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Make You Mine | Part 2/3
“You think I wanted this?” he whispered, voice cracked and wild. “To crave you like air? To wake up with your name already on my tongue? You think I meant to love you like this? I didn’t choose this, Y/N. I just looked at you and—” “You got stuck in my fucking bloodstream.”
Warnings: (WC: 8k +/-), MDNI!!!, college au!, classmates2lovers, angst, fluff, obsession, mutual pining, toxic ex shows up, mentions of emotional abuse, insecurities, the couple is fighting, first date, they're literally so in love its gross, lana being the bestest bestie, kissing, explicit sexual content: multiple s*x scenes, unprotected and protected s*x, or*l (f! recieving), f*ce sitting, felix being a munch, marking, car s*x, they're literally so horny and all over eachother, lmk if i missed anything!
a/n: my lovesss. thank you for all the sweet comments and messages, they mean the world to me. we're almost to the climax and the ending, and boyyy idk if you or I are ready for it .
Navigation | Masterlist | Oneshots
Part 1 | Part 2 | Finale
It’s late.
Y/N’s out—study group or Lana or both—and her dorm is dark, untouched. Except it’s not.
Felix has a copy of her key.
She gave it to him once, laughing, tossing it into his hoodie pocket with a careless “Just in case.”
He kept it. Of course he did.
And he used it tonight.
Not to snoop. Not to steal. Just to be close.
He climbs into her bed fully clothed, slides under the blankets like it’s his, and exhales.
It still smells like her.
Her shampoo. Her vanilla body lotion. The faintest trace of perfume on the pillow. He closes his eyes and imagines her in the doorway. Staring. Smiling. Crawling in beside him.
His hand curls into her pillow and inhales the scent, drifting off to the never-ending thoughts of you.
She comes home an hour later.
She pushes open the door, drops her bag andfreezes.
Felix?
He lies there, sleeping like an angel. His tuzzled hair and parted lips letting out soft snores.
Y/N stands there, heart in her throat.
She could be angry. Could yell and demand an explanation to why he just came into her dorm unannounced.
But instead… She just walks closer.
Watches him.
Sleeps curls around his lashes. His chest rises and falls steady. His mouth is parted slightly.
He looks peaceful. Like this is the only place he feels safe.
And what shocks her the most?
She doesn’t tell him to leave.
She should wake him up. Tell him to leave. Ask him what the hell he’s doing in her bed. Say something.
But instead—she moves closer.
Her body acts before her brain can catch up. Because he’s here. Warm. Solid. Safe in a way that terrifies her.
She slides beneath the blanket beside him, careful, slow, but not enough to be subtle.
His arm twitches in sleep. Then settles across her waist like it belongs there.
And her heart cracks.
Because this shouldn’t feel right.
But it does.
She lies there for a few minutes, watching him breathe, trying to memorize the curve of his jaw in the dim lighting from the window, the way his lashes brush his cheeks.
Then—his voice, groggy and low,
“Am I pretty, baby?”
She jolts slightly. “You were awake?”
Felix turns his head, lips curled at the edge. His voice is thick with sleep and something deeper.
“You think I could sleep knowing I’m this close to you?”
Her throat goes dry.
“You should’ve told me you were here.”
“You would’ve said no.”
She pauses. “Maybe.”
He leans in.
“You didn’t say it now.”
Then?
His lips brush her shoulder.
Just once. Barely there. A spark.
“You gonna tell me to leave?”
Her silence answers for her.
And that’s all it takes.
His hands move gently, one slipping under her shirt, fingers tracing the dip of her spine. The other cups her cheek, guiding her lips to his.
The kiss is slow at first. Careful. Testing.
Then—not.
She climbs over him, straddles his hips, and the moment he groans into her mouth, something snaps between them.
She’s pulling at his shirt. He’s gripping her thighs like he’s afraid she’ll disappear. Kissing like they’ve got something to prove.
Her hips grind against him, and he breathes her name like it’s the only word he remembers.
“God, baby—just like that.”
“You’re such a mess,” she whispers against his throat.
“Only for you.”
Their clothes stay on. Barely. Hands slip under fabric, seeking heat, memorizing skin.
He lifts her hoodie, kisses her stomach like she’s sacred.
She tugs his hair when his teeth graze the top of her chest.
It’s desperate. Passionate. A little broken.
And neither of them wants it to end.
When she collapses beside him, flushed and panting, he pulls her in close.
Whispers against her shoulder;
“I’d kill for this. You know that?”
Her breath catches.
She doesn’t answer.
--
The light creeps in slow.
Warm.
Safe.
Y/N blinks awake, tucked under Felix’s arm, chest pressed to his, her leg tangled over his.
He’s already awake.
Not staring at the ceiling. Not scrolling through his phone. Not sketching.
Just watching her.
“Morning,” he says, voice still low, lips against her hair.
She hums out a greeting and slides out of bed, tugging down her hoodie and brushing her fingers through her hair.
Felix props himself up on one elbow, shirtless, hair messy, eyes still dark.
“You leaving?”
She pauses and looks back.
“Just for coffee.”
He smiles. Soft. Whipped.
“Bring me one?”
She nods once, and just before she slips out the door—he calls after her.
“You look good in my shirt, baby.”
She walks faster to hide her blush.
She doesn’t make it two steps into the dorm kitchen before Lana appears like a sleep-deprived, glitter-dusted devil.
Messy bun. Hoodie. Bunny slippers. And a whole lot of judgment.
“Okay. So. What the hell happened last night.”
Y/N blinks. “What do you mean?”
Lana crosses her arms. Points.
