#captain daddy

Chan knows he shouldn’t be looking at you like this—you were his friend’s girlfriend, for fuck’s sake—but god, were you beautiful. Temptation wrapped in lush curves and everything he didn’t know he craved in a woman until he met you at that party downtown one night.

The memory was seared into his brain; dim lights, bass thrumming through his chest and then you, laughing at something someone said, your head thrown back in a way that made his mouth go dry. He should have looked away the moment he realized who you were with, should have kept his distance when Hongjoong’s arm slid possessively around your waist.

But it was proven that night—and every agonizing encounter since—that Chan was a weak man when it came to you.

He’d settled for glimpses. Stolen glances across crowded rooms when Hongjoong wasn’t paying attention. The curve of your smile when you’d catch him staring, something unreadable flickering in your eyes before you’d look away. The sound of your laugh that he’d replay in his mind late at night, alone in his bed or hunched over his studio equipment, hand working himself to the thought of you until guilt and release crashed over him in equal measure.

Those glimpses had been enough, or so he’d told himself. Enough to sustain this torture of wanting what he couldn’t have, of being close enough to orbit but never touch.

But this moment right now? This was something he never thought would happen.

Your weight pressed against him, breath hot against his neck, fingers tangled in his hair as you used him for everything he was worth. Every fantasy he’d harbored in the dark, shameful hours paled in comparison to the reality of you; the sounds you made, the way your body moved against his, the desperate way you whispered his name like he was the only thing that mattered.

He was a weak man and you were a beautiful woman and the consequences of wanting his friend’s girlfriend? He’d deal with those later. Right now, Chan was too far gone to care about anything except the heaven of having you exactly where he’d always wanted you to be.

“Chris, please.”

The whispered moan of his name as you begged him for release had him twitching in his pants but he wasn’t about to give in, not yet.

“Please what, baby?” His voice came out rougher than intended, thick with restraint as his fingers stilled against you, drawing a frustrated whine from your lips. “Use your words.”

You’d been a brat since he came over that morning—all teasing touches and smart remarks—testing his patience with that knowing smirk that drove him absolutely insane. Brushing past him in the hallway with deliberate slowness, your body grazing his. Bending over in those shorts that should be illegal. Looking up at him through your lashes while biting your lip in that way that made his mind go blank.

So if anything, he thinks you’re getting exactly what you deserve.

“You wanted my attention so badly,” Chan murmured against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below your ear that made you shudder. “Now you have it but good girls ask nicely, don’t they?”

He punctuated his words with the barest hint of movement, just enough to make you gasp and arch into him, seeking more friction that he deliberately withheld.

It’s been two months since that first night with you and he doesn’t think he can stop. He’s in too deep; drowning in the way you taste, the sounds you make, the way you look at him like he’s the only person in your world when you’re together like this. Every meeting was supposed to be the last, every touch a final goodbye but then you’d text him or he’d find an excuse to see you and he’d fall right back into your orbit.

Two months of stolen moments and locked doors. Two months of lying to Hongjoong, of guilt that somehow never felt quite heavy enough to make him walk away. Two months of becoming addicted to something—someone—he had no right to want.

“Say it again,” he commanded softly, his lips brushing against yours without quite kissing you. “Ask me properly and maybe I’ll give you what you need.”

“Make me cum, please Chris. I’ll be good,” you begged from your spot under him on your living room couch, voice breaking on the last word.

Chan’s jaw clenched at the sound, his control hanging by a thread as he watched you, flushed and desperate beneath him, exactly where he wanted you. Where he always wanted you.

“Ohh, you’ll be good?” He raised an eyebrow, letting his hand trail teasingly up your inner thigh, fingers dancing just shy of where you needed him most. “Didn’t you say that already? Or are you only saying that so I’ll give you cock, hmm?”

The whimper that escaped your lips made satisfaction curl hot in his chest. He loved reducing you to this; all that teasing confidence from earlier completely unraveled, replaced by needy desperation that matched his own.

“Daddy, please…”

Your hands reached for him, trying to pull him closer but Chan caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head against the couch cushions. The position arched your back and he had to bite back a groan at the sight.

“There she is,” he murmured, his free hand finally, finally giving you the pressure you’d been begging for. Your sharp intake of breath, the way your eyes fluttered closed, had him grinding against the couch for his own relief. “That’s my good girl. See what happens when you ask nicely?”

He captured your mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing your moans as he worked you steadily toward that edge he’d been denying you. Two months and he still couldn’t get enough; every sound, every reaction, every way you fell apart for him was something he wanted to memorize, to keep for those moments when guilt tried to creep back in.

“That’s it,” Chan breathed against your lips, watching your face as pleasure built higher. “Let me hear you, baby. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

“Baby, please—”

You begged again, your voice taking on that edge of genuine desperation that made his resolve waver but Chan had learned over these two months exactly how to play your body like an instrument and he wasn’t about to break now.

“You know the rules, baby.” His voice was firm despite the way his cock strained against his jeans, demanding attention he refused to give it yet. “Tell me what they are.”

You whined in protest, trying to rock your hips against his hand but he pulled back just enough to make you gasp in frustration. “Say it,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Come on your fingers first,” you panted, eyes glazed with need as you stared up at him. “Then your tongue, a—and only then will you fuck me.”

“Good girl.” The praise rumbled from his chest as he rewarded you with renewed attention, his fingers curling exactly where you needed them. “See? You can follow directions when you want to.”

Your head fell back against the couch, back arching as he worked you methodically toward that first release. Chan watched every micro-expression that crossed your face, committed to memory the way your lips parted on a silent moan, how your thighs trembled around his hand. He was so focused on you, on cataloging every reaction, that he didn’t hear the telltale sound of your keypad being pressed.

Neither of you noticed the front door opening. Not until a low, amused whistle cut through the heated air of your living room.

Chan’s hand froze mid-movement, his entire body going rigid as his head snapped toward the sound. His heart stopped, then kicked into overdrive, blood draining from his face as his brain struggled to process what he was seeing.

Hongjoong stood in the doorway, take-out bags dangling from his hands, looking completely unbothered by the scene before him; his supposed girlfriend sprawled beneath his friend on the couch, clothes disheveled, the air thick with the evidence of what they’d been doing.

“Fuck—” Chan started to pull away, panic flooding his system, apologies already forming on his tongue even as guilt crashed over him like a tidal wave. This was it. This was the consequence he’d been putting off for two months and it was so much worse than he’d imagined. He’d ruined everything—his friendship, his integrity, all for—

But when he looked down at you, expecting to see shame or fear or something resembling remorse at being caught, you were grinning.

Not at him but at Hongjoong.

“Hi Joongie,” you say, voice still breathless but utterly casual, like you hadn’t just been caught in what should have been a relationship-ending betrayal.

Chan’s mind reeled, trying to make sense of your tone, the ease in your body language, the complete lack of panic. He looked between you and Hongjoong, his hand still intimately positioned even as confusion replaced his initial terror.

