- I only write sfw content but i will be reblogging nsfw so be aware!
- I love love love interacting on here so my inbox is alway open!
✩‧₊˚ my content:
bang chan ✰
- not friends but not dating? (f, f2l)
-part 2
- drabble (sg,a)
- tie (sg)
- you look so perfect standing there… (f)
- channie thought
- texts with channie
lee know ✰
- of cats and men (f)
- soft thought
- best friend hannie + lee know
han jisung ✰
- gimme kith (f)
- best friend hannie + lee know
lee felix ✰
- ponytails (f)
kim seungmin ✰
- grumpy bf seungmin (f)
yang jeongin ✰
- drabble (sg,a)
more coming soon...
tags:
- #reblogs✰
a/n: helloo, this is my little masterlist thingie just so my drabbles can be a bit organized. please let me know if there's any problems with the links or anything else♡
Hi I loved your not friends not lovers piece with bangchan it’s so cute I love domesticity ahh ❤️❤️❤️ I saw requests are open, would you consider a part 3 where they talk it through and clarify what they are? No worries if the two parts are where you’d like to end x
OH NONNIE IM SO HAPPY U SENT THIS IN. that was like one of my favorite things ive written and would love to continue it hehe. it’s already a work in progress, stay tuned!
💌⊹°˖➴ don't wake me, i'm dreaming of home
yang jeongin x f!reader x kim seungmin
summary:
“Hey,” Jeongin protests, “boys and girls can be friends …”
Jisung raises an eyebrow.
“… and … boys and boys …”
“Girls and bisexual boys in kinda codependent threeway friendships where they all spend more nights sleeping in the same bed than in their dorm rooms–“ Jisung trails off, and Jeongin groans.
He grabs the fox plushie Seungmin won for him at the fair last year and hurls it into Jisung’s general direction before burying his burning face in his pillow.
He doesn’t see his friends like that … right?
word count: 13.1k words
author's note: I did not plan to write this, but then I answered an ask and my love @stayconnecteed came into my inbox excited about seungyang and my brain just ... ran with it. I love this. where hyunibini was difficult to write, this poured out of me. I adore them. they mean the world to me. enjoy!
warnings: college!au; codependent besties to lovers; a little bit of angst; mxm action, as usual; unprotected sex; panic attack? he's going through it; side minsung bc I'm me; mention of past vomiting and nauseau, not graphic at all
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
Jeongin takes the steps up to Seungmin’s third floor apartment two at a time.
His knuckles rap against the door in an anxious pattern, and stands back, rocking back and forth on his heels impatiently. He’s met with silence, then more silence. It doesn’t usually take Seungmin this long to open the door – and Jeongin knows he’s home. He always goes straight home after your and his social media management lecture.
He’s just about to take out his phone to text him when he hears faint noises from inside. He takes a step closer.
There’s whispering, but who it is or what they’re saying, Jeongin can’t make out. Something thuds to the floor. Then footsteps approach the door.
Jeongin steps back just in time before the door is ripped open.
“Jeongin!? W-what are you doing here?”
Jeongin raises an eyebrow at Seungmin.
“What do you mean what am I doing here, I practically live here.”
Seungmin blinks, shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his hand still in a death grip around the doorframe.
“Just … didn’t know you were coming …”
“Well, neither did I, but I was in the area because I was at that coffee shop next to the Sigma Kappa Zeta frat, you know, the one where I forgot my charger last time. So I went there to pick it up and guess who I run into?! Bang Chan! And Felix, you know, the blonde, smart one from our business class – I think they’re hooking up by the way, there’s definitely a vibe there – and we got talking and– wait, you’re not listening are you?”
Seungmin had been nervously staring at him throughout his whole monologue, until a noise from behind him startled him into half turning around.
“N-no, I was listening, it’s just, uh, not the best time.”
Everything clicks into place for Jeongin very suddenly.
“You’ve got someone in there.”
He doesn’t word it like a question. It’s obvious now, the nervous tap of his foot, the way he’s holding the door closed, the … oh wow, the slowly darkening love bite on his collarbone, still glistening wet against his milky soft skin. Something in his guts twinges.
“Y-yeah, sorry,” Seungmin mumbles, runs his hand through his newly cut, short, black hair. It makes him look more grown-up, less than the boyish Seungmin from a year ago. Did he cut it before or after he started hooking up with people. When did he even find the time?! You and Jeongin basically lived at Seungmin’s apartment, and never had much more than the odd one-night stand with someone who wasn’t scared off by the fact that you were constantly glued to one another.
With a bitter taste in his mouth, Jeongin realises that that may not have been true.
“Ha, I can’t believe it,” Jeongin scoffs out, tries to swallow the awkward wobble in his voice, “I didn’t know you had it in you, Seung.”
Seungmin smiles awkwardly, shifts his weight again. Jeongin can basically feel the impatience rolling off of him. He wants him to leave. Ouch.
“Well, then I will just call Y/N and tell her about how I just secured us the Lee Felix for our group project …”
“That’s great, Innie, you go call her,” Seungmin says lamely, and Jeongin’s face starts burning. This is so awkward.
“Well, see you tomorrow. And, uh … have fun!”
He turns on his heels and speedwells down the hallway before he can embarrass himself any further. Have fun?! What the fuck is wrong with him.
His face is still burning when he pushes the door open to his room. He must be more flustered than he thinks because he accidentally slams it into the wall so hard it makes his roommate nearly jump out of his skin.
“Jesus, you need to start skipping the gym, Innie, you don’t know your own strength,” Jisung squawks from where he’s pretzeled onto his computer chair, one sweats clad leg clutched to his chest, some music project or another open on his old MacBook.
Jeongin just grumbles in return, toes his shoes off and throws himself onto his bed.
Jisung, ever as observant, swivels his chair around and gives Jeongin a sympathetic smile.
“Rough day?”
Jeongin sighs.
“Not … not really, just …” he sighs, sits up, “I just made a fool out of myself in front of Seung. He … had someone over.”
Jisung’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Like … had someone over had someone over?”
Jeongin nods. Jisung makes a face, like he’s impressed.
“Damn …”
Jeongin scoffs. Protectiveness flares up in his chest.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
Jisung blinks at him.
“I’m not surprised that he has someone over, he’s really cute,” Jisung mumbles, and Jeongin feels the need to growl. Jisung barks out a laugh. “He’s not my type, don’t worry. It’s just …”
He falters, but Jeongin fixes him with another glare and Jisung pulls his other leg up, hugs them both against his chest until he looks tiny, swallowed up his chair, before he speaks.
“I just kinda figured … what with you and Seungmin and Y/N always being glued together …”
Jeongin stares at him blankly. Jisung sighs, like Jeongin is a child who doesn’t get it.
“I figured something would happen between all of you.”
“Hey,” Jeongin protests, “boys and girls can be friends …”
Jisung raises an eyebrow.
“… and … boys and boys …”
“Girls and bisexual boys in kinda codependent threeway friendships where they all spend more nights sleeping in the same bed than in their dorm rooms–“ Jisung trails off, and Jeongin groans.
He grabs the fox plushie Seungmin won for him at the fair last year and hurls it into Jisung’s general direction before burying his burning face in his pillow.
He doesn’t see his friends like that … right?
At least he didn’t in the beginning, when they all met during fresher’s week, sneaking away from the club to smoke a joint on the swings of the dark, empty playground in the nearby park. Or maybe he deluded himself back then, in an effort not to lose the only friends he had made so far, even if Seungmin’s big hands were warm and his smile bright and boyish, your legs were soft under his fingertips when he helped you climb up to the slide, your hair smelling like smoke and perfume. Fuck.
When he looks up, Jisung is still watching him, but he has his legs crossed underneath him now, his bag of weed paraphernalia on his lap as he pours some of the ground buds into a translucent paper.
“So, where were we? Codependent, sexually charged threeway best friendship …”
Jeongin growls for real this time, kicks his leg out in Jisung’s direction.
“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll tell Minho that you ripped a picture of him out of the campus paper and jerk off to it as if Instagram doesn’t exist.”
Jisung screams, blindly grabs for the fox plushie and throws it at Jeongin so hard the little plastic button nose actually hurts when it hits his cheek.
“You wouldn’t dare! And don’t judge me, it’s a good picture. Plus, it’s lofi. And I can’t accidentally like a 6 month old photo on his instagram as I cu-”
Jeongin’s eyes widen and Jisung goes pale.
“Which has definitely never happened!”
Jeongin cackles, loud and dirty. It makes Jisung pout at him.
“You know, I could just introduce you to him? I see him at practice three days a week.”
Jisung huffs out a sad laugh. He turns, rummages around in his drawers for a lighter, cracks a window open and lights his joint before he responds.
“Sure, because the captain of the best college field hockey team in the state and college heartthrob Lee Minho is really desperate to be friends with, let alone date, a reclusive, anime nerd music student. I’ll spare myself the humiliation, thanks.”
Jeongin sighs, but Jisung has already passed him his joint and turned back around.
“He’s pretty weird, you know, I have a feeling you might be just his type,” Jeongin mumbles around the joint in his mouth. He inhales the sticky flavour deeply.
Jisung doesn’t even turn around, only scoffs.
“Maybe you’d charm him with your big brown eyes, your decently sized dick and your loser rizz,” Jeongin muses. That at least pulls a giggle out of Jisung, which is enough for Jeongin. He smiles at the back of Jisung’s head and gets up to place the joint in the ashtray next to Jisung’s laptop, before he falls back onto his own bed.
He lets Jisung’s clicks, the dim echo of his music that filters through his headphones, slip into the background and pulls out his phone, opens your group chat. He scoffs when he sees it’s still named after that stupid old meme you and Jeongin quoted every day last week, until Seungmin threatened to kick you out of his bed and apartment at 3am.
wait a minute, who ARE you? 🤔
from: me
guess who just secured us THE lee felix for our principles of business group project
you’re welcome
from: thing 1 🧍♀️
no way
that’s incredible
we’ll ace this
from: me
ikr 😎
from: thing 3 🧍🏻
boomer ass emoji choice but ok
from: me
shut up, you ungrateful child
we’re meeting him on thursday
I told him we could meet at yours, seung, hope that’s alright
but basically we have two days to sort out our shit
from: thing 3 🧍🏻
sure
but two days before your big game? Is that a good idea?
from: me
it was the only day he could do
it’ll be fine
At least that’s what Jeongin told himself.
from: thing 1 🧍♀️
maybe it’ll be a nice distraction
we got your back
from: thing 3 🧍🏻
what she said
from: me
anyone wanna get breakfast tomorrow?
from: thing 3 🧍🏻
have to meet my advisor at 9, but I can do after
from: thing 1 🧍♀️
👍
from: me
👍
Jeongin sleeps like shit that night. He could blame it on many things – the leftover weed fumes in the room, Jisung’s snoring, the guy yelling in the quad at 3am, or maybe it’s his tiny, uncomfortable dorm bed and the absence of two warm bodies next to his.
But whatever it is, it means that he takes much longer than usual to peel himself out of bed, and by the time he makes it to the good cafeteria in your dorm building it’s already 10.
So he expects you and Seungmin, already there, sitting at your table the one in the back corner, next to the window that looks out over the Main Street because the three of you love spending hours sitting there between lectures, chatting, eating protein bars, and people watching.
But something makes him slow his pace, makes him take a detour to grab himself a coffee before he makes his way over, even though he never does that.
At first glance, he can’t tell what’s so off about the picture. You and Seungmin are sitting in your usual seats, you in the corner, leaning against the windowsill, Seung in the seat next to you. Your legs are slung over Seungmin’s, a habit you’ve always had. You always say it’s more comfortable and Jeongin would never admit it, as loudly as he usually proclaims that he hates skinship, but the fact of the matter is that nothing in this world calms him down more than the weight of your arm around his lower back, or your leg slung over his, or your hand on his arm. And the same for Seungmin, if he’s being really honest. Like as long as one of you is somehow touching him, he feels calmer. Jeongin often feels like somewhere along the way you all fused together, and now it’s like you’re sharing a body; pulling collars and jewellery into place, fixing each other’s hair, wiping bits of mascara from your cheek, pulling your hair into a ponytail before bed.
So it’s not that Seungmin’s hand, the one that he’s not using to prop up his chin on the table, is under the table, resting on your inner thigh, but something about the way his whole body is turned to you as you talk …
Maybe that’s what it is – the fact that you’re so attuned to each other, when usually, one of you turns the moment he steps in the room, like you can somehow feel his presence; making Jeongin’s heart feel fuzzy with romantic ideas of red strings and soulmate-ism (that he would rather die than tell you or Seungmin about; though Jisung tickled them out of him one night when they couldn’t sleep and smoked so much weed Jeongin felt like he was floating. He’d thrown up right after his confession).
Or maybe it’s the soft, private little smile on Seungmin’s lips, the way his eyes are glued to your face. Or the way his hand is further up your thigh than usual, his thumb rubbing strong, insistent circles into your inner thigh. Or maybe it’s you, sitting up, arching your back a little, leaning more into Seungmin’s space, saying something that makes Seung’s smile turn into a smirk, makes him angle his head ever so slightly, as if he wants to lean in …
Jeongin slams his backpack onto the bench opposite you and both you and Seungmin jump, though as soon as you see him a big smile spreads over your face. Seungmin leans away from you, blinking his eyes as if he was just woken up from a trance.
“Ah, Innie, finally!” you squeal, “we texted you like five times, we thought you were still asleep or something.”
Jeongin makes a non-committal noise as he places his mug on the table. Your casual reaction makes him feel off-kilter.
“Oh, he’s rude this morning,” Seungmin deadpans, and Jeongin sends him a glare. Seungmin’s eyes sparkle up at him. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeongin watches the trajectory of Seungmin’s thumb over the inseam of your jeans. Up, down, up, down.
“Shut up, dog,” Jeongin grumbles, “Jisung worked on music until like 3, and then when he finally did go to sleep he started snoring like crazy. I barely slept.”
Seungmin hums, something between sympathetic and sarcastic.
“Why didn’t you call me? You could’ve come over.”
Jeongin freezes, stares at Seungmin, but the latter’s face, as usual, gives nothing away. His thumb still going up, down, up, down on your inner thigh.
Jeongin blinks, shrugs, avoids your eyes, gets up without another word to finally get himself some food because his mind is swirling and there’s a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. What is Seungmin doing? He knows Jeongin knows he had someone over, but did he want you to know? Why did Jeongin assume you didn’t know …
Well, he thinks as he scoops a big spoonful of scrambled eggs onto his plate, up until yesterday he thought there were no secrets between you. But then Jeongin had accidentally disturbed whatever that was last night, and now he wasn’t so sure. Did you have secrets like this? Was he the only one without secrets? He never thought to keep anything from you, the three of you, that was kind of his whole world …
The thought makes his head hurt and his stomach cramp painfully, and he decides to shove it to the back of his mind for the time being, as he loads more eggs and a general helping of sausages onto his plate. He has practice this afternoon, he’ll need all the protein he can get.
The thought of practice, of the big game on Saturday — it’s enough to dwarf all his other worries. Especially when he comes back to the table and your leg is no longer in Seungmin’s lap, and you reach a hand out to lace with his before he eats, smiling so warmly, that he thinks maybe he just made all the tension earlier up with his sleep-deprived brain.
Under the table, Seungmin’s foot comes to rest against his calf, rubs up and down comfortingly.
“Stop scowling,” Seungmin remarks, “you’ll look ugly with wrinkles.”
Jeongin flips him off half-heartedly.
“When’s your practice today?”
Jeongin swallows a big mouthful of eggs.
“Whole afternoon. From 2 to, like, 6.”
You nod, your brows knitting together in determination. He loves when you do that, it’s adorable.
“Okay, then Seungmin and I will make sure we’ve got everything prepped for our meeting with Felix tomorrow. For the group project.”
Jeongin makes a noise of protest, but Seungmin glares at him, and you wave him off.
“We don’t have any classes this afternoon. Plus, you have enough to worry about, what with your scholarship riding on the game on Saturday.”
The reminder makes a cold shiver run down Jeongin’s spine. He tries his best not to think that way, but he has a terrible feeling about it all. Seungmin reaches out, tugs an errant strand of hair out of his face. His fingertips brush Jeongin’s forehead on their retreat.
“And you’re sleeping at mine tonight,” he announces. There’s no room for argument in his tone, his big, brown eyes staring right into Jeongin’s. “You always smoke weed with Jisung when you’re at yours, and my brother will kill you if he finds out you smoked the week before the game.”
“And weed makes you antsy,” you add, taking a sip from your coffee, grimacing when you find it cold, “and you’re already anxious enough about the game.”
Jeongin’s heart does a little somersault in his chest, heat bleeding out until his whole body is tingling with it.
“How would Minho know,” he mumbles, shoves more food into his mouth, hoping it will get him out of having to say anything else. Seungmin shrugs, sighs dramatically.
“He always knows, he’s scary like that.”
“Promise you’ll come to Seung’s after?” you ask, studying Jeongin with your stupidly intelligent eyes.
Jeongin nods, but you keep watching him for a second, like you’re trying to figure out if he’ll try to get out of it, to retreat into himself. You know him so well, it makes him feel sick.
But by the time he has made it through his classes, through Minho giving them all a stern talk about Saturday that gives him so much anxiety he develops a headache and then puts them through the most gruelling practice Jeongin has ever had to endure, he feels like there’s nothing left of him any more. Like if he retreated into himself now, he would just disappear.
So he gives himself 10 minutes in the locker room showers, lets 5 hot tears sear their way down his cheeks, and allows himself to acknowledge that all he wants is to sink into your and Seungmin’s safe arms.
He all but sleepwalks his way all the way to Seungmin’s apartment, and he thinks he only comes back to himself when the door opens, and he’s greeted by the image of you, in Seungmin’s hoodie, face bare and feet tucked into fluffy socks, and your face softens into one of understanding before you softly drag him inside.
The smell of Seungmin’s apartment hits him like home, as does the sound of the TV, chattering and sound effects from some variety show, the smell of Minho’s seolleongtang, the one he makes sure Seungmin has at least five servings of in his freezer at all times, wafting from the kitchen where the microwave is buzzing quietly.
“Jesus, what did Minho do to you?” Seungmin exclaims from the sofa, his voice teasing, but his concern still shimmers through.
Jeongin just shrugs, waves him off, toes off his shoes and drops his backpack on the floor right by the entrance, something Seungmin usually tells him off for. He stays quiet today. Jeongin must really look like shit.
You’re by his side again immediately, gently leading him into Seungmin’s kitchen, sitting him down at the little table. He meets your eyes, soft, worried, looking him over like you’re scared he’s hurt, before you trail a soft hand down the side of his neck and squeeze his shoulder.
“Let me get you some food.”
The microwave dings, and you busy yourself scooping some noodles into a bowl, adding slices of meat and spring onions, pouring the reheated seolleongtang. Jeongin just watches how you move around Seungmin’s kitchen, quietly and confidently. Watches how you pull the sleeves of Seungmin’s sweater over your hands so you don’t burn your fingers on the bowl as you get it out of the microwave. How you pull them up before you start assembling his food. How your hair falls into your forehead, how your bottom lip juts out as you focus.
He’s still watching when you turn around, the finished bowl between your sweater paws and a smile on your face, and place it in front of him, before turning back to get him a spoon and some chopsticks.
“Here you go,” you mumble, smile at him again, “eat up. We can make more if you need it.”
Jeongin turns around, spots the empty bowl in front of Seungmin, perched precariously on the coffee table that’s littered with books and paper, then turns to you, and he realises.
“Was this supposed to be yours?”
You’re already back in the kitchen, rummaging around the freezer for another one of Minho’s ubiquitous Tupperwares.
“Don’t worry, we got more,” you smile, “plus, Minho will be pleased if he checks Seung’s freezer next time and sees that most of them are gone.”
Seungmin grumbles behind Jeongin, but Jeongin’s heart still feels like it’s rabbiting in his chest.
“You know it’s his love language,” you just remark, and Seungmin sighs. “Let him take care of you, you know he needs it, too.”
It’s an easy remark, and you never shy away from naming the emotions both him and Seungmin are often too scared to. And this one they all know is true. Without parents, with their grandmother gone, Minho and Seungmin are on their own now. And if you asked Jeongin, he’d say they’re doing well. They take care of each other. And by extension, Minho takes care of Jeongin and you. Because he knows you’re important to Seungmin. Even though he usually pretends to be upset, complains that he has to meal prep twice as much because you always eat it all. Luckily, Minho has a colossal sweet spot for you. You don’t need to do much but smile and bat your eyelashes, and he forgets why he was mad in the first place. Jeongin always jokes that Minho would have a massive crush on you if he wasn’t so incredibly gay, which never fails to make Seungmin gag and glare at him.
Seungmin just grumbles behind him and Jeongin goes back to eating, a comfortable silence falling over the room. The TV still running in the background, the microwave buzzing as it heats up your serving of broth, you quietly humming as you cut up more spring onions. This is exactly what he was yearning for when he was in the showers earlier, and he basks in it.
Until he remembers the night before, that Seungmin invited someone else in, hooked up with them maybe on the very couch he’s lounging on right now, back against the armrest infuriatingly nonchalant with his stupid new haircut and his oversized t-shirt riding up, revealing a sliver of his stomach over the waistband of his sweats. How did Seungmin even meet someone to hook up with?! Was it someone from his clubs? Someone he met in one of the few classes you didn’t have together? Did Jeongin know them? You and Jeongin were here all the time. This was your rightful place, who was some random person to butt in, to make the vibes all wrong.
You must’ve seen him scowl into his now empty bowl because you walk over to him gently, run a hand through his hair. Jeongin melts instantly.
“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, quietly, “did Minho say something? Is it about the game?”
Jeongin scoffs. How ironic. He just shakes his head.
“Just wanna … turn my brain off for the night.”
You smile at him again. Warm. Sweet. Like molten honey.
“Sounds good to me.”
You slap his hands away when he tries to clean up his bowl, shoo him towards the sofa where Seungmin is waiting, patting the spot next to him. Jeongin collapses into it, lets Seungmin tug him in between his legs, deposit his head against his solid chest, his hand in Jeongin’s hair. He’s still angry, probably, but then Seungmin hums, a deep rumbling that reverberates from his chest through Jeongin’s entire body, and Jeongin lets his eyes slip shut, just for a minute. Though by the time he hears the water in the kitchen shut off and seconds later feels the sofa dip with your weight and feels your hand trace over his spine, he’s already half asleep.
When he wakes up the next morning, he instantly feels better. Sure, his body aches with soreness from practice, but the sun shining in through a crack in the curtains is making the dust dance in the light, and he can feel Seungmin’s warm body pressed against his lower back, the quiet sound of your breathing on the other side of the bed. He lets it lull him back into a lazy doze, half awake, half asleep, until movement behind him jostles him awake again an hour later.
There’s shuffling, tugging at the duvet, Seungmin’s ass pressing into his back. Jeongin hears your voice, barely above a whisper, murmuring something, then he hears as much as he feels Seungmin’s answering chuckle, his body shaking, a hoarse morning thickness in his voice.
He’s about to turn around, to announce that he’s awake, when there’s a shifting and then a wet noise, a quiet hum, then another, almost like …
Arousal lances through Jeongin’s body so fast it makes him nauseous.
You’re kissing. You and Seungmin are kissing right behind him. Holy fuck. Holy fuck?! When did this happen?! When …
Jeongin feels Seungmin stretch, body shifting against Jeongin’s back, the knowledge that Seungmin’s body is touching his as he’s kissing you making his rapidly hardening cock twitch in his boxers, and then he hears it again. The wet slide of tongues, a maddening hitch of your breath, a whisper of a high-pitched moan that makes Jeongin physically shudder, Seungmin humming, deeply in his chest, just like he had last night when Jeongin was resting on his chest but now into your lips. Your lips.
Holy fuck. It had been you last night. It was you who Seungmin was hiding in his apartment, you who he was messing around with, your spit glistening on the love bite that you sucked into his skin …
“Seung, stop,” Jeongin hears you whisper. You sound out of breath. Jeongin has to squeeze his eyes shut. He’s so hard it hurts, and his heart is thudding in his chest.
Seungmin mutters something unintelligible, and you say his name again.
“Come on. Maybe … maybe he’ll wake up,” Seungmin rasps, and Jeongin can hear the aroused excitement lacing his voice.
There’s more shifting behind him.
“No, not like this,” you murmur, “not now. After the game.”
They’re talking about him. Jeongin tries to control his breathing, but his heart is hammering so loud he thinks Seungmin might be able to hear it. But thankfully, Seungmin seems to be busy enough trying to kiss you again, if his warmth disappearing and a noise of protest, and then the soft sound of another kiss is anything to judge by.
But you don’t seem happy with it. You throw the covers back and get up and Jeongin screw his eyes shut as fast as he can.
“Seung, I said no,” you hiss, and then you’re stalking towards the door.
Seungmin behind him sighs, then gets out of bed as well, padding after you. Jeongin hears him say your name and an apology before the door to the bedroom falls shut, and Jeongin sucks in a breath and shoves his hand between his legs, pressing the heel of his palm against his aching cock.
He would question why the fuck he’s as hard as he’s never been before, but right now, he’s pretty preoccupied with the thought that his two best friends are fucking. Oh my god, you and Seungmin are fucking. Or is it more …
The throb between his legs is replaced but a slowly settling sense of heartbreak.
He doesn’t know what’s worse, if it’s just casual or if it’s serious. Because even if it’s just fun, it’s risky, isn’t it?! He would never … He would never risk your friendship like that. But you … clearly that wasn’t a concern for you. God, how had he not seen it. Had there been signs? How long had this been going on?
His whole body feels heavy with it, the heartache, the disappointment. He hears your and Seungmin’s voices in the kitchen, the hum of the coffee machine coming to life, and suddenly, he feels like he wants to cry.
Seungmin had wanted Jeongin to wake up. The thought alone … it’s so cruel. Or did he just think it would be the easiest way to break it to him? Is that what you meant when you said ‘not like this’ and ‘not now’? Were you planning on telling him then, after the game? The fact that you’re together, that from now on, it was no longer Jeongin and Seungmin and Y/N but Seungmin and Y/N. And Jeongin. If he’s lucky.
Fuck, is he going to lose his best friends? Is he going to lose this? Because surely, if they’re together, they won’t want to share a bed with him every night. He’ll have to spend every night back at his dorm, with Jisung.
Oh my god. He’s losing his best friends.
Through the tears burning on his eyes, he hears his phone buzz on the nightstand, where someone, probably you or Seungmin, plugged it in to charge last night.
from: Lee Felix
hey
we still on for 1?
Then, another one pops up.
hockey LEGENDS in the making 🏑
from: Minho 👹
you may have a day off today but if any of you fuckers so much as look at a drink or a joint or I see you’re online after midnight I am benching you, understood?
Saturday is a big game, I need you all in tiptop condition
Jeongin curses, presses his heels into his eyes until he can see stars and the sting of tears disappears.
He can’t freak out about this right now. He has to focus on passing his class. And the game. The fucking game that not only will decide their national ranking but will also determine whether Jeongin can keep the scholarship that is the only reason he’s at college at all. They need to win that game. If they don’t, there’s a 80% chance Jeongin will not be able to come back in the fall.
He takes a few deep, steadying breaths, just how Chan taught them, back in his first year, before their first big game. Something about it regulating the nervous system and adrenaline or whatever. But thankfully, even if Jeongin doesn’t remember, Chan was onto something because it works. He gets his bearings, shoves his heartbreak into a neat little box and compartmentalises it into a far corner of his brain, and picks up his phone.
hockey LEGENDS in the making 🏑
from: me
aye aye captain
to: Lee Felix
yeah! I’ll send you the address right now
When he pads into the kitchen, there’s sunshine and fresh air streaming in through the open window, Seungmin is sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone, and you’re cutting up strawberries at the counter. You smile at him through the makings of a perfect day. He swallows down the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him.
“Hey, handsome,” you chirp, “there’s coffee in the machine.”
He forces a smile onto his lips, makes his way over next to you to pour himself a cup. There’s at least a foot of space between you, but it feels like he can feel the heat of your body in his soul. He’s trying so hard not to spiral, he doesn’t notice you’ve stepped closer to him until your hand settles on the small of his back.
When Jeongin turns, you’re hovering right in front of him, your eyes big and dark, your lips parted, glossy.
“Hey,” you murmur. You blink, smile at him again. Your one hand is still on his waist, the other is holding one of the strawberries you were cutting. Droplets of juice run down your finger.
“Want a piece?” you ask, your voice nothing more than a murmur, and Jeongin’s body reacts as if on autopilot.
His lips part and your heavy gaze falls down, glued to his mouth as you bring the piece of strawberry to his lips. And it’s like everything happens in slow motion, his tongue lolling out only the slightest bit, the taste of the fruit lacing his tongue, your finger dragging over his bottom lip, leaving a residue of juice his tongue darts out to chase on instinct. The brush of it against your fingers is barely there, but you watch it with a rapt attention, before your gaze flutters back up, your glassy eyes meeting his, your smile a nervous, shaky thing. You stumble back, return to your spot at the cutting board, and leave Jeongin reeling. He remembers he has to chew.
When he turns his head, Seungmin is staring straight at him.
“Well, that was easier than I thought!” Felix giggles, clapping his hands happily.
Three hours is all it took, one, for you to finish the entire group part of the project for your class and, two, to realise that Lee Felix is not only smart, but also incredibly good company.
To be honest, Jeongin has to credit you and Seungmin for just how easy today was. Because you did a lot of work yesterday while he was at practice; all the prep, most of the research, and even the bare bones of the powerpoint were ready by the time Lee Felix rang the doorbell and strolled into Seungmin’s apartment in his incredibly fashionable light wash jeans and a cropped band tee.
And really, the vibes were just right – the door to the balcony open, letting in the balmy late spring air. Bowls of salty and savoury snacks and the strawberries you were cutting earlier, as well as soda and water and coffee, at the ready, lofi music playing on the TV. Jeongin can’t help himself from being a little bit dramatic about how much all of it clashes with his mood.
Unfortunately, despite it all, you are his best friends. And you notice everything.
When you finish your work and Jeongin is still scowling, you heave a dramatic sigh before you turn and let yourself fall backwards, plopping your head right into Jeongin’s lap. Your legs kick out, and Jeongin distantly notices Seungmin wrap a hand around your ankle. He’s too distracted by you, staring up at him, with a gentle smile, before you reach up, running your fingers through his bangs. Your fingertips leave warm, tingling trails over his scalp.
“What’s going on? Worried about the game?”
Jeongin huffs out a humourless laugh, grimaces.
“The field hockey team? You’re on a team with Chan-hyung?” Felix asks, as he pops another piece of strawberry into his mouth.