“Bite mark there. Fucking huge by the way, and in the shape of a Felix Lee fever dream.”
Y/N pulls her hood tighter. “It’s nothing—”
“BITCH.”
Y/N winces.
Lana grabs the coffee out of her hand, takes a sip, and stares.
“You slept with him.”
“No.”
“You almost slept with him.”
Y/N’s silence is loud.
Lana leans in, suddenly serious. Softer.
“Are you okay?”
And that question hits harder than anything else.
Because Y/N doesn’t know.
She wants him. Craves him. Thinks about his mouth and his hands and the way he says baby like it’s a promise—
But she also remembers how he looked asleep in her bed. Peaceful. Like he belonged there. Like he expected to belong.
And that scares her.
Because this is becoming something else. Something more and shes not sure if she is ready yet.
---
Back in her room, she’s alone now. Felix went home to change and meet up with Changmin to study. It gives her just enough time to get lost in her thoughts.
She touches the mark on her neck lightly, runs her thumb over the raised skin.
It stings, but in a way that makes her stomach flutter.
She catches her reflection in the mirror.
Her lips. Her hair. The shirt still smelling like him.
She looks… completely undone.
And she’s not sure if that’s bad or good.
She picks up her phone. Thumb hovering.
She wants to text him.
Wants to say come back.
Wants his mouth on her again. Wants the fire. The possession. The need.
But instead, she types,
What are we doing?
Deletes it.
This isn’t normal.
Deletes that too.
And just writes,
I’m scared of how much I want you.
Her thumb hovers again. She meant to delete it, but before she could stop it, her finger slipped.
Send.
''Well shit'', she curses and throws her arms over her face.
---
He’s sitting on the floor of his room, his study session long over at this point, back against the bed frame, shirtless, sketchbook open on his knees—half-finished drawings of her lips, her collarbone, the way she tugs her sleeves over her hands.
He’s never drawn someone this much. He’s never drawn someone this obsessively.
The second his phone buzzes, he already knows it’s her.
He opens it.
Baby <3
I’m scared of how much I want you.
His breath leaves him in one hard exhale.
He stares at the message like it’s art.
She wants him. She finally admitted it. And she’s scared—just like he is.
But the difference is?
He’s not scared anymore.
He types back.
Then don’t fight it... Let me have you.
He doesn’t send another word.
He grabs his jacket.
He needs to see her. Now.
---
Y/N’s curled on her bed, phone in hand, heart beating loudly like a drum.
She reads his reply again and again.
Let me have you.
Then—
A knock.
Not on the door.
On her window. The one that is facing the outside alleyway.
She pushes the curtain aside—he’s standing there. In the cold. In the dark. Lit by the glow of the alley lights.
“Felix? What are you doing here?''
Couldn't he have just used the door?
She lets him in without thinking.
He steps into her room and immediately—the air shifts.
His eyes are on her mouth. Her neck. Her hands. Every part of her.
She tries to speak. “I—”
He kisses her.
Fast. Hard. Desperate.
Like her text shattered something inside him and he’s grabbing the pieces.
Clothes don’t come off this time.
Not fully.
But hands roam. Lips bruise. His thigh pushes between hers, her back hits against her bedroom door, and she gasps into his mouth.
“Say it again,” he whispers. “Say you want me.”
“I want you.”
“Louder.”
“I want you, Felix.”
He kisses her jaw. Her throat. His fingers tangle in her hair.
“Then you’re mine. All of you. You hear me?”
She nods.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He moans softly, presses his forehead to hers.
“I swear to God, baby… I’ll never let you go.”
And she believes it.
Because right now, she wants that too.
--
The next day, Felix is leaving her room—shirt rumpled, hair still wet from her shower.
Lana’s waiting.
Arms crossed. Face hard.
“We need to talk.”
Felix tilts his head. “Good morning to you too.”
She steps closer. No smile.
“I know what this is.”
Felix raises a brow. “What is it?”
“You better not be playing with her, pretty boy. You don’t even know who she really is.”
He meets her eyes. Unblinking.
“I know how she smells when she's just out of the shower. How she bites her cheek when she’s holding back tears. I know her playlist. Her midnight cravings. I know what her laugh sounds like when it’s real.”
Lana swallows.
“I know her better than she believes,” he says. “And if you think I’m going anywhere— Then you don’t know me.”
She stares at him.
“You better mean that.”
He doesn’t smile.
“I breathe her.”
He walks away.
And Lana?
She starts to worry this isn’t just a situationship.
This is going to break something.
---
It’s a Sunday.
Late morning. No classes. No deadlines.
Just sunlight through her curtains and the faint rustle of blankets.
Y/N stirs first.
She doesn’t open her eyes right away. Just lets herself feel it.
The warmth. The weight of his arm around her waist. The soft, steady rhythm of his breathing against her back.
And then his fingers start tracing. Lazy circles on her hip, up the hem of her hoodie, down her thigh. Barely there. Barely touching.
“You’re awake,” she whispers.
“Didn’t want to wake you,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. “You looked like a dream.”
Her heart stutters.
“You say things like that all the time,” she says, turning to face him, nose almost brushing his.
“That’s because I mean them.”
He looks different like this.
Less composed. Less perfect. His hair is a mess. His cheeks still warm from sleep. His shirt is riding up just enough to expose a sliver of stomach.
And his eyes? They’re not full of fire.
They’re full of something soft. Something fragile.
They stay there like that for a while. Just looking. Not kissing. Not needing to.
Y/N lifts a hand and brushes his bangs from his face. His lashes flutter.
“You always look at me like I’m about to disappear,” she says quietly.