Hongjoong’s lips curved into a smirk—not angry, not hurt, but amused—as he kicked the door shut behind him and set the take-out bags on the entry table.

“Hi, princess.” His voice was warm, affectionate even, as his eyes dragged deliberately over the compromising position you and Chan were tangled in. “You having fun with Channie hyung?”

The endearment, the question, the complete lack of rage or hurt; it all hit Chan at once, and suddenly nothing made sense anymore.

“What—” Chan’s voice came out rough, disoriented. His eyes darted between you and Hongjoong, trying to understand what the fuck was happening. “What is going on?”

“What’s going on is that pretty girl over there just got a million won out of me,” Hongjoong said as he stepped further into your living room, completely at ease as he settled into the armchair across from the couch.

Chan’s brain short-circuited. “That’s not…fuck, why aren’t you mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” Hongjoong shrugged, pulling out his phone like this was the most normal conversation in the world. “I mean, I had more faith in you bro, I didn’t think you’d cave so early, man.”

“‘Cause she’s your girlfriend?” Chan’s voice rose with frustrated confusion, his hands gesturing wildly between you and Hongjoong. “Because I’ve been fucking your girlfriend behind your back and…Jesus, Hongjoong, I’ve been lying to you, sneaking around, feeling like the worst friend in the world—”

“I mean, good thing she’s not my girlfriend then.”

The words hung in the air like a record scratch.

Chan blinked. Once. Twice. “What?”

You finally moved, sitting up properly and tugging your t-shirt down to cover yourself, though your legs remained draped across Chan’s lap. There was an apologetic smile playing at your lips now as you watched the information slowly process across his features; confusion giving way to disbelief, then something that might have been the beginning of understanding.

“She’s not my girlfriend, dude,” Hongjoong repeated, setting his phone aside to give Chan his full attention. “Never has been.”

Chan’s mouth opened, then closed. His hand, still resting on your thigh, tightened reflexively as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. “But, the party. You had your arm around her. You introduced her as—”

“As his friend,” you interjected gently, reaching over to touch his arm. “You assumed the rest.”

“I mean given the way we behave, I get it,” Hongjoong added. “We didn’t really correct anyone either when they made assumptions because honestly? It wasn’t anyone’s business what we actually were.”

Chan looked between you both, his expression still stunned. “So you two…?”

“Are friends who started hooking up,” you explained, your voice patient as you watched him process. “But we’re not in a relationship with each other. It’s not that we don’t like each other—”

“We do,” Hongjoong confirmed with an easy smile. “She’s great but look, I spend way too much time in the studio to be a present boyfriend. That’s not fair to anyone and we both knew that going in.”

“If you wanna look at it technically, then we’re in an open relationship, I guess.” You shrugged, your thumb rubbing small circles on Chan’s arm. “We both know what the other is up to, though neither of us have really explored the whole open part of it…until you.”

Chan’s eyes widened, his gaze snapping to yours. “Until me?”

“I saw how you looked at her that night,” Hongjoong said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and there was something in his expression, something Chan couldn’t quite read yet. “At the party. And I saw how she looked at you. She’s always had a thing for you—”

“Yah!” You grabbed a throw pillow and launched it at Hongjoong’s head, which he dodged with a laugh.

“Anyways,” Hongjoong continued, grinning now, “I told her that you wouldn’t do anything about it because you respected our friendship too much and especially not if you thought we were in a relationship.”

Understanding finally dawned on Chan’s face, followed immediately by something between embarrassment and disbelief. “You bet on whether I would—”

“I told him I could make you fold,” you interrupted, your voice dropping to something softer, more vulnerable. Your eyes met his, holding his gaze. “That I wanted you to fold.”

“So this entire time…you knew?” Chan’s voice was hollow with disbelief as he stared at Hongjoong.

“Yeah.”

“This is insane.” Chan shook his head, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “You? In an open relationship? You’re the most possessive fucker I know and I know myself. I’ve seen how you are with fans, the way you—”

Hongjoong shrugged and the casual gesture somehow made the whole situation even more surreal. Because Chan wasn’t wrong, Hongjoong was possessive and territorial, everyone who knew him understood that about him. But there was something in his expression now, something thoughtful and genuine that made Chan’s protests die in his throat.

“I’m not officially her boyfriend,” Hongjoong said simply. “And I knew my boundaries going in. Still do.”

Chan’s mind was reeling, trying to reconcile everything he thought he knew with this new reality. Two months of guilt, of thinking he was betraying one of his closest friends, of hating himself every time he touched you and it had all been based on an assumption. On a lie he’d told himself.

“Well, we were planning to talk to you about it tonight,” Hongjoong said, his eyes sliding to you with an amused smirk, “but I guess someone got greedy.”

You had the grace to look slightly sheepish, though the satisfied smile tugging at your lips suggested you weren’t particularly sorry about it.

“Talk about what?” Chan asked, wariness creeping into his voice. He felt like he was standing on shifting ground, like everything he thought was solid had turned to quicksand beneath his feet.

You and Hongjoong exchanged a look, one of those wordless communications that spoke of countless conversations Chan hadn’t been privy to. When you turned back to him, your expression was more serious than he’d seen it in months.

“About what this means going forward,” you said softly. “What we all want.”

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady on Chan and there was something weighing in his expression now, something that felt significant. “The two of us had talked about the possibility of becoming official. Like, actually dating, making it real instead of just…whatever we’ve been doing.” He paused, and something flickered across his face, something vulnerable beneath the casual exterior. “That was before you, though.”

Chan’s heart was pounding now, though he couldn’t quite name what he was feeling. Hope? Fear? Both?

“I still want her,” Hongjoong continued, his voice quiet but firm. “Still want that official thing, that relationship. But—” His eyes moved between Chan and you and when he spoke again, there was a strange certainty in his tone. “I also know that she wants you.”

Chan’s breath caught as you squeezed his hand, confirmation in the gesture.

“And when I really thought about it,” Hongjoong said, meeting Chan’s eyes directly, “when I sat with it and got over my ego for five fucking minutes, I realized I wouldn’t mind sharing. With you.”

The words hung in the air, weighted with possibility and complications that Chan’s overwhelmed brain couldn’t quite parse yet.

“You want to…what?” Chan’s voice came out rougher than intended. “What are you saying?”

“If you wanna date my girlfriend, I’ll be fine with it.”

The words landed like a physical blow, stealing the air from Chan’s lungs. He stared at Hongjoong, searching for any sign of a joke, of sarcasm, of something that would make this make sense but Hongjoong’s expression remained steady, serious in a way that made Chan’s chest tighten.

“Your girlfriend,” Chan repeated slowly, testing the words. “But you just said—”

“I said she’s not my girlfriend yet,” Hongjoong clarified and there was something almost possessive in the way he said it. “But we both know that’s been mine. We’ll have that conversation soon about making it official.” He paused, his gaze moving between Chan and you with something that looked almost like fondness. “And about whether you’d want to be part of that.”

