#◐ always for hire | countenance

[skzdarlings]

part v: 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; 18k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamic plus explicit violence, threatening behaviour, mentions of homophobia, implied suicidal ideation, and explicit sexual content.

-

Jisung sighs with agonizing sorrow as he turns his baseball cap around.  He tugs the brim low then steeples his hands on the desk. 

“I see,” he says grimly.  “I understand.  You found paradise in Hyunjin.  You had a good friendship, it made a good romance.  So you didn’t need a friend like me.  Now you come to me and say, ‘Han Jisung, come bowling with me and my evil boyfriend.’  But you don’t ask with respect.  You come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married and you ask me to go bowling—”

“We’re in earth science right now,” Felix says, bemused. 

“He’s quoting a movie,” you say.

“Ah.”

“And for the last time, Hyunjin is not my boyfriend,” you say.  “We’re just… hanging out.” 

Your second ‘date’ with Hyunjin was once more a family affair as your father invited him and his parents to the mansion for lunch.  It was professionally catered because your father does nothing by halves, so at least the food was good.  You and Hyunjin were mostly silent in the company of your parents, but you were allowed to walk around the yard by yourselves after. 

He looked good because he always looks good, in a fuzzy purple sweater and name-brand jeans.   His charisma was dwindled to nothing, though.  He kept his fists curled up in the sleeves of his sweater and smiled a lot of forced smiles.  His parents’ presence clearly does a number on his mentality.  He did unwind somewhat when you were finally alone, but it was hard to shake the feeling of observation, their eyes stalking your every step like animals in a zoo. 

“Maybe we should just have sex on the ground here,” you said dryly.  “See if that satisfies them.”

He burst out laughing at that, an endearingly wheezy sound that made you giggle too.   

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head.  “When you make jokes like that I remember you and Han Jisung really are best friends.” 

“Guilty,” you said with a snort.  “Stupid jokes is what is friendship is all about.” 

He smiled at the subject of friendship.  His expression was full of so much warmth, very contrary to his polite but cold countenance during lunch when he only flirted appropriately. 

You like Hyunjin as a friend and you think he might feel the same way, hence the reservation on both your parts to truly commit to this farce of a relationship.  It feels wrong to use him to keep your father happy.  

You caught his eye this morning in the school corridor, sharing a smile as you crossed paths.  Even though a true relationship has not been defined, you told him you wanted to tell Jisung before you started hanging out at school. 

You made the mistake of saying this within earshot of Hyunjin’s parents.  His father unfortunately overheard you, enquiring as to the identity of this Jisung. 

“Just her little school friend,” your father said.  “Nobody important.” 

Jisung might be nobody important to your father but he is still your friend.   And unlike your father, who merits the value of life on business calculations, the first question Jisung asks is, “Does he make you happy?” 

Felix is scribbling in his notebook but lifts his head at that question.  You cannot look at him directly because you know it will shatter your very careful mask. 

“Hyunjin is actually really nice when you get to know him,” you say, because the best lie has a hint of truth in it.  “And I really do like spending time with him.  So… it would make me happy if you could be happy for me too.”   

Jisung scrutinizes you, then glances at Felix who has gone back to scribbling in his notebook.  Eventually Jisung smiles and spins his cap backwards. 

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Jisung says.  He turns very dark and serious when he says, “But that pretty rich boy is paying for my nachos.”

You catch up to Hyunjin in the hallway.  He laughs when you tell him Jisung’s stipulation. 

“I think I can afford it,” he jokes, then quirks an eyebrow.  “Jisung… He doesn’t know about your dad, does he?”   

“Only a bit,” you say, thinking back to the countless times you abstractly complained about your father to him.   “I mean, he knows he’s strict but he doesn’t know why.  I complain about some stuff but… I don’t really go into detail.”  Truth be told, you like that your friendship with Jisung is so far removed from your home life.  He has nothing to do with your father or your wealth or your abuse.  He likes you for you and that has always been the case. 

“What about Felix?”  Hyunjin asks.  He nods behind you because Felix is never too far away.  He is blending in as inconspicuously as he can, pretending to read notices on a bulletin board. 

“What about him?” you say, heat creeping up your neck.  You hope you appear casual.

“How close are you?”  Hyunjin asks, his casual tone coloured with a hint of suggestion, like he already knows the answer. 

You suppose anyone might assume Felix has a crush on you seeing as he is never far from your side.  There is little explanation that a civilian could glean other than Felix being clingy or lovesick.  No one would guess it is his job to trail after you. 

But the suggestion is difficult to rebuke because your true feelings get all twisted up inside you.  You and Felix do like each other – too much for your own goods.  Though there has not been a reprise of the other morning, in fact you have not mentioned it once, there is a new electricity in all of your touches.  That exchange did not satisfy or quell any desires, in fact it seemed to accomplish the opposite.  When you wake in the morning to him so close, your heart turns into a thunderstorm and it sends sparks flying through every inch of your body. 

You want him more than ever.  You also hope you never get him or you will never find the resolve to let go. 

“He’s just my—”  You cannot force the word friend.   “He’s just Felix,” you say.  “He drives me crazy, to be honest.”  That much is true.   

Hyunjin’s brow furrows.  He looks at Felix then turns your body so he is blocking you from sight.  He leans in close to speak. 

“He isn’t bothering you, is he?”  Hyunjin asks.  “Because if he is—”

A sharp laugh jumps out of you.  The offer of protection is unexpected and unintentionally amusing.  You have seen Felix in the midst of his training, his body a well-honed instrument that he knows and controls with utmost precision.  Hyunjin uses his body in a different way, playing to his strengths with his showmanship, but he would be no match in confrontation. 

Not that he knows it.  His offer is very sincere. 

You gaze at him, studying his kind but determined face.  You remember how Hyunjin was expelled from his old school for fighting with another boy, supposedly over a girl.  You read the report yourself and you recall how the other boy was badly pulverized.  It is hard to picture Hyunjin doing something like that, but you know how violence often lurks in unassuming places. 

“Thank you,” you say.  “But it’s fine.  Really.” 

You guide the conversation back to bowling and it distracts him well enough. 

At least you were allowed to plan this date.  Your father essentially ordered you to go on a solo date with Hyunjin, except you could not be truly alone because Felix had to be there.  When you questioned the logistics of that, your father said to work it out, that he would heed Felix’s discretion on the matter. 

Fortunately, even with things tense between you, Felix does take your opinion into consideration.  He agreed when you suggested a casual venue where you could hang out with Hyunjin and better acquaint him with your friends.  

You are still not sure how long this charade is meant to continue, but for now you try to enjoy having another friend. This turns into a daunting task.  Your social skills are lacklustre to say the least and attempting to befriend Hyunjin’s huge circle of friends proves perilously overwhelming.  Fortunately, Hyunjin doesn’t take offense when you bail early at lunch to sit with Jisung instead.  Hyunjin has a lot of friends but none with whom he is especially close. 

“Having a best friend isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” you joke, watching Jisung bowl by swinging the ball two-handedly between his legs.  You slouch in your seat as if embarrassed by him, shaking your head while Hyunjin laughs. 

“He’s funny,” Hyunjin says. 

“Then why do you antagonize him?” you ask, lightly but curiously.    

“Because it’s fun,” he says with a smirk, making you laugh and Felix chuckle.  “And easy.”

The three of you watch Jisung wail as his ball predictably rolls into the gutter. 

“Fair enough,” you say.  

You can tell Hyunjin has his guard up.  It does not make him unkind but he is less personable even while he is more charismatic.  You know that persona is in place to protect him, that Hyunjin wears happiness and charm the way you wear ire.  Although they are contrary dispositions, both keep people at bay. 

Jisung, being Jisung, manages to slip through the cracks of that guarded wall, much like he did you.  You got to know Jisung slowly then all at once, empty moments passing between you until one day you realized he had long passed the guarded gate. 

You are mulling this over when you spot him.   You are so surprised that you choke on your soda and sputter the liquid painfully out of your nose.  Your spontaneous violent hacking startles the boys, all of them jumping then fussing over you.  

You are still coughing when Lee Minho approaches.  

Hyunjin and Jisung do not see him at first, too pre-occupied with wiping your shirt and asking if you are okay.  It is Felix who spots Minho next, realization dawning on his face before his expression sours.  You have been seeking that reaction, looking for the vaguest hint of jealousy or at least acknowledgement.  Felix does not seem very intimidated by Hyunjin, even when he flirts with you or touches you.  He can probably tell your feelings are only friendly.  But you did like Lee Minho once and he knows that. 

Your heart skips beats when you and Felix look at each other.  He has not been holding your gaze lately, quick to look away when you catch him staring.  It sounds strange to say that you miss him when he is sleeping in your bed every night, but you ache with the loss of intimacy.  He is the first person you see in the morning and the last face you see at night, but he has never felt farther away.  Even your very first night together involved more genuine interaction. 

If he truly did not want you, it would be easier.  But when you do catch him staring, his eyes are intense, his gaze forever thoughtful.  When he is not minding his actions, he naturally leans towards you just as you do him, orbiting planets around the light of your stars.   

Jisung likes you as a friend, Hyunjin likes you as an ally, but Felix knows every part of you, the good and the bad, the normal and the crazy.   When he touches you, he touches all of you, and you feel like a whole person, full of more life and possibility than you ever thought you could be.  You told yourself not to rely on his touches and maybe you should have listened, maybe this withdrawal would not ache so terribly now, but you cannot bring yourself to fully regret it. 

What you want is to reach across this table and hold his face, to bring it close to yours.  Even if you don’t kiss, it would be enough to have him close, his breath on your lips and his freckled cheeks warm under your palms. 

You will take what you can get, basking in the devoted attention of his gaze as your former crush approaches the table. 

Minho comes up behind Hyunjin and smacks a hand onto his shoulder, startling him. 

“I could hear you from the parking lot, Hwang Hyunjin,” Minho teases.  “How many degrees was it again?” 

When the rival popular boys were both at school, their interactions were minimal despite their reputations.  Their few encounters were only jokingly hostile, one running gag revolving around Minho cooking Hyunjin in an air-fryer. 

“One-hundred-eighty degrees,” Hyunjin completes the joke.  He laughs with everyone else but he is blushing scarlet from the tips of his ears all down his neck. 

It is strange.  Hyunjin is a physical person, at least when performing.  This is the same guy who made out with his girlfriend in a classroom.  The same guy who got detention on his first day for skipping class to fool around with some girl.  And yet his shoulder dips as if Minho’s hand is too heavy to bear, as if he is overwhelmed by the touch. 

Hyunjin once remarked on your powers of observation.  It is especially easy to read someone when their behaviour is similar to your own.  Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.  The stilted proximity, the way they naturally lean towards each other, so heavily affected by the simplest touch on the shoulder. 

How they absolutely cannot bring themselves to meet eyes.  

Minho talks to your table, friendly enough, but it is obvious he has no idea who the rest of you are.  He only knows Hyunjin, and he addresses Hyunjin directly, but he does not look at Hyunjin for more than a few seconds, and they do not look at each other at the same time. 

Eventually, Minho squeezes the back of Hyunjin’s neck and Hyunjin curls up his fingers.  Minho smiles and says his goodbyes, casual, friendly, sparing one final glance at Hyunjin that Hyunjin does not return.   Hyunjin reaches for his glass and takes a drink while Minho leaves to join his own friends across the room. 

You wonder if Felix registered any of it, but he is still frowning at Minho’s retreating back.  You suppose he was watching you more than Hyunjin.  Jisung is taking a picture of his abysmal bowling score. 

You look at Hyunjin but he is smiling again.  He offers to pay for dinner, swiftly diverting the conversation in that direction.  Jisung goes with him to counter to order, leaving you and Felix alone. 

Felix has gone back to feigned indifference, sipping from his soda as he stares at nothing particular. 

“I need to be alone with Hyunjin for a bit,” you say.  That quickly snaps his attention to you.  “I just want to talk to him.” 

“Talk,” Felix says, lifting an eyebrow.  “Uhh, about what?”

“If it was your business, I wouldn’t need to be alone with him,” you say curtly.  You are being intentionally antagonistic with that one, but you get a little thrill when it succeeds in piquing his interest.  You suppose you have always resorted to bad behaviour for attention.  Encouraged by the heat darkening his gaze, you flutter your eyelashes and drawl, “My daddy would get mad if you got in the way of us, you know.” 

He laughs with disbelief.  Stubborn as ever, he looks away, popping an elbow on the table and digging his fist into his temple.   

“What?” you say with exaggerated innocence.  “Wouldn’t he, Felix?  Doesn’t he think I’m a bad girl who needs a good boy to fix her?” 

He looks at you, just a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye, but it gets you so hot that you momentarily forget your whole endeavour.  

He drops his arm with a thump, smiling at you with all that performative saccharine sweetness.  It is the smile he projects when he is convincing the world he is just sweet, innocent Lee Felix.  Beanie, flannel, ripped jeans, just another guy, cute and unassuming.

He stands and swiftly turns on the heel of his foot, slapping a hand down on the back of your seat so you instinctively lean back.  He follows you down, in your face when he speaks in that low, honeyed voice, “Hyunjin doesn’t have what it takes for that, sweetheart.”   

Then he is back in his seat, arms crossed and back to ignoring you. 

“I hate you,” is what naturally falls from your lips, no other word sufficing to summarize the sheer inundation of feelings.

The corner of his lips quirk up in a little grin.

He is the present bane of your existence, but Felix does oblige your request.  At the end of the evening, he purposefully leads Jisung away with some empty distraction, holding conversation while watching you over his shoulder.   He does not go far, but far enough to be out of ear-shot. 

Hyunjin is bent down, changing his shoes, and it takes you a minute to muster the nerve to speak. 

“Hyunjin,” you finally say, your voice coming out weaker than you intended. 

Your tone is usually sharp so the unexpected softness has him tensing before he even lifts his head.  When he does, it is with a dimpled smile, handsome and so polite. 

You scrub a hand over your face, shaking your head, trying to think of something to say.   You do not want to put him in an awkward spot, but you definitely do not want him walking into a worse situation because of ignorance. 

“You… you weren’t expelled for fighting… were you?” you finally ask.  “And you and Minho weren’t enemies.”  

His expression caves, a sharp breath parting his lips.  He stares at you for a long moment, flickering between a fake laugh, anger, fear, and finally resignation. 

“How did you…” he starts, then laughs without any humour, dry and airy as he pushes his hair back.  “You really are good at seeing people, huh.” 

“I stand by what I told you at that party,” you say.  “That I’m sorry you feel like you have to hide the best parts of yourself.  But as your friend, I need you to understand… my father is a very, very dangerous man.  He uses people.  All the things that make you who you are… he will just categorize them statistically and work out how to use those things against you to benefit him.” 

He covers his mouth and stares at the ground, looking contemplative.  After some time, he drops his hand, and speaks in an unsteady voice that makes him seem very young.  “I can handle it,” he says.  “My father…”  Another dry laugh.  “I had a… friend… at my whole school.  My father found us together.  He tried to get him leave me alone but… stupid kid… he didn’t listen.  So my dad hired this thug, I mean, I didn’t even know you could do that… He shook him up and we paid off the family and then he moved me here and he said… he said…”  His voice trails off and you don’t think he will find it again. 

“Image,” you say.  “Expectation.  Whatever.” 

He huffs a breath, rolls his eyes, laughs again. 

“Yes,” he says.  “I thought it would be easy.  He wasn’t asking me to change, just pretend.  I said… well, that’s not that bad, it could be worse.  It’s worse for other people.  I can pretend.  But it’s not easy and…”  He sucks in an unsteady breath, his face crinkling with emotion.  His voice is strained when he continues, “I don’t like lying, and just because I don’t like girls it doesn’t mean I like using them.  You were the final straw, I just…”  He rubs his temples and shakes his head.  “I just need to get through this year.  I can move out after school but… my dad won’t give me access to my savings until the end of the year and only if I can show him I’m… ‘better’.  So I… I need to get through this year.” 

“Hyunjin, I want to help you,” you say, “but you need to know what you’re getting into with me.  My father is more dangerous than just hiring a thug.  He is the thug, his whole operation is thugs.  He snaps his fingers and half the city is rearranging itself for him.” 

“You talk back to him a lot,” Hyunjin argues, a fact you cannot refute.  Though you are marginally better behaved in company, you are never truly docile. 

“Yeah,” you say with a helpless laugh, “but trust me, I’m messed up.”

“So am I,” he says.  “We can help each other.  Keep our dads off our backs for now then figure it all out.” 

Silence falls as you consider each other’s words.  You feel like no matter what choice you make, it will be the wrong one. 

“He works two jobs,” Hyunjin suddenly says, staring over your shoulder.  You don’t have to turn to know it is Minho, on the other side of the room, laughing with his friends.  “One is at a coffee shop.  On the weekends he teaches dance classes to kids.  His family isn’t well off but he is so casual about it that no one cares.  Things everyone else gets ashamed or embarrassed about just doesn’t seem to bother him.  I thought I hated him at first, because it all seemed so easy for him, and I was jealous because I thought I should be the lucky one.  Then one morning after a party I was hungover and bitching at him, and he just said tsk…”  Fondness creeps into his expression now, smoothing out the sadness that was there before.  “Then he made me some coffee and kissed me when I wasn’t expecting it.  I started working myself up about it and he called me idiot and did it again.”  He looks at you.  His voice is steady now.  “My dad would never make coffee for someone.  He doesn’t even know how.  He pays someone to do all that meaningless stuff for him.  Meaningless.  That’s all his life is.  He think it’s so important but it’s not.  But I know better.” 

He sits straighter and says with complete confidence, “My life will not be meaningless.  I just need to get through this year.” 

You know it is not so simple as that.  You do not see a light at the end of the tunnel the way he seems to do.  But he speaks with so much heartfelt conviction that you really do feel it for a moment. 

In the end, it is impossible not to take his hand. 

-

Felix is quiet on the car ride home.  You know despite the pretence, he is curious about you and Hyunjin.  His regard was a scrutinizing one, watching you hold hands until you said goodbye in the parking lot. 

But Felix is acting his role, an indifferent and professional bodyguard.  You take turns glancing at each other, occasionally catching eyes but looking away soon after. 

The house will be empty for the next couple weeks as your father is on a business trip overseas.  You strut confidently into the house with Felix on your heels.  You busy yourself with scrolling on your phone, pretending you do not hear his agitated sighs.  You plop yourself down on the couch and cross your legs.   

Felix stands in front of you, arms crossed.  You smile an excessively syrupy smile and bat your eyelashes.

“Yes?” you say.  “Can I help you?”   

“What are you doing with Hyunjin?” he asks. 

“You know what I’m doing with Hyunjin,” you say dryly, looking at your phone again.  “Just what my daddy said.”

“Okay but uhhh, you don’t like Hyunjin,” he says.  “And you definitely don’t like obeying ‘daddy’.”  He pitches up the word in a nasally whine to mock you, smiling when you glare. 

“Maybe I changed my mind,” you say.  Then you shrug like the whole thing is beneath you, like you could not care less about his reaction even while it is all you care about. 

You stand and knock shoulders when you brush past.  You make it a scarce foot before he grasps the back of your neck and guides you back to him, gentle and slow but ungiving in its demand.  Even when he lets go, you feel tingles where his fingertips so lightly pressed. 

You are standing close, almost cheek to cheek.  You can count each familiar freckle. 

“Are you free right now?” he asks, dropping his voice in such a suggestive way that you immediately feel flushed.  You nod without thinking too hard.  When you do, his face lights up with enthusiasm and he smiles, eyes oh-so adorably crinkled with mirth.  “Great!” he says.  “Put on exercise clothes and meet me in the gym for training.” 

He leaves the room in a brisk jog, waving over his shoulder.  You stand there for another moment, staring at the empty doorway and computing the whiplash of that whole ridiculous exchange.  

Never have you come so close to actually hating that abominable nightmare boy. 

You have clearly worked Felix into a mood, so you decide to be marginally complacent and do what he asks lest he hunt you down and force you to do push-ups in the bedroom.  We can work-out in the bedroom all right, you imagine yourself saying with a wink, knowing very well there is not a chance you would ever actually be able to say that.  Agitating him with a healthy dose of implication is different than outright stating it.  Though the look on his face would be funny. 

When you reach the gym, he is in sweatpants and a t-shirt just like you.  He is stretching in front of the mirror wall.  He smiles that sardonic smile through the reflection, beckoning you to join him.  You make sure to stomp as petulantly as possible, crossing your arms like a stubborn child when you reach the mirror. 

“You need to warm-up first,” he says.  “Do you know how to stretch?”

“Yes, I know how to stretch,” you say venomously, a useless lie since he has witnessed your pitiful demonstrations of athleticism in gym class.  He doesn’t comment, though, just lifts his eyebrows and says, “okaaaay,” before moving on. 

You copy a few of his stretches, though he makes his movements look easier than they are.  Then he makes you run a few laps around the room, simply smiling when you scowl at him.  You are pretty sure that part was just a petty punishment. 

Finally he sets up some mats and starts explaining basic tactical defense positions.  He clearly knows what he is talking about and the familiarity of the subject seems to ground him in his body.  It draws you into a similar state of relaxation and soon you find yourself actually listening to his instructions.  

You mirror a few of his positions, focussing on holding yourself steady, on finding your centre of gravity.   

“You won’t beat most people with brute strength,” Felix says.  “I mean, uhhh, ha-ha, I’m not exactly the biggest guy in the world, myself, you know?  It isn’t about that, though.  Look, feel your core strength…” 

You lose yourself in your concentration, watching your own motions in the mirror as he steps around you.  Your attention only fractures when he lays a hand on your shoulder.  He is just fixing your posture but your body does not seem to care that the action is casual.   You curse your own sensitivity and tell yourself to get over it, especially when he starts demonstrating more bodily manoeuvres, requiring you to put your hands on his arms or hands or shoulders. 

He acts unbothered the whole time, making you feel even more ridiculous.  Then he explains something while wrapping an arm around your neck from behind.  You step closer instinctively and your eyes widen when your backside collides with his front and you realize he is not as indifferent as he is acting.  It is only the vaguest stirring of interest, but his sweatpants do little for modesty. 

He nudges you away and clears his throat, continuing his lesson but with a little stutter.  You feel flustered and embarrassed too, somehow simultaneously craving this sort of evidence and also balking at it.  You actually masturbated in front of each other but for some reason it is more embarrassing when he catches you looking at the subtle imprint in his sweats.   He clears his throat again but continues the lesson like nothing happened.   When he steps up behind you again, you are both careful to keep your distance, his arm only hovering around you. 

“So the best thing in a situation like this—” he starts. 

“I know what to do,” you say, the tension so unbearable that if you do not shatter it, it will break you instead.  You abruptly swing your arm back, elbowing him in the gut.  You catch him by surprise and he stumbles back with an oof, holding his stomach and glaring with playful intensity. 

“Very funny,” he says and steps closer again. 

“This works too,” you say, giggling then stomping on his foot.  It isn’t very hard but it is unexpected so he curses, taking a playful swipe at you when you skip away. 

“Mature,” he says sarcastically, but with a genuine smile.  You stick your tongue out at him and he reaches again, laughing when you dance out of arm’s reach. 

He chases after you and you yelp when he catches up, his retaliation a truly heinous, punitive tickle attack.  You squeal and laugh in his arms, squirming to get away and apologizing through your shrieks.  He just laughs, continuing his evil barrage of tickles.   You get tangled together in your flailing, stumbling around and eventually landing in a giggling heap in front of the mirror. 

Finally he stops, just as winded from laughter.  You are sitting between his legs, slouched against his chest, facing the mirror as you pant and wind down from your giggles. 

You look at each other through the reflection, the longest you have held each other’s gaze in a while.  It feels different, less direct, but also more complete.  You see yourself as well as him, sitting in a fairly intimate position and looking for all the world like a normal young couple, glowing with carefree happiness. 

You take a few steadying breaths.  He does as well.  The rush of your game settles.  In the absence of laughter, the room is quiet.  The whole house is quiet, a big empty space with the two of you alone in one small room, securely tucked away in your privacy, looking at each other through a mirror. 

He swallows. 

Your heart is racing and not from any playful exertion.  He has a hand on your elbow and the other on your knee, but he is holding very still, as if a move in any direction will be catastrophic.  He is probably right to think that. 

You touch his hand anyway, holding his gaze in the mirror while you slide his hand from your knee to your thigh.  His brow pinches, expression contorted as if in pain, though the hardening press of him against your backside tells you it is not pain. 

He says your name.  Then he sighs, closes his eyes, and rests his temple against your head. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, drawing out all the softness of heart in his low drawl.  You whimper, from that or his touch, his hand high on your thigh.  Even through your clothes, his touch burns, waking nerves where it roams. 

“Please,” you say, watching his face through his mirror.  Finally he meets your gaze there, dark eyes on your face as he lets you guide his hand between your legs.   

One deft stroke through your clothes has you making a sound like a sob.  It pulls him over the brink of his hesitation, leaving it all behind as he cups you with a possessive sort of determination.  His touch is clumsy and desperate but you don’t care, because it’s him. 

It all seems to happen so fast and not fast enough, two pairs of nervous hands pushing and pulling.  He tugs your knee over his, spreading your legs wide, and slides his hand into your sweats while you buck back against him.  Your eagerness overwhelms you so he shushes gently in your ear, his free hand splayed across your collarbone.  His forehead is pressed into the side of your head and he looks at you sideways through the mirror.  You nod, holding his gaze as he touches you properly. 

It is a fumbling, hungry touch, the hunger of someone who thinks he might never eat again after all this plenty.   He might be right.  He might be wrong.  It doesn’t matter right now.  You give yourselves over to the experience, as raw and inelegant as all that earnest passion is. 

Your breathing is loud enough to fill the whole room, the whole house, broken sighs and guttural moans louder than the yelling that usually fills this place.  His touch is only surface, not daring to go so far as putting his fingers inside you, even while rubbing his fingers through all that wet desire.  Your knee is hooked over his, keeping you helplessly open under his touch when you come.  He looks at you with an incredulous sort of amazement, then his eyes close and his low moan turns to a broken whimper as tumbles over the edge too. 

You are both breathing hard in the aftermath, eyes closed, heads touching.  You slowly bring your leg back and he slowly withdraws his hand.  You look into the mirror when you take his hand, when you put it back between your legs over your clothes and hold it there.  He says your name and curses. 

