Lines We Cross ||Front Man x Reader||

I didn't know how much longer I could hold back all this pent-up fury and desire. Before I knew it, In-ho pulled me close again. His eyes burned into mine, and it was as if all the anger, pain, and longing we'd built up over these fucked-up days exploded into one searing moment.

He leaned in, hard and fast, and our lips crashed together with a violence that shocked me. It wasn't gentle or tender—it was raw, aggressive, and desperate. I could taste the bitterness of our arguments and the salty tang of tears, mixed with something darker and almost intoxicating. In that moment, every harsh word, every betrayal, every lie we'd exchanged seemed to melt away in the heat of the kiss.

"God, Y/N..." In-ho groaned against my lips as he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding to the back of my head, tangling my hair as if he was trying to pull me under. I responded in kind, my arms wrapping around his neck, my body pressed tightly against him. His kiss was aggressive, demanding, and I found myself losing control, letting my guard crumble in spite of every damn instinct telling me to run.

I could feel his heartbeat pounding against my chest, matching my own rapid thuds, and it sent a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. Every time he pulled back just a fraction, I begged for more, even as a part of me screamed that this was madness. "Don't stop," I muttered, my voice ragged with need. "Don't you dare stop."

He obliged with an animalistic hunger, his tongue invading my mouth, tasting me, as if he was trying to erase every memory of our past hostility. My mind was a jumbled mess of fury and longing; I wanted to spit venom at him, but I also wanted him, so desperately, uncontrollably. Each kiss felt like a battle, a war waged between what I hated and what I couldn't help but crave.

My nails dug into his shoulder as I tried to anchor myself, to find some semblance of control. "I hate us," I gasped out between kisses, the words tasting like a curse and a confession all at once.

He laughed, a low, rough sound that sent shivers down my spine—and pulled back just enough that our eyes met, his gaze dark and unyielding. "Maybe," he said, his tone gravelly, "but you make me feel things I haven't felt in years, Y/N."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. I could feel every raw emotion coursing through me: the rage at his lies, the despair of this never-ending nightmare, and, unbelievably, the undeniable spark that lit up my entire being when he touched me like this.

I wanted to scream that I hated him, that I despised everything he represented, but instead, all I could manage was a shaky whisper, "Don't ever stop."

I felt a shiver run down my spine as his hands roamed over me, rough. Before I could even react, he yanked my shirt off, tearing it away with a force that made me gasp. The fabric tore against my skin, and for a split second, all I could hear was the sound of ripping cloth and my own ragged breathing. In the same swift motion, he slid his own blouse off, practically ripping it open.

My heart pounded in my chest as he closed the gap between us. His lips crashed onto mine again, desperate and demanding, and I surrendered. His kisses trailed down my neck with a maddening persistence. I could feel his breath hot against my skin as he claimed each inch of my exposed flesh. Every kiss seemed to imprint itself into my memory,  and twisted desire that churned inside me.

I wanted to fight it, to push him away, but a part of me—confused and reckless—wanted him more than I cared to admit. His hands slid lower. I felt the heat radiate from him as his mouth found my collarbone, sending shockwaves of pleasure. I couldn't pull away. His touch was maddening, I didn't know how to resist.

For a moment, everything blurred. I tried to hold on to some shred of control, but his dominance over me was absolute. I bit my lip, as I fought silently with my own emotions. I wanted to scream that I hated him, that I despised everything he stood for, yet my body betrayed me by clinging to his every move.