#I know he comes back but he isn't really here right now and I think it killed the fixation I was starting to build when i first got the gam

[altarecs]

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…

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.

“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.

[pythonmoth]

cw: violence. body harm. heavy torture. waterboarding. trauma. crude language. hurt/no comfort. explicit suicidal thoughts. self mutilation/harm mentioned.

simon riley x f!reader. implied simon riley x soap. implied simon riley x f!reader x soap.

First | Last | Next

He didn't want to get out of bed that day, and the Captain calling for a private meeting just as he dared opening his eyes gave him enough reason to know he was right.

Putting on his uniform was as easy as ever. Really, he hardly ever took it off, anyway. It took about twenty seconds to put on his boots and he was off.

It was cold outside.

The night before had been stormy, so if Johnny's lungs weren't used the damn weather by now, he would be cursing the gods for it. It was so cloudy that he just truly wanted to grab a coffee, and sleep again.

Hell, even breakfast before a meeting would do.

His pace wasn't rushed, the sun slowly coming up. As soon as he spotted Simon walking over to the Captain's office as well, seemingly unaware of his presence, he couldn't help but smirk and slow down. He did his best to keep his boots from making noise, holding his breath. He got closer, and closer.

Then, promptly bumped nose first on the back of Simon's head.

"Argh!" he grunted, holding his nose. Simon made no sound at all and just kept on walking. Johnny knew damn well the cocky tilt on the Lieutenant's head as they got near the Captain's office. "Bastard. Could've warned me, instead of making me nearly break my damn nose".

"Why? It's funnier like this" Simon said, the timber in his voice so amused it made Johnny roll his eyes, not really upset at all.

"To you, maybe".

"And that's how it's supposed to be, Johnny".

The conversation was cut short as soon as they approached the Captain's door. He was arguing with someone on the phone. It was clear he was trying not to make much noise, but the anger in his voice was unmistakable.

Simon and him shared a look, and waited for a moment before knocking on the door.

"Get in" the Captain's voice cut through the silence, hanging up the phone before standing up, looking at the two men with a hard expression.

"What's going on?" Simon questioned, standing right next to Johnny, their shoulders brushing.

"We've got a mole" the Captain said, his teeth clenched. Johnny watched as he paced behind his desk, his shoulders hardened.

"A mole?" he wondered, his eyebrows furrowing. "Who's the bastard? We'll drag him to the—"

"Goddammit, Johnny. It's the fucking lass" the Captain snapped.

In that moment, the room went colder than the freaky weather outside. The three men stared at each other for one long second.

"We've five lasses" Simon started, the trembling in his voice so evident that Johnny wanted to reach out, and grab his arm to stabilize him. He didn't, as he was trembling just as badly. "You better give me a name right now, or I'll start breaking your shit".

"If it weren't yours, do you think I would be calling you two idiots?" the Captain growled out. He opened his mouth, ready to continue, but Johnny spoke first.

"Is this some kind of ridiculous, fucked up joke?" he blurted out. He just couldn't think. He just couldn't believe it. "She's been here for nearly ten years. Capt'n, there must be a mistake. And you, you can't possibly believe this shit!" he blurted out at Simon, turning to look at him.

Simon was as stiff as a wooden board.

And he was so damn angry it nearly made Johnny shit his pants.

"Is there proof? Do you have it on you? Is it positive?" Simon questioned, the words flowing, barely controlled. Johnny's mouth fell open. "How can you be sure?"

"LT!" he gasped in surprise, his heart pounding in his throat. He felt like throwing up.

"Answer me" Simon demanded the Captain, ignoring him.

It took them two hours to go through the evidence, more than once. You've been selling information about other team's missions, and they had your fingerprints. It was almost as if you weren't even trying to hide it at all.

"Isn't it too simple, too easy?" Simon said, not for the first time. "Price, you gotta admit it's at least suspicious. She's not stupid".

"Capt'n, the lass' a smart one. Not even the lamest bastard in this damn base could pull a mistake this big" Johnny added. Needing to sooth himself, he discreetly placed his hand right next to Simon's on the desk.

