#wkcnet

The Chimera cuts through the water like a dagger, her mahogany hull gleaming beneath the fading sun, sails taut with the Eastern wind. Just beyond the curve of the horizon, the city of Syracuse glimmers—a golden crown on the edge of the world, encircled by high cliff walls, bustling piers, and a towering lighthouse whose peak pulses faintly with a strange, ethereal glow.

Seungcheol leans against the railing of the upper deck, arms crossed over his broad chest, sleeves rolled to the elbows. The salt wind tousles his dark hair as his gaze settles on the lighthouse in the distance, its beacon like a slow heartbeat in the night. Behind him, the ship creaks and hums with life—his crew, his brothers, scurrying about with the chaotic energy of those who have lived too long on the edge of the law.

“You’re staring at it like it’s a woman,” Mingyu drawls behind him, arms folded as he climbs the short stairs to the quarterdeck. His long coat flaps behind him, half open over a sweat-stained shirt, hands already working a coin between his fingers. Seungcheol smirks but doesn’t look away. “That light’s worth more than any woman I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve clearly never met the wrong kind.” Soonyoung’s voice chimes in as he lifts himself up from below deck with a musket in one hand and a half-peeled orange in the other. “I knew a girl in Cádiz who nearly robbed me blind. Took my boots and my dignity.”

“Didn’t you say she married you first?” Wonwoo murmurs, barely glancing up from the map he’s unrolling on a barrel by the mast. His long fingers smooth the parchment with the reverence of a monk handling scripture. “Details,” Soonyoung mutters, plopping down beside him and tearing into his orange with more aggression than necessary. “Are we really doing this?” Chan’s voice cuts through the banter. He’s perched on a crate, still a little wide-eyed, grease smudges on his cheek from fiddling with the rigging, a wrench still tucked into his belt—the youngest of the crew, but no less capable. Seungcheol finally turns. “Aye,” he says. “We are.”

He strides down the steps, boots heavy on the deck. The crew naturally circles around—the Chimera’s heart pulsing with anticipation. Seungcheol plants himself in front of the map, stabbing a finger at the intricate image drawn in careful ink. “This is what we're after. The Book of Peace. It’s not just treasure. It’s practically holy. It was created before recorded time, by the first kings to seal an accord between the cities. Some believe it holds the very soul of harmony. That book is peace... and peace has a price.”

“That sounds like a curse waiting to happen,” Mingyu says. He glances at Seungcheol with a lazy grin. “How exactly do you steal a symbol of universal peace without pissing off every crowned head on the continent?”

“Easy,” Seungcheol replies without missing a beat. “We do it fast.” The others chuckle, but it’s Soonyoung who leans forward, his eyes glinting with excitement. “You’ve got a plan, then? Tell me it involves explosions. Please tell me it involves explosions.”

“Not this time,” Seungcheol replies. “We can’t afford chaos. We need timing. Precision. Grace.”

“So… not our speciality,” Chan pipes up, “Got it.” The crew laughs, and even Seungcheol lets out a low chuckle. Then he turns, his tone shifting. “The Book of Peace,” he begins, drawing a curved dagger from his belt and using it to trace lines in the map Wonwoo laid out, “is being moved from the Lighthouse of Syracuse to the Castle of Twelve. That’s our window. Security will be split—half guarding the docks, the other protecting the Kings. It’s the only time that the relic won’t be behind divine iron and twenty feet of stone.”

Minghao, who has been silent up in the crow’s nest, swings down with effortless grace and lands beside him. He’s quiet by nature, eyes sharp as a hawk’s, his tunic stitched with foreign symbols no one else can read.“We can’t storm the procession,” Minghao says softly. “They’ll expect trouble from outside the walls.” Seungcheol grins, full of teeth and madness. “Who said anything about storming?”

He flicks open a hidden compartment beneath the map barrel and pulls out a stack of folded garments—rich silks, polished buttons, embroidered vests. “We go in.” A beat of silence. Then—

“You want us to waltz into a Kings’ gala dressed like noblemen?” Mingyu laughs. “Not like noblemen,” Seungcheol says, rolling his eyes. “Like honoured guests. The guest list includes ambassadors from the outlying islands. And thanks to a certain barmaid in Messina who owed me a favour…” He produces a sealed envelope, the red wax glinting in the lantern light. “We’ve got their names.”

“And how, exactly,” Wonwoo says dryly, “are we supposed to impersonate nobility without anyone noticing our lack of... I don’t know… manners, refinement, the general ability to not stab someone over a spilt drink?”

“Speak for yourself,” Soonyoung snorts. “I’m extremely refined.” Chan groans. “You eat soup with a fork.” Seungcheol lifts a hand. “Enough. We’ll split roles. Mingyu and I go in first and distract the royal guards at the reception point. Minghao sneaks around back to unlock the secondary gate. Soonyoung guards the exit with Chan. Wonwoo will track the book’s movement from above using his maps and signal system. The moment they break from the lighthouse…”

He slams his fist on the map. “…we take it.”

“And then—Fiji.” Mingyu stretches his arms above his head and exhales like he’s already there. “White sands, sun for days. And no more jobs.”

“And umbrella drinks,” Soonyoung sighs. “Pineapple ones. With little swords.”

“I just want to sleep on a bed that isn’t swaying,” Chan groans, stretching his back. “Or full of rats.” The crew falls quiet at that. The waves slap against the hull like a ticking clock.

Then, Seungcheol leans in, breaking the silence. “Let’s steal a goddamn relic, then.”

Seungcheol adjusts the collar of his brocade jacket, resisting the urge to pull at the itchy fabric. It’s too fine, too clean, too stiff. He’s used to salt-worn shirts, wind-swept pants, and freedom. This? This feels like a noose in expensive thread. Beside him, Mingyu looks just as uncomfortable in his dark green doublet, but damn if he doesn’t wear it well. His hair’s swept back, a little neater than usual, and a ceremonial sword hangs at his hip—purely decorative, though it makes him look every inch the prince he isn’t. They move through the palace gates seamlessly, their falsified credentials passing without question. The guards don’t look twice—too distracted by the dozens of nobles arriving in droves, chatter echoing through the marble halls like waves against stone.

Inside, it’s another world.

The ballroom is lit with crystalline chandeliers that hang like captured stars. Gold trim glitters along the walls, every edge carved with symbols of the Twelve Cities. Platters overflow with delicacies—pomegranate-glazed roast fowl, lavender cakes, spiced lamb skewers, and enough wine to drown an army. Nobles and royals in gem-coloured fabrics swirl across the floor to the hum of lyres and flutes. Seungcheol walks slower than he should, taking it all in. “You seeing this?” Mingyu mutters beside him, voice low as they stroll past a statue of a god holding scales and a sceptre. “I see it,” Seungcheol replies, voice harder than expected.

It’s obscene.

The kind of wealth he’s never touched. The kind that could feed five villages for a year, but instead sits here, polished and powdered and perfectly indifferent. His jaw tightens. He grew up scraping fish guts from barrels. He knows the taste of hunger and the thirst for water. And now he’s in a palace where gold lines the plates and no one has calluses on their hands. Seungcheol inhales, the scent of roses and patchouli almost choking. “Wealth like this could feed every dockside orphan from here to Argos,” he mutters. “You getting sentimental on me, Captain?” Mingyu asks, his voice teasing but quiet, careful. Seungcheol shakes his head. “Just remembering what it’s like to be hungry.” He forces a smirk, scanning the room.

“Eyes on the guards,” he says. “We don’t have much time.” They move casually, pausing at tables, offering nods to passing nobles, and exchanging a few pleasant lies. Seungcheol counts—twelve guards inside the ballroom. Four more at the main door. Two by the arch leading back to the gallery where the Book will be displayed. Another pair flanking the massive marble stairs.

Twenty. And those are just the visible ones. Mingyu taps the rim of his goblet, a silent signal. He’s seen the same. Seungcheol’s eyes flicker to the high windows, where he knows Wonwoo is perched somewhere above, watching with hawk-like precision, drawing every detail into that steel trap of a mind. Farther behind the palace, Minghao slips along the garden’s edge like a ghost, searching for the latch to the side gate. And Soonyoung? He waits in the alley, blade hidden, eyes alert. Chan watches from the exit path with his nervous heart in his throat. It’s all going smoothly.

Until—

“Seungcheol?”

The voice stops him mid-step. No. It can’t be. He turns. And for the first time in ten years, he comes face-to-face with a ghost from a better time.

Joshua.

His childhood best friend. His brother in all but blood. And the reason he once believed in goodness. Dressed in ceremonial blue and gold, sword at his hip, medallion at his chest—he looks every bit the crown prince Seungcheol knew he would become. Joshua’s face lights up. “Gods, it is you.” Seungcheol stares for a second too long, then quickly pulls on a grin. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Joshua laughs, stepping in and wrapping him in a firm, brief hug. Seungcheol hesitates—just for a moment—before clapping his old friend on the back. “Head of the royal guard now?” Seungcheol asks as they pull apart. “Didn’t think you’d still be chasing rules.”

“Someone has to keep Syracuse from crumbling,” Joshua replies with a chuckle. “And you? Still chasing trouble?”

“Chasing myths,” Seungcheol says with a smirk. “Heard the Book was real. Had to see it with my own eyes.”

Joshua perks up with pride. “You’re in luck. Tonight, it passes through the city before it returns to the vault. And I’ve been entrusted with its protection.”

Seungcheol’s stomach twists. Of all the people. He doesn’t let it show. “I feel safer already.” Mingyu appears at his side, ever punctual, ever perceptive. His eyes flicker from Joshua to Seungcheol in quiet curiosity. “Joshua, this is Mingyu,” Seungcheol says quickly, voice light. “Old friend. One of the few people who still puts up with me.” Joshua laughs. “He must be either brave or stupid.”

“Definitely stupid,” Seungcheol replies with a smirk. Joshua looks like he’s about to make another joke, when suddenly, his eyes light up. “You have to meet someone,” he says, excitement bursting across his features. “She’s here tonight. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.”

You turn at the sound of Joshua’s voice.

You already know you’ll have to be gracious. You’ve done this before—smiled for visiting nobles, curtsied for fussy kings, exchanged pleasantries with fat, red-faced merchants smelling of cloves and greed. The mask is familiar. Comfortable. Tonight you wear it again.

Your gown is seafoam blue, embroidered with silver thread along the bodice and sleeves, fitted perfectly by your handmaidens hours before. Your hair is swept back in elegant waves, fastened with pearls and a diadem from your late mother’s collection. You look every inch the Princess of Mdina—polished, serene, composed.

But your eyes betray you. Because as you turn fully, you see him.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered, effortlessly handsome in the most unruly way—he doesn’t look like a nobleman. His coat is fine, yes, tailored and dark, but it fits him like it resents him. His sleeves are too tight around his biceps. His hair, though combed, has clearly fought back. His jaw is cut from something unrelenting, and his eyes—gods, his eyes—dark and assessing, settle on you like you’re a storm he saw coming and ran toward anyway.

Joshua’s voice is warm as he goes to stand beside you. “This is Seungcheol. My childhood best friend.” Your spine straightens just a little more. The pirate, you think, though, of course, he isn’t introduced that way. No one would dare. Not in this room.

Still, you’ve heard the stories. Joshua told you over candlelight, in those rare moments between duties. A boy from the slums of the lower districts. A dreamer, a fighter. Wild. Loyal. Fearless. And foolish. You tilt your chin, expression practised and polite. “So you’re the infamous one.”

He grins slowly, like your words are a flirtation instead of a challenge. “Infamous? I was under the impression Joshua painted me as heroic.”

“He did,” you say. “But heroes don’t usually get chased by guards on rooftops.” He laughs—full-bodied and warm. “That’s when I was young. I’ve grown into a respectable man.” You arch a brow. “Is that what they’re calling it now?” His smile doesn’t waver, but you see the flicker in his eyes.

A spark you recognise because you’ve had it yourself before—on the rare nights you snuck out through the servants’ corridors and climbed the cliffs alone. When you looked at the stars and wondered what the rest of the world tastes like. Intrigue, curiosity, recklessness. He looks like all of those things combined. And you hate him for it.

“Seungcheol,” Joshua says with a grin, “this is—”

“The Princess of Mdina,” Seungcheol finishes for him, his eyes never leaving yours. “you must be the one who stole Joshua’s heart.” You hold his gaze. “It wasn’t a difficult theft. He left the gates open.” Joshua chuckles beside you, his hand resting lightly on your back. Seungcheol’s smile tightens at the corners. “Well, I suppose every treasure finds its keeper eventually.” You raise a brow. “I didn’t realise pirates cared for court gossip.” He chuckles. “I didn’t realise princesses believed everything they were told.”

“You don’t seem as particularly impressive in person as in the stories,” you say. His voice is lower now. “Don’t worry, Princess. I don’t find you all that impressive either.” Joshua barks a laugh between you, oblivious to the tension blooming like storm clouds. He pulls you closer to his side.

“Gods, I forgot how quick you both are with your words,” he says, clearly entertained. “I might regret this already.” You smile at Joshua and let your hand rest lightly on his arm. He leans in and kisses your cheek, and you respond with practised affection.

Seungcheol feels something shift in his chest at the sight of Joshua so at peace. Guilt that tastes like bile on his tongue. He can’t do it. He can’t steal the Book.

He covers the turmoil with a smile and steps back. “It’s good to see you, Joshua. Really.”

“And you, old friend,” Joshua says sincerely. “It’s been too long.”

Suddenly, the horns sound across the ballroom, breaking the moment. “The Book is on the move.”

The room shifts. The mood tightens. Guards begin to take position along the corridors, and the music slows to a ceremonial cadence. Seungcheol turns, walking away without another word. Mingyu hesitates for a beat, watching the expression darken behind his captain’s eyes, then follows.

You watch him go.

The celebration carries on behind them like a fading dream—laughter echoes, glasses clink, music fades into a low hum. Outside the grand ballroom, the city of Syracuse holds its breath. The crowd has shifted, no longer drunk on wine but on wonder.

Seungcheol and Mingyu step into the open air, blending into the velvet-clad nobles and wide-eyed onlookers gathered along the procession route. The night is still, save for the rhythmic march of guards escorting the artefact.

A floating platform glides along the ancient path from the lighthouse to the palace, suspended by hidden mechanisms and lit from within. The Book sits in its centre—radiant and pulsing, casting light like liquid silver across the cobbled streets and alabaster towers.

It is beautiful. Too beautiful.

Seungcheol watches it come closer, not moving. His jaw is set, arms loosely crossed, and his expression unreadable. Mingyu doesn’t take his eyes off him. “You’re quiet,” he says. Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away.

He watches the Book. Watches how people react to it, how they fall into silence, how they reach out as if basking in divinity itself. Then, quietly: “Just thinking.” Mingyu studies him for a moment longer, then nods. “We’re not doing this, are we?” It’s not a question. It’s a truth spoken simply. Seungcheol lets out a long breath, his eyes never leaving the procession.

“No.”

Mingyu doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t need to. He’s known Seungcheol long enough to read him like a compass—when his needle shifts, you follow the pull. He claps Seungcheol on the back with a dry smile. “I’ll get the others. We’ll be at the Chimera by the time you make peace with whatever existential crisis you’re having.” Seungcheol huffs a laugh despite himself. “Thanks, Gyu.” Mingyu turns, disappearing into the crowd.

Seungcheol walks away, through alleys bathed in soft torchlight. Through winding streets that once knew his bare feet as a boy. The energy of the city presses in around him—gasping citizens pointing at the glow of the Book, songs half-sung from balconies, little children perched on crates to glimpse history. And yet, he feels utterly apart from it all.

He doesn’t know where he’s going. Maybe nowhere. Maybe home—if he still had such a thing. The cobblestones glisten faintly under the magic light. Somewhere distant, the platform continues to float, its precious cargo slowly making its way to the palace vault.

That’s when he hears it. A voice, low and smooth, curling like smoke around the silence. “You look troubled, Captain.”

He stops.

A woman stands in the alley ahead of him, just beyond the reach of the lanternlight. Her gown is dark, glinting only faintly, like ink catching fire. Her hair spills down her back, long and black and impossibly still despite the breeze. But it’s her eyes—unblinking and shimmering silver—that set every nerve in Seungcheol on edge.

He immediately straightens. “Who are you?” he asks, cold but calm. The woman takes a slow step forward, lips curling into something that’s almost a smile. “I’m someone who sees more than most.” Seungcheol narrows his gaze. “That’s not a name.”

“Call me Cordia.”

The name rings no bells. Still, there is something about her—it’s as though the shadows themselves lean in to listen when she speaks. She circles him now, like a vulture, and he turns to keep her in his periphery. “It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?” she muses, tilting her head toward the distant glow of the Book. “Such a curious little artefact. Sacred, yes. But mostly forgotten. The Kings worship it, lock it in a tower, drag it around like a trophy—but do they use it?”

Seungcheol says nothing.

“Of course they don’t,” she goes on, “because to use it would mean sharing. And power, real power, is never shared freely.”

“What’s your point?”

She stops in front of him and tilts her head. “My point, darling Seungcheol, is that there are men—rare men—who remember what it’s like to have nothing. Who understand what it means to claw their way from the gutter. Men who might look at that Book and think: why not me?” He narrows his eyes. “I don’t know what you think you know.”“Oh, but you do.” Her smile turns razor-sharp. “I know about the Chimera. I know about your map. Your crew. The side gate. The window between guard rotations. I know about your plan.”

His blood turns cold. She steps closer, eyes gleaming. “And I know... you abandoned it.” He stands his ground, steel in his voice now. “Some things aren’t worth the risk.” Cordia’s mouth curls, displeased. “Shame. I thought you were different.”

She starts to walk again, circling. “I thought, perhaps, the tides had sent me a man with a little spine. A little hunger. But no, just another good boy with a guilty conscience and a lost heart.” Seungcheol’s temper flares. “Say what you came to say. Then leave.” She stops behind him. He can feel her breath on his neck.

“I only came to say this, Captain…” Her voice drops. “You may not want the Book anymore. But someone else does. And now? There’s no stopping what’s begun.”

He whirls around—But the alley is empty.

He exhales, shaking his head—And then suddenly, the light vanishes, plunging the city into darkness. An unnatural shadow floods the streets—cloaking the buildings, extinguishing the torches, silencing the celebration with fear. Screams echo faintly in the distance. Metal clatters. Hooves strike stone.

Seungcheol stands frozen, heart hammering.

And then he hears it—boots. Fast, heavy, purposeful. Down the hill they come—torches flaring now, drawn swords gleaming, the Royal Guard flooding through the street.“There! That’s him!” one of them shouts. “The thief—get him!”

“What?” Seungcheol growls, but it’s too late. They’re on him. He runs. He vaults over a barrel and ducks into a corridor—but there are too many. They circle him, corner him against a wall, blades drawn.

He draws his sword, breathing hard, furious and confused. “I didn’t touch it!” They don’t care. Steel clashes. Seungcheol fights hard—but it’s four against one. Then six. Then eight. A strike to the ribs. His sword knocked from his hand. A kick to his knee. He stumbles towards the ground.

As the guards pin his arms behind his back and shackle his hands, Seungcheol spits blood and glares up at the guard in front of him. “What the hell is going on?” he growls.

“You’re under arrest,” the guard snarls. “By order of the King of Syracuse. For the theft of the Book of Peace.”

Inside the war room, panic simmers beneath the opulence. A great round table rests at the centre, its surface carved with the seal of the Twelve Cities. Candles burn low, flickering against the emerald drapery and golden tapestries, their light now feeble, as if even fire itself is uncertain.

The Kings sit in their ornate chairs, a storm of arguments building with each breath.

“It’s unthinkable—how could the Book simply vanish from under our noses?!”

“Was it magic? Sabotage? We had twenty men on the procession!”

“This will break the Accord if word gets out—our cities will riot—”

The voices blur, colliding into each other like waves in a tempest. Joshua stands near the edge of the table, fists clenched behind his back, doing everything in his power not to explode.

You sit beside him, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your face carefully composed. You’ve done this before—watched politics unfold like plays, each man posturing louder than the last. But never like this. Never with someone you knew on trial. And never with someone you have come to care about standing in the crossfire.

Joshua opens his mouth to speak—again—but the King of Syracuse slams his ringed fist against the marble, making everyone go silent. “Don’t defend him, Joshua. Not him. Not that piece of dockside scum you dared to drag into our home.”

Joshua flinches ever so slightly.

The King—his father—is red in the face, spit gathering at the corner of his mouth as he begins to pace around the table like a lion whose pride has been insulted.

“From the moment I laid eyes on that gutter-born child, I knew he’d be trouble. Following you like a stray dog through the streets. Filling your head with rebellion, dragging you into fights, sneaking you out of the palace—scandalising you. I should have banished him from Syracuse then and there. But no. You begged me to spare him.”

Joshua’s jaw tightens, but he stays quiet.

“And now you see what he’s done. Ten years he vanishes, and suddenly he returns not with apology or shame, but with deceit. He hides behind fine clothes and false names. He slips into our palace, mocks our hospitality, and steals the holiest artefact this continent has ever known.”

Across the table, one of the older kings from the Southern Isles clears his throat, trying to interject with a calmer voice. “Perhaps we should focus on recovering the Book—”

“The Book is gone!” the King of Syracuse roars. “And you want to waste time on a scavenger hunt? Our alliance means nothing now that the artefact is lost. That light protected us all—and now the skies are dark, and we are vulnerable. This is war. This is sabotage. And we must punish those who betray our trust.”

You steal a glance at Joshua. He’s barely breathing. The tension in his shoulders has locked him in place. The King slams his hand on the table again. “He is guilty. If that criminal does not return the Book himself, then he will be executed by the terms of the Accord. As will any who shelter him.”

Joshua finally speaks, quiet but firm. “He didn’t take it.”

The King turns on him, sneering. “You’re still deluded. Still loyal to some childhood fantasy. But this isn’t a boyhood story, son. This is treason. And if he doesn’t bring the Book back, he will die for it.”

Joshua takes a step forward. “Then let me speak to him.”

“What?”

“Let me speak to him,” Joshua repeats, louder. “I’ll find out what happened. I’ll get the truth. And if he has it—if there’s any chance he can return it—I’ll make sure he does.”

The chamber is deathly silent. Then the King narrows his eyes, his voice dripping with disdain. “And what if he doesn’t? What if you’re wrong? What if he vanishes again, like he did ten years ago?”

Joshua doesn’t hesitate. He stares his father down, unwavering. “Then you can execute me in his place.” Your breath catches.

The room erupts in chaos—shouts from multiple kings, cries of outrage, murmurs of disbelief. You don’t hear them. All you can hear is the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Joshua, the man who always carried duty like a second skin, just signed his life away in defence of someone he hadn’t seen in over a decade. Someone the rest of the realm would see hanged without blinking. You can’t make sense of it.

The King leans back, stunned by his son’s rebellion. The air shifts. You see it in Joshua’s face—he’s made peace with it. Without another word, he turns and walks out of the chamber, pushing open the heavy oak doors and vanishing into the stone corridors beyond.

You rise instantly. “Princess—” one of the older kings starts. But you don’t hear him either. Your legs are already moving, your silk skirts flittering over the stone as you rush out of the room and into the shadows that chase Joshua’s retreat.

He’s halfway down the torchlit hall when you catch up. “Joshua, wait—” He doesn’t stop. You jog to match his stride, reaching out to catch his arm. “Please. Just talk to me.” He stops at the end of the corridor, finally turning.

His face is tired. Not physically. But in the soul-deep way, that only comes from being forced to choose between love and loyalty. “You don’t understand,” he says softly. You stare at him. “Then help me. Help me understand why you’re ready to die for a man who’s been nothing but a ghost in your life for the past ten years.”

His mouth parts slightly. His voice is barely above a whisper. “Because he saved my life once, too. When we were boys. When no one else did.” You blink. “That was a long time ago.”

“And I still owe him for it.” Your lips press together, heart twisting painfully. You want to argue. You want to shout that this is foolish, that he’s risking everything—not just his life, but yours too. If he dies, you are nothing.

Not just by custom. But by contract. No husband. No alliance. No worth. Your father will disown you. You’ll be sent back to Mdina in disgrace. You will be a daughter who failed to become a queen, a woman with no crown and no value. Joshua is not just your fiancé. He is your freedom in a different form.

But you also see it. The conviction. The man he’s become. The same loyalty that made you believe in him in the first place.

The very reason you agreed to marry him at all.

Your voice is quieter now. “Then what happens if you’re wrong?” Joshua looks at you with eyes that seem older than they should be. “Then I die for someone I once called a brother. And I die knowing I didn’t abandon him when the world already had.”

You stand there, frozen, as he turns again and disappears down the corridor, heading for the prison wing buried beneath the palace. You can’t let him go through with it. You can’t let him risk your future, and his. Not without doing something.

So you make a decision.

The walls are damp. Cold seeps through the cracks in the stone, curling into Seungcheol’s skin. The cell is small—just large enough for him to stretch out his legs and feel the edges of his confinement. The air smells of iron, mildew, and rot, like time itself has decayed in here, and no one bothered to notice.

A single candle flickers near the far wall, its stubby wax body melting slowly into the cracked floor. Its light barely touches the edges of the darkness, casting long, restless shadows on the walls. But Seungcheol doesn’t move. He sits slumped against the back wall, legs drawn up and arms resting over his knees, the thick iron shackles around his wrists still biting into the raw skin beneath.

His lip is split. There’s a bruise blossoming along his jaw. His ribs ache when he breathes too deeply. But the pain isn’t what bothers him. What bothers him is the silence. The silence and the impossible question he can’t stop asking himself:

How did it come to this?

He closes his eyes, letting the weight of everything press in. He hadn’t even done it. He hadn’t lifted a finger toward that damn Book, hadn’t stolen it, hadn’t broken a single lock or cast a single shadow in the direction of the artefact. He’d walked away. For once, he’d walked away. And still, the world managed to throw him in a cell for a crime he didn’t commit.

A dry, humourless breath escapes him. He lifts his gaze toward the barred window, narrow and high up the wall, no bigger than a ship’s porthole. Through it, far in the distance, across the quiet water of the harbour—there she is.

The Chimera. Docked and still.

Even from here, he can make out the curve of her hull, the low-slung sails folded neatly, the faintest flicker of a lantern swinging on the quarterdeck. His boys hadn’t abandoned him. If the Chimera still waited, it meant Mingyu, Wonwoo, Minghao, Soonyoung, and Chan were out there. Planning. Watching. Trusting him. And—more importantly—it meant none of them had done it either. That truth is the only thing keeping his chest from caving in.

The sound of distant boots echoes in the hallway, but he ignores it. Another guard, maybe. Another jeer. A muttered insult. They’ve been taunting him all night, calling him “the thief of peace,” laughing about what the gallows will feel like. He doesn’t rise to it.

Then—

The candle sputters violently. Its flame dances, then vanishes, snuffed out by an unnatural gust of wind that seems to creep under the door and swirl around him. The darkness swallows the room whole. His head snaps up. And there—where there was once only shadow—stands her.

Cordia.

The same dark gown. The same honey-slick voice. Her eyes gleam faintly in the black. Seungcheol’s mouth twists. “Of fucking course.” Cordia smirks, unaffected by his bitterness. “You always did have excellent timing, Captain.” He doesn’t move, but the muscles in his shoulders coil like a drawn bow. “It was you.”

“You catch on quick,” she purrs, circling him with leisurely steps. He stares up at her, fury churning under his skin. “You set me up.”

“I encouraged fate.”

“You framed me!” he growls, pushing himself upright despite the shackles and pain. “Why?” Cordia lets out a laugh that is far too amused, far too pleased. “Because this is what I do, Seungcheol.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one that matters.”

She walks along the edges of the cell, trailing her fingertips along the wall like she’s admiring art. Seungcheol watches her every movement, every tilt of her head, trying to find something human behind that smirk. But there’s nothing.

“You play the martyr well,” she says suddenly. “But let’s not pretend you were some innocent lamb. You were going to steal it. You were going to take the Book and sell it to the highest bidder.” Seungcheol falls silent. Because she’s not wrong. Cordia raises a brow. “No rebuttal, Captain?”

“Plans change.” His voice is low.

She laughs again. “No. You changed.” Her tone is mocking now. “Is that what this is? A pirate with a heart? Spare me.”Seungcheol clenches his jaw. “You got what you wanted. Why are you here?” Cordia stops pacing. She steps toward him, close now. Closer than he likes. “Because, darling,” she whispers, “the game has only just begun.” His brow furrows.

“What?”

“You can fix this. You can clear your name. Redeem that soft little soul you’re pretending not to have.” He laughs dryly. “From this hellhole I'm currently in? Yeah, right.” She slips a dagger from somewhere beneath her bodice and holds it lightly, like a lover. Then, in one smooth movement, she presses the tip to her chest and draws a cross over where her heart would be.

“Cross my heart,” she says with mock solemnity. “I’m not lying.”

Seungcheol stares at her, unimpressed. “And you expect me to believe anything that comes out of that mouth of yours?” Cordia tuts. “You’re not very trusting for someone about to die.” He growls. “Then say it. What’s the deal?”

She leans in, her smile curling like smoke. “Ten days. That’s what you have—ten days to retrieve the Book and return it to Syracuse. You’ll travel to the edge of the world. You’ll face challenges along the way—but a sailor of your talents should manage.” He narrows his eyes. “And what’s the catch?” Cordia pauses.

Her tone drops into something colder. Harder. “If you fail—if you don’t return in time, or if you fail to return the Book—Prince Joshua dies in your place.”

The silence in the cell deepens and becomes almost physical. Seungcheol stares at her, stunned. “What?”

“He vouched for you,” she says, almost gleeful. “He stood before the kings. Put his life on the line. Said he’d die if you didn’t come through.” Seungcheol’s chest tightens painfully. “That idiot...” Cordia shrugs. “It’s touching, really. But the clock’s ticking.”

He looks down at his shackles and his bruised wrists. Then back at her. “Why does any of this matter to you?”

“It doesn’t,” she says breezily. “But a deal’s a deal. And now, it’s yours. If you want it.” Footsteps sound not far away. Steady. Familiar. Cordia turns toward the shadows, lips curling into a wicked grin. “Sounds like your prince is coming.”

“Wait—” Seungcheol steps forward.

She laughs one last time. “Make the right choice, Seungcheol.”

And then, just like before, she vanishes—disappearing into the darkness like she was never there.

The Chimera rocks gently in the harbour; her sails still furled but alive with anticipation. The sea, always humming, feels quieter tonight—like it’s waiting.

On deck, boots pound against worn planks as Seungcheol climbs aboard, battered, bruised, and brooding. The moonlight spills over his shoulders, highlighting the blood on his shirt, the dirt on his skin, and the fire still burning behind his eyes.

The moment his feet hit the main deck, his crew swarms him.

“What the hell happened?” Soonyoung is the first to pounce, eyes wide. “We heard the commotion from the alley—then guards running everywhere—then you vanished!”

Minghao leans against the mast, arms folded, but his voice is sharp. “You didn’t follow the plan. We were ready, and then, nothing.”

“Who stole the Book?” Wonwoo asks, stepping down from the rigging. His map still clutched in one hand. “If it wasn’t us, then who beat us to it?”

“How the hell did you get caught?” Chan blurts, not even trying to hide the worry in his voice.

“And more importantly—” Mingyu cuts through them all, arms crossed, jaw tense, “how did you escape?”

Seungcheol raises a hand, his voice calm but with an edge of finality. “Enough.”

Silence falls like a wave. Seungcheol scans each of their faces—their loyalty, their questions, their expectations. He’s not ready to speak. Not on everything. Not yet. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he says. “It’s not our problem.” Murmurs stir again, but his following words silence them entirely.

“Mingyu,” he says, voice low and clipped. “Set sail for Fiji.” Seungcheol begins walking toward his quarters without a glance back. “It’s about time we retired.”

The door to his private quarters creaks open, the warm scent of cedar and sea salt welcoming him back to the only space that still feels like his. He exhales, slow and sharp, his shoulders slumping with the weight of everything he hasn’t said as he closes the door.

Cold steel presses to his throat from behind. His entire body stills.

“Move, and I’ll open your neck from ear to ear.”

He exhales through his nose, more annoyed than surprised. “What is it with women trying to kill me tonight?” he mutters. You shove him back a step, enough for him to turn without disarming you, though the dagger remains raised between you.

He looks you over, unimpressed. “Hello, Princess.”

“You’re going to find the Book of Peace,” you say, voice low and hard, “and you’re going to return it. Now.” He blinks. And then he laughs. A humourless, deep, exhausted laugh that makes you want to punch him. “I’m not doing anything, sweetheart,” he says. “It’s not my problem.”

“Not your—?!” you snap, stepping forward. “Joshua took your place! He stood before the kings, before his father, and gave his life to buy you time!” The change in him is instant. His jaw tightens. His posture straightens. But his anger matches yours.

“I didn’t ask him to do that!”

“But he did, Seungcheol. He did. He stood up for you, and if you walk away now, he’ll die for it.”

You’re shouting. You didn’t mean to. But you can’t help it. The words claw their way out of your chest. “And if the Book is not returned, the Accord falls apart. Chaos will follow. Syracuse will burn. What then? Do you sail off into the sun with your crew and let your city fall to pieces behind you?

He glares up at you. “My city? The same city that threw me to the streets as a child? A city that branded me trash and turned its back the first time I stumbled? I owe Syracuse nothing. I owe the kings nothing. They were ready to string me up the second the lights went out.”

“Then prove them wrong!” you scream.

“Why?!” His voice booms now, rising with his frustration. “So I can play the hero while they spit on my name anyway? You want me to die for honour? For duty? Those words are worth nothing to people like me!”

Your chest is heaving, and your voice cuts sharper now. “Because some of us don’t have the luxury of running away!” His head snaps toward you.

“I grew up hearing stories of men like you—pirates who stood against kings, who fought with honour, who chose courage over cowardice. And now I meet you, and all I see is a man who wants to quit. Who hides behind excuses instead of doing the right thing.”

He scowls. “You don’t know me.”

“Oh, I do.” You glare at him, stepping toe-to-toe now, chest burning. “I saw it the moment I met you. That cocky grin? That swagger? It’s all smoke. You’re not a hero. You’re a coward. A selfish man who hides behind charm so no one sees the empty core.”

He says nothing. You spin on your heel, turning your back to him as you look over your shoulder, disgusted.

“I wonder what your crew would think of you if they knew the truth.”

And that—that—snaps something in him.

In a blur, he crosses the room and slams his hand against the wall, blocking your path. You whirl around, dagger raised, but he doesn’t flinch. “You talk about sacrifice like you know it,” he says lowly. “But you’re not doing this for Joshua. You’re doing this to save yourself. Your position. Your title. Because if he dies, you lose everything.”

Your breath hitches.

“Don’t act like you’re better than me. You’re just like me, Princess. Two sides of the same damn coin.”

“No,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Because at least I’m doing something about it.” He steps closer to you, cornering you, his breath hot against your cheek as his eyes lock on yours.

“And if I agree,” he murmurs, “if I bring back the Book and save your darling little fiancé... what do I get in return?”

You don’t break eye contact as you reach slowly into your pouch and withdraw the small bag tied to your hip. You loosen the knot and let the contents fall into his palm.

Red diamonds. Dozens of them.

He stares at them for a long moment. Then his lips curl. A grin spreads across his face—feral, cocky, and very much alive. “Well, Princess,” he murmurs, “you should’ve just said you were hiring a pirate.”

He spins and bursts out of the cabin like a storm unchained. You follow him, stunned, as he bounds up to the deck and shouts over the wind. “Change of plans!” he bellows.

The crew—all half-lounging, half-arguing—whip around in confusion. “We’re going after the Book.”

Soonyoung’s mouth drops open. “Wait, what?” Mingyu steps forward. “Where is it?” Seungcheol grins.“ At world’s end.”

Chaos ensues.

“Are you serious?”

“How the hell do we get there?”

“Why are we listening to you again?”

Soonyoung finally shouts over the din, pointing behind Seungcheol. “Uh—Captain? Who’s the lady?”

Seungcheol turns back, and all eyes follow his gaze as they land on you—still standing a little stiff in the centre of the deck, the dagger now sheathed under your cloak. “This, is our newest passenger.”

Then his eyes glint with something darker. Something amusing and very inconvenient.

“She’ll be joining us on the voyage.”

You’ve only spent two days at sea, but it feels like a different life entirely.

Gone are the corseted dresses and laced bodices, the polished silver combs and pearl-dusted shoes. You wear loose breeches now—weathered, a little too long, rolled at the ankles—and a white shirt you stole from a chest in the hold, sleeves tied up above your elbows. Your hair whips freely in the salt air, unbound for the first time in years.

There’s grime beneath your fingernails. Rope burns on your palms. A sun-kissed glow settling into your skin.

You’ve never felt so alive.

The ship rocks beneath your feet, wild and rhythmic, the sails groaning with each gust. The wind is a constant companion—slapping, roaring, tangling your hair. And while you’re still finding your footing (literally and figuratively), the crew has embraced you far more quickly than you expected.

Soonyoung, the loudest of them, has resorted to clinging to you like an overeager puppy. He insists on calling you ‘My Lady’ in the most dramatic, theatrical tone possible, and makes a great show of saluting you every time you pass him on deck.

Chan, the youngest, practically beams every time you ask him a question about knots or sails. He follows Soonyoung’s lead in treating you like royalty—but with a kind of awe that makes you smile instead of bristle.

Minghao and Wonwoo are more reserved, both of them often keeping to themselves or murmuring quietly in the shadow of the sails. But they nod when you speak, sometimes offering calm corrections or quiet insight. Minghao surprised you yesterday by handing you a fig he’d somehow smuggled on board, simply saying, “You looked homesick.”

But not everyone has been welcoming.

From the wheel, Seungcheol watches you like a storm brewing on the horizon.

Every time you laugh with the crew, his brows pull tighter. Every time you roll up your sleeves to help scrub the deck, he mutters under his breath. Every time Soonyoung teaches you something new and ridiculous—like the hidden flamethrowers rigged beneath the starboard hull—Seungcheol sighs dramatically and mutters something about “idiots with too much enthusiasm.”

