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03jyh23 · 29 days ago

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💬⌇like i need you part two┆ jeong yunho

│part of goes to waste the series based on my favourite keshi songs

│listen here

│part one

non-idol!yunho x non-idol!reader

│synopsis: yunho's love for you burns fiercely. as lovers turned exes, he's left shattered when you leave, moving out of the apartment you once shared. his nights become a blur of desperation, calling you relentlessly, begging for another chance.

│genre: lovers to exes, angst, smut

│(!)trigger warnings: mental health issues, self-harm (mentioned), blood, toxic relationships, depression, emotional trauma, strong language, emotional abuse, nicotine addiction, explicit sexual content, angry sex

please be sure to proceed with caution. this story contains themes that may be distressing to some readers.

│words: 11.6 k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

love, mon♡

│taglist: @skittyneos │ @kyeos4ng │ @vcutparis │

│ @ateezswonderland │ @jycas│ @velvetskize │ @e3ellie │

│ @sertralinehoe │ @hoeforalbedo │

Mingi took the stairs two at a time, his heart thundering in his chest as he raced to the fourth floor. Every second felt like an eternity as adrenaline coursed through his veins. Without pausing to catch his breath, he burst through the doors of Yunho's apartment, the sound of devastating sobs immediately assaulting his ears like shards of ice. He rushed toward the bathroom, each heartbeat growing more intense with mounting dread.

The scene that confronted him knocked the air from his lungs. Yunho was huddled in the bathroom corner, surrounded by a constellation of broken mirror fragments. His knuckles were a mess of crimson, delicate skin shredded by countless tiny shards of glass that glinted menacingly in the harsh bathroom light. Blood had splattered across the tiles, but Yunho seemed completely unaware of his injuries as he rocked back and forth, broken words tumbling from his lips between gut-wrenching sobs.

"Fuck, Yunho," Mingi whispered as he carefully navigated the minefield of glass shards. He lowered himself slowly, deliberately, "Hey, I'm here. I'm right here with you."

When Yunho finally lifted his gaze, Mingi's heart shattered at the sight. His friend's eyes were bloodshot and hollow, tears cutting paths through the anguish written across his features. "She's gone, Mingi," he choked out, his voice raw and broken. "She's really gone this time."

"I know," Mingi murmured, reaching out to squeeze Yunho's shoulder with gentle reassurance. "Let's get you cleaned up first, okay? Those hands need attention."

A bitter, hollow laugh escaped Yunho's throat, the sound more painful than any cry. "What's the point? Everything hurts anyway. Everything just... fucking hurts."

The raw agony in his friend's voice made Mingi's chest constrict painfully. In all their years of friendship, he'd never witnessed Yunho so thoroughly broken, so completely untethered from himself. Without hesitation or words, he carefully settled onto the cold bathroom floor beside him, careful to avoid the broken glass shards, and pulled his best friend into a protective embrace. Yunho crumpled against him instantly, his broad frame wracked with fresh, devastating sobs.

"She's never coming home," Yunho sobbed, hiding his face in the crook of Mingi's neck, his voice muffled but the pain in it crystal clear. His fingers clutched desperately at Mingi's shirt, staining it with blood, as if afraid his friend would disappear too if he let go.

"I've got you," Mingi whispered fiercely, tightening his hold as if he could physically keep his friend from falling apart. "I've got you, brother. Just let it all out."

"I was too harsh on her," Yunho whispered, his body trembling uncontrollably with renewed force. His bloodied fingers tightened their grip on Mingi's shirt. "I said such terrible things... I didn't mean to... God, I didn't mean to hurt her like that."

Mingi remained silent, knowing his friend needed to let everything out. The bathroom light flickered above them, casting shifting shadows across the devastation surrounding them.

"But it hurts so fucking much," Yunho continued, his voice cracking. "When I saw her, it's like... like I'm losing her all over again. And I can't... I can't keep feeling like this, Mingi. I can't keep pretending I'm okay with her being around but not really being mine anymore. I'm not okay. I'm so far from okay."

Mingi held his friend tighter as another wave of sobs wracked through Yunho's body. The blood from his injured hands was seeping through both their clothes now, but neither of them moved.

"Yun, we need to get you to the hospital," Mingi said softly. "They need to clean those-..."

"No," Yunho mumbled, shaking his head weakly against Mingi's shoulder. "Just... just let me stay here for a bit longer. Please."

"You're bleeding all over the place," Mingi insisted gently, though he didn't loosen his hold. "Those cuts could get infected. And some of them look deep enough to need stitches."

Yunho let out a shaky breath that might have been attempting to be a laugh. "Seems fitting, doesn't it? Everything else about me is fucked up and broken. Might as well match on the outside too."

"Don't," Mingi's voice was sharp but filled with concern. "Don't talk like that. Come on, let me help you up. We're going to the emergency room, and I'm not taking no for an answer this time."

After what felt like an eternity, Yunho finally gave a small, defeated nod. His movements were sluggish as Mingi carefully helped him to his feet, steadying him when he swayed dangerously. The bathroom light caught the tears still streaming down his face, making them glitter like the broken mirror fragments scattered at their feet.

"I'm sorry," Yunho whispered as Mingi guided him through the apartment. "For making you deal with all this. With me."

"Hey," Mingi's voice was fierce with protective love. "You never have to apologize for needing me. That's what brothers are for."

The insistent ringing of your doorbell jolted you awake. You were still on the sofa, coat, and shoes on, with no clear memory of how you'd made it home. As consciousness crashed over you, the memories came rushing back with a force that triggered a painful sensation in your temple. Your phone was dead, clutched tightly in your hand. The morning light filtering through your curtains felt too harsh, too accusatory, making your head pound even harder. Every blink brought back flashes of last night - Yunho's tears, his broken voice, the sound of something shattering against the wall. The taste in your mouth was bitter, a mix of bile and regret. You couldn't tell if the nausea rising in your throat was from the emotional aftermath or sympathy pains from watching Yunho be sick. Maybe it was both. Your eyes felt swollen and raw, your cheeks still tight from dried tears.

The doorbell rang again as you managed to get up from the sofa. With trembling hands, you finally plugged in your phone, dreading what messages might await. As the screen flickered to life, notifications began flooding in - missed calls from Mingi, concerned texts from your friend, but nothing from him. The silence from Yunho's end felt more deafening than any scream. His broken voice echoed in your head: "You lost that right."

The guilt hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You'd been so focused on protecting yourself, on justifying your decisions, that you'd refused to truly see the devastation you'd left in your wake. The man who once lit up every room he entered, whose laugh could make your whole day better, was now drowning in darkness - and you were the one who'd extinguished his light. Memories began surfacing unbidden - his gentle touches, the way he'd kiss your forehead when you were stressed, how he'd dance ridiculously in the kitchen just to make you smile. Each happy memory now felt like a knife twisting in your chest, because you'd taken all that joy and turned it into poison.

You found yourself clutching your chest, trying to hold yourself together as the weight of what you'd done finally crashed over you. The love hadn't faded - it had been there all along, buried under layers of excuses and self-protection. But now it burned through you like acid, mixed with guilt so profound it felt like it might tear you apart.

The worst part was knowing that even if you wanted to fix it, to make it right, you'd lost that privilege. Your actions had burned that bridge to ashes, and now all you could do was watch from a distance as the person you loved most in the world fell apart, knowing you were the reason for both his pain and your own.

The doorbell rang again, more insistently this time, pulling you from your spiral of self-loathing. You knew it had to be Mingi - probably here to check on you after last night's chaos. Part of you wanted to pretend you weren't home, to sink deeper into your cocoon of misery, but you knew he wouldn't leave until he saw for himself that you were okay.

With a heavy sigh, you dragged yourself to the door, only to freeze when you opened it to find San standing there instead of Mingi. His expression was a mix of irritation and reluctance.

"Look, I don't want to be here, but Mingi was up my ass telling me to come—" San's words died in his throat as he took in your appearance, his annoyed expression shifting to something more complex. His eyes widened slightly, scanning over your tear-stained face, rumpled clothes, and the general air of devastation that must have been radiating off you.

The harsh edge in his stance softened almost imperceptibly. He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the situation he found himself in. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "You look as bad as he does."

You couldn't meet San's gaze, feeling utterly numb yet somehow experiencing everything all at once. The weight of last night's events pressed down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. Your fingers absently traced the doorframe, seeking something solid to ground yourself as the world seemed to spin beneath your feet.

San sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging as he made his way into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. You remained frozen in place, your mind struggling to process the simple act of his presence, staring blankly at the space where he had been standing for several long seconds before your foggy consciousness registered that he was already inside. Time felt distorted, moving both too quickly and too slowly, as you finally managed to close the door with trembling fingers, the soft click of the latch echoing in the heavy silence.

San finally spoke, his voice slightly softer than before, "Mingi's worried about both of you, and honestly..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I've never seen Yunho like this before. Not even when..."

He trailed off, leaving the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. You could see the conflict in his expression - the loyalty to his friend warring with the understanding that pain rarely chooses sides.

"Look," he continued, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "I know it's not my place, and maybe I'm the last person who should be here right now. But Mingi's at the hospital with Yunho, and he wanted to make sure you were... functioning, I guess."

The word 'hospital' hit you like a physical blow, making your knees weak. "Hospital?" your voice came out barely above a whisper.

San's expression tightened, realizing he might have said too much. He ran a hand through his hair again, a gesture of clear discomfort. "It's not... He's going to be fine. Physically, at least."

To change the subject, San looked around the apartment, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. "What's even this place?"

"It's my friend's apartment," you explained, your voice still raw. "She's out of town for a work project, so I'm crashing here until she's back."

San sighed heavily as he made his way to sit down on a kitchen table chair, you followed in his footsteps. His eyes lingered on your disheveled state as you sat down across him, a mix of concern and resignation crossing his features. "You should change, considering you're still in your coat from yesterday. Maybe take a shower? I'll just be here until you finish."

You remained frozen in place, the thought of changing, of doing anything normal, felt surreal in the face of everything that had happened.

"Listen," San leaned back in his chair, his expression a mix of exhaustion and frustration. "Mingi asked me to check on you. Trust me, I'm not exactly thrilled about playing messenger between you two so let’s just get it done with quick."

"I didn't ask for anyone to check on me," you muttered.

"No, you didn't," San agreed, his voice carrying a sharp edge. "But Mingi's stuck in the middle of this mess, watching his two best friends tear themselves and each other apart. So here I am, making sure you haven't completely fallen apart too."

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, fingers drumming against the table. "I have no idea what's gotten into you to walk out of your shared life with Yunho, and quite honestly, I don't even want to take the time to understand you," San's words cut through the air. "Do you have any idea what you've done? The life you two built together, the plans, the dreams - you didn't just walk away from him, you demolished everything. And for what?"

His voice grew quieter, but somehow that made it worse. "He loved you more than anything in this world. The way he looked at you... God, we all wished someone would look at us that way. And you just..." he shook his head, disgust evident in his features. "You took all of that and threw it away like it meant nothing. Like he meant nothing."

"He keeps saying he wasn't enough," San continued, his voice cracking slightly. "That he should have tried harder, been better. Do you know what it's like watching someone you care about destroy themselves because they think they're worthless?”

Every word felt like another weight added to the crushing guilt already suffocating you. San wasn't saying anything you hadn't already told yourself, but hearing it from someone else, someone who had witnessed the destruction from the outside, made it feel devastatingly real.

You wanted to speak, to defend yourself, to explain the tangled mess of fears and doubts that had driven you to this point, but the words died in your throat. San's judgment felt like a mirror reflecting back every self-accusation you'd been wrestling with since moving out.

San watched you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "I get it. Love is scary. Commitment is terrifying. But running away? That's not the answer. It never is."

"I thought I was protecting myself," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "I thought if I left first, it would hurt less than eventually losing him. But now..."

"Now you're both destroyed," San finished bluntly. "Congratulations on that stellar logic."

The silence that followed was deafening, filled with all the things left unsaid, all the regrets that were too late to matter, and all the pain that seemed to have no end in sight.

"Just go take that shower," San repeated firmly, his patience wearing thin.

"I will, right after you tell me how's Yunho and why he ended up in the hospital," you countered, your voice finding a sudden strength. "I'm still his emergency contact. If you won't tell me, I'll just call the hospital myself."

San's face twisted into a cruel smirk. "Oh, now you care? That's rich coming from someone who walked away without a second thought. Who abandoned everything we all thought was real. You lost the right to know anything about him the moment you chose to leave."

"I need you to leave," you said, your voice trembling with barely contained emotion, fingers digging into your palms so hard they left crescent marks. "Get the fuck out. Now."

San's eyes narrowed dangerously, a cruel smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Or what? You'll run away from me too? That's your specialty, isn't it? Running away when things get too real, too fucking difficult?"

"This isn't your goddamn business, San," you snapped, anger finally breaking through your numbness like a dam bursting. Your voice rose with each word, echoing off the walls. "You don't get to come here and act like you know every fucking thing about my relationship with Yunho. You have no idea what I've been through, what we've—"

"Oh, but I do know," San stood up so violently his chair crashed to the floor behind him, his voice thundering through the apartment. "I fucking know because I'm the one who had to watch him break down last night! I'm the one who—"

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" you screamed, the force of your voice ripping through your throat like razor blades. The vase on the table shattered as your hand swept across it in a blind rage. Your whole body was trembling, tears streaming down your face as you pointed at the door. "Just... get out. Please. I can't... I can't do this anymore."

San stared at you for what felt like an eternity, his jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching. The silence between you crackled with tension, thick enough to choke on. Finally, he moved towards the door with deliberate slowness, stopping just before he opened it. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the doorknob.

"You know what's really fucking funny?" he said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper that somehow cut deeper than any scream. "You're right. This isn't my business. But at least I stayed to fight for it. You?" He let out a bitter laugh that felt like acid in the air. "You just gave up. Like a fucking coward."

The door slammed behind him with such force that the walls seemed to vibrate with the echoes of his anger. You stood there, frozen, staring at the closed door as his words reverberated in your mind. The shards of the broken vase glinted on the floor, a perfect metaphor for the wreckage of your life.

Like a robot operating on autopilot, you dragged yourself to the bathroom. The shattered vase remained forgotten on the floor, a problem for another time. Your mind was too clouded, too heavy with thoughts that refused to settle. The shower routine passed in a blur - you couldn't remember if you'd washed your hair once or twice, or if you'd even used soap at all. Getting dressed was equally mechanical, with muscle memory taking over where conscious thought failed.

Before you knew it, you were back on the sofa, staring blankly at nothing in particular. Your phone felt unnaturally heavy in your hand, and when it started vibrating with Mingi's incoming call, your heart lurched painfully in your chest.

You stared at the screen, watching Mingi's name flash insistently. Each vibration felt like another accusation, another reminder of everything you'd destroyed. After what felt like an eternity, you let the call go to voicemail, your hand trembling as you set the phone face-down on the coffee table.

The phone buzzed two more times in quick succession - Mingi, again and again. Each vibration seemed to echo through your entire body, but you couldn't bring yourself to answer. Eventually, the rhythmic buzzing of yet another incoming call became a strange lullaby, pulling you into a fitful sleep right there on the couch.

The gentle knock at the door pulled you from your restless sleep. Your body protested as you stood up, muscles stiff from sleeping in an awkward position. Opening the door revealed Mingi, his tall frame carrying several bags of takeout, his expression softer than you'd expected.

"Hey," he said quietly, lifting the bags slightly. "Thought you might need some food. Can I come in?"

You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him enter. The apartment still bore the evidence of your confrontation with San - the broken vase pieces swept hastily into a corner, the overturned chair still lying on its side.

Mingi set the food down on the table and turned to you, his eyes full of concern. Without warning, he pulled you into a tight hug. The familiar comfort of his embrace broke something inside you, and you found yourself clinging to him as tears started falling again.

"I know," he murmured, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "I know it's hard. But you need to eat something, okay?"

Mingi let you go from his hug, looking around the small apartment with concerned eyes. He quietly righted the overturned chair, his gaze lingering on the broken vase in the corner. Moving to crouch beside the shattered pieces, he carefully picked up a larger fragment.

"Mingi, don't..." you whispered.

"I'll help you clean this up," he said softly, already looking around for something to sweep up the smaller pieces. "We shouldn't leave broken glass lying around."

You found a dustpan and brush in the kitchen, bringing them back to help Mingi clean up the mess. Working together in silence, you gathered the glittering shards, each piece a reminder of your earlier outburst. The simple act of cleaning somehow felt therapeutic, as if clearing away the physical debris could somehow help clear the emotional wreckage as well.

As you both settled at the table, Mingi began unpacking containers of your favorite comfort foods. The gesture was so thoughtful it made your throat tight.

"Listen," he said carefully, watching you pick at your food. "I know this isn't ideal timing, but... Yunho's going to be staying with me for a while. A few days at least. I think... I think it might be good if you used this time to get your things from the apartment. You know, the rest of your stuff."

You froze mid-bite, the implications of his words hitting you hard. Getting your things meant truly accepting it was over. Making it final.

"I'll help you," Mingi offered gently, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. "You don't have to do it alone."

You stared down at your barely touched food, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. The thought of going back to that apartment, of seeing all the remnants of your shared life with Yunho, made your stomach twist into knots.

"I'll do it myself," you whispered, wiping furiously at the tears that wouldn't stop falling. Your voice cracked as you looked at Mingi, desperation clawing at your chest. "Is it... is it really over like this?"

Mingi remained silent, his eyes filled with a sadness that spoke volumes. The weight of his silence crushed what little hope you had left, and you found yourself breaking down completely, shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken truths. You both knew who had walked away. You both knew whose choices had led to this moment. The guilt of it all made your chest ache unbearably.

"Please," you choked out between sobs, "just tell me how he is. Is he okay? I need to know if he's okay."

But Mingi just sat there, his silence a reminder of San's earlier words - you'd lost the right to know. Your tears fell harder as the reality of your situation sank in deeper, each quiet moment another reminder of everything you'd thrown away.

Perhaps Mingi's heart was too pure, or perhaps the years of friendship between all of you were what made him finally break his silence. His expression softened as he watched you fall apart.

"He..." Mingi hesitated, weighing his words carefully. "He broke the mirror in his bathroom. Got some bad cuts from playing with the glass. They had to put in stitches, but thankfully there's no permanent nerve damage, even though some cuts were pretty deep." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "They're keeping him for vitamin IVs right now. Turns out he hasn't been eating properly... they want to monitor him for a bit."

The words hit you with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs, each detail making it harder to breathe. The image of Yunho, alone and hurting enough to... You pressed your hands against your face, trying to hold back a fresh wave of tears.

"Nurse told me he was asleep," Mingi continued, checking his phone briefly. "I had to leave since they wouldn't let me stay as I'm not family. I decided to just stop by here since they won't let him out till evening. I'll get him and we'll go to mine - I don't want him to be alone."

His words twisted the knife of guilt deeper into your heart. You'd been his family once, or at least you were supposed to be.

Now you were just another stranger, someone who'd lost the privilege of knowing how he was doing, of being there when he needed support. This was the consequence of your choices, the price of walking away. Your chest felt hollow as you stared at your food, wondering how everything had fallen apart so completely.

"Why did you do that?" Mingi asked softly, his eyes searching your face for answers. "You both were so happy. Everyone could see how much he loved you, how much you loved him. What changed?"

The question hung heavy in the air between you, forcing you to confront the choices that had led to this moment. Your hands trembled as you put your fork down, buying time as you struggled to find the words to explain something you barely understood yourself.

"You love him, I know you do," Mingi added, his eyes scanning your face. "That's what makes this even harder to understand."

"I got scared," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Everything was so perfect, and I... I convinced myself it couldn't last. That I'd end up losing him anyway, so maybe if I left first..." You trailed off, realizing how pathetic it sounded.

"So you chose to break both your hearts instead?" Mingi's voice was gentle but carried an undercurrent of frustration.

"I know it doesn't make sense," you said, tears falling freely now. "I know I ruined everything. I just... I couldn't handle how much I needed him. How much it would destroy me if he ever left."

Mingi sighed heavily, his eyes scanning your tear-stained face. "I hate to admit it, but... look at you. You're a mess too. You've completely ruined yourself. You look like you haven't slept in days, your eyes are swollen from crying, and..." He trailed off, shaking his head with a mixture of frustration and concern. "You destroyed yourselves trying to prevent something that wasn't even happening."

Your eyes welled up with fresh tears at his words, knowing he was right. The irony of it all felt like a cruel joke - you'd walked away to avoid pain, only to cause more devastation than you could have imagined.

"You know," Mingi said softly, his eyes distant as if remembering something, "he still wants to call you in the middle of the night. Every single night." He let out a heavy sigh. "He sits there, phone in hand, staring at your number until dawn breaks. Won't press call anymore, but... the need is still there. And I know you do the same - I can see it in your eyes, in how exhausted you look. You both need each other like you need air to breathe, but you're both too scared to make that first move."

The memory of all those nights spent staring at your phone, finger hovering over Yunho's name, praying he would call first, made your chest ache.

"You threw it all away because you were afraid of losing it," Mingi continued, his voice gentle but firm. "But look at what happened - you lost it anyway. The very thing you were trying to prevent... you made it happen."

You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling as you wiped away fresh tears. The truth in his words carved deeper than any knife - you'd orchestrated your own heartbreak, conducted this symphony of pain with the precision of someone determined to suffer. Your gaze dropped to your lap, unable to meet his eyes as the weight of your self-fulfilling prophecy crushed what remained of your resolve.

"Just..." Mingi paused, running his hand through his hair with visible frustration. "Don't try to get him back. I'm for real. Not right now, when he's this broken. He needs time to heal, and so do you. If you really love him, give him that at least."

You knew he was right. The image of Yunho in the hospital, of his bandaged hands, was enough to make you understand the gravity of what you'd done.

"Y/N," Mingi started, his voice heavy with resignation. "I know you're hurting too, but I can't be in the middle of this right now. All I ask is that you get your things while he's staying with me. Give him space to heal."

"But I still need him," you whispered, voice cracking. "I know what I did was wrong, but I never wanted this to happen."

"Please," Mingi said firmly, raising his hand. His eyes held a mixture of concern and exhaustion. "I can't hear this right now. Not when he's in the hospital because—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Just do what I asked, okay?"

"Could you at least tell him that I—"

"No," he cut you off as he got up from the chair, already moving towards the door. "I won't carry messages between you two. That's not fair to anyone."

He paused at the doorway, his tall frame casting a long shadow across your floor. "Take care of yourself, alright?" The gentleness in his voice only made your chest ache more. With that, he left, the gentle click of the door somehow worse than San's earlier slam.

You stared at the food he'd brought, but your appetite had completely vanished. After a few half-hearted attempts to eat, you pushed the containers away. Your eyes landed on your phone, still face-down on the coffee table. The thought of going to collect your things from the apartment made your stomach churn, but Mingi was right – it needed to be done.

Maybe it was better to do it now, while everything still felt numb. You grabbed your keys and jacket, leaving the uneaten food on the table. Each step towards your car felt like walking through quicksand, but you forced yourself to keep moving. The sooner you did this, the sooner everyone could start healing – even if that meant healing without you.

The apartment key felt impossibly heavy in your hand as you stood before the familiar door. Taking a deep breath, you pushed it open, and immediately the scent of him - that unique blend of his cologne and just... him - hit you like a physical force.

Your eyes landed on the entryway, where you'd both stumbled through that very first night, drunk on love and anticipation. You remembered how he'd pressed you against that wall, his lips trailing fire down your neck as you'd giggled, both of you nearly tripping over the moving boxes that still littered the floor. "Welcome home," he'd whispered against your skin, and you'd never felt more certain about anything in your life.

Moving to the bedroom was like walking through a minefield of memories. The bed where you'd spent countless nights tangled in each other's arms. That first night, when his touches had been so gentle, so reverent as if he couldn't believe you were real. The way he'd worshipped every inch of your body, whispering promises against your skin until you were both breathless and trembling.

With shaking hands, you began pulling your remaining clothes from the closet. Each item held a memory - the sweater you'd worn on your first date, the dress from that summer party where he couldn't keep his eyes off you. His hoodies that you'd claimed as your own still smelled like him, and you found yourself pressing one to your face, inhaling deeply as tears started falling.

The bathroom was worse. Your toothbrush still stood next to his in that ridiculous holder he'd insisted on buying because it looked like a tiny robot. The sight of the broken mirror made your stomach lurch - you could almost see the scene Mingi had described, the sound of shattering glass echoing in your mind. Mechanically, you gathered your cosmetics, your favorite shampoo, the face masks he'd always tease you about but secretly loved using himself.

Back in the bedroom, you faced the wall of polaroids - a chronicle of your relationship. There you both were, beaming at the camera on a moving day, surrounded by boxes. Another showed you both covered in paint after attempting to DIY the living room walls. So many captured kisses, lazy Sunday mornings, and surprise back hugs. Your fingers traced the edge of one particular photo - both of you tangled in sheets, your hair a mess, his lips pressed to your temple. He'd insisted on capturing that moment, said he wanted to remember exactly how beautiful you looked in the morning light.

The gifts were the hardest. The plush bear he'd won at that carnival, even though he'd spent way too much money trying. The bracelet from your first anniversary, engraved with the date you met. That silly coffee mug with your inside joke printed on it. Each item felt like it was burning your fingers as you packed it away, each one a reminder of promises you'd broken.

You found yourself sitting on the edge of the bed - your bed, his bed, the bed that had been yours together - clutching your favorite pillow to your chest. The one he'd always steal because he said it smelled like you. A sob escaped your throat as you remembered how he'd wrap himself around you every night, one arm always protectively draped over your waist, his breath warm against your neck.

"I'm sorry," you whispered to the empty room, your voice breaking. "I'm so sorry." But the walls that had witnessed so many of your loving moments now only echoed back your solitary grief.

With trembling hands, you zipped up the last bag. The apartment looked wrong now - half-empty, just like your heart. You took one final look around, memories flooding your mind: the kitchen where you'd attempted to teach him to cook (and failed miserably), the living room where you'd slow-danced at midnight, the balcony where you'd planned your future together.

You decided to clean up one last time, starting with the kitchen. The dishes had piled up - he'd always been terrible at keeping up with them when stressed. Your hands moved mechanically through the motions of washing, drying, and putting away. Each clink of plates being stacked felt too loud in the empty space.

The bathroom was next. Glass fragments still littered the tiles, some pieces stained with what you knew must be his blood. Your hands shook as you swept them up, imagining his pain, his desperation. The mirror's absence left a gaping void on the wall, much like the one in your chest.

It was late evening by the time you finished. The apartment gleamed with a sterile emptiness that felt wrong - too clean, too neat, like trying to erase all traces of the mess you'd made of things. You were about to leave when you heard it - Yunho’s voice behind the door.

"Mingi, I know you said you'd pick me up, but I just couldn't stay there anymore," Yunho's muffled voice came through the door, followed by a frustrated sigh. "The nurses were driving me crazy with all their—why are you freaking out? What's wrong?"

Click.

Your heart stopped. You knew that sound, knew the slight hesitation that always came before he'd push the door open. The handle turned, and there he was.

Yunho stood frozen in the doorway, his bandaged hand still on the handle. He looked terrible - pale, with dark circles under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. The hospital bracelet was still around his wrist.

"I'm gonna call you back," Yunho said shakily into the phone, his eyes never leaving yours. His bandaged hand trembled as he ended the call, letting the phone drop to his side.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air felt thick with all the things you wanted to say, all the apologies stuck in your throat. His eyes moved from you to the packed bags by the door, and then to the spotless apartment behind you.

"What are you doing here?" Yunho asked, his voice hoarse and tired.

"Mingi told me you'd be staying at his place, so I..." you started with a trembling voice, gesturing weakly at the packed bags. "I wanted to grab my things."

"I..." your voice cracked. "I was just leaving. I cleaned up... I thought..." The words died on your tongue as his gaze finally met yours. The pain in his eyes made you want to reach for him, but you knew you'd lost that right.

And then the tears came for what seemed to be the hundredth time today, hot and relentless, streaming down your face as you stood there, unable to look away from him. Your shoulders shook with silent sobs, each one carrying the weight of everything you'd lost, everything you'd broken.

"I'm sorry," you managed to whisper, though the words felt painfully inadequate in the face of his bandaged hands and haunted eyes. "I'm so, so sorry."

He moved then, crossing the space between you in two long strides. Before you could process what was happening, his arms were around you, pulling you against his chest with a gentleness that broke your heart all over again. You melted into his embrace, your tears soaking into his shirt as your fingers clutched desperately at the fabric.

"Shh," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he began to sway slightly, rocking you both from side to side in a gentle, soothing motion. The familiar rhythm only made you cry harder, remembering all the times he'd held you just like this – after bad days, during celebrations, or simply because he wanted to be close to you.

Your body felt impossibly small in his arms, defeated and drained. The guilt was crushing, made worse by the tenderness of his touch. Even now, even after everything you'd done, he was still trying to comfort you. His bandaged hand smoothed over your hair, and you could feel the slight tremor in his movements.

"I don't deserve this," you whispered against his chest, your voice breaking. "I don't deserve you being kind to me."

"Don't," he murmured, his grip tightening slightly. "Just... let me hold you. Please. Just for a moment."

The quiet desperation in his voice shattered what was left of your composure. You pressed closer, breathing in his scent, memorizing the feeling of being in his arms one last time. His heart beat steadily under your ear, a rhythm you'd fallen asleep to countless times before. Now each beat felt like a countdown to goodbye.

He continued to sway, the motion almost hypnotic, as if he could make time stand still if he just kept you both moving. His chin rested on top of your head, and you could feel the slight dampness of his own tears falling into your hair.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again, the words muffled against his chest. "I'm so sorry, it's all my fault."

His only response was to hold you tighter, his breathing uneven as he fought back his own emotions. The bandages on his hands scraped lightly against your back, a physical reminder of the pain you'd caused. Yet here he was, still trying to comfort you, still being the incredible person you'd fallen in love with – the person you'd hurt so deeply.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as you stood there in his arms, both of you silently crying, swaying together in the apartment that had once been your home.

"I love you," Yunho whispered against your hair, his voice barely audible. His lips pressed softly against the top of your head, the gesture achingly tender. The words hung in the air between you, making your heart constrict painfully in your chest. Those three words that had once been a promise of forever now felt like a farewell.

You felt him take a shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling against you. His fingers tightened in the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, as if fighting the urge to never let go. Then, slowly, deliberately, his arms loosened their hold. The loss of his warmth was immediate and devastating, leaving you feeling colder than you'd ever been.

"I love you too," you whispered back, your voice breaking on each word. The truth of it burned in your chest - you did love him, desperately, completely, even now.

Yunho's breath hitched, and you felt him stiffen slightly. His hands, which had been resting loosely at his sides, clenched into fists, the bandages crinkling with the movement. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, rough with emotion.

"All of it," he started, then had to pause, swallowing hard. "Everything we built, everything we dreamed about... it all just went to waste, didn't it?" The words seemed to physically pain him as they left his lips, each one carrying the weight of a thousand shattered promises.

You watched as he ran his bandaged hand through his hair, a gesture so achingly familiar it made your heart constrict. His eyes, when they met yours, were filled with a devastating mixture of love and resignation. "All those nights planning our future, all those promises we made... they just turned to dust. And the worst part?" He let out a broken laugh that sounded more like a sob. "The worst part is that I still wouldn't change a single moment of it. Not one second of loving you."

The silence that followed was deafening, filled with all the things you both wanted to say but couldn't. The space between you felt like an ocean now, vast and impossible to cross, even though you could still feel the ghost of his warmth on your skin.

"I love you," he said again, his voice cracking, "but I need you to leave now."

"Please," you choked out, reaching for him instinctively. "Please, Yunho, we can fix this. We can try again. I'll do anything—"

He took a step back, keeping himself just out of your reach. The movement, though small, felt like a physical blow. "Don't," he whispered, his bandaged hand coming up as if to shield himself. "It all went to waste the second you walked out that door. You made your choice."

"I was wrong," you pleaded, tears streaming down your face. "I was so wrong. Please, just give me one more chance—"

"Stop." His voice was firm now, despite the tears in his eyes. "You need to go. I can't... I can't do this. Not now. Not anymore."

Each word felt like a knife to your heart, but you could see the resolution in his eyes, even through his pain. This was it. This was really the end. Yunho turned away, his shoulders tense, but as your first sob broke through the silence, he froze. Your crying was raw and uncontrollable now, each breath coming as a painful gasp, your whole body shaking with the force of it. The sound seemed to fill every corner of the space, bouncing off the bare walls, making the emptiness feel even more profound.

"You know what?" Yunho suddenly spun around, his voice rising with a surge of anger that seemed to fill the entire room. His eyes, usually so warm and gentle, now blazed with an intensity that made you take a step back. "Fuck this! Fuck all of this! You don't get to stand there crying like you're the victim here, like you weren't the one who made this choice!"

"I'm not—" you started, your voice small and trembling, but he cut you off with a sharp gesture that made you flinch.

"You LEFT!" he shouted, "You walked out that fucking door without even looking back! Do you know what that did to me? Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch the person you love, the person you built your whole world around, just... just throw everything away like it meant nothing? Like every moment we shared was fucking worthless?"

"It meant EVERYTHING!" you screamed back, your own anger finally breaking through the surface like a dam bursting. Your hands were shaking as you gestured wildly between you. "That's why I left! I was terrified of how much I needed you, how much power you had over me! I couldn't breathe without thinking about you! Every moment of every day was consumed by thoughts of you, and it terrified me!"

"So you decided to stop breathing altogether?" His laugh was bitter and hollow, tears streaming down his face and catching on his trembling lips. "Great fucking solution! Really stellar thinking there!"

"I was scared!" Your voice cracked, splintering like glass. "I still am! I'm scared because I love you so much it hurts, and I don't know how to handle that! It's like drowning and flying all at once, and I'm terrified of what that means!"