The slightest curl of the Lieutenant's pinky across his made him take a deep breath.

"That's your pussydrunk heads talking to you. This is unmistakable and we can't risk it" the Captain shook his head, pointing at the evidence in front of them. They both went quiet at that, too troubled to feel offended. "Take her downstairs. We'll do as I ordered, in five. You either do it yourselves, or I'll call someone else" the Captain said. Simple as that.

If the Captain saw Simon snatch his hand back from Johnny's grip before they both stormed out of his office, he didn't say.

What was there to say, anyway?

An empty box suffered all of the Lieutenant's anger as soon as they stepped out. Snapped in half with kicks and thrown to the other side of the hall, alarming a few soldiers that, just taking a look at them, turned away instantly.

Johnny couldn't possibly do anything to make Simon feel any better if he was just as angry and appalled. Hurt, and incredibly confused, mostly. They didn't exchange a single word as they reached the mess hall, their boots heavy against the floor.

Simon's steps faltered when they saw you sitting at the usual table. Johnny clenched his jaw and walked forward, forcing Simon to do the same.

They both watched as you sipped on your mug, no doubt waiting for them to have breakfast. He saw you take a bite of the bread, your eyes brightening as you turned to them, recognizing their footsteps easily.

It's been nine years, after all.

Johnny's heart trembled at the sight. Anxiety and pain bloomed in his chest, but he forced himself to swallow it down. They had orders.

"It's so darn late!" you complained, your voice a little muffled around your mouthful, looking amused. Ridiculous. "Where were you? Come on, let's eat".

Beautiful.

It had been too easy. You didn't resist their touch at all, raising an eyebrow. Johnny heard you nearly choke when you noticed their grip wasn't playful, asking Simon what was happening, you feet dangling between the two of them.

Johnny's grip was tight, fighting to keep his expression blank, but it got fucking difficult the moment you realized where they were taking you, screaming, fighting, and struggling against them, demanding explanations.

The room had been used for many years, even before they got here. It either reeked of shit, piss or blood and bleach. It's never been pleasant.

The Captain was already waiting there.

He kept silent as Simon punched you on the stomach. Kept silent as you begged and pleaded, trying to meet their eyes, their hands tying you to the chair.

The Captain had ordered not to explain anything at first.

And it was fucking hard.

To see you get punched.

To be the one to gag you, despite your attempts to bite down on his fingers. To be the one who made you choke on your fears, on your pain.

Your panic.

Simon's eyes were detached, stuck within himself, the trembling in his hands barely noticeable, but Johnny saw it.

He felt it in his own hands.

Every time the Captain ordered him to yank on your hair. Every time he pressed that disgusting wet rag against your face and poured the water on it. Every time his gray eyes met your pleading gaze.

With each of your screams.

He saw Simon flinch with every one of them.

After the Captain kicked your lights out, the three of them had a serious conversation. Simon and Johnny were quiet, both of them staring at the Captain as if he had grown a second head right in front of them.

"No. I'm not doing that shit".

"Neither am I. Are you out of your fucking mind, Price?"

"Now, lads, I'm not asking. If you don't do it, I'll grab another two. We need information and the evidence is clear" the Captain cut them off. He didn't look happy about it, but he didn't seem too worried, either. "Tomorrow. That's an order".

Simon and Johnny sat on the stairs that night, with you right behind the door, both of them smoking silently. Neither of them acknowledged Johnny's tears, and when Simon turned away, neither said anything.

Your screams were a stab in his heart. And he couldn't blame anyone but himself.

When Price told him what they were going to do because you "wouldn't open your mouth", he had wanted to kill Price right there, but the evidence was too big and they had orders, and it didn't matter what he thought. He was but a soldier. Price gave the orders, and it wasn't his place to question them.

Not too much, anyway.

But that didn't mean he had to like them.

Had it been anybody else, Simon wouldn't have hesitated. He would've dragged the dickhead to the basement himself.

