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differentpostrebel · 1 month

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Lost and Found: A Pirate’s Promise

Lost and Found: A Pirate’s Promise

A/N: Hi!! This is my first fanfiction ever, and I'm super excited to share it with all of you! I've always loved fanfictions that span across multiple parts because they give so much room for character development and suspense. As a massive One Piece fan, I hope you all enjoy this series as much as I will enjoy writing it!

For this series, we'll start off in the Pre-Time Skip era, specifically during the Sabaody Archipelago arc. Y/N is an established pirate and a formidable warrior, with the third highest bounty in the Straw Hat crew. She's not just another member; her strength and skills have earned her a respected spot among the crew.

Sanji, our favorite lovesick cook, falls head over heels for Y/N almost immediately. True to his nature, he tries every trick in the book to catch her attention, from cooking her favorite meals to showering her with compliments. On the other hand, Y/N may have a small crush on Sanji, but she’s cautious and focused on her goals as a pirate.

As the story progresses, that small crush gradually blossoms into something more profound, but their journey together won't be easy. With the chaos of the New World looming, the dangers they face will test their bond and loyalty to each other. Will their love be strong enough to survive the trials ahead, or will the perils of their pirate life tear them apart?

Get ready for an emotional rollercoaster filled with angst, action, and a dash of romance. I'm thrilled to take you on this adventure with Y/N, Sanji, and the rest of the Straw Hat crew!

A/N: some parts may be changed to fit the story, but others will remain the same. For instance, instead of eleven supernovas it will be twelve.

Word Count: 2.3k

Sanji x Y/N, OP x Y/N ,

Chapter 1: Desperate Measures: Saving a Friend

Having arrived at Sabaody Archipelago with your crew, along with Hatchan, Camie, and Pappag, the vibrant and bustling island immediately overwhelms your senses. The bright, multicolored bubbles floating through the air, the mix of strange and diverse people, and the looming presence of the massive mangrove trees create an atmosphere both wondrous and ominous. You can't help but feel a mix of excitement and unease—Sabaody is a place of both opportunity and danger.

Luffy, your captain, couldn’t wait any longer to get off the ship and explore. With his usual boundless energy, he leaped from the Sunny, already imagining the adventures that awaited him on Sabaody Archipelago. You remember the day he first asked you to join his crew. It was after a particularly intense battle where your fighting skills had caught his eye. He admired your strength, your resilience, and the way you stood your ground even in the face of overwhelming odds. Luffy, always the one to follow his instincts, had approached you with that wide, infectious grin and simply said, “Join my crew!”

At first, you were taken aback by his straightforwardness, but there was something about Luffy—his unwavering belief in his dreams, his ability to inspire those around him, and the way he saw potential in everyone—that made you consider his offer. He didn’t just see you as a warrior; he saw you as someone who could help him achieve his goal of becoming King of the Pirates. And so, after a moment of thought, you agreed, finding yourself swept up in the Straw Hats' chaotic yet oddly comforting world.

As Luffy heads down with Chopper, Zoro, is scanning the area to see if there are any threats nearby. “Sense anything Zoro?” you say as you begin to step out of the sunny. “Zoro glances around, his eyes sharp and focused, before shaking his head slightly. "Not at the moment," he replies, keeping his voice low. “Hey Mosshead, back off of Y/N, she doesn’t need you clinging on to her,” Sanji snaps, stepping in between you and Zoro, his eyes narrowing at the swordsman.

Zoro glares back, “Who’s clinging, you curly-browed idiot? I’m just making sure there’s no trouble.”

Before the argument can escalate further, Nami steps in, her hands on her hips. “Enough, both of you. Sanji, you’ll stay behind to guard the treasure along with Usopp. Franky, you’re staying on the ship too—just in case we need to make a quick getaway.”

Sanji’s expression immediately softens, his usual heart eyes appearing as he turns to Nami. “Of course, my love, anything for you!” he says with a dreamy sigh. Then, as if remembering his role as the lovesick cook, he pulls out a single rose, handing it to you with a flourish. “Y/N, keep this with you on your journey, so you won’t forget about me.”

You take the rose, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “How could I forget about you, Sanji? I’ll be sure to keep it close.”

Sanji’s heart skips a beat as you flirt back, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. Though he’s always been bold with his affection, there’s something about the way you respond that makes his heart race a little faster. You’ve always admired Sanji’s charm and his relentless dedication to those he cares about, and in moments like this, it’s hard not to let your own small crush on him slip through.

As you all disembark the ship, Hatchan begins to explain that he knows someone who can coat the ship for your journey to the next destination, Fishman Island. Camie and Pappag act as your guides, showing you around. Nami and Robin decide to head out for some shopping.

“You sure you don’t want to tag along?” Nami asks.

“Yeah, we could have our own mini girls’ day,” Robin adds with a smile.

Shaking your head with a smile, you reply, “No, that’s alright, you two go on ahead. I’ve got to make sure these guys”—you gesture towards the remaining group—“don’t wind up in too much trouble.”

“I’ll be sure to get you something!” Nami calls out as she and Robin head off to the stores.

“Well, Zoro, looks like you and I will be taking care of…”

“Zoro??”

“Damn, did he just leave?” You sigh and make your way back to your group.

Meanwhile, back on the Sunny…

“Sanji, you gotta relax, buddy. Nami, Robin, Camie, and Y/N are safe and fine,” says Franky, trying to calm Sanji down.

Sanji exhales a cloud of smoke from his cigarette, his eyes still filled with concern. “Yeah, I know,” he mutters, “but I can’t help worrying about them. Especially Y/N… she’s always getting into trouble, and I can’t help but think I should be there to protect her.”

Franky gives him a reassuring pat on the back. “You’re on guard duty here, remember? We’ve got to keep the ship safe.”

Sanji’s gaze softens as he looks at the rose he’s tucked away for Y/N. “I just wish I could be there with her… make sure she knows how much she means to me.”

“Don’t worry, Sanji,” Franky chuckles. “They’re in good hands with you watching over the ship. And besides, you’ve got your own way of showing you care. That rose will do wonders.”

Sanji nods, taking a deep breath and letting his worry slowly fade. “You’re right. I’ll keep an eye out and make sure the ship stays in one piece. Just hope she gets my message.”

He glances at the rose again, a small smile appearing on his face as he tries to refocus on his duties.

Back in Sabaody…

After witnessing the cruelty of the nobles, a shiver ran down your spine as the unsettling images replayed in your mind. You couldn't shake the feeling of anger and disgust.

“Those bastards, no one should be treated like that,” Luffy says, his voice filled with rage. “I don’t care if you’re a noble or not.”

“It’s truly a horrifying sight to see,” Brooke agrees, his usual calm demeanor marred by the gravity of the situation. He and Chopper hurry to catch up with you and Luffy.

“Luffy, remember we promised Hatchan we’d lay low for a bit,” you remind him, trying to steady your own emotions. “As much as I want to strike back, we can’t risk it. We have to stay out of trouble for now.”

Just then, you’re ambushed by a group of bounty hunters who had been lying in wait. One of them, a scruffy man with a leering grin, points at you with wide eyes. “Hey! You’re Y/N, the one with the $115,000,000 Berry bounty. You’re one of the Supernovas!”

“Supernovas?, what are they talking about?” you say in a hushed tone.

Before they can react, you draw your blades with swift precision. The air around you crackles with energy as you unleash a flurry of strikes, each move perfectly calculated to disarm and incapacitate your attackers. Your combat skills, honed through countless battles, shine as you take them down one by one.

Luffy watches in awe, a grin slowly spreading across his face as he sees you effortlessly dispatch the bounty hunters. “Nice work, Y/N!” he cheers.

Brooke and Chopper finally catch up, their eyes wide at the sight of the defeated hunters. “Looks like we’ve got some unwanted attention,” Brooke observes. “But impressive as always.”

Smiling as you sheathe your blades, your breath steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “We need to stay sharp. Let’s get moving before more of them show up.”

Finally, after a bit of traveling, they reach Grove 13 and a bar where the coating engineer is said to stay. Upon entering, they are greeted by Shakky, the bar’s owner. A former pirate and friend of Hatchan, Shakky introduces herself with a friendly smile.

"Nice to meet you all," Shakky says. "I've heard quite a bit about the Straw Hats.”

The group exchanges pleasantries before asking about the engineer, Rayleigh. Shakky informs them that Rayleigh hasn’t been seen for a while, though he hasn’t left the island. He’s been wandering the bars and casinos for the past six months.

