#caly.writes

[hongism]

what lies beneath us. - c. san (m)

➼ genre; fluff, smut, slight angst for the first half but i make it better quickly promise ➼ pairing; san x afab!reader ➼ au; established relationship, college au ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 6.4k

one busy semester is all it took for you and san to find yourselves struggling to find footing in the storm that is your relationship, yet rather than let go, he asked for one more week, one more day, one last chance to help get you back to shore

part of the ...and it's snowing collab.

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➼ smut warnings; unprotected sex, oral: m, vaginal fingering, praise, body worship, service-top san, san has some slightly submissive tendencies, coming inside

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You normally wouldn’t find yourself in Wooyoung’s apartment on a Tuesday morning, sitting at the bar counter beside his roommate with two mugs of coffee sitting on the granite between you, but you also haven’t had any leisure time to waste lately. It’s a miracle that Wooyoung is even up before ten o’clock, though that might be in part due to you pleading desperately over the phone to come over.

“Oh, you make her coffee but not me? The fuck is up with that, Hwa?” Speak of the devil, Wooyoung comes into the kitchen still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“She’s a guest, you live here. And I had to wake you up because you slept through three alarms so my sympathy levels are close to zero right now.” Seonghwa flashes a faux shrug despite the heated glare he’s sent. Wooyoung lets out a huff but lets it go in favor of redirecting his attention to you.

“Right, well, what did you need to talk about so badly that it couldn’t wait until the afternoon?”

“San is coming over tonight, I couldn't do the afternoon,” you mumble.

“Is it about him then? Did something—” he waves a hand through the air like that’ll explain his thoughts, and when confusion shows on both your face and Seonghwa’s, he gives up “—did something happen between you guys?”

“It feels a bit awkward,” you admit over the rim of your coffee mug. Wooyoung scoffs at that, but Seonghwa is far more forgiving than your best friend in that he sends you a sympathetic grin. 

“Awkward?” he prompts, toying with his own drink. Wooyoung pushes away from the counter and turns to the coffee maker.

“I don't know. Yeah, awkward, a bit. I guess. Like we don't know what we're doing or how to be in a relationship anymore.”

The brutal semester you both just suffered has been the main factor in the wedge in your relationship. Weekends full of studying, ones that you spent together at the start of the semester when he would come to your place or vice versa so that you could be together even while working. Then, San started picking up more shifts at his part-time job, and you had to redirect your focus to a particularly important internship that required you to forgo those weekends in the blink of an eye. You did have two weekends free of school and work, but San had to rush home during one of those on account of his mother falling ill. The other one was shot by you falling ill with the worst cold you’ve known in all your years of living. San came by that Friday with your favorite chicken and beer, but you couldn’t bring yourself to risk getting him sick when you knew how important the semester was to him too. It didn’t keep him from coming by again Saturday and Sunday both, soup was delivered to your front door along with voice messages wishing you well throughout the night. Even your text conversations were fizzling into oblivion by the time finals rolled around, which only served to amplify your feelings of dread. 

“Has he been acting differently?” Wooyoung tunes back into the conversation, this time more serious with his tone. “Like, he's pulling away or something?” Wooyoung stands on a different footing in this conversation and knows things Seonghwa doesn't in terms of your relationship with San. He's been there for you since well before you started dating San, and you're certain that he'll be there for you if it were to end tomorrow, the next day, or years down the line. 

“It's gonna sound so childish and stupid but he hasn't been calling me nicknames since the semester ended.” You tuck your hands into your lap and shrink into yourself a little, feeling the hot burn of shame well up inside.

“That's not stupid at all, y/n,” Seonghwa reassures barely a second after you finish your train of thought. “That's not.”

“He's right. That's totally unlike San.”

“Not! Helping!”

“I'm just being honest?!”

“Look, y/n, I don't want you to start having doom thoughts or thinking the worst — that doesn't mean his feelings for you have changed.” You’re starting to think that you should’ve asked Seonghwa for advice from the start instead of Wooyoung. “Maybe he's feeling that awkwardness you are too, or maybe he's feeling insecure. The only way to know is to ask. Have an open and honest conversation about it.”

“But…” You glance past Seonghwa to look at Wooyoung's back. Without even needing to look back, he seems to feel the weight of your stare.

“You're scared that if you bring it up, the worst will happen and y'all will break up.”

“We've been dating for so long that I don't know what I would do if that happened. I don't know how to be single, no offense to either of you, but it's just that we've been together for so long now. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if it ended.”

“If…” Wooyoung bites his words back as though he's unsure of how they will come out. “I don't want this to sound harsh, but if all it takes for him to lose his feelings for you is one busy semester, then that's not someone I would want you to have a future with. I know it's not up to me and it's not my business, but I want you to value yourself more than you value your relationship with San.”

“I truly don't think he's lost his feelings for you, y/n,” Seonghwa cuts in again, hand darting out across the counter in your direction. “Woo is right; you should value yourself more than the relationship you're in, but that doesn't mean you can only have one of those things. They can coexist.”

“What if I’m fighting for something he doesn’t want any longer?” you inquire softly and under your breath.

“The spark isn’t gone, y/n, I’m certain of that much. Maybe you just… need to find a way to reignite it!” The coffee maker dings loudly behind Wooyoung. And like it’s turning on a lightbulb in Wooyoung’s head, his expression turns suddenly bright. “Why not do just that? It’s been half a decade, to be fair, so really you can’t be blamed if things feel a little stale. If you went and did things that made you fall for each other in the first place, wouldn’t that help a bit?”

“I hate to say it…”

“You always say that when I’m right!”

“Ignoring him, that does sound like a good plan, y/n.”

Despite the reassurance from both your best friend and someone you consider to be far more mature and wiser, it doesn’t fully quell the concerns settling in your gut.

It’s only been six days since you last saw San, though you would argue that it feels a lot more like six months given how absent you both have been from each other’s lives of late. While that isn’t particularly your fault or his wholly — it’s definitely a joint effort that’s kept you apart — it does make your skin itch with anxiety every time you think about seeing him again.

It’s all culminated into this moment right now, where you sit on the edge of your couch waiting for the doorbell to ring and announce his arrival. You want to see him, desperately so, you’ve missed him so incredibly much that you can hardly stand it. And yet — you’re rooted to the cushions riddled by anxieties. You tried to rid yourself of the lingering stress after leaving Wooyoung’s apartment by doing chores properly for the first time in months, going so far as to run to the grocery and restock some necessities as well. You hate to be the type of partner who cannot do anything alone without associating it with your partner, but San was on your mind throughout the day.

Will he feel the same as you even though the flame keeping your relationship alive has been inching closer and closer to nothingness? The two of you don’t fight, in fact, your friends like to say that things go a little too smoothly between you two, and while that’s true, they aren’t aware of what it looks like when you and San aren’t getting along. It looks the way this semester has, slow conversations that lead nowhere and less time spent in each other’s presence. You aren’t fighting right now, but you certainly aren’t all sunshine and rainbows. The weather mirrors your emotions — dim greys shrouded by white flurries of snow that have been falling since early afternoon.

You clench your fingers around the seam of the couch cushion. No part of you wants to play the part of the overbearing partner: if you’re too eager to see him, wouldn’t he find it off-putting? 

The doorbell rings.

It takes a moment for you to brace yourself for impact, standing and walking over to the door as slowly as you can manage without it seeming like a deliberate delay. The second you open the door, however, your worries melt away for a moment. 

San smiles so brightly like you’ve not gone a second without reveling in each other’s presence. The weather is clinging to his coat still even though he had to climb three flights of stairs to reach your door. The little snowflakes are beginning to melt into the fabric.

“May I come in?” The facade cracks a bit. It’s not like him to ask such things, but you choose not to hold it against him now.

“Yeah, yeah, I finally had time to clean the other day so everything’s — nice.” 

If your smile is strained, he says nothing about it, stepping over the threshold and into your apartment like it’s the first time he’s ever done so. He’s polite all the time, but now it makes those seeds of doubt sprout further because you’ve been together for five years now, what reason does he have to act like a stranger in your home? A home he’s been in time and time again, one he’s slept in, fucked you— 

“Do you want ramen or pizza?” You force the thoughts to come to a halt before your expression turns bitter.

“Let’s do ramen, I’ll cut up the vegetables for you.”

There’s an elephant in the room that it seems neither of you wants to address, and so you keep your mouth shut just the same as San with the thought of “maybe this awkwardness will pass after tonight”. You watch him remove his coat and hang it up on the door while still picking at your nails. He extends a hand to you, one you take eagerly, and you lace your fingers through the gaps between his. A bit like a well-oiled machine, you think, something that Wooyoung had noted about the two of you as far back as freshman year of college. San presses his lips to the top of your head. You lean into the touch ever so slightly. 

You share in a quiet synergy that carries you through the motions of preparing food, with no conversation exchanged aside from a “watch for the knife” and “careful, behind you” on occasion. You’re still trying to psyche yourself up to bring up what’s truly on your mind, so you aren’t sure that you’d be able to get any conversation out without it spiraling into insanity right off the bat. For the moment, for now, you want to simply drink in San’s presence. 

He hums as he opens a cabinet in search of bowls, but they aren’t there. 

“Oh, I—I moved the bowls to the other side.” Three months ago, your mind adds. It would do nothing but add salt to a blossoming wound. San stops dead in his tracks too. He seems to suffer the same crisis that you do right then. After a few seconds of mental buffering, he resumes his humming and shifts to the adjacent cabinet like the moment didn’t happen at all. 

You sit beside each other at the bar counter, atop the uncomfortable stools you’ve had for well over two years now, but it offers a weird comfort because it’s familiar, it’s something San knows, it’s something you share and have shared for years. 

“Thanks for the meal,” San says, still wearing a bitten-back smile. 

“Of course. Thank you for helping.” But the detrimental reality of not speaking to someone properly for a long while is that part of you forgets how to make conversation with them. There is nothing for you and San to “catch up on” seeing as you’ve been keeping each other updated on your lives through dry text conversations. “Um…” He’s eyeing you carefully now, and you could pass off the watering in your eyes as the spice of the food, but he would call your bluff in an instant. The funny thing about doubt is that once it’s taken root, it’ll keep growing back no matter how many times you chop at the stem.

“What’s wrong, y/n?”

“It’s just — I don’t — are we breaking up?”

San freezes halfway over his ramen, chopsticks nearly falling from his fingers as he rushes to put his noodles back down. Your shoulders start shaking before you can stop it. He doesn’t stop you from turning away from him, but San has always been endlessly patient and gentle with you so you don’t expect him to ask you to look at him anyway. He does rest a hand atop your forearm though, and his thumb drags small, comforting circles over your skin. 

“Talk to me, y/n, what do you mean by that? Why would we be breaking up?” The words themselves sound calm. There’s a slight quiver to his tone, however, that makes you want to crawl inside yourself and disappear. “A-Are you wanting that?” Your continued lack of response makes San more urgent than ever, and he shifts his hand to your leg, spinning you to face him. You can’t be certain of the expression on your face (though you’d wager there is some degree of hurt); whatever San sees makes him let out a distressed noise from the back of his throat. “Come here, duck, talk to me.”

Standing on somewhat shaky legs, you push yourself closer to San, and he instinctually moves his knees apart to let you tuck yourself into the space there.

“Don’t cry, baby, I’m here, you can talk to me,” he murmurs, hands cupping your face in his hands. You reach down to cling to his shirt like it’s a lifeline. 

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that in weeks. This is the first time we’ve spent time together in six days. We’ve barely spoken or spent time together all semester, and I know why — I know we agreed that school and work have to come first. I know that.” Your voice drops to a whisper as you lose the confidence to speak. “I didn’t think it would mean losing you though.”

“You haven’t lost me, y/n. I’m still here, with you, loving you just as much as ever.” San smiles a little as you push your cheek further into his palm. “My feelings have not changed. I thought about you every day, wondered how you were doing, and if you responded to my texts late, I hoped you were eating well and getting enough rest. I listened to your voice memos rooting for me every night. Your face was always the first thing I saw in the morning because I still keep that slideshow of you as my lockscreen.” Reaching around to the back of your neck, he gives you a little tug, and your foreheads bump together. “The thought of you helped get me through the semester because I knew that it was you who was waiting for me at the end of the tunnel.”

“Sannie…”

“How long have you been worried over this, baby? You should’ve come to me the moment you started having doubts. I wouldn’t have let this go on if I had known.”

“I thought I felt you pulling away so I was scared to bring it up. You weren’t calling me nicknames anymore, and I started reading into it too much and freaked myself out.”

“I’m so sorry, y/n. Don’t put the blame on yourself, it’s not a crime to have anxieties. I didn’t even realize I stopped using them. I suppose I just got swept up in my own feelings and wanted to call you by your name as much as possible.” He nudges you with his head again. “Because I missed you so dearly.” Your lips turn up at the corners, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. “And because I adore you so so much, my y/n.”

“Stop that.” You hope he doesn’t, truly.

“But I’m so mushy and full of love for you, y/n.”

“You’re gonna make me blush.”

“Oh, I can think of other ways to do that, baby.” San stands, subsequently pushing his body into yours, but your hands are still on each other, his moving down to caress the back of your thigh before he hooks his fingers around the bend of your knee and hoists your leg up over his hip. “I haven’t been good to you, my sweet,” he murmurs close to your lips. “What kind of boyfriend am I if I let you feel unwanted?” Your heart skips a beat as he grips tight at your other leg, then you’re suddenly weightless for a second as he hoists you up to his waist.

“We just ate—”

“I don’t plan on letting that stop me.” You let out a gasp as San traces the line of your jaw with his lips, hot breath spilling across your skin as he carries you from the kitchen. “Unless you want it to?” This damned man knows what he’s doing, he knows the hold he has over you — your brain is already turning into a foggy mess of want, and even the prospect of waiting two minutes for him to lay his hands on you is too much to bear. Your nails drag across his shoulders, tugging at the thin material. He misses the doorknob to your bedroom thanks to your antics, sending you against the wood a little harshly and forcing the air out of your lungs. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Still on the pill.”

“Hm?” he echoes, managing to turn it right on the second try and popping it open properly.

“I’m still on the pill,” you repeat. San freezes in place to stare at your face. You bring a hand around to toy at his parted lips with your thumb. “So you can fuck me raw.”

San becomes so dumbstruck that his jaw moves up and down over and over without any semblance of noise coming out.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come in my pants like a horny teenager,” he says under his breath. You drop your head back and laugh. San’s hold on you feels so blissfully warm. You didn’t even have time for this during the semester, sometimes thanks to your workloads but more often thanks to sheer exhaustion. A few solo jaunts before bed are hardly enough to please you the way San does. Based on how tightly he’s gripping your ass, he seems to feel exactly the same.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He manages to get you both to the bed without further incident, laying you down on the mattress with a sort of reverence that makes your chest swell with emotion. Even through the barrier of clothing, his fingers are hot and sear a path from your hips up your waist then right back down again as San wastes no time in stripping you of your pants. 

“I missed you so fucking much it’s insane.” You want to respond, but the sight of your lover dropping to his knees at the foot of the bed stops you in your tracks. All you can do is lie there and watch him tug your pants off, lips moving to kiss each bit of exposed skin along the way. Goosebumps rise across your body when he kisses his way up higher. His broad frame cages you in the closer he gets to your face, and despite his hands being on the somewhat small side, they feel all-encompassing when they’re sneaking under your shirt and exploring the skin beneath.

“I missed you more,” you murmur, catching his chin between your fingers and angling his face upwards so you can properly look at him. “I love you so so much, San. More than I can put into words.”

“Yeah?” You make no effort to pull him higher although he moves as though you do and climbs all the way up to be right over your face. He hums before dipping down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “I think I’ve missed you more still though—” another kiss, this time to the opposite side of your mouth “—but you’re welcome to challenge me on that.”

“San,” you whine. He pulls back and sits back on his knees. Your brain goes totally blank watching him take his shirt off. It’s something you’ve seen time and time again, truly nothing new or foreign to you, but something about it now makes your gut twist in on itself. He’s lost a bit of the muscle you’ve grown accustomed to seeing on him, now softer around the edges, at the waist and across his stomach. It doesn’t curb your desire for him in the slightest; if anything it makes you want him more, to cling to him tighter and feel him firmer against you.

He throws the shirt down to the floor and drags a hand through his dark hair. His legs are splayed around yours, putting the prominent bulge in his pants on full display before you.

“I want you to use me, y/n.” He grabs your hand from where it’s resting against the bed and brings it to his chest. You dig your nail into his flesh like it’s second nature to do so. “Tonight, for your pleasure.” His eyes trail after your every moment, watching as you sit up and pull your legs out from under him. You graze the underside of his dick ever so slightly yet it’s still enough to make his lashes flutter. 

“Then…” San is like putty in your hands, conforming to every move you make while still maintaining that unbreaking eye contact. He turns with you, and you climb off the bed to stand despite feeling seconds away from toppling over. All it takes is the slightest push against his chest for him to lie flat on his back. “Will you be good for me?” 

His response comes in the form of a bitten-back whine thanks to you cupping the bulge of his cock as you withdraw your hand. It’s intoxicating to strip him of his jeans and feel every inch of his pretty tapered waist. You urge him to move further up on the bed, making room for you between his legs once you’ve tossed his pants down beside yours on the floor. The tip of his cock peeks out the top of his underwear, already stiff and leaking precum onto the elastic band. Saucy nudes here and there don’t do him nearly enough justice, you think. You tease just the bit of him that's exposed with your tongue, licking at the sensitive and swollen head, and he twitches beneath the fabric. Humming to yourself, you inch his underwear down just far enough to put his whole member on display, along with his balls, but you don’t go any further than that. It’s enough for you to get your mouth around him, after all, and that’s exactly what you do without giving San any time to brace himself for the touch.

He lets out a desperate moan the moment your wet heat envelopes his length, fingers curling into his palms around the comforter. His hips twitch with the desire to thrust upwards, but he keeps himself firmly planted on the bed, fulfilling his end of the bargain for you and being so delightfully good. The weight of him on your tongue isn’t nearly enough; you want him buried deep inside you as soon as possible, and you’d go on and do it now if you didn’t think it would hurt like a bitch given how long it’s been since you’ve taken him. San isn’t distracted enough to miss the way you retract a hand to touch yourself, and he fights to speak through broken moans.

“I w-wanna touch you, pretty.” You lift yourself off his cock until just the tip sits on your lower lip.

“I’ll let you later when I ask you to fold me in half and fuck me into the mattress.” You sink two fingers into your hole, taking San back into your mouth to revel in that full feeling again. You’re just as needy as he is, in reality, because your walls are already coated with arousal and it pools around the base of your fingers in such a way that it makes your cheeks flush. San’s noises aren’t helping in the slightest — for as quiet as he is in day-to-day life, he is ever so vocal when it comes to sex, especially when his cock is buried in your mouth. He’s just long enough to push right into the back of your throat, making it far easier for you to take him fully. 

“Your mouth feels so — fuck, fucking good, baby.” If you weren’t preoccupied, you would love to return his words with your own, so you settle for tugging at his balls a little. It earns you a delightful little yelp, and his hips buck up to drive his dick further into your throat than expected. “Hngh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I want—” you don’t finish your train of thought, too rushed to bother with it as you scramble to rid yourself of your underwear. San greets you with his hands when you climb back onto the bed and grabs hold of your waist. He tugs and pulls at your shirt until it’s gone too, leaving you with nothing more than your plain black bra. However, even that San seems to find issue with, because he toys with the clasp until it comes loose and throws that aside too.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, settling back against the mattress. He’s always told you this is his favorite position, to see you straddling his hips and bouncing on his cock, though he favors missionary quite a bit as well because it lets him see your body and face while he’s fucking you (despite how much he loves your ass). His cock is trapped between your pussy and his stomach now, hard and throbbing for the same kind of stimulation you so desperately crave. You drag your folds along his length a few times just to tease San, but he grips your hip in warning. In hindsight, you should have let him finger you open more before because the stretch is far more than you remember — not enough to hurt, but enough for you to really feel every inch of him entering your body. It makes you writhe atop him, your spine arches, and you drop your head back. San holds you like you're a precious gem, thick arms circling around your waist as you rest your hands on his chest. The position gives you some much-needed stability, but San's fingers have begun to get severely distracting. He rolls his thumbs into your skin, pausing only to squeeze and pinch at the more sensitive parts of your sides. 

“I’m gonna start moving,” you whisper like being too loud will break some sort of seal. San nods and unwraps his arms enough to simply hold your hips. Despite the decrease in definition of his muscles, his strength doesn’t seem to have gone anywhere, because he lifts you with such ease that it’s a bit dizzying. Still, he lets the control rest in your hands. You sink down slowly on his cock, letting your walls get used to the drag, before doing the same motion two, three more times. The first whimper to fall from your lips is what snaps your resolve. San’s hold on you remains firm but only to ease the strain on your thighs as you begin to pick up your pace. 

“Beautiful, beautiful, you’re so beautiful, my sweet.” San rolls his hips up in time with your movements, driving his cock up into your cunt as you drop yourself onto him, and it reaches so deep inside you that you see stars behind your eyelids. “Missed you so much, missed this, seeing your body through photos wasn’t enough — fuck, it wasn’t enough.”

“How many, ah, times did you come to those photos, hm?” You crack one eye open to watch San’s face. He’s already flushed with want, but the red in his cheeks deepens more upon hearing your question. You lean your weight further into your hands. “I fingered myself so many times thinking of you, Sannie. B-But, hngh, it wasn’t good enough. Not as good as your cock. Nothing… n-nothing feels as good!”

San thrusts up with more vigor now, all but taking over for you to go slack above him as he drives your hips down with his hands and pushes his length into you from the opposite direction. Then, suddenly, his movements falter and stutter to a halt, and he looks just as shocked as you are when his cock twitches against your walls. A blooming of warmth fills you right after, along with the realization that San has just come inside you without warning.

“I-I’m sorry, I — I didn’t mean to, ah, I thought I would last longer.” He slings an arm up over his eyes, and the red in his face deepens in hue. “I’m sorry, I should’ve let you come first.” You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Leaning down over him, you peel his arm away from his face so that you can see his shamed expression better.

“Your dick is far from the only thing that can make me come, babe. Right?” 

He nods a few times, but there’s still a pout on his lips. You kiss it away. 

“Then—” you detach yourself from his body, bringing about an unwelcome emptiness as his spent cock slips out of you, and roll onto your back beside him. He watches with rapt attention as you spread your legs and open your pussy to him. “Why don’t you?”

San moves with surprising haste for a man who has just come, rolling into the space between your legs, and while you expected him to just use his fingers to get you off, he hooks his hands around your thighs and shoves his face into your used cunt instead. It yanks a startled moan out of you, and it’s only amplified when he closes his lips around your clit. He’s lucky you don’t give him a concussion with how quickly you slam your thighs around his head. You don’t notice that he’s moved a hand until fingers are prodding at your leaking entrance and urging the come he just pumped into you back into your hole.

“O-Oh, San.” 

Normally, he takes his sweet time eating you out, bringing you to the precipice of orgasm before sending you right back down time and time again without release. Though, either out of lingering shame at coming early or simply out of a desire to make you unravel, San laps at your clit so eagerly that it sends shudders through you. You can feel your blood rushing lower as he urges you to come, walls clenching around his fingers. It only takes another second more for the first wave to hit you, and it makes you scramble to grab hold of San’s hair as he keeps curling his fingers over your sweet spot. He does so throughout each wave of your orgasm until tears burn the corners of your eyes and you’re all but pleading for him to grant you some mercy.

“You — you had nothing to prove, you know,” you say between desperate attempts to catch your breath. San giggles and looks up at you from his lewd position. “Ugh!” You shove his head away from you half-heartedly just to spare yourself more embarrassment.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that, duck!”

You only go as far as the pillows, turning back to him immediately and opening your arms to welcome him into them. 

“I came too early, of course I had something to prove,” he adds once he’s snugly placed against your chest. You slot together like two pieces of a puzzle, his head under your chin and your breath stirring the messy strands of hair in your path. “I’ve fallen out of practice. When was the last time I did that? It’s embarrassing…”

You can’t contain your laughter.

“You always come a little early when I ride you.”

“That’s not fair!”

All you can do to soothe him is pat his head. You feel a tad sticky and gross all over, but San’s warmth more than makes up for it, and if you’re not careful, you’re certain you’ll fall asleep within minutes. A small sniffle coming from the man atop you chases thoughts of rest away in the blink of an eye though.

“San?”

“’m okay, promise.”

“You’re crying, baby, that’s not ”okay“.”

“I just,” he inhales and licks over his lips, skating across your sternum in the process. “I wasn’t sure I was gonna stay afloat without you.” You comb your fingers through his hair.

“Tell me when you need me and I’ll be there. Always.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt your schedule and get in the way.”

“You have to trust that I’ll take care of myself and my responsibilities even if I help you too. You always tell me that when I worry over the same things. It goes both ways, San, okay?”

“Okay.” He nods against you. “Okay, I’ll try to remember that. As long as you don’t lock yourself away when things get tough. Rely on me if you need strength. And talk to me when something is on your mind.”

“Alright, we have an agreement.” Out of nowhere, you remember Wooyoung’s suggestion from this morning. Picking at a stray piece of San’s hair, you mull over your thoughts some more. You could let things settle as they are now since things seem to be back to a pleasant state of balance. But even so, would it do any harm to try anyway? “I’d like to go on a first date again. With you. I want us to go on a first date again.”

“Hm?”

“Like… I want us to go out like it’s the first time all over again. And feel that excitement and giddiness we had back then. We don’t have to, it’s just a thought. I don’t know. Maybe it’d be a good thing after this semester.”

Silence overtakes the room. San’s breathing is so steady that you think he’s fallen asleep, but the second you try to shift and see his face, he tilts his head up and looks into your eyes.

“Alright. Let’s go on a first date again.”

…

“I figured we’d go to that little Thai place by the grocery before heading over to the Christmas light show?”

“Oh!” Your thoughts rearrange themselves around his words. “That sounds really nice, yeah.”

“The guys wanna meet up at Wooyoung’s after for chicken and beer, but I told them I’d leave the decision up to you.” He tilts his chin a bit to the side as he speaks, lips quirked up at the corners, and you find yourself so incredibly fond of him all over again.

“Let’s see how we feel after walking around.”

You offer to drive tonight, but he denies you quickly, whining about how he filled his tank full of gas just for tonight so you don’t push the matter any further than that (though, you still tease him a bit once he opens the passenger door for you). When he turns the car on, music starts blasting through the speakers, a song you recognize well, and the dash shows that he’s been listening to the playlist you made for him at the start of the last school year. 

“Sorry, forgot the volume was up so high.” He scrambles to twist the dial down, but you stop him with your hand, gripping his wrist lightly and giving a firm shake of your head.

“I didn’t realize you still listened to it. Normally you just have the radio going.”

“Ah, well,” San’s cheeks are a bit flush under the low lights of the car, “I suppose I’ve been feeling a bit sentimental these days.” His next move is a bit hesitant; he reaches across the console and lays his hand atop your thigh. You reassure him by putting your hand over his, fingers curling around his once again. It feels normal and familiar, though you can’t count on two hands the last time you’ve done something as menial as holding hands with San. 

“San?” He makes a noise of acknowledgment while watching the road. “I’ve missed you.” His nails dig into your flesh a little, and the pressure makes your heart clench in your chest.

“I’ve missed you more.” You can only see his side profile, but it’s enough for you to catch the upturn of his lips. 

“I’ve missed you most then.” The statement slips out through a pout. 

“And I love you more than the moon loves the ocean.”

The weight of his hand is comfort enough for you to be at ease for the rest of the drive.

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please like & reblog this work and consider leaving a reply or sharing your thoughts in a reblog or ask!

this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

#ateez smut #ateez x reader #san smut #san x reader #choi san smut #choi san x reader #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez ff #san imagine #san imagines #caly.writes #fic; and it's snowing #winter fic fest 2023 #fic; what lies beneath us

[hongism]

BOUNCY. - j. yunho, c. jongho (m)

➼ genre; smut ➼ pairing; yunho x fem!reader x jongho ➼ au; outlaw/mechanics!2ho, dystopian futurism, lore accurate ateez ➼ warnings; explicit smut, some terribly unfunny mechanic jokes i’m really sorry ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 4.9k

‘Two for the price of one!’ the sign outside the shop had read, and well, you’ve never been one to pass up on a good deal.

part of the outlaw miniseries.

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➼ smut warnings; piv, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, fingering, manual stimulation, pussy slapping, spanking, hair pulling, choking, sloppy seconds, creampie, pet names: sugar, sweets, dear & baby, dirty talk, breeding kink, name calling: bitch & slut, voyeurism & exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, dom yunho, sub reader, slight bimbofication, spit play, size kink, praise kink

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You pull up to Outlaw Customs, the repair shop that’s become something of a second home for your car, two minutes before closing. If it were anywhere else — and anyone else running the place — you would never dream of being such a terrible customer, but since you know both men inside well enough to have a working relationship outside of this little business they run, you aren’t worried about causing any issues. And, well, if you do, Yunho will surely let you know in his own snarky way.

The garage door is still wide open, with Yunho on full display at the mouth of it as he works on the vehicle that’s always parked front and center. As you cross the threshold into the garage, your eyes catch on a sign propped up outside that you hadn’t seen the last time you were here. Two for the price of one on any repairs! A scoff slips out of you as you eye it, and that noise is what pulls Yunho’s focus from his work to you.

“You didn’t tell me you were running a deal,” you whine, drawing a laugh from the man before you.

“We still gotta make money somehow, sugar!” He nods his head towards the other side of the car, where another familiar face sits on the run-down couch you gave to them when they first opened up shop down the street from your apartment complex. It was something of a trade and an icebreaker: you needed a cracked headlight patched up, and they needed some furniture to fill out the garage and make it more homey for any customers who would come and go. Jongho gets up when you come over though, simply to move from the couch to the desk chair right beside it, and you take the spot where he was just sat.

“What’ll it be this time, sweets?” Jongho arches a brow at you in question and leans back in the chair. He exudes the same natural attractive confidence that he always has, and it shines through in the way he’s sitting with his legs splayed out and how one hand rests on his upper thigh while the other closes into a loose fist against the surface of the desk. He’s changed up his hair since you were last here too, now accentuated with white highlights that frame his head nicely. Your staring doesn’t go unnoticed, however, and he clears his throat gently when you fail to respond after several seconds.

“Oh, um, I’m in desperate need of a new tire. Back left. I think I hit a nail on the road or something, she’s been causing me trouble for weeks now.”

“And you didn’t come in sooner?”

You draw your lips into a firm ‘o’. “I started having issues two days after you demanded to do my oil change! Which I could have done myself really, but now — I can’t see what’s causing the issue, and no matter how many times I pump the damn thing, it still has shit air pressure. Besides, if you wanted to see me sooner, you don’t have to wait around for me to have another car issue to do so.”

Jongho shifts to find something on the desk. The tips of his ears are stained red, and that color bleeds down to his neck. “Yunho is the one who demanded to do the oil change though,” he mumbles, pulling out a clipboard with a blank sheet of paper attached to it. “I’ll go take a look and do a quick inspection to see if anything stands out.”

“Keys are on the dash!” you call after him before he slips out and leaves you somewhat alone with Yunho. Said man is laughing to himself as discreetly as he can manage but says nothing in favor of continuing his fiddling at the car. “Were you really the one to demand that oil change?”

“Technically no. But I did say that if he wanted an excuse to pull you over here then he could offer to do it for you.”

“Despite knowing I always do it myself?” you inquire as you push up from the couch. Your hands come to rest on your hips, chin tilting to match the attitude in your stance, and Yunho’s tongue pokes between his lips. His eyes move over your body in a quick series of glances before he knocks the round of his wrench against the headlight in front of him as though it’s a hammer.

“Um—” he fights to clear his throat but once he starts blushing, it’s impossible to miss against his pale skin. You step closer to where he’s crouched and squat down next to him once you deem yourself close enough — that being within touching distance, that is, where your shoulder can brush against his any time he tries to move even a hair.

“What are you working on?”

Again Yunho’s gaze finds you; this time, he lets it trail over your face first before going any lower, and you grant him a little smile for the bit of unnecessary chivalry.

“You’re too pretty to dirty your hands on me, sugar.”

“You say that every time,” you argue. You never get tired of admiring his side profile, but right now it comes with the added bonus that it watching his throat bob as he swallows hard around nothing but saliva and air.

“You don’t wanna make sure Jongho’s not changing your oil without permission again?” The roll of your eyes is far from subtle by any means, and the dramatization of the gesture brings a snort of laughter out of the man next to you.

“There are other inspections you can do, right? Since I’m a regular here and all.”

“Are you really in need of new tires, dear? From where I’m sitting, it seems like we aren’t the only ones who try to find excuses ‘round these parts.”

Leaning away, you put a hand over your chest and scoff. “The audacity of this man! Jongho, did you hear that?” He’s moving back into the garage as you call out to him, slapping the clipboard against the outside of his thigh. You only get a laugh out of him which seems to you like he agrees with Yunho. He lowers the garage door once safely out of the way and moves back to his seat at the desk. “See, he didn’t say he didn’t find anything.”

“He also didn’t say he did find something, sugar.”

“And, did he?” you prompt, eyes narrowing on Jongho’s back. Even though he can’t see you, he gives you the answer you want to hear with a quiet hum of affirmation, and you flick your chin back to Yunho to send him a smug little grin. “Besides, is there any harm in wanting a good deal?”

“That depends.” Yunho’s voice drawls a little, and he presses the heels of his hands against his thighs to help propel him into a standing position. The wrench in his hand gets tossed back to the cart nearby, bringing an echoing clatter to fill the garage with noise as your eyes lock. “Two for the price of one is a big deal after all.”

“And?” You stand slowly in contrast to how eager Yunho was to stand upright, but he watches your every move with rapt attention. In this game, it’s hard to tell which one of you is stalking the other — both playing the part of a predator so well that it’s indistinguishable. In your humble opinion, Yunho’s resolve is cracking much faster than yours.

“And it comes with lots of nice add-ons but they can be a lot to handle.”

“I never pass up on a good deal though,” you murmur through a pout, deigning to look down to the floor and back up to meet Yunho’s gaze through fluttering lashes. “I like handing big loads too.”

“Oh my god.” Jongho’s voice and the following groan cut through the building tension. “Quit making gross innuendos and just fuck! Making me sit here and agonize through that shit, disgusting.” Your face draws into something close to a scowl, one that matches his expression when you turn to look at him. In a move of childish vengeance, you stick your tongue out at him.

“Let us have our fun!”

“Yeah, yeah, have your fun and fuck.”

“Not joining?” Yunho asks, hand running over the curve of your hip already.

“I’ll sit back and watch you get your fill first then have seconds later. You always feel best after he’s thoroughly used you, sweets.” Your expression is somewhere between bewilderment and a smile, eyes following him as he moves back to the couch and throws himself down to the cushions facing you and Yunho. “What? He leaves you good and loose for me.”

“Jongho.” Your tone is breaching the edge of chastisement, but the words you plan to continue with are knocked out of you in a soft oof as Yunho turns you towards the car and suddenly bends you over the hood without warning.

“He’s right, isn’t he? I do open you up quite nicely.” You brace your hands against the hood, pushing up just enough to send a look back at Yunho over your shoulder. He’s already moved back some, however, and redirected his attention to slipping his fingers between the band of your pants and the skin underneath. “May I, sugar?”

“Go on then,” comes your whispered response as you settle more comfortably against the hood.

“You look pretty splayed out against our gem, baby.” Your view of Jongho is entirely skewed like this, but you watch him as he speaks. Though still fully clothed, you get quite the eyeful of his crotch with the way he’s sitting in that same damned position that makes you want to crawl between his legs and suck him dry.

“Right where she belongs.” Yunho’s fingers are hot against your sex, cupping you through your underwear now that your pants are down to your ankles. He snaps the flat of his hand to the same spot, and the action draws a shiver out of you along with a breathy whine. “Are you up for subbing tonight, y/n?”

“Yes sir.”

“So good and I barely had to lift a finger,” Yunho coos down at you. Once again his fingers trail over the line of your lips and push fabric against your cunt, not enough to give you any sort of true stimulation but it makes your clit throb with want. “Still remember our safeword?”

“Bluebird.”

“There’s my good girl.” Yunho slaps his palm against your mound harder to accentuate his words. You let out a moan that catches you off-guard, but Yunho doesn’t allow you time to adjust to the new sensations. “Count for me, sugar.”

“How many do you think she deserves tonight?” From your perspective, you can see Jongho’s hand move in slow circles against the front of his pants.

“Hm, fifteen to start? She was mouthing off quite a lot with me earlier.” A chilling rush of adrenaline pushes through your body, a whine hanging at your lips and threatening to interrupt their conversation, but you bite it back by sinking your teeth into your lower lip. Jongho catches your slight blunder before you have the chance to hide it.

“Oh? I think she wants to say something, Yun.”

“What is it, sugar? You can count that high still, right? After all my cock isn’t in you yet. Your little head should be perfectly intact still.” Yunho slides a hand down your back and finds a resting place at your tailbone. He takes the fabric of your shirt into his palm before bunching it into his fist and yanking your body along the hood of the car. “Not a dumb cockslut yet, baby, come on and answer the question.”

“I-I can, yeah, I can count that high, sir.”

“Good girl. You sound nice and desperate already. Maybe you shouldn’t wait so long to come see us anymore, hm?”

“I won’t,” you whisper. Yunho’s hand comes down on your ass, slapping against the bare skin exposed by your panties, and the sting comes immediately. “I’ll come sooner next time.” Yunho clicks his tongue though. Your gaze is locked onto Jongho, however, and focused on following his movements as he pulls his pants down his thighs and lets his thick cock spring out fully erect and leaking at the tip already. Yunho tightens his grip on you. The pressure on your body increases tenfold, making it hard to breathe under the weight atop you. You feel hot breath cascading over your ear as Yunho inserts himself into your personal space.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten how to fuckin’ count, sugar,” he hisses into the shell of your ear. His tone is so wildly different than the one he uses in casual conversation — biting and scathing to the point of muddling your thoughts with desire. Nothing quite compares to sex with an angry Yunho, though you rarely can rile him up to that point and even now you don’t have him like that, just the barebones of annoyance that tease something more.

“N-No! One, one, I’m sorry sir.”

“If he’s so distracting, I can send you over to him with no prep, dear.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m — I’m focused, I promise. Please continue?” His response comes in the form of two more slaps over the same spot as the first one, sharp and pointed to make the skin beneath him heat up further. “Three…”

“Now that I’ve got your attention, make sure I keep it, sweetheart.”

There’s no real need for that reminder in your mind because once he starts building a steady rhythm and delivering the spanks to your ass with mere seconds between each one, you have no choice but to focus on him. Jongho is still before you, a sight unfolding gloriously as he strokes at his length with lazy little jerks and no intention of bringing himself much pleasure beyond that. Even Yunho goes quiet in his ministrations behind you, leaving the air to be filled with the sounds of his hand on your skin and whatever broken number you choke out after each one. You want to twist and writhe under him, to alleviate some of the burn that’s so present on your backside, but each time you try to so much as shift an inch, Yunho delivers an extra slap to your cunt. Well-placed and effective too — so close to your clit that it makes your knees buckle and you fall back into the position Yunho wants you in to carry out his task. The first ounce of reprieve comes at eleven, right when you’ve settled to push through the pleasurable punishment to the end.

“You know, sugar, you’re taking this so well that I’m wondering if we should increase the number. You aren’t nearly red enough yet, and we picked an odd number. I can’t show equal love to both sides like that.”

“Twenty?” Jongho chimes in, smile twisting as you shake your head. “Thirty?”

“Twenty is fine, I—” you inhale sharply at the sensation of Yunho running his hand along your skin. His touch is cold now, a welcome balm to the heat that emanates from the spot he’s just been hitting so ruthlessly. Your voice is so shaky that you have to swallow to contain the tremble before continuing. “It’s b-been a bit since we did this, I’m not u-used to it.”

Yunho remains quiet as he rubs his thumb over your warm skin in soothing circles for several more seconds. “One more, baby. Then you’ll be done for tonight.” He’s merciful but not entirely gracious because the last sharp slap he delivers to you feels ten times worse than all the others before, and you roll your head to push it into the hood as you cry out at the impact. He catches you as your knees buckle under you, preventing you from sliding straight down to the floor, and as you’re scrambling to regain your footing, he hooks two fingers under your underwear band. When he yanks at the elastic, it snaps against your body hard enough to make you hiss, and it burns a bit when they slide over your sensitive skin.

“Didn’t she do well, Yun?”

You crack an eye open to look over at the man on the couch and make direct eye contact with Jongho to find his gaze far softer than it was minutes ago.

“Of course she did. I expect nothing less from our pretty lady, dear. And—” Yunho pushes two fingers between your folds and dips right into your hole, bypassing all the arousal that’s begun to leak out of you “—she’s sopping wet to boot. Perfect.” The praise makes your body sing, and Yunho rewards your easy obedience by easing his fingers in and out of you with little resistance thanks to that wetness he mentioned. “You still on the pill?”

“Y-Yeah, as always. Haven’t missed a day.”

“Then I can cum in you?”

“Yes… yes sir.”

Yunho groans, and he moves his hand up from the small of your back to feel at the back of your head. He takes a handful of hair into his hold and grips tight enough to pull your head up from the car hood, but it’s not too terrible that you feel any sort of dramatic pain from the act.

“Gonna breed you fuckin’ full of cum then,” he growls, leaning into your space and knocking his forehead against your temple. “Maybe so well that that damn pill won’t work? If I fuck it into you hard enough then your body won’t have a choice but to take my seed.” A loud moan tumbles from your lips at his words. The hand you have propping your weight up wobbles, and just before your elbow locks, Yunho releases you and grabs for your hips with both hands. You’re close to complaining about the sudden departure of his fingers when he nudges the tip of his cock against your folds, sliding along the wetness in a crude form of lubrication.

“Fuck me, won’t you?” you plead quietly. You hope that if nothing else, the look on your face will convince him to get on with things, but it must be a combination of everything — the heady arousal in the air, your tone and words, even the sight of Jongho jacking off to the two of you only a few feet away. Yunho sinks deep into your cunt then; he buries the full length of his cock deep inside you, stretching you open further until it feels like you can feel him in your stomach. Your body trembles and drops forward as you press your free hand to your abdomen like it’ll help you feel him better. “God, you’re so fucking big, Yun.”

“All the better to breed you with,” he says before planting a hand between your shoulder blades and urging you all the way down once more. Jongho is squeezing the base of his cock with his other hand now, likely to keep himself from cumming too early, and Yunho is notorious for two things: his short refractory period and how long he can go without orgasm no matter what kind of stimulation he’s under.

The initial drag of his cock inside you feels like heaven, and when he thrusts back against your thighs, he does so with such force that your insides churn.

“Is she tight?”

“Insanely,” Yunho responds through gritted teeth. You try to lift your head to look back at his face, eager to see how broken his expression is right now, but he stops you in your tracks. Again, fingers threaded through your hair and locking in close to your scalp to give him the best grip that won’t hurt you too terribly much. He yanks you hard with the next thrust, and it brings your head up at an angle that stretches you hard enough to make your muscles burn with the effort of accommodating to it. “Barely been two weeks and you’re this tight again, sugar, your pussy is fuckin’ insane.”

You would laugh at the absurdity of his comment if you could, but in your current state, the only noise that can escape you are choppy moans. They’re the kind that sounds like they could come straight from an amateur porno, and despite the garage being closed, it doesn’t offer that much privacy. Anyone who walks by will suddenly become privy to what sounds like a home movie being filmed behind the metal door.

“Didn’t expect her to be this tight, fuck, I might cum early.”

You can’t warn Yunho of the same for yourself: between his thrusts, the full weight of his balls slap against your pussy from the sheer force behind how hard he’s fucking you, and the steady rhythm is just enough to stimulate your clit even without head-on contact. He knows your body well, however, and how to play you like a fucking fiddle, so when your walls start pulsing around the thickness of his cock, he shifts the angle and drives his tip so deep into you that you see stars behind your eyelids.

“Fuck, sweets,” Jongho exhales under his breath. Your vision is blurry when you open your eyes, but it snaps back to black a moment later when the orgasm hits you all of a sudden.

“Fuck, fuck, f-fuck!”

“That’s it, sugar,” Yunho coos from behind you, and his hand relaxes to run down to the back of your neck. He presses the pads of his fingers into the flesh there, poking and prodding at the muscles that have suddenly gone tense in the tsunami of sensations sweeping over you, but his thrusts don’t let up even as your walls squeeze hard around his length. Yunho fucks you hard and fast through the brunt of your orgasm. When your body finally relaxes and the waves die down to let you swim in the aftermath of it, he’s still driving his dick along your walls and knocking against your more sensitive spots. “Should I breed you now, dear? Fuck you nice and full of cum then send you to sit on Jongho’s cock?”

Your mouth hangs open enough to let saliva out of it and onto the car, yet it smears across your face when you lose the will to steady yourself against Yunho’s pace.

“Pl-please, sir.”

Yunho lays himself over you and spreads his hands to sit on either side of your head. His hips still against your backside. The fuzz in your brain nearly drowns out the feeling of cum pumping into you, without a doubt filling you to the brim. He’s still in the throes of recovery when you nudge Yunho off and out of you. You would stay longer with him inside, to feel that warmth and fullness for some time longer, but your body moves on its own agenda with a pulsing desire lingering in your gut. Despite the weakness in your muscles, you walk over to the couch where Jongho waits patiently and quietly. His gaze is heavy on you when you drop your hands to his shoulders.

“Baby…”

“Don’t stop her now, babe,” Yunho interjects. You don’t spare him a glance over your shoulder or anything like it — the movements of your body are methodical and calculated, a firm straddle over his hips and spread legs before you reach down to put your hand next to his against the length of his cock. Together, you guide him into your used cunt, pushing him in alongside the cum threatening to drip out of your body. A sigh of relief leaves your lips once he’s securely inside you.

“Feel good?” you whisper close to his face. Jongho’s cheeks are flushed, his pupils blown own so wide that you can barely see the color of his irises, and his lips glisten with spit. You can’t help yourself, you decide. He has the same thought in his mind because he’s the one to kiss you rather than the other way around, lips finding each other in a fit of passion that makes your chest burn.

“I want more,” he mutters into your mouth.

“Greedy.” You lift yourself up from his lap some, enough to let his cock nearly pull all the way out of you, then sink back down with a spine-curling pleasure that makes you throw your head back and moan to the ceiling. Yunho’s form enters your line of sight, and his hand finds the base of your throat. He stands behind you, chin tilted to his chest so that he can stare directly down at you. He’s handsome beyond belief even at this awfully skewed and awkward angle.

“Open,” he commands while tapping along the column of your throat. Your lips part completely to allow him access to whatever it is he wants from you.

Jongho’s firm and strong hands squeeze at your waist at the same moment. He takes the control from your hands, and you hand it over without complaint to let him work your cunt along his length as he sees fit and to chase his pleasure in full. Yunho hooks his thumb on the back of your teeth. It effectively holds you open and steady for the moment he decides to spit down into your mouth. The warmth on your tongue makes you wince, but then Yunho is withdrawing his thumb and pushing up against your chin.

“Close and swallow,” he says in what’s likely to be his last act of dominance for the night. Your eyes remain firmly set on his face as you do so — slow yet deliberate so that he can see your obedience in its full glory. Your reward is the sweetest gift. He lays a kiss to your forehead and taps your cheek gently. “Good girl.”

You right yourself enough to look down at Jongho, sending your focus to the lover beneath you. He lets you take his face between your hands without saying a word, but the second you lean in for a kiss, he bites out his thoughts.

“You take dick like a bitch in heat, sweets.”

“Y-You’re the one—” your voice sounds about as wrecked as you feel “—fucking me dumb.” Jongho slides his hands along the lines of your body until he reaches your ass, where the skin is still sensitive and burning from Yunho’s earlier punishment. He palms the flesh harshly enough to make you cry out. “Want you inside too.”

“One wasn’t enough? How much cum do you need?”

“She’s a proper cumslut, really Jongho. You know this.” It’s unfair that Yunho sounds totally recovered and unbothered by the rough sex you just shared; meanwhile, you’re thoroughly wrecked and still going through the motions, working towards another impending orgasm on Jongho’s cock.

“Close?” he asks with a lilting tease hanging off his tone. You push yourself against him as best you can, close enough to knock your forehead into his.

“I bet you’ll cum first, big boy. Your needy dick is begging to breed me.”

Jongho’s nostrils flare at the accusation, but it’s an accurate one with the way his haphazard thrusts are becoming more and more staggered. Nothing inspires Jongho quite like a small competition though, even if it encourages him to play dirty and reach around to your front. He plunges a hand down alongside where his cock meets your body. Your bubbling complaints about his dirty tactics fall short at the mouth of your next orgasm, and he all but steals the air from your lungs with a few little twists of his fingers on your clit. He cums with you immediately after — but after nonetheless, as you’re certain he’ll note later on. Your body sags atop his even as he drives his length into you a few more times for good measure and to milk himself for all he’s worth, adding another load to what Yunho’s already left in you.

Said man makes another appearance too, with bottles of water in hand as he lowers himself to the couch cushions right beside you and Jongho. You take one of the presented bottles with a quiet murmur of thanks, easing up from your slumped position to take several greedy sips in an effort to soothe your poor throat.

“By the way,” Jongho tilts his head in Yunho’s direction. A moment passes that’s full of silent anticipation, and it’s only when Yunho’s brows start to furrow that Jongho finishes his thought. “Her tires are fine.”

The incredulous look you get from Yunho makes the ruse well worth it, and the small flare of anger that crosses his eyes briefly only serves to make you want to tease him further.

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please like & reblog this work and consider leaving a reply or sharing your thoughts in a reblog or ask!

this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

#ateez smut #ateez x reader #yunho smut #yunho x reader #jongho smut #jongho x reader #ateez fic #ateez ff #ateez fanfic #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #yunho oneshot #jongho oneshot #caly.writes #fic: outlaw series

[hongism]

DUNE. - p. seonghwa (m)

➼ genre; smut ➼ pairing; seonghwa x fem!reader ➼ au; outlaw/biker!seonghwa, dystopian futurism, lore accurate ateez ➼ warnings; explicit smut, vaping mention ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 5.4k

Your excursions with Seonghwa are never anything holy despite how sacred the time shared between you feels at times.

part of the outlaw miniseries.

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➼ smut warnings; piv, unprotected sex, public sex (ie outdoors and on a motorcycle), oral: m, hair pulling, dirty talk, marking/biting, face fucking, deepthroating, slight edging, petnames: princess, kitten & doll, breeding kink, creampie, some religious imagery, slight objectification

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“You bastard.”

Dressed in nothing but a towel to keep you modest, you exit the bathroom in your far too small apartment expecting nothing but the simple task of getting your nightclothes from your bedroom. That, however, seems to be an impossibly tall order given what’s waiting for you in the living room. Sitting on your couch. With his stupid dirty boots all over your best piece of furniture in the house. So you can’t very well be blamed for your outburst upon seeing him, especially given the fact that he’s dared to show his face here and now like this.

The window adjacent to your couch is cracked as well, letting the evening air and likely every bug in the city into your home too.

“It’s been two months,” you snap before you can think through the lengthy list of things you’d like to rip into him about.

Seonghwa drops his head on the back of the couch and shifts to smile over at you, lopsided and dorky and all-around infuriating. Even more humiliating is the fact that you missed the sight of that grin, of him on your couch and in your home, and you dearly missed knowing when he would come back to you.

“And?”

“Did you use the fire escape to get in here again?” You thought that you had latched and locked the windows particularly well after you settled with the fact that Seonghwa wasn’t coming back. And yet here he is, and your windows are unlocked again. The man laughs, bringing his head off the couch and leaning forward in a way that makes his slicked-back black hair shift and fall around his face. This is a dangerously unwell situation for you to be in. Shutting your eyes, you turn towards your bedroom, hand tightening at the towel around your body. If you look at him a moment longer, you’re well and truly going to jump his bones. While that’s not the worst fate you could think of, you’d like to seem a little more upset at him before you give into both your desires and his.

You hear the couch creak then the soft scuffs of his boots over wood flooring as you pull clothes out of the dresser. He’s not in the doorway when you turn around, which does surprise you somewhat, but you take advantage of the brief moment of privacy to change into the tee and jeans you just pulled out. You toss your towel at the doorway once you’re safely under the comfort of clothes, and half of Seonghwa’s face peeks around the corner.

“You going somewhere?” He asks the question so innocently that you nearly think he’s changed in the past two months. Still, he’s leaning fully against the door frame now with one hand pressed high up along the wood and leaning over the edge into your bedroom, and the seduction is still there. His allure with all its perks and twists and all the ease he performs his enticement with are on full display before your eyes.

“Aren’t we?” you offer in response, too impatient to bother with playing your usual push-and-pull game with him.

“You still know me well, huh?” Now that you’re closer to him and can look at him head-on, you see the all too familiar jacket clinging to his broad shoulders, the tight tank top beneath it that shows off a hint of his muscled arms and chest. Seonghwa must see something across your expression that you aren’t consciously aware of because he hooks his index finger under your chin and lifts your head to look you in the eye. “You’re irresistible when you pout, kitten.”

A hand reaches up to cup the back of his neck, skating across the fabric of his shirt as you move upwards, and when you grab hold of him, he’s already leaning down to meet you on your path to his lips.

“I’m still mad at you, by the way,” you murmur before laying a kiss against him. Seonghwa laughs into your mouth as his tongue breaks the seam and finds yours. He tastes like the same stupid flavor of vape juice you remember, which means he hasn’t quit like he said he would last time you spoke, but he seems to have kept using your favorite flavor. “It’s past curfew.”

“No it’s not,” he denies quickly, and you pull off his mouth completely just so he can see how hard you roll your eyes at him.

“It’s past curfew.”

“Fifteen minutes outside the city—” a firmly planted kiss that keeps you from responding “—twenty tops, it’s fine. You can even drive if you want? You know how hot I find it seeing you on my bike.” Now that you’ve broken the seal, Seonghwa can’t seem to pull his lips away from yours for even a full sentence with the way he keeps rushing to lick into your mouth between every few words.

“If this—ah, hey!” He nips the corner of your mouth, grin cheeky at best when you squeeze the back of his neck hard. “If this is what we’re going to do then why not just stay here?”

“Because I have something to show you.” When suspicion starts to overcome your features, Seonghwa leans down and bumps his forehead against yours. “And we haven’t checked the bike’s sturdiness in over two months… what if my baby isn’t as sturdy as she used to be, huh? She’s not getting as much practice as she used to.”

“And I wonder whose fault that is.”

“Mine and no one else’s, princess.” He’s giving you that damn smile that makes you cave every time without fail — the upturned lip one that makes his laugh lines appear — and you groan purposefully loud like it’ll change the outcome of the night you’ve already handed yourself over to. Everyone close to you in your life would rush to call you a doormat for this man, and you can’t say that they’re horribly wrong on any front. Maybe if they knew exactly how good the dick and banter are they would cut you some slack though.

“Fine, you win.” You pull him into another open-mouthed kiss that lets you have another taste. “But you’re driving there, I’ll drive back.”

Seonghwa grins like he’s just won the lottery of life, hand snapping to brace yours against his chest as he guides you to the window where he made his grandiose entrance. There are many questions at the forefront of your mind admittedly, but you opt not to bring any of them up quite yet solely because you don’t want to cause any headaches this early on in the night. If he decides to turn tail and run upon being confronted then what? You’ll have wasted your night on this man for no reason and it’ll be totally unfulfilling for the both of you, so you imagine he wants to keep the mediocre peace as much as possible too. You have no trouble leaving the window unlocked now, mostly because Seonghwa is the only person who has dared to break in in your area of town, and he doesn’t do so with the intention of taking any of your belongings: just you and your poor fragile heart.

His motorcycle sits alone in the alleyway your fire escape leads down to, and you watch him pop the small box trunk attached to the back of it for a few seconds before realizing that you truly are what he came for. He pulls a helmet out — the same one he used to always make you wear that fits you just right and you used to be convinced that he bought it solely for you, but he denied it so heavily you gave up on that notion a long time ago. He never carries it around unless he knows he’s coming to you because he’s always claimed to need the space for “work” related things if you can even call it that given the rather illegal nature of what he does with this very bike. You don’t mind that part one bit; Night City has gone to shit anyway, and the government keeps finding new ways to impose absurd laws on all of you. If Seonghwa wants to mess with their new world order a bit and piss all over their business, then you’re all for it. You hope he and whoever he works with bring them down a few notches while they’re at it. But you do want him to be safe, and you want to know he’s okay and alive out there, and you don’t want months of radio silence that leaves you wondering if you did something to run him off or if he got captured by the guardians or worse—

“Hey.”

You inhale sharply. Seonghwa slides the helmet down over your head then braces his hands on either side of it to lay a kiss on where your forehead would be if not for the protection. Behind the visor, you shut your eyes and take a deep breath. When you open them again, Seonghwa is perched on the bike, pulling his own helmet on, and you admire the pretty slope of his nose mere seconds before it disappears.

Unspoken rule #1: you don’t ask about his little foray into anarchy.

“I don’t even believe in any god yet I pray for your safety every time you leave.”

He reached across the space between your bodies on the couch that night and squeezed your thigh.

“I’ll give you something to believe in.”

That night he buried his face between your thighs and ate you out like a man worshiping at the altar on the cold floor in front of your TV.

Tonight, you’re more than okay with that.

Seonghwa’s body is like a furnace when you wrap yourself around him. He’s warm and comfortable in the most familiar of ways, and you can still taste him on the inside of your lips. You smile despite yourself, clinging to him harder as the motorcycle lurches into action. Seonghwa never wastes time, though there’s an added layer of danger tonight with curfew, but you have it in good faith that the whole notion is just a little scare tactic to keep people in line. Even months ago there were no patrols or active guardians wandering the streets at night. Whatever drones do monitor from the sky don’t do anything except spook citizens.

In retrospect, you should have stolen Seonghwa’s jacket off his back or brought your own because the night air whips your shirt and leaves you cold. The man in front of you isn’t much of a meat shield against it either, yet the combination of your shivering and the ever-increasing speed of the bike makes adrenaline drop in your gut. You could chase this feeling for the rest of your life but still not be able to capture it unless it’s with Seonghwa, and as much as you hate to admit that sort of dependency, you also revel in the knowledge that he only gets it from you as well. Maybe you’re more religious than you thought with the exchanged reverence and devotion you two hold for one another. A sort of sacrality permeates every touch and breath between your lips. It reaches you in full when Seonghwa pulls the bike to a stop at what must be his chosen destination. He eases your helmet off first before ridding himself of his own. The moment his lips are within reach, you find them with your fingers and trace over the soft skin there like he himself is holy text to be studied and recited.

“Come,” he says with a hand stretched out towards you. Like a sheep following its shepherd, you sling your leg over the bike and come to stand beside him. He’s brought you to a hill, just beyond the outskirts of the city, but the spot where it overlooks showcases something as fascinating as it is beautiful. Beyond the fences surrounding Night City, there is a clearing of simple dirt yet it’s full of light and life. Crowds upon crowds of people occupy the space, though they look more like ants from where you’re perched, yet even in the distance you can see how they move about. Dancing. “That’s one of the only spots the people in this hellhole can still be free.”

“Are…” You clear your throat and glance at your companion briefly. “Is that where your coworkers are?”

“There are others, yes. Many of them. Our bike crew likes to show off some nights and do tricks around the lot when we know the government is gonna be busy with other problems. But for the most part, people go there to listen to music and dance and sing… to enjoy the things every rich prick is trying to take away from us.” Seonghwa sighs. He brings a hand to his hair and runs his fingers through the strands to the point of disarray. “It’s not an excuse, but this is why I’ve been away from you for so many weeks. Trying to get some solid plans in motion and all that. You knowing too much would just put you at risk, and that simply wouldn’t do, princess. I need you safe and sound. I can’t be the reason you get hurt or suffer, especially not at their hands.”

“But… you hurt me.”

“I thought it would be easier to disappear entirely than to come up with some lie as to why I couldn’t come around anymore.” He draws his arms up in a rather clear act of defensiveness but he turns to face you directly as he relays the information. “And I knew that the second I showed up at your door with a lie figured out, I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. I guess everyone has a point in saying you’re my soft spot.”

One corner of your lips pulls up to form a crude smile, laugh exhaling out your nose in a rush of air. You reach for Seonghwa’s wrists.

“Cm’here.”

“What?” he complies nonetheless, matching your grin as you pull his arms away from his chest. His hands move around your body to tug you into his personal space like it’s just an extension of simple human movements, and you match the gentle affection with your own soft touches across his chest. Tracing upwards, you seek his jacket and secure your hands around the collar.

“Don’t lie and don’t hide from me again. If you can’t tell me, that’s fine. I’m okay with that. We can play house and do whatever when we’re together, then when the revolution comes knocking, we’ll deal with that too.” This is as close to I love you as you can go.

“Okay, princess. That’s a deal I’m gonna hold you to though.” Seonghwa leans against your body, and you let his weight sink down onto you with a quiet sigh. The lingering pass of silence lets you indulge in the feeling of him as he exhales heavily down your neck. He drifts lower until his lips ghost over the juncture of your neck, and the pressure in your chest increases tenfold with each feathering touch. When his teeth drag across your skin, you gasp out loud. Goosebumps rush across your body, a moan pulls from your lips, and Seonghwa sucks at your neck like he wants to pull the blood right out of you.

“H-Hwa.”

“Want you,” he murmurs. You have other things on your mind right now, however, and you doubt he’s going to be opposed to your suggestions so you tug yourself away from his wandering hands and tighten your grip on his jacket. His body is lax as you pull him around and lean him against the seat of his motorcycle. “Princess…” Seonghwa already looks to be in a daze when you sink to your knees between his legs, hands sliding across the firm muscles of his legs that are hidden beneath faux leather. His lips part in silent wonder, and his gaze follows yours with such intense focus that it feels like you’re the only two people on earth. You watch his mouth move but no noise comes out, no words, and whatever thoughts he’s having right now are lost on you because you can’t read his lips. It doesn’t deter you from your current goal — you have his zipper caught between your fingers already, and his button comes undone just as easily.

His shame knows no bounds, apparently, because you peel back his pants to bare skin with nothing between.

“You been thinking about me all day?” you tease, teeth toying with your lower lip as you flutter your lashes at him on purpose, but he sweeps you away with his hasty and breathless response.

“All day. All week. Every day since the last time I saw you.” A hopeless romantic, after all. You work his pants down his hips just enough to pull his half-hard length out, putting your lips around him without wasting any more time than you have to. Seonghwa moans from the first touch as your wet heat surrounds his cock and buries all the way in your throat. You take him in until he nudges the back of your throat and threatens to make you choke. Similar to how he laid between your legs and worshiped at your alter, you do the same now — on your knees for him with hands clasped around the base of his cock, you blink up at his strained face with glistening eyes and a prayer on your lips.

Seonghwa brings a shaky hand to the back of your head, but he finds his confidence the moment he grabs hold of your hair and guides your mouth to take his dick deeper. His tip pushes into your throat, and you’re quick to adjust your breathing, focus snapping away from his face so that you can steady your breath and bring air into your lungs. Wetness touches your lashes as your eyes fall closed. You tap his crotch twice, and he understands the signal immediately. It’s hard to believe two months have passed when you fall back into usual and familiar routines with such ease. Seonghwa tightens his hold on your hair, burying his fingers closer to your scalp, and air whistles through his teeth. He pulls out of your mouth suddenly, until the head of his cock lays heavy against your lips. You missed the taste of him desperately, even more so in this filthy and hedonistic way, but that realization quickly turns into an afterthought as you suck at his tip.

“Fuck, doll, missed using you like this,” Seonghwa groans above you, and you respond by swiping your tongue along the bit of his cock that he lets you touch. “You always let me fill your pretty little mouth so well. Could use you like a toy forever, fuck.”

“Then do it.” You grin against his cock head, chin tilting down so that you can press a kiss to the same spot. The noise that tears from Seonghwa is close to animalistic as he jerks his hips towards your mouth. You’re forced to drop your jaw as quickly as you can but it doesn’t fully keep your teeth from snagging at his skin, though that seems to do nothing but drive Seonghwa further into insanity as he thrusts hard into your mouth.

“Shit, my little doll, look at you.” You force your eyes open against better judgment just to look at Seonghwa’s face. He coos, free hand reaching around to cup your face, and he swipes his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “Such a messy doll you are, tears and spit all over that pretty face.” You gag, only for it to turn into a sob as he fucks your mouth like it's just another hole to use. “I’ll grant you your veneration, princess, if only you give me my absolution.” He still treats you as though you’re something holy after all this time too, it seems. His balls knock against your chin with each one of his thrusts, until you grow totally accustomed to the rhythm. You had been certain that he would stop before coming undone, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem keen on stopping any time soon with the way he’s enjoying your mouth, wet and warm around his dick. You want to drive him to completion now — the cotton fuzz in your brain that’s starting to block all thoughts outside of him and your arousal demands more, and you crave the feeling of his cock twitching on your tongue. You wish to taste his seed on the back of your tongue, to watch his legs tremble and buckle under his pleasure at your hands.

You hum around the weight on your tongue, and Seonghwa lets his hand go loose on your hair, swinging it back to catch on the seat of his bike so he can steady himself better. He hands over control to you in the same moment and gives you the blessed initiative that makes you splay your hands across his hips and brace yourself over his length as you take some time to catch your breath. It makes you acutely aware of your wrecked state too because you can feel the moisture all over your face, both from tears and the trails of saliva that Seonghwa caused. He leans back and pushes the bike further against its side-stand; not to the point of immediate concern but he is testing that sturdiness as he claimed he wished to earlier. You lick along the underside of Seonghwa’s cock, relishing in the way he twitches against your tongue.

“Are you close?” you ask. You aren’t expecting how horribly wrecked your voice is or how it sounds like you’ve chewed and tried to swallow gravel actually. Seonghwa makes no comment on it himself and instead just nods several times over as he gulps down greedy breaths of air. “Do you wanna cum in my mouth?”

“Jesus, princess, how can you just — say that with a straight face like that, christ.” Seonghwa brushes hair away from your forehead, pulling it back to be out of the way.

“You can keep going, right?” Your fingers curl around the base of his dick just to squeeze him a little bit to tease and stimulate him some more. “You’ll still be able to fuck me if you cum once, won’t you?”

“Baby—”

“Or can you still not finish without breeding me?” Seonghwa’s whole body reacts to your statement, and you hear the audible choke that overtakes him when you flatten your palm on his cock and press it against his stomach. His fingers extend while trembling then he draws them back into fists so tight his knuckles bleed white. You drive the heel of your hand further into his length, coming up halfway to let your fingers curl up over his tip. Taking precum onto your fingertips, you pull the same digits into your mouth and lick them clean, eyes glinting as you watch Seonghwa’s lips part in either want or wonder.

His mouth stays agape even after you stand up and press your body firmly on his. Your nipples clearly show through your top, bra forgone in your rush to get dressed when you saw him, and Seonghwa lets his hands wander up to pinch at them through the thin cotton.

“I take that as a no,” you whisper close to his mouth, letting your breath huff out across his lips. He moves against you with more force now and takes your lips with his own. You’re distracted despite the kiss on account of your hands being busy with your pants and unable to maintain contact without having to pull away to separate your shoes and pants from your body entirely. Seonghwa wraps an arm around your waist to bring you back to him, already attaching himself to your neck and nipping at the mark he left not long ago. “H-How?”

“Ride me—” he twists at the waist “—on the bike.” You’re taken aback by the request, but it also shouldn’t come as much of a surprise given the long list of delightful positions Seonghwa’s taken you in previously. Still, when he pats the back of the seat and slings his own leg over the body, you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to manage this at all. Over the back of the bike? Sure, you’ve done that many times. He’s bent you over the handles several times too, but never like this — with his back to the handlebars and you crawling up to his lap in what feels like a rather precarious position. “I’ve got you, kitten, come on.” Securing a hand on his shoulder, you let Seonghwa hoist you up over his spread legs, fingernails digging into your ass as he brings you down to his lap. You reach down to grab hold of his cock and guide him to your pussy. Normally, you’d love to have some sort of prep, especially with his dick and its size, but that’s far from your concern right now. You’ll regret it tomorrow when you’re sore and aching; by then, you’ll have him in your bed, looking after you and taking care of you, and you can make that his problem to sort out. Right now, you want him inside you and filling you up with a burn and a sting to remember him by.

Seonghwa takes great care to ease you down his length, hands holding you steady and firm. You hiss at the stretch of your walls around him.

“Feet on the rests, kitten, I’ve got you.” You hear the words and react accordingly, but your mind is elsewhere — focused on relaxing as best you can to accommodate his size. When he bottoms out at last, you lean your forehead against his, and he drags his hands up from your ass to massage along your lower back. “Don’t hold onto me, okay? Grab the handlebars.” Your firm glare is hard to miss, especially with your proximity to one another, but it just makes Seonghwa laugh into your cheek. “I’ll keep the bike steady no problem. Gotta put my long legs to use somehow, right?”

“Can’t believe you’re making me do all the work when you were the asshat who disappeared for two months!”

“It’s not too late for me to fuck you face first into the ground, doll, if that’s what you’re wanting,” Seonghwa purrs against the corner of your lips, and you reply with a cheeky kiss that involves you biting the tip of his tongue gently when he tries to explore your mouth.

“Don’t get too excited, baby. It’s my treat tonight.” You feel him twitch inside you as you reach around his body to grab for the handlebars, and the motion forces you to pull up from his cock a bit. He’s watching you with rapt focus, the same unholy expression as before paints his features again now, and it’s borderline intoxicating to see him unravel as you drop back down on his length. The noises of passion between you are reduced to exchanged moans and heavy breaths. For a man who always has something dirty to say, if only to rile you up further, he’s fallen to a mess of stuttered groans and pants that make you bounce on his cock faster and faster.

“Do I feel as — as good as y-you remember?” you ask through the sounds of skin slapping skin. Seonghwa’s whole face contorts and he throws his head back, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. He scrambles to grab at your waist.

“Even better, s-so much fucking better.”

You tilt your chin towards the sky and laugh through a choppy moan. It’s then that Seonghwa catches you off guard: he eases you back along the seat of the motorcycle, forcing your hands to release the handles and laying you along the length of the seat. It’s not quite long enough to accommodate the position he’s going for, but you understand better when he pulls you down to meet his cock. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust further, driving his cock into you with a rabid passion that fills your stomach with fire and desire. Your dangling feet move to brace against the handlebar, and you plant them firmly against the flat of your foot just as Seonghwa pulls you down some more. Either you can’t control your noises as well like this or he’s simply fucking you better than ever because every thrust knocks a whiny moan out of you. There’s nothing for you to grab onto like this either — not above or around your head at least — so you have to settle for reaching down between your legs and bracing your hands on Seonghwa’s forearms.

“D-Dear fucking god, Hwa,” you whine.

“Touch yourself, touch yourself now, doll, I’m gonna cum soon.” You think you’re just as close yourself, to the point where a minute touch might make you cum embarrassingly quick, but you do as told, moving one of your hands down to roll firm circles around your clit in time with his thrusts. You don’t really have to move at all because his movements are doing the work for you. So when the climbing sensation of an impending orgasm starts to overwhelm you, you bring your fingers to a halt and let them press into your clit instead, where Seonghwa’s thrusts can jerk your hand against yourself in a crude form of masturbation.

“P-Please hurry, cum quick please, I’m about to—” your thoughts come to a grinding halt. Your mind goes blank, turning to an empty canvas, then the pleasure explodes and the orgasm shakes your entire body. Your toes curl around the handles in the same way that your back curls away from the seat.

“Inside? Do you want me to cum inside or — fuck, not? In or out?” Seonghwa’s voice is wound so tight that it sounds painful to the ears. You fist the sleeve of his jacket.

“Breed me? In, in, in, please breed me, Hwa.” He doesn’t need more instruction than that. A groan rips through him in time with his finish, and the sensation of his cock releasing hot spurts of cum makes you shiver. He leans back, your legs fall away from the handles, and the afterglow of your sex feels warm and heady. Hands are on your bare thighs, fingers rub deep into your muscles and work against the lingering tremble in them, and the air turns into a song of both your breathing. The whole atmosphere around you two feels sacred once more. You don’t want a single thing to disturb this carefully found peace, not even for a second. Folding your fingers around Seonghwa’s wrist, you use him as leverage to pull yourself up to a sitting position across from him.

All it takes is one quick beckoning motion for him to fall against your lips, granting you the kiss you’re after and securing you in his hold at the same time.

Seonghwa rights himself but keeps a hand firm on your hip as he climbs off the bike, only letting his touch fall away once he’s certain you’re steady and safe on your perch. You watch him tuck his softened dick back into his pants without exchanging words. You’re dazed yet exceptionally and thoroughly satisfied, and that feeling persists for some time. You don’t opt to speak until Seonghwa is bent over and grabbing your pants from the ground.

“Will you stay with me when we get back home?”

Seonghwa jerks his head in your direction. His dark eyes are wide, and you can see the contemplation cross his features even in the low light.

“Yeah, I think I will this time.”

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this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

#seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez ff #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #seonghwa imagine #seonghwa imagines #caly.writes

[hongism]

THIS WORLD. - k. hongjoong (m)

➼ genre; smut (some minor angst and fluff) ➼ pairing; hongjoong x fem!reader ➼ au; outlaw!hongjoong, dystopian futurism, lore accurate ateez ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 4.5k

What he’s given you is essentially one chance and night. Nothing more and nothing less.

part of the outlaw miniseries.

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➼ smut warnings; piv, unprotected sex, oral: f, creampie, light choking/asphyxiation, dirty talk, breast/nipple play

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Cool night air brushes across your cheeks as you set foot on the roof, eyes already scanning your surroundings in the hopes of finding what you’re looking for here. Of course, it doesn’t take much — Hongjoong is a hard man to miss unless the government officials are looking for him, in which case he has an uncanny ability to make himself totally invisible in a crowd.

There are no crowds up here though; just you, him, and the night to keep you company.

You see him clearly across the stretch of roof that’s accentuated by gaudy neon signs and other electrical components that keep the bar below powered.

“Closed up shop for the night,” you offer as a means of greeting the man. He’s donned his usual dramatic regalia tonight as well, complete with the patterned bandana pulled up over his nose and the ridiculous cowboy hat he fetched out of a dumpster several months back. It matches the vibe of the bar, he had told you and Mingi. While you weren’t on board, Mingi was more than a little eager to pull together a similar outfit for himself. “Everyone else went home.”

K-Hot Chilli Peppers. When you saw the job listing online, you had laughed at the name before realizing that it’s only half as ridiculous as many of the other bars in Night City, and you weren’t about to be picky given that you were desperate to find a place that lets you actually use your tender’s license on the daily. Upon being hired, you were promptly told to not ask questions when two rugged outlaws came through the doors and went up to the roof without pause. Answers came on their own, naturally and over time as you peeled back the seemingly endless layers to the two vigilantes who had set up shop in your new place of employment.

Whatever the circumstances and however the stars aligned that night you saw the job listing, it all boiled down to this: standing across from Hongjoong on the rooftop under the stars with this magnetic sort of pull towards the man. A pull you shouldn’t even think to entertain mostly because you’d like to keep your job and also a little bit because you’d like to keep your life.

Hongjoong got a message today. You know that much because you saw the small moped buzz by in front of the bar after all the customers left, and though you don’t know who that delivery driver is, you know he always brings something more than crappy takeout. The most convincing piece of evidence came in how Mingi promptly stormed out of the bar without so much as a goodbye twenty minutes later, and now here you stand up on the roof with the last man standing not long after. You aren’t here to ask questions as that wouldn’t be in your right (fairly so).

“I’m gonna close up and lock everything, if you’re done?” you continue pressing when Hongjoong fails to say anything back to you. He turns, gaze sharp as it finds you across the rooftop. The next moment, he pulls his bandana down to rest around his neck and exposes his handsome face to you.

“We’re not gonna be around much longer.”

You pull your lips together and do your best not to frown. “They won’t know you were ever here.”

“They’re gonna come looking here. And they’re gonna rip the place apart trying to find us.” Hongjoong takes slow steps in your direction as he speaks, tone low and quiet as though trying to either threaten or warn you. You don’t think he has a need for either. “When they come knocking, it’s not gonna matter what you do know or what you don’t know. Just being affiliated by name is enough of a crime.”

“Business is too good to be knocked down by a little police search.”

Hongjoong sinks his teeth into his lower lip. The light from the neon signs bounces off his face and casts crude little shadows across the roof. He looks far too worried for your liking, almost like there’s a semblance of care in the man, which was not part of the plan. You think you’re the one to blame for that, considering how you can’t simply leave well enough alone and have to express some modicum of care for those around you, including the vigilante outlaws that frequent your workplace and stay after hours. And well, all these months that have passed in this comfortable routine have made the heart grow fonder in many ways.

You’re quite fond of him, you think, and maybe those feelings are reciprocated to some extent.

The sky is clear tonight, free of clouds but the lights and pollution from the city obstruct the stars somewhat even now. Curfew is about to begin, but there’s no chance of you making it home before the drones start patrolling the streets. You could have left thirty minutes ago — should have most likely, but that chance is well and gone now.

“We leave tomorrow. I don’t know when we’ll be back.”

When is merely code for if, and you’re not dumb enough to think otherwise. If he survives whatever obscene plan he’s ready to deploy, you’re positive that Hongjoong won’t come back or set food near the bar again, even as a hideout. Men like him don’t stick to one place for long, especially not when their heads are full of grandiose plans of anarchy and destruction. You don’t blame him for it, but it does make your heart ache a little more than it should.

Your shoes skid across the stone of the roof as you cross the distance between you and him. It breaks the silence you’ve presented as an answer to him, and Hongjoong’s eyes grow wider as you turn the space into an afterthought. Shaky hands find their way around Hongjoong’s shoulders then come to clasp behind his neck.

“Tell me you’ll survive,” you plead to the night air between your lips.

“Of course I will,” he answers without hesitation, whether a lie or a truth he is willing to truly stand by and believe. You don’t ask that he tell you he’ll return here; some dreams are a bit too far-fetched.

When your hands begin to fall away from him, Hongjoong dips his chin and slots his lips over your parted ones. You scramble to regain your hold on him, fingers stretching up to tangle in the dark blue strands of hair on the back of his head just below where his hat sits. The pressure against your mouth is faint to begin with, something small and searching as he tests the waters and waits for your response. As though pulling him closer and nearly kissing him moments ago wasn’t enough of a confirmation for whatever this is.

“This is all I can give you,” he exhales into your mouth, and you press another heated kiss against his lips. I don’t need more than this. This is enough. This is all I could ask for from someone like you. It would be nice if you could ask for more but this is all the greed you can bear. His hands wander from your hips up to the hem of your shirt that sits against the loops of your jeans. The first contact of his fingertips on bare skin hits you like a bucket of ice water and sends goosebumps all across your body.

“Hongjoong,” you say against his mouth as he palms his way down to your thighs. He does well to quiet whatever thoughts are rushing through your head right now with his lips, breaking from yours to mouth along the line of your jaw. The force of his body moving against yours is enough to push you back, and you fall into step with him in an almost haphazard sort of way. Your back hits the wall soon after, right beside the door you just came out of minutes prior, and now Hongjoong has you pressed against the concrete with a knee slipping between your thighs. “Hongjoong.”

“You can’t stay here.” The blunt tips of his painted nails dig into the flesh above your jeans. A gasp tumbles from your lips as he licks over a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and it makes your knees buckle in turn. “I can have two of my men transport you to a different area of the city in the morning. Earlier the better. We won’t be enacting any plans under the sun’s gone down.” You busy yourself with the buttons keeping his shirt around his body.

“No.”

He pauses where he is, halfway to removing your shirt from your torso, and looks you in the eye. You abandon his shirt in favor of clasping both hands around his cheeks.

“I’m not going anywhere because you’re going to come back to me and get me yourself.” Rather than denying your wistfulness, Hongjoong offers a half-smile and a breathy laugh, one you share in yourself before pulling his face back up to your own. You taste his lips again, but this time you pay more attention to it, the hint of spice on his tongue as he pushes past the seam of your mouth and explores you further. Your hands are busy with his shirt once more under the urging of your eagerness to have him. He responds in kind by hiking your shirt up over your chest and dragging the blunts of his nails down over the exposed skin on his path to your pants.

“Let me go down on you?” Your chest tightens at the proposition and at the way his voice sounds inexplicably strained from the mere thought of tasting you.

“Take this stupid shirt off first, for fuck’s sa—” Frustration wins the battle against his clothing, and Hongjoong leans away from you with a clear, resounding laugh that makes your stomach turn to mush. You ought to kick yourself in the side of the head for not acting on the blatant chemistry dancing between the two of you before now. Still, if this truly is a one-and-done thing, you’re going to do the absolute most to make it worth it. And maybe a bit unforgettable for both of you. Hooking your fingers under the handkerchief still tied about his neck, you pull Hongjoong close once again. He rushes to brace his hands on either side of you, his shirt still dangling from where it remains tucked into his ridiculous faux leather pants. His mouth goes straight for your neck, pulling the skin between his teeth and sucking so harshly at it that you feel tingles rush up to your skull. Your whine is music in the distant noise of the city, softly exhaled against the side of his head and disturbing the hair behind his ear. His hat is beginning to get in your way now too, especially as he kisses a path down to where he left your shirt. You catch the brim just before he goes lower, stripping it off his head with the hand you have draped around his shoulders. When he looks up at you from between your breasts, you smile, close-lipped but with an arched brow meant to tease further.

“The amount of filthy, heinous jokes on my mind right now,” he groans, head dipping forward to rest against your chest.

“If you make any sort of cowboy joke I’ll make sure you finish in your hand and nowhere else.” The threat is halfhearted of course, but it makes Hongjoong laugh in that obscenely pretty way again and you revel in the sound as he frees your breasts just enough to have access to them. Your nipples are already hardened peaks thanks to the simple touches from earlier, but the cool air stiffens them even further before Hongjoong has the chance to pull one into his mouth. Your back curls up off the wall, Hongjoong pinches your right nipple, and at the same moment, he pushes you back to the wall with enough force to punch a moan out of you.

“F-Fuck, Hongjoong.” You’re suddenly rather grateful to have something to hold onto because otherwise you would be digging your nails into your palms and making yourself bleed. As it is, you might run the risk of ruining Hongjoong’s treasured hat with how tight you’re gripping it at present. Your other hand sits on his bicep, atop the black-lettered inking that dances across his arm and reminds you that this man in your arms is one of a kind. You wonder, far and away in the back of your brain, how many have had the pleasure of being in your current position. He disperses those runaway thoughts mere seconds later; his hand sneaks down from its perch cupping your breast and locks onto the button keeping your pants together. The resulting lewd and wet pop! that comes from him pulling his lips away from your nipple makes your neck heat up.

“Bet I could make you cream your panties without even getting in your pants,” he quips as the button comes loose. Deftly, he works the zipper down in the same smooth movement.

“Who are you trying to impress, cowboy? You’ve already got me for the night.”

The muscles in his neck strain as he laughs and tilts his chin to the side, and your breath hitches watching him sink to his knees between your legs. Hongjoong folds his fingers around your wrist — the hand that currently holds his hat by the brim — and slowly, he guides you to place it back where it belongs atop his head.

“There. Now you can call me that again.” You can’t hide the unsteadiness of your breaths from him like this, even though he’s currently occupying his focus with stripping you of both jeans and underwear in one go. You brace a hand over your heart just to make sure it's still part of you despite racing like you’ve just run a marathon. Hongjoong’s lips skate against the inside of your knee when he lifts your ankle and carefully pulls the boot from your foot. Fabric follows suit quickly, then he commits to the same routine for your other leg — complete with the ghosting kisses and soft drags of his nails over the bare skin of your thighs. The growing pit of arousal in your stomach is so heavy that you think it might simply drip out of you the moment he touches your folds.

“Hongjoong,” you whisper. His kisses climb to the inside of your thighs, close enough to exhale heated breath across your pussy, but he doesn’t push further than that. Content to sit between your legs in the lewdest of positions and stare up at you through fluttering lashes.

“That’s not what you called me.” Hongjoong grins, cheek brushing against your thigh so close to your sex that your muscles twitch. “Maybe I’ll consider it—” he enunciates the word particularly harshly “—and do whatever you’d like?”

“You’re so — ugh, I want you to eat me out,” you mumble into the cradle of your hands, hardly able to look down at the man and be expected to speak like a normal functioning human being in this sort of predicament. He’s silent in return. “Cowboy.”

The veil of seriousness drops at that, and you’re the first to laugh at the sheer absurdity of calling him such a thing right now. Hongjoong can’t seem to keep himself together either, huffed laughter spilling out of him in turn.

