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what am I missing?

act ten: “Just promise me I’ll still get time with you.”

feat: bang chan x f.reader, seo changbin x f.reader, han jisung x f.reader

↳ in your mid to late twenties you’re left wondering if you missed your sexual awakening. With a the help of friends you start to really find yourself.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: for the story as a whole angst, a little fluff, body image issues, and self doubt, cussing all smut warnings listed below for what is in this story.

series masterlist

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐚𝐧: what is everyone thinking about each of the boys so far?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: just angst for this chapter but for other chapters: nipple play, clit and vaginal fingering, lots of dry humping and some dirty talk. for the story as a whole, oral (fem & male receiving), piv, unprotected sex, groping, threesome, use or traffic light system, choking, and spanking, the mc calls herself a slut more warning to come. Soft but dominant jisung, kinda sub reader for jisung. Being tied up during sex.

Anyway you look at it, things between you and the boys are different. They still treat you the same when you’re all together. But there is something about the fact that they have all seen you naked and been with you in the most intimate way that makes you feel different.

You’re working a shift with Chan for the first time in a very long time. He’s been so busy with his studio job he barely ever picks up shifts waiting tables. You’re over this shift and you can’t wait to be off. Sitting on the curb in back behind your restaurant. You’re taking your time trying to have a moment away from your crowded restaurant. The door opens and moments later Chan sits down next to you.

“Why haven’t we quit tonight?” He groans, leaning against you.

“I don’t know but I’m over this shift. All the customers are assholes and on top of that Mingyu and Yuqi working are together in section two,” even though it’s been a while seeing them together makes you feel awkward.

“Forget about Mingyu.”

“It’s a little hard when I know he’s seen me naked.”

“I mean I’ve seen you naked too,” he smiles.

“Except you didn’t basically dump me right after for another girl,” you can still picture Mingyu's face as he tells you about Yuqi. The feeling of him rejecting you still burns.

“Well if you want maybe we can have a date night like did with Jisung and maybe you know-“

“Is this your way of asking me to have sex with you?” You can’t help but tease him. You know Chan would never use you just to hook up.

“I would like to have a little date night. We don’t even have to sex,” you look over at him and notice he’s already blushing.

“I would really like that,” you can’t help but smile.

“Good, I liked being able to spend time with you.” He reaches down, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Just so you know I haven’t told either of the boys details about what happened between us.” You say. He pauses as he pulls away from you.

“I want what happens between us to be private.” There is a gentle look in his eyes. You hope he always looks at you this way.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to share this with the boys.” He says.

He reaches down, lacing his fingers with yours. You rest your head on his shoulder. “Did you want to go to that diner on fourth street we used to go to when we would study tonight after we’re off?” This little diner has always been a place you loved spending time at.

“Just the two of us?” He asked.

“Yes, just the two of us.”

“I need to go back in and finish the last two hours of this hell shift,” you sigh, pulling away from him.

He stands up and grabs your hand before you can walk away. He rests his hand gently on your cheek. You can’t tell if he’s going to kiss you but you desperately want him too.

“Chan?”

“Yes?”

“Are you teasing me or are you going to kiss me?”

“Am I allowed to kiss you?” The way he smiles at you is enough to give you butterflies.

“Absolutely.”

This isn’t some heated searing kiss. The feeling of his lips on yours makes you feel like you’re home. Reaching up, you rest your hand on his chest. You could stay in this moment forever.

“Good luck in there,” he says softly as he pulls away.

The rest of your shift luckily went by quickly. You barely had to see Mingyu or Yuqi which helped a lot. You walked outside to find Chan leaning against his car waiting for you. “I almost quit as I was walking out,” Chan says.

“I think I almost quit every shift.”

“Let’s go get food,” he says.

Luckily you walked the short distance to your work today so you don’t have to worry about leaving your car at work. Chan drives you both to the diner that’s only ten minutes away. Walking into the quiet diner you sit in a booth in the back where you often used to sit. It’s after midnight and there aren’t many people here. Sitting in this familiar diner you miss the long nights you would spend in here studying with Chan.

You look up from your menu to find him watching you. You already know what you want to eat so you aren’t sure why you even looked at the menu. You’ve always gotten the same thing to eat here.

“Strawberry waffle?” He smiles.

“Of course.”

Nights like this remind you how Chan has always brought you a sense of comfort. He knows everything he could possibly know about you and he always goes out of his way to make you happy.

The waitress comes over and takes your order and before she can leave Chan orders you both a hot coco just like you used to drink while studying.

She comes back, handing you each a warm glass of hot cocoa with whip cream on it. You sit there sipping on the hot beverage as you start to relax after your long night at work. You can tell Chan is silently studying each of your movements.

“Does this count as a date?” You can’t help but wonder, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Do you want this to be a date?” He raises his eyebrow as he studies you.

“Chan, don’t answer my question with a question.”

“I would like to think this is a date,” he reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. He slowly drags his thumb across your knuckles. “I like spending time with you.”

“I like spending time with you too,” you watch him as he gently traces your skin.

“I remember the first time I met you. There was just something about being around you that made me happy. You felt like sunshine on a rainy day.” You suddenly feel speechless. He's never said anything like this before. You know you’ve always been special to him, but he’s never said anything like this before.

“Chan, I need you in my life.”

“Don’t worry baby I’m not going anywhere,” he lifts your hand and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your delicate skin.

“I’m sorry if I’m hurting you by spending time with the boys,” you can’t bring yourself to say their names right now or mention that you’re having sex with them.

“I’m okay. I’ll always be okay,” he presses another kiss to the top of your hand. You wanted to believe he was telling the truth but something deep down inside of you knew Chan wasn’t telling the truth.

“Just promise me I’ll still get time with you. I might not be wild in bed like Jisung, but I promise I can make you feel good.”

“Chan, I don't need you to be wild. I would do it again with you in a heartbeat. You made me feel so confident and so wanted.”

“It’s not hard to make you feel wanted, when I want you.” He gives you that gentle smile as his cheeks lightly blush. For a moment you forget you’re in a diner past midnight. The only thing your brain can focus on is your best friend who is sitting across from you.

“I want you too,” you say. You wished this table wasn’t separating you, because you desperately want to kiss him.

Before he can respond the waitress comes over and sets your food down on the table. You don’t eat for a long moment, you just watch Chan wondering what is going through his mind.

“You should eat while it’s hot,” he says.

“Chan?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I go over to your house tonight?” You don’t want him to drop you off after this. You want to spend the night curled up next to him.

“Absolutely.”

Regarding my taglist: I’m tagging so many people like 300+ people and the the amount of reblogs and interactions I’m getting compared to my taglist make me quite sad. I kindly ask if you request to be tagged that you interact with my writing. It takes me a really long time to make sure I tag everyone. Im going to start removing silent readers and blank blogs to make tagging easier. If anyone wants to be added to this stories taglist I have decided to close it for now. I can’t add anymore people unfortunately. Im really asking for interaction if I’m spending the time to tag you.

Thank you to anyone who has been replaying to the post and reblogging them.

SCREAM — CHAPTER [13] of RED LIGHTS [18+!]

“You’re insane,” is all you can let out.

“Insanely attracted to you.”

You scoff, “Stop messing around.”

“Oh, I was just about to start, doll.”

← previous part | next part →

💻 Four months ago: When you end up running into your ex boyfriend at a house party, you decide to search for the vodka your best friend hides in his storage room. But instead you find your enemy there who is very destined to make you forget about your past lover.

❗️You, Y/N, are part of this year’s season of Red Lights, starring as the main character, surrounded by eight very different men that you have all met before. In order to decide how the story unfolds and what happens in following episodes, select an option for the poll after reading a chapter.

🛷 CONTENT INFO: skz ot8 x afab reader [not at the same time], pls refer to masterlist for more info, reality/dating show AU, minors do not interact since it includes topics only suitable for adults, content warning under the cut

📕 WORD COUNT: 3.4K

🎸 SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

🥀 CONTENT WARNING: explicit sexual content [includes oral (f receiving), semi-public encounters, degradation, squirting, reader gets called doll, baby and slut], alcohol consumption, mention of breakup

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

You’re convinced by now he must have done it on purpose. Jisung’s greatest birthday wish must have been to humiliate you and he achieved exactly that.

Big brown eyes stare at her. You think she’s one of the birthday boy’s colleagues and you couldn’t care less if she wasn’t currently all over your ex boyfriend.

Yes, someone—most definitely Jisung himself—must have invited Minho to the party. As far as you know they have talked maybe twice in their life which is why you don’t get what your ex is doing here. Therefore, Jisung must have brought him here with the intention of hurting you.

“Are you okay, Y/N? You’ve been sipping on this gin tonic for an hour now.”

It’s funny that your best friend worries about you when you’re not drinking—although it would be a good idea to drown your sorrows in alcohol. However, you don’t want to do anything that could end very embarrassing for you. The night is already too much of a disaster while you’re sober.

“Why… why is he here, Chan?”

Your best friend is sipping on some lemonade. Despite him living here together with Jisung in the shared apartment, he has offered the guests to drive them home—the gentlemen he is. Well, he’s also doing a new workout program which requires him to stay sober at all times.

“I believe it’s because Jisung is celebrating his birthday together with Jooyeon and apparently Minho and him are friends,” Chan explains. “ They have known each other for years since their families are close or something. Jisung told him that it isn’t a good idea but Jooyeon couldn’t be convinced.”

Oh. So—it wasn’t your enemies evil plan after all? Or is Chan just trying to calm you down? No. Your best friend would never lie to you and despite that, you can tell whenever he’s not telling the truth.

In addition to that, your worst nightmare—also known as Han Jisung—has also tried to convince his friend to not invite Minho? Maybe because of… you? When your ex and you were still a couple, Jisung had always been pretty neutral, almost distant around him so you would have expected him to not really care if Minho attends his party or not.

“Ji– Jisung tried to convince him not to come?”

And here you were thinking that he was the one to invite him on purpose. Well—can you blame yourself? Jisung and you have never gotten along since you first met even though Chan has been his roommate and other best friend. Your hatred towards him is mostly caused because of him dating your close friend Sooji in the first year of college and dumping her for no reason. He just ghosted her out of the blue and talked shit about her.

It’s part of your ‘girl’s support girls code’ to automatically hate him too, right? On top of that, he’s never made a move to come clear with you either. By now he must reciprocate those feelings—you can tell since he takes every chance to make fun of you when you’re together in your shared friend group.

“Yes. He told me,” Chan replies.

“Wow, you could almost think that he has a heart,” you chuckle.

Your best friend rolls his eyes, “Y/N… I know you don’t like him but he’s not evil.”

Raising one eyebrow, you look at Chan. “That’s what he makes you believe…”

You turn around, gaze hovering towards your ex boyfriend, who’s currently whispering something to the girl in front of him. Minho’s fingers are placed on her lower arm, pulling her closer.

“Hey, look at me,” Chan interrupts your zoned out state.

“Hm?”

“If you want to go home, I can drive you at any time,” he informs you. “I’m staying sober anyway. But how about you just make the best out of it?”

Wow. Chan makes it sound so fucking easy. You’ve come so far these past nine months. You’ve almost got over your stupid asshole of an ex boyfriend just for him to show up at a party which you didn’t want to attend in the first place.

“How am I supposed to make the best out of seeing my ex nine months after him breaking up with me without giving me a reason?”

Chan looks at you with apologetic eyes, a hand coming to your shoulder to softly stroke it, “Baby…”

“No, don’t ‘baby’ me, Christopher,” you tell him, taking a step back.

“Then let’s at least try to make the best of it. You can’t avoid your fears forever,” he suggests.

Well—what else are you supposed to do, anyway? Maybe getting a little bit of alcohol should be fine. Just enough for you to not care about Minho’s presence anymore. You could look around and search for Hyunjin. That introvert is probably hiding in some corner, maybe sketching the scene of the party. Annoying your roommate sounds like a good idea, if you’re honest.

“Yeah… maybe you’re right. But I think I need something stronger than this,” you say, looking at your cup filled with gin and tonic. Chan always mixes drinks that are not strong at all. Unfortunately, Seungmin couldn’t make it to the party tonight—with his bartender skills you would have already been wasted by now.

Just when you’re about to go to the kitchen, Chan gets greeted by someone. Of course. That guy has friends all over the globe.

“If you need anything, let me know, yeah?”

You nod and let him engage in the conversation with his acquaintance, before you head to the room of your destination. Jisung and Chan’s apartment is cramped which makes it even less spacious now with so many guests inside. You can hardly tell where you’re going but somehow you make it to the kitchen.

Passing some couples that are making out in the corners and on top of the counters you get reminded that you’re glad about the fact that Hyunjin and you are too introverted to ever have an obscene party like this. Rummaging around in the shelves where you know your best friend and his annoying roommate store their alcohol, you search for something specific, before you plan to look around for Hyunjin.

However, the vodka is nowhere to be found and since you’re a recurring guest and Chan has never had anything against you helping yourself when it comes to his stocks of alcohol, you decide to head towards where the beverages should be.

So, you exit the kitchen again—needing more time than you would have liked—and walk a straight line to the apartment’s storage room.

Fuck. The vodka has to be somewhere here—you know exactly that Chan hides it in one of those dusty boxes–

“Y/N.”

Oh, no.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Anyone but him.

“Jisung,” you say his name before getting up.

He walks inside the room now, turning on another lamp before closing the door behind him.

“Looking for something specific?”

“None of your business,” you hiss.

Shit. Where on earth is that stupid vodka?

“Oh, this is for sure my business because last time I checked you are in my apartment at my birthday party,” he tells you, clicking his tongue.

When you look at him for the first time you fear your heart might stop—his hair has gotten a lot longer, dark curls decorating his pretty face. He’s dressed in a black leather jacket and baggy jeans, navy nail polish highlighting his style.

Yes. That’s the biggest issue with Han Jisung. He isn’t only your so-called enemy but unfortunately also a very attractive one. You can’t deny it, after all you have eyes. It feels so toxic to admit it but on top of his beauty, the way he's always teasing you adds to it.

But you hate him. Absolutely. After all he’s done to Sooji, you will never like him. However, this doesn’t hold you back from sometimes having unholy thoughts about him that you shouldn’t have.

The worst of all this is—and you’re not even aware of it—if you gave Jisung a chance, you’d get along quite well. You’re pretty similar personality wise and share a lot of interests. There’s more than meets the eye to that dilemma with your friend some years ago but Jisung is too much of a coward to tell you the truth for two reasons.

First, he doesn’t want to be the deliverer of the message that your friend absolutely lied to you and that she was the one to talk shit about him. Because, second, Jisung didn’t dump her because he’s some fuckboy but she found out that he developed a crush on you which made her break things off with him and start a rumour out of jealousy. He had never been toxic to Sooji at any time given but his kindness was taken for granted.

“Hm, I am here,” you continue. “Just like Minho who you’ve decided to invite.”

Jisung looks at you dumbfounded. Minho is the last guy he wants to see here. After all, the potential of you and him even talking is enough to let jealousy bubble up in his body.

“What? I didn’t invite him. What makes you think I did?”

Why would Jisung want Minho here in the first place? He’s always hated that the guy even dated you for so long. Sure, he’s not relieved about the fact that he broke your heart but quite glad that you’re not a couple anymore.

You, on the other side, are just angry. Angry at Minho. Angry at Jisung. Angry at the world. Sometimes you’re just like that—fury gaining power over your body, annoyance spreading through your veins that makes you say provocative shit that you for sure will regret later.

“You… you just destroy everything… the same with Sooji back then–“

“What did she tell you?” Jisung immediately intervenes.

It’s like he’s been waiting for this moment for years now. You’ve never up until this day talked about the incident between him and your friend. Although, he could always tell that you’re distant because of it—on top of that, Chan couldn’t shut up for too long. So, this is why he immediately blurts out the question he’s been dying to ask.

“That you dumped her, duh,” you tell him. Why’s he even asking? Sooji let everyone on campus know what a fuckboy Jisung is. You totally understand her.

“Hm, I see,” Jisung won’t tell you the real reason the thing between them ended. He won’t give this triumph to you, not yet. “Of course she told you that. I’m not surprised.”

“Yes and I believe her,” you say. What a pity. But then again—as mentioned before—Jisung won’t reveal the secret Sooji has been hiding from you. That’s a thing between you and your friend and even if he was gonna share it you wouldn’t believe him anyway.

However, it doesn’t hold him back from shamelessly flirting with you—after all he’s noticed quite well how you’ve been ogling him for the past five minutes. You’re so obvious it’s almost adorable.

“I could make you feel good, you know… so when you walk out this little room, I promise you that Minho will know you’ve just gotten your brains fucked out,” Jisung suggests with a smirk.

Fuck. He speaks exactly like he’s done in all those fantasies you’ve had about him. Your enemy has to stop messing with your head.

Ignoring the sensation building up in your lower belly, you allow him to get closer to you, staying right where you are.

“You think so highly of yourself, don’t you?” you hiss back.

“I don’t just think so, I am speaking the truth,” he replies, clicking his tongue. “Let’s call Sooji right now and ask her how many times I’ve made her cum in a row just with my tongue and fingers.”

Jealousy erupts in your stomach by the idea of Jisung and Sooji together although it’s been a couple of years since they dated.

“You’re insane,” is all you can let out.

“Insanely attracted to you,” he answers, cocking his head before he takes a few steps further until he cages you between the shelf behind you and his body.

You’re afraid he might hear how fast and loud your heart is beating at that moment. God. You need to calm down. You can’t let him win. But then again—both your heart and unfortunately your pussy are trying to convince you of the exact opposite of what your brain is saying right now.

You scoff, “Stop messing around.”

Your gaze flies somewhere else, desperately trying to avoid him so he doesn’t see how flustered you are.

“Oh, I was just about to start, doll.”

One hand lands on the furniture behind you as your head snaps up at him.

“Are you for real?”

If he’s just saying this to make fun of you your dignity will basically be dead. You can’t risk getting humiliated by Han Jisung—unless it’s in a way you’ve thought about before, alone at night in your bed, two fingers inside your cunt, wishing they were his.

“Absolutely,” he says with a serious voice now.

Oh. He’s not joking. Fuck. This can’t be real. But it is. His eyes are burning with lust, while you feel your panties dripping from arousal. No one has ever had this effect on you. Maybe agreeing to this offer will both help you get rid of the confusion about Minho and Jisung?

What’s wrong about getting your brains fucked out by your enemy, right?

For a second you think about what Sooji would say and if you’re betraying her if you let Jisung touch you. But then you look back at him again and see how eager he is, basically drooling at the idea to pleasure you.

Speaking of, why is he even offering that? Hopefully not in some way to humiliate either you or Sooji more.

“What’s in it for you?”

He raises one eyebrow, “I don’t need anything. I just really enjoy eating pussy, you know?”

And with the seriousness in his voice you believe him. Jisung leaves out the crush that he still has on you that has a huge influence on this proposition as well.

“Okay. Only this. No sex,” you say with a stern voice.

“Sure,” he replies, nodding. He won’t say no to that. It feels like winning the lottery that you allow him to touch you, he won’t be the one complaining.

“Then… go on…”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, serious again.

“Uhm… yeah, why not?”

Jisung closes the gap between you, his mouth lying against yours and for a second you believe that earth stopped moving. You part your lips for him, inviting his tongue in, as the kiss grows in passion and heat. Your enemy lets out a grunt, already overwhelmed despite nothing much happening so far.

His hands wander to your waist, pulling you closer, before they travel further south. You spread your legs, allowing him space between your thighs while he starts playing with the hem of your dress. Fuck. When you first stepped into his apartment today, wearing that pathetic excuse of a skirt, he was afraid to get a boner right there in public.

These past years you’ve never bothered dressing up at his parties but something in the back of your mind convinced you to provoke him a little today.

Jisung brings two fingers to your drenched underwear. He chuckles, when he realises how absolutely soaked you are—you have to admit that you’ve never in your life been so wet before, it’s almost embarrassing.

He disconnects his lips from yours again, looking at you to search for any second guesses but all you do is hastily nod while heavy breaths and lustful whimpers spill from your lips. So, Jisung pushes the ruined fabric aside, not bothering to take it off.

He immediately finds your clit, as he starts drawing beautiful circles on it. You almost hit the back of your head on the shelf, unable to hold back the reaction he forces out of you—Jisung is fast to place his other hand between you and the furniture, saving you from actually hurting yourself. There’s something about this little gesture that makes your knees go weak—both in an arousing and emotional way.

But the thoughts don’t stay in your head any longer, when Jisung continues rubbing your sensitive bud, using his thumb now to keep two fingers busy at your entrance.

“Look at how wet this pussy is,” he says with a low voice and you let out an unapologetic moan.

It feels so fucking filthy to be here—inside a cramped storage room where anyone could walk in on you, seeing you begging your enemy to finally push his fingers into your cunt.

As if he’s able to read your mind, Jisung does exactly this, feeling you immediately clench around him. It’s so adorable how you don’t even seem to fight it—he would have expected you to be a tease, an absolute brat but maybe he prefers this version of you, so obediently allowing him to do whatever he wants.

“You look so fucking pretty with my fingers inside your cunt,” he tells you and you can’t help but giggle.

You feel your brain turn into mush, mouth slightly agape and legs parting further to give him more access to thrust his digits deeper into you. Jisung positions one of your heels on the shelf so that he can brush over that sweet spot inside you.

“Didn’t expect you to get so wet that fast… shit, you’re easy…”

Your enemy drops to his knees then, hovering your skirt upwards, as he’s on eye level with your pussy now. You swear you can see him salivating at the view—he’s dreamt about this for years after all.

“I-I’m not– e-easy,” you fight back between moans, not quite convincing.

Jisung spreads your pussy lips apart, taking in every moment of this astonishing sight in front of his eyes.

“So, you’re only like this with me, huh?”

You can’t reply this time. Your dignity is definitely dead by now but you can’t manage to let a single rational thought appear in your head, when Jisung is flicking his tongue over your clit for the first time, the thrusts of his fingers continuing.

“Cute little thing, can’t get enough of my tongue, hm?” he hums against your wetness.

Your hand finds his head, twirling the curls around while you cry out his name as if you’ve forgotten about every other word you’ve ever learnt.

“Shit– doll, yeah, just like that, scream my name, baby.”

Hastily nodding, you let out a giggle, nonsense leaving your mouth, as you grind yourself on his tongue.

“Pathetic little slut… didn’t expect you to go dumb just from my tongue…”

Fuck. The rough language just adds to it and you can’t do anything else than to agree with him. This is insane. Jisung is absolutely insane—ruining your pussy and you’d let him do it again and again.

He’s driving you close to the verge of cumming. Dangeroulsy close. Whenever he moans against your heat. Whenever he circles his tongue around your clit. Whenever he curls the by now three fingers inside your aching hole.

“Ji– fuck, right there, yeah, right there– oh–“ you manage to let out.

Stars are filling your vision, when you tip over the edge—for a second it feels as if you entered a new dimension, utmost pleasure taking over you. Your thighs are shaking, your throat burns from screaming Jisung’s name, when you squirt all over his face—a feeling you’ve never experienced before. The man between your legs doesn’t stop—he helps you ride out your high, by now absolutely pussy drunk because of you.

“You’re so fucking cute, I swear,” he says.

Once you’ve somewhat come down, he gets up from the floor and cleans some of your juices with his fingers, for the rest he uses some tissues he finds. He does the same with you, taking care of your fragile body.

Shit. This was it?

You can feel the tent inside his pants, when he leans closer—his crotch is pretty much covered by his long shirt, hiding the evidence of his arousal.

But you need more. You fucking need more of him.

“Jisung– please– I need– need your cock,” you beg him with awaiting eyes.

“Nah, we agreed on something else, doll,” he says before helping you adjust your dress.

A soft kiss gets placed on your cheek next, before he takes a step away and exits the room.

Results of poll 12 from WRAP ME IN PLASTIC [previous chapter]:

[Choosing autumn led to Jisung's backstory being revealed since it happened in September]

❤️‍🔥 AUTHOR’S NOTE: You made it! You chose my fave backstory of them all hahaha finally my man Jisung gets some screen time too even though it was just a flashback chapter :) Thank you so much for reading and all the love you keep on giving. I appreciate you guys a lot. Make sure to leave a comment, ask and/or reblog. Have a nice day and take care ❤️

© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

a life remembered | l.mh, h.js

wc: 4.6k

genre: soulmate au; reincarnation au; fluff; angst; poly!minsung x reader

cw: primarily Han pov; illusions to suggestive conversation; concert highs; anxiety/panic attack mentions; food/eating mentions; Bee (I feel like they need a warning lol, love them the most); arguing but bc they care (not between the soulmates); please let me know if I missed anything

part one: a life forgotten

Soulmates are a curious thing. Everyone has them, and someway, somehow, they always find each other.

When Lee Minho walked into JYP Entertainment for the first time, Jisung didn’t know what to do or how to react, and looking back on it now, it was comical. Minho was, in Jisungs opinion, one of, if not the most, handsome man he’d ever seen. It had struck a chord in him he’d chosen to interpret as jealousy.

When Chan told him he wanted to include Minho in the group he was creating, Jisung couldn’t decide if he was giddy or nervous. He’d met the other boy twice and couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that they knew each other. It wasn’t until their third meeting, the first one in an official capacity, to learn the song Chan wanted to showcase, that Jisung realized why.

The small space of the practice room they were designated to made the group circle a tight one, Minho rushing in and dropping to the floor in the open spot between Jisung and Felix, accidentally brushing against Jisung in the process and shooting them both headfirst into a memory both could swear wasn’t theirs.

Water surrounded them in every direction, the sounds of laughter filling the air. The ship rocked gently as the waves pushed it along steadily.

Minho took Jisungs hand, leading him to the edge of the ship. 

“Where is your beautiful mind right now, my love?” 

And although it didn’t feel like he was talking to Minho, and there was no response, Jisung’s smile lit up his entire face, his eyes twinkling in pure content.

“Come back to the group, love. The boys are going to start their whining if you ignore them for too long.” Minho groaned.

Again there was no response, as if a chunk of their memory for this specific moment was still missing.

“You know how your boys can get.” Jisung waved nonchalantly, hand grasping at thin air before the two turned back to join the rest of the crew.

Practice was immediately derailed as they were brought back to the present, everyone looking worried as they surrounded the pair.

“What just happened?” Changbin asked, holding Jisungs shoulder to keep him steady.

“I’m not entirely sure.” Jisung couldn’t stop himself from seeking out Minho’s eyes, which were already on him, holding the softest expression Jisung has ever seen in his life.

“Please tell me you saw the ship too.” Minho whispered, voice unsure, hand grasping Jisungs for dear life and all he could do was nod. Minho started nodding along with him, the two slowly morphing from shock to joy as smiles spread across their faces.

Tears pricked at Jisungs eyes the more the realization hit him.