“Because I don’t want to miss a second of you.”
That makes her freeze.
Not because it’s intense.
But because it’s honest.
He sits up eventually, tugging the blanket with him, exposing both of their legs. His bare thigh presses against hers as he leans back against the headboard, looking around her room like he’s memorizing the art on her walls.
“What’s your favorite memory?” he asks suddenly.
She blinks. “Of you?”
“No. In life.”
She hums and thinks. “The summer I spent in Italy with my aunt. The sky was always warm. The gelato was amazing and cheap. And I wasn’t scared of anything.”
Felix smiles.
“You’re scared now?”
“Sometimes.”
“Of me?”
She looks at him.
“Of how much I want you.”
He reaches for her hand and laces their fingers.
“I used to think love was supposed to be quiet,” he says. “Something soft and simple.”
“But then I met you.”
Her breath catches.
“And now I think love might look like you screaming at me in the pool, then crawling into my lap two hours later just to fall asleep.”
She laughs, hand squeezing his.
“I’m not in love with you,” she says, teasing.
“I didn’t say you were,” he smiles. “But… if you ever are… I’ll already be there waiting.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You love it.”
She does.
And it terrifies her.
They spend the rest of the day together.
Not touching every second. Not kissing endlessly.
Just being.
Felix cooks her eggs and burns them. She pretends to hate them. He steals her socks and wears them mismatched. They fall asleep tangled together on the floor through a movie.
And when she looks at him—really looks—
She realizes he’s not just the boy who kissed her first. He’s the one who makes her laugh. Who memorizes her favorite fruit. Who would set the world on fire if she asked.
And she’s not in love.
Not yet.
But something inside her is reaching for him with outstretched arms.
---
They don’t call it a date.
Not really.
Felix just shows up at her door at 6:14 PM in a gray sweatshirt and jeans, holding a bag of takeout and a shy little grin that melts something in her ribcage.
“You said you liked Thai.”
“I did.”
“Thought I’d make it up to you for almost suffocating you with my love.”
She laughs, grabs her coat, and they walk through campus like they aren’t slowly falling into something neither of them knows how to define.
They sit on a picnic blanket under the fairy lights strung across the rooftop Felix once shown her. The weather is chilly, but the moment is warm. Familiar.
Y/N picks at her noodles while Felix starts talking about the mural he saw going up downtown.
“She’s using real crushed glass in the paint,” he says, eyes wide. “Can you imagine the light it’ll catch when the sun hits it?”
“You’re such an art nerd,” she says softly.
“And you still hang out with me. Whose fault is that?”
He leans back, arms stretched behind him, eyes to the stars.
“Can I ask you something kind of serious?”
She sets her fork down. “Always.”
“Do I scare you?”
She hesitates.
“Sometimes,” she says honestly. “But not in the way you think.”
“Then how?”
“It’s not what you do that scares me. It’s how I react to it. You make me feel things I’ve never really let myself feel before.”
Felix is quiet for a long moment.
Then he whispers,
“You’re not the only one.”
They end up back at his place later.
No rush. No pressure. Just… together.
Y/N’s sitting on his bed, legs crossed, sipping hot tea from a chipped mug that probably came from a thrift store. She watches him pace slightly, hands in the pockets of his hoodie.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
He stops. Looks at her.
And then with a heavy breath—
“My dad left when I was thirteen.”
The air shifts.
Y/N’s eyes widen but she doesn’t speak. Just listens.
“He wasn’t a bad guy. Just… distant. I think he loved me. But he didn’t stay. And part of me always wondered if that was my fault.”
She sets the mug down.
Felix keeps going.
“That’s probably why I get so… intense. When I care about someone. I hold on way too tight. I know that. I just…” “I never want to be someone who’s easy to leave.”
He sits beside her, eyes on the floor.
“I’m scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize I’m too much. And you’ll just… go.”
Y/N places her hand over his.
“Felix.”
He looks up.
“You’re not too much,” she says. “You just feel more than most people allow themselves to. That’s not a weakness.”
His throat moves as he swallows.
And then?
She kisses his temple.
And he closes his eyes, lets himself lean into it.
He then realizes this isn’t lust. This isn’t adrenaline.
This is care.
This is what love might look like before either of them is ready to say the word.
---
It happens fast.
Just one buzz.
She’s getting ready for class—hair half-done, music playing softly through her speaker, Felix’s hoodie still loose on her frame—when her phone lights up.
And just like that—
Her breath leaves her body.
[ No Contact – 263 days ]
“Didn’t think you’d still have my number.”
She doesn’t read it again. Doesn’t have to.
The name alone turns her stomach. Her hands shake. Her heart pounds.
And the quiet inside her head?
It’s louder than anything she’s ever heard.
She silences the phone. Tucks it face-down under her pillow like it’s dangerous.
But it doesn’t help. Because the words are still carved into the back of her eyes. His voice—that voice—is already creeping back in.
You’re too much. You’re lucky I put up with you. No one else would.
And she thought she was past this. She thought she was healing.
But suddenly? She’s thirteen steps back.
Felix notices it immediately.
Later, they’re on the campus lawn—his sketchbook in his lap, her untouched coffee in hers—and she’s too quiet. Too still.
And she keeps checking her phone.
Not to text.
Not to scroll.
Just to look. Like she’s bracing for something worse.
Felix doesn’t say anything right away.
But his pencil stalls.
He watches her over the edge of the page—how she fiddles with her sleeve, bites the inside of her cheek. How her eyes flick to her phone like it holds her hostage.
“You okay?”
She looks up fast. Too fast.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
He doesn’t believe her. But he nods.
