#He's not quick to violence but he's intensely passionate | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skzdarlings · 7 months

Text

final part: 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; 19k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamics plus explicit violence, intense peril, threat and injury to reader, graphic depictions of death, explicit sexual content.

Your father will be here soon. He kept his distance during the rescue operation but will reconvene with his team before the journey home.

You and Felix wake long before his anticipated arrival, when dawn is only just peeking into the hotel room.

You lay in bed, your head on his bare chest and his arms around you. You discuss the potential confrontation ahead. Last time you were taken, your father was less than sympathetic to your plight. Even though this was more his fault than yours, you are certain you will take the blame. He cannot take responsibility for a misstep. If he is fallible, he is weak, and that puts his whole existence in jeopardy. It must always be someone else’s fault.

Therefore it is likely he will punish you. Therefore it is likely he will ask Felix to do it.

“Felix,” you say when he does not look at you. He is staring out the window with a look of pure frustration.

“I know,” he says. “You want me to do it. Last time I…”

“Yes.”

There is no need to discuss last time. You both know he fumbled that exchange. Felix is meant to be the personification of resolute strength and obedience, the perfect soldier. His moment of weakness snared your father’s attention, as weakness always does. Your quick response remedied the situation well enough, but you will not be so lucky next time. The only thing worse than a moment of weakness is the persistence of it. He cannot hesitate again.

“If,” you say slowly, “we want to find a way out… then now, more than ever, we cannot give him any reasons to be suspicious of us.”

“I know,” he says, but his jaw is still clenched and his gaze is faraway.

“Felix.” You touch his jaw, minding the darkening bruise, and turn his face to yours. His expression softens when he meets your gaze. “Thank you,” you say. “I love you. I trust you. It will be okay.”

He cups your cheek and lifts your face. His looks at you like he is studying every small detail. Even though he must know your face perfectly – seeing it when he wakes, before he goes to sleep, every day for so much of his life – he looks at you like he is seeing you for the first time all over again.

You laugh when he flicks your bottom lip, the little pout he has long since called his weakness.

“You could convince the sky it wasn’t blue,” he says, and kisses you tenderly. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Maybe it is the novelty of hearing that out loud, or maybe you will just be crazy about him forever, but you feel flustered. You laugh and squirm, your skin hot. It makes him laugh, the menace kissing down your throat just to make you wriggle more.

“Don’t let my daddy catch you then,” you tease, breathlessly. “He wouldn’t like that very much.”

The returned chuckle makes you shiver. You run your fingers through his hair but he grabs your wrist and pins it down. Your breath catches when he sucks a bruising kiss on your throat. He is usually so careful about leaving marks, but today he dips his head to the soft skin of your breast and bites a mean little mark into the tender skin, making you gasp and buck beneath his hold.

“No, he wouldn’t, would he?” Felix says, his deep voice dropping even lower. “What would everyone say, hmm? Your daddy, your guards… all those rich boys at those fancy parties who think they have a chance with you…”

“Everyone thinks I’m a frigid bitch,” you reply, joining his game, smiling knowingly. “And I am, aren’t I? Nothing but trouble.”

“Nothing but trouble,” he says with a grin. He flicks the covers off, then his hands are on your hips and he flips you as smoothly. You yelp when he drags you halfway down the bed, arranging you as he kneels behind you. “You can’t fool me, sweetheart,” he says. One hand curls around your throat and the other snakes down your backside. “Frigid? Mm. I don’t think so. I actually think you are very, very soft… and warm…”

His fingers slip inside you easily, wet from your previous lovemaking and wetter still from his voice. Every little breath and tortured groan has you twitching and gasping.

“Felix,” you say.

It is the right thing to say. You are clawing at the bedsheets moments later, hiccupping on each watery breath as he holds your hips and fucks you right down into the mattress. You press against it like you could disappear there, fucked into freedom, never to return to this dire world again.

You sink into the bed and float in your mind, sighing when he wraps his arms around you and covers you with his body. He is hot and whole and so alive, and everything seems possible while you are joined together. You have each other, completely and irrevocably. That is all you need to survive.

You finish not a moment too soon. You are nestled in his arms, kissing and kissing and kissing, flushed and satisfied and content, when reality comes knocking. Felix throws on some pants while you scurry into the bathroom and close the door.

Felix steps into the hall. Between the bathroom door and the hotel room door, you only hear muffled voices. Then a few clicks, then another knock, then you jump. You are wearing a blanket and it slips with your surprise. You adjust it frantically, but Felix says, “It’s just me.”

You crack open the door to Felix in a t-shirt and his combat pants. You recognize the tired lines on his face, cracks in the mask he is struggling to don. His reassuring smile is not convincing.

“Here,” he says, handing you some clothes. “Your father is here. He wants to see you at breakfast.”

“Of course he does,” you say, just for something to say, letting your frustration seep into your tone.

The bathroom tiles are cold under your feet. A sharp snap of sensation and a reminder of reality. Felix makes the world feel small in comparison to him, but the world is still there, ever turning with its usual machinations and politics and powers. You are still suspended helplessly in the centre of it all. Though you pushed the darkest truths to the corner for a few hours, making love and comforting each other, all those hurts and agonies are still there. You see it in his eyes, his glance flickering from here to there as he roams with his thoughts.

Neither of you have ever had a normal life and you do not know what to do with one. He has been making difficult choices since he was a child. Neither of you truly knows if you are making the right one now.

You do the best you can with a strong hug. It is a lingering, affectionate embrace, fitting your bodies together until you feel grounded.

Felix looks over your shoulder, catching his own reflection. You look back as well, his cheek against yours, your eyes meeting in the mirror.

“I couldn’t stand the sight of my own face,” he says, his voice low even though you are alone, like the words are fighting his tongue. It is hard to admit. He swallows hard but continues, “I hated the stupid kid looking back at me… I wanted to be someone better, someone who could actually do something right…”

You look at him rather than his reflection. When you touch a strand of blonde hair, he closes his eyes, as if he can feel the pad of your finger on a lock of hair, smarting more than his bruises.

“Is that why… the hair?” you ask clumsily. You do not know how to wade through ten years of emotion. Felix has coloured his hair regularly since the day you met him. The blonde suits him but it is clearly unnatural. It has not been soft in a very long time, coarse from repeated dye jobs.

The colour is just one more layer of his meticulous mask, crumbling in front of you as he nods and sighs. An admittance. He could not stand to look in the mirror and see that other version of himself, the boy he was, the boy who made all those mistakes. You see him, the years of questioning his choices, the impossible tether around his throat. There has never been a day he has not questioned his choices. Working for one bad man or another. Rescuing his friend or his lover. Letting violence happen or letting the violence use him.

You kiss his cheek, then below his jaw, threading your fingers through his hair. You scratch at his scalp, just a feathery light touch, one that makes him melt in your arms.

“I love you,” you say. You find it is an addicting word yet it never loses its potency. Your heart still races when he touches his forehead to yours, when he strokes your sides and hums a gentle sound of pleasure. “Things have changed a lot over the years. But we’re still here.” Still living your lives, even in broken bits, those stolen pieces you mentioned so long ago. “We’ve changed. We’ll change again. Things will happen and we’ll figure it out. But please don’t hate that boy anymore. I care about him a lot. I want him to be happy too.”

His face scrunches with the threat of tears, but he controls himself. He pushes the emotion into a laugh, though it is humourless. Then he closes the space between you and kisses you, cups the back of your head and holds you there until you are both satisfied.

“All right,” he says in a rough voice. “Get dressed. It’s going to be a long day.”

“You’ll be there, though,” you say.

“Always,” he says, a hint of amusement touching the corner of his lips. “I’m your bodyguard, hmm?”

You laugh and kiss him again.

“Right,” you say. “Always.”

Your father sits at a dining table in the penthouse suite. Behind him, a window wall flaunts the city skyline. Daylight casts a glow around him like some deified king lording over his petty kingdom. Guards loiter in the room and the corridor, keeping their eyes sharp as hotel staff prepare the table.

You sit across from him with the sunlight in your eyes, the usual position of discomfort and inferiority. He does not look at you, nor does he greet you, his eyes on his phone until the table is set. A staff member goes to serve him but he dismisses them.

“All of you, go,” he says, not just to the staff but his team as well. They filter out of the room one by one.

The penthouse is a ostentatious space, all white linen and gilded frames, tall ceilings and bay windows, but as the room empties, it becomes frighteningly big. Or maybe you just feel frighteningly small, his tactics working as they often do. Your father knows how to push your buttons because they are the same as his. He is scared. It makes him angry. He makes you scared. It makes you angry.

“Felix,” he says. “Stay.”

Felix is all that tempers you. He stands against the wall but you do not look at him, staring at your father until he finally looks your way. Despite the light, you hold his stare, feeling a modicum of triumph when he looks away first.

“Did they damage you?” he asks. His phrasing almost makes you laugh. Damaged. As if outside forces were needed for that.

“I’m fine,” you say. “My bodyguard rescued me. Your team was damaged, though.” You throw the word right back at him. You cross your leg and sit back, like you are as unbothered as him.

You know that underneath his cold exterior, he is anything but casual. He is letting his rage simmer as he builds to some awful retaliation. He was conducting a mission, sending his best asset on a job, and it was interrupted by your kidnapping. A kidnapping that nearly lost him more than his heir, but that same irreplaceable asset. An asset that previously made a mistake in front of his eyes. This is no longer a game, a squabble between a parent and child, but a real world crisis with dangerous consequences.

You should not provoke him, and that is why you do. Because provoking him is something you have always done and you need him to see you as that hapless child if you are going to beat him. You do not want to arouse further suspicion in him, that you are sitting here thinking about your own schemes, that you know more about his assets and operations than he could ever suspect.

So you toss your rejoinder and he catches it, as he always does, with a cruel smirk.

“There are more where they came from,” he says.

Returning like cockroaches and squashed just the same. If only a multi-generational empire could be toppled as easily. But your father is more than a man across a table; he is ten men in the corridor and more on the ground, he is paid staff and investors and a whole society.

Though you feign nonchalance, inside adrenaline pounds. Sweat gathers, your heart races. He is good at making you feel small, but at least it is predictable. The scene unfolds in your mind before it happens, the script playing before a single action is commanded. You will be scolded. You will be reprimanded. You will be punished.

“Felix, come here,” your father says.

You predicted he would involve Felix after what happened last time. The only question is what manner of punishment he will force from his hand. All you can do is trust Felix to play his role so you can play yours. You made it clear the physical pain was meaningless, that you could take whatever he inflicted. Just another inside joke between you. You will laugh about it one day.

You do not look away from your father. Your eyes are locked in a challenging stare, daring the other to break. You are scared, but you feel so much more than fear and rage. With your love for Felix, with the hope in your heart, you are an ocean of feeling and you are not ashamed of it anymore. You stare your father down and mutely convey that you are not broken, that he did not win, that he never will win.

His answer is the flick of a kitchen knife. It slides across the table and nearly tumbles right over the lip. It teeters within arm’s reach of you. It is tempting to look and consider its purpose with the trepidation you feel, but you do not. You tell yourself he will only hurt you so much, that putting you in true peril would surely be counterproductive to his overall efforts. Whatever plan he has for that knife will be a momentary pain you can recover from.

Then he says, “Felix.”

Felix steps into your periphery, the black of his fatigues a shadow at your side.

“Pick up that knife,” your father says. “Put it through your hand. Right through to the table.”

It is not the demand you were expecting, not by a long shot. As your father stares you down, steady where you start to waver, you realize this test is not for Felix. It is for you.

“I trust,” your father hisses the word, “you know the spot that will inflict the least permanent damage.”

The last time your father made this demand, you and Felix were kids at the start of your messy life together. Instinct propelled you to stop him. Over the years, you have mastered schooling your reactions. The girl who tackled Felix, the girl who sobbed while he was beaten, that girl learned to save her tears for later. Your father’s version of you is a cold, headstrong, hateful fool. She might stop Felix to combat her father, or she might let him suffer out of pure hatred.

Both options feel wrong. Regardless of what you choose, you feel like you are giving something away. You feel like your father will see right past it. He stares at you like he will find your secrets written on your face.

You have seconds to decide and that is not enough time. The moment passes you by. Felix plants his hand and takes the knife. Your father does not count him down. He watches you, willing you to make a mistake, to show your weakness. To prove him right.

You flinch when the knife thuds into the table, the soft reverberation of the wood accompanied with a gross little squelch that sounds too loud in this too big room. Your reaction is strongly stamped on your face, disgusted and upset. You look away to stop the tears that stab behind your eyes.

Everything that has happened, everything you have done, and you are right back here. After everything, he still ended up with that knife in his hand.

Your father rips it out. Felix catches his breath but does not cry out. You catch a glimpse of the bloody knife before your father tosses it on the floor, as if he is discarding something insignificant.

You slowly meet his gaze. He is still assessing you. You cannot tell if you passed or failed his test. By the scrutiny of his regard, it seems he does not know either. All you can do is look at each other while Felix bleeds beside you.

“You may go,” your father says, cold as the ice that locks your limbs. It takes you a moment to stir life back into them.

“Felix,” your father says. “You stay. We have business to discuss.”

You do not look at Felix. You cannot bear to look at him. On the escorted march back to your room, you are quiet, biting the inside of your cheek to stop any more unwanted reactions. Only when you are alone in the room do you let it out, an aggravated cry as you rip a pillow off the bed and whip it blindly across the room.

This was never going to be easy, but now it feels like the ongoing struggle between you and your father has led to an insurmountable deadlock. He has you enclosed in his fist and he is threatening to crush you in it.

You do not think he knows about the true nature of your relationship with Felix. He might suspect anything, an affair the last of it. Even a menial friendship would be a detrimental betrayal to him. All he sees is a smudge of a weakness in what should be the strongest cog in his machine.

He is testing you and tormenting you. He is perched on his pedestal, waiting for you to throw yourself at his feet in eventual penitence.

You will not. Not this time. Your father is expecting retaliation in the form of equal dramatics and you will not satisfy him. You will sit quietly. You will do what you have been doing, stealing pieces of your life in the silence and shadows. He controls a realm of power, affluence, and violence. You control yourself. Love has saved you all this time. It will be your means of escape for good.

You sit in quiet repose until Felix returns. Although you promised to remain calm, you cannot help but fuss over his injured hand. It has already been stitched and bandaged but you peek beneath the binding, almost gagging at the sight.

“All right, enough,” Felix says. He lifts your head and guides it onto his shoulder instead. You are sitting on the small loveseat under the window. You throw your arms around him and hold tight.

“I’m sorry,” you say, a tear sliding from your cheek to his shoulder. You sniffle.

“Don’t be,” he says. “I can take the pain. It means nothing. Sweetheart, he means nothing.”

“I know,” you say, but you sniffle one more time anyway. Gathering yourself, you lift your head to look at him. “What did my father want after I left?”

“I don’t fully know,” Felix says, the tenderness in his expression giving way to uncertainty. “He said he wants to continue the job,” Felix says. “He and Miroh, they’re both chasing these long-term investments in some government building contracts… Miroh has been getting in the way of your father’s deals, so he’s been mostly standing guard. Then he got intel that a significant asset of Miroh’s would be involved in securing an upcoming bid… And he thought… he thought with the right team he could… acquire whatever this asset was…”

“Chris,” you say, a breathless note. “That’s why he brought you on, isn’t it? He told you the acquisition was Chris.”

“If Chris was alive, if he was working for Miroh even after everything…” Felix swallows. He looks pained, like all these words are hard to say. His voice is rough and the words scratch like sandpaper as he forces them out. “Between me, your father’s back-up team, and the element of surprise… We had a chance of stopping Miroh’s subterfuge and getting… rescuing… Chris. Finally.”

But Chris might be dead. Your father might have killed him. Miroh has a vast artillery and the asset in question could be anyone or anything. It makes more sense your father was using Felix to eliminate this obstruction. That is what he always does. He uses someone like a thing, strengths and weaknesses calculated, and works them into his scheme.

You look at the bloody bandage, wrapped tight around that wounded hand, and you cannot bring yourself to vocalize these awful, pessimistic thoughts. You say instead, “But why would he want to continue the job now? You no longer have the element of surprise.”

“No,” Felix says. “We don’t. That’s because the job is over and your father is lying.”

“What?”

“Chris is dead.” Felix says it for you, with a hard set to his jaw that you recognize as a shield against emotion. He does not look at you because it exposes that vulnerable, human part of him, and right now he is fighting to maintain his composure. Cool, collected, he plainly states, “There is no chance of this job succeeding anymore. Miroh caught onto us. He interrupted us. Whatever we were after is not there anymore. Your father is just pulling my leash to see if I fight back.” He takes a deep breath before saying more. “He wants an excuse to question my loyalty.”

“He is provoking us,” you agree. There is a second of silence, both of you in contemplation, then you say, “We can’t let him.”

“If I refuse this job, he will just get worse,” Felix says. “If we try to run right now, we won’t get far. We need to do this right, we need to—”

“Take the job,” you say. “You said yourself, the job is over. My father is a bastard and an idiot but he would never risk sending his best team somewhere dangerous when he has nothing to gain from it. Call his bluff. Take the job.”

“I can’t leave you again,” Felix says, eyes closing as he clenches his good fist. “I won’t leave you alone with him again. Not right now, not like this. Sweetheart, if something happened—”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, wrapping your hand over his fist and gently uncurling his fingers. You nudge your nose against his chin, coaxing him to turn his head. He finally does, sighing as he looks down at you. You smile. “I’ll be safe in the house.”

“It’s more dangerous in there than out here,” he says.

“You know he won’t do anything worse than he’s ever done before,” you say. You look down when you touch the bandage on his hand. “We can take the cuts and bruises a little longer. Do the job, then come back to me. And who knows…” You kiss his cheek, a touch of comfort. “Maybe you’ll find the truth about Chris.”

“I know the truth,” he says, unmoved. “He’s dead.”

You do concede it is incredibly likely. If anything stopped your father from killing Chris, it was not morality, rather the practicality of breaching Miroh’s defences. But it sounds like Chris was trouble to Miroh, so it is possible there was no pushback.

It still breaks your heart to see Felix like this. The burden of this bargain has caused him strife for so long, but you can see how it motivated him too. As the hope leaves him, a light dims, and even your affection cannot ignite it.

“How do you know that?” you ask helplessly.

“I just feel it,” Felix says. “In my heart. I guess. I think, umm. I think. I think I’ve known for a long time. Maybe from the last time I ever saw him. But I needed to believe in it. I think I needed to believe Chris could be saved because then maybe—” He looks down at his injured hand. His fingers twitch when he fails to close his fist. “Then I would have done something good,” he says miserably. “Maybe then I could be worth saving too.”

“Felix. Baby.” You touch his face, still minding the bruise that grows more vicious by the second. It only adds to the ache in your chest as you look at him, beaten and battered for someone else’s sake. He has been taking hits every day since he was fourteen years old. Whether it was for you or his friend, he was willing to surrender his life if it meant even a possibility of saving someone else. “Felix, you have more heart and humanity than anyone I have ever known,” you say. “Everything you have ever done has been because of love, despite what they tried to make you otherwise. How can you not see what I see?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, the way he did this morning. He traces the curve of your cheek and brushes the subtle pout of your lips.

“You’ve always seen more than most people do,” he says. “You give me something else to believe in, you know?”

“Stop flirting,” you tease gently. “This is serious.”

He laughs, his smile soft but sincere. You kiss him slowly, until you are breathing the same uneven breaths, your hearts no doubt beating in tandem.

Then you pick yourselves up and prepare for what comes next.

Your father claims they will be gone for a week but you know it is not true. There is no real mission so they will return in a few days at the latest. For your part, you can only wait.

Even though you have a tenuous plan, it is still hard being separated from Felix. You remind yourself that you could not protect him in the field anyway, but logic is meaningless to your heart. You imagine a version of yourself that is possessed of so many skills, she could wipe out every obstacle without breaking a sweat.

But you are you. Your skills are more emotional than physical and right now that physicality is even worse than usual. You are lethargic from a brutal couple days, weak from the drugging, sore all over, and you cannot sleep well in an empty bed.

You wake repeatedly in the night, startled by a nightmare where you are being taken, where Felix is being beaten, where your father kills him and a dozen boys like him and all you can do is watch. The nightmares drag you into consciousness where you are barely eased, the reality of the world not so different from your nighttime horrors.

In the daylight, you maintain the healthiest disposition possible. You keep your distance from the security team, sitting in your room or quietly on the couch. You do not engage when they antagonize you. They grow bored of your presence soon enough, especially when they cannot get a rise out of you, leaving them with nothing to report to your father.

You expect the hours to drone endlessly.

Then you have a visitor.

You ignore the doorbell. The security team does not seem surprised by the interruption so you disregard it. Maybe it is just another member of the team.

You ignore the bell and the bustle of guards. You head to the kitchen to scrounge for some lunch instead. You hum as you chop vegetables, not paying any mind to the footsteps behind you. You expect it is a member of the security team, stalking you in the name of supervision. You turn to address him, a saccharine sweet smile at your face and a drole quip on your tongue, but your heart stops at the figure standing across from you.

“Hyunjin?”

You breathe more than whisper his name, like surprise has winded you.

You stand there, knife in hand, jaw hanging open as you stare into the face of your old friend. He is somehow even more handsome than you remember, long dark hair framing his face, eyes fierce and cheekbones sharp. An expensive blazer hugs his trim form. His boots resound with a softer thump than combat boots, so you should have realized it was someone else sooner.

You never would have guessed him. You have not seen Hyunjin in years.

“Hello, my girlfriend,” Hyunjin says with a smile, dazzling and beautiful and oh-so very fake.

“What are you doing here?” you ask tentatively, so perplexed by his appearance in your house that you do not know where to begin. You nearly pinch yourself to make sure you are not dreaming.

“Your dad called my dad,” Hyunjin says, his voice very light and casual, like he is picking up a conversation you paused an hour ago and not years ago. “He thought you needed company so you wouldn’t try running away off or something. So here I am. Ta-daaa. Company.”

Security shuffles past the kitchen. Hyunjin pauses, listening to the scuttle of their booted feet. When the din quiets, he smiles at you again. It does not reach his eyes.

“Hyunjin,” you whisper, laying the knife down. “What on earth is happening? Why are you here right now?”

Voices, laughter, the team in the other room. You and Hyunjin look at the door. His smile droops and he leans closer when he says, “Somewhere quieter please.”

You are still in something of a daze when you lead Hyunjin downstairs to the gym. A guard departs after giving the room a sweep, as if anyone or anything could have gotten down here with all the security.

Then it is just you and Hyunjin.

Hyunjin crosses the room, taking in the space and equipment. He whistles long and low while shaking his head. It makes you laugh despite everything.

“No, no, it’s nice,” Hyunjin teases. “I never saw this room before. But I always remembered your house was very small and understated.”

It’s a joke but you cannot force a laugh because his reminiscence sends you hurtling through your own memories. He turns and you see a younger version of him, just for a moment, beaming and bright. Hyunjin used to be the hopeful one, the person with a plan and ambition. He believed there was more to life and he believed he could achieve it. He was so certain that it sparked a flicker of hope in you. Now your flame is an inferno but there is no light or fire behind his eyes. He is so cold that it is hard to believe there was ever a flame.

“Hyunjin,” you say, imploringly. “What happened?”

“A lot,” he says. He puts his hands in his pockets like he feels at ease, but his eyes keep darting around the room, betraying his discomfort.

Though your friendship was short, it was substantial. You know him. Right now he is labouring beneath the weight of his performance, his charming expressions crooked, like poorly fitted clothes. He looks like an uncanny duplicate of the boy you once knew.

You step closer to him. He does not move, frozen in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets. When he eventually looks at you, it is with a slow lift of the head. You swear you can see a curtain drawing across his face as it happens. This close, you realize just how pale and wan he looks. He is grey at the edges, like he is fading away before your very eyes.

“Hyunjin,” you say, instinctively reaching out. He flinches away from your touch, then tries to smile like it didn’t happen. You do not hide your distress.

He finally drops the pleasant façade. His hands fall out of his pockets and swing at his sides. His countenance is even colder, his striking features sharper than ever as he levels you with a venomous stare.

“Don’t pity me,” he says. “I can’t stand it. I made my choices and I’m living with the consequences.”

“Consequences?” you ask. “Did they catch you trying to—”

“I never left,” he says. “I never even tried. I was close. I had a whole plan. A way to start over. But then...” He turns without any warning and walks to the mirror wall where he looks at himself. His hand hovers in the air, fingers curling. ��I met someone,” he says. “And he wasn’t who I thought he was.”

When he does not elaborate, you step closer. You reach out to touch his shoulder, a consolation on the tip of your tongue. Before your touch even lands, he spins around and looks right at you.

“It turns out he was working for my father,” Hyunjin says. He speaks in a plain tone, conveying facts without any unnecessary sentiment, but you can see the red in his eyes as he strains to hold back emotion. “It was my fault for being so stupid. With the way things were going, I should have seen it coming. There is no such thing as selfless love. Everyone serves themselves in the end and I was stupid to compromise my well-being for someone else. I deserved the betrayal.”

