. You have always kept each other alive. This time will be no different. You can see it in his eyes, in that oh-so subtle twinge of a smile. You can hear him without him moving his lips.

Hello, sweetheart. You’re safe.

They put him on his knees. His gaze flits to either side. You can see him calculating. Oh, he is here on purpose. He let himself be caught, you are certain, so he could find you and rescue you and—

“Target acquired,” a man says.

It takes you a moment to realize he is talking about Felix.

You look at the man then at Changbin, considering his earlier words.

Something your father took. Something they want back.

It hits you all at once. You have not been kidnapped as leverage against your father. You have been taken as bait for Felix. They don’t want you, they want him. An irreplaceable soldier your father stole from Miroh a decade ago, that he has paraded in front of him for years at galas and parties. Using him as a bodyguard for his wayward daughter and not as a soldier, not until now. Biding his time before using Felix against the house that made him.

You can see your father’s stupid machinations clicking into place. He is a perpetual child throwing a tantrum. His movements are sloppy and immature. He steals from his enemy, a weapon he does not know how to use, thinking it will keep him safe, letting it make him cocky. And now he is sitting somewhere as it all blows up in his face.

Or it would. In an ironic twist of fate, you are saving your father.

Because as far as Miroh knows, Felix is here as your bodyguard, acting on your father’s orders to retrieve you. All Miroh has to do is pluck him from the fray. And as a bonus, he has you in captivity for future leverage.

It would have been a good plan. It would have worked if Felix was an emotionless machine. If would have worked if Felix was here because of a command.

But Felix loves you.

He is here to save you.

In a quick move, Felix sweeps two men off their feet. He rolls on his back and propels himself to his feet, hands bound under him, leading with his core. He slams his head into an oncoming guard and the man stumbles back. Three out of five on the ground. Then suddenly one hand is free of the cuffs – he must have been picking at it the whole time - and he swings the dangling metal in another’s eye.

You flinch away from the violence, even while rooting for Felix. A few more thuds and you know all five men are incapacitated. You open your eyes and lift your head, watching Felix drop the handcuffs on the floor. He absently rubs his wrist, his gaze drifting from you to Changbin. His fingers freeze, his eyes narrowing as he perceives the stoic soldier at your side.

Felix stares, like he if he looks hard enough, he will see through the mask.

“You’re new,” Felix finally says.

Changbin rolls his eyes.

Changbin reels back and hurls a knife in a swift arc, right at Felix’s face. Felix is just as fast and catches the handle. He returns the throw. The knife clatters on the ground as Changbin surges forward.

These two are evenly matched. Watching them fight is terrifying and unpredictable. They dance around each other, delivering equal blows and blocking similar shots. In the end, Felix wins in one move miscalculated by his opponent. With an opening granted, Felix takes Changbin down. One, two, three hits to the head. Changbin stumbles backward, his mask falling. He is disoriented when he looks Felix, but Felix sees him with complete clarity.

You learned to read Felix a long time ago. You know all his expressions by heart, the crease of each smile memorized, the track of each tear committed to heart.

You have never seen this face, this mix of horror and bewilderment as a barely conscious Changbin slams onto the ground. Then it is Felix who missteps, tripping over his own feet as he reaches for the opponent he just threw down.

“Changbin,” he says. “You’re alive, I—”

Changbin swings at him but is too dizzy to land a hit. Felix catches the punch. He should throw one back, finish him off, but he hesitates. His brow furrows. He grabs Changbin by the neck of his shirt and yanks him close.

“Chris,” he says. “Chan. Chris. Where is he?”

Changbin laughs. It turns to choking when a dribble of blood gurgles past his mouth. He spits it at Felix then heaves a rough breath.

“Oh, fuck you, Yongbok,” he says. “’You’re new’ – didn’t even recognize me—”

“It—it’s been so long—and I thought you—”

“Yah, not all of us got to attend pretty parties these last years like you—”

“Stop it, you don’t know anything about what I’ve been doing—”

“Chris he says. First thing he says.” Changbin squirms but does not have the strength to rip away, especially with Felix gripping him so hard. He heaves another aggravated groan. “You know Chris died because of you. He’s been gone for years.”

“No,” Felix says, his voice pinched. His eyes rapidly water, his knuckles white from his death-grip.

Changbin shakes his head but slips further. Felix once more catches him when he should be ending him, sniffling hard as he gets on his knees.

“He’s not dead,” Felix says. “He can’t be dead—”

“Why don’t you ask your boss?”

As if on cue, your father’s men burst into the room. Felix looks at them in surprise even though he must have coordinated their arrival.

Changbin laughs. “I hope it was worth it, Yongbok,” he says. He uses one last burst of energy to throw himself forward, propelled away from Felix. He rolls across the ground then stumbles to his feet, running past the open garage door, into the rain, and disappearing around the corner.

Felix is too stunned to chase him. You look at Felix, on his knees and holding nothing, palms up like he expects something to appear in them. He closes his fists as your father’s men approach.

Then he slides his figurative mask in place, assuming his usual role. He kicks the literal mask discarded by Changbin, then finally looks at you.

“Get the car,” Felix says to the men. “And check the grounds for anything useful.”

The men disperse and Felix approaches you. He kneels at your side and picks at the lock of your handcuffs. You are crying before you can stop yourself, overwhelmed with everything that just transpired.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Felix whispers, looking at you with pain of his own. “It will be okay. Just a little longer.”

The handcuffs drop. He squeezes your hand in his.

“Just a little longer.”

You are several cities over, hours away from home and even further from the job your father was conducting against Miroh. Miroh was clearly trying to divert his enemy. He tried to steal Felix back while doing so.

Neither he or your father accounted for you, for Felix, for all the love between you.

You are in a small hotel room away from prying eyes and military men. You are scrubbing yourself clean in the bath and he sits on the rim of the tub, wiping your back with a cloth.

You checked in two hours ago. You spent most of that time blubbering incoherently, catching your breath even hours after freedom. You have not had a real conversation yet. Felix has been quiet, his eyes intermittently far away or so intensely focussed on you that it makes you hiccup with more tears.

You hiss when he presses his thumb to the mark on your neck, the little bite from the needle so carelessly plunged into your vein.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, smoothing with a gentle circle.

“This has been the worst week of my life,” you say. “And that’s saying something. Oh my god, and it’s only Wednesday.”

Felix laughs in spite of himself, though it is more of a breath than a sound. He drops the cloth in the water and you shiver as he caresses the bare skin of your back.

“I love you,” he says, like it is something he has always said, like it is easy to say. Like he could say it again and again.

The room feels so quiet. His voice is soft but it sounds like a shout, echoing back in this intimate space. Your breath catches. You go very still.

Then he says your name in a breathless murmur that is exhaled with more adoration than the word love itself.

“No games,” he says. “No jokes. No hidden meanings or secrets.”

“Felix,” you say. It is all you manage.

“I know,” he says weakly. “I know, sweetheart. You don’t have to say anything, I just…”

His hair is wet from a quick shower, combed back neatly, more composed than the rest of him. You look up as he runs his wet fingers through it. The bruise on his jaw is darkening, a burned gold that looks incredibly painful. He shed his outer layers, is wearing a black t-shirt and black pants. He has a silver army tag, or something like it, marked with your father’s name and not his own. It’s new. Something the field agents wear. Good as a collar.

You reach out and take hold, ripping it off his neck. He looks at it dangling from your fist, as surprised as you that it broke so fast.

Maybe it really is it that easy.

His hurt jaw wobbles. He touches the bruise and looks down, away from you, head bowed as if in supplication. Worshipful. Penitent.

“I’m sorry,” he says, lighter than a whisper. “I will tell you everything. I just want to be a person for you a little longer.”

“Felix,” you say, dropping the tag on the floor. You kneel in the bath and reach for him with your wet hands. He does not lift his head when a silent sob wracks his body. His shoulders shake when you touch him. “You have always been a person to me.”

“I know,” he says, voice breaking. “I know, sweetheart. I owe you so much—”

“You don’t owe me anything—”

“I owe you everything.”

He looks at you then, his dark eyes wet with tears, his expression serious. He breathes a shaky exhale then leans away, grabbing a towel.

“Come here,” he says, and stands.

Moments later, you are standing on the floor, wrapped in the towel in his arms. He bundles you tightly and you rest your head on his shoulder, safe and secure with his strong hold around you.

“I love you,” he says, his wet cheek pressed to yours. “Even if you hate me, even if you don’t, even if you can never say it back, I love you and all the life you have in you.”

“I’m a mess,” you say, trying to laugh, but it comes out weak.

“You’re alive. I don’t think anyone understands better than you, what it means to have a life,” he says. “The way your life fills you, the way you hold onto it no matter how many times someone tried to take it away.”

You are hiding your face in his neck, embarrassed and amorous and teary all at once. Then he lifts you up and turns around, perching you on the counter. You wriggle your arms free, tucking the towel beneath them. You steady your breathing as he picks up a cloth to wipe the smudged vestiges of make-up off your cheek.

“I remember the first time I saw you,” he says. “I’ve always been so scared. I hide it, yeah? But it’s there. Miroh, your father, everything about them… It was like living in a nightmare. They were bigger than life. They controlled dangerous people. I couldn’t imagine anyone standing up to them.” He smiles now, his thumb smoothing over your cheek. “Then you burst into the room and started a fight with one of them. I was shocked. I thought, is this girl crazy? What have I gotten into?”

“That girl was crazy,” you say, laughing.

He laughs too, but shakes his head. “She was the only sane one,” he says. “God. You had more passion in your little finger than I had ever felt in my whole body my whole life. And I thought… I will never feel that much emotion. I knew it was too late for me. I wasn’t living for myself and I was fine with that. I couldn’t be saved.” His eyes are teary again. He takes your hand and looks down at it. “You took my hand. Even in your anger, even in your everything, you saw something… You touched me once and it was like life rushed into me. And I hated myself everyday after that because I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t what you needed. I could take your beatings but I couldn’t save you because I was a scared coward and you were stuck with me—”

“Shh, stop that,” you say. You run your fingers through his hair, smoothing the pieces he rucked up.

He wipes his cheeks. He plants his hands on the counter, on either side of you. His eyes are closed when he takes a deep breath.

“Miroh couldn’t kill your grandfather,” Felix says. “He tried and he failed. Your grandfather was willing to sacrifice everything for himself. Your mother died in his place. You and me were on opposite sides of the world, both just babies. You never knew your mother. I never knew my parents. Miroh decided he needed a new generation of soldiers. There were a few of us, all over the world. When we were old enough to speak and run and fight, he recruited the best. I was one of the best. So was Changbin.”