"And I'm not scared?" He stepped closer, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and desperation. The space between you crackled with tension. "You think I'm not terrified every single day? But I stayed! I fought for us! I faced that fear head-on because what we had was worth fighting for! While you... you just ran. You took the easiest fucking way out and left me."

The silence that followed was deafening, and oppressive, both of you breathing heavily, tears mingling with anger and exhaustion. The air between you felt thick with unspoken words and shattered promises. When Yunho spoke again, his voice was softer, broken, like shards of glass wrapped in velvet.

"The worst part is..." he paused, running his bandaged hand through his hair in that achingly familiar gesture, "I still want to hold you. Even now, even after everything... even after you broke my heart into a thousand pieces, I still want to make it all better. How fucked up is that? How pathetic am I?"

You took a shaky step forward, your hands trembling like leaves in a storm. "Then do it," you challenged, "Hold me. Make it better. Because I'm not going to fucking pretend I don't want the same thing."

"Don't you dare," he growled, but he was already moving closer, his bandaged hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, betraying his internal struggle. "Don't you fucking dare make me want this when I should be hating you. When everything in me is screaming to push you away."

"But you don't hate me," you whispered, now close enough to feel his ragged breath fan across your face, to see the golden flecks in his tear-filled eyes. "You can't hate me any more than I can hate you."

"I fucking wish I could," he choked out, and then his hands were in your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he pulled you roughly against him. His lips crashed into yours with the force of a breaking wave, the kiss desperate, angry, messy with tears and need. His bandaged fingers dug into your scalp as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, trying to eliminate any space between your bodies.

"I hate that I still love you," he gasped against your mouth between brutal, punishing kisses that felt more like warfare than affection. "I hate that I can't stop, that I don't want to stop. That you have this power over me."

"Then don't stop," you breathed, tasting the salt of both your tears as he kissed you again, harder this time, backing you up against the wall with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs. His hands were rough against your skin as he yanked your shirt up, you helped him pull it off, then immediately went for his, desperate to feel his skin against yours. His chest was heaving, muscles taut with tension as your fingers traced over them.

"I shouldn't want this," he growled against your neck, biting down hard enough to make you gasp, to ensure you'd carry the mark of this moment for days to come. "I shouldn't still want you this much. It's destroying me."

"But you do," you challenged, your nails dragging down his back, "You want me as much as I want you. As much as we've always wanted each other."

He responded by lifting you up, pinning you harder against the wall, his strength both frightening and thrilling. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, drawing a deep groan from him that vibrated against your collarbone. "You don't get to fucking tell me what I want," he said, but his hands were already working at your jeans, his movements frantic and needy, betraying his words.

"Then show me," you gasped as his fingers found bare skin, sending electricity coursing through your veins. "Show me what you want, Yunho. Make me understand." The sound of his name seemed to break something fundamental in him, some last barrier of resistance. He crushed his mouth to yours again, the kiss all teeth and tongue and desperate need. You could taste the anger on his lips, the hurt, and the want all mixed together into something explosive, dangerous, and necessary.

"I hate this," he panted between kisses that felt like drowning, even as his hands roamed your body with familiar hunger, mapping every curve and hollow. "I hate that no one else feels like you do. That no one else ever could."

"I know," you whispered, helping him take off your bra, both of you too far gone to care about anything but this moment, this need. "I know, I hate it too. I hate that you're the only one who makes me feel alive."

The wall was cold against your naked back, a sharp contrast to the burning heat of his skin. His bandaged hands gripped your thighs almost painfully tight as he pressed closer, leaving no space between your bodies, no room for doubt or regret.

"Tell me to stop," he demanded, his voice rough with need, with all the things left unsaid between you. "Tell me this is a mistake. Tell me we shouldn't be doing this."

Instead, you pulled him closer, your lips finding his ear, breath hot against his skin. "Never," you breathed, feeling him shudder against you, his control finally shattering completely. "I never want you to stop. Not now, not ever."

Your hands trembled as you unzipped his pants, feeling his hardness straining against the fabric. He let out a deep moan that sent shivers down your spine as you pulled his jeans down, your fingers ghosting over his thighs.

"Fuck, we can't be doing this," he said as his hands found the delicate lace of your panties, the last barrier between you. His fingers hooked into the waistband, pulling them down with agonizing slowness until they fell forgotten to the floor. His hands returned to grip your hips with bruising force, the roughness of the bandages a stark reminder of everything between you as he pressed you harder against the cold wall. His breath came in hot, ragged pants against your neck. You were both trembling, poised on the edge of something dangerous and inevitable. The tension between you was electric, charged with equal parts anger and desire. When he finally moved, it was with a force that made you cry out, your nails digging crescents into his shoulders as he buried himself inside you in one swift, brutal motion.

"You shouldn't have fucking left," he growled between harsh, desperate thrusts, each word punctuated by the raw sound of skin against skin, his voice thick with anger and longing. "You had no right to just walk away like everything we built meant nothing."

"And you had no right to give up on us so easily," you shot back, your voice breaking into a breathless moan as he hit a particularly sensitive spot that made stars explode behind your eyes. Your fingers tangled roughly in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him hiss through clenched teeth. "You could have fought harder, could have shown me it was worth staying for."

"Fought harder?" His laugh was bitter and hollow as his pace increased to something almost punishing, "You're the one who ran away the moment things got too real!"

"Because you were suffocating me," you gasped, arching against him as pleasure and pain mingled indistinguishably in your veins like a drug. "You wanted to have all of me, every single piece of my soul until I couldn't even tell where I ended and you began."

"And you didn't want exactly the same thing?" His hand gripped your jaw with bruising intensity, forcing you to look directly into his eyes that burned with raw emotion as he continued his relentless rhythm. "Don't you dare lie to me. Not now. Not when I can feel how desperately you need this, need me."

You tried to shake your head, but his grip only tightened, his thumb pressing against your lower lip as tears spilled down your cheeks. "I wanted everything with you," you admitted, your voice breaking.

"And I wanted to give you everything," he snarled, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force. "Every fucking piece of me was yours, and you threw it away like it meant nothing!"

Your response was cut off by a particularly deep thrust that had you seeing stars, your nails raking down his sweat-slicked back hard enough to leave marks. "Fuck, Yunho," you gasped, your head falling back against the wall with a thud.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice rough and raw as he bit down hard on your shoulder. "Say my fucking name like you mean it."

"Yunho," you moaned, tugging sharply at his hair, forcing his head back so you could crash your lips against his in a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness. The metallic taste of blood mingled between you as his lip split under the force of your bite.

"I fucking hate how much I still want you," he growled against your mouth, his pace becoming erratic, desperate. His bandaged hands gripped your thighs so hard you knew they'd leave bruises, marking you as his even now. "How much I still need you, even after everything."

You could feel yourself approaching the edge, every nerve ending on fire as he drove into you relentlessly. "Then make me feel it," you challenged, your voice breaking on his hard, sharp thrust. "Make me remember why I was so fucking scared of how much I loved you."

He responded by shifting his angle, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur, "Is this what you wanted?" he panted, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your chest. "To reduce us to this? Just fucking against a wall like we're nothing more than this?"

"We were never nothing," you gasped, feeling the tension building to an unbearable level. "We were everything - fuck, Yunho, I'm so close..."

"Then come for me," he demanded, his voice wrecked and desperate. "Show me how much you fucking need this. Need me." His words pushed you over the edge, your body arching off the wall as waves of your orgasm crashed through you, his name a broken cry on your lips. He followed moments later, his grip bruising as he buried his face in your neck, his whole body shuddering with the force of his release. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing and the thundering of your hearts, the anger between you temporarily drowned.

Slowly, you both slid to the floor, limbs still tangled together, neither wanting to be the first to let go. The wall was cold against your back, but his body was warm, his breath evening out against your skin.

The silence shattered as suddenly as it had descended. "This was a fucking mistake," Yunho spat, pushing away from you with such force that you nearly fell over. "Just like everything else between us."

"A mistake?" You laughed bitterly, scrambling to your feet. "That's rich coming from you. You weren't calling it a mistake when you were fucking me against the wall two minutes ago."

"You know what the worst part is?" you said, voice cracking as you stood there half-dressed and trembling. "I still love you. Even now, even after everything, I love you so much it's killing me."

"Don't," Yunho warned, but his voice was unsteady. "Don't you dare say that now."

"Why not? Because it's true?" You took a step toward him, watching his chest rise and fall with rapid breaths. "Because you feel it too? This thing between us that won't die no matter how hard we try to kill it?"

"Love doesn't destroy people like this. Love doesn't leave you bleeding out on your bathroom floor at 3 AM because you can't stand the silence anymore."

"Oh, but that's exactly what it does when it's real," you whispered, reaching out to touch his face. He jerked away like your touch burned. "When it's so deep it becomes part of your DNA. When losing it feels like losing a vital organ."

His eyes were glassy with unshed tears as he grabbed your wrist, his grip painfully tight. "Then maybe we were wrong to ever let it get this far. Maybe we should have known better than to let ourselves become this—this fucking catastrophe." His voice cracked as he raised his bandaged hands, forcing you to see them clearly. "Look at this. Look what you did to me! I've been miserable since the day you left." He yanked a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with trembling fingers.

"Put that out," you snapped, watching him take a long drag. "When did you start smoking again?"

Yunho deliberately blew a cloud of smoke directly into your face, making you cough. "I started again the night you left. Needed something to fill the void you left behind."

"Don't you dare blame your self-destructive habits on me," you snarled, waving away the smoke. "Those bandages? That's all you. The smoking? That's you too. Stop making me your fucking scapegoat!"

"Self-destructive?" He took another drag, eyes never leaving yours. "You want to talk about destruction? You destroyed everything we built. These hands? They haven't stopped shaking since you walked out that door. I can barely hold my fucking keys without trembling. But you don't care about that, do you? You never cared about anything but yourself."

"You really want to do this?" you asked, voice trembling with barely contained rage. "Fine. Do you want to know what I care about? I care that you're destroying yourself and blaming me for it. I care that you're using me as an excuse to spiral instead of dealing with your own issues."

"Get out," he growled, voice dangerously low.

"Are you sure?" you taunted, your voice dripping with venom. "Once I leave, who will you fuck against the wall again?"

"Don't you even dare throw this in my face now!" Yunho screamed. The veins in his neck stood out prominently as he advanced toward you, trembling with barely contained fury. "Get the fuck out before I say something we'll both regret.”

"More regrets?" You laughed hysterically as you yanked your shirt over your head. "Add it to the fucking list, Yunho. Right next to ever believing we could make this work!"

"You want to talk about beliefs?" He advanced on you, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes wild. "I believed every fucking promise you made. Every 'I love you,' every 'forever.' What a goddamn joke. You're nothing but a coward who runs the moment things get real."

"And you're nothing but a controlling asshole who can't handle not having everything your way!" You struggled with your jeans, hands shaking with rage. "You say I run? You pushed me away long before I ever left!"

"Get. The. Fuck. Out." Each word was punctuated by him throwing something - your shoes, your jacket, your keys. "I'm done with your bullshit excuses. I'm done with your lies. I'm done with YOU."

"Fuck you, Yunho," you spat, gathering your remaining belongings, dodging the cloud of smoke he blew in your direction. "Fuck you and your self-righteous bullshit. You want me gone? Fine. But remember - you're the one kicking me out this time. You don't get to play the victim anymore." With trembling hands, you picked up your bags. Your feet felt heavy as lead as you walked towards the door, each step taking you further away from the life you'd built together.

His laugh was ugly, and bitter as he stubbed out the cigarette against the wall. "The victim? That's rich coming from someone who's made an art form out of playing the martyr. Go on, run away again. It's what you're best at, isn't it?"

"DON'T SAY I'M RUNNING AWAY WHEN IT'S YOU THROWING ME OUT!" you screamed, your voice cracking with raw emotion. "You don't get to rewrite this narrative. You're the one telling me to leave, you're the one pushing me away, and you have the audacity to call ME a coward?"

His eyes flashed dangerously as he stalked towards you, closing the distance between you in three long strides. His hand shot out, fingers gripping your chin roughly as he forced you to meet his blazing gaze. "A coward? No, sweetheart, a coward wouldn't have the guts to destroy someone so thoroughly and then act like they're the victim. You're something much worse - you're a fucking hurricane that leaves nothing but devastation in your wake."

You ripped your chin from his grasp, stumbling backward. "Then I guess we're both disasters," you hissed, tears finally spilling over. "Because you're not exactly leaving survivors in your path either."

The silence between you stretched taut, electric with accusations and raw pain. Your hand found the doorknob, gripping it like a lifeline as you fought the urge to turn back, to see if his expression matched the brokenness in his voice. But you knew better - one look back and you might crumble, might forget all the reasons why this toxic dance needed to end.

"You know what?" Your voice came out steadier than you felt, even as your heart threatened to shatter into a million jagged pieces in your chest, each shard cutting deeper than the last. "You were right about one thing. This was a mistake. All of it. Every stolen moment, every whispered promise. But at least I can admit my mistakes instead of drowning them in nicotine and self-pity like you've been doing."

"And what about you?" he shot back, voice raw and bleeding with emotion. "Drowning yourself in righteous anger and pretending you're better than me because you can 'admit your mistakes'? At least I'm honest about my demons."

"At least I'm trying!" Your voice cracked like thin ice, hands trembling violently as you gripped the doorknob tighter, knuckles turning white from the force. "At least I'm not standing here pretending that smoking and fucking will somehow magically fix what’s broken!"

"Nothing can fix what's broken between us," he said, suddenly sounding exhausted, like all the fight had drained from his body at once. "We made sure of that, didn't we?"

You turned to face him one last time, your vision swimming with unshed tears that refused to fall. "How did we get here, Yunho? How did we go from 'forever' to this?"

"I don't know," he whispered, running a shaking hand through his disheveled hair, eyes haunted with memories of better days. "I don't fucking know anymore. All I know is that I can't breathe when you're here, and I can't breathe when you're gone."

"Then maybe we're just poison to each other now." Your hand remained frozen on the door handle, caught between staying and leaving, between love and self-preservation. "Maybe we loved too hard, too fast, and burned ourselves out."

"Love?" He laughed bitterly, lighting another cigarette with trembling fingers, "Is that what you call this endless cycle of hurting each other?"

"You know it is," you said softly, your words barely a whisper in the heavy air between you. "That's why it hurts so much. Because underneath all this anger, all this pain, all these scars we've carved into each other... I still love you. And I hate myself for it. I hate that even now, standing in the wreckage of us, my heart still beats your name."

He took a long, deliberate drag, the ember of his cigarette glowing brightly. "Just go," he said finally, his voice thick with emotions he couldn't quite suppress. "Before we destroy whatever's left of each other."

This time, you didn't argue. You pulled the door open with shaking hands, the cold air hitting your tear-stained face. "Goodbye, Yunho," you whispered, the words tasting like farewell and forever on your tongue as you stepped out into the hallway.

Behind you, you heard a muffled thud - the sound of him sliding down against the door, followed by a quiet, broken sob. Your legs gave out, and you collapsed against the wall, your bags scattered around you like the pieces of your shattered relationship. You wanted to scream, to run back, to break down that door and hold him until all the pain went away. But you couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but press your hand against your mouth to muffle the sound of your own cry.

Through the door, you could hear him crying, the sound growing more desperate, more raw. The thud of his fist against the floor, followed by a choked "Why?" that felt like it was being ripped from his very soul. You'd never heard him sound so destroyed, so utterly broken, and knowing you were the cause made you physically sick.

You don't know how long you both stayed there, separated by nothing but a door, both falling apart in perfect, painful synchronicity. When his sobs finally quieted, the silence that followed was somehow even worse - empty, final, dead.

Eventually, you forced yourself to stand on shaking legs, gathering your scattered belongings. Each step away from his door felt like walking on broken glass, leaving a trail of invisible blood and regret.

The elevator ride down was a blur, each floor taking you further from the life you'd shared. As you stepped out into the cold night air the city lights blurred through your tears, a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed to mock the darkness consuming your heart.

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of-a-chaotic-mind · 6 months ago

Text

Hey Bartender

Summary: Reader thinks it's just another shift of bartending but instead meets a drunk golden retriever that sets her up with his best friend.

TW/CW: Eddie Diaz x Reader, Get Together

Requested?: No

Word Count: 4,087

A/N: I realized I always write reader as a fellow firefighter and wanted to try my hand at not doing that lol. You know I just had to add a drop of angst in there lmao. Anyways, hope you enjoy the read! Much love to all! Requests are Open!

--- Your POV ---

It's another Saturday night, and I'm expecting just as many jackasses as usual... Let me tell you, bartending pays well but damn does it suck ass. If I had a nickel for every time a douche bag hit on me, I wouldn't need to bartend, I could just live on my own private island. If I had a dollar for every decent man that ever hit on me, I'd be living on the streets if it weren’t for my weekly paychecks.

I drop my bag in the back office and head to the bar, throwing my hair up into a messy bun on the way. When I round the corner of the hallway out into the main area, I can see my coworkers Tiana and Grayson struggling to keep up. I slide through the swinging door with ease and begin taking orders. Soon, the chaos has died down some and I'm able to send Tiana home.

A rowdy bunch of college guys, that I see often, come in as she leaves. I raise my voice, "Hey! Don't come in here acting a fool, y'all know better." They sarcastically salute me or wave dramatically before making their way to their favorite table in the corner.

A tall, older, and muscular guy takes a seat on the stool in front of me, "You must be the boss lady around here," he states pointing back toward the college kids.

I scoff, "Might as well be but no. Our boss tends to only show up when it's slow. What can I get ya?"

The man laughs, "Two Jack and Coke, please."

I nod and turn around to reach for the Jack Daniels but find it exactly where I had repeatedly told Grayson not to put it, on the top shelf. Placing my hands on my hips, I turn toward my coworker, "Hey, dickhead!" He looks up immediately but I only point in the direction of the bottle I need. He grins with a laugh as he approaches me, grabs the bottle, and passes it down to me. As he returns to the customer, he was helping I gripe, "I swear you only do that to piss me off."

He looks at me, still wearing that stupid grin, "Yup, sure do!"

I roll my eyes and proceed to finish making my customer's Jack and Coke. When I set the glasses down in front of him, he admits, "If he wasn't making my gaydar go off, I'd be concerned."

I laugh, "Yes, Grayson is gay. He's basically my annoying little brother that enjoys making my life difficult."

The man laughs, "I'm Tommy," he points behind him, "The one waving his arms around like a crazy person is my lovely boyfriend, Evan."

I watch Evan animatedly tell his story for a beat before responding, "I'm (Y/N). What on earth is he talking about?"

Tommy shakes his head, "I don't really know. I love listening to him speak, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I zone out because I'm too focused on how pretty he is."

This makes me laugh extra hard, "I could see that."

Tommy pulls far more than enough cash out of his wallet to pay for the drinks and hands it to me, "Keep the change. See you around, (Y/N)."

I nod and watch him leave before jumping because Grayson speaks right in my ear, "He was cute!"

I shake my head, "He's gay and taken."

Grayson pouts, "Damn... A loss for us both I guess." I laugh and start cleaning up around the bar.

Sometime later, I notice something suspicious out of the corner of my eye. There's a gruff looking man leaning far too close to a girl who looks at least half his age. At first glance, I wouldn't even be sure she's old enough to drink but considering they card everyone at the door, she's at least 21 and this man looks to be in his late 40s or early 50s. She is very obviously uncomfortable and from the way her eyes dart around I can tell she's looking for an escape route.

I place my hand on Grayson's shoulder, still keeping an eye on her, "I'll be right back." He follows my line of sight and nods in understanding. As I pass the cooler on my way to her, I blindly grab a bottle of water. I step beside her, opposite the man, and place my hand on her shoulder and the water on the table in front of her, "Here's that water you ordered, sweetie."

"Aw, I just brought you a drink, Baby. You haven't even touched it yet. You don't need that water, do ya?" the subtleties his voice makes my skin crawl.

She avoids eye contact with him as she opens the water and takes a sip before looking me dead in the eyes, "Thank you. Could you point me to the bathroom, please?"

I nod, "Sure, I'll walk you there." She hops down from her stool and I put myself between her and the man.

I point in the direction we need to go but as she starts that way, the man grabs my right arm, "I think I can handle walking her to the bathroom. Besides, your coworker looks pretty busy over there."

I turn slowly to face him. I look down at where his hand is clamped around my right bicep and then back at his face, "I suggest you remove your hand from my body before I remove it from yours." By now everyone in the bar is zeroed in on us. I even notice Tommy, Evan, and a couple of their friends get up from their table.

His grip tightens, "I said," spits flecks across my face as he speaks through gritted teeth and with a menacing smile, "I can show her to the bathroom."

I wipe my face with my left hand, "Last chance, pal. You have three seconds." I give him a few seconds as promised before using my right hand to remove his hand from my arm, twisting it outwards with a small crack. Anger now replacing the smile on his face, he lunges at me but I drive the palm of my left hand straight into his nose.

He doubles over in pain, holding his nose as blood leaks through his fingers, "You bitch!"

I glare down at him, "That shit doesn't fly in my bar," I point to the bouncers, snap my fingers, and point down at the piece of shit at my feet. Already on standby, they immediately make their way through the crowd to collect him. I turn to check on the girl and escort her to the bathroom.

--- Third Person POV ---

Bobby and Athena meet the bouncers at the puddle of filth who is still writhing in pain, "My husband is just gonna make sure he doesn't need a stop at the hospital on his way to the police station," she says, as she flashes her badge. The bouncers take a step back to let Bobby work. Athena turns to speak to (Y/N) but finds her already heading toward the bathrooms with the girl.

Bobby stands and wipes his hands on a napkin, "Alright, Athena, to the slammer. As far as I can tell she just broke it. No serious damage."

Athena nods and looks toward the door where two officers enter. When they approach her, she explains what happened and gives them instructions. A few feet away, Buck leans toward Tommy, "I wonder where she learned to do that."

Wondering the same thing, Eddie looks over as Tommy answers, "She had an Army Sergeant's insignia tattooed on her wrist."

Eddie nods, "That'll do it."

Buck looks toward the bathrooms, "A badass, former Army Sergeant, who can take down a man twice her size...," he looks at Eddie, whose eyes are locked in the same direction, "You should get her number." Eddie rolls his eyes and soon the three are ushered back to the table by Athena and Bobby.

--- Your POV ---

As we arrive at the bathrooms, I wait with the girl in silence. When the door opens and another lady exits, she moves to enter before looking back at me, "Thank you."

I nod, "I'll be at the bar if you need me." She nods before entering the bathroom. I make my way back towards the bar and as soon as I round the corner, the college boys in the corner start whooping and hollering. The rest of the bar erupts to join them. I quickly return to the bar, grinning and shaking my head.

When the commotion dies down, one of the college kids loudly slurs out, "That, ladies and gentlemen, is why we don't fuck with (Y/N)." Many in the bar laugh before returning to their friends and drinks. Not too long later, I watch the girl meet a few friends at the door and make their way to a table. She smiles at me as she passes. I smile back.

I take and make a few more orders before letting Grayson know I'm taking a few minutes for a smoke break. After what feels like too short of a break, I'm checking notifications on my phone when I pass Grayson who grabs my shirt. I look at him in confusion, "What?"

He nods toward the other end of the bar where Evan is sat blowing bubbles into a fresh Jack and Coke, "said he wanted to ask you something."

Still bewildered, I make my way over to Evan, "What's up, Buttercup?"

He snaps his head up from his drink and grins at me before slurring out, "I was wondering if I could have your number," and is quick to add, "b-but not for me! I have a hot pilot boyfriend," the grin on his face gets even bigger, "I'm gonna give it to my friend Eddie who's been staring at you all night," he thinks for a split second, "He also seemed very disappointed when he saw you leave a little bit ago."

I laugh but before I can say a single word he goes on, "I came up here and asked your coworker if you were done for the night but he said you were just on break so I waited until you came back." He keeps rambling on and on as I grab a sticky note pad and pen from under the counter. I jot my name and number down. Normally, I wouldn't do this but these Evan and Tommy dudes seem decent so I figure their friend Eddie can't be too bad.

Evan is still going when I remove the note and press the sticky side to his forehead. He stops abruptly mid word, "Sweet! I'm Buck by the way." With that, it seems our conversation has come to an end as he gets up and returns to his table, not even removing the sticky note.

--- Third Person POV ---

Hen giggles, “I think the golden has retrieved something.”

Tommy follows her line of sight and notices Buck stumbling back toward the table with something attached to his forehead; question already locked and loaded for when he's in earshot, "Whatcha got there?" Buck stops and attempts to pose heroically which makes everyone giggle. Tommy reaches up with one hand to remove the note and pats the bench beside him with the other, prompting Buck to plop down and lay his head on Tommy's shoulder. Realizing what his boyfriend has done, he looks over to Eddie, "I believe this is for you," and hands him the note.

Confused, Eddie takes the paper and reads it before looking at Buck with a facial expression that reads, "Seriously?"

Buck grins proudly as Maddie nudges Eddie, "You so should text her."

Chimney grins, "Or if you're man enough you can call her." Eddie glares at him, very clearly annoyed. He looks down at the paper in his hands and thinks for a few seconds before nudging Tommy and Buck out of the booth. He ignores the excited gasps and "ooo"s that break out behind him and makes his way to the bar.

--- Your POV ---

I look up from the beer I'm pouring and notice one of Tommy and Buck's friends heading my direction. I top the beer off and hand it to the college kid in front of me just as the newcomer takes a seat to my left. He's staring straight ahead and hasn't said a word.

I wipe my hands off on a towel and grab a glass before crossing the short distance between us, "You're either a whiskey guy or a fruity cocktail guy. What'll it be?"

He smiles and tilts his head as he looks at me, "Whiskey, please."

I nod and turn around, aiming to grab the bottle of Jack I left on the other counter but find it has mysteriously moved back up to the top shelf. I whip my head in Grayson's direction but his back is turned to me. Placing my hands on my hips I glare up at the bottle. "Do you need me to-" Eddie tries to ask but instead I step up onto a shelf under the counter and climb up to stand on the granite, promptly procuring the bottle, "Guess not," I hear Eddie chuckle behind me as I scrunch up the towel on my shoulder and throw it at Grayson.

It nails him right in the back of the head, although not all very hard. He turns around grinning until he notices me still standing on the counter. An expression of fear almost crosses his features before he speaks, "Rodney will have your ass for standing on his counter," a teasing hint of humor in his tone.

I flip him off, "Rodney can suck a dick. I'd say you should too but you'd enjoy it too much," I punctuate my sentence by jumping down from the counter. Grayson doubles over in laughter as I turn back to my customer, who is also laughing his ass off.

As I pour the whiskey, I ask, "So, are you the Eddie that Buck mentioned?"

He looks back at the table where his friends are very clearly pretending to not be watching, minus Buck who is staring at us with his chin in his hands. He looks down at his whiskey, "Yeah," and takes a sip.

I tilt my head at him, "You don't seem too thrilled."

He makes eye contact with me, "To be honest, my heart is racing a mile a minute. I'm not like wasted or anything but uh," he looks back at the table and then at his glass, "I've got enough liquor in my system right now that when Chimney challenged that I wouldn't call you, I was like, 'Oh yeah? Watch this,'" he looks up at me again, "So, here I am with no clue what to say and possibly making a fool of myself."

I can't help but laugh, "I've had plenty of men make fools of themselves in front of me. I promise, you sir, are not one of them."

He smiles at this and is quiet for a few beats before asking, "Would it- would it be okay if I called you?"

I give him an "are you serious?" look, "Eddie, if it wasn't okay for you to call me, I wouldn't have given Buck my number." I swear I see him blush as he looks down at his glass again, nodding. I hear a customer call my name and grimace, "Give me a sec." He nods so I move to serve the customer and when I return to where Eddie was seated, he's back at the table with his friends. He's left cash on a napkin that has a note scribbled on it:

I'll call you tomorrow when I can actually form coherent sentences :) - Eddie P.S. Keep the change!

I smile softly to myself and look up toward their table to find him already looking my way. I wave and he returns the wave before I slip the napkin into my back pocket and move on to take some more orders on Grayson's end of the bar.

The next morning, or rather the next afternoon, when I roll out of bed I immediately reach for my phone. I find a text from an unknown number:

This is Tommy from the bar. Just in case Eddie loses the sticky note, I added your number into his phone. Figured I'd shoot you a text so you have his :)

I smile and lay my phone back down on the side table. My excited anticipation dwindles quickly as hours turn into days of not hearing from Eddie. I'm beginning to think he was just drunk that night and wasn't actually interested. One afternoon, as I'm getting ready for work, I glance at my phone for the millionth time hoping to see something from Eddie. No such luck... I open up the text conversation and my fingers hover over the keyboard trying to decide what to say. This isn't the first time I've done this in the past few days. Once again, I finally give up and shove my phone back in my pocket. I head to work with a pit in my stomach and disappointment heavy in my chest.

That evening, Grayson and all of my regulars notice how down I am and a few even try to cheer me up or be an ear to listen, including Grayson who hasn't stopped pestering me about it every chance he gets. "So, did things not work out with Lover Boy?" I brush him off and start wiping down the bar. "Come on, (Y/N). Talk to me," he sighs, "I know I'm a dick sometimes but I do care about you and I don't like seeing you so upset."

I take a deep breath as I toss the dirty towel into the laundry bin, "He never called. Never even texted either. And it's not because he lost my number, Tommy saved it into his phone for him." I can't hide the disappointment and hurt in my tone.

"Are you serious? Dude was absolutely entranced by you but doesn't bother to contact you?" Grayson asks, dumbfounded.

I shrug, heading for the cellar door, "I'm gonna restock. Holler if you need me."

He lets me go and as the door shuts behind me, I feel tears prickle against my eyes. Why am I about to cry over some dude I've only met once and only shared a few sentences with? Frustrated, I wipe my eyes and grab a few bottles that I know we need. Half way up the stairs, tears threaten to spill again. Sighing in defeat, I descend back down, place the bottles on a table, and drop to the floor against the wall with my head in my hands. This shit is why I don't let myself get hung up on guys anymore. The tears are flowing freely when I hear the cellar door open, "(Y/N)?"

Grayson sounds worried so I answer, "Yeah?" but my voice comes out weak and shaky.

I hear his footsteps descend the stairs rapidly before he drops to the floor beside me, "Hey, you okay?"

I look up from my hands and make eye contact, "I thought this one was different. I let myself hope. Now look at me, crying on the floor of a dusty ass cellar."

Grayson rubs my back comfortingly, "It's okay to cry, (Y/N)."

I drop my head back in my hands, "No it's not, not over a man I don't even know. I'm an independent woman who don't need no man. I shouldn't be this heart broken."

"First of all, yes, it's still okay to cry. Second, you may be independent but everyone needs somebody to love," Grayson says softly.

From the top of the stairs, a voice rings out, "Hey Grayson, quite a few people wanting drinks up here."

"We'll be up in a minute," he answers before pulling my face to look at him, "Get up, dust yourself off, and let's go have a good time, okay?"

I sigh deeply, "Okay," and wipe my tears. On our way up, I grab the bottles I had set down earlier and by the time we reach the top of the stairs, I've promised myself I won't shed another tear over this man unless he earns it.

Later that evening, I'm wiping down the bar again after a rush. In my peripheral, I notice someone take a seat and toss the towel away to tend to them. When I finally look over, my heart starts racing. It's Eddie. He's staring at his hands where he interlocked them on the bar top. I look around, hoping to pass him off to Grayson but find him helping other customers. I take a deep breath before smoothing out my shirt and walking over to Eddie.

"What can I get for you?" I ask, attempting to keep my tone friendly and even but it still shakes the slightest bit. His head shoots up and he makes direct eye contact with me. There's something in his eyes that makes me tilt my head.

He breaks eye contact and breaths deeply, looking back to his hands, "Listen, I- I'm sorry. I know I haven't called or texted. I tried to several times but I didn't know what to say. Buck says I was overthinking it too much but... I don't know, I just- I didn't wanna fuck it up."

A small smile touches my lips but I squash down the hope that's trying to breach the surface, "Eddie, a hello would've been sufficient."

He looks up at me and grimaces, "That's what Tommy said but I didn't wanna sound so- so casual I guess?"

Bewilderment replaces my smile, "What?"

He hesitates a second, "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I didn't want to sound so uninterested when you're all I've been able to think about for days. I also didn't want to sound too interested and scare you off... Which I may have just done anyways," he shakes his head in embarrassment as he looks back down at the bar top.

The grin on my face kind of hurts as I tuck my finger under his chin and lift it. His eyes have a touch of worry in them when they lock with mine, "I almost texted you several times too but didn't for the same exact reason." For some reason, I let myself get a little vulnerable, "I may or may not have cried a few hours ago because I was so disappointed that I didn't hear from you..."

I pull away as shock etches across his features, "I'm so sorry."

I shrug, "Forgiven, as long as you take me out on a date at some point and remember that my number exists in your phone."

He grins, nodding, "I will. When are you off work this week?"

I look up at the ceiling trying to remember, "All day Wednesday and Sunday and then until 3pm every other day."

When I look back at him, he smiles, "How does coffee sound Wednesday morning? 10am?"

I mirror his expression, "Sounds great!"

I can barely contain my excitement over the next few days and wake up before my alarm even goes off Wednesday morning after tossing and turning all night. I jolt up in bed, checking my phone in a panic, thinking I've slept through my alarm going off. Relief courses through my veins when I realize there's still an hour until it will. Excitement quickly floods that relief out of my system and I hop out of bed with a spring in my step.

Sometime later, as I enter the small outdoor café early but too excited to wait, I see Eddie threading his fingers through his hair at a table, having beat me there. I smile brightly and approach his table. He stands as soon as he sees me, pulls out my chair for me, and motions to the coffee in front of it, “I wasn’t sure how you like your coffee but if it’s wrong just let me know and I can order you something else.”