“I wasn’t serious about you calling me that, y/n, I was just teasing. But I guess you want it pretty damn bad, huh?”

“Shut up!” Your tone contorts into a cracked gasp as Hongjoong wraps a hand back and around your thigh and spreads your legs over his face. Your hand flies to cover your mouth — something done out of pure instinct — and the man beneath you is quick to tut his disapproval.

“Let me hear you, pretty. I don’t want you covering anything up.”

“I-It’s the middle of the night,” you argue through your fingers.

“And? Wake the whole damn city if you have to, I want you to cry on my cock.”

You let your hand fall away and come to rest atop Hongjoong’s head (his hat, rather). Your view of what he’s doing is entirely obscured except for the slightest glint of his eyes when he tilts his chin against your cunt. You can’t seem to tear your gaze off of him regardless, lips parted and quivering as he presses his tongue between your folds and takes his first taste of you. The tension in your gut is wound into a knot so tight that your eyes burn and sting at the corners. Hongjoong takes you into his palm, onto his tongue, and into his deft fingers, and unravels you gloriously.

Two fingers dip lower and press against your entrance. He teases you with the pad of his middle finger only, toying with your hole and pushing into you ever so slightly before retracting to circle your clit with his tongue. He can’t run his mouth as he very much loves to in this position, but you’re finding that he makes use of his mouth in other more devilish ways, another talent he keeps tucked under his belt that you’re reaping the benefits from.

You can’t think of the last time you got laid, and trying to think of the last good fuck you had would be an even taller order. To imagine when a man last ate you out with actual passion and not simply as a means to an end might be impossible, or perhaps Hongjoong is simply keen on blowing every last sexual experience you’ve had out of the water in one go. When his fingers finally, at long last, stretch you open, you cry out with a moan so loud that it would be a miracle if no one heard it.

“Gonna make you taste yourself on my lips, pretty. Make your little cunt cream all over my cock until I fill you up with cum.” You jerk Hongjoong’s head almost violently, a sharp response to the way his fingers curl against your walls, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest from the task at hand. He pulls your clit between his lips and sucks until your knees give out under you. It sends his fingers deeper into your cunt in the same motion, nearly making you come undone.

“T-Too much, too much, Hongjoong, it’s — fuck, fuck, ah!” You fold in on yourself, free hand moving to press against your stomach as the pressure in you reaches an unbearable degree. Hongjoong works his fingers in and out of you at a steadily increasing pace and almost seems to be making a game of the way he curls them each time he flicks his tongue against your clit just for another moan to climb out of your throat. Each sound is more broken than the last, sweat beads on your forehead, and you think there’s a euphoric end in sight just for him to pull away without warning. Your walls clench tight around nothing as his fingers are now gone from you and sucked between his own lips. Dazed and frustrated, you pass an incredulous stare his way just for him to grin back at you, tongue teasing the vee between his fingers.

“Hm? Did you want something?”

“I—” Hongjoong eases your body back against the stone wall and hoists one of your legs around his hips. Your cunt is still tense and pulsing to the rhythm he spent all that time building. “If you don’t get inside me right the fuck now, Kim Hongjoong, so help me—”

He makes good on his promise to have you taste yourself on his lips. His tongue shoves its way into your mouth as well, eager to tangle with yours and push your arousal onto your own taste buds. You delight in the fervor with which he kisses you, and in the sound of his belt jingling because it means more pleasure is on the horizon. You feel a hand against your hip, and that’s the only real warning you get before he’s pushing the length of his dick into your pussy and burying himself to the hilt in you. You scramble to grab hold of him somehow. It’s a slight miracle that you don’t bite both his and your own tongues in the process because you cry out into his mouth. Your moan remains unbroken even when he pulls your mouths apart and rushes to cradle the back of your head before you whack it harshly against the concrete behind you. There’s not a second to catch your breath in Hongjoong’s mind; his other hand is busy at work, and he presses the pad of his thumb into your clit. He rubs once, twice, three times before you unravel on his cock.

“You’re so tight, fuck, if you could feel yourself, your cunt is so tight.” There are stars behind your eyelids, clearer than the ones in the sky, and Hongjoong begins to rock his hips up into yours as the weight of your orgasm barrels down on you. “You feel so good on me, pretty. Fuckin’ made for my cock, yeah?”

“Yeah, y-yes, yes, yes.” Your voice cracks at the tail end of your agreement. It turns into something more akin to a sob than a moan. Hongjoong’s pace is relentless in every regard. The lack of pause doesn’t let your body come totally undone or relax, still wound tight around your previous orgasm to the point where it feels like it won’t end.

“Keep taking it, lovely, I won’t be able to pull out with you squeezing around me like this.”

Whining, you drop your head to the side, chin coming all the way down to your shoulder. Hongjoong snakes his hand around to your neck and braces his index finger and thumb on either side of your jaw. Your head lolls in tune with the way he moves you and without resistance — every ounce of strength in your muscles has melted into goo in his hands. When he presses you back to the wall, your breath hitches. The sensation of his fingers at your neck has you feeling floaty and a bit detached from your body in the most pleasant way imaginable. His thrusts jerk your body enough to offer more pressure against your neck every so often but it’s not as persistent as you wish for it to be.

When you reach between your bodies and clasp your fingers around his wrist, Hongjoong seems to think that you want him to pull away because his grip loosens instantly.

“More,” you grit out, yanking his hand harder into the column of your neck. The steady rhythm he’s found falters momentarily for him to resituate his grip, but once he’s settled back into it, each thrust comes with a delightful headiness as your breath becomes shorter.

“’m close,” he announces. He shifts a hair to look down between your bodies and watches his length disappear into you a few more times before pulling his focus back up to your face with a groan. “Gonna cum in you, pretty, you’re still so tight.”

“Wanna cum with you, t-touch me again,” you pant, licking your lips between each phrase, “please.”

Despite his own shaky hands, Hongjoong reaches down to where his cock pumps in and out of you. He finds your clit with ease and rolls two fingers over it in a similar rhythm to his thrusts, pace only growing as he races towards his finish with you in tow. His motions fail as he orgasms, but the sudden feeling of his cock twitching inside your walls and pumping you full of hot cum pushes you over the edge with him. You almost don’t even feel it with all the sensations hitting you at once, and Hongjoong’s body falls against yours so harshly that your moan is positively unholy.

His hands keep roaming — tracing every inch of skin he can reach like he wants to commit it all to memory, and you simply let him do as he pleases because it feels good and it feels damn good to be wanted by this man. He pulls you towards a different section of the rooftop with your pants and underwear in hand. When he tugs you down to the messy pile of blankets that he and Mingi leave up here for particularly cold nights, you don’t even complain either. He lays himself down atop you, easing between your legs and caging you in with elbows pressed to concrete on either side of your head.

Hongjoong kisses you softly, and you smile against his lips. He finally settles down beside you after a few more exchanged kisses. His hat gets put aside with the other stray pieces of clothing — including his shirt that he’s finally decided to rid himself of far after the fact. The aftermath is peaceful, if a bit hazy as your brain still feels a jumbled mess of putty, and the stars above are bright.

“I’ll have someone pick you up in the morning to take you over to my men. The bar won’t be safe for a few weeks minimum. They can give you some cash to help cut your losses in the meantime too.”

“Okay,” you answer quietly. Beside you, his hand searches the blankets for your own. You let his fingers tangle with yours and squeeze until it hurts.

“Just don’t let Wooyoung try to convince you to buy into any scheme he might come up with.”

“Who?”

“Trust me, he’ll let you know who he is.” Hongjoong laughs at his own comment but falls into silence when he glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Come back for me please.”

Hongjoong is quiet beside you for several lingering seconds, then he leans across the empty space and kisses your temple.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

You believe him.

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this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

#ateez smut #hongjoong smut #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #ateez fic #ateez ff #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez fluff #hongjoong fic #hongjoong ff #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong imagine #caly.writes

[hongism]

SWEET JUICE - s.mingi (18+)

➼ genre; fantasy, smut ➼ pairing; mingi x fem!reader ➼ au; strangers to lovers, magic au, witches/warlocks au ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 10.7k

the new apothecary in your small village is harboring a dark secret, you're certain of it, if only because he bears a starkly familiar crest on his shop sign - one that denotes the presence of magic.

part of the ...and it's snowing collab.

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➼ smut warnings; sex toys, unprotected sex, comeshots, begging, fingering, multiple orgasms, size kink, hand kink, mention of belly bulging, dacryphilia

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Normally, you aren’t one to be so deeply entrenched in the petty gossip going around town, especially when newcomers are not exactly scarce in these parts. This one in particular — the young man who moved here by himself and immediately set up an apothecary shop in the heart of the village — has been on the lips of almost everyone you’ve bumped into for the past week. Ever since the Summer’s End Festival, it seems all your neighbors can think to talk about is this mysterious lone wolf. Unfortunately for you, that means your interest has been piqued both out of nosiness and out of a potential opportunity.

“You said he’s nice?”

“Yeah! I mean, I didn’t meet him personally. I was busy running the stall while Yunho was doing all the socializing, but Gerda came over and she said he’s a rather nice and charming young man.” 

You appraise the man across the counter with a far less enthused grin. It doesn’t deter Seonghwa from his egregious nods of encouragement, however. So, you continue to pack away the little bundles of herbs that you’ve been preparing all morning into the man’s satchel.

“She says that about everyone under the age of fifty. I think it’s her duty as an old woman to say that. What did Yunho say about him?” 

“Hm, what did Yunho say about him…” Seonghwa brings a neatly manicured nail to his chin as he mulls over your question. You snap the buckle of his bag into its proper place now that you’ve given him all you need to and set your hands down on the counter. “He was fairly charmed too, I believe. I mean, in terms of the guy’s personality. You know his gaze goes in one single direction for all other aspects of things.” He flattens his palm against his cheek and doesn’t even bother to hide the smugness that creeps over his expression.

“Don’t get cocky now,” you cut in before Seonghwa can redirect the conversation towards himself. 

“Is it being cocky if I’m just repeating what he says all the time though? Oh my Seonghwa, you’re so pretty, the only man I could ever look at, I never grow weary of seeing your darling face. It’s truly romance at its finest.”

“Back to the new guy, Hwa.”

“Hmph. You’re more interested in him than you were in me when I first moved here!”

“You didn’t run a shop when you first got here. Otherwise, I would’ve been just as eager, promise.” Seonghwa narrows his eyes at you, lips drawing into what must be an attempt at a frown but it’s so half-hearted and soft around the edges that you can’t be sure. “I’m trying to establish a financially beneficial supply line with this guy. Thus, I need to know what he’s like so that I know how much bargaining I ought to prepare for before going to speak with him.”

“He’s nice, not much of a talker from what I could tell watching him from a distance, and he mostly stuck near the bonfire. Though it was still damp from the rain earlier that day, and autumn was already sending in her cooler breezes. Anyone who hasn’t acclimated to our lovely finicky weather acts like that when they first arrive here. Spoke to everyone who approached him. Talks with his hands a lot. Very—” Seonghwa makes a few vague gestures consisting of him just waving his hands in the air a bit “—big. Not quite taller than Yunho, but broader and like… meatier, I suppose. I wonder if I should give Yunho bigger meal portions actually, he might need it. Really, how does he stay so skinny even doing all the heavy lifting around the house? Do you have any herbs good for muscle growth?”

“Alright, I’ve had enough of you, that’s it.” Seonghwa’s protest comes immediately. “No, because last time you did this, you started asking me about concoctions to make his semen taste better, and that is not a conversation we’re going to be repeating!” He grabs his satchel off the counter as you hop up from your stool, though he still tries to appear very upset over the matter while pulling it over his head.

“Well, tell me when you’re planning on going over there at least. I can give you a meal before you go home since it’s a bit of a trek to get back here.”

“I’ll go tomorrow. There’s still some inventory left over from the summer that I need to sort out. And I need to prepare some decor for the Autumn Festival sooner rather than later. Ugh, I got so behind on my work it’s infuriating.” You’ve been slacking a little more than you usually do this past week on account of being bedridden for five days straight. You thought you were going to avoid getting sick at the end of summer for once, but your body had other plans for you and decided to push it into the start of the fall season instead. That’s the only reason you need this information about the newcomer from Seonghwa so desperately: otherwise, you would have been at that very festival and been able to witness the man for yourself.

“Oh, speaking of, everyone missed you last week! And told me to send you well wishes, which are obviously not needed anymore, but the sentiment is the same nonetheless, no?”

You send Seonghwa off with a few extra herbs pressed into his hands and wishes for safe travels. It ought to only take him fifteen minutes to walk back to town, but he came by rather late and the sun is already setting so you don’t want him to get caught alone in the dark on his way. He is kind enough to allow your nagging, only pinching your cheek when you tell him once more to quit asking about recipes and herbs to use on Yunho’s dick. 

Once you’re content seeing him reach the end of your garden path, you flick your wrist in the direction of your crops. The drizzle that suddenly starts falling from the sky is light enough to not be much of a hindrance to Seonghwa, though you’ll be certain to bring down some heavier rainfall after he disappears over the edge of the hill. Though your closest friend in the village, you still haven’t had the heart to tell him what exactly brought you to this remote place or what you were running from when you came. He only knows that you came here nearly eight years ago on your own and with nothing to your name, and by the time he and Yunho came along, you were already three years into building your business of selling herbs year-round. 

In truth, your witchcraft is not illegal by the nature of it being magick. Rather, you yourself are the problem being a witch in name instead of the formally accepted term warlock. Should anyone with any sort of agenda against you discover that you are a defector using your magick when you are no longer a practicing warlock, then you would likely lose everything you have here in this place. It took you two years just to find a town secure and remote enough for you to feel comfortable living in, and eight more to reach this point of stability. You don’t consider Seonghwa to be someone driven by monetary promise or swayed by others’ opinions, but there is just enough doubt that’s crept into your heart over the years to keep you silent.

“How depressing,” you mutter, turning back to your cottage and heading inside. You make the rain fall just a little harder to go along with your sudden decline in mood.

…

Perhaps, you think, there is some goddess out there who is keen on causing you inordinate levels of distress. Because although today was supposed to be nothing more than a calm and friendly meeting in the hopes of establishing a business partnership, you cannot push yourself to even approach the door to the new apothecary. The name of the shop is insignificant on its own — Mortar and Cauldron — and you wouldn’t think twice about getting up from this cursed bench you now find yourself on if that was all there was to it. Yet for some godforsaken reason, this man has deigned to put a symbol behind the name, one that mimics one of the crests belonging to the House of Ballads (the very one you defected from a decade ago). Some deity must surely be playing a sick prank on you.

There are a few routes you could take in this situation. You could pretend you never came and forget the idea of creating a supply line, missing out on some revenue sure but it’s not like you wouldn’t be able to make up for it in other areas. You could go in and confront the newcomer, demanding to know who he is and what he’s doing here on the off chance that he’s truly some bumbling idiot who has no clue what symbols he’s drawn into his signs. He could very well be a defector himself, you suppose, although it would be suicide to use one of the House’s official crests as one. Or you could simply play the part of the fool yourself, act none the wiser, and pretend to be the normal citizen you are. Even if this man were truly from the House, he would not recognize your face because you were never formally entered into the place. You had been merely part of a small church sect on the outskirts of the capital, far from the House of Ballads and all its operations. The name you held while there has already been burned to ash and nothingness, likely stricken from all their records as well the moment you disappeared. If they wanted you dead — well, they would have had you killed long ago. So, you seem to have your best course of action.

“I know my decor isn’t the most appealing, but I don’t think it warrants such a foul expression.” The voice resonates so close to your ear that you truly feel the vibration in your teeth, but moreso, it startles you out of your skin, and you all but launch yourself off the bench with an embarrassing yelp. Just behind the bench where you were, there stands a man you don’t recognize. Tall, with sharp features and equally piercing dark eyes, and dressed in black from head to toe complete with a scarf draped over his head to mimic the hood of a cloak. It doesn’t fully shroud his borderline psychedelic hair — an unnatural yellow shade that blends into a fiery orange-red and makes his head look more like a torch than anything else. “Hello. Sorry for surprising you like that, it wasn’t my intention to make a first impression in such a way.”

Ah. If not for your racing heart, you would have put two and two together far sooner, because obviously, this would be the mystery owner of the apothecary, considering how you recognize everyone in town.

“Would you like to come in and look around? I was simply across the street to get some bread.” He tilts his head back in the direction of none other than Seonghwa’s shop. One glance at the storefront gives you enough of a clue as to whose fault it is that you’re having this unsavory first encounter because said man is pressed up against the window and staring through it directly at you. You have to fight the urge to scowl at him until after your newcomer steps out of your line of sight. Seonghwa tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and sends you a far-too-cheery thumbs-up. You turn away with a less subtle middle finger. 

Despite the muggy weather and cooler temperatures, the inside of the apothecary is warm. It almost feels a bit humid thanks to the rain outside, but not unbearably so. And considering how long you were sitting out there getting rained on, you welcome the heat quite a bit. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be the friend Seonghwa mentioned, would you?” He catches you with the question as you’re undoing the knot holding your cloak around your shoulders. “I don’t recall seeing you at last week’s festival, though I didn’t have the chance to introduce myself to everyone then.”

“Oh, yes, that would be me. I wasn’t there because I was recovering from a nasty cold. Y/n.” You jut a hand out in his direction, pushing a smile to your lips as you look him in the eye, though thanks to his height, you feel as though you have to crane your neck just to do so. 

“Song Mingi. It’s a pleasure to meet you, y/n.” He doesn’t take your hand the way you expect; instead, he pinches the tips of your fingers and bends at the waist, lips grazing your knuckles so softly that you almost don’t feel the contact at all. What’s more startling is how hot his touch is, especially considering how he was just out in the cold. You catch a glimpse of his hand as he’s pulling away, but he’s simply wearing gloves. Knowing Seonghwa, he probably kept the man hostage with conversation for a long time before sending him out to speak with you, and your friend always keeps the house warm because of the ovens, so that’s likely where all the excess heat is coming from. Your staring lingers too long, and Mingi clears his throat quietly, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Likewise,” you spit out, placing your cloak on the coat rack by the door.

“Were you looking for something in particular, or did you just want to see what sorts of things I have?” Mingi wraps around the back of the shop’s counter, and you take it as an invitation to approach. The glass cabinet serving as the surface is filled with a variety of things both familiar and not. Potions, vials, bundles of powders, and even some gemstones that carry a glow at their centers. The presence of magick here is undeniably strong, and it is not yours alone. There must be dozens of magickal objects here, though the ordinary person wouldn’t sense a thing. You don’t let your gaze linger on any of them for long before pulling focus back up to the man’s face.

“Well, I intended to come introduce myself first since we didn’t have a chance to meet at the festival. But beyond that, I wanted to let you know I grow all sorts of herbs and ingredients in my garden. I supply many of the local shops and stalls, especially during the winter seasons. The ground is particularly fruitful thanks to all the rain we get here.”

“Oh? Yes, I noticed rather quickly that there’s near-constant rainy weather here.” As though on cue, a bout of thunder rumbles in the distance.

“You truly chose a summer lover’s nightmare moving here,” you laugh. “Charybid is always in rainy season.”

Mingi hums and grins a little, looking to the window before saying, “I’m quite alright with it really. The heat of my homeland is far more unbearable in my opinion. You can tell how little I went outside there just based on how pale I am.” He flashes the back of his hand that’s still enveloped by a glove like he wants to prove his point, only to realize his little blunder and fall into a bout of awkward laughter instead. “But you said you’re a supplier? Do you have a local shop as well or…?”

“Local, though not here in the heart of town. If you follow the west road up over the hill, you’ll see a string of cottages. Mine is the one with the big front garden! Oh, and there’s a sign as well, of course.”

“That would be immensely helpful especially since I don’t have much space here to grow my own things. It’s a bit difficult to outsource supplies in this area too, isn’t it?” Mingi glances down at the open notebook sitting on his counter and skims the contents. “Would it be alright if I came by at the end of next week? That way I can finish unpacking and taking stock of everything I have.”

“Yes, that’d work just fine. You can come by any time you need, though I always advise against coming too close to nightfall because walking in the rain at night is an easy way to get sick.” You offer a smile, perhaps a little too pleased with how smoothly your business proposal went, but your enthusiasm seems to be received well given how brightly Mingi smiles in return. The air has begun to get more stifling, and you can feel sweat clinging to the back of your neck. It’s unpleasant now, a kind of warmth you’re not used to experiencing all the time because you don’t keep your home so toasty, but it reminds you of evenings shared with Seonghwa that always end with you wanting to escape out into the rain just for some respite. “I won’t take up more of your time, though. I promised to go see Seonghwa myself once I was finished here. I bid you well.”

“Thank you, and have safe travels home yourself. I look forward to doing business with you, Miss y/n.”

…

You leave your cottage in the wee hours of the morning, intending to water your crops before the sun rises, but those plans are dashed the moment you spot the man waiting outside your fence. You’ve seen him several times since your first meeting, though not here and solely in town. He hasn’t come this far yet despite his insistence that he would come over two weeks ago. Autumn is in full swing now, four weeks since the start of the season and five since the new apothecary came to town. You had not quite lost hope that he would be true to his word, but you must admit that you are caught off-guard seeing him at this hour and at your gate.

“When I said not to come at nightfall, I didn’t mean that you needed to come at the break of dawn!”

“I wanted to come before opening hours,” Mingi replies in a far clearer voice than your own. You’re still wiping the sleep from your eyes after all, and it seems he has been up for some time considering how he doesn’t appear tired in the slightest. The lantern at the end of your walkway is lit — strange because you thought you had remembered to blow it out the night before — and the glow combined with the first few rays of sunshine over the horizon is enough to illuminate the space between you and the man. “I was also out on a morning walk, so I figured it would be smart to find out how to get here before making a fool of myself. Beyond making plans to do so several times over and not once making good on those plans.”

You did gather much from your first impression of the man. Seonghwa’s word proved correct: Mingi is quite friendly, although a tad clueless but his kindness makes up for that, and you heard as much from your fellow townsfolk after you left his apothecary a month ago. After all, newcomers will be the talk of the town for weeks after their arrival, so you got to be privy to much talk about his character just from spending five minutes milling about the streets. He’s cordial each time you happen across each other in the village on top of that, full of never-ending apologies about his delay in coming to see you (to the point where you have to demand he stop apologizing three times before he takes the hint).

“Considering how I didn’t even make it to the front door, I’m assuming I did not wake you?” he continues when you reach the edge of the fence. You shake your head, undoing the latching and pulling the gate over for him to step through. 

“No, you simply caught me coming out to check on the crops before the rain starts.” You didn’t sense any rain coming today, but a little trip down to the pond can easily be arranged once Mingi departs. “This is only the front garden. I can show you the back as well, if you’d like, I have far more plants there.”

“You take care of this all by yourself?” he inquires, voice edging on awestruck, and your chest swells with pride.

“Yep! It is my livelihood, after all. But I am very enamored with the work too, so that helps me as well. These plants need more sun, and thanks to the location of this cottage, they receive it at least eight hours a day. Same goes for the plots on the left side of the house, but the ones on the right are not as sensitive to the sunshine. I keep the least temperamental crops in the back, along with some gourds that shops have a hard time finding at this time of year. My more cold-sensitive plants are in planters indoors, I have that small little greenhouse attachment on the side of the house as well as fungi and the like in the basement.”

“It seems you truly have a bit of everything then?”

“I try to at least. Whenever traveling merchants come for market days, I make a point to collect whatever seeds I can. I also like picking up gardener’s pamphlets! There are always good tips for how to make certain plants thrive, and occasionally they’ll mention ones I’ve not heard of so I know to be on the lookout for those things. If there’s ever something you’re in need of that I don’t have, I’d be happy to collect some samples for you from some merchants and we can discuss planting them too.” When you glance up at Mingi again, his jaw is hanging slightly open, eyes still bearing into you with that same wonder and disbelief. “Oh, sorry, I’m being a terrible host. Did you want to come inside for some tea or coffee? It’s still quite early.”

“That’d be great. Do you happen to have a catalog of all your crops as well?”

“Of course, of course.” You motion for him to follow you up to the house just as a few drops of rain start hitting your skin. Maybe you won’t need to go down to the pond after all. “It seems you came at the perfect time. Do you have some sort of potion that lets you predict the weather?”

“If only,” he laughs, ducking his head a bit to avoid the doorframe. He shrugs his cloak off upon getting inside, and once again you’re regaled by the sight of him dressed in all black. Though, today he’s forgone gloves and simply stuck to a long-sleeved shirt that extends past his hands. 

“You’re welcome to look around as I get the water on and all!”

“I’d be happy to do that for you.”

“Please, you’re a guest, that’d hardly be fair of me.”

“But I did accost you before dawn, so I’d like to think of it as a fair bargain.”

You purse your lips. “Okay, I’ll relent and allow you to do the water, but I’ll take care of everything else.” He drapes his cloak over the back of one of your chairs, very careful and meticulous about the way in which he lays it down, but you only watch him long enough to see him reach the sink. Turning your back to him, you busy yourself with finding mugs and prepping the coffee Seonghwa gave to you a few weeks back. You should’ve thought ahead and asked him for more since you were just over there, but it slipped your mind completely. Perhaps he needs some more lavender and rosemary, you could pack some and use that as an excuse to go back to see him.

When you turn around next, Mingi is already sitting at the table in the seat where he set his cloak down, and you make a small noise of surprise.

“Did you get the stove figured out already? I swear it takes me four or five tries to get it to come on right every time.”

“Hm? It came right on when I turned the knob. Is it not supposed to do that?”

You let out a huff of air while shrugging and set the mugs down on the table. “It never does that for me but that very well may be user error.” The sharp whistle of steam interrupts your thoughts. “Ah, and it’s heating up quickly too? Those remedies of yours are becoming more and more appealing by the second. You might be the town’s new miracle worker at this rate.” 

In truth, it’s making your skin itch a little. There was some odd presence of magick back in Mingi’s shop, and even now you feel something sharp prodding at your own magickal energy in your own home. It’s not a threat, not one that you can concretely act on yet at least, but it’s enough to make you wary. To let a witch into your safe haven is a dangerous and risky game to play, especially if it’s where the source of your power is. Thankfully, you were not so foolish upon moving here to do something as juvenile as that — yours is safely kept away in that pond down the opposite side of the hill and tucked into a small grove in the surrounding forest. 

“Oh, let me grab that catalog for you real quick!” You bolt up from your chair at the sudden realization, and Mingi seems to accept it as simply that. You grab the book from your shelf, also snatching up the charm you keep near it and slipping it around your wrist while you’re out of sight still. It won’t be enough to fully shroud your energy, but if Mingi is indeed poking and prodding at your aura in search of something, it ought to at least throw him off enough to sate his curiosities. You usually only use such an item when strangers come to town for those market days you mentioned to Mingi before, and it certainly is a first for you to have to use it in your home. 

He’s not budged an inch by the time you return, which is nice to see because he could either have started snooping around in places he shouldn’t or bolted without a trace. You set the book down before him, still wearing a faint smile on your lips.

“I just updated it at the start of the week too, so you have the freshest copy.”

“Wonderful, I’m starting to understand the name on your gate post more and more.”

“Ah, that.” Wonderland was simply a silly little name you came up with on a whim because that’s what this place is to you, but it stuck and everyone in town loved it so much that you could not escape the urgings to keep it as a name even if you are not a shop owner in the way that people like Seonghwa and Mingi both are. “It’s nothing terribly special,” you opt to say instead. The kettle starts whistling more egregiously, saving you from having to explain the name any further. You stand and go to grab the handle of the pot, only to scald your palm so badly that you nearly fall over backward. Mingi scrambles to get up, chair clattering against the ground as he rushes in your direction.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I—”

“You’re sorry?” you blurt through gritted teeth, clinging to your hand and trying to will the pain away to no avail. “What are you sorry for?”

“I-I should’ve — I should’ve gotten that, I mean, my hands are…” he trails off, and you glance down at the now exposed hands that he’s put between you. From the tips of his fingers down to the first knuckle on every single digit, Mingi’s skin and nails both are the color of charcoal, like they’ve been permanently stained that way. Were you anybody else, you would not know what it means. 

“I’m fine,” you say. He’s a warlock after all, it seems. Of course he is. You have been teetering on the confirmation for weeks at this point, and it was silly of you to ignore the obvious so many times over. His uncomfortably warm touch and the stifling heat inside his shop were both dead giveaways. You did not forget to extinguish your lantern last night, nor did the stove simply come on by way of Mingi being deft at using the knobs. He lit the lantern himself, lit the stove himself as well though because he was unaware of how your finicky stove works, he made the flame too big and too hot, thus leading to the quick boil and unfortunate accident of you burning your hand. The symbol on his door sign should have been enough of a clue.

“Please, at least let me make you something to treat the burn. It’s what I’m good at after all, and it’s the barest of minimums I could do.”

If you kick him out now, then it will surely be obvious that you know something about his identity. Only daft idiots or people with something to hide would turn down the help of a healer such as himself. In the past decade, you have lost all semblance of good judgment because no amount of mental gymnastics can get you to refuse his help right now. You’re dooming yourself if he already knows what you are, but if he’s got even the slightest hint and you turn him away, then you would confirm it for him. You have to take the risk.

“Okay, I would really appreciate it,” you whisper, easing yourself down into your chair once more. Mingi’s shoulders visibly relax. “All these plants and I’m afraid I’ve barely got enough knowledge to make tea on a good day with them. Everything you need ought to be on the shelves behind the counter. Those are all freshly picked too.” When he turns his back to you, you let your meek expression drop and glare at the welt that’s already formed across your palm. Mingi’s magick does not appear to be volatile, meaning that he must have had some sort of formal training in his life. It’s common for fire warlocks to bear the same charcoal-looking scars that he has, mostly from overexertion of their kind of magick. You produce more sweat than is natural for a normal human being thanks to your affinities too. 

Would the House truly send someone here for you after so long? And to go through the effort of having them set up a shop in the heart of town? If they wanted someone to watch you, then it would have been easier and smarter to have someone take one of the cottages closer to you. Besides, Mingi has not been taking every opportunity to come find you or learn about you. Nor does he wear any ring to indicate his affiliation with the House. A sanctioned mage would surely make use of such benefits. Could he be a defector like you? Or one that never made it into the House’s grasp? 

He returns to the table with a mortar and pestle filled with some sort of salve that he’s already beaten down into a mush.

“Does it hurt badly?”

“Quite a bit,” you answer truthfully, only wincing a little when he turns your palm to the ceiling. It feels as though his fingers alone could sear your skin.

“I made extra for you to use over the next several days as well. All you need to do is store it somewhere cool and apply a little to the burn twice a day until the pain stops.” The mixture is so blissfully cold on your skin that you could cry, and even with Mingi’s warm touch massaging it into the burn, it feels like a heavenly relief. “If the pain doesn’t stop by the time you run out of salve, then please come visit me. I can make more and give you something to keep it from scarring.”

“Understood.”

“And y/n…” He squeezes your hand ever so slightly, and your breath catches in your throat. “You do not have to hide what you are around me.” His gaze finds yours. “You are a witch after all, are you not?” A witch. The word feels like a slap in the face.

“Are you associated with the House? Did they send you? What is it you want from me?”

“The House? Absolutely not. I left their good graces many years ago. I wouldn’t give them even an ounce of my time anyway.”

“So what? You’re a witch as well?”

“Yes, I suppose I am though I don’t make a habit of calling myself that. Simply an apothecary, much like how you are simply a farmer. Of sorts.” Mingi fidgets in his seat and looks closer at you. “I am genuinely not here to cause you harm or disrupt your life. I imagine we came here for the very same reasons in fact. I simply want to live by my own terms, not anyone else’s.”

“Get out,” you whisper. Perhaps there are hundreds of better ways to handle this, but you have never had to do such a thing in all your time here, and you cannot be faulted for acting out of panic and fear now. Your voice comes out louder now, “Get out of my home then! Get out and don’t come back d-don’t dare tell anyone.”

“The energy is permeating the entire house.” Mingi keeps his tone quiet as he continues to speak through your distress. “Your garden too, I felt it immediately. The rain — it’s in there as well. Sure, it’s always rainy season here but how much of it is because of you?”

“You know what the other name for my kind is, right?”

“You’re a water witch.” 

You retract your hand from his with a scoff.

“The House tends to call us Scyllans. Sweet temptresses of the deep, killers of foolish men.”

Mingi somehow has it in him to smile.

“Then I ought to be safe, for I am neither foolish nor a mere man.” He stands without saying another word, collecting his cloak off the back of his chair and slinging it around his shoulders. You can’t help but to stare at him, wary and on edge with every movement he makes even when he reaches the door. “My words hold true, y/n. I hope you think them over at least. And your secret is truly safe with me.”

…

You avoid going into town for so long that Seonghwa seeks you out five days after you go into self-imposed seclusion. It’s easy to keep him off your back at least, and from what you can tell, Mingi has not sought him out to expose your dirty secrets as of yet. The logical part of you understands that you ought to avoid angering the man because he does hold quite a bit of power over you right now. Fear keeps you captive instead, however. 

Two weeks and a day after that fateful encounter you had with Mingi, you dare to leave the comfort of your home. Not to go into the village — that is a step you are not prepared to face — but rather to visit your precious grove in the forest. You should have gone last week as it’s always been your habit to go once a month to rejuvenate your magick; however, you were so on edge that you couldn’t get beyond your back fence and promptly turned right back around. Tonight, you’re determined.

The skies are clear, not a single cloud marring her starry expanses, and the moon hangs high near the center of the sky. Even better yet, it’s a full moon. Ideal conditions for you to bathe in the pond and restore some much-needed energy. You set out forty minutes from midnight even though your trek will not take that long. You need only be there for the highest peak of the moon, so giving yourself this little bit of leeway should allow you all the time required to reach your destination. Despite yourself, you do glance over your shoulder several times on your way out of the house and garden. When you’re content with your loneliness, you set off down the hill.

It’s not as though you decided to dismiss Mingi’s words altogether once he left. You have put much thought and consideration into them, in fact, especially after Seonghwa came to see you and nothing had changed between the two of you. It’s no guarantee that Mingi didn’t tell anyone, but it’s something. The matter of him being a witch like you, well, that has been a contentious debate in your head. A true warlock calling themselves a witch is considered heresy to many, so you have to believe that Mingi is being truthful with you. You know enough about his magick to know for certain he is either one or the other. But at the end of the day, there is no way for him to prove as much. All he has is his word to back him up, and all you can do is either accept it as truth or deny it. 

Long ago, you had settled on the knowledge that you would likely be a rather lonely creature for the rest of your days. Finding Charybid and its people was a welcome blessing, but not a permanent one, and the friends you’ve made (especially Seonghwa and Yunho) cannot understand what it is you are or relate to you on any matter concerning witchcraft. You’ve long since accepted that loneliness as a part of you even if there are pieces of your heart craving warmth and understanding from another like you. 

If it were possible, could Mingi be that sort of person in your life? Does he crave the same thing? Is that why he confronted you to begin with?

You reach the grove with a heavier heart than anticipated. Moonlight creeps in through the canopy of branches overhead, glistening off the half-circle of rocks around milky green waters. The moon has already been charging the pond for hours, and you feel the pulse of magick resonating deep in you from the bottom of it. 

Stripping down to nothing, you drop your clothes into a pile near the rocks with your satchel and toe at the water. It’s frigid as expected, thanks to the encroaching winter that is coming closer and closer still. You sink into it fully and submerge yourself in the charged waters. Several meters down at the bottom lies your precious black pearl, glowing a deep purple shade to show exactly how much magick she’s stored since you last came. You let the waters hold you for some time until the dull thrum you feel around you turns into a hum that makes your skin feel like it’s full of electricity. 

It’s only then that you decide to emerge once more, breaking the surface of the water and letting air replace the magick in your lungs. 

Yet, you find that you are not alone.

Bent so far over the pond that he looks one slip away from tumbling down into it, none other than Mingi sits crouched at the edge. It’s far too late to pretend as though you haven’t made note of each other. Depending on which direction Mingi came from, he may not have even seen your belongings behind the rocks. You sink lower in the water until it comes up to cover your lips. 

“My apologies. I did not know you were here.” Just his gaze is enough to make your body warm. You tilt your chin up.

“Is that so?”

“I came because of the magickal energy, yes. Not because I knew you would be here.” He’s not far from you. The moon shines her pretty rays down around him, and you blame her for the insatiable tug in your gut that’s making you want to pull him into the waters with you. “I have been thinking about you though,” he admits under his breath. You imagine the words are not meant for your ears, but he doesn’t seem to realize he’s spoken them out loud. It takes little movement on your part to swim closer to him, and you only stop when he is perched directly above you.

“Do I look the part of a temptress now?” you inquire, hand breaking through the surface of the water to caress his cheek. 

“Incredibly so,” he murmurs. “I see why foolish men fall. Perhaps I am no better.”

“You know nothing about me.” You trace your fingers down to his chin. 

“I know enough.”

You shush him with a laugh and a finger placed directly over his lips. “The sun gives you her power during the day, but on nights like these, the moon offers me a fair exchange. Her power for my sexual energy. That is where a water witch’s magick comes from, and it’s what has earned us all those myths and urban legends about eating men. Now that you know that of me, should I trust you in return?”

“I am what I say I am. I am a fire witch. I defected from the House of Ballads five years ago. To answer your question, though, if…” His gaze has become lidded, focus drawing down to your lips with each word he tries to speak. You feel just as overwhelmed and foggy yourself, the excess magick seeping into you from all angles as the moon inches ever closer to her peak. “…you deem it wise.”

“I think some part of me might.”

“Did you consider what I said to you last time?”

“But of course. It wasn’t so long ago that I’ve forgotten already.” A sigh escapes you as you look up to where the moon can just barely be seen through the trees. “I’d like to give you a chance, if only because of morbid curiosity and the fact that I have made it a decade without finding another like myself.”

You inch up and graze Mingi’s lips with your own. His fingertips tickle the surface of the water, and the effect is nearly instant. Warmth surrounds you and draws a gasp out of you that has you curling away from Mingi’s face. He leans back.

“I cannot restrain myself well enough tonight. Not in the presence of such potent magick.” You are equal parts pleasantly surprised and grossly disappointed by his willpower. With a smile, you push away from the edge of the pond and head further into the water. Mingi almost makes the mistake of following you, teetering at the grassy bank.

“You are welcome to visit again. So long as I am not nude or compromised.”

“I-I—” His cheeks are stained a deep red by now.

“I do not intend to put on a show for you tonight, Mingi, but I am in desperate need of the moon’s energy. If that is all, then…?” Were the circumstances any different, you would consider your wording to be crude in that you are essentially asking him to leave so that you can fuck yourself with the crystal you brought along with you in your bag. 

He clears his throat and sits completely back on his heels, gaze wandering across your face. Licking over his lips, his eyes linger on the water droplets running from your hairline to your jaw. 

“I will come to you when the first snow falls,” he says. “So that you may have time to contemplate things further. My decision is already made, and I'm sure you're aware of it. Please… please let me know then what your choice is.” You want to retort that he doesn’t have the best track record thus far, but instead leave well enough and wave him away with a grin. A bout of laughter leaves your lips as soon as he passes through the clearing and out of sight.

“Are you testing me?” you whisper to the moon, receiving nothing but her monotonous glow in response. You wade over to the rocks where you left your belongings and quickly rifle through your pack in search of the rose quartz you brought along. It’s cold to the touch, unpleasant in comparison to the warm body that you just had with you and within your grasp. While the shape isn't perfect, it gets the job done in the absence of the real deal, and it serves its purpose just fine. Not like you have any other options as it is.

Part of you entertains the idea of having Mingi still here — from a practical standpoint, consummating the ritual with another magick user would be far more effective than using a crystal charged by the moon. But from a pleasure standpoint…

You dip your fingers between your legs, letting your body fall back to rest your head on the edge of the pond as you seek your core between your folds. The magick at your fingertips pulses through you and sends a jolt into your system just from the slightest brush. A soft mewl falls from your lips. You feel Mingi’s magick still permeating all throughout the water, clinging to your skin, and on your lips, you taste fire from that minute little kiss exchanged in a fit of passion.

No matter how hard you try, you cannot get your fingers deep enough inside your cunt. Instead, your thoughts are plagued by the visual of Mingi’s hands, his long fingers, the searing heat that emanates from them, and the all-consuming desire to know what it would feel like to have them inside you.

You cannot even bring yourself to waste time right now; slipping your fingers free, you plunge the toy in your other hand into yourself and sink it all the way in until the pressure in your gut is eased the slightest bit. It's blissfully cold against your walls; the coolness eases the burn that seems to be wedged beneath your skin and brings some clarity back to your mind. It does not, however, chase every thought of Mingi from your brain. In the haze of your vision, you can hallucinate him before you still, imagine him in the spot where he was not long ago watching you with those fiery intense eyes and urging you on. A louder cry of pleasure tumbles out of you as you're forced to twist and brace yourself on a rock to keep increasing the pace of the toy's thrusts inside you.

It ought to fill you with some degree of shame, you think, because who lusts so strongly after a stranger who poses something of a threat to your well-being and livelihood? But when your mind goes back to the idea of his large hands gripping your waist and hips as he splits you open on his cock, you can't be bothered in the slightest about the speed at which you're becoming invested in this man — all that matters is the speed at which you're thrusting the crystal dildo in and out of your pussy as an orgasm creeps up on you. You have to bury your face in the crook of your arm to have some semblance of sanity to cling to. And when you unravel soon after, it’s his name on your lips.

…

The first snow of the season is late.

You have been trying to avoid thinking about it solely on account of the superstition that mulling it over will only delay it further, but those attempts are futile. Because when you tell yourself to not think about it, you only end up thinking about it more, then you devolve into a sick cycle of reasoning with yourself and the moon and any deity out there who will give you the time of day. 

While you could set your pride aside for the sake of what it is you’re waiting on exactly, that is simply not in your nature. Additionally, you want to see whether Mingi will uphold his end of the bargain. He promised to come at the first snow. So you will wait for that day. 

Your gardens are thriving thanks to the lack of snow and the amplified support of your fully-charged magick, which is the only positive you can find in this situation while you essentially sit on your hands and wait. The downside is, however, that the temperatures are still steadily declining, and you always struggle in the winter to keep your home warm enough. Your specialty may be in water magick, but that does not mean you have any control or power over the temperature of said water, and everything around you tends to skew a bit cooler as it is. The thought of how cold you are and your house is and everything in between only pushes your thoughts more towards the lack of warmth and a potential source of it that will not come unless the fucking snow does first.

If you have to put up with seeing Mingi’s smiling face across the street while you’re pestering Seonghwa one more time then you may truly snap and lose all semblance of self-respect.

…

You’re knelt in a bed of rosemary when the first flakes of snow start to hit your skin. At first, you think it to be just rain but then a flurry touches one of the purple blossoms on the herb. The shout you let out is a terrifying mixture of joy and exasperation because at long last, your agonizing wait can finally come to a close. The way you scramble to pull yourself out of the dirt and rush indoors ought to be more embarrassing. It takes you all of five minutes to change out of your grimy gardening clothes and into something cozier and cleaner, though all you do is park yourself at the kitchen table with a mug of hot tea and stare out the window waiting for any sign of movement on the hill. The snow is coming down harder already, a billowing cloud of white that cloaks the dirt and grass on the ground. It doesn’t even occur to you to think that Mingi might not come at all, that he might have forgotten or worse — simply not chosen to come at all — because your patience has worn so thin over the past weeks that you feel relief just seeing the snow.

And luckily for you, Mingi is far more timely and true to his word than he was before. You neglected to keep track of the time, though you haven’t finished your tea yet by the time his lanky figure comes over the crest of the hill. You know it to be him instantly because his fiery hair is visible through the white all around him. 

You’re at the door before you can think twice, flinging it open and making your way down the path to the gate as though you aren’t in the biggest rush of your life. Behind him, there’s a trail of footsteps where the snow has melted under his feet, and the closer he gets, the better you can see how not even a single snowflake sticks to him in any way. Every flake that touches even the outside of his cloak simply melts upon contact, leaving him pristine in the sea of white falling around you.

“Did you wait long?” he asks upon reaching your gate. Somehow he manages to maintain a lilting tone that makes your brain itch. You want to kiss him so silly that all that smugness dissipates like the snow on his skin. “Y/n.” The breathy exhale of your name is all it takes for you to grab him by the collar and yank him down to your level. The warmth is so blessedly welcome. “Have you made your decision?” 

You slot your lips against his, licking at the seam of his lips without waiting for further invitation. He scrambles with the latch on the gate, though you’re of no help at all with how you’re trying to pull him over it, but once that pesky barrier is pushed open just a little bit, he slides through the gap and seals his body against yours. Even though the cold doesn’t seem to be affecting him much, his breathing still comes out in pants, like he sprinted the whole way here from town without rest. He clasps his hands around the back of your neck, thumbs caressing the underside of your jaw, and each kiss he plants on your lips is more searing than the last. It takes all you have to not trip over backward on your feet with him guiding you back towards the door of your home. The two of you don’t even make it through the door before he’s pushing you up against the doorframe and slotting a knee between your thighs. 

“Please, y/n, let me hear it from these pretty lips,” he begs. Your whole body is alight with something — either magick or lust or something in between those things that you can’t distinguish at present. The heat radiating off his body makes your head spin, and it’s such an intoxicating sensation that you reach your hands beneath the fabric of his cloak to be closer to skin.

“I trust you, I need you, I want you to have me,” you murmur back. Mingi pushes his lower lip out with the tip of his tongue. His gaze carries the same heat you’ve grown used to seeing all the time when you look at his eyes. Now, the weight of it feels heavier. Your breath hitches in your throat as he wraps an arm around your back, and his fingers dig into your side briefly. You’re pulled away from the doorframe and into the house only for him to slam the door shut and lock the snow out. What you aren’t expecting is to be flattened to the surface face first mere seconds later.

“I want to have you right here and now,” Mingi growls behind you. Every brush of his hands over your body leaves goosebumps in their wake along with the heat of his magick seeping into your skin. He takes apart your bodice carefully, pulling each string with a startling amount of care compared to his desperate rush to have you. A sort of fever takes hold of you, and with each piece of clothing he removes from your being, the more the fire in your belly roars. Glancing down, you see your clothes fallen into a heap on the floor, along with his cloak, then his coat, his shirt — each piece of fabric goes to join the pile until you feel bare skin against yours. The bliss of the contact is so immense that you let out a pitiful moan.

“Mingi.”

“Raise your arms over your head for me, y/n.” 

“Mingi,” you utter again, following the instruction without a breath of hesitation. He takes both of your wrists between just one of his hands and pins them to the flat surface of the door. Your chest trembles under your breaths. 

“I will not be rough with you unless you allow it. How I take you is up to you… whether it be me taking you apart gently or fucking you hot and raw right here and now.” You can’t take the sensation of his breathing down your neck without squirming. No matter how hard you squeeze your thighs together, there’s no relief for the pulsing need for pressure there. The moment Mingi catches onto your attempts, he wedges his knee between your legs and leaves you to rock back on his muscled thigh for some sort of escape.

“Please.” It’s as though there’s cotton in your mouth keeping you from fully forming any kind of sentence because although your thoughts are running at a mile per minute, you cannot seem to get more than one word out at a time. Mingi nudges you forward into the door once again. He replaces the pressure of his thigh with his unoccupied hand, cupping your cunt and dragging his middle finger along the slit of your folds.

“You’re coming undone already, my little witch.” Mingi suddenly flicks his finger forward over your clit, and your knees buckle. Your reaction delights him so much that he repeats the action two more times, and your body truly becomes putty in his hands. He keeps you up between the hand holding your wrists to the door and the one cupped around your sex, but you aren’t sure your muscles could keep you up on their own without the help. Especially not when Mingi gets more daring and pulls a second finger into the mix to tease the ring of your entrance with small, methodical circles.

“Put them in me, put your fingers in!” you cry out only for Mingi to roll over your clit once again. His cock is twitching against your ass, firm and big, and part of you wants to forget everything else solely to have him in your mouth and down your throat. 

“Is that how good girls ask for things?” He pinches your clit between his fingers until you’re whimpering out an apology and smearing drool across the door. “Ask again. Nicely this time, sweetheart.”

“Please f-fuck me with your fingers, please open me up for you, I w-want to feel you so badly.” Nonsensical babbling is enough for him, blessedly, because you’re not confident that anything more coherent than that could make its way out of you right now. He rolls the pads of his fingers up against your clit again before going any lower. His laugh is borderline sadistic when you curl your fingers into the wood, nails clawing for some sort of grip that will help you ground yourself. “Wanna come so—!”

“That’s it, come for me, lovely. Then I’ll fuck you nice and loose on my fingers while you’re coming.” Mingi retracts his fingers right when your gut clenches, and as your walls squeeze tight around nothing, he slips two digits into your cunt. Your lips part in a silent scream, moans caught in the back of your throat. Your vision goes white behind your eyelids though it lasts so much longer than what you’re used to getting from your own hand and toys. Perhaps it’s because Mingi doesn’t let up on you even in the throes of your orgasm, or thanks to your magickal energies intertwining in the most raw and intimate way imaginable. “Let me open you up some more first, then I’ll give you what you want.”

You blink your eyes open and look at Mingi out your peripherals, mouth wide open and cheek still pressed harshly into the door even though you’re the one keeping it there. 

“Do you want it too?” you ask out of the blue. Your voice is tight and strained. His fingers curl inside you.

“So badly,” comes his quick reply, “that it’s taking everything in me not to put my dick in you right now. But I don’t want to hurt you.” As though to emphasize his feelings, Mingi rolls his hips forward, and his cock rubs hard against your ass. “Doesn’t even look like it’s gonna fit in you, fuck.”

“Mingi, I need you in me now, like right this instant now, not in five minutes now.” The first orgasm has your vision hazy and legs wobbly, but that’s far from a concern to you at the moment. Your urgency pushes the man behind you to have the same sort of franticness, hurriedly slipping his fingers free of your cunt and readjusting his hold so that he can grip the base of his dick. You hold perfectly still for him as he lines himself up with your waiting hole that’s already sopping with arousal. Your pussy takes him in like it’s greedy for it, each inch sliding in and spreading you wider to accommodate to his size. One thing’s for certain: Mingi has a stupidly big dick, so big that it makes you wonder if you’d be able to feel it through your stomach if you put a hand there. 

Whatever shreds of patience he had left in him turn to ash the second he’s fully buried balls-deep in you. He doesn’t wait even a second before he pulls out about halfway, and the only stutter in his rhythm comes from him trying to find it. You’re suddenly rather glad that he’s keeping your hands up for you because the drive of his cock inside your pussy would bring you to your knees otherwise. The sounds of pleasure fill your ears — his low baritone moans tangled alongside your more throaty ones that crack here and there, the slap of his hips hitting your ass, and the thumping of the door as he fucks you so hard against it that it trembles. 

“Y-You’re so deep, I feel you in my stomach,” you choke out between moans. It devolves into a sob as Mingi shifts his angle upwards a bit and hits a new spot deep inside you that has you seeing stars. 

“Yeah? Your pussy is clinging to me nice and tight, lovely, I think you like it a little too much.” He has enough composure to still speak without crying, meanwhile, tears are starting to pool at the corners of your eyes as the overstimulation of your senses and nerves reaches unimaginable heights. “Bet your pretty little toy isn’t even half as big as me.”

Mingi thrusts so hard into you that his grip on your wrists falters, and one of your hands falls free. He doesn’t bother correcting it, nor do you try to keep it up any longer, instead rushing to get your fingers around your clit again. You’re so hyperfocused on chasing the high of another orgasm that you don’t warn him it’s about to hit you this time. He knows well enough when your body seizes for a moment before releasing every bit of tension in your muscles. Your walls flex around his cock, working him in time with the waves of your euphoria, until he can’t take it anymore and pulls free of your hole. He rests his length atop the cleft of your ass and thrusts a few more times there, then comes his release. Hot ropes of come shoot out from his cock, painting your naked back into a messy canvas of come and sweat.

Despite the sudden quiet filling the house, your hearing is hypervigilant and clings to every slight noise that comes from your partner, from his fight to get air into his lungs to the hand he now rubs over his spent cock. 

“You…” Your throat is too dry and you end up coughing instead of getting a sentence out. Mingi’s fingers trace small, unknown patterns into your hip. “You’re welcome to stay through winter. That’s my answer.”

“Through winter?” Mingi hums. He slips his hand around your waist and flattens his large palm over your abdomen. “What about spring?”

“Then too.”

“And summer?” He’s teasing you again. Somehow he still has the energy to do that.

“And summer and autumn then winter again. But maybe by the spring after that, I’ll be sick of you!”

“You won’t be,” he says through a laugh, lips brushing against the side of your head. You’re going to need better retorts if he plans on sticking around that long.

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please like & reblog this work and consider leaving a reply or sharing your thoughts in a reblog or ask!

this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #mingi x reader #mingi smut #ateez fanfic #ateez ff #ateez fic #mingi fanfic #mingi fic #mingi ff #ateez imagine #mingi imagine #caly.writes #winter fic fest 2023 #fic; and it's snowing #fic; sweet juice

[hongism]

DJANGO. - s. mingi (m)

➼ genre; smut ➼ pairing; mingi x fem!reader ➼ au; outlaw/hitman!mingi, dystopian futurism, lore accurate ateez ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 3.7k

Top shelf bourbon, no ice, and an orange peel over the rim of the glass. You only like the taste when it comes from his lips.

part of the outlaw miniseries.

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➼ smut warnings; piv, unprotected sex, biting, marking, rough sex, choking (unsafe practices used pls don’t do!), pain kink/play, slight blood play, creampie, pet names: darling & angel

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He comes into the bar as you’re wiping down the counter. One small glance at him would be enough to tell you where he’s been — the sweat on his brow under the brim of his cowboy hat is a dead giveaway for sure — but you don’t even need that much to know. A smell comes with him, one that you aren’t fond of but have grown used to in the time you’ve known this man, and that’s the lingering sulfuric scent that wafts into the bar with him. It clings to his leather jacket like a second skin by now. Perhaps part of you should be flattered that he comes to you after a hit, but then again this bar is all but his home, so you’re simply in a convenient place at a convenient time every time he returns.

“Want your usual?” you ask despite it being well past closing time. Preferential treatment for someone you’re quite fond of, and also on account of the man currently stationed on the roof seizing ownership of the bar prior to you being hired. Turning back, you pull a glass tumbler from the shelf without waiting for his response, affirmed by nothing more than a grunt as he comes to sit down at the bar. “How were things tonight?”

“Have you been waitin’ long?” Mingi asks in lieu of answering, and you smile to yourself.

“Hm, no, I wouldn’t say so. I had ample time to clean everything and wonder about when and how you would come in, so I’d say that’s time well spent.”

“And how exactly did you think that’d go down?” Sometimes you wonder if Mingi genuinely wishes to know your thoughts or if it’s simply a desire to prolong the conversation. Either way, he watches you with such rapt focus that you feel heat on the back of your neck from the scrutiny.

Top shelf bourbon, no ice, and an orange peel over the rim of the glass. Setting the drink down before him on the counter, you lean hard on the wood as your eyes squeeze shut.

“You come with your big cowboy hat with that gun slung around your arm, and you come up to me right here at the bar and you dip your hat like such a fine gentleman before saying 'How're things 'round here these days ma'am?'." You open your eyes and smile wide at Mingi. "Is that a sufficient enough fantasy for you?“

He dips his chin as one side of his lips pulls up to form a misshapen grin.

“I missed a shot tonight.” The shock reads on your face too quickly for you to conceal comfortably, even as you duck your chin and clear your throat to play it off, Mingi stares at you the same. “He clipped my arm before taking one between the eyes.” You blink down to his sleeves, noting the singed leather on his upper left arm that shows clear signs of damage. There are bandages underneath — or at least you’re assuming them to be bandages, it’s difficult to tell with how scarlet stains them. You move without saying a word in response, and Mingi shifts to follow your movements with his gaze, dedicated to the point of rotating his body as you go. “Nothin’ too terrible, darling. I already patched it up just fine on my own.”

“You go out and get fucking shot,” you hiss through gritted teeth just as you come around the edge of the bar, “then waltz back here acting a damn fool?” Mingi spreads his legs the moment you come up to him, effectively letting you press even closer to him when your hands grab for the collar of his jacket.

“I wanted to see you,” he murmurs, eyes wandering all over your face. “Wanted to fuck you.”

“Mingi.” You pull his jacket down to his forearms as the noise of exasperation leaves your lips.

“What’s so wrong about that?” he asks in return, hand wandering from the counter to find a new home on your hip. His hand is large and warm and proves to be quite distracting when he starts to let his thumb run along the sliver of bare skin he can now reach. You don’t opt to answer his nonsensical question in favor of working the jacket off his shoulders and exposing bare arms and a skimpy leather vest that leaves fairly little to the imagination. Your focus remains strong though, and you hone in on the cloth bound around his bicep. The area is relatively clean aside from the bandage, to your surprise. Mingi reaches up to lay a hand over the one you still have clenched around his sleeve. “Cleaned and dressed it already, angel. Stop worrying that pretty little head of yours for a second and let me see you smile.”

“Don’t let my drink go to waste and let me actually clean this shit first. Then you can have both those things.” You pull away to find the nearest first aid kit just for Mingi to snag your belt loop and pull you back to him.

“And something extra?” His lips are chasing yours already; you push the tip of your index finger to them before he can get any closer. One kiss will be more than enough to distract you from the task at hand, which is like what he is aiming for knowing how Mingi is. Despite the less-than-stellar circumstances, you do find his cheeky grin endearing more than you find it infuriating, which means you only leave his side with a roll of your eyes and not any more snippy remarks.

He sits still and sips at the drink you prepared for him while watching you work. It feels like a bit of a rhythm that you fall into — pulling the first aid kit out, taking what you need from it, returning to Mingi’s side in little to no time — and you’re somewhat grateful for him allowing quiet to hang about the bar because it means you can clean his wound without distraction on his part. It truly isn’t a terrible injury, just as he had claimed (but you aren’t about to admit that to his face, otherwise you won’t hear the end of it for the next three weeks at minimum). However, he did not dress it well in the slightest and if he did clean it, then he did not do a thorough enough job by your standards.

Mingi’s glass is empty by the time you finish wrapping a fresh and proper bandage around his arm, securing it in its place with a strip of medical tape. You lean back to admire your handiwork that’s far and away better than what you started with. Mingi twists to look over it as well.

“Not half bad, huh?” you quip, nudging his knee with your hip before turning to return everything to where you dragged it from. Mingi’s fingers pinch and hook on the fabric of your front pocket first. In one quick motion, he spins you back to face him, though now he’s gotten to his feet and presses so close to you that you come face to face with his torso.

You get your first taste of him tonight right then when he dips down to capture your lips with his. Bourbon and orange sit heavy on his tongue as he licks into your mouth, and you drink in the taste. Like you’ve been starved of the taste for eons, like you’ve been searching for an oasis in the midst of a desert and he’s the last source of water on the planet. You laugh against his lips at the thoughts running through your mind at present — they sound more like the sweet nothings and pillow talk he would whisper to you before falling asleep under the stars than thoughts of your own.

Mingi shifts his weight against you and diverts all your thoughts towards other, much larger, and much more prominent things. Namely what’s pressing hard into your hip through his leather pants and making itself very known to you.

“Eager much?” you murmur, lips pulling up at the corners. Mingi’s hands move to the bar counter and cage you in against the wood. A shaky breath escapes you, one of anticipation and budding arousal. As the air from your lips fans out across Mingi’s sharp features, he leans in and catches skin between teeth, nipping and tugging hard enough to sting. First at your already swollen lips, then lower just below your jaw, again and again on the way down your neck until he’s satisfied to pause at your collarbone. He drags teeth over the fragile skin there in a way that makes goosebumps rush over your skin.

Hands scramble to find purchase on each other’s bodies, and when that’s not enough, Mingi settles to sweep his arms wildly behind you on the counter. It sends the first aid kit flying, tipping it over the edge of the bar and making it clatter on the ground. His empty glass follows a similar path and meets a much more brutal fate; it shatters against one of the stools and splays across the floor to your left. The door to the roof bangs open to interrupt the spell placed between your bodies.

“Oi! Quit trashing my fucking glasses unless you're planning on replacing every last fucking one of them!”

The door slams back shut so quickly that you don’t have the opportunity to respond in the slightest, and the shock it leaves with you makes a laugh rip from your lips. You duck your head to rest against Mingi’s shoulder, laughing under your breath as the adrenaline pumps your heart more and more.

“Good to know he’s still alive, I suppose,” Mingi jokes through a laugh of his own, just before you lift your head and reach for another kiss.

“Let’s break some more shit just to piss him off.” Said somewhat as a joke, and other parts a completely serious attempt to weasel your way under Hongjoong’s skin, Mingi ignores that in favor of pulling you away from the bar. His hands pull and tug at your thighs, a clear urging to get you to wrap your legs around his waist, and you give him what he desires so desperately in exchange for a kiss that’s full of teeth and saliva. 

Your hands never settle on any particular part of him for a second longer than needed — you want him in ways that are beyond simple desire, and your eagerness must be evident to some degree based on how Mingi nips at your lower lip. He’s not very gentle in the way he splays you over the pool table, and you narrowly miss the triangle of balls in the center as your head thuds against the surface. Mingi hoists your hips closer to the edge of the table without preamble. Just as you’re reaching down to wrap a hand around the back of his next, aiming for another kiss, Mingi ducks down between your legs. 

“Min—oh.” Your gut tightens and cuts your train of thought short. There’s pressure between your legs and against your sex, even through your pants, you can feel the efforts of his fingers at your clit. You swing an arm wildly around the table in search of something to ground yourself yet all you can hold onto is the border of the table. 

“Want me, angel?” His nails dig into your skin around the waistband of your pants. It’s enough to sting and burn, you tighten your grip on the table as though it’s Mingi you’re grabbing instead, and he lets out a low chuckle that reverberates through you. “Such a pretty little thing you are… letting me have my way with you.”

“I—” air hisses through your gritted teeth as Mingi begins to drag your pants down your legs at an agonizing pace “—I’ll take charge myself if you don’t speed things up a bit, angel.”

He’s laughing again as he stands upright, pants pulled down to your ankles, and he leans over your prone body to look you in the eye. When he speaks again, his breath is hot on your lips.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, y/n. I’m at your mercy whenever you want me to be.” He lowers his face to your neck, teeth snagging the fragile skin there and nipping hard enough to make your body tingle. “You can even have me on my knees if that’s what you want…”

“Mingi.” This time, rather than an attempt to spur him on, your tone begs him to slow down because the mere prospect of what he’s whispering into your skin has your head spiraling. Of course, now, he doesn’t wish to do that. He hooks two fingers around the crotch of your underwear, which in turn causes his knuckles to drag through your sopping folds and give you the slightest bit of stimulation. The weight of his body does nothing to keep you from jolting under him, a startled moan slipping out right against the shell of Mingi’s ear.

“Don’t you feel it, darling?” he murmurs against you as your panties are stripped from your body just as your pants were. “That rush of adrenaline — I’m still feeling the high of that fight and getting shot. Makes me wanna fuck you into oblivion even more than ever.”

“Some wou-would call that insanity, hun.”

“Hm? That I get turned on when it’s a close call?” His arm buckles when he tries to brace himself against the table, and your eyes flit over to the wrapped wound there nervously. Red peeks through the bandages again, yet he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He notices your focus in an instant, though seems far less concerned than you are. He keeps that arm where it is as he reaches down to his pants and undoes them as best he can with one hand. There’s fairly little effort in that regard, however, because all he does is move them enough to pull his dick out. You barely get a glimpse at what all he’s doing before you feel him against your cunt, nudging between your folds. “Feels even better when I’m hurtin’, angel.”

Mingi rolls his hips forward, but he doesn’t enter you quite yet. His cock thrusts between your folds in a lewd imitation of the real thing. His focus shifts from watching the way his cock pushes against your clit to see your reactions unfold. You sling your arm forward and clench your fingers hard around his forearm.

“You want it to hurt or no?” Mingi asks through a grunt, hand pressed down over where his cock slides against you to form something of a pseudo-hole for him to fuck. 

“No prep, please, just — just go in.” His pace falters slightly at the permission, though the look in his eyes tells you that he wants nothing more than to do that right now. “And come inside, please~” A low blow, perhaps, but you know it’ll knock his evident concerns about your well-being away in full, and it does indeed spur him into action. 

“Grab my arm.”

“I am.”

“Not like that, darling.” Mingi reaches around with his used hand, wet with your arousal and his combined, and he grips your wrist until you let go of his forearm. You don’t realize what he’s wanting until he guides you up to his bicep and places your hand right over his injury. “Hurt me a bit, angel, you know I love it.” You tighten your hold around the bandage just a little. “Don’t be afraid to make me bleed.”

“Mingi,” you exhale, then he’s spreading his fingers around your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you trust me, y/n?”

“Of course.”

“Then hurt me,” he says before lining himself up with your entrance and pushing into you slowly and deliberately. The stretch burns something awful, and it draws a noise that’s more akin to a wail than a lust-filled moan out of you. Surely something your companion upstairs on the roof will overhear and wonder about, but he’s never interrupted beyond a certain point before and you’re confident he won’t now either. Regardless, the thought of Hongjoong is a dwindling one that doesn’t linger long because Mingi fills your senses to the brim, as well as you In the filthiest way you can describe. You’re hardly conscious of how hard you’re clinging to him, but the palm of your hand is wet against his arm, and he’s tensing in your grasp with each passing second. 

There’s something terribly exhilarating about it. You understand, for a moment, that rush of adrenaline he had mentioned not long ago. As your body stretches to form around his length, you find yourself wanting to mold him in similar ways. The pressure on your neck increases bit by bit; Mingi leans further over you and pushes his hand more into your throat. It’s far from safe but it hurts so good that your brain feels fogged already.

“Fuck,” you hear the word slip off Mingi’s tongue once he’s fully buried inside your tight heat, walls firm around his thick cock.

“Don’t make me wait long,” you say back, tone nothing but breathy thanks to the pressure restricting you. 

You had grown up hearing the notion that there is no violence in love, but there is in both infatuation and obsession. Perhaps you and Mingi are living proof of that, with how you exercise your affections onto each other in ways that would be considered sinister to others, but at the end of the day, you two are simply indulging in things that bring you both pleasure. 

Mingi heeds your words so carefully and doesn’t waste a second longer than he has to before he’s beginning to drive his cock in and out of your cunt. You cling to him all the same, only squeezing harder as the ache blooms into something more pleasurable than painful. You still taste citrus on your tongue, a lingering gift from his lips, and your brain hones in on that taste as it becomes harder to breathe under his palm. You’re far from light-headed, especially with how his grip rubs up and down your neck with the force of his thrusts. It will leave marks, perhaps your whole neck will be red as though you’d been scratching at it all night, but you revel in the fact that you will be leaving Mingi will a similar mark. A wound that’s nothing more than a graze across his skin will bloom into something that lasts longer and bothers him a bit more. Perhaps he will be back to you before it’s even healed.

“Mingi,” you moan, chin tipping back further. He’s quiet as always — though only in terms of actual words because his lewd noises don’t cease for a second, and he nearly has you beat with how many groans drip from his lips like sinful honey. You wish to drink it all up, take every noise from his tongue and swallow them with your own until there’s nothing left unshared between the two of you. 

It’s deeply carnal the way he fucks you like he’s clinging to a lifeline, and you feel the urgency in his movements from how his hips snap against your body to how heavy and frantic his breathing has become. Though, you’re no better than he, dancing to the same illicit tune.

Suddenly you can breathe easy again, and you gulp down the air that enters your mouth so greedily that you almost choke on it. Mingi’s hand drags from the column of your throat down your torso until he has his fingers settled against your cunt just above where his dick connects your bodies.

“Come on me, darling, fuckin’ cream all over my dick like you’re made to.” The way he rolls your clit between his fingertips is brutally stimulating. It fills you with such a white-hot pleasure that you’re forced to release his arm in favor of covering your mouth to keep your noises from resonating through the room further. Mingi snatches your arm away in a split second, making sure that all you’re able to accomplish is a quick smear of his blood across your face. He folds himself over your body just as the stimulation sends you over the edge you’re teetering at, and as you unfurl into an orgasm, Mingi is there to drag his tongue across your cheek and jawline. When your back curls off the pool table, he sneaks the hand that was just toying with your clit around your back and holds your body up to his.

The kiss he delivers to your lips is one that’s metallic and wet, but you greet his tongue with your own in a fit of eagerness to feel him further. He hoists you further up until you’re all but seated on his cock. The throb between your legs is still so intense that you don’t notice his dick twitching against your walls, nor do you feel the first spurts of come inside you, but you do notice when Mingi bites your tongue hard enough to make it bleed. You’re still writhing in his grasp when he stops thrusting up into your pussy, and you cling to his face like letting go is simply not an option. 

It hurts when your mouths finally separate because then you feel the throb of the bite on your tongue in full and taste the evidence of it in the back of your throat. 

“Satisfied, angel?”

Your breath intermingles with his, and he’s still chasing your mouth in the hopes of taking another kiss from you. There’s a grin tugging at the corners of your lips as you press your index finger to his chin.

“Not even close.”

He laughs.

“Good, because I’m hardly done with you yet.”

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please like & reblog this work and consider leaving a reply or sharing your thoughts in a reblog or ask!

this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

#ateez smut #mingi smut #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #ateez fic #ateez ff #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #mingi oneshot #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #caly.writes

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 50

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 17.1k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language ➻ summary: Months into your stay aboard The Horizon, it becomes apparent that things are not as cut and dry as you thought, and that you might have bitten off more than you could chew with this crew.

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──────────── act seven ➻ part two

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The transport can barely hold the entirety of your crew as it stands now — your extra guests included — and it makes for a rather cramped setting. Part of that feeling could be due to how San stands close to you still, his hand overlapping yours on the handle hanging down from the ceiling of the vehicle as you stick to the edges where it gives you a clear view out the windows. Hongjoong’s figure lingers in your peripherals, seated not far from where you’ve parked yourself, but as the rest of the crew fidgets to make themselves comfortable, San shifts to block your line of sight with the captain. You turn to the right and look across the transport. Mirroring you on the opposite end stands both Berserkers, but it’s Mingi who you make direct eye contact with. In a movement that’s invisible to all but prying eyes, he shakes his head every so slightly left and right.

It’s a pointless gesture, as you had already settled to resign yourself to the fate Hongjoong laid out for you in this mission. Maybe he’s simply warning you against fighting back again. Maybe he’s answering some unknown question you haven’t even thought to ask yet. He knows more than he lets on, that much is true, and now you know it for certain given his presence at the pinnacle of your humiliation thus far.

You’ve been asking yourself what your defiance is for a great many times since sharing that conversation with him, however, for better or for worse. The answer is always the same anyway.

The transport lurches as it moves off the dock. Far below, the waters running through the gorge glisten with the sunshine reflecting off its surface. Though a vibrant bright green, the color appears more milky than it is clear even at this distance, and thick tendrils of fog paint the darker corners of the base of the gorge. A far cry from the beauty you saw waiting across the dock, what lies below doesn’t look at all inviting.

Beside you, San is picking at a loose thread on his form-fitting top, and you lightly swat his hand away from the spot before he pulls a hole in the fabric.

“Hey,” he murmurs just quietly enough to avoid prying ears.

“Hey,” you echo back. Silently, you push your body closer to his until you’re close enough to feel his breath on your skin.

“Nervous?”

“A bit.”

San presses his cheek against the side of your head.

“Just like any other mission. You’ve got this.”

“One without you. And Seonghwa.”

San tuts gently as he leans further down to your ear. “But with Jongho and Mingi.” He passes you as reassuring a smile as he can manage, and it does little to ease the bundle of nerves coiling in your gut. Your brief time in the open air on this planet was enough to make your skin crawl and itch. “I would go if I could,” he continues, and his gaze flits like he wants to look back over his shoulder at his captain but thinks better of it at the last second.

The barge lurches to a halt, and you lay a hand against San’s jacket to keep yourself steady when your body threatens to throw you backward. He covers your fingers with his own, remaining that way until everyone has filed out of the transport. A man stands beside the doors, though he isn’t much of a friendly face with the way a scowl seems to be permanently etched into his features. He shoves something into your hands and then into San’s before slapping the side of the transport to signal for the doors to shut.

“Remember protocol unless you’re looking to be outta your damn minds!” he yells across the small crowd that forms your crew. One glance down shows you that he’s handed you a gas mask, and everyone around you bears a matching one. He wears one similar, bound around his neck with a clasp that must be like the one attached to the back of yours. San silently takes it from your grasp and brings it up and around your neck — a crude echo of a romantic gesture one might do with a real necklace. “Masks up when the church bell rings three times at night, no later than that. Kid’ll need a smaller one from one of the stalls in the market, so be sure to get ‘im one before nightfall. As for where you stay at night, be sure to find some reputable spot with air filters. Otherwise, you’ll be wanting to wear them masks while you sleep too.”

“Gas masks and air filters…” you mutter as you thumb over the item now attached to your neck. “What’s up with this place?” San hums and steps to your side. He falls into step alongside you, and in that same moment, Yeosang deigns to turn where he stands and look you over.

“Natural hallucinogens in the air. They come up from the water below. When the sun is out, you will be unaffected because the heat from the sunlight prevents the toxins from spreading beyond the water so much, but once the sun sets, it becomes potent enough to enter your bloodstream and settle in your system. At that point, you wouldn’t be able to tell reality from whatever fantasy your mind conjures up for you.”

Your fingers tighten around the gas mask.

"What a lovely vacation spot for us then," San grumbles.

However, despite that inherent danger now looming over your head, the town ahead is quite visually stunning, and its intrigue only grows as you walk into the streets alongside the crew. Hongjoong, of course, hangs near the front as both your captain and the one who knows where you're all headed. Jongho and Yunho drift back to where you and San walk close enough to touch hands, but neither one of you makes the move to do so. It's sharply contrasted to how Wooyoung walks beside Yeosang a few steps away, with such little space between them that their shoulders overlap and Wooyoung's feet threaten to collide with Yeosang's at every step. Cute, in a sense, and a welcome sight given the falling out you had witnessed some time ago now, but it still lingers in your memory every time you look at them interacting. Off to your right, Mingi has found a place beside Luca, and on the other side stand the other three recent additions to your crew. It only leaves one unaccounted for, but the soft sounds of footsteps behind you give you a clear enough idea as to where Seonghwa is.

You've been refused the pleasure of sensing his emotions since your more explosive fight. Though you haven't done the same to him in return; if anything, you hope that he can feel the sharp edges of your anger each time you look at him.

You must be scowling now at the mere thought of the man because San’s fingers dance across your knuckles before securing his index finger around your pinky — a display of affection discreet enough to hide from prying eyes.

“I don’t like the vibes of this place,” Yunho mutters from a few steps ahead of you. He coughs as you pass by a pillared torch that burns purple flames and opaque smoke across the streets. Given their multitude on either side of the cobbled roads, you’d make the safe assumption that these are meant to be street lamps to light the streets, minus the electricity, and it would make a good amount of sense for the atmosphere to shift the color of the flames in some manner. Though there hardly seems any need for the lights when you were so adamantly warned against setting foot outside after dark, unless the natives ignore such warnings for themselves.

“This is where we’ll be staying for the duration of our stay here!” Hongjoong’s voice booms back across the group, and when he turns around to face his crew, your eyes glance across each other for a split second before they fall to the man behind you. “You’re welcome to go in and make yourselves comfortable, or you can explore the city as you see fit. Everyone stay connected over the comms channel and be indoors by dark.”

The group disperses for the most part, though you stay close to San’s side, content to follow him instead of deciding what to do yourself. The building is nice enough: simple in its design and very minimal in terms of windows, but you suppose that makes sense given what you’ve been told of this place thus far. It blends in with the other buildings on the street with its dark brown wood and ivory trim, and the lanterns that hang from the overhang of the roof bear the same purple-hued flames that the streetlamps do. It does make everything bear a sort of ominous atmosphere to a certain extent — it would be far more unsettling in the dark, as most things are — but a promised safe haven is simply that: a safe haven.

“You—” Hongjoong lunges for Yunho’s arm as the man tries to turn into the hostel “—keep close to me. Normies are particularly desired in places like these.”

As Seonghwa steps around you to head for the doors, his glare on the back of Yunho’s head is as apparent as it is heavy. Yunho himself is equally caught off guard as he is confused, but he receives no further explanation beyond that simple ominous statement.

“I’ll get everything sorted and take care of the payments,” he says to the captain, earning nothing more than a firm nod and a wave of Hongjoong’s free hand. His gaze sticks even when Hongjoong’s does not. While the only witnesses to the affront are you and San, it's still uncomfortable to a high degree. It doesn't continue for much longer at least, as the man finally steps through the door to the hostel and leaves the rest of you in silence. Your gaze drifts over to view San’s side profile. He glances down to look at you in return, eyes turning to pretty crescents, and you loop your hand around his elbow.

"I imagine this won't be a stress-free trip as we wish it to be," he whispers, pulling you closer to his body as you start to follow behind Hongjoong and Yunho. You can’t respond right away. The pair ahead of you pulls your focus for a moment, in a stance so similar to your own with San that it causes realization to dawn on you.

“We’re okay, right?” you ask out of the blue. For a moment you think San hasn’t heard you, but he very clearly has based on how stiff his expression becomes. Lie to me. I’m so desperate for your lies.

“Yeah,” he nods, “we are.” It tastes sweet and feels heavy on your skin.

“You know, Y/n, it was San who recommended that you have an important role in this mission.” Hongjoong’s voice slices through you at a diagonal, hunting the spot where it will hurt the most like it’s for sport, and his timing is so apt that you believe he’s heard the words exchanged behind him. You don’t give him the pleasure of looking in his direction. San lifts his free hand to lay it over the one you have secured around his elbow like he fears you letting go but your grip is still firm. Nails dig into his exposed skin. You know it will leave a mark.

San’s face is ripped to shreds with a mixture of regret and sympathy. His expression is too genuine for you to find any deception in it.

“I didn’t think he would take it seriously, I… in retrospect, I must look fucking stupid because I thought that he would take both of us on the mission.” San’s eyes drop to the ground. “I asked to go. I wasn’t expecting him to choose Yunho over me.”

Again, Hongjoong pushes himself into a conversation not meant for him.

“San isn’t fully healed to the point of mission clearance. Both of our resident doctors said as much, for differing reasons.” You wish that the claws he’s dug deep beneath San’s skin to twist around his heart and make him do as he pleases were not so tightly wound. You wish you could know with certainty that removing them would not kill San in the process. You wish you could know that the blood seeping from San’s chest in the aftermath would not be on your hands.

None of those things are certain or doomed to change, however, and you must remain firmly in place where you are with San and hope for an outcome other than agony by his side.

The captain reaches down between his body and Yunho’s, and you watch the man lace his fingers through Yunho’s in a way that almost seems natural enough to believe that it’s a regular occurrence. Nothing more than an attempt to keep the man by his side, however, and you turn your chin away from the sight partly because you feel like you’re encroaching.

“Go on and pick out whatever you need,” Hongjoong’s voice sounds far sweeter than you know the man to be, with a sort of melodic lull to how he speaks that makes your skin itch. This sort of intimacy is unnatural for him. You cannot tell whether it’s genuine or not either. The tips of Yunho’s ears are stained red; you can see as much from where you stand despite the man’s efforts to keep his head firmly forward. “Do you want me to get you anything nice while we’re here?”

“It’s fine.” His tone is as stiff as he is, yet his hand clings to Hongjoong’s like the other man will let go at any second and he can’t bear the thought of such a thing happening. “We just need to restock some medicines, and I want to see what they have in the way of ingredients. I imagine they’ve got lots of local stuff I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere else. It would be nice to try some new stuff. Do you think there’s an apothecary nearby? Having some options other than pills would be good… the locals ought to have some recipes I can’t get anywhere else. Oh, and painkillers! I’m running low, I could have sworn I had a few extra bottles in stock—”

“You mentioned you had forgotten to restock them last week.”

“Ah, did I?” Yunho finally dares to glance down at the man walking alongside him. Despite the clear question in his tone, what you can see of his expression from his side profile does not match that — because what do a sharp stare and taut frown have in common with confusion?

“You’ve been frazzled lately; it’s understandable.” Hongjoong turns to look up at him in return, and a smile that’s soft around the edges pulls at the corners of his lips. His free hand moves up to brush down the strays in Yunho’s bangs. “Let’s pick up some more just in case you're unsure, yeah?”

“Do you wanna sneak away on our own?” San’s voice comes from close to your ear, closer than you expect it to be, and you inhale sharply as your gaze tears off the discomforting scene unfolding feet ahead of you. He’s already pulling you away before you even offer up a few nods in response, and if Hongjoong or Yunho notices your departure, neither one comments on it. You quickly discover, however, that you are not alone in your discomfort as San speaks again under his breath. “They weren’t speaking at all days ago and now he acts all domestic like that with Yunho as though nothing happened… it’s infuriating to watch.”

“Not at all surprising though, is it?” your words come out through a mutter. You expect some level of retaliation from San given how staunchly he’s defended Hongjoong to you in the past, but now he’s quiet. “Love isn’t easy.”

“Love’s not, but what he does is.”

What he does to Yunho and Seonghwa both — those things should not be considered love to any degree, but you aren’t sure how a man such as Hongjoong shows love. If he feels it at all, that is.

"I'm not sure there's a single one of us who has done it perfectly, I suppose," San continues after a breath of hesitation. "But we can try. To mend the wounds we may cause by accident along the way, and to meet others halfway. Learn how best to love." He doesn't look at you directly but the words are spoken into your heart and soul. You cling to his arm tighter still.

Is this real or am I lying with a lion intent on devouring me for the sake of another?

San gives you his love, and you do not doubt that one bit — those around him have vouched for his fragile heart and kindness far too much for you to doubt him to that degree. There is simply a line in the sand you cannot decipher, where San’s love intersects with Hongjoong’s influence over him. You don't wish to think of these things as of now, however. This trip is meant to be a vacation to some degree, even though you're tasked with other things, and you want to take a vacation from thinking about your captain and his manipulative bullshit as well.

“Did you do this sort of thing often? Before I joined the crew, I mean.” San resituates your hand so that it now sits encased in his, and he pulls it down to dangle between your bodies. The action feels natural, coming with an inherent comfort that makes your heart pulse with emotion.

“From time to time here and there. I wouldn’t say we made a habit of it by any means, but it was a whole lot harder to take trips like this when the crew was more full.”

“Not even after the crew got smaller?”

“Oh, we had a few! But Hongjoong was—” San pauses and his face contorts a little before he continues “—working himself to an early grave at that point. Early on, we took a small trip when it was just Jongho and me on the crew. Hongjoong was doing business, of course, and Seonghwa was still in the phases of not letting him go off anywhere alone, so Jongho and I got to have something of a break.” The memory must be a rather fond one given how wide the smile that pulls at his lips is. “After Hongjoong discovered Jongho in the cargo bay, he changed course to Yuki and we stopped at Rohtah for a short while. Mostly for Captain to find some fresh faces for the crew, so I had to be at his beck and call when necessary. Jongho and I got to bond quite a bit during that trip though so it was… really nice. One of the most pleasant memories I have of being with the crew. At least until Yunho came along! He made the atmosphere so much livelier once he came along, and we started to do some recreational stuff on the ship instead of saving it for when we were planetside. Things we still do now like cards and games, and Jongho got a guitar at one of our stops so we started having music nights and — and everyone would be there, and Hongjoong was there and he would actually be there with us. Not in the corner of the room doing that thing he does where he just stares at us like we’re part of a different world that he can’t join in on.”

San’s rambling is endearing, complete with a sort of child-like excitement that makes his face light up, and you wish desperately that you could share in those happy memories of his with the same joy that he seems to be experiencing at present. Melancholy cuts through it with a jagged edge too, however, making the smile break before it reaches his eyes. The nights where the whole crew partakes in games and fun are so few and far between that they seem distant, and you’ve only seen Jongho pull the guitar from his room on a handful of occasions when you’ve occupied space in the ship for a decently long amount of time now.

“It was inevitable,” San continues just as you’re parting your lips to offer him some kind of comfort, “in many ways. The crew grew too large to keep that atmosphere. We didn’t even have rooms to ourselves at the height of the Scourge’s reign of terror over the starry skies; I shared with Jongho back then, and Yunho before that for a while. The ship was crowded as hell to the point where you couldn’t so much as walk outside the bathroom in your own room without seeing another person there, but it felt so lived in.” You’ve lost sight of Hongjoong and Yunho at this point, and as you continue to walk further into the city, the streets are filling out with the hustle and bustle of locals going about their days. “The Horizon was rarely quiet back then, and I can’t imagine how that impacted our Berserkers, even the several we had outside Jongho and Mingi. It was jarring going from that to… what was virtually silence in the halls.”

