"... And They Were Camp-mates." ( ~)

"... and they were camp-mates." (더 가까이~)

⚝fic type: romance, young love

⚝genre/contains: han jisung x fem reader, summer camp!au, fluff, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pinning, both reader and jisung are over 18

⚝warnings: slightly suggestive

⚝word count: 5.8k

⚝inspo: mixtape:oh by stray kids

⚝A/N: this is my entry for the may/june blossoming love event (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠) happy pride month & an even happier 2 year anniversary of mixtape oh!! (the korean title is from han's verse in the song's bridge)

“너와 두 눈을 맞추고서, 한 걸음 더 네게로...

계획을 세워봐도, 여전히 네 앞에 서면 나는 애야”

The great oak doors opened with a familiar creak as you stepped into the reception of your long-time summer camp. Nothing had changed. Nothing really ever changed here. Year in, year out and this lodge remained tried and true. You had attended this camp almost every summer for the past six years. Both your parents had incredibly demanding jobs. Since they couldn’t keep you entertained for your entire holiday themselves, they had figured camp was a good alternative to leaving you at home to your own devices all day. You hadn’t liked the idea at first, but this place gradually grew on you… its carefree and youthful aura was something you’d always reminisce on. It was out of the city, away from all the noise and rush. The camp was bordered by a forest on one side and a lake on the other; the fresh air was always so soothing to your lungs, particularly on the first week back here. Whether a kid liked being outdoors or not, this place had a way of expanding one’s perspective on what fun could look like.

You ran a finger along the smooth brown reception desk as you took in your surroundings. The familiarity of the place made you sigh; the tension you didn’t know you were holding slowly easing off your shoulders. Cheesy motivational quotes and colourful posters about camp activities were tacked onto the notice board beside the desk.

On the counter, a jar of sweets glinted invitingly in the soft sunlight seeping through the room’s large open windows. They came in handy especially in the first few weeks of camp, when the receptionist needed to calm down the kids who ran in demanding to phone their parents and have them pick them up. It was a regular occurrence with the younger campers, you had behaved that way too on your first summer. Some of the best– and worst– moments of your childhood had happened at this camp. You’d broken limbs, learned how to swim, cycle and bake here… As well as more unconventional feats, such as learning how to pick a lock with a hair pin.

The reception had received a fresh coat of paint since you were last here, the beige tint no longer chipping to reveal the dulling white beneath it. You dinged the tiny bell on the table top and took a seat at the orange couch beside the door as you waited for the receptionist to come in. You came back this summer as a junior Counsellor to earn a little extra cash before you joined college. Familiar as the place was, you were sure this summer would be a relatively different experience considering your new position and the fact that you wouldn’t be spending it with the friends you had made here. It would be rather boring without them all, you thought, as you knew most of the other junior Counsellors would be unfamiliar faces.

The receptionist walked in through a side door after a few minutes and beckoned you forward with a warm greeting so you could register your name in the counter book and receive your pass. You can’t help but smile as you take in the photographs still stuck to the wall behind the desk. They were from three years ago, when your camp’s rowing team had competed in a tournament and won. Under the generic congratulatory banner, you could see your own toothy grin (and pimpled forehead) staring back at you. Right next to it was one particular chubby cheeked boy who was smiling triumphantly as he held his hand up in a peace sign. You let out a small laugh at the memory of the cheesecake-loving boy who’d simultaneously annoyed the hell out of you and elevated your stays here to astronomical levels of fun.

“Hey baby!” Came his unmistakable voice from behind you. It made you spin around in shock. The Han Jisung was leaning against the door frame, a crossbody bag slung across his broad chest and a large box cradled in his arms.

The nickname 'baby' had always fallen so easily from his lips, in the same manner one would casually use ‘bro’ or ‘mate’. He hadn’t changed all that much… still had those insanely chubby cheeks and annoyingly perfect waist. His sense of fashion had improved tremendously, yet still looked very Jisung-esque; comfort had always been the most important element to his dressing.

“Jisung? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he countered with a wink, walking in and setting the box down on the counter. “Can’t deny I’m not happy to see you, though.”

He turned to the receptionist then. “These are books I’d, uhm, borrowed from the camp’s library… over the years… and forgotten to return.” He explained with his signature grin, hoping to charm the older man into letting him off the hook. Soon enough he'd check the 'return by' dates and realize that some of the box’s contents had been under Han Jisung's bed at home for about four years now. If it wasn’t for his pestering mother they’d still be there, honestly.

You scoffed, trying to ignore the swell of his bicep as he leaned an arm on the counter. “You read?”

Jisung stuck his tongue out at you. You rolled your eyes when the receptionist opened the box to reveal dozens of comics. “These don’t count as books, Jisung.”

“They do, too.” He challenged back indignantly.

“You don’t read.” You stated with finality as the receptionist went back through the side door he came in from.

“Yes I do.” Jisung countered adamantly as he leaned towards you and tapped your nose with his finger. You groaned and leaned back, stifling the laugh that was climbing up your throat.

“So what’s your deal?” he asked, changing the subject with a teasing pout of his lips as he poked your side. “Missed this place that much?”

“I’m here as a Counsellor.” You explained shortly, paying no mind to his antics. Jisung had a habit of trying to rile you up for no apparent reason. He seemed to find great fun in it.

“Well look at that, baby!” He said with exaggerated glee, showing you his pearly white teeth as he smiled wide. You narrowed your eyes at him, fighting back the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“We’ll be spending one last summer together,” he gushed, emphasizing each word with an affectionate pat on your shoulder.

—

You watched Jisung scribble his name just below yours in the worn out counter book. You couldn’t believe your luck, this had to be some kind of joke.

The two of you had a history.

You remember the summer Han Jisung had serenaded you by the campfire, all in the name of having you lend an ear for his new song. The dark haired boy had sung his heart out while dutifully strumming his guitar. You recall the way he hadn't broken eye contact for a second, the crackling fire illuminating his determined face. The performance had ended with him shyly confessing that you had inspired the ballad.

That had also been the summer you’d had to untangle him from his mosquito net. Yeah, not Jisung’s finest moment.

None of his roommates had managed to free him and you had for some reason been deemed an expert in such cabin room catastrophes. He’d snuck a kiss to your cheek as you finally freed his fragile legs from the net. (A kiss you’d immediately wiped off as the other campers began to holler and croon sickly sweet love songs.)

—

When he’d walked in, Jisung’s stomach had done a funny flip at the sight of you. After all this time…

The effect you had on him was as strong as when he’d last seen you. He started teasing you out of habit, the urge near instinctual after all these years. What else was he supposed to do? That was his only way of masking the true nature of his feelings. You absolutely captivated Han Jisung, in just about every way possible. Unknown to you, he had been under your spell for years now. Sure, you’d probably caught on at one point or another that he had a crush on you, but it ran deeper than that. Jisung was enthralled by the way your brain worked, and the unique solutions you found to problems. Though a bit of a genius in his own right– especially musically– Jisung was rather scatter-brained and your efficiency and structure was something he’d always admire. In addition to that you had the prettiest eyes he’d ever had the pleasure of looking into.

As you walked side by side, Jisung grappled with how he was going to keep things light and friendly between you two. Internally, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle.

—

The two of you made your way to the centre of the camp where the senior Counsellors were dividing duties. Nayeon, your favourite Counsellor from your time at camp, handed you your own schedule. It turns out you would be working with the younger kids. Not a bad deal considering you’d been on babysitting duty for most of your life, being the oldest sibling and all.

Jisung, who was seated next to you on the sturdy log, grinned as he read his own sheet and nudged you with his elbow when he reached the end of the slip.

“Looks like we’ll be cabin-mates, baby.” He declared. Your eyes widened at that, scanning through your own paper to confirm his statement. Indeed, you would be holed up with Han Jisung for a whole month.

You sputtered, blaming the sudden heat creeping up your face on the sun overhead, and looked up at Nayeon with your mouth slightly agape.

“You’re the same age,” she pointed out, shrugging. “And you know each other. I figured it would be more comfortable than rooming you with strangers.”

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest as your mind ran a mile a minute, providing you with scenarios of how this could possibly turn out. You struggled not to give any outward indication of the thoughts clouding your brain.

“Unless you want me to change it…” Nayeon offered kindly, noticing the panic dancing in your eyes despite your efforts to conceal it.

You looked over at Jisung, who’s heart-shaped mouth had formed a slight pout at Nayeon’s suggestion. He quickly dropped it when he noticed your gaze.

“Uh… no, no. This will be fine.”

“Are you sure, sweetie?” She double-checked.

“Yeah, sure. Positive.” You cleared your throat that suddenly felt very dry. You quickly racked your brain for a reason to excuse how flustered you were. “I was just- Jisung’s really messy so I was a little-”

“Am not.” He countered childishly, looking slightly offended. Unfortunately for him, the slight upwards quirk of his mouth betrayed the charade.

“I’ve heard the horror stories.” You teased with a raised brow, referring to the tales you’d heard from his previous cabin-mates.

“Well,” Nayeon cut in, shaking her head in amusement. “If the arrangement is alright with the both of you then I’ll leave you to it.”

