She Doesnt Match My Freak Yall

she doesn’t match my freak y’all 😔

The last few lines of this chapter literally wrenched a sob from me i’m not even going to lie. Like May I genuinely cried I’m not kidding.

“I would crawl my way out of my own grave just to get back to you.”

When he said “the sea may rise and the sky may fall and they can try to take me away from you but I will always come back to you and I will always love you”…

I’m so devestated. This story is gut-wrenching and beautiful and complex and OH MY GOD I can’t believe I just cried from reading I haven’t done that in so long but it was just so beautifully crafted that I couldn’t help myself. I can’t believe it’s done.

🌊 ೃ‧₊◜ sea may rise, sky may fall chapter XI

pairing: lee know x f!reader x han jisung

summary: minho is alive and someone finally gets retribution. it's the start of the rest of their lives

word count: 19k

warnings: violence, blood, evil guy death; drinking; mentions of anxiety and cptsd symptoms (they went through it, okay?); some (unprotected) smut! a happy end <3 yay!

author's note: by all laws of storytelling this chapter is too long, but I could not care less. I wanted some gratuitous sweetness after all the pain. also I thought about splitting this up into another chapter but I figured I tortured you with enough cliffhangers akshdhas so enjoy!! the last official chapter before our epilogue <3 thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. thank you to everyone who commented, who messaged me, who took the time to read <3 thank you for loving my baby <3 it means the world

this series is 🔞, so minors, please DNI

series masterlist // skzms masterlist

< chapter X - interlude (& epilogue coming friday, may 24 at 3pm CET) >

You meet Felix’s eyes as Changbin shoves him behind him, out of harms way, and there’s nothing but sunshine; tears of joy and a brilliant, blinding smile. He nods at you, as if to say this is exactly what I meant, and you have to fight back a sob.

The thought of everyone else having seen you, what they will think, after all these years, Minho, and your secret barely a secret at all – this and the realisation that Jisung said Minho is alive, the feeling of your whole life spinning out of control, it will have to wait. Because Han Yujun is in there, and there are more guards now. Way more. Ten of them against the maybe eight of you. And these ones look more serious, less like young men with no experience to speak of.

Chan’s eyes are locked onto them already, rolling his shoulders as he readies himself for the fight. Hyunjin has found Jisung’s other side as he cocks his gun, squeezes his arm with a smile, mouthing something to him that looks like a thank god you’re okay.

The first guy approaches and Hyunjin lifts his gun, shoots him point-blank. He sinks to the floor right in front of the next one, that Jisung takes care of just as quickly, swiping at his legs and driving his cutlass into his chest when he crumples to the floor. One goes down from the force of your elbow alone, another falls victim to Felix’s blade, who squeals and turns to Changbin excitedly when he realises he got one. Changbin doesn’t look proud at all, he’s white as a sheet as he tugs Felix back behind him.

Hyunjin strikes another one down with a practised hand and a toss of his hair and his companion drops his weapon, lifts his hands and hightails it down the path toward the gate. Hyunjin watches him, perplexed, then turns to you and raises an eyebrow in question. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. You shake your head.

“Let him go, he’s not worth it. He’ll probably get intercepted by the captain’s men anyway.”

Chan deals with the next two at once, a cutlass in one hand, his short knife in the other. His knife into the one’s throat, his cutlass into the chest of the other. He wipes the bloody blade on his pants as he scoffs.

“If we’d known his men were this shit, we could’ve done this ages ago.”

The last three fall equally easily, and you don’t wait for more to come, push forward until you find yourself in the cool, marble foyer. In here, it’s so quiet it’s almost eery, the noise of fighting only a dull din from somewhere seemingly far away. The house seems mostly abandoned. Though you have a feeling Han Yujun is still here, holed up somewhere, clutching onto hope and all his money that he’ll somehow make it out of this alive. But you know better. You take a second to survey the scene. A hallway to your right, a sitting room with more doors to your left, a stairway right in front of you.

“His office is upstairs,” Jisung offers next to you. You look at him with a question in your eyes, and he nods.

“Changbin, take Felix and check the left wing,” you order, “Hyunjin, Chan, take the right. Someone else check the basement, and as many of you as possible find all the exits and guard them. Han Yujun can’t escape us today. Jisung and I will check upstairs.”

Changbin takes Felix’s hand, mumbles something to him about staying behind him, before he makes his way down the hallway. Hyunjin salutes you quietly, and he and Chan enter the sitting room with their weapons drawn. Two of your crew stay by the front door, the rest of the group disperses.

You look at Jisung, meet his gaze where it’s already locked onto yours. It makes sweet adrenaline rush through your veins. You motion for him to follow you upstairs and hurry up the stairwell, taking two steps at a time.

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight again, you’re dead wrong,” you mumble, and he chuckles behind you, bright and airy and happy, and it makes you stop at the top of the stairs, turn around in shock. Something heavy squeezes your chest because, of course, Minho isn’t there, but it’s soothed over by Jisung’s beautiful, radiant smile. And there is hope. You can’t help but feel it, despite it all.

“Don’t ever let me out of your sight again, please,” Jisung chirps, hurries up to meet you, wraps his muscular arms around your waist and pulls you in, “I’m way too in love with you for that.”

Butterflies, in your stomach, so many that you can barely breathe – in the middle of the biggest fight of your entire life, on the day you started thinking everyone you loved was dead, when you were prepared for this day to be your last. Jisung giggles sweetly, pulls you closer against his strong chest, presses wet hot lips in the shape of a smile against the side of your neck. He’s the most magical, most insane, most lovable person you’ve ever met, and you realise now that you’ll never be the same again.

A guard spots you, then, yells, comes barreling down the hallway. Jisung doesn’t hesitate. He unfolds himself from you casually, parries two of his opponent’s attacks before he sinks his cutlass into him, and he slumps to the ground.

“Where were we?” he asks, giddily, eyes sparkling with mischief as he stalks up to you, crowds you against the wall until his breath is on your face.

“Jisung, we can’t be messing around. Not today,” you breathe, though your eyes are glued to his lips, no doubt betraying every ounce of your blind, desperate want. Damn him.

“There’s no way we aren’t winning today, captain,” he purrs, smiles again, brushes his lips against yours in a breath of a kiss, “there’s nowhere for him to run. So let’s have some fun.”

And you’re about to give in, let him kiss you breathless in your arch enemy’s house, but fate has a different plan. Five more of Han Yujun’s men come barrelling down the hallway and this time, much to your chagrin, you have to fight in earnest. One of them catches your arm, adds a second cut to the one already there, and it drives tears into your eyes. But you don’t stop, wave away Jisung’s concerned look, focus on fighting your way down the hallway and manage to kill the last one right before it forks.

Your breath is coming out in short bursts as you gather your bearings. Your arm aches, your lungs burn. You have the choice now, between left and right. Right leads you down a hallway with few doors, at the end of which there’s an open glass door that leads out to a French balcony that’s facing out into the garden, curtains billowing in the wind. The other direction leads deeper into the house, culminating in two heavy oak doors, very similar to the ones in Trott’s house.

“That’s his office,” Jisung comments with a nod towards the ominous doors. You nod and realise that this is really it. You wonder if you’ll still be able to do what needs to be done when it comes down to it, now that Jisung is alive. But you have to. For them.

You look at Jisung, give him a tense smile.

“Shall we?”

Jisung smiles, then his face pulls into the pout of determination you know and love so well. He extends his hand, takes yours, and you make your way down the hallway.

Suddenly, a thump sounds behind you, then a curse and a voice that you would recognise anywhere, anytime.

“Sung–“

The call of Jisung’s name is cut off. Your heart stops, and for a painful second, you wonder if it will give out.

You’re frozen where you are, unable to turn around. You can’t face it, you can’t be wrong. You wouldn’t survive it. You’re distantly aware of Jisung’s worried eyes on you, his gaze flicking between you and …

“Y/N?” Minho says, and there’s no longer any doubt in your mind.

You turn around slowly, your ears ringing as you let your eyes drag over the carpet and up and up, until you see him.

Minho. It’s undoubtedly him. Breathing. Shaky. Alive. His old, brown leather boots with the big silver buckle. Strong thighs in his black pants. A white v-neck shirt you don’t recognise exposing his flushed, heaving chest. Blood on his sleeves, hair swept back like he was in a hurry.

You suck in a breath. One of his eyes is covered with a black eyepatch. But the other one looks at you, the same way he always did. Does.

Your shaky legs move towards him. He doesn’t approach you, just stares, his eyebrows lifted in an expression that is almost helpless.

You stop a cautious few feet in front of him, like getting any closer would shatter the mirage. But you can see the little birthmark on his nose, smell the unmistakable smell of him, can almost feel him on your skin. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage like it’s trying to escape.

“You’re alive,” you mutter, blink, eyes roving all over his face.

He nods, helplessly, his eyes, his eye glued to yours. So soft. So scared.

“T-the gunshot,” you breathe, but your voice gives out. A tremor wracks through your body, and you see Minho’s hand twitch to reach out, before he drops it again.

“They shot into the sky. They wanted you to think I was dead.”

You let out something between a laugh and a sob, though there are no tears. You feel wrung dry, empty, soulless. Minho shivers. His hand reaches out, again and this time, he doesn’t pull back. He runs a fingertip over the sleeve of your coat. Doesn’t look at you when he forces out his next words.

“I heard you scream.”

You blink, watch his eyebrow twitch, his mouth pulls into a grimace of pain. It’s too much, it’s unbearable. The memory of it, the knowledge of it, the thought of him dead, the weight of every single minute of the last weeks. Now, the fact that he’s here. A flesh and blood reminder of all you thought you lost. It’s too much, it’s too–

“What happened to your eye?” you ask, your voice only a ghost of itself. Minho lifts his head until his gaze finds yours again and punches a breath clean out of you with how much love it holds. Though this time, there’s no more kraken that roars, riots, threatens to burst out of your skin. There’s only honeysuckle sweetness and a longing that you don’t know how you managed to keep locked away for so long.

“The guy got me just right, I think his ring cut my retina,” he shrugs, “pretty sure it’s fucked. But I’ve gotten used to it already, doesn’t hu-”

“I love you.”

You breathe the words into the space between you, and Minho reels back like he has been punched straight in the chest. His next breath comes out in a stutter. He’s so beautiful.

“I’ve always loved you, I think,” it tumbles out of you, unable to stop now that you’ve finally said it.

“Y/N …” Minho chokes out. He takes a step forward, cups your face. His hands are shaking. He’s looking at you, staring into your eyes like he’s searching for something, like he doesn’t quite believe your words. You feel half crazed.

“I do, Min,” you choke out, “I do, I love you. I love you so much. I–“

When he leans in, he doesn’t even have to pull you because you meet him halfway. His lips find yours, trembling as he kisses you so desperately, you gasp into his mouth. Your tongue is heavy with emotion when it tangles with his, kissing him like you’re tasting him for the first time. He pulls back only enough to stare down at you, his trembling breath against your lips.

“I love you, too, baby, oh god, I love you so much,” he forces out the words like they hurt. He looks so disbelieving, so sure yet so unsure, like he doesn’t know how he has found his way here, and you don’t know what to do because he’s alive and breathing and you get another chance, another chance to make it right, another chance you don’t fucking deserve.

You pull him back into your lips and, of course, he matches you perfectly, swallows your desperate whine when you shove him backwards, crowd him against the wall. He takes it, pulls you even closer, buries his hand in your hair, then flips you, so your back is against the wall, tilts your head, kisses you deeper. It’s you and him, it’s just like every other time, except it’s not – because you can finally feel and your poor, broken heart beats to the tune of he’s here, he’s alive, he’s here, he’s alive.

He pulls back when there is no more air, pants against your lips, makes a tortured little sound in the back of his throat as his fingers curl around your neck, dig into the soft skin. He’s blinking rapidly, his mouth open like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out, only a disbelieving huff.

Someone yells outside, there’s a gunshot, then another. The sounds rip through the atmosphere around you and Minho and shatter it like glass, a brutal reminder of where you are, what you have yet to do.

You close your eyes again, just for a moment, basking in the way Minho’s breath fans over your lips, breathing it in greedily. But you can’t help but feel like there’s something missing. Some_one_ missing.

You blink your eyes open and find Jisung where you left him. He’s staring at you, and he looks awed, but he also looks so, so sad, his arms wrapped around himself almost protectively.

“I can leave if you want,” he croaks out, the sound of it tinny and brittle in the big, empty hallway. He takes an uneven step back, closer to the hallway that leads back to the stairs, like he’s ready to run.

Minho sighs softly, leans against you, his thumb softly running up the side of your neck. You don’t need to look at him to understand.

He scoffs at the same time as you reach out your hand.

“Why the fuck would we want that?” you laugh out.

Jisung’s shoulders fall, he sniffles, and then he’s running up to you, flinging himself into your and Minho’s arms with all his might, burying his face in Minho’s chest and pulling you until you’re both pressed against him, until the three of you are all but squeezed together, in the middle of the hallway in Han Yujun’s house. Over Jisung’s mop of brown hair, you meet Minho’s gaze, and he looks so happy it makes you almost sick with joy. He presses a soft little kiss into Jisung’s hair and Jisung laughs, his shoulders shaking where’s buried between you.

Then he lifts his head, gives Minho a cheeky look, despite the single tear that runs down the pink apple of his cheek that Minho traces with his eye.

“She said it to me first, you know. So at least I have that,” he teases, and Minho blinks at him in disbelief before he barks out a laugh, softly removes one of his hands from you to catch Jisung’s chin between his hands.

“I love you, too, even though you’re a pain in my ass.”

Jisung beams, his whole face splitting into a beautiful heart-shaped smile. He nuzzles his chin further into Minho’s hold, tips his head up happily.

“I love you, too, you grumpy old cat,” he hums, before his expression turns cheeky, “and you wish I would finally be a pain in your ass. I’ll have you know I’m very good at it.”

