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murdrdocs · 3 months

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FOOLISH LOVERS. luke castellan

description. luke castellan has betrayed camp half blood. luke castellan has made an enemy out of those around you. and unfortunately, luke castellan has always held a place in your heart that you can't close off. at least, not until you meet with him one final time.

includes. SMUT 18+, fem!reader, daughter of hypnos reader, oral (f and m receiving), brief anal rimming (f receiving), implied p n v, dreamscape sex again, angst galore, some arguing, references to pjo ep 8. inspo from wicked game by chris isaak

wc: 5.8k+

a/n: a dreamcatcher: daughter of the god of dreams installment.

Before you can realize the change, you’re standing on a hill.

It takes you a second to notice, but the area is much like your dreamscape. Low, waving blades of grass that travel through the air with the wind brushing against your bare ankles. The ocean is loud and to your right, down beneath a steep cliff. From just a quick glance, you see a storm brewing off into the distance. The water swirls angrily as if it’s ready to disrupt anything that dares to come into its path.

You can’t help but think about the betrayed son of the sea god back in reality who surely feels the same.

When you take your eyes away from the entrancing scenery of the ocean, you notice a cabin directly in front of you. It’s small, and made from long wooden logs, although there isn’t a forest nearby to identify the source of the frame. The exterior is slightly shabby, appearing manmade with a few imperfections.

It’s not on a comparable scale to the cabins back at Camp Half-Blood, but something about it feels cozy. It gives implications of a simpler life. Maybe what summer camp could have been if you weren’t the offspring of a god.

That and the clouds rumbling with warnings of an approaching storm is what encourages you to seek refuge in the four walls.

Step by step, you don’t fail to notice how a focus subject has yet to appear.

Your hand wraps around the doorknob and you push the slab of wood open as you wonder who’s dream you could have been pulled into tonight.

You haven’t even stepped foot over the threshold, you have started to convince yourself that this is the dream of the son of the sea god, and then someone speaks.

“Hey.”

You stop.

Your foot hovers for a second before you place it back beside the other.

That voice. You hadn’t heard it for months now, but you know it. Day after day, you lay at night with your eyes closed, cementing the memory of the way he spoke and how he sounded as he laughed at your jokes into your mind. Forcing yourself to recall the inflections in his tone as he teased you, and how his words flattened out and got hard when he gave orders to yourself and others. And then, completely involuntarily, you would force yourself to pick through every single intonation and word that you could remember, attempting to find signs. Any hints or clues that Luke Castellan wasn’t the person he made himself out to be.

Each night, you grapple with the fact that you couldn’t find any clues. You tried to reconcile with your blindness, all while telling yourself that you could have attempted to prevent it all.

But hearing his voice now, none of that returns. Unexpectedly, your body floods with warmth.

Luke sits on a small loveseat. The shape of it is a bit of a blur at first, but you blink and it cleans up to present a busy patterned textile couch. It’s well loved, there are a few tears in the bottom of the fabric at the back, and if you’re smelling it correctly, there’s a slight waft of cigarette smoke.

Strangely enough, it’s inviting.

You hate to admit it to yourself, but the boy sitting at one end of it makes it even more inviting.

You step into the cabin and close the door behind you.

“Hey, Luke.”

He turns around to face you at the sound of your voice. You sound stronger than you expected. More casual, too.

You realize that he’d been looking out a large set of windows before facing you. There’s only two but they take up most of the small wall. Outside is a perfect view of the land you’d just come from; bright green grass in the foreground and deep blue salt water off into the distance.

Luke stares at you.

The cabin is a little dark—there’s a lamp in the far corner that illuminates the room, washing out the otherwise blue light from outside—but you think his eyes are shining. As if there’s unshed tears barely held within them.

He smiles at you. It’s soft and almost mournful.

You should leave.

You shouldn’t be fraternizing with Luke at all, even if it is within a dreamscape. You couldn’t trust yourself in a room with him, especially with the things the two of you used to do when you were in dreamscapes alone.

Just looking at him reminds you of all of those times. Sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. The feeling of his muscles beneath your inquisitive hands. The deep and smooth sound of his voice. The way everything felt so real and so tangible as he rocked into you, and then as euphoria swept over your bodies you felt so infinite and surreal.

Your teeth find your lower lip. Your body urges you to get closer to Luke. Stubbornly, you stay in your spot.

“What d’you think?” He lifts a finger and circles it around in the air. Your eyes lift and you finally take in the rest of the cabin.

The main room is spacious, but comfortable. Lightly furnished with hardwood floors. Though almost every surface is covered in some sort of rug, most of them persian. There’s a small kitchen to your left, and then the living area that Luke sits in on the right. There’s a few bookshelves but there aren’t many books on them, and there’s a fireplace that looks to have never been used before. A few picture frames sit on the mantle of the fireplace, but from afar they just appear to be showcasing blobs of people without any distinctive features to identify an identity.

Admittedly, for this to be the created dreamscape of the son of a messenger, it’s impressive.

You tell him as such.

This time, Luke’s smile is appreciative.

“Means a lot coming from you. Especially with the things you can create.”

Your skin heats up and you block the memories out of your head before they can firmly cement themselves once more.

“You might have me beat, Castellan. Giving me a run for my money.”

You don’t know why you decide to fall into the old routine with him. Maybe it’s because you can’t push Luke away for the life of you. He was once your friend and so much more at the same time. It’s impossible for you to completely forget the times you shared together.

Maybe it’s the home making you feel this way.

How comfortable it feels. How protective it is.

You’ve spent weeks pulled into unfortunate dreams. Nightmares have plagued even the toughest minds of Camp Half Blood as of late, and you’ve been unable to fortify your own mind enough to prevent slipping into the mind of others. Which has left you to fight against unbeatable monsters, fortify the barriers of Camp only to have them knocked down by Zeus over and over again, watch those you love die in horrible battles, and much much more.

In comparison, there is the possibility of a simple conversation with Luke Castellan giving you what you’d been desperately missing even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself: Luke’s company.

It’s how you reason with yourself whenever you take a seat atop the cushion of the couch. Instantly, it feels as if you’ve never truly known comfort before. This couch conforms to the curves of your body. You lean back against it, pull your feet up with you, and you quickly decide to stay a little while longer.

Up close, Luke looks even prettier than you remember. Dark curly hair a little more grown out, unruly and hanging over his forehead like low hanging fruit, begging for you to latch onto it. His face looks a little slimmer as if he’s lost weight, and the angular planes of his cheekbones and jawline accentuates the dark shadow he has along his chin. The mark of facial hair that was previously present. Beneath his clothes—a faded black, almost gray hoodie, and black sweatpants—he appears larger. His shoulders wider, his neck thicker, his wrist and hands veiner.

(Compared to his covered body, you feel bare in nothing but long socks, and a matching shorts and tank top set.)

He looks virtually the same, but his aura is different. There’s more confidence in him, a larger ego, glory even, that wasn’t there the last time you’d seen him. You know what has caused the change, and it should be something you despise. But his new glory makes him more attractive. It dries out your tongue and lodges something in your throat, pushing it further down until it sits heavy in your stomach.

“Thought this could be our new spot.” Luke speaks softly, almost in a scared whisper, as if he fears that you’ll reject him.

(You don’t know if you could ever reject Luke)

Your eyebrows furrow. “Our spot?” Confusion drips off of your words.

Luke nods once. He licks over his lips and you’re quick to peel your eyes away from the sight and back to his eyes. That’s not helping you much either so you instead try to figure out what books are on the shelves afar.

Since the little amount of time that has passed, there have been a few more added. From the ones that have already been there, the titles are too far away, too dream disoriented, and your dyslexia hasn’t escaped this dream, but you think you find novels on Seeing. Guides on how to decipher the visions that come to humans, or how to channel them.

You focus back on Luke.

“Yeah. Like the old bedroom. But a little more …” he hesitates to find the word then lands on, “Casual.”

The bedroom.

Your lower stomach stirs at the mention of it. The large bed, how warm it always was in there, the cold leather of the couch, the things the two of you did to each other on all surfaces.

This spot is definitely a lot more casual. You’re not instantly compelled to straddle Luke here, although you do have a few thoughts about throwing your legs over his right now and reconnecting in ways you’ve missed since he left.

So badly do you want to agree. This could be the one place where you get to experience what you’ve been missing without anyone else knowing. This is the only place where you can see Luke without anyone else knowing.

But it’s wrong.

He’s the cause of all of this. He’s caused the nightmares you’ve been pulled into. He has betrayed everyone on levels you could have never imagined. And who’s to say that he won’t betray you again.

“We won’t need a ‘spot’, Luke.” Briefly, his eyes flash as if he’s hurt but in your eyes, Luke has proven himself to be a formidable actor as of late so you ignore it. “This is a one time thing.”

A moment passes. And then another.

You turn to watch the sea out in the distance. It appears as if the ocean has lulled for the time being. The sky is still dark, but it has yet to deepen in color.

Luke takes a breath and you give him your attention again.

“Why won’t you join me?”

His eyes flash betrayal, his lips twist into something sorrowful.

Your answer comes easy. The same one you’ve told yourself over and over again, night by night when you considered reaching out to him.

“Because it’s not right, Luke.”

When he stands, his newfound power becomes even more clear. It leaks from his pores, spews from his mouth with his words.

“How could it be ‘wrong’ when you feel the same. All that time you spent telling me about your father. How neglected you felt. What happened to that?”

Your head shakes. You stand, too, evening out the field for both of you.

“This is not what I meant. I–” The words don’t find you. Luke takes notice.

“You what? Love your father? Love the gods? After how they treat you. How they treat us.”

“Don’t say ‘us’. We aren’t together, Luke.”

That same look flashes in his eyes once more. He takes a step forward, you take one back.

He doesn’t say anything. You watch his hand reach behind his back.

“What, are you gonna fight me like you did with Percy?”

His head shakes. His eyes harden. He pulls his hand back and it comes up empty.

“He attacked first.”

Your voice starts to rise. “And you tried to kill him, Luke. He’s twelve. What don’t you understand about that? ”

“Twelve and a forbidden child. In the grand scheme of things, his age doesn’t matter. He’s powerful. More powerful than both of us combined.”

“So is that why you tried to kill him? Because he’s a threat?”

“I don’t want to have this conversation with you. Not here. Not now.”

“Yeah? Well then when? And where? Because this is the last time you’ll be seeing me, Luke.”

“Okay.”

Your eyebrows raise. Disbelief paints over your features. You’d expected more of a fight. For Luke to disagree or attempt to convince you to return to him a few more times after this. Maybe that’s what you wanted. Maybe you wanted him to convince you that you needed him. Maybe you wanted to hear him tell you that he needed you.

Either way, your reply is the same as his.

“Okay.” You turn and take the few steps it takes to get to the door.

Your chest heaves with large gulps of air in and small breaths of letting them out. Your body is buzzing, the same feeling you would get before sparring with Luke. The same feeling you would get before your bodies joined together.

You tell yourself to reach out for the door handle. You tell yourself to lift your arm, connect your hand with the metal, and pull it open. You tell yourself to return to your own dreamscape, maybe even reality, and forget any of this ever happened.

Maybe you would’ve done it if Luke hadn’t spoken.

“You can walk out that door but that won’t change how you truly feel.”

He doesn’t add on. You don’t move.

“And how do I feel?”

The adrenaline is overwhelming you. You need to expel it out of your body somehow.

As Luke is speaking, you’re already approaching him.

“I’m sure I don’t need to answer that for you.”

When he speaks, it’s with arrogance. His confidence is heavily laced in his words, overflowing until it drips out into the air and lodges in your chest. Running through your body and down to your fingertips. It annoys you, makes you want to battle it out with him in a fight you’re sure to lose.

Your feet thud against the floor with each step until you’re close enough to cup his cheeks in both of your hands and pull his face down to yours.

There’s no hesitation in the kiss from either side. As if both of you were expecting it to happen eventually.

Luke kisses you back vehemently, his lips messily sliding against yours as he presses into the center of your back, accentuating the curve and drawing your chest into his. His free hand glides down your side to your hips. He circles to your back, dragging his palm down to rest over the curve of your ass. He grips the flesh through the soft fabric of your shorts, digging his blunt nails in before continuing his hand—open palmed—down to grip the back of your thigh.

His other hand mirrors his previous actions until he has a hand on either thigh. He tugs once, and you collaborate to wrap your legs around his waist and hook your ankles behind his back. Your hands dig into his hair, and your core tightens as you prepare to continue holding yourself up. But Luke takes most of the load.

He places his hands on your bottom to keep you lifted. You expect him to walk you back to the couch, or maybe pin you to a wall. But he doesn’t.

He holds you against him in the center of the living room, kissing you like he’ll never get to kiss you again. You don’t fail to realize how he likely won’t.

His tongue slides against yours, your teeth knock together at least twice, both of you refuse to pull away to breathe which results in heavy exhales through your noses against the skin of the other cheek.

While it may be uncoordinated, it’s not primal.

There’s copious amounts of longing beneath each pass of your tongues against each other. There’s human emotion behind the way you tug on his hair and how he uses one hand to pull your hips closer to him. There’s raw longing in the soft sighs and gasps you both let out into the other’s mouth, taking it in and replicating the noises over and over again.

When you finally do part, it’s with a wet, pronounced smack.

“Luke,” you gasp his name before you can realize it’s happening. One of your hands moves from his hair to hold his cheek. Your fingers spread around his ear and your thumb probes into his jaw.

He hums, his eyes still shut.

“I want you,” you admit.

You watch the smile spread across his lips, his eyes flickering open to look into your soul.

“Took you long enough to admit it.”

You suck your teeth and roll your eyes. Your other hand, previously resting on his shoulder, slaps his bicep.

“Don’t be an asshole about it.”

He laughs as he apologizes, knocking his forehead against yours. “Sorry, pretty girl.”

He takes a moment.

When he speaks, his eyes are nothing but earnest. His words are slow and careful, despite how simple they are. They fill your chest with warmth. They comfort you, possibly in slight delusion as you instantly believe him without caring about what repercussions his promise could come with.

“You have me. Always have. Always will.”

You’re quick to surge forward.

Luke is quick to reciprocate.

This time, he walks you back to the couch. He settles you on it carefully, not lifting his hands from your bottom until you’re seated securely along the loveseat and pulled to the edge by his hands hooked under your knees.

His own knees dig into the rug beneath the furniture. His head is tipped up to continue kissing you, this one lacking the over enthusiasm from before. Now, he takes his time, having confessed his desire to be with you as long as you’ll let him.

It’s not long until he pulls away and trails his lips down, kissing along your decollete, not stopping when he comes in contact with the fabric of your small shirt. He presses his lips into the fabric firmly, as if he’s trying to reach your skin beneath the layer.

You feel the pressure he has beneath each kiss as he trails down, and you arch into his touch, excitement spreading through your lower half whenever Luke digs his fingers into the elastic of your shorts and pulls them off of your legs before he even reaches there.

You’re quick to leave your legs open, even going as far as to spread them a little more to give Luke more room.

His wide shoulders fill the space. They nudge against your knees and instead of letting you spread your legs even more, he throws them over his shoulders, effectively caging himself in with your limbs.

If the small smile on his face is anything to go by, he’s happy about his position.

You’re still wearing your panties. Your hands trail down to get rid of them, but Luke stops you with a hand on your lower abdomen.

“Let me,” he tells you, voice soft and light.

You remove your hands and do as told. It’s a simple system you have worked out, Luke slowly but surely working his way down to where you want him. He's eager, and you know he wants himself there as much as you do.

It’s strange what desire could make you do.

You’ve never been anything but loyal to Camp Half-Blood. To both of your parents. And in normal circumstances, you wouldn’t allow yourself to do this.

But you’ll simply have a final time with Luke. That’s it. Sharing your body with him, and having his body shared with you, won’t make you forget his transgressions.

As your panties are pulled off of your legs, and your skin is once again placed above the thick fabric on the shoulders of his sweatshirt, you tell yourself that this won’t change anything.

You’ll never be able to forget what he has done. What he’s planning to do.

Except, perhaps, you can push it aside for as long as you’ll have to while you let yourself get lost in his touch.

The first pass of his tongue is a long stripe between your folds. He spreads you open with his thumbs, pulling at the skin on either side to expose your center. Then he flattens his tongue and licks up from your entrance to your clit.

He puckers his lips, sucking twice before flicking his tongue against the bud.

Your hands card through his hair, ignoring the way your fingers get stuck on a few stubborn curls that refuse to separate in favor of grounding yourself. It feels too good, and you haven’t been in this position for too long. There’s nothing you fear more right now than getting too lost and waking up in the real world before you’re even satisfied.

Luke brings his attention back down to your entrance where he laps up what you’ve been leaking. He groans, peeling his mouth away and you stare down at him, entranced by how grateful he looks.

Eyes closed, face completely relaxed, his scar laid flat against his cheek, his pink lips parted and glistening.

He looks ethereal. The sight is addicting.

“Missed this so much,” he admits, tongue flickering out to lick the remnants of your arousal off of his lips.

You feel the same, but you refuse to tell him that. Instead, you scrape your nails at his scalp lightly and shuffle your hips, hoping that alone is enough to capture Luke’s attention again.

Either he catches the memo or he had the same idea as you because his lips are right back between your legs.

You’d expected him to behave like a man starved, licking and sucking your cunt like you would disappear any moment. Instead, he takes his time with you. He utilizes the best part about being in a dreamscape: the lack of concrete time.

He savors the taste of your cunt, and the little sounds you make. His fingers press into the tops of your thighs as he holds them down against his shoulders to prevent you from squirming. His nose nudges against your clit and digs into the short hair you have on your mound.

He presses his tongue everywhere that he can, sometimes even sliding further down to rim areas still unexplored. Each time, you would tense up just a little less, until eventually you were trying to subtly urge his head further down for him to do it just one more time.

And when he does, that’s when the coil in your lower belly gets as tight as it could get, just before snapping from the tension. You would have warned him. Or, maybe you did. You were so focused on getting there that any words that came out of your mouth weren’t even considered. You weren’t aware of anything other than your mouth moving at the same speed as your hips as you dragged your cunt against Luke’s face, using him to guide your orgasm to full completion.

As soon as your hips stop twitching you swing your legs off of his shoulders and slide to the floor beside him. You pull your shirt off, then do the same for Luke, throwing both of your tops off to the side.

Unsurprisingly, he’s not wearing another layer beneath the sweatshirt, allowing you to run your palms down his chest, feeling the familiar definition along his abdomen.

You sit in front of him with your legs folded underneath you, and since he’s on his haunches, he towers over you just a bit. You have to tilt your head up to kiss at his jaw and neck, your hands busying themselves with urging his sweatpants off of his hips.

Luke does the rest of the job for you, hesitantly pulling away from your touch to stand and slide his sweatpants off of his legs himself. You’re left on the ground, hands politely resting in your lap while you stare up at Luke with wide eyes.

He slowly reveals more and more of his legs until he’s wearing nothing but his briefs. They hug him well, like they always have. A prominent outline of the muscle definition in his thighs, elastic waistband hanging low enough on his hips for you to see the ‘V’ that connects his hips and abdomen. And of course, the tight material reveals the prominent boner confined within the crotch of his briefs.

You want to reach up and palm him. You want to pull the final layer off of him. You want to take his cock into your mouth and relax with the heavy and warm feeling of him against your tongue.

But you decide to be patient. And it’s worth it.

Luke slides his briefs off himself, never breaking eye contact with you as he throws them to join the rest of your clothing. His stare is strong and heavy as he spits into his hand and puts his dick into the same place, wrapping his palm around the center of it and stroking a few times.

There’s the prettiest, most picturesque bead of precum at the tip and you’re practically salivating just looking at it, praying deep down that Luke doesn’t run his hand over it so you can have it for yourself.

As if sensing your inner turmoil, Luke takes a step closer, holding the base of his cock right in front of your face, allowing you to get the perfect view of how his tip is a light pink around the almost clear drop of precum.

“You want?” he asks you simply, smiling a bit when you nod eagerly. “Then open.”

You’re quick to do as told, lacking any shame whenever you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. As soon as Luke presses his tip to your muscle, you wrap your lips around him and eagerly suck him clean.

Another good thing about the dreamscape is that everything either tastes like absolutely nothing, or like pure honey. And when you’re with Luke, things are usually the latter.

You start to get lost in it, enthusiastically beginning to suck Luke off even though you were only meant to be getting a taste.

You can see that Luke is close to commenting on it. His eyes shine like they do before he has something to say, but just when his lips part and he takes a breath to speak, you hollow your cheeks and sink as far down him as you can and any words he could have conjured up are suddenly gone.

He lets you do what you want, eyes fluttering shut and one large hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to suck him off. He lets out the smallest noises, pretty grunts and groans and sighs.

Luke was clearly just as wound up as you were. Within a couple of minutes he’s already starting to spew out praises like he does when he’s close. Some of them are fragments, broken words strung together in incomplete sentences.

“So … doing so .. you’re–” when you swirl your tongue at the tip and tease his balls just a bit.

“Gods, you’re so good at this,” when you jerk the majority of his dick with one hand and focus your mouth on his tip with the other.

“Close. So close. Almost there, dove” when you take all of him into your mouth once more, throat molding around the definite shape of him.

And when he cums down your throat, you’re so satisfied that you can’t help but moan unabashedly along with him.

You’ve only just swallowed his cum before his cock is pulled out of your mouth and he’s back on his knees in front of you.

His arms wrap around your waist, he pulls you into his lap, laying his head on your chest and just letting himself be.

Just existing.

After a couple of minutes, you stop expecting him to speak and decide to just exist too. Your breathing eventually matches up, in and out, in and out, over and over again in tandem. Outside, rain starts to thud against the roof of the small home. Distantly, there’s the faint sound of thunder, and you’re sure the ocean is swirling angrily.

None of that matters, though. You’ll be left to decipher the metaphorical meanings of it all later, when you aren’t coexisting in the shared warmth from you and Luke.

When he isn’t kissing the tops of your breasts and holding you securely in his arms.

Eventually, Luke does break the silence. His voice is low when he does, both in volume and tone.

“Can I have you? Just one final time?”

He talks into your skin without looking directly at you. But as you start to respond, you cup his cheeks and force him to look at you.

The entire time, you’ve been fighting this battle. Knowing you wanted Luke, knowing you wanted to be with Luke, but also knowing it was wrong. All of it was wrong.

But right here, right now, you let go. You nod unashamedly. You kiss his forehead then the tip of his nose then his lips, before landing on the bottom end of his scar.

You tell him, “Yes. Of course, Luke”, as if he didn’t even have to ask in the first place.

And truthfully, you don’t think he did.

‎

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Luke is in the middle of pulling his sweatshirt back over his head when you speak. There’s a second where the fabric is hiding his face, slowly revealing the curls at the top of his head, then his dark eyebrows, and finally his eyes. They look as they have the entire time: despondent.

