2baabbies

[2baabbies]

bodyguard: the first guard | part three | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. the previously established story dyanmics: explicit violence, mentions of torture. mentions of past sexual abuse, detailed descriptions of needles. chapter word count: 12,525 words.

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B E F O R E

“Happy fourteenth birthday.”

Felix looks up from his work.   He underperformed in training today and landed himself a punishment.  His good record spared him anything too painful, but he has been assigned cleaning duty.  Taking apart, cleaning, and reassembling weapons is not difficult work – he could do it in his sleep – but it is tedious.

Tedium is its own kind of torture, especially these days with his mind in a state of tumult.  He has grown closer to Chris with each passing day.  Felix knows they are not meant to think of each other as friends, just fellow soldiers, but that is the word Felix uses.

My friend.

That is who stands over Felix now.  Chris is smiling and holding something wrapped in what looks like a kitchen napkin.  Felix blinks at it, then furrows his brow.

“Huh?”  Felix says.  “It’s not my birthday.”

“Could be!” Chris says. 

Felix supposes Chris has a point.  Felix does not actually know his own birthday because he bounced around foster care before he found himself in Miroh’s program.  If his birthday was recorded anywhere, no one told him what it was.  So it could be his birthday.  The odds are not great but not impossible.

“Um,” Felix says, because no one has ever wished him a happy – or happy possible – birthday.  He guesses the best reply is, “Thanks?”

“It’s not a trick, man,” Chris says, smiling.  He laughs at Felix, though it doesn’t feel cruel, and ruffles his hair before shoving the little wrapped item at him.  “Here,” Chris says.  “Got it especially for you.”

Felix unfolds the napkin and finds a cookie.  It’s not the kind of food that is served at the regiment because their diet is so strict.  Food is a sustenance and not a pleasure.

“Wow,” Felix says.  It is a genuine surprise.  Chris had to go out of his way to get this. 

Felix feels embarrassed.  He still struggles to cope with feeling in general.  He almost yearns for a simpler, more naïve time, when he didn’t have to think or feel, just trust and follow.  Now he is a flustered knot of embarrassment because Chris is giving him presents just because Felix mentioned he had never received one.  It was an off-handed remark a few days ago, that he didn’t know his birthday and had never received a present but that it didn’t matter because he didn’t deserve it.

And he didn’t, he doesn’t, deserve any of it.  Not a birthday wish or a thoughtful gift or Chris’s friendship.  Felix has so much blood on his hands and he doesn’t how much of it is innocent.  He never counted his kills like some other agents, stupid kids bragging to seem bigger and more powerful than their circumstances.   Felix never did it for glory.  He knew his place.  Now he doesn’t count them because it doesn’t matter.  It all comes back to him when he closes his eyes.  He remembers what they were wearing, what they said before they died, the things they begged to a naïve, indifferent child.

He doesn’t count them because he doesn’t need a number to know it’s too much and he will never be able to take it back.  He doesn’t deserve birthdays and friendships and Chris.  He never will.

He doesn’t say this out loud.  He knows Chris will argue with him, belligerent in his kindness and reassurance.  Felix won’t listen in turn.  The conversation would be useless.  Rather than bother, Felix asks, “Where did you get it?” 

“Hey, I know I’m trouble,” Chris says, still smiling, “but I got connections too, you know?” 

Felix guesses he means Miroh’s daughter as she is the only agent with outside connections.  They seem to have a tenuous understanding because she and Chris get in the most trouble.  Chris, because he still bristles at commands and steps out of line.  Her, because she’s Miroh’s daughter and held to a higher standard than the rest of them.

Chris can befriend almost anyone, garnering admiration in his peers if nothing else.  His rebellious streak means no one wants visible association with him, but in the quietest of corners there is a whispered respect for the First Guard.  He is as notorious as he is skilled and he has a natural leadership.

Felix supposes it is not outside the realm of possibility that even Miroh’s daughter would consider Chris a friend – but only somewhere even quieter than most.

Felix does not consider Miroh’s daughter a friend and he doubts he ever will.  Her proximity to Miroh makes her an even bigger liability than Chris.  Felix would never get close to someone like that, born into their position and too close to power for his liking.

“Miroh’s daughter, you mean,” Felix says.

Felix might keep his musings close to his heart, but that doesn’t mean Chris can’t read them anyway.  Chris is a soldier by instinct if not choice.  He is always one step ahead.  It’s like he is inside Felix’s head.  He seems to know what Felix will do before Felix does.

“Yeah,” Chris says.  He rubs the back of his neck, breathing deeply.  He looks almost sheepish, as if admitting he knows better.  “She’s not that bad when you get to know her.  Really.”

Felix is certain he looks unconvinced.  It makes Chris laugh.

“You look worried,” Chris says. 

“I do worry about you,” Felix says.  He looks down at the cookie in his hand.  It is hard to say out loud, but he manages a weak, “You’re my friend.”

Chris is suspiciously quiet.  When Felix looks up, Chris has a determination to his countenance. 

“Find me when you’re done here,” Chris says.  “I wanna show you something.”

Felix, as usual, does as he is told.  When his punishment ends, he tracks Chris to the barracks where the older boy is patiently waiting.  He claps Felix on the shoulder but otherwise doesn’t stop to greet him.  He is a little skittish as he leads Felix to their mysterious destination.

It is not so extraordinary in the end.  Nothing around here is.  Everything is cold chrome and sleek silver, one room much like the next, branded by Miroh as surely as its occupants.

Chris knocks out a ventilation panel then leads Felix to what looks like an unused crawl space, forgotten and collecting dust.

“Welcome to my office,” Chris jokes, still with that nervous laughter.  It is putting Felix on edge.

“Is everything all right?” Felix asks.

“Well, no, Felix,” Chris says.  “It isn’t.  You know that now, don’t you?”

A couple years of shared assignments between the best and second best, the rebellious and the reluctant.  A couple years of watching Miroh bludgeon his way through the world.  A couple years of regret.

A couple years of friendship to change everything.

“Yeah,” Felix says.  It is all he needs to say.

“Sit,” Chris says.  There is a corner of the room that has been cleared of dust, this part of the hideaway evidently well-used.  “Let’s talk.” 

Whatever conversation Felix expects to have, it is not the one he gets.  He sits and watches Chris, watches him breathe and measure his words.   Chris is usually confident in what he has to say, even when staring down a barrel of a gun.  This is more than disconcerting.

“I’ve been talking to some others in the program,” Chris says.  “We’re all growing up.  I’ll be eighteen soon.  If we’re already strong, we’re just gonna get stronger.  Miroh has complete control over us.  I’m scared that if we don’t do something about it soon, then everything is going to get worse.  A lot, lot worse.”

“Do something,” Felix says, his mind going a mile a minute.  “What do you mean?  Who else have you told about this?”

“People I consider friends,” Chris says.  He puts a hand on Felix’s shoulder.  “People like you, Felix.”

He thinks of the cookie in his pocket.  His heart punches up with alarm. 

“Miroh’s daughter?”  Felix asks and this time he knows for certain his thoughts are very clear.  He says her name – not even her name, her position, the daughter and heir of the very thing Chris wants to fight – and he says it with the obvious inflection of what-the-fuck-are-you-thinking? 

“She’s a friend,” Chris says in a voice he usually reserves for an enemy.  It startles Felix into silence.  Seeing that, Chris smiles, trying to lighten the mood.  “You don’t have to trust her,” Chris says.  “Just trust me.  Felix, I want to get us out, all of us.  I don’t want that man or any other man like him to hurt anyone else.  Not kids, not adults, not anyone.  I won’t put you in more danger, I swear.  That’s the opposite of what I want.  I’m gonna protect you, okay?  I’m gonna protect all of you.  When the time comes to take a stand, I just want you to be ready.  If something happens, if it all goes wrong…”

Felix looks at him, alarm and worry plain on his young face.  Chris squeezes his shoulder again.

“If…” Chris swallows then continues, “If it is all goes wrong, I’ll pay the price alone.  But I’d rather die trying to save all of you than live another day hurting innocent people for Miroh.”

“Chris—” Felix starts, an argument on his tongue.

“Don’t,” Chris says firmly.  “If there was anything worth dying for, Felix, then it’s this.  I’m gonna get you out.  I’m gonna get you all out.  I swear.  Just be ready for when I say.  Just trust me.  Just be my friend.”

Felix spends a week after that in a state of restless turmoil.  He sleeps poorly and fights worse and even spends a night in the Cell for his mistakes. 

He doesn’t know what to think about Chris and his intentions.  It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.   But if it worked…

It wouldn’t take the blood off Felix’s hands, but it would be a start to something better.  Felix has little thought for his own fate, undeserving as he is, but he thinks about Chris.  Chris, the First Guard, who has been here the longest, who has watched the most people die, who has been punished the worst.

Chris deserves better.

Felix believes in Chris.  He believes if Chris made an effort, then he would have what it takes to make a difference.  Felix knows Chris is capable. He could do what he sets out to do.

It is not Chris that Felix worries about.

Felix observes Miroh’s daughter, studying her more closely than ever before.  Felix trusts Chris’s general discretion but he worries Chris has a blind spot concerning her.  They are the only two in their age category and they share a small barrack, the forced proximity undoubtedly creating a semblance of intimacy.  Chris might trust her but Felix is not so biased.  All he sees is Miroh. 

Felix watches her.  She doesn’t spend much time with Chris in public, her only close relationship with Seo Changbin.  They are a bit notorious together.  Felix would not call them the best fighters but they are tricky.  He is pretty sure they throw their fights with each other and embellish more than necessary.  Both like a good skull crash, more brutal than efficient.  The trickery and brutality makes Felix more wary of her.

At the same time, her obvious friendship with Changbin shows she can care about someone else.  The pair throw a mean punch but always patch each other up after.

Chris catches Felix watching them.  They are having a go in the ring, punching and flipping, grinning when they think no one is watching.  They have smiles just for each other.

“You look really deep in thought, mate,” Chris says, laughing.  He hands Felix a water bottle while toweling down his own sweaty neck.

“Huh?” Felix finally breaks his concentration.  He takes the water and smiles one of his instinctive but fake smiles – the kind he uses on a mission, when he is trying to convince an adversary that he is an innocent, unassuming kid.

Chris sees through it, of course.  He lifts an eyebrow at Felix then follows his line of sight to the ring.

“What?” Chris says, laughing again.  His own ears turn a little red as he teases, “You got a crush on her or something?”

“Ew, shut up,” Felix says, throwing his own towel at him.  He feels flushed despite the fact it is vehemently untrue.  He is not used to being provoked with that line of teasing.  “No,” he says certainly.  “I have no feelings for anyone.  But I think they might.”

“Huh?”  Chris looks between Felix and the ring.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, look at them,” Felix says.  “They’re a little too close, don’t you think?” 

Presently, Miroh’s daughter has Changbin pinned to the mat.  She is on top of him and whispering something that makes them both snicker.

Chris stares at them.  After a beat of contemplative silence, he laughs.  Felix recognizes the fake sound, the same disarming humour Felix uses when conning someone.   

“Yeah,” Chris says.  “Hey, I’ll be right back, yeah?”  

Felix watches Chris amble over.  He says something to the duo and Changbin retaliates with some non-descript shouting and flailing.  Miroh’s daughter rolls her eyes.  She grabs Chris by the collar and yanks him into a fight. 

The rest of the day progresses without much fuss or bother.  Miroh has no jobs for them today so the schedule is just training and recuperation. 

Felix manages to avoid punishment today.  He tries expelling his anxiety in a fight but it does not fully work.  Felix has come to realize he is not very good at letting go.  Belief, emotion, the good, the bad: all of gets clutched in his fists and held to his heart.

Fighting tires him but it is not a satisfying tired, of exerted muscles and a pumping heart.  He feels weary and everything everywhere is so loud, the chrome and steel of the Miroh facilities like an echoing dome.  It cycles all that noise in an agonizing reverberation.  It feels inescapable.  He goes to the barracks which are smaller but it makes the claustrophobia worse.

Laying in his bunk, rubbing his temples, Felix dreams of a quiet room of his own.

It is then he remembers Chris’s hideaway.  Chris miraculously dodged punishment today so he retreated to the barracks a while ago.  Felix doesn’t want to disturb him but he figures Chris won’t mind him using the hideaway on his own if he’s careful.

They are permitted access to the training room for the few hours between work and mandatory repose.  The hideaway is en route so it is easy for Felix to stealthily retrace his steps without raising suspicion.  He disappears in the security blind spot the way Chris showed him.  

Felix is in the tunnel when he hears a noise.  He worries he was followed despite being so careful, but then he realizes the noise is ahead of him, not behind him. 

He freezes in the crawl tunnel, trying to discern the sound.  It doesn’t sound like talking, more like… breathing?  Heavy breathing. 

Then he hears a laugh that he recognizes as Chris.  And he is not alone.  The other noise is a sigh, a lighter, more feminine sound.

Oh.

Apparently, Chris’s hideaway is not just for talking to friends.  The sound of kissing and sighing is more friendly than his conversation with Felix, that’s for sure.

Felix is frozen for a minute, too stunned and embarrassed to think of moving.  He has to shuffle backwards to escape because he can’t turn in that part of the crawl space.  If this was a mission, he could do it, but this is personal.  He doesn’t want to get caught but it’s not because it will compromise any job; it’s because it will be awkward.

He scuffs his shoe in his backwards shuffle.  It clangs, a subtle sound, but one that makes him wince.

It goes quiet around the corner.  Felix knows he was heard and there is no time to escape.  Seconds later, a frantic looking Chris is in the tunnel, red-faced with a line of sweat on his brow.  His uniform is clearly dishevelled and Felix gets even more embarrassed.

Those feelings need somewhere to go.  It comes out of him in a burst of frustration.

“What are you doing?” Felix demands, his voice breaking. 

“Nothing!” Chris says, clearly a knee-jerk reaction.  Then he takes a breath and says, “Look, I can explain—”

“It’s not Miroh’s daughter,” Felix says.  He can’t even pose it as a question because he refuses to believe Chris could genuinely be that reckless and stupid.  Befriending her is one thing – a stupid thing – but fooling around with the daughter of the powerful man who owns them is begging for tragedy. 

“I’m not stupid,” Chris says. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Felix says.  “Whoever it is, you need to stop.” 

“Look—”

“Seriously, Chris!”

“Felix—”

“It’s not worth it!”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Chris snaps.  “You’re not normal and you don’t understand what it means to care about someone like that.”

It is obviously thoughtless, blurted in the head of the moment.  It hurts anyway. Felix wonders if Chris can see the pain on his face because Chris looks immediately remorseful. 

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that—” Chris starts.

“It’s fine,” Felix says.  “You’re right.”

“Felix—”

Felix pushes backwards and leaves without waiting for any protest.  He does not stop, marching all the way back to this bunk.  Anger and embarrassment have finally dissipated by the time he returns.  It has been replaced with determination.

Chris is the best, but he has been compromised whether he wants to acknowledge it or not. He feels too much, for everyone and everything, and it will get him in even more trouble than he is already in.  if he retaliates with thoughtless provocation when it’s just Felix confronting him, then what will he do when it’s Miroh and the stakes are even higher?

Chris said he would protect them all. He swore to succeed at any cost, including his own life.  There is no one swearing the same for him.  No one has ever protected him. 

Felix is the second best.  He has never left a job unfinished and for that he is not deserving of the protection Chris is offering.

It won’t clean the blood on his hands, but if Felix can save a life worth more than his own, then maybe it will start to justify all of this, all of him.

Chris was right.  Felix is not normal.  But he was wrong say that Felix doesn’t know what it means to care about someone.  Because of Chris, Felix knows how to care.  He knows what he has to do.

Chris can try and save them all.

Felix is going to save Chris. 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

Miroh’s main facility has fallen.

It sounds so dramatic for something so anticlimactic, like you are describing the collapse of a kingdom and not the shutdown of his main office operation. 

It feels like an apocalyptic demise. 

You and Chan fight your way out of the building, taking on the people who fight in your name.  Your father’s name.  Miroh.

Miroh is dead.  Irrefutably broken, little more than a heap of meat on the tarmac.  With him gone and the only named heir on the run – you – this facility will shut down to maintain security. 

Miroh ran a meticulously compartmentalized business. There is protocol for everything so even if one part of his operation fell, the rest could continue unimpeded.  Miroh tried to establish a legacy that could rival old money like his enemy, going so far as to predict his own demise.  Miroh has long braced for the eventuality of his end, so he made sure his business could fracture and run without him.

He did everything in his power to make you just like him, a little broken fracture of himself to ensure that legacy.  But then he could not actually face what he created.  He could not actually let go.  He was the only one with the perspective and power and he had to keep it that way. 

Miroh would not have accounted for your rebellion, not for the sake of someone else.  For a friend.

Flashes of the last twenty four hours play in your mind.  You can hardly pinpoint the change in yourself.  It feels like this was somehow inevitable, despite how much you would have balked at the idea before.  But now it is all that matters.  It’s all that makes sense in this chaos.

You have to find your friend.  This facility will be empty in a matter of hours, but there are others.   Changbin is in one of them.  You have no idea where to start.

One thing at a time, you tell yourself.  Before you can ruminate on anything behind or in front of you, you need to fight.  You do not have time for introspection or planning.  You need to get away.  Away from this place, away from your dead father.

Away from his soldier, the First Guard, Bang Chan, who for some reason is helping you escape.

You don’t know why.  You seriously doubt your barely coherent pleading broke the conditioning and literal torture that made him into this thing. 

You don’t have time to find out.  At the first opportunity, you break away, leaving him with a handful of operatives to fight.  It should keep them all occupied while you escape. 

You do not want to risk trapping yourself in an enclosed space, so you do not venture to the parking garage where the company vehicles are stored.  Some of them will be programmed and bugged.  You feel bad targeting a civilian, but stealing one of their cars is the safest bet.   There are some administrative employees who complete menial tasks for the company, those with next to no clearance level.  They park their personal cars around the facility.  You pick one that is easy to reconfigure without a key to boot. 

Minutes later, you are driving for an exit.  Your whole body is aching but you push through it.  There will be time to recuperate when you are in the clear. 

Sirens wail and alarms blare, every security measure in action.  Your escape is certainly not a clean one but it doesn’t matter.  You just need to get away.

If you can get off the facility grounds, you can lose any adversaries in the back country roads.  The route to the facility was intentionally designed to be a convoluted labyrinth, making it difficult for enemies to approach without giving the facility ample preparation time.  You know the paths better than anyone.  You can get away.

A soldier marches right into the middle of your escape path. 

It is too brazen for a regular agent.  They would not be so stupid to try that, knowing you would just barrel into them. 

You speed closer and recognize the First Guard.  Chan is unflinching as ever, standing in the middle of the road as if he intends to stop your car with his body.   He is strong but not that strong.  You know that.  But he looks like an inhuman phantom, looming there in his combat gear and mask, unphased and unharmed despite the hour of nonstop violence.   

But that’s not the reason you stop.  You think about him in that van.  You could only see his eyes but they were expressive, the tilt of his head inquisitive. 

You slam on the brakes.  The car stops inches from his body but he doesn’t even blink.  

Your heart is racing, breath bursting in gasps.  He strolls around the car as if he was just waiting for his ride. 

Soldiering instinct propels your hands.  You draw a gun as he opens the passenger-side door.  He bends down and looks at you, his brow quirked with a silent question.  Your hand shakes and he is too good not to notice.  You know that, but a regular person would never guess because he does not take his eyes off yours. 

He disarms you, faster than a blink.   He drops into the passenger seat, then slams the door and shoves the gun in its storage compartment.

You stare at him.  Your gaze follows the line of his stark profile.  His hairline is a little sweaty but he doesn’t look out of breath.   

You don’t know what to think. 

This is the longest you have been in his company since you were kids in training.  Your memory of him is insubstantial, having spent little to no time with him personally.   But it hardly matters what he was.   Now he’s a soldier above all soldiers, a shadow filling this small civilian car.  He’s not the biggest man in the world but he’s overwhelming all the same, partially because of his uniform and partially because of his posture.  He feels too big for this little human space.  His knee hits the gear shift, his thighs bulky in the small seat, his shoulders broad where he leans back. 

He looks across the car and meets your eyes.  You think about how many people have met this gaze, maybe in a moment just like this, sitting across from Miroh’s asset in a little civilian vehicle before he put a bullet between their eyes or snapped their neck.  You have seen the results of his missions even if you were not involved in them.  The statistics and numbers speak for themselves.  Those eyes have seen more death than life and right now they are resolutely focussed on you. 

You jump when he lifts his hand.  He says nothing but turns the rearview mirror in your direction.  You reluctantly peel your gaze away from him.  You see what he sees: a vehicle in rapid pursuit of your own.

“Shit,” you say.  You shove the mirror back into place.  Your hands collide for a split second. 

You can’t linger on the weirdness of this moment, that the First Guard is your ally, sitting in the passenger seat and helping you escape.

You drive.  The other vehicle chases you down.  You get past the easy security measures, blowing past gates and guards.  When you approach the last gate, Chan rolls down the window and twists his body.  He pulls the stashed gun and aims somewhere.  Your eyes are on the road so you don’t see exactly what he does, but the gate slams shut between you and the pursuing vehicle, trapping them on the other side.    

Then it is just you, him, and the road. 

He puts the gun away.  He sits back.  He rolls up the window.  He makes it seem like a routine, still unphased while your heart pounds with adrenaline. 

You do not look at him.  You do not speak.  You focus on escape, taking a convoluted path through the countryside just in case.  When the facility is far, far behind you, you take a back road and pull into a shadowed space between some trees. 

You slam to a stop, shift the gear to park, but keep the engine running.  You clutch the steering so hard, you imagine it cracking beneath the force of your grip. 

Chan still does not speak.  The last time he spoke was on that rooftop.  What now? 

A damn good question. 

You look at him.  He is not sitting the way you would expect a machine of a man to be sitting.  You would have thought the First Guard would sit straight-backed and braced for confrontation, but his slouch is almost insouciant. He sits with his knees apart, his body slanted where his elbow rests on the door.   One gloved hand strums the door and the other is draped over his thigh.  He looks at you without any expression you can interpret. 

You are tired.  Your body hurts.  Your father is dead and the operation is changing and your only friend is suffering and you can’t do anything about any of it.  This morning you held a modicum of control over your life – or you thought you did – and now everything has spiralled. 

You know logically that Chan is a victim of Miroh, but right now it does not matter.  He is an infuriating figure of composure, not to mention your father’s greatest weapon, and that combination snaps the elastic thread of your patience, already stretched to its limits.

“Take off the fucking mask,” you say. 

He stares at you, his expression still unreadable.  You are tempted to reach across and rip the mask off his face.  You would definitely not succeed, no match for his reflexes on a good day, but logic is inconsequential in the face of your emotions. 

He doesn’t test you.  He stares for another moment then raises one gloved hand.  He unhooks the mask and peels it off.  He runs the other hand over his face and through his hair.   

You are not sure what you were expecting.  The same brown eyes stare back at you, lined with a smudged shadow to look as dark and intimidating as possible.  His brows are thick and dark, his hair as black, sweat loosening the slick style so a single curly tuft falls over his forehead. 

You follow the slope of his nose down to his mouth.  His mouth is closed and he is not smiling.  He has full lips, almost too pretty for what he is.  Glancing at that mouth on that too-pretty face, you picture a dimple smiled.  The memory is almost a blur, a smear of an image over his face.  You blink and it’s gone, his stoic face staring back at you. 

“What is it?” he says.  His voice is like the rest of him, too big in this small space.   You swear it shakes the car and the earth under it, though that is ridiculous.  It’s just a voice.  He’s just a man. 

Except he’s not.  He’s something else, something that should not have done what he did.  You have a million questions.  You need those answers before you can continue but it all jumbles together in your head.  It’s all too much, the flashes of today, of the past, of an uncertain future full of even more violence.

You finally turn off the engine and get out of the car.  You have no intention of going anywhere, but you need space. 

You pace in a long line, breathing in and out, using every trick in the book to ease your racing heart.  After a minute, you hear the passenger door open.  You look over your shoulder at Chan.

You can’t help the instinctive reaction to measure him like an adversary.  It doesn’t help he has pummelled you twice in the last few months, not to mention his horrid reputation in an already horrid place.  It would be stupid not to brace yourself. 

He approaches you cautiously.  He has the gall to raise a hand like you are the wild thing and he is the tamer. 

“Easy,” he says.  His voice is not so booming out here.  Other than the dark combat uniform, he almost looks normal, his whole face open to you, eyes narrowed with intense focus. 

It makes you breathe harder, the exhale shaky.  He notices because he tries to placate you. 

He smiles. 

It is forced and unpracticed, but there are those dimples, just like you thought.  You would have been less startled if he bared his teeth like an animal.  The smile unnerves you, undoing all the calming work of your exercises. 

“It’s all right,” he says in a frighteningly gentle voice.  He tilts his head as he looks at you.  “It’s just me, yeah?”

Just him.  Like that should comfort you.  You suppose you can marginally see things from his perspective, that maybe he has proved himself.  After all, he helped you escape.  It is obvious he is not doing this for your father or he would not have let you kill him.  This is not part of a grand plan.  There is no strategy.  It’s all over. 

It’s just you and him.

It does not comfort you the way he evidently thinks it should.  Now is the time to ask those million questions, but you are beyond words.  You are a live wire and that pitiful attempt at a truce ignites a flare of angry sparks. 

You were built to fight.  It punches out of you.  Literally.

Chan is faster than you.  He dodges your swing with ease, fast as an electric current himself. 

“Hey now,” he says, holding out both hands.  “Don’t—”

You know you can’t win this fight.  You know it’s stupid to try.  But each swing flies out of you, instinctive as breathing.  He catches every blow, bats your hands out of the way, but he doesn’t swing back.  His refusal to fight infuriates you.  It makes you feel as helpless as you are. 

An aggravated cry spills out of you, a strain behind your eyes as you take another swing. 

“Stop it,” he snaps, his smile gone. 

He finally goes on the offense, catching your hands and pinning them down.  There is a moment of struggle before you feel the driver door at your backside, his body caging you in.   You rear up against him but he holds you down, hip to hip, hand to hand. 

“I said stop it,” he says.  “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you ask, voice breaking.  “What the fuck are you doing?” 

Your chest is pressed against his, moving with your breath while he stands like an ungiving wall.  You glare at him and he stares back.  His brow furrows in seeming confusion.  He closes both eyes and breathes out, a steadying breath. 

You thought seeing him lose composure would make you feel better, but you feel worse, more unnerved than before. 

He looks at you, a muscle in his jaw feathering when he clenches it.  You stare at it as he releases you.

“You must know I can’t trust you,” you say. 

You make the mistake of lifting your hands to shove him away.  You do not intend to punch him again, the worst of that aggression gone, but he doesn’t know that.  You suppose you can’t blame him for his instincts after your demonstration. 

When you lift your hands, he grabs your wrists.  Swiftly and effortlessly, he pins your hands by your head.