“And Chris,” you say, remembering the exchange in the warehouse.

Felix’s face scrunches in pain. He nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “We travelled together. We trained together. We were like brothers.”

“What happened?” you ask. You lay a hand on his chest and he takes it, holding it there.

“I was stupid,” Felix says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I believed Miroh. I thought… there are bad guys out there, simple as that. If we get rid of them, then we won’t have to be scared anymore, yeah? They wouldn’t have to hurt us if we just got rid of the bad guy. But it wasn’t that easy. I killed your grandfather and it didn’t end anything. Chris was right. Because he always knew. He said it wasn’t right, what Miroh was doing. Chris could have been the best if he could let go of who he was, and just be what he was supposed to be… but he didn’t. I… I felt like I… I couldn’t afford to be that way… If I wasn’t the best, I was nothing. If I couldn’t kill, I was going to be killed. And by the time I realized he was right, it was too late.”

He finally meets your gaze, squeezing your hand in his.

“I almost died on a job and Chris saved my life. He wasn’t supposed to. In Miroh’s order, if something happens to a soldier, you leave them behind. You don’t waste resources on the weak. Chris disobeyed orders and all his training to save me. I told him I wouldn’t have done the same and he said I know, that’s not why I’m doing it. It’s just the right thing, Felix. I thought, how can someone like this even exist, after everything he’s seen and done, how does he still try to find the good? I didn’t know if he was stupid or smart. Then a commander found out what he did and they took him out of our order for re-training. I still saw him but we couldn’t talk. He had so much potential and the organization didn’t want to throw it away. They tried to break him. It wasn’t working. It broke me instead. I realized I had to get us out or die trying.”

He looks at you and says, “You get it, don’t you? The way Jisung saved you. The way he was your friend. The way he was just there. That was Chris for me, yeah?” His voice is rife with desperation, like he needs you to understand this more than anything else.

“Yeah,” you say softly, feeling that very heartache all over again. “I do. I get it, Felix.”

“Then you know,” he says, voice breaking, “how I felt when I let him down. I let everyone down. I fucked up a job, trying to undermine Miroh. I thought I could outsmart him but I didn’t. It just opened a door for your father to get in. There was a stupid skirmish over a politician in Miroh’s pocket. Your dad was trying to buy him out and it ended in a fight. Three of our best men dead. Including Changbin, I thought. Just someone else I let down. I was taken alive. I knew if I went back to Miroh, I was dead. If I ran off on my own, Chris would never escape, and they would break him eventually, or kill him trying. I couldn’t go. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t take Miroh on my own. So I made a deal with your father.”

And what I get is a life worth more than mine.

You remember those words. Felix once spoke them in an emotional moment, lost to his memories. You never knew what he meant. You realize now he meant Chris, the friend he left behind, the friend he sold himself to save.

“You gave up your life to my father,” you say, “and in return—”

“He would rescue Chris,” Felix says. “It was a win for us both, yeah. Take out Miroh, steal his assets. My friend gets his freedom. Your father gets a soldier. I was willing to give up my life. I figured I never had one. I wouldn’t miss it. All I knew was how to be a soldier. I didn’t even know how to want something else. But then you… You.”

“Felix,” you say, overwhelmed with his confession and the depth of his feeling.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I let you down.”

“What? How?” You touch his face, cupping his chin in both hands. “What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t save you,” he says, voice rasping and light again, speaking above a sob. “At first because I couldn’t leave, not until we rescued Chris. And there was never an opportunity. I waited years. Years. And by then I had to keep waiting, because I couldn’t have wasted all that time for nothing. I had to save him. I had to save someone. Or else I failed everyone. It had to mean something. I couldn’t—”

“Felix,” you say. “It was an impossible situation. We were kids for half of it. I don’t blame you for anything.”

“I do,” he says, barely more than a breath, a faint whisper against your skin. “I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t do enough.”

“We have no way of knowing what else could have happened,” you say. “We did our best. And now—”

You cut yourself off. And now? What happens next? You heard their conversation in that warehouse. You know why Felix looked so torn apart.

“Chris,” you say. “Is he…?” Dead. “Was Changbin telling the truth?”

“I don’t know,” Felix says.

Dead. For years. Because of Felix. Because of your father.

It does not take much to piece together the implications. Your father is a cowardly, underhanded schemer. He poisons teenagers and beats his daughter and hides in his mansion except when he’s lashing out for attention. He put Felix under contract, but the only guarantee of servitude was his honour and one stipulation. Honour would mean little to your father. But a person, that he could leverage. That he could calculate and control. So long as he could dangle Chris over Felix’s head, then Felix would be bound to him.

And the best way to guarantee he would never have to fulfill his end of the bargain, the best way to guarantee Chris would never escape, would be to kill Chris himself and never tell Felix.

You see it written all over Felix’s face, the horror of this very plausible idea. That in his effort to save Chris, he actually got him killed.

There is a long moment of quiet. It is a very empty silence. There is no way to confirm if Chris is truly dead, and so Felix cannot truly mourn him. There is also no way to prove he is alive, so he cannot take any action.

You hold his hand. It is all you can do right now. You look at where your palms touch, where your fingers lace. The caress of his skin against yours never fails to touch your heart. Even this simple touch warms you. It affects him too, because he exhales and leans in, resting his forehead against yours.

You want to comfort him but your shiver betrays you. The heat from the bath is diffusing and you are in nothing but a towel. Felix laughs and shakes his head, withdrawing.

“Sorry,” he says. “Let’s, uhh, get you dressed first.”

“Or at least under some covers.”

“Someone could come knocking,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say with a jut of your chin. “And?”

He stares back at you. This silence is not so empty, a heady and contemplative regard as he glances at your lips then the rest of you. Then he sweeps you into his arms and carries you into the room.

You kiss his cheek, just above his bruise. You are not sure if he winces from the pain or the affection.

The moment your head touches a pillow, you feel your eyelids drooping. Exhaustion hits you instantaneously. You groan and snuggle under the covers, quite convinced this plain hotel bed is the comfiest bed in the world.

Felix hovers at the bedside, folding your towel. You look back at him with sleepy eyes. It is early evening but he must be as tired as you, from the physical exertion if not the emotional one.

“Aren’t you sleepy, baby?” you ask.

He drops the towel and has to fold it again. It is messier the second time, then slides off the dresser into a lump on the floor. He ignores it, approaching the bed. You pull back the cover in offering.

You think he strips down to his boxers, but you are fast asleep before he even unzips. You stir a little when he climbs in the bed, but his presence is so comforting that it sends you right back to sleep. It is the most restful sleep you have had in a while. But, predictably, falling asleep in the early evening means you wake up in the dead of the night, bright-eyed.

The room is dark. The clock reads 2:17 AM, blinking in red, the only light in the room other than a blue wash of moonlight pouring through the translucent curtains.

Felix is curled up behind you, an arm under his head and the other over your hip. When you wake, he follows but slowly, shifting and grumbling. He does not usually sleep so deeply. It is a testament to the day.

You sidle up to him, your back to his front. He is in his boxers and nothing else, bare skin against yours as he hauls you up against him. You lay your hand over his, resting it on your stomach then on your breast. It is not especially flirtatious, merely intimate. He touches you and you sigh contently, too awake to lose yourself but enjoying the comfort nonetheless.

He exhales. It sounds a little ragged. You look over your shoulder, at his dishevelled bed hair and dark freckles, the bow mouth you so missed, the tenderness in those dark eyes when he gazes back at you.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Hmm? For what?” You roll onto your back to look at him better.

He scrubs a hand down his face then pushes back some unruly hair. “I think, um.” He looks up at nothing. “A part of me always thought a day would come when you would hate me for real. I’m, uhh, a little… I guess I just… was more prepared to be hated than, um, cared about, after everything.”

You lean over him, propping yourself on one arm. He meets your serious gaze, licking his lips under the intensity of your stare.

“Do you see me that way?” you ask. “That I would be that unforgiving and fickle?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Of course not. It’s not how I see you, it’s… myself.”

“Well, I don’t want you to see yourself that way either,” you say. “It offends me.” You say this was a dramatic air, making a point of shoving your nose in the air.

It makes him laugh, a real smile pulling at his lips. You swear it brightens the room.

“Does it?” he says. “I’m very sorry. I’ll have to make it up to you.” He reaches for your face, strokes his knuckles over your cheek, but you pull away.

“That won’t be necessary,” you say, in the same playful tone as him.

“Oh?” he asks, chasing, stroking your other cheek.

“Yes,” you say. You catch his hand and lower it. When you speak again, it is sincerely, without any joke or artifice or double-entendre. “I don’t just care about you, Felix,” you say. “I love you. And you don’t need to thank me or pay me back. You just need to believe it.”

He blinks up at you, surprise written all over his face. You feel flushed with heat even though the admission is obvious. Saying it out loud, truly and honestly, makes your heart flutter anyway. Love and want tangle together in a knot inside you, making you feel soft and desirous at once.

His lips part with a breath as he stares at you. You chase those lips, leaning down and sealing his mouth in a kiss. It takes only a second for him to kiss you back, cupping your cheek and parting your lips with a swipe of his tongue. His bruise must not hurt too badly, or maybe he is just ignoring the pain, but you are careful with your light kisses despite his attempt at more.

You always happily concede to his more dominant guidance. This time it is a little different. You are telling him something with your kisses and you want him to hear it, without any games or distractions. So you take both his wrists and push his hands into the bed, at the same time swinging on top of him. He looks surprised a second time, looking at where you press his hands into the sheets.

He could easily buck you off, but he lets you kiss him like that. You kiss his cheek and under his jaw, avoiding the bruise, then down his neck. His hips lift under yours, rolling against you to get hard. You are already wet and naked, making him moan, a low, dark sound as you grind your softest parts against the hardening line in his boxers.

It makes you want to skip right to it, but you are determined. You kiss down his chest and he laughs when your tongue swipes his nipple, evidently a little ticklish. You smile and keep going, until your lips hover above the hard bulge in his boxers. You kiss him through the material then tug it down. He shuffles quickly, ripping them off and tossing them aside. Then his hand is on the back of your neck as you take him in your mouth.

The hotel room affords some privacy. He makes a little more noise than usual. Or maybe he truly does not care anymore.

Yes, you think, loving at him with your mouth and hands, let yourself go.

He must be getting close because he squeezes the back of your neck and lets out a groan. “Slow down,” he says. “Please. It just—”

“Feels good?” you ask, a little cheekily, but he answers earnestly, with a nod and shaky exhale. “Mmm, okay,” you say. “Tell me what you want.”

This gives him momentary pause. Then he grips your neck more possessively and guides you up.

