#yongbook

The warm water of the shower ran against your scalp, bubbles slipping through your hair as you worked the shampoo in slow, sleepy circles. Morning light spilled through the window.

Then, click.

The bathroom door opened with a quiet sound, and you knew it was him.

Felix stepped into the steam like he belonged there. His bare feet padded softly on the tiles until you felt him behind you, the heat of his body sinking into your skin before he even touched you.

Then, his hands. Smooth and sure, sliding around your waist, resting there with quiet intent.

“Keep washing,” he whispered, his voice low and rough from sleep. “Don’t mind me.”

You swallowed, heartbeat picking up as his palms drifted lower, slowly. Over your hips, then your thighs, pressing, gripping, pulling you back into him until your body met his, slick skin against skin.

You faltered, fingers still tangled in your hair.

“I said keep washing,” Felix murmured near your ear, his tone playful but edged with something darker, his voice deep. His lips brushed your shoulder as his grip tightened, holding you close. “I just wanted to feel you.”

You tried to keep your hands moving, fingers massaging the shampoo into your scalp like he told you to, but it was already getting harder to focus. Not with Felix’s chest pressed to your back, his breath warm against your neck, his fingers skimming lower every few seconds like he was testing how long you'd last.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your ear. “Didn’t like that.”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you said, voice catching as his hands gripped your thighs again, gentle, but claiming.

He hummed, not convinced. “Should’ve woken me,” he whispered. “Could’ve started the day just like this, hugging you.”

His hands slid up, gliding over slick skin, fingers splaying over your stomach as he pulled you tighter against him. You felt him now, hard and aching where he pressed into you. And still, he didn’t ask for more. He just held you there, mouth exploring the curve of your neck like he had all the time in the world.

“God, you feel good,” he breathed.

Your breathing stuttered, shampoo dripping from your fingertips as your arms lowered slightly, too distracted to finish. He noticed.

“Baby,” he whispered again, his voice so deep it gave you chills all over your body, lips brushing your skin with every word, “keep washing.”

You obeyed, shakily bringing your hands back to your hair. He didn’t move away. Didn’t let you escape his hold. One palm stayed pressed to your stomach while the other slid lower, slow and lazy.

He kissed beneath your ear, then dragged his lips lightly across your shoulder. “Don’t worry, angel. I’ll take care of you when you’re done.”

A low chuckle vibrated against your spine as he kissed between your shoulder blades. “Let me help” he murmured, his fingers brushing yours. He reached up, gently easing your hands away from your hair. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

You let him guide you, arms dropping to your sides as you leaned into his chest, head tilting back just enough to give him room. The water kept running, warm and steady, and he stepped closer, his body flush fully against yours, one arm wrapped securely around your waist.

With the other, he worked the remaining shampoo through your hair, his fingers slow, firm, tender.

He massaged your scalp like he had done it a hundred times, it was just a Felix thing. He loved massaging you every time he could. The pads of his fingers dug in just right, tracing through the strands, curling around them gently as he whispered soft things against your ear.

“So pretty like this,” he murmured. “Letting me take care of you. All cute n' quiet.”

You exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering shut. He tilted your head slightly, turning you into the stream of water. His fingers rinsed through your hair with care, guiding the suds away until nothing was left but clean, warm softness.

You turned slowly in his arms, water sliding down your skin as you faced him. Felix let you, his hands still resting at your waist, thumbs tracing circles like he couldn't stop touching you, even for a second.

And then you saw him.

His blonde hair was soaked, darkened by the water and clinging to his forehead in soft strands. Droplets rolled down the sharp lines of his jaw, catching in the hollows of his collarbones, and his freckles, God, his freckles, were scattered like stars across his cheeks and nose, made more vivid by the steam and heat.

He was smiling at you. That smile.

The one that was both boyish and devastating. Soft, sweet, but laced with the kind of hunger that made your knees weak.

“Hi, angel,” he murmured, like it was the first time he was seeing you. His gaze dipped, slow, thorough, taking in every inch of your bare skin, flushed and glistening. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You swallowed, barely able to breathe.

And he didn’t look away. Didn’t even blink.

He brought one hand up to tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear, knuckles grazing your cheek. “You always look at me like that,” he whispered, voice thick. “Like you need me.”

You did. And he knew it. You smiled, and nodded. “I do need you”

“You gonna let me take care of you?” he asked, tilting his head.