"Well, if Rayleigh’s been missing for that long, we might have to search for him ourselves," Luffy says.

Shakky nods. “Be careful. Since your arrival, there are now twelve rookie pirates with bounties over 100,000,000 berri who’ve reached the Red Line. Luffy, you're second highest among them.”

As the group absorbs this, Shakky explains that most of the Supernovas are staying in Grove 24. She describes some of them: Capone "Gang" Bege, the mafia-type pirate with a bounty of 138,000,000 berri, Jewelry Bonney, with a bounty of 140,000,000 Berri, Basil Hawkins, known as "The Magician" with a 249,000,000 bounty. In another part of the grove, Eustass "Captain" Kid (315,000,000) and Scratchmen Apoo (198,000,000)

In Grove 21, "The Mad Monk" Urouge (108,000,000) and "Massacre Soldier" Killer (162,000,000) next is "Red Flag" X Drake (222,000,000), a former Marine Rear Admiral, and Trafalgar Law (200,000,000), the last of the rookies. Shakky hands you the wanted posters and you note with a small smile that you and Zoro are also among the Supernovas. You’re listed with a bounty of 115,000,000, and Zoro with 120,000,000.

As you glance at the wanted posters of the Supernovas, you mutter with a playful grin, “Wow, Killer, Eustass Kidd, and Law… they’ve got something uniquely captivating about them. They look kind of cute.”

Brooke, catching your comment, bursts out with a cheerful, “Yoohoo! Looks like Sanji’s got some competition!”

You chuckle and tease, “Oh, definitely. Killer’s dangerous allure, Kidd’s raw intensity, and Law’s cool confidence—they each have a certain edge that’s hard to ignore.”

Leaning in closer, you let your voice drop with a sultry edge, “It’s not just their looks. There’s something about their vibe that’s a little… irresistible. Makes me wonder how they’d be in person.”

Brooke's jawbone clinks with his laughter. “Well, I can’t say I blame you. A little competition always spices things up, doesn’t it?”

You wink playfully. “Exactly. It’s all about the thrill of the chase. But for now, let’s see what these Supernovas are really like. Who knows, maybe they’ll be even more intriguing up close.”

Brooke’s grin remains, his eye sockets gleaming with amusement. “I’m sure they will be. But remember, Sanji’s keeping a close eye on you. Don’t let him get too worked up!”

You laugh, the mischief in your eyes sparkling. “Don’t worry. A bit of competition never hurt anyone. It just makes everything more exciting.”

With that,the group heads out to find Rayleigh, the playful tension lingering in the air.

As the group sets out to find Rayleigh, Luffy suggests a visit to Sabaody Park to enjoy the day. Camie, brimming with excitement, eagerly tells you about the park’s significance and her past visits. You walk side by side with her, absorbing the vibrant atmosphere of the park and the joyful energy of the rides.

As you and Camie sit on a bench in Sabaody Park, catching your breath from the excitement of the rides, you both share a contented sigh.

"This place is amazing," Camie says with a smile, her eyes sparkling with joy. "I wish I could have experienced it like this more often. It’s so much fun!"

You nod, enjoying the moment. “I’m glad we could have this day. It’s been a blast.”

Just as you’re about to take another bite of your snack, a shadow looms over you. Before you can react, someone covers your mouth with a cloth, and another pair of hands grabs Camie. You both struggle, but the suddenness of it leaves you disoriented.

Through the fabric muffling your cries, you hear Camie's muffled voice. “Mmmph! What’s happening? Let us go!”

You try to yell out, but the cloth over your mouth stifles your words. Panicking, you reach for Camie’s hand, and you feel her trembling. The sound of ropes tightening around your wrists and ankles is followed by the heavy thud of sacks being pulled over you.

You catch a glimpse of Camie’s frightened eyes as she is shoved into a sack next to you. Through the layers of fabric, you try to comfort her.

“It’s going to be okay, Camie,” you whisper as best as you can through the gag, though it comes out as a muffled sound. “We just need to stay calm.”

You can hear the muffled sounds of Camie’s sobs from the sack next to you. The kidnappers’ harsh voices are distant but clear enough to make out their cruel intentions.

One of them grumbles, “They’re going to make a fine addition to the auction. The buyers will love them.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. The realization of being taken to be auctioned as slaves hits hard, but you try to remain composed for Camie’s sake. You shift slightly in the sack, trying to offer some comfort with your presence despite the dire situation.

In the oppressive darkness and confined space, all you can do is hope that your crew will find you in time before it’s too late.

OMGGGG, what do you guys think??? This one was long! But it'll be all worth it! Next chapter is going to be a good one that you don't want to miss. Currently writing it as we speak! Welcome to my page and I can't wait for you guys to read what I have in store!

#one piece #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #sanji x reader #roronoa zoro #sabaody archipelago #strawhat pirates #black leg sanji #angst #drama #monkey d luffy #celestial dragons #one piece fanfiction #sanji x y/n #onepiece x reader

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skzdarlings · 1 year

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part iv: 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; 10k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamics plus explicit sexual content.

“All right, gang,” Jisung says. “Final year of school together, you know what that means?”

You and Felix are on your way to class when Jisung literally throws himself between you. He hands each of you a print-out before you can answer his question or even say hello.

“The Three Musketeers,” Felix reads. “Peas in a Pod, Rule of Three…?”

“This is our final year as a best friend trio in the hallowed halls of high school,” Jisung says. “And next year? Who knows what happens! Marriages! Mortgages! Babies!”

“Jisung, we just turned eighteen,” you say.

“Which is almost nineteen, which is almost twenty, then we’re practically forty.” He waves a hand around. “The point is, this is our last opportunity to solidify a name. For us. For the group. It’s necessary.”

“Is it though?” Felix asks, squinting as he skims the sheet. “BLT? Who’s the bacon?”

“I am, obviously,” Jisung says.

“Why is that obvious?” you ask.

“How is it not obvious, Lettuce?” Jisung says, scandalized. “Anyway, we can workshop the names. This is just to get the ball rolling. I expect results by lunchtime tomorrow at the latest.”

Jisung continues his endearing but admittedly inane blather, at least until Hyunjin comes sauntering up the hallway like it’s a catwalk, then he just frowns. Jisung has never warmed to the popular pretty boy and Hyunjin does not seem particularly inclined to rectify any bad impressions. He is astoundingly self-confident.

People move out of his way. Some girls downright swoon if he deigns to cast them even a fleeting glance. You can’t really judge any of them seeing as you were the same when Lee Minho still roamed these halls. You are not totally immune to Hyunjin either, though your attention is somewhat scattered these days.

You look at Felix.

He is re-reading the class schedule for this year, mumbling reminders under his breath. His hair is a sunny yellow blonde and freshly trimmed to frame his face, thanks to your help. He was cutting his own hair which made sense, not just logistically but stylistically, seeing as it was often a shaggy mess. You have taken to helping him so it looks a little neater.

You look at the fuzzier hair on his nape, recalling how your fingertips pressed there as you tipped his head for a better angle.

Your eyes meet when he looks up, but you are drawn apart when Hyunjin claps him on the shoulder with a greeting. They sat beside each other for most of their first year and formed something of a friendship – only something, because the plucky, likable Australian transfer student is a fabrication.

You once told yourself you would never fall for the schoolboy routine, that you would always remember his real identity, but you never considered what might happen if you cared for the real him anyway.

“Heeey Fee-lix,” Hyunjin says in an emphasized, overly friendly way. He draws out your name with the same saccharine pleasantness, all while ignoring a scowling Jisung.

Hyunjin leaves before anyone can reply, but Jisung still thumps Felix on the arm.

“Traitor,” he says.

“What? He’s nice,” Felix says, exchanging an amused look with you.

“You know, Jisungie, maybe you’d get along better if you stopped trying to trip him everywhere he goes,” you say, pointing to Jisung’s presently outstretched leg.

Jisung stands straight. “He tried to kill me,” he says.

“Not this again,” you say. “Jisung, he didn’t know about your peanut allergy—”

“He tried to put his nuts directly into my mouth,” Jisung says, then groans miserably. “That came out wrong.” He spins his cap to tug the brim over his eyes. “Do not repeat that. The last thing I need is freshmen writing fanfiction about us.”

You and Felix pat his back in a consoling manner.

Felix sits behind you in class, dutiful as ever. You are unpacking your bag when Hyunjin walks in with his girlfriend of the week. Rumours about Hyunjin are in never-ending circulation and he seems to help them along. You have caught him in a quiet moment once or twice, curled up in the library alone or lingering after hours in the art room, but that quieter soul seems contradictory to his showman side. Even now, he starts making out with his girlfriend in the middle of the classroom.