She smiled good-naturedly before moving on to her other colleagues who had queries.

—

Rooming with Jisung wasn’t all that bad. Both of you were shy at first and kept to your respective sides of the small cabin. The room had two bunk beds and Jisung kept his mess to his top bunk. Sleep had evaded you on the first night and he’d actually offered to sing you to sleep. It had worked wonders and over the next two weeks it became somewhat of a routine.

The only time you got in each other’s way was rushed mornings when you needed the bathroom at the same time. You didn’t spend much time in there anyways, already swept up in the flurry of activities that camp provided. In truth, you just wanted to avoid the blush that graced your cheeks whenever he walked in all sleepy to brush his teeth, muttering a ‘hey, baby’ with his gravely morning voice. The domesticity of going about your morning routines together got to your head faster than you expected it to. Perhaps what made it worse was when he had to lean over or behind you to grab something on your end of the sink.

One morning he’d full-on wrapped an arm around your waist as he reached over and snagged your scented lotion. Jisung thought he was being all slick but the proximity ended up flustering him even more than it did you. You’d feigned annoyance at his seemingly endless antics, scolding him and trying to pry the bottle from his hand. Jisung, stubborn as ever, wasn’t giving it up that easily and cheekily brought his face closer to yours with puckered lips. You’d recoiled immediately with wide eyes and he laughed in delight, savouring his victory as you narrowed your eyes at him and stormed out of the bathroom before he got to see the smile you couldn’t seem to fight off.

—

It felt like the kids wanted to try out everything at once. On days you seriously needed some down time, you’d get one of them to start up a game of hide and seek. That kept them busy for a good hour, sometimes more depending on the number of participants.

Hide and seek had always been a popular game at camp. The game’s rules were different here– and a seeker finding you didn’t automatically mean you had lost. Once found, you and the seeker had to race to where they’d been counting; whoever got there first won. If you lost, you had to join the seeker in their quest to find the rest of the campers.

Three summers ago, you’d hidden in one of the camp’s two treehouses with Jisung during a game. When it began you had quickly dashed up there, expecting to find the space empty. You had nearly tripped over Jisung who was crouched near the door. He’d managed to steady you and put a finger to his lips conspiratorially. You wanted to whine and tell him to find another spot but at that moment the seeker announced they were done counting.

Jisung had clamped a hand over your mouth and pulled you in before you could protest… adrenaline running high as you both pressed against the wooden inner wall. He was closer to the door, so you curled around him– placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you peeped at the scene below you two. The sky was quickly darkening outside, darker shades of blue streaked with hues of violet creating a beautiful background to complement the moon's faint glow that cast tall shadows behind the scurrying campers. The moonlight slipped past half-drawn blinds through the window above you, a sliver of light dancing across Jisung’s soft cheeks. He had them puffed out as he held his breath, looking over the door’s landing. You could make out half his face, the other half silhouetted in the dark tree house. He looked rather beautiful this way, the sharp line of his nose against the light and soft curve of his round eyes making him look like a painting. The realization momentarily stole your breath away.

When he turned around suddenly, your noses almost bumped together. It occurred to you with a start how close you were to him. He didn’t move away though, eyes gleaming with mischief in typical Jisung fashion as he took note of the proximity. You didn’t pull back either, transfixed and still a little dazed by everything. It took you way too long to notice you were staring at his lips. It wasn’t until he let out a soft chuckle that you slightly moved back, the breath of it fanning against your own lips. Your heart had fluttered annoyingly when you returned your gaze to his brown eyes.

“Have you ever kissed someone?” You asked quietly. The dark of the evening was working like liquid courage and brazenness uncharacteristically came easily to you. Jisung looked taken aback by your question, eyes widened as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip nervously and picked at his dark blue nail polish. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, hoping against hope that you were suggesting what he thought you were. He nodded his head, adding as he looked away, “Never a girl, though.”

“Oh,” was the only reply you could come up with, unsure of how to continue the conversation.

He faced you again, now grinning. You knew that look and groaned, already being able to tell the boy was about to say something stupid.

“You could change that.” He suggested with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, mumbling something under your breath about how you ‘didn’t mean it that way’– yet you still brought his face closer to yours with slightly shaky hands.

“Your insufferable.” You said as menacingly as you could, but the twinkle on your eyes betrayed you.

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat when you held his face in both your palms, cold from the air outside. He hesitantly brought one of his own hands to your cheek before closing the space between you two.

The kiss was soft, just a slow brush of your lips– neither of you confident enough go beyond that. In any case, you didn’t have the time to, hearing someone– undoubtedly the seeker– climbing up to the treehouse. You quickly broke apart and stood up, preparing yourselves for the impending race.

Your lips still tingled faintly as he looked at you and sharply nodded his head once. You nodded back, mouthing, “On three…”

—

As the days stretched on, hanging out with Jisung in between your duties proved to be a fun past time. Sure, he still teased you a lot, but more than made up for it by making you laugh hysterically. He’d been the mood maker during your time as a camper. Jisung always managed to rally the other kids’ spirits and always had a great story for the nights spent around the campfire.

On your second Saturday back at camp, you two were seated outside your cabin as you usually did when you were both off duty. It was the onset of summer the small room felt too stuffy at times. You’d helped him make sure the older campers he was in charge of weren’t getting into any trouble before retiring for the night. For those rascals, truth or dare had become riskier and ‘7 minutes in heaven’ was now the go-to game for a night spent indoors.

You and Jisung recalled one such occasion during your own teen years when he had lied you were his girlfriend to get out of kissing Felix in a game of spin the bottle. You didn’t understand why he’d done it; Jisung had kissed virtually all his friends at least once– and Felix was no exception. You’d now found yourself in the middle of the drama, your other campmates still demanding a kiss between you two to keep the game going.

Felix had eyed you sceptically as you fumbled for a way to back out. That boy had been Jisung’s bunkmate that summer and the previous one as well. Felix would surely have known if the two of you had something going on; the campers had a habit of sneaking into each other’s cabins when they dated.

The freckled boy’s voice was so low in the morning that it had scared the shit out of Jisung every day for the first two weeks spent as his bunkmate. The two of you burst out laughing at the memory of him spraining his ankle on the first week of that summer, having fallen out of bed at the sound of Felix’s rumbling morning voice. It had resulted in Jisung having to trade in the much coveted top bunk to prevent any chance of breaking a limb in his spooked frenzy.

“Hey! You wouldn’t have fared any better!” he managed between laughs, trying to save some face. “It’s hard to convince your brain at six in the morning that no, there isn’t any demon under you plotting to drag you into the underworld.”

The conversation then shifted to your future plans. Every new thing Jisung discovered about you left him yearning to know you at a greater depth. Jisung was going to study music and producing, naturally. He was still nervous about it, stomach churning from the thought of the calibre of classmates he’d have at the college he was accepted to.

“You’ve got the talent and the drive for it,” you reassured him with an earnest smile. You leaned your hand on your palm as you gave him your full attention, genuinely interested in his aspirations. You knew Jisung didn’t open up to many people about these things, afraid that they’d find his ranting tiresome. You wanted to make sure he knew you enjoyed listening.

Jisung couldn’t hold eye contact for long- eyes straying from yours every now and then. You were sat there looking at him with that look you had cast on him so many times before; one that made his stomach do backflips. It was a look of trust… of belief that his thoughts were not only valid but mattered. There weren’t that many people out there who took their time to just listen in the way you did. Not only to him; Jisung admired the caring nature you extended to everyone around you. It’s one of the things that made you a great Counsellor; the kids felt not only safe, but also heard when with you.

“Don’t look at me like that!” He whined, subconsciously hiding his flushed face behind his hand.

“Like what?” You chuckled. You fought back the flustered panic rising in your chest. Had your eyes let on too much? You were usually good at schooling your smitten expression in front of Jisung (or so you thought) but it seems the comfort of the moment had made you drop your guard.

“Like that,” He explained unhelpfully, wiggling his fingers in your direction. It really wasn’t like Jisung at all… the way he talked to you, treated you and behaved towards you made him seem so immature. Everything he said ended up sounding childish. It was rapidly getting worse the closer you two grew.

“Anyways,” he said, shaking his head and trying to regain his wits. “I’ve been working on something. Would you like to hear it?”

“If you’re going to try serenading me I swear-”

“No, no,” he laughed, getting shy again at the memory of that night so many years ago. “It’s…”

He trailed off, not wanting to give too much away. “I don’t want to give any spoilers!” He stood up and gestured for you to do the same. “Just come inside.”

Jisung turned on his laptop– his only possession separated from the heap of clothes and his other belongings sprawled on his top bunk– and pulled up a file labelled ‘Close’. He kept his eyes trained on the floor as he played you a snippet. The song had an upbeat and floaty vibe to it, the kind you loved. It eased the weight of the lyrics that carried such unaffected depth, typical of Jisung’s song-writing. He blushed as you praised him when the track-in-progress came to an end, attempting to downplay how good the song really was, but you didn’t let him. He cleared his throat, struggling to explain the meaning behind the song when yet again faced with your undivided attention. Around you all the bright ideas in his head came out messy and uncoordinated, even when he’d thought about what he wanted to say beforehand.