Jeongin nods, your hand still trailing through his hair.
“Yup,” he lets the p pop in an effort to sound casual, as if he hasn’t been an anxious wreck for the last three weeks leading up to this game, but Felix doesn’t need to know that, “it’s important for the competition, as you know, but it’s also pretty much going to determine if I get my scholarship renewed for next year.”
Felix whistles through his teeth and Jeongin shrugs at him. Your warm palm wraps around the side of his neck, thumb swiping over his cheek, and he can feel himself blushing. The touch, the affection, is nothing out of the ordinary, and it always flusters him a little, but with a stranger right there, watching you and him so intently, it makes his stomach churn with a special kind of pride and something else he’s too afraid to name.
Felix just watches you and Jeongin, and smiles.
“I’m so glad you guys worked it out,” he hums, his eyes fond and friendly. When Jeongin just blinks at him, he laughs.
“You know, after the party … the jacuzzi …” he vaguely motions between Seungmin and you, wiggles his eyebrows, “which was really hot by the way.”
“Y-you saw?” Seungmin chokes out, and Felix giggles.
“Yeah, but just me and a couple of guys from the frat,” he reassures him, oblivious to the way your hand has frozen on Jeongin’s face, the way Seungmin has paled and Jeongin is just staring at him. “But you did kinda fuck in a jacuzzi at a frat party, so I’m assuming the exhibitionist part was intentional.”
You wince, scramble out of Jeongin’s lap in a pretence of laughter. It’s so fake it hurts.
In a fucked up way, Jeongin is suddenly very grateful you guys were making out in the same bed as him this morning, because if this had been the first time he heard of it? Being blindsided by the news in front of Lee Felix? He may have done something stupid.
“Anyways, I was kinda happy to see it. I always wondered if there was something going on between the three of you, since you’re always stuck together. I’m glad you finally worked it out, I think you’re all very cute together.”
Jeongin’s mouth tastes like blood.
He looks over at Seungmin, but Seungmin avoids his eyes and so do you. There’s a big fake smile plastered onto your face, aimed towards Felix, who is now packing up his stuff. It’s cracking at the edges, your hands shaking where they’re folded in your lap.
“Thanks for all your help, Felix,” you force out, your voice shakier than Jeongin has ever heard it. But Felix has the benefit of not knowing you, so he doesn’t notice, only sends you a blinding smile back.
“No worries, I’m sure we’ll get a good grade for this one! And if you ever wanna work together again, let me know. This was fun!”
And with that, he gracefully gets to his feet. Jeongin gives him a weak smile, waves his hand, but Seungmin barely manages to mumble out a goodbye. He seems to be frozen in panic on the other side of the table. You jump up, chatter with Felix all the way to the door, a slightly manic edge to your voice, until you chirp one last goodbye and the door falls shut.
The silence is deafening. Jeongin needs to get the fuck out of here.
He’s on his feet before you’ve even made your way back into the living room. He slams his laptop shut, basically rips the charger out of the wall.
He hears you say his name, but he ignores it. He doesn’t look at you when he pushes past where you’re hovering in the middle of the room to shove both into his backpack that’s still sitting in the hallway.
With a curse, he realises his phone is still in the living room. He makes to push past you again, but this time you take a hold of his arm, your usually soft fingers digging into his skin almost painfully. When he catches your gaze, you look terrified.
“Jeongin, Innie, please,” you plead, “please, can we talk about this? I swear, we were going to tell you, we just–“
“I heard you this morning.”
It breaks out of him before he can stop it. Your eyes widen.
“I heard you this morning. I heard you kiss, right behind me. I heard you talk about me.”
“Innie, baby,” you whisper, and Jeongin scoffs. The sound makes hurt flash across your face.
“It’s fine, congratulations, I guess,” he spits, venom dripping from every word. He rips his arm out of your grip, stalks over to grab his phone off the sofa. Seungmin is still sitting there, his eyes glued to the carpet in front of him, his face an unhealthy shade of white. It almost hurts more, the fact that he’s not saying anything. Fuck, Jeongin’s heart hurts.
You take two steps towards him, but stop when Jeongin looks at you. Jeongin feels crazed.
“It’s not like that, I swear,” you try, pleading with with him, “can we please … we just didn’t want to bring this up before the game, but …”
Jeongin shuts you up with a wave of his hand, a shake of his head.
“Yeah … I really can’t deal with this right now. So … ha … do me a favour? Just … leave me alone. Don’t contact me before the game. I really … I need to keep my scholarship. I can’t be distracted by this right now.”
“But …” you try one more time, and Jeongin snaps.
“Can you at least do that for me? Is that too much to fucking ask?” he yells, his whole body trembling. Seungmin flinches where he’s sitting, and even you take a few steps away from Jeongin, your eyes wide. You nod, jerkily. There are tears running down your cheeks. The sight of them makes Jeongin sick to his stomach.
Jeongin shoves his phone in his pocket, grabs his backpack from the floor, and he leaves. Slams the door shut behind him and takes the steps down two at a time, fuck the risk of tripping. He wishes he would, wishes he would break his ankle or something so he can’t play and lose his scholarship, so he can’t return, has to start over somewhere else, somewhere where he hasn’t lost the only two people who have ever meant anything to him …
He barges into his dorm room. Jisung jumps when he crashes through the door, but as soon as he sees the tears on Jeongin’s face, he’s on his feet, wrapping him into a hug.
Jisung drags him out of bed the next day. He forces him into his hockey uniform, presses a protein bar and a water bottle from their fridge into his hand and walks with him all the way to the hockey field, where he stops, places his hands on Jeongin’s shoulders.
“Okay, I know you don’t want to talk about what happened, but whatever it is, it’s going to be okay, okay? You’ll figure it out,” he says, with all the conviction he can muster in his tiny body, “and now you need to focus on the game. I don’t want to have to find a new roommate who will tolerate all my shit next year.”
Jisung’s attempt at a joke, the lopsided grin on his lips, it makes Jeongin huff out a weak laugh.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Minho walk onto the field and spot them. When he makes his way over, Jisung starts shaking like a leaf, but to his credit, he doesn’t budge from Jeongin’s side.
“Hi?” Minho asks, his eyebrows raised, scanning over Jeongin’s body like he’s checking for injuries, before he lets his eyes fall on Jisung. Jisung gulps. “You are?”
Jisung blinks rapidly, sticks out his hand halfway, then seems to think better of it and drops it by his side again.
“I-I’m Jisung, I’m Jeongin’s roommate,” he mumbles out, his cheeks a bright shade of pink. Minho watches him for a second, then sighs, sticks out his hand. He’s smiling, barely noticeably, but Jeongin can tell. Incredible. Somehow, Jisung has managed to charm Minho.
“Hi Jisung, I’m Minho.”
“I know,” Jisung whispers, almost too quiet for even Jeongin to hear. He cautiously shakes Minho’s hand, but when he tries to pull it back, Minho doesn’t let him. Jisung’s big eyes shoot up, but Minho just smiles at him, waits until Jisung relaxes and smiles back, before he lets go of his hand.
If Jeongin wasn’t so heartbroken, he would laugh. He can’t believe this is really happening. He wishes he could tell you and Seungmin about it. His heart aches dully.
Jisung next to him seems to remember why he’s here.
“Uh, J-Jeongin’s not feeling well today,” he stammers out. He does his best to look determined, as he pushes Jeongin in front of him by his shoulders like Jisung’s his dad and Jeongin is his sick kid. “So, please go a little easy on him today, okay?”
Jeongin half expects Minho to freak out, to ask if he’s sick, if he can play tomorrow, to ask what the fuck is wrong with him for getting himself sick so close to the game, scream about what he’s meant to do without his best defender – but Minho just grimaces, sighs.
“Don’t worry, I got it from here,” he says, not unkindly, giving Jisung a smile that makes Jisung’s face flush even more, “thanks for bringing him, Jisungie.”
And with that, Minho takes Jeongin by the shoulder, leads him away from a violently blushing Jisung who barely manages to mumble out a “b-bye” and leads him into the field.
“So,” he starts, once they’re out of earshot of Jisung, “do you want to tell me why my brother texted me earlier, asking me to tell him if you showed up to practice?”
Jeongin scoffs out a humourless laugh.
“I really don’t.”
Minho just looks at him. It’s the same look Seungmin gives him when Jeongin refuses to talk about what’s bothering him, one that always feels like they’re x-raying his insides, and he finds himself wishing for your soothing presence to whisk you away from them, stroke his hair until whatever it is bubbles out of him. But you’re not here, and Seungmin isn’t here, only Seungmin’s older brother, staring him down with eyes that remind Jeongin so much of his he has to look away.
“Listen, it’s fine, I’m fine, there’s nothing keeping me from playing tomorrow, so there’s no reason for you to worry, okay?” Jeongin announces. He shakes Minho’s arm off his shoulder, though he regrets it as soon as he does. He seems to keep doing the wrong thing these days. Minho is still looking at him.
“Okay,” he finally says, “but just for the record, I care about you, okay, Jeongin-ah? So even if I don’t worry about the game, I will still worry about you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
Then he cuffs Jeongin in the shoulder, so hard it hurts, and turns on his heels.
“Jisung’s bisexual, by the way,” Jeongin half yells after him, “and very, very single. His major is music, and he loves watching anime and eating sweet things. He gets a little nervous sometimes, but he’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. I’ll text you his number.”
Minho doesn’t react, only lifts his hand to flip Jeongin off over his shoulder, but Jeongin can see the tips of his ears turn red. His world may be falling apart, but maybe he can at least do Jisung a favour.
And he doesn’t know what gets him through practice and back to the field the next morning, early, for warm-up. If it’s the burn of his muscles, Minho’s iron will that he transfers onto all of them, or the threat of him losing his scholarship so close to the end of his degree. Or it’s his desperate need to be distracted because whenever he lets himself think too much, his heart starts aching so badly he wants to reach into his ribcage and rip it out.
But he can’t do that, so instead, he puts one foot in front of the other. He stretches, so his muscles don’t tear. He warms up his body so he’s lithe and agile. He slips into his shoes and regrips his stick. He hears when they turn on the music on the field, hears the bleachers slowly fill, hears chattering and shouting and laughing. He watches his teammates, all engaged in some form of pre-game ritual – Minho on his back on a bench, meditating, Chan doing jumping jacks, muttering to himself. Coach comes in and announces that it’s 30 minutes before the games starts.
20 minutes. Jeongin forces down a protein shake, almost throws it back up.
10 minutes. Minho looks at him, asks him if he’s okay and Jeongin brushes him off.
2 minutes. They’re walking onto the field under an overcast sky that threatens rain any minute, and Jeongin doesn’t even bother looking at his opponents’ faces.
1 minute. He scans the bleachers and there you are. You and Seungmin. Dressed in the team colours, cheering, staring right back at him. Jeongin thinks he can’t breathe. He doesn’t look your way again.
10 seconds. He tries to breathe.
The referee blows the whistle.
And God, he does his best. He’s focused, he runs. He tries to stay out of his teammate’s way. He throws himself into his defence with his whole body, ignores the throbbing pain when a ball slams into his thigh. He fights for it, he does.
By the first quarter, it’s 1-1. By the second quarter, they’re behind by 1. By the third quarter, the rain has started, and they’re behind by two. Minho manages to score one last goal in the last quarter, 3 minutes before the end, but it’s not enough. The final whistle blows, and they lost.
He distantly notices his team, most of them dejectedly talking to each other, milling around by the benches or talking to their friends in the audience, but Jeongin can’t move.
And it’s like the safe, dull bubble of adrenaline and focus Jeongin has been submerged in for the last two days pops and reality slams into him with such overwhelming clarity it punches the air out of his chest.
He can hear the opposite team yelling, celebrating, can smell the thick, clean smell of the dirt and grass trampled under his feet, can feel the cold rain as it gets heavier, starts dripping down his forehead, his hair, soaks him to the bone.
They lost. They lost. What is he going to do?! There’s still a chance they will recognise his efforts and give him his scholarship, he only has a year left after all, but the advisor was honest. “There aren’t many scholarships to go around. We have several sports teams, all of which have players worthy of this scholarship. If you don’t win, there are no promises I can make you. I’m sorry.”
He swallows the bile in his throat, but he lets the tears run. Nobody can tell anyway, with the way the rain is now pouring out of the rapidly darkening sky.
He has nowhere to go. How did he lose everything so fast?
There’s no one close enough to hear him when a single sob fights its way out his body. He swallows the rest of his tears, shoves it all down as far as he can, but his chest convulses, nonetheless, the adrenaline wearing off quickly, leaving him fighting to breathe. His ears are ringing so loudly he barely notices when two hands find his face, two others anchor him by the waist.
“Innie,” your voice, cuts through the fog. When he looks up, your face is right in front of his. You’re soaked through, make-up running down your cheeks, hair sticking to your forehead when you let it fall against his.
Jeongin tries to fight it, tries to put distance between you, but he finds himself trapped by Seungmin’s strong hands on his waist, solid, but soothing.
“Baby, it’s going to be okay,” you murmur, and it makes another sob escape him.
Seungmin’s hands tighten on his waist, one arm slipping around his middle to press Jeongin against him, and Jeongin realises that he’s not crying because they lost. No, he’s crying because he’s been in love with his best friends for years and the thought of losing you is worse than any gap year he might have to take, any job he might have to get to keep himself afloat next year. Because deep down, he knows that as long as he had you and Seungmin to come home to, he thinks he would’ve been fine. But he can’t do this on his own.
He doesn’t break down there and then, something in him making him stay strong as long as he’s out here, with half the school watching, but he heaves another dry sob. His head falls to your shoulder, and you shush him quietly, run a hand through his soaking wet hair, before you step back and take his hand.
“Let’s get you home, okay? You need to warm up.”
He hadn’t even realised he was shivering, his uniform clinging to his body like a freezing cold second skin.
Jeongin peels himself off Seungmin, who makes a sound of protest, but Jeongin just waves him off and starts walking in the direction of the exit. From across the way, he catches Minho’s eye. Minho looks concerned, his brows furrowed, but Jeongin waves him off, tries to give him a smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. But Minho nods, points at his phone, mouthes something about calling him tomorrow, before he disappears into the changing rooms with the rest of Jeongin’s team.
You didn’t talk about it, but they’re already halfway to Seungmin’s apartment when Jeongin realises where they’re going. The walk is silent, you and Seungmin trailing behind Jeongin, not daring to take his hand when he just pushed Seung away so roughly. Jeongin tries not to acknowledge how badly he wants to hold your hand, how desperately he aches for your reassuring touches, the warmth of your hands, the solid grip of Seungmin’s. But you just … walk.
When the door of Seungmin’s apartment finally falls shut behind them, when he has shoved off his shoes, dropped his stick, Jeongin doesn’t know what to do. He stops in the hallway, watches as a drop of water drips down from a strand of hair and onto the linoleum like he’s not in his body, just a third party, forced to look through his eyes at the mess he’s made of his life.
“Innie,” you murmur behind him. The sound comes through him as if his ears are stuffed with cotton wool. “C-can I touch you?”
He raises his head, meets your eyes; your big, warm, loving eyes that hold his entire world. He’s shivering again, he realises, his whole body trembling, with cold, with pain, with god knows what. You look so worries. He nods shakily.
You take his hand, lead him through the living room, into Seungmin’s bedroom and into the ensuite. Seungmin is right behind you, a hand hovering over Jeongin’s back, fingertips brushing against his when Jeongin stumbles on a shoe he can’t see because his damn eyes are still blurry with tears.
Once you’re in the bathroom, Seungmin steps around him, and into the shower, turns on the water.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes, okay? You’re freezing,” you hum, and Jeongin just nods. He dimly realises that, somewhere between the field and here, he has stopped resisting – has stopped pretending like this isn’t the only place he will ever find peace. He trusts you, he always has. He fears that that will never change, that he’ll let you do anything, even if it means falling in love with Seungmin and breaking his heart.
So he doesn’t resist when you tug first his jersey, then his undershirt over his head, leaving him bare. He doesn’t try to contain the shiver when you let a palm run over his chest. He feels a hand at his feet, realises it’s Seungmin, lifting his foot to peel his socks off before he gets up and pulls his own soaking wet shirt over his head. Jeongin’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes roaming over all the newly exposed skin, more than he has ever had the privilege of seeing. Miles and miles of silky white skin, dusty brown nipples, a smattering of thin hair over Seungmin’s pecs.
Seungmin steps closer. His deft fingers find the waistband of Jeongin’s gym shorts, hooking into them as he looks Jeongin right in the eyes, and Jeongin almost forgets to breathe.
“Don’t worry, you can keep your underwear on, but you need to get out of these clothes, or you’ll get sick,” Seungmin murmurs gently, and Jeongin just nods, blearily, lets Seungmin shove his shorts down, help him step out of them. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees you shove your jeans down your legs, and Jeongin thinks he might pass out. It’s too much, so much skin, so much of your bodies that he’s been trying not to think about for the last two years …
Seungmin shucks his own jeans and socks off and takes Jeongin’s hand, leads him into the shower, makes sure he doesn’t trip, steps under the hot stream and drags Jeongin against his chest. The sensation of the warm water on his ice cold shoulders makes Jeongin gasp and Seungmin hums, rubs his hand up and down his arm, turns him around until he can wrap his arms around Jeongin’s middle again.
But when he turns, Jeongin comes face to face with you. You, water running down your face, down the column of your throat and then down your body that’s naked except for your underwear and Jeongin can’t help but look. You say his name again, delicately, softly, and he looks up. Meets your eyes. He’s helpless. He’s in love.
Seungmin’s fingers scrape over Jeongin’s abdomen, presses himself closer against Jeongin’s back. You take a step forward, until your chest is pressed against Jeongin’s, and Jeongin’s body sings, but doesn’t dare breathe. He doesn’t dare hope that this is what he thinks it is, that there is a chance …
Your fingers find his face, cradle it into your hands like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, whisper his name, again, like a prayer, and then you’re kissing him. Love shivers through his body like someone electrified his veins.
Your lips are soft. Cold but rapidly warming from the water. Your fingertips trace the shape of his face and Jeongin gasps into the kiss like he forgot how to breathe, his hands helplessly pawing at you, every new inch of skin he has never felt before making his stomach swirl with need. But then Seungmin starts pressing kisses over the span of his shoulders, warm lips dragging over wet skin, fingers still lingering over his stomach, and your tongue presses into his mouth and Jeongin’s mind empties. His eyes roll back into his head.
“Jeongin … Innie …” Seungmin rasps into his skin, voice shot. He presses a featherlight kiss behind his ear before he leans closer, breathes his next words right into Jeongin’s ear. “Baby … you were always meant to be a part of this.”
Jeongin keens into your lips, throws his head back against Seungmin’s shoulder, who wastes no time peppering kisses over Jeongin’s cheeks and jaw, before he gently, controlledly, spins Jeongin around in his arms, your arms replacing Seungmin’s around his middle, your lips Seungmin’s on his shoulders. Seungmin’s hands are more insistent when he grips Jeongin’s face, presses his forehead against his, but Jeongin couldn’t pick a favourite way if he tried. Seungmin dips forward, brushes his lips over Jeongin’s and Jeongin can’t do anything but hold his breath, wait patiently, helplessly, for whatever Seungmin is going to do with him.
“Baby, we love you,” Seungmin murmurs, hoarsely, before kissing Jeongin for real and Jeongin sobs out a moan. One of his hands surges forward, grabs Seungmin by the waist, pulling him flush against him, until he can feel his hard cock rubbing against his, sending sparks of bliss searing through his veins. He has no idea when he got hard, but of course, he has. How could he not. He licks into Seungmin’s hot mouth, reaches his other hand behind, blindly reaches for you, drags you closer, too, until Jeongin can feel nothing but you, you, you. This, right here, is everything he has ever wanted. He knows it now.
If this is a dream, he hopes he never wakes up.
But it’s too real to be a dream, even he knows that, and it only drives him more insane. The hot water cascades down his chest, Seungmin’s fingers dig into his jaw, prying his jaw open to lick into him deeper, to devour him from the inside out, his hips rutting grinding into his subtly, your fuck your now bare tits are pressing against his back, your hand travelling down, scratching your nails down the barely there bumps of his abs, until … until …
Jeongin moans pathetically into Seungmin’s lips when your hand slides between him and Seungmin, wraps around his cock over his boxers, palming him until his breathing is so heavy he can barely kiss Seungmin any more.
When you tug at his hips, pull him, so his back is resting against the tiles, he lets you, Seungmin following, reattaching his lips to Jeongin’s, kissing him like he can’t get enough, something that’s simultaneously so unlike and so much like him, it makes Jeongin smile madly into the kiss.
He’s so distracted he only barely registers his boxers being pulled down, soft fingers digging into his skin, lips pressed to his thighs, travelling up, lingering on the thick, dark blue bruise left by the hockey ball, until something mind-numbingly hot and wet wraps around his cock, and he has to dig his nails into Seungmin’s waist where he’s holding him close to stop himself from coming right then, his whole body shuddering violently with the pleasure that races through him.
Seungmin pulls back with a wicked grin on his slick, swollen lips, smoothes his palm over Jeongin’s shoulder, down his chest, follows Jeongin’s eyes as they travel down and–
Jeongin has to screw his eyes shut, his head thudding back against the shower wall, and take a steadying breath. Seungmin giggles, kisses his jaw, noses down his neck. When Jeongin chances another look down at you, he moans pathetically and nearly cries. You’re smiling at him, somehow, still, even though you’re on your knees – for him, he thinks breathlessly – your pretty, sweet lips wrapped around Jeongin’s cock, fingers holding him by the base, your other hand splayed over his thigh. His hand is shaking when he reaches down, cups your cheek, wipes away a stray tear that escapes the corner of your eye from the stretch.
You blink, and then you swallow him down further, and he can feel it not only in his cock but also the hand holding your face, and it drags moans out of him he never thought he was capable of. Blearily, he brings his free hand to his mouth, trying to quiet himself down, so Seungmin’s neighbours can’t hear, but Seungmin won’t have it. He tugs his hand away, replaces it with his lips.
“Shh,” Seungmin mumbles, “none of that. Let us hear you.”
The words, the domineering rasp in Seungmin’s voice – it’s so fucking hot, Jeongin nearly loses it, his cock throbbing in your mouth.
“I w-won’t last,” he stutters, sucks in a breath and moans again with an extra delicious bob of your head that makes your tongue drag along the underside of his cock just right.
“You don’t have to,” Seungmin murmurs, presses a wet kiss against the corner of Jeongin’s mouth, “we just want to make you feel good.”
He swipes the pad of his thumb over Jeongin’s nipple and Jeongin melts, collapses against Seung’s shoulder, holds onto him for dear life and just takes every ounce of pleasure, lets it burn through him until there’s nothing left except you and Seungmin, right here, in this moment.
It doesn’t take long for him to feel the familiar tug of his orgasm in the pit of his stomach, and it’s like you can tell, because you pull your sinful lips off his cock, climb to your feet with the help of Seungmin’s helping hand, and pull Jeongin into a dizzying kiss. He can taste himself when he licks into your mouth, salt and musk and something else, and he briefly wonders what it would be like to taste Seungmin there.
Seungmin’s hand wraps around his cock, all long fingers and tight grip and jerks him off, hard and fast, just how Jeongin likes it, like he somehow studied Jeongin’s brain and figured it out, and it doesn’t take a minute before Jeongin is coming, spilling hot and thick all over his hand, over the shower wall, legs nearly buckling, desperately gasping out loud moans that you swallow, leaving him heaving out desperate breaths in the aftershocks, his whole body alight with tiny fireworks of pleasure.
When he finds his ability to speak, he tries to speak, to mumble something about you not getting off, but Seungmin kisses his words off his lips, saying something about this being about Jeongin, not them. Seungmin chuckles when Jeongin promises you he’ll let you sit on his face, let Seungmin ride him as hard as he wants the next morning, a sweet rasp to his voice when he murmurs “I’ll hold you to it.”
He doesn’t put up a fight when Seungmin turns him around to shampoo his hair while you carefully wash his body, both of your hands so gentle, so soft on him that it makes tears prick at his eyes, but his exhaustion is too overwhelming, his orgasm having only made the heaviness of his muscles more prominent. You deposit him against the shower wall and he watches, with a lazy grin, as you and Seungmin wash each other, as the simple act of it devolves into hot kisses, then wandering hands, Seungmin’s hand between your legs, his cock in your hand. His own cock kicks valiantly because God, you look better together than he could’ve ever imagined, and the noises Seungmin pulls out of you make all the porn he’s ever watched pale in comparison. You pull Jeongin in for a kiss before you come, allow him to swallow your moans just like you swallowed his as you shake through your high, before Jeongin kisses Seungmin instead, batting his hand away and stroking him until his calm, collected Seungmin comes all over his hand with a choked moan, hips twitching, fucking his – long, beautiful – cock into Jeongin’s hand.
When you’ve both come down, Seungmin presses a soft kiss to Jeongin’s temple, you press one to his lips, and then Seungmin shuts off the shower. You wrap Jeongin in a towel, rub him dry, and everything else is as it always is, this part the same domestic bliss it has always been, except while you brush your teeth you tuck yourself under his free arm, your head resting against Jeongin’s shoulder, and Seung’s foot is hooked around his leg where he’s perched next to the sink.
When he crawls into bed, he lets out a deep guttural groan, one that makes you giggle and Seungmin nudge him with his foot.
“Move over,” he mumbles, and Jeongin throws him a look. Usually Seungmin sleeps in the middle, wedged in between you and Jeongin, feeding on your cuddles in a way he would kill you if you ever told anyone else. When Jeongin doesn’t move, Seungmin digs his fingers into Jeongin’s side, until Jeongin screeches and scoots into the middle of the bed, right into your waiting arms.
You wrap yourself around his back and nuzzle your nose into the hair at the back of his head and hum happily. Jeongin wraps his arm over yours, pulls you closer, relishes in the giggle you breathe into his skin, and watches Seungmin get into bed, turn to him and pull the covers up to his nose. He looks adorable. Jeongin has never been so in love.
He lets the big smile that wants to take over his face, do just that, and the flush that creeps up Seungmin’s ears, the rapid blinking of his big brown eyes – they only make him smile more, until Seungmin is so flustered he huffs and turns around and turns the light off. That makes Jeongin bark out a laugh.
They settle into silence, but Jeongin can’t sleep. His whole body is thrumming with everything, a quiet, gnawing worry in his heart, about what will happen with his scholarship, though the simple knowledge that this, this home he has built with his best friends, isn’t going anywhere, is making him feel like maybe he will be okay. But it’s still all so new, so confusing, yet it feels so right …
You say his name quietly into the darkness, and he turns around.
Seungmin immediately cuddles himself into his back, which makes Jeongin smile.
He can just about make out the contours of your face, the sparkle of your eyes in the dim light.
“I just wanted to … It doesn’t feel right not to acknowledge it,” you mumble, pat around the sheets until you find Jeongin’s hand, lace your fingers with his.
“We never meant to exclude you, I need you to know that. That thing at the party … it just … happened. One second we were giggling and messing around in the jacuzzi and the next we were kissing and it was so sudden and so intense … but then it kept happening and it felt so right, but …” you take a deep breath and Jeongin squeezes your hand. Seungmin’s hand slips under Jeongin’s shirt, fingers caressing the skin of his stomach, “we didn’t know how to bring it up and you were so stressed about the game and,” you chuckle sadly, “and we were scared you wouldn’t feel the same, or think we were weird and then what … we’d have to figure out how to do this without you. Maybe we’d lose you altogether.”
Jeongin sighs, lets his hand trail you up your wrist, your arm, until he traces it over the soft swell of your cheek, relishes in the way you lean into his touch.
“I thought I was losing you,” he mumbles, and you sigh, press closer, until your breath is on his lips and his heart is in his throat.
“Never, Innie, never.”
You press a kiss to his lips, and before you can go back in for more, he realises he never said it back. The thing that he has known all these years, but never allowed himself to acknowledge.
“I love you, too,” he rasps out, and you freeze in front of him, where you were just going to kiss him again, “b-both of you. I think I’ve been in love with you since the day we met. I thought you could never feel the same.”
You laugh, light as air, right into his lips, and suddenly Seungmin is hovering over him, staring down at him incredulously.
“Why didn’t you say anything?!” he asks, and to his credit, he sounds almost angry, “you dumb boy, why didn’t you say anything?!”
Jeongin stares up at him, only manages to shrug helplessly.
“We … were flirting with each other. With you. I felt it then, Y/Nie did, too. But you …” Seungmin takes a steadying breath, “you didn’t respond. You were all standoff-ish, recoiled when we touched you. So we didn’t … so we … fuck, Jeongin …”
Giddiness fizzes through Jeongin’s veins so fast it makes him lightheaded.
He pulls Seungmin down, slams his lips against his, before he flips him over kisses him into the pillows until he’s panting, before dragging you closer to kiss you, too.
He’s in love with his best friends. They love him back.
He gets the email about his scholarship two weeks later, at the dinner turned frat party Chan’s frat hosts for the hockey team and their friends.
He wasn’t even going to read it then, but he knows he won’t be able to relax if he doesn’t. He nudges your leg with his toe and you turn immediately. He turns his phone, you read the title of the email and your eyes widen. You nudge Seungmin and mumble it to him and he stares at Jeongin with big eyes, motions for him to read it. So Jeongin does.
“Dear Mr Yang, after having seen your dedication to the field hockey team of blablabla … oh my god,” his breath stutters. Both you and Seungmin and also Felix, who is sitting a few feet away, next to Chan turn their head to him.
“What?! What is it?”
Jeongin looks up and grins.
“We are pleased to count you as one of our scholarship recipients for the next academic year!”
You squeal, scramble up, fling yourself into Jeongin’s arms, nearly knocking him off his chair in your enthusiasm. Felix squeals, too, claps his hands happily and Chan hollers the news into the room until Jeongin is surrounded by his team, though his hand is solidly caught in yours.
Seungmin somehow finds his other side, his hand slithering up Jeongin’s spine and making itself at home at the back of his head, before he tugs Jeongin in to kiss his temple. He doesn’t kiss him in public. Something about it being too personal, just for them. It makes Jeongin’s heart skip a beat.
“I knew they would see just how much you do for the team,”
Seungmin mumbles, and Jeongin beams.
He has his scholarship. He’ll be able to graduate. Summer is about to start and he will spend it on a roadtrip to the coast with his two best friends, who he is also allowed to snuggle and kiss and who love him more than he knows. His whole body is fizzing with happiness.
“Where’s Minho?” he asks into the room and Chan looks around, then shrugs.
“Kitchen, probably.”
Jeongin extricates himself from the group, makes his way to the kitchen.