You follow his direction, lifting your head until your pretty raw lips are hovering just inches from his.

“Get back on top me,” he says. “I’m going to fuck you.”

“Oh. Well.” He has said far dirtier things in the past, but usually in the context of your role-play, where you are the worst versions of yourselves, the real you just laughing under it. It is a little different for the real him to so blatantly state his desire.

It leaves you just as weak in the knees. It is a miracle you manage to swing a leg over him, but you get there. He helps line you up, then he holds your hips and slides you right down until he is fully inside you. It is a lot all at once, especially after time apart. You did not have many opportunities for sex before that either. But you are so wet, despite the sharp burn, it is a smooth fit, and you adjust quickly, mostly because he wastes no time rolling his hips up into you.

“Oh,” you say, hands on his shoulders and mouth falling open.

“That’s it,” he says, taking complete control even though you are on top, holding your hips, guiding you to match his rhythm. “Could – uh, yeah – could have you on your knees, begging for it, without doing anything. So easy for it, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you say, gasping. “Just for you.”

“Just for me,” he says. He pushes himself upright, wrapping an arm around you and pushing your face into his shoulder. He holds you there, fingers stroking the nape of your neck as he fucks you, drawing all those soft, whimpering sounds of you. “That’s it,” he says. “That’s my girl. Just for me. Hold onto me. I’m gonna come. Spread your legs, your pussy can take it. Good girl. Just like that.”

You are wrapped tightly around him, clinging to him as he comes as promised, deep and hard inside you while you tremble and sigh in his arms. Then he lifts your head to kiss you, a quick peck before he presses your foreheads together to just breathe.

“Can you…” Your voice comes softly. “Can you maybe stay inside me, just another minute.”

“Fucking… fuck,” he says, making you laugh. He smiles too. “Yes. I can do that.”

He keeps you in his arms as he lays back. You lay against him, his heart pounding against your chest. You stay like that for a while, almost drifting to sleep when he slides his hand up your spine, reawakening every sensitive nerve in your body.

He says your name, that loving murmur of a sound. You lift your head to look at him. His gaze darts to your lips then back to your eyes.

“I wouldn’t trade places with any of them,” he says. “I want to be your bodyguard. I want to set you free. I want to keep you safe until the day I die.”

“On a few conditions,” you say. “The first, that you cannot die for a very long time. The second, I will only be free when you are. And finally, you can be my bodyguard, but only if I’m your bodyguard too.”

He smiles, his eyes bright and his cheeks dimpled. His nose nudges yours.

“All right,” he says. “Consider it a promise.”

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

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susansontag · 10 months

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I’ve always shied away from discussing ikuhara’s usage of incest in utena because it’s quite a sticky topic in shoujo manga and anime but also because those uninitiated with that are likely to assume his using it is somehow perverted and will have a knee-jerk reaction. but I think he’s honestly very clever with it, using it both on a metaphorical level to elicit sympathy for the characters and their romanticised notions of these relationships but also on a literal level to show the dangers and abuse inherent in these kinds of relationships.

nanami is the most obvious example. even though we as an audience may not understand her almost romantic fixation on attracting the attentions of her older brother touga, we can still sympathise with her behaviour on a metaphorical level; she is thirteen, she is lonely, he is her entire world and the world is taking him, and thus her childhood, away from her and she is helpless to stop this. nanami is not perverse, she is trying to secure control over a situation in which she has none. a more common and relatable example is when one feel as though they, their siblings, their parents, etc, revert back to the dynamics they solidified in childhood when they spend time as a family unit. it’s a phenomenon that can be irritating (‘they’re treating me like a child’) but also comforting, familiar, and certain.

yearning to remain in a permanent state of pre-adolescence is something a lot of different characters in utena contend with, albeit in different ways, but hers is so interesting because ikuhara decides she must at one point be met with the reality of what this would mean if taken to its extreme. nanami understands akio is abusing anthy before utena does, and draws strict lines between what those ‘perverse’ siblings are doing and her pure love for touga. yes, she lacks sympathy for anthy outwardly, but her horror at confronting incestuous abuse in a real, unromanticised context, forces her to understand how her innocent outlook can be taken advantage of by people who would mean to do her harm.

and then touga assaults her, and when she rejects him, bewildered, he accuses her: isn’t this what you wanted? of course he can’t understand it’s the absolute opposite of what she wanted to preserve. one could argue here that ikuhara is blaming nanami for her naivety, even punishing her for being so short-sighted. but on the contrary I think he’s desperately seeking our empathy for her here, in showing us that a child’s romanticisation is not an excuse for her victimisation nor her offering consent. and if all we want to focus on is the fantasies of an alienated child, we fail to appropriately condemn abusers from taking advantage of children like nanami.

#it’s complicated by the fact touga himself is only 17 and probably a victim of csa himself #but utena is a messy show that has a lot of perspectives to offer #but I think nanami is so good and I think what he does here is very tasteful #revolutionary girl utena #nanami kiryuu #anthy himemiya #moth.txt

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sinizade · 22 days

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Pam, The Necromancer Druid

Class: Druid (Necromancer subclass)

Normal Tav (evil ending)

Romance: Minthara

Besties: Midnight/ Scratch/ Owl bear

Pam used to live with her parents in the middle of nature, as druids they always taught her the way of Sylvanus and his ways so that nature always remained in balance, but since then the girl has demonstrated a spirit that is indifferent to life beyond animals, people have always been the source of her main contempt no matter what race they are. The girl always used to stay away from even her own parents, preferring to stay among animals and, no matter how hard her parents tried, they could never make her comfortable in her own home.

Her adolescence was lonely as she decided that the best way to please herself and her parents would be to leave home, she started to live in small huts that she used to set up in the middle of the forest and honestly, she lived well without being forced to. to live with all the stress that I experienced when I was forced to live with other people. Most of her time she spent in her wolf form, hunting, helping them, being part of a pack. Talking to some wolves she managed to be convinced that her place was with the people, as much as they loved her and she loved them, she should go back to her people and try to have a good life beyond the forest. Baldur's gate wasn't pretty, it wasn't pleasant, the smell of that place made her want to vomit and there were a lot of people who looked at her as if she were some kind of monstrosity, of course, she was dirty, half-naked and aggressive, but it wasn't a reason to treat her. her as a monstrosity, but the real monstrosities emerged when she saw a ship in the sky.

Pam is now forced to live with this bunch of chatty misfits, the only one who doesn't lose her patience in that environment is Lae'zel who only says what is necessary so that everyone there can at least get out of this situation alive and without becoming Illith, but that sanctuary, those refugees... That made her furious, how dare those hellish creatures? How dare a druid tarnish the sanctuary like that? She needed to get them out of there, she needed to end Khaga's existence and at first allying with that drow seemed like a good option... She was charming Pam needed to admit that, but she would never forgive herself if she killed those hellish creatures for no reason at all. Your best option was to eliminate Khaga in the bud, killing her and the shadow druids who were on her side, as for Minthara? She wouldn't be a problem if all that goblin scum were dead so Pam just knocked her out so she wouldn't cause any more problems. Her conscience didn't weigh as much as she thought it would, she actually felt relieved and after that massacre in the Grove she received even more relief from Minthara who seemed to develop an interest in her.

Minthara was right, what would be the point of going so far and not taking something in compensation? What's the point of almost dying so many times in exchange for nothing? Pam understood that that choice would weigh later, but she couldn't- She shouldn't allow people to destroy anymore... Being the Absolute would give her the power to improve things in her vision, improve life, improve the forest, with her beloved Minthara by her side, Pam would now have the power to take it all and finally bring true balance to nature.

Some extra information about Pam

Pam's grandmother was a Nymph

Pam can use her blood to create any type of plant and managed to improve this by studying necromancy, starting to use the blood and bodies of other people.

Pam's first time was with Minthara

Pam has a pet crow named Midnight

I also made a small time lapse of this art and posted it on my Twitter in case anyone wants to see it!

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vixstarria · 4 months

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Vix, gimme an interaction between Wyll and Astarion. Where Astarion is like yo quit trying to steal my girl. But in his Astarion-y way that you write so well! <3

Congrats on 1000 followers my friend!

My pleasure, here's what I came up with:

Bonus Astarion POV scene following Seeing stars:

Earlier this evening you’d finally pulled her aside, confessing your lies and manipulation. Laying bare more details about your past. Fully expecting that to be the end of whatever it was you had with her.

And yet, despite all odds, she stayed. She wasn’t even angry with you. Something was definitely wrong with her. Delightfully, maddeningly so.

The proverbial shoe would inevitably drop sooner or later – this was too good to be true. But until then, you could allow yourself more of these impossible moments of comfort and happiness.

You now stalked the camp, trying to find something to occupy yourself with. You’d been doing your utmost to avoid following her around like a lovesick puppy. After all, now you knew she would be back in your arms again later tonight. And you wouldn’t need to do anything but hold her.

You caught sight of Wyll. An irritated anger still seethed in you after the stunt he had pulled yesterday. He had managed to avoid you all day, having stayed back in camp.

He was sparring with Lae’zel, trying to teach her how to use a rapier. She was arguing, perhaps justifiably, that she didn't see the point in poking small holes in someone when she could simply cut them in half with a greatsword.

On an impulse, you approached.

“A moment with your sparring mate, if you don’t mind,” you directed at Lae’zel. She motioned you to go ahead, with a knowing look.

Before Wyll could react you swiftly kicked his legs out from under him, simultaneously grabbing him by a horn and catching him in a headlock.

“I heard you’re not too fond of the horns. Rest assured, I will assist you in breaking them off should you touch what does not belong to you again.”

Lae’zel stood back observing, arms crossed, with an amused expression on her face, as Wyll scuttled, kicking up dust, trying to keep his balance.

“You are right, and I apologise! I was caught up in the moment and not thinking straight,” Wyll gritted through his teeth. Trying to keep the peace and stay amicable even now. How dull.

“Yes, I’m sure you were quite caught up in the moment you had orchestrated.” You dropped him in the dirt. “Just don’t do it again,” you said, starting to walk away.

“Would you have pulled his hair if you could grasp it?”

Apparently the scuffle had merited a rare smile from Lae’zel.

“Honestly... Probably, yes,” you said without slowing down, as you walked past her. It wasn’t too long ago that Tav mentioned that Lae’zel herself had propositioned her recently, and you were not about to get into an altercation with the githyanki.

“You have already mastered biting, but have you considered scratching as a tactic?” she called out after you.

Over two centuries old, and reduced to fistfights over your lover, like a grease-faced adolescent.