The sudden laugh that bubbles out of you feels misshapen and odd, like your body is out of practice – but it warms you from the inside and it feels right. More right than anything you have ever felt in your life.

Minho’s gaze is fond and so, so soft as he looks from Jisung to you. But when the sound of a scuffle comes from downstairs, his expression hardens into a regretful scowl.

“We should get this over with,” he hums, blinks at the big doors down the hallway before looking back down at Jisung, then you.

“Be careful, okay? No sudden moves or decisions. We take no risks. If he moves, we pull the trigger.”

Minho waits until Jisung nods, then you. Then he dips down, presses a sweet kiss to Jisung’s lips, then yours. When he pulls back, he momentarily stops, blinks, a quiet kind of disbelief in his pretty eyes. But it disappears as quickly as it came, and he refocuses and steps back.

Jisung unfolds himself from you hesitantly, follows Minho’s eyes to the doors. He swallows.

“There’s a gun in the top left drawer of his desk, so don’t let him reach it,” Jisung explains. His brows are furrowed in concentration.

“In a situation like this, he wouldn’t be alone. Probably has at least one of his closest guards with him, if not two. And they’re ruthless, they won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes. So we need to act fast.” Minho nods, and Jisung looks at you.

“We’ll go in first. Minho, keep your gun drawn. Shoot him if you have to. I’ll go for the guard, if there’s only one, then you can–“

His sentence is interrupted by the faraway crack of a gunshot, the sound of glass shattering, something heavy hitting the floor and a yelp and then the heavy doors at the other end of the hallway fly open and Han Yujun, in all his half-bald, pot-bellied glory nearly falls flat on his face as he rushes out the door – only to be met by the three of you.

Minho moves in the blink of an eye, shoves you half behind him, draws his gun, and Jisung takes the few steps forward needed to block his uncle’s path.

Han Yujun freezes, pales, turns on his heels and makes back for his office and Minho takes off running, closely followed by both you and Jisung.

Han Yujun reaches his office first, tries to rush in and slam the door behind him, but Minho manages to shove his foot in the door just in time. He shoulders it open so hard it sends Han Yujun sprawling on the floor with a scream. Minho is on him within seconds, wrestling him until his face is pressed into the carpet. Yujun puts up a fight, writhes, and resists and spews curses, but Minho is stronger.

“Get off me, you disgusting pirate,” he squeaks, though his voice betrays his fear. He tries to free himself again, and Minho loses his temper. He drives his boot into Han Yujun’s ribs and he howls. Jisung next to you scoffs.

You let your eyes roam around the room, and you don’t have to look far for to find the reason for all the noise and Han Yujun’s panicked flight – a man in his guards’ uniform lies lifeless on the floor in a puddle of his own blood. There’s a neat hole in the side of his head. You leave him where he is. There’s nothing the living can do for him any more.

“Jisung, help me,” Han Yujun wails behind you, and it’s so fake it makes you sick. There’s a dull thud and a groan. You don’t have to look to know that Jisung put his fist into his face.

“Why would I help you?!” Jisung growls.

Behind the big, heavy desk, one of the panels of the windows is shattered. Cautiously, you step closer to the window and when you look down into the garden, behind a stone railing, amidst the bright pink English roses, your eyes meet Sungjin’s. Your former Captain’s best marksman. Of course.

You nearly laugh when he shoots you a smirk and a thumbs up.

By the time you turn around, Minho has managed to tie Han Yujun’s hands behind his back and is hoisting him to his feet. Jisung is watching from where he’s leaned against his uncle’s desk, arms crossed over his chest, a sour look on his face. Minho pulls his gun from his holster and digs it into Han Yujun’s back, hard.

“Let’s take a walk,” he growls and meets your eyes, wordlessly asking you to lead the way.

And you do. You leave the room first, followed by Minho, who’s guiding a bound Yujun with the barrel of his gun. Jisung marks the end of your procession, his hand on his knife, ready to strike any second. The distant sound of fighting all over the carefully kept grounds is still ringing through the eerily empty halls of the house.

Your mind is eerily calm here, right on the precipice of everything you’ve ever wanted.

You meet Changbin and Felix as you descend the stairs. Felix’s eyes go wide when he sees you, his glassy gaze locked behind you.

“Minho,” he gasps, and you think there may be tears in his eyes. Changbin is staring up at the three of you with wide eyes, one hand curled against his rapidly rising and falling chest, like he’s trying to hold it together.

You chance a look behind you, find Minho there, giving them a small smile, though his hands never falter on the gun pressed to Jisung’s uncle’s back, even when Hyunjin and Chan come hurrying down the right hallway and Hyunjin goes white as a sheet when he sees Minho.

As calmly as you can, you motion for them to keep calm, to follow you as you push through the front doors, into the blazing afternoon sunlight. You walk through the courtyard, where the water is still trickling down the fountain, down the path, past the azalea bushes until you’re in the front part of the yard.

There’s fighting going on all around you, clumps of your and the Captain’s men dotted around, fighting Han Yujun’s guardsmen, though their numbers are small, and they are uncoordinated and clumsy. You see some men from the town fighting among the pirates, wild and uncoordinated in their rage, but encouraged and helped along by the pirates. There must be more fighting around the back of the house, the sounds of which have been ringing in your ears this whole time; knives meeting, guns going off.

But you don’t pay any of it any mind. Soon it won’t matter any more.

You allow yourself a moment of melodrama, walk to the centre of the garden calmly, without looking behind you, left or right. But you’re hyperaware of the others behind you, their regular footsteps, and the fighting around you that becomes quieter, the whispering and the people that approach. You can feel their eyes on you when you stop in the centre of the garden, somewhere halfway between the front gate and the courtyard; in perfect view of everyone, both the ones fighting and the gaggle of onlookers that has gathered at the gates, looking in through the tall fences. This feels like a good place for the end of it all.

Hyunjin, Chan, and Felix form a loose circle around you, knives drawn. Jeongin and Seungmin join them. You see your men approach, Minho’s name falling from some of their lips with desperate sighs of relief. The air is electric with tension, anticipation.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your old Captain, Sungjin, more of his crew, some you know and some you don’t.

Minho lets go of Han Yujun pushes him closer to where you’re waiting, before he comes to stand behind you. His presence right there, only an arm’s reach away, soothes you more than you can describe. Jisung makes his way behind you, too, takes the spot on the other side so naturally as if he has always been there.

You feel invincible. You look down at the man below you.

Han Yujun stares at you, tries his best to be intimidating, but he makes a pitiful sight. His thinning hair is badly mussed, exposing his sunburned scalp and the spotty skin of his forehead. His face is pink and flushed and his eyes are small and cold, and they glimmer like a cornered animal’s. His chest heaves with a phlegmy breath. God, he makes you sick.

“Han Yujun,” you finally say. You let the words drop from your lips, calmly, coldly. You have all the time in the world now. “Do you know why you’re here today?”

Han Yujun scoffs, takes his time to look around at his audience, seemingly unfazed that they all stare at him with hatred. The Captain’s face is impassive, though you see it in his eyes. Changbin doesn’t even pretend to hide his disdain. There’s a cold, vicious smile on his face, more hateful than you’ve ever seen him before. But you understand. Han Yujun killed his little sister when she was only a child. Felix by Changbin’s side calmly wraps a hand around his arm.

“A public execution of a government official,” Han Yujun muses, his voice a lot more pompous than you thought he was capable of in a situation like this. He tugs at his restraints, but it’s futile. “You’ll hang for treason!”

He meets your eye, looking much too smug, given that his hands are literally tied behind his back. But you don’t bite, just look back at him steadily, coldly, until he starts fidgeting.

“I’m glad you know you’re going to die, that saves us all a lot of time,” you finally say, a deadly sweet smile on your lips.

Apparently not deadly enough because Han Yujun puffs up, takes a step towards you.

“Well, I can’t believe that really is your plan. I heard a lot about you, captain Y/N, but I never pegged you for a fool,” he singsongs, as he takes another step closer, staring into your eyes so intensely, with such a repulsive curiosity and self-satisfaction, it makes your fingers twitch at the handle of your knife.

“Let’s get me out of these ties, sit down,” he purrs, takes another step, his breath hitting your face now. Nobody dares to move. Changbin looks like he wants to intervene, tries to tug his arm free, but Felix won’t let him. “Maybe we can come to an agreement.”

You stand your ground, bile rising in your throat as he comes closer and closer, but you refuse to budge. Your shoulders are so tense, you start trembling.

He licks his lips, leans in as if to whisper into your ear, but before he can get any closer, Minho barrels past you.

He plants his boot in the middle of Han Yujun’s chest and shoves him so hard he flies backwards a few feet, crashing into the ground with a pained yell.

“You don’t fucking touch her, you understand?” Minho growls, his eye dark with rage as he stalks towards him. He brings his foot down onto Han Yujun’s throat, presses down until the man is gasping and whimpering. “You try something else, and you will meet Davy Jones with none of your limbs attached.”

Nobody dares move because his demeanour leaves no doubt that it’s not an idle threat. Minho throws a look back at you, his eye wild but soft, a quiet question if you’re okay, and you nod. Only then does he let up – but not before crushing his foot harder into Han Yujun’s windpipe, making him writhe and gurgle pathetically.

Minho turns and comes back to you, his arm brushing against yours as he returns to his spot behind you. Han Yujun is coughing and gasping on the floor, trying to regain his breath as he sits up, glares up at you. You wait patiently, every second calculated to allow him enough time to feel every second of your victory.

Han Yujun doesn’t attempt to get up again. You take a step towards him, your face still schooled into calm, but the hands crossed behind your back are shaking, against your will.

“Han Yujun, after we’re done with you, we will go into your house, and we will collect the evidence of everything you have done. Then we will deliver this to the crown, and they will find you guilty, convict you –of not only corruption, of price gauging, drug and human trafficking, prostitution and more, no – you will also be convicted of high treason, trying to stage a coup against the crown. Posthumously, of course,” you add sweetly, with a dangerous glint to your eyes.

Han Yujun’s eyes shake slightly. All around you, except for the sound of distant fighting, there’s silence. Your audience is glued to your lips.

“And then they will thank us. For sparing them having to dirty their noose with your vile, useless body.”

Han Yujun frowns.

“Why do you think you’ll find evidence of anything?”

Jisung on your left scoffs.

“Oh, please,” he laughs. It’s deadly cold. “I know you keep the records of all your above-board dealings in your office, and everything else under the floorboards in the drawing room. Third plank from the bookcase with the replica of the Victory, if I remember right?”

His uncle’s face swells, red rage rising to his cheeks as he glares at Jisung. There’s so much hatred in his gleaming little eyes, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I knew from the day you were born that you would bring shame upon this family,” Han Yujun spits, “I saw that you were a little sissy when you were five. And then you grew up like this, like a degenerate,” he gives him a disgusted once-over, “and I told your father! I told him you’d never grow up to be a real man, would disappoint his entire bloodline, but he wouldn’t hear it.”

Jisung’s breath has gotten ragged, and you feel his intention to move before he even takes a step. You reach your hand out, motioning for him to stay back and to his credit, he does, though the shaky breath he takes in betrays how much it takes him.

“Now look at you. Leading these unwashed, murderous lowlives right to your own family. Do you have any idea how hard we worked to get here? What it took for us to get these positions?”

“I do,” Jisung presses out, his voice trembling with emotion, “I know what it took. Blood. Lies. Deception. Corruption. The destruction of neighbourhoods, the killing and displacing of innocent people. And Appa knew it, too. It’s why he wanted out. It’s why he took the risk. It’s why he’s fucking dead.”

Jisung brushes your hand to the side and takes a step forward. You let him.

“And you piece of shit didn’t do anything. You let them take him. And Eomma, too. Hell, for all I know you told them where to find them,” Jisung yells, drags his sleeve over his face.

His hand finds his holster, and he pulls his gun, cocks it, points it right at his uncle’s head. His breath is ragged, and his body is trembling, but his hand is awfully still. It doesn’t waver from where it’s pointed.

“Captain,” Jisung, addresses you, calmly. There’s something in his voice you’ve never heard before.

“Permission to finally put us all out of our misery.”

You let your eyes wander over your audience, your crew, the townspeople, the other crew, familiar and unfamiliar faces, all waiting for the moment this finally ends. Your eyes meet the Captain’s. He holds your gaze.

“Captain?” Jisung asks again, and this time his voice audibly shakes. His other fist is balled at his side.

You can’t let Jisung wait any longer. You let your eyes rest on the back of his head and speak.

“Permission granted.”

A single beat of silence.

Then the gunshot rings clear over the grounds. Han Yujun’s dead body slumps back.

Another beat of silence.

Then the whole yard breaks out into deafening cheers.

It’s so loud, so sudden, so charged that it makes you flinch. You whip your head up to see men hugging each other, Hyunjin running to Minho to envelop him in a hug, the Captain, still looking at you, as calm as a statue surrounded by his cheering men, though there is a small proud smile on his lips. You nod to him and he nods back. It’s enough.

The only person who isn’t celebrating is Jisung. He’s still standing there, staring down at his uncle, his hand, that’s still holding the smoking gun, hanging limply by his side.

You approach him carefully, say his name softly. He barely turns his head. You inch closer, place a careful hand on his back, ever so gently rub it up and down. The muscles underneath your fingertips are so tense, they feel like they’re ready to snap.

“Jisung,” you breathe, low enough for only him to hear, “talk to me. Do you regret it?”

Jisung huffs out a laugh then, shakes his head, turns his head and meets your gaze with his big, beautiful, shining eyes. They’re full of tears. He tries to blink them away, and you wish you could tell him that you meant it when you said you never wanted him to hide them again, that you were ready to love every single one of them.

“God, no, that felt incredible,” he mumbles, wipes at his nose and sniffles, “I just think it’s so unfair that I will have to spend the rest of my life learning to live with what he has done. To everyone … but also to me.”