You held out your hand as you hit the replay button on his laptop and pulled him up.

“Dance with me?” you asked simply. It wasn’t really optional, considering you’d already brought him to his feet, but Jisung wouldn’t have declined anyways. You put your hands on his shoulders as you danced in the small space between your two beds. He tentatively brought his hands up to your waist with a small grin.

“Better not crush my toes with your great big feet,” he teased, taking one step closer to you and laughing as you swatted his chest with a grumble. Holding you in this way shouldn’t be having the effect that it is on him. But what did he expect? Every time he so much as looked at you for too long his breath caught in his throat. As always, the only distraction Jisung could find from the feelings blossoming within was to poke fun at you.

The song came to an end as the two of you were swaying silently, simply enjoying the moment. In any case, you both lacked the courage to do much else. Without realizing it, you had gotten closer– way closer then when you’d begun… but neither of you could find the will to pull away.

He should honestly just go for it.

Jisung was honestly one of the suavest guys he knew. It shouldn’t be this difficult. Why was it, anyways? He was a grown man, he reasoned to himself. Kissing his crush didn’t have to be like pulling teeth. Jisung shook his fears away as he held your chin in between his fingers, eyes imploring your own. You slipped your arms around his neck and he shut his eyes, letting you close the gap between you two.

The kiss felt different from anything he’d experienced previously. Your lips pressed against his with so much care, conveying everything you couldn’t put into words.  When you pulled away your pretty eyes remained focused on his lips in a way that made him want to dip back in for more. Everything about you did.

He held you close to him by the waist, loosely enough in case you wanted to step back. You placed a hand over his chest, eyes telling him all he needed to know as you felt his heartbeat pick up under your palm.

“Hey…” he chanced, rocking you slowly to a rhythm no one else but the two of you could seem to hear. You appeared to be waltzing… lost in each other’s gazes as you both slowly shed the layers of pretence keeping you apart.

“Hmm?” You replied softly, careful not to break the comfortable silence.

“Be my girl,” he pleaded. Jisung drew you into a hug and leaned his cheek against yours, sighing at his lack of tact. You pulled back and smiled coyly at him before you playfully danced out of his reach. You plopped down on your bed, not anticipating the way he followed you and kneeled at your side so you were somewhat at eye level.

“Why should I?” You asked with your eyebrow raised and hands crossed over your chest. You’d expected a clever quip in return but he merely pouted at your answer.

“Haven’t I proven myself enough?” he whined. In spite of yourself, you reached out a hand and threaded your fingers through his hair. It had grown longer in the time he’d been here, brown strands tickling his neck. He sighed at the feeling, weighing his next words before he spoke again.

“Have you ever had sex before?”

The question stumbled out ungracefully. Its randomness made you raise your eyebrows and laugh. If it were anyone else, he’d have probably been able to say that smoother, maybe slip a warm palm up your thigh. But no, around you Han Jisung was an idiot. 

You nodded your head, then– as if you’d suddenly recalled something funny–  grinned and added, “Never with a boy, though.”

The reference had him chuckling in spite of his nerves, helping him relax a little. Of course, this peace was disrupted by what you said next.

“You could change that…” You suggested, trailing off in your slight uncertainty. You cleared your throat when Jisung looked at you blankly, examining your hands like they were suddenly the most interesting thing in earth as you tried to look anywhere in the room but him. He laughed quietly and brought your face back round to face him.

“You’re insufferable,” he said softly, teasing glint still dancing in his eyes. Jisung brought up his hand to your face and leaned in for the second time that night. The kiss was firmer this time round. His lips moved against yours with a newfound determination, tongue sliding against your lips and seeking entrance beyond them. His other hand trailed up you your arm to gently tug at your elbow, moving you closer to him.

You pulled him up onto the bed and he hit his head on the top bunk in the process. He groaned as he sunk down and you couldn’t help but break the kiss to laugh at him.

“See what I go through for you?” he joked, rubbing his forehead with a grimace.

“Okay,” you conceded. “I’ll give you a shot.”

“Really?” He exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement and reddening forehead forgotten.

“Just for the summer…” You negotiated. “You’re on probation.”

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” he shrugged before laying down on your bed and pulling you on top of him. You straddled him as your head lowered to his once again, closing your eyes as the feeling of his lips against your own and hands roaming your body engulfed you.

—

You woke up to the soft morning light slipping under your curtains and the feeling of Jisung’s breath against your neck. He’d nuzzled himself there and was borderline laying on top of you. He looked so peaceful like this, his toned back rising and falling with each breath he took. His leg was thrown over your own and you gently pried him off so you could go to the bathroom.

You gazed at your reflection in the sink’s mirror, noticing a very conspicuous mark on your neck that you’d have to cover up later. You ran your fingertips over it, smiling like an idiot. Why was it so hard for you to admit your feelings for this guy? Everyone could see there was something deeper between you two. Even one of the kids had pryingly asked if he was your boyfriend.

Every summer, all the relationships the two of you might have had over the school year dissipated into thin air the second camp began. Jisung seemed to forget the relevance of them all when you were in question. On your end, you struggled to mask your smile when someone brought his name up. Both his goofy and serious side were so special to you. His serious expression as he jotted down lyrics used to make your stomach flutter– you realized it still did when he was talking about his song to you last night.

You gazed at your reflection again, searching your own eyes for an answer you already held within you… could you be falling in love?

—

The weeks flew by and before you knew it, your final time at this camp was coming to an end. You and Jisung had been… busy, in between your Counselling duties. There were several times over the course of the past few weeks when you’d woken up in his bed instead of yours.

Nevertheless, you’d surprisingly enjoyed your duties. The kids this summer where a nice lot, especially considering you hadn’t been assigned to deal with the older ones. It was harder for them to take your instructions as they could see you weren’t much older than them. You didn’t know how Jisung managed.

On the last week you and Jisung were yet again sat outside your cabin, sharing a pack of gummy bears.

“So… am I off probation now?” he asked teasingly.

“Still thinking about it.” You deadpanned, resolutely staring ahead into the darkness.

“C’mon don’t be difficult,” He whined. “Admit it, I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“Nope,” you said, giggling. “You’re the only boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

“So that automatically makes me the best!” He argued with a grin. “No competition… you’d just be comparing me to me.”

“I said you’re my first boyfriend, not first relationship,” you corrected him. “Don’t get to cocky,” you said throwing him a wink.

It was comical, really, the way he pouted at your answer. His eyes suddenly lit up as he dragged you up from your seat.

“Where are we going?”

“Just follow me.” He said with faux exhaustion, mumbling about how stubborn you were.

The stars twinkled above you and you could hear that distant hooting of owls from the nearby forest. The moon proudly lit your path as you recognized it as the route to the camp’s old well. It had no use really, and hadn’t in about 15 years.

You remember your third summer at camp when Jisung had jumped into it after you’d rejected him.

He’d stayed down that well until a Counsellor had to grudgingly get him out. Jisung had been a menace at the time. The only Counsellor who’d managed to tame him was a junior named Minho. Jisung didn’t seem to care about how much grief he caused them during activities- always stirring up some kind of mischief. You’d frequently catch him looking your way, as if he was specifically waiting for your reaction to his antics.  Jisung liked to see you laugh at his jokes, beyond giddy to know he’d contributed to that beautiful smile of yours. He always strived to make his mark, he didn’t want to just hang or linger around you… a brief distraction that you’d forget by the end of the day. For reasons unknown to him, Jisung had wanted to be more than that to you.

Just like back then, he sat on the well’s edge.

“Be my baby,” he asked, already struggling to bite back a laugh. He threw in a ‘please’ for good measure. “I swear I’ll jump in if you say no again.”

The well’s depth wasn’t as deep or intimidating now considering you were both full adults, but the thought of having to haul him out in the dead of night did not sound appealing, so you agreed immediately. You chuckled as he stood up and made his way to you with a visible spring in his step.

“You’re so stubborn.” You scolded him as he gallantly took your hands in his.

“Annoying, childish, a thorough idiot...” He confirmed, taking another step closer to you. “Who's low-key in love with you.”

“Completely insufferable...” was the last thing you managed to stutter out before he crashed his lips into yours, cradling your face in both his hands. He titled his head and deepened the kiss after a short while, nearly tumbling you both over in the process. You snorted into the kiss and the two of you broke apart in peals of laughter.

It seemed that no matter how many times he did this, he was still messy, still uncoordinated and not much unlike the young campers you watched over.

In front of you, his love, Han Jisung was still a kid.

⚝A/N: Thank you for reading (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆ This concept has been in my mind since May aah I'm happy to finally have it completed. If you enjoyed the story kindly reblog!

❛다시 chaconne now❜

~𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌~

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back to main // skz m.list // txt m.list // taglist info

Literally me rn!!!