“We’re soulmates.”

````

Five years. 

In five years, so much had changed for Han Jisung. In just five years he’d met not only the love of his life, but also his soul brothers, a realization they came to some time after the soulmate realization, as Minho and Jisung saw the rest of the members in almost all of their past lives. 

In five years Stray Kids had also risen to a level of fame not one of them had predicted. They were living a life their younger selves could have only hoped to dream of, and they were so beyond grateful and happy to be able to keep doing music together.

But also within those five years, Minho and Jisung had come to the conclusion that something was missing. They were absolutely positive that they were soulmates, of that there was not even a shadow of a doubt, but there were too many holes in their shared memories, conversations that felt one sided, moments in bed with a gap between them that shouldn't be there if they were at peace with one another. But the confirmation that they were missing a piece came in a memory that surfaced much later than the rest, one with Jisung storming up to Minho’s door, fist banging in anger, wedding band adorning his finger but not Minho’s. 

That memory was one of Jisung being angry with Minho and not even knowing who he was, with Minho knowing of Jisung but not knowing him personally, of them both being in love with a person that wasn’t the other. Minho is positive he’d despise cheaters in every life, yet was accused of sleeping with a married person. Neither Jisung, nor Minho could remember Jisungs spouse's name, what they looked like, what gender they were, all they knew was that both of them loved them, and they both loved them as desperately as they love one another, and that was enough to convince them that the piece missing was a third soulmate.

They didn’t know how to go about it, they couldn’t even be allowed to share the truth of their relationship and thousands of Stays were claiming to be each members soulmates daily just for a chance of meeting them. The chances of finding their third and final piece was slim at absolute best. 

People always say trust the soulmate connection and that time would bring them together, but that was hard knowing you couldn’t remember someone you love. 

Han Jisung spent far too many concerts and fan meets searching the crowd in hopes that you’d be there, that he’d finally find you and the trio would finally be complete. Likewise, he’d spent just as many nights disappointed that you were nowhere to be found. With their fame came the higher likelihood of you being able to find them, but that also meant it’d be harder for them to find you. However, Chan and his soulmate, Riley, gave Jisung hope that he would find you.

Lee Minho wanted to find you just as badly, though he looked for you in the mundane. Whilst his partner expected you to reach out via their fame, Minho hoped more for bumping into you on the sidewalk or in a coffee shop, it made him feel more attainable. Minho knew that whilst Riley and Chan made it work, and even Bee and Changbin, there were just as many people that would be scared off by celebrity soulmates as there are seeking them. 

Another concert, another night of Jisung daydreaming about finding you in the crowd and whisking you away after to finally meet you and remember you. Riley gave Chan a knowing glare, the parental figures of the group concerned about their younger friend. Ever since the two soulmates came to the conclusion they have a third one, which isn’t unheard of but is fairly rare, their friends have been doubtful to say the least. 

No one likes seeing the kicked puppy look on Jisungs face whenever someone mentions that maybe there isn’t anyone else out there, or the way Minho gets defensive when they try to talk to him about the possibility of their memories just not having fully solidified yet. Both in the firm belief that five years connected at the hip was enough time to remember everything. But that didn’t stop the worried glances and strained smiles when they’d start talking about their ‘other soulmate’.

“They’re gonna be here tonight.” Jisung stated as if it were an absolute fact.

“You said that last night, Sungie.” Hyunjin muttered.

“Yeah, but I can feel it this time. They’re in the crowd right now, I’m positive of it.”

“Ji, you have an incredible soulmate already, why are you so eager to find another one?” Bee asked from their almost permanent place snuggled into Changbin. “I’m just saying, I can’t imagine dealing with more than one Binnie.”

“They’re not another Minho, they’re mine and Min’s missing piece.” Jisung argued. It was a conversation that felt all too familiar, and every time one of his soul brothers or other lifetime friends make comments, he feels himself getting just a little more hostile but also a little more defeated.

Maybe they were wrong, maybe there wasn’t a missing piece and they truly just haven’t had the best relationship in every lifetime. But Jisung couldn’t bring himself to believe that. Seeing how whole Bee and Bin, and Riley and Chan, were, how they didn’t have memory gaps or questionable moments and conversations, made him feel like there was no other explanation aside from another person to fill the void. It wasn’t like Jisung thought Minho wasn’t enough for him, he wasn’t seeking more from outside their relationship, he loved Minho with every fiber of his being, but he knew Minho wasn’t the only one he’d hold these feelings towards. And Minho knew it too, it was a long conversation to have, one that ended in tears but mutual understanding that they would always have each other and weren’t seeking out this third person for any reason other than them wholeheartedly believing they are also their soulmate.

As the time to go on stage got closer and closer, Jisung felt more antsy. He wasn’t sure why tonight felt different, but he couldn’t stop fidgeting. Minho tried to calm him down, but was just as on edge. 

The concert went smoothly, they always did, but Minho and Jisung both spent far more time engaging towards one specific area than they ever had before. It’s like they couldn’t abandon the section for longer than a few minutes and they always ended up right back there the second they could. Jisung felt better than he had in a long time, adrenaline pumping through his veins and a smile plastered on his face. He felt good, he felt whole for the first time in a long time. Jisung couldn’t explain it, but that stage was the most at home he’d felt since he first found Minho.

As they said their goodbyes to Stay and made their way backstage, the overwhelming peace Jisung had felt slowly faded. He couldn’t think of any reason why, but as he watched Riley smother his leader with kisses and Bee put his best friend into a headlock, he felt himself growing more numb. 

Minho wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling into his shoulder, relieving the aching feeling sinking in so fast it would have given Jisung whiplash if he weren’t already used to the other boys' affect on him, body and mind. Jisung could feel giggles bubbling up in him with each soft kiss placed on the base of his neck.

“You were radiant out there tonight, my love.”

“And you were very sexy.” Jisung giggled.

“Hey now! There are children present!” Riley scolded, breaking away from Chan to cover Jeongin’s ears. “Go foreplay somewhere else.”

“Yeah!” Bee shouted from Changbin’s back. “There’s dressing rooms for a reason!”

The look of absolute dismay Riley shot Bee was priceless, “That’s not what the dressing rooms are for.” 

“It’s not? Did you know that bro?”

Changbins ears were red. “Please don’t call me bro while talking about this.”

“How about we just all get showered and changed and go grab something to eat?” Chan suggested in a tone that left no room for argument, clapping his hands together and pulling Riley back towards his body. “And stop babying Innie, he’s worse than Bee these days.”

“I will never stop babying my baby, but I am hungry.” Riley muttered in agreement. “If y’all take too long in the shower, we’re leaving without you.” Riley pointed at Bee and Changbin, who’s ears somehow got even more red. Bee just winked at their best friend, shiteating grin plastered on their face.

Twenty minutes later, Jisung piled into the van with his bandmates and additional soulmates, Seungmin and Hyunjin discussing what they wanted to eat whilst Felix snuggled into Bee’s side, the two looking at memes while Changbin pouted.

Jisung felt more drained than he had in a long time, his social battery past empty and moved on to completely fried. Minho pulling him into his side eased some of the anxiousness starting to well up.

“No panic attacks after amazing shows.” Minho whispered.

Jisung buried his head further into the other mans neck. “I’m trying.”

“I know.” He kissed the crown of his head gently, smiling softly while tightening his hold. “I’m seriously so proud of you.”

The ride was uneventful out to the opposite side of the city, in hopes less people would recognize them so they could have their meal in peace. Minho and Jisung were the last of the group to venture out of the vehicle and towards the restaurant. They didn’t get too far before a voice rapping along to Han’s part to All In stopped them dead in their tracks.

“Y/n, please, you’re in public.” 

“You’re wasting your breath, you know how they are about their spotlight songs.”

Han’s eyes landed on the person rapping his line with such ease it was as if they’d written it themself. He felt excitement flood through him instantaneously, rushing over and joining them, singing along to the song playing quietly in the outdoor speakers overhead.

He watched your eyes light up as the two of you sang along together, ignoring your friends and focusing on one another. Not a thing in the world was registering to either of you as you both turned to Minho, watching as he rolled his eyes, smile already playing at his lips, joining in for the last parts of the song.

Your laughter filled the air as the song came to an end, and Jisung could swear it was already becoming one of his favorite sounds. 

“Took you long enough.”

Your voice was laced with amusement.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“You know I don’t like singing by myself.” You nudged his shoulder lightly, causing him to wrap his arm around your shoulders and squeeze tight.

“But your voice is so nice!”

A blush lit up your cheeks in an instant, mouth opening to respond when someone clearing their throat behind you drew the groups attention.

“Y/n, um, what?”

“Min! Sungie! Hurry your asses up or we’re gonna eat without you.” Bee shouted from down the way, drawing Jisungs attention just long enough for you to slip out of his hold.

By the time he or Minho could focus back on you, you were gone. No trace of a person having been standing with them, as if you’d been a figment of their imagination.

“Sungie…”

“I know.”

“That was…”

“Yeah.”

Minho was staring off into the direction you had to have gone in, itching to run after you. Jisung stared at his hands, in disbelief that just moments prior he was holding the final piece of his puzzle in those same hands.

You, the random stranger unabashedly performing one of their songs in the middle of the street, were the one person Jisung and Minho had been looking for incessantly. The person they knew they couldn’t remember. 

“Do you ever wonder what we’d be like if we didn’t find each other? What’d it’d be like if we don’t keep finding each other?”

Jisung was used to thinking these types of questions, but hearing you ask them out loud hurt more than him thinking them ever did.

“I’d rather imagine we’ll always find each other.” Jisung grumbled, tightening his hold on both of the bodies on either side of his.

“Okay but what if-”

“There are no what if’s, my love. We’ll always find one another, in every lifetime, even if some take a little longer than others. I don’t see a reason to dwell on the impossibility of not ending up right back here every single time.”

You snuggled deeper into Jisungs chest, hand squeezing Minho’s.

“I suppose you’re right.” You mumbled. Minho squeezed your hand comfortingly in response. 

Jisungs arms shifted entirely around you, squeezing as he rolled over to toss you in the middle, both of your soulmates wanting to hold you close. You sighed in content, snuggling into your boys happily.

“I am so dead serious right now, you two. We will absolutely eat without you if you don’t- why do your faces look like that?”

“We found them.”

“Found who? Why are you being cryptic.”

“We found our other soulmate.” Jisung said.

Bee’s mouth dropped open and within moments all of their brothers and Riley were there, bombarding them with questions.

“Okay, so is no one surprised that they actually have another soulmate? Is that just me?” Hyunjin said, a smack from Seungmin following shortly after. 

“Which direction did they go? We need to find them!” Jeongin said, already shifting from one foot to the other as if he were ready to sprint in any direction in a moments notice. 

“We didn’t actually see what direction they went in because somebody distracted us.” Jisung glared at Bee.

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m hungry and didn’t know.” They huffed.

“We were facing that way so they definitely couldn’t have gone in that direction.” Minho cut in, knowing a grumpy Jisung and a hangry Bee is never a good combination. They loved each other like siblings but damn could they argue until they both turned blue.

“Alright, everyone pick a direction and let's find our boys’ soulmate.” Chan said, “Go in pairs and meet here in one hour, no exceptions. Even if everyone comes back empty handed, we have to at least try.” Turning to his first and last children, his eyes and tone softened. “Is there anything we can use to recognise them?”

Jisung immediately jumped into a full description, followed by Minho simply saying, “Ask if they know ‘All In’. They were singing it with us just now.”

Nods all around as people started pairing up.

“Okay, I’m going with Ji.” Riley stated, looping their arm through Jisungs. “Channie, you take Min. Bin and Bee, separate. I am not dealing with soulmates getting distracted and off mission right now.”

Before Jisung could even think about protesting, he was being swept away by Riley in the first direction he would have guessed you ran in. Jisung struggled to keep up with the pace set by Riley as they ducked into shops and restaurants, checking bathrooms and fitting rooms as they went. Riley wanted to cover as much ground as possible in the one hour timeframe given, which Jisung was appreciative of. However, Jisung hoped Minho and Chan were having better luck, or anyone else for that matter.

He wanted to find you more than anything. Knowing he had you in his arms was enough for him to get addicted to you, and if he stopped for a moment and focused on his memories, he was sure you were already fitting yourself into almost every single one..

Every one sided conversation suddenly being completed, all those nights spent with an unnecessary space between himself and Minho being filled by you. Your presence for those four minutes he got with you had already led to a downward spiral of need to be close to you, to hold you in his arms once more.

In combination with the presence of you in old memories, as if you’d always been there, there was also a small onslaught of new memories, ones without Minho but including you. Ones that further solidified your rightful place within his life.

As another memory flashed behind his eyes, he took a seat on a bench outside of a small corner store.

“Are you okay?” Riley asked, always a mother hen.

“I’m fine, just, check this one without me, I need a moment.”

Riley seemed to understand and didn’t ask questions as they pat him on the back and wandered into the store.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” A voice whispered in your ear as hands made their way around your waist. “Because I feel like we’ve met before and I’d like to get to know you again.”

You could smell the stench of alcohol emanating off the stranger feeling you up in the middle of the dance floor. Rolling your eyes, you ripped his hands off you, turning around and shoving him back for safe measure. 

“I do believe in soulmates, and you sure as hell ain’t mine. But the guy who is doesn’t really take kindly to strangers touching what's his.” 

Before the idiot could open his mouth again, Jisungs arm slid into place across your shoulders, pulling you in for a downright make out session right in the middle of the bars dance floor.

When he finally pulled away, the dude was nowhere to be seen.

“Took you long enough.” You said teasingly.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He smiled gently, and then led you to the booth he’d been watching you from.

You shook your head as you splashed water on your face in the bathroom, your best friend, Lia, pacing behind you.

“I thought you wanted to avoid them?”

Lia was the only person you’d confided in after coming to terms with the fact that your soulmates were not one, but two international superstars.

“I did, but, I don’t know. It was like being like that with them was so natural I didn’t even register that we don’t know each other. It felt right.”

“Do you think they know?”

Sighing, you lightly tapped your head against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t know. If they don’t yet, we’ve met now, it’s only a matter of time before I start filtering into their memories.”

“Do you want to keep hiding from them? Y/n/n, they know now, there’s no avoiding them not remembering you anymore. Don’t you think avoiding them now will just cause unnecessary pain?”

“I know that! I do. But, I’m not sure I could handle being in their world, and what if they end up resenting me for ruining the good thing they already had? They’ve been together for so long, and then I just blindside them with my existence? What if they didn’t even know they had a third soulmate?”

“Then they do now and they’re probably looking everywhere for them. Those two don’t seem like the type to resent you for coming into their lives, but they might if you enter it just to disappear forever. I get the feeling now that they know, they’ll never stop looking for you. Do you understand that?”

You opened your mouth to answer when the door to the bathroom swung open.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just looking for someone.” The stranger looked flushed, as if they’d been running, but even so you could tell they were stunning. “Um, neither of you happen to know the song All In, do you?”

You and Lia shot each other confused but nervous looks, which seemed to be enough for this stranger who finally let the bathroom door shut behind them, leaning against it and eyeing you both.

“So which one of you is the runner?”

“What do you mean?”

“One of you just met your two soulmates and then booked it while they had their backs turned, which was it?”

Lia threw her hands up in defense, pointing at you in the process and backing up.

“Traitor.” You mumbled, causing her to stifle a laugh.

The stranger blocking the exit landed their gaze on you, “I ran too.”

Of all the things you were expecting them to say, that was definitely not on the list of possibilities.

“It’s scary,” They continued, pushing off the door and walking towards you. “But the separation is worse. I promise you, it’s better than you can possibly imagine. The company takes good care of us, and while we aren’t allowed to be public, we go pretty much everywhere with the boys if we want to. They don’t do anything to risk our relationships.”

“I’m sorry but, who are you and what do you mean by our?”

“Oh! I’m Riley, I’m Chan’s soulmate. And Changbin found his as well, their name is Bee. I went through the running and being scared of falling for someone in the industry but Bee was already in the industry themself when they found Bin, so it was slightly easier for them. Sorry, I’m rambling, but my point is we’re both here for you and we both understand how you’re feeling. And that those men you just left in the dust are two of the best I’ve ever met, and they’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

That comment shocked you to your core. 

They’ve been looking for you.

“How could they be looking for me, they couldn’t have even known about me.”

Riley seemed to hesitate. “To be honest, none of us believed them. For a while we really just assumed that they found each other at such a young age they’ve never experienced anything but one another, so the whole third soulmate thing was just sort of a way to come to terms with the fact that they wanted a change of pace or something. But, here you are, and we stand corrected. 

“They may not have known you, or known how to find you, but they’ve been searching for their ‘missing piece’ about as long as I’ve known them.” Then Riley quirked their head in a very parental like motion. “You already knew, didn’t you.”

It was phrased as a question, but was completely an irrefutable statement.

“How long have you known?” Where you were expecting harshness or judgment, you received only the sound of sheer curiosity.

“Almost a year now.” You mumbled, arms wrapping around yourself for a sense of security. 

Riley blanched. “A YEAR?!”

You just nodded. 

“Damn hun, I would’ve lost my mind if I’d known who Chris was for a whole year. How the hell did you manage that?!”

“By convincing themself that Minho and Han were already happy and better off without them, that they’d just throw a hitch in their lives that they didn’t need.” Lia stated, you could practically hear her rolling her eyes at you. Riley’s eyes softened at her words.

Grabbing your hands in one hand, Riley brushed a stray piece of hair out of your face, gently cupping your cheek. “I know exactly how you feel. When I found Chris, I ran too. I didn’t think I could survive his work schedule, the expectations placed on him, all the fans claiming him, but he is so worth every single difficulty and so much more. I know you’re scared right now, and it’s probably worse for you because it’s just Chris and me, but Min and Ji already adore you, they could never be happier without you than they will be with you, I can promise you that much.

“I understand if you’re not ready yet. I wasn’t ready for a long time myself, so if it’s okay with you, I want to give you mine and Bee’s numbers, you can reach out to us with any and all questions, concerns, whatever. Heck, if you just want to use them to get to know us, that’s fine too. I didn’t have anyone to help me, but you have us, we’ll help you all the way. Think about it, okay? All three of you will be so much happier together. You aren’t meant to be apart.”

You felt tears stinging your eyes again. You knew Riley was right, you’d always known you’d be happier with them, but you also knew there was no way for you to get their attention, no way for them to actually find you, now that you had, now that they knew you, you were truly out of logical reasons to avoid taking your place by their sides.

Because soulmates are a curious thing. Everyone has them, and someway, somehow, they always find each other.

a/n: ahhhhhh part two, I feel like it’s been done for a while but I’ve been like nervous about it idk, anyways I hope you enjoyed!! I know it’ll run for at least two more parts with potential for spin off(s) on the others finding their soulmates or even ‘prequels’ of Riley and Chan as well as Bee and Changbin🫣🤭 please feel free and encouraged to leave your thoughts and opinions and also lemme know if you’d be interested in being tagged in upcoming parts? ciao!! 🫶

RED LIGHTS — [18+!]

AN INTERACTIVE CHRISTMAS SERIES

💻 Forget about every other reality TV show that’s part of your guilty pleasure watchlist. This Christmas time, there’s only one you will ever need to know about and get absolutely obsessed with. Red Lights—the perfect combination of your favourite concepts all in a cosy setting for winter. However, the contestants aren’t aware what they are signing up for and how they are already connected to each other before the start of it. [announced here on 27/05/23]

❗️[READ CAREFULLY] You, Y/N, are part of this year’s season, starring as the main character, surrounded by eight very different men that you have all met before. But it’ll need some time and decision making to find out who they are and to get closer to them. In order to decide how the story unfolds and what happens in following episodes, select an option for the poll after reading a chapter. Similar to a christmas calendar, a new episode will be added each day from 1st December until the big finale on 25th December 2023! [polls will be up for 24h and then the next part drops]

🛷 CONTENT INFO: skz ot8 x afab reader [not at the same time], reality/dating show AU, tropes will be revealed throughout the story, smut/fluff/angst, lots of discussion about the moral perspective of dating shows, it’s an alternative concept that tries to be less problematic/toxic, they are flawed characters and you should keep that in mind, content warning under the cut

📕 WORD COUNT: 35.5K/?

🎸 SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

CHAPTERS:

[1] — NOT SHY | [2] — LIMITLESS | [3] — BABY ONE MORE TIME | [4] — THANK YOU, NEXT | [5] — MOTIVE | [6] — SUPER SHY | [7] — SEVEN | [8] — COOKIE | [9] — BAD HABIT | [10] — AS IF IT’S YOUR LAST | [11] — ONLY GIRL | [12] — WRAP ME IN PLASTIC | [13] — [???] | more to be added…

🥀 CONTENT WARNING: alcohol consumption, cringe [yes that’s a warning, also this is a reality dating show ok], explicit sexual content, mention of breakup, unrequited love and jealousy [more might be added throughout the writing and publishing process]

❤️‍🔥 AUTHOR’S NOTE: lmk if you want to be added to the taglist because you plan to leave meaningful comments after reading! have a nice and cosy christmas time in case you celebrate it :)

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

the secret life of pets: the masterlist

a stray kids ot8 hybrid au

— rating: e for explicit

— pairing(s): ot8 x reader

— author’s note: hihihi!!! this is just something for me to do when i have writers block so… updates will not be consistent at all but i hope whoever reads it will love it anyway.

— warnings: hybrid au!, smut, pet play (sort of???), everyone is an animal!, puppy!reader, story will not have any true chronological timeline, shenanigans and more to be added once i actually figure this shit out.

one -> ???

two -> ???

© hyungszn 2023; please do not copy, steal, repost, modify, translate, or recommend on any other platform without my permission!

Masterlist

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

Overall ‘Stay Series’ Synopsis: Bang Chan experiences the suic!des of Stays, so when you lot choose to die, he dies right along with you. Reader is the “antidote” to this condition - This is mentioned throughout the entire series, but some chapters have more focus on it than others (which should be obvious).

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

PART 1 - Just Stay. Mostly -> Suic!de (Strong Descriptions), Angst, Fluff

PART 2 - Hey... Mostly -> Fluff

PART 3 - It's a Sign Mostly -> Fluff

PART 4 - Sunshine to the Moon Mostly -> Fluff, Minor Suggestiveness

PART 5 - The Date of All Dates Mostly -> Fluff, Angst

PART 6 - Heartbeat Mostly -> Angst, Suic!de (Strong Descriptions)

PART 7 - Sweet Mostly -> Fluff

PART 8 - You Helping, or What? Mostly -> Fluff, Suggestive AF, Borderline Smut

PART 9 - First for Everything Mostly -> Suggestive AF, Borderline Smut

PART 10 - Please Stay. Mostly -> Suic!de (Strong Descriptions), Angst, Suggestive AF

PART 11 - Soonie, Doongie and Dori Mostly -> Fluff (like an overdose), Angst (Slight)

PART 12 - You Stayed. (Reimagined from @lovehyyuntold's "Fluttering Between The Dusts of Our Love") Mostly -> Fluff (also like an overdose), Angst (Slight)

PART 13 -> To Live the Life of Bang Chan Mostly -> Angst

PART 14 - Merry Chris-mas! (Felix Never Bad) Mostly -> Fluff, Suggestive

PART 15 - I Already Have Seven... Mostly -> Fluff, The Ending of an Era

BONUS #1- Parallels (because I am a desperate writer who wants someone to appreciate the references, parallels and little details - so I'll blatantly point them out for you :DD)

BONUS #2 - Sugar or Spice Mostly -> Smut-ish

BONUS #3 - A Fan of the Fiction Mostly -> Smut

BONUS #4 - Cookie Dough Mostly -> Smut

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

©straykeedz | do not copy/translate/plagiarize my works.

♡

welcome to my stray kids kinktober2023 masterlist! the idea behind this project is to post 31 drabbles within the month of october. the drabbles will all be nsfw, so minors please do not interact.

taglist open: to make sure i add you to the taglist, your age must be clearly visible on your profile. also, empty blogs will not be added - add at least a profile picture to your blog so that i’ll know you’re not a bot. ♡

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schedule:

day 1: bang chan + praise kink

day 2: lee know + accidental stimulation 

day 3: changbin + blowjob

day 4: hyunjin + cumshot

day 5: han + mommy kink

day 6: felix + double penetration in two holes

day 7: seungmin + mutual masturbation

day 8: i.n. + exhibitionism

day 9: bang chan + corruption kink

day 10: lee know + rimming

day 11: changbin + choking

day 12: hyunjin + marking

day 13: han + public sex

day 14: felix + thigh riding

day 15: seungmin + hair pulling

day 16: i.n.+ breeding kink  

day 17: bang chan + bulge kink

day 18: lee know + lactation kink

day 19: changbin + spit kink

day 20: hyunjin + consensual somnophilia

day 21: han + sex tape

day 22: felix + dry humping

day 23: seungmin + car sex

day 24: i.n. + daddy kink

day 25: aussie line x reader + double penetration in one hole

day 26: lee know x reader x han + mirror sex

day 27: changbin x reader x i.n. + squirting

day 28: seungmin x reader x hyunjin + sensory deprivation 

day 29: vocalracha x reader

day 30: 3racha x reader

day 31: danceracha x reader

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-> reblog to show your support! ♡

here you can find my regular masterlist. ♡

final part: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 19k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamics plus explicit violence, intense peril, threat and injury to reader, graphic depictions of death, explicit sexual content.

-

Your father will be here soon.  He kept his distance during the rescue operation but will reconvene with his team before the journey home. 

You and Felix wake long before his anticipated arrival, when dawn is only just peeking into the hotel room. 

You lay in bed, your head on his bare chest and his arms around you.  You discuss the potential confrontation ahead.  Last time you were taken, your father was less than sympathetic to your plight.  Even though this was more his fault than yours, you are certain you will take the blame.   He cannot take responsibility for a misstep.  If he is fallible, he is weak, and that puts his whole existence in jeopardy.  It must always be someone else’s fault.    

Therefore it is likely he will punish you.  Therefore it is likely he will ask Felix to do it. 

“Felix,” you say when he does not look at you.   He is staring out the window with a look of pure frustration. 

“I know,” he says.  “You want me to do it.  Last time I…” 

“Yes.” 

There is no need to discuss last time.  You both know he fumbled that exchange.  Felix is meant to be the personification of resolute strength and obedience, the perfect soldier.  His moment of weakness snared your father’s attention, as weakness always does.  Your quick response remedied the situation well enough, but you will not be so lucky next time.   The only thing worse than a moment of weakness is the persistence of it.  He cannot hesitate again. 

“If,” you say slowly, “we want to find a way out… then now, more than ever, we cannot give him any reasons to be suspicious of us.” 

“I know,” he says, but his jaw is still clenched and his gaze is faraway.  

“Felix.”  You touch his jaw, minding the darkening bruise, and turn his face to yours.  His expression softens when he meets your gaze.  “Thank you,” you say.  “I love you.  I trust you.  It will be okay.” 

He cups your cheek and lifts your face.  His looks at you like he is studying every small detail.  Even though he must know your face perfectly – seeing it when he wakes, before he goes to sleep, every day for so much of his life –  he looks at you like he is seeing you for the first time all over again. 

You laugh when he flicks your bottom lip, the little pout he has long since called his weakness. 

“You could convince the sky it wasn’t blue,” he says, and kisses you tenderly.  “I love you too, sweetheart.” 

Maybe it is the novelty of hearing that out loud, or maybe you will just be crazy about him forever, but you feel flustered.  You laugh and squirm, your skin hot.  It makes him laugh, the menace kissing down your throat just to make you wriggle more. 

“Don’t let my daddy catch you then,” you tease, breathlessly.  “He wouldn’t like that very much.”    

The returned chuckle makes you shiver.  You run your fingers through his hair but he grabs your wrist and pins it down.  Your breath catches when he sucks a bruising kiss on your throat.  He is usually so careful about leaving marks, but today he dips his head to the soft skin of your breast and bites a mean little mark into the tender skin, making you gasp and buck beneath his hold. 

“No, he wouldn’t, would he?” Felix says, his deep voice dropping even lower.  “What would everyone say, hmm?  Your daddy, your guards… all those rich boys at those fancy parties who think they have a chance with you…” 

“Everyone thinks I’m a frigid bitch,” you reply, joining his game, smiling knowingly.  “And I am, aren’t I?  Nothing but trouble.”

“Nothing but trouble,” he says with a grin.  He flicks the covers off, then his hands are on your hips and he flips you as smoothly.  You yelp when he drags you halfway down the bed, arranging you as he kneels behind you.  “You can’t fool me, sweetheart,” he says.  One hand curls around your throat and the other snakes down your backside.  “Frigid?  Mm. I don’t think so.  I actually think you are very, very soft… and warm…” 

His fingers slip inside you easily, wet from your previous lovemaking and wetter still from his voice.  Every little breath and tortured groan has you twitching and gasping. 

“Felix,” you say.   

It is the right thing to say.  You are clawing at the bedsheets moments later, hiccupping on each watery breath as he holds your hips and fucks you right down into the mattress.  You press against it like you could disappear there, fucked into freedom, never to return to this dire world again. 

You sink into the bed and float in your mind, sighing when he wraps his arms around you and covers you with his body.  He is hot and whole and so alive, and everything seems possible while you are joined together.  You have each other, completely and irrevocably.  That is all you need to survive. 

You finish not a moment too soon.  You are nestled in his arms, kissing and kissing and kissing, flushed and satisfied and content, when reality comes knocking.  Felix throws on some pants while you scurry into the bathroom and close the door. 

Felix steps into the hall.  Between the bathroom door and the hotel room door, you only hear muffled voices.  Then a few clicks, then another knock, then you jump.   You are wearing a blanket and it slips with your surprise.  You adjust it frantically, but Felix says, “It’s just me.”  

You crack open the door to Felix in a t-shirt and his combat pants.  You recognize the tired lines on his face, cracks in the mask he is struggling to don.  His reassuring smile is not convincing. 

“Here,” he says, handing you some clothes.  “Your father is here.  He wants to see you at breakfast.” 

“Of course he does,” you say, just for something to say, letting your frustration seep into your tone. 

The bathroom tiles are cold under your feet.  A sharp snap of sensation and a reminder of reality.  Felix makes the world feel small in comparison to him, but the world is still there, ever turning with its usual machinations and politics and powers.  You are still suspended helplessly in the centre of it all.  Though you pushed the darkest truths to the corner for a few hours, making love and comforting each other, all those hurts and agonies are still there.  You see it in his eyes, his glance flickering from here to there as he roams with his thoughts.   

Neither of you have ever had a normal life and you do not know what to do with one.  He has been making difficult choices since he was a child.  Neither of you truly knows if you are making the right one now. 

You do the best you can with a strong hug.  It is a lingering, affectionate embrace, fitting your bodies together until you feel grounded. 

Felix looks over your shoulder, catching his own reflection.   You look back as well, his cheek against yours, your eyes meeting in the mirror. 

“I couldn’t stand the sight of my own face,” he says, his voice low even though you are alone, like the words are fighting his tongue.  It is hard to admit.  He swallows hard but continues, “I hated the stupid kid looking back at me… I wanted to be someone better, someone who could actually do something right…” 

You look at him rather than his reflection.  When you touch a strand of blonde hair, he closes his eyes, as if he can feel the pad of your finger on a lock of hair, smarting more than his bruises. 

“Is that why… the hair?” you ask clumsily.  You do not know how to wade through ten years of emotion.  Felix has coloured his hair regularly since the day you met him.  The blonde suits him but it is clearly unnatural.  It has not been soft in a very long time, coarse from repeated dye jobs. 

The colour is just one more layer of his meticulous mask, crumbling in front of you as he nods and sighs.  An admittance.  He could not stand to look in the mirror and see that other version of himself, the boy he was, the boy who made all those mistakes.   You see him, the years of questioning his choices, the impossible tether around his throat.  There has never been a day he has not questioned his choices.  Working for one bad man or another.  Rescuing his friend or his lover.   Letting violence happen or letting the violence use him.

You kiss his cheek, then below his jaw, threading your fingers through his hair.  You scratch at his scalp, just a feathery light touch, one that makes him melt in your arms.   

“I love you,” you say.  You find it is an addicting word yet it never loses its potency.  Your heart still races when he touches his forehead to yours, when he strokes your sides and hums a gentle sound of pleasure.  “Things have changed a lot over the years.  But we’re still here.”  Still living your lives, even in broken bits, those stolen pieces you mentioned so long ago.  “We’ve changed.  We’ll change again.  Things will happen and we’ll figure it out.  But please don’t hate that boy anymore.  I care about him a lot.  I want him to be happy too.” 

His face scrunches with the threat of tears, but he controls himself.  He pushes the emotion into a laugh, though it is humourless.  Then he closes the space between you and kisses you, cups the back of your head and holds you there until you are both satisfied. 

“All right,” he says in a rough voice.  “Get dressed.  It’s going to be a long day.” 

“You’ll be there, though,” you say. 

“Always,” he says, a hint of amusement touching the corner of his lips.  “I’m your bodyguard, hmm?”

You laugh and kiss him again. 

“Right,” you say.  “Always.” 

-

Your father sits at a dining table in the penthouse suite.  Behind him, a window wall flaunts the city skyline.  Daylight casts a glow around him like some deified king lording over his petty kingdom.  Guards loiter in the room and the corridor, keeping their eyes sharp as hotel staff prepare the table. 

You sit across from him with the sunlight in your eyes, the usual position of discomfort and inferiority.  He does not look at you, nor does he greet you, his eyes on his phone until the table is set.  A staff member goes to serve him but he dismisses them. 

“All of you, go,” he says, not just to the staff but his team as well.  They filter out of the room one by one.  

The penthouse is a ostentatious space, all white linen and gilded frames, tall ceilings and bay windows, but as the room empties, it becomes frighteningly big.  Or maybe you just feel frighteningly small, his tactics working as they often do.  Your father knows how to push your buttons because they are the same as his.   He is scared.  It makes him angry.  He makes you scared.  It makes you angry. 

“Felix,” he says.  “Stay.”

Felix is all that tempers you.   He stands against the wall but you do not look at him, staring at your father until he finally looks your way.  Despite the light, you hold his stare, feeling a modicum of triumph when he looks away first. 

“Did they damage you?” he asks.  His phrasing almost makes you laugh.  Damaged.  As if outside forces were needed for that. 

“I’m fine,” you say.  “My bodyguard rescued me.  Your team was damaged, though.”  You throw the word right back at him.  You cross your leg and sit back, like you are as unbothered as him.    

You know that underneath his cold exterior, he is anything but casual.  He is letting his rage simmer as he builds to some awful retaliation.  He was conducting a mission, sending his best asset on a job, and it was interrupted by your kidnapping.  A kidnapping that nearly lost him more than his heir, but that same irreplaceable asset.  An asset that previously made a mistake in front of his eyes.  This is no longer a game, a squabble between a parent and child, but a real world crisis with dangerous consequences.    

You should not provoke him, and that is why you do.  Because provoking him is something you have always done and you need him to see you as that hapless child if you are going to beat him.  You do not want to arouse further suspicion in him, that you are sitting here thinking about your own schemes, that you know more about his assets and operations than he could ever suspect.

So you toss your rejoinder and he catches it, as he always does, with a cruel smirk. 

“There are more where they came from,” he says.    

Returning like cockroaches and squashed just the same.  If only a multi-generational empire could be toppled as easily.  But your father is more than a man across a table; he is ten men in the corridor and more on the ground, he is paid staff and investors and a whole society.  

Though you feign nonchalance, inside adrenaline pounds.  Sweat gathers, your heart races.  He is good at making you feel small, but at least it is predictable.  The scene unfolds  in your mind before it happens, the script playing before a single action is commanded.   You will be scolded.  You will be reprimanded.  You will be punished. 

“Felix, come here,” your father says.

You predicted he would involve Felix after what happened last time.  The only question is what manner of punishment he will force from his hand.  All you can do is trust Felix to play his role so you can play yours.  You made it clear the physical pain was meaningless, that you could take whatever he inflicted.  Just another inside joke between you.  You will laugh about it one day. 

You do not look away from your father.  Your eyes are locked in a challenging stare, daring the other to break.  You are scared, but you feel so much more than fear and rage.  With your love for Felix, with the hope in your heart, you are an ocean of feeling and you are not ashamed of it anymore.  You stare your father down and mutely convey that you are not broken, that he did not win, that he never will win. 

His answer is the flick of a kitchen knife.  It slides across the table and nearly tumbles right over the lip.  It teeters within arm’s reach of you.  It is tempting to look and consider its purpose with the trepidation you feel, but you do not.  You tell yourself he will only hurt you so much, that putting you in true peril would surely be counterproductive to his overall efforts.  Whatever plan he has for that knife will be a momentary pain you can recover from.

Then he says, “Felix.” 

Felix steps into your periphery, the black of his fatigues a shadow at your side. 

“Pick up that knife,” your father says.  “Put it through your hand.  Right through to the table.”

It is not the demand you were expecting, not by a long shot.  As your father stares you down, steady where you start to waver, you realize this test is not for Felix.  It is for you.   

“I trust,” your father hisses the word, “you know the spot that will inflict the least permanent damage.”

The last time your father made this demand, you and Felix were kids at the start of your messy life together.  Instinct propelled you to stop him.  Over the years, you have mastered schooling your reactions.  The girl who tackled Felix, the girl who sobbed while he was beaten, that girl learned to save her tears for later.  Your father’s version of you is a cold, headstrong, hateful fool.  She might stop Felix to combat her father, or she might let him suffer out of pure hatred. 

Both options feel wrong.  Regardless of what you choose, you feel like you are giving something away.  You feel like your father will see right past it.  He stares at you like he will find your secrets written on your face.    

You have seconds to decide and that is not enough time.  The moment passes you by.  Felix plants his hand and takes the knife.  Your father does not count him down.  He watches you, willing you to make a mistake, to show your weakness.  To prove him right. 

You flinch when the knife thuds into the table, the soft reverberation of the wood accompanied with a gross little squelch that sounds too loud in this too big room.  Your reaction is strongly stamped on your face, disgusted and upset.  You look away to stop the tears that stab behind your eyes. 

Everything that has happened, everything you have done, and you are right back here.  After everything, he still ended up with that knife in his hand. 

Your father rips it out.  Felix catches his breath but does not cry out.  You catch a glimpse of the bloody knife before your father tosses it on the floor, as if he is discarding something insignificant. 

You slowly meet his gaze.  He is still assessing you.  You cannot tell if you passed or failed his test.  By the scrutiny of his regard, it seems he does not know either.  All you can do is look at each other while Felix bleeds beside you.

“You may go,” your father says, cold as the ice that locks your limbs.  It takes you a moment to stir life back into them. 

“Felix,” your father says.  “You stay.  We have business to discuss.” 

You do not look at Felix.  You cannot bear to look at him.   On the escorted march back to your room, you are quiet, biting the inside of your cheek to stop any more unwanted reactions.  Only when you are alone in the room do you let it out, an aggravated cry as you rip a pillow off the bed and whip it blindly across the room. 

This was never going to be easy, but now it feels like the ongoing struggle between you and your father has led to an insurmountable deadlock.  He has you enclosed in his fist and he is threatening to crush you in it. 

You do not think he knows about the true nature of your relationship with Felix.  He might suspect anything, an affair the last of it.  Even a menial friendship would be a detrimental betrayal to him.  All he sees is a smudge of a weakness in what should be the strongest cog in his machine. 

He is testing you and tormenting you.  He is perched on his pedestal, waiting for you to throw yourself at his feet in eventual penitence.   

You will not.  Not this time.  Your father is expecting retaliation in the form of equal dramatics and you will not satisfy him.  You will sit quietly.  You will do what you have been doing, stealing pieces of your life in the silence and shadows.  He controls a realm of power, affluence, and violence.  You control yourself.  Love has saved you all this time.  It will be your means of escape for good. 

You sit in quiet repose until Felix returns.  Although you promised to remain calm, you cannot help but fuss over his injured hand.  It has already been stitched and bandaged but you peek beneath the binding, almost gagging at the sight.

“All right, enough,” Felix says.  He lifts your head and guides it onto his shoulder instead.  You are sitting on the small loveseat under the window.  You throw your arms around him and hold tight. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, a tear sliding from your cheek to his shoulder.  You sniffle. 

“Don’t be,” he says.  “I can take the pain.  It means nothing.  Sweetheart, he means nothing.”

“I know,” you say, but you sniffle one more time anyway.  Gathering yourself, you lift your head to look at him.  “What did my father want after I left?” 

“I don’t fully know,” Felix says, the tenderness in his expression giving way to uncertainty.  “He said he wants to continue the job,” Felix says.  “He and Miroh, they’re both chasing these long-term investments in some government building contracts… Miroh has been getting in the way of your father’s deals, so he’s been mostly standing guard.  Then he got intel that a significant asset of Miroh’s would be involved in securing an upcoming bid…  And he thought… he thought with the right team he could… acquire whatever this asset was…” 

“Chris,” you say, a breathless note.  “That’s why he brought you on, isn’t it?  He told you the acquisition was Chris.”

“If Chris was alive, if he was working for Miroh even after everything…”  Felix swallows.  He looks pained, like all these words are hard to say.  His voice is rough and the words scratch like sandpaper as he forces them out.  “Between me, your father’s back-up team, and the element of surprise… We had a chance of stopping Miroh’s subterfuge and getting… rescuing… Chris.  Finally.” 

But Chris might be dead.  Your father might have killed him.  Miroh has a vast artillery and the asset in question could be anyone or anything.  It makes more sense your father was using Felix to eliminate this obstruction.  That is what he always does.  He uses someone like a thing, strengths and weaknesses calculated, and works them into his scheme. 

You look at the bloody bandage, wrapped tight around that wounded hand, and you cannot bring yourself to vocalize these awful, pessimistic thoughts.  You say instead, “But why would he want to continue the job now?  You no longer have the element of surprise.”   

“No,” Felix says.  “We don’t.  That’s because the job is over and your father is lying.” 

“What?”

“Chris is dead.”  Felix says it for you, with a hard set to his jaw that you recognize as a shield against emotion.  He does not look at you because it exposes that vulnerable, human part of him, and right now he is fighting to maintain his composure.  Cool, collected, he plainly states, “There is no chance of this job succeeding anymore.  Miroh caught onto us.  He interrupted us.  Whatever we were after is not there anymore.  Your father is just pulling my leash to see if I fight back.”  He takes a deep breath before saying more.  “He wants an excuse to question my loyalty.” 

“He is provoking us,” you agree.  There is a second of silence, both of you in contemplation, then you say, “We can’t let him.” 

“If I refuse this job, he will just get worse,” Felix says.  “If we try to run right now, we won’t get far.  We need to do this right, we need to—”

“Take the job,” you say.  “You said yourself, the job is over.  My father is a bastard and an idiot but he would never risk sending his best team somewhere dangerous when he has nothing to gain from it.  Call his bluff.  Take the job.” 

“I can’t leave you again,” Felix says, eyes closing as he clenches his good fist.  “I won’t leave you alone with him again.  Not right now, not like this.  Sweetheart, if something happened—”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, wrapping your hand over his fist and gently uncurling his fingers.  You nudge your nose against his chin, coaxing him to turn his head.  He finally does, sighing as he looks down at you.  You smile.  “I’ll be safe in the house.”

“It’s more dangerous in there than out here,” he says. 

“You know he won’t do anything worse than he’s ever done before,” you say.  You look down when you touch the bandage on his hand.  “We can take the cuts and bruises a little longer.  Do the job, then come back to me.  And who knows…”  You kiss his cheek, a touch of comfort.  “Maybe you’ll find the truth about Chris.” 

“I know the truth,” he says, unmoved.  “He’s dead.” 

You do concede it is incredibly likely.  If anything stopped your father from killing Chris, it was not morality, rather the practicality of breaching Miroh’s defences.  But it sounds like Chris was trouble to Miroh, so it is possible there was no pushback.    

It still breaks your heart to see Felix like this.  The burden of this bargain has caused him strife for so long, but you can see how it motivated him too.  As the hope leaves him, a light dims, and even your affection cannot ignite it. 

“How do you know that?” you ask helplessly. 

“I just feel it,” Felix says.  “In my heart.  I guess.  I think, umm.  I think.  I think I’ve known for a long time.  Maybe from the last time I ever saw him.  But I needed to believe in it.  I think I needed to believe Chris could be saved because then maybe—”  He looks down at his injured hand.  His fingers twitch when he fails to close his fist.  “Then I would have done something good,” he says miserably.  “Maybe then I could be worth saving too.”    

“Felix. Baby.”  You touch his face, still minding the bruise that grows more vicious by the second.  It only adds to the ache in your chest as you look at him, beaten and battered for someone else’s sake.  He has been taking hits every day since he was fourteen years old.  Whether it was for you or his friend, he was willing to surrender his life if it meant even a possibility of saving someone else.  “Felix, you have more heart and humanity than anyone I have ever known,” you say.  “Everything you have ever done has been because of love, despite what they tried to make you otherwise.  How can you not see what I see?” 

He looks at you, really looks at you, the way he did this morning.  He traces the curve of your cheek and brushes the subtle pout of your lips. 

“You’ve always seen more than most people do,” he says.  “You give me something else to believe in, you know?”

“Stop flirting,” you tease gently.  “This is serious.”

He laughs, his smile soft but sincere.  You kiss him slowly, until you are breathing the same uneven breaths, your hearts no doubt beating in tandem.  

Then you pick yourselves up and prepare for what comes next.   

-

Your father claims they will be gone for a week but you know it is not true.  There is no real mission so they will return in a few days at the latest.  For your part, you can only wait.  

Even though you have a tenuous plan, it is still hard being separated from Felix.  You remind yourself that you could not protect him in the field anyway, but logic is meaningless to your heart.  You imagine a version of yourself that is possessed of so many skills, she could wipe out every obstacle without breaking a sweat. 

But you are you.  Your skills are more emotional than physical and right now that physicality is even worse than usual.  You are lethargic from a brutal couple days, weak from the drugging, sore all over, and you cannot sleep well in an empty bed. 

You wake repeatedly in the night, startled by a nightmare where you are being taken, where Felix is being beaten, where your father kills him and a dozen boys like him and all you can do is watch.  The nightmares drag you into consciousness where you are barely eased, the reality of the world not so different from your nighttime horrors. 

In the daylight, you maintain the healthiest disposition possible.  You keep your distance from the security team, sitting in your room or quietly on the couch.  You do not engage when they antagonize you.   They grow bored of your presence soon enough, especially when they cannot get a rise out of you, leaving them with nothing to report to your father.

You expect the hours to drone endlessly.

Then you have a visitor. 

You ignore the doorbell.  The security team does not seem surprised by the interruption so you disregard it.  Maybe it is just another member of the team. 

You ignore the bell and the bustle of guards.  You head to the kitchen to scrounge for some lunch instead.  You hum as you chop vegetables, not paying any mind to the footsteps behind you.  You expect it is a member of the security team, stalking you in the name of supervision.  You turn to address him, a saccharine sweet smile at your face and a drole quip on your tongue, but your heart stops at the figure standing across from you. 

“Hyunjin?”

You breathe more than whisper his name, like surprise has winded you. 

You stand there, knife in hand, jaw hanging open as you stare into the face of your old friend.  He is somehow even more handsome than you remember, long dark hair framing his face, eyes fierce and cheekbones sharp.  An expensive blazer hugs his trim form.  His boots resound with a softer thump than combat boots, so you should have realized it was someone else sooner.

You never would have guessed him.  You have not seen Hyunjin in years. 

“Hello, my girlfriend,” Hyunjin says with a smile, dazzling and beautiful and oh-so very fake. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask tentatively, so perplexed by his appearance in your house that you do not know where to begin.  You nearly pinch yourself to make sure you are not dreaming. 

“Your dad called my dad,” Hyunjin says, his voice very light and casual, like he is picking up a conversation you paused an hour ago and not years ago.  “He thought you needed company so you wouldn’t try running away off or something.  So here I am.  Ta-daaa.  Company.” 

Security shuffles past the kitchen.  Hyunjin pauses, listening to the scuttle of their booted feet.  When the din quiets, he smiles at you again.  It does not reach his eyes. 

“Hyunjin,” you whisper, laying the knife down.  “What on earth is happening?  Why are you here right now?”

Voices, laughter, the team in the other room.  You and Hyunjin look at the door.  His smile droops and he leans closer when he says, “Somewhere quieter please.” 

You are still in something of a daze when you lead Hyunjin downstairs to the gym.  A guard departs after giving the room a sweep, as if anyone or anything could have gotten down here with all the security.

Then it is just you and Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin crosses the room, taking in the space and equipment.  He whistles long and low while shaking his head.  It makes you laugh despite everything. 

“No, no, it’s nice,” Hyunjin teases.  “I never saw this room before.  But I always remembered your house was very small and understated.”

It’s a joke but you cannot force a laugh because his reminiscence sends you hurtling through your own memories.  He turns and you see a younger version of him, just for a moment, beaming and bright.  Hyunjin used to be the hopeful one, the person with a plan and ambition.  He believed there was more to life and he believed he could achieve it.  He was so certain that it sparked a flicker of hope in you.  Now your flame is an inferno but there is no light or fire behind his eyes.  He is so cold that it is hard to believe there was ever a flame. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, imploringly.  “What happened?” 

“A lot,” he says.  He puts his hands in his pockets like he feels at ease, but his eyes keep darting around the room, betraying his discomfort.   

Though your friendship was short, it was substantial.  You know him.  Right now he is labouring beneath the weight of his performance, his charming expressions crooked, like poorly fitted clothes.   He looks like an uncanny duplicate of the boy you once knew. 

You step closer to him.  He does not move, frozen in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets.   When he eventually looks at you, it is with a slow lift of the head.  You swear you can see a curtain drawing across his face as it happens.  This close, you realize just how pale and wan he looks.  He is grey at the edges, like he is fading away before your very eyes. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, instinctively reaching out.  He flinches away from your touch, then tries to smile like it didn’t happen.  You do not hide your distress. 

He finally drops the pleasant façade.  His hands fall out of his pockets and swing at his sides.  His countenance is even colder, his striking features sharper than ever as he levels you with a venomous stare. 

“Don’t pity me,” he says.  “I can’t stand it.  I made my choices and I’m living with the consequences.” 

“Consequences?” you ask.  “Did they catch you trying to—”

 “I never left,” he says.  “I never even tried.  I was close.  I had a whole plan.  A way to start over.  But then...”  He turns without any warning and walks to the mirror wall where he looks at himself.  His hand hovers in the air, fingers curling.  “I met someone,” he says.  “And he wasn’t who I thought he was.” 

When he does not elaborate, you step closer.  You reach out to touch his shoulder, a consolation on the tip of your tongue.  Before your touch even lands, he spins around and looks right at you. 

“It turns out he was working for my father,” Hyunjin says.  He speaks in a plain tone, conveying facts without any unnecessary sentiment, but you can see the red in his eyes as he strains to hold back emotion.  “It was my fault for being so stupid.  With the way things were going, I should have seen it coming.  There is no such thing as selfless love.  Everyone serves themselves in the end and I was stupid to compromise my well-being for someone else.  I deserved the betrayal.” 

“That’s not true,” you say without hesitation.  He is talking about someone else but his words feel like a slap against your friendship too.   You grab his hand like you can squeeze sense back into him.  “I’m so sorry you were hurt,” you say.  “But you can’t honestly think—”

“Hurt.”  He chokes on the word and rips his hand back.  “It nearly killed me.  I wish it killed me.  I wish I was anywhere but here.  But I am stuck here because of my stupid feelings.  Everyone has a weakness waiting to be exploited and you can’t trust anyone not to take advantage of yours.”

It sounds so much like your father that you stumble back.  It resonates with a heavy slam against your ribs and the heart beating inside them.   That heart feels so wrung out these days, swollen with so much love one second then shrivelled with pain the next.  It throbs now.  You are hurt just witnessing his pain.  He has been betrayed and broken and he is unreachable in his grief.  You can only imagine what he has endured to end up back here, in this house, with you. 

You cannot blame him for guarding himself, but your combative side rears its stubborn head.

“There are good people,” you say.  “There are people that can be trusted.  You can trust me, after all.” 

“I don’t know that,” he says.  “We don’t know each other anymore.” 

“That is definitely not true,” you say.  You and Hyunjin clicked so well because your circumstances were so similar, your fears and pain the same.  “We know each other perfectly, Hyunjin,” you say. 

He looks away, blinking rapidly.  His shoulders hunch.  It looks so wrong for a man like him to curl in on himself in shame. 

“Fine,” he says.  “One person.  It doesn’t make a difference.”

“One person makes all the difference,” you say.  “Remember Minho?” 

That one really makes him flinch.  You are pretty sure a slap would hurt less. 

“And Felix,” he says, his voice softer now.  He scrunches his eyes shut like he can stop his pain with enough concentration.  He pushes through and says, “He works for your father, doesn’t he?  I remember him at that party.  He was with the security team.” 

“Yes,” you admit.  “He works for him.  In a way.” 

“And you still trust him?”  Hyunjin laughs.  He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.  “That’s just stupidity.”

“It is not.”

“He works for your father and takes his money and you still trust him not to betray you?  That’s stupid.” 

“It’s not.”  Frustration bubbles inside you.  You want to grab him and shake him around, like you can sift through and find the real Hyunjin underneath all this.  “I know I can trust him completely.”

“You can’t possibly know that for sure,” he says.  “He’ll betray you for the right price.  Everyone has a price.  You don’t think there’s something he’d trade you for?” 

That does sting, if only infinitesimally, as you recall Felix and his conflicting desires.  But you do not begrudge Felix for his life choices.  He was an impressionable boy, raised to follow orders with no thoughts of his own.  It made him wise in some ways and naïve in others.  He fell into a bad bargain with a scheming man and found himself trapped.  He was forced to make difficult decisions.  It was not about choosing you or Chris.  You would never make it about that.   

“Felix loves me,” you say.  “And I love him.   You’re right.  There are things he wants desperately.  But he doesn’t have to trade me for it.  He knows I would surrender myself willingly to see him happy.  Just like I know, no matter what else happens, he will always come back for me.  No matter where they hide me.  No matter where I hide myself.  No matter what men like my father do to him.  We choose each other.” 

“Everyone breaks,” Hyunjin says weakly.  “No one’s that strong.” 

“Not on their own, maybe,” you say.  “We’re not alone.” 

There was so much ice in his feigned arrogance that you are startled when Hyunjin starts crying.  He covers his face with his hands.  His shoulders shake and his breath hitches. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, your own voice breaking.  You rush up to him in a flustered hurry.  You touch his head and his shoulders, trying to peer at him through his fingers.  “Hyunjin, talk to me, please,” you beg.  “Something else is wrong, isn’t it?  Hyunjin, why are you here?  Where are your parents?  Why did my father call yours?”

“My parents are dead,” he barely manages to speak, gasping between his hiccupping cries.  “It’s just me.  They came for me and my father was difficult, he asked for too much, and they— and I—”

“They?” you say. 

It is then you see it.  You are clutching his shoulder and it tugs at his blazer.  A shirt button pops open and your eyes drop to the exposed bruises across his collarbone.  You blink in disbelief at the horrible mosaic beaten into his skin, angry welts of red and purple and yellow.  It seems to go all the way down his chest.  When you part the material of his shirt, something else catches your eye. 

You freeze.

“Oh,” you say.  “Hyunjin.” 

He is wired.  Someone is listening.  Your father is listening. 

You stop breathing for a moment.  The world gets quiet.  You look at Hyunjin.  An old friend showing up at your house out of nowhere, presented like an offering.  Jisung was not important enough for your father to remember, but Hyunjin is a different matter.  He is rich if not wealthy.  His parents were upwardly mobile, his father the kind of pathetic rich man who thought he was equal to a man like your father.  Willing to do awful things to his own son to keep him in his clutches, then selling him to the highest bidder if it meant advancement.  His only mistake was asking for too much when he was ultimately expendable.  There are always more where he came from. 

You want to be wrong.  Your father is a busy man.  He would not waste time finding Hyunjin and putting him through so much just for this, just to corner you into a confession.  But you know he did.  This is exactly what he would do.  He moves like a coward, killing civilians and poisoning innocent boys, then he makes a show of throwing it in your face. 

He always told you friendship was beneath you.  What a way to prove it. 

“I think you’ve fallen in with a bad crowd,” you say, forcing a laugh through the gathering tears. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, a tearful whisper.  He touches your arms like he wants to hug you, but holds himself back. 

“Me too,” you say.  You warned him a long time ago that befriending you was dangerous.  You wish you had been wrong. 

You pull him into a hug and he immediately envelopes you, his arms around your shoulders and yours around his waist.   He chokes out a sob and squeezes you so tight that your breath catches.  Then he just holds you there. 

You do not know if it is his cologne or his shampoo, but it smells so familiar.  It takes you back to that treehouse, looking over a glittering neighbourhood as the sun set and he dreamed about the dawn. 

“I still remember that rhyme, you know,” you say.  The address of that cabin, written in a rhyming lilt that you never forgot.  “If you ever have a chance again… promise me you’ll try…” 

He chokes out another sob. 

“How can you still care about what happens to me?” he asks.  “What about you?” 

“I’ll be fine,” you say.  It is spoken calmly, for all that it is a lie.  “Promise me?”

He just nods, then pulls you closer again. 

You cling to him for as long as you can.  It gives you the strength to stay upright despite your shaking legs, even when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs.  You brace yourself for the worst, halfway expecting the whole house to erupt in a violent explosion. 

It is just a guard.  He says, “Time to go, Hwang. Visit’s over.” 

You want to keep hugging.  You feel like you will fall through the floor if he lets you go.  He is just as reluctant, but withdraws when the guard steps into the room.   He does not look at you as he leaves, head down as he trails towards the stairs. 

“Goodbye, Hyunjin,” you say. 

It stops him for a moment.  He nods then continues.  There is nowhere else to go but back up those stairs. 

You are left standing by yourself in the middle of the room.  The mirror wall makes the space feel never-ending.  You look at your reflection.  You look so rough already, scarred from your kidnapping, tear-streaked from crying.  Your hands tremble uncontrollably.  You remember a younger version of yourself sitting in front of this mirror with Felix, for a moment feeling like a normal girl with her boy.  His touch brought you to life.  He made you feels things you thought you would never feel. 

It will be your own voice your father plays back to you, your own confession betraying you. 

You will not be sorry for it.  

You look at yourself and wipe your face.  You take a breath.  You walk to the stairs, one step after another.  There are guards upstairs but they pay you no mind.  They have clearly received no orders, not yet.  You could try to make a run for it, but you would not get far on your own. 

Instead, you go upstairs to your room.  You look around like it is the last time you will ever see it.  You know that is not true, logically.  Your father will not kill you, but there are fates just as devastating. 