“I know you didn’t. Neither did I.” You have a feeling that neither of you are speaking about the same specific thing, but the overlap in your conditions is so wide that you don’t bother correcting him.

He reaches behind his back once more and when he pulls his hand back around, he has his camp necklace dangling from his fingers. He undoes the knot, and holds it open, waiting, until finally you turn around and let him delicately tie it around your neck.

Your hand touches the beads. You want to thank him, but it doesn’t feel right.

Instead, your lips twist into what you hope comes off as a thankful smile when you turn around. When Luke replicates it, you feel a little better.

There’s a moment, just a brief moment there where you’re both staring at each other and the memory of Luke’s hands and lips and tongue and his everything engrossing you, taking your everything and combining them together, is still fresh on your mind. The warmth of his eyes and the warmth of his camp necklace around your throat heals you. And you consider that your feelings for Luke were stronger than you ever forced yourself to acknowledge.

He was more than a close friend to you. More than someone you looked up to. More than someone you shared your body with in the dreamscape.

He was more.

It feels unfair for you to have these emotions. The wrongness of it all—your feelings for Luke Castellan, how he’d turned out—has rage fueling deep in your gut. With no one else to blame it on, you can’t help but briefly curse the gods.

For they were the ones to cause this. To instill deep hatred into Luke’s chest. To prevent either of you from ever having a normal life where you could live and breathe and love without the burdens placed upon you both.

A life where you wouldn’t have to love and lose someone like Luke.

But there’s nothing for you to do about it now.

You don’t want to leave. But your time together is up. You should’ve left a long time ago, and your choice to stay before resulted in something you could never take back.

You turn and walk to the door. And once more, Luke speaking causes you to stop.

“You are the only one who could make me change my mind.” He says it in a small whisper, as if he doesn’t want to admit it even to himself. As if he shouldn’t be admitting it at all.

‘Are’. His feelings for you still haven’t changed. You don’t know if they ever will.

Either way, you’re forced to change yours.

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t say anything. Your hand reaches for the doorknob. You take it in your palm, gripping and turning at the same time until the latch is undone.

The door opens and fills the room with the sound of rain falling. It’s loud and fills the empty space. Up until Luke speaks and the baritone of his voice joins it.

“This is it?”

You nod once. Luke’s scoff sounds painful. It’s bitter with an edge of hatred. Maybe disbelief.

It makes tears brim at your eyes. Your nose stings. Your throat feels as if it’s constricting with the effort to hold your tears back.

Luke takes a breath. You step one foot out of the door.

“Dreamcatcher,” he calls to get your attention, the nickname giving you that fuzzy feeling you used to get from just seeing him around camp. “We’ll be seeing each other again.”

And then your foot lands on the dry green grass of your own dreamscape.

Just a few hours later, you rise with the morning sun, sneaking off to the showers before everyone else to get rid of the stickiness between your thighs.

The dream might not have been real, but the evidence between your legs certainly was. Strangely enough, that and the additional chord of beads around your neck. You only notice it when you’ve undressed and stepped beneath the shower head, scrubbing at your skin and running into additional jewelry you hadn’t expected to have been there.

You take it off and slip it with the rest of your clothes as a keepsake, carrying it around in your pocket for only you to know about.

#lukesworld!#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #celeste writes pjo

3K notes · View notes

hysteria-things · 2 months

Note

please write a story where either chris or matt is veryyyy dominant and can throw the reader around (might sound weird) but like a size difference 🙏

CAMPSITE

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you feel sex deprived when you go camping with your boyfriend and his brothers for a few days, and you don’t think you can wait any longer.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, heavy petting, semi-public (?), marking, p in v, degradation, mentions blood, ROUGH

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,038

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: combined these two because they both fit the idea when i was brainstorming! hope you guys like it :)

“is everybody in?” matt asks as he turns the keys into the golf kart ignition. the boys have a campsite on a campground, and you guys have been going camping every few weeks. it’s summertime, so it’s the perfect weather to do things.

the campground is nice. it’s big with other people’s trailers there, dogs and little kids run around from morning to curfew.

doing activities like this is nice to get away from life for a bit, especially social media. having to text people back can be so exhausting.

a seatbelt clicks behind you. “yup. all ready.” chris says.

the sun is setting, and you hear the weekend band playing in the distance. matt’s driving of course, and you’re in the passenger seat. nick and chris are in the back facing outward.

the music starts to get closer as matt drives down the small hill that leads to the main part of the grounds. there’s a dog park, a horseshoe game setup, a lounge, and a playground/basketball court. the stage is just outside of the lounge and the bathrooms are on the other side.

there’s a fire going in the middle of where the picnic tables are. people from around the campgrounds are either sitting or standing by their golf karts, some dogs barking as well.

kids play on the playground and matt finds a spot to park. rainbow beams flood the air from the stage, the band singing whatever country song they’re playing.

fairy lights hang on the trees above. the four of you get up from the kart, heading closer to the stage. not too close, but close enough to get a better view.

the music is loud, people’s voices echoing through your head. cigarette smoke enters your nostrils and the sounds of beer cans opening flood your ears.

you would think this type of scene isn’t for the triplets and you’re not wrong, but something about being in the wilderness is so calming.

matt wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you close and swaying to the music. the only downside of this trip is that you can’t have sex.

not to sound like a fiend, but you get sexually frustrated when you go a few days without it. you bite your lip as you start getting dirty thoughts in your mind, squirming in your boyfriend’s grasp.

“you okay?” he asks, a little loud so you can hear him over the music.

“mhm,” you say with a nod.

you put your hands behind your back, reaching towards matt’s crotch. it’s dark enough that people can’t see what you’re doing, but they’re all distracted anyway. however, you’re so close to his body that people definitely can’t see what you’re doing.

you start to palm his dick through his jeans, and he takes an arm off your shoulder and holds your hand still. “stop.”

obviously, you don’t listen, and you move your hand again. he’s starting to grow at your touch, but grips your hand tighter. “stop.”

you look at him innocently over your shoulder, your hand movements becoming faster on his erection. he groans, thrusting his hips slightly into your palm.

“we’ll be right back,” he says out of nowhere, lifting you over his shoulder since he’s so much bigger than you. he walks away before the other two can say anything, and he doesn’t bother taking the golf kart.

nick and chris stare at each other. “they’re going to fuck.” chris says, taking a sip out of the pepsi that he brought with him.

“oh, yeah.” nick agrees.

the walk back to the trailer feels short as you giggle back. matt’s boner hurts like a bitch as he opens the door and goes into the bedroom, throwing you onto the bed. “think you’re funny, huh?” he says lowly, immediately taking his shirt and jeans off.

you don’t say anything. except you look at him with doe eyes. then, he starts taking off your clothes. you’ve been waiting for this.

his dick springs out when he takes his boxers down, and it does look like it hurts.

he starts to crawl on top of you but then flips over causing you to gasp. you’re now straddling his lap.

you don’t have a chance to react when he grabs your hips and slams you down onto his cock. you whine as you feel him stretch you out completely. you start to bounce slowly, putting your head into his neck to leave kisses.

matt hisses when you bite down, sucking and marking his neck. you repeat that action multiple times, still bouncing painfully slowly.

he sighs annoyingly, flipping you over once again and pulling you closer by the legs before slamming into you immediately at an ungodly pace.

“matt!” you scream, your nails digging into his shoulders. “f-fuck!”

“you think you can tease me and get away with it? think again, sweetheart.”

you whimper, your back arching with each thrust. you repeat his name along with moans and cries of pleasure.

“or is this what you wanted?” he asks, grunting at the sudden pain in his back as you drag your nails when he hits your g-spot suddenly. “i should’ve taken you right then and there so people know what a fucking slut you are.”

“i-i’m—” your cut off when your legs start to shake, your eyes rolling back when the knot in your stomach is close to snapping.

the scratches you’re leaving on matt’s back start to bleed the deeper your nails dig, and he moans at the feeling. “you’re going to make me cum if you keep doing that shit.” he says through gritted teeth, getting close to his orgasm because he knows he’s making you feel this good.

a shaky moan leaves your mouth when you start to cum around his dick. he grunts as he thrusts into you two or three more times before pulling out and cumming on your stomach.

you pant and quiver, a smug smile on your lips. matt turns his back to retrieve your guys’ clothes, and your eyes widen. his back is red, scratches of different shades running down his bare skin. “your back… is fucked up.” you say between pants.

he smirks. “wouldn’t be the first time.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @idkhowtosleep @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!

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moonjxsung · 5 months

Text

Seasons

Pairing: Lee Felix x fem reader

W/c: 24.1k

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of a hospital, alcohol, smoking, erotic photography, use of pet names, clitoral stimulation, breast/nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, dry humping, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, cum eating

Synopsis: Seasons come and go like your love for Felix once did- but when he reappears in your life several years later, things are much different.

[this work was based off a request from @crookedt44th - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

Small town at the edge of the world. 11:30am. A Tuesday in Autumn.

If you told the average person to shut their eyes and think of their favorite city, they’d probably conjure up a lengthy description about the booming skyscrapers, the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the fancy restaurants and the well-kept people. Point it out on a map, you’d tell them, and their finger would land in the heart of the amorphous blob of whatever state they’ve chosen.

Now move your finger to the right- keep going, and going, and don’t stop until you’re almost off the map entirely. There will be no major indicators, no colorful dots on this area of the map. You might miss it, in fact, if you shoot too far.

That’s the town of Ember.

A town so insignificant, the only name they could think to give it was based on the fire that plagued it almost 50 years ago, which begged the question to those in neighboring cities- who even lives there?

Famous for absolutely nothing of importance, population who-knows-these-days, nothing to do and nowhere to go.

And the place you call home.

“Pieces of a Dream. 1970’s.”

“Yellow,” your manager responds, and you unravel a bulky roll of discount stickers, thumbing one off the adhesive and placing it gently in the corner of the plastic-wrapped vinyl.

“The rest of those should be discounted,” he says, quickly shuffling through the stack and giving them a little slap with the palm of his hand.

He slides the stack over to you, taking his spot on the wooden stool by the register again and flipping through a stack of pages on his clipboard.

Chris, your manager, has been the owner of Ember Records for the better part of a decade now. He succeeds his father’s role as store owner, who succeeded his father’s role, back when the record shop wasn’t mostly lost to the fire. Since its relocation, it’s much smaller, so you’ve heard, only about half the shelf space available to house the generous collection of records his great grandfather used to collect and sell.

This is one of just a handful of shops around here, located in the heart of the tourist attraction that is the town’s square. Thus, you’re well-acquainted with the baristas from the coffee shop across the street, the waiters at the diner, the librarians and even the car mechanics. You’re all familiar with the businesses you run to keep this town on its feet, many of you having chosen to stay here for a simpler life.

“I dig the grays,” you tell Chris, crossing your arms as you lean against the counter and slide him the finished stack of tagged vinyl.

He sighs, cocking his head and uncapping his pen between his teeth. “They creep up on you when you least expect it. You know this shit costs like, hundreds to get dyed?”

“Leave it,” you say to him, giving a small nod as you speak. “It makes you look more mature. I mean, what does Yena think of it?”

“She loves it,” he says, catching a glimpse of his reflection in one of the glass cases and running his hands through his hair. “But she’d also love if I shaved my eyebrows off. She’ll compliment anything.”

“Then shave your eyebrows,” you say, chuckling, as you stuff your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. “You’re lucky to have a wife who’s so supportive of your decisions. I’m taking my lunch!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris says, laughing as he shakes his head. “Oh, and Yena left you some pie in the back room.”

“Tell her thank you!” You call over your shoulder as you make your way to the back.

The back room is just a glorified storage closet, one dingy table pushed up against the wall, one wooden chair and shelves of records that need to be pushed out to the sales floor, or should’ve just been burned in the fire. You have to duck your head to not hit it on the hanging pendant lamp, its bulb buzzing concerningly loud as you take your seat and pry open the Tupperware container Yena left for you in the fridge- cherry pie, your favorite, from the diner down the street where she works.

As you take generous bites of your first meal of the day, you shuffle through a stack of records neglected on the table from last week’s donation. There are a myriad of genres- old jazz bands, electronic records, synth pop and even a few ambient pieces. As you flip over one of the covers, Chris calls to you from the front, his voice echoing around the dingy little storage closet.

“Y/n! I need you to come help out!”

And you sigh, promptly shutting the Tupperware closed again and making your way out to the front.

That’s the thing about this job- it’s small, but it’s busy, the hundreds of records demanding your very precise attention at any given moment of the day. You live to serve the people here, suggesting records to those seeking new sounds or curiously peering at genres unknown to them. And tourists are drawn to the place, often leaving with armfuls of old vinyl to add to their collections. It’s not a town they’ll likely ever visit again, you’re well aware, but the shop allows people to take a little piece of Ember with them wherever they go. And though the lack of grandiosity might not bring them back, your attentiveness to detail and passion for music sometimes do.

“Coffee?” Yena asks you, as you slide into the familiar spot of your favorite booth, next to the window in her diner. She saunters over with the pot anyway, setting a little white mug down in front of you and filling the cup halfway.

“Thanks,” you reply, already tearing open packs of creamer.

At half past 8, the record shop closes in only an hour, Chris taking on the role of closing procedures in your absence. It’s a routine life you lead, tending to the record shop by day and basking in the town’s simple pleasures by nighttime. And with all the people you love in it, you have no reason to leave, no rush to migrate elsewhere.

“How’s work?” Yena asks, sliding into the booth across from you and pulling a notepad out from her apron. She flips through the pages, stopping on a blank one and adding up her tips for the evening.

“Fine,” you say to her, taking a generous sip of coffee. “Just mostly repeat customers for today. But we did have a pretty hefty donation, so that’s a plus.”

“Anything good?” She questions, without looking up from her notepad.

“Negative. A lot of older stuff I used to listen to in high school.”

Yena finishes tallying up her tips, shutting her notepad and finally meeting your gaze.

“Hey, if that’s old, then I’m ancient.”

You both laugh, and she keeps her gaze on you for a moment before speaking again.

“Gosh, I still remember when you moved here. You were so… wide-eyed. And quiet.”

“I was so lost,” you say with a small chuckle. “I don’t even think I knew how to work a record player.”

“And now look at you,” she emphasizes, gesturing to your face. “You just seem… happy these days.”

She smiles for a moment, before gathering the empty cups of creamer off the table and sliding out of the booth.

“I hope you’ll stay here, if it means you’re always going to be this happy.”

You smile to yourself as she begins back toward the kitchen, humming to herself.

“Wasn’t planning on leaving!” You call out, and without turning around, she gives you a thumbs up before disappearing into the kitchen again.

Some days, your shifts feel like 5 minutes. Other days, they feel like 5 days. Today is the latter, the clock on the wall above the register ticking away by the second, and yet seemingly no closer to the end of your day. You’re on closing procedures this evening, Chris and Yena having taken the day off to have a much overdue date night. And it’s empty, like it usually is on Wednesday evenings, not a soul in sight as the town tends to their own duties, the tourists all working busy jobs in the city.

You slouch your shoulders over the wooden stool, dusting off a pile of folk records and shuffling through them, admiring the intricate paintings on the covers. It’s one of your favorite things about working here- locating the beautiful paintings and photographs that graze the covers of records, all of them vastly different from one another, but equally as evocative. You trace your fingertips over what appears to be a Polish record, a couple dressed in fancy colorful fabrics as he dips her into a bow. You can’t help but wonder what the atmosphere would be like if they were here in front of you, the whole room teeming with the choral ensemble as they’d tap their fancy shoes along the tile flooring and invite you to dance, too. The thought circles your mind with a smile, and you barely hear the next customer enter when they do.

The little gold bell hanging on the door chimes just once when they enter, indicating the arrival of a man, who promptly rushes to the back shelf without so much as a hello. Welcome, I guess, you want to say, dismissing their curtness with a shake of your head as you go back to organizing records.

You shuffle to the next record, admiring the black and white photo of a man with his guitar, a panama hat atop his curly head of hair as he sings into a microphone. It reminds you of the ones your dad used to collect before he passed.

“Excuse me?” A voice interrupts, and you practically jump, startled at the way he navigates the shop without a sound. He’s right in front of the register now, holding a CD in his hands and setting it down in front of you.

“I’d like to pay,” he continues, his baritone voice sounding painfully uninviting.

Without looking up at him, you take the CD from the counter, flipping it over to scan the barcode on the front. Four Decades of Jazz, the cover simply displaying the title in funky purple block text.

“This one’s actually on clearance,” you say, sliding the CD into a small paper bag. “Just 5.”

He pulls out a brown leather wallet, flipping through crisp bills as he searches for exact change. As he does, you take notice of the collection of silver rings that decorate his shorter fingers, a few of them painted with chipping black nail polish. Your gaze fixates on a thicker silver band, carved with black fleur de lis patterns that circle the band all the way around. You cock your head slightly, mapping out the pattern in your head as his hands move, the ring glistening under a beam of light that shines through the window and sets it aglow.

“It was a gift,” the man says when he notices you staring, and he holds out his index finger, rotating his finger to give you the full view.

You say nothing, your lips parting slightly as he does, transfixed by the way the silver hugs his finger and frames his veiny hands. The man stays silent, his gaze on the ring, too, as he pulls it off with a gentle tug and holds it up for you to see.

“Do you want to see it?” He asks, pinching the band between the pads of his fingers as he rotates it under the same beam of sunlight.

“No, thank you,” you reply, your mind still in a trance. “It just… reminds me of…” and your voice trails off, finally allowing your gaze to look up and meet the stranger’s.

His big brown eyes seem to widen when you finally lock eyes, his plump lips parting open as he scrambles to pull the ring back on.

“Something,” is all you can utter, folding the brown paper bag once in your hands and sliding it across the counter. “It reminds me of somebody I used to know.”

His breath hitches his throat as he finds the words to say, unable to string together a cohesive sentence as memories run rampant in his mind, everything coming back to him like a painful wound being reopened.

“Sorry,” is all he can say, clutching the brown bag in one hand as he gives you a small nod. “And thanks. For the CD. Or for ringing me up, rather. Thank you-”

“You’re welcome,” you reply briskly, pivoting on your heel to organize a stack of already-sorted records on the shelf behind you.

And you can still feel him there for a moment, his gaze boring into the back of your head like he wants to say something. But he doesn’t, instead observing the way your hair, a little shorter than he’d previously remembered it, sways gently in its ponytail as you go about your job.

You listen to the way the brown paper bag crumples in his grasp, before he finally retreats and exits, the little bell above the door indicating his departure.

And when you turn around again, there on the counter, his silver ring sits, glistening in the waning glint of the evening sun.

“The lattes are so expensive out there,” Yena says, as she takes a sip from her iced coffee. “I’d drink this gas station coffee any day over that stuff.”

You chuckle lightly, shaking your head as you wipe down the counter with a rag. Chris counts change in the register beside you, muttering counts to himself as he scribbles onto his clipboard and listens to your conversations.

“But hey, we still had a good time,” Yena continues, smiling over at Chris. “Sometimes leaving this town keeps you on your toes.”

“Yeah, well, I’m on my toes enough here as it is,” you respond, the three of you chuckling lightly amongst each other.

The bell atop the door chimes once, signifying the arrival of a new customer, and Chris gestures to the door as you look up.

“All you,” he says, going back to his work.

You fold the rag neatly, setting it on the counter and making your way over to the clearance aisle where the stranger stands. His back is turned toward you, his lanky frame towering over stacks of CDs as he thumbs through them casually.

“Can I help you find anything?” You chime in, your hands behind your back as you watch him. As you speak, he turns to face you, and you breathe a deep sigh of annoyance.

“Seriously?” You say, already retreating back to the counter again and turning away from him.

“Wait,” he calls, rushing after you and standing in front of the counter awkwardly. Chris looks up from his clipboard, furrowing his brows together as Yena shoots him an equally questioning look.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” you respond, unfolding the rag again and wiping down the register.

“Hey, hey,” Chris says, giving you a confused look.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say to Chris through gritted teeth, brushing off the interaction.

“I just wanted to-” the man begins, as he looms behind the counter, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

“Why would you come back?” You question, not looking at him still. “Wasn’t one time awkward enough?”

“I left my ring,” he finally says, dropping his hands at his sides.

Both your gazes fall to your hands, where the silver band rests comfortably on your index finger, almost like it’s always been yours.

“Yeah, whatever,” you reply, pulling it off and sliding it across the counter to him. “Here.”

He doesn’t say anything, not yet reaching for the ring, nor telling you to put it back on. A part of him is fascinated at the prospect you chose to wear it around at all.

The silence that falls over the shop is painfully awkward, Chris and Yena keeping their gazes locked between the two of you as you angrily scrub at a stain on the counter.

“Hey,” Chris says, finally pulling the rag from your grasp. “You’re scratching the wood, kiddo.”

“If no one wants that ring, give it here,” Yena says with a smile.

The ring is slowly lifted from the counter again, slid back onto the finger of its respective owner.

“We’ll give you guys a minute,” Chris says, motioning to the back room with the tilt of his head. And Yena follows him to the back, the till of the register balanced in his arms.

“What do you want?” You ask, finally meeting his gaze again. “I’m working right now.”

His face drops a little, giving you a small shrug before he speaks.

“I was just wondering how you were doing. And I thought-”

“Felix,” you say brazenly, your heartbeat quickening a little at the feeling of his name leaving your lips again after so long. “Cut the small talk. Just tell me why you’re here.”

He sighs as he fiddles with the band around his finger, the metal still warm from the contact against your skin.

“That’s it,” he explains. “I didn’t expect to see you here. And I wondered how you were doing.”

“So leaving your ring here wasn’t an elaborate plan to come back for it?”

“It… was,” he says sheepishly. “I needed an excuse to come see you again.”

“We sell records,” you emphasize. “That’s the only reason you should be here. And if it’s not, then leave.”

“Y/n,” Felix says frustratedly. His eyebrows arch up in an almost pleading manner, his lips quivering as he struggles to find the words to say.

It’s the first time you take notice of his changed appearance, completely opposite to the Felix you last spoke to. His once blonde locks are grown out, grazing over his bony shoulders, a robust shade of ebony that contrasts against his pale skin, tied up into a half ponytail. His plump lips glisten under a glossy coat of peach tint, and his freckles are almost unnoticeable from this distance. You furrow your brows to get a better look, trying to make out the beige constellations you remember so well. But you can’t locate them- not on his nose, or his cheeks or even around his eyes.

He dresses differently, too, a baggy white tank top under a black leather vest, almost too big for him as it swallows his lean figure. And he flaunts a hefty collection of silver jewelry- rings, rows of ear piercings, a chain link bracelet and layered necklaces. If you didn’t know his eyes like the back of your own hand, you might’ve not even recognized him to be Felix.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” You finally ask, your voice softening a little as he toys with the rings on his fingers.