You can’t help but stare, mostly because the brazenness is so audacious that it is impossible not to stare, but it also makes you think. You have never kissed anyone, though you have entertained countless fantasies that spiral far beyond kissing, and while you know you are young in abstract way… staring at a happy couple your age makes you feel jealous, desirous, and a little ridiculous. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, forty…

Felix clears his throat and you realize you have been staring too long.

Not only that, but Hyunjin is staring back, even with his mouth pressed against someone else. It feels like flames erupt inside you. You drop heavily into your seat and stare at your desk, swallowing hard. When you chance a look, Hyunjin is leaning back in his own seat, smiling at you.

Felix clears his throat again.

“What?” you ask, sharp.

“Nothing,” Felix says, casual.

You roll your eyes. He kicks your chair. You turn around and knock his textbook off his desk.

“That’s not nice,” he says.

You stick your tongue out at him.

As seniors, you are allowed to leave campus for lunch. The three of you make your way to a nearby sandwich shop, one naturally packed with most of the senior grade level. You crowd into a tiny booth, so cramped you are halfway sitting on Felix’s lap. Your mood sours as you let yourself wallow in self-pity, thinking about how normal girls get to sit on normal boys’ laps and be excited about it.

You are sulking into your sandwich, thinking about how you are going to die alone and miserable and unkissed, when a chair is suddenly drawn up to your table and Hyunjin sits beside you.

Jisung’s mouth is stuffed full of ham, which you know because he drops his jaw despite all the food.

Hyunjin does not remark on it. He smiles at you and you alone.

“Hey,” he says. He really is stupidly handsome. Even up close, you see no awkward blemishes, not a hair out of place. His uniform tie is a little askew from tugging but that’s it.

Jisung kicks you under the table, probably because you are just staring blankly at Hyunjin.

“Sorry, hi,” you finally say.

His smiles widens. He tucks a bit of hair behind his ear.

“Hey, I won’t bug you and your friends,” Hyunjin says, ignoring when Jisung mumbles too late under his breath, “but I want to walk you back to school after lunch. Alone.”

You are so unprepared for the suggestion that find yourself staring again. He taps your chin to lift your head, still smiling.

“Is that a yes?” he asks.

“Uh, sorry, yeah, yes! Yeah, sure. Okay.” You aren’t even totally sure that is your answer, but it rolls out of you instinctively. Just as instinctively do you whip a startled look to your best friend. Jisung’s mouth is still hanging open. “Umm…” you say, but Hyunjin is already standing.

“Great,” he says. “See you soon.”

You watch him walk away. Jisung speaks through the food in his mouth, chokes, swallows, then clears his throat.

“What was that?” he finally says.

“I have no idea,” you reply, completely honestly.

You cannot compute this situation at all. Your approach to most social interactions is to scowl. Because of your father’s many stringent rules, you have never had an opportunity to be truly social. You play an appropriate role at the functions he forces you to attend, but that entails sitting alone in a corner and sipping soda. Growing up, you were not allowed to spend time at anyone’s house or go anywhere without supervision, so maintaining friendships was next to impossible.

The only exception has ever been Han Jisung. You sat beside each other in your first year and your miserable countenance coupled with his anxious demeanour meant that you spent six months not even talking to each other. Then one day he mustered the nerve to comment on the weather, you replied accordingly, and somehow that opened a floodgate to unleash the goofy boy that would become your best and only friend.

Your social experience is limited to that. You are someone who sits with your best friend in a corner, staring at an unattainable pretty boy at a distance, but you have never had to grapple with the reality of one asking for your attention.

You look at Felix, but he has drawn a somber mask over his face. He pokes at his sandwich. He can’t lecture you in front of Jisung but you know he has something to say. A part of you wishes it was jealousy or any personal feeling, but you know it will only be a reminder about your father, that he wouldn’t approve of you running around with any unknown boys.

When you leave the shop with Hyunjin, you already know Felix and Jisung will follow close behind. Felix has no choice, but you are certain Jisung will require little convincing. You pretend you do not see them trailing six feet back, partially obscuring themselves in the occasional bush, but Hyunjin naturally looks at them.

“You’re not…” he says slowly. “You’re not dating… one of them… are you? They’re really—”

“They’re just my crazy friends,” you say in an embarrassed rush. “Jisung is like my brother, ew, I could never – ew. Ew. Oh my god, ew. And Felix—”

You woke this morning with Felix’s face nuzzled in the back of your neck. The distance in that big bed closed long ago now. You only sleep apart when your father is home. You also never talk about it, not that you could articulate your feelings anyway. The intimacy and companionship provides more comfort to your soul than you could ever say.

You swallow.

“I’m not dating Felix,” you say. “I’m not dating anyone.” This thought prompts you to look at Hyunjin. Rather ungracefully, you blurt the obvious question, “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Why are you talking to me?”

He laughs into his palm. You realize belatedly just how accusatory you sounded, especially considering his attention might be wholly platonic. Embarrassed, you trip over your words, your tongue a suddenly clumsy thing.

Hyunjin just giggles.

“It’s okay,” he says. “No one ever calls me out like that. I like it.” He bumps shoulders with you. Wait, is he flirting? You have no idea. You stare at the ground with laser intensity. He just giggles again. “We broke up before lunch—”

“Wow, you moved on fast,” you say. Dry remarks tumble out of you easier than anything else. You bite your tongue, embarrassed again.

Hyunjin still looks amused.

“It wasn’t really serious,” he says. “I’m looking for some with similar life experience, to be honest…”

You crinkle your brow and look at him. His hands are in his pockets, his slouch casual, but you swear his eyes sparkle when he looks at you.

“I saw you,” he says. “At that horse race thing. This last weekend? You were in the box with your dad, right? Felix was with you too.”

The horse race was an end-of-summer event your father sponsored, one of his community philanthropic efforts. You spent the whole time frowning under a sun hat, only smiling when Felix muttered something scalding about a particularly overdramatic hat in the crowd.

A crowd Hyunjin was apparently in.

You have always known Hyunjin comes from money, but there is money and there is money. The Hwang family might be rich but your father is powerfully wealthy. You run in different circles. You have never seen Hyunjin at any event so you would never even think to look for him. They must be moving up in the world.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, not even a dry retort.

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin says. He touches your shoulder and your attention zeroes in there. You can’t decide if you like him touching you. An hour ago you were idly daydreaming about kisses and touches, but the reality is a different thing. It took you a long time to warm to Felix, bit by bit, touch by touch. Even those touches terrify you in their own way. You are scared of needing them. You do not know how you can simultaneously desire touch and fear it more than anything.

Hyunjin uses a soothing tone, drawing your gaze away from his hand.

“I get it,” Hyunjin says. “You don’t want people to know you’re rich, right? Honestly… I think that’s really cool of you. My dad likes to show-off so I guess I kinda do the same.” You glance at his brand-name leather satchel. “Everything is about appearances to him. It doesn’t even matter what’s true as long as everything looks the way he wants. There’s an… image… for the family. And I’m an only child so there’s expectations. Maybe I’m not making sense.”

“No,” you say, your thoughts drifting to your own home life. “It makes sense.”

“I thought maybe you and me could hang out—”

“I don’t really hang out a lot,” you interrupt. You have been able to spend more time with Jisung now that Felix can accompany you, but it has been at cafes and other controlled locations. You have not gone to any parties since your father beat Felix. He has never hurt him as badly as that first incident, but he has struck him more than once. You have not taken the risk.

“Think about it at least,” Hyunjin says. “Think about me. I think we could be a good match—”

“You mean…” It might be ungenerous, but you weigh his words and form a conclusion. “If you date someone like me, it will get your father off your back?”

He is quiet for a second, surprised, then he laughs again. He finally drops his hand. His next smile is a little lopsided but more genuine.

“Maybe we could help each other,” he says.

“I didn’t say I need any help,” you reply. You cannot help the way you bristle, like a vulnerable animal rearing its defensive spikes. “You don’t know me.”

“I know me,” he says. “And I recognize… well. Think about it.” He looks behind you, his features scrunching with clear repugnance. “I’m gonna go before your not-boyfriend pops a blood vessel. Talk to you later?”

You are still processing the whole exchange but you manage to nod. He turns on a swift heel and struts ahead.

You turn, expecting to find Jisung frothing at the mouth given Hyunjin’s departing words. But it is Felix silently seething, Jisung just cringing beside him.