She won’t tell him.
Not yet.
Because she’s not ready to say that one text from him undid weeks of safety. That it shattered the fragile thing she was starting to build with Felix.
She’s afraid he’ll get angry. Afraid he’ll pity her.
So she keeps it locked up.
And Felix?
He knows there’s a storm happening inside her. But he doesn’t press.
He just reaches across the blanket, brushes his pinky against hers.
And when she lets him hold it—He grips tighter than it should be.
That night, when they’re lying in bed, her phone stays off.
But her eyes don’t close.
And Felix holds her tighter than usual. Like he knows—without knowing anything at all.
---
The library is packed.
Midterm week is always loud, anxious, overcaffeinated—but Y/N feels like she’s underwater.
Everyone else is studying.
She’s surviving.
She and Felix are tucked into their usual booth. Their presentation is due in less than 24 hours. The slides are done. The paper is outlined. But her notes keep blurring, her hands won’t stop fidgeting, and her phone?
Still off. Still not safe.
Felix says nothing at first. He just lets her sit beside him in silence, occasionally passing her his highlighter or refilling her water bottle like he’s trying to give her anchors.
But when she drops her pen for the third time and stares at the table with glassy eyes—he finally moves.
He pulls his hoodie over his head and drapes it around her shoulders.
Then, softly,
“You don’t have to talk. But you don’t have to carry it alone either.”
She nods once.
Doesn’t look at him.
But she tugs the hoodie tighter, like maybe it’s holding her together.
Later that day, Y/N returns to the dorm to change.
Lana’s waiting. Arms crossed. No sparkle today—just serious eyes and soft energy.
“You okay?”
Y/N stiffens. “I’m fine.”
“You’ve been ‘fine’ for three days and you haven’t touched your playlist or ranted about Felix once. That’s not fine. That’s apocalypse-coded.”
Y/N tries to walk past.
Lana blocks her.
“Talk to me.”
Silence.
Y/N’s lips tremble.
“He texted me again,” she whispers.
Lana freezes.
“That piece of shit?”
Y/N nods. Her voice cracks. “I didn’t open it. I just… seeing his name—I felt like I was back in that room again.”
Lana pulls her into a hug. Tight. Fierce.
“You are not that girl anymore. And he does not get to pull you back.”
Y/N buries her face in Lana’s hoodie and lets the tears fall and Lana holds her like someone who knows what it's like to rebuild from ash.
--
It comes in the middle of the night.
She’s reviewing citations for the project, trying to stay focused, trying to breathe—
And her phone lights up.
[ No Contact – 265 days ]
I miss you when you’re quiet.
Her lungs stop working.
Because that’s what he used to say when she’d cry. When she’d shut down. When she’d stop begging him to be kind.
I miss you when you’re quiet. Translation: You're only lovable when you're silent.
Y/N closes her laptop. Stands. Walks straight to Felix’s dorm. She doesn’t knock and he opens the door like he sensed she was coming.
And when she looks up at him with tears clinging to her lashes, lips parted like she wants to scream but can’t—
He pulls her in.
No questions. No pressure.
Just arms wrapped tight around her, holding her like he knows exactly how it feels to break in the dark.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers.
“You don’t have to say it. I’ve got you.”
She doesn’t mean to say anything.
Not really.
But after she breaks down in his arms—after the tears stop, after the shaking fades—they’re just lying there, curled into each other on his bed.
She’s quiet. He’s quieter.
And then..
“He hated the sound of my voice when I cried.”
Felix doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just listens.
“Said I was too much. Too emotional. Too sensitive. He said it like it was a flaw I was supposed to apologize for.”
Felix’s arms tighten around her, but still—he stays quiet.
“I started apologizing for everything. For feeling. For being tired. For needing anything at all.”
She exhales.
“He made me think love was about shrinking. About disappearing into someone else.”
Finally—Felix speaks. Softly. Carefully.
“Then he never loved you. Because love should make you more. Not less.”
She presses her forehead to his collarbone.
And for the first time in a long time—
She lets someone hold her without flinching.
The next day, they submit their midterm.
No fanfare. No nerves.
Just quiet pride, the kind that says we did something together.
Afterwards, Felix tugs her hand and leads her up the back stairwell of the art building. The one that leads to the rooftop with the fairy lights and forgotten paint cans.
They sit side by side, legs dangling over the ledge, watching the sky shift from gray to gold.
“You okay?” he asks.
She nods. “Better.”
He leans back on his hands. “You ever think about starting over?”
She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… just waking up one day and deciding everything before today doesn’t define you anymore.”
She hums.
“I think I’m trying.”
He looks at her then. Really looks.
“You’re doing better than trying.”
She smiles—soft, tired, real.
And for once, the silence between them feels like peace. Not tension.
--
Later that night, Lana catches Felix in the hallway.
She doesn’t yell. Doesn’t smirk.
Just stops him with a hand on his arm and a look he can’t dodge.
“She’s not okay, is she?”
Felix swallows.
“No. And I don’t think she wants me to know how bad it is.”
Lana nods. Waits.
Then he whispers,
“I don’t think I’d survive it if she left.”
She stares at him for a long beat.
Then?
“Then don’t give her a reason to.”
--
It’s a normal morning.
Y/N’s in the shower, humming off-key through the steam while Felix lounges on her bed, flipping through her annotated poetry book like it’s sacred scripture.
The phone buzzes beside him.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Normally, he’d never.
But something inside him tugs—look.
And when he sees the name on the lock screen?
It’s like his pulse forgets how to beat.
[ No Contact – 267 days ] 3 Messages
I’ve been thinking. You always hated being alone. You know I didn’t mean to hurt you, right?