Chan felt your hand tighten around his and when he looked at you, there was hope in your eyes, nervous, vulnerable hope that made his heart stutter.

“Part of—” Chan’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying to wrap his mind around what was being offered. “You’re talking about…what? The three of us?”

“Only if you want to,” you said quietly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “No pressure, Chris. But yeah, that’s what we’re asking.”

“This is insane,” Chan breathed, though he made no move to pull away from you. “You want me to…date both of you? At the same time? That’s…people don’t just do that.”

“Some people do,” Hongjoong said with a slight shrug. “And look, I get it. It’s not conventional. It’s complicated as fuck and we’d have to figure out a lot of shit. But—” He leaned forward, his expression earnest now. “I trust you, dude. If I’m going to share her with anyone, you’re in the top three.”

“I’ve spent two months hating myself,” Chan said, his voice rough with emotion as everything crashed over him at once. “Two months thinking I was the worst friend in the world, that I was betraying you, that what I was doing was—”

“I know,” Hongjoong interrupted gently. “And I’m sorry we let it go on that long but we needed to see if this was real. If what you felt for her was just…I don’t know, forbidden fruit bullshit, or if it was actually something.”

Chan’s eyes found yours again and god, looking at you now—knowing he didn’t have to hide it anymore, that the guilt had been unnecessary all along—it was overwhelming.

“Is it?” you asked softly. “Something real?”

Chan let out a shaky breath, his free hand coming up to cup your face. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that first night. Every time I tried to end it, to do the right thing, I just…couldn’t. So yeah. It’s real. Too fucking real.”

A slow smile spread across your face and Hongjoong made a satisfied sound from his chair.

“So,” Hongjoong said, standing up and grabbing the takeout bags. “Are we doing this? Because the food’s getting cold and I’d rather have this conversation over something to eat.”

Chan looked at him, then at you, his mind still struggling to catch up with how dramatically his world had just shifted. “You’re really okay with this? Both of you?”

“More than okay,” you confirmed.

“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t,” Hongjoong added. “But Chan? If we do this, we do it right. Communication, honesty, all that shit. No more sneaking around and feeling guilty. We figure this out together, or not at all.”

Chan felt something in his chest loosen, the weight of two months of guilt finally lifting, replaced by something he was afraid to name yet. Something that felt dangerously like happiness.

“Okay,” he heard himself say. “Okay, let’s…let’s try this. Figure it out.”

Your smile was blinding and when you pulled him down for a kiss, he could taste your relief and joy. When you pulled back, Hongjoong was watching with that same fond expression and somehow it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like maybe, just maybe, this could actually work.

“Good,” Hongjoong said, heading toward the kitchen. “Now can we eat? And maybe someone can explain why I walked in on you two on the couch like animals when there’s a perfectly good bedroom twenty feet away.”

“You say that like you haven’t done the same before,” you shot back, your tone pointed enough to make Hongjoong pause mid-step.

He turned back with a shameless grin. “Touché.”

Chan’s brain, still trying to process the last ten minutes of revelations, latched onto a new concern. “Wait, does that mean Hongjoong is my boyfriend now, or is it like those sister wives things?”

Hongjoong actually laughed—a genuine, full-bodied sound that echoed through the living room. “Dude, really? Don’t think so hard about it.” He set the takeout bags on the kitchen counter, turning back to gesture between the three of them. “You and I don’t have to do anything but love her,” he said, pointing at you with an easy confidence that somehow made the whole situation feel less insane. “But I’m open to trying new things.” He shrugged like he’d just suggested trying a new restaurant instead of completely redefining their relationship dynamic.

Chan blinked. “You’re just…cool with all of this? Just like that?”

“Chan,” Hongjoong said, pulling containers out of the bags, “I’ve had months to think about this. You’re the one playing catch-up here. Give yourself a minute to breathe.”

You squeezed Chan’s hand again, drawing his attention back to you. “There’s no rulebook for this,” you said softly. “We make it up as we go. Whatever feels right for all of us.”

Chan looked between you and Hongjoong; at the easy way Hongjoong moved around your kitchen like he belonged there, at the warmth in your eyes, at how natural this all seemed for you both while his world was still tilting on its axis.

“Okay,” he said finally, exhaling slowly. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Good,” Hongjoong said, already opening containers. “Now get over here. I got your favorite and if you let it get cold after the fun you two apparently had, I’m taking my million won back.”

You don’t make it through dinner, not that Hongjoong expected you to.

He’d been watching you the entire meal with that knowing smirk, the one that said he could read every thought crossing your mind. The way you kept shifting in your seat, pressing your thighs together. How your eyes kept darting between him and Chan, lingering on the way Chan’s throat worked when he swallowed, the flex of Hongjoong’s fingers around his chopsticks.

The moment Hongjoong set his plate down on the coffee table, you were on him.

“There she is,” he murmured against your lips, his grin evident even as you kissed him. His hands found your hips, pulling you fully into his lap as you straddled him in the chair. “Couldn’t even wait, could you, princess?”

“You knew I wouldn’t,” you breathed, your fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt.

“I did,” he agreed, sounding far too pleased with himself. His eyes flickered past you to where Chan sat frozen on the couch, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, watching the two of you with an expression caught somewhere between arousal and uncertainty. “The real question is, did he know?”

You turned your head to look at Chan, and the heat in your gaze made his breath catch visibly. “Chris hasn’t seen us together yet,” you said, your voice dropping to something lower, more inviting. “Haven’t gotten to show him how good Joongie makes me feel.”

Hongjoong’s hands slid under your shirt, and you arched into his touch, never breaking eye contact with Chan. “That bother you, bro?” Hongjoong asked, his tone casual despite the clear intent in his movements. “Watching?”

Chan’s chopsticks clattered against his plate as he set it down with shaking hands. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he watched Hongjoong’s hands map your body with familiar confidence. “I—fuck, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.”

“Whatever feels right,” you said, echoing your earlier words. You pulled your shirt over your head in one smooth motion and both men’s eyes tracked the movement hungrily. “You can watch. You can join. You can tell us what you want to see.” You rolled your hips against Hongjoong, drawing a low groan from him. “Or you can tell us what you want us to do to you.”

Hongjoong’s laugh was breathless as his hands splayed across your bare back. “She’s generous like that,” he said. “Always making sure everyone’s taken care of.” His mouth found your neck and the deliberate way he kissed down your throat made it clear this was a show; for Chan’s benefit as much as yours. “So what’s it gonna be, hyung? You just gonna sit there with your jaw on the floor, or are you gonna come over here?”

Chan stood, his movements almost involuntary, drawn forward like a magnet. When he reached the chair, standing over both of you, his hand came up to cup your face, tilting your head back from where you were pressed against Hongjoong.

“Can I—” his voice was rough, uncertain, and you smiled.