You try to ignore him. Most of the time, you succeed. But when you don’t—you argue. Loudly.

So loudly, the entire crew stops what they’re doing to listen. And now, on the second day, you find yourself once again at the centre of their amusement.

“Princess, let me show you how the harpoons work!” Soonyoung had grinned this morning, gripping your wrist before you could protest. “They’re hidden in the front of the ship. Serrated, retractable, brilliant.”

Chan, walking close behind, had added, “We rarely use them unless something with teeth comes after us.”

You had blinked at that. “What kind of something with teeth?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Soonyoung had said brightly. “Come on, my Lady! You’ll love this!”

They seem to delight in your confusion and wonder at every new piece of the ship, and they show you everything. Every trapdoor. Every hidden blade. Every half-working cannon.

Even the ones Seungcheol hasn’t touched in years.

You’re standing on the forecastle of the ship now, leaning over a concealed loading mechanism as Soonyoung animatedly describes the best way to ignite the twin-fire barrels when—

“You’d break your wrist trying to fire it like that.”

You glance down sharply.

Seungcheol stands at the bottom of the steps; one hand braced on the wooden beam, his brow arched like he’s just caught a child lying. Soonyoung snorts and mumbles something about checking on the sails, practically skipping down the stairs to leave you alone.

You roll your eyes. “It’s not like I’m trying to shoot it.”

“You said it was ready,” Seungcheol replies, ascending slowly. “And it’s not. If you load the powder before locking the rotation pin, it misfires and tears the recoil plate clean off.”

You cross your arms, squinting at him. “You must be a joy at parties.” He steps into the space beside you, inspecting the weapon with a critical eye. “You’re the one who wants to play sailor. Don’t complain when someone points out you’re playing it wrong.”

“I wasn’t playing anything,” you say coolly. “I was listening. Which is what you could try doing once in a while.” Seungcheol scoffs, straightening. “Hard to listen when you never stop talking.”

You take a sharp breath, and just like that—you’re off. “You could just say thank you. You know, for me, trying to help.”

“You could stay out of things you don’t understand.”

“I’m learning—”

“Then learn quietly.”

The crew is practically holding their breath. Mingyu’s behind the wheel, keeping the ship’s course steady, smirking like this is the best entertainment he’s had in months. You step closer. “Why don’t you just admit you don’t like that I’m here?”

He scoffs. “What gave you that idea? The way you flirt with my crew every chance you get or the way you pretend to know everything after only two days on the water?”

“I’ve done no such thing—”

“Oh right, and I’m blind.”

You’re about to shoot back—something scathing, probably—when Mingyu raises his voice and interrupts flatly:

“Not to ruin the foreplay, but you might want to look ahead.”

You and Seungcheol whip your heads simultaneously.

A narrow opening in a line of towering cliffs—grey, jagged, and half-submerged in churning waters approaches you. Mist curls along the rocks, and sunken ship masts jut from the waves. The cavern walls are just wide enough for a ship to pass through, maybe.

Wonwoo squints from his perch near the quarterdeck. “Shipwreck’s Grotto.”

“Place gives me the creeps,” Chan mutters. “It should,” Minghao says. “Half the legends say no one makes it out the other side.”

You glance towards Seungcheol.

His jaw is tight. He turns, addressing the crew as he makes his way towards the wheel. You follow behind him silently. “Alright, boys,” he calls, voice clear and hard. “Drop the sails. Ready the rudder. We go in nice and easy.”

You swallow hard, the wind catching your hair. Soonyoung murmurs, “We’re going through that?”

Seungcheol nods slowly. “Only way forward,” he says.

The ship moves slowly under the measured hand of its captain. Her mahogany hull cuts carefully through the water, threading between reef and rock. Above, seagulls cry, but even their calls seem distant, swallowed by the dense fog coiling through the cavernous stone walls. The only real sound is the rhythmic drip of condensation falling from the overhangs, the occasional creak of rope, and the splash of waves against splintered wood.

Minghao’s voice rings out, low but steady. “Reef to port. Five meters. Sharp shelf ahead.”

His silhouette perches from the crow’s nest, legs hooked around the crossbeam, his spyglass flashing with the faintest light as he scans ahead.

Seungcheol stands behind the wheel; his entire body braced with tension. The lines of his jaw are tight, his grip white-knuckled. You stand to his right, your fingers brushing the hilt of your dagger at your hip—more for reassurance than necessity. Mingyu is on his left, arms folded, eyes flicking between the rocks and the horizon.

No one speaks.

The grotto is sacred in its stillness—a graveyard of ships and stories.

You pass the first wreck after fifteen minutes. A small cutter, no name visible, her mast snapped like a twig. The hull is cracked in half, one side suspended on a jagged stone, the other submerged. Torn sails drift like ghostly banners beneath the surface.

“Gods,” Chan whispers from the lower deck, eyes wide.

“There’s more,” Minghao calls again. “A whole fleet—dead ahead.” And indeed, as the Chimera crawls forward, the graveyard reveals itself. A merchant ship, barnacle-crusted and canted sideways. A war galleon, its cannons rusted and useless, ribs broken open like a carcass. A half-burned skiff tangled in the limbs of another, their final collision frozen in time.

You feel it in your bones—this place is wrong.

Seungcheol barks an order—“Trim the foresail, two degrees starboard. Watch the reef under the bow.”—and the men obey. His voice cuts through the fog with precision, and the ship shifts just in time to avoid a jagged outcrop lurking beneath the surface.

You watch him. For all his scowls and grumbling and sharp-edged arrogance, he’s in his element here. As he charts the way through a corridor of destruction, his presence pulses beside you—commanding, tangible, frustrating.

The air grows heavier. The mist thicker.

And then—You hear it. A whisper, tucked beneath the creak of the hull and the lapping of waves.

A melody.

It doesn’t make sense at first. It could be the wind. The groan of old wood. You brush it off. But it comes again.

A few soft notes, drifting upward like bubbles from the deep. It’s not music exactly, but something close—a kind of calling.

You turn slowly, looking out across the water.

Mist clings to the surface in swirling patches. Light plays tricks here—turning shadows into shapes and reflections into illusions. You narrow your eyes. Just beneath the waves, something moves. A shimmer of silver, gone as quickly as it came. You blink.

The music—if it is music—is louder now. It’s still not clear, but it’s beautiful. Ethereal. It pulls at something in you, something distant. You shake it off.

You turn back to the helm—and freeze. Seungcheol is slumped over the wheel. His hands no longer hold the handles, and his posture is slackened. His eyes are far away. Unfocused. Glazed with a sheen of awe, as if he’s staring into a dream, not the rotting shipwrecks ahead.

“Seungcheol?” you ask, your voice low. He doesn’t respond. You step closer. “Captain?” Still nothing. You reach out, placing a hand on his shoulder. It’s rock-solid—tense and unmoving.

Voices. Singing. Soft, lilting harmonies that weave into one another, are beckoning. Your blood runs cold.

You run to the rail, lean over, and that’s when you see them.

Figures in the water. Pale, otherworldly, gliding just beneath the surface. Long hair fanning out behind them like ink in water, eyes glowing faintly beneath the waves.

Sirens.

You don’t think. You act.

The only thing you can hear now is your own breath—ragged, quick, almost desperate. The melodies rise in waves, crashing over the crew in pulses. And they fall, one by one. Not physically, but mentally. Pulled under the spell.

You reach for the wheel, grabbing it with both hands, the polished wood slick beneath your touch. The ship has already veered off-course, inching dangerously close to a spire of rock waiting like a fang to tear through the hull. You spin the wheel hard—your shoulders scream with the force—and the ship groans in protest. The hull misses the stone by a breath, scraping along the jagged edge with a deafening screech.

Your pulse hammers in your ears.

“Get it together,” you mutter to yourself, blinking the sweat from your lashes. The ship pitches under your feet as it glides forward. You grab hold of the spokes for balance as you scan the deck.

The crew is drifting—towards the edges.

You spot Soonyoung first, eyes glazed, a hand outstretched as if reaching for something just out of view. You grab the nearest length of coiled rope and sprint toward him. “Not today,” you hiss, looping the rope around his waist and yanking it tight, tying it off to the mainmast. He doesn’t fight you. He doesn’t even see you. He just keeps humming to himself, leaning with the sway of the song like a child in a lullaby.

You do the same with Chan, catching him just as one foot lifts onto the railing. He stares into the water with such adoration it makes your stomach turn. A siren surfaces a few meters off the starboard side, her mouth half-open in song, her eyes eerily void of life. You tie him off. Tight. Firm. You shout his name to wake him—nothing.

Wonwoo is slumped near a barrel, his book forgotten, his fingers twitching faintly to the rhythm of the melody. Mingyu is halfway to the prow, his hands limp at his sides. You tug him back by the loops of his pants, and he stumbles with a surprised grunt—but doesn’t react.

You secure them all to the mast, fashioning a web of knots in the chaos, your fingers bleeding against the rope. There’s no time to feel it.

The ship shudders again, scraping another submerged frame. You turn back and race to the helm. You spin the wheel again, the wood grating beneath your grip. The bow turns slowly, but it turns—avoiding a splintered mast impaled on a reef.

And then—A shadow moves beside you.

Seungcheol.

He’s walking down the stairs of the quarterdeck towards the side railing, his steps slow but sure, his eyes empty.

“Seungcheol!” you shout, but he doesn’t hear you. He moves like a man being called home. You leap down the steps two at a time and reach him just as his hands touch the rail, and he starts to hoist himself up. You grab his collar and yank him backwards.

He stumbles, surprised, blinking. But the trance still lingers. He stares at you like you’re not quite real.

“Snap out of it,” you grit out, pushing him against the wall of the cabin. You turn to head back to the helm—there’s no time to waste—

But his hand shoots out and pulls you back. Before you can react, his lips crash on yours.

You gasp, the surprise of it ripping the breath from your lungs. His mouth is fierce, desperate, all wild edges and instinct. His hands are at your waist, his mouth claiming yours. And despite yourself—despite everything—you melt into it. Your fingers curl into his shirt. You lean in. And gods help you, you kiss him back.

It’s fire. Heat. Tongue. Teeth. Unspoken fury. Unspoken want.

But suddenly, you remember where you are and who you’re kissing. You rip away. Your fist flies on its own accord, and it lands square on his jaw.

Seungcheol drops like a stone, knocked out cold.

Your breath is ragged as you stare down at him, trembling. What in the gods’ names—

But there’s no time.

The bow misses another reef by inches—but the hull clips it. The ship lurches, wood cracking. You run to steady her, but she’s wounded.

Suddenly, a scream rings out. You spin, eyes flying to the crow’s nest.

Minghao. You see the rope slacken. Then his body falls. “No—!”

You race to the rail as he crashes into the water with a splash. For a second, he’s still—then he’s flailing. Awake. But a siren is already approaching, gliding fast, her eyes locked on her prey.

You remember Soonyoung’s harpoon.

You dash to the foredeck, fingers flying over the latches of the weapon. You aim, inhale—fire. The harpoon slices through the mist, striking the water just as the siren reaches Minghao. He sees it and grabs the rope.

You throw your whole body weight onto the crank, activating the recoil system. The rope whines under pressure. Inch by inch, you pull him back toward the ship. The siren lashes out, claws raking through the water, just missing his leg. With a final pull, Minghao crashes onto the deck, gasping, eyes wide with fear and clarity.

You collapse beside him, your heart beating so loud it drowns out everything else. For a moment, you just lie there, winded, soaked, and shaking.

Then, your eyes find the wheel again. “Shit.” You stagger to your feet, dragging Minghao with you. “Can you stand?” He nods, coughing. “Yeah. Yeah, I can steer.”

Together, you limp to the helm. He takes the wheel while you shout directions, dodging the last gauntlet of stone and wreckage. The Chimera slams through the remnants of an old galleon’s hull with a crack, the wood splintering against the bow.

You burst out of the grotto’s mouth, the water opening up wide again, blue and endless. The ship is damaged. Her hull is scraped, and her sails are torn. But she floats. You lean over the rail, sucking in air as your lungs finally relax.

And somewhere on the floor, Seungcheol groans and stirs awake.

The men awaken slowly. One by one, groggy and confused, they blink into the sunlight.

“Ugh… what happened?” Chan mumbles as he wrestles with the rope tying him to the mast. Soonyoung blinks up at the sail, completely unfazed by the fact that he’s trussed like a holiday ham. “Was it rum? Did we hit the good casks again?”

“Wait,” Wonwoo mutters, tugging free. “Why are we tied up?”

Minghao leans weakly against the wheel, drenched and pale, but he’s breathing, and that’s all you care about.

The crew untangles themselves in a chorus of grunts and confusion, stumbling across the deck. Mingyu, dazed, rubs the back of his neck and looks around. “Where’s Seungcheol?”

The man in question is sitting up against the wall near the stairs, touching his jaw gingerly. His brows are furrowed, clearly trying to make sense of whatever fragments the sirens' spell didn’t erase.

Soonyoung squints at him. “He’s not tied up. Was it him who saved us?”

“Would make sense,” Chan adds, already beaming. “He’s the captain, after all.”

Then, a voice cuts through the rising chatter, calm but loud, carrying the weight of quiet authority. “It wasn’t him.” Everyone turns.

Minghao clears his throat and pushes off the wheel. “It was the Princess.”

You blink. You weren’t expecting him to speak up—as far as you knew, he is pretty reserved, comfortable in the shadows, not speaking unless spoken to.

Soonyoung gawks at you. “Princess—you. You saved us?” You nod slowly, not quite ready for the way they all light up at that piece of information.

“You tied us up?” Chan exclaims, both horrified and awed. “That’s—wow. Amazing.”

“She shot a harpoon at a siren,” Minghao confirms. “Pulled me out of the water. Just in time.”

“Damn,” Soonyoung whistles, clutching his heart. “I think I’m in love.” You let out a breathless laugh, brushing a wet strand of hair from your cheek. “Please, it was just—”

“—heroic,” Chan cuts in.

“Brilliant,” Wonwoo nods.

They swarm you in a chorus of praise, clapping you on the back, asking questions all at once. You smile, flustered but proud.

Until, of course, the storm cloud re-enters.

“My hand-carved railing,” Seungcheol’s voice suddenly booms from the starboard side. “Gone. Shattered.”

“What the—” You mumble.

“And the hull,” Seungcheol barrels on, stalking the deck with his arms thrown up. “My beautiful mahogany hull—scraped! Do you know how long it took me to sand that by hand? Chan, did you see the gouge?!”

“Oh boy,” Wonwoo mutters, exchanging a look with Mingyu. Mingyu folds his arms and smirks. “Ten silvers says she doesn’t let him finish his next sentence.”

“You’re on,” Wonwoo says.

You step forward, arms crossed, not hearing the murmurs of the crew. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Seungcheol spins to face you. “What?”

“You’re seriously yelling about cosmetic damage when you’d all be fish food if I hadn’t stepped in?”

“I’m yelling because my ship looks like it got chewed up and spit out by a Kraken!”

“And yet—” you gesture dramatically, “she’s still floating. You’re welcome.”

“I never asked you to save me,” he growls, jaw tense.

“No, you were too busy trying to kiss a siren to ask me for anything! Oh, but it wasn’t a siren, was it?” That shuts him up for half a second. His eyes narrow, and the muscle in his jaw jumps. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“That much was obvious,” you snap.

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you off this ship myself—”

“For what? Daring to be useful?” you shoot back, stepping into his space. “God forbid the delicate balance of testosterone on this ship gets upset by a woman actually doing something right!”

“You crashed through a royal galleon!”

“I saved your life!”

You’re nose to nose now, practically vibrating with rage. His eyes are molten, dark and burning with the same fire that sparked the first time you met. You hate how handsome he is when he’s angry. You hate that he kissed you, and you felt something.

“Honestly,” you snap, “you are the most boorish and pigheaded man I have ever met!” His eyes flash.

“Princess,” he mocks, “I’ve seen the high-born boys your type hangs around with. I’m the only man you’ve ever met.”

You let out a shriek of frustration and stomp your foot. “Ugh!”

You spin on your heel and march toward the cabin door, slamming it shut behind you so hard the wood rattles in its hinges.

The silence on deck is deafening. Seungcheol turns back to face his crew, fists still clenched from his outburst. Six pairs of eyes are locked on him with unimpressed expressions ranging from judgmental to deeply disappointed. He blinks. “What?”

Soonyoung crosses his arms. “You could say thank you, Captain.” “Yeah,” Chan adds. “She saved us all. You could at least act like you have manners.” Minghao sighs. “Unbelievable.”

Seungcheol mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “goddamn woman,” and stalks toward your cabin.

He knocks once. You fling the door open. “What?” He scowls. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Fine. I won’t.”

You slam the door again.

Back on deck, Seungcheol breathes out once through his nose. “Well?” he asks, throwing his arms up. Minghao shrugs. “Could’ve used a bit more sincerity.”

Seungcheol glares at them all. “Whatever. Mingyu, find the nearest island. We need to fix the damn ship.”

As Mingyu steps toward the wheel, Soonyoung sidles up to Chan. “I ship them.”

“Same,” Chan nods.

“They’re gonna kill each other first,” Wonwoo adds.

“Wanna bet?”

“Always.”

You’ve never seen a ship come back to life so fast.

After a quick stop at a small, uncharted island to gather wood, sealant, and rigging parts, it only took two days for the Chimera to look almost as good as new. The hull still bears scratches, and the sails have a few new tears, but morale is oddly high. Everyone is doing their part—scrubbing, sawing, hammering, knotting, sealing. And you? You’re elbow-deep in tar, laughing with Soonyoung as you try to patch a crack in the starboard railing.

“You’re not bad with your hands, Princess,” he teases, handing you a brush. You raise an eyebrow, dipping it into the thick black tar. “And you’re not as annoying when your mouth is shut.” He barks a laugh, utterly delighted. “Ooh, she’s spicy today.”

Across the deck, Chan lets out a long whistle. “Careful, hyung, she already survived sirens. You might not be so lucky.”

You grin at them both, trying your best to ignore the weight you feel behind your back. That brooding, glowering, impossible weight in the shape of one Choi Seungcheol.

Ever since the grotto, since that kiss—and the furious argument that followed—he’s barely spoken to you. Avoids you like the plague. Unless he’s making some smart-ass remark, of course.

But that’s fine. You’ve got better things to focus on.

Wonwoo actually asked for your opinion yesterday on a course route—“You’ve got a sharp eye, might as well use it,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Minghao taught you how to tie a bowline knot. Chan insisted on bringing you extra water rations as you scrubbed the deck. And Soonyoung, gods help him, has taken to calling you Captain Princess.

You pretend it’s annoying. It’s not.

Which makes Seungcheol’s reactions all the more confusing. He’s been sniping at the crew left and right like a wounded bear.

“Soonyoung, if you’ve got time to flirt, you’ve got time to check the damn ropes.”

“Wonwoo, she’s not your first mate, she doesn’t need your damn charts.”

It’s exhausting. And worse, none of them even take him seriously anymore. They just roll their eyes and laugh him off.

What you don’t know is that while you’re still patching up the railing with Soonyoung, Mingyu sneaks up on Seungcheol, his voice low and teasing. “You’re jealous,”

Seungcheol scoffs. “I’m irritated. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

“They’re not focused. We’re sailing into unknown waters. This isn’t a game.”

Mingyu turns toward him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’ve had your crew flirting in taverns and stealing ladies’ hearts for years, and now you’re mad because Chan called her pretty?” Seungcheol glares. “She’s not part of the crew.”

“She’s the reason any of us are still alive.”

That shuts him up. Mingyu’s voice softens. “Whatever this is… deal with it. Before it consumes you.”

But Seungcheol doesn’t answer. He watches the horizon.

You, meanwhile, are cleaning your hands off with a rag when something shifts in the air.

Where the sky was painted in warm gold and soft blue, it now bleeds grey. Fast. Clouds roll in. The wind picks up so sharply you nearly lose your footing.

“Hey—” Chan shouts from across the deck. “Is anyone seeing that?” Thunder cracks overhead. The water darkens. You squint at the sky. “That wasn’t there five minutes ago.” Soonyoung’s smile falters. “Feels... wrong.”

Minghao climbs down from the crow’s nest, eyes narrowed. “There was no storm indicated this far south. This isn’t natural.”

You see Seungcheol’s figure, already moving into action, barking orders in that deep, commanding voice. “Tighten the ropes—drop half the sails. Minghao, check the compass. Chan, prepare the storm rigging.”

Everyone’s rushing now, hands on sails, feet racing across the deck. You grab a rope and instinctively help Soonyoung fasten it. “Is this another challenge?” you ask, breathless.

He nods grimly. “It has to be. Storms don’t rise like that unless something calls them.”

The sky rips apart.

Thunder explodes above your head, and the Chimera lurches violently beneath your feet as the first true wave of the storm crashes into her hull. You stumble, catching yourself on a rope, heart racing in your chest as the wind screams around you.

“Hold the sails! Batten down everything that moves!” Seungcheol’s voice cuts through the chaos, barely audible over the howl of the wind. “Brace yourselves!”

You look to the others—Minghao already scaling up the mast, Chan clinging to the rigging, Soonyoung barking orders and running lines. Everyone’s in action, fluid and fierce. You mimic their movements, tying knots, steadying loose items, and gripping any anchor point you can find. But panic prickles at the edges of your throat.

This storm isn’t natural. You feel it in your bones.

A hand lands on your shoulder. You whip around to see Mingyu, rain slicking his hair flat against his forehead, concern etched into every line of his face. “You should go below deck—ride it out in your cabin. This isn’t just a squall, Princess.”

“If they can handle it, so can I,” you shout back, voice trembling slightly despite your resolve. Mingyu hesitates, eyes flicking toward Seungcheol. His jaw tightens. “Alright. Just stay sharp.” You nod once and return to the chaos.

Rain begins in earnest now, slicing sideways through the wind, soaking every inch of you in seconds. You’re drenched, shivering, boots slipping across the deck, hair sticking to your face.

Still, you stay.

Seungcheol is still at the wheel, knuckles white around the handles, shirt plastered to his chest, jaw locked tight. His gaze flickers to you, once, twice—his expression unreadable in the flicker of lightning. But it lingers.

Then, the unthinkable happens.

“Maelstrom!” Soonyoung shouts as the sea splits open.

Your eyes follow the direction of his trembling hand.

A great swirling vortex opens just ahead— deep and wide, churning with impossible violence. The water doesn’t move naturally—it spins with an eerie cadence, as though summoned by something ancient, something furious.

“Hard to starboard!” Seungcheol yells. He spins the wheel violently, trying to angle the ship away from the pull of the current.

It’s not enough. The ship begins to drag sideways, inch by inch, into the spiral. “Throw everything we don’t need overboard! We’re too heavy!”

Mingyu leaps toward the mainsail. You rush to help the others who have moved below deck—boxes, crates, barrels, anything not bolted down is passed along and hurled into the sea with panicked shouts and splashes that vanish into the stormy swirl.

The ship jolts again, water flooding over the railing. You sprint across the deck, nearly slipping, carrying what you can and tossing it over the edge.

And then it happens. One of the crates—a heavy box of scrap metal—catches on your foot. The rope slithers around your ankle and then tightens with sudden force as the crate slides across the deck, pulled over the railing by the ship’s tilt. Before you can cry out, it yanks you off your feet, face slamming into the soaked wood, pain blooming across your cheekbone.

You scream as your body is dragged backwards, feet first, the deck rushing by beneath you until your arms latch—barely—onto the railing. Your body already half overboard, legs dangling above the abyss.

“Arghhh!”

Seungcheol’s voice pierces the roar of the storm. “PRINCESS!”

And then he’s moving.

You see him abandon the wheel, Mingyu diving in to take his place without hesitation. Seungcheol barrels across the deck, boots skidding, eyes locked on yours with something that looks far too much like fear.

“I can’t hold on!” you cry, your voice breaking. The railing is slippery. Your strength is fading. “Don’t you dare let go,” he growls, dropping to his knees beside you. He grabs your arm and tries to pull—but the rope tugs you again, your hand slipping. “You’ll go over too!” Seungcheol’s eyes flash. “Like hell, I will.”

Then—without hesitation—he grabs his dagger, clenches it between his teeth, and climbs over the side of the ship.

Rain is slamming into his back, the waves crashing over him, but he reaches you. “I’ve got you,” he shouts, pulling the dagger free. Your voice breaks. “I’m scared.” Seungcheol’s movements falter for half a second. Then he growls, “I know. But I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Seungcheol cuts the rope, over and over, until it finally snaps free. The sudden release sends your body plummeting as your fingers lose their grip.

But you don’t fall into the sea. Seungcheol reaches out and clutches you to him, one arm locking around your waist, the other gripping the ladder in front of him. You wrap your arms around his neck instinctively, sobbing now.

“It’s okay, darling,” he mutters roughly, mouth by your ear. “You’re safe.” You pull back, just slightly, your eyes meeting his in the torrential downpour. “Thank you,” you whisper. His gaze softens. And for the briefest heartbeat, he whispers back, “Anytime.”

He hoists you both upward, muscle and willpower carrying you until you crash onto the deck once more. The two of you collapse in a heap of limbs, gasping, drenched, rain battering down.

But you’re alive.

You stare at him for a long moment, his face so close to yours, the adrenaline still pumping in your veins. His hair is soaked, brow creased—but he’s looking at you with something akin to relief.

Then Mingyu’s voice pierces the haze. “Cheol! We need you!”

You both snap out of it.

The storm dissapears as quickly as it came.

The roar of wind and water settles into a hushed murmur. Rain trickles to a stop. The sky peels open, dusky purple bleeds into soft orange and navy at the edges.

You stand on legs that barely feel like they belong to you. Shaky. Damp. Numb. The wood beneath your boots creaks and shifts with the gentle sway of the ship, no longer at war with the sea. No more maelstrom. No more screaming.

Around you, the crew slowly reorients themselves. Soonyoung rests his hands on his knees, panting. Wonwoo slouches against the railing. Chan leans back and exhales one long, broken breath. Minghao is seated on the deck, soaked through, running a hand through his wet hair. His eyes meet yours briefly. He gives you the faintest nod.

You’ve never seen men so strong, so wild, suddenly look so... human.

On the quarterdeck, Seungcheol is holding the wheel like it might still rip from his hands. Mingyu claps a hand on his shoulder. “You alright?” Seungcheol nods once, sharp. “We’re out.”

“You did good,” Mingyu says, and then—because he’s Mingyu—he adds, “Told you she wasn’t just a pretty face.” Seungcheol gives him a sidelong glare, his jaw working before he huffs through his nose. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. I’m just saying—if this is you pretending not to care about her, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.”

Seungcheol grunts, but doesn’t argue. He turns his gaze back to the deck. At you. And you feel it like a tether tugging at your chest. You meet his gaze. He doesn’t look away. Everything else blurs: the crew, the remnants of the storm, the creaking ship.

It’s just you and him.

You, standing with seawater still dripping from your hair, your shirt sticking to your skin, your lip sore from where you bit it in panic. Him, forearms tense and shoulders set, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths, eyes unreadable, but softened—a storm in his own right.

Mingyu steps in, subtle as always. “I’ll take over. Go.” Seungcheol raises a brow. “Go where?” Mingyu just smirks, hands already moving to the handles. “Go.” There’s a beat of resistance. But then Seungcheol pushes away, descending the stairs.

He stops just in front of you. Close enough that the heat of his body, still radiating from adrenaline and effort, warms your chilled skin.

You lift your hand. It’s steady, palm open, and fingers stretched toward him.

He stares at it for a moment, brows knitting together, as if it’s a puzzle he doesn’t quite know how to solve. You raise your eyebrows, the barest edge of a smirk playing on your lips. You wiggle your fingers slightly, urging. He blinks once before chuckling low in his throat.

Then, he takes it.

His hand is warm. Calloused. Larger than yours, his grasp firm but soft. His palm envelops yours, and for a moment, your breath catches—not from fear, not from shock, but something else entirely.

“Hello,” you say with mock formality. “I’m the princess who doesn’t know how to stay below deck, apparently.” That draws a real laugh from him. His smile is a little too pleased. His fingers tighten just slightly. “Seungcheol,” he replies, the word dipping low in his chest. “Captain of the Chimera. Horrible temper. Worse manners.”

“Yes, I noticed.” His mouth twitches. Your fingers linger in his. Just a bit too long. You look up at him, and you see none of the biting, brooding edge he usually shows. Just Seungcheol. Just the man who saved you from the sea like you weighed nothing. You cough lightly, clearing your throat as you gently extract your hand. Your face is hot. “I should clean up.”

“Right,” he says, still smiling. You nod and turn.

The men are suspiciously quiet as you pass—Chan nods his head softly, Soonyoung smiles brightly, and Wonwoo mutters something half-intelligible about “stormproof royalty.”

You flash a quick smile their way, half-formed, half-distracted. But your mind is still reeling. Your boots squelch as you approach your cabin. Your hand wraps around the brass handle, ready to go inside, but something—something instinctive—makes you glance back.

There he is.

Still standing in the middle of the deck, watching you like you’ve unravelled something inside him. Like he can’t stop looking, even if he tried. You inhale deeply and slip inside, the door shutting softly behind you.

And your heart—traitorous, fluttering thing—won’t stop pounding.

You can’t sleep.

Not from the cold, not from the rocking of the ship, not even from the aches that linger in your body after the storm. It’s something deeper. Something woven into your chest and bones and memory. The kind of thing that no amount of time beneath a blanket can soothe. So you dress quietly, wrap a shawl around your shoulders, and slip out of your cabin.

The deck is slick from the rain, shining faintly under the glow of the stars—more brilliant than you’ve ever seen them. Clear and cold and endless. You make your way toward the foredeck, your bare feet almost silent against the planks as the soft snores of the crew travel upwards from below. The wind is cooler out here, brushing through your hair and tugging at your shawl. You let it.

You close your eyes and… breathe.

The sea tonight is nothing like the one that tried to kill you earlier. Tonight, it’s still. Endless. The sky meets the horizon in a velvet embrace, and for a moment, you forget the chaos. The Book. The weight on your shoulders.

You don’t hear him until he speaks. “Can’t sleep?” You jolt, spinning toward the voice. But your tension eases the second you recognise him.

Seungcheol.

He stands a few feet behind you, hands tucked into his pockets, his hair slightly mussed from sleep—or the attempt of it. His voice is low, quiet enough to let the silence breathe between his words. You nod faintly, offering a ghost of a smile. “You either?” He steps closer, just enough to stand beside you as he leans on the railing, mirroring your stance. “Not tonight.”

His voice carries a kind of tiredness that extends beyond physical exhaustion. You recognise it. You feel it, too.

For a while, neither of you speak. You don’t know why you say it. Maybe because he saved your life. Maybe because you saw something behind his eyes when he held you. Maybe it’s just the hour—the strange truth of midnight, when secrets don’t feel so heavy.

“I fell in love with the sea when I was eight.”

He glances at you, curious. You keep your eyes on the endless abyss. “The palace walls in Mdina were too high to see the water. But there was one tower, this crumbling old thing the guards had stopped patrolling. I figured out how to climb it. There was a ledge on the roof. And from there… I could narrowly see the sea.”

You smile faintly, remembering. “I used to watch the ships. They looked like tiny ants, just dots. But I made up stories about them. I used to pretend I was on one of them. That I wasn’t a girl in a dress being groomed for court. I was a sailor. A pirate. A hero.”

He nods, slowly. “For me, it was the docks.” You look at him again. His voice is softer than usual. “I grew up in the lower district of Syracuse. Slums, really. My mother cleaned houses. My father died young. I used to scoop up fish guts at the port to make ends meet. Smelled like rot every damn day.”

He chuckles, a little bitter.

“But the sailors… they were different. They had stories. Gold teeth. Worn hands. Laughs like thunder. I used to watch them and think, ‘Maybe I could be like that.’ Maybe I didn’t have to stay where I was.” He smiles, but it’s a sad thing. “I wanted that life. Not the guts and coins—the freedom. The idea that you could leave. That you could choose who you wanted to be.”

Your heart twists.

“Then I met Joshua.” His voice drops further. “He was different. He didn’t treat me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his boot. He taught me how to read. I taught him how to climb walls and steal apples.”

That makes you laugh, even though your throat is tight.

“But the king hated me. Always did. Thought I was corrupting his perfect son. I guess in his eyes, I did.”

You want to say something. But you don’t. You let him speak.

“One day, we did something stupid. There was this abandoned building near the market—a half-finished palace, supposed to be part of some expansion. We climbed it. Dared each other to go higher. Joshua fell. Part of the roof caved in.”

His hands flex on the railing. “I pulled him out. But someone had to answer for it. The building collapsed. They blamed me.” He exhales slowly. “The King would’ve ruined me. Maybe worse. So I left before he could.”

You step closer. His eyes flick to you, but he doesn’t move. You can see the weight in them—the shadow of old scars he’s never let anyone see. You reach out and gently take his hand in yours. He tenses, just for a second. But then his shoulders ease. You lift your other hand to his face, fingers brushing lightly along his jaw, turning him to face you. He lets you.

“After the book was stolen,” you say quietly, “The King said horrible things about you. I didn’t understand it at the time. I thought—maybe you deserved it.” His brow twitches, but you go on. “But he’s wrong.” Your voice is firmer now.

“You’re not what he says. You’re good, Seungcheol. You’re brave. You’re strong. You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met, yes—but you didn’t hesitate to save Joshua all those years ago. And you didn’t hesitate to save me.” He huffs a small laugh. “Even when you were annoyed with me.” You smile softly. “Even then.”

There’s silence again, but it’s warm now. Comforting. Seungcheol’s eyes flutter closed for a second, his face leaning slightly into your touch. When he opens them again, they’re locked onto yours. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Princess.” His voice is low, hoarse. “But I don’t want you to stop.”

Before you can speak, he closes the space between you. His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You don’t resist. You don’t want to.

And then his lips are on yours.

It's nothing like before—nothing like that trance-induced kiss during the siren’s song. This one is real. All-consuming. It feels like every second of tension, every argument, every half-glance, and silent heartbeat between you two has built up to this moment.

You clutch him, fingers tangling in his hair as his hands slide around your waist, drawing you closer until there’s no space left between you. You gasp into his mouth just as his hands slip lower—down your sides, over your hips, and finally, they settle on your bare ass. His breath hitches at the feel of your skin, his fingers tightening reflexively as he realizes what you’re wearing.

Or rather—what you’re not. No pants. No underwear. His groan reverberates through his chest, and it sparks heat through your core. You nip at his bottom lip, suck on it lightly, and feel the slight tremble in his breath.

But then, he pulls away. Not completely—his forehead still brushes against yours, his hands are still on your skin, his breath fanning across your lips. But something has shifted. You feel the hesitation before he speaks, the uncertainty tucked behind his usual bravado.

“I want you, Princess.” His whispers hoarsly, his thumbs rubbing small circles over your tailbone. “God, I want you. But—”

You blink up at him. “But what?” you whisper, your voice breathless from the kiss.

He sighs. “I’m not—” He swallows. “You’re promised to someone else. I’m—” He trails off. “I’m not what you were supposed to have. I don’t want to be the thing you regret. The man who ruins your perfect little royal life.” His words are quiet, but you can feel the weight in them—the insecurity.

You lift your hand and press your fingers to his lips, silencing him. His eyes flicker up to yours, uncertain, soft, searching. “That marriage,” you say, “was arranged five years ago. I never had a say in it. It was politics. An alliance. A duty.” Your eyes don't leave his. “I care for Joshua, I do. I don’t want him to die. But I don’t…” Your voice lowers. “I don’t long for him.”

He stares at you, unmoving, his hands gripping your hips like you might slip away. You lean in closer. “But I do, with you. I want you.” You kiss him again, and that’s what finally breaks him.

He growls softly against your mouth before gripping your thighs, and lifting you effortlessly. You gasp, giggling at the sudden motion as he carries you toward his cabin. The door swings open with a bang as his shoulder knocks it open, then slams it closed behind him with his foot. Inside, the space is dim and warm, filled with the scent of salt and leather, and something uniquely him.

He kisses you like he’s been starving, pressing against you, devouring every sigh and gasp you release. He spins you both before lowering himself onto his bed, you straddling his lap.

The room is cluttered with maps, artefacts, weapons—chaotic but oddly personal. You don’t care. It feels like him.

Your shirt is the only thing concealing your naked flesh. He unbuttons it—one, two, three—leaving kisses along every patch of newly exposed skin. His mouth lingers at your collarbone, dragging open-mouthed kisses along your neck. And then your shirt is open.

You shiver as the cool air hits your skin, but the feeling disappears the second his mouth wraps around your nipple. Your head tips back, a soft moan escaping your throat as your fingers tangle in his hair again. He groans as you arch into him, and his hands begin their slow, reverent path—skimming your thighs, your hips, your waist. One hand cups your breast, the other trails lower.

He finds your pussy and hisses through his teeth. “You’re soaked.”

You grind against him in response, your heat pressing against the hard length of his cock, straining through the fabric of his pants. “Seungcheol,” you whimper, shifting your hips. “Please…” He looks up at you, chest heaving, lips red and swollen from kissing. “You’re sure?” he whispers, his mouth a breath away from yours. “Yes,” you breathe. “God, yes.” His mouth claims yours again, rougher this time. Needier.

And finally—finally—his fingers press against your clit. You moan into his mouth. Two of his fingers slide inside your wet heat, slow but deep. The stretch to your walls steals your breath, your body clenching around him instinctively.

“Fuck, Princess,” he groans against your neck, “you feel—” He cuts himself off with a growl as he thrusts his fingers again, and again. His mouth returns to your abandoned nipple, suckling, licking, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin until you’re writhing in his lap.

Your hips grind in rhythm with his hand. One of yours is still in his hair, but you slip the other past the waistband of his pants. Your fingers find him there—hot, hard, throbbing in your palm, his tip leaking precum.

“Shit—” He moans into your skin when you wrap your hand around his cock, matching your movements to the rhythm of his fingers inside you. The sensations overwhelm you—his mouth on your breast, his fingers working inside you, your own hand wrapped around the length of him, the quiet, desperate sounds he makes just for you. You don’t last long. Your body begins to quake, your hips stuttering.