“This is my favorite place for CDs,” he responds, his shoulders relaxing a little as he speaks. “I used to come here every weekend back in high school. I didn’t know you worked here now, I promise I’m not trying to make things weird.”

You sigh a little, shifting your eyes to the shelves and then back at him.

“Well what are you doing here now? Shouldn’t you be in school or something?”

Felix shrugs a little, his expression unchanging. “It’s complicated, I guess.” And then he furrows his brows at you, gesturing to the shop. “I could ask you the same question.”

“It’s complicated,” you reply, echoing his statement back at him. “And I’m not in the mood to indulge you with the story of my life.”

“I have time,” Felix says with a chuckle, and he’s met with your deafening silence.

“Sorry,” he follows, fiddling again with the rings on his fingers.

As you begin to ask him to leave, Chris and Yena enter from the back room again, carefully making their way toward you with hands shoved in their pockets.

“Hey,” Yena says, nudging you gently. “Everything okay, you guys?”

“Yes,” Felix is quick to chime in. “My apologies- I’m Felix,” he says with a beaming smile, holding out his hand to shake Yena and Chris’. They comply, exchanging warm smiles with him, still confused at why you seem so irate.

“I’m sorry to disrupt the peace,” Felix continues, giving them a little bow. “We’re just-”

“Old friends,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes at this act he puts on. “And he was just leaving.”

“Right,” Felix says, his lips pulling into a disheartened expression.

“Y/n doesn’t bring too many friends around here,” Chris chimes in. “What’s the rush to leave?” He chuckles as he finishes, and Yena hits him lightly as if signaling for him to stop.

“Actually,” Felix begins, and you sigh when you realize he’s not done talking yet. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner, or a coffee or something.”

“Felix, I really don’t think-”

“It’s on me if you wanna come to the diner tomorrow,” Yena chimes in. “We still have leftover pie.”

And you pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing deeply as Felix stares at you with a hopeful expression. His eyes are big, gauging your response curiously as you shift your gaze amongst the three of them. Chris watches Yena, who holds her breath as you think. And Felix’s lip seems to quiver when you open your mouth to speak.

“No dinner. Just coffee. And Chris covers my closing shift.”

Felix is at the diner much earlier than you are, comfortably reserving a spot for you on a table in the middle of the room and allowing Yena to fill your mugs with hot coffee. He adds three packs of sugar, two cups of creamer and a dollop of whipped cream he requests from Yena. And he waits for you patiently, stacking the spare cups of creamer into an organized pyramid, in between nervous glances out the window.

Yena wants to ask who he is exactly- why you’d seemed so off yesterday, and whether he’s here for a reason, or just to catch up as the old friends you claim to be. But she refrains, knowing to stay out of your business the way you so graciously stay out of hers.

“More coffee?” Yena asks as she approaches Felix, taking note of the near empty mug in front of him now.

“Sure,” Felix replies, shooting her a nervous smile. His hands tremble a little as he shoves the pyramid of creamers away from him, pretending to look occupied with his phone instead.

Yena fills his mug to the brim again, sliding him the mug across the table and giving him an empathetic look.

“I’m sure she’ll be here,” Yena says, nodding affirmatively. “She’s usually a little late getting off work.”

And Felix just nods, keeping his gaze on the giant glass windows. Outside, the sun has already set for the evening, darkened skies casting over the little square of Ember. The streets are sparse at this hour, just a few pedestrians who also flock here after their shifts, and the diner is fairly empty with the exception of a few young couples. Felix scans the atmosphere as he waits, observing the way everybody seems so acquainted with the place. Red vinyl booths line the large glass windows, dimly lit by hanging pendant lamps that give a yellow hue to the wooden tables below them. Each table is neatly paired with a silver napkin holder, salt and pepper shakers, hot sauce and a myriad of syrup flavors. And a bright neon red sign advertising fresh pies flickers over the kitchen, which is hidden behind silver swinging doors. It looks like something straight out of a movie, he thinks to himself, as a table nearby is served steaming plates of omelets and fries. And as Felix turns his attention back toward the glass windows, he finally sees you approaching, earbuds in and a nonchalant expression on your face. Your hair is tucked loosely behind your ears, a simple ensemble of loose fitting jeans and a sweater complementing your worn down sneakers. The bell on the door chimes as you make your way inside, a smile on your face as you talk briefly with Yena upon entering. And she gestures back to Felix, who gives a little wave from where he’s sitting, in time for his third coffee refill of the evening.

“This isn’t my table,” you say to Felix when you approach, gathering your mug of coffee and gesturing to your favorite booth against the window. Felix’s eyes flicker to the booth, a confused expression on his face as you wait for him to relocate.

“Well? Are you coming, or what?”

“Yeah, um, sorry,” Felix responds, clutching his mug in one hand and carefully bringing it across the room to the booth.

You furrow your eyes when you look back at the table, a tall pyramid of creamer cups placed where Felix was sitting.

Felix slides in the booth across from you, gesturing to your mug and meeting your gaze.

“Do you take cream? Or sugar?”

“Just two,” you say, picking your cups from the little bowl at the end of the table and tearing them open.

He nods, stirring his coffee around with a spoon as you prepare yours.

“Let me guess,” you say with a knowing smile. “8 packs sugar, 4 things of creamer and an entire can of whipped cream.”

He chuckles lightly, angling you the contents of his cup, which now contains a mixture of frothy melted cream and coffee the color of chocolate milk.

“You always did have a sweet tooth,” you respond, laughing and shaking your head. “Might as well just have a sundae while you’re at it.”

When you’re finished, you hold your mug in both hands, taking a generous sip of the steamy beverage and setting it back down with a gentle thud. Felix watches you intently, like he’s waiting for you to initiate the conversation, but you don’t, raising your eyebrows at him as you wait for him to speak.

“I’m just visiting for a bit,” Felix finally says, twiddling his thumbs on the table in front of him. “I’m doing my classes remotely this semester.”

You nod, saying nothing, as he searches for more words to say.

“Are your classes remote, too?” He continues.

“There are no classes,” you interrupt quickly, before he can press you for more information about school. “I dropped out of college.”

“You did?” Felix retorts, his eyes widening a little at how easily you admit to it. Not an ounce of shame, like it was planned from the start.

“Why?” He follows, tracing mindless patterns into the wood of the table below him.

“Because I hated it. Anything else you want to know?”

“Why are you all the way out here?”

“Because I love it here.”

“And how are your parents?”

“My dad died. Last spring. Are we done now?”

Felix swallows nervously, averting your gaze as he taps his knee nervously under the table.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

You just nod at him, pursing your lips a little and toying with the handle on your mug.

“Are you going to tell me about yourself, or do I need to play 20 questions, too?” You ask him, rolling your eyes as a smile grows on his face.

Felix chuckles lightly, relieved that you’ve already forgiven his clear overstepping here.

“I’m still in college. I’m just… undecided. I took a semester off a little while ago because I don’t know what I want to do. I haven’t actually been to class physically in… a good while.”

You nod empathetically at his words, the reality of them contradictory to the Felix you once knew. He was a straight A student when you knew him last, quick to join campus clubs and gain popularity wherever he went. People often commented on how different both of you were from each other- Felix, a bright young student who could light up a room with his smile, always so eager to ask questions and familiarize himself with the world around him. And you, a bit more reserved, your world often tainted by the reality of the hardships you’d faced, and the knowledge that life, when not lived for yourself, is often arduous.

“So you’re doing a bit of soul-searching,” you say to Felix, no stranger to the concept of tourists stopping through here to ‘start life anew’ at the sight of run-down coffee shops and bookstores. And when they find what they’re looking for, they’re gone again, like a soul could never thrive here in the town of Ember, even if it’s where it materialized.

“You could say that,” he responds, swirling the remainder of whipped cream around his cup with a spoon. “Things just haven’t been… great.”

You nod in response, averting his gaze as you study the wooden table below him.

“Well good luck,” you finally say, taking a generous gulp of your coffee and scanning the room for Yena before the conversation can go any further than the base-level declarations of your new separate lives.

“Do you remember that night we snuck out of your house?” Felix asks suddenly, just as you begin to get up.

“What?”

“It was raining. I think it was like 3 in the morning.”

You turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes as he speaks.

“I didn’t have a car at the time,” Felix continues. “So you rode on the handles of my bike in the pouring rain. We went to watch the sunrise, only we didn’t realize that of course because we were in the middle of a storm, there was-”

“No visible sunrise,” you interrupt quietly. “We just watched the clouds turn a lighter shade of gray.”

Felix grins a little as you finish, nodding his head.

“Exactly. And when we got home at 5am, your dad was already awake. And he’d never met me before- we swore he’d have it out for me. But he didn’t- he brought us blankets, and he made us tea and laughed his ass off at our stupidity.”

“There’s no sunrise in a fucking storm!” You exclaim, echoing your dad’s lighthearted lecture from so long ago.

Felix laughs with you, the warm memory circling your minds, both of you equally as endeared by the tale you so vividly remember. As your laughter dies down, Felix keeps his gaze on yours, shooting you a half smile as he speaks again.

“Your dad really loved you. And… it’s one of my favorite memories, even today.”

You hold his gaze too, clutching the handle of your mug again and giving him a small nod, your lip quivering a little at the mention of your father.

“Thanks, Felix,” you say in a melancholy tone, taking a deep breath in an attempt to hold back your tears.

When the feeling’s passed, Felix spoons another dollop of whipped cream into his cup and brings it up to his lips.

“Your hair’s shorter,” he says with a chuckle.

“Yours is longer,” you retort. “And black.”

“I’m trying something new.”

“I can tell,” you say, laughing lightly. “And what’s with all the screws and washers in your ears?”

“My piercings?” He replies. “They’re a fashion statement!”

“They look painful.”

“This one was,” Felix says, toying with the silver helix piercing in his lobe.

“And this one,” his fingers trail down to another silver stud, just below the first. “And maybe this one.”

“At what point is this just inflicting pain on yourself for fun?”

“I’m not finished!” Felix says, as you both share amused laughter. He thumbs over another row of silver studs, thinking intently as he speaks. “This one hurt, this one definitely hurt…”

“How was your dinner thing last night?” Chris asks in the morning, shooting you a knowing smile as he breaks a new roll of quarters in the till.

“Coffee,” you emphasize.

“Coffee,” he echoes. “How was coffee, with your old friend?”

“It was okay,” you respond, organizing a stack of records on the shelf across the counter. “Just catching up, mostly.”

“Yena said you guys were there for hours.”

“Maybe we were.”

“Hours?” Chris repeats, shaking his head. “What could you have possibly talked about that lasted hours?”

“Friend stuff,” you reply to him. “Maybe if you had some, you’d know.”

“Ouch, kiddo,” he says, clutching his chest in a joking manner as you both laugh.

As you turn to grab another stack of records, the bell over the door chimes, and your heads snap in the direction of the noise. And like you’d accidentally spoken him into existence again, Felix saunters in, a shy smile on his face. He looks a little more casual this time, in just jeans and a black t-shirt, but still different than you remembered him nonetheless.

“Speak of the angel,” Chris mutters, nudging you with his elbow as he waves at Felix.

“Hi,” Felix says cheerfully. “It’s nice and warm in here. Outside’s really cold.”

“Felix, what are you doing here?” You sigh, averting Chris’ shit-eating grin.

“What? I’m buying some CDs.”

“We have a good amount on clearance,” Chris says from where he’s standing. “Back shelf.”

“Thanks!” Felix replies, and you pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance.

“Chris, would you give us a minute?”

And he nods, shooting Felix a thumbs up, before disappearing to the back room with a stack of papers.

“Look,” you begin, turning to Felix. “Last night was fun and all, but I’m still working a job. This doesn’t just make amends or something. It was great catching up, but respectfully, I really don’t want to see you again.”

Felix nods a little, and then he hoists something over his arm. It’s the first time you take notice of it- a black crossbody satchel, draped over one arm, his hand resting casually on the zipper.

“Then I suppose getting help for my project is a no?”

You narrow your eyes at him, gesturing to the bag with a tilt of your head. “What’s in the bag?”

“You don’t get to know if you don’t help me.”

“Just tell me.”

“Promise you’ll help me.”

“Felix-”

He holds the bag a little further away from his body, effectively shielding it from your view and shaking his head. “And it was such a good surprise, too.”

“Just tell me what’s in the stupid bag!”

Felix finally holds the bag out in front of him, unzipping it and carefully pulling out its contents. He reveals a digital camera to you, slinging the strap over his neck and holding it up to squint into the lens. “Smile!”

“What- that’s it?” You question, shielding your face from his view. “How does this pertain to me?”

“I’m photographing the town,” he replies, fidgeting with the lens in his hands. “I need some help.”

“Why would you need my help with that? I’m not a photographer.”

“Yeah but you know this town, and all of its little quirks.”

“There’s a maps app on your phone for a reason, Felix.”

Felix gets quiet again as he fidgets with the lens on his camera, doing nothing particularly useful as he prays you’ll change your answer. And he’s not lying- he does need to photograph this town, and all of its hidden gems for his creative project this semester. But he would be lying if he said having you keep him company wasn’t all he thought about when he went to bed last night, and woke up this morning and inevitably found himself back at your record shop.

“You used to be the best model,” Felix says just above a whisper, letting his camera hang loosely at his waist now. “I still have all my film photos of you.”

The room gets a little quiet as you meet his gaze, not missing the way his eyes seem to soften into a somber expression. He’s always had this way of begging- pleading for what he wants, and you’ve very seldom been able to say no to him. Seeing him stand in front of you now, heavy camera in his small hands and a dream circling his mind, you know the fact still stands true.

“If I do this for you, this is the last favor I run you.”

His lips pull into a toothy smile, his eyes forming little crescents as he nods eagerly.

“I promise. I won’t ask you for anything else.”

When Chris reenters the room, he shoots you a questioning look, which you wave off with a casual roll of your eyes.

“What time are you off today?” Felix asks, and Chris purposely nudges you as he passes by.

“Later. Just come by at closing or something.”

“Yeah, I can do that. Do you want me to bring a coffee or anything-”

“See you at closing, Felix,” you respond with a smile, and you gesture back to the door.

He nods, seeing himself out, camera firmly grasped in his two hands as he waves again through the window.

Felix drives the same shitty car he did when you last knew him. Its chipped navy blue exterior clashes horribly with the beige leather seats, the inside tainted by the permanent odor of cigarettes from its previous owner, Felix making futile efforts to mask the smell with pine tree air fresheners. The seatbelts are frayed, the legroom is nearly nonexistent and the live radio is completely busted, with the exception of the CD player.

“All jazz?” You question, shuffling through a neat book of Felix’s CD collection.

“Yeah,” Felix replies, two hands gripping the steering wheel as he adjusts in his seat. “They’re mostly just whatever’s cheapest.”

“I can tell,” you say with a chuckle, reaching the last page, where Four Decades of Jazz now occupies a sleeve of its own. You pop the CD into the player, turning the volume up a few notches and sitting back comfortably as the melodic tune of a saxophone fills the space around you.

“What’s this next place again?” Felix asks, as you shut your eyes and listen to the jazzy beat.

You’ve stopped at three locations already, all spots in Ember you’re particularly fond of. The old bridge that runs over train tracks, a narrow pathway into another world in late evenings. It’s always surrounded by starlings, which flock when the trains pass through and chirp songs that mirror the train’s cacophonous whistle.

The cathedral just north of your record shop, which you don’t attend regularly like the other town-goers do, but always greets you graciously with its towering stained glass windows and crested walls.

And a now abandoned grocery store just a few blocks away, the walls on the back now housing impressive graffiti murals and doodles.

“This last one is a more scenic spot,” you finally respond, opening your eyes as his car passes over a speed bump. “It’s my favorite one.”

Felix just nods as he continues driving, the road narrowing into a one-way route, the area surrounded by wet grassland and barely visible amidst the thick fog.

“What’s the whole premise of this project?” You ask him, realizing you haven’t quite figured out what part you play in this, anyway.

Felix is silent for a moment, his hands rotating over the wheel as he turns into another narrow road.

“It’s just a photography project. About observing your surroundings.”

“Why does it have to be here?”

And he smiles, chuckling lightly to himself, as he reaches a hand out and sprawls his palm over your mouth.

“You ask so many questions! You haven’t changed at all.”

You respond in muffled laughter, prying his hand off your mouth with two hands and shoving it back toward the steering wheel.

“I’m just curious!”

Your shared giddy laughter fills the car for several minutes, exchanging amused glances as he pulls into an open parking lot and circles around to look for a spot. And you let your fingertips graze along your cheek, briefly, remembering the sensation of his hand on you very well.

The fourth spot is a spacious grassland just past the hills, not necessarily a hidden gem by the town’s standards, but a place you discovered shortly after you moved out here. It requires hopping a fence to access, jogging down a steep dirt path and then marching back up a grassy hill to make it to your “sweet spot”- or a little dip in the top of the hill, perfect for setting up a picnic blanket and sitting upon for hours.

And of course the best part about it- the view. The whole town is visible from up here, the little buildings and shops you know so intimately an entirely different perspective from this height. Sometimes you imagine what you look like from this view- just a tiny speck of a human in a town not much bigger, crossing back and forth between your apartment, the diner and the record shop.

“You got it?” You ask Felix as he hoists himself up the last stretch of grass, balancing his camera in his hands and dusting off his jeans.

“Yeah,” he replies, coming around to occupy the spot next to you on the grass. You sit back on your hands, your legs crossed at the ankles as you take in the view you know so well. Felix sits cross-legged, toying with the lens of his camera as he prepares to snap a few photos.

“It’s nice up here,” he comments, filling the silence with the clicking noises of his camera.

“Yeah,” you respond shortly, your gaze fixed on the record shop. “It’s a pretty special place.”

He turns the lens, bringing his camera up and snapping a series of photos as you watch him out of your peripheral vision.

“How’d you find it?” Felix asks, scanning the photos and going to take another set.

“I get around,” you reply with a smile, keeping your answer short.

He takes one last set of photos, angling his camera at different sides, and when he’s done, he carefully places the camera in his carrier bag and leans back on his hands, too.

“You really have things figured out here,” Felix says a little quietly, turning to look at you while you keep your gaze straight ahead.

“I didn’t have a choice. It was up to me to keep things going.”

“And… how’s your mom?” He replies quietly.

You shake your head, adjusting your position so that you’re sitting cross-legged, too.

“I don’t know. Last I heard she was out west. New boyfriend or something.”

Felix nods reluctantly, not wanting to press the issue further.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he chimes in suddenly. “I hope you didn’t leave thinking that.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, brushing him off.

“No, listen to me,” Felix continues, turning to face you. “I know you hate talking about it. And I won’t bring it up again. But none of this was your fault. And that summer I wanted so badly to fix everything and take away your pain, and I just… I couldn’t. And I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything to him, fidgeting with a blade of grass on the ground below you and reminding yourself to keep it together. Don’t cry. Don’t feel.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Felix says bluntly, like he can read your thoughts.

“What thing-”

“That thing. Where you don’t let yourself feel.”

“I feel a lot of things, Felix.”

“Then why haven’t we talked about it yet?”

“Talked about about what?”

“Why you left,” he finally finishes, huffing frustratedly. “Why are we not addressing it? Am I supposed to just act like it didn’t happen?”

“Felix, I really think-”

“You said you would stay and fight for what was ahead of us. And then you disappeared on me. You know how hard it was to go on with my life like you weren’t a missing person for all I knew? You didn’t even call.”

“I changed my number,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, I figured that much after three years.”

Felix gets quiet again, shaking his head as he turns his gaze back to the view. You don’t say anything for a moment, his words swirling in your mind as your heart beats erratically. There’s so much to say- so much you want to explain to him. But the words are caught in the back of your throat, dissipating with every passing second you fail to vocalize them. He glances at you again, hoping you’ll come around- but you don’t, your gaze now transfixed on the blade of grass that rolls between the pads of your fingers.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it,” Felix finally says. “And… I’m sorry.”

A copper sunset falls over the buildings below you, casting shadows around you that dance along the blades of grass and disappear over the rolling hills. They shift from massive charcoal forms into smaller shapes that sway with the setting sun, quick to get away from you and disappear when they graze over your seated figures.

“You know there was a fire here, like, 50 years ago,” you say to Felix, still averting eye contact.

“There was?”

“Mhm. See there?” You question, pointing out a vast, empty field and gesturing to the buildings across from it.

“It started east, and it traveled west. And everything there burned, and a few people even died.”

“Wow,” Felix responds. “I didn’t know that. That’s terrible.”

“A lot of the neighboring cities didn’t know this place existed. But when they heard about the fire, many of them came out here, just to donate and help build things back up. Even the record shop burned. The one we have now is a lot smaller.”

He nods as he listens to your story, glancing back at the town as he pictures the blazing flames that ate away most of its structure back then.

“I always think about it,” you continue. “Everyday I imagine how hard it must’ve been to pick up and build things from the ground up again. Chris’ grandfather did it, with the record shop. And the diner did it. And they’re still doing it, keeping things running the way they are.”

Felix nods again, turning to look at you as you watch the town.

“No one could’ve prevented the fire. They could pick up and move on, but things still burned before they did, and people still died.”

Felix begins to say something, his lips parting, but his breath hitches in the back of his throat, and he settles in silence as you finish.

“I’m somewhere there,” you say to him after a silent pause. “I’m somewhere between the fire and the mending.”

And he doesn’t have to say anything else, understanding that this is your way of explaining things.

As darkness begins to fall over you both, you think back to the last time you sat with him like this, on the old hill in your hometown, waiting for a sunrise that never came around. You had passed the time kissing and touching each other so desperately, speaking visions of a new life into existence and making hushed promises to embrace the end together. An end that came to fruition without him, one you ran from before could look it in its face and brave it with Felix by your side.

But here on the familiarity of your hill, looking over a town that burned like the flames inside of you do now, you know there’s good, there are people who will make the journey to help you rebuild no matter what their reservations previously were. But it also takes time, and patience, and the strength to admit things have turned to ash in the first place.

And sometimes, like this town, things and people turn to Ember, a dim glowing reminder of what happened always present still.

Soul-searching capital of the world. 6:00pm. On the cusp of winter.

“Think you’re ready?” You query at Felix, pulling the straw out from your vanilla milkshake to lick the other end.

“I think so,” he responds, sorting through a stack of photos on the table.

“Felix, your whipped cream,” Yena says as she turns the corner and sets a small bowl down in front of him.

“Thank you,” Felix replies with a small smile, already spooning a generous amount into his coffee.

The last two weeks have been cordial between the two of you, a sense of normalcy finally present during your time together as Felix wrapped up his photography shots and developed them at the convenience store in town. The pictures are beautiful, little precious neutral-toned glimpses into your everyday life and the town you love so much. It feels like Felix finally understands you, neither pressing you for answers anymore, nor trying to initiate anything more between the two of you like you’d feared. And although the photography sessions have spanned a little more time than you’d originally anticipated they would, you’re well aware this will all be over soon, and then you can get back to the normal, simple life you lead, without having to look introspectively at the state of things. You’re fine, and Felix doesn’t force you to think about it anymore.