It was mere days ago that you socked Gale in the nose for referring to Tav as your ‘livestock’. He still sported a bruise and steered clear of you.

Had you gotten into fights over love interests in your youth, you wondered. You scoured your memory for anything that might ring a bell, but came well short of any images. Some ghost of a feeling whispered faintly in your mind. Despair at... being rejected? Excluded? Were there several people involved at once..? The memory came up as a sour aftertaste of melancholy and dejection. It must have been sharp once, for any remnant to survive for over 200 years. You didn’t try to pursue it further.

You rounded a corner to see Tav talking with that mountain of an elf named Halsin.

Did you truly just overhear them talking about how large he is..?

Ha! But also, really? Sigh... Fuck my unlife...

You would deal with that later, if it ever came to that. You kept walking.

You glanced at Shadowheart. The cleric was praying in her corner of the campsite, as she was wont to do more and more often in her spare time, of late. When had she approached Tav, anyway, you wondered. Must have been back at the tiefling party. Hardly a threat anymore.

What now?

You spotted Karlach stargazing near her excuse of a tent.

You grabbed a bottle of wine you found palatable from one of the supply crates and made your way towards the tiefling.

“Karlach! My best friend, my pal. My home-girl, my rotten soldier. My sweet cheese, my good-time gal.” *

“Are you okay there, fangs?” she gave you an apprehensive look.

“Never been better! A game of cards, now that you can hold them yourself?”

There. You could have normal, friendly interactions with your companions too.

“Alright. But I’ll punch you every time I catch you cheating.”

“Fair.”

Absolutely normal.

*Sorry, I couldn’t resist, the Lazlo quote plagues me.

#asks #astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #Lazlo WWDITS quote

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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 2 days

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You've been quietly seeing Cooper for months now. Avoiding the public eye while he's still in the midst of settling a long, drawn-out divorce. He's been exploring new things with you. You're a little on the demure side but willing to try most things when it comes to what Cooper Howard wants. Being in similar networks, one night, you both go to the same party separately. You get a bit drunk and wonder off from everyone else, with Coop following. Sexual exploitation, cnc, degradation? Soooft Cooper after. Idk just a thought. 👀

Duplicity (Part I)

Pairing: Prewar!Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Word Count: 11,275

Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Possessive!Prewar!Cooper, jealousy, dubious consent, infidelity (physical and emotional), decomposing marriages, acrimonious divorce proceedings, alcohol use, choking, biting, degradation, mild exhibitionism, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, soft ending.

Notes: I am such a sucker for darker portrayals of Prewar!Cooper so this took root right inside my brain, like, instantly. I think there's a lot more of The Ghoul already inside that man than many people talk about.

Thanks for the submission! I fell in love with this prompt and I will absolutely be continuing it; honestly, I think this version of Coop has so much potential and this framing is great fodder for freaky Prewar! antics. There's so much this man wants to try with (on) you.

This is more 'dubcon' than 'CNC', but there's always future installments. If y'all have ideas you'd like to throw on the pile for it, the askbox is always open! The length of this absolutely got away from me and I sincerely apologize for that. I am so bad at estimating how long my fics are gonna end up (I had originally guessed this would be around 8,500). Thanks for your patience and please enjoy!

"Oh, come on, you're gonna tell me you're not at all excited about this?"

Your coworkers words were more grating than usual as the two of you rode up towards your office in the elevator, alone save for the anticipation filling the small space thanks to the early hour.

"You really need to get a grip. Don't you also work at a movie studio? Haven't you met actors before?" you teased, trying to remain good-natured despite your annoyance, and despite your nerves. It was rather rare for you to be nervous about meeting with studio talent these days, but hey; even you were prone to a little fangirl behavior from time to time. You were, in fact, excited for a work meeting for once.

You'd heard Cooper Howard was actually nice compared to a lot of the actors you had to work with.

The early morning time slot you could certainly live without, as well as the hard edge of nerves that you couldn't shake, embarrassingly. For five years, you'd been employed by one of the country's largest and most prolific movie studios practicing contract law. Well, in name you practiced contract law. In reality, the department you worked for was so large that you were rarely involved in the actual negotiation process, the exciting part with the intriguing back-and-forth. Instead, you were left to finish things up, dot i's and cross t's. It wasn't exactly thrilling work, nor was it what you envisioned yourself doing when you were in law school, but the pay wasn't awful and everyone started somewhere.

Essentially, your entire job was to run around chasing (or sit around waiting for) signatures from people who usually thought they were better than you and treated you with contempt, so it was often difficult to feel any sort of genuine excitement. Granted, you were a little more of a fan of Cooper Howard than you were a fan of pretty much anyone else you'd met with, but you tried your hardest to remain professional and not embarrass yourself at all times. You'd grown up watching some of his earliest movies with your grandfather before he'd passed, and had even developed a little adolescent crush on him and his famous sheriff persona, but you also saw so much genuinely embarrassing name-dropping and star-fuckery in this job that you were determined to not come across that way.

Besides, there was enough of that behavior in your household as it was, what with your husband in training as a junior executive thanks to his penchant for that type of behavior.

When you'd married him, bright-eyed and fresh out of undergrad, you hadn't necessarily been head-over-heels or anything, but wasn't that normal? Everyone around you told you that he was a good man, that he was the star to hitch your wagon to, and, in your youth and carelessness, you'd believed them unquestioningly, despite the fact that he never really had actively made you happy. The courting part of your relationship had been more like contract negotiations, long discussions about acceptable and unacceptable behavior in a marital partner until you'd settled on agreeable terms. The wedding had been beautiful and emotionless. You'd assumed that the 'happiness' part would come later, once you were both fully established and settled in.

It never did.

Well, the establishment came; you both graduated law school, you with honors, and when job offers had come in for both of you from the same firm that worked very closely with the studio he'd always talked about working for, you thought the deal was sealed. Your perfect life, perfect marriage were supposed to start the day you signed your offer. You'd found your stride in your work, bought a house, seen him get promoted...and you felt no more positive about him now than you had on your wedding day. The feeling was mutual, and it wasn't hard to tell; he'd had god knows how many affairs, lazier and lazier about hiding them over the years, including a number of flings with his assistant, who was undeniably in love with him, poor thing.

It was because of this that she clearly resented being asked to do anything that had to do with you, including arranging the half-cocked romantic gestures he'd perform in order to show others that he was a good husband. This was mostly made up of having flowers delivered to your office every other week, something he'd never take the time to set up himself, so naturally, it had fallen to the girl. Reserving little effort for the task, she had obviously made a standing order for a dozen red roses, sprinkled with baby's breath, to be delivered biweekly, and left it at that. It was a nice gesture, sort of, but frankly you'd grown tired of signing for the damn things every time when you didn't even like red roses, and he should've known that. You'd been married almost a decade.

Besides, the smell of baby's breath made your stomach turn.

Still, the poor flowers hadn't done anything, so you continued to sign for them, continued to let each bouquet molder away on the little ornamental table in the corner of your office. True, it was nice to have the splash of additional color, the life in the room, but increasingly the thorny blooms irritated you, looking at them distracting you with feelings of muted resentment.

That's what you felt as you looked upon them that morning, rifling through your file cabinet to find the proper contract as you waited, the door to your office standing open and allowing you to hear when the elevator doors opened. Standing there was the famous cowboy, dressed in a wool overcoat and nice slacks, smiling at you as you beckoned him and his companion, a tall, mustachioed man you took for his agent, into your office. Each of them shook your hand and took a seat at your desk, waiting as you made your way to your seat and began to chat with the unfamiliar man about the papers. Talent almost never had anything to say to you in these meetings, in your experience.

However, he surprised you, both by being fairly knowledgeable about the terms of his latest contract, as well as by speaking directly to you in a casual tone that implied he might even see you as an equal. Cooper Howard being so nice to speak to wasn't really a surprise, as he had a reputation for it, but you were shocked all that he was currently going through personally didn't seem to impact his demeanor.

The woman representing him in his divorce had actually been in your law school graduating class, but you didn't figure that made for very good small talk.

"Alright, let's just make sure everything is squared away and we'll get this signed. " you said eventually, holding the little cluster of papers you'd scrounged up to scan it over. However, as the two watched you, your gaze caught on a misspelling; initially, you felt embarrassed, knowing it would have to be corrected, but then you noticed changes to the actual terms of the agreement and you fell completely silent.

Your eyes scanned slower as you quieted, realizing that the contract in your hands had changes that you didn't authorize, were sure that they hadn't authorized; subtle changes in the language that wouldn't draw much attention unless you were to slowly, carefully read through the entire thing right before the signatures went on...which was usually not the case. By now, the terms had been painstakingly ironed out and the thing had been edited and reread and reedited a million times. Typically, this meeting, the bulk of your job, was simply confirming agreed upon terms, collecting signatures, and filing the contracts away.

Something was awry here.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen." you said politely, sitting up straight and smiling as calmly, as normally as you could. "It seems I don't have the correct paperwork. This can't be the current version of the contract. We may have to delay."

"This is ridiculous. Ever since Vault-Tec took over legal, you people can't seem to tell your ass from your elbow." the mustachioed man rolled his eyes dramatically. "You don't have a para or anything to keep shit straight for you?"

"I really am sorry. It'll just be a few minutes, hopefully." you apologized again, cringing. You'd requested a paralegal multiple times and had been told that your role didn't require one, but you weren't about to tell him that.

"Well, if you're gonna make me wait around, I'm gonna go place a few calls in the meantime."

With that, the man rose abruptly and stepped out into the reception area. You followed him with your eyes, slightly worried that he would hassle your assistant in his seemingly aggressive frustration.

"He won't bother your girl." the man across from you said perceptively, surprising you. "He might seem like an asshole, but he's a good guy. Always done right by me. Just a little overprotective."

"Well, I don't blame him. Especially if he represents anyone else that works for this studio. Now every single negotiation has to come under extra scrutiny, not to mention all the contracts signed in the last year since the takeover..." you mused, a little too honest, but uncaring.

"I mean, if they've got you signing these dud contracts, too, isn't that bad for you?" he asked.

You chewed your lip for a long moment, your eyes dancing over the glass paperweight on your desk calendar as you thought things over. It was a sort of odd moment, having famous movie star Cooper Howard expressing concern for your wellbeing and job security.

"Well, I suppose that depends on how I ended up with a bum copy of your contract. Could just be me being forgetful or grabbing the wrong folder, which would certainly be on me...but if I'm honest, that doesn't really strike me as something I would do. Besides, I don't even recognize some of these terms."

"Lots of interesting stuff happening around here since Vault-Tec started buying everything up." he replied, a glint in his eye as he leveled his gaze directly at you.