I giggle, take a sip and grin, “It’s perfect,” and as I look at him sitting across from me, knee bouncing and fingers fidgeting with his coffee cup I can’t help but think he’s perfect too.

More 911

Main Masterlist

#911 #911 show #911 imagine #911 imagines #eddie diaz #eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz imagines #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz x y/n #y/n

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farfromstrange · 11 months ago

Text

Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

-> Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader (she/her)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), alternative universe, blood play, marking, scent kink, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, biting, vampirism, angst, religious imagery & symbolism, Catholic guilt, mentions of violence, allusions to suicidal thoughts, lots of plot, age gap

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

Other Characters: Vampire!Elektra (mentioned), Ben Urich (mentioned)

A/n: I finally got this one edited. This is a beast, y’all! I drew inspiration from Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire, but particularly the 2022 AMC series (I fell in love with it then and there), but it’s not based on it, so I just played around with the idea and this came out. It’s a lot, but it wasn’t enough for a full-blown series, so you’re getting a big ass One Shot instead. I used my usual Smut tag list, but since this is slightly Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heed the warnings and proceed with care! Don't read it if you don't want to. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Read Me On AO3!

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps.

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again.

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable.

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil.

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature.

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving.

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.

You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one.

On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans.

They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist.

And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires!

Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak.

The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire.

You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen.

You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead.

You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real.

Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.

Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires.

They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear.

That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes.

He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges.

You don’t know me, but I know you.

It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.

I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.

No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.

It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands.

The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.

What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market.

Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight.

You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself.

I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into?

I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man.

You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set.

Yours sincerely,

The paper crumbles in your hands, but only at the corners. Your eyes are glued to the lost drops of ink, the blue blood of an old fountain pen caving under too much pressure.

He chose his words carefully. Every paragraph circles around your head. You breathe in, and it suddenly feels as though the whiff of the unknown is an inhalable drug, twisting your brain inside out.

The pull threatens to submerge you in a stormy ocean. You’re flailing your arms around helplessly, but there is nothing for you to hold onto. All buoys have drifted into oblivion, leaving a sea of utter emptiness behind, and in the midst of it, there you are, drowning.

In a moment of clarity, you fold the letter back down on the desk. It lands with a thud, and you look around frantically, checking if anyone is watching you. They aren’t.

M. That’s all he’s giving you. And the fact he is over two hundred years old proves the rumors to be true. He’s standing by it, but only to you. He wants to reveal himself to you, show you his true face for a story, but he’s a vampire.

You’re alone. You can wash his hands, but is just showing up enough for him? You don’t even know him.

You’re in trouble. This time though, you didn’t even do anything. You did your job, and he caught an interest in you. How does that work?

Your heart skips another beat. It should not, but it does. The danger is exciting. It shouldn't be exciting. You hate what your body is doing, but how can you make it stop? You can’t. You can’t do anything but take it.

This stranger has got you in a chokehold, but in his hands, you might as well surrender to your certain demise. You don’t consider vampires inherently evil, but there is a reason people warn you not to walk alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s dangerous, no matter his nature, and he is not supposed to lure you in the way he does.

But you’re a curious kitten, and he is offering you the holy grail of answers to questions you have been grappling with for years. He hit the nail right on the head. And it doesn’t even scare you how well he knows you.

This is a gold mine. Realistically speaking, telling a vampire’s story could make or break your career as a journalist. If you do it for the magazine, you’re done before you can even bring your words to print, but if you do it individually and you do it well, people will certainly eat it up. The question is just, are you going to play your entire life safe, conforming to your boss’s view of you until you get the freedom you crave, or are you going to take the risk and fly?

The answer is as clear as day, but it takes you a moment to process. It’s as though someone is in your head, steering you in the direction of whoever this M is. Daredevil. This vampire who wants you to interview him, and for what? That’s still an open question you don’t have the answer to. But you do know what to do.

You scramble for your laptop, your notepad, and the letter in the envelope. The clock strikes four. You have another two hours on the clock, but you can’t be bothered to stay.

Upon hearing the sound of your shoes hurriedly scraping against the linoleum floors, one of your colleagues turns in her chair. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be,” you tell her as you brush past her.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

You stop on your way out, looking back over your shoulder. “If everything works out,” you say, glancing through the window to his office at the other end of the hall, “He’ll have my letter of resignation by the end of the week.”

She gasps softly. “You’re quitting?” her voice is barely above a whisper.

Almost sinisterly, you chuckle. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“But—”

“Tell your daughter Happy Birthday from me. I gotta go.”

Your steps echo for minutes still, but you are long gone with the wind.

Silver linings are considered an advantage that comes from an unpleasant situation. The name has proven to be entirely unfit for the magazine that replaced a big piece of Hell’s Kitchen’s history. The Bulletin had cultural value as much as it was laden with decades of the city’s stories told to the average person.

Wilson Fisk was the dynamite that sent New York alight. The Bulletin’s destruction was mere collateral damage in the fight to get the city back on track. You have had so many reasons to leave presented to you, yet you never took them. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here, making bad decisions on what started as just another Monday in June.

The fact is though, you didn’t leave, and you are here now. Facts are what matter. They count. Your hypothetical past, present, and future have no place in this reality because you can’t travel back or forward in time. Vampires may exist, and the Avengers time-traveled to save the world, but things aren’t quite as easy once you look at the bigger picture. You are not a superhero, you’re just a journalist chasing the kind of story that will finally make her voice be heard.

You know that Ben Urich, at least, would be proud of you.

His address weighs heavy on the small card you pulled out of the envelope earlier that evening. You passed it on to the cab driver, and he began to navigate the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The luxury condominiums in this part of the city can be counted on one hand. You know exactly when you’re there.

The sun has once again set over New York City. You’re wide awake, not quite sure though if you’re ready to face what you are walking blindly into. Even your driver refuses to take you past a certain point, and that is how you know that you’re not dreaming. This is real, and it’s supposed to be terrifying.

How come you’re not scared then?

You slip twenty dollars to the cab driver, then climb out of the backseat. The salty air from the Hudson River a few blocks down wafts around your sensitive nose. In the distance, you can hear waves crashing into the docks as the wind picks up in speed. The boats must be moving wildly by now, swaying from side to side and possibly even making the fish in the depths of the water seasick. You would be if you were them.

With every step, you grow closer to your target. On second thought, maybe you should have brought more than just a pathetic bottle of pepper spray and your precious laptop. You could have brought your grandfather’s cassette recorder, at least that would leave a mark if you hit someone over the head with it.

Do vampires get concussions? That is another question you can add to the seemingly endless list in your mind. It’s a confusing place as of late, and the weird sense that someone is playing with the controls won’t leave you alone. Either you are overthinking, or you are worse off than you originally thought.

The apartment complex the card directs you to stretches high above you. You look up, seeing not a single light on. That’s odd, you think, but then again, you are meeting with the city’s most notorious man. If he is who everyone says he is, and if the rumors are even true, that is.

As you are about to approach the entrance, your fingertips start to burn. A gasp escapes past your lips. Staring down, the cubical piece of paper goes up in flames. You are mere feet from the door, nowhere near close to an open source of fire, and the card starts to burn like a wildfire.

You pull back, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The ashes fall to the ground, but before they can hit the asphalt, they vanish.

“What the–” before you can finish, the doors before you swing open toward the inside. The lights turn on. Someone even has called the elevator for you.

Another step forward, and a voice stops you. “Fourth floor, down the hallway, first door to your right,” the voice says through the speaker. Only then do you notice the lack of a doorbell.

Everything in you is screaming for you to run, but you are rooted in the spot. He dragged you here with a mere letter, and you were more than ready to jump. Desperation was the only thing that drove you here. Your brain seems incapable of rational thought.

What if that is what he wanted all along? To get you complicit by playing on what you so desperately need, which is a story and a way out of this boring everyday life that is threatening to slowly kill you.

He’s like a siren, luring you into his deadly trap, but even knowing all of this, you still can’t find it in yourself to run.

The second you enter the building, the door shuts behind you, and your only way out is officially locked. You made the decision; you have dug your own grave, possibly quite literally, and now you have to lie in it. It’s better to die chasing a good story than dying at a desk in an office that doesn’t respect you.

You are a disgrace, you can hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. He always warned you not to be too reckless or your bad decisions will eventually catch up with you. He always taught you not to trust strangers, and to stay the hell away from those who disgrace God, but you have never cared much about being a good girl.

Your thoughts are as morbid as your obsession with the walking undead. It is time you embrace what people are already saying about you.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. It goes up and up and up until it finally stops on the fourth floor. The walls smell like nothing but a faint hint of bleach. It’s clean, parquette not carpet, and the walls are kept in a shade resembling a mixture between crimson and maroon, and it is blending into a sort of marble.

The metal doors slide open. Again, you hesitate. A sweet whisper echoes in your ear, dragging you toward the edge. You breach the border between the elevator and the hallway that waits behind it. The voice is distant, and it doesn’t sound human—it reminds you of a siren’s song, calling for you. He is calling for you, and a fog settles over your mind. You’re not in control anymore, he is.

You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged. Vampires stop aging when they’re turned. Their mind doesn’t. You’ve read the research plenty. They are wise beings, more intelligent than human beings could ever fathom. That makes them dangerous.

Their venom rivals the intoxicating feeling of heroin, you’ve heard, and it heightens your senses to the point all you can feel is the one who bit you. Research suggests it’s a million times stronger than an orgasm, for both the vampire and the human being.

Part of you has always wanted to try it. Part of you wants to know what it feels like to be sucked dry. You want to know what it feels like to be carried into a new dimension by someone who knows how to play the human body like a fucking piano, eliciting the sweetest melody through your very essence and the symphony of your moans.

This M—Daredevil—is inherently dangerous. He’s as mysterious as they come; a man in a mask lurking in the dark corners of Hell’s Kitchen every night, turning the fight for justice into his hunting ground.

It’s as though he curled his fingers, and you followed.

You walk the dark hallway down to the door on the right. Paintings litter the walls. Masterpieces, blotches of white, red, and color. You recognize the red marble as a decorative theme on the wallpaper. Tracing your fingers over it, the rough drywall scratches at your skin.

You reach out a shaky hand toward the golden knob. Before you can turn it though, the door already flings open. It must be witchcraft.

Red appears to be his favorite color. At least judging from the hallway, that is true. When you step into the room with a pounding heart and blood pooling in your cheeks though, the inside of the room is a lot more… human. You wouldn’t have guessed it from the gloominess surrounding you on your way there.

A leather couch and armchairs stand in the middle, facing toward the window front. Colored windows, as you have gathered from the rumors. They are see-through now though, showing the city skyline and the moon up high. The chandelier on the ceiling is the only piece of furniture you would consider old. Browns meet hues of blue and dark green, a forest at midnight, and you suck in a sharp breath. The apartment is beautiful.

You look to your left and see a bookshelf stretching the length of the wall. You can’t help but run your hand over the backs. You would have expected original editions from the 18th or 19th century, but when your fingers trace over the bindings, you are met with the bulging of Braille underneath the elegant golden writing of the titles. None of them seem to have collected dust. It surprises you to only find a mere handful of classics that haven’t been transcribed in Braille and a realization you did not expect starts to crawl its way forward.

“I stole that one from a library in Paris.”

Your racing heart stops beating. The book you’ve been holding falls to the ground, its worn-out leather cracking further around the spine. The thud is deafening. You gasp, turning around. Your shoulders fly up as the tension ripples through every last muscle in your bone. Your bones ache just from how stiff you’re standing, but you can’t move.

The man before you moves as quietly as a mouse. You didn’t hear him coming. The moonlight reflects off his dark brown hair, making it appear almost ginger. He’s wearing a simple suit without a tie, and the white of his shirt is as pristine and clean as the cut of his beard. You can see chest hair poking out from underneath the two open buttons, as dark as the locks on his head. His jawline is irresistibly sharp, leading up to a pair of plump lips he is wrapping around the brim of a crystal glass filled with rum.

Your heart remains frozen. Not a single drop of blood pumps through your veins, yet your cheeks burn brighter than a bonfire on a pitch-black night.

But his flawless appearance is not what catches your attention the most. Looking up into his eyes, wanting to know whether they are as red as those set into the devil’s mask, you find nothing but your terrified reflection staring back at you. It’s as blurry as the picture of your face in a still ocean’s water, your wide eyes staring back at yourself.

The red glasses are all you can see. Round with a black rim. Silver would have looked better on him, or maybe even gold. The black reminds you of an endless pit, a sinister embrace of vampire stereotypes, but you can’t look away from the maroon that won’t allow you even a glimpse into his eyes. They are shielding him from the world, and his eyes from curious, stupid humans like you.

He nods toward the ground. “You gonna pick that up?” he asks. His voice reminds you of rumbling gravel.

He looks like a man. He talks like a man. If you didn’t know better, you would say he is human. There seems to be blood in his cheeks and air in his lungs.

You have to pull yourself together. Clearing your throat, you bend down and pick the book back up.

“Thank you,” he utters your name. “It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors that don’t work for me.”

You put the book back on the shelf. Your lips are sewn shut; you can’t find the words. Every time you open your mouth like a fish on dry land, you close it again, and it is embarrassing to be standing in front of him with your guard down.

“Welcome to my home,” he says. You wish you could see his eyes to know if he’s mocking you. “Do you want a drink, or do you need another minute to process?”

He is mocking you. His tone is gentle, as is his voice, but he smirks like a smug motherfucker, and your anger boils to a tipping point. The candle is about to burn out.

“I–” you stammer. Internally, you curse yourself for being such a fool.

“Another minute it is then.”

You don’t need a minute though. “You’re blind,” you blurt out.

The beautiful—deadly—stranger nods. “Yeah.“

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

“But you’re…” you leave the missing part of that sentence hanging in the air like a noose.

“Say it,” he murmurs. You want to say it sounds like a growl, but you’re not sure. He isn’t asserting dominance or trying to force you into submission by scaring you away, but he is toying with you regardless.

You take a deep breath. The word, the truth, numbers your tongue and your lips with its weight. “A vampire,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, matching his.

His smirk broadens. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, then releases it as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m a blind vampire, yes,” he answers. “We’re rare, but we do exist.”

Blind vampires. In all of your years of fascination, that has never crossed your mind. You used to believe that they had healing abilities that far exceeded your own. You were wrong. He lost his eyesight before he got turned into a vampire. He lived as a blind human being and didn’t regain his most crucial sense when he died.

He came back to life, but he died. It is surreal to stand across from him. He’s not just letters on a piece of paper, he is very much real. And he’s blind.

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

That elicits a soft chuckle from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says.

“I was considering not to.”

He sees right through you with those empty glasses. “That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?” you counter.

“I can hear your heartbeat. The blood pumping in your veins…” His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You take a step back. It’s an instinct. “Your pulse picks up when you lie, or when you’re nervous, or both,” he states. “When you first saw me, your heart skipped a beat. It did again when you lied to me.”

Your eyes trail down to his thick thighs perfectly fitted in his tailored trousers. His thick digits pat the rhythm with his fingers on the fabric. Thud-thudthudthud-thud. You place a hand on your chest. He wasn’t wrong; your heart is racing.

His smirk turns into a smile, but only briefly again. It’s a glimpse of humanity he doesn’t want you to see. “I like that sound,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell good? Sweet, sour, and a little salty. Natural. You don’t use a lot of artificial perfume, but you like cherry chapstick.”

You swallow, taking a whiff of your arm. Besides your deodorant masking the scent of your nervous sweat, you smell nothing. How good must his nose be? His hearing? His sense of taste?

“Right now, sweat is dripping down your back, and your muscles are tense enough to strain against your bones every time you breathe. Your heart just skipped a beat again. You find it weird,” he muses. “I can’t turn it off, but I get it must be strange for you.”

“You–” The blood has collected in your head, pushing the temperature in the room to an all-time high. “Get out of my body!” you snap.

He laughs. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”

“And I never thought you would ask for an audience with me, but here we are.”

“Here you are.”

You want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. He looks so smug, standing there with his drink, wearing a suit too fancy for his own home. He’s fully in his element. It’s scary how alluring he is, too. You don’t want to think that way, but as soon as your eyes gaze upon him again, your chest contracts, and you forget how to breathe.

He’s a wolf, and you’re a lonely little sheep that doesn’t know any better. That lonely little sheep just wants to be a part of something bigger, even if that means surrendering herself to the big bad wolf. He wants a taste of her, and the sheep would give him that in a heartbeat if he just asked.

You blink. There is a voice in your head, and it isn’t your own. Far from it. You don’t want to be associated with this stranger. She thinks she knows you. She thinks she knows what you want—the sheep in the eyes of her natural enemy. This voice is the most irrational you could be, and you need to stop letting her win.

And yet you—not just the voice of the lonely sheep you appear to be—would follow this man anywhere, even to hell if he asked you to.

Your eyes drill knives into his skull, but they are also full of curiosity. Can he hear your thoughts? Your heart beats in your throat. You can taste it on your tongue. If you bit your lip, you would bleed, and he would probably fall into a frenzy. Still, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. What if he can hear your thoughts—hear how fucking needy you are? You’re pathetic. What he must think of you, standing across from him, smaller than human life itself.

You want to read him, but he is far from an open book. He’s not Braille you can run your fingers over, and even if he was, you don’t know how to read it. He’s an enigma. His face is set in stone; an iron mask you can’t penetrate.

His chest heaves with another chuckle. He sets the crystal glass down on the coffee table, taking a step forward. “No, I can’t read your mind,” he says.

You flinch. “What?”

“Your breathing pattern. The way you look at me. I can sense that you’re thinking about something.” He adjusts his glasses. “It’s just… Most humans ask me if I can read their minds, you know. I can’t. Some vampires can, but my senses are the only heightened ability I have.” This time, when he chuckles, a hint of bitterness dances in his voice.

“At least you’re not in my head then,” you say.

“No.”

“Good.”

A pregnant pause follows. You clutch your bag to your chest, your fingers digging into the frame of your hidden laptop.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, pointing to his empty glass.

You wave him off. That’s the last thing on your mind. “No, thank you.”

Sometimes at night, you fantasize about diving into the abyss of darkness. It looks and sounds a terrifying lot like him. You want to know him. You need to know him. When it comes to him and this—whatever this is—the lines between want and need are blurring into an unidentifiable mess. It’s an ocean of emotions with no land in sight. A total eclipse of the heart, if you will. You’re losing your mind.

“What you can do–” You straighten your shoulder, hoping it will add height to your beaten confidence. “You can tell me your name. Sir,” you say.

He nods. “I suppose it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Matthew. My name’s Matthew.” The softness of his features as his lips move to the rhythm of his words takes you back anew. His eyebrows raise slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of beautiful, unfocused hazel eyes that steal your breath away.

Matthew. It is a name that easily rolls off the tongue. It suits him.

You repeat his name aloud. “That’s an odd name for a 200-something-year-old man,” you point out.

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

You hit a sore spot. His head dips, fingers running over his nails and tongue tracing his teeth. “Not anymore,” he says.

God died for him a long time ago, and all churches burned down.

Your grip on your bag loosens. “Then why Daredevil?” you ask.

His lips part. “I, uh, have the Bulletin to thank for that one. After centuries of existing in this world, and being despised for no matter what I do, I’ve decided to embrace it. I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.”

Matt grabs his glass, turning away from you. He doesn’t use a cane to navigate from the couch to the mini bar on the other end of the room. You carefully follow his movements. One of his hands remains at his side, snapping his fingers as he navigates the familiar terrain of his home.

He uncaps a half-empty bottle of Whiskey to pour himself another glass.

“You know, Matthew,” you prompt, daring to step forward an inch, “as big as your reputation is in this part of the city, Silver Lining is not the kind of magazine that would cover your story.”

“You still came,” he says.

“I could lose my job if anyone knew I came here.”

“And yet you’re here and not where you should be.” He turns his head over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t risk losing your job if it wasn’t important to you, would you?”

You stammer, “I–” He’s got you. You’re a fish with a hook in her mouth.

“If Silver Lining Magazine won’t cover my story, why are you here?” Matt turns back to you, leaning back against the shiny Mahagoni of his minibar. It offers a beautiful contrast to his strong physique and the slight paleness of his skin. “Could it be because you’re fascinated by the mythic?” he asks, teasing. “By werewolves and witches and vampires?”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I won’t confirm or deny. My boss wouldn’t let me write a vampire vigilante exposé even if I begged him to.”

“And that’s why Mr. Doherty doesn’t deserve you.” Your body visibly recoils when he pushes forward, moving just an inch toward you. “Your curiosity is a virtue,” he purrs. The moonlight sets your reflection in his glasses alight.

“Is that why you lured me here?” you ask him. “Because my curiosity is a virtue and you consider yourself better than the people in my life?”

“I didn’t lure you here, and I think you know that. That’s not what this is.” The distance between you starts to shrink, backing you into a corner. “I believe you came here because the thought of interviewing a vampire and sharing your findings with the world on your account excites you,” he says. “You want to be heard. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and you want to make people happy.”

The only way for you to come out of this with your pride and dignity still intact is to put up walls before the already existent labyrinth of walls keeping your heart guarded and your soul safe. “Again,” you ask, “why me?”

“Why not you? As I stated in my letter, I’m a fan of your work.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, about that. How did you write that if you’re blind?”

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

“Of course.” Of course, he has a secretary. “I… I just don’t get it,” you say. “You’ve been hiding for so long–”

Matt cuts you off with an urgency you didn’t expect, “Things have changed. Circumstances…” he trails off.

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?”

His answer is silence. You let out an exasperated sigh. “If you want me to interview you, you have to be honest with me.”

“I’m not on the record yet.”

“Right. Maybe you can answer this though—off the record, of course—how can you be certain I didn’t call the cops or the FBI before I came here?”

His eyes crinkle. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” he says.

He’s amused. You’re amusing him.

“Don’t call me that,” you growl.

He’s spreading you open, holding up a mirror for you to look into. It’s your miserable self in all its glory, and he knows you better than you know yourself.

You ignore the sharp pain in your left ribcage as you pull the arrow out of your heart. “Unless someone holds up a sign that they are pro-vampirism, how would you even know I’d listen to you and not just refer you to the Journal of Psychiatry?”

“Are you telling me you don’t believe in vampires?” Matt quips.

��That’s not… Answer my question!”

The sound of your heartbeat must sound almost like the rapid firing of a machine gun, that’s how fast your pulse is racing. Your veins threaten to burst with the excess blood. It’s a heat like no other. You’re a witch at the stake, and Matt is holding the torch to your gasoline-doused body.

He clears his throat. Your face falls at the words that tumble out of his parted lips, and the rapid firing turns into a deafening silence and a monotone line on a heart monitor.

“After what I’ve learned from reading Dr. Rice’s research on the phenomena of vampirism, I can confidently say this species is no different than an animal like the great white shark or the Homo sapiens sapiens—our kind,” he recites. “Vampires are a medium of fiction and propaganda to induce fear, but they are also a widely misunderstood species that is being silenced rather than heard. Our species, the human species, likes to consider themselves superior, even when we’re in a position of being someone’s natural food source. Dr. Rice’s research is based on a comprehensible set of facts, and isn’t that what we have been relying on ever since the beginning? Our psychology makes it possible for us to change the narrative in our favor, and more often than not, we ignore the very facts deemed by humans as an intellectual importance to spread the message of an entirely different agenda. Dr. Rice’s research only proves that egotism and humans themselves will be humankind's certain downfall.”

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out.

“Published by Columbia University.”

Your heart restarts with a rush of adrenaline. “How… how do you know all of this?”

“I may be blind,” Matt says, “but I know how to read between the lines.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The alcohol in his drink seems to have little effect on him. “I know you have questions, and I’m willing to answer them if you promise to publish a detailed report somewhere other than Silver Lining Magazine.”

You look down at your bag, then back at him. “Ben Urich could have told your story in a way that would’ve made people listen,” you murmur. “I don’t have an impressive career like him.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “but you could have easily written ‘Attack on NYC’. Ben was a good man, an even better journalist, but he could not have written your college essay. And he could never have been you.”

Your name rolls off his tongue—not a pretentious nickname that makes you want to vomit but your name, and it flicks a switch within you.

You glance around the spacious living, pulling your laptop out of its confines, and you bridge the distance between you, finally. You notice he smells of sandalwood cologne and scentless soap. “Okay,” you cave. “Where do you want me to set up?”

Session 1.

The spacebar clicks underneath the tip of your index finger. The white of your screen fills with a series of red sequences as the microphone takes in every little sound around you. Except for the two of you and the fading footsteps of one of Matthew’s assistants though, the world has fallen silent in the dead of the night. He’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, head tilted; your life is about to change.

“So, Mister Murdock,” you begin, “tell me. How long have you been dead?”

His mouth opens in a wide grin. “242 years,” he answers.

“And what happened the year you died?”

“Well, it was 1782. I was a good few years out of law school. I was a good lawyer, but I wasn’t successful. That year, I met a beautiful woman at a banquet. I wasn’t rich—trust me, I was beyond penniless—but she had been adopted into a wealthy family, and that made her one of the richest women in the room. Everyone wanted her, but when I sensed her across the hall, she only had eyes for me. And she was the first woman to not see me just because I was blind.” He chuckles sadly. “I thought she was the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, but a few weeks later, after letting her into my life, I realized that she didn’t look at me that night because she was interested. She was hunting me. El— Miss Elektra Natchios…”

The year 1782 becomes apparent before your inner eye. As he tells you about the night he met her, you can see the dark-haired beauty making her way across the ballroom. Red lips and a gown to die for. Her dark eyes were full of mischief, but the passion in them could have knocked a grown man off of his feet. And that is just what she did to poor Matthew.

“I was going to marry her,” he tells you.

He went to church regularly. His knees were bloody from praying, his senses already heightened before he died. God’s soldier, that is how he puts it. He was told that the accident that left him blind happened for a reason, and he had to fight a war that went beyond the country’s fight for independence.

That summer, Elektra drained him. He didn’t know what she was. She fooled him. He was obsessed with her. Her dark eyes he couldn’t see lured her in, and it was the venom in her blood that became his downfall after she dug her teeth into him.

Matt tried to beg his priest for forgiveness, but he didn’t even make it past the marble stairs before the doors locked. He knelt in a pool of blood—both his and that of the first human he ever sucked dry to survive as a newborn vampire—offering an eternal sacrifice to Catholicism, but God abandoned him on his doorstep.

The church walls would have been set on fire if he had touched them from the inside.

You look up from your notepad to find him now standing at the window. He’s not looking out, of course, but he seems so deep in thought, the memories that aren’t your own but his start to dissipate, and you’re brought back to the here and now.

Matt poured his heart out to you. You expected answers, but not this kind, and certainly not of this magnitude. You see him in an entirely different light. He’s vulnerable, fragile, and human. He has endured trauma that killed him, but he couldn’t die because the woman he loved made him immortal. It’s a bigger curse than growing up with the belief that an accident made you God’s soldier.

He lost everything. For centuries, he has had to live with that. It’s killing you, feeling his pain, the pure agony that radiates off him.

Your voice is quiet when you ask him, “What was it like?” You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know what you are referencing.

Matt chuckles, the sound a mere breath in the atmosphere. “Like she took my soul from my body, setting fire to my belief system and already heightened senses,” he says.

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

“It was. Is. My heart stopped, but when that happened, something else awoke inside me. The hunger… the hunger was the worst part. It’s insatiable. One hour passes, and you feel like you’ve been starving for weeks.”

“Like you’ve been possessed by a demon?”

“Like I am the demon.”

“But you’re not.” You should stop the recording. You’re not on track; you’re incorporating your feelings into Matt’s story, but you can’t help it. The words tumble out of your mouth without a second thought, a train that cannot be stopped.

He raises his eyebrows, you can see it in his reflection in the windows. “Are you religious?” he asks.

You shake your head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Are you?”

The veins on the back of his hands bulge as he balls them to fists at his sides. Your throat is a desert, and your heartbeat resembles a storm that burns right through it, sending the sand flying in all directions of the horizon.

You adjust in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. He takes a whiff. He’s smelling you, and that doesn’t help the speed of your pulse to calm down.

Tapping your pen on your notepad, you watch the red sequences fill the white space of the recording program. It moves with the sound of your voice when you finally dare to answer. “It’s a complicated question because there is a difference between believing in God and believing in the church,” you say.

“Do you believe in God then?” Matt asks. It’s as though he’s trying not to seethe at the mere mention of someone he used to worship. You make a note of that.

“There is so much bad in this world. So much cruelty. I can’t…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know how to believe in a God that would let the things humans do to each other happen. If God existed—if he was as merciful as Christians like to claim, he wouldn’t let this happen. And I’m so sick and tired of people using their faith, and their beliefs in God and the church as justification to be disrespectful. I don’t understand it. How can anyone? Why is someone who has to drink blood to stay alive—someone who didn’t even choose this life—worth less and the devil’s breed when humans do worse things to each other? Why would God allow us to start wars that kill innocent people? Children? It’s just not fair that we treat ourselves and others as though we are already in hell, and we’re just supposed to accept that God doesn’t care—” You stop yourself, the tears burning behind your eyes.

Matt turns back around. You can’t look away. “When I was still human,” he murmurs, “I used to believe everything that happened to me was God’s will. The accident, God’s will. Me going blind, God’s will. I went to confession, prayed until my knees were bloody and bruised. I tried convincing myself that every scream I heard from down the block, every person who lost their life or their innocence was my responsibility. God made me this way for a reason, right?” The scoff is as bitter as the liquor in his glass. “I fell apart, you know. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what was happening to me,” he tells you.

You hold your breath. The glasses slip from his eyes as he takes them off with shaky fingers. You are met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes. Emotions dance a heated tango in a tornado. If you look closer, the green specks bring life to his eyes. It’s human nature in the purest sense of the word.

Your reflection stands in his irises, his unmoving pupils, and the tears glisten in his eyes. They’re as red as blood, watered-down crimson essence. You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, but that would be crossing a very big line that you can’t bring yourself up to touch.

“I studied law because I thought it would change something,” he continues. You listen. It’s the only thing you can do—listen. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever did felt like it was enough. I lost my father. Jack. I didn’t know my mother until it was too late. Maggie. I had no one. No money, no prospects, just me and those voices in my head, telling me I was supposed to be God’s soldier.”

“You’re not,” you cut in.

He shakes his head. “I prayed; I crawled up the stairs of the church, and I spent hours repenting for my sins. I bled myself dry for Him. I sacrificed myself. I sacrificed my youth, my heart, and my soul, and I got nothing back. I begged for help until my voice was sore, but nothing… God, nothing was ever good enough. Until Elektra came around,” he says.

“She changed everything for you. It makes sense. She turned you into a vampire, but she also loved you.”

“She did love me, in her own twisted way.”

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

He isn’t yours, but the pang you feel in your chest is treacherous. Your heart cracks like a porcelain vase, jealousy creeping in like a parasite of toxic waste.

In response, Matt only chuckles bitterly. “She made me believe again, then took my soul and crushed it in her hand.” The correction makes your shoulders slump. “Instead of feeling like my world ended though, I felt at peace when she sucked the blood out of my veins and fed me her venom,” he says. “It’s sick, I know. I was aware I died that night, that she turned me into a devil who could only survive if he drank the blood of others. The Catholic in me struggled to accept it, but I had no choice but to embrace what she made me.”

“And where is she now?” you ask.

“Gone.” The light in his eyes has fully disappeared now. “I stayed with her for a while until she died in my arms. She showed me what love is, and she showed me heartbreak. She made me hungry for blood, awakening the devil I’ve been trying to tame. She taught me how to feed, how to hunt, and how to chase. But she also cursed me,” he says. “I only exist for myself now. I only bleed for myself. No God, no church, and no more religion. I’m not Jesus, I’m Judas, and I retired the cross the day I was crucified.”

You have run out of questions to ask. Too overwhelming is the sight of his walls crumbling down, this stranger you now know better than any living being seems to. You no longer see money in this, or a story to chase, you only see Matthew, and the halo above his head he still believes is a pair of horns. The world broke him. His faith in God broke him. It crushed him, and he lost everything. How broken he must be.

“Not such a pretty story when I say it out loud, huh?” He scoffs.

The spacebar clicks again. The recording comes to a sudden halt. One hour and fifty-eight minutes, the first session of your interview with the vampire. You need to put a halt to it now because what you are about to say or do as you reach your hand out to brush his cold, dead skin is not something that should be found on a record. And you won’t ever tell.

Matt pulls away when your warm fingertips brush his. You’re standing across from him now, so close he can smell, hear, and feel all of you at once.

Your touch is the holy water that burns his skin, but the fire sustains him and shoots straight to his core the same way the blood rushes to yours.

“It’s not a pretty story, no,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it did tell me what I already knew.”

“And what’s that?” he asks.

“That you’re not evil. You’re not the Devil. You’re misunderstood. You’ve been beaten; you’ve been abandoned, hurt, and broken. That doesn’t make you a monster. Trying to make this city a better place does not make you a monster.”

“If you only knew the things I’ve done…”

“I know the rumors suggest that you were the one who fought Wilson Fisk and got this city back where it needed to be. You’ve saved countless women from the worst of fates. You are the reason the innocent people of Hell’s Kitchen feel safe. By picking up that mask, you became a hero, not a villain, and that is the story I want to tell.”

In lightspeed, he has moved you from the window to the other end of the room. Your back hits the wall.

Matt towers over you in all of his intimidating glory. His eyes spark red, but you hold his unfocused gaze. He has such beautiful eyes. This pull between you is far from human; it’s unhealthy, and it is exactly where he wanted to get you. You’re trapped, pinned underneath him like a deer caught in headlights.