But you?

Price had ordered him to go slow, to make you suffer as the nails were ripped off slowly enough to make you pass out, but he couldn't.

He couldn't go against his orders, but he could do them his way.

If it's done quick enough, the pain concentrates and dissipates faster, leaving only raw, throbbing fingertips behind.

That's the best he could do.

As you pushed your head against his chest, pleading and screaming in pain as Price asked you questions you didn't seem to hear, another nail would come off.

"Give him their names. Please" he whispered, low enough for only you to hear, but you were too gone with pain to pay attention.

Price would order him to go on, and Simon would grit his teeth, and do it as fast as possible.

Every scream made him want to crawl into the tiniest cave, and rot for the eternity.

If you were truly a traitor, he didn't care. He wanted you to break yourself free and steal their guns so you could end them right there. He wanted you to win and take revenge, dance on their bodies for all he cared.

When you said it was done between the two of you, he was glad his back was facing you. Otherwise, you would've noticed the trembling of his lips under the balaclava.

Orders. He had to follow orders.

When the toenails started coming off, your screams reached a deeper pitch. It was as if it wasn't you anymore, you looked like a whole different person. Simon pressed his head to your leg, panting, whispering and begging you to say their names.

"Please" he would whisper, gripping your ankles in hope to ground you away from the pain.

When he was two toenails into the second foot, deep cuts along the arch of the two of them, he decided to pause, as if coming out of a trance. Price had gone out half an hour ago, looking agitated, so he took full advantage of that for a moment.

Simon stopped, looking up at you, but you were slowly passing out just from the little break you were allowed when he stopped.

Johnny was shaking, his shoulder tense as he looked straight to the door in front of you, from where Price bursted inside the room again.

"Follow me" Price said, his mustache shaking. It didn't take long for Johnny and Simon to do so.

The last time he had been this angry, he had nearly killed himself in the middle of his room.

You were innocent.

Simon was faster than Johnny only for a second.

He punched Price so hard that he could hear a finger breaking, but he didn't give a single fuck.

He knew it wasn't Price's fault.

Still, it felt damn good.

Yells could be heard all across the base, confused soldiers who knew nothing of the situation yet would just stare at each other.

"Garrick caught him trying to escape" Price raised his voice again. "He's been detained and has already confessed. The problem is that—"

"I don't fucking care!" Simon snapped, gripping Price's desk hard enough to break the shit out of it. "Bring him here, goddammit. I'll put a bullet through his brain".

"I'm trying to explain why I fucking can't do—"

"The fuck am I here for, then? I'm done with this fucking shit hole" he yelled, not interested in whatever Price had to say anymore.

Johnny and him rushed downstairs, panting, shaking. Price didn't leave his office, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes.

Simon fell to his knees and untied you as quickly as he could, watching you blink your eyes open, your gaze distant.

"I'm so fucking sorry, love. You'll be okay, I fucking promise you that. Fuck, I'm so sorry... I'll carry you, hold on. Hold on..." he whispered, sliding an arm under your legs and carrying you bride style.

He was struggling with his own anger, unable to control his body as he normally would, bumping his shoulders on the walls as he rushed upstairs.

"Watch her head! You're gonna fucking drop her. Let me help—"

"Shut the fuck up, Johnny. Don't fucking try me right now".

If Johnny was hurt by his words, he genuinely didn't care right now. He would get over it.

When he finally reached the clinic, he snapped at however was available to get their fucking arses up.

He knew it wasn't the right thing, but he couldn't afford to be respectful. Not right now. A few medics surrounded you immediately, but one of them started pushing him out.

They kicked him out of your room.

They fucking kicked him out.

Away from you.

"You've two broken fingers, and she doesn't need you. You ain't going in" the head doctor told him. Simon's eyebrows furrowed, his lips curling in a snarl behind the mask, but she was having none of that. "Shut it, you big brute. Now do as I say, or I'm kicking you out of my clinic".