You hum, rubbing a thumb over the muscles in Jisung’s back soothingly, sliding your hand down until you can wrap your arm around him. He leans into you readily, folds his arm over your shoulder and pulls you closer.

“That’s what we all do every single day, so you’ll be in great company. But we have each other.”

Jisung blinks at you, then looks around, like he’s finally realising the celebration going on. He looks dazed. You squeeze him harder, and he rests his temple against yours.

You can’t help but smile.

“Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life, Han Jisung.”

Minho watches over Hyunjin’s shoulder, as the captain and Jisung stand over the body of Han Yujun with their arms wound around each other. Hyunjin sobs, a wet, heartbreaking sound, and Minho pulls him closer, soothes his palm over Hyunjin’s narrow back, shushes him quietly.

Then another person wraps himself around his back, then another, and before he knows it, Minho finds himself enveloped by his crew, his friends, squeezing him, some smiling, some sniffling, some laughing and yelling his name in relief.

“Fuck, Min,” he hears Changbin mumble from where he’s wedged between Hyunjin’s back and someone else’s front, his hand coming up to ruffle Minho’s hair, “your eye! We really thought they got you.” Minho tries to laugh, but it doesn’t come out right, half wedged in his chest that feels like it’s about ready to burst.

“I couldn’t let that happen, could I,” he jokes, quietly, “who else would take care of all of you idiots.”

Hyunjin chokes out something that’s half sob and half laugh and buries his face in Minho’s neck. Minho can feel his tears wet his skin.

“God, I hate you so much,” he whines, “can’t you just be serious for once?!”

Minho smiles softly, meets Changbin’s eyes again. He pats Hyunjin’s hair.

“Aw, Jinnie, but I am. I’ll always come back to you. You’re all I have.” Hyunjin starts sobbing for real then, and Minho thinks he can even see Changbin blink away some tears. There are more sniffles, whoever is wrapped around his back, he thinks it’s Jeongin, squeezes him harder. From somewhere to the side, he catches Seungmin’s eye, then his fist in his arm.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Seungmin mumbles. It’s obvious that he tries to be stern, but the tear escaping his eye betrays him. Minho grins at him, reaches out blindly to ruffle his hair.

Changbin laughs quietly, wipes at his eyes, before he claps his hands. He mumbles something to the effect of “let’s not suffocate him” and the gaggle around Minho slowly thins until there’s only Hyunjin in his arms, Jeongin plastered over his back. But eventually, even they are pulled away, Hyunjin by Chan, who lets Hyunjin latch onto his arm and hide his splotchy face in his sleeve3, and Jeongin by Seungmin, but not before Seungmin punches Minho’s shoulder again.

Minho doesn’t resist his disappointment when he’s finally free – he allows himself to feel that he could’ve stayed in that embrace for a lot longer.

But he’s also starting to notice the strange pirates loitering around, a tall, older one currently speaking to the captain, Jisung and Felix, who had found his way to them, glued to Jisung’s free side, hands intertwined, like he’s trying to hold on to him now that the captain stepped back. Like Jisung would disappear again otherwise.

Gently, he steps out of the group of his crew, giving them a gentle smile as he makes his way to the captain. She turns around when she hears his footsteps. When her eyes meet his, she blinks, looks a little disoriented for a split second, before her lips pull into a beautiful smile.

“Min,” she exclaims. A pang of love hits him so hard he’s nearly dizzy. It’s their nickname, what she breathes into his lips when he kisses her, what she exclaims with her unfairly sexy annoyed voice when he does something stupid and petty. But she had never, ever used it in public, in front of their crew, in front of a stranger, in front of everyone. He would’ve remembered. God, he would’ve remembered because it would’ve given him so much hope.

“May I introduce you to my captain?”

Her captain. She had mentioned him before, in passing, so briefly she may as well haven’t. And Minho hadn’t pried, had taken all the little pieces she had surrendered to him and built himself his own idea. She had to run, the captain took her in, taught her all she knew, given her her ship. He had imagined him serious, tough. Older, maybe a little brittle. He tries to reconcile this idea with the tall, older man in front of her. He’s dressed in all black and does look strong, and like he can be tough, but he’s smiling. He also wears the same uncanny expression in his intelligent eyes that the captain gets when she’s analysing him.

Minho steps forward, stiffly, tries his best to smile at the man, who studies him carefully. He gives a calculated, stiff bow.

“Lee Minho,” he offers, “the captain’s second in command.”

The tall pirate keeps his eyes on him, bores his gaze into Minho’s and Minho finds himself wishing stupidly, desperately for him to approve of him.

“Recently come back from the dead?”

Minho grimaces, but nods.

“Well,” the strange captain says with a gentle smile, “your crew filled your shoes well while you were gone.”

Minho blinks, but the stranger just laughs. It’s not an unkind laugh, but Minho finds himself bristling against his will. Felix throws him a look. He hates to be reminded of what he missed; The stranger, the captain’s former captain, a whole crew she probably knows, a whole lifetime without Minho, and now also two weeks of her, without him, without Jisung. He hates not knowing what happened, hates that she felt whatever she felt, and he wasn’t there to hold her through it, take some of it onto himself, anything to ease her pain.

The stranger nods at the captain.

“I’ll take my men, and we’ll see what we can find of value in this piece of shit’s house.”

“1542,” Jisung says. The strange captain whips around to him, raises an eyebrow.

Jisung shrugs with a lopsided smirk that is so infuriatingly hot it makes Minho want to kiss it off him. Jisung loops a casual arm around the captain’s waist.

“The combination to the safe in his office. It’s where he keeps most of his gold. There and in the top drawer of the armoire in the master bedroom. It has a false bottom.”

The man regards Jisung for a second, then bellows out a laugh.

“Thank you, Mr Han.”

Jisung grimaces, waves him off.

“Please, just … Jisung.”

The stranger sticks out his hand to Jisung, who shakes it proudly.

“Well, Jisung, I’ll make sure to buy you a drink in thanks later.”

Then, he turns to the captain.

“Because I’m sure there will be a celebration of what you have achieved here today.”

He gives the captain a wink.

“Anyway, you will excuse me.”

The captain nods, bows almost imperceptibly as the stranger walks off, waves to some of his crew to follow him into the house.

As soon as they’re alone, Felix sighs out and turns to the captain, who finds his gaze almost immediately. He watches quietly as Felix and the captain fall into each other’s arms, Felix wordlessly hooks his chin over the captain’s shoulder and closes his eyes. He rocks her back and forth soothingly, rubs a palm over her back, and she squeezes him back almost desperately. The stab of jealousy in his chest comes before he can stop it and remind himself that she … loves him. She loves him.

“It’s over now,” Felix whispers to her, and he sounds happy, but he also sounds … tired. Minho meets Jisung’s eyes, catches him also watching Felix and the captain with big, unblinking eyes.

And even when Felix steps back and the captain smiles at him and calls for the crew so they can make their way into the house – it’s like he suddenly can’t stop noticing how almost imperceptibly, but undeniably, everyone had changed. The bags under Felix’s eyes, the way he looks a little thinner than he did before as he follows behind the captain, who leads them into the house. Right behind Changbin, unshakeable, strong Changbin, who also looks so incredibly tired. Pale and nervous, an edge to his voice when he tells Felix to stay behind him, to be careful, one hand stretched out protectively in his direction, despite the relative safety of the house now that the rest of Han Yujun’s men are long gone, flown into the woods or to the harbour, or slaughtered by the waiting mob.

Hyunjin behind him is still sniffling, and there’s no indication of him stopping. Chan walks next to him, deep bags under his own eyes, his hand ready at the small of Hyunjin’s back as if he’s ready to catch him anytime.

Minho walks right behind the captain, Jisung by his side. He can’t, doesn’t want to allow himself to be any more than a single step behind her at all times. His good eye scans every room, every doorway, every single bend dark corner of the house, laser focused on anything that could possibly go wrong because the mere thought of losing her now … He can’t even bear the thought.

I love you, Min. The words play in his head over and over again, her voice so broken, yet so gentle, so full of sunshine and warmth and conviction as she said the words he had told himself he could live without ever hearing. And he told her he loved her, too, of course he did, because there was never a single shred of doubt in his mind about that. But it’s not enough. He hasn’t said everything else yet. So many years of his devotion, bottled up in his bruised, stretched out heart, ready to burst forth. He’s always been ready, but now he’s finally allowed to love her, her who has consumed his entire being, who is the best, kindest, strongest person he has ever met …

She who looks so, so fragile right now. Her voice is still clear and strong and full of authority as she gives her orders, her mind clear and her decisions immediate, but something about her is off. Maybe it’s just because he knows her so well, but her eyes look tired, and he can see how her shirt hangs more loosely on her tense shoulders. There’s also a tremor in her hand that wasn’t there before, and it drives him crazy. His fingertips burn with the need to touch her, to hold her hand until it stops shaking, to pull her into his arms, to get Jisung within reach again, to touch, and protect and love, God, love them with everything he has because he’s been a fool to ever think he was made for anything else. And he knows it’s safe now, he knows it’s over, but his body didn’t seem to get the memo because his body is thrumming with unnamed anxiety that makes him feel sick to his stomach.

He tries to catch Jisung’s eyes, but he slips away from him, the captain ordering him downstairs, to retrieve the papers from the secret stash he talked about. Jisung goes, though clearly unwillingly, flanked by Hyunjin and Chan, and with it goes the last shred of Minho’s sanity.

And then Minho is alone with the senseless dread buzzing in his veins. He remains stationed by the door, eyes glued to the hallway, ears straining for any sign of danger and deaf to anything else the captain and the crew say. He curses the fact that his eye is fucked, that he didn’t turn away when he should have because now he’s completely blind to anything happening on his left side, and it’s risky.

The thought alone makes his heartbeat thud in his ears so loudly that it makes every creak of the old house sound deafeningly loud and yet not loud enough, like he’s constantly one step behind, missing something crucial, like someone could jump out where he can’t see them or come barreling down the hallway, gun in hand, and he wouldn’t be able to judge how far away they are and fail to stop them and …

He only snaps out of it when they’re back outside in the setting sun, regrouping on the trampled grass of the now deserted yard, and Felix pulls him aside.

“Breathe,” Felix murmurs, squeezes Minho’s arm gently, then firmer, when Minho doesn’t respond, until Minho finally gulps down a breath of air, tears his eyes away from where he hadn’t even realised they were glued to the captain. He meets Felix’s worried gaze.

“Shit, sorry,” Minho mumbles, blinks. He tries to take a step back, but Felix doesn’t let him. His grip is firm and grounding. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m freaking out now. We won, didn’t we …”

Felix chuckles softly. He looks tired again. He rubs Minho’s arm comfortingly.

"There’s no timeline for this kind of stuff, Minho.”

Minho watches the captain a ways off, as she scribbles down the combination to the safe in her office so Jeongin can take the evidence back to the ship and stow it away safely. Felix follows his gaze.

“She’s okay.”

Minho shakes his head. He wants to shield his concern in something less vulnerable, but he doesn’t have the strength to find any fake words, so he just asks.

“Was it bad?”

Felix looks at him, eyes searching his for a few seconds before he sighs.

He tells him about it all, then, as they make their way away from Han Yujun’s house, down the loud, winding streets, filled with locals and children who run from house to house, cheer and celebrate and run to bring them gifts, ones they try to deny but can’t because they insist, tears of gratitude in their eyes.

The air of celebration can do nothing to soothe the lancing, aching pain that blooms in Minho’s chest when Felix finally tells him everything he had been so desperate to hear, though Minho can tell he’s sparing him the most gruesome details. Minho lets him; He’s more fragile than he cares to admit. Felix tells him how, when they heard the gunshot, the captain had screamed and screamed, that it had felt like she would never stop, before she collapsed into a feverish daze, mumbling and sobbing so hard she could barely walk. Tells him, with reverence, how gently Chan had picked her up, cooed sweet nothings to her as he held her, rocked her back and forth in an effort to stop her from crying. How pale Jeongin had been as he said that she shouldn’t be alone, that he could stay with her, but how Seungmin had stepped forward to tell him not to be stupid, that they needed their lookout and their lookout needed rest, and how Felix had volunteered without even thinking, suggesting Jisung’s empty cot in his cabin for her to rest.

Felix paints so vivid a picture, it’s like Minho can see them all walk down the stairs, a quiet procession following Chan, with the captain in his arms, none of them ready to leave each other after what happened. He can picture them waiting outside, consoling each other, can see Chan gently place her on her feet in Felix’s cabin, Jeongin stepping forward, speaking softly, tears in his eyes as he takes her heavy boots and coat off, combs her hair carefully before he guides her into bed. And it hurts him so much it briefly blinds him.

He stumbles, and Felix’s hand shoots out, wraps around his arm immediately.

“Minho? Are you okay?” he asks, concern laced into his deep voice. Minho nods blindly, motions for him to go on.

“Are you sure? Do you really want me to continue?”

Minho nods again.

“I … need to know,” he says, forces his voice to steady and his gaze to meet Felix’s. Because he does. He can’t stand not knowing.

So Felix takes Minho’s hand, and he tells him about how she had calmed down slightly with the smell of Jisung lingering around her, but how Felix had refused to leave her. How he had spent that night with her, and how they had found their way back into Jisung’s cot night after night afterwards, how they cried in each other’s arms. How the whole crew had made a meticulous plan, swallowing their own pain as best as they could so that even when the captain came to, marched onwards, set her jaw and steeled herself and kept going, on and on to Han Yujun’s demise, she never had to be alone. And God, their pain. Felix just keeps talking, how Changbin wasn’t able to keep his food down for three days after it happened until Chan started cutting all his meals so small it was basically mush. How drunk Jeongin got one night, threatening to throw himself off the top until Seungmin, fear of heights be damned, climbed up to him and held him through his tears. How Felix was barely able to keep himself on his feet for long enough to cook for them all, but how every day, there were at least 4 of them that found their way into the kitchen, taking Felix’ every order, helping him chop vegetables and stir potatoes and ensured there would be dinner on the table.