“I’m—Seungcheol—” you gasp. His other hand grips your thigh as he presses his thumb firmly to your clit, rubbing short, hard circles over it. “That’s it,” he breathes. “Let go for me.”

And you do. You come with a sharp cry, the world shattering around you. Your grip on his member fluttering slightly.

Your body clenches around his fingers as you tremble, shaking in his lap while he continues to move his fingers inside you slowly, helping you ride it out. His mouth finds its way to your shoulder, murmuring something you can’t quite hear over the blood roaring in your ears.

Seungcheol’s fingers slip out of you slowly, and the sound is obscene in the quiet room—a slick, wet squelch that makes your body shudder. He brings his hand up without hesitation, the pads of his fingers glistening with your juices, and then—he sucks them into his mouth.

You watch, breath caught in your throat as his eyes flutter shut, a low groan vibrating in his chest. His cheeks hollow slightly as he licks them clean, dragging his tongue between his fingers.

“Delicious,” he mutters hoarsely.

You stifle a moan, biting your lower lip. Heat burns at the base of your spine. Gods, this man.

Your hand is still wrapped around his length—thick and throbbing in your palm, his tip slick with precum. He twitches in your palm, the veins on his shaft pulsing.

Slowly, you give his cock a firm stroke from base to tip. Then another. You pause at his tip, run your thumb along the slit, gather the moisture there, and spread it down his shaft. He groans again, his hips twitching slightly, breath hitching.

“Shit—” he hisses.

Your strokes become firmer and more deliberate. Your other hand drifts up his stomach, exploring every inch of his skin—feeling the way his abs clench and how his skin jumps beneath your touch.

His mouth leaves a trail of fire along your skin—down your collarbone, along the swell of your chest, up your neck. When he pulls back, you can see the flush painting his skin, the way his jaw trembles with restraint.

“You’re going to make me come,” he pants, looking at you like he’s never seen anything more devastatingly perfect. “Fuck, baby, you are—unreal.” You don’t stop. You just smirk. “That’s the idea.”

You grip his cock tighter, twisting your wrist slightly at the end of each stroke, dragging your palm over his head with calculated pressure. His hips start to buck, chasing the sensation. His breath is ragged. His forehead falls to your shoulder.

Suddenly, his hands shoot out, grabbing you by the hips. You yelp, breathless with laughter, as he flips you both over, laying you flat on the mattress under him. His hair is mussed, his chest heaving, and his cock—straining against his pants—is nestled between your thighs, pressing hotly against your entrance.

He chuckles breathlessly as he looks down at you. “You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

Your shirt is tossed somewhere over your head. You reach for him, fingers slipping under his waistband, shoving his pants down with a little too much urgency. He chuckles again, sitting up briefly to kick them off the rest of the way.

“Impatient?”

“Desperate.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. His cock slides along your folds, slick and hot, and it makes both of you stutter, gasping against each other’s mouths, as his tip catches on your clit.

He pulls back slightly, his chest heaving, just enough to line himself up at your entrance. His eyes search yours, asking the question again—but not with words. And you answer him with a nod, small but certain.

Then—he pushes in.

The rhythm he sets isn’t gentle. It’s deliberate. Powerful. Deep, rolling thrusts that send jolts of sensation ricocheting through your spine. You gasp, your head falling back against the mattress as he fills you, again and again, harder each time. His breath is warm against your neck, his body tight above yours, every muscle in him working to give you pleasure.

“God, baby,” he growls against your ear, voice raw. “So tight—so fucking good.”

You whimper beneath him, your nails digging into the hard planes of his back as you cling to him, every thrust making you feel like you’re unravelling.

“Cheol—”

“That’s it,” he hisses, kissing your jaw. “Say my name. Say it again.”

“Cheol—fuck, yes—”

His hips slam into yours again, harder this time, and a loud moan escapes you. He swallows it with another kiss—it’s messy, perfect.

He adjusts his angle, one hand slides upward—first across your ribs, then higher, until his palm wraps gently around your throat. He squeezes gently. His fingers press against your vein, his thumb brushing your jaw, your pulse beating steady beneath his palm. The gesture is tender and possessive all at once.

“Too much?” he asks.

You shake your head slowly, biting your lip. “No,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”

His other hand slides down your body until he’s between your thighs again. His fingers find your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that counter the pace of his thrusts. You shudder beneath him, crying out his name again, and he groans in return.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “Fuck, baby, you’re driving me crazy.”

His fingers circle in rhythm with his thrusts, the pressure building unbearably fast. It’s too much, too good—the heat of his body flush against yours, his breath on your skin, his cock sliding in and out of you with aching precision.

“You’re so good,” he groans, his voice cracking as he starts to lose control. “You take me so well. Look at you, wrapped around me like you were made for this.”

You can’t help it—you cry out, a desperate sound from deep in your chest. He’s hitting every place inside you that drives you wild, and his fingers are moving faster now, chasing the climax that’s rising too quickly.

Suddenly, his other hand grabs your leg, lifts it, and hooks it over his shoulder. He thrusts again, and the new angle makes you see stars. His cock is even deeper, stretching out your walls.

You swear aloud, a high, choked moan, as your hands fly to his biceps, clutching him like a lifeline. He fucks into you hard, deep, relentless, hitting that spot inside you with every powerful stroke.

“Right there, huh?” he pants, eyes locked to your face, drinking in every expression like it’s salvation. “You gonna come again for me, baby?” You nod frantically, incoherent with pleasure. He’s everywhere—his mouth on your neck, his hand on your clit, his body pounding into yours like he’s trying to fuse you together.

“Please—Cheol—”

Your voice breaks on a sob of pleasure. He doesn’t stop. “Come for me. Let me feel you, Princess.” And you do. It crashes into you like a tidal wave, your back arching off the bed, thighs trembling, mouth parting in a silent scream. Your vision blurs, the breath ripped from your lungs as your climax pulses through you, wave after devastating wave. Seungcheol groans low in his throat as your walls clamp down on him like a vice.

“Shit—fuck—” He stutters inside you, his rhythm faltering as the tight squeeze of your pussy sends him hurtling after you. His hand clenches your thigh tighter. One last thrust—and he comes with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside you, his whole body shuddering with the force of it.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing, the quiet tremble of your bodies still clinging to the aftershocks. He lowers your leg from his shoulder gently, his palm stroking down the back of your thigh. Your hands find his face. You run your fingertips along his jaw, tracing the line of it, soft and slow. He turns his face to kiss your palm, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses your digits.

Then they open again—and you look at each other. You both chuckle at the same time.

“Hey,” you whisper, brushing a damp strand of hair away from his forehead.

“Hey,” he replies, and kisses you again.

You don’t know how long you’ve been talking. Hours maybe. The sun has long since gone up, and you’ve laughed more in the last stretch of time than you have in years.

“Wait, wait—” you say, still laughing, grabbing the wrist that’s been stroking your side so his fingers stop distracting you. “You’re telling me you got your entire crew banned from a tavern... for winning too much?”

Seungcheol smirks, scratching the back of his head as if caught red-handed. “It wasn’t my fault they didn’t notice Minghao was using marked cards. I just happened to collect the winnings.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You say that now, but you’d have taken your cut too.”

You scoff, pushing at his shoulder, though your smile doesn’t waver. He catches your hand easily, presses a kiss to the inside of your palm, and doesn’t let go. The touch makes your breath catch.

“Alright then, your turn.” He leans back again, watching you with that unreadable glint in his eye. “We’ve covered your rebellious rooftop climbs and your hatred of court shoes. What else don’t you like?” You hum, pretending to think. “Hmm. Peaches. Overrated. Sweet and slimy. They remind me of Duke Alberon’s awful moustache.”

Seungcheol bursts out laughing, his whole body shaking beside you. “I am never going to eat a peach again without seeing that man’s ratty little face, thank you for that.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing too loud, smug at his reaction. His hand slides from your stomach to your thigh, lazily stroking the skin again, and you don’t stop him. “I like this,” you murmur after a moment, your voice quieter now. “Talking. With you.” His expression softens. “Yeah. Me too.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full. That is, until the door slams open.

“Hey, Cap—” Soonyoung’s voice booms into the room before his body does, stomping in without knocking. “The mist’s rolled in heavy, and Mingyu adjusted course, Wonwoo says if we keep east by southeast, we’ll—”

Soonyoung blinks once. Then again. His eyes dart from you— naked and lazily sprawled across the bed—to Seungcheol, shirtless, clearly dishevelled, and unmistakably not alone.

“I—” His jaw opens, but no sound comes out. You raise an amused eyebrow and tuck the blanket a little higher over your body. Seungcheol, on the other hand, is not nearly so composed.

“Get out!” he barks, grabbing a nearby pillow and hurling it with precision at Soonyoung’s head. The poor man yelps as it smacks into his face.

“I didn’t see anything!” Soonyoung squeaks, hands flailing as he turns around hastily. “I swear! Nothing at all—except her legs, and maybe a bit of—okay, I’m going!”

“Soonyoung!” Seungcheol snaps, now using his hand to shield your chest like his body alone could restore your modesty.

“I’m going! I’m going!” Soonyoung yells back, already halfway through the door. “But Mingyu said he needs you at the helm like now. There’s fog and a current and—and I’ll just go!”

The door slams shut behind him. For a moment, the room is still. Then your laughter bubbles up. You can’t hold it back even if you try. “That was—” you start between breaths, “the most mortified I’ve ever seen anyone in my life.” Seungcheol groans and slumps back against the headboard, dragging a hand down his face. “He’s gonna tell everyone, isn’t he?”

“Oh, without question,” you say, nudging his side. “The betting pool has probably reopened already.”

“Betting pool?”

“Please. They were definitely wagering when we’d fall into bed.”

Seungcheol drops his head against your stomach, groaning dramatically. “This crew is going to be unbearable.”

“Hmm.” You run your fingers through his hair slowly, scratching lightly at his scalp. “You’re just mad they were right.” You feel the warmth of his smile pressed against your belly, even as he pretends to sulk. “I can’t believe Soonyoung saw your boobs,” he mumbles. You grin. “And I’m pretty sure I traumatised him.”

Seungcheol exhales a quiet laugh through his nose and shakes his head as he sits up. The warmth of his body leaves your side, but you don’t mind—not when you get the view that’s in front of you. You watch him stretch lazily, muscles flexing as he reaches up before grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head. Then he steps into his pants, tying the drawstring with practised ease. His back muscles ripple with every movement, and you don’t hide the way your eyes roam freely across the expanse of his torso.

He catches your gaze and smirks, glancing at you from over his shoulder.

“You staring, Princess?” he taunts, the smugness practically dripping from his voice. You smirk, stretching languidly on the bed. “Obviously. Wouldn’t want to waste the view.” That earns you a laugh. He finishes fastening the last button of his shirt and turns back to you, raking his gaze down the curve of your body, still on full display under the lazy fall of the blanket.

Then, without warning, he strides over to your side of the bed. His hand comes down with a swift, playful smack against your bare ass cheek.

“Up,” he says, voice low and commanding but tinged with amusement. “If I have to go face Mingyu and the crew after last night, you’re not getting out of it either.”

You yelp more out of surprise than pain, narrowing your eyes at him as you sit up. “I was perfectly content right here, actually.” He grins, stepping back as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. “Well, now you can be content getting dressed. And preferably before Soonyoung bursts in again.”

You scoff but move to your feet anyway as he tosses you some undergarments from the floor without even trying to hide the smirk on his face. You catch them midair. “Thanks, Captain.”

He steps closer again, slower this time. One hand catches your chin, thumb brushing along your jawline as his eyes flicker over your face. “Try not to look too smug out there,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Or they’ll start placing bets on when I’ll marry you.”

You raise an eyebrow, heart skipping—but you smirk instead of answering. “Then maybe you should kiss me goodbye properly.” Seungcheol stares for a beat—then grins like a devil before pulling you into him, crashing his mouth to yours.

“Get dressed, Princess,” he rasps, eyes lingering. “Before I change my mind.” And with that, he walks to the door, grabbing his coat. He’s halfway through opening it when he glances back.

“Five minutes. Or I’m coming back for you.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

The mist swallows everything.

You don’t even see it at first—just a soft shift in the air as you step out of Seungcheol’s cabin. You’d expected teasing whistles or knowing grins, maybe a few sly comments from Mingyu or Chan. Instead, silence meets you. A quiet so thick it pulls the breath from your lungs. The Chimera is cloaked in a pale grey fog, dense and unmoving, the deck slick with dew and the sails limp in the breathless air.

Your eyes move quickly, scanning the ship. No one is looking at you—not because they’re being polite, but because every man is on edge. Focused. Alert. Like something’s about to happen.

Above you, Minghao stands in the crow’s nest, his thin frame just barely visible through the thick veil of mist. He’s rotating slowly, scanning with a spyglass in one hand and a compass in the other. Every few minutes, he mutters something, too quiet to carry. Soonyoung and Chan move carefully near the weapons stash, inventorying each item with tight mouths and nervous hands. Their usual playfulness has been swallowed whole by the fog.

You walk further along the deck, your boots quiet on the wood, until you spot them—Seungcheol and Wonwoo near the main mast, crouched low over a spread of maps and books. Wonwoo is muttering frantically, his fingers darting between pages, eyes wild with thought. Seungcheol is tense. His broad shoulders are hunched, eyes narrowed, and jaw tight.

You move beside him quietly, and when your hand grazes his bicep, he startles before looking up. The hard line of his shoulders eases at the sight of you. His hand comes to rest on your waist, the weight of it grounding. He squeezes softly. You do the same in return. “Morning,” you say gently. “Afternoon,” Wonwoo corrects immediately, eyes not leaving the yellowed page he’s turned to.

You smile faintly and lean in to study the map, tilting your head as you glance from it to the thick book in his other hand. The letters are unfamiliar—twisting, ancient shapes carved in what looks more like inked bone than any written language.

Wonwoo’s voice picks up. “It doesn’t make sense—nothing does—but it’s all here, I know it is. I’ve read the entire Codex of the Four Winds twice now, and all the references to Tartarus, to the ferryway—Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius—it’s all pointing here. But I can’t decode the meaning of it. It’s like, like the pieces are there, but the puzzle’s missing half its edges—”

“Breathe, Wonwoo,” Seungcheol says quietly, trying not to snap. Wonwoo exhales sharply through his nose, flipping another page. “Do you know what the poets of Andelos called it? The place beyond the fog? The Cradle of the Dead. And every single account, no matter how fantastical, mentions a waterfall. But not a normal one. A falling of stars. Water going up and down, as if the sky and sea mirror each other.” Your brow furrows. “As above, so below.” Wonwoo snaps his head toward you, eyes sharp. “Yes.”

You kneel beside them now, brushing your fingers lightly over a different page. “There was a book in Mdina. An old one. Verses of the Vanished. I read it when I was nine and had nightmares for weeks. It mentioned a veil of silence, a place past the final sea where time collapses, and stars sink beneath the water.” Wonwoo is nodding quickly. “That’s it. That’s exactly it. But how do we find it?”

“Maybe,” you murmur, “you don’t. Maybe it finds you.” The mist swirls closer around the ship, like it heard you. Mingyu leaves the helm and strides toward you, his boots thudding heavily. “It’s getting worse,” he says. “Visibility’s almost zero. The current’s off too—subtle, but it’s pulling.”

“We’re near it,” Wonwoo mutters. “I know it.”

Mingyu looks down at the pages, then over at you and Seungcheol. “He’s been at this since dawn.” Seungcheol reaches out and flips a corner of the map. “Wonwoo, you said something about the water falling up. What if it’s not a place we sail into, but something that pulls us in?”

“Like a gate?” you ask. “Or a crossing,” Mingyu adds. Wonwoo slams his book shut. “It could be anything. That’s the problem.”

Silence falls again.

You glance up toward the crow’s nest. Minghao hasn’t moved, but now he’s gripping the rail tighter. You hear his voice float down, quiet and unsure. “Captain?” Seungcheol looks up. “What is it?”

Minghao slowly turns his spyglass. “I… don’t know.”

Wonwoo’s breath catches. “It’s beginning.”

The sound hits first.

A low, guttural rumble that shakes the air. It begins deep below deck, in the bones of the ship, before rolling up through the planks and ropes and sails. You freeze, eyes narrowing toward the horizon—or what should be the horizon—but the mist is too thick, the light too dim.

Then, as if guided by some unseen hand, the mist begins to pull away. It unfurls slowly at first, like curtains parting on a stage, but it quickly gives way to something utterly impossible.

There, ahead of you, rises a waterfall. Not falling. Rising.

A great column of water, impossibly wide, impossibly tall, rushes skyward, curling into the clouds above. Spray bursts from the base of it in violent gusts, catching the late afternoon light in prismatic flashes. You blink. “What the—” The words are half-formed before they’re lost in the roar of the ocean.

Seungcheol moves instantly.

“Raise the sails!” he shouts, already sprinting toward the helm. “To your stations! Man the lines! Chan—get those sails ready for shift, now!” Mingyu’s already right behind him, racing to the helm. “We’ll be in it within minutes if we stay this course!” The crew explodes into motion. Minghao descends swiftly from the crow’s nest. Soonyoung and Chan tear across the deck. Even Wonwoo doesn’t look up from the open book on his lap, only flips another page with frantic energy.

You remain frozen—just for a heartbeat.

Until Seungcheol turns toward you. “Princess”, he points, eyes blazing. “To the port lines. Watch the tension; call if we’re drifting!” He’s giving you a task. For the first time since you’ve boarded the Chimera, he’s treating you not as cargo, not as a complication, not even as a lover—but as crew.

You nod firmly. “Aye, Captain.”

You run, the wind lashing your hair around your face. Your feet are sure beneath you, heart pounding, and you grab the rope with firm hands, joining Soonyoung and Chan without hesitation. You glance once over your shoulder—Seungcheol is watching. And when your eyes meet, he doesn’t look away. Pride. You see it in his eyes.

“Steady!” he shouts. “We’re almost at the pull!”

The wind screams louder. The sound of the waterfall is deafening. The closer you get, the more the air warps and howls. Hair and clothes whip around every which way. Sails strain under pressure. The Chimera groans beneath you like it’s fighting not to be torn apart.

“It’s not just a waterfall!” he yells over the sound. “It’s a threshold! A crossing point—between realms! As above, so below—it’s—” “Wonwoo!” Seungcheol cuts in sharply. “What happens when we go through?”

“I don’t know!” Wonwoo shouts back, desperation in his voice. “No one ever has!” You don’t hear the end of that sentence because that’s when it begins.

A tendril of smoke.

No—not smoke. Something darker. Slick and slow, it creeps across the surface of the sea, winding around the hull of the Chimera. More follow—dozens. Hundreds. They rise like grasping hands, curling toward the deck.

“Captain…” Chan breathes, stepping back from one of the ropes, eyes wide. Minghao calls out from above. “Smoke! From the water!”

“Cordia,” Seungcheol breathes, barely a whisper.

“Seungcheol?” you call out, your voice trembling now.

His head snaps up. For the first time in this madness, his expression fractures. “Get to me!” he yells.

You don’t hesitate. You run—but before you can reach him— The mist turns black. The tendrils strike.

And the world goes dark.

You wake to the taste of ash in your mouth.

Your body feels heavy—every bone weighed down, every muscle groaning in protest as consciousness claws its way to the surface. The air is cold and wet, and the first thing you feel is a strange texture under your hands: gritty, soft, but wrong. You open your eyes.

Black sand.

You blink against the dim light. A haze clings to the air, the world around you coated in an eerie hue between shadow and flame. Ancient ruins loom ahead, crumbling columns and broken statues half-sunken into the sand. A river pulses in the distance—thick, dark, and slow, like black ink. The air hums with something foul and powerful.

You turn your head. Seungcheol is lying beside you. He groans softly as he sits up, running a hand through his hair before his eyes snap to you. “You okay?” His voice is hoarse. “I think so,” you murmur, looking around again. “Where are we?”

But you already know. You feel it in your bones.

“Tartarus,” he says, confirming it.

You sit up with a wince. The black sand clings to your skin. Seungcheol instinctively pulls you closer, shielding your body with his as you both rise to your feet. The river’s distant pulse echoes like a heartbeat. And then the smoke returns. It billows from the earth, curling and creeping toward you until the very air feels thick with it. From it, she comes.

Cordia.

She glides forward, her form half-shadow, half-woman. She circles the ruins before settling on a broken, throne-like seat made of obsidian stone. Her long fingers drum against the armrest as she regards you both with a smile too wide, too cold.

“Congratulations,” she purrs. “You made it.”

Her voice is sickly sweet. “No one ever has before. Well… not alive, anyway.”

Seungcheol squares his shoulders. “Give me the book,” he demands. “I fulfilled my end of the deal.”

Cordia blinks at him once. And then laughs. It is a terrible sound, echoing off every ruin, slithering into your skin. “Oh, darling,” she coos. “What makes you think I have it?”

Seungcheol’s expression tightens. “You stole it. You framed me. So you could have me executed.” Cordia interrupts with a smirk. “You?” Her voice turns mocking as she slinks closer. “It was never about you.”

Realization dawns on his face—horror blooming in his eyes.

“Joshua.”

Cordia grins. “Now you’re catching up.”

She circles you both like a vulture. “The golden prince. The next king of Syracuse. So noble. So predictable. I knew he’d take your place, just as I knew you’d run. And then—chaos. Twelve cities. No heir. No peace. No order. Glorious, isn’t it?”

She trails her fingers over a broken statue, sharp nails dragging against the stone. “He couldn’t help himself, could he? Defending you without hesitation. And you—” she turns to Seungcheol, “—you couldn’t help but betray him.”

Seungcheol’s voice is sharp. “I didn’t betray Joshua. I came for the book.” Cordia chuckles, walking toward you. You feel her presence behind your back.

“Oh, but you did betray him,” she hums. “You stole his fiancée.”

With a sharp motion, she pushes you forward, making you stumble into Seungcheol’s arms. Cordia tilts her head.

“Look at her, Seungcheol. Joshua isn’t even in his grave yet, and you’ve already claimed her.” Her voice is gleeful. “Or did ‘that’s my girl’ not mean anything to you?”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches. You can feel the tension radiating from him. Cordia steps closer, her voice now a whisper. “Face it, pirate. Your heart is as black as mine.”

“No,” you finally speak up. You face her. “You’re wrong. You don’t know what’s in his heart.” Cordia’s eyes flash. She chuckles once. And then her smile fades. “Oh, but I do,” she says, her voice cold as stone. “And most importantly… so does he.”

Seungcheol’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “You’re wrong.” Cordia rolls her eyes. “Fine. Want to bet?”

And then it appears—the book. Suspended in midair, cradled by smoke. Glowing faintly with ancient magic.

“Two choices, Seungcheol.” Her voice cuts through the air like a blade. “One: Take the book. Return it to Syracuse. Save the heir. Save the alliance. Watch her marry Joshua, as promised. You restore your honour and lose the girl.”

You freeze.

“Or,” she continues, “Two: Refuse the book. Let Joshua die. Watch Syracuse fall. And sail away to paradise with the love of your life.”

Your eyes lock with Seungcheol’s. The look you give him is a plea and a promise all at once—don’t leave me. He stares at you for what feels like an eternity, agony etched into every line of his face. The war behind his eyes. The sorrow. The weight.

He loves you. But his heart is cracked open for the first time.

Then he turns to Cordia. And speaks. “...Let her marry Joshua.”

Cordia’s eyes narrow. Her smile fades. “Liar,” she hisses. “You could never let go of a treasure once it was yours.”

The book disappears.

“No—!” you cry, stepping forward, but Cordia is already fading, her face twisted in triumph.

Seungcheol grabs your hand just as the smoke rushes in again, tendrils wrapping around your legs, your waist, and your arms.

Cordia’s voice echoes as the world goes black again: “You’ll see… we always are what we choose.”

You gasp as your feet hit solid ground, stumbling forward as the world stops spinning. Black sand is replaced by cobblestone, and pulsing smoke is traded for stagnant city air thick with tension. You blink up—recognising the narrow curve of the harbour road, the looming cliffs, and the ancient colonnades of Syracuse’s port.

Seungcheol lands beside you with a grunt, steadying himself with one hand on the uneven stone. His eyes dart around, taking in his surroundings, the shadows, the distant sound of a crowd gathering near the square.

You both realise what day it is as you hear the bell—Joshua’s execution day.

“Oh gods,” you whisper.

You grab Seungcheol’s wrist and pull him into the narrow alley between two warehouses, pressing his back against the wall. The city might be grieving, but the guards will still be out—especially today. “You can’t be seen,” you whisper urgently. “We don’t have the book. If they find you now—”

“I know,” Seungcheol murmurs. His voice is calm. Too calm.

“I’ll talk to them,” you push. “I’ll go to the kings myself. I’ll tell them everything. That it was Cordia, that we got to Tartarus—”

“They won’t believe you,” he cuts in, voice cracking.

“They will. They have to.” You step closer, chest heaving. “They won’t kill Joshua if I tell them what we saw. If I tell them—if I make them understand.”

He looks down at you. And you feel it. A shift in the air between you.

“No,” you breathe.

“I can’t let you take the fall for this.”

“And I won’t let you—” your voice breaks. “No. No. Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare, Seungcheol—”

His hands come up, gently framing your face, thumbs stroking beneath your eyes as he places his forehead against yours. “You have to leave the city,” you whisper quickly, desperately. “We’ll go. Wherever you want. Right now. Just—just, please. Let’s run. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

He smiles softly, and that’s what undoes you. That smile. Tender. Wistful. “I can’t do that either,” he says, almost too quietly to hear.

You shake your head. “No. No, please. You’re not doing this.” Tears burn behind your eyes. But he’s already pulling away. And you know. You know.

Seungcheol has made up his mind. He’s going to take Joshua’s place.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, fists grabbing the front of his shirt. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I have to,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“No, you don’t.” Your hands fist in his shirt. “I love you. I love you, and if you walk out of this alley, I will never be whole again.”

His breath shudders. And then he whispers: “But could you love a man who would run away?”

You want to scream yes. You want to say I don’t care, that love should be enough, that you’d throw Syracuse to the gods if it meant keeping him safe.

But you know what he means. He couldn’t live with himself if he ran. He’s never been the kind of man who takes the easy road. He never could.

The tears spill over your cheeks. “Don’t do this,” you plead, broken. “Don’t leave me. I belong with you.”

His face crumples, his own tears finally falling. And then he lets go. He takes a step back. Another.

You try to grab him, but he’s already out of reach. Already walking out into the gloom-filled street, into the path of soldiers making their way toward the square.

And then—he stops. He turns back to you, tears streaking his face, mouth curved in the saddest smile you’ve ever seen.

“For the first time in my life,” he chuckles emptily, “I wish I was someone else.”

Your breath catches.

“I wish I was someone worthy of you.”

The sharp clatter of boots echoes down the cobblestones.

“Hey—!”

Three guards spot him immediately. Recognise him.

Seungcheol lifts his hands slowly, not resisting as they rush him. You scream his name, but it’s drowned out by the sound of steel and shouting.

They seize him and drag him away.

Your legs give out from under you, the grief slamming into you like a wave. But just before your knees hit the cobblestones—Strong arms wrap around you.

Mingyu.

His chest presses against your back, one arm around your middle, holding you upright, the other around your shoulder, shielding your trembling frame. You feel him shush you gently, but it’s broken, because he is crying too. Silent tears streak down his face as he watches his captain—his brother—being dragged away like a criminal.

You sob, your hands clutching his arms, unable to speak. Unable to breathe. Mingyu’s voice is thick. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I’ve got you, Princess.”

But nothing can stop the image from burning into your mind. Seungcheol, dragged into the fog of a city that forgot him. Head held high. Heartbroken.

The square is deathly still when they drag him in.

You see the moment he steps onto the square—his hands bound in chains, his jaw locked in that stubborn defiance you’ve come to know too well. He walks with that same confident gait, even though there’s no wind in his sails anymore. Even though he’s walking toward death.

Mingyu’s arm presses around your shoulders more tightly. Chan and Soonyoung hold their ground beside you, and even Minghao and Wonwoo have joined now, the five of them forming a silent, protective wall around you. But your focus is only on one man.

The crowd ripples with whispers as he passes—the pirate returns. The traitor dares to show his face. Where’s the Book? Did he come to beg for mercy?

But Seungcheol isn’t begging.

His eyes are fixed ahead, never faltering. Not even when he spots the platform of the Twelve Kings—gilded thrones stacked in a crescent high above the square. Not even when his gaze lands on Joshua.

He stands shackled near the edge of the platform, clothes rumpled, his shoulders hunched from the weight of days in captivity. You can see the flicker in his eyes when he spots Seungcheol. First confusion, then rising hope—But then his gaze drops to Seungcheol’s hands. No book in sight. Joshua’s expression crumbles.

But Seungcheol doesn’t stop. He’s led to the centre of the platform below the Kings, behind the ornate shadow of the execution block. The chains at his wrists clink as they force him to stand alone, surrounded by guards.

Then, the King of Syracuse rises.

He stands before his throne, draped in deep blue ceremonial robes, his silver crown catching the light of the pale, cloud-choked sky. His face is stern—no, cold. Cruel. And his voice cuts through the silence like steel.

“Choi Seungcheol,” he begins, voice echoing across the square, “you are brought before the Crowned Council of the Twelve Cities, accused of treason most foul. The theft of the sacred Book of Peace and the attempted destruction of our alliance.”

The King steps closer, looking down at him like one might a rat scurrying in the gutter. “You were given a pardon once, pirate—a chance to walk among kings. You spit on it. And now, you crawl back here in chains like a dog seeking a master’s mercy.”

Still, Seungcheol says nothing.

The King sneers. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

He looks up then. Seungcheol’s voice is quiet, but it carries. Measured. Steady.

“I take full responsibility for the course I’ve chosen,” he says. “I accept whatever sentence the Council deems fit.”

Gasps spread through the crowd, but the King only laughs—a cold, humourless sound.

“And what course was that, pirate?” he snaps. “My son claims you didn’t steal the Book, yet it vanished the moment you returned to the city. And now you return without it. Do you expect us to believe in your honour?”

“I expect nothing,” Seungcheol says simply. “I don’t ask for forgiveness. Only that you let the innocent walk free.” His eyes flick to Joshua, just once.

“He wasn’t part of this. Let him go.”

Across the square, Joshua’s eyes widen.

He steps forward slightly—chained though he is—and looks down at Seungcheol with something like dawning realisation.

He came back for me.

The King narrows his eyes.

“How noble of you,” he says, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You who fled in the dead of night like a coward. Who let your blood brother be imprisoned while you wandered free. You think claiming responsibility now will wash you clean?”

The King sneers. “There is no redemption for you, Seungcheol. You’ve already chosen your fate.”

Then he lifts a hand. “Release the prince.”

A pair of guards move to Joshua’s side. The chains fall from his wrists with a dull clatter, and for a moment, Joshua just stands there, stunned.

Then he sees you.

He sees the clothes you wear—still half-pirate, half-Seungcheol’s. He sees the tears on your cheeks. The way your entire soul seems pinned to the man at the block.

He smiles sadly.

The guards seize Seungcheol again, forcing him to kneel.

Your breath hitches violently as they press his chest against the worn wood of the chopping block.

The executioner steps forward, masked and silent, a massive blade in his gloved hands.

The King raises his voice for the final time.

“Seungcheol, former captain of The Chimera, for the crimes of treason, betrayal, and sacrilege against the Twelve Cities, you are hereby sentenced to death.”

Seungcheol closes his eyes as the executioner lifts the blade.

The blade is coming down.

Chan grips your shoulder. Mingyu holds your waist tighter. You bury your face into Soonyoung’s chest, unable to look.

But then— a sound like thunder.

You open your eyes just in time to see it — the blade, fractured mid-air, split into a thousand pieces. The metal clatters uselessly across the stone. The executioner stumbles back, horrified.

Suddenly, the smoke comes. It spills over the steps, hissing as it touches the ground. Shadows twist in unnatural shapes. She steps from it.

Cordia.

Seungcheol stumbles to his feet, eyes locked on her as the guards around him recoil in instinctive terror.

“Cordia,” he breathes. Her lips curl into a smile, sharp as a blade.

“Well, well,” she purrs, circling him. “So it worked. A last-second rescue. Just in time for the drama. Quite the scene, wouldn’t you say?”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. “Why are you here?”

“Why?” she echoes, spinning lightly until she perches on the wooden base of the executioner’s platform. Her fingers steeple together. “Because, unfortunately for me, you held up your end of the bargain.”

He stiffens.

“You came,” she continues, teeth gleaming. “You fulfilled your impossible task. And now, by the rules of the oath I made to you in that wretched cell, I have to keep my word.”

Seungcheol’s eyes flicker downward—to the faint, glowing cross on her chest. The mark. The promise.

His mouth parts slightly. Realisation dawning. “You can’t let them kill me.”

Cordia scowls, her lips thinning into a vicious sneer. “No, pirate, I can’t.”

The silence is deafening.

Cordia stands, flinging her arms open as black smoke bursts from the ground around her, swirling once, twice — and then condensing.

The Book of Peace.

Floating in the air like it was never lost.

Gasps echo through the square. Even the Kings are on their feet now.

Cordia glares at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol lifts his chin, watching her.

“Do you have any idea how close I came?” she spits. “One more day. One more lie. One more little betrayal, and the cities would’ve crumbled like dominoes. Syracuse would’ve fallen. Joshua would be dead. And you? You’d be just another pirate with blood on his hands and no compass to guide him.”

Her eyes flick to you in the crowd, narrowing.

“But no,” she says, quieter now. “You had to change. For her.”

Seungcheol takes a step forward slowly.

“And now you’re here,” he replies, eyes never leaving hers. “Because a promise is a promise.”

Cordia’s head tilts. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re no hero. You still betrayed your friend. You stole his future. You might not have stolen the Book, but you took her.”

Her hand sweeps toward the crowd, towards you.

Seungcheol’s gaze snaps to where you stand.

You don’t need to speak. Everything you need to say is in your eyes.

Cordia snarls. “You’re no different than me, Captain. Just another liar clutching at something that doesn’t belong to him.”

Seungcheol turns back to her, a small, tired smile curving his lips.

“You know,” he says softly, “I think this might be the first time I’ve ever beaten someone like you.”

Cordia freezes.

“I survived your challenges. I entered Tartarus. I gave up the girl. I faced the blade. And here I stand,” he murmurs. “Looks like I outplayed you.”

Her eyes flash. But she knows. The mark glows brighter now, a divine seal binding her to her word. With a snarl of fury, the smoke whips around her again, and the Book floats forward.

Seungcheol’s arm reaches out, his fingers wrapping around it just before it drops. Cordia’s eyes are pure fire. “Enjoy your little victory, pirate. I’ll get my chaos somewhere else.”

And in one last swirl of smoke — she’s gone.

The silence that follows is absolute.

Then Seungcheol turns. Joshua, still nearby, approaches slowly.

Seungcheol looks at the Book in his hands, then at him.

“It’s yours,” he says, extending it.

Joshua takes it carefully, his expression unreadable.

There’s a long moment where he just stares at it, running a thumb over its carved edge. Then he glances back at Seungcheol.

“You got your treasure back,” Seungcheol says, trying for a smirk, but it lands crooked. Joshua looks past him—to you, before turning his gaze back to him.

“Looks like you found some, too,” Joshua replies quietly.

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. He looks down, overwhelmed.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For believing in me.”

Joshua only nods. “It’s the least I could do.”

Seungcheol glances at the artefact. “Use it well,” he murmurs. “When you become king someday… make it worth something.”

Joshua’s grip tightens. Then, with a breath, he steps forward and opens the Book.

The light explodes. Blinding, radiant, pure.

It pours over the city like a tide, driving out the shadow, painting stone and sky in colours so vibrant it feels like the first day of creation. The clouds scatter. The sun returns. Flowers bloom in cracks along the walls.

And all you can do is stare as the world comes back to life.

And the man who saved it stands at the centre of it all.

The Chimera sways gently in the harbour of Syracuse, her sails rolled tight and her hull gleaming with a fresh coat of tar. Dockhands and palace servants had swarmed the ship earlier that morning, unloading barrels of salted meat, crates of fruit and wine, bundles of new linens, and enough gold to make a dragon blush.

The King of Syracuse, for all his pride and disdain, had come through in the end—Joshua made sure of it. A debt repaid in coin, jewels, and an official pardon carved into parchment and sealed in royal wax.

Seungcheol walks across the deck with sure, measured steps, hands tucked behind his back as he surveys his men and his ship. He’s never seen her look better. The wood gleams, the ropes are neatly coiled, and his crew is laughing. Alive.

Mingyu leans lazily against the helm, tossing a peeled orange slice into Chan’s open mouth. Soonyoung is checking the tension in the sails with exaggerated flair, and Wonwoo—unsurprisingly—is sitting cross-legged near the gunwale, rereading a book they all swore he’d already memorized.

“Oi, Chan!” Seungcheol calls, pointing to the uneven crates. “If you stack that any higher, you’re going overboard with them.”

“Relax, hyung!” Chan chirps. “I tied them.”

“Like you tied the dinghy last time, and it floated off?”

Laughter echoes. Soonyoung snickers while Mingyu shakes his head, lounging smugly.

Just as Seungcheol opens his mouth to continue scolding, something thunks heavily onto his head.

He flinches, already turning with a scowl. “Minghao! I thought I told you—”

“Wasn’t me, Captain,” Minghao replies from near the foremast, barely glancing up from his map as he smiles. “Try higher.”

Seungcheol squints and cranes his head back.

Up in the crow’s nest, a familiar silhouette grins down at him, hair tousled by the wind, one arm looped around the mast. Your shirt’s tucked in lopsided, and your boots have seen better days, but you’ve never looked better.

“Thought you might need someone competent keeping lookout,” You call.

Seungcheol’s face breaks into a full smile, sunlight warming every line. “That so?”

Before he can say anything else, you swing effortlessly down the ropes. You land squarely in front of him with a thud and a slight bounce, and before he can even steady himself, you jump up in his arms.

He catches you easily, hands firm around your waist. “You always make an entrance,” he murmurs.

You smirk, hooking your arms around his neck. “You always look like you need one.”

He laughs, leaning in close. “You think you’re ready to join my crew, sweetheart?”