“Minho! Guess what! You won’t have to find a new defender next– oops“
Whatever Jeongin expected to see when he pushes the door to the kitchen open, it’s not this.
Minho is … kissing Jisung. Scratch that, he’s making out with Jisung, who is perched on the kitchen counter in tight jeans, his legs possessively wrapped around Minho’s waist, Minho’s hands somewhere under Jisung’s cute little cropped sweater. Jeongin swears there is eyeliner smudged around Jisung’s eyelids.
When Minho pulls away, he does so with a sigh. He wipes his mouth nonchalantly, but his ears are burning, and he blinks at Jeongin almost nervously.
Jeongin laughs. He can’t help it. He looks at Jisung and he looks so happy, sitting pretty with Minho between his legs.
“You don’t have to find a new defender. I got my scholarship extended for next year,” Jeongin announces with a grin. Minho’s mouth falls open, and then he takes two big steps towards him and pulls Jeongin into a bear hug. Jisung squeals, jumps off the counter and throws his arms around them both.
“Yay, congrats, Innie!” he yells.
Minho peels himself off Jeongin and Jeongin laughs, reaches out to ruffle Jisung’s hair.
“You’re just happy you don’t have to find a new roommate.”
Jisung scoffs, cuffs Jeongin in the arm.
“Not like you’re ever home anyways.”
And Jeongin can’t argue with that.
Jisung mutters something about celebrating, skips out of the kitchen in the search of a keg or something bubbly to drink, leaving Minho and Jeongin alone.
“Congrats, Jeonginnie,” Minho says, pats Jeongin’s shoulder again.
“Thanks, Dad,” Jeongin grins, and Minho rolls his eyes. There’s a brief moment of silence.
“So, …” Jeongin starts, “you and Jisung, huh.”
Minho huffs out a laugh, turns around, busies himself throwing away a stack of paper plates from dinner. His ears turn red again, and he avoids Jeongin’s eyes. Lee Minho is flustered. Jeongin never thought he’d see the day. Jeongin gives him a stern look, crosses his arms over his chest.
“I hope your intentions for him are good,” he intones in a fake, fatherly baritone.
Minho groans, throws a balled up paper towel in his direction. It doesn’t even reach Jeongin.
“No, but seriously, are you serious about him? Because I don’t know what he told you, but I can guarantee you, Han Jisung is not one for casual.”
Minho turns back to Jeongin, crosses his arms over his chest.
“Well, I don’t know if you know this, but neither am I. So, yes, I’m serious about him. I like him a lot,” he sighs, but he’s smirking, “him and his big brown eyes and his decently sized dick and his loser rizz.”
Jeongin breaks out into a full belly laugh.
“Oh my god, I can't believe told you about that.”
Minho grins.
“And just for the record, his dick is more than just decently sized,” he smirks, waggling his eyebrows at Jeongin and Jeongin fakes a gag.
“Gross, didn’t need to know that,” he shudders.
He hears Jisung yell something from the cellar, then Chan answering and his heavy footfall down the steps. Jisung must have found something worth lugging into the living room.
“Hey, aren’t you meant to be the one giving me the shovel talk? Since I’m dating your brother and all?” Jeongin suddenly asks, and Minho scoffs, but there’s no bite to it.
“I hate to break it to you, but you, Y/N and Seung have been dating in every sense except for the name since the day I met you. Plus, you’ve always been disgustingly gone for each other.”
Jeongin can’t help the blush that creeps up his neck.
“Also, which of you is going to break up, hm? I’m pretty sure none of you could live without each other at this point.”
Hearing Minho talk about them like that makes giddy love bubble up in Jeongin’s chest. And he’s probably grinning like a maniac, if Minho’s amused laugh is anything to judge by.
“See? Case in point,” he announces. Somewhere in the living room there’s a thud, then loud cheering. Minho grabs a stack of solo cups from a cupboard and makes for the door.
“Now let’s get back out there before they start celebrating without you.”
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
star dividers just for me by the lovely @lunarvue - thank you, my love!!
GENERAL TAGLIST OPEN 🔖
(please be 18+ and have your age in your bio, otherwise I won't add you)
anon ask: Hey pookie 💕 Can I pls request boyfriend Chan while his girlfriend is working on her bachelors project because I’m about to graduate and I’m STRESSED 😭😭😭 Can be any genre you want tbh, fluff, comfort, smut whatever you feel like atm
pairing: Bang Chan x Fem!Reader
t/w: fluff ; clingy Channie ; stressed reader ; reader is not good at taking breaks.
w/c: 1.4k
a/n: I hope you like it! And good luck with your graduation! 😊
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
When he returns to the living room, you're still sitting on the couch with your computer on your lap and the low noise of the TV in the background.
His hand stops rubbing the towel on his wet hair and he sighs through his nose, looking at you.
He approaches the couch slowly, getting behind you without being noticed. His hand lands under your chin and tilts your head back, gently lifting your face towards the ceiling, where he placed his smiling face so you can look at him.
You're taken by surprise, but you don't startle, you don't have the time.
"It's not good to keep your head down like that for too long." he informs you, observing your upside-down face.
"Nor is it good to keep it like this.” you affirm, easily removing his hand and returning to look at the computer screen.
He huffs, "I just wanted a kiss." He pouts and walks around the couch to sit next to you. And he looks at you.
For a while, you pretend his presence doesn't bother you, but you feel the weight of his eyes on you, and eventually, you give in. You turn towards him and kiss away that cute pout from his lips. "Happy now?"
He smiles at you. Finally.
"No, I want more." He tries to kiss you again, but you move away and don't let him.
"Later," you return to typing on the keyboard, "And you still need to dry your hair."
"I want you to do it for me. I prefer it when you do it."
"Chan, I can't right now, do it yourself." You try to make him leave, but he doesn't give up.
"Pretty please?" When you look at him, you can't resist his puppy eyes.
You sigh, "Bring the hairdryer."
At your words, he smiles widely and quickly gets up from the couch to fetch the object from the bathroom and bring it to the living room to you.
You put the computer aside and plug in the cord while Chan settles between your legs, sitting on the floor with his back against the couch.
You turn on the hairdryer and start drying his hair. Your fingers move through his curls, grabbing and slightly pulling them, while the warmth spreads, slowly returning them to their fluffiness.
His body relaxes at your gentle touch, his eyes close, and his mind empties. He loves it when you touch his hair; he could stay there all day with your hands caressing them.
But everything has an end, and you turn off the hairdryer when his hair is completely dry. When you're done, you ruffle his hair aggressively, affectionately.
His head gently falls back, resting on the couch between your open legs. When you lower your gaze, he opens his eyes and smiles at you, his dimples showing on his cheeks.
Your heart fills with affection. He's so cute and pretty and you just want to kiss him all over his face.
Instead, you smile at him and place your hands on his cheeks, gently stroking his cheekbones with your thumbs.
When he stands up, he steals a kiss from you before bringing the object back in its place. He's cuddly.
Indeed, when he comes back to you and notices that you've already returned to the computer, his face falls and he approaches you.
"Y/n," he whines, sitting on the couch and looking at you, again, "Give me attention." He buries his face in the crook of your neck, hugging your waist, consequently causing you to take your fingers off the keyboard and raise your arms a little to give him space.
"Chan..." you call him, exhausted, "I have to work on the project, you know; I can't get distracted." You affirm.
It's been a few days since you spent some time with him, but only because you have to work on your bachelor project for graduation. You procrastinated, thinking it would be easy, but you regret it because it turned out to be harder than you thought, and now you have so much to do, and you just feel stressed.
"Yes, you can," he says, looking up at you, "Leave the computer for a little while and be with me; I missed you these days." He says the last sentence with a lower tone, pouty.
Guilt washes over you; you didn't want to stay away from him, but you thought it was necessary until this period is over.
"I missed you too, but you know how hard this work is and it takes time." You explain to him, as if he hadn’t already understood.
He sighs. He's trying to get your attention so you’ll take a break. He's not actually good at it himself, but when it comes to you, he knows what’s best for you and he’s always ready to help you understand it. But you didn't listen to him, and now he finds himself having to force you in a way that doesn't make you understand his true intentions.
But you understood. "Are you trying to distract me from the project?"
He keeps his gaze low and he’s silent for a few seconds, and you can clearly hear the thousand thoughts running through his head as he searches for a good answer.
But he doesn't find it. "Why should I?" He asks instead.
"Because you've been trying for days, and you're insisting too much on needing attention, it's unlike you." It's true. Chan can ask for cuddles, but he's never too insistent if he sees that you're busy doing something else.
"Uh... maybe?" Then he groans, "Yes, you’re right." He admits, "Can you take a short break now and spend time with your boyfriend? Please?" He asks pleadingly.
You're ready to say no, but then you stop to look at him. You sigh and chuckle slightly at his desperation.
Actually, thinking about it, you're tired. It wouldn't hurt to detach yourself from the subject that has kept you busy and isolated from the rest of the world for days.
That's why after saving the progress of the work on the document you were writing, you lie down in bed with him.
Your head is resting on his chest, the steady beat of his heart serene and soothing to your ears as he places an arm over your body in an affectionate gesture.
His hand caresses your hair as you gently scratch his still arm.
“You should never forget to take care of yourself, even if you’re busy; it worries me otherwise.” he says seriously, looking at an indistinct point in the room.
“That’s why you’re here with me.” you indirectly thank him, kissing the bare skin of his chest.
“Yet you don’t listen to me.” he disapproves, but it’s more playful now.
“Now you understand how I feel every time you work too much and don’t listen to me.” you tease.
“I’ll listen to you more often from now on.” he promises, but you don’t believe his words. You won’t until you see actual actions, but you know he really wants to try and will do his best.
“You need to keep your word though.”
His legs shift in the bed, rolling to one side and then returning, “I will.”
You bring out your pinky finger from one hand and present it to him. He looks at it for a few seconds, surprised, then crosses his own finger with yours, smiling at your cuteness, “You know it doesn’t mean anything to me, right?”
“But it does to me,” you say, “So commit to keeping the promise.”
“Right now, it’s you who needs to keep that same promise, though.”
“I never promised anything.” you speak the pure and authentic truth, but naturally he doesn’t like this.
You understand it especially when you feel his hand on your hair stop at a point, grab some strands, and pull slightly but enough to cause you pain.
“Ow!” You complain, giving him a light slap on the arm resting on you, then sitting up to look him in the face, “Why did you do that?!” You snap at him.
He gives you a fiery look, “You didn’t promise, but you’ll do it anyway.” He tries to sound serious and threatening, but seeing how cute you look while massaging your head, he can’t help but chuckle and wrap his arms around you in a loving embrace. You always get your way with him, even without trying.
“What, you love me now?” You say, offended, making him roll his eyes and ignore your dramatic words.
“Will you give me those kisses I asked for earlier, now?”
i want to wake up next to jisung and kiss his cheeks and the pout sleepy lips so bad omfg -🌙
this is so real. i have been in my jisung feels again lately. it’s just his cute little heart shaped lips, the cheeks, the beautiful boba eyes. and the fucking fluffy hair he’s been sporting lately? in love with this squirrel.
summary: minho is alive and someone finally gets retribution. it's the start of the rest of their lives
word count: 19k
warnings: violence, blood, evil guy death; drinking; mentions of anxiety and cptsd symptoms (they went through it, okay?); some (unprotected) smut! a happy end <3 yay!
author's note: by all laws of storytelling this chapter is too long, but I could not care less. I wanted some gratuitous sweetness after all the pain. also I thought about splitting this up into another chapter but I figured I tortured you with enough cliffhangers akshdhas so enjoy!! the last official chapter before our epilogue <3 thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. thank you to everyone who commented, who messaged me, who took the time to read <3 thank you for loving my baby <3 it means the world
this series is 🔞, so minors, please DNI
series masterlist // skzms masterlist
< chapter X - interlude (& epilogue coming friday, may 24 at 3pm CET) >
You meet Felix’s eyes as Changbin shoves him behind him, out of harms way, and there’s nothing but sunshine; tears of joy and a brilliant, blinding smile. He nods at you, as if to say this is exactly what I meant, and you have to fight back a sob.
The thought of everyone else having seen you, what they will think, after all these years, Minho, and your secret barely a secret at all – this and the realisation that Jisung said Minho is alive, the feeling of your whole life spinning out of control, it will have to wait. Because Han Yujun is in there, and there are more guards now. Way more. Ten of them against the maybe eight of you. And these ones look more serious, less like young men with no experience to speak of.
Chan’s eyes are locked onto them already, rolling his shoulders as he readies himself for the fight. Hyunjin has found Jisung’s other side as he cocks his gun, squeezes his arm with a smile, mouthing something to him that looks like a thank god you’re okay.
The first guy approaches and Hyunjin lifts his gun, shoots him point-blank. He sinks to the floor right in front of the next one, that Jisung takes care of just as quickly, swiping at his legs and driving his cutlass into his chest when he crumples to the floor. One goes down from the force of your elbow alone, another falls victim to Felix’s blade, who squeals and turns to Changbin excitedly when he realises he got one. Changbin doesn’t look proud at all, he’s white as a sheet as he tugs Felix back behind him.
Hyunjin strikes another one down with a practised hand and a toss of his hair and his companion drops his weapon, lifts his hands and hightails it down the path toward the gate. Hyunjin watches him, perplexed, then turns to you and raises an eyebrow in question. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. You shake your head.
“Let him go, he’s not worth it. He’ll probably get intercepted by the captain’s men anyway.”
Chan deals with the next two at once, a cutlass in one hand, his short knife in the other. His knife into the one’s throat, his cutlass into the chest of the other. He wipes the bloody blade on his pants as he scoffs.
“If we’d known his men were this shit, we could’ve done this ages ago.”
The last three fall equally easily, and you don’t wait for more to come, push forward until you find yourself in the cool, marble foyer. In here, it’s so quiet it’s almost eery, the noise of fighting only a dull din from somewhere seemingly far away. The house seems mostly abandoned. Though you have a feeling Han Yujun is still here, holed up somewhere, clutching onto hope and all his money that he’ll somehow make it out of this alive. But you know better. You take a second to survey the scene. A hallway to your right, a sitting room with more doors to your left, a stairway right in front of you.
“His office is upstairs,” Jisung offers next to you. You look at him with a question in your eyes, and he nods.
“Changbin, take Felix and check the left wing,” you order, “Hyunjin, Chan, take the right. Someone else check the basement, and as many of you as possible find all the exits and guard them. Han Yujun can’t escape us today. Jisung and I will check upstairs.”
Changbin takes Felix’s hand, mumbles something to him about staying behind him, before he makes his way down the hallway. Hyunjin salutes you quietly, and he and Chan enter the sitting room with their weapons drawn. Two of your crew stay by the front door, the rest of the group disperses.
You look at Jisung, meet his gaze where it’s already locked onto yours. It makes sweet adrenaline rush through your veins. You motion for him to follow you upstairs and hurry up the stairwell, taking two steps at a time.
“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight again, you’re dead wrong,” you mumble, and he chuckles behind you, bright and airy and happy, and it makes you stop at the top of the stairs, turn around in shock. Something heavy squeezes your chest because, of course, Minho isn’t there, but it’s soothed over by Jisung’s beautiful, radiant smile. And there is hope. You can’t help but feel it, despite it all.
“Don’t ever let me out of your sight again, please,” Jisung chirps, hurries up to meet you, wraps his muscular arms around your waist and pulls you in, “I’m way too in love with you for that.”
Butterflies, in your stomach, so many that you can barely breathe – in the middle of the biggest fight of your entire life, on the day you started thinking everyone you loved was dead, when you were prepared for this day to be your last. Jisung giggles sweetly, pulls you closer against his strong chest, presses wet hot lips in the shape of a smile against the side of your neck. He’s the most magical, most insane, most lovable person you’ve ever met, and you realise now that you’ll never be the same again.
A guard spots you, then, yells, comes barreling down the hallway. Jisung doesn’t hesitate. He unfolds himself from you casually, parries two of his opponent’s attacks before he sinks his cutlass into him, and he slumps to the ground.
“Where were we?” he asks, giddily, eyes sparkling with mischief as he stalks up to you, crowds you against the wall until his breath is on your face.
“Jisung, we can’t be messing around. Not today,” you breathe, though your eyes are glued to his lips, no doubt betraying every ounce of your blind, desperate want. Damn him.
“There’s no way we aren’t winning today, captain,” he purrs, smiles again, brushes his lips against yours in a breath of a kiss, “there’s nowhere for him to run. So let’s have some fun.”
And you’re about to give in, let him kiss you breathless in your arch enemy’s house, but fate has a different plan. Five more of Han Yujun’s men come barrelling down the hallway and this time, much to your chagrin, you have to fight in earnest. One of them catches your arm, adds a second cut to the one already there, and it drives tears into your eyes. But you don’t stop, wave away Jisung’s concerned look, focus on fighting your way down the hallway and manage to kill the last one right before it forks.
Your breath is coming out in short bursts as you gather your bearings. Your arm aches, your lungs burn. You have the choice now, between left and right. Right leads you down a hallway with few doors, at the end of which there’s an open glass door that leads out to a French balcony that’s facing out into the garden, curtains billowing in the wind. The other direction leads deeper into the house, culminating in two heavy oak doors, very similar to the ones in Trott’s house.
“That’s his office,” Jisung comments with a nod towards the ominous doors. You nod and realise that this is really it. You wonder if you’ll still be able to do what needs to be done when it comes down to it, now that Jisung is alive. But you have to. For them.
You look at Jisung, give him a tense smile.
“Shall we?”
Jisung smiles, then his face pulls into the pout of determination you know and love so well. He extends his hand, takes yours, and you make your way down the hallway.
Suddenly, a thump sounds behind you, then a curse and a voice that you would recognise anywhere, anytime.
“Sung–“
The call of Jisung’s name is cut off. Your heart stops, and for a painful second, you wonder if it will give out.
You’re frozen where you are, unable to turn around. You can’t face it, you can’t be wrong. You wouldn’t survive it. You’re distantly aware of Jisung’s worried eyes on you, his gaze flicking between you and …
“Y/N?” Minho says, and there’s no longer any doubt in your mind.
You turn around slowly, your ears ringing as you let your eyes drag over the carpet and up and up, until you see him.
Minho. It’s undoubtedly him. Breathing. Shaky. Alive. His old, brown leather boots with the big silver buckle. Strong thighs in his black pants. A white v-neck shirt you don’t recognise exposing his flushed, heaving chest. Blood on his sleeves, hair swept back like he was in a hurry.
You suck in a breath. One of his eyes is covered with a black eyepatch. But the other one looks at you, the same way he always did. Does.
Your shaky legs move towards him. He doesn’t approach you, just stares, his eyebrows lifted in an expression that is almost helpless.
You stop a cautious few feet in front of him, like getting any closer would shatter the mirage. But you can see the little birthmark on his nose, smell the unmistakable smell of him, can almost feel him on your skin. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage like it’s trying to escape.
“You’re alive,” you mutter, blink, eyes roving all over his face.
He nods, helplessly, his eyes, his eye glued to yours. So soft. So scared.
“T-the gunshot,” you breathe, but your voice gives out. A tremor wracks through your body, and you see Minho’s hand twitch to reach out, before he drops it again.
“They shot into the sky. They wanted you to think I was dead.”
You let out something between a laugh and a sob, though there are no tears. You feel wrung dry, empty, soulless. Minho shivers. His hand reaches out, again and this time, he doesn’t pull back. He runs a fingertip over the sleeve of your coat. Doesn’t look at you when he forces out his next words.
“I heard you scream.”
You blink, watch his eyebrow twitch, his mouth pulls into a grimace of pain. It’s too much, it’s unbearable. The memory of it, the knowledge of it, the thought of him dead, the weight of every single minute of the last weeks. Now, the fact that he’s here. A flesh and blood reminder of all you thought you lost. It’s too much, it’s too–
“What happened to your eye?” you ask, your voice only a ghost of itself. Minho lifts his head until his gaze finds yours again and punches a breath clean out of you with how much love it holds. Though this time, there’s no more kraken that roars, riots, threatens to burst out of your skin. There’s only honeysuckle sweetness and a longing that you don’t know how you managed to keep locked away for so long.
“The guy got me just right, I think his ring cut my retina,” he shrugs, “pretty sure it’s fucked. But I’ve gotten used to it already, doesn’t hu-”
“I love you.”
You breathe the words into the space between you, and Minho reels back like he has been punched straight in the chest. His next breath comes out in a stutter. He’s so beautiful.
“I’ve always loved you, I think,” it tumbles out of you, unable to stop now that you’ve finally said it.
“Y/N …” Minho chokes out. He takes a step forward, cups your face. His hands are shaking. He’s looking at you, staring into your eyes like he’s searching for something, like he doesn’t quite believe your words. You feel half crazed.
“I do, Min,” you choke out, “I do, I love you. I love you so much. I–“
When he leans in, he doesn’t even have to pull you because you meet him halfway. His lips find yours, trembling as he kisses you so desperately, you gasp into his mouth. Your tongue is heavy with emotion when it tangles with his, kissing him like you’re tasting him for the first time. He pulls back only enough to stare down at you, his trembling breath against your lips.
“I love you, too, baby, oh god, I love you so much,” he forces out the words like they hurt. He looks so disbelieving, so sure yet so unsure, like he doesn’t know how he has found his way here, and you don’t know what to do because he’s alive and breathing and you get another chance, another chance to make it right, another chance you don’t fucking deserve.
You pull him back into your lips and, of course, he matches you perfectly, swallows your desperate whine when you shove him backwards, crowd him against the wall. He takes it, pulls you even closer, buries his hand in your hair, then flips you, so your back is against the wall, tilts your head, kisses you deeper. It’s you and him, it’s just like every other time, except it’s not – because you can finally feel and your poor, broken heart beats to the tune of he’s here, he’s alive, he’s here, he’s alive.
He pulls back when there is no more air, pants against your lips, makes a tortured little sound in the back of his throat as his fingers curl around your neck, dig into the soft skin. He’s blinking rapidly, his mouth open like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out, only a disbelieving huff.
Someone yells outside, there’s a gunshot, then another. The sounds rip through the atmosphere around you and Minho and shatter it like glass, a brutal reminder of where you are, what you have yet to do.
You close your eyes again, just for a moment, basking in the way Minho’s breath fans over your lips, breathing it in greedily. But you can’t help but feel like there’s something missing. Some_one_ missing.
You blink your eyes open and find Jisung where you left him. He’s staring at you, and he looks awed, but he also looks so, so sad, his arms wrapped around himself almost protectively.
“I can leave if you want,” he croaks out, the sound of it tinny and brittle in the big, empty hallway. He takes an uneven step back, closer to the hallway that leads back to the stairs, like he’s ready to run.
Minho sighs softly, leans against you, his thumb softly running up the side of your neck. You don’t need to look at him to understand.
He scoffs at the same time as you reach out your hand.
“Why the fuck would we want that?” you laugh out.
Jisung’s shoulders fall, he sniffles, and then he’s running up to you, flinging himself into your and Minho’s arms with all his might, burying his face in Minho’s chest and pulling you until you’re both pressed against him, until the three of you are all but squeezed together, in the middle of the hallway in Han Yujun’s house. Over Jisung’s mop of brown hair, you meet Minho’s gaze, and he looks so happy it makes you almost sick with joy. He presses a soft little kiss into Jisung’s hair and Jisung laughs, his shoulders shaking where’s buried between you.
Then he lifts his head, gives Minho a cheeky look, despite the single tear that runs down the pink apple of his cheek that Minho traces with his eye.
“She said it to me first, you know. So at least I have that,” he teases, and Minho blinks at him in disbelief before he barks out a laugh, softly removes one of his hands from you to catch Jisung’s chin between his hands.
“I love you, too, even though you’re a pain in my ass.”
Jisung beams, his whole face splitting into a beautiful heart-shaped smile. He nuzzles his chin further into Minho’s hold, tips his head up happily.
“I love you, too, you grumpy old cat,” he hums, before his expression turns cheeky, “and you wish I would finally be a pain in your ass. I’ll have you know I’m very good at it.”
The sudden laugh that bubbles out of you feels misshapen and odd, like your body is out of practice – but it warms you from the inside and it feels right. More right than anything you have ever felt in your life.
Minho’s gaze is fond and so, so soft as he looks from Jisung to you.
But when the sound of a scuffle comes from downstairs, his expression hardens into a regretful scowl.
“We should get this over with,” he hums, blinks at the big doors down the hallway before looking back down at Jisung, then you.
“Be careful, okay? No sudden moves or decisions. We take no risks. If he moves, we pull the trigger.”
Minho waits until Jisung nods, then you. Then he dips down, presses a sweet kiss to Jisung’s lips, then yours. When he pulls back, he momentarily stops, blinks, a quiet kind of disbelief in his pretty eyes. But it disappears as quickly as it came, and he refocuses and steps back.
Jisung unfolds himself from you hesitantly, follows Minho’s eyes to the doors. He swallows.
“There’s a gun in the top left drawer of his desk, so don’t let him reach it,” Jisung explains. His brows are furrowed in concentration.
“In a situation like this, he wouldn’t be alone. Probably has at least one of his closest guards with him, if not two. And they’re ruthless, they won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes. So we need to act fast.”
Minho nods, and Jisung looks at you.
“We’ll go in first. Minho, keep your gun drawn. Shoot him if you have to. I’ll go for the guard, if there’s only one, then you can–“
His sentence is interrupted by the faraway crack of a gunshot, the sound of glass shattering, something heavy hitting the floor and a yelp and then the heavy doors at the other end of the hallway fly open and Han Yujun, in all his half-bald, pot-bellied glory nearly falls flat on his face as he rushes out the door – only to be met by the three of you.
Minho moves in the blink of an eye, shoves you half behind him, draws his gun, and Jisung takes the few steps forward needed to block his uncle’s path.
Han Yujun freezes, pales, turns on his heels and makes back for his office and Minho takes off running, closely followed by both you and Jisung.
Han Yujun reaches his office first, tries to rush in and slam the door behind him, but Minho manages to shove his foot in the door just in time. He shoulders it open so hard it sends Han Yujun sprawling on the floor with a scream. Minho is on him within seconds, wrestling him until his face is pressed into the carpet. Yujun puts up a fight, writhes, and resists and spews curses, but Minho is stronger.
“Get off me, you disgusting pirate,” he squeaks, though his voice betrays his fear. He tries to free himself again, and Minho loses his temper. He drives his boot into Han Yujun’s ribs and he howls. Jisung next to you scoffs.
You let your eyes roam around the room, and you don’t have to look far for to find the reason for all the noise and Han Yujun’s panicked flight – a man in his guards’ uniform lies lifeless on the floor in a puddle of his own blood. There’s a neat hole in the side of his head. You leave him where he is. There’s nothing the living can do for him any more.
“Jisung, help me,” Han Yujun wails behind you, and it’s so fake it makes you sick. There’s a dull thud and a groan. You don’t have to look to know that Jisung put his fist into his face.
“Why would I help you?!” Jisung growls.
Behind the big, heavy desk, one of the panels of the windows is shattered. Cautiously, you step closer to the window and when you look down into the garden, behind a stone railing, amidst the bright pink English roses, your eyes meet Sungjin’s. Your former Captain’s best marksman. Of course.
You nearly laugh when he shoots you a smirk and a thumbs up.
By the time you turn around, Minho has managed to tie Han Yujun’s hands behind his back and is hoisting him to his feet. Jisung is watching from where he’s leaned against his uncle’s desk, arms crossed over his chest, a sour look on his face. Minho pulls his gun from his holster and digs it into Han Yujun’s back, hard.
“Let’s take a walk,” he growls and meets your eyes, wordlessly asking you to lead the way.
And you do. You leave the room first, followed by Minho, who’s guiding a bound Yujun with the barrel of his gun. Jisung marks the end of your procession, his hand on his knife, ready to strike any second. The distant sound of fighting all over the carefully kept grounds is still ringing through the eerily empty halls of the house.
Your mind is eerily calm here, right on the precipice of everything you’ve ever wanted.
You meet Changbin and Felix as you descend the stairs. Felix’s eyes go wide when he sees you, his glassy gaze locked behind you.
“Minho,” he gasps, and you think there may be tears in his eyes. Changbin is staring up at the three of you with wide eyes, one hand curled against his rapidly rising and falling chest, like he’s trying to hold it together.
You chance a look behind you, find Minho there, giving them a small smile, though his hands never falter on the gun pressed to Jisung’s uncle’s back, even when Hyunjin and Chan come hurrying down the right hallway and Hyunjin goes white as a sheet when he sees Minho.
As calmly as you can, you motion for them to keep calm, to follow you as you push through the front doors, into the blazing afternoon sunlight. You walk through the courtyard, where the water is still trickling down the fountain, down the path, past the azalea bushes until you’re in the front part of the yard.
There’s fighting going on all around you, clumps of your and the Captain’s men dotted around, fighting Han Yujun’s guardsmen, though their numbers are small, and they are uncoordinated and clumsy. You see some men from the town fighting among the pirates, wild and uncoordinated in their rage, but encouraged and helped along by the pirates. There must be more fighting around the back of the house, the sounds of which have been ringing in your ears this whole time; knives meeting, guns going off.
But you don’t pay any of it any mind. Soon it won’t matter any more.
You allow yourself a moment of melodrama, walk to the centre of the garden calmly, without looking behind you, left or right. But you’re hyperaware of the others behind you, their regular footsteps, and the fighting around you that becomes quieter, the whispering and the people that approach. You can feel their eyes on you when you stop in the centre of the garden, somewhere halfway between the front gate and the courtyard; in perfect view of everyone, both the ones fighting and the gaggle of onlookers that has gathered at the gates, looking in through the tall fences. This feels like a good place for the end of it all.
Hyunjin, Chan, and Felix form a loose circle around you, knives drawn. Jeongin and Seungmin join them. You see your men approach, Minho’s name falling from some of their lips with desperate sighs of relief. The air is electric with tension, anticipation.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see your old Captain, Sungjin, more of his crew, some you know and some you don’t.
Minho lets go of Han Yujun pushes him closer to where you’re waiting, before he comes to stand behind you. His presence right there, only an arm’s reach away, soothes you more than you can describe. Jisung makes his way behind you, too, takes the spot on the other side so naturally as if he has always been there.
You feel invincible. You look down at the man below you.
Han Yujun stares at you, tries his best to be intimidating, but he makes a pitiful sight. His thinning hair is badly mussed, exposing his sunburned scalp and the spotty skin of his forehead. His face is pink and flushed and his eyes are small and cold, and they glimmer like a cornered animal’s. His chest heaves with a phlegmy breath. God, he makes you sick.
“Han Yujun,” you finally say. You let the words drop from your lips, calmly, coldly. You have all the time in the world now. “Do you know why you’re here today?”