Minho’s chest feels like it’s ready to burst. It’s not like he thought the crew didn’t care about him but – he knows what he’s like. He knows he’s callous and short-tempered. He says things he doesn’t mean and lashes out instead of talking about what bothers him. Most days, he figured, the only reason they kept him around was because he was good with a sword, because he protected them. And he was fine with that.

But now, with Felix’s small hand in his, his tired eyes vouching for the truth of all the pain Minho’s supposed death had caused – Minho realises that maybe, just maybe, he’s more loved than he thought. And the knowledge threatens to overwhelm him.

And then there’s the captain, the crew. How closely they all stuck together, cared for each other, picked up the slack whenever one of them couldn’t go on any more. He knew they were strong together, but God, despite it all, the captain, the crew – none of them had been truly alone.

Felix looks at him with a soft smile.

“You would’ve been proud,” he sighs, and Minho wonders if somewhere along the way he learned how to read minds. “Chan and Changbin took turns sleeping at night, so one of the could stand guard at our door, even while we were at sea. Just in case we needed anything. Hyunjin and Chan refused to leave her side, even when the strange captain glared at them when he was trying to talk to her.”

Minho opens his mouth, but no words come. It’s like he has been wrung dry, and what he does feel is too much, too big for words now. He blinks at Felix with tears beading in his lashes.

“We really need you, Min,” Felix mumbles, quietly, “not just the captain needs you, not just Jisung. We all do. It nearly killed us when we thought we lost you.”

Minho chokes out a laugh, and before he can overthink it, he pulls Felix into a hug. Felix yelps in surprise, but he wraps his lithe arms around Minho’s middle and squeezes hard.

“Thanks, Lix,” he mumbles, “for … for everything.” For taking care of her. For loving him. For loving all of them. For being a part of the crew. All of that and more is what he wants to say, but he can’t get it out.

Felix wraps his arm tighter around Minho, nuzzles his nose into his shoulder, and Minho can’t help but smile.

“Thanks for coming back,” he mumbles back.

Minho pulls back, chuckles awkwardly as he wipes some stray tears away. Felix grins at him.

“Who knew you could be so soft, hm?”

Minho rolls his eyes, cuffs him in the shoulder so hard Felix squeaks, and keeps walking.

“Or I guess I know who knows …” Felix sing-songs, puts a little skip in his step, dodges Minho’s next playful fist, “two people, to be exact.”

Minho’s blush races up to the tips of his ears embarrassingly quickly.

“Shut up …” he mumbles. It’s looming, but he can’t handle thinking about the implications of everyone knowing about them right now.

“It’s okay, Min,” Felix hums, and throws an arm around his shoulders. They’re approaching a tavern at the end of the street, golden light streaming through its windows into the already golden light of the waning day, the gaggle of people, men, women, children, that has been following them through town, having only grown, and now weaving together with the crowd already waiting in front of the tavern, waving them in with loud cheers.

Felix nudges his shoulder with his own.

“Before it all went down, when Jisung disappeared into the captain’s quarters every day … Hyune and I … well, we may have spoken to the crew. Primed them, let them know just how serious things might get between you three.”

Minho’s ears burn hotter. He wants to hide.

“For all you knew, it could’ve just been a casual thing. A temporary thing.”

Felix scoffs, raises an eyebrow that makes Minho’s ears burn hotter.

“As if anything could ever be casual with you and the captain involved. Everyone can see it every time you look at each other. And then they could see it when you looked at Jisung.”

Minho cringes, tries to shake Felix off again, but he just grins, clearly very pleased with himself.

“Don’t worry about it! Hyune and I were able to clear up some questions, get them used to the idea. They were a little weirded out about the idea at first, but now nothing stands in your way.”

“Get them used to the idea of what exactly?” Minho asks, cautiously, his heart beating in his throat. Felix shrugs, casually, almost carelessly, as if nothing could break his mood now.

“Whatever you want it to be. You and the captain, the captain and Jisung, hell, you and Jisung.”

Minho looks at him, and it must be written all over his face because Felix throws his head back and laughs. Minho blushes hard, groans.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t mess with you after the day you’ve had. And with your fucked up eye and all. Yes, Min, also you and the captain and Jisung … all together, the three of you, in whatever arrangement.”

Minho lets out a shaky breath, shaking his head.

“I don’t … I don’t think I can even think about that right now,” he mumbles, more to himself than to Felix, but Felix just nods, drags him faster towards the tavern.

“Then don’t! Let’s just celebrate tonight! Let go, let loose. With the knowledge that they’re yours– ”

He stops, gives Minho a look.

“They are yours, right? Because the captain and Jisung …”

Minho can’t help the crooked grin that slips into his lips. Felix squeals, slips his cold hands into Minho’s.

“God, I’m so happy for you. We’ve all been waiting for this day for so long, you have no idea!”

He’s beaming so wide that the last of Minho’s resolve melts easily. Felix laughs, turns and tugs Minho closer to the tavern doors.

“And all the more reason to celebrate!” he yells before he drags him through the doors.

As soon as they step into the tavern, they’re welcomed with cheers and drinks on the house by the barkeep, who immediately uncorks a whole barrel of rum and sends the boy for the local band to come and play music. Minho watches as the captain gets whisked away into the crowd of people and is about to follow her when someone slings an arm over his shoulder and drags him to the bar. He loses sight of Felix immediately.

“She’ll be okay by herself for a moment, Minho,” Changbin laughs, rum already heavy on his breath. “Let’s get you a drink and make a toast!”

Hyunjin and Chan are already at the bar, greeting Minho with a chuckle when they see him throwing looks at the captain, and he blushes too deeply. The fact that they know about it all is still … something Minho has to get used to.

Changbin motions to the barkeep, who slides two glasses of rum over to them. Changbin doesn’t waste any time, shoves one into Minho’s hand.

“To you and Jisung coming back from the dead!”

“We didn’t …”

Chan claps Minho on the back so hard, he nearly chokes on his spit.

“We thought you were! For two whole weeks! We had to scrape our captain off the floor, too. So for all intents and purposes, for us, you came back from the dead!”

Minho grimaces, feels a prickle of anxiety on the back of his neck and he turns again. The captain is on the other side of the tavern, surrounded by locals and other pirates who are talking to her. There’s a drink in her hand and Minho wonders if someone got it for her, if it’s safe.

A man comes up to her, tears in his eyes, stuttering and stumbling over his words as he thanks her. Minho can see her tense shoulders, her helpless hands, the sheer disbelief on her features as she tries to calm him down. When another man comes up to shake her hand, loudly praising her as their saviour, he can see her neck flush harder. The anxiety alleviates a little, and he can’t help the small smile that pulls at his lips. She deserves this.

Hyunjin nudges him, draws his attention back to them, and nods at his glass.

He feels himself blush, but ignores it. He raises his glass with an exaggerated, fake sigh.

“Alright then, to me and Jisung coming back from the dead!”

Hyunjin, Chan and Changbin raise their glasses with a cheer.

“We came back from the dead?” Jisung’s voice comes from behind Minho.

When he turns around, there he is, with Felix, Jeongin and Seungmin in tow, appearing in front of Minho like a vision of honeyed, glistening skin and happiness. The smile on his face is unreal, and Minho wonders, not for the first time, and definitely not the last, how he does it, when Minho’s heart feels like it’s struggling against the weight of the years every time it beats.

He effortlessly threads his arm into Minho’s, rests his fingers on his wrist. Minho’s ears burn hotter, the embarrassment and affection mixing into a dangerous cocktail of feelings.

Hyunjin sighs dramatically and leaves Chan’s side, only to collapse into Jisung’s free side, letting his head drop onto his shoulder.

“You have no idea what we went through when the captain came back without you. She nearly went out of her mind when she had to leave you behind.”

Jisung’s lips pull into a pout.

“I told her it would be fine …”

Minho scoffs. Pain lances through him. Regret.

“I did, too. She didn’t like that.”

He can still hear her sobbing, gasping for breath behind a locked door that he was about to kick down when Changbin found him and dragged him away.

Seungmin sends him a glare.

“You were being an asshole about it,” he quips, “and you were clearly worried, you were white as a sheet. You were just trying to play it off.”

Jisung scrapes his nails over the sensitive skin of Minho’s wrist, and Minho shivers.

“Aw, were you worried about me? That’s so sweet, Minho,” he singsongs, a teasing smile on his lips. Minho glares at him now, though he knows his eyes hold no edge. He long lost the ability to be rough to Jisung.

“Dumbass,” he grumbles, nonetheless, "of course I was. You’re not known for your sense of self-preservation.”

Jisung huffs, but his pout quirks up at the edges. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Well, thank God I have such a strong pirate to protect me then,” he coos, nudges Minho, flutters his eyelashes up at him, so cutely Minho has to narrow his eyes by force, lest he melt on the spot. There was only one thing that flustered him more than Han Jisung, pettily and pointlessly angry at him, and that was Jisung, so brazenly, saucily flirting with him.

“You guys are disgustingly cute, even without the captain,” Jeongin sighs, “what even happened? How did you manage to find each other before we did?”

Minho sighs.

“It’s a long story.”

He empties his rum in one long drag and motions for the bartender to bring him another. Jisung’s fingers slip in between his, his thumb rubs over the back of his hand. Minho feels love singe him from the inside. He wants so badly.

“When they took me, after they made me kneel there and shot into the sky to make you believe I was dead, they dragged me into their hold and who do I see? Jisung, with a split lip, blood caked into his shirt, sulking in one of the cells. He nearly had a heart attack when he saw me, thought he was concussed, and I was a hallucination. And also nearly gave us away by getting too excited.”

“Excited?!” Jisung exclaims, indignant, “I was kidnapped, ready to be shipped back to my uncle to be killed and probably actually concussed because I broke Trott’s nose, and they beat me up, and in you walk, half your face smashed in, covered in blood. You scared the shit out of me!”

Minho can’t help the fondness that seeps into his eyes.

“I guess I looked pretty bad …”

“No offence to your gorgeous face, but you looked awful. I was so worried your eye was going to get infected,” Jisung says, pouting again.

Minho shrugs.

“So then we spent about a week locked in there, pretending not to know each other whenever someone came to check on us. Though in reality, we spent every waking second plotting our escape for when we were in Han Yujun’s cells. Jisung, once again, saving our asses with his incredible memory and the knowledge of his uncle’s business.”

Jisung straightens, preens under the praise. There’s a glint of pride in his eyes.

“My uncle has always been a cheapskate. I figured pretty much anything could pick the cheap locks on his basement cells, as long as it was long and thin enough. And conveniently enough, the cots we were sleeping on were just old wooden crates, with all sizes of nails hammered into them.”

Minho hums, turns back to their audience.

“But we knew that if we just escaped, we would likely not make it very far. And we knew it was only a matter of time before you would arrive.”

“How could you be so sure? Did you know we thought you were dead?”

Minho falters for the briefest moment.

“I figured nothing would stop the captain from completing her life’s mission. Especially not just my death.”

“Just your death?” Changbin breathes out in disbelief. Hyunjin is staring at Minho almost angrily and Minho regrets his choice of words immediately. “Minho, the mission was the only thing keeping us going. Without that, who knows what would have happened. Chan and I were so wired, we only slept alternate nights, taking turns to sit guard to sit in front of Felix’s cabin.”

The pain blooms again, and Jisung stiffens next to him.

“Felix’s cabin?” he asks quietly, a nameless worry in his voice.

Minho’s heart aches.

“The captain and I … slept in your bed. Every night,” Felix says, quietly, sheepishly, blushing a deep red, more embarrassment than shame.

Minho watches closely as Jisung freezes, blinks – watches his bottom lip quiver as the knowledge sinks in.

“We couldn’t leave her alone, and it was the only thing that calmed her down because seeing Minho’s things in her own cabin made her break down – and Felix just … refused to leave her after that first night,” Chan explains hastily. Jisung’s bottom lip quivers harder. The revelation that Minho’s things made her break down aches deep in Minho’s bones.

With a choked up little sob, Jisung lets go of his arm and throws himself into Felix’s arms, who catches him readily, and wraps him into a tight hug.

“Lix,” Jisung howls, squeezes Felix harder, “ Lix that is so … how … why … oh my god.”

Felix laughs sadly, rubs a hand over Jisung’s back. When Jisung pulls back, Felix gives Minho a look.

“I didn’t know if you were alive. Hope wasn’t really … well, I pretended to have it, because the captain didn’t have any, and I felt like she needed a reason to keep going, but really … I didn’t dare hope, either.”

Changbin sighs, Hyunjin’s face darkens.

“Keeping the captain from doing something stupid was a full-time job,” he mumbles, and for a brief second, Minho feels his world almost spin out of control. He turns again, scans over the crowd until he finds her, animatedly talking to a woman with a child on her hip, the baby’s meaty little fingers wrapped around the captain’s thumb, the captain’s eyes sparkling as she coos at the little thing. As if the captain could feel his gaze on her, she turns, finds him effortlessly. There’s a pretty little blush. Her eyelids flutter, ever so slightly. Then she smiles.

A ripple of cheers runs through the tavern, but Minho holds the captain’s gaze for a second, as if to reassure himself that she’s alive, before he turns back around.

It doesn’t take long to identify the reason for the commotion. The tall, strange pirate commanding everyone’s attention when he walks in surrounded by his crew. The tavern, already full enough to burst, becomes louder and more raucous yet. And it seems that with the pirates, the band arrived, because only a few minutes later, the first notes of a jig sound from somewhere on the other side of the tavern and a cheer runs through the crowd.

The barkeep appears in front of them then, slides another round of rum towards them with a toothy grin.

“From the tall fella’, over there,” he yells over the noise, “though I did tell ‘im it was all free ‘a charge tonight anyways. But he said it was the principle of th’ thing.”