You walk through the room.  It is plainly decorated with a mix of things owned by you and Felix.  For all that this house is not a home, you carved a shared space in this room.   You sit on the bed and study everything from discarded clothes to books to computer parts. 

Something compels you to open the drawer on his side of the bed, that same single drawer you allotted when he first moved in.  A ragged old beanie sits at the bottom of it, the first thing he ever owned.  You fold it over in your hand and squeeze it like a talisman, like it will infuse you with some magic to endure whatever storm is blowing your way. 

You cross the room and touch a few more things.  You find some university textbooks and your heart aches with the desire to return to those times.  You lived a fleeting few years like you were completely free, in love and happy and home. 

You will probably never see Seungmin or Jeongin again, but it brings you some peace to know they will live good lives.  You will never forget their willingness to intervene on your behalf despite the odds being so stacked against them.  Maybe they were not very good at it, smacking chairs and throwing drinks, but you will remember them fondly.  You wish you could say goodbye. 

With that thought, you pause.  Your gaze drifts to your computer. 

You cannot say goodbye to Seungmin or Jeongin, but you can say goodbye to someone else. 

You never wanted to risk contacting Jisung from home, just in case your father was found out.  But everything is ending today, one way or another.  There is nothing more you can lose.   You will take some comfort in a final word to an old friend before you are sealed in this gilded mausoleum.

You sit at your computer.  You log into the blank profile you made some time ago.  It is hard to tell if you are nervous because your stomach is so twisted in knots already, but you think there might be some happy anticipation.  You try to manage your expectations because there is a chance Jisung did not read the messages, seeing as they came from a blank account. 

You should have known better than to doubt him.  You log in to several new messages, laughing from the first line.

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!! IT’S YOU????? MY GIRL!!!!!!!

Okay sorry about that I am totally so cool I promise.  I’m just in shock.

I know you told me not to, but just so you know, I spent a year trying to reach you... 

Well, actually, I spent like four months crying my eyes out and being miserable and pathetic first..  On god, I eyed a jar of peanut butter with some serious thought for a minute there!!!  But then no, no way.  I had to keep going. 

I tried to find you.  Your bitch ass dad is famous because he’s an ugly rich loser so his properties are listed all over a million websites.  I found the one in town where you must live and I rode my bike there a bunch of times but uhhhhh yeah much to my eternal disappointment I am not James Bond and that security system was insane.  Don’t even get me started on when all the dudes in the army gear kept showing up.

On an unrelated note it’s way harder to buy explosives than you’d think. 

Just want you to know I did try to get in there.  You were never alone even if you felt like it. 

But it sounds like you’re not alone anyway HELLLL YEAHHHHH she is getting SOOOME.  All jokes aside I am crazy happy for you.  You deserve it for real.  He better be treating you right though or I WILL find a way through that gate and I WILL kick his ass.  Just say the word and I will be there in a heartbeat. 

He goes on for a while, the whole length of his message making you smile.  When you did not respond, he sent a few more, spaced further and further apart from each other.   The last message he sent was just a few days ago.

Hey I don’t know if you’re getting these.  I like to think so.  You don’t have to answer if you are.  I know you are in a dangerous spot.  Or maybe you’re not anymore and you got out.  In that case, I hope you never read these.  I hope you’re out there living your best life.  Maybe we’ll cross paths again but if not, I count myself lucky for knowing you at all.  I think we’re both slightly insane and everyone else I meet is way too normal haha. 

What I’m trying to say is I miss you like crazy.  I hope we can laugh together again someday.  Even if we never do, let’s say we will.   Keep smiling till I’m there.  Catch ya later crazy girl.

You smile.   Then emotion takes over, tears returning as you lay your hands on the keyboard to type a response. 

You have just hit send when there is a knock at your door, then it is opened without your permission.  You turn and look at the stoic guard who beckons you forward. 

“Your father is home,” he says.  “He wants a word.” 

You nod.  You spare one last look at you screen before logging out and shutting down.  You are certain it is the last message you will get to send.   A warmth fills your chest regardless.  You know it will reach Jisung.  His laughter and energy fills you with the strength you need to walk steadily out that door and down the hall.

-

Hi Jisungie. 

Thank you for your messages. I just read them all now. It wasn’t easy for me to check them before, but I did it today because it might be the last time I have an opportunity to do so.  My father found out about my love affair and seeing as it was with the one person he could not afford to lose, I have no doubt that a reckoning is on its way.  I thought he was bad before, but he has only gotten worse over the years.  I am sure this betrayal will put him over the edge.

I do not know what is going to happen.  I was scared until I read your messages.  They truly made me smile.  You have always made me a little braver.  I think I got less rebellious over the years because I got scared, but now… The worst has happened and I’m still here. 

I will figure it out.  But in case I never get the chance to talk to you again, I just wanted to say thank you one more time.  I miss you too, Jisungie.  I think about you so much.  I wish I could laugh with you again, the kind of laughter where nothing is all that funny but we can’t stop anyway.  Thank you for the times we did. 

I am happy to have lived my life because I knew you. I appreciate all the good times so much more because of the hard times.  You were a one-of-a-kind friend.  I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Keep smiling for me.    

Goodbye. 

-

Your father is behind his desk. 

There is no one else in the room.  They close the door behind you.  You walk calmly up to the desk and take a seat in your usual spot.  You sit as straight as you can, perched on the edge of the seat.  You are still lower than him, but you feel bigger and stronger than you have ever felt in your life. 

Your father draws out the silence, perhaps waiting for you to break down.  You stare at each other.  When he opens his mouth to speak, you interrupt him.  You are uninterested in games and dramatic embellishments, which you know he will indulge.  You simply ask, “What did you do to Hyunjin?” 

“I would not worry about the Hwang boy if I was you,” your father says spitefully.  “You have bigger concerns—”

“And yet I am asking about him,” you snap.  “What are you doing with him?”

“What I do with everything when it is no longer useful to me,” he says.

It is the answer you were expecting but it still draws your rage like a magnet.  It punches out of you, your eyes wet with tears when you say, “You’re pathetic.”

“How many times must you suffer humiliation at my enemy’s hands before you understand that none of this is a game?”  His voice rises as he speaks.  “Do you want to be out on the streets?  Do you want to be brutalized?  Do you want—”

“I would rather die rotting in the sewers with Felix than spend even one more minute under your roof,” you say.

You wonder what surprises your father more: the vicious tone or your blatant confession.  It stuns him into silence.  You know you have disrupted his script.  There is little sense in taunting you with your words if you utter them plainly before he can try. 

“I see,” your father settles on saying.  He presses a button on his desk and the buzzer in the corridor resounds.  “Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”

The door opens and several guards usher inside.  You spare them a fleeting glance before your attention narrows to the figure between them. 

“Felix!”  You stand but cannot reach him.  He is surrounded by guards and they will not let you touch a hair on his head. 

He moves like he is completely boneless, evidently drugged with something to make him bleary and slow.  He thumps heavily onto his knees when they put him there.  His eyes are hazy as he looks around the office.   They pause on you, flicking up and down, then he smiles through the pain. 

The pain.  It is not just a drug.  He looks like he went a few rounds with a cement wall, his lip split and his jaw bruised.  His bandaged hand is soaked through with blood, the rest him as battered.  His injuries disappear beneath his shirt and pants but you know it is not a pretty sight.  You swallow down the bile in your throat before looking at your father. 

“He’s your best asset,” you say.  “You can’t lose him.” 

“Oh?  Can’t I?” your father asks.  “Can’t I?  Can’t I?  You think you know something?  You think you can tell me what to do?  You, when all you do is destroy what I make?  I give you everything and this—this is how you—”  His yelling sharpens to a shriek before he starts breaking things.  It pulls Felix further out of his haze, his eyes tracking the frantic movements as your father smashes a vase near your feet. 

You think about that tiny shard of glass from last time, the miniscule thing that started it all.   It makes you laugh even though nothing is funny.  Laughter is an emotional output just like crying, so it pours out of you with no regard for the actual gravity of the situation. 

It only worsens your father’s rage. 

“Does something here amuse you?” he asks, but you are laughing too hard to answer.  There is a vein throbbing in his forehead and you imagine it bursting.  You imagine all your problems solving themselves as he drops dead from his own rage.   The image is even funnier because you truly cannot imagine this man dying.  He is a monster.  If you stab him, you fear he will just mutate and come back worse. 

“You want to laugh?” he snaps.  He crosses the room to Felix.  “Laugh.” 

He holds out his hand and someone places a gun in his open palm.  This snaps you out of your delirious giggles, a winded whoosh spilling out of you.  

Your father does not execute action himself.  He always puts the gun in someone else’s hand.  The fact he is pointing it at Felix should tell you that his threat is not serious. 

But he has never been this furious, his anger a white hot cascade of fire.  Felix is just inches from the barrel of the gun.  Even an inexpert marksmen like your father could drive a bullet between his eyes. 

So the moment he grips the weapon, you shout, “Stop!” 

Your father looks at you with a cock of his head, satisfied with your reaction. 

Then he jumps back because Felix rushes to his feet, most of the fog dissipated.  Your father’s stupid men did not think for a moment that Felix would repeat a strategy.  Just days before he allowed himself to be captured so he could rescue you.  It seems he has done that again, feigning the depth of his condition.  He swings to his feet and kicks out. 

His injuries restrict his movement.  He is good at ignoring pain but his body overrides his consciousness.  He fights nonetheless, struggling with the guards while you watch. 

You look around for something that can help.  You snatch a paper weight off the desk  and prepare to throw. 

Your father is a step ahead of you.  Suddenly you are staring down the barrel of a gun, your father on the other end, fuming. 

“No—!”  Felix says before he is beaten down.  With his attention diverted, a guard kicks the back of his legs.  His knees buckle and he goes down with a groan. 

You look at him then flick your eyes back to your father.  You raise both hands and lift a challenging eyebrow. 

“You want to do this?” you ask.  “Really?  After everything?”

“After everything,” your father says.  “Exactly my words.  A house, an education, unending protection.  You want for nothing.  All I ask in return is obedience and you cannot even grant me that.  You have the audacity to betray me for this animal.”  He waves the gun around like the clumsy, ungainly thing he is.  It makes a few heads duck, including yourself.  You fear this man will kill someone without even trying.  It makes it hard to listen, which might be for the best, as he goes on a long tirade about privilege and position and loyalty. 

He starts merely angry but it turns downright diabolical. 

“And you.”  He turns to Felix.  “I dug you out of Miroh’s gutter!  I made you a bargain!  I gave your meaningless life purpose!  You are nothing without me.  How dare you think to take what is mine.  How dare you think you are anything more than a dog.  How long have you kept this secret?  How am I supposed to trust it is the last?  You are a liar.  For all I know you are lying about everything.  Is that it?  Are you a spy, feeding reports back to Miroh?  Is that why I can never succeed in my missions?  Have you been—” 

Felix bursts into laughter.  His face scrunches with delight, his cheeks dimpled. The low rumble of his laughing voice sounds real, honest amusement at the proclamation.  It fades to a sigh, then he looks up.

You have never seen such a dark glare shadow his features, made all the more horrifying thanks to his bloody injuries.  It makes your stomach drop even though it is not directed at you. 

“You fail at all your missions because you’re an incompetent idiot,” Felix says.  “You couldn’t even control two children. What makes you think you can control Miroh?”

“Have you forgotten our bargain?” your father yells, waving the gun towards Felix again.  “You lie and trick your way into my household and still expect—”

“Our bargain,” Felix spits the word and some blood sprays out.  He spits the rest on the floor and shakes his head.  “I know he’s dead.  You killed him a long time ago.”   

The room is quiet for a moment.  Your father is still holding the gun, though it dangles at his side.  He and Felix stare each other down.  Although Felix is kneeling, his sinister stare is far more terrifying than your father’s blank gaze.  But then that empty gaze turns cold and your father smiles, one of those sharp smiles that opens like a slash across his face. 

“Now how would you know that,” your father says, “if you are not a spy for Miroh?”

“One of Miroh’s men told us at the warehouse,” you interrupt.  It earns you nothing but a wrathful glare from your father.  He gestures to you and a guard puts a threatening hand on your shoulder. 

“You will speak when spoken to,” your father snaps.  He looks at Felix again.  “Oh.  Yes.  You.  Whoops.  I very nearly forgot, it was so long ago when I killed your friend.  Does that make you sad?  Poor little boy.  You should have remembered your place.  Your kind are born to die for men like me.”

“Men like you,” Felix says.  Mourning will have to wait so he laughs because he cannot cry.  “You’re pathetic.  Not a surprise, though, yeah?  Since your father took care of everything before I killed him—oh.  Whoops.”  He tilts his head and smiles, speaking with the same saccharine tone your father just used to mock him.  “It was so long ago.  I almost forgot I shot your daddy in the fucking head.  Does that make you sad?  Poor little boy.  You should have remembered your place and stayed behind your walls.  You’ll never be a man like him.” 

Your father has never looked so stricken.  You did not even know his face could contort such a way.   It makes him look very human for the few heartbeats that it lingers.  You can almost picture a younger version of your father, breaking under the fist of his father before him.  

Then he schools himself.  Once more, the untouchable monster stands before you.  The gun wobbles only a little when he raises it, taking aim at Felix. 

“Stop!” you shout.  You were just picturing the passing of generations, so maybe that explains why your panicked brain compels you to blurt, “You can’t kill him! I’m pregnant!” 

This time every head in the room swivels towards you.  Even the other guards do not hide their surprise.  Your father stares, jaw agape, and Felix looks just as bewildered.  You feel bad because you can see thought flickering behind his eyes, wondering if maybe you are telling the truth.  It makes his face change, pain flashing.  Panic seeps into his veins. 

“Excuse me?” your father says. 

You almost trip on the chair.  Your knees knock and your voice shakes when you say, “You heard me.” 

“I know what I heard.”  At least it succeeds in garnering your father’s attention.  He forgets about Felix entirely as he stalks towards you, gun clutched in his undoubtedly sweaty hand.  “My problem lies in understanding how this can be.”

“Well,” you say slowly.  “I can’t imagine you really want me to explain that—”

You father backhands you across the face.  You careen into his desk, barely catching yourself. 

“It could work in my favour yet,” your father says.  “Start fresh.  Fix where I went wrong with you.  Because you are an irredeemable and entirely lost cause.” 

This baby is not even real yet you panic at the thought.  It unspools an infinite and horrifying future, this house an eternal monstrosity birthing a new generation of tyrant and monster.  Hurting and contorting everyone in the family name for the sake of maintaining that vast estate.  

This has to stop. 

“Of course I am,” you say.  You take a long, steadying breath, then you push yourself upright.  You turn to your father and meet his gaze, aware of the gun but feigning complete nonchalance.  “I can’t believe it has taken you this long to realize it,” you say.  “You lost me a long, long time ago.  You want to control everything because you’re scared of losing anything.  But you’ve already lost what you were trying so hard to protect and you can never, ever get it back.  I will not continue what your father started.  I will not be what you have become.  I am not like you and I am proud of that.  I am proud that I love my friends, and Felix, despite how much you tried to stop me. But I am me and I am not scared.” 

You dive at him, a vicious tackle spurred by that hurricane of emotion inside you.  You tackle him so quickly that it takes the guards a second to react.  The gun clatters to the floor as it flies out of his hand.  He throws up his fists to protect his face when you swing down with all your might.  What you lack in physical strength you compensate with drive, slamming your fists down without care for where they land, again and again and again. 

Then someone grabs you by the collar and yanks.  It is one of the guards, pulling you to your feet.  Your father shrieks and hollers like a wounded dog, snarling and frothing like one too.  He gets to his feet and swings at you. 

Felix rises, struggling to reach you.   You stretch out your hand, your fingertips touching before you are yanked apart from each other.  You cry out, struggling in the guard’s death grip to no avail.  Felix is fighting the other guards but his injuries put him at a disadvantage. 

You are dragged away from the chaos.  Your father picks up the discarded gun on his way. 

“Take her outside!” he shouts at the guard, then turns to the mess in his office.  “Don’t waste your energy.  Shoot the boy.”

“No!” you scream, so guttural you hardly recognize the sound.  You cry as gunshots ring in the office, but you lose sight of the skirmish as you are dragged, kicking and screaming, down the stairs and out the front door. 

You curse at your father and the guard, bits of your shirt ripping when you fight to escape.  You are smacked and twisted, your shoulder popping so painfully that it makes you wail. 

“Stop it, stop it!”  You are fully sobbing, either from pain or panic.  It does no good as you are dragged into the night.  The grand driveway is lit like a stage awaiting players, lamps and towers beaming over the pavement.  The gate opens to the street beyond.  It is pitch black.  There are no other houses on this hillside, the estate sprawling across its expanse, so there are no streetlights.  A black car is parked on the curb.  It feels like a chariot to the underworld, black and swallowed by shadow.  You are as good as dead.  Felix might be truly dead. 

You struggle some more but you are in so much pain.  Your father is shouting directions at the guard and it splits his attention.  His grip loosens and you successfully break free. 

You do not hesitate.  You run into the street, straight through the pitch black.  If you run far enough, you will eventually reach a proper street leading into the city.  You do not even care which direction you go.  You just run, ignoring the screaming pain in your muscles as your feet hit the pavement.

A gunshot pierces the quiet night.  You stumble to a stop, throwing your hand up over your heart.  You touch your chest, expecting to find a bloody wound.  But there is nothing, not a single drop.   You were not shot. 

You spin around and watch the guard fall to the ground, a bullet in his head.  Your father turns too, holding his own gun at the approaching figure. 

Your knees almost buckle as relief washes over you, Felix storming down the driveway with a gun of his own raised at your father.  Felix is badly wounded, but even at his worst he is a far better shot than your father.  They both know it too, staring each other down as Felix gets closer and closer. 

“Stop where you are!” your father screams, his voice breaking. 

Felix ignores him, gun still raised.  Your father fires a shot that goes wide.  Felix does not even blink as it ricochets off a wall.  He walks calmly to the sidewalk where your father stands.  He does not smirk or gloat.  He just looks at the frightened man who terrorized the world to make himself feel better, and he lines up a shot. 

Felix pulls the trigger. 

Nothing happens. 

His brow furrows before his face twists with fury.  The gun has jammed or it’s out of bullets, but either way it is useless.  He lowers his arm, the gun dangling from his hand as he stares at your father.

Your father just laughs, a ridiculous and semi-hysterical laugh as he stumbles back but never lowers the gun.  Felix is much closer now.   Even your father could not miss this shot.   

Felix drops his gun and smiles weakly. 

“She’s funny, you know,” Felix says.  “And smarter than anyone I know.  She picks up on things everyone else misses.  It’s too bad you can’t see it.  But then, you’re not like her.” 

“Shut up,” your father snaps.  “You have exceeded your uses, boy.” 

You realize you are running.  Even before the conscious thought reaches your mind, your body spurs you into action.  Instinct commandeers control and you hand yourself over to it.   Felix looks up just as you emerge from the dark.  He sees your face for a split second, enough time for him to realize what you are doing and shout, “Stop!”

Your father’s finger is already on the trigger.  A shot rings out and this time it does hit you, sharp and searing as you dive in front of Felix. 

The gun hits the ground.  Your father looks at you with petrified eyes.  Felix catches you, supporting your weight as he sinks to his knees with you in his arms. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, touching your face, your neck, your chest.  “Sweetheart, look at me.  Stay with me.” 

The pain is excruciating, like nothing you have ever felt before.  You cannot even tell where it is coming from.  It feels like your neck and shoulder and heart all at once.  It radiates and burns.  The pain is so overwhelming that you do not notice the wet, tacky feeling of blood.  You see it before you feel it, all over Felix’s fingers as he finds the bullet wound in your shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” he says, barely more than a gasp.  His chest is rising and falling rapidly.  You scream in agony when he grabs your shoulder and squeezes it hard in his fist.  “I know, I know,” he says.  “It exited clean.  There’s nothing vital there.  You’ll be okay, sweetheart, I got you.  I just have to staunch the blood.  We just have to—”  His voice breaks on a sob and he looks up at your father, his hand covered in your blood and his rage as red on his face.  “We have to get her help.  Now.”  

Your father’s response is to pick up the gun.  He nearly drops it, his shaking hands clammy, but he gets an unsteady grip eventually.  He points it at Felix again.  

“Are you fucking serious?”  Felix shouts in aggravation.  “Your daughter is going to bleed to death if you don’t do something.  Put the fucking gun down!”

“Get away from her,” your father says.  “Get away from her and put your hands up.  I’ll get her help.” 

“No,” you say, shaking your head then crying when pain lances down your neck.  “No, Felix. Don’t.” 

Your father will not take another shot at Felix, not with you in his arms.  Your father might want to control you, but he does not want you dead.  You are the only thing that is protecting Felix now.  If he moves, he dies. 

“Don’t go,” you beg.  “Felix, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Felix says.  He looks up at your father, venom in his voice as he asks, “Are you really going to stand there and let your daughter die?” 

“Are you going sit there and let her die?” your father retorts.  “Get away from her and I will save her.” 

You feel Felix twitch. He presses his fingers a little harder, stopping a rush of blood.  It makes you weep and you plead, “Felix no.  Please.  I can’t watch that.  I’d rather it end like this.”

“Don’t say that.”  Felix looks down at you.  His bloody hand is shaking, tears spilling down his cheeks as he looks at you.  “Nothing’s ending.  You’re gonna be fine.” 

“It never ends,” your father babbles.  He almost drops the gun when he trips over the lip of the sidewalk, stumbling backwards into the street as he stares at you.  You stare back, wondering if it is your blurry vision or if he is really crying.  All you can see is him wiping his face, the gun trembling in his hand.  “It just keeps going,” he says.  “Only I can end it.” 

He is taking aim again.  You cannot tell if he is aiming for you or Felix, maybe some half-baked delirious plan in his twisted mind to put you out of your misery and take Felix with you. 

Felix does not have time to attack.  He can only curl his body around yours to protect you from the shot. 

Then a beam of light shatters the dark.  It flies up the street, illuminating your father.  He looks in that direction.  Everyone is drowning in their sobs and it is all so loud that it takes a second to hear it: the heavy, growling drone of a speeding car, hurtling ever closer.  The white of a high-beam headlight blinds your father with lightning hot intensity. 

It is the last thing he ever sees. 

Felix is as startled as you.  You both cry out in horrified shock.  He blocks your body to shield you from the sudden and unexpected gore.  Noiseless convulsions tremble through your whole body as you stare up at Felix, not understanding what just happened. 

You both look over as the car rapidly reverses, disappearing just as quickly as it came.  In its wake is your father, or what remains of him.   

Just like that, the whole world tilts on its axis.

You cannot comprehend what you are seeing.  This man was a towering, nightmarish monstrosity, bigger than life and death, holding the world in his fist.  Even he desperately believed in his own mythology.  It seems impossible that he could be that nightmare but also be this, a broken and very human body, muscle and gristle and protruding bone, half flattened to the tarmac.  A sudden and entirely undignified death, comically animal, and as lowly as everything he ever disparaged.   

You and Felix stare at him, at the mess of his ruined dead body on the dark street.  It is so, so quiet.  The house is so still.  The street is empty.  You can hear the soft buzz of the floodlights. 

You make a hurt noise.  Felix looks down with a perplexed shake of his head.  But he only has a moment to mind you, his mouth open with some unspoken thought, when you hear the car again. 

You both look over, your heart racing and your blood spilling over his hand.  He is wearing his most determined face, braced to face an adversary. 

You do not know who to anticipate.  It makes no sense for Miroh to be here.  He would not have known anything unusual was transpiring at this house tonight.  How could he know to send someone?  Yet it is the only thing that makes sense.  The only person who could have taken down someone like your father would be someone just like him. 

You are braced for the worst when the car comes to a stop.  The dead body looks more grotesque as the headlights flash over it. 

The driver does not turn off the engine.  You hear the patter of frantic footsteps before the silhouette is illuminated by the car lights.  Wide eyes meet yours and your heart stutters.  Your tears are halted by the face staring back at you. 

“Oh my god,” Jisung says.  “That was the bad guy, right?” 

Felix reacts first, a bark of laughter made in disbelief as he stares at your startled best friend. 

Han Jisung is both the same and different, with a flop of dark hair and big brown eyes, but years have passed, leaving him bulkier and more mature.  He pushes a pair of glasses up his nose, the wide frames only exaggerating his eyes, making it very easy to hold his gaze when he looks at you. 

“Jisung,” you say, and start crying all over again.  “Jisung.”  You cannot seem to find another word.  You just gasp his name between sobs.

Jisung practically flies towards you, landing on his knees. 

“Hey, stranger,” he says, carefully touching your cheek.  “You’ve looked better, I’m not gonna lie.” 

You laugh even though it hurts, reaching for him with a shaking hand.  He takes it despite it being sticky with blood, cupping it safely in his own. 

“You’re here,” you say.  “How? Why?” 

“Of course I’m here,” he replies in a soft voice.  “I got in my car as soon as I saw that goodbye message.”  He gently squeezes your hand.  “You didn’t think I’d let you get away twice, did you?”        

Your laugh is more of a sob, in too much pain to truly smile.  Felix asks Jisung to help, showing him where to apply pressure.  Jisung complies, holding you while Felix tugs off his shirt.  It leaves him in a tank top, all his scars and bruises on display.  You want to fuss over him too but he gives you no opportunity to linger, using his shirt as a makeshift tourniquet for your wound. 

“So your boyfriend is Felix,” Jisung says while he works.  “That’s great. I was rooting for you two crazy kids.  Felix had a pretty obvious crush on you in high school.  I didn’t say anything because you kinda seemed to hate his guts but I guess that’s not true anymore.  You had some bigger bastards to hate.  Speaking of, that was your dad I got right?  I mean, I didn’t even think, I just saw him waving that gun around and I hit the pedal.  Next thing I knew—ohhh shit, Felix, you’re really strong, what the fuck, man.  Have you been working out—” 

Felix scoops you into his arms and stands.  His usual unwavering strength falters just a little, his injuries protesting his action.  You tell him to put you down because it will do no good for you both to collapse.  Jisung stands and helps steady you.  They both lay a hand on your back, taking some of your weight as your feet touch the ground and you wobble. 

“That’s my girl,” Jisung says.  “Oh man, that’s a lot of blood, ha ha ha – AHH.  No, it’s fine, we’re okay.  Careful—”

“Jisung,” Felix says, looking past you to meet his eye.  “Are you okay?”

A more than fair question considering how fast everything just happened.  Jisung stops rambling and takes a few deep breaths before he answers. 

“Okay, yeah,” he says.  “Totally fine.  For now.” 

“Okay,” Felix says.  “Because I need you to take her while I—”

Your ignore their conversation.  Your eyes are on your father.  You cannot even call it his body; it is a carcass.  His lower half is gored but his face is mostly whole.  You half-expect his mouth to open with a wailing shout.   You are so distracted with the thought, you misstep and your weak ankles give out.  You are spared a kiss with the pavement when Jisung catches you.  It is a haphazard embrace, throwing his arms around you to keep you upright. 

“Can you take care of her until I get back?”  Felix asks. 

“Uh-huh. Yes,” Jisung says.  He puts his growing bulk to use and lifts you into his arms, bridal style.  You cannot move your shoulder to lift your arms around him, but you rest your head in the curve of his neck as he carries you to his car. 

His car.  Hysterical giggles bubble inside you, quashed only by the physical ache of your body.  Han Jisung really raced back into your life and annihilated the worst of your demons by driving right at him.  

Years of nightmares and beatings and pain.  Years of your father lording his power over you and the world.  Years of believing he was terrifying and untouchable.  

Jisung always said it was that easy.  He was just a teenager, lookingat the impossible powers that surrounded his friend but believing whole-heartedly he could save her anyway.  You argued and pushed him away, but he knew better all along.  Jisung was not cowed by money and influence, not impressed or frightened by men like your father who ravaged the world and gloated about it.  Jisung had no power or influence of his own but that didn’t matter.  He saw his friend was in a bad situation and he wanted to save you.   So he did. 

He carefully rests you in the passenger seat.  In the time it takes him to circle to the driver’s side, you break down crying.  The pain exacerbates it, your body seeking release, but it is sentiment that pours out of your heart. 

Jisung gets in, looking very startled.  He adjusts his glasses. 

“Did it get worse?” he asks, reaching for you with a bloody hand.  You look at it, you look at him, very literally stained with blood on your behalf.  He is staying composed but you can see the jitters under his skin.  He just killed someone for you.  It might have been a panicked, spur of the moment decision, but the end result was the same.  Even though your father was not a good man, taking a life is a serious burden. 

And here he is, placing that weight aside so he can check on you. 

“Jisung,” you say.  You wish your hands were not so dirty because you want to touch his face or hold his hand.  You satisfy yourself with leaning towards him, touching your forehead to his cheek as you cry. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jisung says.  He shifts so your foreheads are touching, his clean hand cupping your cheek.  “I got you, okay?  It’s over now.  Felix is gonna take care of it and I’m gonna take care of you.  It’ll be okay.  Don’t be scared, all right?”

“I’m not,” you say.  “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You’re my friend,” Jisung says.  “You don’t have to do anything to deserve it, okay?  Look.  I know what will make you feel better.”  He reaches past you into the glove compartment.  You have no idea what he could possibly have in there that will make you feel better while bleeding out of a bullet wound in the passenger seat of his car, the same car he used to murder your abusive father. 

He fishes around then pulls out a bag of spicy peanuts, the same flavour you used to eat all the time in high school.  Even though he was allergic, he bought them whenever he found them, just because he knew you liked them. 

You take them slowly, staring at the familiar packaging.  You sniffle.    

“It was always going to be you, wasn’t it?” you say softly.  You could cry all over again.   “You really came back.”

Of course Jisung saved you.  You realize now your father could never be bested by Miroh or someone like him.  They would be locked in a perpetual stalemate, predicting each other’s every step, giving and taking and killing in a circle of violence with no end.  But Jisung is not like them. 

Whether the gesture was big or small, whether it was peanuts or a rescue, it was selfless, and someone like your father would never understand that.  He never saw it coming. 

“Well, yeah,” Jisung says.  “My promise was forever, remember?”

You can only nod, bumping your heads together.  Jisung wraps you in a hug then kisses your forehead before buckling in and taking the steering wheel. 

“All right,” he says.  “We can catch up after.  Let’s get away from this place.  It’s giving me the creeps.” 

-

It is strange looking at your house on a news report.  It makes you feel like you are watching someone else’s life. 

You are stitched and showered, sitting on the floor of a twin bed motel room.  You are still damp from the shower but each little trickle feels like blood, your jittery fingers constantly swiping at your skin. 

Jisung sits behind you on the bed, his legs bracketing you, double checking your stitches.  Felix said it was paramount to avoid a hospital or any other institution that would identify you.  He told Jisung to book a room at a motel on the highway and wait for him, that he would stitch you up himself when he arrived.  Jisung took the initiative, boasting some first aid training for his job at the grocery store. 

“Usually I’m putting bandages on a cut finger,” Jisung said, hands covered in blood as he fixed your wound, “but this is, uh, similar I guess.  Sort of.” 

Felix arrived while you were in the shower.  Now he is in there, cleaning himself and minding his own injuries while you and Jisung watch the evening news report.   The blinds are closed, rain pelting the canopy over the balcony, but you are tucked away from the storm, hidden from the world as it mourns you. 

“A devastating house fire is believed to have left no survivors on the premises,” the reporter says, backdropped with a video of an inferno ravaging your father’s house.  “Police are still investigating, but among the suspected dead is a prominent local businessman and his daughter.”  They show a portrait of your father and an old yearbook photo of you.   That girl looks nothing like the battered woman you are now.  You really do feel like you are watching someone’s else story end.

“Wow,” Jisung says, watching too.  “How does it feel to be dead?”

You rest your head against his knee, sighing as you stare at the television. 

“I’m not dead,” you say, staring at the photo of you.  That girl might be dead, but you are very alive. 

Felix accidentally swings the bathroom door too hard, the thud like a gunshot in your mind.  You jump a mile out of your skin, digging your nails into Jisung’s leg unthinkingly. 

“Ah ah ah ah—”  Jisung grabs your wrist to pry you off. 

“Sorry,” Felix says, truly apologetic.  He closes the door with a gentle click then approaches.  He sits beside Jisung on the bed, laying his hand on your head and looking you over.  “How are you?” Felix asks.   He pays no mind to the news report but that is likely because he is responsible for the story they are broadcasting.  You know Felix would tell you every detail if you asked, but you decide you do not want to know how he moved the bodies around.  It is enough to see the walls of that place burning. 

He packed a few things first.  A stuffed duffel bag sits on the other bed.  Perhaps it should feel daunting, that all you have left is a single bag of necessities, but it feels freeing.  You are not burdened by the weight of more.  Your hands might be shaking and you might be hurt in more ways than one, but you can exhale. 

You take Felix’s hands and kiss his scraped knuckles.

“I’m fine,” you say.  “What about you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says.  He looks more tired than you have ever seen him, but he manages a laugh when you pout at him.  “Don’t do that,” he says, flicking your bottom lip.  “Just some bad bruises, yeah?  I’ll be fine.” 

You know he is not fine but you respect his desire for peace.  You can check his injuries later when he has settled. 

“Well then, what about you, Jisungie?” you ask.  You turn around to face him.  “How are you?”

“Uh, honestly…”  Jisung rakes his fingers through his hair then exhales on a shaky laugh.  “I’ll let you know when I know.  It’s all a bit—uh—”  

“Yeah,” you say, taking his hand.  “I know.” 

You suspect there will be no proper words for a while.  You cannot even think of recovery while your wounds throb.  There are still gunshots firing in your mind.  When you close your eyes, you see a body on the pavement.  You expect a knock at the door and a gun in your face, even though there is no reason for that.  Miroh is probably sitting back and laughing at the detonation of your father’s house.  Your father’s people and investors will scramble over the company tomorrow.  That world will turn without you.  You will not miss it.    

You struggle to sleep that night.  You lay on your back to mind your shoulder but that is not your only grievance.  Felix lays beside you where he belongs and Jisung is in the other bed, so you are not alone anymore, but your adrenaline will not dwindle.  Now that you have a moment of peace, it feels more chaotic than ever. 

When you start breathing harder, Felix wraps an arm around you. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers.  He does not ask what is wrong.  It is more than self-explanatory.  You do not need to speak. 

You want to roll over and bury your face in his neck, but you cannot move because of your shoulder.  You suffice to hold his arm tight, closing your eyes as his protective embrace surrounds you.  His heart beats against your body and you let it lull you into a gentle repose. 

You do not sleep for long.  There is morning light when you wake but it is a bleary, early grey light.  Everything smells a little damp from the rain.  This is a small motel, meant to serve as a momentary respite for passing travellers.  You cannot stay here. 

Felix wakes when you do.  After a few morning kisses, he rises to use the washroom.  Jisung is still fast asleep in his bed, his cheek squished and his hair a shaggy mess on the pillow.   You smile, looking at him.  There is a gap between the beds but he is close enough to touch if you stretch.  You content yourself with looking, thinking about how lucky you are to have him again.  It is a light and happy thought, but it darkens very swiftly when you recall what he did to save you.  It is going to weigh on him, whether all at once or in pieces. 

The weight of trauma will be a heavy burden, but you are alive to carry it.  There are others who are less lucky.  You think about Hyunjin and your heart strains, recalling his final miserable departure.  Your father implied he had Hyunjin killed.  If he was not bluffing to antagonize you, then Hyunjin did not stand a chance.    

You are sniffling with tears when Jisung blinks awake.  He mutters in groggy gibberish before reaching for his glasses.    His tired voice is tinged with concern when he asks, “What is it?  Do you need something?” 

“No,” you say, wiping your tears.  “I was just thinking I know where I want to go next.” 

It is hard to talk about Hyunjin so you opt for vagueness over specificity.  The boys do not question the subject of the cabin when you mention his name.  You do not tell them he might be dead.  You feel like if you speak it out loud, it will make it true. 

It will take a week to reach the cabin by car.  Jisung helps you loads the necessities into the back a truck that Felix procured, only questioning its seeming manifestation after the fact. 

“I stole it,” Felix answers. 

“You stole a car?” Jisung asks.  It is a good thing the motel parking lot is empty because he practically shouts it, like stealing a car is the most horrifying thing he has ever heard.  You remember how you had the same reaction the first time Felix stole a vehicle. 

It makes you laugh when Felix draws his lips into a thin line, shaking his head at Jisung.  He turns to you and says, “You two really are identical, you know?”  

“What does that mean?”  Jisung asks. 

“I said the same thing the last time he stole a car,” you say.

“Dude!”  Jisung whips around.  “You stole two cars?”

“You know I’ve killed people, right?” Felix says dryly. 

“Well yeah, I mean, who hasn’t,” Jisung says with a nervous giggle. 

You whack him on the arm and shake your head.   “That’s not funny,” you say. 

“It’s a little funny,” he whispers while you roll your eyes. 

Though you want to keep him at your side, it feels selfish to ask Jisung to come with you.  He has a life here and he has already done so much to help you.  But he surprises you by emphatically volunteering himself, saying he at least wants to help get you there. 

“I don’t think I could just walk back into my normal life tomorrow like nothing happened,” Jisung says, tucking you under one arm.  “I don’t know what’s gonna happen next.  Can’t control it.  But I know where I want to be right now.  I’ll figure out the rest after.” 

So you take to the road, your destination a small cabin far away from your old life.  You stop along the way, at first for food and other necessities, mostly stolen by Felix, but then for pleasure when you drive through towns with interesting landmarks.   On the clearer nights, you sleep in the bed of the truck. 

You still do not stop for a real discussion.  You indulge the mental break while you can, all three of you taking the time to literally stop and smell the flowers on the journey. 

Bandages still need changing.  Stitches need minding.  The night before your anticipated arrival, you are in another motel room.  You and Felix sit in the small kitchenette, playing cards at the tiny table, while Jisung showers and goes about his nightly routine. 

You throw down a couple cards.  You look at Felix while he studies his hand.  The swelling on his face has gone down which is good for numerous reasons.  He has been wearing a baseball cap everywhere, the brim pulled low, to stop people from staring. 

There is a hard set to his shoulders.  It has been like that for a few days.  Even in your father’s house, there were moments Felix would soften, namely when he was curled up in your shared bed and the world seemed far away.  Maybe he cannot relax because the world is so immediate now.  It is strange that potential happiness can cause as much anxiety as its opposite.  Perhaps it is because it is so unfamiliar.  Your body only knows how to brace itself. 

Felix was raised for that express purpose.  Road trips and gardens and motel rooms was not in his training.  High school corridors and uniforms once baffled him, the mundanity of everyday life more exhilarating and frightening than a battlefield. 

You want to smooth his brow and soften his shoulders.  He sits like he is holding a breath and you want to draw it out of him.  A part of your stirs with arousal at the consideration, thinking how you could do that.  You have always found your humanity in that intimate space.  But you are both much too injured to try anything heavier than a kiss right now. 

This time, you reach across the table and touch his cheek, with no intention but a soft caress.  He blinks up at you, the cards forgotten.  You do not know what to say.  You just touch him.

He cups his hand over yours, holding it to his cheek.  He looks at your shoulder and other bruises.  It will take you a long time to heal, but nothing is infected.  You do not know how his injuries are faring because he will not let anyone look at them.  He claims he is fine.  You know he is not. 

“I love you,” you say.  “I swear it gets stronger every day.  Is that crazy?  Not a day goes by where I am not grateful for you, just as you are.”

He closes his eyes and swallows.  He nods. 

“I love you too,” he says in a soft, low voice. 

When Jisung leaves to get some dinner, Felix proves you wrong about lovemaking.  You are too injured for anything vigorous, but he can still lay you down, can still stretch alongside you.  He slips his hand beneath your waistband and touches you with long, careful strokes.   You unravel in his arms, your sore spots aching but the pain worth the pleasure.  You wrap a hand around the back of his neck and tug him down for a kiss.  You kiss him until he sighs and rests his forehead to yours. 

“Can I please see?” you ask. 

He finally acquiesces.  His scars are not too bad, more plentiful than painful.  He hisses but exhales when you kiss your way across a couple worse marks. 

“We’ll find a way to feel better,” you say, grazing your fingertips along his skin.  You recall what Jisung said, about how you did not have to deserve love, you just had to accept it.  “You don’t need to prove yourself anymore, Felix,” you say.  You dance your fingers down his bare chest to his waistband, kissing his shoulder as he sucks in a breath.  “Just be with me.  Let me love you.” 

“Always,” he says, dropping his head back as you touch him.  He cups the nape of your neck, squeezing lightly as you flick your wrist and stroke. 

You reach the cabin the next day.  It is late afternoon when you find the right place, passing a few other cabins before you find a quaint but charming one in the midst of a meadow.   The cabin itself does not flaunt much excess, but the meadow is flooded with flowers, a carpet of colour in the late afternoon light that makes it look like a something out of a fairy tale. 

The only problem is the smoke in the chimney.  The cabin is clearly occupied. 

“Is this the right place?”  Felix asks.  He and Jisung were admiring the meadow while you stared at the cabin, heart palpitating when you realized it was not empty. 

“It is,” you say. 

“Maybe it’s Hyunjin,” Jisung says. 

“It’s not.”  You close your eyes.  Hyunjin did not say anything about selling the property when you brought it up.  But, then again, there was a lot happening in that final exchange.  You made him promise he would try to get away if he could, but it might have been an empty platitude.  He knew he was going to die.  He knew you would never find out anyway. 

The distractions of the past week flutter into nothingness as you reckon with the grim reality of the world your father left behind.  You hang your head, swallowing hard. 

Jisung and Felix stare at you, their faces falling when they realize what you mean. 

“How?” Jisung asks. 

“My father chased him down,” you say.  “He used him.  He discarded him.  It’s what he does.” 

“What he did,” Jisung reminds you.  “And maybe Hyunjin got away.  We did!  That stupid hot weasel was a bitch but he was resourceful as fuck.” 

“Jisuuung,” you say, smacking his arm.

“What? I’m not speaking ill of the dead because he’s not dead,” Jisung argues.  “And if he was, he wouldn’t want me to suddenly be all fake and nice to him.   I annoy him.  That’s how I show my love.”  He kisses two fingers and waves it at the sky, then flips his middle finger too.  You laugh in spite of yourself, shaking your head.

Felix steps behind you and takes your hand.  He kisses your cheek. A breeze blows through his hair, his hat in his other hand. The three of you stand in the meadow for a time, looking at the flowers as you contemplate what to do next. 

The front door of the cabin opens.  You all turn.   An apology sits on your tongue, sorry for trespassing on someone else’s property.  The sight of you is no doubt disconcerting. Despite showers and meticulous first aid, you all look very rough, three obviously tired and run down people, a little dusty from the road and streaked with dirt from your hike to the cabin. 

You look at the person as they stand on the front stoop.  Your brow furrows and the apology disintegrates on your tongue, a bemused question poised to take it’s place.

“Minho?” is all you manage. 

You have not seen your first teenage crush in many, many years.  He looks older but not too different overall.  He is still very striking, even in his homey flannel and jeans, standing on the cabin stoop and looking at you with equal confusion. 

“Do I know you?” he asks, which makes sense.  You might have had a crush on him, but so did half the school.  He was a popular guy.  He knew Hyunjin but he only met you briefly. 

You want to tell him that.  You want to say you are friends with Hyunjin but you find it hard to say his name, especially with Minho gazing at you so innocently.  Why is he at the cabin?  Was he still friends with Hyunjin?  He likely does not know he is dead. 

You are spared your turmoil when Felix tugs on your arm, a sharp bid for attention.  You look at him, bemused, and he nods his head forward.  You look past Minho to the open cabin door as another figure steps into view. 

All that twisted pain unspools in your chest.  You nearly start sobbing in relief.

“Hyunjin!”  You ignore the surprised look on Minho’s face and run right past him.

Hyunjin is standing in the doorway, looking wary until he recognizes you.  Then his face breaks into a smile and those long limbs jump the porch steps.  You trample a few flowers that have grown over the path, meeting in an embrace amidst sprigs of lavender and vibrant hyacinths.   It is a very messy embrace, you and Hyunjin both forgetting you are injured.  You crash together only to yelp, your shoulder smarting and his bruised chest just as tender.  You laugh at each other then hug gently.  When your cheek touches his chest, your eyes water. 

“Am I dead after all?” you ask thoughtlessly, the beauty of the terrain and the embrace of your friend momentarily making you think so.    

Hyunjin laughs and shakes his head.  “I thought you were,” he says.  “It was all over the news.  I thought for sure—”

“I thought for sure you—”  You overlap with him, both of you laughing again.  “How did you get away?” 

“Nothing special,” Hyunjin says.  “I was being watched but they were waiting for final orders from your father.  Then word got out that he was dead so they just left.  I don’t know if they went to investigate or just abandoned post.  I didn’t stick around to find out. I packed my things and disappeared the first chance I got.” 

“We made a few stops on the journey over,” you say.  “I’m not surprised you beat us.” 

“I really thought you were—”  Hyunjin shakes his head.  “And that it was my—”

“It wouldn’t have been your fault anyway,” you say. 

“That’s what I told him,” Minho interrupts, his tone quippy but his lips quirked up in a smile.  He wiggles his fingers in a wave when you look at him.  “So you’re the friend,” he says.  “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m the friend’s friend,” Jisung says, skipping into the scene and waving at Hyunjin.  “Hey, man.  Missed me?” 

He is being playful but Hyunjin pulls him into a hug, very obviously surprising Jisung who almost falls right over.  Poor Jisung’s face goes red as a rose.  You remember his video about having a crush on his high school rival and can’t help but giggle into your palms. 

Felix puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling cordially at Minho.  “Hi,” he says. 

“This is Felix, my—”  You look at each other.  You lips move as you look for the right word.  Bodyguard is not strictly true anymore.  Boyfriend and partner sound so very mundane, but you realize that is what you are now.  “Boyfriend,” you say, feeling hot with embarrassment for no good reason.  You suspect the little things will have you flustered for some time. 

“Boyfriend,” Felix repeats, looking quite delighted for a second.  You are certain only you see the flicker of sadness that follows.  He blinks, his gaze faraway, but he covers it with another smile quickly enough.  “Nice to meet you,” he says. 

“I guess I’ll have to make a bigger dinner,” Minho says, playfully dry like the idea is a hardship, but smiling a knowing smile at Hyunjin, clearly very happy for him.  “Come on then.  Get inside already.  You’re crushing the tulips.” 

The cabin is one floor with a loft.  The main bedroom, kitchen and facilities are downstairs, some extra makeshift bedding thrown together in the small sitting area by the fireplace.  The upstairs loft is a small second bedroom, sparsely furnished with a mattress and blankets and little else.  The ceilings are low but the space is blessedly private.  You think it is some of the finest accommodations you have ever stayed in.   

You throw yourself on the mattress, curling up with a pillow and blanket.  Felix smiles and leans down to kiss the top of your head.  When he pulls away, you take his hand, regarding him imploringly. 

“Just gonna take a shower,” he says.  “Wanna clean up, yeah.”

You nod.  Even though you can see he is struggling with something, you let him go.  If he is not in the mood to talk, you will wait.  A shower will help him feel better.

He takes his bag and climbs back down the ladder.  You mean to wait for his return, but you feel such calm at finally reaching your destination.  The laughing voices of your friends float up to the loft, putting you even more at ease.  You release a breath and lay your head on a pillow.  The next thing you know, you are blinking awake.  The sky is a purpling pink, the day drawing to a close.  You can smell something cooking downstairs.  Your friends are still yammering away.  Hyunjin’s relentless giggles at Jisung’s goofy jokes makes you smile. 

You climb down the ladder and wander into the main room.  Felix was not upstairs but he is not with the others either.  He must have finished his shower a long time ago now. 

“Where’s Felix?” you ask, an edge of panic in your voice. 

“He’s just outside,” Minho says from behind the kitchen counter.  “He said he just wanted some air.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling a little foolish for panicking without reason.  “Right. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” Minho says, winking to comfort you.  You smile but nonetheless wrap your cardigan tighter around you, feeling a little embarrassed. 

Felix has been glued to your side for ten years.  Your instinct now panics in his absence, but you realize his absence is a good thing.  He does not need to be beside you at all times.  He is free to wander if that is what he wants.  You are glad he stepped outside for some air, rather than sitting over you. 

You step onto the small porch and look across the meadow.  You can see a shape sitting among the flowers at the edge of the field, looking down the slope to the park valley below.  You cross the flowers, minding where you step.  The breeze parts your cardigan and you tug it closed.  It is a somewhat clumsy walk overall.  Your last few steps are a proper stumble over a rock.  You miss it completely, distracted with what you find. 

Felix sits with his back to you.  You thought he was wearing a hat, but now you can see it is his hair.  He dyed it a shock of pitch black and trimmed the edges.  It is a messy, jagged cut that you will certainly have to fix later.  You suspect he did not spend much time looking in the mirror. 

“What’s this?” you ask.  “Is this why you wanted to stop at that drug store?”

Felix looks up at you.  The dark hair somehow makes his freckles stand out more.  He looks different but still very handsome.  You think you might be falling in love all over again, a little flushed inside as you sit beside him on the grass. 

“Yeah,” he says.  He runs his fingers through his hair, glancing up at the dark locks from beneath his lashes.  He sighs.  “And I don’t know why.  I just…” 

You put your arm around him, drawing him close to rest his head on your good shoulder.  He falls against you, breathing out again.  His shoulders droop, losing some of the tension that has plagued him. 

“I don’t know what to do now,” he says.  “I know this is all good, but I feel like I’ve done something wrong.  Like I’m not supposed to be here.  And I keep thinking about Chris.  How I—”  He rubs his face, then chokes tears.  “What am I supposed to do with all this life, especially when I couldn’t give him back his?” 

He cries properly now and you let him.  There is no right thing to say, not that you can think of, so you just hold him until he has expended the worst of his pain through his tears.  He takes a few shaking breaths before he sits upright, wiping his face.  You rub a circle on his back. 

“And you,” he whispers.  “It’s like, I feel everything all at once.  You call me your boyfriend and I’m happy, then I see you hugging Hyunjin and I think—he knows how to be a person.  I don’t know how to be anything.”

“Felix, you know Hyunjin is gay, right?” you ask.  You guarded that secret before but seeing as Minho is here at the cabin, you suspect Hyunjin is not keeping it secret anymore. 

Felix stutters on a shaking breath, looking momentarily confused. 

“Huh?  He is?” he asks, then gets a little weepy again, saying, “That’s nice for him.”

“Oh, baby,” you say.  You kiss his cheek and snuggle close to him, resting your head on his shoulder.  “I don’t know what to say.  I’m a mess too.  I don’t know how to do any of this right.  But I’m pretty sure grieving your friend makes you more of a person, not less.”  You look at each other.  You touch his cheek and stroke a thumb over his freckles.  You think you have them mapped by memory, every last dot.  “You’re not alone,” you say.  “I want to be with you when things are bad, not just when they’re good.  And you and me, we’ve known a lot of bad.” 

He laughs, his breath dancing over your lips with your proximity.  You smile fondly. 

“I think it’s time we feel some good,” you say.  “We’ll figure out what that means eventually.  Together.” 

He draws you close and kisses you, a sweet kiss that deepens.  You cuddle when the breeze blows a little harder, the evening chill creeping into the sunset.  Still, you do not move, sharing heat between you and sitting among the flowers until the pink has left the sky and a blue evening blurs into the purple wash. 

Minho sticks his head out the door to call you in for dinner.  You stand first and offer your hand.  Felix takes it, then kisses you one more time.  You walk back to the cabin, hand in hand.

Warmth wraps around you like a fuzzy blanket when you step inside from the cold.  Hyunjin and Jisung are playfully arguing at the table, Minho standing over them and yammering some nonsense back.  You and Felix smile at each other before joining them all at the table.  After he has served the portions, Minho sits as well. 

There is a moment of silence, everyone looking around the table at everyone else.  They all looked flushed with warmth and life, Hyunjin smiling and Jisung beaming at you.  Felix puts his hand on your knee under the table, squeezing softly.  You look at him with another smile, then a laugh, a sound of disbelief that resonates with everyone.  You are here, impossibly but truly.  You have no idea what happens now.   

“I’ll break the ice,” Jisung says.  “Because I have a confession, while we’re all here, and Hyunjin has his hot boyfriend cooking us a meal.  Hyunjin, my man, I’m sorry for being the dick of all dicks when we were in high school.”  Jisung lays a hand on his heart and dramatically makes his confession.  Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline as your goofy friend continues, “Turns out having an arch nemesis is super gay.  And I was a stupid repressed bisexual who thought furiously staring at you for seven hours a day was a totally normal thing to do.  Sorry, man.  Congrats on the hot boyfriend, though.” 

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Minho says.  His elbow is on the table, chin in his hand.  He is grinning at Jisung. 

“Come again?” Jisung says. 

“Not his boyfriend,” Minho says, laughing.  “I’m his friend.  He was in trouble and asked for my help.  I’m a good friend so here I am, helping him get settled.  I’m actually married.”  He holds up his hand, proudly displaying a wedding band.  He giggles some more.  “He’s single, though.”  He gestures to Hyunjin. 

Jisung looks at Hyunjin who has gone very pink in the face.  He glances at Jisung and laughs, covering his mouth to try and contain it. 

“Oh.  Oh.  Oh.  Yeah.  Cool.”  Jisung scratches the back of his neck, then his brow, then his chin.  He taps the table and nods his head rapidly.  “Awesome,” he says.  “Well, I’m really glad we clarified that before I made a really ridiculous confession in front of everyone.  That would have been super embarrassing for me.”

You all laugh, genuinely as Jisung soaks it in with a silly little grin.  The sound of your collective delight fills the cabin before chatter begins again and you start eating. 

You glance around the table while taking a bite.  Your shoulder aches, and Felix’s bruises are still healing, and you will not be surprised if a nightmare jolts one of you out of sleep tonight.  But you will wake beside Felix, you will comfort each other, and you will fall back asleep.  You will wake up tomorrow and try it all again. 

You know the times ahead will not always be easy.   You are ready to make mistakes and try.

It is not a perfect ending, but it is a perfect beginning.   

part ix: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 11,700 words)

chapter warnings: the usual dynamics. child abuse history. reader in peril. violence and death. explicit sexual content.

(THE SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER! <3)

-

You move back into your father’s house after graduation.  You are surrounded by all your old pains, your childhood and adolescence written into each familiar brick and tile.  Your past overwhelms you at every turn.  It is a fight to focus on your future. 

But you are ready to fight.    

The only question is how, especially when you are battling your own emotions in that house. 

Your reprieves are small.  You find some solace in routine and the distraction of your job.  Your father gives you an internship at his company.  The role is honestly superfluous, comprised of busy work and redundant tasks, but it is clear he is not ready for you to meddle in any real business affairs.  You are not sure if that is because he does not trust you or because he does not trust his business people with you. 

You still see Jeongin and Seungmin, less than you did but often enough.  They are both pursuing higher degrees so when you meet them at that campus coffee shop, it feels like a moment back in time.  But lingering on the past, even the good memories, is no greater help than lingering on the bad ones. 

Because there is also Felix. 

You return to silent, secret communication.  He will make you feel flushed with just a glance, so much thought in his gaze that you feel it to the depths of you.  It seems like he does not even need to touch you to make love to you.  

But when he does touch you, it releases you from the prison of your house and your mind.  You put your body in his hands for a few precious moments and he takes care of it.  And in the long days in which he bears the dehumanizing commands of your father, wearing the identity of a non-person to never arouse suspicions otherwise, then he places his humanity in your hands for safe keeping. You give it back to him with your own glances and careful touches.       

It takes so much effort to take care of each other, so the idea of active offense seems nearly impossible.  Felix certainly thought it was impossible, the one time you asked, but that was years ago.  Things have changed.  You and Felix have changed. 

You do not know what your father is holding over his head.  You only know it is something, and you think it might be time to find out what. 

You want to do this right.  Felix does not have to carry his burdens alone anymore.  You need him to truly understand that you want to protect him as much as he protects you.  You know there is a part of him that still believes he does not deserve it. 

All your plans are thrown into flux the day your father calls Felix into his office. 

Usually when your father summons Felix, it is for routine updates.  But this is a long meeting.  It lasts at least two hours with the office door sealed shut.  Your mind races with the possibility of what is being discussed. 

You find yourself gravitating to that side of the house, anxiety worsening the longer that door stays shut.   As the clock ticks, your nerves get the best of you.  You wander closer, hoping you can hear from the corridor. 

The guard at the door stares at you.  His scrutinizing regard gets under your skin.  Before you can stop yourself, you snap at him, “What?  I’m just walking.”

“You don’t need to walk here,” he says and waves you off, dismissive as always. 

A lot of the men in your father’s employ seem to get some perverted joy out of dismissing or punishing you.  They have since you were a child.  Their surveillant eyes played host in your nightmares for years.  His smug countenance coupled with his threatening stance makes your blood boil in helpless frustration.   

“Fuck you,” you say.  You want to hurl it at him, but it spills out of your lips no stronger than a whimper.  Your fists are balled at your side and your brain is screaming to walk away, but your body goes cold. 

“Do not take a tone, bitch,” he says. 

The unwarranted name-calling feels like a slap.  It is him flaunting the obvious truth: your father has never taken your side and he never will.  You are nothing but a problem that needs to be solved.  You are still just a stupid, emotional child who needs a fist closed around her to keep her safe from the greatest danger in her life: herself.

“I said walk away, little girl,” the guard continues.  “Your presence is not needed.”

“I’ll go where I want,” you say.  “This is my house.”

“It’s your father’s house.  Now walk away or I will escort you myself.”

“I dare you to try.” 

You feel like you are outside of your body, watching this ridiculous scene unfold with no way to stop it. 

He takes a menacing step forward and you stumble back.  You bump into the wall and hit a small mirror, barely a nudge but enough to knock it off its hook. 

It shatters at your feet.  Yu step on a shard of glass and sharp pain lances through your foot.  It feels like someone driving a knife straight through it.  You scream, the sound ripped out of you in surprise. 

The office door swings open and your father storms out.  For a moment, he looks alarmed, eyes wide and brows high, but this only fuels his anger when he sees you are unharmed.  Fury conquers fear in moments. 

“Look!” you cry in protest.  You lift your foot because you must have a massive shard of glass protruding from it. 

Your father does not even look down.  He marches into his office and shouts something that you are too disoriented to register.  Your attention has narrowed to a pinprick of a point, centred entirely around the gash in your foot. 

You only register what is happening when a familiar face enters your vision.   Felix is in a black t-shirt and jeans, his hair in a short ponytail with not a strand out of place.  Whatever transpired in that office was clearly not confrontational.  He is completely fine. 

His thick boots crunch over the glass.  On your father’s order, he swoops you easily into his arms and carries you into the office.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you say.  Your tears infuriate you.  They are the result of physical pain but it is only exacerbating the hurricane inside you.  “God, it hurts so much. How big is it—”

“A foot wound hurts more than usual cuts,” Felix says. 