It is the last thing he says for a while.  You are both quiet.  It is only later that night when the silence breaks, when he gets into bed after checking the security system.  You look at each other across the space of that bed and mutely come to an accord, his arm outstretched in offering as you move into his embrace.  He holds you against his chest, his heart beating under your ear. 

“Do you hate me,” he asks, like he already knows the answer. 

You sniffle.  You nod. 

“Okay,” he says, and strokes your back until you fall asleep.

-

Your final year of school passes in a blur of afternoons with Jisung, fake dates with Hyunjin, and long, unsatisfied nights where you and Felix hold each other with the knowledge of everything between you – and do nothing about it.  He keeps his head down, trains, and dutifully reports to your father.  At least your father is more agreeable these days because of your supposed relationship with Hyunjin.  He thinks it is changing you for the better when really you are just being careful for Hyunjin’s sake. 

The end of the year rolls around and soon you are down to the last few days of classes.  You and Hyunjin are due for a conversation about what happens next.   You whisper this to him in class, sitting close as you are sharing a lab desk for two.  He is bent down scribbling in your yearbook, his pen scratching when he freezes.   He looks up at you and nods.

“Yo, are you lovebirds done?” Jisung asks, spinning around from the desk he is sharing with Felix.  He points a ruler at Hyunjin.  “You better have left the last page blank like I said, man.  I have things to say to my girl.”   

“I did, I did,” Hyunjin says with playful exasperation, handing Jisung your yearbook so he can sign it too.  Jisung takes it with a snap, clapping the ruler on the desk before turning back to his own seat to write his message.  You and Hyunjin look at each other, helpless but to laugh at his shenanigans.   

You catch Felix’s eye.  He knows your relationship is fake, though he doesn’t know why.  He probably figures you are just trying to keep your father off your case.  Even if you trust Felix, it is not your place to tell Hyunjin’s story, guarding it so long as he asks. 

It does mean Felix looks at you with the occasional battered-puppy eyes. 

“Come on, Felix,” Hyunjin says with his big, dimpled smile, “let me write in yours too.” 

The yearbooks were handed out this morning so everyone is running around getting their friends to sign farewell messages.  You have already signed more yearbooks than you ever imagined you would, Hyunjin’s friends considering you an acquaintance if nothing else.  Signing for them was easy at least, lots of have a great summer and good luck with your future.  

It is much harder coming up with something for genuine friends.  While Hyunjin writes in Felix’s yearbook, you stare down at Hyunjin’s, trying to think of what to say to your fake boyfriend and real friend. 

I hope you get everything you want and more, you finally write.   I’m glad I got to know you.  LUV U BOYFRIEND!!!!

He laughs at the last part when you show him.   “I wrote the same thing in yours, loving girlfriend,” he says. 

You laugh too.  You crumple up some paper to chuck at Jisung who is still scribbling in your yearbook. 

“What, are you writing a novel?” you ask.  “Hurry up!” 

“Patience!” Jisung says.  “You can’t rush a masterpiece!” 

You, Hyunjin, and Felix all laugh.  Once more, you and Felix look at each other a little longer.  You did not bother to write in his yearbook as no words could suffice to summarize anything. 

He jokingly wrote Have a Great Summer : ) in yours. 

Jisung finally finishes his apparent epic, smacking your yearbook onto your desk.  You reach for it but he holds it shut, giving you a very serious look. 

“You can’t read my message now, okay?” he says.  “Read it at home.  Alone.  With violins in the background.”

You snort and roll your eyes but smile fondly at him. 

“Okay, Jisung,” you say, “I promise to cherish it and read your masterpiece properly.”          

“That’s all I ask,” Jisung says with a salute. 

After school, Felix waits while you and Hyunjin have a quick word. 

“Can you come to my house?”  Hyunjin asks.  “I want to talk properly.  Not here.”

You know your father will agree but you need his permission as you cannot visit without an escort.  Hyunjin knows you always have a bodyguard not too far from sight; he just does not know that Felix is one of them.   Your father sends his own men on your excursions together. 

Felix is never too happy when separated.  He is cordial enough with your father’s security team but it is obvious that Felix thinks he is more skilled than them, often commenting on their weaknesses or blunders.  You do not see things with his professional precision but you take his word for it.  It is easy to believe Felix is the best.  After all, it takes a whole team of people to replace him. 

As predicted, your father agrees to let you visit Hyunjin for the evening.  The Hwang mansion is nowhere near as big an estate nor are their security measures even close to your impenetrable, bulletproof, gilded prison, but it is still a secure location where you can be supervised.  You go with a few of your father’s men, sharing a dry look with Hyunjin when you arrive at his house.  He just smiles, used to it. 

You have dinner with his him and his parents, smiling all the while, playing the part you have played all year.  Your father’s men surround the house and you pass them in the backyard, making your way to Hyunjin’s old tree-house for some privacy.  It leaves you within sight of your father’s men but well out of ear-shot.   

You plop down on the little wooden balcony, sighing as you stare into the distance.  The sun is setting over the neighbourhood, an orange sky dappled with rosy pinks, sparkling as it catches glass panes and ostentatious embellishments.  The creaky old tree-house has a cozier feel, a world separated from the nonsense below.   

“Thank you,” Hyunjin says after a moment of shared silence, just watching the sunset.  You look at each other and he smiles.  “Having a real friend who knows me made a difference this year.” 

The forthright sincerity is a bit much for you, seeing as you are not so good at communicating so plainly.  You think you are improving, though.  The old you would have drawn back, but you are able to smile at Hyunjin in return. 

“I hope it helped,” you say. 

“It did.”  He moves a little closer just to be safe.  “My father gave me control of my savings.  My grandmother left me an inheritance and I needed the money.”  His smile brightens his whole face in the rosy light.  “I bought a house.”

“A house?” your voice breaks as you try contain your surprise in a whisper.

He laughs at your reaction, still smiling. 

“Yes,” he says.  “Well, it’s more like a cabin.  It’s not much to look at.  I needed it to be off the record, all in cash, and far away from here.”   

You find the image of a small, homey cabin to be devastatingly beautiful.  It could be the most dilapidated, ramshackle mess of a construction and you would still consider it perfect.  You imagine sitting on a tiny porch with Felix, him smiling a big smile that crinkles his eyes and shows his teeth, his face sunny and golden and truly carefree, not just pretending. 

You look at Hyunjin and see him staring into space with the same smile.  You picture him with all the tension gone from his shoulders, laughing his wheezy laugh instead of forcing polite smiles.  You swallow a lump in your throat. 

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you say, holding his hand.  “That’s really wonderful.” 

It brings him back to you.  Some of the dreaminess leaves his expression but he is definitely still happy.  He squeezes your hand back. 

“I can’t go yet,” he says.  “My parents would just… They’d find me.  I’m their only son.  It would be an embarrassment to them if I just left.  When I think about what my father did to my friend just to teach me a small lesson…”  You squeeze his hand in sympathy.  You both know his parents did not have that boy beaten to keep him away, but to teach Hyunjin a lesson.

Hyunjin takes a deep breath and says, “They won’t let me walk away easily.  I have to do it right if I’m gonna be free.”

“How are you going to do that?” you ask, curious for his sake and even your own.  The image of a far away cabin, untouched by trouble, is quickly nestling itself in some hidden cockle of your heart.  You know that it will be difficult for him to leave but it would be next to impossible for you, so there is no sense in dreaming.

And yet…  If Hyunjin can find a way, it makes you think that maybe certain dreams are not so impossible. 

But he just sighs and looks away. 

“I don’t know yet,” he says.  “But I’m going to find a way.”  He lets go of your hand to reach into his pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper.  He passes it to you and you unfold it.  You brow furrows as you read.    

“Is this—”

“The city and address to the cabin,” he says. 

“Why are you giving this to me?” you ask in a small voice.  Not for the first time, you curse your inconstant feelings, the quick rise to emotional heights in the matter of seconds. 

This is Hyunjin’s future written in a single line on a single piece of paper, such a seemingly simple thing and yet it has the power to completely destroy him.  This is his means of his escape, his only avenue of liberty, and he is showing you despite your proximity to some truly wretched forces.   He trusts you more than he fears them. 

“It’s an easy address to remember,” he says.  “I know things are hard for you.  I don’t know what will happen to you.  I don’t even know what will happen to me.  But I know it’s harder when you’re alone.  I know having people make a difference because they made a difference for me.  If you ever get out, if you ever need somewhere to start…” 

You cannot think of what to say.  No words seem sufficient in reply.  You can only nod and take a deep breath.  You look up into the fading light and blink away your tears. 

“Thank you,” you say.  “I hope if we meet again, things will be different.” 

The address has a sweet rhyming lilt to it, easy to remember like he said.  You read it over a few times, commit it to memory, then tear up the slip of paper beyond any salvaging. 

You sit in the tree-house until the sun fully sets.  Little lanterns flicker to life one-by-one in the darkening yard below.  When the sky is a blue wash and the path below is twinkling gold, you sigh. 

“I don’t want to go back,” you say miserably.  You don’t want to see your father or that house.  Even Felix will stir nothing but anguish right now, as you think about how you are trapped and he is shackled to you.  You also don’t really want to linger here.  Your uncontrollable emotional pendulum has swung back from its precipice.  A few minutes ago, you were close to crying, and now you feel so empty and resigned that you think you will never cry again.   I’m so broken, you think helplessly.  You want someone to tell you otherwise but you don’t know how to ask. 

Hyunjin leans back, peering into the yard.  Your father’s men are getting a little complacent in their boredom, one of them yawning where he is slouched in a deck chair.   They are not really paying attention to you.  They figure there is no where for you to go, the main steps from the tree-house leading right into their path. 

Hyunjin puts a finger to his lips.  You follow him quietly across the tree-house, obscured in enough darkness that none of the security team notices.  He leads you to a dangling rope ladder, hidden on the opposite side of the tree.  He points across the yard to a little garden around a koi pond. 

“There’s a gate just past the pond,” he whispers.  “There’s a path that leads through the neighbourhood.  I’ll stay up here until they say something, then I’ll tell them you went home.”  He smiles and puts a hand on your shoulder.  “You probably should go home,” he says, “but at least this way you’ll have a bit of time alone first.” 

You smile back at him, patting the hand on your shoulder. 

“Thank you, Hyunjin,” you say. 

“See you around,” he says, then pushes back his hair and smoulders at you.  “And don’t take the break-up too hard. I know I’m handsome but there will be other men.”     

You laugh and roll your eyes, pushing his shoulder. 

“Oh, please, I broke up with you,” you say.  “I couldn’t keep up with your vigorous beauty routine.” 

“This face is natural,” he says, laughing too.  Then he nudges you and looks more serious.  “Go now.  They’re not paying attention.” 

You briefly weigh your odds.  You have not snuck out in a very long time so the punishment might be proportionate to your otherwise good behaviour.  Felix is not here so he will not be blamed for your escape.  And you will not be avoiding a reprimand no matter what you do, because your father is going to be angry that you and Hyunjin broke-up – especially without consulting him first.  If you are going to be punished anyway, you might as well take a walk and clear your head first. 

You grab Hyunjin’s hand one last time, giving it a squeeze as you smile.  Then you climb down the rope ladder and hurry across the garden.  You are out the gate and on the path before you know it. 

The wealthy neighbourhood is quiet and brightly lit, every yard illuminated despite the quietude of the street.  They are all so pristinely manicured, different yet identical magazine-ready mansions.  They look a bit eerie with the darkness around them, like some alien recreation of what a home should look like.  It makes you dread the return to your own house.  You wonder how much time you have to yourself, if the car is going to pull up alongside you any second now to drag you home. 

It is then you remember you do have one more place you can go.  Ridiculously, stupidly, your emotions come back in full swing and you feel like crying again.  Maybe it is because you have not snuck out in so long, so it is reminding you of the very first time you ever did.  You went to the very place you are going now: Jisung’s house.

You always met there before darting off to a party together.  Those parties never amounted to much.  You and Jisung always talked a big game then spent most of the time in a corner or on a roof, but it was the only time you were ever away from the prying eyes of your father’s overprotective security.   You passed many nights that way, complaining to your best friend, talking about nothing, then rushing home before your absence was noticed.   

You remember the route to his side of town, catching a bus and getting off at a familiar stop.  This neighbourhood looks very different than Hyunjin’s, a range of houses both new and old, rundown and fixed-up.  They don’t waste energy lighting their yards unless they have guests.  All the light is from the streetlamps and the little yellow squares of homey light beaming through their windows. 

You have never actually been inside Jisung’s house.  You would usually just meet him in the yard before continuing on.  This is the first time you walk up the porch steps and ring the doorbell. 

You start to shiver.  The adrenaline or your escape kept you warm but now you can feel the chill of the evening. 

You are looking around the block and shivering when the door opens.  You turn and see an older woman with a scowl on her face.  Even if you did not know Jisung lived with his single mother, you would recognize her because of her round cheeks and big eyes, much like him.  Except where his face is usually open and friendly, she looks at you like a bug she wants to squish. 

“What?” she asks. 

“Um, sorry to bother you,” you say, somehow more intimidated by her than your father’s burly security team.  “I’m friends with Jisung.  I was just wondering if he’s home…?” 

She takes a step back and screams his name into the house.  You stand awkwardly in the doorway, waiting while thumps and bangs come from the upper level, then Jisung is hurrying down the stairs and skittering into view.  You so seldom see him without a hat that it is momentarily jarring, his flop of dark hair going everywhere as he comes to a wide-eyed stop. 

He gets over his surprise and smiles wide, saying your name with an upward what-the-fuck inflection. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, stepping aside to let his mother pass.  She says nothing more to you, disappearing into a side room. 

“I, um, I don’t know,” you say, your emotions in turmoil again.  You think about what Hyunjin said, about how having a friend made all the difference for him, and you suddenly realize how much you missed spending time with Jisung, how he was your first and only escape for so long.  Tears are falling before you can stop them, a mess of everything with Hyunjin and Felix and your father, but you can only stammer a vague excuse, that you broke up with Hyunjin and wanted to talk to someone. 

Jisung’s face is twisted up with surprise and sympathy.  He says your name a few times and apologizes, guiding you into the house.   

“Come on, let’s go upstairs,” he says, taking your hand and leading you up to his bedroom. 

“Won’t your mom mind?” For some reason, despite the mania of emotion inside you, that is what you fixate on. 

Jisung just laughs dryly, shaking his head as he closes the bedroom door behind you.  “Trust me,” he says. “She won’t care.  Sit down.” 

Jisung’s bedroom is undeniably him, music posters overlapping on the wall, stacks of journals on his desk and bedside table.  It is a sprawling canvas of music and writing, not to mention litters of clothes and baseball caps.  He pushes a pile of clothes off his bed so you can both sit, shoulder-to-shoulder.  His bed is against the wall, under the window, cool stars twinkling down at you while his bedside lamp fills the room with warmth. 

Your sobbing has slowed to a heaving stutter.  Jisung hands you some tissues to wipe your eyes. 

“I’m gonna kill that evil pretty boy,” Jisung says.

You hiccup and shake your head.  “It was me,” you say.  “Hyunjin is my friend, he’s a good guy, I just—” You start crying all over again, tearing the soggy tissues to shreds.  Jisung leans over to fetch some more, his face scrunched up with concern while he watches you dab your sore eyes.  “I’m just so messed up, Jisung,” you say.  “You have no idea how much.  I don’t even think I could properly love someone if I tried.  I just make a mess wherever I go.”

“What! Yo!  No.  Why are you saying these things?”  He looks equal parts bewildered and horrified, quickly wrapping an arm around you.  You let your head fall on his shoulder, still wiping your eyes while he rubs your arm.  “You are not messed up.  You’re my best friend and you’re awesome.  How could you have a best friend if you can’t properly love someone, huh?” 

“I’m a bad friend though,” you say.  “I bail on you all the time and I’m crazy and emotional and—”

“And you have an evil dad who locks you in the house, remember?”  Jisung says.  “Look, I know it’s not my business, I’d never make you say it, but from what you’ve told me… Dude, that guy fucking sucks.” 

You cannot help but laugh at that.  Jisung smiles, tweaking your nose. 

“I’ve never been mad about that stuff,” he says gently.  “Not at you.  At your dick dad, sure.  But that has nothing to do with you.” 

“I’m emotional like him,” you say, tears slowing to a lip wobble.  “I fight him all the time but maybe that just proves it. All that anger inside me.” 

“Anger isn’t bad,” Jisung says.  “It’s a feeling just like anything else.  Some people do bad shit while smiling the whole time.  Remember that guy who bullied Felix that time at school, and how you hit him with that book?  Or other times you just snapped back at some stupid dick?  That wasn’t bad!”

You don’t have an argument in you.  You just exhale, dabbing under your eyes with the crumpled tissue.  Jisung continues to rub your arm.

Your eyes drift and land on one of his baseball caps.  It is perched on a stack of schoolbooks.  You think back through the years, all those school days, all those stolen parties and late nights.  It was a slow beginning, then one day you realized he was your friend, your first ever friend, that he was making you laugh and you had inside jokes and you wanted to spend more time with him.  You weren’t afraid to be around him and you knew he wouldn’t make fun of you or push you or judge you. 

You feel his arm around your shoulder now and realize you are not afraid of it.  You can no longer remember the first time you hugged Jisung, probably because it wasn’t a kiss or anything romantic and so you did not really register it.  It was a moment that arrived silently, without any heart palpitations or fanfare, no sweaty palms or hot cheeks.  He would have just put his arm around you like he is doing now, asking for nothing in return for it. 

You realize he must have been the first person to hug you.   Your mother passed away when you were in infancy and the only family you ever knew was your father and his now-late father.  They did not hug each other and they did not hug you.   The only kind of love you knew was a violent, controlling one, and it made you into a distrustful, feral little child in return. 

You have reflected before how it took a long time to warm to Felix.  Bit by bit.  Touch by touch.   It would have taken longer if you had never known Jisung.  He drew you out of your shell before anyone else did. You were able to reach for Felix because Jisung reached for you.  You were able to befriend Hyunjin because Jisung befriended you. 

You find yourself choking back a different sob, one conjured by the realization of just how much Jisung has done by being there.  You understand what Hyunjin meant, about a friend making all the difference. 

Before you can say anything, Jisung gently asks, “It’s bad, isn’t it?” 

You sit straight to look at him, brow furrowed.   

“Your dad,” he says.  “Things are… they’re bad, aren’t they?  Worse than just not letting you hang out?” 

Tears spill over again.  You realize he is sniffling now too but holding back tears.  He reaches across to wipe your face with his bare hands, swiping at your tears.   

“I knew for a while,” Jisung says in a strained voice.  “I could see the bruises.  I didn’t know what to do.  And I felt like I was letting you down because—” 

He chokes on his breath.  It gives you a moment to interject.

“You have nothing to feel bad about,” you say. You wipe his tears too, laughing at your equal dramatics.  “Seriously, Jisungie.” 

“No, you don’t understand,” he says, grabbing your hands and pulling them off his face.  He shakes his head like he is trying to shake his tears out of him.  It seems to work.  After another breath, he manages to speak clearly.   “Do you remember our first conversation?  At school?”

“About the weather?” you say, thinking back to the first time Jisung started a conversation. 

“No, before that,” he says.  “We sat beside each other for months but we never spoke.  Then I missed a week of school because I made myself sick, all my stupid anxiety and whatever.  My mom, you know, she tries but she… It’s just easier for her to ignore me most of the time, I think.   I know she didn’t want kids.  So I was taking care of myself.  And I missed school sometimes because of it, but no one ever noticed when I was gone.  It’s like I was invisible everywhere I went.  And I got so sick that week that I just wanted to die.  But then I went back to school and I got my homework from the teachers and then you—”  He slaps his hands in his lap and looks at you, smiling a teary-eyed smile.  “You were the first person to ask where I was and if I was all right.  And you made a face like you didn’t believe me when I said I was.  Then I started talking about the weather.” 

“Oh,” you say, shredding the tissue in your lap for something to look at, trying to keep your tears at bay.  “I didn’t remember that part.” 

“You’re really good at seeing people,” Jisung says.  “Even when they’re trying to hide or pull away.  I don’t know how you think you can’t love when you’re like that.  You know how to do it better than the rest of us who forget to even look.”  He takes your hand again, drawing your eyes up to his.  “But I’m looking back now, okay?  And I’m gonna save you.” 

It is so frank and sincere that it makes you laugh. 

“I am!” he says, laughing through his own watery voice.  “Don’t laugh at me!  You saved me and now I’m gonna save you too.”

“It’s not that easy, Jisung,” you say.  “You have no idea how crazy everything in my life is—”

“It is that easy,” he says.  “You’ll see.  I promise.  And a best friend promise is a forever promise, okay?” 

You cannot bring yourself to argue.  You just nod, your bottom lip wobbling again. 

“Okay,” Jisung says.  “Now come hug me so you can’t see me when I start crying like a baby.” 

You laugh but fall into his arms nonetheless.  You sit under that window for a long time.  At least, it feels like a long time.  You don’t look at the clock and you don’t count the minutes.  It is not the kind of hug that is leading to anything because he doesn’t want to kiss you and he has no other motivation.  He just hugs you until you are both calm, when your tears feel silly and dramatic and your eyes are sore but you feel strangely refreshed. 

“I need to go,” you say, to which he whines in complaint.  You laugh.  “Saving me will have to wait for another day.  For now, if I don’t get home…” 

As if summoned by that very thought, your phone erupts with buzzes and rings.  You sigh and fish it out of the pocket of your shorts, watching messages from your father, his security, and Felix come flooding in.  The others are making commands and demanding your whereabouts.  Felix asks, Are you okay?  Then, I have to turn on your GPS.  They’re gonna come get you wherever you are. 

You answer Felix, telling him you’re fine, that you’re with Jisung.  He sends an emoji that manages to look very unimpressed, then just says, that’s what the boss gets for sending amateurs. 

Your father’s men are far from amateurs but it is still funny when Felix insults them. 

You turn your phone to silent after that, not bothering to answer the others.  They will find you in no time with Felix’s help. 

“I better go,” you say.  “My dad is sending someone to pick me up.  I’ll be fine tonight, I promise.  But I’m gonna start walking because I don’t want you mixed up in any of this when they get here.” 

Jisung tries to argue but lets you go when he sees how serious you are.  He insists you take a hoodie for warmth so you do.  You give him one last wave before you begin the trek down the block, hoping to get far away before your father’s men find you. 

You have made it two blocks over when a sleek black car approaches.  You start to walk towards it because there is no other reason for a car that nice to be slowing down on a street like this.  Only when it gets closer do you realize you the make and model of the car is not one that your father usually uses, and you do not recognize the driver. 

Your heart kicks up with a startled, frantic flutter as the car comes to a slow stop not far from you.  You swerve, crossing to the other side of the street to avoid it.  You try to act nonchalant, reassuring yourself that it is coincidence, that your father’s insanity is seeping into your brain and making you paranoid. 

By the time you realize your anxieties are not baseless, it is too late.  Not that you stood much of a chance in the first place. 

You try running but there are three of them overall, one driver and two armed muscle guys.  They chase you down and cover your mouth before you can scream.  You kick and jostle but all of Felix’s self-defence lessons fly out of your brain in your panic.  Your tears are all used up so you don’t cry.  Even terror passes, leaving only nausea in its wake. 

It doesn’t feel real, being shoved into the back of a car by men in black suits.  This is not something real that happens.  This is something your father threatens, something inane and melodramatic, something out of a movie or a book, not real life.  Not your life. 

Yet here you are, flanked by two strange men while the driver peels across the tarmac.   They do not cuff or gag you, simply buckle you into a seatbelt and point a gun at you.  You are shaking too bad to do anything useful anyway, and your voice feels clogged in your suddenly dry throat. 

They are talking to you but it takes you a minute to register any word, everything fuzzy and out of focus. 

“—just be a good girl and co-operate and everything will be fine.” 

That is all you hear. 

That and the name Miroh. 

You try to calm yourself.  You think rationally.  Miroh has no reason to kill you or even torture you, as far as you know.  In all likelihood, he is using you as leverage to get something from your father.  That is why your father is always worried about you being taken.  He doesn’t talk about damage to you, just his business. 

You manage to calm the worst of your shaking.  Then the one with the gun yanks on your hair and you jerk away violently. 

“She’s better behaved than Miroh said,” he says with a laugh.  “Might not even have to take a finger.” 

You clutch your hands tightly together, glaring at him, but it just garners more chuckles.  The driver laughs too, peering at you through the rear-view mirror. 

“Too well behaved,” he suddenly says, eyes narrowing.  “You check her pockets?” 

It is then you remember your phone.  Felix turned on your GPS.   They can track where you are going.  Felix can track where you are going.  If nothing else, you trust that Felix can do something.  Felix, Felix, Felix.  It is all you can think about.  Felix will find you.  You will be back with Felix tonight, safe in your shared bed. You are always safe with Felix.  You want to be there right now.  You can’t even remember how you got here.  Your whole day is turning into one blacked out nothingness, a dreary bleak empty before you found yourself in this car hurtling to god-knows-what fate. 

The man finds your phone.  You try to reach for it but then you feel the gun at your temple and your whole body locks up.  You have seen a gun before, many times, but you have never had one pointed at you.  You always thought you would be brave, having been around them your whole life.  Maybe that is why you are afraid.  Your body is trying to protect you, freezing you like it always does. 

The man rolls down the window and throws your phone into the wind. 

You sit back and close your eyes, willing this nightmare to end.  You try to convince yourself that this is your father’s doing, that he is just trying to teach you a lesson.  You wouldn’t even be mad.   You just want to go home. 

But there is no sign of your father’s security team.  You pass dozens then hundreds of cars as you leave the residential area and take the highway.  None of your father’s vehicles are among them.  And how could they be?  They can track as far as your phone and then they have nothing.  There is no way for them to know where Miroh’s men are taking you.  You have no idea what they want.  You can’t even cry or panic because your body is shutting itself down in its panic.  The periphery of your gaze is obscured in shadow.   Their voices fade in and out, rarely directed at you anyway.  They seem to know you will not answer.  They have experience with this sort of thing. 

Of course they do.  Miroh is your father’s only equal.  Your father does nothing by halves.  Miroh would only send the best. 