“That’s not true,” you say without hesitation. He is talking about someone else but his words feel like a slap against your friendship too. You grab his hand like you can squeeze sense back into him. “I’m so sorry you were hurt,” you say. “But you can’t honestly think—”

“Hurt.” He chokes on the word and rips his hand back. “It nearly killed me. I wish it killed me. I wish I was anywhere but here. But I am stuck here because of my stupid feelings. Everyone has a weakness waiting to be exploited and you can’t trust anyone not to take advantage of yours.”

It sounds so much like your father that you stumble back. It resonates with a heavy slam against your ribs and the heart beating inside them. That heart feels so wrung out these days, swollen with so much love one second then shrivelled with pain the next. It throbs now. You are hurt just witnessing his pain. He has been betrayed and broken and he is unreachable in his grief. You can only imagine what he has endured to end up back here, in this house, with you.

You cannot blame him for guarding himself, but your combative side rears its stubborn head.

“There are good people,” you say. “There are people that can be trusted. You can trust me, after all.”

“I don’t know that,” he says. “We don’t know each other anymore.”

“That is definitely not true,” you say. You and Hyunjin clicked so well because your circumstances were so similar, your fears and pain the same. “We know each other perfectly, Hyunjin,” you say.

He looks away, blinking rapidly. His shoulders hunch. It looks so wrong for a man like him to curl in on himself in shame.

“Fine,” he says. “One person. It doesn’t make a difference.”

“One person makes all the difference,” you say. “Remember Minho?”

That one really makes him flinch. You are pretty sure a slap would hurt less.

“And Felix,” he says, his voice softer now. He scrunches his eyes shut like he can stop his pain with enough concentration. He pushes through and says, “He works for your father, doesn’t he? I remember him at that party. He was with the security team.”

“Yes,” you admit. “He works for him. In a way.”

“And you still trust him?” Hyunjin laughs. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “That’s just stupidity.”

“It is not.”

“He works for your father and takes his money and you still trust him not to betray you? That’s stupid.”

“It’s not.” Frustration bubbles inside you. You want to grab him and shake him around, like you can sift through and find the real Hyunjin underneath all this. “I know I can trust him completely.”

“You can’t possibly know that for sure,” he says. “He’ll betray you for the right price. Everyone has a price. You don’t think there’s something he’d trade you for?”

That does sting, if only infinitesimally, as you recall Felix and his conflicting desires. But you do not begrudge Felix for his life choices. He was an impressionable boy, raised to follow orders with no thoughts of his own. It made him wise in some ways and naïve in others. He fell into a bad bargain with a scheming man and found himself trapped. He was forced to make difficult decisions. It was not about choosing you or Chris. You would never make it about that.

“Felix loves me,” you say. “And I love him. You’re right. There are things he wants desperately. But he doesn’t have to trade me for it. He knows I would surrender myself willingly to see him happy. Just like I know, no matter what else happens, he will always come back for me. No matter where they hide me. No matter where I hide myself. No matter what men like my father do to him. We choose each other.”

“Everyone breaks,” Hyunjin says weakly. “No one’s that strong.”

“Not on their own, maybe,” you say. “We’re not alone.”

There was so much ice in his feigned arrogance that you are startled when Hyunjin starts crying. He covers his face with his hands. His shoulders shake and his breath hitches.

“Hyunjin,” you say, your own voice breaking. You rush up to him in a flustered hurry. You touch his head and his shoulders, trying to peer at him through his fingers. “Hyunjin, talk to me, please,” you beg. “Something else is wrong, isn’t it? Hyunjin, why are you here? Where are your parents? Why did my father call yours?”

“My parents are dead,” he barely manages to speak, gasping between his hiccupping cries. “It’s just me. They came for me and my father was difficult, he asked for too much, and they— and I—”

“They?” you say.

It is then you see it. You are clutching his shoulder and it tugs at his blazer. A shirt button pops open and your eyes drop to the exposed bruises across his collarbone. You blink in disbelief at the horrible mosaic beaten into his skin, angry welts of red and purple and yellow. It seems to go all the way down his chest. When you part the material of his shirt, something else catches your eye.

You freeze.

“Oh,” you say. “Hyunjin.”

He is wired. Someone is listening. Your father is listening.

You stop breathing for a moment. The world gets quiet. You look at Hyunjin. An old friend showing up at your house out of nowhere, presented like an offering. Jisung was not important enough for your father to remember, but Hyunjin is a different matter. He is rich if not wealthy. His parents were upwardly mobile, his father the kind of pathetic rich man who thought he was equal to a man like your father. Willing to do awful things to his own son to keep him in his clutches, then selling him to the highest bidder if it meant advancement. His only mistake was asking for too much when he was ultimately expendable. There are always more where he came from.

You want to be wrong. Your father is a busy man. He would not waste time finding Hyunjin and putting him through so much just for this, just to corner you into a confession. But you know he did. This is exactly what he would do. He moves like a coward, killing civilians and poisoning innocent boys, then he makes a show of throwing it in your face.

He always told you friendship was beneath you. What a way to prove it.

“I think you’ve fallen in with a bad crowd,” you say, forcing a laugh through the gathering tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, a tearful whisper. He touches your arms like he wants to hug you, but holds himself back.

“Me too,” you say. You warned him a long time ago that befriending you was dangerous. You wish you had been wrong.

You pull him into a hug and he immediately envelopes you, his arms around your shoulders and yours around his waist. He chokes out a sob and squeezes you so tight that your breath catches. Then he just holds you there.

You do not know if it is his cologne or his shampoo, but it smells so familiar. It takes you back to that treehouse, looking over a glittering neighbourhood as the sun set and he dreamed about the dawn.

“I still remember that rhyme, you know,” you say. The address of that cabin, written in a rhyming lilt that you never forgot. “If you ever have a chance again… promise me you’ll try…”

He chokes out another sob.

“How can you still care about what happens to me?” he asks. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say. It is spoken calmly, for all that it is a lie. “Promise me?”

He just nods, then pulls you closer again.

You cling to him for as long as you can. It gives you the strength to stay upright despite your shaking legs, even when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs. You brace yourself for the worst, halfway expecting the whole house to erupt in a violent explosion.

It is just a guard. He says, “Time to go, Hwang. Visit’s over.”

You want to keep hugging. You feel like you will fall through the floor if he lets you go. He is just as reluctant, but withdraws when the guard steps into the room. He does not look at you as he leaves, head down as he trails towards the stairs.

“Goodbye, Hyunjin,” you say.

It stops him for a moment. He nods then continues. There is nowhere else to go but back up those stairs.

You are left standing by yourself in the middle of the room. The mirror wall makes the space feel never-ending. You look at your reflection. You look so rough already, scarred from your kidnapping, tear-streaked from crying. Your hands tremble uncontrollably. You remember a younger version of yourself sitting in front of this mirror with Felix, for a moment feeling like a normal girl with her boy. His touch brought you to life. He made you feels things you thought you would never feel.

It will be your own voice your father plays back to you, your own confession betraying you.

You will not be sorry for it.

You look at yourself and wipe your face. You take a breath. You walk to the stairs, one step after another. There are guards upstairs but they pay you no mind. They have clearly received no orders, not yet. You could try to make a run for it, but you would not get far on your own.

Instead, you go upstairs to your room. You look around like it is the last time you will ever see it. You know that is not true, logically. Your father will not kill you, but there are fates just as devastating.

You walk through the room. It is plainly decorated with a mix of things owned by you and Felix. For all that this house is not a home, you carved a shared space in this room. You sit on the bed and study everything from discarded clothes to books to computer parts.

Something compels you to open the drawer on his side of the bed, that same single drawer you allotted when he first moved in. A ragged old beanie sits at the bottom of it, the first thing he ever owned. You fold it over in your hand and squeeze it like a talisman, like it will infuse you with some magic to endure whatever storm is blowing your way.

You cross the room and touch a few more things. You find some university textbooks and your heart aches with the desire to return to those times. You lived a fleeting few years like you were completely free, in love and happy and home.

You will probably never see Seungmin or Jeongin again, but it brings you some peace to know they will live good lives. You will never forget their willingness to intervene on your behalf despite the odds being so stacked against them. Maybe they were not very good at it, smacking chairs and throwing drinks, but you will remember them fondly. You wish you could say goodbye.

With that thought, you pause. Your gaze drifts to your computer.

You cannot say goodbye to Seungmin or Jeongin, but you can say goodbye to someone else.

You never wanted to risk contacting Jisung from home, just in case your father was found out. But everything is ending today, one way or another. There is nothing more you can lose. You will take some comfort in a final word to an old friend before you are sealed in this gilded mausoleum.

You sit at your computer. You log into the blank profile you made some time ago. It is hard to tell if you are nervous because your stomach is so twisted in knots already, but you think there might be some happy anticipation. You try to manage your expectations because there is a chance Jisung did not read the messages, seeing as they came from a blank account.

You should have known better than to doubt him. You log in to several new messages, laughing from the first line.

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!! IT’S YOU????? MY GIRL!!!!!!!

Okay sorry about that I am totally so cool I promise. I’m just in shock.

I know you told me not to, but just so you know, I spent a year trying to reach you...

Well, actually, I spent like four months crying my eyes out and being miserable and pathetic first.. On god, I eyed a jar of peanut butter with some serious thought for a minute there!!! But then no, no way. I had to keep going.

I tried to find you. Your bitch ass dad is famous because he’s an ugly rich loser so his properties are listed all over a million websites. I found the one in town where you must live and I rode my bike there a bunch of times but uhhhhh yeah much to my eternal disappointment I am not James Bond and that security system was insane. Don’t even get me started on when all the dudes in the army gear kept showing up.

On an unrelated note it’s way harder to buy explosives than you’d think.

Just want you to know I did try to get in there. You were never alone even if you felt like it.

But it sounds like you’re not alone anyway HELLLL YEAHHHHH she is getting SOOOME. All jokes aside I am crazy happy for you. You deserve it for real. He better be treating you right though or I WILL find a way through that gate and I WILL kick his ass. Just say the word and I will be there in a heartbeat.

He goes on for a while, the whole length of his message making you smile. When you did not respond, he sent a few more, spaced further and further apart from each other. The last message he sent was just a few days ago.

Hey I don’t know if you’re getting these. I like to think so. You don’t have to answer if you are. I know you are in a dangerous spot. Or maybe you’re not anymore and you got out. In that case, I hope you never read these. I hope you’re out there living your best life. Maybe we’ll cross paths again but if not, I count myself lucky for knowing you at all. I think we’re both slightly insane and everyone else I meet is way too normal haha.

What I’m trying to say is I miss you like crazy. I hope we can laugh together again someday. Even if we never do, let’s say we will. Keep smiling till I’m there. Catch ya later crazy girl.

You smile. Then emotion takes over, tears returning as you lay your hands on the keyboard to type a response.

You have just hit send when there is a knock at your door, then it is opened without your permission. You turn and look at the stoic guard who beckons you forward.

“Your father is home,” he says. “He wants a word.”

You nod. You spare one last look at you screen before logging out and shutting down. You are certain it is the last message you will get to send. A warmth fills your chest regardless. You know it will reach Jisung. His laughter and energy fills you with the strength you need to walk steadily out that door and down the hall.

Hi Jisungie.

Thank you for your messages. I just read them all now. It wasn’t easy for me to check them before, but I did it today because it might be the last time I have an opportunity to do so. My father found out about my love affair and seeing as it was with the one person he could not afford to lose, I have no doubt that a reckoning is on its way. I thought he was bad before, but he has only gotten worse over the years. I am sure this betrayal will put him over the edge.

I do not know what is going to happen. I was scared until I read your messages. They truly made me smile. You have always made me a little braver. I think I got less rebellious over the years because I got scared, but now… The worst has happened and I’m still here.

I will figure it out. But in case I never get the chance to talk to you again, I just wanted to say thank you one more time. I miss you too, Jisungie. I think about you so much. I wish I could laugh with you again, the kind of laughter where nothing is all that funny but we can’t stop anyway. Thank you for the times we did.

I am happy to have lived my life because I knew you. I appreciate all the good times so much more because of the hard times. You were a one-of-a-kind friend. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Keep smiling for me.

Goodbye.

Your father is behind his desk.

There is no one else in the room. They close the door behind you. You walk calmly up to the desk and take a seat in your usual spot. You sit as straight as you can, perched on the edge of the seat. You are still lower than him, but you feel bigger and stronger than you have ever felt in your life.

Your father draws out the silence, perhaps waiting for you to break down. You stare at each other. When he opens his mouth to speak, you interrupt him. You are uninterested in games and dramatic embellishments, which you know he will indulge. You simply ask, “What did you do to Hyunjin?”

“I would not worry about the Hwang boy if I was you,” your father says spitefully. “You have bigger concerns—”

“And yet I am asking about him,” you snap. “What are you doing with him?”

“What I do with everything when it is no longer useful to me,” he says.

It is the answer you were expecting but it still draws your rage like a magnet. It punches out of you, your eyes wet with tears when you say, “You’re pathetic.”

“How many times must you suffer humiliation at my enemy’s hands before you understand that none of this is a game?” His voice rises as he speaks. “Do you want to be out on the streets? Do you want to be brutalized? Do you want—”

“I would rather die rotting in the sewers with Felix than spend even one more minute under your roof,” you say.

You wonder what surprises your father more: the vicious tone or your blatant confession. It stuns him into silence. You know you have disrupted his script. There is little sense in taunting you with your words if you utter them plainly before he can try.

“I see,” your father settles on saying. He presses a button on his desk and the buzzer in the corridor resounds. “Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”

The door opens and several guards usher inside. You spare them a fleeting glance before your attention narrows to the figure between them.

“Felix!” You stand but cannot reach him. He is surrounded by guards and they will not let you touch a hair on his head.

He moves like he is completely boneless, evidently drugged with something to make him bleary and slow. He thumps heavily onto his knees when they put him there. His eyes are hazy as he looks around the office. They pause on you, flicking up and down, then he smiles through the pain.

The pain. It is not just a drug. He looks like he went a few rounds with a cement wall, his lip split and his jaw bruised. His bandaged hand is soaked through with blood, the rest him as battered. His injuries disappear beneath his shirt and pants but you know it is not a pretty sight. You swallow down the bile in your throat before looking at your father.

“He’s your best asset,” you say. “You can’t lose him.”

“Oh? Can’t I?” your father asks. “Can’t I? Can’t I? You think you know something? You think you can tell me what to do? You, when all you do is destroy what I make? I give you everything and this—this is how you—” His yelling sharpens to a shriek before he starts breaking things. It pulls Felix further out of his haze, his eyes tracking the frantic movements as your father smashes a vase near your feet.

You think about that tiny shard of glass from last time, the miniscule thing that started it all. It makes you laugh even though nothing is funny. Laughter is an emotional output just like crying, so it pours out of you with no regard for the actual gravity of the situation.

It only worsens your father’s rage.

“Does something here amuse you?” he asks, but you are laughing too hard to answer. There is a vein throbbing in his forehead and you imagine it bursting. You imagine all your problems solving themselves as he drops dead from his own rage. The image is even funnier because you truly cannot imagine this man dying. He is a monster. If you stab him, you fear he will just mutate and come back worse.

“You want to laugh?” he snaps. He crosses the room to Felix. “Laugh.”

He holds out his hand and someone places a gun in his open palm. This snaps you out of your delirious giggles, a winded whoosh spilling out of you.

Your father does not execute action himself. He always puts the gun in someone else’s hand. The fact he is pointing it at Felix should tell you that his threat is not serious.

But he has never been this furious, his anger a white hot cascade of fire. Felix is just inches from the barrel of the gun. Even an inexpert marksmen like your father could drive a bullet between his eyes.

So the moment he grips the weapon, you shout, “Stop!”

Your father looks at you with a cock of his head, satisfied with your reaction.

Then he jumps back because Felix rushes to his feet, most of the fog dissipated. Your father’s stupid men did not think for a moment that Felix would repeat a strategy. Just days before he allowed himself to be captured so he could rescue you. It seems he has done that again, feigning the depth of his condition. He swings to his feet and kicks out.

His injuries restrict his movement. He is good at ignoring pain but his body overrides his consciousness. He fights nonetheless, struggling with the guards while you watch.

You look around for something that can help. You snatch a paper weight off the desk and prepare to throw.

Your father is a step ahead of you. Suddenly you are staring down the barrel of a gun, your father on the other end, fuming.

“No—!” Felix says before he is beaten down. With his attention diverted, a guard kicks the back of his legs. His knees buckle and he goes down with a groan.

You look at him then flick your eyes back to your father. You raise both hands and lift a challenging eyebrow.

“You want to do this?” you ask. “Really? After everything?”

“After everything,” your father says. “Exactly my words. A house, an education, unending protection. You want for nothing. All I ask in return is obedience and you cannot even grant me that. You have the audacity to betray me for this animal.” He waves the gun around like the clumsy, ungainly thing he is. It makes a few heads duck, including yourself. You fear this man will kill someone without even trying. It makes it hard to listen, which might be for the best, as he goes on a long tirade about privilege and position and loyalty.

He starts merely angry but it turns downright diabolical.

“And you.” He turns to Felix. “I dug you out of Miroh’s gutter! I made you a bargain! I gave your meaningless life purpose! You are nothing without me. How dare you think to take what is mine. How dare you think you are anything more than a dog. How long have you kept this secret? How am I supposed to trust it is the last? You are a liar. For all I know you are lying about everything. Is that it? Are you a spy, feeding reports back to Miroh? Is that why I can never succeed in my missions? Have you been—”

Felix bursts into laughter. His face scrunches with delight, his cheeks dimpled. The low rumble of his laughing voice sounds real, honest amusement at the proclamation. It fades to a sigh, then he looks up.

You have never seen such a dark glare shadow his features, made all the more horrifying thanks to his bloody injuries. It makes your stomach drop even though it is not directed at you.

“You fail at all your missions because you’re an incompetent idiot,” Felix says. “You couldn’t even control two children. What makes you think you can control Miroh?”

“Have you forgotten our bargain?” your father yells, waving the gun towards Felix again. “You lie and trick your way into my household and still expect—”

“Our bargain,” Felix spits the word and some blood sprays out. He spits the rest on the floor and shakes his head. “I know he’s dead. You killed him a long time ago.”

The room is quiet for a moment. Your father is still holding the gun, though it dangles at his side. He and Felix stare each other down. Although Felix is kneeling, his sinister stare is far more terrifying than your father’s blank gaze. But then that empty gaze turns cold and your father smiles, one of those sharp smiles that opens like a slash across his face.

“Now how would you know that,” your father says, “if you are not a spy for Miroh?”

“One of Miroh’s men told us at the warehouse,” you interrupt. It earns you nothing but a wrathful glare from your father. He gestures to you and a guard puts a threatening hand on your shoulder.

“You will speak when spoken to,” your father snaps. He looks at Felix again. “Oh. Yes. You. Whoops. I very nearly forgot, it was so long ago when I killed your friend. Does that make you sad? Poor little boy. You should have remembered your place. Your kind are born to die for men like me.”

“Men like you,” Felix says. Mourning will have to wait so he laughs because he cannot cry. “You’re pathetic. Not a surprise, though, yeah? Since your father took care of everything before I killed him—oh. Whoops.” He tilts his head and smiles, speaking with the same saccharine tone your father just used to mock him. “It was so long ago. I almost forgot I shot your daddy in the fucking head. Does that make you sad? Poor little boy. You should have remembered your place and stayed behind your walls. You’ll never be a man like him.”

Your father has never looked so stricken. You did not even know his face could contort such a way. It makes him look very human for the few heartbeats that it lingers. You can almost picture a younger version of your father, breaking under the fist of his father before him.

Then he schools himself. Once more, the untouchable monster stands before you. The gun wobbles only a little when he raises it, taking aim at Felix.

“Stop!” you shout. You were just picturing the passing of generations, so maybe that explains why your panicked brain compels you to blurt, “You can’t kill him! I’m pregnant!”

This time every head in the room swivels towards you. Even the other guards do not hide their surprise. Your father stares, jaw agape, and Felix looks just as bewildered. You feel bad because you can see thought flickering behind his eyes, wondering if maybe you are telling the truth. It makes his face change, pain flashing. Panic seeps into his veins.

“Excuse me?” your father says.

You almost trip on the chair. Your knees knock and your voice shakes when you say, “You heard me.”

“I know what I heard.” At least it succeeds in garnering your father’s attention. He forgets about Felix entirely as he stalks towards you, gun clutched in his undoubtedly sweaty hand. “My problem lies in understanding how this can be.”

“Well,” you say slowly. “I can’t imagine you really want me to explain that—”

You father backhands you across the face. You careen into his desk, barely catching yourself.

“It could work in my favour yet,” your father says. “Start fresh. Fix where I went wrong with you. Because you are an irredeemable and entirely lost cause.”

This baby is not even real yet you panic at the thought. It unspools an infinite and horrifying future, this house an eternal monstrosity birthing a new generation of tyrant and monster. Hurting and contorting everyone in the family name for the sake of maintaining that vast estate.

This has to stop.

“Of course I am,” you say. You take a long, steadying breath, then you push yourself upright. You turn to your father and meet his gaze, aware of the gun but feigning complete nonchalance. “I can’t believe it has taken you this long to realize it,” you say. “You lost me a long, long time ago. You want to control everything because you’re scared of losing anything. But you’ve already lost what you were trying so hard to protect and you can never, ever get it back. I will not continue what your father started. I will not be what you have become. I am not like you and I am proud of that. I am proud that I love my friends, and Felix, despite how much you tried to stop me. But I am me and I am not scared.”

You dive at him, a vicious tackle spurred by that hurricane of emotion inside you. You tackle him so quickly that it takes the guards a second to react. The gun clatters to the floor as it flies out of his hand. He throws up his fists to protect his face when you swing down with all your might. What you lack in physical strength you compensate with drive, slamming your fists down without care for where they land, again and again and again.

Then someone grabs you by the collar and yanks. It is one of the guards, pulling you to your feet. Your father shrieks and hollers like a wounded dog, snarling and frothing like one too. He gets to his feet and swings at you.

Felix rises, struggling to reach you. You stretch out your hand, your fingertips touching before you are yanked apart from each other. You cry out, struggling in the guard’s death grip to no avail. Felix is fighting the other guards but his injuries put him at a disadvantage.

You are dragged away from the chaos. Your father picks up the discarded gun on his way.

“Take her outside!” he shouts at the guard, then turns to the mess in his office. “Don’t waste your energy. Shoot the boy.”

“No!” you scream, so guttural you hardly recognize the sound. You cry as gunshots ring in the office, but you lose sight of the skirmish as you are dragged, kicking and screaming, down the stairs and out the front door.

You curse at your father and the guard, bits of your shirt ripping when you fight to escape. You are smacked and twisted, your shoulder popping so painfully that it makes you wail.

“Stop it, stop it!” You are fully sobbing, either from pain or panic. It does no good as you are dragged into the night. The grand driveway is lit like a stage awaiting players, lamps and towers beaming over the pavement. The gate opens to the street beyond. It is pitch black. There are no other houses on this hillside, the estate sprawling across its expanse, so there are no streetlights. A black car is parked on the curb. It feels like a chariot to the underworld, black and swallowed by shadow. You are as good as dead. Felix might be truly dead.

You struggle some more but you are in so much pain. Your father is shouting directions at the guard and it splits his attention. His grip loosens and you successfully break free.

You do not hesitate. You run into the street, straight through the pitch black. If you run far enough, you will eventually reach a proper street leading into the city. You do not even care which direction you go. You just run, ignoring the screaming pain in your muscles as your feet hit the pavement.

A gunshot pierces the quiet night. You stumble to a stop, throwing your hand up over your heart. You touch your chest, expecting to find a bloody wound. But there is nothing, not a single drop. You were not shot.

You spin around and watch the guard fall to the ground, a bullet in his head. Your father turns too, holding his own gun at the approaching figure.

Your knees almost buckle as relief washes over you, Felix storming down the driveway with a gun of his own raised at your father. Felix is badly wounded, but even at his worst he is a far better shot than your father. They both know it too, staring each other down as Felix gets closer and closer.

“Stop where you are!” your father screams, his voice breaking.

Felix ignores him, gun still raised. Your father fires a shot that goes wide. Felix does not even blink as it ricochets off a wall. He walks calmly to the sidewalk where your father stands. He does not smirk or gloat. He just looks at the frightened man who terrorized the world to make himself feel better, and he lines up a shot.

Felix pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens.

His brow furrows before his face twists with fury. The gun has jammed or it’s out of bullets, but either way it is useless. He lowers his arm, the gun dangling from his hand as he stares at your father.

Your father just laughs, a ridiculous and semi-hysterical laugh as he stumbles back but never lowers the gun. Felix is much closer now. Even your father could not miss this shot.

Felix drops his gun and smiles weakly.

“She’s funny, you know,” Felix says. “And smarter than anyone I know. She picks up on things everyone else misses. It’s too bad you can’t see it. But then, you’re not like her.”