“Oh,” he says.  His eyebrows lift and his face is far more expressive than you expected.  “I’m the one who can’t be trusted, right?” 

“Excuse me?” you snap. 

“I’m doing my job, yeah,” he says.  “Yesterday you were running jobs for Daddy and today you shot him dead.  Wanna talk about erratic behaviour?  Wanna talk about who’s unpredictable?  About who can trust who here?” 

Your mouth parts with a useless, breathless rebuttal, stammering and empty.  You didn’t expect that many words from him, not when he has been a silent shadow for so long.  Never mind the easy, casual speech, every colloquialism and the taunting hurl of daddy.  It makes you think of that scathing, troublesome boy he once was, as sharp with his tongue as everything else.  But he is not that boy.  You know for a fact he was broken.  He has done all those jobs for Miroh without causing any strife in the operation.  He is a weapon and nothing more.  He exists to follow orders. 

Until today.  Until you. 

“So?” you finally say, because what else can you say? 

“So?” he repeats. 

“So.”  You have those million questions, but there is only one that really matters.  “What are we?  Soldiers without a general? Because right now it seems like we’re two people who have no reason to trust each other and no reason to work together.” 

Your gazes are locked and you measure each other.  Not that you are much of a threat to him.  He has you pinned with very little effort.  If you were at your fighting best, you like to think it would be a little challenge, but right now you stand no chance against him.  

But he doesn’t want to hurt you or he would have done it already. 

He drops your hands.  He doesn’t step away, still regarding you with that scrutinous eye, but it is a menial demonstration of trust. 

You drop your arms.  You stare back at him, refusing to show the depth of your weakness.  You think his body might be keeping yours upright, your legs so weak.  You do everything in your power to keep your wild emotions in check, to keep the tears in the back of your eyes.  You breathe deeply. 

“I’ll help you find your friend,” Chan says, the last thing you expect him to say.  You can only watch as he sighs and speaks.  “You were my last mission,” he says. “Miroh told me to bring you in.  I did.  He wanted me to watch you.  I am.  He wanted me to be your—”  He laughs but it is not a happy sound, dry and devoid of pleasure.  “Your bodyguard, I guess.”  He shakes his head.  “Consider this me following orders,” he says.  “That’s what I do, yeah?  I follow orders.  And I don’t leave a job unfinished.  Ever.” 

“And Miroh?” you say tentatively.  “The fact I killed him?”

He shrugs dramatically, hands open in surrender. 

“Miroh didn’t make me his bodyguard,” Chan says.  “He made me yours.” 

It is such preposterously simple logic that you laugh, a disbelieving bark of a sound.  You look around at nothing, like the answer to your ridiculous circumstance is in the trees or the road.  

When you look at Chan, he is still looking at you, his brow quirked inquisitively. 

“Well?” he says.  “Is that enough?  Can we work together to finish this last job?” 

“Your job,” you say slowly.  You meet his eyes.  “So that’s what I am to you?”

It’s meant to be an easy question with a reassuring answer.  He is a soldier.  You are his job.  He will do what you ask.  It’s as simple as that. 

He tilts his head as he looks at you.  His contemplation is too heavy.  It was a simple question for a simple soldier who should speak no language outside of missions and reports. 

His gaze is searing and it makes your heart skip a startled beat. 

“Yes,” he says.  He speaks the word like it’s exhausting to say out loud.  It lands with a thud on an exhale.  “My job.”

His forearm is planted by your head.  His other hand grips your bicep.  He is keeping you in place with his hips and thighs.  You can feel the tension in his body. 

You have no idea why you do what you do.  It comes from the same place as those desperate punches.  You know it’s useless, you know nothing will come of it, but you ride the propulsion of adrenaline.  Your body, on the brink of desperation, has been pushed to its utmost capabilities in the last couple hours.  What does it want?  What do you want?

What did you ever really want?

You kiss him. 

It shocks you both.  Unlike the punch, he does not know how to retaliate.  He stands there, breathing into your mouth.  He is neither encouraging nor withdrawing. 

You stop quickly and wipe your mouth.  Mortification sets in. 

None of this is like you.  You blame stress.  Your body is confused and hurt.  You need recuperation.  Whether you like it or not, you need comfort too.  It is a deep internal call, only human.  But you won’t be getting that from the solid, inhuman wall around you. 

You push at that wall and it finally gives.  Chan steps back.  You doubt a punch would have moved him so easily as that kiss. 

“Ignore that,” you say.  “Adrenaline.  I’m still – not right.”

He just stares, once more a silent shadow.  You breathe out in a huff. 

“Okay,” you say.  “And we’re back to the staring.  At least I know you’re still working.”

You turn to open the car door, effectively ending the tense exchange.  Chan walks away.  He silently circles the car to reach the passenger door.  You look at his face, once more stoic and expressionless.  He doesn’t look at you, dropping into the vehicle without another glance or sound. 

You close your eyes.  You take another deep breath of fresh air.

Maybe this is good.  Maybe Chan is the ally you need right now.  Someone level, someone only concerned with mission parameters.  Someone who will not become compromised because of emotion. 

Because you are very compromised. 

You are not thinking clearly.  You need a plan and some water and rest. 

You get in the car.  You start the engine.  You don’t speak another word.

-

You drive for hours, wanting distance between you and the destruction.

The silence in the car is piercing, your head aching after the first hour.  The little space acts like an echo chamber for your tumultuous thoughts.  You keep replaying the day, every death and cry.  You think about your security team strewn across those stairs, just another casualty in Miroh’s game.  You think about your father, the unplanned murder but the utter lack of regret in your heart.

You think about Changbin.  Your reckless side wants to look for him right now.  You cannot stand to waste another second.  Based on your father’s words, he could be anywhere, subject to any number of horrors.  But despite the whirlwind tempest of your mind, there is a soldier inside you and she is more pragmatic.  You are in no condition to fight.  Even if you knew Changbin’s exact location, you would be no use to him.  You need to rest, formulate a legitimate plan, then attack. 

You can’t afford to make any mistakes.  Better than anyone, you know the forces you are up against. 

You pull into a highway fill-up station at dusk.  The car needs fuel and so do you.  There is a little shop near the fuel pumps, the place deserted other than the bored cashier behind the counter. 

There was some cash in the glove box, enough for necessities.  You will inevitably need to steal or manipulate, but you prefer to lay low tonight.  You were careful to avoid traffic cameras and security tv as you exited the previous city.   By the time the car is reported and Miroh’s operation works out your connection, you will be off the grid. 

You turn off the engine and reach for the wallet.  Chan snatches it first. 

“What are you doing?” is spoken in unison. 

“I’m going to buy us some fucking water and food,” you say. 

“Are you?  Really?”  He gives you a pointed up-and-down look.  “You gonna do that looking like you just played cannonball with a cement wall?” 

You have not gotten a good look at yourself, just a flash in the rearview mirror, but he is probably right.  You feel like utter shit so you must look it too. 

“Well, you can’t go in there either,” you say.  Even without the mask, he is clearly in an unusual uniform.  A bored clerk will remember a terrifying soldier in combat clothes marching through his shop. 

Chan flashes you a dimpled smile, frighteningly charming.   

“Sure I can,” he says.  “Just have to blend in.” 

Your eyes widen as he discards both gloves then opens the neck of his shirt.  You stare as he efficiently strips off his top layers. 

If he looked powerful in the uniform, he looks as just as intimidating without it.  He doesn’t boast gargantuan proportions but he doesn’t need it.  There is lethal strength to the rolling musculature of his sturdy body. 

You shouldn’t care.  Soldiers strip all the time, long assignments and shared compartments making it an inevitability.   But Chan is not just another soldier.  In your head, he is that living shadow, covered all the way up to his eyes in the Miroh black and blue.  Seeing all that skin is a startling reminder of the man under the mask. 

You find Chan watching you, amused.  That stupid eyebrow is quirked again. 

“What?” you snap. 

“Nothing,” he replies.  “Be right back.  Don’t miss me too bad.”

You roll your eyes, slumping in your seat as he gets out of the car.  You have half a mind to drive away but you are pretty sure he would find a way to manifest at your destination anyway. 

You watch as he enters the shop in a nonchalant stroll, wearing just his pants and boots.  He waves at the cashier and says something that makes him laugh. 

To his credit, Chan looks like a regular guy on a hot day, casually perusing a gas station shop.  He makes small talk with the cashier and they laugh some more. 

You knew Chan was a good soldier but you didn’t expect him to be such a good agent too.  He is probably better at the civilian act than you.  You are standoffish and opt for a quiet demeanour, blending in through invisibility rather than a persona. 

Chan walks in and out, the cashier unaware of the nature of his customer.  You return to the road with a full of tank of gas and some sustenance. 

“Are you going to put your shirt back on?” you ask. 

He gives you a side-eye as he shrugs the outermost layer back on.  He doesn’t do it up.  You refuse to act like a glimpse of his bare chest means anything to you. 

Except it does.  When he sits there with his knee against the console and his skin showing and a tuft of hair over his forehead, he looks like a person.  He is a person, one who has been subject to some of the worst horrors of Miroh’s operation. 

There is no denying Chan is a complicated figure, unwillingly complicit in atrocities.  He acts like a normal person with a fully cognizant mind, but you just witnessed for yourself how easily he can fake that.  You do not know how much of the real Bang Chan is actually inside him. 

“Chan,” you say after a long time.  The sun has almost fully set, the sky in its navy gloaming. 

“Yeah?” he says. 

There are no words that suffice.  You could give an entire speech and it would be virtually meaningless.

“I’m sorry,” you say, leaving the breadth of the apology up to his interpretation.  You keep your eyes on the endless miles of highway that stretch ahead.  There is a long journey in front of you.  There is a longer road behind you. 

The car is illuminated with golden light from passing cars and overhead lamps.  It flashes over his face in the deepening darkness. 

“Don’t be,” Chan says.  He crosses his arms in a protective position, looking out his window though there is nothing to see but the highway and passing cars.  “None of this was your fault,” he says.  

You laugh, a similar humourless sound to his earlier laughter. 

“That’s not entirely true,” you say, thinking of all the missions you deliberately ran for Miroh.  You thought you could make it mean something.  You were just like your father, believing the ends would justify the means.   You never tortured Chan yourself, but you were part of the operation that kept him in chains.  There was nothing you could do to save him, but you certainly never tried. 

He looks at you.  You hear him move, the crinkle of his clothes, the water bottle he twists in his grip. 

“I don’t blame you, you know,” he says.  “Seriously.  Today was crazy.  Everything’s crazy.  You’re not responsible for it.” 

“I’m not not responsible,” you say.  “My team is dead.  My friend is gone.  My dad – well, you can’t say I didn’t do that.”

“He had that one coming,” Chan says, his laugh a little more real.  “No offense, but your dad kinda sucked.”

You find yourself laughing more genuinely too. 

“Yeah,” you say.  “I think we can agree on that.” 

You fall into silence but it is more comfortable than before.  There has been an undeniable tension since the moment he climbed in this car, looking at you with questioning confusion as you pointed a gun at him.  You were panicking but he must have been equally bewildered.  To him, you were a mission.  He lives by his orders. 

“I should apologize to you,” he says.

You look at him with obvious surprise.  He meets your gaze, his expression sincere if not a little chagrined.  His dimples show with a faint smile but it is not very happy. 

“I’ve been an ass,” he says.  “Today was – well.”  He runs a hand through his hair. 

“Trust me,” you say.  You try to lighten the mood with your tone.  “I’m a Miroh.  You will never have to apologize to me for as long as you live.”

He doesn’t laugh or even force that pretend sound.  He stares ahead, his gaze sorrowful and faraway. 

“Sorry, that was—” you begin. 

He forces a smile and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says.  “Truce?”

Smiling feels awkward and your injuries probably make you a terrifying sight.  But he accepts it, nodding at you.  The car does not feel like such a claustrophobic space after that.  The air is clear as it can be, considering who you are.

Neither of you has an identity right now.  You were tethered to the same monstrosity and now it is gone.  Everything is different.

You are too tired for another late-night heart-to-heart.  It is time for rest. 

-

There is enough cash for a cheap motel room.  You find a quiet inn off the highway, sequestered beyond trees and countryside fields.  You finally look at yourself properly in the bathroom mirror.  You decide Chan’s earlier remarks were a severe understatement.  You look like a battleground more than a soldier. 

You injures will repair themselves with time, but it is a grisly sight.  You shower for now.  The soap and water helps. 

You don the same shirt and underwear.  New clothes will be a necessity.  You mentally plan tomorrow, everything you will need to accrue before you formulate an attack.  You have already mentally plotted the closest facilities, but you will need to verify their function and security protocol before striking. 

You are mentally strategize as you exit the bathroom.  You are distracted, thinking nothing of the fact you are wearing underwear and a shirt. 

Chan already showered because you insisted, knowing you would take longer with your injuries.  He is sitting on one of the single beds, sorting through his weapons. There is the gun you stole from Miroh plus his own array of armaments, things so well hidden you did not realize he even had them.  They are laid out on the bed.  He sits at the foot in his combat pants and nothing else, his dark hair damp and face bare. 

You stroll past him, feeling his eyes as they lift from a gun to your bare legs.  Now that you have scrubbed the worst of the brutality from your body, you feel like something of a person again.  His flicker of attention ignites an undeniable spark in your belly.  At first, it startles you, because the First Guard is the absolute last person you should ever think of like that.

But then you look at him.  He has turned his eyes back to his work, saying nothing as he reloads the gun with second-nature efficiency.  He is holding a weapon but, despite his conditioning, he is just a man. 

You are a grounded person.  You keep your head down and go about your tasks with confident certainty.  He is here, you are here, it has been a long day, and it is not unusual for soldiers to seek comfort before the dawn of a new fight.  Comfort is as important in healing and recuperation as anything else. 

You sit on your own bed and look at him. He is effortlessly attractive with his dark hair and dark eyes, the sloping muscle of his firm body.  You trace his chest and abdomen with your eyes.  He does not lift his gaze, his attention on the gun.

“Do you want to fuck?” you ask.

Bang Chan is the best soldier in the force.  You are pretty sure he has never fumbled a weapon quite so spectacularly.  It clatters to the floor and he kicks it under your bed.

“What!” he says.  He doesn’t look at you as he retrieves the gun, laughing a comically nervous giggle.  “Um… what?” he asks again.  Before you can answer, he shakes his head. “That’s uh, wait.  Um.  No.  Bad idea, right?  I mean—”

“It’s just a suggestion,” you say, not really offended. “It’s been a long day.  It doesn’t mean anything.  We’re both adults here.”

As you say it, you consider his circumstances.  Chan has spent his entire life in the house of Miroh.  He is not innocent but he might be inexperienced.  This man has killed dozens of people and worked dozens of dangerous operations.  His body is built for violence, not pleasure, and certainly not his own. 

You find yourself blurting, “Have you ever…?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, brow furrowing with annoyance. 

“All right, all right, just asking,” you say.  You decide not to push the topic because it clearly makes him uncomfortable.  You just cleared the air and you don’t want to muddy it again. 

You change the topic swiftly.  You make some empty remark about the weather as you turn on the small television.  It’s an old contraption, buzzing with static as it flickers to life.    

Chan resumes his work.  He puts his head down to concentrate. 

Your gaze inevitably strays to him. 

His hair dries curly.  It feels like an unusual thing to know about the First Guard.  He looks so much younger with a clean face. 

You jump when that face lifts.  He looks at you. 

“It wasn’t… you know…” There is a hunch to his shoulders, his eyes dropping to his work.  “I just did it on missions, ya know?” 

“Did it,” you say.  “On missions.”  It doesn’t register right away, partly because you are tired and partly because you did not expect him to continue this conversation.  “You mean sex?” you ask.  “You had sex on missions?” 

“I had sex for missions,” he corrects, eyes on the weapon he is disassembling.  He is acting like the conversation is meaningless, his attention divided, but you know his task does not require that degree of concentration.  He could take that thing apart in perfect darkness. 

“For missions,” you repeat.  “What, like a honeypot type scheme?  You?” 

It seems ridiculous at first.  You picture the First Guard smashing through windows and tackling you in stairwells.  There is nothing seductive about that raw violence.   But then you look at the man in front of you, young and handsome, the one who so easily charmed that cashier while pretending he was someone else.  You picture him in a suit and tie, maybe a t-shirt and jeans.  He would be devastating with the right preparation. 

Chan is the best.  Maybe it shouldn’t surprise you he would excel regardless of the scheme. 

“Something like that,” he says.  He finally loads the magazine.  “It wasn’t so bad, though.  Seriously.”  He twirls the gun with an effortless flourish.  The grip finds his palm like the pistol is a part of him.  “Trust me.  My body was used for worse things.  You get that too, yeah?” 

You suppose you relate well enough.  You were raised in the same program, put through the same grueling regimen.  You have done things and you are not proud of them all.   Your circumstances are not the same, though.   You are each uniquely situated in your positions, even if you started in the same place. 

We’re all that’s left.

Changbin’s voice in your head causes your mind to drift. 

“What about you?” Chan asks, drawing you back to the conversation. 

“Me?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” he says.  “You.”   

The First Guard is asking you about your sex life.  You woke this morning in a safe house and put on combat gear, ready for another mundane day of field work.  Somewhere in the middle of that was a cascade of violence.  Now Bang Chan is asking about your sexual proclivities.  If you weren’t so exhausted, you would laugh. 

“I mean, nothing special,” you say, sufficing for the boring truth.  “Mostly just this.  Sex doesn’t really mean anything to me.  It’s like exercise.  Long nights on a job.  You know.  Fellow soldiers on a mission.  Sometimes a civilian hook-up.” 

You can’t parse the expression on his face.  His gaze is somewhat judgemental, or maybe it is just scrutinizing, intensely focussed.  It bristles your nerves.  Your tone is more derisive when you say, “I’m not a romantic.”  You hold his intense stare in your own.  “Sex is just a bodily function to me.  Sometimes the body needs the release or the pleasure or whatever, so I satisfy it and move on.  That’s who I am.  I work.  I get the job done.  That’s what I have always done.”

What you always did.  You are not sure how to describe yourself anymore.  You nonetheless punctuate that definitive statement.  You assume that is the end of the conversation. 

Then Chan asks, “So there’s… no one… for you?” 

If he was any other soldier, you would think he was angling for flirtation, but he just turned down your very blatant offer. You do not know why he has any motivation to ask such personal and irrelevant questions. 

It is not worth the argument.  You conclude with a simple, “No.” 

He nods, rocking his whole body with the force of his too-casual gesture.  The tips of his ears are red, though your gaze does not stay there.  You are quickly distracted by his bicep.  He lifts an arm to rub the back of his neck, muscles softly rippling.  His brazen questioning coupled with his awkward shyness is incongruous. 

You think it is unlikely you will ever understand this man.  He has been taken apart and put back together too many times.  Fragments of him seem to fire all at once and in great contradiction. 

“What about Changbin?” he asks.  “He must be pretty special to you.  Ya know, for you to have done all this for him.” 

You are simultaneously struck by repulsion and sentiment.   Changbin is very special and you regret not realizing it sooner.  He has always been at your side, taking hits to protect you well before he became your bodyguard.  He is the person who kept you smiling.  You understood each other on a different level.  His friendship was a rare gift and you took it for granted.  Now you would do anything to have it back. 

But also…

It’s Changbin.  Ew.  You are an only child but you feel a brotherly affection for him.  Picturing him in any other context is nauseating.  It just feels wrong. 

You have such a visceral reaction of disgust that Chan laughs.  He puts up his hands as if in surrender. 

“Sorry, sorry, my bad,” he says.  “Just friends, then?” 

“Yes,” you say.  “Though there’s nothing just about it.” 

You have replayed that rooftop exchange a hundred times, torturing yourself with every possible outcome.   If only you did this, if only he did that.  You rearrange every second, trying to find a version with a different ending.    

You wonder how he will react when he finds out what you did.  Aha, murder princess living up to her name! he might say.  The old man should have seen it coming.  I knew you could it, but of course I did. I’m so much smarter and better looking than everyone else here. 

You smile at the idea but it fades quickly. 

Changbin was with you last night.  He was sitting within arm’s reach, his scar under your fingertips.  Now he could be anywhere and it’s all your fault.  Not just because of the rooftop mistakes, but because of every mistake you made before that.

You exhale.  Your shoulders shake.  Chan watches you close a fist around a pillow.   

“You all right?” he asks. 

“I’m ending it,” you say. 

“Sorry, what?”

“I always thought Miroh was an inevitability.”  You are speaking out loud but mostly to yourself.  Your gaze is fixed on some distant point, your mind and heart miles away.  “But he wasn’t,” you say.  “No more soldiers.  No more experiments.  No more bribes and theft and terror.  My father is dead and I am going to do what I should have done a long time ago.  I am going to make sure his work dies with him.”

You look at Chan.  A day ago, you both existed for Miroh.  Now you are two people planning to dismantle an empire from a motel room and a stolen car.     

“Do you have a problem with that?” you ask. 

A part of you is braced for the worst, that he will reject it, that he will revert to some kind of conditioned programming and drag you back to a facility for condemnation. 

Even while you think it, you know it won’t happen.  The eyes staring back at you are as clear as your own. 

“I’m just the bodyguard,” Chan says.  “I go wherever you go.  Always.”

You feel invigorated to start now, but you are tired beneath the burst of adrenaline.   You need to let your body heal.   

The room is dark and you doze in the light of the television. After a couple hours, you roll over and find Chan is still awake.  He is laying on his bed, arms crossed and eyes open.  He is watching the shopping channel, ad after ad after ad, with far more intensity than it merits.   His mind must be somewhere else.  You can only imagine what he is thinking about. 

You wonder how much he knows about himself.  He responded to your half-coherent treasonous pleading.  Does he remember hating Miroh?  Or is he truly only helping you because of mission parameters? 

It is easy to forget when he is a bare-faced, curly-haired young man slouching in a motel bed, but Bang Chan is lethally competent.  He knew all of Miroh’s innermost schemes.  It will come in handy now, but it makes him an irrevocably dark character, whether it was willing or not. 

You wonder how much Changbin would trust him. 

Wait.

You were so distracted with your plans, you did not question a moment in your conversation. 

Chan mentioned Changbin. 

You never told Chan the identity of your friend.  When you were pleading with him, you just called him a friend. 

Maybe Chan heard you talking to your father.  Maybe he knows about your relationships because that was his job.  Maybe he just guessed because Changbin volunteered himself in the ring. 

Maybe Bang Chan remembers more than he is letting on. 

-

You fall asleep to the soft drone of the television.  Your mind is walking in circles and you dream of similar rings.  Nightmares of chrome cages and steel traps, a suffocating helplessness squeezing your ribcage. 

In your dreams, the room fills with smoke, a charcoal smog that chokes you as quickly as the compression on your chest.  You look down but you can’t see your body, only feel it.  Your invisible body struggles against invisible bindings.  You gasp for breath.

Your father appears.  It is him holding you down, a heavy hand in the middle of your chest.  You cry out.  You want to move but your body is trapped.

You close your eyes.  When you open them, Changbin is there.  He is still a teenager.  His head is bleeding – why is his head bleeding? – but he wipes the blood as if it’s nothing more than sweat, all his focus on you. 

Of course it is.  He’s your friend.  He’s here to save you.  How did you not see it before?  It’s like you have been moving through the world in a fog, the same grey smoke that envelopes you now.  His face is the only clear image, gawky with youth but alive and real.

The weight is lifted off your chest.  Black spots swarm your vision as you suck in a lungful of air. 

When you look again, Changbin is grown.  He looks like he did a day ago, dark bangs in his eyes, stocky build ready for a fight. 

“I’m not leaving here without you.”

Not leaving here.

Not leaving here.

Not leaving here. 

His voices dances around you.  You are trapped in your body, a screaming, shrieking force, watching through dead eyes as the world spins.  People pass but they don’t hear you.  You try to reach for someone but your body doesn’t respond to your thoughts. 

A labyrinthine stretch of road unfurls then disappears.  You are standing in the infirmary at the main facility.  You stare at yourself, the younger version of you.  You are already dead behind the eyes, resigned to your situation.  There are masked doctors around you.  A tray full of needles.  You watch as the long point penetrates your skin.  You’re just a child, arm so small in comparison. 

Your child face contorts with pain, an expression your adult face cannot mimic because you cannot control your face. 

You remember the pain, even if you cannot cry.  It was like nothing you had ever felt.  The pain meant it was working. The medicant was only administered to you when it had been thoroughly tested.  The first injection killed every subject except one.  The second program was a success. 

The children were writhing in pain for weeks, screaming and crying, begging for parents that never came.  Yours did, looming over your bedside, touching your feverish forehead and speaking through the fog of pain. 

An investment, Miroh called it.  You’ll thank me one day. 

Changbin is there.  He is a child too.  They put a needle in his skinny arm.  He winces but he doesn’t cry.   He isn’t scared of the needles or the pain, but he isn’t eager either.  He is just there, his head down. 

You blink and he is grown.  The needle is still in his arm, only it is not an injection but an extraction.  You watch the fullness of his face wither.  They are taking too much.  He becomes a child again, screaming in pain.  

The same pain moves inside you. 

No, worse. 

Worse. 

You never could have imagined a worse pain.  It courses through your whole body, peeling apart your insides while you lay there, helpless, watching.   

Your father stands over you.  You’ll thank me one day.  

He disappears.  For a flickering moment, you see Bang Chan.  Curly-haired, dimpled cheeks.  He stutters and shakes like a bad film projection.  His face contorts, changes.  Wide dark eyes stare at you, his face covered in rain – water – tears?  Pouring down his cheeks, mouth open and a mute cry in the grey. 

You want to touch him but you cannot move.  His face flickers again.  You feel a tiny, infinitesimal twitch in your pinky. 

Then he disappears altogether.  Your father is there.  He grabs you by the shoulders and slams you down, straight through the earth, holding you there in the darkness where no one can find you and you cannot move. 

“Hey—” comes a voice, somehow reaching you in the depths of that pit.  “Hey, hey, hey, wake up.” 

In your dream, your father shoves you. 

In reality, you are thrashing in a motel bed. 

It takes a minute to realize you are awake, that everything was just a terrible dream.  Your adrenaline is a white hot heat in your chest, your voice a strangled shriek as you clamour around the twisting sheets. 

“Hey, it’s all right,” Chan says.  “You’re just dreaming, whoa, easy, c’mon…  It’s all good.  Easy now.  Breathe for me, okay?” 

It feels like your first breath in years.  It goes down shaky, your vision blurry.  You realize Chan is holding your wrist, lightly but carefully.  You blink up at him.  He turned on the bedside light at some point.  Half his face is lit in gold as he looks at you with concern.  It is such a strange expression to see on him.  These were the same eyes glaring at you over that uniform mask.  Now that brow is pinched with worry, his own breath a staggered thing. 

“You all right?” he asks. 

You are sitting upright.  You look at your wrist in his hand. 

“Did I try to punch you again?” you ask. 

“You missed,” he says, smiling.  Then he shakes his head and says more seriously, “It was my fault.  You were yelling in your sleep so I woke you up.  I guess it was too fast or something.  Just, you know, I don’t think the walls are very thick here.”