You leave the highway and turn onto a country road out of the city.  Wherever they are taking you, it is far and they are unhurried.  You have a long time to stew in your anxiety.    

You can only see directly in front of you, through the windshield and the rear-view mirror.  You stare, willing one of your father’s black cars to appear in it even though you know that will not happen.  The only cars are civilian cars and even those begin to disappear as they take side roads to their own destinations.  Soon it is just one other car trailing you at a distance.  It is a beat-up civilian truck, not very big, a splotchy, peeling burgundy.   The rims are muddy from frequent use and little washing. 

It is ugly but it could be the last thing you see for a while.  It makes you stare more intensely. 

You are focussing so hard on the tiny details that you do not even notice it is speeding up.  It goes from a distant spot to filling the rear-view in moments.  

The driver mumbles a curse to himself, shaking his head and frowning. 

“What’s this idiot doing?” he grumbles.  “As if we don’t have enough to deal with.  Now we got some drunk on the road.” 

The truck is swerving, back and forth, then it speeds up and whips past your car.  It startles the driver, making him veer a hard right as the truck goes left around him.  He shouts a curse even though the other driver can’t hear, the truck already speeding away into the darkness.  There are no street lamps on the country road so it completely vanishes, disappearing when it leaves the glow of your headlights. 

There is a moment of quiet.  A tunnel of light.  Darkness around it. 

The truck appears again in the middle of it, parked and blocking the entire road lengthwise.  The driver shouts another curse and slams on the brakes to stop from barrelling into it. 

The whole car lurches with the sudden halt.  You snap forward and back again, held down by the seatbelt.  The other two hit the seats in front of them, cursing as they fix themselves.  The weapons guy drops his gun and it clatters somewhere on the ground of the vehicle.  You watch him dive down, cursing to himself before he finds it. 

“Get him out of the way!” the driver shouts, pointing to the stopped vehicle.   The two men get out of the car, sounding more aggravated by the obstacle than afraid.  The other one pulls a gun so they are both armed as they approach the vehicle. 

The men circle the truck.  You can see they are yelling and cursing again.  They come stomping back over to the vehicle.   Even with all the windows rolled up, you can hear him as he shouts, “There’s no one fucking there!” 

“What!” the driver returns, pointing ahead.  “He didn’t just disappear!  Check the—”  

He is interrupted by the rattle of unexpected thunder – what sounds like someone running up and over the car from behind.  You both look up as if you can see through the car roof.  The men outside react just as fast, guns raised.  Shots are swiftly fired and you cover your ears, flinching. 

The figure comes into view.  It feels like your heart stops. 

Felix takes a flying leap off the roof of the car and comes swinging into view.  He lands on the shoulders of one of the men.  In one sharp move, Felix snaps the man’s neck.  When his body crumples, Felix jumps, tackling the other man and knocking his gun out of the way.  He pulls his own gun out of his waistband and you don’t even have time to cover your eyes before a bullet shatters the man’s temple.  That body falls too. 

It was a matter of seconds.  The driver scarcely has time to react.  He is fumbling with the glove compartment when Felix walks up to the car and shoots his window.   The bullet does not penetrate the glass but it fractures it, sending shards flying onto the man. 

You shriek, your voice coming back to you.  Felix smacks the broken window with the butt of the gun, shattering it completely.  He unlocks the car, his face devoid of all emotion as he throws open the door and reaches in.  He grabs the man by the scruff of his neck and repeatedly slams his head against the steering wheel, knocking him out cold. 

He closes the door with a kick and tucks his gun back in his waistband. 

Adrenaline completely takes over your body.  You do not think or reflect, only feel and act.   Felix steps toward the car to open your door but you are already pushing it open.  He steps back when it flies past him, already breathing hard when you stumble out of the vehicle on shaky legs. 

“Do you have any idea—” he starts, his deep voice breaking.  “Any, any idea how worried I was?  And those stupid, fucking, incompetent—”

He is pointing to nowhere, just gesticulating in his emotions.  It all seems to pour of him, terror and agony, anger and helplessness.  He is wearing casual clothes, ripped jeans, a sleeveless red flannel over a t-shirt.  He was probably sitting at home when he jumped into action.    

His dark roots are starting show in his golden hair.  You will have to colour that for him, you think, giddily, half-mad. 

“You could have died,” he is saying.  “They could have—”

You throw your arms around his neck and crash into him.  It is a collision of a kiss, more teeth than lips until you figure out to close your mouth. 

Those men could not move him but you can.   He backs up under the guiding push of your soft hands, walking, walking, walking, each quick backward step until you have him pressed up against the truck, your lips still locked.  When you finally separate it is with a gasping, wet split.  You stare at each other, taking in the reality of the other person.  Him, with blood disappearing into the red threads of his flannel.  You, alive, unharmed, right here in front of him with no one to stop him from kissing you again. 

He grabs you by the neck and pulls you back to him, kissing you with an open-mouthed desperation that has you practically sobbing with need.  He flips your positions, cupping the back of your head so you are not hurt when he pins you to the truck.  You sink your fingers into his hair, wrapping a leg around his waist as he grinds against the softest spot of you.  He licks into your mouth, making a rumbling noise of deep, heartfelt satisfaction that makes you throb. 

His lips are pink and raw when he stops for a breath.  You kiss the side of his face, clinging to him, making a pleading noise when he does not resume kissing you. 

He steps back and points to the car. 

“Get in the truck,” he says firmly.  “This isn’t the time.  Don’t argue.” 

You have no desire whatsoever to argue.  You climb into the passenger seat while Felix makes a phone call.  You watch him through the window, running a hand through his hair, his mouth pink, his shirt blood-stained. 

You have always known Felix was capable of this sort of thing, but seeing it is very different than imagining it.  Before it was some nebulous concept of a person but now the reality of him collides with the boy who has been sharing your bed for years.  This is the same boy who needed your help to tie his school tie.  Cartoon-watching, computer-building Felix, with his dry wit and toothy smiles. 

You are not sure what it says about you that you are not afraid of him, not even a little bit.  Maybe it is because you are not surprised.  Maybe it is something else.  But the only thing you want right now is for him to put his arms around you. 

He gets into the truck and sits there for a moment, just breathing as he looks down at his phone.  A thought flickers across his eyes, a twitch of his brows, then he turns off the phone and tosses it into the backseat.   The gun follows with a clatter.  You look back at both then at him with shock. 

Felix has never turned off that phone.  It is always completely charged and within reach.  The GPS cannot be tracked if it is off.  Your father cannot reach him if it is off.   It is never supposed to be off. 

You stare at him, tracing his profile as he pushes his hair back then starts the car.   You only look away when you pass the other vehicle, the unconscious driver still slumped over the wheel.  You turn your head, watching the scene disappear into the darkness behind you. 

“Your father’s men will clean it up,” Felix says, drawing your eyes back to him.  He does not look away from the road, resolutely focussed despite the lack of traffic on the country road.

“You left one alive,” you say.  “What if he wakes up?”

“Uhh, he’ll be lucky if he is conscious in two days,” Felix says with a scoff.  His lips draw into that thin line.  “Your father will want someone to interrogate.”

You look out the windshield and sigh.  You feel like you have aged years tonight yet it also feels like none of this really happened.  It seems impossible that moments ago you were staring through a different windshield, petrified. 

Felix looks at you.  You turn your head and meet his gaze, watching grief twist his features before he looks ahead again. 

“Did they hurt you?” he asks, gripping the wheel tight with both hands. 

You shake your head, still facing him, studying him. 

“I was thinking about you,” you say, the words escaping in a breathless slur.  “It was the only thing that made me feel safe.”  You find it easier to speak your feelings after everything.  It’s like all that fear blasted through a barricade.  You thought you might never see him again and all those feelings were trapped inside you.  You cannot help but let them pour out now, like blood seeping from an open wound, your hand shaking as you reach across the console to touch the side of his face. 

His breath stutters.  He takes your hand and for a moment holds it, squeezing it in his.  He does not look away from the road.  Eventually he puts your hand in your lap, curling it around your thigh and squeezing, then he grabs the wheel again. 

Your gaze drifts to the wheel then the overall truck.  The rest of reality comes back to you in increments and you suddenly realize this is obviously not one of your father’s cars. 

“Where did you get this truck?” you ask. 

“I stole it,” he says. 

“You stole a car?!” you shriek, voice naturally pitching up with surprise. 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just killed two men,” he says.  “You’re worried about the car?” 

“I don’t know!”  You slouch in your seat, looking out the window.  “Don’t talk to me, I’m traumatized.” 

He shakes his head but laughs a little.   You do not speak for a bit, the only sound the tires rolling over the gravel road.  Then Felix sighs. 

“They wouldn’t listen,” he says.  “Your father’s, hmmm, ‘professionals’.”  He rolls his eyes and clicks his jaw, clearly still pissed about it.  “I knew it had to be Miroh.  You were heading west to the highway when your GPS stopped.  I knew where they’d be taking you.  But your father’s geniuses thought you threw your phone and were running.  But you wouldn’t do that, yeah.  You want to be found.  That’s why you run.  You want him to care enough to chase you and bring you home.” 

You look out your window, resting your head in your hand as rows of dark trees pass you by. 

“Home,” you say.  “Miroh.  Not sure there’s going to be a difference in what’s waiting, is there?” 

Felix says nothing to this.  The gravel road comes to an end as you approach tarmac.  Instead of turning left to return to the highway, Felix turns right.  You look back through the window, confused, wondering if you mistook your location.  But no, you are definitely driving further into the countryside. 

“The highway is that way,” you say, looking at him.  His whole body is tense, eyes locked on the road.  “Aren’t we going home?”

“Yes,” he says, then turns up a different country road.  “Eventually.” 

You do not know what to expect with Felix.  His emotional fluctuation is not as blatant as yours, but he does waver unpredictably, one moment leaning towards you and then pulling away.  You do not know what he is planning and you do not ask.  You simply stare through the window as you turn up a few more roads, getting further and further from the main road until you turn into a small gravel lane between some fields.  Bushes surround the car on either side, the main road very far behind you. 

Felix turns off the car but keeps both hands on the wheel, still staring intensely out the front window.

“Where are we?” you ask, squinting through the dark at the fields.  It feels exceptionally quiet without the engine running. 

“This cannot happen again,” Felix says.

He is still facing forward, concentrating on nothing that you can see.  You look ahead then back at him, sighing with exasperation.  If he drove you out here to just to lecture you some more…

“I know,” you say.  “I shouldn’t have left in the first place.  I’m sorry.  I know it’s your job to—”

“This has nothing to do with my job,” he says.  He shakes his head.  “I— You—Do you understand how I—  This is— This is reckless.  Stupid.  It cannot happen again, yeah?  Do you get me?”

“I know,” you say.  “And it won’t.  I get it.  No more running, I just—”

Your breath catches when he looks at you.  There is so much heat in his gaze that you feel immediately flushed.

He undoes his seatbelt then reaches across the console and undoes yours.  When you hear the click, it all registers.  You reach for him as he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls.  This kiss is a crash as well, but a stumbling one, less vicious than thirsty.  Arms get tangled in seatbelts but he manages to whip them aside.  He guides you into his lap as you climb ungracefully over the console with all your shaking limbs. 

You make a sound like relief when you are in his lap, chests touching, knees pressing into his hips, arms around his neck.  His hands are under your borrowed hoodie, then under your shirt, palms splayed against the bare skin of your back as he kisses you with a wet open mouth, hungry and seeking, asking and taking. 

He reaches to the side and fumbles for something.  You squeal with surprise when the seat abruptly drops, your combined weight pushing it flat when he flips the lever.  The surprise passes and he spills back, taking you with him.   He yanks at your hoodie and you sit up to pull your arms through.  Embarrassingly enough, you get tangled trying to remove it at the same time as your shirt.   You get them both off, laughing shyly and feeling ridiculous with your ungraceful action. 

He blinks up at you, his face full of much more wonder and affection than you think you merit.  It is almost more embarrassing than your clumsiness. 

Your awkward hand covers your collarbone but he takes that hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing you palm then your fingertips.  You throb with the recollection of the last time he took your fingers in his mouth, except this time he doesn’t look away, all that heat centred on you. 

He grasps your hips then slides his hands up your body.  You wonder if other people feel like one big shivering mess at such simple touches.   You blame it on today’s chaotic episode.  For a moment, you were nothing and no one, floating in a bleak emptiness with no past or future.  Just a bartering tool, business collateral, a thing sitting in a car for transport to be used by a different bad man for financial leverage. 

Felix touches you and your body comes to life, all that humanity rushing back.  You’re a person and so is he, flushed and excited, just a little messy but earnest.  You find yourselves in a stolen moment in a stolen car, nothing yours but each other. 

He palms your breasts through your bra then fumbles with the clasp, his usually dexterous hands suddenly jumpy.  It makes you both laugh, tittering little sounds as you get it off and toss it aside.  His calloused hands on your bare skin erases any lingering embarrassment.

Straddling his hips, you rock against him.  The hard line of him is pushing at the fly of his jeans, as receptive and eager as you.  You make similar sounds, soft low hums, used to keeping quiet.  You remember you don’t have to restrain yourself so you moan when he cups you through your shorts, grinding the heel of his palm against the soft wet heat of you.  You push his shirt up, running your hands over his chest, noticing a few scars but not lingering much right now. 

You touch him like he touches you, hands wandering, working each other up until you are wild in your wanting.  He makes a rough sound when you squeeze him through his jeans, then he is trying to work off your shorts while you unbutton his fly.  You have to get off him to take the rest of your clothes off.  His fingers are twitchy as they scrabble over his fly, unzipping then shuffling his jeans down his hips. 

You are confronted with that moment of intention again, when his jeans are at his knees and his shirt is pushed up, when you are completely naked in a car in the middle of nowhere and climbing back on top of him, making the deliberate choice to do what you are doing.  It is exhilarating.  It is scary.  You have big fears, about the repercussions in the world outside this vehicle, and you have little fears, like what if you are not good at this and you let him down after everything. 

But that seems impossible when he looks at you like that, warm and desirous, breathing hard as he drags his fingers down your body and slips them between your thighs.  You touch him too, marvelling in his sounds and faces, the flush of his cheeks, his mussed hair.  With just his fingers inside you, he is already looking at you like you are a singular miracle. 

It does feel miraculous.  When you think of where you started, when you think of who you are, this seems so impossible.  But you are here, losing yourself to his steady touch and tender gaze.  You grab his wrist, instinctively seeking control when he works you up to an orgasm, making you clench around his fingers.  You shudder on top of him, your head tipping back.   

“Fuck,” he says, so low and guttural it hardly sounds like a word.  Then he says softly, “Sweetheart.” This is accompanied with a long touch inside you, dragging his fingers so slowly, drawing out your orgasm until your whole body feels soft and pliant.  You ache with the loss of him when he withdraws his touch, just his thumb rolling across that oversensitive nub of pleasure.  Your skin already feels sweaty where you are touching, your hand curled around the length of him as you position yourself above him. 

Even with his effort, it is a stretch and burn when you first sink down.  You smack a hand on the roof of the truck, scratching your nails over it as you sit in his lap with him inside you. 

He curses.  His head falls back, his eyes closing. 

“Is it okay?” you ask in a strained voice. 

He replies, “Ahh…” then, “Uh!” then “Uhhhahh…” then finally, “Yes, yes.  God yes.”  He lifts his head and looks at where he is inside you, then he looks up at you.  “Are you, uh, are you okay?” 

His voice is a raspy thing, his face so raw with pleasure that you find yourself giggling in spite of yourself. 

“Yeah,” you say on a breath.  “Just… a lot.” 

He sits up, careful not to jostle you too much.  You still feel him moving inside you.  When you clench, he makes a sound, but he is not distracted from his mission, cupping the back of your head and bringing you close for a kiss.  You sink into it, your hands sliding onto his shoulders as his tongue slips past your lips. 

He helps you move, both of you following base instinct and little else.  It starts to feel deliriously good.  You are light-headed from kissing, worked up from knowing he is as close to you as he possibly can be. 

You move slowly, hands roaming over each other.  You get his flannel off and toss it into the passenger seat.  Then he braces himself to move his hips better, holding you steady.  You touch the roof so you don’t hit your head, rolling your hips to meet him.  It’s good but not enough and soon he is turning you over, laying you on your back under him.  He has to separate from you to get comfortable. 

You whine, touching yourself, and he smacks his head hard against the roof with surprise.  You laugh, slapping a hand over your mouth while he winces and rubs his head. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, still giggling.  Fortunately, he chuckles, wincing again for show before sighing. 

“Never better,” he says, and takes off his shirt.  You are both perspiring and not just from exertion, the car trapping all your combined heat and breathing.  The windows have completely fogged over and it shields you completely.  You have never felt more safe.  You eagerly open your legs to him as he settles on top of you and finds his place again. 

You wrap around him, whimpering and moaning and sighing when he finds a rhythm in this position.  He cradles you in his arms, rocking into you until you are dizzy with it.  He somehow feels deeper and deeper with every motion.  He kisses your chest and throat, up to your ear, across your face, your mouth.   You kiss him back, hooking your ankles behind his back and pulling him hard against you like you want more. 

“Got you,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear.  “Got you, sweetheart.” 

He makes you come again, tears springing to your eyes from the sensation of it all.   When his breathing gets frantic and his hips erratic, you let him go.  You breathe hard under him as he sits back and grabs his discarded flannel, coming into that.

 He tosses it aside after, then runs his fingers through his hair as he stares down at you.  You slowly sit up and lean in for one more kiss.  He obliges, cupping your face and kissing you deeply. 

You want to wrap around him again, hold him to your chest and lay there until you are both ready for more.

You take what you can get.  This was dangerous, but you have no regrets.  Even when you are both dressed and in your own seats, you feel enflamed and alive and glowing. 

He tosses his flannel out the window, leaving it on the ground behind you.  You roll down the windows and return to the highway.  It is a long drive home. 

-

Your father does not punish you.  He does not punish Felix in place of you.  The house is deathly silent when you arrive home.  Your father is in his office and Felix takes you there to see him. 

Your father does not even look up from his book.  After a moment he asks, “Did they hurt you?” 

You shake your head but he isn’t looking at you, so you are forced to find your voice and answer, “No.” 

“Good,” he says and turns the page to his book. 

You are teetering on the edge of panic all over again, waiting for him to erupt, to throw something at you, to grab you by the hair and give you a beating worse than anything ever before.  But he just turns another page to his book, so it’s you that erupts. 

“It wasn’t my fault,” you say in a frantic rush. “Hyunjin and I broke up and I was upset so I wanted to see Jisung, that’s it, I just wanted to see my friend.  It’s just because—”

Felix puts a hand on your shoulder, trying to stop you from running your mouth when you don’t need to do so.  It succeeds in silencing you, your voice breaking.  You swallow down a sob. 

Your father finally lifts his head.  His expression is completely blank.  There is no trace of anger, no sadness, no guilt.  You do not know what to do when he is like this.  He is giving you nothing worth a reaction so all your emotions bubble inside you with nowhere to go, spilling over and scalding you like a boiling pot.

“Go to bed,” your father says.  “What’s done is done.” 

It is not surprising that you have a nightmare, waking in a fit that even Felix cannot comfort.  Your half-asleep mind panics when he grabs you, forgetting who he is.  Only when he repeats your name in that sweet, low voice do you remember yourself.  You collapse against him, shaking while he strokes your back and talks gently to you, lulling you back to sleep.  It remains fitful and uneven but you get through the night. 

You are expecting the punishment to come in the morning but your father does not speak to you even though he is in the house.  You do not see him all day.  You have another restless night of bad dreams, Felix comforting you as best he can.  You wake the next morning thinking that surely, the punishment would come today.  There is no way your father is letting you get away with this.  He is planning something, something big, something you will never forget. 

But your father is gone and so is the security team.  Felix phones him and your father informs him that he had some impromptu business to take care of, that he would be gone for the next week.   

You are driving to school on Monday morning when Felix says, “Maybe he thinks it was punishment enough on its own.”  

“Do you really believe that?” you ask. 

Felix does not answer because he knows how far-fetched that is.  He knows your father as well as you do. 

There are only a couple more days of school.  This late in the semester, the lessons are completed, exams being graded.  Everyone is gearing up for graduation, signing yearbooks, taking pictures.   Classes offer more down time than work, letting students mingle.  It is easy few handful of days, the most exceptionally fun days of the whole year. 

Jisung would not miss it.  And he would not abandon you after your conversation.  When he is missing from school on Monday, you are immediately filled with horror. 

Felix looks at you when he realizes Jisung is missing, doing his best to calm you with his eyes. 

“He wouldn’t,” you murmur, just loud enough for Felix to hear.  “Tell me he wouldn’t…” 

Felix says nothing.  He knows your father as well as you do. 

You try phoning Jisung at various intervals through the day but it keeps going straight to voicemail.  Jisung is not great at keeping his phone charged so this is not unusual on its own, but you cannot shake the dread in the pit of your gut. 

Before the day ends, you all but throw yourself at Felix.  All it takes is one teary-eyed please for him to nod, understanding. 

You have the driver take you to Jisung’s house.  Felix steps out of the car and calls your father, needing to report your diversion from routine, but also hopefully gleaning some intel into your father’s potential involvement.  Meanwhile, you run up the porch and frantically bang on the door, not stopping until Jisung’s mother whips it open. 

“What?” she snaps.  “Why are you banging— oh it’s you.”

“Where is he?” you ask.  “Is he sick?  Can I see him?” 

“He’s just at the hospital,” she says like this is no big deal at all, even while you are sweating through your clothes with anxious terror. 

“The hospital?” you ask.  “Why is he—”

“Calm down!  He just had an allergic reaction,” she says.  “Stupid child ate peanuts and didn’t have his pen.  He’ll be fine.” 

“Can you tell me which hospital?” you say.  Some tension leaves your body with this revelation but even so, you will not feel truly at ease until you can see that Jisung is safe with your own two eyes.

His mother tells you where to find him and you thank her while she closes the door in your face.  You are feeling lighter already, heart bursting with light when you spin and jump off the porch. 

You rush up to Felix, eager to report your good news, but you draw to a slow stop at the look on his face.  This is not his professional indifference, listening to commands, but instead an expression of obvious remorse.  He looks apologetic, eyes full of pity, as he extends his arm, handing you the phone. 

You press the device to your ear, heart skipping beats in the worst way. 

“Hello?” you say. 

“After everything I have done for you,” your father says.  “After everything I have given you.  After my leniency despite your repeated abominable behaviour.  For you to end things with an appropriate boy to go chasing after some no-count, miscreant loser with no future and no—”

“What are you talking about?” you say.  “I don’t even know—”

“You stupid little—”  You can picture his face, mouth frothing with rage, brows pinched in fury.  You can picture him catching his breath as he slams a hand on his desk.  “Do you think I couldn’t see it all over your face?  That you were out whoring around with that nobody boy you call a friend?  I could see your commitment to the Hwang boy was a front but I foolishly thought you were making an effort to improve yourself.  How long have you been deceiving me?  Fronting with the Hwang boy while you run around with your schoolboy behind my back?” 

He thinks you’re dating Jisung.  He thinks this is all because of Jisung.  You cannot tell him the truth without ruining your life, Felix’s life, and Hyunjin’s life. 

You scramble for a defence, a denial, but memories of you and Felix flood your mind, the panic of that night takes over you, and soon you are freezing up. 

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” you eventually manage, your voice quivering with the rest of you.  “Please, Jisung is completely innocent, he’s just my friend, he—”

“Please,” your father says derisively.  “You have the audacity to say please to me now.  To ask for my permission now.   You listen to me and you listen well.  What I did to this boy was nothing. Having an allergen slipped into his food was a warning to you.  Your one and only warning, a warning I am only giving you because I prefer not to deal with civilian messes when I can avoid it.  But I whole-heartedly assure you, that if I find out you are in contact with this boy, if I find out you are even thinking about looking in his direction, it is over for him.  I will have him shot in the fucking head in front of you if that’s what it will take to get through to you.” 

You are bombarded with the image of Felix shooting those men.  Suddenly, you imagine it is Jisung across from him instead.  You look at Felix with a frantic, terrified look.  Your voice is weak when you say, “Dad, please, he’s—”

“Do not talk to back me!” he screams.  “You spoiled little slut!  He’s trash, is what he is!  Do you know what kind of life I have given you?  How dare you insult me this way.  How dare you throw it all on that waste of a person.  You go to that boy and you tell him to stay away or it will be the end of him.  Do you understand me?  Say yes or so help me—”

“Yes,” you say, sucking in a hard breath to keep your tears at bay.  “Yes, fine, just leave him alone.  Don’t hurt him, please.” 

Your father hangs up without another word.   

You look up at Felix.  He takes the phone, sucking in a breath of his own. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“It’s not your fault,” you say. 

Jisung is sitting up in his hospital bed when you find him.  His phone is a dead brick sitting on his bedside table, uncharged as anticipated.  He is sipping from a carton and watching television when you walk into the room, surprising him.  His face lights up with delight and he chokes on his drink, dribbling a bit down his front. 

You hurry to his side, worried, but he just laughs and wipes his chin. 

“Hey, hey, don’t worry,” he says.  “It was just a flare-up.  They’re just keeping me for observation to make sure I don’t, you know, suffocate and die in my sleep.”  He says this like it is ridiculous and funny but you are overwhelmed with the image of Jisung lying still in this bed, all the life and colour of your wonderful and vibrant best friend drained to nothing. 

Jisung can see something is wrong.  The humour falls from his expression, replaced with concern as he sees you well up with tears. 

“Hey,” he says, softer.  “I said I’m fine.  Don’t worry.  Is this about something else?  Are you okay?” 

You are not crying but you can feel the emotion in your throat.  If you speak, you think it will pour out in a flood.  You can only sit there, perched on the edge of his bed, staring at him.  He still looks strange without his hat.  Although he is joking around, there is an admitted pallor to his complexion.  He is on the mend but he has clearly been very ill for a day at least. 

That pallor and serious expression look so wrong on his face.  When you think of Jisung, you think of happiness, the first burst of sunshine in your life after growing up in shade.  You think about his awkward laughter during your first conversation, his many hugs, his stupid jokes, his winks and encouragements.  You did not know how to love anyone or anything until you met him. 

In your silence, he looks around, spotting Felix hovering in the doorway. 