He puts you on the couch in your father’s office.  You father is standing by his desk, drinking coffee and rolling his eyes.  You want to shout at him, purely on instinct, but your coherency is shot when Felix pulls the glass out of your foot. 

More tears fall, some in relief.  Then you look down and see an impossibly tiny shard.  You cannot believe how small it is. It truly felt like it went deeper, like it slashed right through your foot. 

“Show me,” your father says.

Felix meets your gaze, his eyes apologetic.  He lifts the glass for your father to see.  Then another glass breaks when your father smashes his coffee mug in a fit of frustration.

“It really hurt!” you protest, feeling as pathetic as you sound.    

“Ridiculous, dramatic child,” your father says.  “Felix, close the door.”

Felix obeys.  He cannot show any hesitation.  He is the emotionless robot that your father wants. 

Felix closes the door as commanded then stands against it.  He folds his hands behind his back and stares ahead, not sparing you another glance.  He looks every inch a waiting soldier.  Someone who would sooner drive a knife through his own hand than disobey an order. 

“You want to cry?” your father asks, as if you are not already hiccupping on half-aborted sobs. “Do you have any idea about the scale of work I have to accomplish this week?  Do you think I play games behind these doors?  For you to – to – to waltz around, acting like a child and throwing a tantrum over nothing—”  

You must be dripping blood on the hardwood but he does not even care to look.  He stalks to his desk where he sits. 

“Felix,” your father says, his rage barely suffused in the address.  He gestures to you and says no more.

You and Felix meet eyes.  He conceals his alarm fairly well.  You doubt anyone else would see fear and concern in the subtle crease of his brow.  He makes it look contemplative, but you see it.  You see him. 

And you know he is making a mistake before he even says anything. 

“Sir?”

Your father, who was looking at a file on his desk, lifts his head. 

You and Felix have been in this office many times.  He has watched your father beat you, and you have watched him take as many strikes on your behalf.  Your father’s instructions are implicit in the environment, under the circumstances.  He is asking Felix to deliver a beating on his behalf.  Experience and common sense should be clarity enough for a soldier like Felix.    

This confusion, feigned to buy himself a moment, is worthy of your father’s furious stare. 

“What?” your father snaps. 

Felix hesitates, then approaches. 

That moment of hesitation is enough. You look at your father.  Just like you can read Felix, you can read that man.  You can see the calculation behind his eye.  Everyone is a thing, a statistic, a number, something that be crunched and calculated, something that can be used and discarded if the calculations are unfavourable.  Things are supposed to function according to his commanded algorithm. 

Felix is not supposed to hesitate.   

You were correct to assume your father would never suspect your affair based on romance.  He does not see or recognize an exchange of true love.   But he understands violence.  He understands its absence.  Felix could kiss you and your father would not notice, but Felix refusing to hit you is worth a second glance. 

With very little time to think, you diffuse those suspicions before they take flight.  When Felix is near, you do not hesitate to swipe at him.  You land a mean smack on his cheek that sufficiently surprises him. 

He meets your eyes.  They are narrowed with righteous anger as you play the part you must.  You know he sees the apology in them.  You hope he sees the forgiveness. 

Felix returns the smack.  He does not hit you anywhere near as hard as he could – even your father would hit you harder – but it is still enough of a crack that your head turns on impact.  You clutch your cheek and your whole body quivers, like it is confused by the alternating directions of pain.

“Don’t you dare touch me again,” you say, looking at Felix.  “You stupid animal.  I hate you.” 

That you know he cannot misunderstand.

And so it is within that mute understanding you hand yourself over, as you have so often done.  Felix does what he can to lighten the severity, just as he always does, but it still requires a few good hits so your father believes your weepy surrender.

You are very quiet after.  You can hear your father’s pen scratching across a paper pad.  He watched it all then went right back to work. 

You remember when you chased the high of his attention just to linger in a pit of despondency for hours after.  You do not feel that now.  Pure, unadulterated rage flows through you, hot as fire and as all-consuming.  You feel no other emotion in that moment. 

You look at your father, unwavering. 

“I despise you,” you say.   

Then pen on the paper stops.  For a moment, he seems struck.  But then he crosses a line on the page and resumes his work, not once looking at you, your bruises, or your blood.  Not acknowledging your anger, the one trait you inherited from him.

“You’ll see,” your father says, with a fair degree of poise and equanimity.  Unbothered, like he is talking about ordinary things.  You suppose he is.  What could be more ordinary to this man than the ominous prophesizing of his self-inflicted horror?  “One day,” he says.  “When I am gone and you really see the world for what it is, you will understand why I did what I have done.  You will be safe and you will thank me.” 

I will kill you before I ever thank you, you think, and realize with a shiver you truly mean it.

“Felix, retrieve Domino,” your father says.

Domino is the guard posted at the door.  When he enters, he gives you a cursory glance, his cheek dimpled, the amusement towards your situation scarcely concealed. 

Your father’s money might afford him influence over this stock of men, but they are all in the business of profitable pain.  Military men, ex-cops: they are a dirty and criminal ilk who are accustomed to holding authority in their own right.  It is little wonder they never liked you and you never liked them.   

“Sir,” Domino says, at attention. 

“Take my daughter to her room and see to it she is tended.  Then send someone to clean up this mess.  I have work to finish here and I will not tolerate any further interruptions.  None.  Do you understand?”

“Sir,” is the reply, affirmative, with a sharp nod.

“Good.  Felix.  Sit.”

Your father gestures to the chair across his desk and Felix moves towards it.  Unlike the perfect boy soldier who once sat in that chair, Felix kicks it because he is glancing back at you. 

You meet his eye for a brief moment, then the world spins as Domino picks you up.  It is a grappling yank, like you grab a thing, with no care for injury or a polite touch. 

You are carried out of the office and back to your room.  One of the crew’s medics patches your foot.  You sit through it with a cold detachment, then your room is empty and you are alone, waiting in bed for Felix so you can ask what is happening and discuss what to do.

Felix never comes.  

-

In your wildest imaginings of what transpired behind that door, a job is not what you anticipate.  It is at once too strange and too mundane.  

A job is not an operation; it is an errand, a sleight of hand conducted in the shadowed crevice of a greater business scheme.  It is not unusual for your father to send his men out on these jobs.  But in all the years Felix has been in his employ, he has never been sent out.  His only occupation is to serve as your bodyguard, and he has proven time and again how he is irreplaceable in that position. 

You do not know what makes this job different.  You glean only a little information from the chatter of the crew, just enough that you know it is a stealth acquisition and a rare, unprovoked move against Miroh.  Your father is known for his defensive tactics, seldom manoeuvring in offense, so you suppose the inclusion of his best solider on a risky venture makes sense.  Felix  is likely your father’s only guarantee.

But you cannot shake there is something else.  Felix is more than just a soldier and Miroh is more than just a businessman.  You know their past is tangled together. 

You do not get a chance to ask.  The next time you see Felix is through a window.  You are in the upstairs corridor, staring down at the driveway as he climbs into a van with a few other agents.  Then the van pulls away and it is just you in that house with your temporary replacement bodyguard team. 

Even your father leaves, though you doubt he will be involved in the physical mission itself.   You overhear him telling your security that he anticipates returning in a week.  You count down the hours until then.

By the second day, you are sick with worry.   Sitting around with your unanswered questions makes the time drag.   Hours pass in dissociation, unmoving and anxious.  You decide that waiting will only worsen your state.  Although you are not keen to wander around town with your security entourage in tow, you cannot sit here either.     

The team is made of three men including Domino.  They are all as subtle as a scream with their bulk and demeanour, and every bit like all the others. 

Though they will undoubtedly report even the most mundane actions, they acquiesce and take you into town.  The campus café is one of your father’s approved locations.   

You are not sure if you want to run into your friends.  The distraction would be a welcome one, not to mention the balm that is a smile from a friendly face, but you also have no idea how you will explain the obvious security.  You are exhausted with lies.  You are not sure you could spin a convincing story even if you wanted, and you do not. 

The café is always quiet before lunch.  There are a few students scattered around so even though you feel ridiculous, no one pays you much attention. 

One guard waits outside the door, one inside by a window, and Domino stays by your side as you order your drink and take a seat. 

You forgot just how invasive and uncomfortable this dynamic was.  If you were not so drained, you would be snapping at them just to relieve the tension drawn tight in your chest.  Instead, you endure.  Every breath feels more strained than the last.  You cannot focus on your work any better here.  The words on your screen are just meaningless letters and shapes. 

You stare at your hands, at their faint, vibrating tremble.     

Then you hear your name.  The guards have been addressing you as girl, sometimes subject or the daughter when speaking to each other.  The gentler murmur of your name momentarily stills the shaking of your fingers, steady as a hand grasping yours.  You lift your head and see Jeongin, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder, his dark hair a shaggy mess, and his concerned eyes flitting between you and Domino.

“Hey,” Jeongin says with that dimpled smile.  “What’s up?”

“Who is this?” Domino asks.  Before you can answer, he turns to Jeongin and says, “Stand back.  You do not have permission to stand here.”

“Oh my god,” you say, slapping a palm to your forehead. 

You are flooded with childhood memories, idiots like this intimidating everyone who tried to speak to you for longer than a minute.  Whether they took the form of a guardian or masqueraded as a janitor or something else, they always made everyone sufficiently uncomfortable.  Even Jisung was often disturbed by them, though he drew the wrong conclusions about their identity.  He was good with weird.

Jeongin must be made of a similar mettle.  He gives your guard a pinched look, lip curled like he smells something bad, but he does not move.   He looks at you with a tip of the head, concern once more creasing his features. 

“Do you need help?” he asks. 

The poor guy must be so confused.  You look like you are being held hostage in a coffee shop by a stupidly inconspicuous thug. 

All you can do is sigh and shake your head.  “I’m fine, Jeongin,” you say, a very unconvincing lie.  “I’ll catch you around, yeah?”

“Move along,” Domino says. 

Jeongin looks at him.  His glance flicks up and down.  Then he says, “Your fly is down.” 

Domino stares at him, unblinking, as if he can vaporize Jeongin with just a glare.  Jeongin stares back. 

“Really, Jeongin,” you say.  A genuine breath of a laugh leaves your lips.  Jeongin could not even throw a punch without smacking a chair, but he is willing to stick up for you.  And his annoyance tactic is the funniest defense you can imagine.    

Jeongin finally leaves, but with a glance over his shoulder.  You fight the urge to throw something at the guards who watch him go. 

“Who was that?” Domino asks. 

“I don’t know his name,” you say.  “He was just a classmate a long time ago.” 

You hope that is enough to make him forgettable. 

You act casual, taking a sip of your coffee.   Then Domino looks down into his lap, quickly checking his fly.  Your snorting laughter sprays coffee everywhere.

Fortunately, this does not impact the report.  You are allowed to return to the same coffee shop the next day.   This time both Seungmin and Jeongin are there, books open but blathering in distracted conversation.  Another young guy is sitting with them, maybe a classmate, though he has no books with him.  He is sprawled in a chair, holding a coffee and grinning at whatever the boys are saying. 

He notices you first, probably because you are staring.  He tips his head as he looks at you, black bangs falling across his forehead.  He is noticeably stocky and broad, but he smiles behind the brim of his coffee cup and it is incredibly disarming. 

He is handsome but the overt flirtation brings only pain.  It makes you think of Felix.  You barely slept last night, tossing and turning with anxiety.  Your stress only worsened when you woke in an empty bed.  

You are so fraught with anxiety, your whole body feels taut like a thread about to snap. 

Something is going to happen, or maybe it already has.  It is bad.  You know it intuitively, the way you know which hand will strike when your father is in a mood, the way you know a black car on a quiet street is an enemy, the way you have always known this life is a death sentence, a slow execution by the brutality of weathering.

You look away from the stranger’s smile.  Then Jeongin sees you and his laughter fades, concern and curiosity drawing his brows together.  He nudges Seungmin who looks too, tipping his head with a questioning look. 

You just shrug and take a seat at a different table. There is nothing else to do.

Domino sits with you, as bored with his duty as ever.  You believe your whole team is annoyed with their job.  Your father would not leave weak soldiers in charge of you, but he also had to take his very best with him.  These men are probably too competent for menial work and are likely offended by their assignment.  They are the worst of the best. 

Which is how you steal a moment to talk to Seungmin.  One guard outside, one at the window, and Domino at your table.  He lets you leave to get some sugar for your coffee, watching with glazed-over indifference as you fuss at the counter.

Seungmin joins you, pretending he is also grabbing sugar.

“You’re keeping some weird company,” he says in a low voice.  “Are you in some kind of trouble?  Do you need help?”

You swallow an unexpected lump in your throat.   Your friendship with Seungmin and Jeongin was only ever casual, so it is quite touching that the two civilians are so willing to defend you, even when standing at an obvious disadvantage against your thugs. 

Your prepared lie gets tangled in that lump.  You swallow it down.  For a moment, your mouth is open with nothing to say.  You both stir your coffee slowly.   Eventually you take a breath. 

“It’s complicated,” you say.  “It’s just to do with my dad.  Thank you, though.”

There is a beat of silence before he says, “We’re friends, okay?  Just let us know if we can help.” 

You have been trapped in solitude for days now. Seungmin provides the comforting reminder that your world is not all bad.  Though he cannot do much to help, the sentiment in his simple offer is enough to temper the worst of your anxiety, at least for the time being.

“Thank you,” you say.  “Really.”   You spare a glance at Domino who is watching you intensely, just waiting for you to slip up and do something that warrants a reprimand or report.  “I better get back,” you say.  “Say hi to Jeongin, and say sorry from me for yesterday.  You guys have fun with your friend.”

“Oh, we don’t know that guy.  He just sat with us out of nowhere,” Seungmin says, laughing.  “He says his name is Changbin.  But he paid for our coffee so he can sit wherever he likes, haha.”

You smile at his playfulness.  He smiles too, then he walks back to his table.  Your eyes follow him and settle on the stranger – Changbin. 

You want to keep smiling, want to imagine the stranger is just an awkward university kid making friends in a weird way.  But Changbin is looking at you again, with the same intensity as Domino.  Your eyes skirt his shoulders and biceps and his too-charming smile.   

You want to chalk it up to paranoia, exacerbated by the extra stress of the last few days.  But something is off about this stranger appearing here, suddenly, at a place you are known to frequent, the week your father is moving against Miroh, when Felix is gone and you are vulnerable.  He is sitting with your friends, like he knows they are your friends, like he can trick you into trusting him by their proximity. 

He is not like your father’s guards who are blatantly out of place.  Changbin is so visible that he is invisible.  Just a friendly college boy. 

Just like Felix. 

You are being ridiculous, you tell yourself.  You cannot walk around assuming everyone is an enemy.   But you cannot shake the feeling of wrongness, the awful premonition that something is going to happen. 

You try to ignore Changbin as you drink your coffee but you are unsuccessful.  Your hackles are raised and will not come down, made worse by the indifference of everyone around you.  Domino is none the wiser.  The other guards have not left their posts.   Your friends are laughing with him like he is just some guy.

You ask yourself what Felix would do.  You imagine he would not cause a scene or confront Changbin.  He would quietly take your arm and usher you to safety, only fighting in retaliation if necessary.  Part of his job has always been discretion, but he has never relished in violence anyway.  It is always a last resort. 

Your instincts have often propelled you into heated action until you freeze, always one extreme or the other.  Now, you calm yourself and steady your shaking hands.  You comfort yourself the way Felix would.  You tell Domino you want to go home.  He makes some agitated remark about you needing to make up your mind, that you only just arrived, but you do not rise to his bait.  You close your laptop and pack your bag. 

It takes one second.  Changbin is sitting with your friends, then you look down.  When you lift your head, he is gone.  The boys think nothing of it.   Your guards don’t notice.   You want to scream but you know it won’t make a difference.   These men won’t listen to you. 

You leave with your guards.  The large campus is practically a city unto itself, separated from the mainland by a stretch of woods.  It is a scenic drive with a deer park in its centre, but all you see is rain ripping through branches and the shadows between each slash of grey daylight. 

You are almost relieved when something thumps heavily onto the roof.  But the relief that you were right is short-lived when all hell breaks loose. 

You close your eyes, arms wrapped around yourself in the back seat.  Glass shatters and the car skids to a rough stop, flying off the road and onto the forest terrain. 

You open your eyes to the windshield in pieces, the driver frozen with his head thrown back.  Domino and the other guard are out of their seats in seconds, making the same mistake as Miroh’s men all that time ago.  You know how this fight will end.

You look through the broken windshield.  Changbin flies into view and knocks Domino onto his knees.  It takes one roundhouse kick for him to fall over, unconscious.  The other guard tries to take a shot but Changbin disarms him with a couple sharp moves.   You close your eyes when Changbin shoots. 

He fights with the same fluidity as Felix.  For a moment, you are back there, eighteen years old and frightened and relieved all at once.  Except when the back door opens this time, you are not quick to rush out.  It is not Felix waiting for you. 

Changbin clears his throat and you slowly look over.  He is wearing jeans and a leather jacket and does not look ruffled in the slightest.  Dark hair falls over his forehead as he tips his head.  He smiles, handsome and charming.  As unassuming as Felix when his eyes crinkle up with delight and he laughs like he has never known pain.  Like he was not raised for the purpose of violence, property of Miroh, of your father, of whoever else, acting as their hand because they won’t get their own fingers dirty. 

Changbin gestures to you, curling his fingers, a mute come here. 

“Hurry up,” he says.  “Time to go.” 

You imagine escaping out the other door, trying to make a run for it through the forest.  You know you will not get far. 

“Are you one of them?” you ask, impulsively.  “Miroh’s?”

You already know the answer.   

Changbin blinks at you, then laughs. 

“It depends,” he says, then tuts like he thinks you are preciously naïve.  “I personally think I’m one of a kind.  But I guess we’ll find out.  Now get out of the car.”

With little choice in the matter, you obey.  Your legs wobble when you stand so you instinctively take the hand he offers. 

You have not yet steadied yourself when he yanks you into his arms.  Though Felix undoubtedly holds strength in his lithe form, he is more dexterous and athletic than outright powerful.  He knows how to use his body to its best advantage.  But Changbin is strong and he does not hide it, the bulge of his biceps crushing you in the hard, ungiving circle of his arms.  Leather and muscle cage you in tightly, so unyielding that you cannot even squirm.  Your heels dig at the ground as he hauls you away from the car.  A belated scream claws its way up your throat but gets strangled in his chokehold.

Then you feel ice, so cold it burns.  Your racing heart propels each freezing shard through your bloodstream. 

You realize he stabbed you with a needle.  It is a flickering thought, only momentarily realized, then you are plunged beneath the surface of that ice, drowned in black waters, and you think no more.

-

You are plunged into an oblivion so deep and so fast that you wake thinking no time passed at all. 

You hear before you see.  The patter of rain overhead is not unlike its tapping against the roof of the car.  Groggy, you think you are still there, your arms wrapped around yourself while waiting for the worst. 

Then your sense of smell creeps in, overwhelming you with damp and something metallic.  A cool breeze pebbles your skin as it washes over you.  It coaxes you out of your bleariness. 

You blink awake, the blurry world taking gradual shape around you.  It is not the world you left behind, no sign of a car or campus or coffee shop.  It looks like an old warehouse or maybe a factory, but the room has been stripped to its bare bone essentials.  The exposed pipes and rotting damp of the high walls account for the smell. 

The breeze blows from your left where a garage door is open.  You squint towards the grey light of the rainy day.  You do not know how long you have been unconscious.  It looks like early afternoon but your body tells you that you have been asleep for longer than a few minutes. 

You try to gather your bearings.  You see a harbour in the distance, past the pavement and the fence and what must be a drop to water below.  Your university is not near any body of water.  So you must have been unconscious long enough to transport this far.  A few hours at least, but given the light maybe it has been a full day. 

That is all you can deduce.  You do not recognize the warehouse or the harbour. 

You do recognize the man in front of you, though it takes a second.  Changbin is no longer dressed like a civilian, wearing a black combat uniform and boots.  His shirt covers his arms but fits like a second skin, his bulk emphasized.  He is squatting on the ground a few feet from you.  He holds a black mask in his hand, one that covers the lower half of his face when he swings it up.  He lifts and lowers it a few times, absent-mindedly it seems.  Then he realizes you are stirring and fastens it in place. 

Your head is pounding. Your petulant side wants to bark a complaint, but even you know taunting this man would be beyond stupid.   Changbin is not just any soldier.  Miroh did not send one of his regular men.  He clearly learned his lesson last time.   Even without asking, you know Changbin is like Felix.  He did not merely train as a soldier; he was born and moulded into it. 

And, unlike Felix, he has had no reprieve from Miroh. 

You come into your body, stretching your fingers.  Your hands are cuffed behind your back and locked to your chair.   One ankle is cuffed to the chair leg.   Metal jingles as you move, testing your bonds. 

You stop when Changbin approaches, your heart thumping as hot adrenaline melts the ice in your blood. 

“Good morning,” Changbin says.  “How did you sleep?”

Your body is still slow to respond, but you manage a decent glare.  It makes him laugh.

“They told me you were funny,” he says.  “That you make your father’s men look like a joke – not hard, to be fair.”  He tips his head, looking at you like he is waiting.  All you do is stare.  “Come on,” he whines.  “Say something funny.” 

Your stomach turns over itself, not because Changbin is taunting you… but because you think he isn’t taunting you.   He does not speak with the sarcastic intonation of your father’s men, dryly mocking your helplessness in his presence.  His eyes are big and resolutely focussed, seeming to genuinely anticipate your retort.  He is almost child-like with his attention.   

This impression only solidifies when he sighs, morose, and crouches again. 

“Do you want something?” he asks. 

“Let me go?” you say. 

It comes out rough but it makes him laugh behind the mask, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Aha, you are funny,” he says and slaps his knee.  “Anything but that.  But don’t worry your head.”  You flinch from his touch, but all he does is pat your head like he is reassuring a frightened puppy.  “This isn’t about you,” he says.  “Well, not yet.  Maybe later.  First…  Your father took something from us.  And he won’t give it back.” 

Changbin removes the mask so he can smile, one of those disarming smiles that is so at odds with the rest of him.  Felix might switch demeanours depending on the circumstance, but Changbin flickers between faces from one breath to the next.    

“We just need it back,” Changbin says.  “Then, maybe, we’ll even the score.  Maybe.  Don’t worry about that yet.  For now, you just need to sit.  Are you thirsty?”  

The distinct reverberation of gunfire comes from the front of the building.  You shriek and duck your head, like that will do anything to protect you, gasping as you listen to bullets ricochet off the walls in some distant room. 

When everything goes quiet, you lift your head.  Your chest is heaving with each deep breath, your adrenaline bleeding out your pores so even the air around you feels like it is humming.  You stare at Changbin who has not moved a muscle, still squatting and staring. 

“I think we have lemonade,” he says.  “You want that?” 

You do not even know what to say.  His sincere but stunted peculiarity reminds you so much of a teenage Felix even though Changbin looks older than both of you. 

There is more gunfire.  You duck your head and slam your eyes shut.  Changbin does not move until it stops, his mouth open with another comment, but he silences himself when the far door opens.   Then he is swift, on his feet with his mask secured.  He stands at your side as he silently watches the approach of a small group of men.

You are still reeling from panic, so it takes you a second to realize what is happening.

“Felix!” the cry leaves your lips.

Five of Miroh’s men surround him, suited guards in various states of dishevelment, like they have been fighting for much longer than a few minutes.  Felix is bound with his hands behind his back, a yellow bruise already forming on his chin.  His own dark uniform is singed with bullet holes.  His hair looks like it was slicked back, but he has sweat through some of the product, tendrils of blonde falling into his face.

Despite his state, his attention is all on you.  Eyes assessing, scanning you from head to toe. 

When you meet his gaze, the whole world falls away.  These men, this place, none of it exists for a breath of a moment.   Felix is here and that means you will survive.  Everything will be fine.  You have always kept each other alive.  This time will be no different.  You can see it in his eyes, in that oh-so subtle twinge of a smile.  You can hear him without him moving his lips.

Hello, sweetheart. You’re safe.   

They put him on his knees.  His gaze flits to either side.  You can see him calculating.  Oh, he is here on purpose.  He let himself be caught, you are certain, so he could find you and rescue you and—

“Target acquired,” a man says.  

It takes you a moment to realize he is talking about Felix. 

You look at the man then at Changbin, considering his earlier words. 

Something your father took.  Something they want back. 

It hits you all at once.  You have not been kidnapped as leverage against your father.  You have been taken as bait for Felix.  They don’t want you, they want him.  An irreplaceable soldier your father stole from Miroh a decade ago, that he has paraded in front of him for years at galas and parties.  Using him as a bodyguard for his wayward daughter and not as a soldier, not until now.  Biding his time before using Felix against the house that made him.   

You can see your father’s stupid machinations clicking into place.  He is a perpetual child throwing a tantrum.  His movements are sloppy and immature.  He steals from his enemy, a weapon he does not know how to use, thinking it will keep him safe, letting it make him cocky.  And now he is sitting somewhere as it all blows up in his face. 

Or it would.  In an ironic twist of fate, you are saving your father. 

Because as far as Miroh knows, Felix is here as your bodyguard, acting on your father’s orders to retrieve you.  All Miroh has to do is pluck him from the fray.  And as a bonus, he has you in captivity for future leverage.   

It would have been a good plan.  It would have worked if Felix was an emotionless machine.  If would have worked if Felix was here because of a command. 

But Felix loves you.

He is here to save you. 

In a quick move, Felix sweeps two men off their feet.  He rolls on his back and propels himself to his feet, hands bound under him, leading with his core.  He slams his head into an oncoming guard and the man stumbles back.  Three out of five on the ground.  Then suddenly one hand is free of the cuffs – he must have been picking at it the whole time - and he swings the dangling metal in another’s eye. 

You flinch away from the violence, even while rooting for Felix.  A few more thuds and you know all five men are incapacitated.  You open your eyes and lift your head, watching Felix drop the handcuffs on the floor.  He absently rubs his wrist, his gaze drifting from you to Changbin.  His fingers freeze, his eyes narrowing as he perceives the stoic soldier at your side. 

Felix stares, like he if he looks hard enough, he will see through the mask. 

“You’re new,” Felix finally says. 

Changbin rolls his eyes. 

Changbin reels back and hurls a knife in a swift arc, right at Felix’s face.  Felix is just as fast and catches the handle.  He returns the throw.  The knife clatters on the ground as Changbin surges forward. 

These two are evenly matched.  Watching them fight is terrifying and unpredictable.  They dance around each other, delivering equal blows and blocking similar shots.  In the end, Felix wins in one move miscalculated by his opponent.  With an opening granted, Felix takes Changbin down.  One, two, three hits to the head.  Changbin stumbles backward, his mask falling.  He is disoriented when he looks Felix, but Felix sees him with complete clarity.

You learned to read Felix a long time ago.  You know all his expressions by heart, the crease of each smile memorized, the track of each tear committed to heart. 

You have never seen this face, this mix of horror and bewilderment as a barely conscious Changbin slams onto the ground.  Then it is Felix who missteps, tripping over his own feet as he reaches for the opponent he just threw down. 

“Changbin,” he says.  “You’re alive, I—” 

Changbin swings at him but is too dizzy to land a hit.  Felix catches the punch.  He should throw one back, finish him off, but he hesitates.  His brow furrows.  He grabs Changbin by the neck of his shirt and yanks him close.

“Chris,” he says.  “Chan.  Chris.  Where is he?” 

Changbin laughs.  It turns to choking when a dribble of blood gurgles past his mouth.  He spits it at Felix then heaves a rough breath. 

“Oh, fuck you, Yongbok,” he says.  “’You’re new’ – didn’t even recognize me—”

“It—it’s been so long—and I thought you—”

“Yah, not all of us got to attend pretty parties these last years like you—”

“Stop it, you don’t know anything about what I’ve been doing—”

“Chris he says.  First thing he says.”  Changbin squirms but does not have the strength to rip away, especially with Felix gripping him so hard.  He heaves another aggravated groan.  “You know Chris died because of you.  He’s been gone for years.”

“No,” Felix says, his voice pinched.  His eyes rapidly water, his knuckles white from his death-grip. 

Changbin shakes his head but slips further.  Felix once more catches him when he should be ending him, sniffling hard as he gets on his knees. 

“He’s not dead,” Felix says.  “He can’t be dead—”

“Why don’t you ask your boss?”

As if on cue, your father’s men burst into the room.  Felix looks at them in surprise even though he must have coordinated their arrival. 

Changbin laughs.  “I hope it was worth it, Yongbok,” he says.  He uses one last burst of energy to throw himself forward, propelled away from Felix.  He rolls across the ground then stumbles to his feet, running past the open garage door, into the rain, and disappearing around the corner. 

Felix is too stunned to chase him.  You look at Felix, on his knees and holding nothing, palms up like he expects something to appear in them.  He closes his fists as your father’s men approach. 

Then he slides his figurative mask in place, assuming his usual role.  He kicks the literal mask discarded by Changbin, then finally looks at you. 

“Get the car,” Felix says to the men.  “And check the grounds for anything useful.” 

The men disperse and Felix approaches you.  He kneels at your side and picks at the lock of your handcuffs.  You are crying before you can stop yourself, overwhelmed with everything that just transpired. 

“Shh, sweetheart,” Felix whispers, looking at you with pain of his own.  “It will be okay.  Just a little longer.” 

The handcuffs drop.  He squeezes your hand in his. 

“Just a little longer.” 

-

You are several cities over, hours away from home and even further from the job your father was conducting against Miroh. Miroh was clearly trying to divert his enemy.  He tried to steal Felix back while doing so.

Neither he or your father accounted for you, for Felix, for all the love between you.

You are in a small hotel room away from prying eyes and military men.   You are scrubbing yourself clean in the bath and he sits on the rim of the tub, wiping your back with a cloth. 

You checked in two hours ago.  You spent most of that time blubbering incoherently, catching your breath even hours after freedom.  You have not had a real conversation yet.  Felix has been quiet, his eyes intermittently far away or so intensely focussed on you that it makes you hiccup with more tears.

You hiss when he presses his thumb to the mark on your neck, the little bite from the needle so carelessly plunged into your vein. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, smoothing with a gentle circle. 

“This has been the worst week of my life,” you say.  “And that’s saying something.  Oh my god, and it’s only Wednesday.”

Felix laughs in spite of himself, though it is more of a breath than a sound.  He drops the cloth in the water and you shiver as he caresses the bare skin of your back. 

“I love you,” he says, like it is something he has always said, like it is easy to say.  Like he could say it again and again. 

The room feels so quiet.  His voice is soft but it sounds like a shout, echoing back in this intimate space.  Your breath catches.  You go very still. 

Then he says your name in a breathless murmur that is exhaled with more adoration than the word love itself.  

“No games,” he says.  “No jokes.  No hidden meanings or secrets.” 

“Felix,” you say.  It is all you manage. 

“I know,” he says weakly.  “I know, sweetheart.  You don’t have to say anything, I just…” 

His hair is wet from a quick shower, combed back neatly, more composed than the rest of him.  You look up as he runs his wet fingers through it.  The bruise on his jaw is darkening, a burned gold that looks incredibly painful.  He shed his outer layers, is wearing a black t-shirt and black pants.  He has a silver army tag, or something like it, marked with your father’s name and not his own.  It’s new.  Something the field agents wear.  Good as a collar.

You reach out and take hold, ripping it off his neck.  He looks at it dangling from your fist, as surprised as you that it broke so fast. 

Maybe it really is it that easy.      

His hurt jaw wobbles.  He touches the bruise and looks down, away from you, head bowed as if in supplication.  Worshipful.  Penitent.

“I’m sorry,” he says, lighter than a whisper.  “I will tell you everything.  I just want to be a person for you a little longer.”

“Felix,” you say, dropping the tag on the floor.  You kneel in the bath and reach for him with your wet hands.  He does not lift his head when a silent sob wracks his body.  His shoulders shake when you touch him.  “You have always been a person to me.”

“I know,” he says, voice breaking.  “I know, sweetheart.  I owe you so much—”

“You don’t owe me anything—”

“I owe you everything.” 

He looks at you then, his dark eyes wet with tears, his expression serious.  He breathes a shaky exhale then leans away, grabbing a towel. 

“Come here,” he says, and stands. 

Moments later, you are standing on the floor, wrapped in the towel in his arms.  He bundles you tightly and you rest your head on his shoulder, safe and secure with his strong hold around you. 

“I love you,” he says, his wet cheek pressed to yours.  “Even if you hate me, even if you don’t, even if you can never say it back, I love you and all the life you have in you.”

“I’m a mess,” you say, trying to laugh, but it comes out weak. 

“You’re alive.  I don’t think anyone understands better than you, what it means to have a life,” he says.  “The way your life fills you, the way you hold onto it no matter how many times someone tried to take it away.” 

You are hiding your face in his neck, embarrassed and amorous and teary all at once.  Then he lifts you up and turns around, perching you on the counter.  You wriggle your arms free, tucking the towel beneath them.  You steady your breathing as he picks up a cloth to wipe the smudged vestiges of make-up off your cheek. 

“I remember the first time I saw you,” he says.  “I’ve always been so scared.  I hide it, yeah?  But it’s there.  Miroh, your father, everything about them…  It was like living in a nightmare.  They were bigger than life.  They controlled dangerous people.  I couldn’t imagine anyone standing up to them.”  He smiles now, his thumb smoothing over your cheek.  “Then you burst into the room and started a fight with one of them.  I was shocked.  I thought, is this girl crazy? What have I gotten into?” 

“That girl was crazy,” you say, laughing. 

He laughs too, but shakes his head.  “She was the only sane one,” he says.  “God.  You had more passion in your little finger than I had ever felt in my whole body my whole life.  And I thought… I will never feel that much emotion.  I knew it was too late for me.  I wasn’t living for myself and I was fine with that.  I couldn’t be saved.”  His eyes are teary again.  He takes your hand and looks down at it.  “You took my hand.  Even in your anger, even in your everything, you saw something…  You touched me once and it was like life rushed into me.  And I hated myself everyday after that because I wasn’t enough.  I wasn’t what you needed.  I could take your beatings but I couldn’t save you because I was a scared coward and you were stuck with me—”

“Shh, stop that,” you say.  You run your fingers through his hair, smoothing the pieces he rucked up. 

He wipes his cheeks.  He plants his hands on the counter, on either side of you.  His eyes are closed when he takes a deep breath. 

“Miroh couldn’t kill your grandfather,” Felix says.  “He tried and he failed.  Your grandfather was willing to sacrifice everything for himself.  Your mother died in his place.  You and me were on opposite sides of the world, both just babies.  You never knew your mother.  I never knew my parents.  Miroh decided he needed a new generation of soldiers.  There were a few of us, all over the world.  When we were old enough to speak and run and fight, he recruited the best.  I was one of the best.  So was Changbin.”

“And Chris,” you say, remembering the exchange in the warehouse. 

Felix’s face scrunches in pain.  He nods. 

“Yeah,” he says.  “We travelled together.  We trained together.  We were like brothers.” 

“What happened?” you ask.  You lay a hand on his chest and he takes it, holding it there.   

“I was stupid,” Felix says with a self-deprecating laugh.  “I believed Miroh.  I thought… there are bad guys out there, simple as that.  If we get rid of them, then we won’t have to be scared anymore, yeah?  They wouldn’t have to hurt us if we just got rid of the bad guy. But it wasn’t that easy.  I killed your grandfather and it didn’t end anything.  Chris was right.  Because he always knew.  He said it wasn’t right, what Miroh was doing.  Chris could have been the best if he could let go of who he was, and just be what he was supposed to be… but he didn’t.  I… I felt like I… I couldn’t afford to be that way… If I wasn’t the best, I was nothing.  If I couldn’t kill, I was going to be killed.  And by the time I realized he was right, it was too late.” 

He finally meets your gaze, squeezing your hand in his. 

“I almost died on a job and Chris saved my life.  He wasn’t supposed to.  In Miroh’s order, if something happens to a soldier, you leave them behind.  You don’t waste resources on the weak.  Chris disobeyed orders and all his training to save me.  I told him I wouldn’t have done the same and he said I know, that’s not why I’m doing it.  It’s just the right thing, Felix.  I thought, how can someone like this even exist, after everything he’s seen and done, how does he still try to find the good?  I didn’t know if he was stupid or smart.  Then a commander found out what he did and they took him out of our order for re-training.  I still saw him but we couldn’t talk.  He had so much potential and the organization didn’t want to throw it away.  They tried to break him.  It wasn’t working.  It broke me instead.  I realized I had to get us out or die trying.” 

He looks at you and says, “You get it, don’t you?  The way Jisung saved you.  The way he was your friend.  The way he was just there.  That was Chris for me, yeah?”  His voice is rife with desperation, like he needs you to understand this more than anything else. 

“Yeah,” you say softly, feeling that very heartache all over again.  “I do.  I get it, Felix.”   

“Then you know,” he says, voice breaking, “how I felt when I let him down.  I let everyone down.  I fucked up a job, trying to undermine Miroh.  I thought I could outsmart him but I didn’t.  It just opened a door for your father to get in.  There was a stupid skirmish over a politician in Miroh’s pocket.  Your dad was trying to buy him out and it ended in a fight.  Three of our best men dead.  Including Changbin, I thought.  Just someone else I let down.   I was taken alive.  I knew if I went back to Miroh, I was dead.  If I ran off on my own, Chris would never escape, and they would break him eventually, or kill him trying.  I couldn’t go.  I couldn’t stay.  I couldn’t take Miroh on my own.  So I made a deal with your father.”   

And what I get is a life worth more than mine. 

You remember those words.  Felix once spoke them in an emotional moment, lost to his memories.  You never knew what he meant.  You realize now he meant Chris, the friend he left behind, the friend he sold himself to save. 

“You gave up your life to my father,” you say, “and in return—”

“He would rescue Chris,” Felix says.  “It was a win for us both, yeah.  Take out Miroh, steal his assets.  My friend gets his freedom.  Your father gets a soldier.  I was willing to give up my life.  I figured I never had one.  I wouldn’t miss it. All I knew was how to be a soldier.  I didn’t even know how to want something else.  But then you… You.”          

“Felix,” you say, overwhelmed with his confession and the depth of his feeling. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says.  “I let you down.”

“What?  How?”  You touch his face, cupping his chin in both hands.  “What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t save you,” he says, voice rasping and light again, speaking above a sob.  “At first because I couldn’t leave, not until we rescued Chris.  And there was never an opportunity. I waited years.  Years.  And by then I had to keep waiting, because I couldn’t have wasted all that time for nothing.  I had to save him.  I had to save someone.  Or else I failed everyone.  It had to mean something.  I couldn’t—”

“Felix,” you say.  “It was an impossible situation. We were kids for half of it. I don’t blame you for anything.”

“I do,” he says, barely more than a breath, a faint whisper against your skin.  “I wasn’t good enough.  I didn’t do enough.” 

“We have no way of knowing what else could have happened,” you say.  “We did our best.  And now—”

You cut yourself off.  And now?  What happens next?  You heard their conversation in that warehouse.  You know why Felix looked so torn apart.

“Chris,” you say.  “Is he…?”  Dead.  “Was Changbin telling the truth?” 

“I don’t know,” Felix says. 

Dead.  For years.  Because of Felix.  Because of your father. 

It does not take much to piece together the implications.  Your father is a cowardly, underhanded schemer.  He poisons teenagers and beats his daughter and hides in his mansion except when he’s lashing out for attention.  He put Felix under contract, but the only guarantee of servitude was his honour and one stipulation.  Honour would mean little to your father.  But a person, that he could leverage.  That he could calculate and control.  So long as he could dangle Chris over Felix’s head, then Felix would be bound to him. 

And the best way to guarantee he would never have to fulfill his end of the bargain, the best way to guarantee Chris would never escape, would be to kill Chris himself and never tell Felix.   

You see it written all over Felix’s face, the horror of this very plausible idea.  That in his effort to save Chris, he actually got him killed. 

There is a long moment of quiet.  It is a very empty silence.  There is no way to confirm if Chris is truly dead, and so Felix cannot truly mourn him.  There is also no way to prove he is alive, so he cannot take any action.

You hold his hand.   It is all you can do right now.  You look at where your palms touch, where your fingers lace.  The caress of his skin against yours never fails to touch your heart.  Even this simple touch warms you.  It affects him too, because he exhales and leans in, resting his forehead against yours. 

You want to comfort him but your shiver betrays you.  The heat from the bath is diffusing and you are in nothing but a towel.  Felix laughs and shakes his head, withdrawing. 

“Sorry,” he says.  “Let’s, uhh, get you dressed first.”

“Or at least under some covers.” 

“Someone could come knocking,” he says. 

“Yeah,” you say with a jut of your chin.  “And?” 

He stares back at you.  This silence is not so empty, a heady and contemplative regard as he glances at your lips then the rest of you.  Then he sweeps you into his arms and carries you into the room. 

You kiss his cheek, just above his bruise.  You are not sure if he winces from the pain or the affection.  

The moment your head touches a pillow, you feel your eyelids drooping.  Exhaustion hits you instantaneously.  You groan and snuggle under the covers, quite convinced this plain hotel bed is the comfiest bed in the world. 

Felix hovers at the bedside, folding your towel.  You look back at him with sleepy eyes.  It is early evening but he must be as tired as you, from the physical exertion if not the emotional one. 

“Aren’t you sleepy, baby?” you ask.

He drops the towel and has to fold it again.  It is messier the second time, then slides off the dresser into a lump on the floor.   He ignores it, approaching the bed.  You pull back the cover in offering. 

You think he strips down to his boxers, but you are fast asleep before he even unzips.  You stir a little when he climbs in the bed, but his presence is so comforting that it sends you right back to sleep.  It is the most restful sleep you have had in a while.  But, predictably, falling asleep in the early evening means you wake up in the dead of the night, bright-eyed. 

The room is dark.  The clock reads 2:17 AM, blinking in red, the only light in the room other than a blue wash of moonlight pouring through the translucent curtains. 

Felix is curled up behind you, an arm under his head and the other over your hip.  When you wake, he follows but slowly, shifting and grumbling.  He does not usually sleep so deeply.  It is a testament to the day. 

You sidle up to him, your back to his front.  He is in his boxers and nothing else, bare skin against yours as he hauls you up against him.  You lay your hand over his, resting it on your stomach then on your breast.  It is not especially flirtatious, merely intimate.  He touches you and you sigh contently, too awake to lose yourself but enjoying the comfort nonetheless. 

He exhales.  It sounds a little ragged.  You look over your shoulder, at his dishevelled bed hair and dark freckles, the bow mouth you so missed, the tenderness in those dark eyes when he gazes back at you. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“Hmm? For what?”  You roll onto your back to look at him better.  

He scrubs a hand down his face then pushes back some unruly hair.  “I think, um.”  He looks up at nothing.  “A part of me always thought a day would come when you would hate me for real.  I’m, uhh, a little… I guess I just… was more prepared to be hated than, um, cared about, after everything.” 

You lean over him, propping yourself on one arm.  He meets your serious gaze, licking his lips under the intensity of your stare. 

“Do you see me that way?” you ask.  “That I would be that unforgiving and fickle?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head.  “Of course not.  It’s not how I see you, it’s… myself.” 

“Well, I don’t want you to see yourself that way either,” you say.  “It offends me.”  You say this was a dramatic air, making a point of shoving your nose in the air. 

It makes him laugh, a real smile pulling at his lips.  You swear it brightens the room. 

“Does it?” he says.  “I’m very sorry.  I’ll have to make it up to you.”  He reaches for your face, strokes his knuckles over your cheek, but you pull away. 

“That won’t be necessary,” you say, in the same playful tone as him. 

“Oh?” he asks, chasing, stroking your other cheek. 

“Yes,” you say.  You catch his hand and lower it.  When you speak again, it is sincerely, without any joke or artifice or double-entendre.  “I don’t just care about you, Felix,” you say.  “I love you.  And you don’t need to thank me or pay me back.  You just need to believe it.”

He blinks up at you, surprise written all over his face.  You feel flushed with heat even though the admission is obvious.  Saying it out loud, truly and honestly, makes your heart flutter anyway.  Love and want tangle together in a knot inside you, making you feel soft and desirous at once.   

His lips part with a breath as he stares at you.  You chase those lips, leaning down and sealing his mouth in a kiss.  It takes only a second for him to kiss you back, cupping your cheek and parting your lips with a swipe of his tongue.  His bruise must not hurt too badly, or maybe he is just ignoring the pain, but you are careful with your light kisses despite his attempt at more. 

You always happily concede to his more dominant guidance.  This time it is a little different.  You are telling him something with your kisses and you want him to hear it, without any games or distractions.  So you take both his wrists and push his hands into the bed, at the same time swinging on top of him.  He looks surprised a second time, looking at where you press his hands into the sheets.  

He could easily buck you off, but he lets you kiss him like that.  You kiss his cheek and under his jaw, avoiding the bruise, then down his neck.  His hips lift under yours, rolling against you to get hard.  You are already wet and naked, making him moan, a low, dark sound as you grind your softest parts against the hardening line in his boxers. 

It makes you want to skip right to it, but you are determined.  You kiss down his chest and he laughs when your tongue swipes his nipple, evidently a little ticklish.  You smile and keep going, until your lips hover above the hard bulge in his boxers.  You kiss him through the material then tug it down.  He shuffles quickly, ripping them off and tossing them aside.  Then his hand is on the back of your neck as you take him in your mouth.

The hotel room affords some privacy.  He makes a little more noise than usual.  Or maybe he truly does not care anymore. 

Yes, you think, loving at him with your mouth and hands, let yourself go. 

He must be getting close because he squeezes the back of your neck and lets out a groan.  “Slow down,” he says.  “Please.  It just—”

“Feels good?” you ask, a little cheekily, but he answers earnestly, with a nod and shaky exhale.  “Mmm, okay,” you say.  “Tell me what you want.”

This gives him momentary pause.  Then he grips your neck more possessively and guides you up. 

You follow his direction, lifting your head until your pretty raw lips are hovering just inches from his.

“Get back on top me,” he says.  “I’m going to fuck you.” 

“Oh. Well.”  He has said far dirtier things in the past, but usually in the context of your role-play, where you are the worst versions of yourselves, the real you just laughing under it.  It is a little different for the real him to so blatantly state his desire. 

It leaves you just as weak in the knees.  It is a miracle you manage to swing a leg over him, but you get there.  He helps line you up, then he holds your hips and slides you right down until he is fully inside you.  It is a lot all at once, especially after time apart.  You did not have many opportunities for sex before that either.  But you are so wet, despite the sharp burn, it is a smooth fit, and you adjust quickly, mostly because he wastes no time rolling his hips up into you. 

“Oh,” you say, hands on his shoulders and mouth falling open. 

“That’s it,” he says, taking complete control even though you are on top, holding your hips, guiding you to match his rhythm.  “Could – uh, yeah – could have you on your knees, begging for it, without doing anything.  So easy for it, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you say, gasping.  “Just for you.”

“Just for me,” he says.  He pushes himself upright, wrapping an arm around you and pushing your face into his shoulder.   He holds you there, fingers stroking the nape of your neck as he fucks you, drawing all those soft, whimpering sounds of you.  “That’s it,” he says.  “That’s my girl.  Just for me.  Hold onto me.  I’m gonna come.  Spread your legs, your pussy can take it.  Good girl.  Just like that.” 

You are wrapped tightly around him, clinging to him as he comes as promised, deep and hard inside you while you tremble and sigh in his arms.  Then he lifts your head to kiss you, a quick peck before he presses your foreheads together to just breathe. 

“Can you…” Your voice comes softly.  “Can you maybe stay inside me, just another minute.”

“Fucking… fuck,” he says, making you laugh.  He smiles too. “Yes. I can do that.”

He keeps you in his arms as he lays back.  You lay against him, his heart pounding against your chest.  You stay like that for a while, almost drifting to sleep when he slides his hand up your spine, reawakening every sensitive nerve in your body.

He says your name, that loving murmur of a sound.  You lift your head to look at him.  His gaze darts to your lips then back to your eyes. 

“I wouldn’t trade places with any of them,” he says.  “I want to be your bodyguard.  I want to set you free.  I want to keep you safe until the day I die.”

“On a few conditions,” you say.  “The first, that you cannot die for a very long time.  The second, I will only be free when you are.  And finally, you can be my bodyguard, but only if I’m your bodyguard too.”

He smiles, his eyes bright and his cheeks dimpled.  His nose nudges yours. 

“All right,” he says.  “Consider it a promise.”   

me and @astraysimp are excited to announce our first collab!! 🥳🩷 as the name implies, it will be a small novel of dad!stray kids fics - 16 chapters in total, 8 smut and 8 fluff. whether unplanned or not, they realize they love their new roles as dads and we're overall really excited to merge our two ends of the spectrum-fluff and smut. this is really exciting for us and we hope you’ll enjoy our works 🫶🏻

♡

han

changbin

chan

hyunjin

lee know

seungmin

felix

i.n.

♡

this is the order in which we’ll be posting our fics. the taglist is currently open, comment or dm us to be added!

🏷️: @mellhwang ; @autumn583 ; @hyunsvngs ; @hotchnrz ; @galamxy ; @ebbaskz ; @turtledove824 ; @galaxycatdrawz ; @fawnpeaks ; @bigsobs4skz ; @143lix ; @bangchans-babygirl ; @aaasia111 ; @reid-deiri ;♡

-> reblog to show us your support! “it’s good for motivation” a man named chris bang once said.

also, make sure to follow @astraysimp bc her fics are soooo good and they always make me tear up (always happy tears)!! 🩷

『 Masterlist 』

If you’d like to join the master taglist click here.

Smut ✦ | Hurt/Comfort ❁ | Fluff △

Individual Masterlists -> Channie ⭒ Minho ⭒ Hyunjinnie ⭒ Hannie ⭒ Lixie ⭒ Seungminnie ⭒ Innie ⭒

↦ Skz!Members as a whole blurbs/thoughts…

Skz!Members Reaction to Fem!Reader being insecure about her chest. △

Stray Kids and their Hidden Fears for You △

What Turns Skz On ✦

SKZ getting caught fucking you | Hyung Line ✦| Maknae Line ✦

↦ Skz!Members Bedroom Alphabet… ✦△

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

↦ Skz!Members Texts…

Skz!Members and their reaction to y/n leaving a pair of panties behind. ✦

Skz!Members x Reader after sexting. ✦

Skz!Members Sexting [Maknae Line] ✦

Skz!Members Sexting [Hyung Line] ✦

↦ Hyunjin x Reader x Felix Anonymous Ask ✦

↦ Hyunjin x Reader X Felix Series…

Part One - Whipped Cream and Confessions ✦△

Part Two - Virginity and Vulnerability ✦

Part Three - Jealousy and Justice ✦

↦ Member x Member 

Hyunlix Drabble ✦

↦ Uncencored Blurbs ✦ △(all of these are smut/fluff)

If Leeknow was vocal during sex

Dom!Hyunjinnie

S-Class Chan’s dance move

Very dom!Hyunjin

Being Danceracha’s Free Use Slut

Switch Changbin

Mirror Sex with Hyunjin

Shower Makeout with Han

Cockwarming with Seungmin

Leeknow’s reaction to y/n only wearing a shirt

A dream I had of Hyunjin

Chan’s fingers

Soft!Hyunjin

Pegging Felix

Feel that baby?

Riding Minho’s thigh

Jealous!Chan

Frustrated!Chan when you keep squeezing him out

Being Daddy!Chan’s best girl

What type of kisser Han is

Chan who doesn’t mind being watched

Han the switch

Felix the lil pleaser

The anonymous week ruiner

Taking a bath with Chan

instead of you [part thirty-three] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, angst, discussions of plane disasters, mentions of sex (mdni ; 18+)

word count: 3k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

additional a/n: disclaimer that this chapter and the following chapters take place on oahu and kauai, hawai'i. i wrote this a year ago (originally posted on sept. 22, 2022) and included mentions of the negative impact and sentiment tourism in hawai'i procures, but it was before the fires in maui. i included hawai'i in their vacation in the first place because i'm part hawaiian and wanted to bring attention to our people's attitude toward tourists while also writing about the parts of the islands that i grew up loving. and i thought i should clarify that before posting, as i feel the context is important to precede what would be an otherwise distasteful choice if i had written this now. please keep hawai'i in your thoughts, mahalo plenty <3

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

Predictably, you cried yourself to sleep. You debated over whether or not to tell Minho. He’d probably find out when he woke up in the morning but would he be mad if he didn’t hear it from you? If Jisung was right, he didn’t care about you at all, so why would you grant him the courtesy of a head’s up? You didn’t want to believe Jisung, rather, you wanted to believe that he had only said those things in the heat of the moment but at the end of the day, he knew Minho far better than you did. Whether or not he was telling the truth to try and save you or lying to hurt you was up to you to decipher.

You wound up texting Minho, ‘Jisung knows,’ without any other context and calling it a night. 

The next morning, you woke up to a message from Jisung telling you not to bother getting ready for the day and that he’d be going on without you. It was mostly a relief not to have to put on an act after everything that happened the night before but it also stung.

You weren’t very optimistic about repairing your relationship with Jisung, but any lingering hope vanished when he wouldn’t even look at you in passing in the hallway. 

You spent the entire day in bed, trying to distract yourself with anything you could think of to pass the time. You scrolled through social media until your timelines stopped refreshing with new content. There wasn’t anything interesting enough on TV to pull you out of spiraling so you didn’t even bother trying to find something to hold your attention. 

At one point you remembered the book you were reading but as soon as you opened it you were greeted by all of Jisung’s little annotations he had left for you. He still had your book and you wondered if he would ever finish it now that you’d ruined everything. 

You thought about texting him, just to check in or try and talk about things but you didn’t want to bother him. A couple of times, you almost texted him just out of instinct. You would go to send him a tweet that you thought he’d find funny and then remember.

Minho came by your room that night after dinner when everyone was back from the day’s activities. He knocked twice, letting himself in before you’d even finished telling him he could enter. 

“Care to explain what happened?” he asked, hands on his hips.

You shrugged noncommittally. “Jisung found out.”

“How? Did you tell him?”

“And ruin my own relationship with my best friend? Yeah, definitely.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “I didn’t come here to argue. I just want to know what happened.”

“Then don’t accuse me of shit.”

“I didn’t mean- I’m sorry. That’s not what I was trying to do.”

You sighed and signaled for him to sit down if he wanted to. He did, perching himself on the edge of the bed cautiously. 

“He knows because he noticed me sneaking out and finally decided to follow me.”

The color drained from Minho’s face. “So he heard-”

You nodded. “I don’t know how much, but enough.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck is right.”

“He wouldn’t say a word to me today,” Minho said. 

“He wouldn’t even look at me.”

“I guess we knew this would happen eventually.”

“Yeah.”

“We fucked up.”

“Yeah.”

“You were right.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows.

“We really do deserve each other.”

Oh. What Jisung had said earlier rang through your ears again. 

“I guess I was.”

Just then, the door to the bedroom opened and Jisung walked in, scoffing as he passed his brother. 

“I should have known,” he muttered to himself. 

“Ji, look-” Minho tried, only to be immediately cut off by his younger brother. 

“Don’t. Please just fucking don’t.”

“But-”

“God, you never listen to a word I say, do you? Either of you?”

You wanted to protest that you did listen to him but you thought better of it. It wouldn’t help your case at all. Instead, you sat there silently like a child being scolded. 

“I don’t want to hear you explain yourself,” Jisung continued. “I don’t care why you fucked my best friend. I think the act in itself doesn’t need an explanation.” Minho opened his mouth to respond but Jisung cut him off again. “I don’t want to hear an apology either. I already know you don’t mean it. In fact, I think we’re done here so if you wouldn’t mind getting the fuck out of my room...”

Minho looked like he wanted to argue but likely knew it wouldn’t do any good so he simply hung his head and let himself out, bidding you a quiet goodnight as he left. You didn’t respond. You didn’t even acknowledge him. How could you?

“Don’t forget to pack your things for the flight tomorrow. It’s a long one.”

You sat there, stunned. You hadn’t expected Jisung to speak to you at all, let alone say something amicable. 

“O-ok thanks,” you responded shakily.

“I’m sleeping in here tonight,” he added. 

“Oh-” you scrambled up, preparing to leave but Jisung stopped you. 

“No, I meant with you. It’d look weird if I slept on the couch again.”

Of course. Keeping up appearances.

“Is it even worth it to do this anymore?” you asked. “I mean, it’s falling apart at the seams.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jisung argued. “It’s just a few more weeks.”

“Do you really want to keep pretending to be in love with someone you hate?”

He froze, still bent over his suitcase. Then he straightened up and turned to face you. 

“I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t think I could ever hate you. I’ve been trying, trust me.”

You weren’t sure how to take that. You weren’t sure how you were supposed to take it. You tried not to let his words stoke the embers of hope you were still clinging on to but it was already proving difficult. 

“Maybe with time,” you suggested. 

He shrugged. “Ready for bed?”

-

You managed to get some sleep, despite everything. It took a while for your heart to calm down as you lay there beside your (ex?) best friend who was already snoring softly. He had fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. You weren’t sure how he was able to drift off so easily in spite of your whole friendship falling apart but perhaps the stress was only one-sided. 

You were the one being eaten alive by anxiety and guilt. All he had to do was mourn the loss of everything you destroyed. 

The hours of sleep you did get passed quickly without dreams which was unusual for you. Before you knew it, Jisung’s alarm was going off and both of you were groaning as you dragged yourself out of bed. 

You finished packing the rest of your things in relative silence. Neither of you had much to say aside from when you passed each other’s things back and forth from your suitcases. 

The sun had yet to come up when the rest of the Hans gathered in the kitchen with their luggage. Since the flight was over twelve hours long Jisung’s parents had booked the earliest possible departure which just so happened to be before the sunrise. 

The boys slept during the ride to the airport but you weren’t able to. You were squished between Jisung and Minho in the very back of the van, feeling like a pin in a grenade. They ignored each other, of course, both seemingly dead to the world. 

Minho woke up before Jisung. He glanced over at you and offered an expression of sympathy. You just shrugged in response. 

Sitting in the car like that caused your knees to brush up against each other every so often, each time you rounded a corner or went over a speed bump. Every time it happened you fought the urge to meet his eyes. The touch, be it fleeting, made your chest tighten over and over again until you were half-convinced you were going into cardiac arrest. Eventually, Minho gave up trying to give you space and just let his knee rest against yours. Funnily enough, it helped you relax.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s fine.”

He was so hard to read these days. Not that he was ever easy to read. You couldn’t tell whether or not he liked having his knee there. You weren’t sure why you were getting so caught up on it in the first place.

You longed to hold his hand. You longed to hold Jisung’s hand. But all you could do was sit there in between the two and wait until you finally arrived at the airport. 

Thankfully, Minho was sat with his parents for the flight, which meant you were squeezed in between Jisung and Felix. You gave Jisung the window seat, knowing you wouldn’t get any sleep yourself. He looked like he wanted to argue when you offered it to him but ultimately surrendered when he saw the look in your eyes. You compromised for switching halfway through since the flight was so long but even that seemed to be pushing it for him. 

It was funny how Jisung was still looking out for you after everything you had done. It was as if it was instinctual to him, to put you before himself. The realization almost made you tear up. Had you cared that much for him too? Or was it all one-sided? Either way, you were positive you didn’t deserve him.

-

Dom had chosen Hawai’i as his destination. A controversial choice, given the state of tourism at the moment, but it wasn’t like you had much say in the matter. Jisung had confided in you earlier in the trip that he had tried to talk his father out of it but that he couldn’t be swayed. 

“We might as well try to make the most of it,” you argued. “It’s like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, right?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

The flight from Bali to Hawai’i was over twelve hours long which meant that you had roughly six hours to figure out how to entertain yourself before it was time to trade places. You could try to sleep but that meant leaning on Jisung and you were almost positive the last thing he wanted was for you to touch him right now. 