“I just have to submit these, and then I’ll be done for the semester,” Felix explains.

“Are you staying in town for the holidays?” You ask suddenly, realizing you’ve never even inquired what his plans are for after this photography project is finished.

“I don’t know,” Felix responds, glancing at the stack of photos. “I don’t really have any solid plans.”

You don’t miss the way he fidgets with the ring on his finger, averting your gaze and swallowing nervously. It’s another habit Felix possesses, getting you to drag him along practically anywhere, but it’s hard to say no when he makes every effort to be so polite and forgiving.

You sigh deeply, praying you won’t regret the words before they leave your mouth.

“Look, a couple friends I have throw a party every year around the holidays. We just get together to smoke and talk. You can come, if you want.”

Felix’s expression brightens almost instantly, meeting your gaze again with big hopeful eyes and a beaming smile.

“Really?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you say, chuckling softly. “It’s just a small thing to unwind.”

“I’ll be there,” Felix responds with a nod. “And I won’t make it weird, I promise.”

“So…” Yena teases, sliding into the booth across from you and raising her eyebrows. “What’s… going on between you two?”

“Who?” You question, cocking your head slightly.

“Oh come on,” she emphasizes. “You guys are attached at the hip. We barely get girl time together anymore. He can’t just be an old friend.”

“He is,” you voice back. “We just go way back, that’s all.”

“He’s cute,” she says, glancing out the window at Felix’s lanky figure making his way back to his car. You both watch as he struggles to get his car open, yanking on the door handle a little hard and stumbling back.

“Well he’s single,” you retort with a soft chuckle. “So if you ever get tired of Chris, he’s your guy.”

“I see the way he looks at you,” Yena explains, as she pulls out her notepad and adds her tips for the evening. “Like he has stars in his eyes or something. I remember when Chris and I met, he was a lot like that.”

“Yena, we’re really not-”

“I know,” she says, shaking her head with a smile. “Feelings, feelings. Yuck. I’m just saying.”

You turn your gaze toward the window again, watching as Felix starts his car and backs out of the parking lot, strands of his ebony hair falling into his eyes as he checks behind him.

And Yena smiles, taking notice out of her peripheral vision at the stars in your eyes, too.

Seungmin’s annual holiday party is a tradition you joined in on the first year you moved out here. Working at the record shop your first year, you had no friends, no family and you were completely isolated from the town when you weren’t picking up shifts. He was a regular customer with a knack for old rock records, and he pitied the shifts you worked while the rest of the town mingled at their annual holiday events you’d hear so much about. An invitation to his holiday party was a big feat for you, not only because it was one of the first events you attended here, but because it allowed you to spend the holidays alongside people again, something you hadn’t done since your father’s passing. And thus, Seungmin invites you back every year, never missing a chance to talk records with you and challenge you to eggnog shots.

“I just want to pop these in the trunk really quick,” you say as you open the car door on the passenger side and gesture for the key from Felix. “I usually lend Seungmin a few spare records we have-”

Felix hasn’t registered a word you’ve said, completely entranced by the way your short skirt hugs your hips, a black leather coat thrown over your shoulders and a different pair of sneakers than he’s used to seeing. It’s much different than how he’s normally seen you, dressed down in sweaters and baggy jeans.

And Felix looks particularly dashing, too, his ebony hair tied up again to display his impressive collection of ear piercings, a fitted leather jacket hugging his slim figure and black jeans that elongate his legs. You give him a once-over as he cranes his neck from the driver’s seat and tosses you the keys, unable to verbalize his regard for your outfit. But as you make your way around the car to the trunk, popping it open and placing Seungmin’s stack of records inside, he can’t help but stare in the interior view mirror at the way your skirt rides up when you bend over, exposing a little more of your thighs and leaving little to the imagination.

The drive to Seungmin’s is only a few blocks down from Ember Records, one which Felix completes while stealing very obvious glances at you and making every attempt to calm his erratically beating heart. You pretend the glances go unnoticed, keeping your gaze on the darkened road ahead and making small talk about the party. But you don’t miss the way Felix’s voice hitches in the back of his throat when he speaks, his trembling hands turning the wheel as he pulls into the cul-de-sac and puts the car in park.

And he wants nothing more than to stay here, with you, to sit in his dingy little car and talk with you about everything that happened, to assure you that you’re not alone in your process of mending- he’ll love you through it, regardless. But as Seungmin makes his way out the front door with a red solo cup in hand, calling loudly for you, Felix knows that’s not a possibility.

“Y/n!” Seungmin exclaims, a big toothy grin plastered on his face at the sight of you. He’s a bit taller than Felix is, long legs that frame his slim torso, and a chiseled jawline that makes Felix a little jealous. His voluminous chocolate tresses fall into his eyes as he speaks, and he uses a slender hand to push them away again, shooting you another flashy smile as he chuckles lightly.

“What’d you bring me this time?” He asks, balancing the presumed cup of alcohol in one hand as he watches you retreat to the trunk of the car.

“Couple rock, some alternative and that one artist you liked last time?”

“Hell yeah,” Seungmin replies, as he takes the records from your grasp and shuffles through them eagerly.

Felix clears his throat as he stands beside you, his hands shoved awkwardly in the pockets of his leather jacket as he waits for an introduction.

“Sorry,” you voice, stepping aside and gesturing to Felix.

“This is Felix. He’s an old friend of mine.”

Seungmin hardly looks up from his stack of records, just briefly glancing at Felix and giving him a small nod.

“Hey man. Cool to meet you.”

And Felix’s lips pull into a thin-lipped smile, averting his gaze, too, as he nods.

“Yeah. Same.”

Your eyes dart between Seungmin and Felix, both of them painfully awkward as they stand beside you, avoiding eye contact like some unspoken challenge and looming over you like you’re meant to be the host.

“Should we get inside?” You finally ask, wrapping your arms around yourself and gesturing to the house with a tilt of your head.

“Yeah, sorry,” Seungmin says with a soft chuckle, still averting Felix’s gaze and pivoting on his heel to begin toward the house. Felix gestures for you to follow, trailing behind you and doing his best to steady his nerves as the three of you finally make your way inside.

The house is already crowded for the evening, people standing just about everywhere, red cups in hand and joints pinched between their fingers. They exhale white clouds of smoke as they converse amongst themselves, their eyes all tainted red, as they let all the weed and alcohol consume their consciousness and instill a calm demeanor in themselves. Felix finds himself standing a little closer to you as you approach the sofa everyone’s sitting around, their bodies lazily slung over one another as they chat and drink.

“Y/n’s here,” Seungmin says, as he passes the sofa and heads into what Felix presumes to be his bedroom, with the stack of records in hand.

“Hey!” They call in misarticulated voices. You make your rounds, greeting each of them and exchanging brief anecdotes with them, while Felix remains standing with his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the way you smile cheerfully and acquaint yourself with everyone in the room.

You look so relaxed, so well-adjusted to your new life in this little town. As stories are thrown back and forth between yourself and the guests, Felix wonders how long you’ve known them to be able to converse with them to such an intimate extent. They share stories of your shifts at work, stories of previous parties, tales of past lovers they’ve had and late nights all of you spent up in this exact household. Felix can’t help but wonder what he was doing during those moments- probably studying for a test at university, or hooking up with someone he didn’t exactly care for. And by nighttime, he was likely up thinking of you- pondering where you’d gone, what you were up to. If you thought about him just as much as he thought about you.

Part of him wants to be angry, listening in on your stories like this- you’re laughing about parties, exchanging tales of difficult customers- moments that occurred while he was up waiting for you, hoping one day you’d change your mind about everything and return. Felix swore every sunset began to look the same without you there to watch them alongside him, every sunrise much bleaker than the last- even the stars he’d gaze at through his window seemed to lose their meaning.

But watching you like this, a smile that hasn’t left your face once since entering the house and the familiar sound of your harmonious laughter, he knows maybe you did the right thing, after all. Maybe Felix wasn’t a part of this plan life had for you- and perhaps, it’s time to come to terms with the fact that he never will be.

“Felix?” You question, effectively snapping him out of the trance he’s fallen into just by watching you.

“Huh?” He responds, aware that the row of guests on the couch appear to be waiting for him to say something.

“How long are you here for?” One of them repeats, his stare a little cold as he raises his eyebrows and prompts an answer out of Felix.

“Oh, uh… I’m not sure yet. Just for the holidays, I guess.”

They nod in collective unison, no one saying a word as they gauge how nervous he seems to be. And you shoot them an apologetic smile, also clocking Felix’s awkward demeanor as he remains silent and avoids carrying on with the conversation.

“Anyone got a light?” You finally break the silence, and everyone chimes in to answer, offering you joints from between their fingers and fishing colorful lighters out from their pockets. You take a seat on the rug, patting the space next to you, and Felix follows your lead, crossing his legs in the spot beside you and taking a hit from the joint you offer him.

Felix feels himself calm a little as the mellow sensation begins to wash over him, his worries dissipating as he listens to you begin to share another story with the group of people. And his mind wanders back to the past, contemplating your actions and mirroring them with the current state of things.

Three hours into the party, you’re both a little buzzed, feeling much more mellow than you had upon entering, despite taking only one hit from a joint. The room is heavy with thick clouds of smoke, the pungent smell of weed and alcohol present at every corner of the room. Just sitting here and talking gets you high, and you find yourself enjoying the company alongside Felix.

It reminds you of back then, when you and Felix used to attend parties together and run off to random bedrooms for a quick fuck. You’d often find yourself leaving early to spend time just between the two of you, hitting all your signature spots to catch sunrises or binge greasy food. And Felix feels much more relaxed around you now, making small talk with the guests and observing the way you try your hardest to include him in the conversations. As Seungmin takes another hit from his joint, he slouches back in the concave leather of the couch, his gaze darting over the two of you as Felix eyes you curiously.

“So what’s the deal between you two?” He asks, narrowing his eyes as he awaits a response.

“We’re just old friends-” Felix begins to say, but you interrupt him before Seungmin can catch the answer.

“He’s my best friend.”

Felix’s head snaps in your direction, unsure if maybe he heard you incorrectly, or if you’re genuinely claiming that Felix, whose guts you’ve hated for the better part of three years now, is your best friend.

“Best friends?” Seungmin repeats in slurred speech, and you give him a nod.

“Yeah,” you say again confidently. “He’s my best friend.”

And Felix’s lips pull into an involuntary smile, the tips of his ears turning a bright shade of red as he reaffirms your words.

When you turn to smile at him, he pats the space in front of him, extending his legs so that he’s created a spot for you to settle in. And in your buzzed, mellowed out state, you comply, scooting back and slotting yourself between his long legs, letting yourself lean back against his chest and shutting your eyes briefly. Felix reluctantly brings two hands around you, holding you a little closer to him, but you don’t protest the action, the familiar sensation of his arms around you feeling comfortable and safe like it always used to.

“I’d think you guys were fucking if I didn’t know any better,” Seungmin voices, joining a chorus of laughter as he brings the joint up to his lips again.

“So what if we were?” You retort casually, feeling the way Felix’s embrace gets a little tighter around you.

“Nothing wrong with it. It’s just easy to see through you guys. Especially the way this Danny from Grease wannabe looks at you.”

And Felix’s eyes furrow at the statement, well aware of the fact that Seungmin’s begun to get a little aggressive, but not wanting to incite anything that might jeopardize your friendships.

“I should probably go,” Felix says just above a whisper, his mouth hovering just over your shoulder so that you can hear him over all the noise.

“What? No,” you reply, turning your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are wide, his lip trembling a little as he speaks. Felix isn’t confrontational- a fact you’re very aware of.

“I don’t want to start anything-” he begins to say, and you place a hand on his forearm comfortingly.

“Then let’s both get out of here. I’m kinda bored, anyway.”

He’s surprised at the offer- and undoubtedly moved by the prospect that you’ve chosen to stick with him instead of stay here at the party with all your friends. And because he wants to spend the time with you, he doesn’t protest when you turn to voice your decisions to the crowd.

“Well Danny from Grease and I are getting out of here. So you can let your imaginations run wild since you’re so obsessed with us.”

Seungmin chuckles lightly, too stoned to ask you to stay, and candidly, to care about any of it.

“My old records are on the kitchen table,” Seungmin says, as he shuts his eyes and exhales a generous cloud of smoke. “Catch you guys later.”

“Where are we going?” Felix asks, as he puts the car into park and watches you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“I have to put the records I lent to Seungmin back in the shop. It’ll only take like two minutes.”

He nods in response, his gaze fixed on the darkened record shop, not used to seeing it at this hour.

“You coming?” You ask him, gesturing to the door, and Felix snaps out of his tranced state, unbuckling his seatbelt, too.

As you twist your keys and push the door open, Felix feels a bit unsettled seeing the shop at this hour. The shelves are pitch dark at the hour, the usually colorful vinyl all looking indistinguishable as they sit in stacks against each other and gather dust. The neon sign above the CD wall is shut off, not even the gentle hum of the bulb present amongst the silence. And the doorway to the back room looks like something out of a horror movie, seeming as though someone- or something, could pop out at any given moment. It feels wrong being here- and he knows he probably shouldn’t be, but he’s not in the place to leave your side just yet.

“Don’t turn on the lights,” you say to Felix when you enter, him following closely behind you. “I don’t want anyone to know we’re here.”

You begin toward the back room, glancing over your shoulder to ensure Felix is following. And he is, albeit reluctantly.

The back room is much smaller than Felix had originally anticipated it to be. It smells of paint, looking far more run-down than the rest of the store, and he’s not sure how anyone can take a lunch break back here considering the lack of table space and seating options.

“This is the break room?” Felix asks, squinting his eyes when you pull the chain beside the medallion lamp and illuminate the room with a dim, orange glow.

“Yeah,” you reply, now shuffling through Seungmin’s old records and putting them in their respective genres. “This is where I eat my sandwiches.”

He chuckles softly, running his hands over the series of music posters pinned to the cork walls, taking in the view you see everyday at noon.

“There’s a record player in here!” Felix exclaims, bending down to examine the 6200 marantz wood turntable on a little cart, just to the left of the dining table.

“Well this is a record shop, you reply with a chuckle, slotting the last few of Seungmin’s vinyl into the shelf. “It wouldn’t make sense if we didn’t have one.”

“Does it work?” Felix asks, tracing the silicone grooves of the platter with his fingers.

“Of course,” you respond, finally turning around to meet his gaze. “Pick something.”

Felix scans the shelves at the neat rows of vinyl, all packed together and indistinguishable from their thin colorful spines alone. He pulls one out, examining illustrations of flowers on the cover, and then slots it back into its respective home. Another flaunts an abstract pattern of cool-toned hues, which Felix observes briefly, and places it back where it belongs, too.

“I can’t decide,” he voices plainly, his eyes scanning over the rows that span the entire length of the room, some of them visibly much older than the rest.

Your fingers graze the spines, too; letting the cracked ridges serve as indication of their age, and then you pinch one between the pads of your fingers, pulling it out to examine the cover. It’s painted sky blue, with images of autumnal trees that stand tall and contrast the gentle hues nicely. In bold red cursive text, the title is scrawled at the top, followed by a brief list of credits and arrangements.

“The Seasons, by Tchaikovsky,” you read aloud.

You recall putting this one on the shelf after a donation a few weeks prior, never having listened to it yourself.

“Will you play it?” Felix asks, and you nod your head in response, already pulling out the black disc and placing it neatly on the record platter. You flip it on, and then bring the tonearm to a random spot, letting the cue lever lower it into place and begin playing. After a few seconds of fidgeting with the volume, the soft sounds of piano begin to fill the room, a somber arrangement that slows into gentler, discoordinate notes.

“This one’s probably winter,” you say to Felix, hoisting yourself up on the table and sitting on your hands. “It sounds sad.”

“Yeah,” he responds, his eyes fixated on the slow turn of the disc, a soft crackling noise emitting as the tonearm runs over the grooves.

Felix suddenly reaches for the bag slung over his shoulder, unzipping the pouch and pulling out his camera.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a soft chuckle, amused at the way he so quickly rushes to adjust the settings.

“I want to take a picture. It’s a nice record player.”

And with the rhythmic click of the lens, he snaps a series of photos, angling himself a bit higher to capture every moving part of the old thing. When he’s finished, he examines the photos himself, a small smile tugging at his lips as he looks over the moment in time captured so perfectly on the little screen of his device. Without warning you, Felix then holds the camera up once more, snapping a quick photo of you and chuckling softly to himself.

“Stop!” You say through laughter, holding a hand up to shield your face as he snaps a few more. “Felix, I’m serious!”

“It’s just for me!” Felix exclaims, bringing his camera down again and scrolling through the candid photos.

As he examines them, you notice how close he is to you now, standing in between your legs that hang lazily off the edge of the table, his frame towering over yours.

He meets your gaze again after a moment, taking notice of the proximity, too, and swallowing nervously.

“You used to let me take pictures of you,” Felix says after a moment of silence.

“That was so long ago,” you reply with a smile. “Things are different now.”

His eyes dart over your bare face, your eyes a little hooded from exhaustion and the mellowed state that overtake your body. It’s a sight familiar to him, still, the way you keep your words short when you’re not asking him questions, nothing except a small knowing smile on your face. But it’s one he’s thought about for so long, painting pictures of you in his head and scanning old photos, like your physical state would somehow come to fruition the more he studied it.

“Please let me take a few more,” Felix says, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes flicker between your lips and your gaze. He knows you’re going to say no, go away, or some other version of it.

But this time, you don’t, taking careful note of the way he so politely asks for what he wants. Memories of him have plagued your mind all night, the feeling of his hands around you still lingering on your body, recalling the way he used to ask so politely to fuck you in the bathroom of house parties like you wouldn’t say yes every single time.

And in the absence of your words, you slide your coat off, discarding it on the table behind you and keeping your gaze locked on his, in just a tight-fitting t-shirt and skirt.

Felix brings his camera up immediately, lest you change your mind like he knows you probably will, and adjusts his lens again, before snapping a single photo of you, sitting so innocently on the table in the back room of the record shop. Your expression remains unchallenged, your eyes softening a little as he pulls away to look at you again. And this time, you let two hands cross over your torso, pulling up the corners of your shirt and letting it ride up until it’s nearly off of you. Felix doesn’t waste any time, bringing his camera to eye-level again and snapping a photo eagerly, his eyes wide as he observes the sight of your hardened nipples through the lens.

The discoordinate piano music still plays from behind him, its tempo increasing gradually as you let one hand position itself over the mound of your breast, kneading gently as Felix positions his camera to zoom in. He snaps another set of photos, bringing his camera even closer to capture you at every erotic angle, and then he pauses briefly, as your hands move to your skirt.

You tug gently, not yet pulling it off, and his photos capture the moment you finally undo the small zipper on the side, revealing the hem of your lace panties to him and looping a finger through them. He feels his breath hitch in his throat, wanting to clarify that he’s not forcing you to do any of this, but too mesmerized to ask you to stop.

And then before he can verbalize his thoughts, you’re tugging the skirt down, too, pulling it off over your sneakers to discard it on the floor below you. Felix can’t look away from the sight, your body hugged so delicately in lace lingerie, your legs parted a little for his photos and practically begging him to come touch you. And yet you say nothing, amused at the sight of Felix gasping over your sitting figure, letting him take the reins and do whatever it is he pleases, even if the implications are clouded by your past.

Felix’s slender hands snap a few more photos, focusing meticulously on your clothed core and your hardened nipples for his own personal use. And then he sets his camera down at his waist again, pulling the camera strap off his body and shoving it back into his satchel. When he turns to say something, he can’t, still entranced by the familiar feeling in his stomach at the body he’s bore witness to so many times.

“Felix,” you say softly, coaxing him to come a little closer.

He obliges, lips parted nervously, as he takes another step forward and allows your legs to rest casually on his.

“I meant to ask you,” you say, cocking your head slightly, bringing one hand up to caress his cheek with your thumb.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice just barely above a whisper. “Anything.”

“Where have all your freckles gone?” You finally ask, observing the way his skin still runs completely clear around his cheeks and eyes, not a hint of a galaxy visible to you, even at this proximity to him.

“Makeup,” Felix responds with a soft chuckle. “They didn’t match my new look.”

And you bring your other hand to his other cheek, grazing your thumbs over his soft skin, before pressing down a little harder and wiping the foundation off of him. He’s right- the beige stars you’d remembered so well begin to appear once again, scattered generously across his button nose and his big eyes. He lets you rub it off of him, not taking his eyes off of yours as you rid him clean of the stuff and then graze your thumbs over him again, in much gentler motions.

“That’s better,” you reply, your eyes darting between his now visible freckles and his plump, parted lips. “They’re my favorite part about you.”

And Felix doesn’t respond, his mind running rampant with thoughts and intentions, as he brings his lips a little closer to yours and finally kisses you, like he’s been dreaming of doing all winter.

You reciprocate instantly, your hands cupping the back of his neck as his lips work against yours, desperately leaning into you and letting his hands snake down the sides of your waist. His kisses are familiar, so reminiscent of years past when he’d kiss you exactly like this, in the proximity of whatever house party bathroom you could run off to and let him have his way with you. And Felix remembers the sensation all too well, this mutual pining of silently yearning for each other in the presence of other strangers until he could confess his love to you through whispered love making sessions when you were finally alone. Felix whimpers softly between kisses, as your hands snake up his t-shirt and graze along the toned flesh of his abdomen. You hum in response, letting your hands tangle in his hair now as he presses further into you and works gentle kisses down your neck. Both your hands find his silky ponytail, pulling off his hair tie in one swift motion and tossing it aside so that his long tresses hang loosely in front of his face, and you tangle your fingers in his ebony roots, tugging slightly as you pull him into your embrace and feel him trail back up to your lips. He pulls away momentarily to gauge your expression, worried you might ask him to stop, but your eyes are wide with anticipation, your breaths labored as you pull him into you again and arch your back into him. You can feel Felix smile into the kiss, satisfied with the turn of events from tonight's party- he’d been so certain you would leave with Seungmin, or shut him out again. But here in the dimly lit room of the record shop, your lips on his as your hands trail lower to unbuckle his belt, there’s no denying you want this just as badly as he does.

And Felix can’t help but wonder how long have things been this way- had something changed at the party? Something that would’ve led you to call him a “best friend” rather than an old one, leave the party with him and even drag him to the record shop after hours, knowing very well you could’ve come alone? Something that instilled an equal sense of desperation in you, to want his lips on yours as badly as he does right now, your bodies yearning for each other like you once did, as you undo his belt buckle and snake it out from his belt loops to discard it on the floor?