“Do you miss those days?” you ask. San’s eyes wander from stall to stall, occasionally searching the doors and signs hanging from buildings along the way.

“Yes and no. I so preferred it when the crew was small and close-knit the way it was before. And even though it’s small now…” Gaze becoming distant, San slows to a halt in the midst of the cobbled street. You don’t push him to keep moving and instead just pull yourself next to him without a word. “Someone ruined that peace we had before. There are still nights where I lie awake, incapable of even closing my eyes because I wish so badly that I had snapped his neck when I had the chance, even if it risked my captain’s hatred and punishment. I wish I hadn’t been a weapon then so that I could’ve acted on my own accord, to do what needed to be done and spared everyone the horror that followed. But that’s not how the universe wanted it to play out, I suppose.”

“Why did Hongjoong not kill that man?” you inquire under your breath, barely looking over at San out of the corner of your eye. He seems all too eager to kill me if I so much as breathe in his direction the wrong way. How could he not kill someone who truly betrayed him so deeply?

“That’s a question for him, not me.” San’s lips twitch in a sorry attempt at a smile. “I have wondered the very same myself for a long time though, so you aren’t alone in your wonder. Come on, I saw a stall over on this side that I wanted a closer look at.” You find some reassurance in the knowledge that San is as unaware as you are, for once, but that creeping thought makes you feel worse about yourself so you push it to the side and let San guide you over to one of the street vendors.

“Come to look at my wares, young ones?” An elderly woman greets you with creased eyes and a smile that brings wisened lines out of her face. “I have all sorts of honeymoon jewelry if that’s what you’re looking for!”

You glance over at San in a panic, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips and you can’t fight it nor can you pinpoint where it comes from to begin with. He’s biting back a grin himself, one that’s a tad more reserved than your own, though his gaze doesn’t fall away from the lady’s for a second.

“Please, show me your favorite pieces. We aren’t married but I would like to find something nice for my partner nonetheless.”

“Not married yet, I see, I see. There’s still time yet! Our little city here is quite the romantic getaway if you know the right places to look, and if you’re up for a little adventure.” You look up from the display of jewelry before you only to make direct eye contact with the woman from across the stand, and she passes you a more than a little obvious wink that makes you exhale what can only be described as a pained laugh. Without thinking too deeply about it, your hand drifts towards a set of earrings on the display case.

"Do you like those?" San asks, eyes flitting over to watch your movements closely. You lay your hand flat against the glass as you lean forward a hair and take a closer look at them. Simple, silver, no gems adorning them, and clearly hand-twisted metal that winds itself into the shape of a curved seven. One of the two has a chain attached to it, short but with a cylindrical shape dangling downwards. 

"They're pretty," you murmur before withdrawing your hand and smiling at the woman.

"These are a special set, yes," she hums, "the chime here is a charm of protection." She opens the case and lifts one of the cuffs out, showing off the piece in its full glory with the chime tinkling as she moves it. The sound isn't obnoxious, more like a softer version of the windchimes you saw outside some of the buildings on your walk, and the metal is so polished that you can see your distorted reflection in it. "It is meant to ward off foul intentions and spirits if blessed by a loved one. A very charming piece indeed."

"Ah…" comes your quiet noise of acknowledgment, and the woman reaches out to lift your hand with her own, exposing your palm to the sky as she sets the piece there and nods towards you. You understand the implication of her action, and if you were a bit more bold in that area of things, you would ask San to give his blessing with no shame. It shouldn't be difficult for you either considering how the old woman has already clocked the two of you as a couple, but it feels far too intimate to ask San to do something like that in front of her. Hell, you don't even know if he believes in such acts or if you do yourself really. Would it be too much to ask from him or—

San's hand comes across your vision and covers your palm briefly, and when he pulls away the piece of jewelry is gone from your hand. He clasps his hands together in front of him and lifts them to his face, lips brushing against his thumb as he mouths unknown words against it. In a way, he seems like a man praying before an altar. When his eyes snap back open, he unfolds his hands and presses a kiss to the earring.

"There." San's focus turns to you in that moment, and your eyes meet, and there's a second in which your heart clenches so tightly in your chest that it burns. Your chest aches, eyes stinging from the sudden onset of emotion you see in San’s gaze, and you can do nothing but stand completely still. "Does it go this way?"

You get a moment to breathe again when he diverts his attention back to the shopkeeper so that she can show him which side to put the piece on. Yet when he comes back to you, his hand is reaching up to move the hair around your right ear out of the way, and you can't keep from clasping your fingers around his forearm just to secure yourself to the man in some way. His fingers are hot against your skin (or maybe your ears are flaming with embarrassment) but the metal is blessedly cool as he secures it in its proper place.

"Is it comfortable?" he inquires through the same cat-like grin you recall him wearing the first time you laid eyes on each other. The memory hits you out of nowhere, flashing before your eyes in a split second. Here you are all this time later, in a position and a place you never imagined you would find yourself in, and there's so much love in you as he moves your hands together so that you can cling to him better.

"Yes, it's perfect," you reply. Love blooms so beautifully before your eyes and in your chest as he tucks his chin to his chest and hides glowing cheeks and red-tinged ears.

Turning back to the elderly lady, you find her waiting with the other cuff in hand, and you take it from her with a quiet word of gratitude.

"I'd like these two pieces as well, please," San requests, though you can't see what he's pointing to clearly, and your heart won't calm down enough to let your thoughts return to normal coherence. So, you leave it be and busy yourself with tucking the second cuff around your other ear on your own while San collects his items and pays the woman with his credit chip. He tucks everything into his pocket once she hands them over, and she sends the two of you off with an excited wave.

“I hope all goes well for the two of you. May the spirits watch over you.”

“Thank you, may the spirits watch over you.” San bows his head at her before the two of you walk away. He tilts his head towards yours, whispering as close to your ear as he can get without knocking your heads together. “This city is very firm in spirituality and religion. When I looked at a map with all the buildings shown, I found at least six churches in a fairly small radius. But the spirit shops can be found practically on every street corner depending on what road you’re on. On our walk into the city, I heard almost every native say that phrase in farewell to those they were talking with, so it must be something customary regardless of belief.”

You reach up to toy with the chime hanging from your ear. 

“Is that why you blessed this then?”

“Maybe I… an added layer of protection never hurts, especially in our line of work. Even if something small, even if the words and prayers of a nonbeliever are not enough to be a suitable blessing, it at least has my heart behind it. I wish for your safety every night and your happiness every morning anyway, so what’s the harm in hoping this will do the same?”

“San.” 

He reaches around your side and pinches your waist between his fingers, a laugh on his lips that echoes against the soft tinkling of wind chimes in the air.

“Come, let’s keep wandering around before we’re called back to our captain’s side.”

────────────

Evening comes quickly, and with it something you dread. The slight consolation you have is that you’re less and less apprehensive with each meeting you have with the therapist-psychologist-psychiatrist medley that is Minho, but it doesn’t keep you from fidgeting in the seat you find yourself in now. Seated outside, the sun has yet to dip under the edge of the mountain range so you can still enjoy the outdoor air some without fear of insanity or whatever else night may bring. Said doctor sits near you, mulling over a mug of what seems to be coffee based on the aroma hanging about your small shared table, and he too watches the edge of the mountains.

“What’s been on your mind recently?”

Despite anticipating such a question, you let out a noise akin to a ‘hm’ and let silence pull back over you. 

“A lot and nothing at all, at the same time. And you?”

Minho grins but it’s clear that he does not appreciate your attempt at a joke. “I’m enjoying fresh air and nature that is not confined to a rocky and putrid desert. Our last little planetside visit was far from pleasant vacationing scenery, no?”

“Unless one enjoys freezing winds and bland landscapes, but yes, I’ll agree with you on that.”

The doctor clears his throat around a mouthful of coffee, and you know it’s as subtle as he’s going to be about prompting you to shift the subject to other things. Minho is nothing if not a patient man, however, for better or for worse. You have no way out here, and he is not going to prompt you for a response so your only option here is to answer him.

“I have been having a hard time understanding some people on the crew. Their motives and intentions with me — that sort of thing,” you admit while squinting at the table. In your peripheral, you catch Minho’s glance and continue speaking before he can even begin to ask you to elaborate. “It’s hard to find the line between where they’re being genuine and where they’re trying to get something out of me. I did try to solve the problem on my own. I spoke to someone about it, and yet that led to a rabbit hole and now I find myself doubting much of what I thought to be true. That line of thought only makes me wonder further though. I didn’t doubt so much before. Now I can’t determine whether I was blissfully in the dark or if I’m being led to believe things that are untrue.”

You jerk your chin to the left and stare your companion down, hoping that he’ll understand you’re done venting for the time being. He raises his brows at you over the edge of his mug without ceasing his movements, and after what seems to be a purposefully drawn-out sip, he leans back in his chair and rests the mug on his thigh.

“Interpersonal relationships are difficult by nature. When there are two people close to you saying things that are at odds with each other, it becomes harder. How does one decide who is telling the truth? Are they perhaps both telling some portion of the truth? If you lean more towards one side then does that make you biased? Does it mean you care for one more than the other? Sometimes we fear how our reactions will affect relationships more than what the truth truly is.”

“I do trust one more than the other,” you add through a slight shake of your head. Minho jolts forward a little with an inhale as his lips part to speak again.

“I anticipate that you will not want to use actual names when discussing this, so how about we use hypothetical names in place of them?”

“I’m certain you already know,” you counter in the same breath.

He matches your tone as it drops to a whisper. “What I know or don’t know is not important. This is for your comfort. If bringing their names into this makes you feel uncomfortable or as though you are blaming them, then using fake names can mitigate those feelings. Call them anything — day, night, tree, rock, stone, fuckass and shithead even — whatever you please.” His words have their intended effect in making you let out a breathy laugh.

“I trust… Rock more than I trust Stone.” That goes without saying really because you have known San (or Rock rather) far longer than you’ve known Nightingale. “But Rock doesn’t always answer my questions and often speaks around my questions in such a way that it makes me have doubts. I don’t need him to tell me everything, of course, and I do trust him more than Stone by a landslide. It’s just that what Stone said threw me off.”

“Why are you so quick to take Stone for his word if you trust Rock more?”

“Because it was so eerily close to reality that I was frightened.”

“Did you ask if Stone knew about your reality? Or ask Rock if he spoke about it with Stone before your conversation?”

“I — I didn’t even think to.” Minho is watching your face very carefully, a wry smile planted on his lips. “I’ll do so though.”

“That might be worth a try,” he answers in the same kind tone as always. “Start there, and if the results are not enough to ease your concerns, then we can revisit the conversation at another time.”

“I like that idea.” 

“Do you feel more comfortable speaking with me these days, Y/n?”

“I do,” you say, though Minho hardly looks convinced by your answer. “I really do. It’s far easier to have a second voice to offer an opinion. Even if the topics still do make me uncomfortable.”

“Well, that feeling is natural. Those who find it easy to disclose the deepest and darkest parts of themselves to others are often either unaware of their flaws or hiding some pain. We as humans tend to realize what things might be perceived as bad or ugly to others, and thus there is some extent of shame surrounding talking about those things. Even if the perceptions come from stigma.”

“I wouldn’t say I fear your judgment necessarily.”

“Then, shall we try something a bit different today?” Minho’s words are accompanied by the unwelcome noise of his chair scraping against cobbles, and you twist at the waist to follow him with your gaze as he moves away from the table. “Would you be open to laying down over here on your back?” He gestures down towards a bench not far away, one close to the tree that the whole courtyard is centered around, and without verbal response, you move to do as asked. 

There’s no need to bother with asking what he wants you to do this for; that question would result in a snarky ‘you’ll see’ or a quick ‘is that a no then’. So, you seat yourself on the bench and lay flat against the cool stone until all you can see are the branches of the tree and bits of darkening sky over your head.

“Close your eyes. I want you to envision your parents first.” Minho’s voice moves around your head, from ear to ear. You see nothing behind your eyelids though, not even a wisp of an idea of the people who are supposed to be so fundamental and crucial in a person’s memories. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. There’s no need to answer them verbally to me but try to answer them to yourself to the best of your ability. Did you know your parents? What did they look like? What role did they have in your life? What were they like as parents? As people?”

The sole memory you have of them is nothing more than figments and knowledge that was passed onto you by another.

“Happy birthday, my darling. I can hardly believe you’re seven already!” The first voice to touch our ears is deep enough to be that of a man, and the second comes out more feminine and has a certain warmth to it that catches you off-guard.

“Dear, they’re waiting outside.”

“Just… give me but a moment with our child, Marina. They won’t die if I take a few minutes to celebrate our daughter’s day.”

Your father at the very least seemed to love you. Perhaps your mother did as well, in some odd and convoluted way.

“If you can’t recall them well, then a childhood friend? What of them?”

Wooyoung is the most obvious answer to that question, though only because you are aware that you should remember him from your childhood. That remains just as hazy, however, with nothing more than tiny fragments that you have been trying hard to piece together for some time now. He was your childhood friend. Bread boy. Tsukio. The boy with lavender hair who reached for your hand in unending waters time and time again before he could finally reach you. 

“Now yourself? Who were you as a child, Y/n? What games did you play? What did you wish to be when you grew up and what did you become? What led you to join the military, pushed you to forget everything and start over?” Minho’s questions are coming too rapidly now for you to keep up with, and you let a noise of frustration slip from your lips as you try to find the answers to everything in your mind. “It’s okay to get frustrated and annoyed. That’s part of the process. But don’t give up quite yet.” His voice comes to a standstill somewhere behind your head, but it still sounds somewhat far and away. “Your identity changed at a certain point, did it not? When you were fourteen years old and decided to take that serum to forget everything that had happened to you before. Who were you in the military?” A killer. “What was your rank, your position, your duty, your unit — what was your purpose?” To kill. “Who were you and what did you become?”

“The Ghost of Eros,” you say aloud without thinking. Something touches your shoulder without warning and every muscle in your body tenses at the sudden breach of focus. Your eyes snap open in hopes of finding the offending touch, but instead, you make eye contact with Minho, who now crouches beside the bench near your head with a very firm and unnerving stare settled on you.

“Who were you before joining the Scourge’s crew?”

Frustration creeps in a second time because you don’t get it. Minho is trying to make a point with all of this, and you still don’t understand what exactly he’s trying to convey to you. 

“The Ghost of Eros.”

“And who are you now?”

You sit up, forcing his hand to fall away from your shoulder, and all you can do for several seconds is stare at your lap while shaking your head.

“I’m… it hasn’t changed? I’m still as I was.” Your eyes seek to find Minho once again for answers. He smiles back at you.

“Exactly. You are still the Ghost of Eros, but you need to let yourself believe that again. Your strength didn’t go away, just as you told me that your skills are still with you. Your willpower, intelligence, the things that brought you out of that place you were in — those are skills just the same, and they have not gone away. So you need to stop believing that they have.”

“I-I don’t — what are you trying to get at?” His words seem so intentional and pointed that it makes your head spin somewhat. What does he know that you don’t?

“You are equipped to withstand any trial set before you. Yet when we have these discussions, I find a deep-rooted sense of self-doubt in you. Whether that comes from the confusion of not wholly knowing who you are or from the influence of external forces, it is a hard thing to uproot and remove. I cannot give you a shovel and tell you to dig it out, but I can give you the means to break it down so that it will not grow further. I can remind you that you already have the tools needed to do so if you remember where to look.” Minho sits down in the space behind your back, and you sling your legs to the side so that you can sit parallel to him before the tree ahead of you. “There was a time when your name was second only to the Scourge’s in bars and amongst pirate crews. Is that legacy meant to play second fiddle to his? Is that what you desire? Some parts of you must not want that because you resist authority so heavily. You have forgotten that name and in turn, let him forget it as well. I did not see you cave when faced with the ghosts of your past. You did not cave to a king you perceived to be a tyrant. You have pulled yourself away from so many things, wearing your name as a mantle that represents who you are and what you are capable of. Why do you hesitate to remind your sole competition of the same?”

Minho stares ahead at the tree yet you look to the ground with fingers clenched hard around the edge of the bench. You recall the first time you laid eyes on Hongjoong in the flesh, outside of wanted posters and scant dossiers that did nothing to fully encapsulate the man who is the Scourge of the Black Sea. Even back then, he had looked past you as though you were nothing to him, yet in return, you did not find yourself afraid of him at all. Have you become afraid of him now? Why?

“I wish to be acknowledged as that,” you state resolutely. “Someone strong and fearsome and on his level. He doesn’t treat me like I’m the Ghost of Eros still. I-I want him to.”

Minho hums. “It would be easier to fall in line, would it not?”

Ask yourself what your defiance is really for.

You realize the answer to that question now. Mingi laid down his mantle as the Brute of Kebos for a multitude of reasons, and you can understand now why he views defiance to be a shoddy decision. What he had before was nothing pretty or desirable. The same could be said of your past as well, but you have never desired to set your mantle aside and become something small and diminishable on the Scourge’s crew. A weapon is only as good as the one wielding it, and Hongjoong frankly does not wield you and your abilities as he should.

“It would…”

“With its feet tied and wings clipped, what hope does a caged bird have?” Minho pats your knee before standing up. From where you sit, you can just barely glimpse at the ugly brand sitting on the back of his neck, crude scars and all. “It can still carve its way out with its beak, no? Do not let yourself be buried by those with the intent to put you beneath them. Be strong.” He leaves you with that, alone on the bench in the courtyard before a blooming tree whose roots stretch and pull at the stone meant to cover it.

For the first time, someone is telling you to fight, and fight, you most certainly will.

There’s a good amount of time where you sit in the same place without moving because the conversation has left your head a bit fuzzy. The only reason you don’t linger any longer in the courtyard is because the sun is continuing to dip closer to the horizon and you are not eager to find out what the nightlife is like. 

The air clings to your skin a bit when you step through the door, not too different from the humidity outside, but the warmth is welcome in a different way. Music hits your ears at the same time, and you find yourself drifting toward the source of the noise out of sheer curiosity. The sight you find unfolding before you brings pause to your step, though only briefly because your feet are once again compelled to move and push you forwards. 

Jongho is the first one you see, sitting on the edge of a couch with a guitar of some sort in his hands — one that must be local to Gorgon due to its foreign appearance. Yeosang sits nearby, close to the couch on some sort of box that he taps the flats of his hands against, and his rhythm matches Jongho’s so perfectly that you’d be hard-pressed to believe that they’ve never done this before. The table that had been set in front of the couch has been dragged to the side to make more space available, and right now Wooyoung occupies that space with Mingi, hands gently folded around Mingi’s forearms like he’s trying to both steady and guide the man at once. You only catch sight of a fifth and final person once you approach the back of a loveseat, and it’s San who sits just barely hidden from sight there. Your arrival brings his attention upwards to you, and you look at each other upside-down. Perhaps it’s the mood in the air, but you allow yourself to indulge a bit here and now, leaning over the back of the sofa to lay a kiss against San’s forehead as he reaches upwards for you. Hands slotting together, he clings to you while you round the loveseat fully and sink down onto the cushion beside him.

“Y/n, Y/n, you have to join in!” Wooyoung laughs as he pulls Mingi around in a circle, eyes not lingering on you for more than a second. Every bit of skin that’s visible on the man is flushed, and the balls of his cheeks are so bright and round that you can’t help but smile just seeing the evident joy on his features. He takes the gesture as an invitation. He’s giggling as he moves Mingi over to the couch where Jongho’s perched before flitting over to you in the blink of an eye. You barely have time to let go of San’s hand before Wooyoung is tugging you up from the loveseat.

“Wait—” 

“Indulge me just a little tonight, please?”

Your protest dies in the back of your throat and falls on deaf ears. You wish you had put up more of a fight moments later when Wooyoung starts pulling you into a rather fast-paced and intricate set of footsteps that you can hardly keep up with without trampling his toes every beat or so. Yet — Wooyoung is laughing and happy and throwing his head back so far that the sound of his laughter resonates with the music Jongho and Yeosang are creating. This fragile peace hangs by the thinnest of threads, tied into small knots, and you’re mesmerized by the joy radiating off Wooyoung in waves. It’s not just you either: Yeosang’s eyes follow his lover with every slight shift in muscle, so rapt in his attention yet still not missing a beat as he continues to drum his hands against the box beneath him. Wooyoung spins you out in San’s direction, hand squeezing hard around yours so that you don’t tumble, and in that split second, you make eye contact with your own lover. 

It startles you to see the expression on his face. He looks to be in utter awe of what’s unfolding before him, even though you’re certain it’s a mess on your end, yet there’s also a faraway gleam to his gaze that makes you realize he’s not wholly here in this moment with the rest of you. You want to ask what’s on his mind, to know what he’s seeing in his head right now, or what memories are replaying themselves to him if that’s what it is. It’s hardly the time or place for such things, however.

Wooyoung twirls you back into his arms, hands sliding down to secure at your waist. The metal hanging from his neck is a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin and breath as he buries his face into the crook of your shoulder. You aren’t prepared to brace his weight and stumble back over your feet with Wooyoung still clinging tightly to you until you hit the edge of the loveseat. San’s hand juts out to catch you when the two of you tumble to the cushions. Wooyoung is laughing the whole time, hot on your neck, and he sits up on one knee as though nothing happened.

“Change the song!” he requests, returning to his post at the center of the rug. San’s hand drifts towards yours but he only takes hold of your fingers rather than your whole hand as he usually does. You jolt upon looking over at him, solely because there’s another body behind the loveseat and a face pressed between yours and San’s that you were not expecting to see. It’s Yunho who fills the space between your face and your lover’s — mostly recognizable through his side profile and also his blond hair that’s beginning to grow in dark at the roots. He’s clearly fresh out of the shower if his damp hair is any indication of such along with the faint scent of something minty radiating off of him. 

“What are we watching?” he asks, bringing his elbows up to rest on the back of the couch.

“Wooyoung is putting on a show for us,” San hums in response, and his fingers curl around your index finger. “You just barely missed Y/n’s ever-so-graceful dance moves too!”

“Oh, stop,” comes your whine as embarrassment washes over you with San’s confirmation that it was indeed a very messy ordeal. Yunho laughs, head pulling up to watch Wooyoung’s new performance. The music shifts, first with Jongho then with Yeosang changing his rhythm to follow along with the Berserker on the box drum. Wooyoung’s eyes flutter shut, and the music takes hold of him like a spell has been cast on his body. There’s a certain delicate nature to his movements now that is far different than how he danced with Mingi and in turn you. The collar around his neck drags up and down against his skin with each twist of his body, yet his happiness persists even with what must be an agonizing discomfort. If not for his upbringing and what you know of his youth, you would imagine he made a living out of this at some point in his life. He has both the grace and the appearance of a dancer, between his lithe figure and his pretty features, and it wouldn’t be impossible to believe that there are many people who would pay a great deal to see him perform. Here you sit, surrounded by crewmates and friends, watching the scene unfold without a credit spent. Luck comes to mind because it does feel something like a blessing to experience this in such a joyful atmosphere. Wooyoung’s voice rises into the mix alongside Jongho’s, though a tad more breathy than the latter’s due to the fluid movements he’s trying to maintain while singing.

“Pardon, but the master asked that I bring freshly brewed tea for our guests. Mushroom tea, a local specialty. Please enjoy your stay here with us.” You and San both take the teacups handed to you on a silver platter by the young woman who has approached the loveseat. Yunho is the only one to refuse it yet gratitude still pours from his lips nonetheless, and the lady bows her head. She moves over to Mingi next, careful not to disturb the rest who are bringing the merry festivities to the room. 

The tea is close to scalding but just shy of it so you can sip comfortably from the top while watching Wooyoung’s performance continue to unfold. The words of the song are solemn in comparison to how upbeat the music itself sounds, even down to the smile pulling at Wooyoung’s lips while he sings along. You hardly need to be a genius to figure out the meaning of it — it’s a tried and true farewell song, one saying goodbye to times past and people no longer present, sung with a dissonant joy that makes the tea taste bitter on your tongue.

Yunho inches out of your peripherals, and you angle your head in his direction only to catch him walking towards the stairs without a word. At first, you wonder if the song is what compelled him to leave or perhaps he simply wishes to retire for the night and not disturb everyone on his way out. Content with that reasoning, you redirect your focus once again, only to catch sight of someone else at the other end of the room, tucked away a bit and somewhat hidden from sight. Not enough to be wholly hidden, obviously, but enough so that he will not disturb anything happening in the main area. It’s Hongjoong, of course, because any other member of the crew would have approached without care for being perceived. This is not the first time you have been witness to your captain’s insecurities surrounding his crew; however, seeing the man appear so small in his attempts to hide himself fills you with an odd sense of justified satisfaction. Has he earned a place at this table? Suffered the way these people have for his whims and desires? The answer is clear in your mind — no, he has absolutely not. 

The song draws to a close, and you down the rest of your tea before ridding Hongjoong of your attention. San leads with a round of applause, one that both you and Mingi quickly echo. Wooyoung’s attention returns to you before anyone else.

“Jongho knows lots of traditional songs that we know,” he exhales through little gasps for air. “Yeosang and I, I mean. Songs we learned growing up on Aera.” He blows off the fumble of words so easily that you don’t even see a shift in emotion on his features. 

“That one was rather sad.”

“It’s a funeral song! Or — a dirge, rather, for people who have departed. Either from life or gone off to new places in the universe, so that’s why the lyrics are so dismal. The song itself and the dance are for celebration though. Celebrating the life and time shared with those departed. I’ve done it a few times before just for fun like this!”

“Never for its true purpose?” you inquire out of sheer curiosity. Wooyoung’s smile turns into a close-lipped one that’s soft around the edges.

“Only once for that purpose.” He lets his words hang long enough for you to feel the weight of them, then he flits over to where Yeosang sits and drapes himself over the man like a blanket. Jongho’s fingers don’t rest on the guitar strings, and he continues to strum out another tune that Yeosang joins in once again, but Wooyoung rests his feet for now. Not his voice, it seems, as he continues singing quietly, words pushed into Yeosang’s shoulder rather than to the entire room.

“The tea made me a bit sleepy, so I think I’m gonna head upstairs,” you say to the man beside you. San nods a few times but refuses to let go of your hand even when you stand up from the loveseat. He comes along with you, in fact, setting his cup down beside yours on the nearby table. The energy of the night is beginning to wear off, and it’s draining fast from your body. San is humming beside you to the song Jongho plays, and you feel him tapping out the melody against your knuckles. You have felt this kind of peace more times than you can count while part of this crew, but it has seemed quite far away for a while now. You squeeze tighter at San’s hand like you’re waiting for the inevitable, like glass is about to shatter and the illusion of peace will become nothing but shards before you. Yet, none of that happens, and you revel in this moment you’re living in while climbing the stairs to the second floor of the hostel. 

San pushes the door to your joint room open with one hand, tugging you in alongside him as a giggle tears from your lips. There’s a moment where you fall into his side, hand bracing on his hip when you collide into each other’s space. Then San is drifting away from you and letting your hands return to your sides. He steps over to the dresser with a song still on his lips.

“Hi,” you say to break the lull in conversation.

“Hello, star,” he replies with a fond little smile. You return the gesture as you slowly shut the door.

“Finally alone, hm?”

San’s focus pulls harder toward you. He gives up on his current task of pulling a change of clothes out to stare directly at you.

“Careful, my darling, a man could take such words to mean all sorts of things.”

You dip your chin to your chest and laugh, shaking your head as you push into the room. It’s not that you’re looking for anything in particular — sexual, you mean — and the two of you haven’t fucked around in several days, mostly out of joint avoidance and going straight to bed once you’ve gone about your days separately. You aren’t keen on anything now, either. There’s a knot in your gut that won’t unfurl, coupled with the recollection of what occurred last time. You thought of another man. San called you treasure. There was some degree of an argument which resulted in you asking for sex to feel better, and San, who is one to voice when something is not okay in the bedroom, complied eagerly. Maybe you both made mistakes that night, and all you could do to patch the wounds you left on each other was fuck it out of your systems.

San watches you carefully as you make your way to the bed and sit on the edge of it. He mirrors your movements by sitting on the dresser, hands clasped around the edge of it. The impending conversation must weigh on him too given how his usual teasing jokes don’t persist. Though your peace was far from an illusion and you do not wish to tarnish it, you do know that letting your thoughts fester any longer will cause monumental problems in the long run. As it is, you have already told yourself this can wait until tomorrow, let’s just enjoy tonight time and time again. If not now, then when because there will always be another excuse you can pull out of your back pocket to explain why it’s not a good time to speak.

“You called me your treasure the other night.”

“I— um, did you… when was this?” San fidgets in his seat, and you see him visibly nervous for the first time in a long time before you. “I’m not trying to play dumb, I just genuinely don’t recall th—”

“Why did you call me that? In that moment, what made you say that?” It isn’t your intention to interrupt him so harshly, but you fear losing your nerve or caving too soon when this conversation needs to happen desperately.

San exhales slowly and blinks at you several times.

“Y/n…?”

“It was when you went down on me while I was crying for fuck’s sake, San! Do you really not remember?”

“I… I do. Well, I remember that night, yes, but — Y/n, I truly don’t remember calling you that.” His mouth hangs slightly agape as he looks at the floor, searching for nothing in particular. “I went down on you because I wanted to make you feel good because you asked me to make you feel good. I wanted it too, I would have said something if I didn’t, and I would never push for something I didn’t think you wanted either. I wanted you to feel good and cherished because you weren’t feeling that way in that moment, I wanted to s-show you physically how much I want you. It wasn’t for any other reason, I promise. I don’t know how I can prove that to you but please say the word and I will do whatever to do so.”

Your jaw snaps shut, and you tighten your hold on yourself by pulling your arms tighter around your body.

“I wouldn’t… would never call you that, Y/n. That’s something that — Hongjoong calls Seonghwa that. I wouldn’t dare call you that too.” He frowns. “I know things are still shaky between us and that you don’t trust much of what I say in relation to him, but please believe that this is me being wholly honest with you. I would not call you such a thing because I do not want you to believe that I view you the way Hongjoong views Seonghwa.” He inhales and looks towards the door as though someone will be there to tell him off for what he wishes to say next. “That would be cruel.”

You go so still that even your breathing halts for a few seconds. San presses his lips into a thin line and swallows around nothing. He appears more determined when he speaks again.

“Implying that I view you as a mere treasure to be had and used would be cruel. In my eyes, you could hang the very stars in the sky if you so wished, you are the stars themselves, and in my next life, I hope to be a galaxy so that I can hold you in my heart for as long as I live. I love you. I truly do. I would not wish for us to ever be like them or have a relationship like theirs and I do not want you to believe that my love is conditional on your being useful to me because it's not.”

It speaks volumes to both his character and how he views his captain. And yet, it also shows you how deeply roots the seeds Hongjoong has planted are, and you fear for your sanity for creating such a thing out of thin air like that. Silence hangs. San is smart. You’re more than well aware of that. He’s perceptive and intelligent in many ways, which means that if what he’s saying is what he perceives to be truth then he can put two and two together. You thought he called you his treasure, Hongjoong calls Seonghwa that, you were thinking of Hongjoong while having sex with San.

"Is that true?" Your voice comes out meek. Shame creeps in alongside embarrassment and humiliation because in retrospect (and when you look past your muddled feelings of anger and confusion) San’s explanation does truly make more sense. Why would he call you that? He has not been cruel to you when it comes to Hongjoong. Even if he were toying with you, he has not been heartless.

"I swear on my life, Y/n. If that's not enough then I will gladly set myself before Minho or Yunho or Mingi and have any of them interrogate me in front of you. They’ll know whether I’m lying or not without fault." San steps away from the dresser, yet your gaze is still firmly set on the ground when he comes to sit beside you. A laugh escapes from your lips as the mattress dips next to you.

“Is this what Seonghwa feels like? Going fucking insane and it’s all because of that… that man.” You don’t need to look San in the face to know what expression he wears, because he reaches for one of your hands and takes it between both of his. “Before I went to see Hongjoong that night, I had fought with Seonghwa. About a lot of things but it’s all left me with a lot to think about. Much of what he said hurt me deeply, especially hearing him tell me that I was a substitute for someone else in his mind.” The admission that you did the same lies on the tip of your tongue, and it’s already partly out in the open, but there’s not enough bravery in you to tell San that now, or that you thought of Hongjoong more recently either. “He also told me there are many ways in which Hongjoong has been orchestrating my destruction from the very start. Going from that fight to an argument with Hongjoong too was very damaging to my confidence and my psyche say the least.”

“What happened with Hongjoong?” San inquires, still careful in how he broaches the subject. “I was told that you were forced in line, but is that true?”

“He made me kneel. Or rather he ordered Mingi to make me kneel, and he did. I did.” Pressure hits your shoulder, the full weight of San’s head as he pushes his cheek to your arm and leans into you. “Seonghwa is suffering some sort of mental breakdown of an insane degree and has no one to help him out of the grave he and Hongjoong both have dug beneath his feet.”

“I’ve been trying to help,” San interjects quietly, though it’s staggered by wetness in his tone that’s hard to ignore, “to no avail whatsoever.”

The thought of running away from it all crops up in your mind again. To take San and Wooyoung and Yunho and Seonghwa and everyone — taking them all away and running without looking back. Yet, if you were to do that, everything would so quickly fall apart that the ends would not be worth what it took to bring you there. Hongjoong is many terrible, awful things, but in the very least he contains in him the inherent ability to unite people under his command. You couldn’t do such a thing, nor could you in good conscience be harsh when the time came. What’s running rampant through your mind correlates with real life, and you squeeze San’s hand over yours harder.

“Hongjoong purposefully isn’t letting Seonghwa on this mission because he’s worried too. That’s why Yunho is going instead. Seonghwa is hardly happy about it but he needs the break.” San exhales a quivering sigh. “He needs a break from his duties as lieutenant, at least for now, and Hongjoong is trying to let him have that. There are things only he can do of course — like the dealings with the cargo and having that all settled but those are easier in comparison. Seonghwa doesn’t usually let anything slip when things are awry in his head, he keeps his mask up, and he tries his best to put on a front for the crew. Though it’s never been explicitly stated before the whole crew, everyone pretty much knows that he is not an Elitist. We just… know our boundaries and respect that we should not expect to be told. I was told, as the captain’s left hand. I respect secrets, and I respect privacy. Anything told to me in confidence will be taken to my grave unless I am told it is information safe to be shared. I do not hide things out of malicious intent. That being said, I will do my best to be more open and honest with you moving forward. Would you please do the same in return?”

“I am honest with you already,” you cut in almost in an instant. San’s hand flexes around yours. “But I will… I’ll continue to do so.”

His frown is felt against your shoulder.

“If that were true then you would not be revealing truths to me now.”

“I’m sorry.” The tension that rises in your muscles forces his head off your arm. “I’m really sorry.”

“I’m not chastising you, beloved, breathe.” You’re already turning to look at his face when he reaches up with a hand to cup your cheek. “I love you. So deeply and so dearly.”

“I love you too.”

“Let’s do this without having sex. Right now, let’s just talk… without it turning into sex.” You nod against his hand. San is gnawing hard at his lower lip, and it’s already swollen from what must be continued abuse in an attempt to keep tears at bay considering how red the corners of his eyes are. “Do you wanna go out on the balcony?”

Your hands do not separate when he stands, and you stay as close to him as possible when following him to the door like he’s the one thing keeping you tethered to reality at the moment. 

Outside, night has fallen, but the small balcony before you sits covered and enclosed by panes of glass. Below you can see the courtyard where you and Minho were earlier, exposed to the night air and the toxins it brings, but up here it’s like another world. The torches continue to bloom with their purple flames along the buildings, fluorescent green lights accent places where the streets are too dark to be lit by flame alone, and silver chimes glint every so often when the wind nudges them in the right direction.

“The town looks pretty at night,” you note as San leads you to a seat near the glass. 

“Quite beautiful indeed.” He squeezes your hand one last time before pulling away at last and sitting down in the chair beside yours. When you glance his way, you find him picking at the skin under his nails and watching the skin peel back to reveal something raw and tender beneath. “I am going to tell you some truths that are hard for me to admit, let alone process still. Despite thinking about it and practicing what I want to say in my head time and time again, I may struggle with how to say things. After you went to the bathroom to wash up that night with Seonghwa, he told me that Hongjoong was the sole person on his mind. That hurt me to hear, so I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to pass that pain onto you as well. I overheard a bit of the commotion in the kitchen when the two of you fought, and Seonghwa had told me that he would be honest with you eventually. I wouldn’t need to be a genius to figure out that it wouldn’t go over well. Foolishly, I had thought that I could be someone to help mend the hurt both of you were feeling — your hurt from how things between you and Seonghwa ended, and Seonghwa’s hurt from once again being tossed away by his love. Seonghwa’s eagerness made me believe that it was more okay than it turned out to be, or perhaps he went into it from the start with one thing — or person, rather — on his mind.”

You remain quiet in the face of San’s admissions, even when he takes a moment to breathe and stare out at the city. His hands still in his lap and finally let his fingers have a break from the harm he was doing to them just seconds ago. He grips the armrests of his chair hard and uses his momentum to turn it more toward you. You’re faced with his rapt attention now, as his elbows come to rest on his knees and he clasps his hands between them.

“It’s true that I once had a physical relationship with Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Never just one of them alone; I was always asked to be the third for when they desired it, and I was more than happy to be that for them. We’ve discussed my views on relationships and romantic versus sexual partnerships before, and I’ve had those beliefs for a long time. However, I haven’t fully learned that it’s not so easy for everyone to fall into those roles and that the act of being a third is not always cut and dry. It’s suited for some people like myself, and not for others, which is understandable and completely fine. I thought as well that the two of you having experience with each other sexually would provide comfort and ease. What I did not do was take into consideration the hurt left between you or how sensitive the situation was for everyone involved. I take full responsibility for that night, regardless of who was thinking about what during, and I am so deeply apologetic for being the one to facilitate that. I wanted to speak and apologize to you first, but I do want to offer the same apology to Seonghwa as well.” He waits then with teeth sunk into his lower lip so hard that it disappears from the pressure. It’s your time to speak, to offer an explanation or an acknowledgment of all that he’s poured out to you, but your mind is so full of a clusterfuck of thoughts that all that comes out in the end is —

“I feel like a whore.”

It stuns the both of you in the same way, and San’s expression freezes as he simply stares at you unsure of what to say to that. The shock is almost comical if not for the severity of your conversation at present.

“Would you please tell me why you feel that way?” he asks once the initial shock of your comment passes.

“I was not very present that night. I didn’t feel like I was in my right mind, but know that I did not feel pressure to do anything out of my comfort zone. I was the one who misread my own signals and sought something in physical comfort to ease my thoughts. Seonghwa was clearly not wholly there either, as we know, and the two of us took it out on each other. Since then, I’ve been feeling the way I did that night during sex and it’s driving me mad. I don’t wish to have those thoughts or constantly be reminded of that night but it comes on of its own volition.”

“Okay then full stop, we slow down. Sex isn’t a must.”

“Well, it’s difficult because we depend so heavily on being physical to show affection for one another.”

“That just means we can find new ways to share our affection,” San says through a smile, “and we can still cuddle and hug and kiss even. Being physical and offering comfort is not inherently sexual. I have to learn that too. I’m such a physical person in every way. I adore giving in every way I can physically to show my feelings, but that clouds and muddies things a lot. A healthy relationship with sex doesn’t mean always having sex though. There are other ways we can do things together or other ways to connect and be with each other intimately. But—” he leans back and squares his shoulders, still smiling ever so softly at you “—while I’m thinking clearly, I’m going to say that I know continuing to have sex while you are struggling with your thoughts during it and we’re both in need of healing our relationship towards it is not the best thing to do. I’m not at all willing to ask it of you until you definitively tell me otherwise.”

“I love you so much,” you murmur, and San’s nose scrunches at the sudden confession. He blows a kiss your way as he leans back in his chair once more, settling into it more comfortably now that his thoughts are out in the open.

“You know, I’ve been reading some of the books you keep on your shelves lately. The Siren ones, I mean. Since you told me of your identity, I’ve been curious to learn more about what it means to be one. I didn’t know you were so cool.” Your laughs echo in the enclosed area of the balcony, mixing together.

“Sorry, but I can’t show off or anything. I don’t know how to do much at all.” 

San reaches an arm over to your chair and you seek his hand with your own like it's second nature to do so.

“Even the little things about you impress me. You don’t need to do much.” His thumb rubs methodical little lines against the base of your index finger. “The music and the dancing were lovely, weren’t they?”

“It was all very nice. Lively too, and happy.”

“I’ve always loved performances like that,” San says with a smile tugging the corners of his mouth up. “When I was younger, growing up with the Taskmaster and Father — my captain at the time, I mean — I got to have one tablet. At the orphanage, I wasn’t allowed any personal belongings, and though I spent most of my time confined to one small cell, it still had a few things here and there to make the space mine. Besides the collar on my neck and chain keeping me to the wall, of course.” The crude attempt at a joke doesn’t make you laugh as much as it makes you terribly sad. The times when San openly discusses the grim details of his youth are few and far between. The more you learn of how he was forced to grow up, the more your heart aches inside your check, and the desire to close yourself around the icy stake in his chest spikes exponentially. “It had all sorts of training videos on it to help me learn to be more effective in my role on the crew. Part of the combat training videos were dances, meant to teach how to move in a way that could conserve the body’s energy. Since my abilities are so dependent on stamina, that sort of training was beyond crucial. But instead of using them for that purpose, I used to hide under the covers on my bed and watch those dances in secret though, just for fun rather than learning. And I got caught once by my father.”

“Did he punish you for it?” 

“Rather than punishing me, he instead took me to a performance. Taskmaster Cara disagreed with the choice vehemently but Father didn’t pay her any mind. He simply wanted to bring me to the show. It was a night circus, traveled across the stars with the act, but we ended up seeing the show on Kebos of all places. It was a different city from where Mingi and Yunho grew up, so the coincidences stop there, though that would have been pretty special if it had been. Um… if I remember right, it was winter and snowing at the time, which was a first for me too. In the tent they had set up for the circus, there was this enormous rink of ice. Father got us seats right up by the railings and—” San cuts himself off with a laugh as he pushes his free hand out in front of him like he’s reliving the memory “—two automatons were dancing on the ice with wheels in place of feet to help them move. I remember it was the most fascinating and beautiful thing I had seen in my life. That memory — it was my happiest as a child. So seeing Wooyoung dance… it always reminds me of that experience and that feeling I had then. But seeing the two of you dance together tonight made me especially sentimental. Even though it wasn’t the same… I felt like I was seeing it all over again. Thank you for taking me back to that place.”

You squeeze your fingers around San’s. 

“I hope we can share a lot more of those kinds of memories too.”

San’s response comes in a rounded smile, then he settles back in his chair with his eyes shut and a hum in his throat. Though you don’t recognize the tune, you can only imagine it’s that song from the dance he witnessed all those years ago. In the descending night, you think that maybe the two of you will be okay after all.

────────────

The blissful peace that hangs in the air remains undisturbed until you and San are getting ready for bed. It’s then that a knock comes at your door, and with San in the bathroom washing his face, you take it upon yourself to be the one to answer it. You could have thrown at several guesses as to who would be waiting on the other side, and even the idea that it might be someone who works at the hostel would have come to mind before the man who is actually waiting there.

“Mingi…” you exhale in partial shock.

“Would you please come on a walk with me, Ghost?” His gas mask hangs loose around his neck, and he reaches up to point at it when your gaze flits downwards. “Bring yours if you’d like to come along.”

“Why not here?”

“There are too many eyes and ears here. The walls are thin. I would rather not talk about this in front of San. I do not want it to go back to the wr—to other people.” Every bit of his reasoning comes across as very matter-of-fact, but it all makes sense and you can’t argue with it.

“Okay,” you say through a nod, “okay, hold on.”

Mingi remains at the door as you move back to the bathroom, leaning through the doorframe to catch San’s attention while he’s brushing his teeth.

“I’m going out for a little bit with Mingi.”

San hums before leaning over the sink and spitting what’s left in his mouth out. “Be safe and bring your mask. Don’t worry about waking me when you get back if I’m asleep, just come in comfortably. I’ll try to stay up until you return though.”

“You don’t have to do that.” The way he’s smiling at you implies that he won’t listen to your words. “Sleep well, I love you.”

“I love you too. Dearly. Let me know if there are any pretty sights out there at night!”

You retrieve your mask from the top of the dresser on your way back to where Mingi is patiently waiting.

“I apologize for bringing you out so late,” the Berserker says once you shut your bedroom door behind you.

“No, it’s alright. You’ll be awfully busy with the cargo tomorrow as well, so this is fine. Besides, part of me is curious about what’s so special about nighttime here.” Mingi doesn’t laugh when you do, but he does plaster on something semi-adjacent to a smile. The two of you both secure your masks around your faces before even reaching the bottom of the stairs, although you have to fiddle with the straps a lot more than he does to make it sit comfortably over your nose. Mingi presses the door open with one hand, and you brace yourself for something dramatic or violent to happen yet that never comes. Air filters in and out of your gas mask, not even leaving a scent to pass through. 

“Please, follow me. I found a spot while I was making cargo trips today that looked quite nice. I think it’ll be a good spot to talk.” He walks slow enough for you to keep up without a struggle, even if you are somewhat distracted by examining every inch of your surroundings as you go. It’s fascinating to a certain extent because, despite all the warnings and concerns about nighttime, you still find an inordinate amount of people milling about the cobbled streets freely. No masks in sight on many, and some have them on their being but only hung about their necks like the masks are nothing but a statement piece and nothing functional to be used. The sight makes your skin itch and burn, a certain level of discomfort washing over you as you urge yourself to keep pace with Mingi. The chime hanging down from your right ear jingles with every step you take, and it sounds so awfully loud against the thick material of the mask.

The Berserker brings you over to the edge of the gorge, somewhere along the very place you initially arrived at, where there is nothing but braided rope stretched taut between lampposts to keep people from tumbling to an unsightly doom. Those same lampposts bear purple flames just as the others you saw in the city, but to see them against the night skin makes their glow seem all the more ominous. Down below lies that foggy ravine, although you can’t bear to look at it for long.

Mingi pauses by the ropes and grips the topmost one with both hands. You join in alongside him, squeezing the material tight as you look over across the gorge. In the night, you can just hardly make out the outline of The Horizon in the distance, yet it looks so terribly foreign and desolate with it’s lights fully shut off.

“May I ask you something about Sirens?”

“Oh! Yes, absolutely, though I may not be ab—”

“Is Jongho a Siren?”

“—what?” You blink at your companion several times before his words sink in. “What?!”

“Is Jongho a Siren?” he repeats like nothing he said was out of the ordinary in the slightest.

“He’s — he’s a Berserker. He’s got the red eyes, and the strength of at least twenty men combined, and he can do things the rest of us can’t.”

“Yes, but he can influence emotions, no?” Mingi lets one hand fall to his side in favor of turning more toward you.

“Well, yes.”

“Can you? As a Siren?”

“Not like that, I can only—” you’re forced to bite your words back when the risk of exposing the others presents itself. Mingi will know if you’re lying, he’ll feel the increase in your heart rate surely like a shark smelling blood in the water. You must do your best to choose your next words so carefully that he won’t even suspect there are others amongst the crew. “Sirens can only sense other Sirens’ emotions. I cannot feel what you are feeling at this moment. The best I can do for anyone who is not a Siren is sympathize or empathize with them from person to person, but I cannot genuinely and truly know what they’re feeling. Nor can I feel those feelings myself. What Jongho does is different. He feels everyone’s emotions as though theirs are his own, like you do I’m sure, but he’s no Siren.”

“He draws emotions out of others like a siphon and takes them onto himself. Sirens are not capable of anything like that?”

Again you bite your tongue. What Mingi knows of Sirens must be very cut and dry — anything that could be drawn out of a book or fed to him through people such as Hongjoong or Yunho. If Seonghwa spoke to him, there’s no way of knowing what extent of the truth the man shared with Mingi. For the best, you would be wise not to mention the existence of Sirens such as Wooyoung and yourself.

“No, they are not.” You look down at where your hands cling to the rope barrier, finding your knuckles white with the effort of gripping it. “The most I can do is try to soothe another Siren by projecting my feelings towards them like some sort of projection, but that does nothing to force any certain emotion onto them. They will still feel the same as they did but simply be made aware of what I am feeling too. And that ability does not work on people who aren’t Sirens.” Except for the fact that I have forced thoughts into Hongjoong’s head somehow.

Mingi redirects his gaze to the gorge.

“Part of me desired a different answer honestly.”

“I… don’t understand?”

“I wished to hear that Jongho’s abilities were that of some strange cross between a Siren and a Berserker that muddled the genetic pool of his abilities. For years, he has been the one to assist me in coming down from episodes. While Captain and Healer have made attempts to do so themselves, they consistently require Jongho’s help. He is always the one called to do so. I know for certain that there are times when I feel myself fighting back urges, when I am strong enough to win back control from the voices without Jongho using his little ability… I still cannot help but doubt how much of it comes from my own efforts and how much is his influence with that trick.” The Berserker’s voice remains void of any clue as to what he’s feeling, but the stare he casts over the gorge seems so forlorn that it makes your chest ache. “I know why he does it, but I also know why he does it without telling those he’s taking from most times. Because he knows they would not approve and that, in his mind, there is something morally grey about it.” It draws a sigh out of Mingi’s lips, and he turns around, leaning against the railing with his elbows propped up on the rope. “Do you not find it selfish?”

“I understand Jongho is trying to help so it’s hard to say that there is something inherently bad in what he’s doing,” you say as quietly as you can manage while still being audible. “I caught him doing it to me one time, and that enraged me beyond belief because it was against my will. I was robbed of the choice to feel my emotions. Is that selfish?”

“Yes.” You expected as much. “Doing something that robs another of a choice is always selfish and self-serving, even if there is good to be had in doing it. I do not wish to think of him as selfish because I’m aware that he has very particular reasons for doing what he does — as an act of self-preservation and to try to even out the moral scales that he believes are tipped against him.”

“What would truly be different if he were a Siren?”

“Ah. Well then, I could at least assume that Captain was the one pulling the strings behind Jongho in an attempt to keep me on my leash. Not that that would be needed for me in particular. My loyalty has never wavered regardless of what Captain has done in the past, but then again, he has never tried to do anything to me directly.” Mingi’s gaze slips down to you, torn from the scene ahead of him that consists of watching natives move above the streets. “Sorry.” The single word is flat and void of any semblance of emotion.

“Why’re you saying that?”

“Because that’s what people do when they desire to console others.”

“Do you feel that I need to be consoled?” His words hadn’t made you feel any type of way — positive or negative — so it’s a wonder why Mingi would think you need to be comforted by an apology right now. The Berserker tilts his chin back, and it forces his gaze to the night sky overhead. 

“No,” he starts, “you feel oddly neutral tonight with me.” Though you cannot see a smile thanks to his gas mask, you are the recipient of a rare laugh from the man. You have no clue what caused him to laugh, but it’s nice to hear the sound nonetheless.

“You don’t need to say sorry. I understand why my loyalty needs to be twisted into place in Hongjoong’s eyes.”

“You killed a king before, didn’t you?”

“…Yes.”

“Why?”

The question stumps you not because you cannot think of a reason but rather because many immediate answers fight to be at the forefront of your mind.

“He was a bad person.”

“Yet you view Captain as such too.” Mingi once again redirects focus to you. this time you make direct eye contact with the man, and the deadpan expression across his face combined with his next words makes your gut twist with anxiety. “Were you to try to kill him then I would kill you.”

“He would kill me himself long before I got the chance to even dream up the thought of doing such a thing.” Mingi does not appear wholly convinced. “Oddly enough, I do not want him dead so I suppose we’re all safe.”

Mingi clenches and unclenches his fists, easing his elbows further back on the railing. You can see the ship in the distance still, far across the gorge and still settled on the landing pad. It looks strangely lifeless in this light, with the knowledge that no one is aboard, yet you think that it is a long overdue rest for all her hard work and flights of late.

“Do you view yourself as a good person, Y/n?” Mingi angles his body towards you as he poses the question. Rather than giving you an opening to respond, he continues on speaking, “In the books I read, good and evil exist, and good always tries to end the evil. So do you view yourself as the good trying to kill the evil in this universe?”

“No.” You clear your throat before beginning again with more confidence in your tone. “No, I do not. What’s bad in my eyes very well may be good in others. There were many who were happy with the king, who thought him good, and he did do good at times. He was not all bad, but I perceived him as such for a short time. All it takes is that short time to want to do something bad to someone you think deserves it.”

“I fail to understand it that way,” your companion retorts. “My father told me before every match in the arena that the opponent was nobody of worth or value in the universe. They were neither good nor evil by his standards. Just a life that did not need to be lived, and it was my job to make way for other lives in place of theirs.”

“Then your father was trying to teach you that you were doing something good?”

“To an extent, sure, but I never understood it that way because I never had an understanding of emotion or good versus evil back then. And maybe good and evil don’t exist at all, maybe it’s all perception that’s in the eye of the beholder.” He angles his head further down but looks off over your shoulder with a sort of faraway gleam in his dark red eyes. “Perhaps at the end of the day… all we do are things that are based on a perception that we try to convince ourselves is a universal truth.” He sees something behind you, yet there is nothing but air and a freefall there. A ghost, perhaps, that has come to haunt him for merely breathing the faintest mention of his father. 

All of a sudden, he shoves away from the railing and steps off like he’s going to head back the way you came.

“We should head back now before it gets too late.”

“You go on ahead, I want to stay out a bit longer.” In the blink of an eye, Mingi is back at your side, head drawn so close to your ear that his mask bumps against yours.

“It would be best to leave now and save the sightseeing for later.” His hushed tone urges you to glance back at your surroundings, and what reads as concern to you is fortified by the lingering stares sent your way by those on the streets.

“I understand.” Yet still when Mingi tries to leave again, you remain rooted to the spot. Something else crosses your mind suddenly, something San had said to you in regard to his honesty. “Mingi. Have you ever seen San be cruel?”

Silence.

The Berserker turns his body until it’s perpendicular to yours and finds you still lingering at the railing.

“What does it look like?” you continue upon deciphering his silence as affirmation.

“…Like nothing you have ever seen.” He extends a hand towards you. “Come.”

How would you know that, how could you know such things, when doors are shut and I’m in his arms? Who could possibly know?

Your heart soars with his words nonetheless. Despite it all, here Mingi stands still trying to reassure you.

Your gaze lingers on the foggy waters below, with their odd glow and minty green hue. Something rattles you, another thing beckons you.

“There’s something down there,” you utter once you release your grip on the railing and take Mingi’s hand.

“I know,” he says quietly, “I hear it too.”

Mingi delivers you to your door safely and in one piece. He bids you goodnight with a small bow of his head but not a single comment concerning all that the two of you discussed on your excursion outside. Just as you’re turning the door handle to go inside, he pauses in the hallway and thanks you for your time. The conversation plays on repeat in your mind as you change into nightclothes and wash your face. When you join San in bed at long last, he has already fallen asleep with a book folding over his bare chest. It seems he really did try to stay awake waiting for you to return. You turn the light beside the bed off. Your mind is still far too busy to let you shut your eyes right away, so you spend some time facing San and staring at his profile through the darkness.

Mingi had seemed so sure of what he said. You rest a hand on San’s cheek and turn his face towards you just to see his features better. He barely shifts at the touch.

“Even if something small, even if the words and prayers of a nonbeliever are not enough to be a suitable blessing, it at least has my heart behind it. I wish for your safety every night and your happiness every morning anyway, so what’s the harm in hoping this will do the same?”

The trinkets on your ears feel so heavy under the weight of that blessing.

“Missed you,” San mumbles suddenly, clearly less asleep than you initially thought. He adjusts to drape an arm around your body and brings your head up to lay flat against his chest. No more words are exchanged as he goes right back to sleep, but you lay there with your ear atop his heart listening to the steady and rhythmic thumping like it’s a lullaby to put you to bed.

Good people can do bad things just as bad ones can do good. Those are the words you wished you had shared with Mingi earlier. But in his perspective, that is entirely incorrect.

Maybe people are simply that — people. Good and bad are things normal, regular, plain people do, but not definitive of what they are at the end of the day. It’s a rather beautiful outlook on the universe, you must admit.

──────────── a/n: yoohoo big summer (delayed delayed delayed) blowout! moc style! aheem aheem. i apologize every chapter for delayed updates so im certain lots of yall are like yeah yeah caly okay... okay... but! here we are. i wrestled a lot with many parts of this chapter and was super unhappy when i finished (beyond just being relieved it was over) but after my besties read it and gave me feedback i feel so much better about it and my writing so i am very happy with this <3

so! from this chapter on (i will be mentioning this again in the next chapter and the subsequent ones) i ask that you very much pay attention to details... this act is a dicey one and there will be much interchanging between things that are real and things that are not. there are cues to clue you in on when it is real versus when it's not!! of course i will happily help show those clues where i can bc i don't want anyone to be in the dark or clueless but do not that i do not want the writing to suffer bec im attempting to overexplain it in the text! that being said i hope this chapter was well worth the wait and thank you always for being patient and kind with me 🙇‍♀️

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #ateez fanfic #mists of celeste #caly.writes

[hongism]

29 - s.mingi - punishment + dacryphilia (18+)

» s.mingi x fem!reader » pwp, 18+ » language, mentions of drinking/smoking, explicit smut » wc 8.1k » link to masterlist » repost now that tumblr solved my tagging issues! fingers crossed everything works as normal now 🤞

smut warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, manual stimulation, oral sex: m, unprotected sex, facial, creampie, dirty talk, pet names: baby/baby girl/princess, crying during sex, deepthroating/face-fucking, edging, orgasm control, overstimulation

“So, you ever gonna tell me where you were last Tuesday?”

You can’t say that you weren’t expecting the question to come eventually, especially after you left Mingi with such a shitty excuse about not being able to meet up, but you expected to at least have a few more hours to get a story together before he cornered you here in one Choi San’s kitchen on a Friday evening. There’s an assortment of drinks spread out over the counters, no doubt in the fridge as well, but you aren’t after any of those goods in particular right now. Instead, you opt to simply snag water from the fridge and turn to face Mingi as you’re unscrewing the cap.

“Hm? What happened last Tuesday?” The quaint tilt of your chin does nothing to solidify your innocence, and Mingi’s sharp stare hones in on your face within seconds.

“You tell me, yn.”

Your lips part to prepare some sort of response, gaze trailing off to the ceiling as you piece together the excuse of a story. Mingi grants you that much, at least, even if it’s a show of how extravagantly you’re about to lie to him here and now. He leans around you as you’re gathering your thoughts, reaching for the counter and snagging a beer off it. You’d be impressed with his strength if you didn’t know that it’s the kind that screws off at the cap because Hongjoong has dainty hands that can easily be injured and he’s no good at opening bottles, thus San coddles him as such even when it comes to house parties.

“Well… I remember getting dinner with a few people. Didn’t drink or smoke anything because I had an early shift the next day. Then I went home.”

“Went home, huh?”

“We don’t typically get together on Tuesdays, Min,” you say between sips, arching a brow at the man who stands across from you. He pauses as well just to stand a little straighter and look you in the eye before arching one of his one brows — the pierced one that has a little black barbell poking through the skin — at you in return. His silence allows you a moment of reprieve, even if it comes at the cost of his staring so heavily at your face all the while. Still, you make no effort to conceal the way you drag your own gaze from his face down his body, taking in the ill-fitting tank top that has obscenely large holes cut out for his arms to stick through. You’d argue that it fits a bit better than it used to with how he’s been bulking up and putting on muscle these days, but you would also never give him the pleasure of hearing your appreciation out loud. He hears enough of it in the late hours of the night, three or four times a week as he has you pressed into the mattress in your apartment. The tank also gives you an eyeful of one of your favorite pieces in Mingi’s extensive collection — the snaking vines of tattoos that spread from his wrists up to his shoulders, dipping beneath the fabric and leaving much to the imagination. But of course, you don’t need to think too hard about what’s underneath when you see it as often as you do.

“What are you smirking about?” he questions, pulling your focus back up to his face before you can dip below the waistline.

“Thinking about what a lucky girl I am, that’s all.” You push off the counter to step around your friend, laying a hand on his shoulder as you slip between his body and the fridge to get past. “Got a big strong man all to myself.”

“That so?” He turns with you like his gaze is glued to you and can’t be separated even for a second. “Which one would that be?”

In hindsight, you should also have known that Mingi is smart enough to figure out little nuances and pick up on context clues when they’re presented to him. Thankfully, you have your back to him now so the shock doesn’t register on your face by the time you shift to look back at him over your shoulder. There’s a smile planted on your lips instead, one that you hope deters him for a little while longer.

“Look in the mirror some, pretty boy.”

You dip out of the kitchen then to rejoin the others in the living room, sinking to the couch cushions between San and some girl you’ve never seen before.

“Freshly rolled, milady,” San says through a dimpled grin as he lifts a somewhat sketchy-looking joint to dangle before your face. You’d decline if it were coming from anyone other than San — you’ve seen your fair share of sketchy and downright awful homemade joints come from his hands, but he is also the only one amongst your friend group who has the patience and tact to do it. (That, and you’re still vacuuming weed out of the carpet in your own living room from when Wooyoung and Mingi had a rolling contest that resulted in what can only be considered a horrendous fire hazard.)

“Thank you, kind sir.”

Hongjoong is sat on the other side of San, knees pulled up to his chest and tucked into the armrest as though he’s trying to make himself seem as small as possible. You barely get a glimpse at the red cup in his hands before San’s broad shoulders are blocking your view and you have to give up. The group tonight is quite large, more than the typically small get-togethers that you’re used to having with the others where it’s only eight or nine of you at most. San seems to have invited quite a few more party-goers this time around, which you hardly mind all in all.

“Can I crash in your room tonight?” you ask as San is in the midst of pulling a lighter up to the end of the joint.

“Mhm, just don’t get cum on the sheets.” His grin is nothing but cheeky, although that doesn’t keep you from whacking his arm with your free hand once he sets the lighter aside.

“Oh, fuck off!”

“I’m gonna be busy getting some on someone else’s sheets later so I won’t have time to police you about it.”

“You’re so nasty.” The man simply passes off the comment with a laugh, leaning back into the couch cushions with a dopey little grin that tells you he’s already hit a joint himself more than a few times tonight. As he moves, Hongjoong goes with him, stretching his legs out across the party host’s lap and letting San slump against his body. You snort at the minute show of affection and take a hit from the joint between your fingers.

“You’re the one—” San pauses to make a crude gesture involving his index finger and a lightly balled fist “—one of the two towers over there.”

Following the jerk of his chin isn’t too difficult, but you still regret glancing over in that direction because it means you make eye contact with the exact man you were trying to avoid in the kitchen earlier. Your stare flickers away too quickly to read as confident, and the only viable distraction within reach is San’s homemade joint. You aren’t too interested in getting too high tonight, just enough to get a little light and airy if anything, so as soon as you catch Wooyoung moving past the back of the couch, you pass the joint off to him before he gets too far away. Two hits will leave you fully lucid but any more than that and you’d be pushing the buttons on an emotional rollercoaster that you aren’t wanting to have in front of a bunch of strangers.

“Both… well, only once for one of them,” you mutter under your breath with the hope that Mingi hasn’t miraculously gained the skill of lip-reading.

“Is that where you were last Tuesday?” Hongjoong pipes up this time, pulling himself a little straighter to get a better look at you and you nearly hiss at him to keep it down.

“A lady never kisses and tells,” you say instead with a smile plastered over your lips. That has both men hollering in each other’s arms, one high and the other quite tipsy from the looks of it, but you’re happy to be their entertainment even if only for a few minutes.

“No wonder Min was fuming! Oh, I’d fucking kill to be a fly in the wall in that room when shit hits the fan.” San exhales a deep sigh, head tipping from side to side as he speaks. His laugh turns airy as he tips his body further back, sinking hard into Hongjoong’s body and knocking them both to the cushions. You don’t share in his amusement, however, as you turn to regard him with a furrowed brow and confusion etched across your features. Hongjoong notices the shift in your expression before San has the chance to.

“You might think about putting a muzzle on that one—” his gaze shifts as discreetly as possible to where Yunho sits “—‘cause he’s a little loose-lipped.”

Your lips draw into a tight purse, pulling to one corner of your mouth. You aren’t really upset about Yunho saying something — neither of you had an agreement on anything of the sort, and you’re smart enough to know how men behave at this point in your life. It is a bit funny though, in your opinion, for Mingi to be the one angry (undoubtedly jealous on top of that) when the two of you simply hook up when there aren’t other options available. You just so happened to have another option available last week, one that was quite hard to pass up on and very much worth the exhaustion and soreness that came the next day.

“Though, I suppose only the two of us know about what you and Min do when left alone.” When you shift to pass a half-hearted glare in Hongjoong’s direction, he’s wearing a shit-eating grin that makes you want to smack him even more. If not for the lengthy stretch it would take to get past the guard dog that drapes over him in the form of Choi San, you would certainly go through all that trouble just to yank his ear a little. Instead of dealing with that, you push up from where you’ve crammed yourself on the couch and move to step around the furniture — not without kicking at Hongjoong’s foot as you pass just because it’s within reach and San is out of it. That creeping lightness coming from the weed is starting to sink into your bones and make you feel everything a little more intensely. “Remember not to mess up the sheets!”

You don’t turn to see if Hongjoong catches the middle finger you send his way, but you do make for the stairs solely with the excuse that you have to use the bathroom planted at the tip of your tongue if anyone asks. Of course, that comes as a shroud to the real reason you’re headed up there, because you know someone will follow and you expect nothing less from him anyway.

The two of you follow a rather simple formula when it comes to parties like these, which is part of the reason San and Hongjoong both know about what you get up to at these events after having been caught in various corners of the house by both men multiple times. And while you are more than willing and able to mess around with the man without anything in your system, you like fucking Mingi best when you’re a little high and can feel every sensation that much more with him. You linger at the top of the stairs before heading straight for San’s room, pausing on the landing to angle yourself over the railing and peer down the flight of stairs as you wait for your companion’s head to pop up. He comes quicker than you expected him to and with a good deal of determination to his steps that makes him look entirely suspicious on all accounts.

“Everyone is gonna guess what we’re up to with you marching up here like that,” you drawl from your spot at the railing, chin coming to rest on the wood as you speak down at him. Mingi hesitates midway up the stairs, and his chin tilts up to find the source of your voice. Despite the grin playing at your lips, he doesn’t return the humor with even a small laugh.

“Good, then maybe they’ll get the hint,” he snips back.

A sigh escapes you, and you turn your head until your cheek presses into the wood. Leaving one hand to dangle by your side, you bring the other up to stretch over the length of the railing. Mingi walks up the rest of the flight of stairs, rounding the edge of the landing with a hand that skates over yours with a barely-there touch. You hum in the back of your throat. He tilts his head to match yours, and although the angle should be wholly awkward and nothing else, you feel that familiar thrum of arousal boiling deep in your gut when he meets your eyes. The sharpness in his tone doesn’t match the way he looks down at you — you know that much for certain, and you can safely take that as a hint that he’s not nearly as upset with you as he is with Yunho.

“Did you do it on purpose?” he asks nonetheless. He’s fishing for an answer you don’t have, but you can’t deny that there’s some sick part of you that wants to play into it and see how possessive he can get. “To make me jealous?”

“Hm.” You pull yourself back into an upright position a little too quickly, and the rush of blood to your head coupled with the tingling in your nerves makes your vision swim some. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.” Mingi moves back to prop himself against the wall opposite the railing, and you make the pointed (and extremely difficult) decision not to eye the tremors in the muscles of his arms as he tugs them across his chest. As your eyes sweep over his torso to focus on his face once more, you shift to let your back rest against the wall the railing provides and secure your hands behind you on the lip of it. “He offered, and I accepted. Simple as that.”

“Simple, huh?” He makes it hard to not give into a wandering gaze when he’s drumming his fingers along the inked skin of his forearm. “Except he’s supposed to know you’re off-limits.”

“I can’t sleep with other people? Maybe I missed the memo that said we’re exclusive, Min.”

“You can sleep with anyone with you want,” Mingi starts, pulling his head forward a little as his gaze turns fiery, “but my best friend can’t sleep with you. And he knows that. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Then that’s not anyone I want, big boy.”

“If he offered, then he’s the one who presented the opportunity.”

“Maybe he was trying to get you to be a real man.”

“A real man?” Mingi echoes, and now his lips stretch to form a grin that displays his teeth. You dip your chin down with a laugh, hand subconsciously coming up to hover over your face. When you blink back up at your companion, he has his tongue pushed between his lips and teases the corner of his mouth, a gesture you know to read frustration. You smile despite yourself. A glint bounces off his tongue and reflects the ball of metal that sits caught between his teeth. “Didn’t know you could be such a brat, angel, you’re usually so good and pliant when I’m fuckin’ you into the mattress.”

“You could try asking Yunho then, princess, I’m sure he’d love to answer any questions you might have given how mouthy he’s apparently been.” Some part of you realizes that you’re pushing your luck perhaps a little too far, but if Yunho is going to talk himself then you believe yourself to have every right to do the same as long as it benefits you. “Did he tell you how he fucked me? How many marks he left on my body? If you look hard enough, I bet you could find some leftover ones.”

“Look, doll, because I know he called you that thinking it was charming—” Mingi shoves himself off the wall and takes a single step in your direction, but that’s enough to have you pulling yourself straighter and swallowing around nothing. “You can let yourself believe he fucked you nice just ‘cause he’s got a dick nearly as big as mine, but you’re up here with me, looking to get fucked by me, and testing me and my patience so I give it to you better than he could ever hope to. But you can keep playing that game and scamper on downstairs to his lap if you wanna. I’ll wait.”

“You know I won’t do that, Min. Not when you’re offering so sweetly like this. But I appreciate how willing you are to let me have whatever I want.” You drop your head to the side and glance down the flight of stairs that’s at your back. There’s no one there — not that you expected there to be — but this shroud of privacy you have with the man can’t last that long when so many people are in the house right now. You aren’t as high as you’d like to be, not as much as usual, mostly because Mingi is making your thoughts clear up bit by bit with each step he takes in your direction. It’s wholly distracting while also keeping you honed in on every little shift in his muscles, from the twitch of his fingers around the railing as he closes in on you to the twitch hanging about the corner of his mouth. “Should I take you up on your offer the way I did with Yunho?”

“I’m a jealous person, darling. If you’re gonna want me, then you’re gonna have to want me the most.”

You let him minimize the distance between your torsos, feeling his feet stop short of yours as he leans over you with the height advantage he has. That alone is a bit dizzying solely because it lets you get an eyeful of his inked arms all the way up to where those strands of tattoos dip under the baggy fabric of his shirt and where his muscles shine through the most.

“Why don’t you look in the mirror, huh?” You push a pout onto your lips as you speak, brows drawing into a tight knot that’s hardly serious, but it makes Mingi’s harshness falter nonetheless. “Showing yourself off like this, how am I supposed to know you’re not trying to get some other girl to want you?”

He catches your bluff a moment later, unfortunately for you because you had hoped to let the charade linger in the air a little while longer, but it turns favorable when he pushes the point of his nose under your jaw.

“I can want you the most, Mingi,” you continue still. Your voice is airy like you’re already out of breath, accompanied by a sweet sigh that makes Mingi nuzzle into your warm skin even more. “Shall I prove it?”

“I shouldn’t give you what you want so easily,” he murmurs against your neck. One of his large hands sweeps up from the railing to move across your collarbone, skating over the skin and up your throat so he can cup the point of your chin and dig his thumb into your lower lip. Your teeth graze his nail but never fully latch onto the digit as he tugs harder at your chin. “Should tease you the way you teased me, but I can’t do that.”

“Do you have other plans for me then?”

Mingi pulls up from your neck at the question, eyes finding yours without hesitation and digging deep into whatever emotion you’re hiding there.

“Oh angel, I have a whole number of plans for you tonight. It’s just a matter of whether you’ll be able to go that many rounds with me.”

You huff out a laugh, partially out of disbelief, and push your tongue between the parted line of your teeth. Mingi pushes his thumb up against the tip of your tongue then and nudges his way into your mouth with little to no resistance on your part. It’s a heady sensation, letting Mingi take over like that, but it’s made even more delicious with the knowledge that you’re fully in control at the end of the night. Even now, you pull his thumb deeper between your lips to let it rest fully against your tongue, and that’s the only thing keeping you from smirking at him while you do so. When you pull off, it’s with a grossly wet pop that sounds far lewder than it should. Mingi’s neck is tinted pink.

“I should’ve done that downstairs for everyone to see, I’m sure.” As an answer to your quip, Mingi pulls his free hand up to rest against the small of your back. He tugs you away from the blunt edge of the railing, leaving you to throw a hand up between your bodies to keep your head from knocking into his chin immediately.

“I don’t want you putting on a show for anyone but me.”

“Now that’s a red flag if I’ve seen one.”

“You gonna not fuck me because of it?” He seems to know your answer without you needing to say it, and without needing to watch the way your eyes roll to the side as you smile. Still, you offer that much, if only because you know there’s a long list of red flags he could point out in return. Ever the gentleman, he doesn’t.

“I think every good girl wants a bad boy, at least a little. I happen to want you a lot.” He’s giving a marvelous show of restraint from your perspective because you can’t imagine a time when he’s gone this long without claiming your lips, but he forgoes that gesture in favor of pulling you to the opposite wall. Your body hits with a soft thud, barely an impact with his hand blocking most of the pressure he gives by nudging a thigh between your legs.

“That’s only applicable if you’re a good girl.”

“Am I not?” Your lip catches between your teeth as you pose the question, and while you’re fully aware of the answer to it, it still fills you with endless delight to see the way Mingi seethes at your audacity to ask such a thing. His hands come down strong on either side of your head — not threatening, but firmly in a way that sends a thrill of arousal straight to your gut. His thigh tenses where it rests between your legs, making it near impossible to ignore the flexing muscles that press right against your clothed crotch. You’re certain he feels it just as much as you do.

“You most certainly are not, darling.”

“What are you gonna do about it then?” His proximity makes it difficult for you to move at all, but when you start inching along the wall in an attempt to get closer to San’s door, Mingi moves like a man possessed, following your movements with his own. “Nothing drastic I hope…?” You sink your teeth into your lower lip, reaching around the edge of the doorframe to grab at the handle.

“I think you’d like it better if I did, yn.”

Your fingers twitch against the cool metal before closing around it.

“Maybe I wanna just hear if you’ve got any bright ideas in that head of yours. You’re usually quite creative with the way we do things, darling.”

“Nothing’s punishment to you. Not when you enjoy it the way you do.” He takes a step back to regard you with a sharp stare, one that is a little ambiguous in terms of emotion and leaves you wondering what exactly is on his mind as he watches you. Still, you take the chance he provides to slip in front of the door and pop it open, releasing the seal on the room and making the tension in the air spike. It becomes something even more enticing, a thing that’s not fully within reach as you have the out you were after, the metaphorical nail in the coffin to get what you’re after, and you know Mingi sees it as such himself because he drags his tongue over his lower lip and lets his gaze wander down your legs. “Would still love to make you cry on my cock though.”

You pause midway through the doorframe to eye Mingi’s expression once more. There’s a sadistic sort of grin toying at the edges of his lips as he looks back at you, dragging his eyes up from your body to land on your face once more.

“Think you can manage it?”

“I know I always do.”

There’s something dirty in the way he kisses you then, tongue breaching the line of your lips with no resistance on your part, and when his tongue presses hot and heavy against yours, you feel something clench tight in your chest. You like it best this way: when he’s rough, when he doesn’t treat you delicately and instead kisses you like it might literally be the last time he can get his hands on you, and perhaps that's what you missed so desperately with Yunho. Mingi knows your body like the back of his hand and knows how to push all your buttons and toy with your strings. Part of you wonders (and is very self-aware about it) if the reason you don’t let things go any further between the two of you is out of an innate fear that things will change if feelings were truly involved. Maybe if love was part of the equation, he wouldn’t be as willing to have you this way, or maybe you wouldn’t enjoy it as much as you do now.

When he pushes you back into the safe privacy of San’s bedroom, you loop an arm around Mingi’s waist and pull him closer into your little bubble of space. The door falls shut behind him quickly and quietly, probably an effort on his part to maintain this little bit of privacy you have. One of these days you have to hand deliver a bouquet of flowers to San for even allowing you access to his room like this, but also for keeping your little secret just that the way he does.

Those thoughts leave you quickly, however, as Mingi’s large hands start to wander lower and skate over the curve of your ass. You groan into his mouth when he squeezes your flesh in his palms. You take the cue to lift your leg along his. There’s a rush of goosebumps over your skin as his hand moves along the line of your hamstring to hook at your knee, and when he rolls his hips towards yours, there’s much more contact this time. The firm bulge of his erection presses between your legs just enough to tease — it’s not nearly enough pressure to bring you the kind of pleasure you’re searching for. Maybe that frustration leaks into your next movements, into the way you kick your leg back down and bring your hands up to Mingi’s tank to push him off you for a moment. His lips part from yours with nothing more than a thin line of spit to connect the two of you but even that doesn’t last long as you fight to change your positions. Mingi lets it happen with a growing smile tugging at the corners of his lips, barely flinching when his knees hit the edge of the bed and make him collapse to the edge of the mattress.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, baby,” he murmurs as you drop to your knees between his legs. A scoff leaves your lips.

“What’s it look like, big boy?”

He hums, hand coming up to comb over your scalp for less than a second before the soft touch turns to a firmer grip that holds you in place for the time being.

“Gonna let me fuck your pretty mouth, yeah?”

Your fingers twitch against where you’ve just let them rest on his pants. It’s hard to maintain the fight you’ve been showing up until this point simply because of how damn pronounced his cock is through those pants, and how fucking badly you want to feel him against your tongue.

“You can work for it, can’t you?” you counter through gritted teeth instead of giving in right away. Still, your hands move against the waistband of his pants and continue with their path to work them down enough to give you some access to his member within. The fingers in your hair hold tighter as Mingi shifts his hips and lets you slide his pants down to the floor.

“Thinking about my cock between those lips.” He sounds a bit dazed already, which would be a new record for you, but it comes with his hand traveling from the top of your head down to your mouth. It doesn’t take much for him to cup your jaw and press the pads of his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks. He doesn’t pinch your mouth open as he usually would, even when you pull his length out from its confines. You’re just close enough to kiss the tip, lips staying firmly shut as you tilt your head to wrap your kisses around the side of him.

“You’re always thinking about that though.” You pout just a little; it’s hard to do anything else with the control he has over your face right now. Mingi’s eyes move from your face down to where his cock rests against the curve of your lips. His other hand comes up from the mattress to take the place of the one he just had in your hair, and this time when he pinches your cheeks, your lips part just enough to welcome the leaking tip of his dick into your wet heat.

“Then open wide for me and lemme have it.” You ought to be ashamed of how hot and bothered his voice gets you, something so simple yet incredibly enticing on every level, but there’s no denying how the deep timbre of his voice sends heat right between your legs. You take him deeper into your mouth as his hand falls away from your cheeks. The one in your hair remains although it’s moreso there for him to simply touch because he clearly has no intent on doing any work himself. You don’t mind necessarily, taking your hand to wrap around the inches of his cock you can’t quite fit in your mouth without breaching your throat.

His next groan is much louder than the last little sigh of pleasure he let out, and it comes with him tilting his chin to the ceiling and leaning further back. You watch his movements carefully even with your mouth now fully occupied and hard at work. It’s equally intoxicating to watch him succumb to arousal and pleasure, and although the idea of him blindfolding you and just using his voice and hands to get you off is very enticing, you think you would miss seeing his face contort in pleasure the way it does now. You hollow your cheeks along his length as you pull up, barely stopping at the head of his cock before dipping back down to touch where your hand grips him.

Despite the lack of effort to fuck your mouth, you can see how he’s desperately trying to keep himself from doing exactly that. His lashes flutter as he blinks down between his legs to catch a glimpse of your lips stretched into an ‘o’ around his cock.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” You slip further down on his length, cheeks sucking in around him. “On your knees, taking my big cock like that.” A harder, more pointed suck as you dip your thumb down to trace over the sensitive skin of his balls. “Baby.”

His moans turn almost guttural as you continue until you give him a moment’s rest and tug off him to press your nose along the side of his cock now. You paint his skin with little kisses along the way, tracing over the places you’ve already touched with your tongue. It feels a bit like your nerve endings are being set on fire when he takes both hands to your hair and guides your head back to take his cock into your mouth. The first upwards thrust of his hips is gentle enough: testing and prodding at the limits as well as your well-being before he drives deeper into your mouth. Shock overwhelms you merely because of how quickly he flips the switch on you, and if not for the hand you smartly kept in place at the base of his cock, you would surely choke on his member without warning.

“Don’t wanna cum yet, but fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanna cover your pretty face in cum, wanna ruin you.”

All you can do is moan around his dick and hope that it’s an answer enough for him.

“You like it, princess? Want me to make your makeup run—” he thrusts hard enough to nudge into your throat, and your throat constricts around his tip by sheer instinct “—and mark you nicely with my cum?” Tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes already just from the sheer force of his cock hitting the back of your throat, but there’s also this antsy frustration that is building up in your gut from going this long without any relief of your own. You want him to touch you desperately at this point, so much so that you take it upon yourself to retract a hand to settle between your legs and press against the sensitive nub of your clit through your underwear. Even that slight bit of relief feels so heavenly that you whine around Mingi’s cock. Eyes squeezing shut, you let your jaw go slack as he continues to use your face and work your fingers over your clit until the wetness seeps through the fabric of your panties. “You’re so fucking good, yn, letting me use you like this. Look at you getting off on it too. Like getting used that much?”

A breath of pause in his words where he inhales sharply like he’s weighing what he wants to say next. It works to his advantage because his next statement hits you like a ton of bricks, sharp and pointed and spoken with irrevocable confidence that makes your thighs tremble.

“Knew he wasn’t good enough to please you properly.”

Your moans get louder in volume only because he pulls his cock from the wet cavern that is your mouth but you’re still dazed enough to leave your lips hanging open as your fingers move faster against your cunt. Mingi doesn’t knock your hand away from the base of his length but he wraps a hand over himself nonetheless and jerks over the wet path you left on him. The sounds are sinful as can be, wet and messy to match your equally-ruined expression.

“Close your eyes, princess.” You barely have time to do that much before hot ropes of cum are spilling out over your features, painting your face from forehead to chin with no real direction, and Mingi doesn’t stop until he’s milked his cock for all its worth on you. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

His large hands move to your body, lifting you off your knees with a ridiculous amount of ease, and while you don’t want to, you’re forced to stop touching yourself as he nudges you onto the bed without further ado.

“In me, Mingi, I want you inside—”

“Shh, gotta prep you first, baby girl, I ain’t that heartless.” Even with his sweet consideration, you whine like you’ve been eternally denied what you’re after, fists balling up around the comforter as you press your face into it. Mingi lifts your hips high enough to get you to brace yourself on your knees. It makes your skirt swoop forward, assisted of course by Mingi who shoves the material up over your ass without an ounce of hesitation. The new position is hardly inconspicuous in the slightest, and well beyond the realm of suggestiveness to the point where if any one of your friends were to come in unannounced, you would have no chance of defending yourself from their suspicions. You can only hope that San and Hongjoong both remember to deter anyone from trying to use San’s room for its bathroom because you well and truly don’t want to move from this position at all. The mere thought of Mingi having you like this, bent over your form as he drills into your cunt and pins your wrists to the bed is enough to make your core clench around nothing.

“Just—” you interrupt your own train of thought with a whine that breaches your lips without thought, and Mingi is the one to elicit it from you as he drags the blunt ends of his nails over your ass while tugging your underwear down. “Min…”

“I’m not fuckin’ you until you’re in tears, baby.” If that’s his version of punishment then you consider it to be only mildly effective because you’re frustrated and pent-up enough at this point to where you might just cry for the hell of it to soften him up a bit. But then his fingers come to brush through the line of your folds, skating over the wetness that’s pooled there, and without warning, he pushes two fingers into your fluttering hole. The haste with which he does so has you releasing a noise so embarrassing that you push your cheek further into the sheets in an (ineffective) attempt to hide yourself from Mingi’s prying eyes. “Gotta see you to know when that is, yn.”

You get an eyeful of his half-grin and the sharp curve of his lips, and that’s unfortunately enough for you to tilt your head so that he can see your face a bit better.

“There’s my pretty girl.” The praise goes straight between your legs, making you clench blindly around the fingers Mingi has pumping in and out of your cunt. He curls them at the second knuckle at the same time and prods deeper inside you until he pushes up against the spot that really makes your head spin and vision go blurry. He pays such close attention to that spot that you hardly notice it when he slips a third digit into you. The sole infuriating nuance to his actions is how he doesn’t quite hit your g-spot the way you want him to: not with force or direct pressure. He merely teases the flesh around it, nudging closer and closer to it without quite giving you the satisfaction you want from it. Yet each time you open your mouth to complain about the treatment, he deliberately presses into it with one finger as though to tell you ‘see I’m giving you what you want, you can’t complain‘.