Han Yujun scoffs, takes his time to look around at his audience, seemingly unfazed that they all stare at him with hatred. The Captain’s face is impassive, though you see it in his eyes. Changbin doesn’t even pretend to hide his disdain. There’s a cold, vicious smile on his face, more hateful than you’ve ever seen him before. But you understand. Han Yujun killed his little sister when she was only a child. Felix by Changbin’s side calmly wraps a hand around his arm.
“A public execution of a government official,” Han Yujun muses, his voice a lot more pompous than you thought he was capable of in a situation like this. He tugs at his restraints, but it’s futile. “You’ll hang for treason!”
He meets your eye, looking much too smug, given that his hands are literally tied behind his back. But you don’t bite, just look back at him steadily, coldly, until he starts fidgeting.
“I’m glad you know you’re going to die, that saves us all a lot of time,” you finally say, a deadly sweet smile on your lips.
Apparently not deadly enough because Han Yujun puffs up, takes a step towards you.
“Well, I can’t believe that really is your plan. I heard a lot about you, captain Y/N, but I never pegged you for a fool,” he singsongs, as he takes another step closer, staring into your eyes so intensely, with such a repulsive curiosity and self-satisfaction, it makes your fingers twitch at the handle of your knife.
“Let’s get me out of these ties, sit down,” he purrs, takes another step, his breath hitting your face now. Nobody dares to move. Changbin looks like he wants to intervene, tries to tug his arm free, but Felix won’t let him. “Maybe we can come to an agreement.”
You stand your ground, bile rising in your throat as he comes closer and closer, but you refuse to budge. Your shoulders are so tense, you start trembling.
He licks his lips, leans in as if to whisper into your ear, but before he can get any closer, Minho barrels past you.
He plants his boot in the middle of Han Yujun’s chest and shoves him so hard he flies backwards a few feet, crashing into the ground with a pained yell.
“You don’t fucking touch her, you understand?” Minho growls, his eye dark with rage as he stalks towards him. He brings his foot down onto Han Yujun’s throat, presses down until the man is gasping and whimpering. “You try something else, and you will meet Davy Jones with none of your limbs attached.”
Nobody dares move because his demeanour leaves no doubt that it’s not an idle threat. Minho throws a look back at you, his eye wild but soft, a quiet question if you’re okay, and you nod. Only then does he let up – but not before crushing his foot harder into Han Yujun’s windpipe, making him writhe and gurgle pathetically.
Minho turns and comes back to you, his arm brushing against yours as he returns to his spot behind you. Han Yujun is coughing and gasping on the floor, trying to regain his breath as he sits up, glares up at you. You wait patiently, every second calculated to allow him enough time to feel every second of your victory.
Han Yujun doesn’t attempt to get up again. You take a step towards him, your face still schooled into calm, but the hands crossed behind your back are shaking, against your will.
“Han Yujun, after we’re done with you, we will go into your house, and we will collect the evidence of everything you have done. Then we will deliver this to the crown, and they will find you guilty, convict you –of not only corruption, of price gauging, drug and human trafficking, prostitution and more, no – you will also be convicted of high treason, trying to stage a coup against the crown. Posthumously, of course,” you add sweetly, with a dangerous glint to your eyes.
Han Yujun’s eyes shake slightly. All around you, except for the sound of distant fighting, there’s silence. Your audience is glued to your lips.
“And then they will thank us. For sparing them having to dirty their noose with your vile, useless body.”
Han Yujun frowns.
“Why do you think you’ll find evidence of anything?”
Jisung on your left scoffs.
“Oh, please,” he laughs. It’s deadly cold. “I know you keep the records of all your above-board dealings in your office, and everything else under the floorboards in the drawing room. Third plank from the bookcase with the replica of the Victory, if I remember right?”
His uncle’s face swells, red rage rising to his cheeks as he glares at Jisung. There’s so much hatred in his gleaming little eyes, it sends a shiver down your spine.
“I knew from the day you were born that you would bring shame upon this family,” Han Yujun spits, “I saw that you were a little sissy when you were five. And then you grew up like this, like a degenerate,” he gives him a disgusted once-over, “and I told your father! I told him you’d never grow up to be a real man, would disappoint his entire bloodline, but he wouldn’t hear it.”
Jisung’s breath has gotten ragged, and you feel his intention to move before he even takes a step. You reach your hand out, motioning for him to stay back and to his credit, he does, though the shaky breath he takes in betrays how much it takes him.
“Now look at you. Leading these unwashed, murderous lowlives right to your own family. Do you have any idea how hard we worked to get here? What it took for us to get these positions?”
“I do,” Jisung presses out, his voice trembling with emotion, “I know what it took. Blood. Lies. Deception. Corruption. The destruction of neighbourhoods, the killing and displacing of innocent people. And Appa knew it, too. It’s why he wanted out. It’s why he took the risk. It’s why he’s fucking dead.”
Jisung brushes your hand to the side and takes a step forward. You let him.
“And you piece of shit didn’t do anything. You let them take him. And Eomma, too. Hell, for all I know you told them where to find them,” Jisung yells, drags his sleeve over his face.
His hand finds his holster, and he pulls his gun, cocks it, points it right at his uncle’s head. His breath is ragged, and his body is trembling, but his hand is awfully still. It doesn’t waver from where it’s pointed.
“Captain,” Jisung, addresses you, calmly. There’s something in his voice you’ve never heard before.
“Permission to finally put us all out of our misery.”
You let your eyes wander over your audience, your crew, the townspeople, the other crew, familiar and unfamiliar faces, all waiting for the moment this finally ends. Your eyes meet the Captain’s. He holds your gaze.
“Captain?” Jisung asks again, and this time his voice audibly shakes. His other fist is balled at his side.
You can’t let Jisung wait any longer. You let your eyes rest on the back of his head and speak.
“Permission granted.”
A single beat of silence.
Then the gunshot rings clear over the grounds. Han Yujun’s dead body slumps back.
Another beat of silence.
Then the whole yard breaks out into deafening cheers.
It’s so loud, so sudden, so charged that it makes you flinch. You whip your head up to see men hugging each other, Hyunjin running to Minho to envelop him in a hug, the Captain, still looking at you, as calm as a statue surrounded by his cheering men, though there is a small proud smile on his lips. You nod to him and he nods back. It’s enough.
The only person who isn’t celebrating is Jisung. He’s still standing there, staring down at his uncle, his hand, that’s still holding the smoking gun, hanging limply by his side.
You approach him carefully, say his name softly. He barely turns his head. You inch closer, place a careful hand on his back, ever so gently rub it up and down. The muscles underneath your fingertips are so tense, they feel like they’re ready to snap.
“Jisung,” you breathe, low enough for only him to hear, “talk to me. Do you regret it?”
Jisung huffs out a laugh then, shakes his head, turns his head and meets your gaze with his big, beautiful, shining eyes. They’re full of tears. He tries to blink them away, and you wish you could tell him that you meant it when you said you never wanted him to hide them again, that you were ready to love every single one of them.
“God, no, that felt incredible,” he mumbles, wipes at his nose and sniffles, “I just think it’s so unfair that I will have to spend the rest of my life learning to live with what he has done. To everyone … but also to me.”
You hum, rubbing a thumb over the muscles in Jisung’s back soothingly, sliding your hand down until you can wrap your arm around him. He leans into you readily, folds his arm over your shoulder and pulls you closer.
“That’s what we all do every single day, so you’ll be in great company. But we have each other.”
Jisung blinks at you, then looks around, like he’s finally realising the celebration going on. He looks dazed. You squeeze him harder, and he rests his temple against yours.
You can’t help but smile.
“Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life, Han Jisung.”
Minho watches over Hyunjin’s shoulder, as the captain and Jisung stand over the body of Han Yujun with their arms wound around each other. Hyunjin sobs, a wet, heartbreaking sound, and Minho pulls him closer, soothes his palm over Hyunjin’s narrow back, shushes him quietly.
Then another person wraps himself around his back, then another, and before he knows it, Minho finds himself enveloped by his crew, his friends, squeezing him, some smiling, some sniffling, some laughing and yelling his name in relief.
“Fuck, Min,” he hears Changbin mumble from where he’s wedged between Hyunjin’s back and someone else’s front, his hand coming up to ruffle Minho’s hair, “your eye! We really thought they got you.”
Minho tries to laugh, but it doesn’t come out right, half wedged in his chest that feels like it’s about ready to burst.
“I couldn’t let that happen, could I,” he jokes, quietly, “who else would take care of all of you idiots.”
Hyunjin chokes out something that’s half sob and half laugh and buries his face in Minho’s neck. Minho can feel his tears wet his skin.
“God, I hate you so much,” he whines, “can’t you just be serious for once?!”
Minho smiles softly, meets Changbin’s eyes again. He pats Hyunjin’s hair.
“Aw, Jinnie, but I am. I’ll always come back to you. You’re all I have.”
Hyunjin starts sobbing for real then, and Minho thinks he can even see Changbin blink away some tears. There are more sniffles, whoever is wrapped around his back, he thinks it’s Jeongin, squeezes him harder. From somewhere to the side, he catches Seungmin’s eye, then his fist in his arm.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Seungmin mumbles. It’s obvious that he tries to be stern, but the tear escaping his eye betrays him. Minho grins at him, reaches out blindly to ruffle his hair.
Changbin laughs quietly, wipes at his eyes, before he claps his hands. He mumbles something to the effect of “let’s not suffocate him” and the gaggle around Minho slowly thins until there’s only Hyunjin in his arms, Jeongin plastered over his back. But eventually, even they are pulled away, Hyunjin by Chan, who lets Hyunjin latch onto his arm and hide his splotchy face in his sleeve3, and Jeongin by Seungmin, but not before Seungmin punches Minho’s shoulder again.
Minho doesn’t resist his disappointment when he’s finally free – he allows himself to feel that he could’ve stayed in that embrace for a lot longer.
But he’s also starting to notice the strange pirates loitering around, a tall, older one currently speaking to the captain, Jisung and Felix, who had found his way to them, glued to Jisung’s free side, hands intertwined, like he’s trying to hold on to him now that the captain stepped back. Like Jisung would disappear again otherwise.
Gently, he steps out of the group of his crew, giving them a gentle smile as he makes his way to the captain. She turns around when she hears his footsteps. When her eyes meet his, she blinks, looks a little disoriented for a split second, before her lips pull into a beautiful smile.
“Min,” she exclaims. A pang of love hits him so hard he’s nearly dizzy. It’s their nickname, what she breathes into his lips when he kisses her, what she exclaims with her unfairly sexy annoyed voice when he does something stupid and petty. But she had never, ever used it in public, in front of their crew, in front of a stranger, in front of everyone. He would’ve remembered. God, he would’ve remembered because it would’ve given him so much hope.
“May I introduce you to my captain?”
Her captain. She had mentioned him before, in passing, so briefly she may as well haven’t. And Minho hadn’t pried, had taken all the little pieces she had surrendered to him and built himself his own idea. She had to run, the captain took her in, taught her all she knew, given her her ship. He had imagined him serious, tough. Older, maybe a little brittle. He tries to reconcile this idea with the tall, older man in front of her. He’s dressed in all black and does look strong, and like he can be tough, but he’s smiling. He also wears the same uncanny expression in his intelligent eyes that the captain gets when she’s analysing him.
Minho steps forward, stiffly, tries his best to smile at the man, who studies him carefully. He gives a calculated, stiff bow.
“Lee Minho,” he offers, “the captain’s second in command.”
The tall pirate keeps his eyes on him, bores his gaze into Minho’s and Minho finds himself wishing stupidly, desperately for him to approve of him.
“Recently come back from the dead?”
Minho grimaces, but nods.
“Well,” the strange captain says with a gentle smile, “your crew filled your shoes well while you were gone.”
Minho blinks, but the stranger just laughs. It’s not an unkind laugh, but Minho finds himself bristling against his will. Felix throws him a look. He hates to be reminded of what he missed; The stranger, the captain’s former captain, a whole crew she probably knows, a whole lifetime without Minho, and now also two weeks of her, without him, without Jisung. He hates not knowing what happened, hates that she felt whatever she felt, and he wasn’t there to hold her through it, take some of it onto himself, anything to ease her pain.
The stranger nods at the captain.
“I’ll take my men, and we’ll see what we can find of value in this piece of shit’s house.”
“1542,” Jisung says. The strange captain whips around to him, raises an eyebrow.
Jisung shrugs with a lopsided smirk that is so infuriatingly hot it makes Minho want to kiss it off him. Jisung loops a casual arm around the captain’s waist.
“The combination to the safe in his office. It’s where he keeps most of his gold. There and in the top drawer of the armoire in the master bedroom. It has a false bottom.”
The man regards Jisung for a second, then bellows out a laugh.
“Thank you, Mr Han.”
Jisung grimaces, waves him off.
“Please, just … Jisung.”
The stranger sticks out his hand to Jisung, who shakes it proudly.
“Well, Jisung, I’ll make sure to buy you a drink in thanks later.”
Then, he turns to the captain.
“Because I’m sure there will be a celebration of what you have achieved here today.”
He gives the captain a wink.
“Anyway, you will excuse me.”
The captain nods, bows almost imperceptibly as the stranger walks off, waves to some of his crew to follow him into the house.
As soon as they’re alone, Felix sighs out and turns to the captain, who finds his gaze almost immediately. He watches quietly as Felix and the captain fall into each other’s arms, Felix wordlessly hooks his chin over the captain’s shoulder and closes his eyes. He rocks her back and forth soothingly, rubs a palm over her back, and she squeezes him back almost desperately. The stab of jealousy in his chest comes before he can stop it and remind himself that she … loves him. She loves him.
“It’s over now,” Felix whispers to her, and he sounds happy, but he also sounds … tired. Minho meets Jisung’s eyes, catches him also watching Felix and the captain with big, unblinking eyes.
And even when Felix steps back and the captain smiles at him and calls for the crew so they can make their way into the house – it’s like he suddenly can’t stop noticing how almost imperceptibly, but undeniably, everyone had changed. The bags under Felix’s eyes, the way he looks a little thinner than he did before as he follows behind the captain, who leads them into the house. Right behind Changbin, unshakeable, strong Changbin, who also looks so incredibly tired. Pale and nervous, an edge to his voice when he tells Felix to stay behind him, to be careful, one hand stretched out protectively in his direction, despite the relative safety of the house now that the rest of Han Yujun’s men are long gone, flown into the woods or to the harbour, or slaughtered by the waiting mob.
Hyunjin behind him is still sniffling, and there’s no indication of him stopping. Chan walks next to him, deep bags under his own eyes, his hand ready at the small of Hyunjin’s back as if he’s ready to catch him anytime.
Minho walks right behind the captain, Jisung by his side. He can’t, doesn’t want to allow himself to be any more than a single step behind her at all times. His good eye scans every room, every doorway, every single bend dark corner of the house, laser focused on anything that could possibly go wrong because the mere thought of losing her now … He can’t even bear the thought.
I love you, Min. The words play in his head over and over again, her voice so broken, yet so gentle, so full of sunshine and warmth and conviction as she said the words he had told himself he could live without ever hearing. And he told her he loved her, too, of course he did, because there was never a single shred of doubt in his mind about that. But it’s not enough. He hasn’t said everything else yet. So many years of his devotion, bottled up in his bruised, stretched out heart, ready to burst forth. He’s always been ready, but now he’s finally allowed to love her, her who has consumed his entire being, who is the best, kindest, strongest person he has ever met …
She who looks so, so fragile right now. Her voice is still clear and strong and full of authority as she gives her orders, her mind clear and her decisions immediate, but something about her is off. Maybe it’s just because he knows her so well, but her eyes look tired, and he can see how her shirt hangs more loosely on her tense shoulders. There’s also a tremor in her hand that wasn’t there before, and it drives him crazy. His fingertips burn with the need to touch her, to hold her hand until it stops shaking, to pull her into his arms, to get Jisung within reach again, to touch, and protect and love, God, love them with everything he has because he’s been a fool to ever think he was made for anything else. And he knows it’s safe now, he knows it’s over, but his body didn’t seem to get the memo because his body is thrumming with unnamed anxiety that makes him feel sick to his stomach.
He tries to catch Jisung’s eyes, but he slips away from him, the captain ordering him downstairs, to retrieve the papers from the secret stash he talked about. Jisung goes, though clearly unwillingly, flanked by Hyunjin and Chan, and with it goes the last shred of Minho’s sanity.
And then Minho is alone with the senseless dread buzzing in his veins. He remains stationed by the door, eyes glued to the hallway, ears straining for any sign of danger and deaf to anything else the captain and the crew say. He curses the fact that his eye is fucked, that he didn’t turn away when he should have because now he’s completely blind to anything happening on his left side, and it’s risky.
The thought alone makes his heartbeat thud in his ears so loudly that it makes every creak of the old house sound deafeningly loud and yet not loud enough, like he’s constantly one step behind, missing something crucial, like someone could jump out where he can’t see them or come barreling down the hallway, gun in hand, and he wouldn’t be able to judge how far away they are and fail to stop them and …
He only snaps out of it when they’re back outside in the setting sun, regrouping on the trampled grass of the now deserted yard, and Felix pulls him aside.
“Breathe,” Felix murmurs, squeezes Minho’s arm gently, then firmer, when Minho doesn’t respond, until Minho finally gulps down a breath of air, tears his eyes away from where he hadn’t even realised they were glued to the captain. He meets Felix’s worried gaze.
“Shit, sorry,” Minho mumbles, blinks. He tries to take a step back, but Felix doesn’t let him. His grip is firm and grounding. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m freaking out now. We won, didn’t we …”
Felix chuckles softly. He looks tired again. He rubs Minho’s arm comfortingly.
"There’s no timeline for this kind of stuff, Minho.”
Minho watches the captain a ways off, as she scribbles down the combination to the safe in her office so Jeongin can take the evidence back to the ship and stow it away safely. Felix follows his gaze.
“She’s okay.”
Minho shakes his head. He wants to shield his concern in something less vulnerable, but he doesn’t have the strength to find any fake words, so he just asks.
“Was it bad?”
Felix looks at him, eyes searching his for a few seconds before he sighs.
He tells him about it all, then, as they make their way away from Han Yujun’s house, down the loud, winding streets, filled with locals and children who run from house to house, cheer and celebrate and run to bring them gifts, ones they try to deny but can’t because they insist, tears of gratitude in their eyes.
The air of celebration can do nothing to soothe the lancing, aching pain that blooms in Minho’s chest when Felix finally tells him everything he had been so desperate to hear, though Minho can tell he’s sparing him the most gruesome details. Minho lets him; He’s more fragile than he cares to admit. Felix tells him how, when they heard the gunshot, the captain had screamed and screamed, that it had felt like she would never stop, before she collapsed into a feverish daze, mumbling and sobbing so hard she could barely walk. Tells him, with reverence, how gently Chan had picked her up, cooed sweet nothings to her as he held her, rocked her back and forth in an effort to stop her from crying. How pale Jeongin had been as he said that she shouldn’t be alone, that he could stay with her, but how Seungmin had stepped forward to tell him not to be stupid, that they needed their lookout and their lookout needed rest, and how Felix had volunteered without even thinking, suggesting Jisung’s empty cot in his cabin for her to rest.
Felix paints so vivid a picture, it’s like Minho can see them all walk down the stairs, a quiet procession following Chan, with the captain in his arms, none of them ready to leave each other after what happened. He can picture them waiting outside, consoling each other, can see Chan gently place her on her feet in Felix’s cabin, Jeongin stepping forward, speaking softly, tears in his eyes as he takes her heavy boots and coat off, combs her hair carefully before he guides her into bed. And it hurts him so much it briefly blinds him.
He stumbles, and Felix’s hand shoots out, wraps around his arm immediately.
“Minho? Are you okay?” he asks, concern laced into his deep voice.
Minho nods blindly, motions for him to go on.
“Are you sure? Do you really want me to continue?”
Minho nods again.
“I … need to know,” he says, forces his voice to steady and his gaze to meet Felix’s. Because he does. He can’t stand not knowing.
So Felix takes Minho’s hand, and he tells him about how she had calmed down slightly with the smell of Jisung lingering around her, but how Felix had refused to leave her. How he had spent that night with her, and how they had found their way back into Jisung’s cot night after night afterwards, how they cried in each other’s arms. How the whole crew had made a meticulous plan, swallowing their own pain as best as they could so that even when the captain came to, marched onwards, set her jaw and steeled herself and kept going, on and on to Han Yujun’s demise, she never had to be alone. And God, their pain. Felix just keeps talking, how Changbin wasn’t able to keep his food down for three days after it happened until Chan started cutting all his meals so small it was basically mush. How drunk Jeongin got one night, threatening to throw himself off the top until Seungmin, fear of heights be damned, climbed up to him and held him through his tears. How Felix was barely able to keep himself on his feet for long enough to cook for them all, but how every day, there were at least 4 of them that found their way into the kitchen, taking Felix’ every order, helping him chop vegetables and stir potatoes and ensured there would be dinner on the table.
Minho’s chest feels like it’s ready to burst. It’s not like he thought the crew didn’t care about him but – he knows what he’s like. He knows he’s callous and short-tempered. He says things he doesn’t mean and lashes out instead of talking about what bothers him. Most days, he figured, the only reason they kept him around was because he was good with a sword, because he protected them. And he was fine with that.
But now, with Felix’s small hand in his, his tired eyes vouching for the truth of all the pain Minho’s supposed death had caused – Minho realises that maybe, just maybe, he’s more loved than he thought. And the knowledge threatens to overwhelm him.
And then there’s the captain, the crew. How closely they all stuck together, cared for each other, picked up the slack whenever one of them couldn’t go on any more. He knew they were strong together, but God, despite it all, the captain, the crew – none of them had been truly alone.
Felix looks at him with a soft smile.
“You would’ve been proud,” he sighs, and Minho wonders if somewhere along the way he learned how to read minds. “Chan and Changbin took turns sleeping at night, so one of the could stand guard at our door, even while we were at sea. Just in case we needed anything. Hyunjin and Chan refused to leave her side, even when the strange captain glared at them when he was trying to talk to her.”
Minho opens his mouth, but no words come. It’s like he has been wrung dry, and what he does feel is too much, too big for words now. He blinks at Felix with tears beading in his lashes.
“We really need you, Min,” Felix mumbles, quietly, “not just the captain needs you, not just Jisung. We all do. It nearly killed us when we thought we lost you.”
Minho chokes out a laugh, and before he can overthink it, he pulls Felix into a hug. Felix yelps in surprise, but he wraps his lithe arms around Minho’s middle and squeezes hard.
“Thanks, Lix,” he mumbles, “for … for everything.” For taking care of her. For loving him. For loving all of them. For being a part of the crew. All of that and more is what he wants to say, but he can’t get it out.
Felix wraps his arm tighter around Minho, nuzzles his nose into his shoulder, and Minho can’t help but smile.
“Thanks for coming back,” he mumbles back.
Minho pulls back, chuckles awkwardly as he wipes some stray tears away. Felix grins at him.
“Who knew you could be so soft, hm?”
Minho rolls his eyes, cuffs him in the shoulder so hard Felix squeaks, and keeps walking.
“Or I guess I know who knows …” Felix sing-songs, puts a little skip in his step, dodges Minho’s next playful fist, “two people, to be exact.”
Minho’s blush races up to the tips of his ears embarrassingly quickly.
“Shut up …” he mumbles. It’s looming, but he can’t handle thinking about the implications of everyone knowing about them right now.
“It’s okay, Min,” Felix hums, and throws an arm around his shoulders. They’re approaching a tavern at the end of the street, golden light streaming through its windows into the already golden light of the waning day, the gaggle of people, men, women, children, that has been following them through town, having only grown, and now weaving together with the crowd already waiting in front of the tavern, waving them in with loud cheers.
Felix nudges his shoulder with his own.
“Before it all went down, when Jisung disappeared into the captain’s quarters every day … Hyune and I … well, we may have spoken to the crew. Primed them, let them know just how serious things might get between you three.”
Minho’s ears burn hotter. He wants to hide.
“For all you knew, it could’ve just been a casual thing. A temporary thing.”
Felix scoffs, raises an eyebrow that makes Minho’s ears burn hotter.
“As if anything could ever be casual with you and the captain involved. Everyone can see it every time you look at each other. And then they could see it when you looked at Jisung.”
Minho cringes, tries to shake Felix off again, but he just grins, clearly very pleased with himself.
“Don’t worry about it! Hyune and I were able to clear up some questions, get them used to the idea. They were a little weirded out about the idea at first, but now nothing stands in your way.”
“Get them used to the idea of what exactly?” Minho asks, cautiously, his heart beating in his throat. Felix shrugs, casually, almost carelessly, as if nothing could break his mood now.
“Whatever you want it to be. You and the captain, the captain and Jisung, hell, you and Jisung.”
Minho looks at him, and it must be written all over his face because Felix throws his head back and laughs. Minho blushes hard, groans.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t mess with you after the day you’ve had. And with your fucked up eye and all. Yes, Min, also you and the captain and Jisung … all together, the three of you, in whatever arrangement.”
Minho lets out a shaky breath, shaking his head.
“I don’t … I don’t think I can even think about that right now,” he mumbles, more to himself than to Felix, but Felix just nods, drags him faster towards the tavern.
“Then don’t! Let’s just celebrate tonight! Let go, let loose. With the knowledge that they’re yours– ”
He stops, gives Minho a look.
“They are yours, right? Because the captain and Jisung …”
Minho can’t help the crooked grin that slips into his lips. Felix squeals, slips his cold hands into Minho’s.
“God, I’m so happy for you. We’ve all been waiting for this day for so long, you have no idea!”
He’s beaming so wide that the last of Minho’s resolve melts easily. Felix laughs, turns and tugs Minho closer to the tavern doors.
“And all the more reason to celebrate!” he yells before he drags him through the doors.
As soon as they step into the tavern, they’re welcomed with cheers and drinks on the house by the barkeep, who immediately uncorks a whole barrel of rum and sends the boy for the local band to come and play music. Minho watches as the captain gets whisked away into the crowd of people and is about to follow her when someone slings an arm over his shoulder and drags him to the bar. He loses sight of Felix immediately.
“She’ll be okay by herself for a moment, Minho,” Changbin laughs, rum already heavy on his breath. “Let’s get you a drink and make a toast!”
Hyunjin and Chan are already at the bar, greeting Minho with a chuckle when they see him throwing looks at the captain, and he blushes too deeply. The fact that they know about it all is still … something Minho has to get used to.
Changbin motions to the barkeep, who slides two glasses of rum over to them. Changbin doesn’t waste any time, shoves one into Minho’s hand.
“To you and Jisung coming back from the dead!”
“We didn’t …”
Chan claps Minho on the back so hard, he nearly chokes on his spit.
“We thought you were! For two whole weeks! We had to scrape our captain off the floor, too. So for all intents and purposes, for us, you came back from the dead!”
Minho grimaces, feels a prickle of anxiety on the back of his neck and he turns again. The captain is on the other side of the tavern, surrounded by locals and other pirates who are talking to her. There’s a drink in her hand and Minho wonders if someone got it for her, if it’s safe.
A man comes up to her, tears in his eyes, stuttering and stumbling over his words as he thanks her. Minho can see her tense shoulders, her helpless hands, the sheer disbelief on her features as she tries to calm him down. When another man comes up to shake her hand, loudly praising her as their saviour, he can see her neck flush harder. The anxiety alleviates a little, and he can’t help the small smile that pulls at his lips. She deserves this.
Hyunjin nudges him, draws his attention back to them, and nods at his glass.
He feels himself blush, but ignores it. He raises his glass with an exaggerated, fake sigh.
“Alright then, to me and Jisung coming back from the dead!”
Hyunjin, Chan and Changbin raise their glasses with a cheer.
“We came back from the dead?” Jisung’s voice comes from behind Minho.
When he turns around, there he is, with Felix, Jeongin and Seungmin in tow, appearing in front of Minho like a vision of honeyed, glistening skin and happiness. The smile on his face is unreal, and Minho wonders, not for the first time, and definitely not the last, how he does it, when Minho’s heart feels like it’s struggling against the weight of the years every time it beats.
He effortlessly threads his arm into Minho’s, rests his fingers on his wrist. Minho’s ears burn hotter, the embarrassment and affection mixing into a dangerous cocktail of feelings.
Hyunjin sighs dramatically and leaves Chan’s side, only to collapse into Jisung’s free side, letting his head drop onto his shoulder.
“You have no idea what we went through when the captain came back without you. She nearly went out of her mind when she had to leave you behind.”
Jisung’s lips pull into a pout.
“I told her it would be fine …”
Minho scoffs. Pain lances through him. Regret.
“I did, too. She didn’t like that.”
He can still hear her sobbing, gasping for breath behind a locked door that he was about to kick down when Changbin found him and dragged him away.
Seungmin sends him a glare.
“You were being an asshole about it,” he quips, “and you were clearly worried, you were white as a sheet. You were just trying to play it off.”
Jisung scrapes his nails over the sensitive skin of Minho’s wrist, and Minho shivers.
“Aw, were you worried about me? That’s so sweet, Minho,” he singsongs, a teasing smile on his lips. Minho glares at him now, though he knows his eyes hold no edge. He long lost the ability to be rough to Jisung.
“Dumbass,” he grumbles, nonetheless, "of course I was. You’re not known for your sense of self-preservation.”
Jisung huffs, but his pout quirks up at the edges. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.
“Well, thank God I have such a strong pirate to protect me then,” he coos, nudges Minho, flutters his eyelashes up at him, so cutely Minho has to narrow his eyes by force, lest he melt on the spot. There was only one thing that flustered him more than Han Jisung, pettily and pointlessly angry at him, and that was Jisung, so brazenly, saucily flirting with him.
“You guys are disgustingly cute, even without the captain,” Jeongin sighs, “what even happened? How did you manage to find each other before we did?”
Minho sighs.
“It’s a long story.”
He empties his rum in one long drag and motions for the bartender to bring him another. Jisung’s fingers slip in between his, his thumb rubs over the back of his hand. Minho feels love singe him from the inside. He wants so badly.
“When they took me, after they made me kneel there and shot into the sky to make you believe I was dead, they dragged me into their hold and who do I see? Jisung, with a split lip, blood caked into his shirt, sulking in one of the cells. He nearly had a heart attack when he saw me, thought he was concussed, and I was a hallucination. And also nearly gave us away by getting too excited.”
“Excited?!” Jisung exclaims, indignant, “I was kidnapped, ready to be shipped back to my uncle to be killed and probably actually concussed because I broke Trott’s nose, and they beat me up, and in you walk, half your face smashed in, covered in blood. You scared the shit out of me!”