"I agree completely. And, again, I'm really sorry about this. Let me look at this and compare it to an old one. I know I have a hard copy of the final edit here, and I know that this one doesn't match it. Just let me prove it and we'll sign the real one, if that's what you want. If not, I guess we'll decide where to go from there." you said, feeling infinitely more at-ease than you had before.

"Think your boss'll be alright with that?"

You gave a crisp shrug.

"I feel like my time working for these people is dwindling. Maybe not immediately so, but I certainly can't see myself advancing here. Don't think I fit the corporate culture. You know?" you laughed, and he joined you. It was almost surreal to interact with someone like him who treated you like you were a real person, who acted like a real person themselves.

"Nice roses, by the way." he said, gesturing with his head over his shoulder to the flowers on the table. "Pretty. Are they from your husband?"

His question seemed innocuous, so you weren't sure why your response came out the way it did.

"Uh, yeah. He sends them every other week. It's nice." you replied, your tone unnecessarily flat and sending his eyebrows raising, his head tilting about twenty degrees in intrigue.

"It's nice, huh? Is he in the dog house every other week?" he joked.

"I just don't really like red roses that much and they're all I ever get." you said simply, unsure how much would be too much to say in this suddenly inquisitive moment. "Sorry, that probably makes me sound ungrateful."

"Lemme guess...you like sunflowers."

His statement actually surprised you, since he was right; granted, sunflowers were about the second most popular flower in the country, and you had several paintings and tchotchkes featuring sunflowers up around the office, but it was still sort of odd to you for him to notice that.

"Observant, huh?" you blushed.

The smile he shot back at you was genuinely heart-racing, sending blood racing to your cheeks and your gaze skittering around your desktop as you busied yourself with a random stack of papers. The meeting finished up quickly when his rep stuck his head back into your office and called Cooper away, sending him rolling his eyes playfully as he reached across your desk to shake your hand once more, thanking you sincerely for your help before politely dismissing himself.

You were still thinking about the feeling of his hand in yours that night when you brought up what you'd noticed with your husband over dinner.

"Maybe you do need a paralegal if you're mixing up your paperwork that badly." he muttered through bites of his entree, not even fully lifting his head to look at you. "I'll see what I can do about that."

You rolled your eyes.

"No, I mean it. I think something weird is going on. Like I said, I went though the copy I kept and compared it to the one we had to sign. I didn't make some of those edits, and the terms of them were so unfavorable for them that I really get the feeling that they didn't make them. What if someone is messing with my paperwork or something? I'm the one that'll have to go to court and defend myself if someone ends up suing the company or the studio for contract fraud!" you insisted, your own meal hardly touched.

"Fine. If we've gotta go to court, we've gotta go to court." was all he said.

"We'd never win, though. They'd have a slam-dunk case."

He laughed in response, and you were shocked at how much the sound annoyed you.

"Oh, please. You think Vault-Tec doesn't have the money to keep them in court forever fighting over it? They'll run outta money eventually. Doesn't matter if they're right." he shrugged. "Don't worry about it. We'll get you a para so you can stop screwing up your papers."

You sat there in silence, unable to formulate a reply in your disgust with him. After a long moment, you excused yourself, emptying your plate into the trash before climbing the stairs to bed. The next morning, you called Cooper's rep the moment your husband left the house and invited him to come and pick up the contract copies from your office, all the discrepancies noted clearly. He happily agreed, the star showing up before anyone else had taken their places for the day.

"You're not wearing your ring." he said as he took the manila folder from your hand. You paused, confused, before focusing on your outstretched left hand and noticing that he was correct; your engagement ring and wedding band were missing, clear tan lines in their absence.

"Oh. I, erm, must've forgotten it at home." you replied after just a moment too long, your eyes flitting between his face and your naked finger as you felt your cheeks warm.

You'd never forgotten it before; putting it on was the first thing you did every morning to ensure just that. It was such a tiny, easy-to-lose bauble. Ever since you'd been given the thing, you'd been afraid of misplacing it and the reaction that would earn you. A muted tingle of worry crept up your spine that you may have dropped or lost it.

Both of them, though?

He thanked you sincerely once more, seeming like he wanted to say something else before dismissing himself. Both of you were a tad skittish at the sounds of people arriving in the hall outside, so you let him go, waving in response to the way he nodded at you as he pulled the door shut behind him. That night, when you returned home, you found your wedding bands sitting right on your bedside table where you left them every night. You were both relieved you hadn't misplaced them and curious about how you'd managed to completely forget about them that morning. Cooper Howard was quite the distraction, as it turned out.

You were still thinking about your interaction a few days later as you poured over already-signed documents from previous months, noting multiple differences between final drafts and signed copies, a feeling of dread building in the back of your mind. That smile he'd shot you from across your desk still managed to distract and make you dizzy, though, even as a memory, one you were indulging in yet again when the sound of the front office door opening broke your concentration.

"Your flowers are here to sign for!" your assistant suddenly called from the front of the office, sending you rolling your eyes at the timing until she followed it up with a pleasantly surprised, "They're extra nice this week!"

This sent you moving towards the door with just a little more hustle than usual, your brows furrowed deeper and deeper as a realization set upon you: it was the right day, but the wrong week for your usual rose delivery. The usual man was there to drop them off, standing right at the door and waiting politely. Same song and dance as usual.

"He picked out super pretty ones this time. Must be for something special." she mused dreamily from her chair as she watched you sign for them, nodding politely at the delivery guy as he let himself out.

There, on the desk, was a gorgeous, glossy blue vase filled with goldenrod sunflowers the size of your hand, nestled with tall, royal blue gladioluses and star-shaped balloon flowers. You could smell the arrangement from where you stood. Quickly, you carried them into your office and shut the door, not waiting for her to realize the date was off and start asking questions. Setting them on the usual side table, you inspected them closely. Nestled among the blooms was a thick little card, crisp handwriting inside the rich gold border when you opened it that read:

Thank you so much for your help with the contract edits. If you ever need to get ahold of me again, for anything, please don't hesitate to call me directly. - C.H.

Beneath that, a phone number that you promptly wrote into your address book and burned into your memory, a strange tingle in your gut as you looked your gift over once more. The card itself you tucked into your desk drawer, beneath some innocuous, boring papers.

You hadn't done anything wrong, except maybe in your employer's eyes, but you didn't want to risk anything seeming...untoward, despite your inability to simply throw the card away. You had the phone number now and didn't necessarily need to keep it, but something made you feel a little sad when you thought about tossing it in the trash can.

That evening, after everyone else had left, you called the number, fully expecting to have to leave a message and floored when he actually answered, rather quickly, in fact.

"Thank you so much for the flowers." you said softly, almost shyly after the two of you had exchanged fairly formal greetings. You should've followed up the statement with a "...but they aren't appropriate." or a "...but I'm married." However, you did not.

Interesting.

"Well, thank you for your help with the contract stuff. Really, it's so rare to find anyone really honest around here anymore." he said, and you could hear that killer smile in his tone. It sent your heart fluttering. "I'm still not sure what I'm gonna do, but I'll call you when I decide. Or maybe I'll come bother you at your office and see them in person. I didn't get to see the actual arrangement when I went down to order them, so I'm really glad you like them."

"You're always welcome to come see me if you need." you offered up much too quickly. "I usually stay late a few hours to look over things, especially recently."

"Well, you don't have to tell me twice." he replied teasingly.

After that, you'd swapped small talk for a few minutes before getting off the phone, the feeling of not wanting to hang up first heavy on both ends.

After that, flowers you actually fancied came for you every week for months on end, and still came to this day. It wasn't even the same flowers every time. He knew you liked sunflowers, but would often shake things up by sending arrangements of pale asters and black-eyed Susans, buttercups and gerbera daises, all in beautiful shades of rich yellow, studded with clusters of blue phlox, cornflowers, and larkspur.

His colors.

Over and over you'd told him that it wasn't necessary, that he didn't have to spend that much money on you just for flowers. But your arguments were rather flat and halfhearted; not only did you love having the gorgeous, vibrant blooms to brighten your office, you felt incredibly special at the effort he took to specifically gift you something you actually enjoyed. Besides, he refused to hear it, anyway, rebutting that he was a grown man who knew how to manage his money and what he liked to spend it on.

You started breaking up the bouquets of roses your husband sent, distributing them among the ladies in the office; some wanted color for their desks, others something to brighten up their window sills at home, and you were happy to provide.

The baby's breath, however, went into the trash.

You just tried to not think too hard about the lovely gifts technically coming from someone else's husband, including how the first few bouquets had come before he'd moved out of their shared home.

It had been when he'd finally done so that you two really started to become close. Already you'd reached the point of staying late an hour or so most nights just to talk to him on the phone in your office (with the door locked, of course), so you became quite accustomed to getting to speak to him directly, and regularly, especially when something was bothering you. At first, you mostly just talked about your days; you tried to avoid talking about your suspicions about your work, a little nervous about the security of your phone, so you largely listened to him talk about his latest divorce negotiations, his daughter, asking him questions about himself and answering questions in return. Sometimes, you would both lapse into a silence that was strangely comfortable, even over the phone.

Eventually, you both began to to open up more. You confessed that you got married for less than thoughtful reasons at a probably-too-young age, and all but said you regretted it. You also told him that you really hated your job, actually, and mused about the kind of work you'd do if you weren't where you were. Maybe something in the nonprofit sector.

He told you about his decision to get involved with Vault-Tec, about how he felt like Barb used his career to bolster hers, not caring what the impact towards him was.

Surprisingly to you, he never so much as implied that he resented her for it, but you could sense it there, deep beneath all of the very apparent feelings of betrayal and sadness. One night, he confessed that as much as he loved his wife, he didn't feel like he truly knew her anymore, that he'd always thought they'd shared the same values, and he now didn't think that was really true. There also seemed to be something else, something darker beneath it all, something that frightened him, but you could never get a good sense of what it was.

Over the next few months, you grew closer and closer, stealing rare opportunities to see one another for a few minutes during the day, trying to tide yourselves over until you could talk at night. Quickly, your talks became a necessity for you, a peaceful refuge where you felt you could truly get things off your chest with no judgment.

It became apparent that he felt the same the first night he'd called you at home.

The phone's ring had actually frightened you awake, sending you grabbing at the handset that lived next to your side of the bed in a blind, half-conscious panic. Your husband, asleep (or, based on the smell, passed out) beside you, didn't really stir.

"Hello?" you murmured, groggy with an edge of alarm.

"Hey." came a soft, familiar drawl. "I'm sorry to wake you. I didn't really know who to call."