“That depends,” you tease, pressing closer. “What are the dangers of sailing with the infamous Captain Choi?”

“Oh, let’s see,” Seungcheol hums, trailing his hands up your back. “Terrible food. Terrifying storms. Occasional gods of chaos. And a captain who gets distracted by pretty girls in crow’s nests.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“Unforgiving waters.”

“I’m a strong swimmer.”

“Unruly crew.”

“I’ll whip them into shape.”

Seungcheol grins, pulling you flush against him. “You’re hired.” Your eyes sparkle. “That easy?” He leans in, voice low. “I’ve seen what you can do.”

Your lips meet before another word can be said—slow, smiling, deep. The kiss is full of promise and freedom and all the things you haven’t had a name for yet, not until he almost died. Around you, the crew lets out a round of whooping cheers.

Chan whoops the loudest. “About damn time!”

Soonyoung claps his hands. “So, when’s the wedding?”

Mingyu shouts down from the helm, cutting through the noise, “Alright, Captain! Where to now?”

Seungcheol looks down at you, arms still around your waist.

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “I thought we were going to Fiji?”

Seungcheol raises a brow. “Fiji’s nice...”

“But?”

He smirks. “What about another adventure instead?”

You don’t even hesitate.

“I say lead the way, Captain.”

A/N: Another idea I've had in my head for a very long time. Took a bit longer to write but I'm really proud of it. Thank you to those who joined in the poll and chose Seungcheol as the MMC. Hope you enjoy! 💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

“alright everyone! that's a wrap!” the dance instructor clapped their hands. the boys sank down onto the wood flooring, sweaty and exhausted from the intense practice session

water bottle caps pop open. the sounds of gasping breaths and “ah!” surround the dance room as the boys gulp down their waters, wiping the sweat off their brows with their shirts or towels

comeback season is just around the corner, which means lots and lots of preparation, which also means, felix is spending more and more time away from you.

felix hates it; being away from you for so long in terms of his time being so short and limited, that video calls are rare and late replies are the new norm. it helps that you're understanding, however, the past week he's been feeling very agitated and short tempered. 

“are you pent up, lix?” changbin joked, leaning against the floor to ceiling mirrors as he watches felix gulp water down to quench his thirst, brows furrowed together in the middle.

felix doesn't answer, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking.

pent up? him? there’s no way, right? he certainly doesn't feel pent up. a little agitated and short tempered, sure, but he put that down to being overworked and preparing for the comeback.

“funny.” he finally answers with a sigh and a tone that borders on sarcasm. changbin looks at chan who shrugs.

later that evening, felix is back at home, freshly showered. water droplets drip from the ends of his hair and down his toned body, disappearing under the fabric of the thick, white towel that’s around his waist. he looks at the clock and groans to himself before looking at his phone.

a new message of you, 4 hours ago. something heavy drops into his stomach. he feels bad, guilty, that he can't be consistent right now. he knows you're understanding and, for some reason, that doesn't make him feel any better.

felix throws his phone on the bed. it lands with a soft thump and a small bounce. he drops his towel, lets it pool at the ankles before stepping out and grabbing a clean pain of black boxer shorts. he slides the fabric up his legs and snaps the band against his hips.

he runs his fingers through his hair slowly, hangs the towel up to dry before sitting on the bed, awaiting for your message to tell him that you're ready.

his phone pings after five minutes and he instantly calls you. he waits, listens to one, then two, then three rings before the line connects 

“felix!” your voice, cheerful as ever, tickles his ear. he grits his jaw slightly. 

“hi, my sweet angel!” felix hums softly down the receiver. his heart swells when you giggle. he can practically see the blush on your cheeks. “no face time?” he asks softly.

“ah!” you hum, resting your phone between your ear and shoulder, “i’m a little busy right now. i’m getting things in order for tomorrow, so i can't really face time right now. sorry, lix.” 

felix pouts and holds back a small, disappointed sigh “it's ok. I understand. but next time, i have to see your face, ok?” he says, lightly teasing you. you laugh softly and nod, even though he can't see. 

“yes, yes. i understand.” you draw out, pairing it with a soft giggle. “sooo, how was practice?” 

felix flops down on the bed, sighing heavily. his body sinks into the sheets, practically melting, as his tired muscles groan. felix talks about the practice. talks about how each comeback gets harder and harder with all the new (and crazy) dance moves. he mentions his back and how it's been causing him pain lately.

“felix.” your tone turning into a light scold. “you have to be careful!” 

“yeah, i know.” he sighs softly, “and i do try. but i sometimes forget, y’know.” 

you sigh softly and roll your eyes. in the background, felix can hear movement down the receiver. the subtle sound of the bathroom light flickering on. the rustling of fabric and the sound of a packet of wipes opening up.

“whatcha doing?” felix asks after a brief moment of comfortable silence.

“taking off my make-up.” you say, wiping your eyes clean from eyeliner and mascara. your voice echoing a little in the bathroom. felix hums softly and closes his eyes, arms behind his head on the plush pillow

he starts to think, imagine, you in the bathroom, stepping out of the shower. body slick with water, thick towel around your body. he shifts a little, heat pooling in his gut slowly. 

he ignores it. 

“tell me about your day, babe.” felix says, voice thick. he needs a distraction. needs to stop thinking about you in such a lewd way. he listens to you chatter about your day, your voice light and excited.

but it only fuels the heat sitting in the pit of his stomach. he clenches his jaw, eyes still closed and the words of changbin “are you pent up?” ring in his mind once again

“fuck, maybe i am pent up..” felix mumbles to himself. you hum a little and felix clears his voice, “oh, nothing. don't worry about it, babe. just keep talking.” 

he rests his phone on the pillow by his face. he listens to you but he also imagines you. his mind thinking of dirty, lewd scenarios of you as he listens. he feels guilty but, he needs some sort of relief. he listens to you talk. he tries to ignore the heat that's coiling at the base of his spine

and then you laugh. that sweet, angelic laugh midway through your sentence and he feels it. his cock twitches in his underwear and he grits his teeth.

he can't ignore it no more. his hand slides down his chest and abdomen, stopping at the band of his underwear. he sucks in a breath, his fingers dancing along the outline of his shaft. he palms himself slowly, drawing out the pleasure with the heel of his hand. he rubs his hand along his shaft, the rough fabric creating some sort of friction but it's not enough.

he twitches again. a wet patch forming where the head of his cock sits. it grows with everything second he spends listening to your voice. when the burn gets too much, when his hips start to thrust up off the sheets and into the air, does he finally pull down his underwear.

his cock springs free from the restraints, hard, heavy and thick, curving slightly to the left. the tip an angry red, glistening in precum and veins bulging from the sides. “jesus..” he mumbles to himself. with each syllable you speak, his cock twitches and leaks more and more. 

he wraps his hand around the base, shuddering at the contact and letting out a small breath through his teeth. his eyes close slowly as he moves his hand, wrist rotating at the tip. his thumb presses into his slit, collecting and smearing the precum.

his hand moves faster and faster, chasing that high. his back arches a little off the mattress, his toes curling against the sheets. he holds back the moans, partly feeling guilty for using your voice as jerk off material. 

“lix? you still there?” you ask softly when felix doesn't reply to a question. his eyes snap open and he clears his throat, trying to make himself sound as normal as possible.

“yeah!” his voice cracks before he clears it again, “yeah, i’m good.” 

“you sure? you haven't spoken for a while.” 

“a hundred percent, babe. just listening to you talk, that's all.” he isn't lying, he just leaves out the point where he is jerking off to your voice. “besides, your days sound much more interesting than mine.”

“mhm, i’m not so sure about that.” you laugh softly. felix laughs as well as a response. the more he strokes himself, the more he feels the heat pool and hug his spine and gut but he can't. 

he's so used to having you with him, feeling you, hearing you and tasting you, that trying to reach peak on his own has become hard. 

he grits his teeth, becoming frustrated. he wants to, he needs to. his hand squeezes his base. his free hand frantically massaging his heavy balls and using the palm to create friction on his sensitive tip.

his bottom lip catches between his teeth, biting down hard on frustration. he's about to give up, say fuck it and go to bed until you say those three words:

“i love you.” 

he freezes slightly. his body coils. his eyes widen and he pants heavily. his hand moves faster as those words ring around in his head. he turns his head to the side where his phone rests and he breathes down the phone

“say it again.” he pants, not bothering to hide it any more. 

“i love you.” you repeat, sweeter this time. felix shudders, his eyes squeeze shut and finally the coil snaps.

his cock twitches in his hand as he releases hot, thick splurts of cum onto his chest. his breath stutters. his body tensing and muscles locking up with each release. he slowly strokes himself to help ride out the high and to help calm himself down. once calm, his eyes close and his body feels heavy but he feels refreshed. 

Smut Warnings: masturbation, sexual fantasies, riding, slight (if you squint) corruption kink, sliGHT breeding kink, unprotected sex (DONT DO THIS unless you discuss safely outside of sex!), breast play, overstimulation, undiscussed kinks (yn is fine with it. but discuss your fucking kinks guys *gun emoji*), slight cumplay

thank u to @pyeonghongrie and @mingsolo for beta'ing and for the title hehe <3 this is also a collab with @potatomountain who is also writing a dilf hwa (Bittersweet Neighbours), we're just on two sides of the spectrum lol...and this is so damn long

-

“Hello, I’m here for a babysitter interview with a Mr Park?”

“That would be me. Miss (Y/N)?”

When you answered the ad in the newspaper about babysitting, you were so ready to see an older man, around his fifties. But this man looked so young, around his late twenties although you’re sure he’s probably forty. And you’re not one to judge—nearing your mid-twenties one wouldn’t be expecting you to still babysit as a full-time job. But it pays the bills and helps you get some hands-on experience in your degree, child development.

“Ah, yes. That’s me,” your words spill out as you realise he is awaiting an answer. Mentally, you berate yourself for the immediate blunder while Mr Park’s eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Come on in and make yourself comfy on the couch. I’ll be right there. Would you like anything to drink?” Mr Park’s voice is smooth like butter and you have a hard time making sure you don’t get lost in it.

Again, you nod, actual wordy responses jumbled in your brain, walking to the couch and sitting down almost mechanically. If you were mentally present, you would have noticed the smile the older man sends your way.

He doesn’t take too long, returning with two glasses of water. “You didn’t say what you wanted to drink so I just got you water. Is that okay?”

Thankfully, you finally can respond coherently and smile, albeit a little shakily. “Yes, thank you so much.”

You take the glass with both hands, thanking him again quietly and taking a small sip before just holding it as you wait for him to be seated. You’ve felt awkward before, but this is a new extreme. Normally you pride yourself on keeping your cool in front of someone you think is hot, but Mr Park…he’s something else. You try your best to keep your eyes trained on the coffee table, only letting yourself glance at him occasionally so he doesn’t realise just how in awe you are.

“Jihee will be home from school soon, so you’ll see her soon. For now it’ll just be old me and my questions,” Mr Park starts his interview as soon as he sits on the couch across from you. “Now, I saw in your application that your major was in child development? Can I ask why that interested you?”

You blink at him for a moment, not expecting that question. Sure, bringing it up was expected, but the way he sounds like he’s interviewing you for a position in a company amuses you. “Uh…I just grew up with a lot of siblings and their kids. I’m the youngest of six, and the oldest is sixteen years older than me so I have a lot of nieces and nephews as well. Children have always been a part of my life, and my first job was babysitting so it’s something I’m very used to. Child development was just a way for me to learn even more and in a less… hands-on way. Poopy diapers are not my favourite.” You pause. “Not that I can’t change them! Or that Jihee uses them. Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

You’re so sure your face is bright red right now as you stumble over your words, and you’re ready to be kicked out, but all Mr Park does instead is laugh at your embarrassment. It’s a little mean but it’s better than your worst conclusion so you’ll take it. “It’s okay,” Mr Park smiles at you. “It’s okay to ramble, it was actually quite amusing. Now, I’d just like to warn you, Jihee has trouble with working on schoolwork. While that usually isn’t an issue, she may be asking you to help her with her homework and reading and I just thought I’d give you a heads up. Would that cause any trouble?”

“It wouldn’t bother me, and I’ll try my best. I took children’s education in college as well so it’d be a good time for me to exercise that,” you laugh quietly. Your first dream was to be a governess, no matter how few jobs there are for that type of work.

Mr Park nods thoughtfully. “Glad to give you some experience in that,” he hums after careful consideration, a smile on his face. “Her struggles lie in understanding the problems and in English. If she faces any difficulty then I can always help out.”

Before either of you continues speaking, his watch beeps and he glances down. Without another word, he stands and goes to open the front door. “Uh–” Your confusion escapes you before you can stop it.

“Oh, Jihee’s almost home and I always leave the door open for her,” he explains, eyes still trained on his watch. “You’ll get to meet her, and then we can discuss more details. And just to reiterate the ad, this is going to be a job that requires a lot of hours. I, of course, will be paying you for any sort of overtime if I need to stay at the office later. Does your schedule still allow for that?”

You hold back your smile. Your schedule mostly consists of scrolling the internet for job opportunities and eating lunch with your friends. “Yes, I can do that,” you affirm. “I’ll need holidays off, but I assume that’s a given as you’ll also be with Jihee?”

A smile pulls at the corner of Mr Park’s mouth. “Very astute,” he chuckles. “Now, here she comes.”

The door swings open without another word from either of you and a little girl dressed in pink and ribbons barrels into Mr Park’s knees. He lets out a quiet grunt, stabilising himself against the door as his hand strokes at her hair. “Hello, Jihee,” he hums fondly. "How was school today?"

The young girl beams up at her father. "So fun!" she grins, her words slightly slurred in her excitement. "Today, Mrs Lee had us do shapes and my favourite colour is blue now! I have so many blue crayons."

Mr Park's eyebrow raises at the mention of crayons. "Do you have them with you?" he asks, and Jihee nods vigorously. "Can I see them?"

Another nod comes from the child and she immediately plops on the floor, pulling out her pencil case and opening it to reveal at least ten crayons, all of varying sizes. What stands out to you the most is that half of them are green. "See! All blue. But this one's my favourite." She grabs at a particularly long and skinny one, a shade of emerald green.

"Ah. Lovey, remember, your colours are a little different, right?" Mr Park talks in a gentle voice, very different from the very adult voice he used with you. "That's a green crayon."

Jihee's face drops. "Oh." Her bottom lip juts out in a pout.

Mr Park holds out his hand and Jihee drops the crayon into his palm. "You can't take the crayons from school anyway, dear. Why don't we leave these in your bag and you can give them back and apologise to Mrs Lee tomorrow?"

Jihee's pout grows bigger but she nods. "Okay, daddy," she agrees and Mr Park nods proudly.

"Now, do you want to meet your new friend?" You flinch as Mr Park mentions you, sitting up straighter in your chair before ultimately deciding to stand instead.

"Hi, Jihee," you do your best to speak with the same quiet tone Mr Park used. "I'm (Y/N)! It's nice to meet you."

You offer your hand for her to shake and Jihee looks at you, her thinking face almost a spitting image of her father's before she walks over and takes your hand with gusto. "Hi, Mrs (Y/N).”

"Ah, I'm not a Mrs," you correct her. "You can call me (Y/N)."

"Miss (Y/N)," Mr Park quietly interrupts and you nod, not wanting to override his parenting although being called 'miss' will catch you off-guard for the time being. "Why don't you tell her one thing about yourself and then Miss (Y/N) has to go, okay?"

Jihee's mouth twists in sadness, her hand still gripping yours. "Okay," she sighs again. "I get to talk to her more later though, right?"

Mr Park nods. "Of course. Miss (Y/N) will be spending a lot of time with you, so I'm glad you like her."

Jihee nods solemnly. "I like pretty people and you're super pretty," she tells you earnestly and your heart swells at the compliment.

“Thank you, Jihee,” you thank her genuinely, although you’re amused at the fact that she considers her appreciation for physical looks a good introduction to herself. “It was nice to meet you.”

With another decisive nod, Jihee turns and marches right off down the hall, presumably to her room. Mr Park turns to you, finally shutting his front door with a sigh. “That was Jihee. Ball of energy extraordinaire. She comes home from school at one-thirty, and will put her own things away before coming to eat a snack. She has one worksheet to do a day but with your help she’ll get it fairy quickly. I’ll email you a list of house rules.”

You nod. “That sounds perfect. What would the schedule look like? What time would I be here, and when would I expect you to come home?”

Mr Park hums, running a hand through his perfect hair. “For her school days, I’d like to have you in here maybe ten minutes before she comes. I’ll always leave her snack in the fridge and you can just pop it in the microwave and make yourself comfortable before she comes barrelling in. Then I’ll be home at five-thirty sharp whenever possible. Every other Saturday I’m in the office for eight hours and you’ll be watching Jihee for those days. If you can’t do a Saturday, just let me know so I can get someone to watch her, but generally I’d like you here from eight to five.”

You nod. All your friends have atypical work schedules so your Saturdays are empty in general, and since the weekdays are shorter hours you don’t mind. “When it comes to after-school playdates, should I expect you to be home or would you like me to take care of them?”

Mr Park’s lips tighten almost imperceptibly. “That won’t be an issue. Jihee doesn’t do playdates.” Your curiosity spikes at his short answer but his tone leaves no room for discussion so you don’t press it. “I’ll give you a key now. Tomorrow is my off-Saturday but if you can come in just to adjust yourself that would be great. I have some work to get done anyway so I’ll be mostly out of your hair although you can still ask me questions.”

You nod again. “Yeah, that works,” you confirm after a quick check to your phone calendar. When you look up, Mr Park is already holding out a key and you take it after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Mr Park nods, moving to open the door when Jihee calls out with a whining tone to her voice. “Daddy, I need help!”

Mr Park sighs but it’s full of affection for his daughter. “I would walk you to your car but she calls for me,” his head dips into an apologetic bow but you shake your head.

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile at him. “There’s no need for that at all.” That is one of the main reasons, but another part of you doesn’t want him to know you have no car and you take the bus to his neighbourhood and then walk the rest of the way.

A twenty-four-year-old with no car? It’s a little embarrassing, especially in the area you both live in where it’s almost required to have a car to do anything. Generally, your babysitting jobs were close enough to your home, but the salary of this job enticed you to give up walking.

As you exit, you can hear Jihee starting off her complaints about her jacket and you smile to yourself subconsciously.

-

You’ve been working with the Parks for almost a month now and generally, it’s a good time. You only really see Mr Park when he comes home, but by then you have one foot out the door. There are days when he looks so beaten down that you want to offer him some encouragement, but you don’t want to step out of your boundaries. So, you just keep your head down and leave.

Jihee is sweet and easy-going, not hard for you to get along with. She always has some sort of fun idea for you to play along with and her schoolwork hasn’t been too terrible although you dread when she starts getting into more difficult maths.

But today, as soon as Jihee walks into the door, you suspect something is wrong. She doesn’t greet you as excitedly as she used to, just stalking straight into her bedroom and coming right now, settling herself down on the couch with a pout on her face.

“Jihee, don’t you want to eat?” you try to coax her to the dinner table, but she just shakes her head, immobile. You frown. It’s strange for the usually talkative child to be this closed off. “Did something happen at school?”

Jihee glares at the coffee table, shaking her head. “No,” she mutters but her cold-stone facade drops immediately as she suddenly bursts into tears. Your heart drops for the child crying on your couch and you immediately run to her and pull her into your arms. “Why don’t they like me?” she wails into your shirt and your heart drops.

You had suspected it when Mr Park shut down the playdate idea very quickly, but this just solidifies your thoughts. How could the kids at school not like such a sweet kid? As you’ve been working for the Parks for quite a bit now, you’ve grown to adore the young girl like she was one of your own nieces.

You don’t say anything just yet, just patting her hair and doing your best to calm her down. It takes almost an hour but now she just curls up in your arms, her hands gripping your shirt as she’s so close to falling asleep. You don’t have the heart to wake up so you resign yourself to letting her sleep on you for now.

Within ten minutes, you fall asleep as well. It’s not what you meant to do, but you couldn’t have stopped yourself. When your eyes open again, Jihee is no longer in your arms and there’s a large fluffy blanket laid on top of you. You blink yourself awake before panic sets in and you shoot up, looking around. “Jihee?” you call out and hear deep laughter behind you. When your head snaps back you see Mr Park chuckling at your face.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Miss (Y/N).”

It takes a minute for your words to register, blinking stupidly at your employer for a few moments before your face drops and you practically leap off the couch. “I’m so sorry!” you cry, bowing rapidly at a low angle. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep and it won’t happen again.”

You keep your eyes lowered and you look up at him through your lashes, scared of how he’ll react but to your surprise, Mr Park’s smile grows and he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, you looked comfortable and the doors were locked. Jihee didn’t get into any trouble, just was a little bored since you were asleep.”

You shake your head. “Regardless, I shouldn’t sleep on the job but thank you for the kindness. Jihee is very responsible for her age and it certainly reflects on your parenting.” You smile back at him.

“Well, thank you for your kind words. It means a lot to me as well,” Mr Park hums. “Would you like to join us for dinner? I know you usually leave around the time I get back but let me at least feed you before you go.”

You frown. “I’d like to, but I should get going,” you say absentmindedly. “I have to make it in time to catch the bus.”

You’re looking around, trying to gather your belongings, when you realise how silent Mr Park is. And in turn, you realise what you just said. “You take the bus?” His voice lowers and you stare at the look of concern he has on his face. “It’s practically dark by the time you leave and you’re walking to the bus stop by yourself?”

“Ah– it’s okay! It’s not a far walk, just up the street.” You hurry to defend your choices, waving your hands. “I’ve gotten home safe so far, no?”

Mr Park shakes his head. “No, you can’t take chances. I’ll drive you home tonight after dinner. You must stay.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes, but his stance is unwavering. And as much as you would usually protest—being taken home by a much older man would usually ring alarms in your head—the idea of not having to wait in the cold and the dark by yourself is very appealing. And from how you’ve interacted with him before, Mr Park seems very sweet, and you trust him just a little more than you probably should.

“Well, I do thank you for your kindness,” you sigh, nodding your head in concession. “But this will be the only time.”

Mr Park chuckles, not taking you seriously. “We’ll see. Now come on. Tonight is beef stew and my younger brother will come for dinner as well.”

“Uncle Uyu is coming?” You can hear Jihee’s excited voice coming from the kitchen as well as her feet pittering on the floor as she launches herself into your lap. “Hi again, Miss (Y/N).”

“Hello again, Miss Jihee,” you tease, pressing the tip of your finger to her forehead and Jihee giggles.

“Are you staying for dinner?” You nod again and she screeches in happiness, not giving a second glance at how you wince at the sound. “I can’t wait! I have to make you pretty! Come with me.”

With as much seriousness as she can muster in her body, she pulls you by the hand into her room as Mr Park watches the two of you with a soft smile and follows the two of you into Jihee’s room. He takes a seat on the bed as Jihee fusses over your hair, styling it with her toddler's hands and putting an obscene amount of hair clips into it. But you’re whipped for the little girl and you let her do whatever she wants, ending up in two uneven pigtails and a plethora of Hello Kitty clips.

“Daddy, isn’t it pretty?” Jihee giggles, moving your head to tilt so her father can take a look at her work. “It’s better than your hair to practice!”

Mr Park, mock-affronted, holds his hand to his chest. “Betrayed by my own daughter? Alas, but I can let it slide as this may very well be your best work.”

Jihee giggles, pressing her face against your cheek when the doorbell rings. “Uncle Uyu!” As always, her focus is diverted by any new thing and she runs for the door, both you and Mr Park following shortly after. As she yanks the door open, a man around Seonghwa’s age greets her just as excitedly, bending down to pick her up and spin her around.

“Jiji,” he cheers, “Already so big?” His eyes find you and you offer a small wave. “And who’s this? Seonghwa, you found a girl?”

Mr Park’s jaw drops and your eyes widen as you rush to contradict. “Oh, no, no, I’m just the babysitter. Mr Park has kindly invited me for dinner.”

Wooyoung chuckles at the look on both your faces. “Don’t worry, I just like to pull on Seonghwa’s leg. You’re a little young for him too.”

You offer a smile. “Yeah, and the forties are a little out of my age range as well,” you try to joke, but to your surprise, Wooyoung breaks out cackling, startling Jihee who starts laughing with him confusedly. Mr Park’s shocked face has somehow become even more intense.

“You think I’m how old?” Wooyoung has reigned in his laughter although a smile still pulls at his lips. “I’m only thirty-four!”

A gasp made its way out of your mouth as you start bowing rapidly again in apology. “I’m so sorry! You look your age, I just assumed you had to be older.”

Mr Park sighs, although an amused smile now graces his face. “It’s okay, I can understand it. I’ll just be giving you a hard time from now on.” He punctuates with a wink and your eyes snap down to Jihee in embarrassment.

“Let’s get on with dinner so I can go home and just melt in embarrassment, okay?” you groan and the two older men laugh. Jihee seems to agree with your sentiment, declaring her hunger grumpily and you laugh and pick her up. “See, even Jihee’s on my side. Let’s eat now.”

Mr Park hums, stepping aside. “All right, I see I’m outnumbered now. I hope you don’t mind how casual this dinner is, but I promise the food is worth it. Wooyoung’s the better cook, but he’s taught me a few tricks.”

You shrug. “Any food is good food to me. At home, I have instant ramen and fried rice so it’s a nice change.”

Out of disapproval, Mr Park shakes his head although the smile does not leave his face. “I do not miss my college diet. Please, take a seat.” He motions to the dinner table, pulling out a chair for you to seat yourself, sitting beside you as Wooyoung and Jihee join the other side of the table.

“So, tell me about yourself (Y/N),” Wooyoung hums, leaning on the table by his elbows. “You’re in college?”

You shake your head. “I graduated a year and a half ago, I’m twenty-four now, but it feels like just yesterday I was taking my finals,” you chuckle. “What was your major, Mr Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung smiled, “Please, call me Wooyoung. Mr Wooyoung just sounds weird. But to answer your question, my major was culinary, of course. Before I taught Hwa how to cook, he was hopeless. I think I was feeding him and Jihee primarily other than his sandwiches and canned soup.” He sighs, leaning back and smirking at Mr Park whose ears are red.

“Hey, Youngah, I paid you for your work. Don’t make me seem incompetent,” Mr Park snorts, leaning over to smack the back of his neck. “Wooyoung may be eight years younger than me but he certainly acts like he’s five.”

You laugh at the banter. “Me and my siblings were the same way. We’d always fight but in the end, we care for each other. It’s sweet to see you guys act the same.” You smile, taking a bite of your stew. “Thank you for letting me sit in on your family dinner.”

Mr Park shakes his head. “Of course. Can’t let you walk on your own at night, you know. I’d be happy to give you a ride home from now on.”

“Ah, no, I can’t make you do that,” you try and decline again but Seonghwa is having none of that.

“It’s not a matter of making me, I offered. I can’t let my babysitter just stand around in the dark. Let me do this for you. Jihee cares for you, she wouldn’t want to make you get hurt.”

You frown, pursing your lips. “I suppose I can’t argue with that,” you concede. “Thank you once again.”

Mr Park shakes his head, his hand moving up to ruffle your hair. “Don’t worry about it.” His hand rests atop your head a moment longer before he remembers who he is in relation to you. “Ah, sorry. Habit from Jihee.”

The heartfelt moment is cut loose by everyone amused at Mr Park’s habit. Jihee immediately takes the initiative to start rambling about stickers, engrossing everyone in the conversation, Wooyoung being particularly vocal. The dinner is finished with no other events, and you offer to help clean up, ignoring Mr Park when he tries to protest.

“Thank you for helping out,” he tries to thank you but you wave your hand dismissively.

“You fed me and are driving me home. It’s the least I could do. Shall we head out though? I don’t want you to have to leave Jihee for too long.”

Mr Park nods, grabbing his keys and jangling them as he opens the door to the garage. You do your best to not show your surprise at the sight of his fancy car. Of course, you knew he was well off, but you never imagined you’d actually be sitting in his car. He even opens the door for you, letting you slide into the passenger seat.

You hold yourself stiffly, but Mr Park looks over and just laughs at you. “Relax, I’m not going to bite you. Just let me know where to go and we’ll be set. Want a piece of gum?”

He holds out a pack of gum and you gladly take the piece, happy for the distraction. Most of the car ride is silent, except for you telling him occasionally where to go. But as he pulls up to your street, he slows to a crawl.

“You know, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around.me. Sure, I’m your employer, but I’m also a dad. I got the dad instinct, you know?” Your lips twitch at his attempt to be comforting. “Really, though. Don’t hold yourself so tight around me. I don’t mind doing this for you.”

You turn your eyes down. “Thank you. I’ll try, it’s just a little weird for me if you understand. But I do appreciate everything you’re doing for me.” As you unbuckle your seatbelt, you smile at Mr Park. “I hope you have a good night.”

As you go to your apartment building, Mr Park leans out of his car and calls after you. “You can call me Seonghwa, (Y/N). Mr Park makes me feel old.”

You laugh at his admission. “We’ll see, grandpa!” You can’t help but tease him before running into your home, leaving an amused Seonghwa outside.

-

These days you and Seonghwa have become a lot more friendly. He’s taken to driving you home despite your protests and during the car rides, some interesting conversations have happened. For example, you learnt that he built his company from the ground and yet is respected in many old money circles.

Okay, maybe you didn’t learn that from a conversation, and instead just searched on the internet. But what can you say? You’re curious about the man who happens to be your charge’s father and the man who happens to be very very handsome.

Maybe you have a bit of a crush on Seonghwa, but you couldn’t blame yourself. There was something about him. It is the aura he holds himself with, the kindness in his smile when he arrives home, and it helps that he is hot. Every so often, you can’t help but find yourself glancing at his pretty hands, or his well-toned arms, and you have to look away before heat spreads up to your ears.

You’re down bad, and it’s not getting any better. Every time you see Seonghwa, you want to jump him but it would be inappropriate. Not only is he your employer, but he’s also a decade older than you. There’s no way he would be interested in you, he probably sees you just as some kid.

With a sigh, you look down at your sketchbook. Today was supposed to be a fun day. Both Jihee and Seonghwa were off today, so you were spending the day with her as Seonghwa was still called into the office to put in some extra hours. But then the toddler fell sick and you were tasked with taking care of her.

At least it was a fairly easy job—Jihee slept most of the day and you were free to work on some of your more personal projects. Although your passion lies in children, you do enjoy drawing and even took a couple of classes in college. As you lay on the couch sketching, you get so lost in your mind you don’t even register the door opening and the footsteps coming towards you.

“Is that me?”

A shriek rips its way out of your throat as you do your best to whirl around and hold your drawings to your chest, but your legs get caught in the blanket and you instead fall half off the couch to the ground. Your chin props your head up on the ground but your legs are still tangled on the couch, your arms twisted into the blanket, the sketchbook an arm’s reach away.

“Hi, Mr– Seonghwa. How was work today?” you mumble half into the carpet, too embarrassed to look up. “Jihee’s taking a nap in her room.”

After a moment of silence, Seonghwa laughs, although it’s a little pained. “Uh. Do you need help up?”

You groan, pulling one of your arms out from your cocoon prison. “That would be great, thanks. Sorry.”

One of his cool hands gently takes your elbow as another comes to rest on your back. It’s at the moment you realise your shirt has ridden up. You can’t help but tense at the touch, hoping the embarrassment doesn’t show on your face. “Jihee’s taking a nap?”

You’re grateful he chose to brush over the incident. “Yeah– yeah. She’s not much better, but she’s not much worse. It’s just a simple cold, so she needs to sleep it off.” You chose to ignore the hand lingering on the small of your back, instead scooching back on your butt to distance yourself just a little bit. He’s your employer, there’s no way you can give in to your feelings.

But the couch seems to be against your plans, as when you try to pull the blankets off your feet you tumble into Seonghwa’s legs, knocking him down as you land on his firm chest. Your face is mere centimetres away from his and you freeze. “I–” you stammer out, Seonghwa equally as awkward.

“Sorry–” He tries to sit up, but it just results in the blankets twisting tighter and pulling you two even closer together. You swear if you could hold your breath, you could feel and hear his heart beating. “Ah, shit.”

You can’t help but laugh a little at his profanity, not something you’ve ever expected to hear from him. “Welcome back, Seonghwa.”

Seognhwa’s eyes widen, his blush deepens, and his head snaps away from you. Your brows furrow at the change in his features and you can’t help but wonder if it’s from the proximity, or if it’s the proximity to you specifically. “Ah. Let’s get out of this, shall we?” he coughs. He carefully detangles himself from the pile and holds out a hand to you.

You grasp it, noting his firm grip and letting him pull you up. “Thanks.”

“I’ll drive you back to your apartment first since Jihee’s asleep right now. It won’t take long.” While Seonghwa’s voice remains warm, his eyes move away from you.

Suddenly a guilty feeling pools in your stomach and you turn away as well, bending to pick up your sketchbook silently. “Of course.” The disappointment fills your head as you internally admonish yourself for even trying to entertain your fantasies of the older man.

But, to your surprise, a warm hand pats you on your shoulder. “You are good at art, (Y/N). You should continue to pursue and practice it, even as just a hobby.” His words make you look up into his eyes and you see a sparkle behind them. “You’re a talented person, and you should take advantage of it.”

“Thank you, Seonghwa,” you smile at him again. “Once again, I appreciate the kindness you offer me.”

Seonghwa chuckles, spinning the car keys as you’ve quickly found out is his habit. “(Y/N), thank you for putting up with such an old man who can offer you nothing but kindness.”

You snort. “You’re not even that old, you geezer.” In retaliation, Seonghwa leans over and pokes you in the forehead.

“Oh, hush and let me take you home.”

-

It’s been almost six months since that day and your feelings have only intensified. But this time, you swear perhaps he may be returning your feelings too. Sometimes you catch him looking at you with a gentle smile, and his hand on your shoulder lingers a little longer than you think. But then he talks to an employee on the phone and you remember how accomplished he is. Even if he wasn’t much older than you, there’s no way you would fit into his lifestyle.

And, like any self-respecting person would do, you start to avoid him. What else are you going to do? Tell him? You’d be crazy to even entertain the thought. There’s no way he would even take you seriously.

These days you’ve just been going to work, and heading straight home. Seonghwa barely has time to catch you, and you’ve been plotting with Jihee to keep him away. She doesn’t quite understand why, but it’s fun to her so she’s happy to. You’re pretty sure half your wallet has gone to sticker sheets. But no matter how many stickers you’ve bought, it doesn’t help Seonghwa from figuring out something is amiss.

It’s your one day off and you’re spending it at home, lounging around and just watching movies while you sulk about your tangled feelings. Watching all these romantic movies doesn’t help at all and you groan. There’s no way you’re going to act like a lonely teenager, you declare to yourself. You’ll go to a club! Maybe meet someone closer to your age and you won’t feel like a wet sock anymore.

That’s it, you’ve convinced yourself. You’ll give yourself a night out. Suddenly inspired, you throw off the blankets covering you and start donning your nicest clothes. There’s a club you used to frequent in your college days, and you haven’t been back since you got the new job. It’d be nice to let loose again.

As the nighttime approaches, you’re almost all ready to go. You have your outfit and your makeup, and all you need is your shoes. Once you pick out your favourite pair of heels (comfy and not too high), you make your way down. You can feel the excitement pounding out of your chest and you can’t wait to get the night started.

As you enter the club, your body immediately relaxes as you take in the atmosphere. It’s been so long, you’re just excited to have fun. Get drunk, find a nice guy, and forget your problems. You down drink after drink, hyping yourself up, but as late night comes, nothing happens. With a sigh, you plunk down your last drink, feeling the buzz of the alcohol burn in your veins.

Nothing will happen tonight, and you just have to come to terms with it. You place down a couple of bills to pay off your tab, tip, and stumble out of the bar. You’re plastered. You can hardly walk in a straight line and you lean against the cool brick for a minute, letting the sensation sober you up a bit as you do your best to call up a taxi.

But before you can do so, a hand creeps onto your bare waist and your head snaps up to see a man, no younger than fifty, leering at you. “Uh, hi?” you slur out, your hands fiddling with your phone as you try and discreetly move to the phone app. You may be plastered, but you’re not a fool and you know what could happen in this situation.

Unfortunately, the old man seems to know what you’re trying and he grabs one of your wrists. “Now, pretty lady, take a break there. Why don’t you come hang out with me for a bit?” His words are greasy and slimy, and you almost gag at the idea of what he’s insinuating. At least Seonghwa isn’t triple your age…and he’s hot.

“Ah, no thanks,” you manage to push past him, pressing your most recent contact and holding the phone to your ear. “I’m a little uh…” You’re cut off when whoever you call starts speaking.

“(Y/N)? Why are you calling me? It’s nine.” Seonghwa’s voice crackles through the receiver. “Are you okay?”

“Ah, shit,” you groan, stumbling to your side and colliding with the wall. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you. I’m just out and–”

Once again, the old man approaches you and pulls you back by the waist. “Come on, pretty. Get off the phone and pay attention to me.”

You shake your head and pull away again, moving even more down the street. “No, no, I’m not– just leave me alone. I want to go home,” you say, shaking your head, still holding the phone to your face. “Just…I wanna go home.”

“(Y/N), are you okay? Where are you?” You can hear the worry in Seonghwa’s voice rise and a faint jingling of keys. “I’m going to get you. Wooyoung’s here so he can watch Jihee. Talk to me, (Y/N).”

“I’m at the club Desire. Or near it. I don’t know.” Your head is muddled and no matter where you look, the street signs are blurring and the old man is still trying to get your attention. “I just want to go home,” you repeat, tears springing to your eyes. “I thought I told you to leave me alone!”

The old man growls at your tone, grabbing at you again. “Don’t be stupid, child. You can come home with me and I’ll teach you how to be proper for a man like you.” His breath reeks of alcohol and bad breath and you instinctively slap him across the face. Surprised, he jerks back, and you take a couple of shaky steps back again.

“Leave me be! I don’t want you near me.”

The old man’s eyes narrow at you and he takes one menacing step forward, his hand raising to strike you but you bring up your arms to block the slap, whimpering in pain when the hit lands and your phone clatters out of your hand. “You insolent child!” Your eyes squeeze shut and you hope Seonghwa gets there soon.