“Felix!” he says.  “Hey!  What’s going on?”

“Hey,” Felix says gently.  He looks at you, sees your downturned face as you gather yourself.  He smiles at Jisung with his best distracting grin, like everything is fine, like everything has always been fine.  “Just saying bye, man,” Felix says. 

“Bye?”  Jisung asks.  “Where are you going?  Right before grad?  Not back to Australia, are you?”  Jisung looks at you and pets your head.  “Is Felix leaving?  Is that why you’re upset?”  

“No, Jisung,” you say, forcing your voice.  You shake your head.  “No, it’s not Felix.  I just…”  You look up and meet his eyes, so big and concerned.  You see him at age twelve, thirteen, fourteen, all those years he coaxed you out of your shell and ran around with you.  He was the first person to look back at you, to see something worth reaching for.   You want to touch his face and hug him, but you are certain if you start any of that, you will not be able to do what you need to do.  “Jisung, I’m leaving,” you say.  “I won’t be able to see you again.” 

“What?” he asks, confused for just a moment before he shakes his head and frowns.  “This is about your dad, isn’t it?  Is he doing something?  You have to let me help you—”

“Jisung, you can’t help me—”

“Yes, I can—”

“You can’t—”

“Then who’s going to?” he demands. 

“Not you!”  Anger and sadness combine and you look away, staring at the crinkled juice carton on his bedside table.  He is here because of you.  “Jisung, he made you sick.  He will try to kill you.” 

“What?”  Jisung asks, barely above a whisper.  “H-how?  I don’t even—”

“He has professionals,” you say, meeting his bewildered gaze again.  “And he can do much worse than this.” 

Jisung opens and closes his mouth, failing to find the words, then finally he shakes his head and says, “No.  I don’t care.  I’m not scared, I’m—”

“I’m scared,” you say.  “Jisung, I don’t want to see you ever again, because if something happened to you—”  You cannot conceive of a world where this is no Han Jisung.  You would not be the person you are now if he had never existed.  You would not have any emotions at all.  For the first time, you do not curse your sensitive feelings, rather you relish in feeling them at all, that you have a friend that it hurts to lose.   “Jisung, please,” you say.  “Don’t make this harder for me.  I’m going to go and we can’t see each other again.  The best thing you can do for me is have a good life.” 

Jisung starts crying, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. 

“That’s not fair,” he says.  “What about you?  What am I supposed to do?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.  You laugh dryly, looking aside. “It would have been better for you if you never knew me.”

“You already know that’s not true,” he says in a small voice. 

You are certain his face is full of pain but you cannot bring yourself to look at him again.  You try to say the word goodbye but it gets stuck in your throat, so finally you just stand up to leave.   

He grabs your arm, tugging you back.  You stare at the bed, not at him. 

“I said my promise was forever,” he says.  “I don’t care if it’s in five years, or ten years, or fifty.  I know I’m not—I know I can’t do much but—if you need me—”

You just nod, scrunching your face to stop the tears.  It does not work.  You pull your arm away and he lets you go, his hands falling helplessly limp to the bed.  You stare at the ground as you walk away, not looking back at him, not even looking at Felix. 

You are standing in the doorway when Jisung says your name one more time, barely more than a whisper yet stopping you faster than all your father’s screaming. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he says. 

You look up at Felix.  You know when you leave this place, you are going to take his hand.  When you climb into bed tonight, you are going to wrap your arms around him and let him hold and comfort you.  You are going to soothe his nightmares the way he does yours.  You are going to carve out a corner of light and happiness in your otherwise dark life.  You are going to do that because you know how, because having a friend made all the difference. 

“Oh, Jisung,” you say, wiping your face.  “You did save me.” 

You do not stop again, walking past Felix and into the corridor.  He follows swiftly behind, laying a hand on your lower back then taking your hand.  You squeeze it and he squeezes back.  You let him guide you out of the building, your vision blurry.  He knows there is nothing he can say to help right now, but he touches you gently and helps you along.  When you get home, he trails behind you as you trudge up the stairs to the bedroom. 

“Can I do something?” he asks. 

You shake your head.  “Not right now, thank you.” Your voice is still weak.  “Maybe later.” 

“Okay,” he says.  “I’ll be here.”

You nod and continue up the stairs, not even sure what your plan is right now.  It feels strange to go about your usual routine but that is what you do, your body carrying you automatically through each task, changing clothes, putting your uniform away, washing your face. 

You sit at your desk and decide you might as well go through your stack of school supplies.  You have been dumping textbooks and notebooks here as the semester ends.  You sort the empty notebooks from the used ones, the books you will never re-read from the ones to shelve.  You find your yearbook in the middle of it all.  You realize you never actually read Jisung’s message. 

You open the book, skimming the other messages from other students.  Lots of Have a Great Summer from Hyunjin’s friends, but a few cute personalized memos too.  Felix’s joking scrawl is at the bottom of a page and it makes you smile and shake your head.  You smile again when you read Hyunjin’s note: Our lives will not be meaningless.  He ended it with a playful, LOVE YOU MY GIRLFRIEND!!

You flip through the book.  You were not in any clubs or on any teams so there are very few pictures of you, just your posed portrait and one photo on a collage page – you, Jisung, and Felix awkwardly smiling as the yearbook photographer snapped a picture of you at lunchtime. 

You swallow.  You already know turning to the last page is going to make you cry.  You could avoid it.  You could close this book and never think about it again.  Your father would never walk into any situation that would deliberately compromise his mental and emotional integrity.  He would deride you for doing so.  You used to think he was right, that your feelings were a weakness. 

You realize your feelings make him weak, not you.  He wants you to be a robotic doll, devoid of feelings, blindly obedient, but you are not.  You will never strive to be that. 

You flip to the final page, filled with Jisung’s writing.  You smile and cry and curse out your father, then close the book and hug it to your chest, your heart beating steadily where you cradle it close. 

-

To the bestest most awesome girl in the world (not just saying that because you’re the only girl I know) from the bestest most awesome boy in the world (including your evil boyfriend, sorry!) 

Usually it’s easy for me to put my thoughts in writing but I’m drawing a blank.  How can I tell you in words how important your friendship is when that friendship is made up of more than words?  I never thought I’d be someone who runs off to parties or sneaks out onto rooftops, and I never thought I’d have so many friends.  Thank you for giving me the world.  I hope we can keep exploring it together. I know no matter what, we’ll still be friends, even if we’re far away after school ends.  Our parents might suck and we might be kinda weird as hell, but we have each other and that counts for something.  We loved each other first so no matter what else happens that will be always true.  Boyfriends will come and go but your best friend is forever!!  And you know I’ll be ready with a shovel if anyone breaks your heart.  I know it’s sappy to say, but it’s always safe with me.  

Times might be hard and we might drift apart, but I know we’ll see each other again and it will be like we never left.  Take care of yourself if I’m not there.  Keep fighting!!!  Nothing will be impossible for you. 

Your best friend now + always,

Han Jisung ♡

[sabineelectricheart]

Failure to Launch

Summary: Jumin refuses to move out of his father’s home. He has good reason for that.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 1200

Notes: Jumin’s mean. Jumin’s eeeeeeee-vil.

Even though Jumin Han was more than of age, he had not yet left his family’s main estate, in the outskirts of the city. He had been offered countless pieces of real estate, in Seoul, elsewhere in Korea and even abroad, but he doggedly insists in living with his father.

The older man chalks it up to filial piety. Jumin is a very conscientious boy, after all. He had always been so, and would not devolve into shameful behaviour now he is old enough to know better. No, this son, his only child, would not abandon his aging father like every other companion he ever kept, even if the aging father in question would, in fact, prefer to be left alone.

In truth, it is probably that Jumin does not trust his father’s life choices, especially the sort of woman that he contracts marriage with, and so would prefer to keep a close eye in the situation, rather than having unpleasant surprises whenever those fraught relationships implode on themselves. Chairman Han, in turn, would very much like some privacy with his brides, and now that the fruit of his unfortunate union with Caroline is well-set in life, he would prefer assuming a less involved parenting role from then on.

Be as it may, Chairman Han would not get his wish, and Jumin continued to live in the main house while he continued his life and his role as a corporate vigilante over the older man’s life.

He watched his father's life go on, looking at all the galas he attended, the women who surrounded Chairman Han each time, and each and every financial decision that would involve C&R International in any shape or form. The old coot could be many things, but he is a born social butterfly, always surrounded with friends and with a scheduled packed full of engagements, while the son… Not so much.

Jumin could not say that he was not jealous, per se. He would prefer a more vivid life, especially since his best friend V began seeing this girl named Rika. Their close friendship, already wounded after the passing of the latter’s mother, was suffering and the black-haired youth would not mind having someone else to fill the void. Nevertheless, he did not care that much, in so to do something about it.

Or so it was before the arrival of Min-ji Chang, the most recent of his father's girlfriends.

A young woman with beautiful hair, eyes that could attract anyone and a clear and unblemished skin. She was like an angel to Jumin's eyes, an angel that was not his but his father's.

For once, Chairman Han had picked a decent woman, probably out of the purest manifestation of the law of probability. To start, she was age-appropriate: still considerably younger than her boyfriend, but, clocking at thirty-something, not so much a fresh face. She was a once-divorced, primary school teacher with a kind demeanour and a quiet disposition.

She was not the kind of person who tried to be with him just for the money, she seemed genuinely interested, accepting his gifts on occasion, whenever they were reasonable and always telling him she does not need any of them. She would happily reciprocating affection in public, as well indulge in private kisses exchanges. It seemed that they were always having those little touches that would never go unnoticed by the young man.

At first, Jumin was highly suspicious of what seemed as too good to be true. A life too spotless, a countenance too moral. Aside from the divorce, contracted due to maltreatment, there seemed to lay no shame in that woman’s past, and that on itself was enough cause of concern.

He hired a hacker by the name of Luciel Choi, an acquaintance of V’s, to run a thorough background check on the woman’s life. While ��thorough” might be an understatement, based on the amount of information he received, he was still disappointed. Nothing of terrible or accusing was ever found on Ms. Chang.

He continued to dig and observe until one morning when Min-ji knocked on his door, holding up a plate of pancakes decorated with strawberries. His father was out, coming back from an overseas trip, but his flight had been delayed due to the weather.

“I made these for your father, but since he’s going to be late, I thought that we could eat them together. What do you say?”

His first instinct would have been to shoot that woman down, coldly enough to make her understand never to try such a thing ever again, but then he paused for thought. Perhaps he could dig out some information straight from the source, maybe even catch some inconsistencies in her story.

“Yes. Of course, Ms. Chang. Let’s.”

Over tea and those begrudgingly delicious pancakes, they talked about everything he could think of. Slowly, as each one of her responses matched his intel, as she slowly and kindly pried upon his private matters, he began to answer sincerely, to respond to her gentle nudging. He might have even truly smiled.

It was then that the youth had realized: This woman is sincere in her intentions.

Which, then, brings up questions of its own. Why on Earth such a woman is dating his father? What she can possibly see on him? It is his father and Jumin loves him, but by God, he is a mess. He is way past his prime, in a physical sense. He is chronically uncapable of being faithful to a woman, he is always busy and absent, he is incapable of properly communicating his feelings without resorting to finance.

She deserves much, much better. She deserves someone like… Well, someone like himself.

For the first time in his life, Jumin wanted to have someone like Min-ji for himself, or rather he wanted Min-ji for himself. Women always disgusted him, but he had finally found a specimen that is redemption of her own gender, and he refused to accept the reality of fact, that she was to be his step-mother.

No, it won’t do. He wanted to be the one disturbing his father's sleep as he exchanged passionate kisses with the young woman while throwing his clothes around the room or the house before he reached a surface to finally start pleasuring HIS Min-ji, touching her body and having her touch his as he snapped his hips against hers hearing the loud angelic moans coming from her swollen lips from the kisses.

Jumin blinks, and he is back to the real world.

It was just what he craved while he gazed with his now all too famous expression at Chairman Han and his girlfriend cuddling on the couch as they watched a movie together.

If he was going to go so far as to have to call her mother, he would have done that for other reasons, not because she had become his father's official girlfriend, and he was sure about that. He would get his chance eventually, even if he has to make sure that this relationship is not to last.

Be as it must, take what it takes, Jumin is going to have Min-ji for himself.

*_*_*_*_*

Mystic Messenger Masterlist

[contreparry]

Here for DADWC! How about the prompt '[ NECKLACE ] : sender fastens a necklace around receiver’s neck, leaning in close to do so.' for any ship!

Absolutely! Here's some Josephine x Leliana for @dadrunkwriting!

Leliana was a woman who appreciated the finer things in life.

It wasn't hard to divine that little truth. All it took was mild observation and some care, and Josephine learned a great deal about her (darling, dearest, beloved) friend and her guilty pleasures. She loved a little bit luxury, for all of her practicality, and Josephine was in the perfect position to indulge her (dearest). Leliana's preferences weren't impossible to procure, either: a rare book, a tin of fine tea (or chocolate, a true luxury), and a pair of shoes, and Leliana would be dancing on the clouds with joy. Oh, how the woman adored her shoes!

But Josephine thought she might give her friend something a little more special for her birthday. Something more... unique. So she hired a goldsmith to commission something special.

"Oh, Josie, you shouldn't have!" Leliana exclaimed when she opened the box. Josephine hid her smile behind the rim of her teacup. The delicate golden necklace with the dainty bird pendant was a perfect fit for Leliana. Now if she could only find a matching collar for her pet nug... but that was a present for another day.

"Do try it on! I can always find a replacement chain if the length isn't to your liking," Josephine urged. Leliana laughed and set the box down on the table as she turned around and swept her short copper hair away from her swan-like neck.

"I'm all thumbs with clasps," she demurred. "Absolutely hopeless. But if it wouldn't trouble you, might you assist me?"

“Of course!” Josephine exclaimed, though she worried that her own fingers and thumbs might turn to clumsy stone the moment she took the necklace into her hands. But she managed to loop the golden chain (as thin as silk thread) around Leliana’s neck and clicked the clasp shut. Her knuckles brushed against the nape of Leliana’s neck. Her fingers combed through the copper red of her hair. Josephine could hardly breathe. If she bent her head, she could press her lips against the crown of Leliana’s head. If she gathered her courage, she could- but Josephine held herself back and dropped her hands to her lap

“There,” Josephine murmured, too much of a coward to press forward. “Let me have a look at you.” And when Leliana turned back towards her and smiled, her eyes bright with delight, Josephine contented herself with the knowledge that she brought that pleasure to her (dearest darling) friend's countenance.

[liarian]

Insidious

Lies

Shigeo looked at himself in the mirror one last time before leaving. The pearl gray polo shirt and dress pants always gave him an air of formality far removed from most people's idea of the charlatans on TV, with their garishly colored robes and hippie looks. There wasn't a strand of hair out of place when he finally walked out the door of his small apartment that morning.

With precise movements he closed the door and opened the app with the bus schedules. Black Vinegar Academy had the reputation of being one of the most prestigious in the city. It wasn't unusual for Taka's parents to have arranged for it to be the school he graduated from before sending him off to college. His family had always placed great importance on appearances.

Serizawa was waiting for him at the bus stop near the high school's gate, his black Anello backpack slung across his back, when twenty minutes later Shigeo stepped off the bus. No one seemed to pay any attention to them as they walked in the direction of the school. It was barely ten o'clock in the morning and the early morning crowds had long since ended. Serizawa seemed to observe every detail around him. 

"Do you think they'll let us in?" Serizawa asked with his eyes fixed on the white brick building.

"The janitor has known me since I was a teenager, I don't think he'll give us any trouble. Serizawa, do you think you could take a walk around the school, see what you hear? Third grade classes should be on the top floor."

"B-b-but I'm not even a high school student. It's not like I-I can just walk in. What if someone asks?"

"Tell them you came with me. But I doubt very much that you'll really attract any attention. With so many different classrooms, no one knows everyone."

"And what are you going to do?"

"Me? Do the job I've been hired to do." Shigeo pulled the collar of his trench coat tightly around his neck before crossing the entrance gate. "Good morning!"

Shigeo put on his best smile, hands in his trench coat pockets, and strode forward with a small bow. The janitor merely returned his greeting.

"See, there was no need to get so nervous" Shigeo hunched slightly and muttered in a whisper, "he didn't say anything."

-----

Shigeo said goodbye to Serizawa as soon as he arrived at the entrance of the main building and headed towards the offices on the first floor. There were days he had the impression that he knew the halls of that place better than those of his own high school with how many times he had ended up waiting for Teru every time he got into a fight. 

Shigeo wasn't even able to understand how they had ended up being friends when they had almost nothing in common. Sometimes, Taka reminded him of Teru, always with his overriding need to be the center of attention. Even their parents seemed to be cut from the same cloth.  Maybe that was why they couldn't stand each other.

The door to the principal's office was closed when Shigeo knocked and entered without waiting for an answer.

"Fukuda-san? I see you well." Shigeo drew a sinister smile on his face. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

Shigeo let the screeching of the plastic chair be the only thing that sounded in the small cubicle for a moment. It was as uncomfortable as he remembered it when he finally sat down, his countenance grave.

"Kageyama-kun, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Fukuda-san held his gaze unblinkingly but the slight twitch in his right eye betrayed his nerves. "How is Hanazawa? I follow him every Wednesday-"

"I didn't come to visit." Shigeo cut him off, his power radiating from his body. "I don't think you'd like it if the mayor's son ended up getting into trouble on your watch. Spirits can be insidious and it looks like Sato has upset one of the most dangerous ones."

Even someone with the slightest hint of psychic ability would have been able to feel all the hairs on his body stand on end.

-----

Katsuya froze in the middle of the hallway. The doorbell rang and the halls, empty until that instant, were filled with a swarm of people coming and going. Conversations surrounded him, with shouts and uproarious laughter. Katsuya didn't have the best memories of high school. Being back there only made his palms start to sweat but Kageyama-san had said that Taka's class had to be on the third floor.

Ignoring the stares, Katsuya took the stairs two at a time. It was strange to be there knowing that Taka spent most of the day within those walls. It wasn't at all clear to him what Kageyama-san was hoping to accomplish. Katsuya had always been horrible at talking to strangers and it wasn't like people went around bragging about being fucking morons.

"Really, I still can't believe you went to his house! As much as the teacher asked you to bring his homework over. And his mother let you in?" The laughter managed to get Katsuya's attention.

"Fucking pussy, so much bullshit for a phone, are you sure he didn't say anything about us being there?"

Katsuya sighed as he heard the kids talking in a huddle leaning against one of the hallway walls. His college classmates were so different that for a moment he had allowed himself to forget how much of a douchebag people in high school could be.

"Everyone knows he's fucked up in the head, do you really think anyone would believe him?"

"I think he's already lost the last screw he had left." One of the kids pulled a cell phone out of his pants pocket. "Look at the look on his face. Isn't he pathetic?"

Katsuya didn't need much more to understand who they were talking about. Reigen's words echoed in his head. Am I that horrible? That was what Reigen had asked between hysterical laughter.

"I don't believe you had the balls to take a shot. We'd have to post it on Facebook. Maybe then he won't have the balls to come back."

"Seriously, Sato. If he does anything stupid it's going to be your fault." The words seemed to stick like daggers in Katsuya's stomach. "Sometimes I wonder what he's done for you to hold such a grudge against him."

Katsuya frowned, convinced that he had recognized Sato. He was sure he had crossed paths with him in the foyer of Reigen's house the first time he had paid him a visit after the operation.

"His father works with mine." The kid's voice pierced his ears. Katsuya felt the power vibrating in his skin. "You guys would be pretty sick of him too if you'd had to put up with him every weekend for years. He's unbearable."

"What did you say?" For a moment, Katsuya completely lost sight of the world. The only thing he knew was the rage that blinded him.

"And what the fuck do you want?" Sato stood up, facing Katsuya. " Is it somethin' goin' on with you?"

"You were talking about Reigen." Katsuya was undeterred when once in his personal space, the kid barely reached his shoulder. 

"I didn't know that sucker had any friends." Sato spat at him next to his shoes. "Or is it just pity? I don't believe anyone could stand him for more than two minutes. Did you hear that? Reigen has friends."

Whatever reasoning power was still left inside him disappeared under the fury.

Those despicable beings had dared to harm one of the most important people in his life. Those insects had tried to steal Reigen's laughter, the small gestures of complicity, the shy smiles. They just needed to disappear. They didn't even deserve to exist if they couldn't understand how much more bearable the world was just because Reigen was in it.

Screams began to sound all around them as the doors of all the classrooms opened and closed violently. The sound of window glass shattering into a thousand pieces made everyone fall silent.

Katsuya ignored the voices around him. People were running away from the tables and chairs that rose over their heads and slammed against the walls.

"Sato, let's go. It's not normal."

For the first time, he was glad to know he was dangerous. Katsuya enjoyed seeing the panic in the eyes of those creeping rats. There was something perversely pleasurable about knowing that he didn't need to lift a finger and those scum would no longer be a problem for Reigen.

He didn't mind being nothing but a monster in front of everyone if it meant he could protect what mattered most to him.

"Looks like we found our spirit." Kageyama-san's voice managed to cut through all the anger that seemed to want to suffocate him.

In an instant, his power disappeared leaving him completely empty. Kageyama-san was smiling too calmly. Katsuya blushed in embarrassment at what he had just done. Reigen was going to be so disappointed if he found out that it had only taken a few insults to make him lose control.

"Just what I was telling you, principal." Kageyama-san went on talking as if Katsuya hadn't been on the verge of causing a catastrophe. "It would be terrible if the academy gained the reputation of being cursed. So many sons of influential people? Their money would leave your pockets and the school's reputation would be in tatters. The mayor's son at the center of it all. Terrible, don't you think?"

"Are you threatening me?" the principal muttered, his gaze riveted on Kageyama-san.

"Threatening? No. Why would you think something like that? I'm just reminding you of what can happen if anyone ever lays a finger on my protégé again." Shigeo glared at Sato. One of the corks popped, plummeting to the ground. "Curses can be insidious. They get into your mind and could force you to do anything. The last thing you'd want is a victim on your hands, right Fukuda-san?"

[kingproteus]

On misgendering and public gender

When I was 13, I came out as trans. Life had been about squabbling before that, but standing up in class and announcing my gender sure solidified it. Every interaction was a trial to keep respect. I was always on it. I was always pissed and stern and responsible. This kept me alive and I’m proud of my younger self. Something I think cis people don’t realize, is a young trans kid being military about being correctly gendered isn’t the root cause of that action. Like, for me, if I let my peers deadname me, the next day they would follow me into the bathroom and shove my head into the wall. Purposeful misgendering is a gateway action, a test, to see if violence can be escalated.

Kids being belligerent about being gendered correctly is a way of keeping themselves safe. When you’re that age and in an unsafe place, you can’t let cis people smell blood in the water.

That’s why now, my chill countenance about pronouns is an extreme privilege in my life. I have the privilege of medical care despite my sex, I live in an area where I don’t face challenges to get hired, I can access tons of queer community. I can afford a trans therapist.

Now I’m older, I willingly interact with WAY more cis people than I did when I first came out. And now that I’m older, I can afford to be understanding and kind and not raise my voice. Cis people sometimes congratulate me on my calmness. This makes me pretty angry.

I get complimented on my ability to hold a conversation without getting angry, and my ability to combat near-transphobic ideas with grace. It makes me more angry than most things do. Cis people using my status as an autonomous and safe transsexual to wield against my peers is one of the most annoying forms of violence there is. I can talk friendly with old Republican men because I got big since I was 13, I learned how to throw a punch and I’m not afraid of getting beat up.

But to go show my demeanor, a reaction to my environment, to other trans people to, like, shame them? That shows a ridiculous lack of understanding about trans life. I can AFFORD to act like that because I have housing and I carry a knife. Trans people don’t act like dicks about gender because it’s fun. It’s the last defense of people who live on the knifes edge.

I let strangers call me ma’am at the grocery store, let DMV workers call me they. Medical professionals use my deadname. This isnt character progression. This isn’t me getting “better.” This is a privilege afforded by my safety. I don’t care, because it won’t result in violence.

Okay haha essay done.

[darthvashtique93]

Return of the Hawk

Chapter 25

Batman returned less than a minute later holding what looked like Shayera's old workout uniform. A simple sports bra, leggings, and a pair of her old shoes. "I thought the league burned all of my stuff," Shayera joked, taking the articles of clothing from him.

"We did, but Barry kept an outfit just in case you ever returned and needed something to wear."

"That is so sweet of him," Shayera cooed in all seriousness.

"Or creepy," Batman said dryly. "I'll wait for you." He once again left the room with a swirl of his cape. Shayera quickly pulled on the shoes and leggings, but she paused staring at the top. More specifically, she stared at the place her wings would have been. She sighed softly as a wave of longing flowed through her. Oh well, she shrugged, no time to dwell on it.

Batman and Shayera walked the halls in relative silence. Shayera tried to ignore the stares and whispers, but the stares were unnerving, and the whispering was loud. "At least they don't gawk at me anymore," Batman said from beside her. "The young and new members would stare at me all of the time."

"Well, yeah," Shayera smiled. "You're mysterious and broody. You're an imposing figure. Someone they aspire to be like. You're the Batman." Batman hmphed in response. "Also, and I am not speaking for myself," Shayera clarified, "you're…cute."

"Cute?" Batman said the word like it was gross.

"Though your nose is barely visible, and your mouth and jaw are all that is seen…you're handsome."

"What about Bruce Wayne?"

"No," Shayera answered quickly, "I refuse to feed your giant, oversized ego. You know very well where you rank on the hotness scale," Shayera said resolutely. Batman smirked underneath his cowl as he and Shayera took the elevator down to the lower levels, where prisoners were temporarily held.

Lobo sat in a clear cell, trying to flirt with Wonder Woman. Wonder Woman looked about ready to kill him. Superman, Flash, and Martian Manhunter were there. The only person missing was Green Lantern. Flash sped over to her, greeting her with a hug. Lobo's eyes flashed to Shayera. He immediately charged at her, hitting the indestructible barrier. "You blew me up!" he pointed at Shayera. "That hurt!"

"You were trying to take me against my will," Shayera said, folding her arms. "We're even."

"Let me guess," Lobo began to mock, "you want to know who hired me."