Exhaling, your breath strokes his cheeks. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you. Every particle in the air, he inhales. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. Oh, what you wouldn’t do to suck that tongue into your mouth.

Your pheromones play his head like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his marionette. He growls. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?”

The moonlight catches his sparkling white teeth. This time though, you come face to face with the sharp edges of his previously concealed fangs. Your jaw drops open. He’s ethereal.

“I could snap your neck—” Matt places his hand on your neck, “I could make that heart stop beating, take the air from your lungs. I could eat you…” He traces the vein in your throat from your jaw to your collarbone. “I could bite you and suck your blood until you’re empty. I could kill you, sweetheart. My kind is your natural enemy. You shouldn’t be here.”

You shudder. His nose brushes the sensitive skin below your ear. He’s so close you can smell him. On inhale, and his scent consumes your senses. He is all you can feel now. You reach out to hold onto his arms, his muscles tensing under your teeth. He’s big and strong, and those hands have a mind of their own as they begin to wander but never where you need him most.

You shouldn’t be here, yet you came. He asked you to him, and you complied. Is this your fate now? Chasing after your big bad wolf like the helpless sheep that you are?

Your walls clench around an agonizing emptiness, your swollen clit brushing against your soaked underwear. Whatever he is doing to you, it’s the cruelest form of torture.

A strangled noise breaks out of the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest. “You have no idea how badly I want to taste you,” he breathes.

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

Your tone shatters him. When he kisses you, finally, fireworks explode in the universe around you. All the stars seem to finally align. Your heart opens, and it sucks him right into you. Your soul yearns for him. He’s so close yet so far away.

The moon stands between you, but you cross even that ocean as you push against him, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He takes like heaven and hell; he’s the apple Eve bit into and cursed her for all eternity. But he’s also the snake, the one who compelled you to take this journey of bad decisions and jump right off the cliff’s edge. You melt into him like a broken candle.

He pulls away. Those fangs are alluring, as sharp as a knife’s tip. You want to know what it would feel like gracing your skin, digging into your as he thrusts his cock into your tight cunt. The thought alone sends your mind into a spiral.

Your lips are swollen, but he has yet to draw blood. Matt looks as though he wouldn’t dare, his eyes darting around in a darkened conflict he feels might cost him more than your dignity. You are begging for it, as is your body, but he’s holding himself back. He’s the one who tied himself to an invisible pillar, keeping his hands locked behind his back. But that is not the Matt you want.

You lean your head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. All control has slipped from your fingers. It’s in his hands now—you are. He cups your head gently. A mere few inches lie between your fountain and his lips.

You press a kiss to his calloused palm—a desperate and needy kiss, tracing your tongue over the lines that tell his life’s story in a way no interview can retell—and it is then he is forever done for. He’s doomed, and you are the second woman to pull him under the pits of hell.

Saliva drips from his fangs. You hold your breath. He hisses, a weak admission of surrender; the words die miserably on your tongue when his lips close around your pulse point with all his might, and his teeth drive home.

You moan aloud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, forcing him deeper as he sucks the dark red essence out of your vein. The sensation is more than you bargained for. It’s a drug that wrecks your system. The synapses in your brain backfire with all their might, and what follows the initial explosion of pleasure shooting white hot through your being is complete and utter silence as this God of a man feeds on you.

The invisible string between you glows a bright crimson. It slings around you, tying you together like the roots of a tree. It’s an eternal sacrifice. You are giving your all to him, the very core of your existence that is now flowing into his mouth. You swear you can hear his thoughts mingle with yours. Yes, more, please. You taste so good. Your knees buckle, but you remain standing strong. He makes sure you don’t fall. Don’t slip away from me. I need you.

A tear rolls down your cheek. You could sob. It feels so good—too good to be true. In that moment, you become one. There is no telling where one begins and the other ends. The coil in your stomach tightens, and the only pain you feel is the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. He’s taking everything as you give him everything, but it is not enough. It has never been enough.

When your body struggles to catch up with the lack of blood, he pulls away. His fangs drag out of your neck agonizingly slowly. You whimper at the sudden loss.

Matt catches you as you stumble into his arms. “You okay?” He cradles your face, brushing the hair out of your face. Your blood stains his lips. Blinking up at him, the force of your metaphysical connection slaps you awake.

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his.

He pokes the tip of his index finger with the sharp edge of one tooth, sliding it over the two holes that are pulsating with the work of your heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins.

“No,” you say. “You did exactly what you should have.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“But you did.” You wipe the blood from his mouth. “And I felt you. I only felt you.”

The living room passes by you. Before you know it, your back lands on something much softer than a concrete wall. He’s not a monster, that one, but he surely is an animal.

You taste your blood on Matt’s luscious lips as he devours your tongue. It tastes of copper and a little bitter, but that is what makes him moan. That sound is the last thing you could ever grow tired of.

His palm rests on your chest. Your heart pounds against his palm. “You’re so alive,” he says.

You cradle his face in your hands. “And you’re more human than you think.”

If he wanted to pull your heart out and hold it, you would let him in a heartbeat.

He leans you back. He strips you bare. He kisses down your body like you are a fucking masterpiece for him to explore. That is how he sees you.

Your head falls back. The kisses wander from your hips to the inside of your thighs. Every kiss brings his breath closer to your center. Matt pulls them apart. He opens you up to him. Your scent clouds his senses, and he groans, but he doesn’t touch.

His fangs graze your skin. “Mine,” he growls.

You gasp. He bites into the sensitive flesh. Hard, passionately. Your legs wrap around his head, trapping him there. He sucks, and he sucks, and he drinks, and the wetness pools out of your cunt in an obscene amount. This is foreplay to him. It drives you toward the edge leading to an abyss you are afraid you might never be able to crawl back out of. There is no bottom, it is just a pit, and he’s pushing you closer and closer, and—

Your back arches, but he pulls away before the coil can snap into a million butterflies. He pries your legs away from his head, spreading them further on the mattress, as far apart as they will go.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner have been served on a silver platter. He breathes in. The scent of your soaked pussy sticks to the hairs in his nose. It isn’t enough. He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction. You’re everything and more. He wants to taste that part of you more than anything, suck up the slick that is soaking the sheets—and you didn’t even think that was possible—but he waits because he needs to savor it. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon. neither for him nor for you.

The blood is still dripping from his tongue and his fangs, and the raw inside of your thigh. He runs his finger through it. The sting runs from the wound to your folds, then back down. Still, he doesn’t touch. He plays with the blood, sucking on his fingers until they’re clean, and then he dives back in for a taste. He doesn’t bite, he kisses and sucks, but he doesn’t push it further. He doesn’t hurt you.

You’re his saving grace; he has to worship you. Pain only has a place in pleasure.

“Matthew,” you moan.

He chuckles, kissing where his fangs left deep indentations. “No one will ever touch you again,” he purrs. “I’ll make sure of that.”

You try to protest, but the words die on your tongue when he leans in, capturing your clit with his hungry mouth. The wound on your thigh closes. The blood from his lips mixes with your juices, and you cry out at the intensity of it all.

He eats you with the ferocity of a man starved for weeks. He eats your pussy like he ate your blood, savoring every drop but still feasting for the taste to spread out in his mouth like wildfire. Sour, sweet, and copper. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth. His tongue drags through your folds, up and down, and then the tip slides inside, tasting your walls. He grows bolder as your moans accelerate.

Matt cradles your thighs. He forces your hips back down to the mattress, stronger than the average human man. You have to endure his beard scratching and burning, and the pace he has set.

The orgasm creeps up on you. Before you know it, he has plunged his tongue into you, and your body convulses around him. You scream into a pillow as you come.

You are each other’s forbidden fruit. No prayer in the world could keep you apart.

Faintly, you can hear him say, “Good girl.” Your legs quiver. He pulls away, then comes right back like a boomerang.

He’s warm now. He was cold before, but when he kisses you this time, he’s warm. He’s hot. You run your hands over his bare chest, the scars that lie under the dark strands of hair. You tug at it, and he moans. You can tell he is a little insecure, but by pressing your lips to one of the cuts on his shoulder, he relaxes.

What he must have endured, what he must have lived through before he died and was resurrected in the same breath, just without a beating heart—you don’t want to think about it or you will break, but you can still feel him through the crimson tie that holds you together, and you know that he has suffered enough for more than two lifetimes. You wish you could take it all away from him. You wish you could have saved him before it was too late, loved him more than the woman who turned him, but turning back time is an impossibility. You are both acutely aware of that.

“Hey.” Matt tilts your head toward him. “Where did you just go?” he asks.

“Thinking about you,” you murmur.

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

You. His salvation. He kisses you, softly this time. He pours gratitude into his lips and bleeds them out in poetry as they slide into your mouth, and you swallow every last drop.

If someone had told you a week ago where you would see yourself on that particular Monday, you would have laughed at them. And if someone had told you a week ago that you would be making love to the devil, you would have called them crazy. But it’s happening.

He thrusts into you without a warning. His thick cock fills you like nothing and no one ever has before. Your cunt has been molded to fit him, you’re sure. You take him in, and you moan at the stretch. It’s a pain so delicious you could fall apart right then and there just from the feel of him inside you.

Every thrust drags the tip of his cock along your sweet spot. Every added sensation drives you closer to your death.

Your body tingles. He explores your face with his lips rather than his fingers, moving to your neck again. You cling to him, oh-so-desperate for him. He likes you like that, and you like him like that.

“You’re fucking with my head,” he tells you. “Offering your pussy to a vampire. Letting me drink your blood. Begging me to fuck you. You’re in my head, baby. Can’t get you out of my system. Fuck.”

You are his downfall, his salvation, but he is all of those things to you as well—all of those things and more. If he could read your mind, you would tell him that. Words can’t do justice to how you feel. Not right now, maybe not ever.

“Bite me again,” you beg.

His thrusts falter. He searches your body for any sign of regret. His fangs come out, and he buries them deep in your jugular vein. The floodgates open wide. Your walls clench around his cock, your clit pulsates, and the wave crashes into you.

You come as he devours your neck and your blood. You transcend into another dimension, far away from everything and everyone but never him. Never Matthew.

The sensation of you wraps around him like a weighted blanket. His balls tighten, your blood unfolding its taste on his tongue. You are all over him, inside of him, everywhere at once. He falls head-first, dragging you down with him.

He comes with a shout that is only muffled through his teeth buried in your flesh, his cum spurting into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your eyes roll back. You’re flying and falling all at once.

Oh, how good it feels to be consumed by him. To be fucked and sucked dry. You would have never expected this to come out of your week, let alone your life, but now that it has happened, you are floating on cloud nine.

Dizziness threatens to take over, but before you can pass out, he forces himself away, allowing your heart to catch up with the lack of blood in your system. He collapses on top of you. His cock softens, but he stays inside. You need him there. You want him there. And that is the only place he wants to rest tonight.

He heals the wounds on your neck. “You have a mark,” Matt rasps, tracing your skin with his finger.

You choke out, “Yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He kisses you there. Once, twice, even a third time. “Mine,” he says.

You’re his. He’s yours. It doesn’t get any better than this.

The minutes tick away on the obnoxious clock on the wall. Matt pulls out eventually, wrapping you up in a blanket. He coaxes you to drink, but you’re barely lucid. Only when he begins to stroke your hair you start coming back to yourself. You thought you might regret it, but as you look at him, his almost guilty eyes staring back at you, all you can do is reach out for him.

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

He chuckles and retorts, “Have I not scared you away?” There is some truth to it though.

He’s covered in your blood. It sticks to his lips, his hands, and his chest. It’s sickeningly intimate, in a way.

You shake your head in response. “You could not possibly.”

He listens to your heartbeat. You’re as honest as they come.

“Okay,” Matt says. “Session two tomorrow then.”

That night, you fell in love with the Devil, but he also fell in love with you, his angel in the form of a reckless journalist, and the only blood he ever wants to taste again until the end of his miserable, cursed days.

Matt Murdock (Smut) Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @theradioactivespidergwen @cheshirecat484 @1988-fiend @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-girl-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #vampire!matt murdock #matt murdock angst #daredevil #x reader #interview with the vampire #charlie cox #alternate universe #reader insert

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murkycran · 10 months ago

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Radiostatic/Voxal Fic Rec List

Welcome to my Radiostatic/Voxal Fic Rec List! ^_^ This will include romantic, platonic, and/or queerplatonic Radiostatic fics (and admittedly probably a couple of Radiosilence fics, too).

I will keep updating this periodically as I read more fics, so feel free to check back every once and a while! I'll reblog it when I update it, plus make a note with the date at the top. Trust me, this is by no means a complete list; there's fics I still want to add to this that I just haven't gotten to yet. I just decided to go ahead and post it anyways, because if I kept waiting until I ran out of fics to rec I'd probably be working on this forever.

These are not in any particular order; I'm going by both my Bookmarks list on AO3 and my memory of fics I forgot to bookmark. I also tried to make notes on what fics were written before season 1 released, but I might have missed some, so keep that in mind.

Please let me know if any links don't work or are wrong!

✨Before you proceed:✨ read the tags on these fics if you decide to read them. Many of them have heavy material - no surprise given the fandom, but still, felt like this needed said. On that note, there's also fics with explicit material and some fics are straight up PWP. Again, read at your own risk/heed the tags.

Fic Rec List Masterpost

Staticmoth Fic Rec List

Misc. Vox Fic Rec List

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Radio Healed the Video Star by Aspiring_Forest_Witch

Summary: Alastor comes across an unconscious and battered Vox while out on one of his strolls. He feels compelled to bring him back to the hotel.

Notes: 98% of this fic was written before season 1 was released, so keep that in mind, because there's obviously going to be inconsistencies with canon. It's nearly finished (at least according to the author's notes in the latest chapters, I think). I suggest pacing yourself with this one - it's nearly 700k words long. I ruined a good sleep schedule staying up to get through it. (So worth it though.) There are quite a few OCs in later chapters, but they're such good OCs. You fall in love with them just as much as the canon characters, I swear. I would die for Verity and the Trio.

Let's Misbehave by joosymango

Summary: Alastor wins a bet against Vox, now his rival must stop pestering him for two weeks. It should be a pleasant break! So why does he miss the idiot?

Notes: Vaguely inspired by Aspiring_Forest_Witch's Radio Healed the Video Star. Also largely written before season 1 release. First fic I read for the HH fandom. ^_^

Safe with Me Series by rillo (rillyrillo)

Summary: Having only ever set his sights on men who treat women with odious disrespect, Alastor never thought he'd take interest in Vox's turbulent relationship with his fiancé and business partner, Valentino. He decides to lend a helping hand in the hopes of getting Vox out of his sticky situation. After all, what are childhood enemies for?

Unfortunately, neither Alastor nor Vox could've predicted the rollercoaster of unsaid emotions and future horrors that are thrown their way. Will they be able to rely on each other and get by unscathed? Or will destiny have other plans for these two?

[HUMAN AU] [There's art included for the human designs]

Notes: It's so, so good. ;-; Heed the tags. There's a prequel consisting of oneshots, plus a sequel (listed below, bc I can't not put it here)! And there's ART! So much art!

You, My Everything by rillo (rillyrillo)

Summary: Some say that love can conquer all, even in Hell.

Vox begged to differ, and he was damn well sure Alastor did too – or at least he would be, if Alastor hadn’t become one big question mark.

Sequel to Safe with Me.

Notes: Only read if you've read Safe With Me!!! Still pretty early in the story but so good. ;-; The angst, I swear...

You're on the Air by rillo (rillyrillo)

Summary: A series of short, daily conversations between a radio host and his avid listener, as the two learn more about each other’s lives over the air. Set in the late 90s/early 2000s.

Notes: Same author as Safe with Me, but not set in the same universe! This one is set up in a literal radio show format; almost entirely dialogue-centric.

Of Candied Pine and Cherried Smoke by rillo (rillyrillo)

Summary: Inspired by x_Arcticfox_x’s fanfiction: Blue Raspberries And Cherry Cola

After overdosing on them one too many times to curb the steadily weakening suppressants, Vox's body rejects them outright. Now with his scent getting stronger, he finds himself struggling to hide his true status as an Omega. In his desperation, he seeks help from the one person that knows his secret: Alastor.

Notes: Omegaverse. Same author as Safe with Me series and You're on the Air!

Blue Raspberries And Cherry Cola by x_Arcticfox_x

Summary: Vox is an omega, that's his biggest secret.

During his life time he hid this fact using suppressants, and counited to in death. One day he runs out of pills and his supplier is out of stock for the time being so Vox is forced to submit to the torture of going through heat for the first time in decades.

Too bad his business partner only see's omega's as mere object's...

But hey, at least Angel found him just in time, right?

Notes: Omegaverse. Currently on hold, but has 14 chapters currently available for reading. :)

Once Bitten, Twice Shy by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Alastor decides that it's time to claim what is rightfully his, consequences be damned.

Notes: It's not porn but it might as well have been for how fucking intense this scene was. 😳

Dripping Pink by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Just before an Overlord meeting, Alastor gets infected by an off-market, highly potent, and incredibly dangerous love potion. Nobody realises until it's too late.

Notes: Simultaneously funny as fuck and erotic as all hell. I suffered from so much secondhand embarrassment on Vox's behalf. It's wonderful. :D

Lucidity's Fog by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Ever since he met Alastor, Vox has been having raunchy dreams about the deer. Those dreams suddenly stop when Alastor disappears. For seven years, he's free of the guilt, of the shame brought on by his unconscious desire.

Until Alastor comes back, and Vox is plagued by a new dream the same day he finds out about the news. This time, however, something is distinctively different about how the deer is acting.

Notes: Author tagged for light angst, but ngl the ending did not feel like 'light' angst to me lol. Hurt in a good way.

Finger Tips and Dotted Lips by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Alastor has sensitive hands; he finds this out at the most inconvenient time possible. Unfortunately, Vox is the one who ends up paying the price for it.

Having to help a seemingly broken Overlord whilst navigating this new discovery proves to be a little more taxing than the Radio Demon could ever have imagined.

Notes: Alastor is such a troll in this omg.

Thawing Out by Seaside_Dreaming

Summary: Seeing a small crack in Vox's screen nags at Alastor more than he likes to admit.

Vox wishes things were better. Sooner or later, Alastor has to come to terms with the fact he has feelings, in general.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. HIGHLY suggest reading the prequel one-shot. It's not necessary to understand the plot here, but you should read it anyway.

Static by passthevoxcord

Summary: Vox creates a new and improved version of himself to please Val, only to be replaced by it. He is left beaten and broken with no one to turn to . . . except maybe his oldest enemy, Alastor.

Notes: Written before season 1 release.

Hating you feels so good by TwoBitJester

Summary: Vox obsesses over his returned enemy and finds himself a little too wound up

Notes: Very good PWP.

Laced Over Dinner by hazbinhearts

Summary: Vox is persuaded to dress a little differently over dinner for Alastor, but finds it remarkably uncomfortable as the night goes on. Written for VoxWeek21 Day 3: dressing up [appearance, formal, dance].

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Corsets. 😳

Observer by DeviousPossum

Summary: He moved the cursor to click off, when he suddenly heard a very recognizable static laced tone.

Alastor.

What the fuck. Alastor is singing.

Vox unintentionally ran claw marks across his desk, an increasingly common habit for him as of late. He grimaced at his now ruined table and unsuccessfully tried to reel in an inexplicable feeling that could only be described as jealousy.

Notes: Porn with a tiny bit of plot in the first chapter. :3

RadioTV Week 2021 Series by Heliosolar

Summary: Pretty much the title; various prompts.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. All worth reading, though they aren't connected.

Sharkblocking by Anonymous

Summary: Alastor is Vox’s number one rival. Incidentally, though nobody involved is aware of it, Alastor’s number one rival is actually Vox’s pet shark.

In which Alastor is actually a little obsessed back and Vark is the biggest obstacle to Radiostatic short of canon itself.

Notes: VARK!

Control + V by TooManyPsuedonyms

Summary: Vox and Alastor have a... thing. Not quite a relationship, but something. Vox is too scared to define it properly, and Alastor is dead set that Vox will eventually get bored of his lack of reciprocity and move on.

So, Valentino tries to show Vox what he is missing.

... too bad Vox didn't want him like that. ... too bad Alastor didn't know want is a vague word.

Notes: Heed the tags!!! There's currently a sequel; I haven't read it yet, but I definitely plan to. 👀

gift of the magi by vol_ctrl

Summary: "... Although husband and wife are now left with gifts that neither one can use, they realize how far they are willing to go to show their love for each other, and how priceless their love really is ..."

Alastor/Vox established relationship fluff.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Very sweet. ^_^

the lost tape by vol_ctrl

Summary: There's a NEW ambitious media demon in Pentagram City. You never get a second chance to make a first impression, right?

Notes: Written before season 1 release.

12 Days of Yuletide by vol_ctrl

Summary: A parody of the 12 Days of Christmas traditional tune, as can only be done by Vox gifting to his beloved adversary.

Or, a series of letters from the desk of Alastor upon receiving a series of increasingly elaborate gifts from his insufferably modern foil during the holiday season.

Notes: Written before season 1 release.

Fear makes the heart grow fonder by Graysongirl

Summary: After a bit of inspiration from an unlikely source Vox comes up with the plan that scaring Alastor is the best route to gaining his affections. The haunted house at LuLu World seems like the perfect (safe) environment for a bit of pre-planned scaring...

[Stand-alone staticradio]

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Funny af. "Red! Red!" XD

Cordyceps, King of Ants by spappest

Summary: Vox is tired. Of Valentino. Of Velvette. Of Alastor, and Hell, and everything in between. He can't escape, but he can cut himself off, piece by piece, until he feels nothing at all. Alastor takes exception to this approach and commissions a certain princess of Hell to fix his foe. Now Vox has a hotel of misfits on one side of him, overlords on the other, and Alastor crushing his cage ever smaller.

Clearly, the only way Vox will get any peace and quiet is to just kill God.

Valentino did always tell him that he had no chill.

Notes: Started before season 1 was released. Technically features Staticmoth but it's not the focus as much as Radiostatic (which honestly has a relationship status of ??? not romantic but also not friendship or even strictly enemies...just...Alastor and Vox). O_O I think about this fic on a daily basis.

Russian Roulette by spappest

Summary: Vox and Alastor play a game that Vox is way too excited to lose.

Notes: Started before season 1 release. Take note!!! I'm putting this on the Radiostatic list because it's almost entirely centered on Alastor and Vox's dynamic, but the romantic relationship is Staticmoth. The Staticmoth is just not featured very much.

Vox and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Afterlife by spappest

Summary: Alastor goes into rut.

Vox has a bad time. Then a good time. Then a very bad time. Then a brief vacation. Then a confusing time.

Notes: Background Staticmoth, but Radiostatic is most prominent. Funny af. Alastor and Vox have...a very special relationship. Lol.

Killer Ex by FanGirl48

Summary: Alastor was a serial killer who valued his privacy. So when someone who claims to know what he is tries to barge into his life he can't let them live, his secret must be protected at all cost.

A normally easy task easy task becomes complicated when Alastor's ex-boyfriend is dragged into the whole thing forcing the serial killer to go visit them for the first time in seven years.

Notes: Human AU. Love me some possessive Alastor. <3

Negotiations by FanGirl48

Summary: Vox had no interest in attending a meeting between Heaven and Hell following the failed attack by the Adam and his Exterminators. Alastor's little gremlin caused the mess, so he can go clean it up. Vox had nothing wanted nothing to do with the radio demon, king of hell or heaven.

But that was before Lucifer made the media overlord aware of Valentino's little job offer to his daughter.

Damnit Valentino!

Notes: "And they were roommates!" "Oh my god they were roommates"

Down, Up, and Back Down by CowboyEnthusiast

Summary: Vox dies. Surprisingly no one takes this well.

Or, Vox dies and Alastor tries to drag his soul back from Purgatory.

Notes: Another fic I think about daily... Heavy themes. Heed the tags.

Hold Me Like a Grudge by Rachello344

Summary: Alastor has spent a long time running from Vox. Vox has chased after him almost as long. When suppressants fail throughout the city, they finally collide.

Notes: Omegaverse. Fun fact about this author: all their Radiostatic fic titles are from Fall Out Boy lyrics lol. (I fucking love FOB sue me.) I haven't yet read all of Rachello344's Radiostatic fics, BUT I have them all on my To Read list because I've loved everything I've read of theirs so far lol.

What Makes You So Special? by Rachello344

Summary: With Lucifer’s return to the Pride Ring, the other Deadly Sins were bound to take notice. When Asmodeus stops by the Pride Ring to visit the Morningstars, the Vees are able to make a deal to host a pop-up shop of the incredibly popular Lust Ring establishment, Ozzie’s, bringing it to the Pride Ring for the first time.

When Vox and Alastor both attend the restaurant’s opening night, long repressed sparks fly, forever changing their relationship.

Notes: Because of the pacing of this (sex first romance later), I feel like this is the Radiostatic equivalent of Femalefonzie's Freak-A-Zoid (a really good Staticmoth fic). This is hands down one of the most romantic Radiostatic fics I've read. ^_^

Hold Me Tight (or Don't) by Rachello344

Summary: Alastor and Vox finally come to an understanding, both of each other and of what they each mean to the other. Their relationship evolves accordingly, one concession at a time, until they both get everything they could possibly want: power, companionship, and even love.

Notes: So, so good.

Keep You Like an Oath by Rachello344

Summary: Alastor normally wouldn’t bother with the chore—breaking into V Tower was quite a lot of work, even for him—but he found himself curious about what Vox and his little friends might be working on. Especially since whatever it was had Angel concerned enough to report back to the rest of the hotel about it.

Of course, before he can learn anything, he’ll need to sneak past Vox’s watchful eye��

Notes: God it's just...so good. Read it. Radiostatic reconciliation. One thing I love about Rachello344 writing Radiostatic is Alastor's terms of endearment for Vox. ^_^

To Be Yours by pinegreenapples

Summary: Alastor hears something he hasn't heard in years. He decides to investigate why now, of all times, this frequency has turned back on. Vox is not amused.

Notes: Hurt no comfort. Hurts so good, though. ;-;

oleanders in june by spoondrifts

Summary: It seems like while Alastor was off preying on the self-destructive addictions of desperate sinners, Vox was off getting himself beaten half to death, probably from spouting belligerent nonsense at someone with violent tendencies and a far lower threshold for disrespect than Alastor. Not everyone finds poor Vox’s chatter as charming as he does.

If Vox is unconscious, then Vox is not being entertaining, and Alastor came here to have fun, not play nursemaid.

Or: Drunk on power and itching to cause some mayhem, Alastor hunts down the only person in the city who's always up for anything. Unfortunately, he finds Vox... not exactly in tip-top shape. No matter; he can work with that too.

Notes: ^_^ Very sweet.

equilibrium by curtailed

Summary: Post-Finale. The Hotel finds Alastor right on the front lawn, unconscious and bleeding, still injured from Adam's blade. While he recovers, all of Hell scrambles to find out who his mysterious rescuer is.

Meanwhile, Vox tries not to freak out that he might have accidentally made a soul bond to save that deer asshole's life. All he had wanted to do was to scope out the ruins of Alastor's radio tower. Fuck him for being curious, he supposed.

Notes: This fic has me in a CHOKEHOLD. I love the characterizations so, so much. Manages to fit in humor alongside the angst. One of the best fight scenes I've ever seen put into words. Curtailed really took Vox and Alastor as characters and planned out a cool fucking fight scene using their unique abilities. I automatically love anything tagged with "one fell first but the other fell harder" lol.

candlelight by curtailed

Summary: Despite the #SirRepentious success, Heaven remains skeptical of a sinner's ability to change. Logic gets lost somewhere, and really, what's a better way to show sinners can be marginally less horrible than to stick two Overlords who hate each other in the same living space?

Alastor and Vox play house.

Notes: The comedy of Alastor and Vox being forced to be civil with each other and then unintentionally becoming very domestic together. Lol

wallow by curtailed

Summary: A 2+1 fic. Two times when Alastor and Vox were in a love triangle (hard quote on love, hard quote on triangle), and the one time Alastor had Vox to himself.

Notes: Only 1 (very good) chapter so far, but safe to say pretty heavy already. Heed the tags.

Addicted by Dancingdog

Summary: After the latest argument with Valentino, Vox finds himself at the Hazbin Hotel. An injured Alastor is less-than-pleased to see him, which is understandable considering they are enemies.

But as more and more of Valentino's venom leaves his system, Vox begins to remember his days before V-Tower and he learns exactly why Alastor rejected his offer all those decades ago.

His memories return in fits and spurts - not all of them good. His past with Alastor isn't something he expected and it turns out that he isn't the only one suffering.

Notes: Dude. This fic hurt me. Such good angst.

Radio Made the Video Star Series by songofhell

Summary: Snippets of Vox and Alastor's afterlife, and their journey from strangers to friends to enemies to... something more.

Notes: Pretty much what the series summary says - a series of installments that chronicle the beginning and subsequent evolution of Alastor and Vox's relationship. Very good, has tons of possessive!Alastor, which I die for.

Uneasy by Saezs

Summary: “Something’s wrong with Voxy.”

Velvette’s eyes snapped to the tall moth pimp. “And?” she prompted with a raised eyebrow. As if she needed to deal with two piss babies this close to a show. Valentino shrugged, tapping away on his phone, and walked away to stand threateningly close to her new models. Before she could snap at him, she saw it; his wings were twitching. Barely noticeable to strangers, just under the hum of the building’s lights, he was squeaking with each tap of his fingers. She felt unease and a healthy dose of aggravation swirl in her stomach.

Or: Vox was roofied and sexually assaulted. Velvette tries to be better than her mother. Unexpected connections are formed.

Notes: Heed the tags! Features genderfluid Vox. :)

Five Times Vox and Alastor Danced and One Time They Didn't by Drowsy_Salamander

Summary: “I say, good fellow, what are you doing on the ground like that?”

The voice was perky, cheerful, and bright. It had a crisp mid-Atlantic accent, the kind Vox remembered being all the rage for stage and film performers back when he first entered the broadcast industry. The diction was crystal clear with every sound enunciated separately to maximise clarity, the consonants clicked and the vowels were broad. It was a performer’s voice.

A voice for radio.

Oh shit.

... Five times Vox and Alastor danced and one time Vox and Alastor didn't.

From their first meeting through their friendship, to their enmity and fighting. From infatuation to yearning to animosity. Dancing is a partnership, is it not?

Notes: Each chapter so far has been a different type of dance, which is really neat. Especially chapter 2. ^_^ That said, there's a feeling of impending doom, knowing what happens to their relationship eventually... Not saying that as a deterrent but just a comment on how I felt while reading it lol. It's very sweet, which is why it hurts to think of future chapters. 🙃

Days Long Past by Momo52

Summary: All sinners of hell bore some physical marks of how they lived and died. Some physical manifestations were more obvious while others were subtle. Vox was not an exception to this rule.

While his television head was an obvious indication of his life while on Earth, the mark he bore from his death was far more subdued. Luckily enough, his shame was easily concealed behind a high collar. Unfortunately, he is just as well known in his afterlife as he was in his life. As such, trying to make everyone believe that he is so much stronger than what his death implies is a constant battle. He only wished that he wasn’t the hardest one to convince.

Notes: I think platonic Radiostatic is the endgame here. Still pretty early in the story, but I'm really liking this author's depiction of Vox and Alastor's pasts. Heed the tags. There are heavy subjects such as suicide (very big theme for Vox's pov) and period-typical racism (in Alastor's past) present in the story.

Remote Access by x-UsoTsuki-x (its_not_reael)

Summary: In the aftermath of Alastor and Vox's electrifying on-air showdown, Vox finds himself unusually rattled. His usual suave demeanor is slipping, much to his cohorts' amusement – and concern. Velvet can do little more than roll her eyes at his antics. Valentino, on the other hand, is convinced that all Vox needs to do is get fucked and relax.

or, alternatively...

The tech-savvy overlord manages to snag a virus from a porn site and finds himself in the arms of his worst enemy.

Notes: Fairly certain this is firmly Radiosilence based on the tags (and the direction of the story so far). Very funny, very hot. Vox is pathetic in this one. Lol

Nun-thing Like You've Ever Seen Series by A_Cypress_Coffin

Summary: Alastor, the feared radio demon with more blood on his hands than most of hell combined, wasn't always as we imagine him. There was a time where instead of a dapper suit and smile he donned a simple vow and habit. That didn't last of course, but the journey is quite something.

Notes: This author has a great sense of humor, lmao. I enjoyed the unique headcanons for Alastor's backstory. The tag that hooked me: "Accidentally becoming a better person through bad domming and found family".

Empathia by The_Oblivious_Swallow

Summary: Creating new technology is boring, sex is physically unappealing, the other Vee’s are so annoying, annoying, annoying! Even Vark, his baby, his pride and joy, doesn’t stir the same joy in his heart like he should.

So, Vox had concluded that it had to go. For his sake.

Notes: Contains Staticmoth, but Radiostatic seems like the endgame (I write this as there is one chapter still left). Really interesting idea. I love Vox.exe so much. ;-;

Every Madman Has His Vice by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: “What the fuck do you want, Alastor? Was it not enough to kill me all those years ago? Now, you had to go for the people I loved and the only things I had left in this fucking Hellhole?”

“It was my fault,” Alastor whispers as he approaches Vox slowly, as if he was some sort of wounded animal he didn’t want to scare off. His prey. “Vox, I’m sorry. If I had a chance to redo that night, I would never have hurt you to this extent. I’ll never harm you again.”

“That’s seven years too fucking late, Alastor.”

OR: Seven years ago, instead of Alastor disappearing, it was Vox who left instead.

Notes: I’m so fucking here for this AU. Possessive Alastor, Vox helping with the hotel, Husk is still an Overlord, yessss

Metathesiophobia (Fear of Change) by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: There's a lot that can change in seven years.

But never once had Alastor expected for something like this from his old rival and older friend.