Cooper's voice was a welcome sound, but the room, the whole house, was so quiet you weren't sure how much you could say without being overheard. For a long moment, you were silent, struggling to decide on what to say.

"Are you safe?" was the question you decided on. It seemed a little dramatic, but you weren't sure what was going on.

At the other end, there was a muffled squeaking sound, like someone shifting around in a leather chair, and a tinkling like ice in a glass.

"Yeah, m'fine. Just sitting here in the new place." he said, followed by an audible swallow. "So quiet. It's weird."

"Mmm." you responded cautiously.

Things were quiet for a time, and you felt a little awkward just sitting there, saying nothing, straining to hear any sounds from him.

"I miss you." he said suddenly.

"Miss you too."

"I'm sorry." he said again, and you could hear the intoxication creeping into his voice. "I know it's not a good time to call. Should've let you sleep."

"It's okay. Happy you called." you responded lowly, trying to use as few words, make as few sounds as possible. "Worried about you."

Finally, it seemed he was ready to say what was really weighing on him.

"Haven't slept without Janey in the same house since she was born." was all he said, his voice thick and strange. You wondered if he was crying, and it broke your heart.

"M'sorry, honey."

The pet name was soft and bittersweet as it rolled off your tongue for the first time. You wanted so badly to be able to be there for him, with him, keeping him company through this. Holding him.

Maybe if you were quiet, you could sneak out...call a cab from downstairs...walk down the drive and meet it...

But before he could respond, before your plan could form any further in your mind, your husband let out a cough, his chest jumping as he turned over roughly in bed. You lie as still as you could in response, trying to feign sleep, the phone cradled secretively against your pillow until he eventually resumed his deep, rhythmic breathing.

"He's there tonight?" Cooper asked. There was an edge to his voice that you didn't really recognize, but between the liquor he was almost certainly into and your still sleep-addled brain, you thought nothing significant of it.

"Yes." you said concisely, adjusting yourself just enough that you could crane your neck to make sure he was really asleep.

"Alright, I'll let you go, sweetheart. Sorry to bother you."

"You're not-" you began, but the line went dead before you could finish your thought.

The next morning, you'd tried to call him after your husband had gone, wanting to make sure he was alright after your call had ended so abruptly, but it was too late in the day and there was no answer. This made you worry that he was upset with you, that you'd done something or said something wrong in response to his vulnerability.

In fact, you'd been fretting about it, staring at the latest bouquet from him, some vibrant buttercups, chopped short and dotted with blue-and-yellow-streaked African violets, when your assistant poked her head in your door, an interesting glint in her eye as she spoke, pulling you from your distraction.

"Cooper Howard is here to see you." she said with a mild air of impression.

You stayed sitting until he strode in, thanking the girl as he removed his coat and hung it on the stand by your door. Smiling pleasantly at her, he shut the door behind him, hesitating for a moment before locking it. This sent you rising from your desk, making your way around the side to approach him, hesitating as you moved within a foot of him. He looked a little tired, which was unsurprising as you knew his sleep had been poor, but put together as always, clad in what looked like a thin denim shirt covered with a very soft-looking sweater. Standing so close, you could smell his cologne.

You'd intended to ask if he was alright, but you never got the chance. Cooper closed the distance between the two of you, his hands softly cupping your face as he leaned down to pull you into a tender, passionate kiss. You were taken aback a bit by the gesture, but easily let him guide you back a few feet until he was pressing your hips into the edge of your desk as he stole the breath from your lungs. Both of you were left panting when he eventually pulled back, quiet for a long moment as he petted your hair affectionately.

"Thank you for talking to me last night. I really needed it." he said, gazing at you tenderly before kissing your forehead. You didn't know what to say, and didn't get much chance to reply before he stepped away, adding "I have to get to set, but I wanted to come tell you how much I appreciate you. Talk tonight?"

You nodded enthusiastically, somewhat dazed as he went out. That day had dragged by so slowly, the minutes passing like hours until you could speak to him again. The next morning, his newest floral gift had arrived, and it surprised you: roses, but gorgeous, full blooms of a light purple that tickled you deeply. He'd never given you roses before, and you understood why, for sure, but these were beautiful. Your assistant seemed to agree, as well.

"Aww, how sweet." she smiled at you as she appraised the new blooms, leaning down to give them an appreciative whiff. "Love at first sight."

"What?" you asked, brow furrowed slightly.

She nodded to the flowers just inches from her face once again.

"Lavender-colored roses. They usually symbolize love at first sight. Or, at least, that's what I've read. Who knows, could be nonsense."

Her reply made your face redden again, taking the vase into your office and placing it in its usual place of honor. It had distracted you all day, another decade passing in your mind before you were able to call him that night.

"Did you like the roses?" he asked when he picked up. "I know roses aren't your absolute favorite, but..."

"I loved them." you said decisively. The heat in your cheeks was blooming further, intensifying, but the strange excitement that washed over you made it easy to ignore. "I really want to see you tonight."

That evening, he'd come up to your office and the two of you had shared a takeout dinner together, chatting and holding hands until it was time to part ways. Soon you were doing so most nights, ending with you in his lap, his tongue in your mouth as you rubbed yourself against his clothed erection, fooling around like teenagers.

This man was going to make such trouble for you, you could tell.

You also didn't care, really, which is how you ended up on your husband's arm, suffering through one of his colleague's fancy Friday night parties for once instead of sitting at home in your pajamas, clad in an outfit chosen just for the occasion.

Your dress wasn't especially scandalous, a dark grey wrap, soft and stretchy with sleeves that reached your elbows, the hem stopping just above your knee. Something comfortable and elegant, something you could wear to the office.

Something with deniability.

But you were also aware of the way this particular dress hugged every line in your body just right, form-fitting in all the correct places, making you feel feminine and sexy and powerful at the same time. Your husband complained it was "matronly", but you ignored him; his opinion didn't matter. Besides, the thing was nice and stretchy, so if anyone special found their way up your skirt for a few minutes, as you were hoping would happen, it'd be nice and easy to get in and out. You'd even worn a special set of underwear, red and lacy, beneath.

You only slightly regretted your choice of footwear, some very classy stilettos; while they really completed the look, sexed it up a bit, your feet had been aching for over an hour already, leaving you scanning the room for a free seat to flee to once you were able to slip away from the group chat you were currently enmeshed in.

The man you'd shared your home and bed with for the last eight years was strangely affectionate this evening, consistently cradling you into his side as he spoke boisterously and even occasionally sending a compliment your way. It made you wonder which young lady in the room he was trying to impress with his "perfect husband" routine, scanning around and noting several of his type; though, at least a few had already been crossed off the list. They avoided your glossy gaze, turning their faces into their Pip Boys or their wine glasses as your spouse continued to absentmindedly massage at your hip, his arm tight around you as he recited yet another unamusing anecdote to the men standing around you.

Among them was Bud Askins, head of some department of incapable jackasses with no moral compass, though which one, you could never remember. What you did remember was how often you caught him looking at you, the number of times he'd gotten close just to linger a few seconds too long. Fortunately, you'd always managed to slip out of the odd-feeling conversations he'd try to start with you. He wasn't the only one, either; so many of these men seemed eager to betray one another in basically whichever way presented itself first. It made you eager to remove yourself from this corporate world, to find a better way to live your life, and sooner rather than later.

Out of the corner, you watched as Cooper Howard sat on a chaise, sipping a cocktail and eyeballing you so hard you didn't even have to fully look his way to feel his gaze burning into you. You'd been waiting all week to make it to this party, not because you had any particular desire to hobnob and mingle with studio execs and Vault-Tec higher ups, but because you'd known the older man would be making an appearance.

You knew that, personally, he didn't really revel in the attendance of these get-togethers himself, but you also knew that socializing and getting face time with important people was one of the top ways that actors continued to get work. That was why he and Barb had quite literally had to iron out a social schedule with their lawyers: to ensure neither of them had more networking opportunities than the other.

He had to be glad that everything was said and done at last, finalized a few days before. You hadn't really discussed it; he hadn't brought it up much, save for to confirm it to you as truth. It certainly didn't feel like your place to mention it, so you didn't, wanting to be as supportive as possible.

An especially loud burst of laughter drew you back into the present, just in time for your husband to make a joke at your expense, sending you rolling your eyes and pushing your hand against his chest as he bent to pepper your face and mouth with half-assed, drunkenly apologetic kisses. You gave him one peck in return, not wanting to be the topic of gossip for the night. Feeling strange kissing your husband, especially with your present company included, you peeked over towards him as slyly as you could. There was a polite smile on his face, but it didn't touch his usually warm eyes, a tight irritation there as he cradled a half-full gin martini against his chest. A feeling of guilt sunk into your chest, but you were quickly distracted as the group around you moved into the kitchen, sort of herding you along as they went.

A couple hours later, when you finally managed to excuse yourself, the evening had begun to wind down, though not entirely; about two thirds of the guests had slowly flowed out, but those that remained seemed to be getting a sort of second wind where they all convened around the pool outside. You stood hidden away in the corner of the living room the party had vacated from, finally alone save for one or two caterers moving around, collecting abandoned glasses and emptying ashtrays in silence. Scanning the group outside, you failed to locate the one guest you actually wanted to see.

In fact, it had been over an hour since you'd even laid eyes on the older man, and you pondered that fact as you turned and made your way down the hallway, trying your best to look for a bathroom without seeming like you were casing the place or being too nosy. However, the cocktails you'd been nursing just to have something in your hand had been stronger than you'd anticipated, and it made walking completely straight, seeming normal, much harder than you'd thought. Your feet ached deeply from the uncomfortable shoes.

Eventually, you found a nice washroom, decently appointed with a massive mirror, into which you stared for a minute or two, willing yourself to sober up more as you washed your hands. You didn't want to make yourself seem foolish in front of Cooper, and you were fairly positive he wouldn't have left without you two speaking.

When you stepped back out into the carpeted hall, you assessed the wall of windows and the adjacent hall to your right, decided that he likely hadn't gone that way, and turned to head back towards the pool area, almost willing to ask one of the staff if they'd seen the incredibly recognizable man around recently, but you were quickly stopped.

"Nice dress." a low voice murmured, lips pressed firmly and suddenly against your ear as a pair of strong, wiry arms wound around your waist. The gasp you let out quickly melted into a giggle as his lips found the nape of your neck, kissing and nipping there playfully as he pushed his hips against your ass; a much bolder move than he would typically pull, but you were certainly open to his attention as he turned you, pressing your back into the wall behind you to kiss you deeply.

His hands were knotted deep in your hair as his tongue worked his way into your mouth, his thigh rubbing at the apex of your own as best as it could. Soon, you were far too worked up, arms wound around his neck as he shepherded you into a nearby open door, shutting it firmly behind you.