You didn’t feel like paying for the in-flight wi-fi so you had to get creative with how to keep yourself busy. You scrolled through your camera roll for a while but it just made you sad. The pictures from the trip were one thing, but then there were all of the ones of you and Jisung back at school. The further back you went, the happier you seemed. There was no way that was actually true, it was just putting more distance between what had happened in the present from the way things were in the past. That, and you had a tendency to romanticize the past. 

“Did you know flight attendants are trained to take oxygen masks from passengers?”

Felix’s voice from beside you pulled you from your spiral of self-pity almost immediately. You turned to look at him and cocked your head in confusion. 

“What?”

“Like, you know that whole spiel they give you about safety before the plane takes off? And they’re like ‘during the flight, oxygen masks might drop from overhead’?”

“No, I know all of that. Why would they take the masks from passengers? Do they not have their own?”

“They do, but they might need to move around the cabin when that happens in case of an emergency or something, and if that were to be the case, they’re trained to take masks from passengers to oxygenate themselves. They’ll give it back, but in order to do their jobs they might have to borrow one without asking.”

“What if the passenger passes out?”

“Then they’ll be able to help them! Because they’re fully oxygenated.”

You made a face. “I’m glad you’ve got the aisle seat, then.”

Felix shrugged, grinning. “It sounds fucked up, but it’s just logistical. Wanna know something actually fucked up? These seat belts are practically useless.”

“What?” you weren’t sure if you really wanted to know where he was going with this but your morbid curiosity got the better of you once again. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they help with turbulence and stuff but in the event of a crash, these aren’t going to do shit for us. They’re just here to keep us strapped to the seat so they can identify the corpses by looking at the flight log.”

You sat there in stunned silence as the information Felix had just told you sunk in. 

“That is... so dark,” you said finally. 

“Yeah, but isn’t it interesting?”

“I guess, but why did you have to tell me all of this while we’re in the air?”

“Because it’s relevant!”

You sighed and glanced back at Jisung who was asleep and slumped against the window. “Ready to switch?”

It was just a joke but Felix scoffed nonetheless. 

“I’m offended,” he whispered. 

“And I’m traumatized.”

“My bad.”

Somehow, Felix kept you occupied until it was time to switch with Jisung. You lost track of time talking to him about everything and nothing. Out of all of the Han brothers, Felix was the one you knew the least. 

You learned a lot about him in the six and a half hours you sat next to each other. You learned that he, like Jisung, had a passion for photography. He liked anime but manga adaptations always disappointed. He wanted to be a dancer when he was little, just like his big brother. 

When it was Felix’s turn to inquire about you, you were sort of at a loss for words. You had to tread carefully around how much to actually reveal about yourself. When to lie, when to stretch the truth. You were exhausted. It was exhausting. But Jisung had made it clear that this was still important to him despite you not seeing the point anymore. So you played along for his sake. It was the least you could do since you ruined everything else. 

You talked mostly about school, what you were studying, what you wanted to do with your degree... all the small talk that usually took place when you first met a person, not after you’d been traveling with them for over a month. But Felix didn’t know a lot about you interests wise so he listened intently and asked a lot of questions. 

When it was finally time to actually switch, you were half-relieved, half-bummed. Talking with Felix was fun but you hated lying to him. 

Jisung lifted up the armrest between you and him to let you slide over while he stood awkwardly in the aisle. 

“Do you want to use my hoodie as a blanket, baby?” he asked.

“Sure, thanks.”

He laid it over your shoulders after you got settled against the window, kissing you on the head and telling you goodnight. 

You shut your eyes and tried to relax but sleep wouldn’t come. You knew it wouldn’t. You took deep breaths in an attempt to slow your heart rate, lowkey considering holding your breath until you passed out. 

Next to you, Jisung was flipping through the in-flight movies. You could hear him tapping on the touchscreen, huffing in frustration when he couldn’t find anything he wanted to watch. 

“You okay, bro?” Felix asked his twin. 

You felt Jisung sort of shift, likely checking to see if you were asleep. He sighed. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Relationship troubles?” Felix guessed.

“Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been pissy for like, the past two days. I assumed it had something to do with your girlfriend.”

“She hasn’t been sleeping well,” he explained simply, lying through his teeth. Well, it wasn’t technically a lie because you weren’t sleeping well, but that had nothing to do with why Jisung was upset. “The exhaustion has been leading to a lot of fights.”

“Sorry, man.”

 “It’s okay. It happens. Not that you would know.”

Felix scoffed. “Ouch, I try to have a heart-to-heart with you and you go there?”

“This is a heart-to-heart to you?”

“You know what I mean. A real conversation.”

“Okay, but I’m right. You wouldn’t know.”

“Not all of us can have healthy relationships like you, Jisung,” he sighed.

“I know. I think I’m mom and dad’s only chance at grandchildren at this point.”

“Not if our brother has anything to say about it,” Felix said lowly. 

“What do you mean?” Jisung asked.

He sounded genuinely confused but you knew that internally he was panicking because you were too. You were still pretending to be asleep but you had stopped breathing, waiting to hear what he would say next. How much did Felix know? You and Minho weren’t great at sneaking around but you had at least tried to be a little careful. 

“You mean you haven’t noticed the way Minho looks at her?”

“Not really? But you spend more time with him. You know him better than I do.”

“Well, you should pay more attention. He makes it kind of obvious,” Minho muttered.

“Makes what kind of obvious, though?”

“That he wants her.”

“What?” 

“I can’t believe you haven’t caught on to him flirting with her.” 

“Well obviously he’s doing it behind my back so-”

“Sorry you had to find out this way,” Felix said, likely grimacing, “but at least she isn’t reciprocating, from what I’ve seen.”

“Yeah, at least there’s that,” Jisung murmured. 

You were able to exhale in relief, but only slightly. Felix didn’t know everything but he could tell Minho was interested which wasn’t a good sign. How long had he been picking up on that? 

Your best friend sighed angrily. “The one thing I thought Minho couldn’t take from me-” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, guilt consuming you all over again. 

“Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?” Felix asked. “He hasn’t even made a move or anything, mate. I just think he thinks she’s cute.”

“With Minho, that’s enough.”

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♡ˎˊ˗ part 4.5 - the aftermath

lee minho x reader x han jisung I recommend reading part 4 before you read this one!

summary: when you get home, emotions run high

word count: 5.2k

warnings: voyeurism & exhibitionism; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it & pee after sex, guys); sloppy oral (m receiving); some degradation; jealousy; rough sex; boy on boy action; jisung calls minho daddy; dom!minho and sub!jisung

author’s note: so many of you actually asked for it after the last part, I couldn't say no. this turned out to be all smut? but I feel like a lot gets resolved. i love them a lot and i needed them to be okay <3 up next? part 5 for real!!! sorry to make you wait for sub!seungminnie. and my ask box is still open for any and all ideas and questions about the series!!!

series masterlist // skzms' general masterlist 🔖 taglist for the last part is open! message me or reply to be added, but please be 18+ and have your age somewhere on your blog or I won't add you

“And now, both of you, bedroom, right now.”

Jisung followed his order immediately, taking a step towards the bedroom, but you shook your head.

“I can’t possibly cum again,” you resisted, but when Minho looked at you, you knew you didn’t stand a chance.

”Oh, you can, and you will.”

Jisung skipped down the hallway readily, ripping off his hoodie and letting it drop to the floor carelessly. You watched Minho roll his eyes before his gaze came back to you.

But you didn’t budge. You didn’t fully know where the petty resolve came from, but you didn’t want to make it so easy for Minho. The way his eyes were burning into yours with such intensity, such simmering rage, it made your insides coil with excitement.

Minho motioned you towards the bedroom with a tiny jerk of his head.

You crossed your arms over your chest, staring back at him, unmoving

He scoffed out a breath and walked over to you. You were hyper aware of him, of the heat of his body, the width of his shoulders. He stalked towards you slowly, coming to stand behind you. You could feel his breath fan over the back of your neck and you couldn’t suppress the shudder that racked through your body.

His rough hands found your waist, running over your body and squeezing your hips roughly. The sensation of his hands on you was like a balm on your jealous, sex-addled brain. You needed him to show you he still loved you, even if you fucked them. Needed it like air.

Minho’s fingertips grazed the skin of your neck and you breathed out a sigh.

“I hate when they leave marks,” he mumbled behind you, a distinct softness in the bitter curl of his voice.

“I think that’s why they do it,” you breathed out in response, “they would probably love to know it pisses you off.”

Minho scoffed out behind you.

“Remind me why I let others touch you again?”

You hummed, leaning your body back into his only a little bit, only enough to feel his solid chest behind you.

“Because it makes you hard to lay claim over us again,” you murmured lowly, “and it makes you even harder that we come back to you every time.”

Minho breathed out a chuckle, lips grazing your neck as the air puffed against your skin.

“You do …”

He left the sentence hanging in the air, lips softly dragging along your throat until his nose was nuzzled behind your ear, inhaling deeply.

You were just about to ask what he meant when you heard Jisung call your names from the bedroom.

“Someone come in here before I start by myself,” he threatened, and Minho chuckled into your hair. His hands on your hips tightened as he pushed you forward and you let him guide you into the bedroom readily, the feeling of putting your agency back in his hands like coming home.

Predictably, Jisung was lounging on the bed entirely naked as he languidly stroked himself. When you and Minho came into view, he sat up, letting his hand drop from his cock.

Slowly, gently, he slid off the bed, dropping to his knees at the foot of it, staring up at you and Minho with wide, wet eyes. You watched Minho’s eyes rake down his body, gaze catching painfully on the bruise on Jisung’s collarbone. He growled.

“Tell me she left that on you,” he pressed out, and Jisung shivered, squeezing his legs together slightly. He shook his head.

“Who did?” Minho asked and you all knew the answer to the question. Jisung shivered again, shuffling closer to Minho until he was kneeling right in front of him. Without answering, he started undoing Minho’s belt, eagerly. The metal clinked against Minho’s thighs. Before Jisung could pop the button of his jeans, Minho’s hand wound into his hair and pulled him backwards roughly. Jisung whimpered wetly.

“Who? Did?” Minho said, low and rough, enunciating each word with venom.

“Ch- Channie-hyung,” Jisung breathed out and you watched Minho’s eyes darken. You wondered briefly why he would make himself suffer.

“Princess, you said he looked like he was falling in love?”

You reeled, your eyes snapping from where you had been watching Jisung up to meet Minho’s scalding eyes. You nodded shakily.

“Words, princess.”

“He … Jisung looked so … pretty, just like he looks when he sucks you off,” your voice is just as shaky, and you know you’re skirting around the topic.

Minho laughed humourlessly, but he let go of Jisung’s hair. Jisung’s hands immediately scrambled to undo his pants the rest of the way, dragging them down Minho’s thighs.

“That’s not what I asked,” Minho said coldly.

Jisung leaned forward, burying his face in Minho’s boxers, taking a deep breath, a shudder racking through his body. He nudged at Minho’s hard cock through the thin material, his hands splayed over Minho’s thick thighs.

“He looked … flustered,” you finally said, defeated.

Jisung choked out a whine and pulled down Minho’s boxers, pressing feverish kisses to the junction of his thigh.

“He looked at Channie’s dick like he loved it,” you continued, eyes flickering back and forth between Minho and Jisung, your panties soaked, your body trembling with adrenaline.

“When he put it in his mouth, his eyes fluttered shut and everything,” you breathed out.

Jisung’s kisses finally reached Minho’s cock, his lips dragging along the velvety length of it, pressing a reverential kiss to the head.

“He whimpered … when Chan grabbed his hair,” you finally said and let out a shaky breath. Minho’s eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them as he watched Jisung place chaste kitten licks all over Minho’s cock, worshipping it with his mouth.

“Now look at you,” Minho breathed out, and Jisung winced, rubbing his thighs against one another. “You got anything to say for yourself?”

Jisung shook his head, blinking up at Minho as he flattened his tongue against the underside of Minho’s cock.

“You were so desperate for Chan’s cock earlier, why do you need mine? Fucking slut,” Minho barked out, and Jisung preened, shuffling closer and sinking Minho’s cock into his mouth, bobbing his head a few times before popping off.

“Yours is better,” he croaked out, voice already wrecked, “yours is the best.”

Minho hummed as Jisung sunk him back into his mouth, and you swallowed hard. You felt like you were about to explode with arousal, despite the three orgasms at the studio. You whimpered quietly, but Minho heard, as always. His eyes whipped over to you with a knowing smirk.

“You’re no better, are you? I assume you’ve had three cocks today, you don’t need any more.”

You shook your head frantically. Oh, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, could he? Deny you the catharsis you so desperately needed, the hot ache of him claiming you. You would die.

“I …,” your voice nearly gave out as your pussy throbbed in your soiled panties, “I always need yours.”

Minho chuckled darkly. Jisung was blowing him in earnest now, the wet squelch of his mouth lewdly ringing through the quiet bedroom.

And, fuck, Jisung looked ruined, eyes closed, cheeks bright pink, spit dribbling down his chin as he took Minho in as deep as he could, choked little moans scratching at his throat.

“Is that so?” Minho asked mockingly, and his tone went straight to your pussy, making you clench around nothing.

You fell to your knees almost automatically, exactly where you stood. Your hand fisted the edge of the skirt as you waited, staring up at Minho with shaking eyes. After a few agonising seconds, he finally motioned his hand for you to come over, and you made the humiliating shuffle across the floor. Every move was calculated for, but your chest still fluttered when approval shimmered in Minho’s eyes.

You came to kneel next to Jisung, who immediately dropped one hand from Minho’s thigh, blindly reaching for your hand and lacing his fingers with yours. He squeezed it so tightly you heard your knuckle pop. Minho watched the motion without a flinch, but he must’ve perceived something because he didn’t ask Jisung to stop.

Jisung made way for you and you carefully leaned in, your check brushing Jisung’s. From up close, you could hear every tortured gasp Jisung let out when Minho’s cock hit the back of his throat. You licked at the base of Minho’s cock chastely, tasting Minho’s skin and Jisung’s spit. It was filthy in a way that felt like home.

But before you could go in any further, Minho pulled you both off with his hands, holding you at a distance from his wet, twitching cock. For a second, he just looked down at you, eyes wandering from Jisung, naked, panting, lips swollen and eyes wide as he stared up at him expectantly, to you, still dressed in the same clothes they had fucked you in, your eyes so glazed and needy and ready to give him anything.

Minho bit back the moan that was threatening to force itself out his chest and let go of your hair.

He sauntered over to the foot of the bed, letting himself drop onto the mattress and spreading his legs. Jisung immediately took the hint and crawled over, giving you a beautiful view of his ass and toned thighs, where there was still the shadow of a hickey on the junction between his ass and his thigh.

“Clothes, off,” Minho barked at you, and you didn’t waste a single second pulling down your skirt and panties and shrugging out of the sweatshirt you had only haphazardly thrown back on after the debauchery at the studio. As you crawled over to where Jisung was perched between Minho’s thighs, you saw Minhos eyes flicker to your hips briefly, where you knew Chan’s nails had left red scratches when he held you. You silenced any potential comment by running your hand up his thigh, and he shivered. Jisung was kissing up his other thigh before taking Minho’s cock back in his mouth, sliding his tongue along the bottom needily.

You leaned in, licking at Minho’s shaft, your eyes fluttering shut at tasting him again. Your lips brushed against Jisung’s and he whimpered. When your tongues met, Jisung’s hand slithered up your back until it was tangled in your hair, pulling your lips to his around Minho, brushing the head of his cock with every swipe of his tongue against yours. When the tip of his cock slipped even deeper between your hot mouths, a deep groan rumbled from Minho’s chest, his hand meeting Jisung’s in your hair, trying to push you down further.

You complied easily, Jisung letting you slide Minho’s cock in your mouth as he pushed Minho’s legs further apart and dipped his head down, running his tongue over the skin of Minho’s balls. Minho rewarded him with another deep groan, his hips canting forward instinctively, allowing Jisung to sink deeper. Jisung sucked one of Minho’s balls into his mouth at the same time as you took his cock deeper into your throat, and looked up at him.

Minho’s head fell back briefly, eyes screwing shut and bunny teeth digging into his bottom lip as he grunted out. He was a vision like this, deep flush on his cheeks that ran down his chiselled chest, his nipples hard, looking good enough to eat. When his eyes met yours, they were swimming with arousal and a glint of something much darker. But he just kept staring, his lips slightly parted, enough to let out tiny gasps of pleasure. You sank deeper, until you felt him nudge the back of your throat, making a tear slip out of the corner of your eye. Minho’s hand tightened in your hair. His, his, his, his, his. All his.

Jisung’s finger came up to where you were bobbing on Minho’s cock, swiping up some of the mix of spit and pre-cum that was spilling past your lips before dipping lower, and then, suddenly, Minho’s hips almost jumped off the bed, making the tip of his cock brush the back of your throat so hard you gagged around him.

You couldn’t see what Jisung was doing, but you assumed it had something to do with his slick finger on Minho’s rim because he flung one of Minho’s legs over his shoulders and dipped lower. You bobbed your head as regularly as you could without getting in Jisung’s way.

Minho was slowly falling apart above you, and you couldn’t rip your eyes away from him. His domineering role was momentarily forgotten as his arms gave out, and he collapsed onto his elbows, head thrown back as his hips rocked slightly in time with the bobs of your head, no doubt rubbing himself against Jisung’s finger at the same time. He was throbbing in your mouth, shaky whines dripping from his lips as his movements got faster and faster, rutting himself into you and Jisung’s waiting mouths.

It didn’t take long before he fell apart with a wail, clenching around Jisung’s fingertip as he spilled into your mouth in thick ropes. It was so much you could barely swallow it all, some of it spilling past the corners of your mouth and down your chin.

You heard Jisung whisper out a quiet fuck as he watched Minho fall apart. Only you and Jisung knew Minho like this, only you could make him fall apart so completely. Arousal burning in you so strong it almost hurt. You let his spent cock fall from your lips and were about to wipe your mouth on the edge of the sheets when Jisung cradled your neck and crashed his lips into yours, licking Minho’s cum from your chin greedily.

Now it was Minho who cursed out above you as he watched Jisung clean you up with filthy, open-mouthed kisses, Jisung’s fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his own cock. Only Jisung would be at the risk of cumming untouched just from licking his lover’s cum from his other lover’s lips.

The noises you were making into Jisung’s lips were pitiful, mind getting foggier with every swipe of Jisung’s tongue against yours, his body pressing into you, trying to tug you closer and closer.

Minho sat up, and used his discarded t-shirt to wipe his stomach clean, before he leaned forward, tangling his hand into Jisung’s hair and pulling him away from your lips gently.

“Don’t get too lost in it now, my cockdrunk little babies,” he cooed raspily, the traces of his orgasm still in his voice, but already back to his usual self. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Jisung blinked up at him blearily.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, and a breath caught in Minho’s throat. “Fuck me, please, daddy, I need it.”

Minho kissed him hard, swallowing Jisung’s mewls, letting him tangle his hands in Minho’s hair for a second, before pulling back, helping him to his feet and guiding him to lie on the bed. He pressed two soft kisses to the red bruises on his knees.

“I’ll fuck you, baby,” he murmured out before turning to kneel next to you, cupping your face, brushing his thumb over your swollen bottom lip. Still talking to Jisung but with his eyes fixed on you, he continued, “… but while I do that, I need you to tell me all about our princess and Changbin, yeah? Can you do that?”

Jisung winced, but hummed out an approval. Your heart started beating faster in your chest again, the dark possessiveness in Minho’s voice filling you with dread and arousal and the all-encompassing need to show him that you were his and his alone.

Just when you thought your heart was going to jump out of your chest, Minho kissed you and it made your whole world reel. You never wanted to let him go, wanted to kiss him forever, the taste of him on your tongue forever and ever. It took everything in you not to sob when he pulled back and looked at you. You felt dizzy and sad and needy, and you didn’t bother to hide it because you knew he would take care of you. And he did, brushing a reassuring thumb across your cheekbone and pressing another deep kiss to your lips before helping you up.

He guided you down to straddle Jisung, who was beaming up at you with the most fucked out grin. He was already blissfully far gone.

“Don’t you dare fuck him, princess,” Minho warned you, and Jisung whimpered, pouting up at you. “You already had each other today. You can kiss and grind a little while I prep him, but that’s it.”

You nodded in assent, already dragged into Jisung’s orbit by the way he was staring up at you. He leaned up as you leaned down and you found each other’s lips for the umpteenth time today, and yet it felt like the first time.

While Minho was getting out the lube and the condoms, Jisung ravished your mouth, kissing you so eagerly you could barely keep up. But then Minho’s wet finger pushed into him, and he nearly yelled into your mouth, his hips jumping desperately. Minho chuckled behind you.

“Fucking desperate,” he spat out, and Jisung mewled happily.

While Minho was working him open, Jisung kept kissing you, his hands coming to your hips, digging his fingers into your skin as he slowly guided them down until your bare pussy was brushing against his dick. He moaned into your mouth, using his hands to swivel your hips so the head of his cock caught at your hole. You were so drunk on him that you didn’t realise what he was doing until he pushed just the head of his cock into you, and you moaned out loudly.

Suddenly, a hand came down on your ass so hard you shrieked, ripping your mouth away from Jisung’s just in time to see his eyes roll into the back of his head with a yell of his own when Minho slapped his balls.

“Jisungie, what did Daddy tell you?” Minho purred out behind you, and Jisung’s face pulled into a bratty smile, his head rocking back as Minho was still rutting his fingers into him.

“Technically, you only told Y/Nie not to fuck me,” he said, winking at your shocked face.

Another hard slap landed on Jisung’s balls, and this time he moaned out so pornographically it made you clench around nothing. But then he whined out in dismay and you guessed Minho had pulled out his fingers, leaving him empty.

“Maybe I should let Chan-hyung have you, you little brat,” Minho hissed, and you could see Jisung’s eyebrows furrow. If you weren’t so fucking turned on, you would be impressed with how easily Minho controlled the two of you.

“No, no, no,” Jisung mewled, his fingers digging into your hips as he resisted the urge to press you down and onto his waiting cock. The proximity made you dizzy.

But then Jisung’s eyes rolled back into his head, his whole body writhing and his hands falling to the sheets and you knew Minho had pushed his cock into him.

“Then prove you’re worth my time,” Minho continued, a little breathless from where Jisung was clenching around him. “Why don’t you start by telling me about our princess and Changbin, hm?” Jisung whined as Minho pulled out and pushed all the way back in.

“You said she enjoyed it. What does that mean, baby?”

Jisung gasped out, his hand wrapping around your arm to hold himself steady.

“Y/Nie moaned so much,” he breathed out, before moaning again, “was riding him on the chair, kissing him the whole time.”

Minho started to set an agonising pace and Jisung mewled. He went back and forth between his eyes fluttering closed and staring up at you with stars in his eyes from finally getting exactly what he needed.

“Go on, Jisungie,” Minho spoke.

“Changbin … fuck, Changbin-hyung was so eager. Kept calling her beautiful,” Jisung breathed, and you gasped when you felt Minho’s fingers glide through your slick. Jisung furrowed his brow as he looked up at you. There was the same glint in his eyes as earlier.

“He called her ‘the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen’.”

One of Minho’s fingers slid inside you and moaned out, head falling between your arms.

“God, fuck, harder Daddy, please … hhngg,” Jisung begged desperately, but Minho slapped his ass desperately.

“You take what I say you deserve,” he spat out, and his voice was so much more venomous than it was earlier. The latter’s finger was still sliding in and out of you, so slowly you felt like you were going insane.

“Y/Nie got flustered,” Jisung said, and Minho pulled his fingers from you and slammed his hips into Jisung’s, making you and Jisung moan out for completely opposite reasons. This time, Minho didn’t have to ask for Jisung to supply details.

“She blushed, oh fuck,” Jisung moaned, as Minho finally fucked him harder, “she didn’t even have a comeback, just told him to shut up, all bashfully. Fuck, it made me so fucking … hnngg it made me so jealous.”

Jisung was staring at you and you were staring back, your eyes wide as you watched all the emotions go through Jisung’s eyes. Suddenly, two fingers pushed back inside you and you whimpered, pushing your hips back instinctively. But Minho didn’t let you do it, almost immediately pulling his fingers out again. You groaned out in frustration.

“I … fuck, daddy, right there … I took her hand while she was blowing him,” Jisung continued, eyes always coming back to yours, “I took it, but she dropped it just … you just dropped it when he pulled you up, baby, what the fuck.”

This was fucking torture.

You dipped down and pressed your lips to Jisung’s, his hand winding into your hair immediately as he sighed into your mouth. Minho’s fingers slid back into you as he bottomed out in Jisung, and you moaned into each other’s lips.

“You … fuck, I’m so close, … you flirted back with him, so fucking hard. You were so gone when you were riding him, you made noises I never heard you make before,” Jisung was still babbling, and you could tell he was serious, even while he was getting fucked within an inch of his life. Minho growled somewhere behind you, pumping his fingers into so well your vision was going fuzzy.

“Min …. Daddy … please, harder,” Jisung’s voice had that tremor that always showed up when he was so, so close to cumming.

“Then finish telling me,” Minho barked out behind you. He sounded wrecked, but you didn’t look back.

“She let him cum in her mouth,” Jisung continued, and Minho suddenly picked up the pace, snapping his hips into Jisung mercilessly. Jisung’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he held on to you for dear life. As if this would buy him the permission to cum, he kept babbling.

“She came with her forehead against his,” Jisung almost yelled, and Minho placed a hard slap on your pussy, one that made you cry out.

“She fell apart in his lap while staring into his fucking eyes.”

Everything that happened next, happened in a blur. One second you were kneeling over Jisung, the next Minho had pulled you upright, lining you up with Jisung’s cock before pushing you down, forcing you to take him all the way to the hilt, all without the pace of his own hips even faltering a little bit. You blindly reached for Jisung’s hands, intertwining both with yours as Minho’s hand wrapped around your throat, pulling your back flush against his chest as his hips snapped into Jisung’s. Jisung was pulsing inside of you for only a few seconds before he came with a deafening wail you were sure the neighbours heard loud and clear, painting your walls with waves and waves of his release.

Minho fucked Jisung through his orgasm slowly, making sure he was fully sated.

You were … terrified of turning around to look at Minho. You were so horny, of course you were, but you were also terrified of having crossed a real, not pretend, not consensual line somewhere. You were terrified that Jisung was really upset, that Minho was really angry, that he would take you from behind and call you degrading names and you wouldn’t know whether it was real or not. You were just considering uttering your safe word when Minho’s arm softly wrapped around your waist and lifted you off Jisung, placing you on the bed on your back.

You screwed your eyes shut, trying to delay the moment of truth for a second longer.

“Hey,” Minho’s soft voice called you, his strong body settling between your legs. The warmth of his skin, the weight of his body, it was comforting.

“Honey, open your eyes,” he cooed softly, and you carefully cracked one eye open. As soon as you saw his soft expression, you opened the other one, letting go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding. You pulled Minho down into your lips, kissing him breathlessly, desperately.

“I don’t care about Changbin,” you gasped out when he pulled back. You turned your head to find Jisung already looking at you. You reached out a hand until he shuffled over to you, and you could press a kiss to his lips, too.

“I’m not in love with Changbin,” you said again, firmer this time, “I’m not in love with anyone but you. And I’m so fucking in love with you.”

You swallowed down the tears as you looked back at Minho.

“I don’t care about Chan, either,” Jisung said next to you, so quietly you barely heard him. Minho’s hand shot out to cradle Jisung’s face. “He could never compare to you. Like, never.”

Minho nodded at him softly before looking back at you. You could feel him hard and heavy against your thigh, and you could hardly breathe with how badly you needed him.

You nudged Minho’s hips and reached down to align himself with you.

“Take me,” you whispered, and Jisung took a shuddering breath next to you. Minho’s eyes fluttered shut briefly.

“Are you sure, baby?” he murmured, but you just nodded.

“Need to feel you, need to feel you still love me,” you mumbled, face flushing hot as your eyes closed in shame. Minho’s hand came up to your face, forcing you to open your eyes and look into his.

“I love you. I’ll always love you, both of you,” Minho said seriously, as he slowly pushed himself inside of you, pressing in until he was buried to the hilt. It wasn’t hard, with everything that had happened today, with how turned on you were, Jisung’s release making the slide impossibly wetter, still.

Your legs wrapped around Minho’s back automatically when he started fucking you deep and slow. When your head fell to the side again, you found Jisung already staring at you.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered out, and Jisung scooted closer, pressing his body against yours, one hand coming up to caress your cheeks. He shushed you softly.

“Don’t be, I love you, baby,” he mumbled, pressing hot kisses on your cheek and jaw as Minho’s hips snapped into yours over and over again.

You could feel your orgasm build within minutes, Minho’s body so close to yours as he rolled his hips into yours, his flushed face above you as he gasped in tandem with your own quiet moans. Jisung was wrapped around your side, one hand playing with your tits as he continued to kiss your neck. Everything was hot, burning hot, your own skin becoming sticky as perspiration started beading on Minho’s forehead.

Minho leaned in and kissed you so deeply, you thought you might start crying.

“I love you so fucking much, baby,” he mumbled against your lips, “I’m never letting you go.”

“‘M close,” you whined out, and Minho rutted into you that bit harder and deeper. Jisung’s hand slowly made its way between your bodies, his finger coming to your clit and rubbing perfectly.

“Only you can fuck us like this, Min,” you breathed out, and you felt Minho’s hips falter. Jisung moaned softly against your neck, nodding slightly.

“Cum for me, angel, come on,” Minho gasped out, cursing under his breath as you fluttered around him.

Your orgasm crashed over you at his words, waves and waves of pleasure rolled through your body as you trembled in Jisung’s arms, clenching around Minho and taking him over the edge with you. He collapsed into you as his hips stuttered into you, pressing in as deeply as he could before he came, his face buried in your neck, arm wrapped around you and Jisung as he filled you up.

It was quiet then, except for the heartbeat thundering in your ears, Jisung still pressing sweet kisses to your cheek and Minho softly panting into your other ear.

Minho didn’t lift his head for a long time, just softly breathed into your neck. You didn’t move to disturb him, something telling you that he was trying to figure something out. You gave him the time, both you and Jisung lying there silently with your bodies intertwined, you running your hand through Minho’s hair, Jisung caressing Minho’s back.

Eventually, Minho lifted his head and stared at you and Jisung in turn.

“I don’t want to stop doing this,” he said, and you furrowed your eyebrows in question, but he just continued. “I’m sorry for being a jealous, possessive boyfriend. I don’t like that about myself. But the thought of you realising you could do better, it kills me.”

Jisung next to you made a sad noise of protest, but Minho shook his head.

“Let me finish. I’m sorry I’m jealous, and I’m sorry it gets the better of me. I trust you. More than I trust anyone. And I know if you had feelings for someone, you would tell me. That’s thanks to you, by the way,” he said the last thing with a long look at you, but you were speechless, “so I don’t want to stop doing this. I want us to keep having fun because I love it and I know the two of you love it and the sex afterwards is incredible and also because, oddly enough, it makes me feel closer to you. Okay?”

You felt Jisung next to you nod, and you did the same.

“Good, we can talk about the rest tomorrow, okay?”

The two of you nodded again, and Minho slowly pulled out of you and got up, walking into the bathroom to get some wet towels to clean you up. You and Jisung didn’t speak, just kept holding each other. The other side of your body was cold now, and you shivered slightly, which made Jisung rub his hand up and down your arm to try to warm you up.

Yeah, you would be alright.

ask box is open for theories and ideas and questions!!

series masterlist // skzms' general masterlist // ko-fi

taglist: @puppyminnnie @like-a-diamondinthesky @lyramundana @stanskzsstuff @unlikelysublimekryptonite @ayoitschannie @stolasisyourparent @notevenheretbh1 @yevene @mixtape-racha @queen-in-the-shadows @starsandrqindrops @cutiespaghetti @oreoqueen @kidrauhlschik @iam-theunknown @kookiesbunny @bbokari711 @vitrealisbunny @warren-thedarkangel @chlodavids @imzenning @queenmea604 @ririlinoriri @midmourn @moonlightndaydreams @noellllslut @xxpr3ttyk173rxx @aalexyuuuhm @seungminsfavoritegirlll @laylasbunbunny @krishastumblernow @siriusly1 @heartheartisa @freckleboilix @poody1608 @3rachasninja @ardef38 @stayconnecteed @josefines-things @hobi-szn @straystays2345 @mellhwang @ashareeboobear @poody1608 @minsflannelwrap148 @caitlyn98s

🔖 taglist for the last part is open! message me or reply to be added, but please be 18+ and have your age somewhere on your blog or I won't add you

IN THE DARK

CHAPTER [VII] of LEVANTER [18+!]

“Sure you don’t like me?” he asks, mouth slightly agape when you look at him, the tip of his tongue meeting his upper teeth.

“I don’t like you,” you bluff and Minho knows you’re lying, he can tell by that bratty smirk on your face.

“How about you prove that first and then I’ll see if I’ll believe you, hm?”

⛓️ SYNOPSIS: Between anger and sadness caused by being separated from your husband, the situation revolving around the arrest of him thickens. While you finally let Minho open up about his reasons for betraying Chan several years ago, your best friend seems to encourage you to forgive Minho for his mistakes, making you unsure if this is just some type of manipulation all over again.

💊 CONTENT INFO: jisung x afab reader, chan x afab reader, minho x afab reader, gang/mafia au, angst/smut/fluff, gang leader jisung, doctor chan, gang member minho, best friend chan, reader has adhd, mention of member x member in this chapter, they are flawed characters and you should keep that in mind, content warning and smut tags under the cut (include spoilers)

💵 WORD COUNT: 13.6K

🔪 CONTENT WARNING: (not too specific to not spoil the whole plot so read at your own risk) mental health topics, blackmailing and threats, loss of appetite caused by mental issues, alcohol consumption, mention of cigarette smoking, topics revolving around cheating, jealousy and open relationships, pervy behaviour and voyeurism without consent

🔥 SMUT: (possible spoilers) dom/sub dynamics, masturbation, thigh riding, oral (f receiving), piv, consensual video taping, degrading, sir kink, facial/body cumshot, name calling (baby, kitten, brat, slut, whore)

🧨 SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

“Come on… at least eat something, Y/N.”

It’s been almost an hour since you’ve been forced to sit in the same room with Minho.

Well, you weren’t forced—but unfortunately he decided to occupy the kitchen, cooking the most extravagant five course meal.

That you don’t want to eat. Both because you’ve lost your appetite and because you want to avoid any possible approach that leans towards Minho.

On top of that, you’re tired. You haven’t slept last night, wondering how your husband has been. Your heart is aching and it’s getting hard to breathe—your lungs are pathetically reaching for air, getting granted with not much.

Fuck. The scene is playing in front of your eyes over and over again.

‘He’s gone.’

Those were Minho’s words yesterday. You want to hate him for that. You haven’t been in the best situation with him before but that’s really the icing on the cake. Minho broke your fucking heart with that sentence.

But we can’t blame the deliverer of the message for the bad news themselves.

Minho insisted on staying overnight. He slept on the couch, made breakfast for you but you declined. The thought of food makes your stomach turn. He has been checking up on you since this morning, made lunch for you but you don’t want anything now, either.

It’s too much for you. You’re severely overwhelmed, unable to control your own emotions. 

“No. I don’t want food from you. It’s probably poisoned.”

He betrayed Chan. Your best friend.

Well, you best friend that also did a bunch of things that could definitely be considered betrayal but you won’t throw away a seven year old friendship, right?

Oh, Y/N. You’re too kind for this world.

It’s hard and exhausting to escape Minho, especially since you now live with him. Apparently Jisung insisted on it. You’ve thought about going back to Gahyeon and she even suggested it, but she’s got a new roommate now. On top of all the stress that your best friend has to deal with, you don’t want to be an additional burden by sleeping on her couch.

“Y/N… This is about Chan, isn’t it?”

The man in front of you awakens you from your inner rambling monologue. You notice now that little Lino has made it up on his lap. Unfortunately, your cat does get along with your newly assigned roommate quite well. You want to hate him for what he did. He called the fucking cops on Chan, sent anonymous hints to bring an innocent man into prison. That’s beyond fucked up.

However—and this is nothing new for you—you can’t get the idea out of your overthinking little head that there might be more behind it. You’ve been trying to find a reason, a motive, that would justify such cruel behaviour but you can’t come up with one.

The sole fact that it was to rescue Jisung from getting into the claws of those detectives can’t be enough.

Or can it?

It’s plausible, however. There is a strategy behind that you understand on a rational level. But isn’t it heartless?

“How could you do this to him?!”

Minho has his reasons. They might not be justifications but they are explanations. He’s had his reasons and, well, in his opinion, there wasn’t even a fair chance given. He solely went for the less painful option. But hurt was inevitable nonetheless.

You forgave Chan too, right? When you can forgive that guy that kidnapped you and scared you for life—why can’t you at least listen to Minho?

You’ve got a big heart. Despite not personally knowing you for that long, Minho feels as if he’s been in your life for years. That is mainly to blame on his best friend talking non stop about you with his eyes turning into bright pink hearts but there’s another reason.

He can’t explain it but he’s noticed it from the start—and so did you—that you understand each other on a level that needs no explanation. Maybe it’s because you’re so similar, both intelligent and close to Jisung or said man might be the reason for it.

Minho knows how much the gang leader loves you. That’s why he’d sacrifice anything not just to protect his younger friend but also, you.

Minho values loyalty—due to having his loved ones turn their backs against him, due to friends and family betraying him in the most destroying ways possible, he’s always needed that kind of reliability. All those experiences have put some irreversible scratches on his heart that can’t ever be healed fully.

That’s why Minho—a carbon copy of a scorpio—decided to become the opposite of what these people did to him. Whoever hurts the people he loves, will pay for it. There’s never been anyone in his life that he’s been so close to like he is with Jisung.

He’s his oldest friend and his truest. They’ve been through thick and thin so it’s understandable that he’d do anything to protect him.

Right?

That’s where his plan with Chan came into play—the situation was basically perfect given the circumstances.

Oh, God. His heart is basically beating out of his chest by now. He dearly hopes you will forgive him.

Minho sighs, takes a deep breath and begins, “I didn’t think they would actually go after him! I thought they would just drop the case. Have you seen that guy?! He’s the picture perfect son-in-law. A fucking doctor. Nothing about that dude screams criminal.”

Well. He’s got a point. Although this doesn’t justify it. But on a strategy level, it makes sense. No matter how much Minho is getting on your last nerve, he is correct about that.

That’s the whole point why you were so shocked seeing Chan in the Tricky House.

Caused by his psychological background, it’s not that suprising he played evil mind games with other people, including you, but you can’t imagine him being a gang leader. Maybe a member, doing some tests of courage to impress his new friends but not more than that.

But maybe that’s just Minho trying to get inside your head.

After finding out that Chan had been gaslighting you for months—if not years, if you count lying about Jisung’s approaches to you as well—it’s hard for you to believe anyone anymore at this point. Apart from that, you don’t know Minho that well. It’s complicated to calculate what his true intentions are.

And besides that, it baffles you that he once again searches for the guilt in other people. This still doesn’t explain why he did it in the first place—the strategy is clear, the motive isn’t.

It feels as if your head is about to explode, you feel the vitamin deficiency caused by your loss of appetite—your focus is even worse than it already is and your meds, with no proper meals before taking them, make you nauseous.

You need to get out of here. Maybe buy a small meal outside, get some fresh juice or anything that makes you feel alive again.

You’ve had enough.

“I’m done talking if that’s all you’re saying—you still manage to put the whole fucking blame on Chan,” you hiss, grabbing your purse from next to the sofa.

You storm towards the kitchen again, almost accidentally bumping into Minho but you can catch yourself. In the corner of your eyes, you notice him reaching out to you with his hands—an instinctive reaction in case you’re falling. It’s not as if he cares for you, you’re sure.

He takes a small step towards you, always keeping a respectful distance. Shit. He’s fucked up. But unfortunately, Minho has never been good with words.

“Y/N– wait, that was unreasonable of me”—like throwing Chan to the cops, you think—“if you gave me one chance, I am sure I would be able to show my perspective to you.”

You shoot him a quick glance and for a second you believe you see hurt in his eyes, he has an apologetic look on his face that screams ‘hear me out, I can explain’ but you don’t have the energy for that right now.

Your mind is all over the place.

Your husband is gone and you have no fucking idea when and if you will see him again anytime soon. Maybe he will go into prison for one, five or ten years. Wonderful.

Your best friend has destroyed the immense trust the both of you had, is on top of that experiencing the roughest time in his life and you promised to stand by him, help him whenever you can.

Speaking of, you agreed to meet him in half an hour. For fuck’s sake. You’re so unbelievably late. No to-go snack of smoothie for you.

“I have places to be.”

You grab a banana from the fruit basket, before you head to the fridge. Picking out an ice cold water and a yogurt, you throw the food items into your bag.

Long strides bring you towards the entrance, before you yank the door open.

“Maybe… tonight?” Minho asks, his voice almost inaudible. “Once you’re back? Please…”

You turn around one last time, watching how little Lino is circling around your roommate’s legs, cuddling him, never leaving his side.

Perhaps it’s a sign.

“I’ll think about it.”

💊

A cold breeze hits your tired face, waking you up a little. The yogurt and fruit combined with a Red Bull and a cigarette helped you get energised a little. Your fatigued eyes are hidden by sunglasses, a baggy sweater that you found in Jisung’s closet comforts you a little.

Right. Fuck. You’re on the verge of tears again thinking about your husband being in jail. It’s only a pre-trial detention. You can’t even imagine what it’ll feel like in case he is found guilty and has to go to prison for real.

Your stomach does a twist, your lungs are struggling to let the oxygen inside again, the stinging pain in your heart is gradually spreading through your chest.

“Y/N, how are you?”

You don’t hear Chan’s voice first. He’s been sitting next to you on the bench for at least two minutes now but you must have zoned out again.

“Y/N? You okay?” he repeats.

Slowly, you turn your head around, finding Chan’s eyes. They are filled with a sadness that had been there yesterday caused by your confession. However, today they’re also carrying empathy for you. He knows he has to be there for you now.

When you texted him this morning to meet you, he got confused. He’s sworn to himself to not contact you for now after what you told him yesterday. Fuck, you are married now. To his longtime enemy.

But Chan is still Chan. And you are his Y/N. He couldn’t say no, when you reached out to him with a short ‘Can we meet later?’ no emojis attached.

He’s caught between asking once more and just pulling you into a hug. Usually, this has always worked for you but he’s unsure if it’ll be bearable for whatever is left of his heart.

His eyes find yours, tears stinging at your lower lash line, ready to be set free just like the words that follow.

“He’s in… in some pre-trial detention,” you confess, as your gaze falls down, fixated on your hands that are lying in your lap.

Chan’s assumptions were right. After all, this isn't entirely news for him.

“I know.”

Your head snaps up again. How on earth is that possible? Who the fuck could have told them? He’s got no connection to Jisung—well, you are the only thing keeping their lives somewhat connected to one another.

“H-How do you know?”

“T-The police… they asked me questions since I am technically his doctor, but I declined,” he explains. “Just like I mentioned… fuck– this feels as if I jinxed that–“

“Chan, no! If anyone jinxed it, it was Jisung and me,” you interrupt him. “We got married as if we knew what was bound to happen.”

Your best friend once again gets reminded of the worst news he’s ever received when you talked to him yesterday.

You’re his wife.

Han Jisung’s fucking wife.

You’ll spend the rest of your life with him before Chan had a chance to get better and show you that he’s the better man for you. Fuck. He wished he could turn back time.

He would tell you sooner, that he’s involved in organised crime activities.

He wouldn’t even join Wolfgang to begin with.

He wouldn’t listen to Mia and look for another therapist, leave her when he found out that she cheated on him.

He wouldn’t even get in a relationship with her in the first place.

He would tell you so much sooner that he’s always loved you, right from when you first stepped into that shared college apartment, before Jisung had a chance to sweep you off your feet.

He would do so many things differently, if he only was able to turn back time.

Fuck. You’re everything he’s ever needed. Nothing else matters, whenever he thinks about you. All he’s ever wanted was to spend his life with you, make you happy, turn all your wishes into reality.

But he’s lost his chance. He has to come to terms with it. This will probably be the hardest journey he will ever have to get through.

Maybe one day, when he’s healed, he will be able to set you free.

“Channie?”

He’s practically dragged out of his thoughts by your voice. His heart breaks a little more, when you're using that nickname now. He knows it will just do him further harm but he prays that you will never stop.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

You sound a bit shy and Chan can tell that your heart must be beating at lightning speed—either since he knows you so damn well or because he’s a doctor. Who knows.

“Of course, angel,” he encourages you.

It’s the first time your best friend used the name again since you revealed your marital status to him.

“Uhm… Minho wanted to talk to me and explain to me… why… why he back then sent those anonymous, false hints,” you start. “But– it feels like betraying you to even let him speak about it.”

He raises one of his eyebrows. Chan understands that you must be in a very low place right now. He’s trying his best to view this whole situation in a neutral light although that’s incredibly, indescribably hard. He’s challenging his thickest boundaries right now.

But therapy has been helpful for him. He’s learnt how to distance himself from both situations and feelings of others as well as his own emotions he has been dealing with. Besides that, he’s noticed how odd you’re behaving today.

Why are you so… full of prejudices? So… pessimistic?

He gets that it must be complicated—being in the middle of your best friend that put you in a life-threatening situation back in his headquarters and your new friend—and husband’s right hand man—who betrayed Chan three years ago.

Those are different things, sure. But shouldn’t you at least listen to whatever that guy has to say? This is how you usually react.

But Chan gets that you’re at the end of your tether. Of course, these past months have been a lot. A fucking lot.

You lost your job. You got out of a mundane, slightly toxic relationship. Your family members have been ignoring you for those exact reasons. You met a friend again who just disappeared three years ago. You got together again with said friend. Chan confessed his feelings to you.

Chan lied to you. Chan’s men kidnapped you. Chan confessed to you what he has been through. You’ve been helping him with therapy since then. You married Jisung. You moved apartments. Your husband is in jail.

Fuck.

How are you still standing here?

It’s Chan’s turn now to be there for you. Maybe today will be the first step of healing by comforting you.

“That’s not very Y/N of you,” Chan says.

“What do you mean?”

You’re the one to raise an eyebrow up, your arms landing in front of your chest, as you lean back on your chair.

Your best friend takes a deep breath, “What happened to you always seeing the good in the worst?”

Yeah. This is what everyone has always connected with you. No matter what someone did, you were always the one to listen to their story first, trying to understand what made them this way. 

You are understanding. You have the biggest heart in the world.

But after getting it broken over and over again by things that can be grouped into a disaster you simply call life, you don’t know how to use it fully anymore.

Shit. It’s scary. Seeing yourself like this. Having other people seeing you like this, practically saying you’re not yourself anymore.

However, you—and also Chan—know deep down that this enormous amount of empathy is slumbering deep under a layer of hurt. And since Chan is one of the people who is responsible for those scratches, he has to help you find your path again.

On the other hand, you’re hurt. So fucking hurt that Minho is partly responsible for making Chan what he is now. That time back then left him traumatised, piling up on that shit he’s been through throughout his life.

“Yeah… b-but you almost went to jail because of him–“

“Because of the police,” Chan cuts you off. “They just found me quicker that way. I’m convinced they only wanted someone to call guilty and since… Jisung,” he gulps when speaking the name of your husband out loud, “was over the hills they asked me next.”

Funny. You’ve never expected Chan to blame the police for something. That same Chan that follows every societal standard and values morals higher than anything else.

You like this new version. He somehow seems more authentic. More as if he’s truly himself, not suffering from the pressure others or mostly himself put him under.

“Wow. That gang leader image really does something to you,” you giggle.

He chuckles, “Don’t let it get to your head, angel.”

Fuck. Chan didn’t want to flirt with you but it just feels so natural to do it.

You decide to ignore it.

In addition to that, this whole conversation kind of lets you open up to the Minho situation. Maybe you should give him a chance.

“So… you would be fine if I heard him out?”

“I am sure he’s got his reasons.”

He’s got his reasons.

Is Chan blaming himself? Is Chan perhaps hiding something he did to Minho that he doesn’t want you to know?

The atmosphere shifts and you’re brought back to the long talks you had a few months ago in his headquarters’ office. Sure, Chan has been in therapy for some time now and you know he’s getting better but the idea of those words being blatant manipulation messes with your tired head.

Your brain is exhausted, your whole body is tired but the idea doesn’t let go of you.

What if Chan is just pretending? What if this is part of his strategy to make you believe he is the good guy? Is there a chance he could be involved in Jisung getting caught by the SWAT team?

You push those thoughts aside, deciding to both let Minho explain himself first and wait until you actually know why Jisung is in jail. You expect it to be connected to that raid a few months ago but maybe there’s more. He’s done a bunch of illegal things.

Nah. Chan probably has nothing to do with this. He’s busy going to therapy, gradually working full time again and maybe doing his own gang related things.

So, you opt for not reading too much into it for now.

“Okay. Thank you.”

Chan suddenly avoids eye contact, as he says, “Not for that.”

Suspicious.

💊

When you enter the apartment, Minho is nowhere to be found—allowing you to breathe a little. You throw your purse on the huge couch, waking little Lino with the noise. The cat jumps down the cushion, following you to the kitchen.

Your nostrils are greeted with the most delicious scent imaginable—letting you find a tray with freshly baked lemon cheesecake, one of your favourites, just straight out of the oven.

Next to them, a bottle of whiskey is filling your vision. You’re sure, the item wasn’t there when you left a few hours ago, you would have noticed. This almost looks like a preparation for a date night and for a second you wonder if Jisung might be home and made the cake until you think back to his attempt to make Palaçinka.

So you drop that idea. You keep wondering for another minute, sitting on the couch now, before your eyes finally give in and you fall into a deep slumber.

You wake up from your nap, when the front door swings open, revealing your assigned roommate behind it. Your mood immediately switches again. You’ve been feeling a bit better—or distracted—due to meeting Chan earlier.

And now Minho is back and you have to face him and his secrets that are about to be revealed. Fuck it.

You prop yourself up, sitting on the couch now. It’s gotten a little warmer which is why the hoodie lands next to you next. Without a word, Minho picks it up and brings it to the bathroom, placing it into the laundry basket.

A sip from your water bottle enlivens you, before a noise beside interrupts your train of thoughts.

Minho—without making a noise—holds his phone right in front of your face.

“What’s this?”

On the screen, there is an app for some food delivery service.

“My phone, duh. Order whatever you want,” he tells you.

“Whatever I want?”

You look at him with confused eyes. This is the first time that Minho isn’t cooking in this house.

Not that you care.

“Yeah, so you can’t say that I want to poison you,” he says, rolling his eyes.

For someone that is about to beg for your forgiveness, he is extraordinarily bratty.

“Fine.”

Snatching his device out of his hand—while accidentally brushing over his fingers, of course—you start scrolling. This company has basically everything imaginable to offer.

“Sushi?”

Minho nods, letting you choose whatever you want to eat. He clicks on his favourites next, before paying online. A few minutes of silence pass by, filled with you chugging down the rest of your water and checking your phone for messages—without any success.

“Y/N?”

His voice startles you for some reason—probably because you’re so fucking exhausted but your brain that is currently trying to deal with all the piled up anger makes Minho responsible for that.

“Hm?”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Sure,” you say, avoiding eye contact. “Will be easier to be in a room together with you that way.”

Minho doesn’t answer. He simply walks towards the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of whiskey. You slightly turn around, watching how he’s mixing the beverages for you. You believe he doesn’t notice you ogling his moves but he’s pretty aware of your staring. Minho notices everything.

Once he’s finished, he grabs both glasses and comes back to you. The weight of the sofa shifts underneath you, when he sinks down on his seat.

“Here you are,” Minho says, handing you your drink.

You take a sip from the beverage, immediately realising it’s your original creation. Sugar, honey, ice and black tea on a whiskey base.

It makes you smile a little.

It gives you confidence, too.

Not because of the alcohol but because of the familiarity it grants you. Maybe now is the right time to ask something that’s been occupying your mind since yesterday. Minho should speak about what happened three years ago once the food is here, so you won’t get interrupted.

After all, the betrayal is not all that’s on your mind. With Jisung unexpectedly having to leave yesterday, more and more questions are popping up inside your head.

So, you start with the most urgent one.

“Were you here when the SWAT team arrived?”

There’s surprise on his face. If he’s honest, Minho didn’t expect you to start a conversation and for sure he didn’t think you’d blurt this straight out. 

“I was… yes,” he confesses. “Everything happened quite fast, less than two minutes. I was paralysed, to be honest. Didn’t realise for over an hour, haven’t fully grasped it yet.”

Fuck. That must have been horrible. You’re kind of glad now you weren’t there. Jisung’s shock on his face is something you wouldn’t be able to forget about. The fear. The utmost fear that both of them must have felt at this moment.

Another thing comes up in your trail of thoughts. You could break your little heart with it. But you need to know.

“What– did… Jisung say anything?”

Minho takes a deep breath. His gaze finds you, before he looks away again. He turns his head around, his eyes fixated on yours once more. His own seem a little glassy but this could also be caused by the dim lights in the living room.

“‘Take care of her’.”

You break out into tears then. Similarly to yesterday. You weren’t even prepared for this to happen. The salty droplets are crashing down your cheeks, ruining your makeup.

“Y/N– I–“

Minho is so unsure what he should do right now. Of course, he could try to hug you. It worked yesterday. But just when he’s about to do so, you lash out, holding him back from doing so.

“I hate this,” you scream, sobbing interrupting your own words, “I hate everything. I hate you, Minho.”

His eyes close on their own. Fuck. How’s he supposed to take care of this mess of a situation?

He completely gets it. He gets that you’re mad at him. More than that. It’s not just about what happened three years ago, it’s also the fact that you're stuck with him, that he was the one to tell you where Jisung was is now—probably turning him into the devil himself, although he just brought those news to you.

“I understand,” he says with a soft voice. “You have every reason to be mad for what pain I caused in the past but I am only the deliverer of the message now.”

You look up at him, your own sentence getting stuck in your throat. Minho uses his chance to continue, “I know a ‘sorry’ won’t make anything better. It will neither let the anger, the hurt, the stress nor the pain you’re in and that Chan was or still is in because of me vanish away. I am aware that the damage is done, that there are too many shards of glass that can’t be repaired.”

When you notice how sincere but at the same time broken his voice is, you direct your view towards him again. Listening to the softness helps you calm down a bit and so do his words.

“If I were able to, I would have handled the situation differently. I regret it. I want you to know this. You don’t ever have to forgive me but whenever you’re ready, I’d like to explain the background and circumstances to you. But you don’t owe me that.”

You nod, seriously at a loss for words.

“Okay.”

He sighs and takes a deep breath. You’re looking right into his eyes, searching for any signs of untruth but—at least for now—you don’t seem to find any.

“Also, I am sure you don’t hate me. At least I hope so. You’re just saying this because you hit rock bottom. That is fine. But I promised you I will be here. We will get through this together. This is what Jisung wants.”

He’s got a point. Another tear crawls down your face but this time Minho is fast to reach for a tissue and swipe it away.

“You’re… you’re right, yeah.” You take a deep breath, kind of calming down again. But your heartbeat quickens when another question makes it to your head. “Can I ask you more regarding the current situation first?”

Minho nods, “Of course. Whatever you want, Y/N.”

“Do you know why… why they arrested him?”

“I don’t know much,” he says. “The detectives asked me earlier, when you were outside for a couple of hours. They mentioned a website called C.Drugs.”

C.Drugs. That sounds very familiar.

“So—like J.Drugs?” You ask. “Just a different letter? And this makes him suspicious? Wouldn’t it be dumb to use almost the same name again?”

Minho immediately nods. He doesn’t get it either. Of course, Jisung is a hint at that—but he was never officially accused of owning J.Drugs nor is that a reason to instantly arrest him.

It just feels like a big déja-vu again, as if the cops are just trying to find someone to call them guilty so that they can close the case. 

However, this still doesn’t explain why they went for Jisung at the first try.

Unless… someone sent anonymous messages that make Jisung the suspect this time.

You don’t want to think that it was Chan. You really don’t. But when Minho talks further, you can’t get rid of those ideas.

“It’s absolutely dumb to use the same name. Maybe it’s a hint at Chan, I don’t know.”

You don’t want Chan to be behind this. Neither the website itself nor accusing your husband. Although he would have a motive to do so.

But you’re not ready yet to believe this.

“I– I don’t think so.”

It can’t be Chan. He’s getting better now. He’s like a whole new person, positively speaking. He’s growing, he’s healing. He even wants you to heal. So why would he destroy everything he’s built?

Apart from that, he’s extremely busy and doesn’t even have the skills to create a website like this. You are sure he isn’t the owner and you want to be convinced that he didn’t send anonymous accusations either.

“Didn’t you say he’s not someone you expect to be a criminal?”

Minho chuckles and you join him, “I mean… Chan called his stupid gang like some classical Austrian musician when he literally had the chance to choose Banggang instead. What a lame dude.”

You let out a loud snicker. You’re okay with the conversation drifting away. It’s good to talk about mundane things for once. Although you’re still unsure if you will ever be able to forgive Minho’s betrayal, you feel a little safer in his presence.

“But then again,” Minho continues, waking you up and bringing you back to reality, “I had to convince Jisung to call his gang Levanter.”

“What was his idea?”

Considering the fact that college Jisung called his online drug business J.Drugs already makes you assume he didn’t have the greatest idea for his criminal group either.

“Monsoon,” Minho says.

“So… just another wind?”

“Well, Levanter is a hint to the Mediterranean Sea because of our time together in Albania,” he explains.

“And he went to India?”

Not that you knew of.

“Jisung was a die hard Tokio Hotel fan in highschool.”

Your mouth falls agape, before you let out an obnoxious laugh. Minho tries everything to hold back a giggle but he fails miserably when he thinks back to that time. Just the thought of back then emo!jisung makes him stroll down memory lane.

“No way,” you say.

“Yup. He still has a poster in our headquarters, hidden behind the shelves of the storage room.”

That… that storage room you had sex in? When he fucked you right against said shelf?

A ring from the doorbell awakens you from your thoughts and Minho is fast to bring the food inside. He prepares everything in front of you, telling you to not move a centimetre until he’s done.

You reach for your meal, realising soon that it’s one of the best sushi you’ve had in a while which makes eating way easier now. You manage to get full—Minho ordered a lot of food—and get up to bring the wrappings to the bin, before you are stopped again. Minho stands up instead, taking care of everything, as he disappears in the kitchen. After that, he mixes another drink for the both of you, placing the glasses on the couch table right next to the cheesecake to snack later.

You take a sip from your drink, feeling the sugary-smoky taste ignite on your tongue. It brings back familiarity and comfort. For once it’s enough to carefully approach that topic that still needs to be discussed.

“Minho?”

You’re ready now to talk about everything. You feel safe enough and you need to know why he did what he did.

“Yeah?”

“If you want you can explain it to me now, tell me what happened three years ago and what your intentions were,” you say.

A smile immediately makes it to his face.

“Thank you.”

Minho takes another sip as well, telling himself it’ll give him a bit of confidence and courage. However, he swears he can still feel his heart basically pumping out of his chest.

“I didn’t call the cops on Chan. Well, not entirely,” Minho starts.

Well. That is a new thesis. You wonder what the plot twist is, then.

“As you may know, I have some connections to some police officers, the whole gang does by now, that’s why Wooyoung warned us about the raid. Back then, I knew that the cops found out about J.Drugs and for… reasons including that I didn’t want my… best friend to end up in jail, I sent an anonymous hint that it’s Chan’s website,” he explains.

You attentively nod while listening to his monologue, taking another sip of your drink from time to time. The alcohol isn’t necessarily getting to your head, but you feel a little less stressed with it.