When Minho lifts his eyes, he meets the strange captain’s eyes. He grins at them, lifts his hat in greeting, and bows lightly to Jisung, who blushes and bows back.

“Guess your advice was good,” Minho laughs, pulls Jisung back into his side, revels in the way he willingly wraps his arm around his waist. He hands Jisung one of the drinks, and they all cheers, loudly, Minho and Jisung raising their glasses over to the stranger and the men of his crew around him.

“So,” Jeongin asks, once their drinks are emptied, “I still wanna know. How did you end up escaping?”

“We waited until we heard two of the guards on duty to watch us talk about a privateer ship docking at the harbour,” Minho explains, “though in hindsight that was probably whoever that is over there. Then I picked the locks, took care of those sorry excuses Han Yujun hired for his guards, got Jisung out, and we split up. Took the fight to them, one by one, until you arrived to back us up.”

“We arrived at least an hour, if not two, after the other crew,” Seungmin observes, narrows his eyes at Minho, “how could you have possibly held them off for 2 hours?”

Minho feels his own neck burn up, but the rum in his blood has long made itself known, injecting him with more confidence than he would usually have.

“Well, maybe we didn’t leave to fight them immediately …” he hums. He tries hard not to sound too cocky about it, but it’s hard when he can feel Jisung squirm against him, and the memory of him basically jumping him as soon as he unlocked the door is still more than fresh in his memory.

Seungmin stares at him for a beat, then recoils with a disgusted scoff.

“Ugh, fucking gross,” he grunts and motions for the bartender to get him another drink. The tips of his ears are bright pink.

“Still risky, though,” Chan comments, seemingly already moved on from Minho’s dirty revelation, “timing it like that.”

Minho shrugs.

“You did take longer than expected and threw us off when talk of the second privateer ship got around in the house, but it was only a matter of time.”

Changbin shakes his head, reaches over and slaps Minho over the back of the head so hard, Minho actually flinches.

“Fucking dumbass,” he grumbles, “fucking risking your life like that. Again.”

A happy little laugh bubbles out of Jisung’s chest, before he protectively pulls Minho out of Changbin’s grasp and slaps at Changbin’s hands.

“Stop attacking my strong pirate bodyguard!” he squeals, with a fake scowl, “I will not hesitate to kick you in the shin again!”

That pulls a laugh out of all of them, even Changbin, who narrows his eyes, plays along readily.

“Well, the captain’s not here, so this time, I will kick back,” he yells, throws a dramatic fist into the air and Felix nearly falls off his barstool giggling.

Minho feels himself speak before he can stop himself.

“Then I’d kick you right back, I have sworn to protect this idiot, after all.”

There’s a brief moment of silence. Hyunjin stares at him, and Minho’s heart rockets into his throat, suddenly painfully aware of just how out of character his little joke had just been. But then Hyunjin’s eyes crease up, and he giggles, and the spell is broken. Minho breathes a sigh of relief.

Jisung turns, wraps his arm tighter around Minho’s waist and looks up at him with a theatrical gasp.

“But I’m your idiot, right?”

Minho can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line, not something you call yourself?”

Jisung pouts, blinks up at him, and he’s so, so gorgeous it makes Minho’s head spin a little.

“Well, if you won’t do it, I have to take the initiative,” he exclaims and Minho rolls his eyes again, but he lets his hand splay over the small of Jisung’s back, lets his fingers whisper over the sliver of exposed skin there. Jisung stares back at him, eyes softening until Minho thinks he could drown in them.

But they’re painfully interrupted by Felix, pulling Jisung right out of Minho’s grasp.

“Okay, enough lovey-dovey shit from you two, my best friend just came back to life, I want to celebrate!”

He drags Jisung towards the middle of the room where people have moved the tables aside to form a haphazard dance floor, and Jisung goes willingly, with an apologetic smile to Minho, who swallows his irritation and just sighs.

He sticks around with the others for a while, has another drink that makes his body hum and his vision fuzzy, listens to Chan tell him about the terrified kitchen staff they had found holed up in Han Yujun’s pantry earlier today, who barely allowed them to help them out the door before they ran, and watches as Jisung and Felix dance, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, swaying their hips, pivoting each other away from prying eyes and strange, wandering hands, giggling and laughing.

But his gaze returns again and again to the captain. After watching her float through the room, thanked and congratulated and celebrated over and over again, it seems that she has finally found a moment of rest.

She’s by herself, sat in front of an open window, on the back of a heavy wooden bench that doubles as a windowsill. Her posture suggests a calm that Minho has rarely seen in her outside of her own quarters, let alone somewhere as public like as a tavern. She’s leaning back against the window frame, head leaning against the thick wood, her eyes lazily roving over the crowd. There’s a soft smile on her lips, a glass of rum dangling from her elegant fingers. The tip of her boot sways to the beat of the music.

And he’s struck again just how breathtakingly beautiful she is. And how much she’s like nobody else he has ever met. He could call it charisma, or confidence, or authority, but it all seems too simple a word for the energy that radiates from her. He has had the privilege to see her in so many forms – at her best, at the helm of the ship, of her crew, her eyes sparkling with determination, a calculated violence and ruthlessness guiding her always skilled, always steady hands. The flip side of it, her other best, when she turns around at the mere sound of one of them getting hurt, defending every single one of her crew like they’re her own flesh and blood. The same care and love for every single human being when she finds people who are hurt, when she finds new recruits. The way she looks at them and seems to see in them more than anyone else can. Her innate ability to see the best and the worst in people, but most importantly, to see their fears and their potential. Like the day they picked up Felix, and the captain wrapped him in her coat, guided him back to the ship with a soothing hand on his back. Like the day they captured Jisung, and somehow, she saw through everything that set off the alarm bells in Minho’s head so badly he hated his guts for weeks.

And then the side of her only he got to see. Soft, desperate, needy. Her usually steady hands trembling against his skin, pulling at his wrists to get him closer, whispering about how much she needed him. The words, despite their context, never failing to make him reel. Or when she was underneath him, eyes fluttered shut, body beautifully bared to him and only him, entrusted to him because she knew he would keep her safe, would do anything for her. Her pleasure, his charge. His privilege to give her.

And even the darker moments, the ones he coveted quietly, a sick sort of pride in the knowledge that they were also his to keep. The occasional flickers of doubt, the shadows of fear. The darkness that would cloud her eyes sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere, that made her body unnaturally still, her breathing catch in her throat. The moments she hid from everyone because she thought they would make her less … less what, Minho wonders. Less of a leader? Less trustworthy? Less strong? Less lovable? As if these weren’t the moments that solidified for Minho, more than any others, that this was someone he would follow until the ends of the earth. Someone he would break his own heart over again and again and again, if it meant he was able to stay in her orbit. Her magical, addictive orbit, one he could never resist. One, he thinks, he will find himself in in his next life, and the one after that, and the one after that – if something like that exists. Maybe if he ever meets Ryujin again, he can ask her if it does.

Maybe it’s her orbit that draws him over to her now, pushing through the crowd, drawn in by her energy until she spots him, smiles at him, straightens up only enough to stretch an arm towards him.

He lets himself reach for her, too, lets his fingers intertwine with hers, lets himself be pulled closer, onto the back of the bench with her, until he can feel her leg press against his, and he’s right back in her orbit, her energy prickling through his veins and the smell of her hair in his nose.

Slowly, carefully, dancing the same sweet, covert dance they have played so many times before, he lets his leg rest agains hers. And despite it all, despite how many times they’ve done this, despite the three magical words that have so easily dripped from her lips earlier, his heart skips an uneven beat when she leans hers against his. He wonders if he could ever get used to it.

“I can’t believe we did it,” she hums, quietly.

He looks over at her, finds her still looking into the crowd of raucous, drunken people, before she turns to him and smiles. “I can’t believe we actually did it.”

Minho remembers all the years they spent, all the frustration and the setbacks and the pain when they lost again and again and again. The year they got so close before he eluded them again, when she locked him out of her quarters for an entire week. The time when they only narrowly eluded the coast guard that Han Yujun had sicced on them. The year they didn’t elude it, and they had to break Changbin out of jail.

But, his body also unhelpfully reminds him now, with her leg pressed against his, the sound of her voice telling him she loved him still warm and honeyed in his ears, of the year after that, the small victory of uncovering the drug ring that was funnelling roofies into the brothels of Nassau, when she dragged him into the kitchen while everyone was in the common area celebrating and kissed him so hard and demanding he felt his blood rush to his cock in record time before she sank to her knees, right there, where anyone could’ve walked in. He had never gotten over the headrush of it, her readiness to let him have his way with her almost in public. The closest thing to her love he thought he could ever have. But now here he was. He forces his mind out of the gutter, his gaze back to the dancers. He sees Felix’s blonde mop of head jumping around somewhere in the back.

The captain hands him her drink and he takes a sip.

“I always knew we would, eventually,” he offers, tries to get the conversation back on track because he finds he misses her voice already. She sighs.

"I mean, I guess I did, too, but it took so long, and we failed so many times, and then we lost all the evidence and … I just really thought it might never happen.”

She leans forward, rests her chin in her hand, her elbow on her leg.

“I guess I thought that maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, you know. That we weren’t strong enough, not smart enough, didn’t want it enough. That we never stood a chance.”

Minho scoffs, turns back to her, and finds himself so close to her, he can smell the rum on her breath. Desire rushes through him so fast it almost makes him dizzy. Desire and love, though the two have always been intertwined when it comes to her.

“Captain,” he murmurs, watches her eyelids flutter, gaze dropping down to his lips so briefly he thinks he imagined it, “you were always strong enough. It was only a matter of time. For fate to finally help us find the last piece of the puzzle. I never doubted it would be you who finally took him down.”

He watches her fluster, her eyes waver, fall down to the floor, her lashes fanning over her cheeks like they do when she’s asleep. One separates, comes to rest on her cheekbone. He reaches out, brushes it away softly. Her skin under his fingertips drives him crazy.

She smiles at him, briefly leans into his touch, before her attention is drawn back into the room, where the music comes to a stuttering halt and someone stumbles his way through the crowd and onto a chair in the middle of the room. A chuckle runs through the room when he nearly tumbles onto the floor.

Minho nearly laughs out loud when he sees it’s Kim Seungmin. He tries again and this time, Seungmin manages to climb up and stand tall over the crowd. And despite his flushed cheeks and uneven feet, he finds the captain immediately. His voice, too, is surprisingly stable.

“I’m a little bit drunk, and I’m sure everyone who knows me will never let me live this down for as long as I live, but I have something I wanted to say,” he begins. The room quiets down to listen.

“Not many of you know this, actually, because I have never told the story and because, frankly, nobody has ever asked, but I have been with the captain since the very first day. I met her the day she stumbled onto our former captain’s ship,” he says, with a bow in the direction of where Minho can see the strange pirate’s hat tower over everyone.

Through his own surprise, his confusion as he tries to puzzle out how none of them had ever asked, watches Hyunjin’s mouth fall open on the other side of the room, hears San yell out a “what the fuck, Seungmin!” that makes the crowd chuckle. Seungmin just shrugs and lifts his hand, and the room quiets down again. Minho’s almost impressed with how well he handles the crowd.

“Years later, when she picked me to go with her when our captain gave her her ship, I went willingly. And I still remember the first night on the new ship like it was yesterday. Just her, me, and three other crew mates from the Captain’s crew, sailing into the unknown on a ship that was too big for us to realistically man. The uncertainty. The doubts. But then dawn broke, and she rallied us all into the kitchen, sat us down, brewed us coffee and scrambled some eggs and told us her plan for recruitment, for money, for how she wanted to refurbish the common room we all know and love today, everything, like she hadn’t slept at all that night and just figured it out. She told me then, on that very first day, that she wanted me to be her navigator. And mind you, I had never told anyone about my interest in cartography, in navigation, only sneaking books from land, and drawing in my spare time, in whatever corner of the ship I could hide when I wasn’t on swabby duties. But the captain had noticed.”

Minho turns to the captain next to him, who is watching Seungmin with rapt attention, a deep blush on her soft cheeks, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. She looks younger than she ever has, and he can’t help but wonder if this is how she looked when Seungmin met her. If her face looked very different when she was younger. If she had worn her hair differently back then. Not for the first time, he wishes he could’ve been there. It makes him almost jealous of Seungmin.

“And of course I said yes, so I became her navigator and have since sailed our ship over more miles than I can count. I watched her dedication to goodness from the very first day, when we picked up that old drunk in a dinghy that threw up all over the deck, and she wanted to clean it up, but we refused to let her and drew lots instead. I lost.”

Seungmin grimaces, and the captain does, too. A loud laugh runs through the audience.

“I could talk for hours about her. The obvious, like her fighting skills, her intelligence, her courage, her leadership. But also about her staring evil in the face and still choosing the good every time. And her ability to make split second decisions that determine life or death, and coming out on the side of life every time. And you know what? As cheesy as it sounds, I think that is her real power.”

Seungmin sweeps his arms to the side, looks over where Hyunjin, Seungmin, Changbin and Chan are watching him, then back to the captain.

“The captain is a giver of life. Every single one of us has come from dark places. Have lead lives we’re not proud of, or ones we’d rather not remember. We suffered and fought for our survival, and we thought that was all we were ever going to have. And most of us had accepted our lots, and we would’ve continued on, surviving, until we couldn’t. But the captain found us.

“And I truly, do not know how she does it. How she saw me, a lanky, cowardly, moody swabby and picked me to come with her, to give me the honour of being her navigator. And I’ve asked myself for years if it was because she saw something in me that I didn’t know was there but … I’ve since come to a different conclusion: It’s her who brought it out of me. Because I wanted to be worthy of the chance.”

Minho hears the captain scoff, but she’s smiling. She cups her hands over her mouth and shouts “untrue! You were always destined to be the best cartographer in the seven seas!”

Hyunjin, Chan and Changbin cheer loudly, the crowd laughs.

Seungmin sighs deeply, waves the captain off with a lighthearted scowl.