Felix stares at the screen.
He doesn’t breathe.
His jaw tightens so hard it aches. His grip on the phone stiffens. For a second—he actually thinks about smashing it.
She walks out just then.
Hair damp. Wrapped in a towel. Radiant.
She stops when she sees his face.
“What’s wrong?”
He holds out the phone.
“Why is he texting you?”
Y/N freezes.
Like someone cracked open her chest and poured cold water inside.
“You read it?”
“I didn’t open it.”
She exhales. “I didn’t mean to hide it—”
“But you didn’t tell me.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just… I didn’t want it to feel real again.”
He looks at her. And for the first time in weeks, he feels far away.
“I would never let someone hurt you,” he says, voice low.
“I know.”
“Then why does it feel like you don’t trust me?”
“It’s not about trust,” she whispers. “It’s about history.”
“And what am I?” Felix asks, voice cracking. “Just a distraction from it?”
Y/N’s eyes widen. “No—Felix—”
But he’s already standing.
“Because you’re not a distraction to me. You’re the fucking reason I breathe different now.”
He doesn’t yell. He just leaves. Quiet. Cold.
And Y/N?
She’s never felt more alone.
---
Felix doesn’t go home.
He walks for hours.
No music. No calls. Just the sound of his boots on pavement and the roar of his heartbeat in his ears.
He doesn’t know what he’s more angry at— The fact that her ex still thinks he has space in her life… Or the fear that maybe… he does.
He ends up on the rooftop. Their rooftop. The one she had filled with warmth.
And he feels nothing but cold.
He opens his sketchbook. Flips to a blank page. Stares.
He can’t draw her.
Not right now.
Because tonight, she feels like a ghost of someone he’s trying not to lose.
---
The texts start around 9:03 PM.
Baby <3: Felix. Please talk to me. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. I just needed time to tell you everything. You’re not a distraction. You’ve never been a distraction.
Read. Read. Read.
No reply.
She calls.
Once. Twice. Goes straight to voicemail the third time.
By midnight, she’s sitting on her floor. Felix’s hoodie in her lap. Staring at the phone like it owes her a heartbeat.
---
It’s the next afternoon when Lana corners Felix outside the studio building.
He’s hunched on a bench, hood up, pencil chewing on autopilot.
She rips the pencil from his hand and glares.
“You’re going to listen, or I’m going to scream.”
Felix doesn’t look up.
“I don’t think she trusts me.”
“She does, you idiot. She just doesn’t know how to trust anyone without wondering if it’s going to cost her.”
He finally looks at her.
“She let that asshole tear down everything inside her and now she’s trying to rebuild it—and you think that’s going to be linear?”
Silence.
“You think she doesn’t want you?” Lana’s voice cracks. “I’ve seen how she looks at you.”
Felix swallows hard. “It felt like she picked him.”
“No. She froze. Because trauma doesn’t just… stop echoing.”
“You don’t throw away what you have with her because she flinched.”
Lana steps back, eyes gleaming.
“If you wanted her to stay, you should’ve fought.”
Felix grips the bench.
And for the first time?
He realizes he let her walk away… just to protect his own fear.
---
Y/N didn’t mean to be in the music building that long.
She told herself she’d just drop off a library book. Maybe grab a coffee. Maybe pretend to be okay.
But now she’s in the back hallway—quiet, dim, lined with bulletin boards and old concert posters—and she can’t breathe.
Her phone is buzzing again.
Not Felix.
Him.
[ No Contact – 268 days ]
I know you’re seeing someone. Just wanted to say I’m happy for you. He won’t love you like I did.
The words hit harder than they should. Not because they’re true—because they’re familiar.
And familiarity is a cruel, sharp thing.
She presses herself into the corner of the wall and sinks to the floor, phone in her lap, hands in her hair, chest hollow.
The tears come fast.
Ugly. Silent. Wrecking.
She presses her fist to her mouth to muffle the sob, but it slips out anyway.
And someone hears it.
“Y/N?”
She freezes.
Looks up.
Seungmin.
He's standing a few feet away, hoodie on, headphones around his neck, a sketchpad under one arm.
She looks at him.
And she can’t hide it.
The tears. The red eyes. The trembling.
“Shit,” he mutters, crossing the space and crouching beside her. “Hey. You’re okay. Just breathe.”
She covers her face.
“I’m so stupid,” she chokes out.
“No, you’re just tired of carrying something alone.”
She looks at him, blinking through the flood.
He doesn’t pry. Doesn’t push.
Just sits beside her in silence. Offers her his sleeve to wipe her face.
“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” she lies.
He gives her a look. Quiet. Kind. Sharp.
“Yeah, you do. And it’s okay that you’re not ready to say it.”
She rests her head on his shoulder like it’s the only stable thing in the world.
---
She doesn’t text Felix.
Not that night. Not the next.
He doesn’t text either.
The air between them becomes static. Thick. Pressed full of everything unsaid.
They pass each other once outside class.
Y/N’s walking with Lana. Felix is alone, hoodie up, backpack slung low.
Their eyes meet.
Just for a second.
Long enough to ache. Short enough to pretend it didn’t happen.
And they keep walking.
Two people still in love, too scared to admit they’re already halfway back to each other.
But fate? Doesn’t wait.
And neither does jealousy.
---
Campus is buzzing—midterms are over, spring’s in the air, and the quad is loud with music, open blankets, flirting.
Y/N’s with Lana on the steps, iced coffee in hand, oversized shades hiding tired eyes.
She’s trying to pretend she’s okay. Trying to laugh. Trying not to look for him.