“Right,” you say.  Your heart is still stampeding.  “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he says.  “You… you good…?” 

“Yeah,” you say.  You are too weary for patience, so sarcasm spills out of you.  “Peachy.” 

He opens his mouth but you don’t wait to hear it.  You slide out of bed and land on shaky legs.  Your whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat.  You want to shower, wash away the nightmare and the terror. 

You are a light sleeper.  You never dream like that. It is a testament to your exhaustion that you fell into such a deep sleep. 

You tell yourself it was a dream, but your reassurances don’t work.  Because it wasn’t really a dream, was it? It was flashes of real moments, real faces, real pain. 

You stand under steady stream of hot water.  You watch as the heat and the torrent opens a few scrapes, the water at your feet turning red.  You think of Changbin with a needle in his arm, all that red pouring out of him.  Standing there, helpless to do anything, like you are right now. 

You have no idea where he is.  You look at the scar on your palm and think of him in the moonlight, him in the ring, him at your side.  A smile, a joke, a reassurance.  A hand in yours, a promise. 

He knew you better than you know yourself.  He predicted this exact crisis of identity. 

When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be…  When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…

He drew that line across his palm.  You picture a chasm of a wound, gaping and red, rushing red at your feet. 

Just remember me, he said.  I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh.  I’m your soldier, not his.

True to his word, a man of principle to the end, he is bleeding for you right now. 

In all your years of training, fighting, and soldiership, of missions and schemes, tricks and plots, you have always kept composure.  Now it all weighs on you at once, every single second of your life, and it’s too much.  

When was the last time you cried?  You can’t even remember.  It pours out of you now, big ugly gasping sobs that spill into the shower.  You sit down where the water is pooling in pink.  You wrap your arms around your legs and draw them up to your chest like a child. 

You do not know how long you sit there, crying until it feels like there is no more water left in your body.  It must be a long time because the water runs from hot to lukewarm.  It feels strange to heave dry sobs with the shower still pouring down on you.  

The water abruptly stops.  You lift your head.

Chan stands there.  He doesn’t look at you directly, his expression solemn, but he turns off the water and gets you a towel.  

It feels surreal.  Bang Chan is moving around a small motel bathroom, helping you like he has helped you all day.  You stare at him with scrunched, sore eyes, your throat too strained to speak.  You drop your legs and let him wrap the towel around you.  Your heart kicks with momentary fright when he scoops you up, an effortless sweep. 

No one has ever done something like this for you.  You wouldn’t have let them, even if they tried. 

You need it.  You never realized how much you needed it.  You are certain you will feel embarrassed in the morning, but right now you put your arms around his neck and cling for dear life. 

He says nothing.  He hooks an arm around your back and the other under your legs.  He carries you back into the room and lays you in your bed, adjusting the towel for your modesty before pulling the blankets over you. 

You continue to sputter and hiccup, looking at him as he moves.  You wonder if he looks like this on a mission, determined and swift. 

No.  The First Guard wouldn’t fix the pillows under your head.  He wouldn’t tuck the blankets around you. 

Bang Chan stands over you, wearing nothing but his combat pants, no weapons or masks or piercing stares.  He has curly dark hair and a soft face.  When you touch his bare shoulder, he looks at you with a heart-shattering amount of tenderness.  You didn’t know anyone could look at somebody that way, never mind him, never mind at you. 

There’s a person inside him.  There’s a person inside you.  You don’t know who either of those people are, but you want to know.  You need to know. 

You curl your hand into a fist and feel the scar on your palm.  A day ago, none of this would have mattered, but you know why it matters now. 

“We have to find him,” you say.  Your rasping voice is barely above a whisper. 

Chan slowly cups his hand over yours, his palm to your knuckles, holding your touch against his shoulder.  He squeezes your fingers.  He nods.

“We will,” he says. 

“You’ll help me?” you say. 

“Yeah.” His own voice is a rasp, skirting the edge of emotion too.  He swallows it down and smiles at you.  “Like I said.  I go wherever you go.  Always.” 

He sits with you in the soft golden light of that small bedside lamp.  You do not think you can sleep again, but then exhaustion settles over you. 

You are on the cusp of sleep when he touches your forehead.  Your eyes meet briefly.  It wakes you with a heart flutter, similar to a dream that drops you into reality.  It is the heart-racing thump of a sudden fall.  The kind that feels so real, more like a memory than a dream. 

#absolutely loving the concept of a fucked up reader that perceives chan as the weird one #but it turns out chan might be the ‘normal’ one between them #it’s so great #I know she’s a reader insert but I truly adore her characterization #my weird little scrumblo (lovingly) #I want things to get better for them #;w;

[2baabbies]

hiii baddies 💕

I made a sideblog for my musical ramblings and more personal stuff I don’t want to put here (aka not fics). if you’d like to follow, it’s @lunarvalleys-inmymind

fair warning! it will mostly be taylor swift and possibly some vents/mental health stuff, so maybe steer clear if either of those things bother you. there may be some kpop posts? we’ll see

okiie, ty, byyye 🥰

#justbaebithings

[2baabbies]

💖!!! thank you rixen!! 😖 you’re too sweet! I have so many more plans for this series, I hope you enjoy ☺️💕

🖤 Everybody Wonders (hyunchanlix x reader, skz x reader) 🖤

Crossposted under 2Babbies on Ao3 <3 (also split into 3 parts to make it easier to read)

Shared as a teaser here and is a sequel to this fic!

Pairings: established relationship bangchan x reader, established hyunlix, exploring/developing hyunchanlix x reader (they’re official now y’all), established background minsung, unmentioned various skz pairings and crushes happening but not important to this fic

Words: 12700

Summary: Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you; except for your boyfriend Chan, and his group members who were lucky enough to have caught your eye (inspired by Gold Rush by Taylor Swift; quote at the beginning is also from this song).

Fluff + Smut + Humour + Slight Angst

afab+fem!reader

CWs: nsfw (obvi!!), one lame religious pun courtesy of minho, swearing and insults as a form of flirting, felix says cunt, insecure hyunjin (a little ittle bit of angst but there’s comfort), slight feminization (malewife, boygirlfriend), drinking alcohol in the background/i.n and jisung are drunk, sexualization/inappropriate jokes courtesy of jisung, minho hits jisung for being a freak

Smut Tags: hot tub sex, unprotected sex, messy sex, chanlix anal, handjobs, fingering, hyunjin eating reader out, teasing, begging, playful/joking sex, dom/sub dynamics (subby hyune, dom chan, kind of switch felix + reader), dacryphilia, intercrural sex, praise, spit, bit of oral fixation, felix boobs in mouth, dirty talk

Taglist: @rylea08

!!ATTENTION!!

Reposting this fic to other platforms, including as a translation, is expressly prohibited. Do not copy, alter, or claim this fic as your own. Absolutely no permission is given to anyone to post my works, even with credit, and this fic should only appear on Ao3 or Tumblr under my accounts. Reposting is not only plagiarism, but a direct violation of my wishes as the original writer and owner. Please respect writers and don’t steal!