You have to keep your fists balled around the comforter to quell the shaking in your fingers, but your whole body is trembling at this point with how many times Mingi has brought you right to the precipice of a mindblowing orgasm only to steal that heat away and focus on stretching your walls around his fingers.

“H-Haven’t you — Min… come on!”

“Hm? What is it you want, baby girl? I can’t read your mind.”

“Insufferable, you’re so annoying, I can’t stand you, you’re so — ugh!” Perhaps it’s his antics that pluck at your nerves like they’re nothing more than strings for him to play with, but the unending routine of getting closer and closer to your satisfaction without truly getting it reaches its peak as you sob against the mattress and finally let tears fall.

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you, yn.” You don’t bother looking back at Mingi’s face when he pulls his fingers out of your cunt, but you are vaguely aware of his other hand coming up to brush over the tears on your cheeks. That only lasts a second before his hand comes down to rest over where yours still clenches the bedsheets so tight that your knuckles bleed white. Another sob tumbles out of you as you feel the blunt tip of his cock pushing up against your slit, and your whole body trembles under Mingi’s weight right after. He sinks his length into you slowly, letting it fill you and stretch you as he pushes inch after inch into you. “Let go of the bed, baby, I’ve got you.” You do as told without complaint or resistance this time. Mingi draws your wrists up higher along the bed until they’re both perched closer to the pillows, then he settles his hips fully against your backside, draping his form over yours.

“F-Fuck me, please, stop — stop making me wait,” you say barely louder than a whisper because your throat already feels scratchy and overused.

“Of course, pretty angel, anything for you.”

The first real drive of his cock into you is maddening at best, a sweet slide of pressure and relief that makes you cry out louder than before, and he continues to build up a steady pace that fills the air with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. You aren’t at all surprised that he’s already hard a second time; he usually pushes you to the limit with how many rounds he likes to go. Equally unsurprising is the way his thrusts quickly lose their rhythm and turn into sharp, punctuated thrusts that threaten to knock your hips all the way down to the bed. He’s muttering quite a bit in your ear — things you aren’t wholly processing because you finally get to chase that sweet pleasure you’ve been denied all this time. You aren’t aware of how noisy you’re being either until Mingi brings a hand down to tilt your mouth closer to the sheets to shush you some. You take it in stride, for whatever that’s worth, and simply clench tighter around his dick as he seeks the angle that will make you see stars.

A white-hot pleasure sears through your system with enough force to make your back curl and have you writhing under Mingi’s weight.

“Got it,” he murmurs behind you, sounding insufferably proud of himself, but you don’t have it in you to chastise him for it. What you do do, however, is free one of your hands to throw it behind you, grabbing for his hip and trying to encourage him to keep at it for your sake. He catches your wrist between his fingers before you have the chance though, and rather than pushing it back to the bed, he simply pins your arm behind your back and uses you as leverage to fuck up against that spot along your walls over and over again.

And in your defense, you don’t usually cum so quickly but he’s been teasing you and riling you up for so long at this point that you don’t find yourself embarrassed in the slightest when your walls start to pulse around his length. The euphoric pleasure is certainly worth it too, the release you were after finally sending shockwaves through your system until your toes curl and your neck hurts from the angle you’ve got it tilted at. Mingi keeps at his pace, only slowed a hair by your cunt squeezing tight around his cock, and he shows no signs of being close behind you until you’re back to sobbing into the mattress. Your core can’t keep pace with the drives of his cock, clenching and fluttering at odd intervals while Mingi chases a second high to pump into you.

“Gonna cum, baby.”

“In — inside, don’t you dare pull out.” Spoken through gritted teeth, you sound a little angry but also choked because of the tears that are still leaking out of your eyes and onto the bed. You aren’t sure if your tone is what pushes him over the edge, but you do catch the glint in his eyes as you inadvertently glare over your shoulder at him, and your only thought is that it’s simply another exciting facet to explore with him later.

His orgasm finally comes, to your relief because it means your cunt finally gets to break from his ruthless pace and the obscene stretch around his length, and it comes with a string of colorful expletives that are spoken through broken groans. You echo his groan albeit very much so not in the same kind of pleasure he’s experiencing as his weight fully collapses on top of you and nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.

“You’re so—”

“Go again?”

“No. For once you oaf, no,” you whine from under him, twisting your body as best you can like it’ll help your case. Mingi has enough energy to laugh, a full and throaty noise that always makes your heart somersault, then he’s peeling his body off yours to let you breathe easy again.

“Was I too rough?”

“Nooo, no, you were so good, Min.” His hands are already wandering to turn you over onto your back. “So fucking good, if I had the energy, I’d want you to do that several more times.”

“Yeah? That so?” He’s laughing again, either at your drawling tone or at the way you curl your arms and legs around his body to get him to lift you off the bed.

“You got cum in my hair…”

“I’ll wash it out for you.”

Showering is a feat in and of itself that you’re almost too tired to accomplish on your own, so when Mingi slips in behind you midway through and finishes washing your skin down, you’re more than a little grateful for the help. Not enough to get on your knees on that tiled floor, but grateful still.

And as is routine at this point, the two of you stumble back to San’s bed in a dark room, tangling yourselves in the sheets together like a perfectly mismatched puzzle.

“When you said maybe Yunho was trying to get me to be a real man… what did you mean by that?”

“Don’t push it, Min.” You can feel the man shifting at your back but the arm resting under your head doesn’t move, and he continues with the soft circles that he’s massaging into your skin with that hand. “We really did fuck though. It’s not some practical joke or just me trying to get under your skin. We fucked, and I liked it, but I didn’t like it the way I like it with you so I don’t think I wanna sleep with him again.”

“He remembered protection, right?”

“Yes, Min, of course he did. And if he hadn’t, I would have.”

Mingi huffs through his nose, a little indignant and very much dramatic, yet he seems to settle down just fine in the following seconds. Warm blooms over your head, a telltale sign of how close his face is to the crown of your head, and he twists his whole body to curl further around yours.

“Let’s keep at it then.”

Internally, you laugh a little solely because of how nonchalant Mingi makes it sound when the subject matter isn’t something as simple as that. Belatedly, you’re struck with a certain realization that makes your blood run cold and has you jerking in Mingi’s hold to look at the side of his face.

“What?”

“San said not to get cum on the sheets and you shoved my whole face in them!”

"It was just the comforter..."

"Just the comforter?!"

#mingi smut #ateez smut #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #ateez fic #caly.writes

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 49.5

➻ characters: mingi, hongjoong, seonghwa, san, minho, yunho ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst ➻ word count: 11.4k ➻ rating: m/18+ ➻ chapter specific warnings: talks of addiction & death ➻ pre a/n: as always, interims are completely optional and made in a way to where you won’t miss out on significant plot if you choose not to read! however, i highly recommend that you read them to better understand the full context of the story ^-^

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

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very important pre-chapter note: at the end of mingi’s pov there is a break. at this point, the story is not happening in chronological order. everything that occurs after that break happens prior to recovering mc/minho from rathmos. then it switches back to after recovering them from rathmos. i think i made it very clear in the narrative but i wanna cover all my bases too so please note that happy reading ^-^

──────────── act seven ➻ part 1.5

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It’s as the soft wrap over his knuckles sinks into the flesh of the punching bag before him that the door slides open and brings a visitor into the training room with Mingi. It does nothing to stop the pace of his swings, nor does it deter him from his course of action — that being to beat the shit out of an inanimate object, that is — but it does serve to make his senses hone in on the body that just stepped into the room.

Alone.

Laying his hand flat against the bag, Mingi steadies the weight of it before it swings back to him wildly and turns to face the newcomer head-on.

“Do you truly wish to be here, Doctor?” he asks before he even gets a good look at the person. He doesn’t need his eyes to know who it is anyway; the aura of the man is foreign and unnatural to him so there’s no one else it could be besides the new doctor.

“I was in search of the captain, but this’ll do just fine.” His voice lilts a bit, but the sound is grating on Mingi’s ears. “We have not spoken yet. How do you feel about my joining the crew?”

“You’re not Yunho.”

“No, I’m not.” His expression seems to twist in a way that implies he wants Mingi to believe he’s being tentative and careful about this conversation, but the tone of his voice is so directly opposite that that the Berserker sees straight through the ruse. “Is that an issue to you?”

He wants to pick apart your brain.

“You’re not Yunho,” Mingi repeats with more force to each word, “so you don’t know what questions to ask.”

He wants to cause trouble.

“Does that make you feel uncomfortable in my presence?”

Minho, he thinks his name was when Jongho mentioned bringing him onboard and showing him around. He isn’t all too interested in learning the man’s name or anything personal about him, however, when it’s so highly unlikely that he will be around for long.

“I don’t feel things the way you do, nor do I process tonal or visual implications the way you do.” Mingi is at the very least careful in the way he lets the doctor know that he’s not as sneaky as he hopes to be. “That’s your first mistake.”

“First?” There’s a level of amusement to the way Minho speaks, and it grates against Mingi’s mood terribly.

Plaything. Fool. Blood.

“Your second was entering this room alone.”

Blood, blood, blood.

The doctor licks his lips, eyes flitting to the panel beside the door that will let him out quickly, and Mingi feels the first delicious hit of fear radiate off the man a split second later.

“But I won’t hurt you.”

You could. You could kill him so easily. Wrap your fingers around his neck and feel the tendons snap under your weight, feel the bones shift under your fingertips. Think about the blood that would spill if you split him open.

“How gracious of you. I suppose I should thank you for your kindness and mercy?”

“I want to kill you. You’d best keep from acting facetious in my presence because that only makes me want to snap your neck. It wouldn’t be too difficult. I’m certainly stronger than you so I can align your neck to whatever angle I want without issue and violently twist your head so quickly that your neck snaps and crushes your windpipe. It wouldn’t be instant or painless, you’d probably feel quite a bit of pain in that scenario. You wouldn’t be able to breathe at all though, and given how much pain you would be suffering, you would very desperately want to breathe. It would take minutes for you to die, and I would feel none too torn up over it. All that to say, I do not want you as my doctor. I will remain with Yunho.”

“I understand that changing something on such a personal and sometimes intimate level can be daunting. Not everyone is open or willing to change such monumental things. However, as a doctor seeking the best interest of those around him above all else, it is my personal recommendation that you give my services a try. Your personal relationship with Yunho outside of him being your doctor is cause for concern, not because it’s wrong but because it puts a conflict of interest on Yunho’s shoulders.” Minho finds some confidence again as he speaks, and now that the veil has fallen, there is far more honesty to both his tone and expression. It matches exactly what Mingi feels rolling off of him in waves now, every facet matching and in harmony with fear ebbing away by the second.

It makes the voices quieter and quieter, too, until it’s easier to ignore them and push them down.

“If you are honest with me on all fronts, then that’s best for your safety too,” he relays to the doctor quickly. Sharp, cat-like eyes hone in on Mingi’s face. His gaze is similar to San’s in that regard, though San’s holds far more darkness and many more secrets. “Trying to deceive me will only put you in danger.”

“Ah. I think I understand then. My tone, my expression, my emotions — if all three are in line, then… that makes things easier for you?” Mingi nearly laughs out loud for no discernible reason other than sheer disbelief. It took this man all of a minute to understand what took Yunho several years to dissect, with little more than vague threats to guide him to the right answer. “Is that why you do so well in the presence of children?”

Mingi hums his approval, settling with the fact that he likely won’t be returning to the punching bag again today. As he begins to strip the soft wraps off his hands and arms, he takes a step in the doctor’s direction.

“Children have a much harder time lying than adults do. They don’t understand how to deceive or manipulate others’ thoughts and feelings as well either. If they do lie, their tone and expression both match what they’re feeling inside, which would be the conscious knowledge that they’re lying. It all matches. But an adult, an adult can do what you just did upon walking into this room. Feel overwhelming confidence in what they’re about to do, express with their face and gestures that they’re timid instead, and speak in a tone that implies cautiousness and lack of knowledge. You’ve already my file. You know a great deal about me. You did not need to ask my feelings about you joining this crew or my comfort level around you. You already knew, and I felt that.”

“Incredible,” Minho mutters to himself, and the wonder shines through in his gaze too. “Your file did fail to mention the astounding levels of intelligence you possess, although I sense that you do not weaponize it often in front of others unless it’s to warn the way you just did to me.”

“You would be correct.” He sidesteps the doctor to dispose of the leftover wrap in the waste bin near the wall. The man is still a bit in the way, almost blocking the door but not enough for Mingi to be unable to leave, and even as Mingi puts his palm on the touchpad, Minho steps further out of his path. Not out of fear, Mingi notes, but rather some minute level of consideration.

“How truly fortuitous it is that you live amongst such liars and deceivers then.”

The whoosh of the door opening fills his ears with white noise, and it’s joined by a clamor in his brain that spreads distance cheers and clanging metal.

“I expect we will speak again in the future, Doctor. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“The same to you, Mingi. Take care.”

“Oh, and for future reference, you’ll never find the captain down in here.”

“So it seems.” The lilt pushes its way back into Minho’s tone, but the door is already sliding back shut and putting a wall between them. Nails bite into Mingi’s palm as he curls them into a tight fist and refrains from slinging a punch at the wall. Of course he was never after Hongjoong; the man has enough sense to realize that that would have been the last place to look, and yet Mingi fell for that excuse hook, line, and sinker. He almost wants to call the doctor a genius simply on account of how well he pulled Mingi like putty in his hands.

“Everyone in life is after something, Mingi. They will all seek to use you, to lie to you, to deceive you. But I will you the power to fight back. My son, I will give you the power to kill. To fight. To win.”

“How amusing,” he mutters to himself. He won’t lay hands on the doctor as of yet — wouldn’t dare do so without permission from the captain — but should the time come, he imagines it wouldn’t be too difficult a task to snap his neck. A gun to the back of the head would cause too much of a mess, of course, and Spectre would likely not be pleased with having to clean up after him when he could be spending said time with his lover. A knife in the ribs would work too, perhaps, if he wants something more drawn out. The man is a doctor at the end of the day, however, so it would be best to end his life quickly so as to avoid the possibility of him trying to help himself.

Mingi winds up standing at his captain’s door shortly after, and he doesn’t bother knocking at the metal before making his way into the room. The lights are dimmed but not enough to keep the captain from view. It’s hardly a glorious sight either: slumped over his desk with papers strewn about as usual, but also accompanied by an open bottle of liquor near his left hand. There’s no glass in sight, but Mingi finds one soon enough as he pushes closer to the scene. Seemingly, it had rolled off the desk or out of Hongjoong’s hand at some point to find a new home on the carpet in front of the desk. It’s still in one piece, at the very least, though it lays atop a dark splotch on the carpet that makes the room reek of alcohol. Though he could wake Hongjoong now with no trouble, he opts not to for the time being. It’s easier to leave him asleep, easier to see him sleeping and not feel the full weight of everything the captain feels like the worst crashes of a tidal wave against him. So silently, Mingi collects the cork and presses it into the bottle, then picks up the glass tumbler that fell to the ground to add it to the mess on the desk.

“Lieutenant to Captain’s quarters.” The words are quiet enough to not disturb Hongjoong from his spot at the desk. Dragging the lieutenant into this mess isn’t ideal either but Mingi knows his limits. He isn’t suited to look after the captain while he’s in this state, not in the slightest, and he would rather not risk making matters worse by trying. Content to stay until Seonghwa arrives, Mingi drops into one of the armchairs set across from Hongjoong’s desk.

“I’m entirely sober, you know.”

Mingi laughs through his nose.

“You’ve gotten better at playing dead.”

“You didn’t have to call Seonghwa up.” Despite insisting upon his sober state, Hongjoong still seems to struggle quite a bit in peeling himself off the desk. Even when he does get himself somewhat upright, he relies on resting his head against the heel of his hand to keep from falling right back down. “I was just looking through leads and fell asleep.”

“And did you find anything new?”

Hongjoong opens his mouth then closes it just as quickly, gaze turning to the side before he mutters out a half-hearted response, “Let’s wait for Seonghwa to arrive.”

The following knocks on the door are so passionate that it makes Hongjoong sit up straighter if not in shock then perhaps in mild fear because of how enraged the person behind said knocks seems.

“A minute and thirteen seconds,” Mingi quips just before the door opens.

“Are you fucking wasted again, Kim Hongjoong?!”

“He’s gotten quicker,” Hongjoong retorts to the Berserker across from him before moving his focus to the back of the room. “Would you like to come sit, Seonghwa?”

“You… are not drunk.” The tension in the room deflates like air being let out of a balloon, making the pressure on Mingi’s shoulders pull away into something more manageable.

“It’s barely nighttime, of course I’m not.”

The spike in frustration behind Mingi tells him that Seonghwa wishes to say much more in response to that but he holds his tongue instead. Likely out of consideration for none other than the Berserker, and he feels that in full when Seonghwa squeezes Mingi’s shoulder on his way to the other empty chair across from Hongjoong.

“Any idea where San’s at?” The captain’s focus remains honed on his lieutenant like a magnet being pulled in one direction. The question, however, has Seonghwa huffing air through his teeth and leaning further back in his seat.

“Probably fucking—occupied, if I had to guess. It’s late, after all.”

Hongjoong barely reacts to the comments as he busies himself with cleaning a fraction of the mess across his desk. “And? Call him up so he can get back to fucking Miss Occupied quickly.” Seonghwa scoffs. Mingi eyes each paper lifted carefully — each one bearing similar red streaks and scribbled words in ink around words and pictures but that’s the only constant amongst the papers.

“San to Captain’s quarters,” Seonghwa says against his wristband, eyes not leaving his captain even though the favor is not returned.

“Here—” Hongjoong finds a book hidden beneath the rubble of paper and leans across the desk to hand it to Seonghwa. When the lieutenant doesn’t react fast enough, Mingi meets them halfway and takes the book from his captain’s hand to pass it off to his lieutenant in a fluid motion. “Read over that when you get the chance. There are some interesting notes on Fortuna and what’s contained in it. Might be good to have some clue about what we’re looking for when the time comes.”

Some part of Seonghwa reaches out to Mingi and it stabs Mingi right in the chest like a knife. Firm and sharp and like a small needle digging into his heart. But Seonghwa’s face reads no clear emotion, and Mingi hasn't felt such a thing before, so he's lost in a vast sea of unknowns. He isn’t left time to debate it internally either, since San makes a loud and hasty arrival seconds later. Something to ask Yunho about later, he notes to himself.

“Sorry for being late,” the Spectre exhales, and based on his breathing and the amount of time it took him to arrive, he ran to the bridge thinking it to be an emergency. He comes to stand between the chairs where Mingi and Seonghwa sit, one hand coming to rest on the back of each one as he leans towards the captain’s desk. Though the gesture seems casual enough, Mingi can see the quick scan of San’s eyes across the papers and the man behind the desk himself. “Did something happen?”

Hongjoong turns a larger slab of paper — a map of what appears to be the Vida system — towards them with a red pen in hand. He brings it down to circle one of the planets.

“Gorgon. That’s our next stop.”

Silence answers the man for several dragging seconds before San offers a response.

“…Gorgon.”

“There has been talk recently of a witch there,” Hongjoong continues. He pulls back briefly, shuffling through one of his drawers before returning with a tablet. After a few taps, he has another map displayed, though this one is far more detailed and intricate than a simple galactic orientation map. “Sehteno is the most common name brought up regarding the rumors. Small city, rather out of the way compared to other more populated ones. The witch supposedly lives down in the gorge beneath the city, and there’s no direct way to get to her unless it’s through under-the-table dealings. Those won’t be an issue at all. Military is lax in the area and not connected to the Aurum military network, so it will be a sufficient enough place to lay low for a time. Have the crew rest and recuperate on land.”

“What kind of witch are we talking about?” San inquires next. Though Hongjoong opens his mouth to respond, the answer comes from the man on San’s left instead.

“One that is rumored to communicate with the dead. Emphasis on rumored. We’ve looked into her in the past but nothing was concrete enough to warrant a search.” It isn’t as glaringly apparent, but Seonghwa’s tone holds some confusion too, indirect questions for Hongjoong to answer seconds later.

“I have a planet and the name of a city now. That ought to make things easier. A city is better than a planet, and a planet is better than a system. We have all those things and more. Black market dealings are nothing if not a specialty of ours.” The captain’s gaze shifts to the right to settle on Mingi. “I know I’ve asked you this before, but are you certain… you truly want to relive the past in this manner?”

“Is that what this is about?” His heart jumps a bit in his chest, a sudden burst of excitement that he isn’t used to, but this has been a mere pipedream for him for so long now that he never imagined it coming to fruition. “Is she capable of such things?” A true chance laid out before him now, one to settle the score and face the voices head-on. His fingers curl into his palms to curb the trembling anticipation now rushing through his body.

“I have high hopes that the rumors are true, but we do need to be prepared for the possibility of it not working out,” Hongjoong says under his breath.

“There’s always medication,” the lieutenant adds half a second later, keeping the quiet from lingering to any degree, “like those that Jongho takes.” But Mingi denies it with a shake of his head before the man can even finish speaking.

“Those are to dull the effects of what he feels a residual from his ability. There’s no medicine to quiet the voices.”

Hongjoong looks him in the eye, and Mingi stares back.

In that moment, he feels heat on the back of his neck, like that of the sun shining down on him, and there’s a heat clinging to his skin that makes him itch and burn. How long ago was it that they faced each other in a similar manner to this one? When the arena was very real and very present all around them both, when they stood face to face on the bloodstained sands and Hongjoong called for him to survive.

Kill, kill, kill!

Bring us his head, crush his bones, rip his throat out.

Past Hongjoong’s shoulder, residing as a phantom in the shadows, stands a man hunched over so far that he is at eye level with Mingi in the same way Hongjoong is. Dark brown hair greying to the point of obscurity, beady black eyes that reflect scenes of blood and corpses. It’s been so many years since Mingi set his hands around that man’s throat and forced the life out of him. The last witness to his crime of patricide is none other than the Healer, yet even after all these years, not once have they addressed it. He imagined coming to terms with such a loss was clean cut — finished as soon as it started and wiped clean once Mingi buried that body six feet in the ground behind Yunho’s clinic. His father is the last ghost trailing behind him, however, always moving with him and lingering in places where Mingi wants nothing more than to be alone. He’s settled whatever ghosts were left in that arena, and they’ve been quiet for some time now. All that remains is one bloody thumb pointed toward the ground and the raucous crowd that answers the call.

“Captain…”

“She is rumored to be capable of a lot of things if nothing else. I will see to it that she can do something for you.” His captain’s voice sounds muffled, like Hongjoong is speaking through a tank of water and Mingi’s ears are filled to the brim with liquid. Red seeps into the corners of his vision, then his eyes sting.

“I want them silenced for good,” he says through the metallic scent that brushes against his nose now. His mouth moves but nothing comes out. Hongjoong drops his gaze to the desk, and San’s hand moves from the chair to grasp Mingi’s shoulder.

“I’m not sure if that’s something she can do but we will do everything in our power to try. If nothing else, we can try.” His captain sounds certain and confident in ways that Mingi isn’t. “She may have information on where or how to find more Sirens too. The dead sometimes leave a trail that spreads far beyond that of the living.”

Hongjoong continues to speak, focus now redirected and shifted over to his lieutenant, but San is urging Mingi to his feet and ushering him around the chair. He barely has the right of mind to process what is going on, but the Spectre’s touch is so soft and gentle, something barely there in a feather-like sense, and it feels good on Mingi’s burning skin. He squeezes Mingi’s bicep as they reach the door. His palm spreads across Mingi’s shoulder blades when San turns and dismisses himself from the captain’s quarters.

The Berserker isn’t sure where he is or where they’re going, but San remains firmly by his side as they walk through long corridors and empty hallways. He blinks, and he’s returned to his room, sitting on the foot of his bed in a trance and a daze. The bathroom light is on. San emerges, cradled by the fluorescent light. He passes a damp rag into Mingi’s hands, then brings both of his up to cradle Mingi’s face.

“We will find a way to help you, Min,” the Spectre whispers. Mingi is confused as his face is brought against San’s chest, an awkward cradle meant to comfort him, though Mingi still isn’t wholly sure why he needs to be comforted, to begin with.

When San leaves and the door shuts to finally seal him away in solitude, Mingi looks down at the rag laid across his palms. Beneath it, four crescents dug deep into the skin and stained red with blood on each hand. The trail of crimson drips to the floor.

In the corner of the room, that phantom figure makes itself known again.

────────────

“We’re nearing Sombre, Captain.” Hongjoong glances up from his desk to find his lead strategist standing in the doorway, prim and proper as ever with hands folded behind his back in a way that makes his chest puff out. “You’ll be needed at the helm in roughly ten minutes.”

“Understood. Dismissed, Yeosang.” The room falls so quiet that Hongjoong nearly forgets that he is not alone; it’s only the slight stirring from the chair dragged up against the wood of his desk that clues him into the present again.

“I presume your decision is made then?” Seonghwa’s voice grates on his ears with a sharpness that Hongjoong is quickly growing used to from the man. He clenches his fingers hard around the pen in his hand.

“No.”

A sigh pushes past Seonghwa’s lips. The noise would humor Hongjoong if not for how irritated he is because Seonghwa sounds like he’s having to deal with a petulant child and the rather immature parts of the captain wish to cause some sort of distress in his right-hand man.

“We have one Siren. One, if she is not present on this crew. Please do not tell me you are so bothered by a woman that you would set our goals back so far.”

“We need Sirens,” Hongjoong prepares his counterargument internally as he speaks, and Seonghwa preemptively shakes his head. “And we need useful Sirens. What does she have to offer us beyond her status as a Siren? Good with a gun? A fair shot? Hot-headed, brash, arrogant, disobedient, messy, and walking cesspool of volatility, authority issues, and a savior complex. Did I cover all the bases?”

“If we didn’t so actively attempt to deceive and manipulate her, then perhaps—”

“Perhaps she would already be long gone! San alone was not enough to keep her on this crew and you know it!” Hongjoong jabs a finger at the man, pointed and accusatory in every manner. “You were the one to suggest your first tryst in bed with her, you wanted to offer that to her so that she would more readily stay, and more importantly trust you. I’m not at all surprised that you fell for her after fucking her once, and I warned you before you went through with it that your heart would hurt you in the long run.”

Seonghwa’s jaw snaps shut, making the scowl across his face appear all the more putrid.

“I knew you needed her!” In a shocking twist, their roles seem to flip — now Seonghwa’s tone carries a particular whine to it, the kind he uses when he begins to feel the weight of guilt bearing down on his shoulders. Hongjoong debates leaving him to be crushed under it. It’s a thought that has crossed his mind time and time again, each time they found themselves in similar places in the past, but as always, he comes up short of carrying through with it. His duty, his purpose, and the whole reason he keeps pushing forward with this self-assigned task lie within Seonghwa and everything he encompasses. The first lamb brought to slaughter saved by the very hand that sought to kill him.

Reaching across the desk to plant his palm down on the wood near where Seonghwa sits, Hongjoong fights to meet the man’s gaze.

“I am not going to give her what she wants, Seonghwa. You know what happens when I go get her? She will say that she was right, that I need her, that I can’t complete my mission without her.”

“Heaven forbid you actually do, Hongjoong!” Seonghwa gets like this when he’s denied what he wants, and perhaps that fault lies on Hongjoong’s shoulders for always being so accommodating to him and rarely ever denying him those wants in their years together. He’s spoiled the Siren more than he deserves, surely.

“I need Sirens, not Y/n. I need what she is and nothing else.”

“Then lie to her. Tell her it’s for me, for San, for the sake of the crew — lie like you always do, Hongjoong. You’re damn good at it!”

The captain hisses through his teeth. The flare of anger in his gut is too hot to ignore, and his hand snaps up from its position to clasp around Seonghwa’s face. His fingers bite into the soft flesh of his cheeks, palm smothering soft pink lips and pinching them with the brutish metal of his rings. Seonghwa’s eyes are wide and round, carrying far more innocence than is truly accurate to what Hongjoong knows the man to be.

“I am very much of the mind to let her lie in the grave she dug for herself, Seonghwa. What is it we say whenever one of the crew makes a stupid decision on their own? We’ve long since agreed to let them deal with the consequences on their own.”

“Only if it isn’t a matter of life or death! That man will kill her the first chance he gets, the second he’s done with her, the moment whatever purpose she’s fulfilling for him runs dry! But I suppose it’s not any different than how we’re forcing her to live here, seeing as you’re so ready to throw her away the first chance you get.”

“You keep her close because it better keeps her in line. Do not let guilt in now, not at this point after all the trouble we’ve gone through to keep her right where she is! You have been twisting her arm this long. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you have done nothing to properly teach her how to use her Siren abilities. Are you insecure all of a sudden, dear? Think you’ll be replaced? Do you need to be the only Siren useful to me now? How selfish.”

Seonghwa wrenches himself free of Hongjoong’s grasp but it leaves a pretty red swell to the corner of his lips where Hongjoong’s ring caught on skin. The captain wishes to ruin him more, to see the scowl settle in and make his cheeks blot red with fury.

“Captain?” This time, it isn’t Yeosang who interrupts but rather San. Still bound to that cursed wheelchair, Hongjoong can’t look at him straight quite yet. The memory of just how close that bullet came to paralyzing him springs to the forefront of his mind each time he sets his sights on the man. Three seconds too slow, three seconds of horrible planning, three seconds of absolute failure in his position as their leader. Him, the one who is supposed to guide them safely and protect them from harm. One quick glance at the sorry state of his crew as of late makes him laugh at his own reflection. The perfect picture of failure he is.

“Can you fly the ship?” Hongjoong inquires of the man. San surely came in to ask something else seeing as no one called him to the captain’s quarters, but Hongjoong pays that no mind for now.

“I mean — yeah, I think I can?”

“Then…?” Seonghwa is pushing his luck to the limits today. Maybe Hongjoong is feeling some kind of graciousness for once because one glance at San makes the decision right then and there for him.

“If you want to get to Rathmos to save her, you can go fly the damn ship yourself. Get Yunho to help if you have to, but I will not be doing so myself.”

“Hongjoong, this is truly pathetic, are you serious right now?” Of course Seonghwa would take the order at face value with no care for the nuances behind it or what Hongjoong is truly offering for San. When she left, San was incapable of protecting her to any degree because of his injury, and while Hongjoong isn't keen on it, he does know how desperately San adores and loves that woman — as pathetic of a notion as that is in his eyes.

“Is it not you who is being cruel right now? Let him have this, Hwa, he needs this. He can tell her he was the one to convince me and that he was the one to fly us to her rescue even in his current physical state.”

“All because you can’t admit needing someone to be part of your crew?”

“As long as she knows how valuable she is, she will use that to her advantage to act out of line and against me, just as she has been since she got comfortable on the crew. The second she got comfortable, those feelings of gratitude that she held turned in an instant. If I am to break her of that nasty little habit, then she needs to think she is completely and utterly useless in my eyes.”

“No more. Please, Hongjoong. Don’t make me do anything more,” San whispers, eyes stuck to his lap. Seonghwa exhales a quiet sigh and turns his face away. “I-I will do anything you ask of me. You know that. I’ve always done that, but I just…”

The captain finds himself at a loss for words. His most loyal dog reduced to this level of disarray because of one woman? Incredulous.

“Your hand in things is finished,” he says in return, watching the way San’s expression lifts to something akin to relief in the blink of an eye. All that hope placed in the palm of Hongjoong’s hand — it’s intoxicating to see how heavily these men rely on his word. If he desired, he could snuff out that hope for good. “Go fly the ship. I said no more than a week, we need to pick up the pace if we’re to stay on schedule.”

“Thank you,” San says under his breath. He sees himself out quickly after, wheeling himself to the door and slipping out onto the bridge to leave Seonghwa and Hongjoong alone in the room together. Still, it takes quite some time for either of them to speak, and even when Hongjoong does decide to break the silence, the air feels thick with tension.

“I want you to tell her that San has had a greater hand in things than anyone realizes. If she knows how closely he truly works with us both, it will plant the seeds of doubt.”

Seonghwa licks over the front of his teeth.

“Could you consider letting San have this one thing?”

“This one thing?” The rage he felt earlier comes bubbling up again and threatens to spill over the edges. “He can have her as freely as he wishes once we’ve broken her down into obedience.”

“So you’re lying to him now too then? His hand in things isn’t finished — you’re using what he did against him.”

“And what did he do, pray tell?”

Seonghwa is silent.

“I have not asked him to do anything cruel or unusual. I know San. He will do everything in his power to keep her close to him, and it will work. So I have zero concerns about the relationship between them failing. I did not lie. He has nothing more to do for me in regard to her destruction. Anything that happens next will be of his own volition.”

“Are you gonna turn her into the last one, is that it? Because he still has blood on his hands from that incident, don’t think I’ve fucking forgotten. I didn't ask him to try to kill the last one even though Jin was plotting a fucking mutiny against us! The only reason he got away with his bullshit is because you called San off before he could take care of the fucking problem.”

“You'd like it though, wouldn’t you?” Hongjoong tilts his chin upwards a hair to stare down the bridge of his nose in Seonghwa’s direction. “Love being the only one of value to me, the only one special to me, I bet you would kill her in her sleep if I told you enough pretty words.”

“Don’t. Don’t do it.”

“Anyway, if that becomes an inescapable need, I won't have him do it. I'll do it myself if I have to. Speak again when you’ve come back to your senses.” Seonghwa turns docile without much effort on his part but seeing him slump back in the chair in such a childlike manner makes the gears in his brain turn a little bit faster. He leans forward, moving his elbow up to the table in the same motion, and rests the side of his face against his knuckles. “Do you propose another idea, Seonghwa?”

Wordlessly, the man blinks at the side of Hongjoong’s desk several times before deigning to look the man behind it in the eye.

“You’re becoming obsessed again, to the point of derangement. You’ve been spiraling bit by bit for a while now, but San’s… the mission to retrieve San and the subsequent visit to my mother were like simultaneous breaking points. I need Y/n here, on this crew, on this ship, to prevent what happened when Jin left from happening again. I am still your lieutenant, Hongjoong, and I am still on your side as always. Please, trust that I will not allow her to have any thoughts of mutiny, and should those thoughts arise, I will take whatever steps necessary to squash them.”

The captain grins.

“It’s an honor to have you, Lieutenant Park.”

“And you, Captain.”

────────────

He hasn’t been down this far in the depths of the ship in some time. It’s rare for the captain to go further than the mess hall, though he does so today. It makes his mind wander back to times when the crew was far different and not full of the faces he’s grown used to seeing in the past few years, times when he (according to some) was a better captain to his crew. As time went on, so did the need for him to wander from door to door asking things of those who pledged their loyalty to him. He walks with purpose now to one door in particular that has not been used for months on end. It opens before he can even bring his knuckles up to the metal.

“Captain. I thought I heard your brooding coming down the hall.”

“Two days and you’ve made yourself at home already, I take it?”

The doctor, with his fading lilac hair and upturned lips, gives a few sideways nods.

“Something like that. Come in?”

Hongjoong hasn’t made himself accustomed to the interior designs of his crew either, though Minho’s room still holds memorabilia from people long passed that he does recognize. From the knick-knacks on the shelves to the cheap carpet sitting at the foot of the dresser, even the table and set of chairs placed near the wall are old relics of past memories Hongjoong can never let go of. The lines of scars at his hip seem to sting from the shot of nostalgia placed before his eyes. The chessboard laid out on the table is new, though; the doctor must have pulled that out of the depths of storage.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Either out of respect or an attempt to test the waters, Minho remains standing close to the door as Hongjoong moves towards the table. He sits on the side where the black chess pieces reside, already halfway to knowing that Minho intends to make him play this game, and if that truly is the case, then Hongjoong will make him take the first move. Minho, it seems, is one step ahead of him though. He joins Hongjoong at the table moments later, and upon sitting down and setting his mug down, he immediately turns the board around to have the white pieces now in front of Hongjoong’s hands instead of the black. The captain can’t contain the laugh that breaks through his lips.

“Why give me the illusion of choice at all then?”

“You did make a choice, a telling one at that. Thus, I’ll invite you to ask whatever it is you wish of me before I do the same in return.”

“The point of this game?” Hongjoong wastes no time in moving his first piece forward.

“To learn more about the man whose… delicate care I now find myself under.” Minho pushes a pawn further toward Hongjoong with the tip of his finger.

“What do you hope to learn?”

“I would like to see into your mind a bit, understand your decision-making process, see firsthand how you plot things out for both yourself and your crew.”

“This—” the captain passes his hand through the air in a rather dismissive manner “—game will show you all of that? How can you be so certain now that you’ve told me your intentions? I could easily skew the game in whatever way I like now.”

“Hiding our true nature is a near-impossible task,” Minho says under his breath. As his hand moves down to the board once again, Hongjoong slaps the side of the table with enough force to make the pieces quake under the impact.

“I’ve gone my whole life perfectly that craft. It would do you well to not underestimate me.”

The doctor matches Hongjoong’s stare with a lopsided grin, arms folded over his chest as he leans over his knees.

“Humor me then, Captain.”

It’s easy to fall into the rhythm of the game. Though it’s been some time since he engaged in any sort of activities outside of missions with his crew, this game is one he used to readily play with Yeosang. The Elitist was, of course, the only one who could match his level of play, and still claims the honor of being the sole member of the crew to beat Hongjoong at the game. It was only one time, but one time was more than enough for him to lose a good deal of credits on the bet they placed. Most of the crew did the same themselves — lost thousands of credits to Wooyoung, who was the sole person banking on Yeosang’s victory that night. The memory almost places a smile on his lips, and it likely would if he were not so conscious of the person sitting across from him at present.

“What is your professional opinion of Ghost?” he asks instead to keep the fonder emotions from slipping through. Minho doesn’t startle at the question, nor does he seem surprised in the slightest at the sudden shift in topic. His initial response is through a close-lipped hum. Words don’t come until the doctor peels his eyes off the chessboard and finishes his turn.

“She is very ready to oppose any sort of authority in her path.”

“Do you know why?”

“Hm.” He sits back enough to pull one leg over the other and clasps his hands around his knee. “Because she is used to doing so?”

Hongjoong moves his bishop behind a pawn.

“How do I fix that issue?”

“I speak to her. Often and with the intent to resolve whatever disconnect is present. These cases are very prominent in my field, and many times fellow doctors struggle with the same arrogance. It starts in pride, of course, but in her case, there is much trauma centered around those who have had power over her.”

“Let me rephrase — how do I resolve that quickly?”

Minho shrugs as he takes his turn at the chess pieces, eyes scanning the board for several seconds before he settles on his next move. Hongjoong watches the pawn sitting beside his bishop fall, then he takes Minho’s attacker in quick succession as retaliation.

“There is no ethical way to do so.”

“Then list the unethical options for me. Quickly.”

Minho stares.

“I’m certain you have already implemented many unethical methods of keeping her under your thumb of control. There is no need for me to add to the list, is there?” The doctor lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I have physical proof of the measures taken to ensure my loyalty. If I did a little digging into that brain of hers, would I find proof of your cruelty too?”

“No. There are no scars there of my own doing. What others have done and will do — how could I have any control over that?” Hongjoong thinks back to Dorado, a fleeting memory that pushes its way in against his will. In his mind, he sees Seonghwa seated at his mother’s bedside with hands clasped over his head as though in some form of desperate prayer from where he had perched in the doorway. How could he have control over that? Before him, his queen lies exposed. He moves a knight into her line of defense without thinking.

“Check.”

He neglected to notice that in moving that knight, he exposed his king to a worse fate. He moves it in front of his queen to escape the check without saying anything, then watches the doctor knock that knight on its side a second later. Hongjoong almost laughs but manages to refrain long enough to move his bishop into its next position before glancing up and across the board.

“Checkmate.”

Minho inhales sharply, and his gaze darts all around the board as though desperate to find a way out of the corner he’s been backed into but Hongjoong already made sure there would be no escape several moves ago. “It seems that you’ve won, Captain.” He sits back as the defeat settles in, leaving the captain to swing his bishop against its final target. The clatter of the ivory on the wooden board is harsh on the ears.

“Did you learn all you wished to with that?” Rather than a straight answer, Hongjoong receives a rather unexpected question from the man.

“What position would you like Seonghwa to be in?”

A litany of filthy thoughts arises and threatens to leave the sanctity of his mouth.

“He’s right where I want him to be.”

“And is that where you consider him to be safest?”

“The closer he is to me, the safer he is.”

“Is he aware of that? Have you told him as much?” Hongjoong stares at the doctor in the hopes it will force him to drop the subject but Minho stares down at the now-defunct chessboard instead. “You hardly made any use of your queen except to protect her when threatened despite having many opportunities to use her offensively. You did not let her leave the king’s side for more than one move, even if it risked other players on your side of the game. Yet — you used your bishop to sabotage and sacrifice some of your own pieces if it meant moving that bishop ahead in the game. That is your telling cue, Captain. It speaks volumes to how you perceive your closest confidants.”

Hongjoong’s hand curls into a fist against his thigh.

“Is it the devotion of man or that which begs worship, I wonder? What compels you of all men to give so much to someone you don’t seem to feel deserves it? Unless… it’s the only thing that keeps that person where you want him? What’s the cost of your religion, captain? Of your faith? What must someone do to be counted amongst your devotees? Your eagerness to bend Y/n to your desires, to have her fall in line with whatever holy crusade you have in your mind… I cannot help but wonder what trials you would have her suffer to earn her place amongst the faithful. You leave me with much to ponder, Scourge. I suppose I ought to thank you for giving me a good game, but — and I hate to be the one to say this, trust that — I do not think you will be the best player I face.”

“He will never agree to play you in this game. I merely did so to entertain you, but Seonghwa has no interest in humoring a fool’s errand.”

“You thought I meant your lieutenant? No, no no, I’m afraid I meant someone else entirely.” Minho laughs to himself, head shaking as he redirects his focus to the floor. “To answer your earlier question, yes, I’ve learned much from this. But I’m left to wonder what exactly it is you want. You are a man who could have anything and everything he wants and yet you are still unsatisfied. What is so unattainable that it drives you to the brink of insanity? Don’t tell me yet — I… wish… to find that answer on my own.”

Hongjoong finds that his initial suspicions upon meeting this man were correct. Beyond the obvious quirks surrounding him, there were more minute details to pick up on from the near-constant swaying of his head from side to side to the slight slur in his tone. He huffs out a nearly inaudible laugh.

“How about we detail my expectations of you?”

“I imagine I don’t have much of a say in the matter,” the doctor says with a kind smile.

“Don’t let her try to play her games with you.”

Minho stops with his hand halfway to the mug on the table and shifts to stare at Hongjoong. He doesn’t try to hide the look of bewilderment painting his features this time.

“Do you fear her being successful for once?”

Hongjoong actually laughs at that, and based on the way Minho’s confusion continues to be apparent, the doctor wasn’t expecting such a reaction.

“She doesn’t need the confidence of success. The only way I am going to get her to stop fighting me is if she continues to fail. Hence—” Hongjoong leans across the table where the remnants of their earlier game linger untouched. Something rattles as he stretches over the board. The doctor reacts like a dog being handed a bone, expression turning suddenly alert as Hongjoong places an orange pill bottle on Minho’s side. “I’ll take every fucking pill off this ship if I have to. Don’t fuck her and don’t fuck around with her. Those are my rules.”

“You are…” the doctor wets his lips. His gaze loses its focus on Hongjoong as something else becomes much more enticing — the little bottle that looks so deceptively innocent in comparison to what it provides. “Quite greedy, Captain,” he whispers. He sits up straight and lunges forward like he’s going to snatch the bottle from the table, but the man opposite him is just as quick to steal it away once again. Minho winces. “I’d like to ask why those are your terms. Something tells me you won’t be wholly honest about it.”

“Desire drives her. Robbing her of what she wants makes her desperate. And when she’s desperate… she obeys. If I manufacture who has her and in what way they have her, then I can orchestrate her destruction, no? The perfect picture of obedience, the way to stop her from fighting me so heavily, to end her attempts to save those who do not need saving. All it takes are a few sweet words and fond glances to have her caving a bit. Imagine what I could do with her full devotion. I hope that is the sort of unethical option you predicted.”

“We have a term for that sort of behavior, Captain.”

“And I don’t need you to diagnose me with anything I don’t know already about myself.” Hongjoong tosses the bottle in his hand across the gap between the two men. It rattles dramatically as it passes through the air, and Minho jerks upwards to grab it before it can slip through his grasp a second time.

“Is this meant to be a reward for my hard work?” he inquires, teeth grinding hard against each other as he speaks.

“You can view it as such.” One corner of the captain’s lips twitches upwards. “But if Yunho starts asking questions, I cannot defend your addiction. He is the one keeping stock of our medications here on this ship after all.”

“You have issues with control. Probably a fear of not having control, which is amplifying pre-existing issues and mental instabilities.”

“Do you want your pills or not, doctor? I for one am not opposed to seeing how you fall apart without them. In fact, I would revel in it. So, tread carefully.” Minho clutches the orange bottle a little tighter. “You are free to do as you wish, but if I find you face down in a pool of your own vomit then my kindness will not last. If you’re alive, that is.”

“I have no qualms with those terms, Captain.”

“Good. Then, I’ll formally welcome you to the crew, doctor. Try not to disappoint me.”

Minho barely spares him a second glance when he gets up, and Hongjoong is all but invisible as he makes his way out of the room. The face that greets him in the hallway is a pleasant surprise.

“Yunho,” he exhales in a saccharine tone.

“Cap—Hongjoong. I was just checking in on San and Y/n.” Yunho’s gaze keeps flitting to the door at Hongjoong’s back now. That simply won’t do.

“Were you?” Hongjoong presses as he moves toward the taller man. “And how are our nesting lovebirds?”

“Y/n is healing well, physically at least. San’s been keeping up with the physical therapy well enough, but you already know that. Were you in—”

That simply won’t do.

“Come up with me, would you?”

“Huh?” Yunho’s brown eyes go a bit wide at the request. It wasn’t Hongjoong’s initial plan, but it was a good diversion tactic and part of him doesn’t want to sleep in an empty and cold bed alone tonight. “We haven’t — since we… with Seonghwa… huh?”

“And? I didn’t tell you to leave me forever. Let’s just go to bed, nothing else.”

“Have you spoken to Yunho at all since the other night?”

Seonghwa's resulting scowl is nothing pretty to behold but he wants to see it deepen further to the point of hatred.

“Of course not. You think he wants to speak to me at all?”

“Okay, um, yeah. I’ll meet you up there? In a little bit? I need to upload my notes and put them in files before I forget.”

“Mind if I stick around?”

“No…” Yunho drags his gaze all over Hongjoong, examining head to toe as though expecting to find something out of place about the smaller man. When his eyes rest on Hongjoong’s face once again, the captain offers a half-smile. “No, come on.”

He waits until they’re within the walls of the medical bay to speak his mind and broach the subject at hand, the metaphorical elephant in the room forcing space between them.

“Have you spoken to Seonghwa at all since the other night?”

Yunho lets out a sigh as he sits down at his makeshift desk.

“No, not even once. I doubt he wants to talk though.” Hongjoong nearly laughs at how horrifically similar the two men are. Instead, he watches Yunho plug his tablet into his computer and get to work on uploading those aforementioned notes. San’s name flickers across the screen.

“I'll talk to him tonight.”

Seonghwa stops where he is, midway to the only exit out of the chambers, and when he turns, Hongjoong sees his expression blossom into something venomous.

“So the two of you are still...?”

“Did I say that? I will speak with him tonight after dinner.”

“Has San’s resolve weakened since Y/n joined the crew?”

“Since he came face to face with her for the first time, more like,” Yunho answers without missing a beat or looking away from his screen. Hongjoong’s scowl reflects back at him on the screen, but the doctor doesn’t pay him any mind. “He’s always been a bit soft around the edges though. I think you set him up for failure in asking him—” Yunho cuts his thought short out of the blue, and Hongjoong’s gaze turns to sharp daggers on the back of his head.

“In asking him what? Who was gracious enough to tell you as much?”

When the younger turns, Hongjoong gets an eyeful of knitted brows and pursed lips.

“You did. You told me, Hongjoong. Because you felt guilty for giving him those orders, or at least you used to.”

“Seonghwa, I told you before that it's not your fault.”

“Then why is it that you're asking me whether I've talked to Yunho yet? Why are you asking as though that’s my responsibility? If you don’t consider me to be at fault then why am I being tasked with fixing this mess?”

Suddenly, Hongjoong wants to lie down. There’s a throbbing in the side of his head that keeps turning into something more piercing every few seconds, and Yunho’s stare feels more invasive by the second.

“I’m done here. Still wanna go up?”

“Let’s go.”

It’s as they leave the med bay side by side that Hongjoong recalls exactly why he hates coming down here so much. There are too many ghosts living in the walls and lining the corridors. Even in the brief darkness that comes when he blinks, he can see their faces at the corners of his vision. Stood still, alert, watching and waiting for the command from their captain who failed to do the one duty asked of him. He looks up to the side of Yunho’s face. Thinks of Seonghwa’s endless frustrations these days, of San being shot, of the kidnappings, of losing his newest crew member to a petty criminal who couldn’t hope to hold a candle to him and all he can taste at the back of his throat is failure.

He pushes further into Yunho’s space, enough to bump his shoulder against the other man’s arm as they make their trek in utter silence. The rhythm of their bodies is familiar as they cross the bridge, when Yunho brushes his knuckles over Hongjoong’s hip, and the captain smiles to himself. But once they reach the door and Hongjoong plasters himself between it and Yunho’s larger form, his wrists are caught mid-air on their path to reaching around Yunho’s shoulders.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Hongjoong had thought he would have more success with Yunho than he has with Seonghwa thus far — an easier time at least patching a bandage over the open wound still carved into his chest. And perhaps he thought he was already victorious on the walk up to his quarters, but Yunho stops that thought right where it is.

“Yeah,” he exhales back and moves his arms down to his sides once more.

The silence continues to permeate every inch of the room as Hongjoong gets ready for bed. Yunho makes himself at home as usual, but it’s evident that his thoughts are elsewhere based on how he looks around the bedroom like something is going to sprout up from the darkest corner. Hongjoong is no fool. He knows Yunho’s thoughts are on the mess of a situation that occurred not too long ago when both he and Seonghwa were present here for something Hongjoong should have had the foresight to stop far in advance. He finally says something about it midway through brushing his teeth.

“The two of you have got to talk eventually.” He nearly winces at the words coming from his own mouth because of how harsh they sound.

“What’s there to say, Hongjoong? Hey, sorry our fucking threesome didn’t work out because you’re too possessive over a man that’s not even yours. Sure, that’d over great.” Hongjoong glances in the mirror to see Yunho in the reflection, perched on the side of the bed but it’s not his usual spot. He always goes for the other side — has for all this time that they’ve been doing this — yet last time he was on that side, Hongjoong was under him and there were tears. Lots of them, in fact. His stomach turns in disgust at the memory alone.

He spits the leftover toothpaste into the sink.

“It’s unfortunate, Yunho, how everything played out. If I had been… had more common sense, I would have refused it right away.”

“Have your cake and eat it too, huh?”

Hongjoong sighs as he exits the bathroom, hands already moving to his hips in a way that echoes the chastisement he’s ready to hurl Yunho’s way. Either the exhaustion or the shreds of guilt he does feel win over though, because he can’t bring himself to lay into Yunho much.

“Stop arguing with me over it then,” he says instead, climbing into bed on a side that’s foreign and uncomfortable to him. They have their backs to each other even now.

“I’m not even the one who fucked up, Joong! It was Seonghwa’s brilliant fucking idea, why am I being punished for it? Hell, even you fucked up more than I did by insisting that you were okay with it!”

“I get it, Yunho. I know whose fault it is. You aren’t being punished.”

The younger man exhales a pathetic excuse for a laugh. More than anything, Hongjoong wishes he had the courage to turn over and face him, to see how badly he fucked up written on Yunho’s expression, and try to mend the cracks as best he can. At the end of the day, however, he knows what he is — a coward running from his demons, even when they’re at his back begging to be seen. If there’s a grave to be dug, Hongjoong stands at the edge with a shovel and plunges it deeper into the dirt.

“I wanted it. That’s why I pushed for it, and I’m sorry—”

“Now you’re fucking sorry!” Yunho huffs out a scoff. “For fuck’s sake, Joong, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to salvage whatever was left of my relationship with Seonghwa.”

“And I’m sorry, what more can I say? You should have said no from the start—”

“I can’t say no to you, Hongjoong! That’s the fucking problem here! It didn’t matter to me what my feelings about it were because I just wanted you to be happy.”

“I said over and over that I didn’t want you to base your decision on what you thought would please me. It wasn’t about my happiness, it was about comforting — comforting him! He asked to sleep with us, I asked you if it was alright and you said it was, so—”

“What does he have, Hongjoong? What is it that he has that I do not? Why is he enough for you and yet I’m not?”

The rawness in Yunho’s voice is what stops him, at least that’s what Hongjoong will tell himself in the days to come because it is easier to swallow such a pill. Seonghwa has his jealousy, and Yunho has his fear of inadequacy. Hongjoong knows what both sides of their respective coins look like well enough after all these years together, and he knows how they flip. Yunho is teetering on an edge with no knowledge of what side he wants to land on.

“Is this how it’s going to be between us now? Arguing back and forth before bed?” Yunho’s tone is still strong, for all that’s worth.

“You tell me, Yun, you’re the one who turned this into a fight.”

“The issue isn’t that you love him, Hongjoong. You know that.”

“What’s the issue then?” Hongjoong sounds as defeated as he feels when those words get pushed out into the side of his pillow. He doesn’t have the heart to admit his true feelings even now, though it should be easy to deny something so heinous. Behind him, Yunho shifts under the sheets as though trying to increase the already obscene amount of distance between their bodies. Maybe Hongjoong should be grateful enough that Yunho is even here to warm the bed with him, despite not touching him or giving in to his captain’s advances earlier. What he says next snipes those hopeful feelings right out of Hongjoong’s chest.

“It’s that you don’t love me.”

Ice crawls its way through his body in a split second, and suddenly it’s almost as though his lungs have been dunked in frozen water.

“You always say that Seonghwa and I don’t get along, that we can’t possibly be suited for each other, that the two of us are the problem because we can’t see eye to eye. But really, if your love was fair and kind, Hongjoong, that wouldn’t be an issue. Don’t worry. I know my place at your side. And I will never try to take Seonghwa’s because I know where I belong. If it’s at your feet, then again I tell you I shall grovel. But, my captain, you cannot ask me to accept an unfair bargain of love. I’m selfish and greedy, but I too just want to be loved fairly. At this point, I don’t think I will ever receive such a thing from you and for that reason, I will take steps back where necessary. I simply request that you allow me to mend myself on my own terms.”

“Yunho—” His voice sounds choked and broken even with just one word uttered. Yunho continues like he hasn’t said a thing.

“It’s nothing personal, Captain.”

The ice pick in Hongjoong’s chest sinks deeper.

“I simply fear that your use for me has run dry.”

“That’s… hardly true at all, Yun.” But speaking those words out loud is harder than imagined, and Hongjoong chokes on them, around the tongue that feels like lead in his mouth. The bed creaks again, but this time Yunho is rolling over to face Hongjoong’s back. Tentatively, the captain shifts to match the movements. “That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

“Let me salvage what I have left, Captain. Otherwise, you may end up with another notch on your hip.”

Staring each other in the eye like this, however, Yunho hardly looks like a man who has deigned to pull away, especially as he reaches out to touch Hongjoong’s cheek and laughs under his breath.

“Can I even dare to call you mine if this is how things must be?”

“You do this, Hongjoong. You! You take the things you claim to love and care about and you — you break them, you tear them apart! Leave Yunho out of whatever fucked up problems are still left between us, for the love of god.”

Hongjoong reaches up to clasp his fingers around the ones Yunho lays against his face. The line of morality has always been a muddled one for him, yet now with a soul so pure and innocent in the palm of his hand, he feels the full weight of right versus wrong upon his shoulders. The words staining the back of his tongue black with bile are nothing pretty — no encouragement or reassurance meant to bring Yunho down from his hysteria — and so Hongjoong swallows them down in favor of giving him something beautiful.

“Or you… force them into a mold and pretend they’re yours. And every fucking time, they fall for it just to break from the pressure of you trying to pin them there.”

“My Yunho.” In the hierarchy of things that Hongjoong considers to be his, he does not need to think long about where Yunho falls. It’s so very clear in his mind’s eye: fourth from the top on a good day, somewhere lower when other needs arise. The shame is that Yunho has decided to be so greedy as to crave a higher place. He peels Yunho’s hand away from his face and brings those long fingers to press against the soft curve of his lips. The gleam in Yunho’s eyes softens with each kiss Hongjoong lays against him until he’s putty in Hongjoong’s hands. “You’re mine.”

The words are spoken so softly that Yunho doesn’t dare disrupt the fragile peace between them. He doesn’t bother to ask if the same is true of Hongjoong, if Hongjoong is his too, but that thought seems far and away already as the captain guides him to lay flat on his back, leg swinging across Yunho’s hips seconds later. From his new perch, he sees the reverence in Yunho’s eyes. It’s as beautiful as it is delicate. Hongjoong seals the cracks with a feather-like kiss.

──────────── a/n: hi hi long time no moc! ngl the wc got away from me i really expected 6k max on this but then it kept going and going and we don’t stop the writing gods when they want the narrative to keep going thus.. she is a bit long! i’ve been sitting on this for a wee bit just bc i wanted to get a bit of 50 fleshed out and in a good place before posting this so we’re working hard here at caly’s writing station 😎 as always plspls let me know what you think! 

as always the questionnaire is available and open (https://forms.gle/rMvFD1TDz52nRJMN9), don’t be shy to fill it out honestly! i genuinely use it to improve my writing and storytelling so it’s very helpful to me to see feedback and work off of it as best i can 💪

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #yunho x reader #ateez fanfic #mists of celeste #caly.writes

[hongism]

in this sweet flow - j.yh 18+

» j.yunho x fem!reader » smut/pwp 18+  » language, explicit smut (smut warnings under the cut) » after your best friend encourages you to pick up a new hobby to fill your free time, you find yourself planted in the back of a cramped art studio stuck between a rock and a hard place - an art prodigy who is distractingly good with his hands and the last credit keeping you from getting your degree. » wc 9.1k (._.)

a/n: pls reblog and consider leaving some feedback, i thrive on feedback! pls do be nice tho i dont feel the best about this one lfkgjldkfg cheers to me finishing my semester! have yunho fic <3

» petnames (doll, baby, darling, baby girl), manhandling, size kink, fingering, finger sucking, choking, oral: f, public sex, manual stimulation, nipple/breast play, marking, hair pulling, unprotected piv

When you step into the cramped apartment to greet your friend, you aren’t expecting such a harsh welcome. Especially considering how he was the one who invited you over in the first place.

“I haven’t cleaned yet, what are you doing here?” Wooyoung shouts from where he’s propped up on one of the bar stools in the kitchen. He’s got a bowl of something set in front of him, but you pay it no mind on your path to plop down on his couch instead. “Ignore the mess. I swear it was Yeosang this time!” The man moves when you sit but only to go from the counter to the sink. “Do you have work today?”

“No, I finished class earlier and have nothing left until Thursday. I could get working on some projects but I don’t feel like it right now.” You pick at the skin under one of your nails. “Besides, you asked me if I wanted to come over.”

Wooyoung mumbles something, words that are hardly audible with how he shoves his head closer to the running water of the sink as he speaks, and you shift to glare holes into the side of his head.

“What are you whispering about me?”

“You should pick up a hobby or something!” he exclaims instead, pushing a bright and convincing smile onto his lips.

“A hobby?” A scoff leaves your lips, accentuated by how your face contorts at the idea he’s suggesting. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Well, you are always around here…”

“Hey, you invite me half the time!”

“I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to find something to do on the side! You have that empty credit you need to fill, right? Why not pick out some random class to occupy you.”

“Like what? It has to be related to art in some way, and there is no way in hell I’m letting anyone convince me to do life drawing.” You drop your head to the cushion, enough to glance back at the man in the kitchen over your shoulder, and he squints at you from the sink.

“Hm, well, isn’t Hongjoong doing something obscure?”

“Shouldn’t you know? You’re the one up his ass half the time.”

Wooyoung parts his lips then seems to think twice about what he was about to say because he tilts his chin up with an odd little expression that you recognize all too well.

“You know that’s not what I meant, you pervert.”

“I’m just thinking! You think he’d let me bottom? I mean I wouldn’t mind if he wanted to but… hm, unless—”

“Anyway, yes, Hongjoong is doing a pottery class for his last credit. I don’t think I’d be any good at it though.” You slump down further in your seat as Wooyoung wraps around the side of the couch and flops down beside you. He kicks his feet up on the coffee table, almost knocking into a leftover mug there that’s most likely one he left himself.

“You don’t have to be good at it. Isn’t that the point of picking up a hobby? Learning to get better at it? That’s what I did with photography and I’m having the time of my life now. Hongjoong said that I’m getting better and better by the day. Even if he did tell me I sucked at first. It’s about growth! And besides, there’s still, what, a week left on the add-drop period? If you don’t like it then you can just drop and pick another class.”

“Hm, I suppose. I can at least ask Hongjoong if there are any seats left in his section.”

“Wait, are you trying to use my future lover as a way to make the class easy?”

“Future lover?”

“If my courting ploy goes according to plan, yes.” Wooyoung slaps the side of his fist down against his other hand, lips pressing into a determined pout. You let him relish the moment for a few moments before reaching around the back of his head and smacking him harshly.

“He was my weird art friend first, nitwit. Get your own.”

Wooyoung coos, a little chiding in how he pushes his head into your shoulder. The action is more of a headbutt than a genuine method of affection, but you let it happen nonetheless. “That’s what I have you for, y/n.”

…

To offer Wooyoung some sort of defense, he brought up a very good point in suggesting a hobby because it does fill your spare time and keep you from visiting his apartment nearly every afternoon. Everything after that, however, is a massive string of one bad thing after the next held together by a really shitty argument.

One: the pottery class that Hongjoong takes is three days a week for an hour and a half straight at eight o’clock at night.

Two: your advisor threatened that if you try to drop this class, you will have to wait another semester to graduate and will need to take classes over the summer (again).

Three: you are an absolute abomination when it comes to pottery, so bad in fact that Hongjoong side-eyes you every time you ask for his opinion on your pieces. Which is awfully bold coming from the angry little twink who threatened to make a clay dick to shove down Wooyoung’s throat (for supposedly not offering to pay for Hongjoong’s twenty jello shots that he bought from the liquor store a few weekends back).

The fourth and final travesty that you have to suffer in this class is the same one that is keeping you from demanding a switch to an earlier section. One Jeong Yunho, the six-foot-tall junior who sits beside you in the back of the class for every session and is an incredible prodigy in the art of clay, pottery, and the like. Yet at the same time, he is an absolute demonic force causing an obsessive amount of mental distress every time you have to use the wheel. And prior to this class, you would argue that you have never so much as glanced at a man’s hands for more than a few seconds, even in the scope of the bedroom, but something about Yunho and his obnoxiously large hands and long fingers and the (far too!) suggestive way he molds clay is going to send you to an early grave before you can even graduate.

It’s both sick and twisted, but all your complaints fall on deaf ears because apparently, Wooyoung can talk about all the ways in which he wants to fuck Hongjoong but heaven forbid you say anything about a man’s hands every once in a while. Hongjoong at least has some sympathy, albeit a little disinterested at times.

“You make me a new mug yet?” Wooyoung pushes into the classroom at half-past nine just after your professor has left. The other students are on their way out as well, and Hongjoong has just packed his bag and joined you at the back of the room when Wooyoung comes in. “I still haven’t forgiven you for the one you broke last year before Christmas, and this is the prime opportunity to pay me back for it.”

“Don’t think you want that, Woo. The last three mugs she’s made have all blown up in the kiln. She almost took mine out at the same time with the most recent one.”

“Yes, well, I asked you for assistance and you said no. So maybe your mug deserved to be knocked out and you simply got lucky.” As tempting as it is to plant your clay-covered hands on the back of Hongjoong’s shirt, you also really don’t want to risk his ire by ruining his expensive clothes. A snicker resounds, but you don’t stop to think about who makes the noise before you’re pushing up out of your chair to head for the sinks along the opposite wall. Wooyoung lingers near Hongjoong either to flirt or bicker — if you’re being honest, you can’t tell a difference between the two when it comes to those two.

You heave a deep sigh as the warm water starts pouring over your messy hands. Your path to the soap is met with unexpected interruption, and you startle when your hand knocks against another person’s equally grimy fingers.

“Ah, sorry,” you blurt, retracting to allow them to go on ahead.

“Ladies first, I’m at least a gentleman.”

Your gaze snaps from the soap to the person now standing beside you. It’s almost ironic how you couldn’t recognize the same fingers you have been shamelessly staring at for a decent chunk of the semester. None other than Jeong Yunho stares back at you, his black hair neatly parted down the middle to expose his forehead and give his face a sort of kind look. He still has his apron on with clay smeared down the front, but underneath he’s dressed rather casually in just grey sweatpants and a tee that has the long sleeves hoisted up to his elbows.

“Thanks,” you mumble, too panicked to say anything else. Silence drapes over the two of you soon after, and as much as you search for something to talk about, your mind goes blissfully empty instead.

“I think your friends might argue themselves into the storage closet to fuck,” Yunho continues, far too cheery for the kind of thing he’s saying, and you choke around the spit lingering in the back of your mouth. It devolves into a series of quite violent coughs almost immediately. “A-Are you alright?”

“F-Fine, fine,” you say between broken chokes. Yunho’s gaze remains glued to the side of your heated face even after you gulp down some solid breaths of air and stop coughing. “You just — caught me really off-guard.”

“Sorry, I haven’t got much of a filter.” Yunho laughs as he turns his faucet off, a thin smile stretching his lips all the while, and you try not to let your gaze linger long enough to be suspicious. You do the same with your own sink, and Yunho passes you a fresh paper towel when you turn to collect one. “But it seems that I was correct after all.” One quick glance back at your workstation confirms that, as both men are gone from the room but Hongjoong’s expensive art bag lingers in your seat.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” you mumble before tossing your now crumpled paper towel in the trash. “I won’t stick around to wait for them though, it’s way too late for that.”

“Mind if I walk you out then?”

You dare to glance up at the man’s face when he poses the offer, searching for any hint of foul play or general weirdness but he just smiles a bit.

“Be my guest.”

Yunho, for all your nerves and unnecessary panic, is surprisingly easy to talk to — he’s got good enough banter, even if a little awkward at times, and he’s quick on his feet to the point where he can match your quips and sarcasm with equal footing. In your mind, it would have made things a lot easier if he was an absolute bozo who couldn’t hold a conversation because that would have turned you off rather swiftly, but now here you are, sitting outside a convenience store with a bowl of microwavable ramen set in front of you and Yunho sits across from you with one of his own. You feel like a fool because your cheeks ache from smiling so much, and you can barely get through a bite of food without laughing at something the man has said. In short, this does nothing to curb your desire for the man, and if anything, makes it so much incredibly worse that you think your already lacking pottery skills are going to take another hit.

“How are you so good at pottery anyway? You don’t exactly strike me as the type to be sitting around at a wheel all day to practice.”

Yunho laughs, head thrown back just enough to show off the way his pronounced Adam’s apple bounces with the motion. Then he’s looking you in the eye with the same playful mirth in his gaze that he’s had since you sat down.

“It’s all in the fingers.”

You deserve an award for maintaining your composure despite having to hear him speak those words then lift both large hands and wiggle said fingers in front of your face. You can’t keep your brain from filling with cotton though, and the only noise you can manage in response is an awkward ‘mhm’ that’s muffled by a bite of ramen.

“Say, your hands are really small aren’t they?”

“Compared to yours, yeah,” you scoff, lifting your own hand to your face and examining it carefully. “Barely as big as my face, and I don’t have a big head.”

“No, no, of course not,” Yunho says through a chuckle. Then he’s reaching across the table to clasp long fingers around the narrowest part of your wrist as gently as possible. “Holy shit, my thumb and index finger can totally overlap around your wrist.” It feels a bit like the air has been stolen right out of your lungs. You blink down at your wrist to confirm his statement, and sure enough, he wasn’t bluffing in the slightest. You can’t muster any sort of answer to that, so Yunho simply continues his maddening exploration of your hands until the heel of his hand aligns with yours and he stretches his fingers parallel to your own. The coil in your gut that’s keeping you from dropping to your knees and sucking the soul out of his dick just about snaps when you see how much larger his hands are compared to yours.

There is no way in hell he doesn’t know what he’s doing right now, or at least understand the effect he has over you in this very moment because silence falls over the two of you a moment later. He’s staring right at you, directly into your eyes with a smile still imprinted on his lips that is neither coy nor chiding. You aren’t sure what sort of expression you’re wearing but it can’t be anything flattering with how your jaw is dropped like you’re trying to collect flies in your mouth.

“U-Um…” Yunho pulls back suddenly, and a pretty pink flush hits his ears and cheeks. You would find it adorable if not for how gobsmacked you are in that same moment. “Uh, anyway, I wanted to ask — if it’s not too assuming, I’m just going on what I’ve heard you say during class — do you want me to help you out some? With pottery? I’ve got time after class any day of the week, and I’d be more than willing to try to help you if your friend can’t.”

Logic tells you that getting one on one lessons from this man will not help you get better in the slightest.

You however are not known for thinking with logic, so your answer comes easy and without an ounce of thought.

“That would be… really helpful, yeah. If you don’t mind staying on campus later.”

“It’s fine. My apartment is close and I’ve got no roommates to be mindful of at late hours.” The exchange of information is subtle enough, and it could almost pass as nothing more than a polite reassurance. Given the sudden spike of tension between you two and the pressure that won’t go away between your legs, you think that it’s an awful lot more than something polite and unassuming. The real question is are you going to give in to his game with such ease and no chase?

Now that you know he wants you in return to some degree, you almost want to play a little, see what he does when backed into a corner when the ball is in your court and he is forced to wait on your move a while longer. The universe must be on your side too because a second after, your phone buzzes against the table. It’s a simple text from Wooyoung, but it devolves into a flurry of texts that are mostly gibberish, and you pull the device up as those you’ve received something more serious than that.

“Unfortunately, I do have a roommate, and she’s actually asking after me right now,” you murmur through a quaint grin. It doesn’t seem to deter Yunho’s mood though, as he nods rather enthusiastically and sits up straighter.

“Would you like me to walk you home?”

“It’s alright, I’ve got pepper spray and a taser on my keychain if need be. Thank you for the offer though.”

Yunho stands when you do, and he takes your trash for you as well before following you to the corner of the sidewalk. He lingers there as you cross the street, hands shoved deep in his pockets, but the stance seems far too stilted and rigid to be natural. You grin to yourself when you turn away from the man. It seems that the two of you are two halves of a whole size kink that now resides in a massive swamp of untouched sexual tension.

…

Even though adding a class was supposed to keep you out of frequenting Wooyoung’s apartment, you find yourself planted in his living room the following afternoon with both him and his roommate seated nearby on the couch.

“Alright, here’s the situation. He wants me. He very subtly invited me to his apartment to fuck on Thursday. I played coy because I’m not easy and he can’t know how badly I want him, right? Now, Wooyoung, you better be listening. The kicker — he offered to stay after class to help me get better at pottery. A one-on-one type deal. I said yes, obviously, because we all know I don’t think with my brain when it comes to attractive men. So… our dilemma.”

Yeosang blinks at you from the couch, mug still halfway to his lips as he processes your rant. Wooyoung sits beside him but you’re almost convinced that he’s dozed off because he’s not moved for more than three minutes and that’s a record by his standards.

“What exactly is your dilemma?” Yeosang inquires. You huff and lean over the armchair you’re sat in to punch Wooyoung’s knee when a snore escapes him. He jolts awake with a rather unattractive snort.

“First of all, I suck at pottery. Not by choice but because I’m easily distracted and Yunho is awfully distracting. That’s not the point though. How long do I have to wait before I fuck this man? I can’t do it too quickly because I don’t want to seem too eager, but if I wait too long, he’ll lose interest. Men have short attention spans as is. Take Wooyoung for example, that’s the third time I’ve had to wake him up in fifteen minutes.”

“Look, I barely slept last night and it’s fucking early. Have some compassion, woman.”

“Jung Wooyoung, you don’t understand — I need this man lay me out like a spread on Thanksgiving and make a turkey out of me.”

Yeosang’s eyes go wide as he stares at the coffee table, and he slowly pushes his mug to the surface with a small shake of his head.

“A turkey? What are you on ab—oh my god, you’re horrific! Why would you put that image in my mind? You need a priest for that… to confess or something. Get that out of your system and never say it again.” He pokes the side of your face with the cap of his pen, face twisting from a grimace to a squint. “Wait, like, stuff you with his fingers or—”

Your hand hits the back of his head before that sentence can be finished.

“You gotta wait and see how badly he wants you before you sleep with him,” Yeosang provides as Wooyoung whines to himself. “If he saw himself as someone more dominant in these sorts of dynamics, he would’ve been a bit more forward with you about what he wants. Or at least tried to talk to you sooner, especially if he noticed your drooling.” You open your mouth to retort that but Yeosang simply lifts a finger and shushes you in an instant. “But he put the ball in your court without doing that, so it seems like he might want to see what you do with it. Meaning he’s giving you all the time in the world to let him know how you’re feeling in return.”

“Just please, whatever you do, never ever make that turkey comparison again as long as you live,” Wooyoung adds through his fingers, hands splayed over his face.

Yeosang’s advice nearly gets chucked out the window at record-breaking speed, however, when it comes time for your first little one-on-one lesson with Yunho after class the following Monday. It shouldn’t cause you much distress at all, seeing as the man is still seated at his own workstation with you at yours beside him, but the previous lingering tension has left a deep wedge in whatever dynamic you two were building before then. Sitting beside each other with no one else in the room and only one of the overhead lights shining down on your corner of the room — it provides an air of intimacy that you can’t ignore.

“Um, so I figured I could do a little demonstration for you first before getting to work on your own.” Yunho’s voice contains the slightest wobble to it, the kind that is barely noticeable in normal conversation, but you are very hyper-aware of every little nuance and sound happening around you at the moment. “I know I’m more of a visual learner, so it helps me to see someone… do something…” He trails off as his gaze shifts over to meet yours. The eye contact lasts a split second, but it’s long enough for you to catch the pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks and oh. You wet your lips only to press them together right after.

God, Wooyoung is going to mock you so hard if he finds out you only lasted a grand total of ten minutes in trying to resist the urge to have this man bend you in half over a desk. Mouth dry, you clear your throat as subtly as possible and glance down at the wheel between Yunho’s legs. It beats trying (and failing) to process the lingering emotion in his eyes.

“I prefer hands-on learning.”

If possible, you can hear your heart thumping insanely in your own ears as blood rushes to your head. Has everything always had some sort of double meaning that you’re only just now realizing? Or is it simply that you’re so desperate and sex-starved that this is what you’ve devolved into around one man with nice (huge) hands?

When you dare to glance over at Yunho, you find the man smiling softly at you, grin a little lopsided but oh so endearing nonetheless.

“Well, we can try that for round two.” Just as you’re ready to blanch and stare down at the floor, he nods towards the empty space across from his setup, and you know it to be a cue to come sit there. So, albeit a bit hesitantly, you drag your stool over to that spot without standing completely upright. You nearly fold in on yourself the second you sit down on it — elbows pressed together and hands squeezed over your knees like you’re about to be lectured for doing something wrong, but Yunho’s attention is focused on the ball of clay he slams down atop the wheel. “Now, just to start, you don’t wanna spin the wheel too fast otherwise it makes it hard to really mold the clay. You seem to have a bit of a leadfoot on the pedal.”

“Ah, is it that noticeable…?”

“Only when shit starts flying off of it!”

“Does it happen that often!?”

Yunho blinks up at you with a lopsided grin, and you find nothing but a sweet warmth in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I tease all my friends for shit like this.” There’s a second when he pauses to look off to some corner of the room, and his expression turns pensive to the point where you’re ready to ask if he’s going through some kind of existential crisis. It shifts right at that moment too, when he rights himself and pushes up from his stool. His hands are still soiled from the messy clay water he’s dunked them in, but that seems to do nothing to deter him from wrapping around the side of the pottery wheel to stand behind your stool. “Would it be alright if I used a more hands-on approach now instead of later?”

You twist to look back at the giant of a man.

“Meaning?”

“Could you pull that stool over so I can sit behind you? If you aren’t comfortable with that, I understand. Whatever you’re alright with.”

You blink at the soft crescents his eyes form when he grins again, and you wish you had it in you to say that you put up some semblance of a fight. Instead, you’re all but scrambling to fetch that stool and drag it behind your own, bumping the metal legs against each other in your rush. If they’re close enough to touch then that’s not your problem — merely a convenience. Yunho is chuckling under his breath when he settles into the chair though, long legs stretching out around your body. You could tell he was rather large in stature obviously, but seeing him in such close proximity to your own body makes the size difference feel all the more immense, especially with how his knees extend past your own.

“Would it be alright if I put my arms around you too?” His voice hits a lot closer than you expect it to, a soft timbre that touches the back of your neck as he leans to speak into your ear. Even though there’s still some distance between your bodies, you feel swamped in the proximity, the closeness and the intimacy of the position already.

“You can, I’m alright with that.” You pause to sink your teeth into your lower lip. “I’m comfortable with you.”

Yunho laughs again but this time it’s far softer and a lot more melodic. His movements are still tentative as he envelops you in his arms, reaching around your body to settle his wet hands against your wrists and move both of your bodies closer to the wheel.

“I don’t want to take advantage of that comfort, y/n. I’ll only do something if I have your permission first.”

Heat rushes through you — both to your cheeks and down to your gut to pool with arousal there.

“Don’t be so stiff, doll, I’ll start to think you aren’t all that comfortable with me.” Yunho’s chin pushes past your shoulder, though he’s far too large to have it rest on you. If you shrunk in on yourself just a hair, he could probably rest his chin on the top of your head, which is a thought that makes your mind spiral in bad directions instantly. When the man pushes his hands to settle around yours, you are once again reminded of the obscene difference in your hands, and although you truly want to think about what he’s teaching you, no coherent thought makes it through your brain. With each sentence he gives you about proper throwing techniques, your focus shifts more to his hands and the way they fit around yours. “Try pulling it up into a cone and down into a puck on your own now.”

“O-Okay,” you stutter out, blinking furiously at the block of clay on the wheel like it’s committed some heinous crime against you.

“I’ll control the pedal for you just so you don’t start throwing clay around the room, ‘kay?”

“I’m starting to think you find me to be some destructive force in the studio now.”

“Well, you blew up a bowl in the kiln on week two of class.” Yunho’s banter is charming enough to pull you from the nerves that have settled in your system, and it makes the weight of his arms around you feel a lot less heavy as well. It, however, does not stifle your raw attraction towards the man because you would feel miles less attracted to him if he didn’t have good banter and such an easy-going attitude. The universe, it seems, wants to make this experience excruciatingly difficult for you.

Long fingers settle on your wrists as you press your hands around the block of clay. You can’t take your eyes off the soft dips and taps of his digits as he guides you to draw the clay up into an unsteady cone, then down into a semi-decent puck.

“See, you’re a natural. I didn’t do anything to help you.” Yunho huffs out a laugh against your hairline, and his warm breath cascades down to your bare neck. A chill passes through you, a shiver down the spine and all. If he notices the goosebumps over your skin, he doesn’t comment on it. “Wanna try opening it up now?”

“Sure thing.” You hope you don’t sound as feeble as you think you do, but thoughts are rapidly evicting their space in your brain again in the next passing seconds. Yunho’s fingers curl around yours and into the block of clay in a way that looks far too suggestive and not at all as innocent as you remember it looking, pulling the clay apart from the center so that walls start to form around the outside.

“We can pull up some walls now too,” Yunho murmurs, tone dropping in volume as the focus takes over. You barely have to do a thing as he guides your hands along the clay and forms walls around the flat base of the puck, and it’s almost astounding how easy he makes it look even if he’s using your hands to do it.

Within minutes, he’s built up a whole vase from the meager block you started with, and while it’s entirely simple, it’s still impressive in your untrained eyes.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?”

“You did all the work.” You exhale an impressed sigh as you lean back, forgetting the close proximity of the man behind you and knocking against his chest instead. His laugh reverberates through your whole body, and your heart nearly stops functioning.

“Hardly, it was your hands molding the clay. I simply guided you.”

When you twist to look at Yunho’s face, he seems to have the same idea because his chin turns down towards you to meet your eyes. The two of you linger in that intimacy for a moment that feels like it lasts a lifetime before he’s scooting his stool back and clearing his throat furiously.

“Yes, well, thank you for the help. That was… that was really helpful! Enlightening even!” Your mouth moves faster than your brain does as you try to diminish the awkward tension.

“Of c-course, I think that’s a great spot to stop for today! Why don’t you go wash up? I’ll put the clay away and clean the wheel.” He almost lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck before catching himself at the last second. If you couldn’t feel the sparks of tension between the both of you before, you certainly see it in effect now, on Yunho’s bright red cheeks and split-slick lips as he continues to lick over them again and again like it’ll quell whatever emotions he’s going through right now. You do as told, however, and rush to move over to the sink just to catch your breath. And although the sudden silence that’s draped over the room is out of place, you welcome it with open arms.

Either you take forever with cleaning your hands of the clay or Yunho simply cleans up the workstation in record time because he comes over to the sinks soon after and begins to wash his own hands at the sink beside yours. He doesn’t speak until you’ve both dried your hands, still lingering in each other’s spaces at the edge of the sinks.

“I don’t want to misread the situation we’ve put ourselves in, y/n, but on the off chance I’m reading this correctly and you want me as much as I want you…”

You don’t give the man time to overthink the situation any more than that. It takes you little to no time to take the paper towel from his hands and push it into the bin, and even less time for your hands to curl around the loose fabric of his tee. You yank him down to your height, hesitating just a moment before your lips can touch only to hiss out your response with the last bits of restraint you have.

“I’ve been wanting this since the first week of class.” Your gaze flits up to meet his in a moment of brief respite that lets you see the desire in his eyes. “You have permission to do anything you want to me so please, Yunho, don’t make me spell it out for you.”

There’s a split second where you expect Yunho to do absolutely nothing and continue to stand there stunned and silent. You give him a final push in the hopes that it’ll spur him into action and yank him down the rest of the way to cover his lips with yours. The contact is wet and warm, as his tongue was halfway out to wetting his lips yet again, and you waste no time in tangling his tongue with your own. Normally, you’d spend more time easing into things but with such palpable and heavy tension, you can’t imagine being slow now. Yunho seems to catch up as well, and finally those large hands find purchase on your body — wrapping around to drag down your back and over the swell of your ass until he secures them just under your ass. He hoists you up against his broad frame with the sort of ease that makes your head spin. It couples with the intensity of his kiss, and you drink in the sensation as long as it lasts.

And he doesn’t let it last for long either because he pulls off your mouth as he drops you on the counter between the sinks, hands wandering up to grip your hips hard. You can feel the curl of his fingers reaching around your back, and when he dips them beneath your shirt, a chill passes down your spine.

“Shouldn’t do this here,” he murmurs into your mouth. Yet his hands continue to wander higher underneath your shirt, and you hum to yourself as his touches become more insistent and urgent the closer they get to the clasp of your bra.

“Who’s gonna come in and see us?”

“Fuck.” Yunho is attractive as is, but he’s far sexier when he lets such a foul word out in your eyes. So you hook the curve of your index finger under his chin and pull his face up the moment you decide to sit up straight.

“Unless that’s what you want?”

Yunho chases your lips with his own, tongue still skating out to run over his lower one. You barely manage to deny him the kiss, if only to see the way he nearly pouts up at you so innocently.

“Wouldn’t mind someone seeing me pleasure you if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Hm, I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Sit tight for me a moment, baby.” His hands linger at your waist, but you make no effort to move him away as you reach down to strip the shirt away from your body. Your bra is quick to follow, leaving you bare from the hips up and under his wandering and lustful gaze in the blink of an eye. It’s almost embarrassing to be so crudely stared at in such a way, but the deep flush to the man’s cheeks and the wideness of his pupils give you a faint idea of how aroused he is. His hips are too far away for you to feel anything below the belt, but you are feeling awfully desperate to see (and feel) what he’s keeping there. “You can touch all you like, Yunho. In fact, I would much prefer that to you just staring.”

The words seem to snap something into place for the man, as the moment you give him the permission he was after, his hands are flying up to your chest and enveloping your breasts with the warm weight of his hands. You award him a kiss for the enthusiasm, but it’s also a chance for you to bite your tongue and hold back the whine that threatens to slip from your mouth as he pinches your nipples between his index fingers and thumbs.