Felix cracks his own neck, a couple sharp jerks, then he forces that empty smile onto his face.

When you are settled in the car at the end of the day, you are not surprised his first words are, “You know I have to tell your father if you start seeing some guy, yeah?”

“Some guy?” you say just as icily. “You know his name.”

You have been on edge on all afternoon, discombobulated from the exchange with Hyunjin. Felix has been unusually silent, so rigid and ungiving that he reminds you of that mysterious fourteen year old boy who barely did more than blink.

But he is not that boy. You are both growing. You can feel the seconds passing you by, every aching minute that your life does not change from its stagnation, every moment of his own life that Felix has surrendered.

You want to jump out of the moving car. You want to slide across the seat and bury your face in Felix’s neck, no matter that someone can see, and you want him to hug you back.

You stay seated.

“Do what you want,” you say with a sigh.

He sighs too, resting his forehead against the car window.

The house is empty tonight. You can’t concentrate on homework so you shuffle down to the gym where Felix is practicing kicks. You watch him, his nimble athleticism, the perfect arc of each high kick.

One wall of the house gym is a mirror and your eyes meet in the reflection. He holds your gaze for a moment, but then he goes back to counting under his breath, kicking again.

“I thought you liked Hyunjin,” you say.

He stops kicking. His hands are taped up for boxing, so he diverts his attention there, slowly unweaving the tape while he catches his breath.

“This has nothing to do with me,” he says. “You know that, yeah, so I don’t know what—”

“Don’t you want to date someone one day too?”

He doesn’t look up. He drops the tape on the floor and starts on the next hand.

“No,” he finally says after a long pause.

“No?” you repeat. “You don’t want—”

“I can’t want anything,” he says with a mean bite. “I have a job. And responsibilities.” The tape is too light to throw but he flicks it as hard as he can, shaking his head. “Why are you asking me stupid questions? You know how things are.”

Yes, you do.

You know what you feel when you look at Felix. You have been friends with Jisung for years and his proximity has never induced the same feelings. Bursts of heat find you at unexpected times, usually moments when your intimacy feels its most casual. But you never have to think twice about why a crush on your bodyguard is a bad idea, because Felix always reminds you without saying anything. When you get too close, his eyes go glassy with some remembrance and he swiftly pulls away.

You know this does not stop him from thoughtlessly leaning into your touches. He slants towards you with a certain kind of hunger, one you know is satisfied when you touch given how he sighs or relaxes. Then, like someone so used to starvation that emptiness feels natural, he remembers himself and withdraws. You wouldn’t care – or at least, you shouldn’t care – except it leaves you just as empty.

You do not know the details of Felix’s past, but you do know that you carry a similar pain. He recognized it at a glance, all those years ago, seeing past your bravado and calling out your fear. We’re both scared, he said.

You see it now, in the tension across his shoulders, in the way he avoids your gaze. The sharpness of his tone is a twin to your own.

“Yeah,” you say. “I know how things are. You’re a pain in my ass and I hate you.”

It is such an unconvincing lie that he finally lifts his head, meeting your gaze in the mirror. You look at each other for a long moment.

You wonder what someone brave would say or do. Maybe you would tell him the truth and fuck the consequences. Maybe you would kiss him like you were experienced, like you were anyone but an awkward little girl with clammy hands and shaking knees.

You turn to leave. He sighs and says, “Your father said yes.”

You freeze.

“He likes the idea of Hyunjin,” Felix continues. “He thinks he’s… appropriate.”

You remember Hyunjin making out with someone in the middle of the classroom, and you remember how he was once expelled for fighting. You laugh humourlessly, the sound punching out of you. You slap a hand over your mouth to contain it. You suddenly feel like crying and you don’t know why, except that your emotions are in constant flux.

“You mean he thinks he’s rich,” you say.

“I mean… he doesn’t… think it,” Felix says dryly. “Hyunjin is rich.”

Felix can move quietly even in military grade tactical boots. It should be easy in his gym shoes, but he walks heavily as he comes up behind you.

“Why don’t you sound happy?” Felix asks.

You turn around and meet his gaze directly. Your stare is heated, rife with all your mixed-up emotions, but he does not flinch or look away.

“You’re an idiot,” you say. “I hate you.”

You have never fooled him with that proclamation. He draws his lips into a thin line, just staring back at you for a moment. When you turn to leave, he grabs your arm. Sparks ignite under his touch, shooting all the way up your arm, tickling your neck, raising each hair. It feels so different from Hyunjin.

You look at him and he lets go, flexing his hand at his side.

“I, uh, I want to show you… something.” He pushes some sweaty hair off his forehead. His deep voice seems lower, the sound scratching at the base of your spine. Tingles run all the way up to your head.

“Show me?” you say. “Show me what exactly?”

“Self-defence,” he says, brow furrowed, like his train of thought was obvious. “If your dad lets you go out with some guy—”

“With Hyunjin,” you say, rolling your eyes. “The dumb gangly gazelle you’ve watched lumber all over the field in gym class?”

“You should still know how to protect yourself,” he says.

“Isn’t that what you’re for?”

“I am going to guess you might be alone with him once or twice,” Felix says dryly, “unless you want to keep me in the room then too.”

The suggestion makes you feel hot, flushed with embarrassment. You duck your gaze to the floor.

“You’re being silly,” you say. “I haven’t even gone out with him yet. And I’ve never even kissed someone.” Felix must know that, but admitting it feels different. You look up, feeling floaty and detached from your body, like you are watching yourself look at Felix.

He clears his throat and looks away, snapping you back.

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll practice another day. But we will practice.”

You know he means self-defence, but your brain supplies the image of kissing practice. Your face must show that thought, maybe a sliver of panic in your gaze, because the tips of his ears turn suddenly pink. He clears his throat again, shaking his head and turning away. You leave quicker than you came, rushing all the way to the top floor to hide in your bedroom where you intend to mull over your day with maximum angst.

By nighttime, everything seems petty and stupid. You are laying in bed on your phone when Felix gets back from his security check. He says nothing, climbing into bed without even looking at you. You just roll your eyes, done with the drama. He looks over just in time for you to butt your head against his arm like a disgruntled baby goat. His laugh is nothing more than a sharp exhale.

It takes some coaxing, mostly in the form of whining, but Felix puts his arm around you. Some of the shadows finally leave his face, a smile even daring to poke through.

You fiddle with the neck of his t-shirt and he does the same with the ends of your hair.

“Your father had an idea, by the way,” Felix says, “for a first date.”

You groan, planting your face on his chest. He laughs, a proper hearty sound.

“What, a picnic in the family dungeons?” The sarcasm rolls off your tongue. “Torture? Flaying the guy alive? Chopping off his—”

“Ouch.”

“I was gonna say limbs—” You swat his chest.

“Okay, okay, ouch, hey!” He is still chuckling when you settle again. He squeezes your arm.

A moment of comfortable silence passes. You resume your absent-minded fidgeting, twisting the loose material of his t-shirt around your knuckles. You do not dare meet his eye when you ask, “I know what you said earlier but… if you could… what would you do for a first date?”

His whole body goes stiff with tension, then he just exhales, a pitiful sound of resignation.

“There’s no point in thinking about it,” Felix says. “And I don’t know anyway. What do people do on dates?”

“Oh come on, you’ve been watching the dramas with me,” you say, keeping your voice light. “You could have some ideas.”

“Well, I don’t,” he says, not unkindly but firmly.

“Fine,” you say. You roll over so you are half on-top of him, a leg thrown over his. You make a show of rolling your eyes, but his returned gaze is too soft for any real animosity to linger. “For the record, I would plan an amazing first date if I didn’t have my dad – blegh – orchestrating the whole thing.”

“I believe you,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m sure you would sweep Hyunjin off his feet, hmm?”

“Hmm,” you echo. “Sure.” You raise your head so you are peering down at him. “I don’t even know what Hyunjin would like. He’s pretty but he’s… I dunno… a liar or something. Like he obviously just wants to date me because we’re both rich, but he wouldn’t admit it till I said it. Who knows what other secrets he could be keeping.”

“Hwang Hyunjin,” Felix muses. “Deep, dark secrets… maybe… hmm… his hair routine?”

You laugh before you can stop yourself. “Don’t be mean,” you say.

“Uhh, I’m never mean,” Felix says. “You’re the one who called him a liar.”

“Or something,” you argue playfully. He says ahh, like that differentiation mattered at all. “Maybe he collects teeth from all his dozens of girlfriends. Or their hair. Maybe he’s a cannibal.”