“The SWAT team was gonna get into the apartment anyway,” he says, referring to the situation three years ago, “this couldn’t have been prevented… and Chan and I… we kinda have a weird history, so–“

“That thing in high school?”

You remember—a few months ago when being in Chan’s secret office—when Minho revealed that he was responsible for the cops going after him, your best friend mentioned something about their time in school together. He said that Minho is mad about something that happened back then. Nearly ten years ago.

“Yeah… well, it’s a combination of things,” Minho starts but doesn’t know how to go further.

“Elaborate?”

He nods, a little shyly and you swear you’ve never seen fear on Minho’s face before. “Well, the biggest part is that he slept with a girl Jisung had a crush on… and he knew about it and still did that.”

Your heart stings a little knowing that Jisung somehow has always competed with his older friend. The insecurities make a lot more sense now and you feel awful for sleeping with his enemy although your husband told you it’s fine. You fear that it was just some type of defense mechanism.

“He was young, dumb and drunk,” Minho explains. “Although this doesn’t excuse shit. But I didn’t think much of him before either, this rather only proved my assumptions.”

“Why… didn’t you like him?”

You see that both men are pretty different. It’s not a surprise they weren’t friends but you deliberate what the cause for his disliking could be.

“He… kinda took Jisung away from me,” Minho says, his voice getting smaller.

Took him away from him?

That sounds like the toxic wording Chan used to choose whenever he referred to Jisung and your relationship. Weird.

“But you were best friends throughout your whole high school time? How can he take him away from you? You weren’t his partner after all,” you say, raising your eyebrows in confusion.

“No, I wasn’t… but…”

Does he perhaps talk about a deeper connection than just friendship?

“Min?”

He awkwardly chuckles, “God, this is so weird and embarrassing telling you of all people about this.”

“What do you mean– oh.”

“Yup,” he lets out.

“You had a crush on Jisung?”

“You can word it like that,” Minho admits.

“O-Okay…”

“Does that… make you uncomfortable?”

“No, I just didn’t expect it,” you confess.

It doesn’t make you uncomfortable at all. However, now that you’re thinking further, it makes sense that they are so close—at least from Minho’s side. You wonder if anything serious has ever happened between them but you don’t want to push further for now.

Apart from that, this isn’t what the current conversation is about.

Minho has a motive for revenge. This isn’t rational but emotionally speaking, you understand it. On an imaginable forgiveness-scale you wander towards the man in front of you.

You get it. You really do. Thinking back to the advice Gahyeon gave you once, you contemplate if you maybe would have done the same. Probably you wouldn’t have but you can still understand that for a person like Minho, who values loyalty the highest, snatching away someone’s (future) girlfriend is a dealbreaker.

It’s the same with your view on dishonesty. If someone was lying to you, maybe you wouldn’t be able to control yourself either if the chance was given.

Apart from that, there’s more that Minho wants to add.

“There’s another reason,” he says.

“Hm?”

“I had another reason to send those anonymous, false hints,” your roommate adds.

“What is it?”

“Jisung told me about… about the thing going on with you back then… I was already living in Albania by that time but we were still in touch, you know?”

That is a bit weird now. Especially if you think back to when both Jisung and you were dumb cowards, too shy to confess despite the mutual feeling. You wonder how much intimate stuff your husband has shared with Minho. It’s not that you mind—Gahyeon knows a lot as well—but you’re getting curious.

God, Y/N. This is not the focus of this discussion. Get it together.

“And when he told me,” Minho continues, “that Chan and you… that you kissed and you ended things with him a day later—Jisung assumed it was because you wanted to be with Chan—I nearly lost it. It just proved the past again.”

Shit. That makes a lot more sense now. For Minho, it looked pretty dark—as if Chan was trying to steal Jisung’s crush again. You know that your husband told your best friend about his feelings back then. He told you. As well as that Jisung knew how Chan feels about you.

He said that Jisung should go for it but with you ending the thing the day after, it could have looked as if you chose Chan instead.

For fuck’s sake. Why were you such a coward?

“So, one and a half months later, I got that hint because I bribed the police. I had already had my very specific connections. I wanted to save Jisung… I wanted to save you, too, because I know how much you mean to him. Therefore, I put the blame on Chan. I knew you were part of J.Drugs too, so…”

Save you?

“Why save me? Because of Jisung? I’m sure they wouldn’t have tracked my connection to the shop,” you say with a soft smile.

It’s kind of cute that Minho wanted to protect you too despite not knowing you. It just shows how important Jisung is to him and you value his sacrifice that still used to look like betrayal half an hour ago.

“The police was after you, as well.”

Your face paralyses.

What?

How were they after you, too? You were always so cautious with your evidence and by that time you didn’t even live there anymore.

How could that happen?

You feel your heart beating with no end and as if this wasn’t already enough, you connect to other dots inside your head.

Minho saved you.

He saved you by calling the cops on Chan. He betrayed Chan so that you don't end up in jail. Well—betrayal is relative now that you know they weren't even friends to begin with.

Fuck.

Minho saved you.

Minho fucking saved you from God knows how many years of prison. You are able to believe now that he didn’t think this alternative strategy through. It’s understandable that he thought if they go after picture perfect Chan they would just drop the case. This is how the detectives are in this city, which is proven by the fact that Minho has such good connections. What a bunch of corrupt assholes.

“Thank you for your honesty, Min,” you let out.

“Y-You believe me?”

He would have never expected this. The huge weight is finally dropping off his shoulders.

“Yes. Thank you for saving me despite not even knowing me. I seriously don’t know how to thank you,” you add with the softest voice.

“No need to thank me. You automatically mean a lot to me because of Jisung.”

You smile and he copies your mimics.

But your expression falls when your thoughts start running at lightning speed again.

Given that information and the fact that Chan doesn’t know anything of that—maybe it makes it plausible that your best friend is now the one to get his slice of revenge.

“Do you really think Chan could be behind it? That C.Drugs thing?”

“Maybe,” Minho says. “Perhaps he wanted the SWAT team to get me instead of Jisung, I don’t know… But I don’t want to accuse him without any evidence. It’s the most plausible idea we have for now, though.”

The room gets filled with silence for a minute, you just leave his explanations as it is. You don’t want to think that Chan could be behind it. However, it indeed does make the most sense for now—combined with the website’s name being C.Drugs. You should definitely have a look at it later.

When you bring your gaze back to the man in front of you, you notice him contemplating more.

“What’s on your mind, Min?”

Fuck. That nickname is gonna drive him absolutely crazy anytime soon. But he has to focus on something else now. Something that isn’t your sweet voice or your big eyes looking at him, now that you’re getting closer again, building up that trust how it used to be.

Focus, Minho.

“I am just so annoyed that we didn’t know about the raid this time.” He lets his head fall back in annoyance. “Haechan that bastard…”

“Who is… Haechan?” you ask.

“My police contact,” he explains. “The dude I bribe all the time—he was the one to tell me three years ago that they were both after you and Jisung. He also let Wooyoung know about that raid a few months ago. But this time he didn’t tell me, so either he didn’t know or that fucker just took the money and left.”

Fuck. Whatever the reason is, it’s too late now and once again shows that no one of you is safe from getting legal punishment for the crimes you do.

“Shit…”

“Yeah,” Minho adds, biting his lower lip. You catch a glimpse of it and it lets ideas rise up to your head that you shouldn’t have right now. “You had an idea too, Y/N?”

Minho does indeed notice everything.

“Maybe we can have a look at the website,” you suggest.

“Good idea.”

He walks towards the office room and comes back with his laptop. In the process, Minho wakes up both little Lino and Soonie, his own cat. Once he is on the couch again, the two join you, each taking a seat in your lap since Minho’s is occupied by his computer.

“Wait a second,” he says, typing C.Drugs in the Google search bar, incognito mode activated. As well as some other safeties he knows of that you don’t understand but he’s an IT specialist after all.

“Ah, great. It’s not even on the darknet. What a bunch of idiots.”

He clicks on a link then, before a website in bright purple opens on his Firefox browser.

You’re directed towards the home page, bombarded with an animation of pills in every colour of the rainbow floating down the screen. When Minho scrolls further, a little introduction text appears.

So, he decides to read it out loud, “‘Craving some fun? Having a rough week? All you’ve ever wanted can be purchased here’.”

You scoff. This sounds like some wannabe philosopher bullshit you find on any online shopping website. Minho scrolls again and now you’re the one to read out the next part.

“‘No need to worry about personal data being tracked. General information about privacy can be found here’.”

Minho laughs, “Oh, of course. I’d also trust an online drug dealer with my personal data, for sure.” You chuckle as well.

“Is there anything else?”

He reaches the bottom of the homepage and everything you find there is ‘Buy whatever your heart desires! Inland shipping is free. No reselling allowed.’

Great, no hints. Just bullshit that could be produced by anyone owning an online shopping website. It seems as if little Lino and Soonie are also giving up, as they all of a sudden jump down from your lap, both together running back to the office.

“I can do more research tomorrow. We’re gonna prove that this doesn’t belong to Jisung, okay?”

“You can do this?”

“I am sure. I’ll try my best, kitten,” he promises with a wink.

Kitten. The old Minho is back.

For some reason it makes you a little lightheaded. You want to test the waters, try out some more, tease him a bit and see how he reacts. You’ve always had great chemistry with him and there’s nothing against a little flirting to keep you distracted, right? Apart from that, you remember now how much Jisung encouraged you to make a move on his best friend.

God. This is such an uncommon situation, so not socially accepted but that just makes you more aroused.

“Do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend, Minho?”

He’s surprised at first that you’re randomly asking the question, trying to not read too much into it.

“Nah,” he answers.

“How come?”

“I prefer to focus on work.”

“Hacking business men?”

He nods, his eyes finding your own, “Hm. Doing God’s work needs lots of time, kitten.”

Fuck. That petname is gonna drive you crazy anytime soon.

Maybe it’s the atmosphere—trust being built again, a great meal helping you relax with a couple of drinks without feeling that tipsy.

But you want to try more.

“I’ve never known that you have a tattoo similar to Jisung’s,” you say after taking a closer look at Minho’s neck.

“We share a lot of similar ones,” he explains.

“I mean this one in specific,” you add, grazing over the playing card of a club’s king. Minho feels his heart skip a beat, as a shiver runs down his spine.

You have two similar ones—freshly inked, the ace and queen version of it. Maybe he will find out at some point, who knows. After all, yours are still hidden under your clothes.

“Oh,” you say when you spot another one, “you’ve got a scorpio tattoo, too. I’m not surprised. You are into astrology, aren’t you?”

“Rather for the fun of it, I must admit,” he chuckles.

“You’ve got more?”

He does. Plenty of them. He wonders what your intentions are, you’ve already seen his tattoos. Minho knows you find him attractive—you’ve told him before and acted upon it. He’s also aware that Jisung allowed you to feel as free as you want in his presence.

And, maybe, in the trouble of everything that’s going on, a little intimacy could help focus on something else for some time.

At least you think so, unholy thoughts crawling into your head of how Minho’s hands felt all over you, how passionately he kissed you, how he manhandled you and roughly pounded into you.

The man in front of you is nothing better, sinful thoughts occupying his mind now of how your lips felt against his, how you moaned and begged him for more, how you came around his cock.

“Hm. I have more,” he says with a smirk. “Under my sweater.”

He clicks his tongue and you giggle.

“Can you show me?”

He can’t withstand the pout and he doesn’t even want to, “You sure, kitten?”

It’s always as if you’re communicating on another level with him. You’ve observed the same between Minho and Jisung before and maybe it’s just the effect your husband’s best friend has.

“Min, I’ve seen you like this before. I’m just curious.”

Painfully slowly, he reaches for the hem of his sweater, pulling it over his head. You take in every centimetre of his skin that he is for now revealing to you.

“They’re beautiful,” you say, as your eyes roam over all the little artworks.

All of a sudden, Minho reaches for your hips and hovers you into his lap.

“You have a better look that way,” he says, his voice turning deeper.

It’s absolutely cheap and easy—the way you both shamelessly flirt with each other.

Your fingers are brushing over the details of the tattoos, granting some attention to as many as you’re able to. Minho’s chest is muscular and so are his arms, just as you remember. But this time it isn’t as rushed, you are able to take in everything.

“Sure you don’t like me?” he asks, mouth slightly agape when you look at him, the tip of his tongue meeting his upper teeth.

Fuck. You can already feel yourself getting even more lightheaded, legs getting wobbly, as a familiar sensation starts pooling between them.

Minho catches up on it, as he repositions you, as you’re now straddling only one of his thighs. The muscle flexes, creating a sensation right where you might need him the most. As if you’re on autopilot and caused by his hands finding your waist, you slowly start grinding on top of him, gaze fixated on his.

“I don’t like you,” you bluff and Minho knows you’re lying, he can tell by that bratty smirk on your face.

His thigh tenses again, as you let out an uncontrolled moan—the friction is driving you insane, the different fabrics rubbing against your clit making you all dizzy.

“Hm, but I clearly remember how much you liked having my dick inside you and my cum all over your tits,” he whispers into your ear, before he starts placing kisses underneath—wandering down your jawline to your neck.

“I can differentiate between that,” you whimper, mostly trying to convince yourself.

He chuckles.

“How about you prove that first and then I’ll see if I’ll believe you, hm?”

You don’t answer but kiss him instead and Minho would be an idiot to not return it. His hands wander towards your face now, keeping you a little in place. He is the one to initiate the next stage, as you open your mouth and welcome his tongue in.

Your grinding motions continue, as you feel the build up in your lower stomach, making your head all dizzy. Minho lets his thigh tense again, earning another one of those cute little whimpers from you.

And it does dangerous things to his head, it allows ideas to make it into his mind that he’s only ever dreamed of. However, from what he knows about you or believes to know, he decides to propose that idea that he’s had since you’ve first allowed him to touch you.

He’s sure you’ll like it. After all, it’s not a secret that you like risky situations, the possibility of being watched drives you insane from time to time. So, if there’s an opportunity to combine all that with the sick fantasies Minho has, he’s happy to share them with you.

You let out a whine, when he pulls away.

“I’ve got an idea, kitten,” Minho whispers, pushing a strand of your hair out of your face.

“What is it, Min?” you ask, looking at him with awaiting eyes.

“You have to promise that you’re not drunk, though,” he adds.

You instantly shake your head, “I’m not. Basically sober. Promise.”

“Good.” His eyes travel down to your lips, making their way to your curves, the image of your naked body right back again. Fuck. He’s just gotta ask. If you decline, that’s fine, too.

“We could… make a movie… use it as a little gift for your husband.”

Porn isn’t any taboo subject in your relationship and marriage with Jisung. To be precise, it happens quite often that you both get off to videos together—either the ones you added to your shared account on some platform or a personal sex tape starring him and you as the protagonists.

But Minho’s idea connects different, deeper desires your husband has. The sheer thought makes you start grinding over Minho’s thigh again, in hopes to get some friction.

And it awakens fantasies that are slumbering inside you, too.

“I won’t record your face or anything,” Minho intervenes when he sees you contemplating. “Only if you feel comfortable, of course.”

“I feel comfortable. You can record my face,” you say. “God… why does this turn me on?”

It’s a little embarrassing, you must admit, but when you see the excitement on Minho’s face and think about the sheer idea of how Jisung reacts, once he watches that little homemade movie made exclusively for him, you can practically feel how soaked your underwear is getting, pussy walls clenching around nothing.

“Because you’re a huge exhibitionist, kitten,” Minho teases.

“I can’t contradict that, to be honest.”

A few minutes later, you’re right back where you left off—despite the fact that your shirt has made it on the floor as well, thrown on top of Minho’s. He’s found the two tattoos now, smirking to himself. After that, the man is ripping your bra off, not caring about destroying the material and neither do you, when you’re so absolutely hungry for more.

In the blink of an eye, the kisses on your neck wander further south, as Minho helps you crawl closer, so he’s able to attach his mouth to your breasts. His face disappears between them for a second, the memory of your tits covered in his cum making everything harder for him. Quite literally.

You’re still riding his thigh, trying to get some friction, before he manhandles you around again. In one swift motion, he grabs you by your legs, placing you on the sofa, your back hitting the soft cushion underneath. Now on top of you, he gets back to where he was, rough kisses and bites all over your chest, before his mouth finds its way to one of your sensitive buds.

A moan slips out of you—not that you’re doing anything to prevent it—while Minho guides his hand over your stomach, going further until he’s right between your legs. He doesn’t even hesitate, fingers disappearing inside your sweatpants, knowing that’s exactly what you need by now.

He can tell, especially when he feels how wet your panties have become, arousal practically dripping through the lace fabric. He lets out a grunt, sensing his own pants getting uncomfortably tight.

“Look at how fucking drenched you are, kitten,” he whispers. “For me, huh?”

“You wished, Minho,” you tease back.

He simply chuckles, before he flicks his tongue over your nipple again.

“Fuck– oh, God,” you cry out.

“You can call me Minho, that’s alright.”

“You little–“

“Shut it, brat,” he warns you, pulling his hand out of your pants again. “Or I’ll have you address me differently.”

“Yeah?”

Fuck. He’ll be losing the last bit of sanity soon. Your duality is insane.

“Awww, don't tell me you’d like that?”

“Depends on the name, sir,” you say.

You know this is exactly what he asked for, when he finally frees you from the rest of your clothes, pulling both your sweatpants and underwear down at once.

“Spread your legs for me, pretty,” he orders and you do as you’re told.

This is when your mind goes blank. A string of saliva hits you, absolutely useless considering how wet you are. Still, Minho uses it, to spread it all over your clit with two of his fingers, before his tongue takes the place.

He starts with kitten licks. Indescribably slowly. Circling right around your bundle of nerves now, just to rile you up.

“Stop teasing…”

“I don’t care, baby,” he huffs. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

And he does. His mouth is making out with your clit, basically drowning in the essence of your pussy. Two fingers are swirling around your hole, threatening to be pushed inside—just what you’re impatiently waiting for.

“Sir– please–“

He chuckles against your wetness, desperately trying to ignore the tightness in his pants. “Look at you… needy little thing begging for more, huh?” 

You let out another whine but this time he gives in, pushing the two digits in with no warning. Your walls immediately clench around him and once you’ve adjusted to the feeling, he starts pumping them in and out.

“You look so pathetic like this, kitten,” he mocks you.

But you’re already far gone, waiting for him to finally make the next move. You need him. All of him. Now.

“Sir–“

“Yeah, kitten?” he asks, seeing the pout on your face. You look back at him—a stunning view being granted to your eyes with how he’s hiding between your legs.

But as much as you enjoy it, it isn’t enough.

“Please– need more–“

“What do you need? Come on, be more specific. I know you can do it,” he encourages you.

Minho gets up now, kneeling down at the other side of the sofa. Soothing circles can be felt on your upper thighs, a non-verbal way of praising you.

“Need you inside me, sir,” you confess.

“Sure you don’t want me to stretch you more, darling?”

“Just make it fit,” you hiss.

He chuckles then, before he gets up to pull his pants and underwear down. His pretty cock springs free, making your mouth water. Fuck. The anticipation is practically killing you by now.

But before he positions himself between your legs again, Minho reaches towards the couch table and picks up his phone.

“Colour?” he asks, his voice a little more serious now.

“Green.”

He nods, before he opens his camera app and starts filming. The device stays in one of his hands, creating a video in ego-perspective.

“Pretty little slut wants to get fucked, hm?” he asks. His other hand is busy stroking his length, but the centre of the video is you, spreading your legs for Minho and waiting for him to push his dick inside you.

“N-Need it…”

He gets a bit closer, adjusting your position so he can keep his balance. You feel the tip of his hardened cock teasing your entrance, wandering up to brush over your clit from time to time. Minho manages to capture that shot perfectly.

“I’m gonna fuck you dumb, kitten,” is all he says, before the first few centimetres of his length disappear inside you. He waits until you're ready, softly massaging your inner thighs, a soft smile being sent your way.

You nod a little later, telling him to keep going. Minho decides to start with a slower pace, watching how that begging expression appears on your face again. That’s when he picks up his speed. He opts for placing your legs on top of his shoulders, knowing this is exactly what you need right now and what your husband will enjoy watching.

Apart from that, it allows him to shove his cock even deeper inside you, hitting a very specific spot at that angle, never stopping to thrust into you. Your mind has turned off a long time ago and in the back of your head you’re glad about it—finally being able to focus on something else than all the stuff that’s going on.

And when you open your eyes again, meeting Minho’s darkened gaze, you know you won’t be able to hold back for that long anymore.

“Couldn’t even go a day without getting your cunt filled, hm? Are you that desperate?”

God. The degradation is doing something to and for you. Sure, Jisung has used language like this with you before but never to such an insane extent. You’ve underestimated the effect it would have on you, bringing you closer to your awaiting relief, quicker than anything else.

“Fuck– ‘s good,” you cry out, since that’s all that makes it past your lips. You’re rolling your eyes to the back of your head again, allowing Minho to rail you into oblivion.

“Look how your tight little pussy swallows my dick,” he says, placing his hand on your lower stomach, right on top of the bulge he’s creating there.

“Y-You’re so good at this,” you praise him and Minho instantly feels his head spinning, cock twitching inside you because of the compliment. “Need to– can’t–“

Minho knows exactly what you’re referring to, after all, he can very much feel your walls clenching around him.

“Beg for it, kitten. Beg for it like the good whore you are, hm?”

You let out a wine, before a chain of ‘please’, ‘sir’ and ‘let me cum’ follows, your sniffles filling the room from how good he’s making you feel.

So, Minho brings two of his fingers right between your legs, playing with your clit, until he drives you over the edge. He helps you get through it, watching your legs shake and moan after moan slip from your mouth, when that intense feeling takes over your body and soul—all while the camera stays on, directed right at you.

The man inside you slows down for a moment, before you tell him to keep going. You want to milk him dry, that’s for sure.

And Minho is closer than he thinks he is—when your cunt tightens around him another time, he feels himself twitching again, which is why he pulls out. You change your position a little, on your knees now, eyes looking directly into the camera this time, instead of at the man who’s kneeling above you, stroking his length to completion.

Hot white spurts of cum land on your face and tongue first, before your tits and stomach get covered in his juices, too.

“You’re such a good girl,” Minho adds, before turning off the video.

He lays the phone aside, before placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “You were so good for me, baby.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach but you decide to ignore them for now. Minho is already getting up from the sofa, coming back with a wet towel a moment later. He takes care of you, puts you into fresh clothes, helps you get ready for bed and makes you drink another glass of water.

Less than half an hour later, you find yourself in your bedroom with him. You’re already under the covers, while Minho is lying on top of them. He’s caressing your cheeks, watching how you’re finally getting a little drowsy. He hopes you will be able to fall asleep tonight.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask, when you realise that Minho is thinking about something.

You seem to notice a lot, too.

“He’s never told you, hm?”

“Told me what?”

Minho takes a deep breath. He knows that your husband will be fine with you knowing about it, he’s talked about it with Minho before—which makes him wonder why the younger one hasn’t mentioned it in front of you before.

“You know that Jisung and I shared partners before, right?”

“Yeah. I don’t have a problem with that,” you say, confused where the conversation is going.

“I know,” Minho adds. “But has he told you that things happened between him and me when it was just us two?”

Oh. Well, it doesn’t necessarily surprise you. After all, you’ve wanted to ask Minho about that possibility, too. 

You’re not jealous by any means. You know they have a special connection, after all. But—it is a bit weird you’re only finding out about it now, right?

Is there a chance this has been going on while you were already back together with him?

“During… during my relationship with him?”

Minho sees the slight fear in your eyes.

“Oh, no,” he reassures you. “We stopped when he met you again. It was more casual, anyway. But he means a lot to me, you know? That’s why it was so important for me that he finds a partner that I get along with, too.”

“Ah—this is what you call ‘getting along’?”

“Hm, maybe a little more than that, kitten,” he chuckles, pulling you closer to him.

“Don’t fall in love with me, Min,” you half-jokingly say.

He doesn’t answer this time, his thoughts already drifting off but he blames it on his tiredness.

“Stay here?”

“Huh?”

“Will you sleep here, too? So that we’re not alone,” you suggest.

“Sure.”

💊

It’s a little after midnight when Minho wakes up with a dry throat. He has never slept well when drinking and when his head has been occupied with a bunch of things. Turning around, he finds you deep in your slumber, which is why he tries his best to be as quiet as possible when he gets up.

Once he’s in the kitchen, he pours himself a glass of water, chugging it down in one go. His growling stomach announces itself a little later, so he cuts off a slice of the cheesecake he made this morning. Minho sinks down on the couch, opening his laptop and turning it on.

He always needs some YouTube video or a random show on Netflix to watch while eating. Little Lino and Soonie find him then, as he is snacking on the dessert and drinking some more. A cat documentary seems just fitting, so he opts for that.

Until his computer receives a massive warning message.

(1) INTRUDER: CB97

“The fuck is this?” Minho mumbles to himself.

His firewall is always safe—how can someone hack into his system? And who the fuck dares to do that?

Hitting a few buttons, Minho does what he always does and fights back with the same weapons—entering the attacker’s webcam, starting a little video in the background just to make sure he has evidence of whatever that person is up to.

It takes him a few minutes to regain power over the system and once his computer notifies him what the intruder did, which files they had access to, his heart starts beating out of his chest.

Especially when he watches the video that was created for safety reasons.

💊

“Changbin… I need to protect her. You don’t get it.”

He’s been trying to convince his older friend to not be a total idiot for the past half an hour now but Chan doesn’t seem as if he wants to listen.

“You should finally move on, man,” the other one sighs.

He hates seeing his leader like this. It’s nothing new—Chan has been whining about his love for you basically since they met but it’s getting too much for Changbin.

He understands that it's not easy getting over you. He’s interacted with you, too, and he can’t deny that you’re alluring, probably one of the most attractive people he’s ever seen. Combined with Chan’s deep connection of a friendship that turned into more at some point it’s valid that he can’t get over you in the blink of an eye.

However, there’s a difference between trying to let those feelings go or just digging deeper. The boss is currently doing the latter, trying to convince his friend to help him with his little superhero mission he assigned himself to.

“None of your business,” Chan spits.

He needs to know more about Jisung and why he’s arrested. Especially after the police tried to ask him questions connected to your husband and Chan declined, telling them he doesn’t have to answer since he’s his doctor in order to protect him and you. But for some reason, it feels odd. He’s wondering how they found Jisung and what he did this time—considering he has never been caught before.

This must be something serious, then.

Fuck. What if he’s involved in anything beyond drug dealing and fraud?

Of course, by selling cocaine they all automatically have blood on their hands, considering where it’s coming from. Chan’s gang does the same but that’s all there is, from what he knows. 

But what if Jisung goes further than this? Like, pure violence? What if Levanter also does human trafficking? Maybe… fuck… maybe in the worst case even including you? What if he just lured you into this relationship–

Stop it, Chan. Calm down.

But he just has to be sure this isn’t the case.

And if he wakes up to that idea being reality, he needs to rescue you as fast as possible.

A shiver runs down his spine at the thought of you being in pure danger. It’s hypocritical—he knows that, somewhere in the back of his mind. Yes, Chan’s men kidnapped you when you were here and locked you into some storage room, but this can’t be compared to the possible cruelty Jisung might be capable of.

This isn’t even about you being married to his enemy. It’s more than this. This could be about life and death.

Okay, slow down, Chan. Worrying is suffering twice, so stop overthinking. Calm the fuck down.

Emotions are in his way, he has to think more rationally now if he wants to make sure you’re okay.

Perhaps, Changbin can be convinced that he may at least have a look at it, hack into Jisung’s wifi and some device, look for a bit of evidence and that’s it. Just for his own state of mind. He won’t be able to sleep tonight, otherwise.

It’s already past midnight and he can’t picture himself falling asleep anytime soon, if he doesn’t get that worst case scenario out of his head.

“Are you helping me now or?”

His friend rolls his eyes. It’s useless. Chan just won’t give up and considering how stubborn he obviously can get, he decides to just give in. Fuck it. Chan will see where it gets him. He will not be over you and his stupid little feelings anytime soon if he just digs deeper and deeper.

“Sure, sure. Felix will do the job for you,” Changbin says, rolling his eyes but Chan ignores it.

Like—hasn’t he thought this through? Even if he doesn’t find something serious, there could be wedding pictures or God knows what on Jisung’s computer. Chan’s mental state is still too fragile to cope with this.

Nevertheless, Changbin decides to just leave Chan to his own naivety. A minute later, the freckled boy enters the office instead. He doesn’t ask Chan further, although he wants to. Changbin has shared enough about the dilemma connected to you. Felix has to be honest—he has always thought something was off with you. It’s still hilarious he met you in that club, unaware you’re his leader’s best friend and love of his life.

But besides you being mad at him for obvious reasons, he doesn’t like you, either. Maybe because of the impact you—unintentionally—have on Chan and, he has to be honest here, it’s a thorn in his side that you’re part of the same gang as Hyunjin is.

Felix pushes those unnecessary thoughts aside and gets back to his task. It doesn’t take him long to do what Chan asks him for. Once everything is set and done, he gives his boss a small smile and leaves him alone, disappearing outside the room.

God. Chan’s heart is already pumping out of his chest, threatening to explode. He gets second guesses now. Not just because of the worries if he will be able to watch whatever horrors he finds but it’s also another betrayal of trust. Just now that he’s getting better, now that this friendship with you is getting better, too.

But he can’t risk that. If Jisung is doing even the slightest harm to you, he needs to act now. He promised to always protect you.

Felix has prepared everything for him. He doesn’t know whose device it is that he’s logged into. Firefox is still open, showing a blank page on Google. The browser history seems to be removed, though. Chan opens a folder on the desktop next. 

There’s a lot of data everywhere and it’s a bit overwhelming. Fuck. Felix also told him to hurry up, in case Jisung’s computer gets aware of the intruder so Chan has no time to lose.

He decides to just sort the files by last added and ends up stumbling over a video that is a good amount of minutes long. Maybe it’s some evidence regarding the arrest. This could be a first try.

Chan doesn’t know what he’s getting into—still, he opens and starts it.

And he regrets it. So much.

For several reasons.

Mostly for his own remaining piece of sanity as well as the fact that he shouldn’t be watching this.

There in front of his eyes is a homemade porn video, a sextape, to be specific. Chan is so overwhelmed that he can’t focus on anything else than the moans bursting through his headphones.

Those noises are too similar to yours. Her body looks exactly the same. The tattoos. Your curves. Your soft skin.

The little pleas. Fuck, those little words begging for more.

Chan instantly feels the rest of the blood in his brain rush down to his cock. Shit. He’s already lost control. This was a stupid fucking idea to hack into Jisung’s computer if this is the first thing he stumbles into.

Your best friend wants to look away. He really does. He knows that this would be the morally correct decision. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you like this before. It’s quite the opposite—Chan has had you underneath him like this as well.

Maybe that’s the issue here. It reminds him too much of those two times you’ve been intimate with him. And the parkour it does to his brain is exhausting. He would recall all the feelings this video lets erupt in his head, if his dick wasn’t doing most of his thinking right now.

Chan doesn’t even notice it at first. But his hand has already made it down to his crotch, palming his growing erection through his sweatpants. There’s nothing he can do against it. It’s so stupid. Especially for his own pathetic heart. But he’s so in trance seeing you like that—mouth slightly agape, tits bouncing to the rhythm of how someone is pounding into you.

And your voice. God, those helpless little whimpers you let out.

But who are you with? Is Chan basically jerking off to some porn video you made with Jisung?

He’s so deep in his current headspace that he’s blurring out all the second guesses, squeezing his length tighter through the fabric of his clothing, whenever a moan slips from your beautiful lips that are in the frame of the video.

Fuck. It’s you. Without a doubt.

He realises, once the camera angle changes a little, showing your full face. Two of your fingers are at your mouth, before you slip them in and suck on them. You look fucked out, just like you did when Chan had you on his sofa, bringing you to your sweet relief over and over again.

Shit. How’s Chan supposed to ever get this image out of his head? He wants to replace your fingers with his cock, just like he did a few months ago here in his office. Fuck. What Chan would do to have you like this again…

Of course, it’s mostly messing with his head. His romantic feelings have always mattered more to him than the pure animalistic lust he experiences when being near you. But it’s been some time since then and he just can’t hold back.

His cock is still in his pants, painfully caged inside the material and it’s uncomfortable pleasuring himself this way. But Chan can’t take his clothing off—first, he’s afraid he might miss even a small moment of this cinema, second, this is where he—for some reason—draws the line.

However, even if Changbin or Felix bursted into his room right now, they would without a doubt understand what is happening. You can see it in Chan’s face—the sweat on his forehead, the lust in his eyes. God. He wishes he was able to stop but he just can’t. He feels like the biggest pervert on this planet.

“Kitten–“

Chan hears the male voice for the first time now but since it’s muffled and he’s way too occupied in watching you and stroking his length through his sweatpants, he neither identifies it nor pays any attention in the first place.

And Chan imagines to be the guy he still thinks is Jisung, when he cums inside his pants.

Post nut clarity hits him sooner than he’s expected, guilty conscience already kicking in. Fuck. He shouldn’t have watched this.

Is it morally wrong to jerk off to the thought of you? Not per se.

It might be dumb regarding his healing process and getting over you, but he knows that you’re both attracted to each other, no matter what happened.

However, is it morally wrong to watch that video in the first place? Absolutely.

Shit. Chan should have clicked off. This isn’t even what he was looking for.

When he gets back from cleaning himself, wearing new clothes now, he sinks back down in his chair, ready to search for what he is actually here for.

Until a noise startles him.

A mail sent to his account.

A video attached to it.

A video taken by his webcam, showing how he’s jerking off to you. Although he wasn’t naked, it’s very much obvious what he was doing here. In the corner, there is the sextape he was watching.

Calm down, Chan. Maybe it’s just some safety thing.

Jisung is an IT specialist, of course he has some defense tactic in case someone hacks into his device and an automatic video is a good idea to track intruders. It was dumb in the first place to hack into his computer without covering his webcam.

However, Chan’s heart almost stops beating when he reads the message.

“Confess to me that you’re the owner of C.Drugs, Bang Chan, or I’ll send this video around—to everyone. Especially to your Y/N. She gave permission to film the video but I am sure she’d be disgusted knowing that you hacked into her private data. What a traitor and pervert you are.”

Shit.

You probably wouldn’t even mind finding out about the fact he jerked off to you. You’ve done the exact same with Chan before, too. But it’s a little different here—this video wasn’t meant to be viewed by him but only your husband.

Apart from that, the person threatened to show this to everyone. His work place. His friends. Possibly the police as evidence that Chan hacked into someone else’s computer.

Fuck.

That’s the thing.

Chan did hack into your laptop, after all. There’s no way he can explain this without sounding like an absolute pervert. Especially towards you. It’s the fact that he was invading your privacy in the first place, messing with your trust.

Chan feels paralysed, unsure what he should do. Changbin was right after all—this was the stupidest idea of the century. Although his intentions were right, he’s crossed your boundaries.

But—who could have sent such a message?

Of course, he first thinks of Jisung.

However, that guy is in jail—unless he planned all this.

That’s too fucked up, right? Even for his enemy.

Unless… he planned this with someone together…

It must be the masterpiece of another member of Levanter.

The first one that crosses his mind is, of course, Minho. It makes the most sense. It all makes sense, to be honest.

That’s it.

A quick search tells him that C.Drugs website is an online shop, similar to the one Jisung and you ran in college.

Did Jisung really send Minho to lay the blame for their illegal activities at the feet of Chan?

Was this all planned? Him finding the video so that he can blackmail him?

Chan feels his chest tightening, knowing that you’re alone there with Minho and already married to Jisung. Although he’s solved the reason for the pre-trial detention now. But what if Levanter is still capable of even worse things?

Of course, Chan has gotten into criminal activities, too. But he can’t be compared to all the shit Jisung and his men did. Wolfgang does a little bit of drug dealing and picket pocketing—at least from what he has known since he became the new leader.

But Levanter—Jisung for sure has some connections to the actual mafia, thanks to his time in Albania. He’s much more dangerous than your best friend is. The earlier suspicions creep back into his head, making him all dizzy.

And Chan knows that he’s no good for you either but what if Jisung is actually the bad guy?

Chan kept quiet about all the accusations against Jisung and defended him when the cops asked him for details. All for nothing.

Just for Jisung and Minho to betray him again.

It seems as if after all these years, true friends still stab you in the front.

❤️ AUTHOR’S NOTE: thank you so much for reading and patiently waiting for so long! I am sorry it took me over 2 months to share the next chapter but it was so much fun working on it again. This is without a doubt my personal favourite of my own stories so I am forever grateful you guys have been enjoying it so far. I dearly hope you liked this part, too. If that's the case I'd be so thankful if you shared your thoughts with me. No matter if keyboard smashes or long essays, every kind comment is always more than appreciated. Thank you so much! Have a nice day and thank you for being here.

© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

part viii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ;

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 13,800 words)

chapter warnings: the usual dynamics and abuse history. reader is harassed at a bar by a handsy man. some fighting. unprotected sex. BDSM dynamics (dom!felix/sub!reader, sadism, masochism, rope bondage, spanking, belting, fear kink).

-

You sleep through most of the afternoon, waking in that bleary, purple hour where evening is unexpectedly creeping into the day.   Felix is not in the room, though the evidence of your lovemaking remains in the mess of your shared bed.  There is also a tender ache between your thighs but it does not register as pain, or at least not as bad.   It is proof of pleasure. 

You touch yourself there, still sleepy but still wanting. 

You listen for Felix.  He is talking in the other room, on the phone with your father.  You slip out of bed and dig around for a shirt, because you don’t want to distract Felix too bad while he is reporting. 

A conversation with your father will no doubt cool him down, more effective than a douse of ice water, but you will not abandon him to that cold.  Never again. 

You wait in the corridor, listening as he mentions your missed class but lying about you having a stomach flu.  He claims he made you rest because you have an important exam in a few days.   He also claims you argued with him, which is convincingly in character for you, but naturally he won this supposed argument so your father has ‘nothing to worry about’. 

You grin, biting your bottom lip, as tender from loving as the rest of you.   

Felix ends the call.  After a moment, he sighs and says, “I know you’re there.” 

You turn the corner.  Felix is sitting in the middle of the couch, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt.  His hair is partially pulled back, a lazy half-bun with the rest in a messy sweep around his neck.  The collar of the shirt does not hide the love bite on his throat, twin to your own. 

Despite his frown, he is sitting with his legs apart, and light sweatpants do very little for hiding anything inside them.   He clears his throat but doesn’t close his legs, just cocks an eyebrow when you meet his gaze.    

You blink oh-so innocently.

“You made me sound like such a good girl,” you say.  “Even I almost believed it.” 

You can see the amusement tugging at his lips.  He pushes his tongue into his cheek. 

“Mmm…” His low voice comes softly.  “But you are a good girl.  When you want to be.”

“When I’m made to be, you mean,” you say. 

You hold his gaze as you approach.  He plays the professional, watching you with a detachment that contradicts the thickening bulge in his sweats.   Your desire is even more obvious, in your eyes and face and the sway of your body. 

You put your hands on his knees and bend over, the collar of your shirt swooping low.  Still, he looks into your eyes and no where else.   A conversation happens there, beneath the surface of your words.  You have often read each other like a book. 

Come with me, you say, and though he does not move, though his body and eyes are rooted, he lets a little fondness run through the fissures of his usual mask.  He finally looks at your lips. 

“Do you tell them?” you ask.  You get down on your knees, face at level with his open thighs.  “When they ask how you get me to behave, how you seem to do it so easily when so many tried and failed…”      

He says your name, darkly coloured with promise.  You both know where this is leading. 

It is not just about the kneeling or the pouting, but that this is you, who has never willingly knelt for even the most dangerous of men.  And when you rest your head on his knee, you are thinking about that, about how it is only for him, exactly as he is.   How he knows every possible way his body could be used to hurt someone.  How he runs a gentle hand across your hair. 

“Sweetheart,” he says.

“Do you tell them how you win our arguments?”  you ask, flicking your gaze from between his legs to his face.  “Or do you leave out the part where you shut me up with your dick in my mouth?” 

His hand drifts down your face and he holds your chin, lifts your head.  He furrows his brow as if he, too, is completely innocent. 

“Shut you up?” he asks.  He presses two fingers at your lips in a patient request.  You open your mouth and take him to the knuckle.  “That doesn’t sound right.”  He lets you tease him, lets you swirl your tongue around his fingers.  He looks at those fingers as he slides them out between your lips and back in again.  “You weren’t quiet this afternoon,” he says.  “Mmm, the opposite even, I think, don’t you?” 

You give him your best glare, to which he laughs, a little huff of amusement. 

“You can hate me,” he says, “if it makes you feel better.” 

He stands and takes his fingers with him, so you chase him with pursed lips.  Your breath catches when he grabs the back of your neck, stopping your pursuit, holding you firmly, safely. 

He smiles down at you with that too-sweet, too-innocent smile.  His other hand unties the band of his sweats. 

You swallow.  Your heart is thumping, an excited and pleasurable thrum you feel right down to the core of you.   You blink up at him as the waistband comes loose so he can roll the material down, his dick hard and springing up, his hand as firm on the back of your neck. 

You smile. 

“Make me,” you say. 

He smiles back. 

“Don’t have to,” he says.  “You’ll do what I say.  Now come on.  Be a good girl and open your mouth.”

He is right, that it takes nothing more than that.  You want him too badly to even pretend to refuse, your lips parting in an open kiss that welcomes him to enjoy you as much as you are enjoying yourself. 

Though he plays along, Felix is naturally restrained.  Even when assuming the semblance of total control, he holds himself in a type of bondage, his body tense and breath ragged. 

You make a showy mess of your wet mouth and stick out your tongue. 

“Is that it?” you ask.  “I don’t think you would any arguments like that—”

He laughs and shakes his head.  He hesitates only a moment before taking your face in his hands and fucking himself back into your open mouth.  

It gets you hot and wet, how he hands himself over to you, how he trusts you with the pleasure he is always so reluctant to accept.   You give it to him and more, until your jaw is sore and your face is wet with tears. 

He touches you there, looking down at you with the sort of reverence that usually comes from the person kneeling.  He cups your face and tilts it up, looking at you affectionately even while stroking his dick right beside your cheek. 

You glance there out of the corner of your eye, then bat your eyelashes up at him. 

“I hate you,” you say, and it makes him come in a streak on your wet cheek. 

It is stupidly hot, but Felix being Felix apologizes anyway. 

When he reaches for you, you lean away.  His gaze is wary, watching as you swipe a finger over your cheek then lick that finger clean.  There is very little evidence left on your face, but you gather what remains and put your fingers back in your mouth, giggling as he huffs but surrenders to a smile.   He reaches again but you dodge his hand. 

You wonder if he is also remembering your first night together: how he chased you to stop you from petulantly shoving things in your mouth, how you were the hot-tempered girl you are pretending to be now, how he was the dutiful soldier already in over his head because of that girl. 

You think he does remember, because you understand each other with one glance. 

You run and he chases you.   He vaults the couch and sweeps you into his arms before you can get too far. 

When Felix truly applies himself, you stand no chance of escaping, so every little squirm and wiggle is something he grants you.   

Right now, he concedes no ground.  He locks you in his arms, your back to his front, and marches you right up to the window.  

It is a mirror on the outside and, even if it was not, you are too high up for anyone to see anything but a spec in the glass.  Still, there is a thrilling moment when you feel like you are standing on top of the whole city, where everyone can see you, where they can see him, his hand slipping under your shirt as you plant your palms on the glass. 

“That’s it,” he says, nudging your feet apart with a little kick. 

Your breath is already fogging the glass by the time he touches you.  He makes an even more guttural sound than you, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he rubs his fingers through all that wet desire. 

His hair is more dishevelled now, wisps falling from the knot.  You unravel just as quickly, quicker even, riding the rhythm he sets with his hand. 

His arm is around your neck, cradling you close, and his other hand is inside you.  You press against him and come to the soft sound he makes, to his breath hitting your neck, to everything intimate between you. 

His touch gentles but not stop.  You realize he does not intend to stop, that he is slowly working you towards another orgasm.  You whimper and wriggle in his grip, but you also push desperately onto his hand. 

He shushes you soothingly, his arm holding you steady when your knees start to tremble.  He eases you both down, on your knees, never ceasing his touching. 

You come even harder the second time, throwing your head back onto his shoulder. 

He kisses your face then slows down and finally stops his touching.  He cups his hand over your pussy with a sort of possessiveness.  Then he sighs with satisfaction, his breath waking goosebumps along your skin. 

“That’s my girl,” he says, a soft murmur. 

It is only for you, a secret whisper spoken right into your ear.  You look down at the city beneath you, sprawling as far as the eye can see, all the way to the where to the last rays of sunlight peek over the horizon.  An entire world. 

You touch a hand to the glass.  He kisses your neck and your eyes close.  You imagine falling into that big open world, secure in his protective hold. 

You let yourself relax in his arms.  You release a breath you did not realize you had been holding.

-

The next few semesters pass in a blur of similar dreams and desires.  It is just you and Felix in the middle of everything, in and out of a dangerous world, escaping to a haven of your own design.  

You do not know where the times goes, but weeks turn to months.  Semesters come and go. Another graduation looms on the not-so-distant horizon.  Somehow, you feel as ill-equipped for the world as you did when you were a teenager.   

So much has changed and so much has stayed the same.  When it is just you and Felix in that apartment, you feel free to safely exist.  You lives are mired in trouble and trauma but you grow comfortably into your weird, grown-up selves.  You might even say you are happy to be who you are, appreciating the good days because of the bad ones.  

But beyond graduation is the looming threat of a permanent return to your father’s house and the life he has planned for you. 

You are spending the weekend there, in your old bedroom, because of a few events your father wants you to attend.  After just one day in his house, you revert to all your anxious teenage habits.  It worries Felix when you withdraw like that, when you get snippy and cold, though he knows you well enough to understand.  

You look at him now, on the opposite side of this huge bed, far away because you are not alone in this house.  The space feels bigger than you remember.  Terror forms its usual death grip on your heart.  You wonder how you were ever so reckless with your safety, with his safety.  Felix is the bodyguard but you would do anything to keep him safe. 

You slide a little closer, then a little more.  The cadence of his breathing changes as he wakes, always a light sleeper, though he does not open his eyes.  

You brush some hair off his face.  He leans into your touch and you smile despite everything.  You stroke his cheek and feel your sorrows melt with his soft exhale.   

“Rest,” he says in a deep voice rough with sleep.

You continue to stroke your thumb over his cheek, just looking at his face.  His roots are getting dark again and his freckles are more pronounced in the blue dark of this bedroom.   You admire his profile, the slope of his nose, his lips, and you find yourself overcome with affection and desire. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, catching your hand when it slides down his neck.  “Not now.” 

His admonition makes sense.  You have only been here a day.  You will be back in the apartment in a few more.   An apartment with privacy and protection, where you can touch each other without any consequences.  There is no reason to put yourselves in jeopardy here, tonight. 

Maybe you do remember how and why you were so reckless as a child, stealing back whatever parts of your life you could, whenever you could, however you could.  You should be allowed to touch who you want when you want.  You should be allowed to live in your own body. 

You want to feel alive, and you feel most alive when you act in defiance of all the rules that would restrain you, when you face down danger in your path and steal back your heart from that death grip. 

“Felix,” you say.  Then, in a softer hush, you whisper, “Baby.” 

It catches his breath as it always does, such a simple endearment, so common, like he is just a boy and you’re just his girl.  You are certain if you slide your hand lower, you will find him already getting hard just from hearing it. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

“This is crazy,” he whispers, eyes still closed, tightly now, like he can make the rest of the world disappear by not looking at it. 

“I’ve always been crazy,” you say.  “You like me anyway.” 

He finally opens his eyes.  He looks at you and your heart skips beats, and you wonder if that gaze will ever cease to make your heart race this way.  Years and years and years of sharing this bed, and you still feel warm and dreamy when he strokes the pad of his thumb across your knuckles. 

“Hmm, doesn’t matter how I feel, yeah?” he says.  “You hate me no matter what.” 

His tone is light and teasing.  It is your usual innuendo.  The game you always play. 

You do not want to play any games tonight.  Tears prickle in your eyes as you look at him, as those words cross his lips.  You want so badly to say what you really mean, but your emotion gets the best of you and the words never cross your lips. 

His brow furrows when he realizes you are struggling with something.  He touches your face, turning it towards him to look at you more closely.  A tear slips down your cheek and he wipes it away. 

“Felix,” you say.  You shake your head.  You clasp his hand to your cheek.  “Make love to me.” 

You cannot help but laugh at the look on his face.  Very little surprises him, a consummate professional in all appearances, and he is good at absorbing his own shock and moving on.  But he looks physically stunned, eyes wide and mouth open, words caught in a cluster on his tongue. 

When you laugh, it snaps him out of his daze.  His face softens, expression fond if not a little morose. 

“This is, uhh…” He clears his throat, shakes his head.  “Stupid.” 

“I don’t care,” you say.

It is the truth.  You are suddenly completely apathetic to everything beyond the bedroom door.  You don’t care if they catch you.  You don’t care if they hurt you.  You don’t even care if they kill you.  That dark thought has you reaching desperately for the only source of light and life in the room. 

You wrap your arms around Felix.  You hold his shoulders and kiss his face, lining your body up against his.  When you kiss below his jaw, he makes a soft sound of surrender.   His hand slides up the back of your shirt, rests between your shoulder blades and holds you, firmly, as he looks at you then kisses you. 

Your eyes close and you kiss him back.  They stay closed, even when the kiss deepens, when he licks into your mouth, when he catches your sigh with a bruising press of his lips.  You let yourself fall into the sublime haze of desire, not looking but feeling. 

He puts you on your back and holds himself above you.  You are already breathing hard.  You tug on his shirt so he leans back and whips it off.  Then you are touching his bare shoulder, his back, dragging your nails down his backside and feeling him shiver against you. 

His open mouth is hot against your throat, wet on your chest through your shirt, then under it.   You tug it off and over your head, leaving it spilled on the pillow beside you, then your arms are around him and your legs are spreading to fit his hips.  You are both fumbling with the last of your clothes when he gasps against your throat and mumbles something like, “We don’t have—we can’t—”   

Some distant, logical part of your brain knows he means protection.  After the first coming together, you’ve been careful in all your intimate moments.  But sense and logic are far from your mind right now. 

Once you are both completely naked and free, you wrap around him and pull him to you.  He comes to you with another surrendering sigh. 

Your eyes have been closed for so long, and the physical sensations have been so strong, that you very literally see stars when he is finally inside you.   

He instinctively covers your mouth when you make too loud a sound.  You grab that hand and lace your fingers, then rest it beside your head.  He covers your mouth with his, gathering your other hand so both are pushed into the mattress on either side of your head.   He is so close, his whole body pressed to yours, that you think he must be deeper inside you than ever before. 

His hips roll against yours with a slow sensuality, one sometimes lacking in your more desperate couplings.  It all feels so good that you genuinely believe you could die happy if you died right now. 

He makes another soft noise that sounds like a question.  You answer with a gentle moan of your own, a squeeze of your fingers between his, and a clenching between your thighs that has his whole hard body going soft and tender in seconds.  He comes inside you and maybe that should wake you up and cause alarm, but it doesn’t.  The room just gets quieter, your heart thumping against his all the while.  He holds himself above you for a few breathless seconds then lets go. 

You hold him against you, hands separating so you can slide them along his arms and up into his hair.  His face rests in the crook of your neck and shoulder. 

Maybe you should feel more concern for your circumstance.  But you are not really worried. 

Tomorrow, you will attend another party, you will smile, you will dance with someone your father pushes your way.  

A few days later, you will convince your father to let you take birth control, claiming it is to manage your irregular and too-heavy period flows.  He will be as immature as ever and quickly agree, anything to end a conversation he finds too awkward to navigate. 

You and Felix will go back to your apartment.  You will study for tests and drink coffee and write essays.   You will count the days to graduation.

Right now, you laugh.  It is soft and carefree.  It catches when he slides out of you, but it returns when he looks at you with a quirked eyebrow.  But his regard is a tender one.  You stroke his face and he kisses your palm, then he swoops down and kisses your nose and cheeks and just under your chin. 

I’m alive, you think.  In your father’s house, disobeying all his rules.   He has tried so hard to kill you, to break you down into pieces that he can rebuild, the way he does with any malfunctioning piece of industry tech.  And he has failed.  Despite his best efforts, despite his money and power and influence over what seems like the whole world, you are alive. 

You concede that maybe with your problems and imperfections, there is not much more to boast, but being alive is all that matters. 

Felix kisses you.  You think about the childish fairy tales that your father and grandfather ensured never took root in your mind.    If you were like them, you would not believe in magic kisses or true love or saving grace.

You kiss Felix back. 

-

“Can you ride a motorcycle?” you ask.

Felix, who is concentrating so you do not fall off your bicycle, briefly flicks his gaze up to you.  You lose your balance and swerve, but he is quick to catch the handlebar and steer you straight.  His hands hover around you as he walks alongside where you peddle. 

“I can do anything,” he says but absently, too focussed on watching you. 

You snort and your amusement almost derails you again.  You correct your wobble with a little jerk of the handles. 

“Cocky,” you say.  “I’ll have to see it to believe it.” 

Felix laughs.  He holds the handle and guides you around a corner in the path.   

“Maybe I should learn to ride a motorcycle,” you say with absolutely no sincerity.  “I’m sure my father would loooove that, don’t you think?” 

Felix levels you with a predictably dry regard.  You giggle maniacally which causes you to swerve again.    

He steers you forward with a quick yank.  He cannot help but smile at your cheesy grin.

“How about you learn to ride a regular bike first, hmm?” he says. 

“It’s not my fault,” you say, wobbling again.  “It’s the wind.”

“Mhm.” 

“It is!”

It is a rather blustery day, all grey skies and swift winds.  Felix almost lost his favourite beanie, so now it is yanked tight and low over his head so you can hardly see a wisp of hair.  You are similarly bundled in a hoodie, the strings drawn comically tight around your face so it would stop blowing off.  Felix keeps snickering when he looks at you, but it just makes you giggle back at him. 

The university has bicycles for rent to cross campus.  Though you usually walk, today you thought it would be fun to try, even if you did immediately disprove the old adage about memory and bike riding.  

You have not ridden a bike since childhood.   You were not allowed to use it outside because your father was concerned the wheels would carry you away too quickly, that something could happen before your nanny and guards caught up.  You were only allowed to ride your bike in the gym, which got very boring very fast, so you never bothered with it.  The only other time you sat on a bike was the few times you sat on the handlebars when Jisung rode his bike around. 

The memory comes so suddenly, a snapshot of a moment you did realize you remembered so vividly.  His goofy laughter sings through your memory, your own delighted shrieks as he sped down a slope and scared himself more than you. 

It makes you a little sullen.  After years, it seems ridiculous that you should still be so hung-up on an adolescent friendship, especially with so much more to occupy your mind.  But then, you suppose it was not just any friendship.   The Han Jisungs of the world are few and far between.  You were lucky to know him while you did.  Without him, you doubt you would have ever gotten on a bike again. 

Without him, you doubt you would have ever done much of anything but curl into an empty husk of a person. 

Instead, you are soft and smiling when Felix touches your back.  He notices the change in your disposition and looks at you with concern, and it does not trigger frustration nor do you flinch from his touch.  You just smile and steady your handlebars. 

“Just silly stuff,” you say with a shake of your head.  “Sometimes I sat on Jisung’s bike while he drove us around.  Just… thinking about him, I guess.” 

“Mm.”  Felix nods, understanding.  He holds the handle to help keep you steady but he looks ahead, sighing into the wind.  “It’s not silly.   Your friendship was important,” Felix says.  “Though, uhh, I definitely wouldn’t trust Jisung behind the wheels of a motorcycle.”

You laugh at the image of Jisung on a motorbike when that poor boy would sweat just from speeding down a hill.

“No,” you say.  “Definitely not for him.” 

Of course, maybe that is not true anymore.  You are picturing a teenage boy, but Jisung will be as grown as you now.  Who knows what he looks like or what he enjoys, what he fears or wants anymore. 

Romantic intimacy holds its own special felicity, but it is still different from the gentle affection of friendship.  Your heart pangs with the ache of missing him, of years passed apart, of your first ever friend now potentially being as unrecognizable to you as any stranger.  

“I just hope he’s happy,” you say, feeling it so strongly you cannot keep it yourself.  But then, that was always the way with Jisung, to have liked him so much that you cannot help but let it spill out of you, consciously or not.  You’re kinder for having known him.  You know how to joke and be goofy and make Felix smile. 

“Me too,” Felix says.  “He was… well, sort of my friend too.  In a way.” 

“He was,” you say.  “I guess he was the first friend for us both—whoa!”

You make a playful swipe at his shoulder and it makes you lose your balance again.  Felix fortunately catches you with those lightning-fast reflexes, holding you up while your bike hits the pavement.  There is some stumbling while you try to stand, tangled up with the bike, and nearly yank him down with you. 

Eventually you step out.  Felix brushes off your shoulders and pats down your arms, as if inspecting for injuries. 

“I’m fine,” you say, at the same time Felix says, “He wasn’t.”

“Huh?”  You blink at him.  “Who wasn’t what?”

“Jisung,” Felix says, a little exasperated.  “He wasn’t my first fr—”  He cuts himself off when he meets your eye, frowning instead.  He tugs on the string of your hoodie so your already tight lacing gets a little snugger.  “I’m not talking about this while you look like that,” he intones dryly. 

Before you can even open your mouth to protest or ask more, he picks up the bike and swings onto the seat for himself. 

“Come on,” he says, patting the handlebars.  “I’m hungry.  Let’s go.” 

You are not exactly a spritely adolescent anymore, but you manage to get yourself perched up on the handlebars.  Felix is a better driver than Jisung, faster too, and you find yourself laughing into the wind from the thrill of it.  When you reach the campus café, Felix is smiling too, and your previous conversation is forgotten for the time being. 

You park the bike in one of the rental receptacles then enter the café.  The warmth inside is a balm after the chill.  You take off your hood and breathe in deeply, satisfied.  Felix rubs your back as he walks you up to the counter to order. 