“Shut up,” your father snaps. “You have exceeded your uses, boy.”

You realize you are running. Even before the conscious thought reaches your mind, your body spurs you into action. Instinct commandeers control and you hand yourself over to it. Felix looks up just as you emerge from the dark. He sees your face for a split second, enough time for him to realize what you are doing and shout, “Stop!”

Your father’s finger is already on the trigger. A shot rings out and this time it does hit you, sharp and searing as you dive in front of Felix.

The gun hits the ground. Your father looks at you with petrified eyes. Felix catches you, supporting your weight as he sinks to his knees with you in his arms.

“Sweetheart,” he says, touching your face, your neck, your chest. “Sweetheart, look at me. Stay with me.”

The pain is excruciating, like nothing you have ever felt before. You cannot even tell where it is coming from. It feels like your neck and shoulder and heart all at once. It radiates and burns. The pain is so overwhelming that you do not notice the wet, tacky feeling of blood. You see it before you feel it, all over Felix’s fingers as he finds the bullet wound in your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he says, barely more than a gasp. His chest is rising and falling rapidly. You scream in agony when he grabs your shoulder and squeezes it hard in his fist. “I know, I know,” he says. “It exited clean. There’s nothing vital there. You’ll be okay, sweetheart, I got you. I just have to staunch the blood. We just have to—” His voice breaks on a sob and he looks up at your father, his hand covered in your blood and his rage as red on his face. “We have to get her help. Now.”

Your father’s response is to pick up the gun. He nearly drops it, his shaking hands clammy, but he gets an unsteady grip eventually. He points it at Felix again.

“Are you fucking serious?” Felix shouts in aggravation. “Your daughter is going to bleed to death if you don’t do something. Put the fucking gun down!”

“Get away from her,” your father says. “Get away from her and put your hands up. I’ll get her help.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head then crying when pain lances down your neck. “No, Felix. Don’t.”

Your father will not take another shot at Felix, not with you in his arms. Your father might want to control you, but he does not want you dead. You are the only thing that is protecting Felix now. If he moves, he dies.

“Don’t go,” you beg. “Felix, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Felix says. He looks up at your father, venom in his voice as he asks, “Are you really going to stand there and let your daughter die?”

“Are you going sit there and let her die?” your father retorts. “Get away from her and I will save her.”

You feel Felix twitch. He presses his fingers a little harder, stopping a rush of blood. It makes you weep and you plead, “Felix no. Please. I can’t watch that. I’d rather it end like this.”

“Don’t say that.” Felix looks down at you. His bloody hand is shaking, tears spilling down his cheeks as he looks at you. “Nothing’s ending. You’re gonna be fine.”

“It never ends,” your father babbles. He almost drops the gun when he trips over the lip of the sidewalk, stumbling backwards into the street as he stares at you. You stare back, wondering if it is your blurry vision or if he is really crying. All you can see is him wiping his face, the gun trembling in his hand. “It just keeps going,” he says. “Only I can end it.”

He is taking aim again. You cannot tell if he is aiming for you or Felix, maybe some half-baked delirious plan in his twisted mind to put you out of your misery and take Felix with you.

Felix does not have time to attack. He can only curl his body around yours to protect you from the shot.

Then a beam of light shatters the dark. It flies up the street, illuminating your father. He looks in that direction. Everyone is drowning in their sobs and it is all so loud that it takes a second to hear it: the heavy, growling drone of a speeding car, hurtling ever closer. The white of a high-beam headlight blinds your father with lightning hot intensity.

It is the last thing he ever sees.

Felix is as startled as you. You both cry out in horrified shock. He blocks your body to shield you from the sudden and unexpected gore. Noiseless convulsions tremble through your whole body as you stare up at Felix, not understanding what just happened.

You both look over as the car rapidly reverses, disappearing just as quickly as it came. In its wake is your father, or what remains of him.

Just like that, the whole world tilts on its axis.

You cannot comprehend what you are seeing. This man was a towering, nightmarish monstrosity, bigger than life and death, holding the world in his fist. Even he desperately believed in his own mythology. It seems impossible that he could be that nightmare but also be this, a broken and very human body, muscle and gristle and protruding bone, half flattened to the tarmac. A sudden and entirely undignified death, comically animal, and as lowly as everything he ever disparaged.

You and Felix stare at him, at the mess of his ruined dead body on the dark street. It is so, so quiet. The house is so still. The street is empty. You can hear the soft buzz of the floodlights.

You make a hurt noise. Felix looks down with a perplexed shake of his head. But he only has a moment to mind you, his mouth open with some unspoken thought, when you hear the car again.

You both look over, your heart racing and your blood spilling over his hand. He is wearing his most determined face, braced to face an adversary.

You do not know who to anticipate. It makes no sense for Miroh to be here. He would not have known anything unusual was transpiring at this house tonight. How could he know to send someone? Yet it is the only thing that makes sense. The only person who could have taken down someone like your father would be someone just like him.

You are braced for the worst when the car comes to a stop. The dead body looks more grotesque as the headlights flash over it.

The driver does not turn off the engine. You hear the patter of frantic footsteps before the silhouette is illuminated by the car lights. Wide eyes meet yours and your heart stutters. Your tears are halted by the face staring back at you.

“Oh my god,” Jisung says. “That was the bad guy, right?”

Felix reacts first, a bark of laughter made in disbelief as he stares at your startled best friend.

Han Jisung is both the same and different, with a flop of dark hair and big brown eyes, but years have passed, leaving him bulkier and more mature. He pushes a pair of glasses up his nose, the wide frames only exaggerating his eyes, making it very easy to hold his gaze when he looks at you.

“Jisung,” you say, and start crying all over again. “Jisung.” You cannot seem to find another word. You just gasp his name between sobs.

Jisung practically flies towards you, landing on his knees.

“Hey, stranger,” he says, carefully touching your cheek. “You’ve looked better, I’m not gonna lie.”

You laugh even though it hurts, reaching for him with a shaking hand. He takes it despite it being sticky with blood, cupping it safely in his own.

“You’re here,” you say. “How? Why?”

“Of course I’m here,” he replies in a soft voice. “I got in my car as soon as I saw that goodbye message.” He gently squeezes your hand. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away twice, did you?”

Your laugh is more of a sob, in too much pain to truly smile. Felix asks Jisung to help, showing him where to apply pressure. Jisung complies, holding you while Felix tugs off his shirt. It leaves him in a tank top, all his scars and bruises on display. You want to fuss over him too but he gives you no opportunity to linger, using his shirt as a makeshift tourniquet for your wound.

“So your boyfriend is Felix,” Jisung says while he works. “That’s great. I was rooting for you two crazy kids. Felix had a pretty obvious crush on you in high school. I didn’t say anything because you kinda seemed to hate his guts but I guess that’s not true anymore. You had some bigger bastards to hate. Speaking of, that was your dad I got right? I mean, I didn’t even think, I just saw him waving that gun around and I hit the pedal. Next thing I knew—ohhh shit, Felix, you’re really strong, what the fuck, man. Have you been working out—”

Felix scoops you into his arms and stands. His usual unwavering strength falters just a little, his injuries protesting his action. You tell him to put you down because it will do no good for you both to collapse. Jisung stands and helps steady you. They both lay a hand on your back, taking some of your weight as your feet touch the ground and you wobble.

“That’s my girl,” Jisung says. “Oh man, that’s a lot of blood, ha ha ha – AHH. No, it’s fine, we’re okay. Careful—”

“Jisung,” Felix says, looking past you to meet his eye. “Are you okay?”

A more than fair question considering how fast everything just happened. Jisung stops rambling and takes a few deep breaths before he answers.

“Okay, yeah,” he says. “Totally fine. For now.”

“Okay,” Felix says. “Because I need you to take her while I—”

Your ignore their conversation. Your eyes are on your father. You cannot even call it his body; it is a carcass. His lower half is gored but his face is mostly whole. You half-expect his mouth to open with a wailing shout. You are so distracted with the thought, you misstep and your weak ankles give out. You are spared a kiss with the pavement when Jisung catches you. It is a haphazard embrace, throwing his arms around you to keep you upright.

“Can you take care of her until I get back?” Felix asks.

“Uh-huh. Yes,” Jisung says. He puts his growing bulk to use and lifts you into his arms, bridal style. You cannot move your shoulder to lift your arms around him, but you rest your head in the curve of his neck as he carries you to his car.

His car. Hysterical giggles bubble inside you, quashed only by the physical ache of your body. Han Jisung really raced back into your life and annihilated the worst of your demons by driving right at him.

Years of nightmares and beatings and pain. Years of your father lording his power over you and the world. Years of believing he was terrifying and untouchable.

Jisung always said it was that easy. He was just a teenager, lookingat the impossible powers that surrounded his friend but believing whole-heartedly he could save her anyway. You argued and pushed him away, but he knew better all along. Jisung was not cowed by money and influence, not impressed or frightened by men like your father who ravaged the world and gloated about it. Jisung had no power or influence of his own but that didn’t matter. He saw his friend was in a bad situation and he wanted to save you. So he did.

He carefully rests you in the passenger seat. In the time it takes him to circle to the driver’s side, you break down crying. The pain exacerbates it, your body seeking release, but it is sentiment that pours out of your heart.

Jisung gets in, looking very startled. He adjusts his glasses.

“Did it get worse?” he asks, reaching for you with a bloody hand. You look at it, you look at him, very literally stained with blood on your behalf. He is staying composed but you can see the jitters under his skin. He just killed someone for you. It might have been a panicked, spur of the moment decision, but the end result was the same. Even though your father was not a good man, taking a life is a serious burden.

And here he is, placing that weight aside so he can check on you.

“Jisung,” you say. You wish your hands were not so dirty because you want to touch his face or hold his hand. You satisfy yourself with leaning towards him, touching your forehead to his cheek as you cry.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jisung says. He shifts so your foreheads are touching, his clean hand cupping your cheek. “I got you, okay? It’s over now. Felix is gonna take care of it and I’m gonna take care of you. It’ll be okay. Don’t be scared, all right?”

“I’m not,” you say. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You’re my friend,” Jisung says. “You don’t have to do anything to deserve it, okay? Look. I know what will make you feel better.” He reaches past you into the glove compartment. You have no idea what he could possibly have in there that will make you feel better while bleeding out of a bullet wound in the passenger seat of his car, the same car he used to murder your abusive father.

He fishes around then pulls out a bag of spicy peanuts, the same flavour you used to eat all the time in high school. Even though he was allergic, he bought them whenever he found them, just because he knew you liked them.

You take them slowly, staring at the familiar packaging. You sniffle.

“It was always going to be you, wasn’t it?” you say softly. You could cry all over again. “You really came back.”

Of course Jisung saved you. You realize now your father could never be bested by Miroh or someone like him. They would be locked in a perpetual stalemate, predicting each other’s every step, giving and taking and killing in a circle of violence with no end. But Jisung is not like them.

Whether the gesture was big or small, whether it was peanuts or a rescue, it was selfless, and someone like your father would never understand that. He never saw it coming.

“Well, yeah,” Jisung says. “My promise was forever, remember?”

You can only nod, bumping your heads together. Jisung wraps you in a hug then kisses your forehead before buckling in and taking the steering wheel.

“All right,” he says. “We can catch up after. Let’s get away from this place. It’s giving me the creeps.”

It is strange looking at your house on a news report. It makes you feel like you are watching someone else’s life.

You are stitched and showered, sitting on the floor of a twin bed motel room. You are still damp from the shower but each little trickle feels like blood, your jittery fingers constantly swiping at your skin.

Jisung sits behind you on the bed, his legs bracketing you, double checking your stitches. Felix said it was paramount to avoid a hospital or any other institution that would identify you. He told Jisung to book a room at a motel on the highway and wait for him, that he would stitch you up himself when he arrived. Jisung took the initiative, boasting some first aid training for his job at the grocery store.

“Usually I’m putting bandages on a cut finger,” Jisung said, hands covered in blood as he fixed your wound, “but this is, uh, similar I guess. Sort of.”

Felix arrived while you were in the shower. Now he is in there, cleaning himself and minding his own injuries while you and Jisung watch the evening news report. The blinds are closed, rain pelting the canopy over the balcony, but you are tucked away from the storm, hidden from the world as it mourns you.

“A devastating house fire is believed to have left no survivors on the premises,” the reporter says, backdropped with a video of an inferno ravaging your father’s house. “Police are still investigating, but among the suspected dead is a prominent local businessman and his daughter.” They show a portrait of your father and an old yearbook photo of you. That girl looks nothing like the battered woman you are now. You really do feel like you are watching someone’s else story end.

“Wow,” Jisung says, watching too. “How does it feel to be dead?”

You rest your head against his knee, sighing as you stare at the television.

“I’m not dead,” you say, staring at the photo of you. That girl might be dead, but you are very alive.

Felix accidentally swings the bathroom door too hard, the thud like a gunshot in your mind. You jump a mile out of your skin, digging your nails into Jisung’s leg unthinkingly.

“Ah ah ah ah—” Jisung grabs your wrist to pry you off.

“Sorry,” Felix says, truly apologetic. He closes the door with a gentle click then approaches. He sits beside Jisung on the bed, laying his hand on your head and looking you over. “How are you?” Felix asks. He pays no mind to the news report but that is likely because he is responsible for the story they are broadcasting. You know Felix would tell you every detail if you asked, but you decide you do not want to know how he moved the bodies around. It is enough to see the walls of that place burning.

He packed a few things first. A stuffed duffel bag sits on the other bed. Perhaps it should feel daunting, that all you have left is a single bag of necessities, but it feels freeing. You are not burdened by the weight of more. Your hands might be shaking and you might be hurt in more ways than one, but you can exhale.

You take Felix’s hands and kiss his scraped knuckles.

“I’m fine,” you say. “What about you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says. He looks more tired than you have ever seen him, but he manages a laugh when you pout at him. “Don’t do that,” he says, flicking your bottom lip. “Just some bad bruises, yeah? I’ll be fine.”

You know he is not fine but you respect his desire for peace. You can check his injuries later when he has settled.

“Well then, what about you, Jisungie?” you ask. You turn around to face him. “How are you?”

“Uh, honestly…” Jisung rakes his fingers through his hair then exhales on a shaky laugh. “I’ll let you know when I know. It’s all a bit—uh—”

“Yeah,” you say, taking his hand. “I know.”

You suspect there will be no proper words for a while. You cannot even think of recovery while your wounds throb. There are still gunshots firing in your mind. When you close your eyes, you see a body on the pavement. You expect a knock at the door and a gun in your face, even though there is no reason for that. Miroh is probably sitting back and laughing at the detonation of your father’s house. Your father’s people and investors will scramble over the company tomorrow. That world will turn without you. You will not miss it.

You struggle to sleep that night. You lay on your back to mind your shoulder but that is not your only grievance. Felix lays beside you where he belongs and Jisung is in the other bed, so you are not alone anymore, but your adrenaline will not dwindle. Now that you have a moment of peace, it feels more chaotic than ever.

When you start breathing harder, Felix wraps an arm around you.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers. He does not ask what is wrong. It is more than self-explanatory. You do not need to speak.

You want to roll over and bury your face in his neck, but you cannot move because of your shoulder. You suffice to hold his arm tight, closing your eyes as his protective embrace surrounds you. His heart beats against your body and you let it lull you into a gentle repose.

You do not sleep for long. There is morning light when you wake but it is a bleary, early grey light. Everything smells a little damp from the rain. This is a small motel, meant to serve as a momentary respite for passing travellers. You cannot stay here.

Felix wakes when you do. After a few morning kisses, he rises to use the washroom. Jisung is still fast asleep in his bed, his cheek squished and his hair a shaggy mess on the pillow. You smile, looking at him. There is a gap between the beds but he is close enough to touch if you stretch. You content yourself with looking, thinking about how lucky you are to have him again. It is a light and happy thought, but it darkens very swiftly when you recall what he did to save you. It is going to weigh on him, whether all at once or in pieces.

The weight of trauma will be a heavy burden, but you are alive to carry it. There are others who are less lucky. You think about Hyunjin and your heart strains, recalling his final miserable departure. Your father implied he had Hyunjin killed. If he was not bluffing to antagonize you, then Hyunjin did not stand a chance.

You are sniffling with tears when Jisung blinks awake. He mutters in groggy gibberish before reaching for his glasses. His tired voice is tinged with concern when he asks, “What is it? Do you need something?”

“No,” you say, wiping your tears. “I was just thinking I know where I want to go next.”

It is hard to talk about Hyunjin so you opt for vagueness over specificity. The boys do not question the subject of the cabin when you mention his name. You do not tell them he might be dead. You feel like if you speak it out loud, it will make it true.

It will take a week to reach the cabin by car. Jisung helps you loads the necessities into the back a truck that Felix procured, only questioning its seeming manifestation after the fact.

“I stole it,” Felix answers.

“You stole a car?” Jisung asks. It is a good thing the motel parking lot is empty because he practically shouts it, like stealing a car is the most horrifying thing he has ever heard. You remember how you had the same reaction the first time Felix stole a vehicle.

It makes you laugh when Felix draws his lips into a thin line, shaking his head at Jisung. He turns to you and says, “You two really are identical, you know?”

“What does that mean?” Jisung asks.

“I said the same thing the last time he stole a car,” you say.

“Dude!” Jisung whips around. “You stole two cars?”

“You know I’ve killed people, right?” Felix says dryly.

“Well yeah, I mean, who hasn’t,” Jisung says with a nervous giggle.

You whack him on the arm and shake your head. “That’s not funny,�� you say.

“It’s a little funny,” he whispers while you roll your eyes.

Though you want to keep him at your side, it feels selfish to ask Jisung to come with you. He has a life here and he has already done so much to help you. But he surprises you by emphatically volunteering himself, saying he at least wants to help get you there.

“I don’t think I could just walk back into my normal life tomorrow like nothing happened,” Jisung says, tucking you under one arm. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen next. Can’t control it. But I know where I want to be right now. I’ll figure out the rest after.”

So you take to the road, your destination a small cabin far away from your old life. You stop along the way, at first for food and other necessities, mostly stolen by Felix, but then for pleasure when you drive through towns with interesting landmarks. On the clearer nights, you sleep in the bed of the truck.

You still do not stop for a real discussion. You indulge the mental break while you can, all three of you taking the time to literally stop and smell the flowers on the journey.

Bandages still need changing. Stitches need minding. The night before your anticipated arrival, you are in another motel room. You and Felix sit in the small kitchenette, playing cards at the tiny table, while Jisung showers and goes about his nightly routine.

You throw down a couple cards. You look at Felix while he studies his hand. The swelling on his face has gone down which is good for numerous reasons. He has been wearing a baseball cap everywhere, the brim pulled low, to stop people from staring.

There is a hard set to his shoulders. It has been like that for a few days. Even in your father’s house, there were moments Felix would soften, namely when he was curled up in your shared bed and the world seemed far away. Maybe he cannot relax because the world is so immediate now. It is strange that potential happiness can cause as much anxiety as its opposite. Perhaps it is because it is so unfamiliar. Your body only knows how to brace itself.

Felix was raised for that express purpose. Road trips and gardens and motel rooms was not in his training. High school corridors and uniforms once baffled him, the mundanity of everyday life more exhilarating and frightening than a battlefield.

You want to smooth his brow and soften his shoulders. He sits like he is holding a breath and you want to draw it out of him. A part of your stirs with arousal at the consideration, thinking how you could do that. You have always found your humanity in that intimate space. But you are both much too injured to try anything heavier than a kiss right now.

This time, you reach across the table and touch his cheek, with no intention but a soft caress. He blinks up at you, the cards forgotten. You do not know what to say. You just touch him.

He cups his hand over yours, holding it to his cheek. He looks at your shoulder and other bruises. It will take you a long time to heal, but nothing is infected. You do not know how his injuries are faring because he will not let anyone look at them. He claims he is fine. You know he is not.

“I love you,” you say. “I swear it gets stronger every day. Is that crazy? Not a day goes by where I am not grateful for you, just as you are.”

He closes his eyes and swallows. He nods.

“I love you too,” he says in a soft, low voice.

When Jisung leaves to get some dinner, Felix proves you wrong about lovemaking. You are too injured for anything vigorous, but he can still lay you down, can still stretch alongside you. He slips his hand beneath your waistband and touches you with long, careful strokes. You unravel in his arms, your sore spots aching but the pain worth the pleasure. You wrap a hand around the back of his neck and tug him down for a kiss. You kiss him until he sighs and rests his forehead to yours.

“Can I please see?” you ask.

He finally acquiesces. His scars are not too bad, more plentiful than painful. He hisses but exhales when you kiss your way across a couple worse marks.

“We’ll find a way to feel better,” you say, grazing your fingertips along his skin. You recall what Jisung said, about how you did not have to deserve love, you just had to accept it. “You don’t need to prove yourself anymore, Felix,” you say. You dance your fingers down his bare chest to his waistband, kissing his shoulder as he sucks in a breath. “Just be with me. Let me love you.”

“Always,” he says, dropping his head back as you touch him. He cups the nape of your neck, squeezing lightly as you flick your wrist and stroke.

You reach the cabin the next day. It is late afternoon when you find the right place, passing a few other cabins before you find a quaint but charming one in the midst of a meadow. The cabin itself does not flaunt much excess, but the meadow is flooded with flowers, a carpet of colour in the late afternoon light that makes it look like a something out of a fairy tale.

The only problem is the smoke in the chimney. The cabin is clearly occupied.

“Is this the right place?” Felix asks. He and Jisung were admiring the meadow while you stared at the cabin, heart palpitating when you realized it was not empty.

“It is,” you say.

“Maybe it’s Hyunjin,” Jisung says.

“It’s not.” You close your eyes. Hyunjin did not say anything about selling the property when you brought it up. But, then again, there was a lot happening in that final exchange. You made him promise he would try to get away if he could, but it might have been an empty platitude. He knew he was going to die. He knew you would never find out anyway.

The distractions of the past week flutter into nothingness as you reckon with the grim reality of the world your father left behind. You hang your head, swallowing hard.

Jisung and Felix stare at you, their faces falling when they realize what you mean.

“How?” Jisung asks.

“My father chased him down,” you say. “He used him. He discarded him. It’s what he does.”

“What he did,” Jisung reminds you. “And maybe Hyunjin got away. We did! That stupid hot weasel was a bitch but he was resourceful as fuck.”

“Jisuuung,” you say, smacking his arm.

“What? I’m not speaking ill of the dead because he’s not dead,” Jisung argues. “And if he was, he wouldn’t want me to suddenly be all fake and nice to him. I annoy him. That’s how I show my love.” He kisses two fingers and waves it at the sky, then flips his middle finger too. You laugh in spite of yourself, shaking your head.

Felix steps behind you and takes your hand. He kisses your cheek. A breeze blows through his hair, his hat in his other hand. The three of you stand in the meadow for a time, looking at the flowers as you contemplate what to do next.

The front door of the cabin opens. You all turn. An apology sits on your tongue, sorry for trespassing on someone else’s property. The sight of you is no doubt disconcerting. Despite showers and meticulous first aid, you all look very rough, three obviously tired and run down people, a little dusty from the road and streaked with dirt from your hike to the cabin.

You look at the person as they stand on the front stoop. Your brow furrows and the apology disintegrates on your tongue, a bemused question poised to take it’s place.

“Minho?” is all you manage.

You have not seen your first teenage crush in many, many years. He looks older but not too different overall. He is still very striking, even in his homey flannel and jeans, standing on the cabin stoop and looking at you with equal confusion.

“Do I know you?” he asks, which makes sense. You might have had a crush on him, but so did half the school. He was a popular guy. He knew Hyunjin but he only met you briefly.

You want to tell him that. You want to say you are friends with Hyunjin but you find it hard to say his name, especially with Minho gazing at you so innocently. Why is he at the cabin? Was he still friends with Hyunjin? He likely does not know he is dead.

You are spared your turmoil when Felix tugs on your arm, a sharp bid for attention. You look at him, bemused, and he nods his head forward. You look past Minho to the open cabin door as another figure steps into view.

All that twisted pain unspools in your chest. You nearly start sobbing in relief.

“Hyunjin!” You ignore the surprised look on Minho’s face and run right past him.

Hyunjin is standing in the doorway, looking wary until he recognizes you. Then his face breaks into a smile and those long limbs jump the porch steps. You trample a few flowers that have grown over the path, meeting in an embrace amidst sprigs of lavender and vibrant hyacinths. It is a very messy embrace, you and Hyunjin both forgetting you are injured. You crash together only to yelp, your shoulder smarting and his bruised chest just as tender. You laugh at each other then hug gently. When your cheek touches his chest, your eyes water.

“Am I dead after all?” you ask thoughtlessly, the beauty of the terrain and the embrace of your friend momentarily making you think so.

Hyunjin laughs and shakes his head. “I thought you were,” he says. “It was all over the news. I thought for sure—”

“I thought for sure you—” You overlap with him, both of you laughing again. “How did you get away?”