Or, Alastor and Vox start to rekindle their old friendship again after a shocking discovery strikes the deer demon.

Notes: QPR Radiostatic with MtF Vox! Contains a smidge of Staticmoth, but it's in the background and not the focus. Very well written.

surimi and venison by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: A series of short drabbles (500+ words) in an interconnected universe (peep the tags, they're still in hell), centering around Alastor and his new pet fish... shark... television thing. Will (hopefully) update 1-2 times a week. Written as my attempt at a Mermay series.

Notes: Like the summary says, Mermay prompts featuring SharkHybrid!Vox, along with Alastor, who literally saw Vox and decided to make him his pet. Lol.

an arm and a leg, my dear, les yeux d'la tête by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: “I mean, usually when Val gets mad he gets like, super pissy too an’ starts destroyin’ shit ‘round the set and in his clubs, but like, usually Vox can calm him down. Problem is, where the Hell is that guy? I haven’t seen ‘im round the Tower for like, a month or two now. That ain’t normal.”

“What, so you mean he just up and left?”

“No, but like… he hasn’t been seen ‘in public’ for like, two months now. It’s startin’ to get suspicious. Like, I ‘unno if I’m just paranoid or something, but… Vox is like, the fuckin’ face of Hell’s Entertainment District. When he’s not round for a bit, that’s nothing to worry about on its own… but when he’s not round for a bit an’ Val and Velvette are creeping around, looking for his rival…? I mean… the dots are connecting. If Al did something…”

“If Vox was dead, we would know.” OR: Two months ago, Vox went missing. Right now, it seems as if Alastor has something to hide.

Notes: Vox gets attic-wifed and wears a virgin killer sweater. ^_^

we'll go down together in the ashes of our love by phantasm_png (chibellero)

Summary: Glimpses into the Radio Demon's life as he reluctantly navigates parenthood with his co-parenting partner and the demon princess hoisted onto him by the King and Queen of Hell.

Loosely inspired by Spy X Family.

Notes: CUTE! I love domestic Radiostatic.

What Has Been by Tianren

Summary: Vox has never known peace. From being the son of a egocentric cult leader, to being the boyfriend of a self absorbed abuser. Vox has managed to build a pretty sad life for himself. The only spot of sunshine that had ever blessed his existence was when he met an amateur true crime investigative journalist, with a podcast named, Alastor. The man was his only source of unfiltered news and contact to the world outside his father’s compound. But after Vox finally escaped the cult he waited for Alastor. Waited weeks in their assigned meeting spot just to be forgotten. Vox was convinced he’d stopped waiting for Alastor years ago until he meets the man again seven years later at a hotel. What will reconnecting with his past lead to and will it help him escape the hell he’s built for himself?

Takes place in the late 2000s early 2010s

Trigger warning for religious trauma and abuse as major themes of this story. Will add more warnings if they arise as I go on.

Notes: Really interesting human AU concept!

(Fic rec list to be continued)

#hazbin hotel #radiostatic #voxal #hazbin alastor #hazbin vox #fic rec list

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ourlittleuluru · 3 months ago

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Voyage Of The Outcast - My Thoughts 1/4

Can I just say this first...? Whoever made the Voyage of the outcast trailer. They threw us in for SUCH A DAMN LOOP!

in a good way! It started off with the poem which we have 0 context for. But with the potential angst they weaved, we were left to believe the poem was like... A bell ringing in some crazy angst ride. BUT IT ENDED UP...!! Okay I'll leave this to the ending part. I'll get back to it.

These are just me gathering my thoughts now that I'm awake 😂 Gonna be replaying through the story a few times. I have yet to read any other reviews at the moment so some things might be missed that others have posted about. I'll go catch up once I'm done uwu

Sorry this is one of the few times I am gonna be pretty unhinged and post a heck lot of text there's a heck lot to think about...

I tried to write a single post but my thoughts are... LONG (also I have a lot of images)... so split post it shall be ( ﾉﾟｰﾟ);;; Will try and format it a lil at least;;;;

Just a little something I noticed with the way the stories are written for the branches: ❄ Zayne branch explored more of his internal struggle and MC helps to overcome it with him 🐟 Rafayel, has mostly been forthright with his feelings even if there still secrets and stuff he doesn't say. So his branch mostly explored the external factors around his life. Such as the sea god power and also finally MC remembering their important shared memory. ⭐ Now Xavier. His branch feels a lot more full and rounded out to me because he's a man of secrets. It's been noted through the whole main story and many of their interactions. MC doesn't know what he does outside and MC a lot of the times can't quite figure him out. But all MC knows is to trust him even if blindly. And Xavier's story's branch addresses both internal and external factors and points surrounding him.

It's still is gonna be a long one, people (ヘ･_･)ヘ┳━┳ into the read more it goes

Notes in Chp 1

Okay first... what 😭

PAINTED! PROTOCORE FRAGMENTS! How... how did the smugglers thought it'd fly??? But the image that Xavier was just randomly pulled into this investigation to sit in as a judge was a funny image to me 😂

Anyways... This whole story, I love how they expand and voice out MC's inner thoughts even more, especially with MC's doubts about Xavier. But as always, it's mission and objectives come first, or some other things that takes precedence.

Now this part here is interesting to me. Xavier WANTS MC to probe and ask him more things. And I suspect that's where he'll slowly determine where MC stands and how to further proceed with letting MC know about what he does. 🤔

Which later gives us the chance to pick what to ask him

I ended up picking the 2nd option first since knowing Xavier, he'd still answer the question leaving lots of gaps =-=

SEE? Keeping it vague, again. Though this time he did hint at something which can easily just fly under the radar as something one knows the consequence of but must keep going.

Though it could also hint in the sense that, since he comes from Philos from the future, he's aware of the overarcing stuff that's gonna happen.

But for the other option, Xavier would be more straightfoward. We did get to know a bit more about the Aether Cores tho, well... and that is those things are dangerous.

In the end it concludes into one thing...

Xavier knows but he doesn't want to limit nor skew MC's views. He wants MC to decide for themselves. I feel this is quite key to the whole "freedom" thing he's got going on too. It's also the same with him and the Backtrackers in WU.

And then it ends off with this 😭

A PROPOSAL?! Nah jk. But it kinda feels like it's finally establishing their relationship for the future (at least in the main story)

Also, also. Interesting thing. In the CN version, Xavier says "我愿意" instead of "I'll always be with you"

Was gonna scream about how it sounds like Xavier is saying "I do"...

But here comes the reality... MC was asking "...if my partner is willing..." which in CN is "我��搭档愿意为此与我。。。"

Xavier is just replying pretty normally ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ can't say that I'm not just a tad bit disappointed that he wasn't being sneaky for once T^T

#churambles #xavier love and deepspace #xavier #shen xinghui #voyage of the outcast spoiler #love and deepspace #love and deepspace spoilers #voyage of the outcast

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waitingtobebroken · 1 year ago

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Orchids Over The Arno

Tags: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens); Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens); Mutual Pining; Friends With Benefits; with feelings; The Arrangement (Good Omens); Part 2; Pining while fucking; Angst; Slow Burn; Porn with Feelings; Porn Contextual: Body Worship; Coming Untouched; Gentle Sex; Mutual Masturbation; Hand Jobs; Laughter During Sex; Begging; Oral Sex; First Time Blow Jobs; but also: Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens); Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens); Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens); Smitten Crowley (Good Omens); Crowley's Love Language is Acts of Service (Good Omens)

Rating: Explicit

Words: 6,056

Summary:

Florence 1895 A few years after their fight and Crowley's nap, Aziraphale needs to go to Florence for a blessing. And Crowley follows after him because... Well, because Florence is an amazingly romantic city and he wants to explore it with his angel. Not that they see much of the city anyway. A bonus chapter for "Flowers From The Grave Of Our Friendship" which takes place after chapter 4, but can also be read as a stand-alone.

For those in need of a reminder (as it has been 3 years after all!), Flowers From The Grave Of Our Friendship is an Aziraphale and Crowley through the ages story, but they sleep together in Rome 41AD and manage to completely misinterpret each other's feelings. A lot of misunderstanding, angst and pining while fucking follows! They share one brain cell and it does not work most of the time, unfortunately!

This bonus chapter deals with the fallout of their fight after Crowley asks for the Holy Water and then proceeds to take a nap for 27 years after Aziraphale refuses to help him. While Crowley is sleeping, Aziraphale thinks something horrible happened to the demon and once he sees him, he has a bit of a breakdown. With the memory of that still fresh in his mind, Crowley finds it easier to delude himself Aziraphale does want him (not that he needs to but...) and he lets himself show his feelings a lot more than he usually does.

My contribution to the @goodomensafterdark Smut Wars

#good omens #gomens #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow #good omens fanfic #ineffable smut war #good omens after dark #6000 years of pining #my writing

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johaerys-writes · 7 months ago

Note

Hello! I was wondering what movies, tv, books, anime etc. you are into?

Hi! Oh that's such a broad question. I could be here talking all day about my favourite media, so instead I'll pick a few from each category, either a recent favourite or an all time favourite.

Books: RotE by Robin Hobb is an all time fave, especially the Fitz and Fool trilogies (although they break my heart 😭). A more recent favourite is Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson. Another all time fave is Tehanu by Ursula K. Le Guin, I swear I think about this book as I go about my day and it hits me like a gut punch and I want to cry 😭 it's so so good

Anime: my favourite anime of all time that's something of a comfort watch is Darker Than Black. I can’t even explain what I love about it so much, other than the fact that it rewired my brain when I first watched it and it like keeps rewiring it every time I rewatch it lol. It has so many of the elements that I love in stories and it has inspired the hell out of me over the years. Another favourite is Berserk, I've also read the manga which is kind of rare for me to do bc I'm not a fan of manga and comics as much but I just needed to see what happens after the anime left me hanging. It has really had a profound impact on me, I can’t even tell you how often I think about it.

TV: hmm. That's when things get tricky for me because I immediately forget shows I've watched after I'm done watching them 🤣 But some faves over the years have been: Dark (the german netflix drama), War and Peace, Les Miserables (both BBC productions if I remember correctly), Midnight Mass and Midnight Club (GUTTED that it never got a season 2), and another one that I think was really underrated and should also have gotten a second season was Archive 81. Very interesting premise, very atmospheric and spooky, I love eldritch horror stories and that really hit the spot 😩

Films: even MORE tricky if possible bc I'm ten times worse with movies than with shows 🤣 Most of the time after I walk out of the cinema I'm like... well, that was a movie alright, and proceed to forget all about it. But some that have stuck with me over the years are: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which has been a fave since forever. Also The Notebook had a huuuuge impact on me, I know a lot of people think it's cringe now but I don’t care, I feel like it's part of my brain chemistry lol. Howl's Moving Castle is a comfort watch, and no matter how many times I watch The Big Lebowski I always find something funny. Sin City is also another one of those films that I feel are permanently embedded into my consciousness, I watched it as a teenager and I was shook by the aesthetics and the storylines and have watched it many times since.

Anyway that's just a small selection of my favourite stuff. I guess a lot of what I love in media is angst and drama and like being emotionally intense in places! My favourites tend to be those that really tugged at my heartstrings in some way, and also a lot of them have a darker twist and maybe delve into difficult or uncomfortable subjects.

#thanks for the ask!!#reminded me to revisit some of those

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cosmicluzer · 11 months ago

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hi asking about ur Gross wip in the hopes that the song fic title is from the song i know that is titled “Gross” also 👀

if you are thinking penelope scott’s gross then you are thinking correct lol. kind of hoping you are - that song is one of my personal favorites hehe. kinda sad if it is - the original idea got warped into something WAY more fluffy than gross is, but never fear bc that song will return with its intended angst wether i have to force myself to write it or not.

anyways, you probably won’t have toooo much interest in it, seeing as it isn’t for sp. it’s a one piece (live action bc i love them) fanfic, because i am a liar and a fandom hopping fraud. I was scrolling through my yt shorts one day and stumbled upon that one “you dated brutal dictator of Nicaragua?!” meme and my brain went: “oh. i can do something with this. Small snippet under the cut ;P

REMINDER THAT THIS IS A WIP AND A ROUGH DRAFT AND THAT I KINDA SUCK AT WRITING OK OK GOOD NOW PROCEED WITH CAUTION

Sanji is washing the dishes, the rest of the crew sitting at the dining table conversing. He flits in and out of the conversation, adding bits here and there as he continues his task. The day is peaceful, and Sanji feels at rest.

Nami sits, legs crossed over the top of the chair next to her - Zoro’s - with the newspaper propped into her lap. Zoro sits in his chair, slouching against it and looking mildly annoyed at Nami’s legs at the back of his chair but not saying a word about it. Across the table is Usopp, tinkering on seas knows what, and Luffy, content in gnawing through a bundle of fish jerky Sanji made earlier that morning.

The breeze is light, floating through the open windows and door. The sunshine shines brightly through into the galley, and with the crew this docile together it’s, well… peaceful, like he’s said before.

Of course, that’s when they decide to throw the conversat into a depth Sanji is thoroughly avoiding, and has been since six months after… that.

“Usopp, how long were you and Kaya together?” Luffy asks, interrupting Usopp’s story - one about Kaya, and those were the closest you can get to the truth from him.

Usopp pauses at the words, face going slightly red as he sputters out a reply.

“W-Well, Luffy, the great captain Usopp speaks not of the mountains of women he’s conquered! It is not befitting to-“

“They weren’t together,” Nami says, looking at Usopp with an unsurprised look. “He’s too chicken for that.” With that, she turns her attention back to her newspaper, flipping the page and reading it off.

“Hey-!”

“Did you ever have someone like Usopp didn’t have Kaya?” Luffy asks, because the kid can’t read a room. Usopp lets out an offended noise, and Nami doesn’t even look up from the paper as she speaks next.

“Nope, no time for that.”

Luffy hums, looking over the table. He goes to speak, most likely to ask the question to Zoro, but the green-headed swordsman interrupts him.

“No, Luffy. That’s not my style. Why not ask cook?” Zoro’s tone turns from unamused to smug, and he smirks. He turns in his seat to face Sanji, who has gone back to vigorously scrubbing the plate in his hand as he hopes to be kept out of the conversation. “He’s seen the most people, he must have great stories.”

Sanji turns, sneering at Zoro, before he grabs the next plate and gets to scrubbing.

“Sanji! Tell me a story!” Luffy shouts from his spot, getting excited. Nami turns her attention from her newspaper, looking mildly intrigued. Sanji sighs.

“No. I gave you food, occupy yourself.” Sanji shouts over his shoulder, and Luffy pouts.

“C’mon, Sanji. You must have a good story for us.” Nami says, trying to bait him into it. Everyone turned to face him, Usopp and Luffy putting on their best puppy dog eyes in hopes for some entertainment. Sanji pauses his fish washing, considering before shaking his head and turning around.

“I’m sorry, Nami dearest, but there truly is nothing for me to discuss on this topic. There has been nobody of notice in that area of my life, and besides, a gentleman does not kiss and tell.” He says, using a tone of remorse. Nami quirks an eyebrow at him, face going from casual to interested.

“Was that a lie, Sanji-san?” Nami asks, face breaking out into an amused smirk.

Of fucking course the brilliant redhead would see through his lie. He sighs, admitting defeat.

“You truly are too clever for your own good, my swan.” He says, moving to the table and sitting in an empty seat. The other three males look at him with varying degrees of surprise - it is very out of character for Sanji to lie to the crew let alone Nami, a woman.

“Sanji, share!” Luffy whines, wanting to hear what could possibly be such a grandiose secret to Sanji that he’d hide it.

“Be quiet, Luffy, I’m thinking of where to start.”

“How about the beginning, curly.” Zoro says, and Sanji so wants to ring the other man’s throat for being so smug. Instead, he takes a deep breath.

“Alright,” Sanji exhales, grabbing at the pack of cigs in his pocket and the lighter sitting near them. He knows he’ll need a cigarette to get through this. “So this story starts about five years ago…”

#reply #ao3 #one piece #opla #fanfiction #current wip

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skzfairyy · 2 years ago

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District 9: Chapter 10

Mafia!AU || skz x OC’s || PG-17 ||

Pairings: Bangchan x oc, Minsung x oc, other pairings to come!

Genre: Angst, Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Humor, AU (& so much more lol)

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, weapons, language

Status: Ongoing

Wc: 1.8k words

AN: OKAY, so this chapter is way overdue... like severely lmao. Long story short, I had 3 allergic reactions back to back which took me out for a minute. I’m so sorry guys! (no more random teas for me lol) anyways, here is chapter 10, hope you enjoy! - Y2

The sun sets as they move silently together. By now the academy knows that the girls have defected. Something that was inevitable, they just didn’t know how soon it would be. They’ve made good timing and should make it to China around noon tomorrow. As long as they make it through the night, they should arrive at the coast without a problem. As they move through the trees, using only the light of the moon to guide them, Yura pauses.

She holds her breath, eyes shifting around instantly, all of her senses are on high alert as she scans the dark area in front of them. Rina’s eyes move towards her partner’s, their bodies move together like a well oiled machine, both of them working and training together for years means they can read each other’s body language swiftly without saying a single word.

The girls jump up together, clutching onto a branch of neighboring trees and swinging their bodies upwards. Both make the climb up as quietly as possible while keeping an eye out for the threat below them. Rina removes her favorite suppressed Beretta from a hidden pocket in her bag while Yura’s hand is clutching one of her daggers as they make their way up through the branches. Even with the slight breeze in the air, they’ve managed to hide themselves completely when they finally see movement. Two figures creep through the trees underneath them, dressed in all black bodysuits they each hold their own guns. Their footsteps are deliberate and light when Rina glances at the weapons in their hands, noticing a familiar gold emblem on the side of the pistol.

Academy issued.

Mentally the Choi girl releases a sigh of relief, she’d expected the academy to send more agents, especially since they were supposed to be the face of the school. This was a fight she knew they could get out of in a matter of minutes, 30 minutes tops if she had to count.

Yura’s eyes trace over the figures of the two bodies below. One’s hair is a short black bob at the neck and the other’s is secured in a high ponytail down her back. Covering their faces are the Academy’s uniform masks, watching the way they glided along the forest floor, she knew exactly who stood below them. After the realization, her eyes move to lock in with her sisters.

Yura silently catches her sister’s attention and tilts her head in the direction of the pair tracking them below. Following Yura’s direction, Rina’s eyes fall to where they stand beneath them. Realizing who it is in an instant, she confirms with a nod of her head before moving her focus back to the ground.

With this new information, the gears in her head began to shift. Rina knew now it was about a 70/30 chance that they would get out of the woods alive. The twins might be the top two in the school, but the two trailing them now were numbers 3 and 4. Because of their close ranks, the girls have spent a lot of time together. They experienced amazing victories and harsh punishments together in their time at the Academy, forming a close bond through the years. With the school knowing this information, Rina knew this was Headmaster Chaerin’s way of extending an olive branch before they decided to bring out more lethal methods. Her mind races with different ways to approach this without causing harm to her colleagues, her friends, and though she’d like this to proceed without any bloodshed, she cannot guarantee that outcome confidently.

Knowing not to move without Rina’s signal, Yura watches her sister's face through the leaves. Another familiar look etched on her face with the slightest raise of her brow. Looking, seeing, analyzing. Completely aware of her surroundings, every tree, every bush, her partner across from her, and the blade in her hand with the intention to drive it into any (and every) threat; aware of both girls approaching below them on foot, their training, their orders, every move they make, and every breath they take.

This is Athena.

Yura smirks to herself, always in awe at how fast her sister can come up with a flawless strategy at a moment's notice.

After her glazed eyes retained focus, she looks over and sees Yura already waiting for instruction. She points to the ground, indicating for Yura to go down first, and with a quick twist of her wrist signaling the direction for their course of attack, Yura nods her head with a slight smile, immediately understanding the plan.

Jihyo and Ryujin stop underneath them before talking to each other quietly, the short-haired girl crouches down, examining the spot where Rina stood just a few minutes ago, probably trying to figure out where their tracks stopped. The twins did their best to be careful, but they knew it was only a matter of time before the Academy caught up. The school not only trained the best assassins in Korea, but they ranked number one across the globe. The agents below them were trained to be just as skillful and dangerous as they are, Not to mention Jihyo herself was ranked the Academy’s most skilled tracker for the last three years.

Yura leaps from the tree, though it's a bit far off the ground she lands silently behind them. All it takes is two quick steps and she has Jihyo pinned with her knife at the girl's throat. Ryujin turns quickly at the sound of her partner struggling, making eye contact with her old classmate, seeing the cold glint in Yura’s eyes, Ryujin knew she was dealing with Ares.

“Surprised you were able to catch up to us this fast.” Yura says calmly.

Jihyo’s hand struggles to remove Yura’s from her throat, but ceases immediately when she feels the blade pressing further against her skin. All the shared memories of jokes and compassion for one another are gone from the eyes of 2ne1’s notorious silent killer. Although Ryujin’s gun is aimed at her she pays it no mind. Already knowing that her sister is in the trees above, alert and ready with a clear shot aimed at the girl's head.

And Athena never misses a shot.

The moonlight glints against the tennis bracelet on Yura’s wrist, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Jihyo.

“Was all it took for you to defect, some cheap bribes?” Her voice is tight through her mask.

Yura’s emotionless face is silent. Her contradicting emotions battle inside her head as her eyes never leave Ryujin’s face across from her.

“They sent you. Why?” Her words come out more as a statement as she proceeds with Rina’s plan.

“You can’t defect!” Jihyo struggles to say.

“What are you, my mother?” Yura scoffs.

“The academy needs you and you know it!” She continues.

Yura’s irritated eyes travel to the choking girl in her arms.

“What the academy needs is their killing machines, and I’m no longer a part of it. Sending you two to retrieve us was a low blow even for them.”

“We volunteered.” Ryunjin removes her mask and makes a step towards the girl she once called a friend, her gun in hand slowly moving downwards.

“What?” Yura’s eyes snap up to Ryujin’s.

Rina, who was slowly shifting down branch by branch, paused at the girl’s words. She watched Ryujin’s gun lower, but didn’t fail to notice as her other hand grazed her side, retrieving the blade attached to her thigh. The four may be close, but at the end of the day their partner’s lives will always come first. Rina knew this better than anyone, especially with Ares present. Despite Yura doing her best to hold herself back for the sake of her friends, the eldest Choi knew she had to act quickly.

Jihyo takes Yura’s shock tone as an opening and attempts to flip her attacker, but instead is greeted with a tighter grip, causing a bit of blood to run down her neck. Ryujin hears the slight struggle and throws the blade in her hand.

A bullet is fired out from behind Ryujin at the same time, knocking the blade to the ground before it could land its intended target.

“Shouldn’t have done that Ry.”

A voice from behind her says quietly, Rina finally makes her appearance from the tree’s shadows, walking up silently and placing the barrel of her own gun flush to the back of the girl's head.

“And you know I never miss my target.” Rina whispers against her ear.

After the initial scare, Ryujin holds her hands up in defeat. Allowing Yura to finally release her captive. Jihyo coughs while clutching her wounded neck while moving to stand next to Ryujin, finally removing her own face mask.

Rina removes her own weapon from Ryujin and stands with Yura. The four girls stand across from each other for a moment fully taking in their situation. The twins have known the girls in front of them long enough to know how emotional they could get in sticky situations like this one. Despite the injury, Jihyo’s tears welled in her eyes as she looked at her friends.

“You’re leaving us!” Jihyo cracks out into the silence.

Ryujin continues although her voice holds a slight tremble as she speaks.

“We volunteered to retrieve you ourselves, leaving our earpieces somewhere in the stream we stumbled upon a while ago.” She starts, “You’re our seniors, our closest friends- you can’t leave us in that hell alone. We signed the oath together…and y-... and you didn’t even say goodbye. ” She finishes with her own tears beginning to creep in her eyes.

The twins’ gaze drifts to each other briefly, Yura does nothing but shrug, crossing her arms in silence.

“You don’t even care.” Jihyo is quick to assess Yura’s stance, a scoff coming out of her mouth at the sight.

“Of course, we care, Jihyo.” Rina is quick to rebuttal.

“We’re just not going back.” Yura says matter of factly.

Her eyes glanced over them, but her face held no emotion.

“We’ve done terrible things, things that have to be righted.”

Rina nods her head in agreement.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t come back for you.”

The girls in front of them are confused.

“We can’t tell you when because honestly, we don’t know ourselves. What we do know is that if you cover for us, we'll come back for you.” Yura states, her pinky held out in front of them.

An old gesture that has followed the four classmates from childhood. Ryujin is quick to take it, locking her finger tightly as they press their thumbs together. Jihyo and Rina stand the same. This was another difficult goodbye for the Choi girls, they all had shared a million memories together, both new experiences and hellish nightmares from the Academy that will live with them for the rest of their lives. In the end, Ryujin and Jihyo understood what their friends were doing, something they too thought about on occasion, but never had the strength to act on it themselves. With this promise, they’ll finally be able to.

“We’ll buy you time.” Jihyo states, “You must hurry. Go!”

The twins nod, looking their two friends over one last time before taking off further into the woods towards the coast.

taglist: @toalltheunknown, @skzloveforever, @ryak14

Y2K masterlist || series masterlist || last || next

#y2kstories #skz #straykids #skz x oc #skz x reader #kpop #bangchan x oc #bangchan #changbin #lee know #jisung #minsung x oc #minsung #skz mafia au #mafia au

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altarecs · 10 days ago

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note: welcome back to altarecs! we're reviewing in depth tonight, fellas. strap in.

today's fic is actually by a dearest friend of mine. shall we?

spoilers under the cut!

notes before reading: POSEIDON THIS PU-*gunshot* also, i wrote a fic for this collaboration too! but anyway i digress. onward!

real as hell already, jessifer.

me either, chan!! sometimes i think about them

oh i'm already so sad...

ageism prevalent in the world of greek gods is CRAZY work but i see the vision.

i have no idea why this made me as sad as it did. it really shows how losing all you know, everything you have can change you as a person and warp your sense of self. it's kind of like losing yourself in the past while still trying to prevail in the present.

no clue what you're talking about, i'm never wrong.

mentions chan without mentioning chan is my favorite thing ever.

MY FAVORITE PLOT DEVICE EVERYBODY, KWON SOONYOUNG!!

this entire paragraph reminds me of the call of the void, actually. i feel the same.

OH I LOVE LEE CHAN I LOVE LEE CHAN LEE CHAN DO YOU NEED HEAD!

i do girl, give that application here.

me convincing myself that everyone isn't out to get me

girl fym 'thankfully'??! that's pookie! he's our endgame, idiot!

CLOCK HER, TIGER MAN!

oh lawd the goin' is gettin' GOOD.

goodness me...maturity does the soul good, doesn't it.

soonyoung, oh soonyoung...i love you so dearly.

GUYS IT'S SHERLOCK

I AM GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEETTTT AUAUAUAUA

still cutie patootie chan, after all. i love him so dearly, it's like that video of him at a photoshoot when he got shy after lifting up his shirt. i love himmmmm so BADDD FREE ME

that wasn't the question, chan. you're not slick.

circle time with mr. lee telling us stories is my new favorite thing.

something about it makes me think of that connect the dots meme

this one

anyway, i digress

OH YOU BITCH THEY KISSED

I LOVE A MAN THAT LIVES FOR VERBAL CONSENT I LOVE A MAN THAT ASKS FOR CONSENT I LOVE CONSENT

alright bro.

BLUSHES LIKE A SLUT? HELLOOOOO LEE CHAN?

man i wanna come work at the aquarium too tf

yanno, i could feel the angst coming and yet i ignored it

butter me up and call me a biscuit bc i'm stupid as fuck for that

when did you meet my ex, jessifer???

YN IS ME YN IS MEEEE

WE'VE REACHED THE IMAGE LIMIT SO WE PROCEED IN INDENTS.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that’s when it clicks. That’s when he realizes. You’re not just a reincarnated sea nymph. No, it’s much deeper than that. He knows your soul more intimately than he knows his own. He can’t believe that he didn’t see it right away. Can’t believe he’s had you in his bed for months now without realizing.

girl this is amphitrite, get with the program.

“Poseidon. The one true love of my life, yes,” he says.

is this where we kiss again!! long lost lovers found each other across the time and space continuum!!!

She should have been given a say in her own life rather than treated like property by her father and the man who claimed to love her.

ah yes. because we are somebody, not just some body. thank you for touching base on that.

Now, it just felt like she had been forced into a life she never wanted.

this makes me so incredibly sad for the both of them, and i've read and reread poseidon and amphitrite so many times.

There’s the sparks that always fly between you two.

sparks flyyyy it's like electricityyy

also funny because he's the god of the sea and sparks =/= water

Then, almost as if on cue, that whispering voice returns. It reminds you of how you felt when you first met Chan. Of the distaste you had without being able to place it.

we can never have nice things, can we? sigh...

a part of me feels really...i understand her. but thinking about the hurt that both of them have been through, and to think that she could potentially rip herself away from him after all of these conversations and all of these truths...where does that leave her? where does that leave him?

He’s incredibly sorry, but he’s going to be leaving for a while. He knows that it’s not fair to you, but it’s something that he’s got to do.

for some reason...i can hear 'the power of love' by celine dion playing in my head right now.

also, i've begun to tear up! yay!

It’s selfish, he admits, so incredibly selfish, but he can’t move forward with you, even if that’s what you want, without knowing more. He can’t watch as you age and he doesn’t. Can’t grow to love you more and more only to know you have an expiration date. It’s cold, he knows, to say it that way. It’s also the way he’s going to approach it. The whole letter is filled with apologies and acknowledgements followed by buts.

seeing the route you took and comparing it to the route i made seungkwan and y/n take in my fic is so insane. we are so different and i love it, i love how your mind works.

'wherever you will go' by the calling is playing as i type this.

It seems like both of you have a lot to figure out before you see each other next.

i hate you for doing this to me.

ENDING NOTES:

This fic has made me incredibly sad, and I could physically feel my chest tighten and loosen up with every word. I wanted to understand mc, and while I do...I think I appreciate both of them taking the decision to search deeper for answers. Do I think maybe Chan could've done this face-to-face? Yes, of course. But then I'd also be hoping for a yearning, a begging scene of rekindlement, of "we can do this together, please don't leave me."

Well done, Jessifer. I love it.

as wild and untamable as the sea | l.c

pairing: greek god!chan x reincarnated sea nymph!f!reader genre: angst, romance, smut | reincarnation, fantasy, greek gods!au rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: ~15.8k warnings: mentions of past unhealthy relationships, (possibly inaccurate) greek mythology, lots of POV switches (but i don't think it's confusing) mentions of eating, explicit smut, multiple sex positions, unprotected sex (just don't), slight edging, overstimulation, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), chan is strong and very in control, i think that's all but let me know if it's not

summary: Chan remembers everything. Every little thing that's happened to him since his days as one of the twelve Olympians. Poseidon to be exact. Even though he tries not to think about it now that he's living in modern times running a sad little aquarium, some memories are more vivid than others. Then, you stumble into his life and he can't explain the draw. You can't seem to figure out how this man is keeping an aquarium like this running when it seems like it's not that busy. Something about him really seems to put you off, despite the fact that he seems drawn to you. None of it makes any sense...until it does.

a/n: this is for the 13 Gods of Olympus collab that @beomcoups & @wooahaeproductions have been tirelessly working on. thank you so much for hosting this! i know this isn't the end for this couple, but i really needed to get this out into the world. if you want to know what happens next with them, let me know.

a/n 2: this is semi-unedited and i'm just throwing it out into the world but i'll come back. if you see anything glaring, no you didn't!

tag list: @illiadiaz, @syluslittlecrows, @yini-yang, @fancypeacepersona, @bitchlessdino, @newjihoonie, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizon, @klecksstorys, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @harry-the-pottypus, @pyeonghongrie, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @gyuhao365, @divinityyy, @dibidibidismynameisleeknow, @tusswrites, @cookiearmy

Another day, another dollar.

Wasn’t that what the humans said about another day spent working at some mindless job? Despite all the years he’s spent blending into their world, Chan still doesn’t really understand the humans. Doesn’t really understand why they put up with so many things they seemingly hate. Doesn’t really understand why they waste their short lives on something that makes them miserable. But, in fairness to the humans, Chan has also never had to worry about the trivial things that come along with working like money, possessions, or a home. When you’re one of the original gods of Olympus and life is seemingly infinite, money isn’t really an issue.

That’s who Chan was in another lifetime: Poseidon. The God of the Sea, among other things. At least, until Olympus fell. A painful thought that he usually tries to push from his mind.

In the early days after Olympus fell, Chan still went through life acknowledging who he was. He leveraged his powers for favors or for payment. He used his control of the water and everything in it to get him what he needed. But, the years went by and the Olympians became the stuff of myth. Of stories. The kind of characters that you read about in books. Only the most eccentric members of society continue to worship the Olympians as if they’re real. Which they are, Chan reminds himself. Or, they were. As the faith faded, so did the Olympians’ belief in restoring themselves to full power. One by one, they gave up the task of finding a way back until it was only Chan and Zeus left. Two of the brightest minds of Olympus. Even they had to admit their own defeat.

Which leads to the present day. Chan has taken on a new persona, for the…well, he’s lost track of what number this one is. He’s just thankful for his ability to shapeshift into someone new whenever he needs to. Takes a new name every time, too. At first, he tried to keep in touch with his siblings and the other Olympians. That, too, fades over time. It’s been at least a century since he’s spoken to any of them. Though, occasionally, he’ll catch wind of something through the chattering of local sea creatures. Something that says at least some of them are still out there.