Felix sighs with theatrical exasperation. “From hair care to cannibalism, really?” he asks.

“Could be,” you say, trying and failing to stifle your giggles, especially when it makes him laugh. “He might gobble me all up on the first date.”

“That would be very rude,” Felix says. “He should wait until the third date at least.”

“Oh, is that what a gentleman like you would do?” You laugh. “Maybe provide a written invitation to the event?”

“Of course,” he jokes. “If I planned on eating you, you’d be the first to know.”

The double-entendre is clearly unintentional, smothering the giggly playfulness with a sudden heady air. You both hear the accidental suggestion, and you both stare at each other, and you both take too long to say something so it turns awkward. You become very aware of all the places you are touching, so aware that you cannot compel yourself to move thanks to sudden nerves.

Felix reliably comes to his senses first. He nudges you gently, forcing himself to laugh as he slides out of the bed.

“Umm, sorry,” he says. He shoves a hand through his hair, the blonde fluffing with his rough touch. “I just need to… uh… bathroom? I’ll be... um, back.”

You return to your side of the bed where you curl into a ball of appropriately eighteen-year-old angst. Your current state of peril has nothing to do with power-corrupt businessmen and their fragile egos, and everything to do with a boy in your bed. You shove your face in a pillow and keep it there until he returns. You do not look at him, still too riled up in the silent tension.

You are convinced you will never fall asleep but it inevitably sneaks up on you. All at once, you are blinking awake in the morning light. You drifted closer to Felix in your sleep but kept your hands to yourself. You are both laying on your fronts, faces turned to each other. He sleeps so lightly that he wakes from the faintest shift in the cadence of your breathing.

The sleepy quiet of morning has none of the awkwardness of late night silence. It feels hazy and gentle in its golden breath, held long enough for your hands to meet between you. It is the only place you are touching, fingertip to palm to knuckle and back again. Your whole head goes fuzzy with tingles when he traces the pad of your palm.

You think about the many romance stories you have surreptitiously read on your laptop, flipping between smut and homework. In all those stories, it seems that when the hapless leads find themselves sharing a bed, they manage to entangle themselves overnight, always suggestively, always accidentally.

You do not appear to have that kind of luck, that accident of circumstance where you are not responsible for your own actions. Instead you are laying in the sunlight, lit up so brightly that there could be no mistaking intention, his dark eyes catching the light as he looks at you as if he knows what you are thinking.

It has to be deliberate. Nothing will change on its own.

Is this combination of terror and desire normal? Is it simply a matter of age and inexperience? Or is it in indication of damage, something inherently broken in you? When your fingers interlock, it feels wonderful. It also activates alarms in your head, none of them equipped with an off switch.

You close your eyes. He breathes and you know him so well that you recognize him by that, by the way he inhales sharply, like he has suddenly remembered where and who he is. You know it means he is about to pull away.

Sudden, sharp, panicked adrenaline propels you out of your timid repose and into his arms. It is not so different from the millions of times he has held you, except this time you are frantic and strange, your heart beating wildly as you hide your face in his neck and cling to him like he will float away if you don’t hold tight enough.

It surprises him. He has the skill to deflect an attack but he lets you barrel into him, taking your weight with little more than an oof. For a moment, he does nothing, his arms open at his sides. You feel his shoulder twitch.

He says your name in sleep-rough voice, barely more than a whisper. A reminder, scolding you but half-heartedly. You know what he sounds like when he is mad, when emotion slips through the cracks of his careful facades. This emotion is not anger.

“Felix,” is your reply.

His next breath shudders out of him, sounding almost painful. Then the arm beneath you shifts. He touches your lower back tentatively, through your t-shirt yet hesitating like the contact might burn skin. Another breath, then his palm is flat on your back and he is rolling onto his side to face you.

Your heart is leaping around like it is being electrocuted, sparks of electricity zapping to every extremity as his other hand curls around your bicep. His eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is open, nothing but another shaking breath passing his lips.

You touch his face with trembling fingers, the very tips lightly brushing his temple. You know, on some level, this is nothing deserving of alarm despite the cacophony still ringing in your head. This is little more than an intimate embrace, fully-clothed and only barely touching each other.

You are not even kissing. With your adrenaline in the dregs, you cannot push yourself across that space. Instead, you find yourself staring into his face when his eyes open. You look at each other, forced to reckon with your proximity, looking at his mouth while he looks at yours. There is no denying this could be a kiss, that it would require very little more than a lean.

His knuckles skim your side as his hand slips from your arm to your waist. Your breath catches when he lays his hand on your hip, not moving or pushing but holding.

Still such simple touches. You wonder how other people can do more so easily when this alone is overwhelming.

Your morning alarm is not due to ring for another twenty minutes. There is nothing to disturb you. You press your fingers into his shoulder. This already has him tensing, then you scratch your nails along the nape of his neck, up into his hair, and it unravels him with a shiver, eyes closing and cheek pressing hard into his pillow.

He wrenches away all at once, making a noise like it hurts to do so. You feel dizzy as you stare at the indentation on his pillow while he swings his leg off the bed. He doubles over, elbows on his knees, hands on his face. He digs his fists into his eyes and scrubs hard. He takes a minute to catch his breath.

Eventually he stands. He pauses like he intends to speak but then he just pivots into the bathroom. The door shuts with a heavy click.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling. You have no idea if he is coming right back, but you know this intimate moment has conclusively ended. Your whole body is alight, the places he touched you still radiating sensation. There is such a desperate pulsing between your legs that you can’t help but touch there, palm pressing hard to quell the incessant thrum of want.

You really do not intend to do more. You only just barely know the mechanics for touching yourself thanks to reading, but you are afforded little opportunity for discovery due to obvious reasons. You do not know how fast he will return, but you doubt you have enough time to work it all out.

You slide a hand under your clothes only to temper the worst of that wanting, applying pressure clumsily. Your eyes close when you feel how ridiculously wet you are, far more than you have ever felt before. Your mind then projects the unbidden image of Felix, wondering if he is on the other side of that bathroom door touching himself in a similar way.

It makes you gasp, turning your head, heel of your palm still pressing down hard inside your shorts. You open your eyes just in time for Felix to step back into the room.

He looks at you and completely freezes. You have never felt more like a deer caught in the headlights.

He turns and stumbles back into the bathroom, uncharacteristically clumsy. You yank your hand out of your shorts and roll onto your front, shrieking into your pillows with a combination of frustration and embarrassment.

What is my life, you ask yourself. You really have no answer.

The first date with Hyunjin is not a proper date at all. Your father extends an invitation to Hyunjin and his parents, requesting their presence at another one of his good-press charity functions.

This one is a silent auction and banquet in a luxurious hotel ballroom. Despite the fact you attend the same school, you are formally introduced at the party, the whole charade making you feel like a ridiculous character in a historical drama.

You are already more than a little grumpy because Felix is not here, your father logically determining that his own security entourage was plenty for the night. There is also the matter of Felix’s cover. Hyunjin knows him as a student and your friend, not a bodyguard. You will have to tell him eventually if this goes anywhere but—

That thought abruptly sends you on one of your overthinking spirals. If your father intends to force this relationship along, you do not know if he will fire Felix rather than explain him, if one day you will suddenly go home and your bedroom will be empty, Felix gone without a trace and you with no way to contact him.

Your throat strains with a choked back sob as you struggle to remember every little detail about Felix – the animes he claims he only watches because Jisung does, but that he definitely secretly enjoys, the horrified lemon-sour face he pulls when he accidentally drinks your coffee instead of his sugar-laden tea, the way he likes taking apart electronics and rebuilding them, his sharp mind, his goofy wit, his complete and total weirdness that he skillfully masks in public but drops at home. That house could be full of people but if Felix was no longer there, it would feel horribly empty.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asks. He looks resplendent in white, his dark hair a sharp contrast to his dress shirt and pants. Other people are swooning at the sight of him. You have not looked at him for longer than a few seconds at a time.

“Sorry,” you say. You take a swig of water like it’s hard liquor. You try to smile but you can feel how crooked it is. “Just… the parties are a lot.” It is only a partial lie. Your mind is somewhere else, but the parties are a lot to handle.

Hyunjin smiles. He props his chin in his hand and leans towards you. “Good company makes them better, though,” he says.

“Yeah.” You look away again, staring out the window at the cityscape and thinking about Felix. “It does, doesn’t it?”

The ordeal is a success by your father’s standards. You sit with Hyunjin all night. You dance a few clumsy dances where you scuff his expensive dress shoes with your missteps. You wander onto a balcony and he gives you his coat. Beat for beat, moment by moment, it all goes perfectly.