Minho can’t help the fondness that seeps into his eyes.
“I guess I looked pretty bad …”
“No offence to your gorgeous face, but you looked awful. I was so worried your eye was going to get infected,” Jisung says, pouting again.
Minho shrugs.
“So then we spent about a week locked in there, pretending not to know each other whenever someone came to check on us. Though in reality, we spent every waking second plotting our escape for when we were in Han Yujun’s cells. Jisung, once again, saving our asses with his incredible memory and the knowledge of his uncle’s business.”
Jisung straightens, preens under the praise. There’s a glint of pride in his eyes.
“My uncle has always been a cheapskate. I figured pretty much anything could pick the cheap locks on his basement cells, as long as it was long and thin enough. And conveniently enough, the cots we were sleeping on were just old wooden crates, with all sizes of nails hammered into them.”
Minho hums, turns back to their audience.
“But we knew that if we just escaped, we would likely not make it very far. And we knew it was only a matter of time before you would arrive.”
“How could you be so sure? Did you know we thought you were dead?”
Minho falters for the briefest moment.
“I figured nothing would stop the captain from completing her life’s mission. Especially not just my death.”
“Just your death?” Changbin breathes out in disbelief. Hyunjin is staring at Minho almost angrily and Minho regrets his choice of words immediately. “Minho, the mission was the only thing keeping us going. Without that, who knows what would have happened. Chan and I were so wired, we only slept alternate nights, taking turns to sit guard to sit in front of Felix’s cabin.”
The pain blooms again, and Jisung stiffens next to him.
“Felix’s cabin?” he asks quietly, a nameless worry in his voice.
Minho’s heart aches.
“The captain and I … slept in your bed. Every night,” Felix says, quietly, sheepishly, blushing a deep red, more embarrassment than shame.
Minho watches closely as Jisung freezes, blinks – watches his bottom lip quiver as the knowledge sinks in.
“We couldn’t leave her alone, and it was the only thing that calmed her down because seeing Minho’s things in her own cabin made her break down – and Felix just … refused to leave her after that first night,” Chan explains hastily. Jisung’s bottom lip quivers harder. The revelation that Minho’s things made her break down aches deep in Minho’s bones.
With a choked up little sob, Jisung lets go of his arm and throws himself into Felix’s arms, who catches him readily, and wraps him into a tight hug.
“Lix,” Jisung howls, squeezes Felix harder, “ Lix that is so … how … why … oh my god.”
Felix laughs sadly, rubs a hand over Jisung’s back. When Jisung pulls back, Felix gives Minho a look.
“I didn’t know if you were alive. Hope wasn’t really … well, I pretended to have it, because the captain didn’t have any, and I felt like she needed a reason to keep going, but really … I didn’t dare hope, either.”
Changbin sighs, Hyunjin’s face darkens.
“Keeping the captain from doing something stupid was a full-time job,” he mumbles, and for a brief second, Minho feels his world almost spin out of control. He turns again, scans over the crowd until he finds her, animatedly talking to a woman with a child on her hip, the baby’s meaty little fingers wrapped around the captain’s thumb, the captain’s eyes sparkling as she coos at the little thing. As if the captain could feel his gaze on her, she turns, finds him effortlessly. There’s a pretty little blush. Her eyelids flutter, ever so slightly. Then she smiles.
A ripple of cheers runs through the tavern, but Minho holds the captain’s gaze for a second, as if to reassure himself that she’s alive, before he turns back around.
It doesn’t take long to identify the reason for the commotion. The tall, strange pirate commanding everyone’s attention when he walks in surrounded by his crew. The tavern, already full enough to burst, becomes louder and more raucous yet. And it seems that with the pirates, the band arrived, because only a few minutes later, the first notes of a jig sound from somewhere on the other side of the tavern and a cheer runs through the crowd.
The barkeep appears in front of them then, slides another round of rum towards them with a toothy grin.
“From the tall fella’, over there,” he yells over the noise, “though I did tell ‘im it was all free ‘a charge tonight anyways. But he said it was the principle of th’ thing.”
When Minho lifts his eyes, he meets the strange captain’s eyes. He grins at them, lifts his hat in greeting, and bows lightly to Jisung, who blushes and bows back.
“Guess your advice was good,” Minho laughs, pulls Jisung back into his side, revels in the way he willingly wraps his arm around his waist. He hands Jisung one of the drinks, and they all cheers, loudly, Minho and Jisung raising their glasses over to the stranger and the men of his crew around him.
“So,” Jeongin asks, once their drinks are emptied, “I still wanna know. How did you end up escaping?”
“We waited until we heard two of the guards on duty to watch us talk about a privateer ship docking at the harbour,” Minho explains, “though in hindsight that was probably whoever that is over there. Then I picked the locks, took care of those sorry excuses Han Yujun hired for his guards, got Jisung out, and we split up. Took the fight to them, one by one, until you arrived to back us up.”
“We arrived at least an hour, if not two, after the other crew,” Seungmin observes, narrows his eyes at Minho, “how could you have possibly held them off for 2 hours?”
Minho feels his own neck burn up, but the rum in his blood has long made itself known, injecting him with more confidence than he would usually have.
“Well, maybe we didn’t leave to fight them immediately …” he hums. He tries hard not to sound too cocky about it, but it’s hard when he can feel Jisung squirm against him, and the memory of him basically jumping him as soon as he unlocked the door is still more than fresh in his memory.
Seungmin stares at him for a beat, then recoils with a disgusted scoff.
“Ugh, fucking gross,” he grunts and motions for the bartender to get him another drink. The tips of his ears are bright pink.
“Still risky, though,” Chan comments, seemingly already moved on from Minho’s dirty revelation, “timing it like that.”
Minho shrugs.
“You did take longer than expected and threw us off when talk of the second privateer ship got around in the house, but it was only a matter of time.”
Changbin shakes his head, reaches over and slaps Minho over the back of the head so hard, Minho actually flinches.
“Fucking dumbass,” he grumbles, “fucking risking your life like that. Again.”
A happy little laugh bubbles out of Jisung’s chest, before he protectively pulls Minho out of Changbin’s grasp and slaps at Changbin’s hands.
“Stop attacking my strong pirate bodyguard!” he squeals, with a fake scowl, “I will not hesitate to kick you in the shin again!”
That pulls a laugh out of all of them, even Changbin, who narrows his eyes, plays along readily.
“Well, the captain’s not here, so this time, I will kick back,” he yells, throws a dramatic fist into the air and Felix nearly falls off his barstool giggling.
Minho feels himself speak before he can stop himself.
“Then I’d kick you right back, I have sworn to protect this idiot, after all.”
There’s a brief moment of silence. Hyunjin stares at him, and Minho’s heart rockets into his throat, suddenly painfully aware of just how out of character his little joke had just been. But then Hyunjin’s eyes crease up, and he giggles, and the spell is broken. Minho breathes a sigh of relief.
Jisung turns, wraps his arm tighter around Minho’s waist and looks up at him with a theatrical gasp.
“But I’m your idiot, right?”
Minho can’t help but roll his eyes.
“Isn’t that supposed to be my line, not something you call yourself?”
Jisung pouts, blinks up at him, and he’s so, so gorgeous it makes Minho’s head spin a little.
“Well, if you won’t do it, I have to take the initiative,” he exclaims and Minho rolls his eyes again, but he lets his hand splay over the small of Jisung’s back, lets his fingers whisper over the sliver of exposed skin there. Jisung stares back at him, eyes softening until Minho thinks he could drown in them.
But they’re painfully interrupted by Felix, pulling Jisung right out of Minho’s grasp.
“Okay, enough lovey-dovey shit from you two, my best friend just came back to life, I want to celebrate!”
He drags Jisung towards the middle of the room where people have moved the tables aside to form a haphazard dance floor, and Jisung goes willingly, with an apologetic smile to Minho, who swallows his irritation and just sighs.
He sticks around with the others for a while, has another drink that makes his body hum and his vision fuzzy, listens to Chan tell him about the terrified kitchen staff they had found holed up in Han Yujun’s pantry earlier today, who barely allowed them to help them out the door before they ran, and watches as Jisung and Felix dance, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, swaying their hips, pivoting each other away from prying eyes and strange, wandering hands, giggling and laughing.
But his gaze returns again and again to the captain. After watching her float through the room, thanked and congratulated and celebrated over and over again, it seems that she has finally found a moment of rest.
She’s by herself, sat in front of an open window, on the back of a heavy wooden bench that doubles as a windowsill. Her posture suggests a calm that Minho has rarely seen in her outside of her own quarters, let alone somewhere as public like as a tavern. She’s leaning back against the window frame, head leaning against the thick wood, her eyes lazily roving over the crowd. There’s a soft smile on her lips, a glass of rum dangling from her elegant fingers. The tip of her boot sways to the beat of the music.
And he’s struck again just how breathtakingly beautiful she is. And how much she’s like nobody else he has ever met. He could call it charisma, or confidence, or authority, but it all seems too simple a word for the energy that radiates from her. He has had the privilege to see her in so many forms – at her best, at the helm of the ship, of her crew, her eyes sparkling with determination, a calculated violence and ruthlessness guiding her always skilled, always steady hands. The flip side of it, her other best, when she turns around at the mere sound of one of them getting hurt, defending every single one of her crew like they’re her own flesh and blood. The same care and love for every single human being when she finds people who are hurt, when she finds new recruits. The way she looks at them and seems to see in them more than anyone else can. Her innate ability to see the best and the worst in people, but most importantly, to see their fears and their potential. Like the day they picked up Felix, and the captain wrapped him in her coat, guided him back to the ship with a soothing hand on his back. Like the day they captured Jisung, and somehow, she saw through everything that set off the alarm bells in Minho’s head so badly he hated his guts for weeks.
And then the side of her only he got to see. Soft, desperate, needy. Her usually steady hands trembling against his skin, pulling at his wrists to get him closer, whispering about how much she needed him. The words, despite their context, never failing to make him reel. Or when she was underneath him, eyes fluttered shut, body beautifully bared to him and only him, entrusted to him because she knew he would keep her safe, would do anything for her. Her pleasure, his charge. His privilege to give her.
And even the darker moments, the ones he coveted quietly, a sick sort of pride in the knowledge that they were also his to keep. The occasional flickers of doubt, the shadows of fear. The darkness that would cloud her eyes sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere, that made her body unnaturally still, her breathing catch in her throat. The moments she hid from everyone because she thought they would make her less … less what, Minho wonders. Less of a leader? Less trustworthy? Less strong? Less lovable? As if these weren’t the moments that solidified for Minho, more than any others, that this was someone he would follow until the ends of the earth. Someone he would break his own heart over again and again and again, if it meant he was able to stay in her orbit. Her magical, addictive orbit, one he could never resist. One, he thinks, he will find himself in in his next life, and the one after that, and the one after that – if something like that exists. Maybe if he ever meets Ryujin again, he can ask her if it does.
Maybe it’s her orbit that draws him over to her now, pushing through the crowd, drawn in by her energy until she spots him, smiles at him, straightens up only enough to stretch an arm towards him.
He lets himself reach for her, too, lets his fingers intertwine with hers, lets himself be pulled closer, onto the back of the bench with her, until he can feel her leg press against his, and he’s right back in her orbit, her energy prickling through his veins and the smell of her hair in his nose.
Slowly, carefully, dancing the same sweet, covert dance they have played so many times before, he lets his leg rest agains hers. And despite it all, despite how many times they’ve done this, despite the three magical words that have so easily dripped from her lips earlier, his heart skips an uneven beat when she leans hers against his. He wonders if he could ever get used to it.
“I can’t believe we did it,” she hums, quietly.
He looks over at her, finds her still looking into the crowd of raucous, drunken people, before she turns to him and smiles. “I can’t believe we actually did it.”
Minho remembers all the years they spent, all the frustration and the setbacks and the pain when they lost again and again and again. The year they got so close before he eluded them again, when she locked him out of her quarters for an entire week. The time when they only narrowly eluded the coast guard that Han Yujun had sicced on them. The year they didn’t elude it, and they had to break Changbin out of jail.
But, his body also unhelpfully reminds him now, with her leg pressed against his, the sound of her voice telling him she loved him still warm and honeyed in his ears, of the year after that, the small victory of uncovering the drug ring that was funnelling roofies into the brothels of Nassau, when she dragged him into the kitchen while everyone was in the common area celebrating and kissed him so hard and demanding he felt his blood rush to his cock in record time before she sank to her knees, right there, where anyone could’ve walked in. He had never gotten over the headrush of it, her readiness to let him have his way with her almost in public. The closest thing to her love he thought he could ever have. But now here he was.
He forces his mind out of the gutter, his gaze back to the dancers. He sees Felix’s blonde mop of head jumping around somewhere in the back.
The captain hands him her drink and he takes a sip.
“I always knew we would, eventually,” he offers, tries to get the conversation back on track because he finds he misses her voice already. She sighs.
"I mean, I guess I did, too, but it took so long, and we failed so many times, and then we lost all the evidence and … I just really thought it might never happen.”
She leans forward, rests her chin in her hand, her elbow on her leg.
“I guess I thought that maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, you know. That we weren’t strong enough, not smart enough, didn’t want it enough. That we never stood a chance.”
Minho scoffs, turns back to her, and finds himself so close to her, he can smell the rum on her breath. Desire rushes through him so fast it almost makes him dizzy. Desire and love, though the two have always been intertwined when it comes to her.
“Captain,” he murmurs, watches her eyelids flutter, gaze dropping down to his lips so briefly he thinks he imagined it, “you were always strong enough. It was only a matter of time. For fate to finally help us find the last piece of the puzzle. I never doubted it would be you who finally took him down.”
He watches her fluster, her eyes waver, fall down to the floor, her lashes fanning over her cheeks like they do when she’s asleep. One separates, comes to rest on her cheekbone. He reaches out, brushes it away softly. Her skin under his fingertips drives him crazy.
She smiles at him, briefly leans into his touch, before her attention is drawn back into the room, where the music comes to a stuttering halt and someone stumbles his way through the crowd and onto a chair in the middle of the room. A chuckle runs through the room when he nearly tumbles onto the floor.
Minho nearly laughs out loud when he sees it’s Kim Seungmin.
He tries again and this time, Seungmin manages to climb up and stand tall over the crowd. And despite his flushed cheeks and uneven feet, he finds the captain immediately. His voice, too, is surprisingly stable.
“I’m a little bit drunk, and I’m sure everyone who knows me will never let me live this down for as long as I live, but I have something I wanted to say,” he begins. The room quiets down to listen.
“Not many of you know this, actually, because I have never told the story and because, frankly, nobody has ever asked, but I have been with the captain since the very first day. I met her the day she stumbled onto our former captain’s ship,” he says, with a bow in the direction of where Minho can see the strange pirate’s hat tower over everyone.
Through his own surprise, his confusion as he tries to puzzle out how none of them had ever asked, watches Hyunjin’s mouth fall open on the other side of the room, hears San yell out a “what the fuck, Seungmin!” that makes the crowd chuckle. Seungmin just shrugs and lifts his hand, and the room quiets down again. Minho’s almost impressed with how well he handles the crowd.
“Years later, when she picked me to go with her when our captain gave her her ship, I went willingly. And I still remember the first night on the new ship like it was yesterday. Just her, me, and three other crew mates from the Captain’s crew, sailing into the unknown on a ship that was too big for us to realistically man. The uncertainty. The doubts. But then dawn broke, and she rallied us all into the kitchen, sat us down, brewed us coffee and scrambled some eggs and told us her plan for recruitment, for money, for how she wanted to refurbish the common room we all know and love today, everything, like she hadn’t slept at all that night and just figured it out. She told me then, on that very first day, that she wanted me to be her navigator. And mind you, I had never told anyone about my interest in cartography, in navigation, only sneaking books from land, and drawing in my spare time, in whatever corner of the ship I could hide when I wasn’t on swabby duties. But the captain had noticed.”
Minho turns to the captain next to him, who is watching Seungmin with rapt attention, a deep blush on her soft cheeks, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. She looks younger than she ever has, and he can’t help but wonder if this is how she looked when Seungmin met her. If her face looked very different when she was younger. If she had worn her hair differently back then. Not for the first time, he wishes he could’ve been there. It makes him almost jealous of Seungmin.
“And of course I said yes, so I became her navigator and have since sailed our ship over more miles than I can count. I watched her dedication to goodness from the very first day, when we picked up that old drunk in a dinghy that threw up all over the deck, and she wanted to clean it up, but we refused to let her and drew lots instead. I lost.”
Seungmin grimaces, and the captain does, too. A loud laugh runs through the audience.
“I could talk for hours about her. The obvious, like her fighting skills, her intelligence, her courage, her leadership. But also about her staring evil in the face and still choosing the good every time. And her ability to make split second decisions that determine life or death, and coming out on the side of life every time. And you know what? As cheesy as it sounds, I think that is her real power.”
Seungmin sweeps his arms to the side, looks over where Hyunjin, Jeongin, Changbin and Chan are watching him, then back to the captain.
“The captain is a giver of life. Every single one of us has come from dark places. Have lead lives we’re not proud of, or ones we’d rather not remember. We suffered and fought for our survival, and we thought that was all we were ever going to have. And most of us had accepted our lots, and we would’ve continued on, surviving, until we couldn’t. But the captain found us.
“And I truly, do not know how she does it. How she saw me, a lanky, cowardly, moody swabby and picked me to come with her, to give me the honour of being her navigator. And I’ve asked myself for years if it was because she saw something in me that I didn’t know was there but … I’ve since come to a different conclusion: It’s her who brought it out of me. Because I wanted to be worthy of the chance.”
Minho hears the captain scoff, but she’s smiling. She cups her hands over her mouth and shouts “untrue! You were always destined to be the best cartographer in the seven seas!”
Hyunjin, Chan and Changbin cheer loudly, the crowd laughs.
Seungmin sighs deeply, waves the captain off with a lighthearted scowl.
“See, ladies and gentlemen, she does it again. But it does remind me that I should get to the point.”
The chuckles ebb down and Seungmin look serious, throws another look to the group around Hyunjin at the bar, then looks at Minho, and then the captain.
“Our captain is more than just our captain. Yes, she leads us, every single day without fail. But even more importantly, she has given us what many of us thought we would never get to have again – another chance. Safety. Autonomy. Purpose. And most importantly.”
Seungmin takes a deep breath, gives the captain the smallest smile.
“She has given us a family. She is our family. And we know how hard she works, how much she swallows, hides, how much she sacrifices, in order for us not to think her any less strong – something we could never think of her, by the way – and nothing made this clearer than the last two weeks, when not even the death of two people she loved more than anything could keep her down for longer than a day. When she pushed through all her own pain to guide us through ours. She got up every single morning and kept fighting because she knew how much this victory meant to all of us …”
Seungmin breaks off, and Minho swears he can see tears glimmer in his eyes before he blinks them away. Minho hears the captain sniffle beside him, quiet enough for only him to hear. A single tear runs down her cheek.
“So …” Seungmin croaks out, clears his throat, “we did the same. We did what she has done for us all of these years, and we swallowed our pain so we could help her through hers. So we could help each other. Because it’s the least we could do to repay her.”
The captain huffs out a wet laugh next to Minho, tears streaming down her face. Something about it is so much more vulnerable than anything Minho had ever seen, it breaks his heart. Gently, he places a hand on her knee, rubs his thumb soothingly. She shakes her head at Seungmin, but Seungmin doesn’t budge.
“No, captain. Without you, none of us would be here. We would be dead or in jail or destitute or criminals. But you have given us something bigger to strive for. And we did it – we rid this world off its biggest leech!”
A cheer goes through the crowd.
“With the help of our former captain and his formidable crew that we used to call our own,” he says, with another deep bow in their direction that is answered by loud cheers, “with the help of our own fearless crew, and …”
Seungmin fixes Minho with fake glare.
“… the captain’s ever fearless second in command, who can be a massive ass but is unfortunately also one of the best people I’ve ever met and deserves our thanks for protecting us with everything he has for years …”
Minho’s heart knocks against his ribcage almost painfully. The captain’s fingers thread between his own softly, and squeeze. Right here, next to her, even the attention doesn’t feel so bad.
“… and Han Jisung, who is the living proof for anyone that your name is not your legacy, and has chosen us from day one. I hope you continue to be … well, whatever your role is on our ship …”
Another loud giggle through the crowd, interrupted by Jisung’s loud yell
“That’s kitchen assistant, fighter, and the captain’s concubine to you, Kim Seungmin!”
Seungmin grimaces, shoots him an exasperated glare, but he can’t hide the smile on his lips. The captain giggles, blushes, squeezes Minho’s hand harder.
“Well, then I hope you continue to be … all of that … a part of our crew, a part of our family.”
Then Seungmin turns back to the captain and raises his glass.
“But none of this would have been possible without you, captain. You have made an indelible mark on this world, today. Here’s to a long, happy life, without any more sacrifices. We could never respect you less. We are incredibly proud to be your crew,” Seungmin closes, a sense of grandiosity in his voice that makes everyone cheer louder, especially the members of their crew. He climbs off the table awkwardly.
The captain is on her feet before Minho can do so much as blink. She threads through the cheering crowd, and Minho follows her almost blindly, seemingly unable to escape her orbit now that he has been drawn into it. As soon as Seungmin is within her reach, the captain tackles him into a tight hug. It takes him a few seconds to compute the sudden presence of her, but then he wraps his arms around her, pulls her against him and squeezes his eyes shut until a tear does escape him.
“Seungminnie,” the captain mumbles, into Seungmin’s shoulders, without looking at him, so quietly Minho can barely hear her, “I– … in the top drawer of my desk. There’s a piece of paper. I wrote my will, just in case I wouldn’t make it. But it didn’t take me long at all. Because there was only one instruction: The ship should belong to Kim Seungmin. I have always known that.”
The sob that wrenches out of Seungmin’s chest is so guttural it makes Minho’s heart physically ache with it, and he watches as he cradles her closer, as Jeongin and Hyunjin and Changbin and Chan make their way over with more rum, crowd around the two until Seungmin finally pushes himself away from the captain and wipes at his eyes with a huff.
“If any of you make fun of me for this tomorrow, I will kill you,” he grumbles.
Hyunjin scoffs, shakes his head at Seungmin.
“Idiot, we would never make fun of you for saying out loud what we were all too cowardly to say,” he mumbles, hands Seungmin a drink. Seungmin takes it with a grumble, downs half of it in one big draught. Then Hyunjin turns to the captain with a radiant smile, hands her a glass, too, wipes at her tears and giggles and asks her if she’s alright.
Out of the corner of his eye, Minho watches as Jeongin quietly abandons his spot next to Chan, makes his way around everyone until he can squeeze in next to Seungmin, his chest pressed against Seungmin’s arm; Seungmin looks down at him with wide eyes, and Minho can hear his breath hitch when Jeongin gives him the gentlest smile, reaches up, cradles his face in his hands and tenderly wipes Seungmin’s tears away. It’s the smallest moment, but it feels so achingly private, Minho feels like he shouldn’t be watching. And it’s over as soon as it happened, though when Jeongin steps back, takes his place next to Seungmin, Minho thinks he can see Seungmin reach out and intertwine their hands between them. He hopes so. He hopes the two of them will finally let themselves be happy.
He turns from them, gives them their privacy, lets himself get swept up by Hyunjin, who’s passing out drinks, making toast after toast after toast, to the end of Han Yujun, to their victory, to their captain, to Minho and Jisung, who, along with Felix, has finally found his way back to them, coming ‘back to life’ as he says over and over again.
Minho sips his drink slowly. He doesn’t want to drink tonight. Frankly, he doesn’t know if he can. The high of their victory, the gut-wrenching pain of everything it cost, the storm of confusion and love, so much, uncontrollable love – it already scares the living shit out of him. If he drinks now, who knows what he would do. And, really, what does he need a drink for when he has them, right in front of him, smiling and laughing, flushed and beautiful, looking at each other and touching each other subtly and sweetly and so intimately that it makes Minho’s entire body burn with need.
But he’s patient. Truly, he’s more patient than he thought he could be, makes small talk and lets everyone congratulate him. Lets Jisung and Felix dance some more. Lets the captain and Hyunjin talk and laugh at the corner of the bar. Lets the captain talk to the tall stranger, her captain, whose encouraging words and heavy hand on her shoulder make her blush and bow. But as the night wears on and the party gets louder and everyone around them gets drunker except for them, as everyone gets swept away into the crowd and leaves the three of them there – Minho sees it in her eyes. Glossy and big and beautiful and dark with desire, shivering when Jisung’s hand, lightly, but possessively laying against her nape, threads up and into her hair and scratches gently at her scalp.
They leave without telling anyone; sneak out the door to the tavern, take off running down the street when they hear someone call for them. Their laughter rings through the balmy night air that still holds the scent of a sunny day, the dust under their feet kicks up as they run and run and run, all the way through town, until their feet hit the sand of the beach and they, breathlessly, climb into one of the dinghies and row out.
It’s a dizzying contrast, the sudden quiet of the night, with only the water lapping against the sides of the boat, the oars hitting the waves.
Minho rows you out, leaving you and Jisung to sit opposite him. Your body feels light as air, like you’re floating above yourself somewhere, and you allow yourself to sink into Jisung’s arms, lean against his solid chest behind you. From where you are, you have a perfect view of Minho, his raven hair glimmering in the moonlight, the muscles in his shoulders straining against his shirt as he rows, the dark eyepatch obscuring one of his eyes. You can’t help but mourn it, deep down. His eyes, his beautiful, glimmering, loving eyes, are one of your favourite things about him. But when he looked at you earlier, you realised that it won’t be so different. All the love, the devotion, his soul; it’s still reflected there for you to see. It must’ve hurt, though, you think, and it may still hurt now, but he doesn’t let it show. It makes you wonder just how much pain he has swallowed over the years, how much he has been hiding behind the ever-present furrow of his eyebrows that you have long learned has nothing to do with his actual mood. Or so you thought. You decide you will figure this one out in time.
You lean back, further into Jisung’s warmth, into his pine and musk scent, the one you’ve been sleeping in through all the pain, the one you never thought you would smell again. The fact that he’s here is still unbelievable to you, a part of you terrified that you will blink and wake up, in Jisung’s cot with Felix glued to your back, and it was all a dream. Absentmindedly, you let your hands splay over Jisung’s thighs, run them up and down, drawing little patterns against the rough material until his breath hitches, trying to convince yourself that this isn’t a dream, that it’s real.
You still are when Jisung’s hand finds your jaw, and he leans in, brushes his nose against yours before his eyes flutter shut and he kisses you. And you know that this can’t be a dream.
It’s the sweetest whisper of a kiss, a brush of his lips against yours, perfect reticence and tenderness, even when he presses closer, a little more insistent this time, and then again and again, until your mouth opens for him and Jisung dips down, licks a moan right off your tongue.
You hear Minho’s movement stall, hear the lewd, wet sound of Jisung’s spit slick lips sliding against yours, feel Jisung’s hands cradle you closer, his tongue dancing with yours until you’re dizzy with want.
You barely notice when the little dinghy comes to a halt, bumps into the side of your ship, until Jisung pulls back, and you’re hauled up and straight into Minho’s arms. The gaze in his one good eye is penetrating, yet so tender, and you swear you have never needed him, never wanted him as badly as you want him right now. His gaze flutters to your lips, and yours glue to his. You whisper a hoarse “please” but he shakes his head, turns you around, ushers you up the stairs.
Your fragile, beaten heart doesn’t even have the time to panic, to wonder if something had changed, whether kissing Jisung when Minho was right there was wrong, because as soon as Minho swings his legs over the railing, he finds you, sweeps you up into his arms and kisses you, short and sweet and filthy, before he carries you into the ship, Jisung trailing after you with a dopey smile on his lips.
He carries you through the thick wooden door, down the familiar corridor, the way he has done so many times before when the two of you finally managed to steal a moment away from everyone, and it makes tears pool in your eyes at the same time as a laugh bubbles out of your chest. You bury your face in his neck, card your hand through his hair, drag your lips over the skin of his neck until you crash through the door of your quarters.
It’s pitch dark, but he doesn’t need any light to find the way to your bedroom, to push open the door and gently place you down on the foot of your bed. His hands find your face, and you only realise that you’re still crying when the thumbs he smoothes over your cheekbones come away wet.
Jisung stumbles over to you, toes off his boots hurriedly and crawls onto the bed until he’s behind you. He cards his careful, gentle hands through your hair.
“Hey,” Minho whispers. His voice is shaky with worry. “Y/N, baby, are you okay?”
But you can’t respond, the weight of the world sitting so heavy on your chest you think you might collapse under it, the absence of the kraken like a physical ache.
You shake your head. More tears drip down your face, your mouth screwed shut, desperately trying to keep the sobs in, but it just hurts so much.
“Shh … it’s okay, my love. Lean back against Sungie for me, okay? I’ll just light some candles,” Minho hums, softly, and makes to step away, but your hand shoots out in a reaction of senseless panic. Minho doesn’t force himself away. He comes back easily, gently, cradles your face back in his hands.
“I’ll be right back, baby,” he whispers, presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just one second.”
Somehow, you manage to nod, let go of his hand, even when your heart is being torn apart because he’s here, he’s really here, taking care of you again. It makes the emptiness, the exhaustion, the pain of the last two weeks stand in such brutal relief that the sob tears out of your chest so hard it jolts Jisung into action.
He half turns you, pulls you into his lap, cradles you so close you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek and you cry. And he holds you.
Pine and musk and sweat and rum. Big, warm hands. A soft voice humming your name, whispering sweet nothings as Minho moves around the room, lights the candles in the sconces until the room is bathed in warm, golden candlelight, and you realise you haven’t seen it like this since the day you lost them.
And then Minho is back. Ever so gently, he pulls your shoes off your feet, manoeuvres you until he can tug your dirty, bloodied jacket off you. Carelessly, he throws it into the corner somewhere and comes to kneel in front of you and Jisung, who’s still holding you closely to his chest, rocking you back and forth soothingly. Minho reaches out, smoothes your messy hair back from your forehead. His touches so tender and careful more tears collect in your eyes, so many you can’t blink them away, and they run down your cheeks, collect in Jisung’s sleeve. You stare at Minho and you see your pain reflected in the devastated expression on his face.
“You’re here …” you whisper, your voice so brittle you barely recognise it, “taking care of me and everything … I thought you would never be able to … I thought I lost you. Both of you. I thought I was alone.”
You sob again, try to hide your face in Jisung’s chest, who cradles you closer. His chest convulses and you realise he’s crying, too.
“Ooooh no no no no, not you, too” Minho whines, scoots closer until he can wrap his arms around both of you. Jisung chuckles quietly behind you, then sniffles. He hugs you closer, rubs his hand up and down your arm. Minho’s fingers are still soothingly running over your hair.