Likes, reblogs, asks and comments are very welcome and appreciated <3

~~~

‘Gleaming, twinkling,

Eyes like sinking

Ships on waters.

So inviting,

I almost jump in.’

The evening wind rushes against you, skimming the water and carrying the salty seabreeze with it. You shiver, the day is fading and you are admiring the last glimmers of light before night falls. There is still some warmth lingering in the sand, but not for much longer. You can feel the cool winds from the sea washing in with each passing moment, and seeping in through your baggy sweater. You shiver again, more out of anticipation than from the cold when you hear footsteps behind you. Your eyes remain trained on the lulling waves as a warm hand comes to rest in the small of your back, then a soft voice speaks in your ear.

“I told you to bring your coat.”

You snort and turn to look at Chan as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders. He is still wearing a thick black sweater, so you let him guide your arms through the sleeves of his jacket and zip you up without protest. He pecks your forehead then chuckles as you shuffle closer and rest your head on his chest. His arms close tight around you and he sways a little as you resume watching the sea.

“S’not that cold,” You mumble, your cheek is pressed against his chest.

“Oh, shush,” You giggle at his teasing words, “You just like to argue.”

“Not true.”

“Hmph.”

He kisses the top of your head then buries his nose there with a hum.

“Sure, babygirl.”

You sigh and shut your eyes, enjoying the sound of the ocean and Chan’s heart under your ear. Your current visit would only be brief, and you are savoring it while it lasts. The boys chose this spot for their break, finally finding time to rest between all their busy schedules. It would not be much of a vacation, but you were still thankful for the time to spend with your boyfriend and close friends.

“Oh my God,” Jisung shrieks in the distance, “I found a crab!”

“Give it to me,” Changbin demands immediately.

“Leave it alone,” Seungmin shouts over the chorus of excited responses, “Put it back! You’re scaring it!”

“Crabs don’t know fear,” Jeongin argues, “The only thing they fear is God!”

“How do you know? This one might be a crustatheist,” Minho’s joke is met with a mix of silence and groans of anguish.

You and Chan laugh together at the chaos as their voices ramp up again. You both turn to watch where your friends are gathered further down the beach. Chan slides one arm around your shoulders and pulls you in before you begin making your way towards them.

Changbin and Minho are squatting near the ground, eyes trained on the sand where a tiny crab is burrowing. Jisung steps behind them anxiously, teeth gritted and fingers curled in distress as Changbin tries to coax the creature onto a flat rock. Jeongin watches with a relaxed smile as Seungmin stands beside him while looking unimpressed.

“He doesn’t want to go on the rock,” Changbin complains.

“Leave him alone,” Seungmin mutters.

Minho roots his fingers in the sand then raises his hand, presenting the crab with a triumphant smirk.

“Got him.”

He holds it up to Jisung, who backpedals and falls gracelessly with a scream. Seungmin rolls his eyes as Changbin and Jeongin move closer to inspect Minho’s catch. Chan lets out a fond huff as Jisung recovers and scrambles over to see as well. Past the group, skipping rocks across the water, stand Felix and Hyunjin. Chan follows as you continue on towards them, arm securely pinning you to his side as a sharp breeze cuts through the otherwise calm air.

Felix notices you first and grins as you come to a stop beside him. Hyunjin’s stone plunks into the water after one skip and he whips around in a huff.

“You almost did it that time,” Felix comforts.

“Almost. Almost he says.”

Chan chuckles and steps away from you to join the game.

“I’ll teach you, Jinnie.”

“I know how to do it.”

Felix shakes his head and you giggle as Chan begins coaching Hyunjin anyway. You move closer and Felix meets you to take his spot at your side. His arms slide around your waist and pull your back to his chest as he rests his chin on your shoulder. You wrap your arms around his and you lean back as you watch your boyfriends. He squeezes you and nestles his face in the side of your neck as Hyunjin fails another attempt. You giggle as Hyunjin sits in the sand and buries his face in his hands. Chan pats his head as he laments his defeat.

“I hate rocks.”

“Rocks aren’t the problem,” Felix quips.

“Yes they are.”

You yelp as Changbin barrels into you and Felix, then throws his arms around the two of you. The three of you erupt into laughter as he spins you then buries his face in your neck. Your instinct is to shy away, but you can only fall further into Felix’s arms. He staggers but finds his balance to support the two of you as Changbin pulls back with a grin. His arms retract only for a moment, then his fingers delve under your layers to target your sides. You collapse and cackle maniacally as he tickles you relentlessly, and Felix tries to keep you on your feet.

“Cha-Changbin! What the He-ell!”

Felix eventually lets you fall so he can rescue you from Changbin’s torment, and you heave in another broken laugh as Felix traps him in a tight hug.

“What the Hell, Changbin,” Chan whines, mimicking your surprised voice.

“Shut up!”

“Changbin, what the Hell,” Hyunjin repeats, adding his own dramatic flair to his performance.

“Ugh, you all suck.”

Felix rests his head on Changbin’s shoulder and snuggles in.

“Hey, I saved you.”

“You’re snuggling with the enemy.”

“I’m not the enemy,” Changbin protests, “And you could never stop our snuggling.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“Get a room!” Jisung taunts from afar.

“What did you say?”

Changbin separates from Felix to chase after his new target, and Jisung sprints away when he realizes this. Chan flops down beside you and lays flat in the sand, his eyes falling shut as you admire him quietly. Felix comes to stand beside him as Hyunjin wanders around you aimlessly.

“Are you alright, Chris?” Felix asks softly.

“I’m perfect, Lix.”

You roll onto your side and prop your head up as Hyunjin takes a seat on the ground. He gently lifts Chan’s head onto his lap and brushes his fingers through his hair.

“Look, you got sand in your hair.”

Chan hums and smiles as Hyunjin sweeps his fingers gently over his cheek. You lay your head in Hyunjin’s lap as well and smile up at him. The wind tousles his locks as golden light shines above him, and he returns your fond gaze. Felix joins last; he sits beside Hyunjin and loops his arms around his waist, then rests his head on his shoulder. You lean up just enough to check where the rest of the group has gone, their voices fading as they wander down the beach, and Felix pats your head when it returns to Hyunjin’s lap.

“It’s so beautiful,” Hyunjin murmurs.

“Yeah,” You agree softly.

Chan opens his eyes and looks up at the sky. The blues and oranges have already begun to melt away into deeper hues and the light has dimmed. You watch his eyes search the clouds before he turns his head to look at you.

“It’s getting late.”

“Mhm,” You nod and let your eyes fall shut, Felix is petting your head in a soothing rhythm, “It’s pretty dark…”

Chan sits up and pauses before suggesting, “It looks like the boys have gone pretty far. Reckon we head back now?”

“Without them?” Felix asks as you sit up and stretch.

“Sure,” Chan answers, “It might be the only chance we get to spend some time together.”

Felix and Hyunjin stare expectantly so you add, “Alone. Just us.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin gasps, “R-Right.”

Felix looks in the distance for any signs of the other members.

“Only if you two want to, of course,” Chan assures, “If you two prefer sneaking around while the others are home, we’re certainly game. You’re pretty cute when you’re trying to keep quiet, Lixie.”

“Shut up,” Felix replies playfully, and his cheeks flare as he stands, “Keep it in your pants, old man.”

“Oh, I need to keep it in my pants? Maybe we’ll just play without you, then.”

“Don’t be a cunt.”

“Wow, don’t be a what?”

“You heard me.”

Chan pulls himself to his feet and grins as Felix runs off towards the beach house. He stalks after him calmly as Felix giggles mischievously and jogs backwards.

“You better apologize.”

“Make me.”

“Oh, I will,” Chan answers as he finally breaks into a run.

Felix yelps in response and scrambles to pick up his speed. Hyunjin laughs softly and stands, extending his hand to help you to your feet as well. He keeps his hand gently locked with yours as you begin following the others. His shoulder presses against yours and the contact makes your stomach flip. You both sneak a look at each other and you smile with anticipation. He looks away, but you still catch the embarrassment heating up his cheeks. You rest your head on his shoulder and give his hand a squeeze as you watch Chan catch Felix and swing him off his feet.

“Thank you for coming out here with us,” Hyunjin whispers, making your head perk up, “I’m really glad you could make it.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Hyunjin. I’m happy to be invited.”

“Sure, but you’d probably prefer just to be with Chan if you could. You’re stuck with all of us too.”

You shake your head.

“I don’t see it that way. I love spending time with all of you. Besides, how I see it is you’re all stuck with me, too.”

You giggle and grin up at him as he smiles shyly.

“I don’t think any of us mind being stuck with you. I know Felix and I don’t. And Chan is always a little better when you’re around.”

“Yeah? I think he does fine without me.”

“No,” He argues gently, “It’s different. You don’t see it like we do. Chan looks so happy when he’s with you.”

You look to where Chan and Felix are embracing ahead of you. Felix is whining as Chan peppers unforgiving kisses over his freckled cheeks.

“He looks happy when he’s with you too.”

Hyunjin huffs gently and pecks your temple. You rub his arm and snuggle against him with a pleased hum.

“Not feeling shy, I see,” You tease.

Hyunjin laughs.

“I-I am…”

“It’s okay, Hyunjin. I know you’re more comfortable when the others aren’t around.”

He ducks his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s okay to want some privacy.”

“I know… I-I know they know… I just don’t want to have to explain anything to them.”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to explain it to us either. We already talked about it, right?”

“Right.”

“Hey,” Felix calls, he and Chan have paused to allow you to catch up, “Is everything okay?”

“We’re good, just chatting,” Hyunjin answers.

Felix comes to walk with you, ducking under Hyunjin’s arm and wrapping his arm around his waist. Chan joins at your side, placing his hand on Hyunjin’s back and leaning close so you are wedged between the two of them.

“Lix had a good idea, want to hear it?” Chan purrs.

“Of course,” You reply, still caressing Hyunjin’s arm where your hand is gripping his bicep.

Felix tilts his head to meet your gaze then smirks at Hyunjin.

“There’s a hot tub in the house. I think we should enjoy it while the others are gone.”

“That sounds nice,” Hyunjin agrees.

“I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” You inform.

“Oh, I didn’t either,” Hyunjin realizes.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Chan coos, “I wonder what we’ll do about that.”

You peer suspiciously as Felix shares a knowing smirk with Chan.

“You didn’t bring one either,” You say to Chan.

“Hm, I wonder if we have another option, then?”

You look at Hyunjin, who is glaring at Felix through the darkening night.

“You two are perverted.”

Felix flusters as the realization dawns on you.

“Skinny dipping? Really you two?”

“You don’t like the idea?” Chan asks.

“I didn’t say that.”

You feel Chan’s arm brush you as he pats Hyunjin’s back.

“What are you thinking, Jin?”

He grimaces as you all turn your attention to him.

“That’s… really dirty.”

“Are you embarrassed, babe,” Felix teases, “Not up for the challenge?”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes.

“No… I’m just worried about the others coming back…”

“They won’t come back for a while,” Chan reasons.

“You and I can do something else, Jin,” You offer, “Watch a movie or something.”

“No… I want to do it.”

“Do you want to?” Felix asks.

“Yes, as long as we’re all comfortable.”

“We’ve all been naked in front of each other before, and quite comfortable last I checked,” Felix teases.

You reach in front of Hyunjin to pinch Felix’s side and he yelps as he catches your wrist. Chan takes advantage of the distraction and presses a kiss to the nape of your neck. You moan as he lingers there, hot breath washing over your skin and raising hairs, then you pull away from Felix to lightly elbow your boyfriend.

“Don’t tease me.”

Chan presses another kiss under your ear and brushes his lips against your jawline. He gently grabs your arm and guides you away from where you are stumbling into Hyunjin.

“Watch where you’re going, babygirl.”

“Shut up.”

Hyunjin tuts and takes his hand from yours to wrap it around your middle.

“Getting flustered?”

“Aw, baby,” Felix interrupts, “You don’t have to be nervous.”

You shrug them off and jog forward as you arrive at the house. You turn around and point your finger in an accusatory stance.

“All of you, behave.”

Felix blinks his eyes innocently as Hyunjin bows his head with a guilty smile. Chan steps up in front of you with a smirk.

“You like it when we’re bad, baby. Then you get to put us in our place.”

He steps past with the keys to unlock the door and you smack his bottom.

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

Felix and Hyunjin laugh as they follow you and Chan into the house. Felix jostles you playfully as you take off your shoes and outside clothes, and you turn to attack him with a hug when you finish. He giggles and pecks your face while wrapping his arms around your waist. You gently capture his chin and guide his lips to yours to share a teasing kiss. He tries to slip his tongue in your mouth and only manages to lap at your lips before you pull away.

“Hah,” His hips press to yours as he murmurs, “You’re so cute.”

Hyunjin comes to stand behind you, his chest pressed against your back as he speaks in your ear.

“I hate to break you two up, but didn’t we have a plan?”

You turn your head and giggle as Felix pecks your neck. 

“Mhm, I don’t remember,” He sighs into your skin, “Refresh my memory?”

Chan is watching you with a lazy smile as he speaks, “Hot tub. Skinny dipping.”

“Ah, right.”

You giggle as Hyunjin physically redirects Felix away from you and down the hall, then you turn to Chan. He moves closer and pecks your cheek before nodding after them.

“Go on, I’ll be right there.”

“What are you doing?”

He holds up his phone and winks.

“Just making sure we get our privacy.”

You raise your eyebrow.

“Alright, don’t keep us waiting.”

“I won’t.”

You take your time undressing in your’s and Chan’s shared room and don a towel before padding down the hall. It seems Felix and Hyunjin have taken their time as well, since you are the first to arrive at the hot tub. It is running in a private room on the bottom floor of the house. You take a seat on the edge and dip your hand in the water. Your head perks up as Felix enters the room in a robe.

“Where did you find a robe?”

He fluffs the collar and does a pose.

“Jealous?”

“Yeah, you should take it off.”

He sputters and unties the belt as he crosses the room.

“Very forward. How’s the water?”

“It’s good, not too hot actually.”

Felix takes a seat next to you and tilts his head as you run your hand over his chest. Your damp fingers dip beneath the fabric and draw it open as you run your hand over his skin. He sucks in a breath as your fingers trace down his sternum and open his robe further. His lips part to let out a shuddery breath and you feel his body shiver under your touch.

“Oh my God,” Your hand pauses on Felix’s abdomen as Hyunjin speaks up from the doorway, “And you two think Chan is the horny one.”

You laugh and run your hand back up Felix’s front. He smirks and leans in to share a heated kiss.

“Can’t help it,” Felix pants against your lips.

“Trust me, I can tell,” Hyunjin assures.

You giggle and indulge Felix with a few more kisses before turning to face Hyunjin. You meet his gaze bravely as you grab the front of Felix’s robe and slide it off his shoulders. Hyunjin’s eyes widen as Felix mouths at your neck and you let his robe drop from your hands. Felix slides his hands under your towel to grasp your thighs as he sucks a hickey into your throat. One hand slides up to pull your towel down as he draws your thigh over his lap. You follow his lead and look over your shoulder at Hyunjin as he watches you straddle his boyfriend.

Chan leans in the doorway and cocks his eyebrow, then looks at Hyunjin where he stands unmoving in front of him. Felix’s hands roam over your bare back and one slides down to grope your ass as you settle in his lap. His cock jumps against your abdomen as he litters more wet kisses over your neck and chest. Your eyes flutter and you hum approval as he leans down to suck at your breasts.

“Enjoying the show?”

Hyunjin gasps and clutches his robe, over his heart, as he turns to Chan with a frustrated sigh. Felix chuckles and raises his head as Chan struts into the room and asks:

“What’s wrong, aren’t you going to join them, Hyune?”

Hyunjin huffs and crosses his arms.

“You first.”

“Gladly.”

Chan finishes crossing the room and drops his towel before easing into the hot tub. He meets your gaze and lounges against the side with his arms spread across the ledge. He nods at Felix and makes a beckoning motion, which you respond with by standing from his lap. Felix whines and pouts up at you as you brace your hands on his chest. You wink and shove him back to be caught in Chan’s waiting arms. Felix makes a surprised sound when he splashes into the water then laughs as Chan pulls him into his lap. Chan nips at his ear and rubs his chest as he melts into his form.

You turn to face Hyunjin, still observing in silence where he stands. His eyes flit over your nude body before he shyly turns away.

“Jinnie,” You sing, “Aren’t you going to join us?”

“Yes…”

“Come in, babe,” Felix urges, Chan is still hungrily mouthing at his neck and shoulder.

You step into the hot tub and sink down with a moan. The water immediately begins to ease your muscles and lull you into a relaxed position. You look at Chan and Felix, who have paused, then turn your head to look at Hyunjin. His fingers fumble with his robe and he avoids meeting your eyes.

“Are you alright, Jinnie?” You ask sweetly.

“I’m fine…”

“Don’t be shy, babe,” Felix begs.

“I can’t strip when you’re all staring at me.”

“Aw, why not?” Chan whines.

You and Felix giggle as Hyunjin glares in response. You turn and cross your arms on the edge of the tub, then rest your chin in your arms. You look up at Hyunjin and smile from where you slouch in the water.

“Hyunjin? Don’t you want to join us?”

He nods and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, then watches you extend one of your hands.

“Come here, sweetheart. I’ll help you get undressed.”

“O-Okay…”

He comes forward and takes your hand, then gasps as you pull him to sit on the edge of the hot tub. You giggle and rest one hand in his lap, blinking up at him seductively as that hand roams over his clothed crotch. He swallows and tries to muffle a moan with his hand as you palm him lazily through the robe. Your other hand deftly undoes the tie keeping it closed and you smirk up at him. His eyes dart away and he sighs.

“Would you two… stop ogling me?”

“Nope,” Chan replies simply.

“We’re admiring you, love.”

“Don’t look at them,” You demand, turning Hyunjin to face you by cupping his chin, “They’re not the ones touching you, now are they?”

“N-No…”

“Right. So if you want me to keep touching you, you should keep your eyes on me.”

“Damn,” Chan hisses, and Felix shushes him.

Hyunjin’s eyes flutter and he quivers at the demand. He looks away for a second, before taking a deep breath and braving your gaze. Your expression turns ravenous as you caress his chin and run your hand down to his chest.

“Good boy.”

He nods, biting his lip as your hand slips under his robe to touch him directly. Soft groans slip from his lips as you stroke his length. His eyes follow yours through his lashes as you part his robe and let it fall open. He whimpers as you spread his legs and rest your cheek against the inside of his thigh. You look at his cock and drink in the sight of it hard and throbbing from your touch. You look up and tsk when you see his eyes are tightly shut, then draw your hand away. Hyunjin bites his fist to muffle his cry of frustration as his hips jump in desperation for your touch.

“B-Baby, pl-ease,” He hiccups.

“Look at me.”

“I-I’m not going to last…”

He looks down at you, eyes tearing up as your hand brushes the inside of his leg. You rise to stand between his legs and cup his cheeks as he frowns at you.

“Come in, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

“Fuck.”

You giggle and help him slip out of his robe, then slide your arms around his shoulders as he falls into the water with you. His lips slot against yours as you thread your fingers through his hair, and his cock ruts against your thigh. You break the kiss and huff softly.

“Hyunjinnie…”

You gasp as strong hands grab your waist, and Chan pulls you back into his lap. He pecks your shoulder and motions Hyunjin to follow you.

“Come on, Hyune. Be a good boy for her.”

Hyunjin cries out softly and falls into your waiting arms. You kiss his cheek and swipe your thumb over his bottom lip as it quivers.

“Close, baby?”

Felix settles next to you in Chan’s lap, and chuckles as Hyunjin sucks your thumb into his mouth.

“Hyunjin, baby,” Felix groans, “You look so good right now.”

“Stop,” Hyunjin cries.

“Stop what,” Felix breathes, “You’re gorgeous.”

You reach between your bodies and resume stroking Hyunjin, which quiets his embarrassed protests. His face flushes and his eyes tear up as your hand teases his cock beneath the water. Hyunjin muffles his needy sounds by shoving his face into your shoulder and Chan pecks a sweet kiss to the crown of his head. You cup his neck and hold him to you with adoration.

“There you go, Hyune,” Chan praises, “You’re such a good boy.”

Hyunjin nods and thrusts into your hand. Felix finds a place on his shoulder to begin littering little kisses and whispers soft encouragement to you both.

“There you go, feels good, right? Gonna come? Be a good boy and come. You’re treating our Hyune so well, darling. He’s so lucky to have your pretty hands on his cock.”

Chan draws Felix in for a sloppy kiss before they return their attention to you. Felix lovingly pets Hyunjin’s back and kisses his neck where he can reach it. Chan hums into your hair and slides a hand around your waist, between your legs to slip two fingers into your heat. You jerk at the intrusion and knock your head against his chin. Chan grunts and you sputter when he burrows his face in the nape of your neck.

“Ow.”

“Well, don’t just- a-ahh!”

Your hips roll to chase the feeling of Chan’s fingers curling inside you, putting just enough pressure on your sweet spot as his thumb rolls over your clit.

“Don’t what? Hm? Use your words, babygirl.”

“You’re mean,” Hyunjin chastises, the rhythm of your touch breaking from Chan’s distraction, “Hah, too rough with her.”

You warble in agreement as you try to focus on stroking Hyunjin. Chan easily keeps the pace of fingering you as his other hand seizes your wrist. Hyunjin whines and butts his face into your neck as your hand is forced to still.

“I could be a lot meaner,” Chan whispers as he releases his hold on you, “Besides, she’s more than ready for it. Touch her, Lix.”

You resume stroking Hyunjin, his short grunts and breathy moans telling you that he is close. Chan’s fingers leave and Felix’s replace them. Although his are smaller, he makes up for this by immediately delving three of them deep into your heat. You mumble a string of curses into Hyunjin’s hair, clawing your fingers down his back as Felix fingerfucks you steadily.

“Wet and loose. Can’t get enough, can you? Hm?”

You moan and nod dumbly. Chan chuckles and lifts Hyunjin’s chin to look at him.

“And you think I’m the mean one?”

Hyunjin shakes his head as Chan pushes his thumb into his mouth. He swipes it over his tongue and presses it to the inside of his cheek. Hyunjin’s eyes flutter and his mouth opens in a broken moan as he comes from your touch. Felix chuckles, kissing the marks you left on Hyunjin’s back as he retracts his hand from your core. You sigh at the loss of contact and watch the tears slip down Hyunjin’s cheeks as your touch overstimulates him. Slowly, you cease touching him to let him recover from his high. Chan removes his thumb from his mouth and uses the spit-laden appendage to wipe the tears from Hyunjin’s cheeks. He sniffles and leans dazedly into Chan’s touch, cheeks flush and slick.

“Still good, baby?” Chan asks softly, “You with us?”

Hyunjin nods and looks over his shoulder as Felix kisses his cheek.

“You did so well, gorgeous,” He praises.

Hyunjin turns to you and presses a hot kiss to the corner of your lips. You giggle and meet him properly for the second one. He parts his lips and lets you slip your tongue inside for a messy kiss that leaves a string of saliva between your lips when you part. He groans and ducks his head before facing you again.

“I just realized… how gross this is.”

Chan chuckles and tauntingly strokes the inside of your thigh.

“What? Spit?” Felix asks as he wipes your chin clean.

“No… We’re sitting in my… cum.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty gross,” You agree as Chan nibbles your ear.

“Felix, don’t tell me that got you hard,” Hyunjin snaps as Felix laughs into his back.

He looks at you with a salacious grin and props his chin over Hyunjin’s shoulder.

“Listen, babe, just because you’re having post-nut clarity doesn’t mean we have to.”

“You should, you degenerate.”

“Well, you’re welcome to leave-”

“As if.”

You giggle and let Chan maneuver you to lean against the edge of the tub. He settles himself between your legs and traps you against the wall with his arms as he slowly leans in with a greedy stare. You sigh and lean your elbows back on the ledge, offering a challenging smirk as he moves in. Felix snakes his arms around Chan’s middle and blinks at you affectionately as your boyfriend presses his forehead to yours. You giggle and reach up to run your fingers through his hair, then reach past him to cup Felix’s cheek. You tilt your head to the side, away from Chan, to meet Felix’s gaze.

“You’re so pretty, Lix.”

“Thank you.”

Chan sets his jaw and brushes his nose against your cheek.

“Is that how it is?”

You thread your fingers in Felix’s hair and watch his eyes roll when you tug. You turn to face Chan with faux concern as he glares at you softly.

“I’m just worried Lix isn’t getting enough attention, Channie.”

Chan shudders then turns to watch you slide your hand down and wrap it around Felix’s throat. He groans when your grip tentatively tightens and guides him closer, between you and Chan. His eyes flutter open and he shoots Chan a smug look. Chan responds by grabbing the back of Felix’s head and pushing his face into your breasts. You scoff and share a look with Hyunjin, who is lounging against an edge with his elbow propped to hold his head up. He tilts his head to watch Felix suck your nipple between his lips. You moan and drape your arm lazily over his shoulders as he laps his way to your other breast.

“I think he gets plenty of attention,” Chan mumbles.

You laugh and slide your foot against the inside of Chan’s leg. He moves closer to pin Felix between both of you and chuckles at your airy moans. Felix lets out a muffled hum before licking a filthy stripe over your sensitive bud.

“I disagree,” He murmurs, “I’m feeling so neglected.”

Hyunjin speaks up from his spot, “It’s hard to feel bad for you when you have tits in your mouth.”

Felix looks up at you with his round eyes and sighs.

“God gives his hardest battles to his sexiest soldiers.”

“So true, baby,” You coo.

Chan snickers and Hyunjin rolls his eyes as Felix eagerly returns to suckling on your breasts. Chan glances at Hyunjin as needy sounds spill from your lips, and leans back to acknowledge him.

“Feeling left out?”

Hyunjin shakes his head.

“I’m good. I’m enjoying the view from right here.”

You keen as Felix nips the soft underside of your breasts and exhales hotly on your sensitive skin. He kisses lower, giving testing licks as he travels to your stomach. Chan reaches around to clasp Felix’s jaw and pulls him back. Felix’s eyes roll from the pressure on his throat and he grunts as Chan presses his lips to his ear.

“Aren’t you such a good boy for her?”

Felix nods, watching you through his lashes as Chan ghosts his hand down his front. His cock jumps when Chan’s hand slides over his abdomen and pauses there. You sigh and watch impatiently as Felix bucks his hips.

“Chan, please.”

“What’s wrong? You don’t want to be my good boy?”

“I-I do…”

“Not fair,” You whine.

Chan kisses Felix’s neck and chuckles.

“I’m just giving Lixie some attention. Wasn’t that your suggestion?”

You click your tongue and sit up.

“I didn’t say to tease him.”

“But isn’t he so cute like this?”

“Yeah,” You muse as you admire the shuddering of Felix’s toned chest, “He is pretty cute.”

Chan roughly gropes Felix’s inner-thigh and groans as he squirms in his arms.

“Excited, are you?”

“You’re one to talk. Fuck, you’re so fucking hard Chan.”

You giggle as Chan blushes and releases Felix. He drops in front of you and leans into your welcoming embrace with a soft groan. You feel his cock press against you as he kisses you fervently, his arms pulling your bodies tight together as your hands run over his back. 

Chan leans one hand on the ledge beside you and traces a finger slowly down Felix’s spine. He shivers and whimpers into your mouth as Chan’s touch dances over his freckles, drawing invisible constellations as the two of you share lazy kisses. Felix breaks the kiss and you take the opportunity to peck his forehead as Chan traces his spine again. Felix arches his back and groans at the friction of your hips coming together.

“Chris,” He cries, “Wh-What are you-”

Chan teases his fingers over Felix’s hole and slots his cock between the younger’s shaking thighs. You feel the drag of it against the tangle of your legs and bite your lip as you meet Chan’s gaze. He smirks and presses closer, forcing Felix’s chest flush to yours as he moves in. Felix moans and looks down as Chan ruts his cock under his, then looks at you as one of Chan’s hands roam over his chest. You contrast Chan’s sloppy thrusts and slow groping by sweetly tucking Felix’s hair out of his face. He inhales shakily as Chan slips a finger over his hole again.

“God, just put it in,” Felix growls.

You giggle and cup his face as Chan’s hands slide down to his hips.

“Don’t be so hasty, love,” Chan whispers.

“You’re a tease.”

“I just want to make sure you’re wet, darling.”

“We’re in a fucking hot t-UB!”

Felix jerks as Chan spreads his cheeks and spits into his open hole. Felix thrusts again, chasing the friction of his cock against your abdomen, before quivering and collecting himself. Chan spits again then pushes one of his thumbs into Felix’s puckering hole. You moan and roll your hips up for some stimulation as you stroke your thumbs over Felix’s defined cheekbones.

“That’s better,” Chan decides, admiring Felix’s slick hole.

“You’re disgusting,” Felix groans.

Chan fucks himself between his legs and you assist by closing your legs around Felix’s thighs, creating a tighter slit for Chan to slip between. Felix whines as it becomes harder for him to move his hips, and follows Chan as his hand comes around his throat again. Your core pulses from watching Chan hold him up, then he tugs Felix’s hands from your body.

“Arms. Now.”

“Chaaan,” Felix protests, but folds his arms behind his back for Chan to grasp in his other hand.

“See? Was that so hard?”

Felix whimpers as you begin running your hands over his pecs and pressing kisses to his chest. Chan is still lazily grinding between his thighs, frotting their cocks together from behind.

“You’re so pretty, Lix,” Hyunjin compliments, his voice low and ragged.

You drag your lips down Felix’s abs and look up as you place an open-mouthed kiss just below his belly button. Felix fights to look down at you as Chan tilts his head back.

“You want her mouth so bad, huh? Think you deserve it?”

“I do,” Felix argues.

“Oh yeah?”

Chan pauses as you close your hands around both of their cocks and Felix makes a relieved noise. You stroke them slowly and look up with a sigh.

“For the record, I don’t think either of you have done much to ‘deserve’ it. The only thing you’ve been doing is teasing me.”

“A-And what do you think he’s doing to me?” Felix sobs.

Chan chuckles and nuzzles his nose against Felix’s cheek.

“But Felix, you’ve been such a good boy.”

Felix rolls his eyes then makes a choked sound as you squeeze the tip of his cock. He thrusts into your hand and Chan pulls him back.

“Come on…”

“Beautiful,” Hyunjin calls, stealing your attention, “Why don’t you let them play together and I’ll take care of you?”

“No…” Felix pleads as you draw your hands away.

“You’ll be fine,” Hyunjin dismisses as he watches you wade your way over beside him.

Chan chuckles and finally releases his constricting grip on Felix. You let Hyunjin lift you up on the edge of the hot tub as Chan sits across from you. He beckons Felix closer and guides him to sit in his lap as Hyunjin ducks between your legs. You watch him pull your thighs over his shoulders and move in to lick between your folds. You are so pent up from watching the others you fail to suppress the high-pitched sound that he draws from your lips. Felix and Chan are both facing you, admiring you, as Chan hikes one of Felix’s legs over his arm and begins fingering him open. Felix lays like a ragdoll, letting Chan touch him and move him as he pleases as he watches you through half-lidded eyes.

Hyunjin barely swipes his tongue into your heat, choosing instead to focus on lapping at your clit and flicking it around your folds. You are too needy to complain, just sighing and moaning as he latches his lips to your clit and sucks. Chan hurriedly preps Felix and guides himself into his spread hole. Felix makes a wrecked sound as Chan’s fist closes around his leaking cock and he thrusts up to the hilt. Your fingers clench on the edge of the tub and you watch them desperately as your climax approaches. You wiggle and Hyunjin clasps your hips, allowing you to grind your pussy on his lips until you reach your high. You laugh breathlessly and release a series of pitchy moans as he devours you happily, letting you use him until you are satiated. You continue through your orgasm until the overstimulation has you trembling.