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly. Still, he didn’t rush. He didn’t press, even though he was hard and wanting, even though his eyes told you exactly what he planned to do.

He waited. Letting you look. Letting you want.

You brought your hands up slowly, resting them on his chest. His skin was warm under your touch, wet and smooth, his heart beating steady beneath your fingertips. He didn’t say anything right away, just looked at you like he always did. Like there was nothing else in the world.

“You always sneak in places like that?” you asked softly, voice barely louder than the water falling around you.

He exhaled a small laugh through his nose, the sound warm, close. “Didn’t want to be away from you any longer.”

You looked up at him, searching his face. His eyes never left yours.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you said again.

“I know. But I’d rather wake up next to you,” Felix murmured. His hands slid gently up your sides, thumbs brushing your ribs. “Even if it’s just to hold you for a minute longer.”

Your heart pulled at his words. He meant every one of them.

You traced your fingers up to his shoulder, watching the way water beaded along his collarbone. “You’re so beautiful, Lixie” you said before you could stop yourself.

His brows lifted slightly, eyes softening. “You really think that?”

You nodded, swallowing. “It’s unfair, honestly. How good you look like this.”

He leaned in until your foreheads touched, his voice a whisper. “Then look at me. As long as you want.”

You did. You stood there in the water with your fingers still curled against his skin, and you looked at him. The blonde strands stuck to his face. The way his lashes darkened when they were wet. The steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, deep and controlled, like he was holding back.

And still, that tension hung between you, unspoken but undeniable. Not rushed. Not demanding. Just there, breath heavy, burning low and steady in the space where his mouth hovered near yours, where his fingers pressed into your skin like he needed to make sure you wouldn’t disappear.

“I want you to touch me,” you whispered. “But let’s go slow, okay?”

Felix looked right into your eyes.

“I could never rush you,” he said. “Not when it’s you. I just want to be with you.”

Felix leaned in, and when he kissed you, it wasn’t frantic or hungry, it was soft, slow, like he was tasting something he had been craving forever. His lips moved against yours with a quiet desperation, not rough, but deep, like he needed the kiss to say everything he felt for you.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours again, like he was making sure you were still with him, like he needed your permission again, even if you had already given it.

Then, his hands began to move. Slowly. Tenderly.

One hand slipped down the side of your neck, fingers gliding along your collarbone before tracing lower. The other hand stayed at your waist, grounding you, holding you steady as his touch drifted over your chest, reverent and sure. He cupped you with a gentle palm, his thumb brushing across your nipple, barely a touch, more like a whisper.

You gasped, body arching ever so slightly into him.

His eyes never left your face.

“Okay?” he asked, voice thick with restraint.

Your hand moved to his, guiding it, showing him you didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want distance. You wanted him. All of him. Like this.

“Keep going,” you whispered. “Please.”

Felix kissed you again, deeper this time, and his hand moved lower, fingertips sliding down your stomach, slow as sin, until they found the heat between your legs and touched you like he had been waiting for this, and the soft groan he let out into your mouth nearly undid you.

You broke the kiss slowly, lips lingering on his, and brought your hand to his wrist.

“Let me,” you whispered, voice thick and velvety, heavy with the kind of trust that made his chest ache. Something soft. Something grounding.

He stilled under your touch, watching you with eyes wide, lips parted and glistening. You could feel how hard he was breathing, like he was holding back something overwhelming.

Your fingers curled around his, and you guided him lower. You tilted your hips slightly forward, parting your legs, and placed his hand right where you wanted it.

“Right here,” you murmured.

You let his fingers slip through your folds, slow and deliberate, until they were slick with you. You moved them up slightly, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit.

“Just… light circles,” you said. “No rush.”

He followed your instructions with almost reverent precision. The first swipe was soft, experimental. Then the second. You sucked in a breath as he circled again, adjusting the pressure just enough to make your thighs twitch.

“Like that?” he asked, voice hoarse, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Exactly like that.”

The rhythm built slowly, his fingers gliding over you, teasing, taking little gasps from your lips with every pass. You watched his face as he watched yours, the way his pupils blew wide, his jaw tightening when you rolled your hips toward him, chasing the pressure.

Then, his hand shifted lower, and you didn’t stop him.

He traced down again, dipping his middle finger between your folds until he found your entrance. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushed in. The stretch was delicious, deep, and warm, and you couldn’t help the way your lips parted on a soft moan.