He’s not entirely sure- but he also can’t think straight when your hands are tugging at the hem of his jeans, begging him to take them off and mirror the same level of undress you are now. What he can think about are your lips working against his, the gasps that escape you when he grazes his fingers down your sides between kisses and the forte echo of Tchaicovsky’s piano record filling the room with sultry harmonies.

As Felix unbuttons his jeans, you help him tug them down so that they’re pooled around his ankles, the two of you now equal parts undressed and grabbing desperately at the now exposed flesh. You let your hand find Felix’s, wrapping your fingers around his slender wrist, and then bringing it to your panties, where you rest his hand against your clothed core and allow him to graze over your growing wetness.

“Jesus,” Felix exhales, pressing his middle and ring finger down against your core and rubbing in slow, back and forth motions. “I forgot how horny you get when you smoke.”

And you chuckle lightly, not breaking eye contact as he continues to rub you over your lace panties, the wetness against your thin fabric increasing with every gentle movement of his fingers.

“Will you do something about it?” You ask sweetly, one hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

Felix cocks his head slightly, a smug expression pulling on his lips as he works you a little faster now.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

You chuckle in response, growing impatient as he teases your aching clit over the fabric of your panties and keeps his gaze on yours. He’s calculated with his movements, rubbing in gentle motions, pressing down firmly with every other stroke to watch the way your legs squirm desperately around him and ache for more.

“Don’t make me ask,” you say shyly, your hips rutting toward him to chase the friction of his fingers.

Felix’s gaze drops to your core, his lips parted with curiosity at the sight of you now rocking gently toward him, letting your movements do the pleasing as he almost entirely stops rubbing you.

“What if I wanted you to ask for it?” Felix says briskly, a serious expression on his face as he pulls his hand away from you momentarily.

“Felix, you already know what I-”

“Ask for it,” Felix interrupts, keeping his gaze locked on yours now. His eyes are hooded with lust, his eyebrows slanted in a challenging expression as he waits for you to say something. And he knows he’s never been one to make you ask for it- in fact, he was usually the one doing all the begging, whining when you’d take too long to touch him or begging you to let him finish. But coupled with the recent development of his new look, you can’t help but wonder if it’s not the only thing that’s changed about him.

“Ask for it,” Felix states again. “Or I’ll get dressed again.”

And you can’t bring yourself to, still riddled with questions at the peculiar phenomenon of Felix making you ask for sex, desperate to ask if this is a one-time occurrence, or if he’s intent on getting you to beg for his cock from here on out. Does he make all his hookups beg for it like this? Do they oblige without question, or are they just as taken aback with it as you are?

When Felix takes note of your silence, he doesn’t waste another second, pulling up his jeans again and beginning to work the buttons once more. And you feel your heartbeat quicken at the sight, disheartened at the action and still desperate for him to touch you, to fuck you, like your body’s been craving the past hour you’ve been back here.

In a desperate attempt to stop him, your hands reach out, grasping his wrists in yours and watching the way his cock remains tented under the denim fabric of his jeans.

“Please,” you say shortly, a sheepish pout on your face.

“Please what?” He responds, cocking his head to gauge your reaction.

“Please would you fuck me?” You finally say, exhaling frustratedly and flickering your gaze away from him, almost embarrassed to be asking him like this. But Felix’s lips pull into a toothy grin, leaning back into you for a kiss and beginning to work his jeans off of him again.

“Was that so hard?” He mumbles against your lips teasingly.

“Mhm,” you murmur back against him, hearing his jeans pool around his ankles once again as his hands cup around the small of your back.

“It was?” Felix queries, one hand looping through the hem of your panties and grazing along the elastic. “If I remember correctly, we used to play this little game all the time.”

You gasp a little as he pulls the elastic between the pads of his fingers, letting it snap against your delicate skin again and rest against your reddened skin momentarily. Felix observes the way you say nothing, waiting for him to undress you, touch you- anything, without so much as a plea for him to do so. And he’s undeniably roused seeing you this desperate for him, adjusting your position on the table to calm your pulsating core, your hands searching for him and your lips trying so hard to keep purchase on his. Felix feels his cock swell at the confirmation that perhaps you have been thinking of this just as much as he has, and that maybe leaving was the hardest thing you ever did, the way he always hoped it was.

“Are you sure about this?” Felix asks before he can ponder the words.

And in painfully slow movements, you find the hem of your elastic waistband yourself, tugging it down and breaking away from the kiss to snake it off your ankles and discard it onto the floor. The sight alone is confirmation enough for him- your pussy is glistening with wetness, your folds coated generously in your own arousal and your aching clit a robust shade of pink as you wait for him to finish his little game of neglect. Felix can’t even respond at the sight of your cunt on display for him, too engrossed in the familiarity of what it looked like all those past years, exactly like this, begging for him and only him. On the counters of bathroom sinks, in empty fields, in the back of your car and even when his fingers were shoved in it under blankets in a room full of people. Always taking him so wholly and effortlessly, like your cunt was made to have him fill it, squirming around him with hushed moans and whimpers, your bodies intertwining into one tangled mess of pleasure and pure, unadulterated love for one another.

“Felix, please fuck me,” You repeat, a small smirk on your face as you watch Felix stumble over his words, his cock fully erect in the fabric of his boxers.

And Felix can’t answer you, already attaching his lips to yours again and letting his hands come around your back to unclasp your bra. His motions are much quicker now, no lingering intention to make you ask for it or confirm your stance- but every intention to fuck you, fill you, like he knows you deserve.

When your bra is unfastened, he tosses it aside, letting his hands find the mounds of your breasts and kneading them with steady motions. You moan into his mouth as he works you, your legs wrapping around his hips to press his clothed cock into your wetness and grind softly against you. Felix winces at the sensation, doing his best to stave off a premature orgasm while you rut your hips gently against him and let your head fall back in pleasure. And mirroring the pleasurable sensation of his thumbs rubbing circular motions over your nipples, he brings his mouth down to your chest, taking a breast in his mouth and sucking with little whimpers. Your head comes forward to meet his gaze again, his big, innocent eyes locked on yours as he takes the flesh between his lips and swirls his tongue around your nipple. His plump lips remain locked around your mound, alternating between gentle kisses and then back to sucking on your nipple, like he might coax fluids out of it if he tries enough. And he looks so guiltless, so incorrupt as he lets his eyelids flutter shut and your nipple graze his teeth. His actions almost don’t match this darkened, grunge appearance he now sports- and you swear you can still see the blonde locks that once framed his wide eyes and his bright appearance.

As Felix moves to your other nipple, you wrap your legs tighter around him, swaying your hips in gentle rocking motions to stimulate his clothed erection against your wetness and provide some relief to both of you. And he arches his eyebrows up in pleasure, stifled moans escaping his lips as he finally releases your breast from his mouth, a string of saliva connecting you still, as his gaze drops to his boxers.

Hard- he’s unbearably hard underneath his boxers, the tip of his cock kissing the constraining fabric of his boxers that ruts against your exposed clit and sends waves of pleasure through both your listless bodies. And Felix knows if he doesn’t fuck you now, he might finish at the sight of you alone, your cheeks flushed a dark shade of pink and your cunt arching desperately into him as you wait for him to undress. So he does- one hand finds the elastic waistband of his black boxers, pulling them over his cock and wincing as it grazes against the precum dribbling down his tip. You run your hands over his toned abs, letting your eyes meet his cock as it protrudes so eagerly for you, and it looks almost painful how hard he is for you, reddening at the tip and dripping with beads of his preemptive arousal.

Felix leans in to kiss you again, and as he does, the bare flesh of his cock finally grazes your clit, running smoothly over your arousal and making you clench around nothing. You gasp at the sensation, scooting closer to him as your clit finally gets some attention from him, and Felix smiles as he trails his kisses down to your neck. While he sucks little bruises along the flesh there, he brings a slender hand around the base of his cock, guiding his tip back to your clit and rubbing his length along your flesh with more pressure now, a fervent moan escaping your lips as he does. He glides so effortlessly along you, your arousal allowing him to move so freely against you, still eager for him to fill you up. And when his lips move back up to yours, his hand guides his tip back and forth again, now rubbing against your clit in steady motions. He mimics the way his fingers stimulate you, only it’s better like this, your cunt contracting as you prepare to take his length.

“Felix,” you whine, as his cock rubs back and forth over your wettened entrance.

“What is it?” He coos gently, smiling into you as saliva dribbles between your hungry mouths.

“Put it in,” you order plainly, parting your legs a little further to signify what it is you want so badly. And Felix already knows, pressing his tip into you just a mere centimeter to gauge your reaction, satisfied at the way you whimper and push yourself against him even further.

“Is this what you want?” Felix muses, holding his base to keep from sliding into you involuntarily.

“Yes,” you whine again, tangling your hands in his hair. “Just fuck me like you used to.”

And Felix feels his heartbeat quicken as the filthy memories grace his mind again, images of you exactly like this.

He says nothing, opting to end his teasing streak, as he finally steadies his hands on the sides of your waist and pushes into you, your sopping pussy taking him with complete ease. You let out a fervent moan at the feeling, your cunt clenching desperately around him as he works to bottom out inside of you and find his footing. His girth takes little to adjust to, but he’s long, taking a good minute or two until the base of his cock is disappearing inside of you and being coated in your arousal. Before even moving, his tip is grazing your cervix, the familiar feeling making your stomach turn with anticipation as you remember what it feels like.

Felix’s lips part in pleasure, his eyebrows arched up as he pulls out again and then thrusts just once, relishing in the way your pussy contracts around him again and takes him so perfectly. Your hands find purchase in his hair again, tangling in his ebony roots, as he pulls out a little, and then begins to move. His cock fills every inch of you so well, grazing every corner of your dripping cunt with such fullness, as his wet kisses work against your lips and coat your mouth in his needy saliva. Felix has always been a particularly vocal lover, you remember, as the room fills with his deep grunts and moans at every thrust. His fingers dig into your flesh, holding onto you with strength as your legs wrap around him to steady yourself and push him into you fully. Your bodies one again, your limbs tangled until it's discernible who is who atop the table like this. But when he slows his movements and kisses you tenderly, you don’t care about the implications, about the past or what this will mean for your future. All you care about is Felix inside of you like he used to be for most of your relationship, making up for all this wasted time as he fucks you and breathes heavy grunts into the shell of your ear.

“God, I missed this,” Felix breathes, his voice shaky as he continues to pump into you.

“Me too,” you moan back, lining his jaw with kisses as he moves a little faster.

“You used to let me take pictures of you,” Felix repeats for the second time this evening. “You remember? Used to touch yourself while I’d snap photos of you. God, the way your fingers would disappear into your tight little pussy. Had me begging to fuck you at the end of every session, baby.”

“I remember,” you voice back in labored breaths. “You’d fuck me so well. All you had to do was adjust that stupid lens and you had me dripping for you.”

“Fuck, baby,” Felix groans, shutting his eyes as he thrusts a little harder. “Gonna make me cum for you.”

“Yeah?” You echo, wrapping your legs a little tighter around him and crossing them at the ankles. “Will you fill me up like you used to?”

Felix nods as his eyes remain squeezed shut, the room teeming with the squelching sounds of his cock thrusting in and out of your cunt.

“Come on, baby,” you plead, one hand angling his face toward you to press repeated, chaste kisses to his lips. “Fill me up. I know you want to.”

“I do want to-”

“Cum for me,” you order, grazing your free hand over his abdomen and tracing little circles over his v-line.

And Felix’s cock twitches inside of you twice, signaling his nearing finish as he quickens his pace again, now fucking you with even more force and hitting your sensitive cervix with every thrust.

“I’ll let you take whatever pictures you want,” you say to him as you pull him close and nibble the lobe of his ear. “As long as you fuck me like this every time you’re finished.”

And the promise is all it takes for Felix to reach his orgasm, his cock twitching inside you once more before he spurts ropes of his warm cum inside of you, filling your cunt with copious amounts of his arousal for you and fucking every last drop back into you. Your pussy contracts at the sensation of his warm cum grazing your insides, reaching your finish, too, as he brings a hand to rub your clit through your release. The table below you is sticky with your juices as you steady your breathing, Felix bringing a hand around the base of his cock to pull out of you and rest limply against your pulsing, sore entrance.

The room around you is quiet again, the gentle buzz of the pendant lamp replacing your moans as you let your hands wrap around him and hold him in your embrace. Felix presses a series of tender kisses to your forehead as you remain, his slender hands moving strands of sweaty hair out of your forehead to replace them with his loving kisses.

And the record has run through all its seasons now, having ended several minutes ago, as the needle runs over the last groove in repetitive clicking sounds, an indication to flip it over.

A precious town once set ablaze. 4:00pm. Spring on the horizon.

“To have hysteria or mania. 7 letters.”

Felix thinks for a moment, his eyes darting up to the ceiling and then back to where Yena is sat across from him.

“Madness?”

She glances over the crossword puzzle once, counting empty little boxes, and then begins to pen in his answer.

“How are you so good at this?” Yena asks, shaking her head. “You could be on a crossword puzzle reality show. If that exists.”

He chuckles lightly, observing as Yena checks her watch, and then shuts the book in front of her.

“My break is almost done,” she says as you chew on a French fry. “I’m gonna catch the bathroom really quick. You guys need anything?”

“I’m good,” you chime in, and Felix shakes his head from across you.

“Thank you,” he says politely, shooting her a little smile as she slides out of the booth and back toward the kitchen.

Felix’s gaze turns back to you now, a smile on his face as you nibble the remainder of the french fry, cocking your head at his curious gaze. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his sneaker glide gently up your ankle, grazing your bare skin with the sole of his shoe and shooting you a knowing smile.

“Felix, not here,” you say, pushing him away gently with your own shoe and letting your soles rest atop his laces.

“That’s not what you said this morning,” Felix says, swirling half-melted cubes of ice around in his glass of water.

“Harder Felix, harder!” He mimics quietly in a high-pitched voice, as he brings his glass up to his lips and takes a generous sip.

You stomp on his laces as he chuckles between sips of water, dribbling a stream from his lips when you kick him lightly in his ankles.

Don’t fuck your exes.

Advice that anyone with half a brain would give you- and advice you really should’ve taken to heart. But you can’t help it, finding yourself between the sheets with Felix nearly every night for the past two weeks, his lips all over yours and pleasuring you better than you’d ever remembered it. You tell yourself you’re just making up for lost time, both of you still young and naive, all of this over once he actually leaves for college again. He stayed for Christmas, gifting you a new pair of canvas sneakers and fucking you while reruns of Christmas rom-coms played in the background of your apartment. He was your New Year’s kiss at Seungmin’s party, where you swore again that the two of you weren’t dating, forcing you to press your lips to his only when you were sure the others weren’t paying attention at the drop of the ball. And when you’re not picking up shifts at the record shop, you’re with him every waking second of the day, keeping Yena company during her shifts as you feign your giddy attraction to him while she’s not looking.

We’re not dating, you’ve emphasized to Felix several times, and he doesn’t fight it, giving you a knowing nod as he utters a repetitive yeah, yeah. But it’s mostly because he knows you can’t say no to him, not when he’s bringing you slices of pie at work and burning CDs with all his favorite songs for you, slipping them into your bag without you even noticing until you’re home again. Of course there’s the physical factor, too- Felix is undoubtedly your best sexual partner, and he always has been. He’s quick to recognize when you’re aroused, slipping away with you in the backseat of his car to pleasure you, without any protest from you. He’s also understanding of all your intimate moments together, not fighting it when you remind him this is just temporary, all while he’s thrusting into you on the back room table of the record shop at late hours of the night. He just smiles against your bruised skin, reminding you that you have yet to push him away yet. And when he’s holding you in the gentle embrace of your afterglow, pressing kisses to your skin and reminding you how beautiful he’s always thought you are, he’s right- you don’t push him away from any of it. Maybe it’s the physical factor, maybe it’s little acts of service he performs to win you over. And perhaps it’s also because you don’t feel so lonely for once- the last time he was beside you like this, you still had a family, one that loved Felix like their own and encouraged this shared life with him. You still had dreams of being something bigger, aspirations while you were in school and visions of a life with Felix, because back then, he was always a part of your plan. And though things are different now, his beaming smile and lighthearted jokes serve as a reminder of a simpler time, and it feels right. So you don’t push him away- it’s a secret kept between the two of you, but he’s here with you, regardless.

“Will you let me take some photos of you today? ” Felix inquires, flipping through the book of crossword puzzles left on the table by Yena. You watch as he adjusts the familiar fleur de lis ring on his finger before uncapping a pen and filling in one of the words.

“I have an early shift tomorrow,” you reply, toying with the crumpled straw wrapper in front of you.

“I won’t be long,” Felix retorts.

“I know, Felix, but I have to get up really early tomorrow and I-”

“Let me take you out,” Felix says, not looking up from the crossword puzzle in front of him. “Just tell me where.”

You sigh, scanning the empty tables around the diner. There are only a handful of guests at this hour, most of them elderly folk chatting quietly amongst themselves. A slow jazz tune plays overhead, and sunlight beams through the large window beside you as Felix finishes penning in an answer, shutting the book again and folding his hands in front of him to meet your gaze.

“I have something for you,” Felix adds.

“You don’t have to buy me gifts, Felix.”

“I’m aware. But this one’s special for me, too.”

“What is it?”’you ask, a growing curiosity at his words.

“I don’t have it with me. You’ll have to let me give it to you later today.”

You sigh, crossing your arms in front of you and rolling your eyes sarcastically. He’s always known how to get exactly what he wants.

“Just this one time,” you reply, knowing you sound like a broken record at how many times you’ve sworn it to be just one more time.

“Just this one time,” Felix echoes, toying again with the ring on his finger.

And you nod reluctantly, agreeing to whatever he’s planned, for the purpose of pleasing him and because you’re unable to decline.

As he flips open the book again, he uncaps the pen once more, picking up where he left off and reading the question aloud to you.

“A discussion aimed at reaching an agreement,” he voices, nibbling the cap of his pen again.

“Negotiation,” you say, observing the way a smile grows on his face as he pens in your answer.

“That’s it,” he says, gripping the pen enthusiastically as he crosses out the question.

And the sole of his shoe grazes your ankle again, trailing up your flesh teasingly as he moves onto the next.

“Where’s she going?” Felix queries, reaching into the bowl of popcorn in his lap to grab another mouthful.

“I don’t know,” you respond, chuckling at the way he shoves a generous portion into his mouth and chews loudly.

“Is she leaving him?” He says, pausing his chewing as the main lead in the movie makes a dramatic exit on screen.

“Felix, I’ve never seen this movie either,” you state, chuckling as he finally resumes his chewing and brushes stray kernels off his shirt.

He reaches into the bucket again, gathering a generous handful of popcorn, and then he sprawls his hand over your mouth, pushing the popcorn into your still-laughing mouth as he moves a little closer to you.

“You argue too much!” He says between giggles, throwing his head back as he watches you try to down the handful, failing as loose kernels find purchase on your shirt, too.

You reach out to shove him playfully, and Felix intertwines his hands with yours, pulling you onto his lap as the bucket of popcorn is promptly set aside and neglected.

He doesn’t even give you time to finish chewing before his lips are on yours, kissing you with such tenderness and warmth. It’s moments like these you find yourself glad he’s here with you, grateful for his unwavering persistence to account for lost time and make amends. Of course you also know he’ll be gone soon, back to university to proceed with his education while you tend to the record shop. And you’re undoubtedly a little sad about it- but you also know it’s the way things have panned out to be. Felix has blossomed into the bright young soul you always knew he was, filling the shoes of a generation of good-natured people that came before him. He’s generous, and unselfish in his ways, and a part of you knows that leaving him was the best thing that could’ve happened to both of you.

Was sleeping with him a mistake after all this time? You would’ve answered yes in a heartbeat, at the first instance it happened, feeling you might accidentally led Felix on and ruined things between the two of you. But the more it happened, the more it affirmed the beautiful notion that he’s just a fleeting part in this process of mending- your souls intertwining to relive memories of simpler times, connecting like they had when you once belonged together. He gives himself to you as a way of saying I’m still here, if you need me. And you give yourself to him to respond I know, and I’m still healing.

“You want your gift?” Felix asks as he pulls away, his hands grazing the small of your back.

“Depends,” you say with a small smile. “If it’s anything like your gift this morning, then yes.”

He chuckles softly, caressing the dimples in your lower back as he sits up and nods in the direction of the kitchen counter.

“I’ll go get it. Be right back.”

And you slide off of him, crossing your hands between your thighs as he exits the room, the soft-spoken dialogue of the movie still playing as he shuffles about in your apartment kitchen. When he returns, his hands are behind his back, a smile plastered on his face and his eyes forming little crescents as he approaches you.

“You have to close your eyes,” he says, kneeling down and sitting cross-legged in front of you. “And put out your hands.”

You oblige with an equally endeared smile, closing your eyes and cupping your hands in front of you. Felix seems to get something situated in front of you, and then you feel him place something small in the palm of your hand. It’s cold to the touch, no bigger than an inch, and he positions it so that it’s centered perfectly in your hand.

“Now open,” Felix finally says, pulling his hands back and folding them in his lap.

You do as you’re told, your eyes fluttering open again and your gaze falling into the palm of your hand. And your heart melts instantly at the sight-

It’s a ring- his ring, the silver fleur de lis one he always catches you staring at.

“I can’t take your ring,” you say, your wide eyes meeting the crescents of his eyes that remain as he grins.

He holds his hand up, flashing you his own fleur de lis, and wiggles his fingers to show it off.

“It’s not mine,” Felix says. “I got you your own.”

And you feel tears prick the corners of your eyes, doing your very best to pull back and avoid crying in front of him. But Felix takes notice at the way your face contorts sadly, scooting closer to you and taking your hands in his.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his face full of concern as you examine the ring.

“Nothing,” you’re quick to respond, sniffling and rotating it between the pads of your fingers. “I just…”

Felix waits for you to answer, giving your hand a little squeeze as you struggle to find your words. He knows that verbalizing your feelings isn’t exactly your forte, giving you time to think over the action and speak when it feels right to you.

“Your ring,” you say with a soft chuckle. “It was a gift from my dad.”

His expression turns serious, holding up his index finger to rotate it around in front of you. “This one?” He inquires.

“Yeah,” you respond with a smile. “The one I gave you before we broke up. I know I’m not the best with my words, but I never got to say thank you. You stayed up with me the night they told us he was nearing the end. And again when my mom left. And somehow you found me in this shitty little town, and I like to think it’s so that I can properly thank you for everything. That’s why I wanted you to have the ring.”

Felix can’t properly reciprocate with a kiss while he’s sat below you like this, but he brings his lips forward to kiss your knee tenderly, staring up at you through innocent eyes and humming against your flesh.

“You were not alone,” he says, pressing another kiss. “You’re never alone. I would do it all over again.”