“Everything’s okay,” he murmurs, quietly, lets his forehead rest against Jisung’s head in a gesture so surprisingly vulnerable it hits you square in the chest how much everything has changed. But you’re not scared. Not any more.
Jisung nuzzles into Minho’s touch, turns his head, places a soft kiss into his hair, then ducks down to do the same to you.
“I love you two, you know,” he mumbles, and you look up at him. He looks so nervous it makes your heart ache. “Like, I know I kinda made a joke out of it earlier, but … I really do. And it feels weird to say it now when, for the longest time, I really, really hated myself for it because I thought something was seriously wrong with me. Falling in love with the captain of the pirates who picked me up. Falling in love with a guy who hated my guts. The whole crew on my ass because they thought I wanted to break you up.”
He scoffs, sniffles again and looks down at you.
“Like, how was I going to tell them that I fell in love with you both?! It’s fucking delusional.”
Minho huffs out a laugh next to him, nudges Jisung’s cheek with his nose.
“No sense of self-preservation, I told you,” he grumbles, and it makes you laugh for real. Your tears finally stop coming and there’s something like hope blooming in your chest as you settle into this, the three of you, just … existing together. It feels right.
Jisung pouts at Minho, then at you.
“Captain, he’s being mean to me again,” he whines, and you chuckle, pull yourself up until you can turn around in his lap, straddling him instead, so you can look at him, stare into his big beautiful eyes.
You thread your hands into his hair loosely, rub at his cheeks until the pout falls from his lips and he can’t help the smile.
“Minho’s like that,” you muse, pointedly ignoring Minho’s glare, “but can I tell you a secret? Underneath that gruff exterior, there’s a heart bigger than anyone’s I’ve ever met.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Minho blink, staring at you. Jisung looks up at you with a wide grin.
“Yeah?” he asks, and you nod, smile down at Jisung, wipe a few stray tears from your eyes with the back of your hand before you lean in, press a soft kiss to Jisung’s lips that he reciprocates happily.
“Mhmm,” you hum. Your heart feels like it’s ready to burst. “He’s really strong and fiercely protective of the people he loves. But he also has so much love to give. But he doesn’t realise how much everyone loves him, back.”
Minho’s hand winds around the back of your head, and he pivots your face to him. His gaze is laced with desperation, a vulnerability that you’ve never seen.
“You can’t just … you can’t just say that …” he mumbles, eyes flickering all over your face, “and not when you’re not even looking at me.”
You smile again. There’s a sense of peace in you now. Purpose. Your voice is soft when you speak again.
“He loves so entirely, so wholeheartedly it’s terrifying, because it makes you wonder what you ever did to deserve it. And …” you breathe in shakily, “because you don’t know what you’ll do if that love is ever taken from you. Because you need him like you need air to breathe, because without him there’s no warmth. Because nothing could ever compare to how it feels to be loved by him.”
Minho blinks, and three crystalline tears slip down his cheeks. He looks like he’s in pain, and you briefly wonder if you did something wrong, but then he breathes out your name and crashes his lips into yours and your whole body erupts into sparkles of electricity.
Because you’re loved by him again, and you need him like you need air to breathe. Because he’s warm. Because nothing could ever compare to this. To how it feels to be loved by him.
To be slowly, methodically, sweetly undressed by his and Jisung’s hot, calloused hands, Minho’s lips barely leaving yours for more than a second, until you’re panting and breathless, and he kisses his way down your body and makes you whimper his name into the quiet of the empty ship, your nails digging into Jisung’s arms until he moans.
He makes you cum like that, on his tongue, so hard you see stars, moons, entire galaxies, your body jellied in Jisung’s safe arms, where you remain, slotted back to front, against Jisung’s chest, when Minho lies down, on his side, in front of you, lifts your leg and slides home. Jisung’s hot lips on your shoulder, sucking and biting, rutting his cock against your ass and breathing moans into your ear until you’re half crazed with it, then Minho’s lips on yours again, then Minho’s lips on his, Minho’s hand reaching behind you to tug Jisung closer, until his cock brushes against where Minho’s drags in and out of you again and again until Jisung is whimpering into Minho’s lips.
You don’t know which of them slides a hand between you, presses Jisung’s cock up until the head of it pushes in next to Minho, but it makes the three of you moan out in unison, the sensation so overwhelming, so hot and tight and intimate, so mind-numbingly, dizzyingly beautiful and like everything you never knew you wanted.
And Jisung presses in further, until they’re both buried in you, Minho fucking in and out of you feverishly, desperately, so deeply, alongside Jisung’s thick, hot cock, rubbing against him so hard it makes Jisung babble stupidly into your ear about how much he loves you, how perfect you are.
And you know it’s love that you’re feeling. The feeling the shivers through your veins, fills your chest, expanding and expanding until every single inch of the emptiness that the kraken used to inhabit is filled with nothing but love. Nothing but them.
Your vision whites out briefly when the tight heat in your abdomen explodes and pleasure zaps through your veins as you cum, and you sob out their names. Jisung moves to pull out, but you manage to reach behind you, to paw at his ass until he’s fucking back into you as far as he can go, and he releases with a devastating moan of your name, making the slide of it hot and filthy and loud. Jisung presses closer, drags Minho closer, too, and it makes Minho’s hips stutter until he whispers your name, ruts himself in three more times, as deep as he can go, and spills inside of you, his face buried in your neck, his nails raking down Jisung’s back behind you.
You stay that way for a long time, holding each other, until the last of the candles Minho lit burns down.
In the silence, Minho brushes his lips against yours. He takes a deep, shaky breath.
“I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you,” he whispers, so quietly you think you may be dreaming, “how could I not. You’re everything. I’ve loved you selflessly, and then I loved you selfishly. I was so selfish when I kissed you that one summer night, when it was just us and the stars and everyone else on land, and you were so beautiful, and I thought maybe, just maybe, you could be mine. And I thought you loved me, too, but I saw your fear and I … it was okay, it was enough. I was content to be whatever you needed me to be, as long as you needed me. It was enough.”
He takes a shuddery intake of breath. You can tell he’s not done yet, so you wait. You barely dare to breathe.
“When I thought they were going to kill me, my first thought was that they couldn’t because then you would be alone. I would crawl my way out of my own grave just to get back to you. You’re my everything. You’ve been my everything for a very long time. Every fucking second of every day I think about you, about how to keep you safe, how to make you happy. That’s all I ever want you to be. Safe and happy. And I couldn’t leave, not without you knowing how much I love you. Not without me knowing that you are safe and happy. And I’m selfish, because I want to be the one to make you happy, I want to be the one to keep you safe. So you see why I couldn’t leave you. I love you. You’re everything to me. The sea may rise, and the sky may fall, and they can try to take me away from you, but I will always come back to you, and I will always love you.”
< chapter X - interlude (& epilogue coming friday, may 24 at 3pm CET) >
series masterlist // skzms masterlist // kofi
🔖 series taglist closed! 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
I love your work it genuinely puts a smile on my face!! As long as you’re comfortable with it could you do a Han Jisung x stylist au? Sort of like a forbidden strangers to lovers type thing :) Stylist y/n au’s are my guilty pleasure but they are super hard to find so if you have any recommendations let me know as well :) If you ever need a recommendation as well I would love to send some!!!
Thank youuuu and please take your time if you’re up to this request ❤️❤️
hiiii bebi!
i took the liberty to do this as a text post, i hope that's okay! it feels a bit unfinished though so i might write some more about it eventually bc tbh i love the stylist aus as well. Please feel free to give me recommendations I would love that!
and thank you so much I'm so happy you like my writing!! (sorry this took so long)
Pairing: han jisung x gn!stylist!reader
Warnings: hanji fucks with reader’s schedule bc he really wants to see them but i think that’s it
MOONIE??? OMG THATS ADORABLE BC MY NAME IS MOON-LIKEY TOO :'( 🙁🩷 hii!!
rIGHT? hes so talented i hope he turns the most famous ppl in the universe, everyone has to know the existence of han jisung
what songs would you like to hear him sing? i was pretty much screaming with 'until i found you' and idk anything sounds good but frank ocean in ji's voice must be rEALLY SOMETHING
hope youre having a good dayy !! take care ♡
hehehe yes, you’re my moonie anon now <3
i agree, he’s too talented to not be known, there’s like a tiktok which i think is so fucking cute and fitting.
and this is gonna sound so funny but there was also the ai cover of him on tiktok singing the poke dance song thingy and i think he would sound so fucking cool singing it i just feel like it suits him😭
AND YES I THINK FRANK OCEAN WOULD SUIT HIM SO MUCH AS WELL AAAH, or any high pitched songs really..
i hope you’re having a good day too, thank you moonie😽
summary: Han Jisung is the bane of Minho's existence. Fuck Han Jisung.
word count: 7.1k
warnings: swearing, nudity
author's note: oooooh things are getting spicy bestiessss. thank you for all the love and the feedback, i appreciagte every single word. let's see where this goes 👀
this series is 🔞, so minors, please DNI
series masterlist // skzms masterlist
< chapter IV - chapter VI (coming: friday, april 12, 3pm CET) >
Fuck Han Jisung.
Minho’s scalp is on fire, the midday sun bearing down on him where he sits at the bow of the ship. His hat lies forgotten in the captain’s quarters, but she’s currently having a strategy meeting with Hyunjin, so he doesn’t want to barge in just to get it. So here’s forced to bear it, beads of sweat accumulating on his brow, his skin burning under his black hair until he thinks he can feel the sunburn develop.
Then he hears it again. The stupidest fucking laugh he has ever heard, echoing across the deck, loud and shimmery and unabashed, as if its owner didn’t have a care in the world. What’s Han Jisung got to be so fucking happy about all the fucking time? Literally every time Minho sees the guy, he’s smiling. Or well, he is, until his eyes fall on Minho and then his smile always, without fail, dies a swift and painful death, crumpling until he’s looking at him with a barely contained scowl.
Minho flinches where he sits, lifts his arm and sinks his knife deep into the wood of the ship next to his legs with a dull thud. It shouldn’t affect him so much, the fact that Han Jisung arrived on the ship one day, as a prisoner, their biggest enemy’s nephew no less, all fancy clothes and expensive boots, pouty lips and flushed cheeks, and somehow wormed himself into everyone’s heart.
Minho has to admit he wasn’t very … focused that first day when they dragged Jisung into the room, his mind, and his dick, very preoccupied with the taste of his captain on his lips, the thundering of his heart as he allowed himself to leave his hands on her waist. Possessive, satiating something hidden deep in his chest that he didn’t allow himself to indulge in often, all too aware of the invisible line between them.
But he remembers Han Jisung’s arrogance, the scowl painted on his face that looked more like a petulant child than anything else. He also remembers the curl of familiar hatred in his guts when he spoke about his old crew, what they would try to do to him, remembers filing the knowledge away for later, to know just how painfully he would kill them once he got his hands on them – though Han Jisung somehow managed to sour even that with that fucking attitude of his, like he didn’t ever need Minho, quite the opposite. Arrogant asshole.
Minho lets his eyes wander over the deck, skimming the few groups of pirates sitting or working, until his eyes meet Jisung’s where he’s leaning against a mast, chatting to Felix. As per usual, the bright, gummy smile on Jisung’s face dims as soon as he sees Minho, the corners of his mouth falling, eyebrows furrowing and Minho suppresses the urge to snarl, spit onto the planks. Instead, he forces himself to look away, wrests his knife from the wood and drives it in harder, the plank splintering from the impact. When he looks back, Jisung has shifted, half of his perfectly shaped back now facing Minho instead of his face. And he seems to have recovered from Minho’s unpleasant presence, nay existence, his broad shoulders jumping with a silent giggle at something Felix must’ve said.
Felix. Felix, who had joined them after the captain had found him in that horrible whorehouse in Nassau two years ago, that still makes Minho shiver when he just thinks about it. He remembers the captain’s face when they heard his screams from the outside, and she had rushed in without a second’s hesitation, Minho himself hot on her heels, pulling the man who was forcing himself onto Felix off with a violent shove. Minho remembers because he had dragged the man out the door, hatred tickling his fingertips as he slit his throat and left him to bleed out slowly and painfully in an alley. By the time he’d come back, still wiping his knife clean from the filthy scum’s blood, Felix was already part of the crew, thanking him with sparkling eyes and a disarming smile.
Felix, who, for this reason, had never had a cabin mate – until Jisung. Minho doesn’t know how it happened, and he likes to pretend he’s not dying to know. But, of course, nobody volunteers the information. They’re all more than aware of Minho and Jisung’s … differences.
And they’re all on Jisung’s side, his brain supplies unhelpfully. Minho scowls at the surf. Jisung and Felix are inseparable. Seungmin greets Jisung with a soft smile, the rarest thing Kim Seungmin could hand out, patting Jisung on the back when he brings him food. Changbin and Chan sit next to him and pat him on the head when he offers them his leftovers. Hyunjin seems halfway to a serious crush on the guy, always making clothes for him and then dressing him up and running his hands all over Jisung’s body, gushing about his trim waist and thick thighs. And he’s pretty sure he heard Jisung’s stupid fucking laugh from the top a couple nights ago while he and the captain were … it doesn’t matter.
He just doesn’t get it. What’s so fucking special about Han Jisung?!
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Hyunjin’s mop of black hair emerge from below deck and make for where Felix and Jisung are chatting and Minho decides he’s just about had enough of the sun scorching his head, of Han Jisung’s stupid laugh.
He swings his legs onto the deck, wrenches his knife from the wood and sheathes it. He feels three pairs of eyes on him as he walks past the little group of them, but he doesn’t spare them a single glance.
Hyunjin will probably give him an earful later about being a grumpy asshole, but he doesn’t care. He’d take that over having to watch his mere presence drain all happiness from Han Jisung’s eyes for the second time in half an hour.
His legs carry him to the captain’s quarters almost on autopilot. Changbin gives him a nod as he raps his knuckles against the heavy door twice and pushes it open.
And God, she’s a sight for sore eyes. Legs propped up on the edge of her desk, her knitted coat wrapped closely around her, what he assumes is Hyunjin’s ration list for the next stopover resting on her knees, her plump bottom lip worried between her teeth.
She only briefly raises her head when he enters, gives him a small, entirely radiant smile, before she turns her attention back to the paper in her lap. Minho closes the door behind him carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots his hat, sitting on the low settee next to her desk. But he doesn’t need it any more, ignores it in favour of walking over to her, coming up behind her until he can lean over her, his hands supporting himself on the armrests of her chair. His eyes run over the words on the paper, but he’s not even going to pretend like he’s reading it, his focus entirely on the way his chest is pressed ever so slightly against her shoulders, his arms resting on hers. The smell of rosemary and lavender and her that emanates from her hair much too faint for his liking from where he is, leaving him aching for more.
“We could afford two or three more crew,” she says, pensively, underneath him, “could really do with them, too, to upkeep the ship and have a better chance with attackers.”
He hums in agreement as she keeps talking, but he’s not really listening as he allows himself to succumb to the siren song of her presence, leaning down a little bit more until he can take a quiet, deep breath of her.
Her chuckle jolts him out of his reverie.
“Are you even listening?”
Minho absentmindedly hums again, a lazy grin spreading over his lips as he leans down, presses a kiss into her hair.
“Something something we should get more men, but you don’t know where to find them,” he mumbles, drags his lips down until they’re ghosting over the shell of her ear. Her little chuckle gives way to a delicious sigh that Minho wants to bottle for a rainy day.
“Like Jisung, he’s been a great addition. I wish they could all just wander into our hands like that …”
Minho freezes, his lips stilling on her warm, rosemary skin. The bliss of their bubble, her skin under his lips, burst suddenly and violently. Han Jisung. Again. He pulls back abruptly.
“Right.”
It comes out acrid. He turns around, busies himself picking up his hat from the settee, dusting it off carefully. He can feel her eyes boring into his back.
“Why do you hate the guy so much, Minho?” she suddenly asks, and he’s taken aback by the directness of her question. He scoffs, turns around and meets her eyes. She doesn’t look angry, just … like she’s trying to figure something out.
“Why do I hate him? Why does he hate me?”
The captain gives him a withering look.
“You literally nearly got him killed a couple weeks ago.”
“Yeah? And he punched me for it, in front of everyone, so I considered us even,” Minho sneers, and he knows he’s being petty. But he’s had about enough of everyone being on his ass about not liking Han Jisung when Han Jisung has been fucking recoiling from him since the very first day …
“Well, did you ever apologise? I know we’re not the most conventional with our customs, but last I checked that would still be a decent thing to do,” the captain chides, and Minho feels anger bubble in his chest. Of course. She’s on his side, too. It hurts more than he can allow himself to admit.
“I did not,” he spits, the stiff felt of his hat crinkling between his tightening fingers, “I don’t know how I would, considering the guy flees every time I set foot into the same room as him.”
The bitterness rises in his chest, and he turns around, makes for the door before he takes it out on her and regrets it later.
“Fine, you win, we won’t talk about it,” she sighs, “I’m about to go over those maps we took from Han Yujun’s ships with Seungmin, do you want to stay?”
Minho recognises the olive branch she’s holding out, but the olive branch reeks of pity, and he’d rather die than suffer that from her. He doesn’t turn when he reaches the door and opens it.
“No, thanks, I’ll see you at dinner.”
And with that, he walks out and straight to his own quarters, where he locks the door and buries himself in his book and his self-pity until the memory of Han Jisung stings a little less.
And by the time he makes his way back to the captain’s quarters a few hours later, he does feel better. He also feels more than a little sorry for how he reacted earlier. He could’ve been with her this whole time, just the two of them in their world. Maybe she would’ve leaned against his chest as they looked at the maps, allowing him to bury his face in her neck, pressing wet little kisses against her irresistible skin until she went pliable in his hands, ignoring Seungmin’s knock in favour of sinking between her legs and making her cum on his tongue.
But instead he had let Han Jisung get to him, again, and what did that get him?! He vows to himself that he won’t ever let it happen again, but that is easier said than done when he walks into the empty corridor and the person he sees through the half open door is most definitely not Seungmin.
“Could it be somewhere super specific? Like the Indian Ocean or the North Sea or something?” Jisung’s voice floats through the air. It’s deeper than Minho’s own, he can’t help but notice.
The captain hums, quietly, thoughtfully.
“Because … I mean, I’ve only ever been once, but I’ve seen maps like these of … of groups of small islands or archipelagos.”
Minho noiselessly tiptoes closer, until he has a clearer view of the room.
Night has fallen and the candles in the sconces all around the room bathe the desk, the settee, the captain perched on the corner of her desk and Jisung leaned over it in a warm, sensual light. She looks like a dream, the candlelight giving her an ethereal glow, softening the hardness in her features, softening everything about her usually wound taut body until Minho thinks he can feel her under his fingertips. Minho should know. This is his time to be in her room like this. But now the flickers of the flames instead bathe Han Jisung in their warmth, radiating off his soft, wavy hair, dipping the planes of honeyed skin exposed by another one of Hyunjin’s creations in a layer of gold so undeniably attractive, Minho wants to throw up.
“Seungmin has cross-checked them with every single one of our maps,” the captain mumbles, pointing to a stack of paper on the edge of the desk, Jisung follows her finger with a thoughtful look on his face. “And none of it lines up. Our maps are only a few years old, and Seungmin is one of the best cartographers out there …”
She slides off the corner of desk and walks over to Jisung and reaches across him to rifle through the papers and Minho watches Jisung’s eyelids flutter, gaze dragging over the expanse of her neck, then her back where her shirt has ridden up to expose the smallest sliver of the skin of her waist; watches his lips part when her arm brushes against his chest.
“Ah. Look,” she exclaims, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, entirely oblivious, and pulls the map towards her. She grabs another one to place next to it, gesturing between them and looking back at Jisung, who blinks at her for a second before lowering his gaze to the maps again. “This one seems to look really similar to this one we found on your ship. But, as Seungmin pointed out, it’s still not right. It’s not the same. And the scaling of these maps we got from your uncle’s ships just doesn’t … make any sense. From a cartography perspective.”
Jisung huffs, shifts his weight from one foot to the other and glares down at the desk with a deep furrow between his brows. He fixes the paper with a mean glare, like he’s trying to force it to give up its secrets by sheer willpower alone.
“I don’t even …” Jisung mumbles, a frustrated huff falling from his pouted lips, “I’ve never understood why he did this anyways. He would send these big ships, with crews of 20 people and someone like me on board, but the ships would mostly be empty … Well, except for these maps, it seems, maps that he didn’t even tell me about …”
He shakes his head incredulously, leaning over the desk again to inspect one of the maps, lingering on the meticulously painted edges of them with his ringed fingers. He leans his cheek in the cradle of his hand and sighs, absentmindedly shrugging off his jacket, throwing it over the back of the chair behind him and shoving the sleeves of his ruffled white shirt up his arms.
Minho watches the captain’s eyes follow Jisung’s movements, drag over his arms, his collarbones, the exposed V of his chest before it flutters up to his profile, lingers on his lips. Minho’s heart hardens into something unrecognisable.
The captain looks back at the maps, sighs, but it’s lighter now. She reaches out, gently pats Jisung on the shoulder, letting her hand rest there for only a second, but it’s enough for Jisung to straighten up with a start. He blinks down at her, stares.
“Just think about it, will you? Because Seungmin and I are at our wit’s end. You’re kind of our last chance …” she says, and Jisung turns to her, his face full of the same stubborn determination as that day when he had screamed at Minho to untie him.
“I promise, I’ll figure it out … we’ll figure it out,” Jisung asserts.
The captain gives him a devastating, lopsided smile, one that makes the tips of Jisung’s ears turn pink and Minho’s heart drop into his stomach.
“Give me some of your optimism, please,” the captain chuckles, but it’s soft, her cheeks warming in a way that makes Jisung’s pout stretch into a sweet, conspiratorial smile. He leans into her, bumps her shoulder with his playfully.
“Hey, you’ve got me now. How could we ever lose?” Jisung chokes with another sickeningly sweet smile that makes his cheeks puff up and Minho watches his fingers brush against hers where they hang next to one another, how he extends his pointer finger to drag over the back of her hand, watches their eyes catch on each other for just a broken moment too long and Minho burns.
He turns abruptly because he knows he can’t stand any more of it, his mind filling with images to torture himself, of Jisung leaning in, kissing her in the golden candlelight that’s his, running his tongue over the seam of her lips, her soft sinful hands on Jisung’s body – his world spins, legs uneven as he stumbles down the hallway, the throbbing wrath in his guts driving him down the stairs, through the living area where he ignores Changbin’s incredulous call of his name and straight through the mess and into the kitchen.
The swinging doors slam against the wall with a loud crack and Felix nearly jumps out of his skin, drops the wooden spoon into the pot he was stirring. Sauce splatters all over his apron, and he curses, gives Minho a dirty look, but Minho has no patience left in his body. The captain. His captain. Not her. Why her?!
“Your little charity case is trying to get into our captain’s pants,” Minho barks out, probably loud enough for anyone lingering in the mess to hear. He doesn’t care. They should all know the audacity of their new favourite.
“Who?!” Felix asks, incredulous, fixing Minho with an infuriatingly patronising look.
“Your little charity case. Your pet. Fucking Han Jisung,” he spits out and Felix’s eyes widen before they narrow again, this time much less friendly.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you, Minho, he’s not my … what the fuck?!”
“Whatever,” Minho interrupts him, waves his hand dismissively rolls his eyes, “what matters is that he’s trying to get into the captain’s pants.”
Felix’ eyes narrow even further.
“I don’t understand what you of all people are trying to say with that.”
Minho’s clenches his fists so hard he hears a knuckle pop.
“He hasn’t even been here for a year, and he’s already trying to seduce the only woman on the ship. It’s preposterous, it’s disrespectful, it’s …”
Felix shakes his head and turns back to the pot, decisively grasping the spoon, stirring whatever he’s cooking with all the calm in the world. He doesn’t even look at Minho when he finally speaks.
“Well, does she want him, too?” he asks nonchalantly, and Minho’s vision goes blood-red. When he comes to, there’s sauce spilled all over his shirt and his hands are wrapped around Felix’s throat, straining against him where Minho has him pinned against the wall, harder than he knows he should. But Felix is just glaring back at him, coughing, but unfazed in his fury. His foot kicks out and painfully catches Minho in the knee. Minho almost welcomes the pain.
“I can’t believe you would take a stranger’s side over all of us, over the captain who saved your fucking life,” he screams and Felix’s eyes narrow to slits. Behind Minho, the kitchen doors slam open again, and then he’s being dragged back, away from Felix whose voice cuts him deeply.
“Don’t pretend like this is about the captain, you fucking hypocrite,” Felix yells, “you’ve been fucking her for years.”
Changbin is in front of him, his hands on his chest, pushing him away from Felix and muttering calming words when Felix delivers the final blow.
“You’re just scared she won’t want you any more when she finally realises what an asshole you are. When she realises there’s someone much nicer out there.”
Minho thinks everyone in the room might hear his heart crack cleanly in two. He shoves Changbin to the side and lunges at Felix again, shoving him into the wall so hard he hears Felix’ head thunk against the wall, hears Felix’ hiss of pain. He can’t see Felix’ face, can barely make out the contours of the kitchen, tears of rage in his eyes blinding him. Changbin grabs him again, his arms locking around Minho’s middle, lifting him off the floor as he carries him away.
“I fucking hate you,” Minho screams, legs thrashing, trying to get out of Changbin’s iron grip. He barely recognises his own voice, so shrill and vengeful. Another tear makes a track down his burning cheeks, “we should’ve fucking left you there.”
The last thing he hears is Felix scoffing out in disbelief before Changbin is dragging him from the kitchen, through the mess and the living room, Minho kicking and screaming in his hold all the way up the first flight of stairs, until Changbin kicks open the door to Minho’s quarters and throws him onto his bed unceremoniously. He crosses his arms and fixes Minho with a look so stern that it makes Minho falter, stare back at him petulantly.
“Minho,” Changbin warns, his face harder than Minho has ever seen it. He suddenly feels very small. “Minho, whatever it is that’s got you so fucked up that you’re fighting your friends, sort it out before you do any more damage. This isn’t cool.”
Minho’s vision is blurry with tears, and he tries, but there’s no way to will them down any more. When he opens his mouth to speak, a pathetic sob tumbles out.
“What is it about Han Jisung that has you all so fucking infatuated?” he chokes out, venom spilling out between the tears that are now running down his cheeks freely, “why is everyone on his fucking side?”
“Huh?! Nobody is on anyone’s side, there are no si–“
“Yes, there are!” Minho screams, sits up enough so he can jab a finger in Changbin’s direction. “Ever since he arrived, he’s been turning everyone against me. Prissy little pretty boy waltzes in and I question his motivations, and you all make me out to be the bad guy? When all I wanted was to keep you safe, keep us safe, like I have done for years. Does that mean nothing to you? Do you know what I’ve given for this crew?”
“Minho, …” Changbin mutters, and Minho thinks he can see a flicker of uncertainty in Changbin’s eyes. It adds fuel to the fire burning him from the inside out.
“It’s good to know what you all fucking think of me. Go canoodle with your new boytoy. I hope he’s as good with a knife as I am because next time one of you gets jumped you better not count on me any more …”
Minho knows it’s extreme, knows deep in his heart that he would never abandon them. But he’s tired. He’s so hurt, his heart feels like it’s bleeding.
“Minho, …” Changbin says again, and it’s even softer this time. “We don’t … we don’t want to choose sides. We don’t hate you. You’re … Minho, our Minho. Yes, you made a wrong call the other day, but we all know why you did it. We never held it against you. We just don’t understand why you hate him so much. He’s a good guy. Actually, I think you two would get along really well, if you just gave it a chance.”
Minho tries to scoff, but it comes out as more of a hiccup. He refuses to look at Changbin, just shakes his head at the floor.
“Well, I’m glad he’s a good guy, hope that works out for you,” he spits, bitterness laced in his voice.
“How is that what you took from what I just said?” Changbin asks, but then gives up. The fact that he does is a dull pang in Minho’s heart. “Fine, we won’t talk about him now. I just need you to know that you’re loved. By us. By all of us. Do you understand?”
Minho hears the allusion to her, but he knows that Changbin’s wrong. Because she doesn’t love him. Not like he loves her. Suddenly, he’s bone tired, his whole body aches with it as he turns away.
“Get some sleep, Min. And tomorrow, you’ll apologise and Felix will apologise and all will be well again.”
There’s silence, like Changbin is waiting to see if Minho will find anything else to say, but he doesn’t. He sniffles into the silence, his body aching with a pain so deep he doesn’t know what to do with it. Before he can even look up, door closes softly and Minho crumbles.
When the captain knocks later that night, calls his name, her voice a soft balm that he wishes he could let soothe him to sleep, he’s still sitting on the floor next to his bed, his limbs shivering with the ache in his chest where his heart should be. He doesn’t respond, lets her think he’s asleep. She leaves after a few minutes and Minho hates himself.
Jisung had never seen Felix angry before and god, he hadn’t thought it could be this bad, not with Felix’s usual soft, sunny demeanour. But no. It was terrifying. His sugary sweet smiles replaced by withering scowls, all turned inwards, muttering curses under his breath.
Jisung had come to dinner and found Felix like that, refusing to speak more than a few words, staring at his plate stony. Jisung was just about to succeed in wordlessly staring at Seungmin for long enough to get him to ask Felix what had happened, when the doors opened and Changbin made his way to their table. His eyebrows were furrowed in worry, and it made Jisung even more worried.
“Did you throw him overboard?” Felix asked, bitterness laced in his voice. Changbin gave him a pointed look and shook his head. Felix scoffed, rolled his eyes. “Too bad.”
Changbin, faced with everyone else’s puzzled eyes boring into him, heaved out a sigh.
“Felix and Minho had … a fight,” he explained, but Felix almost immediately cut him off.
“We didn’t have a fight, Lee Minho barged into my kitchen and picked a fight, there’s very distinct difference,” he spat, but Changbin seemed to have had enough. He slammed a fist onto the table. Felix’ eyes went wide.
“He may have picked the fight, but you also said some more than nasty things, Felix,” he rebuked Felix, a whose face turned an angry red. “And now we are going to stop talking about this, before more people get hurt, got it?”
Felix gave him a nasty glare through the burning of his cheeks but didn’t fight Changbin, only picked up his still mostly full plate and disappeared into the kitchen. Jisung met Hyunjin’s eyes, but even he just shrugged, and Jisung did his best to drop it. Later, he quietly helped Felix do the dishes, ignoring the questions and worry burning on his tongue. Then he quietly followed Felix into their cabin, quietly undressed and got ready for bed, peeking out from behind his book as Felix climbed into his bed and murmured a good night.