"We know who hired you," Wonder Woman said. "It was the Thanagarians." Lobo looked genuinely surprised. Shayera rolled her eyes. How could someone as talented as Lobo be so stupid? "And they paid me well," he added, "very well."

"They gave you my sword," Shayera stated.

"I don't ask where the payment comes from as long as I get paid."

"That's what we want to discuss with you," Superman said.

"I don't break contracts," Lobo said.

"Unless you get a better offer."

"There is nothing in the universe better than Nth metal," Lobo said. "Nothing I want, anyway."

"We'll see," Flash said with a knowing smirk.

"I always get my bounty," Lobo said menacingly as the door opened. Green Lantern entered. "I got approval from Oa. He is here and ready to go." Superman, the one being in the universe who Lobo could not beat, opened the door to the cell and grabbed Lobo, yanking him out of the cell. "Hey! Where are you taking me?" Lobo protested loudly; trying to swing at and kick the Man of Steel.

The walk to their destination should have been 30 seconds. But with the fuss Lobo was making, it took about 5 minutes. They finally made it to the room where the teleportation pad was located. Standing, or floating, in the open space – looking very out of place – was a Space Dolphin. Lobo's countenance completely changed. He stopped fighting Superman's grip; he gasped; his eyes widened in love and wonder – it was a terrible sight to behold. Shayera didn't know what to think as Lobo exclaimed, "A Space Dolphin!" Superman released Lobo, allowing him to run over to the creature.

"This is Lundgren," Green Lantern introduced Lobo. "The only Space Dolphin in the entire universe that can survive in an oxygenated environment." Lobo got right in the face of the dolphin. "Lundgren, this is Lobo. In an oxygenated environment, Lundgren can't speak," Green Lantern continued. "If you look out that window, you'll see a whole pod of Space Dolphins." Lobo ran to the window, pressing his face up against it like an eager child on Christmas Eve looking for Santa. "Lundgren has graciously opened his pod up to you."

"Like to hang out?" Lobo asked in awe.

"Yes. All you have to do is stop hunting Shay- "

"Deal!" Lobo said before Green Lantern could finish. "Where's my Space Hog?" he asked eagerly.

Lobo sat on his bike, preparing to leave with the Space Dolphins. "I don't know how you did it," he said looking back at the league, "but thank you." The 'thank you' floored every single one of the League members. Lobo turned to Shayera, "I lost your sword."

"I stole it after we blew you up," Shayera said.

Lobo laughed boisterously before saying, "Your sister hates you."

"I know," Shayera said.

"No, she really hates you. She is going to be pissed when she finds out I stopped hunting you. She may get the Gordanians involved," Lobo said. Shayera nodded. "See you later, bird girl," he said as he took off with the Space Dolphins. "I hope I never see a Thanagarian ever again," he muttered.

The founding members sat around a circular table in the conference room. "Lobo has been successfully taken care of," Superman sighed gratefully.

"That guy is so weird," Flash said. "How is he so good at what he does?"

"Did you see his face when he saw those dolphins?" Green Lantern shuddered. "Lobo smiled."

"The image will never leave my head," Flash said.

"Back to the business at hand," Batman said, steering the meeting in the right direction.

"Right," Superman agreed. "We have the Thanagarians, the Gordanians knocking on our door. Not to mention the Thenagarian currently occupying one of our guest quarters." That was putting it mildly. Chey-Ara was on house arrest. She wasn't allowed to leave her room unless absolutely necessary, and she always had to be accompanied by a leaguer.

"Do we continue to interrogate the Thanagarian?" Wonder Woman asked.

"Chey-Ara is not a threat at the moment," the Martian Manhunter said. "I still believe she can be swayed to our side."

"I agree with J'ohnn," the Green Lantern concurred. "The Thanagarians and Gordanians are who we need to concern ourselves with."

"There's someone else I would like to bring in," Batman said, "he's not a threat. He could be of some help."

"Is he a friend or foe?" Superman asked.

"He's an ally. His name is Carter Hall."

"The hawkman?" the Martian Manhunter asked, thinking for a second. "Yes, I think he will be of much help."

"Okay," Superman said in agreement. "Anything else to discuss?"

"I have something I would like to discuss," Flash said standing to his feet. Everyone remained silent, all eyes on him. "I would like to discuss the reinstatement of Shayera as a league member." Everyone froze. Shayera, who'd been silent the entire time, stood up to speak. "No, no, no," Shayera said. "We don't need to do that."

"No, Shayera," Flash said. "Let me. This is getting ridiculous. The way the younger members talk about her – "

"Flash," Shayera gasped, thoroughly embarrassed.

"She's an outcast because she betrayed us," Wonder Woman leaned forward.

"But did she?" Flash said, "Think about it…what would we have done in her position?"

"It does not matter," Wonder Woman stood up menacingly, "we weren't in her position."

"Hey!" Shayera yelled, getting everyone's attention. All eyes turned to her. "I did not put Flash up to this. I didn't want any of this. None of you were supposed to get involved, I just…." She thrust her fingers into her hair and began pacing. "I was perfectly fine, alone, on that mountain. I was fine! I didn't want to come back!"

"You know why Batman brought you here," Wonder Woman folded her arms.

"I know, Diana," Shayera seethed, "but a vote is not necessary. I'm not rejoining the league. I can't. I don't deserve…it's unwise," she plopped back down in her chair and buried her face in her hands.

"Well, I think you deserve to be here, Shayera" Flash said looking at her.

"How can she possibly help us?" Wonder Woman said, leaping to her feet, slamming her hands on the table. "She doesn't have her wings!" Shayera flinched at the reminder.

"Diana," Superman uttered her name softly.

"No!" Wonder Woman silenced him with a glare. "Shayera's not a child, she can handle the truth! And the truth is - she is absolutely no use to us without her wings!" Wonder Woman breathed heavily after her rant, taking her seat. She then looked up to see surprised looks on the faces of her colleagues, except for Batman…and Martian Manhunter (his facial expression never changed). Shayera was looking down at her hands.

An awkwardness settled in the room, while Wonder Woman sat down, and put her head in her hands. Her tirade had left her surprisingly exhausted.

As for Shayera, she didn't know what to do with herself. She didn't know whether to leave the room or stay. She wished there was a way she could sneak out.

"That was cold, Wonder Woman," Green Lantern eventually broke the silence and discomfort.

Flash glared at Wonder Woman - hard. He looked seconds away from attacking. "You know what, princess," Flash sneered, "I would rather have her here than you."

"Of course, you would," Wonder Woman replied, "You lovesick – "

"ENOUGH!" Superman's voice roared. "Flash," he turned to the speedster, "now is not the time, there's too much going on. We will discuss this after the Thanagarians and Gordanians are dealt with." Flash nodded. "And Wonder Woman," he paused, "we'll talk later." Wonder Woman looked away from Superman in anger. "It is 4:00 a.m. Some of us need sleep. Let's reconvene tomorrow." With that, the members piled out of the room, all but Shayera.

Shayera stayed right where she was, as still as a statue, thinking. These past six months, she'd been living in ignorant bliss. Living in a comfortable manor, recovering from her well-deserved punishment - getting used to the comfortable life Bruce had supplied her thus far. Today was a wake-up call. She didn't belong here. She didn't belong anywhere. This flirtatious thing with Bruce…what was she doing? She couldn't let her heart get involved. They needed to deal with her crazy family and the Gordanians and then she needed to disappear for good. Maybe steal a Thanagarian ship. Yes, she thought, that is what she needed to do. She pulled her fingers through her hair and stood up and paused. Where would or could she go? There had to be a planet out there, a place that would hide a broken bird.

Shayera walked out of the conference room in deep thought and ran into, what she thought, was a brick wall. Turns out it was Batman. Shayera couldn't meet his masked eyes. Bruce would know something was wrong; he'd peel her apart. Shayera couldn't have that. "You ready to go?" Batman asked. Shayera nodded slowly, thankful when Batman finally turned, and she could no longer feel his intense, piercing gaze.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13461097/1/Return-of-the-Hawk

[marshalforgotten]

There was an amused smile, evident on countenance. As a creature capable of portraying many faces, deception was always available. Portraying some semblance of honesty however, was not a trait beyond her just yet.

She perked up at the mention of a party Macaque would be working in; eyes possessing some curious glint. Had he been hired by human vendors or were his temporary employers creatures on the more supernatural spectrum? The latter was a possibility these days.

"Interesting. It certainly sounds like someone will be entertained, during the festivities," hidden primate remarked, after his tidbit. Strange that he would indulge her with such information, but she supposed dark-furred one saw it as no consequence. Not that white-haired lady planned on doing anything, but it was a thought.

"Of course you've shapeshifted to trick people, what other use is there?" He says it with a knowing grin - 'tricking people' had many definitions and uses, and he was sure she knew them as well as he did.

"It can be fun, doesn't need to involve candy, lot of the more adult parties don't - I'm actually gunna be working one that night and that's at a club - and there's always the trick part of trick-or-treating."

"If they don't give you the treat you want, you have the - honestly, obligation to raise a little hell for them."

[jenniferspet]

When Moxxie met Millie

Moxxie couldn't pinpoint which was the most concerning red flag he'd encountered upon first stepping foot into I.M.P. headquarters for his job interview. First, there was the receptionist, a hellhound with glowering, judgmental eyes. It wasn't until after he'd been hired that he learned her name was Loona. She'd barely given him so much as a hello, let alone even bothered looking up from her phone. She'd merely sat there, legs folded over her desk, and pressed a button to inform the head of the company that his 2 o'clock meeting had arrived 14 minutes early. She'd said it in a way that was downright mocking, like he'd already fucked up and he may as well have walked right back out the door. When she did finally look him in the eye, she'd immediately wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. You're disgustingly fat." That was the second red flag. Moxxie blinked and looked down at his physique, not exactly sure what she was seeing. Perhaps the question he should've asked was, did she always insult every potential new employee who'd made the mistake of answering a job ad for a freelance assassination agency? "Um. Okay," Moxxie said in return, his tail curling in discomfort. He swallowed and pointed to the closed office door. "So, can I?" Loona rolled her eyes, sinking her chin to one paw as she gestured to the door with her other paw that still clutched her phone, a blasé look permanently etched on her face. The next red flag came the moment he'd opened the door to his prospective boss' office. The tall imp sat looming over an animal carcass, freshly killed, judging by the acrid smell of blood. He was slurping up a strand of slimy entrails like a fat noodle when he'd locked eyes with Moxxie, who froze, swallowing the knot that had formed in his throat. "Hi," he said, holding up a meek hand. "Sorry to interrupt your…lunch, but your receptionist gave me the okay to come in." He finished loudly slurping up the intestine and leaned back in his chair, stroking a sharp claw to his chin. "Did she now? Well, that fucking does it, I'm going to have to fire her ass," he said, reaching for the phone. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to tell her it was all your fault." "Oh, shit, what?!" Moxxie said in a panic, scrambling for the doorknob. "No, please, I don't mind waiting. I could…" He trailed off when the maniacal imp exploded in laughter. "Holy fuck," he howled, wiping a tear from his eye. "That was good. I can tell already we're going to have a great relationship. Please, I'm just fucking with ya, have a seat." For a moment, Moxxie stayed where he was, regarding this unpredictable imp with his outstretched hand. If there were any glaring opportunity to permanently back out of this obvious shitshow of a company, this was his chance. Yet, there was something oddly genial about the imp's countenance, not to mention his clearly fucked-up sense of humor. And he did really need the money. The job market in Hell wasn't exactly plentiful. Stepping away from the door, Moxxie took a seat in the empty chair, while the imp walked around his desk, clasping his hands behind his back, evidently ready to be professional. "Now then," he said, "I don't have your résumé in front of me…Roxxie, is it?" "Actually, it's Moxxie. As in, 'that kid's got a lot of moxie.'" He leaned against his desk, stretching his arms behind him with a flick of his tail, unamused. "Is that the expression you use to explain your name to imps?" Moxxie felt sheepishly small all of a sudden. Perhaps this was a bad idea after all. He decided to switch gears. "Sorry, I meant to ask before, but you're Blitz-oh, right?" "It's pronounced 'Blitz' now," he said swiftly, almost mechanically, as if he had to correct people every single day. "The 'o' is silent." Without looking, Blitzo reached back and plucked a bone off the animal carcass, sliding it between his fangs like a toothpick. "Listen, enough tongue fucking, or whatever the fuck it is you do for foreplay." Blitzo removed the sharpened bone, licking it clean with his tongue. Moxxie wasn't sure whether he was attempting to entice or intimidate. Maybe both. He chucked the bone over his shoulder, where it clattered onto his desk. A twisted grin slid across his face as he leaned forward, draping himself over Moxxie, who could only stare up at him, wide-eyed and attentive. "You ever kill anyone, Moxx?" Moxxie shrunk down in his seat. This was yet another move in this increasingly dangerous chess match of an interview. Either he lied and said he had, or he told the truth and risked being dismissed before he could even get started. "No, I haven't," he said at last, ultimately deciding the truth was the best option. Refusing to let himself get rejected, he quickly added, "But I'm great with weapons. Guns, knives, grenades. I can hit any moving target. I'd be happy to demonstrate." "No need," Blitzo said. "You're hired." In hindsight, that should've been the biggest red flag of all. Who in their right mind hired someone on the spot without any followup questions? Admittedly, Moxxie had been far too stunned and relieved to learn he'd actually gotten the job to press on the matter. "Really?" he asked. "Yeah, I'm building a new reputation here, and I need as many good assassins I can find," Blitzo said. "Plus, turnover rate has been high lately. Apparently ex-employees had a problem with my 'management style' or whatever the fuck corporate bullshit they want to call it. But, fuck them, I'm the boss, so it's either do as I say or get fucked, right?" Moxxie tensed at the realization that this guy was, in fact, his boss now. And everything he was saying wasn't exactly reassuring. All he could do was trust that he hadn't made a horrible mistake in accepting this job. "Right," he said, forcing a grin. Blitzo's eyes narrowed, as if seeing right through his bullshit. "Let's get one thing clear right now. I don't need you kissing my ass just because you work for me. If you want to tell me to fuck off, that's your choice. Just know that if you fuck up on the job, I have every right to destroy you." Moxxie exhaled, dropping the grin. "Of course, sir." "'Sir,'" Blitzo repeated. He tapped a claw to his chin in contemplation. "I like the sound of that. All right, to bring you up to speed, there's a client who's been breathing down my neck to kill some sick fuck who tried to blow up a school, but we haven't been able to catch the wily piece of shit." "'We?'" Moxxie asked. "Oh, right. There's another imp on the team," Blitzo said. "Her name's Millie. She can be excruciatingly cheerful at times, but she's a cold-killing bitch." "Sounds great, sir," Moxxie said. "I look forward to meeting her." The intercom buzzed, and Loona's deadpan voice filled the room. "Hey, that lady's calling again." Blitzo slammed a hand to his desk, sharply scratching his claws against the wood. "God-fucking-dammit, this bitch is relentless." He pressed a button to respond. "Tell her we're going to kill the motherfucker today." Without missing a beat, he crossed the room and opened a cabinet, where he took out a rifle. "What do you know, Moxxie, looks like you're going to get a chance to prove yourself after all." He cocked the rifle and tossed it to Moxxie, who braced himself as the weapon collided into his chest, crushing his small frame. He coughed, limbs shaking, though he managed to steady himself and rise to his feet. "Actually, sir," he said, voice strained. He gently placed the rifle down and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a pistol. "I think this will do just fine." Blitzo whistled, and for the first time in this entire interaction, Moxxie could tell he'd genuinely impressed him. "Look at you, carrying a loaded gun," he said, promptly scooping up the rifle and returning it to its holder. He grabbed a smaller firearm for himself, along with a pair of machetes. "Let's have at it." He flung open his office door and strode out. Moxxie followed, quickly slinking past Loona's desk while she scrolled through her phone. "Mills, let's go," Blitzo said. "We're finally going to murder that son of a bitch bomber, and we've got a new recruit to help us out." "Ooh, a new recruit? How excitin'!" "Yeah, and we're on a deadline, so chop, chop. Speaking of, these are for you." Blitzo handed her the machetes, which she accepted and proudly held above her head, slicing them through the air before tucking them away. She giggled, a sprightly sound that shot directly to Moxxie's heart. He stood there, spellbound, gawking at this pretty imp with a toothy smile and an intoxicatingly joyous demeanor that gravitated him toward her. Moxxie extended his hand. "Hi, I'm—" His mind went blank. He cleared his throat, dropping his hand as he felt his face flush. "Sorry. I'm Moxxie. And you're Millie. That's a really lovely name." "Well, shit, ain't you sweet," she said, taking it upon herself to grab his hand and revive his abandoned handshake. "Pleased to meet you, Moxxie. I like your name too. And I really like your bow tie." "O-Oh," he said, a flustered grin stretching across his face. He never wanted to let go of her hand. "Thank you." "Holy mother of fuck," Blitzo said, breaking apart their seemingly endless handshake as he stepped between the two of them. He glowered down at them, vehement and authoritative. "I'm going to need you both to keep it in your pants right now because we've got a target to slay, and I'll be damned if I have to deal with this nagging client a second longer. Let's fucking go. Now. Loony, hold my calls." "Can you fucking leave already?" Loona asked, her eyes never leaving her phone. "Your voice pierces my skull." "You're a peach, bye, loony!" Blitzo said with a grandiose wave. He grabbed Moxxie by the shoulder and shoved him out the door, though Moxxie didn't mind at all, as he kept his gaze on Millie the entire time. If he had any remaining doubts about whether this job would be a good fit for him, all of those worries seemed to melt away simply by being in Millie's presence. He'd decided that whatever happened from this point forward, it would all be worth it, because at the very least, he'd gotten to meet her. "Don't worry," she whispered as they walked down the hallway with Blitzo several feet ahead, wielding his weapon. "Blitzo's not such a bad boss once you get to know him, and the job can be a lot of fun. I think you're really going to love it." Moxxie was too dumbstruck to say anything. All he could do was smile in appreciation, inclined to believe her.

"Fucking…piece…of utter…shit!" Blitzo shouted breathlessly, nursing a gunshot wound in his upper arm as he sprinted through an abandoned warehouse, boots pounding against rickety floorboards. "Satan forbid the earthly authorities could've taken out this dipshit and saved us a trip to this godforsaken shithole!" "Sir, are you sure you're all right?" Moxxie asked, running alongside him. "I could call for help." "There's no time, Moxxie. We need to assassinate this asshole so we can get the fuck out of here!" An onslaught of bullets had Blitzo screaming and ducking for cover. Millie held up the machetes to shield herself as a bullet ricocheted off of one of them. Blitzo stumbled, his injury overcoming him as he doubled over and groaned. Both Moxxie and Millie rushed over to him, but he clenched his eyes and waved them off. "Go, go, I'll be fine. Just finish him the fuck off already!" Millie grabbed Moxxie by the wrist before he could dwell on it, leading him to a secluded corner of the warehouse. They took a moment to catch their breaths, while Moxxie's thumb fumbled with the trigger of his pistol. Another bullet shot out at them, and they both winced and threw their arms around each other without even thinking about it. An unsettling silence followed. Moxxie willed himself to open his eyes and look at Millie. She was trembling, though not in fear. There was a spark of rage in her eyes, a blood thirst for vengeance in an insatiable need to end this fucker before he could hurt anyone else. Moxxie was struck then by an overwhelming need to protect her, even though he knew she didn't need protecting. After all, she'd not only expertly dodged every single bullet that had flown her way, but she'd led them both to safety and had made it look so easy. She was extraordinary. He'd never been in love before, but he was pretty sure this was what it felt like. "Wait here," he said. This time, he cocked his gun without any trouble, a fierce look of determination crossing his face. He rolled out of their hiding spot and sprang back up, clutching the pistol tightly in both hands as he crept forward while eyeing his target down below. The man had stopped shooting, though he still had his gun raised, looking for something to kill. Moxxie narrowed his eyes, calmness washing over him as he held up his pistol, aiming it directly between the target's eyes. He pulled the trigger. The bullet whipped cleanly from its barrel and struck the man in the forehead. His body fell backward, blood pooling from the back of his head, the sound of the gunshot echoing in the silence. "Nice shot." Moxxie's heart quivered. He turned around to see Millie stepping out with a dazzling grin on her face. She dropped her machetes and ran up to him, throwing her arms around him once more. "You killed him, Moxxie," she said, voice filled with pride. "You fucking did it!" "I did, didn't I?" he said, his head swimming, unsure if it was from the rush of adrenaline after his first official kill, or the fact that this beguiling imp was in his arms. It was probably the latter. "Fuck yes, excellent work, Moxx!" Blitzo cheered. "We're all gonna get hammered tonight!" In spite of all the absolutely insane shit that had just happened, Moxxie couldn't help but chuckle. He and Millie pulled back from their embrace, both smiling as they stared at each other warmly. His hand reached out before he could stop it, smoothing a strand of hair away from her pretty eyes. He was overcome by how desperately he wanted to kiss her, but he restrained himself, knowing it wouldn't be appropriate. After all, they were co-workers, and they'd only just met. It wasn't until much later that he learned she'd wanted to kiss him right then and there too. He'd slept extremely well that night, a smile on his face and a note with Millie's number on it resting closely to his heart. He decided once and for all that I.M.P. woundn’t be all that bad.

[legacyfragmented]

Tag Dump.

[goldeunoias]

Angel.

A/N: i have a jay obsession i have a jay obsession i have a jay obsession

I am also writing for Jay again bc his stans also always give me the most feedback on his works so i am more inclined to write for him ^^ 

if you want to see a member more the best way to do that is to leave feedback on the author’s works!

Word Count: 1.6k (i can’t believe i did this in one sitting adsfasd)

Synopsis: Literally you are something so sweet and lovely to jay and he wants to corrupt you. Yeah.

Warnings: Male masturbation, slight perv! Jongseong, some daddy kink in there, corruption kink, dirty talk, daddy dom! jay lowkey, i think this is it i can’t remember, ah yes, finger sucking

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Who gave you the right to be so cute? 

Jay’s eyes were trained on you for a good duration of the night as yours and his parents conversed about things he didn’t particularly care about, but you however did, engaging in a deep discussion with whatever his mom was ranting about. 

Jay tried so hard to keep his thoughts pure, especially since he was literally at a family dinner but he couldn’t help himself. He’d liked you ever since his dad hired your mom, and you came into his life like a ray of sunshine. 

A ray of sunshine that he utterly wanted to ruin.

He knew you were inexperienced, he just knew it. You were so soft and delicate, shy giggles being let out every time his hand would grace any aspect of your body, whether it was to put the strap back on your dress if it was falling off, or to remove an eyelash that perhaps clung to your cheek. 

Jay felt his jaw clench and he adjusted his posture some as he tried to contain himself, enamored with how your eyes sparkled when his mom made a remark that you found funny. 

Gorgeous, an angel. 

“Jongseong, why don’t you tell her about the things you’ve been working on lately? You’ve been so quiet,” his mom interjected, pulling him from his thoughts. He immediately felt his heart pick up as you stared at him with captivated eyes, your whole countenance being warmer than fresh laundry. 

“Well, uh...I mean it’s all really stupid so I don’t think she’d want to hear any of that mom so it’s fine really,” Jay rambled out, feeling his body get hot. You smiled at his mannerisms and Jay felt his heart lurch out of his chest, giving you what he hoped was a smile that was not too forced but not too bland either. 

Jay watched as you went for one of the dishes that was placed near him and he rushed to help you, both of your hands colliding and inadvertently spilling the bottle of wine next to the food all over him. 

“oh my gosh, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to,” you immediately rushed out as you stood up and went to his side to clean up the mess with napkins, your face burning as you felt the gaze of both his and your family staring at you. 

“It’s okay you didn’t mean it. I guess we’re both a little clumsy huh,” Jay soothed, your face somehow getting warmer from the soothing sound of his voice. You handed him some more napkins so he could absorb some of the red wine from his ruined dress shirt and pants, apologizing to the rest of the group for causing such a ruckus. 

There was a murmur of “it’s okay” and everyone eventually went back to their conversations. You rushed out more apologies as Jay excused himself to shower and change to remove the stickiness of the wine. He told you it was okay and squeezed your hand for reassurance, the simple act making you nod and look down. 

Soon enough you went back to your conversation and Jay excused himself to his room, closing his door and stripping himself of his clothes to shower. If he was being honest, he couldn’t be happier to have a reason to excuse himself as he wasn’t really sure how much longer he could’ve held out. 

He hated himself for thinking about you in this way more often than not but you drove him insane and as the hot water started cascading down his body his thoughts start to run rampant, a low hiss emerging from him as he felt blood rush to his member. 

His mind started thinking about how frazzled and shy you’d get as he peeled off clothes from you one by one, remarking on how pretty his angel was. Jay groaned as he lightly wrapped his hand around his member and slowly started stroking, wanting to tease himself. 

Jay felt his face burn as his thoughts got even lewder, wanting so badly for you to disobey him so he could punish you with smacks to the flesh of your ass. His face furrowed as he thought about how you’d whimper and whine into a pillow as he delivered each ministration and how your voice would crack as you counted for him. 

Now drops of precum were profusely leaking from his tip and his mind now wandered to how warm your mouth would be as you tried to suck him off the first time, soft eyes looking up at him as you asked him if you were doing a good job. 

Like this jeongie?

At the thought of your voice asking it sweetly, he groaned against the shower wall, trying to hold out on his teasing for longer. The sound of the shower covered the lewd sounds that were coming from his hand as he gripped himself harder, his legs spasming for a second as he felt his stomach tighten. 

He hated how desperate he looked as he fucked himself into his hand, low grunts and hisses coming from him as he made thought of every indecent scene he could put you in. 

“S-seongie will it fit?” 

“Keep going please”

“I t-think I’m gonna cum”

“D-daddy...”

Jay hissed lowly through his teeth as he imagined easing himself into you, your delicate hands wanting to grip onto his for something grounding as he would stretch out the gummy walls of your core. 

Were you a virgin perhaps? 

He knew you were inexperienced but it would kill him to know if you were. Jay felt his hand tighten more at the base as he felt his hand speed up, his stomach clenching as a tight knot started forming in his stomach. 