Hyunjin reaches up to catch you in his arms as you drop back into the water, still a bit shaky as you come down from your high. Your arousal is smeared on his lips and he licks them clean before kissing you. It is endearing, even when you taste yourself on his tongue and feel him half-hard between your moving bodies, your heart swells at his kiss. You blame Chan and Felix for leaving you untouched, but secretly know there is something special about Hyunjin that is drawing this reaction from you. He cups your cheeks and kisses you, soft and slow, drawing it out as long as he can until you are panting beneath him.

“Baby?”

“Hah,” You respond, dazed as you look up at him, “Yes?”

“Are you okay? You’re shaking, sweetheart.”

Your heart stutters at his tender expression, and you nod quickly to settle his nerves.

“Good, I’m good. Still coming down, that’s all.”

“Alright. Do you need a break?”

“No, n-no. We can just sit here.”

“Alright, baby,” Hyunjin smiles, patient and fond, before pecking your forehead, “Sit with me. Let’s just watch for a bit.”

You follow Hyunjin down to lounge in the water and find your core winding up at how he secures his arm around your shoulder. His movements are slow, hesitant, as he pulls you close and gently caresses your arm with his thumb. He brushes stray hairs from your face and runs his thumb under your jawline with loving attention. You look up and feel safe, warmth pooling in your stomach, when you meet his doting gaze. His serene smile is still there as he glances over at Felix and Chan.

There is something remarkable about Felix’s flexibility, it must come from years of training and dancing. Chan has his leg held up in a way that looks painful, but you trust that if Felix did not want it that way he would have spoken by now. Chan is jerking him off hard, and thrusting up with no control. The scene looks pornographic, and the sounds spilling from Felix’s mouth sound even more so. You can tell he is close from the volume of his desperation.

“Ch-Chan! Chan- Chris- fuck! Please please, oh my God, fuck! Yes, please-”

Hyunjin keeps stroking your arm, pulling you in to snuggle against his chest. You sink down and feel his cheek nestle against the top of your head. Felix groans, loud enough that you would worry about someone else hearing if you were not the only ones in the house. His cum shoots up his front, painting his chest and abdomen with thick streaks as Chan fucks him through his climax. It dribbles down his cock as it falls soft against his stomach, and he groans lowly as Chan keeps fucking him. Chan’s hand has slipped to hold the inside of his thigh, keeping his legs spread by digging his fingers into the tight muscles.

“That’s good, so good, Lix,” Chan praises, “M’gonna keep going, can I cum- cum inside? M’so close, baby.”

“Uh-huh,” Felix mewls, voice airy as Chan fucks another groan out of him, “Inside, yeah…”

“That’s messy,” Hyunjin teases, “You made a mess, Lix.”

“S’good, feels good,” Felix babbles, making you both laugh.

Chan giggles into Felix’s neck and whispers his own mindless stream of groans and praises as he finds his release. He knocks his hips up, pushing himself deeper inside as he cums. Felix twitches as Chan’s cock throbs inside him, and cum begins to spill out of his plugged hole.

“Yeah, yeah Lix, milk it. Fuck, you take it so good.”

Felix nods, eyebrows pinched in pleasure as his mouth falls open.

“Ch-Chan, f-fuck it’s hot. You’re so hot.”

“Yeah? You love it, baby?”

“Yeah…”

Chan kisses his neck sweetly and slowly eases Felix off of him. The younger groans and falls bonelessly into the water, letting Chan in behind him to scoop him into his arms. Chan hums and peppers kisses over his face, neck, then chest as Felix’s head lolls back. Chan giggles and nudges his nose against Felix’s chin.

“Sleepy?”

“Mhm…”

“I fucked you that good?”

“No, not that good.”

Chan punishes Felix with a bite to his jawline and he yelps.

“Brat.”

Felix makes a noise of disagreement as he drowsily meets Chan for a kiss. Chan grumbles something but Felix muffles his words with lazy pecks.

“Now they’re going to make-out for like an hour,” Hyunjin mumbles.

“No,” Felix says, “Not that long…”

“Just until he passes out,” Chan murmurs.

“And then you make-out some more when he wakes up,” You say as their kissing resumes.

“Mhm,” Chan defends, “S’called aftercare. I do it because I care about him.”

“You’re obsessed with me,” Felix jokes, “You act like you’re in love with me or something.”

“Because I am.”

Felix’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush at Chan’s words. His reaction goes unnoticed, but not to you or Hyunjin. He shifts beside you, his fingers twitch as Chan’s hand cups Felix’s neck and pulls him in for another kiss. His eyes flutter shut and he melts into it, not noticing how your hand takes Hyunjin’s under the water or when you look up because you hear his heart pounding in his chest. He meets your gaze and relieves your worries with a smile. He looks unsure, but not upset. There is a glimmer of desire in his eyes when he looks back at Felix and Chan, sharing deft touches and needy kisses.

You giggle and sarcastically muse, “Wow, Chan. Just go ahead and say Felix is your favourite.”

Chan breaks away and looks at you with a soft glare, while Felix whines and nuzzles his cheek.

“I don’t have a favourite.”

“You love us all equally?” Hyunjin clarifies.

At this, Chan hesitates to answer. He shares a look with you then carefully replies:

“Yeah, I love you all. You mean the world to me.”

Felix successfully coaxes Chan into giving him another kiss, and when they pull apart holds Chan’s cheeks to maintain his gaze.

“Don’t be so casual about it.”

Chan chuckles.

“I can’t say I love you?”

“You love me because I take it up the ass for you.”

“That’s not true. I want to fuck you in the ass because I love you. There’s a difference.”

“There’s a difference,” You repeat with an unconvinced lilt.

“So,” Hyunjin concludes, “Felix lets you fuck him in the ass and becomes your favourite. I see how it is.”

You cackle as Chan rolls his eyes and Felix raises his eyebrows.

“Sure. Felix is my favourite. For that reason.”

“That’s okay,” You hum, “Hyunjin is my favourite.”

Hyunjin physically jumps with surprise at your confession and looks at you with disbelief. Felix chortles at his reaction and accepts the kisses Chan meticulously presses to each of his freckles. Your boyfriend is entirely unbothered by your comment, failing to justify Hyunjin’s reaction with even a sideways glance as he stares expectantly at him. Then, he stares at you.

“Why?”

You shrug, feeling drowsy and a little high off the hint of curiosity in Hyunjin’s voice.

“I just like you. I like how you watch out for Channie. I like how you take care of Felix. I like the way you fall in love.”

Hyunjin’s eyes soften at your inviting smile.

“Oh. I love you too.”

“I know.”

Hyunjin splutters as you look back at the others nonchalantly, although you are horribly suppressing your sheepish reaction. You avoid looking at him and pointedly turn away as your cheeks flush and a grin breaks out on your face.

“Baby? Baby, wait, look at me.”

“Can’t.”

“B-But- please?”

You shake your head as Hyunjin’s arms come around you from behind.

“You made her shy, Hyunjin,” Felix comments.

“I’m not shy,” You argue as you let Hyunjin turn you around.

Your breath catches as you watch him. His brows are furrowed with determination and his plush lips are pressed into a tight line. He cups your cheeks and leans in, lips hovering over yours as he chooses the right words.

“Y-You’re not going to say it?”

You grin.

“Say what?”

He looks helplessly at Chan and Felix. 

“Aw, babe,” Chan scolds, “Don’t be so difficult.”

Felix yawns then adds, “He deserves an ‘I love you’, he ate you out.”

“He wanted to do that.”

“You don’t want to say it?” Hyunjin questions.

You sigh and throw your arms around his shoulders.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” He nods, listening intently to your words, “I promise, one-hundred percent, without a doubt, that I love you. And I will say it as many times as you need to hear it.”

“B-But… do you…”

“For the record,” Chan cuts in, “I love you too. I loved you first, actually. She just copied me.”

“I did not copy falling in love with Hyunjin, you bitch.”

Felix’s head is resting on Chan’s chest, held close with one hand while the other points accusingly at you.

“You didn’t like him until I liked him.”

“I didn’t like him until I started dating you, I didn’t even know him.”

“Yeah, so, I win.”

You shake your head then return your attention to Hyunjin.

“What were you going to say, baby?”

“Um… So do you like me- like, love me or… just, you know…”

“Babe,” Felix murmurs, “What do you think?”

Hyunjin looks pained as he considers the options, but you quickly relieve his stress by answering his question.

“I don’t just like you in a ‘friend’ way. I cherish every second I get to spend with you, Hyunjin. I need you and I love you.”

Hyunjin nods.

“Me too. I-I love you, too.”

“I love you too,” Felix offers, “Just so you know.”

You roll your eyes.

“I love you too, Lix.”

“Nice.”

“Noice.”

“Hey.”

Chan chuckles and smiles at you.

“Chan… you’re just alright,” You quip.

“Well, you’re sexy and amazing. See how I didn’t stoop to your level?”

“Chan,” Hyunjin says, “I don’t want to interrupt, but Felix is falling asleep on your chest and I think we should clean him up.”

Chan looks down to Felix drooling on his chest and hums as he gently shakes him.

“So he is. You’re right, but shouldn’t we say ‘I love you’ first?”

Hyunjin nods shyly and Chan glances at you before you move over to take Felix into your arms. He stirs when he falls against you and you scoop some water over his dirty chest. He mutters something, maybe a thank-you, as Chan comes to Hyunjin and pulls him into a kiss. Hyunjin returns it eagerly, allowing Chan to dip him slightly to deepen the kiss. Hyunjin pulls away first, and giggles as Chan pecks all over his face.

“I love you, Chan.”

“I love you too, baby.”

You smile at them as Chan lets Hyunjin straighten again.

Hyunjin and Chan help Felix out of the hot tub and dress him in his robe, before he eventually gives up on standing and Chan has to carry him out of the room. There are two bathrooms in the house. Hyunjin runs a bath for Felix in one of them, while you start a shower in the other. You hear the door open a few minutes into your shower, then Chan’s soft voice shortly after that.

“It’s me, babe.”

“Are you coming in?”

“Yeah, I just had to do something.”

You poke your head out of the shower curtain and smile when you see Chan has brought clean towels and pajamas. His head perks up as he drops his towel and he smirks at you.

“Wow. Couldn’t help yourself? Had to take a peek, you little minx?”

You giggle and push the curtain open as he steps in. You share a quick kiss as he shuts the curtain behind himself and steps under the water with you.

“I want to know where they found robes. How come all we can find is towels.”

“I don’t know, love. I’m sure they’re around somewhere.”

“How is Lix doing?”

“He’s good. Hyunjin’s in the tub with him. He’ll take a nap and go back to being a menace again.”

You nod and giggle as Chan pulls your body to his. Your hands rest on his shoulders and you gaze up at him as you sway under the water.

“You tired?” He asks.

“Kind of, getting there.”

He pecks your forehead.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, babygirl.”

“Channie?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you.”

He smiles, that eye-pinching grin that melts your heart every time.

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

“S’not,” He protests with a soft pout, “I do.”

“You’re just gonna have to prove it to me, I guess.”

He chuckles and kisses you, leisurely and chaste.

“No problem. You’re easy to love.”

“Mhm, be quiet,” You complain.

You finish your shower laughing together. Chan steps out first, throws on his towel then takes yours and begins helping you dry off. You throw your arms up and let him pat you down, then squeal when he throws it over your head and squeezes your sides.

“Chan!”

You pull it down with a huff that gets interrupted with a kiss. He smiles against your lips when you lightly hit him with the towel.

“Christopher.”

He giggles.

“Yes?”

“Behave.”

“Mhm, okay.”

He pecks your nose and finishes patting you dry, then gives you your space so you can get dressed. The clothes are your comfy underwear, favourite bedtime shorts, and one of his black hoodies. You pull it on then hold the material up to your nose to inhale his scent. Chan pulls on his boxers then pauses partway through donning his sweatpants to observe you. You smile with your eyes, nose and mouth covered in the soothing material. He finishes getting dressed, having opted to stay shirtless, and tilts his head at you.

“Happy?”

“Mh-hm…”

You shuffle into his arms and he welcomes you with a hug. He buries his nose in your hair and you let the fabric drop as you peck his chest.

“Let’s go, babygirl.”

“Hn?”

You shriek as Chan picks you up by your thighs and brings your legs around his waist. Your arms close tight around his neck and you cry out in protest.

“Chan! Don’t do that!”

He laughs and carries you out of the bathroom, down the hall to the living room. Hyunjin and Felix are already there, lounging on the couch in their matching pajamas as they choose something to watch. Felix is sipping a glass of water, tucked into Hyunjin’s side as he scrolls through the options. Chan drops you on the couch and catches your ankle when you try to kick him.

“I know your tricks, sweetheart.”

Hyunjin makes his decision and watches Felix hold his empty glass out to Chan.

“Chris?”

Chan sighs and takes it, then leaves the room to refill it for him. Felix shoots you a satisfied smirk and you shake your head.

“Get your own malewife.”

“I want yours.”

“I heard that!”

“No you didn’t,” Felix teases, then looks expectantly at Hyunjin.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Felix pouts.

“You don’t want to be my malewife?”

“Hyunjin is so boygirlfriend, actually,” You murmur.

“Oh yeah, he so is.”

“I don’t know what those words mean but I feel like I should be offended. Stop it.”

Chan returns with a fresh glass of ice water and presses his cold hand to the back of your neck. You curse and twist away from his touch as Felix takes his water and sings:

“Thank you, Chan.”

“You’re welcome, little bastard.”

“I love when couples have pet names,” Hyunjin jokes.

“It’s not a pet name, that’s Lix’s species,” You add.

“I’m not a creature.”

“You act like one,” Chan mutters.

Felix holds his glass out and Chan lets out a long sigh before reluctantly taking it.

“Getting fucked in the ass doesn’t make you incapable of taking care of yourself.”

“Yes it does.”

“Lix is a babygirl, he can’t help it,” You defend.

Felix nods sagely and Hyunjin tsks, before Chan replies:

“If babygirl means spoiled princess, then it definitely suits the two of you,” He pauses, “Three of you.”

Hyunjin ponders then shrugs, yawning instead of trying to muster up an argument against Chan’s logic. Chan sets Felix’s water aside, giving you time to crawl between Hyunjin and Felix and cuddle into a comfortable position. Hyunjin lets you rest your head in his lap, even tucking a throw pillow beneath to better support it. Felix lays somewhat on top of you, partially wedged between you and the couch so he can put his head low on your chest and slot one of his legs between yours. Chan assesses the situation then settles himself on top of you. His head rests on your stomach and he tangles himself around Felix. Felix welcomes him in by wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pecking his forehead.

“You weren’t planning on going anywhere, right?” You ask Hyunjin.

He snorts.

“Not anymore.”

Hyunjin lazes one arm over the back of the couch and lets his other rest on the armrest. Chan tugs a blanket up over himself and Felix and hums contently. Felix shimmies lower and tilts Chan’s head up to give him a kiss. You reach over your head to grab Hyunjin’s hand and bring it to your lips, brushing a sweet peck over his knuckles. He makes a soft sound and smiles down at you, then begins brushing his fingers over your cheek. He carefully traces over your cheekbones, eyelids, down the bridge of your nose. He pauses on your lips, slips his finger between them gently, then moves to your chin and jawline. You watch him intently, then let your attention shift to Chan and Felix where they trade kisses beside you.

“I told you they would start making out again,” You whisper to Hyunjin.

“I’m not surprised.”

“You’re just jealous,” Felix decides.

“Are you jealous?” Chan asks, his voice slurring with exhaustion.

“No,” Hyunjin assures, “I love seeing you two together.”

“Simp,” Felix replies.

You place your hand between their faces and laugh as Felix whines and tries to see Chan around it.

“Baby, please,” Chan begs.

You sigh and move your hand to play with his hair. Hyunjin continues stroking your cheek with his thumb as he turns his attention to the television. Felix reaches up to tug on his shirt.

“Hey, you’re good, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be good?”

“I mean… You didn’t really believe them earlier.”

Hyunjin looks annoyed as you and Chan both look at him with concern.

“It’s not that I didn’t believe them! I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Why wouldn’t we be on the same page?” You ask gently.

“I don’t know… People say things in the moment and…”

“Hyunjin,” Chan says, dozy and a little sternly, “Do you think we didn’t mean it when we said we love you?”

“I know you love me. I just also know how Felix loves me, so I don’t want to assume you mean it the same way.”

“Oh,” You breathe, “You’re afraid we’re not in love with you, right?”

“You don’t have to be…”

“Then what can we do to show you we are?” Chan asks.

Hyunjin falters then Felix speaks up for him:

“Putting a label on this might help? There hasn’t really been much talk of commitment since we started seeing each other’s partners. Maybe… we stop wondering how long this will last and… finally make it official?”

You grin at Felix, his words are clearly thought out but his tone is hesitant. Voice a little shaky, eyes a little watery. Hyunjin lets his hand fall from the back of the couch to rub Felix’s back in soothing circles.

“Alright, let’s make it official,” Chan decides.

“Wha- just like that?” Hyunjin yelps.

You giggle.

“Channie doesn’t fuck around with labels.”

“I don’t. Tell us what you want. Let’s get it all worked out right here.”

Hyunjin swallows and looks at you.

“What… would you call this?”

You blink in surprise then contemplate the question with a quiet hum.

“Well… Chan is my boyfriend, obviously… but I would even call him my soulmate if we’re getting specific with things. And I don’t see why I couldn’t use that word to describe you guys, too.”

“S-Soulmates,” Felix questions, “You really feel like we’re your soulmates?”

Your cheeks heat up and you nod shyly.

“W-Well… If that’s okay? I mean, I guess, to me a soulmate isn’t necessarily a romantic partner. They’re just… someone you need in your life. But I don’t see why we can’t be soulmates and lovers, you know? Or, soulmates and friends if that’s… better, like…”

You feel wetness fall on your cheeks and trail off as you wipe it away. Another drop, and you look up to see Hyunjin crying above you. Your eyes widen and you reach up instinctively, hand resting over his heart as he tries to muffle his sobs into his palm.

“Hyunjin, what’s wrong?”

Felix clambers up when he realizes what is going on, and Chan follows. This gives you the opportunity to sit up, and you slide into Hyunjin’s lap as Felix’s arms come around his shoulders. The position is awkward, but Chan pushes himself in as well. His arms come around Hyunjin’s waist, and Felix leans back just a bit so Hyunjin can tuck his chin over Chan’s shoulder. He cries openly, tears stream down his face before being wiped away by Felix’s delicate hands. Felix pecks his forehead as Chan rubs his back lovingly.

“I-I’m sorry, I-I don’t-” He chokes on his tears between words, “I don’t even believe Felix wants me sometimes. I-I just expected you two would get bored of me soon.”

Chan’s eyebrows pinch and he sighs softly before answering:

“I know what you mean, baby, but trust me: we’re never going to get bored of you. We love you.”

You pet Hyunjin’s hair and nod in agreement as he leans back to look at Chan.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yes,” Chan exasperates, “Sweetheart, when I said you’re my world I meant it. I love you.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin laughs sadly, “Oh.”

“You’re so foolish, Jinnie,” You murmur as you kiss his cheek, “Silly boy. Thinking we don’t love you and Felix.”

Felix is still teary-eyed, and the tender kiss Chan presses to his cheek does not help.

“We didn’t want to get our hearts hurt,” Felix explains quietly.

“That breaks my heart,” Chan replies, “I don’t know how we could be anymore in love with you. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Except,” You cut in, “For actually putting a name to it.”

“Oh, whatever. I don’t look at anyone else but you three. I let you in bed with the love of my life. You should’ve gotten the hint.”

Hyunjin wipes his tears away and turns to you as you cup his jaw.

“Does that help, Hyunjinnie? Do you know your answer now?”

“Yes… I think we’re soulmates too, and I want us to all be together.”

You share a kiss and giggle when Felix butts his face into Hyunjin’s neck.

“What’s wrong, Lix?” Chan asks softly.

He raises his head, freckled face burning as your attention falls on him.

“I agree but… could we pick something a bit less intense for when we tell the guys? Like, partners, or lovers even?”

“You think ‘lovers’ is less intense?” Hyunjin questions.

“I don’t know…”

“I like it. Lovers is serious, but not as dramatic, and still a little soft,” You decide, “I also like the idea of calling you three my boyfriends.”

“Isn’t that a little… casual?” Hyunjin retorts.

“Calling someone your boyfriend is casual,” Chan remarks in disbelief, then looks at you, “Apparently we are not taking our relationship as seriously as we should be.”

You giggle and Hyunjin rolls his eyes.

“Th-That’s not what I meant… We’re just going to go from being close friends to suddenly… her boyfriends, and that seems like we’re not acknowledging the way our relationship has developed in private. I-I think we’re more serious about each other than… just dating… R-Right?”

“Again, dating is too casual now?”

You hit Chan lightly then turn your attention to Hyunjin and Felix.

“Why don’t we call each other whatever is most comfortable, and if the boys have questions we let them know that we’re taking it day-by-day. But yes, Hyune, we’re serious about this too.”

You make soft noise as Felix leans closer and guides you into a tender kiss. You accept easily, warming at how his hand slides around your waist and his bangs brush against your cheeks. He parts and grins at your blissed out smile.

“Sorry, lovely. I just felt the need to do that right now. Love you.”

“I love you too, Lix.”

Chan smiles, still looking tired, and lets you and Felix pepper chaste kisses to his cheeks.

“You need to rest, Channie?” You ask.

“Yeah, I do,” Chan looks at Hyunjin and gestures for him to hug him again, “Come here, baby.”

Hyunjin falls into his arms with a little sigh and lets Chan comfort him. Felix uses the moment to settle in a sitting position at the other end of the couch, and pats his stomach patiently. Chan takes Hyunjin with him as he falls between Felix’s legs, heads resting on his chest as the two continue sharing little pecks. You smile, throw a blanket over the three of them, then grab your own before curling up on top of your boyfriends’ legs. Chan and Hyunjin both reach down, Chan takes your hand and Hyunjin plays with your hair as you look up to admire them. Felix has one arm around Hyunjin’s shoulders and the other folded behind his head as he watches the two on top of him.

“Ugh, I just realized something,” You whisper.

“Mhm,” Is Chan’s half-conscious reply.

“What, babe,” Hyunjin inquires with Chan’s mouth smushed lazily against his lips.

“I’m going to have to share my sugar daddy.”

They all laugh and Felix answers:

“I like how you decided we would all be mooching off Chan, as opposed to you gaining two more sugar daddies.”

“Ooh wait, I like that better.”

Felix laughs, shaking Chan and Hyunjin with the force of it. Both are exhausted now, and as they succumb to sleep their kisses dissolve into slow brushes of their lips instead of actions with any force behind them. You smile at the way their noses brush, how one will slip back into consciousness enough to kiss the other and receive a delayed peck to reciprocate the action. You look up to meet Felix’s eyes as he mirrors your fond smile. He whispers, but Hyunjin still stirs slightly at the rumble of his voice.

“They fit so well together.”

You hum in agreement.

“Chan thinks the same thing about me and you.”

Felix chuckles.

“Must be true, then.”

Your smile widens as you regard your boyfriends’ one last time. Chan’s cheek is smushed into Felix’s chest, Hyunjin’s breathing has finally slowed, and Felix’s eyes flutter shut as he lets his head fall to the side. You close your eyes and nestle in to fall asleep with them.

The sudden sound of excited voices pulls you awake before the front door even opens. When someone, presumably Minho, manages to win the fight with his keys and push the door open the volume increases exponentially. You groggily sit up and look over the back of the couch, down the hall where you cannot see the others but their voices swim in and out of your hazy senses. You look down; Chan and Hyunjin are in the same position as earlier, asleep and sharing air with little space between their lips. Felix is rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stretching out his arm, no doubt cramped from being tucked under his head.

“You guys here?” Changbin calls out.

“We’re in here, Binnie,” You manage, voice straining from underuse, “We were sleeping.”

You can hear Jeongin and Jisung cackling down the hall, their voices the loudest among the others. You cannot make out what they are saying as they wander somewhere else in the house. Changbin enters the room, still wearing his black puffer jacket. He comes around the couch on Felix’s side and ruffles his hair.

“Cold, Bin?” Felix purrs, his voice deeper with sleep.

“Not really. You look cozy.”

You watch Changbin’s expression as he seems to register the scene before him. You yawn and sit up properly, and notice how Chan’s hands are barely clutching the front of Hyunjin’s pajama shirt. In return, Hyunjin has his arm draped around Chan’s body. Maybe you imagine it, but Changbin’s gaze seems to linger on the proximity of their parted lips before he wanders over to you. He pets your hair, no doubt tousled from sleep and your earlier escapades, and tilts your head up gently to face him.

“Tired, honey?”

You smile.

“A little. Did you guys have fun?”

Changbin nods and drops his hand.

“We walked down the shore, then we went into town and looked around until we found somewhere to hang out. There was a nice restaurant, so we went there and I.N and Han had a couple drinks. Then we walked around some more before we got back here.”

You giggle.

“No wonder they’re being so loud…”

“I can quiet them down for you.”

“No, it’s okay. We’ll wake Chan and Hyune up soon and go to bed.”

“Alright, you just let me know if you need anything, babe. I’m going to my room.”

He passes by Felix again and offers a gentle caress to his cheek.

“Goodnight, Yongbokkie.”

“G’night, Bin,” Felix yawns between farewells, “Sleep tight.”

You offer Changbin a small wave and watch him leave. Your attention piques as Seungmin shuffles in, still dressed in his slacks and a too-big flannel. He looks over the back of the couch with a blank expression.

“Did you have a good night, Min?” Felix asks.

“Mhm.”

He comes around the couch on your side and hesitates at the end. You tuck your legs up, careful not to disturb Chan or Hyunjin, and pat the space next to you.

“You can sit here, Min,” You offer softly.

He drops into the bit of space next to you and leans his head on your shoulder. You throw your blanket over the two of you and tidy his bangs where they have fallen in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Tired…”

“I’m sorry you guys stayed out so long,” You sympathize, “You can sleep here for a while.”

Seungmin nods and nuzzles closer. You look at Felix, who smiles and lets his eyes fall shut. You turn your attention to the television, still playing whatever Hyunjin chose earlier to occupy the silence. Seungmin’s hand finds yours under the blanket and you lace your fingers together. You spend a few minutes watching the show, before your eyelids droop shut. Your head falls against Seungmin’s and he grunts softly, but does not move.

Your peace is interrupted shortly after when you hear poorly concealed giggling, and look over to see Jeongin and Jisung leaning on the back of the couch.

“Hey, you two,” You whisper, peering suspiciously at their troublesome grins, “What is it?”

They share a look and giggle some more before Jeongin answers, “We know what you did.”

You smirk and reply, “What?”

Jeongin laughs then stage whispers, “You had seeeex.”

They both erupt into laughter, startling both Seungmin and Hyunjin to alertness. Seungmin sighs and nuzzles his face into your shoulder as Hyunjin blearily sits up. Felix snickers and soothes Hyunjin gently as he collapses back on top of him with a groan. Chan is surprisingly dead to the world despite the increasing disturbance caused by Jisung and Jeongin.

“Is that all,” You mutter, unimpressed, “That’s what’s so funny.”

Felix chuckles as Jisung leans over the couch and taps Hyunjin’s arm.

“Hey Jinnie, hey Jinnie.”

“What?”

“Look look,” Hyunjin obliges and glares as Jisung insists, “Look.”

“I’m looking.”

Jisung makes a ‘v’ with his fingers and licks his tongue between them, making Jeongin howl at the gesture. Felix groans and Hyunjin slaps Jisung’s arm.

“Stop that, you freak!”

“Yeah? Am I right, though?”

Jisung looks at you and you cock your eyebrow up.

“You’re not wrong.”

Hyunjin covers his face and Felix laughs suddenly, as the boys become frenzied at your admission. Minho enters the room in his pajamas and frowns at Jisung and Jeongin’s shenanigans.

“Ji, are you coming to bed or not?”

“For the love of God,” Seungmin groans, “Please take him. He’s disturbing the peace.”

“Your face disturbs the peace,” Jisung shoots back.

“Wow. How will I ever recover from that one?”

You giggle then jump as Jeongin stumbles over and slaps his hands down on the couch behind you. You tilt your head back to face him, allowing Seungmin to hide his face better in the crook of your neck.

“Enjoying the cuddle pile, puppy?” The youngest teases.

Seungmin scoffs.

“Mind your business.”

“You know,” Jisung teases, “Maybe if you ask nicely, one of them will suck-”

Minho cuffs the back of Jisung’s head before he can finish the sentence, which makes him fall to the floor with a shout. Chan finally awakens and takes in the scene before him: Hyunjin hiding his face in Felix’s chest, you and Seungmin cuddling at his feet, Minho lifting an indignant Jisung off the floor, and Jeongin grinning over it all. Minho successfully hauls his boyfriend to his feet then begins herding him out of the room, patting his bottom along the way.

“Miiiin, that huuurt!”

“You know what else hurts? The consequences of your actions. Stop running your mouth before you regret it.”

Jisung continues to complain as they leave down the hall. Jeongin leans over Seungmin’s shoulder and smirks as he refuses to leave your neck.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Jeongin whines.

You reach up and gently shove him away.

“Leave Min alone. Go to bed, drunkard.”

“I don’t want to…”

“Too late,” Chan grumbles, half-asleep, “Leader’s orders. Go to bed.”

Jeongin pouts and makes a point of poking your forehead before leaving.

“Hey! Brat!”

“And drink some water!” Chan yells after him.

“Alright, dad!”

You giggle as Chan eases himself up and scratches his neck. He pats beside him aimlessly and ends up touching Hyunjin’s hip. Hyunjin looks up at his touch, face still flushed with embarrassment. Felix yawns and begins sitting up.

“I think we should go to bed, yeah?”

You pat Seungmin’s chest gently, fingers still curled together under the blanket.

“You sure you’re okay, Minnie?”

He nods.

“Don’t feel great.”

“Were you drinking?” Hyunjin asks.

He shakes his head. Chan rises and brushes Seungmin’s bangs back to press the back of his hand to his forehead. Seungmin flinches then relaxes as Chan ruffles his hair.

“You’re a little warm. Come here.”

You and Seungmin pull apart as Chan leads his arms around his shoulders. He slips the younger member into his arms bridal-style and carries his limp body off to his room. 

“Poor, Min,” You murmur.

“I think he’s just tired,” Hyunjin assures.

Felix nods in agreement then says, “I’ll check on him later. He’ll be okay.”

“We should go to bed, love,” Hyunjin suggests as he stands.

You nod then pause to contemplate. Felix leans forward to lightly pinch your cheek, and smirks at your startled expression.

“What are you thinking about, babe?”

“Well- is our bed bigger, or is yours?”

Felix’s smile intensifies and he closes the distance to give you an eager kiss.

“Mhm!”

“S’cute,” He murmurs as he moves into your lap, “My cute baby. Can’t get enough of you.”

You squeal in delight as you and Felix fall down together on the couch.

“You two,” Hyunjin exasperates, “Someone’s going to see you.”

Felix turns his head to look at your, plural, boyfriend.

“Isn’t that the point? So they know she’s mine?”

“Oh,” Chan remarks as he returns to the room, “She’s yours now, is she?”

Felix blushes and smirks down at you.

“Yeah. Right now she is.”

You hum and bump your nose against his shyly.

“I’ll be yours, Lixie. Anytime.”

“How about all night?”

You blush and giggle in response, mind going to putty at his flirtatious gaze.

“I want to sleep tonight,” Hyunjin huffs.

“And I don’t think you can keep it up all night, frankly,” Chan jabs.

“Don’t call me ‘frankly’, my name is Felix.”

The ridiculous joke shocks a laugh out of you and you quickly become breathless as Hyunjin groans and stomps away.

“I’m done.”

“Babe, please! Come back!” Felix pleads.

Chan stands, still and silent as he watches Felix with an intensely disappointed glare. You are still laughing when Hyunjin stomps back.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Felix winks then helps you sit up.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Chan chastises.

“It wasn’t funny at all,” You reply breathlessly, “That’s what makes it hilarious.”

Felix purses his lips.

“It was a little funny…”

Chan leans over the couch and pecks Felix’s cheek.

“Come on. Let’s head to bed, Frankly.”

“Don’t you start,” Hyunjin sighs.

The two stand together, waiting for you and Felix to untangle from each other and stand up from the couch. You all walk to yours and Chan’s bedroom, sharing light touches and warm smiles along the way. When you enter the room, Hyunjin dives onto the bed and yelps when Chan falls on top of him. You laugh and follow Felix as he takes a seat on the bed and leads you to sit in his lap. You gasp as he rolls over, pinning you between him and Hyunjin as he nuzzles his face into your chest.

“Felix…”

He chuckles and looks up with dazzling eyes.