Then—
“Hey, I know you.”
A voice.
Too close. Too confident.
A guy from class—barely familiar. Too tall. Too smug. Definitely not reading her body language right.
“You always look so serious during lectures. Thought I’d come remind you to smile.”
She forces a chuckle. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Just saying. You’ve got that face. That ‘I need to be kissed until I forget my name’ vibe.”
Lana straightens. “She said she’s good.”
“Just making conversation.”
And that’s when it happens.
Felix. Across the quad. Black shirt, chain hanging low, jaw clenched, and eyes on fire.
He sees Y/N flinch. Sees the guy smirk. Sees Lana move between them.
And that’s it.
He snaps.
He cuts across the grass like a storm—quiet, fast, lethal.
“Step back.”
The guy turns. “Who the hell are—”
“The person you should walk away from before I rearrange your jaw.”
The guy laughs. Doesn’t take the warning. So Felix gets closer.
Not yelling. Just radiating fury.
“You think you can talk to her like that?” “Touch her?” “Make her uncomfortable and laugh it off?”
The guy stammers.
Felix doesn’t hit him.
He doesn’t have to.
Because the moment he steps between them, hand low on Y/N’s back, chest in front of hers, everything about him says,
She’s mine.
The guy leaves.
Lana disappears.
Felix and Y/N?
Left standing in the silence of what they still are.
Her voice cracks.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes I did.”
She shakes her head. “You’re not my—”
“Don’t say I’m not yours.”
His voice isn’t angry now.
It’s raw.
“Don’t say it when you know I’d burn for you.”
Her eyes sting.
“Felix…”
He steps closer.
“He’s still texting you.”
“I blocked him.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“You left.”
“Because I was scared of being an option. And because I knew—if I stayed—I was going to break if you didn’t choose me.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m here. I’ve always been here.”
Then—before either of them can say another word—
A voice.
“Y/N?”
They both freeze.
Jae. Her ex. How is he here?
Standing just a few feet away. Hands in his pockets. Face all pretend guilt and practiced sympathy.
Y/N’s whole body stiffens.
Felix’s posture shifts immediately—shoulders tensed, hand still on her lower back, eyes narrow.
“I just wanted to talk,” he says, stepping forward.
“Don’t,” Y/N whispers.
“Just five minutes. I think we owe each other that.”
Felix steps in front of her.
“You don’t owe her shit.”
“You must be the new one,” he says, condescending. “She ever tell you what she’s like when she cries? It’s a lot.”
“You ever want to keep your teeth?” Felix replies coldly.
Y/N flinches. “Felix, don’t—”
But he’s already turned to her.
And his voice is soft now.
“You want me to back off? Say it. And I will. But if you don’t— I swear, I won’t let him hurt you again.”
She meets his eyes.
And for the first time in forever—she doesn’t feel small in front of the past.
She feels chosen.
She feels safe.
She feels loved.
“I’ve got it,” she whispers, steady now. She places a gentle hand on Felix’s chest, a silent thank you for standing in front of her—and then steps past him.
She faces Jae.
And her voice doesn’t shake.
“I don’t want five minutes. I don’t want anything from you.”
“Y/N—”
“No,” she cuts in. “You don’t get to show up and pretend to be sorry just because you’re not the one being tolerated anymore.”
“I just thought—”
“You thought I’d still be the same girl you made feel like a burden. The one who flinched when her phone lit up. The one who spent nights convincing herself you didn’t mean it.”
She breathes in deep. Then, firmer, “I’m not that girl anymore.”
Behind her, Felix’s jaw clenches—but he doesn’t interrupt.
“So leave me alone,” she finishes, voice low, but lethal. “For good this time.”
And this time? He does.
For now.
---
Later that night, Seungmin finds Felix pacing the dorm again.
Same hoodie. Same sketchbook. Same silence.
“You’re spiraling again,” Seungmin says.
Felix doesn’t stop pacing.
“She’s in my bloodstream.”
“Then act like it.”
Felix glares. “What does that even mean?”
Seungmin sighs.
“It means you love her. It means you don’t get to hover around her like a ghost and expect her to chase you. You want her? Fight for her. Before someone else figures out she’s worth bleeding for.”
Felix swallows.
And for the first time?
He stops pacing.
Because Seungmin is right.
He’s been drawing her for weeks.
But now?
He needs to run to her. Make her his. And only his.
---
It happens in the hallway.
Not at a party. Not on a rooftop. Just a quiet hallway, long past midnight, lit by buzzing fluorescent lights and the sound of two hearts trying to beat in time.
Felix doesn’t knock this time.
He knows she’s awake.
Y/N opens the door before he even touches it—barefoot, hair a little messy, wearing the sweatshirt he thought he lost three weeks ago.
For a second, they just stare.
Not angry. Not apologizing. Just breathing.
She steps aside. He walks in.
The silence is thick—but not uncomfortable.
She leans against the dresser. He leans against the wall.
And then she says it.
Soft. Cracked open. Like it costs her.
“I think I started falling for you before I even liked you.”
Felix looks up, eyes wide.
She swallows.
“You were so loud in my life. All sunshine and teeth and some weird obsession. And I hated it because I wanted it.”
She laughs, just a little.
“I wanted someone to want me that badly. I just… didn’t think I deserved it.”
Felix doesn’t move.
He doesn’t speak.
He’s too busy memorizing the way her voice trembles. Y/N keeps going.
“I was scared. Of you. Of me. Of what I’d become if I let myself feel everything...But I already do.”
Her voice drops.
“I feel it. All of it. And it’s terrifying. And it’s beautiful. And I can’t breathe when I look at you sometimes.”