He lets one of your breasts have a moment to rest after teasing your nipple to hardness and snakes that hand down around your side, brushing past the curve of your ass. You expect a cheeky grab, something small and teasing, but he gives you a rather pleasant shock when the flat of his hand comes down in close contact smack instead. Yunho swallows the gasp it elicits. That same gasp allows him to slide you forward against the counter until you’re all but dangling off of it with nothing but the tight squeeze of your thighs around his hips to keep you from losing stability.

“Your body is so pretty against me like this,” Yunho speaks like he’s in a trance, struck by some charm that you’re holding over him, and the reverence goes straight to the already overflowing pool of lust welling up in you. “Wanna open you up on my tongue, baby, can we do that?”

“Please.” Whatever hopes you had to not sound utterly debauched and desperate quickly go out the window as he presents you with that option. You can’t get down from the counter fast enough, in fact, nor can you rush to undo the button of your jeans and yank them down to your ankles without failing several times first. Yunho’s hands linger on your body all the while — either staying on your bare waist or reaching down to thumb over every new inch of skin you reveal to his eyes as you pull your pants and underwear down for his viewing pleasure. “Where do you wa—”

“Against the wall for me, darling. I’ll fuck you over a desk after I open you up.”

You choke on the rest of your question. The previous shyness he exhibited fades away a little more as he grows more aroused, and you can’t say that it’s unwelcome. The opposite, really, because you would love nothing more than for him to rough you up a little, to use his size against you and cage you in against his form.

“Could you… make me then?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“I mean that if you want me against the wall, then I want you to put me there yourself. I think—” a sharp inhale that falls apart with a breathy laugh on your part “—you’re smart enough to realize that our size difference is a huge turn-on for me, and I’m not saying I want you to throw me around like a ragdoll. Just…” Yunho’s gaze is hot and heavy on yours, but you maintain the same coy grin as you blink back at him. “A bit of manhandling would be very welcome. That’s all.” Your senseless ramble is accentuated by the way Yunho presses closer to you with each word, and you keep up with the chase by taking a step back every time he pushes into your space. It’s only when you let out your last two words that you realize you’re out of room to back up because the cold surface of the wall is now against your back. It seems you got your wish without him even having to touch you. The fog in your brain intensifies like that, as Yunho keeps his eyes firmly set on yours even while sinking to his knees between your legs. It only takes a slight nudge of his hand for you to spread your legs further, hooking a knee over the firm plate of his shoulder.

“Tell me more of your kinks then, y/n. So I can pleasure you the way you deserve.” Yunho pushes up close to your pussy but doesn’t let his lips touch you quite yet. All you can feel is the dull throb of your clit as it begs for stimulation alongside a hot puff of air from his mouth.

“I would like it if you left some marks on me, claimed me a little like that. And if you choked me some while fucking me too, from beh—oh fuck!” The profanity slips out against your will as Yunho licks between your folds and takes the pool of your wetness there onto his tongue.

“Keep talking, doll. Don’t let me stop you,” he whispers softly enough to not let the vibrations of his voice course through you.

“I-If you — um, if you fucked me from behind. On the desk. And held…” You reach for the wall to find some sort of purchase there as the tip of his tongue slips across your cunt. The stimulation feels so good after being so pent up for such a long time, and you might embarrass yourself by cumming obscenely early if he continues like that. “Want you to hold me down against the desk and choke me when I’m like that.”

“Mm, is that all, baby girl?” He lets his words reverberate through you this time until your thighs are shaking around him and he finally decides to give you some reprieve from the torturous pleasure. You nod several times in a fervor.

“What about you?”

“I think we match up well, darling. All I ask is that you pull at my hair a little while I’m eating you out.” His request is accentuated with a wink that leaves your lips parted in silent shock, but he gives you no time to process it further before he’s dipping back to your cunt with two fingers spreading your folds wide. The suck he gives to your cunt is nothing short of absolute sin, especially with how he licks his lips after. “Can you do that for me, doll?” His inquiry comes out as a whisper, slightly breathless and full of some pleading, and you respond by reaching out to thread your fingers through Yunho’s dark hair and securing your grip close to his scalp. He hesitates with two fingers pressed to the ring of your entrance and lips circled around a patch of flesh along your inner thigh. Your grip tightens imperceptibly when those fingers push into you, dragging along your walls in search of something deeper, and Yunho doesn’t stop until your head drops back to the wall and a moan pushes free of your lips for the first time thus far.

You do nothing to guide his movements as he kisses along the inside of your thigh. The only thing you can think to do is squeeze your fist tighter each time he pauses to suck at your skin until it blossoms under his touches. And when he isn’t satisfied with just those ministrations, he moves upwards, standing slowly while easing his fingers in and out of your wet heat. You expect a kiss, maybe even something as simple and delicate as a peck, but instead, he brings his other hand up to your lips and presses his index and middle finger to the seam until you drop your jaw and take the digits into your mouth. The positioning is awkward at best as you haven’t dropped your hand from his hair yet for reasons even you can’t discern; however, Yunho pushes those thoughts to the back of your mind simply with the way his eyes trail down to your mouth like he can see straight past to the tongue you have pressed between his fingers.

“Need that on my dick someday too,” he murmurs, mostly to himself but you hear it nonetheless thanks to your proximity. He withdraws his hand from your lips as well, giving you ample time to catch your breath and fix the mess of drool that’s dripping down your chin, and in the meantime, he dips his head down to the curve of your neck. The heat of his breath over the sensitive skin there nearly makes you dizzy. You open your mouth to respond — some dumb and witty comment to send back at him — only to be cut off when Yunho curls his fingers at the knuckle deep inside your cunt. It erases the thought from your mind altogether in the blink of an eye.

“Ah, too deep, Y-Yunho, too deep!” His fingers are still damp with your spit when he slides that hand down the curve of your body. He stops once he reaches down past your ass, pulling your leg up to curl around his hip as he grinds the bulge of his erection against your mound. “I want you in me.”

“Fuck, okay, okay, yeah, I need — I need to be in you.” Yunho lets your leg down again with a huffed-out sigh, one that you echo with a clipped laugh as you drop your hand from his hair to his neck.

“Great, glad we’re on the same page about that. Now could you get on with bending me over that desk?” He takes a step back and drops his hands to the waistband of his sweats. Despite your temptation to take your turn on your knees in front of him, if only to suck him dry, you curb that temptation in favor of moving to sit on the corner of the nearest desk. “Jesus Christ…” The statement slips out without much thought the second your eyes settle on Yunho’s crotch, fully erect member in full display under your gaze.

“Never been called that before during sex, but if that’s what you like so be it, doll.” Yunho steps into your space, smile twisting his lips as he reaches for your hips. He gets an eyeful of your half-hearted eye roll before he’s urging you to hop off the surface and turn your back to him. Again, he takes the air right out of your lungs when you’re trying to spit out another quip — a quick tug to your body that has you turning on your heel, and you get half a second at best to catch your breath before Yunho is bringing a large hand down on your back and bending you over the edge of the desk. When his knee pushes between your thighs, your legs almost naturally fall apart at his insistence. His hand snakes up to cup at the back of your neck, delivering the sweet squeeze you requested not too long ago, and it lingers even when you twist your head to rest your cheek against the cool surface of the table. “You look so pretty laid out like this… nice and pliant for me, hm?”

“Use me, Yunho,” you whisper, pulling your hands up to latch together above your head. “Stop running your mouth and fuck me already, please.”

“You sound so pretty when you beg, darling, how can I say no to that?” His words come out like a purr, cock pressing against your entrance with just enough pressure to tease.

Just as you’re about to get onto him once more for being so insufferable about it, he breaches your entrance and starts sinking the full weight of his length into your tight hole. There’s nothing really romantic and lovable about it but you don’t need it to be that way, nor does the man behind you either. It’s almost all pure obscenity — from the way he chokes you as he bottoms out to the hand he has on your hip just to steady you. And thanks to his size, it feels a bit like being split in two more than anything pleasurable for what feels like forever after he fully settles inside your cunt. His grip on your neck loosens to let you try to even your breathing until the stretch eases from pain to discomfort to, finally, pleasure.

“Easy, baby, you’re alright, I’ve got you.” His offer of comfort is the softest thing about this whole predicament, but the sentiment isn’t lost on you even as you’re dealing with the worst of the strain. “You’re taking my cock so well already, look at you.”

“F-Feel good around you, yeah?”

He laughs at your counter but hums his affirmation right after. “Let me know when you’re ready?”

“Mm, go ahead, I’m fine now,” you murmur even though it sounds an awful lot like a slurring mess instead. Yunho lifts his hand from your neck to meet his other one at your hips, and that’s his cue to you that his thrusts are about to begin, along with the tug of his cock against your inner walls. He also awards you with his first full-blown moan of the night too — a sweet and unbridled sound that lingers in the air as he draws his hips back and fucks into you with building passion and intensity.

“You’re so tight, baby.” His next thrust tears a moan from your lips. The angle he’s fucking you at has your cunt pressed between his body and the flat surface of the table, making each thrust rub your clit down with a bit of a rough pressure that feels delightful against the neediness in your system. “Your walls are squeezing my cock so nicely like your pussy was made to take me.” He sighs through another groan. “Could fuck you all night, you feel so fucking good.” You send a hand back to grab at his hip in a desperate but futile attempt to draw his body closer to yours.

“More, Yun, I’m so c-close.” The previous denial of an orgasm earlier comes swirling back to you the more he pushes into your hole. The pleasure blends together to a point where you can’t find what part of his thrusts is bringing you the most pleasure, but it doesn’t really matter anyway because the euphoria is building and mounting to a point where you feel you could blackout on the spot without much more stimulation. “Cumming, Yunho, I’m cumming, I’m go—” Whatever else you were going to add dies at the beginning of a drawn-out combination of a moan and a whine as you tumble over the edge of an orgasm. And Yunho continues to fuck you through the feeling, even as your walls tighten and squeeze around his member, with stuttered thrusts that start to lull as you’re coming down from your high.

It comes with a sudden emptiness as he pulls free of your pussy, but you hardly have time to complain because you feel streaks of cum on your lower back soon after, along with the groan of relief and pleasure as Yunho joins you in an orgasm of his own.

“Hold tight, I’ll grab a paper towel to clean you up.” He lets his hand linger on your side for a few moments before you feel his weight move away from you, but there’s no urge for you to move along with him, even as the arousal dies down and leaves you sweaty and uncomfortable.

“Gonna need one to clean the desk too!”

Yunho laughs from his spot behind you only for you to hear the sink running anyway, and that is what ultimately makes you peel yourself away from the table.

“I’ll wipe you down, you get the table, doll.”

You hum through a smile as he passes a damp paper towel your way; it comes with a handful of wet wipes too. Although you clean the evidence of what you did away from the surface, you don’t think you’re gonna be able to look at that desk in particular the same way from now on and you imagine Yunho probably feels the same way himself.

“Shame I don’t get to treat you to some ample aftercare cuddles. It happens to be my specialty,” the man says after you toss out your small pile of wipes. You laugh as you take your clothes from his hands, accepting the offering and his suggestion for what it is.

“I wouldn’t mind a round two back at my place. My roommate is out for the night, so we’ll see about those famous cuddles maybe?”

“I happen to make fucking fantastic bacon and eggs too.”

“Oh? A modern househusband, aren’t you?”

You were already going to take him up on the offer, along with the clever insinuation of spending the night with you, but the bashful little laugh he echoes your banter with seals the deal for good. It only dawns on you once you’re leaving the building with Yunho minutes later that you were going to send a text to your chat with Wooyoung and Yeosang at least an hour ago. Your delay is more telling than anything, but the text messages you get as you’re walking into your own apartment later, hand still locked tightly with Yunho’s warm one, are beyond incriminating.

Idiot #2: i take it that since you still haven’t answered my texts for three fucking hours you fucked the gentle giant-looking ass and i owe yeosang 30 bucks???

Idiot #1: 45 if she takes him back to her apartment after

Idiot #2: sorry i thought she had some DECENCY to not FUCK THE GUY ON THE FIRST LESSON

Idiot #2: i want 13 handmade mugs as retribution for this, y/n. thirteen.

this work belongs to calypso / hongism (2022). do not copy, repost, or steal in any way.

#yunho smut #ateez smut #ateez x reader #yunho x reader #yunho imagine #ateez imagine #ateez drabble #yunho drabble #ateez fic #caly.writes

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 49

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst ➻ word count: 19.7k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, talks of abuse & violence, minor violence, smut ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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act seven ➻ part one

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What rots away at your insides in the days that follow is nothing pretty — a deep profound obsession that drives your hatred towards a particular man into the skin until it sits engraved there, with wounds oozing blood all the while.

“Have you seen Nightingale around?”

Soojin jerks her chin up at the sudden interruption of your voice cutting through whatever pretty silence she constructed for herself. You feel bad, though only mildly, for disturbing her without warning. It’s become somewhat common to find her in the mess hall these days, with Luca off to the side with the two resident Berserkers. Your stare lingers on Mingi for a few more seconds than necessary. The last conversation you shared with the man rings in your ears like it was mere minutes ago and not several days.

“Um, training room I think? That’s where he’s been hanging around at least.” Soojin passes you a little half-hearted smile. You don’t doubt that your discomfort and likely unabashed anger is on full display to her; however, she opts not to ask further about your reasons for asking, so you deign not to say anything other than a quiet ‘thank you’ and nod your head.

Mingi shifts where he’s kneeling close to the child. His gaze finds yours the second you turn to head out, stopping you in your tracks and forcing you to return the fierce eye contact for several seconds. You let it stagnate for too long, apparently, because the Berserker stands without warning and moves in your direction. You don’t consider your next move to be one of avoidance, though it must look like that to anyone else aside from you with how you retreat the way you came and head for the arched doorway leading out. Mingi persists still.

“Ghost.”

“Yes?” You only stop to turn when the two of you are far enough away from both Soojin and Jongho.

“I hope what I said to you the other night hasn’t been on your mind too much.”

“…Hardly.” Something else has been in its place — a messy conglomeration of anger, frustration, and other emotions you haven’t paused to address internally yet. You got to see the full picture Mingi had been painting for you that night days later in any case.

“That’s—” he inhales sharply and goes rigid for a moment, so still that you almost think someone has crept up behind you to interrupt the conversation but it’s still just the two of you near the edge of the room. A noise of realization slips from your lips. How hard is it to lie to a man who can feel every bit of the emotions radiating off you in waves?

“I understand what you meant now. I do.”

“I had wished to apologize and to… to let you know that what I said was untrue. I apologize for misleading you.” Mingi’s expression is surprisingly genuine in comparison to his words, though you know you won’t find whatever sincerity you seek in his tone regardless.

“I don’t believe that,” you start in a whisper, “and I doubt you do either.”

Mingi’s full lips twitch into what seems to be a fight against a smile.

“Ever so perceptive.”

“Were you ordered to apologize?”

“No.” Mingi smiles truly now. Without showing his teeth in any fashion, the gesture comes across as more terrifying than reassuring. “What I said to you was my personal opinion. I cannot be crucified for an opinion. I’m telling you that I was wrong because my opinion has changed. Although, perhaps there is nothing and no one more dangerous than a woman scorned.” You duck your chin as you laugh, trying to hide the noise behind your hand, though when you look back up at Mingi, he is chuckling too. “Yunho told me that once, you can blame him.”

“Noted. I’ll be sure to file a complaint. In the meantime—” Mingi raises his eyebrows at you as though echoing a silent question “—thank you for looking out for me. All is well between San and myself now.”

“But not you and the captain.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You get this certain look about you when you’re pissed at him in particular.” When Mingi grins at you next, you can’t keep your laughter in any longer. “I don’t know if it’s of any consolation to you, but if you do wish to speak with the captain, he has not been inviting any guests to the bridge these days aside from myself. So while there wouldn’t be total privacy, there would be some level of it at least with the lieutenant’s absence.”

“If I didn’t know better, Mingi, I might say you are trying to start a fight.” You keep your tone above the belt so to speak — kind enough to imply simple jokes if Mingi chooses to read it as such. The Berserker glances over his shoulder then over at you briefly.

“It might amuse me thoroughly to see you swing a few punches at him before having to intervene,” he says under his breath, and as surprise starts to hit and drag through your body, the man turns his back to you to walk back the way he came. Mingi at least seems to understand you on a fundamental level; in a regard to how you expunge your feelings with some form of confrontation, and perhaps you and the Berserker share overlap in such areas. He has been no stranger to confrontation himself in the past. The arena itself is the perfect example of such a thing, where he was driven by a simple desire to do something. Feel something, do something in return. Eye for an eye in a strange sense — you made me feel this way so I am doing this to you as a response to those feelings. He’s far from unintelligent by any means; if anything, Mingi is a lot smarter than all of the people you share the ship with.

Rather than complicating matters with seedy lies and interweaving half-truths to make things seem more honest than they are, Mingi allows for the perspective of “one plus one equals two, so why complicate it beyond that?”, and he pushes a compelling argument into your hands. The temptation of whacking your captain across the face is a delightful one. Even if there wasn’t an abundance of anger stirring in your gut because of his actions, you think he has fully warranted several punches just on account of his existence.

Simplifying things in such ways, however, is far from your forte.

And there is still the desire to address the sea of lies and half-truths Nightingale presented to you when you asked rather straightforward questions upon first meeting him. You could gain absolutely nothing from this confrontation or you could garner more ammunition to fire into Hongjoong when you inevitably seek out that fight.

Finding the man you’re after is indeed as simple as going to the training room, though the sight that awaits you beyond the door is not at all what you were anticipating. You’ve been in the room several times by now, becoming quite familiar with the layout of everything inside, and even though you have been slacking since you got back from Rathmos, you cannot imagine the room to have changed so much in such little time. Nightingale finds you, instead, frozen by the door with what can only be rampant confusion on your expression.

“Don’t give me that look, it’s only temporary. Need a firing range somewhere to keep sharp.” He motions behind him with his prosthetic arm, tilting his chin in a way that makes the choppy pink strands of hair atop his head flop around. “You’re welcome to use it as you see fit while it’s up though.”

With the explanation, the sight before your eyes makes much more sense. Haphazard targets that look to be crude metal cut-outs of vaguely human form now occupy the far end of the training room, where the (albeit very minimal) row of training dummies used to sit against the wall. Those have been moved as well, brought forward some to spread throughout what Nightingale has added.

“Is anyone aware of your interior decorating skills?” you ask as you push further into the room.

“Ha ha, no one mentioned that you’re the funny one around here. And yes, I was given permission to do as I please while I’m here. Thus—” the man waves a hand through the air in a rather dismissive fashion, tacking on a forced smile at the end of his response. Pressing your lips into a thin line, you return the gesture. “If you’re gonna just stand there, get over here and join me. Clearly you have some reason for being here.”

The bounty hunter extends a hand in your direction, fingers clasped around the barrel of a pistol, and he presents the grip to you without waiting for your agreement one way or another.

“I do want to ask you a few questions, yes.” He doesn’t let go of the weapon immediately, even after you try to take it from him. You still find it wildly unsettling to look at that fake eye so you dip your chin and clear your throat. He lets go seconds later without pushing the topic further, passing the metaphorical ball back into your side of the court for the next play to come. “Starting with an explanation of what your relationship towards Hongjoong truly is.” Part of you is nervous to ask such a thing because the man is full of so many unknowns, and in your mind’s eye, you could be traversing into very dangerous territory. Without knowing for certain that your safety is guaranteed in his hands, you’re left to eye the pistol that he takes into his hands and weighs carefully.

As though offering up a warning of your own, you take aim at one of the mangled metal targets and press your finger over the trigger, letting the gun fire its bullet forward. It hits as intended, and if the head had features attached to it, your bullet would have landed between its eyes. Nightingale huffs out a laugh through his nose.

“Now you know, huh?”

Again, you fire; this time at a different target though with the same intention. When your bullet lands again, you lower the pistol to your side and look over at the bounty hunter.

“Why did you lie?”

“Why are you believing every word out of San’s mouth?” he counters just as quickly, but it doesn’t catch you off-guard the way he clearly intends for it to. “He’s the one who talked to you, no? I doubt it was Seonghwa given how much he wants to avoid what Hongjoong and San both did back then, and it certainly wasn’t the man of the hour himself. So why are you hanging onto every word, taking every little thing San is telling you at face value?” Nightingale’s fake eye is oddly expressive for all the tech and hardware glowing through the sclera. “Did he not tell you how he manipulated me? What game did he play to do so, I truly wonder, Ghost? How did he tell you? Were you in bed? Were his hands on you, telling you foul and hideous words with his lips but touching you so gently with his fingertips?”

He succeeds now in pushing discomfort far into your veins. You lift the gun in your hand a second time if only to distract yourself from his words but he’s already accomplished his goal.

“He explained very gruesome details about it all,” you say through gritted teeth, “but it would be odd to lie about that.”

“But not impossible, no?”

You draw your lips together until your teeth start to ache from the pressure you’re putting against them.

“My eye was taken by your captain, Ghost, but my arm — my arm was taken by your captain’s dog.”

Your finger fumbles on the trigger at the shock revelation, and you don’t have the mind to correct your angle before the gun is firing off a shot into the wall adjacent to one of the targets. Nightingale lurches forward, artificial fingers pressing down hard on the barrel of the gun to lower it once more.

“Try not to go blowing holes in your captain’s ship unless you want the same done to you,” he offers. His hand stays attached to your gun, and now you can’t rip your gaze off the prosthetic. When your gaze flits up to his face, you take in the sight of his wry smile and that glowing eye. “Though I suspect San would sooner die than harm you. Suppose that’s where we differ.”

“Why do you still willingly work with Hongjoong? He takes your eye and your arm, but you still do favors for him?” If it were you, you would either swear to kill the man with your bare hands or put as much distance between you and him as possible.

“There’s more I need out of him yet, and he’s willing to make deals according to his needs. No one aboard this ship can compete with the services I offer.”

“What if he asks San to kill next time? Then what?” It seems bizarre that Hongjoong would allow a person whom he clearly considered an enemy at one point to lie so comfortably amongst his crew. That is, if Hongjoong’s claims about how desperately he wishes to protect his crew are true, and you think you can at least find credibility in that. If nothing else.

Nightingale flicks his bangs to the side as he jerks his chin upwards and grins in full at you.

“That’ll be the fun part.”

“Fun. You have a sick definition of fun!”

What you get in return is a half-hearted shrug that tells you the man does not truly care in the slightest.

“San pretends to be torn up about the things that happened between us,” he continues, and this at least doesn’t come as a surprise. “I think there is some sliver of the man that does feel guilty about it but maybe that’s hopeful thinking on my part. I’m not sure he’s capable of guilt at all.”

“He is. He is, he’s not—”

When your words falter, Nightingale looks towards you with raised brows and wide eyes, but the smile on his lips persists still. It makes your skin itch and burn with discomfort.

“He’s no monster. He’s capable of feeling things, and guilt is among those things.”

“He knows that the order to kill could come any day,” Nightingale speaks as though you didn’t interrupt in the slightest. “So he doesn’t let himself feel that bad. Pretending is easier anyway, no?”

In a stroke of what might be pure foolishness, you allow yourself to be vulnerable before this man here and now.

“How much of a hand does Hongjoong have in the things San does?”

“What do you think?” he asks in turn, and that grin finally drops.

“He’s admitted to me that he wishes to be Hongjoong’s weapon and nothing else,” you whisper.

“Do you feel safe with San?”

“I do. Doubtlessly.”

The corner of the hunter’s mouth twitches a bit at that. “I did too, at one point. Until San asked to take me to the brig one day. Even when I was fully in the mouth of a monster, I did not feel it. Not until he clamped his jaw down around me.”

“I run the risk of sounding delusional, but that’s different from the position I’m in now. I’m part of the crew. You said you aren’t and never were, so you were someone on the outside, someone with a rival crew, someone who posed a threat to this crew.” You gleaned that much from San’s distorted story and can only hope that it’s the truth. “I’m not like that nor am I in that position. My loyalty is already set in stone.”

“You’ve been taught well already,” Nightingale all but sneers back at you, but it devolves into a laugh seconds later. He doesn’t allow you the chance to ask what that means either. “Your loyalty is to San, but you have to realize by now that by dedicating yourself to him, you are dedicating yourself to Hongjoong too.”

“Truth, respect, and loyalty,” you throw out. “That’s what Hongjoong demands, but that doesn’t mean he should be allowed to get away with heinous things.” Nightingale hums.

“It’s easy to mistake leadership for coercion if you do not believe in the man leading you. Do not forget the company you’re keeping here, Ghost, or what marks have stained your ledger red with blood.”

“I would be first to admit that my morals aren’t all there.” Taking a deep breath, you do your best to put to words what it is that has been irking you so much about the man in command. “But doing these things to people he claims to care about — that’s not an issue of morality. He keeps telling me that every little thing he does is for our sake, that all his misdemeanors against me have been to protect his crew, so it seems like a contradiction to let him harm them just as much.”

For all your passion in saying that, Nightingale just shrugs.

“Could you at least tell me your real name?” Your ploy to fish for more information ends in disappointment.

“No. I won’t give it to you.”

“Why not?” The unfortunate side effect of pushing more feeling into your tone is that you end up sounding like little more than a petulant child who isn’t getting her way.

“I’m certain you can figure out why I’m not quick to trust others, especially those close to Hongjoong.”

“Hongjoong already knows these things about you though, I’m sure! What’s the harm in telling me now?”

“It’s about the concept of trust, and you don’t have mine.” As you scowl, Nightingale pulls the pistol fully from your hands. “I don’t have a crew now because of what your captain did to mine in the past. Every last one of them became fragments of debris in space. My trust is hard to come by and even harder to earn.” He waves his free hand towards the exit. “Now shoo so I can focus alone.”

There’s the distinct feeling sticking to your gut as you leave that you have upset the man in some way, whether on account of your questions or your answers to his own questions, but it’s also paired with the sick churn as you feel his eyes on you as you go. You wonder with which hand Hongjoong had taken his eye, and in what manner he went about doing so. Further, imagination takes over to wonder how San took his arm — what they talked about, what they did beforehand, how it all went down — and fills you with sick curiosity. You wish to know the ins and outs of how things turned out the way they did if only to know how to avoid the same fate for yourself later down the line.

That is not a privilege you get to have, however. Aware of that fact, you move on to other, much less pleasant business by your standards. It takes you to Minho’s door, and you barely get the chance to knock even once before it’s sliding open before your eyes to reveal the doctor on the other side.

“I was about to come get you myself. Here I thought you were being difficult again.”

“Justifiably, I’d say,” you mutter, stepping past him to get in the room. You certainly have no desire to do this presently, but Minho cornered you last night after dinner and all but demanded that you see him for another session.

“Hm, how has your day been so far?”

You hum as your head tilts from side to side in a nonverbal response to his question. He moves for that cursed table with the chessboard atop it immediately, but you choose to hang back and glance around the room as though anything will have changed since you were last here. And truly, nothing is inherently different about the décor of the room. What does catch your eye is a thing much more insignificant by all means — the bottle of pills sitting atop his bedside table. You have seen him with it before, seen him take pills from the very same bottle, and that alone should not be cause for concern.

“Ghost.”

Your gaze lingers in place even as your body twists to face the doctor. It’s the exact same bottle, and the pills must surely be the same inside as well, except when you saw him days ago, it was barely used. There had to be only a few taken out at that point. Now the bottle sits close to empty, with another identical container filled to the brim with more capsules right beside it on the table. Feasibly, there’s no way that he could have taken all those pills in such a short amount of time.

“Y/n, the sooner we talk, the sooner you can take your leave.” When you finally rip your gaze off the bottles and turn to Minho, it’s just to find that he’s looking back at you with such an intensely heated glare that you almost feel like a child being caught doing something wrong. “Come sit. We will not play today.”

“Um, have you been well too?” you inquire through the sudden tension hanging in the air. Minho offers nothing but a sigh, leaning back in his chair as you sit down across from him. “Or… I mean, your day, has your day been okay too?”

“It’s been fine, thank you.” The man smiles at last, and that gesture provides some relief for you. Not enough, it seems, because your gaze flicks back over to that nightstand and what sits atop it within seconds. “Are you distracted today, Ghost?”

“A bit.” It’s said through a whisper, and Minho’s stare makes you want to challenge him further but you decide against it. “What is it you wanted to talk about today?”

“You seem to suffer from PTSD,” he states almost out of nowhere. Something about both the suddenness and the bluntness in his tone makes you scoff. It’s akin to one of the very first things he said to you though, and the sense of familiarity with what he’s said makes you recall that now.

“Of course I do.”

“What do you mean by that?” He has that pad out once again, opened over his knee where he crosses his legs, and you see his pen move down to the tablet before you can even offer up a response.

“Looking at my history, wouldn’t it be a bit obvious for me to have PTSD?” Something about how methodical the man is in writing down words unbeknownst to you makes you violently insecure all of the sudden. You feel seen in an uncomfortable way, in a way you do not want to be seen, though he perpetuates the discomfort by shifting to look you in the eye.

“Only depending on who you are. There are those who wouldn’t, though they would fall under a different umbrella.”

“Something worse…?” you trail off without being able to finish the thought, mostly because you fear falling into that category yourself.

“Nothing worse. Nothing worse. We don’t use terms like that. While symptoms can have levels, the disorders themselves differ in severity. It is better to address them in tentative terms. Nothing is worse in this room. We are talking about you and you alone. No comparisons, no parallels, no odd faux psychology test meant to tell you whether you have the same mental disorder as some planetary celebrity.” Minho looks down at the screen below him, eyes scanning over the contents of whatever sits there, and you find yourself grossly curious about what he’s writing about you. “Yunho made heavy note of your trauma response and the symptoms you struggle with on a day-to-day basis. I’d like to hear it from your lips. Can you look back and pinpoint a particularly traumatic event in your life?”

In retrospect, there are plenty of moments you could bring to light now. Starting all the way from childhood and moving up until recently, for that matter, you find it difficult to count the memories of your childhood that you do not have. Even so, in the military, you have clear and distinct memories that jump out to you; however, the fog of not being able to distinguish the minute details of what’s accurate and what was fabricated by two men who suffered the same fate.

“I was a slave before joining the military. I imagine that would be a rather traumatic experience.”

“You imagine? That time has not been recovered in your memory yet, is that correct?”

“I have yet to remember it, yeah, but I’m sure that caused some extent of damage to my brain along the way.”

“If I may be so bold,” Minho starts, leaning forward in his seat and over his knees in a way that forces you to make eye contact with him, “I am of the belief that the most prominent event was the night you killed the King of Eros. Would it be alright if I asked you to recount what happened then?”

Your fingers clench and unclench against your thighs and releasing that grip feels close to an impossible feat. Minho notices the sudden increase in your breathing patterns, along with your frantic blinking as you entertain the mere idea of telling him such horrors.

“There are many ways in which I can offer you support, should you need it. Encouraging words, eye contact, I can even put a hand on your knee or hold your hand if need be — and you can allow yourself to be emotional here. This is a safe space.”

“Can you not speak down to me in such a way?” It’s an inaccurate judgment of his actions, and you are well aware of that fact. The words push their way out of you before you can stop them, even though you don’t believe them either — at least not fully. He is simply a man doing his job: the offer to assist you is part of the work asked of him.

“Why do you feel as though I am speaking down to you?”

You gnaw at the inside of your lip.

“Is it because of our last session?” Minho unfolds his legs and lays his tablet down atop the table between you two. “I will not bring that into conversation today, you need not worry about that.”

“It makes me nervous,” you admit through your teeth.

“Yes, I gathered as much. To put it bluntly and risk your ire further, you tend towards lashing out when you start to feel anxious. A completely normal, human reaction! Don’t get me wrong; nearly every person in the universe does so as well. I am genuinely trying to help you here, Ghost, but I can only do so if you let me in to some extent.” The doctor extends a hand across the gap between the two of you, palm up to the ceiling, and you blink between him and his hand several times before finding your voice again.

“That night, I waited until my team was asleep, pretending to be so myself, and when I thought the coast was clear, I got up and left our cabin. Jisung followed me out. I told him I would finish the job he started so that no one else would… fall victim to whatever it was he wanted. I asked him to take responsibility, to do it himself and stop me, but he didn’t. Instead, he told me that I could do it myself if I wanted to save Hyu—our team so badly. I went to the king’s quarters myself, alone, killing any and every guard I saw along the way. When I reached the king’s chambers, I slit his queen’s throat in her bed right beside him and then I waited. And waited.” Minho’s hand doesn’t waver where it remains above the chessboard. You hone your gaze in on his fingers rather than his face, solely because of the overwhelming sense of dread swarming your gut as you pour yourself out to this man. “And I waited until her blood soaked the sheets enough to wake him. Then when he finally woke, I climbed over her dead body and I reached into that man’s chest to break it open and squeeze the life of his heart. Once I had done that, I gathered what documents I could and what I thought was important at the time before going back to the cabin I shared with my team. Soojin took me to the bath and tried to get the blood off my skin and out of my clothes. Jisung stood above me and lied to them, claiming he told me not to do anything, that he had nothing to do with it, and that I ruined his plans. He put his hands around my throat and pushed me under the water with the intent to kill me.”

“Do you remember how you felt the exact moment you killed that man and his wife?”

“I felt powerful.” Perhaps such an admission makes you sick and deranged in the head but it does come from a place of honesty. “I felt afraid at the same time. I think I’ve only ever felt that once before, and it came long after that night.” You have a clearer memory of that instance — a day when everything that could go wrong happened to shatter around you all at once. San getting shot, Hongjoong pushing your hand through a door, saving Soojin and Luca, San almost dying, your hand going through a man’s chest and squeezing around his still beating heart.

“Power and fear have more in common than you might imagine,” Minho whispers as he finally pulls his hand back into his lap.

“All my time in the military, I was heralded as some sort of prodigy thanks to my skill with guns. Be it pistols or rifles or snipers, I understand them on a fundamental and mechanical level, to the point where I could tell you how far a bullet will travel before it begins to drop. I could tell you in numbers how much force is behind the recoil on a sniper or how a silencer affects the handling of a gun. I never felt powerful with that knowledge though. Not enough to feel fear in the same breath at least. But for the life of me…” your breath stutters momentarily, just enough to let you think over what you’re trying to get at, “I cannot explain how I can do such a horrific thing with apparent ease.”

“Does that make you afraid of hurting those closest to you? Those you care about, those who trust you, who put their faith in you and hope their survival is guaranteed in their hands?”

“No, I know I wouldn’t hurt them in any way.” You push force into your tone intentionally, with the hope to squash what it was he was implying you would do the last time you sat in this chair across from him. He does not give the reaction you hoped for, however — an acknowledgment of your forced honesty — and rather, you get a cat-like grin that pulls the corners of his lips upwards until it’s unsettling to look at.

“Do you fear yourself, Y/n?”

“Not in the sense that — I don’t fear that I will physically hurt the people close to me because I have a power I don’t fully understand. But sometimes I can’t shake the feeling of a heartbeat that is not mine on my fingertips, or I can’t unhear the sound of a thumping heart beating in my eardrums.”

“You fear becoming a slave to your own capabilities,” Minho concludes for you. Part of you is wildly grateful he took it upon himself to finish the thought because admitting it would only add to the weight bearing down on your shoulders now. “You fear becoming a monster.”

Pressing your lips into the thinnest line you can manage, all you can do is offer a series of meager little nods to confirm his suspicions.

“Y/n, tell me, when something you consider to be bad happens, do you hear and feel that heartbeat?”

“I imagine I do, but I’m certain I mistake it for my own from time to time.” Your fingers draw the fabric of your pants into your palms again, squeezing tight until you can feel your nails biting skin through the material. “Is there a word for that? Some diagnosis out of one of your long books and manuals?” You did not intend for so much sarcasm to push through your tone but it slips in nonetheless. Minho doesn’t so much as bat an eye at the attitude you send his way and instead pauses as though he is truly mulling over your senseless question.

“We in psychiatry ought to aim to help patients adjust to their current mental states. If the bad outweighs the good, then we determine treatments accordingly. If there are goods that cannot be had outside of that mental state, then we ask the patient to determine what’s best. Within reason, of course, we ought not to let anyone harm themselves with their own decisions, intentionally or otherwise. However, more often than not, the patient is the one best suited to figure out the right dosage of medications or treatments or therapies needed in order to maintain a good and healthy life. In my seat, from where I stand on this side of the dilemma, it is easy to preach to you, the patient, about how you should choose. How you lead your life, what medication you should take, to slap labels on you and tell you that definitively this — whatever the diagnosis we find is, I mean — is what is wrong in your head. Manual after manual, book after book, the list of articles grows day by day with new names for things that perhaps do not even need a name. Y/n, I will not place a name to whatever it is you are suffering with on any given day. Each individual case, patient, person should be treated separately, without a manual or an article or some doctor halfway across the universe telling me that there’s some title to slap on you. What you are is a human being who deserves the respect of being treated as such, not just another tick mark against the name of a disorder that may encompass your symptoms at a given point in time. Is that agreeable to you?”

This time the sigh you let out is one of pure relief, and the lingering discomfort you felt from being in this position with the doctor dwindles further.

“Refreshingly agreeable, yes.”

Minho dips his ear to his shoulder as he smiles less crudely than before. “Then, shall we dive deeper into that head of yours now?”

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

“I don’t want to go back after this.”

You look up from your bag to face the man who’s just spoken, and when you lay your sight on him, he’s sitting at the edge of one of the beds.

“Sorry?” you echo mostly out of confusion.

He lifts his chin and finds your gaze with wide brown eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you would resort to saying that he looks innocent of all wrongdoings in life.

“I don’t want to go back to Eros. Don’t want to report to some stuffy military official, don’t want Hyunwoo to give us a lecture about how we weren’t the perfect little soldiers, don’t want to keep doing things for people I don’t give a fuck about.”

Setting your bag aside, you move to sit on your own bed and face Jisung only after curling your fingers around the edge of the mattress to ground yourself. What version of Jisung will come out of this conversation is an absolute mystery to you as of yet.

“Aren’t you sick of it, Y/n?”

Despite the urge to shrug and wave off the question, you at least know better than to risk upsetting him this early.

“Defecting would be worse for us.”

“Us? So you feel the same?”

“I’m entertaining the idea for the sake of this conversation, Jisung,” you state in a rather flat tone. The mattress dips a bit further under your grip. “I’m content with the way things are. Who else is there for me to be loyal to? I’m well fed, taken care of, have protection—”

“All of that is only guaranteed if you give your loyalty and freedom in return.”

Your lips draw into a frown.

“Deserting is a good way to make sure freedom is never an option for you, Jisung. We have to stay until we’re twenty-one, those were the rules when we entered this line of work.”

“Letting fourteen-year-olds decide their own fates for the next seven years is bullshit too!”

“But it was a stipulation you knew upfront,” you counter. In a twist of irony, you’re the one losing patience here first. “I’m not saying that it’s ideal or fair, but risking the rest of your life because you’re tired now isn’t ideal either. We could wait, Ji… wait until we’re of age and can leave freely. I don’t want to be in the military forever either but I don’t want to lose the rest of my life because of a lack of judgment as a teenager.”

“You willingly lost the first fourteen years of your life because of the military too, Y/n!” Jisung gets to his feet now, in a flash of anger, and you glare his way with waning amusement. “You’re gonna give them more of those years too? Risk dying for them? Just to possibly guarantee some shred of faux freedom that they dangle in front of your nose?”

“Ji—”

“They make you stay on Eros after you leave, you know that right? You can’t even leave the system, let alone the fucking planet! That’s freedom to you? You don’t have to work for them anymore, sure, but you’re stuck under their noses so they can keep you pressed right under their thumbs for the rest of your life anyway.”

“Hyunwoo would throw you to those so-called rats for even entertaining the thought of treason! Do you think I want to see that happen? You’re one of us too, Ji, you are part of our team. Our team is our family. This is who we have. We agreed to stick together, we decided this for ourselves, and we committed to this together. I’m not doing all this shit because I love the man we have to call king, but I am doing it because it’s for the good of the people I care about. I had imagined you thought the same?”

“Those people would sell you out for a paycheck, Y/n. If I commit treason, then they’re throwing you in my court. We don’t have the golden ticket as they do — I’ve killed too many innocent people, and you’ve been a complicit player in my crimes for too long.”

You move to get up from your seat as well but Jisung crosses the short distance between the two beds before you have a chance to get balanced. It doesn’t keep you from being the one to make the first move, however, and you swing the back of your hand across his face without hesitation. Still, you knock yourself right back to where you were seconds before, pushing a wave of shock through your system in the same breath. Jisung remains frozen in place, no doubt out of disbelief.

“You want me to martyr myself for you so desperately that it’s made you beyond delusional. I’ve been loyal to you partly out of pity, you idiot, because without me, you would have been strung up in the streets by now. I know my place in our team and in our department. You play with your little toys, and I make the kill shots. Part of me believes that you only kill those innocent people in my name because you have somehow deluded yourself into thinking that I need to be protected. I protect you. I protect myself. And I will protect our family when the time comes. You decide now whether you’re included in that group of people or not.”

“And I will do whatever must be done to get us both out. You’re the coward. You’ve let them taint your mind and make you believe that leaving is a crime.” He drags his fingers across your cheek, pulling your chin up to look at him better, but all it does is earn him a glare. “You’ll see it one day, little lady. I promise you that much.”

The man before you has never taken responsibility for a thing in his life, though. Asking him to do so now would be an impossible feat at best. In fact, if you were in the business of making wagers, you would bet that Jisung would only admit fault at death’s doorstep.

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

“I can’t believe we’re losing so badly to a child,” you say under your breath even though said child is staring right at you from across the table. Jongho shakes his head almost imperceptibly as he looks over the cards in his hands before placing them face down on the metal with a shaky sigh.

“This is the fourteenth time in a row, and I’m not even trying to let him win against me.”

“Fourteenth?” You glance down at your own hand but the sight is dismal at best. There is much on the line, however, and it sits in the center of the table between the three of you now. The last handful of gourmet chocolates that Jongho had been stashing in his room all this time without even mentioning their existence to you. You’ll be damned if you lose out on some fucking chocolates to a child, even if he is a master at the art of poker. “My hand is terrible. I can’t even lie about it, it’s so fucking bad.”

“Be glad you can’t see mine because I don’t think either one of us is walking out of here with even a tin foil wrapper.”

Luca raps his knuckles against the metal table and drags your focus back over to him. He lays his own cards down on the table with a growing smile, gesturing to Jongho in a way you still don’t fully understand or know how to read yet.

“He said we can team up against him and split the chocolates if that gives us a better chance,” Jongho translates to you moments later.

“Oh my god, he’s gotta have a flush of some sort in that hand.”

“I’m not splitting the chocolates. They’re my chocolates!”

You sputter over air at the adamant defiance coming from the man and whip your head in his direction to stare him down. He’s insistent on not looking back at you, much like a child acting as though what he cannot see cannot hurt him. You’re of half a mind to whack him upside the head but you also don’t need to be giving Luca any bright ideas either.

“You’re about to lose all of them! Why not just settle for losing half!?”

“I have some pride, Y/n, there’s still pride left in me even after all this!”

“You’ve lost fourteen times in a row to someone who is less than half your age. There is no dignity or pride or anything left! This is about getting even just one chocolate!”

“I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”

“When he pulls out a straight flush—”

Luca grins from ear to ear as he turns his cards over, and one by one you watch your hopes of getting even a bite of the sweet treat sitting in the middle of the table dwindle into nothingness.

“—and look at that, it’s even worse. A royal flush! How’s that pride now, asswipe?” You reach over to pinch Jongho’s earlobe between your fingers, yanking him down a bit as you tug on the skin.

“In one piece because I didn’t split shit with you!” comes his equally immature retort. You’re only interrupted by Luca knocking on the table once again. Except when you both look up from whatever petulant fight it is you’re having, it’s to witness an almost pitiful scene of Luca placing a chocolate between the two of you. He makes a few gestures in sign language that you vaguely recognize but still wait for Jongho’s confirmation to come through. “…he said we can split the chocolate.”

“This is so embarrassing. Where did you learn how to play poker this well?”

Luca offers up a shrug and nothing else. He’s quick to take the bowl of remaining chocolates into his little hands, however, and hops up from the bench seconds later. Before completely turning away from the two of you he bows at the waist, smiling with both rows of teeth on full display.

“Thank you,” he says with one hand before using the same one to wave goodbye. “See you at dinner.”

You aren’t cruel enough to not return the kindness to him, but you do keep Jongho’s ear firmly pinched the whole time.

You release your grip on him at last once Luca is fully out of sight, letting him finally sit back on the bench more comfortably.

“It’s about time for his meeting with the good doctor,” Jongho explains as he rubs at the reddened skin you left behind. “They’ve been meeting every day since Minho got here I think.”

“When you said he steamrolled you in cards, I didn’t think you meant he was good.”

“Yeah, well,” Jongho sweeps the wrapped chocolate over to your side of the table, “I warned you.”

You scoff at nothing in particular as you do your best to delicately open the sweet, pressing down on it with your thumbs until it snaps down the middle.

“You shouldn’t have bet every bit of your good chocolate if you knew we would lose that spectacularly.” With a sigh, you pass over half of it to Jongho before popping the other into your mouth. “We can get more once we land though, right?”

“Yeah, but god knows what they sell down on Gorgon… I’ve never been myself.” The Berserker nudges you in the side with his elbow as he chews. “Have you?”

“Been to Gorgon? Can’t say that I have either. Nothing I’ve heard about the planet is particularly—” you wave a hand through the air to accentuate your point as your expression turns into a grimace “—pleasant, I suppose?”

“No, but Vida in general is nothing pleasant.” Jongho frowns when he looks down at the table with cards strewn across the surface. You press your lips into a thin line. It isn’t all too difficult to realize why he’s saying such a thing — not when Auriga lies within the same system and several thousand kilometers away from where the ship is drifting onward to its target. Even at such a distance, it’s enough for discomfort: a concept you understand wholly because the mere thought of being in Aurum made you ill. Mingi, too, may understand this feeling on a fundamental level the way you do. It’s hard to forget the fallout that came from Wooyoung mentioning Kebos by word of mouth. “It’s uncomfortable but that goes without saying.” Jongho passes you a smile, one that comes as a result of sensing the pang going through your heart right at this moment.

“It brings back memories I’m sure,” you say under your breath. You reach a hand up over the table to lay it atop one of Jongho’s, pressing your fingers into the gaps between his fingers.

“Lots of unpleasant ones. But it’s funny to think that of all the people on this ship, all the criminals living side by side, the one who is probably wanted by the most amount of people there on Auriga is me. Every kind of person in my hometown probably remembers my title and remembers my name in some capacity. Captain has done a damn good job of avoiding Vida for so long. I know he wouldn’t bring us here without good reason, and I suppose that I can only be grateful that whatever he’s after isn’t on Auriga. Still. It’s tough being back here still.”

“How long has it been since you were last there?”

“Ten years. Actually probably eleven at this point.” Jongho exhales through his mouth. “I’ve been running from this for a decade, and it’s still not enough time to feel at peace with what happened. I thought that—”

It’s hard to look at his face, even the side profile that you’ve got an angle of, solely because of how deep his pain is etched into the features there.

“Everything is much louder here. It makes me think… I should’ve been gentler with Mingi when we were on Kebos, or even Seonghwa when we were on Dorado. Was it loud in Aurum?” His voice is barely audible by now. He turns his hand in your grip, shifting just enough for him to curl his fingers further around yours and cling to you in an act of desperation.

“Terribly so. Horrid, wretched, terrific loudness. It’s like deja vu but your body remembers the exact feelings of agony you felt when you were last there.”

“Yeah, I get it a lot more now that we’re so close to Auriga. And I know our reasons for being on Dorado were certainly not good ones — and nothing that happened there could even be considered close to decent — but at least there, I don’t know. Part of me felt happy to be back. I mean, I worked in some random dive bar there for two years after leaving Auriga, and that’s where I first heard of Hongjoong and his crew. That’s where Hongjoong found Seonghwa too. I was there the night Seonghwa approached Hongjoong and asked to join his crew, remember being in the back of the bar and watching it happen like it was yesterday. It felt like returning to the place where things started when I know in reality that place is home. I wonder if Seonghwa views the place solely as something tied to the worst parts of his past or the start of his future.”

“I think that one day… you can see Auriga as the place where your future started too.”

“What place is that for you?”

“In a cramped box in the cargo bay?” you offer, partly as a joke but also because you aren’t sure what else to choose. Jongho snorts.

“We would’ve started the same then.”

“When you joined — or I guess, snuck aboard rather — was it on Dorado?”

“Oh, yes, but probably not when you’re thinking. I didn’t try to follow them that time I saw them meet. And Hongjoong avoids going there unless absolutely necessary. We’ve been back maybe three times max in all my years of being here. It was several months later that they returned briefly for business to get a few more hands on the crew for an operation. Captain and Seonghwa came through the bar I worked at, and I overheard them talking about going to Aegos for a quick warehouse raid, so I smuggled myself into cargo and they brought me aboard. You’ve heard that fun bit though.”

“San was the one who found you too, right?”

You don’t get a response straight away; instead, Jongho inhales and puffs his cheeks full of air as he looks towards the ceiling.

“Yeah,” he says after the silence starts to drag, “yeah, but he was very different back then. I don’t think I mentioned that last time I told you about being a stowaway.”

“How so?”

“He knew I was there for a while, maybe three weeks? Rather than getting me out, he would come through the cargo bay and taunt me. For the first week, he would bring a gun down there and shoot into the boxes around me, threatening to kill me. He knew where I was but he would avoid shooting me because he — wanted to see me come out? I think that’s what it was. He wanted me to come out and beg for my life. He got in trouble for damaging the goods, but what’s even more strange is that when Hongjoong came down and confronted him about it, he had the chance to out me. Instead, he said he was bored and needed target practice. Week two, he would sneak into the cargo bay and at that point, I had gotten out of the box I crammed myself in and made myself a little cubby down there to stay hidden. San would come in silently and scratch at the walls of the boxes around my hiding place. Some days he would sit at the entrance and stare at me through the darkness without saying anything. It was fucking creepy as hell, but when he finally started trying to speak to me in week three, I realized that he just… didn’t know how to communicate well. I remember feeling almost nothing from him at the time like he had no emotional aura whatsoever, and that freaked me out more than anything. It was like dealing with someone who hadn’t had a normal human interaction in his life. He wanted to help me but he wanted to make sure that he could trust me first. So he would threaten me and try to scare me to see if I would snap.”

“He wanted to protect his crew…” you mutter, and Jongho shifts to nod several times.

“San was their first — Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s very first crewmember. As much as Seonghwa is so prominent in the decision-making and plans that Hongjoong makes, San is right there alongside both of them. He’s so much more crucial to so much of what we do as a crew than anyone likes to let on. San will deny it outright if you ask him, and Seonghwa will try to cover for him to keep scrutiny off San, but Hongjoong never fails to remind us that San has the same authority as Seonghwa does in many circumstances.”

“Were you the second then?”

“No, I was the fifth. But something happened one of those nights while I was down in the cargo bay, and the other three crewmates who were there at the time never showed up again. I’ve got no clue what happened to this day, and nine years have gone by without me even daring to ask. I do remember an awful smell wafting down the corridors, and I remember smelling it for a long time even after I officially joined the crew.”

“You never asked about it?” you inquire, but Jongho just throws up a shrug and shakes his head.

“I think the only reason Hongjoong didn’t kill me on the spot for being a fuckin’ stowaway is because something happened to those crewmates. I was never gonna push my luck asking about it.”

You hum, crossing your forearms on the table. Your thoughts are running wild with theories and questions about what could have happened that night Jongho speaks of as you rest your chin atop your arms.

“How did he find out you were there? Was it San?”

“I think he started to notice how often San was going down to the cargo bay, especially after those three disappeared. There was no one else for him to keep track of, and he had already warned San off going down there weeks prior, so it was pretty much inevitable that he would eventually come down at the wrong time. And he did. He saw San talking to what looked like a wall of boxes, and San scrambled to cover for me and say that it was nothing. By then, he’d agreed to help smuggle me off the ship at the next stop on Mensa. It was the day before landing that Hongjoong caught us, but it turns out he knew I was down there the entire time because San had told him I was there. Hongjoong didn’t give him any orders solely because he wanted to see how San would handle things himself. San almost killed me in a panic because he thought he did something wrong in Hongjoong’s eyes by sparing me, but Hongjoong said he never intended to hurt me. Even gave me credit for having the balls to sneak onto his ship, though he wasn’t very well known back then. I got an ultimatum similar to the one you got, I imagine. Carry my own, I could stay.”

“Yeah, that sounds quite familiar.”

“I didn’t want to stay though. Told him outright too.”

“Huh? What?” Jongho laughs as you reel on him. “You really did have balls back then. He throws a hissy fit and a half every time I so much as disagree with him.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted to get to Mensa. Since that’s where Hongjoong was headed, I told him I’d be off at the next stop. And you know what he did?”

“Something stupid?”

“Changed course to fly to Yuki hours later and said that because I decided to smuggle myself onto the ship, I wouldn’t get what I wanted right away. I would have to either wait for the next chance to get to Mensa or I would get off at the next stop and find a way there myself. Funnily enough, I ended up sticking around. Only thanks to San! He still holds that over me too.”

“Has Hongjoong ever gone to Mensa since?”

“Not even once,” Jongho answers the question without having to think twice, and it does leave you to wonder how often that eats away at the corners of his thoughts. “As much as I harbored a nasty grudge towards him at first for changing course, it changed as time went on and I became actually rather grateful he did. I wasn’t even close to ready to face what I was after on Mensa, and even now I don’t want to. Maybe after I’ve made peace with what happened on Auriga, I’ll be able and ready to go there.”

“I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to set foot on Eros again. Bounty not included.” Jongho cracks a smile at that, leaning over to nudge you in the side with his elbow. Granted, Ghost of Eros doesn’t hold nearly as much vitriol as Traitor of Auriga, and you aren’t dense enough to ask what he did to earn such a title right now anyway. If anything, you hope he can find some ounce of comfort in the knowledge that he isn’t alone in feeling the way he does, and that not being ready to face such a massive part of his past is nothing to be ashamed of. “It sounds like things were a lot different back then.”

“They were. San has gotten softer over the years, Seonghwa has gotten a lot colder. From the start, his emotional aura was so hectic in ways I’d never experienced with Elitists. As time went on, he gradually mellowed it out and got it under control. I can’t tell if he simply learned how to play the part so well that it’s indistinguishable now or not.”

“Has Hongjoong been this way forever then?”

Jongho purses his lips. He’s quick to busy himself with the cards on the table, pulling them all into a pile to organize nicely, and it implies that you may be toeing an unspoken line here.

“Hongjoong is Hongjoong. That’s all there’s to say about it really. Everyone’s changed in some way over the years. Mingi and Seonghwa the most, I think. Wooyoung and Hongjoong the least.”

You wish you could know who Seonghwa was before Hongjoong in many ways, but that is simply asking for the impossible. With a sigh, you push yourself up and away from the bench to get to your feet.

“I gotta wash dinner dishes, so I’ll see you later?” Jongho hums without looking back at you, and you lean over to pinch the underside of his bicep in retaliation.

“Ow! Hey, would you quit abusing me?!”

“Would you quit ignoring me?!” You pinch harder just to prove your point, earning a firm whack across the thigh as Jongho swings an arm back at you to counter your childish attacks.

“Yes, I’ll see you later, woman! We fuckin’ live together, it’s not like you’re going off to war,” he grumbles. You let out a dramatic gasp, one far from needed but very much so worse egging Jongho on a wee bit further.

“I’ll start one with you if you’re not careful, you little shithead!”

He fully turns to smack you now but you’re almost just out of reach, leaving his hand to glance across your ass instead of your thigh this time, but you severely underestimated the amount of force behind his swing because it stings.

“If you get an earful from San tomorrow because you hit my ass too hard, I’m gonna have no sympathy!” you shout over your shoulder, and Jongho returns your quip with an audible gag.

You aren’t expecting anyone in the kitchen when you walk in, which is partly why you’re still laughing to yourself as you cross the threshold, so finding the silhouette of another person in there already when you arrive is nothing short of shocking. You cut your laughter short with an inhale as you take the figure in, a quiet apology falling from your lips before you can contain it.

“No need to apologize.” Seonghwa’s hair is neat today, parted down the middle and longer strands pushed to sit behind his ears, but those dark purple, almost bruise-like circles still remain under his eyes. “I slipped in earlier, I’m sorry for not making myself known — I didn’t want to interrupt your time with Jongho and the child.”

“Ah…” you exhale, unsure of what else to say to the man.

“I already took care of the dishes, so you’re off the hook for today. I came to prep breakfast for tomorrow.”

“You’re cooking in the morning?”

“Yes, with Wooyoung. He asked to help.”

Even with the easy out, you don’t move from your spot by the sink. Seonghwa doesn’t budge either, clearly waiting for you to make the next move or say anything that might dispel the awkwardness now hanging in the air. It hasn’t changed, you note, that tension lingering between you two. Talking through what happened, discussing his mother, fucking each other in the presence of your own lover — it resulted in a cold shoulder and the same icy air as before. So what good was it all for besides fulfilling some cheap desires of the flesh?

“I spoke with Nightingale a couple days back,” you blurt. Seonghwa pauses with his hand flat against the cutting board.

“What about?”

“He told me that Hongjoong took his eye. That San took his arm.”

Seonghwa’s eyes flash with thinly veiled anger, and through the exhaustion, you’re able to catch the glimpse of frustration on his features.

“Some would say that it was San who did both.”

“Some,” you echo, and that’s when Seonghwa catches himself in the midst of his rage and pulls his focus away from your face. “Hongjoong, then.”

Seonghwa scoffs, “Don’t overanalyze what I’m saying, princess. I’m shocked Yeon—Nightingale was willing to pass any blame onto our captain’s shoulders.”

“Am I knocking on a door I shouldn’t even be in front of, pretty boy?” you ask next. The man waits for the words to seep into his skin and settle there before deigning to respond.

“You’re making a home in a house that does not belong to you, though that is not entirely your fault. San has let you in. Now Nightingale has pulled up a chair for you at the table. I suppose all that’s left is for either Hongjoong or myself to open all the closet doors so that the skeletons can fall out.” He squeezes his eyes shut so tightly that it’s painful to even look at. When they snap open again, there is far more ferocity behind his gaze than before. “But yes, this is one of those things I would not wish for anyone to know. Yet if not for those things, how would he have become the Scourge of the Black Sea? Where would his Lieutenant of Death be?” Disgust on his tongue and in his words, you find yet another version of Seonghwa that you’ve not laid eyes on before.

One that despises the man he loves.

“Seonghwa…” A simple utterance of his name nearly breaks his shaky composure. His next smile is a pained one. “Please talk to me, please tell me what’s going on with you these days. Every day you seem worse than before…? Are you not sleeping well? If you truly can’t speak to Yunho, then at the very least I can. Or Minho can. Someone else can if you are in need of help, Seonghwa, you’re—”

“It’s all catching up to me.” His tone cuts through yours, and you’re almost grateful because you weren’t wholly sure where your train of thought was even headed. “All at once. I thought — that I was already past the limit, that I already broke enough. At no fault of yours, Y/n, there are things I had thought that I came to terms with that are now rushing back in ways I am not ready for. I am uncertain if I will ever be able to mend my relationship with Yunho, Nightingale being among us is bringing back wretched ghosts of the past, and Hongjoong is so sickly engrossed in a game that I can’t stomach watching him play any longer. It used to be that I thought Hongjoong was draining me of my life in a twisted way because he wanted me dead but now I—” when his breath catches in his throat, a tear rolls from the corner of his eye and down the slope of his cheek, “—I must truly be a fool. I must truly have lost my mind after all this time. Whether the man I see in the mirror is a monster of my own creation or the expectations I fought to meet to be my captain’s lieutenant, it does not matter. Because regardless, I can’t distinguish Seonghwa from the Lieutenant of Death anymore. I’ve played this role for so long that it’s consumed me. How am I supposed to come to terms with that?”

“Hwa…”

“Y/n, I do not need anything from you, I promise. I will not try to take more than what I’m given again. And I-I am so deeply sorry for pushing myself to accept San’s offer because it was — it was something I wanted so desperately, please do not take my words for anything else because I did want to be there. I was happy to even be considered for such a thing and yet I could not take my mind away from a past that is long gone.”

When your expression contorts, Seonghwa reaches a hand in your direction. You disrupt his path to your arm by laying a hand down on the counter and squeezing it into a fist.

“Whenever we speak, you say these sorts of things. That I’ve done nothing wrong but we can’t be close again. That you want me and it’s okay for us to want each other, but your want is only a result of chasing something from your past. You want to hold me at arm’s length so desperately but you agreed to fuck me? Knowing what happened the first time around? Did you only fuck me because it reminded you of Hongjoong?”

“Y/n, do—”

“Because you couldn’t keep his name out of your mouth when you were balls deep inside me, then had the audacity afterward to chastise me like I was a child for wanting to understand San better! You treated me no better than a warm hole to fuck, and I’m sorry but the adoration I felt from you that night did not feel directed at me in the slightest. I’m thrilled that I could be a fitting substitute for you, Seonghwa—” sarcasm drips from your tone like venom at that “—and I was never after anything more than pleasure but I cannot be faulted for feeling slighted when it was clear that I was a placeholder for someone else in your head. Perhaps the fool is me for hoping that being intimate again would do anything for us because whenever we try to talk through things, you put up a wall that’s impossible to climb and — and I’m still attached to you, I still care for you, part of me still loves you which is why it’s agonizing to watch you try to give your heart to a man who clearly does not have the same care in return!”

“You were never after anything more than sex but you hoped it would change things?” Seonghwa matches the fire in your tone with an anger of his own as he steps towards you. Brows drawing together quickly, you watch his face turn into a scowl before he continues speaking. “How fucking hypocritical. I could tell you everything but even that wouldn’t make the slightest difference in the long run. You’ve planted yourself so deeply in hating Hongjoong that the moment anyone shows an ounce of care towards him, you consider them to be stupid fucking idiots. I’ve dedicated my life to this man, Y/n! I don’t give a fuck if you don’t like him! He gave each person on this crew a safe space and a home when they had nothing and no one to turn to. Yes, I’ll admit it if you truly wish to hear the words from my lips — the whole time I fucked you with San, I was thinking about Hongjoong. I was thinking of when San and I had Hongjoong in the same position you were in years ago, but you sat there above me and looked down at me with a hatred in your eyes that you reserve for Hongjoong alone. So don’t pretend to be some sort of saint when you were doing the exact same thing as I was. Only one of us had good reason to do so, what’s your fucking excuse?”

You push away from the counter to try to escape the conversation, stumbling over your own feet. All it does for you is corner you further, pressed up against the metal as Seonghwa closes in on you. It’s a sick game of chase that you can’t get away from thanks to both his height advantage and the ease with which he clears the space between you.

“I would tell you everything of the things Hongjoong has asked his two hands to do in his place over the years, and you would be horrified by every bit of it I’m sure. But I will not give you reasons to justify your disdain for him. You do that well enough yourself.” Seonghwa’s voice drops to a whisper as he traps you between his body and the metal counter. His hands come down on either side of you right as you try to move to the side, and your hopes of escaping now are hopelessly foiled. “I hope you hate him even more now, Y/n, knowing what he had San do to Nightingale. I hope Nightingale lied so nicely about his part in things, about his hand in his own destruction, that you’re blinded by your hatred. I pray that you fall apart at our captain’s feet so gloriously that no one can pick up the pieces because then… then maybe you would understand me. Hate him to the point of obsession as you’ve clearly already pushed yourself to that point. Did it feel good imagining his dick inside you instead of mine? When your hatred turns to infatuation, I’ll be sure to tell you all the ways in which Hongjoong has orchestrated the destruction of your psyche since your arrival here.”

“If your aim is to become a monster, Seonghwa, then you are doing a fine job at it,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Isolating yourself in San’s corner of this crew is a foolish and dangerous mistake too.” The words bring a scoff from your lips instantly.

“Why? Because he’s on your level? He has as much power as you do? Or because he’s known of your being a Siren all this time? Because that’s another tally of things you lied to me about! You wonder how things could possibly fall apart between us when so much of what we built ourselves on was a lie, when I poured my heart out to you about how I truly felt about San, you stood there and said nothing of any of this!”

“And I told you that I still loved Hongjoong.”

“After lying to me about it the first time we discussed it!”

“I guess we have that in fucking common then, don’t we? Lying about wanting our captain? Was it between your friends’ deaths that you were first dreaming of wetting the captain’s dick?”

Seonghwa’s body lurches as he’s thrown away from you, and he brings a hand to cradle his jaw almost immediately. Your knuckles burn from the impact you’ve just caused — a firmly planted uppercut to his face in a blind rage that you barely process. His words sit heavy at the forefront of your brain all the while, as your chest heaves with adrenaline that won’t settle. The first angry thought to arise is one that almost makes it past your lips. Something petty and nothing kind in the slightest, a dig at him aiming to accuse him of jealousy, but you withhold it now.

“As much as I am angry with you, trust and believe that I am far more disgusted by myself, Seonghwa.” With a flick of your wrist, you shake out your aching fingers by your side. “To taunt me for it is a new low for you, however.”

“And I hate myself for many things, Y/n, but I would not have you hate me for those same reasons. That is why I do not wish to share those things with you.” He pulls his hand away from his face, brushing over one corner of his lips that now sits split and glistening with blood from your thrashing. “I do love you though, for whatever that’s worth. I’m sorry that’s… I’m sorry.”

Unspoken words, empty promises. You wish he would choose some level of honesty about why he’s feeling this type of way towards you now. Whether it comes from a place of bitterness or jealousy or that disdain for himself that he just mentioned to you. You don’t care which it is; having some fraction of truth from him would be better than what he’s presenting to you now.

You feel violent again. The crawling urge to hit something or ram your head into a wall — whichever will hurt you enough to push the thoughts right out of your brain.

“I’m sorry too,” you say instead, quiet and reserved in comparison to what you just did not too long ago. Seonghwa lets you pass without issue this time as he settles back against the closest solid surface and nurses his lip further. You wonder if he will add this to the list of reasons as to why he loathes himself so wholly and completely.

There’s one thought on your mind as you leave the mess hall, heading in a direction that is opposite to initial instinct. Perhaps a bit predictable in the route you’re now taking to reach the bridge, it doesn’t stop you from continuing on said path. Alongside that, you have the intent to put your lingering anger to use, along with the concern that if you go back to your room and see San there now, you might unintentionally sling your anger in his face without him doing anything to warrant it. You can only hope to find the man you’re after there, and the mere realization that you’re chasing him down with Seonghwa’s accusations burning hot at your heels only serves to deeper your rage to a point of no return.

Hongjoong is both right where you expect him to be and where you want him. Your steps are slow as you approach his makeshift throne at the center of the bridge.

“I know what you did to Nightingale.” There is no use in announcing yourself in any other way; the sooner you address this and hurl your disdain at the man, the sooner you can return to the pleasantness that is your room. But Hongjoong simply turns his head towards you and stares. “Everything Seonghwa said about you was the truth. You aren’t capable of any sort of remorse.”

When the man doesn’t respond, you let your gaze flit to the figure at his side. Tall form, lanky build, kind features, and a gentle expression of confusion on his face, but not an ally right now. This is not Seonghwa (though you aren’t even sure he would be an ally to you at this moment either); this is Mingi, and should you earn the ire of your captain here and now, it might reward you an early grave. If it were San by his side, you wonder how different things might be.

“I believe you are recalling what San did to Nightingale.”

“What you ordered him to do.”

Hongjoong’s lips twitch in amusement. He shifts in his chair and folds one leg over the other while regarding you with the same humiliating expression, one that tells you he finds your outburst more humorous than serious. If not for the Berserker by his side currently, you aren’t sure you would be able to keep yourself from stepping up there to deck the man in the throat.

“I told him to keep Nightingale occupied. How he chose to exercise that order was up to him.”

“You murdered the man’s entire crew before taking his arm and eye. After subjecting him to psychological torture for months!”

Hongjoong stands abruptly, bringing your thoughts to a stutter that reads in the way you step backward once.

“Tell me you were so disillusioned by my hand of kindness, Y/n. Tell me you truly believed I was a gracious man. Tell me you painted an image of me in your mind that was benevolent, so that I may bask in that glorious misconception while I pleasure myself by my own hand at night.” The words revolt you so much that your face contorts and nausea creeps into your gut. You can’t bring yourself to conceal the emotions either, and Hongjoong takes them into his palm instantly with glee. His lips twist into a sadistic grin that showcases a row of white teeth. It twists instantly into something horribly childlike: a pout that pulls the corners of his mouth down and makes his eyes turn doe-like. “You do this to yourself, resisting and playing games like this with me. Submit to me, Y/n, so that this may be easier for everyone involved. San told me he warned you, told me you now know that he has gone to great lengths to defend you from my ire, but what more can I forgive? I have demanded respect from you—” his arm shoots out to point one finger towards your face “—respect that you swore you would give! Yet here comes our righteous savior with her sword of mercy intent on murdering me atop this hill I stand on, for what?”

This is far from the first time Hongjoong has been angry with you. Yet this time his rage takes a different tone: a calm storm that sweeps up everything in its path without cease. His tone carries weight to it too, and a loudness that makes your ears ring. His hand remains stagnant and extended as he continues with his tirade.

“For what? So that you can save these people? Rescue them from me, Y/n, I beg of you, see what good you can do for them. When you return to me in two days' time with blood on your hands, I will share no sympathy.” His hand careens toward his own chest, stabbing hard at his torso, yet even that doesn’t seem to phase him. “You come before me to spurn my name, to excuse the choices your beloved lover made, but that man is my dog! Do you wish to know how I made that of him?”

You shake your head, indignant in your silence. He does not accept your refusal.

“I made him kneel, Y/n! And I will do the same to you if you refuse to treat me as your captain.” Hongjoong turns back towards his seat and flops down on it rather unceremoniously. You only dare to lift your chin and look at him once you see one of his legs fold over the other in your peripherals. “Should I treat you like a dog too, Y/n? You sure do seem to love barking.”

The grin he gives you is borderline maniacal, and even though there usually isn’t much of a difference in your heights, he uses his leverage even while seated over you now to his utmost advantage. Leaning over the empty space between your bodies, Hongjoong reaches a hand towards your face — a sweet illusion that diverts his true intention of dipping that same hand down to clasp around your throat before you can think to act. His smile drops into a scowl in the blink of an eye.

“I do wonder — if I put a collar and leash on you, would you finally behave as intended?”

You can hardly breathe with the grip he’s got on your neck, and he only squeezes tighter as he continues his tirade against you. For every inch of flack you have given this man about his title as the Scourge of the Black Seas, you find yourself wrestling with a deeply seeded terror in your gut now. That he might actually have had enough, that even being a Siren is not valuable enough, that he will kill you where you stand now.

By the grace of whatever outer being is watching over you, Hongjoong decides to spare you and throws himself back in his seat once more.

“If she will not do so willingly, make her kneel, Mingi.”

It seems harsh to think of the man who has extended a hand of comfort and kindness towards you so often doing such a heinous thing. Mingi seems to agree with that sentiment judging by the look of horror that sweeps over his face.

“Insurrection is intolerable amongst this crew — I have warned you time and time again. Do you think I would so easily allow another mutiny to happen right under my nose? I will snuff out whatever flame you are trying to light with this pathetic show, Y/n. Whatever seeds you tried to plant in San’s mind will not take root.”

Mingi takes a step down from his spot on the platform, and your heart plummets to your toes.

“Mingi…” you trail off as you stare at the man’s face, desperate for any sort of reprieve from him.

“Do as asked, Ghost. I do not wish to use force on you.” He shakes his head slightly, as though a warning to stop things where they are now, but you cannot accept that defeat so easily. It is simply not in your nature.

“If Seonghwa were here—”

“Seonghwa would whisper pretty words in your ear as he pushed your face into the ground with his boot, princess!” Hongjoong hisses through his teeth. Fitting how he did something so similar not long ago. “You think these men have more loyalty to you than to me? That giving them your body is enough to martyr yourself for their faith?” Mingi lays a hand against your back and shoves you forward as gently as he can manage. It still manages to send you stumbling solely because of how distracted you are by Hongjoong’s words. “You have humiliated yourself enough before me. Consider this not a punishment but merely an extension of that kindness you believe I have.” Mingi’s presence at your back urges you to take steps forward until you run out of space before those steps leading up to Hongjoong’s seat at the helm. It appears that the Berserker is trying to make this pass as quickly as possible, either for your sake or for his own, because a sharp force hits the back of your knees and effectively sends you to the floor in front of your captain.

It is still humiliating, despite what Hongjoong says, and your retaliation is swift. You lean forward to angle your body over the stairs and hurl the saliva that has gathered in your mouth at his shoes. You consider yourself lucky to not receive the sharp steel toe of that boot on your jaw in the moments that follow. What he does do is almost worse, however.

Sighing, Hongjoong props his elbow up on one of the armrests and lays his chin atop a closed fist. His pose exudes a nonchalance you know is merely a farce. Then he extends the shoe you just spat on towards your face and jerks his chin. The gesture seems not to be meant for you as it is Mingi who shoves you forward once more.

“I tire of playing these games with you, Y/n,” Hongjoong starts, pushing his boot into your cheek. The leather is warm on your skin in a way that disgusts you more than the feeling of having your spit wiped across your face. The wetness of your saliva lingers there and drags over your skin as the man wipes himself clean like that. You have never felt lower on the food chain than you do now, before this cruel and sadistic man who grins down at your agony with no sign of remorse. “How far one can go versus how far one should go… I do not see a difference between the two. Whatever I do, it is done for the sake of my crew. You have been given chance after chance to simply accept that. Was killing Hyunwoo not enough of an example? Or forcing you to let go of Jisung?”

Your hands tremble against your knees. He twists his unoccupied arm in a way that showcases the back of his hand to you. Rings adorn his fingers, but that isn’t anything out of the ordinary in your eyes. The gesture is nearly lost on you. Yet just as a retort is bubbling up inside your mouth, your gaze catches on a glint of one of the metal rings. One you recognize, one with a white gem inlaid at the center. It’s the same one that sat on his hand when he pushed your arm through a door.

“I can have you be treated the way Nightingale was when he refused my offer to join this crew and fall under my command. But for San’s sake, I wish to remind you that there are people other than yourself who will suffer on account of that decision. You are the one who came into the care of criminals and pirates, dear. You should have left your expectations in that seedy box of threads you were rotting away in.”

“You made me drop Jisung!” Your wail comes out strangled as the realization sinks beneath your skin and takes hold.

“I freed you of that leech of a man, and the sooner you see that the sooner you will be free of those unimportant figments of your past.” Hongjoong lunges forward all of a sudden, planting both his feet on the ground with a loud thud. When he bends at the waist, he leans between his legs to angle his face in a way that makes him look more insane. “I will dismantle you from the inside out if that is what it takes to demand your loyalty, but I suggest you not keep me waiting that long.”

“Do you even intend to stop at Kebos or was that another pretty lie meant to make me docile?” you spat out at the captain. He laughs in your face.

“What does it matter what my intentions are?”

“You’re — you’re a sick bastard.”

Hongjoong extends a hand to you, taking your cheek in his palm and dragging his thumb over the wet trail he just wiped onto it. His expression is almost fond for a moment, a sort of sympathy in his eyes as he takes in the fat tears welling up and threatening to spill over.

“Look at me.” Carefully, he twists your chin towards him. His thumb traces along the line of your jaw until it rests on the other side. It’s sick, how you find comfort in that subtle touch that holds nothing more than a faux mercy meant to appease you. He pulls you ever closer until you are forced to lay your hands on his seat, left with no choice but to grip the small fragment that he isn’t occupying between his spread legs. Your gaze flits down to the soft pink of his lips, the gentle curve to them now that they’re resting in a neutral expression, and how the tip of his tongue pokes out to wet them for only a second. “Listen to me.” You have no choice but to do as told. His fingers pinch inwards until they’re no longer resting against your jaw but now dipping into the flesh of your cheeks and gripping hard enough to make your mouth pucker. “Call me whatever pretty names you like. Curse me and spit on my feet if you so wish. Whatever hatred you harbor against me only pleases me further. You may hate me, Y/n, but you can not disrespect me. I have killed my own men for less. Siren or not, San’s lover or not — your timer ticks ever closer to zero so long as you continue with these charades. I will have you obey, and you will respect me all the while. Do I make myself clear?”

You swallow and nod roughly to the best of your ability, but it isn’t answer enough for your captain. He grips your face tighter.

“I will not hesitate to humiliate you further before the whole crew if I must, Y/n. We can make a spectacle out of it. I would quite enjoy it, in fact. Now, do you understand?”

Bile climbs up your throat.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” The syllables come out enunciated, and his underlying anger makes spit fly through his teeth.

“Yes sir.”

“How quaint,” Hongjoong laughs as he pulls his hand up from your cheeks to your hair, digging hard into the roots and yanking you back from your perch. “I was only looking for you to acknowledge your captain by his title. But sir? Don’t be fucking presumptuous.” He thrusts his hand against you hard enough to throw you back, and you land at Mingi’s feet where he still stands a little ways behind you. A flare of panic arises in your gut as you process his presence and the knowledge that he is hearing every word from Hongjoong’s lips. “Take a long hard look at yourself, Y/n. A woman who was just on her knees before me. Pliant, obedient, with no control to call her own. Isn’t that where you belong, Y/n? My pretty weapon, my pretty Siren, my pretty treasure.” Treasure. It feels wrong to hear him say that of you. It is not a title meant for you, after all, not in the slightest. “Now escort her out and fetch Yunho for me. I wish to have him in my room.”

Mingi answers the call without hesitation. His fingers close around your upper arm, and he hoists you to your feet in the same movement, gripping you with enough force to bruise. Somehow, it feels as though he is saving you in some odd and twisted way. He pulls you from the bridge with a sort of haste that doesn’t leave you any chance to look back over your shoulder at your captain. You are thankful for it. He only slows his steps once the two of you are far away from that room, yet his hand doesn’t leave your arm, grip only lessening slightly.

“Ghost.” His tone remains soft despite how it cuts through the palpable tension. “I apologize for being present for all of that.” A laugh escapes, one that sounds awfully dry.

“What can you do? Say no to your captain?”

“I will not speak a word of it to anyone. Nor will I share any of the contents of what he said to you.”

Ah, yes. The bit about you being a Siren, most likely. Unless Mingi has also been made privy to the ins and outs of who is what here on the ship too.

“He means w—”

“You do not need to defend him to me, Mingi. I understand your bond with him and what he means to you. I only ask that you understand that it is vastly different for me.”

“Why do you stay? If you do not wish to be under his command?”

“I made a promise to someone dear to me that I would not leave.” Wooyoung, Seonghwa, San. But why are you here? Solely to help a man you despise achieve his goals?

“And that is enough to subject yourself to something you do not feel good doing?” For a moment, you believe the man to be mocking you before you catch his tone and find genuine confusion in it. He is merely asking a question — nothing more, nothing less.

“That’s love, Mingi. Love and devotion both.” The Berserker stays quiet for a few more moments.

“…I see. Thank you for telling me.”

You let him guide you the rest of the way through the corridors, pausing as he does when he stops you both in front of a door that is not your own. His hand falls away from your arm as soon as he knocks, however, and the two of you nearly look normal standing outside waiting for Yunho to come greet you. The healer looks tired like you’d just woken him from slumber when you came calling for him. You opt to be the one to break the news to him.

“Captain wants to see you in his quarters.”

“He wishes to — what for?”

“He wishes to have you in his room, Healer,” Mingi clarifies for you, leaving you to roughly swallow around nothing and avert your eyes from the man’s face. “Promptly.”

“Ha… of course he does.” You hear the conflict in Yunho’s voice and glance up quickly to catch the tail end of his grimace. He nudges his way past you without bothering to even collect shoes from his room.

“Don’t listen to him,” you say through your teeth, as though it’ll have any impact. Yunho pauses.

“You of all people should know that that is quite impossible to do, Y/n. Would you deny San?”

Love, as it turns out, is the cruelest master of all.

“As strange as it may seem to you, I have been waiting for him to ask after me desperately,” Yunho continues, though his tone holds more shame than anything positive. “Maybe if only to prove that he still wants me in some capacity. Please do not tell me to leave him alone. Do not judge me or spurn me for going to him. You would do the same if you were in my shoes. If he needs me, then I wish to be there for him. Not because he is my captain but because… well, I’m sure you know why.”

She wields a knife so sharp that one slight cut would have you bleeding out across the floor in mere seconds.

Yunho steps away without another word and leaves you at Mingi’s side in the hallway.

Love and devotion both.

“Today… Ghost, today you made a very patient man angry.”

“That is what you consider a patient man?”

“Ask yourself what your defiance is really for, and why you find it necessary at all.”

“For the sake of the people I do care about, Mingi. I don't have to accept shitty leadership and the hand of a cruel and manipulative man when I know they’re suffering too.”

Mingi draws his lips into a delicate frown. He shakes his head.

“They are all happy under Hongjoong’s leadership, Ghost. What he does beyond being our captain… I cannot account for that, or for what suffering he has put Lieutenant and Healer through behind closed doors that do not involve him acting as Captain. But whenever he wears that mantle, everyone is content. It may seem egregious to you, I understand, but I am sorry to say that of everyone, you are the only one to be suffering.” Mingi buries his hands in his pockets and eyes you without saying anything for several seconds. You shift under his gaze, arms coming up to hug yourself. “What are you trying to save them from, Ghost? The suffering you’re inflicting on yourself? You saw what you did to Spectre that night you were arguing in the hallway — that was you, not Captain.”

“I know that. I know where his loyalties lie, it’s not that—”

“Then why are you trying to fight it?”

“I can’t just — j-just leave?” Your voice turns choked midway through the sentence, leaving you to fight the sudden tightness in your throat and chest.

“You could though. That love and devotion you speak of… I understand that I do not feel it in the same manner that you do, but if you are genuinely so miserable here under Captain’s command, would those people you love and who love you in return truly want you to remain in a place that makes you feel that way? Would they not wish for you to go find your happiness elsewhere? Even if it came at the cost of losing you, does love not beg for sacrifice?”

“I am too selfish for that, Mingi,” you whisper. Mingi pulls a hand free of his pockets and reaches out to lay it on your bicep, over the place where he gripped you so harshly earlier. His touch is gentle now, and he drags his thumb across the abused skin like he hopes to heal the damage he caused.

“I do not wish for you to leave either, Ghost. Our crew has changed in many ways since you arrived, and your fight to allow me my sense of freedom did not go unnoticed by me. I trust our captain with every fiber of my being, as does everyone here on this ship, and perhaps we have grown too complacent in allowing some of his more cruel acts of justice. That does not equate to us being miserable and suffering under his hand though. People make mistakes. Captain does feel guilt, and he does feel remorse over his actions. It’s just that he does not let you see that. Please do not judge him too harshly for the things that he does. Please understand that he is trying to protect the crew, his people, and his family all at once. The more you resist, the more you try to do what you did with Spectre that night, the more agony and strain you are placing on all of us. You do not have to agree with us, but please at least respect that this is our happiness.”

You offer up a series of rather pathetic nods but deep down you do understand every word he is saying. You cannot find the line between truth and a distortion of it for the sake of Hongjoong’s manipulation, but you decide (albeit questionably) to take Mingi’s words at face value. If he is lying to you now, or if it is all just a product of Hongjoong’s convoluted tactics, you will have to deal with those consequences later on down the line. Mingi squeezes your arm gently.

“I hope you are able to find your happiness too, Y/n.” In the back of your mind, you think perhaps Mingi is too kind, and he leaves you at the doorstep to your room without saying anything further.

It catches up to you the moment you lay your hand against the touchpad outside your door. Limiting the series of very unfortunate events to a simple… it is both generous and inaccurate on many levels.

San is where you expect him to be upon opening the door: propped up against the pillows with the lamp on and a tablet in his lap. You can’t see exactly what he’s doing but you do hear some residual noise coming from the speakers. He glances up to pass you a smile. Neither of you says a word. You wonder what emotion paints your features. You wonder what is going through San’s mind as he sees you. You wonder whether there will be a day when you wake up in the same bed as he and his loyalty will outweigh his feelings for you.

You wonder a lot of things it seems, and none of them are pleasant.

You take the fast track to the bathroom without bothering to wait around for San to speak. It’s as you’re splashing your face with freezing water and trying to rub away the lingering residue of both saliva and Hongjoong’s boot that he makes an appearance in the doorway.

“Is everything okay, love?”

Heaving a deep breath, you brace your hands on the counter and look up from the sink to find him in the reflection of the mirror. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest and dressed for bed as usual. Your gaze catches on yourself in the glass. Bloodshot eyes and tears rushing to join the water you splashed over yourself. The lie on your lips dies as you see yourself.