I'm so scared for them ngl 😭😭✋

When Hyunjin finally dips he should take them + jisung with him

But also, kinda pervy for the dad to be spying on their room. Bc even if there wasn't anything going on won't they still need to dress and stuff?👀

part vii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ;

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; 9600 words)

chapter warnings: beginnings of some kink exploration (dom/sub, mentions of discipline, breeding kink)

-

At one of your father’s dinner parties, a pompous idiot with too much to drink touches you.  It takes Felix seconds to rip that hand away, holding it in a painful clutch and threatening to snap his wrist if the man tries anything again.  Safe to say, he does not, and everyone else gives you a blissfully wide berth.    

You look at Felix on the ride back to the apartment.  The armed limo is huge and empty with just the two of you, the partition up for a modicum of privacy, but he is still quiet.   His head is on his fist as he stares out the tinted window.    It is not a particularly morose quietude; you suspect he is just tired because of the long day and late hour. 

You are tired too, your gaze dreamy and unfocussed as you look at him.  The security uniform tonight is a black dress shirt and black suit.  It makes him look severe, lean and dark, all high cheekbones and dark brows, his shock of blonde hair tied smoothly back.  

He looks very intimidating when he doesn’t smile, fitting a plethora of roles when it suits him.  This one stirs something deep in the core of you, something that makes you feel flushed and a little embarrassed. 

It seems like such a cliché, someone with your history getting turned on by a mean man with a meaner hand.  Your stubborn side is irrefutably against you even acknowledging such a desire, but the desire wins out anyway.  You and Felix know real violence better than anyone.  You know the power propelling your passion is not his deep voice snapping at that man, not his powerful stance or harsh action.  It was the way he looked at you after.  The way he so gently touched your side to comfort you, using that low voice not to threaten but console, asking so sincerely if you were all right and if you needed anything.  You know if you asked, he would have given you anything. 

Your father looks at Felix and sees an inhuman soldier.  Others look at him and see his masks, his roles, his duties.  You see all those things and more, his capacity for goodness among them.

Felix has taken beatings for you.  He has protected you with all his painfully won abilities.  He has trusted you with the darkest parts of himself, just as he seen the worst of your wounds.  You know he will always take care of those scars, and there is immense relief in trusting that way. 

You doze in your dreaminess, stirring when he gently shakes your shoulder at arrival.  You groan, more for show than actual displeasure.  He chuckles and squeezes your arm. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs.  “Gotta get to bed before you can sleep, yeah?” 

You blink your eyes open.  He is close, close enough to count each freckle.  You brush back a fallen strand of blonde hair, your gaze tracing it to the root.  He needs another touch-up.  You smile, thinking about the simple domestic routine that is helping him with his hair, a part of his body he can control and that he trusts you with completely.     

“C’mon,” he says again, as the driver opens the door.  “Let’s go.”

Felix steps out first, always assessing.  You follow when he offers his hand.  You both acknowledge the driver with the usual politeness then Felix escorts you into the building.  In the elevator, you rest your head on his shoulder and yawn.  He stands straight and stoic, aware of the cameras and surveillance.  You bumbling about in your tipsiness is normal but he should be indifferent to it. 

He takes your heels when you pass them to him, walking calmly while you sashay out of the elevator with a showy flourish.  You know it is killing him not to laugh until you are safe inside the apartment. 

“You’re a menace,” he says, tossing your shoes to the side.  You giggle and reach for him but he swerves and ignores your pout.  “Go to bed,” he says.  “I’m just gonna let your dad know we’re back.” 

The usual routine.  Phone call, security check, bed.  Sometimes he takes longer than necessary so you are asleep when he climbs into bed, but when you are awake he smiles despite himself. 

That smile dimples his cheeks tonight.  You are sitting at your vanity, wiping the last of your make-up when he walks into the bedroom.  He unknots his tie while swooping down, his mouth by your ear and your gazes meeting in the mirror. 

“You should be in bed,” he says.  His tone colours it so suggestively that he might as well have murmured something filthy. 

You feign indifference as you turn to him.  He straightens and you stand, your gazes locked in a challenging contest of wills.  You take the ends of his tie and tug him closer.  He is too coordinated to truly stumble so you know he does it for your benefit, looking charmed the whole time. 

“I need help, remember?”  You smile sweetly.  “You’ve been derelict in duty.” 

“Ah,” he says.  “Sorry to leave you waiting.” 

“You should be.” 

It seems long ago now that you were standing in your closet at the house, wishing you had an excuse for Felix to put his hands on you.  That was when you hoped for a circumstantial resolution, so you would not have to ask, so it would just happen. 

Things have changed.  He was with you when you bought this dress.  He was in this room when you stepped into it.  He zipped it because you asked, in on the same joke when you smiled at him through the mirror. 

Now you turn around and offer your back.  There were some tingles when he zipped you up, just like there were sparks when you tied his tie despite him knowing how, but having him undress you feels different.  A little shiver dances down your spine as he lowers the zipper, slower than he needs to, either tormenting you or bracing himself.   

He doesn’t need to slide the straps down your shoulders, nor help you step out of the dress, but he does.  He gathers it at your waist and sinks to his knees, letting you step out of the gown.  Then he drapes it over his arm and stands, pointedly not looking any lower than your neck. 

“Will that be all?” he asks, dryly, playing your little game. 

You lift an eyebrow and smirk.  He laughs, shaking his head. 

“Proper classes start next week, yeah?”  He leaves to hang your dress.  “You should try and get on a better sleep schedule.” 

“Ugh,” is your reply.  “You and your common sense.  I hate you.” 

He smirks, looking down at the dress as he slides it onto the hanger.  “I know,” he says. 

There is one more party before the summer ends.  You know there will be lots of socializing, the final summer bash an excruciatingly long event, so you take your time preparing.  You permit a little indulgence, lounging in a bubble bath while reading on your phone. 

You tend to mentally insert Felix into all the stories.  His understated dominance, deriving from a secure sense of competence, is far more tantalizing than some of the dramatically brusque characters, so you really have no choice but to think of your bodyguard as you slide your free hand under the water…

As if he knows you are about to be naughty, Felix knocks at the bathroom door. 

“Yes?” you ask, turning off your screen.  “What is it?”

“Uhh, is my jacket still in there?  I can’t find it.” 

“Yup.”

“All right.  Can you bring it when you’re done—”    

“You can come in,” you say.  You place your phone aside then sink into the water.  “I’m decent.” 

Felix opens the door only to immediately jump back a step.

“O-o-okaaay,” he says before laughing in disbelief.  He scrubs a hand over his face.  “Yeah, uhh, that was my fault.  I should have known better.” 

You giggle, blowing a few bubbles apart. 

“Don’t be a baby,” you say.  “You can’t see anything.”  That much is true as the bubbles blanket the water.  “Besides,” you say, smiling, “it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” 

He sighs and looks at you sideways.  You raise a wet hand and wiggle your fingers. 

“Uh-huh,” he says, amused despite himself.   He sighs again, his voice breaking on the upward lilt, making you laugh.  He crosses the room, pointedly not looking in your direction and fetching his jacket off the counter.  

He is leaving when you call his name in a syrupy voice.  

“Yes?” he asks, his back to you.  He is in a white dress shirt but ripped jeans, his hair in a messy half-ponytail.  He is only halfway ready, halfway your father’s man, but all the way yours when you call him back to you. 

He tosses the jacket on the counter again.  He crosses his arms, looking at you with an expectant tip of the head. 

You lift a leg and rest your toes on the end of the tub.  His eyes flick down the length of bare skin before settling on your face, his expression seemingly unmoved despite the compulsion to look. 

You hum casually as you wave a razor. 

“Are you kidding,” he says, more of a statement than a question, already knowing the answer. 

“What?  You’re here to help me, aren’t you?” you ask, blinking innocently. 

“I’m here to, hmm, stop you from being killed and, ah, what did your father say again…”  He taps a finger on his chin while ambling towards the tub.  He smiles as if remembering, nodding with utmost seriousness.  “Yeah, that was it.  Use my, uhh, discretion?  To discipline you?” 

“Do you want to discipline me, Felix?” 

There is a moment of tense silence.  He takes the final step to the tub and perches himself on the edge.  He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, carefully folding each crease up to his elbow.  You watch it, far more rapt than any person should be, looking at his forearms, his wrists, his hands, and wondering how you can be so attracted to even the most innocuous parts of him. 

“You know…” he says, without any teasing or irony, drawing your eyes up to his face.  “Sometimes I think… you know, I’ll be a monster my whole life no matter what I do.”  He takes the razor while you are distracted with forming an interjection.  He keeps speaking, lathering some soap on his fingertips.  “I don’t how you can ask me things like that, and somehow… just… make me feel like no matter what I’m doing, I’m still doing something, mmm, holy… and good.” 

You are good, you want to say.    

He clasps your ankle and rests it on his knee, then draws the razor along your calf, concentrated.  You are hyperaware of the kiss of metal, how easily he could hurt you, how he is so careful not to, even by accident.  He rinses the razor then starts again, eyes turned to his task while he speaks.   

“The way you look at me, ah,” he says, smiling and shaking his head.  “It almost scares me, yeah, just what I’d do if it was for you.”