Johnny sat next to him, but Simon wouldn't look away from the door to your room. He sat quietly, not even blinking as the doctor helped him with his fingers. They didn't even hurt.

He didn't matter.

It took you two days to wake up.

As soon as he was allowed in, he barely left your side, only to take a piss or grab a coffee. He would watch the doctors check on you, acting like a dog ready to snap and bite their heads off every time your fingers flicked in your sleep when they touched you.

"L.T. You gotta get some rest" Johnny mumbled, a hand on Simon's shoulder. It was only the two of them and you there. As it should be.

"Not interested".

"Its been four days since you've eaten anything".

"Good for me. Was planning on going on a diet, actually".

"Simon".

"That's my name".

Smack.

Simon finally looks away from your face to look at Johnny with wide eyes, the back of his head burning. "The fuck was that?"

"That's what you get for being a dickhead" Johnny replied, his eyes fixed on you. "She's safe here. Come on, we gotta be fed and rested, so she can kill us when she wakes up".

It took Johnny a lot of convincing, but he managed to drag Simon out. They ate in silence, and slept.

Only a couple of hours.

The moment Simon heard your first scream, just in the back of his mind, he got up to his feet, rushing to the clinic. He wasn't certain if it was his mind or if it was truly you.

When he saw you on the floor, crawling away from him, he felt both relieved and terrified. He sank to the floor instantly, his hands in full display, hoping to ease your fear.

"No, wait. Please. Please. You're okay" he said, his eyes wide, taking in your expression. He will never forget the way you were looking at him, as if he wasn't Simon. Not anymore.

He didn't know what to do, didn't know how to approach you anymore, didn't know how to even begin.

"W-we were tricked" he explained, at a complete loss. "A mole planted evidence against you, but we found him a few days ago, when we brought you here. I'm so—"

"You're sorry" you crackled, and it felt like a stab to his heart. "You're sorry".

It didn't matter what he did, you refused to listen to him.

"Please. I didn't want to do it. I'm so sorry" he pleaded, his hands flat against the ground. "I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Johnny and I. You won't forgive us and we know this. Fuck, you should never do so. Lovie... please".

When you started sobbing, shaking and keeping yourself away from him, Simon broke down as well.

He moved slowly, taking his mask off, and leaving it on the floor between the two of you. He didn't dare looking at you, tears or not, but he wanted you to stop being scared at him.

He would've preferred you stabbed him. He would've preferred you made him eat glass and then shot him between the eyebrows.

But scared? He wanted to bite his own fingers off to make sure he would never hurt you again.

Simon was embarrassed. Ashamed.

He had followed orders, but he should've pressed Price harder. He should've helped you somehow instead of just doing as he was told.

The space between the two of you felt disturbing and too big. He wanted to hold you, to kiss your face, and never let go.

But you've been clear. It was over.

He didn't dare trying to convince you.

All he had left was his regret.

by implied I meant fucking obviously. i couldn't leave johnny out, i love him sm. but if you don't like it just picture them as rlly close buddies, then. they might kiss, but who doesn't kiss their buddies, am I right?

i was gonna wait until tomorrow, but i finished way faster than I thought I would, and I'm hyped as hell, so here you go. a gift!

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold

[ang3ltine]

𓍯𓂃 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐚𝐤𝐞

c.w. nsfw mean! sevika

cursing ex! brothel freader

sypnosis: how sevika would act with a reader who acts like piltie (piltover citizen) 𝜗𝜚

God you hated being a woman.

You were currently being chased by a former client from the brothel. Despite constantly saying no to giving him service because you had just quit. He was adamant on having his way with you.

Clothes half torn and a rush of adrenaline rushing through you, you made a beeline towards a familiar bar in the distance.

The Last Drop.

You've had enough of the undercity at this point. The streets were overrun with shimmer addicts and that included the brothel.

More of your clients had been smoking shimmer , which caused them to become erratic at times. Pushing you to the brink of quitting.

It was a tough decision, leaving Babette and the brothel workers with whom you've called 'family'. But it had to be done.