“You don’t have to ask permission anymore, Chris,” you whispered. “Not from either of us.”

The kiss was heated, desperate and when you moaned into Chan’s mouth—whether from the kiss itself or from whatever Hongjoong was doing with his hands—Chan felt the last of his hesitation shatter.

“Good,” Hongjoong said against your shoulder, satisfaction clear in his voice. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

You’re greedy and you know it, but you don’t care, especially not now, in this moment.

It had started slowly after Chan had lifted you and tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Hongjoong’s laughter following behind as they made their way to your bedroom. There was something surreal about watching them navigate your space together, about the way Hongjoong had casually stripped off his shirt while Chan laid you down on the bed with a reverence that made your chest tight.

They took turns making you feel good at first; Hongjoong’s mouth on your neck while Chan’s hands mapped your thighs, then switching, Chan’s lips trailing down your stomach while Hongjoong’s fingers worked between your legs. Learning each other’s rhythms, finding where one ended and the other began, until their touches started to overlap and you couldn’t tell whose hands were whose anymore. Didn’t realize how easily they fell into rhythm like they’d done this before.

The praise came from both sides, wrapping around you like silk. “So good for us, baby.”

“Look at her, so fucking pretty like this.”

“That’s it, princess, just like that.”

But so did the degradation, the teasing edge that had your head spinning and heat pooling low in your belly.

“Greedy little slut, aren’t you? Want both of us?”

“She’s not gonna last, look at her already shaking.”

“Think she can take more? I think she can take more.”

“Such a pretty little cocksleeve.”

The simultaneous praise and degradation made you dizzy, turned you into something desperate and needy between them. They worked you like a well-oiled machine instead of something that had been agreed upon thirty minutes ago over cooling takeout; like they’d done this a hundred times before, like they knew exactly how to play your body in harmony.

And now, god, now—

The way they had you positioned between them should have been awkward, should have required coordination and communication but somehow it just worked. Hongjoong behind you, his chest pressed against your back, one hand splayed possessively across your stomach while the other pushed down on your lower back, arching you exactly the way he wanted. His breath was hot against your shoulder, his voice a low rumble of approval and instruction that made you clench around nothing.

Chan laid back against your mountain of pillows in front of you, all dewy skin and flexed muscle, his chest rising and falling with barely controlled breath. One hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly as his other hand guided you forward, fingers threading through your hair with a gentleness that contrasted beautifully with Hongjoong’s firm grip on your hips.

“Come here, baby,” Chan murmured, his voice wrecked and wanting. “Let me see that pretty mouth.”

You whimpered as Hongjoong’s hand pressed more firmly against your back, the angle making you arch, making you present yourself to him even as you leaned forward toward Chan. The praise from behind you was immediate.

“Perfect,” Hongjoong breathed, his hands kneading your ass appreciatively. “Fucking perfect, princess. You look so good like this.”

Chan’s thumb brushed across your lower lip, his eyes dark and reverent as he watched you. When you took him into your mouth, the groan that tore from his throat was matched by Hongjoong’s curse behind you as he finally, finally pushed inside.

The stretch was exquisite, familiar yet somehow different with Chan watching, with Chan’s hand gentle in your hair and his taste on your tongue. You moaned around him, and the vibration made Chan’s hips jerk involuntarily.

“Fuck, sorry—” Chan started but Hongjoong cut him off with a breathless laugh.

“Don’t apologize. She likes that shit.” His hips rolled in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had you gasping. “Don’t you, baby? Like being used between us?”

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t do anything but whimper and try to focus on both sensations at once; Hongjoong’s controlled thrusts from behind, the weight of Chan on your tongue, the praise and filth falling from both their lips like a symphony.

“So good for us,” Chan breathed, his free hand coming up to cup your face with devastating tenderness. “Taking us both so well.”

“She can handle more,” Hongjoong said with that edge of mean that made you clench around him. His hand came down on your ass—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you moan. “Can’t you, princess? Wanna show Channie how good you can be?”

The rhythm built between them; Hongjoong’s thrusts pushing you forward onto Chan, then pulling back, a perfect give and take that had you trembling. Chan’s hand tightened in your hair,grounding himself while guiding you up and down his length as Hongjoong’s fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise.

And when Hongjoong’s hand slides around to where you needed it most while Chan praised you through gritted teeth, as they worked together to unravel you completely—you decided that damnation had never felt so much like heaven.

“Such a good girl now,” Chan murmured, his voice strained with pleasure as his fingers traced along your jaw. “Where’s that brat from earlier, huh?”

You know he’s baiting you, dangling the question like a challenge. Know he’s looking for an excuse to punish you, to get mean the way you’d pushed him to be this morning with your teasing and attitude. The smart thing would be to stay quiet, to be the good girl he’s praising you for being.

But when have you ever done the smart thing?

You pulled back just enough to speak, your lips swollen and slick, meeting Chan’s dark eyes with a deliberate glint of defiance. “She’s right here,” you said, your voice rough but unmistakably bratty. “Why? You miss her already?”

Behind you, Hongjoong’s rhythm faltered for just a second before he let out a disbelieving laugh. “Oh, she’s asking for it now.”

“Yeah?” Chan’s hand tightened in your hair, not painful but firm enough to make your breath catch. His expression shifted from reverent to something darker, more dangerous. “That what you want, baby? Want me to remind you what happens to brats who can’t behave?”

You bit your lip, fighting back a grin even as Hongjoong’s hand came down on your ass again—harder this time, the sharp sting making you gasp. “Maybe,” you breathed, deliberately pushing. “Or maybe you’re all talk, Chris.”

“Fuck,” Hongjoong groaned, his hands gripping your hips bruisingly tight as he stilled deep inside you. “You’re really gonna regret that, princess.”

Chan’s smile was sharp, predatory, as he sat up slightly, using his grip on your hair to guide you exactly where he wanted. “Oh, baby,” he said, voice dropping to something dark and promising. “You have no idea what you just started.”

“Then show me,” you challenged, even though you were already trembling between them, already so close to falling apart. “Both of you.”

The look that passed between Chan and Hongjoong over your body was electric; a wordless agreement, a shared understanding of exactly how they were going to take you apart.

“Your funeral,” Hongjoong murmured against your shoulder blade, and then they both moved.

You were grinning now, triumph and anticipation curling hot in your belly but you had no idea what Pandora’s box you had just unlocked between the both of them.

The energy shifted instantly—so palpable you could almost taste the static charge in the air. Where before they’d been coordinated but separate entities focused on your pleasure, now there was something almost telepathic in the way they moved. Like your challenge had flipped a switch, activating some primal understanding between them, turning them from two individuals into a unified force with one singular, focused goal​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​—breaking you down until that bratty grin dissolved into desperate, incoherent pleas.