“Nothing special,” Hyunjin says. “I was being watched but they were waiting for final orders from your father. Then word got out that he was dead so they just left. I don’t know if they went to investigate or just abandoned post. I didn’t stick around to find out. I packed my things and disappeared the first chance I got.”

“We made a few stops on the journey over,” you say. “I’m not surprised you beat us.”

“I really thought you were—” Hyunjin shakes his head. “And that it was my—”

“It wouldn’t have been your fault anyway,” you say.

“That’s what I told him,” Minho interrupts, his tone quippy but his lips quirked up in a smile. He wiggles his fingers in a wave when you look at him. “So you’re the friend,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m the friend’s friend,” Jisung says, skipping into the scene and waving at Hyunjin. “Hey, man. Missed me?”

He is being playful but Hyunjin pulls him into a hug, very obviously surprising Jisung who almost falls right over. Poor Jisung’s face goes red as a rose. You remember his video about having a crush on his high school rival and can’t help but giggle into your palms.

Felix puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling cordially at Minho. “Hi,” he says.

“This is Felix, my—” You look at each other. You lips move as you look for the right word. Bodyguard is not strictly true anymore. Boyfriend and partner sound so very mundane, but you realize that is what you are now. “Boyfriend,” you say, feeling hot with embarrassment for no good reason. You suspect the little things will have you flustered for some time.

“Boyfriend,” Felix repeats, looking quite delighted for a second. You are certain only you see the flicker of sadness that follows. He blinks, his gaze faraway, but he covers it with another smile quickly enough. “Nice to meet you,” he says.

“I guess I’ll have to make a bigger dinner,” Minho says, playfully dry like the idea is a hardship, but smiling a knowing smile at Hyunjin, clearly very happy for him. “Come on then. Get inside already. You’re crushing the tulips.”

The cabin is one floor with a loft. The main bedroom, kitchen and facilities are downstairs, some extra makeshift bedding thrown together in the small sitting area by the fireplace. The upstairs loft is a small second bedroom, sparsely furnished with a mattress and blankets and little else. The ceilings are low but the space is blessedly private. You think it is some of the finest accommodations you have ever stayed in.

You throw yourself on the mattress, curling up with a pillow and blanket. Felix smiles and leans down to kiss the top of your head. When he pulls away, you take his hand, regarding him imploringly.

“Just gonna take a shower,” he says. “Wanna clean up, yeah.”

You nod. Even though you can see he is struggling with something, you let him go. If he is not in the mood to talk, you will wait. A shower will help him feel better.

He takes his bag and climbs back down the ladder. You mean to wait for his return, but you feel such calm at finally reaching your destination. The laughing voices of your friends float up to the loft, putting you even more at ease. You release a breath and lay your head on a pillow. The next thing you know, you are blinking awake. The sky is a purpling pink, the day drawing to a close. You can smell something cooking downstairs. Your friends are still yammering away. Hyunjin’s relentless giggles at Jisung’s goofy jokes makes you smile.

You climb down the ladder and wander into the main room. Felix was not upstairs but he is not with the others either. He must have finished his shower a long time ago now.

“Where’s Felix?” you ask, an edge of panic in your voice.

“He’s just outside,” Minho says from behind the kitchen counter. “He said he just wanted some air.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling a little foolish for panicking without reason. “Right. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” Minho says, winking to comfort you. You smile but nonetheless wrap your cardigan tighter around you, feeling a little embarrassed.

Felix has been glued to your side for ten years. Your instinct now panics in his absence, but you realize his absence is a good thing. He does not need to be beside you at all times. He is free to wander if that is what he wants. You are glad he stepped outside for some air, rather than sitting over you.

You step onto the small porch and look across the meadow. You can see a shape sitting among the flowers at the edge of the field, looking down the slope to the park valley below. You cross the flowers, minding where you step. The breeze parts your cardigan and you tug it closed. It is a somewhat clumsy walk overall. Your last few steps are a proper stumble over a rock. You miss it completely, distracted with what you find.

Felix sits with his back to you. You thought he was wearing a hat, but now you can see it is his hair. He dyed it a shock of pitch black and trimmed the edges. It is a messy, jagged cut that you will certainly have to fix later. You suspect he did not spend much time looking in the mirror.

“What’s this?” you ask. “Is this why you wanted to stop at that drug store?”

Felix looks up at you. The dark hair somehow makes his freckles stand out more. He looks different but still very handsome. You think you might be falling in love all over again, a little flushed inside as you sit beside him on the grass.

“Yeah,” he says. He runs his fingers through his hair, glancing up at the dark locks from beneath his lashes. He sighs. “And I don’t know why. I just…”

You put your arm around him, drawing him close to rest his head on your good shoulder. He falls against you, breathing out again. His shoulders droop, losing some of the tension that has plagued him.

“I don’t know what to do now,” he says. “I know this is all good, but I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Like I’m not supposed to be here. And I keep thinking about Chris. How I—” He rubs his face, then chokes tears. “What am I supposed to do with all this life, especially when I couldn’t give him back his?”

He cries properly now and you let him. There is no right thing to say, not that you can think of, so you just hold him until he has expended the worst of his pain through his tears. He takes a few shaking breaths before he sits upright, wiping his face. You rub a circle on his back.

“And you,” he whispers. “It’s like, I feel everything all at once. You call me your boyfriend and I’m happy, then I see you hugging Hyunjin and I think—he knows how to be a person. I don’t know how to be anything.”

“Felix, you know Hyunjin is gay, right?” you ask. You guarded that secret before but seeing as Minho is here at the cabin, you suspect Hyunjin is not keeping it secret anymore.

Felix stutters on a shaking breath, looking momentarily confused.

“Huh? He is?” he asks, then gets a little weepy again, saying, “That’s nice for him.”

“Oh, baby,” you say. You kiss his cheek and snuggle close to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I don’t know what to say. I’m a mess too. I don’t know how to do any of this right. But I’m pretty sure grieving your friend makes you more of a person, not less.” You look at each other. You touch his cheek and stroke a thumb over his freckles. You think you have them mapped by memory, every last dot. “You’re not alone,” you say. “I want to be with you when things are bad, not just when they’re good. And you and me, we’ve known a lot of bad.”

He laughs, his breath dancing over your lips with your proximity. You smile fondly.

“I think it’s time we feel some good,” you say. “We’ll figure out what that means eventually. Together.”

He draws you close and kisses you, a sweet kiss that deepens. You cuddle when the breeze blows a little harder, the evening chill creeping into the sunset. Still, you do not move, sharing heat between you and sitting among the flowers until the pink has left the sky and a blue evening blurs into the purple wash.

Minho sticks his head out the door to call you in for dinner. You stand first and offer your hand. Felix takes it, then kisses you one more time. You walk back to the cabin, hand in hand.

Warmth wraps around you like a fuzzy blanket when you step inside from the cold. Hyunjin and Jisung are playfully arguing at the table, Minho standing over them and yammering some nonsense back. You and Felix smile at each other before joining them all at the table. After he has served the portions, Minho sits as well.

There is a moment of silence, everyone looking around the table at everyone else. They all looked flushed with warmth and life, Hyunjin smiling and Jisung beaming at you. Felix puts his hand on your knee under the table, squeezing softly. You look at him with another smile, then a laugh, a sound of disbelief that resonates with everyone. You are here, impossibly but truly. You have no idea what happens now.

“I’ll break the ice,” Jisung says. “Because I have a confession, while we’re all here, and Hyunjin has his hot boyfriend cooking us a meal. Hyunjin, my man, I’m sorry for being the dick of all dicks when we were in high school.” Jisung lays a hand on his heart and dramatically makes his confession. Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline as your goofy friend continues, “Turns out having an arch nemesis is super gay. And I was a stupid repressed bisexual who thought furiously staring at you for seven hours a day was a totally normal thing to do. Sorry, man. Congrats on the hot boyfriend, though.”

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Minho says. His elbow is on the table, chin in his hand. He is grinning at Jisung.

“Come again?” Jisung says.

“Not his boyfriend,” Minho says, laughing. “I’m his friend. He was in trouble and asked for my help. I’m a good friend so here I am, helping him get settled. I’m actually married.” He holds up his hand, proudly displaying a wedding band. He giggles some more. “He’s single, though.” He gestures to Hyunjin.

Jisung looks at Hyunjin who has gone very pink in the face. He glances at Jisung and laughs, covering his mouth to try and contain it.

“Oh. Oh. Oh. Yeah. Cool.” Jisung scratches the back of his neck, then his brow, then his chin. He taps the table and nods his head rapidly. “Awesome,” he says. “Well, I’m really glad we clarified that before I made a really ridiculous confession in front of everyone. That would have been super embarrassing for me.”

You all laugh, genuinely as Jisung soaks it in with a silly little grin. The sound of your collective delight fills the cabin before chatter begins again and you start eating.

You glance around the table while taking a bite. Your shoulder aches, and Felix’s bruises are still healing, and you will not be surprised if a nightmare jolts one of you out of sleep tonight. But you will wake beside Felix, you will comfort each other, and you will fall back asleep. You will wake up tomorrow and try it all again.

You know the times ahead will not always be easy. You are ready to make mistakes and try.

It is not a perfect ending, but it is a perfect beginning.

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

808 notes · View notes

you-fuckin-judas · 3 months

Text

The beautiful discussion of love through physical touch

[young royals s3 spoilers]

We are back where we started, but this season was full of BEAUTIFUL moments of this conversation through physical touch. Wille & Simon have learned and grown so much together, and it so VERY clear in how we see it.

LETS DISCUSS [and cry again together]

1. I'm just glad you're okay.

Let's start somewhere familiar, but dealt with in a new way. Simon has once a gain experienced violence as a result of online hate, and again Wille wants to be there to protect and comfort him. BEFORE when Simon was in times of stress he would push Wille away, unsure and stifled by the emotions of the moment.

BUT this time. THIS time he welcomes it, the warmth Wille has offered out and breathes it in. This moment is beautiful, in the way that they are communicating verbally and physically. They both sit there together, in the embrace. Together.

2. We have a new member of the choir

THIS moment right here, I won't lie had me running laps in my house. We just left the choir practice where literally everything was golden, the lighting, Simon's shirt, his face when it was announced Wille was joining.

EVERYTHING was golden.

We then have moved to this VERY intimate space, no music in the scene. no other members of the school in the locker area either. JUST the two of them, and their love for each other literally EXPLODING.

I have said it before and I will say it again : Omar is VERY good at depicting Simons love through his hands. Exploring Wille. His hair. His face. His chest. His neck. Literally anywhere he can reach. It's literally like he's soaking him up like a sponge.

Not in a intense, overwhelming way. But more of a : I think you're beautiful and I love every part of you. and I want to show you that.

3. Hey

If we have ever seen these two, it's always fueled with passion and intense love. We hardly are able to see them in situations where they are sensitive and soft with each other.

let's be for real, they hardly ever were given a second of PEACE.

THIS moment is so beautiful, so GENTLE. They see each other at school for the first time, and in front of everyone they share a kiss. THE WARMTH of it makes my HEART WARM. For the first time in front of their peers, in the open, in the light they can share their love.

Neither one shys away from it, and again we see Simon wandering with his hands on Wille, so comfortable in his love.

Also, I want to point out that they both are in bolder colors much different than what we are used to seeing them in.

Usually we see Wille in his signature structured school jacket, as well as in darker hues. Here we see him in this soft, plush pink sweater.

Simon we are used to seeing in purples, looser colder colors. Whereas here he's back in that beautiful golden hue, just shining.

4. Working out

Once again, we are in front of our peers. Bold in our choices physically. We see them working out, Simon joking with Wille.

We of course discuss the trip, but we cut to this quick but beautiful moment of their love to just be with each other.

Their smiles, their closeness, their confidence in their love in that beautiful lighting.

BYE THIS ONE WAS SO WHOLESOME I HAD TO.

5. What was your dream?

First episode of the season, we have already been met with an uncomfortable situation full of tension and anxiety.

They are both able to take a break and Wille takes Simon on a small tour in his home, of course like magnets they once again can't stay away from each other.

We have this intimate moment, where I won't lie I was worried SOMEONE was going to walk in because oh my GOD the timing??, and this discussion physically.

Of course the switching of who is in control, both laughing in joy by just being with each other again. We switch into this extremely passionate tone, but I want to point out something.

We obviously couldn't care less that one; we have our shoes on in this bed. Two; that both of them aren't on it properly. I'm only pointing it out because Simon is literally 2 inches from falling off it, but he couldn't care less because Wille has him in his arms and he trusts him. He's not trying to scoot back on it because he's gonna fall, he doesn't care because he knows Wille won't let him fall.

Once again, Simon showing his love with his hands in Wille's hair, his face. And Wille showing his love by holding Simon and not letting him fall.

ALSO the lighting? STUNNING.

6. What the hell do you think?

LETS TALK ABOUT HOW THIS SCENE HAD ME CRYING LIKE I HAVE NEVER CRIED BEFORE. I was furiously checking the time left on the episode I was so SCARED.

ALRIGHT I saved my favorite for last on this post. Let's go.

THE EXPLOSION of relief from them, from US was absolutely insane. The collision of this hug? I could HEAR it. They were hugging so tightly their ribcages might have locked together.

We also have this BEAUTIFUL lighting, the LUSH green behind them, the fresh air.

I want to applaud the acting from them here because the relief you could see, I don't know about you but I could feel it in my throat. Their hands grabbing at each other, holding as tight as they could, scared to let go? GOD.

Simon's FACE, the tears, the way his hands won't leave Wille and his face. He cannot believe that this is real, that this is really happening. He is just so overwhelmed with emotions and love it absolutely is breathtaking to see it.

I'm sorry but this was the most beautiful scene I have ever seen. Their overwhelming love for each other, their joy at finally being FREE. You can see it; their hands not leaving each other, their SMILES, their eyes locked.

Will I do an in depth discussion on this finale sequence here? Yeah probably because it's EVERYTHING to me.

Young Royals is so personal to me, and this show has meant so much to me. I'm crushed its over, but I think the ending we got was absolutely perfect.

I won't stop the analysis posts because there's just so much I want to talk about, young royals forever 💜

251 notes · View notes

yandere-toons · 14 days

Text

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

General Headcanons – Yandere

WARNING: mentions of child abuse (with domestic implied in association), bullying, intense violence, toxic mindset.

A.N. - Usual friend/partner format is absent to denote character's complicated relationship with intimacy!

"Friend" is a word he would never use, as it implies a degree of closeness and equal standing that Bakugou struggles to accept, that eats up the freedom and control he refuses to surrender, although others apply it for him.

Despite the enforced distance, Bakugou is quick to harass and torment any who claim intimacy with you or wish to establish such. This stems less from any clash with such feelings in Bakugou and more from the simple fact that attention divided is attention lost. Additionally, letting some extra into your life is another way of calling him incapable of fulfilling that need, a grave insult that rouses him to sever this dead weight on the battlefield.

Whomsoever has the gall to take that mantle from him, a death match will settle the undying question of whether his passion can conquer theirs. If they manage a desperate escape or a swift rescue, Bakugou will forever brand them a coward and challenge them on sight to let him finish the job.

It is difficult to overstate the amount of enmity he feels for those who intrude on the relationship. All who came before him, with the superior bond of time, cluck their tongues and sneer at his efforts to surpass them; all who come sniffing after him, he refuses to see as anything other than leeches in need of plucking and destruction.

A volatile household has imbued in Bakugou a hypersensitivity to all forms of criticism. He wishes to never again feel so trapped and powerless as the loser of a fight, so he exerts a similarly aggressive level of control over others, believing violence to be the one reliable way of coming out on top.

After all, no relationship is without contest as far as Bakugou was taught: compromise and compassion are tools for the weak, who cannot stand alone and serve only to elevate the strong. Some opponents, such as his teacher Aizawa, present a challenge not undertaken without first suffering heavy penalties to his dream, and thus this battle of wills is relegated here to a more passive defiance.

Through strength and superior force of will, a connection with Bakugou can only be a deterrent to other bullies and all the Minetas of the world. It is a pathway to unmatched companionship, performance, and success. All other relationships are transient, but with Bakugou, the results are entirely concrete and, by extension, reliable. You don't need nebulous concepts like 'good company' preached by lesser individuals when Bakugou will ensure the identification and erasure of all vestigial weaknesses.

Additional elements in your life are, at best, a source of concern as dead weight or, at worst, actively prohibiting your well-being by limiting your time with him. Anyone who refuses to exact their pound of flesh in the relationship is either a liar or an idiot. Lies mean danger and warn Bakugou to expect an attack; idiots are not long for this world and therefore are unworthy of his time save for the occasional heckling.

Bakugou drives himself to excel at his every pursuit, trusting in such a "mastery over all" persona to cover his weak spots and allow for nothing that others could point at as his one failure. If he wins in all contests, then who could legitimately claim he is wrong?

Bakugou thrives on any chance to flaunt his strength—but abhors the idea of being used in the same manner as a lowly foot soldier; that is, presented as cannon fodder and expected to die a forgotten tool. Such requests are seen as an attempt at controlling him, which in and of itself is indicative of disrespect and cannot be tolerated.

Any advances from another in your life, he assumes, are a deliberate slight against his pride; and the knife must be stuck in a thousandfold lest he be remembered as the simpering coward who showed his belly at the first glare of competition.

Bakugou expects a mountain of boasting and gushing at the supposedly generous act of bestowing upon you his undivided attention; he, however, remains silent on the affair so as not to suggest any emotional dependence, an achingly true reality he is certain others will prey upon with mockery and invasive questioning. The loss of control over his attachment is a long-kept secret, for once it goes beyond his immediate control, it becomes a potentially gaping vulnerability, one readily exploited by his many enemies.

Despite his best intentions, Bakugou is much like the mother he fought so hard to survive and escape, a fact he both resents and considers necessary to protect himself. Only through being the strongest, and king of the hill, will his voice and his desires never again be ignored.

Bakugou often re-enacts these fights on his own terms, where the opponent is hopelessly outmatched and he can assume the position of power, subconsciously spewing the same insults and threats that were used against him to eke out a sense of worth and control in his life.

As a youngster, Bakugou is ripe to demand participation in all group activities. He frames his team as the one for whom success is guaranteed and assures you he only partners with winners. Any who step in or challenge with another word are blown away.

Among classmates, Bakugou has made a habit of targeting your favourites and any more who dare to dream they can take his place, unable to cope with a future where he is unnecessary. He must be essential, for anything less is an insult to his capabilities and a potential source of vulnerability.

In combat exercises, no one else is allowed to engage you. Those who land even a single blow, he puts through the wall. Bakugou himself is noticeably milder with his attacks on you, taking aim at less vulnerable areas and shooting to stun rather than kill. Training with you is fundamentally still a competition, but he won't allow you to be harmed by any of the lesser candidates and would-be heroes.

For the opposing team, Bakugou displays an enduring hatred and arms his attacks with power enough to blow through the human body and split the concrete wall behind it. This is no longer a game to him, but something deeply personal.

He leaves a slot open on his team and chases away any who seek to fill it, convinced that with an ample enough show of force, you will realise the error of your ways and switch sides to the clear winner. Still, he cannot let slip that he hopes for such a thing and would be hurt by its absence. If anyone asks, the slot was left open because his team, having him as a leader, did not require full manning.

At the peak of junior high, Bakugou's emotions spiral: lunging for perceived rivals, pummeling them, and teasing an explosion down their throat. Teachers, victims, and spectators alike keep quiet, half in fear for their own safety, half in the hope that he will grow out of it. The threat of death in such encounters is quite high, but any follow-through is likely to occur after the school day ends, where no one can block Bakugou from his prey.

Still at the peak of junior high, Bakugou is king of the schoolyard, and yet, has just as little power at home as he did before. This constant failure demands more showboating and greater performance at school, lest Bakugou be unacceptably rejected as another lost cause. He will never realise his goals if the world is not reshaped as it must be.

With age comes more power, and with more power comes more wins; and soon enough, Bakugou turns his hostilities on teachers. While in grade school, the few who tried to coax him into letting his "special friend" play with other kids were dismissed as copycats of his mousy father and roundly ignored; but in high school, the many who resort to lectures and threats sound all too like his mother and trigger a host of aggression.

Calls are made to his home about increasingly violent behaviour, which in turn leads his mother to scream profanity for hours and lay hands on him as punishment. His father, shut out of the loop by a dismissive wife and an equally hostile son, mistakes the vicious cycle taking root for general delinquency. He tries to talk Bakugou into standing down, but risks his own life in the process and so remains resigned to the background.

These well-intentioned but ineffective efforts, in a tragic twist of irony, feed Bakugou's attitude that no one has his back, and he must fight to keep hold of his one safe spot in life. As his "special friend," you must see his excellence and, only in continued and ever-greater reminders, be motivated to stick with him as you should. When he decides to grace you with his presence, there will be no distractions, only recognition for the inner weakness of all who fall short of his towering standards.

Well into his formative years, Bakugou retains a growing distrust of adults, viewing them as inherently antagonistic figures who seek to smother his freedom and cannot be relied upon when it counts. They are, at best, effete annoyances and, at worst, monstrous obstacles to be endured only until they may be properly annihilated.

Conditioned to see a potential foe in everyone, only once stout trust has developed can Bakugou turn his back and not fear the glint of the blade come swinging to make him regret it. These innocuous displays remind Bakugou of how much would be at stake if the intensity of his true feelings were revealed or, worse yet, surreptitiously exposed by some gossip-prone dunce.

In the event Kirishima turns the wrong phrase, Bakugou allows him to escape with a comparatively light thrashing, whilst everyone else is subject to the uncorking of years of rage and belligerence. Only his "special friend," worth more than all others, is spared the worst of his wrath.

Nothing riles him so as a battle with an audience, and when Bakugou has someone in particular to impress, what remains of the enemy is carted off the field on a stretcher. Through an excessive response, Bakugou simultaneously asserts his dominance as the premier hero, crushing his villainous opposition, and unambiguously demonstrates why choosing him in lieu of all the others was the only sensible conclusion. Everything is right in the world, at least until the next challenge presents itself.

Strength is the greatest virtue, and nothing says "superior dedication" like dropping your worst enemy at your feet after everyone else cautioned forgiveness. Bakugou sees a downed enemy as a current and future threat, but he sees a broken and crushed one as a sign of power.

Climbing to the top rung is his way of proving, both to himself and to the world, that Bakugou Katsuki is no longer the little boy who only dreams of victory and cannot face his mother. All opponents, today or tomorrow, will be summarily crushed, and Bakugou will prove, definitively, that any opposition was wrong to contest his will. In the heat of battle, he charges to conquer, afraid only of the feeling of smallness that comes with loss.

Raised in an environment where violence was the only way to be heard and respected, backing down from any kind of challenge is tantamount to cowardice; and the cowardly have no hope in this world, merely asking to be walked over and trampled. Pity and mercy are insults from the lips of those who look down on him, who see him as no threat and wish to deepen the wound of his mistakes.

Bakugou shapes his value on what he can accomplish rather than who he is. The rage and panic after a failed exam, the violent jealousy—it all stems from one core belief: if he is less than the best, he is nothing.

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

123 notes · View notes

onelatenight-longago · 8 months

Text

Stepping Into The (Spot) Light

Warnings/Tags: Fem!Reader, Depictions of Violence and Torture, semi-soft Buggy, he’s a danger but also a marshmallow of a man, life on the Big Top, becoming one of the crew, sexual tension and teasing, romance, finding freedom and found family

Description: Buggy plays the hero just the one time and now he’s a got a new crew member who will change everything for him.

A/N: I just wanted to give a shoutout to @sordidmusings! Your comments and encouragement mean EVERYTHING to me! ❤️

Chp. [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] - First Person Chp. [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] - Second Person (below)

The fortnight that Buggy and his crew remained docked was filled with days of practice followed by Friday and Saturday night shows for his captive audience. You watched days pass you by, drunk on the freedom of it. You never missed a practice of Mohji and Ritchie, the both of them easily becoming your friends. Mohji was convinced that their act could only improve if you became a part of it but they hadn’t pushed when you were still wary of performing. The current audience was filled with too many faces that for too long had gotten a piece of you that you hadn’t been willing to give out. Ritchie was also happy to delay practice just to circle around you, ready to comfort you when the reality of it all became too overwhelming.

Buggy himself was busy coaching his acts through timing and yelling at his poor show hands each time they missed a cue. He made time for you when he could but he was devoted to his crew just as much as they were to him and it was a wonder to watch him confidently command them all. The closer it came to show nights, the more fluid they all worked as a team. It was intoxicating to see from the backend, to see all the sweat and work and passion they all poured in the spectacular shows Buggy made sure you had front row VIP seating too.

Just before the last show, Mohji and Ritchie were getting ready while you sat comfortably in their makeshift wardrobe room and brushed through Ritchie’s mane.

“You know, the Captain dotes on you during these shows. Your clapping and cheering leave him looking drunk by the end of the night.” Mohji muttered offhandedly. “He hardly torments the audience like he used to. Clearly too busy showing off to you!” Mohji laughed and you buried your face into Ritchie’s mane.