-

Seonghwa has never driven so fast in his life. He’s racing through the lights and he counts his lucky stars that they’re all green and that the police aren’t around right now. He can hear arguing coming from his phone and he’s calm enough knowing you’re at least still on the phone. But then he hears a noise and what he assumes to be your phone falling on the ground. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself. “Please, please be okay, (Y/N).”

Stepping on the gas, he roars around the corner to the club you mentioned, praying you’re still there. As he gets out, he’s looking around but can’t seem to find you. “(Y/N)?” he calls out. “Where are you?”

He races down the street to find you pinned against the wall, your hands attempting to push an old geezer away and he sees red. He marches right up, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from your shaking figure. “Fuck off,” he growls in his face, delighting in the fear that moves across his face. “Don’t let me catch you near this place again. Now fuck off!”

He practically throws the old man to his knees before turning and cupping your face. “Seonghwa,” you practically sob. He can still see the drunken haze in your eyes but it’s almost completely cleared up now and his brow furrows even more.

“Come on, I’m taking you home.” He pulls you along and you do your best to keep up with him in your inebriated state. “I can’t believe you would do this! Have you no sense of security? Why didn’t you get anyone to come with you? Why would you call a taxi outside of the establishment?”

He still opens the car door for you and you slide immediately in, eyes staring wide at the pristine dashboard. He slides in and puts the car in the ignition before sitting back and groaning in frustration. “I hope you’re ready to talk as soon as we get inside,” he gripes. “I still am so shocked, (Y/N). You act so mature about Jihee, but what happened then? You could’ve been hurt…no, you were hurt!”

He continues his rant driving up to your street, ushering you into the elevator and into your place. “Do you know how my heart dropped when I saw you struggling? I don’t want to see you hurt. You need to take care of yourself.”

As he yells at you, his eyes rake over you to see if you’re injured any further, but something else stops him and the words die in his throat. You’re wearing a sheer shirt, your lacy bra underneath just showing off your chest. Your leather skirt has ridden up your thighs and your eyes fill with unshed tears. And something burns in his brain.

It’s been months since he hired you, and with each passing day, he finds himself more and more attracted to you. He berated himself every time these unwanted thoughts popped into his head. Sure, you’re sweet, good with kids, and are passionate about what you care about. But you’re also so young. You can do so much better than him, a single father with no prospects.

But seeing you like this, heat sparks in his gut and he leans in, his face mere inches away from yours. “When you wear things like that, it makes me want to rip them off you and do things even that creep couldn’t even imagine,” his low voice pierces through your thoughts and your mouth gapes open.

“I’m okay with that,” you whisper, hand reaching out to brush against his chest, but Seonghwa blinks as he realises what he just tried to do, and he jerks back. Your eyes flash with hurt and Seonghwa would like to hit himself for doing that to you but he can’t let you come onto him when you’re still drunk.

“I– I’m sorry,” you whisper, your hands reaching behind you to steady yourself on the wall. “I just felt so lonely. I wanted to be wanted.” 

Seonghwa’s breath stutters as he stares down into your wavering eyes. “I–” He wants you so bad. But he can’t bring himself to say it. Not when you’re drunk. “Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He turns away and hears your disappointed sigh alongside your footsteps trudging to your bedroom. With a groan, he sits on the couch with his head in his hands. He wants to reassure you, but he can’t help but feel guilty about it. But he’s still straining in his pants and after locating your bathroom, he sits on the shower bench, leaning against the cool tile and breathing in and out. With a groan, he unzips his pants and pulls out his half-hard cock. The feeling of regret rises but he pushes it down to his gut as he spits in his hand and presses his thumb against the head of his dick.

As he wraps his hand around his cock and pumps it, he can’t help but close his eyes and imagine you. You with your mouth wrapped around his cock, with your hands gripping his thighs. You seated on his throbbing member, grinding your hips against him as you lean down to kiss him. He can feel his dick jump and he wonders what it’ll feel like to fill you with his cum.

He lets out a broken moan as his grip turns tighter. His image of you would scratch your nails down his back. He can almost hear your little whines and breathy moans as your hips work over him. You’d lean in and whisper into his mouth, “Seonghwa, fuck me hard,” and—

Seonghwa sighs as he looks down at his cum-coated hand and the mix of shame and relief swirling around his brain. Maybe he should just go to sleep on the couch and hope he doesn’t dream of you. As he washes his hand and goes to lie down, he can already feel a stress headache coming on. He hopes you’ll at least fare better in the morning.

-

When you awaken, you have a throbbing pain in your head and you groan and roll out of bed. You’ve taken your club shirt off as well as your skirt, but your bra and underpants are still on. You’re sure your makeup is smudged too and you have no clue how you got home but all you want is some coffee and oatmeal.

You trudge to the kitchen, rubbing your eyes from sleep. There’s a blanket fallen on the floor so you toss it onto the couch and head straight into the kitchen to start your coffee maker. As you lean against the counter and yawn.

“(Y/N), are you feeling better?”

A voice calls out from behind you and you shriek, whirling around to see a sleepy Seonghwa, blanket wrapped around him and his hair a mess. You shriek again, realising how little you’re clothed and duck behind the counter, your cheeks flaming and your heart beating faster than you ever thought it could.

“What are you doing here?” you force out, your voice tight.

“Do…do you not remember last night at all?” You do remember most of what happened. He took you home, but that’s about as far as you remember. And you’re not sure you want to know the rest of it. But you’re far too embarrassed to admit, so you put your acting skills to use. You’re not sure you can handle the shame of a real conversation.

“What?” you ask, forcing your voice to pitch higher as you slowly stand back up, hands covering your chest. “I didn’t– Oh my God, I’m so sorry if I came onto you. I was drunk, I must’ve been out of my mind. Please accept my deepest apologies.”

You notice Seonghwa’s eyes trail down to your chest and then snap back up to your face as if he’s forcing himself to and he chokes out a breath. Despite the headache, your mouth twitches. Maybe you’re still a little out of it. “No, nothing like that. I fetched you from the club because you called me to save you from a creep. Then I took you home and we slept.”

You sigh. “I’m glad. I do apologise for whatever my behaviour was. It was out of line and it won’t happen again. I understand if you want to let me go–”

“No!” Seonghwa’s outburst surprises you and your eyes widen. The lack of clothes you’re wearing has been long forgotten and you move around the counter to stand in front of him. Seonghwa has the decency to look a little embarrassed at the volume of his voice. “Sorry. I just…it’s like you’re a part of our family already. I care for you just as much as I care for Jihee.”

Ah. He thinks of you like a child. Your suspicions were right. You turn slightly to face away from him, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. “I see. Well, I appreciate that. It’s nice to have a second family,” you chuckle, internally beating yourself up. How could you even entertain the thought of the two of you being together? “Let me change, and I’ll walk you out.”

As you return to your room, you finally let your heart sink as tears brim in your eyes. You hastily wipe them away as you rummage in the pile of clothes on your bed for something fairly appropriate to wear. First, you make a fool of yourself in front of Seonghwa, and then your crush is unfounded. You can’t seem to catch a break.

With a sigh, you pull on some shorts and a large shirt before heading back out. “Hey, (Y/N), could we talk first?” Seonghwa asks, still standing in between the kitchen and the living room as his eyes flit around nervously.

After some hesitation, you finally find your voice. “Sure? What’s up? You can sit on the couch if you want.”

Seonghwa takes a seat, hiking up his sweatpants and you move to the floor across the little coffee table. “Last night…you told me something.” Oh no. This is it. You bite your lower lip and look down, awaiting his next words. “Uh. So. You think you came onto me, right? Well. It was. Uh. It may have been me.”

You blink at him foolishly as your brain tries to wrap itself around your head. “You what?”

Seonghwa raises his hands and lowers his head ashamedly. “Let me explain, please. I saw you outside with that horrid excuse of a human and something in me snapped. I just wanted to protect you and I brought you home. But seeing you in that outfit? It just made me want you. And I told you. And you reciprocated. At least, you tried to.” He chuckles a little to himself, bringing up his hand to grip at his hair. “I told you we would talk in the morning. But one thing you said stuck with me. You wanted to be wanted. And all night I’ve been thinking about it. (Y/N), you were drunk. But you weren’t that drunk. Something you said had truth to it. Please. For my own sanity, tell me how you feel about me. Please.”

His voice cracks at the last syllable and something in your heart hurts at the sound. “Seonghwa I…I do care for you. More than I should. You’ve shown me unbendable compassion and you’ve never taken my words or myself for granted…or treated me like a child. Against my better judgment, I’ve fallen for you.” You sigh, tightening your fists. “I’ve been hating myself for the better part of six months because of it. You were so much better than me. In job, in maturity. What was I supposed to do? I went to the club to forget you, but it appears that didn’t work.”

Seonghwa stands quickly, shuffling over to kneel in front of you. “How could you think such a thing? Me better than you? Don’t make me laugh. I may be older than you, and yes, I have a better-paying job. But in the end, how could you compare? You’re amazing with Jihee. You’ve managed to teach her in ways I could hardly hope to imagine. And just because I have a higher wage doesn’t mean your job is less important. I wasn’t lying when I said it felt like you were already part of the family.”

“You told me you thought of me like Jihee,” you argue, and Seonghwa laughs, leaning forward to take your hands.

“I said I care for you as much as I care for Jihee. Not in the same way, (Y/N).” Seonghwa smiles kindly. “I know if this does happen we’ll need to put a lot of care into this, but if you’ll have me, I’d like to be with you.”

You’re not sure whether this is a dream or not, staring up at Seonghwa with wide eyes. You’d be a fool if you said no, but the worries in your head won’t seem to cease. Taking a deep breath, you push them aside and smile up at him. “I’ll have you, Seonghwa.”

As soon as the words fall out of your mouth you can see Seonghwa’s eyes crinkle as he smiles and leans in, his nose almost touching yours. “May I kiss you?” he murmurs in his deep voice, and instead of gracing him with a reply, you meet him in a soft kiss.

His large hands cup your face as he deepens the kiss, and his thumbs brush against your cheekbones. “You’re so pretty,” he hums, pressing a multitude of pecks to your lips. “Last night I was so conflicted. Seeing you like that made me almost go insane.”

An idea sparks in your brain, and a smile widens on your face. Your fingers crawl up his shoulders to rest your arms on them. “How insane?” you ask, and Seonghwa’s eyes darken.

“I’ll show you,” he grows before capturing your lips with his once again. This time his arms shift to wrap around your waist and he pulls you closer until you’re practically pressed against his body. You squeak at the sudden movement but it’s swallowed by the kiss.

He pulls you onto his lap and you can feel the growing hardness in his slacks. You wriggle your hips a little, grinding down, and the moan that Seonghwa lets out is heaven to your ears. “Fuck, (Y/N). You’re so pretty,” he repeats, burying his face in your neck and nipping at the sensitive skin.

You whine at the pain blooming into pleasure and your hands fist into his hair. Your precious sounds get to Seonghwa and he groans, moving your legs to wrap around his waist and he hoists you up and brings you over to the couch. “Your noises are so pretty, baby,” Seonghwa groans into your mouth. “Can’t wait to hear them when you’re wrapped around my cock.”

“Please–” is all you can muster out and your whines only serve to make Seonghwa’s cock harder in his pants.

With a groan, he pats your ass, motioning for you to move up. As soon as your hips lift, he grabs the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down to your knees, leaving your underwear and shirt on. In the same motion, he shoves his slacks and boxers down just far enough to let his cock spring free.

“Seonghwa–”  you whine and something in Seonghwa’s stomach burns at the idea of you crying on his throbbing dick. He sits back, guiding you to sit right above his cock as he moves it to rub against your soaked underwear. Every time the angry-red tip of it brushes against your clit you let out breathy moans and it only serves to make Seonghwa impossibly harder.

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” Seonghwa breathes, his free hand coming up to brush against your face. A smile blooms on your face as you bend to kiss him again.

“Then don’t.”

Something flips in Seonghwa’s brain and he lifts you, pushes your underwear to the side, and lets his cock press into you slowly. The both of you throw your head back and groan loudly at the feeling of him slowly filling you up. He’s not the biggest you’ve had but that doesn’t matter as the sting of the stretch is enough to make you drool. You can hardly speak as you whine nonsense into his ear and let your head drop to the crook of his neck.

“You fit around me so well,” Seonghwa praises, his head spinning at the feeling of finally fucking you the way he dreamed of. It was only yesterday he was fucking into his hand at the thought of you and here he is, only a few hours later, his painfully hard member inside of you. “Look at you, a mess for me. Bet you’ve never been with an older man before. Do I make you feel good, baby?”

You clench at his words. “Fuck, yes, the best I’ve had,” you babble, squirming at the already overwhelming feeling. “You’re so good to me.”

Seonghwa laughs delightedly at how gone you seem to be not five minutes in. “So precious, especially for me, (Y/N). Sitting on my dick so prettily.” He gives a little experimental thrust upwards and you gasp. The noises you make are so addictive, he can’t help but do it again. And again.

You’re panting, moaning as he fills you up so deliciously and your hands grip at his now-wrinkled dress shirt. His cool hands slide up your baggy shirt to shove up your bra and cup your boobs. The weight of them sitting in his hands makes him groan as he leans in to mouth at them through your shirt.

“Been dreaming about these tits since last night. Jerked off in the bathroom after seeing you, you know?” Your eyes widen at the admission and Seonghwa smirks at how embarrassed you look. “Wanted you so bad and you thought I wouldn’t like you in that way? You’re so cute, (Y/N).” He punctuates each word with one thrust after another.

The feeling of his dick pumping into you as well as Seonghwa’s teeth scraping against the soft flesh of your tits makes you so overwhelmed. It’s almost embarrassing how close you are already, and Seonghwa knows it, chucking up at you from between your chest. “Aw, baby, you’re so far gone. Am I that good?”

You cry out and sink your teeth into the junction of his shoulder and neck. You’re trying so hard to keep your noises down but Seonghwa isn’t having any of that. His hand finds its way to your hair, gently tugging on it until your head falls back, exposing the column of your neck.

As his warm breath ghosts over it, you stiffen, and when he moves up from your chest to lick a stripe up it and nip at your earlobe, you come with a groan. Your hips are shaking from the intensity of it but his thrusts don’t stop and soon you’re whining from the overstimulation.

And he still hasn’t come.

“Fuck, Seonghwa, it’s so much,” you groan, mouth hanging open. Seonghwa greedily swoops in to capture your lips once more, licking into your mouth as his thrusts become more and more erratic.

His dick twitches and he groans. “Where do you want me? I’m clean,” Seonghwa mumbles into your mouth.

You shift your hips a little. “I’m clean too and on the pill, so it’s on you. I don’t care, I just want you, Hwa.”

Your words spark something in Seonghwa and he thrusts upwards, once, and his cum starts filling you. It’s searingly hot, settling deep in your gut and you throw your head back and moan so goddamn loud. His throbbing cock is twitching like crazy and it’s still pumping cum into you. Seonghwa’s hand slides down your body to tweak at your nipples, thumb over your flesh, and finally come to rub little circles into your clit.

You gasp and it feels like you’re touching heaven from the extra stimulation. “Gonna fill you up so well,” Seonghwa groans. “Do you think Jihee would like a sibling?” 

Your thoughts all blur together at his sentence and you come again with a groan. Your cunt squeezes around him so deliciously and a sob breaks its way out of your throat, one that Seonghwa eagerly swallows as he kisses you again.

His thrusts start to slow down and you slowly pull off his now-softening dick and settle back down on his lap. His hands push his leaking cum back into your pulsating pussy and you sigh at the feeling.

“Well, that was quite the escalation,” Seonghwa laughs quietly as he pulls both your and his pants back up and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. His hand pats your butt and you squirm and slap his chest softly.

“You’re lucky I’m on the pill.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly and Seonghwa hums, capturing your lips in his yet again. He can’t get enough of your plush lips and you’re not complaining at all.

“I’m lucky to have you, period,” he sighs happily. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

You smile and sit up, ignoring the whines that come out of Seonghwa’s mouth at the lack of contact. “Well, I couldn’t let you be a lonely old man,” you tease and Seonghwa smacks your ass again.

“Can old man do what I just did?” You’re suddenly lying on your back with Seonghwa hovering over you, a crooked smile growing on his face. “Or do you need another demonstration?”

You smile and throw your arms around his shoulders and pull him closer. “I don’t know, sir, maybe you should show me once more.”

“Shhh, Channie, shhh, it’s okay,” you try to soothe your little brother through a sensory meltdown that was triggered minutes ago by the overwhelming noises of yelling and gunfire echoing deafeningly around the warehouse.

You thought it would be safe here. The place seemed abandoned, yet secure, with no broken windows to let in the breeze, nor any sign of recent human activity, only some stray animals and their leavings. But it was the best shot you had, and for almost a week, it had been a little slice of dirty haven for you and Chan.

Then, less than twenty minutes ago, you heard multiple cars pull up outside of the dusty warehouse and then footsteps entered the building. You had curled up protectively around your brother in the corner of a room, hidden by the shadows as the newcomers swept through the warehouse for any signs of life. Somehow they entirely missed the two of you, and you were so grateful for it, even if you remained in place, holding your brother in the shadows for a little longer, just in case.

But now, whatever meeting is happening has gone awry and the ear-splitting sounds have set off your five-year-old brother. Although you want to curl up into a tiny ball and cry too as the sounds assault your own senses, you can’t; your meltdown will have to wait until you’re both safe again.

Which won’t happen if Chan doesn’t stop screaming and thrashing, kicking out while also trying to burrow himself right into your chest to try and block the noises and gain comfort from the only person who has shown him any in a long time.

Though, there’s only so much you can do, only so much your hands pressed over his own on his ears do to block the sensory overload when you can feel the noise in your own chest, and you know that Chan has always been much more sensitive about such things.

You wish you have a pair of ear defenders for him, but your father never believed in them and Chan’s mother was perhaps even worse where caring about the poor boy was concerned, so he was never given the tools needed to support him. And your limited finances upon running away with your little brother have gone to keeping him fed and as warm as possible. There have been no spare pennies for such things, even with you skipping meals and sacrificing supplies for yourself in order to protect your brother.

All you can do is hope that it will be over soon and the gangsters, who have intruded upon your safe space, will rapidly leave without hearing Chan’s shrieking.

Of course, with your luck today, it doesn’t go how you hope.

Even before the yelling and gunfire has ceased, the door swings open and a couple of men enter with guns raised. It’s easy for them to locate you with Chan still screaming and kicking out at everything he can reach.

“What do we have here?” The slighter shorter of the two men smirks while eyeing you and your brother as the pair stop too close for comfort, yet still far enough away that your brother’s thrashing doesn’t reach them.

“Something pretty, and something pretty fucking annoying,” the other man retorts, making the first guffaw while you continue to try to soothe Chan and keep him still without removing your eyes from the dangerous men. “Think we got time to take turns?”

“Nah, even if we did, I won’t be able to enjoy it with the little shit screaming like that.”

“Knock him out.”

“Don’t even joke about hurting a kid ‘round here,” the shorter man warns, giving his partner a firm look. “Boss would kill you slowly if word got back to him. You know he’s protective of kids.”

“Then what the fuck do we do? We can’t kill the bitch either because he don’t like kids left behind, and I’m pretty sure we’re fucked if they find out we left them here.”

The two men stare at you and Chan in careful consideration for almost a full minute.

The answer only comes when the gunfire finally ceases, even if Chan doesn’t stop screaming yet. “We’ll have to take them with us.”

As much as you’d rather not go along with the two men, or the dozen or so other men with them, you know you don’t have a choice. If it’s only you who you have to worry about, you’d have already risked sneaking out while the showdown was in progress, but with Chan to consider, you can’t risk the gunfire being turned on you.

So, when the pair stalk you out of the safety of the room with Chan still wailing against your chest as you carry him, though luckily he’s now clinging to you and not wildly thrashing, and a gun pressed to your back, you go while mourning the items you’ve lost due to not being able to pack up anything. The men had only hovered long enough to let you pick up Chan and grab your backpacks.

Up until you’re in the car with another man sliding into the seat to your left while looking bewildered, you have no idea who these gangsters are, but this new man has his arms on show despite the cold weather and the centaur tattoo on his right bicep stares at you mockingly.

Today really isn’t your lucky day.

“What’s this?” He demands, almost glaring at the two men in the front of the car while motioning vaguely to you and your little brother.

“Found them in a room, kid was screaming the place down, this is quiet for him,” the driver, the shorter of the pair, replies, tone almost polite now and you can safely guess that this tall, muscled man is a much higher rank than them. “Didn’t know what to do with them considering the rules about kids and everything.”

“So, you decided to completely bypass me and make a decision on your own?” The tall man asks, now closing the car door behind him and reaching for his seatbelt, yet he stops and motions to the space between you two. “Put him there so he can be strapped in,” he says to you, already grabbing the seatbelt for the middle seat ready to pull over.

“What?” You mutter dumbly.

“This car isn’t going anywhere until we’re all strapped in securely and it’s unsafe for a child to be strapped in on your lap. Put him here so he can be safe between us, I’ll keep my arm in front of him so he can’t fall.”

“He can sit next to the door,” you reply and start to move over into the centre yourself, but the man makes a dismissive noise and shakes his head.

“No, if that door gets rammed, he’ll get seriously injured; he should go in the middle, so our bodies protect him.”

“How likely is it that we’ll get rammed?”

“More likely than you realise, especially if the ones we just met have back up waiting down the way.”

“Then just let us go.”

He sighs. “I wish I could, seriously, I don’t want to endanger your son, but those idiots are right in that leaving you is a bad idea, we can’t trust you. So, either you willingly put him down or I move him myself and I think that would just make him more upset.”

For a few seconds, you do nothing but stare at the man, hoping that he’ll suddenly decide to trust a complete stranger and let you go, but he doesn’t, and you reluctantly adjust Chan to sit him at your left side between the two of you.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” you whisper as you press down on his legs to stop him from trying to climb onto your lap again. “I’m not leaving, we just need to strap in, okay? We’re going to strap in and go for a drive, okay, Squirt?”

Silently, the man manoeuvres the safety belt across Chan’s body and clicks it into place as you continue to soothe your little brother. Then, the man reaches over even further to plug your seat belt in before finishing with his own and kicking the back of the driver’s seat lightly to prompt him to start the car.

Thankfully, Chan calms down once the car is in motion and you’ve pulled out his comfort turtle plushie for him to squeeze to his chest repeatedly.

You know the man on Chan’s left is watching your brother as he almost hurts himself with the toy, but you don’t care, all you care about is that Chan’s self-soothing is working and isn’t hurting him. The man can think whatever he wants.

The location you’re taken to isn’t one you’ve ever been to before, yet nobody needs to speak the name for you to know that this large, sprawling estate fortified with three sets of tall gates and walls, plus guards, is the base of the Centaurs, the oldest still running gang in the country.

The whereabouts of the estate isn’t a secret, it’s easy information to get, but due to the sheer size of the gang and their legendary skills, especially of the leaders and head family, not even the authorities are brave enough to launch an attack. Though some over-cocky gangs have been dumb enough to try over the years and inevitably failed without making it past even the first wall.

The place truly is one of the most secure places in the entire country. It almost puts military compounds to shame with the levels of security covering the sprawling grounds.

It feels more like a village based on how long you remain in the car once past the first two sets of gates, and all the buildings and people you pass on the gravel roads.

Then, when the final wall is in view, you’re moved into another car, with only the tall man joining you after he’s talked to another man a little shorter than himself. The tall man doesn’t say a word once he’s in the driver’s seat after making sure you and Chan are strapped in, before driving further forward along the gravel roads and through the final gates.

Finally, you see the impressive, impeccably well-kept, grand building that is Choi Manor where it sits pride of place in the very centre of the estate, behind all three walls.

There are nowhere near as many people wandering around now. It seems more like you only see groundsmen maintaining all the greenery and plant life, turning the area within the final wall into something almost out of a fairy tale. It’s truly beautiful.

Chan peers out of the window as best as he can when he can barely see over the edge of the door, with his wide, red rimmed eyes staring at all the colours of the flowers and fruits in awe. He’s never seen so many different plants in one place, in fact, you would even go as far as to say he’s never seen so many plants full stop.

Your own family home was never this natural; your father preferred to do away with nature to save the hassle of having to have people tend to it. The closest was the greenhouse your father let you keep for yourself for a few years before Chan was even born, until your father’s new wife destroyed it in a jealous fit when he didn’t buy her the car she wanted. Never mind the fact that she never learned to drive.

“Okay, so, a few things,” the tall man states when he parks the car beside a handful of other similar cars in front of the extravagant home. He turns off the engine and unplugs his seatbelt so that he can turn around in his seat to face you directly. “The boss isn’t home right now and won’t be until late, and I obviously can’t let you wander around unattended, so you’re going to be locked in one of the guest rooms with someone outside your door until the boss is back and decides what to do next. Understood?” You just nod.

Honestly, it’s a lot better than expected; you assumed you’d be locked up in a storage room or something equally as unwelcoming, not a guest bedroom of the most lavish home you’ve ever seen outside of movies and TV shows.

“Make sure you both shower and dress in clean clothes before the boss is back, you don’t want to meet him dirty. And eat, I guess you haven’t eaten in a while, right? You look skinny. I’ll get some food sent up. Does he like nuggets?” He motions vaguely to Chan.

“Nuggets?”

“Yeah, chicken nuggets. I think there’s some animal shapes, but they may be all gone; we don’t get groceries in until tomorrow.”

“Uh… he’s never had them.”

“What?” The man sputters in disbelief. “What kid has never had animal nuggets?! I’ll send out for some if we don’t have any. It’s a crime you’ve never fed your son animal nuggets, seriously.”

Despite this being the second time that he’s assumed Chan to be your son, you don’t correct him; you’re too caught up on other things to care to put the relationship between you straight. “Why would you assume I have access to things like that when we were sleeping in what I thought was an abandoned warehouse?”

“Oh…right, sorry, wasn’t thinking.” He gives you an awkward, apologetic smile before climbing out of the car.

He leaves you to unplug yourself and Chan at your own pace and climb out of the car to join him on the white gravel. Chan is immediately taken by the sound and shuffles on his feet to hear the clacking and grinding under his boots.

When you look up, you expect to see the man about to urge you on, however, he’s simply watching Chan with his head tilted a little, curious, and with the slight hint of a smile on his lips.

Surprising you further, the man patiently waits until Chan is satisfied and takes your offered hand to quietly and closely toddle alongside you behind the stranger into the huge house.

“Sorry, there’s no kid size guest slippers,” the man apologises as he puts down a pair of adult guest slippers from a section of the unit beside the shoe rack, which you don’t really pay any attention to as you’re too busy trying to remove both yours and Chan’s boots to not dirty the perfectly polished marble flooring.

Though you can’t say either of your socks are in much better condition than the soles of your shoes and embarrassedly shove your feet into the slippers before your filthy, hole-riddled socks can be seen. At least Chan’s socks are new, if dirty. Still, you pick him up quickly and hope the man hasn’t noticed the condition of your brother’s socks.

“This way.”

Quietly, you follow the man down the hall and stand outside of a room when he motions you to, allowing him to step inside alone. You hear him talking to another man in low voices for a moment, then he reappears with a slim man who is barely shorter than him, though you think if the first didn’t slouch so much he’d be even taller.

“Hello, I’m Junhui,” the new man greets you with a friendly smile, entirely throwing you off with his open, welcoming aura. “I’m the house chef so I need to know if you or your son have any allergies or dietary requirements so that I can prepare you something delicious!”

“Uhm, no allergies,” you reply and adjust Chan in your hold; he’s too big for you to easily hold him for prolonged periods now so you need to alter his place against your chest fairly frequently in order to keep supporting his weight.

Some months back, you could’ve carried him for extended lengths of time, and you often used to indulge him whenever he asked, regularly carrying him around on your back as you went about your daily life, so long as it was appropriate. But that was then; so much has changed since. Some days you can barely even hold your own body up, let alone his.

“And requirements? For any reason: belief or preference, I need to know,” the cook continues with genuine interest.

“He’s very particular about his food,” you admit and tilt your head towards Chan a little as if they won’t realise that you’re talking about him. “The plainer the better really.”

“Oh, we have one like that already,” Junhui chuckles and flaps a hand almost dismissively as if it’s nothing. “I can handle that no problem! How old is he? I need to know what portion sizes.”

“Five, almost six, but he’s never had a big appetite.”

“Oh!” Junhui and the tall man both look astonished at the information, with matching raised eyebrows and slightly widened eyes. “Perhaps that’s why he’s so small! I thought he’s more like three going on four! I’ll try to make accordingly, but if he’s still hungry, you get a message to me, and I’ll bring more; we can’t let the kids go hungry! Or mama, what about your diet?”

“Oh, uhm, don’t worry,” you try to dismiss the concern, and both men instantly look at you sternly.

“What do you eat, ma’am?” Junhui repeats firmly. “Do you have allergies?” You shake your head silently in response. “What do you usually eat?”

“Whatever he doesn’t finish,” you answer meekly, embarrassed to admit to your inability to afford to feed yourself.

But it seems as if the kind chef doesn’t quite understand. “Okay, and what else?”

“Jun,” the tall man murmurs, gently tapping the other with the back of his fingers. Junhui looks at him and the pair exchange some barely-there expressions, which you don’t have the mental energy to even try to discern the meanings of, before they both look at you and there’s now something you think must be sympathy in the cook’s eyes.

“Oh, right. Uhm, well, what do you like? I can make almost anything!” He offers, brightening back up out of his slightly awkward understanding.

“It’s okay.”

“Please just tell him what you enjoy eating so I can show you to your room,” the tall man pleads. “He’ll make us stand here all afternoon and night if you don’t.”

“I’m just grateful you’re feeding him,” you assure.

“If you don’t tell me what you enjoy eating, ma’am, I will send dish after dish to your room until one comes back empty,” Junhui warns, and something about this man tells you that he’s being entirely serious.

“J-Just you know…uhm…I uh…” your mind is suddenly blank; you can feel the stress and anxiety of the past few hours building up and threatening to break you right here in front of the strangers. The kind chef and the high-ranking member of the most famous gang in the country. You really don’t want to fall apart in front of them.

“How about you think about it, and we’ll get a message down when you’ve decided?” The tall man offers. You nod quickly in agreement. “Okay, let’s go straight to your room and Jun will send some snacks up while you think, yeah?”

“I can do snacks!” Junhui promises before turning and scuttling further down the hall.

“He really loves feeding people,” the tall man says with a little chuckle before motioning back the way you came, so you back up to let him lead the way to the entrance hall and then up the grand staircase.

The bedroom he takes you is at the back of the house and overlooks the patio with a view out over the gardens and lawn beyond, though you don’t do more than simply glance over at the large windows before focusing on the room itself.

There’s a king-sized bed against the back wall and on the opposite wall, with a fair distance in between, is a flat screen TV sitting before a plush looking loveseat and low table. You can see two doors on the wall opposite to the entrance door and assume they lead to an ensuite and walk in wardrobe, but other than that, it’s all rather empty.

“This room isn’t used that much and it’s further away from the frequently used rooms, plus below is the ballroom and well, that definitely doesn’t get used often so I thought this room would be best, because it’ll be quieter here. I guess your son is noise sensitive?”

“You care about that?” You ask shocked as you look at him and finally put Chan down on the floor to rest your arms, though he stays glued to your side despite being obviously curious as he peers around from the edges of his vision.

“Yeah, kids are important and everyone in this house and inner estate believes in that too. We’ll all do whatever we need to make your time here comfortable.”

“We’re hostages, not guests,” you remind simply.

The man winces a little. “Yeah, I guess so.” He shrugs helplessly. “It is what it is, I guess. I really don’t know what the boss is going to do later; we haven’t had this situation occur before so we’re all kind of clueless, but we don’t want to hurt you or your son.”

“He’s not my son,” you finally correct, not sure what else to say and look down at Chan. “He’s my brother.”

“Oh! Okay. What’s his name?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It’d be nice to have something to call him. What about a nickname then?”

“He won’t talk to you, it doesn’t matter.”

“Right.” There’s a moment of tense silence before the man talks up again. “What about you? Can I at least know a name to call you?”

For a few seconds, you debate not answering him, but then you figure the least you could do is give the man something to refer to you as, even if you refuse to give your real name. “Pearl,” you answer, giving the only name your brother calls you, after a character in his favourite movie.

You don’t know if the man realises it’s just an alias or not, but he smiles at you as if he doesn’t care and is just glad to have a name to call you. “I’m Mingyu, I’ll oversee your care until the boss is back, so if you need anything you can ask whoever is outside the door for me and I’ll come right away. For now, I’ll let you poke about the room while I get fresh bedding and towels and everything. Do you have spare clothes? I’ll get extra anyway for you both. I’ll be right back!” He darts out of the room and closes the door behind him gently, yet securely, before you can even try to answer.

“Where we?” Chan asks seconds later when he looks up at you.

“Where are we,” you correct naturally, trying to prevent his delayed speech getting worse with only you for company. It’s hard when you’re not personally used to talking to people very much, even back when you had people around to talk to. But you’re trying to do the best you can for your little brother and not impede his development further. It’s just hard.

“Where are we?” Chan repeats without hesitation, already long ago used to being corrected, though he has only ever tried to absorb and learn your own words, no-one else’s.

It’s much easier for him to progress now that his sole educator genuinely cares about him and understands his struggles. He’s come in leaps and bounds in some ways the past few months, but you know the life you’ve dragged him into won’t be good for his growth in the long run.

Every day you wish you can do better for him, but there are too many obstacles for you to traverse on your own and half the days you’re stuck in an endless loop of regret from taking him away, and relief from taking him away, with no room left in your mind and soul to do anything but stare off until Chan needs you.

“Just somewhere until we find our next move,” you answer, not sure what to say to the innocent boy because you can’t exactly tell him the truth, though you don’t want to lie to him if you can help it. You hate being lied to so you’ve always made a point of being as honest with Chan as you can. He deserves that much, at the very least.

“Mm, okay,” he replies and lets go of you to start wandering around curiously.

You remain in the middle of the room and watch him for a few minutes until there’s a knock on the door and Chan scrambles back to your side.

“It’s me!” Mingyu calls. “Mingyu!” He adds, and you call for him to come in, so the door opens and the tall man steps inside with his arms full of a bundle of different materials, and another shorter man following him. “This is Seungkwan; he’s really good with kids and bugged me to let him meet your brother. That’s cool, right?”

“I don’t have a choice who you bring here,” you point out while putting your hand on Chan’s head protectively when both men move into the room to step past you in different directions. Mingyu places the bundle of clothing in his arms on the couch while Seungkwan scuttles over to the bed and starts to strip it of the stale sheets.

“We don’t want to overwhelm you two,” Mingyu explains. “I know it’s not your choice to be here and chances are, you’re two very innocent people caught in the wrong place, so you’ve done nothing wrong and there is no issue between us.”

You can’t help but wonder what kind of tune this man would be singing if he saw the brand on your thigh. You know it wouldn’t be a good one.

“Bring the sheets, Gyu,” Seungkwan encourages now that he has the bed entirely bare of any sheets.

Obligingly, Mingyu grabs the clean bedding from the bundle to approach and help Seungkwan set up the bed neatly while you and Chan watch silently, though whenever the pair look over at you, Chan looks away and presses further into your leg.

“So,” Mingyu starts once the bed is ready and he and Seungkwan move closer. Though they keep more than just a polite distance from you both, even if Seungkwan keeps glancing at Chan as if he wants to talk to the little boy yet can see that it’s not a good idea. “Have you thought about what you want to eat?”

“Oh…no,” you reply honestly. “I forgot.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” He tilts his head, curious and a little confused as if he doesn’t understand how you can’t be hungry considering the state of you.

“No,” it’s another completely truthful answer and makes the tall man look even more puzzled, but at least he doesn’t question it.

“Okay, well, maybe some snacks will bring back your appetite. We don’t have any women’s clothes, you’re the only woman in the manor in years so I brought you some of mine, I hope that’s okay.”

“You idiot,” Seungkwan scolds and backhands Mingyu’s closest arm, making the tall man break into a pout, to your complete astonishment. “Those will drown her!” The smaller man looks at you with a kind smile. “I’ll get you some of my own, those will be better suited, and I’ll get something for your brother. We might have some clothes small enough, but they might be too big. But at least they’ll do until his own clothes are cleaned up, right?”

Honestly, you’re still too thrown off by how kind the men in this house have been to you so far to be able to answer in any certain way. It’s very kind, yes, and you truly appreciate it, at least for Chan’s sake so he doesn’t have to suffer more, but you can’t believe they’re doing this out of the goodness of their own hearts. It’s unfathomable to you.

All you do is make a vague sound in response that Seungkwan takes as agreement and smiles, only telling you that he’ll be right back before leaving.

“Did you look at the bathroom?” Mingyu prompts, pointing to the still closed doors. You shake your head. “I’ll show you how the shower and stuff work, they’re stupidly complicated with all the options,” he says as he walks over to the left-hand door and opens it to an all-white bathroom, which is lit brightly despite the overhead light not being turned on, thanks to the large window above the tub against the back wall.

You pick Chan up to carry him into the bathroom and peer around curiously while Mingyu rambles on about how long it took him to get used to the fancy showers here when he first joined, and then they changed them to even fancier ones with more options, so he had to learn it all again.

It’s strange how different the large man seems at the manor compared to when you first met him. Although there had clearly been care in him then, as evident by his insistence on all of you wearing seatbelts and the arm that he had kept in front of Chan the entire drive with enough space to not be close to touching the boy, he had seemed every bit the gangster he must be to be a Centaur. Yet, now at the house, he’s almost a different person; no tense edges and only open expressions.

It must be that thing about people being themselves when they’re at home; feeling safe and able to be honest about who they truly are. You’ve never had that and wonder what it must feel like to experience that genuine ease and comfort, to be free. You doubt you’ll ever know.

“Ah, shit,” Mingyu curses when the water sprays out over him once he turns one of the dials. “I forgot about the multiple heads,” he grumbles and turns the water back off to face you while pulling his sleeveless t-shirt away from his torso where the water is making it start to stick and enhance his muscled chest. “Oh, sorry! I swore in front of him!” He apologises with wide eyes and one hand coming up to cover his mouth guiltily.