A moment that genuinely moves you is the only one your father does not care about. Conversation between you and Hyunjin is stilted for a long while, then someone mentions one of the paintings up for auction and he lights up. No one else acknowledges it, so you ask him about it. You do not miss the warning look his father shoots him, but when you smile at Hyunjin like he is the most charming person alive, it placates him.

Hyunjin does not observe most of this. Once you let him talk about the art, he cannot stop. He becomes someone else when immersed in this subject, more animated, more open, much more sincere. You could almost like this Hyunjin.

You like him even more when he forgets his propriety and snorts at your derision for a few pompous assholes. This party is crawling with creepy elites, only a few known to Hyunjin. You catch him up on the latest high society nonsense, pointing out the affairs and scandals, as well as telling him which few individuals are somewhat more tolerable.

You are leaning against a wall, licking the icing off a cupcake, when he suddenly smiles at you, big and huge. You choke on the sugar. You feel hot under your skin, wondering if you were accidentally suggestive with your licking, but he doesn’t comment on that at all.

“I’ve never known someone who sees people so well,” he says. “Especially somewhere like this. Everyone is a bit—”

“Off in their own world?” You share a giggle. “I’m just bored,” you say, deflecting the compliment because Hyunjin doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You do not see anything special in your observations, just your own loneliness as you sit back and watch the world go by.

You don’t tell him that. You distract him by pointing to another figure across the room, a well-dressed older man flanked by his own entourage. You can separate the immensely wealthy from the nouveau riche by appearance. The former are sleekly sophisticated at events like this, almost nonchalant in their presentation, whereas the latter overdress themselves to flaunt their wealth, as if they feel the need to prove they belong. The former know where they belong.

This man is undeniably the former.

“You see that man over there?” you whisper, pointing discreetly with your cupcake. “That’s Mister Miroh. He is my father’s biggest competitor and most hated rival. They are exactly the same person and trust me, that’s not a compliment. They hate each other more than anything.” You say this very casually then take a bite of your cupcake.

“Huh?” Hyunjin’s brow furrows, making you laugh. “If they hate each other, why was he invited?”

“Because rich people are insane,” you say. “It’s just about keeping up appearances. Yeah, they’re rivals, but that also makes them equals, so it’s bad form to neglect them in public company.” Hyunjin nods here, clearly understanding. You remember what he said about his own parents and appearances. You must admit, it is nice talking to someone who understands you from his own first-hand experience. “Also,” you say, “I’m sure it’s like that saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If Miroh is here, then he’s not off somewhere disrupting my father’s business while his back is turned.”

“This is exhausting,” Hyunjin says, shaking his head.

“No kidding.” You laugh again. When Hyunjin looks at you with a dimpled smile, you smile back. It feels friendly, not like his forced flirtatious grins earlier in the evening. You like this Hyunjin more. “You want some cupcake?” you ask, holding up the very big, very rich dessert.

Hyunjin eyes it then shakes his head. He tucks some hair behind his ears.

“I’m supposed to be on a diet,” he explains, laughing at your expression because you cannot hide your horror. “It’s not a bad thing—” he starts.

“You are so skinny, a hard wind could blow you out the window,” you say, shoving the cupcake at him. “You said I was good at seeing people, well, I can see you want the cupcake. So eat it or I’ll push you off the balcony.”

He looks around to see if anyone is looking but his parents are occupied with their own conversations. He looks at you conspiratorially then acquiesces, finishing the cupcake in just a couple big bites. You applaud and he shakes his head, laughing and spitting little flakes of cupcake. It makes you laugh more. He is in good humour the whole time, even if it takes a second to swallow all that cake.

“What else do you see?” he says when you are both settled. He is relaxed from all the giggling.

“What do you mean?” you ask, trying to keep a straight face as you remember the cannibalism conversation, supposing he might not want to hear that precisely.

“When you look at me,” he says. He tips his chin as if striking a pose. “Tell me my fortune.”

“I’m not a psychic,” you say, nudging his shoulder, but nonetheless you oblige and strike your own pose, a finger on your chin as you consider him. “Hmmm.” You look him up and down, the showman smile, the little crumb of cake on his lip. “I think you’re very smart and very handsome,” you start.

“I like it so far,” he says.

Smiling, you roll your eyes. “And,” you say, “I think you know your strengths and how to use them to make people look at you. Or at least – to look at what you want them to see.” You watch his brow furrow, his hand disappearing into the length of his sleeve as his fingers curl up. “I think you have more going on than anyone knows,” you say. “And I think those parts of you might be the best, and I’m sorry that you have someone telling you it’s the part you have to hide.” His gaze is cast low at nothing in particular. It seems to scan the floor thoughtfully. You laugh to brighten the mood. “Parents,” you say. “Image. Expectation. Whatever.”

“Yeah.” He smiles at you again. It is not one of his fake, smarmy grins, but it is not his carefree smile either. It is polite, and it doesn’t reach his eyes, darkly reflecting a familiar sadness back to you. “Whatever,” he echoes. Then he stands straight and offers his hand, his face once more shielded with a showy, flirtatious demeanour. “Wanna dance?”

You do, and it pleases the parents, and the night passes. You and Hyunjin share an amiable glance before going your separate ways.

When you arrive home, Felix is sitting in the kitchen reading a book for school. He is not obliged to do the readings but he seems to enjoy it, certainly more than you. You never thought you would be so happy to see such a simple sight, Felix at the counter with a book. Fortunately, you are a smart enough to mask your enthusiasm around your father.

You don’t have to worry because your father pays you no mind. With your purpose evidently served, your father dismisses you for the night and calls Felix to his office for a debriefing.

You step inside your walk-in closet to change clothes. You frown at your dress, once more thinking about all those romance stories. If the dress had a zipper, you would need help, then you could ask Felix to unzip it, and it would be an excuse to initiate contact without you truly propositioning him. But the dress slides off easily, so you put on shorts and a t-shirt, then you are sitting in bed scrolling on your phone.

You are in a good mood as you usually are when you get back from a party, happy it is over. The energy you stored to endure the socializing can now simmer to a pleasant hum. You are also extra happy to see Felix after dreading his demise all night. Those worries seem silly now. You will always need a bodyguard and Felix is reliable.

Then you feel terrible for thinking that, because you should want Felix to go. He should not be here at all, trapped with you in this nightmare. Then you start thinking about Felix and his past nightmares. If Felix disappeared without a trace one day, it would not be to freedom. It might be to something worse again.

Even though you feel uneasy, gazing at his empty side of the bed, you fall asleep before Felix returns. You wake in the darkness to Felix leaning over you. He carefully extracts your phone to place it on the bedside table. You fell asleep awkwardly slumped, clutching it.

You are barely awake, still half-dreaming about him disappearing, about what worse nightmares might chase him from your arms. You wrap yourself around him completely, arms around his middle, head on his chest, leg curled around his, the totality of your embrace surprising him. He chuckles, a low sound that vibrates in his chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, settling as comfortably as he can with you twisted around him like an amorous vine.

“Nothing,” you mumble into his shirt. “Just missed you.”

“It was just one night,” he says.

“Mmph,” is your sleepy rejoinder. You reach for his hand and slap it onto your back, groaning. He gets the message and strokes your back with a gentle sweep. You start to doze again, snuggled and warm, then he clears his throat. You recognize the sound as his warm-up to vocalizing something awkward.

“I guess, uhhh, I guess things went well… with Hyunjin… tonight, yeah?” he says. He clears his throat again. “Your father gave me an itinerary for future dates and arrangements…”

“I’m gonna blow this fucking house up,” you grumble.

He chuckles. His touch is absent-minded now, a lazy caress as his attention strays.

“Did he, uh, did he… kiss you?” Felix asks. His hand stops altogether, freezing low on your spine. “Not that I—I’m just wondering. Because of what you said before. It’s, like, a big deal to girls I guess, right. So I wasn’t sure—”

“No, Felix,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I’m still very unkissed and very pathetic, so don’t worry about my honour.”

You lift your head to give him a withering stare, but his face is very close and he is already looking at you. You have not spoken about the previous morning. Every second comes rushing back when you meet his eye, when his gaze flickers down to your mouth for a brief but hypnotizing second.

“You’re not pathetic,” he says, just above a whisper. That ridiculous voice of his rumbles so low when he speaks this softly. It’s like the sound is directly connected to something inside you, tugging when he speaks, waking up every sleeping nerve.