“See, ladies and gentlemen, she does it again. But it does remind me that I should get to the point.”

The chuckles ebb down and Seungmin look serious, throws another look to the group around Hyunjin at the bar, then looks at Minho, and then the captain.

“Our captain is more than just our captain. Yes, she leads us, every single day without fail. But even more importantly, she has given us what many of us thought we would never get to have again – another chance. Safety. Autonomy. Purpose. And most importantly.”

Seungmin takes a deep breath, gives the captain the smallest smile.

“She has given us a family. She is our family. And we know how hard she works, how much she swallows, hides, how much she sacrifices, in order for us not to think her any less strong – something we could never think of her, by the way – and nothing made this clearer than the last two weeks, when not even the death of two people she loved more than anything could keep her down for longer than a day. When she pushed through all her own pain to guide us through ours. She got up every single morning and kept fighting because she knew how much this victory meant to all of us …”

Seungmin breaks off, and Minho swears he can see tears glimmer in his eyes before he blinks them away. Minho hears the captain sniffle beside him, quiet enough for only him to hear. A single tear runs down her cheek.

“So …” Seungmin croaks out, clears his throat, “we did the same. We did what she has done for us all of these years, and we swallowed our pain so we could help her through hers. So we could help each other. Because it’s the least we could do to repay her.”

The captain huffs out a wet laugh next to Minho, tears streaming down her face. Something about it is so much more vulnerable than anything Minho had ever seen, it breaks his heart. Gently, he places a hand on her knee, rubs his thumb soothingly. She shakes her head at Seungmin, but Seungmin doesn’t budge.

“No, captain. Without you, none of us would be here. We would be dead or in jail or destitute or criminals. But you have given us something bigger to strive for. And we did it – we rid this world off its biggest leech!”

A cheer goes through the crowd.

“With the help of our former captain and his formidable crew that we used to call our own,” he says, with another deep bow in their direction that is answered by loud cheers, “with the help of our own fearless crew, and …”

Seungmin fixes Minho with fake glare.

“… the captain’s ever fearless second in command, who can be a massive ass but is unfortunately also one of the best people I’ve ever met and deserves our thanks for protecting us with everything he has for years …”

Minho’s heart knocks against his ribcage almost painfully. The captain’s fingers thread between his own softly, and squeeze. Right here, next to her, even the attention doesn’t feel so bad.

“… and Han Jisung, who is the living proof for anyone that your name is not your legacy, and has chosen us from day one. I hope you continue to be … well, whatever your role is on our ship …”

Another loud giggle through the crowd, interrupted by Jisung’s loud yell

“That’s kitchen assistant, fighter, and the captain’s concubine to you, Kim Seungmin!”

Seungmin grimaces, shoots him an exasperated glare, but he can’t hide the smile on his lips. The captain giggles, blushes, squeezes Minho’s hand harder.

“Well, then I hope you continue to be … all of that … a part of our crew, a part of our family.”

Then Seungmin turns back to the captain and raises his glass.

“But none of this would have been possible without you, captain. You have made an indelible mark on this world, today. Here’s to a long, happy life, without any more sacrifices. We could never respect you less. We are incredibly proud to be your crew,” Seungmin closes, a sense of grandiosity in his voice that makes everyone cheer louder, especially the members of their crew. He climbs off the table awkwardly.

The captain is on her feet before Minho can do so much as blink. She threads through the cheering crowd, and Minho follows her almost blindly, seemingly unable to escape her orbit now that he has been drawn into it. As soon as Seungmin is within her reach, the captain tackles him into a tight hug. It takes him a few seconds to compute the sudden presence of her, but then he wraps his arms around her, pulls her against him and squeezes his eyes shut until a tear does escape him.

“Seungminnie,” the captain mumbles, into Seungmin’s shoulders, without looking at him, so quietly Minho can barely hear her, “I– … in the top drawer of my desk. There’s a piece of paper. I wrote my will, just in case I wouldn’t make it. But it didn’t take me long at all. Because there was only one instruction: The ship should belong to Kim Seungmin. I have always known that.”

The sob that wrenches out of Seungmin’s chest is so guttural it makes Minho’s heart physically ache with it, and he watches as he cradles her closer, as Jeongin and Hyunjin and Changbin and Chan make their way over with more rum, crowd around the two until Seungmin finally pushes himself away from the captain and wipes at his eyes with a huff.

“If any of you make fun of me for this tomorrow, I will kill you,” he grumbles.

Hyunjin scoffs, shakes his head at Seungmin.

“Idiot, we would never make fun of you for saying out loud what we were all too cowardly to say,” he mumbles, hands Seungmin a drink. Seungmin takes it with a grumble, downs half of it in one big draught. Then Hyunjin turns to the captain with a radiant smile, hands her a glass, too, wipes at her tears and giggles and asks her if she’s alright.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho watches as Jeongin quietly abandons his spot next to Chan, makes his way around everyone until he can squeeze in next to Seungmin, his chest pressed against Seungmin’s arm; Seungmin looks down at him with wide eyes, and Minho can hear his breath hitch when Jeongin gives him the gentlest smile, reaches up, cradles his face in his hands and tenderly wipes Seungmin’s tears away. It’s the smallest moment, but it feels so achingly private, Minho feels like he shouldn’t be watching. And it’s over as soon as it happened, though when Jeongin steps back, takes his place next to Seungmin, Minho thinks he can see Seungmin reach out and intertwine their hands between them. He hopes so. He hopes the two of them will finally let themselves be happy.

He turns from them, gives them their privacy, lets himself get swept up by Hyunjin, who’s passing out drinks, making toast after toast after toast, to the end of Han Yujun, to their victory, to their captain, to Minho and Jisung, who, along with Felix, has finally found his way back to them, coming ‘back to life’ as he says over and over again. Minho sips his drink slowly. He doesn’t want to drink tonight. Frankly, he doesn’t know if he can. The high of their victory, the gut-wrenching pain of everything it cost, the storm of confusion and love, so much, uncontrollable love – it already scares the living shit out of him. If he drinks now, who knows what he would do. And, really, what does he need a drink for when he has them, right in front of him, smiling and laughing, flushed and beautiful, looking at each other and touching each other subtly and sweetly and so intimately that it makes Minho’s entire body burn with need.

But he’s patient. Truly, he’s more patient than he thought he could be, makes small talk and lets everyone congratulate him. Lets Jisung and Felix dance some more. Lets the captain and Hyunjin talk and laugh at the corner of the bar. Lets the captain talk to the tall stranger, her captain, whose encouraging words and heavy hand on her shoulder make her blush and bow. But as the night wears on and the party gets louder and everyone around them gets drunker except for them, as everyone gets swept away into the crowd and leaves the three of them there – Minho sees it in her eyes. Glossy and big and beautiful and dark with desire, shivering when Jisung’s hand, lightly, but possessively laying against her nape, threads up and into her hair and scratches gently at her scalp.

They leave without telling anyone; sneak out the door to the tavern, take off running down the street when they hear someone call for them. Their laughter rings through the balmy night air that still holds the scent of a sunny day, the dust under their feet kicks up as they run and run and run, all the way through town, until their feet hit the sand of the beach and they, breathlessly, climb into one of the dinghies and row out.

It’s a dizzying contrast, the sudden quiet of the night, with only the water lapping against the sides of the boat, the oars hitting the waves.

Minho rows you out, leaving you and Jisung to sit opposite him. Your body feels light as air, like you’re floating above yourself somewhere, and you allow yourself to sink into Jisung’s arms, lean against his solid chest behind you. From where you are, you have a perfect view of Minho, his raven hair glimmering in the moonlight, the muscles in his shoulders straining against his shirt as he rows, the dark eyepatch obscuring one of his eyes. You can’t help but mourn it, deep down. His eyes, his beautiful, glimmering, loving eyes, are one of your favourite things about him. But when he looked at you earlier, you realised that it won’t be so different. All the love, the devotion, his soul; it’s still reflected there for you to see. It must’ve hurt, though, you think, and it may still hurt now, but he doesn’t let it show. It makes you wonder just how much pain he has swallowed over the years, how much he has been hiding behind the ever-present furrow of his eyebrows that you have long learned has nothing to do with his actual mood. Or so you thought. You decide you will figure this one out in time.

You lean back, further into Jisung’s warmth, into his pine and musk scent, the one you’ve been sleeping in through all the pain, the one you never thought you would smell again. The fact that he’s here is still unbelievable to you, a part of you terrified that you will blink and wake up, in Jisung’s cot with Felix glued to your back, and it was all a dream. Absentmindedly, you let your hands splay over Jisung’s thighs, run them up and down, drawing little patterns against the rough material until his breath hitches, trying to convince yourself that this isn’t a dream, that it’s real.

You still are when Jisung’s hand finds your jaw, and he leans in, brushes his nose against yours before his eyes flutter shut and he kisses you. And you know that this can’t be a dream.

It’s the sweetest whisper of a kiss, a brush of his lips against yours, perfect reticence and tenderness, even when he presses closer, a little more insistent this time, and then again and again, until your mouth opens for him and Jisung dips down, licks a moan right off your tongue.

You hear Minho’s movement stall, hear the lewd, wet sound of Jisung’s spit slick lips sliding against yours, feel Jisung’s hands cradle you closer, his tongue dancing with yours until you’re dizzy with want.

You barely notice when the little dinghy comes to a halt, bumps into the side of your ship, until Jisung pulls back, and you’re hauled up and straight into Minho’s arms. The gaze in his one good eye is penetrating, yet so tender, and you swear you have never needed him, never wanted him as badly as you want him right now. His gaze flutters to your lips, and yours glue to his. You whisper a hoarse “please” but he shakes his head, turns you around, ushers you up the stairs.

Your fragile, beaten heart doesn’t even have the time to panic, to wonder if something had changed, whether kissing Jisung when Minho was right there was wrong, because as soon as Minho swings his legs over the railing, he finds you, sweeps you up into his arms and kisses you, short and sweet and filthy, before he carries you into the ship, Jisung trailing after you with a dopey smile on his lips.

He carries you through the thick wooden door, down the familiar corridor, the way he has done so many times before when the two of you finally managed to steal a moment away from everyone, and it makes tears pool in your eyes at the same time as a laugh bubbles out of your chest. You bury your face in his neck, card your hand through his hair, drag your lips over the skin of his neck until you crash through the door of your quarters.

It’s pitch dark, but he doesn’t need any light to find the way to your bedroom, to push open the door and gently place you down on the foot of your bed. His hands find your face, and you only realise that you’re still crying when the thumbs he smoothes over your cheekbones come away wet.

Jisung stumbles over to you, toes off his boots hurriedly and crawls onto the bed until he’s behind you. He cards his careful, gentle hands through your hair.

“Hey,” Minho whispers. His voice is shaky with worry. “Y/N, baby, are you okay?”

But you can’t respond, the weight of the world sitting so heavy on your chest you think you might collapse under it, the absence of the kraken like a physical ache.

You shake your head. More tears drip down your face, your mouth screwed shut, desperately trying to keep the sobs in, but it just hurts so much.

“Shh … it’s okay, my love. Lean back against Sungie for me, okay? I’ll just light some candles,” Minho hums, softly, and makes to step away, but your hand shoots out in a reaction of senseless panic. Minho doesn’t force himself away. He comes back easily, gently, cradles your face back in his hands.

“I’ll be right back, baby,” he whispers, presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just one second.”

Somehow, you manage to nod, let go of his hand, even when your heart is being torn apart because he’s here, he’s really here, taking care of you again. It makes the emptiness, the exhaustion, the pain of the last two weeks stand in such brutal relief that the sob tears out of your chest so hard it jolts Jisung into action.

He half turns you, pulls you into his lap, cradles you so close you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek and you cry. And he holds you.

Pine and musk and sweat and rum. Big, warm hands. A soft voice humming your name, whispering sweet nothings as Minho moves around the room, lights the candles in the sconces until the room is bathed in warm, golden candlelight, and you realise you haven’t seen it like this since the day you lost them.

And then Minho is back. Ever so gently, he pulls your shoes off your feet, manoeuvres you until he can tug your dirty, bloodied jacket off you. Carelessly, he throws it into the corner somewhere and comes to kneel in front of you and Jisung, who’s still holding you closely to his chest, rocking you back and forth soothingly. Minho reaches out, smoothes your messy hair back from your forehead. His touches so tender and careful more tears collect in your eyes, so many you can’t blink them away, and they run down your cheeks, collect in Jisung’s sleeve. You stare at Minho and you see your pain reflected in the devastated expression on his face.

“You’re here …” you whisper, your voice so brittle you barely recognise it, “taking care of me and everything … I thought you would never be able to … I thought I lost you. Both of you. I thought I was alone.”

You sob again, try to hide your face in Jisung’s chest, who cradles you closer. His chest convulses and you realise he’s crying, too.

“Ooooh no no no no, not you, too” Minho whines, scoots closer until he can wrap his arms around both of you. Jisung chuckles quietly behind you, then sniffles. He hugs you closer, rubs his hand up and down your arm. Minho’s fingers are still soothingly running over your hair.

“Everything’s okay,” he murmurs, quietly, lets his forehead rest against Jisung’s head in a gesture so surprisingly vulnerable it hits you square in the chest how much everything has changed. But you’re not scared. Not any more.

Jisung nuzzles into Minho’s touch, turns his head, places a soft kiss into his hair, then ducks down to do the same to you.

“I love you two, you know,” he mumbles, and you look up at him. He looks so nervous it makes your heart ache. “Like, I know I kinda made a joke out of it earlier, but … I really do. And it feels weird to say it now when, for the longest time, I really, really hated myself for it because I thought something was seriously wrong with me. Falling in love with the captain of the pirates who picked me up. Falling in love with a guy who hated my guts. The whole crew on my ass because they thought I wanted to break you up.”

He scoffs, sniffles again and looks down at you.