“He’s heard worse,” you reply, not at all bothered by the curse as you often drop minor curses in front of Chan, and he hasn’t copied them yet. Nor the more vulgar ones your father prefers.

“Still, I shouldn’t do it.” He glances over your shoulder a second before you hear footsteps approaching, making you move aside and turn so that you have a clear view of everyone.

“Hopefully, these will all be okay,” Seungkwan says as he enters the bathroom with a pile of clothing to place on the counter. “You can keep it all too if you want, none of it gets used anyway so it’d be better if someone who’d make use of it all gets it.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you reply, once again shocked by the kindness of these men but starting to get a little more accustomed to it, enough to show some gratitude at least.

“No problem!” He chirps then moves back to the bedroom to grab the towels from the couch to also put on the bathroom counter. “As far as I’m aware, everything you might want should be in the cupboards; the bathrooms are usually always fully stocked.” To check the validity of his own words, Seungkwan goes over to the unit and opens the doors to reveal more towels, toilet rolls, cleaning products and toiletries. “Ah, I’ll take these ones, they probably smell musty now; they must’ve been in here a while.” He plucks out the stack of towels and sniffs them, immediately pulling a face. “Yeah, I’ll go get you more.” He wanders off before anyone can say anything.

“I’ll let you shower and everything. I imagine snacks will be in the bedroom by the time you’re done,” Mingyu declares. “You can lock the doors too, by the way, this one and the bedroom door if that makes you feel safe. But if you don’t answer when we knock, at least half of us can either pick the lock or break it off, but we will only do that if you don’t answer in a reasonable time. For safety reasons; both yours, and ours.”

“I understand,” you reply simply and nod a little in agreement to his warning.

“Okay, great! Enjoy your showers and I’ll see you in a bit!”

Mingyu leaves and you wait until you watch him also leave the bedroom and shut the door behind him before you put Chan down and close the bathroom door, immediately clicking the lock into place.

“Use the toilet, Squirt,” you encourage, motioning to the toilet and glad that Chan waddles straight over obediently to do his business while you rummage through the cupboard to take out the necessary supplies.

“Hurts,” Chan’s words make you look over to where he’s still sitting on the toilet and frowning at you.

“Your belly?” He shakes his head. “Oh, to pee?” He nods. “Ah, I was worried you haven’t had enough to drink. Okay, well hopefully they’ll have left drinks, and you can drink lots and that will help.”

“Juice?”

“Mm, maybe, I don’t know, bud.”

“I want apple juice.”

“We’ll see what they give us. It might just be water.” Chan pulls a face. “I know you don’t like water but it’s good, remember? We need to make sure we drink enough of it to be healthy. You didn’t drink your water this morning and now it hurts to pee.”

“Lots but not too much,” he repeats the words you’ve said to him many times when convincing him to drink his daily water intake.

It was so much easier when you had access to whatever drinks you wanted, but now you can rarely afford to buy anything other than cheap bottled water or refill empty bottles at public water fountains, which are few and far between these days. So sometimes, it’s truly a struggle to keep you both hydrated.

“Exactly, too much or too little is bad for us.”

“Need to be healthy.”

“We do. And clean, so finish up and let’s get you showered.”

“Water?” Chan gasps excitedly and rushes to get off the toilet and close the lid before flushing it, then speeds over with his trousers still around his knees, but you don’t scold him for it; there’s no point when he’s about to take them off. Also, it makes him waddle like a penguin and it’s rather amusing.

“Yeah, get naked and I’ll get it nice and warm.”

“Water time!” Chan exclaims happily and rapidly starts to throw off his clothes, making you once again glad that you have been able to buy him clothes that are easy for him to handle on his own, without buttons or zips for him to get frustrated with. One less reason for a meltdown.

Although he doesn’t have any water safe toys to play with in the shower, Chan has endless fun jumping under the warm water and splashing around while singing every water themed song he can think of, even making up plenty too, while you sit on the tiles outside of the splash zone and watch fondly.

There will never be anyone who you love and adore more than your little brother. You’d do anything for him, risk everything if it would make him smile like this all the time.

Though after a while, you do have to stop his joyful playing so that you can give him a soapy sponge for him to clean his body while you scrub his shaggy hair clean as he sits on the wet tiles in front of where you kneel, getting your jeans wet but you don’t care.

Once Chan is all clean, you wrap him up in a few towels and sit him on the dry tiles facing the wall so he can play with the few toys from his backpack and remain occupied while you shower. It’s not that often that you can shower properly, usually you just have to wash you both over with baby wipes, or with a damp cloth when you can find a private space big enough for it. Showers have become a luxury over the past months, but even with the little amount you’ve had, Chan knows that he must remain looking away while you shower to give you privacy, and he only complains about it if he doesn’t stay entertained with toys for the duration.

As much as you’d love to stand under the water and let it soothe your aching muscles until your skin is all wrinkly, you know you can’t, so you scrub yourself as quickly as possible while remaining thorough, before getting out and rubbing your body dry so you can pull on the clothes Seungkwan left for you. Of course, there isn’t a bra or underwear, but the sweatpants, t-shirt, socks, and hoodie all fit comfortably enough and smell fresh and clean.

With a towel around your hair, you get Chan up and dressed before towel drying both of your hair quickly and unlocking the bathroom door to let you out into the bedroom.

As Mingyu said, someone has left snacks on the low table, a lot of snacks and various bottles and cans of drinks.

Chan gasps excitedly and rushes over to pick up a little bottle of apple juice. “Juice, Per!”

“Mm, sit down then,” you hum and take the bottle to open it as Chan sits down and plops his turtle plushie at his side in wait. As soon as you’ve handed over the open bottle, your brother starts to gulp the contents down eagerly. “Ah, Channie, slow, you’ll make yourself sick. We must be careful when we eat and drink, remember?”

“But I so thirsty, Per!”

“I know, but it’s not going anywhere. Take it steady, Squirt.”

“Slow and steady wins the race,” he quotes, and you smile softly as you watch him purposely take much smaller sips now, all because of a tortoise in an old fable.

Once he’s consumed half of the bottle, Chan puts it on the table and accepts the packet of mini cookies you’ve opened to offer and happily starts munching away with his feet contently flopping from side to side where they’re stretched out in front of him under the table.

While Chan eats the snacks you’ve set up ready for him, you go back to the bathroom to clean your clothes in the sink with the soaps, even if they’re not designed for this, but you can’t be picky about how you get your clothes clean, you just care that they are.

When Chan scrambles into the bathroom while you’re setting everything up to dry, you become concerned until you hear the knocking on the bedroom door and understand what has spooked your little brother. “It’s okay, you can wait in here,” you assure and pat his head before going to the bedroom to open the door while he does as offered and remains hiding in the bathroom.

On the other side of the bedroom door upon opening it stand Mingyu and Junhui, each with a tray of covered plates in their hands and smiles on their faces.

“Hi, Pearl!” Junhui greets. “Food’s ready!”

“Oh,” you step back to let the men in and rush over to the low table to clean up the crumbs and packets Chan has left behind.

“Here, here, I’ll take them,” Mingyu offers, plucking the rubbish from your hands after he’s put down the tray in his hands. “I need to go out for a bit, but Jun is still around, and Seungkwan is too, so you can ask for either of them until I’m back. It should only be an hour; I’ve just got to deal with some stuff in the middle wall.” You nod in understanding. Mingyu shoots you a smile before he leaves, pulling up the door, yet leaving it open slightly as Junhui is still in the room.

The chef is kneeling beside the table as he sets up all of the plates, uncovering them as he goes and causing various delicious scents to fill the room. You’re not surprised that Chan shuffles over and half hides behind your legs as he eyes the food, drawn in by the smell.

“So!” Junhui starts when he’s done arranging everything and looks up. He jerks back in surprise spotting Chan suddenly at your side, but he just smiles at him brightly, then looks up at you. “I thought I’d play it mostly safe and made some plain, yet still tasty and nutritious, foods; enough for the both of you butttt” he starts pulling out condiment bottles and jars of herbs and spices from the various pockets on his cargo pants and apron. “I brought flavours so you can adjust them as you like! I thought that’d be easier than stressing you out by asking you what you like again; that clearly wasn’t getting anywhere. So here, enjoy, eat as much or as little as you want, and you can ask Soonyoung for me if you need more.”

“Soonyoung?” You repeat confusedly.

“Yeah, the guy outside the room.” He motions to the door over his shoulder. “But be warned if you do open the door to ask for something, you will have to deal with talking to him. He hurt his ankle last week and is only off bed rest now, still not allowed to do patrols or go out so he’s sitting on a chair sulking and constantly complaining that he’s bored. But he’s got great hearing and is dumb enough to still jump around on his bad ankle so he will stop you from leaving and get hurt in the process. And then we’ll have to deal with him sulking even longer, so for our sake, please don’t try to run away or anything.”

“That would be illogical given where we are,” you point out simply.

The cook makes a noise of understanding while nodding his head slowly. “Ah, so you do know where you are and whose roof you’re under.”

“Mingyu’s tattoo gives it away, yes.”

“He’s insane, I tell you,” Junhui states, picking up a child-sized cutlery set to hand over, so you take it and sit down, pulling Chan down next to you and handing him the fork to let him pick what he wants to try. No surprise, he goes straight for the plain noodles. Junhui hands you the adult’s cutlery set, though you just hold it at the edge of the table as he talks. “It’s January and the idiot keeps going out in stupid, thin jackets that inevitably get ripped and destroyed, and I think he does it on purpose just to have an excuse to take them off and get his arms out. He’s very vain that Mingyu; he’s hot and he knows it.” He tuts.

You’re not sure what to say in response. Sure, Mingyu is very attractive, and it had struck you as very odd that he was only in a sleeveless t-shirt in winter, but he hadn’t come across as vain to you, though you’re aware that you really don’t know him at all to have a solid opinion on his vanity level. So, you just make a vague sound in response and hope it’s enough to appease Junhui.

“Well, anyway, I’ll let you eat. If you don’t like any of it, tell Soonyoung to call me and I’ll make something else; all I do around here is cook and dinner isn’t for hours, so I don’t have anything else to do. You’d actually be doing me a favour by giving me something to do other than sit playing games on my phone in the den or trying to convince one of the others to entertain me.”

“Why don’t you sit with Soonyoung, if you’re both bored?” You logically suggest.

“Because…actually, that’s a good point. I’ll get a game, do you like games? We can play monopoly…oh, no, that’s a bad idea. Cluedo? No, Soonyoung never understands those kinds of games.” He frowns in thought.

“I’d rather just focus on my brother.”

“Ah, right, right. You’re a good sister.” Junhui gets to his feet after slapping his own thighs. “I’ll be outside and if we get too loud, just come out and tell us to shut up, we both lack volume control when we get excited. Okay, bye, Pearl. Bye, little man!” Junhui skips out of your room, calling to Soonyoung about playing a game as he goes. You can’t see the other man, but you hear his excited whoop before the door shuts and blessedly closes out their conversation.

“Is it good, Channie?” You ask, brushing Chan’s floppy, almost dry hair back out of his eyes. He hums and nods in agreement as he eats. “Good.”

Only now that you’re alone with your little brother and content that he’s eating well do you pick up your cutlery and start to eat.

Although Mingyu has reappeared and left again multiple times, you and Chan are mostly alone for hours, with the man only popping in to check on you both and ask if you need anything, plus take away all the dishes with Junhui.

It’s almost midnight when there’s a knock on the door and you look over from being curled protectively around your sleeping brother. Something about the knock is different to how Mingyu knocks, it’s firmer, yet still gentle in a strange contradiction that makes your stomach flitter with anxiety.

Silently, as to not disturb Chan, you get off the bed and walk to the door to open it just as the knocking starts up again.

On the other side is a man, who although you’ve never met before, you’ve seen his picture many times in files in your father’s office to be able to recognise his dark gaze and full lips.

Choi Seungcheol, the current leader of Choi’s Centaurs as of ten years ago when his father passed through means that have never been publicly verified. Many even think that Seungcheol himself had a hand in his father’s death just so that he could take over the gang sooner.

You don’t know enough of the man to have an opinion on that matter, but what you do know is that he makes an intimidating figure as he looms over you in riding leathers with his motorbike helmet still in one gloved hand at his side, whereas the other is bare and raised in a fist from knocking on the door.

“Pearl, I assume?” He greets, raising an eyebrow slightly in question while lowering his arm to hang at his side.

You don’t know if the dark look is intentional or not, but you do know the shadows under his eyes aren’t. He looks exhausted and you can’t imagine he’s very happy about having to come to you upon returning home instead of going to bed like he no doubt yearns to.

You nod in confirmation. “Your brother is asleep?” Another nod. “Alright, step out here so we can talk without waking him.”

Silently, you step into the hall when he moves aside, before you pull the door up almost entirely shut, yet cracked open enough that you can hear if Chan needs you.

“So, what I hear is that a couple of my guys found you in the warehouse where it seems as if you’ve been sleeping with your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good, you speak,” he places his helmet on the floor so that he can remove his glove and tuck it into his jacket pocket with the other before unzipping the protective jacket, showing a plain black t-shirt tucked into the waistband of his trousers. “You’re homeless?”

“Yes.”

“Any family to go to? I can’t send you back onto the streets with a kid.”

“Just like that?” You ask, looking at him puzzled. “You’re just sending us out again?”

“What do you expect me to do with you? I know you’re aware I don’t condone violence towards children, nor do I agree with leaving any kid in a position where they don’t have an adult to look after them. I’m not going to hurt your brother, and hurting you would hurt him too, so my only option is to send you off and hope you won’t try to cause me any trouble by saying shit about whatever you saw and heard at the warehouse.”

“And here.”

“What?”

“Your men brought me into your home; as far as I’m aware that’s pretty fucking unheard of.”

He nods slightly in confirmation. “This situation is unheard of, you’re right, Mingyu fucked up by bringing you into the manor when he could’ve left you in one of the empty houses in the outer wall, but I can’t blame him when he did it to make sure he knows you two will be safe and looked after. So tomorrow I’ll personally drive you to the closest family you have, so that I know you arrive safely.”

“No.”

“No?” He frowns at you in astonishment. “The fuck do you mean no? I don’t think you understand what’s going on here, sweetheart. I’m in charge and you’re under my roof, you’re alive because of my rules and you have no fucking place to say no to me.”

“I’ll say no to whoever I need to if it means protecting my brother.”

“I just said I’m not going to let anyone hurt him.”

“Sending us to family will mean him getting hurt.”

“Did you run away?” You nod in confirmation. “Because your parents hurt you?”

“I took him and ran because I knew it would only get worse for him now that… Look, I don’t give a fuck who you are or what you can do to me; I’m not letting you send my brother back there. I won’t do a thing that puts us back on their radar. So just take us back to the warehouse so I can grab the shit I had to leave behind and we can see the last of each other.”

Seungcheol stares at you consideringly for a long moment as his arms cross over his chest before he nods once in understanding and acceptance. “Alright, no family, but I’m not sending you back to the streets. There must be some kind of women’s and children’s refuge that would take you in.”

“Separately. I’m not his parent and as I’m not a kid myself, we’d get separated.”

“Then lie and say he’s your son.”

“I don’t like to lie.”

He scoffs a laugh. “You wouldn’t last a day in my world with that mindset, sweetheart.” You don’t answer and just stare at him silently, well aware of how wrong his assumption is. “Right, so not that. Well, and this is a once in a lifetime offer, but I’ll buy you a house, put it in your name, give you money to cover costs for a few months while you get on your feet, and we never cross paths again. You won’t owe me shit either; I have more money than I know what to do with anyway, I can afford to help someone in need.”

“If I use my name they will find us, Seungcheol,” you plainly state.

He blinks at you a few times dumbly before responding. “Oh, that’s my name.”

You can’t help but look at him in concern for his odd reaction. “Yes.”

“You seriously do know who I am. I didn’t even introduce myself.”

“You’re the head of the most famous gang in the country, of course I know who you are.”

“Mm, many might know me by name, not by face.”

“Mingyu told me the boss will be by to see me once he’s home; you are the only person who has knocked on the door other than him. And you said you’re in charge; I’m under your roof. It’s not hard to put two and two together,” comes your logical rationalisation, easily explaining how you didn’t fail to recognise him despite his lack of introduction.

He’s right in that most people may know his alias, yet have no idea what his first name is, even if they know his family name, or who the name belongs to if they passed him in the street without introduction.

“Huh, guess so. Just threw me hearing my name suddenly, especially as nobody actually calls me that.”

“I don’t like your alias,” you admit bluntly, and to your surprise, the man lets out a laugh. “What?”

“Nobody has ever said that to my face before. Wow, either you have the biggest balls I’ve ever seen, or you’re so sleep deprived that you’ve forgotten how to act.”

Once again, you don’t answer, just silently stare at him. You truly have no idea what category you fit under right now, if either.

“You’re an interesting one, Pearl,” he declares with amusement tilting the edge of his lips up ever so slightly. “Well, I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with this tonight so we’re both going to go the fuck to bed and get some much-needed sleep, then we’ll talk again. And I’ll meet your brother; the guys say he’s adorable and shy, so I’m real curious about him.”

“Right,” you mutter in response, not sure what you’re expected to say right now.

“Alright, well, seeing as you’re not an idiot and know who I am and what you risk if you try to fuck me over, I won’t have anyone outside your room anymore and no-one will bother you until the morning when someone comes and gets you for breakfast.”

“Get us? Like, to join?”

“Yeah, we can talk over breakfast; I’ve got a busy day tomorrow and the sooner we sort this shit out, the better.”

“Right.”

“Go back to your brother and make sure you sleep too. You look like you’re about to pass out any second,” he says as he bends over momentarily to swoop up his helmet into his hold.

“Says you.”

Seungcheol snorts a laugh as he turns and walks off. “Definitely an interesting one.”

You watch him until he turns at the end of the hall and is out of sight before you go back into the bedroom and lock the door so that when you curl up under the covers with your brother, you feel safe enough to close your eyes and sleep in a soft bed for the first time in months.

Maybe today hasn’t been quite as unlucky as you initially thought.

When the knock comes in the morning, you’ve already been up for a few hours.

You’ve already cleaned up the bathroom and bedroom, showered for what may be the last time in a while to take advantage while Chan slept, and dressed back in your own clean clothes; though you’ve neatly folded the ones Seungkwan gave you into your backpack, hoping that he was being honest about allowing you to keep them, you could really do with the spare clothes.

Once Chan woke, you had him drink some juice, then let him splash around in the bath until the water was cold and his skin wrinkly, before drying him and dressing him in clean clothes and folding his new spares into your own backpack as his own is too full of his own spare clothes, toys, and other necessary supplies.

Chan’s playing with his toys on the bed at your side when the knock comes, so you leave him there to get up and answer the door.

“Good morning!” Mingyu greets you brightly once the door is open and you have sight of one another. “I’m glad you’re already up, breakfast is just about ready. Is your brother up too?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, great, let’s go join the others.” You nod slightly in agreement, then turn to get Chan and carry him with you as he clutches his turtle to his chest and hides in your neck.

“Does he have trouble walking?” Mingyu wonders as you follow him down the hall.

“Sometimes.”

“Ah, you just carry him all of the time, so I wondered.”

“It’s just easier, lets me know he’s safe if I’m holding him.”

“That makes sense. But he is safe here, you know. Nobody will hurt him. We all love kids in this house, in the appropriate way.”

“I don’t know you to trust those words.”

“I understand,” he assures and gives you a little smile.

Nothing more is said all the way to the kitchen where you can already hear noise before you enter. It’s not too loud, thankfully, just the general sounds of people being happy and chatting. And to your surprise, you can hear a child’s voice amongst it all.

“They’re here!” Junhui cheers as you enter the kitchen and see him cooking with another man while the large breakfast table is surrounded by a bunch of men, Seungcheol and Seungkwan included, plus a little boy who is in the middle of climbing over a brightly smiling man.

The little boy immediately looks over and grins brightly. “My new friend!” He exclaims.

“No, no, I told you, no,” Seungcheol says with a sigh. “Every child you meet isn’t your friend, Solie.”

“But he will be!” The boy insists and almost climbs up onto the table, though the man who he’s using as a willing climbing frame grabs him and moves him to put on the floor. Undeterred as if it’s a regular occurrence, the boy runs around the table to approach you and stare up at your hiding little brother in awe. “Hi! I’m Hansol, I’m almost seven! What’s your name?”

All the men look over curiously, stopping their conversations to see what happens next.

“I’m sorry, Hansol, but he doesn’t talk to anyone but me,” you say to the young boy gently.

“Oh,” Hansol frowns. “Why?”

“He only feels safe with me.”

“Oh. I don’t have a sister, but I feel safest with my daddy, so I talk his ear off, he says.” To your surprise, he points over at Seungcheol, who is watching his son with fond amusement.

In all you’ve seen and read about Choi Seungcheol over the years, you’ve never even heard a rumour that he has a child, not even a woman claiming to be carrying his child to try and get money from the filthy-rich family. There have even been rumours that the man is gay due to the lack of women seen on his arm over the years. Maybe that’s still true and Hansol isn’t biologically Seungcheol’s, maybe he’s adopted or a surrogate baby; not that it matters when you can see nothing but pure love in the man’s eyes for his son.

At least now you understand why the men had all been so insistent that Seungcheol has strict rules to protect children; as a father he likely has a better appreciation and love for the little humans. Well, a good father should, at least. Something about this man makes you think that he is a good and doting father, despite being a ruthless gang leader.

“Ah, it’s good you feel safe with him,” you decide to say and look at Hansol, who nods enthusiastically in agreement before looking at Chan again.

“Can we still be friends if he doesn’t talk and I talk a lot?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I don’t know if he can handle it, he’s sensitive to noise.”

“Oh, me too, like bangs and stuff; it makes me feel all horrible and gross and sometimes I wear my special headphones, and it makes it all quiet. Does he have special headphones too? They’re really good!”

“Ear defenders?”

“Oh, is that what they’re called?”

You nod. “Defend means to protect and they’re designed to protect your hearing and block out noises.”

“Ooooh, that’s cool! Daddy!” Hansol turns to look at his father. “My special headphones are superheroes for my ears!”

“So I heard,” Seungcheol replies with a chuckle. “Why don’t you come sit down so Pearl can get comfortable with her brother for breakfast, hm?”

“Can I sit with him?”

“I think he’d rather sit with his sister.”

The little boy deflates, whole posture slumping and his lips protruding sadly, “oh.”

“You can sit with me, Solie!” The same man Hansol had earlier been climbing on offers, making Hansol light right back up and run over to clamber up.

“No, no way,” Junhui argues sternly. “You spill enough food as it is without a child on your lap, Kwon Soonyoung.”

The man you now know to be Soonyoung, the man with the injured ankle who had been keeping guard outside of your room yesterday, pouts and crosses his arms over his chest, which Hansol copies when he’s in his own seat on his dad’s right at the head of the table. “You never let us have breakfast cuddles anymore,” Soonyoung complains in a mumble.

“Learn to eat like a grown up and then you’ll be allowed breakfast cuddles,” another man says as Mingyu leads you over to the empty two seats on Seungcheol’s left and motions for you to sit in the one closest to the boss. You sit in the offered chair while continuing to hold Chan chest to chest on your lap, and Mingyu takes the seat on your left.

“You’re younger than me!” Soonyoung exclaims.

“Alright children, at least pretend to know how to behave when we have guests,” Seungcheol chides, though he looks to be so used to the playful bickering that it doesn’t truly bother him.

“Yes, daddy,” Soonyoung agrees, then yelps when the metal chopstick Seungcheol abruptly throws through the air whacks him in the arm. “Ow!”

“I’ve told you not to call me that!”

“You do call them children,” the man at the other end of the table points out with a little, lazily amused smirk. “It’s your own fault, daddy.”

“Yeah, daddy,” multiple of the men chime in sync, then start to cackle when Seungcheol sighs heavily.

Though the man decides to ignore them all and turns his attention to you instead. “So, how’d you two sleep?”

“Good,” you reply, eyes darting around as everyone starts to serve themselves now that Junhui and the man who was cooking with him are seated, a sign that it’s time to eat. You’re shocked that they don’t wait for Seungcheol and Hansol to have their servings first, as the lead family. Though you can see Soonyoung making sure that the child has food on his plate before he gets his own share.

“What do you want to eat? I’ll grab it for you,” Mingyu offers. “Does he eat toast?” You nod in confirmation, so Mingyu grabs a couple of slices of toast. “With butter?” You nod again and he gets to work buttering the toast.

“Will you turn around?” You request Chan softly once you’ve leaned down to talk to him. He shakes his head. “Just halfway, please, Squirt. You can face the wall, but you need to be able to reach your food.”

Chan tenses for a second as he squeezes his turtle tight to his chest, before he relaxes and you know it means he’s ready, so you adjust him until his back is to Mingyu. Although Chan is technically facing Seungcheol now, the wall is more directly in front of him, and he stares at it.

“Anything else on it? We don’t have peanut butter, Hansol’s allergic, but we have probably almost anything else,” Mingyu says once the toast is buttered and on the plate that is sitting in front of you on the table.

“Do you want anything on your toast, Squirt?” You ask. Chan glances over to the plate and instead of verbally answering, he picks up a piece of the warm toast to start eating contently, feet starting to bounce a little as he chews.

“Is his name Squirt?” Hansol speaks up from directly opposite you, causing you to look over and see that he’s already got crumbs around his mouth from his own toast, though his is slathered in jam and he also has a single sausage on his plate.

“It’s a nickname,” you answer.

“Oh, why?”

“Have you seen Finding Nemo?”

“Yeah!” Hansol lights up. “I wanna bounce on the jellyfish, boing, boing!” He bounces in his seat.

“Ah, you shouldn’t bounce when you eat,” you say automatically, worried about the boy choking. “It’s a hazard to move in such a way while you eat.”

Hansol falls still to look at you with intrigue. “What’s hazard mean?”

“Dangerous. A hazard is something that’s dangerous.”

“Oh. So, no bouncing when eating?” You hum and nod in approval. “Okay.”

“What?” Seungcheol baulks in disbelief. “I’ve been telling you to sit still while you eat since you could sit up and you listen to someone you just met?”

“You never told me it’s dangerous, daddy. I don’t want to get hurt, you know.”

“I must’ve told you it’s dangerous,” Seungcheol mutters.

“Nope! You tell me I make a mess.”

“Oh…well, okay, that’s my fault then, I should’ve put the danger warnings first.”

“You should,” Hansol agrees simply, and for the first time in over 24 hours, you almost laugh yet manage to hold it back and instead just smile amusedly. “Will Squirt play with me after breakfast?”

“I thought we’re playing after breakfast,” Seungkwan pouts from Mingyu’s left.

“I always play with you Uncle Kwannie, I need new friends who aren’t old.”

“Wow, Hansol, wow,” Seungkwan deadpans. “You say such lovely things.”

“I am a lovely boy,” Hansol agrees, entirely missing the sarcasm in the man’s voice, making Mingyu giggle as Seungkwan pouts to stop himself from also laughing. “Does Squirt like climbing? I want to play outside after breakfast, and I can show my climbing frame, and we can play fishies too! I bet he’ll like that if he likes Nemo. Does he like playing fishies?”

“I don’t think he’s ever played it,” you answer honestly.

“We just pretend we’re fishies living in the sea, it’s pretty easy to play.” Hansol shrugs.

“Just eat your breakfast, Sol,” Seungcheol says, tapping the edge of Hansol’s plate.

“I am eating, daddy, you’re not and she’s not. We’re all eating but you two.”

“Okay, well focus on your food while we talk about adult stuff, okay?”

“Ugh, boring,” Hansol huffs and turns to start talking to Soonyoung, who happily listens to the little boy as they both eat with crumbs around their mouths and wide eyes on one another.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Seungcheol starts as he finally moves to put food on his own plate, though pauses when he realises that only Chan’s second piece of toast is on the plate in front of you. “You can help yourself; it’s all free game.”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you reply.

“Eat, you need energy to look after your brother,” he declares firmly and as much as you want to argue, he’s got you by bringing Chan into it; you’re pretty sure he said that on purpose. “I’m going to put food on your plate, and you don’t have to eat it all, but eat something, okay?” He doesn’t wait for your agreement before he gets up onto his feet to lean over the table further and serve a little of most of the dishes onto your plate before he serves himself a much heartier portion of everything.

For a few minutes, you eat quietly, feeding Chan from your own cutlery too so that he’s not just eating toast, even if he seems perfectly happy slowly chewing on it while staring off, though he opens his mouth to accept whatever you choose to feed him without complaint.

“Can I ask something?” Seungcheol’s voice makes you look away from Chan and to the man on your right. There’s something in his eyes you can’t place as he watches Chan curiously. “Is he autistic?” Your movements immediately halt and Seungcheol notices, snapping his full attention to your carefully blank expression. “He is, isn’t he?”

“My brother’s business is not yours,” you state firmly.

“I’m not trying to step on your toes or anything, I just see a lot of Hansol in him,” he explains with a shrug. “He’s got autism and ADHD, so I get it, we all get it, if he is autistic. It’s not a dirty word in this house and we all make accommodations where necessary to make sure my son doesn’t ever feel other, you know? He’s just another kid with some differences as far as he’s concerned.”

For a long moment, you just stare at Seungcheol in utter shock at his words. Not necessarily that Hansol has autism and ADHD because that doesn’t exactly surprise you despite having just met the kid, sometimes you just know these things, but what is a surprise is the ease in which Seungcheol says it all and the fact that you truly believe him; that they all accept and love Hansol and do what they can to support him.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted for Chan.

“Oh,” you breathe out, and with that breath, it feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. “It’s why I took him away. He got diagnosed in summer, and suddenly…can we stay?” You suddenly request, shocking the man visibly; his eyes go wide, and he straightens up from his casual slouch as he leans on his elbows on the table. “I will work for you; I’ll do whatever you need me to, just please allow my brother to grow up somewhere stable and with love. I’m not asking you to love him in any way, or for any of you to look after him; but for him to see another child like him receiving such love, I hope he’ll know there’s more than just one person on the side of kids like him.”

Seungcheol remains quiet for a second before he lets out a little breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I was actually going to suggest it myself, that you stay, because I really don’t know what else to do. You have nowhere to go, and I had a feeling he’s autistic, so I know it’s even harder for you and I truly don’t want to risk your family finding you, especially now I know why they think it’s acceptable to be cruel to an innocent child. I was just surprised you asked.”

“For his sake I’ll do anything.”

“Can you clean?”

“What?”

“If you stay, you need to work and there’s always stuff to clean in a house this size.”

“Is this because I’m a woman?” You deadpan and suddenly, the men closest to you turn quiet, creating a domino effect of silence along the table as they all turn to look at their flustered leader. “Is that the only job you could think of for a woman to be of use in your gang, Seungcheol?”

“Oooh,” Soonyoung jeers under his breath amusedly.

“What? No!” Seungcheol sputters. “I’m not sexist! I know women have plenty of uses besides cleaning!”

“Then why are there no women other than me in this house? I saw perhaps five on the entire drive through the estate. Those don’t seem like numbers of an equal opportunist.”

“I like her,” one of the men whispers to another, however as no-one else is talking, it’s loud and clear to you all and he doesn’t seem to care at all.

“What’s sexist?” Hansol curiously asks.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not sexist,” Seungcheol reiterates, dismissing Hansol’s question with a wave of his hand, making his son pout sadly at not being answered and catching your attention, which in turn, makes Seungcheol look at his son seeing your gaze focused on the boy, and the man notices Hansol’s frown. “Oh, Solie, I didn’t mean to upset you, it’s just not something a six-year-old needs to worry about.”

“I think if he asks, he’s curious enough to deserve an answer,” you point out. “Wouldn’t it be better to give him the knowledge earlier, so he grows up with it, than risk it not settling properly in his mind and being easy to pull apart when he’s older?”

“Oh, I really like her,” the same whispered voice as last time declares.

Seungcheol sighs then shuffles to face Hansol better. “Okay, Pearl’s right, I should give you an actual answer when you ask about things like this. Sexism is when someone thinks their sex or gender is above another. Like, for example, some idiot men think women belong in the kitchen and have no use other than staying at home to raise kids and look after the house. That’s men being sexist towards women.”

“Oh, like you only giving Pearl a cleaning job,” Hansol says, making Seungcheol wince, while some of the men start to snicker. “That’s really bad, daddy, give her a better job.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a cleaner, all jobs have worth. If nobody cleans, things will be dirty so it’s a perfectly valid job, Hansol.”

“But you’re being sexist so that makes it bad, right?”

“Okay, it would be if that was what I was doing, but I only said cleaner because I have no idea what Pearl’s skills are, and you don’t need qualifications or past job experience to clean.”

“Then ask her. If you don’t know what she’s good at, ask her,” Hansol reasons logically.

“How does it feel when a six-year-old has more logic and common sense than you, Coupsie?” The man at the other end of the table asks with an amused grin, earning an unimpressed expression from Seungcheol as he straightens up and turns towards you.

Seungcheol looks at you with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry for not asking you, that wasn’t right. We’ll have an interview when I’m back later and discuss what your place here will be, does that sound okay to you, Pearl?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” you agree simply. He relaxes a little before motioning for everyone to get back to their food, and the conversation is dropped there.

Just as he had said, after breakfast, Hansol enthusiastically leads you and Chan outside once you’re all three of you are in your shoes and coats, to go to the play area that would put a public child’s play park to shame.

There’s a large climbing frame, multiple types of swings, slides of varying heights and styles, trampolines imbedded in the rubber tarmac, spinning seats and roundabouts, seesaws and a huge racetrack painted onto the ground and weaving through all the various apparatus. Plus, there’s even a shelter with go carts, bikes, wagons, and even more toys.

And that’s just this section of the garden. A little further away you can see a large, covered section of ground, which you’d assume is an in-ground pool if there were any sign of ladders or tiles around it instead of more rubber tarmac. You have no idea what it is, but you know it’s another activity for Hansol.

It really is clear that Seungcheol will go above and beyond for the sake of his son.

“What shall we play first, Squirt?” Hansol asks, turning to look at Chan, who is entirely focused on the strange sensation of slightly springy ground under him as he bounces on his toes curiously. “It’s cool, right?! It’s just like in real play parks! Uncle Jihoon says it’s safety playground flooring; it’s got rubber in it so when we fall it isn’t as hard as normal ground and won’t hurt so much or break us as easily.”

Of course, Chan doesn’t respond in any way and honestly, you’re not even sure he’s heard a word that Hansol has said to him, you don’t know if Chan even realises that he’s being spoken to despite the older boy using the nickname so smoothly it’s like he’s always used it.

“Do you like bouncing?” Hansol asks, having no issue with the lack of response and instead rushes over to the trampolines to jump onto. “Look! Look, Squirt! We can touch the clouds!”

“Hey,” you say as you crouch down so you can get Chan’s attention. He glances at you, then looks up when he sees you looking directly at him, signalling that you want his attention. “Hansol wants to play with you, don’t you think that’d be fun? You can make a friend.” You motion over to where Hansol is still happily bouncing away, causing Chan to look over. He pulls an uncertain face. “Want to try?” You offer your hand and to your joy, Chan takes it, silently agreeing to give the trampoline a go. It’s a huge step in Chan making his first friend.

Together, you walk over to the trampolines and Hansol lights up noticing you nearing. He bounces closer and offers his hand to Chan. “I’ll bounce with you, it’s really fun, Squirt!”

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” you assure your brother and gently remove your hand from his. He looks at you with rounded eyes of hesitation, yet when you smile and nod reassuringly, he turns and tentatively takes Hansol’s hand.

Your heart swells with joy seeing Chan accept the older boy enough to timidly follow him onto the trampoline, even if he makes slightly distressed sounds as the material bends under his weight.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, Squirt,” Hansol soothes in a gentle tone and holds both of Chan’s hands securely so they’re facing one another, though Chan is staring alarmed down at the ground bending beneath their feet. “It’s a trampoline, it’s made to bounce. We can do it gently.”

So, so, so carefully, Hansol starts to bounce. His feet don’t even leave the trampoline and he’s more just bending his legs a little and using the movement to bob them slightly. Chan’s distressed sounds grow, but Hansol makes more soothing noises and holds his hands tighter. He keeps talking to Chan, telling him that it’s okay and “Solie is here, Squirt” and slowly, Chan calms until he’s just making little squeaky types of sounds every handful of seconds.

Once his noises stop being fearful and turn curious, Hansol encourages Chan to try bouncing too. With Hansol’s gentle support, Chan does start to bounce and the utter joy that lights up his face when he lifts his head to look at you with sparkling eyes makes you feel like you could break at any second. You didn’t know he could look so happy with someone else.

Right here, you decide that no matter what Seungcheol asks you to do, you’ll do it. So long as Chan gets to remain here looking so genuinely happy like this, you’ll do anything.

For the first time in months, Chan isn’t right by your side. He’s not far and you can hear Hansol’s voice from the playroom opposite, along with Seungkwan’s, who you have learned is Hansol’s nanny, even if Hansol is often not with the man as the child is both very self-sufficient but also very sneaky at escaping Seungkwan to go play with other people when he gets bored.

It’s probably half of the reason Seungcheol’s home office is right opposite Hansol’s playroom, so Seungcheol can be near if his son wants him when he gets fed up with his nanny.

“Hansol’s always wanted a little brother,” Seungcheol randomly states when you’re both sitting on the leather seating to one side of his office. He’s slouched on the loveseat and you’re sitting in the armchair with a view of the open door, even if you can’t see through to the open door of the playroom. This at least makes you feel better as you’re not turning your back on Chan.

You look at Seungcheol with a slightly raised, questioning eyebrow at his words.

“Just, he’s good with your brother, right?” You nod in confirmation because for all the energy Hansol has in his slight body, he’s so gentle with Chan, so caring, and you can entirely understand what Seungcheol is saying. Hansol is treating Chan like the little brother he’s always wanted. “He’s asked for a little brother for the past two Christmases.” He chuckles and forces himself to sit upright and lean over to pour himself a glass of water from the carafe on the low table in the centre of the seating.