“Sure,” you reply, at a loss for any other retort.

His mouth is a perfect bow. You look away from it, resorting to your natural expression: a glare, intensely and resolutely locked on his eyes.

“Well, I’ve never kissed anyone,” Felix says, drole. “Am I pathetic?”

“That’s different,” you say, not meaning anything by it. It’s an automatic response, meant to simply dismiss his very good point.

But you feel him tense. The silence feels heavy. You belatedly realize how he might have interpreted that. That’s different because you’re not a person like the rest of us.

You are trying to think of an appropriate apology when he gently moves you, shaking himself free of your embrace.

“You should sleep over there tonight,” he says. “Your father is home and I’m— I’m. I should be over here. Anyway.”

He turns over, putting his back to you. Even though it feels like your whole head is on fire, you muster the resolve to slide closer. Then you lean over and kiss his cheek.

You flop onto your back and stare at the ceiling.

“Sorry,” you say.

You look at him but he hasn’t moved. Your lips are tingling from that simple, stupid touch and you feel so ridiculous that you want to shriek. You suffice to close your eyes, shaking your head like that will erase the last sixty seconds of your life. You look at the ceiling again, face twisted up with pain.

That falls away when Felix flips over. He was so still and so quiet that it genuinely startles you. You swear your heart stops when he leans over you with a determined expression, one you usually only see when he is working out hard. Your stopped breath is a cluster in your throat, your voice tangled in it. Your mouth is open and eyes wide when he cups the back of your neck and lifts your head.

Your heart starts all over again, pumping so fast that you are scared it will leap right out of your chest.

He leans down. He kisses your forehead for one second, two, three. You count it. Your fingers curl up. Your eyes feel huge. You look at him when he pulls away, his expression morose. He does not meet your gaze.

“I’m sorry too,” he says.

He lays your head on your pillow and rolls away, his back to you once more.

You fall asleep on opposite sides of the huge bed, so close and so far. Your sleep is fitful and uneasy and you keep waking to check if he is still there.

It is very early when you fully wake, the pale blue of morning only just seeping into the gloaming. It is a quiet hour but despite its gentle ambiance, you are woken with a fright. You settle when you realize it is just Felix grabbing you. He crossed the bed to gather you into his arms, mumbling an apology but nonetheless wrapping himself around you.

You realize he had a nightmare. He has not had one in a while. Your back is to him so you reach around to pat him consolingly.

You shiver when he exhales, his warm breath brushing the back of your neck, but you do not linger on the sensation. The previous morning and all its stirrings are far from mind now. He is upset so you comfort him, simple as that, letting him wrap his arms around your middle and rest his head against yours. Your thighs sit neatly against his, bodies slotted together neatly, like it is the most natural place to be.

“Can you, uhh, just…” He clears his throat. “Can you talk… to me… please.”

Felix does not like to talk about his nightmares but he does like a distraction. You are the same. There are times you wake in a fit and he speaks in a soft voice to lull you back to rest. Your voice is not as unique as his, lacking the deep dulcet colour, but he seems to like listening anyway.

You tell him about the party, all the frivolous details and gossip. Two women wore the same dress, what a scandal, someone dropped a pearl earring, what a loss. This couple broke up, that couple is having an affair. Miroh was there and predictably austere the entire night—

Felix was beginning to relax but he tightens his grip when you mention Miroh.

Your voice trails off.

Your father has many enemies but Miroh is his only true rival. You are not directly involved in any business but you pay attention to your father and his work. You know about the political bribery and the underhanded dealings and the illegal trading. You know Miroh is the same except he is also a military man, that he has dark connections and turns a profit on some very backward schemes. Of course, your father depicts his rival as a worse villain than himself, so it is hard to say precisely what Miroh does, but you know the look of a bad man regardless.

You have suspected for some time that Miroh played a part in Felix’s dark past. You do not know what or how or why, as you have never pushed Felix to tell you, but you know Felix well. Your father has many enemies and Felix is always alert, but Miroh receives extra vigilance. Every trace of your companion will disappear before your eyes, replaced with an emotionless soldier.

You feel all that tension in his body now. He is holding his breath.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask in a small voice. It is a vague admittance to your suppositions.

A little tension leaves his body with a humourless laugh, the breath bursting on your neck.

“No,” he says. “Not… not right now.”

“Okay,” you reply. There is a moment of silence. Your heart is beating hard, his pounding as fast, his chest pressed against your back. You shift in his lap. “What do you want then?”

That laugh again, a little more pained. Then he sighs.

“I don’t know,” he says in a rough voice. “Just… distract me.”

Just like that, the energy shifts, at least inside of you. You know very well what would distract him, having witnessed the other morning just how to rattle your bodyguard. The recollection alone has you flushed with heat, embarrassed and nervous and exhilarated all at the same time.

It has always been hard for you to do the simple, normal thing. You cannot smile for a long time, you cannot make pleasant small talk, you cannot kiss the boy you like. But the difficult feats, the outlandish actions, those you have always done with ease. You argue with your terrifying father, you break out of cages, you throw yourself into dangerous situations with little sense of self-preservation.

You cannot turn and sweet-talk him. You cannot lean over and kiss him. You cannot smile and implore him.

You can stare ahead through the pale light, warm with memory and fantasy alike, and slide your hand down between your legs. With a little swivel of your hips, you press against his lap. The effect is remarkably instantaneous, the adrenaline of his fears seemingly diverting course at the merest suggestion.

He makes a choked noise, then his hand is overtop yours. You always forget how strong he is, all that hidden power and dexterity. He clutches your hand with ungiving control, down between your legs, over your shorts, preventing you from going further.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, his stern voice as affecting as a touch. It makes you whimper.

His hips shift. His baggy shorts do little for modesty and you can feel him twitch with interest, stiffening against your backside. You try to move your hand but he pins your wrist and says your name warningly.

“I won’t touch you,” you whisper. “You don’t have to touch me.”

“Other people are home—”

“Then stop talking and be quiet,” you say. It is always easier to be brazen when you are arguing or asserting a point, so when he releases your hand, you slide it into your shorts without a second thought. It is only once you’re there that you realize you don’t really know what you’re doing. Your belligerence only takes you so far.

Then Felix breathes a surrendering sigh. He squeezes your hips with trembling hands and rolls away, onto his back. You spill onto your back too and look at him. You feel vulnerable and uncertain until he closes his eyes and touches himself through his shorts. The sight makes it easy to stir a reaction under your clumsy fingers, watching his hand cup and stroke the shape of himself through his shorts. You slip the other hand down there too, spreading yourself to your own exploratory touch. You press and rub and circle, your heartbeat thundering erratically when he opens his eyes and looks at you.

Your lips part but you withhold all noise, breathing hard into the dark as his hand dips under his waistband. His eyes are cast low to where your own hands move under your clothes, your fingers moving more frantically than his lazy stroking.

When you finally find a place and pattern that feels right, your breathing gets heavier, a soft whine slipping into your exhale. His reflexes are quick as ever. His arm slips under your head and curls around your neck, hand covering your mouth to catch the surprised yelp that passes your lips.

“Shh,” he says.

And for some reason that takes you over the building crest. Your body curls, tight as coil even while a white heat unravels inside you. You gasp into his palm, eyes closing, swallowing down your own sounds.

You are still twitching with aftershocks when you grab his hand with your very wet fingers. You are not thinking about that, you are still hazy and powered by instinct, prying his hand off your face.

But he realizes it. He makes another choked-up sound and looks at the closed door, his breathing coming out hard through his nose. He pulls his arm back, closes his eyes. His hand, wet with you, just hovers for a second.

You watch him. His mouth is open and his eyes are closed and his hair is falling in a messy sweep around his handsome face. You are slow in your approach, giving him time to open his eyes, to see your own hand near his face.

He exhales sharply and his eyes close tight. He grabs your hand and pulls it to his mouth, your own sex pulsing with renewed interest when he licks across your fingers then lets two curl into his mouth, just resting on his tongue. He finishes a second later, shoulders hunching and face screwed up, freckles dancing like a dark constellation.

You bring your shaking hand to your own lips, tentatively kissing the fingers he had in his mouth. He blinks his eyes open slowly, gazing at the ceiling for a second then looking at you. When he sees you, your lips pursed against your fingertips, his mouth opens and closes with some unspoken thought, desperate to vocalize. In the end he swallows it down and closes his eyes. He nods sharply.

“Okay,” he says, his voice ragged. “Thank you. Sleep. You should… You should. Um. I’ll just—”

He shakes his head and rolls out of bed, then darts into the bathroom. The shower starts. You look at your clock and see you have more than an hour to your alarm.