“Like, how was I going to tell them that I fell in love with you both?! It’s fucking delusional.”

Minho huffs out a laugh next to him, nudges Jisung’s cheek with his nose.

“No sense of self-preservation, I told you,” he grumbles, and it makes you laugh for real. Your tears finally stop coming and there’s something like hope blooming in your chest as you settle into this, the three of you, just … existing together. It feels right.

Jisung pouts at Minho, then at you.

“Captain, he’s being mean to me again,” he whines, and you chuckle, pull yourself up until you can turn around in his lap, straddling him instead, so you can look at him, stare into his big beautiful eyes.

You thread your hands into his hair loosely, rub at his cheeks until the pout falls from his lips and he can’t help the smile.

“Minho’s like that,” you muse, pointedly ignoring Minho’s glare, “but can I tell you a secret? Underneath that gruff exterior, there’s a heart bigger than anyone’s I’ve ever met.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Minho blink, staring at you. Jisung looks up at you with a wide grin.

“Yeah?” he asks, and you nod, smile down at Jisung, wipe a few stray tears from your eyes with the back of your hand before you lean in, press a soft kiss to Jisung’s lips that he reciprocates happily.

“Mhmm,” you hum. Your heart feels like it’s ready to burst. “He’s really strong and fiercely protective of the people he loves. But he also has so much love to give. But he doesn’t realise how much everyone loves him, back.”

Minho’s hand winds around the back of your head, and he pivots your face to him. His gaze is laced with desperation, a vulnerability that you’ve never seen.

“You can’t just … you can’t just say that …” he mumbles, eyes flickering all over your face, “and not when you’re not even looking at me.”

You smile again. There’s a sense of peace in you now. Purpose. Your voice is soft when you speak again.

“He loves so entirely, so wholeheartedly it’s terrifying, because it makes you wonder what you ever did to deserve it. And …” you breathe in shakily, “because you don’t know what you’ll do if that love is ever taken from you. Because you need him like you need air to breathe, because without him there’s no warmth. Because nothing could ever compare to how it feels to be loved by him.”

Minho blinks, and three crystalline tears slip down his cheeks. He looks like he’s in pain, and you briefly wonder if you did something wrong, but then he breathes out your name and crashes his lips into yours and your whole body erupts into sparkles of electricity.

Because you’re loved by him again, and you need him like you need air to breathe. Because he’s warm. Because nothing could ever compare to this. To how it feels to be loved by him.

To be slowly, methodically, sweetly undressed by his and Jisung’s hot, calloused hands, Minho’s lips barely leaving yours for more than a second, until you’re panting and breathless, and he kisses his way down your body and makes you whimper his name into the quiet of the empty ship, your nails digging into Jisung’s arms until he moans.

He makes you cum like that, on his tongue, so hard you see stars, moons, entire galaxies, your body jellied in Jisung’s safe arms, where you remain, slotted back to front, against Jisung’s chest, when Minho lies down, on his side, in front of you, lifts your leg and slides home. Jisung’s hot lips on your shoulder, sucking and biting, rutting his cock against your ass and breathing moans into your ear until you’re half crazed with it, then Minho’s lips on yours again, then Minho’s lips on his, Minho’s hand reaching behind you to tug Jisung closer, until his cock brushes against where Minho’s drags in and out of you again and again until Jisung is whimpering into Minho’s lips. You don’t know which of them slides a hand between you, presses Jisung’s cock up until the head of it pushes in next to Minho, but it makes the three of you moan out in unison, the sensation so overwhelming, so hot and tight and intimate, so mind-numbingly, dizzyingly beautiful and like everything you never knew you wanted.

And Jisung presses in further, until they’re both buried in you, Minho fucking in and out of you feverishly, desperately, so deeply, alongside Jisung’s thick, hot cock, rubbing against him so hard it makes Jisung babble stupidly into your ear about how much he loves you, how perfect you are.

And you know it’s love that you’re feeling. The feeling the shivers through your veins, fills your chest, expanding and expanding until every single inch of the emptiness that the kraken used to inhabit is filled with nothing but love. Nothing but them.

Your vision whites out briefly when the tight heat in your abdomen explodes and pleasure zaps through your veins as you cum, and you sob out their names. Jisung moves to pull out, but you manage to reach behind you, to paw at his ass until he’s fucking back into you as far as he can go, and he releases with a devastating moan of your name, making the slide of it hot and filthy and loud. Jisung presses closer, drags Minho closer, too, and it makes Minho’s hips stutter until he whispers your name, ruts himself in three more times, as deep as he can go, and spills inside of you, his face buried in your neck, his nails raking down Jisung’s back behind you.

You stay that way for a long time, holding each other, until the last of the candles Minho lit burns down.

In the silence, Minho brushes his lips against yours. He takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you,” he whispers, so quietly you think you may be dreaming, “how could I not. You’re everything. I’ve loved you selflessly, and then I loved you selfishly. I was so selfish when I kissed you that one summer night, when it was just us and the stars and everyone else on land, and you were so beautiful, and I thought maybe, just maybe, you could be mine. And I thought you loved me, too, but I saw your fear and I … it was okay, it was enough. I was content to be whatever you needed me to be, as long as you needed me. It was enough.”

He takes a shuddery intake of breath. You can tell he’s not done yet, so you wait. You barely dare to breathe.

“When I thought they were going to kill me, my first thought was that they couldn’t because then you would be alone. I would crawl my way out of my own grave just to get back to you. You’re my everything. You’ve been my everything for a very long time. Every fucking second of every day I think about you, about how to keep you safe, how to make you happy. That’s all I ever want you to be. Safe and happy. And I couldn’t leave, not without you knowing how much I love you. Not without me knowing that you are safe and happy. And I’m selfish, because I want to be the one to make you happy, I want to be the one to keep you safe. So you see why I couldn’t leave you. I love you. You’re everything to me. The sea may rise, and the sky may fall, and they can try to take me away from you, but I will always come back to you, and I will always love you.”

< chapter X - interlude (& epilogue coming friday, may 24 at 3pm CET) >

series masterlist // skzms masterlist // kofi

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---

This is so Church by Chase Atlantic coded

Now, Lying Upon the Altar - [b.c.] [l.m.]

summary: after an encounter with chris one week ago that left you feeling guilty beyond belief, you confess your sins to the Lord above and ask for forgiveness. or at least, that's what you had planned to do.

warnings: fem!reader, smut (MDNI), corruptive!minho, supportive bestie chan, p in v (unprotected), church sex

word count: 3.1K

part one [y.j.] here!

Every step threatens to burn holes in the carpet beneath the soles of your shoes. Every time you lift your feet to take another the inside of your chest constricts and threatens to cave in with the weight of knowing what you had done would, in the Bible, cause the entire Church to come crumbling down around you in large and disastrous pieces of rubble. Every breath you take feels as though it should not be filling your lungs - You have no right to be breathing the air of the Church.

Your fingers curl. The fabric of your dress has bunched so tight that you're afraid later on it may rip under the edge of your nails, a silent threat to irk your mother and have her scold you in the evening when you return home from the study. Another step. Another breath.

Another step.

Another breath.

Not every person who walked this aisle had felt as heavy with burden as you do in this moment. Some had experienced nothing but love and admiration in this same space, confession loyalty and professing honor to their spouses. Some had experienced something brand new and innocent - something of a blessing bestowed upon their bodies in the form of cold water and warm words to keep them cleansed.

Yet here you were.

With eyes lifting from the red carpet beneath your feet, you lay your gaze on the podium that stands off to the left of where you are centered. Empty, with no one standing behind it, the podium appears lifeless and hollow though filled with the words of God in every crevice. How many sermons had it heard in it's time within the church? How many sins had it listened to falling from sinner's lips every afternoon after the morning service had ended? How many had it judged in it's inanimacy?

The podium is nothing to the man before you. Your gaze moves slowly away from the deep and polished wood, to the large marble carving that looms overhead. The man, though eyes closed, seems to look down upon your small and - what would be to him - fragile frame at the base of the three steps. He stares with no gaze into your being as if waiting to hear what it is you have to offer him.

You had never had anything to offer at all until now.

"Forgive me, Father."

Voice weak, you cannot find the words to fill the space between yourself and your God. With lips parted and eyes flittering around the expressionless man before you, you struggle, as you had been doing for the last week of your life. Something short of a scared breath escapes from your lips as a voice familiar to you rings through the silence.

"What are you doing?"

Turning in quick motion, you're met with the sight of two men you'd become close with over the last year. They were both people you'd come across because of your loyalty to your faith;

Chris was someone who had also devoted himself to the church every Sunday, participating in service and even showing up to Youth Group every Wednesday evening when he had the chance.

Minho, on the other hand, was someone who had only participated in Youth Group because of his best friend. He had clearly expressed the first time the two had talked that he was not interested in God, learning about God, or devoting himself to any religion - And with this, never once made a comment to judge you for the amount of faith you incorporated in your daily life. Chris, as well.

Which was why the three of you were here now in an empty church. Youth Group had ended almost an hour ago now, and as it had come to a close you had texted your mother saying you wanted to stay for just a bit longer to sort out a few things.

Your lips pop apart and you can't help but notice the way Chris' eyes lower along your expression. He blinks back up, the soft smile he always wore present on his face. Minho stands expressionless, waiting for an answer to his question.

Your hands curl tighter in your dress. The fabric tightens around your thighs and hips. It threatens to rip.

"I'm confessing."

Chris' smile slowly seems to wilt away on his lips as though it were a flower beginning to droop from the heavy water of the rain.

Minho blinks. Arms crossed and head tipping down a bit so he stared at you through his lashes, he blinks again. "Confessing?"

With a soft nod, your hands uncurl. They fall to your sides and as you begin to sway your weight at the bottom of the stairs your dress follows with swift motion. The skirt begins to sway, lulling around your thighs where you stand. "Yes."

Minho tips his head to give Chris a small look. The older of the two, quiet and content with just listening to the conversation for now, looks to his friend as well. He just smiles, shrugging to the other as if explaining without words that he doesn't know why you're confessing - or what it could be.

Which is a blatant lie.

"Okay, fess up." Minho all but barks the words, lifting his hand palm up and gesturing with two fingers as if beckoning you closer. You don't move, and he doesn't expect you to, the gesture for the explanation and not your physical form.

With lips slowly falling back apart, silent and debating on your reply, your eyes lull to Chris. He stares right back at you, eye a bit wide this time.

"... I had my first kiss last week," You explain to Minho, your eyes falling back to the shorter of the two and letting them settle on the man. He doesn't seem all too surprised or put off by the new information, simply blinking and recrossing his arms at your vague explanation.

He waits for you to continue.

"... And.. I had all plans to wait until marriage to dedicate myself to someone in such an intimate way. So, since then, I've been feeling very guilty about it and I felt I should confess it to God. Ask for forgiveness."

".... Such.. an intimate way." Minho repeats your words back to you - to which you nod, hair falling down over your shoulders at the movement. The two of you share a moment of silent staring with one another before his chest inflates with air and then deflates when it comes out of his parted lips in a loud, groaned, heavy sigh. "You do realize that a kiss isn't that intimate, right?"

Shocked, and feeling a bit judged by his sudden comment, your eyes dart to Chris. The eldest looking at Minho as if telling him to keep his mouth shut, ready to intervene if he needs to.

"Besides; You're a pretty girl. There's going to be a lot of guys that'll want to kiss you. Shit happens."

Minho steps forward, closing the space between where the two of you had previously stood. Chris takes a step in closer as well but lingers behind his best friend, curious and eager to see what's going to happen but also quite protective of yourself and your faith at this point. "Minho--"

"Do you want something to confess?"

Your eyes widen. With a glossy gaze, you stare up at the man in front of you and let your throat close to swallow. "I'm sorry?"

Minho's hands come down to find your waist. He gives a gentle squeeze, fingers itching to get under the fabric of your dress where they settle and tap. His thumbs move forward and he presses the tips into the dip of your hips, watching the way you seem to suck in a bit at the feeling of him digging into your skin.

"Do you want something truly sinful to confess to your God?" He questions again, voice lower this time around. It's an offering of intimacy; A promise of guilt.

But it's a tempting offer - and right now instead of Lee Minho his name could very well within itself be Lucifer - just the way he was coming off so alluring. With eyes locked onto yours and a grip like iron, he lets his head tip to the side. A subtle but very manipulative way of showing faux innocence in his intentions.

Your eyes begin to dim. He can see the fight slowly slipping from your body as you grow accustomed to the idea of letting him show you something worthy of confessing. Your hands lift to slowly find his arms, fingers trailing over the soft sleeves of his sweater before they curl and he knows he has you in his hold.

When you blink, Chris is the one you're looking at - still standing a few feet behind Minho whose shoulder you were now peering over. The man holding onto you had lowered his head to press a kiss to your lips, and with your eyes just barely peeking open you can see the way your best friend visibly tenses at the sight of his best friend kissing the girl he'd found interest for over the last long while. With fists clenched at his sides and focus steady on the two of you, he steps forward to intervene but once again ends up falling short.

Minho had lowered his head again to press his lips to your neck, the warm skin swelling under his tongue when he licked over it and sucked soft pink marks. He let out a breath that fanned against the skin of your shoulder, over your sleeve and creating a shiver that coursed up your spine and to your head - the light seeping in through the windows now seeming the slightest bit fuzzy. And with eyes slipping shut, you let him guide you where he wanted.

His hands had tightened around your waist when he felt you give in, giving him complete control and silently asking for him to give you what he had so graciously offered moments ago. Minho's arms slipped further around you and in doing such, stepped forward to slowly guide you up one of the small steps. He murmured a quiet, "Down," before guiding your body to sit atop the final step and then back so you could lay comfortably on the floor of the altar.

"Good girl," He hums out, the words causing the heat between your thighs to spread through your hips and into your chest. No - You couldn't let that get to you. He was using your body so openly - right in front of his best friend, too.