You remain quiet and look back at the door to listen to Hansol’s and Seungkwan’s voices as they play. You can’t hear Chan, and you’re not surprised about it, but it does make you worry that you can’t tell if he’s enjoying the games when he’s so used to either playing alone or with you, even if you’re never as imaginative as either Hansol or Seungkwan.

“You don’t have to worry, Seungkwan knows first aid if they do get hurt,” Seungcheol promises.

“I’m not worried about injury, I’m worried that my brother will suffer in silence, unable to speak up for himself and without me there to talk for him.”

“I don’t mean to overstep or sound like a dick, but have you considered that that doesn’t help?” You look at him with furrowed brows. Seungcheol immediately holds up his hands in defence. “I’m just saying that if you always talk for him, he’s not going to learn to talk for himself.”

“While I agree that can be the case in many circumstances, this is not it. My brother is capable of talking when he feels safe and comfortable with a person, and I’m the only person he has. Even before his diagnosis he didn’t speak to most people because he had delayed speech, and the assholes never gave him the time and understanding to get out what he needed. He’s improved a lot more with just me to talk to these past months than beforehand. So no, I am not making a problem here.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol accepts obligingly. “I believe you, and I apologise for implying that you’re holding him back. Some people just don’t realise they are. They think they’re helping but they’re not. We’ve gotta let our kids figure shit out for themselves sometimes.”

“I know, but some kids and people just aren’t capable of figuring certain things out for themselves, so we have to help them lest they suffer in silence their entire lives.”

“Yeah, I think we know that very well. Raising a kid with disabilities is hard, but I’d never change him.”

“No, I wouldn’t either.”

The two of you share a moment of pure understanding that only breaks when you smile slightly and Seungcheol suddenly looks away while clearing his throat before swallowing down the rest of his water with flushed cheeks.

You can’t help but wonder if he’s ill to suddenly get visibly hot like that. You hope that if he is ill, it’s not contagious; you don’t think you can handle even a common cold right now with the poor condition of your body.

“So,” he says as he puts his glass down on the table perhaps a little too quickly, judging by the loud thunk it makes, which makes him wince. He takes a second to steady the glass then leans back and lays one arm on the back of the couch while he looks at you with even pinker cheeks.

“Are you ill?” You blurt.

“What?” He frowns at you bewilderedly. “No, why? Do I look like shit?” He puts his free hand to his cheek worriedly.

“You’re pink.”

“Oh,” he laughs awkwardly and abruptly gets up to cross the room and open the window. “J-just hot!”

“It’s winter.”

“I’ve just got back from a physically strenuous job,” he explains, and turns so his back is to the open window and his ass is leaning against the windowsill. “Talking of jobs, let’s decide what you can do for me. To work for me, I mean.”

“I don’t know what else that could mean other than work,” you point out and he lets out another strange, awkward laugh. “Are you high?”

“No,” he frowns suddenly, expression abruptly changing. “I don’t do drugs.”

“It would explain your odd behaviour. Either you’re ill, or high.”

“Neither! I’m fine, I’m fine,” he waves his hands dismissively before crossing his arms to tuck his hands under his biceps against his ribs. “So, have you had a job before? I assume so based on the fact you’ve only been homeless for the past months since running away, right? You had a house before then?”

“Family home.”

“Ah, so you didn’t pay rent and stuff.”

“No, I paid rent, it just wasn’t my house.”

“Wait, your parents made you pay rent to live in the family home?” He baulks in disgust.

“Father, my mother died years ago. And my stepmother; my brother’s mother if you want to get specific.”

“Oh, you’re half siblings? I assumed full, you seem very close.”

“As I said, I’m the only person who’s bothered to give him understanding.”

“He’s lucky to have you.”

“Like Hansol is lucky to have you.”

“In some ways, but others, not so much.” He motions around vaguely. “You obviously know what I do, what he’s surrounded by even if he doesn’t realise it yet. At least, I hope he doesn’t; I’m trying to shield him from all that fucked up shit, but I know it’s impossible considering his babysitters are often armed.”

“Is Seungkwan?”

“No, no, he can barely fire a gun. He was just a down-on-his-luck college kid, Hansol befriended him one day and then asked me to make Kwan his babysitter so he could buy new shoes.” He huffs a little laugh. “I have no idea how I raised a kid like that, but I’m glad.”

“It’s probably a lot that’s just him, his soul, if you believe in that.”

“Mm, yeah, probably. Anyway, back to you, you worked?” You nod. “What did you do?”

“Uhm, it’s kind of hard to pinpoint, I did a lot of stuff.” You bite your lip nervously and glance over at the open door before getting up to approach Seungcheol, who shuffles to straighten up. You stop out of arm's reach and lace your fingers together in front of you while staring at his shoulder to not make eye contact. “There is something you should know, and you won’t like it, but you know why I left, and I will always put my brother over anything.”

“What is it?” He asks, voice a little firm, no-nonsense, having sensed that this is serious.

“Who our father is. Who I worked for.”

“You’re a fucking gangster too, aren’t you?” He groans and puts his face in his hands. “I swear if you’re from one of those fucking pissy little gangs always causing me grief, I’m going to be pissed and you’re out on your ass; I’ll keep your brother, and I promise he’ll always be safe with me, but you’re out.”

“I wouldn’t say a pissy little gang,” you reply and glance up at him to see him peering at you in wait over the top of his fingers. “Vultures.”

In the blink of an eye, Seungcheol is directly in front of you and holding your jaw to make you look in his burning gaze. “Say that again, sweetheart. Who did you just say you’re associated with?”

“I left.”

“You’re his fucking child.”

“Did you know he has a child?”

Seungcheol’s anger ebbs a little as he considers your words. “No,” he admits in murmured realisation and slowly loosens his grasp before his fingers slip away from your skin and he takes a half step back. “Why didn’t I know about you? You’re not a kid, you’re what, late twenties?”

“Thirty.”

“Oh, we’re the same age,” he comments and eyes you carefully before stepping back again and crossing his arms over his chest. “I would’ve heard if The Vulture has a fucking thirty-year-old daughter.”

“Not if he never wanted anyone to know.”

“Hiding his golden child to keep her safe, that what you’re going for?”

“No, the opposite. He hid me for my protection when I was little, like I assume you’re doing with Hansol, but then it turned to shame and only the immediate circle knows I’m his daughter, everyone else thinks I’m just another member.”

“Why shame?”

“Is it relevant?”

“Maybe. What did you do?”

“Just exist.”

“Is he sexist?”

You huff a laugh at the reminder of the conversation from breakfast. Seungcheol’s lips twitch up into the start of a smile. “Yes, actually, but that’s not it.”

“Then what?”

You consider your options now; you could lie, but that never sits right with you, you could tell him it’s none of his business and hope he simply accepts that, but you’re not positive he will, not when the safety of his family and integrity of his centuries old gang is on the line.

Which leaves you with telling the truth and hoping that his heart doesn’t bend only for children. “I took my brother away because I know how cruel our father can get; I know what the next steps would be to try and ‘fix’ him because he did the same to me when I was a child.”

“Oh,” Seungcheol murmurs. “You’re autistic too?”

“He blamed my mother, turns out that asshole is the common denominator.”

“I see.” He moves to close the window then leans against the windowsill again as he looks at you thoughtfully. “I won’t lie, this has thrown me a little. I don’t know how to deal with autistic adults, just Hansol.”

“You don’t have to deal with me,” you scoff.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just mean like, what accommodations and stuff to make. How to support you and everything. We’ll have to have a real sit down and talk it out when I have time, and I’ll do research too because obviously I only looked up how autism affects little boys, not women.”

“Research?” He nods. “You don’t have to do that, I’ve had my whole life to figure out how to handle this myself, I don’t need accommodations.”

“Pearl,” he says firmly. “You were raised in a home I can’t believe you ever felt wanted or loved in, based on what you’ve said and what I know of how The Vulture and his gang works. I’m amazed you turned out so understanding and gentle, honestly. But the point is, that environment is not the place someone with autism or other things like that can learn to be true to themself. But that’s going to change, okay? You can be yourself here, you’re safe and no-one will be cruel to you for stimming or needing a break or whatever else you may need, okay?”

It sounds far too good to be true; you’ve never heard those words before, never had anyone tell you that you can just be you without risking getting hit with whatever is to hand. Honestly, at this point, you don’t even know if you know how to be yourself, you’ve been masking for so long.

Instead of trying to put all your thoughts into words you know won’t come out correctly with how jumbled your mind is, you just stare at Seungcheol.

“Alright, let’s circle back to that another day and for now, tell me what you did as a Vulture.”

“Various things.”

“Like what? Finances, tech, streets, driving, meetings, what?” You nod. “What?”

“All of it. I did something in all of it depending on what was needed of me.”

“You didn’t have a speciality?”

“Well…I was often bait, if that’s what you mean.”

“Bait?” He mutters, expression tightening. “What does that mean, Pearl?”

“There weren’t many women other than the whores and dad didn’t trust them to not betray him, so he’d send me to get attention of the men they wanted and take them to a secondary location.”

“Your father used you as sex bait?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“I knew he was fucked up but that’s something else,” he hisses and glares at nothing in particular. “How much do you know about how he works, how the gang is run?”

“Everything.” Seungcheol’s head snaps up to look at you with wide eyes. “I guess when you abuse someone and they still stay, you assume they’re loyal, or at least too scared to be a threat.”

“Are you loyal?”

“No.”

“Are you too scared to be a threat?”

“Never.”

Seungcheol’s mouth turns up into a smirk. “Then I know exactly what your job is, sweetheart; you’re going to help me tear apart the Vultures and dance on their graves.”

“I don’t know how to dance.”

Seungcheol chokes on a laugh. “It’s not literal, it’s a saying.”

“Oh. Why is that a saying? Why would you dance on someone’s grave?”

“Because you’re happy that they’re dead, a celebration.”

“Oh…I guess I should learn to dance.”

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he smiles that megawatt, heart-stopping smile at you. the corners of his mouth quirk up, lush pink lips stretching over two rows of perfect teeth. jaemin’s smile has always been your favorite physical feature on him.

“yes, of course, i love the rest of you!”

“but what about-”

“yea jaem - that includes your dick.” is usually some variation of how the conversation would go between the two of you when you complimented his smile. of course he knows you love him, and that you’re in love with him, but who would he be if he didn’t whine his way into getting more compliments from you?

jaemin’s smile is something that needs to be immortalized in a mural on the sistine chapel ceiling, or however, the damn saying goes.

it’s hard to remember much when he’s fucking your last remaining brain cells out of you..

“if only you could see yourself right now, baby girl - so fucked out you can’t even focus on me for more than a second,” jaemin sighs at you, eyes focused on the way your eyes cross and mouth twists in a choked cry.

you wanted so badly to strike back with something sassy, but his thumb has moved to stroke your clit just the way you like and the breath is knocked out of you.

jaemin’s left hand, the one gripping your thigh like a lifeline as it hangs limply around his waist, shifts downward to the back of your knee. he lifts your leg to drape it over his shoulder. his cock wedges deeper into you, the sensation completely blocking out the way your knee hits the roof of the car on the way up.

in the very back recesses of your brain you conjure enough sense to be happy that jaemin had driven your suv out tonight. fucking him in his sedan would’ve been doable, but a little trickier.

you would know since he has in fact, fucked you in his car before. comfort makes all the difference.

it had been him that needed you that night, the dress you’d worn for jeno’s birthday party at his favorite club making it impossible for jaemin not to watch you all night. just seeing you standing and talking to your group of friends had him locked in, his heavy gaze watching your every move. when he finally got his hands on you, he could only focus on dancing with you for a single song before he was dirty talking you out of the club and onto your hands and knees in the backseat of his bmw.

tonight, it just so happened to be your turn to shamelessly ogle your boyfriend like a woman starved.

in your defense, it is literally his fault. he’d been teasing you all day.

your boyfriend had taken it upon himself to wake you up this morning by crawling between your legs and rousing you out of your sleep with his lips attached to your clit. apparently, he missed you so much while you were asleep he couldn’t wait to have a taste of you as soon as his eyes opened.

you didn’t have a problem with it, nor did you have a problem with the way his hands took every opportunity to find your hips, your side, your ass, or your hands with his own as the day went on. you cleaned your shared apartment before getting ready for your friends’ housewarming gathering later and jaemin couldn’t keep his hands off of you - again, not that it was a bad thing.

what did end up being a bad thing - for you at least - is how wound up he left you, only to leave the house for your outing tonight looking like the sexiest man on the planet (as if he didn’t already do that every day).

jaemin wore dark denim jeans and a casual blazer - a very normal outfit in your opinion.

except, under his blazer was a form-fitting tank top. the get-together was only a handful of friends and the hosts made it clear it was an extremely casual time so neither of you had to worry over an outfit to wear. still, the moment jaemin decided to take his blazer off and you watched as his shoulders, arms, and the thick vein that runs up his bicep whenever he flexed became visible, you wished he had worn a three-piece suit instead.

how the hell were you supposed to be normal when he had riled you up so much over the course of the day? and of course, even in the car ride over, he had let his hand rest on your bare thigh, fingertips casually resting just under the bottom of your skirt. you wanted more than anything for him to creep those thick fingers up the rest of the way and find their way into your panties.

he didn’t though, he instead talked about how excited he was for donghyuck and his partner, your best friend, to have finally been able to get their own house. it made jaemin talk wistfully about when the two of you would do the same. your heart would normally be fluttering in your chest at how sweet your boyfriend of four years is and how much it made you fall even more in love with him when he talked about your future together.

and while yes, you were feeling that giddiness, your pussy was also throbbing, panties sticking uncomfortably against you as his fingers danced on your skin, but made no move upwards.

so, again, it was hardly your fault that you needed him so badly. that’s why, at some point in the night, you simply lost all decorum. it was when jaemin came into the kitchen while you were trying to decide which appetizer to distract yourself with. he was still just in his undershirt and had the nerve to smile at you.

“hey, beautiful,” he immediately came over to place a kiss on your cheek. your back was to him so he casually draped himself over you, back-hugging you as he surveyed the food options. “having fun?”

you hummed in affirmation, suddenly getting distracted as he pressed into you, reaching over your body to grab a slice of pizza. his chest was so solid behind you, his warmth striking the match that was your overwhelming thirst for him.

“yeah, but i’d be having more fun if you were fucking me right now.”

jaemin’s eyes widened, head tilting as he studied you. “oh yeah?” he sounded genuinely intrigued. “and where is that coming from?”

rolling your eyes, you scoffed at him, pushing your ass back into his bulge behind you, jaemin letting a grunt sound in his throat.

“you’ve been messing with me since you woke me up!” he smirked at the memory, obviously not sorry one bit. “then, you spent the whole day groping me like a perv!”

he gasped, “first of all, i’m offended that me wanting skinship with my girlfriend whom i love so much makes me a perv!”

“still! and then you walk around this house in this tight shirt with your arms just out!”

“is it not warm in here?! it’s not my fault donghyuck won’t let us turn the aircon lower!”

you flipped around, wrapping your arms around his waist, surprising him again.

“jaem, please can we go home? i need you so bad,” you gave him your best puppy-dog eyes, jutting your lip out for good measure. jaemin’s willingness to give into you would typically depend on how nice or how mean he was feeling that day.

unfortunately for you, it was obvious he wasn’t going to give you what you want anytime soon. a downright devilish smirk overtook him as he pressed against you, his bulge pressing into your belly. your grip on his waist tightened as you felt in real time, his dick hardening against you.

“honestly, i had no idea i was getting you so flustered, baby girl,” one of his hands moves to hold your waist, grinding against you once more. “but now that i know, i think instead of leaving now, it’ll be much more fun to make you wait until later.” as soon he says that, he snatches his hold on you away, separating your bodies before you can grab at him again.

“jaemin!” you pout, arms falling to your side.

“besides, it would be rude to leave our friends’ gathering celebrating this milestone in their lives! you wouldn’t want to do that, right sweetheart?” you cross your arms. that was true - you didn’t want to leave the celebration early just to run off and have sex with your boyfriend - even if your body was practically buzzing at the sight of jaemin just standing in front of you. “plus, sometimes i just love making you unbearably horny. you get so fucking desperate for me.”

he had the nerve to giggle at the scoff you let out as he blew you a kiss and left the kitchen.

and you hate how right he was. you were so pathetically desperate for him. you kept your eyes on him all night and quickly got tired of just looking, so you decided to flip the script on him, using every excuse you got to touch or rub up on him.

your ass rubbed against him as you inserted yourself into a conversation with he and jeno. your nail scraped across his firm chest as you scooted past him to get to the bathroom. you made sure to grip the highest part of his thigh when for “stability” as you rose from the couch to go talk to a friend.

it was partially to tease him right back and partially to fulfill your scorching need to feel him up. you were admittedly shameless in your lust for him, but so what? if it’s a crime to want to have sex at every opportunity with your incredibly sexy boyfriend then you’ll gladly accept your sentence.

by the time the night was over and goodbyes were shared, you knew your actions were anything but criminal.

“just so you know, when we get home i’m going to do so much more than eat your slutty little cunt out,” he says low enough for only you to hear, which combined with the way his fingertips dug into your lower back as he walked you to the car, was anything but a punishment.

excitement coursed through your veins - when jaemin started to say absolutely filthy things to you before using his soft words as foreplay, you knew he wanted you in more of a carnal way than anything slow and drawn out. he needed you then just as badly as you had needed him.

“oh yeah?” you mused, pretending to be surprised by his admission. you unabashedly smiled up at him, amused by the way he frowned back in response.

“yeah,” he said simply, opening your passenger door, holding your hand as you stepped up and in, not saying another word.

you had known he was going to fuck your brains out when you got home, but what you hadn’t known was that he’d decide he couldn’t wait anymore. that instead of waiting to bend you in half at home in your bed, he was going to pull onto a side road on the way home and do it. the road was still under construction, so it was a dead end with no one nearby, all the workers having gone home for the night.

jaemin drives his hips into the backs of your thighs faster, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing against the fogged-up windows.

“ja-aemin!” your back arches up when he takes his thumb away from your clit to readjust your hips on the seat.

he tuts at you, his hand quickly moving back between you to smack at your clit, the sting pushing a squeal out of you.

“patience, my slutty baby. i’m making sure you don’t fall.” he smacks your bud again, hand going back to your hips and forcefully slowing your movement down. he ignores your pleas and protests for him to do anything other than stop.

“jaemin, no no no no please!”

“fuck i love when you beg for me like this. my pretty, needy girl.”

“yes, yes, jaem please, i’m so needy.”

jaemin bites his lip, slowly rotating his hips. it’s not fast enough to give you any relief from the pressure building in your stomach and you whine out louder in frustration.

“needy for what exactly?” he’s teasing you because of course he is.

“you, jaemin!”

“what about me?”

“oh my god, jaemin, your dick! i need your dick and i need you to fuck me and make me cum! please!” you’re more irritated when you say it, your orgasm having been taken from you.

“i know, i just like to hear you say it,” jaemin chuckles.

“you’re so annoying!” you grunt, trying to move your hips to set the pace yourself. instead, jaemin presses them down into the cloth seats, leaning over your body to bring his face directly in front of you.

you stop your squirming to gasp, surprised by his proximity. his dark eyes sweep over your face before he’s leaning down to kiss you, plump lips moving against yours with hunger and determination. you instantly kiss him back, eyes slipping closed as jaemin’s tongue caresses yours, both of you sighing into the other. jaemin reaches up to cradle your head and he deepens the kiss, but only for a few more seconds. he pulls away, giggling at the tiny “noooooooo” you whimper, going so far as to kick your legs the best you could, throwing a tantrum.

jaemin coos at you, sitting up straighter. his hands skillfully reach for the buttons on your blouse, undoing them with little effort and pulling your bra up, making sure your tits fall out the bottom and tucking the unneeded fabric under your chin.

“jaem! i’m going to die if you don’t finish what you started!”

jaemin brings a heavy hand down, smacking your right tit, making you scream. “hush, brat! i wanted to see your tits while i fuck you.”

you humph at him, turning your head to look away from him with an attitude.

jaemin rolls his eyes as he repositions himself, slowly entering your waiting pussy again, and watches as your eyelids flutter closed, frown melting away as your mouth opens.

“you’re lucky i need to fill you up now or else i’d make you wait till we’re home.”

you barely hear him as inch-by-inch of jaemin slides into you until he’s bottomed out, stretching your walls out as if he hadn’t just been pumping into you minute ago.

jaemin carefully positions both legs over his shoulders, bending down into your space, both to witness the stunning expressions he’ll get you to make up close and to not risk hitting his head on the roof of your car.

the position allows it to feel as though jaemin fills you up even more, crowding so close to you that all you see, all you hear, all you smell is jaemin. if you lean up close enough, you may be able to kiss him again so you can taste jaemin too.

that stops being an option once he finally starts to move his hips and thrusts into you, wasting no time to ease you into it. jaemin grinds into you with a force that makes the car start to shake again.

“shit - jaem!”

“feel good, baby girl?”

“so so good!”

jaemin shuffles his lower half closer to you, pushing you further up the seat with each rough thrust. he manages to lean closer to pepper your faces in sloppy kisses with each snap of his hips.

“so fucking beautiful,” jaemin groans, the blunt nails on his left hand dig into the sensitive skin of your thighs as he bullies his cock into your sopping pussy harder, harder, and harder again, your cries for him nothing but incomprehensible nonsense at this point.

when the positioning of his hips changes an inch, it’s just enough to have the fat head of his cock knocking into your g-spot over and over again.

“fuuuuck! yes, right there jaem baby, right there!” you shriek, nails digging into his thick biceps as you cling to them, your head spinning with pleasure.

“open your eyes, pretty girl,” jaemin nearly growls. “look at me when you cum.”

it feels almost impossible, but you do as you’re told, prying your teary lashes open to meet jaemin’s gaze. you’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend, eyes dark, pupils blown out as he stares you down. his black hair is sticking to his face as a few sweat droplets trail down the side of his face and drip, making his beautiful, honeyed skin glow. 

your eyes follow, catching sight of the way his gold chain dangles over you as he snakes his hand between your bodies again, this time returning his fingers to your aching clit, twisting and rubbing harsh circles into the sensitive bud with a purpose.

“jaem…baby, i-i i’m so close. s-so close!”

“yeah? gonna cum for me baby girl?”

“mmhmm!”

“gonna be my good girl and make a mess for me to clean up when we get home?” jaemin’s words are strained, his own end also approaching.

“yes! anything please, jaem, just wanna cum! can i, please?”

“only if you look at me while you do,” he commands, pulling your gaze away from his sculpted chest.

when your eyes lock with his, jaemin immediately smiles at you again, this time in the cocky, self-assured way he always does when he watches you breaking down and falling to pieces for him.

“cum for me, pretty girl. come on and cream all over my fat cock,” jaemin demands, finger pressing against your clit at the same time that his cock drills into your spot for the final time needed to have your toes curling and vision turning white as you cum, nails nearly breaking skin on jaemin’s arms as you do.

through the static filling your ears, you can hear his moans getting louder and high-pitched.

he keeps his heavy eyes locked on you until he can’t anymore and his body stutters, then he’s cumming hard, lids clenching shut as ropes of white warmth fill your hole and drip out around jaemin’s twitching dick.

he rests his head against your chest, his sweaty hair making your bare skin itch. even so, you let him stay for a few more minutes, enjoying the warmth of his breath with each exhale.

eventually, you have to call his name a few times, tapping the top of his head. he doesn’t respond at first, so you have to shake him harder and he finally sits up.

“hmm?”

“were you asleep?!”

“no, but i didn’t wanna leave. your tits are so soft,” jaemin pouts, hands cupping both of your breasts and squeezing. he almost gets you - your head nearly lolling back as his thumbs roll over your nipples.

you fight it though, pinching his side which makes him yelp.

“you can play with my tits when you get us home if we leave right now.”

your boyfriend sighs, but straightens himself up, gingerly pulling his softening length out of you. he can’t help but hesitate to watch in fascination when his cum leaks out from between your puffy pussy lips, only looking away when you close your legs.

“babeeeeee!”

“babe nothing! home now!” you push him away with your foot and sit up to pull your skirt down.

“fine, but you better hold all my cum inside you till we get there. i need to fuck it back into you.”

you pretend to think, jaemin making eye contact with you through the rearview mirror when you hesitate. “mmm okay…but only if you promise to fill me up again right after.” jaemin lets out a huff through his nostrils, throwing the car into drive.

“seatbelt, baby,” he tells you, waiting for you to do so before he peels away. “good girl.”

the timber of his voice has you clenching around nothing, already missing the heaviness of jaemin stretching your walls to their limit.

“anything for you, sir.” the words are sticky sweet and jaemin has to count to five because he’s sure he’ll explode if you keep it up.

“you love playing with me, don’t you?” jaemin mumbles through gritted teeth, wishing more than anything that red lights were never invented as he slows to a stop, traffic laws delaying him in getting to his destination.

“i do. not my fault i always wanna fuck my gorgeous boyfriend.” you lean up when you speak, placing a kiss on the shell of his ear.

“fuck baby…” he trails off, getting momentarily distracted when your tongue starts licking up the side of his neck, your teeth biting down on his shoulder. he refocuses when you pull away, smiling flirtatiously at him in the mirror. “it’s a good thing then that i love fucking my gorgeous girlfriend, huh?” he looks at you for a second longer before stepping on the gas when the light turns green.

“it’s because we’re perfect for each other.”

you see jaemin’s reflection in the driver’s side window and catch him smiling wide - the sight prompting you to do the same.

“yeah, i guess we are,” jaemin concludes, still smiling as he makes a turn, your apartment only a few blocks away. you watch his reflection, loving his smile as you always do, but you also can’t wait to see the way he’ll smile down at you when you get home and you get his dick in your mouth.

jaemin’s smile is your favorite feature of his - no matter how you’re making him do it.

In all his life that he’d known Kim Sooah, there had never been a scenario where she hadn’t shown him a good time. Whether it was the first party with the popular kids she’d invited him to, the first drink she’d peer pressured him into drinking (and later apologised for after he’d regained consciousness), or even when she’d smuggled in alcohol to the first Big Hit party after they’d become a group - Kim Sooah knew how to crank it up.

Therefore, when she convinces him to meet her after an evening shoot instead of going home, despite how tired he is, Jimin can’t help but oblige.

He reaches the spot she’d texted him and looks around, frowning when he only sees a half-empty parking lot with a couple of dim street lamps. Fishing out his phone, he scrolls to his chat with her.

“Hey!”

Jimin almost jumps out of his skin and his phone tumbles out of his hand. “Shit!” he gasps, catching his phone just before it hits the ground and turning around, heart racing. “What is wrong with you?”

Sooah grins, head and shoulders popping out of the silver car right behind him. “How come you didn’t recognise my car?” she demands, resting her forearms on the window.

“Because it’s… silver. Like every other car here,” he answers, turning around on the spot to make his point. “Why are you…” He looks at the entire image, including the deserted parking lot “... lurking?”

“I was waiting for you,” she explains, opening the door and stepping out. “You really couldn’t tell it was my car?” she repeats, sounding hurt.

“No! Of course I could,” he corrects himself, knowing how proud Sooah was of her brand new second-hand car. “I just… forgot. I would’ve recognised it if I’d seen the inside,” he adds immediately, laughing when she glares at him. 

This car was her baby, as she put it, her first big adult purchase. Jimin had tried his best to persuade her to just let him buy her a car but she wouldn’t hear of it. After over a week of searching, budgeting and arguments that always ended in one or both of them sulking, they had compromised on Sooah buying the car and Jimin paying to upholster and redo the interiors.

Now, gesturing to the plush, beige faux leather seats, Sooah turns to him. “I have a plan for tonight and you are going to love it,” she declares. 

Behind her, Jimin can see two bags of burgers, fries and diet coke on the seat, along with a folded blanket, and he understands. “Oh, are we throwing it back to the Incheon highway night again?” he asks fondly, placing an arm around her shoulders and squeezing affectionately. “Maybe this time you won’t slip off the bonnet.”

Sooah slaps his torso lightly. “No, but remind me of that again. No, it’s a different plan - I’m throwing it way back.” She smiles up at him, with a little too much knowing.

Jimin returns it, a little uneasily. “Uh, okay… is it the time we had sex in the backseat of my car twice in the same night? Because I gotta tell you, I think we’re committed enough to do that indoors.”

“Further back, Park Jimin.”

“I give up. Are you going to tell me? Or are you driving me?”

“I could… but we’re already here.” 

Jimin looks around again. “You have to give me more of a hint, baby. Do you even have a plan? Or are you just making it up as we go along?” he asks kindly. “Because this is the road down to our high school and I don’t think we’ve ever -” He stops abruptly, noticing Sooah’s growing, brilliant smile. “No.”

“Oh, yes.”

“We cannot sneak into our high school!” Jimin hisses, looking around in half a panic. “We could get in trouble! We could -”

“What? Get detention?” Sooah shakes her head and grabs bags of food while he sputters. “You perform in front of thousands on five hundred calories, Park Jimin. This is should be a piece of cake.”

Ignoring his feeble protests, she begins walking towards the school, turning only to give him the same blazing smile again, lips red and hair shiny. “Trust me, Jimin.”

Trust me, Jimin. A seventeen year old Sooah had said the same thing, hair in a high ponytail and spiky fringe covering her forehead, as she handed him a pastel pink cocktail in a plastic glass. She was so incredible, so confident and beautiful and exciting, that seventeen year old Park Jimin had taken a deep breath, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and drunk the cocktail without objection.

“Only because you’re you, Kim Sooah,” he mutters, jogging up to catch up to her as she laughs in delight. “I suppose you have a better way for us to get in that isn’t the front gate?”

As it happens, she does. Meandering through a stealthy route including a space in between the boundary walls, a door with a broken lock and several thickets of bushes where they have to walk crouched, they finally enter the building. 

“Is this -” Jimin follows her as she opens a door and saunters inside. “God, you are cheesier than you pretend to be, jagiya.”

Sooah makes a face but smiles anyway, backing into the chemistry lab and hitching herself up on one of the tables. “I wanted to bring you back to the beginning, to remind you of what you have here,” she says simply. “Before you leave and forget about all the things you left back home.”

“Oh, you mean like all the hot chicks I’m sure to run into in the army?” he says sarcastically, taking off his jacket and joining her. It’s nothing but the moonlight streaming in from one of the windows, but it’s more than enough. “I’ll be sure to tell them all about my first kiss with the Kim Sooah in the chem lab.”

“You better,” she says, sliding off the table she was sitting on to stand before him where he’s leaning backwards against the opposite table. “In fact, you can tell them about everything else you’re going to do in the chem lab as well,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

Jimin kisses her back eagerly, tugging her close to him. Her lips are plush and taste of cranberries, and her tongue is warm and teasing. Her hands slide up his t-shirt and a pleasurable shiver goes up his spine at the feel of her palms flat on his torso, running confidently over the muscles still activated from his rehearsal.

She sighs into his mouth and his body reacts; he helps her slip her jacket off and brings a hand to her breasts, squeezing them gently while she moans in response, biting his lip when he tugs her thin top down and brushes his thumbs over her nipple. 

“This is the kind of thing you were talking about?” he whispers in her ear, before kissing her neck below. “Because I don’t think anyone has done anything like this in the chem lab before.”

“Probably,” she agrees in a sigh. Slipping her hands out from underneath his t-shirt, she reaches for his hand and brings it down to between her legs. “We can be the first,” she says, eyes squeezing shut when he squeezes her cunt through her jeans.

Deftly undoing the button of her jeans and unzipping them, Jimin slides his hand down over her underwear, feeling himself harden even more when he feels the warm, damp cloth. “Can’t believe you’re mine, Kim Sooah,” he murmurs, loving her so much as he gently turns her around and slips his hand into her underwear, one finger entering her. 

Sooah bites her lip and moans in pleasure, pressing her back to his chest and kissing his cheek. “Mhm,” she hums when he adds another finger and massages her clit, strokes tender but firm. His other hand goes up her body again, squeezing her hips, her waist, her breasts and rubbing her core as he holds her close, not stopping until she cums.

Jimin lowers his head and tugs the sleeve of her top down her shoulder slightly, kissing the exposed skin as he retrieves his fingers. He’s painfully hard in his track pants, he acknowledges as Sooah turns around in his arms, looking deliciously ruffled. Wordlessly, she kisses him - and as if having read his thoughts, her hand snakes up his thigh to palm his crotch. 

“Your turn,” she whispers sweetly against his lips, before lowering herself to her knees.

“Damn,” says Jimin after a while, stretching out on the chair and stretching his legs out on the desk in front of him. “I can’t believe I just got a blowjob from the Kim Sooah in the chem lab. I’d high-five my fifteen-year-old self if I could. You know what -” He slaps one hand with the other. 

Sooah leaning against a windowsill with the moonlight giving her a pale, otherworldly glow, laughs and chucks a fry at him. “I definitely like this more than when Hyeri and Sol and I snuck in to smoke behind the football field. And I think I should be the one saying I hooked up with the Park Jimin. That’s the one that will really grab headlines.” 

“That’ll be a hell of a headline.”

“Oh, speaking of -” She takes a sip of Diet Coke and raises her eyebrows. “You might want to tell Tae to cool it with the home videos with his girlfriend accidentally-on-purpose in the reflections. Twitter is starting to figure out that an adult man may be having intimate relations with a woman.”

Jimin, still reeling from the fact that this isn’t the first time Sooah has snuck into their old high school, frowns belatedly. “What do you mean? How do you know?”

“I obviously have Google alerts on all your names,” she says nonchalantly.

“Obviously,” he repeats.

“I like seeing how fans are thirsting over my boyfriend,” she says simply, smiling when Jimin grins involuntarily, his cheeks getting hot. “Chae was actually the first one to do it. She was paranoid that her brother would see something about Hobi online and, like, guess that they were banging or something. She’s an angel, but I swear to god, it’s almost like she needs something to worry about all the time. Either it’s this, or her skincare, or that the shop is out of almonds so she can’t make her morning smoothie with the exact correct ingredients as this one Instagram reel she found.” She rolls her eyes. “This morning, she texted me to ask the longest I’ve gone without doing yoga and if that impacted my flexibility any.”

“So in other words, you miss her.”

Sooah laughs. “Guilty as charged,” she answers honestly. “I’m hoping I can just continue affording rent and utilities by myself until she returns so I don’t have to get another flatmate. Unless she decides she likes Dilara more than me and decides to just stay in London,” she adds dramatically.

Jimin gives her a look. “First of all, Dilara is in Seoul right now. And I’m getting a bit insecure here that you might miss Chae more than you’ll miss me.”

“Never. Why do you think I planned this tonight?” She gestures to the dark chem lab, swinging her legs off the windowsill to face him. “We don’t have a lot of time and this…” She shakes her head, a fond smile appearing on her face. “This is one thing off the bucket list.”

“Bucket list?” Jimin frowns. “Sooah, I’m not dying.”

“No… but I guess I didn’t think I’d have to deal with seeing you leave.” She shrugs, her smile fading a bit. “You know, we were - what? Twenty-one when we last broke up? It was too much to imagine that we’d somehow make it to almost thirty, together, to seeing you off -” She breaks off when he gasps. “I just mean - it’s not in a bad way,” she adds quickly. “It’s not like I didn’t have faith - I just didn’t want to let myself hope.”

“Not that,” Jimin exclaims, jaw dropping. “You just called me thirty!”

“What - I said almost thirty. And you are almost -”

“If I’m thirty, then so are you,” he shoots back, crossing his arms across his chest.

Sooah scoffs. “Actually, my birthday is after yours.”

“Ooh, I’m Kim Sooah and I follow the international age system,” he mutters sarcastically, rolling his eyes and diving for another fry. “I can’t believe you would say that to me. And it could be the last thing I ever hear from you before I leave - how does that make you feel?”

“I don’t know. I guess you’ll find out when you come back for a break.” Sooah dodges the playful flick Jimin aims at her temple and brings their clasped hands down. “Haven’t your friends already come back for at least one? No, wait, Seokjin has,” she remembers. “What about Yoongi? Have you talked to him at all?”

“You mean since he just up and left without a word to any of us?” Jimin shakes his head, feeling his mood sour at the memory. Everything had changed after that one farewell party. He can’t imagine what Yoongi might have seen or who he might have talked to, but after that night he had shut down completely. The rest of them had got exactly one message from the company saying Yoongi’s departure would not be filmed, and that was that. “I’m not holding my breath,” he mutters.

“It doesn’t really sound like him, though, does it?” Sooah ventures, tilting her head and squeezing his hand. “Actually, maybe it does?” she guesses after a pause.

“I don’t know. God, I’m gonna kick his ass the next time I see him,” Jimin says, recalling how his phone calls had gone unanswered before he’d remembered that Yoongi wouldn’t have his phone for the first few weeks. “Yeah, and I’m going to assemble a team to join me. Not Jungkook - he’ll just cry. But Tae - Tae will be pissed. Maybe Namjoon, too.”

As he says it, something occurs to him. Going by the look on Sooah’s face, it seems to have occurred to her, too. “Namjoon having no idea why Yoongi left seems unlikely,” she states evenly. “But you know them better.”

She’s right. “I’ll talk to Namjoon. I’ll force him to tell me what he knows,” he says with conviction. “With my words, not my hands,” he adds when Sooah raises her eyebrows. “Now that he’s working out again, he’s built like a tank.”

He’s not wrong; in fact, in the dim lighting of the bar that Jimin meets him in an hour later, with an oversized hoodie and hunched over something at a corner table, Namjoon looks more like a gigantic muscled boulder than ever. Jimin makes his way over to the table, bopping his head to the low R&B music playing on the speakers. The leader looks up just as Jimin reaches him, his phone on the table and lit up to what looks like a voice note.

“What are you -”

But Namjoon simply points to his phone and increases the volume, looking amused. Jimin frowns and leans forward, hearing what sounds like shouts and screams and laughter. After a few seconds of bemusement, Namjoon finally provides context.

“Kaya went out partying with her friends last night,” he explains, “and at some point accidentally left a voice note recording while she was out. So now I have about -”He checks his phone “- twenty-four minutes of a night out in Amsterdam by a bunch of students who leave the library twice a year.”

Jimin chuckles. “Kaya parties?”