“Well,” you say, letting your leg sink back into the water when he finishes.  “That’s because you’re a good bodyguard.”  It is the most you trust yourself to say.

“Am I?” he asks, with a tilt of the head. 

Your eyes meet for as long as you can bear to look at him, then you force yourself to shrug.

“You already know how I feel about you,” is what you say. 

He lets out a breath of a laugh, then stands and turns to leave.  You clear your throat loudly and he looks back at you.

“I have another leg,” you say dryly. 

He laughs and sits back down.

-

The party is a typical event.  Everyone blends together, a restless sea of noisy faces.  You do not take particular note of anyone. 

Until you see Hyunjin. 

He is across the room, sitting with his parents and a few other people.  It has only been a few months but his hair has grown, now touching his jaw.  He is handsome as ever but he is no longer faking happiness.  You relate to the look on his face, the open contempt as he regards a few characters at his table. 

He is helping himself to the complimentary wine, a blush on his cheeks from mild intoxication.  You watch him swing out of his seat and strut up to the bar, his father glaring behind him the whole time. 

Then his father spots you and you have to refrain from rolling your eyes.  You take a sip of your own drink, sighing as Hyunjin’s father crosses the room to whisper something to him.

Hyunjin looks your way.  Though there are many people between you, the fuss of the party fades away.  You see him, his slouch, how tired he looks, aged in just a few short months.  You want to ask him so many questions.  You hope he is okay, but he is here so that must be limited. 

Hyunjin looks at his father and shakes his head.  A quiet argument seems to brew between them, ending with Hyunjin storming off into the corridor.  You watch him retreat, debating whether or not you want to follow when your father says, “Don’t.”

You did not realize he had returned to the table.  He is sipping a coffee and watching you with obvious disapproval.

 “Don’t what?” you ask.  The question punches out of you very sharply.  The ordeal with Hyunjin reminds you of everything that followed with Jisung.  You cannot help the way your adrenaline kicks in, frightened and frantic. 

Your father is always happiest when he has an underling squirming.  He smiles into his coffee then slowly places it down.  He takes his time wiping his mouth, tossing the napkin on the floor after. 

“You’re not a child anymore,” he says.  “You don’t need a boy like that.” 

“I don’t want a boy like that,” you say.  “We’re still friends, though.” 

“You don’t need friends like that either,” he says.  “You’re better than this.” 

The absolute nerve of this man to act like he never liked Hyunjin, that your break-up was his plan all along, that your decision was actually his own.  To act like he is still in control.  

A part of you wants so badly to swing back with your own words, to tell him everything about you, about Felix, just to see the look on his face.  He’s not in control of your life, you are, and he can throw you into whatever situation he wants, but you will continue to make your own choices.  You have carved out your own happiness right under his nose.  You have done the impossible over and over and over again.   

You do not say anything, of course.  A few moments of gloating satisfaction is not worth the devastating outcome of such a revelation.  You just shake your head and clench your jaw, fixing your stare on nothing particular.  You count your breath to temper yourself. 

“I am pleased you agree with me on such an assertion,” your father says. 

He must know he is riling you up, but he gets to act calm and collected because he has no emotional investment in it.  Hyunjin was a means an end.  Jisung was nothing and no one.  Felix is a soldier.  He doesn’t care about Hyunjin’s artistic side, that he has a deeply sensitive nature.  He doesn’t care that Jisung is funny and brilliant and creative, that he brightens lives just by being there.  He doesn’t care that Felix has a hundred complicated layers, that he is good and goofy and kind, that he is sad and sorrowful and angry. 

He doesn’t care that you love them.  He cares that people play their part so he can play his, above them all where he is safe in his power.      

“I do what I have to,” you say through gritted teeth. 

“A valuable lesson for the Hwang boy if he wants to move up in the world,” your father says, otherwise dismissive as he looks at his watch.  The conversation is evidently starting to bore him.

That annoys you more than anything else.  Though you know better, your vexation propels you to blurt, “And what lesson was Jisung supposed to learn?” 

You regret it as soon as you say it.  You do not want to do anything that would ever endanger him again.  

Your fleeting panic is for nothing.  Your father is perplexed, looking at you like he thinks you may have finally gone insane. 

“Who?” he says. 

A twisted combination of fury and relief spins inside you like a hurricane.  Who.  Your best friend, an innocent civilian that he targeted and harassed, a good and kind boy who never wanted anything more than to love his friends and be loved in return.  One of the most heartbreaking separations of your life, a source of so much agony and anger.  It was only a few months ago.   

And your father says who. 

You are so stunned, you can only stare back at him, completely at a loss for words. 

Your father is standing, prepared to leave, when realization blooms on his face.

“Ah, right, the schoolboy,” he says.  Then he just laughs, like you told an absolutely hilarious joke.  He puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes amiably.  “He learned not to aim higher than he’s worth,” your father says, laughing some more like he cracked a punchline too.  “Some people are destined to live and die as nothing.”

He walks away with a smile.  You stare into the distance, stone-faced. 

When the timing is less suspicious, you make your way over to Felix.  He is standing with the security team, armed and ready for action.  He unhooks his earpiece so he can hear when you whisper. 

“As soon as possible,” you say, “get me alone with Hyunjin.  And be as discreet, please.” 

It is obvious he was not expecting that.  He opens his mouth to say something then closes it again, looking confused.

“Please,” you say, then walk away so you do not arouse suspicion.  There is only so much conversation you would reasonably need to have with your bodyguard in the middle of a party. 

Felix pops his earpiece back in, frowning to himself as he resumes position.  You go to the bar for another drink, smiling at the appropriate guests, making small talk when prompted.   Hyunjin eventually returns to the room, so you and Felix make eye contact.  He straightens his jacket and moves across the room, blending in as security should.    

You wait by the balcony doors as Felix approaches Hyunjin.  At first, Hyunjin appears to be dismissing him, then he does a double-take and realizes it is Felix.  He looks confused but Felix departs as swiftly as he arrived.  He joins you by the balcony doors, following you outside. 

You wait, leaning on the balcony railing and looking over the hotel courtyard with unseeing eyes.  Your mind is faraway, already racing with questions, thoughts, concerns.  You told yourself you would never see Hyunjin or Jisung again, but that was before Hyunjin disappeared then reappeared.  You have a million things you want to know.  Did he try running?  Did he fail?  Will he try again? 

Then Hyunjin steps onto the balcony and you forget the tedium of words.  You hug him and he hugs you back, a tight but brief embrace.  You both laugh a little. 

You see Felix out of the corner of your eye.  He is lingering a few feet back like a bodyguard would, but he is staring like a jealous boyfriend until he remembers himself.  He clears his throat and stands straight, looking away. 

Hyunjin glances at him too, then looks at you with a raised eyebrow. 

“I’m guessing there’s… a story here…” he says. 

“You’re one to talk,” you say, thumping his arm.  “Where were you?  Was it…?”

Hyunjin glances at Felix who is stoic as can be.  Hyunjin clearly does not know what to make of him, so he errs on the side of the caution, speaking quietly. 

“Paris,” he says.  “My dad sent me to live with family for the summer.  It was supposed to be a punishment, sending me away from my friends, but I loved it.”   

You smile.  You have to commend Hyunjin’s ability to find happiness despite how his parents try to control him.  They tried to terrify him as a boy, chasing him into the shadows to hide, but it only took a few moments with Minho for him to lean back into sunlight.  It pours out of him now in cracks and fissures, punching holes in his grim exhaustion and bringing him to life before your eyes. 

“They watched me closely the whole time, though,” he says.  “They still are.  I’m just biding my time.  What about you?” 

“Honestly,” you say softly, “I’m just taking it one day at a time.”

“You’re not alone, though,” he says, nodding toward Felix. 

In the face of Hyunjin’s honesty, past and present, you cannot lie.  One glance towards Felix reveals all your thoughts.   

Hyunjin smiles and pats your arm. 

“That’s good, at least,” he says.  “When none of you showed up to the graduation parties, I was worried.  I phoned Jisung but he said he didn’t know where you were.”

“Jisung?” you say.  “He didn’t go to grad?” 

“No.” Hyunjin shakes his head.  “He said it didn’t matter.  I figured that’s because your dad wasn’t letting you go or something, and Jisung probably wouldn’t have fun without you.  I told him to hang out with me but, whatever, he was kinda stubborn.” 

“Oh.” 

“You didn’t know?” Hyunjin asks, brow furrowed.  “What happened after you left my house?” 

“A lot happened,” you say.  You do not where to start, the story exhausting.  “Basically some of my father’s enemies… well, let’s just say things got out of control and my dad got mad.  Jisung was kinda in the middle of things so… I can’t see him again.  For both our sakes.”   

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin says.  “I know you guys were close.”

You want to deflect and joke, maybe point out that most people lose contact with friends after high school.  But you can’t do that.  Your first true friend will always be a part of you and you cannot pretend otherwise.  You don’t want to pretend otherwise.   

“Yeah,” is what you say.  “We were.  I just hope he’ll be happy out there.” 

Hyunjin wraps you up for another hug, speaking low, “I hope we all will.” 