Chris had moved in just a bit closer as if wanting to see the action better, but his cheeks and ears remained a tint of red that could rival your own blush with what was happening. He lifted a hand to his mouth, picking at the skin of his lower lip before he looks away from where Minho's hands are slowly inching up your dress and instead to your own expression. Wanting you to be comfortable, he eases into relaxation at the sight of your pleasurable features.

With Minho's hands grasping at your hips beneath the dress, you feel his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties and begin to pull down. Chris knelt beside where you lay, tipping his head a bit to look at you - and it's genuine. There is no sign of faux innocence on his expression but something closer to cherish and desire. "Hi, sweetheart."

Your lips part before coming back together, curling and stretching into a shy smile. "Hi, Chris."

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" He questions, lowering a hand to rub along the skin of your upper arm. His touch is gentle, nurturing almost as he lets his teeth sink into his lip to show that yes - he is anxious about all of this happening. Not so much because it's happening in a church where anyone could walk in and see, but because it was happening with his best friend and the crush he'd had for the entire year he'd known you.

With a soft nod of your head, Chris lifts a hand to smooth down your hair from your face with a smile. "I'm sure."

"Great, because I'm hard." Minho comments louder than the rest of the discussion, eyes dragging up to where you're laying. The two of you share a moment of eye contact before he smiles, leaning in a bit closer to you. It's then, with him on his hands and knees above you, that you can see down the space between your bodies that in the time you'd been having a little sentimental moment with Chris, Minho had freed his cock from his jeans and rid you of your panties to leave you exposed beneath the skirt of your dress. He hums out in notice that you'd finally realized what was happening, tipping his head yet again in faux innocence. "And you, sweetheart, are dripping wet."

You let out a breath, one hand coming up to grasp at his shoulder as the head of his cock prods your entrance. You whimper, clenching around nothing as your blush spreads over your ears. Minho huffs a laugh, chuckling right into your ear as he rocks his hips forward to get a good reaction from you. "I haven't even fucked you yet and you're tightening up like you're stuffed full."

His words make you writhe. Your head lulls back against the carpet and peeking to Chris, your eyes wander over where he's still kneeling. His attention hadn't left you, your body, the way you were laid so open for them to use. For Minho to use.

"Sure this is your first time?"

"Minho. Be nice." The warning practically goes unnoticed by the one addressed, his eyes following along your body until they reach your chest. Still hidden under the fabric of your dress - but he can see the swell well-enough that he doesn't care. They're pretty just like this, and Minho doesn't need to see all of you bare to know that you're a gorgeous girl.

And you notice, you can't help it really, that Chris had also been sporting an erection beneath his own jeans. He refused to acknowledge it until your free hand had reached, lightly palming over the visible outline to make him gasp. He chokes on his sounds and watches your hand with wide eyes, debating on if he should tell you to keep your hands to yourself or not. But he decides not to, and instead lets you fumble to unzip his jeans and fish his cock from the denim to take a hold.

He breathes heavy as your fingers wrap around him, too thick for your fingertips to touch your palm. He chokes and even whines quietly to himself when you pump your hand a few times around him, the reddened tip leaking each time your fingers got closer to it. "Holy.. shit."

"Not the best wording for what we're doing and where we're doing it." Minho grins. He'd quit with the rocking of his hips momentarily to really line himself up with your entrance, slowly and - granted he won't admit to this later - very carefully pressing his length inside of you. His eyes dart to your expression and when he sees even the slightest hint of pain, he falters and slows down even more.

It's your first time with a guy - He wants it to be good, even if he is just here and doing it to get his dick wet.

"Mmn--" Your choked moan brings both men to stare at you, the sound flooding their senses and drowning everything else out. Minho can't help it when his hips move on their own, dragging back before pushing further into your warmth until the tip of his cock kisses at the walls of your pussy with every little movement. He bites back his own sounds of admiration because he wants to hear yours so clearly - echoing in their soft and quiet glory through the church halls.

"Don't forget about him," Minho hums out, nodding his head towards your hand on Chris while keeping his steady rhythm pumping into you. Your eyes dart to where he gestures to and quickly you resume your actions, fingers tightening just a bit around the eldest's cock and letting your thumb slide over the tip to gather what had leaked out.

Chris melts. Every breath that escapes him is hot, heavy and a bit choked or tense because he too wants to only hear you. The tense feeling of watching his best friend have sex with you was long gone, all of the focus in his body being put into watching your body lightly rock with every thrust of Minho's hips into your own. He left his hand on your arm, slowly guiding it to your shoulder instead to hold you down a bit when you began to squirm in overstimulation.

"It's too much," you whimper, lifting your head to peer at Minho above you.

He stares, eyes almost blank - yet dark and so, so warm.

"You didn't come, did you?" He questions, cocking his head - as he had done before multiple times.

You whimper in response and he chuckles, pushing his hips forward in a quick snap. It's enough to make you cry out, the tightening of your stomach unfurling as you felt juices drip down the insides of your thighs and almost - squirting - onto Minho's jeans.

"There she is," Minho groans, tongue sliding over his lips and so wet that spit drips for a moment down onto the carpet between where your hips meet as he draws back. He sighs out, bringing his fist to his cock to finish over your thighs. He couldn't do it along your stomach - he didn't want to get your pretty dress all dirty.

With his eyes dragging to Chris, they stare at each other for a moment. "You wanna try?" He gestures to where you're still exposed, dress hiking up to give Chris the view he'd wanted the entire time.

But the eldest of the group shakes his head, and Minho lets his brows furrow. "Why not?"

"I really can't," Chris murmurs. His head tips down to where your hand is still loosely gripping his cock, now soft and relaxed. The skin of your hand was painted with a milky white - and Minho chuckles at the sight of what had happened while no one was paying attention.

"You got off from watching me have sex with her." Minho hums.

Chris feels the blush return to his face, cheeks beet red. "I..."

"That just means we're doing this again," Minho glances to the other man, then down to where you're peering up at him in a soft post-sex daze. He presses his hands into the carpet and moves back onto all fours, hovering above you so the necklace he wears dangles over your throat. "And next time, he's going to come inside you. Sound good?"

If you read this far - Thank you! I appreciate it! Is it the best I've written? Not by a long shot. Is it the worst? Also not by a long shot. But I hope you enjoyed !!

---

hi juno!!

thoughts on getting your uptight bestfriend seungmin high for the first time??

and he starts talking so filthy to you and you’re absolutely not expecting it because like, how can this be your seungmin? the one that you’ve known for years and has always acted so calm and reserved, and now he looks so debauched and desperate? he’s just begging to touch you or for you to touch him he just needs *something*

anyway love you happy one year!! 😋

"seungmin."

"my cock's so fucking hard, can you feel it? god, let me- can i fuck you? god, i bet your pussy is fucking soaking-"

"oh my god, seungmin!" you shriek, appalled, as if you're not lying in your best friend's bed in just your underwear. you've been happy to go this far, are happy to go further, but... well, you didn't expect your best friend to have such a filthy fucking mouth when he's high. you sigh, wiggling your underwear down anyway, and he rewards you with a blinding smile.

it turns out he is as hard as he made out. he presses his cock through your folds and it's solid, leaking against you, and you gasp when you feel him rub his cockhead over your clit.

"knew it," he grins, eyes blinking up at you. you're sure kim seungmin's eyes are the prettiest thing you've ever seen, holding the entire world, especially now when they're gleaming with his signature mischieviousness. the whites of his eyes are a little red from the joint you'd shared, but he seems to be ignoring the inevitable stinging of his bedroom lamp. he pushes his cock down to your hole by the base with his thumb and the head pops in, making you both gasp this time. "fuuuuck. fuck, that's tight, huh? you're fucking tight down here."

when he bottoms out with one wet, loud thrust, his balls hit your ass and you let your thighs fall further apart. his hair is messy on his head, cut short but still able to be ruffled, and his eyes flicker up to watch your expression. you find yourself smiling back at him.

"y-you think that's tight, seungminnie?" you croon, and he nods in agreement, letting himself deliver one tentative, slow thrust. "you can fuck my other hole next time. that one's even tighter."

seungmin rewards you with a deep groan and the most shit eating grin you've ever seen.

---

by design | miniseries masterlist

pairing: hyunjin x f!reader ; chan x f!reader | genre: romance, angst | warnings: themes of death and grieving (extensively) ; themes of guilt ; heavy angst ; jealousy ; failed relationships ; mutual pining ; hurt/comfort. Explicit and adult content. Certain themes could be upsetting to some ; reader discretion is advised. More warnings will be applied to individual chapters.

Summary: You grew up in Stormhaven, a small coastal city. Your parents, who owned the general store, were friends with the owners of the camping ground next door, which means that you and their son also became close. Years later, you’re married to your childhood best friend, but life has not made it easy for either of you. And neither of you know how to untangle the mess… until the day a someone comes to check in at the campground, and something in your chest comes alive again.

To be intimate with love, the true kind, also means being intimate with loss.

chapter one: aloneness [tbr] chapter two: tba [tbr]

(I haven't yet decided if there will be two or three chapters!)

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RIDING MEAN DOM SEUNGMIN PLEASEPLLEAS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE IM BEGGING DACRYPHILLIA TOO OH I FEEL LIKE IM GOING TO GO FERAL

no ‘cause how did u know seungmin’s been wrecking me lately!!!! honestly i don’t think i’m good at writing dom!skz but i hope you enjoy this anyway!!! 🤧🩷

tw: afab!reader ; dom!seungmin ; seungmin’s dick is big ‘cause i said so ; he slaps reader’s ass a few times ; he calls reader a brat and the word slut is used a few times but they love each other very much i promise ; dacryphilia if you squint ; ♡

wc: less than 1k ; ♡

smut! minors dni. 18+ only.

seungmin watches closely as you sink down onto his length.

he’s got one hand tucked under his neck in a cocky pose, the other on your hip, eyes fixed on your face not to miss a single reaction of yours as his cock fills you up slowly inch by inch. he’s big and hard and the initial stretch is kinda painful, but you like it that way. a cocky smirk appears on his stupidly handsome face when you finally take all of him inside of you and a huff leaves your mouth.

“’s big, yeah?” his question is rhetoric, he knows it well.

you nod, eyes glistening a bit due to the slight burning sensation between your legs. seungmin is quick to react, his hand leaves your hip, and he taps your mouth with his pointer and middle finger. you open your mouth, wetting seungmin’s fingers with your own spit. after making sure they’re wet enough, he pulls them out and places them on your clit, touching you to get you to relax around him. it works.

“’s big, but you’re gonna take it like the brat you are, yeah?” you hum in agreement, but it’s not enough anymore. seungmin stops stimulating your clit, and before you know it, he lands a slap on your asscheek. you let out an obnoxious moan and your walls clench around his cock, squeezing it tighter - it catches seungmin by surprise, too. “words.”

“y-yeah. ‘m gonna take it. ‘m gon’ ride your big cock,” you bite on your lip, lifting your hips and finally starting to move up and down his length.

your legs give in, like, after a couple of minutes maybe, and seungmin notices the way your movements are slowing down. another slap on your ass that makes you whimper. “i can’t believe you’re tired already.”

“‘m sorry, minnie,” you halt your movements, resting your hands on his chest.

seungmin chuckles, shaking his head disappointedly. “ah, i spoiled you too much, didn’t i? made you a pillow princess,” he grabs your hip, looks you in the eye, “you want me to take control and fuck you, yeah?”

you nod. “please. please, minnie-“ you beg with tears in your eyes.

“not tonight. not now, at least,” he chuckles, squeezing your hip. he grunts when he sees your lips quiver and your teary eyes. “the things you do to me, fuck…”

“please. i’ll be your good gi- i’ll be your good slut. please, please fuck me,” you try to convince him.

you’re sitting on top of him. his cock fully sheathed inside of you, its leaking tip practically kissing your cervix and you’re begging him to fuck you. he could switch positions in the blink of an eye if he wanted to. if. wrap his delicious arm around your waist and flip you onto the bed, on your back, your legs spread to accommodate him, and he could fuck you mercilessly then and there. the thought is tempting, he has to admit.

“let’s make a deal, yeah?” he knows he’s got your attention now. “you ride me nice and good until you make your slutty pussy cum around my cock and then i’m gonna fuck you. in your favorite position, yeah?”

you shake your head as a no. seungmin raises his eyebrows, genuinely surprised by your rejection, but before he could open his mouth to speak - “i want’ you to fuck me in your favorite position.”

seungmin’s eyes roll in the back of his skull. you feel him twitch inside of you and maybe getting a little bit harder. “you want that? you want me to fuck you like that? ass up, face down?”

you nod, biting your lip. seungmin swears under his breath.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” seungmin sighs. “c’mon, fuck me. make yourself cum on my cock,” he grabs and squeezes your asscheek.

“min… feels big, min-“ you choke on your own moans, tears in your eyes as you fuck yourself on his cock. “i think i might-“

he smirks. “you think you might cum?” he mocks your tone. “already?”

“miiin…” you whine at his teasing.

“ah, you just love this cock, don’t you, brat?”

you sniffle, then nod, riding him just a little bit faster. you feel sore already. “i do. feels good. feels so good inside of me,” you pant. “‘m close, min, ‘m so close.”

“cum on this fat cock,” seungmin grunts, feeling your tight pussy squeezing him even tighter. “fuckin’ soak it, brat.”

“‘m cumming, ‘m-“

seungmin watches in awe the way your lips part as your body trembles and shakes before you collapse on top of him, resting your head on his chest, completely spent. he rolls his eyes, pretending to be annoyed.

“ah, you’re such a brat. making me do all the work every time,” he taps on your asscheek a couple of times, “c’mon. ass up, face down you brat. we had a deal, remember?”

and don’t think he doesn’t notice the smirk on your face. that’s how he knows this was your plan all along.

-> if you read this and you liked it, consider reblogging. it’s cool and it lets me know you actually enjoyed reading my work! ♡

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