“It was one kiss Mohji! The heat of the moment. I was vulnerable, he rescued me. I imagine once we set sail and I find my place within the crew and show, I’ll be nothing more than another crew member.” You brushed Mohji off. It hadn’t taken him very long after that first night to comment on the tension between you and Buggy, which you initially denied fervently considering there hadn’t been a repeat of that night between you both.

“He is always watching you, whether during the day or during shows. His eyes are on you.” Mohji continued on, your only response was a half hearted shrug. “How about this, tonight is our last performance here. During the Captain’s final set, scream his name, cheer, go wild. Throw out all the stops and watch the man melt!”

“What performer wouldn’t melt when heaped with praise?” You were quick to ask.

“Just trust me.” Mohji laughed, his shit-eating grin causing worry to prickle at the back of your neck.

Later that evening, it hadn’t been difficult to play up your joy in the show. It was their final performance and Buggy had brought out all his best jokes and the acts performed all their best feats. It was amazing, you were entranced the whole time and when Buggy took his final bow, Mohji’s voice was in the back of your mind encouraging you to put just as much energy into your cheering as they all had put into their show. Buggy’s dashing smile was on you as he bowed to your clapping and shouting, his eyes locked onto yours with intensity. The flick of the switch Mohji mentioned came when you stood atop my seat and shouted Buggy’s name.

You watched, in slow motion, as Buggy’s look turned nearly predatory. He stalked across the ring, hopping the small wall to come and stand right in front of you, the top of his hat settled right in front of your face. Your smile fell just momentarily, worried you had somehow offended him but instead he whisked you from the bench and spun you in circles. His laugh was loud and genuine and a bit hysterical. You could only laugh with him and wrap your arms around him as he gently brought you down before crashing his lips into yours. His laugh turned to a throaty growl as he kissed you harder and harder. You felt drunk on it, your heart and mind running a mile a minute. His arms were tight around you and he smelled of sweat and apples and paint and it made you wild with want. You couldn’t get close enough, you couldn’t have enough.

Your heart fell the moment Cabaji’s warning siren blasted through the tent. Buggy pulled away from you hard but hadn’t let go. He looked around frantically while his crew scrambled to grab what they could.

“The Marines, Captain.” Cabaji shouted across the tent. You only had moments to process what was happening before Buggy’s disembodied hand was roughly dragging you from the tent. You shouted for him, tried to pull away but he and his fight crew were already assembled, while he directed the rest of his crew on what to grab and where to go. The ship was always ready for a quick get away but everybody had been assigned things to grab, their escape routes perfectly planned and rehearsed about as well as their show acts.

Buggy’s hand dragged you along, hardly giving you a moment to catch your footing but it didn’t matter. The Marines had already made landfall, their ships anchored off the coast, luckily not near Buggy’s own. You watched as the uniformed men ran your way, your heart in your throat. You grabbed the gloved hand on your wrist and pulled back on it. Tapping furiously to try and communicate in any way you could with Buggy, to warn him. You had just moments before the Marines reached you and you needed to not have to fight his pulling hand as well. Quickly you pulled a bit of the glove back from the warm flesh of his hand and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of his wrist and when his grip loosened you pulled his hand from your wrist and threw it back, hoping he’d have the sense to recall it back to him.

You hunkered down, bracing yourself the best you could and steadied your breathing. You watched the men close in and prayed to any gods that would listen that you could save Buggy, no matter the cost. He saved you and you wanted to save him. You counted the seconds down and when they were just feet away from you, their swords drawn, you let loose.

Feathers boas sprouted out from their blades, deep red and violent looking. The boas wrapped their way around wrists and ankles, around necks and legs. You heard the cracks first then the screaming as your feather boas squeezed without mercy. Quickly their lines fell, your boas quickly disappearing from the fallen bodies and moving onto the next.

You couldn’t keep up, they were pushing forward. You could only hope you bought enough time. You fell to your knees, the fear buckling you from within. You pushed through the pain and fear hoping to hold on a bit longer until suddenly you were violently yanked back by your collar. You shouted and fought, kicking and screaming until an angry Buggy came into your vision.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He shouted and all you could do was smile.

“You came.” You whispered, the tears spilling over as your smile spread from ear to ear.

Buggy hesitated. “Of course I came, little dove.” He whispered back, kissing you quickly before throwing you backwards. “Now go!” He shouted before running off into the fray, a look of maniacal glee on his face.

Before you could stand, before you could join them in their fight, Ritchie was in front of you. He nuzzled at you, pushing frantically, nearly knocking you back over. Reluctantly, you took the hint and clambered up on his back, watching the fray sink away behind you as he took off in a run toward the ship.

“I could’ve fought, Ritchie. I could’ve continued to help.” You worried at his mane as his pace slowed the closer you got to the shore. When the two of you clambered your way up onto the ship you quickly got out of the way of those who were readying her to sail. You stood up on the bow and paced frantically. You just needed Buggy and the others before the anchor could be raised the ship could set out, hopefully leaving the Marines far behind.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy the clown x reader fanfiction #buggy one piece #buggy fanfiction

40 notes · View notes

kengan-daddies · 9 months

Note

Can you do a saw paing with a choking kink (btw love your work)🥰

Thank you!!

My Breath is Fleeting Saw Paing Yoroizuka

18+ MDNI SAW PAING YOROIZUKA MDNI 18+

Anime : Kengan Ashura

Character : Saw Paing Yoroizuka

Warning : Choking, Breathplay, Bodily Fluids, Creampie, slight violence

Your and Saw Paing's clothes were scattered across the floor of your bedroom, the sound of the bed creaking sounded throughout the room, and your sweet moans cooed out, your nails digging into his back as he rammed his cock into you. His head tucked into your neck, his arms around your body. Your fingers ran through his hair, slightly pulling it as you moaned out in pleasure.

"Ahhh!! Saw!!....nnuahh!!" You mewed as your head turned towards the side, he leaned up, looking down at you, his intense gaze lingering on your face, taking in the blissed-out passion on your face. His eyes trailed down to your throat. You were deep into your pleasure, feeling your orgasm building as the tip of his cock rubbed against your g-spot rough and quick. Your eyes widen when he suddenly wraps a hand around your throat.

You looked up at him, your mind trying to process what was happening as his hips rutted into you. The intense gaze in his eyes as he stared down at you, his hand slightly pressing down on your throat, making you choke slightly. Your Hands grabbed onto his wrist. "S-Saw... What're you doing?" You asked, your voice sounding off from your slightly crushed windpipe. His brow twitched from the way your small hands gripped his wrist, and his cock twitched.

He pressed his hand down harder, making you gag, your eyes turning slightly red as tears gathered in them, your nails digging into his arms as saliva trailed down the side of your face. His thrusts picked up speed and strength, his groans growing louder as his cock twitched, his stare intense and clouded with pleasure as he stared down at you. Your eyes slightly rolled back, as your breathing was labored and horse, your pussy twitched and pulsed making him groan. He reached down rubbing your puffy clit.

Your legs twitched, your toes curled and you bucked up into his hand a few times before you gave a guttural moan, your saliva building up in the back of your throat, your rolled eyes fluttered closed. His mouth slightly gapped open at the sight of your face, his grip on your throat pressed down slightly more as he gave quick and uneven thrusts into you, the bed banging on the wall. "Uhh...goooooood!!!" He groaned out as he threw his head back, his other hand grabbing your waist as he pushed his cock into you as deep as he could as he came hard into you.

His hand around your throat loosened, his breaths ragged as he calmed down from his high. You sucked in air, your eyes red, holding unshed tears as you coughed some, He chuckled sheepishly at you. "Oops... sorry about that." He said. Your fist shot into his face hard as you punched him, barely leaving a bruise on his nose but enough to make him slightly reel back. You grabbed your bruised fist. "AWW FUCK!!!" You screamed in pain as you shook your hand before you held it tight to your stomach. He looked down at you in worry. "Damn babe, are you okay!?" He asked as he placed a hand gently on your shoulder.

You glared over at him. "NO!! YOU DAMN NEAR KILLED ME!! NEXT TIME YOU WANT TO GET A LITTLE FREAKY IN THE BEDROOM LET ME KNOW NEXT TIME!!!" You shouted as you glared angrily at him. He gave a chuckle as he placed his hand over your bruised one, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. "Sorry babe, I don't know what came over me... You just looked so sexy... and your neck just looked so inviting to me... I'll let you know next time, I promise." He said.

You shook your head at him as you rolled your eyes at him. "You better be lucky I love you." You said. He chuckled as he gave you a sweet kiss.

#kengan ashura x reader #kengan ashura #kengan ashura x y/n #kengan ashura fanfiction #kengan ashura yoroizuka paing saw #kengan ashura saw paing #kengan ashura yoroizuka #saw paing yoroizuka x reader #saw paing yoroizuka #saw paing x reader #saw paing #saw paing yoroizuka x y/n #saw paing x y/n #yoroizuka paing saw #yoroizuka

51 notes · View notes

mayhem-things · 1 year

Text

Euronymous x reader

Oystein was injured because he fought against someone to prove he is man enough for his girlfriend. she thinks it was stupid of him but she aids him. As a result the anger switches to a romantic tension. (This is the second part of the jealousy oneshot)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The evening sun cast a golden glow over the small Norwegian town as Øystein and his Girlfriend returned home from the studio, his battered and bruised. His face bore the marks of a fierce battle, with a swollen eye,the left one, bruised cheek, and a nose with dried blood crusting on his skin yet that still trickled more blood. But behind the wounds, determination shone in his eyes.

His girlfriend kept making remarks on the stupidity lungering inside him for enraging as quick as he did.

Øystein winced, his voice strained but resolute. "I had to prove myself, Y/N"

Her face contorted with anger and frustration.

"Øystein, that was reckless and foolish! Fighting for me doesn't prove anything. I want a partner, not a warrior. I thought you understood that."

Regret washed over Øystein's battered features, realizing the error in his ways. Nonetheless he would never admit of making a mistake, that just wasnt like him, however she knew based on his expression that he didnt mean to escalate as much as he did.

Her anger softened as she reached out to gently touch his wounded cheek. "You scared me, Øystein. I don't want to see you hurt. Let's take care of you now."

Together, they retreated to the quiet sanctuary of his home. Y/N tended to Øystein's injuries, dabbing away the blood and carefully applying a cold compress to his swollen eye. Her touch was gentle, filled with a mix of tenderness and concern.

As she cared for him, a shift occurred in the air. The anger and frustration that had filled the room transformed into a potent undercurrent of romantic tension. They both sensed it, the unspoken desires and passions lingering beneath the surface. They were only parted by inches as she focused on his injuries.

Øystein's eyes locked onto Y/N's, a mixture of gratitude and longing gleaming within them. "Thank you. For being here for me" He commented as he never had anyone treat his wounds when he got hurt. The comfort the relationship brought with it was new to him and even when they have been together for a while, he still never took it for granted.

Y/N's voice trembled slightly as she whispered,

"I love you, Øystein. But promise me, no more fighting to prove yourself. You are enough, just as you are."

He nodded, understanding the weight of her words. "I promise, Y/N. From now on, I'll show my love through actions that build us up, not tear us down."

Their eyes held a shared understanding, a deepening connection fueled by the intensity of the moment. Slowly, the distance between them closed, until their bodies were mere inches apart. Their breaths mingled, anticipation electrifying the air.

In a burst of longing, Øystein's hand reached up to cradle her face, his touch tender against her soft skin.

"Y/N, my love," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion.

"I need you."

Her eyes sparkled with desire as she leaned in, their lips finally meeting in a passionate, searing kiss. The wounds on Øystein's face momentarily forgotten, their love eclipsed the pain, transforming it into an intoxicating energy that fueled their connection.

In that moment, as their bodies intertwined, Øystein and Y/N rediscovered the true essence of their love. They understood that it wasn't about physical strength or proving oneself through violence. It was about vulnerability, trust, and nurturing each other through life's challenges.

And within the walls of their shared haven, they forged a bond stronger than any battle. A love that would weather.

"How about a reward for treating my wounds?" He groaned between one of their plently kisses, initiating more than just the slight touch. Thoughts of undressing him rushed through her mind as she nodded with a grin.

#mayhem #black metal #depressing shit #depressiv #fan fic stuff #fan fiction #fanfic #oystein aarseth #lord of chaos #euronymous

89 notes · View notes

rkthot00 · 8 months

Note

can i get 33 with gin ichimaru from bleach?

WOW, it's literally been years but on the off chance you see this, I hope you enjoy! Thanks for the request, I'm obsessed with Gin so never hesitate to request him lol

[ reader is written with she/her pronouns, takes place during the end of soul society arc when Gin is leaving with Aizen, reader is the adopted daughter of (guess who hehe)]

33. "Don't leave me behind."

“ICHIMARU!”

Gin barely had time to be surprised at the voice barreling towards him before he was deflecting her sword from his throat.

“y/n…recovered already?”

She looked up at him with a fiery rage he hadn’t seen before, her teeth tightly grit as another yell of anguish escaped her. Her sword lifted again and they began to clash. Gin was faster and stronger, but he humored her. They exchanged familiar blows, dancing around each other. He could feel the strength she was putting into each thrust of her sword. This was not a game, this was pure unbridled emotion.

She jumped high in the air, flipping over him with a tight grip on his collar as she brought her sword down at his back. He was quick to dodge her blow, their swords clanging loudly as they met.

She was weaker than normal. Gin may have been a bit more on guard if she had not been injured. She was strong in her own right and coupled with the raw passion and anger she was feeling, it would be a dangerous combination. She swung again, stumbling slightly on her weakened leg--and there was his opening.

He caught her wrist in a vice grip, her sword clambering to the ground. He twisted just enough to hurt but not enough to injure. She cried in anger and frustration, struggling vehemently in his hold. He only just noticed the tears streaming down her face.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Do you think you can just up and leave after all this? I’ll kill you before you get the chance!” Her words were deadly serious despite her red face and teary eyes. Her chest heaved and her hair was flailing wildly behind her with every word she screamed. Gin had never in their hundred-something years together, seen her so upset.

Gin didn’t let a single emotion betray him. His usual grin was in place. He sighed, shaking his head as he gripped her wrist tighter and pulled her into his chest. He could feel the stares from everyone around them and he faintly heard her adopted father attempting to intervene, Shunsui’s stern hand on his shoulder being the only thing holding him back. She continued to struggle in his unwavering embrace but her head was buried in his chest and he could feel her warm, wet, tears seeping into the front of his uniform.

“Take me with you.” Her plea was small, quiet, pitiful and for Gin’s ears only.

Oh. That was not an option he had accounted for.

His mind began to race through dozens of scenarios at that moment. The best for him, the best for her, the best for Rangiku, the best for them all…

The outcome of each was…uncertain, and Gin was an incredibly selfish man.

He tightened his grip, her struggle dying down to a mere shaking of her shoulders as she sobbed into his chest.

“Take me with you…” she repeated, choking the words out through a sob.

He chanced a glance at Aizen, the man’s eyes giving him a warning in return. Time was almost up.

Gin smoothed a gentle hand through her hair, leaning down to speak where only she could hear.

“You don’t even know what-”

Her eyes met his, cutting him off effectively with the intensity of her stare.

“If it’s you, it’s something worthwhile. I won’t be left behind.”

Gin could have kissed her then and there. She made choices so easy for him.

The air around them began to crackle with warmth and power.

“Shoot to kill…” he had never so gently uttered those words.

In a split second, his sword pierced through her middle and a cry of anguish that could only come from a panicked father filled the air. An inescapable yellow light descended upon them, stopping all who rushed to her aid. She looked at him wide-eyed, shocked but not betrayed as she lost consciousness. He caught her gently, holding her in his arms like a prize he’d won as they slowly descended upwards.

Someone was screaming below them, his sword slashing manically but unsuccessfully at the shining barrier. Warm blood dripped down Gin’s arms and covered his front. He gripped her tighter to shield his shaking hands, his smile never faltering.

#anime imagines #bleach imagines #gin ichimaru imagine #gin x reader #gin ichimaru x reader

30 notes · View notes

alixezae · 2 months

Text

IMPRESSIVE .ᐟ

Warnings: violence, toji being impressed by your fighting skills, fluff .ᐟ

Plot: you're toji's daughter you decided why not train with him?

Admin notes: i decided to use chun li for inspiration cuz she's a baddie

Toji was a highly skilled fighter, known for his strength and precision in battle. He had trained for years in various martial arts and had passed on his knowledge to his two children, Y/N and her younger brother, Ryu. Despite being a single father, Toji made sure to spend quality time with his children and teach them the ways of combat.

Y/N had always been passionate about martial arts and had a natural talent for it. She had inherited her father's strength and determination, and Toji saw great potential in her. He had always trained her extensively and had high hopes for her in the future.

One sunny afternoon, Toji took Y/N out for some intense training. They headed to a secluded spot in the forest, away from prying eyes. As they arrived, Toji took a deep breath and looked at his daughter with pride and excitement.

'Today, we're going to take your training to the next level,' he declared, his eyes shining with determination.

Y/N's heart raced with excitement as she followed her father's lead to a large clearing in the forest. The atmosphere was tense, and Y/N knew that this training session was going to push her limits.

Toji signaled for Y/N to get into her fighting stance, and without hesitation, she did. He instructed her to use all her techniques and not hold back. Y/N nodded and mentally prepared herself for the intense training that was about to follow.

Toji, despite being older, was still a formidable opponent. His quick reflexes and powerful punches were enough to send anyone to the ground. Y/N knew she had to be alert and use all her skills to keep up with her father.

The two engaged in a fierce fist fight, their movements mirroring one another as they dodged and blocked each other's attacks. Y/N was amazed at how fast her father's reflexes were, and she made a mental note to work on her speed.

As they continued to spar, Y/N noticed that her father seemed impressed by her fighting skills. She could see a glimmer of pride in his eyes, and that fueled her even more. She pushed herself to her limits, trying out new techniques, and putting all her strength into each punch.

Toji was impressed by how quickly Y/N had grown in her training. She was fast, agile, and had remarkable strength. She was a natural fighter, and Toji could see the potential for her to become even stronger.

Their training session lasted for over two hours, and by the end, both were drenched in sweat. Y/N collapsed to the ground, panting and exhausted but with a big smile on her face.

Toji walked over to her and offered a hand to help her up, a proud smile on his face. 'You did incredibly well today, Y/N. I'm impressed,' he said, his tone filled with admiration.

Y/N beamed with pride, knowing that she had made her father proud. She had always looked up to him and was grateful for his guidance in her training.

The two made their way home, walking through the forest as the sun began to set. As they walked, Toji reflected on the day's training session. He was amazed at how far his daughter had come and couldn't help but feel proud of her.

He knew that with dedication and hard work, Y/N could become an incredible fighter. And he was determined to continue training her to reach her full potential.

From that day on, Toji and Y/N's bond as father and daughter grew even stronger. They shared a mutual respect and admiration for each other, and their training sessions became a regular occurrence. Y/N continued to improve under her father's guidance, and Toji couldn't be happier.

Toji had not only trained his daughter in the art of fighting, but he had also instilled in her the values of discipline, hard work, and determination. And with those values, Y/N had become a force to be reckoned with in the world of combat.

As they stood on the battlefield, ready to take on their next opponent, Toji couldn't help but smile at the thought of how far his daughter had come. He had always believed in her, and she had not disappointed him.

Together, they fought with everything they had, and their synchronized movements and unwavering strength and determination impressed everyone who witnessed it.

Toji knew that no matter what challenges they faced, his daughter would always have his back, and he would always be proud of her. And that was all he could ask for as a father.

#tumblr fyp #alixezae #18+ mdni #jjk fyp #jjk toji #reader fluff #toji fluff

9 notes · View notes

mermaidsirennikita · 4 months

Note

Any HR with gothic vibes you would recommend?

Yes!

Anne Stuart is known for writing darker, more gothic-y historicals. I've only read A Rose at Midnight so far, but I know her Rohan series is recommended for this a lot. I loved A Rose at Midnight. It's set shortly after the French Revolution (set in England, largely) and the heroine literally begins the book wanting to kill the hero. She does poison him! He just survives lmao. But yeah, the beef is real, it's pretty dark (TW for noncon, dubcon, forced sex work, general Reign of Terror violence) and there's a general sense of violence and mystery and secrets.

Elizabeth Hoyt plays with the Gothic a lot. I'd recommend:

The Raven Prince. Really a sexy Jane Eyre, the heroine is the hero's secretary and ends up putting on a mask and pretending to be a sex worker at a brothel he frequents in order to sleep with him. (To be very fair to her, he was only visiting the brothel because he was avoiding their intense sexual tension.) But yeah, he sweeping around his manor, he's doing the high drama. it's GREAT.

The Leopard Prince. This is more "we're out on the moors, the natural world is here, the are murders and mysterious sheep kilings" Gothic. The heroine inherits an estate and moves there, only to begin an affair with her gruff steward, who's basically on the brink of being framed for murder. It's HOOOOOT.

All of the Dolphin Sex Cult books in Maiden Lane kinda have this vibe, but TW because the cult is heavily involved in pedophilia. The heroes and heroines are trying to stop it. These books consist of:

Duke of Sin. Insane villainous hero, hides in his walls watching the heroine (who's his housekeeper and has been planted in his house in order to steal blackmail material he owns from him) for like... 3-4 months. She doesn't even know he's there. He's truly wild. But he is trying to... avenge his sister... because their father was in the Dolphin Sex Cult? It's complex.

Duke of Pleasure. In this one, the hero is a king's bastard, actively trying to take down the Dolphin Sex Cult. The heroine is a street urchin who's often dressed as a boy in order to stay safe; she's also a vigilante. He recruits her to help him, while also teaching her to pass as a lady. This one involves the infamous "ummmm people are about to catch us, quick suck my dick for cover" and she just doesn't stop when the people go away and swallows.

Duke of Desire. This one is really intense and dark. The hero kidnaps the heroine to prevent her from falling prey to the villains, and forces her to marry him for the same reasons. She's like "I can deal with this, but I want a baby" which he refuses because he has a lot of sexual trauma related to the cult (TW for childhood SA).

The Ghost of St. Giles arc in Maiden Lane is also on that wavelength--it's all about this masked vigilante who skulks the night. Turns out the identity is shared by several different guys!

Thief of Shadows. The Winter Makepeace book. Our hero is a schoolmaster/orphanage master guy, and he runs around as the Ghost, while by day a rich society widow tutors him on how to solicit donations from patrons and do polite society right. Said widow catches on to his game, and they begin this intense passionate secret affair while he's also dealing with Ghost stuff.

Lord of Darkness. The next Ghost is a quiet widower who married again a few years ago in order to save a young woman he barely knew from ruin when she got pregnant out of wedlock and her lover died before they could make it legal. She miscarried right after the wedding, and wants a baby now, so she's back in town wanting to finally consummate the marriage. He agrees, but he's withholding the Secret while they try for a baby.

Duke of Midnight. Georgian Batman with heavy Gothic tones. Our hero is a tortured duke whose parents were killed in front of him, and ever since he's desired REVENGE. The heroine is a lady's companion with a dark past who's trying to regain her former station and free her imprisoned brother, and she catches on to his vigilante activities and is like "mmm you're gonna help me or I'm gonna tell everyone thaaanks".

If you want something on the kinkier side, Sierra Simone's Ivy Leavold trilogy (which must be read in order) is a kinky Jane Eyre, basically, with very Gothic overtones. Sierra looooves the Gothic. It's super hot and really fun.

Scarlett Peckham's The Duke I Tempted has a Gothic "I married a mysterious man and he has secrets I must discover" vibe. Of course, his secret is that he's submissive in bed, but there are other things too! The Earl I Ruined has similar vibes, but less so.

#romance novel blogging #romance novels #book recs

10 notes · View notes

cosmica-galaxy · 2 years

Note

I was looking at the player x Phobos list and I was wondering… Maybe the player would have a talk with him about their world, like about how it looks there, all the interesting places, foods, holidays ect. Could I maybe get some hcs about that? 👉👈

Sure thing, moonamite!

+ Phobos had come to you one day to ask you about your world of the 'higher gods' and you were more than happy to indulge in Phobos's curiosity about your world.

+ You told him about the weather and how your world's sky would change depending on the time of day and what type of weather was coming through. Phobos listens intently as you tell him about the colors of the sky and the twinkling stars that would illuminate at nightfall. You would even tell him about rain, snow, sleet, and hail. But mostly about the sunny days and how you would sit out under the light and soak it all up into your skin. You made it all sound so beautiful to Phobos.

+ You told him all about the cities you have visited and the sheer amount of them that dotted the world. The types of culture one city would have over another and how differences in biomes were common when you would visit those places or see them on TV. Phobos listened with his head resting on his hands as your eyes sparkled when you talked about the cities in your home country and all the people that lived there.

+ Then you tell him about one of your favorite topics, the food. You got into details about your favorite dishes and what they were made from. Phobos obviously listens, even if he doesn't know what a 'cow' is, but just listening to you ramble on and on about how your people had so many delicious foods made his hidden mouth water. Oh how he longed to eat what the gods eat.