His name fell from your lip and he squeezed his eyes shut as he thought about your syrupy arousal soaking his sheets as he fingered you, his heart fluttering at how wet he’d make sure to get you. You were so sweet and lovely to him he wanted to spoil you like a princess, dreaming up you wearing the cutest lingerie for him before he’d fuck you in it. 

Jay’s head felt dizzy as he knew he was getting closer and a part of him was embarrassed at how badly you affected him and how badly he wanted to ruin you. He felt himself choke on a moan at the mere idea of you begging to be fucked by him, cute pleas timidly leaving your mouth about wet you were.

“Fuck angel I wish you were here,” Jay groaned against the shower wall, as he felt his balls clench before the knot snapped deep and heavy moans fell from his lips as thick ropes of cum spurted out from him. He lay against the wall for a solid five minutes and changed the water to something cooler to get himself to come back down from his high, his breathing finally returning to normal after some time. 

He reluctantly turned off the water and dried himself off quickly and put on his robe and opened the door, stopped in his tracks when he saw the sight. 

It was you, a frightened expression plastered on your face as stood next to his bathroom door frame, your hand shamefully frozen between your legs. 

“I-I’m sorry your mom wanted me to check up on you and I didn’t mean ohmygosh I-”

“Ey it’s alright baby, no need to be sorry” Jay soothed as his hand came down and moved your own from between your legs, holding it up so you both could see how sticky it was. “Were you listening to me?” 

You gulped and nodded, doing everything to look everywhere except his carob eyes. Jay nodded and you jumped slightly when he slid your fingers into his mouth and started sucking, the warmth of his tongue making you whimper. 

“Here’s what you’re gonna do princess. Go downstairs and tell them that I have a migraine and you’re gonna keep watch to make sure I’m okay. Got it?” Jay purred, his hands lovingly stroking underneath your shirt. 

“O-okay,” you agreed, Jay helping you in fixing your clothes before sending you on your way. You timidly walked down the steps with frazzled legs, clearing your throat at the base to get everyone’s attention. 

“Jongseong has a migraine so I was gonna keep him company just in case he needs anything and can’t come down to get it,” you told in the evenest voice you could muster. There was collective nodding and his mom and dad gave you polite “thank yous” you nodding and going back up the steps without rushing up there. 

When you opened the door you saw Jay had turned off the lights and just had the lamps on instead, his room being cascaded into warm honey lighting. 

“C’mere princess, sit in my lap” Jay ordered softly, spreading his legs as you came and took a seat. It was taking all of Jay’s self-control to not just ravage you right then and there, his hands gripping the soft flesh of your thighs and raising your skirt up more and more. 

“Do you want me to take care of you baby? I need your confirmation,” Jay cooed, one of his hands coming to hold your chin in place so you could stare at him. The already obedient eyes you were giving him were making the blood start rushing to his cock once more, dark desires fueling with him as you let out a whiny “yes daddy”, biting down on your lip in shyness. 

“Mm such a good princess. Daddy is gonna take real good care of you.”

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if ya liked it tell me! likes don’t tell me much and usually cause me to delete fics bc no one says anything and then i think no one likes it asdfafsdfasfdsfa

[psychedelic-ink]

bound for carnage (ii)

pairing: dave york x plus size fem!reader

genre: smut, romance, angst

word count: 4.5k

chapter summary: Dave once customer, is now your hired killer turned savior. None of this sounds real, and you feel like you shouldn't be traveling with him to a safe house buried deep in the thick of the forest.

chapter warnings: guns, swearing, canon typical violence, emotions running high, reader struggling with selfhate, male masturbation, a bit of manipulative tendencies from dave

requests open for pedro pascal characters, moon knight & peter parker 💌

playlist | read on ao3 | series masterlist

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Silence is always best. 

This was something you learned in a more cruel way than many. The feeling of the calm before the storm and after. Those are the moments you figured it out. Silence didn’t bring much joy, but it couldn’t bring sadness or despair either. It was a still moment in time. Only bodily functions audible, no thoughts, no words– Nothing that could harm you. It all vanished in a blink of an eye. You felt no stress, no fear. When you realized that, you took refuge in the silence. Especially during moments of distraught. 

While floating above the gentle waves of the silence lingering in the car, you cherish the darkness, the glimmer of light of the passing cars, a yellow hue gliding across your faces whenever it does. Looking outside, you see the moon, fully round and bright. Everything is painted a peaceful blue, everything except for the light. Those were the stars. Offering a glimmer of hope among the otherwise dark atmosphere. You shift in your seat, two empty water bottles rolling across the soft padding of the car. Your gaze falls to Dave. He didn’t say much. Only asking if you wanted anything from the gas station, you asked for a wafer bar and watched as he went in empty handed. 

Everytime a car passes, everytime those yellow lights lick his skin, your heart leaps. It’s a mesmerizing sight. The lights cross over his countenance, as it does, a chill crawls up your spine when his eyes are hidden beneath the shadows while his lips are exposed. You enjoy watching him. You always did, for god’s sake you had a crush on him, you weren’t going to fool yourself and say that you didn’t just because you learned that he was a hire for kill. 

But now, as you observe him, there’s a different kind of pull you feel towards him. For once, he was just Dave; A divorced guy you thought of when your body was hidden under the sheets, a guy who made you smile first thing in the morning. Now he’s Dave; A dishonest guy who was hired to kill you. A guy who probably just talked to you because you were the paperwork equivalent of his job. 

A truck passes, steady and slow, the headlight illuminating his eyes the moment they flicker to you– You hold your breath, fearing that if you so much as breathe, he’ll consume you entirely. The color of his eyes, mostly dark, reminding you of the coffee you roast, now has milk swirling in them, the color shifting into a smooth caramel. 

“Is something wrong?” 

“Other than someone trying to get me killed?” you say coyly. “Nope,” 

Dave’s eyes flicker back to the road, the truck’s light leaving his skin and ceding it back to the darkness. 

“You should sleep,” 

It’s been hours since deserting the safety of your own reality at 7 AM. Dave said that the safehouse was buried deep in the forest located up a mountain. You know that this is stupid; You going with him without so much as going to the police. But everything happened so quickly, so suddenly. 

“I don’t think so,” you cross your arms against your chest. “I don't want you selling my kidneys or anything,” 

“Kidneys don’t really make that much money anymore,” his brows furrow. “Now it’s all about the hearts,” 

You stare at him, wide-eyed. For a second you try to decipher if he was being serious or not and that you getting your heart stolen is something that you need to be worried about. You barely see him dragging his eyes back to you under the darkness, his lips curl up in a small smile. 

“I’m joking– well not really hearts are ridiculously expensive– but I’m not– I wouldn’t,” 

“So you draw the line at organ trafficking?” 

“That and children,” 

“Good to know, the elderly are fair game then?” 

He shrugs as he flattens his palm against the steering wheel and smoothly turns it. Your pulse quickens at the movement, you internally shame yourself for being affected by such a simple movement. Licking your lips, you forcefully turn your gaze back to him, his fingers wrap around the steering wheel and from the window behind him, you notice that you finally entered the forest. 

“They’re already near to death,” there’s no emotion in his voice. “But it is rare that someone would want a poor gran-something dead,” 

“Yay for humanity I guess,” 

Somehow it feels colder now that the artificial lights are gone. The branches crack under the tires, an unnerving sound enough to have you shaking. All you can see is an army of dark silhouettes belonging to thick tree trunks. The car starts to climb uphill, Dave seems more relaxed now. He rolls his shoulders and leans back, his eyes shifting back to you. 

“Humanity has never been that great from the beginning. I’m just a by-product of it.” 

“So you think you're innocent?” 

He shakes his head, his smile wider, condescending. He’s treating you like a confused child. And you feel like one.

“Never said that. I’m just saying there’s no good or bad. There’s no biblical war happening in the background that so many want to believe. It’s just you,” his voice is softer, fading with each word. “Your choices, the ones who screwed you over, the unfortunates–” 

Your lungs narrow, he sucks the air out of you, making you feel small and hopeless. But despite that, you’re curious. There’s guilt riddled in his words, an unspoken sadness. You part your lips to ask a question, but before the words find their way out of your mouth he slaps the steering wheel, his voice suddenly cheery and filled with humor. 

“You– in this situation– would be quite fortunate!” 

“How exactly is this fortunate?” 

His tone is out of place. It’s eerie how he seems like a different man. You preferred his brooding silence and unbothered words. 

“You’re alive,” he hums, thumbs tapping the steering wheel. “I’m really good at my job you know and you’re not really a difficult target. Alone, newly moved, over trusting–” 

You flinch at his words. Fear climbs up your stomach and burns your throat, a thick coating of bile lays heavy on your tongue. Your breathing is uneven, short and sharp. He must’ve noticed it right? He must have noticed that there was no air in this car and that you were choking. Hands forming fists on your lap, your nails dig into the sensitive skin of your palms. 

Then a brief moment of relief. His hand finds yours and nudges your fingers open, Dave trails his thumb across  the crescent shaped marks with his thumb. It’s suddenly easier to breathe. Closing your eyes, you count to three and which each number you inhale. When your nerves finally relax, you notice his fingers nested between yours. 

“You're fortunate because you’re going to stay alive,” he says, the foreign joy fading. “And I’m going to make sure it stays like that,” 

All the moisture drains from your mouth. 

“No,” you speak slowly. “I’m only alive because you decided that you, for some reason, didn’t want to kill me. That’s– That’s an awful thought. What if I piss you off? What if you change your mind and think that I’m more trouble than I’m worth?” 

The relief disappears and the car suddenly comes to a screeching halt. Your heart beats in your throat as your gaze snaps to Dave. He’s just sitting there. Breathing, thinking, eyes glued to the steering wheel. After minutes of silence, he sighs and nods. 

“A fair question. Open the glove compartment and step outside.” 

You’re visibly confused, brows drawn together as your eyes flicker to the glove compartment. Before you can voice out your questions, the car begins its loud, repetitive beeps and the sudden light that comes above the rearview mirror blinds you. 

Then the car door slams shut and all of it stops at once, burying you in darkness. 

Dave stands in front of the car and looks up to the sky, apparently no one is immune to the beauty of a full moon.

Chest heaving, you shakily find the handle and pry it open– 

“Shit…” 

It’s a gun. 

Did– Did he want you to take the gun? 

“We don’t have all day,” he calls out, his voice coming muffled. “Come on,” 

Was he going to make you shoot yourself? Make it look like a suicide? 

You close your eyes and let out a stuttered breath, every nerve in your body is tingling with horror. You’ve never held a gun before but you were taught how to use one. Still confused, you take it and open the door, slowly stepping outside into the cold. A shiver overcomes you. Goosebumps bursting across your skin as your stomach churns. 

When you stand right across from Dave, he places his arms behind his back. 

“Shoot me,” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re worried about me changing my mind so…shoot me, kill me and go to the police,” a smirk ghosts across his lips. “I don’t think they’ll be of much help but they’ll try.” 

“I’m not going to shoot you,” 

He shrugs, unfurling his arms from behind him, he places his hands on his hips. 

“Fine then, punch me, hit me, do something so you can see I’m not out here playing games,” his voice rises with each word, the gun lying loosely between your fingers. “I did not risk my job– my family– just so I can kill you when I get bored.”

Tears build in your eyes, you don’t know what to say. You don’t understand. You don’t understand how anyone could risk so much for your sake, you don’t understand and you’re certain there must be something else going on behind the scenes. Why would he care? You were just some girl that served him coffee and developed a dumb crush, nothing more nothing less. You were nothing. 

You don’t move when he takes a step forward, don’t run when he takes another. He stands an inch away from you, only a breath of space between you. Refusing to look at him, you stare at the buttons of his shirt, but soon you feel the curve of his finger under your chin and he raises your downcasted gaze, his dark eyes bores into you, reading you like an open book.  

“It is unfair that your life is so exposible. I won’t deny that. But I’m not the enemy. Not anymore. And I want to help you, but this won’t work if you can’t find it in yourself to trust me,” 

It’s hypnotic, the way he speaks. Each word pronounced in a different pitch, lulling you into a sense of comfort. His knuckles trace the frame of your face and leaves a burning trail of lustful fear in its wake. Your eyes flicker to his lips, lingering on the dip in the middle of his bottom lip. You want to touch it, feel the softness on the tip of your fingers as you lean in to taste him. Right now, he would probably taste like coffee and the need for a goodnight’s sleep. Dave reels you in, you can feel the subtle movement in your body, slowly moving towards him, the only thing audible in the night your own heartbeat– 

The moment abruptly shatters when he moves away. 

“If that’s settled we can get back in the car,” he swiftly turns and heads for the vehicle. “The safehouse isn’t that far, we’ll be there in ten minutes,”  

You’re left frozen, pondering about what just happened. Your pulse is still ringing in your ears, fingers twitching as they were right about to touch him. A thick cloud of self deprecation swirls around you, pulling you down into the depths of your mind. You were stupid to think that he would be interested in you, of course he wouldn’t be. Dave only feels sorry for you, he pities you. There’s no love. No affection. This is reality, not a movie and you are actually in danger. 

Heart still beating maybe a tad too fast, you follow him to the car, quickly stepping in, you take your seat. 

Only silence remains as the car slowly takes off, gravel echoing into the unsettling night. 

This isn’t a safehouse. 

You’d call this a vacation cabin at most. When Dave had said safehouse you imagined someplace filled with cans of beans, weapons, stacks of toilet paper– Basically a post zombie apocalypse setting. However, the only thing that surrounds your cold body is warmth. You notice the geometrical patterns of what was probably a turkish handmade rug, the blues, yellows and reds complementing one another. There’s a fireplace and a cozy looking couch and two armchairs on each side of a wide window. The dark curtains are drawn so you can’t see what view it led to. 

Dave closes the door behind you two and drops the bags. You wander inside, the walls are covered with framed photographs of his family. That must’ve been the true reason for this place. A family retreat. Your eyes linger on one within a gold colored frame. It could’ve been a stock photo they sold the frames with; there’s two little girls laughing as their mother and Dave hugs them from behind, all of them covered from head to toe with beanies, fluffy jackets and gloves. Your heart drowns in the warmth, you feel suffocated. 

“Cute kids,” 

He’s suddenly next to you, shoulder brushing against your own. 

“Thanks,” 

“Did you let them know that you won’t be around for a while?” 

He shrugs and turns the picture as he diverts his attention to the fireplace. You stare at the back of the frame maybe a minute too long before turning to him. 

“I only see them on the weekends,” he adds, voice somber. “I don’t plan this job to last till then. They don’t need to know– Ah, fuck me,”  

That’s it. That was all you were. A job. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He’s crouched over, holding a dusty blanket in his hand as he looks down at the corner that connects the fireplace and the wall. 

“I was hoping there would be a bit of firewood left here,” dropping the blanket he turns to you. “Is it cold? There’s a lot of blankets in the back. Would that be enough?” 

“Uh…sure, It’s actually a lot warmer inside so I think I’ll be fine,” you fake a yawn to hide your shock. “Where will I be staying?” 

“We can collect some wood tomorrow,” he scratches his chin and saunters towards the hall. “This way,” 

You trail behind him, Dave effortlessly flicks the light switch and the once dark hall is filled with an orange hue. It’s quite narrow, a bit too claustrophobic for your taste. You notice an influx of framed artwork and caricatures of animals scattered across the walls. There’s three closed doors at the end, he points to the one far off. 

“This is the bathroom, we have a sun panel so there still might be some hot water left if you want to take a shower,” then he curls his fingers around the doorknob that’s across from the bathroom and turns it. The door opens with a creak. “You’ll be staying here,” 

The lights turn on and the sense that you shouldn’t be here settles in quickly. There’s a king sized bed nearly filling the entire room, a plaid hand made quilty laying on top of the comfortable looking mattress. You count about six pillows, all of them neatly stacked against the headboard. There’s two bedside tables; the one on the right only has a lamp and an unmoving clock, the other has two candles, a forgotten night cream and a book that reads Therese Raquin. 

Before you can step inside, Dave moves past you. He quickly opens the closet and kneels down, searching between the folded clothes. 

“I’ll just get my stuff and get out of your way, if you need a spare change of clothes you can wear anything from the left side.” 

“Dave…” 

“Yeah?” 

He doesn’t look up and after finding what he’s looking for– a pair of gray sweatpants, a white shirt and a brown cardigan– he slides the door closed. 

“This is your room,” 

Dave seems to understand where you’re coming from. He drags his gaze to you, searching your face for…something, you hug yourself, shifting from one leg to another. 

“The girls bed would be uncomfortable for you, or for me, honestly I might just go and sleep on the couch,” 

“Why don’t you just sleep in your own bed and I can–” 

“No.” 

The curt tone makes your throat tighten. He grits his teeth, the skin of his neck taut, exposing the thick veins meandering down. Everything you want to say bubbles all the way up to your throat, you want to walk up to him and cup his cheeks, tell him that it’s alright if he’s still hurting. But you don’t. Instead you simmer in silence until he disposes of it. 

“Are you going to use the shower?” 

You shake your head, eyes wide and full of emotion. 

“Alright then, see you in the morning,” 

You don’t know if it’s on purpose, but he bumps into you as he walks by. The force of it lingers and spreads across your body. You’re all alone. Even when you’re not. Dave is the most complicated puzzle you’ve ever come across. Usually people either cussed you out or tolerated you, you couldn’t tell which side Dave weighed heavy on. 

Pushing the door with the back of your heel, you move to the bed and let your body fall. You were right, it is comfortable. Too bad that the lingering memories were so strong that despite not knowing Dave’s family, you didn’t want to be here. You feel as if you’re intruding on something private, a silent fight that shouldn’t be witnessed by outsiders. 

You close your eyes, the heat of the cabin begins to fade, the coldness crawling through the corner of the windows with extended claws.   

The water is scalding. It burns him raw, steam fogging up every clear surface within the small bathroom. Scrubbing his scalp with the two year old soap he managed to find, he thinks of the scene that played out in front of the car. He knew you wouldn’t shoot him. He knew you wouldn’t do anything. What he did wouldn’t even classify as a bluff, he already was aware of what the outcome would be. He only did it so you would feel safe, maybe even trust him a little, even if he didn’t deserve it. 

Dave needs you to open up. 

He needs you to tell him who it is that’s trying to hurt you. He knows that you know. You’re just too afraid to speak up. Maybe you even wish deep down that all of this is a bad dream. A nightmare. Well it isn’t. 

Rinsing his head, he hums as he drags his blunt nails across his scalp. He remembers the closeness, the way you leaned in, falling into his words and spiraling. And your eyes. He remembers them crystal clear, the way love and hope swirled in them, the way they glimmered in the dark. 

You were going to kiss him– 

A groan trembles within his chest as his cock twitches with interest. Dave has no idea why he didn’t just accept it. He is trying to save your life after all, a little kiss means nothing compared to that. 

But he just couldn’t. Dave felt the way your heart shattered, the looks of self hate casting a shadow across your face as he turned his back on you. Even when he tries to do good he manages to mess it up. 

The soap from his hair had long faded, disappearing into the drain. The temperature of the water is now cooler, sending a pleasant tremble down his spine. Dave presses his wet palms against the smooth tiles, only his back exposed to the harsh downpour. It feels similar to claws digging into his skin, it feels good. 

His eyes flicker down, his cock semi hard, the tip a darker shade of red. He contemplates whether or not to take care of it. Closing his eyes, a broken sigh falls from his lips. He wraps the same fingers he held your hand around his length, his hand glides slowly down then up. It’s not as smooth as he wants it to be, too lazy to grab the soap, he spits into his palm and resumes his strokes.

Dave inhales the damp air and breathes out from his mouth. Closing his eyes, he revels in the tingles of pleasure electrifying his nerves. He imagines how your pusy would feel wrapped around him, your big tits in his mouth and thick thighs wrapped around his waist– Fuck– He wonders if you would let him taste you? And if you do, how would your moans sound? Would you beg him for release? Would you pull at his hair, drag your nails across his back? 

His hand moves faster, he rubs his palm over the tip and smears precum across his length. Dave swallows down his moans. The walls weren’t the most soundproof and he didn’t want any awkward encounters in the morning. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, he thinks of the moment when you were about to kiss him. How far would you be willing to go if he’d let you? The forest was deserted, hidden from the world. Dave is positive that you would’ve let him bend you over the hood. He imagines your naked body pressed up against the smooth surface of his car, tits leaving skin marks as he fucks you nice and hard, just like you want– A moan escapes him, his pulse quickening, Dave’s chest stutters. 

The pleasure builds and builds, the pressure becoming unbearable. He hears his name falling from your lips, begging him to come inside. His brows knitted together, his lips part with a gasp, he feels himself shattering into a million pieces. The pleasure proves to be overwhelming as he feels his leaking cock throbbing against his palm. Head thrown back, Dave continues to thrust into his hand, he’s still coming, what the hell?   He’s never felt it this intense before, the need to fill someone up. He feels the ache of it in his balls, still throbbing and tightening as he stains the tiles across from him. 

His chest tight, he begrudgingly grabs the shower head and washes down the remains. Dave feels content but he’s also freaked out a little. Was it normal to imagine something so vividly? He could’ve sworn he actually heard you, felt you pulsing around him– Dave furiously shakes his head. He’s just tired. That’s all. 

Stepping out of the shower, he wraps a towel tightly around his waist. It’s much colder now from when they first arrived. 

He hopes you’re not cold. 

The cabin is quiet. But unlike what you’re used to, it’s not peaceful. It grants you no solitude. 

You wake to the staccato of breaths, it echoes into the night. Deep down you think that you shouldn’t be able to hear such hushed sounds. It’s the voice of pain, a noise someone wants to hide. But the thin walls allow little privacy among rooms and you can’t ignore the cries, the whimpers. Finally your eyes flutter open. You’d manage to fall asleep as soon as Dave left so you were still in the same clothes and position: your legs dangling off the bed and your hands nestled above your soft stomach. Your back aches.

Rubbing the sleep away from your eyes, you stagger forward. Your hand finds the doorknob and twists it open, the eerie hall greets you and makes you second guess yourself. This is how people die in horror films. 

Another whimper makes its way through the dark, reaching your ears and urges you to step forward. 

The scent of Dave’s aftershower still lingers, it doesn’t smell like much, not pine, no cinnamon, just him. You take a deep inhale as you pass it by, it’s comforting compared to the hall. Not knowing where the light switch is, you blindly try to find your way with your hands extended forward. His breathing is eccentric now, he sounds just like you felt in the car. 

A bit of light comes through the window and you manage to see his curled up form on the couch, he must’ve gotten cold. Didn’t he say there were a lot of blankets? Why didn’t he take any? 

Pushing your many questions aside, you think of what to do now since you’re already here. It’s odd seeing him so…vulnerable. You couldn’t quite catch his expression due to how little light you had, but his cries were all you needed to hear before reaching out and touching his shoulder– 

Your world spins, the air forced out of your lungs as you hit the floor. His hand is sprawled across your chest and he lays his entire weight on you, putting pressure on your sternum. Your lungs burn when you try to force yourself to breathe. Reaching out, you grab his forearm with both hands, desperately trying to relieve a bit of the tension that is placed upon your bones. 

Finally you cough out his name and he stops. 

“What the– What are you doing?” 

Dave removes his hand, he sits back on his knees, only then you realize your legs are flushed against his hips. You swallow, face heading up as you feel muscle through the thin fabric. 

“It sounded like you were having a nightmare. I…I came to check on you,” 

These are one of the moments you really wish you could see his face. Dave hums and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the teasing lilt in the sound, his hands rest on your thighs, squeezing gently right before pulling himself up. The touch sends sparks of electricity coursing through your body, you’re left breathless again but this time for a different reason completely. 

The floors creak with his every step and the lights flicker on, a soft buzz filling the living room. 

“Sorry for worrying you,” he says, walking back and sitting on the couch. You’re still on the ground, eyes slightly wide. “And thank you for checking on me, you should go back now,” 

“Don’t you want to talk about it?” 

He lets out a humorless chuckle. 

“Not really,” 

With a huff, you get up. You feel embarrassed, your heart still ringing in your ears. Pressing your lips together, you hurry back to your room. This time you actually get beneath the covers but all you can feel is the unbearable heat consuming you from the inside out. Groaning, you kick the sheets away and let the cold melt away the heat. You force yourself to sleep, unaware that you hadn’t closed the door properly, the door moves on its own, allowing anyone to gaze inside. 

When you wake up you find yourself tucked into the sheets, feeling warm and cozy. 

[mirdance]

Might I ask for the kissing prompt "you're blushing." with Ayato if you're up to it? 👀🛐 Please and ty 🙏 (it can be either fluff or yandere, dealer's choice!)

TW for sexual tension and hints

When it came to housekeeping, the Kamisoto clan only employed those with top notch qualities. A housekeeper wasn't a simple housekeeper; each one could serve an alternate purpose. One might be a healer and another a delegate. Being employed in any vocation of the Kamisoto clan held honor; no job was any lower than the next. Each person held a set of skills the clan valued and cherished.

Even you must have held some sort of talent; Ayato was simply not privy to it as of yet. Thoma had personally hired and recommended you, after all.

Most days you were either near Ayaka or Ayato, ordered to clean windows, make tea, exchange files, an errand dog, essentially. Thoma worked in mysterious ways, yet no one could dispute his hiring capabilities.

Today, as Ayato thumbed through a contract, he briefly doubted Thoma's capabilities. Briefly, of course.

Smudges aligned the glass window behind his desk like additional clouds in the sky. You could make decent tea and read. Your walks to and from his office were confident and elegant. Yet your voice always sounded as if you were speaking from under the water.

You weren't a spy. Or a delegate. You certainly weren't a housekeeper.

Ayato grabbed your wrist as you walked by his desk. The water sloshed gently in your bucket, and you tilted your head in question.

"Lord Kamisoto, how may I assist you?"

You certainly weren't taken aback by sudden touches. And your fingers were soft under his circling thumb. "Not a callus in sight. I thought your resume stated you'd been born to a family of housekeepers? That you were adept in creating cleaning chemicals?"

Why did Thoma insist you be hired? Why did he insist you work so closely with the Kamisotos? With his sister?

Your countenance faltered, brow widening in surprise before you gathered your emotions. "Of course, my lord. I simply...have tough skin."