You close your eyes and squeeze him back.  You are not sure when you will see him again, but you honestly hope it is never.  You hope he gets away.  You hope the light inside him bursts through its restraints, never to be obscured again. 

Hyunjin returns to the party first.  You watch him go, reflective.  Eventually you look at Felix, expecting to find him stoic and composed, but he is frowning. 

Flustered by all the drama, you forgot Felix gets a little jealous around Hyunjin.  He still does not know the exact nature of your relationship, only that you faked a romance.  Given the peculiarity of the situation, you cannot blame his marginal envy, especially because he is not impolite or aggressive about it.  He understands you are all in difficult circumstances. 

Considering those dramatic circumstances, petty jealousy is hilariously trivial.  Felix can take out two armed agents in less than ten seconds but he cannot stop frowning at a rival pretty boy. 

 You touch his cheek, lifting the corner of his mouth into a smile.  It drops the second you let go. 

“We’re just friends,” you say. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he says.

“Oh, good,” you say.  “Because for a second there my very professional bodyguard almost looked jealous.” 

Felix smiles one of his toothy, saccharine smiles, eyes crinkled with overnice mirth. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says.  “I already told you, he doesn’t have what it takes to handle you, yeah?” 

He says it so sweetly, but he says it while sliding his palm down the curve of your ass.  You jump when he squeezes you, then his hand appropriately returns to the middle of your back to escort you inside. 

It leaves you both sufficiently keyed up for the remainder of the party.  It does not take much these days.  A particularly thorough regard in a quiet room is enough to get you hot. 

You find it hard to look away from him.  In the limo, you inch your hand closer and closer to his lap, but he catches your fingers when they graze his thigh.  Inside the building, you pretend to be more intoxicated than you are, so he is forced to sweep you into a bridal hold and carry you to the elevators.  You drop your head on his shoulder, sighing with deep satisfaction.  Your breath flutters the collar of his shirt. 

“Menace,” Felix says affectionately. 

He takes his time doing the security check.  You resort to reading on your phone, inadvertently losing yourself in the erotic romance.  You slide a hand under the covers, cupping yourself through your underwear.   Other than a t-shirt, it is all you are wearing.

Felix returns, dressed in his t-shirt and boxers for sleep.  He sits on the bed but it takes him a second to notice your guilty face.  He pauses, looking at your phone then where your arm disappears under the covers. 

“Hello,” he says dryly.  “What are you doing?” 

You pass him the phone.  He lifts an eyebrow but takes it, sitting up against the headboard to read.  He does not smile or frown, nor does he laugh or reprimand you.  He reads, brow furrowed in concentration.  At one point he flicks his thumb over his bottom lip, then he flips some hair out of his eyes. 

Finally, he exhales and turns the screen off.     

“Felix,” you say after a moment of silence. “Can I touch myself, please?”

“You, uhh…” He clears his throat.  “You don’t need my, uhh, permission for that.” 

“I want to do it here.”  Your smirk softens to a shy smile when he looks at you.  You wet your lips, his eyes flicking there before meeting your gaze.  “And aren’t you in charge at all times?” you tease. 

He laughs, a sharp breath through his nose.  Amusement tickles across his face, dimples deepening with a barely restrained smile. 

“I, uhh, I don’t think anyone could really take charge of you.”  He laughs, then jokes, “But the politeness is a nice change, I guess.” 

“I can be polite,” you say, batting your eyelashes.  “And I can be good.  But not for just anyone.” 

He swallows.  You watch the surrendering shrug of his shoulders, the tension leaving his body.  He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.   He does not look at you when he says, “Yeah.  Okay.” 

“Okay?”  You smirk again.  

Your prolonged teasing backfires when he looks at you without a trace of nervousness.  He tips his head and looks at you expectantly, with a lifted brow and stern set to his mouth. 

“Okay,” he says, voice rough.  “Touch yourself.” 

You are shy under the intensity of his gaze, feeling especially vulnerable as you are laying down and he is sitting up.  But it is that same intensity that encourages you.  This is your Felix in your shared bed, his wandering gaze the same loving caress as always.

You push the covers down.  His eyes follow your hands as they hook into your underwear to shimmy down your hips.  It’s seductive in theory, but it feels silly to pull back your legs and tug the fabric down.  If it looks ridiculous, it does not show on his face, utterly transfixed in its devotion. 

You touch yourself at the same time his hand falls into his lap.  You can see him taking shape beneath his boxers, his hand finding the curve of his dick through the material. 

You make a soft noise and his hand freezes, his dark eyes fixed between your legs then gradually sweeping up to your face. 

Your hand pauses too.   

There is no action and no sound between you for a long moment.  You really do feel like you can read his face, every little detail, but maybe you simply see your own desires reflected back to you, the same way you have seen your own fears and insecurities over the years. 

Right now, you see all that mutual yearning.  Imploring, begging, to cross this space between you.  You cannot find the words to ask.  He just breathes deeply. 

“Felix,” you finally say.   

In the end, it’s all you need to say.  He slides across the space between you. 

He lays along your side, propping his head in one hand and letting the other drift down your torso.  Your own hand jumps to your chest, resting just above your rapidly beating heart.  He looks into your face as you part your legs in invitation. 

The moment he touches you, you swear it obliterates all the pain you have ever felt, suffused completely in the pleasure of his hand.  When he last touched you so intimately, you were rushed, stealing whatever touches you could in that stolen moment.  Now he takes his time, feeling you, rubbing softly at your most tender places.  You are so wet that his fingers glide so easily, each press silky and soft as he fits his fingers inside you, as your body welcomes him.    

Your whole body feels taut, rearing under his hand and wanting so much more.  He speaks to you in a low voice, nonsense sweetness that leaves you flushed and sweaty.

You grasp the collar of his shirt, tugging with thoughtless desperation, and his hand slows down.  You whimper miserably, looking at him with your saddest eyes, wondering why he is stopping.  Then you realize you grabbed him with the hand that was between your legs.   

You remember the time he came with your fingers in his mouth, the taste of you touching his tongue.  It spurs you to touch his mouth now.  His lips part with a gasping breath, as if he is trying to remember how to breathe.  The tip of his tongue touches the tip of your finger, then his whole face scrunches up like he is bracing himself for a hit. 

He exhales, then moves. 

You push yourself up on your elbows, looking down with equal parts disbelief and exhilaration.  He hooks a hand under your thigh and moves you, guiding it over his shoulder as he lowers his face between your legs.  His breath touches you first, then the cup of his lips, then his tongue, feasting and eager. 

You want to throw back your head with pleasure, but you also don’t want to look away.  You watch him through slitted eyes, his mouth, his flushed cheeks, his tongue.  He tastes you like he is savouring each second, like this is a luxury to be indulged reverently, with broad strokes of his tongue and a hungry press to his lips.  His open-mouthed kiss is wet and thorough, and his moan is a rumbling vibration, your thighs twitching around his head from the effect of both. 

You say his name, and you say please, and you say a string of hazy supplications until you think you might cry.  You touch his head, fingers sinking into his hair and tugging, making him moan and making you come.  You hold him there as he takes you over, licking you until you are a trembling mess of aftershocks and sensitivity. 

You gasp and he finally lifts his face.  He gazes at you while he sits back on his heels.  You watch him wipe his mouth, thumb circling his lips. 

Your eyes go from his mouth down, down, down, begging.   “Please,” you say, in a rasping voice.   

“You, uhh…”  His voice is so rough that even when he clears his throat, it still comes out dark.  “You don’t—shouldn’t—”

“I want to,” you say, already shifting. 

“You, uhhh, ah, you—” 

It’s a half-hearted protestation if that, inarticulate and spoken at the same time he reaches for you.  His hand curls around the back of your head, gently guiding you closer.   He kneels upright and you sit lower, fumbling with his waistband.  You are not sure if you are excited or nervous or both, but you forget to be shy when you finally take him in your mouth. 

He starts swearing in multiple languages.  Feeling him unravel with pleasure ignites more fire in your core.  Inexpert though you must be, you know him, so you listen and respond.  You show him the same reverence, with a slow drag of your mouth, looking up while he is between your lips.  He makes a sound that comes from deep in his chest, running a hand through his hair as he curses again. 

You are helpless but to moan as well.  He warns when he is close, to which you hum in acknowledgement.  He curses yet again, forgetting all his restraint and rules of behaviour.  He cups your face, then that hard body with all its hidden power goes soft and sweet just for you.   You are a little messy swallowing, but he is so dazed that he does not notice anything for a good few seconds. 

“Wow,” he finally says while you sit back and wipe your lips.  You cannot help but giggle back at him.  “That was, uh.  Wow.” 

“Wow,” you repeat, your voice still ragged but teasing nonetheless.  “No lecture, no scolding, no warning… just wow.” 

He laughs and shakes his head.  “Would you even listen if I did?” he asks. 

You pretend to think about it, making him laugh again, then you grin with a hearty, “Nope!” 

He is still smiling when he takes you in his arms, when he puts you on your back, when he kisses across your thighs until his face is back where you want him. 

“Mmm, then I won’t waste my breath,” he says.