+ Which lead into your next topic, holidays. You told him about numerous holidays that you knew of. Mostly the biggest ones and the culturally celebrated ones. Phobos pays attention intensely as you tell him about holidays of feasting, of generosity, of appreciation, of celebration, of remembrance, of love, and of pride. You go into meticulous details about which holiday celebrated what and Phobos wondered if he could make some holidays fit into Nexus City...if the greater gods celebrate, why not him?

+ Finally, you conclude about your world to him with what your planet was called and with a quick drawing of where you lived looked like. Phobos is paying attention...but not to just the picture. In your eyes he can see a lingering pain...you miss your god realm and he can tell from how passionately you spoke about it.

+ "It's nothing like Nevada...it's beautiful and colorful with a bright sun and glowing moon and...and so many people that coexist and...there's no rampant violence and..." Phobos sees you struggling to smile and he says nothing as he wraps his crimson cape around you as some tears begin to fall.

+ "You miss your realm...and I don't blame you. It sounds heavenly, my dearest Player." He says as he holds you close and you nod into his chest, holding onto him in return.

+ "Maybe one day I'll find a way to get us there and we can experience it...together."

#moonamite #y/n x madness combat #human!reader x madcom #madcom x reader #madness combat x reader #madness combat imagines #madcom tag #madness combat self aware au #self aware m:pn au #self aware au #madcom self aware au #reader x phobos #haxorus imp #cosmica galaxy #my asks

94 notes · View notes

skzdarlings · 1 year

Text

part ii: 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. )

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: eventual smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending.

It did not occur to you to set a morning alarm as you are always woken by a knock on the door and a shout to get ready for school. Today you are woken by a hand on your shoulder and the unexpected touch startles you out of slumber.

Your hand swipes in a frenzied arc that Felix catches, smooth and swift.

And that’s how yesterday comes rushing back all at once. You stare into the eyes of your so-called bodyguard and bed-mate, recalling his brief outburst of emotion but finding Felix to be unresponsive and bland once more. His mouth is in that stupid flat line and he cocks his head, glancing at your hand in his fist.

“Good morning,” he says in that deep voice.

You wrench your hand back. He lets it go.

“The car’s outside,” he says. “You should get dressed for school.”

“What?” Your head whips to your bedside clock. You are usually woken half an hour before the car arrives, not when it is already at the door. “Why didn’t anyone wake me!”

You frantically swing out of bed, limbs in a windmill. Felix takes a few steps back.

“Sorry,” he says. “I thought you’d get up on your own.”

He is already dressed in his school uniform, white collared shirt, grey dress pants, grey blazer. He has the dark necktie in his hands and his red beanie on his head. Your eye twitches with annoyance at it, but maybe that annoyance is just for his general existence.

“You can’t wear hats, stupid,” you say, reaching to snatch the beanie off his head. He dodges your hand. “They’ll take it away.”

He looks at you uncertainly but swipes the beanie off his head.

“Go get dressed,” is all he says.

With an eye roll, you stomp over to your massive walk-in closet. It is very annoying that it does not have a door you can slam, but you slide it shut as forcefully as you can.

The uniform makes it a little easier to get ready quick, but you are still annoyed at the rush. You scurry out of the closet still shoving your arms through the blazer sleeves, your kilt longer than you like, with one sock pulled up to your knee and the other stuck around your ankle.

Felix is perched on the edge of the bed, all his attention on his tie. He clearly has no idea how to wear it properly, looping the fabric like an army knot.

You watch him. He looks at you then rips the tie off completely, crumpling it in his fist. Your own is already tied and he looks at it. You cross your arms. He stares at you.

You want him to ask for help just so you can say no, but he looks so pathetic sitting there in your girly bedroom in his schoolboy uniform, his hair still ruffled from removing his precious beanie. He looks even more ridiculous when he dons an unaffected air as if trying to appear more adult. It makes him look even more his age.

“Ugh.” You stomp over to him. “Give it to me.”

He obeys without protest, passing you the tie.

“I should strangle you with it,” you say, hooking it around his neck and jerking him closer. He bumps into your stomach. “Then all my problems would be solved.”

“Would they, though?” he asks, looking up at you with his glassy dark eyes, innocent despite the sass in his tone.

“Shut up,” you reply.

Even his laugh is deep. You hate him.

“There.” You push the knot up to his throat, tighter than necessary. He adjusts it wordlessly. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” he says, pretending to miss the sarcasm.

He ducks down and grabs your sock, tugging it up to your knee. The unexpectedness makes you jump. You feel an unbidden rush of embarrassed heat flow to your face, worsening when he looks up at you. You have a moment of proximity awareness, that a boy your own age is in your room and he is alone with you, and he has pretty dark eyes and freckles and a cute smile.

But then he says, “I’ll call your dad and tell him we slept in but should be on time for school.”

Then you remember what he is, and you hate him again.

“You’re gross,” is your lacklustre retaliation.

“Hmm, maybe, I haven’t showered yet today,” he says, then reaches into his backpack. “Also, if they’d take away my hat, do you think they’d take away this?”

The little freak pulls a gun out of his backpack and blinks up at you with complete innocence. When you just gawp at him, a smile tugs at his mouth and he scrunches up his face.

“Nahh, you’re right,” he says. “Bad idea for the first day of school.” Then he puts it in his drawer with his beanie and slams it shut. He smiles at you. “Shall we?” He gestures to the door.

You do not dignify his nonsense with a response. You grab your own backpack and storm out of the room.

The driver stops in his usual spot. It feels very routine until you and Felix get out of the car and it simply drives off. The driver usually waits until you are in sight of a guard posted at the main entrance to the high school.

Today, you and Felix walk side-by-side, looking like two regular students as you approach the school. You are still expecting to see one of the usual guards lurking around but you find no one when you search.

A part of you feels lighter, the weight of their scrutinizing stares lifted, but then you remember how Felix spent the car-ride on the phone with your father, and that weight settles heavy as stone in your gut. Felix is even worse than them, you tell yourself, because he is truly right beside you. The schoolboy routine might fool other people but you can’t let it fool you. Felix might look normal but he is not. You are still trapped. You cannot get complacent.

You huff and look at Felix. He has his head tipped all the way back, looking in awe at the high ceilings of the entryway. With his true purpose in your mind, his presence grows more infuriating by the second.

“Between this and the uniform, you’d think they don’t have schools in Australia,” you say dryly.

He looks at you. He is wearing a pristine new backpack and clutching the straps, standing ramrod straight, very contrary to the lazy sling of your worn leather bag and equally lazy slouch.

“They do,” he answers simply.

“Then why are you acting like you’ve never attended school before?” you snap.

He just blinks. “I haven’t,” he says.

The answer surprises you to silence. Before you can find a reply, you are interrupted by the familiar voice of your best friend.

“Yo, yo, yo, what’s up, it’s my favourite girl and I’m not just saying that because she’s the only girl who will talk to me.”

You can’t help but snort, forever amused with Jisung’s antics. He very literally bounces up to you, miming dribbling a basketball, then looking like he’s dancing, or maybe casting a spell. He swirls his hands around and around, then holds his arms open for a hug.

You accept it, looking at Felix even though there is nothing for him to report. The previous guards already reported your friendship with Han Jisung but your father has never said anything about it. You figure he sees Jisung as a non-entity, too poor to cross his radar, unthreatening with his anxiety and goofy disposition, and ultimately worthless thanks to his shit grades. Your father doesn’t pay attention to human things, like how Jisung is funny when you get to know him, how he loves music more than anything, or how he is masterful with a pen, just not academically.

Felix also fails to notice these things. His attention narrows to a pinprick, gaze focused on Jisung’s backwards cap.

“Nice hat,” Felix says, undoubtedly thinking about his beanie back home.

Hats are genuinely not allowed; Jisung just makes his own rules and lives by them, even when it gets him walloped him up the head by the math teacher.

Jisung notices Felix for the first time, his mouth curving into a perfectly round ‘O’ of surprise. It is not everyday you are towing another student in your shadow. You are cordial enough with your classmates but it’s hard to keep friends when you can never see them. Jisung is the only one who never pushes it, content with your company when he has it.

“Whaaat,” he says, looking at Felix then at you. “Another new kid?”

“Huh?” you say. “There’s another new kid?”

“Bro, things are weeeird today,” Jisung says, making an exploding gesture beside his head. “Got back from the weekend: no more security guards! And that janitor with the lazy eye who used to stare at me? Gone. Just poof.” That janitor was one of your guards and he was watching you, not Jisung, but you always nodded along whenever Jisung went on a tirade about government watchdogs. “Then someone says it’s all because of this rich new kid, that his dad didn’t like it or something so all he did was snap his fingers and boom, now the school is his. Which is obviously stupid. Money doesn’t let you get away with changing a whole school.”

Money lets you get away with a lot of things. There is a tingling pain where your cheek is still swollen from your father smacking you. Your force yourself to smile at your naïve friend.

“I don’t think that’s this kid,” you say.

“Aw, no, I knew that,” Jisung says. “I saw the other guy already. He’s like… whoa. Like whoa. Like I hate him. He better not talk to me, because it’s on fucking sight.”

You burst out laughing because Jisung couldn’t win a fight against a battered puppy. He laughs along, aware of his own ridiculousness.

Felix just stands there, smiling politely but not laughing. Eventually he asks, “Why don’t you like him?”

“Bro, this dude was so beautiful it’s like he was wearing a filter in real life,” Jisung says this like a curse, dramatically scowling. “Don’t worry, though, you’re cool with me. Not that you’re ugly or anything. My bad. Anyway, I’m Jisung, what’s up?”

“Hi, I’m Felix.”

Jisung holds out his fist and Felix looks at it. You wonder if Felix even knows what a fist bump is. Maybe they don’t have them in whatever backcountry crevice your father dug him out of, seeing as he has balked at several other mundane things, but then Felix smiles and completes the fist bump.

He really does look like normal school kid. You have to swallow down your aggravation.

“Fee-licks…?” Jisung says. “Weird name. Cool boots. Sexy voice. I’m super jealous, maybe I do hate you. Are the freckles real?”

“Uh.” Felix furrows his brow. “Yeah?” He says it like it should be obvious and you hate that you almost laugh.

“Cool, cool,” Jisung says. “And the accent is…?”

“Australian.”

“Naaaur, that’s sick,” Jisung says, then clearly regrets it. He turns his cap around to cover his eyes. “Sorry. It’s a Monday. But this is fun, we’re a menage-a-trois now.”

“Um,” Felix says, coughing. “Do you know what that means?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, frowning at Felix. “Because no we’re not. Felix isn’t my friend. I just said I’d show him to his classes but I’m still sitting with you and he’s gonna deal with it.”

You and Felix stare at each other and Jisung looks between you, eyes ping-ponging. Eventually, he smiles and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“All right,” Jisung says. “You’re in a friendly mood, as usual. We love to see it. Felix, don’t let her scare you, she’s nice, you just need to give her a treat first. That’s why I carry around a bag of her favourite spicy peanuts even though I am super allergic.” His backpack is already unzipped, a messy binder sticking out of it, so he easily reaches back and plucks out a bag of peanuts.

You take them from him, rolling your eyes affectionately.

“Come on,” you say. “Let’s go before your new arch nemesis walks by and I have to save your sorry ass.”

You loop arms with Jisung and move swiftly ahead. Felix trails behind you, hands on his backpack straps, glancing around the corridor. You don’t know if his careful regard is curiosity or just him being a bodyguard, eyeing the rambunctious students and their open lockers with a wary eye.

Jisung prattles on about some new cartoon. He looks back to ask Felix if he has ever heard of it and Felix shakes his head. While they are engaged with each other, your own attention strays.

It’s then you see him.

You couldn’t care less about a beautiful new kid, not when Lee Minho is just a few feet away.

Oh god. He really is perfect. He looks like he walked off the screen of a drama, slouching against the wall with his hands in his pockets, his tie loose and blazer unbuttoned. His brown hair falls neatly around his handsome face, his mouth quirked up in a smirky little half-grin. He raises an eyebrow in reply to his friend, then he laughs, his whole face brightening with his delight.

Minho is two years older than you, not yet a senior but the school’s It Boy regardless. He attended the senior prom in his freshman year, escorting one of the senior girls, and it’s no surprise. He’s handsome, he’s hilarious, he’s smart, he’s talented. He’s everything. Charmingly brusque and occasionally snarky, but a famously good friend underneath his teasing. He has never been single for more than a day, but his ego has never blown up and none of his ex-girlfriends have anything bad to say about him.

Your crush is like a fuzzy hug. The edge of your vision blurs in a dreamy frame around his face. He lifts a hand and tucks some hair behind his ear at the same moment he glances aside. For a brief but substantial moment, your eyes meet. Your heart stops.

Then you step down funny and roll your ankle.

Despite holding your arm, Jisung is too slow to catch you. A small but strong hand grabs the back of your jacket and yanks, keeping you upright. It doesn’t stop you from stumbling around like a newborn foal, but at least you don’t hit the ground.

Your face is burning hot, your gut sinking with a flush of embarrassment. You chance a look at Minho, his face in a somewhat concerned cringe before he goes back to laughing with his friends.

Oh my god, you think. This is the worst week of my life. And that’s fucking saying something.

“Are you all right?” Felix’s dumb deep voice is suddenly in your ear. He is standing a lot closer, his hand in the middle of your back.

You shove him off, glaring. Jisung puts a hand on your shoulder and says, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” It makes you feel like a poorly behaved horse. Minho isn’t paying attention anymore but it all feels so wretchedly embarrassing.

Why is your existence so pathetic? All you do is get jerked around, physically and emotionally. You are a walking, talking font of humiliation. Your face stings and your ankle hurts and both boys are looking at you with concern, except one of them is your friend who doesn’t know anything about your life and one of them is on a payroll and knows too much.

“I’m fine!” you snap. You tug down your blazer and adjust your collar. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, baby,” Jisung says, trying to laugh, his big eyes still full of pity. He glances back at Minho, then looks at Felix. Barely audible, he whispers, “She likes him.”

“Jisung!” You whack him in the arm and he cries out like you chopped a limb.

Felix just looks over at Minho, cocks an eyebrow, then looks back at you. You have no idea why but it makes everything ten times worse. It is silly to feel that way because all the girls have a crush on Minho so it is not a well-kept secret. For some reason, Felix knowing you like someone makes it more embarrassing. Not even because of your father, though you are certain Felix will tell him soon enough.

You can’t even stomp to class because your ankle hurts. You settle for stalking with a broody countenance.

Your first classroom is arranged in tables that seat two, so you sit with Jisung in your usual spot. Felix takes the spot directly behind you. As a new face, he gets curious glances from other students. He pays them no mind. He unpacks his bag in silence then he folds his hands neatly on the desk and stares at you.

You are glaring ferociously at a straight-faced Felix when Jisung elbows you sharply in the side. You whack him but this time he whacks you back, making his big brown eyes even bigger than usual. You look at him funny. It takes a second to realize he is trying to point with his eyes.

You look up just in time for an insanely gorgeous stranger to pass the desk. You are certain your expression betrays you. At least with Minho, you are mostly practiced at schooling your reactions, but this one catches you off guard.

This must be the other new kid. He’s really tall and slender, lacking Minho’s slightly thicker athleticism but more than compensating with a natural grace. His black hair falls in a very neat shape around his perfect face, his cheekbones high, his brows thick, his lips full. He is wearing a cross-strap satchel that he gracefully swings off.

The only available seat is the one beside Felix. The two boys glance at each other only briefly, neither knowing the other is also new. All eyes are on them. Felix must be aware but ignores it, his gaze resolutely focussed on yours. The other new guy is clearly used to attention, smiling softly as he looks around.

His eyes meet yours, your heart puttering because he holds your gaze.

His soft smile spreads.

Jisung coughs loudly. You look at him and he mouths the word, “Traitor.”

There is no time for conversation because the bell rings and the teacher starts class. She takes a minute to introduce the two new kids: the foreigner, Lee Felix, and the transfer, Hwang Hyunjin. Hyunjin apparently attended school on the other end of town but switched when his family moved into this district.

It sounded like bullshit. He crossed the city, not the country. Surely no one transferred schools for something so petty as a twenty minute commute. Maybe if Hyunjin was not so stunning, people would have bought the excuse, but the whole school was very interested in knowing everything about him.

By lunch, several stories have spread, everything from expulsion for fighting to sleeping with a teacher, but you doubt the truth of the tales. Almost all the stories tie into the removal of the security presence and you know that has nothing to do with Hyunjin.

By far the most ridiculous is that he murdered another student and his rich father got rid of the security team so they would never find evidence if he killed again.

Jisung told you that one. You are not entirely convinced he didn’t start the rumour himself.

“Felix,” Jisung says. He points across the cafeteria table with a carrot stick. “Tell the truth, have you ever killed anyone?”

Felix chokes on his soup. “What?” he asks, smiling with forced civility.

You doubt Jisung notices his discomfort. He is off in his own world, drawing shapes in the air with the carrot.

“I just think,” Jisung drawls, “that it would be funny if everyone thought Mister Supermodel Oh Look At Me Look At Me was a serial killer, which he totally is by the way, but actually it was the super chill Australian dude with the skater hair.”

Felix brushes at his dyed blonde bangs. He glances at you but you have no rescue to offer, especially because Jisung’s question rattled you.

No, not the question. The answer. It clearly unnerved Felix. Why would it startle him if the answer was not a resounding yes? Has Felix killed someone? He’s fourteen years old. How could a kid have that kind of history?

How could a kid get hired for a job like this? you remind yourself. How could a kid be trusted to do the work of a whole team of men? How could a kid devote every second of the day to watching someone else?

How could a kid be willing to drive a knife through his hand just because an awful old man asked him?

Felix clears his throat. He grabs a napkin and dabs at his mouth. By the time Jisung looks at him, Felix is smiling brightly. He laughs a carefree laugh, completely blithe, like he has never had a problem bigger than flunking a math test.

“You’re funny,” Felix says. “I’ve like killed a few bugs if that counts. Augh, you don’t even want to know the things I’ve squashed.”

“Ohh, gross, yeah, Australian bugs are like the size of my head, right?” Jisung cups his whole face in demonstration.

“Bigger,” Felix says, scrunching his nose cutely.

You feel sick.

You shove your tray away and stand up, drawing their eyes to you. Jisung asks where you’re going but Felix is already on his feet, ready to follow. You don’t bother protesting. It won’t do any good.

You are thinking.

Everyone has been so preoccupied with Hyunjin that no one has remarked on Felix at all. You and Jisung tend to blend into the background so his seeming friendship with the outsiders probably didn’t help matters, but a new kid tends to garner attention no matter what.

You wonder if Hyunjin is a plant, another of your father’s men, someone to take the heat off Felix until he’s settled. Another pair of eyes. Watching you. Studying you. Following you. In the light, in the dark, staring, recording, remembering –

Felix touches your arm and you whip around. It catches him by surprise and clearly triggers something, because two seconds later you are squished against his chest with no way out.

He releases you quickly, realizing what he did, and you stumble.

“Closet,” you say before he can speak.

He follows your line of sight to the nearby janitorial closet, opening his mouth to protest when you push him. He gives you a beleaguered look but goes. He walks with a casual saunter like nothing is amiss, like a closet is a normal place to go.

You close the door, leaving you and Felix in the pitch black darkness. There is probably a light somewhere but you are too frazzled to bother searching. You get right to the point.

“Is Hyunjin one of ours?” you demand.

“Huh?” You can’t see his face but you can picture that crinkle in his brow. “What do you mean, one of ours?”

“Does he work for my father?”

“Obviously not,” Felix says. “He’s clearly a civilian?” He says this with incredulity, like it should be obvious.

“How do you know that for sure?”

“Because I’m not a civilian,” he says, sounding impatient. You wish you could see his face after all, wondering if he is showing proper emotion again. Maybe he’s rolling his eyes. It would reassure you, in a way, make your fears feel silly. “Look, I know the timing is like funny and stuff, but it’s really just a coincidence. Your father would tell me if he was planning something so I could play along. It would be stupid to plant something and not tell me.”

“So maybe you knew,” you say. You are now thankful for the dark because tears spring to your eyes. “Maybe you knew all along. Maybe Hyunjin isn’t the only one. Maybe there’s a dozen of you except now I don’t know what you look like. Maybe you’re all watching me. Maybe you’re all laughing at me, watching my dad do what he wants, watching him laugh at me too—”

“Are you crying?”

He sounds genuinely surprised. A moment later, his clumsy hands are bumping your face. You try to push him away but he mistakes it in the dark, thinking you are pulling him closer. You can feel him step forward, his hand on your cheek.

“Sweetheart,” he says, with so much depth that it makes you shiver. His accent makes the word sound fuller, the heart deeper. It sounds honest. “I have one job,” Felix says. His thumb catches a tear. “Just one. My job is to keep you safe. Not to keep secrets from you, and not to lie for your father. Maybe that’s someone’s job, probably, but it’s not me. I’m not lying to you. I’m just here to keep you safe. That’s it. I promise.”

You grab his wrist and hold it for a shuddering second. A part of you wants to cling to it like a foolish little girl. You’re both too young to be in here.

You fling his hand off your face.

“I don’t feel safe,” you say. You wipe your own face quickly. “I hate you. I hate my life. Get away from me.”

He has the decency to hang back a few feet, but Felix has no real choice in the matter. You wonder if he ever did, but you don’t dwell on that thought for too long. You can’t bring yourself to mourn for his life as well as your own. You need someone to hate and your father is never around, so you spend the rest of the day glaring at Felix. You don’t talk again, not on the car-ride home, not at the house, not in your room.

The cook prepared dinner and left it on the stove. You refuse to eat until late evening, holed up in your room under the pretense of doing schoolwork. You text Jisung but not about anything substantial. You are pretty sure your father installed spyware on your phone. Better to keep it simple and veer away from heavy subjects when Jisung hits you with the watery-eyed emojis.

Felix checks on you occasionally but otherwise leaves you be. You hear him on the phone with your father, his professional voice so uncanny for a kid, deep voice or not.

Eventually you make your way to the kitchen where Felix is sitting at the counter. He is wearing his stupid beanie again, the same ripped jeans as yesterday, the same t-shirt and flannel. There is a stack of papers beside an open schoolbook. You can’t help but notice the printed book report sitting at the top of the pile, one not due until Friday.

“How’d you finish that so fast?” you ask, forgetting you weren’t going to speak to him.

Felix looks up from reading the textbook. Surprise creases his brow. He probably didn’t expect you to start a conversation, and certainly not about something so mundane as schoolwork.

He glances at the report then up at you. “Uhh,” he says, then his face cracks into a grin, “I’m not actually here for an education. I mean, the readings are… kinda fun… I never did homework before so… anyway. Someone does the homework for me, you know, to keep up appearances and stuff.”

“That’s not fair,” you say. “Why can’t they do my homework too? Wait, do you wanna do my homework while they do yours?”

“No, because you are there for an education,” Felix says lightly, almost teasing. This is your nicest conversation so far. It unsettles you more than an argument, so you say nothing more and head to the stove for your dinner. You are spooning it into a bowl when Felix clears his throat. You hear papers shuffle. “That’s not all,” he says. “I, uhhh, I don’t know if you… if you even want this. I just… thought it might make you feel more, I dunno, at ease, or something, if you saw for yourself.”

You cannot help your curiosity. You accept the paper he offers.

“It’s, uh, Hyunjin,” he says. “I asked for some research and information just to show you he’s, like, real. It’s just his school record and stuff…”

You give the papers a cursory glance. They could be faked but you do actually believe that Hyunjin’s timely arrival is nothing more than coincidence. No one can get his story straight but that’s because high school gossip is stupid and unreliable. Hyunjin is gorgeous and graceful when he is trying, but he’s also somehow clumsy as a newborn foal, stumbling all over the field during gym class and whining when a tennis racket grazed his elbow. Nothing about him really screams super spy. Plus, you doubt a spy would have got detention on his first day for skipping class and making out with one of the senior girls.

“It was fighting, if you’re curious,” Felix says.

You look up at him, eyebrow lifted.

“The reason he left his old school,” Felix clarifies. “He got expelled for getting in a fight with another student. Over a girl.”

He rolls his eyes and the unexpectedly sassy judgement makes you laugh. You don’t miss the flicker of delight that crosses his face, though you do ignore it. You poke at your rice bowl.

“I guess you’re not a romantic,” you say dryly.

“Uh, beating the shit out of someone is not romantic,” he says, still in a somewhat sassy tone, his eyebrows high. He closes the book and shakes his head. “Violence is never romantic. Violence is just violence.”

That does make you look at him longer. You are talking about romance, not family love, but it is still the closest anyone has come to telling you there is no love in violence.

“What about me?” you eventually say. “Aren’t you supposed to beat the shit out of someone for looking a little too long in my direction?”

“That’s different,” he says, frowning. “It’s my job. Why, who’s looking at you?”

You feel like he is goading you so you roll your eyes and walk away with the rice bowl.

“Is it Lee Minho?” he asks.