Your voice did not hold its usual mumble. Interesting. Of course, the words themselves did not match the tone. Ayato had previously thought maybe you'd come from a prodigy family--only you being born with an innate skill to fail. Even so, Thoma put any prospective hire under strict assessment. By this point, you'd been here three months. You were anything but new. Ayato had spent weeks mulling over the possibilities, consulting Thoma occasionally, only to be driven into dead ends.

"Unless you are needing anything else, this bucket is quite heavy."

And what if he made you stand there and hold it? You would, of course. You'd done every meaningless task he'd ask. Oftentimes poorly.

Except for preparing tea.

Therein he would find his answers.

A knock bombarded the door along with an apologetic clerk. "My mistake," he grinned with a bow.

Ayato brought his lips to your wrist and softly kissed the pulsing artery there. "No worries. If you could oblige us a moment alone for fifteen more minutes, I would greatly appreciate it."

The clerk quickly nodded and left the two of you to no sounds but the wind softly raking the smudged window.

"I did not think you were that kind of person," you stated flatly, breaking the silence. "But I am not so ignorant as to not understand dalliances between lords and staff. I definitely do not think someone like me has caught your interest, so you must be..."

Ayato let go of your wrist and returned to his papers with a chuckle. "Oh? Do you think I'm pent up?"

You cleared your throat. "Yes. You do nothing but work, after all."

What an interesting and unexpected conclusion. It solidified his hypothesis even more. He didn't break contact with the contents of his papers. "And what would you do to help my needs?"

"That is not in my job description," you stated firmly.

"Is it not? Did Thoma not tell you to take care of any and all of my needs?"

"Yes, but I'd argue against that specifically."

"Why is that, pray tell? Do your skills lie in negotiating as well? I think I might have missed that on your immaculate resume."

"And why was my lord glancing at my resume? Someone as lowly as I?"

"I might answer your question if you answer mine."

"Then I might not answer at all."

It was foolish to ask why he'd read your resume; Thoma often ordered you nearby he and his sibling; of course he'd evaluate you. Ayaka was too kind to tell you. In addition, your skills did not match the history. You'd either never seen a mirror or absolutely knew of the discrepancies. Someone was lying. You or Thoma. Or both.

"You're a runaway bride," Ayato declared as if he were stating the color of your hair. "From what country, I do not know. Thoma has promised to keep you hidden away and safe." Why he'd kept it a secret was the pertinent question. "Make no mistake, you are safe here. I would just prefer that no secrets lie between us."

Silence.

Ayato glanced at your visage. "By the way your neck is reddening, I'd say I am correct. And I do not think that blush is from the kiss. Though I'd be flattered if it were."

"Good day, lord."

A few water droplets escaped your bucket as you briskly made your exit, not even bothering to shut the door behind you.

Ayato signed the contract beneath his fingertips. Well, at least the day was getting interesting despite the endless blueprints that needed approval. He'd have to make time for a meeting with Thoma that week and chastise him. Of course, if Thoma were stubborn about something, Ayato would probably be in his palm depending on the circumstance. Only time would tell who would win the game.

[stellalimned]

The circumstances in which I have come to volunteer my time at this place are decidedly... odd.

First, a strange man proclaiming himself capable of eliminating others' fears. This in and of itself is not entirely unsusual—humans do not appreciate being afraid and thus will strive to either face the objects of those fears, destroy them, or flee from them. However, it is the second part of this scenario that does not properly add up: the method by which this "guru" cures a person of their fear is continuous, prolonged confrontation of said fear. To wit, if one was afraid of spiders for example, the guru would thus expose one to spiders and continue doing so until the person had overcome their fear. It does not seem a productive method, rather counterintuitive in fact, but the guru had insisted that his high success rates spoke for themselves when he hired me. Given that I have not yet met any of the guru's previous customers, I cannot say whether this truly is the case, as this is only my first day.

Which leads me to the third point, my hiring as the guru's assistant. He seemed quite pleased when I informed him of my current lack of ability to feel the emotion of fear, and he put me to work immediately. "Since you're not afraid of anything, I won't have to worry about you struggling to implement any of my custom exposure therapies!" he had proclaimed. I suppose there is merit in having an assistant who will remain unaffected by the therapies and can handle them with ease and confidence (although he had then muttered, "Hmm, can't feel fear... might be an issue if he can't understand it or relate to it. Ah, well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there, I think!" which I am still not terribly certain what I think about that). As for why I had even come to his tent in the first place... knowledge is always critical when pursuing perfection, no matter how esoteric or obscure it is. This is a learning experience for me, first and foremost, a secondary classroom of sorts.

And the final part, of course, is this first customer of mine. The guru had given me some training in using the various fear therapies he keeps in his stock, but such training was rudimentary and cursory compared to what I had expected. In fairness, the guru is resting behind the dividing curtain at the back of the stall, so I may call upon him should something go wrong—I endeavor to not let anything go wrong, as per my prerogative.

The customer, then. A redhead of vaguely familiar countenance and quintessence, seen about the town around the monastery. I give him a slow blink at his question. "The purpose of this business is to cure you of your fears by exposing you to them. This exposure will continue until you have overcome your fear. In theory, you tell me your fear, I find it and introduce it to you, and you endure its presence until you are no longer afraid of it. When that is done, we will have rendered our services to you. For a small fee." I should not have nearly forgotten the detail about the fee. I am well aware that the world uses money and currency, yet I have not required the use of such a thing. I will need to better familiarize myself with what it means to carry and handle money lest I do so in an incorrect manner. When the next customer comes, I will recite the entirety of the introduction to this business perfectly and leave out no details.

However, the second customer will come after the first. This man has arrived inquiring about the business, most likely to make use of our services. In that case, I will begin the curing process. Step one: the interview. "If you wish to eradicate your fear, then we will start now." I tilt my head at him. "What is your fear?"

counting bodies like sheep

[p-antomime]

say it right for me.

— minors don't interact.

— wc: 2,5K

content + warnings: 18+ content; including: boss-dom!nanami, overstimulation, fem sub, fingering, degradation, feet (idk?), unprotected sex (but use condoms kids), a LOT of sexual tension, use of words ‘whore’, ‘slut’, ‘cumdump’, sir kink, creampie, nanami is really mean tho, this shit is really dirty bye, and i haven’t reviewed this text, so... maybe there are some errors, bye

pairings: nanami kento & fem!reader

song: say it right; by nelly furtado.

— jjk masterlist.

Being Nanami's secretary was relatively easy. He woke up every day with the same indifferent countenance that turned into a slightly more scowling face when Gojou, briefly known in Kento's office for always being extremely humorous and sometimes inconvenient, came through the front door looking for him to take him to Tokyo Jujutsu High.

Although it was relatively easy, there were exactly two difficult aspects of being secretary to that tall, broad-shouldered blonde: the first was living with him almost every day, and the second was having to act as if everything about him wasn't affecting the young woman hired. It wasn't exactly the living with him that was difficult, in reality, but the fact that it was accompanied by the need for Y/N to unconsciously always place her attention on Nanami's chest covered by his social blouses and automatically rub her thighs against each other for some kind of friction that would later in the day be transformed into her fingers entering her pussy at a rapid pace while the name of her boss was spilling from her lips.

And there it was Y/N another day: waiting for Nanami to return from work while she filed papers about S-level curses that needed to be exorcised the next day. It was not like him to be late to get to the office where he would get the reports on how many curses were left for the rest of the week after a long and hard day's work, especially since he hated doing extra work. Maybe something had gone wrong? Maybe Gojou decided to take more of Nanami's time today? "Out of the question", thought Y/N. Nanami would find a way to get to the office by 6:30 at the latest, but it was now 6:46.

In response to the frustration of not having her boss present at the previously arranged time since the beginning of her days as a secretary and the stress of having to arrive later than intended at home, the young woman leaned back against the chair that earlier that day had been occupied by a tall blond man talented in the art of jujutsu.

It was ironic that everything in that room screamed Nanami Kento. Everything was millimetrically arranged, as precisely arranged as the cursed technique of the office owner. If Y/N concentrated a little, she might even be able to catch the scent of her boss' cologne and intoxicate her own brain in order to get all the stress out of her body.

And then, her eyes landed on her own cell phone placed on some internal Jujutsu High business papers. And then they went to the Spotify notification with the paused music she had put on minutes before returning to the office after lunch.

"It wouldn't hurt if...", Y/N thought. It wouldn't hurt if she put music on, right? Nanami wasn't even present in the office, there was no way for him to know that she took a few minutes off. And not to mention that if he arrived, she would hear the sound of the car he used to get around parking. It wouldn't hurt, would it?

Y/N picked up his cell phone, unlocked it, and clicked right on the music app notification. She scrolled through her liked songs and came to the one she wanted, "Say It Right" by Nelly Furtado. Easy, but it would serve as a distraction. Forgetting the topic of Nanami being at least twenty minutes late, the girl started moving according to the music.

"In the day, in the night, say it right, say it all, you either got it or you don't, you either stand or you fall", and she wanted to fall on her knees in front of Nanami. She always wanted to. Unlike what the chorus of the song said, that man meant more to Y/N than she wanted and could admit. And because of that she couldn't admit to herself that she had been lost in her own libido for months now, and that she couldn't help but feel guilty for touching herself while her wild thoughts always fell on her boss. Her beautiful, competent, and above all dangerously sexy boss. Y/N wanted him to use her body however he wanted, at whatever time he wanted, if he needed to de-stress from the work of being a jujutsu user, if he simply needed to cum. Y/N wanted him to turn her into his cumdump.

The song was on loop on Spotify, so the young woman didn't have to worry about putting it back on, and honestly, she wouldn't even remember it. Dancing while sinful thoughts about her boss ran wild in her mind was taking all her attention. It was taking up so much of her attention that her ears didn't even catch the sound of Nanami coming through the front door of the office, he was accompanied by Gojou whose eyes were the first to land on the distracted figure of her long time friend's boss secretary. To Gojou, that was almost a free show, to Nanami, the reason his pants suddenly felt uncomfortably tighter.

— Y/N? — Kento asked in a dangerously low voice, but loud enough for her to hear.

And then the young woman's soul seemed to leave her body, return, and freeze. A shiver ran down her back and instinctively her thighs clenched against each other. Blood rushed to her cheeks and it suddenly seemed difficult to breathe. Painfully hard. Nanami would surely fire that worthless secretary, was what his mind screamed.

Reluctantly, her feet forced her to turn to face her boss. And he looked even sexier with that serious, though serene, face, his hands meeting the sunglasses that were worn in his profession.

— Damn, she is... — Gojou began to speak.

— Shut up. — The blond replied, pushing Gojou closer to the door so that he wouldn't have to get him out on his own. — Looks like I'll have to do some extra work today. — He whispered.

Y/N instinctively went behind the wooden desk, almost leaning against the numerous bookshelves of books and documents behind him.

— I guess that's my cue to leave. — Gojou huffed and looked from the young woman to her boss. — Unless she wants me to stay. — Although his eyes were covered, Y/N knew that he was giving her a lustful look.

— Get out. — That was the last thing Nanami said to his friend, who left almost immediately.

Kento took a deep breath as he left his glasses on the table in front of his desk. His lovely secretary. His desirable secretary. His fuckable secretary. It had been months since the only person hanging around his thoughts was Y/N, the only person who made him lie awake at dawn with his fist around his cock stimulating himself. Every day when he arrived at the office and was graced with the girl's most beautiful smiles, he felt his throat suddenly become dry and his own member beg to be buried in her warm pussy.

It was almost as if Y/N was the only woman who needed few actions to have Nanami moving from his polished posture as a respectable man to a simple primal being whose deepest carnal desires involved fucking the girl until she passed out.

— I didn't know you liked to dance.

— I... — It was her throat's turn to seem suddenly too dry, and Kento took the opportunity to roam her body with his eyes and focus his attention on the hem of her skirt glued to her body above the knee. — I'm sorry, I shouldn't... — As he reached up placing one hand on the tie fastening his shirt to his body, Y/N's voice faltered briefly as her thighs began to rub together in search of some pleasurable relief. The look in her boss' eyes was not only lustful, it was overflowing with power. — I didn't think you were going to be so...

— Early, I know. And I can't help but be proud that if I'm late for the first time, I get a chance to see what a whore you are. If Gojou had come alone, you probably would have fucked him. — Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat, because she knew it wasn't a lie. — Why don't you dance a little for me? While the music is still playing. — All she could do was keep her eyes glazed on Nanami's, her fear momentarily preventing her from making any kind of movement.

The man didn't seem irritated, nor did he seem tense. After loosening the tie around his neck, he moved to sit in his chair beside his desk and turned toward her, who was now glued to the bookshelves behind him. Kento raised his index and middle finger and called Y/N toward him, and almost as if she were his private puppy, she went. His dark eyes lingered on the cleavage of her breasts.

— On your knees, pretty one. — His voice dripped with desire, and the bottom of the young woman's panties began to get wetter.

Nanami's feet placed themselves in front of her legs and he moved his right foot between her thighs to spread them apart.

— I don't think you deserve my cock. — He pondered, and a wicked smile crept across his lips. — Use my foot. Enjoy yourself without my cock first and then I'll see if I can fuck you dumb. — A low, unconscious moan escaped her mouth.

— Please... — She mumbled. — Please help me cum, Nanami.

— Where is "Mr. Nanami"? "Sir"? And I didn’t say I wouldn’t let you cum, slut, I said I want you to cum using my foot. — Kento moved the tip of his social shoe against her wet pussy and panties. — If you take longer, I will leave, I will force you to masturbate alone.

— I’m sorry, sir. — Y/N swallowed it dry and looked at his foot and moved his hip against it weakly, not wanting to show how desperate she was to cum.

She began to push herself against Nanami’s shoe, feeling the tip of it lean against her clit applying the pressure needed to make sharp moans escape her throat and her breathing begins to accelerate. Her eyes closed for a few seconds and almost instantly her boss put one of his hands around her neck.

— Open your eyes. Look at me. — He whispered. — I want to see your eyes as you cum. Go harder, faster. — Nanami ordered, Y/N obeyed as she felt a fillet of saliva dripping down one corner of her mouth.

In Kento’s pants, his dick looked like it was about to explode. He wanted to plunge it deep into the girl’s interior, who now clung desperately to her leg grinding against her shoe as she desperately pursued her orgasm. With a tighter grip to her throat, Y/N’s eyes rolled back as she cums and further wet her panties and her boss’ shoes.

— Pathetic. — Nanami spoke after passing her tongue through her lips. — You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured you being this same hopeless whore that you’re showing off to me right now. How many times have you imagined yourself getting fucked by me? — The only response he got was a loud moan, and so his hand pressed tighter against her neck. — Answer, slut.

— A-A lot of times, sir. I already lost the count.

— Should I fuck you? - He asked by pulling Y/N’s body up to position her sitting on his lap as comfortably as possible.

— Please, sir. — After retiring her own panties, the girl put her hands on the buttons of the social shirt he wore to unbutton them and finally be able to stick her nails into the soft flesh of Nanami’s light skin the way she had longed for months. — Fuck me hard.

— Open your legs wider, pretty one.

Watching Y/N do what she was told to, Kento unbuttoned his pants by pulling her body up to lay it against the wooden table and got rid of the obstacles of his pants and underwear. Looking down, the young woman observed his cock, the same dick she had imagined as it would be months ago, the same cock she wished to be inside her countless times while the days and weeks ran.

The boss’ eyes fell on her finally exposed pussy. After months of pure sexual tension in that somewhat cramped and suffocating environment, he could finally enjoy all the pleasure he could receive and give to the girl who haunted his thoughts presently.

Putting his hands on her waist, Nanami pulled her up against his cock and couldn’t help but moan as much for finally penetrating her warm, moist interior after months of torture as for feeling her fingernails sink against the skin of his shoulders.

Her moans were music to his ears and taking advantage that the song itself on Spotify was still playing, Nanami’s first hip movements were in accordance with her rhythm, his member’s head kissing the cervix of his beloved secretary. Quick, deep, precise and brutal summarize the man’s thrusts. It was almost as if Y/N had made the inner beast enclosed in the core of its boss finally to be released.

— Sir, please... — The girl groaned close to his ear and made him accelerate a little more his movements. — Please, come inside, please... — Her breathing was so fast that the words barely came out the proper way.

Those words were the impulse needed for one of Kento’s hands to be put into the girl’s clit to further stimulate her and make her turn into a drool mess. "My pretty little whore", he thought to himself as he arched his hips to reach her G-spot. Seeing her lose herself in pleasure was such a beautiful image for Nanami that perhaps he should have taken a picture of the moment, but it would not have been possible, since not even the moans of the girl began to get louder, his dick buried itself inside her and painted her walls with his cum.

His hand e fingers continued to stimulate her clit until he saw her writhe violently and felt her soak his cock with the liquid from the apex of her excitement.

In fact, Nanami took a while to withdraw from Y/N's inside because he didn’t want to do it. He wanted to spend a few more minutes inside the pussy he wanted for so many months, and he still wants, but it was after 7:00, he had to go home... and hopefully take Y/N with him. He wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to 1. fuck her all night and 2. conquer her gradually to move from boss and secretary to something more solid.

Without giving her time to normalize her breathing, Kento leaned over to kiss her on the lips in a kiss full of tenderness and said:

— What do you think about sleeping at my house tonight?

— Just sleep? — Despite her provocative tone, Nanami could see that she was embarrassed by the way she looked away from his.

— And do whatever you want... — He whispered close to her ear. — all night long.

[dreamyyang]

summary: you and the princess share a love that was never meant to be.

pairing: princess!chaeryeong x gender neutral!tutor!reader

genres: angst, royalty au (you're lying if you say that the thought of princess chaer doesn't make you want to cry)

warnings: the pretentious bitch in me kinda jumped out lmao

word count: 0.5k

note: i was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to write a royalty au so here we are. i already have an idea for part 2 so lmk if you'd be interested! reblogs are always appreciated.

requests are open

[16:04]

you sighed in disapproval, fingers abruptly ceasing the sweet melody that had filled the room moments ago. your eyes regarded your pupil - it felt strange to call her that, you were only two years her senior - as she huffed. you had heard tall tales of the princess long before and after you had been hired to tutor her in music. stories of her cold demeanour and equally frigid countenance were commonplace, especially to ears like yours that were guilty of curiosity.

yet, she was far from what you had expected. her glacial expressions would often melt away into something far more innocent when you had the privilege of having her all to yourself. it had been two years since you first met her - and once since her declaration of great fondness for you - and yet your heart would still flutter at each meek smile. strangely, she had chosen not to slip off her emotionless mask today.

your brows knotted as she said nothing, stubbornly studying the piano as though it held the answer to the universe in its pearly tiles.

“my love, what’s wrong? this is the third time you’ve started too late.”

chaeryeong was beginning to resemble the pale marble statues that decorated the castle’s gardens. that’s when you noticed it; the glass-like water that began to encase her eyes as they softened. you rose from the velvet seat, reaching for her hands as worry began to eat away at your mind.

your thumb brushed away the first tear that broke loose and she spoke, “they’re planning to get me married, y/n.”

you froze, body petrified.

“there will be a ball soon, to scope out suitors, but they already have a prince in mind.”

you should not have been as surprised as you were. chaeryeong had recently turned twenty, it was natural that her parents would want to have her get married. you were well aware of what was to come the first time you kissed her. you knew that the day would come when either you or chaeryeong would be expected to take on a spouse and that would mean the end of your relationship. but being aware of the consequences did not hurt you any less.

“i don’t want to marry some stranger, y/n. you are the only person that i have ever dreamed of loving,” she finally allowed herself to cry freely, burying her face into the nape of your neck.

“darling,” your voice quivered as you spoke, stroking her hair. “oh, darling, i know.”

“why can’t i marry you? i’m not even meant to be queen, chaeyeon is. why does it matter who i marry?” her voice grew haggard and angry.

you held her tightly, not caring about what others might think if they were to see you like this. nobody else mattered in that moment. not nosy ladies-in-waiting nor unwanted suitors. the only two people that mattered were you and your princess, and you swore that you would ease her mind, at least for a while.

© dreamyyang, 2021

[cotccotc]

genre/s: felix x barista!reader (gender neutral), fluff, angst, coworkers to lovers au, bakery / barista au (feat. baker / bff!minho, (strict) manager!chan, barista!jeongin, and baker!seungmin)

wc: 6.9k 😎

warnings: many mentions of food (specifically sweets such as cupcakes, brownies, cookies, etc.), some swearing, arguing, probably very poor editing oops <3

a/n: this is part of the @districtninewriters​​ “dear skz, with love” event :D THIS IS ALSO THE LONGEST FIC I’VE EVER WRITTEN AHHH i’m really really proud of it !!! i hope u love it besties !!!!!!!!

it was a frostbitten february evening when you met the boy at the bakery.

you were seated upon the counter, back turned to the deep brown door through which you’d first entered months ago, eager to apply for a barista position. minho sat across from you on the cashier stool. he was always better with the baked goods. you were a great team. the two of you were bored; a familiar feeling that accompanied weeknights at the bakery-cafe. people tended to arrive either in the morning time or late in the afternoon, and very seldom later. plus, your manager trusted the two of you enough to lock up on your own. and so, the two of you would be left to your own devices for a few measly hours a night per week.

“i bet you couldn’t make a batch of sugar biscuits without instructions,” he teased with a snarky grin. he was right. that was more his thing than yours.

so, you retaliated. “i bet you can’t do the same with a mocha frappe. or even simpler: an iced americano.”

“please!”

“oh yeah? step right up, biscuit boy,” you retorted with a giggle, gesturing to the coffee maker that sat beside him. there were multiple in the shop, and truth be told, he had no idea which was used for what types of beverages.

confidently, he grabbed a cup from the stack on the table behind him, striding over to one of the machines. he then took a look at all the knobs and buttons, clearing his throat. you chuckled. with his finger ghosting over one of the buttons, he turned back toward you to check for your reaction. “not even close,” you remarked. he clicked his tongue, turning back toward the coffee maker. “just a hint,” you added, “the first step isn’t coffee.”

he simply looked up, bewildered. he turned back toward you, dropping his hands to his sides and parting his lips into a circular expression of disbelief.

suddenly, the sparkling tone of the door chime behind you caught both of your attention. peculiar. nobody was usually around at that hour. as minho put his cup back on the table, you hopped off the counter, turning toward the front of the store.

in walked one of the most strikingly handsome boys you think you’ve ever seen. if not the most handsome. an angular face; fair, slightly pink-tinted skin decorated with the most endearing assortment of freckles. they were almost reminiscent of the chocolate sprinkles minho used to top off the cupcakes situated inside the glass counter case. his hair was a vanilla blond and long enough to delicately cascade over the side edges of his face. cherry red lips that parted upon his arrival, chocolatey brown eyes staring right back at yours. he was astonishing.

“how can we help you?” minho asked him, stepping forward. he couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes seemed to be bugging out of your head. he had to stifle a chuckle or two.

the boy’s eyes lingered on yours for a moment. or maybe you dreamed it that way. regardless, he walked up to the counter, inquisitively placing his hands behind his back and bent over to glance at the contents of the case. “hi! uh…” he seemed sweet, though his voice was much deeper than you’d expected. it was unique. he was unique. and in quite a rush, as well. “...shit,” he cursed under his breath. he seemed to have startled himself with his expression. he looked back up at you, then at minho, a tight-lipped smile and strawberry-pink blush appearing on his face. “sorry,” he said.

minho finally let out a chuckle. “no worries. what’re you looking for?” he was always so good with the customers. smooth yet considerate, witty, yet firm. you always aspired to be a little more like minho when it came to customer service.

“do you have any of the salted caramel cupcakes left? they seem to be gone.”

“ah, we seem to have run out of those. could i interest you in a peanut butter cupcake instead?”

the boy shook his head. “no… she likes caramel.”

she. there was a she.

“may i ask what the occasion is?” minho asked.

“it’s my mom’s birthday, and she’ll be home from work soon... hopefully. i would’ve made my own gift to her but i didn’t have the time…”

“enough said,” your coworker assured him. “does she like chocolate? we have a few salted caramel brownies in the back.”

he almost gasped. “that’s perfect!” he paused. “um… how much is that? i-is it more than the cupcake, or…?”

minho glanced through the glass at the tag beside the brownie tray. “nope. less, actually.”

the boy let out a short sigh of relief. “great. thanks so much.”

“ah, it’s nothing. one sec,” minho said before walking into the kitchen to grab the brownie from the fridge. an awkward silence ensued between you and the boy.

“a name for the order?” you blurted. dumbass, you thought to yourself.

“i’m… the only one in the store…” he replied.

heat rose to your cheeks. “i… um… it’s protocol-”

“felix.” he cut you off before you could embarrass yourself further. he could tell you were nervous.

a unique name as well. of course.

“coming right up, felix,” you murmured, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. both of you chuckled.

minho came back out to the counter holding a small blue box with the cafe logo on top. “you’re all set! that’ll be…” he pressed few buttons into the cash register before continuing. “ten thousand won.”

“perfect.” felix grabbed his wallet out of his coat pocket. he pulled out a few bills from the black leather case, handing them to minho with a small smile. he was excited to surprise his mother, and happy that it wouldn’t cost as much as he’d thought it would. and you found it adorable.

minho took the money, ringing felix up and inserting the bills into the register. he handed felix the box, which made the boy’s face light up even more. it was hard for you to suppress a similar countenance. “i hope she likes it. have a good night!” minho said, closing the register. he crossed his arms and leaned on the counter as felix waved to the both of you and began walking back toward the door.

“thanks so much. you too,” he said, giving minho a small bow.

with his hand on the door, he glanced back at you once more. you smiled. he returned the expression. and just like that, with a brief gust of cold air sweeping through the shop, the boy was gone.

“you, uh… you know we only take names when there’s a line, right?” minho teased as the door shut, the chime letting out what seemed to be a pitied laugh. 

you held your hands up to your forehead. “ugh, i know! i’m such an idiot,” you replied, letting your nerves go with a chuckle. he patted you on the shoulder, laughing with you.

in between laughs, he remarked, “he really made you that nervous, huh?”

“you could tell?! oh, great… wonderful!” 

the two of you carried on for a moment, making light of the otherwise mortifying exchange. but finally, minho glanced at the clock and asked, “would you mind locking up tonight? i’ve got a date.”

“ooh!” you cooed, taunting him. “a date... who’s the not-so-lucky lady?”