“Little slut thinks she’s so clever,” Chan said but he wasn’t talking to you anymore. His eyes stayed locked on yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch, made your pulse jump in your throat but his words were directed over your shoulder to Hongjoong. There was something in his tone—amusement mixed with dark promise and an edge of competitive pride—that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“She always does,” Hongjoong replied, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that you knew from experience meant trouble. His hand slid up your spine, the touch deceptively gentle, almost soothing, calluses catching slightly on your sweat-dampened skin before he suddenly fisted your hair at the roots and yanked you back against his chest. The angle changed brutally and you felt him hit somewhere deeper, somewhere that made stars burst behind your eyes and tore a sharp, broken cry from your throat. “Right up until she remembers why being good is so much better for her.”

Your scalp stung where he held you and the pain mixed with the pleasure of him buried inside you in a way that made your thoughts scatter like startled birds.

“Think we’ve been too soft with her,” Chan mused, sitting up slightly so he could cup your face with both hands, forcing you to maintain eye contact even as Hongjoong’s grip kept you arched back at an almost uncomfortable angle. Your neck strained, your back bowed, completely at their mercy. His thumb traced your bottom lip, dragging down slowly before pressing inside your mouth. The automatic way you hollowed your cheeks and sucked made his pupils dilate until his eyes were nearly black. “Letting her think she’s in charge here. That she gets to set the pace.”

Your grin faltered slightly—just a flicker of uncertainty as your brain finally started catching up to what was happening. The way they were talking about you like you weren’t there, like you were a problem they needed to solve together, a challenge they’d jointly accepted. The casual dominance threaded through every word, every calculated touch.

“Way too soft,” Hongjoong agreed and you could hear the smirk in his voice without even seeing his face. “She really thought she was so clever. Thought she was running this whole show. Playing us against each other.” His lips brushed against your ear and you could feel his smile against your skin. “Baby, you were never in control. Not for a single fucking second.”

There was something in his tone that cut through the pleasure-fog in your brain, something that made warning bells go off even as your body betrayed you by clenching around him.

“What?” you managed to gasp out.

“Chan,” Hongjoong called out, his voice dark with amusement. “Want to tell her? Or should I?”

Chan’s hand paused in your hair and when you managed to look up at him through blurry eyes, there was guilt written across his features but also something else. Something that looked almost like satisfaction.

“Tell me what?” Your voice came out sharper despite your compromised position.

Hongjoong’s laugh was low and rich against your ear. “That studio session two months before that party downtown. Remember me telling you about working late with Channie?”

Your heart started pounding for entirely different reasons now.

“I asked him if he liked you,” Hongjoong continued, his hand sliding up your spine in a mockery of comfort. “Because I’d seen the way he looked at you in photos. The way he’d ask about you, all casual, like he wasn’t dying to know everything.”

“Hongjoong—” Chan’s voice held a warning, but he didn’t deny it.

“He tried to deny it at first,” Hongjoong went on, clearly enjoying himself now. “Said you were just a friend. That he respected our relationship too much but I knew better. So I made him a deal.”

His teeth grazed your earlobe and you shuddered. “Told him I’d make sure he got his chance. That I’d set everything up perfect. Make you think you were chasing him, that you were the one in control and we’d bet on how long he’d last before he was completely addicted.”

Your brain struggled to process what he was saying, struggled to reconcile the guilt you’d seen in Chan’s eyes for months with the idea that he’d known all along.

“You—” you started but Hongjoong cut you off.

“The best part?” His voice was velvet and sin. “There were never any real stakes to our bet. Whether Chan lasted one night or needed more, whether he walked away or got obsessed, we both won the same prize.”

His hand slid around to grip your throat gently, tilting your head back so you could see Chan’s face above you. “We both got to keep you.”

The room spun. Chan had known. The guilt, the conflict, the way he’d looked at you like having you was killing him—had that all been real? Or had he been acting the whole time?

“Chan?” Your voice came out smaller than you intended.

“I—” Chan’s jaw clenched and at least he had the decency to look conflicted now. “I didn’t think I’d actually fall for you. That part wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“But you knew,” you pressed. “This whole time. Every time I thought I was corrupting you, that we were sneaking around—”

“I knew,” he admitted quietly. “Hongjoong told me everything. About the bet you two made. About how he’d make sure you thought that I thought you were his girlfriend.” His hand cupped your face with devastating gentleness. “I’m sorry but I’m not sorry enough to regret it.”

You should be furious. Should be pushing them both away, demanding answers, angry at being manipulated like some kind of—

But then Hongjoong’s hand moved between your legs again and your body’s reaction was immediate and damning. You gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily and you felt yourself get impossibly wetter at the revelation.

Hongjoong’s laugh was dark and knowing against your ear. “Oh, fuck. You’re not even mad, are you?” His fingers slid through your arousal as proof. “Look at this, Chan. Our dirty little whore just got wetter finding out we played her.”

The degradation mixed with praise made you whimper and you couldn’t even deny it. Because he was right, god help you, he was completely right.

“You like it,” Hongjoong continued, his voice full of satisfaction. “Like knowing we wanted you so badly we orchestrated this whole thing. That we worked together to make sure you ended up exactly where we wanted you, between us, taking everything we give you.”

“Tell him,” Chan urged, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Tell Hongjoong how it makes you feel. Knowing you never stood a chance.”

“I—” you tried to speak but Hongjoong chose that moment to thrust particularly deep and the words dissolved into a moan.

“Use your words, princess,” Hongjoong demanded, his hand tightening slightly on your throat; not enough to restrict airflow, just enough to remind you who was in control. “Tell us how wet it makes you, knowing we’ve been playing you this whole time.”

“Fuck,” you gasped, shame and arousal warring in your chest until you couldn’t tell them apart anymore. “It’s—god, it’s so hot. You’re both terrible and I…I can’t believe I’m this turned on—”

“But you are,” Chan says and there was wonder mixed with satisfaction in his voice. “You’re fucking dripping for us, baby. Getting off on being manipulated. On being ours.”

“Been ours from the start,” Hongjoong added, his hips rolling in that maddeningly slow rhythm again. “You just didn’t know it yet. Thought you had all the power, making Chan hyung break his precious morals. But baby—” his laugh was dark, “—we let you think that. Let you believe you were corrupting him when really, we were both corrupting you.”

“How long?” you managed to ask, your voice breaking. “How long have you been planning this?”

“Since that studio session,” Hongjoong said. “I knew the moment I saw how he looked at your pictures, how he looked at you.Knew he’d be perfect for us. For you.”

“And you—” you looked up at Chan, needing to understand. “You agreed to this? To pretend?”

“The guilt was real,” Chan said quietly, his hand gentle in your hair now. “Even knowing Hongjoong was okay with it, even knowing you weren’t really his…I still felt like I was doing something wrong. That made it better, didn’t it? Made you want me more because you thought I was conflicted.”

He was right and you hated how right he was. The guilt in his eyes had been half the appeal, the knowledge that he wanted you enough to betray his morals.