And you smile down at him, as he takes the ring from the palm of your hand and slides it onto your ring finger, an unspoken promise that he’s always going to be here to help build you up again, regardless of your reservations or your conditions. That just like this town lost itself so many years ago, there’s always a way to build things back up again, you just have to hold onto the hope that it’s possible.

“I love it,” you say, examining the way it sits around your fingers just like his does. And Felix doesn’t answer, pressing more kisses on the pads of your knees and using a hand to part your knees slightly. You take note of the way he keeps his eyes shut as he trails kisses, relishing in the way you give into his actions, laying back to part your knees and observing his eager state.

“Can I take a picture of you?” Felix asks shyly, his eyes darting over your visible crotch as your skirt rides up. You shoot him a little nod in response, gesturing for him to go get his camera, which he wastes no time doing, pulling it out of his black carrier bag and slinging it over his neck. Felix sits cross-legged in front of you again, watching intently as you flip your skirt up and let your fingers graze over your soaking panties. Your new ring glints in the dim glow of the overhead lamp, glistening as you rub your clit over the thin fabric of your underwear and stare into the lens of his camera.

Felix clicks a set of photos, his breath hitching in the back of his throat at the sight of you tugging on your panties and spreading even further for him. You make a big show of staring innocently into his lens, your eyebrows arched in curiosity as you toy with your waistband and tug it down a little further, your hips swaying a little as you struggle to pull it off entirely. And Felix takes note of your struggle, snapping one more photo of your desperate state and slinging the camera back off.

“Let me help you,” he says with an amused smile, placing the camera on the bag beside him and scooting closer to you. His hands loop themselves in the hem of your panties, keeping his gaze locked on your core as he pulls them down, being met instantly with the sweet aroma of your arousal and your glistening folds.

“Fuck,” Felix breathes, swallowing in anticipation at you spread for him.

You let yourself slouch back into the dip of the couch cushion, propping a leg up to give him a better view, and your hands graze over your breasts as you watch him struggle to comprehend the sight.

“Go on,” you order simply, biting your lip as his eyes widen when you knead your breast gently.

And Felix doesn’t spare another second, his hands finding purchase on your inner thighs, as he brings his face forward and licks a long stripe up your folds. His tongue is instantly coated in your arousal when he does, moaning at the taste of you as you writhe in pleasure below him and clamp your knees around his pretty face. He holds them open again, letting his tongue graze over your pulsing clit, before licking another stripe and then latching his lips around your bundle of nerves, pressing a chaste kiss before sucking harshly.

The room fills with your high-pitched moans, gasping for air and clutching desperately onto the fabric of the couch as he works you, alternating between sucking your clit between his teeth and grazing his tongue over your entrance. He darts his tongue into your sopping entrance to gather more of your arousal, spitting harshly onto your cunt and grazing it around your folds using his tongue. And the more you writhe desperately below him, the more his movements become ravenous, working you like a starved animal as he eats you out and pries your legs open.

“Felix,” you groan, reaching a hand out to push his face further into you. “Feels so fucking good.”

He smiles against you, responding with little kisses peppered on your inner thighs, before moving back to your clit and licking in harsh back and forth motions. Your cunt clenches around nothing, desperate for him to fill you, but not wanting him to halt the motion of pleasuring you with his tongue. And as his fingers graze along your thigh to pry you open again, you gasp when he brings the same hand to your clit and rubs vigorously.

Your body is shaking now, trembling with anticipation as you approach your orgasm. But Felix doesn’t stop to gauge your reactions at all- in fact, if you were to cum right now, he’d keep going at this pace regardless. He’s too fixated on the taste of your arousal in his mouth, the melodious moans you let out for him and the way you reach for nothing tangible as he works you.

As your head throws back in pure ecstasy, you feel his fingers move lower, and lower, until he’s grazing your entrance with his knuckles in a teasing motion. And before you can ask him to fuck you with them, he’s already inserting two fingers, increasing the pace of his tongue as he begins to thrust in and out of you. Your cunt contracts eagerly around his fingers, desperate for release now as he matches the rhythm of his tongue with his fingers, the room teeming with the sounds of your squelching pussy. As he pushes deeper into you, you feel his ring- the cold, stiff metal of your now matching rings, graze your entrance, sending a wave of pleasure over your trembling body. His fingers work in and out of you, the cold metal pressing itself on your clit as he bottoms out inside of you and moves his fingertips in quick come hither motions to stimulate you. Your abdomen contracts harshly with every thrust now, your clit throbbing as he traces it with his tongue and peppers it in hot, wet kisses.

“Felix, fuck, I’m- gonna cum for you,” you warn, your voice shaky as he moves even faster, showing no mercy with his movements as he groans against your exposed flush.

“Let go for me,” he commands plainly, his deep voice vibrating against your clit as he holds his tongue there. “Always give me such a fucking show, baby. Make a mess for me.” He speaks between kisses on your glistening folds, alternating between pouting his lips to make out with your cunt and let his tongue wag over your sensitive core.

As you feel his fingers thrust into you one last time, the cold metal of his ring gliding over your folds in its coat of arousal, your abdomen contracts over him, your cunt clenching in syncopation with your fervent moans as you finally let go and dribble your juices all over his freckled face. He wastes no time cleaning you up, lapping at your core to swallow your release and pepper your dampened flesh with tender kisses.

“Stay there,” Felix orders, reaching beside him as your eyes flutter shut in overstimulation. You lie completely listless, your limbs languid and heartbeat pulsing at a now slowing rate throughout your body.

Felix brings his camera up to you again, sitting up on his knees and snapping a photo of your wearied state, his eyes wide with lust as he admires the way your legs hang loosely at your sides. His lens adjusts to capture your parted lips and flushed cheeks, your hands tugging your skirt down again and the smile on your breathless lips when you open your eyes again.

Felix stands up now, approaching you with the camera and letting his slender fingers graze your lips.

“Suck,” he orders, inserting the same two fingers down your throat as his other hand positions the lens in front of you. And you oblige eagerly, your lips wrapping around his digits to suck your own arousal off of him, your tongue swirling around the salty metal of his ring to rid him of your juices.

His photos capture exactly that- your lips wrapped around his knuckles, the kisses you trail down his fingers and the way your tongue licks the perimeter of your matching jewelry clean.

When you’re finished, you release him with a gentle pop, Felix letting his camera hang loosely at his waist again and using his now free hand to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

“So beautiful,” he says resolutely, bringing you up for a gentle kiss. “You were always such a good model for me.”

When you work an early shift, you make it a point to kick Felix out of your apartment no later than 9, or sometimes 10. You’re not staying the night, you’d explained as a non-negotiable condition, wanting to avoid the awkward antics that come with sleeping alongside each other and waking up in his arms. But tonight, you can’t seem to let go of him, letting his arms wrap you in their warm embrace as he presses kisses to your forehead and tells you stories of college that you weren’t around for.

“It was the worst group I ever had for a project,” Felix says in a chuckle. “I don’t know how I passed that course.”

“You should’ve requested a different group,” you say in a sleepy voice, smiling as you play the humorous tale in your head.

“I did!” He exclaims. “I don’t think the professor liked me enough to let me switch so late in the semester.”

“Well, you got through it,” you reply, letting your hand intertwine with his as your rings rub tenderly against each other. “I can’t say the same.”

Felix chuckles lightly, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and letting your hands rest against each other. He thinks for a moment, and then rubs his thumb along your hand lovingly as he begins to speak again.

“I want to take so many photos of you in the spring. There’s this new lens I want to try.”

You pause briefly, opening your eyes to look at him, and then you cock your head slightly before responding.

“You won’t be here for the spring, Felix. You’ll be back at school.”

He swallows nervously, pondering your words, and then he exhales deeply before continuing.

“I don’t think college is for me, either.”

The words hit you like a truck the second they escape his lips- you sit up in bed to look at him, releasing his hand from yours and furrowing your brows together.

“What?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I want to stay here, with you.”

“No, you don’t,” you’re quick to say, shaking your head.

“I do,” Felix admits sheepishly. “Everything makes sense here. Being with you, the town, the people- I think I’m meant to be here, too.”

“No, you’re not,” you say, pulling away from him even further as he sits up now, too. “Felix- this isn’t your life. You need to go back to school, and pick a major and live your life.”

“I don’t want those things,” Felix responds frustratedly. “I want you. I want this town. I don’t care if you don’t want to date, I’ll stay by your side regardless. I can’t just leave you.”

“You can, and you will.”

Felix narrows his eyes, anger quickly overtaking him as his face flushes a dark shade of red.

“So you’re allowed to and I’m just not? Who are you to dictate what I do with my life?”

“This is the life I made for myself,” you reply, exasperated. “It’s not some soul-searching pit stop like it is for you.”

“Maybe it’s not for me, either.”

You’re entirely off the bed now, your hands making angry gestures as you try to verbalize your feelings toward him, Felix’s voice growing increasingly irate as you attempt to.

“You know why I left you in the first place?” You question. “Because I was dragging you down. You had everything- a family, a future and a girlfriend who didn’t quite have things made the way you do. No one even understood why we were together, Felix. I’m not gonna drag you down a second time just because we had sex a couple times.”

“Is that all this is to you?” Felix inquires angrily. “Just sex? It doesn’t seem that way when you’re all over me at Seungmin’s parties calling me your ‘best friend’. That doesn’t sound like just sex to me-”

“You are my best friend,” you interrupt frustratedly, tears falling from your eyes now as you try to make him listen.

“You are my best friend, and I don’t want this life for you. The night I left you, my dad was moved to hospice, and my mom decided she wanted nothing to do with it. I knew you’d be wasting the best years of your life taking care of me, staying by my side like the good person you are, but that it would get in the way of college and your life. It wasn’t easy for me to do, Felix, breaking up with you and getting as far away from you as possible before I could change my mind. But you have a life outside of me, and I need you to go be that person still.”

Felix says nothing in response for several minutes, his eyes welling with tears, too, as you wipe your eyes with your inner wrists and avert his gaze. You hate when Felix sees you cry- it’s embarrassing, and it feels shameful. It feels the way it did when Felix skipped classes to be with you, neglected studying for his exams to hold you as you cried, rain checked his own family to be with yours and dragged you to every house party, so that he could fuck your sadness away in an environment that wasn’t a hospital bathroom or your childhood room.

“How dare you imply the time I spent with you was wasted,” he scoffs, his lip quivering as he wipes his own eyes. “You were my life, outside of all of this. And you still are, and you’re so stubborn in doing that thing where you don’t let yourself feel.”

You watch as Felix gathers his camera, stuffing it back into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“You said you’re somewhere between the fire and the mending. But you don’t talk about the fire. You just shut it out like you do with everything else.”

He pivots on his heel, making his way toward the door and walking with loud, purposeful strides. You begin to say something, quickly swallowing your words again as he reaches for the doorknob and turns it slowly. Felix pauses momentarily, hoping you’ll ask him to stay, apologize, forgive- anything, any sort of indication that this is what you want, too. But as the door opens, your silence is answer enough for him.

“No one could have prevented the fire,” Felix says before leaving, echoing the words you told him so long ago. “You can pick up, and move on, but it still happened. And just because things burned, doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to thrive again.”

Without another word from you, he’s disappearing out your front door, his camera bag swaying on his side as he marches out the building and back to his car.

And you feel yourself begin to cry, your heart contracting painfully in your chest, a pit forming in your stomach as you witness him walk out of your life again. The flames burn inside of you all over again, turning organ to ash as you wipe your never-ending tears and slam the door behind him. It’s akin to when your mother left, when your dad passed and when you left Felix the first time. It’s overwhelming, it consumes you whole, your entire figure trembling as you fail to extinguish the flames. The phenomenon begs the question- had the fire ever really stopped? Were you ever in the process of mending if not wailing like this, your vulnerability on display for the world to see as your walls are finally let down? Is this what it means to feel?

There are few people in this world who have seen you cry. Your mom, one of them, when you begged her to stay. Your dad, another, when you held his hand through his last breath. Felix, the third, several times throughout your relationship with him.

And the folks in this town- never. Not once have they witnessed you wail the way Felix has, tears brimming your eyes as you fail to keep your emotions at bay, mucus trickling down to your lips in an inelegant manner as you cry, and cry and cry.

“You want some coffee?” Chris asks awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as he watches you bury your face in the sleeves of your sweatshirt.

“No.”

“Yena should be here any minute,” he adds, his voice softening as he watches you lift your head to give him a nod.

“Hang in there, kiddo,” Chris finishes, rubbing your back in small circles and giving you a gentle pat.

As you rest your chin in your hands, a pounding headache overtaking your whole being, a knock at the front door catches your attention. It’s Yena, a hood thrown over her head as she balances a tupperware container in her hands and peers through the window. Chris gives her a knowing look, making his way to the door and unlocking it for her.

“Hey,” Yena says softly as she enters, setting down a slice of pie in front of you and taking a seat on the stool beside you. “You okay?”

You sniffle once, shaking your head sorrowfully as she awaits your explanation. But nothing is verbalized yet, and for a good few minutes, all you can do is cry.

Yena wraps you in her loving embrace, letting your tears stain the shoulder of her hoodie, as Chris shrugs from behind you and delivers reassuring pats to your back. They’re just as confused as each other, awaiting a reason or some story, but you can’t bring yourself to vocalize your thoughts, especially when you’re a crying mess like this. Chris finally ushers Yena to say something, and she does, albeit reluctantly.

“You know, just between us, I think he’s a little dorky, anyway. It’s his loss if he can’t see what he’s missing.”

And to their surprise, you chuckle lightly, still wiping tears with the corners of your sweatshirt.

“What?” You question, a soft hiccup escaping your lips as you speak. Yena furrows her brows, together shooting a questioning look to Chris, who shrugs in response.

“Is this… not about Felix?” She queries hesitantly.

“It is,” you emphasize, another giggle escaping your lips. “But it’s not that he’s not interested. We used to date, Yena.”

At this, Yena reaches around to swat Chris’ shoulder, pursing her lips together as she speaks again. “I knew something was up,” she voices, swatting Chris again. “Christopher over here was convinced he was too into you.”

“You guys talked about it?” You add, giggling softly into the sleeve of your sweater.

“It was hard not to,” Yena responded, giving you an empathetic look. “The way you guys light up a room when you’re together, it’s like winter turns to spring or something. I was so certain he was the one.”

At this, more tears escape the corners of your eyes, falling onto the counter below you as you nod slowly in regards to her words.

“I love him,” you finally say, and the room goes silent when you do.

“I love him, and he deserves better than me. Than this,” you finish, gesturing around you to the town. “He wants to drop out of college and stay here. Like that’s a good idea for anyone except me.”

Yena and Chris give each other staggered looks, unsure of what to reply to first. They’ve never heard you speak of your emotions like this, never seen you cry and never would’ve guessed that you would let down your guard to this degree around them. It’s a little frightening, at first, to watch you tear down your own walls so much, like watching a different person than the one they’ve known for all these years. But it’s also reassuring to see that you are capable of letting yourself open up for the right people. It takes a weight off their shoulders to bear witness to the confirmation that they’re the people you can go to when you need help, the same way they don’t hesitate to lean on you. And it especially gives solace to know that you feel so deeply at all, a trait Yena and Chris have always pushed you to familiarize yourself with.

“Well what’s stopping you?” Yena asks, threading her fingers in your hair and combing it back like your mother used to.

“Exactly that,” you respond. “I don’t want to confine him to this life of mine.”

“Let me ask you something,” Yena states, taking your hands in hers and bringing your gaze up to meet hers. “Are you happy?”

And the question throws you off guard, requiring a moment to think before you can say anything in response. It’s a fair question, too- one you should’ve asked yourself when you agreed to move here years ago. But it’s not a difficult one to crack, either, when you take in your surroundings. The diner across the street is packed with patrons, happily sipping away at milkshakes and glass bottles of soda. This old record shop, with its dingy back room and rows of genres you make an effort to learn about whenever you get a chance. The starlings that flock when the train travels through, the holiday parties you find a home in and your favorite spot on the hill, overlooking all of Ember. They’re all working parts of one larger phenomenon- that of happiness.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding to affirm your answer. “I love it here. And I love you guys, and I’m still healing most days, but I wouldn’t want to be doing it anywhere else.”

A smile grows on Yena’s face as she glances back between you and Chris, and he shoots her a little nod.

“Then do something about it,” she finally says, giving your hands a little squeeze. “The first step is letting yourself feel. The rest is up to you to run with.”

And when you meet her gaze, and Chris’ gaze, their loving expressions looking down at you like you’re one of their own, you can’t help but pull them into a hug, letting yourself cry a little harder at the prospect of your found family, these tears ones of happiness.

“I love you guys,” you voice confidently. “And I’m sorry if I’ve never said it out loud.”

Chris’ hand pats your back, Yena’s combing through your hair tenderly, as they hug you with equal enthusiasm and allow you to cry as long as you need.

“We love you, kid,” Chris answers.

And when you pull away again, the three of you laugh, your tears staining your reddened faces as you bask in this unconditional appreciation for one another.

“Eat your pie,” Yena says, shoving a fork toward you. “And Chris, play some music, will you?”

Chris salutes her, pulling a random record off the shelf and scanning its contents.

“Polish folk?” He questions, and you glance at the familiar cover of the record, the same couple dipping into a bow as they dance in their colorful fabrics.

“This one’s really good,” you chime in, taking a bite of cherry pie as you nod toward the record player. “We should dance to this one.”

And as Chris starts the upbeat music, pulling Yena in for a comedic waltz, you can’t help but laugh through your tears, at the home this town’s given you in all your mending.

Felix hasn’t been at the record shop since your fight. He hasn’t been at your apartment, nor the diner, or even Seungmin’s place (and yes, you did ask). There’s only one place you know Felix would flock to after a night like the one you shared, and if you’re lucky, you should still be able to catch him on his supposed last night here.

The grassy hill is a little slippery at this hour, caked mud enwreathing your sneakers as you trudge your way up the hill and into the familiar dip of the land. And as the horizon becomes visible to you, spanning the length of the town and showcasing all the bright lights the nighttime flaunts, so does Felix, sitting with his back to you in a plain white t-shirt and jeans. He looks more casual tonight, less dressed with the intention to look a specific way, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of his slim frame taking in the view you led him to. He leans back on his hands, eyes scanning the sight of the town, before picking up his camera and snapping a series of photos.

When you occupy the spot next to him, he glances over at you briefly, before turning his attention back to the camera and waiting for you to speak.

“It’s prettier at night, isn’t it?,” you finally say, breaking the silence, and Felix fixes his gaze on the blurry lights of the record shop.

“Yeah,” he responds curtly, swallowing nervously as he ponders what to say.

And you know if you let him facilitate this conversation, it’d be over much sooner rather than later, but you also know that it’s up to you to make amends now.

“Your photography is still so beautiful,” you state, gesturing to the camera in his hands. “It’s always been so artistic.”

Felix remains quiet, toying with the strap on his camera as you speak.

“You’re artistic,” you continue. “And that’s why I want you to finish college. Don’t throw all this away for me.”

He turns his face to meet your gaze, his eyes trembling a little as you give him an empathetic look and shrug.

“I don’t want to go where you won’t follow,” Felix says, his voice coming out a little shaky.

“But I’ll always be here,” you retort, tears beginning to prick the corners of your eyes again. “Don’t put your life on hold for something that already lives in your past. You are an incredible person, Felix, and I’m not gonna drag you down a second time.”

Felix thinks for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat as he thinks over your words. And he knows that there’s a possibility this isn’t what he wants, either- to stay in this little town with your friends he’s not even sure like him very much. But he does know he wants you, and that staying here would mean sacrificing his old life.

“I want you to know it wasn’t your fault,” Felix says after a brief pause of silence. “Nobody who walked out deserved you. And your dad loved you- a lot. I think about that moment watching the sunrise with you every day. He’s there too, part of that memory tucked away in my mind. I’m sorry it happened so suddenly and disrupted things. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy, Felix,” you tell him, chuckling lightly as you respond. “I have a whole family here. I don’t spend my holidays alone, I meet new people working at the shop everyday. There’s so many people I haven’t introduced you to. There are coffee shops, and parades on weekends, and I’m happy. I’m still healing, but I’ve also realized that being healed doesn’t equate my happiness. I can be one without the other, and still get by just fine.”

Felix’s gaze is fixed on yours for a moment, not saying anything as he lets your words circle his mind. And there’s so much he wants to say in response, so many questions about what the future means for you both, but he also knows very well that the rest is up to him to figure out, just the way you did when you moved out here. Maybe you’re still healing- and maybe Felix is still figuring out the rest for himself, too. And though the past may be clouded by a story much more complex than either of you can even begin to comprehend, the happiness you seek is attainable, whether or not you’re together to see it through to the end. That although sometimes things may burn and decay like this town once did, there are people who will make the journey to help in the process of rebuilding, and you can thrive again. You can always thrive again.

“You’re right,” Felix says, as he looks over the horizon again. “It is prettier at night.”

The dim glow of the streetlights contrasts the flashy signs of the diner and the record shop, painting the blackened town with vivid color and bringing life to the small town of Ember.

And with a half smile, Felix pulls you in for a tender kiss, the two of you letting your apologies flow through each other in the gentle embrace of your lips and your hands intertwining atop the grassy hill.

Felix pulls you close, letting your head rest comfortably against his chest, as he caresses your hand softly in the grasp of his. And his index finger rubs lovingly against your ring finger, your matching rings grazing against each other as if to say I’ve always loved you.

Small town at the edge of the world. No particular time of day. A blossoming summer.

That’s the small town of Ember. A town Felix holds very close to his heart. And one you call home.

The cicadas buzz with high-pitched melodies of summer as you slip your sneakers on, the piercing blue sky around you almost too bright to look directly in its face. The clouds seem to shift with the summer breeze, drifting along the canvas sky like a painting in motion as you take in the sight around you

“Let’s go!” Yena calls, honking her horn twice to signify her arrival.

“I’m coming!” You call back, making your way down the stairs of her porch, balancing trays of food in hand as you account for everything you’ve agreed to bring. Drinks, plates, pie, napkins- your signature arrangement for the town’s summer festival you attend alongside Chris and Yena every year.

“Slow down, kiddo,” Chris says with a chuckle, as you rush to place everything in the backseat. “Oh, and there’s a letter for you on the porch table,” he adds, shooting you a small wink.

“I’ll be right back!” you call to Yena, jogging back up the stairs to collect the little beige envelope that rests atop the wooden surface.

It’s addressed to you, the handwriting in neat swirly black cursive letters, the envelope feeling sturdy between your fingers. You tear it open with no real aim, a giant gash working down the envelope as you rush you pull out the contents and examine them.

It’s a stack of photos, you quickly realize, sorting through them to make out the glossy digital prints.