But now it’s the morning and whatever Minho had done to upset Felix must’ve cut deep because when Jisung arrives at breakfast, Felix is glaring at the slice of bread on his plate and barely speaks, slamming the kitchen doors closed behind himself when he’s done.
So when Jisung is in the bath later that morning and Minho walks in? The tension in his body pulls tight, and he can feel the confrontation coming from a mile away.
Jisung had chosen the middle one of the three bathtubs in the bathroom today, had washed almost half a bar of the pine scented soap into the water before he sunk into it, his back to the door, letting the hot water soothe the strain right out of his muscles. He doesn’t open his eyes when he hears the door open and shut behind him. It was morning, after all, not unusual for the rest of the crew to start washing up. Though when the seconds tick by and there’s no other movement, Jisung starts wondering.
When he turns around, he makes eye contact with Minho, and Jisung’s body tenses up all over again.
He didn’t like being in the same room as Minho on any given day, but being here, in this small room, alone – it was more than uncomfortable. But true to his resolution, Jisung refused to budge, staring back at Minho defiantly, daring him to do something. After a few more seconds, Minho seems to make up his mind, his face hardening as he walks to the low bench and kicks off his boots.
Jisung frowns and settles back into the warmth of the water, sinking in until he can feel it tickle his earlobes. He forces his eyes to shut, but it’s hard when he can hear Minho move around the room, lighting the logs, passing by right behind Jisung to pick up a bar of soap, pouring water from the heater into the tub until he deems it full enough.
Jisung’s pretty sure Minho wouldn’t drown him in the public bathroom, but he can’t help but crack a careful eye open. Minho is facing away from him, testing the water with the tips of his fingers. Jisung is just about to close his eyes again before Minho can catch him, when Minho pulls his shirt over his head and Jisung’s eyes fly wide open.
His back is broad, milky skin pulled taut over planes of muscle that shift as his hands work the strings of his pants. With a shudder he notices the faded red tracks of nails running down from his shoulder blades, between the myriad of small, lighter scars dotted over his skin, and his whole face flushes when Minho shoves down his pants and the red marks trail down over his ass, round, perfect, flexing and jiggling a little as he moves in a way that has Jisung’s brain short-circuit a little bit, and then Minho turns around and …
Oh.
Oh, wow.
Minho’s hung. Even flaccid, his cock hangs hard and heavy and thick between his thick, muscled thighs, and Jisung blinks at it entirely stupidly for entirely too long before he forces his eyes up, past Minho’s abs and chiseled chest and dusty nipples (and a collection of love bites around his collarbones that make Jisung feel lightheaded) until his eyes meet Minho’s, who’s staring straight back at him with a condescending, shit-eating grin. There’s a darkness in his eyes that makes Jisung slightly uneasy, and he flinches, embarrassment flushing his face. But he sets his jaw, pretends he doesn’t care, glares at Minho, dares him to say something, but Minho just quirks an eyebrow and kicks his pants off the rest of the way and gets into the tub – facing him? Jisung blinks stupidly. Why the fuck is he facing him?!
Dumbfounded, Jisung tries not to, but he still watches every movement as Minho throws his leg over the side and gets into the tub, sinking into the hot water with a happy sigh that shoots straight between Jisung’s legs and makes his traitorous cock twitch slightly.
Jisung gives Minho one last dirty look before he leans back, closes his eyes again, does his best to look calm and collected as he spends the next five minutes trying to talk down the semi he’s sporting just from looking at Minho. Stupid fucking Minho. Why did he have to be hot?! Though he supposes if the captain was sleeping with anyone, she would be …
The nail marks, the love bites. It confirms it, doesn’t it, Jisung thinks, and there’s an ugly stab of jealousy in his heart. Well, technically, they could be from anyone, but with everything he’s heard … Jisung has to suppress a shudder when his brain conjures up the image of her sinfully beautiful body under Minho, her heat, her soft, plush lips, object of his own wet dreams, wrapping tightly around Minho, fingers digging into his skin as he fucks her deep and hard with those thick thighs and that giant fucking cock of his that would probably feel so good against his prostate …
His traitorous cock responds happily, chubbing up even more, and Jisung huffs out in annoyance.
“Wow, you’re so annoying you’re annoying yourself? Go figure,” Minho ribs from the other tub. Jisung’s eyes fly open. Minho is lying back, annoyingly muscular arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, an annoying smirk on his lips.
“Ha ha, very funny,” Jisung just grumbles out. He closes his eyes, leans back again, affecting an indifference as if his cock isn’t half hard and Felix’ anger isn’t bubbling through his veins.
“What? I’m not the one huffing and puffing at my own thoughts,” Minho says casually and Jisung snaps. He knows this will not end before he even finishes his first sentence.
“What is your problem, actually?!” he hisses, props his arms on the side of the tub and pulls himself up to a relaxed seat. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me, too, like you did with Felix last night?”
Minho’s eyes shoot open at that, and Jisung notes with satisfaction that his confidence wavers for a split second. But before he knows it, Minho’s eyes narrow again, and he leans back, pretending to get comfortable against the wooden wall of the tub.
“Jesus, it’s worse than I thought,” Minho says, “you’re like his little lapdog. Yap yapping away. All bark, no bite.”
Oh, this asshole.
“No bite, huh?” Jisung spits, sits up so fast the water laps against the side of the tub dangerously. At least it gets Minho to finally open his eyes properly. “The bruise on your jaw you carried around with you for two weeks told a different story.”
Minho huffs out a laugh.
“Nothing more than a pin prick. I’ve been stabbed, kid, your little fist hardly did any damage.”
“Well, that’s great to know, then next time I won’t hold back when you pick a fight with my friend.”
Minho raises an eyebrow at Jisung, fixing him with his dark eyes, and it’s a little intimidating, to have Minho’s whole attention like this. But
Jisung stubbornly refuses to waver.
“Your friend?”
Jisung falters, and Minho catches it immediately, digs his finger deeper into his weak spot.
“You’ve hardly been here for three months, you don’t know what friendship means on this ship, princess.”
Jisung is half out of the water before the hated nickname is even fully past Minho’s lips. A wave of water splashes onto the floor and Minho’s eyes seem to dip down to his newly exposed stomach, the dip of his waist, for just a split second. At least Jisung’s not hard any more.
“Fucking stop calling me that,” Jisung hisses. Minho raises both his eyebrows.
“Why? I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”
“You know full fucking well, why,” Jisung replies, his fingers digging into the side of the tub almost painfully, “you heard that fucker call me that the day you tried to get me killed, and you still decide to say it. You really are just a bad fucking person.”
Minho blinks at him, his face an unreadable mask. Without another word, he sits up, supports both his hands on the side of the tub and heaves himself out of the water. Jisung is speechless. Is he just going to walk away? He watches Minho towel his hair and scoffs out a disbelieving laugh. There’s no humour in it.
“What? Nothing?”
“I didn’t fucking try to get you killed,” Minho says, quietly, harshly.
Jisung shakes his head, heaves himself out of the tub as well, grabs his towel to wrap around his waist.
“Sure you didn’t,” he scoffs and Minho whips around, stares him down.
“All I do, everything I do, is to protect this ship, the captain, and the crew, okay? I didn’t know if I could trust you, so I kept you somewhere I could keep an eye on you. I was not going to let anything happen to you.”
Minho turns from him again, bending down to pick up his pants. Aggressively, he pulls them over his still damp legs. Jisung’s trembling with rage now, his fist balled at his side.
“Why would I believe you? You let that fucker punch me, you let him touch me.”
Jisung watches as Minho’s movements falter, watches his fingers tremble as he does up his pants. What does he have to be upset about? Jisung takes the moment to grab his own shirt, shrugging it over his shoulders, though it does little to quell the trembling of his body. He feels nauseous. The moist heat of the room makes him dizzy.
“Well, if you would stop fucking flinching away from me like I’m dangerous …” Minho starts, but his sentence trails off. Jisung scoffs in disbelief. He feels poisoned. Poisonous.
“You know, the captain always tells me that everyone on this ship is family, that you … we keep each other safe. Everyone keeps saying that you keep them safe. But I don’t feel safe.”
The sentence tumbles into the silence of the room, and Minho freezes. He looks like he’s been slapped. But Jisung isn’t done yet, the heaviness in his chest finally abating a little bit with every word of this he finally gets off his chest.
“I know you didn’t like me when I arrived. And that’s fine. But ever since then, you’ve shut down every single attempt of mine to bridge the gap between us. And then you tried to kill me …”
“I didn’t …” Minho whispers, but Jisung interrupts him, roughly.
“… you torment me by calling me what he called me, you leave every room I enter, refuse to even fucking look at me.”
Jisung would laugh at the fact that Minho even refuses to look at him now, only blinks at the floor, but there is no humour in this situation at all. Jisung feels broken open, red, and raw, in front of the guy who’s been making his life a living hell. Suddenly, Minho turns, grabs his shirt and pushes past Jisung. He shoves his feet into his boots and Jisung angrily realises that he just plans on leaving.
“Say something, you coward,” he curses, and Minho finally looks up at him. He looks devastated.
“I didn’t try to kill you, I … I didn’t realise that’s what that fucker called you … after my … after Felix … I … fuck, I_gut_ people like that, I cut them limb from limb, I would never … fuck,” he curses and rips open the door, makes down the hallway without even bothering to put his shirt on. Jisung follows him before he can think better of it.
He catches up with Minho only a few feet down the hallway, pulls him back by his arm and pushes him into the wall, hard.
“No, you don’t run away from this,” he spits and stares up at Minho, who’s unfortunately still a few inches taller than him. “Why do you hate me so much?”
Minho blinks at him, his lips slightly parted in surprise, bunny teeth peeking out from underneath his top lip in a way that makes him altogether less intimidating and then clamps his lips shut, furrows his eyebrows, stares at Jisung with a frustrated desperation in his eyes.
“I don’t fucking hate you!” he hisses out, “You’re one of us now, and I would give my life for you just like I would for every other person on this ship, but you hate me because you’re scared of me and I can’t even blame you because everything I do somehow … ends up wrong with you.”
Now it’s Jisung’s turn to stare blankly and Minho shoves him back until Jisung’s back hits the wall. Except this time, it doesn’t feel threatening, not when there are tears of frustration glistening in Minho’s eyes. He lifts his hand, jabs his index finger into Jisung’s chest, his erratic breath fanning over Jisung’s face and Jisung’s heart rabbits in his chest. A drop of water drips from Minho’s raven locks, runs down his neck, pools in the dip of his collarbone.
“I don’t know what it is about you, but you drive me fucking crazy,” Minho breathes out and Jisung’s body moves before he can even realise what he’s doing.
Both of his hands wrap around the back of Minho’s neck, and he pulls him down, straight into his own parted lips. Minho makes a choked sound in the back of his throat, but Jisung doesn’t let up, digs his fingernails into the skin of Minho’s neck, presses his lips against Minho’s harder. When his brain catches up to his body, he tries to pull away, but Minho doesn’t let him, pushes closer, crowds him against the wall, trapping Jisung’s body between his strong arms and slipping his tongue into Jisung’s mouth. Molten hot need bubbles in Jisung’s gut and he moans pathetically. One of his hands skates down Minho’s chest, smoothes over his hot skin, thumb catching on Minho’s nipple and Minho hisses into his mouth. But it seems to shock Minho out of whatever it is they’re doing because suddenly, he pulls back, stumbles back a few steps and stares at Jisung with wide eyes.
Where Jisung is flushed and embarrassingly hard underneath the towel around his waist, Minho is deathly pale, and he doesn’t look okay at all. Jisung’s stomach drops.
“Minho?” he whispers, as gentle as he can.
Minho blinks rapidly, shakes his head, takes a few shaky steps backwards, before he turns and flees, runs up the stairs.
Hurried footsteps sound behind you as you push open the door to your office. You whirl around and come face to face with a flushed, wide-eyed Chan.
“Jesus, is everything okay?” you ask, your heart in your throat at how panicked Chan looks.
“Captain, I …” he starts, before he turns around, checking if there’s anyone behind him, “you have to promise me you won’t be angry with me for telling you this, but I can’t not tell you. Like, you’re our captain, you have the right to know, even though he will kill me for this.”
There’s a blind panic running through your veins as you stare at Chan.
“Chan, if you don’t tell me right now…”
“I saw Minho and Jisung kiss. Downstairs. Outside of the baths."
< chapter IV - chapter VI (coming: friday, april 12, 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
im sorry but ur bias is a artist? bC MINE IS AF . han covers on instagram omg im in tears hes so wOWOWWOJDNEJXJWJD . ((whoever convinced him to create the account, thank you very much .
in this house we ❤️ han jisung n han jisung only !!!!!
- 🌙
hi mooonie <3 i love to see u send in asks!
I KNOW, I WAS LIKE OH MY GOD THIS MAN IS JUST GONNA MAKE THIS INTO A COVER ACCOUNT. i’m so happy about it. more hanji singing for us. he is genuinely so talented. we really do love him, he’s baby.
what would i do? (without someone like you) ──★ ˙🌱 ̟ ¡!
bangchan x ninth member! reader | 1.6k words✔︎
my notes⎯ i re-wrote this thing so many times i've lost count lol. i don't know if i'm satisfied with this because i couldn't convey the feeling as well as i wanted but i still like it! hope you enjoy! (also #bangchantakecareofyourself)
warnings⎯ self neglect, reader taking care of bangchan.
genre⎯ ninth member! au, angst, comfort, (heavily implied) self-neglect, platonic.
songs⎯ what would i do?; strawberry guy
⎯catalog for skz✰ | ⎯ navigation✰ [requests are open]
"are you okay chan?"
the question lingers in the air for a hot second. it floats around until it hits the distracted ear of chan, who sits with his face resting on his chin, unmoving from his seat at the desk.
he blinks after a second, the fog slowly clearing from his eyes.
"huh?" his voice sounds distant as he resumes fiddling with the unfinished track.
you could tell that something was off in his demeanor. his postured was slouched, arms weak in their positions as he tries to fight off the sleep to continue working. you figured it had been a while since he had rest. you all were pre-paring for a comeback and with that comes a lot of work. new concepts, new looks, new songs. a high expectation bangchan finds himself fretting over due to the preconceived notions stays has on the upcoming album.
you've seen bangchan re-write a song 15 times because he thought stays wouldn't like one lyric. everyone, including you, has told him that he could only remove that one line, and keep the rest but he had the idea that everything has to flow together. which is why he's on take #16.
you give him a once over, your brows creasing. "i said are you okay?" he gives you a quick glance, his head bouncing as he goes back to his laptop, "how about you take a break?"
"can't."
a quiet sigh leaves your lips as you get up from the couch. the sky had darken as more time was spent in the studio, the only light source was the small table lamp in the far corner in the room. even then you could see just how much all of this was affecting him.
his eyes were sunken in, big purple-red like bruises encase them. he lifts up his hand to rub at the irritated skin. anyone could tell that he was exhausted.
your hands come up to rub out the kinks in his shoulders, "you're exhausted."
his body is defiant in letting him relax into your soothing touch, he hesitates for a second, letting the final moments of the massage sit in before he lightly shakes you off. "no time for sleep. i took a nap earlier, and i had a cup of coffee." he goes back to the track he was clipping.
an eyebrow raise, "how much earlier?"
this time he sighs and drops both hands. "y/n..."
"i'm just looking out for you. as the leader you have to take care of yourself, because if you aren't, then how do you expect to take care of us?" you know the question hits hard when you feel his body freeze underneath your hands. you stare at the back of his head, in the corner of your eye you see his shadow move a fraction and then his head drops. "you know that you don't have to be so hard on yourself," you take a moment to gauge his reaction, then a soft, "right?"
he releases a shaky breath, muttering.
you let your hands find the base of his neck, letting them go down to follow the path of his shoulder, willing the words from his throat. when you first joined stray kids, you were extremely nervous to the point where you couldn't speak, bangchan found that the movement worked well. you hoped it would work as well in your favor.
"i" he starts, his voice broken under the amount of stress resting on his chest, "yeah...i know."
you nod to yourself, a prideful smile on your lips, "okay then, why don't you take a break, let han or changbin finish it up in the morning," he goes to interject but you're quick to cut in, "and don't worry about putting this on them," taking the words from his mouth, "i'm sure they won't mind.
for the first time since he entered the studio, it's been almost 5 hours, he looks up at you and you can just see how much it's all affecting him, even down to the glassy look rising in his eyes.
he doesn't say anything but stare. he still looks hesitant. like at any moment he'll run off with the laptop and lock himself in a closet.
you stare back.
30 seconds, maybe a minute passes before a defeated look crosses over his face, letting his head drop onto your outstretched arm. wordlessly, he gives you one last look, then turns around to save the file, exit out of the software, and shuts down his computer.
"okay."
"okay?" you can't help the happiness that laces your tone.
"okay, i'll take a break, get some rest."
a squeal escapes your throat as you hold yourself back from celebrating, you honestly didn't think it was going to be as easy as it was. "i'm glad you're doing this, you need to give yourself some time to repair." you step back as he rises from the chair, holding on to his arm as he tries to return the feeling back to his legs, "how about you let me take care of you tonight? we can stop by the convenience store on the way home and pick up some snacks?"
chan immediately shakes his head, "i can't let you do that."
you bend down to retrieve your bag from the couch, making a pit stop by the lamp to turn it off, "why not?" you question, meeting him at the door. he leans on it for support. "you do it for me all the time."
"exactly," he holds open the door for you as you make your way out into the hallway, as you walk several offices are lit up by the occupants inside, you can only hope that they are not in the same situation as the man next to you. "as your elder, i'm supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around."
you scoff, rolling your eyes, "please, you know how many times i have had to take care of changbin after he gets sick because he ate too much? this is nothing new."
for the first time in 3 days a sound embodying the phrase ha ha ha escapes his lips. it's so hearty and abrupt that he has to stop walking. it brings a little smile to your face.
"what?" you groan, playing into it. "it's not funny! it was so annoying, i'm serious!" you latch onto his arm to continue dragging him out and into the lobby, nodding at the lady at the front desk as you pass, "he sounded like a baby with the way he was complaining."
"trust," he starts, regaining his breath, "i've had to deal with that before." he huffs and looks at you, then the giggles come back and you can't help but join him. it lasts until you get to the front doors of eMart.
before you can pass through the threshold a hand yanks you back. you look up to find chan already staring at you, an indescribable glint in his eyes. "yeah?"
it takes him a second to gather his thoughts, mouth opening and closing undecidedly. after a moment he finally finds his voice, hand gripping onto the sleeve of your jacket. "...thank you." he blinks and a stray tear falls, "it means a lot."
you can't help the watery smile that graces itself on your lips, the sudden affection throwing you off guard. you reach up and brush the tears from his face, using two fingers to turn the corner of his mouth upwards, "don't thank me. you always take care of us, someone has to take care of you."
you pull him towards the automatic doors, listening as the chime of the robotic voice welcomes you in. the sight of the noodles you were craving makes your stomach growl. "c'mon! i know what i want to get!"
even though this was supposed to be a break from making music, chan can't help the melody that repeats in his head as he watches you, still gripping onto his hand, drag him through the isles.
he knew he had to make something for you, as a token of appreciation.
A WEEK LATER⎯
it had been sometime since you had last been in the studio. all of the songs and planning for the comeback were completed and now you all were in the final stages, preparing for the promotions.
thankfully, today was your day off.
it had been raining nonstop, the water covering the streets and sidewalks like a blanket. even though it was 4 o'clock in the evening, clouds covered the sun making it seem more like 6.
it was perfect for a nap.
as you were getting into your bed your phone on the dresser vibrates and you grudgingly get up to retrieve it. you tap it once and the notification center pops up;
chanツ now
what would i do?.mp4
as soon as you open the message, a little confused, another text roles in.
a couple weeks ago i was going through a rough patch of overworking myself to the brink of exhaustion. i hadn't ate, bathe, or slept properly in days before. then you came and convinced me to take a break, to take care of myself. before you joined the group i was always worried about taking care of the others that i never took care of myself. you helped me realize that. i'm not trying to belittle the others for their self-awareness skills but you are the first in a long time to take care of me like that. and it had me thinking. what would i do without someone like you? and despite you telling me to take a break this came to mind and i couldn't stop myself. so y/n, this goes to you. thank you for taking care you me that night. i hope you know that i will always take care of you too.
love, bangchan.
and as you listen to the track you can't help the tears that follow.
summary: things between minho and jisung are slowly starting to come to a head as minho makes a bad call. a really bad call.
word count: 6.9k
warnings: violence and swearing!! fighting with fists and guns and big old knives; death (of bad guys only!); jisung is faced with his abuser, so warning for mentions of sexual assault (nothing too graphic, only one little flashback)
author's note: this was one of my favourite chapters and one of the hardest things I've ever written. as someone who comes from just smut and one-shots, building such an intricate action scene was sooo fucking hard. so please go easy on me, we all start somewhere. anyways, do we think things between minho and jisung will finally reach a boiling point soon?
this series is 🔞, so minors, please DNI
series masterlist // skzms masterlist
< chapter III - chapter V (coming: friday, april 5, 3pm CET) >
It’s two weeks later and Jisung is elbow deep in lavender scented laundry suds, giggling about a story Hyunjin is telling him about a time when Seungmin got drunk and tried to climb up to the top, singing a love song at the top of his lungs, trying to get to Jeongin, who was panicking and trying to get down before Seungmin could hurt himself, when he hears it. The distant, but not-distant-enough sound of a cannon. Hyunjin’s smile falls, his head shoots up, and they look at each for a moment. Then another cannon shot rips through the silence, and they shoot to their feet.
By the time they reach the main deck, there’s already mayhem – Jeongin flies down the sails, Seungmin yells something from the quarterdeck, whips the wheel around so fast it sends Hyunjin and Jisung stumbling into each other. Jisung gets shoved to the side as the captain barges out of her quarters, snatches the binoculars out of Jeongin’s hands and flies to the forecastle, Jeongin and Minho on her heels.
“She’s small, no more than 20 on board. Looks like a government ship. We can try outrunning her, but she’s fast and heading straight for us,” Jeongin rattles off.
The words government ship ring through Jisung’s brain louder than any cannon.
Minho turns around and stares straight at him as if he heard it, too.
“They’re aiming for our gun,” the captain mumbles, eyes trained on the ship on the horizon. Her shoulders are pulled taut and her eyes are cold, colder even when she turns around and announces. “We’ll fight them. Everyone, positions. Take no prisoners, it’s time to send a message.”
And as if they were just waiting for those words, the mad scramble on deck gets madder. Hyunjin disappears from his side and Jisung just stands there, blind and dumb, before he gets jostled to the side again, this time by Chan who tells him to stand by, as him, Changbin and two other pirates start lugging up cannonballs from the hold of the ship and load them into the cannons.
Before he can panic any more, Hyunjin is back, his hands full of weapons.
“Okay, I don’t know your preference, but I brought you a number of things. You look like you’d be a good shot, but just in case, I’ve also brought a cutlass …”
Jisung is just about to reach out, to comment that he can hold his own with any of the weapons Hyunjin is holding out to him, when he’s so suddenly and so violently yanked back that he chokes out a yelp. The first cannon shot from their ship rips through the air as Jisung’s hands scrabble at his collar, trying to pull it a little looser, fighting for his breath, but whoever’s dragging him is too strong, pulling him backwards so fast all he can do is try to stay upright. When he finally manages to twist around, he is met with Lee Minho’s side profile, and his confusion evaporates into scalding anger.
Fucking Minho. Lee Minho, the one person on this ship that has steadfastly refused any and all of Jisung’s attempts to become closer. And it’s not like Jisung needs to be friends with everyone on the ship, it’s just that Minho seems to be; despite his abrasive personality, Minho seems to be getting along with absolutely everyone. And what’s worse is that Minho didn’t just reject his advances, no, Minho left him to flounder, blinking at him emptily or just walking away. It was humiliating, and Jisung hates feeling humiliated.
“Hey, what the fuck!” he yells, choking when Minho drags at his collar even harder.
“Clearly your uncle has sent someone to fetch you,” Minho spits out, and Jisung is just about to scoff and tell him that’s very unlikely, when Minho hauls him upright and slams him against the main mast so hard, Jisung’s skull knocks against the wood.
“Fucking OW, you asshole!” Jisung spits, the world spinning in front of his eyes just long enough for Minho to reach behind him, and before he knows it, there’s a rope tightly wrapped around Jisung’s upper body, his arms trapped by his sides. Panic surges through his veins, and he struggles, struggles with all his might, but try as he might, he can’t stop Minho, who winds the rope around him and the mast once, twice, then again and again, before he pulls a tight knot and steps back, grinning a joyless, self-satisfied grin that makes Jisung’s blood boil.
“What the fuck?!” he hisses breathlessly, and Minho’s eyes narrow.
“Who’s to say you didn’t plan this, hm?” Minho growls, scarily calm, and Jisung’s heart drops. “Who says you didn’t plan for us to capture you, to worm your way into our crew, to learn all about us –“
“What?! No!” Jisung stutters out, desperately. He meets Hyunjin’s eyes over Minho’s shoulder and … his friend, who he was gossiping with just ten minutes ago, is now staring at him, eyes wide, doubt shadowing his entire face. A cannon ball hits the water just short of the ship, but it rings hollow.
“I’m not letting you run back to them and sell us out,” Minho yells, his voice so cold it makes Jisung’s skin crawl, his chest constrict with senseless despair. Some men stop, watch, just look on as he is berated for something he has never even thought of doing. So much for the people on this ship being ‘family’. He blinks away the angry tears rising to his eyes, chases the thought and all the pain it brings away, and focuses instead on the boiling pit of rage deep in his belly. He stokes it, feeds it, until there’s bile in his throat.
“What part of ‘my uncle wants me dead’ did you not understand?!” he yells, his voice a colour of rancour and bitterness that he’s never heard from himself before. It makes Hyunjin’s eyebrows furrow in worry, and Jisung tries not to cling onto it.“Could’ve just been a part
of your scheme,” Minho just shrugs, turns, walks away and Jisung nearly screams in frustration. He can feel all their eyes on him, humiliation boiling in his guts.
“I told you I’m not a good liar,” he yells after Minho, catching Hyunjin’s curious gaze and then, finally, turning to the captain, who’s standing on the forecastle, her pretty face a stony, unreadable mask. Chan fires the cannon again, but she doesn’t even flinch. There’s a distant sound of wood splintering.
“Captain, please,” Jisung pleads. God, he sounds pathetic. “Do you think I’ve been lying to you?”
But the captain gives nothing away, watches Jisung’s heart bleed out on the deck of the ship, and just blinks. And when another cannon shot rings over the water, she briefly turns around in the direction of the coming ship, before she gives Jisung a pained smile.
“I’m sorry, Jisung,” she says calmly, and Jisung thinks he can hear a tinge of regret, of uncertainty in her voice. He wishes it wasn’t there.
“But keeping my crew safe is the most important thing. We can’t take any chances. And we’ll keep you safe.”
And then she gestures for everyone to keep preparing and that’s it; Hyunjin gives Jisung one more sad, puzzled look and then follows the motion that breaks out everywhere, hurrying back downstairs to grab more weapons. Chan and Changbin are firing faster now, more frequently, and Hyunjin soon returns with weapons and hands them out. Jeongin is hanging in the sails, his eyes trained on the coming ship, yelling instructions about their approach to Seungmin at the helm, about the number and armaments of their crew to the captain on the forecastle. Jisung is apart from all this, can feel the rope cut into the skin of his hip where his shirt has rucked up, feel his heart thumping in his chest.
As Jisung watches Chan and Changbin load, fire and reload the cannons, he suddenly realises with a shudder that his position against the mast is facing the incoming ship head-on. It’s the side they will board from, the side they will be shooting at – and suddenly, he wonders if Minho is trying to get him killed.
The captain had said they’d keep him safe. She had promised … but maybe Jisung was being naïve again, and it didn’t matter what a pirate promised. His uncle had always said so, said to never trust them because they only worked for their own gain, their own riches. The captain had seemed different, but maybe it was all Jisung’s wishful thinking, his stupidly desperate need for a way out. And then again, he had never trusted Minho. He’d wanted to, had tried so damn hard, only for Minho to shove it back in his face, humiliate him for even trying. Maybe Jisung should’ve taken the hint.When the
cause of all Jisung’s rage suddenly walks past him, Jisung strains against his ties and yells his name. Minho barely stops enough to look at him.
“I’m going to get killed,” Jisung hisses, motioning to the approaching ship with his chin, “I’m going to be right here when they arrive, and I’m going to get fucking killed. You’re going to get me killed.”
Minho stops at that, and walks closer, his eyes as menacing as ever, but Jisung has had enough. He decides right then and there that he will never cower before Lee Minho ever again.
Minho stops so close in front of him, that Jisung has to strain his neck to look up at him. He knows Minho’s doing it on purpose, and the scowl on Jisung’s face deepens, his lips pulling back into a snarl.
Then Minho leans closer, one hand supporting himself on the mast of the ship as he dips down into Jisung’s space so nonchalantly it makes Jisung want to punch him. His body feels like it’s burning up when Minho’s breath fans over his face.
“I won’t let that happen, princess,” Minho purrs with a mean snarl, and the nickname makes something in Jisung’s ribcage crack open. His rage returns with full force, burning deep in his guts in a way he has never felt before.
“I’ll fucking show you ‘princess’, asshole,” he spits and Minho just sizes him up for a second, an infuriating smirk on his face, before he pushes himself away from the mast and Jisung and walks away without another word.
And all Jisung can do is watch, watch him go to the captain who stares at the oncoming ship, eyes flicking to Minho restlessly as he places a calming hand on her shoulder; watch as Chan and Changbin throw him wayward glances every time they pass him to load the cannon, watch everyone on the ship run around, watch Hyunjin handing out weapons to everyone but him because he has been forced to watch and potentially die by the hands of the men he hates the most. Jisung feels thin, sour bile rise in his throat as he watches the enemy ship come closer and closer until it’s finally within boarding distance.
And when it is, the first thing Jisung sees is the face of the man he hoped he would never have to see again. His stomach churns and it’s like the whole world fades for a second, the unbidden memory of the crash of the locks on his door giving way, of the pig’s ugly grimace in the light of the oil lamp next to Jisung’s bed, Jisung’s own panicked breaths ringing through his ears, of thick, dirty fingers wrapped around Jisung’s wrists and then shoved down his pants before Jisung could finally grab hold of the knife underneath his pillow and bury it in the man’s thigh, the rage in his voice when he promised he’d be back ….