“But the wanting was always real,” Chan continued. “The addiction was real. I wasn’t lying about that, baby. One taste and I couldn’t stop. That’s exactly what Hongjoong predicted.”

“Because I know him,” Hongjoong said smugly. “And I know you. Knew you’d be irresistible to each other. That once he had you, he’d never be able to walk away.” His hand slid from your throat down to your breast, thumb circling your nipple. “Just like I can’t walk away. You’re ours now, princess. Both of ours.”

“So what now?” you asked, even though your body had clearly already decided, trembling and desperate between them.

“Now?” Hongjoong’s smile was wicked against your shoulder. “Now we show you what happens when you’re not the one in control. When you’re exactly where we want you.”

“And baby?” Chan added, his grip tightening in your hair as he guided you back toward him. “We’ve been holding back. Being nice. But you just challenged us, remember? Called me all talk.”

“So we’re done being nice,” Hongjoong finished. His hand moved between your legs again but instead of the relief you craved, he just teased; light touches that made you whimper and try to rock against his hand. “We’re going to take you apart piece by piece and you’re going to love every fucking second of it.”

“And when we’re done,” Chan said, his voice dropping to something dark and promising, “you’re going to thank us for it.”

The look that passed between them over your body was pure predatory satisfaction.

“Starting now,” Hongjoong said and then he pulled out completely, leaving you empty and gasping.

Before you could protest, before you could beg, they were moving you; flipping you onto your back, Chan moving down your body while Hongjoong positioned himself at your head.

“Remember those rules?” Chan asked, settling between your thighs with a wicked smile. “Fingers first, then tongue, then cock?”

“We’re starting over,” Hongjoong said, his hand tangling in your hair as he guided you toward him. “And this time, we’re going to make you earn it.”

“Every. Single. Orgasm,” Chan agreed, his breath hot against your inner thigh but not quite where you needed him. “You’re going to beg so pretty for us, baby. Going to show us exactly how much you love being ours.”

And then they began their systematic destruction of every coherent thought in your head. Chan’s mouth was devastating; precise and merciless as he worked you with his tongue, building you up toward that edge with practiced ease. But every time you got close, every time your thighs started to shake and your breathing hitched, he pulled back. Just enough to keep you hovering, desperate, needy.

“Not yet,” he’d say against your oversensitive flesh. “Ask nicely.”

Meanwhile, Hongjoong guided your mouth onto him with firm hands, praising you when you took him deep, degrading you when you gagged. “That’s it, take it all. Such a good little slut for us. Made for this, weren’t you? Made to be between us, taking whatever we give you like a good little cocksleeve.”

The dual sensations—Chan’s tongue driving you insane, Hongjoong filling your mouth—should have been enough to push you over. But they’d found a rhythm that kept you suspended in that agonizing space just before release, never quite letting you tip over.

“Please,” you finally gasped when Hongjoong let you up for air. “Please, I need—”

“What do you need, baby?” Chan asked, his fingers replacing his tongue, pumping slowly inside you. “Tell us exactly what you want.”

“Need to come,” you sobbed, past pride, past shame. “Please let me come, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good—”

“Will you?” Hongjoong’s hand tightened in your hair. “Because you’ve been nothing but a brat all day. What makes you think you deserve it?”

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I’m sorry for being bratty, for challenging you, for—for everything. Please, I need you both, need to come, need—”

“Better,” Chan murmured, his fingers curling inside you in a way that made you cry out. “But I think you can beg prettier than that. What do you think, Joong?”

“Definitely,” Hongjoong agreed. “Tell us whose you are, princess. Say it nice and loud.”

“Yours,” you gasped without hesitation. “Both of yours. Only yours. Please—”

“Good girl,” they said in unison, and then finally, finally, Chan’s mouth returned with purpose, his fingers and tongue working together to push you toward that edge.

“Come for us,” Hongjoong commanded, his hand gentle now in your hair. “Show Chan hyung how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

And you did shattering with their names on your lips, your whole body convulsing as pleasure crashed over you in waves so intense they bordered on painful. Chan worked you through it, drawing it out until you were pushing at his head, oversensitive and trembling.

“One,” Hongjoong said and there was dark promise in that single word. “Think she can give us more, hyung?”

“Oh, definitely,” Chan agreed, his smile wicked as he moved up your body. “We’ve got all night to break her in properly. Show her what it really means to be ours.”

“And baby?” Hongjoong leaned down to whisper in your ear as Chan positioned himself at your entrance. “You’re not leaving this bed until we’re convinced you understand exactly who’s in charge. Until that bratty attitude is fucked right out of you and all that’s left is our good little girl.Understand?”

You could only whimper your agreement and then Chan was pushing inside, stretching you in one slow thrust that had you arching off the bed.

“Fuck, she’s so tight,” Chan groaned. “So fucking perfect.”

“She is,” Hongjoong agreed, his hand sliding down to wrap around your throat again; not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder of control. “Our perfect girl. Aren’t you, baby?”

“Yes,” you gasped as Chan started to move. “Yes, yours, all yours—”

“That’s right,” Hongjoong said, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “And we’re never letting you go.”

They traded places throughout the night; Hongjoong taking you while Chan held you, Chan fucking you against the headboard while Hongjoong whispered filth in your ear. Sometimes both of them touching you at once, hands and mouths everywhere until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

They wrung orgasm after orgasm from your trembling body—three, four, five—you lost count somewhere around when Hongjoong had you on your hands and knees while Chan lay beneath you, both of them filling you until you thought you’d break apart from the intensity.

“Can’t—” you sobbed at some point, your body shaking uncontrollably. “Can’t anymore, please—”

“One more,” Hongjoong coaxed, his hand sliding between your legs again despite your protest. “Give us one more, baby. Show us how good you can be.”

“You can take it,” Chan encouraged from below you, his hands steady on your hips. “Know you can, baby. So strong, so perfect for us.”

And somehow, impossibly, they pulled another orgasm from you—this one softer, almost gentle but no less devastating. You collapsed between them, completely spent, every muscle trembling with exhaustion.

“So good,” Chan murmured, pressing kisses to your shoulder. “Did so well, baby.”

“So proud of you,” Hongjoong added, his hands soothing now as they rubbed your back. “Our perfect girl.”

They cleaned you up with warm washcloths, their touches gentle now, reverent. Hongjoong brought water and made you drink while Chan changed the sheets around you. They sandwiched you between them after, a tangle of limbs and warmth.

“Are you okay?” Chan asked quietly, his fingers carding through your hair. “That wasn’t too much?”

You made a sound that might have been a laugh if you had the energy. “I’m pretty sure I died and came back to life at least twice.”

“That’s not an answer,” Hongjoong pressed, his hand rubbing circles on your hip. “Seriously. We pushed pretty hard. Tell us if we went too far.”

“I’m perfect,” you said, and meant it. “Sore. Exhausted. Thoroughly fucked but perfect.”

“Good,” Chan said, relief evident in his voice.