You lay your head on your pillow but you do not fall back asleep.

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

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itsalwaysteatimeinwonderland · 4 months

Text

Finding Peace Pt.8: Safe (Spike x y/n)

Request: No. Part 8 of the Multi Fic.

Summary: Spike continues to search with y/n but the obstacles keep piling up. Will he have to make the ultimate sacrifice?

TW: None

Word Count: 1.7k

Previous | Next

*I apologize for taking so long. Big girl job got in the way. Enjoy!*

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"What would it take?" Spike's words kept ringing in your head. You laid in bed, disconnected and wondering. You knew what it would take, a soul. For him to have humanity, connection, love. All the things that a vampire was incapable of. You could never ask him for that. A price too heavy to pay. A journey too perilous to take. Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. You run to it hoping it’s Spike. Hoping he has come to his senses and he's ready to make amends. I mean, it's been a week now.

You open the door to see Matteo. Matteo never knocks.

Before you can ask he barges in, "I need to talk to you."

"Okay..."

"I've been thinking... about us. About this" he points between the two of you. "And it doesn't make sense to me anymore."

"I’m confused. What part doesn't make sense? Our agreement hasn't changed."

"You're right but... you can't tell me you haven’t felt things. Things that make you want more?" He looks at you, hopeful.

Your eyes sadden, you close yourself off. "Matteo, our agreement hasn't changed. I already explained the circumstances. I can't give you more."

Angered, Matteo growled. "But you can give more to the vampire?"

You're taken aback by his reaction. You stand your ground. "Whatever I have with Spike is ours to deal with. You and I made a pact and if it no longer serves you, we can end it."

Matteo is angry, cornered. This is not how he wanted it to go. "Is there a chance? Any at all, between us?"

You walk closer to him, placing your hand to his cheek. You look him in the eyes stern but caring. "No."

He is defeated, heartbroken. Like a wounded animal he retreats from your touch. "I guess that's that, then."

Matteo walks out of your house, quiet and hurt. You stand there, alone and desolate. First Spike and now Matteo. Everyone has left you and you are in ruins once more. You close the door and pick up the pieces of your heart.

Two weeks have passed and no Spike. You start to give up hope. You feel tempted to go to his crypt, find him and apologize, beg, reason, anything. But you stand broken and alone. This is how it must be. Cursed slayers don't get happy endings. You continued your pattern of getting up, hunting, sleeping and repeating.

One morning you walk into your porch, enjoying the warmth. Sunny Sundays alleviate the pain. You never get letters because you have no one to care for you but you decide to check your mailbox for shits and giggles. A note is inside. When you open it one thing is scribbled on it.

"Wait for me."

No signature or return address, but your heart knew it came from Spike. Your breath gets caught in your throat; tears prickle your eyes. You don't know how long the notes has been there. You don't know how long you will wait, but waiting was your only hope.

A month has passed and with every day you have grown tired and anxious. You feel like you're about to explode. You've been diligent in staying in your lane, being patient and waiting for him. But your skin itched, and your thoughts ran a mock. You decide to have a quick nap to calm your nerves, like you have done every day since Spike was gone. You hoped to find an escape in the dream world.

A dimly lit room and the smell of wisteria appears. A soft whisper is heard in the distance. Laughter. Two people enamored and connected in bed. A sigh of pleasure. Your hands roam the man's body in desire. Your mouth trailed kisses from his neck to his chest. His body never slowing down, pinning you down. You felt free in his bondage, in his care. Your body submissive and pliant to his touch. Spike never slowed down as he thrust inside you, thirsty and focused. He mumbled sensual and dirty things into your ear, making you tighten around him. You craved more. You wanted him whole. As he surrendered his body, his essence into you, your body contracted and coiled in pleasure. You begged for release. He teased you, wanting to keep you like this, breedable and his. You felt the air leave your lungs as his thrusts became slower, longer as if teasing your release, coaxing it out. Grasping at his back, the sheets, the pillow, anything, you find your release. A fast crash that leads your body to convulse in pleasure. Spike rides out your climax giving you more to scream about. As you come down from your high you beg him to climax inside of you, to have the ultimate union of vulnerability. As he thrusts inside of you his speech becomes incoherent, a sign that he was close. He bites down with his regular teeth on your shoulder, brandishing you, making you his. His thrusts become sloppy and inconsistent until he climaxes groaning into your neck. You both lay there in the aftermath, holding hands. Proud of what you made. You turn to him, and he's gone. You're left naked and alone. You try to get up but can't. You twist and turn, twist and turn.

You wake up with a gasp. You're sweating and aroused. These dreams were a reoccurrence for you. A pattern of torture. You decide you've had enough. You've been either on auto pilot with your routines or escaping in your sleep. You decide to find Spike. You don't know where he is, but you were going to start at his crypt.

When you arrive at Spike's crypt you knock. No answer. You're confident that he's not in his crypt but you barge in anyway. Cobwebs everywhere, at least more than usual. You call out to him as you descend into his room. The bed is a mess, but it looks like no one has slept in it for a long time. You wander around, touching everything, reminiscing on his touch. You give up and come back up, a demon friend of Spike is sitting on the couch. He must have gotten in while you were lost in your nostalgia.

He looks up, scared "Spike's gone. I already told you. I can't pay his debt."

You calm him down and assure him you're not there to collect a debt.

"Where is he?" You ask.

"He didn't say. He just said that he'd be back and to not get too comfortable." He looked downcast.

You sigh and bid the demon goodbye. Spike was really gone. He wasn't avoiding you; he was just gone. You decide to get some hunting in before daylight.

Another month passes by and no Spike. Whatever he was up to, it was sure intense.

Buffy asks you to accompany her to the basement of the school.

"Something wiggy has been happening down there and I'd like some back up." She said.

You assent and follow her to the school basement. Everything is quiet, too quiet. You both share a knowing look and get ready for a fight. Suddenly a muttering is heard. Low, incoherent. You both approach the sound and find a man slumped over, covered and small.

"Spike!" You call to him. He doesn't move, still muttering to himself.

You crouch down, hoping to get his attention. He looks up, eyes wild and unfocused.

"Are you my executioner?" He whispered.

You furrow your brow, what an odd thing to say. "It's me y/n. Why are you down here?"

He is unable to answer coherently. His words are jumbled and nonsensical. You look at Buffy, asking for help. Together you both ease him up and help him stand straight. He pushes both of you away.

"Cursed. Cursed. Cursed." He repeats to himself.

"Um, yes. That's me. Can we get out of here? Take you somewhere less weird?"

He shakes his head. "This is where I belong." And he takes off deeper into the basement. Before you can run after him, Buffy holds you back.

"Let him go. He's not part of tonight's fun."

You sigh and nod and continue to search the basement for possible danger. After hours of searching nothing seemed out of place. You both retreat.

"Sorry for bringing you down for nothing." Buffy says.

"No worries. You had a hunch and we followed it." You respond.

"Well, let's call it a night."

Buffy heads down her street and you walk down yours. As soon as Buffy was out of sight you bolted to the school focused on finding Spike.

When you arrive at the basement you commence your hunt. It becomes rather difficult to find him but you follow the muttering. Like a low hum of consistent arguing. When you find him he is standing, facing a wall. You gently place your hand on his shoulder, and he reacts violently, holding you against the wall.

“Spike, it’s me.” You say calmly.

It takes spike a couple of minutes to register who he is talking to. “You shouldn’t have come for me.” He says coherently.

“I had to. This place is not your home.”

“Home is nowhere. It is unreachable. Home is with her.”

You contort your face in disgust. Of course he’s talking about Buffy again. It’s you that’s come for him but all he can think of is Buffy.

“Spike, come home with me. Let me care for you.” You reach out to him.

He stands there. Hesitant. He refuses to make eye contact, but he takes your outstretched hand. “Please.” He whispered.

You didn’t know what he was asking for but you knew that you couldn’t let him rot away in the school’s basement. You walked him home with you.

Spike was in a fog. Torture and pain in his heart. He knew what he must do but his words failed him. To touch you was to find respite. However, he couldn’t ask you for more. He didn’t know how. He was afraid you’d turn him down again. For today he chose to be rescued. For today he chose to go with you. Just for today, he chose to be safe.

#buffy the vampire slayer #william the bloody #btvs #spike the bloody #spike x yn #spike x you #spike y/n #spike btvs #spike imagine #spike #spike x reader #buffyverse #buffy x spike

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