You are still giggling when he parts his lips, though it softens when he starts licking at you slowly.  He works you up again gradually on his tongue.  Somewhere along the way, you realize are still smiling.  You have been so afraid of so many touches for so long that it is a marvel on its own – that you like him touching you so much, that you like it enough to smile and laugh even at the height of pleasure. 

Maybe it is that thought, or just the overwhelming burst of sensation when he sucks on you, when he licks at you, when he presses his face so intimately and thoroughly between your legs that you come even harder the second time.  Maybe it is a part of this.  Maybe it is all of this. 

But tears escape from the corner of your eyes.  You find yourself gasping, a shuddery sound.  He is surfacing and wiping his mouth when he notices, then he is leaning over you, touching the side of your face, his face full of concern. 

“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s the good kind, I promise.”  It is easy to prove because you are laughing through those tears, a bubbly torrent of giggles that you cannot contain.     

There is still a crease in his brow, maybe a little confused, but he smiles back at you. 

“Well, I only like the good kind,” he says, wiping his thumb across your cheek. 

“Mm.”  You take his hand and kiss his palm.  He sighs like it is somehow more torturously pleasurable than anything else.  “You’re a good bodyguard,” you murmur.  “It’s never the bad kind if you’re around.”

His eyes close.  Though he cannot meet your gaze, he leans down and kisses your forehead. 

When he withdraws, you touch his jaw and guide him close.  He cups your head as your lips meet, the tangy shock on his tongue rippling through you.  You do not shy away, holding him close, kissing him until you are both sated and sleepy.  He lays his head on the soft curve of your chest and you run your fingers through his hair. 

You get dozy, your eyes closing, your fingers slowing.  He exhales. 

“Mmm,” his voice is sleepy, words meandering in their low murmur, “Wish I could say… wish you could hear… Maybe…mmm… maybe you can hear me anyway, yeah…  Whatever you’re dreaming about…  I’ll tell you there, ‘kay.  Just listen.  Sweetheart.  Yeah.  Sweetheart…”

Though his sleepy ramblings are a little nonsensical, the sentiment is heartfelt and easily understood.   

That quiet, dozy space between dreaming and waking is the only place you dare accept it so brazenly. 

-

Every time is supposed to be the last time, just like the first time was supposed to be the only time. 

You feel so alive and so safe whenever he touches you, even if you know it actually puts you in more danger.   But real world ramifications feel far away.  Some days you almost feel normal, studying and attending class, wandering around campus, sharing a bed in your quiet apartment. 

He still phones your father with reports, though there is little to cover anyway.  It is easy to disappear on that sprawling university campus, just another face among hundreds.  Your friendships are cordial and mostly superficial.  Felix does not need to lie as your routine genuinely revolves around class and studying, maybe some casual day trips in approved public locations. 

The only lie is the biggest lie, that Felix is the perfect inhuman soldier your father wants, and you are the begrudging child licking your wounds until the day you accept your place.  Your father is so wretchedly trapped in himself that you doubt he could see the truth even if someone outright told him. 

A few weeks pass.  The season changes into autumn.  Everything turns red and gold, and the blue sky is an ashy violet on the best of days. Even in the dying browns of nature, you feel more alive than ever. 

As constant as the seasonal cycle is the cycle of rest and nightmares.  It is difficult to gauge when all that pain and anxiety might interrupt the peace.   It comes and goes, like a restless creature begging for attention.  You are not sure it will ever be truly tamed. 

You wake early one morning to Felix sitting up in bed.  His hair is a wavy, unkempt mess, like he was tossing more than usual.  Daylight is little more than a mist in the darkness, laying over the room like a gauzy film, making everything feel very still.   

He sighs and looks down at you, jumping when he sees you are awake.  Usually he is much more alert.  This nightmare must have been severe to keep him so occupied. 

He settles, though he looks away from you. 

“Sleep,” he says.  “It’s early still.” 

“Will you sleep with me?” you ask. 

He nods, looking into the distance.  He does not fully lay down, slouching against the headboard, but he holds out his arm.  You nestle into his side and he wraps that arm around you.  

He feels far away despite his proximity, returning to you in little breaths and touches until he is stroking his fingers across your back.  You hum with pleasure and snuggle closer.  It makes him sigh. 

You want to stay awake to comfort him but the early hour bests you.  Suddenly you are waking again, this time to your morning alarm.  You are on his side of the bed but Felix is gone, though you can hear the shower running so you do not fret for long. 

You are more awake this time, as is the morning itself, the daylight more determined to brighten the room.  You sit up in bed and scroll through your phone, waking more surely and waiting for Felix to show.  He never takes too long in the shower, functional and swift about everything.  The water stops before long and you can hear him puttering around the sink.    

Usually, you would not pester him during any private time, but you are still concerned after his strange start to the morning.  You shuffle to the bathroom door where you gently knock. 

“Yeah?”  His voice sounds brighter and more alert.   Maybe the worst has passed.  Sometimes going about your routine is the best remedy. 

“Alarm went,” you say.  “Just need a shower too.  Can I come in?” 

“Uhhh, yeah, sure.” 

You step into the bathroom.  He is standing at the sink, wearing only a towel slung low around his hips.  He didn’t wash his hair but it is still damp in parts, exacerbating his already messy bedhead.  He brushes some of it back and smiles at you. 

You feel warm and flushed like a child with a crush, suddenly very affected by the casual domesticity of this scene.    

Your hesitation concerns him.  He cocks his head, brow furrowing.  “Y’okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you say softly.  “Sorry.  You?” 

“Mhm,” he says.  

It seems preposterous that you should feel so flushed, as if you have not seen more of him and in more compromising positions.  It seems just as ridiculous that his eyes should linger the way they do, skimming your bare legs, up to where your long sweatshirt covers your thighs.  He has had his face there several times over the last few weeks, more than acquainted with the most intimate parts of your body.  Surely you should both be past gawking at each other like you have never seen any partial nudity. 

But he looks and you look back.  When he realizes he is staring, he draws himself away.  He fumbles with his toothbrush, then jams it in his mouth without toothpaste. 

You cannot help but smile.  This sort of tension, while torturous in its own right, is far preferable to the darker variety.

He looks at you through the mirror, not very subtly.   Your eyes meet and stay locked.  You grab the hem of your sweatshirt and lift it off, leaving you completely naked in a single sweep.  He takes the toothbrush out of his mouth.  His exhale shakes. 

He looks away and meets the gaze of his own reflection.  It makes him freeze in a way you recognize, the way you sometimes freeze.   Felix’s mind drifts easily, jumping from thought to thought, but this is the fastest you have seem him retreat.  

He does not look at you again, but he also does not leave.  He changes distraction tactics, reaching for his shaving cream instead.  

Taking the cue, you wrap a towel around yourself, the material tucked neatly under the arms so you are marginally modest.   You step up to the counter.  He meets your gaze through the mirror while he lathers shaving cream over his face. 

“Yes?” he says after a moment.   

You perch yourself up on the counter, just smiling and kicking your legs.  Felix jabs his tongue into his cheek to withhold his own smile.  He manages to reign himself in, clearing his throat.  He regards his reflection seriously as he evens out the shaving cream on his jaw.   

You reach out and flick a little, catching it on your fingertip.  You give it an inquisitive look. 

“Do you even grow that much facial hair?” you ask as he rummages through his things for his razor.

He laughs at the question and shakes his head. 

“Uhh, no, it’s splotchy and just… not sexy,” he says.  “Which is why I need to get rid of it.” 

“I see,” you say.  “I suppose I can’t have my bodyguard looking ‘not sexy’.  Tsk, tsk, the way people would talk.  I’d never be able to show my face at another luncheon.”

“Mmm, I’m sure that would be devastating to you,” he says dryly. 

Though he laughs along with your joke, a sombre air falls over him like a hush.  He finds his razor and rinses it, but he takes a little too long, his mind wandering away again. 

Your own giddiness fades.  Felix is prone to the same emotional whiplash as you, though he has always been better controlling it, but right now he is vacillating so quickly between glee and sorrow that you cannot keep up. 

You wonder if it was the nightmare, some dark thought still lingering in his waking mind.  It could be anything. You know Felix has many complicated feelings.  He is torn between his own personhood and the duty he has assigned himself, burdened by whatever treatise exists between him and your father.   What I get is a life worth more than mine, was all he told you.  You do not fully know what he meant; you just know how much it upset you to hear him describe his own life in such pithy terms.  

He has done a great deal to keep you safe as he can, often at his own expense.  He has grappled with his duty in relation to this.  Protect your life, protect another life.  He never says anything about protecting his own.  He does not expect his service to be returned.  He does not think it should be. 

“Can I?” you say when he lifts the razor to his face.  It makes him pause, looking from his reflection to you, clearly confused with the question.  When you nod to the razor in his hand, his brow furrows and he looks at it. 

“Uhh,” he says.  “I guess.  Sure.  Why do you—”

You take the razor and hook a leg around his waist, guiding him closer to you.  He comes slowly, almost warily, but his gaze softens when you touch his chin and tilt his head, your actions gentle.  He looks at you, not his reflection, his gaze thoughtful just as yours is attentive.  You are very careful, aware of how sensitive a face will be beneath the cut of a blade.  