“Yes, lovely?”

“I love you.”

“Oh, I love you too, baby.”

Hyunjin turns to tuck his face into your shoulder and pull your arm over his hip. You laugh and give his bottom a loving pat as Chan squeezes himself into the space under your arm and uses your shoulder to rest his head.

“I love both of you too,” You whisper.

“M’love you too, beautiful,” Chan replies, his face squishing with force as rubs it into his own sweater.

Hyunjin throws an arm over Chan’s shoulders and Felix links their fingers together where they rest between your bodies.

“We love you too,” Hyunjin says, “Both of you. So much.”

Felix hums and sleepily pulls the blanket over all of you, before you drift off to sleep.

#fic feedback #justbaebithings

[2baabbies]

hii baddies! 🫶🏻 I just wanted to give a lil update:

I have some sweet messages waiting for replies and I just wanted to say thank you so much, and I will get to them soon! thank you for y’alls patience 💖

I’ve been dealing with some stuff in my personal life and I was sick for 4 days, I think with anxiety? idk- but I worked myself up to such a point of stress that I got physically ill and had to miss two days of work ✌🏻😗 so I took a lil break from social media because I can’t handle any extra stress rn lol (lol but like in a not lol at all kinda way)

I promise to be back soon with some fic updates and such 🥰 sending all my love and best wishes! ty guys for your support as always 💕✨

#justbaebithings #baeficupdates

[2baabbies]

🌊 ೃ‧₊◜ sea may rise, sky may fall chapter VII

pairing: lee know x f!reader x han jisung

summary: will the code be cracked? will the captain, jisung, and minho finally crack, too?

word count: 7.7k

warnings: mentions of parent death; mentions of murder; ptsd flashback? very mild, tough; probably ooc ryunjin and yeji cameos; drinking

author's note: wheeee this one has lotsa plot (something still so new for me and this chapter felt like a huge turning point in my writing but I hope you like itttt) but also some other developments 👀 and some more minho backstory. enjoy!!!!!! ily all!!

this series is 🔞, so minors, please DNI

series masterlist // skzms masterlist

< chapter VI - chapter VIII (coming: friday, april 26, 3pm CET) >

Minho thinks he can smell the stink of Nassau as soon as the ship rounds the sandbanks and palm trees of Hogg Island and enters the channel. It’s unlikely, he knows, but something about the familiar view of the tree-strewn main island, the church bells ringing across the water, of the squat houses along the coast, the call of the herring gulls overhead.

He forces himself to stand on the quarterdeck next to the captain, behind Seungmin, who navigates past the sandbank and into the wide harbour. When they get closer, Jeongin pokes his head out from the lookout.

“They are signalling for us to anchor at the quay!” he yells, surprise evident in his voice.

Hyunjin scoffs further down the deck, leans against the railing next to Chan.

“They know we’re about to make their traders half a year’s worth of money.”

The captain shrugs, a small, but pleased smile on her lips.

“Dock at the quay then, Seungmin,” she orders, and Seungmin nods.

Twenty minutes later, Minho’s boot hits the slippery wood of the Nassau quay – and now he’s really smelling it, the distinct mix of brackish water and heat-spoiled rum. A laughing gull starts its maniacal cackle on a pole sticking out of the water right next to him and suddenly, it’s 16 years earlier.

12-year-old Minho, tears running down his cheeks, mixing with the rainwater that was slowly, ruthlessly soaking him to the bone as he heaved shovelfuls and shovelfuls of wet, heavy mud out of the cemetery plot he had begged the vicar to let him have. He didn’t even have a headstone, only a cross he had nailed together out of one of their chairs and carved her name into, but he wanted her to have this. A resting place to call her own. The vicar had had pity on him, and had probably seen her at his services often enough. That, or he knew that Minho didn’t have anyone else to ask money from. He was alone in the world now.

Another shovelful hits the grass next to the hole he’s digging, and he sobs, his lithe arms shaking and his heart a dead thing in his chest, his mother’s voice still in his ears, telling him that he will be okay, that he can do anything he sets his mind to. That he’s her son, and that that alone means he will survive anything.

She didn’t, though. She was dead. He had found her, in her room. And now he was burying her. Or trying to.

He hears the laughing gull when the shovel slips out of his hands the first time. Intoning its mocking laughter, as the mud cakes into Minho’s wounds, stings so bad it drives more tears from his eyes. Only a few more feet to go, he tells himself; tells himself his mother is watching, has her warm, soft hand on his shoulder as he digs. He owes her this. The cold, gold cross is stuck to his chest. The laughing gull cackles. He picks up the shovel again.

“Minho?”

Hyunjin’s hand finds his shoulder and squeezes. His voice cuts through the fog in Minho’s head and suddenly the air is warm, the sun is burning down on him, his mother has been dead and buried for 16 years and he survived.

“Hmm?” is the only answer he can muster, along with a grimace of a smile. Judging by the look on Hyunjin’s face, he is not fooling anyone.

“Take a deep breath for me?” Hyunjin suggests softly and Minho does, focuses on the sun, the sound of the water lapping against the ship, on Hyunjin behind him and takes a shaky breath in and out. Hyunjin massages his shoulders gently, hums encouragingly.

“There you go,” he mumbles, rounding Minho so he can look at him. His eyes are big and full of worry. “Better?”

Minho blinks at him, nods, something tiny and needy raising its head in his heart; he hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed his friends these last few months.

“Thanks,” he breathes out, but Hyunjin just smiles, shakes his head. Minho returns his smile, and it’s shaky, but apparently more convincing because Hyunjin pats his shoulder one more time before he steps back.

“Will you be okay? I need to go see about rations, but do you want me to get Changbin?” Minho shakes his head.

“’Captain and I are about to go see the code person now.”

Hyunjin nods, gives Minho’s shoulder one more solid squeeze before he turns and walks off and into town. The laughing gull has long since flown off, only the herring gulls crying above him as he waits.

But when the captain climbs down from the ship, any and all warmth Hyunjin left behind vanishes. Because Jisung is right behind her.

Minho’s shoulders tense almost immediately. Jisung fixes him with a shy look that is entirely too infuriating for Minho to handle. The gall, to act innocent …

“Minho, you ready?” the captain asks, quirking her eyebrow and giving him a glare that Minho doesn’t need so much as a second thought to interpret as be nice or else. He can be nice, he thinks. Though it seems that’s more Jisung’s forte. Being overly nice and worming his way into business that isn’t his.

His nod to the captain is terse, but she accepts it, motions for them to follow her down the quay and into the small town. He doesn’t spare Jisung another glance, his eyes stubbornly ahead or on the captain as she takes them down a lane to the right that leads straight out of the small town.

Minho doesn’t look left when they pass the street he knows leads to the old church with the little churchyard that he hasn’t been to in 16 years, though its presence burns a hole into his heart. Only when they’re almost all the way out of town does he realise his fists are clenched.

They walk in complete silence for a while, Minho’s scowl enough to intimidate Jisung and make the captain not want to deal with him. He doesn’t fight it. They walk and Minho notices, with considerable relief, how the stench of Nassau fades as they walk down the long dirt road. It’s almost serene out here, with the sea glimmering on one side, huts scattered along the road on the other, closely bordered by thick woodland. There are more birds out here, apart from gulls. A swallow flits from tree to another with a vibrant twitter, a heron stalks through the marshy water of a little inlet.

When they’ve gone a decent way out of town, the captain finally comes to a halt in front of one of the scattered huts. It’s a relatively large one, two-stories of wood with the paint chipping off, surrounded by an overgrown garden and bordered by a rotting, hand-built fence that looks like it’s seen better days. There are countless pots of all shapes and sizes lined up along the side of the house, bushels of herbs and other exotic plants Minho doesn’t recognise thriving towards the sun. The whole garden is unkempt, the native plants, taking advantage of their native soil, battling some more exotic plants that have clearly been planted with purpose. Nobody seems to bother to mediate this fight. Despite the heat of the day, there’s smoke billowing out of the chimney.

“Let’s hope they can help us,” the captain murmurs, and pushes open the rickety gate. Minho follows her first, leaving Jisung behind him, following right behind her as she walks up to the front door of the hut and knocks confidently.

There’s a commotion from the inside, and the door opens just a crack before it’s ripped open entirely. All Minho sees is a flurry of wispy black hair before two arms with countless golden bangles and bracelets wrap around the captain’s shoulders with a deafening jingle, pulling her into a crushing hug that almost sweeps her off her feet. The captain breathes out a yelp and a giggle, bubbly and light and entirely unfamiliar.

The blur of wispy hair and golden bangles pulls back, and Minho sees it’s a young woman, around the captain’s age, with a boyish face, sparkly eyes and a gigantic, warm smile on her face. She takes the captain by the shoulders and shakes her gently.

“You haven’t come to visit in three years, Y/Nie!” she exclaims, but it’s clear she’s just teasing. There’s no hiding the excitement in her voice.

The captain giggles again, and Minho swears it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard.

“I’m sorry, Ryu,” she says, squeezes the other woman’s arms back, “I’m a little busy these days.”

“Of course, captain,” the woman laughs, and winks. Then her gaze finally sweeps past her old friend and lands on Minho and Jisung, her face falling, an unfocused confusion in her eyes as she looks between them, and then the captain a few times. There’s something penetrating in her gaze, like she’s seeing much more than he wants her to, and it unsettles him, makes anxiety prickle all over his body. Ryujin blinks at the captain, and the captain laughs nervously.

“Sorry, how rude of me. This is Minho, my second-in-command, and this is Jisung, he just joined us recently.”

Minho bows tensely, trying not to squirm away from the strange woman’s stare. Jisung next to him is a fidgeting mess, blushing as he bows. The captain turns to them.

“And this, this is Ryujin. She’s one of my oldest friends, along with … is Yeji here? We kinda need her help.”

Ryujin nods, and turns around, waving for the three of them to follow her.

As soon as Minho steps over the threshold, it’s like he steps into a furnace. There’s a fire burning in the fireplace, something bitter and herbal smelling brewing in a pot, and it fills the entire room with an excruciatingly moist heat and an overwhelming aroma. Sweat starts beading on his forehead almost immediately. Next to him, Jisung stumbles over a stack of books and Minho glares at him. Jisung blushes.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and Minho rolls his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you so nervous?”

Jisung shrugs, his bottom lip jutting out.

“I dunno, I just … I get nervous around new people, okay?” Minho rolls his eyes again, but he feels a flicker of warmth deep in his chest as he watches Jisung, his eyes big and sparkling in the low light of the fireplace, ringed fingers twisting around each other. He smothers the flicker brutally.

“Baby, is that really Y/Nie or am I hearing things,” a female voice calls from upstairs and as soon as Ryujin calls up an affirmative, a woman with cat-like features and fire-red hair comes barreling down the stairs, squealing as she runs towards the captain, who catches her effortlessly, twirls her around.

“I can’t believe it took you so long to come visit,” the woman, Yeji, Minho assumes, breathes into the captain’s hair before she pulls back, holding her at arm’s length so she can look her over. Then she gives the captain a playful glare.

“I wrote?” The captain offers, sheepishly, and Yeji rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her lips.

“Don’t even believe for a second that we didn’t hear about it every time you were in Nassau and didn’t make your way out here.”

The captain’s face falls, an unfamiliar shadow of uncertainty and embarrassment in her eyes. In another world, Minho has the ability to reach out, wipe the sadness from her beautiful face. In this one, he just watches, his face schooled into a cool neutrality. Jisung next to him fidgets with a ring.

“I … I couldn’t …” she starts, but trails off, dropping her gaze to the floor, “I never had the time, either we didn’t stay long enough or I couldn’t get away from the ship. I promise, I …”

Yeji shuts her up by pulling her into another hug.

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasing you. All that matters is that you’re here now. Why don’t we take a look at whatever that is in your bag. But before that …”

She turns to Minho and Jisung, sending them a bright smile. Minho likes her better, she doesn’t give him the creeps.

“My name’s Yeji, I’m Ryujin’s wife. Half of our love story wouldn’t have been possible without Y/N actually, so we’re always happy to see her.

“Hardly,” the captain interjects, “you only talked a stranger’s ear off about this really cute clairvoyant girl you wanted to go see until said stranger took pity on you and went with you.”

Clairvoyant? That would explain why she’s so creepy.

Yeji sticks her tongue at the captain. Minho tries to imagine a younger captain, her expression less schooled, her gait less confident, her hair maybe longer, her eyes brighter, in a bar, all by herself. He wonders if he would remember if he met her then. Wonders if he would’ve had the courage to go up to her, to strike up a conversation. Wonders if they would’ve even gotten along. His heart wants to say yes.

“Well, if you hadn’t been there that night, I would’ve never gotten the courage to go see her. And then we wouldn’t have exchanged names, and we wouldn’t be here today. But enough about us,” she laughs, and turns back to the two men, “you are?”

Minho bows, tries to smile at Yeji, but it’s hard. He’s not good at this.

“Lee Minho, the captain’s second-in-command.”

Yeji greets him, a gentle smile on her lips, before she turns to Jisung. Jisung’s face is flushed, whether because of the frankly ridiculous heat in the room or because he’s still nervous, Minho doesn’t know. He bows, too, but when he rises, he sends Yeji such a disarming, crooked smile that Minho gets annoyed. Of course, he would make a better first impression.

“H- Jisung, my name’s Jisung, I joined the captain’s crew recently.”

Ryujin suddenly gasps.

“Oh, that’s interesting!”

Minho can’t help the scowl on his face when he looks over at her. Yeji turns around, but the captain intercepts the situation.

“Jisung is Han Yujun’s nephew. We found him on one of his uncle’s ships, and he wanted to join us.”

Yeji’s eyes narrow. She lets her eyes drag up and down Jisung’s form.

Jisung straightens up, his nervous hands twisting together in front of him. One of his knuckles cracks and Minho wants to reach out, still those cursed, restless hands. Jisung wearing his heart on his sleeve drives him fucking crazy. It would get him killed one day.

“They saved me, really,” Jisung offers with a much weaker smile now, “my uncle has always hated me, tried to get me killed on foolhardy missions. And I hate him, for what he did to me, for what he does to everyone else under his governance. I want him gone.”

Yeji throws a glance at Ryujin, waits until the latter has stared at Jisung for another few seconds and gives some kind of nod of approval. Once she does, Yeji relaxes.

“Well, an enemy of Han Yujun’s, whatever shape he may take, is a friend of ours. Welcome, you two.”

“That’s actually what we need your help with, Yeji,” the captain begins. Carefully, she pulls the two maps from her satchel, walks over to the table in the middle of what most likely is meant to be the dining room, but is really only another densely packed living room, and unrolls them.

“These are maps we intercepted on Han Yujun’s ships. One on the one Jisung was on, another on one that attacked us a few weeks later. At first, we thought they were maps, but geographically, they make … no sense. So we figured, they’re …”

“A code,” Yeji breathes out, her eyes fixed on the maps as if she’s magnetised to them. She takes them from the captain’s hands, and arranges them on the table, pulling a piece of paper and a pen from a drawer.

“Exactly,” the captain breathes out. She watches Yeji carefully, throws a glance to Ryujin, whose eyes are impassive, “and with how intricate the maps are, how carefully drawn, the fact that the edges are gilded – it all speaks to the fact that Han Yujun was trying to impress someone.”

Yeji runs a finger over the tangled up shapes around the edge of the map, scribbles something down.

“If you can even just help us find out who that is, we would already get us further than we have in years. But if we can find out what these messages say, there’s no telling what we might be able to do.”

Minho can hear it, the tremor in the captain’s voice. Ever since he can remember, all the petty criminals they fought, the crews of wayward pirates who went against the code, who violated everything humanity stood for, the end goal had always been Han Yujun, the man who had ruined more lives than they could count.

“Gilded edges,” Ryujin mumbles, and shakes her head.

Jisung steps up to the table, though he still looks nervous, half his body hiding behind the captain’s.

“My uncle always tried to impress the other governors of these islands,” Jisung says, a hand running through his shaggy hair restlessly. When the captain turns to him, his ears tint pink, “throwing lavish dinners he couldn’t afford, forcing himself into jewelled waistcoats that he barely managed to button up. It was pitiful, most of the other governors hated his guts.”

Ryujin frowns, but chuckles drily.

“Not like they’re any better.”

Jisung shrugs.

“Some of them were better than others, but none of them were worse than my uncle. Most of them caught onto him pretty fast, only visited once, twice at most, before it dawned on them what a piece of shit he was. Avoided him like the plague afterwards, …”

Ryujin hums. There’s a faraway look in Jisung’s eyes, and he buries his fists in his pockets. The captain slides a comforting arm around Jisung’s shoulders, gives him a little squeeze. Jisung leans into the touch, gives her a shy smile, bats his eyelashes at her. Minho wants to shove Han Jisung into the ocean.

“Well, sounds like we’d be doing more people a favour by putting your uncle behind bars,” the captain jokes and Jisung laughs. There’s a familiarity between them that makes Minho’s stomach churn.

“You’d be doing everyone a favour,” Jisung sighs, and rolls his eyes, his head tipping in her direction just enough that he can blink at her cheekily, making the captain breathe out a light little laugh that Jisung drinks in greedily.

Scratch that. Minho wants to drown Han Jisung with his bare fucking hands.

But he stays where he is, aching, wanting to be anywhere but here and yet nowhere else but by her side. Nausea rises in his throat. If only it wasn’t so fucking hot in this room, he thinks, as a bead of sweat drips down his neck.

Yeji is still scowling at the paper, scribbling furiously, and Ryujin sighs.

“She’ll be busy with that for a while, why don’t you help me make some tea, Y/N?”

The captain nods, throws Minho a glance that he hopes he returns with some semblance of normalcy, though there’s no telling any more, and follows Ryujin into another room.

“I’ll wait outside,” Minho announces into the silence as soon as she’s gone. His voice sounds odd and out of place in the room, and he turns around before he is forced to reckon with an answer.

Minho knows that the air outside is technically hot, humid, and hot, but compared to the sweltering heat of the little hut, the breeze blowing over his sweaty neck actually makes him shiver. Letting his eyes rove over the small garden, he spots a small metal bench, tucked into a little spot against a hedge that borders the rickety fence. He takes a few steps towards it, eyes it carefully to make sure it can actually hold him. But it looks sturdy enough. He sinks down, and he lets his head fall into his hands. He takes a deep breath. It comes out shaky.

He hates being back here. He fucking hates Nassau with all his heart. For everything it did to him, everything it took from him. He hates even more who he becomes when he’s here, all jittery and quick to anger, his heart like an open wound in his chest. He feels strung out, bared to the elements, to anyone who looks to close. He doesn’t want them to, doesn’t know what he’ll do if they do.

His mother never liked it either. She would tell him all about it, all those nights they spent huddled together on the dilapidated porch of their home – tell him how any day now she would finally have enough money to hitch them a ride on a ship to go … somewhere else. She always said it was going to be a surprise, but adult Minho knows better – she never had a plan, her only urge was to just get as far away from Nassau as possible.

Away from her history, away from the little churchyard where her parents lay buried, and where she would be buried not long after, away from the creditors, away from the pimp who, as Minho found out many years later, blackmailed her into staying with him by threatening to expose who Minho’s father was.

Minho took care of them all, one by one, over the years. Found the men who had driven his mother onto the path that would eventually lead to her death. He made sure they knew why he was killing them before he did. He made it painful, he made it cruel. Wiped out their confidants, their secretaries, anyone who could take up their mantle.

In retrospect, he knows that something wasn’t right with him back then. But when it was done, when every last one of them was taken care of and Minho finally knew he did all he could, he felt free. Black and dead, but free. And still so lonely it took his breath away sometimes.

He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars, feels pinpricks of pain in his eyeballs. He hears the door of the hut open, the thud of boots coming down the path, then stop. When he looks up, he makes eye contact with Han Jisung. Minho sighs.

“There’s really no escaping you, huh,” he mumbles, more to himself than to Jisung, but he can’t help but notice how Jisung’s face falls, before he sets his eyebrows, tosses his head and walks over to Minho.

Minho watches him calmly as he approaches and sits down next to him, the little metal bench squeaking under the extra weight.

Somewhere in the distance, a gull cackles. Minho’s knuckle cracks where he squeezes his hand into a fist.

“I mean … It was really awkward in there, yes, but I actually, …” Jisung starts, stares at Minho before he blinks, and averts his eyes, gaze falling to his hands that are folded in his lap. He starts fiddling with his rings again. Minho squeezes his fist tighter. His knuckles crack again.

“I actually wanted to apologise,” Jisung finally says, and Minho’s thoughts grind to a screeching halt. He blinks at Jisung, who’s still not looking at him.

“I wanted to apologise for … for kissing you.”

The last words come out in barely more than a whisper. He chuckles awkwardly. He twists one ring so hard is hand slips.

“I mean, if I’m honest, it kinda rocked my world, but I’m still sorry. I shouldn’t have just … done that. Not after saying what I did. Which I’m also sorry for, by the way. I was talking to Chan, and … let’s just say I know now that you wouldn’t have called me by my abuser’s nickname if you’d known. Not you.”

Minho’s still frozen in place, his heart thundering in his chest. He wants to say many things. Wants to ask what on earth he meant when he said it rocked his world. Wants to ask what Chan told him, why they were talking about him. In the end, he settles for none of that.

“I’m not the most observant,” he mumbles and Jisung chuckles. It’s a light little thing, as light as the breeze that makes more goosebumps shiver down Minho’s spine.

“I mean, you are,” Jisung hums, looks up at Minho and smiles. Minho barely dares to breathe. “It just depends on who you’re watching. I know one person you look at more than anyone else.”

Something painful curls in Minho’s guts. The memory of Jisung’s skin, of his lips, of how he had run back to her, thrown himself into her body, trying to make it up to her, trying to forget the guilt – but most of all trying to forget the fact that there was no reason to feel guilty because she wasn’t his, he wasn’t hers, she, for all he knew, could’ve done lord knows what with lord knows who, and he may have never known. Even when he couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t see any point in anyone else as long as she …

Minho doesn’t answer Jisung. Just averts his gaze, stares across the garden at a tall Jasmine bush, focuses on the little white flowers, the scent of them in the air. Jisung next to him is quiet, too. Less fidgety, though Minho knows he probably wants an answer that Minho can’t give him. Better to get used to the disappointment early, Minho thinks.

Suddenly, there’s a commotion inside the little hut, a triumphant cheer, then a yell of the captain’s name. Minho is on his feet before he can even think, Jisung hot on his heels as he hurries back inside.

When he opens the door, the captain lifts her head, makes eye contact with him and Minho knows.

They got him.

“He’s trying to get out from under the crown,” she laughs out, Yeji next to her has a triumphant smile on her lips. Ryujin is leaning over the captain’s shoulder, reading Yeji’s notes. But the captain is staring at him.

“He’s trying to sell the territory to the Spanish, pocketing the money before turning around and staging a coup and making them independent. And he’s trying to recruit other governors to do the same, to maximise their chances, their gains. This is …”

“High treason,” Minho breathes out. “High fucking treason.”

The captain nods, and then her lips stretch into the biggest smile and Minho takes a hesitant step forward before he stops again. He’s itching to take her into his arms, to wrap her legs around his waist, twirl her around, kiss her breathless, feel her smile against his lips. But he stops himself, watches as she blinks at him, her pretty, ringed hands twitching around the paper, her mouth opening like she wants to say something. There’s a shadow that crosses her face. But Minho can’t have that, he needs her to feel this, the culmination of all her work, all her sacrifices over the years.

So he smiles at her, makes his way over, stepping up to the side of her that Ryujin readily concedes to him, leans some of his chest against her arm.

He reads.

HYJ to NT. Planned date of sale to SP 20 May 16––. Matthew Town.Independence when agreed capital is made over to us and defence against crown secured. Pray confirm.

Then underneath it.

HYJ to LD. Planned date of sale to SP 20 May 16––. Making over of San Salvador from NT September 16–– in exchange for defence against crown + NT head. Pray confirm.

“Double timing, bastard,” he mumbles, and the captain snorts out a laugh.

“I doubt he could swing this, maybe we should just let it play out.”

Minho scoffs, grasps the opportunity to turn to her, closing the gap between their bodies enough so he can let his hand rest softly on her lower back where nobody can see. He scrapes his nails over the fabric of her shirt, watches her eyes glimmer.

“I’m not taking any chances with this piece of shit. I’d sail across the entire ocean and hand-deliver him to that old hag, the queen if it meant I could see him hang.”

Yeji snorts, and he gives her a dark smirk. He really does like her. Ryujin next to her, has her eyes fixed on where Minho’s hand is still ghosting over the captain’s back. She couldn’t possibly see, so how … He’s distracted by Yeji turning abruptly to Jisung, who was still lingering by the door, a little ways away from the group of them. He looks lost, only hesitantly steps closer. The captain wordlessly hands him the translated note. He reads. Hums.

“What’s up with you?” Yeji asks, and there’s an edge to her tone. “Changed your mind? Suddenly feeling the need to defend your dear uncle? Run off to tell him that we have him cornered?”

Jisung scoffs, and sends her a glare, the first unkind thing he’s done in this house so far, and it strikes Minho how unusual it feels.

“As if,” he mumbles. Then he takes a deep breath and points at the paper.

“LD stands for Lord Dunmore, he is one of the few governors who didn’t immediately run as soon as my uncle showed his true colours. I think he might actually like him, which should tell you everything you need to know. It doesn’t surprise me that he would be the one hired to off Nicholas Trott, or NT. Now, …”

Jisung points lower, gives them a look.

“Trott, on the other hand, he’s the governor of San Salvador. Tall, skinny man. A son and a daughter and a penchant for gardening and whores. Has been turning a blind eye to the drug business being run from his harbour because they cut him in. He’s a piece of shit, but he would probably help us. I know where he lives.”

Yeji huffs out a laugh.

“Guess I underestimated you.”

Jisung just shrugs, throws the captain an uncertain look, his eyes barely brushing Minho where he’s still glued to her side. He doesn’t look as triumphant as he should.

In the distance, the town’s clocktower strikes, and the captain throws a glance out the window, at the slowly setting sun. She takes a step away from Minho. Minho’s hand falls uselessly by his side, and he misses her touch already.

She smiles at her two friends.

“We need to get back, tell the crew about what we found, and probably celebrate,” she says, “You’re welcome to join us, if you want, since … we couldn’t have done it without you.”

Ryujin smiles at her, but shakes her head.

“We don’t really go into town after dark, especially not the bars, but thank you.”

Yeji grins.

“When you get him? Make it painful.”

When the captain says goodbye at the door, Yeji hugs her for a long time.

“Make sure to come visit us again soon, okay? No more coming to Nassau without making the trip out here,” she tells the captain, cups her face, before Ryujin takes her place. She looks troubled.

“Be careful out there, Y/Nie,” she mumbles, “good luck. You’ll need it.”

She pulls the captain into a hug, staring at Minho across her shoulder. She whispers something Minho can’t hear in the captain’s ear before she pulls back.

They make their way through the overgrown garden, out the rickety gate, back onto the dirt road into town. Minho claims his rightful place next to the captain, talks to her about the maps, the code, how they should approach this. Jisung trails behind them, quietly.

The sun is setting, the last rays of sunlight slipping through the palm trees as you make your way down the Main Street after dropping the satchel with the maps and the codes off in your triple locked quarters.

You hear your crew before you can even possibly see them. Their discordant but gleeful singing ringing through the open windows of a small, dark tavern. Light is pouring out of the windows, the door wide open to create some airflow in the sticky hot night.

Jisung behind you is still quiet, avoids your eyes when you turn to him. It’s a weird quiet, one that you don’t like, not from him. Jisung, who usually wears either a petulant little pout or a bright little smile or that steadfast determination that makes him square his shoulders, grow a size taller in stature, an almost dangerous glint in his eyes … No, this Jisung is none of that. He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, his eyes sad, feet shuffling across the sandy street in his pretty leather boots that are slowly scuffing into something much less refined and much more recognisable and fitting for ship life. But he avoids your eyes when you try to catch them, so you leave him be. There will be time later.

Minho walks into the tavern first, and you hear everyone greet him with a cheer – but it’s nothing compared to the sound when you appear behind him. The whole room erupts into excited yells, Hyunjin squeals and bounds over to you, taking Jisung hostage from behind you and dragging him over to a table where Seungmin and Jeongin seem to be in the middle of an intense card game. Chan hollers for rum to be poured for the three of you, and you can’t help but laugh when Felix comes up to you, gently pulls you into their midst, pushing a glass of rum into your hand.

You don't go on land with them often, especially not at night and especially not to go drinking. Not because you didn’t trust your crew, per se, but you didn’t trust … men. Crowds of rowdy, drunk men. And while you were pretty sure you had around 30 men who would jump to your defence at a moment’s notice, you knew it would only cause a scene, ruin their night, maybe even get them kicked out of a tavern. It wasn’t worth it. Plus, with the possibility of enemy crews or government spies around, it was borderline impossible for you to relax enough to even consider having more than a few drinks, anyway.

But here, now, in this tavern with what you realise is pretty much only your flushed, happy, singing crew, except for a few scattered, lonely locals, with Han Yujun’s death sentence stowed away in your office? You feel as invincible as you’re ever going to feel.

Felix guides you to the table in the middle before he sits down, looks at you expectantly. A hush falls over the room.

“So?” he asks, his voice tinged with a beautiful shimmer of hope.

You turn around, find Minho still standing by the door, a drink in his hand, his eyes on you already. He smiles softly. A part of you wishes he could be right next to you. It feels as much like his victory as it does yours. You swallow down the urge to beckon him over.

Over Felix’s shoulder you make eye contact with Jisung. He smiles at you, small but oh so sweet, and then you look back at Felix, who is nervously shifting in his seat. You try to play it cool, you really do, but the giddiness that rises in your chest, the elation that you didn’t show earlier, the sheer tidal wave of hope that Yeji’s scribbled words let loose in your heart – a smile spreads over your face before you can stop it.

You watch Felix process it for a second before his whole face lights up, and he half gets out of his chair.

“Do we have him?”

It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You nod.

“High fucking treason.”