“More than you think,” he answers, bringing the phone closer to them. Jimin leans even closer, now able to discern Kaya’s voice through the laughter, interspersed with at least three or four other equally drunk voices.

“- can’t even see it! Stop - oh God -” There’s laughter and screaming, followed by music getting turned on in the background. “- looking for Andrew and he’s not here with the tequila yet. Wait what? Where? The tequila’s here - shots!” A chorus of shots, shots, shots comes through the speaker, followed by the music getting louder and the piercing sound of an electric guitar drowning them all out.

“Pour some sugar on me!” Kaya shouted in a sing-songy voice, followed by a bunch of other voices cheering, laughing and singing along to an English rock song, everyone clearly drunk on tequila among other things.

“Future mother of my children,” says Namjoon proudly, pointing at the phone. He pauses the voice note and places the phone down. “I’ll listen to the rest at home. What’ve you been up to?”

“Had rehearsal, hung out with Sooah - the ush. Hey, speaking of which - what’s the deal with Yoongi hyung just ghosting the hell out of us and disappearing into the barracks?” Jimin says everything in one breath.

Namjoon blinks. “Wow, I did not see that coming.”

“So you do know something.”

The leader raises his eyebrows and shrugs innocently, all while Jimin muses at how terrible Namjoon is at lying. “I’ve already told you everything I know. We’ve talked about this, Jimin,” he says, giving him a look and pulling his beer closer to him.

“No,” says Jimin at once, having expected this. “No, we haven’t. We all wondered on the group chat, and then you said to give him space. And right now, I can’t remember why we didn’t double down on that.”

Namjoon sighs. “Look, I - I really don’t know what to tell you. If you’re asking if I know why he left without a word, I genuinely don’t know because he left without a word to all of us.”

“Yeah, but you don’t seem as concerned as we do,” points out Jimin, reaching for the beer without permission.

Namjoon watches him take a sip of the beer, looking contemplative. “I’m not… not concerned. I just know him and I know that we’re not going to get a word out of him until he wants to reach out. So there’s no point pushing him.”

“Because you know him,” repeats Jimin, waiting for Namjoon to nod. “Because you guys rapped together before any of us were BTS lived together for thirteen years?"

“Yes,” Namjoon answers deliberately, snatching his beer back. “And that’s why I’m advising you - let it go. He’s fine - he said so himself when I asked.” Too late, he seems to realise what he said.

Jimin pounces. “A-ha! I knew it!” He slams his palm on the table. “When did you ask him and what did he say?”

“It was before he left! I - I didn’t - I mean, I don’t know why -” Namjoon breaks off and sighs. “It was a few days before his farewell and he looked… not okay.”

“In what way?”

“In a… physical way, I guess? He sounded normal but he… kind of looked like he’d been mugged.”

Jimin frowns, something occurring to him. “The bruise on his face? I knew it,” he breathes, sitting back and running his hands through his hair, recalling the fading blue spot he’d seen on Yoongi’s face right before they were to film a dance challenge at the studio. “He told me he got that because he fell. He got mugged?”

“I said he looked like he’d been mugged,” Namjoon corrects him quickly. “I genuinely have no idea how he got hurt and he refused to tell me. Kept saying he was fine and that he already had a good concealer in his bathroom.” He shrugs and rolls his eyes. “And he also asked me not to tell anyone,” he adds deliberately.

Jimin shakes his head. “This is crazy,” he mutters. “What could have happened that made him just disappear?” He looks up to see Namjoon frowning at nothing in particular. “What?”

“I just remembered…” He trails off before looking up at Jimin. “I just remembered that we haven’t checked with the last person he spoke to. She has to know something…” He muttered, reaching for his phone and presumably messaging the aforementioned person. “God, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner. If anyone knows something, it’s her.”

Jimin is about to ask the obvious, when something at the bar catches his eye. “Is that… Taehyung?”

Namjoon looks up and frowns. “Yeah. Isn’t that why you’re here? I thought he called you. That’s why I’m here.”

“I’m here because you’re here. He called you and asked you to come?” Jimin asks, craning his neck to watch his friend order a drink, his elbows on the bar and head bent low. “What kind of sad ass hangout is this?”

Namjoon chuckles and goes back to his text. “He didn’t invite me. At least I don’t think he did. I invited myself.”

“Classy, hyung.”

“He called me and said something about getting out of the house and getting a drink. Asked me for recommendations or something…” Namjoon shakes his head. “He sounded weird. And we can’t afford anything public right now, not so close before we all leave… so, yeah, I guess I’m just staying close.”

Jimin stares. “Weird how?”

Namjoon gives him a look. “I’m dealing with Yoongi,” he reminds him, holding up his phone. “Why don’t you deal with Taehyung?”

Holding his hands up and sliding out of the booth, Jimin jogs down the staircase towards the bar, pulling his cap lower over his head as he does. Despite this place being one of the few upscale bars in Seoul where celebrities have known to be able to hang out without being disturbed, Jimin keeps caution.

“Taehyung?” Jimin stops next to him and tilts his head to get a look at his friend’s face. “What are you doing here?”

Taehyung only points to the bartender in response who, on cue, places a tumbler of whiskey in front of him. The smell almost makes Jimin gag, but Taehyung takes a sip without flinching. “Smooth,” he murmurs, placing the glass back down.

Jimin frowns and takes a seat next to him. “Taehyung,” he tries again, giving him a gentle shake on the shoulder.

At this, Taehyung looks up at Jimin, his eyes slightly unfocused, as though just realising he’s there. His hair had grown longer in the last couple of weeks since Jimin has seen him; they fall into his eyes elegantly and effortlessly, his eyes heavily-lidded under them. Still so handsome, Jimin thinks off-handedly.

“Hey.” Taehyung speak finally, as though the word took him some effort. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I just came to meet Namjoon hyung, to ask him about… never mind.” Somehow, Jimin did not think Taehyung would be very useful right now in deducing Yoongi’s intentions. “Um, are you okay?”

Taehyung simply holds up his glass and takes a bigger sip. “Have a drink with me.” Before Jimin can respond, he’s already calling the bartender over. “One vodka with cranberry juice, please.” The bartender gives Jimin a glance, who nods in confirmation, before moving away to make the drink.

“How come you’re here?” Jimin asks lightly, hoping the question is open-ended enough for Taehyung to spare details, for Namjoon was right: Taehyung is certainly… off. 

Taehyung raises his eyebrows. “Oh, no reason, really. Felt like a drink, that’s all.” He blinks and for a moment his eyes look red, like he hasn’t slept. “What’s going on with you?”

“Um… I was with Sooah just now. She says hi,” he adds, not recalling if she had said anything of the sort, but it seemed like the normal thing to say.

Taehyung cracks a half-smile, his gaze going back to his drink. “Date night, huh?”

“Something like that. We, uh… oh, we actually snuck into our school. Remember the chem lab?” he says, hoping to get some life into this conversation for something is wrong. “Choi Han and that jackass Daehyun had an arm wrestling match in there and knocked over that bunsen burner?”

Taehyung’s hollow smile widens just a sliver. “Hyeri’s skirt caught fire. The whole class got punished for that.”

Jimin chuckles at the memory as well, remembering a time when they were all skin and bones, with pudgy cheeks and high school crushes on the popular girls. His drink arrives then, a calming shade of red-pink, and he clinks his glass with Taehyung’s before taking a sip. “Wow,” he mutters, shaking his head as the liquor burns his insides. “How’s your night going? Isn’t Dilara here?”

“Do you remember that one team we worked with for some performance, where we had to do three sound checks before we could get on stage?” Taehyung asks as though he hasn’t even heard Jimin. His eyebrows are scrunched together; he looks incredibly handsome, Jimin thinks, momentarily sidetracked. “They always had these long calls before any decision and even Namjoon was pissed off with them. What comeback was that for?”

What? Jimin hesitates, then plays along. “Um… I’m not sure. Where was it?”

“Here,” he answers, sounding more engaged than he has so far, although his eyes are definitely red. “We were wearing… black. The jackets and those gold high-top sneakers.”

“Telepathy?” Jimin guesses. “It was in Yeongam, in the summer.”

“Yes!” Taehyung’s forehead clears and he purses his lips in what could be a pained smile. He claps Jimin on the shoulder and gestures for another drink as he finishes his first one. This one arrives immediately and Taehyung drags it towards him, taking a sip. Jimin watches as he places the glass back down and his shoulders fall again, as though this conversation has sapped him of all energy.

He’s about to ask when he sees movement and looks up to see a woman approaching them. Blond, possibly part foreign and about their age, she stops next to Taehyung. When he doesn’t look up, she locks eyes with Jimin.

“Hi,” she says in English, giving him a small wave. “Me and my friends are just over there -” She points vaguely behind her at a table where two or three other girls are standing around a table and dancing to the R&B track playing, close to where other patrons are also dancing. “We were wondering if you’d like to join us? For a drink and maybe a dance?”

From her tone, Jimin can’t immediately tell if she recognises them. When her eyes dart between him and Taehyung, who still hasn’t looked up from his drink, Jimin decides she doesn’t. She’s very pretty, but it’s with some pride that Jimin shakes his head apologetically. “I have a girlfriend. So does he,” he answers preemptively. “But thank you,” he adds to be polite.

The girl’s smile falls slightly but she nods. “Alright, no worries. Have a good night.” She places a hand on Taehyung’s arm until he looks up, as though just registering something happening. With a small squeeze, she drops her hand and walks away.

“Good to know we’ve still got it,” says Jimin dryly, chugging another fourth of his drink, cold and sweet. “Does it make me conceited to say I’ll kind of miss the attention when we go in? Not all of it, of course - but sometimes it’s nice, don’t you think? People appreciating you on the streets, knowing you’ve…” He shakes his head with feeling and clenches his fist while taking another sip and feeling his head swim pleasantly. “... really done something, impacted someone with your art - hey, where are you going?”

Taehyung, who’s already hopped off his chair with his drink in his hand, turns to look back at him. “I’m just…” His eyes dart around randomly and he blinks rapidly a few times, swallowing. “I was…”

His eyes are definitely red; for a wild moment, Jimin wonders if he’s on something. “Taehyung…” Jimin hops off his own seat and steps toward his friend, squinting. “Are you okay?”

Taehyung stares at Jimin, breathing very slowly and deeply. He’s biting his lip and when his eyes flicker, he looks like he’s about to cry. But the moment passes as quickly as it appeared and he downs the last of his whiskey. “I need a pick-me-up,” he mutters, pointing vaguely behind him. Before Jimin can respond, he places his glass on the bar and drifts into the area where people are dancing.

“What just happened?” Jimin asks no one. Something is definitely wrong - and if Jimin knows his friend, this is either an enlistment issue or a Dilara issue or both. He cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of his friend but instead sees the girl who had approached them earlier, and an ancient fear grips at his heart.

No, says a voice firmly in his head. He wouldn’t, not again. He makes his way through the dancing crowd which seems to have doubled in the last five minutes, keeping his head low so as to not be spotted. He doesn’t catch sight of Taehyung until he’s almost at the end of the bar and he spots him through the window in the alley outside, head ducked low, shaggy hair covering his face and only the bright flaming tip of the cigarette giving him any indication of what was happening.

When he reaches Namjoon, who’s still sitting in the same booth and scrolling through his Instagram, he stays standing. “I’m tagging you in,” he says, tapping him on the shoulder.

Namjoon looks up. “What happened?”

“He’s smoking outside, and smokers need the company of other smokers. You know, not people who do care about their lungs,” Jimin quips, dodging Namjoon’s playful punch.

“I can only take crap about that from so many people, so unless I’m related to you by blood or sleeping with you, you don’t get to lecture me,” he tells Jimin, standing up and sliding out of the booth.

Jimin grins and flicks his hair. “Just name the time and place, handsome,” he shoots back, laughing when Namjoon gives him a startled look. “Oh, relax. I prefer my dates petite and yoga-fit. You know, the type to sneak into educational institutions to smoke up.”

Namjoon gives him a confused frown but evidently decides he doesn’t want to know. “I’ll take care of Taehyung… and I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, thanks. Wait - what about Yoongi hyung?”

He holds up his phone as he walks backwards. “I’ve dropped the text. Just have to wait and see now. Don’t worry about it. Go home to your girlfriend, Jimin,” he says good-naturedly, in a way that makes Jimin momentarily sad for him. “One of us should.”

—

The cool evening breeze hits her face and she breathes in deeply. After being holed up indoors for at least the last ten hours, fresh air feels like an underrated privilege. She sips on her iced coffee, knowing she’s in for a long night of work. 

Her phone pings and she grabs it with haste, heart slowing when she sees a group text from her boss. Any minute now, she thinks, for the call she’s expecting is very unlikely to be late. As if on cue, her phone rings and she sees a familiar name flash on her screen. Heart stuttering slightly, she answers.

“Hey,” she says, taking a sip of coffee to calm her nerves. And why am I so nervous?

“Hey.” Seokjin sounds almost breathless, like he’s been running. “Thanks for taking my call. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Nari frowns curiously. “Oh, you’re absolutely disturbing me. So much so that I think I’m going to have to hang up if this isn’t worth my time.”

There’s a pause, then he chuckles. “Duly noted. I’ll try to make it worth your time. Actually, you might have to make it worth my time,” he corrects, then immediately backtracks. “Not - not worth my time, but… I don’t know, I think you might be the only one able to help us make sense of some stuff right now.”

Nari nods, taking a seat on a bench outside the hospital. “You said it was to do with Yoongi?”

“Yeah… Namjoon says you were the last person - probably - to talk to him before he left?”

“I don’t know about last, but…” She recalls the cryptic text she’d received from him all those weeks ago, the one she’d considered for a moment as being some strange joke but had then decided was probably genuine. “Yeah, I did meet him a couple times before he left. Did he really not tell you?”

“Looks like the only person he told was Namjoon,” he says, but Nari doesn’t detect any resentment in the statement. “Or at any rate, Namjoon knew… and I’ve been elected to follow up because… well, because it’s you. It’s not like Yoongi to leave like this,” he says after a moment.

Nari nods. She’s glad he didn’t beat around why he was the obvious choice to speak with her - it feels less like he’s been pushed into it. “What do you want to know?”

Seokjin sighs, sounding tired. “I guess… when did you meet him? What did you talk about?”

She winces, knowing that any information she has will sound like cause for alarm. “Okay… just know that I did advise him to tell you guys, but -”

“He’s Yoongi,” they finish together.

“Yeah.” Nari bites her lip, wishing suddenly that they were having this conversation in person. It had been too long since the last time they spoke. From inside the hospital, at the entrance, Jason and Daeun wave at her. She holds up a finger before turning away.

“Um… okay, so I got a text from him - I guess it was about a week before he left? And all he said was that he needed some medical advice but couldn’t quite come to the hospital because he didn’t want to be recognised. It was weird but I went and…” The image of his bruised face had made her stomach fall; despite seeing worse on a daily basis, seeing someone she knew look like that had been different.

“Okay, Nari, you’re making it sound really bad.” Seokjin interrupts her memory. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” she says immediately. “I mean… I don’t know, Jinnie, he asked me not to tell anyone.”

“Yeah, but I’m not anyone,” he says at once. “So? Come on. Tell me.”

I’m not anyone. That, combined with her slip of tongue with Jinnie, almost makes it feel like they’re still friends, like before. It spurs her on, her stomach flipping faintly.

“Okay, but… try not to tell anyone else, okay? He had a - a bit of a black eye. And some bruising on his chest,” she adds, powering through Seokjin’s exclamation.

“A black eye? Like someone punched him?”

“Almost definitely,” she confirms, somewhat relieved that she’s finally able to tell someone. Yoongi had been adamant at keeping it between them, requesting her for only her medical advice in case he had any broken bones. “And a few bruised ribs. He basically wanted to know if he had to go to a hospital or if he could take care of it by himself. I advised him, very strongly, to go to a damn hospital and get an x-ray in any case but he wouldn’t hear of it,” she adds firmly.

“And he didn’t listen, obviously.” Seokjin exhales heavily. “Jesus Christ. Did he really not need a hospital, though? I mean… is he okay, do you think?”

“Honestly? Yeah,” she confirms, nodding. “His face would be fine with a few days of icing and his ribs were definitely not broken. And I did check in on him the day before he left and both injuries were a lot better.”

“Okay,” he replies uncertainly. “I mean… God, I don’t even know where to start. Why didn’t he tell us?”

“Well, I think Namjoon may have known because Yoongi referred to him a couple times,” she points out. “But other than that… I don’t know. I mean, my guess is that he didn’t want to worry you or get the company involved? He really didn’t seem to want to talk about it.” Ironically, that made me the best person to call.

Seokjin seems to be on the same train of thought. “Well, he certainly achieved that. He doesn’t even have his phone for a couple more weeks,” he adds, clicking his tongue in annoyance.

“I really do think he’s okay,” she ventures. “Physically, at least. Other than that… just a guess, but this had something to do with a girl.”

“What girl?” Seokjin asks automatically, but the answer seems to dawn on him almost immediately. “Oh. From that night?”

Nari nods. “Best date of my life,” she confirms wryly. “But, yeah. There is no way that was a one-night thing. I don’t know how it panned out, but the way he looked on the last day… he looked heartbroken, Seokjin.”

Seokjin sighs, but doesn’t respond. Nari waits, allowing him to digest this. She’s almost certain she’s right - that girl she had caught Yoongi kissing in a coat closet, right before storming out and being stopped by Seokjin, almost confessing things that could have changed everything… She squeezes her eyes shut.

“I won’t tell,” he says, after almost a minute. “Not if Yoongi didn’t want to tell us.”

That surprises her. “That’s… mature of you. Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, sounding troubled. “I can’t promise I won’t regret it later, but…”

“It’s Yoongi,” they say together, again.

Nari bites back a half-smile. The words had been on the tip of her tongue that night, her face and her heart in his hands. “How are you doing?” she asks softly.

He takes a beat before answering. “Same old,” he answers, his voice lowering a bit. “Not counting down the days as desperately as I was at the beginning.”

“Sounds like progress. You can scratch it out on the wall of your dorm room like in Shawshank.”

“And dig my way out? I’ll get discharged way before that happens.”

“Won’t be as exciting, though,” she teases, glad when he chuckles in agreement. “Seriously, though. You’re doing okay?”

“Yeah, of course I am,” he says easily. It sounds believable but she can’t be sure because he sounds so… grown. It’s Seokjin - and it’s her Seokjin, too - but he’s just out of reach. She doesn’t know him as well as she once did - the thought makes her deeply sad.

You aren’t asking me to wait for you, but that’s what you want, she’d guessed correctly, the last time they had met. And I didn’t, says a different voice, but you knew that.

“Seokjin,” she begins, tentatively, then pauses. This shouldn’t be so hard. “I don’t want you to find out through someone else, but… I’m - I’m kind of dating someone.” When he doesn’t immediately respond, she continues, not wanting to lose her momentum. “It was already testing the waters, I guess, back when we last… met.” She remembers the kiss, and his confession after. “And now it’s… yeah.”

“A relationship.” He says the word she couldn’t. “Nari… it’s fine. I figured as much.” It’s there again, the voice that makes him sound so much older, so grown. “Jason?” He asks lightly.

“Mhm.” She picks on a loose thread at the seam of her scrubs. “It just happened. And the pressure from my mom is kind of at an all-time high right now, so… anyway. I thought you should know.”

Seokjin doesn’t answer right away and Nari suddenly wishes she hadn’t said anything about her mother. It wasn’t news to him - in fact, if there was anyone in the world who knew the extent and the exact kind of pressure her mother put on her regarding this, it was Seokjin.

But it’s real now, the pressure and what it might lead to. Nari wishes she could share her trepidation with Seokjin, that she suspected Jason would propose and she would say no - or worse, that she would say yes and never know if she fully meant it.

“You’re happy, though?” 

Nari’s eyes sting. She grips the coffee cup, the condensation pooling around her fingers. “He’s a good guy. You’ve met him,” she reminds him softly. “He’s kind and he makes me laugh.” And my heart doesn’t hurt when I’m around him. That had been the primary thing about Jason when they had started dating: how easy it had been. Nari had almost forgotten what normal attraction could feel like without missed opportunities and words lost in translation.

“That’s good. I’m glad…” Here he trails off.

Nari tries to guess. I’m glad you’re happy? I’m glad you told me?

“... you got what you wanted.” There’s silence at the other end for a moment. “I’m gladdest for your mom, though.”

That makes Nari laugh unexpectedly. “No kidding. She was convinced I’d die a spinster. And then she would die of shame.”

“Like that one time she thought you were a lesbian because you said you were going on your graduation trip with your college roommate?”

“Yunjin,” she remembers, shaking her head. “I really thought her brain would explode right there.”

“That’s a lot of pressure on Jason, if nothing else. Fun story for the wedding toast, though.”

Nari bites her lip. She’s too old to never have pictured it. A white dress, candles, a groom in black. It looms, and she knows Seokjin knows. Of course he knows.

“I don’t think we’re there just yet,” she says quietly. 

“All in good time. He’d be a fool to wait too long, though, I suppose.”

Damn you, Kim Seokjin. “Will you come, do you think?” she asks lightly, partly in humour. She doesn’t need to specify where.

“If you want me to,” he replies, in a way that makes her heart clench. “You’re my oldest friend, Nari.”

She knows he means it. I would’ve given up everything for you. 

“Yoongi will be fine, you know.”

“Yeah. Thanks for looking out for him.” There’s a finality to his statement; their moment is coming to an end.

“Always. And…” She sighs, wishing once again that they were having this conversation in person. She wanted to hug him. “Take care of yourself, Jinnie. Eat well and sleep and… it’ll be winter soon, and areas like the barracks are primed for hypothermia and pneumonia.”

She can almost picture him nodding indulgently. “I’ll keep an eye out for hypothermia and pneumonia,” he promises. “I need to hand my phone in a bit and I still need to call my mom, so…”

“Yeah, of course. It was so nice talking after so long,” she adds, meaning it.

“I know.” There’s a pause. “Be happy, Nari. Talk to you soon.”

There’s a click and the call ends.

—

thank you for hyping and helping me with this one @hursheys @mosviqu 😭

The moment the electric lock flashed green on the booked hotel room, clothes were flung and skin to skin were made before skin to fresh fabric. Kim Sunwoo smirks at your neediness for him, the way his finger smoothly glides along your folds confirming the fact even more. As always, he always knows how to rile you up, especially with the amount of orgasms he's taken away from you in the past hour.

"Stay still," a husky groan behind you reminded, "pretty little girl."

You whimpered at the pet name, your back arching, palm full of the sheets and chest fluttering at the wet kisses trailing down your spine. Sunwoo’s arm that was around your waist pulled you up to sit against the broad of his chest. His heating skin only intensifies the need around your body, your thighs shaking at the rubbing around your clit. Now practically sitting on his hard length, the new position was able to brush a deep place that had never been touched. The slightest movement occurred from his hip and the boy smirks at how you rest your head against his shoulder. 

"That's it, baby girl," licking the side of your neck. His teeth nibble on your skin, the same teasing way he flicks and ghosts over your defined nipples and kneads your boobs in his hands. "Louder," he presses on as he grows harder inside of you.

"S-Sunwoo-" Your words were taken out, replaced by the heaving of breaths and moans filling the hotel room. "Let me ride you. I need you so bad.” The idea is cunning to him and he couldn't help but hiss at the mental image of being able to fully see the way you would take him, eyes locked to his as you only increase the pleasure for you both.

"What's the magic word?"

"Please, pretty boy. Let me ride y-"

Turns out Sunwoo is more impatient than you are and you feel the way his length hardens more inside your gummy loosening walls, stretching and knocking on the very first stages of your orgasm. Sunwoo flips to change his position, laying gracefully over the bed with you hovering above him, but unfortunately for you, the slight moment when he needs to pull out to get into position makes you frown.

He chuckles, "Don't be so disappointed. You like my cock so much that you just want me in you all day. That's why you call me every single time, don't you?" Your attempt to take a breath halts halfway when you realise that Sunwoo doesn’t align his member to your hole, instead making your poor clit grind against the top parts of his needy, veiny length. "A-Ah..." He rocks your swollen clit against himself, satisfyingly bringing you up and down, his tip disappearing behind your folds and reappearing again gloriously.

Your lower body is starting to shake again and your hands leveraged for his abs, nails slightly digging into his skin. It only urged Sunwoo to grind further, pressing your hips down to him as he started to enter you slightly but pulled out before hitting your spot.

"P-Please, fuck me properly." You're out of your mind at how he plays you, half-hooded eyes staring at him in the low lighting of the room. His mischievous smile shows that he will stop playing with you, but not too soon. Desperate for release, you start to retaliate a bit, going against the guidance of his grip to keep him snug inside you. A smack lands on one of your ass cheeks and the impact makes you moan. It only gets worse for you when he completely stops matching your neediness, keeping your hips in place and taking your building orgasm once more.

Cries and pleas fill his ears. "Stop being a brat," demanding and strong even though his eyes tell you otherwise; if only your eyes were opened. "I'll give you what you want so be a good girl and take whatever I give you. Be patient." You were half-listening, your nods stuttering along with your lower body that starts to shake in anticipation. Your head hangs low, moaning louder and nails engraved to his abdomen.

Until he completely raises his upper body from the mattress.

“W-What are you doing…?" Craving the pleasure he skillfully gives and smacking his chest in frustration. Your legs instinctively wrap around his pelvic area when he completely stands from the bed, clinging onto him as your energy slowly but surely runs out at the relentless rounds that have been going on between him and you.

Sunwoo gives a fake emphatic pout, puckering his lips for a kiss instead. He brushes his lips wherever he can, chuckling at how contrasting the top part of your body is displaying soft love but how the lower part of your body is still connected, your cum dripping along his length as he holds completely still. It’s hard for him to not thrust, but he loves keeping you on edge just for a bit longer. He kisses your tears away and the soft treatment he's giving you makes you forget of your throbbing need only for a split second as he tends to you in a different way. You close your eyes to feel his tongue swirling yours. The need to feel every part of him is evident, your arms wrapped around his neck tell him your desperateness and Sunwoo caresses your waist.

"That's for not calling me for so fucking long," he breathes out. "I was starting to get upset that you haven't called me for a while. Am I a joke to you?

Teeth clash, nose nudging and the way you run out of breath faster than ever makes Sunwoo snicker. "You were being annoying," you bite back. "Fucking me in random places whenever you wanted to." 

Your face heats up as you remember the way Sunwoo would wiggle his eyebrows each time, a tongue poking on the inner side of his cheek before he took you to ride him for the first time in the unisex toilet, the front and backseats of his car, his bedroom with the door open and his parents just downstairs, in your house against the window, in the dressing room of a store where he ended up buying the dress he ripped off you, in the empty lecture room at university (let’s hope the recording system wasn’t on), or even fingering you during your lecture (you’re thankful the content is recorded). All those places he moulded his length into you, breaking you apart and putting you back with searing kisses each time. His controlling nature excites you, that's why you haven't been able to call him. You secretly hoped he would go even wilder if you didn't. 

Driving to your house, putting you on your shoulder and driving to the nearest hotel that he has booked has gotten to be the least public sex you've had; or so you thought. Sunwoo’s act of cradling your soft skin against his body while he opens the curtain and clicks the balcony door open has become the most public and thrilling thing you’ve ever done. You immediately knew that if other visitors (or even the passersby as you weren’t too far from the ground) were to look anywhere towards your side, they would be able to see you and Sunwoo in intimate detail.

“Oh my God,” you mutter at the wind grazing against your back. 

“You want to do it out here?” Suggesting a little show for everyone. “I can give the walkers a show if I bend you over, I guess,” he shrugs. “But I need to see you as I cum inside because it’s the best seeing you fall apart for me.” 

Sunwoo feels the way you start to pool at that, and he thrusts slightly after you throb at his length. The whimpers against his neck from his baby girl rile him, especially with how you're clinging onto him and grinding against his chiselled front. Sunwoo taps on the side of your thigh, a motion telling you to land back on the ground. He wastes no time, cupping a hand around your mouth while his index lays vertically against his lips, winking at you. Your hands immediately fly to the wooden railing behind you and Sunwoo takes this as a time to blanket his hand over yours before slowly testing and setting a comfortable, stable rhythm. 

“H-Here?” The wind messed up Sunwoo’s hair, and his overgrown bangs only made it hard for you to even set eyes on his orbs; but fuck did he look all the more attractive.

‘Here,” he affirms as a corner of his lip rises, smug and confident. “Shh,” he hushed. “Taking me like a good girl?” Chuckling at your rapid nods, “Or like a dirty little slut?”

Crocked, broken moans could still be heard behind his palm when you finally met his lust-filled eyes. You tried to distract yourself from the thrill of someone walking over to the balcony and catching you but you couldn’t help but grow louder when you looked down at Sunwoo’s veiny length entering you, slowly pulling out and pushing in twice as fast. High-pitched squeals match each time he hits you where you’re most needed.

“Is that how good I feel?” Raising an eyebrow, impressed at how you were able to nod. “My pretty baby girl taking me so well either way.” 

As much as you’re pushing him closer and closer to painting your walls white, he needs more stimulation. Whether stimulation is given to him or he gives it to you to drive you insane, it doesn’t matter, but Sunwoo has always been one to spoil you. He takes his hand away from your mouth and immediately the volume, moans, whines, groans and pleas you let out are already pushing him one step closer. He increases his pace, skin slapping on each other and leaning over to you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. This decreases the distance between you and him more, and your tender clit gets more attention and love.

“I-I’m so close…” You etched out between broken sobs. 

His eyes shut tight, nodding at your words. “You can do it.” It’s the first time he’s permitted you to completely let go. His thumbs brush over your knuckles, reassuring you that he’s close too and would love you to finish first; he loves spoiling you first before himself. “Come on,” pushing himself faster, “Let go for me,” harder, “Don’t worry, it won’t be your first.”

On cue, the image of him not letting you take a break is the trigger to you cumming, Sunwoo still pulsing around you as you did so. The boy hisses at the throbbing motions as you refuse to let go of his cock, tightly wrapping him around you. His hands tightly grip your wrist, the other pulling you still at the final drag he takes inside you as he empties all of him into you, twitching against your pulsing walls. 

You feel the way he fills you up, chest stuttering and out of breath. Both your eyes widen when he moves again, needy groans filling your ears. “Sunwoo…” He shakes his head, shutting you up with a searing wet kiss. He plays his tongue around yours, drowning all your noises.

“Not yet,” he heaves. Not when he hasn’t fucked his girl in so long. The amount of times he’s jerked himself off to the thought of you, the way you cry for him and the way that his dick is only satisfied with you are the only things that he replayed in his head every night, moaning your name with furrowed eyebrows. 

He retreats inside, sitting on the bed and adjusting his lying position as you sit on him once more. This angle pushes you to your second orgasm, creeping up slowly but surely. Your tightly shut eyes make you appreciate how deep he is as he starts to pound up against you. 

His eyes gazed at your glistening folds and pulsing pussy. "See?" He leans and observes your lacked jaw. "In the end, you don't care where I fuck you," chuckling when you meet his thrust halfway. Your muscle shaping for him makes your hole shake, wetting his length and making it easier for him to slide further. "You just care about me," a thrust up, "and the way that I fuck you wherever you want to," another thrust, "and I guess," an eyebrow raises as he prepares his next move, "whenever I want to fuck you."

Sunwoo gets you ready for another release, teasing your sensitive bud by rubbing, flicking and pinching your folds as he pounds into you. This is the first time he's seen your expression from below, and the image is so much better than seeing you under him. In the end, he's just a boy who wants to see how you can move yourself to match his thrust. His dick only hardens with the fact that you're so fucked out that you're unable to fully grind against him.

"F-Fuck me..." Chest heaving at his control. "O-Oh-" He found it. The place that makes you fold for him every time. Your grip flies to his shoulder, eye contact never faltering other than when your eyes shut at the tears rolling down your cheek. Sunwoo aims there each time and you let out choked screams at the building pleasure. "S-Shit.” The stimulation makes the sex easier, eyes widening at the intense pleasure.

"Shit," he smirks at your tightly shut eyes, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. "Don't hurt yourself, baby girl," cupping your cheek and pulling your bottom lip. "Let me hear you," Sunwoo increased the pace of his hips and swirls your tender clit, and you had no choice but to follow his orders. "You're so fucked out and beautiful."

You whine at his words, squeals bouncing around the room when Sunwoo tugs on your nipple with his teeth. He fondles every part of you with intense want, intense need. The added attention is when your lower body starts to tense and relax uncontrollably, gushing out the startings of your liquid and the smacks of your body becoming louder and more accurate each second. Your neck falls, and screams hit the ceiling.

He hums against the valley between your breasts, "Does my sweet girl want to cum again?"

"Yes!"

His hand cups your jaw, directing your pleading gaze to his similar ones. "Can she promise me that she'll contact me more and won't deprive me of this sweet pussy?"

"Yes!"

Despite the need, he knows your words hold truth. "I'm gonna cum inside you. Need your body to remember a part of me."

You don't object to that as he pulls you to another kiss, muffling and taking your moans down his throat. It's not long before your body swallows his second load inside, overflowing onto the sheets that he for sure would love to take home; maybe even replacing his as he jerks off to your scent. Your body falls slack after but Sunwoo doesn't pull out again. Your walls pulsate around him and it's when you realise that he's not getting any softer inside of you.

You realised the implications of that, "Fuck-"

You’re flipped against the mattress in a clean sweep, head now comfortably deep into the pillow and Sunwoo re-enters as soon as you hit the bed. "You've been ignoring my calls for too long and I’m way too deprived of you right now," Both wrists are pinned under his open palms, "And this dick needs some more love from his home, baby girl."

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

💋Seungcheol💋 It's a hot day and for some reason, that apparently means Seungcheol wants to go to the store and get ice cream as if he didn't drag you out for the same reason yesterday. "I told you to buy some for your freezer yesterday!" You whine where you're slumped on the couch at his side with no will to move yet knowing you will because you're utterly whipped for Choi Seungcheol. "Shut up and get ready." He pats your knee, exposed due to your shorts, smearing something on you as he does. It grosses you out until you realise it's some of the sunscreen he's diligently applying to his face. So you sit up and rub in the remnants, then the extra he squirts on your skin assuming you had not applied any already. He's right. Seungcheol finishes first and just holds the bottle open ready to give you more as he tries to not stare at the way your hands glide over your legs for the sake of his sanity. He's already hot enough thank you. When you notice him just sitting there, you lift one hand to tap your cheek, implying that you want him to start working on putting the protective liquid on your face. Instead, he dumbly leans over and plants a kiss there, shocking you still. It isn't until he leans back and takes in your bewildered expression darting between his face and the bottle in his hands that he realises his mistake. "Uh, shit, sorry, I didn't think." "Makes it sound like kissing me is your automatic reaction." "Don't be a brat or you can buy your own ice cream." "Ha, yeah right, you always buy me everything." "I spoil you too much, dug my own grave there." He starts to apply the sunscreen to your face to distract you both from his embarrassing mistake. "You know, for the record, I didn't mind it." "You didn't?" He looks at you and you shake your head a little, cheeks slightly pink as you focus on your legs despite the fact all of the liquid was long ago absorbed. "So can I do it again? But maybe somewhere else this time?" "Pervert." "Complete brat, honestly." "You clearly like it, you want to kiss me so bad." "Yeah, I do. So?" "Do it." So he does and you get carried away enough that by the time you make it out of his apartment, the store is already closed.

💋Jeonghan💋 Everyone knows that Jeonghan loves Legos, a fact that means that pretty much every gift he received for his last birthday and Christmas were Lego sets. It's been months yet he still hasn't even managed to open most of them due to his busy schedule so he recruited you to be his assistant. It's mostly just a ploy to spend more time alone with you but he also does know you're probably one of the only people he knows who enjoys the building process as much as he does. "Ooh, making good progress." He comments after glancing over to see that you are pretty much breezing through the castle as he works on the ferris wheel. His words make you look up with a hum to look at his own progress. You give a thumbs up and look up at his face, he's already looking at you in that happy soft way he does when you two are spending quality time together like this. But you barely notice it, eyes instead landing on the smudge of something on his cheek. You lean a little closer and realise it's powder from the snacks he had earlier been eating. You tap your own cheek in the mirror position, silently telling him about the mark which isn't even an unusual action for you two but for some reason, on this day, Jeonghan doesn't take it as a sign to wipe his cheek but instead lean over, placing one hand on the carpet between you to press his lips gently to your skin. He quickly realises his mistake but in true Jeonghan fashion, he plays it off with a smug little smirk as he settles back into his place and gets back to his task. Not willing to let Jeonghan win this, you lean over and grab him by his collar to pull him closer, causing his eyes to blow wide. You wipe at his cheek before kissing it and then all but shoving him back into place. Neither of you says a word as you get back to your builds, both too flustered to remember how to work your mouths in a way that doesn't involve pursing lips.

💋Joshua💋 Lately, Joshua has been really into baking. At any random time, you can get a message from him requesting your help baking a cake or pie or some other kind of sweet treat. And if you don't respond to him fast enough, he takes it upon himself to turn up at your apartment laden with supplies and takes over your kitchen so that you have no choice but to help him bake. The latter is what has happened today; Joshua turned up a few hours ago declaring that you two are going to make "the best fucking chocolate to have existed. Think that Matilda cake but sexier" and who are you to argue with the sweet buff devil of a man. "Okay, I've got to admit, you were weirdly right about it being sexier," You mutter as you carefully pipe chocolate swirls onto the cake. Or attempts at swirls, neither of you is very good at the decor aspect of baking yet. "Told you!" He grins smugly and looks at you before laughing. "What?" "You've got icing on your cheek." "Get it then," He shows you his hands, already smeared with icing. "You've got a mouth, haven't you-" before you can finish and tell him to lick the icing from his hands, his lips are against your skin. "That didn't work." He mutters, leaning back and licking the smear of chocolate from his lips while keeping his gaze on your cheek. He leans in again and again and again, dragging his lips over that same patch of skin enough that he really should've been done long ago. "There." He finally leans back with a satisfied little smirk. "All clean now." And then he lifts his hands to lick the icing from them like you had tried to tell him to in the first place. You can't really focus after that and the smug bastard knows it.