He froze for a second, like the feel of you around him had knocked the breath out of him.

“God, baby,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You feel so—fuck.”

You took his hand again and guided him deeper, just an inch more, just until he curled his finger slightly and dragged it against that sweet, aching spot inside you.

But then… you brought your own hand down.

Felix’s eyes snapped up to yours as you slid your fingers over the place where his hand was already working you open. You circled your clit a couple times, deliberately, right where he had been a second ago, and his breath caught like you had touched a live wire in him.

You kept your eyes on his when you whispered, “Can I?”

He nodded, frantic and breathless, too full of you to speak.

So you did it, slid one of your fingers in, right alongside his. The fit was tight, snug, and the feeling of both of you inside yourself made you gasp, head falling back. The stretch burned in the sweetest way, your walls fluttering around both of your fingers.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, watching the way your bodies moved together, how his finger and yours sank into you in perfect rhythm.

Your cunt clenched around the both of you like it didn’t know who to hold onto, each glide in and out wetter than the last, messy and filthy and achingly slow.

His hips stuttered forward without thinking, brushing against your thigh, cock twitching where it hung heavy, flushed and leaking. He had to bite his lip hard to hold himself in place, the tip of him leaving a slick smear against your skin.

“Fuck. That’s—” He shook his head like he was dizzy. “How am I supposed to take it slow?”

You smiled, soft and sharp. But you didn’t move faster. Just deeper. You curled both your fingers, yours and his, and dragged them over that tender spot again, pressure delicious, relentless, and his whole body tensed. His jaw clenched. A broken sound left him.

“You like it?” you asked, breathless, half-teasing, half-sincere.

His hand flexed with yours inside you, matching your pressure, your rhythm. You could feel the way his knuckles brushed yours inside your heat, the delicious fullness of it, the tension building with every slow thrust.

His forehead dropped to yours, eyes fluttering closed. “I love it,” he whispered. “You’re… fuck, you’re so hot. So fucking beautiful.”

And you could feel it, how much he meant it. How it wasn’t just about getting you off, but being part of the way you touched yourself. Being allowed to feel what you feel, the way you feel it.

You gasped again, hips rolling down into your joined hands, grinding softly into his palm, and his free hand came up to cradle your cheek. His thumb brushed along your jaw, tender even as his body was trembling, flushed and desperate and aching to bury himself inside you.

“I feel that, baby,” he whispered, breath trembling. “I’ve got you.”

And you let him hold you like that, his body flush to yours, your breaths tangled in the mist, fingers slow and deep and warm. Touching together.

Moving as one. Like worship. Like devotion.

Every thrust made you wetter, tighter, slick sounds echoing against the tile. You felt the tension curl in your gut, rising sharp and fast and inevitable.

Your fingers slipped free first, slow and wet, and Felix’s followed right after, like he didn’t want to leave, like your body was trying to keep him in. His hand dragged out with a soft, obscene squelch, both of you breathless, trembling.

The loss made you whimper softly, clenching around nothing, still pulsing, and his mouth was on yours again immediately, stealing the sound, kissing you with something raw, something shaking. His tongue swept in like he needed to taste you deeper, needed to feel the way you felt falling apart.

You felt his hand slide up your back, palm flat and warm, anchoring you, grounding you. His cock still brushed your body, hot and aching, twitching against your skin.

But he didn’t move yet. Just kissed you like he’d never stop. “I wanna have you,” he said against your lips. Voice low. Barely more than breath. “All of you.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

He turned you gently, guiding you with careful hands until your front was pressed to the fogged glass of the shower wall. He stepped in behind you, chest against your back, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you flush against him.

The heat of him, his skin, his breath, the way his cock sat heavy and hard against the curve of your ass, made you tremble. But there was no rush in him. Only reverence.

His hand smoothed over your hip, then lower, between your thighs again. This time, he parted you with more certainty, and when he slid his fingers through your folds, you gasped, so open already, so wet. He moaned softly, almost like he was in pain.

He found your clit with the lightest touch, just a soft brush at first, barely there, as if he didn’t want to overwhelm you, though that’s exactly what it did. A shiver ran through your legs, and he smiled against your neck, slow and… wicked.

His fingertips circled lazily, never quite giving you what you needed. Featherlight strokes that teased and taunted, making your hips twitch helplessly back against him. He took his time, dragging the pads of two fingers over the sensitive bundle of nerves, then back down through your folds like he needed to memorize every slick inch of you.