“Though I still can’t believe you two planned this,” you added, poking Hongjoong in the ribs weakly. “That’s so manipulative.”

“Says the woman who bet she could seduce someone who thought she was off-limits,” Hongjoong countered, catching your hand and bringing it to his lips. “We’re all terrible people, baby. That’s why we work.”

“He’s not wrong,” Chan admitted. “We’re all pretty fucked up in the best way.”

You couldn’t argue with that. “So what happens now? Like, actually. Tomorrow when we’re not all sex-drunk and stupid.”

“Now we figure it out,” Hongjoong said simply. “The three of us. Communication, boundaries, all that adult shit we should have led with.”

“But the important thing?” Chan added, tilting your face toward him. “We’re in this. All of us. However it works, we’ll figure it out together.”

“Even when I’m bratty?” you asked with a tired smile.

“Especially when you’re bratty,” they said in unison and the shared exasperation in their voices made you laugh.

“You two really are perfect for each other,” you observed. “Teaming up against me.”

“Baby,” Hongjoong said, pressing a kiss to your temple, “we’ve been a team since before that studio session. You never stood a chance.”

“Your funeral,” you quoted back at him, and felt his chest shake with laughter behind you.

“Worth it,” he said simply.

“Yeah,” Chan agreed, his arm tightening around your waist. “Definitely worth it.”

And as you drifted off to sleep between them, thoroughly exhausted and completely satisfied, you had to admit that they were right.

You never stood a chance and you wouldn’t have it any other way.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

His arm is under your head, a perfect plush pillow. You run your thumb over the ruined tattoo wrapping his forearm. He says it used to be a skull, but you can’t ever make out the design with the heavy scarring interrupting the ink.

“любовь,” he rasps into your ear.

You press back against him, twist your head to kiss the lax muscle beneath your head. The change in your breathing must have awoken him. He squeezes you a bit tighter for a moment, feeling like an oversized teddy bear. You smile, realize he can feel it when he puffs with amusement.

“детеныш,” he murmurs, lips brushing tender skin.

You sigh, try to dig your voice out of slumber, but it’s slow to come these days. Even when you haven’t had a bad night, you have trouble speaking in the morning. None of your team minds – but especially not Nikto, who hardly ever speaks more than a handful of sentences a day.

For a while, the two of you doze, breaths sinking, enjoying the time darkness before daylight heralds the return of his mask. You don’t mind it, of course, respect his need for privacy and protection, his discomfort with the scars of his torture. But you won’t feel guilty for enjoying the rare access to his mouth, either.

His fingertips begin to trace over the curve of your collarbone, a featherlight caress that makes you shiver. Eventually his palm travels up to your throat, cradles you there, thumb against your quickening pulse. Not gripping or restraining. Just holding, measuring. You tilt your chin back to give him access, finally manage a soft hum against his palm.

“Can I take care of you?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

You almost mourn the loss of his hand on your throat as it maps down your bare body. But then it stops at the soft hair of your pussy, curling almost playfully. You inhale softly, a thrill jolting through your stomach, sinking low and simmering in your gut.

“пожалуйста,” you whisper.

You’re already warm and wet for him, know it as soon as guides your thigh up and over his own. Leftover pleasure from your private time with the captain and a night with your ass cradled against Nikto’s pelvis. You grind back against him now, feel the delicious bulge of his cock parting your cheeks.

He hushes you, peppering kisses along the line of your neck. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

You stop pushing back against him, making your body go lax and compliant again. He murmurs praise against your skin, a single finger dipping into your slit, skating over your slippery, swollen clit. You gasp softly, slumping back against him, spreading your thighs a bit wider.

There’s nothing hurried about it, just a gentle, coaxing pressure and leisurely circles. Almost hypnotic, the novel texture of his finger pad setting your nerves alight. You’re still sensitive from the previous night, melting in his arms as pleasure quickly turns your hazy brain to cotton fuzz. When the pleasure starts to crest, he changes the rhythm, rubbing circles in the opposite direction. Doesn’t stop the climax altogether but delays it, spools it out.

You make a soft noise, not sure if your disappointed by the denial or grateful that he’s drawing the pleasure out. When he’s treating you like this, the build up is just as good as the orgasm itself. You could live forever in moments like this, soft and blurry and riding on a constant thrum of ecstasy.

“Easy, easy,” he soothes, “let me take care of you.”

You squeeze his arm in agreement, moaning softly as he changes the direction again. He sucks gently at the sweet spot behind your ear, nothing that’ll leave a mark – but enough to sweeten the pleasure into something syrupy, dripping from your lips on humid breaths. His pace never changes, never hurries or rushes you to the end. Like he could spend all morning playing with your pussy too. Just lets it build and build…

“Whenever you’re ready, любовь,” he murmurs. “I won’t deny you anything.”

The pleasure crests like sunrise, liquid gold pouring over you. You moan, voice pitching low in your throat, none of the desperate high pitch of the night before. His teeth sink gently into the spot he’s been lavishing. No pain, just a pleasant ache that makes you tingle from head to toe.

Nikto doesn’t stop until you whimper softly, tapping twice at his arm that you’re overstimulated. He stops instantly, eases away, squeezes your hip and thighs until you catch your breath.

“Alright?” he asks.

“A-alright,” you breathe, craning your neck back to receive a languid kiss from his rough lips. “Do you want to…?”

“Not today,” he replies, sparing a moment to adjust himself in his underwear. “Just wanted to be good to you.”

You hum in understanding, wriggling around to press your hands to his scarred chest. “You’re always good to me.”

He hums, drops a lingering kiss on your forehead. “Need help cleaning up?”

“No, love, thank you though,” you murmur. “Should I grab your mask while I’m up?”

“It’s on the dresser.”

“Got it.”

You sneak one last kiss before shuffling out of bed.

--

Price’s arms are crossed tight when Simon files into his office with the rest of the 141. His expression could be carved of stone, jaw tight. There’s no evidence of it, but Simon can tell he’s been pacing. Has the grim look of a mission with shit odds and no backup, but they’ll have to make it work anyway.

“I talked to her captain,” he begins without preamble.

Simon stills, doesn’t acknowledge the guilty glance Johnny shoots him. Gaz audibly swallows and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“He’s agreed not to contact Laswell for an exchange.”

Something in Simon’s chest loosens. If your captain contacts Laswell to get a new team assigned to the mission, it means you’re gone again. Beyond their reach. He could have made peace if he never saw you again. But to have you here, within arm’s reach – even if you can barely look at any of them right now… well, you always saw reason once you got the worst of your feelings out.

Simon knows he’s banking on your forgiving nature, but the 141 was your first team. The fact that you’re still so angry with them means they still mean something to you, even after all this time.

“This needs to be put to rest,” Price continues. “I know we’ve all got bad feelings about what happened, but it can’t keep interfering with the job.”