The roar that goes through the room is deafening. Cheers, laughs, screams of delight filling the tavern. You think there are tears in Felix’ eyes when he gets up, rounds the table, and pulls you into a hug. And before you know it, you’re surrounded, warm bodies crowding around you until you’re caught in between what you think is your entire crew, still cheering and laughing and congratulating you, praising you for finally bringing him down. You try to answer, try to thank them, tell them it’s not done yet, but there is no room for argument, only their exuberant joy. You surrender to it.

Someone hugs you this way, someone else tugs you that way, and you lose your footing, stumble over someone’s boot, and you briefly wonder if you’re about to fall when a strong hand wraps around your hips, keeps you upright, pulls you closer protectively until you’re finally stable on your feet again, chest to chest with your saviour. When you raise your head, Jisung’s face is mere inches away from yours. You can feel the little breath that drips from his plump, slightly parted lips, could reach out to touch the little mole on his cheek. You watch his eyes flicker down, down to where you’re pressed against him, then to your lips for only a whisper of a second before coming back to stare into your eyes. His eyes are big, dark, beautiful, and so gentle, understanding, and you feel so … safe.

He opens his mouth, splays his palm, runs it the barest hint higher, sending sparks through your body; he’s about to say something, when you hear Minho’s voice cut through the commotion. Jisung lets go of you like he’s been burnt, sending you almost tumbling into whoever is standing behind you. It hurts, the loss of his warmth like a physical ache, but watching him hug his hands close to his chest, pretty face folding in on itself in sadness, is so much worse. Your heart aches, fingertips aching to reach out for him, take his face into your hands, smooth his lips back into a smile.

“Okay, everyone, make some space, you can’t kill our captain before she has a chance to kill the guy.”

And with that, Minho pushes through the crowd, that immediately thins around you. Jisung stumbles away from you as fast as he can, but then Minho is behind you, brings a gentle hand to your waist, just where Jisung’s just was, and turns you around. You blink up at him, and he scowls with worry, searching your face.

“Are you okay?”

He looks concerned, slightly flushed, but nothing else. Could it really be that he didn’t see …? When you don’t answer, he grips you tighter, gives you a careful once-over. You shake your head quickly.

“I’m fine, just … overwhelmed,” you breathe out. At least that’s not a lie.

“Should’ve saved you from these animals earlier,” he grumbles, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Now let’s get you another drink. I think we deserve to celebrate tonight.”

And celebrate you do.

One glass of rum turns into two, then three. You lose Minho at some point, and then he’s back, and you think you’re probably staring, letting your eyes drag over his shoulders, his sparkling eyes and high cheekbones for longer than is acceptable. He doesn’t comment, only looks back at you, an intensity in his gaze that is usually reserved for when he presses his lips against yours in your office with the threat of Chan barging in at any moment.

But he doesn’t leave your side any more. His dark eyes on yours as you float through the tavern, friendly faces cheering you on, clapping you on the back, murmuring low words of thanks and congratulations, as if Han Yujun was already behind bars.

You say this to Seungmin when you plop down next to him, and he just smiles at you.

“They know you. You’re our captain, you don’t lose. And now that you’re so close? There’s nothing that could keep you from taking him down. There’s just no other option.”

You almost blush, give Seungmin a pained grimace that makes him laugh happily.

“Sorry, I won’t get sappy on you,” he reassures you, and you box him in the arm lightly.

“You better not. You’re meant to be the least sappy out of all of us.”

You get swept up by someone else, and Seungmin lets you go with a little wave.

At some point, the barkeep unearths bottles of a shimmering green liquid from underneath the bar, calls it Absinthe, calls it the green fairy that will make all your worries float away. And you drink that, too, along with everyone else, just a little bit – but it turns out a little bit is more than enough.

Because it’s strong. And not strong in the same way the rum is, no, strong in the sense that it makes your world go fuzzy around the edges.

You lose sight of Minho, though you’re caught by Felix again, getting pulled into the midst of your crew. The absinthe makes the room sing, your crew scattered, laughing, drinking, singing their songs to their heart’s content, surprisingly melodic, harmonious, like it’s what they’ve always done. Your soul soars somewhere above you, through the steam and the wooden rafters, brushing past the oil lamps on the walls, fills and aches when you realise how many times you’ve heard this, from the distance, sat in your office while they were celebrating below deck.

And that one night, when Minho hadn’t gone ashore. When he had found you, barefoot, tipsy, doors and windows cast open to let in the salty breeze. When he had taken you upstairs, had kissed you for the first time under the starlight, your world exploding into fragments of light with every hot, sweet press of his lips, his touches like the first ones you’ve ever felt, a purity in the way your body unfolded for him, folded him into you and never let him go since.

Minho. You can feel him next to you again, his solid shoulder right next to yours, his hand, always so strong, yet soft, resting on his own leg when it’s meant to be resting on yours. But you’re in public. You try to distract yourself, look out into the room, at your crew having the time of their life, but nothing wants to focus except fragments; Like the freckles on Felix’s cheeks when he laughs, the way Changbin’s cheeks are flushed with the glow of alcohol, Jeongin’s laugh from somewhere to your left.

And then Jisung pops into your vision, slides onto the bench on your other side, his mouth moving. Somehow, you manage to focus, and you hear him, deep voice like dripping molasses down your spine.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his brows furrowed in concern. But you smile, watch as relief rearranges his features into something beautiful.

You let out a shaky breath, one you can’t account for with any good reason. Distantly, you feel Minho’s hand finally make its way to its home on your knee, but you can’t look away from the man in front of you. His eyes are unfocused, his pouty lips slightly parted, but he’s looking at you, staring back into your eyes again, just like earlier. He runs a shaky hand through his hair, trying to push it back, but it falls right back into his face, brushes against his cheeks, his eyelashes fanning over the skin. It looks so impossibly soft.

You remember Ryujin’s words in the kitchen earlier, when you were making tea, when you watched Jisung and Minho through the window; the tension in Jisung’s shoulders, the unguarded confusion, shame, want in Minho’s eyes. You don’t have to worry. Just let it happen.

A drop of sweat runs down Jisung’s temple, and you follow it with your eyes. Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching out, catching it with a gentle fingertip. Jisung trembles, a choked sigh falling from his lips as he leans forward, almost entranced. You can feel his breath fan over your face, herbal notes from the absinthe and something quintessentially Jisung and you want to lean in, want to know if his lips will be sweet like the ripe peaches that seem to have served as inspiration when they created him, whether the skin of his collarbone will taste like the burnt honey that looks like it’s dripping off him when he sweats.

Somewhere in the back of your head, reason prevails, and you stop yourself from leaning in further, but Jisung doesn’t, his face unreadable as he lets a gentle hand rest on your arm, sliding up until it wraps gently around the side of your neck, thumb rubbing soothing circles over your pulse. You wonder if he can feel your heartbeat thundering just under the thin veil of your skin. The metal of his rings is cool against into your skin, and you wonder if they would leave marks, if the squeezed closer, wonder if he would squeeze hard enough for the marks to still be visible tomorrow …

Suddenly, Minho’s warm chest slides against your back, hot and grounding, and you can’t help it when your head falls back against his. The need you’ve been carrying around, the vague desire that’s been haunting you when you were alone in your bed or your bath or Minho was already asleep next to you – it makes you unable to resist the sweet, hazy drag of their hands.

When you blink your eyes open, you see Jisung staring at Minho, hazy eyes trained on his lips, and Minho behind you chokes on air.

“Jisung, …” he mumbles. It’s meant to sound like a warning, and it does, too, but somewhere laced in there, you hear his fear. You’re too far gone to figure out what he’s afraid of.

Jisung’s free hand reaches over and slides up Minho’s thigh. Gently, wanting. Something clicks into place when he looks from you to Minho, and back.

“Let me … please,” he whispers, his shimmering eyes swimming with want.

“I want you …”

< chapter VI - chapter VIII (coming: friday, april 26, 3pm CET) >

series masterlist // skzms masterlist // kofi

🔖 series taglist and general taglist open! be 18+ and have your age in bio when you ask to be added

taglist part 1: @puppyminnnie @like-a-diamondinthesky @lyramundana @laylasbunbunny @minsflannelwrap148

@caitlyn98s @straystays2345 @3rachasninja @maximumkillshot @sungprotector

@stayconnecteed @mellhwang @chlodavids @kookiesbunny @noellllslut

@warren-thedarkangel @kidrauhlschik @anyhow-everything @krishastumblernow @cutiespaghetti

@hobi-szn @usagi---mochi @stolasisyourparent @steadysuitenthusiast @queen-in-the-shadows

@ayoitschannie @starsandrqindrops @redstayrosie @vitrealisbunny @seukijeuxq

@bakedlilgoonie @bookworm731 @jazziwritesthings @katsukis1wife @minhos4thkitty

@gbskzlover @armystay89 @chuwii3o @foivetimesacharm @palindrome969

@gimmeurtmi @ashareeboobear @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @staysinbloom @f1wh0r3

@mnwrld @linocz @linosssss

[2baabbies]

professor hyunjin and teacher changbin need to kiss on the mouth 👀

https://x.com/skzwrld0325/status/1780240782814802021?s=46&t=oU7N-5gcnXfC-6kzRiFv0g

professors!hyunibini have sex on the copy machine in the teachers lounge and then accidentally print 65 pages of changbin’s bare ass

[2baabbies]

Thinking about how Jisung so casually has a mirror right by his bed so he can make you watch yourself while he fucks you. Maybe even takes a recording or snaps a few pics for his collection. Happy Wednesday somebody end my life rn

[2baabbies]

I love you Strawberry Shortcake I love you Polly Pocket I love you MyScene I love you Hello Kitty I love you Betty Spaghetty I love you Bratz I love you Winx Club I love you PowerPuff Girls I love you Tamagotchis I love you Littlest Pet Shop I love you I love you I love you

[2baabbies]

Buying matching shirts with Stray Kids OT8 Texts

Buying funny matching shirts for yourself and the boys. No warnings, just comedy!

[2baabbies]

felix during the group shoot (making sure he’s seen bc hes tiny) 🥰

#t i n y

[2baabbies]

5k into the next hyunchanlixreader installment let’s gooooo

#justbaebithings #baeficupdates

[2baabbies]

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・0.6k / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・lee know x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship. lazy kisses & mutual obsession. / 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲・for my @rachalixie: you've done well today (♡´ ˘ `)⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

𝟭𝟴:𝟮𝟮 — there’s a certain novelty to experiencing something for the first time.

sure, the magic lives on as your love for the thing grows, but no sensation will quite beat out the first time the opening riff of your favorite song hits your ears, the flavor of your favorite fruit splashing onto your tongue, the climax of your favorite film rendering you a sobbing mess in a public theater.

but you walk into your room one saturday afternoon to glance at the man lying face-up on the bed you share, scrolling absentmindedly with a mackerel tabby curled into his side. cordate, coral lips that you know by now feel like satin and taste like home, catlike eyes framed by thick lashes that could run makeup conglomerates into ruin; perfect, prim nose and chiseled, angular jaw, strong and sharp enough to draw blood should you run your finger along the pretty perimeters.

you clamber onto the mattress as delicately as you can. not delicately enough, by dori’s standards. the cat tosses you a disgruntled look before landing noiselessly onto the hardwood, departing from the room in search of his less disruptive siblings.

moments later, minho’s phone is face-down somewhere out of reach; you are straddling his waist and leaning over him, your hands cradling his face so tenderly they’re barely there. you come close enough for wisps of your hair to catch onto the delicate curves of his lashes, for the tip of your nose to bump against his like a greeting from a butterfly.

his soft laugh puffs against the seam of your lips like a breath of your own. “what’s the matter with you?”

he threw the curtains aside and cracked the windows open earlier, letting into the room a shower of late-afternoon sun. it now dyes his skin a dewy caramel, lightens his eyes to pools of molten amber. for some time, you are unable to respond, so enraptured by all the wonder that he holds. 

eventually, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, dip down, rid of the distance between you with a soft seal of your mouth his. he doesn’t move until he’s overcome his surprise, but then he brings one hand to your waist, slipping beneath the sheer fabric of your top to press your hips down onto his, and wraps the other around the base of your neck, the pad of his thumb settling over your jugular like a gossamer wing.

you sigh in pleasure and part your lips; he pursues this opening with a fervor, pliant tongue keeping your mouth ajar, head tilting to one side to better savor you, your teeth knocking and limbs entwining in this passionate fray.

by the time you come up for air, the world around you has changed. you’re underneath him now, his hands positioned on either side of your head. his eyes are no longer amber but obsidian, his mouth ravaged and raw in the aftermath of colliding time and time again with yours. the sun has largely vanished beneath the skyline.

you collect yourself just enough to procure an answer to his question.

“every time i look at you feels like the first,” you whisper.

minho doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe in spite of how you’d just kissed the air straight from his lungs, doesn’t believe his ears. for that is the exact way he feels about you, always has been and always will, though you have always been the one to first verbalize the feelings that he doesn’t have the words for. for some time, he is unable to respond, enraptured by all the wonder that you hold.

eventually, he combs a hand through his hair, dips down, rids of the distance between you with a hard crash of his mouth upon yours, and there the two of you will remain until it’s no longer light from the sun that sets your room aglow, but that of the moon and a hundred thousand stars.

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[2baabbies]

Tummy insecurity texts with Changbin

Binnie needs a little comfort after gaining a lil relationship weight

#‘you had snacks and I followed you home’ #that made me snort #so cute and sweet and silly 💕

[2baabbies]

🌊 ೃ‧₊◜ sea may rise, sky may fall chapter VI

pairing: lee know x f!reader x han jisung

summary: minho seeks out the captain. chan has a word with jisung. jisung learns more about minho and the captain finally figures out the maps

word count: 8.3k

warnings: unprotected sex; sub!minho; slapping; degradation; overstimulation; undernegotiated kink (but everyone's enjoying it); mentions of a past of sex work and minor sexual assault; asexuality

author's note: finally we see the aftermath of jisung and minho's little moment 👀 plus some plot that will become more and more relevant now as we progress in the story. and asexual rep because it's so dear to me 🖤🩶🤍💜 ily all, happy reading and thank you for all the love!!

this series is 🔞, so minors, please DNI

series masterlist // skzms masterlist

< chapter V - chapter VII (coming: friday, april 19, 3pm CET) >

“I saw Minho and Jisung kiss. Downstairs. Outside of the baths.”

“What?” It’s barely a breath. It’s all you can manage. Something dark and ugly twists in your guts. The kraken stirs dangerously.

“Captain, I …”

“Chan, are you sure? I need you to be sure.”

Chan grimaces.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out. He looks it, too.

You nod. There’s a ringing in your ears.

“Thank you for telling me,” you say, forcing a smile onto your lips before you turn around and let yourself into your office. You close the door behind you quietly, carefully, before you lift your trembling hands up in front of you. You look at them for a second until they become blurry with the sob rising in your throat, and you curse, shake yourself roughly. You blink away the tears, clench and unclench your fists until your bones start aching. When you lift your hands again, they’re no longer shaking.

But your chest still feels like it’s about to cave in, and it takes every ounce of your self-restraint to not let your shaking knees give out.

Jisung and Minho. Jisung and Minho. Jisung and Minho? It makes so little sense to you. Minho hated the guy … unless …

There are footsteps outside your office, and you straighten out immediately, automatically, school your face into neutrality. You hear a hurried ‘leave’ before your door flies open and reveals a pale, desperate Minho. His hair is wet, dripping onto his shirt that looks haphazardly thrown on. The baths, you think, quietly. Then what is he doing here?

Minho closes the door behind him, turns the key in the lock, stalks over. His eyes race over your face, something hunted in his expression when he cups your face, stares down at you.

“Please tell me you don’t have any appointments in the next two hours,” he mumbles, and you just about manage to shake your head. His hot hands drag down the sides of your neck heavily, full of purpose. He breathes out a shaky sigh.

“Good. I need you,” he whispers and with that, he leans in, presses his lips against yours, his tongue wet and uncoordinated and desperate when he pushes past your lips, and it makes red-hot arousal rush through your body.

He’s here. He’s kissing you, saying he needs you. Not Jisung.

Something like hope knocks against your ribs, but you don’t encourage it. Instead, you pull Minho closer against you and feel his rock-hard length press against you. He ruts his hips forward minutely, almost subconsciously.

Minho keens, drags his hand into your hair and pulls you closer, angles your head so he can kiss you deeper, filthier, and it makes wet desperation pool between your legs, a whimper catch in your throat.

“Fuck,” Minho pants against your lips, “fucking … fuck, just take me, use me.”

The request isn’t new, but the urgency with which he says it, the guilt in his eyes as he stares at you, those are. So it was true. He did kiss Jisung. And this was his way of making amends. Jealousy crackles through your veins like wildfire, makes the breath catch in your throat as you trail your hand down to his bulge. Is he hard for you or for the man he professedly hates?

You grab the length of his cock through the fabric, squeeze meanly, a little too hard for comfort, but Minho’s jaw falls open, a wanton moan tumbling from his pretty lips.

“Bed, now,” you order, and shove at his shoulders roughly. He goes willingly, his eyes hooded as he watches you shrug off your coat, pull the shirt over your head, leaving you bare to his hungry eyes. He nearly bumps into the doorframe when he tries to take his own shirt off while walking backwards, and you laugh. His cheeks flush a dark, beautiful red, the hunger in his eyes deepening.

You wind your hands around the back of his neck and shove him onto the bed, climbing onto it after him, and his hands are greedy when they pull you close, hot skin against hot skin, chest against chest. He kisses you again, wetly, desperately, entirely ridiculously, but you let him, let him lavish his need on you until you can feel it in your bones, while you finger the buttons of his pants open and slip a hand into his pants. When your fingers curl around his hot, velvety cock, his hips twitch underneath you and a wave of satisfaction rips through you.

But before he can get much release, you pull your hand back and he whimpers. You get up enough to pull his pants and underwear down, ignoring the tortured gasp he lets out when his cock slaps against his abdomen wetly. You rid yourself of the rest of your clothes, relishing in the way Minho’s eyes rake all over your body, his cock leaking where it lies just from the look of you.

He grabs at your hands, pulls you up, closer and closer until his hot palms can reach your thighs, dragging you until you’re straddling his face. He stares up at you through his lashes, pupils blown, hair an ungodly mess. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He’s meant to be yours.

“Captain,” he whimpers and drags you down, forces you to sit on his face. His moan rivals yours when his tongue drags over your cunt, spreads his spit around until all you can feel is wet and hot, and it’s so overwhelming, your hand shooting out to hold on to the headboard of your bed. When he flicks his tongue against your clit your nails dig into the wood, and he groans out, tongue dipping down, lapping at your hole like he’s starved.

“Oh fuck,” he mumbles into you before there’s a lewd squelch when he sucks your clit into his mouth, “so fucking good. Oh fuck.” And he keeps going, so fucking messy, lapping and sucking and moaning shamelessly until your thighs are shaking. He drags his tongue down, pulls you up so he can slip it right into you, pressing in deeper than you have ever felt it, and it feels so mind-numbingly good it makes you whimper. Your hips start rocking almost subconsciously, and Minho groans, grabs your hips hard and helps you, guides you along as you grind yourself over his face, filthy moans tumbling from your lips as you shamelessly do as he asked and take, take, take until you can barely breathe out a warning before you cum, creaming onto Minho’s eager tongue, who laps up everything, his hips jumping up desperately.

You try to catch your breath, but it’s hard when you turn around and see Minho’s achingly hard cock entirely wet with precum, lying in a pool of it against his hard abdomen.

You shuffle down his body on your shaky legs, straddle his hips, trap his length between his own body wet belly and the wetness of your cunt. His face is still glistening with you when he moans out, his hands coming to your thighs to hold on, but you grab them, shove them into the pillows above his head, holding him in place as you grind down and set a torturous pace that has his toes curling, and his eyelids flutter beautifully. You lean down, lap your tongue over his lips, and he moans filthily, hips bucking up into you searching for friction. But you don’t give him more than a few careful grinds of your hips as you clean his face with your tongue. When you finally kiss him, he’s a mess, his tongue nearly lolling out of his mouth, trying to chase your touch.

You take a second to look at him like this, your confident Minho, lips swollen and glistening, strong arms that have wrestled so many enemies into submission stretched above his head, broad chest heaving with ragged breaths, love bites from when he had railed you into the mattress days ago still visible on his collarbones– Had Jisung seen them? Had Jisung seen the evidence of you on Minho’s body and decided to kiss him anyway? Maybe because of it …

Your hands tighten on Minho’s wrists and his eyes widen.

“What am I gonna do with you, hm?” you ask and Minho mewls weakly.

“Please,” he whispers, followed by a pretty moan when you grind against him again.

“Please what?”

He shakes his head. The desperation is still in his eyes, though the guilt is gone. He looks … fucked out. Like the only thing on his mind is you. Good. You want to make him fall apart, make him cum until he can’t think of anything, any_one_ but you. Not honeyed, pretty Jisung. Only you.

You’re already aching for more, the overstimulation making way for the dull burn of arousal and without a warning, you lift your hips, reach between you to line him up with your thoroughly soaked heat and sink down. It’s a stretch, as always, and it stings slightly, but you take him, sensitive walls moulding around him like he’s meant to be there, buried to the hilt and filling you so perfectly a shiver racks down your spine.

Minho moans out, loudly and dirtily. His hips twitch against his will when your walls flutter around him, but his hands stay obediently crossed above his head.

“Good boy,” you whisper, and Minho’s eyes roll into the back of his head. He nods weakly, eagerly.

You lift up yourself up, rolling your hips just how you know he likes it, and Minho keens again, letting out a guttural groan when you sink down with a swivel of your hips.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he slurs, and the sound of it drives you mad, the kraken in your chest sending poison into your bloodstream. You pull your hand back and crack it across his face in a resounding slap. Minho’s head lolls to the side, and he stares up at you wide-eyed.

“That’s captain to you,” you hiss and drag your hips down harder. Minho’s back arches.

“Fuck … again,” he slurs out, and you hesitate only for a fraction of a second, before you do as he says. You slap his other cheek now, and he growls out, his hips bucking up to meet you, picking up the pace until you’re bouncing on him hard. He’s already throbbing inside of you, and you briefly wonder if he will really cum that quickly.

“Captain, hhngg …” he tries to speak, his hands coming to your thighs, scrambling for purchase as he plants his feet and starts fucking up into you. You barely manage to catch yourself next to his face, but it doesn’t stop you from grabbing his face meanly, digging your fingertips into his jaw.

“Who allowed you to do that? Can’t even follow your captain’s orders, hm?”

Minho blinks up at you, and you know without words what he wants. You pull back your hand and crack it across his face again. And before you know what’s happening, Minho pulls out of you, and then he’s cumming, eyes rolling back in his head as he reaches between you, tugging at his cock a few times, hot white spurting all over his abdomen in erratic ropes.

You watch in awe before the poison settles a thought into your mind. What if this wasn’t you? What if he was thinking about Jisung.

“I’m sorry,” Minho slurs underneath you. His eyes are almost crossed. “That was just so … oh my fucking god!”

The noise that rips out of him when you sink back down on his still mostly hard cock is guttural and foreign. His dazed eyes fly open, his mouth parting with a strangled moan.

You set an agonising pace, fucking yourself down on him hard, and his hands scramble for purchase in the sheets.

“N-no, ’s too much,” he complains, but his back arches prettily, his cock twitching where it’s buried deep inside of you, and you know he loves it. So you plant your feet, pick up your pace.

“Captain, captain, oh fuck,” Minho all but yells when your cunt clenches around him, “it’s s-so sensitive, h-hurts.”

He’s a vision, his legs spread wide underneath you, his eyes screwed shut, breaths coming in ragged pants, his voice shot from them. You want to eat him up. You lean forward, force him to look at you, still rolling your hips. You’re so full of him, and you can feel your own orgasm pull tight in your abdomen.

“Who’s making you feel like this?” you ask, and you wonder if he can hear it, the green monster of jealousy that has your heart in a cold vice grip.

“You, captain,” he babbles, his eyes slightly crossed as he weakly fucks his hips up. There are tears glittering in his pretty eyes and you want to see them fall. You wrap one hand around his throat, press the other into his chest for leverage and let your body take over, riding him like your life depends on it. He groans so loudly, you can only hope Chan really did leave when Minho told him to.

“Say it again,” you whisper, your voice barely there as you struggle to keep your own eyes open at the onslaught of pleasure. You’re so … so close.

Minho wracks out a weak sob, one, two tears falling from his eyes as his whole body twitches in oversensitivity. The bed creaks with every desperate swivel of your hips.

“You, captain, you, only you, I’m yours, I’m yours, only yours, Y/N …” It’s all it takes to drive you over the edge, your head thrown back in a silent scream, hips twitching erratically as you fuck yourself through your orgasm.

“P-please, you need to m-move, I can’t … hold …”

He tries to shove you off, tears still running down his cheeks, but the kraken has fed on the poisonous jealousy, and you want to be his just as badly as you needed him to tell you he was yours. So you shake your head, ignore your own oversensitivity and grind yourself down harder until Minho sobs, arches his back and whimpers out a choked moan.

“Oh, god, captain, Y/N, I’m … I’m c-cumming,” he nearly yells, and then he does, buries himself as deep as he can inside of you as he fills you, blindingly hot and sticky and all-consuming, pumping you full of his seed until you can feel it, searing hot, dripping out of you and into his pubic hair.

When his orgasm has subsided, he stares up at you, blinking the haze from his eyes, tear-tracks still wet on his high cheekbones. He wordlessly tugs you closer, and you collapse into his waiting arms, a gaping emptiness where your heart should be. Letting a finger run over one of the scars on his chest, you take a deep breath. He feathers kisses into your hair, to the shell of your ear, so tender it makes you want to cry.

Slowly, carefully, he shifts your body off him and pulls out, his eyes glued to where his release is dripping out of you. He swallows drily, whispers a breathless fuck as he sits up more, parts your legs gently.

“You fool, you should’ve let me pull out,” he whispers, though he doesn’t look regretful when he drags a finger through your folds, gently pushes it into where you’re still leaking. You shudder out a gasp, and he laughs, light, disbelievingly.

When he removes his finger and leans over you to press a soft kiss to your lips, his gaze so impossibly soft it makes your chest ache.

“I’ll run us a bath.”

You don’t doze off this time, your head too full of it all to be able to relax, too full of everything you’ve done, of the guilty, hunted look in Minho’s eyes. Jisung’s face enters your consciousness, unbidden, his wide eyes, long lashes fanning over his cheeks, the way his eyebrows furrow so prettily when he’s determined, the golden skin stretching over his broad shoulders, down to his small, pretty waist. Your heart convulses with something you don’t understand, something like desire, desire to have him. That part isn’t new, you felt it the other day when he looked at you, his adoring gaze fluttering to your lips for only a split second before he forced himself to step back, an adorable dusting of pink on his soft cheeks. But now you can’t help but wonder if Minho had him, if he was small and pliant and pretty underneath Minho’s solid body. Your eyes flutter shut with a deep sigh, an insistent pulsing between your legs with every thought of Jisung’s pink, slick lips against yours, against Minho’s, wrapping around …

You’re ripped out of your thoughts by Minho returning, picking you up gently and carrying you into the bath, just like any other day. The turmoil inside of you is too loud to mistake it for any other day.

When you’re settled in his arms, he pulls you in, claims your lips, kisses you lazily, deeply, until his fingers dip between your legs, pull another earth-shattering orgasm from you that you moan into his swollen, bitten lips, before he cleans you with soft hands and even softer kisses. Selfishly, maybe stupidly, it all feels like he loves you.

You hold on to that when he leaves you an hour later to check on the ship.

Jisung doesn’t know what he expected after his dick had hijacked his body and kissed Minho in the hallway outside the baths before Minho had kissed him so utterly stupid he hadn’t known left from right for a solid 10 minutes afterwards, his brain a muddle of arousal and worry.

But he didn’t expect things to go … right back to how they were. Or not entirely how they were – instead of glowering at him, Minho now … ignores him entirely. Jisung might as well be air because Minho barely even throws him a glance, doesn’t react if Jisung asks a question at dinner, makes it a point to never end up in a situation where we would have to give any kind of orders to Jisung, letting Hyunjin or Chan take care of it instead.

And speaking of Chan … Jisung had a really bad feeling that the man somehow caught wind of what happened between him and Minho, though how on earth he would have, Jisung doesn’t know. But ever since that day, Chan has been what Jisung can only describe as odd. Avoiding Jisung’s eyes at mealtimes, even when Felix talks about Jisung, awkward smiles when he passes him in the hallway, eyes flicking from him to Minho warily whenever Minho enters the room. When he finally confronts Jisung a few days after Jisung’s ill-fated split second decision, it’s almost a relief. Jisung’s already on edge enough about Minho, worrying about Chan and what he knows made him so jumpy it even caught Felix’s attention the other day.

Chan pulls him aside on the deck about a week after, looking around nervously as he drags Jisung to the bow of the ship, where they can talk without being overheard. He still throws wary glances over his shoulder every now and again, and it makes Jisung even more antsy, his leg jumping nervously.

“Jisung,” he starts, clears his throat. “We need to talk.” He runs his hand through his messy curls – finally looks at Jisung. The look on his face is more than serious, so much so that Jisung can’t stand to even reciprocate. He drops his eyes, focuses on the tips of his boots, scuffs one into the wood underneath him.

“I … I saw you the other day. With Minho.”

Chan waits, but Jisung doesn’t respond. What would he even say?! He focuses on trying to will his heartbeat back into his chest where it belongs. Chan sighs. He sounds defeated.

“I don’t usually get involved with … that kind of stuff, which also explains why I’m so bad at this,” he motions between them vaguely. He knows what Chan will say and a part of him, one that he hasn’t allowed himself to look at too closely, doesn’t want to hear it. Plus, it’s not like he knows what’s going on between him and Minho anything, except a whole lot of regret and, well, nothing.