“So soft,” he whispered, mouth brushing your shoulder. “So fucking hot.”

And then he did it again, drawing a tight circle around your clit, then a second one just a little slower, pressing just a little harder, enough to make your breath hitch, your thighs tense.

You reached back blindly, grabbing for his wrist, needing more. But he only chuckled under his breath, not cruel, just reverent.

“I know, angel” he murmured.

He gave you maddening strokes, gentle and slick, circling, then tapping, light flicks that sent sparks up your spine, each one worse than the last. He varied the pressure, rubbing soft and steady for a few moments, then easing up again until you were squirming in place, your hands braced against the glass, chest rising fast.

Your clit throbbed beneath his touch, every nerve on fire, and still he didn’t rush. Still he stayed gentle. Intimate. Like your pleasure was something to savor, not chase.

He pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades as his fingers slipped lower again, gathering more of your slick and bringing it back to your clit. This time he used two fingers, moving in slow, perfect circles that dragged a broken moan from your throat. Your legs trembled again, knees threatening to give, and he wrapped his free arm around your waist to hold you steady.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice deep. “Let me love you like this.” And with every torturously slow stroke, he did. “You’re dripping, baby” he said, voice thick.

You braced yourself against the glass, forehead tipped forward, chest heaving with each breath. “Felix…”

He kissed your shoulder, then trailed lower, slow and reverent kisses down your spine as the steam curled around your bodies. You felt his chest press to your back, one hand firm on your hip, the other caressing down the outside of your thigh.

Then, gently, he pulled back.

“Turn around for me, angel.”

You let him guide you, the slick glide of water between you as he shifted your body. Now you were facing him, his golden skin gleaming wet, hair dripping, eyes soft but hungry. He looked up at you like you were something sacred, something he’d spend lifetimes worshipping. That gaze alone made your knees tremble.

And then he sank into his knees.

Mouth parting. Hands sliding to your thighs again, thumbs stroking the insides slowly before spreading you just enough.

He leaned in, nose brushing you, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against your heat. A low hum vibrated from his chest as his tongue slipped out, slow and deliberate, tasting you from bottom to top. He licked through your folds again and again, soft, teasing strokes at first, savoring every second. Then deeper, flattening his tongue, dragging it up with pressure before swirling softly around your clit.

His fingers held your thighs steady as he mouthed at your entrance, tongue dipping in shallowly, then deeper, groaning like he couldn’t get enough. He alternated between sucking gently on your clit and flicking it with the tip of his tongue, lazy, wet circles and slow deliberate strokes, like he was trying to memorize every reaction.

When your body twitched, when your breath stuttered, he moaned into you again, needy and in awe. “That’s it,” he murmured against your skin, breath warm and reverent. “So fucking sweet, angel… keep looking at me.”

His mouth was all over you. Hot and slow and impossibly gentle, his tongue traced over you, licking through your folds, tasting you with quiet desperation. His fingers pressed softly against your clit as he mouthed at your entrance, groaning low when he felt the way your body pulsed, already clenching around nothing.

“Oh my God—” you gasped, hips rolling back into his face.

“Shhh,” he breathed, lips brushing your skin. “I’ve got you.”

He licked you again, flat, slow, from the base to your clit, then flicked softly right where you needed it. His hands kept your thighs steady, his mouth never leaving you, not even when your knees started to shake. You reached back, threading one hand into his wet hair, needing to anchor yourself somehow, and he moaned against you at the touch.

When he pulled away, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, he pressed a kiss to your thigh and stood, his body sliding up yours, chest against yours, cock hot and hard against your stomach.

“You want more?” he whispered, lips against your ear.

You nodded, breathless. “I want all of you.”

He groaned, low and ruined, and his hands moved to your hips, guiding you gently. One hand reached down between your thighs again, fingers sliding through your slick before wrapping around himself. He stroked once, twice, then nudged the head of his cock against your entrance.

“Nice and slow,” he whispered, kissing your neck. “You tell me when.”

You reached back and held his hip, grounding him. “Now, Lixie. Please, now.”

He lifted one of your legs up, wrapping around his waist, holding your thigh. Then, he pushed in, slow, deep, inch by inch. The stretch stole the breath from your lungs, your eyes fluttering closed as your body adjusted around him. You felt everything. Every ridge. Every twitch. His quiet, trembling curse against your skin when he was finally buried to the hilt.