Johnny and Gaz duck their heads, ashamed. Simon’s own chest twists. In retrospect, throwing his fight with you was stupid and desperate. He had been hoping that a few good swings would soften you up to a real conversation – but he shouldn’t have discounted your pride. Especially when it comes to him.

“He’s agreed to talk to her, see if she’s willing to hash things out with any of us – but under the caveat that we keep it professional.”

He rocks back on his heels, pins them each with a hard look. The kind that promises retribution.

“Whatever you’ve got to say, save it for after hours and hope she doesn’t swing on you. Dismissed.”

Even Johnny is quiet as the three exit Price’s office, a somber frown on his face. Simon doesn’t wait to ask him what he’s thinking; he already knows. Johnny may have put up a haughty front earlier, but eventually his true feelings will surface. The hurt and guilt, the confusion and fear. He and Gaz loved you in a way Simon couldn’t manage. Even if you’re still pissed, Johnny’s such an earnest sort that you’ll soften to him eventually.

Same with Gaz. Forgiveness is a light at the end of that particular tunnel.

It’s a coin toss for Price, your poker face is especially blank when it comes to him.

But for Simon…

Simon’s made peace for a long time that there’s little redemption for him. On Earth or anywhere else. With you… at the very least you deserve an explanation, even if it doesn’t absolve him of anything. You should know that his intentions were never to have you removed, by your own volition or otherwise.

Maybe he wasn’t too far off with the initial idea – let you get the anger out. He’s the one that deserves it, not Johnny or Gaz or even Price, really. Went about it the wrong way, maybe, but not a bad idea all around.

So, he doesn’t make the turn to the 141 barracks. He pivots instead for the SpecGru hall.

It’s quiet, all the doors closed, with no indication of who is staying in which rooms. But Simon doesn’t need it. He knows that yours is the third door down on the right, across from Russ.

He pauses outside, stares at the cheap woodgrain as he loads words like bullets.

Raises his hand to knock, knuckles white beneath his gloves—

“Daddy!”

He freezes. Denial flares hot and bright for a moment, a desperate hope that he didn’t actually hear that. But then it comes again, that desperate, needy pitch he remembers on his weakest, loneliest nights—

“D-daddy!” your voice slithers out from beneath another door, wraps around Simon’s throat and strangles him. A hitched moan follows, one that he knows from experience means you’re out of your mind on pleasure.

And it’s like his mind is working against him, because he picks up the little, damning noises he didn’t notice before. The obscene slap of skin on skin, the deeper, quieter cadence of a man’s voice. It only takes a moment to recognize it as your captain’s, the rasp of it unmistakable, even if individual words are inaudible.

Simon feels his stomach curdle and sink, chest burning with something he can’t identify. Anger? Jealousy? Shame? He can’t figure it out – not right now, right here. With the sound of your impending climax making you louder and louder, clawing memories from his brain. A life he should have had with you, a relationship he never had the strength to acknowledge.

He turns on his heel and storms away, almost shoulder-checking Nova on his way.

--

Nova greets you rosy and bright at breakfast later that morning, a coffee for you already in hand. It’s such a sweet gesture that you can’t help yourself. You curl an arm around her waist and kiss her, licking the taste of too-sweet tea from her lips. Your precious girl.

“Morning, pretty thing,” you hum.

There’s a blush blooming high in her cheeks as she pecks your nose. “Mornin,’ babes. Made it right?”

You accept the mug from her, take a quick sip. Not too hot, just the right amount of cream and sugar – you even catch a hint of cinnamon, her calling card for your drinks.

“Perfect,” you reply, kissing her forehead, “thank you, love.”

She hums, sends you off to Keegan and your captain with a little pat on the ass. You sit at the table with a warm greeting, leaning into Keegan when he curls an arm around your shoulders. In the kitchenette, Nova and Nikto are exchanging their own good mornings, a sly grin on her face as she teases him.

“Here, baby,” your captain calls, sliding a plate of pastries your way. “You haven’t eaten since dinner.”

You tuck into a muffin while he and Keegan continue chatting – sounds like they’re discussing plans for the day. Training schedules and dealing with the 141. It’s too early for you to be bothered by talk of your former teen, so you just listen quietly, enjoying your breakfast. Nova takes a seat beside you, snuggling in extra close with her thigh against yours.

“How was your sleepover with the cap last night?” you ask.

“Cozy. We watched one of Keegan’s true crime docs,” she replies happily. “Missed you and Nik, though.”

You smile, knock your knee lightly into hers. “How about you and I start that new season of Doctor Who tonight? I’ll do your hair while we’re at it.”

She lights up. “Yeah? It’s a date.”

She flicks a glance over your shoulder, you turn and catch Keegan watching you both, eyes half-lidded. Fond, warm. With the mask, he can be inscrutable to others, but you know how to read the light in his eyes. Never knew you could understand someone so well when they want you to know them.

You only realize that Ghost was there in the doorway when you notice the dark flicker of him walking away.

First | Previous | Next

his knees hurt, too, but that was of less concern right now. the twinge of pain in his lower back, brought on with every step, is at the top of castle’s mind as he makes his way back to his office. it had been a long flight back from the special training session he had been overseeing, and somehow, he’d tweaked his back. maybe it was from the instructional sparring he had done with the recruits, or maybe it was from hunching over in the too-small plane seat. both options were equally dismal. both whisper to him, into his ear and up and down his spine, that he was losing his touch.

it’s no big deal, he soothes himself. keegan would be more than happy to give his captain a massage—though perhaps nova would be a better choice, castle muses, as she seems more likely to focus on the task. maybe lounging on the couch with a good book, an ice pack, and his three teammates safe in one place would do the job. nikto would worry, of course, as he does in his quiet way. nikto would likely be the first one to notice castle’s slight limp. he’s too damn observant, that one, and too difficult to distract.

castle is torn out of his contemplation—his distraction, he scolds himself good-naturedly—when his instinct kicks in to tell him he’s about to trip. he’s made it to his office door, he realizes, and the object he nearly tripped over, (or more accurately almost kicked) was a little bouquet of flowers. he bends down to scoop it up, pain momentarily forgotten, and inspects the array of blue, purple, and pink flowers with some interest.

who the hell sent these? he could imagine keegan being cheeky enough to give him flowers, but then again, leaving them at the door sort of spoils the joke. nova, perhaps? could be, he supposed, but a bouquet of flowers doesn’t seem like her style. nikto, then?

definitely not. then who…?

the little tag finally catches his eye. from a secret admirer, it reads, scribbled quickly as if the writer was in a rush. a secret admirer? christ, when was the last time castle had one of those? high school, he recalls with a fondness, when a timid boy tucked a love note in his locker. he’s had his fair share of admirers since then, but none of them secret, certainly none that brought him flowers. how sweet! if only he could know who…

a grin spreads on his face as he sidles into his office, fishing about for a mug to put his flowers in. whoever the poor sweetheart was, the clearly hadn’t remembered that a captain like himself could very easily request security footage. with any luck, castle could find out who left him those flowers.