There’s a photo of you in the back of the record shop, your hands brought up to your face and your legs hanging lazily off the table. Another showcases you in the familiar beige interior of the passenger’s seat, laughing cheerfully and staring out the window. There are photos of the town’s horizon, photos of the record player at your work, Yena’s famous pie, Seungmin’s holiday party and even the matching rings, intertwined hands that rest on the car console. As you shuffle to the last photo, you recognize it to be much more recent than the others, even the quality looking clearer, perhaps a new camera or a different roll of film.

It’s a still photo of Felix, from the waist up, holding a peace sign up to the lens with a small smile. He’s dressed brightly in a white vest and layered jewelry, the background showcasing a blue harbor with rows of boats, the location indistinguishable to you. He’s blonde again, his now shorter golden tresses framing the myriad of freckles that scatter his face once more. And he looks happy, much like himself again.

You wonder briefly who took the photo of him, the angle being of very close proximity. And you can’t make out which hand usually houses the ring you both wear, the only hand visible to you covering his ring finger, regardless. You scan the photo for a moment, running your fingertips over his figure, before turning it over and reading the neatly scribbled text on the back:

Sydney, last fall. I think I’m the only photography major who doesn’t drink my coffee without sugar. And you were right, the freckles do suit me better.

All my love,

Felix.

#Lee Felix #lee felix smut #stray kids #skz smut #skz felix #felix yongbok #felix smut #stray kids felix #felix #skz #stray kids hard hours #skz scenarios #request #fanfic #felix fic #Lee Felix fanfic #ask #felix fluff #Spotify

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bandgie · 5 months

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hiiii is ok if i request a stoner smut😭 ( with either han,chan or felix) like y/n and him are smoke buddies and in one of the sessions things get a little hot and heavy 🥲

it’s ok if ur uncomfortable but if you’re not i’d love to see it

-anon 🍃

a/n: yes?!? oh my god?? why give me 3 options when I can do them all?? at the same time??

synopsis: You warned your smoking buddies that you get a little...different when you're really high. They don't believe you though, and smoke you out anyway. Neither of you can decide if it was worst mistake or best decision of your lives.

warnings: MDNI 18+, heavily under the influence, 4some, brief pussy play, no protection, cumming inside, pussy eating, mxm themes!!!, squirting, double penetration, blow job (m!&f!), multiple orgasms (f!), I went crazy with this one I ain't gonna lie

2.6k words

"Oh dude she's gone."

"You shouldn't have smoked her out man."

"She wanted me to!"

You can distantly hear the three of them arguing. Han is, once again, thrown under the bus as Felix and Chris blame him. To be fair, everyone's high out of their mind. Whatever Felix bought back from California hits.

Han is warm as you snuggle against him, his heartbeat irregular as he keeps defending himself. When you told them you get a little excited when you're super high, they thought you'd be bouncing off the walls. Instead, they had to keep you from clawing Han's cock out to bounce on that.

"I'm not even that high," you speak up for yourself. "I just want a little fun, that's all."

Chan scoffs, bloodshot eyes looking at your droopy ones. "You are that high, actually. The sober you that I know would punch Han before he even thought about touching you."

The image of slapping the man you're sitting on makes you laugh hysterically. You're gasping for air, clutching at your chest as you cackle. Your exaggerated laughter makes Felix chuckle, and it doesn't take long until all four of you are on the verge of throwing up from giggling.

"But I like the way he feels," you manage to speak after your chest heaves. "Hannie's so soft and warm, it feels so good." It's not smart of you to talk like that when Han's cock is underneath your ass. You can feel like twitching in response.

You softly grind your ass against it, humming. "You like it too, huh Hannie? Do you want to touch me?"

"Hey. That's enough," Chan's voice is stern, but you don't miss how his eyes drop to your bare thighs. Han freezes under you, scared that moving might make his cock hard.

You roll your eyes and grind against Han again, hearing him hiss. "For fucks' sake Chan, I'm high, not drunk." There's not a care for the aftermath in your head. It feels as though there'll be no repercussions, that time has frozen still for you. For this moment.

Still, Chan shakes his head. "Doesn't matter, you're not in the right mind."

"If you don't wanna fuck me Chan, Hannie will." You turn your attention back to Han, who's struggling under you. He's hard now, but his hands stay placed on the cushions. "You'll play with me, right Han?"

His eyes dart from yours to Chan's, unsure. "I dunno. What if you get mad at me in the morning?" You coo at his uncertainty. Reaching for his hands, you place them on your hips. His fingers dig into your soft flesh, pulling you closer to him.

"I would never be mad at you," you promise. "Just touch me."

That’s enough permission for Han. He parts your thighs while Felix and Chris are front-row viewers. Getting high was just an excuse, you've always wanted him to touch you. For all of them to touch you. It's why you didn't wear any shorts under your skirt. A black thong barely covers your cunt, and Han is quick to play with it.

His fingers slip behind the material, finding your clit easily. He gently rubs you in circles, moaning in your ear. Han slips his hand out and places it over your underwear, rubbing that instead.

It makes you whine, bucking your hips in protest. You're about to complain when you catch the other two boys staring. Felix is on the edge of his seat, staring at where Han touches you. Chan is the opposite, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back in his seat. He looks irritated but there's dark arousal in his eyes.

You let Han make a show of you, getting you to drip down your ass.

"Fuck," you hear Felix swear. His voice sounds deeper if that was even possible. His lips are wet from how constantly he's licking them, but he makes no move towards you.

Han pinches your clit. The sudden grasp makes you whine, hips lifting in the air before he forces you back on his lap.

"I don't have a condom," he whispers in your ear. You shake your head aggressively, "I don't care. Put it in."

Chan opens his mouth to say something but snaps it shut. His jaw clenches as he watches Han slips his hand between the two of you, releasing his throbbing cock. He doesn't want to hear you complain in the morning about this, it's your fault.

Han pulls your panties to the side and slides his cock against your folds. You arch your back into him, moaning. You look down to watch his dick collect your juices, lewdly making noise. Then he angles his cock down, catching your entrance.

You have to slightly lift your hips when his tip goes in. The stretch is far from painful, and it feels like you're on cloud nine. You slam your hips down on Han impatiently. He whines behind you, body shaking and his arms wrap around your waist.

It's a struggle to keep your legs open for the other men to see, but you hook them over Han's legs for support. Han starts slow, unused to the feel of your cunt. He groans in your neck, biting your skin. "Fuck, that's good pussy."

You only hum in response as you feel Han fuck into you harder. It sends overwhelming shocks of pleasure throughout your body. Your mind grows hazy, vision blurring. You've touched yourself while high, and that alone was a trip. To have someone bury themselves deep inside you, to feel their hot dick slip in and out of you, it feels like you're at a constant high.

Felix is the first to break. He stands to his feet quickly and takes long strides toward you. Han slows his thrusts, unsure if Felix wants a turn with you already. He grips you a little tighter, possessively.

Both of you are shocked to see him fall to his knees in front of your pussy. He pushes the thong further out of the way with his thumb, looking up at you.

"Can I?"

You're nodding before he even finishes, "Fuck yes."

You cum at the feel of Felix's plush lips. Your walls clench and grip Han's cock tightly, making him thrust into you deep. Felix has to keep his hands on your thighs to keep you still. It's obvious you came with the high-pitched moans and convulsing body, but neither of them made a move to stop.

"Shit, I can feel her creaming on my cock. Fuck, Felix lick me too," Han rasps out.

Felix is quick to comply. You feel his tongue dip past your pussy presumably only onto the few inches of Han's cock that isn't in your pussy. Han trembles behind you, hips stuttering into yours. Felix reaches back up to your clit, running his lips over your nub before he lightly sucks.

You don't have much energy to grind on his pretty face, so you lay there pliant as Han fucks into you earnestly and as Felix gently eats you out. You bury your hands into Felix's green hair, desperate to grip onto something.

The hot sensation builds in your stomach again, this time much more intensely. Han can feel the clenching of your walls, the added wetness your pussy drools out. The pressure in your tummy feels different, hotter, and unstable.

"Felix!" You cry out. "I'm gonna cum again! Fuck, I think I'm gonna squirt!"

You think he might back away, but he buries his face deeper, sucks a little harder. "Give it to me baby, I want it all over my face."

The force of your second orgasm makes Han's cock slip out. Felix's face and Han's thighs are victims of your release. You coat them sheer with your orgasm, watching how Felix keeps his mouth open to drink your release.

He gulps down the remaining spurts of your pussy, a smile on his face. "Yeah, Han. That's good pussy alright." Felix stands, looking down at your wrecked state. He bends down and kisses you roughly, making sure you can taste yourself on his lips. Then he moves behind you to kiss Han who already has his tongue out. Both of them moan in the kiss, making your pussy throb even more.

Felix unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants just down enough to reach for his cock. You drool at the sight, moaning softly. He pumps himself a few times, then taps his tip on your swollen clit.

"Think you can handle two at a time baby?"

Before you can even think to answer, Han butts in. "You should be asking me that. I don't think I'll last much longer." The two of them laugh, and then Felix looks back at you. "Can you?"

Biting your bottom lip, you nod. "Yeah, just go slow." Han and Felix nod in unison, "Of course baby."

The two of them angle their cocks into your slightly gaping entrance. Han pushes the tip of his cock in first. Felix follows quickly after, pressing his tip against Han's. You let your head fall back between Han's neck and shoulder, relaxing your body. It's quite easy since you are already elated, but there's still a painful stretch as they slide in.

You hiss when they stretch you out, their cocks halfway in. Han tightens his grip on your waist and pecks your forehead. Felix soothingly runs his hands against your thighs and kisses your exposed neck. "Doing so good, you're almost there."

Their comforting touches encourage you to try harder. They sink further in and you gasp.

"Chan," Han calls his hyung who's been overly silent throughout the whole thing. You almost forgot he was there.

"What?"

"Think our baby needs a bit of help. Come on."

Chan shouldn't help. He told you many times this was a bad idea, but no one listened. Still, watching your teary eyes get to him. The way your face contorts from discomfort. You looked so pretty cumming over Han's cock, he can't imagine what'd it be like to cream over both.

He finds himself standing and walking over to you three, standing beside Felix.

"Mate, you need to Han bottom out first. Here." Chan hands one hand on Felix's waist while the other guides your stomach downwards. Han moves his hips up, slowly filling your walls. You squeal and tremble, but it's bearable.

"There you go," Chris coos. "Make sure you go deep Han. Felix needs as much room as he can get."

Han obeys his friend, making sure to bury himself to the hilt. You feel him push past what you thought was possible. Your legs threaten to snap shut, but Felix's iron grip keeps them open. Han can feel how tight your pussy is, how good it feels to rub against Felix's cock.

Chan taps the green-haired on the waist, "You're good to go."

"Oh," your eyes roll back to your head. Your lips spread deliciously when Felix pushes the remaining inches in. You can feel how your clit slightly rubs against his girth, making extra warmth flow out of you.

Your reactions make Chan chuckle, smiling for the first time in what seems like hours. "Feels good huh? Taught him well." He playfully slaps Felix on the ass.

The two of them feel heavenly in your walls. All three of you are a moaning mess, content with staying still. It's not until Chris clears his throat that Han begins to move. Shallow thrusts into your pussy that make the trio whimper.

Felix moves with longer strokes. They don't match each other's thrusts, but the speed is the same. One goes in while the other goes out, then sometimes it's at the same time, then it's everything in between. Your walls loosen after a few testing strokes, and they're fucking into you roughly in no time.

Chan tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, getting a good view of your face. It's then that you notice his hard-on, how painful it must be in his jeans. Wordlessly, you open your mouth, tongue lolling out. Chan laughs at your directness, "You sure?"

You respond by using your weak fingers to unzip him, "Yesssss."

He laughs again and helps you undress him. His cock is the biggest of the three, in girth and length. You're thankful he isn't in you, there's no way you could've handled it. Chan taps the head of his cock on your lips, smearing his pre-cum.

Then he pushes in gently, not to disrupt the boys using you. He's hot and heavy on your tongue, slightly salty. Truthfully, getting as high as you did always leaves you with a dry mouth. You find it difficult to provide enough spit for Chan's cock.

He doesn't complain though, and never pushes you past your limit. Chan uses his hands to jerk what you can't fit in your mouth. You want to protest and say you can do it yourself, but with how good Felix and Han are fucking you, it seems impossible.

Han's cock twitches inside you, a warning for his orgasm. "I'm gonna cum. Fuck baby I'm gonna cum in you."

You hum around Chris's cock in response, and soon enough you're filled with Han's cum. It's warm in your stomach and you feel it pool onto the sofa. Felix moans at the extra lubrication, finding it hot to see him fuck the cum out of you.

Han's cock stays inside of you. He likes to think Felix and you help ride out his high. He turns his head to watch you suck off Chan, groaning. Han opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, looking up at Chan expectedly.

The eagerness in Han's eyes has the older man raising an eyebrow, but he indulges nonetheless. Chan slips his cock from your mouth and places it on Han's tongue.

Han is in a better condition to suck. He even does the honor of spitting on Chan's dick. He licks and takes his cock almost to the hilt before gagging. The sight makes Chan moan, and he puts his dick back in your mouth. Your lips are much softer and your mouth is hotter. Han's is wetter though, and much more usable. Chan settles for using both of your throats.

You're thankful for Han helping, it's hard to focus with Felix still pounding away. His fingers are for sure going to leave a bruise, and your pussy may not be the same after this. With your warm pussy and Han's cock, Felix can feel his balls tighten and how his hips lose their momentum.

He doesn't warm you when he cums. There's just his deep, consecutive moans as Felix fills you to the brim. Your legs tremble, and you're cumming before you're aware of it. Chan has to use Han's mouth more often as you moan and whimper through your orgasm.

Felix rides his high out when Chan forces your head to face his cock. He jerks himself quickly, tapping his tip on both your and Han's tongues. Chan cums on both of your faces, hot spurts landing on your cheek and lips.

Your tongue pokes out to get a taste, moaning.

Felix finally pulls out, making you whine. Han follows suit, letting his soft cock leave you empty. Chan lets you give his cock extra kisses while Han unwraps an arm from you to wipe his face.

Chan has to pry you away from his dick, chuckling when you protest. He tucks himself away despite your complaining.

The four of you untangle from each other. Though the couch is small, all of you manage to snuggle against one another with you and Han in the middle. All of you are shining in afterglow and cum, with complete disregard for how you might react in the morning.

Han picks his head up to overlook all of you, a playful scowl on his face. "And you were mad at me for smoking her out."

a/n: man i...I dunno what to say. this is totally self-indulgent. the way I need this to happen. thank you anon 🍃, I truly needed this

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kafkasmuses · 2 months

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thinking of luke finding his best friend high at one of those parties they secretly hold at camp…

semi inspired by murdrdocs’ blurb abt smoking w luke & princessbrunette’s blurb abt jj finding his innocent friend high!!

typically luke never came to these, he was never really a party person, just until you’re texting him some sloppy words that barely make any sense— so now he’s weaving his way through the mess of trees towards the booming music in the distance. did they know how to not get caught?

luke’s nose scrunches as soon as he gets close enough to make out where you might be in that bright pink skirt he always saw you in, his steps move faster, especially since you’re talking to some asshole from the hades cabin. his jaw shifts as soon as he plants his hands on your shoulders, pupils cinched as he glares at the man you’re speaking with.

“oh, hey, luke!” you smile so sweet, a little too sweet, in fact, you smell.. he blinks once, then again, then again. to be honest, you don’t really remember texting luke, and it’s always a pleasant surprise to see him appear out of nowhere.

“hey, uh, lets go, yeah?” his hands are gentle when they move you to take a step or two back from the brooding man who clearly looks disappointed, if not a little agitated, with luke’s arrival.

“but ‘m having fun, do you want to meet my friend? this is my friend—“

“yeah, yeah,” luke stares at the man for a second, “hey, dude, ‘kay, time to go.”

“seems like she doesn’t want to,” the man suddenly speaks, and it should be a blessing from hades himself that luke doesn’t have his sword strapped to his belt.

“seems like she does since she texted me,” his tone is firmer, a certain bitterness and bite to it, “should be lucky ‘m too busy to rip that smartass smirk off your face.”

the last sentence comes out as a mumble as he gently guides you away from the party, having to take more of a precaution than usual since you’re stumbling an awful lot. god, how much did you smoke.

“why’d you say that to him—“

“mmm, no reason— hey.. jus’ asking but, you didn’t get that weed from one of the guys there, right?” you seemed much more than just high, unless you smoked like, five blunts— gods, did you?

“no, nono, got it from um.. lucy, she said it was reaaaalllyyyy strong but like— i only smoked a little,” he hums along to your non - stop giggles, failing to keep his hands from your shoulders since every time he lets go you nearly walk into a tree.

“yeah, yup, jus’ a little, you know, uh.. you could always just ask to smoke with me,” he shrugs like it’s simple.

“wooow, you smoke..?” you ask very slowly all of a sudden.

“what, you think ‘m not cool enough to?” he tuts, steering you to the hermes cabin, which is of course, empty as it always is. you were sure the hermes kids were all dead by now since every time you’re in the cabin it’s vacant, well, besides chris, but he’s always glaring at luke and leaving to bother clarisse.

“not what i said—“ you frown up at him, and he just nods, moving to sit you down on his bed as he inspects your face to make sure you’re solely high on weed— you really do reek of it, gosh, maybe he should spray his cologne on you. he doesn’t get more time to think before you’re pawing at him, “miss you, luke, talk to me.”

he chuckles at the hazy glint in your eyes, “c’mon, princess, ‘m not the man for that job.”

you hook a finger around one of the belt loops on his jeans, tugging him in closer, “what do you mean?”

“‘m your friend,” it comes out hushed, breathy, “jus’ here to take care of you.”

“so take care of me,” your eyes catch on to the bulge forming in his pants, a lazy smile curving your lips upwards.

he pauses for a second, considering, before unhooking your hand from his pants and moving you to lay down on his bed, “time to get some beauty sleep, yeah? g’na get me in trouble if you keep acting out, princess.”

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan smut #pjo tv show #pjo series #charlie bushnell #have i ever smoked before?#no… but let me imagine ok

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evansbby · 1 year

Text

cold winter nights with ✨him✨

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gamermattsgf · 4 months

Text

Sour diesel // dealer Chris

Warnings: Chris smut / blowjob / male stimulation / throat fuck / usage of drugs / smoking / shotgun kiss / drug dealer!Chris x fem reader / hair pulling / switch Chris / exhibitionism / slapping / slight degradation + begging kink? / Chris + lip pierced

Summary: Chris is the reader’s drug dealer. And a very close drug dealer at that. Close enough for him to want to get high and horny with her when she unexpectedly shows up at his doorstep.

Author’s notes: don’t do drugs kids!! For some strange reason, Chris suspiciously fits this role perfectly irl. I don’t know what it is about him… Maybe it’s just the fact that he constantly looks high, or maybe it’s his hair and clothes… idk. Anyways, yes, proceed to enjoy some good ol’ weed smoking lovin’ ;)

“Legs in the air, all dirty again… smoking some more, I’m in her space… she touches me there, and then I do it again” - Sour diesel, Zayn

Police sirens wail from outside of the busy apartment complex. You knock on the brown door with a brass metal ‘4’ screwed onto the top of it before stepping back and cautiously peering your head down either side of the corridor to check if anyone else is around.

It’s a dreary but bright day, the sun pale with grey clouds flooding the sky. All throughout the city impatient cars honk their horns and the bustle of the crowds is never ending.

The twist of a lock on the other side of the door snaps your eyes back to the peeling front paint. The door creaks open a crack, and the familiar face of the man on the other side peeks out of it sneakily to examine who it is that is at his door, before realising that it’s you and gasping quietly.

He shuts the door quietly once again and you can hear the scratching of the metal chain being slid off of the door hook so that he can open it fully.

Once he does you see him with a white shirt resting on the hooks of his elbows, as if he was half way ready to put it on when you had knocked on the door. His messy dark brown tresses of curls are dishevelled and dust about his forehead in a fluffy nest, like he had just woken up. Equally, his naked, pale chest is on full display before he shoves his head through the t-shirt hole and uses his hands to pull it right down to his hips, where a pair of black sweatpants rest lowly below his hipbones. This only furthers your guess about him napping before seeing you.

‘Ayy! Doll face, come on in pretty!’ He quips in a friendly manner, a toothy grin lighting up his face whilst he steps aside to let you into his apartment. The labret lip ring nestled into the centre of his bottom lip glints with every move his mouth makes in the fluorescent hallway lighting.

You cheerily muse back a quick ‘long time no see Chris… started to miss you’ as you walk past the threshold, unconsciously looking up to one of his hands that grips the door right above his head whilst he leans on the wood.

Chris laughs fondly at your statement, slamming and locking the door shut behind you which encloses the both of you into his dingy apartment with dirty laundry scattered about the floor and the dishes still undone in his kitchen area.

‘Was it me you were missing? Or the drugs?’

Scanning around the apartment more thoroughly this time, you start to notice the little things… like a marijuana crusher, as well as messily stashed small plastic baggies with white powder or pills in them and joint rolling paper scattered across his already busy coffee table.

Chris is your drug dealer.

But… he is also somewhat of a friend as well. To be honest though, this is about as friendly as one can get with their supplier. Chris normally does his deals outside, in sketchy alleyways or at 3am with an all black attire and his hood up all the way.

You are the only customer who knows where he lives, because he’s fond of you, and you’re also a regular, so you often pop by if you’re feeling like it to have a nose into his endeavours and recent transactions.

‘Joint?’

You turn around at the sound of Chris’ question and watch the way he walks over to his old worn out green couch. ‘Yeah of course’ you respond whilst Chris groans as he bends his knees to sit down, quickly getting to work by bending his torso over the coffee table.

‘Got a weed preference? Gelato? Blue dream?’ He asks politely once again over his shoulder at you, because you’re still standing in his open apartment, breathing in the scent of strong narcotics and relaxant drugs. Taking that as a cue to sit down, you round the couch and plop down next to him whilst he slides out a little foot stool from underneath the couch.

You watch his hands flip up the top of the stool to reaveal a secret boxed compartment inside of it. Humming, you purse your lips in thought whilst he opens the compartment’s lid to reveal a bunch of different weed bags, looking at you with raised eyebrows as he waits for you to make a decision.

‘Umm… surprise me’ you land on finally, shrugging and grinning whilst Chris gives you a playful look and a cool nod. ‘Ooo dangerous girl today are we?’ he sniggers, before humming himself and biting his lip whilst his hand rummages around in between the different baggies to pick one out for you two himself.

‘Hmm, this one!’ He finally says, selecting out a small bag with a really dark green hybrid in it. ‘Yeah? How much do I owe you?’ You mention, before stuffing your hand down the front left pocket of your jeans to fish out a couple of bills.