You both stayed like that for a moment. Not moving. Just breathing.

Then he pulled back, just an inch, then sank in again, deeper, angling his hips until the sound that left your lips was half a cry.

“There,” you said, nails digging into his thigh. “Just like that.”

And that’s exactly what he gave you. Slow, full thrusts. A rhythm that made the whole world blur. His hands on your waist, your back arched against the glass, the water cascading down your bodies like a veil. And his voice, murmuring how tight you were, how beautiful, how good it felt to be inside you like this.

He kept that rhythm, slow, unrelenting, hips rolling against yours with aching precision, each thrust angled just right, like he was memorizing the way your body tightened around him. You pressed your palms to the glass, forehead tipped forward, mouth open with each breath.

“Feel good, angel?” he asked, voice rasping right against your ear, the sound of it broken, tender.

You nodded, too lost in it to speak, and reached back again, curling your arm around his neck to pull him closer. You felt his chest press flush to your back, felt his breath shaking against your skin.

“Felix—” you gasped. “I-I’m close.”

He moaned at that, deep and wrecked, as he watched your hand slip down your stomach, between your thighs, finding your clit without hesitation. Your touch was firm, circling with purpose now, synced with the slow thrusts of his hips.

“Yeah baby, I want you to come with me,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder, your neck, right below your ear. “Wanna feel you fall apart with me.”

You nodded, whimpering as your body clenched around him again.

His hips stuttered. He was close too, you could feel it in the way he started to tremble against you, the way his breath hitched every time you pulsed around him. Your fingers never faltered, rubbing soft, tight circles over your clit in perfect rhythm.

“I’ve got you,” he said, voice cracking. “Let go. Come with me, baby. Please.”

And then it hit.

You gasped, one hand slamming against the glass, the other gripping his forearm where it held you steady. Your whole body tightened, back arching, hips jerking against him as you shattered with a cry of his name.

The second your body clenched down hard around him, Felix cursed, sharp and breathless, and his hips bucked forward once, twice more before he spilled into you, buried deep. He held you so tight, chest against yours, his mouth at your neck, shaking with the force of it.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just the sound of the water falling, and your heartbeats trying to calm in tandem. His fingers still rested between your legs, now still, holding you gently through the aftershocks. Your bodies were slick with sweat and steam and everything you’d just shared.

Felix pressed a kiss to your shoulder. Then your neck. Then just held you close, breathing against your skin.

“You’re everything,” he whispered again.

And you smiled, eyes fluttering closed.

“So are you.”

Your legs were still shaking when Felix slid out of you, gently, one arm wrapping around your waist to steady you. You leaned back into him, letting him hold your weight, both of you breathing hard, skin flushed and slick, hearts still racing under the sound of the water.

His nose brushed below your ear, and then he pressed the softest kiss to the side of your neck. Barely there. Just his lips, warm, careful, lingering like a thank-you whispered into your skin.

You met his gaze. His hair was wet and clinging to his forehead, cheeks pink from the heat, mouth a little swollen, but he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world.

“C’mere,” you murmured, holding him in your arms. He let you move, hands still holding your waist as he leaned in and kissed you again.

Full of softness. Lips sliding against yours slowly, over and over, like he wanted to relearn the shape of your mouth in this quiet moment. You cupped his face, fingers brushing the line of his jaw, and he smiled into the kiss like it was instinct.

You kissed him again, slower. Let it linger.

He chuckled softly, still dazed. Then he leaned around you, hand reaching toward the fogged-up glass behind your shoulder. You watched, heart swelling, as he used one fingertip to draw something small in the steam.

A heart.

Then another. Then another.

Tiny, uneven, scribbled with love.

You smiled.

“Whats that?” you asked, grinning.

He looked at you, that boyish sparkle in his eyes. “All for you.”

Your chest fluttered. You leaned up and kissed him again, slower than before, your arms wrapping around his neck this time.

“I love them,” you said.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice soft but steady.

You stared at him for a second, stunned by how simple and sure he sounded.

Then your smile turned into something quieter, more real. You kissed the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then over his heart.

“I love you too.”

And neither of you moved to rinse off just yet. You stayed like that, held, warm, hearts drawn in fog, wrapped up in each other, letting the moment stretch.

Letting it mean everything.

-

+++ authors note: omg hi. I took my time finishing this one. I don’t know exactly why… but this one felt so precious. hope u enjoy this as much as I do. MISS YOU, BYE!