He leans even closer while you work, drawn to your affection like a magnet.  He fits between your open legs, his hands bracketing your hips.  He is leaning close, his breath touching your skin, your hand and blade steady where you care for him. 

You wipe his face when all is said and done, smiling triumphantly up at him.   The smile he returns is practically glowing.  You cannot help but trace the line of his smooth jaw, all the way up into his hair where you flatten a few unruly strands of blonde. 

He makes a sweet noise, a low grunt of pleasure, tipping his head into your head.  You scratch at his scalp, down to his nape.  His shoulders loosen and he leans even closer to you. 

His eyes lift.  He catches his own reflection behind you and it makes him pause again.  You can’t possibly hate yourself that much, you think, morose. 

You sigh.  Holding the back of his neck, you pull his face closer.  His nose skims your throat, his cheek on your shoulder, and his gaze is forcibly drawn away from his reflection.  He exhales and you shiver.  His hand brushes your hip before settling on the counter again. 

“When I have nightmares, I like to be spoken to,” you say, the least pushy way of begging, talk to me about yours now. 

Given his breath of a laugh, he understands.  He makes another noise, one irrefutably guttural and suggestive, even though you are doing nothing to draw it out.  It makes you swallow, your fingers shaky in his hair. 

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” he says, voice so low and right by your ear.  It turns your insides molten. 

“Oh?” is the reply you manage.

“Mm.  The opposite, really.” 

“It seemed like a nightmare,” you say. 

“Only when I woke up,” he says, then pulls back.  “And it wasn’t real.”  His gaze goes from you to his reflection, then down at nothing.  His brow pinches.  “I should— Uhh.  I should go.  You should… shower.  I should…”

He says this, but he does not step away.   It makes it easy to trace a finger up the planes of his abdomen and chest, leading his gaze up and up just as surely. 

“Should,” you say.  “Stupid word.  Awful word.  Imagine if I did what I should.”

“I can’t,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips.  “Not for a second.”  The solemnness falls again, his gaze skittish.  “But I’m not you, yeah?  And I should go.” 

“Be me,” you say, pressing your knees into his hips to stop him from moving.  He could very easily pull away.  You know you are no match for him, physically.  But he lets himself be caught, as he lets no one catch him.   The world comes at him with violence and he combats it easily.   He only surrenders under the gentle sweep of your hand when you cup his jaw.  “Be me,” you say again.  “Don’t do what you should.  Felix.  Don’t think about what he wants.  What I want.  What any of them want.”  You slide your hand down his shoulder, his arm.  You touch the back of his hand.  “What do you want?” you ask.  “More than anything?”

You expect any number of replies, everything from a joke to deflection.  He just stares at you for a moment, a little panicked behind his eyes, his thoughts running quickly.  You worry you will have to catch him, to guide him back slowly and cautiously, but then he looks down.  Not away, but low. 

Then he unties your towel, parting it, revealing you slowly to his gaze.  He looks at you like he has never seen you, even though you stripped down just seconds ago. 

It leaves you warm and flustered, your fingers fluttering with the instinctive desire to cover yourself.  You do not, though you cannot help but breathe a little harder.  The cool mirror at your back has your nipples pebbling in the chill, especially with the towel gone. 

Your legs are open and he is already between them, keeping them them apart.  He looks down the whole length of you, wanting, hungry, then meets your gaze with an unmistakable plea.

You nod.  You wet your lips, a quick flick of your tongue, then his mouth is on yours and you are gasping against his lips.  You make a rough sound, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him back.   The kiss is so good and deep, wasting no more time.  

It fully conquers your senses, so you are surprised when he suddenly tugs you closer.  It is a sharp tug, his hands on your hips, yanking you to the edge of the counter.   

“Felix,” you say, his reply little more than a grunt. 

Your hand collides with his, reaching for his towel.  You leave him to it, raising your fingers to your own lips to lick them.  You put those fingers between your legs, touching yourself, finding you are already so wet, not even needing help. 

His eyes never leave your fingers, and they continue to watch the gentle rub of your hand between your thighs.  His towel hits the ground, then his hand skims your thigh, joining your fingers at the centre.  His fingertips are calloused, his touch distinct from yours.  You drop your hand and lift your hips, rising under the now-practiced stroke of his fingers. 

When he slides two fingers inside you, he moans so dark and roughly, as if more of him was already inside you.  “So fucking soft,” he murmurs, breathing hard.  His mouth skims your cheek, a kiss on your jaw.

Then he sucks a hard kiss on your throat, possessive, wet and hot and mean.  You clench around his fingers, gasping. 

He licks over his bite, no doubt leaving a bruise.  You will have to cover it, but for a moment you let yourself imagine differently, wearing his mark where anyone could see, where everyone would know he is yours and you are his.  It makes you whimper, practically pulsing around his fingers, squeezing him in, wanting more. 

“Felix,” you say again, and it is much more of a whine this time. 

He answers with a kiss, warm on your lips, just as tenderly bruising.  His wet fingers slide along your thigh, his other hand does the same, then he hooks his hands under your knees to lift them a little higher.   You lean onto your palms, holding the position while he licks his palm and glides it over himself.  His hair is a mess again, but you are hardly composed, as out of breath when he finally presses the head of his dick against you.   

You are not even sure if you are saying his name or just moaning incoherently, noises pitifully wanting when he eases himself into you.  It is far slower than you want.  Yes, there is a burn, as it has been some time, but you want it, the good and the bad, the pain and the pleasure.  You wrap your legs around his waist and lock your ankles, pulling him into you so he sinks fully to hilt in a quick glide.  

His hand slaps up against the mirror, a hard thud, twin to his sharp exhale.  His eyes are heavy-lidded, his pink mouth open.  His tongue swipes at your upper lip, then he kisses you softly.  He moves his hips.   

You hold his sides, legs still tight around him.  Your position has him leaning over you, pressing weight into his hand on the mirror.  You stare up at him, his closed eyes and the stern, focussed set to his features.  When you make a sweet noise, he looks down at you through slitted eyes, then dives down to kiss you.  It is a little less hurried, his erratic thrusting slowing to a more steady cadence, one that has you gasping on every deep push. 

“Yeah,” you say, rasping. “Yeah, yes, please…”     

He makes a deep noise, then exhales.  “We should—” he starts. 

“No shoulds,” you bark back. 

He laughs, the sound filling you with even more warmth and pleasure.  You luxuriate in the feeling. 

“I was going to say, should be using protection or something,” he says.   

“S’fine,” you say, logic too hard to comprehend because he is still fucking you, and it makes words too complicated. 

“Not if I knock you up, it won’t be,” he says.  “You want that?” 

He asks it very dryly as the answer is obvious.  No, you do not want that.  It would blow up your lives astronomically.  Even if you were safe, you doubt you would want children right now. 

But the notion enters the same fantasy as the simple bite on your throat, a reality that only hazily resembles your own, where you let him come inside you and you let it change everything. 

So he asks, and you say nothing, but you squeeze him inside you, an entirely accidental clench. 

“Oh,” he says, and laughs again.  It is not that golden jingle, but a low chuckle.  “You do want that.” 

“Shut up,” you say, slapping his shoulder.  “Do not.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few sharper thrusts that make your eyes close and mouth open.  “Okay, sweetheart,” he says.  It is playfully condescending and it makes you look at him with equally playful aggravation.  He smiles.  “What?” he asks. 

“You talk a lot for a guy who has fucked me twice but never once in a bed,” you say.  Then you drop the joking ire because the realization makes you laugh.  “Despite the fact we have been sharing a bed for literal years.” 

He tries to catch his unexpected laugh, resulting in a sputter that makes you giggle more. 

He slows his actions then has the audacity to slowly pull out. You whine, pouting up at him.  He touches your face and shushes you, kissing your temple, then cheek, then the sore little bite on your throat.  It placates you temporarily, long enough for him to scoop his hands under your body and lift you up.  You cling to him, kissing his freckled cheek while he carries you out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom.  There, he drops you on the bed with a soft bounce.  He pushes your legs open while he climbs up between them. 

“There,” he says.  “Bed.”  Then he leans down, hand between your bodies to put himself back inside you.  You are humming with satisfaction when he grabs your arms to put them around his neck again.  He kisses your cheek then below your ear.  His breath caresses your skin, then he whispers, “Hold on.” 

He clearly mistakes fuck me in a bed for fuck me into the mattress, because he very much proceeds to make up for all those years of sharing a bed without doing so. 

After, you are laying in his arms, a bit sticky and sweaty and gross and very out of breath, but the glow has returned to his face and you feel just as warm.   You take his hand and kiss his palm, then curl your fingers around his.  He squeezes your hand back, resting it over his still racing heart. 

The morning light has turned a sunnier yellow.  You are going to miss your class. 

You will deal with the consequences tomorrow.   

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Bulgari Serpenti 230628♡

I feel completely normal feelings about this

angry🐥

or put in the tags if there’s one not listed :)

insp!