Chan sighs. There’s really no reason for him to be wandering down memory lane in this way. He thinks, not for the first time, that maybe he needs to pick a different cover job. One that will keep his mind a little more occupied. The reality is, though, he’s tried nearly everything he could think of over the centuries. Changing professions is a frequent occurrence when he doesn’t want to let his body show too many signs of age. Not that he minds, it’s just that people start to ask too many questions about how he’s handling things someone “his age” shouldn’t be able to handle. In the end, working with sea life has always been the best. And this set up, where he’s running a smaller aquarium off of some long forgotten boardwalk in an area that doesn’t get much traffic, is also great. It isn’t even that Chan doesn’t like being around people. He finds humans entertaining in most senses. It’s just that nothing in this life is permanent for him. He’s not going to fall in love and grow old with someone. Best to just keep things at arm’s length.

Most days are more or less the same and Chan works the majority of them. On the rare days off, he’s not far away since his little house is within walking distance of both the aquarium, the boardwalk it’s on, and the water. He trusts the limited staff that he has because he pays them well. Better than any other similar business, but he values loyalty. And they don’t seem to question how he’s able to make things work. That is largely due to the anonymous donors that make monthly contributions to the aquarium. Really, it’s just Chan funneling money that he’s earned over his many years on Earth so that he can keep a business afloat. Nobody seems to have anything to say. Beyond the staff not asking questions, they are all very good at their jobs. It makes life easier for Chan that way because he doesn’t have to micromanage them. Everyone knows what they’re supposed to do and will only ask questions if they hit an actual block. No, the aquarium runs very smoothly. It just doesn’t get a lot of business.

Since every day kind of blends together, Chan almost never realizes as days or weeks or even months pass by. He’s in a sort of autopilot where he also knows what he has to do and just does it without question. It’s just rinse and repeat day in and day out.

Until it’s not. Until the first day that he notices you in his small, out of the way little aquarium. Until the day that everything starts to change.

You’re not really sure what pulls you in for the first time. You’ve probably passed this sad little aquarium dozens of times without giving it a second thought. Then, one day, you decide that you might as well go in. The cost of admission is incredibly reasonable, but you think that’s probably why you haven’t gone sooner. It might seem counterintuitive. You just wonder how well the animals can be taken care of with such a low cost of admission. You’re not sure if you can handle seeing animals mistreated. Still, there’s no going back now. Even with the outside seemingly a little poorly cared for, you still find your feet pulling you forward.

You’ve never been more wrong about anything in your life.

The dingy outside gives way to a vibrant inside that’s teeming with love and light. The art on the walls is carefully curated to match the different areas of the aquarium. There are workers with genuine smiles going about their days. Even the animals seem to be happy. It’s also deceptively large on the inside. It makes you wonder why it looks so run down from the outside. Surely, someone that cares this much about the animals could care a little more for the outside as well. Maybe that’s the point. Why waste money on an outside nobody really cares about when it can go to the best care possible?

Almost immediately, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. Just this morning, you were ready to explode from all the stress in your life. Now, stress feels like the furthest thing from your mind. In fact, you can’t even remember what you were stressed about. Strange. This is the first time you remember a single place erasing any sort of worry. Just as you’re about to consider that the place holds some kind of magic, you realize that not everyone seems to be as at ease. A mother scolds her child and an elderly couple bicker. It breaks a little bit of the illusion, though you still feel calm.

Subconsciously, your feet carry you to the area with the sea otters. They have always been some of your favorites, even if they’re not the typical sea resident that people think about. As you watch on, two chase each other around the enclosure. They seem like they must be young with the way they can’t seem to stop playing. It’s incredibly endearing to watch. Another, slightly larger, otter emerges from around a bend and the original two quickly dip under the water to shoot off. It almost seems like a mother scolding her children, but maybe you’re creating too many stories within your own mind. Your imagination, especially around sea life, can be a bit active.

A few minutes later, a worker comes out and starts feeding all the otters. They’re quick to come and get the food, showing just how many there are. You weren’t expecting to see such a large population in this off-the-beaten-path aquarium. The man feeding them looks young, but that’s true of nearly everyone that you’ve seen here. They all look young and entirely too pretty. This man is no different. He’s sporting a very blond, shaggy semi-mullet that doesn’t look like it could possibly be his natural hair color. Yet, it looks remarkably believable on him. When you frown at the amount of food he’s giving to the otters, he walks over to the side of the enclosure and leans on the railing close to you. He tosses a bucket of crab legs out into the water and the otters go crazy for that. It seems an odd choice for animals living in captivity, but what do you know?

“Did you know,” the man begins, “that sea otters eat 25% of their weight in food every day?”

Well. That certainly explains it. “I didn’t.”

“I like to give them the crab legs too because it’s a fun little activity for them,” he carries on with a smile. “It’s also something they’d eat in the wild.”

“That seems…expensive,” you say carefully.

The man only smiles bigger. “Oh it is! But our boss has really great donors for the aquarium and we can afford to feed them well.”

“Well, then the otters are definitely lucky,” you note and turn back to the otters.

“We all are. Chan takes care of us just as well as all the animals that live here,” he says.

“Chan?” you ask.

“Oh, our boss,” the man carries on happily. “I’m Soonyoung, by the way.”

You take his extended hand and give your own name in response. Soonyoung happily carries on with telling you all about the otters they have, including the name of each one. Then he offers to take you on a tour of the aquarium because of your interest. It’s too nice of an offer to turn down. It also further proves that you should not judge a book by its cover. Every inch of the aquarium is so masterfully cared for and every living being seems happy. That is, if a fish can also seem happy. The tanks aren’t overcrowded or dirty. And, you can’t explain it, but you can just tell they’re happy. Each person that they encounter seems to genuinely love their job. You’re not even sure why you’re paying such close attention. Or why you care so much.

Truthfully, there’s always been something of a call to the ocean. A peace that comes over you when you’re near the water. It was enough to get you to move cities, figuring that would satisfy that need. The pull only got stronger. Plenty of people feel at peace surrounded by water, you reason, and don’t think further on it. You don’t consider that worrying about the conditions in an aquarium may not be normal. Don’t consider that most people don’t start getting moody when they’ve been separated from the ocean too long. Don’t consider that it really is only the ocean. Although sometimes a freshwater lake, when it’s big enough with plenty of fish in it, will fill up your cup, it never lasts as long. It also never works to alleviate your mood when you do something as simple as going into the pool.

The trip around the aquarium with Soonyoung seems like exactly what you need. Until suddenly, it doesn’t. As he’s taking you through an exhibit area, a young man appears from behind a closed door marked as Staff Only. He’s got a dress shirt on with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His short dark hair highlights striking features. And, you think, he would be beautiful if it weren’t for the frown on his face. He looks entirely too serious for someone so young. He’s also much more dressed up than anyone else at the aquarium.

“Oh, there he is!” Soonyoung exclaims, causing the man to turn towards the two of you. His face softens a bit at seeing Soonyoung before studying you somewhat quizzically.

“Soon,” he says with the air of someone exasperated at Soonyoung’s antics.

“This is Chan, our boss,” Soonyoung carries on and your eyebrows fly into your hairline as he introduces you to his boss.

Truthfully, Chan looks younger than Soonyoung in some ways. But, there’s a wisdom in his face that your new friend lacks. Like he’s lived a hundred lifetimes already. It catches you off guard. But, Chan extends his hand to shake yours and that’s when you feel it. A sudden surge of annoyance that lasts only as long as your hands are connected. If he feels anything, he doesn’t show it. His smile is friendly and it only confuses you further.

A moment later, Chan excuses himself from the pair of you and Soonyoung leads you away to continue the tour. You can’t really shake the odd feeling you got from the handshake, though. When Soonyoung concludes his tour, you ask about opportunities to volunteer. There’s something about this place that feels like home and you’re not really sure what it is. Soonyoung’s face brightens.

“Chan doesn’t believe in volunteers. Even if you only come in once a month, he pays you for your time and obviously waives the entrance fee so you can come visit even when you’re not working,” he says with a bright smile.

“Oh, I don’t need a job…” you start before he waves you off.

“Leave me your contact information and I’ll pass it on. He coordinates everything himself and he can go over it all with you. I’m sure he’d be happy to have another animal lover around here,” Soonyoung says with a smile that you can’t ignore. You just met this man, why are you already incapable of saying no to him?

“Do you have some paper?” you ask.

Chan spends the rest of the day thinking about you after a simple handshake. Then, when Soonyoung tells him that you’re interested in helping out, his pulse races in a way that’s entirely foreign to him. He can’t remember the last time a human turned his world upside down with something so seemingly trivial. In fact, he was so focused on keeping his face neutral, he didn’t notice the look on your face in response to him. He’s too concerned with seeing you again to consider anything else. Too consumed by the need to unravel whatever mystery there is to you that he can’t seem to place. Honestly, Chan can’t remember the last time he felt anything even approaching this. Nothing makes him really feel in this way. Not anymore, at least. He finds himself counting down until your first shift.

Until it actually gets here, that is.

You report to Chan’s office, just as he asks. He holds his breath as you cast your eyes around his office area. Wonders what you’re thinking when your gaze lingers on certain things within the office. For a second, Chan considers whether it seems human enough. It’s been nearly a year since anyone new joined the staff and he wonders if he’s gotten sloppy. Nothing in your face seems to give any sort of feeling away. It surprises Chan a bit that he can’t seem to read anything about you. When your eyes rest on him, he sees a flicker of something he can’t place. Something that looks an awful lot like annoyance.

He confirms it when his hand accidentally grazes yours to hand over your new ID. It says volunteer since you insist on only being there when you have the time, but it’s a full ID anyway. That’s just how Chan does things. When his hand meets yours briefly, he gets the sharpest flash of irritation he’s ever felt. It’s confusing because it is definitely not his own emotion that he’s feeling. And that’s not something that Chan can remember happening before either. Not like this at least.

Chan has powers, he knows that. He can, sometimes, tune into the emotions of others. It’s easiest when he’s trying to tune into a sea animal or someone at home in water. Back before Olympus fell, he was able to tune into the emotions or even the minds of all the creatures in the sea, like the sirens, sea nymphs, merpeople, and everything else you could imagine. Even then, he usually has to actively try to tap into those emotions. It’s not something that just…happens. Not when all he’s done is let his hand graze someone else’s. Not when he’s not actively trying to feel something. It shouldn’t be something that happens with a mere human, either.

You, for your part, don’t seem to realize there’s anything out of the ordinary. Your face looks the same. The same annoyance that you’re trying your hardest to mask under a poor attempt at indifference. Trying to shake it off, Chan calls for Soonyoung to come into the office. But, that doesn’t make it any better. It’s worse, really, because your face immediately changes into one of genuine happiness. Soonyoung seems just as happy to see you and happy at the prospect of showing you around. To be fair, Soonyoung always seems happy when there’s someone new around for him to chat with. Still, your face lighting up for him frustrates Chan in a way he can’t explain.

Your first few times volunteering at the aquarium go really smoothly. Well, once you’re handed off to Soonyoung, it’s smooth. There’s just something about your new boss that you can’t really put your finger on. Seeing him causes annoyance to flare within you. It’s something deep that you can’t really explain and can’t recall feeling before. There’s no reason for you to dislike this man. He’s really just a man, which shouldn’t be enough on its own. Whenever he’s around, he’s perfectly friendly. It’s obvious that he cares deeply for every living thing within the aquarium. This is something he’s incredibly passionate about, which should endear him to you. Yet, it doesn’t. You can’t recall ever disliking a fellow animal lover until now.

Thankfully, you don’t really have to deal with Chan very often. Soonyoung handles your training when you’re working, but everyone that works there seems kind. And everyone seems young. The place is full of bright-eyed 20-somethings who all genuinely seem to want to be there. It contributes to that little nagging feeling in that back of your mind that something is just…off. Not with anyone that works there apart from Chan, though.

Soonyoung seems delighted to see how quickly the otters warm up to you. Apparently, they can be a bit picky with new people. But, the first time you meet them, they all flock to you instead of their normal handler. Anyone else might be frustrated. Instead, he only thinks it’s cute that they seem to love you. Tells you that he thinks he means you're a good person. Apparently, he often judges people based on how the animals react. You both have that in common. It only seems to reinforce the point when this happens with each new enclosure you go to. None of the animals seem to treat you like a stranger. It’s more like they’re greeting an old friend. You can’t really explain that you feel the same way. Your brain periodically supplies a story for some of your new animal friends, too. It’s not the first time it’s happened and you figure it only makes sense in this setting. Your imagination is active and you love the sea creatures.

Each new visit to the aquarium seems somehow better than the last. Well, in most ways. You often feel Chan’s gaze on you before you even look over at him to check. And each time he is actually looking at you. There’s something that just sets your nerves on edge about it. Even the animals around you seem to react to the sudden surge of anger that courses through you. It’s a strong physical reaction without any clear reason that you can figure out. Yet, it’s the way you feel every time you sense his attention on you.

“You good?” Soonyoung asks, eyes cast down at your hands balled into fists.

“Yeah, sorry,” you apologize, turning back to him. “What were you saying?”

“What’s going on with you and Chan?” he asks skeptically.

“Between Chan and me?” you ask with clear surprise.

“Yeah,” he says. “He spends half the time you’re here watching you and…”

“He does, doesn’t he?” you ask, a little too loud. “What’s up with that?”

“What’s up with your hatred for him?” he asks instead.

“I don’t know, I just get a bad feeling,” you say after a moment. “Do you like him?”

“Do I like the boss that overpays me to hang out with animals all day?” he asks with a laugh. Then, he looks at your face and carries on. “Oh, you’re serious. Yeah, I love Chan. None of us really know him that well because he keeps his distance from the staff outside of work, mostly. But, he’s the best boss I can imagine having. I don’t ever get bad vibes off him.”

“Huh,” is all you say before turning back to whatever Soonyoung is teaching you.

Your eyes catch on the mysterious aquarium owner once again and that anger flares. But, you realize that it’s something more complicated than anger. It’s far too complex an emotion to put a name too and definitely too complex for someone you barely know.

It’s just odd you think, not for the first time, that someone seemingly so young is running an aquarium that doesn’t seem to be that busy. How is he affording to take care of the animals and pay his staff so well? How is someone that seems so unlikeable able to convince so many donors to give money when it could be better spent elsewhere?

The nagging voice in the back of your mind reminds you that you seem to be the only person that doesn’t love Chan. Everyone on the staff seems to love him. The few donors his staff have met also seem to only have good things to say. You have to consider the possibility that your feelings about him could be personal or that you’re seeing something that doesn’t impact anyone else. It’s still weird, though. Nothing about this business model should work. Is that a reason to hate someone you don’t actually know? You’re not sure.

Chan speaks with a dolphin that he’s grown to trust. No, not Chan. Poseidon. He’s Poseidon again, in all his glory. And he’s asking the dolphin to find someone for him. He’s explaining where she might be and what to say to her when the dolphin finds her. Stressing how important it is that the dolphin is the one to find her because they’re not the only ones looking. There are others looking as well and Poseidon doesn’t want them to find her. It would be bad, he knows, if anyone but himself or someone working on his behalf were to discover the truth. He’s protecting her as much as he’s protecting himself. At least, that’s what his brain insists. Whether it’s true or not, well…

The scene blurs and shifts. Poseidon is once again by the sea and this time speaking to a giant squid instead of the dolphin. The squid tells him that the woman has been found. That the dolphin succeeded and is currently speaking to her. That brings Poseidon a small sense of relief. Surely, when she understands the situation, she’ll be not only willing to come home but happy to do so. Nothing can keep them separated any longer. They are truly meant to be.

Again, the scene blurs and shifts. This time, Poseidon sits on his throne, trident in hand, while one of his brother’s messengers kneels before him. When she rises, she delivers the message that Zeus has requested for Poseidon and his bride-to-be to join himself and Hera for an upcoming event. That’s not good, Poseidon thinks, not good at all. Surely his brother isn’t fully aware of the situation and yet he sends his messengers with invitations like this. Just as Poseidon prepares himself to make an excuse, the door to the room opens. Usually, he doesn’t allow interruptions, as his guards well know. But, the sight of his love walking through with her head held high keeps him from scolding the guards. He cannot believe that she’s back and walking in as if nothing happened. As if it hasn’t been weeks since they last saw each other. He got word she was coming back, but had not dared to hope for this.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, my love, but I heard your brother had sent an invitation,” she begins. The messenger won’t notice the hesitation or the emotions that pour off of her because she doesn’t have that gift. Poseidon feels it, though. It doesn’t put him at ease

“It’s fine. You are always welcome to hear anything shared here with me,” he says quickly.

She turns to the messenger with her signature soft smile. “I would still apologize for interrupting your message. However, I heard that you were here with an invitation. I fear that my darling may have declined as I was recently suffering an illness.”

“Yes, that is what I was about to do,” Poseidon agrees.

“There is no need for that as I have told you that I am feeling much better now,” she says with a brief, but calculated, smile at Poseidon. She returns to the messenger. “Please inform Zeus that we would be delighted to join him.”

“I am thankful to hear you’re feeling better and to…see you with my own eyes,” the messenger says slightly suspiciously.

“I am also thankful that I will get to see Hera. After all, we have so much to discuss with the upcoming wedding,” his bride-to-be says.

With pleasant goodbyes, the messenger takes her leave and Poseidon excuses the guards remaining in the chamber. He indicates that his bride should follow him to a much smaller room off to the side so that they can speak. After all, there is so much to discuss after her running away and only to finally return. Yes, she had indicated to the messenger that she intended to go through with the wedding, but Poseidon needs answers. He needs to know why she left and to impress upon her that she could not do something like that again.

Chan wakes up in the early hours of the morning in a cold sweat from the most vivid dream he’s had in centuries. The fact that a dream lingers at all is strange on its own. He doesn’t dream. Not anymore, at least. When he does, the subject is usually something inane and the remnants of it are gone by the time he’s fully awake. This dream is both vivid and lingering, seared into the back of his eyelids like it may never leave him. Perhaps it is because it’s not just a dream.

There’s a lot to Chan’s past that he wants to forget and for good reason. When he was one of the gods of Olympus, he made a lot of decisions that he wouldn’t make now. Or, he likes to think he wouldn’t make the same decisions now. It’s hard to remember the feeling of the weight of the world so many years later. But, he knows he did a lot of things in the interest of finding the greater good. Something that ruined some of his closest relationships and clearly still haunts him today.

Which leads him to this dream. A dream of Amphitrite. The legends about the gods of Olympus over the years have gotten a lot of information both right and wrong. Unfortunately, the legend of Poseidon and Amphitrite seems mostly right, at least to Chan. She was the one true love of his life. The only being in the entire universe that he actually wanted to spend an eternity with. And he had not treated her the way he should have. Hadn’t appreciated her and respected her autonomy the way he should have. That’s something he thinks about now, as he continues to mature and evolve to understand all the mistakes he made once upon a time. He knows that the way he tried to hold onto her was wrong and that he worried entirely too much about what the other Olympians would think if he lost her.

There’s also a part of him that lingers on the way she looked in the dream. He remembers that conversation because it actually happened. But, he’s not sure if he’s actually remembering the way she looked or the way he felt a tightness to his chest. That could just as easily be him looking back on the interaction through a different lens. There are so many things he wishes he could go back and change with her. So many things he wishes he could say. Mostly, even though he loved her more than he even loved himself, he wishes he could go back and give her the chance to walk away. To leave him without any sort of reprisal from the other Olympians.

After all these years, he regrets how their relationship went. It wasn’t love when someone didn’t have options. He knows that he can’t change the past. He knows that he can’t even ask for forgiveness. It’s part of why he keeps himself from getting too close to anyone now, he thinks. As a sort of penance for forcing the only one he ever loved into a marriage that he can’t say that she wanted. Of course, she told him when she came back it was because she wanted to. Insisted that she was just nervous to be thrust into such a spotlight by his side. Says that she was worried because he had other relationships with other people and she saw how it affected other Olympians, like Hera with Zeus. That wasn’t who she ever wanted to turn into. Chan took her at what she said. It was only after he lost her that he realized it may not have been the truth. Their love may not have been the great story that he created in his head.

He knows that he won’t be able to fall back to sleep, so he resigns himself to starting his day. After he gets ready, he sits down with a cup of coffee and his schedule for the aquarium. Today is the once per month visit from the local marine veterinarians. Although miraculously, it seems the animals never need much care, the vets still come in every month. They collect samples and run their tests to ensure that everything is going well as a general health study. They have staff that come over more frequently for some of the animals that need more consistent care. It’s also an excellent place to study since Chan allows them such complete access.

That monthly visit isn’t what really catches his eye. Your name is on the schedule and Soonyoung has you listed as the person who will be working with the vets to make sure they have the help they need. It’s standard, really, and Chan knows Soonyoung will be around as well. That man can never ignore a chance to chat with anyone that comes through regularly. Chan also knows that Soonyoung trusts you. There’s just something about your name that sends his stomach lurching without an explanation. Sure, you haven’t exactly been the warmest in the interactions with Chan, but you’re good at the jobs assigned. It’s like there’s something just on the edge of his consciousness about you. Something just out of reach. A connection that he should be able to make and can’t. At least, not yet.

Even though he’s going to be very early, he sets off for the aquarium and tries to shake the feeling that there’s something about you he should see. He’s never been very good when he can’t solve a problem. You may present his most complex puzzle yet.

It’s one of the best days since you first started volunteering at the aquarium. Somehow this is the first time you’ve gotten to see the vets there for a full day and it even makes you extend your own shift. Well, it’s partially influenced by Soonyoung’s offer to buy dinner if you’re still there when he gets finished. Mostly, though, you’re just fascinated watching the vets do their work. It’s interesting to see how willing the animals are to be still for tests and how it seems like they know what to expect. You know that animals are smart and they can learn. There’s something a little different about this, though. Not only do they seem to actually see the veterinarians, but they also actively wait their turns to be seen.

At the end of the day, you’re a little tired and feeling very accomplished at the same time. Maybe all of Soonyoung’s energy is actually infectious because you find that you’re ready to go get dinner with your friend after work. His presence is somehow calming to you even in all of the chaos. Once you make sure everything is done, you change into the spare clothes you have with you. The last thing you want is to smell like fish and whatever else got on you over the course of the day. Then, you go to find your friend.

“Hey, are you ready for dinner?” you ask without realizing that he’s standing with Chan.

“You guys have plans?” Chan asks with curiosity, looking from you back to Soonyoung.

Soonyoung looks incredibly apologetic. “I’m so sorry, but I completely forgot that it’s roomies night in and I can’t skip it because I missed the last one.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” you say quickly and wave it off.

“You should come! We always have a bunch of appetizers and stuff. I can’t remember what movie it is tonight, but it’ll be fun!” he says, as enthusiastic as ever. “I know I offered to buy dinner tonight…”

“I appreciate it, Soonie, but I think I’m just going to get dinner and go home,” you say. “I’m going to hold you to your dinner offer, though.”

“I was actually just about to go get something to eat myself,” Chan interrupts and you narrow your eyes. “I would be happy to get dinner for you as well as a thanks for everything you’ve been doing here.”

“I don’t want to make…” you start, only to have Soonyoung cut across you.

“That’s so nice of you, Chan,” he says and turns to you. “You should go! He’s got the best taste in restaurants. I still think about the last time he took all the staff out.”

“It’s really fine, I can just get something on my way home,” you say.

“I insist,” Chan says with something unreadable on his face. “Please. Let me say thank you for jumping in so completely.”

“Yeah, what reason could you have to say no?” Soonyoung asks with a smirk. That’s the other thing about your new friend. He can be such a shithead when he wants to be. Of course he’s using this to needle you about your dislike of the boss. It comes up at least once every time you’re at the aquarium (and plenty of times when you’re texting outside of work).

You sigh, knowing that there’s no easy way to get out of this. “Okay, let me just get my things and I’ll meet you at the entrance.”

The walk from the aquarium to Chan’s favorite restaurant is outwardly quiet. It’s not entirely uncomfortable to walk in silence with you. Or, it wouldn’t be if your emotions weren’t screaming into the silence. The general annoyance that seems to be present any time Chan is in the same space as you comes through loudest. There’s more now that it’s just the two of you outside of work now, too. He feels a kind of anger and distrust coming off of you along with confusion about why you feel any of these emotions. It takes time to separate that as your own confusion because Chan’s also confused. The two of you barely interact at work and yet your distaste for him rolls off of you in violent waves, like an angry ocean. It’s the only time he’s felt something like this from someone at work. Everyone else seems to like him at the very least. Something about you is very different.

Thankfully, it’s harder for Chan to sense you once you get into the restaurant. It’s a little busier since it’s a weekend, but you still get seated right away. If you’re impressed with how Chan greets the staff like old friends, you don’t show it. Just sit down in the chair and accept the menu with a smile before disappearing behind it. Suddenly, this doesn’t really seem like the best idea. What does it matter if you don’t like him?

“You don’t like me,” Chan announces a second later. He never has been able to let a mystery go unsolved. He’s also always prided himself on being able to work out a puzzle. He tries not to ever be as arrogant as his brother, though.

That makes you peer across the table at him. When he thinks you’re not going to answer, you blurt out: “No, I don’t,” and seem genuinely surprised.

Chan chuckles and looks back at the menu. “At least you admitted it.”

“I really don’t know why I just said that,” you carry on, setting your menu down.

“Is it not true?” Chan asks.

“No,” you say and that makes Chan raise his eyebrows. “I mean, it is true. I don’t really like you. I’m just not sure why…”

“Why you said it? Or why you don’t like me?” he presses.

“Both,” you say with a shrug.

“Can I ask you something?” he wonders.

“You can,” you say. “I’m not gonna promise to answer if I don’t want to.”

“That’s fair,” Chan says with a smile. “Why do you volunteer at the aquarium if you don’t like me?”

“I like to be around the animals,” you say immediately. “I feel at peace.”

“You misunderstood part of what I was asking,” he says. Your eyes are wide. “Why not let me pay you if you don’t like me? You could be making money instead of offering your time for free.”

That actually makes you laugh. Not a fake polite laugh, one of the real laughs he hears when Soonyoung gets you going. It’s a beautiful sound and it instantly reminds Chan of something. Or someone. He’s not really sure beyond wanting to hear it again.

“You’re kind of funny. I’ll give you that,” you concede.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, eyes still glued to you.

“I don’t know why it doesn’t feel right to take money for working at the aquarium. It just doesn’t,” you shrug. “It’s the first time in my life that I’ve ever really felt like I was where I’m supposed to be and I probably sound crazy saying it. But, I get to the aquarium and my brain gets quiet and it’s like a weight lifts off my chest.”

“You don’t sound crazy,” is all Chan can say for a second.

He’s looking at you differently now and he’s not even concerned if you realize it. It’s like something clicks for him. Like he finally pinpoints what it is about you. Of course he didn’t realize at first. It’s so unbelievably uncommon that he never thought to look. But, there’s no denying it. The way you are around the aquarium, the way you seem to slot in like you’ve been there all along, the way he can read your emotions without trying.

This isn’t your first life. He’s only seen it a handful of times since Olympus fell. The main gods of Olympus, like himself, were able to seek refuge on Earth. Other beings were not so lucky. Many managed one or two reincarnations, but more still just…ceased to exist. It’s something he and some of the others spent a lot of time working through in the beginning. It’s been over two hundred years since Chan came across a reincarnated soul. Yet, here you are. Sitting before him. There’s no mistaking it. Once upon a time, you had been a sea nymph in Olympus. Everything clicks into place when he acknowledges that. He knows the sea nymphs as well as he knows himself. It seems impossible that he wouldn’t recognize all the signs and mannerisms. Then again, he hasn’t come across a reincarnated sea nymph in a very long time. Centuries.

“Are you okay?” you ask after a few moments.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says and shakes his head. This isn’t the place to try to process this. “I just haven’t met anyone that could relate to the way I feel in a long time.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy?” you ask, voice thick with hope. It’s the first time he’s been around you without feeling any negative emotions.

“Not at all,” he assures you. “I should have known that you understood as well. I felt like you were a kindred spirit, but…”

“I’ve been cold?” you offer with a light laugh.

“Cautious, I would say,” he disagrees.

“Maybe we should just start over,” you suggest and that makes Chan smile.

Dinner actually gets much livelier from there on out. Realizing your past allows Chan to entirely change his approach. Without saying anything before you’re ready, he lets his guard down. In doing so, he hopes that some part of you will realize the connection runs deep. It seems to work, even if it’s only a little. Curiosity becomes the most prominent emotion and he capitalizes on it.

Chan is able to suggest some of the dishes that he really likes before you ask if you can just get a few things and share them. You’re asking questions about the aquarium and his life that he tries to answer in a way that sounds honest without inviting follow up questions. Instead, he finds himself wanting to know more about you. Despite your initial reluctance to talk too much about yourself, he gets you to open up to his questions. Each answer you give draws him in further. Gives more of a glimpse into you as a person. Nothing feels too small to learn. He wants to map each of your reactions to things you actually love to things that seem difficult to speak about.

Before either of you realizes it, it’s been over two hours and the restaurant is starting to wind down. Of course, nobody rushes you since Chan knows everyone there by name. But, you still insist it’s probably best to head out. Surprisingly, he’s still only picking up on warmer emotions from you now and maybe that makes him a little bolder.

“There’s this really great ice cream shop just a little walk that way,” he says as you’re exiting the restaurant.

The sideways look you give him leaves him wondering if he’s misread the situation. Then, you’re smiling like you know a secret. “I’m shocked you eat dessert.”

“Are you…are you checking me out?” he splutters. Very little manages to catch him off guard and you have him stumbling over a simple question.

Without answering, you just laugh and start walking in the direction he indicated. When he doesn’t immediately follow, you look over your shoulder and call out to him. “Well? I thought we were getting ice cream.”

“You can’t just say shit like that and expect…” he starts as he hurries to catch up with you.

“Expect what?” you ask, actually poking out at his side. “I would bet my entire life savings that I’m not the first person to check you out.”

“Oh, so you were checking me out,” he says like he’s just won.

“I think that’s only fair with how many times I’ve already caught you checking me out,” you fire back, effectively wiping the smug look of Chan’s face.

It’s been a long time since someone challenged him the way you seem to. Now that you’re talking openly, it feels like he’s known you for years. There’s a comfort that he can’t remember feeling in centuries. It feels like you just implicitly understand a piece of them that he tries to hide in any other situation.

Something whispers from the back of his mind, like a tickle of familiarity. He ignores it, though, in favor of getting to know the incredibly interesting person before him that doesn’t seem to hate him anymore.

After having dinner with Chan, you start to look forward to your shifts for an entirely different reason. Yes, you still get the peace that comes along with being around so many beautiful animals and so much water. You also get to feel the pleasant shift of feelings when Chan is around. Instead of feeling like something gnaws at your consciousness, now you feel a warmth coursing through your body. It’s a little strange, too, because it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

Soonyoung notices the way you and Chan gravitate towards each other now and says nothing despite the knowing smile. You don’t have to ask him to know that he thinks it’s down to him insisting you get dinner together. He doesn’t comment, though, and you’re not going to give him the satisfaction. It’s hard to stop yourself from smiling, even when that makes Soonyoung smile even harder. It’s like he wants all the details of something that you don’t have many details on. At least, not at first.

Hanging out with Chan outside of the aquarium becomes a regular thing, even on the days that you don’t go in. Each of you shows the other your favorite places in the area and you find yourself looking forward to that time more than anything else. Once or twice, you even consider asking Chan if he’s got a more full time position for you at the aquarium. You don’t quite realize you’re not living fully until something like this happens and so much more of life opens up before you. For now, though, you’ll settle for dragging him to a couple of food trucks that you love. He looks entirely out of place in his slacks and dress shirt, though at least he’s rolled up his sleeves.

“So when are you going to come work with us full time,” he asks after sitting down with his food in front of him. He doesn’t ask you to work for him. Even his phrasing is considerate.

“Oh, well, I…” you stutter out.

“You don’t have to, of course,” he assures you. “I’ve just never met anyone that’s better at it than you and you’re not even there that often”

“I have been considering it,” you admit.

“What’s holding you back?” he asks.

You take a bite to give yourself a minute to think about the answer to that. What is holding you back? Admittedly, you’ve never felt more at ease anywhere else. It’s increasingly harder to leave every time your shift is over. You look forward to when the next one will be. Have even added extra shifts when you can fit them in. There’s a part of you that also looks forward to seeing Chan. Although, you know that you could see him whenever you wanted. He always seems to make time for you.

“I don’t know,” you finally say.

“Well, there’s a position waiting for you if you ever want it,” he says with a look on his face that you can’t quite read.

“Why are you so patient with me?” you ask.

“Because we understand each other,” he answers a little too quickly.

“It’s more than that,” you press, feeling, for the first time, like he’s keeping something from you.

Chan sighs and sets his food down. “It is, but this isn’t the place to discuss it.”

That catches you a little off guard. Thinking that there was more to the story and having him admit it so easily were two different things. “You’re not secretly in love with me or something, are you?”

He laughs at the look on your face and it eases a little of the tension. “I don’t think it’s a secret that I love being around you.”

“No, I guess that’s true,” you say with your own laugh.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’ll tell you when we finish eating and we can leave. This kind of thing…well, it’s best to say to you somewhere that’s not so out in the open.”

That announcement surprises you, but it also excites you a little. It’s difficult not to rush through dinner, a fact that Chan picks up on and laughs about. Makes a joke about wanting to get him alone that has color rising on your cheeks. There’s an air of confidence about him despite whatever he’s going to share with you. It makes it a little easier for you to also be calm because it can’t be that bad. If it were bad, he would not seem so confident.

After dinner, and a short back and forth, he takes you back to his apartment, which includes walking by the aquarium. Somehow, you’re still much more nervous than he seems to be. It seems like the most natural thing in the world for him to invite you back to see where he lives. He also seems quick to assure you that it’s not that he’s trying to get you alone. It just needs to be a space that is actually private.