You and Felix had always been close. Born two weeks apart, raised in the same neighborhood, and practically raised side-by-side, your lives had always tangled like roots beneath the surface, even when neither of you noticed the quiet way you shaped each other. He was the boy who held your hand when you scraped your knees, the first one to carry your books, to make you laugh so hard your stomach hurt. The boy who sat beside you during thunderstorms when you were afraid, and who never let anyone touch you with anything but kindness.

Felix had always been good to you. Sweet. Golden.

Too golden.

You hadn’t always thought of him like that, not with heat, not with ache, but lately, something inside you had been shifting, and that shift had started to show. It wasn’t deliberate, not at first. The shorts you wore around the apartment just got shorter. Your touches lingered longer. You leaned in a little too close. Called him "Lixie" in that tone.

And you noticed it, the way his throat worked when he swallowed. The way his hands balled into fists at his sides. How he stopped making eye contact for too long. How he looked away when your tank top slipped, or your lip caught between your teeth.

But he never did anything.

Because Felix was a good boy.

So you pushed harder.

It started with the popsicle.

You were lying on the couch in the shared apartment, one leg draped over the back, wearing one of his old hoodies, nothing else beneath, and licking lazily at a strawberry popsicle. The AC buzzed overhead. Felix sat across from you, laptop open, clearly trying to focus. You watched the muscle in his jaw flex as you slowly slid the popsicle into your mouth and pulled it out with a soft, wet pop.

His eyes flicked up once, met yours, and then back down. He clenched his jaw again and typed harder.

"Hot day," you murmured, dragging your tongue up the side of the cold treat.

"Mm-hm," he replied, not looking up.

You let out a quiet, breathy moan, rolling your head back like the taste was too much, licking your lips afterward. When you peeked again, his fingers had stilled. His eyes were on your legs.

Still, he said nothing.

Then came the yoga sessions.

You never invited him to join, you just happened to do your stretches right there in the living room, right at the time he usually walked in from his run. Bent over in tight shorts, hips in the air, slow breathing, slow movement. You could feel his eyes on your body, his silent tension, but he never said a word.

Never touched you.

Never snapped.

You weren’t sure if you were trying to break him or seduce him anymore, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that eventually, eventually, he’d give in.

And he did.

It was a Friday night, quiet, humid. You’d had a long shower, walked out in only your towel, and let your wet hair drip down your back. Felix was on the couch, gaming, wearing loose grey sweats and a black tank top, his forearms flexing with every movement of the controller.

You didn’t say anything. You just stood there in front of him.

He paused the game without turning to look at you.

"Put some clothes on."

You smiled, stepping forward. “Why? You don’t like what you see?”

Silence.

You watched the way his knuckles whitened around the controller. Watched his chest rise.

“Y/N,” he warned, low and clipped.

You let the towel slip just a little lower. "Felix."

His name on your tongue, soft like silk. Just to see what he’d do.

Then it happened.

The snap wasn’t loud. It wasn’t shouted. But it was devastating.

He dropped the controller, stood, slowly, deliberately, and looked at you for the first time in weeks without flinching.

His eyes were dark.

His voice was a whisper. "You think this is a game?"

Your heart jumped. "Maybe."

He stepped closer. One step. Two. You backed up instinctively.

"I’ve been patient," he said, voice low, teeth gritted. "You think I haven’t noticed the way you walk around here? The looks, the sounds you make, the way you bend over like you want me to—"

His hand shot out, gripping your jaw. Gentle, but firm.

You gasped softly.

"You want me to lose control, don’t you?"

You nodded, breath catching.

"Say it."

"Yes," you whispered. "I want you to snap, Lix. I want you to—"

He kissed you.

No. he devoured you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. His mouth crashed into yours with a hunger that stole your breath, hands sliding down your towel-clad body, gripping your hips like they were his. His tongue plunged deep, his teeth dragging against your bottom lip.

He pushed you back until your spine hit the wall.

"I tried," he growled, dragging your towel off and tossing it aside. "I tried so fucking hard to be good."

You whimpered under his touch.

"But you didn’t want good, did you?"

He dropped to his knees.

You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on you, lips hot, tongue skilled, sucking, licking, devouring like he’d been starving for years. You cried out, legs shaking, fists tangling in his soft hair.

"Felix—"

He groaned against you, pulling you closer, burying himself deeper. You could barely stand. You could barely think. His name was a mantra on your lips, your whole body burning under his mouth.