She lifts her eyes to his.
“So if you’re gonna kiss me again…Don’t do it like it’s a maybe.”
Felix pushes off the wall and crosses the room.
He stops inches from her. Lifts a hand to her face. His fingers brush her cheek—gentle, reverent, like he’s afraid to break her open too fast.
“You want to know the moment I knew?” he whispers.
She nods.
“The rooftop. That first night. You smiled at the stars like you weren’t afraid of anything. And I thought, ‘I could live on that smile and die a happy man.’”
She blinks. Breathless.
“You think I’m the one who chased you. But you’ve been haunting me since day one.”
He steps closer. Their bodies almost touch.
“I’ve drawn you so many times, I started forgetting what my own face looked like and you want me to kiss you like it’s not a maybe?”
He leans in, breath on her lips.
“Baby, you’ve always been the only yes.”
And when he finally kisses her— the kiss is devastating.
Not soft. Not careful. It’s the kind of kiss that tears through silence, rips open skin, says I want you like oxygen.
She gasps when his hand finds her waist and he groans when her fingers tangle in his hair.
It’s lips on lips, teeth on breath, heart on heart.
Her back hits the dresser, and he presses into her, mouth trailing down to her jaw, her throat, her shoulder.
She tugs at his shirt. He lifts her up without thinking. Her legs wrap around his waist like they were made for it.
He kisses her like he’s starved.
She kisses him like she finally stopped being afraid of feeling everything.
But this time? They don’t stop.
Felix carries her to the bed with a desperation that feels so holy.
They fall into the sheets in a tangle of limbs and breath, laughter caught between gasps and moans as hands roam like they’ve been waiting to map every inch of skin.
Her shirt comes off. Then his. He sucks in a breath when he sees her—flushed, glowing, trembling beneath him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, reverent. “ I knew it the second I saw you.”
Y/N pulls him down, whispers against his mouth,
“Then show me.”
Clothes scatter. He kisses down her stomach, slow, worshipful, until she’s arching up to meet him.
His touch is careful at first, asking. Waiting. Letting her guide him.
But the moment she moans his name?
He shatters.
He grips her thighs, spreads her open, and presses his mouth to the softest part of her like it’s his favorite prayer.
Y/N cries out—hand fisting the sheets, the other tangled in his hair as her hips move with his tongue, his pace, his need.
“Felix—” “I’ve got you,” he pants, voice wrecked. “I’ve always got you.”
She unravels for him. Completely. Body shaking, mouth parted, legs wrapped around his shoulders.
And he kisses his way back up her body like she’s everything.
“I need you,” she whispers.
“You have me,” he says. “Every fucking part.”
When he finally sinks into her, it’s not fast. It’s not rushed.
It’s deliberate.
Their bodies meet in rhythm—soft at first, then aching. Her gasps turn to cries. His name spills from her lips like it’s the only thing that fits in her mouth anymore.
He buries his face in her neck, groaning when her nails dig into his back.
“Don’t stop,” she breathes. “Never.”
They move like they’re learning each other. Touching with purpose. Loving with abandon. Letting every look and sound and thrust say what their mouths can’t.
I’m here. I’m yours. I’m not afraid anymore.
When they come undone—together—it’s loud, shaking, sacred.
They collapse into each other, sweaty, breathless, whole.
And for the first time… it doesn’t feel like they’ve crossed a line.
It feels like they’ve come home.
Later, when he’s holding her close and her breath has slowed against his chest, she whispers,
“I think I love you.”
And Felix?
He doesn’t say it back immediately.
He kisses her hair. Holds her tighter. And whispers,
“Then I’ll wait right here until you know.”
---
The first thing Y/N feels is his breath on her shoulder.
Warm. Lazy. Safe.
The second thing she feels?
His fingertips drifting slowly—intimately—over the curve of her hip, tracing invisible patterns into her skin like he’s still memorizing her from last night.
She hums, barely awake.
“You’re staring,” she mumbles into the pillow.
“Can you blame me?”
His voice is thick with sleep. And something else.
Admiration.
She rolls onto her back to find him already propped on his elbow, curls a mess, his lips kiss-swollen and eyes still glazed from their long night.
“You’re not real,” he says softly. “There’s no way.”
She smiles, flushed. “Shut up.”
He grins and dips to kiss her neck. Then her shoulder. Then lower. Slow. Gentle.
“Let me wake you up the right way,” he murmurs.
And she knows what that means.
She watches him slide down the bed, his hands parting her thighs with a reverence that borders on prayer.
“Just relax,” he says, voice feather-light. “I’ll take care of everything.”
And then?
His mouth meets her—slow, soft, eager.
Her back arches on instinct. One hand fists the sheet. The other tangles in his curls as he buries himself between her thighs, tasting her like she’s the answer to every question he’s ever asked.
He moans into her like it’s bliss.
And then he says it—raspy, low, deep , and ruined,
“Sit up, baby.”
“What—”
“On my face. Please.”
Her breath stutters.
But when he tugs her forward gently, guiding her to straddle his face, she follows.
And it wrecks her.
His hands grip her thighs as his mouth meets her again—hot, open, hungry. He groans when she grabs the headboard for balance, and finds the perfect rhythm to grind against his face.
“Felix—fuck—”
He doesn’t stop. He just pulls her down tighter. Licks deeper. Sucks harder.
Until she’s shaking—hips jerking, thighs clenching, voice cracking as she falls apart all over his mouth.
“Felix—oh my God—”
And he takes it. Loves it. Smiling, satisfied, wrecked in the best way as he guides her back down beside him.