“I cannot bear to be humiliated by the captain any longer.”

When your lip wobbles, he shushes you and moves to join you by the sink. You don’t move as he twists the handle until the water stops or when he grabs for a towel. There aren’t any words exchanged while he pulls the towel over your face and sops up the mess you’ve made, but frankly, you aren’t sure what else you could say to drive your point home. San seems to be biting his words though, and it only takes one look at him to know that he has a great deal he wishes to say. He waits until he’s dried everything in sight that’s been touched by water to turn to you, setting the towel aside in favor of taking your face into his hands.

“I warned you so kindly, Y/n. Please do not do something that both of us may regret. Isn’t it easier to just do as asked?” His thumb glides over your cheek where he cradles you so gently.

“It’s pretty clear that I have a bad track record of doing that.”

San lets out the air from his lung and leans back to look to the ceiling.

“Back when you first joined us, back when we were in Echidna, you asked to be treated this way. You asked to be a weapon for Hongjoong. If that is not what you want any longer, then you only have to tell him as much. You have never asked to be anything different, have you?”

“There’s not one position on this crew that would see me getting treated fairly!”

He remains silent as he brings a hand down to clasp over yours and leads you out of the bathroom. You let him do as much without complaint mostly because you’re fighting to keep your breath from spiraling out of control and into hysteria.

“Come on, star, let’s lay down, yeah?”

It almost feels like any other night the way you crawl into bed with his hand resting at the small of your back before he slips in under the covers right behind you. He pulls the covers up over your body as you turn over to face him. The fight you’re trying so desperately to win slips through your fingers the second he pulls you into his chest and wraps a warm hand around the back of your head where your scalp is still stinging from the abuse Hongjoong put on it earlier. The tears come more freely then, and as your body shakes in San’s hold, you cry into the fabric of his shirt without relent. The comfort he offers is enough on its own, and you curse yourself for craving something more, something physical in place of kind and reassuring words.

“Please just try, my darling,” he whispers against your hair.

“I’m terrified of waking up one day to you asking to take me to the brig,” you choke out through sobs. Even though it’s muffled by his shirt, San still hears every bit of your words. You can tell that much by the way his grip tightens on you.

“I promise that won’t happen. I will fight that with all my might if I have to, I will not allow that to happen.” You can’t seem to find reassurance in the words at all though, and a burning pain sears its way through your chest as you choke on your cries.

“Why did you tell me that story? Why would you do that, why would you say that, why, San?”

“I wished for it to be — I didn’t want you to find out through someone else. I needed you to hear it from my lips before anyone else’s.”

“Why did you have to do that? Why, when he’s not even staying with us forever? You could have kept it a secret, you could have not told me, and I would never have known. Why did you have to m-make me—” a sob interrupts the thought, and you feel lips on your forehead, “—why did you have to make me doubt your feelings and intentions?”

“I’m sorry.” His breath is hot. When you try to lift your chin, he refuses to let you see his face. “I’m so sorry.”

His hands glide down from your head to your hips, and it’s with a gentle sort of coaxing that he maneuvers you onto your back. You cling to him desperately, leg pulling up to hook around his body so that he cannot even think to leave you now. The gesture urges him between your legs as you succumb to the desperation you’re feeling for something more. The tears fall more readily like this. You sling an arm up over your face to both shield yourself from view and to sop up the liquid with your sleeve.

“Star…”

“Please tell me you love me, even if it’s a lie.”

“I do love you,” he cries as he pushes hair from your eyes. “Are you sure you want me to…?”

“Please, San, I need you — I want t-to feel you.” Your hands can’t find a place to rest, jumping from his arms to his collar to clasp around the back of his neck like you’ve done so many times before by now. You know how San loves and how that love manifests; at least, you imagined that you knew all this time and now you’re faced with a crushing reality that that might not be the case, yet here he kneels, ever so desperate to prove his adoration to you now in the way he knows best. It makes you feel less torn about wanting him even while your heart is wrecked with emotion.

“I’m sorry, star,” San murmurs into your skin. He leaves a path of wet kisses along your arm, and when his cheek brushes along your skin, you feel a moisture there that is surely not from his lips. It pains your heart tremendously to have him crying above you like this, but deeper than that, there is some sick and twisted part of you that finds joy in the fact that he is feeling the pain you’re experiencing now, that he is tasting the bitter medicine of what he wrought on you. Perhaps you do understand Wooyoung better than you thought, perhaps you can feel the way Seonghwa ripped his own heart out to become a monster for the man he cherishes, why Yunho still chooses to walk into the lion’s den with his head held high — what kind of love hopes for suffering?

San moves down your body with kisses and tears both left in his wake. He whispers words into each bit of skin he can reach, tugging at your neckline to lay his tongue on your heated body before letting it snap back up into place.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

My darling, my star, my divine.

When he slips under the covers and takes your underwear to your ankles with him, his trembling fingers inch your legs apart to make space for himself there. He lays his tongue against you there too, at your most sensitive spot, and moans join the chorus of cries that won’t cease. Your body quivers at the stimulation like a chill passing through your whole system before he settles into a steady rhythm with his lips pressed into your sex and his tongue seeking something deeper. You feel his words again in his movements.

If he’s truly pretending, then you hope he acts the part for the rest of your life.

San pushes a finger against your walls alongside his tongue, and a second follows so quickly that you don’t have a chance to catch your breath. Desperate, you reach your unoccupied hand down through the sheets to find the top of his head. Your fingers tangle in his dark locks, and he moans into your cunt like a man possessed.

A moment of clarity pushes its way through the haze of arousal. San cannot be faulted for his loyalty, even if it pains you. You do not wish for him to suffer, not even for a second — if you did, then why would you have gone to such great lengths to keep him from doing exactly that time and time again? The man you truly wish to see suffer, the one you want to see in agony with his chest torn open, is none other than Hongjoong. At the end of the day, he is the cause of the cracks between you and San, the rift that grows too large to ignore now, and you wish to see him pay for it in full. A crueler thought enters your mind, but it cannot take a firmer root with San’s tongue pressing your further open to allow his fingers to curl deeper inside you.

Your nails bite at his scalp in ways that must sting and burn, but when you close your eyes, it’s Hongjoong’s face you see behind your lids and between your legs rather than your lover’s — a curling hatred that serves to deepen the pit already formed in your stomach. It disgusts you in many ways, makes you want to crawl out of your skin and scream, because as much as you despise him and everything he stands for, there will always be some part of you longing to satiate the curiosity for good.

Hongjoong was above you earlier, boot pressed into your cheek as you sat on your knees before him with no relief in sight. How much would it take to reverse the roles and have him in such a humiliating and debasing position? Beyond that, if he made good on his promise, what would that look like for you? And how deep are you willing to submerge yourself just to find out?

Isn’t that where you belong, Y/n? My pretty weapon—

He hums against you, and your thighs tremble around his head. Your fingers flex and curl in his hair like a heartbeat. It’s rampant, a speedy ba-dum ba-dum that matches the one beating in your chest right now. You wish to know how his sounds too.

—my pretty Siren—

His tongue leaves you, fingers remaining firm in their place along your walls as he rolls the pads over your sweet spot. You do not need to see his face to know that he is smiling; the curve of his lips is pressed to your clit.

“My treasure,” comes a breathy exhale from the man under you.

—my pretty treasure.

It’s enough to make you come undone, back curling up from the bed as an orgasm rocks you from head to toe. Disgust joins the euphoria just as quick, before you’ve even come down from your high, and the realization it brings with it makes you want to vomit so badly that you gag around nothing. San is quick to move with concern for your well-being no doubt, and it allows you the chance to roll onto your side until the spasms pass and you can breathe easily again. You don’t move from the fetal position you’ve taken, nor does San try to make you. He simply adjusts himself to lay at your back and molds his body around yours with an arm draped over your waist and fingers wrapped loosely around one of your wrists.

It’s as you’re falling asleep that you feel the soft pressure of lips against your head, and the words that follow make the lump in your throat swell to a point where you fear you might choke around it.

“I promise you that my love has never been and will never be a lie, Y/n.”

It leaves more questions unanswered than the opposite.

His love alone isn’t everything, and there is no confirmation that nothing he has done has been done with bad intentions. Or on account of external forces or voices telling him to do things outside of his control. You can only wonder which parts aren’t included under that umbrella and ask yourself if it’s worth ignoring for the sake of what happiness you have.

Mingi’s words ring loud in your ears.

Ask yourself what your defiance is really for, and why you find it necessary at all.

You think, as the room begins to fade into black and sleep settles in, that your will to fight is nothing more than a dull flame about to be snuffed out for good.

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

“Now, we will be here for quite some time regardless of how long the mission takes. This is vacation time, free time, time to rest and relax off the ship before we head back out into the thick of things.” Hongjoong speaks from in front of the airlock, dressed in his more formal captain’s attire down to his steel-toed boots. “We’re offloading cargo as usual, and we’ll be staying in the city across the gorge for our entire stay, but you all are more than welcome to pick up goods as you see fit. It would be quite hard to run us totally dry of funds. As for the mission, I’ll be taking a few of you with me, and it may require us to spread our time dedicated to the mission across several days. We won’t begin until two days from now, however, and you all will still have ample time to relax like everyone else. Mingi, of course, I would like you to join me.”

The Berserker in question passes his captain a nod from where he stands at Hongjoong’s side.

“Jongho, you as well, I wouldn’t dream of doing this without you. And Yunho, you. You’ll be my right hand for this mission.”

Seonghwa is staring at the back of Yunho’s head so intensely that you think Yunho’s head would catch fire if possible.

The airlock rolls to the side, and for the first time in weeks, you see and feel the fresh air. Hongjoong moves to the side and motions to the door, lips still pulled tight into a smile that leaves you thoroughly unsettled. Seonghwa is the first to step out of the ship, with Nightingale close behind him, and everyone else is quick to follow. You remain rooted to the spot not by choice but on account of San’s hold on your hand as he stays put until the other crew members have made their way out onto the planet. You take it as an act of politeness until your gaze shifts to settle on both Mingi and Hongjoong, who have not moved from their spots either.

“And you, Y/n,” Hongjoong calls out through his ever-present smile.

You jerk your head in San’s direction in the hopes that you will see some sort of shock present on his features. Instead, you receive a squeeze around your hand and a nod that seems to be encouraging you.

“You will be my left hand for this mission. Let’s see how tight I need to keep your collar, shall we?”

You do not reward him with a retort today. San guides you out of the airlock and into the new air, both your gazes stuck to the scenery around you the second you step out.

The gorge ahead is beautiful beyond belief, and in the distance, you catch sight of your destination across the chasm. It’s a city built into the side of the cliffs with buildings of reds and gold that stick out starkly against the endless green around it. Green water pours from the sides of the rock in many places, filling the air with the noise of rain, and it cascades down into the lake of green far below where The Horizon is now docked. Your transport is not far from the station though it is surrounded by the hustle and bustle of workers and visitors alike who have docked just like you have.

Hongjoong’s voice rises once again from behind you, loud and clear to address the whole crew.

“And remember… gas masks stay on at night.”

────────────

a/n: i sat and stared at this for like 17 minutes trying to figure out what in the world to say after this doozy of a chapter! first, hi. hello. how are you. welcome to act seven. it’s pretty unreal to be at this point honestly.. i’m so excited though i hope you guys are just as excited!! let me know your thoughts feelings and etcetc the one question i have for you all: was san calling her ‘my treasure’ something fully intentional or just happenstance?

but also just from me to you.. i want to say thank you to everyone who still reads and sticks around and is willing to be patient with me as i write. that means so much to me, i’m so so thankful, and there aren’t words for how thankful i am that people are willing to still read my story!! so thank you!! 

next up on the docket is actually an interim :3 a hongjoong centered one :3 i know i said i was done with them but... brain worms win this time!

also! survey/questionnaire is still open here (of course not a requirement but it would be immensely helpful to me!)

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#mists of celeste #moc: spoilers #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #yunho x reader #ateez fanfic #caly.writes

[hongism]

heartbreak hotel. (k.sw, 18+)

» k.sunwoo x fem!reader » pretty much just smut + filth 👍 » language, explicit smut, alcohol consumption, semi-enemies to lovers » summary; you’re keen on playing the game with the expectation of winning against a man like kim sunwoo - someone rich and equally arrogant, who expects to have everything handed to him on a silver platter - but you both underestimated how well he plays and overestimated your ability to withstand what he throws your way. » wc; 11.6k

a/n; standing man emoji. that’s all. in honor of my queen melty sometimes i still hear her voice (affectionately screaming yelling and threatening me) also this was only one third of the original outline so im not saying more to come but... act surprised if more does come...

Tempo up and down like that, becoming honest This fading line between us, let’s tear it down Just acknowledge our feelings and take a step forward

» smut warnings; semi-public sex, protected piv, oral sex: m & f receiving, manual stimulation, grinding, edging, dirty talk, some degradation, petnames: doll, kitten, slut, big dick kink (almost), (slight) hair pulling, car sex (please always wear a seatbelt don’t do this...)

“Hey, mind grabbing that customer for me?”

All it takes is one glance down the line of the bar to understand why your coworker is requesting such a thing, but you can’t find yourself too enthused to take her up on the offer. A young man — probably early twenties and younger than you by at least a couple years — dressed to the nines in what you consider to be a rather run-down and dirty dive of a bar given his neatly crimped suit and pressed tie. Even the way he wears his hair with too much gel and carefully styled to only exposed half of his forehead seems to scream the phrase ‘I’m a douche, do not approach me!’, but alas you care for your coworker far too much for your own good and won’t turn her down even if the guy is a raging prick.

“Yeah, pop this drink over to Jerry for me, please?” You leave the drink in question beside her at the other side of the bar before wiping your palms down over your ratty apron and stepping over to the newcomer. “What can I get you?”

Instead of a response, or even a basic human acknowledgment, the kid lifts his hand and shows off the unmarred skin of his palm while typing away at his phone with his other one. It takes every bit of your willpower to not roll your eyes and snap right then and there, frankly, but the promise of tips and money far outweighs the desire to be an ass in return. You do bite into the inside of your cheek, however, in the hopes that it will keep your expression from showing too much annoyance when the man finally sets his phone down and glances up at you.

“Scotch on the rocks, top shelf stuff if you can manage it. I have a friend on the way too, get him a Mai Tai if you would, doll.” His gaze flits down to your shirt, scanning the little metal tag that has your name etched into it for a few seconds, but he’s looking back at your face moments later without any intention to address you by your proper name. “You can go now, that’s all.”

“Gonna need to see a license first.”

“I don’t have a license.”

“Then you can’t drink alcohol.” We have a kids’ menu crosses your mind too but you don’t dare say such a thing with other customers in close quarters.

“I have my identification card in my wallet, don’t be so huffy,” he huffs out as he twists at the waist to fish around in his suit pockets. He flashes the little card in your face to your dismay, and the birthdate does indeed confirm that he’s perfectly legal so you relent with a little sigh.

“Coming right out, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t make me wait too long.”

His looks are also a bit deceiving, it seems, because according to said card, he’s not nearly as young as you predicted him to be — twenty-three and turning twenty-four within the next few weeks — and it’s only disheartening because you can’t pin his attitude and demeanor on being an immature rich teen. You’ve dealt with enough of that type to at least know how to throw some harmless quips in their faces when they get a little too arrogant and dick-headed, but this one just seems to be the run-of-the-mill rich ass who thinks he’s got plenty of better things to do than be kind to the people serving him. Setting the pair of drinks down before him on the counter doesn’t even earn you a thank you, let alone any sort of attention in the slightest even as you inform him that the brand of scotch you’ve given him is the best of the best and ready to put a proper dent in any average man’s wallet. He barely blinks at the information.

“How bad is he?” Your coworker asks as you move back to wipe down your hands.

“Not nearly as bad as I imagined. Just the rich kind of asshole.”

Yuna shakes her head ever so slightly, letting brown hair fall from her bun to frame her pretty face. She’s still new to both the area and the job, especially compared to the several years you have under your belt being here, but she has managed to go above and beyond all your other coworkers (even the ones you’ve got on with for years). You don’t doubt that she could easily handle some tougher customers and still manage to get a pretty tip out of them but you’d feel a bit awful throwing her to the wolves when she directly asks you for help the way she did.

“Those are the worst ones, aren’t they?”

You hum your approval and glance back over your shoulder. The seat next to the man is now occupied by another body, someone of similar build and age to him it seems but you’re still required to do your job even if you have an inkling that he’s of age. Pushing yourself back to that edge of the bar, you plaster a little grin on your lips before speaking to either man.

“May I see your ID before you drink, sir?”

“Oh! Of course, yeah, just one second!” At least this one is far friendlier than the first, despite wearing a similar suit and tie. He flashes a license in your direction, and your eyes gravitate to the birth year and nothing else as usual.

“Perfect, thank you.”

He returns your grin with one of his own. You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you turn around to glance over the rest of the bar. Either your standards have dipped considerably low or you were simply that put off by his less than stellar companion to a point where you find the other’s kindness that palatable.

The next few hours pass in a flash as the bulk of your clientele come through for happy hour, and you don’t have time to catch your breath so thinking about a rich prick and his hot friend is out of the question entirely. That is until the end of the rush when you have to go back over to that area of the bar when one of them waves you down.

“Refill and a water, if you would.” His tone is nothing short of demanding, and even his friend has the decency to offer you a sympathetic glance in the face of his friend’s shortness.

“I’ll take a water as well, please,” he enunciates his gratitude that way despite the way the man at his side promptly ignores you before you’ve even stepped away. You return his smile with one of your own as though to say that it’s entirely fine and nothing out of the ordinary for a job such as this one. Still, the little bits of kindness you do receive throughout long and grueling shifts like this one are few and far between so it’s nice to have some of that, especially from a handsome face. A job’s a job at the end of the day, a way to make a living and get money, and while you don’t have the most groundbreaking paychecks to bring home to you and your pet betta fish Earl, it’s a living nonetheless. The work can be unforgiving at times, sure, yet you still keep coming back because you do enjoy it. Maybe one day you’ll have to move off to a different job, a different place, but for now, you get to enjoy how things are. It makes having to deal with that one rude customer for the rest of the night much easier when you think about it like that, at least.

That and the fact that when he slams his black card down on the bar counter at the end of the night for both him and his friendly companion, you get to take it back to the register and feel unadulterated glee when the payment refuses to process. Three attempts on the chip reader and two backup swipes to check that it isn’t just a faulty reader later, you’re walking back to the pair at the end of the bar with a bitten-back grin.

“Sorry sir, but your payment’s been declined. Do you have a different card you can use to pay?”

“Declined?” He sounds positively scandalized, which you’re sure is utterly humiliating for a man like him. “For fuck’s sake…”

“Did he cut you off again? Jesus man, that’s the third time this mon—”

“Yeah, I fucking know, Juyeon!”

“Here, I’ve got it covered. You’ll just owe me next time, Kim.” The man — Juyeon, as he appears to be called — pulls his own wallet back out and slides a more modest and normal-looking credit card across the counter to you. The apologetic smile paints his lips yet again, his companion snatching back his precious yet defunct black card from your fingers. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“No worries. I’ll be right back.”

True to your word, you only disappear for a minute this time around as there are no further issues with Juyeon’s card.

“Is it alright if we hang around a bit and nurse our waters?” he inquires when you return his card to his possession.

“Sure, go on ahead! If you decide you want anything else to drink, just flag down a worker!”

“Ah, if I—” he chokes on nothing but saliva a second later before the words can get out, and you pass a worried glance over at him from where you were trying to make a speedy getaway. “Um… sorry, if I want to have you wait on us again, who — who should I ask for?”

“Oh?” You blink at his wide brown eyes for a moment without really processing the request. “Oh! Oh, um, okay — uh, just ask for Y/n. But I’ll be on break for the next thirty minutes or so…” His companion releases a snort, and you’re certain that if you glanced over at him now you’d find the man rolling his eyes back into his head.

“Y/n? Perfect, will do.” He passes a smile your way that shows the pretty expanse of his white grin, and you find yourself a little too flustered to do anything other than nod awkwardly and step away from the bar counter.

“Yuna, I’m gonna take my break now,” you say through a sigh, hands already reaching around your back to tug at your apron. As lovely as it is to be propositioned by hot customers, you typically don’t find it in good taste to engage in that sort of behavior back when you’re on the clock. Maybe, however, you’re a bit hopeful that said man will see you stepping away from the counter for a bit and find an opportunity there for him to take advantage of. If not, then c'est la vie and so be it.

It’s a great pleasure though when stepping into the hallway where the single-stall bathrooms reside has you greeting said man the moment you come back from dropping your apron in the back. He’s leaned up against the wall with arms crossed over his chest, and he’s abandoned the black suit jacket he had been wearing at the bar minutes ago to leave him in a simple form-fitting dress shirt alongside his slacks.

“Maybe I’m being a bit presumptuous but…?” Slowly, he pulls his arms down and offers a cheeky shrug coupled with a half-grin. You hum and smile back, not giving him the pleasure of seeing anything more than a thin-lipped smirk as you reach to grab him by the silk tie hanging about his neck.

“I’ll give you twenty minutes.”

“Perfect.”

You hook him into the ladies’ room solely because you noticed few women in the bar tonight, and you ought to manage to go undisturbed for a bit if you’re really lucky. He’s smothering you the moment you get the door closed behind you, hands on your body and lips seeking yours as you flip the lock and secure it into place. The touch is messy at best — clashing teeth and a quick press of his tongue against yours without any preamble — and while you understand his rush, you think he’s doing a shit job at getting you riled up with how he’s nearly biting through your tongue instead of simple teasing. You’re the one who tries to guide the pace back down to something more manageable and enjoyable for the both of you, but Juyeon inches his body closes to yours and nudges the bulge in his slacks against your inner thigh with no intention of slowing down.

“I’d love to have that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock, Y/n. Care to spoil me a little?”

You nearly scoff. It’s a wonder you thought he was that much better than his friend, but it seems as though all rich kids like them think the same. Still, you have no qualms with what he’s asking for even though you know it means he won’t be making any effort to get you off with how little time you have together.

Your fingers hook into his dress shirt, and you spin with enough momentum to get his back to slam into the door in a flip of your positions that has you pressing him up against the surface now.

“Fuck.”

A little hum slips free of your lips in response, one that’s accompanied by fluttering lashes and a coy gleam in your eyes as you sink down to your knees against the cool tiled floor. A few strands of gelled hair fall in front of his eyes when he tilts his chin down to gaze upon you in your new position.

“Just like that, pretty girl, pull my cock out, yeah?” He brings a large, veiny hand around the side of your head to tangle in your hair. You preoccupy yourself with tugging his belt free and once that’s out of the way, you go a bit above and beyond with the seduction factor by taking his zipper between your teeth and pulling it down, nose brushing into where his length sits trapped behind black underwear. “Come on, lemme fuck your mouth.” Crude, but you aren’t sure why you expected anything else. He seems entirely uninterested in your ideas of foreplay, however, do you decide to go on and forgo them by doing what he’s asking you to instead.

Slipping his member free of both pants and underwear, you waste no time in taking the tip between your lips, letting your tongue rest along the underside for only a few seconds before taking him deeper. It earns you a soft groan and matching thud as he seems to let his head fall back against the door in light pleasure. You wouldn’t say you’re known for your mind-blowing oral skills or being terribly enthusiastic without ample buildup, but the hasty noises of his pleasure give you enough of a confidence boost to get you dragging your tongue over his length as you sink deep enough to have his cockhead pressing into your throat. Swallowing there, you pull him all the way into your mouth, nose pressing into the neatly trimmed hairs around his base, before starting to find a steady rhythm to your bobs. Despite his hand being firmly placed in your hair, he makes no effort to guide your movements or fuck your face, which you’re a tad grateful for because you have to go back to work after this and don’t want to look like you’ve had your throat fucked raw the rest of the night.

Not the kind of fun you were hoping for, all in all, especially not as you pull off his cock less than three minutes later because he’s nearing his high. You lean to the side to grab a paper towel before he can blow his load all over your face — or worse, your clothes — and the moment you cover his member, he cums into the towel with a bitten back groan and hand still threaded through your hair to the point where it’s leaving a painful sting. The perk to him cumming so early, you suppose, means that there’s still time left for him to return the favor. At least, that’s what you thought just before turning around after throwing out the soiled paper towel to find Juyeon pulling his pants up and resituating his belt and clothes without so much as glancing in your direction.

“Thanks, pretty girl. You’re not half bad.” He winks but the gesture is more sleazy than actually attractive. You can do nothing but blink back at him as though too stunned to even speak. When he reaches for the lock, you finally do scoff and find it in you to speak.

“What? Not gonna return the favor?”

He shifts enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His bewildered expression shows that that’s a thought that never even crossed his mind.

“Why should I?”

And with that, he’s flipping the lock and stepping out of the bathroom without saying anything further.

“All the fucking same,” you mutter to yourself, kicking at the edge of the door with your foot until it snaps shut again.

There’s a headache beginning to form in your temple, one that persists even after your break ends and you get back to your shift once more. Neither Juyeon nor his prick of a companion is at the bar when you return, and your only solace is that you most likely won’t have to see either one of them for the rest of your life if you’re really lucky. That fact alone nearly makes you tell Yuna all about it on the spot but you decide it’s best to preserve what’s left of your dignity by pushing the thought of both men into the back of your mind for the rest of the night.

«     ✦     »

To your credit, you don’t see Juyeon again after that night.

The more unfortunate issue is that his friend has started becoming something of a regular in the bar, and he always manages to come whenever your shifts are going. Twice a week, eight o’clock on the dot, usually Tuesdays and Fridays. The situation would likely be entirely fine if not for the fact that he always sits on your side of the bar and asks to have you wait on him every time he’s there.

You maintain a semi-friendly front to the best of your ability, and while some of that is genuine (you’re at least grateful he never asks about Juyeon even though he most definitely knows about your rendezvous with his friend in the bathroom), the majority of it is the customer-service worker in you that wants to avoid issue.

It’s one of those said nights — a Friday this time — that he comes in dressed in his usual suit and tie regalia, only this time he has a woman on his arm. She’s dressed equally as fancy as he is, wearing a slinky black dress that leaves little to the imagination. You wait over by his end of the bar with a smile already plastered across your lips before the pair even sits down.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted your usual, but it seems you’ve mixed things up for once.” Upon closer inspection, he’s simply wearing a silk vest under his blazer, a silver chain hanging down where his tie would normally be, and the outfit seems to almost intentionally match his companion’s.

“Ah, no, I’ll still have a scotch on the rocks. To—”

“Top shelf stuff, yup. We just got a new batch I can break open for you. And for you, ma’am?”

“Hm, just a martini.” He doesn’t have the decency to pull a stool out for her, but luckily she doesn’t make to sit down right away either. Instead, she sets her little black bag down atop the cushion and lingers behind the stool. “Is it alright if I run to the restroom first?”

“Go on ahead.” His gaze lingers for no more than two seconds when he sends her off; in fact, the way he pulls his gaze back down to the bar counter is almost hasty. Your curious stare must linger a little longer than necessary because he snaps his chin up to connect sharp eye contact that has you spinning on your own heel and heading back to start their drinks. It’s none of your business, honestly and truly, but one of the perks to this line of work is the subtle allowance for being nosy, and you find yourself curious nonetheless.

As it turns out, you get the pair’s drinks done and ready before the woman returns from her trip to the bathroom, and her companion — whose name you have yet to learn even after several weeks of serving him — barely bats an eye when you set the drinks down before him on the bar. His gaze is instead glued to the glowing screen of his phone, thumb pressed against the side of the screen as he seemingly scrolls without thought. You don’t bother making any sort of snide comment despite the urge to; you doubt he would even make an effort to look up from his phone if you did. It’s a slow night for once, however, which means that you spend more time lingering around the counter on your own rather than serving customer after customer. Even with some of your regulars pulling you into conversations here and there, you have fairly little to keep you occupied beyond people watching (ie watching this new regular and his date barely interact or speak for the next forty-five minutes).

He waves you down right as the clock hits nine o’clock, almost like he was counting the seconds until the hour came around. You take the black card he extends in your direction without thought and pass a slightly sympathetic smile to his date when she glances up with a rather defeated expression painting her pretty features.

It’s only poetic that you have the same issue that you had the very first time he came to this bar. Two attempts at the chip reader leave you helpless and with a declined card yet again, and you give one desperate swipe in the hopes that a miracle will strike but it’s to no avail.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you catch sight of the girl’s downcast eyes and her companion’s flat, unreadable face. You could easily return to him and humiliate him by passing the card back and telling him it’s been declined again. You would have no issue doing that if it were just him present, but your heart goes out to his date because the humiliation would bleed to her shoulders too. When she’s already having such a god-awful night as it is, you think you would much rather avoid that sort of issue altogether. So, against better judgment, you clear the register and pen yourself a reminder to fulfill the bill on your own card at the end of your shift. He only bought two drinks tonight, and although one of them had a heftier price tag, you have enough of a cushion in your bank account to spot the payment just this once. When you walk back to where the two are sitting, you swallow involuntarily to keep the lump in your throat down.

“Receipt?” You ask out of pure instinct despite knowing the answer.

“Not needed.” He takes the card out of your hands before you can even extend it in his general direction.

“Of course. Have a nice night.” Your words are moreso directed at the girl, but he doesn’t need to know the difference.

You are in the middle of reaching for their empty glasses when she clears her throat out of the blue, whipping her chin up and looking to her side with none of the earlier warmth that she entered with in her gaze.

“I’ll head out first. Thanks for the drink.”

That’s all the effort she spares on him, tone so icy that even you feel awkward just standing close enough to hear it, but you can’t find it in you to blame her for being so cold when he treated her with equal distaste. It’s only when she steps out of the bar that you decide to say something.

“You could’ve at least spoken to the poor girl.”

“Why? I hardly wanted to bring her along.”

Your frown turns into a deep scowl, but the man doesn’t look at you long enough to see your expression shift.

“Ah, right. Forgot how you rich folk work. Did daddy dearest set you up to close out a business deal or something else that’s equally ridiculous? In my eyes, she gets the short end of the stick being treated more like a bargaining chip than a human being.”

“Did you also consider the possibility that I am the bargaining chip rather than her?”

Given her nerves at the beginning of the night, you find yourself doubting such a thing.

“Shouldn’t I get a say in what I want too?” he continues, leaning forward on his elbows against the bar counter. There’s a certain edge to his tone that sharply contrasts the little glint in his eyes that shows he’s taking this exchange with a grain of salt.

“Okay then, what is it you want?” you fire back, hoping that your response is enough to make him flatline and wave you off. It’s just your luck when that isn’t how he reacts in the slightest. No, instead, he leans further across the counter in such a way that makes the deep vee of his satin vest fall lower and tease the tanned skin underneath. The silver pendant hanging around his neck dangles to the point of distraction, making your gaze drop to follow the movement only to get caught staring directly into that exposed skin. Full lips grin wide at you.

“Isn’t it only natural that I crave you more than anything else?”

“Right, and I want a million dollars. But I work in a bar instead. Can’t we be realistic?”

“Send me the bank details and I’ll have it deposited by morning.”

“With what? Your fancy little black card? By the way, daddy cut you off again and that dumb thing declined a second time. You’re lucky I had enough pity on your date to not humiliate her by announcing that her rich date couldn’t pay for one measly drink.” In hindsight, you wish you had led with that because it has him both stunned into silence and a bit flustered on top of that. He sucks in a sharp breath that almost hurts to listen to before reaching down into his pocket and pulling the same wallet as before out.

“I have cash on me, how much was it?”

“Fifty-eight. Your date was a lot cheaper than you.”

He forks over the money with an ease that isn’t all too surprising given how well off he is and how willing he is to drop fifty bucks on a drink multiple times a week. Still, you double-check the bills with a furrowed brow.

“This is… way too much money.”

“Well, it includes a tip.” He waves his hand at the wad of cash sitting in your palm like it’s nothing, but even so, he has never been so generous in his tips before tonight. A thought hits you as he blinks up at you with wide, expectant eyes.

“You can keep your money if you think I’m gonna sleep with you for a nice tip.” You pull the extra bills out, lip curling as disgust creeps up your spine, and toss them onto the counter without sparing him a glance.

“How much would it take for you to give me a chance then?”

“I’m not some — that’s not the kind of job I work. It’s not some pay-to-win game where the prize is a night in bed with me. I don’t even know your name.”

“You carded me.” The man says that like it’s supposed to change the fact and like he can’t possibly believe you wouldn’t have remembered his name from such a quick glance over his id.

“I don’t typically look at names; only birthdays. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Sunwoo. Kim Sunwoo, that is.” The belated introduction comes with a half grin that looks more uncomfortable than natural.

“Lovely to put a name to a regular’s face, thanks, but I’m still not keen on accepting that money from you.”

“Didn’t my companion tip you well after you snuck off to the bathroom with him the first time I was here?”

Your expression goes from shocked to horrified in a record-breaking amount of time, mostly because rather than wearing a stupid smirk or having a teasing lilt to his tone, Kim Sunwoo seems genuinely curious about the matter.

“He left me high and dry and without any sort of tip, so no. Your friend did nothing of the sort,” you spit back, perhaps a little too passionately in retrospect. “But I expect nothing less from the likes of you. Rich pricks with nothing better to do than take advantage of people poorer and less well off than you for some form of sick enjoyment, I suppose? I looked an idiot thinking he’d have some decency. I’m shocked he didn’t run back to you and tell you all about his spoils and fun.”

“He’s hardly someone I’d call a friend so no, we don’t exactly exchange stories like that.”

There’s a little lull in your conversation then, one that lets you pull away from the conversation almost naturally, and you find a decent excuse to not return to Sunwoo’s side of the bar by tending to a customer on the other end. It’s nearing the end of your shift anyway, so you won’t need to bother with entertaining the guy for much longer. You half-expect him to disappear and leave while you have your back turned; however, every time you turn around, your gaze flits over to where he sits and finds him still seated in the exact same spot. His dark eyes find yours each time, and your embarrassment amplifies more and more as it continues to happen. You hate to give anyone the pleasure of digging their way under your skin, yet all it took for Sunwoo to do it was a well-placed jab and a reminder of the shameful situation you’ve been trying to put out of your mind for the past several weeks.

You consider it a small win when Yuna finally comes to relieve you and you step out from behind the counter without speaking to the man again. It’s a short-lived victory, unfortunately, because rounding the corner to head to the break room where all the belongings that you brought with you to work leads you to find Sunwoo leaned up against the wall rather than at his seat at the bar.

“I’m off the clock now so customer service is out the window.”

“I don’t intend on asking you for a drink back here.”

“Then what exactly is it you want from me? I already said I’m not interested.”

“I’m not used to not getting what I want, I’ll be honest.”

“Oh, that much is glaringly apparent.” You nudge your way past him to reach the door to the back, but Sunwoo leans forward a little to block your path.

“What if I said I could do better than the last guy?”

“Then I’d call you a fool again.”

“You never know unless you try.”

“And risk getting humiliated and playing right into your hand? I know what game you’re playing, Mr. Kim. I’m afraid I don’t want to let you win it either. Maybe you should have given your date a better chance.”

“Could I at least have your phone number? You can block me at any time if you don’t wanna play anymore. I won’t even get a new number to try to contact you if you do!”

You spin on your heel partially out of sheer disbelief but also because you really want to see the expression on this guy’s face when he’s saying something so antagonistic. To no one’s surprise, he’s smiling back at you like a cheeky bastard. Backing down now would be the easier, simpler option. You’re well aware of that. But the more stubborn part of you would really love to play into what he wants if only to come out on top, the part of you that wants to prove a point — you’re dumb enough to believe that you can hold out against a serial player and beat him at his own game.

“Fine. But if I want out then that’s it.”

«     ✦     »

rich prick: ur working tonight right?

me: why are you asking exactly?

rich prick: need to know whether i wear my sexy black shirt or just go with a vest for you to look down again :p

me: …two seconds from blocking you

rich prick: ohh should i dress casual? how about a crop top? you wouldn’t be able to see very well with the bar in the way but i wouldn’t want to distract you during work hours anyway ^^

Three weeks later, you’re certain that you have made a grave and irreversible mistake that there is no coming back from. Because as incessant as Kim Sunwoo can be at the bar, you have learned that he likes to be even more insufferable over text. He always texts for meaningless conversations that you know are just attempts to get under your skin, but your already-short patience can’t tolerate his teasing for more than a few minutes at a time. Mostly because you have already made peace with the fact that you are fighting an uphill battle that you’re losing dramatically.

You don’t have an edge on the guy — nothing to put you over him or win you any points. Because, without fail, each time you try to throw the cards back in his face, he manages to flip it around on you.

Make a comment about his dick probably being small? He pins you down with the oh so you’ve been thinking about it already?

Tell him too much confidence isn’t that appealing? He hits you with a and you have yet to block me.

You even went so far as to tell him that he needs a girl to put him in his place, and his response was to insinuate that you could dominate him any day of the week if that’s what it took to please you.

In all of your (misplaced) wisdom, you imagined it would be quick and easy to disarm a guy like him, but here you are weeks later glaring at the door you know he’s about to step through waiting to lose another game to him. it is entirely unfortunate that he looks right at you upon stepping into the building, and you’re caught spinning around to not look so expectant.

“Is it a slow night or do I suspect that you were waiting on me, doll?” His voice reaches your ears moments later, and you huff out an unamused little laugh before deciding to face him for real. Thankfully, he decided not to be entirely insane and wear a crop top or something equally ridiculous (read: distracting) — just a simple suit with a proper shirt underneath. He resituates the collar upon sitting down at the bar counter, popping two buttons free and letting a bit of skin shine through. If you didn’t know better, you would assume it’s simply hot outside and he’s doing it to cool off, but you’ve found yourself far too acquainted with his games these days and that means you know the exact reason behind his actions. Rather than giving him the pleasure of seeing you sweat, you push a glass down in front of him, one with a sphere of ice in the center, and showcase the bottle in your hand.

“Someone just had me crack this open. Will you be having it tonight by chance?” Not entirely the truth because that customer left nearly forty minutes ago and you were keeping an eye on the clock to gauge when Sunwoo would be coming in, but he doesn’t need to know any of that.

“Of course, you know my order by now, don’t you?”

It is a rather slow night, mostly because it’s a Tuesday and that’s far from your busiest day of the week. That’s the sole reason why you’re allowing Sunwoo to have even this much of your attention, along with the extra insurance of having a coworker on the other end of the counter chatting up some other customers.

Sunwoo levels you with a stare as you pour his drink. You try to ignore it to the best of your ability, but the heat of his gaze lingers even when you turn to put the bottle back on the shelf behind you.

“Did you get all dolled up just for me?”

You hesitate where you’re stretched up on your tiptoes to cast a glance back at the man over your shoulder.

“Do you think you’re really worth that effort?”

“That all depends on whether you want me to have you or not.”

You neglect to respond until you have the liquor firmly placed back safely on the shelf — it’s probably worth more than you are and you don’t want that put on a damages tab of any sort — then smooth down the front of your apron. You didn’t put any special effort into what you’re wearing, even if Sunwoo thinks otherwise. There’s a limited selection of clothes you can wear to work, and because you are dramatically lazy during the weekend, you neglected to wash the jeans you typically wear on Tuesdays. The only other option you had was the pleated black skirt that hugs your waist now, and while it’s not riding up your ass and showing anything unprofessional, Sunwoo has a way of seeing exactly what he wants to see. So of course, he would flatter himself with the thought that you chose the outfit specifically for him.

“Are you drinking alone tonight, or can I expect another failed date to come through?”

“Ha ha,” Sunwoo accentuates the forced laugh with a small roll of his eyes. You take innate pleasure in irking him even a tiny bit. “I’m free for the night for once. When does your shift end?”

“I get off early tonight because my manager is bringing in someone new to train. He like doing all the training himself so I get to leave in thirty minutes rather than in four hours.”

Sunwoo nods, fingers tracing the rim of his glass as he purses his lips. No words leave his mouth, however, and you’re left to piece together what his expression means in lieu of hearing another teasing remark. You don’t need to think too deeply about it if you’re being perfectly honest because the implication is there — the inquiry about whether he’ll have a guest, him asking about your shift,  the subtle yet very obvious pokes around the same bush that leave you wondering how the night might end. You think he knows as well as you do that you’re fighting a losing battle, so truly it’s only a matter of time and whether he moves the right pieces into place. Rather than speaking just yet, however, he passes a little grin your way before lifting his glass to his full lips.

“Don’t let me get in your way for those last thirty minutes then,” he says, tone something low and borderline sinful. “I can gladly wait my turn.”

You suck your lower lip into your mouth to keep from smiling back.

The next thirty minutes pass in a blur of soap and water solely because you finish out your shift by cleaning the dishes thanks to the lack of customers. It keeps you busy and away from Sunwoo, leaving the man to Yuna while you carry out your work duties with no distractions from said man. Without you needing to return to the counter, you fully expect the night to end without another word from him.

It’s a slight disappointment when you leave through the side door after your shift officially ends without even a text from the man. It feels a bit like a repeat of what happened with his friend that first day you met him, albeit with a few key differences. It would be quite the blow to your ego if these weeks of playing into his hand ended without any sort of physical gratification, and if you were to lose so spectacularly here and now, you imagine Sunwoo would be more than happy to lord that over you.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long?”

You glance up from your phone in search of the offending voice, and your glare settles on the exact man you were just thinking of moments prior.

“What I supposed to be waiting for you?” you ask in return, prompting him to peel himself away from the sleek black luxury car he’s leaned against to stand at his full height.

“I believe we had something of a mutual understanding in there but…” he trails off in favor of smiling over at you. With one hand, he gestures over his shoulder and tilts his chin a bit in question. “You could always prove me wrong and head home on your own.” You regard both the man and the car behind him with as little interest as you can feign at the moment, but you imagine that your fate is already perfectly sealed with no mystery about whether you’ll take him up on his offer or not. “I didn’t magically get my license either, but the backseat does have a lovely partition that offers quite a bit of privacy.”

“It sounds to me like you’re making quite a few presumptions, Sunwoo.”

His grin extends as he pops the door to the backseat open.

“After you, doll.”

You take the bait for precisely what it is and without a further fight, stepping into his space and laying a hand atop the edge of the door. As you lower yourself into the vehicle, your fingers brush past where his linger. It’s the first contact of the night, as well as the first bit of physical teasing you’ve managed to pull off with him. It’s awfully difficult to ‘accidentally’ brush hands or nudge into his personal space with your job and the distance between your end of the bar counter and his, so getting to ease into it now adds a layer of excitement to the already overflowing cup of anticipation in your gut. He shuts the door once you’re safely seated inside, leaving you to glance forward at the clear partition separating the front seat from the back where you now sit. There’s a dainty black curtain covering half the transparent material, and it in turn shrouds your view of the driver in the front seat.

“Doesn’t your driver need to know where he’s going before he takes off anywhere?” you inquire when the door opposite yours pulls open.

“Someone seems to be in quite the rush.”

“You forget that I’m the one at your mercy right now, Sunwoo.”

“Oh hardly, kitten. If I wanted you at my mercy, our positions would be much different.” He settles into the leather seat and snaps the car door shut with a little huff of laughter. Seconds later, he’s leaning forward and shifting the curtain to expose the driver to your eyes, knocking on the surface until the man in the front rolls the partition down enough to hear better. “Please escort us to this fair lady’s residence.” Sunwoo shifts to glance back at you, gaze almost expectant as he nods towards the driver. You recite your address without much thought. Against what is likely better judgment, you find yourself trusting your companion enough to not behave out of turn; if he really did have nefarious intentions with you, you imagine he would’ve acted on those desires a long while ago and not stuck around to play this game with you for as long as he has.

When the partition rolls back up, Sunwoo tugs the curtain back into place and once again shrouds the front end of the car from view. Soft music is filtering through the speakers but it acts as nothing more than white noise once Sunwoo settles his gaze on you.

“You can almost taste the tension, can’t you?” he remarks through a grin. His gaze is nearly lidded thanks to the purely sinful way he’s staring over at you, and you find yourself feeding right into his palm without much effort.

“If you’re gonna fuck me, then do it and get it over with.” You hardly feel a thing when the car begins to move, although all your focus and attention has shifted towards the man on your left who now leans across the middle seat to press closer to your body.

“Ah, that’s how you imagined this going?” A laugh leaves him, but this time it’s full-bodied and swamped with mirth. “That’s not at all how I intended to have you, doll.”

“Are you trying to prove a point? Is that it? Make me think you’re any different than the next rich prick who wants to bang me?” You twist at the waist to better look at him.

“I doubt I have to make you think one way or another. If I’m going to have you, Y/n, I simply wish to make certain you are left satisfied and feel the full extent of pleasure with me. Is that such a crime?” He leans further into your space until he’s close enough to cascade hot breath over your neck and down the front of your shirt. And almost like a woman possessed, you find yourself shifting to accommodate his weight against your body, drawing a leg up onto the seat and all but granting him passage between your legs as he brushes his nose into the underside of your jaw.  “I hardly wish to simply fuck you and get it over with, but if you wish to believe that of me, I’ll take it as a challenge to prove you wrong.”

“And if I said I wanted it hard and fast?”

“Oh, I can be a little mean, a little rough, if that’s what you like. But only if that’s what you like, doll. Tell me what kind of slut you are, and I’ll pace myself according to your desires. I get off to seeing a pretty girl falling apart over me, so it’s a win-win situation for me.” He’s inches away from your lips now, each word pushing more of his heated breath into your parted lips in a way that feels far too lascivious for the lack of privacy you two have. Just past the partition sits a man who is essentially a total stranger, and all that separates you is a partition wall and a tiny black curtain to shroud your activities from view. He must notice the way you glance from his face to said wall a few times as your thoughts go back and forth because he leans back just enough to look over in the same direction. “You can stay quiet, can’t you, kitten?”

Your close proximity leaves no room to hide from his sharp gaze. Ducking your chin to the side only acts as a dead giveaway when he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Ah, unless you want to be a bit naughty? I can accommodate that as well if you wish.”

With a little surge of confidence (and perhaps a tiny dabble of audacity to match), you reach out and snatch Sunwoo, fingers pressing into his cheeks and digging against the sharp curve of his jawline.

“If you wish to do something here and now, then I suggest you hurry because my apartment isn’t more than fifteen minutes from the bar by bus.”

His eyes flick over your features before the realization settles in, and you end up having to be the one to close the gap between your mouths regardless because of that moment of hesitation. Finally feeling his lips atop yours provides almost paramount gratification for all these weeks of intense teasing — keeping each other at arm’s length just enough to make you go mad with desire despite the simplicity of your game — and your only saving grace is that he seems just as desperate to have more once he gets that first taste.

He presses up against your body with almost blind fervor, hands securing on your hips as his tongue breaches your lips and dives deeper for more. You allow him that much and push him back to find a better position for the both of you. He drags a hand around to your back then and coaxes your legs to part around his hips until you’re straddled across his lap. With the leverage comes a bit of power too as you can better push him into the seat and drive the kiss with your tongue fighting back against his now. He maintains his hold on your back but his other hand draws forward and lower, slipping down beneath the line of your skirt to seek something else. You expect that touch to come almost immediately but he stalls just enough to catch you off-guard. All it takes is two fingers and a touch so faint that it sends shivers down your spine to have you curling up against his body. It also elicits a quiet gasp from your lips that he swallows as the control falls back into his hands.

You have nowhere to ground yourself but his shoulders. Blunt nails dig into the fabric of his suit jacket, and when that fails to give you the satisfaction you’re after, you slip your hands under both jacket and shirt to settle against his heated skin as he dares to dig into your folds a bit more. He doesn’t breach your underwear yet, keeping himself restrained to just nudging at your cunt through the fabric. The pleasure you derive from the simple touch is borderline humiliating, only deterred by the sloppiness of your tongue against his.

More, you think but he keeps you from voicing that thought with the way his mouth keeps seeking yours when you try to pull back for breath. His persistence leaves you a little dazed, a little dizzy, and when he finally does let you gasp for air, it’s the same moment that he decides to push you down against the line of seats with his body draped heavily over yours. The angle is awkward at best with one of his arms still pressed between the two of you, and you have to let one leg fall over the edge of the seats just to accommodate the position, but it also lets you feel the rather prominent bulge at the front of his pants against the inside of your knee. In a move that’s more subconscious than an entirely purposeful one, you press into the bulge of his half-hard cock just to get a reaction out of the man. He rewards you kindly with a moan that’s barely bitten back at the last second, but then he’s dipping his fingers past the hem of your panties and finally dragging through your wet folds with more direct purpose. You curl your leg in with the first brush against your clit, and Sunwoo seizes it as an opportunity to push down hard atop your thigh, grinding his clothed erection into it. He draws a moan from his own mouth with the action, one that you swallow down with another kiss. The thought of where you are almost escapes you, along with the fact that you aren’t entirely alone, so as much as you wish to fully lose yourself in the feeling of his finger pushing into your pussy, you don’t let your sounds go beyond his lips.

“God, I wanna fuck you,” Sunwoo hisses against your mouth. He digs a second digit alongside the first and stretches your walls open a bit wider.

“N-Not without protection,” you reply, albeit through stuttered breaths and gritted teeth.

“Mm, what? Don’t want me to soil your pretty little cunt with my cock? Spoil you for anyone else who wants to fuck you?” Your head tips back at the next sensation to course through your body, and Sunwoo takes advantage of that moment of weakness to dip his mouth down to your neck. You truly do forget where you are in that split second, when he sucks your flesh between his lips and drags his teeth across your skin, and the next sound to leave your lips is anything but quiet. “See now when you make noises like that, how am I supposed to not want to ruin you for everyone else? Makes me wanna pump you full of my cum and plug you up nice and good. Could make you sloppy seconds for anyone else who wants to have you.”

You reach around the back of Sunwoo’s head, tangling your fingers through his hair just to ground yourself as he curls his fingers deep inside your cunt. He drags the tip of his thumb over your clit with the same monotonous rhythm that builds in pace as he grows almost insistent, and the jerks of his hips follow along almost as though he’s imagining the feeling of truly fucking you with the lewd movements. You sink your teeth into your lower lip as a whimper threatens to slip out. Just having one hand on him isn’t enough to quell your desires, not until you have your other arm braced around his shoulders and holding his body against yours.

“Let me have a taste,” he growls against your neck, and the low gravelly tone of his voice sends a little surge of vibrations through you. It sinks the anchor of desire further in your stomach. You guide him lower between your legs with a sort of urgency that’s nearly humiliating, yet given how he stares up at your face from where he’s now eye level with the skirt that’s ridden up your thighs, you imagine he’s in the same state himself.

Cold air brushes over your cunt for only but a moment before Sunwoo is panting hot breath over your folds. His fingers linger inside you as he takes his first sweet taste of you — a long and purposeful lick that moves from where his hand sits up to your clit then back down to your hole, and your thighs tremble with the gentle teasing.

“You look so pretty and needy for me, kitten. How could anyone not want to see you writhing in pleasure under them?” The little jab at his ‘friend’ doesn’t slip past your notice, but you don’t make any effort to swing for the ball he’s just thrown your way. Now that you have him, you want to have him in his entirety. Should the chance fall into your lap again, maybe then you’ll want to play around a bit more, but now isn’t the time for that. All you can do to make that known to him is push down with the hand you still have wrapped up in his hair. The slope of his nose meets your clit, and he dips his tongue between your walls, more than eager to listen to your silent demands. Your thighs draw up to close around his head as the stimulation reaches a mounting pleasure. Yet just as you feel yourself right at the edge of an orgasm, the feeling evaporates entirely, and your walls squeeze tight around his fingers. A quiet chuckle follows, and he draws his face up to meet your heated gaze, letting the orgasm fall away before you can delight in it.

“You sick bastard,” comes your choked-out jab that sounds almost like a sob given the way you’re gasping for breath.

“Wanna feel how tight your pussy gets when you’re cumming on my cock, princess. Don’t hold it against me.” Sunwoo pushes up on the seat until he’s on his knees, hands quickly moving down to mess with the button of his slacks.

You would move to help him if he hadn’t just ripped such a sweet orgasm out from under you, but it also gives you the chance to sit back and enjoy the view as he nudges his pants and underwear down just enough to pull his rather sizable length out. Just the first glance almost has you abandoning your ploy to crawl forward and take him into your mouth because he’s more than a little gifted with a pretty face and equally pretty dick. Long, not overly thick but enough to make you salivate, and fully erect to the point of showing off — you push yourself up onto your elbows and blink from his cock to his smug little expression that all but announces your interest in every bit of him.

“Wish I could fuck you now but,” Sunwoo hesitates and exhales slowly, hands moving around your legs to grip your thighs where they meet your hips, “I think I can rile you up just fine by mimicking the real thing.”

You tilt your chin, not quite understanding what exactly he means by that until he presses the length of his cock against your wet pussy. With one hand to push your folds together over his dick, Sunwoo thrusts forward directly over the sensitive bud of your clit, merely a testing little thrust to help him find the optimal position to pseudofuck you in, and he slips into an easy rhythm. Your cunt provides enough wetness to make the glide more pleasurable, but even with that to assist, there’s a little burn of roughness with each thrust that drags his length over you. It’s nothing overtly painful, nothing you aren’t deriving pleasure from, and you certainly aren’t complaining about the sensation even when Sunwoo smirks down at you as the whimpers start to fall more freely from your lips. You must look awfully pathetic in his eyes — either that or an absolute vision with the way you have the back of your hand pressed over your mouth to conceal the noises. The corners of your eyes are a tad wet as well, little pinpricks of tears that threaten to fall down your temples and into your hair.

Reality comes down with full force when knuckles rap hard against the partition wall and interrupt your moment of passion and fervor with Sunwoo. You flip your hand around swiftly, clapping your palm down hard over your mouth as your eyes go wide with shock. Your partner, on the other hand, hardly looks surprised at all, merely pulling back to push his dick back into his underwear like it’s nothing but a minor nuisance. You rush to pull yourself into a more decent position while pulling your clothes into their original places in an effort to hide any evidence of what you and Sunwoo were just doing. The damage is likely already done, and the driver more than likely knows to act ignorant out of respect, although you still feel a bit grateful when he doesn’t so much as look in your direction when Sunwoo guides you out of the car.

“My apartment is this way,” you say, fiddling with your purse in search of your keys. Sunwoo shoves his hands deep into his pockets and clears his throat. You would almost put his attitude off as nonchalant at best, if not for the clear bulge of his erection still poking at the front of his pants and the borderline obvious way he tries to adjust his dick into a more comfortable position through the pockets. You feel utterly debauched yourself, so that likely reflects itself on your appearance, although you have the saving grace of it being late. No one obstructs your path on the staircase up to your floor, and even the hallway outside your door is void of life aside from the moth that’s made a home of your wall lamp. Despite the stillness between you and Sunwoo while just outside the door, that facade is suddenly shattered as you fumble to get your keys in the lock.

Sunwoo hisses through his teeth, then hands are gripping hard at your hips and spinning you around until your back hits the door with a shocking amount of force. It knocks the breath nearly out of your lungs but you don’t get the opportunity to recover as Sunwoo’s lips are back on yours within the blink of an eye. His touch turns gentle as he wraps a hand around yours that still cling to the keys. You let him take them from your grasp without a fight.

“Smallest one, next to the keychain,” you murmur into his mouth before taking that same hand to wrap around the back of his neck and deepen the kiss. The taste of you lingers on his tongue, and that fills you with a filthy sort of debauched arrogance.

He finally manages to get the right key in place after what feels like an agonizing minute, twisting the key in place and letting the lock spring loose. It flips a switch in your urgency as well, as you rush to drag the man inside so quickly that you almost forget to retrieve your keys before the door snaps shut behind the two of you. Neither of you bothers with any light switches or whatever else would be proper upon welcoming someone into your home: it’s basically a race to see who can get their clothes off the fastest as you push him closer and closer to the bedroom. When you cross the threshold into the room, you pause to flip the lights on then, taking in the near intoxicating sight of a shirtless Sunwoo before you with lean muscles and a tapered waist stripped down to nothing but a pair of black socks. You’re not in a better state yourself, nothing but underwear clinging to your form, and with light finally bearing down on the two of you, you seem to be hit by reality at the same time.

You both are overtaken by a bout of laughter that pushes through the haze of desire, falling into each other in a way that feels starkly intimate compared to the intensity of your play in the car. Sunwoo drags his warm hands over your skin as he pulls you towards the foot of the bed. You’re still laughing when he twists you around, and the smile painting your lips persists after that when you tug him down to the mattress with you pressed under his body.

“Condom in the nightstand.” You laugh into the cheeky kiss he leaves you with, making quick work of your underwear while he’s retrieving the foiled packet. His eagerness makes itself known once more when you blink over at him with the packet locked between his teeth seconds before he tears it open.

“You sure it’s big enough for me?”

A scoff answers his question, but you do glance down as he’s rolling the condom over his cock just to be certain that it’s not his ego speaking.

“Do the socks stay on during sex?”

It’s his turn to answer with an indignant huff, and you laugh as he nudges you down to lie flat against the comforter.

“Doubt that’s gonna make you any less wet when my cock is involved, but—” Sunwoo shrugs “—you can turn over and let me fuck you into the mattress if it’s gonna bother you that much.”

He likely knows you weren’t being serious and it hardly bothers you one bit but you still shift to let him have you from behind just for the simple joy of catching him off-guard. The exhaled string of swears that follows is almost better than seeing his expression with your own eyes. You press your chest down to the mattress, folding your hands under the side of your face as you look back at Sunwoo over the curves of your body if only to catch his expression in the aftermath.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost call you a good girl, kitten.”

“I can do whatever you ask of me,” you hum through a sigh of pleasure as Sunwoo lets his cock rest against your entrance. “Provided the incentive is good enough.”

“Be a doll and take my big cock well, and maybe I’ll let you have me raw next time.”

You don’t get the chance to roll your eyes at his comment because he penetrates your hole as he’s still speaking, and your eyes flutter shut thanks to the stretch of your walls around his length. He says something else, something that you don’t really process because you’re too busy drinking in the sensation of his cock digging deep into your cunt.

“Don’t waste any more time,” you say over your shoulder, not bothering to ask for clarification over whatever he said to you moments earlier. Clearly, it’s nothing that is wildly important to him either considering how he takes you up on your words and gives a shallow thrust that knocks his hips against your ass. There isn’t any more waiting, which you’re grateful for, but it also means that his pace starts rough and remains a little mean to the point where you’re clinging to the pillow above your head just to keep from being knocked flat on your stomach. It’s exactly the kind of debased pleasure you were after — all these weeks of dancing around each other so coquettishly building up to such a glorified show of lust and desire in its purest form — and the feeling of his cock rolling in and out of your sopping cunt only amplifies the pleasure in your veins as Sunwoo fucks you. In hindsight, had you known he wasn’t simply talking a big game to get into your pants, you would have fucked him long ago. But perhaps playing into his game made it all the more enticing, and in turn, makes the payoff taste that much better.

You snake a hand down to rest over your mound, flicking your fingers against your clit in time with the rhythm of Sunwoo’s thrusts. That coil of pleasure that was wound so tight not once but twice in the car springs tight again now, but this time your partner does nothing to stop the orgasm from crashing over you. You surely could have dragged things out a bit longer, although something about Sunwoo’s unforgiving pace tells you that you have many more orgasms and rounds to come tonight alone. So, you take the loss for what it is — a blinding white pleasure that washes over you and makes your walls squeeze so tight around his cock that his thrusts stutter and fail in their steadiness.

“Fuck, fuck,” he hisses out as you cum around him, clenching his length and pulling him deeper into your cunt, and it’s then that you feel him tremble behind you. The condom gets in the way of that blissful feeling of being pumped full of cum; the fleeting thought of asking him to take it off later so you can revel in that sensation passes through your mind as you’re coming down from your high. Sunwoo braces his hands on either side of your head. One of his hands is just inside your line of vision, and you lazily trace your gaze over the harsh curves of his fingers as he digs them into the flesh of the mattress. He’s still muttering curses over and over, only breaking off when a prolonged moan interrupts him, then finally his hips come to rest flush against your ass. There’s no warning of any sort when he pulls you down onto the bed and curls his torso over your back, hand resting atop your hip. Both of you fight to catch breath that comes in staggered gasps as the intensity of your fucking rushes to catch up with you.

“Can you manage to get that thing back up for more, or are you just a one-hit wonder?” It’s a miracle you even have it in you to still be snippy with him, but all the more surprising is the way his dick twitches in its softening state inside you.

“I’m hardly done with you, princess. Gonna have to try a little harder than that to get rid of me.”

this work belongs to calypso / hongism (2022). do not copy, repost, or steal in any way.

#the boyz smut #tbz smut #sunwoo smut #tbz x reader #the boyz x reader #sunwoo x reader #tbz fic #the boyz fic #sunwoo fic #sunwoo x you #sunwoo oneshot #tbz oneshot #the boyz oneshot #caly.writes

[hongism]

avidity. (khj, 18+)

» k.hongjoong x afab!reader » smut, pwp » warnings; language, smut warnings under the cut » summary; kim hongjoong always radiates confidence, but to you there’s nothing quite like the glow he gets after performing on stage. » please consider commenting + reblogging to support my content! check out more of my work here! » wc; 3.4k

a/n; hi hi long time no fic eh?! 🙇‍♀️ v sorry for all my absences recently, i hope this is a good welcome back party gift from me to you guys... also be on the lookout for more from me soon 🤓

•  •  •

smut warnings; explicit smut, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, slight voyeurism, handjobs, masturbation, cum eating, usage of sex toys (vibrating panties), dirty talk, corruption kink, wet & messy kink, semi-dominant hongjoong, usage of petnames (angel, baby, kitten, darling)

•  •  •

You catch him as he’s coming down from the high that comes with giving the performance of a lifetime, shuffling backstage alongside the mass of bodies that follow and working into the tight crevices between people to urge yourself closer to the man. He, as always, is dressed to the nines, but in your eyes, all you see is pure jaw-dropping sex appeal in the latex that hugs his hips and follows the lines of his thighs to flare out on his calves, complete with the matching vest that leaves a strip of skin exposed to hundreds upon thousands of eyes to ogle with every slight movement that drags the tight fabric up higher. His modesty is somewhat protected, you suppose, in the form of his brown jacket that really only serves to cover his arms and shoulders from prying eyes, but you personally would love nothing more than to strip that layer away and simply be left with the clothes underneath instead.

A jack of all trades in many regards, someone who has the Midas touch and is good at anything he touches, a man with a presence that outshines any stage he’s put on no matter the size of the crowd. He’s many things — plays many parts and takes up different roles as needed — and that’s something you always find yourself in awe of when it comes to who he is and how he operates. And one thing is for certain: Kim Hongjoong is a menace.

There’s a buzzing in your veins that doesn’t wholly come from watching him perform, although you would argue that you always feel insane levels of adrenaline just watching from the audience. The heady sensation filling you now comes from elsewhere, from a dull pulse between your legs that was at a height during the performance itself. Now, offstage and walking back to the waiting room, the vibrations have come down to a throb that’s just present enough for you to be aware of it. Between the crowd of people separating you and Hongjoong, you can see him just well enough to watch how he twists one hand around the other in a way that looks entirely inconspicuous to the unassuming eye, and the thrumming between your legs fizzles out entirely. You exhale a quiet sigh of relief, and it gives you the chance to finally release some of the tension that you have held in your shoulders for the last forty-five minutes at least.

Even with that relief, however, you’re left starving for more because you don’t quite get the attention you so desperately despair immediately upon slipping into the large waiting room and following your lover to his seat by the mirrors. Now that you’re closer to him, you can see the way his chest heaves, especially once he strips the outer layer that is his jacket off and tosses it forward to the counter. It’s sick how the sheen of sweat looks good on him, how it makes his brown hair cling to his forehead in awkward clumps and gives his skin a pretty flush that reminds you too much of a post-coital glow. 

“Fucking amazing,” he murmurs through barely parted lips. Taking in the man’s expression, you find him more dazed than annoyed so it’s clear that his exclamation is moreso out of pure wonder than sarcasm. 

“Feel good out there?” You didn’t have the most show-stopping view in the arena but it was still good enough to see Hongjoong in his element: performing and showing off with a reckless abandon you’ve come to expect from him. 

Rather than answering you right away, he turns to the man who collapses in the chair on his right with a growing smirk pulling at his lips. 

“Tore up the fucking stage, yeah?”

The man in question, San with his sweat piled up to the point where his black hair dye runs down the side of his face, lets out a breathless grunt and smiles back at his leader. 

You busy yourself with the paper towels on the counter, working to diminish some of the mess on Hongjoong’s face as best you can without missing his makeup. The hair can easily be restyled but you’d rather avoid having to redo his cosmetics entirely if you can (read: leave more time for other activities if possible).

A hand comes to rest on the outside of your hip the moment you turn back to Hongjoong, and you jolt in momentary shock as that touch brings back the vibration enveloping your crotch. He’s swift in the way he dips that hand to slip between your thighs just before you clench them together. And even if this is something you’ve partaken in before, you still jerk your head up to glance around the room for any prying gazes. Everyone seems rather preoccupied with doing their jobs or resting after a job well done. 

“Did you, hm?”

It takes far too long for you to process the question, and even longer to connect it back to the one you posed less than a minute prior. 

“Yeah,” comes your answer. The two of you lock eyes as you dab a paper towel along his temple. “Not too much though.” Your quiet admission is enough to clue him into the fact that you didn’t reach an orgasm with his teasing — fully his intention as that’s what he considers to be half the fun — and your reward is a curling grin that makes him look very much like a cat. 

“We’ll have to rectify that then. Can’t leave my darling unsatisfied now, can I?” Hongjoong hums under his breath, blinking down at his lap as he subtly tugs you closer to his chair. You drop a hand to his shoulder solely to steady yourself and keep yourself from tumbling down on top of him, but your hand meets warmed skin the second you touch him and that stops you dead in your tracks. “Side changing room next door. That’s as private as we’re gonna get.”

You clear your throat, sneaking a glance over at the man on Hongjoong’s right to make certain neither he nor the stylist working on rectifying the mess he’s made of his makeup is paying close enough attention to overhear your conversation with Hongjoong. 

“How long until you all have to go back out there?”

“We’ve got plenty of time, baby.” His ring is twisted inwards to conceal the suspiciously large button sitting atop it, and you consider yourself awfully lucky that no other stylist has made any sort of comment on the piece of jewelry that found its way onto Hongjoong’s hand before the stage. You watch with careful yet almost pleading eyes as his thumb toys over the surface of the plastic. All your resituating in the past hour has caused the vibrator that’s tucked into your panties to shift to where it isn’t rubbing right between your folds any longer, but the steady thrums still cause enough stimulation to make your muscles seize. “Just can’t make too much of a mess.” He pauses long enough to purse his lips, chin tilting to the side as he regards the ceiling with a faraway look in his eyes for several seconds. Something is very clearly on his mind — you’d hazard a guess that he’s envisioning the both of you in less than work-appropriate positions. “As much as I’d love to wreck and ruin you right now.”

Pulling back, you ball the paper towel into your palm like it’s tethering you to reality. Hongjoong’s lips part a hair when he smiles next, and you have no time to agree to what he’s suggesting before he’s standing up from his chair and moving around you to head back for the door. 

“I’ll be napping in the changing room for a bit!” His announcement seems to fall on deaf ears; moreso a courtesy call than anything else, but it does make the stylist working on San beside you look up from her station to glance at you.

“Did you finish up with him?”

“N-No, he left without letting me.” The stutter in your voice is entirely involuntary and a direct effect of the sudden increase in the volume of vibrations coming from between your legs as Hongjoong crosses the threshold of the door. 

“Follow him and do some touch-ups then. You should be fine to do them while he’s laying down if anything.”

You manage a series of nods and clamber to collect the makeup bag you left on the counter, nodding a little to the older woman to excuse yourself, then you’re rushing to follow Hongjoong out the door. It’s purely beneficial that no one is truly paying attention at that moment because otherwise, your dealings with the man would be obvious beyond belief. But then again, the mere thought that someone could suspect you’re sneaking off to fuck around with Hongjoong between sets brings a heady fog to your brain. A bit shameful, something you know shouldn’t be so intensely arousing, and if you breathed a word about it, it would provide Hongjoong with endless ammunition to tease you with. Nothing he doesn’t already know, but something you hope he doesn’t bring out in full force so that you can maintain some sanity and come out of that room with your brain intact still. 

That is a tall order of its own, you realize, upon stepping into the far too small changing room just next door to where everyone else resides.

There Hongjoong waits for you, sprawled out over the leather settee bench with his vest riding up enough to expose the entire line of semi-defined abs surrounded by soft flesh. That sight alone would be enough to drive you mad, but no, Kim Hongjoong prefers to be a menace above all other things, and what truly greets you upon entering the room is the sight of his half-erect cock out just enough to be laying flat against that pretty stomach. He didn’t even bother pulling his pants down — just unbuttoned and unzipped just enough to pull his cock free. Here his size comes in handy seeing as he’s not quite long enough to touch the spot where the end of his vest resides.

Your thoughts are disrupted by another increase in the vibrations, pulling your focus off the narrow lines of his waist and the way the latex pants dig into the flesh of his hips enough to cause dips in the skin there. 

“Cm’here and sit on my thigh.” He jerks his head, and even though the action looks awkward given his position, you still listen to him without a breath of complaint. He throws one leg down over the side of the small sofa for you. The tall heel of his stage boots clicks against the tiled floor as it makes contact. He mirrors the motion with his other leg but leaves that one propped up on the cushion, only spreading his legs enough for you to drape over the one thigh and settle your weight on the sofa between his legs. “You’re gonna sit there nice and pretty for me, angel, and watch me get off because you can’t be trusted not to make a fucking mess all over my nice pants, yeah?”

“Hongjoong,” you hiss through gritted teeth, and the burn of shame reaches your neck. He smirks with one corner of his mouth. He moves a hand down to enclose around his length, taking it against his palm and squeezing lightly like it’s a show for you to indulge in. 

“Can barely trust you not to leak through your panties, but I like the view too much.”

You bring your own hands down, aiming to settle them on the man’s hips so you can steady yourself, but Hongjoong jerks his hand away from his cock to slap yours away in the blink of an eye. His expression hardly shifts at all.

“You get to watch, pretty, not touch. Be good and sit still for me, and maybe I’ll let you clean up the mess.”

You sit back on his leg, but not without letting out a sigh that’s a bit petulant on purpose because this is hardly the satisfaction you were expecting after being teased for so long. It only makes sense that a man such as Hongjoong would continue the driving pressure of his teasing well after necessary, and maybe you were the fool for thinking he would behave differently now; however, you imagined that the looming time limit on this impromptu session would make him want to speed things up just a hair.

When he next brings his hand down, he moves past his hardening cock to tap at your knee, and you glance down at the offending touch to find him displaying his empty palm to you.

“Spit for me, love. It’s no good doing it dry.” This is just another facet of Hongjoong that you know like the back of your hand, and you love it just as much because as much as he has a penchant for ruining you in the filthiest and messiest ways, you repay it in full with your enjoyment of that sort of treatment. And there’s always a certain edge to him after performing so roughly when the confidence and adrenaline are spilling over: it leaves him blessedly arousing. Just like now, where you don’t think you even need the dull throb of the vibrator sitting against your cunt because the mere sight of his shifting jaw as you dribble spit down to his palm is enough to send surges of lust right down to your core.

It makes it all the more difficult to keep yourself from touching him, though, especially when he withdraws to grip at his dick once more. The sound is lewd enough with how slick the slide of his palm over his length is, and the knowledge that you’ve essentially been used as nothing more than lube for him to get off is another pleasurable knife of degradation in your veins. 

“Not as tight at your pussy no matter how hard I squeeze, fuck.” His brows draw tight as he inhales so sharply that the air whistles through his teeth. Those long lashes you find yourself admiring so often flutter in time with the slow drags of his fingers over the tip of his cock. Painted nails dig into his slit slowly and carefully, like he’s pointedly imagining every movement he makes in his mind. “Wanna bend you over this damn couch so bad, fuck you full of cum until you can’t hold anymore.”

His eyes snap open with a surge of ferocity to his gaze, and your breath catches when he locks eyes with you.

“Could make you mine, make you walk around with my load in you, and no one would know about it.” 

Your limbs no longer feel like they’re part of you, and you lose sense of what on earth to do with your hands, letting them drift from your legs to your hips up to rest over your chest over and over without any real conscience thought going into the movements. 

“Want you to touch yourself for me, baby. Put the vibe right over your pretty clit and get off with me.”

“Please.”

“Yeah, you want that? Go on, kitten, I gave you permission.” You sit up higher on your knees, enough to push a hand down under the hem of your skirt and up into the source of the vibrations. Hongjoong’s fingers slide from base to tip, and his hips come up to match the jerk with a small thrusting motion. The scene is wholly lewd on every level — a mixture of mutual masturbation that’s met with matching breathless gasps and tiny moans that are forced back for the sake of your privacy. You almost ruin that in the blink of an eye as a drawn-out whine pulls itself free of your lips upon the first contact against your clit. Even that slight bit of stimulation makes your nub ache, walls clenching around nothing as the feeling persists.

The visage of Hongjoong below you strung out in his own pleasure encourages you further, to match his pace and movements in a way that mimics him touching you with his own hands. You twist your other hand around the hem of your skirt and yank it up with a bit too much roughness, but it allows you to pinch the fabric between your teeth and expose a bit of your pussy to the man under you. The underwear is still in place, yet despite that and much like the way he pulled his cock out of his pants just enough to have access, you’ve done the same with your panties. It’s well worth the effort too, given how Hongjoong’s stare settles on that exposed bit of skin and sears a new kind of wanton arousal into you. 

“Gonna cum, baby, but I want you to cum for me first, ‘kay?”

Your attempt to respond verbally ends up being a jumbled mess of moans that have no intelligible words in them. Hongjoong laughs loud and clear, a sound that fills the room and overlaps the lewd sounds between your bodies. 

It truly doesn’t take much to push you over the edge of an orgasm with all the stimulation you’re under — from the sight before you to the sounds around you and the buzzing that fills you to the brim — and you reach your high with Hongjoong coaxing you through it, teasing words laced with affection and a need of his own. You catch his groan of pleasure through the haze of your euphoria, and it’s hard to miss the way his hips buck up with more fervor as he finally cums himself. Ropes of cum spill over his fingers and touch the skin of his soft stomach to coat it a milky white. 

“Fuck, fuck, babe—” He jolts his free hand out to grab for your hip, clutching the skin tight in his grasp as he matches that force on his cock until he’s milked every drop of cum he can out of himself. You lean over his body to meet him halfway when he pulls his messy cum-covered fingers up to your face. The eye contact the two of you share as your tongue drags around his digits and collects his seed is too intoxicating for you to be embarrassed or shy about your actions, especially when that pink flush has returned in full force to Hongjoong’s cheeks and makes him glow under the fluorescent lights. “Clean up the rest too, angel.”

Your agreement comes in the form of a hum, and as you dip down to put your mouth against his abdomen, Hongjoong pushes his cleaner fingers into your hair. The grip is loose enough to not be forceful, but you still feel the subtle guidance as he moves you along the mess of cum left on his skin. You wouldn’t call the taste of cum pleasant by any means, so perhaps it’s all in your inherent attraction towards this man that you enjoy this act as thoroughly as you do. He tastes of sweat, salty with a hint of musky that leaves your tongue dry but there are no complaints on your lips while you lick his stomach clean until all that’s left is a sheen of leftover saliva.

“Pretty kitten, did so well for me,” Hongjoong coos, combing his painted nails over your scalps, and you draw yourself up the length of his body. You stop once your face hovers over his and lay a kiss on his lips despite the leftover tint there. Neither one of you let it go beyond a chaste little peck for the sake of said makeup, but you don’t imagine you need it to go further anyway.

“Let me fix your makeup now, please?” you implore next, using the leverage over him to put on a pleading expression that he can’t look away from. 

“Only if we can keep it on so I can ruin us both in the hotel later.”

“Oh, shut up!”

•  •  •

this work belongs to calypso / hongism (2022). do not copy, repost, or steal in any way.  

#ateez smut #hongjoong smut #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez drabble #ateez drabbles #ateez fic #hongjoong imagine #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong drabble #hongjoong drabbles #caly.writes

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 48

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, angst ➻ word count: 30.4k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, explicit content ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you aka Months into your stay aboard The Horizon, it becomes apparent that things are not as cut and dry as you thought, and that you might have bitten off more than you could chew with this crew.

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──────────── act six ➻ part seven

​​​

With nothing much to do but recover from your wounds, days bleed together on the ship.

You wouldn’t have much of an idea of what the others are up to in this extended period of nothingness because your days are spent between your room and the infirmary. Yunho claimed a few weeks at minimum until your ear fully heals from the abuse it suffered, and you feel that recovery time in full thanks to the accompanying vertigo that overwhelms you whenever you stray too far from your room for too long. It comes with its own set of unique perks, you suppose, ones that are rather singular to you. Minho doesn’t press you to attend any awkward therapy sessions, for the time being, writing you off as still being too injured to have a good and coherent discussion about your mental state. You don’t have to see your captain or his lieutenant thanks to their near-constant seclusion to the bridge in the days that follow after your return. Jongho and Yunho frequently come to visit you if only to curb your loneliness, and Wooyoung has seemingly taken upon himself the job of getting food to you in some manner. Some days, the din in the mess hall is too much for your addled brain to handle.

And, perhaps the most precious of them all, the darling live-in nurse of yours with his deep dimples and endless patience. You move from your room to his so often that you might as well simply move your belongings into his space, to share it together and have things be simpler that way, but San insists that you both still need the option to have your own rooms should the need arise. He thankfully doesn’t urge you too hard to talk about any of the happenings on Rathmos, yet his eyes hold endless questions every time he looks in your direction. It isn’t a topic you can run from forever, you suppose.

Wordless comfort becomes your greatest friend in those days as well. Whether it manifests in the form of lopsided smiles or minute touches, you are deeply grateful for it all. Even when Seonghwa is the next to deliver it unto you.

He appears rather suddenly on your doorstep on the fifth day of your return to the ship. Your ear is still ringing terribly for no particular reason, and you’re in the midst of reaching for the next dose of medicine Yunho set out for you when the door slides open to reveal the lieutenant. San is at your side as always, tucked beneath the sheets and sleeping the morning away despite it being two hours from noon. Moments pass where the two of you simply exchange silent stares. You wait as patiently as you can for him to say something — anything, really — and take your pills in that breadth of quiet that flows through the room.

“I brought some books,” he says at last once you’ve set your glass of water back on the bedside table. It’s only then that you notice the small stack cradled underneath one of his arms.

“You can come in.”

Seonghwa moves stiffly despite the invitation into your space, and he wastes no time in striding right towards the table where your water sits and laying the set of books down beside the glass. San hasn’t budged in the slightest beside you, and you can still only see the top of his head against the cradle of sheets he’s bundled up around his head. You reach down to fidget with a few strands that are out of place, smoothing them down to be less mussed until you’re satisfied before returning to look up at the man on your left. He clears his throat as quietly as he can manage. His gaze is glued to San’s form but you can’t read whatever emotion rests in his eyes.

“They should be light reading, so nothing too — too strenuous or taxing to try to understand. I figured you needed some new material about Sirens, so I took a few from Captain’s shelf while you were away.”

It takes you a moment to process the fact that this is the first you’re seeing of him since whatever odd altercation you witnessed on the bridge days ago. Seonghwa at least seems calmer now than he did then; whatever rage was boiling up inside him with Hongjoong has subsided before you and left more questions than answers. Then, the man had admitted the guilt laying heavy on his shoulders, and now you can feel a dull ache presenting itself in your chest. It is not one of your own creation or one that comes from your current feelings, so the only logical explanation is that Seonghwa is the one in some type of pain right now. You don’t dare inquire about it.

Seonghwa steps back from the bedside table and draws a hand up to card through his black hair, pushing the longer strands off his forehead and out of his eyes. His appearance errs on the side of unkempt in many ways, and you can’t help but think that he desperately needs a haircut if only to keep it from falling over his eyes when he lets his hand fall from his face.

A dry laugh leaves his lips, red and swollen like he hasn’t stopped biting them for more than a minute today. Why he’s laughing, you don’t have the faintest idea. You also can’t fathom why words won’t come out of you, but in the same vein, you have no idea what there is even to say to him right now at this moment.

“Once you’re finished with them, I can take them back myself so don’t worry about having to return them on your own.”

Then, he moves to face the door once more and you finally find some strength to say something in response to his kindness.

“Thank you. For the books. I’ll read them well.”

Seonghwa shifts to look back at you over his shoulder, and the gleam in his eyes is so bright that you nearly feel guilty for not having more to say to him. He doesn’t smile, simply presses his lips together and into a thin line, but he does nod several times. You wish to talk more. To ask him of his mother, of what happened between him and Hongjoong for things to be so soured by the time you returned, to know something as small as how he’s doing and whether he’s okay. It’s clear in your eyes that he is most certainly not, and perhaps that is what keeps you from asking the rather pointless question.

“Of course. Take care today too, Y/n.”

He leaves after that though you don’t stay alone in the room for long before there is an actual knock on the metal and it slides back open to welcome another friendly face. Well, somewhat friendly in that you’re grateful to see Yunho yet he looks equally as perturbed if not moreso than the man who just graced your chambers not long ago. Despite the (very forced, mind you) grin on his lips, his brows are drawn together so tight that it looks painful.

“Good morning, Y/n. Are you ready to go?”

San finally shifts at your side as you move to climb out of bed.

“’orning?” he mumbles through the grogginess and the sheets, rolling onto his back to look around the room. Sleep still rules him for the most part, making his eyes squint harshly as he fights to make out the figure by the door before he glances up to where you stand beside the bed. Yunho’s smile turns more fond in the seconds that follow, and he glances away as you reach for a fresh pair of pants to slip on. San throws an arm down across the bed over the place where you were just laying. You reach down a hair to squeeze his hand in your own. “Have a good day,” he says as though you won’t be returning to spend the rest of your day with him here soon enough. You return the well-wishes yourself anyway.

“The morning dishes are waiting for you in the kitchen, Sannie!” Yunho chirps with more energy to his tone once you join him by the door. The only thing you hear from the man still tangled amongst your sheets is a prolonged groan that echoes his feelings about the notion, but Yunho doesn’t linger any longer to debate it with him.

“Is everything alright?” you ask after the door slides shut behind you, leaving San and his whining alone in your bedroom. Yunho hums.

“Of course, Y/n.”

A frown catches on your lips before you can think twice about stopping it, and Yunho reaches out to drop one of his large hands atop your hair.

“No need to worry yourself sick over little old me.”

“Did something happen? Seonghwa seemed upset too.” Yunho’s hand falls away from your hair, and you move to replace his with one of your own and smooth out whatever mess is left there from your sleep. The man beside you doesn’t falter, per se, but you can’t help but notice the tension that creeps into his shoulders in the blink of an eye at the mention of your lieutenant.

“Everything is alright as far as I’m aware. I’m sure we’ll know soon if that changes though.” It isn’t the answer you are particularly eager to hear but it’s the one you are given nonetheless so you leave it at that without pushing the subject further. He takes you straight to the infirmary as expected, yet it is more surprising to enter an empty room, one void of Minho that is. The man is usually in at this hour, either sitting in the corner on one of the spare stools or shuffling through his tablet as Yunho dresses your fading injuries.

Your distracted mind serves to hinder you a bit as it blocks you from hearing anything that said doctor has just said to you.

“Hm?”

His smile is kind still, even at the sight of your blatant confusion. “I asked how your ear is feeling?”

“Oh, it’s alright. Still ringing a bit from time to time but I don’t get as dizzy or nauseous walking around now.” You sit at the edge of one of the beds to let him take over, angling your head a bit to give him access to said injury.

“Good, you’re making good progress on healing. The next few weeks shouldn’t cause you much pain or trouble as long as you avoid more strenuous activities.” He leans away from you briefly and that prompts you to shift to eye him out of curiosity. “Well, erm, you can get away with some activities. As long as San does the heavy lifting that is. But then again — I suppose he shouldn’t be blowing your back out any time soon either, he needs to be careful too. I’d recommend doggy style, that won’t put too much pressure on his back or your head! Might try cowgirl too if he’s feeling up to it, but you’d have to do most of the work there to not put too much weight on his lower back. And—”

“Yunho, my god?”

“Oh, do you guys not like those too much?”

“Um, it’s—” you fumble over your thoughts, jaw hanging open as you search for any kind of response. Yunho blinks back at you as innocent as ever with big brown eyes that whole genuine concern in them, and you sit there shocked into a flustered stupor thanks to the very abruptly mentioned discussion of what sexual positions you should indulge in with your lover. “A bit personal, don’t you think?”

“I’m still your doctor, Y/n, and that goes for both of you. Merely offering up some things for you two to try. Although he used to enjoy wat—hm, no never mind. I’ll keep that bit to myself.”