You are waiting for your order when you hear your name.  You lift your head, smiling when you see the friendly, dimpled grin of a class-mate, Yang Jeongin.   He is a year younger than you but academically advanced so you have shared a few classes over the years.  He is a very sweet boy, but you have kept your distance given what happened to the last very sweet boy you befriended. 

“Jeongin, hi!” you say. 

“Hi, what’s up?” he says. “Have you started any of your final projects?  I’m already drowning.”

His big smile and wheezy laugh is disarming in its boyish charm, though you know Felix has his guard up as always.  You are still not expecting to feel a proprietary touch settle low on your back, subtle but possessive, and it makes your stomach flip. 

It is not really necessary anyway.  Jeongin is genuinely just being friendly.  He even invites you and Felix to sit with him and his friend, Seungmin, and talk about some readings. 

Instinct almost propels you to blurt your usual reply, a polite dismissal or vague promise of a next time that never comes.  Friendships don’t end well.  You know that. 

But Jisung is on your mind, not just the bad but the good.  You find yourself agreeing, then you find yourself sitting at a table with two class-mates, having a normal conversation about school and exams and some silly, gossipy campus rumours.  You laugh and drink, and Felix does too. 

You touch his knee briefly.  He touches your hand under the table. 

You leave the café feeling lighter, a bounce in your step that has Felix smiling affectionately at you. 

“I do have to tell your father something,” Felix reminds you.  “If he found out you were seeing people and I said nothing—”

“Ughhhh, clock out for two seconds,” you say.  To be extra annoying, you reach out and yank his beanie down over his face.  “Just tell him I’m studying with some people.  It’s for the benefit of my education, so I can be  his perfect and dazzling heir, since I am such a well behaved little girl now, all thanks to the dutiful care and guidance of my oh-so competent bodyguard. See? No big deal.” 

Felix fixes his beanie and shakes his head at you, but he still smiling. 

“I think you and the rest of the world have, hmm, a different idea of no big deal,” he says.  “You know, your extremely powerful father for one… and how he might, uhh, ruin our lives…?” 

You shrug. 

“Win some, lose some,” you say, to which Felix laughs and rubs his face in disbelief.  

Although some days the power of your father and the world under the thumb seems insurmountable, some days all you can do is sigh in the face of it.  Today feels like one of those days.  You are so often frightened or sad or just downright despondent.  Sometimes, the pendulum swings back the other way, and all you can do is laugh. 

You do so now, pulling your hood up and tightening the string around your face again. 

“Don’t worry, bodyguard,” you say with an exaggerated, innocent flutter of your eyelashes.  “I trust you to keep me out of trouble.”

-

“Oh, you are gonna get me in so much trouble,” you say.   

Seungmin laughs.  

A few weeks have passed in which you have tentatively befriended Jeongin and Seungmin.  Jeongin is all smiles and wheezy laughter, with a biting wit that catches both you and Felix off guard.  You can tell Felix enjoys his companionship, even beyond the superficial college-boy role he plays.  And not just because Jeongin is something of a gamer and Felix not-so secretly likes having a go at whatever hand console Jeongin keeps on him. 

You quite like Seungmin.  He is more soft-spoken until he has an opinion to vocalize, at which point there is no escaping his somewhat scathing commentary.  His frankness reminds you a little of Hyunjin, just without any showmanship or embellishment.  With Seungmin, what you see is what you get.  He’s smart and funny and playful, and you like listening to him talk about the readings and his family and all the general shenanigans of an ordinary life.

Felix has told your father they are study partners, which is not an outright lie as all of your interactions have taken place on campus.  You have stayed away from parties and clubs and private spaces, so there has been nothing tangible to protest. 

But today certainly straddles that line. 

After class, the four of you went to your usual campus café.  With a major project due at the start of next week, you have been swamped with work. 

It was after a few hours and several coffees that Jeongin suggested a break.  There are a couple bars around the sprawling campus.  Felix was a little hesitant but your pout was as effective as ever in persuading him.  

The bar is a cozy one, packed wall-to-wall with noisy students seeking downtime.  There is no way anything insane would transpire in here. 

Other than Kim Seungmin. 

“What, you can’t leave your boyfriend for a second?” Seungmin says, but with no animosity, smiling his big puppy grin.  He exhales and shakes his head, eyebrows lifted in faux exasperation.  “That sucks for you, wow.” 

“First of all, he’s not my boyfriend,” you say.  You look over at Felix who is standing at a pinball machine with Jeongin.  His eyes keep darting over to you even though you are not that far away.  The game is just a few steps from the couch where you and Seungmin sit.   

Felix smiles.  He is in his favourite black beanie, some ripped black jeans, and a crisp white coat, wisps of blonde hair falling over his freckled face.  He looks like such a guy, just a casual university senior, slouching against the wall with hands in his pockets, chatting with his friend and his eyes on his smiling girlfriend.   It certainly looks as simple as that.  Your heart does not know the difference. 

He looks away for a moment because Jeongin says something.  Felix laughs.  The room is loud so you do not hear him, but you know that laugh so well, the low drop and happy rumble.  His eyes crinkle with delight.  Your heart skips beats like a little girl with a crush starting all over again. 

“Right,” Seungmin says, looking between you and Felix.  “Sure.”

You punch Seungmin playfully on the arm. 

“Stop,” you say.  “We’re just friends.” 

It is for the best you maintain that as your cover story.  It would be far too convoluted to pretend to be together while being together but lying about being together and—    

No.  It is for the best that no one ever suspects, that everyone assumes you are close friends or room-mates and nothing more.  Not an inkling of your true dynamic. 

No one needs to know you woke before your alarm this morning, that you kissed Felix awake, planting soft kisses on his face until he smiled.  That you teased him and kissed him and finally bit his shoulder, a playful step too far, so he gathered you in his arms and kissed you breathless.  That he stretched out behind you, that he pulled back your thigh with a strong grip and kissed your neck.  That he fucked you long and slow until you were gasping and wriggling in his arms.  That he made you come mere minutes before your alarm.  That he then made a professional call to your father about the week’s plans and the pompous, foolish, awful man was none the wiser.   

You look his way.  Felix winks then looks down at the game again. 

Seungmin clears his throat and you look at him with all the innocence you can muster.  He just laughs. 

“Uh-huh,” Seungmin says.  “Well, does he know you’re just friends?  I mean, seriously, watch this—”

Seungmin slings his arm over the back of the couch, not quite around your shoulders but close nonetheless.  He leans in ever so slightly and Felix looks over as if on cue.  He would never cause a scene without due cause, and, besides, you doubt he seriously considers Seungmin a threat, but he instinctively shifts into guard mode. 

It sends Seungmin into peels of laughter.  You thump him on the leg. 

“Ahaha,” Seungmin says, but lowers his arm.  “Fine, I’ll go get drinks all alone so your super good friend doesn’t pop a vein if you come with me.” 

You hide your face in your hands and shake your head while Seungmin laughs.   He gives you a pat on the back before rising and pushing his way through the crowd to get to the bar counter. 

Felix watches him go then looks at you.  You smile at him reassuringly, waving a hand, non-committal. 

Your stomach does a little flip when his sharp stare softens to something more intimate, something just for you.  Years ago, you worried those glances and touches would be addicting, and you were right.  It is more intoxicating than anything in a glass.  Headier than the atmosphere of the bar.  You are flushed with warmth in seconds, the packed heat of the bar keeping that warmth at a simmer. 

You have always desperately chased highs and adrenaline, whatever form they took, good or bad.  When Felix looks away, you crave the thrill of his determined attention, so you stand and step behind the couch.  He looks up as quickly, like you knew he would, standing straight and taking his hands out of his pockets. 

You truly do not go far.  You have no intention of running, of making him follow, of making him worry.  You would not do that to him.  While you are certain no one would try anything in a place as public as a campus bar, you nonetheless will not play completely stupid games.   You only mean to catch his eye so you can level with him a teasing smirk of your own. 

But then someone grabs your arm and yanks.  The unexpected touch and the forcefulness triggers a swift panic, your eyes swimming with the shapes of shuffling bodies, your ears slurring what sound like a friendly enough sentence – someone asking if you are in a certain class with him. 

“I think I’ve seen you,” he says, still gripping your arm.  He smells as drunk as he sounds.  Harmless, or maybe not, given the bruising strength of his touch.  Drunken stupidity can be as dangerous as conniving intention.  “But you always got that little lap dog hanging around, cutie,” he says.  “Can’t get within a foot of you without him in the way—”

Said lap dog manifests without delay.  The man is taller but he is no match for Felix who comes up behind him and yanks on his collar.   

Felix pulls the man over backwards to stare him down.  He says, “Hands. Off. Now.”

The man lets go but with a stupid, futile struggle, shoving you so hard that you hit the woman behind you and topple her drink. 

In less than a second, the man is on the ground, people shrieking and stepping back when he falls.  Felix steps over him to reach you, catching your hand and touching the side of your face. 

“You all right?” he asks. 

Everything happened so fast that you hardly know what to say.  Instinctively, you throw your arms around his neck to be closer to him.  He hugs you back as fiercely, murmuring words of comfort that get muffled in your shoulder. 

His senses are sharper than yours.  He knows the man is up and he turns in time to catch the clumsy punch the guy throws his way.  Felix does not show off, even though he could probably lay the guy low a second time.  He just pushes the hand away. 

This nonchalant rejection seems to anger the man more than a direct hit.  He is embarrassed and his stupor only encourages retaliation.  His buddies are trying to pull him back now, failing to lead him off. 

The man looks at you, red from both exertion and embarrassment, and says with a snarl in his upper lip, “Should keep that dog on a leash.” 

Splash.

It takes a second for everyone to realize what just happened.  The man is as startled as you, standing stock still with something dripping down his face. 

You all look over to Seungmin who is standing there with a half-empty glass.

“Uh… Woof I guess?” Seungmin says, then throws the rest of his drink on him. 

The guy staggers towards Seungmin who backs up rapidly.  Then Jeongin literally flies in between them and takes a swing at the guy.  It completely misses and he smacks his hand on a stool, but it is enough for the man to back up.   He must decide that the odds of three-on-one are not in his favour so he finally abandons course, shaking his head as he stalks off with his friends. 

“Yeah, yeah, walk away,” Seungmin says as menacingly as Seungmin possibly can, which is not much, especially with Jeongin doubled over beside him.  He is shaking out his hand, his face contorted with pain from hitting the stool.  “Are you okay?” Seungmin asks.

“Yeah, I’m—” Jeongin starts. 

“Not you, dumbass,” Seungmin says.  “Go apologize to that chair you assaulted.  I’m talking to her.”  He looks at you with a tilt of his head.

You nod, letting Felix tuck you under his arm.  He rubs your arm soothingly, up and down, and it helps ground you. 

“Just happened really fast,” you say.  “Startled me, you know…” 

“The guy was a jerk,” Seungmin says.  

Felix scoffs.  His eyes follow the retreating figure.  “No kidding,” he says. 

“I just wanna go home,” you say. 

Your panic ebbs and the hurricane inside you settles. 

You touch Felix’s chest.  His heart is beating fast with adrenaline.  Your breath catches when he looks at you, tendrils of frustration radiating off him.  Yet despite the aura of energy, he looks composed, hair neat across his forehead, beanie in place.  His jacket is slightly rucked up the arm, but otherwise he is in perfect command of himself. 

Your heart dances its bewildered little dance. 

His hand drops to your hip and he tugs you close.  He exhales through his nose, your eyes drawn to his closed mouth.

You think you must be drunk despite not touching a drop of liquor.  How else to explain the physical sensations inside you, so contradictory to your heart and mind?  Your soul could never, ever abide by violence or true possessive domination, not with your history and upbringing. 

But perhaps it is that, the naturally contradictory nature of its manifestation in Felix.  Made by violence, but not made of it.  You feel safe because his careful touches and gentle glances do not come from the same blithe, civilian naivete of your sweet friends.  It comes from all the violence and control that he rises above. 

He holds you and you are safe, protected. 

You say goodbye to your friends and Felix calls the car.  You wait outside together in the light of a streetlamp.  The cool night air dwindles what remains of his adrenaline, though his heart picks up when you step closer, when you press your face to his neck and sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“You did nothing wrong,” he says, cupping your cheek and lifting your face.  His thumb strokes your cheek, down along your jaw.  He looks into your eyes and smiles.  “You were just standing there.  He shouldn’t have grabbed you.  You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you say.  You look down and his hand falls away from your face.  You fiddle with the zipper of his jacket then drag it down a couple inches.  “I’m just really sorry.” 

He is silent for a moment, his back a little stiffer.  You think he catches the tone in your voice because his hand drifts a little lower, resting on the base of your spine.

“I see,” he says, voice lower.  “Even though Jeongin did all the work hitting that stool—?”

The unexpected joke in a sultry exchange makes you snort with laughter.  The sound surprises Felix who laughs so hard he almost falls over.  You give him a little shove, shaking your head. 

“All right, all right,” he says, patting your back.  “Behave.  The car is coming.” 

“I always behave,” you say with a swish of your coat, stomping ahead of him to the approaching sedan.    

You sit in silence for part of the journey, quiet even with the partition up.  Felix has an elbow resting on the window sill, temple pressed to his fist as he stares at the passing streetlights. 

“Are you mad?” you ask in your coldest tone. 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, dimple flashing with an aborted smile.  “I’m never mad,” he says.  “I’m a professional.” 

“Right,” you say.  You slide across the seat to be closer to him but he puts up his hand, stopping you.

“I know it’s a limo, but seatbelt, yeah?” he says.  You do not miss the patronizing tone. 

“You gonna make me?” you ask.  You grab his hand and lower it, looking at him with your smokiest gaze.

His tongue jabs into his cheek as he looks at your hands, palms touching, fingers lacing.  He appears contemplative, beyond your little game.  You give his hand a gentle squeeze.   His eyes meet yours. 

“I never want to hurt you,” he says, low even though no one can hear you back here.  “You know that, yeah?  You know I—  I never knew how to want or not want something.  I would never—”

“I know, Felix,” you say. 

I love you too. 

It sits on the tip of your tongue.  You very nearly say it in that same low voice. 

He lowers your hand to your lap, his palm to your knuckles as he cups your thigh and squeezes.  Once, twice, three times.  He taps on your knee three times then guides you to do the same.  You are a bit bemused until he says, “If you want to talk to me, then…”  Three more touches. 

“I see,” you say, hot beneath the skin of your cheeks and throat, your heart a thunderous thing.  “You expect to shut my mouth then?”  You blink at him too cutely. 

“I expect you to apologize properly,” he says. 

He catches your face before you can spit a rejoinder.  It steals your breath.  He holds your face steady in his hand, jaw pinched, mouth shut, his eyes burning into the side of your face. 

“You answer to me,” he says sternly.  “You think you’re sorry, yeah?  Then you’re going to apologize.  Properly.  Quietly.  Obediently.  Now nod for me.  You understand.”  

You do not nod.  You look at him out of the corner of your eye.  His lips break into a smile. 

“Ah,” he says.  “I see.”

And he does.  He has always seen to the depths of you.  Just as you have always seen beneath his surface smiles. 

The driver sees nothing but a professional on payroll, exchanging an evening pleasantry before Felix escorts you into the apartment building.  The greeter nods at you, you nod back.  Felix marches you into the elevator and stands politely at your side, hands in his pockets. 

You lean on opposite walls of the elevator.  He takes off the beanie and tucks it in his pocket.  Then he runs his fingers through his hair, fluffing the fair strands.  Eventually he meets your gaze.  You stare at each other, a silent exchange of thought and anticipation. 

In the apartment, he does his security check.  You take your time drifting toward the bedroom, wiping off your lipstick, dropping your coat in the middle of the doorway.  He scoops it up as he enters behind you, tutting while he brushes it off. 

“No respect,” he says but lightly, teasingly. 

He walks right past you and drapes the coat neatly over the back of your computer chair.  There, he stands with his back to you, unzipping and discarding his own jacket.  It leaves him in a black t-shirt and his ripped black jeans, plus those heavy regulation army boots.  He is a sharp streak of black shadow, all at odds with his light hair and sweet freckled face as he turns to look at you. 

You stand across the bedroom from each other.  Your heart is going a mile a minute as he looks you over.  You hardly know why the roving glance affects you so deeply.  He has seen you in a hundred variations of dressed and undressed.  Checking you out in your jeans and t-shirt should hardly warrant a herd of butterflies in your belly. 

But it does.  Your skin feels alight as he looks at you, assessing you like a target.  When his dark eyes flick up to meet yours, he is not smiling.  He exhales.  His shoulders are tense, his body hard.

“Take off your clothes,” he says. 

You expected some deviance from routine given your flirtations, but that is still quite different.  You often undress each other, or you provoke him by stripping, flustering him into surrender.  He is not flustered now, his stare cold and ungiving as he waits expectantly for you to obey. 

Your fingers flutter at your side.  Your lips part with a breath. 

“Um,” you say, voice rough with arousal in a way you cannot hide.  It is hard to fake an affronted feeling, though it is not hard to look nervous.   “Excuse me?” 

“Everything,” Felix says.  “Off.  Now.” 

You scoff, suffusing the worst of your jitters into the sound.  You feign a cocky tilt of your head, hands on your hips as you say, “I don’t think you’re in position to give me orders.  If my daddy knew—”

He lifts his knee only infinitesimally but when his foot slams down there is a knife in his hand. 

He flicks some hair out of his hair and smiles, perky, just like Felix. 

“Off,” he says.  “Or I take it off.” 

What should be a flicker of fear is a font of pure desire, sharp in your belly and hot between your legs.  You look at the knife then his cool smile, the crinkle of pleasure in the corners of his eyes, the pretty fall of his hair.  He flips the knife over his knuckles, around and around, smoothly, thoughtlessly. 

You step out of your shoes and kick them aside.  Your jitters are back, excited and jumpy, prickling under your skin as you lift your shirt over your head and toss that aside too. 

“Neatly,” he says, with a tsk, tsk tsk.  “Don’t make a mess.  Daddy wouldn’t like that, would he?” 

“Bastard,” you say, flushed with the admonition.  It also makes you a little giddy.  There is real power and real evil out there, and it is utterly meaningless in the face of everything between you and Felix.  It is a punchline.  It is an inside joke.  The only thing that holds any real power is his gaze, his voice, his hands.

Your eyes, your sigh, your obedience.  It makes him blush, despite his relative position of power, watching you neatly fold your shirt and place it on the bedside table.  You remove your jeans and fold those too. 

When you look at him, he points the knife to your underclothes, a mute statement: yes, I mean those too.  So you take off your bra and place it on the table, flushed and hasty and embarrassed and excited.  You slip off your panties and crumple them.  You miss the table and they fall to the floor, and Felix points to it with the knife. 

“Pick it up,” he says. 

You do, quickly, putting it on the pile then stepping away.  You cross your arms, only a little chilled, mostly hot under his gaze. 

“Good,” he says.  “Very good.” 

With a flick of his wrist, the knife is swiftly embedded in your desk behind him.  He does not even look back. 

You jump.  It makes your heart beat even faster, stomach tied up in anticipatory knots, desperate to unravel as he approaches you with a slow, predatory stroll. 

He circles you.  His fingertips brush your side, sending a shiver shooting up your spine.   He takes a pillow off the bed and puts it on the floor. 

You stand with your back to him, arms still crossed.  He touches the middle of your back, walks his fingers gently up your spine until he is holding the back of your neck, pulling you into him, your naked body against his clothed one. 

“Get on your knees,” he says.  You swear his voice is even deeper than usual.  “Sweetheart.”    

You cannot think of a snarky reply, not even when he steps back and you can breathe again.  You just look at him over your shoulder and make a show of rolling your eyes.  He tips his head, regarding you as if oh-so confused by your petulance. 

He stands while you kneel.  You sit back on your heels and hum to yourself as if bored. 

He ignores that, pointing to bed and saying, “Face there, not me.” 

You look at him with genuine confusion, once more surprised by his direction, but you do as told.  You kneel facing the bed.  He gets down on one knee beside you, cups the back of your head and guides you up, off your heels. 

“Up, up, up,” he says in too jovial of a tone, so frustratingly Felix.  “Hands up here.”  He pats the bed with his other hand until you uncross your arms and place them where directed.  “That’s it,” he says.  “Just like that, sweetheart.” 

He stands, leaving you kneeling at the bedside, upright, arms in front of you.  Kneeling like a penitent in prayer at their bedside.  You look over your shoulder at him, wearing your best and bitchiest expression. There is an irrevocable challenge in your eyes. 

Clink.

Your eyes drop to his belt, to the swift flick of leather and metal over his hands as he opens it.  He is unhurried, sliding it free of its loops. 

But then he does not discard it.  He folds it over his hand.  Once, twice, three times. 

He tips his head.  He holds up three fingers, a question.  

He knows the significance here.  He knows how your insides unravel at the sight of that belt hooked around his fist.  

You know he would stop if you said so.  If you said the word three, if you held up three fingers, if you tapped three times or did anything else to speak to him.  He has given you a voice in every form.  

He is standing over you, at once a personification of your pains and fears, and also he is none of them.   This does not feel the way it did back then, unwilling and tortured and harmed. 

He loves you.  And he is trapped with you, and he is carving out holes in the world with you.  He is handing you back your life, if only pieces, however he can.   You are not a scared little girl under him.  You are in control of that pendulum of emotion.  There is no power in the things that once scared you.  It is a punchline.  An inside joke.  

You smile at him. 

He gets down on one knee again, squeezes the nape of your neck then runs his hand down your spine.  Your back arches under his touch, breath staggering into gasps even though all he does is caress you skin. 

You jump when he smacks the soft curve of your ass, just the flat of his palm on your skin, but already you are tingling head to toe with pleasure. 

“I am responsible for you, yeah?” he says, and smacks you there again.  “That means you are mine.  You don’t run off, you don’t play games.  You do what I say.”

“Or what?” you say, voice already breathy.  “You’ll beat me up like you did that brute in the bar?”

You can hear him adjusting the belt, flipping it around his hand for a better grip. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks.  “Does it get your pussy wet, watching me hurt them for you?”

You don’t get a chance to answer.  Your voice is a feathery-light sound, piercing a gasp when he brings that strip of leather down against your backside. 

You squirm.  You are already so, so wet. 

“Hmm?” he asks, and does it again, a stinging, hot line across your skin.  “Is that how it is?” 

“I hate you,” you say.  You are gripping the blanket, nails digging in.  Your back arches at another strike, chest pushing into the bedding. 

“Awww…” he says, careless.  “Yeah… I know.” 

You must be wriggling too much because Felix pins you down with his free hand, your cheek pressed to the blanket.  He adjusts his position for a better reach. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, and snaps the belt across your skin.  This one makes you cry out.  “I know exactly how you feel about me.” 

You cry turns to a watery whine, shaking when he gently sweeps his fingertips across your smarting backside.  Your breath snags when he leans in close, breath ghosting your skin. 

“I know,” he says.  “Because it gets my dick hard.  Oh?  What’s that?  Did that scare you?”  He hits you again.  “You wanna tell your daddy?  Tell him how you’re all wet because your mean bodyguard got a little too, mmm, rough with you?” 

He kisses the middle of your back and you shiver. 

“Mmm,” he says.  “No.  You’re not going to do that, are you?  You’re going to stay right… here…” He leans back and snaps his wrist again, patting you when the belt sears your skin and you cry out again.  “That’s it.  You’re gonna take it until you apologize—”

“I’m sorry,” you say, even while tilting your hips, seeking more from him.  You can feel how wet you are when you squish your thighs together, hot and slick between them.  “I really am.”

“Oh?” he says.  “For what?”

“Uhhh—”  It turns to another yelp when he hits you again.  “F-for disobeying y-you.” 

“Why is that bad, sweetheart?”

“B-because—”  You don’t even cry out when he does it again.  This sound is a pure moan, roughly exhaled into the bed.  “Because you’re in charge,” you say breathlessly, voice on the cusp of a sob.  You can feel your knees starting to shake.  “Y-you’re in charge of me.” 

“Am I?” 

You hear the belt unravel, the clink of the metal as it hits the floor.  He touches you with his bare hand, smoothing his palm over your warm, smarting skin.  Every inch of you quivers with the tingling aftershock of the soft touch. 

“Yes,” you say.  “I’m—I’m yours, Felix.” 

There is a moment of quiet when all he does it touch you, gently, a caress across your stinging skin.  Your whole body reacts to him, the slightest brush sending floods of heat shooting through you. 

He traces a circle on your backside, pinches the warm skin.  It makes that sob spill over your lips. 

“Say it again,” he says, his voice lower, only just above a whisper. 

“I’m yours,” you say just as softly.  A tear spills onto the blanket. 

“My name.”

“Felix,” you say.  “My bodyguard.” 

“Yes,” he says, still in that soft voice.  He slips his hand down between your legs and you rear up, spreading your thighs, eager to feel him.  “I am, aren’t I?”  He hardly needs to touch you to feel how wet you are.  Just a surface touch wets his fingers with your desire, a slow stroke that makes your knees shake again.   “I’m good at it, aren’t I?” he says, and takes his hand back.  “At guarding this body.  Hmm?”

Another tear spills out.  You nod, breathing hard into the blanket. 

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. 

He stands up and you lift your head, blinking up at him with big, wet eyes.  You can see how hard he is, obscenely bulging behind his fly.  It makes your mouth water, makes you press your cheek into the blanket as you stare at him wantingly.  

“If I’m not going to hit you,” he says, “then what am I going to do with you?” 

His thumb presses at his zipper and he smiles, dimpled and cheeky, and slowly tugs it down.  Your knees finally surrender and you sit again, slumped against the bed and reaching between your legs. 

“Uh-uh-uh—” he says, diving down to catch your arm. 

You groan, wriggling while he scoops you up and deposits you on the bed as easily as tossing a pillow.   You shuffle around, making some pitiful blubbery noises as you lay on your sore backside.  You rest your head on a pillow, breathing hard, so aware of your body in a way you have never felt before. 

Felix takes off his boots while you settle yourself.  Then he gets on the bed and kneels at your feet, a vision of sin in his black clothes with his flushed face and heady, dark eyes.  He wets his lips, leaves his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he looks at you like a meal offered to a starving man. 

“Hold the headboard, sweetheart,” he says, nodding above you. 

You do not look away from him, reaching back to grip one of the bars in the headboard.  Though your legs are pressed together, you feel the exposure of the vulnerable position, throbbing everywhere he looks at you.    

Your breath gets ragged when he moves closer.  He takes a pillow, ripping it out of its case and tossing the cushion aside.  He flips the soft material of the pillowcase around his fist until it makes a long line like a soft rope. 

Then your hands are bound to the headboard.  His fingers curl around yours, showing you how to tap, how to talk to him.  It registers, even if he immediately distracts you with a wandering hand, slipping down your body to touch and fondle. 

Then he is back at your feet, grabbing your ankles and sliding up, up, up until his hands are hooked under your knees and he can spread you open to him. 

Your hips buck, your back arches, legs shaking in his steady hold.  You are so open to him that it makes you whimper and close your eyes. 

They open again when you feel his mouth between your legs, his teasing abruptly finished as he dives in with full commitment.  You cry out in relief, with utter ecstasy, noisier than you have ever been as he licks and sucks and strokes.  You twitch when he nips at your thighs, when he slips his tongue inside you, when he licks back up then tortures the source of your pent-up need, again and again until you are crying out and coming hard on his tongue. 

He lets you finish, takes over that peak and beyond.  He lowers your trembling legs, lets you wrap them around his hips.  You make a horrible mess of his pants, you are sure, grinding up against the hard material. 

“Shhh, shh, shh,” he says, reaching past you to the bedside table. 

You hardly have a second to look before he is shoving your balled up panties in your mouth. 

“That’s it,” he says, kissing down your neck.  “That’s a good girl.  Don’t need to think, yeah?” 

He sits back on his heels and finally unzips all the way.  He shuffles his pants and boxers down past his hips.  He smiles, then pushes your legs against you so are nearly folded in half. 

“Just—” he says with a soft grunt, pushing at the soft, wet heat of you, so easily sliding inside.  “Just—need—to—take it.”

And you do, moaning helplessly into your gag, still sore from your earlier punishment but all that sensation mingling with everything hard and sweet and good between your thighs.  Your eyes close and you let yourself float, feeling as he hits all those soft places inside you that make your body keen.  When you come again, it is just from that, and a stream of euphoric tears follow as you wrap him between your legs and bring him over the edge with you. 

“God,” he says, dropping every trace of his persona, sounding near tears himself as he comes inside you.  “God—fucking—You.  Oh, sweetheart.  Jesus.  I—” 

His brain sounds as mushy as yours, maybe only marginally smarter because he takes out your gag and releases you from your bondage. 

Your arms fall limp around your head and you hum sweetly, literal music moving through you as your whole body aches with pleasant aftershocks. 

“We gotta clean you up,” he says softly, from somewhere, stroking your sweaty skin. “And I wanna take care of where I used the—”

“Felix,” you murmur, “if you don’t get over here and kiss me stupid, then I’m gonna take a turn with the belt.”

He laughs, then you feel him stretched out beside you, his arms circling you.  You roll into his embrace, throwing your leg around his hip and snuggling into him. 

“You still hate me, yeah?” he says after a moment, though how he expects any coherency when he is massaging down your arm like that, you do not know. 

But you nod, kissing his chest.

“Of course, you’re my bodyguard,” you say. 

You sigh when he smooths his hand over your backside, tenderly caressing the sore skin. 

“Yes,” he says.  “Always.”

-

It sounds almost ridiculous to say, but he honestly fucked you so good that you feel like a new woman. 

You have a little skip in your step – or maybe it’s a limp – for the next couple days, and it’s cute how it flusters him in the daylight because he knows the cause. 

In the mood for a full cleansing, you get the idea to clean out your closet.  You toss things around left and right, sorting donations and garbage and pieces you forgot you owned. 

You are elbow deep in a pile of old sweaters when your fingers curl around something soft.  You yank it out of the pile, hidden away at the very back of your closet.  You wonder what it is and why you have not been wearing it when it is so soft—

Peppy music is blaring out of your speakers, your disposition cheery and pleasant as can be.  It all gets a little fuzzy when you unfold the sweater and realize it is Jisung’s hoodie, the one he gave you that last night you left his house. 

You and Felix are meeting Jeongin and Seungmin after class today, a usual coffee at your usual café while you do the finishing touches on your semester project.  Having friends and a lover and a future you can almost see, can almost imagine controlling if only in your own special way, makes you realize how far you have come. 

Things have changed.  You have changed.  You have forgotten a lot about high school.  You don’t really remember faces, or the things that had you stressed, or half the arguments with your father.  You were obsessed with Lee Minho for years but, frankly, you can hardly remember what he looked like.

But you touch the hoodie and you can feel your best friend, solid as if he was still sitting beside you.  When you lift it to your chest, you swear you can faintly smell the lingering trace of him, that boyish body spray that was probably baked into everything he owned but that you stopped noticing because you were around him so much. 

It is the smell that overwhelms you.  In a matter of moments, your face is buried in the hoodie and you are crying, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re happy or because you’re not. 

Felix comes running, stumbling to a stop in your closet door and looking at you with alarm. 

“Sweetheart?” he says, crouching down beside you.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say, because you don’t know what to say.  You lift your head and look at him, face streaked with tears.  He wipes them immediately, a gentle back and forth, soothing you until your crying is just a mere hiccup.  “I’m sorry,” you say, wiping your face on your sleeve.  “I don’t know why I still get so worked up.” 

“About what?” Felix asks. 

You open the hoodie and recognition lights up in his eyes. 

“Jisung,” he says. 

“You recognize it?” you say, a bit surprised. 

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and looks at you with a dimpled grin.  “You were wearing this the first night we—”

“Right,” you say with a watery giggle. 

You look back down and sniffle some more, blinking back another onslaught of tears.  You run your hand over the material while Felix rubs a soothing circle on your back. 

“Why is it so hard to let go?” you ask softly.  “When I have people here, now...  When I have a future and…”  You trail off, voice breaking.  You wipe your face again. 

“I don’t know,” Felix says, sounding as morose.  His gaze wanders.  You can see his own mental space shift as he goes somewhere far away.  “I guess…”  He rubs the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.  “One person can’t, uh, really replace another, I guess.  And he was your friend.  It’s different.”  He swallows.  “You can’t just let go of love.  Not… not easily.”

“I guess not,” you say.  You trace a circle on the material with your thumb.  You sigh.  “I should get ready for school.” 

“Yeah,” Felix says, voice breaking too.  He clears his throat and stands.  “Do you need anything?”

You shake your head, hugging the hoodie to your chest and staring straight ahead. 

“No,” you say softly.  “Thank you, Felix.” 

You are a little too distracted with your own thoughts and grief to notice his own solemn disposition.  He does not hold it against you, though, as you are distracted for the rest of the day.  The cause is reasonable enough. 

You are sitting in the library with Felix and your friends, working on your project but distracted, when you lift your head and spot the library computers. 

You have not looked for Jisung anywhere, not online or in person, far too terrified your father would find out and track him down and kill him.  You remember his rage.  You know how serious he was. 

But that seems far away now, not the same nightmarish terror that haunted your every shaking step.  Now you are staring at the campus computers with a more calculating air.  You realize there is no way to trace any searches back to you if they are made on a public server.  

Felix looks up when you stand, shooting you a questioning look.  You just point to the computers and he nods, slouching back in his seat again. 

You feel a little queasy, maybe from the tumultuous feelings of the day.  Maybe plain worry.  Until now, you could pretend Jisung was fine, but what if he isn’t?  God, what if your father went after him anyway?  What if something else happened?  What if he got worse after you left him on that hospital bed?  You are sick with the thought. 

The world needs him.  You need him.  Even far away, even without seeing or touching him, because your friendship does not require that.  It can be words on a page, tucked away in a yearbook that you read on your worst days when you need a reason to keep fighting. 

And so you search.  You find results faster than you thought.  It turns out Jisung has been writing music.  He is very underground and indie, it seems.  He does not have a huge collection of followers, but his artistry has stirred interest nonetheless.  You find his social media profiles without much struggle, as well as his soundcloud and professional profiles.  It looks like he works part time at a grocery store while making music.

You click through his profiles, smiling at some of his goofy pictures and videos.  There are some click-bait short videos with dramatic fonts slashed over his face, saying things like GIRLFRIEND DRAMA!! and GAY RIVALS??

You click on a couple.  It’s just videos where he talks to the camera, but he’s so funny that it feels like miniature stand-up routines. Some of these videos get more views than his music.

It looks like he had a girlfriend for a while, then a boyfriend, which is probably not too surprising when you remember he was obsessed with Hyunjin. 

He says exactly that in his video, laughing as he runs his hands through his hair, black-painted nails stark against the lighter dyed locks.

“Yeah…” he says, laughing awkwardly, “Turns out most people don’t have an arch-nemesis that occupies their every thought in their horny teenage years.  Who knew, right?” 

The comment sections are all a bit chaotic, as comment sections are often a no-man’s land of anarchy, but it feeds the algorithm so he lets the public run amok.  It does not seem to ruffle his feathers.

You scroll until you see a video with the words BEST FRIEND?  It is the only video where he turned the comments off. 

You are not sure what you are expecting.  It has been years.  This video could be about anyone.  He has more friends, quite a lot by the look of it. 

His video starts with that very message.

“I know it’s hard to believe since I am, like, so insanely beautiful and funny and popular and talented now,” he says with a goofy drawl, grinning at the camera, “but I used to be like… the loser.  Not even a loser, no way, man, I’m an overachiever.  I mean the loser.  I did not have any friends but, like, I didn’t even have any enemies either, like what’s a guy got to do to get bullied around here?  I was just, you know, kinda invisible I guess… Hard to believe I developed issues and became an online clout-chaser like whoo-hoo…”

You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself.  The Jisung on camera is wearing glasses, his hair longer than you remember.  His shoulders are broader and he looks good, healthy. 

He rubs his shoulder as he gazes past the camera, looking wistful. 

“I had one friend, though, eventually,” he says.  “I used to think she was kinda scary but, also, to be fair, I thought everything was scary back then haha…  I mean, not haha, you know I was… It was rough. I was like ready to end it all, man…  Times were hard!  Teenage angst, you know, nothing like it!  But she, uh…” 

He looks at the camera and it makes your spine straighten.  This was posted a year ago.  He is not actually talking to you, but for a moment he feels present. 

“She was really good at seeing people,” he says.  “I think, maybe, that’s because she wanted for someone to see her too.  But, like, that’s hard to ask for… And even harder to accept when you finally have it.  She would run away just as fast as she would want attention, haha.  But at the same time… You know, she got it.  She got me. We got each other.  Until then, neither of us had ever really—you know, we didn’t really have good families and stuff, we didn’t have friends.  I talk about firsts a lot, and, you know, every one makes a deal out of their first kiss and their first lay and stuff but like…  Your first friend...”

You pause the video for a second, blinking so you don’t cry in the library.  You briefly glance at Felix, Jeongin, and Seungmin.  Jeongin has predictably strayed from his studies, showing Felix something on his hand console.  Seungmin throws a pencil at them. 

You smile then look back at the screen, hitting play. 

“It changes you, you know?” Jisung says.  “Especially at that age, you know, when you’re growing and stuff… You kinda learn from each other.  Even though we super different, in some ways we were the same, and I think I still… um, carry her with me.  It sounds cheesy but it’s true. I was a stupid softy but her…!  She never took anyone’s shit!  And I got better at that, and I think it was because of her.  We, um, we didn’t exactly have a falling out—  Life just—  Sometimes life isn’t fair.  And she was… she was kinda in a bad spot.  And at the time I felt like I let her down, because I couldn’t get her out.  Of course, now I’m like, yo, we were both kids, haha, how the fuck was I gonna do that anyway… And before we said goodbye, you know, she told me I did save her, and I didn’t really know what she meant at the time.  But when I realized how much of her was still with me all the time, every day, how much she taught me to get me where I am today… I got it.  I still wish I could have done more, but I get it.  And I mean, um, hey, if you’re out there—”

You are startled into greater attention when he looks directly in the eye of the camera.  You realize he is speaking to you, across space and time, as surely as a scribble in your yearbook or a laugh in your memory. 

“I don’t know if you’ll ever see this,” he says.  “But I, uh, I told you once a best friend promise is forever.  Ten years, twenty years, fifty years, you know… hit me up.  But, um, even if you don’t… even if you can’t…” 

He takes a breath and shakes his shoulders, wiggling like he would do when he was trying not to cry.  He exhales and smiles.  You can see all the emotion behind that smile, grief and hope alike. 

“I just hope you’re happy,” he says.  “I am.  And that’s partly because of you.  So if you ever need a reason, or an excuse, or whatever to be happy… This is it.  Thank you for… for everything I guess.  I loved you so much that it made me love the whole world just because you were in it.  So I don’t need anything else from you, but if you could be happy for me… Yeah.  That, uh, that would be good.” 

He pauses, purses his lips, then he laughs a very watery laugh. 

“Okay!” he says.  “I’m gonna go cry now like a big baby.  Love you all! Bye!  See you next time.  Oh yeah, stream Volcano!  Bye!”

You end up laughing through your tears, Jisung being so incredibly Jisung.  You glance back at Felix and your friends, watching them try to keep their laughter down as they snicker over something in Jeongin’s game.  Seungmin has his big puppy grin on and Jeongin’s dimple are so deep as glee pours off him.

Felix looks so delighted and carefree, his whole face glowing like it was touched by a drop of sunshine. 

You want this. 

Now.  Always. 

Oh, Jisung, you think to yourself.  How many times are you going to save me?

You open a new window and make a profile on the website.  Fortunately, Jisung allows private messages from accounts he does not follow.  You just hope he clicks on the message despite the blank profile.  You cannot have anything public that would give you away in any capacity. 

But you open the private message and you write, and you hope it reaches him, even after you have closed the window and walked away, head high with your purpose and a newfound determination to fulfill his only wish for you.

-

To the bestest most awesome boy in the world, from the bestest most awesome girl in the world.

I think I have that whole note memorized by now.  I don’t know you even remember these words, but it was how you started your message in my yearbook. 

I know it’s been a long time but I wanted to reach out.  My situation hasn’t really changed, so it’s still not safe to see you properly, which is why I’m messaging this way.  I’m sorry for that.  But I saw your video where you said you were happy, and I just wanted to say how glad I am.  You deserve the world, Jisungie.  I hope you know how much it loves you back.  How much I love you back. 

I have friends and even a boyfriend now.  I don’t think I would have any of it if not for you.  I think I am starting to be happy, but truth be told I don’t really know what that is supposed to feel or look like.  But I think I am starting to understand.  I think I know what I have to do. 

I’m going to get out.  I am going to get my love out too.  I have been waiting and wallowing, but I’m not going to do that anymore.  I want to be happy, whatever that looks like. 

Thank you for saving me when you did.  Now it’s time for me to save myself. 

You also gave me the world and I love it a little more everyday.  I hope someday soon I can see more of it.  If I’m lucky, maybe I will see you too, but even if we never meet face-to-face again, know I carry you with me too.  A best friend promise is a forever promise, right? 

Take care, Jisung.  Keep fighting.  Be happy. 

Love,

Your best friend. 

Now and always.

♡

Can you please write about dilf seungmin? I just can’t sleep without it.

it’s been a while since i posted — so why not start with my literally brand?

…I also made it spicy. Oops.

Seungmin looks good in a suit.

This isn’t like, brand new information. Simply a statement; he looks good in a suit.

Your husband looks good in a suit.

SMUT — MINORS DNI

What makes him look even better, in your opinion, is the way he puts the baby carrier on. Fingers flexing, veins popping in his hands as he adjusts the straps. Fixes the buckles. Make sure everything is secure before he puts your son in there. There’s just something about the way his fingers glide down the strap, pulling it tightly—

“You’re staring.” He interrupts your thoughts, not even looking up from what he’s doing. It slipped your mind that he’s standing in front of the mirror, and you’re right in his line of sight.

You clear your throat, distracting yourself with the sleeve on your dress. “Sorry.” You mumble.

“Hm.” Checking that everything is on him correctly, Seungmin turns around. “Are you?”

Why is he talking to you like this? Why is his voice so low? Was it a good idea to wear a long sleeved dress? Okay, it’s snowing outside, but the way your husband’s words are affecting make you feel like you’re on fire.

Red and pink-ish flames dance across your body, swirling like a tornado of fire. Engulfing you and forcing you to given into the sensation.

“Maybe.” The strand you were toying with becomes irrelevant, head tilting up to meet your husband’s gaze. He’s taken a few steps closer to you, eyes dark and turned downward. Another match strikes. “Would it be so wrong if I was?”

Tongue in cheek, he huffs a small laugh. Faster than lightening, a hand grips your chin. Tilting it up. Forcing your gaze to stay in place. “When you look at me like that,” his thumb slides up, finding the center of your bottom lip. Slowly, he begins to stroke it, smearing the red lipstick you just applied, “you know I can’t help myself.”

The birthday dinner is in less than an hour. If you don’t leave now, you run the risk of being late — but the baby is still asleep, snoring over the monitor in the next room over.

Sounds like a perfect excuse.

Your mouth forms around the digit, eyes locked with his as you slowly brush your thumbs across it. Not stopping until the mouth meets the knuckle, only to pull out just as slow.

“Don’t, then.”

Playing with fire is never wise. But sometimes, the burn is too delightful.

Seungmin’s other hand grips the nape of your neck, forcing you from your seat on the bed to your knees. They brush against his loafers, the only thing stopping your skin from bruising.

The thumb that was in your mouth moves across your cheek, painting your skin with the lipstick you so carefully applied. “All I’ve wanted was to make a mess of you tonight.” He says in a low whisper, slapping your cheek softly. Enough to make the blaze burn brighter. “You make losing myself too easy.”

His belt buckle jingles, blending with your gentle laugh as you smile up at him. Though he acts like he’s playing with you, in reality he’s given you exactly what you wanted. Feeding into your will without really even knowing.

Who knew all it took was a stare?

Seungmin pushed his pants down just enough to free his cock. It bounces out, hard and heavy like it was seconds from tearing a hole in his slacks. He grasps the base of it, slowly working his hand up and down. The thumb that is lipstick stained brushes over the tip. Making a mess of himself.

Your tongue rolls out, waiting for patiently for your husband to finish teasing you. To give you both what you know you can’t go another second without.

His smile is breathtaking. “Good girl.” He coos, finally sliding his cock in your mouth. The deeper it goes, the louder he groans. The fire moving to his body, and he’s in no rush to put it out.

Savoring the feeling of your throat, Seungmin is slow to pull out. Not wanting to even thrust — just to sit there, let his cock hit the back of your throat and listen to you choke on it. Everything about it is perfect. The warmth, the closeness.

You. Your watery, wide eyes. Face stained with lipstick, mascara close to follow.

“I love you.” He mumbles softly, the thrust starting slow and deep. He doesn’t go far before he diving back in, craving more and more. “I fucking love you.”

Bodies aflame, molding into one. There’s a tenderness that only Seungmin possesses, an ability to make even moments like this feel like heaven.

Your tongue swirls around the base of his cock. It twitches in your mouth, the feeling making his knees buckle. Fuck, everything about this is perfect. His fingers thread in your hair, holding your head still as he rocks his hips a lip faster. Rougher.

Spit starts to leak from your mouth. Down it rolls, clinging briefly to your chin before it drops onto the ground. His shoes. Your lap. Sloppy, messy.

Perfect.

“You take my cock so good.” He groans, head rolling back as he picks up the speed. Not one usually for words in the moment, you soak up the compliment. Bouncing a bit on your knees as you tighten your throat until he’s moaning your name. Spilling from his mouth like a prayer. “Fuck, that’s it. Fuck—“

He cums hard and fast. There isn’t even a second to warn you before it’s spilling in your mouth. Seungmin stares at you as he empties out, watching you swallow around his cock. You look so beautiful when you’re such a mess for him.

Carefully, he pulls himself out, stuffing the still hard member in his boxers. He falls to his knees in front of you, not even bothering to buckle his pants before he cups your face. Peppering it with kisses, whispering praise and thanks. Apologies for ruining your makeup—

Your hands wrap around his wrists, holding him close as you smile at him. “I love you, too.” You say softly, pressing your lips against his. “I—“

The monitor on the bedside table lights up, the sound of cries filling the room. You both huff a laugh, lost in each other’s gaze for just one more second. Just a little bit longer of just the two of you.

“I’ve got him.” You say, only to be held still by your husband.

“No, I’ll get him.” He brushes his lips against your cheeks once before he stands. “Go fix your makeup, unless you want to go to dinner like that.”

“I think it’s a look, no?” You tease, pulling yourself onto your feet.

“God, don’t start unless you want to be tied to the bed for the rest of the night.”

It’s not an empty threat. You desperately want to see it through. Smiling, you send him away, going into the en-suite to reapply to your lipstick. Clean the mess that Seungmin made.

Your husband looks good in a suit. It’s a fact. But when you walk out into the living room, getting the perfect view of him bouncing the baby against his chest. Singing and tickling the little boy’s feet until he’s a fit of giggles, you realize that as good as he looks in a suit — he looks better as a dad.

Source 

SEASON ONE : KINKTOBER 𖤐

⚠️THIS SEASON CONTAINS SMUT

NOW PLAYING : SEASON ONE : KINKTOBER. for this collection, each episode (thirst) will be released featuring your favourite actor (idol). thank you for booking the premiere tickets !!

NOTE. please keep in mind that this season features SKZ. the actors may or may not change during the follow up season. warnings will be added to each episode.

SEASON ONE ... KINKTOBER

[EP 01] BRAT TAMING + CHAN

[EP 02] ORAL FIXATION + CHANGBIN

[EP 03] ORGASM CONTROL + SEUNGMIN

[EP 04] SIZE KINK, SPANKING + HYUNJIN

[EP 05 ] OVERSTIMULATION + LEE KNOW (BUNNY!GF)

[EP 06] DILF CHAN, DADDY KINK

[EP 07] EDGING + JISUNG

[EP 08] THREESOME, MEANDOM!SEUNGMIN + SOFTDOM!CHAN

[EP 09] DEVOTION KINK + CHAN (WORSHIPPING)

[EP 10] BREEDING + SEUNGMIN

[EP 11] OVERSTIMULATION + CHAN

[EP 12] THROAT TRAINING + SEUNGMIN

[EP 13] FIRST TIME + LEE KNOW

[EP 14] SUGAR DADDY CHAN ( DADDY KINK, EXPERIMENTATION )

[EP 15] VOYEURISM + HAN JISUNG

[EP 16] STRENGTH KINK + CHANGBIN

[EP 17] FACE SITTING + HYUNJIN

[EP 18] THIGH RIDING + LEE KNOW

[EP 19] CHOKING + JISUNG

[EP 20] PET PLAY + LEE KNOW (KITTY!GF)

[EP 21] BDSM + SWITCH!JEONGIN (BONDAGE)

[EP 22] EXHIBITIONISM + FELIX

[EP 23] DUMBIFICATION + JEONGIN

[EP 24] CORRUPTION + LEE KNOW

[EP 25] FACE SITTING + HYUNJIN

[EP 26] SENSORY DEPRIVATION, PHONE SEX + FELIX

[EP 27] BREEDING + CHAN

[EP 28] THREESOME, SUB!FELIX + SUB!JISUNG

[EP 29] CHOKING, FINGERING + JEONGIN

[EP 30] DILF CHANGBIN, OVERSTIMULATION

[EP 31] THREESOME, MINHO + JISUNG

taglist : @oo-li @lovemollywho @telesvng @savedbystay @unsteady-trashcan @zaddywilk @comet-falls @end0rchans

© lix-ables. translating and/or reposting is not allowed.

SEASON TWO : DESTROY DICK DECEMBER

(coming soon)

instead of you [part twenty-five] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of sex (mdni)

word count: 5.7k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

Your cheeks were hot with embarrassment, but you nodded in understanding even though you didn’t want to have this conversation. You were ashamed enough already, you didn’t need to be reminded of what a shitty best friend you were. You wondered what Minho must think of you. How could he still be attracted to you when you were practically throwing yourself at your boyfriend’s brother? How could you be attracted to him when he was willing to fuck his brother’s girlfriend- well, almost fuck his brother’s girlfriend. Minho was clearly the better person here, because he was the one who’d stopped it from going any further. Not only that, but he was the single one here. Being a homewrecker wasn’t great, but at least he wasn’t the one cheating on his significant other. 

Of course, you weren’t actually cheating, but he didn’t know that. What you were doing was breaking a whole bunch of rules you’d agreed to with Jisung and going behind his back and breaking his trust-

“I won’t tell him if you won’t,” Minho suggested, putting your spiral on pause. 

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“I know.”

“I’m surprised you still…” you trailed off. What were you supposed to fill in the blank with? I’m surprised you still want to fuck me? Talk to me? Acknowledge my existence? You settled for “want to be around me” and left it at that. 

“Why?”

“You must think I’m a horrible person.”

“We’ve already been over this,” he pointed out. “If you’re a horrible person, I’m a horrible person.”

“Yeah, but, I just feel like it’s worse on my side.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if I can explain it in a way you’ll understand.” You must have made a face because he was quick to backtrack. “Not in that way! Like, I don’t think you’re dumb or anything, it’s just that- god, I’m a fucking idiot. I don’t know how to explain-” he was fumbling, but you weren’t sure how to help. You weren’t sure if you wanted to help. “I thought that if we- if we, just once, then I’d get it out of my system, but I don’t think I can do that.”

You didn’t have any idea as to what he was talking about, but you had a feeling it wasn’t just about his brother anymore. “I thought you said this was about Jisung.”

His lip twitched, eyes widening in thinly veiled panic. “It is! That’s why-”

“What do you mean by ‘getting it out of your system’, then?” you pushed. 

Minho winced. “I don’t- uh, they’re probably wondering where we are by now.”

He was right, but you weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily. 

“Fine, but this isn’t over. We need to have this conversation.”

“I thought we were keeping our distance from each other,” he tried. 

“Yeah, and look where that fucking got us!” you hissed, leaning toward him. “We’re clearly not very good at avoiding each other so it’d be better to just talk about it, right?”

Minho didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway. “I guess. But not right now.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you huffed. 

You knew he could tell that you weren’t happy about the compromise, but you didn’t care. It was obvious that he was running away from confrontation, though you didn’t understand the reasoning behind it. Sure, it was going to be an awkward conversation to have, but you both already knew you were attracted to each other seeing as you had almost just fucked in the bathroom of a bar. It may have been more than just stupid hormones for you, but you weren’t about to tell him that. 

“You go back to join them,” you said, smoothing your dress. “I-I can’t see Jisung right now.” Minho nodded in understanding. “Tell them that you ran into me back here and that I’m going back to the room. Just make something up, but don’t say that I’m feeling sick or Jisung will want to come up to take care of me.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “I can do that.”

You both took another moment to freshen up, checking your reflections in the dim light. You wiped the smudged lipgloss from the corners of your mouth, not missing the way that Minho tucked his dick into the waistband of his slacks before heading for the door. 

“Wait, shit, I don’t have a key,” you muttered to yourself. “Jisung brought his for both of us.”

“Take mine,” Minho offered. He turned back around and reached into his pocket, fishing out the plastic card and handing it to you. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You waited for a beat after Minho left the bathroom to follow, not wanting to get caught leaving together. Still, it felt like everyone knew. You felt like everyone was watching you as you made your way through the bar’s lobby to the elevators. 

You didn’t have time to dwell, too paranoid to even check if your suspicions were correct. 

The penthouse was thankfully empty when you returned. The main area was empty, at the very least. Nikki and Dom were either still out or had already gone to bed. Either way, you were relieved to be alone. You weren’t sure how long it would be until the boys got back so you took advantage of the solitude and jumped in the shower. 

It was nice not to have to worry about taking too long, or someone waiting to go after you. Sharing a bathroom with three men was more of a hassle than you had expected, but maybe that was because they were all high maintenance. 

You washed your hair and your body, but you didn’t focus too much on it. You knew there was no amount of scrubbing that could make the dirty feeling on your skin go away. It was ridiculous, how far you’d let this get. You didn’t know what was wrong with you, what had made you lose all sense of control and boundaries when you were around him. 

It was like you didn’t care about throwing your friendship with Jisung away, but you did. It made you sick to your stomach to think about the damage this might do to your relationship. You knew he’d be furious if he found out, and you knew he might never forgive you. So why couldn’t you stop?

The mirror was completely fogged up by the time you got out of the shower. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but your fingers were all wrinkly, which told you it had been a hot minute. 

You hadn’t brought a change of clothes with you again so you were forced to retreat to your room in nothing but a towel. Minho, Jisung, and Felix were clustered in the hallway having a conversation because of course they were, and all three of them turned their attention to you when they heard the door to the bathroom open. 

“Sorry,” you squeaked, and scurried off to your room, but not before catching Minho’s eye and Jisung's smirk. 

Jisung was right behind you, leaving the two other boys in the hallway as he followed you into the bedroom. 

“Sorry,” you repeated to just him. “I didn’t know you guys were back already.”

“It’s okay. You always forget to bring your pajamas with you when you shower anyway.”

“I know! Why do I do that?”

He shrugged and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “You don’t like having to put your clothes on while you’re still in the bathroom because you’re all wet and the air is sticky.”

“Yeah, but I usually just suck it up when I’m with other people.”

“It’s not a big deal. I mean one of my brothers has already seen you naked.”

You scoffed, burying yourself in the task of pulling clean pajamas from your suitcase. “Please don’t remind me.”

“You missed a great Meg cover,” he said, taking your request to heart. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, they were a cute couple. They did that one song with SZA. You would’ve liked it.”

“Oh, bummer.”

Jisung laid back on the bed, training his eyes on the ceiling as you changed. It was a force of habit, something he still tended to do even though you had changed in front of each other and seen each other naked countless times. Honestly, it was an improvement from when he had used to fully turn away from you every time you started to strip, so you tried not to make too much fun of him for it. 

“Of course, no one beat our performance.”

“Of course not. We were naturals up there,” you agreed, jumping into bed next to him once you were dressed. 

“We hit every note. The track was off, not us.”

“The microphones warped our voices.”

“The speakers were broken.”

Jisung chuckled and propped himself up on his elbows. “Hey, we should probably have sex tonight.”

“Why, did one of your brothers say something?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he assured you. “Just for consistency’s sake… unless you aren’t feeling up to it?”

“No, yeah, we can totally do it,” you answered quickly. Stupidly.

You zoned out while Jisung gave you a hickey on your neck, trying not to think about how Minho’s mouth had felt in that exact spot just a few hours ago. You moaned softer than you usually did, telling yourself that it was because you were sharing a space with Jisung’s parents, but you weren’t fooling anyone. 

You knew Minho would be able to hear you anyway, the walls had already proven to be awfully thin, and he’d see the hickey tomorrow regardless. There was no way around it. He’d know that you’d run to Jisung when you weren’t able to have him- except that wasn’t the case at all. But what would he think? Why did you care so much? 

You wished you could just tell him the truth, but then what would that solve? The whole reason you were on this stupid trip anyway was to convince Jisung’s family that he was in a relationship- Minho included. 

-

He managed to avoid you almost entirely the following day. You spent the afternoon with all of the Hans at The Bund, Shanghai’s most well-known attraction. It was a mile of skyline nestled against the Huangpu River with dozens of shops, museums, and galleries interspersed among the buildings. 

Jisung geeked out over the architecture, rambling about how there were over fifty-two styles of it present in the area. You listened intently, while his brothers pretended to fall asleep. You knew they were secretly interested, but they couldn’t let him know that. 

The day was warm, a bit uncomfortably hot if you stood in direct sunlight, but it was manageable in the shade. Dom bought everyone popsicles from a cart parked on the promenade to cool down. 

You shared with Jisung, trading your ice pops every few minutes. He’d gotten blue raspberry and you chose cherry, making both of your tongues turn purple. 

“This is how they invented the bisexual pride flag,” you said, licking a drop of juice from your hand. 

“You’re full of shit,” Jisung sighed and shook his head. 

“Fine, it wasn’t exactly like this. The inventor was at a party and they made out with a girl eating a blue popsicle and a boy eating a red one, and then when they saw that their mouth turned purple they had a eureka moment-”

“There isn’t even red on the bi flag!” your best friend pointed out. “It’s pink.”

“Fuck.”

“You forgot what your own flag looks like?”

“Would you have believed me if I said it was a pink popsicle?” you asked, ignoring his question. 

“No! It was a ridiculous story.”

“Damn.”

You stayed at The Bund until sunset, deciding to find a place to eat dinner when the sun kissed the horizon. 

You tried to enjoy the sights, but Minho was making it difficult. Every time you tried to corner him, get him alone to talk to him about the night before, he managed to change the subject or slip away. Most of the time, he’d just call one of the twins over to join your conversation, eliminating any chance you had of bringing up the incident. You wondered if the giant hickey on your neck had anything to do with it. It was clear that he hadn’t wanted to talk to you about it even before he thought you slept with his brother last night, but maybe that had made him even more hesitant. 

You eventually gave up trying to get him alone, not wanting to raise any red flags. Minho seemed to relax once he realized you’d laid off. He was much more conversational at dinner and even cracked a few jokes with his parents, who seemed oblivious to any tension. 

You didn’t even bother trying to talk to him the next morning. It was too early for that shit and you wanted to have a good time at the aquarium without worrying about your best friend’s brother. 

He said good morning to you in the kitchen as everyone was grabbing breakfast to go, but you ignored him. If he wanted to act immature, then you would too. It honestly seemed to be a better arrangement than whatever horny nonsense had been going on for the past few weeks. 

The aquarium was beautiful. This one in particular was known for its underwater tunnels with moving sidewalks. They stretched on for what felt like miles, taking you through all the different sea life enclosures. 

It was one of the more quiet activities, which you appreciated, and since it was so early it wasn’t too crowded either. The only time the silence was broken was when either you or Jisung would point out a funny-looking fish to one another. 

At first, Jisung had made jokes about spotting different kinds of fish that he’d cooked before, but that upset you so he stopped pretty much immediately. 

To your surprise, Minho pulled you aside in the aquarium gift shop. You were looking at shark stuffies while Jisung was over in the book aisle so you assumed that he was finally ready to talk about that night, but you were wrong. Instead, he grabbed one of the sharks off the shelf and pretended to look it over before turning to you and giving you a very serious look. 

“What?” you asked in annoyance, frustrated that you had to drag whatever it was out of him even now. 

“Do you still have the postcard?”

“The one you gave me in Italy?” you asked, cocking your head to the side. Minho nodded, rocking back on his heels awkwardly. “Yeah, why?”