And then he stood, lips wet, eyes wild and threw you over his shoulder.

You squealed.

"Felix!"

"You wanted me to snap?" he growled, carrying you to his room. "Then you’re gonna take everything I’ve been holding back."

He tossed you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. Pulled his tank top over his head, revealing golden skin, taut abs, veins running up his arms. Your mouth watered.

And then he climbed over you.

"You don’t get to be in charge anymore, princess."

You moaned.

"I’m gonna ruin you."

His mouth was on your throat before you could think. Wet, hot kisses pressed to your pulse, then nipping, biting, marking. You moaned and arched under him, legs parting instinctively, needing him, needing, in a way that felt feral.

"You don’t know what you started, do you?" Felix rasped against your neck. His voice was ruined. Ruined and rough and desperate. "Walking around here like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. Bending over. Making those little noises. Sucking that popsicle like your mouth wasn’t meant for this."

His hand slid between your legs, found your soaked folds without hesitation.

"God—look at you. Dripping. You got off on teasing me, didn’t you?"

"Yes," you gasped, body jerking as his fingers stroked through your slickness.

"Say it."

"I got off on it," you breathed. "Every time you looked at me like that—every time you didn’t touch me—I wanted you to break."

His growl vibrated through your chest. His fingers pushed inside, two at once, and you cried out at how deep they reached, curling just right, his thumb rubbing your clit with maddening rhythm.

"You’re gonna take everything now," he hissed, curling harder, faster, "and you’re gonna thank me for it."

Your hips lifted to meet his thrusts. Your hands clutched his arms. Your lips found his again, desperate, teeth clashing, all tongue and hunger.

You were close, too fast, embarrassingly fast, and he knew.

"Already?" he laughed darkly. "You tease me for weeks and can’t even last five minutes under my fingers?"

"Fuck—Felix—"

"That’s right. Come for me," he snarled against your mouth. "All over my fingers like the messy little brat you are."

You shattered.

Your orgasm crashed through you like a wave, your legs clamping around his hand, cries muffled by his kiss as he fucked you through it without mercy. Stars exploded behind your eyes. And still, he didn’t stop.

He pulled his fingers out slow, watching the wet strings stretch, then lifted them to your mouth.

"Open."

You obeyed.

He slid them onto your tongue and watched, eyes burning, as you sucked them clean.

"Good girl," he growled. "You want more?"

You nodded, eager. Boneless and throbbing and starving.

Felix leaned close, his voice like molten steel. "Then get on all fours. Ass up. Now."

Your breath caught.

You scrambled to obey, spine curving, ass in the air. You could feel his gaze scorch your skin, hungry, possessive. You heard the rustle of fabric. The sound of a condom packet tearing.

Then—

A sharp smack landed across your ass.

You gasped, fingers clutching the sheets.

"That’s for teasing me," he said, voice low. Another slap. "That’s for every time you bent over in front of me."

You whimpered.

Another smack, this time followed by the soothing slide of his palm.

"And this—" he pressed the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, just teasing "this is for being mine."

Then he pushed in.

Your whole body arched. He was big, thick, stretching you wide as he buried himself inch by agonizing inch. You moaned like you’d been split open, because you had, heart, body, soul.

"God, you’re so fucking tight," he growled behind you, hands gripping your hips like handles. "You were made for me."

He pulled back, and slammed in.

Your cry bounced off the walls.

He did it again. And again. Faster. Deeper. You were drowning in the sound of skin slapping skin, his low grunts, your gasps, your moans, filthy, loud, perfect.

"Say you wanted this," he panted, thrusting harder. "Say you’ve wanted me to fuck you like this from the beginning."

"Yes—Felix, yes—I wanted this—wanted you—"

His hand tangled in your hair, yanked you up so your back was flush against his chest, his cock still buried inside you.

"You’re mine now," he whispered into your ear. "Say it."

"I’m yours," you moaned. "Only yours."

He growled, feral, broken and slammed back into you so hard your legs gave out. Only his arms kept you upright.

He didn’t stop.

Not when you begged. Not when you sobbed his name through your second orgasm. Not even when he flipped you onto your back and spread your legs wide, holding them there with brute strength as he fucked you harder than anyone ever had.

His hands roamed everywhere. Gripping your throat just enough to feel the pressure. Marking your hips, your breasts, your thighs with his mouth. Possessing every inch of you.