“what joke book did you get that one from, hm? i had no idea you even knew how to read!” you gave him a playful punch in the arm for his sarcastic dig, causing him to giggle. yet, he answered your question, saying, “it’s a girl i met on the train home from school the other night. chaeyoung.” he looked off to the side, seemingly entranced. “she’s really witty and smart… and gorgeous. like... gorgeous.”

“ah, yes… so gorgeous that it causes men to leave their posts… and friends…”

“if i bring you back some takeout, will you quit being an ass?”

you pondered the question for a moment. and, while you’d be bored as hell in his absence, closing up the shop wasn’t much of a hassle on weeknights… and, well, you could always go for a free meal. “...pleasure doing business with you, lee minho.”

“thank you. as with you,” he commented in return. he took off the periwinkle blue, involuntarily worn apron which you’ve both been made to wear, revealing what you hadn’t even noticed was a dressy outfit. well, dressier than usual. he’d opted for a pale blue button-up shirt, tucked into black skinny jeans, all tied together by a chic black belt and a pair of black loafers. not to mention the small silver hoop earrings and matching necklace. you had to admit, he did look dapper.

he quickly strode to the back of the kitchen at which there resided a small storage room where you and the other employees usually dropped off your belongings. he grabbed his backpack and put on his long black coat, quickly making his way back up to the counter and walking around to the front of the store. “catch you tomorrow! thanks again.”

“takeout! don’t forget!”

“i couldn’t even if i tried,” he retorted, opening the door. the two of you waved to each other before he took his leave. 

moments later, the door opened once again. you figured minho must’ve forgotten something. looking up, you began to ask, “what’d you forget this ti-”

it wasn’t minho.

it was felix.

he paused in his footing, little blue box still in hand. you jumped just a little. he noticed. “s-sorry… i just, um…” he looked off to the side. “i guess this is a bit of a long shot... considering the two of you seem to be more than enough staff… but…” he paused again, taking a moment to straighten his posture and scratch the back of his head. “is there any chance you might be hiring… any time soon?”

the answer was no. undoubtedly. he was right in thinking that you, minho, and the other employees were perfectly capable of handling the cafe. though some mornings and weekends were a bit tight, the team made it work. if this was anybody else, you could’ve easily said no.

yet, he persisted. “i can bake! i like to think i’ve been getting better at it… and i can clean as well.”

you couldn’t turn him down. you simply couldn’t. not with those kind eyes locking themselves with yours, the enthusiasm in his deep voice, or the hastening beat of your heart. “i’ll talk to my manager!” you affirmed. you smiled, causing a similar reaction out of him. an idea popped into your mind. if only for a moment, you thought it was the best you’d ever had. your eyes averted themselves to the pale yellow note pad and ballpoint pen on the counter, used to take orders from seated customers. “here,” you said, reaching for the pen and paper and handing it to felix. “if you’ll give me your number, i can text you with any updates.”

he walked back up to the counter for the second time that night, taking his number down on the pad. as you watched him intently, eyes fixated on his concentrated face, you silently praised yourself for being so brave. especially after the whole name debacle. your heart was at its wits’ end. “there,” he said, placing the pen down on the counter and sliding the notepad back to you. “i really appreciate it.” he sounded so genuine. he flashed you another smile. he had such a grand, bright, toothy smile. it would stay in your memory for days, weeks, even months to come. you can still recall it now.

“it’s no problem,” you responded. “...i really hope your mom likes the brownie.”

“thanks. i’m sure she will.” he turned to walk toward the door. you almost turned away as well, excited to examine the style with which he’d written on the pad, until he spun back around once more. “oh! one more thing… can i get your name as well?”

the question came as a bit of a surprise. you nodded to him, letting out a short giggle. “y/n.”

he grinned again. it was smaller that time; a bit more subdued. effortfully so. “ah. well…” he began walking backward, eyes connected with yours as he headed toward the door. “goodnight, y/n.”

“goodnight, felix.”

and thus, your pursuit for a job offering began.

your manager, chan, was reluctant to accept your proposal for him to give felix an interview. however, you made note of how eager he’d seemed that night and the skills he’d mentioned having. you also mentioned how he’d been so enthused to find out the price of his order. and so, after a couple days’ worth of mulling it over, chan finally gave in.

you weren’t supposed to be at the cafe when felix was being interviewed. however, your saturday afternoon shift had just ended, and the place was essentially empty. well… apart from you, chan, felix, and then jeongin, who wandered in from the storage room to find you eavesdropping from behind the wall separating the kitchen and the dining area. 

“y/n?” he asked. “what are you-”

you inaudibly shushed him, motioning for him to come closer and hide with you. he did so.

“chan’s interviewing someone,” you whispered to the boy.

“ah…” he responded, his tone hushed. “so why are we hiding?”

“because we’re not supposed to be listening.”

“so why are we doing it?”

“because i want to know how it’s going.”

“so why can’t you just-”

you shushed him again. he obliged, covering his mouth with his hand.

from the other side of the wall, chan asked, “so felix, do you have a resume?”

“uh…” felix stammered. you could hear the nerves in his voice.

“let me put it this way,” chan offered instead. “do you have any prior working experience? at another cafe, another store, a completely different place...?”

“oh! yes. i’ve bagged groceries at the supermarket on third street for the last few months. that’s where my mom works. but i’d much rather work here, if i’m honest...”

“ah. okay.” chan nodded, jotting down some notes in his notebook. “so y/n told me you could clean...”

before chan could finish, felix proudly exclaimed, “i can! i do a lot of cleaning at home.”

“perfect.”

the interview went on for a few more minutes. jeongin let out a few silent chuckles every once in a while, mocking your state of concentration. but who could blame you? you just wanted to make sure felix got the position. he seemed to need it.

you totally weren’t in it for his smile… the freckles… the adorable creases that formed at the edges of his eyes when he grinned with that sweet, genuine, toothy grin of his… no, not at all…

nevertheless, he got the job.

“i love this apron,” felix had said to you on his first day. he was quite fond of your uniform. everyone else in the shop hated them; what, with the pale blue color, white pinstripe pattern, and the ‘one-size-fits-all’ design. yet, in every sense of the phrase, it fit felix perfectly.

“i’m glad someone does,” you replied. he laughed.

“when i got the cleaning job, i wasn’t sure i’d get to wear one. but i’m happy i do.” he smiled at you, his pearlescent teeth on full display and face aglow with joy. 

after about a week of training, felix became a natural at his job. though it wasn’t much, he took great pride in his work and enjoyed taking any opportunity he saw to do a little extra sweeping, some more dish washing, and even some dusting here and there.

he also fit right into the employee dynamic. every once in a while, you’d find him playing hand games with jeongin. or, sometimes, minho would discuss baking with him, as he often noted his affinity for it.

“have you ever tried using oats in your chocolate chip cookies?” felix asked. it was monday night. and, as per usual, the shop was devoid of customers.

minho looked puzzled. “oats?”

“yeah. it adds a little nuttiness. it’s really, really good.”

“huh… i’ll have to try it out sometime. i like to add a bit of coffee grounds to the flour when i make mine.” then, he leaned in to whisper, “don’t tell chan, though.” felix let out a nervous giggle.

“don’t worry,” you said to him. “minho’s only kidding. i’d never let him touch my coffee grounds.” this made all three of you laugh.

after the laughter died down, felix looked at the clock. it was four in the afternoon. “well, my shift is over,” he said. you were disappointed. hanging out with felix had become a bit of a highlight for you. he always carried himself so kindly. he had a bubbly soul, and a pure twinkle took residence in his eye whenever he smiled. you couldn’t help but feel light and airy while around him.

“hey, i’ve been meaning to ask,” minho started to felix. “do you bike here?”

the other boy was confused. “no. why?”

“oh… then, do you walk?”

“yeah. it’s only a few blocks,” felix responded, shrugging.

“do you need a ride?”

felix paused to think. “don’t you need to stay here? to lock up and everything…”

“i’ll come right back.”

you chimed in, suggesting, “i can close tonight.”

“you sure?” minho asked you. “i don’t have any food to bribe you with this time.” you both chuckled.

“it’s fine by me,” you said.

minho thanked you, stating once again that he owed you. the amount of times you’d done this for him was countless. but you never seemed to mind. and so, off they went. you were glad felix had integrated into the friend group so well. you supposed that he was just that loveable.

when it finally came time for you to close up shop having not received any other customers for the night, you waltzed into the storage room to grab your things. however, you noticed something strange sitting atop one of the shelves that hadn’t been there that morning.

an envelope. with your name on it. and a tupperware container filled with a single slice of what looked like chocolate cake.

your heart flinched. you were shocked. flustered, flushed. confused… but endeared. you hesitated. shakily, you tore open the cream-colored envelope’s seal, careful not to rip too much. you wanted to preserve its crisp smoothness.

“y/n,” the note said...

“a gift to you,

a chocolatey treat,

a token of thanks

for being so sweet.

~ me”

your heart fluttered. you ran to the kitchen, opening the container and grabbing a freshly-cleaned fork from the metal sink. you dried it off on your apron before excitedly digging into the dessert. it was more of a brownie than a cake, you realized, with melted chocolate chunks stuffed inside. it tasted amazing.

you began wondering who this mystery gifter could’ve been. it couldn’t have been minho… it simply couldn’t have. the two of you were much too close. and he was always more confident than anybody you’d met. if he liked you, you would have already known. besides, things seemed to be going well with him and chaeyoung. no… this had to be someone else. jeongin, perhaps. he did always made such high praises about your cappuccino-crafting abilities. you looked to your left and right, peering around the kitchen for signs of life. but alas, you were all alone in the cafe. 

then it hit you.

of course...

felix.

you recalled the first time you met. when you had him jot his number down on the piece of paper. you remembered his handwriting; the way some characters curled on the ends, the rounded shape of his letter e, the squiggly line he used before he signed his name… it was felix. it had to be.

and you were ecstatic.

the next day, you entered the shop to find a full house. it was a saturday morning, after all. you enjoyed the breakfast rush, mainly because you got the chance to show off your coffee-making skills. you made your way to the kitchen, greeting jeongin at the counter on your way in. you said hello to minho and seungmin as well, who were busy stand-mixing and hand-folding various types of batter. they were a great team, especially on mornings like those. though they tended to bicker about ingredients and proportions, the sweet treats they’d concoct always turned out excellently.

finally, felix emerged from the storage area, duster in hand. when he saw you, however, he froze. with his eyes wide and cheeks beginning to flush, he greeted you. “h-hi, y/n… good morning!”

you let out a bit of a giggle. does he know that i know? you asked yourself. granted, the mysterious gift giver signed off as ‘me,’ so you couldn’t say you were positive… but this reaction told you otherwise. “morning!”

he nodded, smiling nervously. he gestured to the storage room. “the shelves in there are all dusted now.”

“great! i think i’ll… um…” you pointed to the room, slipping past him to stash away your belongings and put on your apron.

“yep! you… do that…” he muttered as you walked away.

however, when you walked in, you found something peculiar displayed upon the shelf.

another envelope. and another container.

you turned back toward the door to find felix peeking in. you chuckled. “so it was you!”

he stepped to the side, coming into full view. “how’d you know?” he asked.

“i just… had a feeling.” you grinned.

he paused, a tight-lipped smile spread across his face. “well, open it.”

you placed your coat and bag on one of the shelves below. you then opened up the envelope just like you had the previous night: meticulously, yet enthralled. it read,

“another dessert

for a person so sweet

will you honor me kindly,

and go out with me?

YES / NO

~ me”

once you looked back up at him, felix commented, “you were supposed to circle one…” he then began rambling. “i thought you didn’t come in until later. you don’t have to say anything right now, or at all, and-”

though you thought it adorable, you cut off his nervous prattle, stating, “yes.”

his eyes grew even wider, his strawberry tinted lips forming a circular shape. “you mean…”

“i’ll go out with you, felix,” you confirmed.

his face lit up. and yours did, too.

thus, one date became two, two became four…

by the end of february, you were officially a couple.

you were a perfect match. each of you complimented each other so well, rivaling the bittersweetness of a good cappuccino when paired with a light and fluffy slice of cake. like minho, felix’s baking abilities and knowledge never ceased to amaze you. you explained the ins and outs of coffee brewing while he told you all about how he bakes his tasty treats. he even showed you some of the recipes his mom handed down to him from generations past.

his mom sounded so wonderful… yet, a part of you felt so sorry for her. felix’s dad left when he was young, and she’s always had to fend for herself and her son all on her own. however, when she was let go from her office position the previous year, things began to spiral. she took up two jobs: one at the local grocery store and another waitressing at a restaurant in the next town. she was always so busy. but felix understood. he tried helping out, especially by working at the supermarket with her that fall. nothing seemed to get any better. 

that is, until he landed his job at the cafe.

felix constantly thanked you for helping him out. chan paid him a considerable amount more than what he’d received at the supermarket, which helped him and his mother out greatly. anything would. aside from telling how lovely, smart, witty, and gorgeous you were, felix’s mission in life was to remind you how you’d saved it.

one monday, you entered the storage room on your break to find a sight all too familiar. a handwritten note and small sliver of baked loveliness, all wrapped up in a metaphorical bow of allure and intrigue. nevertheless, however, you were still just as giddy as the first time you’d received one of felix’s treats. suddenly, you felt a finger graze along your shoulder, moving your hair to the side as an arm wrapped itself around your waist. two warm, pillowy lips made contact with your cheek, gently pecking the skin. felix.

you let out a giggle. “is this for me?” you asked, facetiously.

“of course,” he muttered beside your ear, his tone low, entrancing, and chill-inducing. he kissed your cheek again, holding you close and swaying you from side to side. “it’s another brownie. try it,” he suggested as his chin settled upon your shoulder.

you did as he said, biting into the small slice of fudgy goodness. to your surprise, chunks of melted caramel oozed out of the dessert, cutting through the rich chocolatiness of the brownie with a tangy edge. you hummed in satisfaction. “a salted caramel brownie,” you noted, swallowing your bite.

he chuckled. “i figured i’d finally try it out, maybe give some to my mom… do you like it?”

you placed the sweet back into its container and turned around in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. you smiled. “i love it, lix. thank you.”

he grinned back at you. pulling you closer by the waist, he sealed the space between his lips and yours with a kiss. his lips were always even softer and more captivating than the texture of his confections. sweeter, too.

after his lips left yours, he gazed into your eyes, holding you close. “open the note, love.”

you excitedly spun back around, doing as instructed. opening the crisp white envelope seal and pulling out the folded sheet of paper, you read its contents.

“a caramel kiss

for you, my love.

i can’t give you the world.

but i hope i’m enough.

~ felix”

you paused. you were puzzled. visibly so, you figured, since when you turned around the look on felix’s face shifted.

he took your hand in his, rubbing small circles into the skin with his thumb. he kept his head down as he spoke. “i wish i could do more. i wish i could take you out to nice places, bake you batches of your favorite sweets, get you real gifts…”

a sharp pain struck your heart. “lix…” you murmured. “i don’t need any of those things. and as far as i’m concerned, these are ‘real gifts.’ they come from your heart. that’s as real as it gets.”

“i know, love, but…”

you placed a hand on his cheek, guiding him to look back up at you. “you don’t even have to do this stuff for me. i know that you care.”

he gave you a forced, shy smile. “okay. i’m glad.” he placed his own hand on top of yours, warm fingertips pressing gently against your skin.

“felix! y/n!” chan called from the kitchen. it was saturday night, and the last of the day’s customers were taking their leave. you were standing by the coffee-makers, in the middle of telling felix about the time you’d bested jeongin in a macchiato-making contest during a breakfast rush. 

both of you turned toward the kitchen door, concerned. chan poked his head out. “can you come here a minute?” he looked serious. something was wrong.

nevertheless, the two of you obliged. holding hands, you made your way to the kitchen, led by chan to the cooling racks. “what’s up?” you asked.

chan cleared his throat before shoving his hands into his pockets. “i have reason to believe that one of you, or both, has violated protocol.”

you quickly grew confused. felix’s hand tightened around yours. you glanced at him, noticing how his face flushed pale. “uh…” he stammered. 

“early this morning, seungmin pointed out that we’re low on cocoa powder. now, that’s odd, especially considering we had three cans of it yesterday. now we only have two.” you both nodded at him, following along. “...so i took a look at the camera footage.”

felix let go of your hand. “c-cameras?” he stuttered. you were even more confused.

“yeah. the cameras,” chan confirmed, looking felix dead in the eye. “i watched the footage from yesterday. and the day before.”

felix gulped. “you… you did….”

“what the hell is going on?” you asked.

chan let out a bit of a sigh. “y/n. were you aware that felix has been taking ingredients from the kitchen?”

your heart dropped.

you glanced at your boyfriend. he glanced back at you. he then bit his bottom lip, averting his eyes down to the floor. you looked back at chan, calmly answering, “no… i had no idea.”

“is that true?” chan asked.

“yes.” you then turned to felix, face ablaze. “it’s true.”

“then in that case, you can go for the night. i’d like to talk to felix. alone.”

after one last unreciprocated look at your boyfriend, you quickly rummaged through the storage room, collected your things, and left. you stood outside of the cafe, waiting for whatever might happen next. your stomach was doing flips. you couldn’t possibly believe what you’d heard.

minutes elapsed. it felt more like hours. all you could think to do was lean up against a lamp post and watch the gloomy clouds shift overhead. the sun was close to being fully set, casting a deep purple tint over the whole street landscape. and it looked as though it was about to rain.

after what felt like an exorbitantly long time, felix emerged from the shop. the door closed behind him as he bolted down the steps and onto the pavement, that familiar chime sending a chill through you. it sounded almost eerie that night. out of place. taunting.

“lix,” you called. you walked behind him, despite his quickening pace. but he wouldn’t stop or slow down. “lix,” you exclaimed again. no answer. finally, you grabbed his arm, realizing his apron was gone, and shouted, “felix! slow down.”

he scoffed, stopping dead in his tracks. “he fired me.”

you stared at him, blankly. once again, you couldn’t believe it.

“i tried to do something nice, and he fired me.”

“do you think it makes me feel any better?” you asked. “you getting yourself fired so you could make me little brownie experiments?” you paused, taking a deep breath. you were outraged. more so with yourself. you should’ve asked how he was finding the time or the resources to be doing what he was doing. you should’ve known. “i thought you needed this job. when were you gonna tell me you were a thief?”

“a thief?!” felix’s eyes seemed to be bulging out of his head. he was surprised at your verbiage. he’d never seen you upset like this. “y/n, i’m not a thief.” you rolled your eyes. his cheeks flushed crimson. a prickling sensation began around his eyes. a stinging, almost. tears. he looked down at his sneakers. tattered white converse. the same ones he wore every day to work. the same ones on which he’d splattered a few droplets of brownie batter during his latest attempt at making you a gift. now, it just looked like a stain of mud. “i didn’t just take cocoa powder. i took eggs… some milk… a couple cups of flour here and there… my mom got demoted at the restaurant. she works the bar now. she thinks i asked for the stuff. so yeah, i did need this job! i do need it. i just fucked up...” under his breath, trying not to give into the tears that prodded at his eyes, he remarked, “‘little brownie experiments’... that’s all they ever were to you? little brownie experiments...”

you realized what you’d said. of course that’s not all they were to you. they were everything to you. but that isn’t what you’d said. “lix… i-”

“you know what, you’re right,” he muttered, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet, hands clasped behind his back, and eyes rapidly blinking to avoid the inevitable. “they probably weren’t even all that good.”

you took a step closer to him. a drop of water fell onto your shoulder from above. “no.. no, that’s not what i-”

but, as quickly as you approached him, he stepped back. he locked eyes with you once again. his eyes were glossy; tainted with the aftereffects of a broken heart. suddenly, a steady stream of drizzling rain began to fall from the night sky above you. felix’s lip quivered. yet, with a furrowing brow, he continued. “you know what, maybe this was all a mistake.” his voice cracked a bit; frayed at the edges. “maybe i should’ve gotten a different job. at a place that would pay me enough to be able to buy my own shit and pay my mom’s bills.” the rain fell harder now, coating his hair and dragging it down over his face. you didn’t even feel it as it completely drenched you as well.

seeing him like this affected you just as much as your words did him. guilt. the panging, crushing weight of guilt laid heavily upon your heart. “felix…” you whimpered, tears of your own beginning to cloud your line of sight. though, you could still see clear enough to watch him shake his head, turning around and beginning his ascent up the avenue. clear as ever. even despite the pitter-patter of evening gloom.

sopping wet, you marched back into the shop. you ripped off your apron, throwing it down upon the counter. you then walked back behind it to start preparing to close up for the night. all you wanted was to go home.

that is, until you spotted an envelope tucked beside the cappuccino maker.

a creamy white envelope, with your name and a heart inscribed on the back. and a tupperware container. a single teardrop descended from the corner of your eye, resembling the droplets of rain that covered your form. you carefully took hold of the envelope. you gently tore it open, making sure not to rip it, just like you’d done the very first and subsequent times.

“another present

for my love;

my dear y/n,

sent from above.

~ felix”

a drop of rain fell from your hair onto the page, dampening his name. the black ink began to run, the letters seeping into each other.

you could no longer control your tears. you took a seat on the floor, back resting against a leg of the table upon which the coffee makers stood. the metal was cold. but you paid it no mind. with your head on your knees, legs bent and arms wrapped around them, you cried. audibly. you couldn’t believe how you’d spoken to him. you should’ve known that he didn’t have the money to bake you these little presents on his own. you should’ve realized from the moment he confirmed it was him. at least, that’s what you thought to yourself as the tears expelled themselves from your system. 

he just wanted to make you something special. yes, he broke the rules. yes, he stole from the cafe. and yes, he knew it was wrong. but he just wanted to make you something special. it was the only way he believed he could. and you wish you’d seen that. not just so you could’ve prevented it, but also so you could’ve appreciated it even more. so you could’ve seen that not only was he working overtime to make you something you might enjoy, but that he was risking his job for you and his mother. it wasn’t a perfect gesture - not by a long shot. but he meant well. he always did. and you didn’t even give him the chance to explain.

you loved him.

after a few moments of solitude, you regained your breath. you sniffled, looking down at the note. you then stood back up, taking hold of the container. its contents looked delicious. but you couldn’t consume it. not even if you’d been hungry. so, you dumped it into the trashcan beside the table. and, with a deep, shaky breath, you ripped up the letter and envelope into tiny pieces. it was a bittersweet feeling, letting go. but you had to do it. and so, home you went.

a week passed. things never really changed at the cafe once felix left. weeknights were still as slow as ever. maybe even slower. you missed him.

minho emerged from the kitchen one evening to find you wiping down the cappuccino maker with a coffee-stained rag. it was the third time you’d done it that day. twice more than you were getting paid for. and of course he noticed. “how’re you holding up?” he asked.

you barely glanced up at him, busy rubbing the same spot on the metal machine over and over. this stupid stain just wouldn’t budge. each time you’d gone over it that day, you couldn’t seem to make it go away. it plagued your mind, infiltrating your subconscious when you least expected it until you finally decided to go back to it for the second time, then the third. it was a real mood killer. though your mood hadn’t been very lively when the day began, either. “‘m fine,” you replied through gritted teeth, brows angled inward as your focus remained on the task at hand.

“are you?” he questioned, playfully. he leaned on the counter behind you, crossing his arms and watching you scrub. “you’ve been going at it with that thing for hours now. what’d it ever do to y-”

“i’m fine!” you interjected. you then paused, both in speech and action. suddenly, you were aware of how fast you’d been rubbing the machine. as well as how loud your voice had raised itself. you turned around. “...sorry.”

he gave a pitied smile, crossing his arms. “it’s ok. i’m fine,” he replied, mimicking you. it made you chuckle. he was glad it did. “is, uh… is this a bad time to ask you to lock up? i’ve got a.. uh…”

“a date?” you supposed, unfeeling.

he cleared his throat, glancing between you, the clock above you, and his shoes. “yeah,” he confirmed. “with chaeyoung. would you mind?”

“not at all.”

“you sure?” you nodded. “alright… i owe you one… or ten...” he joked, untying his apron.

“no you don’t,” you murmured, eyes drifting to the side. you almost turned back around, heart set on getting to that stain, until you felt his hand on your arm. you glanced at each other for a moment. he looked sad. sorry. he pitied you. and you hated it. yet, as he took you in his arms, wrapping you into a tight, benevolent hug, you became a little less tense. a little less angry. you hugged him back, burying your face into his shoulder. this was the first time you’d ever engaged in such a gesture with your coworker. sure, you were friends. and sure, you’d talked about some deep stuff on nights like these with nothing better to do. but this was different. meaningful. sweet.

after a moment, minho remarked, “you know i miss him too, right?” he sounded mockingly peeved. “he was your boyfriend but he was my friend.”

you looked up at him, confused. “you’re not still friends?”

he chuckled. “no! he’s avoiding me the same way he’s avoiding you.”

laughing with him, you responded, “shit… i’m sorry, minho.”

“you have nothing to apologize for.” he let go of you, hands remaining on your sides for a moment. “you both messed up. it’s not all your fault.” you nodded to him, a reluctant, close-lipped smile upon your face. he glanced up at the clock again before pulling his apron off. “i’ve gotta go. thanks again for locking up, y/n.” he walked past the counter to the front of the store. “i’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” he added, pointing at you while striding backwards toward the door.

“see you tomorrow,” you replied, waving to him. “have fun.” you still sounded a bit bitter. you couldn’t help it.

“thanks,” he said. the chimes twinkled as the door closed. it haunted you.

and with that, he was gone. nothing but you, your rag, and that unnerving coffee stain for another half-hour’s time.

you heard the opening and closing of the door behind you once again. with a sigh, not even bothering to turn around, you blurted, “we’re about to lock up for the night.”

no response. odd. maybe they didn’t hear you. you tried again, raising your voice a bit but continuing your attempts to clear up the stain all the while. “i apologize, but we’re closed for the night-”

“one salted caramel brownie, please.”

a familiar voice. a familiar, low-toned, nostalgia-inducing voice. the voice that, at one time, softened for you… close enough to your ear to make your stomach tie itself in knots. the voice that made you giggle, the voice that called you “love”... the voice that cracked when faced with the realization that it was never to be heard by you again. you spun around.

a familiar face, too.

felix.

his eyes gazed into yours. somber, silent.

“y-you...”

“hey.”

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