Chris only smacks his lips and bats your hand that is extending money out to him away. ‘Yo- don’t be stupid, this is my treat’ he scolds as he fishes out the drug and weighs it, before putting it into the grinder and working against the plant root.

His arms flex as he twists the grinder to break up the drug into a fine consistency, all the while frowning at you to put your money away. ‘Ugh Chris, you can’t just keep giving me your supplies for free, that’s not how it works… drugs are fucking pricey bud’ you roll your eyes, before stuffing at least a couple of bills into his sweatpant pocket before he could stop you.

He sighs.

‘Ugh fine… but it’s not like you’re my only customer y’know… trust me I have plenty to pay the bills’ he finishes with a cocky tone, before opening up the grinder and swiftly pouring out the mixture into a line on some rolling paper. You silently watch him in awe as he expertly rolls the joint, before licking the side of it with his tongue and twisting it into place like a professional, all in under a minute. You can tell he’s rolled quite a decent bit judging by how easy it is for him.

‘Balcony?’ He questions, raising his eyebrows and pointing to the screen door that leads out onto his small balcony, two deck chairs sitting side by side. You nod happily, and then follow him outside onto the balcony.

‘So, how’s business?’ You ask whilst comfortably seated in one of the deck chairs, watching Chris tentatively as he perches the joint within his lips and wraps his hand around a lighter. Quickly he flicks it into a spark and lights up the joint before relaxing into his own chair and taking it from his mouth.

‘It’s actually been pretty good lately! Got a lot of new shit I can’t wait to try out…’

As he speaks, the smell of potent weed fills the air and a white plume of smoke trickles out from in between his lips. Holy shit this is strong stuff. But of course it is. This is Chris we’re talking about, and he always saves the best stuff for you.

‘Yeah?’

You respond whilst Chris leans over to pass you the sparked joint from in between his fingers, which you take and inhale yourself. He hums in agreement. The smoke coats your throat all the way down and instantly relaxes you whilst the drug stimulates your brain and melts your limbs further into the chair.

‘Oh… by the way- I hope you don’t mind but I wanted to smoke some sour diesel. This specific strain that I have is supposed to make you feel really horny… so just a little heads up in advance’.

Chris guiltily rambles on with a laughed smirk, his thighs manspread out widely and his fingers clasped together on his stomach whilst he waits to receive the joint back. You clench… did he pick that hybrid to smoke with you on purpose? Or were you just kidding yourself. Because the way he was gazing at you currently made you naturally assume that he had unholy intentions.

‘Oh um… yeah that’s fine. I suppose if we both end up high and horny then that’s just how it’s gotta be’.

You shrug and nod jokingly whilst passing back the joint. ‘Shit, awesome, thanks, I can always count on you’ Chris muses excitedly before slipping the joint back into his mouth. Depending on how he moves, the silver lip ring pierced into his lip glints in the dull sunlight as he opens his mouth yet again to do a French inhale with the smoke blowing up towards his nose. I watch as it then calmly dissipates into the air.

‘Wanna shotgun?’ Chris then pipes up, sweetly offering to second hand smoke with you so that you could use more of the joint and not waste any of the valuable drug. Okay this can’t have been a coincidence, first the sour diesel and now offering to shotgun kiss with you? There’s no fucking way.

Nodding nonchalantly, you try to hide your heart flipping dramatically as best as you can whilst both you and him lean forward. Chris passes you the joint so that you get more of the hit than him, and you feed it into your mouth slowly, concealing your jittering hands by harshly pinching the rolling paper.

Leaning forward more, it all happens so fast as you drop your mouth and start to expel the smoke. It’s not needed, but Chris’ hand sneakily snakes around the back of your neck to keep the both of you close and steady as he recieves the second hand smoke. Both of your lips almost brush one another as Chris holds the smoke in his mouth for a moment before giving a quiet moan mixed with a sigh as he blows it back out into your face.

He then giggles cutely after you scrunch up your nose since you’re not expecting the white cloud to make your eyes water. ‘This is good shit’ you sputter, to keep yourself as distracted as possible from your sweating palms and throbbing nerves. You hate to say it, but you have the biggest crush on your drug dealer.

You know, it’s fucking stupid, but he’s just so hot, who fucking wouldn’t have a crush on him? He’s around your age, is attractive, and has impeccable charisma. It’s harder to not have a crush on him. Sometimes you trick yourself into believing that he only lets you come to his apartment to chat and see all of his stash first because the feelings are mutual.

If only you knew how right you actually were.

‘I know right?’ Chris chuckles back, before his deck chair squeaks underneath his lean, muscular body after he puts the joint back into his mouth and this time knocks his head back. You can’t help but get distracted from your surroundings in favour of looking at his sharp jawline and hollowing cheekbones whilst his neck bends and he expertly blows out a set of three smoke rings into the air above him.

‘How do you do that? It’s so cool!’ You laugh shyly, snuggling down into your sweater because of the chilly breeze that blows by suddenly whilst you cover your mouth with one of your sweater pawed sleeves. Chris gazes over at you with his already sunken eyes, a little half smile curling up one side of his face in proud achievement.

He loves trying to impress you then succeeding.

‘Lots and lots of practice baby cakes, I’ll teach you next time you come around…’

He replies back with one of his plethora of nicknames for you. You could tell straight off of the bat from when you had first met each other that giving people nicknames was sort of his thing, and you thought it was really very sweet.

‘But today…’ he starts, before groaning quietly as he leans back over to you to pass you the joint from his slouched sitting position.

‘We have some good weed to finish off…’

‘I am so fucking high right now’ Chris giggles before snorting, trying to hush his own laughter by slapping his hand against his mouth as his shoulders shake in place.

From the opposite side of his ratty green couch, you lie there simply looking up at the ceiling whilst opening and closing your mouth in stupefied awe.

In the background, the gentle scratch of SZA’s ctrl album hums quietly through the vinyl that he had put on his record player earlier after coming in from smoking on his balcony.

‘How much of that weed did we smoke?’ You slur back to him, tilting your head upwards so that you can look over at his tipped up chin and spread thighs. His back lies cosily tucked up on his side of the pillows as he screws up his eyes and sleepily blinks a couple of times.

‘Is it even fuh-fuckin’ working?’ He mumbles to me whilst shifting his heavy feeling arms to rub his hands all the way down his black sweats tantalisingly. ‘Cause all I feel is slightly sweaty… and a little tingly’.

All of a sudden you’re sweating yourself. But it’s not because his apartment is hot, it’s because you’re looking at him and the way he toys with the drawstrings of his sweats absentmindedly. ‘Which isss, which is pretty fuhckin’ normal conssssidering we’ve just smoked-’ Chris hiccups ‘-a fuck bunch of diesel’. Then he giggles again to himself, as if finding it absolutely hilarious that both of you are probably high out of your minds.

‘Uh- umm… dunno if it’s working for me…’ you lie, before desperately trying to retract your eyes from the way he gently tugs on the drawstrings and rolls them in between his fingers and thumbs.

You just hope that Chris can’t hear the way you shuffle your legs closer so that you can squeeze your thighs together secretly. The last thing you want to attract is attention, clearly in denial of the fact that you certainly feel the drug seeping through your nervous system now.

It’s bad enough that you have a crush on him already, now you think some higher being just wants to punish you for it. Something within you is definitely working, because you feel extra horny…

Chris shifts a little, bucking his lower body up with a meek groan coming from his mouth before you hear his hip bone crack. Then he goes still with a content sigh, clearly enjoying the certain blissfulness the drug provides him with.

He seems a lot less bothered than you about this. But you suppose taking drugs is practically what he does for a living, so he’s used to it.

You continue to stare at the roof, lazily trailing your eyes all the way up the various cracks in the ceiling plaster that have resulted because of damp infrastructure, just trying to keep yourself calm for the moment.

But then he starts up his squirming again a little later, and it’s as if he just can’t get comfortable this time because occasionally his socked feet will subtly nudge your’s or you’ll hear him moaning in relaxation every time he moves.

The drug seems to have this god awful effect on your body that simply makes you ache all over. It feels like your inner thighs have a million pins and needles in them.

You know he’s just trying to get comfortable… but within your lack of vision and your current state of heated wetness you can’t help but transform those softly uttered sounds into something a lot dirtier. How unfair of him to sound so much like a porn star.

Meanwhile, Chris is currently going through every stage of horniness that he thinks he could possibly imagine one would experience.

First the small tingling within his gut starts that signals to his brain that his body wants sex. Next comes the unbearably uncomfortable and itchy state his burning skin goes through, whilst disastrously filthy images travel through his mind and hang there like suspended thoughts.

Thoughts like what you, one of his clients… would look like naked. What your tits would look like, whether or not they are a nice shape or not. If you have smaller and sweeter nipples or if you have ones that he can really wrap his tongue around. Whether you prefer to sit commandingly on top and listen to the guy underneath you or flip it and have it the other way around. Are you into threesomes? Because Chris sure is, and he has a friend he can call on speed dial if you ever were to wish it.

Any thought currently floating within his mind always redirects itself back to you lying opposite him with your closed thighs that he so badly wants to pry open himself. He feels as though he has to check himself now. It’s not much of a surprise when he registers the heavy feeling in his lower gut because he knows it all too well. He’s already sensitive and aching.

He’s hard.

But who wouldn’t be if they were thinking about having sex with one of the prettiest girls Chris had ever known, that also just so happens to be someone he dealt drugs to on the side…

The more you listen in to Chris’ annoyingly erotic sounds, the more the darkly temping thought of just saying fuck it and jumping on top of him edges your already infected mind.

Not looking over at him to check what he is actually doing kills you, and soon you just can’t help yourself but take a quick sneak peek at your drug dealer. You have to stifle a gasp though, because when you look you do not quite expect to see what you do.

Lying down right opposite you is Chris in his original position, with his black sweat-pant clad legs spread outwards and his feet planted to the couch cushions whilst his knees are bent upwards lazily. The grey zip up hoodie that he had slipped on earlier slouches open to put his white t-shirt on show whilst his rosy cheeks appear flushed and his face screws itself up in pleasure.

You practically gawk at the way he has his whole entire hand shoved down the expanse of his front waistband.

His pierced lip ring catches in between the bite of his teeth whilst his eyes lie squeezed shut and his legs spread unconsciously further the more his hips buck whilst he fucks his hand.

The hand tucked beneath his sweats, you notice, bulges slowly as he pants through his bitten lip and releases a gut-wrenchingly horny moan with his back arching and his chin tipping unbearably further up into the couch armrest.

The drug clearly seems to be in full swing now, because with every corner your mind turns, the dead end spells out ‘sex’. It seems to be all your body wants in this very moment. You don’t even think you can get up from the couch no matter how hard you try, because Chris is simply right here, wet and ready just for you.

There seems to be no sense of urgency around Chris to get rid of his seemingly prominent boner, in fact, you’ll bet he’s just leisurely strolling his way through the feelings of ecstasy.

‘Chris what are you doing?’ You decide to stupidly bumble in a small voice to catch his attention, but Chris doesn’t seem to care all that much that he’s openly thrusting up into his hand in front of you.

‘Sorry I- I couldn’t help how sensitive I was…’ he finally whines into the air apologetically before his breath hitches and he almost cries out a gulp of air after you see a finger - seemingly his thumb - move up from behind the fabric to rub his tip in slow, circular motions.

He almost begins to shiver whilst his head hopelessly twists from side to side, just to give him some form of distraction from the stimulation he feels.

Never before in your life have you seen a man so sensitive because of his cock before.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to crunch up to a sitting position, your eyes trained on a babyish looking Chris that lies almost in a crumpled heap with his forehead sweating and his pupils blown drastically in size.

He pants and looks directly at you whilst jerking off, making your stomach flip again as he gazes at your body with hungry eyes.

Dripping. You’re actually dripping for him.

Never before in your life have you felt more like a piece of meat that a lion is simply salivating to get his teeth on.

His eyes keep a hold of you for the whole entire time it takes your body to crawl up to his. As you reach him, your own brain begins to fuzz, and you sort of forget where the fuck you are. You loose touch with reality.

Must have been the drug.

All you know is that Chris is here, clearly as horny as you, and in need of your help.

‘Shhhh… shhh… don’t cry baby’ you gently whisper yet another slur to him through your state of heavy intoxication coated with the rings of compulsory sexual desire. God, you had no idea that the diesel increased people’s libidos either, because regularly you’d never have the guts to utter something like that to someone you liked, especially Chris.

Chris slowly stops and he gulps after you drag one of your fingers down his lips, only to tug on his pierced one so that you can watch it recoil back up into its original resting place. Quickly he feeds about half of the lip back into the bite of his teeth whilst gazing up at you with glassy doe-eyed pupils.

‘What’s gotten you so worked up baby boy?’ You coo to him yet again, before smoothing your hands down his waist and his hipbones, which causes him to gently shiver and whine into the back of his throat. He swallows and tries to speak. But he can’t, because instead he has to squeeze his eyes shut and careen his body forward in pleasure after he tightens his hand just that little bit more around his hot, stiffened skin.

The feeling is unmatched and spit almost comes freely tumbling out from his open mouth due to gravity. His shoulders heave, and you pet his hair gently whilst sitting on your haunches and pressing one of your heels up into your heat to suppress your unbearable wetness. You pout before clearing the floppy hair from out of his eyes and asking him if you can get rid of his pants because ‘it must be awfully tough to move around in them hey?’.

So you gently slide them down his haired thighs after he struggles a ‘please… fucking please- I can barely take it anymore’, before also deciding to hook your fingers into his boxers to take them off too.

He is thicker than he is longer, but still has decent size. He’s also obviously damp and sticky from where his hand has been holding him because his pretty-looking cock glimmered slightly in the white light protruding from his ceiling fan. Pre-come readily drips out from the top of his aching prick, and leaks its way down the rest of his shaft.

Chris only looks up at you with a sloppy smirk, before reaching out one of his hands to squish them against your cheeks and guide your eyes to look up at his own.

‘Stop your drooling doll face and eyes up here… just you wait ma, as soon as you get your mouth on me I am going to be moaning your name for weeks after this one…’

You feel like almost fainting on the spot as your head aches and your core throbs with damp heat. You feel like you can’t even speak anymore, because all of your words have been sucked from your mouth. Sitting in between his spread thighs, his back props itself up against the arm of the couch whilst you can’t help but look down at his once again.

‘You wouldn’t believe how sensitive I get… and I fucking love it, I could be squealing the whole entire apartment block down and I still wouldn’t give a shit because of how fucking good it feels’. Chris rasps from his position below you, still hot and still sweaty from the affect of the drug but 100% ready to get his hands all over you.

Both of your hands are layered on each of his thighs and without warning, you squeeze them. This makes him hiss slightly in stimulated pain, but it also gives him pleasure because he smirks through it all. ‘Go on… put your tongue on me… I know you want to…’ he taunts in a low whisper, like Adam tempting Eve with an apple and playing with her biggest weaknesses.

Your heart beats down at your clit easily through the influence of the drug, and you don’t hesitate, not after Chris mumbles ‘I know you like it… and I know you wanna know what it feels like when I hit the back of your throat’.

Your mouth waters at the huskiness of his whisper and you swallow, looking up at Chris with devilishly hooded eyes that Aphrodite gifts you, especially for a task like this.

‘I dare you…’

You don’t give him much time to say anything else, because you’re eagerly spitting a thick string of saliva right onto his cock instead. You watch as it slips all the way down the base of his thickness slowly whilst you hear Chris pant deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his eyelashes feathering dreamily at the sensation of your spit mingling with his pre-come.

His large hands grab onto any part of the couch they can find and hold onto it for dear life after he stutters a whiny little ‘Oh- oh god…’ with his breath hitching and his stomach convulsing under the sensation of your tongue. You sit on your knees properly, your hands caressing his thighs as you drop your head right down so that you can nuzzle against his throbbing nerve.

As you get closer you spy a thick blue vein on the underside of his dick and try to remember where it is for later stimulation. But for now you simply look up at him with your own little smirk decorating your face whilst he gazes down at you, looking helpless and needy. Puckering your lips, you decide to tease him a little by placing pathetic, minuscule kisses up on his wet tip, before nudging it with your nose. Chris whines a little in annoyance at this with his back arching babyishly as though he’s about to throw a temper tantrum.

‘What a pretty little boy’ you muse generously, before whispering ‘you’d hit my g-spot easily baby…’ up to him, which has his hips bucking uncontrollably into the air. Although, one of your hands comes down to slap his thigh at this.

‘Hey! Don’t be naughty now… you’ll get my tongue in a minute… let me have a look at you first’ you scold him harshly, now holding down both of his hips before you peek out your tongue to give him a short kitten lick. You can tell he wants to thrust up into your mouth so badly based off of the resistance your hands face, however, you don’t let him just yet.

‘You let me have my fun, and then you can have your fun, Chris’ you bark at him which seems to put his filthy mouth in place.

Leaning back up again on your haunches, you now decide to spit into your hand and wrap it around his pulsating cock. You can tell Chris isn’t expecting this due to the way he cries out into the air slightly before you start to slowly stroke him. You feel some form of heart beat throbbing underneath his thickness whilst your hand works against him. You make your hand tight and slow to allow him enough sensual pleasure whilst not going too fast so that you can also savour the moment.

Whilst keeping your hand going, you manage to get onto your hands and knees so that you can lean up closer to his face and really look at how he squirms about helplessly below you.

‘Gotta get you ready for my mouth, don’t I?’ You innocently speak down to him, but Chris only tips his head back in return to hit it against the armrest and squeeze his eyes shut. His panting breaths are raggedy and laboured whilst he tries to focus on his breathing above all else, but he can’t help but feel slightly tortured under the influence of your palm.

‘Fuck- fucking lick me… please gorgeous… I- I need you so bad’ his voice reduces to pathetic begs as he finds the time to now viciously twist your shirt in between his knuckles and yank at it like a pouty child. You roll your eyes and tighten your hand, mumbling a quick ‘needy boy aren’t you?’ Before finally giving in to his agonising cries.

You lower yourself back down with Chris putting a somewhat happy smile onto his face through the pained pleasure after getting you to crack and give him what he wants.

This time, you don’t beat around the bush. If Chris wants it he can fucking have it for all you care. Letting go of his cock, you substitute your hand for your tongue and lick a bold stripe all the way from the base to the tip.

‘Jesus Christ…’ he whines in overstimulation, only the torture doesn’t stop there, because he has to repeat himself louder when you quickly slide his tip into you mouth, briefly lollipopping it and coating it with more of your saliva before you slide it back out with a wet ‘pop’.

‘Ugh… more… please- please give me more!’ Chris moans impatiently, whining like a fucking spoilt brat as he finally makes a decision to tangle his hands within your hair and keep them there so that he can pull on your strands whenever he feels like it. His cheeks are a furious red, and even his brow is sweating whilst he looks down towards your kneeling figure.

You roll your eyes with a glare, and he shies away at this, averting his eyes so that you won’t shout at him or slap his thigh again.

Going back to your work, your tongue playfully slips out once so that you can roll it over his tip. This seems to give Chris a wild rush of euphoria because of the way he’s cursing and groaning.

Jesus… he wasn’t kidding when he said he liked to squeal his whole apartment block down.

You smirk.

But your eyes also water because of how harshly Chris is clawing at your hair.

So you decide to give him a fright and deep throat him.

It works, because as soon as you slide him down your throat he moans into the air once again, his back arching and his hips instinctively bucking up, which makes saliva drip from out of your mouth and down the rest of his glistening cock after you gag slightly.

As Chris’ thickness stretches out your mouth you do indeed feel the tip of his cock rub against the back of your throat when you start to bob your head.

Chris - clearly - has no problem with helping at all and decides to use his grip on your hair to greedily push your head at his own pace, which - you’re not going to lie - is extremely hot, but also pisses you off.

‘Fuck you’re so good at this’ he mumbles within a daze of erotic edging, his orgasm easily bubbling along the lining of his gut from how well you’re sucking him, but you don’t quite let him cum just yet because you want to try something…

Slipping him back out of your mouth, you grab a hold of his utterly soaked cock before jerking him slowly once again, this time pressing your thumb right into the bulge of his vein, which makes his eyes flutter and roll into the back of his head.

‘I want you to fuck my mouth baby…’

You breathe lustfully, staring at him with sparkling eyes as your core squeezes in excitement.

‘I want you to absolutely choke me…’

You beg to him once again, which catches Chris’ attention.

He’s greedy for his orgasm, and so complies immediately with a panting smirk.

‘…Get back down there then’ he muses cheekily, his straightened teeth on show before he forces your head down there himself. Your nose nudges against his pulsing cock for one last time before you slide him back into your mouth and this time, let him do the work.

His chest and stomach rise and fall rapidly whilst he manoeuvres one of his hands to now grip the centre of your hair whilst his other one finds its way to the couch cushion so that he can prop himself up.

Slowly, he barely gives you any time to adjust before he is fucking his hips upwards, pushing himself further down your throat every time he pulls away and comes back again. You gag once more, but don’t put up much of a fight because you instead love to hear his groans of sheer effort that turn into something carnally primal the more he does it.

Suddenly he gets louder, and you actually feel him twitch within your mouth, hinting to you that his orgasm is coming thick and fast.

‘I’m- I’m gonna c-cum’ he incoherently whines with his neck thrown back once again as it struggles to bring his voice up into the air.

Tears roll down your cheeks, but you ignore them in favour of allowing Chris to finish into your mouth. Sliding his cock up towards the opening of your lips slightly, it gives you enough room to wrap your hand around the base of his prick so that you can help him cum. Whilst he does, you continuously stroke him as he cries and white knuckles the couch cushion seat. His cum spurts out in hot, thick ropes and drips all down your throat.

After you let Chris go, you make him watch you swallow all of what he gave you.

He slouches onto the sofa with exhaustion, breathing heavily with his shoulders rising and falling dramatically.

Both of you are silent for a second, panting and looking at one another as if your brains are deciding to voice aloud what they’re both thinking.

Chris makes the first move.

‘Umm… are you- are you still as horny as me? Even after… that?’. His voice is timid, as if testing the waters between a make or break point. However, you still feel an absolute wave of arousal batter against your clit, and so nod in confusion.

Chris only laughs in disbelief whilst rubbing his forehead.

‘Shit that is strong stuff…’

Author’s notes p.2: wow. Well umm… that was long. I always get WAY too carried away with my writing lmaoo. Can someone please tell me why I literally made a fucking Spotify playlist dedicated to exactly this piece of writing?? (Who wants on it? 😏). Also, I took the liberty of giving Chris a labret lip piercing in this one because HOT, and idk, I just think it suited his vibe- but yes, obvi he doesn’t have one irl so everyone can just pretend 🙄. This piece of writing is dedicated to @ellie-luvsfics bc she’s ‘a slut for drug dealer Chris’. And @strniohoeee bc she’s my bbg <3 hope people enjoyed, and as always send any requests and whatnot!!!

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #the sturniolos

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