"You wanna tease me?" he panted, close, so close. "Next time, think about this, me wrecking this sweet little pussy. Me fucking you dumb."

You were already gone. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. You were just heat and slickness and the punishing rhythm of his hips, your third orgasm building like a storm inside you.

"Felix—I’m gonna—"

He kissed you hard. "Come with me."

And when he finally snapped, hips stuttering, cock pulsing inside you, you fell with him. Screaming, sobbing, breaking, coming harder than you ever had in your life.

Later, you lay tangled together, chest to chest, sweat cooling.

His fingers gently stroked your hair.

"Was that enough?" he whispered with a soft smile. "Or do I need to remind you again tomorrow what happens when you tease me?"

You laughed breathlessly, cheeks flushed.

"Remind me every day."

He kissed your forehead.

"Gladly."

The next morning, sunlight poured in like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

You woke up sore, fucked-out, and full of warmth in places you hadn’t even known existed. Felix was already awake, lying beside you, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily drawing circles across your bare spine.

"You okay?" he murmured, voice hoarse.

Your body ached, thighs, hips, the soft parts of you that he’d gripped so hard. And still, when he spoke, you felt it: that hum low in your belly. That want again.

You nodded slowly, curling into him. "Better than okay."

His lips touched your temple. Soft now. Tender.

But underneath it, tension. Leashed, waiting.

You wondered how long it would stay leashed.

The teasing didn’t stop. Not now that he knew.

In fact, it only grew worse.

You wore his shirts and nothing else. Walked around the apartment with that same sway to your hips. Sat on the kitchen counter while he made coffee, legs spread just wide enough.

And Felix? Felix would grind his jaw, grip the edge of the counter, fight to stay in control.

But sometimes, he didn’t.

Like that day you wore lace under a sheer dress. Deliberately. To test him.

You didn’t expect him to notice before the front door even closed.

But he did.

He stalked in behind you, pressed you against the wall, one hand slipping up your thigh.

"Lace?" he rasped against your neck. "You wore lace?"

"I was hot," you said sweetly.

He growled, yanked the dress up, and hissed at the sight of the barely-there black panties hugging your ass.

"You want me to fuck you right here?" he demanded. "Against the wall like a slut?"

You nodded, breath catching.

He didn’t hesitate.

Your panties were torn off in seconds. His cock was already hard, he shoved his sweats down just enough to free himself and slammed into you, one hand gripping your throat as the other held your hip still.

It was brutal.

It was perfect.

Every thrust sent your tits bouncing against the wall. Every sound you made got eaten by the slap of his hips. You were soaked, wrecked, already shaking, and you loved it.

"I’m gonna fuck the brat right out of you," he growled. "Until all you know is my cock. Until you beg."

You came hard. He kept going.

And when he finally came, spilling inside you with a choked groan, he bit your shoulder hard enough to bruise.

"You’re mine, Y/N," he whispered, pressing his forehead to your temple. "Don’t forget that."

You never could

Then came the night out.

It was one of your friends' birthdays, club night, loud music, too many bodies. You wore something tight. Backless. Thigh-high slit. Just to see how Felix would react.

He came with you. Didn’t say a word the whole drive.

Didn’t say a word when other men looked at you. When someone offered you a drink. When someone touched your waist.

But his silence was dangerous.

When he finally pulled you into a dark hallway near the bathroom, his eyes were black.

"You think this is funny?" he whispered, jaw clenched.

"I didn’t do anything," you said, a breathless lie.

"You let that asshole touch you."

"It was a hand on my waist—"

His mouth crashed into yours. Brutal. Punishing.

"You’re not his."

Your legs wrapped around his waist before you could think.

"Felix—"

He shoved your dress up, pulled your panties aside, and slammed into you in one thrust.

You moaned into his mouth, body jerking against the wall.

People were just down the hall. Anyone could walk by. But he didn’t care. You didn’t either.

"You’re mine," he growled, fucking you harder. "Say it."

"Yours," you gasped. "All yours—fuck—"

"You want to be a brat in public so bad?" His hand gripped your throat again, just enough pressure to make you whimper. "Then you’ll have to be one while my cock is inside you."

You came hard, biting down on his shoulder to muffle your scream. He came after, deep inside you, trembling.

And when he pulled out, he dropped to his knees, licked your release from between your legs, and looked up at you like you belonged to him.

Because you did.

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