You turn and look at him with a scowl. “Minho hasn’t down anything,” you say. “He doesn’t even know I exist. What, are you gonna tell my dad every time someone takes a breath in the same room as me because they are stealing my potential oxygen?”

“Okay, first of all, don’t say hilarious things like that when you’re starting an argument, it’s really annoying.” Felix gets up and crosses the room. “Second of all, I didn’t tell your father anything. I didn’t tell him about Minho, and I didn’t tell about Jisung. Even though I’m pretty sure Jisung is the reason you snuck out for that party.”

Well, Minho was the reason, but it was Jisung who texted to tell you that he was at the same house party. The security team had confiscated your phone for the evening, adhering to your father’s phone privileges timetable, and you only got it back before bed. By the time you got dressed and snuck out, Minho had left the party, so you spent the night sitting with Jisung on the roof, complaining about stupid shit, completely unaware how much your life was about to change.

Did it change for the worse? You still don’t know. Felix has not confiscated your phone. It lends some credence to his honesty, but maybe it’s all a ploy…

“I can see you thinking,” Felix says, tipping his head as he scrutinizes you. “It’s like your face turns into a book.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” you lie. “And if I was, thinking isn’t a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not,” he says. “Except when you overthink so much that it makes you cry for no reason.”

“For no reason?” you shriek, a hot ripple of anger moving through you.

“Or that,” he says calmly. “You feel everything a lot and you let it take over—”

You look at him, mouth open, utterly incredulous. “I think I have every reason to behave the way I do,” you snap. “But aren’t you my daddy’s good little watchdog, repeating his words back to me?”

“I’m not repeating anything,” Felix says, looking marginally more worked up because of the accusation. He takes a breath and calms himself again. “I’m just saying, your anger isn’t helping the way you think it is.”

“It makes me feel better.”

“No, I’m sure it doesn’t,” he says. “Because it has no where to go. I see you and you just keep turning it onto yourself. And I get it. I know what that is, and I know what it feels like, and I also know if you let yourself feel all that… all that everything, so much, all the time, then it’s just going to burn you out. Then no one will have to lift a finger against you. You’ll do it to yourself. You’ll get tired. And he’ll win all the same.”

You just stare at him. You are certain your face is a book again, emotion written plainly.

Felix touches the back of his head and looks away. He looks at the ground. Finally, he looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am just trying to do my job.”

“Right,” you say. “Your job.”

Keeping you safe from other people is just one part of the gig. The biggest part is keeping you safe from yourself.

You take your phone out of your back pocket and practically throw it at him. The bowl shakes in your trembling hand. You hate, more than anything, that he is so right, because your tears are on the surface again and it does not feel good.

“There,” you say.

His reflexes are fast. He doesn’t even fumble. He looks at the phone with confusion.

“You can take away the power chord for my computer too, if you want,” you say. “And you can lock me in my room – sorry, our room – when it’s curfew. And you can—”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Felix says, exasperated. He holds the phone out. “I’m not going to do any of that stuff. I’m not your enemy, I’m your bodyguard.”

“What if he makes you?” you ask. The he needs no clarification. “What if he puts my hand on the desk and tells you put a knife through it?”

“That won’t happen,” Felix says seriously. “Not if we work together. But if we keep going the way we’re going, then something bad is going to happen and we won’t be able to stop it.”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” you say, venomous.

“Trust me,” he says. “I don’t. I’m just the same as you.”

“And what am I?”

“Scared.”

Silence settles between you. His arm is outstretched, the phone an offering. When all you do is stare at it, he tentatively approaches. He leaves room for refusal but steps closer and simply puts it in your pocket himself. He nods sharply at you.

A single gesture of goodwill cannot undo a lifetime of conditioning to assume the worst in your captors. Felix occupies a strange liminal territory in that he seems to simultaneously be a captor and captive. You spend the next couple weeks watching your bodyguard carefully, watching him as he establishes a routine, watching him as he blends into the background of your life as if he was always there.

You don’t hear from your father. You excel on your book report. You don’t hear from your father. You fail a math test. You don’t hear from your father. You fall in the backyard and scrape your leg so badly that Felix has to give you stitches. You don’t hear from your father.

You get in a fight with some asshole at school. The oafish senior smashes into Felix’s shoulder as he walks past. Felix can take a hit, of that you have no doubt, but he plays the part of skittish fourteen year old well. He ducks out of the way.

The senior thinks this is funny and grabs Felix by the hair, yanking him back. You watch, shocked, as the guy slams Felix up against the lockers so hard they rattle. There are a few shrieks and gasps from scattered onlookers. Someone runs off for a teacher but mostly people give a wide berth.

Felix’s jaw clenches then he smiles. Everyone is looking at the sweet, sunny face. You are certain only you see his balled fist.

“Aren’t you gonna apologize for walking into me?” the senior asks.

“Sorry,” Felix says, playing his part well. “I didn’t see you.” He tries to step away and the guy shoves him back. Felix sucks in a breath, steadying himself.

“Why not?” the guy further taunts.

Felix cannot fight for himself without revealing too much. You, on the other hand, can walk right up and smack the guy with your math book. You hit the back of his head and he stumbles then whips around with a furious glare.

“What the fuck, bitch?” he says.

You see red quickly. You spit at him.

“Don’t call me a bitch, bitch,” you snap.

He wipes the spit off his face and takes a menacing step towards you. Felix is quick, his feet planted, his assessing gaze no doubt analyzing weak spots.

The scene ends abruptly because someone else grabs the guy and shoves him back. You jump, startled, your heart rate tripling when Minho turns around to look at you.

“You okay?” Minho asks.

Your mouth opens but no sound comes out. Your anger evaporates, a mushy warmth replacing it.

Minho’s brow furrows and he looks at the senior. He gives him a little shove.

“What’s your problem?” Minho asks. “You like picking on kids?”

A viciously mean laugh rings out beside you. You turn your head to Hyunjin, his hand covering his mouth as he tries and fails to hold his giggles.

“That’s pathetic, man,” Hyunjin says, then he winks and puts up his fists. “Wanna try me next?”

You remember that Hyunjin got expelled for fighting. He must be putting on a show right now because his silly, limp fists wouldn’t do any harm.

It gets everyone laughing but that doesn’t take much given how much people swoon over Hyunjin. An unspoken rivalry has risen between him and Minho, though you never see them interacting. In true popular boy fashion, they are above active engagement. Still, it is significant that they have openly taken the same side in this altercation. It means the senior stands absolutely no chance.

He shoves Minho’s hand off his shoulder and glares at Felix.

“You’re not worth it,” he says and stomps off. You watch him go, hoping you don’t look so pathetically wounded when stomping around.

Jisung arrives late, but just in time to ‘comfort’ Felix.

“Don’t stress it, man, don’t stress it,” he says. “I mean, stress it a little, the hot guys got hotter and you’re gonna be bitchless forever, but other than that, don’t stress it.”

You are staring silently out the window on the car-ride home. Felix pokes your shoulder and you look at him.

“You know I’m supposed to be the bodyguard, right?” he says, dryly, but the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

You don’t return the smile, but you are less venomous than usual when you say, “You’re welcome, you big baby.”

He looks out the window and smiles.

You still don’t hear from your father.

One night, you are laying in bed beside Felix, a gulf of space between you as usual. You can hear him snoring. You think about him up against that row of lockers. You start overthinking. You know, logically, your father would not hire a second-rate bodyguard. You know better. You do.

“Felix,” you whisper, but he keeps snoring. You slip out of bed and he rolls onto his back, but then he goes back to snoring.

You slip into your walk-in closet. You text Jisung. It’s a Friday night so there’s a party somewhere. You change into party clothes and sneak back into your room. Felix is laying on his back, fast asleep, his breathing light.

The doors are all alarmed so that’s a bad way out. You make it all the way to the bedroom window when a very sturdy pair of arms wrap around you. You don’t even have time to scream. Felix bodily pulls you back through the window. When you fight him, he easily outmanoeuvres you. He always tries to be gentle with you, though, and it gives you an advantage. You manage to topple over, taking him with you. You land in a tangled heap on the huge bed, squirming under him.

“Stop it!” he says, sounding righteously pissed off. “Seriously?! What the fuck! I thought we were past this shit? What do you think you’re doing!”

“What are you doing?” You try shoving him to no avail. “Can’t you be normal for once—”

“Do you know what kind of danger you’re putting yourself in by going out alone at night, on a weekend, for fuck’s sake—”

This time when you shove him, he actually moves. He sits up with an aggravated huff, shoving his sleep-messed hair out of his face. You keep eye contact, an intense stare that fractures on his end, his gaze dropping when you suddenly pull your shirt off.

“Look at me,” you say. “You think the danger’s out there? What about the danger in here?”

He looks. He looks at the scar on your collarbone and the one on your stomach. You can’t tell if his morose expression is a reaction or just his frustration simmering.

“I don’t understand,” he finally says. “You have choices. It doesn’t have to be like this. Why do you intentionally—why do you keep—”

“What choices?” you ask. “Submission or else? How is that a choice?”

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” he asks. “Kicking at the bars just to see if they’re still there when you already know the answer?”

“See,” you say, smiling a bitter smile as you lay back, “you do understand me.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. He wears a big t-shirt and baggy shorts to sleep, the shape making him look even smaller than usual. Felix is skinny, despite his hidden strength, pretty and unassuming and too competent for his own good.

Your smile fades. You watch him rack his brain, his face a plainly written book to you just as much as you are to him.

“Where did you come from?” you ask. “Who were you? What happened to make you like this?”

His glance grazes your scars. He steps back, off the bed. He holds your gaze in his.

“I’ll tell you,” he says. “I’ll tell you. I told you I will always be honest with you. So if you ask, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything and I won’t spare any details.”

Something in the tone of his voice makes you feel sick. You reach for your shirt and twist the fabric between your fingers.

“So?” you say, voice unsteady.

“So,” Felix says, “I would really appreciate it if you didn’t ask me. Because if you do, I will be honest with you. I will always be honest with you. So ask me, if that’s what you want. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want,” you say. “I don’t think I know how to want something.”

“That’s probably for the best,” he says. He gives you no time to dwell on this, sharply adding, “Go get dressed for bed. It’s late. I won’t tell your father what happened. Just get back in bed. Good night.”

He pivots as swiftly as his tone, straight to the bathroom where he closes the door to give you privacy. It is also an implicit statement of trust, or maybe a statement of ability, that you could make for the window again but you wouldn’t get far.

You don’t think anywhere is far enough. You think you could scour the world and not find another person who understood you even half so well as Felix.

You are under the covers when he returns. He doesn’t say anything, just slips into bed and lays on his back. You feel small under the thick blanket in the huge bed, so much space between you that it feels like a tangible block, cold and cruel and solid. His eyes are open, not even pretending to sleep, but he stares up at the ceiling. He is shivering. He must feel the cold too.

You reach out slowly, your hand gliding across the blanket. It gives him ample time to notice, even with his mind so far away. His dark eyes flick down to that hand, suspended in the big open space between you. He stares at it for a long time, so long that sleep starts to creep into the corners of your vision. You float in a quiet, cool, half-waking world.

Then he takes your hand. You wake up. He looks at you across that chasm, your arms stretched between you, your hands clasped together. You squeeze his hand and he squeezes yours back.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #bodyguard au #skz imagines #stray kids imagines

841 notes · View notes

crybaby-bkg · 2 years

Text

Week Four, Day Four of Kinktober 2022

Hate Fucking: Boku no Hero Academia: Shinsou Hitoshi

Word Count: 1.3K

Tags: hate fucking, enemies to fuck buddies, frottage, mean insults to each other, mentions of blood and violence

Shinsou tries to ignore the quick pattering of feet behind him, but it’s hard when you’re practically fuckin’ gaining on him. He doesn’t stop his long strides though, just waits for you to catch up to him, which will hopefully be never once he ducks into his office and locks the door. But of course, you catch him right as he steps inside, shoe in the door to stop him from closing it in your face.

Ooh, and what a mean face it is, he thinks to himself as he looks at you tiredly. He already knows what the issue is, what your personal issue is, and he can’t say that he really feels like hearing about it right now. He should be celebrating this, this win, this promotion of his own office space and becoming head of the underground heroes department. A promotion in which you thought you were more deserving of.

“You know I should’ve gotten that fuckin’ promotion, dead eyes.” You spit up at the man, unafraid to poke your finger into his hard chest. Shinsou only looks down at where your finger is still on him before only flicking his eyes up, staring at you through his purple fringe.

“And what makes you think that?” He asks sarcastically, tone leveled and dry, giving you nothing to combat against. That makes you even madder though, as you take a step forward, expecting him to step back, but he only stands his ground, so now you’re barely two feet apart.

“You stole that fuckin’ villain from me last night, and now because of that, they think you’re more qualified for the position but you’re not.” You sound like a petulant child, he thinks, as he stares down at you from the bridge of his nose. It’s cute though, your little tantrum, as you try to puff your chest all up and convince him that you’re just as big and bad. His little smirk only infuriates you more, as you take another step to him until you’re chest to chest.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” Shinsou drawls lazily, mouth quirking up on the side as he watches you damn near blow smoke out of your ears. You’re so goddamn cute, like a fucking chipmunk with their cheeks stuffed, with your hands balled at your sides, and your feet stomping quietly in place.

He doesn’t know who makes the first move, but suddenly his mouth is on yours and you’re kissing him with so much anger and passion, he fears it might knock him off of his feet. Shinsou drags you into his office, slamming the door and then slamming you against the back of it, securing the lock as you both devour each others mouths with an intensity that’s so great, it could make fires burn bright, melt the building, create an explosion to be seen across continents.

“I fuckin’ hate you.” You mutter to him when he bites hard at your lip and pulls until it snaps back in place. You can taste copper on your tongue, and it only fuels you more, diving in for his mouth once again, bringing him into you by clawing at his nape. Shinsou hisses when he feels you draw blood under your nails, and vows to kiss and bite you harder until you’re the one that bleeds the most, until your crimson mixes with his own and he can’t separate the two of you.

“Feeling’s mutual.” He groans against you, hiking your leg up until it rests on his hip, humping his cock against your clothed mound until he hears you moan under your breath. He chuckles at that, at how you’re such a fucking spitfire and hate him so fucking bad, up until you can feel his cock rubbing against your desperate little pussy.

“Fuck is so funny, dickhead?” You snarl at the purple haired man, leaning down to bite at his neck, sucking at the wound until you’re sure a bruise will form in the shape of your mouth. Shinsou throws his head back and groans, one hand under your knee, the other pulling you closer to him by your ass.

“How desperate you are for my cock.” He huffs, feeling impatient enough to just rip your pants down, taking your panties with him until they bunch up around your thighs. “Try to act so mean and nasty to me, but you’re humping my fuckin’ leg like a—”

“Say bitch in heat and I’ll bite your fucking tongue off.” You spit to him, eyes lit aflame as you pull back to stare at him. Is it bad that Shinsou almost cums at the sight of you? At the sound of your mean and nasty words? Is it bad that it only makes him groan and rip his cock out before he bullies it between your thighs and starts humping in between your slick lips before you can even register what’s happening?

“Fucking me is a privilege,” you sneer in his ear, where you fit your mouth against the lobe, holding on tight to his shoulders as his rocking hips keep pushing you back into the door. You wrap your thigh even tighter around him so that he can have a smaller and wetter space to fuck his cock against, rubbing the head and shaft of it on your clit cruelly.

“Like how having my position is a privilege to you, too? Only thing is, I’ll be in this pussy sooner than you would get your stupid fuckin’ promotion.” His words are mean and it makes you bite at his shoulder so hard, he has to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from howling. You practically want to maul the man, want to shred at his skin until there’s nothing left and they’d have to put you in his position.

But his cock feels so good and his mouth fits so well against your skin, all you can do is hump his cock thrusting between your folds and take your anger out on him by sucking another hickey onto his bruising neck.

“I’m gonna get that fucking position, asshole.” You snap at him, pulling back so that you can breathe against his mouth without properly kissing it. Shinsou only chuckles at you before he groans, fucking his hips against you quicker as you can tell he starts to chase his orgasm.

“And I’m gonna fuck you raw.” He grins, watches how your eyes widen before you glare at him, despite your cunt telling him all that he needs to know.

“Like hell you would.” You sneer at him, clawing at his nape again as you can practically taste your orgasm on your tongue. Shinsou looks downright evil now, as his eyes glow some ominous purple before he whispers against your soft lips,

“I could say the same to you, sweetheart.” Oh the fucking bastard, you think to yourself, glaring at him again before your eyes roll back from your orgasm. Shinsou crashes his mouth against yours to quiet your noises, grunts spilling into your own mouth as he cums and paints your inner thighs and clit and the door white with his cum. His hips stutter against your own for a few seconds before he finally slows, pulling away from your mouth with a sigh as strings of saliva slap against your chin and his bottom lip. He looks at your sweet little fucked out face, smiling at you, before you both seem to come to your senses. Hurriedly, clothes are pulled back on and you’re scurrying out of his office, not after throwing a final comment over your shoulder,

“This isn’t over, dead eyes.” And shit, Shinsou really hopes this won’t be the last time you guys do this. He could get used to your mean insults and sweet little whines.

#crybaby.bkg.kinktober #shinsou treats! 🍬#mha sweets! 🍬#cw: blood mention

124 notes · View notes

beomgyuls · 2 years

Text

What About Us? || C.Beomgyu. Chapter 11

⚎ Summary - after all of your hard work, living alone with no support from your parents what so ever after you graduated college. Your father suddenly called you, announcing that there was a rather weighty deal that was made between your family and with the Choi’s. Forcefully leaving you to marry Choi Beomgyu, one of the most powerful yet mysterious CEO there is.

⚎ Pairing - Beomgyu x Reader

⚎ Genre - arranged marriage! au, ceo! beomgyu, fluff, angst.

⚎ Word counting - 7.1k

⚎ Warnings - swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of violence (not on the two pair), angst if your squint your eyes.

His soul was vulnerable at night whenever he looked at you, Beomgyu played the guitar at a rather smooth pattern, taking deep breaths whenever he would notice you watching him with astonishment. He finishes with a single strum of an “F” chord before setting the guitar down beside him, the wind picking up what was left behind the beauteous night as he met your gaze.

“Well?” He asked you, smiling when he caught sight of your puffed cheeks making you look adorable enough as it is in his eyes.

“You’re amazing” You breathed out, smiling eyes catching a quick glimpse of his rose-tinted cheek after you complimented him.

“It’s not that good,” Beomgyu spoke through a careless mood. You watched him shrug his shoulders before looking up to the night sky, stars were already reflecting his eyes just by looking at you earlier. But you didn’t give up, you wanted to continue praising him for his talent in playing the guitar, you remembered one time that you first started playing the stringed instrument, and you were having trouble placing your fingers down the string to create a specific tune. But your husband over here moved his long fingers down the wooden neck passionately and still placed his fingers at the right string places.

“No! I mean- your fingers were moving in the right frets and it even looked like you memorized all of the chords… unlike me”

You watched as a slight grin formed in the corner of his lips due to your stumbled words, he retook the guitar beside him but this time he placed it in front of you.

“Play me something” Beomgyu requested, setting the instrument between the two of you on one of the balcony benches.

“I’m not as good as you” You sighed, but still took the guitar and placed it on top of your lap.

“Hmm? “I’m not as good as you”? Baby, you literally gifted me a guitar with your knowledge of the instrument. Do you think that I wouldn’t notice the first time I showed you my music room that you basically named all of my guitars in there… you had experience” Beomgyu saw right through you, his demanding eyes boring into your body. He still remembers that?

“Urgh- Fine” You gave out a sigh of defeat before distracting yourself with playing, trying your best to not fail under his intense stare. Beomgyu’s face softened after hearing your small mistake, his smile feeling like it’s already used to his face on how much he does it when he met you. He quietly listens, nodding his head along the tune and clapping his hands together when you finished, embarrassed, you turned your head away, cheeks hot as the summer temperature.

“I made two mistakes! And you still chose to clap?” You argued, giving him his guitar back.

“Why? Can’t I show how much I’m thankful to have such a talented wife like you? I don’t care about your mistakes” Beomgyu injected, his sudden words shocking you to the bone till this day.

Flustered, you stood up, ready to leave him alone on the balcony and just get ready for bed. Both of you had a long day and woke up at the earliest of mornings, you just wished to be in bed already now that Beomgyu’s here with you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sweeping you off your feet, he placed both hands on the sides of your hips to turn you around, your body bumping with his, your eyes already meeting his face. The moonlight shone half of his face as it kissed his cheekbones, his defined jaw before he pressed his moist lips with yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you closed your eyes and kissed him back, lifting yourself up to your toes to match the height of his lips. Smiling, you pulled away and playfully smacked his chest, earning a dramatic pained noise from Beomgyu who still had the cockiest face ever.

“I’m going to bed” You were quick to reply, pushing the glass door open.

“Alright…”

“You're not coming with me?” You paused, facing him again. Beomgyu was already leaning his body back at the balcony railings, both elbows placed on top of the cold metal as support. He was removing the watch resting on his left wrist, but his gaze was fixated on you.

“I’ll join you later” He spoke, licking his lip moist before mentioning the door behind you. Giving him a nod, you smiled and walked away “Don’t stay out too late”

“Yes, Mrs. Choi” Beomgyu friskily replied, chuckling after seeing you close the door for him. Beomgyu let out a sigh of contentment, just having this moment to remember as the years go by made him smile, the kind of smile where he finally feels at home whenever you’re near him. He waved goodbye to his old life, the life he had where he was caged in between the eyes of his parents, taking care of the company and everything, he was never fond of his mother and father controlling his life. But something about that night where he got a call that a deal was made between your family and his, he felt a huge wave of curiosity and amusement when he was placed in an arranged marriage with you.

A feeling sparked inside him when he first saw you enter the study of his father’s office, your face was showing nothing but confusion, disappointment, and lasting resentment. He received a feeling that won’t subside when you sat down next to him that night, he would silently take glances at you if he ever got a chance to do so, and when he saw you crying after the long discussion of what your life is going to be after looking at the contract of the marriage. He looked at you and fantasized. Am I really going to be her husband? Is she even capable of being my wife after all of her objections during the discussion earlier?

“What?” He asked, standing up from his seat whilst bringing out his own pen, his long slender hands opening the cap of his Cross pen with his family name engraved in gold.

“Why did you say yes?” You asked, looking up to catch his gaze under teary eyes.

“They’ve been talking about this whole marriage ever since I set foot back here, it made my ears hurt, so I said yes to make them stop talking about it” Beomgyu shrugged, signing the papers that changed his life for just countable months.

“Are you fine about all of this?” You asked, voice failing to not shake when he turned and faced you. Those eyes stared at you for a moment, noticing them look up and down your body.

“Are you fine with all of this?? Y/n?” He said inside his head

“Marriage?” He silently chuckled down at himself, fingers hovering over the papers as he silently read the contents written down.

MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE

This marriage shall be the sacred union of souls together, have each other through years of passion. They promised to pledge their whole commitment to this marriage and demonstrate the instrument without looking back. This contract is approved by the law due to the reasons behind the two families coming together as one.

DEVOTED WIFE :

LOVING HUSBAND: CHOI BEOMGYU

Beomgyu placed his pen down and stared at the papers, his attention drifted to you beside him. Offering you his pen and waiting for you to sign the papers.

DEVOTED WIFE: RHEE Y/N- / CHOI Y/N

He finally found you.

Beomgyu opened the glass door slowly after seeing you tucked in the thick covers of the bed already, both eyes closed with you hugging a pillow which was on his side of the bed. The only light inside the room was the lamp standing beside the bed, the golden glow kissing your skin for Beomgyu to sigh heavily at the sight, getting ready for bed and slipping into way more comfortable clothes before joining you.

“Woah-” Beomgyu surprisingly released after he felt your arm hugging his waist almost way too immediately when he was just halfway through laying down beside you. He took a quick look at you but only saw your eyes closed. Gently he laid down, taking your arm off of him so he could be the one who will hug you. Pulling you close to him, Beomgyu pressed a kiss on top of your head before taking a quick breath of air that had your scent tinting behind it.

“We need to wake up early tomorrow”

“Uh? For what?” You asked, voice muffled as you were pressed on his chest, the warmth of his body relaxing you.

“We’ll go to the warehouse, I’ll be taking you along with me because I felt bad when I left you here all alone earlier”

“Your fault” Beomgyu’s laugh filled the whole room, his deep voice singing like a lullaby to you.

“I love you” Hearing no response, Beomgyu looks down at your sleeping state, deeply taking steady breaths for you were already off to dreamland, waiting for him to join you. But even if he didn’t hear any response, he knows that you love him too.

———

“Mrs. Choi! We’re already done checking the safety of the appliances, where do you wish to proceed next?” One woman came running towards you, she carries one bag filled with folders and binders of the company along with the collaboration of Yeon Technologies.