Despite any better judgment you may have, your curiosity is piqued. What is it that he has to say to you that others can’t overhear? Is he about to admit some crazy belief? Or tell you that somehow you were destined to meet? You’re not really sure what sort of comment might come once the two of you are alone, but you’re distracted the second you step into his apartment. It’s amazingly decorated. It feels both cozy and modern at the same time. It also feels so impossibly like him and the ocean combined into one. Maybe that’s saying the same thing. He does give you the impression of the water sometimes.

Being inside of Chan’s personal space also feels surprisingly natural. He disappears off into the kitchen without a second thought and allows you to look around the space. When he returns, it’s with a drink for you as he encourages you to take a seat on his couch. It’s the most comfortable couch you’ve ever sat down on.

“How much do you know about the Gods of Olympus?” he asks without any preamble. Thankfully, you haven’t taken a drink yet. Otherwise, you might have spit it out.

“Like the stuff from mythology?” you ask. It’s so unexpected.

A little voice whispers in the back of your head asking if it’s really that unexpected. The truth is: you’ve always been incredibly fascinated by the myths. There’s a draw to them almost to the point of getting lost in them. But, are you going to admit that you’ve read all the books you could find and watched all the shows or movies? It’s only fantasy, really, when you think about it. You’ve bared a lot of your soul to Chan without meaning to. You’re not sure you want him to laugh at you about this. That same little voice comes back to ask if he would laugh. You’re not so sure.

“Not exactly,” he says with a knowing laugh. “You consume it though, don’t you? I can see it on your face.”

“I - well, lots of people do, don’t they?” you ask noncommittally.

“Not like you, I’d bet,” he answers, unbothered.

“I guess it’s a bit of a guilty pleasure,” you finally admit.

“I think it’s more than that,” Chan presses.

“How can it be? They’re just myths after all,” you say.

“Do you believe that?” he asks and it’s like he’s challenging every one of your long held notions.

“Chan, what did you want to tell me?” you ask.

“Let me tell you about Olympus as I remember it,” he says.

“As you…remember it,” you say slowly. “Chan, what…”

“Just hear me out and let me tell you a story. You can decide afterwards if I’m crazy or if it makes everything fall into place,” he says.

And he does tell you a story. It’s a story about the Gods of Olympus with more information thrown in than you’ve ever read in any story or seen in any movie. It’s at once more fantastical and somehow more believable than anything. There are parts that you recognize. Parts that seem to line up with the stories. And there are parts that feel entirely new. Parts that are deeply emotional and clearly difficult for Chan to say. You delight in the way his face lights up when he talks about the parties or living amongst the sea animals. Completely accept it at face value when he tells you about how his scouts used to be dolphins and how much he misses that. Your heart breaks when he talks about the fights with his siblings and the other Olympians. It all feels like you’re walking along beside him in his stories.

It’s insane to think that any of this could be real. You keep telling yourself as you listen to the stories. But, it’s hard to remember that when you see the look on Chan’s face. There’s fondness when he talks about some of the sillier memories. Like he can’t believe that anyone was ever that ridiculous. There’s genuine pain as he tries to get through the more complicated parts. When it comes time to tell you about how Olympus fell, he chokes up.

You believe him. It’s like something shifts and you can tell that he’s not crazy. He’s not delusional. He’s not on some crazy conspiracy theory. He was Poseidon once upon a time. The feelings of calm that you feel every time you walk into the aquarium wash over you. Like this is the only thing that’s ever made sense. That should be a little disorienting to take in all that information. Instead it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Chan isn’t even done talking when you lean over and press your lips against his. You’re not even sure why you do it or if it’s the right thing to do. When you go to pull away, he puts his hand behind your head and holds you against him. Kisses you breathless like nobody has ever kissed you before. It feels instantly familiar and new all at the same time. Like something you may have done before. But, it also sends sparks flying through your entire body.

“So, should I carry on with telling you how you fit into all of this?” he asks when the two of you break apart from the kiss.

“Me?” you ask, still recovering from the impulsive act of kissing him.

“Yes, you,” he says with a soft smile.

“I’m just a person lucky enough to meet an actual god, what could I…” you start.

“You’re not just a person,” he contradicts with a frown.

“I’m not trying to diminish myself or anything,” you assure him, but he still shakes his head.

“Can I talk?” he asks without any exasperation, though you may deserve it. You just nod. “You’re not just a person. You’re…well, I’m not sure how it works, really. I’ve come across it so infrequently. You have the reincarnated soul of a sea nymph within you. Possibly even one I encountered in another life.”

“How can that be?” you ask with wide eyes. “No, I’m just a normal person, I…”

“If you think about it, it actually makes perfect sense,” he says and carries on.

It sounds so simple when he outlines it for you. He asks you about your connection with the ocean, talks about your instant familiarity with the aquarium and how at peace you feel. Points out that you never feel at peace in a swimming pool, though you’re sure you’ve never said that to him. He talks about your mood shifting when you’re away from the water for too long or the way that everything about the water just seems easier. He even laughs when you admit that once when you were on vacation, a dolphin came right up to you in the ocean and seemed like it wanted your attention. It’s also not the only time something like that happened.

Everything starts to fall into place. It’s like decoding the last little cypher of your life up until that point and showing you memories in a different light. You wonder if you’ll be able to remember anything from being a sea nymph and Chan looks apologetic when he says he doesn’t think it’ll work like that. But, he admits he’s never gotten close enough to another reincarnated soul like this to fully be able to answer it. The excitement drowns out a small voice in the back of your head that’s urging you to move cautiously. Urging you to consider if all of this really sounds right.

You can’t really help the way your bodies seem to be drawn to each other. Many more kisses follow now that the invisible barrier seems broken. When he’s not kissing you, Chan runs his hands along whatever part of you that he can reach.

Eventually, you don’t really want to talk. It seems absentminded, the way that Chan runs his fingers along your arm or squeezes your thigh. It’s driving you insane, though, and you need to know if he’s feeling as bothered as you are.

“How much are you paying attention to this conversation?” you ask.

“Uh…” he says, eyes widening a bit at the question. It’s the first time he’s looked remotely out of control.

“You’re driving me crazy,” you whine and look at his hand gripping your thigh.

That causes his look to change entirely. He’s not out of control anymore. Now he looks a bit smug. “Oh, I’m driving you crazy?”

“Yes,” you admit without a second thought.

“I thought you weren’t even sure if you liked me?” he presses and you huff out a breath.

“I already kissed you, Chan. I think it’s clear I’m not on the fence anymore,” you say.

“Maybe I should show you my bedroom,” he says and stands.

You take his outstretched hand without hesitation. “Finally.”

The two of you get through the doorway into his bedroom and he doesn’t even bother pretending to give you a tour. He only turns around to face you, crowding your space and forcing you back into the doorframe. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you hard. It’s not desperate, it’s perfectly controlled. Nobody has ever kissed you like this before. At least nobody that you can remember. His body presses tight against yours until you’re gasping for breath. Still, he doesn’t let you relax. He’s proving a point. If you thought he was driving you crazy earlier, it’s nothing to this.

You gasp into his mouth when he moves a hand to hitch one of your legs around his hip. Gasp again when he does the same to your other leg and he’s balancing you against the doorframe. It seems impossible that he’s this strong. Maybe that’s part of being a god because he also barely seems to lose his breath as he keeps kissing you. You’re not usually so content to let someone else lead, but it’s so easy with him. It helps that nothing is frantic. Even though he’s driving you crazy, you love that it doesn’t feel rushed. Love that he’s really taking his time with you.

It could be minutes that Chan kisses you or it could be hours and you’re not really sure if you would know the difference. When he sets you down, it feels like an immediate loss. At least until he pulls you towards the bed. Only his eyes give away how badly he wants you. They’re dark with lust that you’re sure your own eyes reflect back at him.

“Is this still okay?” he asks, voice thick with desire. You nod. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Chan. I want this,” you assure him.

Thankfully it’s the only reassurance that he needs. He gently pushes you back onto his bed and immediately gets to work pulling your clothing off you. His eyes drink in every mark on your body and for the first time, you’re not self conscious. You don’t feel like there’s something wrong with you and it has nothing to do with the way he looks at you. Though, it doesn’t hurt that his desire only grows as he peels your clothing off. No, there’s just this inexplicable comfort with him. That voice in the back of your head quiets. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re so in the moment or because this is actually right. You’re not really sure it matters.

When Chan steps back from you, you have the briefest moment of insecurity. It’s gone the next moment when he starts to undo the buttons on his shirt. Actually, your entire mind goes blank. If Chan was beautiful with clothes on, it’s nothing to seeing him removing his shirt. You know that he can change his appearance at will and know that it’s how he’s fit into places this long. So, you know that it might not be entirely him, but you’re not sure you care. Your eyes travel over the scars he still has. Probably remnants of real scars over the years. Somehow the imperfections make him more perfect in your eyes. You’re so caught up in looking at the scars that you miss him removing the rest of his clothing until he’s approaching you.

“Sit back,” he instructs.

You do as he asks without even thinking twice about it. That, at least, makes a voice stir in the back of your mind. Makes you wonder why you’re so content to do as he asks. When he climbs onto the bed and settles between your legs, the voice goes quiet again. He peppers up your leg and down the other with feather light kisses. He doesn’t draw out the build up, though.

Chan runs a finger carefully through your folds and it makes you shudder. He watches your body carefully as he does it again, like he’s trying to map your reactions to everything. Like he wants to know exactly how to make you come undone. It’s such a simple action that works you up. When he licks into your pussy, you think it’s your new favorite feeling. It makes your entire brain go fuzzy. You don’t even realize that you’re arching your back until one of his hands snakes up your stomach to press you back into place.

It’s almost too much, the way he works you over. He’s constantly changing the pace and his movements. His mouth moves up to suck on your clit and his finger moves down to pump into your pussy in lazy motions. The contrast of the movements makes you squirm. When you feel like you’re getting close to an orgasm, he switches it up again and pulls you back from the edge. Over and over again. He keeps switching up his attention every time you feel yourself getting close.

“Chan, oh my fucking god,” you groan. “I’m going to die if you don’t let me come.”

“Well, you got one thing right,” he says, pulling away from your pussy. “I am a god.”

“I hate you,” you say without any heat.

He pulls himself up your body so that he’s hovering over you, entirely too close. You can see the way your juices cover his lips. He eyes you greedily and it’s the hottest thing in the world. It’s even hotter when he lets you pull him down on top of you and kiss him. You moan into his mouth when he ruts his hard length against your thigh.

When he pulls back, you know that you lost whatever game you’re playing. “Doesn’t seem like you hate me.”

“Just please fuck me,” you say, completely breathless.

“Anything you want,” he says.

You gasp when he leans forward again to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. Everything about him seems so in control. Yet, you can feel how much he wants you, too. It’s obvious that you’re not alone in wanting this and that he’s just better at controlling the situation.

Somehow, as he’s kissing you, he manages to spread your legs apart underneath him. It’s embarrassing the way you chase his lips when he pulls back. Or it would be if you didn’t meet his eyes to see all the desire reflecting back at you. He repositions so that he’s between your legs again and lines himself up at your entrance. Chan runs his tip through your folds while he watches for your reaction. It’s all you can do to stop yourself from wiggling to urge him to work faster. Nothing he does is fast, though, and why would this be any different. Slowly, he presses himself into you. Even as you’re begging him for more, he inches into you instead of snapping his hips forward.

Finally, after what seems like minutes (and is probably only seconds), he’s fully buried and it’s the best feeling in the world. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as he adjusts his position. Then, he pulls almost all the way about before snapping back in and your mind goes blank again. Like nothing else exists apart from the two of you, the sound of his skin on yours, and the words shared between you. Praise spills from Chan’s lips as you’re just asking for more and more of him.

This time, he doesn’t bring you right to the edge only to pull you back. He picks up his pace and has you coming so hard that you see stars without warning. You’re so thankful that you don’t immediately realize that he doesn’t pull out of you. He stills himself inside you and peppers gentle kisses all over your face as you work through the orgasm.

He’s definitely not so gentle once the aftershocks work through your body.

In one motion, he has you in his arms and in a completely different position. It’s a level of strength and speed you’re not expecting. You’re sitting up now and about to protest that you don’t have the energy to fuck him like this, when he does the work for you. Even though you’re straddling his lap, he plants his feet and thrusts into you. It’s a slightly slower pace than you’re expecting. Just enough that you feel the tension building, but not enough for it to do anything. At least for you. You’re not sure about Chan.

You can’t help it. All you want to do is kiss him so that he knows how good this feels. Not that he really needs more of an indication. You think he can probably read your body pretty well. The first time with someone new is usually awkward. This has been anything but. He knows exactly what you need and just how far he can push you before it’s too much.

And that really does seem true. You’re just about to go into overstimulated territory when he changes the position again. You get the briefest of breaks for him to settle behind you. It could be as innocent as cuddling until he hikes your leg up and presses his length into you without warning.

“Chan, jesus fuck,” you cry out.

“You’re being so good for me, baby,” he coos into your ear. “Can you be good for just a little longer?”

“Yes,” you pant.

“Even if I fuck you hard?” he asks, experimentally picking up his pace.

“Yes, please, just…fuck,” you yell out as he snaps into you harder.

“So perfect,” he murmurs into your skin.

His thrusts immediately get faster and you can tell he’s ready to stop dragging it out. He’s still doing more than his share of the work and it’s insane to realize how much stamina he seems to have. The new angle allows him to hit you deeper than before. You’re already so worked up that it’s not long before he’s pushing you into your second orgasm. This time, he follows right behind you, erratically thrusting as his breath stutters by your ear.

He collapses behind you, but still holds you close against his chest. Your breathing matches his without even thinking about it. Neither one of you really needs to say anything to know that it was something completely unexpected. You can’t remember ever having better sex than with him. Leave it to Chan to ruin you for anyone else that could possibly try to come after him.

Eventually, Chan pulls himself out and off the bed. He holds out his hand to help you into the bathroom with him. You make a joke about how you don’t have another round in you and his smile is instant. His features go soft when he says he just wants to help you clean up.

(That doesn’t hold true for the next morning since he insists you should sleep over. You may be incredibly sore afterwards. You also know that you don’t care. In that moment, you think you would let Chan fuck you senseless for the rest of your life without complaining. Who cares if you’re a little sore? You’ve never felt so connected to someone in your entire life. And he just happens to be one of the gods of Olympus.)

Things seem to fall into place quickly for you and Chan after he shares his past with you. It’s like the last two puzzle pieces in an absurdly complicated puzzle. One of those ones where the pieces aren’t in the standard square shapes. Yet, now that you’re perfectly slotted together, it’s like you’ve been that way your whole lives. The two of you are together more often than you’re not. Late nights exploring or staying up until the early hours of the morning talking. Lazy mornings wrapped up in the covers of the bed (where you actually get Chan to spend more time away from the aquarium than he ever has before). Chan doesn’t even really have time to overthink anything.

His biggest win comes when you finally admit that you’re ready to leave your boring job and come to work at the aquarium full time. That only takes a few weeks after he tells you that you were a sea nymph in a former life. He’s still even a little at the complete lack of pushback on it. You accept it just as easily as you accept that he was Poseidon once upon a time. And you’re not accepting it in the way someone does to pacify a crazy person. That much is clear with how much more time you spend anywhere that Chan is. Somehow, the rest of Chan’s staff doesn’t even seem to comment on how quickly you become inseparable. Soonyoung seems to be smiling even more than usual (a feat Chan didn’t think possible). But, otherwise everyone just accepts the new normal. Everyone seems thrilled to have you around more permanently and that makes Chan’s heart constrict.

He doesn’t have time to think about any of it. Until he does, very suddenly, think about all the feelings you bring up in him.

Chan is careful with relationships. He’s friendly with his staff, but they’re not really friends (despite Soonyoung’s best efforts). He doesn’t get to know anyone at any of the places he shops or have any hobbies where he interacts with people. It can get lonely if Chan thinks too closely about it, but what is the alternative? People’s lives are finite, measurable. Chan’s is not. At least, it hasn’t been yet. There are no signs he’s slowing down over the many centuries he’s been through. Then there’s you. You who are very much human. Though, it’s been a long time since he’s come across another reincarnated Olympian. There isn’t a rule book for how those lives go and there’s never been one that Chan stuck by long enough to find out.

The real question, though, is whether he’s willing to stick around this time to see how it works. Is he willing to risk everything only to figure out that you’re merely a mortal? That you’re going to fall victim, if you’re lucky, to the curse all humans succumb to? That’s if you’re lucky enough to live to old age and something else doesn’t happen before then. Human life is so fragile. It’s a lot to process. More so since he’s not really talking to you about how he’s feeling.

You notice. Of course you notice. Chan starts to get a little more distant as weeks turn into months. He’s still physically present with you and he still tries to act like everything is fine. But, he can feel it in the shift of your moods. Doubt creeps in and he gets snippets of your feelings or even your thoughts. It isn’t fair and he knows that it’s not. He knows he has to talk to you instead of just acting like everything is normal.

“Are you ready to talk to me yet?” you ask one evening when you’re sitting on his couch with your feet in his lap.

He stops scrolling through something on his phone and looks over at you. Somehow, you always seem to know when it’s best to apply just a little pressure. Knows his moods and senses when he’s ready to talk about something. There’s no use in acting like he doesn’t know what you mean.

“It’s nothing you’ve done,” he starts and you smile.

“Oh, I know that,” you assure him. That makes him laugh. It’s you all over.

“It’s just…I don’t usually let myself get close to anyone,” he starts and your eyebrows knit in confusion.

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” you say with an attempt at a joke, though it doesn’t quite land.

“I think we both know you’re special,” he says quickly to reassure you. “It’s just…well, there’s a reason for that. Human life is so fleeting.”

“Ah, yes,” you say with a wry smile, “because you’re ancient.”

“Enough,” he chastises without any real heat.

“Sorry,” you say and throw up your arms.

“I am kind of ancient, though. Not in this body since I’m always changing forms, but in mind. I’ve been around a long time and you…” he says and trails off.

“You’re so sure I have an expiration date?” you ask.

“You’re human,” he says simply.

“And also have the soul of a reincarnated sea nymph,” you remind him. As if he could ever forget.

“I know,” he concedes. “But I don’t know what that means for your…”

“Life expectancy?” you offer. There’s something almost detached and also calming about the way you say it. “You can’t say for sure that I won’t live beyond a normal human life, either.”

“No, I can’t,” he says. “I’ve never wanted to stick around another reincarnated soul the way I can’t seem to let you out of my sight.”

“Doesn’t that mean it’s worth at least considering?” you ask.

There’s nothing desperate or emotional about the way you approach the conversation. It’s all based in fact and the information in front of you. As much as you and Chan like to go out on dates, you also like to sit with him while he tries to do research. Both of you want to understand what your soul means for the rest of your body. You want to understand why sometimes he can feel your mood or even hear some of your louder thoughts. It’s fun when you can control it and send something disruptive towards Chan. Fun for you, at least. He doesn’t always appreciate the image of what you want to do to him while he’s trying to do something at work.

So, you go through all the knowns with him again. Go over everything that you’ve learned. Go through the questions you have unanswered and where there might be more information. You talk things through logically in a way that feels familiar to him. Chan finds himself getting lost in his amazement at your brain and the way you process information. It’s also incredible to him to watch you work through a problem. It lulls him into a place that he hasn’t been in since…

“You��re not listening anymore,” you comment. You don’t seem upset, only curious. It’s like you want to know where his mind goes.

“No, I’m sorry,” he says and you wave it off. “It’s just, well, I figured out who you used to be.”

“Uh,” you say, clearly missing a piece. “Yeah? A reincarnated sea nymph? We’ve already covered this.”

“No,” he disagrees. That makes you raise your eyebrows. “Well, you are, but you’re also more than that. Your soul, it’s…”

“What is it, Chan?” you ask, full attention focusing on him.

“I should have known. You feel so familiar, like I’ve known you for years,” he says and it’s like he’s talking to himself. “It’s not just some ordinary sea nymph’s soul…”

“Yes, because sea nymphs are so ordinary,” you say with a scoff. “Like people every day are just coming across sea n-”

“It’s Amphitrite’s soul,” he finishes and that stops you mid sentence. Your eyes lock onto his, wide and wondering.

“Amphitrite? As in Goddess of the sea, most prominent of the sea nymphs and wife of…” she says and can’t seem to finish the sentence.

“Poseidon. The one true love of my life, yes,” he says.

If you think anything of him referring to Amphitrite as the one true love of his life, you don’t say anything. You go into a contemplative silence. Like if you think hard enough, you may be able to remember her or the relationship with Poseidon. Who knows? Maybe you can. Try as he might, Chan can’t seem to think of a single instance where something like this has happened before. Doesn’t remember someone like Hera returning in this way. He also can’t think of any reason why you would return now, after all this time. Unless this is just the first time he’s found you. There are far more questions than answers.

“This…changes things,” you say.

“Does it?” he asks.

“Doesn’t it?” you immediately return.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “It’s like it suddenly makes sense in a way I wasn’t expecting. But, it also feels…more complicated.”

“Complicated, how? I mean, you were in love with Amphitrite and I assume she, or I, was also in love with you,” you say. “Doesn’t that explain this pull we have to each other?”

“Our relationship was incredibly complicated,” he says softly. “I have…many regrets about how I handled things when it came to her. And I also can’t wrap my brain around her reappearing after so many years or what that means for you.”

“Why don’t we just start at the beginning? Tell me about your relationship,” you prompt.

“There are parts that were ugly,” he says without meeting your eye.

The couch shifts and dips as you get closer to him. You lift his chin up gently so he’s looking at you. “The fact that you can admit parts were ugly or that you have regrets shows you’ve learned. So, tell me the whole story and then we’ll go from there.”

So, he starts talking.

It starts at the beginning. He was at a celebration when he saw Amphitrite dancing among the other Nereids, the daughters of Nereus, who was also known as the Old Man of the Sea. There had been other consorts before her, but he was instantly smitten. She symbolized everything beautiful and kind about the sea. Everything that he could ever want. So, he approached her father before ever approaching her and asked for her hand. Her father was, understandably, thrilled. It seemed like there was no better match than to allow Poseidon himself to marry one of his daughters. In hindsight, that was absolutely the wrong way to go about it. She should have been given a say in her own life rather than treated like property by her father and the man who claimed to love her.

Chan talks about what he can remember of their courtship as honestly as he can. From his perspective, everything went wonderfully. After all, why shouldn’t she have been thrilled that he wanted to marry her. Once he had nothing but time to think back on what he had done, he realized that she had not seemed all that interested. It was more like she was going through the motions because she had to. He tried to include her in everything that he could so she would see what her life could be like. Maybe that had been the wrong choice. But, she was a natural when it came to hosting or offering opinions in meetings. At the time, it made him happy to see how well she settled in. Now, it just felt like she had been forced into a life she never wanted.

As the wedding itself got closer, she fled to the far reaches of the ocean. It was a dolphin scout of his that finally managed to find her. He never knew what his scout said to her that made her return. He only knew what he told the scout. They never spoke about it once she came back. She simply returned, assured him she had only been nervous about how important he was, and said she wanted to get married still. So, he also acted like nothing happened, which he knows was as wrong as he could have been. He does think that he tried to be a better partner to her after that, though he’s not sure he succeeded. When he had to make decisions between what might be best for her and what might be best for his position, he chose himself. He also chose the sea over her when he had to make those choices. It was never fair to her.

Somehow, through all of that, he did really grow to love her. He valued her beyond what he showed. He appreciated her for her unfailing kindness and her insistence when she knew she was right. He appreciated her wit and her mind. He appreciated the way that she was never afraid to tell him what she thought or to let him know when he was making the wrong decision. He appreciated that she didn’t just bend over backwards for him or fawn over him. He only realized after she was gone that he never appreciated her the way that she deserved to be appreciated. Once he lost her, he realized that he should have done anything in the world to protect her. He realized he should have given her the entire sea and made her the ruler because she was far smarter than he had realized.

You only listen intently without interrupting. In the few moments where Chan looks at you, he struggles to figure out what you’re thinking. Not that you won’t tell him. He knows you will. It’s just very daunting to speak that long without you interjecting. When he stops speaking, you’re still quiet for a moment.

“I think…Chan, I think I’m starting to remember,” you say with wide eyes.

And that’s the last thing he expects to hear. He figures you may tell him that he’s horrible for putting someone he claims to have loved through that. Or you could say that it sounds far-fetched to think she’s not just a sea nymph, but a specific nymph that he was deeply in love with. He doesn’t expect for you to look at him in wonder and say you’re remembering. That’s another unknown in this entire mess of a situation.

Before he can consider if this is something that should even be possible, your lips crash into his. There are so many emotions behind that kiss that he can’t begin to process. There’s longing and a long-forgotten love. There’s excitement about returned memories. There’s the sparks that always fly between you two. The mix of the established feelings with ones Chan never expected to feel again is startling. So, he just lets his mind wander. He lets the feeling of kissing you consume him so thoroughly that it pushes any other conversation out the window. All that exists in that moment is the two of you, however you want to define that.

The excitement of finding out a long forgotten identity wears off far quicker than you expect it to. Not that you have any frame of reference for this sort of thing. But, surely it should last longer than this. Longer than it takes for you to fall into bed with Chan again. Longer than it takes for him to worship your body as he’s done before and for him to bring you to an orgasm so good it has you screaming. Somehow, in the post-sex haze, he doesn’t realize that you’re quieter than usual. Perhaps that’s a blessing. He kisses you so softly, so sweet and tells you that he’s going to do some research. That’s fine, you insist, because you want to get back home to really get a good night’s sleep. It seems unspoken that he wants to let you process.

But…well, you’re not really sure if you’re still okay with the information. It’s like having sex this time triggered a new flood of memories. Some come across as clearly as if it was something you directly experienced. Others come through more as feelings than anything else. And it’s a lot. Overwhelming in a way that nothing else has been. It’s how you expected to react to finding out that all those myths you were so drawn to were actually real. That feels easy to accept, especially now. Remembering is something else entirely. Because remembering Amphitrite’s experiences as your own just feels complicated.

Maybe it’s wrong to think of her as a separate person if her soul lives within you. That part isn’t hard to accept, not when you can feel it. The hard part is accepting the feelings about Chan. The memory pushes back on you calling him that. Accepting is also the wrong word. The hard part is reconciling the person you’ve gotten to know with the memories that come flooding back.

Then, almost as if on cue, that whispering voice returns. It reminds you of how you felt when you first met Chan. Of the distaste you had without being able to place it. Which is true, isn’t it? You didn’t like him without any reason beyond just a feeling. The voice presses memories onto you. Things you actually experienced with Chan mixed in with scenes between Poseidon and Amphitrite. The more you see, the more it feels like your own memories. Like something that you took part in directly.

It’s putting it mildly to say that things are complicated. There is clear affection there for the person that Amphitrite got to know. Although it’s clear she did not love Poseidon from the beginning, she grew into much stronger feelings. Yet, she can’t separate those fully. She can’t say for sure that the feelings would develop on their own. Did she just love him? Or was it because she, at times, had little contact with anyone outside their palace? Though, that was largely her own choice as things went on. There were too many things to do at home to leave. And there was too much unrest.

Yes, it feels complicated. Now your own memories or the past few months mingle with decades of memories from someone else. You can’t decide if you want to push your own memories aside to make room for the returning ones or keep them side by side. Your new memories don’t really seem to fit, though. Which isn’t surprising. The person you know isn’t the same one that Amphitrite knew. He’s grown in ways that she can scarcely understand or imagine. He’s thoughtful and considerate and much more mature. That doesn’t sit perfectly with the memories. Although, you can tell that there’s a part of the lingering voice that appreciates the growth. Maybe even feels a little responsible for it. Wants to believe that she’s part of the reason he made the changes.

By the time you make it back to your apartment, your head feels like it’s going to split open. You’re no closer to any answers about what you want to do. No closer to reconciling incredibly complex feelings. No closer to the next step. That’s fine, though. All you can really do now is let yourself drift off to sleep and revisit

The morning, unfortunately, doesn’t bring answers. You’re not sure how to approach Chan other than to ask for time to process your feelings. That seems like as good a place to start as any because it’s a lot to take in. He must know that. Surely he’ll understand. Even though you seemingly accepted the news yesterday, it’s a new day today. And your brain is fighting to catch up.

You’re trying to figure out how to approach the conversation with Chan when you make your way through the apartment. A piece of paper by your front door catches your eye and you approach it. You pick up the envelope and recognize the writing on the front of it as Chan’s. There’s something so impossibly him about the gesture. Of course he would write a letter instead of…wait. A moment too late, your brain catches up. Why would Chan be writing you a letter? What changed?

Opening the letter feels close to the last thing you want to do. But, you know that you need to just open it to see what’s going on. See if anything changes.

A lot can change overnight, it seems. Chan fills the letter with apologies for things you can’t even begin to understand. He’s apologizing to you and also to Amphitrite. It seems he got to the conclusion much faster than you, which shouldn’t be surprising. He’s had centuries, apparently, to learn and to spot things others may never notice. That’s especially clear as you read through his letter, now.

Getting past the general apologies, you find more specific apologies. He’s incredibly sorry, but he’s going to be leaving for a while. He knows that it’s not fair to you, but it’s something that he’s got to do. At least he acknowledges that it should ultimately be your decision on how to proceed with the relationship. He can’t let you do that without more answers to his questions. He needs to know how it’s possible for Amphitrite’s soul to have found its way into your body. He needs to understand what that means for your own mortality. It’s selfish, he admits, so incredibly selfish, but he can’t move forward with you, even if that’s what you want, without knowing more. He can’t watch as you age and he doesn’t. Can’t grow to love you more and more only to know you have an expiration date. It’s cold, he knows, to say it that way. It’s also the way he’s going to approach it. The whole letter is filled with apologies and acknowledgements followed by buts.

Chan goes on to say that he’s going looking for his brother, Zeus. He’s the only one that might be able to help them understand what’s happening. The problem is that he hasn’t seen his brother in centuries and doesn’t entirely know how to find him, or if he’s even still surviving. He just has to trust that he’s out there somewhere, going through the same motions as Chan and chugging forward in the only way either of them know how. Somehow this tidbit is a lot to process. Accepting the existence of Poseidon was easy. Maybe that’s because of your own past. Accepting Zeus is something else entirely. Some of that stems from your own disbelief. Most seems to come from Amphitrite’s complicated feelings about her brother-in-law.

Just as you’re about to put the letter down in frustration, you see the postscript. Chan asks you to help his staff look after the aquarium until he returns. He knows that it’s not fair to ask. He knows you may even say no. Your heart tightens at the thought of the animals without Chan. Now that you know who he is, you know that they’ll miss him when he’s not around. You don’t have powers the way he does, though. And it’s his choice to just leave on a whim to chase answers for a relationship that may not even be there when he returns.

Well, two can play this game, you think. It may not be a fully rational thought. It may not even be fair. Before you can overthink it, you send a text to Soonyoung saying that you’ll be out of town for the next few weeks, at least. You just tell him that you have some things to work through and leave it at that. In the meantime, you throw things haphazardly into a suitcase and you’re out the door before even getting a response.

Your letter from Chan stays sitting on your table as you rush out of the apartment without a second thought. All you know is that you’re going to let Amphitrite guide you on a journey of your own to find missing memories before you make any more decisions.

It seems like both of you have a lot to figure out before you see each other next.

#altarecs: as wild and untamable as the sea - lc #author: jess - starlightkyeom #content rb: oneshot #group rb: seventeen #member rb: lc #wc: >15k #r: 18+/nsfw #ar: personal favorites.

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you-are-my-joy · 3 years ago

Text

Song Bird | 02

Title: Song Bird

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Genre: Angst, Romance, Fluff, Slow burn

Characters: Siren!Reader, Human!Jin, Human!Yoongi, Human!Hoseok, Human!Namjoon, Human!Jimin, Human!Taehyung, Human!Jungkook

Word count: 7.3k

Summary: Sirens have been hunted for centuries. Imprisoned and killed for experimentation or to be used for their powers. When thinking about sirens, most envision half woman half fish. But what most people don’t know is that the true original sirens were half woman half bird. Beings far more powerful than the water sirens that most people know of. Beings so rare that many people believe they never existed. But they do. So if word got out that one was sighted and found… it’s only a matter of time before their lives no longer belongs to them, but to their captures.

Warning: May contain depictions of violence and mentions of abuse throughout the story.

Masterlist

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The first thing you hear when sleep begins to fade away is the sound of knocking on your door. You groan at the consistent pounding, turning over to bring a pillow over your head in hopes of drowning out the sound.

You vaguely hear someone go “I think she’s awake now,” before your door slowly begins to creak open, allowing the culprit to waltz right in shamelessly.

“Rise and shine birdie!”

You wince, normally your mood would brighten at Hoseok's voice, but when it’s nearly 7 in the morning and you’re woken up harshly by loud sounds… Let’s just say you’re thankful Hoseok can’t read your mind.

He grins down at a blob hidden under the blanket he can only assume is you. He taps on your shoulder, “birdie?” he peers over carefully, “it’s me, your ray of sunshine in the morning.”

“Hoseok I’m about to be your ray of death if you keep talking.”

All he does is chuckle, but nonetheless retracts his hand anyway.

Suddenly you hear another man sigh, “Y/n you can’t exactly threaten a person who would probably find joy in that,” he drones out in an unamused tone.

At the sound of Calvin’s voice, you peek your head from under the covers, “Cal?”

Hoseok looks highly offended at the action, “oh so you’ll look over for him but I’m the one getting death threats,” he exclaims with a bewildered expression, “this is favoritism!”

You roll your eyes, “yup it sure is.” You then proceed to ignore the noise that comes out of his mouth.

You give your full attention to the other man, “please, enlighten me on the reason you woke me up at this ungodly hour,” a slightly agitated tone in your voice.

Calvin raises a brow, “did you forget what day of the week it is?” At the tilt of your head, he just sighs. “It’s training day my dear, as in, it's time to wake up.”