“Yunho!”

“Now you wanna know, huh?” Your lips draw into a tight frown but you don’t say anything to confirm or deny the accusations. Yunho presses closer still, hot breath hitting your ear as he murmurs his next words very pointedly for you to hear them. “Our dear Sannie has always been something of a backseat driver, prefers that to driving or riding shotgun, that is.”

Heat hits your cheeks at the insinuation behind what the man is saying, and as much as you try to remain as still and silent as possible to pretend that you are unaffected by the words, that ploy only seems to be a dead giveaway. Yunho throws his head back as a laugh takes over him, and (albeit at your expense) you are glad to see the tension melt just a little bit. That cannot last for long, or so it seems, because his expression turns somber once he seats himself at one of the small rolling stools nearby.

“Ah, before I forget — though I’m sure you’ve realized it by now — I’ll be transferring all my notes and files over to Minho now. Well, I already have; that’s what he has been reading through for the past few days. But as your doctor and former psychiatrist of sorts, it’s only proper that I inform you verbally about the change too.”

“Could… could I ask what brought on the decision?”

“There is a myriad of reasons why this—” he gestures around the room as though it holds the answers “—is happening, but ultimately it was a mutual decision made between Hongjoong and me.” You regret making eye contact with the man mostly because the mere mention of your captain makes his eyes glisten with wetness you aren’t used to seeing there. Reaching out, you lay a hand over one of his. “I apologize. It truly isn’t that big a deal, so there’s no need to worry. The morals of some of the things I choose to do will be a lot less muddy now, at least, if I continue to do those things at all.”

That piques your interest more than it ought to, considering the fact that it truly is none of your business to pry into that side of things. Still, you are horrible at leaving well enough alone. And, well, it is equally as tragic to see Yunho sitting before you with such a heavy air of insecurity and lacking confidence this way. Whatever thoughts you intend to share never come to fruition though because the door slides open seconds later to reveal a somewhat unexpected face for you.

“Good morning to you both.” Minho’s hair is a bit more faded today, a dusty purple that stands out against his tan skin, and he wears a grin you find yourself dreading. “Y/n, you have time on your hands, no? I’d like to conduct our first meeting today if you don’t mind.”

Your face must fall at the notion because Yunho lets out a little mirthless laugh next.

“It was only a matter of time before you got cornered, Y/n.”

“While you’re here — you can stay put, Yunho, I’ve got a few generic questions that I’ll need to ask you as well about your talks thus far with her.” Minho flits around the room with a surprising amount of gusto, almost as though he is excited by the idea of having this talk with you, which is a feeling you cannot return in full. “You indicated in her file that you found evidence of memory loss. Could you go into a bit more detail about that?”

“Ah, well… she might be able to answer that better than I would.” Yunho twists to face the other doctor who now stands leaning against one of the beds on the other side of the room. “They administered the military serum on her at age fourteen, then again at age eighteen.”

“And — Y/n, you can answer this if you’d like — those were the only two factors related to her memory loss? Nothing external?”

“I wouldn’t know, but I suppose that would be the case.”

“If you’re asking what I think you’re asking, then no, she has never shown any indication of drug or alcohol abuse. At least not while here as part of the crew.” Yunho looks almost offended by the thought, and you’re grateful that he is so fiercely defensive on your behalf.

“Y/n?”

“No, never.”

“Do you drink?”

“Not… not regularly.”

“Medications?”

“Just what Yunho prescribes.”

“And those would be?”

“Oh, I didn’t update her file… um, an antidepressant that has a sedating effect. I give her two 150 milligram tablets, to take at night, then she’s taking some generic, non-addictive painkillers as well. That’s all though.”

“I checked the stock the other day and you seem to have a few more addictive options. She doesn’t take those?”

“No, I give her an alternative just because I find it works better.”

“Right, and I’ll cross reference what you listed here in her file with her later. I wanted to ask about prior treatments you have worked on with her? The efficiency, effectiveness, so on and so forth.”

“I have those listed in her file as well, but we’ve done some work with trauma-focused cognitive behavioral therapy. I found that to be quite effective for someone who has suffered the way she has.” Minho draws his lips to one side, humming his acknowledgment as he gives a few nods as well.

“That should be a good starting point for us as well then, I’ll keep it in mind.” The doctor suddenly glances up and across the room. He makes eye contact with you only briefly before sliding over to Yunho and offering a smile that makes his eyes turn to half-moons. “That’s all I needed to ask of you as of now. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

“Of course.” Yunho doesn't appear as pleased with the current state of affairs, but he seems to at least realize that he doesn’t have much say in the matter. Hands coming down hard to slap against his thighs, he huffs out a rather hefty sigh and gives you a lopsided smile. “Remember my advice, Y/n!”

It brings a bout of laughter out of you, and even though you roll your eyes at the comment, you are grateful for him alleviating some of the tension coursing through the room currently. Minho is left in the dark about it, to your delight as you hardly need the man knowing anything about your sex life as long as you’re able to keep him from prying into it. Yunho dips out of the room with a small wave sent in your direction, and while you don’t get much of an eyeful towards how he and Minho truly interact, you do catch Minho’s watchful gaze following the man out the door. Silence drapes across the room the moment the door slides back into place, and the only thing to fill the void of talking between you two is a quiet hum coming from the air conditioning unit.

“I will be asking you a variety of rather uncomfortable questions, Ghost.”

“Are you intent on calling me that for the duration of your stay here?”

“Will that prove to be an issue?”

“It’s not very—” you wave a hand through the air near your head “—personable, is it?”

Minho fights back a smile, chin ducking to his chest to conceal his expression, and he pushes up off the bed he’s been leaning against.

“I am not here to be your friend, I’m afraid. I understand that your previous doctor operated under that method, but I think it’s rather obvious how that didn’t work out in the slightest. The whole reason I am here is because of his failures to separate work from outside relationships, and in turn, pleasure. Being personable… that is hardly my concern as of now.” He moves further inward, closer to where you still sit where Yunho left you. He tucks his tablet under his arm then extends a hand in your direction. “Shall we move somewhere more comfortable?” He shifts his gesture to urge you to move off the bed, and you do so without questioning it. “I have been seeing many members of your crew these days, but you have turned out to be one of the most evasive.”

Your immediate thought is to wonder who on earth has been avoiding the doctor as desperately as you have, but you can count at least three almost within the same split second.

“It’s only been four days,” you offer up in your defense instead, watching the man’s back as he leads you out of the infirmary and into the hall. He pauses to direct his shoulders toward you.

“Four days is a long time, Y/n. Especially when we occupy the same space.” He arches a brow in your direction, and it prompts you to shift your gaze to the ground.

“I take it back. I would prefer if you called me Ghost instead.”

He laughs as he turns forward once more but spares you from any further awkward conversation until you reach what you know to be his room only because of its location directly across the hall from your own. Without thinking, you stare over at your door, thoughts going to San within a second.

“He’s not in there, you know,” Minho says. Your focus drifts back to him. “We ran into each other on my way to the med bay.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You hardly needed to.”

You purse your lips. Minho grins a bit and motions for you to enter his room, the door having slid wide open in your moment of distraction.

“Come, come. We haven’t got all day, you know.”

The room looks familiar in a lot of ways. His is equally as bland and unadorned as yours, although where you lack in terms of interior decorating, he has you beat. A nice low table and two very plush-looking armchairs complete with what must be a rather expensive velvet which leaves you to wonder a) where the hell Hongjoong sourced that from and b) why you haven’t had the thought to ask for nicer things for your room in the extended period of time you’ve been on the ship. Atop that wood table sits a checkered board with black and white ivory pieces laid over it in a meticulous pattern.

“Do you know the game, Y/n?” Minho ignores your previous request to not use your name. He motions towards the chessboard with the same coy smile pulling at his lips.

“Yes,” you mutter as you push further into the room and make your way to one of the seats. “Is this some psychic technique?”

Minho dips his chin to his chest and laughs.

“I’m not a psychic, Y/n. Psychologist.” He takes place in a seat right as you sit across from him, and his tablet is laid on the armrest to be quickly forgotten. “The only rule I’ll implement as part of our game is that you must announce your move when you make it. Fair?” The board is exceptionally bland in comparison to the other objects around the room — a boring, old wooden thing — but it has numbers and letters etched along the sides of it as well.

“I start?”

“White moves first.”

You aren’t keen on playing a game with this man, but unfortunately, your pride does not come with an off switch so there are bigger things at stake than simply a lost game. You’ll be damned if you lose such a simple game.

“Pawn to B4.”

“Knight to F6.”

You pause.

“Is this all we are going to do? What happened to those tough questions you were going to ask me?” Minho leans his weight all the way back and crosses a leg over his knee. The only response you get is a shrug. It irks you for no other reason than as a snooty display of nonchalance. You push forward until both elbows rest atop your thighs and you are halfway bent over the table when you make your next move. “Pawn to C3.”

“Pawn to C5.”

Is he playing a true game of chess with you? Or one of patience?

“Pawn to D4.”

“Pawn to B6.”

“Queen to A4.”

“Pawn to B5.”

Your eyes glaze across the board, taking in the scene laid out before you. It is a foul defensive move, one that leaves him open to lose the piece that he just moved and he has no attackers to take your queen as immediate revenge. Sure, maybe you could lose a pawn, but even so, you could simply steal a piece in retaliation no matter where you move your queen.

“Queen to B5.”

As you lift his pawn off the board and move it over to your side of the table, Minho hums.

“Who is to blame for Han Jisung’s death?”

You drop the pawn as your hand spazzes briefly, a gut reaction to the sudden mention of the man, and in a split second, you feel yourself back on those cliffs, under a bright sun and surrounded by dirt.

In your nightmares, your hands are stained red with blood that is not your own and your tears drip onto the cheeks of a man you failed to save.

“Pawn to A6.”

“Queen to A4.”

“Who killed Hyunwoo?”

That question is deceptively easy. You know the man who pulled the trigger, but in reality, was it not you who put him in that position to begin with? Is his blood on your hands too? The feeling of his arm around your neck and a bullet whizzing past your face to lodge itself in his head is far too real.

“Pawn to G6.”

“Bishop to G5.”

“Pawn to D4.”

He takes his first victim from the board, stealing away one of your pawns and moving it to his side, and for the first time thus far, you see his offensive hand.

Fuck.

He left that pawn unattended for so long that you didn’t think he would use it to attack quite yet. Had you anticipated such a move, you could have moved your bishop forward only two spots and would have been ready to take an act of quick revenge on the attack but—

“Hyunwoo was ready to kill you.”

“He had a family,” you utter just as quickly, cutting through Minho’s humming to knock white ivory against black. “Pawn to D4.”

“So do you, Y/n.” The words shouldn’t hit like a punch, and yet they do, and you are left to stare blankly at the board between you as Minho moves his other knight to C6.

You do have a family, but it is not the same as what Hyunwoo would have had. A child, one that came from him and his lover. His family by blood, one that he made together with another in the hopes of sharing a beautiful life together.

“Pawn to F4.”

“Knight to D4.”

His second victim is not one you could have saved.

You retreat.

“Queen to D1.”

The first night you shared with San after getting back from Rathmos was an awkward and stilted one, but the conversation you shared does come to mind now in light of Minho’s silence.

“I won’t ask how you’re doing because I know that’s a rather pointless question right now.”

“You can ask. But my answer will probably be pretty shitty for a while.”

“Pawn to H5.”

San had sighed and tucked his body closer to yours in the bed. You felt his forehead press between your shoulder blades, against the fabric of your shirt that was so thin you felt each puff of breath leaving his lips. Blindly, you reached behind you in search of his hand, and when you failed to find his immediately, he came to the rescue by looping his fingers through yours and securing a tight grip on you. The silence lingered like that for a bit, until you pulled his hand back over your waist and cradled it close to your stomach. If he noticed how desperate your touch was, he at least had mercy enough to not speak a word about it. For some reason, some part of you wished that he would have said something.

“Pawn to G3.”

“I’m not your therapist, Y/n, and I understand that it’s not my place or right to be either. You have someone else for that. As much as I want to be that person for you, I know it’s not good for either of us to push that. But… just — what can I do for you, Y/n, that can make this an easier burden to bear? Anything you can or want to give me, please let me support you however is best for you.”

“Queen to B6.”

“I don’t think I know how to process this,” you say at last, not pulling your stare up from the game. You aren’t losing necessarily, although the board does look horribly grim and you have taken to playing defensively as Minho prods you with more questions. It’s a cruel trick to win, you think. “Queen to D2.”

“This being…?” Minho prompts you gently now, and he leans forward to share more of his attention with you. You wave a hand through the air as though it can answer his question. “Pawn to D6.”

“Honestly, I’m unsure whether I know how to process death in general. What I thought I knew in the past turned out to be smoke and mirrors. Now, I’m being told by everyone around me that it was an act of self-preservation and that I would have died if not for their deaths. My own brain is telling me that it’s mere logic at play, that this had to happen one way or the other.” You knew, deep down, that you were not walking off that planet without a line of corpses in your wake. It’s just that you did not expect Hyunwoo to be counted amongst those corpses. And when Jisung resigned himself to a death that did not feel just, your chest burned at the thought of letting him fall. “Bishop to F2.”

“I knew the moment I saw you pulled aboard our ship that you would bring death at your back.”

“How reassuring, doctor.”

“But I knew it would be the hands of your captain that would spill blood. A fiercely possessive man, one that Jisung very much underestimated. Queen to B7. He should have known that the Scourge wants you too much to simply let you slip through his fingers.” Those words make your neck and face burn with embarrassment, but there is an underlying sense of… pride there too. The idea of being that important, the thought that you could hold such value to Hongjoong at all. Coming from a man who has made a profession out of reading and understanding the human psyche, you perhaps take Minho’s word with too much trust.

“Queen to D4.” You make a hasty attack against better judgment, glowing with your newfound pride as you steal a knight from the board. Something in your expression must push a thought to the forefront of the doctor’s mind.

“I would not parade such things around though. It is hardly a good observation, hardly something you want to have on your shoulders. Being wanted by a man such as him is nothing glorious, not when he only wishes to have power over you. Queen to G2.” When he takes a bishop as revenge, you realize that you have worked yourself into a corner. Any offensive move you make from here on out will come with a cost — the last line of defense keeping Minho from forcing you to move your king into more vulnerable positions. “You should not wish to be desired by him. That will be a quicker downfall than anything else.”

You, unfortunately, have to give something up as bait.

“I wish to be valued by my captain to some degree.”

“Clearly you already are, no? The lengths he went to save your life, I believe it is safe to assume you hold some purpose in his eyes.”

You don’t speak it out loud but internally, you know the exact reason why. Without you, Hongjoong would be thrust several steps back and have one less Siren on hand. One less key to whatever treasure it is he is after. It might feel nice to be needed by the man, but you cannot disillusion yourself to the point where you forget that you are merely a piece in his own game.

“Every time I close my eyes, each time I revisit what happened, I see myself failing to protect the lives I held in my hands. No matter how much they earned their ends, or how much they deserved to die; I only see failure.” It is your turn to drive the subject back and forth across the unsteady waters Minho has you rowing through.

"The innate urge to protect yourself is not a sin, Y/n. Far from it. You cannot bear the burden of blame or guilt for that."

“If it had been people from this crew in those positions, I would have failed to save them.”

“They would never have been put in such a position. Surely your logic can tell you that much.”

It sounds awfully demeaning right off the bat, but once his point sinks in, you see the truth in it.

“Queen to E3,” you murmur. The game hardly holds the interest it did earlier, especially with such a heavy discussion overlaid on top of it, but you entertain Minho nonetheless. His gaze was turning impatient either way. He too seems to have lost intrigue in it as he pushes his queen forward to take your knight without much care for how vulnerable it leaves him. Yet when he looks up and across the table at you to make direct eye contact as he pulls your piece from the board, you cannot help but feel cornered yourself.

“Check.”

“Rook to G1,” you respond perhaps with too much excitement. His queen falls harshly when you knock into it, and it rolls off the edge of the board to join the other five pieces you have taken from him thus far.

“Messy.”

Your proud little grin falters and you scan the board desperately to see where you could have messed up. You are still in control, still have the upper hand, if anything he is the one who has played messy, so why is it that he is calling your techniques that? Uncoordinated? Sure, you aren’t in peak playing condition, but you also aren’t an expert at the game. Basic rules are basic rules though, and you understood those well enough.

“Taking out the king’s right hand just for better access to him. That’s a bit foul, don’t you think? Bishop to G4.”

You hate the implications of that.

“You were trying to do the same to my king. It was a modem of self-defense. Not even, it was to protect my king. You threatened check?” You state it as though it is something obvious. “Queen to D3.”

“Yet you figured out quite quickly that my queen was merely there to attack should you move to threaten my king. So why did you bait the attack? King to C8, rook to D8. Castling.”

“Queen to A6.” Another of Minho’s pawns is snatched from the board in haste as your frustration with the man climbs ever higher. “Check.”

“Taking a throwaway comment to heart? I was merely referring to how you play the game, Y/n. But it seems to me as though you took it otherwise. King to C7.”

A grimace rests upon your features now, and pride is quickly thrown out the window in favor of ending this before the doctor decides to make any more out of pocket comments. You bring your right hand up and sweep it across the tops of your pieces, just enough to catch on the crown of your king and knock it flat on its side.

“I resign from your game.”

“Waving the white flag? You were so close to locking me into a checkmate or forcing my own surrender. Why give up now? I’ll give you a chance to retract your decision.”

“I don’t want to play your stupid game of dumb tricks trying to get me to admit to things that are not even true!”

“It bothers you to some degree.”

“All I was doing was playing your game!”

“How you play is quite telling. That’s the whole point of me introducing the game. I’ve used the same technique on all your crewmates this far.”

“And have you implied that they would throw out their own lieutenant so that they could have the captain for themselves as well?” A scoff slips out alongside the words, pushing inquiry into your tone even though it’s hardly a question.

Minho shakes his head as he reaches across the table to lift your king back up, setting it upright in its previous position.

“Your captain is your king, Y/n, not mine.” His voice stays soft now. You watch his hands without saying a word as he moves both his pieces and your own into new positions, finishing the game as he sees fit until your queen forces his king into a checkmate. “This game, your moves, how you play — it is how you view people’s positions on the crew. You defended your king fiercely, yet used your queen to both attack and defend. You did not move your king a single time, telling me that you consider your captain to have a very passive role in whatever plans he makes for his crew. Using the queen so heavily, I see how much you value the lieutenant. How he is the one you consider to have the most impact and weight on the decisions of the crew. Perhaps he has encouraged Scourge to do things for you in the past? In the same vein, you made strong use of one of your bishops, only to leave the second firmly beside the king. In my eyes, that one that remained still is how you view Yunho, while the other would take the shape of San. Your knights, the Berserkers, your rooks both Yeosang and Wooyoung. Where does that leave you, Y/n?”

“As a pawn,” you state simply. In the long run, it holds some truth to it because of what you are, and Seonghwa will never have to stoop down to such a level because of his relationship with the good captain. Hongjoong has shown Wooyoung enough charity to have you believe that he would also hold a higher value than you, but perhaps he and Yeosang have ulterior motives in concealing Wooyoung’s identity the way they do. That, and even Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s nearest and dearest advisor, will not breathe a word of it to the captain as far as you know. It feels a bit too cruel to imagine that Seonghwa would lie about such things but at the end of the day, you don’t really know what he would tell Hongjoong.

“Do you wish to take another’s spot, Y/n?”

“I already asked kindly for you to stop calling me by my name.”

“I see.” Minho offers a thin-lipped smile that unsettles you more than anything else.

“Are you content with this game then?”

“The mind is a fascinating and wondrous thing but…” the doctor trails off as his face contorts. “It is also a leech. You will learn to overcome these thoughts, and there will come a time when you do not feel as though they control you. I serve as an instrument to your sanity, Ghost. I am not here to make you worse, or better for that matter. Simply to give you an outlook from someone on the outside looking in, to help you reflect on yourself and what changes ought to be put in place for you to find a steadiness you feel you lack right now. No one person can cure another entirely. It is my belief that that concept is where we need to start with you. I cannot cure you of whatever leeches reside in your brain. Please know that first and foremost. Yet I will do my best to offer tools to help you subdue them yourself.”

“I understand that… I am not capable or responsible for fixing the people around me.” This sort of talk reminds you an awful lot of the one you shared with Hongjoong back before things devolved into further chaos, in your shared bath with bare skin and exposed hearts on display. Dwelling too long on that memory sends you down a different path, however, and you cannot afford to be so distracted before someone who can read your expressions with ease.

“It’s a subconscious reaction coming from within. You may not intend for it to happen, but I can tell you now that the reason it does happen is because of what you suffered in the past. Even if those memories were constructed or blocked off for some time, your subconsciousness believes that all the misery that happened around you in the past was a burden on your shoulders. There is a great deal of guilt within you, Ghost, and that guilt is what drives you to seek to fix others. A form of penance for the wrongs you believe you committed in the past.”

“I know now that I did not commit all those wrongs though?”

“The fake memories were replaced with rather awful real ones, were they not?”

You fall into silence at that comment, left to watch the doctor reach down to the ground and pull something out from under the table. It’s nondescript for a short period before he stands up and leaves his perch across from you. A small white pill bottle with no label or defining features. You recognize the pills that spill out well enough to garner that they must be painkillers, although Minho puts up quite an incredible front before you haven’t seen any indication of pain in the man all this time. Blinking at his back, you wait without speaking as the doctor moves to collect water from his bedside table and throws pills back.

“If we refer to saving people as your forte, how would you go about operating on me?” he inquires several moments later after he has swallowed and put the pills in his system.

“Why are you asking me this suddenly?”

"Consider it a... professional curiosity."

"You said I shouldn't try to save you."

Minho's chin dips forward as he laughs, and moments later, he's looking up at you through half-lidded eyes.

"I am asking you to try."

"Out of curiosity,“ you state somewhere between a question and a blunt comment.

"I wish to see what you think you are capable of, Ghost." The words bite a little bit, not enough to truly offend you, but you do catch the hint of a sneer on the doctor’s face as he pushes the statement out.

“But?”

“But you use sex as a coping mechanism, and you simultaneously believe that sex is how you can fix the people around you. You use your sensuality as a tool to patch holes, and it’s a sorry charade for you to try to fix people without talking through things with words. I hate to be the one to tell you that you are—” Minho cuts himself short to offer a strained grin “—lacking in certain areas when it comes to my typical trysts. So, unfortunately for you, you can’t offer sex to fix me. How else would you go about it?”

Your time with Seonghwa could certainly be reduced to some form of coping on both sides, but you feel positively wretched calling it as such. There was also a great deal of comfort that you found in him being a Siren, a break in your cycle of loneliness, and two aching people seeking love in each other. Yeosang — yes, you can admit with ease that you fucked him in an attempt to fix the shattered pieces between both you and him as well as him and Wooyoung. As for San, well, in your humble opinion you think Minho is entirely wrong. You were trying to fix him well before he ever fucked you in that bathtub. And given his very convincing passion in the heat of that moment, you would almost hazard a guess and say that he was trying to pick you apart rather than put you back together just briefly.

Minho, either fed up with your lack of responses or simply posing rhetorical questions now, finishes his train of thought himself.

“You would create a new problem, a new danger, a new blip in the carefully constructed plans that could easily derail everything first. Then you would martyr yourself, much like you did with your queen piece, and sacrifice yourself for a faux sense of justice. After that, you would aim to correct the problems you created in the first place just to come back and tell me that you’ve done it, you’ve solved the issue, you have saved me.” His little gasp and wave in your direction both feel wholly facetious. “Feel free to correct my assumptions, though.”

You get up from your seat and eye the door. Minho watches you from where he stands, glass dangling between three of his fingers with no real grip.

“By the way, you’re aiming to take the queen’s spot for yourself. You took mine out the first chance you got.”

You’ve made your way to the door by now, not intent on staying to listen to the man pick you apart and lay you out like a corpse under inspection, but the sound of something shattering stops you where you stand. Whipping your head back, you stare over at the scene with wide eyes. Minho lets out a small noise.

“Oops.” His grin is deceptively simple. “Should I warn him, hm?”

“If you consider that to be your job, then yes.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Tell the captain.”

“That’s more like it, Y/n. Thank you. You’re free to leave.”

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

That discussion with Minho eats away at the edges of your brain for days to come, preying on you whenever it gets too quiet around you, and you find yourself avoiding Seonghwa even more than you already were. It isn’t obvious, at least, seeing as the man seems equally keen on avoiding you in return. Since leaving those books with you, he hasn’t graced you with his presence. The books are a welcome distraction from your thoughts. You make a note to tell him as much when the two of you stop this odd dance you have with each other.

Tonight, you are in San’s room for a change. It isn’t the strangest thing for either of you since you drift between each other’s spaces every other day or so, but you also haven’t deigned to sleep in the same room as him since that talk with your new doctor.

“Something on your mind?” It ought to be criminal how San looks so damn good dressed down in his plain white tee and plain black sweats. Although, the way he’s currently leaning up against the doorframe leading to the bathroom with dimples pinching his cheeks might have some crazed effect over your brain too.

“Lots and lots,” you say in response before biting out a thin-lipped smile. He approaches the edge of the bed slowly, coming to a stop right beside where you have your legs crisscrossed underneath you, and he lays a hand atop your head.

“How’s your ear today, hm?”

“Better than usual.”

“And how’s your head, star?”

“Haven’t had any complaints?” you toss the joke out as a form of cheap self-defense, trying to deflect a little bit more to buy yourself some time and courage to actually speak on it. San, thankfully, returns with a huffed-out laugh and ruffles your hair under his palm.

“Now, I wouldn’t know a thing about that, would I?” His hand skates from your scalp down to your jaw and catches on the soft point of your chin. “We could change that.”

“San…” Swallowing feels like drywall climbing down your throat all of a sudden. Your legs move on their own accord, slipping out from under you to dangle over the lip of the bed as San brings his other hand up to your face.

“I’ve spoken with Minho a few times.” He leans over you, and you let out a breath when he brushes his lips over your forehead. “About myself. My history, along with more recent things.” You find fondness in his gaze when he pulls back to simply cradle your face in his hands. “There is a lot I’m dealing with internally. A lot I’m afraid for you to see, and things I don’t want you to see. Not because I don’t trust you. I should have led with that. Not because I don’t trust you, Y/n, but because I don’t want you to see me weak any longer. It feels like all this time, since all the way back during our mission on Echidna, you have been the one looking after me. I keep… missing out on the chance to take care of you in return. The past week has helped with that, a lot actually, I — I take so much pride in looking after the people I love, Y/n. So thank you for allowing me that much.”

“You always make things sound so romantic.” Your hand finds one of his, looping your fingers around his wrist and clinging to him with a loose grip of your own.

“I just — I think that Minho will help.”

That makes one of you.

“Well, if or when you’re ready to talk about those things, I’m here to listen.”

“One day I’ll be brave enough to talk about it with you. Promise. For now, it’s hard.” His lips draw into a slight pout. Part of you wants to kiss it off his face. “In my eyes, I need to be strong for you right now so that you can lean on me when you don’t feel strong enough to stand on your own. I’ll lean on you in return—” he pauses to inhale a short gasp “—both literally and figuratively. So you needn’t worry about that. I just want you to know that if it seems as though I’m holding back on talking about where I’m at, it’s only because I’m not fully ready to delve into my headspace. I don’t want to hide things from you, my love, and even having things I don’t want you to see right now feels like a crime of its own.”

“It’s not,” you reassure quickly, shaking your head against his hands. Your reward is a pretty smile that lights up San’s whole face in the blink of an eye. There is some level of bargaining in this, however, and you realize well enough that he is opening the gates for you to step through and talk about yourself more seriously as well. You want a fair exchange, to give him trust in return; bailing out with a “well I’m not sure” would be entirely rude off the back of his raw honesty just now.

Slowly, San pulls his hands away from your face and shifts so that he can sit down beside you on the bed. He presses his body so close to yours that your thighs touch, his sweatpants warm against your bare skin.

“Minho brought up a lot of things I don’t think I wanted to hear.”

“True things?”

When the silence starts to lull, San darts a hand out to clamp down around your thigh. The squeeze he gives you is a small comfort that urges you to answer the question to the best of your ability.

“I fear he sees things in me that I don’t yet know myself.”

“I think — and I could be entirely wrong about this — that he is not that much different from Yunho in terms of knowledge alone. Practice and approach, however, would be like comparing apples to oranges.” Except Yunho never accused you of wanting to off your lieutenant in an effort to gain a place by your captain’s side. Which you don’t. You don’t want to bring any sort of harm to Seonghwa. Why would Minho say such a thing? Rather, imply it but the semantics are hardly important in comparison to the thing you are being branded with by the new doctor.

“He said I try to fix others as an act of penance for what I’ve done wrong in my past.”

“Do you believe that to be true?”

“If it was, why would I stay in the company of so-called sinners?”

San reaches around your face to slide rough fingers over your cheekbone. He hums.

“To fix said sinners. Are you a sinner, Y/n?”

“I think I have made mistakes and will continue to do so. Does that make me one?”

“Not in my eyes.” San’s lips stretch a little bit. You find yourself leaning into his space until your head rests against the firm line of his shoulder. “I have said it before, but others labeling us as wretched and awful people is not important. Yes, we steal, and cause havoc from time to time, but tell me truthfully, have we ever harmed an innocent in your time here?” You aren’t sure you could file through your memories quick enough to come up with an answer, so when San continues his train of thought, you’re grateful. “We hurt those who deserve to be hurt. Take from those who have an overabundance of things they do not need for themselves. Defend ourselves when we need to, and protect the ones we care about as necessary too. Rather than calling it mending the people around you, I would say you’re just doing what you can to help them. So no, I don’t think you are trying to fix anyone but yourself, Y/n, and that shouldn’t be considered a crime.”

“He also said I use sex as a coping mechanism, but I… I don’t think that’s what it was when we were together.”

“I know nothing much of how it was for the others in your life, but in my humble opinion, what we took from each other was not any sort of coping. Pent-up tension and a release of a lot of really heavy emotions. And something I truly…” San pushes you back slightly and sinks from the bed to the floor. Your fingers twitch against the mattress as he slides down to his knees with hands tucked over each of your thighs. It’s lewd, positively lewd, and your gut twists with anticipation of what’s to come next. “I want to have you properly still. Shall we try again and see?” San rests his chin atop one of your knees, head tilting to the side as a pout returns to his lips. “Not because we have to or to deal with outside forces, but because we want to, yeah?” His fingers twitch at the hem of the shirt keeping you modest. You stole it from none other than him, an item that sits a bit loose on your frame and hardly keeps you modest with no pants on, but that decision looks entirely intentional now that you have San on his knees between your legs ready to take more. “We can indulge in one another, darling, so that I may show you it has nothing to do with any sort of coping mechanisms.”

Your jaw stutters over nothing, and you fail to find any sort of response to properly articulate what’s running through your mind at breakneck speed. San lays his lips against the inside of your knee, exhaling over the skin in a way that sends goosebumps across your whole body.

“Words, my dear, otherwise I won’t know how to properly have you.” When he tilts his chin to the side, the gesture makes him look almost childlike — a kind of curiosity and wonder in his eyes that makes you want to pull his face to your stomach and cradle him there. What his hands choose to do next erases that desire and fills you with something much different though: he skates his hands up the outer sides of your thighs and dips beneath the fabric of your shirt to reach higher until his fingertips meet the band of your underwear. You haven’t forgone that article of clothing at least, even if you already set the elastic band you typically wear around your breasts aside. “Might I be somewhat rough with you?”

“Have me in whatever way you like, San,” you murmur back as he begins the slow drag of pulling your undergarments off. “I trust you to take care of my needs.”

“Don’t—” San’s gaze turns dark as he dips his chin down and looks up at you through his lashes. “Do not tempt me, star. I’ve told you that I am insatiable, have I not? I would taste you first but — fuck, Y/n, I am not a patient enough man.”

Two fingers drag along the line of your folds, slipping between them to skate over your more sensitive parts. It brings a shiver out of you almost immediately, and your lips part to bring a fresh gulp of air into your lungs just to be cut off in a moment’s time. San presses his lips to yours with a sort of heated fervor. You meet him in his passion, letting him push up hard against you. You tumble backward together and fall down flat on the mattress with San draped over you. His touches become desperate, and once his fingers slip deeper into you, your back curls in on itself to welcome him deeper.

“I am not patient, Y/n, I want you. I want to take you, so — so badly, fuck, it’s like I need you to breathe.”

True to his word, he kisses you like he wishes to consume you with his lips. Greedily, he thrusts his tongue against the line of your lips and enters your mouth with the same intensity that he uses with his fingers. It’s vastly different from how he had you the first time, where there had been slow and calculated passion to his movements; now, there is profound hunger in how he rubs his fingers along your insides and tangles his tongue with yours. You take what he gives you with just as much lust. San’s chest heaves when he parts from you, breath so heavy that it comes out in pants, and his pupils are blown wide from where he looks down at you. The look in his eyes is borderline deranged, lips almost glossy from the spit shared between your mouths. You want more.

“Does it feel good, darling? To have my fingers spreading you open from the inside out—” he steals another kiss from you as you try to respond “—to feel me inside you, prepping you for something bigger, hm?” You slap a hand hard up against his shoulder as San crooks his fingers to accentuate his words. The noise that escapes comes out a bit strangled. “My pretty, my darling, my star, you’re mine tonight, you know?” He almost frantically reaches up with his free hand to tug at your shirt, and you have enough sense left to help him pull it off your body. He leaves you nude against the sheets, lips separating from your skin so that he can lean back and ravage you with his gaze instead. “Let me make you mine.”

“Pl-Please, San, I want it.” You push your hips up against his palm as he cups his hand around the curve of your body, fingers still buried knuckles deep. He coos at your reaction, and a smirk twists the corners of his lips as you try more desperately to ride the slow thrusts of his fingers.

“Already, baby? I’ve barely had you as is, you already want more?” San hoists you into a new angle, one that has your hips up off the bed and him bent over you. His knee presses alongside your waist and digs into the plush cushion of the mattress. “Does it feel that good?” he growls out through gritted teeth.

“S-San,” you whimper, hands still scrambling to find purchase on him in some form. He folds you further to mold you with his touches, and the most you can manage are a few weak moans as pleasure jolts through you.

“Just wait until I give you something bigger — see how you come undone under me then.”

His words and attitude both leave you dizzy to an unnerving degree, but not an unpleasurable one because you are ashamed to admit that you are enjoying the tremble in your muscles as they’re forced to work in positions you aren’t used to, along with the cruel edge to San’s teasing that is such a polar opposite to how he is day by day. The man over you now is an entirely different beast that houses a quirked lip and a narrow stare that makes your insides feel like lead.

“Take — t-take me from b-behind, ah, San, San, please?” Your lips quiver so harshly that it’s hard to bite the request out, but it earns you a new flare of desire in San’s expression. He’s so quick to comply like he’s possessed by the mere thought of your words and has to do as told lest he dies. You moan against your arm as he flips you over onto your stomach with so much force that you bounce on the bed. “Good god—”

“Is that what you wish to call me? Are you so reverent, my love?” The words catch you off-guard in more ways than one because he breathes them right against the shell of your ear without warning. Coupled with the content of what he’s actually saying, you reach a hand behind your back and grab at his body blindly. “Be wary, darling, I may ask you to worship me if you say it too many times.”

The flat of his tongue drives wet and hot along the nape of your neck, and he barely bothers with pulling away to breathe. Instead, he simply gulps down hungry breaths of air as he kisses a path down your spine. The tattoos under his lips burn with each little nip and pinch of his teeth.

“Would mark you like this myself if I could,” he murmurs at the midpoint of your spine before he traces the ink on you with the tip of his tongue. “Would tattoo my marks into your skin, I’m so greedy, Y/n. I’m so hungry, I wish to devour every part of you.”

“I want you inside, San, I want you to take me.” Your hands sit above your head, atop the pillows lining his bed, and trembling with such intensity that you can barely close them around the cushions to brace yourself for his oncoming touches.

“So good for me, using your words so nicely and prettily to tell me what you want.” The pillow under your hands is wrenched away. He merely has to tap the outside of your hip for you to understand what is it he wants from you, and modesty is thrust aside when you push your backside into his firm stomach. San slides the pillow between your abdomen and the mattress quickly, then lays the flat of his hand against your tailbone and shoves you down hard into the cushion. “It makes me want to ravish you, Y/n. Don’t you know that? Know what you do to me? So fucking—”

You cry out as he grips your hips hard enough to bruise, and he yanks you back to meet the firm length of his cock. It’s all a taunt, really, because he doesn’t give you quite what you asked for and instead drags himself across your ass in a crude mimicry of the real thing.

“Why do I wish to ruin you so desperately?” The piercing sitting at the tip of his length catches on your rim briefly and threatens to make way for something larger. You catch yourself before you attempt to push back and urge him deeper, holding your hips firm where they are despite how he’s squeezing you. The desire is there, though, and you would gladly take him even with the added sting of pain. “If you just do whatever I ask of you so easily, what can I do? Tell me: do you wish to have me now?” His tone is breathy beyond belief but you still understand him just fine.

“Yes, San, darling, baby, sweetheart, please,” you ramble through a whimper, “I can’t t-take it anymore.”

“So good and patient for me,” San coos. He pulls his hips back to line up against your entrance, slipping a hand down between your legs to spread you further, and you let out a breathy sigh of relief before he even begins his slow descent into you. The slow drive is hedonism of its own, a heavenly feeling that has your skin burning with pleasure. San sets your body alight with the flame of desire in a moment’s time. The blunt round of his piercing runs along your insides, and while you had him once before, that one time was not nearly enough to make you grow accustomed to the sensation. It feels new all over again — a foreign pleasure but very much so delightful nonetheless. “Enjoy me, star, you’ve more than earned it.”

You moan into the sheets, lips parting and sucking the fabric into your mouth as you huff air greedily into your lungs. It leaves your tongue dry and makes your throat burn a little more with each noise that San punches out of you, as he begins to drag his cock in and out against your walls. The rhythm he finds is a steady one-two quick thrusts followed by a sharper one that drags a bit longer and forces his length further into you — and the roll of his hips against the backs of your thighs is sinful at best. The way you rode him back in that bathtub feels clumsy now in retrospect and a tad on the embarrassing side because San fucks well, and far better than you could have anticipated from that sloppy first time. You almost regret asking to be put in this position because you know the sight behind you must be one to behold. Taut muscles, his firm abdomen, brows pinched together in focus as he drives his cock into your hole over and over; you want to see his face contort with the pleasure so badly, but the angle simply feels too good for you to ask him to switch things up now. San, as well, seems to be enjoying this position to the fullest given how he fucks you firmly against the pillow propping your body up for his use. His hands are starting to roam, letting up on that harsh grip from before to reach for your ass instead. He takes the flesh under his palms into his grip and digs half moons into your skin.

“Whatever will I do with you, Y/n?” San groans as he squeezes tight. “You’ll let me have you again after this, right? After you cream that pretty cunt all over my dick, yeah?”

“S-San, holy shit.” The tightness enclosed around his cock seems to urge him on faster and harder, until the point where the thrusts turn into horribly needy drives into you. His composure cracks, letting a deep moan slip out, and you revel in the litanies of his pleasure as they wash over your body. The skin around your hips and ass both hold a delicious burn to them, made better by the way his nails dig in deeper as he pushes himself closer to an orgasm.

“Can you do it, baby? Come from just this?” The pressure in your head builds to a breaking point, and the dryness in your mouth couples with that sensation to make you dry heave through a moan. San brings a hand to the back of your head and brushes his fingers down across your scalp.

“’m close,” you choke out, eyes barely able to make out San’s form in your peripherals. The pressure of his hand laid against the nape of your neck provides just enough to push you into the waters of sensory overload, tipping you over the edge of that waterfall, and you squeeze your eyes shut so tight in the pleasure that you see white behind your eyelids. San pushes into you with more fervor but only manages three more full strokes into your body before he stills deep inside your walls. He doesn’t even need to ask where you want him when your body is still trying to squeeze him deeper into you. He spills his release inside you, a throbbing heat that continues as your own orgasm milks him for all he’s worth.

He slips free of your walls seconds after your body loosens its grip on him only to rest his used length on your backside and lean over your folded body. He brackets his arms on either side of your head, and when focus returns to your gaze, you see there is a slight tremble in his forearms even now.

“You’re leaking all over the sheets.”

“It’s yours — blame yourself, you put it in me to begin with,” you whine out in protest. Not before reaching over your shoulder to slap the side of his head, of course.

“And clearly I didn’t fuck it into you well enough,” San says to the back of your skull. His hips jerk against your backside as though to prove a point. His soft length twitches against the line of your ass, and you feel him pull away too far too quickly for your liking. In response, your body moves on its own accord and forces you to turn over. You knock into San’s arm in the same movement, bringing a breathy laugh out of him as he falls down beside you on the bed in full.

“Let me—” greedy hands urge him further onto his back “—please?” San’s brows knit together in quiet bewilderment now, but he does nothing more than push himself up to his elbows and watch you with those fierce brown eyes of his. “Have to make good on a promise, don’t I?” You blink up at him through fluttering lashes, taking a place between his legs yourself, and all you have to do is lay a hand against the bone of his hip for him to understand what you’re after. He scrambles to tangle fingers through your hair. With a firm yank, he tugs you off his length just before your tongue can make contact.

“Fuck, you know… you know exactly what you’re doing to me, love.”

You smile up at him. This time when you lean closer to his cock, he lets you have what you want. You drag the flat of your tongue over him, pausing at the tip to suck him into your mouth. His piercing drags along the ridges of your palate and prods at the softness near your throat. Taking him deeper only heightens that sensation until you can hardly breathe around him. He’s not the largest partner you’ve had, but you also wouldn’t call yourself an expert in these sorts of pleasures so it’s hard to contain the way your throat desperately wants to constrict around his semi-firm length. It takes you only a few shifts and seconds to find an angle that is comfortable enough for you; hands splayed across the toned lines of San’s abdomen and pushed up onto your elbows to take him further.

“You look so good even like this, Y/n, how is that possible?” You watch his head tip back through your lashes. The muscles in his neck ripple with the accompanying tension. “Will you let me take you again after this? Before I — ah, before I come?”

You don’t take the time to separate from him entirely and instead hum out what you hope reads as approval to him. The weight against your tongue is intoxicating in its own right. The thought of stopping where you are crosses your mind, firmly set over him with his tip brushing the back of your throat and that cursed piercing rubbing hard into your soft palate. Instead, you run your tongue along what parts of him you can reach like this just to feel the tremors rush through his thighs.

“Hngh, maybe I ought t-to be the one… worshipping you.” His subtle praise sits heavy on your skin, fueling the quick pulses of your tongue around him. Briefly, you entertain the thought that this is the first time he has had this kind of pleasure in a very long time, although that is something you have no true knowledge of without prying verbally. Still, nonetheless, it feels delightful and sends surges of pride through you to see him fall apart under your ministrations so handily. “Could tell everyone my religion’s you.” You gag yourself on his length just so he can feel the tightness of your throat, and that seems to be a tipping point for him. The hand in your hair grips tighter and tugs upwards until you can breathe without his length buried deep in your mouth. “Cm’here.” You chase the line of his body until your faces are close together, lips pressing hot and heavy against his without pause. Even with the taste of your debauchery on your tongue, San licks his way into your mouth to feel you from the inside out. Despite his fervor, the kisses slow your pace a substantial amount and bring your racing heart down from its high.

The headiness of your orgasm has drifted away some, but desire sits heaving in your bones.

“Turn around for me, star,” San says as he sits up with you. You do as told without question, distracted solely by the way his fingers trace over your sides and leave goosebumps in the wake of his touches. Part of you wishes you could have brought him to his high with your mouth alone, but the arousal in your gut has built itself back up to a point of heady desire, something you don’t want to ignore or prolong longer than you have to. “Let me have you like this.” Lips caress the soft skin of your shoulder, and hands rush to fold over your abdomen and drag you back against San’s chest. “It’s easier on both of us.”

The stretch is less obscene now that he has thoroughly used you, but you still hiss air through your teeth as he pushes back into your hole. You start moving your hips along his length almost as quickly as he enters you; even with his hands holding you firm atop him, you still have control over the pace and the movements of your hips. A stark difference from how he just had you minutes ago although you would hazard a guess that he holds more power over you than you initially believe. He doesn’t exercise that power, though, and instead sits back on his heels to let you settle into something steady and pleasurable for both of you.

“You’d look pretty with piercings here, love,” San exhales, breath huffing out and stirring your hair gently. His fingers pinch around the rounds of your nipples as he speaks. You drop down along his length harsher, and he responds by biting around the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “And here—” he teases the skin around your belly button, then lower he moves to touch closer to where your bodies meet “—here, especially.”

You curl in on yourself as he rolls your clit between the pads of his fingers. San giggles behind you and folds his back along the curve of yours like he can’t bear the idea of being separated by even an inch.

“Shit, shit, not — not fucking now.” Your brain wrenches you out of the grips of pleasure at the first sign of San’s distress, quickly distinguishing between his pleasure and what now reads as frustration. In the blink of an eye, you ease off of him and turn to face him directly, hands moving up to cradle his face between your hands.

“San? San, darling, what’s wrong? Are you—”

“My b-back, my back. It’s fucking sei-seizing, shit.” Through the pain contorting his face, you find a flicker of an apology in his eyes.

“Shh, lie down, it’s okay.” San groans as you lay him back against the mattress, his hand seeking yours once he’s fully reclined on the bed. You let him take hold of you.

“Don’t stop, baby, please, don’t. I don’t wanna stop yet, it doesn’t hurt—” lie, but you can forgive him for that much “—I want to finish with you still.” You admire both his resolve and determination but your heart is still racing with panic rather than sexual excitement. His hand squeezes tighter around yours. “Please, Y/n, let me finish in you one more time. I’ll be okay, you can ride me again like before I… I need you.”

He makes it more than a little difficult to deny him anything, and in the very least, his body still seems more than a little interested in the activities you were just partaking in. With his hand clenching around yours, he stares up at you with an unbridled desperation in his stare that makes you cave further to his whims.

“I was never going to deny you that,” you whisper back. He keeps his hand over yours as you push up to your knees and settle your legs on either side of his hips. Still, you are wary to not lay much pressure on him.

“Thank you, thank you, please finish with me.” You don’t move until you watch the frantic heaves of his chest start to return to something more normal, and even then, you sink yourself down over his length slow enough to give you both time to savor the sensation to the fullest.

“I want you to indulge in my body,” you whisper through the strain in your voice, “as much as possible, as much as you enjoy.”

“Do not… tempt me beyond this.” San lays his hand flat against your abdomen, palm molding the skin underneath to fit his grip, and you rock your hips forward and backward a little. As his eyes roll back, you pull yourself almost completely off of his member and sink all the way back down to draw a moan from both your lips and his. Those sounds fuel your pace into something driven by pleasure, and you hardly bother trying to remain steady along him. You feel the full weight of that piercing like this, though, as it drags along the inside of your walls at a fresh new angle and makes your hands tremble atop San’s. He does not try to move away from you in the slightest, but you don’t take the risk either and keep both your hands laid over the one he has against your stomach. “Come for me, darling, let me see you—”

“S-San.” His name comes out through a whimper and a breathy whine, as you squeeze your eyes as shut as they can be without robbing you of the sight of the man beneath you. With one under your belt already, it is hard to deny the building tsunami that creeps up on you. San’s words fade to mere white noise as the lust-addled part of your brain begs for a high, making your mind go blank in the face of that desire. San’s face contorts in a pretty way, and when a new wave of warmth fills you from the inside where your bodies meet, your own gut pulls so tight that the damn finally bursts and you come undone over him. Your hands fall down to press on either side of his body, tremors passing through you until you are shaking uncontrollably atop San. He brings you down from your perch to lay you against the bed; a sweet turn of what you did for him earlier, though it comes with a stinging emptiness because he pulls his cock free of your clenching walls to lay you on your side. Complaints are already on the tip of your tongue when he lies down behind you and pulls your body flush with his.

“Thank you, my star, you did so well for me.” His breath is warm on the back of your neck. Legs tangling together atop the mattress, the two of you settle into a comfortable quiet that consists only of the sounds of your heavy breathing for what feels like hours (in reality, you know it to be mere minutes).

“How do you feel?” you ask when your throat doesn’t feel like it’s bleeding from overuse.

“’m okay, promise. Felt kind of like a muscle cramp, but in my back, you know?”

“Mhm, next time—”

“—next time, I won’t push it.”

“Thank you.” You’re the one to sigh out the words this time, while exhaustion creeps into you and the warmth of the man at your back eases you further into the mattress.

“I wanted to ask…”

“Hm?” It’s hard to keep your focus straight even now, but you give San as much attention as you can manage.

“If…” San trails off as his lips caress the back of your shoulder. You shiver at the sensation, along with the feeling of his fingers tracing over your spine between your shoulder blades. “If the opportunity arose, one where you could have me and another at the same time, what would your answer be?”

The suggestion doesn’t startle you nearly as much as it ought to, you think, but perhaps it’s the lingering aftershocks of your orgasms that make you hazy.

“I trust you to be gentle with both me and my needs.”

“I wish to see you ruined at another’s hands,” he whispers against the crest of your ear. Your thoughts disperse. “Crumbling under insurmountable pleasure, under another’s body, filled by someone else. I haven’t stopped — forgive me if my thoughts are too much, but I haven’t stopped thinking about what you might have looked like under Yeosang’s body. How he pleasured you, how he took you, what you said and did with him. I-I crave to see you pleasured by another before I have you myself.”

“San,” your voice quivers, thighs tensing and squeezing together as he murmurs the filth into your ear.

“Only if you wish for the same, my dear. I am perfectly satisfied without such things.” His hand splays out against your spine to lay flat against your bare skin.

“No, San, I—” He is barely touching you, purposely not teasing too much in how his hands wander across your body, and yet you feel a sudden tension in all your nerves. Fragile threads of restraint pull taut. “I want… I would be satisfied with t-that.”

“With what, my dear? Tell me with your words, tell me all that is on your mind, so that I might understand in full.”

“I would like it…” San rolls you to the side so that your back lays flat against the mattress, and he is quick to drape his form over yours. “For you to watch.”

“Watch what, dear?”

“As — as someone else took me, and had me, with your eyes on me the entire time.” He steals a gasp from your lips as his kisses trail from your neck up to your chin. “Want to watch you too, s-see how you react and… see me come undone at another’s hands.”

“Y/n.”

“I want you to come take what’s yours after.” Your hand stretches up to caress the sharp lines of San’s jaw. “After I have been thoroughly used, I want you to show… want you to take me apart completely after.” He pants into the open lines of your mouth, as his right-hand slips down between your legs and takes place near your core once again. You are quickly losing track of how many times the two of you will fall into this pleasure together tonight, but the sheer quantity is not something on your mind now. Lust — rampant and unabridged — takes hold of your mind instead.

“I would do anything you asked of me, star. Give you anything. Pleasure you in any way.”

“More,” you whisper against his mouth. His plush lips drag over yours without real purpose.

“Say the word and it’s yours.”

“Take me again, please.”

San laughs as he pulls himself down along the line of your naked body, and he only stops once he has his face pressed against your abdomen.

“As you wish, darling, but first let me indulge in tasting you.”

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

Days later, you find yourself away from the man you have attached yourself to so closely these days. Time apart does a heart well, or so they say, but you aren’t sure you could even count yourself towards that saying when you will return to San before waking hours are over. Nonetheless, courage struck you this morning, and you felt a burning need to act on it before you lost the will to. Seated beside the woman you used to consider a sister with the news that not one but two of your former comrades died on account of your life is a lot more daunting than your mind painted it to be.

Soojin, in the very least, is quite patient with you, sitting in silence beside you in the mess hall as you both overlook a rather heartwarming scene. Luca darts between metal tables several feet ahead of where you sit, little hands outstretched to grab at the much taller and far more intimidating figure that Mingi encompasses, all while Jongho referees from behind with all sorts of lively commentary to entertain the young boy. It works like a charm seeing as the child wears a grin that threatens to split his cheeks. Despite the lack of laughter coming from him, you imagine he would be indulging in that little joy if he could. The scene makes your news feel all the more heavy though. It is hard not to overlook the third presence lurking about your table with Soojin too; the resident pink-haired bounty hunter graces you with his presence but offers nothing in the way of conversation. You aren’t sure whether you ought to be grateful for that or not.

“Jisung’s dead,” you start out of nowhere, hoping that it lessens the blow at least a hair.

“Huh.” Her exhales sound akin to a laugh. “Your doing?”

Minho would want you to say no. As would San, maybe even Yunho for that matter. You settle for something else.

“Somewhat.”

“That feels… reassuring actually.” Soojin’s gaze locks onto where Luca chases Mingi’s heels.

“Hyunwoo intended to administer the serum on me once again, to reinforce the damage he already did.” You look from Luca to Jongho and find the Berserker’s gaze lingering on you for a split second. “He earned himself a bullet in the skull.”

The suddenness of a hand touching yours brings a shaky inhale out of you, and when Soojin squeezes at your fingers gently, you dare to look over at her.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“A bit betrayed, but what’s new?” The woman makes a nondescript noise and draws her lips into a thin line.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, hand already pulling back from yours, “that everyone in your past has turned out to be this way. You were… used for so many years, and there is no excuse for the rest of us not lifting a finger to stop it. I can’t ever be in a position where I can be family to you again, both because of my personal agenda but also because that wouldn’t be fair to keep you latched onto another thing of the past. Although—” she grins as Mingi feigns being knocked to the ground by the little boy behind him. Jongho darts in to finish the job for Luca, crashing his weight over Mingi’s body to keep him pinned to the ground as Luca claps. “I think you have that covered just fine.” Though quaint, the smile you exchange with the woman is nothing short of reassuring.

“Will you still try to find Ash and Juyeon?”

“Yes, I think so. Nightingale here has already arranged to help find some contacts who can expedite the process for me. But Luca is priority number one right now, finding someplace safe for him to heal and be raised normally.” Soojin tilts her head to the side as she smiles wider. “The Brute is the one who has been keeping him the most company besides me, you know. Makes these little paper toys and things for Luca to play with. It’s strange to see.”

“But good?”

“You wouldn’t think a man like that would know the first thing about how to look after a child, but I suppose their mutual quietness allows for them to communicate in other manners. I imagine having to say goodbye will be difficult for Luca.”

“You haven’t changed your plans even a little?”

“No.” She sits up straighter, pushing her elbows off the flat metal behind you both. “This is no place for Luca to stay. I can only hope to give him some sense of normalcy in life after this has all gone by.”

“Is he—” you cut short to think through what you are trying to get at properly, but there is no real way of speaking around it. “Is he a Normie?”

“Hell if I know. No red eyes, so I guess that’s indication enough. Could be anything else though.”

“Marks on his back?”

“You mean like scars or tattoos?”

“The latter.”

“No, not a single one. Why?”

“Well, that narrows it down some more, doesn’t it?”

Soojin hums before shrugging. If she wants to say something else, she opts not to.

Before you can ask anything further, two things happen at once. Nothing immediately distressing, which is some mild comfort, but a stroke of horrible timing or a nasty coincidence. Yunho steps into the mess hall from one side with both hands shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, and at the same time, on the other side, Hongjoong steps through the archway with Seonghwa in tow. Neither the captain nor his lieutenant looks particularly pleased at the moment, though that likely has nothing to do with Yunho. Nightingale moves away from his perch on the other side of Soojin without any indication of a goodbye and heads straight for the pair like he’s been summoned silently. Seonghwa shifts his body to let the man slip by comfortably before stepping after him without wasting even a second. You make the grave mistake of shifting your gaze to your captain, eyes finding Hongjoong’s in a moment of fierce eye contact. Your stomach twists into a particularly tight knot under the weight of that stare. With no words exchanged or even an expression to paint his features into something understandable, all you can do is feel deeply unsettled. Even when Yunho crosses the path to get to where Hongjoong lingers, you sense those piercing eyes drilling holes into the side of your head.

Too far to hear a word being said and not nearly adept enough in the art of reading lips, you are left to simply watch as Yunho and Hongjoong exchange a myriad of words spoken without much visible emotion. That is until Yunho reaches out to grab for Hongjoong’s forearm as the shorter man is turning away; it’s then that you see a whole blossoming of emotions unfold like toppling dominoes. Hongjoong yanks himself free of what he views to be an offensive touch, brows twisting together until he has hardly any space between them, and if that anger wasn’t enough to get his point across he straight up scowls at the man standing across from him. Yunho reacts in kind, and you can hardly blame him when a simple touch seemed to warrant such vitriol. Apparently baffled as you are, Yunho tilts his chin to the side sharply before taking a few steps backward, as though waiting for Hongjoong’s mood to magically alter in mere seconds. When it does not, the healer ducks his chin to his chest and, in a very familiar fashion, retreats back the way he came like a dog with his tail between his legs.

“I will miss the occasional dinner and a show I get out of watching your crewmates interact though,” Soojin adds through a hum, confirming that she too has witnessed what you did. “Not sure there’s a person in the universe who could fix whatever the fuck goes wrong between these people but—” she throws her hands up briefly “—also not my job.” Her stare on the side of your head feels pointed.

“It’s not my job either,” you mutter. Nonetheless, you are on your feet a second later. “I’ll come have dinner with you later, yeah?” You drag your gaze past where Hongjoong lingers on the other end of the room before looking down at your companion.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” She does not ask where you’re off to or what you intend to do, although she seems to have a good enough idea with the half-smirk she sends your way before you depart to tail after Yunho. Hongjoong’s gaze feels just as hot on your back as hers does.

Your first inclination is to head for the medbay in the hopes that Yunho went there rather than his room. Rounding the corner a little too quickly, however, lands you almost running right into a wall of a human with mismatching hair outside the room directly across from yours. You quickly dip back behind the corridor you just darted out of before the man catches sight of you, which may be entirely futile but the sound of another voice cuts through the air and tells you that you are most definitely encroaching on a conversation you have no business being part of.

"Sometimes, we experience love in ways that are wholly singular to us. And we may understand that love is complex, difficult to understand, and impossible to explain in words alone.“

It’s Minho, which makes a fair amount of sense seeing as that is his room Wooyoung now stands outside of. You could dip around Wooyoung and excuse yourself, but you have also been avoiding Minho for two days (successfully) and he knows you aren’t a busy person. If he were to see you passing by now at what is clearly the tail end of a session with Wooyoung, you fear you might get snatched or offered up as a faux sacrifice to the therapist.

”What often goes unnoticed when it comes to love is that sometimes we know how to love and we know how to experience it, or how to give that love to someone the way we know and understand it, but other times, that love is impossible to be experienced by the other person. We receive different kinds of love, just as we give different kinds of love. What is love to you, Wooyoung, is not the same as what love is to Yeosang. You cannot expect him to love you in the same exact manner as you love him. He will love you differently, but that does not make his love any less than yours.“

“I’m aware of that,” Wooyoung mumbles back, almost incoherently.

”I fear you've been unfair just as much as he has because when you reach this wall, you are the one to push him against it and then blame him for its existence. And while yes, there is a burden of guilt that he must bear, there is one that you have to take on your own shoulders too. That wall may exist because of him, but it is not in your right to drive him against it the way you do. You must learn to compromise if you want to continue to love him and be loved by him, otherwise, there won't be any love left between the two of you."

“…okay.”

“Good for today?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“We’ll talk again soon, Wooyoung. Have a good evening.” You wait until you hear the door sliding shut before you exhale the breath you were holding, and you are about to poke your head back around the corner when Wooyoung beats you to it and leans over to look at you first.

“Hi.”

“I didn’t mean to — I didn’t wanna interrupt, I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung huffs out a laugh and waves his hand through the air.

“Nothing you don’t already know luckily.” He shifts to point his index finger directly at you. “I don’t have to chew you out this time but I’m onto you.” You break into a smile of your own upon hearing the lilt in his tone, peeling yourself from the wall to properly round the corner and stand alongside him. Wooyoung falls into step with you, and once you are several steps away from Minho’s room, he leans over with his hand cupping the side of his mouth to whisper in your ear. “He’s onto you though, I think he knows you’re avoiding him.”

“Is it that obvious?” you return through a whisper of your own.

“Quite.”

“I gotta get better at avoiding him then. I’m not ready to be snatched again.”

“I’ll go in to distract him so you can run next time.”

“I suppose that means it’s going well for you?” you ask, pleasantly surprised with his willingness to go back to the therapist so soon. Given your prior conversations with him, Wooyoung hasn’t had the most luck with opening up to Yunho in the past. Perhaps there is some comfort in exposing the deepest, darkest parts of yourself to someone who does not know you all too well.

"It went… well, I guess. It's not as fun as it sounds, you know. Having all your flaws and shit laid out like that but — but I know he wasn't trying to be mean about it, just trying to help, so I'm trying to take it that way." Wooyoung purses his lips as he pauses his walking briefly. “I haven’t gotten around to telling him — you know, but that’s quite the conversation starter. ‘Oh, and by the way, I can kill people in my mind and the brother of the boy I killed in my mind is on this ship looking at me day after day like I don’t go to sleep and see his dead brother’s ghost-body-spirit-whatever in my dreams every night.’ I think he’d have to pull out an entirely new notebook to dissect that one.” You wince despite the nonchalance in Wooyoung’s tone because he’s right — it does sound much harsher when put that way, and you can’t even begin to imagine how any doctor would tackle that. “But… but he’s really good at mediating between Yeosang and me. Picks up the pieces where we don’t know how to communicate and helps us get it out of our systems in a healthy way.”

“I’m glad about that,” you whisper, not hiding the smile that stretches your lips, and Wooyoung laughs in turn. He loops one of his arms around your elbow and tugs his body closer to yours.

“You know, if you wanted to, I wouldn’t be opposed to loaning my lover out again as long as I’m aware of it beforehand this time.”

“No, no, oh my god, no! I swear it was a one-time thing!”

“That’s what they all say, Y/n!”

“Aren’t you being unfair?” you whine with his laughter ringing loud in your ears.

“Where are we even walking to? Isn’t your room in the other direction?”

“Ah, that’s—” it takes you a second to realize that you’ve walked past the infirmary already, and you swivel to correct your trajectory only to have your focus ripped towards someone else entirely. “Seonghwa?” Wooyoung makes a noise of confusion before turning as well to find the man you’ve set your sights on at the other end of the corridor.

“Ah, Lieutenant?”

“Very sorry to intrude.” The man bows his head a little as he approaches, only slowing down when he’s a few feet from the two of you. “I’m merely on my way down to take inventory in the cargo bay.”

“Are we stopping somewhere soon?” Wooyoung inquires after a breath of hesitation.

“Yes, we’ll be offloading goods once we do, and I did not wish to burden our Berserkers with it when they already have their hands full with the child.” The tip of his tongue pokes out between his lips briefly as he blinks between you and Wooyoung. There is some restraint in his expression, enough to keep you from understanding what is on his mind. “I was going to ask for your assistance, Y/n, but if you’re busy—”

“I’m not.”

Seonghwa’s lips remain parted even after you interrupt him, but he does not say anything straight away.

“Um,” Wooyoung starts, peeling his arm away from yours, “this is awkward, so I’m gonna head off to my room, but I’ll see you both in a little while for dinner maybe? Well, I’ll see you, Y/n.” It’s no secret that Seonghwa and Hongjoong never join the crew for meals these days, not that Hongjoong ever did to begin with. But if you were being honest you would admit that you can see the weight (or lack thereof) of that decision in Seonghwa’s face.

“I’ll do my best to join you tonight too, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa reassures quietly. Wooyoung draws his lips into a pout but says nothing, and it is abundantly clear that he reads the words as hollow promises.

“Sure, Hwa, see you.” Wooyoung reaches out one last time to squeeze your forearm before he heads off in the direction of his bedroom. Moments later, it’s just you and Seonghwa standing in the middle of the corridor, though the lieutenant seems wary of even that fact with the way he angles his chin to the side to look back at the infirmary doors.

“Should I be comforted by the fact that you’re acting this way with everyone?” you ask before you can stop the thoughts dead in their tracks. Ironically, that is what seems to get the man across from you to loosen up.

“Walk?”

You offer a nod and shift to let him lead the way even though you know the path down there like the back of your hand by now. Falling into step alongside the taller Siren, you reach out for any stray emotions coming from him. It’s shockingly cold to stand beside him instead.

“I’ve been meaning to find a good time to talk with you but it’s hard to get you alone.”

“You only have to ask. I would make time for you, Seonghwa.”

“Of course.”

Quiet drapes back over the two of you, the silence only filled by the soft click-clacking of his boots against the metal floor and the shuffling of your own sandals.

“You can ask anything you’d like. I’m sure there are many more burning questions on your mind right now.”

“No, actually. I have none.” You have a myriad of curiosities eating away at the edges of your thoughts, but no fully formed questions jump to mind that aren’t just broken and jumbled ways of asking what the hell is going on with him. Seonghwa inhales sharply enough for you to hear the air enter his nose. He bypasses the archway you are more familiar with leading to the primary cargo bay and instead leads you to the elevator just before it. The hum of the ship stills momentarily as you follow Seonghwa onto the lift, and he punches the button pointing down hard. You don’t make a habit of going to this other bay often solely because it’s never asked of you, and the one time you did go down there was too far back for you to remember clearly. You almost believe the man is going to have you both stew in silence the whole ride down when he speaks just before the lift grinds to a halt.

“My mother is alive.”

You jerk your head in his direction, and the elevator thuds to announce your arrival at the lower bay like it’s enunciating Seonghwa’s words. He angles his chin to look at you almost shyly, offering the barest ghost of a smile and motioning for you to step off the lift first.

“That shocking?”

“A bit,” you say under your breath, pulling your gaze away from him to step further into the bay. He follows quietly and only offers a noncommittal hum as he steps over the threshold of the elevator.

“My mother is alive,” he continues just as before, “but won’t be for much longer. She’ll ill. Terminal, and there’s nothing that can be done for her. We… we had known that she was living in the Upper Echelon but didn’t realize she was bedridden or that gravely ill.” Seonghwa lifts a hand and waves it through the air with no real direction or purpose. You follow on his heels closely as he moves about the bay, but you still don’t quite know if he’s fully aware of what he is doing down here either. “She had a caretaker at least and also an adopted child around my age. We met.”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter. Eyes glued to the back of his head, you notice once more that he is in dire need of a haircut of some sort — the black strands growing longer by the day and he needs to tuck them behind his ears just to keep them from getting in the way now.

“He’s a true Elitist actually. I’m sure my mother is happy about that, probably why she picked him but… he was enough to get her into the upper district it seems. Not part of the military — would have likely had to kill him if he had been. I spoke to her for some time, although she could barely speak more than a few words. And I don’t think she was at all pleased to see a man such as Hongjoong by my side. Yet despite that, she clung to my hand the entire time I was there. Like a lifeline.” Seonghwa turns to you near the wall, and suddenly he is leaning back against it and slumping most of his weight on the surface. Slumped like this, he is almost at eye level with you. You don’t find any ounce of the closure you so desperately wished for him to have in his features. He starts again with a whisper and a gaze locked on the floor beneath your toes. “Although she couldn’t say much, I think I understand what she was trying to tell me. Rather than fighting a war with those demons at my back constantly, I need to find some kind of forgiveness for what she did to me, what she put me through, how she treated me.”

It still feels inherently wrong to see tears against his cheeks, even when they spill so beautifully from his big round eyes and paint his cheeks with misshapen streaks. You so desperately wish to reach out to him now, but at this point, you aren’t such what a mere touch could do for him.

“I couldn’t kill her even after all of that. Quite horrific, if you ask me.” Lips folding into a grin, Seonghwa’s mouth doesn’t quite close all the way and leaves him grinning almost like a madman. Tears still flowing and lips close to quivering painfully, but your gaze seems to have found its home on his features. You can’t help yourself any longer and reach out to him, combing a hand across the side of his face to tuck those unkempt strands back behind his ear. His fingers dart up to close hard around your wrist, startling you with both the speed and force he puts behind the motion and drawing a quiet gasp from your lips. He pushes up from the wall enough to enunciate the height difference between you. “I held the knife to her neck, the one sitting on her bedside table that she had used to cut fruit earlier that day, and in turn, she held my hand. Not once did she ask to be spared. The caretaker sat to the side with her hands folded in front of her and watched. Her son stood in the doorway and advised me not to make a mess. Hongjoong remained at my back with a hand set firmly between my shoulder blades and did not speak a word to me. No one asked for mercy.”

Seonghwa’s head shakes back and forth as he speaks, as though it is a foreign concept to him.

“For the first time in my life since joining Hongjoong’s crew, I felt I had control again. Back then, there was always a choice but I obeyed without question so many times that it became a sin to even entertain the idea of not doing what I was told to do. A choice I could control even though the outcome of that decision was not up to me. I realize now that going so long without free will in that sense is what drove me to behave so wildly. When Hongjoong set the decision in my hands, I was so overwhelmed with the thought of having to choose for myself that it made me spiral into insanity.”

“He said he’s always encouraged free will though, always wanted the crew to make decisions for themselves.”

“I didn’t want to be lieutenant, princess. Sure it was a choice but… when your captain asks you to be his closest confidant and right hand, who in their right mind would say no? He’s given me as much free will as a man could ask for, but I can’t say no to him.” Seonghwa squeezes his eyes shut tight, and your hand falls back down to your side as he releases you. “You understand, don’t you?”

You don’t, really, though you also don’t have the heart to step all over Seonghwa’s feelings and vulnerabilities either.

“He—” the man cuts himself short immediately and his expression contorts to one of surprise, as though he can't believe the thoughts that just came to his mind and nearly spilled out of him. What leaves his lips is clearly internally doctored and adjusted. “In all his attempts to make perfect accommodations for everyone’s preferences, of course, things are bound to slip through the cracks. I asked for nothing but to be at his side as long as I am physically able. Being lieutenant puts me in a position of power I hate, puts me over others, and asks me to treat them differently, but what was the other option? San? I would never ask to damage his heart further with this work. Let Hongjoong suffer and stew alone with no one to help him when difficult times strike? Make him do all this endless searching and work with no guidance or support? I’m here because I want to be, but I am lieutenant because I have to be. In the very least, it takes my free will away.”

“Seonghwa…” It is hard to hear him question the man he cherishes so dearly like this, hard to watch the carefully constructed temple devoted to his captain crumble down around him so gloriously. Yet it is especially painful seeing those bright eyes dim more as time goes by when he mentions the man he supposedly loves more than life itself. If love is meant to be part of life then why is it that it is draining Seonghwa of his?

“I will serve my captain in whatever way he needs me to now because I know I will not be around long enough to help him see his duty through to the end.”

“What?”

That terrifies you beyond belief. Seonghwa shakes as he waves off the horror of what he’s just exposed to you. You are far too afraid to ask him to elaborate.

“Enough about me. How are you doing?”

Swallowing hard, you fight to find your thoughts through the messy swirl of emotions between the two of you. “In fairness, that’s all anyone asks me these days. I’ll come to terms with it in my own way eventually.”

Seonghwa stretches his hand up between your bodies, aiming to take yours in his, and you allow the touch to persist without much thought. His long fingers toy with yours and slip between the gaps to hold you without much force behind his grip this time. Part of you recognizes this moment of vulnerability for what it is and feels that innate pull toward him. You have yet to resist the weight of this sensation with him — you were resolute when it was Hongjoong presenting you with this sort of vulnerability, but Seonghwa looks so damaged and pitiful before you now that you want to fall into familiarity. In fact, you think you would if not for that thought of Hongjoong that intrudes on your thoughts the second you’re leaning into Seonghwa’s space.

“I’m sorry, Seonghwa, I-I can’t use you like that again. Even if it’s what we both want, not like this, not when… not right after a conversation like that.”

Seonghwa blinks up at you through wide doe eyes with tears dotting the corners of his eyes. It makes it near impossible to deny him, especially as his fingers linger in the air when you pull back from his touch.

“I apologize as well, Y/n. As much as infatuation was present when with you, there were underlying intentions that I did not want to face sooner.” He brings that very hand up to shove its way through his hair once again. “Though now, in both retrospect and in the aftermath of a newly-wrought disaster in my relationship with Hongjoong, I am able to see that clearer. We both have a habit of pulling innocent people into our petty games of jealousy.”

“None of us are all too innocent,” you state but Seonghwa waves it off.

“Some more than others. Yunho is.” It shocks you to hear him bring up the healer first, considering the less than stellar interactions you’ve witnessed between them in the past. “Yunho is so unbelievably naïve and we’ve both twisted that to benefit ourselves in inappropriate ways.” You are fully aware that he doesn’t intend to call you the other half of his wrongdoings, and there is no room for any sort of mystery surrounding who that other person could be. Not when said man has already been a near-constant topic for you two thus far. “I fear he’s in the process of being ripped limb from limb in a lion’s den, while I sit back and watch it unfold as though I have no control over it.”

“It’s Yunho’s choice, whatever it is. That isn’t your responsibility to bear.” You pause briefly to look over Seonghwa’s distraught expression. “What Hongjoong chooses to do isn’t your fault either.”

“I appreciate your kindness,” he speaks through a whisper, “but the one who led him to that cage of death was none other than myself. In an attempt to make a compromise for a man I wanted so desperately in the heat of a broken and vulnerable moment. It was not Hongjoong who made the decision that would be Yunho’s undoing, but rather me, Y/n. Again, I will need to fight a battle with forgiveness.”

“What happened between you all while I was away, pretty boy?” You throw the nickname out only to offer him some bit of comfort over something that is clearly weighing on him, tearing him apart inside, and creating the despair eating him alive.

The lieutenant’s dark eyes flit up to yours, holding them firm in a stare that makes your skin itch with discomfort.

“A murder of innocence, I presume.”

“If you are going to talk in riddles around the issue then I do—”

“It’s time for dinner, no? I believe Wooyoung is hoping to see us both there.” Seonghwa pushes off the wall, expression closing into something blank and steely, and you find yourself more annoyed than anything else.

“That’s it?”

“What?” Seonghwa tilts his head a bit as he eyes you. That action feels demeaning beyond belief, as though you are in the wrong for asking to understand him better. “What more can I say, Y/n? Perhaps consider that I do not want you to know this mistake of mine out of a selfish desire to keep whatever crumbling image you have of me in that pretty head of yours structurally sound so that it does not fall apart completely.”

“I’m sorry. I understand.”

“Okay.” Eyes squeezing shut, Seonghwa heaves a deep breath before repeating, “okay.”

“We can go now.”

Needless to say, that minute altercation does happen to make things unbearably tense between the two of you on the way back up to the main sector of the ship. While Seonghwa had already been in something of a mood beforehand, you feel it in yourself now, something that must bleed out to him because once you step off the lift, the man places a hand between your shoulder blades and simply allows it to rest there as you walk right back to the mess hall.

“I am not upset with you, princess. You did nothing wrong.”

“I’m sorry for prying where I shouldn’t have,” you respond honestly. “It feels like we’re more distant when you call me that.”

“We are.” The answer should not upset you to the extent that it does. “I am holding you at arm’s length for both our sakes, Y/n. Allow me the same time you are asking for yourself.”

Seonghwa drops his hand from your back as soon as you step into the mess hall, and immediately, your gaze zeroes in on where San sits alongside Wooyoung and Yeosang of all people. There’s a plate full of food right beside him in an empty space, and given how Jongho occupies a spot at a separate table with the other members of your crew (aside from the captain himself of course), you safely assume that he’s reserved that spot for you. Seonghwa peels off to the kitchen, likely to get food for himself, and you cross the floor on quick steps to slip down beside San.

“There you are,” he exhales through a dimpled grin. “I was worried I would be subjected to listening to Yeosang’s dry humor all night.”

“So amusing, truly San, you are quite the comedian,” comes the scathing response from said man, but Wooyoung laughs at least. Under the table, San’s hand finds your knee and settles down atop it with his index finger carving indistinct patterns into your pants.

“Ah, Seonghwa!” Wooyoung cuts his laughter short to greet the lieutenant with a blinding grin, the kind that even Seonghwa cannot resist returning right now, and the man sinks down on the bench between you two. “We were just theorizing about where we’re headed next!”

“Theorizing? Have you any ideas?”

“Well, I suggested that maybe we were going back to Geofflan since you said we’re offloading cargo, but Yeo said we could do that anywhere so now I have no ideas.”

“I suggested Yuki!” San adds through a mouthful of food.

“You’re both a bit off. Vida.”

“Vida?” Wooyoung and San parrot the lieutenant in unison, although it seems their minds go in two separate directions.

“For… Jongho?”

“Nightingale said he had business there, no?”

“No, and partial no. He will be leaving with our two guests in a short while, but we’ll be stopping on Gorgon for our business.”

“Gorgon? God, for what fucking reason? Sorry — not that I’m complaining, it’s just that it’s humid as fuck there! I’m not made for humidity,” Wooyoung whines, throwing his head back against Yeosang’s shoulder.

“Hm, well, you’re welcome to put in an order for anything personal products you need once we offload the cargo. If you’d rather not leave the ship. But since we have business beyond just sales there, the entire crew is going to be given time to do as you please.”

“We’re being given downtime?” you cut in, drawing Seonghwa’s focus over to his other side.

“Yes, possibly a few weeks' worth.”

“What about—never mind.”

Seonghwa purses his lips but does not press you to finish your thought, which you’re grateful for, although San’s hand squeezes a little tighter around your thigh. You had intended to ask of Kebos, and perhaps when or if Hongjoong intends to keep his promise to you. That issue seems far and away right now especially given your company at the table with you, so you file that away as yet another thing to ask the man later on down the line.

Dinner continues in that manner, with Wooyoung being the one to drive the conversation as he sees fit, and you focus more on your food and San’s hand as it drifts and comes to rest on the other side of your hips. He stays like that for most of the time, hand flat on the bench and pushing himself into your space because of you, but there is so much inherent comfort in having him close that you cannot bring yourself to mind. When Wooyoung announces that he’s going to turn in for the night with Yeosang getting up as well, you’ve already lost track of time. Only Jongho and Mingi remain at their table a little ways away with their other four companions out of sight, and for the most part, it seems everyone has polished their plates of food.

“Goodnight guys! See you tomorrow!” Yeosang declines to echo the well wishes himself, but the remaining three of you return them in full for Wooyoung’s sake. San makes no move to get up himself, and with Seonghwa still picking at the food on his plate, you choose not to move either until he’s done.

“Where are we leaving Nightingale?” San asks after a brief respite in conversation. The lieutenant’s gaze flicks across the room to the back of Jongho’s head.

“Auriga,” he says under his breath. “Hongjoong will arrange for transport from Gorgon for him; we won’t waste fuel flying over there ourselves.”

“Ah. I suppose that’s for the best anyway, no?” San’s gaze rests in the same place that Seonghwa’s does, but you duck your chin and stare at the table instead. It’s something you aren’t privy to, something you aren’t obligated to understand either, and what you do know isn’t enough to have the same understanding that they do. “Is Hongjoong… well?”

“Asking me?”

“I haven’t seen him since we left Rathmos, Hwa. Rathmos.”

“He’s been—”

“Busy? Hwa, the fucking loaner Spectre sees my captain more than I do these days.” San pushes his other arm onto the table and presses his forearm down hard against it. Moreso than his tone, the underlying anger behind his concern is shining through his features.

“I was going to say that he hasn’t been well. Going to Gorgon is a risk as it is, but he won’t change his mind about going there. It feels as though we have had more fights in the last few weeks than in the past ten years, I can’t get him to eat a full meal more than once a day, and he only eats those meals when Yunho or myself brings him something to eat. Yunho’s hardly going up there anymore because they had a falling out, and now Hongjoong refuses to see him altogether. Even I do not know what the hell he talks of with Nightingale as I am not invited to those conversations and am told to get the fuck off the bridge if I stay past my welcome. I imagine you would have better luck learning things from Yeosang as he is allowed to speak with Hongjoong more than I am right now. He’s a fucking wreck, San, and we’ve seen him like this before.”

“What’s on Gorgon that’s so important?”

“Help for Mingi,” Seonghwa whispers as his eyes flicker back to that table yet again. “There’s someone there he believes can help Mingi. He wants to take the risk.”

“Then we take the risk. If it’s for Mingi…”

“I know, that’s not the problem. Gorgon is the problem.”

“I thought it was a paradise planet?” You chip into the conversation at last now that it’s drifted off the topic of Hongjoong and into something you know even a sliver more about. “And relatively safe for fugitives and criminals.”

“It — it is, but there are too many rumors of folktales surrounding it for a total sense of safety.” Seonghwa cracks a half-smile, one that is a bit more genuine and worry-free this time. “It’s my job to nitpick these finer details after all. I just need to talk over the particulars with Yeosang a bit more then I’ll be less wired over the plan.”

“Of course.” San grins back and reaches the hand resting on the bench up to pinch at the back of Seonghwa’s arm.

“Here, Y/n, I’ll take your plate.” Seonghwa takes your plate to set it atop his own upon your approval. “Oh, and San? You aren’t banned from going to the bridge. You hardly need an invitation to go see your captain after all these years.”

“I know,” the Spectre exhales in response. “It’s just that I would prefer to have him ask after me instead.” Seonghwa moves away from the table with a nod, although you don’t imagine he’s happy hearing San’s answer. Once he deems that the man is far enough away from you two, San leans into your space and presses his lips close to your ear. “Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“Would you — with me present, that is, be opening to having him tonight?”

“Having… Seonghwa? Tonight?” It’s almost best that you are tucked so close to San because it keeps you from jolting off the bench altogether.

“If it’s too soon, that’s alright. I know it’s not even been a week since we discussed it the first time. Or if you aren’t comfortable with him, we can consider someone else.” San shifts his hand to your waist, propping his face up on a closed fist on the other arm, and the new angle lets the two of you see each other’s faces better. Slowly and deliberately, you shake your head back and forth.

“If anything I would feel more comfortable since I’ve already been with him. I’m just trying—” San lifts his eyebrows when words fail you out of the blue. “I want to separate craving to have sex with him because I desire him and trying to fix him through it.”

For a moment, San’s stare simply lingers. Then he’s snapping into action and smacking his lips against each other, darting forward to press them to the ball of your cheek.

“I’ll be there to take care of you — both of you. Keep the minds turned off from everything else for a bit. It’s meant to be something that is enjoyed by everyone involved, and I desire to give Seonghwa some respite from all he’s been dealing with these days. There are, of course, other activities we could partake in. It’s just a matter of seeing where the night takes us. But I wanted to ask upfront in advance.”

“I trust you with that, yeah.” San pulls his arm back around to your front and lays it atop your thigh.

“It’s just an offer, my star,” he reiterates firmly, “not one you have to accept if you do not feel ready.” A smile splits your cheeks at the concern lacing his tone. Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching up to poke your index finger against the tip of his nose.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing something I’m not ready for with you. You know that to be true.” The man knocks his head against yours as gently as he can manage.

“Wait for me briefly while I go talk to him.” Even when he moves, his touch persists — dragging over the lines of your body with nothing but a grazing press of his fingers over your clothes. He takes his plate with him too, leaving you with an empty table and empty benches around you. You aren’t uncomfortable with the sudden fact that you are alone, but you don’t stay there for long and instead get up to make your way over to where Jongho and Mingi still linger in the mess hall on the off chance that San and Seonghwa stay for more than a few minutes in the kitchen.

“Good evening,” you greet quietly, sliding down to sit next to Jongho.

“Oh, you snuck up on me, Y/n. Where'd you come from?”

“From like, two tables over, dipshit. Don’t play dumb.” The thwack you give to the back of Jongho’s head is nothing but lighthearted, even if he whines like you’ve just wounded him fatally. “Mingi, have you been recovering well?” It’s been weeks at this rate since his recovery mission, but with all that has gone on day in and day out, you have not found time (or made time) to ask how he’s been. And perhaps, just a tad inkling of curiosity resides in you to see if there’s some blatant issue Hongjoong would be concerned about. Not that you care if he is concerned specifically — Mingi is your crewmate as well, after all.

“I have, yes. The child has been helpful too in helping me balance the onslaught of emotions constantly happening throughout the ship. When he’s… happy, it makes things easier.”

“I’m glad to hear that. That’s—” you smile “—that’s really good news.”

“What about you, Y/n? You cleared to get back to our sparring session yet?” Jongho nudges you in the side with his elbow, digging into your ribs sharply, and now it’s your turn to feign injury.

“Not if you attack me unprovoked! Beating me up beforehand won’t make you win, you little punk!”

“I won last time fair and square!”

“He always loses to me too, Y/n. Maybe we oughta fight each other instead.”

“Oh, now you’re turning on me too? I’m the strongest on the crew, everyone knows it!”

“So why are you losing to both of us so much?”

“Bite me, you big bully.”

You lean back as you laugh, eyes flitting over to the kitchen as you see movement in your peripherals, just in time for San to slip out with Seonghwa in tow and that little Cheshire grin toying at his lips.