“I… kind of need it back.”

You blinked, honestly taken aback at his sudden key change. “What? I thought you said I could keep it even after we called it even.”

“I know, I just- changed my mind.”

“Is this about Jisung, because he knew you gave me-”

“No, it isn’t about Jisung,” he cut you off and looked away as if he was paranoid about someone listening in on your conversation. “I don’t really want to get into it right now-”

“Okay, fine, whatever. I don’t have it here, though. It’s in my backpack back at the hotel so you can have it when we get back.” You folded your arms across your chest as you spoke, tone icy. 

Minho winced at your reaction. “I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“Don’t be. It’s whatever.”

Instinctively, you turned to search for Jisung, seeking comfort in his presence like you had done so many times before. You could see the top of his head over the aisles so you made your way over to him, abandoning Minho amongst the stuffies before he could respond. 

Jisung was still looking at books, seemingly trying to decide between a marine biology guide and a novel about a shipwreck based on the covers. He perked up when he felt you approach and turned around to face you, holding both of the books out. 

“Which one should I get?”

“I feel like I’m biased because I hate survival stories, and a survival story at sea sounds even worse.”

He sighed, turning the hardback over in his hand. “Yeah, you’re the hopeless romantic out of the two of us. Always reading love stories with the same tropes.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m hopeless,” you argued. “I found you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t think that’s a great point for your case.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up, you’re a great boyfriend.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so.”

“And for what it’s worth, I don’t only read romance.”

“Oh yeah, you also read a lot of smut.”

“Ji!”

“What? You do!”

“Yeah, but can you not advertise that so publicly?”

He laughed and nudged your shoulder playfully. “There’s no one around to hear.”

“If no one’s around, then why was I just hyping you up as a great boyfriend?”

“Because I am one.”

“You’re annoying, is what you are,” you huffed. 

“You say that, and yet continue to spend time with me.”

“Because I have no one else.”

He grinned at you before gazing down at your hands. “That’s cute. Are you going to get it?”

You looked down to see what he was talking about and realized you were holding a stuffed shark from the plushies section. You hadn’t even noticed that you brought it with you when you walked away from Minho. You’d been gripping it so hard that it was a little deflated and a couple of its felt teeth were turned inward. 

“Oh, um, I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

“Yeah,” Jisung answered with a shrug, “Why not?”

He grabbed it from you and placed it on top of the marine biology book in the crook of his elbow, sliding the novel back onto the shelf. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, following him through the store up to the register.

“Buying you the shark,” he said as if it should have been obvious.

“What, no! You don’t have to do that!” you protested. 

“Y/n, how many times have we been over this? I dragged you all the way across the world, the least I could do is buy you a stuffed shark.”

“You use that excuse with everything you buy for me!”

“Yeah, because it’s true. And as your boyfriend, it’s my job to do nice things for you. It’s literally, what, a hundred yuan? That’s like fifteen dollars.”

You knew you couldn’t argue with him about it in the store, seeing as the only valid point you could make was that he wasn’t actually your boyfriend.

“Fine,” you muttered. You could Venmo him for the stupid shark when you got back to the hotel. 

He smiled victoriously and placed both items on the counter for the cashier to scan. 

“What do you want to name it?”

“I don’t know. Do you have any ideas, since you’re the one buying it?”

He tilted his head back in thought, humming. “What about Shang? Because we’re in Shanghai? And Shang is also your favorite Disney prince.”

You bit your lip in embarrassment, suddenly wishing you had asked the question after purchasing the animal. Not only was his suggestion the most touristy thing you’d ever heard, but it was also exposing your crush on a fucking cartoon character in front of this stranger. 

“Well, they’re pronounced differently,” you pointed out quietly. 

“Yeah, you’d have to pick one and just know he represents both.”

You kept Shang tucked under your arm on the ride back to the hotel, letting Felix hold him when he asked how soft he was. It was a pain to hail a cab big enough for all six of you so Nikki made the executive decision to take two separate taxis. She and Dom would take the first, and then the four of you would squeeze into the next one. 

You sat squished in between the twins while Minho took the passenger seat. You were surprised that he remembered enough Mandarin from tours years ago to exchange pleasantries with the driver. The driver was impressed too and laughed heartily at something Minho said. 

“Butcher it that bad, huh?” Jisung joked, earning a glare from his older brother. 

“No, it was a joke. He was supposed to laugh.”

Jisung smirked and nodded like he was unconvinced. You almost scolded him for giving Minho a hard time, but then you remembered you were still mad at him so you held your tongue. 

“What’s for dinner?” you asked instead. 

“I don’t know,” Jisung replied. “We’re either going to try and find a place to get xiaolongbao or I’m gonna cook. Do you have a preference?”

“I am feeling a little tired, but I also have your food all the time. We should go out and get something while we’re here, right?”

“If that’s what you want to do, then absolutely.”

-

Once back, you set Shang at the head of your and Jisung’s bed, fluffing him gently so that he’d hopefully plump up again.

“It’s his bed now,” you’d announced to your best friend. 

“As it should be,” he agreed. “He is a benevolent ruler and reigns over his kingdom of the bedroom with a gentle hand.”

“How noble of him.”

Jisung nodded and yawned, stretching his arms over his head. “What do you want to do until dinner?” 

“How long do we have?”

“Few hours, probably.”

“Wanna check out the pool?”

“Yeah, I’ll ask Felix and Minho if they want to join us.”

“Actually,” you reached out to stop him, “can it just be the two of us?”

He seemed surprised by your request but was quick to reciprocate. “Sure, let’s go.”

-

Your hair was still wet by the time you were seated in the restaurant for dinner. You tried not to let it drip down the back of your chair, but that was proving to be difficult. Jisung’s hair had dried significantly more than yours had. It was damp, but only barely, and curling up at the ends. Each time he ran a hand through it, you’d be flicked with water droplets. 

“Was the pool any fun?” his mother asked, sipping from her cocktail glass.  

“It was nice,” Jisung answered for both of you. “It was really quiet because we were the only people there, but that was kind of a bonus.”

“Thanks for the invite,” Felix muttered, making you feel a little guilty for specifically not wanting them to join.

“I wanted to spend some time alone with my girlfriend, sue me!” Jisung shot back. 

You were thankful he didn’t throw you under the bus, even though you knew he wouldn’t anyway. 

“You get alone time with her every night, asshole,” his twin brother pointed out. 

Your hand shot up to your neck, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the hickey Jisung had given you the night before. Next to you, he clenched his jaw but didn’t say anything. Whether or not Felix had intended to make the innuendo was unclear, but knowing him it was easy to guess. 

“What should we order, Jisung?” Dom asked, expertly changing the subject like he had so many times before. 

You had noticed that anywhere you went, Jisung’s parents were always asking his opinion on what to eat. They assumed that because he was a culinary student he knew everything there was to know about food, and therefore knew what everyone would like. It was partly true, which was one of the reasons you always let him order for you. You were guilty of making the assumption too, but even though he acted annoyed by it you knew that he secretly liked being asked for his opinion. 

“We should get at least one order of the traditional xiaolongbao,” he suggested. “They’re pork dumplings full of soup, which is what Shanghai is famous for.”

“Sounds good, anything else?”

You tuned out as Jisung listed off a few other dishes to get, watching Minho out of the corner of your eye. He wasn’t paying attention either. He was scrolling on his phone, looking incredibly bored. 

You nearly scoffed. He could at least pretend to be interested in what Jisung was saying. You knew Jisung had done the same for him God knows how many times. 

You cleared your throat unsubtly, getting his attention immediately. Men were so easy. But you had also gotten everyone else’s attention, stopping the conversation altogether. 

“Yes, dear?” Jisung asked, leaning in your direction.

“Nothing, sorry,” you sputtered, still eyeing Minho. He held eye contact with you, eyebrows raised in question. “Swallowed wrong.”

Of course, you had to use the word swallow while staring down the guy you wanted to fuck. If he caught it, he didn’t show it. 

Jisung rubbed your back soothingly. “Oh, you alright, baby?”

“Fine, thanks.”

The conversation picked back up and you were able to fade into the background again. Minho contributed this time, presumably adding his thoughts on the food to the collective ordering process. 

“Does that sound good, baby?” Jisung’s voice snapped you out of your train of thought, and you realized you were still glaring at his brother. 

 “Hm? Oh, sure. You know I trust your judgment on food.”

“I know. Half the time we go out you don’t even open the menu.”

“I like to be surprised!”

He chuckled, the hand that was still on your back making familiar circular motions. “I know, I know. I just wanted to check to make sure there wasn’t anything in particular you wanted.”

“I’m ok. You’re very sweet, though.” You punctuated the statement with a kiss to his cheek. 

“I know.”

“Jesus Christ, I take it back.”

“Too late!”

“You’re impossible.”

“Thank you.”

-

After dinner, the Hans decided to attempt taking the metro back to the hotel rather than a cab. It took an hour longer because Felix misread the map and had all of you get on the wrong train at first, but eventually, you made it back to the square you all recognized and walked the rest of the way from there. 

Jisung jumped in the shower first, and you followed him, washing all of the chlorine from the pool out of your hair and off of your body. You remembered to bring your change of clothes with you this time and threw your wet hair up in your towel so that you wouldn’t drip everywhere as you had at the restaurant. 

Shang was sitting on Jisung’s lap when you joined him in the bedroom. He was absorbed in the book you’d lent him, highlighter balanced between his teeth as he jotted something down in the margins with a ballpoint pen. 

“Shang better not end up in your room instead of mine when we go home,” you warned. 

“Be prepared for him to go missing,” he mumbled. 

“I’ll just take him back!”

“You won’t be able to find him. And you’ll never be able to prove it was me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You were about to crawl into bed next to him when Nikki calling for the boys stopped you. You weren’t included in the roll call, but Jisung dragged you out into the living room anyway to see what was going on. 

Felix had beat you there and was standing behind the couch where his parents were gathered around an iPad. 

“It’s your cousin!” Nikki exclaimed. “Come say hi!”

The twins rounded the sofa and sat on either side of their parents, leaning into the frame so that the boys on the other side of the screen could see them. 

“Jeongin, Yoon! How are you?”

“Good! It’s hot here!” the older one, presumably Jeongin, answered.

“Where’s’here’?” Felix asked. 

“Florida!” the younger one exclaimed. 

“We’re in the States for vacation,” Jeongin explained. “I dunno how you lived here for so long, Jisung.”

“To be fair, I was a little further north than you are, but yeah, summers are brutal. Oh, by the way, this is my girlfriend!”

You were still standing behind the couch, not wanting to encroach on their family discussion, but when Jisung mentioned you he motioned for you to bend down into the frame and introduce yourself. 

You waved, hoping he could see you. “Hi! Nice to meet you, I’m y/n.”

Jeongin shot you a polite hello before addressing Jisung again. “I honestly thought you were lying when you said you had a girlfriend.”

Felix burst out laughing from the other side of the couch. “I miss you guys. It’s not as fun to make fun of Ji without you. Minho’s been lacking!”

“Oi, at least I have a girlfriend,” Jisung butt in. “I reckon you four will be single for the rest of your lives.”

“I bet Jeongin’s found himself a summer crush,” Felix reasoned. “He’s always had the most game out of all of us.”

The youngest boy scoffed. “Yeah, okay. One of us is a famous K-pop dancer, but I’m definitely the one with the most game.”

“Talent doesn’t equal game,” Jisung added despite being roasted within an inch of his life seconds earlier. 

“Where is Minho?” Nikki asked the twins suddenly, looking around the room for her eldest son.

“He’s at the bar we went to the other night,” Felix answered. “The one on the roof.”

“Can one of you go grab him? He needs to say hello to the boys.”

“I can do it,” you volunteered automatically without thinking. You didn’t want either of the boys to give up time talking with Jeongin and Yoon, but you hadn’t considered that you would have to see Minho and be alone with him if you were going to take their place. 

“Are you sure?” Jisung asked. 

“Yeah, totally,” you replied, trying to control the shakiness in your voice. “You guys stay here. I’ll go get him.”

You kissed Jisung before you could change your mind as if the decision had been sealed by your lips. 

You ran back by your room to slip on some shoes and took your hair out of the towel it had been drying in, hanging it on one of the hangers in the bedroom closet. 

The bar was only a few floors above the one you were staying at, but you decided to take the elevator anyway, not wanting to get sweaty after having just showered. You tried convincing yourself that being alone with Minho would be no big deal, even after what happened last time you were at this bar. Maybe you would finally be able to have that conversation you had been trying to have with him. 

Doubtful. He’d been acting weird all day. Certainly, he’d find another reason to blow you off and you’d be right back where you started. 

As soon as the elevator dinged at the floor you were headed to your heart dropped into your stomach. You told yourself that the nerves were because of the height. It was a rooftop bar after all. But you had been perfectly fine the last time you were here, so you couldn’t even attribute your anxiety to that. No, you knew exactly what it was. You just didn’t want to admit it.    

Even though the bar was dark, it wasn’t hard to find Minho. The place was practically empty. He was seated on one of the plush velvet couches facing the windows, looking down at something that was in his hands. As you got closer, you recognized something beside him. It was a bag. More specifically-

“Is that my backpack?” you demanded, making him jump up in surprise. 

All of the nervous energy dissipated instantly, quickly replaced by anger and confusion. Minho clutched what he was holding to his chest. His eyes were wide with panic and his cheeks were already turning pink. 

“What the fuck, Minho?” you hissed, continuing when he didn’t say anything. “Care to explain yourself?”

Suddenly, the shocked expression on his face fell into one of… what you thought might be anger, only confusing you further. 

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he spat.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I know I shouldn’t have taken your stuff without asking-”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have.”

“Let me finish,” he grumbled. 

You rolled your eyes, honestly in disbelief that someone who was snooping through your things could have the audacity to be upset with you. 

“I just went to get the postcard I gave you.”

The postcard. You had forgotten that he asked for it back. Still, that didn’t give him any right to-

“You said it was in your backpack so once we got back to the hotel I was just going to grab it from your room. I didn’t want to have to ask you again since you were clearly upset about it, so I thought that I’d find it myself. That was all I was going to do, I swear, but you had a lot of things in your backpack that looked like postcards, and some of them mentioned me so… I took the bag with me so that I could look at them all later, after dinner. I didn’t know what I was looking at, at first…” he trailed off. 

A slight shift in his hands revealed what he was actually holding. Flashcards. The flashcards. Fuck. The room began to spin and you genuinely thought you might be sick. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You wanted to break one of the bar’s windows and leap out of it, even if it meant facing your greatest fear. But you couldn’t move. Your mind screamed at you to do something, say something to explain yourself, but you were frozen in place, unable to say a word, let alone string an entire sentence together.

“What are these, y/n?” he asked, taking a step toward you. 

It was a rhetorical question. He obviously knew what they were. “Dates, fun facts, stories about you and Jisung... either you have a really shitty memory, or you’re not actually dating my brother.” His tone was taunting, he was smirking, but the way he was looking at you, the way he clenched his jaw, told you that he wasn’t amused in the slightest. 

“I-”

“Are you really in love with Jisung?”

“I love Jisung,” you whispered quietly, desperately. You couldn’t even look Minho in the eye. 

“Are you in love with him?” he repeated. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

You sucked in a breath, forcing yourself to meet Minho’s gaze. 

“No.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

fratboy!stray kids x reader

synopsis: a night where you reveal your most intense desires to your best friend lands you in the hot seat. you quickly find yourself in the heart of frat party central - will you embrace the connections you make in your hot bitch summer?

status: ongoing

[please view specific chapters for warnings! this work is 18+ MDNI]

makes me dizzy [lee minho x gn!afab reader, 18+ smut]

⇢ the best surprises come from the most unexpected sources - like having your crush corner you in a frat party after hearing you confess your deepest desires of him in the background of a video.

2. wanna be your favourite boy [han jisung x gn!afab reader, side lee minho x reader, 18+ smut]

⇢ after spending a night with the man of your dreams, your best friend won’t look you in the eyes or reply to your texts. what did you do wrong? nothing - he just wants you.

3. need some air [seo changbin x gn!afab reader, side lee minho x reader, 18+ smut]

⇢ your situationship - the man of your dreams - gives you full, explicit permission to fuck his frat brothers in your effort of a hot bitch summer. who’s next, after you ruined your best friend in bed?

4. drunk on rose water [hwang hyunjin x gn!afab reader, 18+ smut]

⇢ it was well established now that you were fucking your way around the frat. you hadn't intended to make hyunjin your next victim, but when you end up alone together, it seems like the perfect opportunity.

5. 5-star [lee felix x gn!afab reader, 18+ smut] - to be released

⇢ your best friend is pissed he hasn’t had his turn yet. the only problem is, his turn begins to take place in a room with three other people present.

6. go ahead and cry [kim seungmin x gn!afab reader, 18+ smut]

⇢ following the events of your almost-orgy, you can’t stop thinking about a certain someone and the way he behaved in bed.

7. tba [bang chan x gn!afab reader, 18+ smut]

8. tba [yang jeongin x gn!afab reader, 18+ smut]

© hyunsvngs, est 2023. all rights reserved.

never have i ever | ft. skz

summary; apparently you were wrong about the universal sexual experience when it comes to females.

rating; m for (very) mature

pairing; ot8 | stray kids x reader

author’s note; i. i don’t know. i had to write it down. might be the start of a.. series but no promises my dudes!

warnings; no actual smut!!, drinking, reader’s age isn’t specified except to say she is older than jeongin (i imagine her to be the oldest, just fyi), minho’s an actual menace, jisung is a crybaby, changbin is literal sunshine, chan is shy, yk? just ot8 things!, 8 on 1, mentions of oral sex (f rec), banter, teasing, dirty talk. honestly this is just one big implied disaster of friends fucking friends tbh.

it begins with a little game of ‘never have i ever’.

the rules are simple enough: you take a shot for every thing you’ve done and you’re allowed to use things you have done for your turn as long as you take a shot. it’s fun, even if a bit awkward, but that’s to be expected. eight guys and one girl playing a game that goes from PG to NC-17 in the blink of an eye has the tendency to get that way from time to time. all in all, it bothers you none and by the end of round three, you’re nearing a present buzz.

it comes your turn again and you frown down at your shot soju, squinting as you wrack your brain for a good one. you slap your hand down against the table when the lightbulb in your brain goes off, a loud ‘aha!’ bursting out and startling several of the boys sitting around the table with you.

“pray tell, then,” minho says, lips quirked up on one side.

you smirk back, feeling giddy. “never have i ever,” you pause, taking the time to glance at all eight of them, “nutted in someone’s mouth.”

a chorus of groans sounds out around the room, several eye rolls and even few pouts following shortly after. you giggle, elated, as each man eyes their glass with disdain. at this point, a few of them (jisung, felix, chan) are well on their to drunkenness and it makes you want to cry from the laughter.

“that’s a universal experience, though,” minho states, downing his glass with a dismissive wave. “c’mon everyone, drink up!”

another set of groans rings out before the room goes quiet, save for deep swallows and sounds of disgust as each of them takes their shot. afterwards, the soju bottle is passed from person to person until the bottle gets to you, and you’re holding your hands up in denial.

“i’m still full actually,” you answer, passing the bottle to hyunjin. “who’s turn is it now?”

hyunjin’s brows furrow, glancing at your shot glass. “what?”

“yeah,” minho quips, dark gaze taking on a challenging aura, “bottom’s up girlie! chop chop!”

“seriously, guys, i wasn’t lying. never have i ever nutted in someone’s mouth.”

the silence of the room is deafening; there are eight sets of big, brown eyes looking at you in a mix of offense, awe, and confusion. you squirm, blinking stupidly under their scrutiny, wondering what the big problem is. it’s not like you’ve never had an orgasm! it’s just that maybe your experience with getting head has been a little lackluster in comparison to theirs.

“don’t look at me like i’m some wounded animal!” you whine, waving your hands about. “i’m not hopeless!”

“wait, wait, wait,” chan starts, breaking the tension. “you’re saying,” he pauses, cheeks turning a darker shade of pink as he mulls over his words.

“no one’s ever made you come from eating you out?” seungmin questions, deadpan in a way that is both astonishing and humiliating.

you gulp, scratching your neck. “uh, no?” you offer, almost ashamed. “it’s kinda hard to come when they either don’t know where the clit is, wanna treat my pussy like it’s a science experiment, or straight up assume that i can come in five minutes with nothing but a few uncoordinated kitten licks.”

the whimper jisung makes is loud, puffy cheeks poked out as his eyes start to water, thoroughly saddened on your behalf. you look around the room and are a bit surprised by the looks on their faces. you kind of assumed that girls not coming from head was the universal experience, but judging by the offended scowls that surround you, you’re starting to think maybe you’re just broken.

“nah,” felix says, wide eyes ridden with disbelief. “nah, you’re jokin’! s’real funny.”

you cock your head to the side. “i’m not— i’m not joking? isn’t it like, i dunno, golden standard for dudes to suck royally at giving head anyway? selfish tendencies and all that.”

“yah!” changbin shouts, making everyone wince, “i’ve never been selfish a day in my life! i’m very good with my mouth,” he grins proudly, unashamed of his statement.

“maybe you’re just the exception, binbin,” you smile, reaching across the table to pat his hand, “not every guy can be as awesome as our changbinnie.”

“i’ve never gotten any complaints,” minho shrugs, staring daggers into your soul, “and just look at chan. you think lips like that have left someone unsatisfied? he’s probably made girls come with his nose alone!”

chan is ridiculously pink at this point, shoulders curved and head cradled in his large palms. you can only imagine how embarrassed he feels; chan’s a private guy who can barely accept a compliment on a good day, let alone a bunch of his bodies waxing cringe-worthy poetic about his sexual prowess. you’re sure he feels ready to combust.

hyunjin touches your shoulder gently, long fingers curling around it. you turn to him with a questioning quirk of your eyebrow, trying to decipher the hurt look on his face.

“excuse me if i’m overstepping, but have you ever gotten close? y’know, like at least felt like you were gonna come?”

“not that i can remember,” you say honestly. “again, i can’t exactly reach an orgasm if no one even bothers to look at my clit for longer than five minutes.”

and okay, maybe you should have kept your mouth shut with how wounded he looks after. you grimace and turn away, only to be faced with even more looks of pain, in addition to jisung’s pained wail, a hearty thud following as he connects with the floor in a sob. even seungmin and jeongin — who’ve been mostly inexpressive throughout this entire ordeal — are giving you side eye that’s mean enough to make you flinch.

“that’s gotta be a crime, right?” felix asks at the same time, looking for back up.

“it’s not that big of a deal!” you respond, suddenly wanting to disappear. “sex is still good.”

“oh, for fuck’s sake!” minho yells.

“noona,” jeongin pipes up, a weak smile on his lips, “no offense but your sex life sounds fuckin’ lame.”

you sputter. “offense taken, bread boy! i have plenty of fun in the bedroom!”

“yeah,” seungmin snorts, “by cavemen standards, probably.”

you’re starting to regret agreeing to this game, suddenly feeling like everyone is laughing at your expense. you know that it’s not your fault, logically, but it doesn’t help knowing that your friends clearly have no problem eating pussy and your past partners couldn’t be bothered to even touch your clit long enough to get you aroused. clearly that means something’s wrong with you, right?

“don’t even go there,” minho says, pointing in your direction. “i know you and it’s not your fault your exes are lame ass pansies. you’re not broken, either.”

“yeah,” chan nods, recovered from the earlier embarrassment. “you’re not broken, but maybe your taste in men is.”

you groan, placing your forehead on top of your folded arms as they rest on the table. “shut up, please,” you beg, whining, “my buzz is ruined now.”

“well maybe that’s a good thing,” minho says, shrugging when you peek up at him, “sounds to me like you could use a good orgasm instead. sobriety is needed for proper consent.”

all eyes are off of you and onto him, which you’re both thankful for and upset about. you chalk the jealousy up to the fact that you’re still embarrassed and now you’ve been subjected to even more humiliation, ignoring the fact that it’s a little hot. he doesn’t look away from you, clearly unfazed by his statement. you’re forced to sit up and really think about it, brows dipping in contemplation.

“you do know you’re offering something that kind of goes against the rules of friendship, right?”

“it doesn’t have to,” the brunette shrugs, “objectively speaking, you’re hot and i’m willing, and i’ll even go out on a limb here and say i’m not the only one who thinks so.”

“i’ll second that,” jisung sniffles, wiping his eyes with a pout.

“i like pussy,” jeongin says, “don’t care much who it’s attached to.” changbin elbows him and he chokes, glaring back at the shorter man, gritting through his next statement, “it helps that you’re pretty.”

“well, obviously, i’m down!” comes changbin’s response.

“i can’t believe i’m saying this, but yeah, can’t say i’m opposed to seeing what’s under your skirt.”

“seungmin!” chan chastises, slapping a palm over his own face.

the younger man raises an accusatory brow. “trying to say you don’t agree, hyung?”

“i— no,” chan admits bashfully, going for broke, “it’d be hypocritical to say i’m against you using my face for a seat.”

there’s a ton of hoots and hollers that sound off, forcing chan to wave them off while hiding his face. felix grins brightly at you and nods along, but doesn’t vocalize anything more.

“h-hyunjin?” you ask, not sure you can even handle the response either way.

“uh,” he begins, looking away, “i’m not going to make a fool of myself by saying something mushy, but yeah. i’m a man, and i’m not blind.”

“oh my god,” you squeak, ultimately feeling like a rabbit in a den of wolves. “all eight of you? seriously?!”

silence. shrugs. brazen looks.

“if you want,” minho offers easily. “it’s your decision. you want all eight, you can have all eight. you want two? cool! if you wanna pass, we can go back to playing games and pretend this didn’t happen. ball’s in your court, pretty.”

it’s a hefty decision, but an easy one if the pulsing of your clit is any indication.

“okay,” you agree softly, pressing your thighs together.

“that’s good,” minho says, lips split around a predatory smirk. your little movement doesn’t go unnoticed, but he wouldn’t be minho if he didn’t let you at least think you’ve gotten away with something. “because i think i’ve come down with a serious case of the munchies.”

it’s a horrible, terrible, god-awful joke, but it makes you laugh. the sound morphs into a stuttered gasp when hyunjin’s hand finds a place on your thigh, squeezing the flesh experimentally. your eyes snap to his hand, then to his face, and you gulp at the open desire you can see written on his elegant features. you’re afraid to even look at anyone else, lest you erupt into a bunch of flames, burned alive by the heat of your own growing arousal.

“well don’t be shy, love,” comes felix’s deep croon, “show us your pretty cunt, yeah?”

“go on,” minho encourages, “let hyunjinnie help.”

you’re too stunned to speak, letting the pretty boy next to you pull you into his lap easily. you help him settle your thighs on either side of his own, hiding your face when someone clucks their tongue and complains how they can’t see, only for another set of hands to lift up the hem of your skirt, exposing the gusset of your wet panties to the six other men in the room.

“mmm,” one hums appreciatively, but you aren’t sure who. “so wet already.”

you clench, knowing it’s visible when you hear a husky “fuck,” that sounds like it could be jisung though it’s squeaky enough that it could also be changbin, but you can’t be sure without looking.

“i—,” you whimper into your palms, eyes squeezed shut. someone’s finger circles the wet patch softly and you pulse again, overheating from just a bit of teasing.

“my dick is so fuckin’ hard right now,” and you know that’s definitely jisung because you gasp in shock and peek out from behind your hands, catching a glimpse of him readjusting the dick that’s causing a sizable tent in his sweats.

you lick your lips as you stare, feeling the wetness in your panties grow larger from both the slight stimulation from seungmin (go figure) teasing at your slit and the knowledge that at least one of (if not all of) your attractive friends is popping a stiffy over your not-even-fully-exposed cunt. it’s heady, empowering, makes you feel sexy and you can’t help but squirm wantonly in hyunjin’s lap.

“we’re gonna have so much fun with you, pretty,” minho purrs, one hand squeezing at his own dick as he stares straight into your eyes, “hope you’re ready for the best night of your life.”

© hyungszn 2023; please do not copy, steal, repost, modify, translate, or recommend on any other platform without my permission!

✵ ZIP

✵ Bang Chan x (afab) Reader ✵ 3.4k | 15 min. read ✵ Slice of life, Smut, Fluff ✵ CW: Nothing out of the ordinary. Penetrative sex feat. oral.

IN WHICH ...you and Chris' understanding of what "friends with benefits" entails is different than what is commonly accepted.

Regarding tagging: Tagging will stop altogether with this release. I'm having a really hard time keeping track. Going forward, please refer to my pinned post if you wish to check for updates, or subscribe to my blog. Thank you.

Most people have that friend. With benefits. A booty call arrives. The parties meet, they fuck, then they leave, but they’re friends. There’s nothing more to it. There can’t be. It’s not part of the agreement.

That’s just a subdomain of hookup culture for you. You’re having a hard time wrapping your head around how two people who consistently sleep together can avoid catching feelings. They learn each other by heart. They know what gets the other going. They quite literally memorize it and use it to their advantage when they get intimate in a way no two ‘friends’ usually do.

That’s simply mindboggling.

You have a friend too. With benefits. But your benefits are a little different. 

For starters, it requires advanced proficiency in a language only you two understand. You don’t hit each other up when you are horny. 

You hit each other up when you feel lonely.

The call arrives. His name flashes on the screen, but not for too long. One ring only. You know what that means. He’s downstairs.

It doesn’t matter what time it is. You throw on whatever, rarely paying attention to how nice it looks. You dress for comfort. It’s usually sweatpants, a t-shirt, a zip-up jacket, and sneakers. His ensemble is more or less the same, but he usually opts for a hoodie. Always black, fully pigment-agnostic, and never safe from being stolen by you. 

You like his hoodies. They smell like him, and you instantly fall asleep if you hug one. It has insomnia-curing powers.

Tonight he lets his curly locks riot. He’s recently showered; his hair is all frizzy, and you can smell his shampoo. He likes sweet scents; he likes peaches, so you gifted him a nectarine-scented shampoo quite some time ago. It’s quickly become his favorite bathroom item and he keeps buying the same one when he runs out.

You like it when he uses that shampoo.

You sit on the passenger seat. He hands you the aux cable. You plug it to your phone and fire up the playlist you made that consists of all the songs that remind you of him. Nothing of the sort that he enjoys blasting during earlier hours of the day with the beat drops, hard-hitting kicks, and loud basslines. These are slow jams mostly. Chill beats. Music to fuck to, but you’ve never fucked each other once.

You are friends. You always have been.

He softly presses on the gas pedal and the car moves. The weather is soft outside despite the hour of the night. You slide the window down and let the cozy night breeze fill in the car, caress both of you on the cheek, and stroke your hair. The scent of his shampoo gets more prominent. You close your eyes and smile to yourself. If you had eyes at the back of your head, you could see how he was also smiling at how peaceful you looked making out with the wind.

You like it when he smiles. His dimples make him infinity times more gorgeous. You die a little inside every time he flashes them to you when he giggles like an idiot.

Tonight he doesn’t drive idly with no destination in mind like he usually does. He navigates the serpent roads with intention, and you find yourself en route to a hill. You know this hill—you’ve told him about it in the passing. The night view is supposed to be magnificent. It seems like he remembers it.

You like it when he remembers things. Like your birthday. Your favorite donut flavor. Your fears, your dreams, your secrets.

Because you’re friends. You always have been. 

Once he reaches the top, he kills the engine. There’s not a soul around, and the only sound you hear is the humming of the wind telling bedtime stories to get the city to fall asleep. Your location is pretty high up and it feels like you’re on some observation deck. He knows you’re scared of heights. As you watch the concrete garden below the hill illuminated by the gigantic full moon with half-mesmerized half-terrified eyes, you feel the warmth of his hand on yours. You reflexively turn to your left and see his devastating smile. It reassures you. It splashes some cold water inside you. It calms you down.

Then he reaches the backseat and grabs a box. It has a small set of donuts inside. The ones you like. Also two hot beverages. He hates coffee, but he seems to like the caramel-based drink this place makes. He still thanks you for taking him there to this day. You watch the view while munching on glazed donuts. You think about stuff. Mundane things, urgent things, things of no value, and things of vital importance. In silence, like you always do.

You like it when you are alone together. No words are necessary. Everything besides each other’s company is unequivocally redundant. His presence calms you. Your presence calms him. Always has.

When he sees you yawning, he puts the box in the backseat and starts the car again. No matter what he wears, he’s a different kind of charming when he drives. Spreads his legs wide and focuses on the road with creased brows and his head tilted slightly. He doesn’t rush. Even though there is literally no one else on the road, he stops at all the red lights. He slows down even more when he enters your neighborhood as if he wants to drag on the drive as much as possible. He eventually reaches your apartment building. You look at him. He smiles at you, but you’re not smiling back. He looks a little concerned.

You don’t want to be friends with him anymore. 

The gear is in park already. You kill the engine on his behalf and pull the key from its socket. He looks at you with curious eyes. You get out of the car and wait for him to do the same. He finally gets off. You lock the car and hand his keys back to him, then make your way into your apartment. He follows suit after you. You ride the elevator to your floor, but he doesn’t look at you. He looks nervous. He examines the stitches on his sneakers instead.

You don’t turn on the lights once you make it inside. You reach out your hand to hold his. He briefly hesitates, but then gives in. You lead him to your bedroom. The moonlight fills your single-cell prison to the brim anyway. No light necessary. No words necessary. Everything besides each other’s company is unequivocally redundant.

You put your hands on his face. He swallows. He is burning under your touch. The moonlight bouncing off his skin snitches on the pale rose tint covering him. He musters whatever courage he can and starts dragging your zipper down. Slowly. Allowing you to stop him any time you want to if you have instant second thoughts, but you don’t. He reaches the very end and cascades your jacket off your shoulders. You look like the light of his life in a plain white t-shirt. You look beautiful. You tug on the heavy fabric of his hoodie, then slide it up so that he can take it off for you. 

You like it when he flaunts his body when you go to the beach together. He should do that more often because confidence looks so fucking sexy on him. He’s mesmerizing. It’s a shame how oblivious he is to it.

You brush your fingers on his bare torso, feeling every single imperfection on his skin. He feels perfect under your fingertips. He looks perfect like this. The scent of his shampoo is at its most prominent now. It invades your nostrils. It invades your existence. You feel pleasantly dizzy, and it makes you smile. The heat that exudes from his body gets more intense. His temperature is rising. You feel like you’re sitting in front of a fan blowing warm air. You feel like he invented the Föhn winds. He looks at you, you look at him. He comes closer, you lean in.

He doesn’t want to be friends with you anymore.

You know that because friends don’t kiss like that. Friends don’t taste each other like that. Friends don’t run their hands on their friends’ bodies with so much need and they don’t start moaning in delight when those touches turn into gropes like that.

You’ve never fucked each other once, but it feels so familiar as if you’ve been fucking each other for a lifetime already. His tongue in your mouth feels right when he swirls it around yours. He presses your hands on his body to urge you to dig them deeper into his skin. You pull him closer, flush against your body, no amount of air allowed to pass by between you. For years, you’ve sat beside each other with an appropriate amount of distance between you because you’re friends and always have been, but you cannot take it anymore.

You don’t want to be friends with him anymore.

His movements start getting more rushed as he strips you of whatever piece of garment is hiding you from him. Has been hiding you from him all this fucking time completely unnecessarily, and for what? God, you are beautiful. You are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen and you are finally letting him touch you that way. 

He’s been seeing you that way ever since you went out for ice cream and he touched your lips to wipe the caramel drop that you couldn’t lick away.

If only you knew. If only you knew how many times he had to stop himself from going overboard. How many times he had to control himself from doing something stupid. He wanted to do something stupid. He wanted to do the stupidest things he could think of with you, but you were friends and always had been.

But now there is no reason telling him not to.

He never leaves your lips as he lays you down on your back, then traps you under his frame and draws a very long trail on your body with kisses, starting from your forehead, descending down your torso, and finally reaching your crotch. You feel very exposed all of a sudden when he faces your pussy. You are actually naked in front of him. He is actually looking at your folds like he’s witnessing the eighth wonder of the world. God, you’re beautiful.

If only he knew. If only he knew how many times you fucked yourself to the thoughts of him on this very bed. How many times you moaned his name imagining him doing the most illicit things to you. You wanted him to do those things to you. To his heart’s content. 

And now there is no reason telling him not to.

You jerk in your place when he drags his tongue on your cunt from your entrance to your clit. He knows how much he’s shocked your body just now from head to toe. It pleases him that you’re reacting this strongly to him. He opts for a little torture session first and swirls his tongue around the engorged bundle of nerves over and over and over again. All you could do is pant, moan, and repeat. You press your hands on your eyes to deprive yourself of your sight so that the only thing you can feel is his wetness between your legs. He licks and licks and licks, then breaks the one rule you have in your arrangement.

You can’t really make out what it is, but you can feel the vibrations coursing through your body. He’s whispering inaudible things into your pussy. As he kisses your folds. As he traps the sensitive flesh between his lips. As he takes deep breaths while pleasuring you so that the only thing he can feel is your taste on his tongue. You wish you had inhumane hearing. You wish you had the courage to tell him to come whisper it in your ears instead. You can’t. You’re not used to talking to him during these hours of the night, not that you’d be able to if you wanted. He renders you completely mute.

You place your hands on his head and push him down so that he knows you need more. You need so much more. He presses his thumbs on your labia to spread them open, wraps those salacious lips of his you’ve been dying to kiss for years around your clit, and gets to sucking it. Gently, excruciatingly slowly while he simultaneously draws random lines with his tongue. His eyes are closed and he’s just basking in your taste, happily slurping on you with satisfied little sounds. The more he hums, the louder you moan. The louder you moan, the faster he goes. The faster he goes, the closer you get, and when he sustains an unbearable speed on your clit with his tongue, lapping at you, teasing you, and getting you ready to launch your soul into the ozone…

You fucking snap.

You arch your back, utterly under the death grip of his ministrations, convulsing much more violently than you ever have in this bed because he is actually with you this time around. Your orgasm gets to your head like an acute onset brain freeze. He keeps licking your pussy with much slower drags while your instant high recedes, your moans getting more dragged out, more hushed as your body relaxes. Maybe this is what it feels like to ride the waves of the hometown seas he can’t shut up about.

You like it when he talks about those beaches in excruciating detail like a kid hopped up on a sugar high.

He pulls himself up and hovers over your body, caresses your face flushed with the afterglow heat, and kisses your lips still covered with traces of you mixed with faint hints of caramel. You run your fingers through his hair that you love playing with like your personal safety blanket. You’ve never had a chance to inhale his natural scent this much before. You fill your lungs to the brim with it as if you’ll never ever get a chance to do it again. You want to remember it. You want to remember it for the rest of your life. You kiss his lips, you kiss his cheeks, you kiss his nose, you kiss every single feature of his face that you can’t stop adoring. You kiss him. He throbs between your legs.

You run your hand down his torso and reach for his flushed cock, his length moist from rubbing against your pussy and his slit much wetter with his precum. You swipe your thumb on it, then guide it towards your entrance. He puts his hand on yours as he aligns himself, and you flinch when his tip presses against you. You’ve dreamed of this for so long. You’ve imagined this for so long, but nothing compares to the real thing. He puts one of your legs on his shoulder, kisses your ankle, and groans when he starts sinking into you. Halfway through paving his way, the way you’re wrapped around him, squeezing him with your swollen walls feels so overwhelming that his eyes roll back with the intense sensation. He has no idea what’s going to happen once he hits a dead end. He has no idea how long he can last if you keep clenching like that. He has no idea how he can pretend to be out of love still now that he knows what it feels like inside you. 

You whimper when he bottoms out. He looks at you with questioning eyes to detect any signs of discomfort. You encourage him by putting your hands on his waist and pulling him closer. He kisses you once more, then he starts moving. He’s stretching you more with lazy thrusts, his cock grazing against your walls, getting them even more engorged around him. It feels like you’re about to combust. It feels like the world is ending. It feels like he’s engraving himself in your soul and forcing you to irreversibly fall in love with him. At love point.

How wet you are is encouraging at best, and concerning at worst. You’re dripping all over his cock, and all his willpower is at work to stop him from having an untimely accident. It feels way too good, better than any of his fantasies about you to date, and the pornographic squelching sounds coming from your soaked cunt every time he disappears into you make it all the more challenging to get a hold of himself. He’s panting like he’s running away from his worst nightmares at full speed. He’s sweating like he’s been sitting under the scorching sun for hours, about to have a fatal heatstroke. He intently watches how your face contorts in pleasure more and more with each thrust. He carefully listens to detect exactly by how many decibels your moans are getting louder, and it riles him up so much that he shifts the gear to the maximum. He knows he’s doomed, but he can’t help it. He’s never been able to help it whenever you starred in his most R-rated thoughts anyway, and he sure as fuck is not about to deny himself the extreme ecstasy you harbor deep within you. He knows it’s there; it’s only a matter of him poking the shell hard enough to make it pop and unleash it on both of you. You hold onto his biceps for dear life as he fucks you harder, faster, urging you to keep your eyes open and look at him as he makes you moan louder. You wish you never wasted any time feigning complete ignorance so that you could spend all those silent nights in each other’s arms instead. You wish you knew Morse code so that you could blink I love yous to him over and over again. He hurriedly licks his thumb and reaches for your clit to summon you to the exact location he’s at. He can’t leave without you. He can’t. He can’t, just don’t leave him alone anymore, this is getting fucking unbearable. Your moans transform into faster staccato rhythms. He knows you’re there. He hits harder, and harder, and harder. The shell breaks. He catches you when you arch into him, holds you close, holds your lips captive in his, then lets himself go however violent that may be. He moans into your mouth while emptying his full load into you, and luckily so since the volume would alert everybody in the three-kilometer radius otherwise, prompting several emergency calls to the nearest police station. You feel the full blast of his orgasm as it reverberates throughout your body like the tremors of a harsh beat drop oozing from gigantic speakers. His cum paints your walls milky white, and his sounds of pleasure turn diminuendo, slowly trailing off like an unfinished sentence. 

Afterglow looks so good on him, and it makes your heart swell. You feel happy as he kisses between your breasts and rests his head on your chest while hugging you. He feels happy as he listens to your calming heartbeat in your ribcage. The moonlight kisses his temples goodnight before disappearing from your window frame. You press your lips on his curls for quite a while and he smiles. You’re spent. He’s tired. Tired of having to keep up a front for so long as if he’s been laundering money and has to keep it a secret even from himself. He slowly opens his eyes as if he’s waking up from a dream, then pulls his body up and plays with your hair while examining your face. You seem to be as tired as him. He kisses your forehead, your nose, then your lips, and looks right into your eyes as he utters his first words of the night out loud.

“I think this counts as an anniversary, don’t you reckon?”

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instead of you [part twenty-three] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of sex (mdni)

word count: 3.5k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

You listened to the bedroom door shutting and the muffled whispering that followed. You and your best friend traded looks

“Son of a bitch,” Jisung said, smirking. “Didn’t think he’d be bold enough to bring a girl back here with our parents staying in the same apartment.”

“You’re here with me,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, but according to them we’re in a committed long-term relationship. They don’t know I just picked you up off the street.” You shoved him. “Ow!”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You know what I mean, though,” Jisung continued, dropping his voice into a whisper so that he couldn’t be heard through the wall. “I doubt they’ll be thrilled.”

“Who says they have to find out?”

“Oh, you’re right. He’ll probably just fuck her and kick her out.”

You tensed uncomfortably and Jisung turned his head towards you, noticing the way you’d gone stiff next to him.

“What, are you jealous?”

“Wh-what?” you asked, eyes wide in panic.

Did he know? Had he known this whole time and was only acting like nothing was wrong?

“Yeah, are you jealous? That he’s having sex and you aren’t?”

Jesus Christ.

“Oh, I mean I guess.”

Were you jealous? Was it even fair to feel that way if you were? You didn’t necessarily want to be a random one-night stand of Minho’s, but you did want him in that way. It wasn’t worth it to lie to yourself when it was so obvious. It was bad enough lying to your best friend. Still, it wasn’t like you could have him- or that he could have you. It wasn’t fair to be jealous over someone that wasn’t and would never be yours. Even if the attraction was mutual, it wasn’t like you could expect him not to fuck other people since you were fucking his brother.

“Me too,” Jisung agreed with a sigh.

It was easy to forget that weren’t the only one being forced to stay celibate. And even though you were the one who was arguably making the bigger sacrifice, it still had to be hard for him.

“Although, if the sex is that quiet I don’t want it,” he added in a low voice.

You hadn’t even realized it had gone silent on the other side of the wall until he mentioned it. You waited a couple of beats, holding out to see if maybe they had just taken a breather in the middle or something, but you couldn’t even hear them talking anymore.

Jisung had already turned over on his side to go to sleep, but you stayed frozen in place, still waiting to hear anything that indicated what was going on in the room next door, but there was nothing. You knew you shouldn’t even be listening in the first place. It was invasive and inappropriate- sure, Minho had heard you “having sex”, but only because you were loud on purpose, not because he was trying to.

The mere thought of Minho having sex with a stranger was enough to make your stomach turn, and yet there you were torturing yourself and being nosy.

After several long minutes filled with the sounds of Jisung’s soft snores and your own breaths, you rolled over and squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to drift off. You weren’t sure how long it took, but you must’ve fallen asleep eventually because the next time you opened your eyes the bedroom was filled with sunlight.

Neither of you had remembered to shut the blinds or draw the curtains the night before which let the light shine through the window unfiltered, right into your face. You blinked and groaned, blindly reaching for your phone on the nightstand to shut off your alarm.

Everyone had to be up early because you were going to Disneyland- something that had not necessarily been your choice, but more of a suggestion by Jisung’s parents. You were happy to go, though. The only Disney park you’d ever been to was Disney World in Orlando. Your family used to go every couple of years and it was fun enough, so you figured Disney in Shanghai would be fun too… of course, there was the whole ‘Walt Disney was a piece of shit’ and ‘Disney as a corporation is a conglomerate monopoly that sucks the money and creativity and joy out of everything it touches’ issues that you had to look past, but since Minho had performed at one of the parks a couple of years ago, everyone got free tickets was so you might as well go and enjoy it on the company’s dime.

Thankfully, it wasn’t the day that you had to wear the matching shirts with everyone so you wouldn’t look that touristy, but you knew they’d probably make you all wear Mickey ears at the very least.

You got dressed along with Jisung and took turns in the bathroom brushing your teeth.

“Make sure you put sunscreen on,” you reminded him through a mouthful of toothpaste as he walked past the open door.

“You too,” he shot back.

You spit into the sink and rinsed your mouth before responding.

“I already have sunscreen on, dumbass. And you’re the one who needs it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Fuck you.”

“You wish.”

“Good morning to the happy couple,” Felix chimed in, peeking out from the door to his bedroom. “I slept through my alarm, but your bickering woke me up so thank you for that. I would’ve been late to breakfast.”

“We weren’t bickering,” Jisung scoffed. 

Behind his back you gave Felix a look that said we definitely were and he just laughed. Jisung turned to look at you, raising his eyebrow in suspicion. 

“What?”

“Nothing, babe. Let’s go join your parents in the kitchen. I think the food’s here. It smells delicious.”

Dom and Nikki had ordered room service for everyone and it was waiting on the table for you when you walked into the common area together. 

“Good morning,” Nikki greeted you brightly, lifting a cup of coffee to her lips. She gestured to the spread of breakfast foods laid out on the table and encouraged you and the twins to help yourselves. 

You grabbed a plate and filled it with fruit, spooning strawberries and blueberries onto the side so that you could save the middle for bigger things like a bagel or a waffle. Jisung and Felix went for the heartier dishes first, predictably filling their plates with sausage and bacon before moving on to the fruit and carbs. 

Minho was the last to join, stumbling tiredly to the table as he yawned and blinked the sleep from his eyes. 

“Good morning,” Nikki said, just as cheerily as she had been with the other three of you. 

“Morning,” Minho replied quietly. 

“Is your, um... friend joining us for breakfast?” his mother asked. 

Everyone’s attention was suddenly on Minho. You all had stopped what you were doing to look at him expectantly. You’d been about to take a bite of toast, but you didn’t want to miss what he said so now you were just holding the piece of bread inches away from your open mouth.

Minho shot Felix an accusatory look, as if he thought his younger brother had been the one to snitch on him. Felix gave Minho a quick shake of his head and just shrugged, communicating back that he had no idea how they knew. 

“No, she left a couple minutes ago,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment and he kept his head down as he took a seat next to Felix.

So she had stayed over.

“Will you be seeing her again?” Nikki pressed, spreading butter onto an English muffin. Dom elbowed his wife pointedly, but she just waved him off. She knew exactly what she was doing, giving her son a hard time. 

“I don’t know,” Minho answered, barely audible. 

“She seemed nice,” Felix supplied helpfully with a grin. “She was a college student studying abroad.”

“How interesting,” their father said unconvincingly as he stirred cream into his coffee. 

“Yeah, she’s American too, like y/n.”

It was your turn to be thrust into the spotlight and you wished you could disappear. There was no reason for the invocation of your name to be suspicious or strange, but you still averted your gaze from everyone and stared at your plate. 

“What a coincidence,” Nikki mused thoughtfully. 

“I didn’t even know you brought someone home,” Jisung lied. You weren’t sure why he was blatantly making shit up, but his reasoning became apparent as he continued. “It was so quiet on our end of the apartment all night.” You reached under the table and squeezed your best friend’s thigh in warning, but he didn’t react and continued to tease his older brother. “Did you guys just have a sleepover or something?”

Minho raised his head and glared at Jisung angrily, offering no response- denial or otherwise. 

“Or are you just not as good as you think you are?”

He didn’t say it explicitly, but the implication was there. Everyone at the table knew he meant good in bed, but for all you knew he could’ve been referring to everything else Minho did too, using the night before as an excuse to call him out in front of everybody. 

Minho clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes at Jisung. “You want to go there?”

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. You didn’t know what your best friend’s problem was, but his apparent unresolved bitterness toward his brother was starting to get on your nerves. Your grip on Jisung’s thigh tightened and you gave him a disapproving look. 

“Quit it, Ji,” you scolded him at the same time his dad said, “That sort of talk isn’t appropriate for family meals”.

Jisung apologized and dropped it, but Minho was still clearly fuming. The rest of breakfast was quiet, with only Felix and Nikki trying to revive the conversation by talking about anything and everything. By the time everyone had finished eating it was time to pack up for the day and head downstairs to call a cab.

Jisung disappeared into your room to get your backpacks leaving you with Felix in the living room. 

“Today’s going to be fun,” he muttered, loud enough for only you to hear. 

“Tell me about it.”

“At least we’re gonna spend it at the ‘happiest place on earth’, right?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Yup,” you agreed. “Can’t wait.”

-

Disney was much more your speed than Yomiuriland had been. The rides weren’t nearly as tall here, and the ones that looked too daunting for you had cute little child swap areas where they were playing movies to wait in. Of course, the movies were all in Mandarin, but you’d seen most of them enough times to know what was happening anyway. 

Jisung wasn’t as hesitant to leave you by yourself in the child swap, but he still offered to stay behind with you every single time. You had to assure him that you were more than content to hold all the bags and watch Beauty and the Beast with a bunch of toddlers and exhausted parents. And it was true. It was nice to have time to yourself to just do nothing. You were able to scroll through social media without having to look over your shoulder, able to simply exist without feeling like every breath you took was a lie. You were only alone for a few minutes at a time, but it was still nice to have a break. 

The wait times were pretty long, considering that it was the summertime and the height of tourist season, so a lot of the day was spent standing in line. You would wait with the Hans up until the very end of the line and then either get on the ride with them or skirt into the child swap room right next to the loading dock to wait for them. 

“How was it?” you asked, standing when you saw the boys coming through the switch door. You distributed the backpacks back to them, receiving a kiss from Jisung as you handed him his. 

They had just gone on the TRON motorcycle roller coaster, something you had been happy to pass on. You remembered all of the TRON promotions playing on cable when you were younger, but you had never actually seen the movie. Either way, you weren’t interested in the ride because of the high drops. 

“It was really cool,” Jisung replied, pushing his curls out of his eyes. “You would’ve hated it.”

“I bet.”

Minho slung an arm around each of his twin brothers and squeezed them affectionately, laughing when they both groaned. “Are you guys hungry? Should we get lunch?”

“I could eat,” Felix said thoughtfully. 

“Me too,” Jisung agreed, then turned to you. “Babe?”

“Lunch sounds good to me.”

You wandered together until you stumbled upon a restaurant called Wandering Moon and decided to eat there. You weren’t sure what kind of food they served, it was a choice of convenience rather than craving- as most theme park meals were. 

You shared some egg rolls and wok-fried spicy chicken with Jisung. You knew that they had accommodated the spiciness for the tourists here and that it didn’t measure up to the actual Chinese definition of spicy, but it was still hot. You had to drink three cups of lemonade just to tolerate the spice and be able to get it down, while Jisung was completely unbothered.

“How are you not dying?” you choked out between sips, spilling lemonade down your shirt in the process. 

“You forget that I’m a culinary student,” he reminded you, putting a hand on your knee. “This is nothing.”

“What’s the spiciest thing they’ve ever made you eat?” Felix asked with a grin. 

“They’ve made us eat a lot of weird shit,” Jisung mused, “but spiciest... there were some peppers we’ve been given the ‘option’ to try.”

“Why’d you say ‘option’ like that?”

“Because they can’t legally make us eat anything. It gets even dicier when you get up past a certain Scoville level, too. But they usually want us to know what the ingredients we’re cooking with taste like so we know how their flavor will affect the rest of the dish. If that makes sense.” He paused, waiting for his brothers to nod in understanding or acknowledgment before continuing. You already knew all of what he was saying from listening to countless stories he’d prefaced with this exact information so he didn’t even need to look at you to know you were following. “So while we don’t have to eat them, our professors always highly recommend trying at least a little bit of everything, and it’s kind of implied that you’re a pussy if you don’t.” 

“What if you’re a vegetarian?” Minho interjected.

“Then you kind of just have to deal with being looked down on until you graduate. Actually, you’ll probably be looked down on your entire career. Culinary is a toxic field, but we don’t have time to unpack all of that right now. Anyway, we’ve worked on dishes with Ghost Peppers and Trinidad Scorpions, and basically, it just turns into a pissing contest over who can take the most heat without drinking anything.”

“Did you ever win?”

“Absolutely not. Look at me. This girl from Nepal beat us all almost every single time. Nepali food isn’t even known to be that spicy. We’re all just wimps.”

“I remember the ghost pepper day,” you chimed in suddenly. “You came to my dorm in tears.”

Jisung grimaced at the memory as his brothers laughed. “Thank you, my love, for bringing that story up.”

“He laid down in my bed and made me go buy him a gallon of milk from the gas station down the street. By the time I got back, he was convinced I’d have to take him to the emergency room. He turned out to be fine, obviously, but at the time my car was in the shop and I’d never driven his before so we really thought we were going to have to take the campus bus to the ER.”

“Oh my god,” Minho murmured. 

“I know how to drive his car now, though. So if that were to ever happen again and you actually did need to go to the ER, we’d be fine. Theoretically.”

“I’m so relieved,” your best friend deadpanned. 

After lunch you were back out in the park, flip-flopping between whichever attractions had the shortest wait times. You hadn’t seen Jisung’s parents in a few hours. They had told you that they were starting on the opposite end of the park and were going to do some shopping. They claimed to be too old for the rides, saying they weren’t worth the back pain later, and you couldn’t blame them. A two-minute ride on the teacups didn’t really sound like a fair trade for hours of soreness. Even if it was just an excuse to avoid their children, you couldn’t blame them for that either. 

Minho had only been recognized a handful of times so far, but as it got later into the afternoon and the park grew increasingly crowded you noticed that he was getting stopped more and more times. Felix and even Jisung were unfazed by the whole ordeal. You were the only one who seemed to feel out of place when people approached Minho. Sometimes the fans would ask Felix for a picture too, because apparently he had guest-starred in a few of Minho’s vlogs, but usually you and Jisung just stood on the sidelines while this went on. There was only one time Jisung was roped into taking a picture, and it was a group picture with all three of the boys. 

He had told you a few weeks ago that he was involved in a public charity organization with his brothers, and that he was only ever recognized because of it in association with Minho, but it was still weird to see. 

You felt a little possessive over your best friend as you watched him interact with the stranger and her family who had stopped them. You itched to take his hand, pull him away from the conversation and keep him to yourself. You weren’t sure what had come over you. He seemed totally fine. It wasn’t as if he looked uncomfortable or anything. He was perfectly friendly to the girl and even wrapped his arm around her shoulders for the photo, but you couldn’t help but feel the need to rescue him. You were relieved when they exchanged goodbyes.

“That was weird,” you said, slipping your hand into Jisung’s again. 

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “It’s been a while since that happened. I was used to it for a while, back in Seoul.”

“Did anyone ever stop you by yourself?”

“Never just me. Sometimes they’d stop me and Felix if it was just the two of us, which was always kind of funny. Like, to me it makes more sense to take a photo with us if we’re with Minho, or at an event for the nonprofit. I mean, I guess Minho’s kind of more well-known too, so even that makes sense. But me, I haven’t done anything. I don’t work in the industry, I’m just Minho’s brother.”

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder as you walked. You were beginning to understand Jisung’s complicated feelings toward his older brother more with every day you spent with them. 

“You’re not just Minho’s brother,” you protested.

“To you.”

“To lots of people! All of our friends at school, your family, your professors...” you trailed off. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

You wanted to reassure him, but you could tell he didn’t want to talk about it anymore so you dropped it. 

The afternoon passed rather quickly. Every time you got off a ride the sun was a little lower in the sky until finally it kissed the horizon and turned the clouds pink. As the evening wound down into night the four of you hovered over a map of the park together trying to decide what your last stops would be. 

You stayed until the park closed, ending the night by meeting up with Jisung’s parents for the fireworks show. They were the best fireworks you’d ever seen, which was to be expected since fireworks were invented in China. Still, you couldn’t keep your gasps of surprise and delight to yourself as you watched them explode into bursts of color in the dark sky. Jisung kept his arms around you the entire time, hugging you from the back and giggling at your reactions to the show in between kisses to the top of your head. 

If you just kept looking up, you could fool yourself into thinking that it was just you and Jisung. You could tune everyone else out, his brothers, his parents... it was just the two of you enjoying each other’s company like you used to. It was peaceful, although a little naive of you- especially considering that it was the last night things would feel relatively normal.  

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