The plank hits the wood of the ship and the men, none except the one Jisung knows from ‘his’ ill-fated crew, but all clearly his uncle’s cronies, are ruthless and unhesitating in their assault. One charges at Chan, who can barely get his knife out of its holster before the man’s fist comes flying at his head. Another one heads for the captain, raises his gun to aim at her head, but is interrupted by Minho, cold-blooded murder in his eyes as he rams his knife into the man’s guts and walks him back and overboard.
There’s movement in the corner of Jisung’s eye, and he tries to whip around, but the ropes are cutting just high enough that he can’t, and then he feels a fist collide with his nose. Thankfully, there isn’t a crunch but searing pain and the taste of blood explode on his tongue and he reels back. He tries to blink the world back into focus because his opponent is getting closer and closer and his ears are ringing and his vision swims, but by a lucky break, he manages to land a solid kick to the guy’s groin. The man falters, doubles over, before raising his knife with a grimace of rage and approaching Jisung again, but he gets intercepted by a blur of raven hair.
“Oh no, you don’t” Minho’s voice crackles through the air and then there’s a sickening crunch as Minho’s breaks the man’s arm. Hyunjin is right behind him, whizzing past him and dealing with Jisung’s attacker as Minho approaches Jisung, the eyes that were so full of boiling resentment earlier scanning all over him now with a cold kind of care. Even his demeanour is softer when he approaches and wipes the blood trickling from Jisung’s nose away with his thumb. The touch makes rage and electricity spark all over Jisung’s skin and Jisung jerks away, though he doesn’t know whether it’s the stab of pain or the Minho’s touch he tries to get away from. Minho pulls his hand back as if he’s been burned, blinking at Jisung and throwing a glance towards where the captain is fighting, before he takes a step back.
“Told you I would watch out for you,” he simply says and turns around, bounding away and up the forecastle to cuts off another man approaching his captain. Jisung watches him, how methodically he attacks the man, how he takes him down efficiently and quickly, his eyes on his attackers’ hands and always, always on the captain, and he briefly wonders what it would be like to be defended so fiercely.
When he lets his eyes wander, he suddenly makes eye contact with him.
The pig is already staring at Jisung, leering at him when he sees Jisung and a senseless, primal panic shoots through his body, makes his hands claw at the wood of the mast, the rope, anything, trying to escape, but Minho truly outdid himself. The man sneers out a vicious, bilious “hello, princess” and Jisung has to bite back a panicked whimper. The nickname. The voice. Weak, Jisung, his uncle, bellows in his head. Yes, he is, Jisung accepts. He is weak.
“I can’t believe they’ve got you tied up here, for me for the taking,” the man chuckles darkly as he approaches, “not like your uncle wants you back. But I will have my fun with you before I kill you.”
Jisung desperately strains against the rope again, ignores the burn of it breaking the skin on his waist, but he still can’t get out. Fucking Minho. The man comes closer until Jisung can see the dark rot in his teeth, the fetid pink of his cheeks, and his stomach churns.
“I should’ve thought of tying you up first,” the pig goads and a few drops of his drool hit Jisung’s cheek, and it shocks a violent gag from him, “maybe then you wouldn’t have put up such a fight.”
The smell of the man’s breath makes Jisung’s head swim with the memory, and he screws his eyes shut, heaving out another dry gag that makes the man laugh loudly.
“What a pretty sound, princess,” he drawls, and the nausea in Jisung’s belly rises up in one last resistance, like venomous rage. He pries open his eyes, faces him and spits in his face.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Jisung hisses, his voice shaky but laced with hatred.
The pig’s shocked face makes way for a grimace of anger, and he raises his hand and Jisung closes his eyes, braces for impact, hopes he can somehow avoid a concussion so he can still run – but the impact never comes. He blinks his eyes open and blinks at the hand that’s still raised, though there are lithe fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist.
“You put one finger on him and I will gut you alive.”
Minho’s voice is calm and cutting, but the pig doesn’t seem to know what’s good for him because he only guffaws out a laugh.
“Ah, I see you’ve already claimed the little whore. I’m sure we can come to an agreement, share his holes before we dispose of him.”
There’s a second of silence, utter, poisonous silence as Jisung watches the expression on Minho’s face go from disdain to putrid hatred and then his hand is wound around the man’s throat, squeezing so hard the pig retches, fights for air, as Minho pushes him away from Jisung.
He shoves him, makes the man stumble backwards, double over, gasping, but Minho doesn’t stop, places his hands square on the man’s shoulders and rams his knee into his face twice. There’s a sickening crunch, then another, and Jisung thrashes against the mast. The rope cutting into his stomach makes him even more nauseous, but he needs to get out.
“Minho, let me go,” he rasps out, loud enough that he knows Minho heard him, but Minho doesn’t move, only drags the pig up and lands his knee into his guts.
“Minho,” Jisung warns, his whole body burning. This is his revenge. How dare he take this from him. “Minho, I swear, let me go.”
But Minho keeps ignoring him.
“Let me GO!” Jisung screams, the last word piercing the air with such ferocious anger that Minho stops in his tracks. “Let me fucking go, Minho, that fucker is mine, he’s fucking mine to gut, let. me. GO.”
Minho stares at him, his usual scowl nowhere to be seen as he blinks, and then he takes one step closer, raises his knife and cuts through the ropes.
Jisung nearly falls from the sudden lack of support, but he catches himself, and gets up, legs shaky and uneven, but when he meets the guy’s eyes, his rage boils over. He wrenches Minho’s cutlass from his hands, ignoring the weak complaint, and stalks towards the man whose face has been haunting him in his sleep for months.
The pig puts up a fight, but he’s sluggish and slow, and he barely gets a punch in before Jisung socks him in his face so hard he stumbles back. Jisung’s body is no longer his own. It’s controlled by blind hatred, a violence so strong it feels almost cleansing, and before he knows it, his fist hits the side of the guy’s skull and his boot hits his balls. The guy wails and Jisung revels in it, adrenaline cursing through his veins when he finally pulls back and sinks the long blade of his cutlass into the man’s stomach. Then he does it again and there’s blood, so much blood, but he doesn’t care. Only stabs him one more time before dragging him to the side of the ship, propping him up just enough so he can look at the man’s rapidly paling, terrified face.
“Go to hell,” Jisung growls before he shoves him enough so he falls off the side of the ship. He stares into the terrified eyes of the man of his nightmares, watches him flail, red clouding the water as he tries to keep himself but failing to. When the waves close over his head and pull him under, it feels like a weight falls off Jisung’s chest and the first breath he takes, no matter how ragged it is, feels like the first breath of relief.
But he can’t stare into the water forever. He avoids Minho’s gaze when he turns around, focuses instead on Hyunjin, desperately defending himself in an uneven fist fight with one of his uncle’s men that he hadn’t yet had the displeasure of meeting, and he takes the few steps towards them, kicks the guy’s knees out from under him so roughly that he crumbles into the deck with a cry of pain. Hyunjin yelps and jumps to the side just in time to avoid the blood when Jisung’s knife sinks deep into the man’s throat. Jisung can feel it seep through his clothes.
When he looks up at Hyunjin, the latter is staring at him wide-eyed. There’s a dark bruise blooming on Hyunjin’s cheekbone, and Jisung grimaces.
“You okay?” he asks and Hyunjin just stares at him for a second, with something in his eyes that Jisung can’t find it in himself to decode, before he nods. Jisung nods back and stalks off, intercepting another asshole and making quick work of him, the balance of the blade in his hand growing on him as he finally lets his brain turn off and just do.
And it doesn’t take long before the last man has been disposed of, the captain’s crew a bloody, bruised mess, but with no casualties on their side. Jisung watches as Changbin looks at the captain, who’s standing in their midst as tall as ever, her demeanour as calm and collected as before the fight, despite her split and bruised lip, the blood caked into her hair. She makes a terrifying picture like this, eyes so sharp they could cut glass, her chest heaving, the muscles in her arm jumping when she sheathes her cutlass.
“Loot and burn it. Look for another one of those maps. Make sure the governor will never find a trace of this ship.”
Changbin nods, bows almost imperceptibly, waves over some more men, and they set to work, boarding the now hauntingly empty ship with their knives drawn.
Jisung doesn’t stay to watch. When he turns around to go, his eyes catch on Minho. For the first time maybe since they met, Minho doesn’t look at him with a scowl or some mask of disdain. No, for the first time, Minho just looks at him, eyes almost curious in the way they crinkle at the edges, his lips pursed uncertainly. Jisung bites back a bitter laugh at the timing of it all, and the flame in his stomach licks up once more, coiling high into his throat as he takes a step towards him.
The clatter of his blood stained knife falling to the floor echoes sharply in the silence of the whole ship watching them. But nobody moves to stop Jisung as he stalks towards Minho, eyes locked onto his, dark anger in his eyes. Nobody moves even when Minho takes a few steps back, his eyes now the ones widening in fear, lighting a small fire of satisfaction in Jisung’s gut.
Nobody moves when Jisung pulls his fist back and punches Minho square in the jaw, the bones in his hand making contact with Minho’s chiseled jawline with a dull thud.
Jisung half expected all hell to break loose, expected to be intercepted or at least held back, taken captive after the fact. He’d accepted it, even, in return for this one opportunity to stand up to him.
But, nothing. Nobody moves to stop him. The whole crew watches as Minho reels back, stumbles, a hand flying to cradle his face. The look of surprise, of pain on Minho’s face is more satisfying than it should be, but Jisung has stopped caring.
He doesn’t look at anyone when he turns, stalks straight towards the big heavy door leading below deck, stumbles down the stairs and through the empty common area and into Felix and his cabin.
He locks the door behind himself and then his legs give out and he finally, finally, cries.
He doesn’t know how much time passes like that, his body crumpled on the hard wooden floor of the cabin, the last rays of sunlight streaming through the porthole virtually mocking him as bone wrenching sobs tear through him, tears streaming down his cheeks and leaving darker spots on the already blood-darkened material of his jacket. But at some point, the sobs subside, his body empty and tired and brittle. When his nose clears, all he can smell is the drying blood, and it nearly makes him gag. So he gets up, one hand on the chest of drawers to help him stay upright, and turns around. When he sees himself in the mirror behind the door, he nearly jumps out of his skin. He’s covered in blood, the least of it is his own. A smear of it across his cheek, pale tear tracks running through it, the rest of it on his clothes, rusty red soaked and dried into the white of his shirt, staining the red of his coat an even darker colour. He briefly wonders if it will come out because … Hyunjin made him that coat. His stomach drops a little, makes the nausea worse. Maybe it all won’t matter any more soon.
He wipes a semi clean part of his sleeve over his face with a scoff, tries to hide the worst evidence of his crying, before he gathers his courage and steps out into the hallway.
But he doesn’t meet anyone as he makes his way to the ship’s baths. It seems odd, but he’s beyond questioning it, his chest an empty pit, his eyes red and raw from the panicked sobs that racked through him for a solid hour. He lights the logs that heat up the water, shrugs off his jacket, gingerly, hesitantly throws it into the corner with the laundry where there are other bloodstained shirts and garments and fills one of the three wooden tubs to the brim.
The water scalds his skin a little as he gets in, but he ignores it, welcomes it almost. Much like the rage earlier, the heat feels cleansing, though also equally soothing, the smell of salt and lavender rising from the suds. He ignores the sharp pain of the soap sinking in the rope burns on his hips.
He sits and listens, waits for a sound to come from the outside, but it’s eerily quiet. There must be about 35 other pirates on this ship, all covered in grime and blood, aching for a bath just like him, so he has no doubts now; he’s sure that someone must have told them not to come down here, to give him space. Maybe Hyunjin or Felix. He wishes he knew why.
He’s dead, he thinks. Then again. He’s dead. A tiny, fragile laugh bubbles out of his chest. He’s finally fucking dead. For good. Forever. Never again.
Jisung thinks about it, wonders why this one’s different, but the answer is simple – because all the other ones who had touched him over the years, the ones who had grabbed his ass in the hallways of his father’s house, forced drunken kisses onto him at his uncle’s banquets, none of them had had that look in their face that the pig had when the hinges had finally given way and the door swung open. None of them had looked so entirely bloodthirsty as they approached him …
He shivers, but it’s okay. He's calm. It’s over now.
When he scrubs at his hair, the water turns red and the smell of iron mixes with the steam, and it’s so putrid it makes his stomach turn, so he slowly lifts himself out of the tub. He dresses quietly, his chest awfully empty. He wonders where they all are. Maybe they’re on the deck, talking about what to do with him. He wonders if Minho’s face will bruise because he almost hopes so. Or maybe he’s already with the captain in her quarters …
The captain. Her betrayal hurts the most. It fills him with a deep, searing sense of shame and hurt. He had expected Minho to be cold, to not trust him, after he had rebuked so many of Jisung’s attempt to bridge the gap. But her?
It’s humiliating, but some part of him thought he was … special to her. She had offered him a spot on her crew on that first night, had instructed her men to treat him well, had taken him on even after he’d put his foot in his mouth more than once. She’d held him through his panic attack, looked at him like she understood him, and he’d thought she had … they had – god, he’s stupid. She’d said it then, it was part of her job. He shouldn’t be getting attached, not to a pirate, not to his captain, not to his captain who was probably fucking …
God, he’s so fucking stupid.
The corridors are still deserted, but through the silence, he hears the clatter of plates from the mess, and he realises how late it must be. He briefly wonders if he can get away with not eating, hiding away in his and Felix’s cabin until Felix comes back later, but his stomach growls loudly. And he hates avoiding things. If they were going to shun him, he’d rather know now.
His feet steadily carry him through the living area, though he falters briefly in front of the two big swinging doors, his heart thundering in his chest. He swallows down the fear, tries to steel himself for the worst, and then he pushes open the doors.
Conversation around the room wavers as the men’s eyes fall on him, but before he can think too hard about it, two lithe arms are thrown over his shoulders and long, and he is pulled into a bone-crushing hug.
“I’m so sorry,” Hyunjin mumbles into his neck, his long black hair tickling Jisung’s cheek and Jisung blinks stupidly, his heart trying to catch up as he wraps his arms around Hyunjin’s waist. He feels himself squeezing him back, his hands trembling where they lie.
Hyunjin squeezes him even harder before he pulls back and looks at him with big, apologetic eyes.
“I’m so sorry. We’re so sorry,” Hyunjin sniffles out and Jisung is speechless, overwhelmed, can only shake his head dumbly.
He lets his eyes flicker over the room and to his surprise, he doesn’t find any hostility or distrust, only … he blinks dumbly. Only awkward regret, hesitant smiles and apologetic looks. Felix comes up to them and peels Hyunjin off Jisung, pulling him closer to their table, where the usual group, except for Chan, is already gathered.
“I’m sorry, Jisung,” Hyunjin rambles, one of his hands latching around Jisung’s arm. “I should’ve known better, I should’ve … said something. But Minho …”
He falters and Felix takes over. Jisung is still frozen in place.
“Minho is … protective of this, of us, of our crew. And usually, his gut feelings are right. But he made a wrong call.”
The scoff claws its way out of Jisung’s chest before he can stop it. The bitterness is noxious.
“I don’t know what the fuck I’ve done to him. Like, I know he hates me for some reason, but I didn’t think he would try to get me killed.”
The doors to the mess swing open and Jisung doesn’t even have to turn around to know who it is when he sees Felix’s face darken, his eyebrows drawing together as he looks over Jisung’s shoulder and tugs him closer. The looks of disapproval and the dead silence around the room should make Jisung feel elated, should make him feel vindicated, but when he turns around sees the look on Minho’s face, he almost feels … bad.
There’s a big, purple bruise on his jaw where Jisung’s fist had landed. He stares back at the room full of scowls with a pale uncertainty that Jisung has never seen on him, hell, never thought he would be capable of. It’s such a far cry from his usual grouchy arrogance that it’s almost scary. When Minho turns and finally makes eye contact with Jisung, still wedged between Hyunjin and Felix, Felix’s arm around his shoulders and Hyunjin’s hand on his arm, his eyes are hazy.
He takes one almost step, before he stops himself, grimacing as he squares his shoulders and fixes Jisung with an uneven look, one that wavers away from him after not even a second. His usually cutting voice floats through the air uncertainly, though Jisung can tell he’s doing his best to keep it steady.
“The captain wants to see you. On the deck.”
And with that, he turns and escapes into the kitchen. Jisung turns back to Hyunjin and Felix with a thousand questions on his face.
But Felix only gives Jisung a reassuring squeeze before gesturing to the door. Even Hyunjin only nods at him and pushes him towards the door. And Jisung goes, almost as in a trance, but he throws a glance back before they close behind him. He sees Felix and Hyunjin watching him go, regretful smiles on their faces. Through the windows in the door to the kitchen, he sees Minho’s slumped over form over the kitchen counter. For a brief second, he wonders if this will be the last time he’ll see them. He blinks away the fist closing around his heart and takes the steps up to the deck two at a time before his courage fails him.
The clear night air, the chilly breeze that blows, it nearly knocks him off his feet, rushing into his lungs like a cold drink of water. He looks up at the sky, clear, full of stars. Beautiful, all the way out here, so many bright little glimmers, bunched together and winking at him like they always have, always will. He thinks he can hear Jeongin’s voice somewhere above him, singing softly, and then someone says his name.
The captain is sitting on the railing to Jisung’s left, a dark brown bottle in her hands. As Jisung walks closer, he sees how tired she looks. Her hair is still a little damp from where she presumably had to also wash blood out of it, and instead of her usual heavy coat, she’s wearing some kind of thick knitted jacket. She looks … nice like this, Jisung can’t help but think. Softer.
He stops a few feet in front of her and knits his fingers together in front of him. She just looks at him for a few seconds before she sighs and pats the spot next to her.
He sits gingerly, awkwardly, preoccupied as he is with trying to keep a reasonable distance between them. He doesn’t know how to deal with her touching him today. She offers the bottle to him wordlessly, and he takes it, taking a deep drink, swallowing the burning alcohol down without even flinching. It feels weird on his painfully empty stomach, but in the same theme of things, it also feels cleansing. Jeongin’s voice floats down from above them more clearly now. His voice is soft, full of emotions, a fluttering, beautiful thing in the night.
“Beautiful,” he mumbles to himself before he can stop it.
The captain laughs, small and shy.
“Isn’t it? I come out here a lot at night, just to hear him sing. I don’t even know if he knows.”
There it is again, Jisung thinks, her unwavering love for this, this life, this ship, this crew. He wants so badly to be enveloped by it, too, that it makes him look a fool. Jeongin’s song ends, and Jisung shivers.
“I’m sorry,” the captain says suddenly, and Jisung sucks in a breath. He doesn’t lift his eyes, doesn’t trust himself to. He takes another swig of rum, longer this time. It still burns, but his stomach feels like it’s going numb now.
The captain still hesitates, and Jisung nervously picks at the remnants of the label on the bottle.
“I’m sorry for today. I made … a wrong call. A very wrong call.”
Jisung scoffs.
“Technically, Minho did.”
The captain laughs humourlessly, extends her hand towards the bottle and Jisung hands it to her, hates how his heart flutters in his chest when her fingers brush over his. She takes a long drink, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Yeah, but I didn’t stop him,” she says quietly, “because usually, Minho’s gut feelings are right, so I don’t oppose him. But today, I should’ve.”
Jisung shrugs, his heart aching in his chest.
“No, don’t do that,” the captain sighs and Jisung, in his surprise, lifts his head and looks at her. There’s a tortured smile on her face. “Don’t pretend like it’s okay. It’s not. I … I didn’t think you would go back to them, I didn’t think you could’ve lied to us all. And I should’ve said something. I promised you we’d keep you safe, that we’re family, and then I just left you there.”
A traitorous tear spills from Jisung’s eyes before he can stop it, and he wipes it away quickly with a quiet fuck.
The captain reaches out, her fingers wrapping around Jisung’s arm, and Jisung freezes, both from the suddenness and the gentle authority that seems to flow from her hands through a touch as simple as that.
“Don’t do that, either. I like seeing how you feel,” she says quietly and Jisung blinks stupidly, the tears clearing to reveal her face and … god, the softness in her gaze on him, her features bathed in moonlight – the longing hits him square in the chest, takes his breath away for a second.
But it passes, fizzles out into a moment of silence and Jisung weighs his next words for a while, before he decides to just ask. If there’s anyone who can give him an answer, it’s her. A bitter thought.
“Why does he hate me?”
The captain doesn’t ask who.
“I don’t know. I don’t think he hates you, he just … doesn’t understand you, doesn’t know what to do with you.”
Jisung just nods absentmindedly. Not like understands Minho any better.
“He wouldn’t have let you get killed,” the captain adds after a few seconds of silence. She sounds hesitant. “He didn’t want you getting hurt, either. He really beat himself up about that guy punching you when he wasn’t looking. That’s how I know he doesn’t hate you. He wouldn’t have done that for someone he hates.”
Jisung sighs and nods and takes the bottle the captain is holding out in his direction again. He throws his head back and takes a long drink that he swallows without looking at her. After a few more seconds of silence, the captain gets up. Jisung tries not to feel too disappointed. He thinks he could’ve sat with her like this all night.
“I …” she starts and stops, running her hand through her hair nervously. Jisung wishes he could reach out, soothe her nerves, just like she had done with him that day on this very same deck. “I don’t usually do this because, frankly, it’s fucking stupid and could get me and my crew killed, but you seem to keep making me make these decisions …”
She trails off before she gestures over to her left. Jisung follows her eyes.
“I’m giving you an out. There’s a boat. In it, there’s a compass and more than enough rations to last you for the two days it should take you to reach the nearest port. You’ll probably make it just fine.”
Jisung stares from the boat to her, stupidly. He wonders if he would see her blush if it wasn’t so dark.
“I … wish you wouldn’t leave, if I can be honest, but I know it’s too much to ask you to trust us again, after what happened today. And I’d rather take this risk than force you to stay with us if you don’t trust us. So I will take my leave now, and you can make up your mind and if you’re gone in the morning then … well, I hope our paths will cross again. Goodbye, Jisung.”
Jisung watches her turn, wrapping her cardigan closer around herself. It doesn’t take him longer than a few of her steps to know what he wants.
He catches up with her by the heavy door, takes one awkward step forward and grasps the knob before she can. He swings the door open, gives her a sheepish smile, before he motions for her to go through. She breathes out a disbelieving chuckle at his sudden moment of gentlemanly chivalry, and heat rises to his cheeks before he can stop it. But she doesn’t say anything, only walks through the door he holds open and hesitates where the path divides, looking at Jisung with that gaze again, the one that makes him feel like he's paper thin, his soul laid bare.
He gives her the best smile he can muster.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly, but resolutely. “Goodnight, captain.”
And with a little bow, his heart beating in his throat, he turns on his heels and makes his way to the stairs leading to his cabins.
< chapter III - chapter V (coming: friday, april 5, 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
Can you do drunk texts with best friend stray kids where reader confesses and tells them the nsfw things they want skz to do to them. Take your time and thank you in advance
smau (pt. 1): stray kids reaction to…
scenario: …you telling them what you want them to do to you while being drunk
pairing: best friend!stray kids (hyung line) x reader
warnings: mature!!, explicit talk about sexual fantasies, mentions of alcohol consumption
author‘s note: thank you very much for this ask!! i really enjoyed preparing this smau for you guys, let me know what you think. the maknae line post can be found on my page. likes/reblogs/comments are very much appreciated! and as always: reqs are still open. have fun.<3
Summary: basically what happens when they come pick you up
Warnings: consumption of alcohol; a little bit suggestive, but mostly fluff, because Y/N is super drunk and our consensual kinks don’t take advantage of that
Bang Chan
When Chan arrived he couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head. You were sitting in front of the building, heels chaotically discarded next to you. You were sort of sitting in a fetal position, your upper body resting on your own legs. You were barley holding on to your purse in one and your phone in the other hand and your once properly neatly pinned up hair was now all over the place, hanging in your face and mostly laying on your back and shoulders. He slowly approached you, quietly as not to scare you. You still jumped and yelped when his hand carefully touched your shoulder and he shook your body. “Y/N?” You looked up and his worried expression softened at your big puppy eyes and smudged mascara. “Hi there.” He whispered, his hand softly touching your cheek. “Hi” you drunkenly smiled. “C’mon let’s get you home” Chan held his hand out and you shakily took it. Once you stood steadily he picked up your heels and your pursue and phone which in the process of standing up fell from your hand. Luckily he turned around quick enough to see you falling over and stopping your body with his. Your head was now rest on his chest, your hands loosely hanging down. “Channie” you slurred “kiss me.” Chan smiled but shook his head, brushing through your hair. “No, baby girl. You’re drunk.” Your hands landed on his chest so you could push yourself off of him. When you looked up at him he had to suppress a laugh. Your angry drunk pout was just too cute to be taken serious. “You-“ you were interrupted by your own hiccup “You just cock blocked me.” You hit him with your pointer finger when saying you “Because you were jealous! And now-“ hiccup again “And now I want your cock instead.” You innocently blinked. Chan gulped and bit his lip. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it soon enough. When you’re sober.” For now he just opted with kissing your forehead and helping you in the car with his hand respectfully resting between your shoulder blades and your hip.
Lee Minho
Minho got out of the car and already knew it wouldn’t be easy to get you out of the bar when he couldn’t immediately see you. Usually you’d obediently be already waiting for him. He huffed, rolling his eyes when he entered the bar. He immediately spotted you sitting literally on the bar, swirling your hair and flirting with the bartender. Hw huffed once again. Pathetic. He pushed his way through the drunk crowd and came to a halt right in front of you, resting his hands on either sides of your thighs, you jumped at the soft touch. Your head snapped in his direction, your face scrunched in anger. Surprisingly your expression didn’t change when you saw him. You rolled your eyes at him. “You’re not going to get me out of here!” He nodded. “Okay, so I’m just gonna stay here and wait for you.” Your eyes widened “No! You’re not going to play baby sitter!” You slurred a little which made him grab the drink in your hand and empty it out in the sink behind the bar. Your mouth opened in shock. “What the fuck? What is wrong with you?” You angrily said. His eyebrow raised and he smirked. “Come home with me. There I won’t have to play baby sitter.” You whined “Minho. Let me have fun. I just wanna make out with someone!” Suddenly he leaned in so close you could feel his breath on your face. “Make out with me.” He bit his lip and your breath hitched. “You wouldn’t-“ his hands wandered from the sides of your thighs up to the hem of your dress and played with it, his eyes never leaving yours. “You know I would. I just need you to get out of here and sober up and I promise you can make out with me any time from now on. And more.” As if you were hypnotized you nodded and hopped off the bar which led to you being really close to him, your bodies pressed together. His hands wandered up to your face and be cupped it in them, his thumbs brushing your face. “Let’s go.” He whispered and you nodded again “Let’s go.”
Seo Changbin
You were nervously waiting behind the club. You had turned the guy down the moment Changbin told you he was on his way and since he didn’t give up and followed you everywhere you went to the bathroom and climbed out the window, hoping Changbin would find you there. Then there was the sound of a car coming to a halt and hurried steps. “Y/N?!” You quickly looked up and noticed your best friend approaching you. “Aren’t you freezing? Where’s your jacket?” You awkwardly smiled at him, cringing at what you said next “I may or may not had to climb out the bathroom window.” You slurred and his eyes widened “Why?” He said while examining your body with gentle hands and attentive eyes. You took his wandering hands in yours and he finally looked you in the eyes. “I turned him down and when he wouldn’t leave me alone I fled. Please tell me, it was worth it.” He shyly smiled and put both of your hands on your face. “It was worth it, Y/N. You were right I was jealous. Not because I wanna pick up someone and have sex with them as well but because-“ you interrupted him by letting your hands slide down his arms squeezing his biceps “you wanna have sex with me?” His eyes darkened for a second but he shook his head. “So much more than that. I want to treat you right. Not only in bed but in general.” You face heated up and you bit your lip. “That’s really attractive, Binnie. Kiss me?” He leaned in, brushing your hair out of your face. Suddenly you pulled off with wide eyes rushing away from him. And then you threw up all over the side walk. Changbin gasped and rushed to your side, holding your hair. “Oh God” you whined between gulps” this is so embarrassing.” He laughed “Don’t act like I haven’t seen you throw up before or held your hair.” You just shook your head “This is different, your my boyfriend now.” His heart jumped at that and he smiled like a school boy. “Yes that’s right, I am.”
Hwang Hyunjin
The first thing Hyunjin notices was your exposed body almost passed out hovering over some random guy. Due to the state of the guys shoes he guessed he was the one from your naughty photo. At least he didn’t leave you Hyunjin thought. But he could definitely do a better job covering you up. “Hey.” Hyunjin coldly said “I got it from here.” The man looked at him. “Hey dude, this chick is like super clingy, gotta get her off from me.” Hyunjin visibly cringed at him while sitting next to the two of you carefully grabbing you by the waist and manoeuvring you onto him. “She’s also super drunk, think she’s still gonna want me once she’s conscious?” Hyunjin rolled his eyes at that. “No she won’t. Piss off now.” The guy defensively raised his hands and left, almost falling over. “Hyunjin?” You weakly said. “Hey, princess, I’m here.” You smiled up at him. Or more tried to but the alcohol got to your head again and you gulped. Luckily you didn’t throw up again. You groggily rested your body on his and muttered “can we sit down for a s-second.” Hyunjin chuckled “we are sitting down, princess.” When you didn’t say anything he carefully pulled his jacket off and wrapped you in it. After almost 15 minutes of complete silence with you napping on him, Hyunjin decided it was time to go and without a warning picked you up like a child. Your legs immediately wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck. Like this he stepped to the car and opened the door with one hand while holding you steady with the other. Slowly he ducked down and carefully sat you down in the passenger seat. He even put a hand, once it was free, on your head and whispered “careful don’t bump your head on the roof.” You drunkenly giggled and took both his hands immediately yours and pulled him down to you when he wanted to close the door. “Hyune” you hiccuped “are you really here because you don’t want me to regret anything in the morning?” His eyebrows tightened and he looked away. Encouraged by his behaviour you continued “Or are you here because you felt jealous?” Hyunjin smirked and instead of saying anything closed the door and walked to the driver’s seat. The car started and after driving a few seconds you smiled widely and looked at him with excitement in your eyes “So you wanna fuck me?” He choked on his own spit and gripped the wheel tighter as to not lose control. He had to remind himself of your overly drunk state. “It’s okay, Hyunjinnie. I wanna fuck you too.” You giggled. He shook his head a little bit and chuckled “Tell me that again when you’re sober and I might just fuck you first thing in the morning.”
I originally wanted to post this yesterday but Hyunjins part took me little longer than expected… tell me what you think please, I’m not sure how I feel about this haha
amandla
titsay
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
gummygunk
turnnoffyourmind
romaincrisis