You groan out loudly and raise the covers to hide yourself in retaliation.

You hear Hoseok chuckle and the next second he starts gently tugging your blanket. “Wakey wakey sweetheart.”

“Hoseok I swear I will bite off your finger.”

“Oh, birdie knows how to bite back,” he teases, the grin never once leaving his face as he now starts to play with your exposed hair, “could’ve been really helpful yesterday with your father.”

You pause at that before hesitantly looking over, “You know about that.” The sentence is more of a statement than a question.

Hoseok pauses for a moment, before gently caressing the top of your head as he fixes your bedhair, “everyone knows,” he clarifies with a half smile, “not sure if you know this but you’re everyone’s favorite topic around here,” he teases in hopes of lightening up the mood but when you barely give a reaction his smile slowly begins to fall.

“Don’t worry about it kid, a few of them are on your side,” Calvin tries to reassure but you couldn’t help but raise a brow at his word choice.

“A few of them,” you repeat in a whisper under your breath, but they both heard you loud and clear as they shared a look.

“Y/n, don’t take it personally, it’s just-”

“I’m a siren so everyone’s scared of me, I know, I’ve heard it all too well,” you mumble dejectedly, finally rising up from your bed to start your day.

Hoseok frowns as his eyes follow you, “Birdie-”

“It’s fine,” you interrupt, stretching your arms up in the air, “it’s not anything I’m not used to,” you try to ressaure them by sending them a small smile, but this does nothing to convince them you’re ok.

Even so, Calvin looks to Hoseok, “let’s get going while she gets ready,” he tilts his head to the door before walking out, not even so much as a glance back at you two.

Hoseok hesitates for a moment, standing there as though wanting to say more but turns to leave anyway.

When the door finally closes shut, you heave a sigh letting your shoulders relax. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that everyone knows, seing how rarely anything exciting happens around here. So the moment something does happen, it's like a wildfire with how quick information spreads from person to person.

You shake it off, it’s not like you’d be able to make a difference in people’s minds. To them, you’re a siren, and nothing about that will change.

Reluctantly, you get ready to start your day with a fresh change of clothes. Walking out the door and towards the training ground, you nod your head at the few staff members you run into who bow as they greet you.

Even if they weren’t exactly a fan of your kind, they at least had the decency to acknowledge and respect you as the daughter of their boss. For that, you’re thankful they don’t sneer at you like all the background characters you read about in your fantasy books.

Eventually, you arrive at the training grounds, already dreading the lesson when you find Lucas and Jungkook waving at you.

“Good morning dear, did you have a good night’s rest,” Lucas greets you with a wide smile, albeit too enthusiastic given how early it is in the day.

You shrug your shoulders, “I’ve had better sleep,” you grumble, your eye bags definitely showing how you had a great night's rest.

Jungkook, also looking half awake, can’t help but nod his head in agreement.

Lucas harshly claps his, the loud sudden sound causing you both to flinch. His eyes crinkle in amusement at the way you two are now much more wide awake. “Shall we get started now lady and gent.”

You begin to stretch, preparing your body for what it’s about to endure, “do I have much of a choice?” you ask rhetorically.

Lucas says nothing, but he brings out two pistols and hands it to the both of you. “Today’s shooting day,” he announces with a bright smile.

You groan, “I’m a siren, why must I need to shoot a gun.”

The older man raises a brow, “and when you lose energy what then? You’re completely vulnerable and have no way of defending yourself,” he puts the gun into your hands, “that’s why you learn.”

You can’t bring yourself to disagree.

Jungkook yawns, “can I ask why I’m here then?” He didn’t understand why he was present when it was your training session, so you can imagine how confused he was when Lucas had arrived at his quarters, forcing him to get up bright and early.

“Consider this punishment for what happened at dinner yesterday,” Lucas answers, refusing to look him in the eye.

At that, Jungkook’s mouth drops, “you’re punishing me for that?!”

Your gaze switches between the two in a confused manner, “what happened at dinner?”

“All I did was eat the last piece of cake the pastry chef made!” Jungkook answers with a bewildered look, unable to process in his mind that this was the reason he was being punished.

“You had two plates prior to getting the last one and I had none,” Lucas snaps, finally looking at him with narrowed eyes, pettiness dripping from his voice. “Be thankful this is as far as I’m going.”

Jungkook purses his lips into a straight line, “Sir, I feel as though you’re taking advantage of your status.”

“See me same time tomorrow morning, Jungkook.”

You can’t help but laugh at them, the two somehow always bickering like father and son. You wave your hands between them in hopes of dissipating the tension. “Can we please carry on with the lesson, the faster we get this done the faster I can go back to sleep.”

Lucas eyes you, “our princess sure does love her sleep,” he mumbles but nonetheless nods his head and motions for you to stare straight ahead.

He points ahead, following the direction, your eyes land on questionable painted animals on a wooden stand, “you see those targets?” he continues when both you and Jungkook nod your head. “Those targets will be moving by string and you two are going to compete against each other to see who shoots the most animals.”

At this, you two can’t help but widen your eyes.

“We’re competing?” Lucas nods his head, “I want to see how Y/n handles shooting under pressure,” he explains.

Jungkook can’t help but let out a laugh. “Oh I’m so going to enjoy beating you,” he says cockily.

And that one sentence was enough to spark the competitiveness within you.

You furrow your brows and cocked the pistol, “we’ll see who beats who,” you snap back, wanting to smack the smirk off his lips.

Lucas chuckles and with one blow from his whistle the ‘animals’ begin to move. You don’t even question how or who’s controlling it, your mind was focused on one thing.

You both raise your guns at the same time and all at once you shoot.

Shots ring out within the training grounds with pieces of wood flying in every direction. You don’t keep track of how many you’ve knocked down and you doubt Jungkook is either.

Your eyes just remain trained on any moving object it sees. Though you curse under your breath everytime Jungkook hits the animal you were aiming for. It’s gotten to the point where it seems like he was doing it on purpose to win this competition.

“Don’t get mad at me for winning Y/n dear,” Jungkook manages to shout through the multitude of shots ringing out.

Your eyes narrow dangerously, “don’t get too cocky on me dear, it’s not over just yet.”

And it was like a switch got turned on in your head and all at once your shooting rate seemingly increased, much to Jungkook’s surprise as it became apparent he was struggling to catch up.

Lucas smiles as he watches the scene before him with his arms crossed as he observes the way you hold the gun as well as the way your eyes seemingly calculate your target’s movements to hit them in the right spots.

He takes note of these things, especially your behavior when your mood shifts.

After many ‘animal’ deaths, it seemingly looks like you two demolished every single ‘animal’ Lucas had planned out.

You catch your breath as you turn to look at the older man expectantly. Waiting for him to announce the results.

“There’s still one more kiddos,” Lucas calls out, much to your surprise and disappointment. This causes you two to look back one last time. You narrow your eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the last animal before him but with the way you both react at the same time shows you saw it together.

“A fucking hummingbird?!” you both shout in complete astonishment when you catch sight of the small ‘animal’ moving erratically in the air.

Lucas hums, an amused twinkle shining past his eyes, “a fucking hummingbird,” he repeats in confirmation with a bright smile.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” Jungkook mumbles under his breath as he cocks his gun once more.

You don’t even hesitate, your eyes remain trained on the target. Unlike the others, it seems like this one didn’t have a set route as it randomly and freely moves as it pleases.

This one was proving to be a challenge for the both of you, that much you can tell based on the multiple missed shots from both parties.

“Lucas this is impossible!” you shout out in frustration.

And what makes it even worse is it's impossibly small size.

“Not impossible if you just believe,” he replies back in a sing-song voice, irking you even more.

You take a deep breath knowing that letting your emotions get the best of you won’t do you any good.

You stare back at the fast-paced ‘animal’ with a more calm head as Jungkook continues to chase after it helplessly. Just when it seemed like it didn’t have a set route, the more you paid attention to it, the more you’ve come to realize it did go into somewhat of a pattern.

It goes in the same route but the way it moves differs from time to time making it seem like there was no way to predict its movements.

You memorize its movements and notice this one spot it always passes and then count in your head the length of time it passes by.

Lucas raises a brow as he observes the way you stopped following its movements altogether. He leans forward, as he watches you carefully.

He swears he sees you mouth the word ‘one’ right before letting out a shot.

The area goes silent as all three of you watch the bullet pierce right through the small piece of wood leaving Jungkook in disbelief.

Your eyes light up, surprised your method actually worked.

Lucas lets out a hearty laugh as he claps his hands. “Well done the both of you, it’s quite hard to delcare the winner I’ll be honest.”

“I clearly shot more of them though,” Jungkook argues.

The older man raises a brow, “while that may be so, shall we compare the accuracy?” he makes a motion with his hands, “Hoseok, Yoongi bring me two of their targets.”

You were surprised to find that the two were here. They must’ve been the ones controlling and throwing them around.

Hoseok and Yoongi smile at you, happily making their way with pieces of broken wood with holes drilled into them. When they finally stand before you, Lucas leans closer to inspect them carefully.

He hums, “there’s no denying that Jungkook did shoot more but not by a large margin. However every single one of Y/n’s hits was right on the bullseye, and if not, it was on the second line right next to it,” he looks back at you with a pleased smile, “Y/n’s accuracy beats Jungkook’s by a long shot, no pun intended.”

“So what does this mean?” you ask with slight hope in your voice.

“Jungkook is faster in terms of shooting, however it’s sloppy. His targets wouldn’t die in one shot, instead it’d probably take two to three shots to finish them. You on the other hand, do well in that aspect to the point it’s scarily accurate.”

Your eyes light up, you try not to act boastful knowing how competitive Jungkook is.

“I’ll consider Y/n the winner by a very small margin. Don’t take it personally Jungkook, you still did very well compared to others, Y/n is just an above average person.”

Jungkook sighs but nonetheless sends you a smile, “I should’ve known better than to think it’d be easy to beat you,” he extends an arm out, “good job.”

You happily accept his hand, “thank you, you did really good too.” You then turn towards Yoongi and Hoseok, “what I wanna know is which one of you was controlling the hummingbird one.”

Jungkook scowls, “yeah, with the size, that was nearly impossible.”

“Y/n managed to get it,” Yoongi points out, purposely wanting to annoy Jungkook even more, “and we weren’t the ones in charge of that,” he informs him while tilting his head to the side, motioning for you all to turn to look.

When you do, your eyes meet with the new guard you met yesterday, Taehyung.

“Good evening,” he greets you all yet his eyes only remain trained on you.

You can’t help but blush, acting shy from his intense stare. Jungkook raises a brow having noticed this and subconsciously rolls his shoulders back looking a tad bit more taller.

“You controlled the hummingbird?” When Taehyung nods his head Jungkook furrows his brows, “you nearly made it impossible to shoot that damn thing, did you have to go so fast?”

“Sir Lucas ordered me to make it go fast,” the man shrugs his shoulders, “I was just following orders that’s all, is it my fault that you couldn’t hit?”

You all raise a brow at the slight sass whereas Jungkook narrowed his eyes in slight agitation, “no, I suppose not,” he replies through gritted teeth. He refuses to let his emotions get the best of him, not with his supervisor, friends and most importantly you being right there.

“It’s no surprise that you won Miss Y/n, I had my faith in you the entire time,” you couldn’t help but question his sincerity, however his good looks and deep voice really makes it hard to keep your heart calm. He then turns his attention towards Jungkook, “you did great too I guess,” he says not as enthusiastically as when he was addressing you.

“Gee thanks,” Jungkook replies sarcastically, dodging a nudge of your elbow, a punishment for acting rude.

Taehyung shrugs his shoulders, “don’t take it the wrong way, I just thought Y/n excelled in this aspect much more.”

“Well there’s no question about that, but I’m better at sparring than I am at shooting,” Jungkook replies back a bit more defensively.

“Is that so? I would love to see that for myself.” The confidence was nearly radiating off of him that it was hard to tell whether he was actually a really good fighter or he was just bluffing.

However, your father would never hire someone who was inadequate, so if he was here he must be good to some extent.

Yoongi observes from afar with narrowed eyes, clearly catching on to the fact that Taehyung was purposely trying to provoke Jungkook, but for what reason, he doesn’t know.

“I hope you dont mind losing again today,” Taehyung replies back cheekily, confidently declaring a challenge. One that Jungkook was ready to accept.

“I’ve been a guard here since the very beginning, there’s no way I’d lose to a rookie like you,” he scoffs, almost offended he would think that.

“Jungkook I hope you know I’ll never live this down if you lose,” Hoseok calls out from the sidelines with a lopsided smile, hoping that by joking it would dissipate much of the apparent tension in the air.

“Yeah, losing to a rookie has gotta be the lowest thing you can do,” Yoongi adds with a slight smirk on his lips, adding more fuel to the fire. If they were going to fight, he might as well enjoy the show. He’ll investigate further into Taehyung’s character later.

“Thanks for the words of encouragement guys, really helping me out here,” Jungkook calls out sarcastically, with a hint of agitation.

“No problem.”

Jungkook just sends Yoongi a scowl.

“Y/n can I get your words of encouragement?” Taehyung asks with a charming smile, successfully gaining your attention.

Jungkook whips his head in your direction, his scorching gaze boring into you, “Y/n I’ve known you longer,” the man was quick to remind you.

“Taehyung good luck,” you encourage with a shy smile, leaving Jungkook absolutely flabbergasted. You finally turn to him, unable to hide the amused grin at the sight of his pout, “Jungkook, good luck as well.”

His eyes nearly light up as he pulls his shoulders back, a bit more determined now. Taehyung couldn’t help but envision him as a puppy that got complimented by their owner.

“Softie,” Hoseok mumbles from beside you, nudging your shoulder gently with a small smile.

You nudge him back playfully, “shut it sunshine,” you hiss quietly, but he just chuckles at this, knowing he was right.

Lucas shakes his head in amusement at the scene before him, “well I’ll let you kids enjoy your time,” he says, starting to turn around to make his way out.

Your eyes snap in his direction, “is my training over? Wouldn’t father not approve of this,” you ask nervously. You weren’t prepared to get scolded again after yesterday. You try your best not to disappoint him but somehow you just can’t stop causing trouble for him.

He smiles softly at you before patting your head, “don’t worry about it kiddo, I’ll take the fall if he gets angry. You’ve been working hard all your life, it wouldn’t hurt taking a break every now and then.”

You can’t help but lean into his touch. Lucas has always treated you so kindly with so much affection that you had always wished he was the one you were calling father instead. But you don’t dare say that out loud, so you hope your actions display your gratitude instead.

“Thank you.” He just nods his head before leaving the area.

Yoongi gently grabs your forearm, guiding you towards the sidelines away from the two men radiating testosterone. “Let's get this show on the road fellas,” he calls out over his shoulder, “also Taehyung, do me a favor and beat him good, his ego gets the best of him sometimes.”

Jungkook lets out an offended noise as he stares at his friend with full on betrayal, “I get it, you all hate me and want to see me fail.”

“No we don't!” Hoseok shouts almost immediately, “I’m your best friend, we even shared a toothbrush once!” You and Yoongi turn to look at him in disgust.

Jungkook blinks, a now more horrified look on his face, “… I was not aware of that.”

You’re not at all surprised by the shameless look on Hoseok’s face despite announcing that in front of everyone.

“You have some very… interesting friends,” Taehyung replies as politely as he can.

“Yeah, very interesting,” Jungkook mutters, rolling his shoulders as he begins stretching to prepare for the fight.

Taehyung begins to stretch as well, “Y/n is definitely the most beautiful among your friends.”

Jungkook freezes at the mention of your name. He slowly raises his head to look at him seriously, “what do you want with Y/n?” He notices the way the man pauses for a moment, caught off guard at the question before reverting back to his charming expression.

“Is it wrong to admire her for her beauty?” Taehyung replies back with a shrug, “I just think she’s immensely gorgeous, nothing more nothing less.”

Jungkook remains unconvinced but nonetheless lets it go. He’ll just show this new guy through actions that he can’t get to you, not with him there.

“Enough talking, let's get started,” he says with a determined look.

Taehyung looks slightly surprised but smirks anyway, “thank goodness.”

Eyeing the way the two changed their stance, Yoongi nudges you to gain your attention, “they’re starting,” he says, taking you away from you and Hoseok placing bets on who's going to win.

Without any hesitation, Jungkook charges forward, always the type to run head first. And to your surprise, instead of bracing himself, Taehyung also runs forward.

You suck in a breath as they practically collide against one another. Fists and legs flying in the air as they aim at one another with precision and accuracy.

You three watch with bated breaths, the two fighting as if they were actual enemies wanting to kill each other.

The two were practially a perfect match as you watch the way Jungkook’s fists come straight for Taehyung’s shoulder, but the man professionally dodges the attack and retaliates with his own by kicking his feet under him. But Jungkook was skilled enough to dodge that attack as well.

Where Jungkook excels in strength, Taehyung excels in agility.

“This is getting really intense,” you mutter, flinching everytime someone’s fist collides with the other's skin, the sound not sitting right with you, “why are they trying so hard?”

Hoseok gives you a side eye with a knowing smile, “I wonder why.”

Yoongi hums in return, eyeing the two carefully, ready to intervene if it gets too messy.

Taehyung grunts as he braces himself for a jab from Jungkook, letting his forearms block the attack. He’s already not anticipating the bruises that are going to appear the next day throughout his body.

He ducks down, successfully dodging yet another one of his opponents hits, much to his annoyance. But to Jungkook’s surprise, Taehyung uses his legs to kick himself off the floor and with the momentum, collides his fist straight into his abdomen causing him to stumble backwards. Taehyung uses this to his advantage and kicks in the same spot until he falls to the ground.

“HAHAHAHAAH JUNGKOOK WHAT WAS THAT?!” Hoseok shouts as he nearly topples over while laughing his heart out. Meanwhile you and Yoongi couldn’t help but look away, trying to stiffle the laughter that was threatening to escape.

Jungkook growls and without wasting any time, flips over until he’s standing up on his feet once more. His stamina amazes Taehyung but he tells himself he needs to remain focused.

“Seems you do know how to fight,” he mutters.

Taehyung shurgs, “the boss wouldn’t hire me if I didn’t,” he points out, a statement that the other man couldn’t argue with.

Without another word, Jungkook surges forward and swings his fists in the air, switching between his two hands at lightning speed that you three on the sidelines could barely catch the movement. It was almost like he was moving like a blur.

Hoseok whistles, “wow he really is trying extra hard,” he mutters, “this new guy must be something else if he’s putting in this much effort to beat him,” he comments off to the side, more so to himself but you and Yoongi hear it loud and clear.

You can’t help but agree, despite Jungkook moving incredibly fast, Taehyung was surprisingly able to block or dodge each one.

However, Jungkook’s relentless attacks barely gives Taehyung any time to recover. So after some time, Taehyung noticeably has difficulty trying to catch up to the impressive speed, grunting as he tries his best to dodge his attacks. Although, he takes a misstep, and that one action was enough for Jungkook to take a strong jab at him.

Taehyung grunts from the pain, nearly toppling over. Jungkook uses this chance to swing his legs and kick his sides causing the man to fall to the ground from the impact.

All three of you gasp at the sight, waiting with bated breaths for Taehyung to stand back up, but much to Hoseok’s disapppointment, the man remains on the ground.

Yoongi frowns, “oh, looks like Jungkook won,” he announces, with absoultely zero enthusiasm in his voice.

Jungkook scowl’s, having taken note of his tone. “Thank you all so much for believing in me.”

“Kookie, I never once lost faith in you,” Hoseok smiles cheerfully with his thumbs up in the air.

“You’re a liar.”

“I sure am.”

Jungkook’s scowl never once left his face.

Taehyung lets out a hearty laugh, “it was my mistake to think I had a chance against you,” he says, succeesfully gaining his attention.

Jungkook can’t help but offer a small smile, “told you, I wasn’t planning on losing to a rookie,” he boasts, extending his hand out for him to take, “but nonetheless you put up a good fight.”

Taehyung gratefully accepts his hand and with his help, stands up from the floor. He returns the smile, “it’s quite an honor to lose to you, I’ve only heard great things about you.” He could practicaly see the way Jungkook’s entire demeener changed.

“Taehyung please, that boy's ego is already big as is,” Yoongi drones out as you three approach the two sweaty boys.

“Wow handsome and knows how to flatter, you’ve got the whole package,” you comment with a small smile directed to the new guy.

When his eyes land on you, he smirks in return, “I wouldn’t mind extending this flattering to you princess,” he replies flirtatiously, causing the other boys to raise a brow.

“I might have to take you up on that offer,” to everyone’s surprise, you return the flirting.

Hoseok moves to wrap an arm around your waist, “birdie don’t joke like that,” he whispers lowly in your ear. He leans away with a bright smile yet, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jungkook narrows his eyes, frowning as he wordlessly moves to stand in front of you.

You blink, “can I help you?”

He tilts his head, “I won,” he announces as if you weren’t just a few feet away and saw thw whole thing.

You nod your head, still slightly confused, “I know? I was watching.” He pouts but doesn’t say anything else. You try to rack your mind as to what he wanted from you before realizing he must’ve wanted you to congratulate him.

You nearly chuckle before giving him a bright smile, “you did really well Jungkook.” And almost instantly, his entire face lights up.

Yoongi scoffs, “are you a puppy now?” he mumbles in a bored tone.

“You’re just jealous that Y/n’s praising me,” Jungkook pettily responds, his bottom lip jutting out.

“Nothing to be jealous about when I can hug her as I please,” he states before moving behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, resting his head gingery on your shoulder as he eyes him, almost challenging him, and the younger man was never one to turn down a challenge.

“I can hug her as I please as well!” Jungkook defends, and moves towards you with determination, but he suddenly gets stopped when you raise a hand in front of you.

“Not with all that sweat you’re not,” you state in a serious tone,your lips in a straight line, almost disgusted at the thought of being covered in his sweat.

Yoongi smirks before sticking his tongue out, successfully aggrivating Jungkook even more.

And just to add more fuel to the fire, Hoseok joins in and one ups Yoongi by placing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

Needless to say, this left Jungkook speechless.

Taehyung watches the scene before him in amusement. But at the same time he was trying to understand the dynamic that you have with all three of them. At first he had thought you were all just very close friends but the more he watche your interactions, he can’t help but think otherwise.

He had initially only wanted to test his strength, but he completely underestimated the man seeing how he was barely able to catch up to his speed.

He realizes then that it might be a lot harder to get close to you if he has to go past these three.

Little did anyone know, three pairs of eyes were watching you all like a hawk.

Your father, along with Calvin and Lucas were all observing the show below them from the window of his office.

Lucas had arrived at your father’s office knowing he would make a scene if he hadn’t informed him that he ended training early. After getting berated for a few minutes, they were left watching you five.

Your father hums, crossing his arms, “what can you think of him,” he asks, clearly referring to Taehyung who was treating you much differently from the rest of the staff. Granted Jungkook, Yoongi, and Hoseok treat you as a dear friend, but that’s only because that was their main purpose in your life.

However, this Taehyung guy, unlike the three boys, has no obligation to befriend you.

Calvin hums, eyeing the boy carefully “he’s rather bold for a newbie,” he comments.

“I think he’s just a very flirtatious and open person,” Lucas chimes in, also staring at the boy, “I’ve spent the most time with him yesterday and from what I’ve gathered, he’s a rather very charming person. Even having the audacity to flirt with her right in front of me,” he informs his boss.

Your father can't help but hum, lost in thought, “keep an eye on him,” he orders the other two, “whether he’s just flirting or not, we can’t take any risks.”

The two nod their heads, making sure to keep a close eye on the man and his future interactions with you.

Just then, when it seems as though the conversation was coming to an end, Lucas clears his throat, “Sir, if I may, would it hurt to be a little gentle with Y/n? She’s still young and-“

“Enough-“

The guard clamps his mouth shut, slightly intimidated by the now heated glare pointed towards him.

“Haven’t I told you before,” his boss hisses, “you can’t baby her, if she’s not exposed to the harshness of this world, then how can you expect her to survive out there.”

“We wouldn’t know since you don’t permit her to go out there at all,” Calvin comments in a heartbeat. Lucas can’t help but shift his gaze towards his friend, shocked to see the normally quiet man speak up for once.

Their boss snaps his head in his direction, slightly surprised he spoke up but narrows his eyes even more, “and then what? Risk getting her kidnapped? Being used for personal gain?” he snarls, “is that what you want?”

Calvin raises a brow, not at all intimidated, “well is that not what you did and are doing?” he asks shamelessly, crossing his arms across his chest, “were you not the one who ordered us to find Y/n and her mom and bring her to you at all cost?”

“I ordered you to bring them both to me, alive.”

“Well you know just as well as we do that things didn’t work out as planned.”

“Well maybe if you hadn’t missed a couple turns you could’ve gotten there quicker,” the man growls, slamming his fists angrily against his desk.

“If you could just barely protect her from that world, what makes you think that she’ll be able to survive out there without your protection.” At this, neither of the men can say anything else.

He just scoffs at their silence, “so go ahead, continue playing house with my daughter. You’ll only be digging her grave in the end.” He scowls at the both of them before turning on his heel and walking out the door without another look.

It goes silent for a moment, the two remaining men not knowing what to say next.

“Told you you’d never get through to him, even if we grew up with him,” Calvin nonchalantly comments as though he didn’t just go against his own boss.

Lucas raises a brow, “then why bother speaking up? You don’t normally do that.”

The man just shrugs his shoulders, “who knows.”

But Lucas gives him a mischievous grin, throwing an arm around his shoulders roughly as the other man grunts on impact. “I know, it’s because you think of her as a daughter, isn’t it.”

Calvin scoffs, shrugging him off, “no, you think of her as a daughter, not me.” His friend does nothing to deny that.

Lucas’s smirk does not once fall off his face. “Oh c’mon now, admit it, you would love to be her father.”

“I’ll admit that I’d be a better father to her than the one she has now,” he mutters in a low voice.

Lucas frowns, silently agreeing with him, “you know he cares for her.”

The other man scoffs, “with the way he’s acting, I have my doubts.”

“You and I both know why he’s acting like that,” Lucas mutters, sending him a knowing look. If he didn’t know the information he knows maybe he’d resent his boss much more for the way he’s been treating you.

Calvin rolls his eyes but says nothing.

He pushes himself off the wall and begins making his way out, “let’s get going, it’s getting late and I could drink some good alcohol.”

At the mere mention of alcohol, Lucas’s eyes nearly light up, “I’ll never say no to that.”

The two continue to joke around even as they exit the suffocating office. Unknown to them however, was that they had an eavesdropper.

“Y/n… was kidnapped?” Jin mutters in disbelief under his breath, a hand coming up to cover his mouth.

The man was just passing by when the sound of your name piqued his interest. He knew it was wrong to eavesdrop on a private conversation that could possibly have gotten him killed, but when your safety was mentioned he couldn’t help but lean into the door. Careful to make sure no one was around to catch him in the act.

And now, he was beginning to regret eavesdropping as he may have just heard information he was never meant to hear.

When he heard footsteps approaching the door, he scurried and quickly ducked into an empty room across the hall. Waiting patiently in silence as your father and both Calvin and Lucas left the room.

“Y/n’s not his real daughter?”

He’s heard stories about your arrival from the other servants in the manor. From their stories, their boss had supposedly arrived one day and announced that you were his child and was then going to live under this roof after finding out your mother had sadly passed away.

He then mentionned the fact that your mother was a siren, making you his siren child. Of course this information came as a surprise to everyone, definitely beginning to become much more wary of the small child in his arms.

But nonetheless, as per the request of their boss, they have always known you as his daughter and promised to protect you against the world who looks down on sirens.

Except now, someone found out about the truth, you weren’t his daughter at all. Jin can’t help but think of his boss as a complete hypocrite, claiming to protect you from the world, when the only evil here is him.

And apparently the two older men who have always treated you so kindly, are the ones responsible for killing your mother and kidnapping you.

His head was spinning, he didn’t know what to do with all this information. Should he tell you? Do you already know? Or does he forget ever hearing about it in the first place.

He steps out of the door, rubbing his temples in hopes of easing the headache slowly forming.

“Jin?”

The man jolts at the sound of your voice, whirling around with wide eyes. His reaction has you jumping back in surprise.

“Is everything alright?” you ask, concern laced in your voice.

Jin clears his throat, “Uh yeah, everything’s perfect. Where were you coming from?”

You raise a brow, clearly not convinced given the way he’s acting but you choose to let it go for now. “I just returned from the training grounds. Did you happen to see my father passing by?” you ask, trying to change the subject.

He pauses for a moment, but hesitantly shakes his head, “no I haven’t, I’m sorry.”

You nod your head, “oh alright, thanks anyway,” you offer him a bright smile before starting to make your way past him.

Jin gulps the closer you got, he closes his eyes shut, “actually Y/n-” he can’t help but blurt out when you were a step behind him.

You turn around to face him with a tilt of your head, “what’s wrong?” you ask curiously, waiting patiently for him to tell you.

He clears his throat, “um well, the thing is,” he pauses, trying to find the right words to explain to you what he heard.

But when you furrow your brows in confusion, he just lets out a sigh, “there’s a flower bush that’s wilting really badly, I was hoping you could spread some magic on it,” he asks instead of what was really on his mind.

You raise your brows slightly before nodding your head, “of course, I’ll make sure to stop by later today. Is that all?” You notice the way he pauses for a moment before nodding his head slowly, “alrighty then, I’ll see you later,” you wave him goodbye.

He mimics the action, trying to smile but he swears it must’ve looked more like a grimace in your point of view. He watches as you slowly walk away from him.

He purses his lips into a line, he hated lying to you, but he needed to gather more information in order to confirm whether he heard correctly or not.

Only then can he fully protect you.

Taehyung groans as he slowly tries to lay down on his bed after a long day visiting the nurse to get his bruises treated.

“What’s with the groaning, you’re not doing any sinful acts are you?” Jimin’s voice goes through, no doubt sporting a disgusted look.

“No, I got beat up by her boyfriend you pervert,” he explains, wincing at a sudden stab in his ribs when he moves in the wrong direction, “he’s a lot stronger than I exected.”

“Aw damn she’s got a boyfriend.” Taehyung could almost hear the pout in his voice.

“As if you had a chance with her in the first place,” Namjoon chimes in

“I would if I spoke to her myself,” Jimin claims confidently, but then goes silent for a second, “hey Tae you mind switching places for a bit.”

“Fuck off,” Taehyung nearly growls back. He winces when he lays down wrong and accidentally bumps into a bruise on the side of his body he didn’t know he had. “She’s got three close friends,” he informs his teammates.

“And?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “must I explain everything Jimin, they’re all guys and they’re very protective over her, it’s going to be hard trying to gain her trust if she’s constantly being surrounded by them. Not to mention the two older men who treat her as if she's their own kid.”

He’s beginning to think this mission was a lot harder than he expected. Him getting beaten wasn’t exactly part of his plan.

“Did you think this was going to be an easy mission given the information we have. Her friends are the most skilled in that place and the two older men are the head guards,” Namjoon drones out, “not to mention she’s quite literally a siren who can kill you with one simple tune, don’t let your guard down,” he warns.

“You think I don’t know that?”

“What’s she like?” Jimin asks curiously, breaking the tension, “surely you got a good glimpse of her character.”

Taehyung hums, thinking back at the way your smile shined brightly among them all, “she’s not at all like what I’ve heard about her.”

“Elaborate,” Namjoon gently orders. From the other end, pages turning and a click of a pen can be heard, no doubt the man preparing to take notes on his observation.

“Everyone says she’s scary, or someone not to mess with,” Taehyung summerizes the multiple answers he’s received when he was snooping around and asking people about what they thought of you. “But when I saw how she was interacting with her friends, all I saw was a normal girl.”

From what he’s gathered, although the staff may have these thoughts, they don’t underestimate your strength, which is why they don’t try to get in your way, but in the process you barely have any friends despite the many years you’ve known them.

“Her friends, they’re the ones who are extremely protective of her?” Namjoon asks, more of a confirmation than a question.

“Precisely. Their names are Jeon Jungkook, Jung Hoseok, and Min Yoongi,” he informs both his teammates.

“Jung Hoseok,” Jimin mumbles with furrowed brows, “where have I heard that name before,” he mutters under his breath, more so to himself than to the others.

“That name sounds familiar to me too,” Namjoon adds. He hums as though lost in thought, putting a star by the man’s name to investigate further, “Jimin, try to find more information about this Hoseok guy.”

“Roger that.”

Satisfied by that answer, Namjoon asks, “have you encountered her ‘father’ yet?”

Taehyung purses his lips, “no I haven’t, it’s nearly impossible to run into the man ‘accidently’,” he groans, tilting his head back against the pillow, “it’s almost like he’s avoiding any other human being on purpose unless it’s his daughter or his closest men.”

He hears Namjoon sigh, “just make sure not to grab his attention in a way that it gets you targeted,” he warns.

Taehyung shuts his eyes, “don’t worry hyung, he never runs into me. I doubt he even remembers he hired me,” he waves his hands in the air in a carefree manner.

“Out of sight out of mind.”

A/N: I apologize for the long wait, I was on vacation for the entire month of July and I just recently moved into a new apartment so I never really had time to write this chapter. But it’s here now~

I also would just like to say that since I’m heading back to school, I will have even less time to write as I really want to focus on my studies. With that being said I hope you can all understand that I’m not sure when the next chapter will be released.

Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day :)

Love always, Liz

Taglist: (those in bolded letters, I apologize but it seems I wasn’t able to tag you, im sorry. Also if I happened to forget to tag anyone, please comment under this post and I’ll add you in the next one, thank you)

@h0bi-c0re, @mageprincess7, @toughbook, @stupendouscookiehumanmug, @ceoalpaca, @softieyn, @tinnielovestannies, @singukieee, @lilacdreams-00

#poly!bts #bts poly #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #namjoon x reader #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

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