The guest room he'd tugged you into was cozy, but pristine, the low, full-sized mattress to your eleven o'clock covered with plush layers of bedding and rows of decorative pillows. Quickly, he tugged you over to the foot of the bed, urging you down onto your back as he hovered above you, one knee braced on the bed as he latched his lips onto your throat, dragging his teeth and tongue along your pulse point as his hands pushed at your skirt.

Despite the two of you never really going at it like this, his hands didn't stop the roaming along your body they'd started doing in the hall, didn't even pause as he continued to work your dress up your body, bunching it at your waistline, quickly and roughly exposing your lacy red hip-huggers to his hungry eyes. A rumble left his chest, low and deep like a growl, when two of his fingers met the warm, wet gusset covering the mound between your legs. For a minute, he rubbed firmly at your erect clit through the rough material, making you squirm and whimper. Eventually, he pulled his fingers away, tucking them into the waistband of your panties at your hip and yanking at the seam there.

"Wait, baby." you chastised, words still sort of slurred, but they obviously didn't register or were ignored, as he continued to yank at the fabric until it gave way under his hand, pinching lightly at your skin as he ripped the leg of the garment open before repeating the motion on the other side. This made you frown, upset at the loss of your favorite pair of underwear before he'd even properly gotten to see them on you.

"Cooper, stop." you said, trying to push your hands against his chest, your heart racing when he continued to ignore you, yanking the fabric loose from beneath you and stuffing it into his pants pocket.

Your lover's lips were attacking the exposed side of your throat and shoulder, nipping and sucking and huffing, your back pressed firmly into the plush mattress as you wriggled beneath him. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, between the one-too-many cocktails you'd had during the party and the way he was touching you, moving you, positioning you the way he wanted as he softly gyrated in between your legs, kneeling over you on the edge of the bed.

"Maybe we should wait." you breathed, your breaths deep and deliberate as you tried to sober yourself up enough to string together a clear thought.

It would've been difficult enough simply trying to resist his kisses, but your head spinning from the alcohol only made it harder. Still, this was some random Vault-Tec executive's guest bedroom. There was a party going on. Your husband was likely still outside mingling, possibly looking for you. The odds of that weren't high, but they weren't zero. While the two of you had fooled around a bit up until now, his hands slipping up your skirt once or twice during your make-outs in your office, you couldn't help but feel like you wanted things a little different for the first time you really had sex, for when you really took that plunge and committed to this path.

The man on top of you seemed to feel differently.

"Don't think so." he purred lowly into the crook of your neck, running his teeth along your collarbone and making you shudder. You could smell the gin martini he'd been holding earlier on his breath. "You made me watch him touch and kiss on you all night, and now you're gonna make it up to me."

Cooper's warm, softly calloused hand found your throat, holding you firmly as he gazed down at you. He wasn't choking you, per se; at least, not in the way that you would've anticipated someone would choke you, squeezing around your airway until your breathing was cut off. No, instead, he pressed his fingers and thumb into the soft flesh on each side, digging into your twin pulse points and slowing the flow of blood to your brain.

It didn't hurt or make you feel panicked. In fact, quite the opposite happened, your squirming finally ceasing almost entirely, your brain buzzing with warm, tingly docility. Between that and the already warm feeling coursing through your veins, you haltingly allowed your defiant legs to fall open halfway, slowly forgetting the reasons you'd been resisting, forgetting where you were.

"That's a good girl. You know who you belong to, don'tcha?" he praised, his free hand stroking the sensitive inside of your thigh reverently. The feeling of two of his thick fingers sliding inside of you suddenly sent you whining in response, both at the stretch and the slight sting of it. That sent a smirk ghosting across the actor's face, leaning in to run his lips along the soft, flushed skin of your cheek.

"Pretty little cheatin' slut. Now, be quiet and let me have what's mine."

His words both stung and fanned the flames in your gut, leaving you feeling frozen under his touch as he pulled back to look at you, now free hand leaving your throat and moving up to finish pulling the top of your dress down enough to expose the bra beneath.

"Mm." he hummed as he ran his free hand along the softness of your exposed clevage, though it was a curt sound. "This why you didn't wanna fuck me? Had other plans, huh?"

Briefly confused, you shook your head vigorously, your heart rate revving up once more at his tone.

"It's not like that, baby." you pleaded hoarsely, but your protests died on his tongue as he forced it back into your mouth, his hand knotting into a fist between your breasts, twisting the stretchy nylon of your bra's waistband around his knuckles and using the leverage it gave him to yank you up, dangling you for a few seconds above the bed as the seams popped and cracked at the tension. He was trying to destroy the thing.

A small whimper of discomfort left your throat as you felt the hooks in the back digging into your skin; the noise seemed to lift him partially out of the fugue he was immersed in, and he dropped you back down to the bed, the cups now bunching uselessly over your breasts, leaving them exposed to his warm hand. He was gentler with them than you thought he'd be, softly cupping them and rolling each nipple between the fingers on his free hand before sliding it up to cup your face, holding you and making you look at him as you muffled your cries into his palm. Your vision was blurry with unshed tears.

His fingers were still buried as deep inside you as he could get them, fucking you shockingly rough, pushing you closer and closer to the edge as he continued to toy with your aching clit. One particularly perfect movement made you cry out rather loudly, clenching around his fingers rhythmically as you came close to your peak.

"Nuh-uh. If you're gonna cum, honey, you're gonna cum on my cock." he whispered, his voice more steady than you'd heard it all night as he pulled his hand from between your legs. "Is that what you want?"

You couldn't stop the way your head set to nodding, the fat tears in your eyes finally spilling over and running down over his fingers as they cradled the side of your face, still muffling your sounds. Your eyes slipped shut for a moment, trying your hardest to collect yourself to some degree as you could hear the quiet sounds of his belt and fly coming undone.

A small voice in the back of your mind noted that he definitely wasn't wearing a condom as he let the leaking head of him trace back and forth through your soaking folds, tapping along your clit and gathering the slickness there as he teased you. The worry you'd felt melted away rapidly with his teasing, though, and soon you were breathily begging him to fill you, to properly fuck you.

Your name dripped from his tongue, syrupy and hot, as he pushed inside you.

"Fuck." you cried.

You couldn't see well in the dim glow of the bedroom, but the sensation, the slight burn of his girth stretching you open was vivid and detailed as he slowly began to work his hips back and forth, giving you a few breaths to sort of acclimate to his size before moving more earnestly. The bed frame beneath you was surprisingly squeaky as he fucked you harder, and you wondered, mortified, just how apparent the sound would be from the hallway. At least you knew he'd locked the door.

However, you didn't stay clear-minded enough to fret forever, his cock inside you and his fingers back on your clit rapidly soothing you into a state of hypnotized bliss, your body jolting along beneath his with every rough thrust into your flesh.

"This body belongs to me. This pussy belongs to me." he growled, his hips slamming into yours with bruising force.

"Oh, Cooper. Fuck me, baby." you begged, your nails digging hard into his shoulders through the softness of his shirt.

He sighed your name in reply, an echo following it a moment later.

The sounds of your coupling filled the room, making it difficult to hear anything outside, save for the occasional very loud splash from the pool in the courtyard.

He slid his tongue back into your mouth, winding and rubbing it along yours as he continued to use your body. Another echo of your name from somewhere that wasn't here.

"I think someone's looking for you, sweetheart." he whispered in your ear, sliding his tongue along your lobe and making you throb around him.

It was clear as day now: someone out in the hall was calling your name. Someone with a voice that sounded suspiciously like your husband's through the thick wood of the door.

Suddenly, there were shadows moving beneath. The sound of the handle jiggling made you freeze like a deer in the headlights; his movements slowed, but he didn't stop pumping between your thighs as he cast a downright impish look from your face and back to the door.

"Occupied, man." he called, pulling back enough so that his free hand could move down to slowly flick at your clit once more. Your hand that wasn't trapped between your bodies moved to cover your mouth, desperately trying to silence the whimper his touch drew from you as he continued on. There was some more shuffling, the shadows barely visible beneath the door dancing back and forth.

"Oh, erm. My bad. Sorry." the voice called, moving away.

It resumed calling your name as it faded to nothing.

Shockingly, you felt almost nothing, save for the older man's pubis grinding against your clit deliciously as he slowly began to build his pace back up, the creaking of the bed frame slowly growing louder and louder once more as the calling faded. There was no guilt, no sour sting of knowing you were betraying someone who supposedly cared about you like you thought there'd be. There was only the pleasure your lover was gifting you and the satisfaction of knowing you wouldn't be pulled away from him in this moment.

When the calling faded away to nothing, he picked up the pace tenfold, fucking you with wild abandon as the bed slid back against the wall with a thud. Your vision was quickly blurring again under his intense, animalistic attentions.

"Fuck, Cooper. I'm gonna cum..." you breathed harshly, tucking your head against his firm chest, your cheek rubbing against the overheating, rumpled silk of his shirt.

That drew a groan from him, his hips stuttering for a moment before regaining their tempo.

"Yeah? You gonna cum all over my cock, pretty girl?" he replied, his question low and urgent as his lips pressed to the crown of your head. "Go ahead, make a mess all over me."

Regardless of how quiet you tried to be, a fluctuating, nasal whimper escaped you as you fell completely apart under his touch, feeling your greedy cunt fluttering as you did, trying its best to milk him for everything he was worth. It must've worked well enough, as he seemed immediately overwhelmed by the sensation, his hips beginning to buck wildly as his fingers dug harshly into the plush meat of your outer thighs.

It was nearly impossible to remain quiet as he fucked you hard through your orgasm, pushing you closer and closer to overstimulation as he continued to abuse your swollen walls. Cooper's breathing was loud and harsh, broken up with muttered curses and little huffs of praise that made you clench around him even harder. At one point, he lowered his mouth back to your chest, grabbing the closest nipple between his teeth and lathing at it with his tongue, making you moan loudly.

The sound must've really turned him on, as he let out a long, low groan in response, his hands pushing on the backs of your thighs to lift your legs up onto his shoulders, folding you in half as he brought his other knee up onto the bed, thrusts reaching reaching even deeper than they had before. You jumped as his fingers found your clit again, rubbing it quickly and firmly, again rapidly bringing you right back to the edge, your aching pussy fluttering hard and making him groan once more.

"Cum with me, baby." he whispered feverishly, lips pressed to your forehead as his nose tickled along your hairline. "Cum with me while I fill up this pretty pussy."