Chan huffs out a nervous laugh, but there’s no smile in it. Jisung swallows hard.

“You have to know, right? You have to know about Minho and the captain?” Chan finally bursts out and Jisung prays, he doesn’t want him to answer. But clearly he does, Chan saying his name quietly, but insistently, forcing Jisung to finally lift his head and meet his distraught gaze. Jisung takes a deep breath.

“I mean … I’ve heard the rumours,” he mumbles, the tips of his ears colouring, “I didn’t know anything for sure.”

Chan furrows his brows, keeps staring at Jisung like he’s trying to figure out if he’s lying. But technically, Jisung isn’t lying, he reminds himself, a little guiltily. Very guiltily.

“Well,” Chan finally says, “I guess we don’t know anything for sure either, but … Jisung, the captain and Minho have something going on. And so far, it seems to have been pretty exclusive, as far as the crew is concerned …”

Jisung nods stupidly over the dull sense of disappointment blooming in his chest. Across the ship, the wooden doors that lead below deck open. Jisung watches over Chan’s shoulder as Jeongin steps out first, followed by the captain. The sea wind whips at her hair, pushing the wide linen pants she’s wearing against her body until Jisung can see the entire outline of one of her legs, an image so sinful it burns itself into his brain. A loud, unguarded laugh falls from her sweet, soft lips, her eyes little crescents of joy as she laughs at whoever is coming up from below deck next …

Jisung isn’t even surprised when it’s Minho, but it still hurts. And God, Minho looks pretty, too, the toothy grin he’s giving the captain lighting up his whole face, making his eyebrows scrunch together and up adorably. Something in Jisung’s chest aches.

“Are you even listening to me?” Chan exclaims, and when Jisung blinks back at him, he furrows his brows and turns, follows his gaze, straight to where the captain and Minho are still talking to Jeongin.

Minho’s arms are crossed behind his back, but his body hovers so close to the captain that his arm brushes her back every time she moves. For all intents and purposes, he’s simply … watching her speak. But there is something so private, so reverent in his gaze that Jisung can’t help but feel like he isn’t meant to see, isn’t meant to watch as intently as he is. But he doesn’t look away, can’t look away. Chan next to him whips back around, his eyebrows drawn together in dismay.

“Okay, listen, I’m going to just say it. We need them. We need our captain, and we need Minho, and if something comes between them, I don’t know what our crew will do. And you can’t jeopardise that. You can’t break them up, do you understand?”

Jisung’s head is swimming. Minho leans into the captain, murmurs something to her, his eyes dragging down the side of her neck with hooded eyes. Her hand flexes where it’s hanging by her side. Minho smiles. And among the chaos, Jisung is suddenly hit with one thing in mind-blowing clarity.

“I don’t want to break them up …” he mumbles and Chan freezes, stares at him, before he laughs in disbelief.

“Jisung …” he huffs out, his voice so full of pity it makes Jisung nauseous. He’s starting to feel about as insane as Chan looks at him like he is, and he can feel his cheeks turning a bright red.

“I know, I know,” he mutters, tries to laugh it off, but it’s brittle. “I won’t … do anything. Not again. That time, it was an accident, okay? I didn’t think. We were having an emotionally charged conversation and it just … happened.”

Jisung takes a deep breath, a weary smile on his burning face. “And you don’t have to worry, he’s been ignoring me like the plague since. So there is no risk of any of that happening again.”

Chan stares at him, but says nothing, so Jisung takes the opportunity to flee.

“I appreciate you talking to me about this, Chan. Message received. Hands off Minho. But you also have nothing to worry about, he clearly doesn’t … it doesn’t matter.”

He stalks off, running a nervous hand through his hair as he makes his way past Minho, Jeongin and the captain, ignoring the way he can see both Minho and the captain turn their heads as he all but runs past and below deck. He takes refuge with Felix in the cool kitchen, gratefully taking the potato peeler the younger wordlessly hands him to distract himself. But the shame keeps burning, settled deep into his guts. He’s ashamed of the way Chan spoke to him, about what he said, but he’s also ashamed of the fact that he even kissed Minho in the first place, even though deep down he knew the captain and Minho were … together? ‘A thing’? Jisung nearly slips on the potato and slices his thumb open when he realises that he’s still thinking in technicalities. He shouldn’t, he should accept that what he’s doing is wrong, but … is it really so wrong when he wants them both?

He avoids Chan at dinner, making sure he has an impenetrable barrier of Hyunjin and Seungmin between them, and flees the room as soon as he’s done eating under the guise of helping Felix clean up. If Felix notices, he mercifully doesn’t say anything, makes his usual idle chit-chat with him, gives Jisung space.

When night has well and truly fallen and the kitchen is spotless, Jisung think he’s safe, thinks he’ll be able to slip through the common area and straight into his cabin, maybe read some more of the book he picked up if he can find another candle stub – but his hopes are dashed when he leaves the kitchen with Felix, and they find Hyunjin, Chan and a few other pirates sprawled over cushions and blankets, lounging in one corner of the living area, bottles of rum and glasses scattered between them, laughing and chatting.

Jisung does a double take when he sees Hyunjin casually lounging in between Chan’s spread legs, his back against Chan’s chest. He makes eye contact with a blushing Chan, and he fully plans to just keep walking and go to sleep, but Felix seems to have other plans. He grabs Jisung’s hand and drags him over to them.

“Hey, Lix, hi, Jisungie” Hyunjin hums out, his face flushed, arms draped over Chan’s thighs casually, intimately. He ignored Jisung’s questioning glance. “Join us, we’ve been getting sappy and desperately need some distraction.”

Felix giggles as he plots down, pats Hyunjin’s leg affectionately.

“Drinking always makes you sappy, Hyune.”

Jisung gingerly sits between Felix and another pirate, San, he thinks, who he’s barely spoken to. He feels nervous and stiff, not at all like he belongs in this circle of half drunken pirates. It’s a feeling that has been lessening over the last few weeks, but every now, and again it comes back with a vengeance. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

“It does, but it’s just … I mean, can you believe we all ended up on this ship? How lucky is that?” Hyunjin sighs, his head lolling against Chan’s chest. Chan smiles down at him, amused. Hyunjin giggles, sits up enough to grab his cup, lifting it to the ceiling. “To the captain! To our little family!”

Everyone chuckles at Hyunjin but they lift their cups nonetheless. Jisung lets San pour him a drink, gives him a shy smile, and then he raises his glass, too. They all repeat it after Hyunjin, voices warm and Hyunjin’s louder than all of them, almost singing the words, and chug the alcohol. The rum stings Jisung’s throat but the warmth of it eases some of the anxiety fluttering in his chest. Next to him, Felix hums happily and licks his lips.

“I’ll drink to that today because guess what? Minho actually apologised to me this morning!”

Jisung’s head whips over to Felix, who seems to avoid his eyes. He’d been in the kitchen with Felix for hours, chatting about lord knows what while they were making dinner and then again cleaning afterwards, and Felix had not said a single word about it.

San next to Jisung makes a sound that sounds like a duh.

“I knew it was just a matter of time. He can’t stay mad at you for long, Yongbok.”

Felix grimaces.

“Well, this time I was considering staying mad at him.” Jooyeon next to San, and San give him a questioning look. Chan fidgets nervously, making Hyunjin look up at him in confusion.

Felix sighs.

“He told me he hated me. That you should’ve left me there.”

Hyunjin gasps, sits up, his eyes wide as he stares at Felix.

“He didn’t! Why didn’t you tell me?!” he hisses, pretty face pulled into a scowl. He looks like he’s ready to get up and give Minho an earful, but Felix places a calming hand on his calf, gives him a reassuring smile.

“Because I also said some really fucked up stuff about him and …” Felix explains but falters, and Jisung thinks he can see his eyes flicker in his direction. What the hell is going on?! “… and to be honest, I know he didn’t mean it. He wouldn’t have left me there.”

Hyunjin shakes his head and leans back against Chan, who winds an arm around his waist.

There’s a moment of silence and Jisung decides to bite the bullet.

“Where’s there?” he asks, shyly.

Suddenly, all eyes are on him. Hyunjin blinks at Felix, who just smiles at Jisung kindly.

“I … I spent a lot of years working … uhh … as a prostitute,” Felix first hesitates, then rushes the words out as if he can’t get them out fast enough. His cheeks flush, but there’s a resolute pride in his face, like he’s still actively fighting his own shame. Jisung recognises it. He knows how it feels.

“I worked in Nassau’s most notorious whorehouse, and it was fine for a long time, but then the ownership changed, and the new owner was a drunk and the later it got and the drunker he got, the more likely it became that he forgot to charge his patrons. Word got out, and the clientele got worse and worse and the pay … well, soon there wasn’t much to go around any more.”

Jisung stares at Felix, tries to reconcile what he knows about those kinds of establishments, the ones his uncle always told him to go to loosen up, to stop being so uptight, God, Jisung. He tries to imagine Felix in that setting, all smoke, and rum and dirty sheets, dressed up in smoky make-up and skimpy dresses. He finds the last part of that the easiest to picture. Felix is pretty, after all, though his heart seems much too pure for that kind of work.

“Well, long story short, a stranger tried to force himself on me one night, very violently, and the boss looked on, forbade any of the others from helping me, slurring something about paying customers,” Felix adds with a sour, cynical smile. “The captain heard me scream, shoved her way into the house and into my room, dragged the vile man off me. It was pretty obvious how bad the conditions were in that brothel, so she helped me dress, took me outside and offered me a place on her crew, in a position of my choosing, no sex work of any kind, while Minho … dealt with the guy.”

Chan chuckles darkly, and Jisung swallows.

“Dealt with him …?” he repeats quietly, and San next to him nods. There’s a wide-eyed fascination and an abject fear in his eyes.

“Killed him, probably ripped him limb from limb or watched him bleed out in the gutter or something gruesome,” San explains, voice low and conspiratorial, “Minho doesn’t fuck with rapists and abusers. He gets kinda scary when he’s faced with one.”

Jisung’s heart beats uncomfortably in his chest.

“Do you know why?” he asks, quietly. This time it’s Chan who answers.

“None of us know for sure, he’s only shared snippets with us over the years. But I’m pretty sure he lost his mother to one when he was very young. She was the last person he had. Had to bury her with his own hands, dug the hole in the churchyard and everything. I think he was like 12.”

The rum congeals into something sickly and awful in Jisung’s stomach, and he thinks he may actually be sick. San, next to him, is blissfully unaware, turns to Jooyeon and launches into a story about a bar fight he and Minho got involved in months ago because someone came onto a female barkeep, but Jisung can’t care. He stares at Chan, who watches his pale face worriedly.

“So he wouldn’t make fun of someone by calling them their … abuser’s pet name? On purpose?”

His question is quiet enough that it doesn’t interrupt San, but loud enough for Chan, Felix and Hyunjin to hear. Chan’s eyes widen, then he looks serious. He shakes his head vehemently.

“Never, not Minho.”

Jisung nods. Swallows down the bile.

“Jisung, are you okay?” Hyunjin asks softly, and Jisung shakes himself, forces a weak smile onto his lips, waves them off.

“Yeah, I just kinda … accused him of doing that … to me,” he says quietly. Felix next to him hums sympathetically, wraps an arm tightly around his shoulders.

“You couldn’t have known,” he reassures him, “plus, it’s Minho, I’m sure he said some mean stuff, too.”

He had, but still. Jisung basically insinuated that he thought Minho would … hurt him. No wonder he’d looked like Jisung slapped him. But he doesn’t want to unpack that, not with all those other pirates here, drinking, trying to have fun. So he just nods, leans into Felix’s hug for a second before he reaches for the bottle, refills his and Felix’s cups. He lifts his.

“To the captain!” he says shyly, his insides doing a sickening swoop, “to … our little family!”

Hyunjin squeals, claps, surges forward to envelop Jisung in a hug, toppling him onto his back, nearly knocking the cup out of his hand and spilling his rum everywhere. He places a wet smack on Jisung’s cheek before he gets up, raises his own glass.

“To the captain! To Jisung! To us!”

But even when the conversation has moved on, Jisung can’t stop thinking about it. Not just what he said to Minho, how Minho had reacted. He tries to imagine Felix, in a whorehouse, the captain saving him, Minho defending him.

The sheer history of this crew he has joined hits him like a ton of bricks. Each of them has a different story, a different reason for being here, a different life they left behind. Jisung feels ashamed about the fact that he had barely thought about it until now. He just never even thought of it … everyone just seemed so at home, so entirely settled, dedicated to the captain, the crew.

When they’re back in their cabin, he and Felix chat while they get ready for bed, and Jisung tries, but he doesn’t find the courage to ask the question he really wants to ask until they’re both in their respective cots, nothing but the moonlight and the sound of waves breaking against the ship coming through the darkness.

"Felix?” he asks into the silence.

Felix chuckles quietly, hums. He’s used to this by now. Jisung’s overactive mind coming up with something right as he’s trying to drift off. Jisung’s cheeks are burning.

“You don’t have to answer this,” he prefaces, carefully, “but … what was it like? To … you know … be a … to do that kind work … back in Nassau?”

Felix is quiet for a second and Jisung wants to take it back, scared he has managed to upset him.

“It was … fine. I’m … wow, where do I even start,” Felix trails off with a tired laugh.

“Sorry,” Jisung mumbles, “forget I said anything, you don’t have to …”

“No, no, Ji, it’s okay,” he reassures him. Jisung hears him shift in the sheets, the cot creaking as he turns onto his back.

“I … I never really cared about having sex with people,” he says, quietly, “still don’t, maybe even less now, what with all the memories, but …”

He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“To me, bodies are just … bodies. I don’t see a dick and get hard, I don’t see boobs and want to automatically touch them. I’m just not … wired like that. I don’t know why. I think I could want someone, if I loved them, truly loved them and trusted them, but … that hasn’t happened yet.”

Jisung tries to wrap his head around it, but he finds it difficult. He’s usually horny, and stupidly affected by attractive people.

“That doesn’t answer your question, but it’s important to know because it’s what drove me to the job,” Felix continues, “I didn’t have any other skills, and people always wanted me like that and I … didn’t have the best sense of self-preservation. It made decent money before it all went to shit, and my body could just … go on autopilot, do what bodies do. It never made me feel bad about it because I wasn’t doing it with anyone else anyway.”

“So you’ve never had sex with anyone because you wanted it?” Jisung asks quietly.

“Nope,” Felix says, popping the p loudly. “Never really wanted to.”

“Huh,” Jisung breathes out.

“I can’t see your face so you really need to tell me if you think it’s weird,” Felix mumbles nervously, “it’s not something I just parade around and tell everyone. I know I’m different from others and I … hate it sometimes.”

Jisung shakes his head vehemently before he realises Felix can’t see him.

“Oh, shit, sorry, no, no, no, I don’t think it’s weird,” he says, quickly, “honestly, I kind of get it. When I have sex with people I have feelings for it’s just … so much better than when it’s just someone random.”

He flushes.

“Not that I fall in love often. Or sleep with random people very often. I’m not that extroverted, and, really, it’s also not very hygienic.”

Felix laughs out loud at that.

“Oh, let me assure you, people are even more unhygienic than you could even imagine.”

Jisung scrunches up his nose and mumbles out a quiet gross that makes Felix laugh harder. Then he gets quiet.

“What’s it like to sleep with someone you like?” he asks quietly, and Jisung sighs, tries to think of that one time with the girl he had a crush on when he was younger.

“It’s … like little fireworks. All the touches mean so much because it’s like … like you’re getting to know the other person on this whole new level. It’s also awkward … and it can be … not very good, with all the expectations, but in general … it feels good. Makes you feel seen, known. Which is also scary as hell ...”

Felix hums.

“That sounds kinda nice.”

“It is … though even then, it’s just sex. Your body goes crazy, and then you come and then it’s over. Don’t feel like you’re missing out on too much.”

“If you say so,” he mumbles, “by the way, Jisung. Can you please, like … not tell anyone about this? I don’t really go around, talking about it.I’ve only told Hyunjin, and it was so awkward while he was trying to get used to the idea. And the captain knows, of course, but nobody else does. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Jisung blinks into the darkness.

“Of course I won’t tell anyone, Lix … What did the captain say?” he asks, tries to sound nonchalant.

“She was great about it. It was right when I joined. She asked lots of questions, also about what I wanted my life to be like. I told her I never wanted to have to have sex ever again, and she just laughed and gave me a hug, told me that that was the easiest promise she ever made. I see now why she laughed, but back then I really thought that was a big ask. I was really messed up then.”

Jisung hums. It sounds like her. Soft and welcoming and understanding and so, so strong, for all of them.

“I won’t tell anyone, Lix,” he says again, with as much conviction as he can muster. “Thanks for telling me. For trusting me.”

“Always,” Felix replies, seemingly casual, but Jisung can hear the smile in his voice. “Now let’s go to sleep. I gotta get up early, we’re out of bread.”

Jisung whispers a good night and cuddles into the sheets, thinks and thinks and thinks and when he finally falls asleep, he dreams of soft skin against his, rosemary and salt water, his lips on planes of soft, damp skin, a hitch of breath that sounds just like you.

It’s been 8 days since Chan told you what he saw and 8 days since Minho had begged you to take him apart. 8 days of waiting for the ball to drop – but nothing happened. Yes, Minho had barely left your side for the last few days, but in the grand scheme of things, that was more reassuring than anything, and you didn’t have time to worry about it too much because – you’re stressed. You’re exactly one day out from Nassau, two days behind schedule because of the weather, there has been no sighting of any government ships for days (a suspicious fact) and you still haven’t gotten anywhere with those stupid fucking maps.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, pushing yourself away from your desk where the same goddamn maps that you’ve been staring at for weeks are still lying. You get up suddenly, the scrape of your chair against the floor jarringly loud in the room. You walk up to the windows behind your desk, rest your forehead against the cool glass, let it soothe the frustration burning behind your eyes. The sea beyond the glass is inky black. It’s night already, dinner long gone. Minho had brought you a serving hours ago, set it down on your desk and left you to your own devices with a promise to check on you later.

You take a deep breath, hold it for second. If you’re very still like that, you can hear everyone in the common area downstairs, singing, chattering, laughing. Carefree in a way that makes your heart ache.

But not you. You have a mission. A fight to win. For yourself, and for them. You force yourself up again, pouring yourself another cup of rum and downing it. The burn helps, feels purifying, clears your mind before you face the maps on your desk.

A deep breath.

Then you start again.

“It looks like a map at first glance, but everything about it feels wrong,” Seungmin had mumbled, an uncharacteristically deep crease between his usually unperturbed brows, arms crossed over his chest, “like, look, these islands are shaped like islands, but they don’t have any names. There’s a compass in the corner, but it’s so small that it looks like an afterthought. It doesn’t even make sense with the scale. And don’t get me started on the mountains and the woods on the islands – geographically? They make no sense. Not even to mention the gilded edges. Who does that to a normal map? So, it’s like they’re maps, but not maps at all.”

It’s like they’re maps, but not maps at all.

You slam back another cup of rum. The world starts getting a little fuzzy, but it feels nice. Takes the edge off.

“It’s like they’re maps, but not maps at all,” you mumble into the silence of the room.

“But whatever they are, they were important enough to warrant hand delivery. By someone on Jisung’s ship, but not Jisung himself. So something he shouldn’t know about …”

You let yourself fall into your chair, head tipping back until you’re staring at the ceiling, dark wood and carved edges. Someone downstairs cheers loudly. You crack your neck.

“Why should Jisung not know about it?” you mumble to yourself. “He wouldn’t have known what the maps were about … but if he had figured it out … why would it have been bad? Would he have … told someone? Disapproved?”

That thought process ends in a dead end, and you loop back around to the beginning.

“Important enough to warrant hand delivery. With an entire ship to protect it. 20 men. Hand-drawn, gilded, illustrated edges … gilded edges?”

You sit up abruptly, pull the map you found on Jisung’s ship closer.

“Gilded edges … The governor would be wealthy, but not that wealthy. Maybe he has something to prove?”

Your eyes drag over the intricately drawn pattern around the edge of the map and …

Wait, those symbols don’t … follow a pattern.

You lean closer and sure enough, the symbols were clearly drawn to resemble a pattern, but as soon as you look closer it’s obvious that they don’t.

You stare at your desk blankly, pull the other map towards you. With shaking hands, you place the two maps next to each other and … You let out a yelp. One of the islands repeats. So do the formations of mountains, of trees, of waves.

“It’s like they’re not maps at all!” you yell and shoot to your feet. You grab the maps, not even bothering to fold them before you bolt out the door.

You bound down the wooden stairs with a clatter of heavy boots and a yell of Jisung’s name.

By the time you rush into the living area, everyone is staring at you. Jisung clearly just got up. He’s standing in the middle of the room, staring at you wide-eyed, pretty pink petal lips parted in surprise. You run towards him, waving the maps in the air triumphantly.

“They’re not maps, they’re coded messages!” you yell with a maniacal laugh, “we’re about to fucking get your uncle.”

Jisung looks shocked, relieved, in utter disbelief.

You jump into his arms before you can tell your rum-addled brain to stop, winding your arms around his neck with a jubilant laugh. He huffs out in surprise, but he responds immediately, his arms slipping around your waist, picking up your momentum and twirling you around. He’s warm against you, smells of honey and pine, the skin of his neck is soft against your cheek and his arms around you are strong and when he sets you down it takes everything in your power to pull back, to let go, to pretend like your fingertips aren’t aching to touch him more, like you’re not panicking about doing that in front of everyone. In front of Minho. You can feel his eyes glued to you from somewhere across the room, but you ignore him, turn away from him, from the bashful look of confusion on Jisung’s face, instead turning to Seungmin and Hyunjin and the rest of your crew crowding around you. Seungmin grabs the maps from your hands and stares at them in disbelief.

“Son of a–“ he mumbles. Hyunjin, who’s peeking over his shoulder looks at you and asks the question you knew would come, one that popped into your head the second you figured it out.

“So … do we know how to decode it?”

You shake your head, but your smile doesn’t fade. Another giddy chuckle falls from your lips.

“Nope. But I know someone we can trust who will. And she’s in Nassau.”

“We’ll get answers tomorrow!” Hyunjin cheers, and you nod, and then he, too, pulls you into a hug, one you reciprocate happily. Hyunjin hugging you dilutes the meaning of you running into Jisung’s arms, which you know is good, in the eyes of the crew. Less incriminating. But something in you aches at the thought. Over Hyunjin’s shoulder, your gaze brushes against Jisung’s, and he’s still staring at you, his lips slightly parted, his tongue peeking out. And then he smiles, big and heart-shaped, and it’s like your world lights up. You don’t try to control the smile it pulls from you in return.

This could be it. This could be the key to the puzzle you’ve been missing all this time. This could mean that you’re finally, after all these years, able to take down Han Yujun. Han Yujun, the most corrupt governor on all the islands. Cruelty, starvation, forced eviction, razing of entire lower income neighbourhoods, corruption, and crime and gangs and human trafficking – his methods were many, but his results always the same. More money in his pockets that you knew neither the people nor the crown never saw (not that you cared much for them), and death and misery for everyone else.

More than half your crew were victims of his corruption, forced out of their houses, relatives killed, unplayable loans that forced them into crime or got them captured and locked away, to be found and adopted by you, given a chance again, given a family. A life. Their stories, all of which you’ve heard over the years, horrific, painful. One more heartbreaking than the other. You’ve been picking up the pieces of devastation Han Yujun has left behind for years, watching him run his island and all the neighbouring ones into the ground, destroying nature and people and culture alike.

But now you have a chance.

Because whatever was on those maps was important.

You couldn’t wait to watch Han Yujun burn.

< chapter V - chapter VII (coming: friday, april 19, 3pm CET) >

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@ayoitschannie @starsandrqindrops @redstayrosie @vitrealisbunny @seukijeuxq @bakedlilgoonie @bookworm731 @jazziwritesthings @katsukis1wife @minhos4thkitty @gbskzlover @armystay89 @chuwii3o @foivetimesacharm @palindrome969 @luvyev @binnies-binna @gimmeurtmi @ashareeboobear @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @staysinbloom @f1wh0r3 @mnwrld @linocz @linosssss

[2baabbies]

literally the 3racha photo of all time

[2baabbies]

corona borealis, lfx

✧ genre/tw rambly soul-crushing fluff, one sweet kiss!!, lovely as a pet-name, felix being an undeniably sweet bf like always and hearing a bedtime story <3 , largely unedited.

✧ w/c 952 <3

✧ a/n definitely not brought on by asea felix are you kidding... he's so lovely i just had to dawdle on about it somewhere so here you go! also, the thought of telling lix a bedtime story makes me wanna cry i hope i'm not alone. mwah!!

His arm is hot around you, keeping you safe from the scary silhouettes the shadows bring, and the night is breathing. A group of you had come to this little campground for a night away from the city lights, and while the two of you are alone you can still hear the rest of the boy’s nighttime sounds mixing in with crickets and critters. 

Your boyfriend stands beside you, listening intently as you tell him stories of the stars. Usually, these tales come from the comfort of your bed–rustling under covers and speaking into his mouth, sharing breath and love until you fall asleep, tracing false shapes in the plastic stars adorning your ceiling. But tonight, under the cover of a too cold darkness you tell him his bedtime stories beneath the sky. 

His face is tilted up, looking to see where your fingers are pointing, and the soft glint in his midnight eyes makes you pause. You’ve never known someone who looked so alive, someone with a sun for a soul. Felix has the brightest smile you’ve ever seen, alight with joy and senseless mischief–eyes wide with wonder at the constellations rising above him. 

Looking at him is dizzying; that feeling when you put your arms out and spin so fast you fall, a carousel going so round and round. You feel like flying, rising up like the moment Icarus’ wings took him up and away. 

Sometimes you wonder if it’s normal to feel like this… if everyone in love feels as though they are the creator, the inventor of such depraved desire and compassion for another. Surely, you must be the first–no one else had felt Felix’s fingertips on their skin or his lips sweetly drinking them in. How could someone say they’ve encountered a deeper love than this when your sweetheart is the embodiment of love, Venus as a boy. 

He turns to you in your moment of hesitation, smiling at you with all the care in the world. He loves you endlessly, burns for you and the soft caress of your affection. You can tell he doesn’t know why you stopped speaking, but he’s happy just the same–sharing your space and time, living in this moment with you. He remembers the first time you told him a story, speaking the words softly, he thinks he fell in love right there. 

“What’s that one?” he asks, catching your still raised hand in his own. 

“Oh, it's a crown, see?” you can see his eyes tracing the points, finding the shape that connects the points together. “It’s Ariadne’s wedding tiara, she was a princess of Crete who helped Theseus slay her brother the Minotaur Asterion. After they escaped the labyrinth, the prince left her on the Island of Naxos where she was found by Dionysus,” 

“He left her there?!” he gasps, your sweet boy forever confused by ill intentions, even in a story. 

“Yeah, he’s so lame, right? Anyway, after the God finds her on his island they fall in love and eventually marry… the crown was her wedding present, and after she died Dionysus flung it into the sky to honor her.”

Felix is quiet for a long time after this, inhaling the story with all the deference you deserve. After every narrative he takes his time to think about how he feels about it: the first time you finished a movie with him and he was quiet for fifteen minutes before he told you he liked it, he is like that now. Quietly staring at the sky, not ignoring you for his hand still made its path up and down your arm and you know if you called his name he’d answer, but you don’t want to interrupt his silent seeking. 

His life is noisy, spirited, and wonderful in all the ways a beautiful boy like him creates, your infatuation came in chaos–in mindless chatter and kitchen counter dance parties, but you fell in love in silence. In the moments when the world was quiet and all you could hear was his heartbeat, the drawling intake of his lungs filling and releasing. You adore his voice, but just existing with him, sharing the same air would be lovely enough for a lifetime. 

Finally, after minutes of staring ahead, he speaks–softly but with no less intensity, 

“If something were to happen to you I would make you into a constellation.” 

His eyes, bright with longing stare into yours, and you know he’s not being funny. He means it with all of him, means it with every atom of his being. 

Shocked and in love with him you laugh, bursting with fondness never hidden. “I love you too,” you say, for you know that's what he means. A love that spills from his veins whenever he thinks of you, so massive and consuming that the words aren’t enough. “I’d make a constellation for you too, it’d be the prettiest one in the whole sky.” 

When he moves closer to you, you can feel the smile radiating on his shadowed face–sweeping his grin over the plane of your cheekbones. Scorching your skin where his lips touch, a traveling forest fire of kisses. When his journey ends, sliding his mouth over yours the flames grow, getting taller and taller as his caress goes deeper. 

The night is chilly, but there is no need for a coat when his arms are around you–sweeping you into his embrace with only the stars to watch. 

“Lets go to bed, lovely” he muttered, breathing through open-mouthed kisses and shared smiles. Leading you to where your tent lies, to where stories and sleep await you–love and life and dreams filled with him, your constellation of a boy. 

© LUVTAK 2024

[2baabbies]

♡ Bunnies Ask Game ♡

🩷 what is your favourite thing you've read recently?

💌 who are some of your favourite writers at the moment?

👀 give us a sliver of gossip or a potentially controversial opinion

🐶 what is your favourite picture and song from your bias?

🐺 how many WIPs and drafts do you currently have? Which is your favourite?

🦝 what are your favourite themes to write?

🐷 current favourite foods and drinks?

🐰 what's a fact or secret about you that we don't know?

🐻 what are your favourite ways to show love?

🌸 which stray kids member do you think is most similar to you?

🌷what is your favourite song currently and why?

🌼 what do you appreciate the most about running your blog?

🦋 what reblog/reply has been your favourite so far?

🍒 do you think you'd get along with your bias if you met?

🍑 which stray kids member do you think you'd get along with the best?

🥨 what has made you happy recently and who makes you smile the most?

🥞 tag 3 people you appreciate

☕️ describe yourself in 4 words

⭐️ if you could be anywhere doing anything, where would you be, and what would you be doing?

☁️ any projects you are looking forward to or would like to work on?

🎀 what's your love life like at the moment?

🧸 do you have any tips for people who want to start writing?

🎧 if you could only listen to one album, which album would you choose?

🎤 who has your favourite vocals? Why are they your favourite, and what song do you think best showcases their talent?

🔗 who is the last person you talked to and what was the conversation?

#it would be so sexy of someone to ask me a question #pls send bunnie asks first though 💕 #justbaebithings #ty for the game bunnie!