“If you want me to knock you on your ass so badly, ask me in a few days. Yunho says I’ve only got ‘til the end of the week then I’m free.” For good measure, you flick the side of Jongho’s head as you get up before sending Mingi a little wave of goodbye on your way to reconvene with San.

“Come, my star,” he says once you’re close enough, extending a hand in your direction. It’s one that you take without question albeit with a wandering gaze over to where Seonghwa stands on the other side. “Let’s go to my room?”

“Yeah,” comes your breathy answer.

It’s the second walk you take with Seonghwa that is full of rigidity, although this time around, it is coupled with a wave of anticipation so strong that you feel like you might fall over. You fumble with the touchpad outside the door so much that San lays his hand against yours to steady your shaky fingers and press them flat to the surface. Still, you’re the one to pull him into the room, and the sound of his ringing laughter eases the swell of nerves in your stomach bit by bit. Seonghwa lingers just outside the door, still hesitant and restrained for understandable reasons, and he remains there until San pulls back to urge him into the room as well.

“It’s okay to want this,” San mutters as he takes Seonghwa’s face between his palms. The Siren nods in slow approval to the sound of the door sliding shut behind him. “This is together, it’s with each other, there’s effort on all of our parts.” He turns to where you stand and beckons you forward with a simple jerk of his head. “Neither of you is using the other with this. It isn’t about using someone for your own pleasure or dispelling the feelings you may harbor towards another. It’s okay to want to take this now, for what it is and what it offers.”

San steps away slow and deliberate, letting you fill the gap he has just created in front of Seonghwa. Despite having been with him so many times already, either on account of the lull in your nights together or simply because of the distance you have found wedged between you, it is impossibly difficult for this to be as easy as you imagined it would be. San is patient with you both nonetheless and leaves the edge of your vision seconds later. The silence drags so much that you feel yourself rapidly coming to the conclusion that there is some invisible barrier that will make this impossible for either one of you.

“I asked him if he wants to fuck you.” The sight of your lover peeking out from behind Seonghwa’s back as he speaks the words through a curled grin is dizzying to say the least. “He said yes, with a passion.”

“I-I—”

“I kissed him in the kitchen after he said that, couldn’t help myself when his eyes were so wet with want.” Much like a devil perched atop one’s shoulder, San props his chin up on Seonghwa’s, and his gaze gleams as he stares over at you. Seonghwa wets his lips frantically, cheeks flushed so pink that you can see it burning his skin even under the low lights. “I gave him permission but of course… I reminded him that—” Seonghwa cuts through San’s speech with a choked gasp. You can’t tear your gaze from either man’s face to discover why that’s the case. “I reminded him that he needs your permission above all else. Does he have it, my darling?”

“He does,” you exhale just as quietly. San hums out his approval then splays his hand across Seonghwa’s back to shove the man forward and further into your space. In an attempt to keep himself from barreling right into you, Seonghwa jerks his arms out to steady himself by gripping your arms hard. The eye contact you share can’t last more than a second but it’s more than enough to break whatever seal was holding you back, and you push up to your toes to lay your lips on his. Whatever hesitance is left in him dissipates the moment he joins you. Wandering touches feel all too familiar, when his tongue teases the seam of your mouth and his hands drift to find a more comfortable place along the lines of your waist. Reluctance be damned, you think before yanking him harder against you and urging him to move elsewhere in the room. Seonghwa lets you push him to the bed. When the backs of his knees hit the edge, he almost eagerly tumbles down to the mattress. Your bodies separate for the briefest of moments then, only for you to reposition yourself and straddle his hips like this now.

Seonghwa is all too eager to touch you like this as well. He quickly rucks up the end of your shirt so that it sits at your waist and exposes a strip of bare skin underneath.

“Be careful,” San warns from somewhere behind where you’re sprawled over Seonghwa’s lithe form.

“Are you gonna stop me?” The lieutenant quips back, though his tone doesn’t hold any genuine sharpness.

“No,” comes the truthful response anyway, “but I am going to remind you that you have my treasure in your care tonight.”

The mattress dips as San presses a knee atop the bed, and you blindly reach out behind your curled body in search of some sort of physical contact with the man. He skates over your hand just enough for you to grab hold, snagging his index finger and curling your hold around that digit until you have him wrapped tight in your grasp.

“Treat her as such, if you would.”

A hand on your cheek is all it takes to pull your attention forward. Hair pulled forward to blanket his forehead completely, Seonghwa looks entirely delicate and vulnerable in this light. That much would make perfect sense given your positions and the situation you find yourself in, but there is something else to the way he looks at you. Sad, forlorn in a way, and almost bittersweet. Something gone wrong in the past perhaps, and given the chance to do it right, here, now.

“We all have our treasures,” he murmurs as he cups your cheek and drags his thumb over the skin there. The fondness in his eyes isn’t lost on you. “I promise you that yours will be cherished gently by me tonight.”

You pause then in a struggle to place the emotion rushing through Seonghwa’s eyes. When you do find a name for it, you pull your free hand forward to clasp around the one Seonghwa has against your cheek. Fear, you think, is a powerful emotion, one that holds even more weight when those fears are placed in another’s hands with nothing but trust. He doesn’t put that trust solely on you; San shares in the burden, and perhaps he carries more than you do. The man under you refuses to voice those fears, but you take them into your palms and cradle them with great consideration because despite the rampant lust and physical attraction hanging between the two of you still, you do care deeply about him in some odd, unique way. The last thing you wish to do is shatter that trust he’s offered up so graciously, even if some would say that San is the one sacrificing in this situation.

“We’ll both do the same in return for you, Seonghwa,” you whisper. Wrapping your fingers tighter around his, you cling to him as you speak and hope that he feels what you’re trying to convey to him. There’s a second hand lingering at your hip in the same spot that Seonghwa currently has his. The feeling of San’s rough palm overlapping Seonghwa’s slender fingers is enough to tell you that San agrees, that he is still okay with all this, and that he too will take care of Seonghwa alongside you.

“Switch places for me,” San orders in a low tone, one that makes your gut twist. As it turns out, both you and Seonghwa are all too eager to listen to his words. You are only slowed by San’s hands as he tugs fabric from your body in a rush to strip you down to nothing. Once he frees you of them, you throw yourself back on the bed with a light thud, and Seonghwa presses himself along the length of your body and between your legs.

“Hi,” he utters against your lips from where he lays on top of you.

“Hey.”

“You…”

“I?”

Seonghwa doesn’t finish his thought, taking your lips with his once again only briefly before he’s dipping down to caress your cheeks and jaw with the same adoration. When he moves lower, you inhale sharply, and your legs draw up around his hips in efforts to cage him in and keep him right there with you. There’s a hand drawing teasing lines along your abdomen between your bodies, two fingers tracing the skin in a poor mimicry of what you oh so desperately wish he would do lower. His kisses reach your clavicle and pinch the thin, fragile skin there until it stings.

When Seonghwa sits back on his heels, you get quite the sight because it’s on account of San dragging a hand up the column of his throat and forcing the older away from your body. Seonghwa’s blinking turns almost drowsy as the touches persist and move to his hips. The odd excitement in your chest accelerates with newfound passion, only to deteriorate into a sharp panic when San goes to strip the other of his clothes.

“Wait—” you inhale sharply as San’s fingers reach the bottom of Seonghwa’s shirt, and without thought, you jerk to stop him from moving the fabric upwards. Nervous eyes flit up to Seonghwa’s, meeting briefly to find nothing but reassurance there.

“I know, my darling,” San murmurs against the crest of Seonghwa’s shoulder, where bare skin meets his neckline. “I’ve known.”

The words seem purposefully vague, as though giving you a chance to take them as something else, but you cannot fathom doing so upon locking eyes with San himself. A deep understanding lingers there, coupled with hands that collect yours in his grasp and urge you to dip under fabric to meet warm skin.

“You can sense each other’s feelings, no?” San hums. His fingers slip between yours at Seonghwa’s hips to dig his nails into flesh. “Then I shall see to it that you both feel the full extent of pleasure by my hands tonight.”

While you’ve been more than eager to take San as is, you know you can’t give Seonghwa that same luxury without pain, and the man seems to understand that just as much as you do when he drags along the line of your slit to nudge fingers into you. They push deep almost instantly, stretching you gently along his digits as his lips return to their ministrations across your chest.

“Y/n, my love, can you take us both tonight?”

“Hm?” Your gaze comes back into focus on San where he sits at the edge of the bed.

“Shall I have you in the same way I did the other night?”

The implication makes your cheeks burn, the soft exposure of what exactly you and San have been getting up to, and you cannot conceal how much you tighten at the thought with Seonghwa’s fingers buried in you.

“Please,” you moan as the man atop you teases a particularly sensitive spot. San chuckles, and the sound comes out almost gravelly.

“I’ll let him have you first, then you’ll be mine, darling.” Despite saying as much, San shifts his position once more to where he can see where you and Seonghwa are joined. You imagine this is the fantasy he had mentioned to you before, and he seems almost more into the act unfolding before his eyes than you are, if not for the constant pressure Seonghwa puts against your insides. The noises he elicits are not muffled either, for better or for worse. “Paint her pretty with your marks, Hwa. I’ll cover them with mine before the night is over.”

Seonghwa pulls off your chest with red lips swollen from the efforts of his love bites. Wordlessly, he pulls his fingers free of your cunt and urges them between San’s own lips without a breath of hesitation. The sheer depravity of the act makes your jaw drop open, but the shock persists as San welcomes them onto his tongue and moans around Seonghwa, taking the taste of you off him entirely. His fingers are connected by strings of saliva when Seonghwa retracts them and lays them down across the column of your throat.

“Are you ready for me, princess?” You feel him at your entrance, threatening to nudge deeper any second now.

“Take me.” You secure your fingers around Seonghwa’s wrist in an attempt to urge him to keep his hand at the base of your neck, but the slight lack of oxygen does nothing to mute the noise that escapes you when he sinks his full length into you in one fell swoop.

“Fuck, you fill her so well.” San sounds on the edge of deranged. He scrambles to get back behind Seonghwa on the bed, only barely able to position himself high enough along the other man’s back to see over his shoulder and down to where Seonghwa sits inside you. “I knew you would, knew you would take her so nicely.” San hisses against Seonghwa’s ear as he speaks. He dips his hands down to cup the backs of your knees for the lieutenant, letting Seonghwa simply rest his hands on the mattress so he can fuck you with ease.

“Let me fuck her, San, please.” You wonder if it was unbearable at all for Seonghwa to take control himself when he seems to enjoy being told what to do and how to do it so much more.

“She told you to take her already, Hwa. Won’t you do as told?” Seonghwa’s chest heaves. The sweat at his brow threatens to drip lower, especially with the franticness of his blinking in this very moment, but he pulls himself free of whatever thoughts are plaguing him long enough to drive into you with a shallow thrust. “Has it been that long since you had me bossing you around, hm?”

“Last time—ah, last time I was with you, there was another body present then too.” Seonghwa struggles to find a steady pace with San’s body locking him in from behind, but each nudge against San’s grip on your knees forces his cock to roll across your wall so you can’t find it in you to complain about the sensation one bit. “Last time we had each other, Hongjoong was there. It was Hongjoong.”

“Shh.” So San has had his time with the captain too?

Seonghwa is far too gone to listen to reason right now, you imagine, and you also strongly believe that it is nigh impossible for the man to turn his brain off completely. Regardless of the throes of passion. San can only redirect his thoughts so much. Even him, your brain supplements. It makes you wonder how deep those roots go and how far Hongjoong’s reach extends to have such an effect over this many of his subordinates.

“Let’s switch again, so I can better prep her to take me as well.”

San has to guide you both into the new position but he does so with a gentle patience until you are firmly settled atop Seonghwa’s body and lined up to take his dick at this new angle. There are hands at your hips and at your waist as you lower yourself along his length, an overstimulation of your senses that does not let you fully process the two bodies in front and behind you at present. You’re able to direct the pace this time around at the very least, but it does not stop Seonghwa from thrusting up to meet you halfway with each drop of your hips. The pleasure riddling your form pushes the limits of what you think you can handle already; the mere thought that San intends to have more soon makes you want to come undone.

In fact, you nearly do when he surprises you from behind with a cool hand running along the curve of your backside. It would be inaccurate to call this the first time you have partaken in this particular sort of pleasure, and it isn’t even the first you’ve done so with San himself considering how you did so a mere three days ago during a morning shower. Feeling his fingers press over the tight ring of your rim this time, however, makes your stomach fold over on itself.

“Tell me if it’s too much even for a second,” San murmurs to the back of your neck. Reaching around yourself, you steady yourself on his forearms and slow your pace to short pulses to better accommodate San’s fingers. The first noise to leave your lips earns you a plethora of encouragement, and Seonghwa lays his hands atop your thighs to massage the tensing muscles underneath. Beyond how horrifyingly exposed you feel, the sensitivity flowing through your whole body makes you embarrassingly loud. Every little touch and shift of San’s fingers as they stretch you open for something much girthier has you biting your lip to keep the sounds at bay. Those attempts turn out to be in vain. Seonghwa’s length still twitches against your walls, adding to the mounting stimulation that San is encouraging little by little. Your breath can’t come into your body quick enough for you to recover.

“Breathe, princess.”

Your lashes almost blind you as you blink down at Seonghwa. His hands work over your thighs more methodically now, effectively keeping you from jostling on his cock which seems to be moreso for your sake than for his.

“It’s—”

San inches a third finger into you, and you just about pull off Seonghwa entirely.

“It’s so much,” you choke out at last. The noise devolves into a sob just as quick.

“Tell me to stop and I will, darling.” San combs a hand down your back.

“Don’t want you to.” Your words slur on the way out, and you can only hope that they sound far enough apart from anything remotely close to ‘stop’ that San will get the message.

“Say it clearly for me,” he answers instead, crushing those hopes.

“Don’t. Don’t want to stop.”

“Need more time?”

You very likely do but the idea of staving off the pleasure of having them both at once burns you to the core.

“N-No, just take it slow.” San echoes his agreement and pulls his fingers free of you before returning to run along your ass with something much more prominent. Seonghwa urges you to bring your arms forward, fingers looping through the gaps between yours and securing you tight in his grip at the exact moment pain contorts your features. It hurts drastically even with the prep and care San gave you, and it’s far worse than it was even a few days ago probably thanks to Seonghwa. Maybe you should have asked San to go faster just to spare you the agony of feeling each inch push into you with another cock already filling you so deeply.

“You’re almost there, darling, it’s almost over, I promise.” San kisses the side of your head as he bottoms out, remaining so perfectly still that even a deep breath might disturb him. For what it’s worth you do truly try to think — about anything under whatever sun you’re closest to — it’s just that the sheer fullness radiating through your body makes your brain feel equally as full, and as time goes on, Seonghwa loses more and more of his grip over his emotions. They’re almost spilling over in full now, although you’re certain you are doing the same thing yourself. It’s to the point where you cannot distinguish where your pleasure ends and his begins or vice versa solely on account of how closely entwined they are. It might very well be that swirl of emotions making your body relax under its pressure.

“Move, please.”

“So good for me.” San rocks against you without warning, and even though you gave him permission to do so, it still catches you off-guard. Your moan breaks halfway out of your mouth to become nothing but crude silence. He takes you so beautifully, with a passion and a force that drags you along Seonghwa’s cock just as much as his own. The fog in your brain is turning you damn near delirious for every time your eyes flutter shut to drink in the feeling, the sharp edges of metal rings that aren’t there seem to dig against every single one of your fingers.

There is hardly anything you can do to stave off your orgasm when it rushes towards you, but San does not ask you to hold it back even when you warn him. Instead, he rolls his hips against you harder than before pushing you along Seonghwa’s cock until your walls flutter and squeeze hard around your fellow Siren. He pushes himself up into you as much as he can with you squeezing around him in such a way before he too finds his high in you. Only San stays behind, stilling his thrusts just to push you down over Seonghwa’s body with enough force to knock the air out of said man’s lungs. He yanks your hips up, and Seonghwa’s softening length slips out of you, trailing a mess with it. Just before you think to complain about the hollow emptiness that comes with that action, San is thrusting hard into your cunt, hands firm enough at your hips to bruise the skin and bone underneath. His orgasm comes with much more bells and whistles — mumbled expletives that turn into moans as he pushes his seed into you alongside Seonghwa’s.

“Fuck’s sake, I’ll believe in any god out there if this is what praying gets me.” San’s words fall on deaf ears as you reach down to cup Seonghwa’s cheeks. You see the tears there, alongside the sweat striping his skin, but you don’t know where to begin.

“Surely I will be going to hell for this,” Seonghwa laughs. His eyes are unfocused and hover on the ceiling despite your hold on him.

"If you are to go to hell, then I imagine we can go together," you say between breaths, hands still bundled around Seonghwa's face. The comment brings a second laugh out of him, low and unabashed as it rumbles up from his chest and leaves his lips. The feeling is fleeting for sure, but you can't miss the skip in your heartbeat or the tightness in your chest that follows, the swarm of butterflies pushing its way into your gut immediately as you're greeted in this intimate setting with the man who had you first amongst these pirates and criminals.

You find him again after a bit of bedtime recovery as required by San. He’s just gotten out of the shower, seemingly, given his current state of affairs that you can see from your position in the doorway.

“Why is San a special case to Hongjoong?”

“He’s never told you?” The question lingers in the back of your mind asking which he the man is referring to, but you don’t get the chance to say anything before he’s talking again. “San is the first person Hongjoong tried to fix, and the first person who failed to fix him in return.”

Seonghwa pauses as he’s shaking the water from his hands, blinking over at where you stand by the doorframe through the reflection of the mirror.

“I suppose fix is a bad word to describe it. When San first came into the crew, he was obviously still in a lot of agony over what had happened with his previous crew. Yet the first sign of kindness Hongjoong showed him practically flipped a switch in him. Turned him docile, made him hang on Hongjoong’s every word and breath. He did anything and everything Hongjoong asked of him, like a loyal dog, and that’s what earned him that nickname. They had something of a mutual agreement, I suppose you could call it, where they both knew that they were both dealing with traumas that couldn’t be fixed by each other. Hongjoong, put in a position of such strong leadership at such a young age and forced to grow up before he should have. San, reeling from a betrayal and the death of his father figure at the hands of people he ate and slept beside. Hongjoong wanted to fix those fears but… after the mutiny, that shattered. Hongjoong didn’t know what to do with himself in a lot of ways back then but what it awoke in San were fears that Hongjoong promised would never become reality, all made worse by the fact that Hongjoong almost died back then. I think wanting to protect San and the fragile glass shell he put around San in an effort to keep him safe was the only thing that kept Hongjoong from giving up entirely back then if I’m being honest. I don’t like admitting that but it’s all just skepticism anyway.”

“And him knowing?”

“Hm?”

“Of you being a Siren, I mean.”

“Ah, that. Well,” Seonghwa hesitates to let the air out of his lungs, gaze pausing on his reflection in the mirror as he towels his hands dry. “What’s there to say? He’s known as long as Hongjoong has. I’ll admit that I omitted that when telling you originally but I also didn’t wish to complicate things for you if you didn’t want him to know about your identity yet. Had I told you, would you have been able to brush it off entirely or worry around him constantly?”

“I didn’t say anyth—”

“You didn’t need to, Y/n. But I’ll state again that it was never intended as a slight against you or to mislead you. It would have been uncomfortable had I brought it up to you then, and if San decided he wished for you to know then he would have said something.” Perhaps you should have thought about the other side of things as well: to wonder if it was something important enough to share, and if that answer is yes, then why would San not tell you sooner?

When you look up from the floor, Seonghwa has turned away from the mirror to face you, lower back pressed against the edge of the counter as he crosses one ankle in front of the other. It feels a bit like a lecture with the way he also goes out of his way to fold his arms over his chest and stares down at you.

“Y/n, I adore you—”

“This feels like a belated confession at best.”

“—but you are not entitled to know everything.”

You shut your mouth so harshly that your teeth clack together.

“Please, Y/n. Some parts of our pasts are things not meant to be shared with others. If San wishes to tell you, then that is his prerogative but — back when our crew was made of nothing more than Hongjoong, myself, and San, we dealt with quite a bit. I would not wish anyone to know those things or what we went through then. It’s because of those pains that we are able to be here today, renowned and strong in ways we could never have dreamt of then, and while those experiences painted how the future would be, they are not memories I wish to share with others. The things we did would paint a horrid image to the rest of the crew. San is a special case to Hongjoong. He’s a special case to me, otherwise, I would not trust him the way I did with you both tonight.”

Seonghwa pushes past you without saying anything else yet the moment he steps a few feet away he seems to second-guess himself. Doing a quick turn, the man returns to your side and draws you into a fleeting hug. He dips down right after to lay his lips against your cheek.

“Thank you, princess. For both trusting me and worrying over me. I appreciate it.”

You smile.

“Right back at you, pretty boy.”

San and Seonghwa exchange little in the way of words. You don’t push your way into their conversation but whatever San does say earns him a laugh and a soft peck to the top of his head. Watching Seonghwa leave as well doesn’t feel nearly as eventful as expected. You return to bed with San, climbing in and under the sheets alongside him through softly exchanged pecks and giggles. The moment feels too pure, too precious, and all-around too… perfect. You wish that the part of you waiting to destroy these niceties did not exist at all.

“Seonghwa told me why you’re a special case to Hongjoong.”

“Did he?” San sighs loudly, laying flat on his back and angling his gaze to the ceiling. You stay curled towards him with your own stare tracing the lines of his side profile in the low light.

“He said that you had to do horrible things to make ends meet back then when it was just the three of you.”

“Of course we did, darling. But I… it was — it was nothing in comparison to my first crew.” Except when San tells the truth, he does not fumble with his words or stutter. “I know what you are thinking, and I am telling you that it’s not true.”

“I just worry that they are not entirely that different from your first captain.”

“Hongjoong and Seonghwa are not bad people, Y/n.”

“I fear that you can’t see it, San.”

The man turns in bed, a hasty motion that makes your breath catch in your chest as he stares you down with an uncomfortable intensity.

“I know them in ways no one else does, and I know that at their core, they are not bad people. No matter what has been done in the past and no matter what is done in the future, this crew is full of people I love and trust unconditionally. That includes you. And it breaks my heart that you would distrust them so heavily to claim that they are twisting me and manipulating me for their gain. There is no gain to them doing such a thing, nor have they ever given me reason to believe that to be the case.”

San reaches a hand across the gap between your bodies and cradles your cheek in his palm.

“Everything that happened in the past is exactly that: the past. My loyalty is my pride, darling. Being able to do what is asked of me falls under that umbrella as well. My captain, my lieutenant, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Scourge, Bringer of Death — whatever I call them, the mindset remains the same.”

Hongjoong once called this man a well-fed dog, but it only leads you to wonder how deep that loyalty goes.

“If one of them asked you to kill a member of the crew, what would you do?”

“Y/n…”

“You would do it?”

San’s nails drag over your skin as he curls them into his palm and pulls away.

“I think you should go back to your room, Y/n.”

“San.”

“I do not wish to have this conversation, my dar—Y/n.” He moves from the bed too quickly for your liking, and you have no choice but to sit up to follow him as he stands up and pulls a shirt over his head.

“San, wait, please I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“I will see you to your room.”

You stumble as you get out of bed, hands trembling at your sides as you rush to follow him before he can get too far away. There’s so much regret in your bones at this moment, a fear that you’ve ruined this beautiful thing set before you in the blink of an eye, and even if this is just a blip in the grander scheme of things, you see it crumbling before you. San exits the room without looking back at you. You aren’t fool enough to stand your ground where you are and risk making matters worse. Following him into the hall, you chase after him as best you can without legitimately running him down.

“San, let’s not leave things like this, please.” You’re able to grab hold of his wrist as he’s swinging an arm back in time with his steps. If asked to recount how exactly things devolve from there, you aren’t positive you could properly explain it. What you do know is that you somehow end up pressed into the wall with San’s hands caging you in on either side of your head. The hand you reached for him with is similarly pinned against the metal, fingers curled around your wrist to keep you in place.

“Do not ask this of me.” He’s seething before you with an anger you’ve not seen before from him, and it is especially not an emotion San has ever directed towards you either. “Hongjoong would never ask anything like that of me. Seonghwa couldn’t even if he wished to.” Through the frustration in his tone, you find doubt. You refuse to ask but it’s clear he doesn’t believe the words leaving his mouth currently, either because of past experience or simply on account of knowing how volatile the men he is at the mercy of can be. “Do not ask these things of me, I’m begging you.”

San’s grip on you relents but then he’s sinking out of your vision and leaving you to stare at the opposite wall of the corridor. His hands don’t touch you again despite remaining on the wall, stopping by your hips as he hits the floor with a muted thud. You bring a hand up to cover your mouth as though afraid a noise might slip out. San’s fingers skate to your hips and delicately press over the thin fabric covering your skin. His breath is hot against the patch of skin between your shirt and the band of your pants.

“I am a hunter and I am a weapon of my master’s making. A Spectre, the Shadow Walker. Not because I have to be but because I wish to be, that is the fact of the matter, Y/n. I still wish for things to be that way after all this time. I do not hate myself, I do not still see myself as a slave needing to follow my master’s orders — I see myself exercising my freedom by making a choice. You cannot pretend to know what I want, nor can you tell me that what I desire is wrong. I desire you so deeply, I crave to have every inch of you, but that is not wrong in your eyes, is it?” San pushes closer still, until the tip of his nose presses into the flesh of your stomach, and you inhale sharply around your fingers. “I do what they ask of me only because they have my trust, respect, and loyalty.”

The question on your mind, one you cannot bring yourself to voice, is whether or not Hongjoong deserves any one of those things from him. Thumbs caress the fine lines of your hip bones as San dips his forehead forward.

“I am the Scourge’s Black Dog, Y/n, my captain’s left hand. If asked to bite, I will.” His voice has turned soft, almost holding an undertone of lust in the way he speaks to you. Yet before you can brace yourself for whatever is to come next, his fist hits the wall, and he drags himself to his feet.

“I-I love you,” you force out, hand moving off your mouth just enough to speak those words to the man who is already trying to run away. San’s expression is one of pure conflict, entirely distraught and torn, yet he still chooses to turn back towards his room and leave you there against the wall in the middle of the corridor. What’s even funnier is that you cannot blame him in the slightest.

There’s a fleeting thought as you hear his door open and close down the hall that perhaps this is a tipping point, the last bit of an iceberg that is melting under your feet. You entertain the idea of heading up to the bridge right here and now.

A hand comes down on your shoulder before you know what’s happening around you, firm and unrelenting.

“Come, Ghost. It’s late.”

You don’t get a look at the man who has come to interrupt you right away, as he pulls you off the wall first and lays that warm hand between your shoulder blades.

“I doubt I need to be the one to tell you this, Ghost, but the most dangerous amongst this crew is not myself or Jongho.”

Your head sinks under frigid waters in the scene that is playing itself out like an old theatre play in your mind.

“Nor is it our captain or our lieutenant.”

You reach your own bedroom with Mingi’s assistance and a sinking sense of dread in your gut.

“For a while, I predicted that you would be the one to take up that mantle, given what had been said about you. But I was wrong.”

When the door slides open, obnoxious in the amount of noise it makes, you pause in the doorframe just to look back at the Berserker with you. With all that is on your mind, you ironically find it impossible to find the words you want to say. There is a belated realization, however, that San stopped you outside Mingi’s room, and that whatever Mingi sensed from inside that bedroom was intense enough for him to come to your aid.

“Goodnight, Ghost. I hope rest finds you.”

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

“I love you too.” San extends a hand across the bed, inching towards where your feet are tucked underneath the covers. You hate that he’s the one to find you first; it would have been better if it had been you to seek him out, to apologize first then speak about things later. Yet here you are, propped up against your pillows with a book taken from Seonghwa’s library on Sirens in your lap as San comes to sit at the foot of your bed carefully. “I love you so very much, my darling, I’m sorry I did not say it back the other night.”

Three days, in reality, is not that long, but the radio silence that ensued between you and San was agonizing in its own heinous way. You missed him dearly, even if incapable of voicing it sooner.

“I’m so sorry for asking that of you, San. It was unfair of me.”

“You asked a fair question. A tough one, yes, but it was a fair one to ask.”

“Did it feel fair in the moment?”

“Of course not, dear,” he whispers back, eyes barely pulling up from the mattress to meet yours. “But that’s okay. You apologized, and I won’t deny you any forgiveness because it is not in my nature to do so.”

“I fear it’s in my nature to take advantage of such kindness. Intentional or not.”

“I won’t let you.” Pressing your lips into a thin line, you watch the man’s lips twist into a little grin as he says the words with full confidence in himself. “But sometimes we do what we have to, and if that day ever comes for you, then I do not want you to weigh it on the scales of morality.” San leans across the bed to reach for your face. His smile blossoms fully then, although you can’t find reason for such a sweet expression with what words continue to spill out of him. “Should the day come, I cannot promise to spare you pain. Parts of my past are blackened with cruel intentions and painted with blood. I do not know whether my future is free of that yet. If asked…”

“…you would do what is asked of you,” you finish in his stead. The admission sounds as though both of you are resigning yourselves to fates out of your control.

“They would never ask me to kill anyone here, Y/n. That much is certain.” The bed dips under his weight as he inches closer to you. The sheets keep his body from touching yours more intimately and yet you still feel the full effects of his heady desires just the same. “Behave and I won’t be ordered to bite, my dear. I can only defend you from our captain’s ire so much.”

“Have you before?” you inquire, a bit breathless and choked as San’s grinning lips trail over your collarbone.

“I have defended you like a heretic dissenting with his last breaths.” Hot breaths fan over your exposed skin. Despite his claims of heresy, his tone holds a sort of delicate reverence. “But I fear our captain is so dearly adept at making devotees out of the people around him.”

Your fingers find their way into the hair covering San’s neck, combing through it and scraping blunt nails over skin until you feel him shudder under the touch.

“Demons tend to excel in those areas,” comes your quiet murmur cutting through the stillness of the room.

“At the feet of an angel, however, I would gladly make my home.” San’s dimple flashes for but a moment before his chin is dipping lower, and he tugs the vee of your shirt lower to have better access to the skin underneath. A smile flickers across your own features before you push the book in your lap aside to better fill your time with the man atop you. “I am but a man, Y/n, and I have done many bad things in my time.” He leans up to brace his arms on either side of your body, hands resting close to the taper of your waist. “May I tell you a story, darling?”

Like you could ever say no to him and those kind eyes smiling down at you.

“A story of a black dog and a nightingale, if I could?”

You nod as though caught in a trance, enraptured by the man over you who lets his fingers sink into your skin and inch your shirt up bit by bit.

“It isn’t a pretty tale, a bit debauched I must admit, but really it was the little bird’s fault at the start. He flew a bit too close to the sun, you see, in an attempt to trick the Devil himself. But the Devil has his defenders, and his most loyal comes in the form of a fierce black dog.” You try to focus on his words, the story he’s telling you that is clearly containing more than simply pleasantries and genuine storytelling, but each word comes with a searing touch along your bare skin. It’s intoxicating, a heady fog that fills your mind and you can’t escape it long enough to think objectively about what San is telling you. You have had him before — now in many ways — but something about these skating, barely-there touches distract you from the bigger issue at hand.

Hadn’t the two of you been arguing not long ago?

“The little nightingale made the grave mistake of finding his home in the dog’s house, thinking he could win whatever game he was trying to play. He had his goals, of course, his own family back home that he wanted to bring treasures to, but the dog had a keen nose. One that could hunt down that bird wherever he was.”

Hadn’t you been upset with San? Even though you resigned yourself to accepting his loyalty, you truly were not happy about it. Now, that feels distant.

San leans back, and your hands move greedily to tug at his shirt the moment you have access to it.

“The nightingale made a home beside the black dog, trying to be coy about his plans to take bits and baubles from under the canine’s nose. And all the while, the dog toyed with his feathers and clipped them one by one with his claws until the little bird could not fly anymore.” A hand on the outside of your hip urges you to make room for San to nudge his way between your legs. It’s a natural shift for the both of you, to peel away the sheets and spread your legs for the man that now kneels between them with hands gripping the outside of your thighs all the while. “Every day, the dog would take the bird out to walk amongst giants, to gaze upon the object of his desires freely under the guise that the bird was winning. But at night, the dog would bring him back to his house and clip another feather. By the time the bird realized he could not fly—”

You drop your head back against the headboard as San drags his middle finger along the line of your underwear.

“—he already trusted the dog with his life.”

Reality snaps back to you like a band of rubber against skin, and ironically it’s San’s fingers tugging at the elastic band of your underwear that brings you out of the fog.

What is the point of this story?

What exactly does San want you to feel in regards to that?

You knew the history between Nightingale and this crew was deeply entrenched in arguably awful things but had it truly been to this extent? When he lost his eye, was it by Hongjoong’s own hands? Is the man nothing more than a slave to the Scourge’s whims and will?

A shaky hand manages to claw its way to San’s shoulder, gripping tight and hard without relent.

“San.”

He leans into your touch when your free hand cups the side of his face. The contact is the only thing to stop your incessant trembling.

“San.” Panic slips into your tone without pause, and San is there to pick up on your sudden distress with lips touching the side of your palm.

“My love, shh, don’t fret.” His voice is drenched in honey, a sticky sweetness that fills your senses and makes you dizzy.

“Am I a bird, San? Tell me it’s different between you and me. Please, is it different?”

San’s brows furrow at that. You question the gesture instantly but it comes with complete bewilderment so quickly that you cannot fathom him manifesting such a reaction to deceive you.

“Of course it is, Y/n, that’s out of the question.” His tone, blunt, is very firm and direct in ways that reassure your quaking heart. “This… you… what I get to cherish with you like this is nothing like that story.” San lets his gaze harden a bit as he looks at you but you don’t feel that he’s angry with you. “And I don’t want it to be. Ever.”

“What did Hongjoong do to Nightingale?” you whisper. San retracts his hand from where it rests against the line of your folds and brings it up to clasp around yours on his cheek.

“He ordered the destruction of a psyche by sicking his black dog on him, Y/n. The things I told you were my past… things I said only happened when I was under my Taskmaster’s control… not all of them were contained in those years. What I did to Nightingale was under Captain’s command.”

“Hongjoong’s.”

“Captain‘s.” For whatever reason, San cannot reconcile that they are one and the same. “Hongjoong did nothing to that man. In fact, if you go back and look at the records of the Scourge’s history, you would only find that he has done nothing to any soul unlucky enough to earn his wrath. For he has two hands for a reason.”

“San—”

“I do not feel guilt or remorse over it, Y/n. Does that make me a monster? I tell Nightingale each time I speak with him privately that I regret it, but I don’t. That I am sorry, but I am not. I know I am not, so why is it instinct to tell him otherwise? I protected my crew, my people, and he threatened their safety. He knows that as well as I do. I am so deeply conditioned to manipulate those outside our crew that I fear I cannot even tell when I am being genuine to them. Had I not been bound to a wheelchair at the time, Y/n, I would have—” he cuts himself short as his face contorts with a scowl. Your expression must read something you are unaware of because his gaze softens on you. “I am the Scourge’s Black Dog… and my captain’s left hand.”

He speaks the words like a mantra, like a prayer he has to repeat to himself to remember it. You cling to his face tighter until your nails dig into his skin. Do you feel safe in his arms? Without question. Why can you not bring yourself to question it? Why should you in reality? All this time by his side and he has never once caused you any doubt. If Hongjoong wished to harm you, he would have done so by his own hand by now. That much he has proven in his treatment of you since you joined this crew. Then again, you are under the umbrella of safety that San provides. You are his crew and amongst his people.

San’s eyes glisten as he blinks up at you through wet lashes.

“But I am at your mercy, Y/n. Of that much, I am certain.”

──────────── a/n: hear ye hear ye it is that time of year aka it is questionnaire time 🗣 please take it here (of course not a requirement but it would be immensely helpful to me!) now that that’s out of the way hi. hello. it’s been some time. i know. but i’m hoping that 30k is enough to make up for it and is most certainly 2.5 months worth of writing because i did indeed start this right as soon as i finished the last interim so! i’ve been working tirelessly at it and have tried to bring the best to the table. while i’m sorry it took so long, i am glad that i did not rush it bc it means that i could bring quality AND quantity to you guys hehe <3 end of act six! wow! we’re almost halfway through finally! much to be seen and much seen here in this one i know!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#mists of celeste #caly.writes #ateez x reader #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #san x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez ff #wooyoung x reader #mingi x reader #yunho x reader #jongho x reader #yeosang x reader

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 47

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 11.0k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns, blood ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act six ➻ part six

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“What is the meaning of this exactly?” Your tone is sharp, eyes glancing over his that glow blue back at you. The gleam reminds you a bit of Nightingale, artificial and unnatural to an unnerving degree. It already puts you at a significant disadvantage to go up against someone who has a cybernetic enhancement. If it came down to it, could you trust yourself to use your Siren abilities? Air hisses through your teeth as you scoff quietly. The man ahead of you shifts his weight from one foot to the other. None of his movements can be trusted at this point, not with the hefty weight of his threat hanging over your head. You push back against the dirt and conceal Jisung’s body behind you as best you can.

“It means we’re going to take a walk, Ghost.” His chin drops as he speaks, and the glint in his eyes turns dangerous. He’s a Spectre surely; that would make the most sense for someone of his caliber, and he already disposed of a Berserker in the form of Atticus at some point with seemingly no trouble at all. Surely that means if there were to be a fight, Jisung would help you but the guarantee isn’t quite strong enough for you to put your faith in the man. “I suggest you cooperate.”

“I have no reason to go anywhere with you.”

“I’m sure Hyunwoo would not wish to see you dead. Or injured for that matter. But if you get in my way, the—”

“He put you up to this then?”

“Jisung will not be leaving this planet. You may leave without issue, but him and what’s left here of his rotten crew will remain.”

You inhale sharply at that. If Hongjoong manages to convince Minho to leave, then perhaps something else could be arranged. As for Jisung…

You glance back at the man over your shoulder. He hasn’t budged since Hyunjin revealed himself, still sitting on the dirt floor without much change to his demeanor. In fact, you can hardly tell if any of this deters him in the slightest. The terms seem clear enough in your eyes.

Hongjoong and his crew leave safely without issue, including you, at the cost of both Jisung and Minho’s lives. The reason for such a drastic turn of events eludes you for now — cooperation would surely pull some answers out of Hyunjin but it isn’t as simple as strolling out to fetch Hongjoong and coming back with no trouble. Hyunjin’s tone alone is enough to imply that you either leave now and choose to not look back, or you remain and cooperate like this.

“Then let’s take a walk,” you say under your breath so as not to startle either man in your presence into doing something rash.

“Y/n…” Jisung’s voice draws your focus, and you tilt your chin in his direction. You can’t bring yourself to pull your gaze off of Hyunjin, however, when the underlying threat to your own life remains present.

“Ladies first.” The gun aimed at your skull doesn’t fall away, even when you take hesitant steps in Hyunjin’s direction.

“You don’t have to do this,” comes your reasoning once you’re within arm’s reach of the man. He scowls so deeply that it mars his almost statue-like features into something rather ugly. A hand bolts out to snag you by the wrist, and he twists your whole arm behind your back with such haste that you can only blink twice before he has you effectively pinned.

“It’s nothing personal, doll. See it as an unhappy circumstance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unfortunately for you, you make for an awfully effective bargaining chip.”

“Against who exactly? Because the only other man here could very well let you kill us both” Your head is forced forward again when the cool barrel of Hyunjin’s pistol pushes past your hair to rest at the base of your skull.

“Is that a game you’re willing to play? We could test that theory out with a gun and a single bullet between the two of you.” Your body jerks as you’re spun around to face the other direction, and now you lock gazes with a Han Jisung who is on his feet and looking a great deal more serious. “You are gonna lead the way out that back door, and we’re all gonna take a nice long walk to someplace more private.” Hyunjin twists your arm behind your back into an awkward position that puts strain on your still-recovering shoulder. Something cool brushes past your hip near your free arm. The reality of what it is only registers once you hear the click of the safety lock being triggered. “And if you try to get handsy, then I’ll put a bullet in both of you at once. Choose wisely.”

You know from experience that your wristband is meant to default to the crew’s main frequency, the most used channel that can alert any others connected to the frequency of distress if need be. The issue, however, lies in the fact that your fingers aren’t quite long enough to reach down to your wrist to tap out an SOS code, and Hyunjin has your hand firmly pinned right where he wants it. He surely knows morse code too, so knocking your wrist against the arm he has pinned between your hip and hand is out of the question. Disarming Hyunjin might be your best bet, but with his cybernetics at play? You’re fucked in hand-to-hand combat even without guns at play.

Jisung trudges forward, glancing back at you as Hyunjin follows. Your steps are jilted compared to the Spectre’s, especially with his boot kicking into the back of your ankle with each step you try to take.

If nothing else, you need your captain.

And you had almost forgotten about your key advantage against the man behind you, the one that comes in the form of Wooyoung. You may not be able to call him into your body at this very moment as he’s surely awake by now, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to reach out to him when you’re already in somewhat close proximity. That, and it is your safest option when you’ve got a gun pressed against your neck.

“We’re heading for the cliffs,” Hyunjin announces once the three of you push out the back entrance to the barn. It lies opposite the house, shrouded by the foliage around the sauna, and in turn entirely hidden from the windows of the cottage. One quick glance through the vines forming a wall around the bath tells you that Hongjoong has departed as well, likely something Hyunjin made note of before making his move on you and Jisung. “Take the path up. I advise you to watch your step though. Someone you knew quite well had a bad fall around here.”

Jisung hesitates at the foot of the winding path and jerks to look back at Hyunjin. His eyes are full of nothing short of rage and hatred, yet he doesn’t fight back with his tongue or fists. Simply shifts back forward and starts up the rocky steps leading up the cliffs. Part of you can’t fathom why the man won’t so much as say a word in his defense, and while you admire the physical restraint he’s showing (simply for the sake of your own life and well-being), you are equally surprised that he hasn’t even swung a punch in Hyunjin’s direction. The cool metal on your neck pinches your skin as the man behind you shoves it hard into you, and with the same movement, he releases his grip on your hip and arm. It sends you careening forward onto the rocks without warning; all you can do to stop the brunt of the impact is throw your shoulder down to protect your chest.

What starts as a sharp stab of pain morphs into a dragging burn through your torso and up your neck.

“Get up and get walking. You don’t wanna waste my time or piss me off.”

“Why are you doing this?” you ask through gritted teeth, pulling yourself up to your feet almost as quickly as you fell.

“I was given orders to.”

“You don’t have a brain that can think on its own or something?”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m driven by money, and I was given a nice chunk of credits that some could use for retirement to do this.” You’re still idly aware of the pistols in the man’s hands as you walk ahead of him. You are able to keep some distance between you and Jisung, but Hyunjin seems keen on not letting you get more than two feet ahead of his long legs and wide steps. “With any luck, this is the last job I’ll have to take from Hyunwoo. I thought that was the case six years ago before you came back around.”

“Against my will, mind you,” you murmur back, unsure whether either man in your presence catches onto the words.

“Regardless… I’m ready to put you people in the past too, and I was told this was all it would take.” You swallow roughly as his words process, but it’s moreso his tone that surges with finality and fills you with dread. Hungry dogs may never be loyal, but they do tend to take the easier route out of a bad situation, the quickest path to a pound of flesh, and you aren’t fool enough to delude yourself into thinking otherwise. Hyunjin opts not to push the conversation further than that, taking your silence as a response of its own and looming behind you with his guns.

With both arms free now, you can pull your hands in front of your stomach, enough to conceal them from the shadow lurking behind you. The next decision you make is a swift one: while calling on Wooyoung for help would be the safest option for you, it also puts him in an awkward situation with Hongjoong as the captain isn’t aware of Wooyoung’s identity as of yet. Even if it means more danger for you, you know that you cannot in good conscience put him at risk of losing that secret. All it takes for you to get the message back to your crew are three short taps, followed by three longer ones and a repetition of the first sequence on the slim screen on your wristband. It buzzes around your wrist to emphasize the sequence you’ve just tapped out, and that vibration acts as the confirmation you need to know that it’s gone through to the others.

“What part do I play in all this, Hyunjin?” you ask in the hopes that you’ll get a more clear answer from the man this time around. “There was no reason to drag me along, was there?”

“Unfortunate circumstance, truly. You were in the way, and I couldn’t trust that you would simply leave well enough alone. Certainly not after the conversation the two of you shared in that barn.” When his breath hitches on his next words, your interest is piqued, and all it takes is one glance back over your shoulder to see that he has bitten back some key piece of information. “You were in the way,” he reiterates, although you don’t believe for a second that that is what he originally intended to say.

Patience is far from your strong suit, but that’s the game you have to play right now which is a struggle of its own. That combined with balancing Hyunjin’s unpredictable nature could end in many colorful ways, but none are exactly as favorable or safe as you would like. Perhaps it’s wholly childish: the way your chest aches and burns the higher you climb toward the cliffs, and the juvenile sting in the corners of your eyes but amongst all this, you truly just wish to be back on the ship, surrounded by people you care about and who care about you in return. And as much as you hate to admit the defeat of your pride, Hongjoong was entirely correct about the stupidity of letting Jisung have his way for as long as you did. Had you stopped and thought through things even a little bit more, it’s entirely possible that none of this shit would have happened.

The question that remains now is a hefty one. Do you stay out of the way for the sake of your own life or do you risk saving Jisung’s against better judgment? What’s more, is it selfish to reason that you’ve acted as a martyr for his sake enough in this life?

“Where is Hyunwoo?” you inquire in a soft tone, almost bordering defeated.

“He ought to be on his way to his family by now since your captain said he’d be out of the way by now. I need to wrap up my end of the deal within a few hours, but you won’t see him again before you’re off this planet. He’s not returning until I give the word that it’s clear to.” You take the words at face value: anything Hyunjin says could be a lie spoken with utter confidence and you aren’t experienced enough with the man to discern the difference between his truths and lies.

“You intend to kill the doctor too?”

“He’ll kill himself once he learns of his leader’s fate, I’m sure.”

You press your lips into a thin line and stare over at the man walking several steps ahead of where you are with Hyunjin. He seems resolute in the way he moves, almost like he’s shut out your entire conversation, but the blank expression coating his features leaves another implication.

Surely you could turn the tide with ease, but Jisung seems to have accepted this fate without a fight. Even if you did try to combat Hyunjin and save your former friend, would he put in any effort to saving himself?

“Why aren’t you fighting this, Ji?” you ask quietly. There’s no semblance of privacy for the two of you to share now, not with the bounty hunter behind you breathing down your neck. For a moment, the only response you get out of the Spectre ahead of you is a deep sigh.

“I already told you, little lady.” His steps don’t halt or even slow down for a second, still continuing on their endless march up to the top of the cliffs, and it won’t be long now before you reach it. “Your captain has ensured that everything would be taken from me. There is truly nothing left for me. Not here, not anywhere. If this is the closure Hyunwoo wants for all the crimes and atrocities we committed together, then who am I to deny him that now? It’s as good a time as any for me to go.”

You falter on the rocks and come to a grinding halt where you are. Without hesitation, Hyunjin steps around you and continues after Jisung.

“This is an execution,” you argue with more force to your tone.

“Maybe he means to emulate the one we planted in your head all those years ago.”

“A fake one wasn’t enough for me to witness? Now I have to see it unfold before my eyes in reality this time?”

“I don’t want you here, Y/n, I don’t want you to see there if that’s what it comes to!”

“All this fight for you to give up now? Like this?”

“I got what I was after, what I wanted. Granted, I didn’t have it as long as I would have liked but I had it nonetheless. And you’ll move on just the same, won’t you?” Jisung finally pauses to look back at you, and Hyunjin is right there to mark him down with one of his pistols. You can see where his finger hesitates over the trigger. “Turn back now and go home, Y/n. Knowing what happens here won’t give you anything.”

“If you die here then you won’t get to be buried on Kebos.” Confidence ebbs out of your tone, and the words come out in something of a hushed whisper. You imagine that if you tried to speak any louder, it would result in a fragile shattering of your resolve. Jisung laughs, but the sound is hollow and void of any sort of positive emotion.

“This isn’t your fight, nor does it have to be. What happens between the two of us once we get to the top is between us, Y/n. Haven’t I put you through enough?”

You told this man not to seek redemption, to not beg or grovel for forgiveness that would never come, but there is still some insane tug in you that begs for a crude sense of justice. It isn’t yours to serve, you hold no power over life and death — Hongjoong said it simply. Your eternal issue, however, lies in not knowing when to leave well enough alone. So even as Hyunjin nudges his gun into Jisung’s back and urges him forward, you can’t throw in the towel and simply walk away despite being given the prime opportunity to do so.

You can’t ensure that Jisung will walk away from this unscathed, let alone alive. The one thing you can do is make certain that Hyunjin doesn’t win in this situation regardless of whether he finishes his duty or not.

“Let her leave,” Jisung insists as Hyunjin grips hard at one of his shoulders to keep him from straying too far.

“I said Hyunwoo did not wish to see her injured or dead. However—” Hyunjin shifts just enough to tilt his chin and look back in your direction. He smiles with no teeth, a sort of unsettling quirk to the corners of his mouth that leaves you battling that fight or flight instinct. “The doctor was offered a good chunk of money to carry out some other business that he was too cowardly to do. I don’t suffer the same shortcomings, and the more you open that mouth of yours, the more I want to kill two birds with one stone.”

The next second that follows seems to occur in slow motion as Jisung throws his head back against the man holding him hostage. Hyunjin reels with the attack, stumbling back over the dirt-covered rocks, and you take that minute opening as a golden opportunity. Three quick steps over the rocks later, you’re on even ground with both men. Whatever bliss you felt right then as you were fully prepared to launch yourself at Hyunjin fizzles out into nothingness as you stare down the barrel of a gun that’s pointed right at you.

“Anyone fucking moves and she dies,” he hisses, moreso regarding Jisung than you at this moment. “I’ll use every fucking bullet I have on her and throw you off this fucking cliff if I have to.”

Perhaps it is merely the threat of your life hanging in the balance, or the act of self-preservation that strives for safety and peace and security in life, but the dread that fills you leaves you absolutely chilled to the bone.

You aren’t prepared to die here. If nothing else, that much is certain. You have no intention of letting this be the end of the line for you, certainly not for the sake of Jisung’s life. That in and of itself is a cold dousing of reality to wash over you, along with something that fills you with unprovoked disgust at how swift your willingness to toss him aside came. The nature of survival begs for the protection of the self at any cost, but the laws of morals and humanity call for selflessness and sacrifice for the sake of others. Though your company has been with pirates and those below the law for some time now, you’ve never spared a thought as to how that has affected your own moral compass.

Whether it’s selfish or immoral, you will not allow yourself to die here today.

“Did Hyunwoo truly leave this place to go be with his family?”

“Do you doubt my words?”

“I doubt almost every bit of what you’ve said, Starscourge, aside from your greed for money.” The tension in your shoulders does not melt away entirely, but you do manage to stand up straighter even with the threat of a bullet on you. “I find something awfully interesting, something I didn’t realize until just recently. Atticus did not come here with a rifle capable of the shot that was fired on me. Nor was such a weapon stored in the truck that brought us here. Surely you recall that my position in the military was specifically geared towards long-range shooting, that I would know little details that others might ignore. Like how many soldiers were encouraged to seek cybernetics to enhance their abilities, and how many of the shooters I trained under had eyes not too different from your own. It was the military, yes, quite different from your circumstances, but I imagine the usage of those eyes is the same nonetheless.”

Hyunjin’s grip falters, and the gun in his hand lowers its barrel from your head down to your chest. You take it as an opportunity to step forward, hands coming up from your sides as you make a crude show of shrugging your shoulders.

“Perhaps Hyunwoo imagined me to be entirely disillusioned, but I think I finally understand his game here. He asked Jisung to bring me here so that he could pin the blame for what he took part in wholly on him. In order to paint the picture fully, he brought you to fire a bullet into me so that he could frame it on one of Jisung’s men, then you were sent to dispatch that man to diminish Jisung’s resolve as much as possible. Perhaps my captain and crewmates showing up wasn’t part of the plan, but it certainly worked in your favor, did it not? Served to harm Jisung further, to make him entirely complicit to whatever Hyunwoo wanted out of him. You say Hyunwoo wouldn’t want me dead but he has already had you put a bullet in me once. What’s stopping you from firing a better shot? Hyunwoo aimed to have all this mess cleaned up today, and the excuse given for his absence was that he went to retrieve his family. But how is it possible that he would simply leave you to kill Jisung and not bother to see it happen with his own two eyes?”

You draw your hands into fists as you move further up the cliffside, but your gaze doesn’t land on Hyunjin or where Jisung has set himself. You sidestep both men entirely, in fact, with a small huff of an indignant sigh as you take a few more steep steps to reach the flat of the cliffs. The suspicion that nagged at your insides during the climb up here shrivels under the raging heat of the sun above your heads. There’s a breeze that whips at your hair and makes goosebumps rise along your skin, but the sight that awaits you is something far more chilling.

“Of course it’s not possible,” you conclude, eyes coming to rest on the figure that stands so many feet off. “You cannot shoot me in front of him, Starscourge, because his guilt already runs deep enough. Ending my life in front of him on top of that would simply eat him alive.” The figure approaches on quick feet, coming more into view with each hurried step it takes in your direction. His chest heaves by the time he comes into better view, but you already knew who he was even at a distance. You exhale a laugh through your nose. “I swore to my captain that I would not end your life, Hyunwoo. Now I think I understand everything he was trying to show me because now I realize what he pieced together when he arrived here. Maybe he is far more intelligent than I am to have seen right through you, or perhaps he had the benefit of not seeing you through my eyes. Regardless, he pulled off those rose-colored glasses when I refused to do so myself. As a leader should. You’re not too familiar with that concept though, are you?”

“Y/n—”

“I will not end your life, despite it all, but by every god that rests in our universe, I swear to you that I will put a brand on your heart that cuts so deep you will never be able to rest peacefully again without thinking of this day and the misery you caused with your own decisions. You pushed the weight of guilt onto other shoulders, put blood on others’ hands — everything you did was to preserve the holy image of yourself that you knew had been tainted all along.”

His words falter as yours cut in, mouth hanging agape and struggling to find the words that could worm him out of this situation.

“If I’m being truthful, I thought it was all about me when I first began doubting your intentions, and when you wanted to put serum in me once again. That’s quite a bit selfish though, isn’t it? To think that all your actions were solely about me?”

“It was — perhaps not everything, but Y/n, every choice I made was for you. I wouldn’t intentionally put you through any agony, I didn’t want you to be here to witness this!”

“What am I supposed to think when I see how this all played out, Hyunwoo? Do you want to bury the past with Jisung? Because I’m afraid that you would have to hunt down each one of our former team members to fully bury what you’ve done.”

“I have no reason or need to explain my intentions to you now, Y/n.” He starts in your direction, but his gaze lands past your shoulder, to the men standing behind you, and you swivel to stare at the side of his face just before he passes you completely.

“Killing Jisung won’t cure whatever guilt you’re harboring and you know that.” Albeit under different circumstances, you find yourself thinking back to San, to his former Taskmaster, and to the guilt he still holds close to his heart surrounding how everything played out. Time has passed, that much is evident, but you still haven’t released the words he shared with you then. You wouldn’t dare compare the man before you now to the one you adore so dearly, but the parallels are glaring and acting as a mirror in your eyes. “He’s not the source, Hyun. You are.”

The man reels, arms swinging out in a wide sweeping motion so much so that he nearly hits you as he moves.

“Should I throw myself off this cliff for you then, Y/n? Would that make you feel satisfied?” His lips curl into a sneer that’s foreign for his soft features, a shockingly angry expression you aren’t familiar with from the man you thought you knew. “I’m not asking for permission in this matter. If not for that man right there, you would never have learned anything close to the truth and I wouldn’t have had to even consider planting more serum in your system. Blame him if you’re looking for someone to accuse so desperately.”

“I can’t win here, Hyun,” you say, and your voice falls as the admission slips out. “If it comes to a fight, I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I can beat Hyunjin and his cybernetics, let alone the two of you combined when my only ally here is a man who has already lost his will to live. I…” Your gaze moves to the side to where Jisung stands just past Hyunjin’s shoulder. The resolve you just held so strongly slips a little. “I only ask that you do not make me lift one finger to hurt him. Do not make me watch you kill him. Do not stop me from covering my ears or eyes. Let me walk away because I will not die today. If that selfishness comes at the cost of his life, then I have to accept that for what it is. I’ve come to terms with that surprisingly fast, but that doesn’t mean I’ll keep myself from telling you the truth. What’s certain is that you are choosing to take a coward’s way out, just as I am. You’re not some holy saint who is above all morality here. Far from it in my eyes. But at the very least—” you inhale sharply as the band around your wrist vibrates violently, trembling against your skin and pulling your thoughts out of focus for a moment. The sequence comes through slowly and deliberately, and once it reaches the end you can’t contain the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth.

T-minus two min.

“At the very least, Hyunwoo, I will get to leave this planet today knowing that you’re on the same level as I am. I can revel in that for the rest of my life if I wish to, but I wonder if you can do the same when you look your child and her mother in the eye with blood running down the cliffs you wake up to day in and day out?”

You’re not a ghost because you’re good at what you do but rather because you get up and run when you fail.

This time, you fully intend to get up and run as far and fast as you can. If it will count as a red ‘x’ of failure in your ledger, then you suppose you’ll just have to accept that.

“Throw him off, Hyunjin.” Hyunwoo faces you as he utters the order, eyes digging holes into your features, but your focus slips elsewhere as the redhead in question starts to move to follow the command. You jerk into motion yourself as well. Your attempt to sidestep Hyunwoo is met with force, and he grabs at your bicep to yank you back into place. Using the momentum of your body, you shoulder into Hyunwoo’s chest with as much strength as you can muster, only succeeding to knock him off-balance a little bit. That’s enough, however, to free your arm from his borderline painful grip and knock him further away from you. You send yourself in Hyunjin’s direction next, although you might have overestimated your ability to catch him off-guard based on the way his fist careens into your neck the moment you get within reach. The force hits hard enough to make you choke, complete with a stumble that sends you to your knees as you reach to protect your neck from further abuse, and Hyunjin shifts to look down at you.

One hand wrapped around the back of Jisung’s shirt and the other clenched by his side, Hyunjin stands over you with the advantage of both height and cybernetics. You’re too focused on watching Jisung’s face contort with horror to see the boot that is swung at your head.

Surprisingly, that impact hurts far less than the punch to your throat, even with the steel toe of his boot knocking hard against the side of your head. You fall all the way to the ground this time, unable to withstand a strike of that magnitude, and when you glance back up at the man above you, he has his foot lifted over your face to cause further damage.

“Hyunjin!”

The mere sound of Hyunwoo’s voice rising to your defense sends disgust through your system. Still, Hyunjin offers nothing more than a sneer as he pulls his foot back to the ground beside your head, and you’re grateful to keep your face intact for the time being. It comes as no surprise when strong hands wrap tight around your arms again with the intent to drag you back. The edge of the cliff can’t be more than twenty steps away, maybe half that much with Hyunjin’s haste and long legs, but that distance is increased for you as Hyunwoo yanks you against the firm wall of his body. His broadness is his advantage in that moment too, because you can’t stop him from pinning your shoulders back with just the strength of his arms, nor can you fight the hands that reach for your face. He covers your mouth first, stopping the yell in your throat before it can emerge. You aren’t sure what good shouting would do anyway — not when you’ve already been properly isolated like this and Hyunjin has murder on his mind. You don’t see them reach the edge of the cliff either; Hyunwoo slides his other hand over your eyes to act as a barrier as he keeps you confined in his overbearing grip on the pale dirt of the clifftop.

“Boss…”

“Do it now, fuckwad!” Hyunwoo’s breath is hot against your ear. If you could recoil away from it, you would, but he yanks you closer the moment you start thrashing. “I’m doing what you wanted. Covering your eyes, keeping you from seeing this, protecting you from the trauma. If you want, Y/n, I can take it all away after this. I can fix this.”

The grip against your cheekbones hurts desperately, but you fight through it just to clamp your teeth around Hyunwoo’s finger. You bite hard enough to break skin, enough to make blood touch your tongue and sour your taste, but it doesn’t do anything to free you from the prison that is Hyunwoo’s grip on you. He jerks his hand away just to bury it in your hair, blunt nails scraping hard over your scalp and leaving scratches in their wake, and a sharp cry of pain tumbles out of you when he yanks so hard that you feel hair rip right out of your head.

“You don’t want to fix this! You want me to forget this!” you shout, still writhing against his arms. It feels entirely helpless, a strength you simply don’t possess required of you to free you from this predicament.

“You don’t have to remember this!”

“Making me forget won’t change what you’ve done, Hyun! You aren’t some holy deity—” you slam your head back with all the force you can muster to no avail “—this isn’t your right. This — this isn’t…” Your voice dies in your throat. A gunshot resounds loud and clear. Hyunwoo drops the hand over your eyes. Across the rocks and dirt, Jisung stares right at you, Hyunjin’s hand still curled into the fabric of his shirt as he gets dragged closer to the cliff. His hands don’t fight against the tug of his neckline digging into his throat any longer, but rather reach down to clutch his knee. You can see the red from where you’re slouched on the rocks.

Both of Hyunjin’s pistols remain pressed into their holsters against his thighs, and Hyunwoo’s hands are fully occupied with keeping you in place. The bounty hunter pauses too, clearly just as confused as the rest of you about where that shot just came from. Movement flickers on your right over close to where you initially climbed up. You get an eyeful of brown flashing in front of you before your eyes finally bring the sight before you into full focus. Whatever relief you hoped to feel at seeing Hongjoong up here with you snuffs out like an extinguished flame because all though he looks right at you, the gun in his hand has its barrel set right on where Jisung is propped against Hyunjin’s body. The feeling is something close to a betrayal.

“Now that I have everyone’s attention, how about we have a fucking civilized discussion?” He lowers the gun to his side and extends his unoccupied hand in your direction. “Give me what’s mine first.”

“What the fuck did you do?” Hyunwoo hisses against your ear. You grimace as he tugs your head further to the side. “How the hell did you tell him where you were?”

“Let her go immediately, you dog, or I’ll put a bullet in your head too.”

Your scowl deepens and you fight to shake your head.

“You want her? You really want her that fucking bad?!” Hyunwoo laughs so hard he spits against the side of your face. It comes with some relief at least as he eases up on the iron-tight grip he has on your hair. “Let’s see how well you can fly, little birdy.”

“Shoot Hyunjin!”

Hongjoong’s aim flies up to land on Hyunwoo rather than the man you’ve just shouted for him to target, but you fall into the line of fire as Hyunwoo yanks you up like you’re nothing more than a meat shield.

“Take that risk, captain, see how it pans out for you.”

Scrambling for some sort of footing that will give you something less painful than a dragging burn across the backs of your legs, you kick at the ground with all your might. Hyunwoo’s strength advantage prevents you from defending yourself at all. The thought to kill him is very much alive and present, but you aren’t even positive that you could turn your body enough to get a good grip on his chest to begin with.

“We can see which deadweight hits the bottom first though if you’d rather.” Hyunwoo lets you push yourself up on trembling legs long enough to yank your head back with enough force to make your neck pop in ways it shouldn’t. You see it then, the burning rage flickering to life in Hongjoong’s eyes and the way it bleeds to all of his features until it seems to envelop him in a thick fog of absolutely murderous intent. His shoulders lose tension in the same moment and fall back into a straight line despite how he hones his gun onto a new target.

You feel the bullet before you hear the gun fire. The whizz in your ear, the lightning-quick speed of it as it travels past your face with so much speed that you don’t realize where it’s impacted until the grip on your body goes slack. It lingers just enough to hold onto you a moment longer, to pull you back and you’re in such a catatonic state of shock that you nearly don’t catch yourself from going down too. Reality catches up a split second later when your heel slips off the steep edge of the cliff, and you launch yourself forward.

Your left ear is ringing horribly.

There’s a shout, one full of pure venom, and your vision spins as you fight to find the source. Red blurs in your peripheral. You turn just in time to see Jisung teeter at the edge. Your body moves before your brain can process anything that is transpiring around you. All you know is that your next step has you jolting towards Jisung as he slides off the cliffside like it’s happening in slow motion. Your hands catch his before he goes over the edge fully, but there’s not enough strength to keep his body from fighting the weight of gravity. His weight forces you to slide across the slick dirt, closer to a doom that sends you to your death right there with him. You have no choice but to release one of his hands to keep you both afloat, and by the grace of whatever gods are out there, he has the mind to grab for the sharp edge of the cliff before he falls any further.

Something warm trickles down the left side of your face, following the line of your jaw to pool at your chin. When it falls, it falls in crimson and blooms on Jisung’s cheek.

“Jisung, Jisung, oh my god, Jisung.” The sound of your voice in your own perception can only be compared to a speaker trying to play music through water — distorted and muffled to near incoherence — and your ear is still ringing. There’s some sort of commotion going on behind you, one that you cannot see because you don’t dare to take your eyes off Jisung out of fear that he’ll slip through your fingers if you do.

“Let me go, Y/n.”

“Stop, stop, stop it!” Moisture is pooling in your eyes now too, threatening to drip down to join the blood that paints Jisung’s face. “Everything I just sacrificed for you, and you want to die? You aren’t allowed to die!”

“What happens if you don’t let me go, little lady?”

“I save you! Just once, let me save you.”

“You said you didn’t want to. That I wasn’t worth it.”

“I can’t give you redemption, that’s what I meant! But I can save you.” Your voice shatters, and tears start to fall. In some way, it looks like rain on Jisung’s skin. Your arm aches and burns for relief so much so that you throw your legs out behind you and lie fully prone at the edge before bringing your other hand to clasp around the one you’re using to hold the man up. “Please, please, I can do this, just this.”

“You can’t.”

You don’t hear those words fall from his lips, just see the motions of his lips as he whispers them to you, but that ringing blocks out the sound.

“Let me go. Please.”

A cry tears from your lips.

“Y/n, can you hear me? Y/n!” The voice comes from your right, closer than you expect it to be, but Hongjoong further announces his presence by laying a hand over the small of your back.

“Please, p-please don’t let me drop him.” Hongjoong’s fingers curl into a fist against your back. You don’t know what look is exchanged between the two men; all you know is that something is shared between the two of them in that moment as you’re clutching desperately to keep Jisung with you.

“Y/n…” You can hear Hongjoong better on your right side, even through the faintness in his tone.

“Please,” you choke out as you dip your chin down and squeeze your eyes shut as hard as possible.

It comes in that moment, with Hongjoong’s hand sliding up to grip your left shoulder and as you clasp your hands tighter around Jisung’s like it will save him. A wave of emotion sweeps over you, along with a realization about what’s just transpired. Your eyes snap open, you jerk to look to the side, and what you find there is—

Nothing.

No one stands there, no remnants or proof of anyone aside from some scuffs in the dirt from where you scrambled to keep yourself alive. Hyunwoo certainly doesn’t stand there. The crack of the gun, the whizz of the bullet: they both catch up to you with a dawning horror that Hyunwoo has tipped over the edge of the cliff. It makes your brain short-circuit a little, fries your neurons, and makes your thoughts go haywire. And when that settles in, your body gives up on itself. Your fingers are cold and shaky as Jisung slips through them. Your vision, red.

Jisung slips through your fingers just like that, and no matter how hard you try to reach for him, it’s as though your fingers are made of air, incapable of grasping his as gravity takes over.

Hongjoong moves faster than you could ever hope to, using the grip he has on your shoulder to yank you back and away from the edge with breakneck haste. He’s only assisted by your body’s natural response to curl in on itself as you tumble across the rocks. You scramble to put more distance between yourself and the cliffside, sobs coming out in pants, and you finally come to a stop on your hands and knees a few feet from that edge.

There, in that spot along the cliffside with an endless stretch of empty air between you and the ground, you sit with knees pressed into the dirt so roughly that it burns a bit. And at your side — your captain, the Scourge of the Black Sea who just reared the cruelest weapon he has in his repertoire: his will to make a choice, be it good or evil, just or immoral. You can’t claim to know how the scales tip in matters like this.

What you do know is that there is a long trail of bodies following you on this planet, and with that comes the burden of those losses that now rests upon your shoulders.

Chest heaving, you lift your chin to glance over at where Hongjoong kneels on the ground. He isn’t in much better shape, if you’re speaking honestly, because he too is struggling to catch his breath and has sweat dripping from his hairline down to his brow as the exertion of what he just pulled off catches up to him.

Adrenaline is melting away with shocking haste. As it goes, so comes reality in its wake, but you aren’t certain you are ready to face all of it.

Hongjoong wets his lips before huffing out a deep exhale. His sharp gaze searches to make eye contact seconds later, and you’re caught staring.

“You have got to stop putting us through life or death situations like this. I’m not as young as I once was.”

In a strange twist of irony, it’s awfully difficult for you to voice your gratitude to the man. For someone who just held so much power over you in the palm of his hand, he’s acting rather nonchalant about the whole situation. For someone who claims not to care one bit about you beyond a key to his unknown treasure, he seems to be at odds with that in his own mind. That conflict is evident enough in his eyes, yet there’s something so slightly reserved in the way he glances over at you out the corner of his eye. Your chest aches for a different reason entirely, heart still thumping away at a pace that might send you to an early grave, but even if that pain wasn’t present you would still label the emotion he’s conveying the same way.

However odd it may be, Kim Hongjoong feels sorry for you in that moment.

He pushes up off the dirt, palms hitting the rough ground with enough force to make you think he’s hurt himself. You wince as you watch him but that concern turns to confusion in the blink of an eye. He moves closer to where you’re still knelt on the rocks then drops to his knees once more right in front of you with the same kind of self-inflicted brutality. When he brings his hands down on your shoulders, it’s nothing but a gentle sort of impact compared to what he’s just done to himself.

“Hear me when I say this, Y/n.” At the very least his grip on you is keeping you from doing something potentially detrimental, keeping you from looking down over the edge of the cliff and staring down at the barely visible ground below to see if there’s anything left there. And if there isn’t, then maybe you’d feel a need to send yourself down alongside him. Nothing about it seems fair to you — in all the ways you thought of this exact outcome, this situation was so incredibly out of your mind that you aren’t sure you would’ve been able to conjure it up even in your worst nightmares. “I will bury him.”

The thought of there even being a body that needs to be buried sinks the icy knife of reality through your chest. Your face contorts as you fight back the tears that keep springing into your eyes. Hongjoong’s grip turns desperate.

“I’ll bury him for you. You won’t have to do a thing. Leave it all to me, I will see it done. The way he wished, I will grant him that rest.” It remains unspoken, but another promise lingers between the two of you. Tears hit your cheeks, and you force yourself to look away from the captain.

In reality, there are no words for your gratitude. Just for once, there’s this split-second moment of recognition in each other that puts you on a level playing field. All this time, you imagined you had different goals and ambitions, a certain alignment of morals but nothing further than that and absolutely not a total overlap. You’ll be content even if this is the only offer of humanity he grants you to see.

There is no room for remorse in this line of work, nor is there time to debate what your morals look like when you’ve got the ledger you have. And yet —

And yet, your captain is granting you both of those things along with the not-quite verbal allowance to grieve.

I will grant you that rest as well.

…

Part of you expected the faces that would be waiting on the other side of the door when you got back, Wooyoung’s hand looped around your waist to keep you steady on your wobbly legs that have been used to their limit today, but the innate relief that flows through you at the sight of Jongho there makes your chest ache and burn. You push yourself towards him with so much force that it surprises even the Berserker, nearly making him tumble before he catches both you and himself. The hug is instinctual and reciprocated though, and you fold your arms about his neck and tug him as close as you can manage without crushing either one of you.

“San is in his ro—”

“I missed you too, Jongho,” you interject, voice soft and kept barely above a whisper as the comfort of his touch spreads further through your system. “I missed you desperately.”

You can feel the way he swallows against your shoulder, how his fingers seem to dig a little deeper into your clothes, and the shaky exhale he lets out betrays how he’s feeling as well. If you close your eyes, you still see the horrors of what all happened today on the backs of your eyelids. The blood has been cleaned away from your face thanks to Wooyoung’s gentle and caring hands that took both tears and blood off you while Minho doctored the worst of your wounds. There’s a hole in your ear now, on the outer part of the shell that isn’t anything close to a piercing hole. Rather it’s a half-circle chunk right out of the cartilage, bandaged awkwardly but just enough to contain the bleeding. It came with a round wad of gauze stuffed into your ear canal to keep the blood from dripping in deeper, but also to protect your now ruptured eardrum that accompanies the wound.

In hindsight, the whole scene was terribly… awkward, for lack of a better word, because no one dared to say a word between the three of you aside from Minho’s quiet instructions on how to tilt your head. No words were shared about what was happening just outside the cottage, nothing about what Hongjoong and Yeosang were doing, or how Nightingale and Seonghwa both arrived the moment Hongjoong brought you down from the cliffside because apparently, Hongjoong had called for backup the moment you sent the SOS signal. And, as it turns out, it isn’t hard to convince a man who just lost the last figure tethering him to his captivity that he’s free. It doesn’t mean that stepping onto the ship with Minho in tow felt any less unreal, however.

Bodies move around you, Hongjoong peels off in the direction of the bridge with Seonghwa and Nightingale in tow. Wooyoung appears on the other side of your peripherals.

“Come now,” Wooyoung murmurs, hand outstretched to Yeosang, but his gaze doesn’t pull up from the floor. Yeosang seems to calculate his options in real-time right then as his eyes flick from the offending hand to the man who won’t look him in the eye. His decision, however, comes quickly. Without a word, he slips a hand over Wooyoung’s palm and lets the man grasp him with a tight squeeze. You swallow the growing lump in your throat as you watch them walk away and down the hall, moving off to the living quarters without looking back once.

“Don’t think any of us realized how much we’ve grown to care about you until you disappeared.” Jongho hesitates to clear his throat as quietly as he can manage. “Also don’t think we can handle losing any crew members from this point onwards. Thank you for coming back.”

“Let’s shackle me to the bed this time around so there’s no chance of me leaving again, yeah?” The joke isn’t spoken with humor at all; your tone is far too hollow for that but Jongho does not offer a comment on that at least. He has to know something: he knew enough to be waiting here at the door.

Jongho’s laugh rumbles through your body, and it fills you with a much-needed warmth that you know can’t be replaced.

“I’ll even get better at cooking eggs just the way you like so you have more incentive to stay put.”

You don’t say anything in response, and yet Jongho doesn’t let you go even in spite of that. He doesn’t try to take anything from you either. You can’t know whether there is a particular reason for that, but it does feel like a silent show of respect, to let you feel your grief at its fullest as it’s meant to be felt.

“We’re here for you, Y/n.” For some reason, those words only make you want to cry.

“I know you are.” A bitter thought creeps up on you before you can stop it. Perhaps Soojin ought to get the hell off this ship before you get her killed too if that’s the trajectory you’re headed in with this recent track record of yours. You push your head further into Jongho’s shoulder to dispel the thought. “Please stay with me.”

“Of course.”

When you pull back, he doesn’t let you go for long, hand reaching out to wrap around one of your shaking ones and squeezing tight.

A million thoughts race through your brain, Jongho’s palm is warm against yours still but he’s patient with you as you fight to figure out something as simple as what to do. You don’t want to address the reason why right now but you don’t want to face San right this instant. It feels too close to home (too close to Echidna, that is) and maybe seeing a reflection of San manifested in Hyunwoo (who is now dead as well) is too much for you to bear today.

What you can muster the courage to do is well and truly express your gratitude to Hongjoong, despite the horror of one of the choices he made. Even with your inhibitions, you know he saved your life. You know he risked his to do that. And through the pain, you also know he did what he had to do to ensure your safety.

Slowly, you squeeze your fingers around Jongho’s hand.

“I’m gonna go up to the bridge,” you whisper, gaze flicking from his red ones to the walls several times before finally settling. Minho glances at you from near the airlock. His face is grossly solemn. You wonder if he too will mourn his losses.

“Go on ahead.” Jongho lets go of your hand, almost nudging you onwards as he does, then he shifts to face the doctor who is currently trying to make himself invisible against the wall. “I understand you’ll be joining us? My name is Jongho. I can show you around if you’d like, maybe get you somewhere more comfortable too?”

Minho clears his throat but doesn’t say anything. He offers nothing more than a nod and follows Jongho’s hand motions to be led the opposite way.

You try not to make much noise as you approach the bridge. Voices — well, Hongjoong‘s — can be heard from inside before you even get close, but you still try to make yourself as insignificant as possible as you prop yourself against the wall of the archway and peer inside to find a scene of Hongjoong standing in front of both Seonghwa and Nightingale.

“We collected the bodies… I put the Starscourge over the edge as well. Yeosang buried Hy—them… both… there, near the house, with my help. He took care of the other body too, wrapped it, and put it in the truck. I brought Y/n down from the cliffs after that was done. You know the rest. Jongho is bringing the body aboard; we’ll put him safely in cargo and make an immediate trip to Kebos.” You don’t question how Hongjoong knows of that to begin with: perhaps he was allowed that information when speaking with Jisung one of those days, but you don’t stop to think about it further because all it does is bring an image of face stained with your blood to mind.

“All these pit stops, huh? You sure she’s the one trying to save you here, Captain? Because it looks an awful lot like that’s what you’re trying to do to her instead.”

“Nightingale.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” The man relents, hands thrown up in the air by his head, and he slips away from Seonghwa’s side to leave the bridge entirely. If he’s shocked to see you lingering, he doesn’t make that known at all; in fact, he barely acknowledges you as he passes you, huffing out a laugh through his teeth when he goes.

“What of his family?” you ask, but you can’t bring yourself to say the name of the man on your mind. Seonghwa, as clueless as he no doubt is right now, has the decency to not ask questions. His gaze bores holes into you, however, and you don’t doubt that Hongjoong has already shared more of the gruesome details about what happened with him.

“It was you or him, Y/n, forgive me for the choice I made.”

“Who could have imagined? The Scourge of the Black Sea feeling guilty about the choices he made.”

You once again find yourself privy to a conversation hardly meant for your ears, though this time the tension hanging about feels so much more palpable. Lingering by the doorway, you silently wonder if you should excuse yourself early, spare yourself the trouble and the stress, and leave your gratitude as it is — an already difficult pill to swallow that won’t be made any easier by laying it at your captain’s feet.

“Did I leave you alone for that long, dear? Have you already grown bitter in my brief absence?” It’s a low blow, you can understand that much just from the scoff that falls from the other man’s lips seconds later, but Hongjoong’s tone is so sharply conniving on top of it that you’re certain anyone could gather that much.

“I hope it was well worth it this time, Hongjoong, because I fear even the Devil himself would see you as too evil to walk through his doors.”

“And I’m certain you would adore living to see that day, my dearest Lieutenant. You’d be sat right inside the foyer waiting to see it happen.”

They don’t face each other directly; if they did, you aren’t sure things would be as civil as they are now (a debatable concept, at that). You don’t have the foresight or understanding that both Yunho and Minho share as doctors, although you can only assume that the conversation would be a much more physical (whether with fists or a battle of stroking egos by taking a tumble in the sheets) if they were to be nose-to-nose with this tension surrounding them. Instead, they stand perfectly adjacent to each other, both facing opposite directions as Seonghwa is aimed to take steps in your direction and out the door while Hongjoong himself seeks to go further towards where his door resides. There’s but a fraction of air between their shoulders, Seonghwa’s standing a few inches taller than his captain’s with both of them in flat shoes for once, but that difference in height does nothing to deter the aura rolling off of Hongjoong in waves.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen them at odds — you don’t dissuade yourself into believing it will be the last either — however it is by far the most impactful you’ve witnessed to date.

“I never claimed guilt. Not towards anything I’ve done. If I felt guilty, I would turn myself over to the men who lose sleep over my existence in this pitiful universe.” Hongjoong takes two steps forward, fully prepared to leave Seonghwa behind him entirely even with the older man’s head twisting to track the movements.

“Then what of me? What of my guilt?”

“Do you wish for me to bear it on my shoulders so you can sleep comfortably at the Devil’s side?”

Seonghwa responds with silence, an answer in and of itself.

“You get to carry that weight yourself, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong hisses through his teeth, scathing in both expression and tone as he hurls the words back at his second-in-command, “because you turn your back every single time there is an opportunity for you to do the proposed morally just thing to do. I will carry every burden you have every second of my life if you ask me to do so, but guilt?” The word sounds like an incredulous profanity on his tongue. “Push that onto me and you won’t get to see the downfall you long for so dearly.”

“As you wish, Captain.” Seonghwa’s voice comes out so faintly you can hardly hear it from where you lean against the archway across the bridge. It does not take much to realize there is more he wishes to say, more that remains unsaid, and words that probably will never reach Hongjoong’s ears in this lifetime or the next. Instead, the Siren inhales for four seconds then holds it there for almost double that, and when he exhales, he does so through parted lips for twice as long. Whatever he is feeling in this moment is withheld from you, no doubt intentionally. ”I’ll be relieving myself of my duties for the rest of the day.”

“See to it.”

Seonghwa’s exit is a hasty one, one that comes with a whoosh of air as he sweeps past you on his way out without so much as stopping to glance in your direction. You would almost feel invisible if not for the brief yet tender graze of his hand over your forearm; the soft fingers that brush over your wrist and linger for nothing longer than a second.

It takes every ounce of your willpower to not wince or double over once he crosses the threshold of the archway, what must serve as his metaphorical line to be crossed as he no longer holds back on letting you feel every bit of the emotions coursing through his system right now. You would almost rather have witnessed a fight breaking out, for Seonghwa to break skin and shed blood rather than have to walk away nursing a deep wound to both his pride and the love he feels so deeply for his captain.

When you pull your gaze up to stare across the room finally, it’s only to find Hongjoong staring directly back at you with an indiscernible expression tugging at his features. You clear your throat as a subconscious reaction to dispel the awkwardness that has been left in Seonghwa’s wake. Hongjoong opts not to speak either, however, and that serves to push things further into the realm of discomfort. Although it remains unspoken, a question hangs in the air of whether you intend to stay or leave in a similar fashion to the man who just took a hasty departure from the bridge.

It, in hindsight, is not at all a tough decision to make for you. Of the two choices laid out before you, one is decidedly better while the other is worse, and it would take an absolute fool who knows nothing about you to be confused about which is which in this situation. You think back, albeit briefly, to the words you shared with Hyunwoo on the cliffside, the ones about your fears and cowardice. Yet, what you see before you is a trap, one carefully set by a vulnerable yet volatile man who could easily turn the situation into one that is advantageous to him permanently and you briefly. You imagine he has been in this position before — one where he can take as he pleases without thinking of the consequences of his actions — and where you stand, in a vulnerable spot yourself, you feel that tug to be near someone on equal footing. Wonder persists in your mind as you question where that is how Yunho initially fell into bed with him some time ago, or even further back to the first time Seonghwa was with him.

You cannot pinpoint which choice lends you towards cowardice. Turning slowly at the mouth of the entry to the bridge, you drag your gaze off Hongjoong’s, and as you do the slight pleading in his gaze burns away into ash. If he has realized that you’ve caught onto his game, then you’re none the wiser.

It’s a grossly easy decision you make as you turn and follow after Seonghwa down the hall, leaving Hongjoong to stew alone on the bridge.

✧✧✧ a/n: can u believe this isn’t even the end of the act. LFKJSLK okay but real talk for all the girls thems and hims! hello. hi. im so sorry for the immense wait for this one. i was fighting for my life through the action scenes i WILL NOT LIE. i struggled HARD. i had all the puzzle pieces but was just smashing them together like PLEASE. DO SOMETHING. and then... something cliqued! there will be an interim posted soon! stay tuned for that! then we’ll get into the last chapter of the act!

as always, please share your thoughts! scream, yell, cry, say anything and everything however you like (don’t be mean to me tho LDKJFLS) i know this one is a heavy one in terms of content so there is MUCH TO DISCUSS. kisses for everyone i love u all thank u for the continued support and patience im. so dearly grateful. 

Mists of Celeste is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#mists of celeste #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #yunho x reader #ateez fanfic #caly.writes

[hongism]

your tempo is... (harmony) :: masterlist

» c.san x fem!reader, j.wooyoung x fem!reader » smut, 18+ » language, explicit smut, kink exploration: anal » warnings; to come » wc; tba » summary;       even after going strong for six years in your relationship with one jung wooyoung, you still aren’t sure you could anticipate what borderline insane ideas he might suggest on a whim. moreover, you can’t say that you expect him to be as serious about those ideas as he is.

release dates tba

your tempo is... adagio

» wc; tba » release date;

your tempo is... andante

» wc; tba » release date;

your tempo is... moderato

» wc; tba » release date;

your tempo is... allegro

» wc; tba » release date;

this work belongs to calypso / hongism (2022). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

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