They’re both breathless.
He kisses her swollen lips, her damp forehead, her collarbone.
“If that’s what mornings with you feel like…I never want to sleep again.”
---
Three hours later, she stumbles into the living room, hair up, hoodie on, Felix’s mark faint on her neck.
And Lana?
Already sitting on the couch like she’s been waiting.
The moment she looks up—
Her eyes narrow. Her brow lifts.
“You had sex.”
Y/N chokes. “LANA—”
“DON’T lie to me. I can see it. The glow. The limp. The fact you’re wearing the same hoodie you swore smelled like him.”
Y/N buries her face in her hands. “Oh my god.”
“I want details. Did he cry? Did you cry? Was it hot? Was it slow? Did he—wait, is he a face-sitter? HE TOTALLY IS, ISN’T HE?!”
Y/N throws a pillow at her face.
“I hate you.”
“You love me,” Lana grins.
Y/N bites her lip.
Smiles.
“Yeah. But not as much as I love him.”
Lana goes silent.
Then whispers,
“Oh, shit. You’re in love love.”
And Y/N?
She doesn't even deny it.
---
It starts with a real date.
No games. No pretense.
Just Felix at her door, shirt freshly pressed, curls messy and perfect, holding a single pink daisy he probably panicked over before choosing. “I didn’t want it to be roses,” he says. “That felt too easy. This felt like… you.”
Y/N takes it with a soft smile, the kind that pulls at something deep in his chest.
They walk through the city just past dusk—hands laced, knuckles brushing, laughter spilling like it’s been waiting all day to be free.
Dinner is tacos and mango soda at a tiny corner booth in a neon-lit place that plays early 2000s R&B on shuffle.
They don’t talk about school. Or the past. Or what could go wrong.
They just are. And it’s perfect.
Afterward, they walk along the waterfront. The city sparkles behind them. The sky is dark velvet above them. And Felix stops walking.
“I have something to say,” he murmurs.
Y/N turns.
His eyes are wide, nervous, bare.
“I love you.”
No fanfare. No dramatic pause.
Just truth.
Soft and real.
“I think I’ve been in love with you since you called me out in class for doodling. And I didn’t say it before because I thought maybe you’d run.”
She stares at him.
Then steps forward.
“I was running,” she whispers.
“But not anymore.”
She reaches for him—hands on his face, thumbs against his jaw, breath trembling.
“I love you too.”
“God,” he exhales, pulling her into him. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” she says against his lips.
“One more time.”
“Felix, I’m in love with you.”
And the way he kisses her?
It’s not fireworks. It’s not chaos. It’s home.
They make it to his car, barely.
The moment the doors close, Felix pulls her across the console into his lap, mouth hot on hers, hands already sliding under the hem of her dress.
“You drive me insane,” he breathes.
“Then take it out on me,” she whispers.
He growls—actually growls.
The windows fog in seconds.
Her dress hikes up to her hips. His fingers tease over her thighs. She tugs his belt loose with shaky hands.
“Condom?” she gasps.
He fumbles in the glovebox—grinning when he finds one.
“You’re always prepared?” she teases.
“Only for you.”
He leans her back across the seat, climbs over her. The leather creaks and the air is hot and heavy.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he says as he slides inside her.
Her moan catches in her throat.
“You feel so good,” he groans.
“Harder,” she begs.
He does. Thrusting deeper, hitting just right.
Their bodies move like they were made to do this—sweat slick, moans echoing in the small space, hands gripping, lips devouring.
“I love you,” she cries as she comes.
“I love you,” he groans against her neck as he follows.
They collapse in the backseat, panting, glowing, undone.
Felix kisses her temple.
“You know what’s better than sex with you?”
“Nothing?”
“Sex with you and being in love with you.”
She rolls her eyes—laughs—and kisses him again.
''Dork.''
Make You Mine | Part 1/3
“You think I wanted this?” he whispered, voice cracked and wild. “To crave you like air? To wake up with your name already on my tongue? You think I meant to love you like this? I didn’t choose this, Y/N. I just looked at you and—” “You got stuck in my fucking bloodstream.”
Warnings: (WC: 10k +/-), MDNI!!!, classmates2lovers, soft yandere! au, obsessed!felix, felix is so gone for y/n its not funny, artist! felix, college au, y/n is emotionally constipated, stalkerish actions? , mutual pining, the he fell first and fell harder trope, talks of rumors, comedic relief roommste- lana, swearing, jealously, lots of kissing- and i mean lotssss of it, possessive lix, suggestive actions, eventual sexual content, will add more as we get to the other parts, lmk if i missed anything!
a/n: hey lovelies, instead of a oneshot- im going to make this a 3 part series, because Tumblr said it was too long. So far I was the first 2 parts finished ( the second part needs editing so it'll be scheduled for next week) , and i'm already 3/4 way done with the finale, so keep a look out for this!
Navigation | Masterlist | Oneshots
Part 1 | Part 2 | Finale
is anyone ready for Part 2??
(insp.)
[tony] [steve] [bucky]
AHHHHHHH!!!
❀.(*´◡`*)❀
Y pensar que este momentazo fue en Chile 🇨🇱
chk chk boom 2nd win!
By Federico Raviele
Loki, you are a dangerous creature.
Kong: Skull Island Promo 2016
ISABELLE LIGHTWOOD: FAVORITE SEASON 1 MOMENTS
I love you, Alec. But you have a switch that’s always on. Shadowhunters (2016-2019) ♡
jason scottish
Powers of thunder, fire, water, darkness, light and air. Edit 1 and 3 by Daniele Valeriani.