“Put them on the warehouse over there, I’ll visit it later to mark them all. Thank you” You responded, smiling at her great effort in being by your side this whole time. You watched her walk down the hallway, scrolling down her phone to check the emails she received from the other business consultants. Just like your position at the company back in Seoul, you’re taking half of Beomgyu’s work with you so that he could work on the other extreme ones. You closed your eyes for a moment, the aching feeling on your head residing from the moment you and your husband separated earlier to do your own work. Hearing the conference room door open and close, you fluttered your eyes open, seeing all the meeting attendees walk out of the room. But your eyes ignored all of them as they were busy searching for the man in control, there you saw Beomgyu by the doorway. He was waiting for Yeonjun and their voices were becoming more audible as they took one step forward.

“Move the launch to December? Would that not be troublesome?” Yeonjun asked, scratching the back of his neck in question.

“Think about it-”

“I am thinking” His friend interrupted, earning a tired sigh from Beomgyu’s lips. He couldn’t believe that the man standing beside him is way older than him by just a couple of years. It felt like the roles were reversed for how he acts.

“December is the Christmas season yeah? People would search for presents to give to each other, as I’m pointing out, I think our collaboration is perfect to be released at that time” Beomgyu tilted his head to the side, waiting for his response. Yeonjun nodded his head and from the corner of his eyes, he could see you standing on the other side of the hallway, clearly waiting for Beomgyu by the looks of it. Not wanting to stand in between his friend's wife, he nodded his head again and bid his farewell.

“I’ll see you later” That was all he said before walking away, carrying his leather briefcase with him. You held your breath and waited for Beomgyu to turn his attention to you, and when he did, you crashed him into a comforting hug, a hug that you needed for the time being.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, resting his chin on top of your shoulder.

Grabbing the sleeves of his suit, you leaned up to look at him. His eyes were tired but he chose to hide them for you.

“I’m just tired” You laughed, knowing that Beomgyu had worse of what you’re feeling right now. With a delicate and gentle touch, he placed your hair onto one side of your shoulder, so that he could lean down and peck the other side that was exposed for him to only see.

“Me too…” Beomgyu laughed, his breath tickling your body for he was still nuzzling his nose on the crook of your neck. A moment of silence came, and neither the two of you broke out of the hug. Then remembering that you had other matters to attend to, you gathered all of your strength to push Beomgyu away with a heavy feeling layering your chest. Big and round eyes looking down at you with the heavy pout that he grew fond of using whenever you would break his embrace.

“I have to get going now, I need to check the warehouse with the already finished appliances there” You explained, placing both hands behind your back as you waited for his reply.

“And… I have another board meeting to attend” Beomgyu finished, rolling up the sleeve of his dress shirt as he looked at the time placed down on his wristwatch. His hair was getting long, a mullet was even starting to form on the nape of his neck, and the bangs hovering on his forehead were also now resting in front of his eyes.

“I’ll see you later then,” You started, smiling and giving him one last kiss on his cheek, an energizer even.

You audibly laugh after seeing the tips of his ears turning red due to your sudden affection. Swallowing the lump down his throat, Beomgyu fixed his tie around his neck and gave you a stiff nod.

“Good luck!” You shouted, your voice bouncing off the hallway with your eyes watching your husband take steps away from you. His tall figure continued walking but he lifted his right hand in the air to give you a wave of goodbye with his back still facing you, earning a chuckle to leave his lips.

———

The next day you were having the best time of your life, both feet were occupied paddling the bike you and Beomgyu rented for the day. It all started with a simple breakfast conversation, he asked you what you wanted to do while the two of you are still here in Daegu, and considering that this is his hometown, he came running with suggestions. He talked to you about picking strawberries at a strawberry farm he loved spending his time back then and suggested taking a trip down the street to try some of the local food, and bike riding until the sun goes down. You thought about it for a moment… why not do all of them today?

“Slow down! Or else you’ll fall off your bike!” You heard Beomgyu’s voice laced with excitement and worry coming up behind you. Ringing the bell of your bike, you swayed your bicycle side to side, the basket sitting in front of the handle was taken by a basket of strawberries that Beomgyu handpicked with his knowledge of the fruit.

“Are your knees already giving up, old man?” You laughed, increasing the ringing pattern of your bike to tease him further.

“Oh? You’re calling me old now huh? Wait until we go back home, I’ll show you that I’m still filled with energy” Beomgyu responded, catching up to your side with his white bicycle now beside your pastel pink one.

“E-EH?” You breathed out, gripping both the handles of the bike tightly after hearing what just slipped out of his mischievous mouth.

Seeing a wooden fruit truck coming close down the road the two of you are currently at, Beomgyu placed his right hand on top of your left handle to gently push you to the side. The bright morning sun was still active for 9 am in the morning, and the cold wind kissed your skin harsher from the fact that you were riding a bicycle. Then, you and Beomgyu parked your bicycles at a proper parking spot for bicycles at a park not too far away from where the two of you are now. Beomgyu held your cold hand and tucked it inside the pocket of his trench coat, now both of your hands are inside the small space, still locked together.

“How long are we going to stay here in Daegu?” You asked him. Playing with his fingers inside the pocket.

“A week” He replied casually and you felt him tighten his grip around your hand, stopping you from playing with his when the two of you crossed the road to go to the other side where the food stalls were located.

“Woah…” You mentioned in awe, scanning the area with eyes opened wide, the red lanterns filled the street along with the fairy lights decorating each stall. Cherry blossoms were in full beauty at the back when Beomgyu continued dragging you deeper down the street.

“Caught any food that catches your eye?” You heard Beomgyu ask beside you, he was also busy finding a food stall that met his taste buds.

“No, not yet” You shook your head. The two of you looked like kids in search of a certain treasure by how your heads were going left and right, checking the menus and buying a simple drink along the way.

“Buchu-jeon and baechu-jeon?!” You gasped, seeing an old lady setting the plates in her own stall, her smile wide when she saw the two of you approaching her small area.

“How much for two plates each?” Beomgyu asked, pointing at the food below him.

You stood on the side, watching your husband converse with the old lady with him cracking jokes here and there about how he tried making one when he was only starting to live alone in the bustling streets of Seoul. Your heart felt warm at how Beomgyu’s doe eyes followed the old lady's words, nodding his head with soft cheeks puffed out making him look way more adorable than he is already.

“Here,” He came walking back to you, two plates of the kind as he was already eating one piece.

“Thank you,” Giving him a sweet smile, you closed your eyes in satisfaction after taking a huge bite of the food. Hearing Beomgyu laugh, he also mirrored your actions, taking a bite and closing his eyes as the two of you looked like high schoolers enjoying a simple date after school.

“These are so good!”

“The Buchu-jeon and baechu-jeon here in Daegu are really good, way better than the ones served at restaurants back in Seoul” Beomgyu started, wiping the corner of his mouth with the use of his thumb. A thought came inside his mind, you were taken back from the way he gave you the other plate, taking it gently and now you’re carrying two plates.

“What are you-”

“Look at me, baby”

“Huh?” Your breath hitched from your throat, surprised to suddenly feel the pads of his thumb close to your lips. You slowly looked up to catch his eyes, they were focused on wiping the sauce off the corner of your mouth, his gentle and careful movements colored your day.

“There, all done” Beomgyu smiled, the kind of smile where the apples of his cheek were most noticeable. When he turned his back on you to buy another set of street food, you took one of the plates down at a table near you, sitting down and placing a hand on top of your chest. Your heart was beating faster than before just by his small service earlier. Choi Beomgyu… the things you do to me, really.

The next day you dragged Beomgyu to the local grocery store, basically bringing him along to push the shopping cart so that he could also guard it whilst you go aisle by aisle. You thought about cooking lunch and dinner for the two of you again, but you never had the chance to for some time because of your busy schedules together at the company, normally taking take-out or just eating outside together. Your smile was high up the clouds when your eyes watched Beomgyu play around with the shopping cart, bringing one foot up the metal support at the bottom and pushing it like some scooter to follow you.

“Can you check what’s inside the cart right now?” You asked with your attention still drawn to the can of peas that you’re currently checking.

“Um, okay, we have rice, garlic, onions, ginger, and some bread and later we’ll go to the meat section to pick out some beef- oh! And also the soy sauce that you mentioned earlier, we’ll stop by to grab some” You mainly stared at your husband in surprise because most of the time you taught that he was not listening to you earlier, he looked bored from the way he pushed the cart but he was listening. He even remembered the soy sauce that your mind managed to forget for a quick minute.

“Thank you, my dear husband” You playfully spoke, putting the can of peas inside the cart but Beomgyu stopped you, grabbing a hold of your wrist to take the can so that he could be the one to put it inside.

“Anything for my dear wife,” Beomgyu grinned, going back to his current task of pushing the cart beside you.

“How can you not know how to crack an egg with one hand?!” You audibly gasp, hitting Beomgyu’s shoulder playfully as the two of your peeked your heads at the bowl sitting on top of the counter. The yolk was ruined with some pieces of white shells floating around the mixture, Beomgyu’s right hand was also a mess from the leftover egg whites shining on his fingers.

“I’m used to cracking it with a fork, alright?” Beomgyu muttered under his breath, walking over to the sink to wash his hands clean. From the way he sounded, his tone of voice was heavy, it was filled with nothing but embarrassment, he may be a very skilled cook and businessman but he can’t crack an egg with one hand.

You slowly walked closer beside him, his heavy shoulders and pouty lips completing his down state. Chewing your bottom lip, you tried your best to not laugh after recalling the egg-cracking incident once again.

“Why are you laughing?”

“N-Nothing” You hurried your actions, going behind the counter.

“Yeah?” However, Beomgyu remained still and observant, seeing your breathless state from keeping your laughter in, he gave up and rolled his eyes playfully. He rolled the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to the joint of his elbows, opening the tray and taking out one egg to continue where he left off.

“I’ll show you that I can still crack this little shit of a chicken” Beomgyu declared, almost as if he was making a speech in front of the press, lifting the white egg in the air as he showed it to you proudly.

“Wow, you’re a whole new man” You applaud, clapping your hands together to lift the spirit of your husband who only replied with a nod of his head and saying his great thanks like some showman.

———

Sadly, your beautiful and relaxing stay here in Daegu has come to an end, you’re now currently helping Beomgyu put the bags back inside the car compartment. Taking your time double-checking the house to see if there’s anything left behind that’s under your and Beomgyu’s possession.

“Y/n! We have to go!” Beomgyu shouted from downstairs, holding the front door open with his right hand whilst his left was tucked inside the pocket of his jeans.

“Wait!” You responded as you opened one last door at the end of the hallway, your eyes scanned the room up and down, and seeing that it was really empty, you closed it again and ventured down the hallway.

“Baby, you know that I love you right? But we have to really get going now” You heard Beomgyu say after seeing you walk down the stairs, your purse in hand as you glared at him.

“Well I’m sorry, I’m just double checking around the house, and look what I found?”

“What?” Beomgyu followed, closing the door behind him when the two of you started walking to the car, his eyebrows pinched together as confusion showed on his handsome face. Beomgyu’s attention then fell on your hand that was holding up a brown envelope with the name of Yeon Technologies stamped in front, the big lettering was enough to catch his eyes.

“Oh shit” Laughing at his shocked expression, you gave him the envelope that you found beside the drawer inside the master bedroom. That envelope contains documents and legal management papers regarding the site of the warehouse along with the things inside of it.

“You forgetful old man” You teased, already knowing what was about to happen next.

“What did you say to me woman?” The man beside you stopped his tracks, placing a hand on top of your shoulder to keep you in place within his reach.

“I said, you forgetful old ma-” You didn’t even get a chance to finish your sentence as you were already silenced with a pair of wet lips catching your own. Pulling you closer with your teeth clashing together when Beomgyu suddenly pulled your bottom lip roughly, letting out a heavy groan, Beomgyu finished it all with his tongue swiping your lips close.

“Call me old man one more time baby, then I’m afraid that It’s not just my lips that will be keeping you quiet now” Beomgyu seductively whispered beside your ear, his hot breath tickling your body when he decided to nibble on your earlobe before picking up his steps once again.

You cupped your warm cheeks to keep them stable after the sudden intimacy that joined the two of you seconds ago. Blinking yourself back to reality, you took a deep breath and entered the car with Beomgyu already sitting in the driver's seat. The second you got inside, Beomgyu’s deep chuckle filled the cold car after seeing you in such a timid state.

“Just drive the car!” You mentioned, hands flying up in the air to express your flustered expression.

“Alright! Alright!”

The whole ride was just like the one before, you kept Beomgyu company the whole time by talking to him. That’s until the sound of your phone ringing inside your purse filled the whole car, you quickly took the gadget out with a questionable look drawn on your face upon seeing your brother’s name on the screen. Answering the call, you hovered the phone in your right ear and greeted the other side.

“Hello? Siu?”

The silence was the first thing you heard after picking up his sudden call. But the faint breathing of someone on the other side said otherwise, your eyes then followed Beomgyu lowering the volume of the music inside the car so that you could hear your brother properly.

“Siu, are you there?” You asked again, this time gripping the living battery out of your cellphone.

“Where are you, Y/n?” Siu’s voice was laced with distress, you could picture his lips quivering on the other side after hearing his heavy cries.

“What’s wrong? Siu! Hey!” You panicked, catching the attention of Beomgyu who kept on stealing glances on your side.

“Y/n… I’m scared” With great fear and vivid memory, your breath hitched after hearing your brother’s pained voice. The quiet sniffles he released on the other line were enough to make your chest tighten in worry.

“Y/n… I’m scared” You quickly stopped writing in your notebook, the small pencil dropping on the floor from the way Siu suddenly grabbed the hem of your shirt.

“What for?” You asked, crouching down to meet his height.

“I-I’m scared of what father might do to me” Siu cried, wet tears rolling down his soft cheeks when his eyes traveled back to the broken doorknob he suddenly damaged in the middle of playing.

You felt your heart stop beating after realizing what he just said, looking back at your bedroom door. You quickly locked it and even placed a chair to keep it shut, dragging Siu to sit on your bed as you continue doing your homework.

“He will not do anything okay? I’m right here” You smiled whilst silently watching the door of your room move back and forth hastily. Letting your fears show until you can’t face them anymore starting that night, but as the years go by you and Siu would always keep each other close within reach. One door away.

“I’m right here, okay? Just tell me where you are so that I’ll know what to do” You started, setting your mind calm in preparation for what he’s going to say. You suddenly felt Beomgyu’s hand engulf your small ones, taking the phone away from your hand.

“What are you doing??”

Beomgyu didn’t answer you but instead, he put the call on speaker so that he could also get involved in what was going on. Placing your phone on the dashboard, Beomgyu rested his right hand on top of your thigh, giving small rubs to reassure you that everything’s going to be alright.

“O-Okay so I was staying here at your old apartment just like what you said, but earlier this morning the landlord knocked on the door and told me to leave. I didn’t move at first because I explained that you’re my sister and that you used to live here but they didn’t listen. And Y/n… Ken was there- he’s with Ari, they dragged me out like- like I was some monster, they threw my backpack outside the apartment building. And that bag was the one that you gave me! Inside it was my schoolwork! A-And now, it’s raining here” Siu finished with his breathing heavier than before, the faint sound of raindrops coming close as a soft beat.

“They can’t just do that!”

“Well, they already did” Siu sarcastically replied.

“W-Where are you now? We’re already here in Seoul” You said, anxiously moving in your seat with the raindrops finally hitting the roof of the moving vehicle.

“Still outside the apartment. Under the waiting shed just in front of it-”

“Don’t go anywhere, we’re coming to get you” Beomgyu ended the call in one swift motion, handing you your phone back, and with a clenched jaw, he continued driving with such a heavy grip around the steering wheel.

———

Running out of the car with no care about the way your clothes were getting wet from the heavy rain, your eyes landed on Siu. He was sitting down on the metal bench, his hair was slightly wet as he was hugging his bag as if his life depended on it. The grey clouds reflected your eyes and you could also hear Beomgyu leave the car, following you.

“Siu!” With a simple worried voice, Siu’s head shot up like a deer and was immediately turned to find you. Running your way up to his shaking body due to the cold wind and his wet clothes, “Are you okay?” You whisper quietly, fingers weaved through the hair on the nape of his neck.

Siu’s lips curved into a smile, nodding his head whilst giving Beomgyu his first embrace with him, you continued wiping the tears that had escaped your eyes from seeing the way your two boys hug each other in such contentment.

“I heard the two of you were in Daegu?”

“We were already on our way back when you called” You answered, picking up his bag that was on the floor and carrying it for him.

“You good?” Beomgyu asked the younger boy.

“Yeah, thank you for coming here” Siu showed him his small smile.

“What happened to your knees?” You just noticed now how they were covered in dirt, red dried stains of blood soaking through the material.

“Ah- when they dragged me outside, I fell on the ground. I guess my knees got scratched”

“Beomgyu,” You called out his name, “Yeah?” Beomgyu swallows nervously with his attention now focused on his phone, he just suddenly took it out and began scrolling hastily. A look of disapproval showed on his face.

“Is there something wrong?” You asked, walking closer to look at what he was doing, but before you could even do so, Beomgyu turned his phone off and placed it deep in his pocket.

“Beomgyu?”

“It’s nothing, we should go. Siu, you’re staying with us” He didn’t even give you a chance to talk for he already turned his back on you, taking the bag away from your hold and carrying it to the car.

The ride back to the house was quiet, well, except for your worried questions towards Siu. Constantly asking him if he was cold, or if he was hungry but he only answered all of them with a smile and a shake of his head.

“Treat his wounds and give him a spare bedroom, cook him some food also” Beomgyu ordered the housekeepers in one breath, they all nodded their heads and took Siu to the living room.

“You can change your clothes, go to our room and pick whatever you want on my side of the closet”

“Thank you, big brother” You heard Siu say, closing his eyes when he rolled his jeans up to his knees, showing the large gashes displayed on his kneecaps. The housekeepers treated him as if he was a prince, drying his hair with a towel, and treating his wounds and some were already in the kitchen cooking him food.

You looked over your shoulder, eyes seeing the side of Beomgyu’s sharp jaw facing you. He was watching the little boy sitting on the couch of his living room, a look of sympathy was waving across his face. Gently, you locked your hand with his, silently watching your little brother’s state at some distance.

“Thank you,” You leaned your head on his shoulder, closing the space between the two of you. You saw how the ends of his lips twitch up, but he stopped them by turning his head away, biting down his bottom lip.

“He just reminded me of what I used to look like when I was his age”

Your breath stopped inside your throat after hearing what he just said, feeling him taking your hand off his. Beomgyu walked away, taking his phone out again.

“Why do you keep looking at your cell phone? There’s something going on right?” You straightforwardly said, following him into the hallway that leads to the front door. The rain was still active but it was not as harsh as earlier.

“My father wants to see us now” Beomgyu continued, lifting his chin up to look at the ceiling, attempting to calm himself. Fear was quickly eating you slowly after seeing the article that Beomgyu showed you on his phone.

CHOI BEOMGYU AND CHOI Y/N IN A FAKE MARRIAGE??

“W-What?” That was all you could manage to say, eyes were shaking from clicking the article and reading the contents further with quivering lips.

Published by QuickSPACE ad- Ken Kim.

Your eyes flared upon seeing the one who wrote the article, so he really did not give up huh? You suddenly thought that this might be all connected, Siu getting evicted from your apartment with Ken and Ari’s control and now he published this article that consisted of your marriage with Beomgyu.

They now know. All of them.

“Beomgyu,” You breathed out, closing the phone with your knees growing weak as they gave up on you very quickly.

“I-I’m scared” You already know how strict and authoritative Beomgyu’s company and family reputation is, and a huge wave of fear and worry took over your soul, scared that you might’ve vandalized his reputation that he spent years keeping stable and strong.

“Hey, look at me. I’m here alright? I’m with you” Beomgyu calms you, one knee on the cold floor and the other was keeping him stable as he searched for your face. He leaned down and kissed your hair sweetly, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead with yours.

“I love you so much” You spoke up, lifting your chin up to capture Beomgyu’s eyes.

“Not as much as I love you” Beomgyu confessed, the pads of his thumbs brushing past your cheeks as he dried your tears away. Even if all of these things are currently circling around the two of you, Ken’s schemes along with the insults coming from teh citizens in the media. Beomgyu silenced them all with one simple kiss that said a thousand words about how much he means to you.

———

You continued fiddling your fingers anxiously, taking the seat beside Beomgyu on the sofa of his family's living room. Their family portrait dominated the wall in front of you, Beomgyu’s past self was staring blankly at the camera with no sense of expression on his face. But the man beside you kept his arm around your waist, constantly rubbing circles around the side of your hip to calm you down.

Inside the room was your family, including Ari this time along with Beomgyu’s but there was a special guest. Ken was here too.

More than months ago, you entered this very same living room, agreeing to their deal.

“I want to hear your side of this story, son. What happened?” Beomgyu’s father was the first one to start the conversation.

“We did nothing wrong, we kept the deal and kept the marriage alive. It’s just this fucker named Ken knew all of it, including the bankruptcy that happened to our company years ago, father”

“Of course, he knows that, he’s the son of my friend who helped us rise from the companies debts back then”

You felt Beomgyu’s hand freeze on your side, his shoulders stiffened, and there, he straightened his posture and looked at his father straight in the eye.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You don’t even know?” Ken joined in.

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not talking to you!”

“Father, what’s going on? So you used me to escape from the public eye because of your money-hungry mind and you even asked for his family's help?? Do you really look down at me like that to ask for an outsider's help? I could build our company on my own, Father” Beomgyu angrily said, pointing his finger at Ken when he mentioned the word “outsider”

“Yes, I did use you. And the money you currently hold right now is still not enough to keep us stable. So, I asked Y/n’s family to make this deal of getting you married so that everything would be fine-”

“Fine?! You call all of this fine, father!”

“Beomgyu! Don’t raise your voice at your father!” Beomgyu’s mother hissed, her eyes wide and shooting daggers at her son across the living room.

You could only stay by his side right now, the man beside you is in full rage.

“You even dragged Y/n’s family into this mess that you’ve created! And look at what you did right now! The public knows that this marriage is fake! And you’re hiding here in our house?” Beomgyu swallows, tightening his jaw as he composedly speaks.

“B-But! We do take whatever punishment that you’ll give us for our careless behavior. Ken was my ex-boyfriend. He got into my life recently because he was the boss of the company that I used to work at, and when I found that out. I quickly filed a resignation letter but he didn’t sign it, he said that if I left his company, he would tell the whole world about me and your son’s marriage, along with the bankruptcy that happened”

“Then, why did you leave the company? Look at what you created” Ari spoke from your parent’s voice, crossing her arms across her shoulder.

You opened your mouth to say something more, but nothing came. Ari was right about that part, why did you even leave the company when you could just ignore Ken’s presence the whole time in there?

“I-I’m sorry”

“Sorry?” Your father joined in, his eyes staring at the two of you, up and down.

“A sorry is not enough to fix all of this, Y/n”

“Then maybe fix this shit you created father, pay all of the companies, Industries that you asked to borrow money from. Why am I the one bothering to pay all of them?” Beomgyu continued, his voice roaring the whole room.

“Because it was all named under the company that you’re holding now, Beomgyu! The marriage also, fix that yourself! Is that even real?!”

Beomgyu shot his back at the sofa completely, so all this time, the money that he was processing was just getting circled around like some sort of game.

“Yes! All of the things that are happening inside our marriage are real, behind closed doors or not, I love her, and I apologize for all of the things that your family faced Mr. and Mrs. Rhee and thank you even for allowing me to marry your daughter even if the reasons behind them were not the type of a fairytale story”

“Divorce with her right now”

What?

“What?” You shot up, standing up from your seat.

“Father, you can’t keep on controlling my life” Beomgyu followed you, taking your left hand.

“But I already did right? I controlled you on getting married with Y/n and now I want you to file those divorce papers on the table” Beomgyu’s father scoffs, tilting his head to the side derisively. You looked over your shoulder, hoping to catch a simple glimpse of Beomgyu having the same fear as you but no, he remained calm. His eyes were staring at his father’s, their signature authoritative stare firing the whole room.

“You’re right” You stopped breathing after hearing what the man beside you just said, a fresh coat of tears pooling the ends of your eyes when you saw him take out the golden pen inside the pocket of his suit.

How can he change his mind that easily?

Do you even love me enough, so that I could make you stay?

Your fingers quickly went to your ring finger after feeling the weight loosen. And now you just realized that from the moment he took your hand, he also took your wedding ring. Along with his.

“Beomgyu what are you doing?” Your body shook when he did not even look back at you.

You felt your whole world crumble down into the abyss when he signed the papers in one swift motion. All of the people inside the room watched him with heavy eyes, throwing the pen that had his family's name engraved on it. Beomgyu turned his back on his father and walked towards you.

“Sign the papers, Y/n”

Tags!

@kentoism @kemalicous @beomnamuuu @yunascular @kkyubear @startlinejjuni@bamgyumie @wccycc@yoontaerry@ashxxkook@chiefturtlebongkghost@swaggyhueka

#txt #what about us fic #kpop #tomorrow x together #choi beomgyu #beomgyu #tomorrow by together #fluff #txt beomgyu #ceo au #arranged marriage au #choi beomgyu angst #beomgyu smut

133 notes · View notes