This made you whimper, his words shooting down your spine and straight into your gut, which clenched tight in response, and it was all over for both of you. Your second orgasm wasn't quite as intense as the first, but it was no easier to stay quiet as you rode out the overwhelming waves of pleasure tucked beneath him, especially as he dug his teeth into the side of your neck to keep the growl that escaped him muffled. The sensation of his warmth pooling in your womb, his teeth back on your skin made you see stars.

You weren't sure how long you two laid there, him slumped loosely on top of you, most of his weight supported by his knees as you held him close, your own legs lowered back down to wrap around his waist. He was still throbbing away inside of you, and the feeling was so surreal; you and your husband hadn't had sex for months, but before that, it's not like it was a regular occurrence, and you certainly wouldn't let him do this. For years you'd been afraid of catching something...or having a baby that would tie you to him forever. When you'd first married him, you'd just assumed that you would eventually feel ready to have children with him.

Then again, you'd also assumed you'd eventually really love him, or feel loved by him, and look at how that worked out.

"Come home with me." your lover murmured into the side of your sweat-slicked throat. "Stay with me tonight."

His request settled into your chest weightily, excitingly, tingling its way upwards over your breastbone and spreading to your mouth, sending you scrambling to hold back the grin that wanted to steal across your lips. Your heart raced with a kind of pure, joyous elation you hadn't felt since you were young. A response didn't immediately jump to your lips, however; instead, you brought both hands up to cradle the back of his head, petting his slightly damp hair and neck affectionately.

Were you really considering just flat-out not going home to your husband? It wasn't like he'd never done it before. Hell, for all you knew, he'd given up his search for you and gone home with one of his roster. Maybe that hadn't even really been him at the door. Maybe it was Bud Askins looking to finally shoot his shot with you or something.

Frankly, you didn't really care.

"I'd love to." you said quietly, both of you moving to sit up.

For another few minutes, you sat on the mussed bed together, holding and petting tenderly at one another as you let your breathing and body temperatures return to normal. Eventually, the man beside you stood to right his clothing, his belt jingling musically as he tucked himself away, still turned so you couldn't really see anything. He was such a tease.

Pleasantly, you noted that your face no longer burned like it had earlier; that is, at least, until you stood to join him and felt a quick, warm rush of slickness race down your inner thigh, thinning and cooling as it wound its way around the back of your calf towards the floor. The gasp that left you instantly drew your lover's attention, and his gaze was still shockingly hot as he scanned you up and down.

"Makin' a mess." he teased, cutting his eyes at you playfully as he tugged the bedding loose, using the corner of the top sheet to quickly and crudely clean you. An indignant little noise left you at that, embarrassingly close to a cluck, which he chuckled at as he tossed everything down on the floor.

"Don't want some poor, unassuming soul sleeping in the mess, you know?" he explained when you looked at him quizzically.

"Oh...I still feel kinda bad that someone's gonna have to remake that bed." you responded, leaving the 'likely an underpaid housekeeper' part unsaid.

"Point me to the linen closet, sweetheart, and I will happily make it happen. Little late to save that labor now." he smirked. You took his point.

"Alright, let's get out of here before you get us caught." you replied, rolling your eyes to try and keep the impending grin off your face, failing miserably when he swatted you firmly on the ass. Your hands flew to your mouth, covering it to hide the cackle that jumped out of you, sending you glaring at him.

"C'mon, this way." he grinned, tugging you back down the hall towards the bathroom you'd used. Confused, you followed wordlessly, moving closer and closer towards the wall of "windows" you'd seen before until you realized that one was really a door to the gorgeous deck you could now see. As you stepped outside, the last remnants of the day's scorching heat kissed at your face. You were pleasantly surprised to see a set of stairs that led down to the ground level, into what looked like a strange statue garden: clusters of pillars along a winding gravel path, topped with geometric marble shapes of seemingly no significance. The whole thing was fairly ugly and reeked of "more money than taste", which wasn't surprising for one of the best and "brightest" at Vault-Tec.

At the very least, there were some very lovely bushes and flowers, the aroma of which enveloped you as the two of you descended the wooden stairs. Maybe fifty yards out, the edge of the flawless black driveway was visible.

The two of you stood out back for a while, hidden beneath the deck stairs; you leaned against the warm terracotta wall and watched him smoke a few cigarettes as he finished sobering up enough to drive, the ghost of his hands still running all over your body, his teeth still digging into your neck and making you shiver despite the balmy heat. Absentmindedly, you wondered if you would bruise where he'd bitten you.

You stood with your legs close together, a little afraid that you'd have another mess on your hands if you weren't careful. He didn't seem to notice, but you were quickly realizing that he was slicker than you'd given him credit for. In an attempt to distract yourself, you turned your eyes to the treeline, watching the crisp leaves sway back and forth in the soft breeze. You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

"I can't believe the number of people who had the gall to ask me where Barb was tonight." he muttered eventually, breaking your companionable, though contemplative shared silence.

You turned your gaze back to him, but remained silent, sensing one of the times he'd appreciate a chance to simply vent. Cooper Howard wasn't really a man to complain much, so when he wanted to, you let him.

"It's not like the divorce was a secret or anything. Been in and outta the headlines, the trades for a fuckin' year. Not like we both haven't been out alone. But it just so happens that tonight of all nights everyone wonders where she is within earshot. I don't understand the desire to play weird mind games with people you barely know."

There was real, deep frustration in his tone as he spoke, his eyes gazing out over the ugly little statues, unseeing. Softly, you reached out and put your hand on his arm, massaging gently.

"Some people just really enjoy other people being miserable because they, themselves, are miserable. Marriage issues are like catnip to the gossip mill. Especially the marriage issues of the beautiful and famous." you teased, fawning towards him and batting your eyelashes as you leaned against his shoulder.

"Oh, it's not just my dead marriage they're out there yappin' about, sweetheart." he grinned, burning cigarette hanging from his lips as he leaned towards you. "You had a face like a slapped ass when he kissed you, y'know. They ate that shit up."

"I think you mean you ate that shit up." you rolled your eyes, cheeks hot again as you turned your face to hide from him, from the truth of his words. It was rapidly coming to a point where you couldn't even stand your husband's touch. Maybe it really was time to start considering your options for divorce.

Well, the fact that you were even standing here said that it was time for divorce. No maybe about it. Your stomach turned unpleasantly, wondering how much fighting and negotiating you'd have to do yourself.

"Hey." he called, pulling you from your snowballing thoughts. "It's all gonna be alright."

You didn't look straight at him, but you let him slip his hand into yours when you felt it brush your palm. The feeling was shockingly soothing, and you quickly pulled him close for a long hug, smiling into his chest when you felt him kiss the top of your head.

"How are we getting outta here?" you asked when you pulled back, giving a casual glimpse around when you heard a particularly loud sound from the pool on the other side of the house. "Where's your car?"

"It's down the hill a bit. I just walked up here." he said, nodding towards a little gap in the trees you could now see, just the slightest glimpse of yellow nestled there.

"You parked that thing on the street?" your voice piqued, knowing how particular he was about his beloved car. To be fair, it was very nice.

"Yeah, in Beverly Hills. I think it'll be fine." he chuckled. "Besides, you never know when you'll need to make a quick and low-profile getaway. A valet would make that awfully tough."

Taking in the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the devilish way he was looking at you again, you couldn't help but suspect that this whole ordeal had been orchestrated. You also suspected you ultimately didn't care; you felt happier, calmer than you had in a long time. Cheeks burning again, you looked away from him shyly as the two of you fell silent once more, the stars struggling to be seen overhead among all the light pollution of L.A.'s buzz as you began to walk towards the driveway, still hand-in-hand.

The sidewalk was dark, save for the elegant street lights, the sky overhead painted in subdued inky indigos as you made your way down to the little yellow roadster. You weren't surprised when he led you to the passenger's side and opened your door for you.

When he slid into his own seat, his hand went right to your knee, petting sweetly as you two began the drive to his new place. You sat back in the plush, soft leather seat and watched the fancy, oversized houses go by. The affectionate hand on your knee slipped upwards after a few blocks, kneading the muscle of your thigh absentmindedly as it slowly worked its way beneath your skirt. This sent you tensing in anticipation, but his hand simply reached your mid-thigh and sat there, warm and pleasant, for the rest of the drive out of the hills, moving northeast towards Pasadena. The drive was longer than one would think, for the distance...if one had never been to Los Angeles, that is.

Overall, things were quiet again, and your mind turned to reviewing the events of the party. When the image of him standing over you, your leg caught in his grip as he maneuvered it over his shoulder flashed across your vision, you felt your swollen cunt clench, embarrassed that your engine was still running after all that. Not nearly as embarrassed as you felt when another warm trickle ran down the inside of your thigh, pooling in the skirt of your dress, though. You fidgeted in response, reaching underneath yourself as casually as you could, trying to gather the soft fabric to soak up the mess. Fretting, you tried your best to remember anything you could about stain removal on leather as the car slowed, creeping down a little residential street lined with condos.

The little brick townhouse looked nice, even from the outside, though certainly much less opulent than the home he'd lived in for the last fifteen years. You'd seen photos of it. This place was still lovely, though, and the smell of fresh paint tickled your nose as the garage door opened and then closed behind you. The room was pretty empty from what you could see, save for some boxes stacked in the corner and a tool bench, as you turned to find him staring right at you, his hand finally slipping further and further up your skirt until he was softly brushing at your slit with his fingers again.

A huffing little moan left you, quiet and tense, as two of those long fingers slipped back inside you all of the sudden, pushing whatever had leaked down your leg back up inside you. You clenched around his hand involuntarily, and he let out a dreamy sigh in response.

"Still makin' a mess." he murmured, leaning in and pressing his lips back to yours as his free hand moved up to cradle the back of your head. For what felt like an hour, you simply sat in the quiet garage, immersed in one another's breathless kisses just like all those nights in your office. Except now, there was no chance anyone was going to come along and interrupt you.

The fingers inside you remained still throughout, his thumb stroking teasingly at your abused bud before eventually sliding his hand away.

"Alright, kiddo. Let's go inside." he smiled, turning to pull himself out of the low-sitting vehicle with just a bit too much swagger and making his way to your side. Letting out a deep sigh, you took his hand as he offered it, cringing at the wet feeling of your inner thighs. The shit-eating grin on his face was impossible to avoid as he leaned in close, the musky, fading smell of his cologne wrapping around you.

"By the way, if you make a mess on my new floor, I'm gonna make you clean it up with your tongue." he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his fingers played in the stickiness coating your skin. An involuntary groan left you, your hips twitching towards him with zero permission; that drew out a gasp when you felt something poking you back, digging into the softness of your belly.

You got the distinct sense that the evening was far from over.

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