"Will you leave me alone already?!" you snap back in annoyance as the pestering man was beginning to catch up with you.

"Sorry darlin' , I'm not leaving till I have what I want-" he slurred as he grabs your arm. In a frantic attempt to push him away from you, at the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar ravenette.

"Sevika!" , your voice coming out strained due to amount of screaming you had been doing the past 20 minutes.

Sevika, hearing a voice, she looked around in annoyance until she locked eyes with yours. Her eyes slitting when she noticed the man on the floor with a bloody nose had started chasing you again while you ran towards her.

Sighing in relief you fall into Sevika's side, too out of breath to even think at the moment. She didn't know the situation you were in but she damn well knows what the guys intentions are.

Sevika loomed over the cowering man, giving him a well deserved punch in the stomach. Practically knocking the wind out of him, at the same time blood spilled to the ground from his mouth from the impact.

She then grabbed him by the scruff of his dirty top , bringing him close to her face and sneered. "Listen. This is the last time I'll let you go free. Next time you won't be so lucky. Got it?".

The terrified man quickly scrambled on his feet as soon as Sevika threw him to the ground. Disappearing into the dark alleyway behind the lively bar.

Sevika was surprised to see you again. She hadn't been to the brothel in a while due to the heavy workload that she got from Silco.

"Thanks Sevika," you muttered under your breath as you began to shift on your feet. Clearly nervous after not seeing her for so long. It was especially embarrassing for you since you've never really seen her outside the brothel. Making this interaction all the more awkward.

"Hey," Sevikas deep voice made you look up slowly from the ground as she leans down to your level. Her cloudy grey eyes meeting with yours. "You ok? Did he hurt you anywhere?".

You questioned her sudden change in behaviour, since she usually isn't that caring in nature. She had quite the reputation of being Silco's scary right hand woman. Nonetheless, you indulged in it for now.

"No I'm fine," you breath out, your voice faltering slightly from the nerves. "Just a few scratches here and there when I tried fighting him off of me."

Sevika scanned your form, noticing how your clothes are torn and tattered and how your hair had become quite messy.

Sevika's smell enveloped you as you feel the heaviness of her cloak weigh on your shoulder. You felt quite content indulging in her presence, bringing back fleeting memories of your time at the brothel. Where she would actually come to you for advice rather than have your usual sessions.

She shrugs off her cloak and wraps it around your small form, making sure to cover your body. She then uses her normal hands to fix your hair. Tucking strands behind your ear so she could see your face better.

You were just like she remembered, absolutely beautiful.

There was an unspoken feeling between you two that you never brought up. This was because you knew Sevika is a stoic woman and didn't know if she actually liked you or not.

You were spacing out for so long that you didn't notice her move away from you. Sighing in disappointment, you turn on your heel to walk back home.

That was until you saw Sevika standing a few feet away from you. The familiar tingle in your stomach resurfaced as you gave her a gentle smile.

"Well? Do you want me to walk you home or not?"

Once again, the rally that Sevika had been trying hard to gather had failed. All they wanted was to see Jinx, but she refused to step outside her little workshop.

She was pissed that's for sure, nothing was going her way and nobody was taking her seriously. After Silco's death, Sevika tried taking over as the new leader of Zaun. But clearly that's not what the people wanted.

Slamming her apartment door shut, she made her way to the kitchen with heavy steps. Following the pleasant smell of...cake?

She almost forgot that you got home early today. Wearing your usual silk night dress and a frilly apron that managed to accentuate your waist perfectly. You weren't rich in any way despite living on the outskirts of piltover, yet you managed to look exactly like a piltie.

Sevika was grateful to have you in her life, you two had finally made your relationship official. This was after months of constant flirting and pining after each other.

You were humming to yourself from a classic song that was playing on the radio. Sensing that a pair of eyes were watching you as you prepared the icing for the cake, you turn around with an inviting smile on your face.

"Hey Sev," you ushered her over with a spatula in your hand and the other resting on your hip.

"Can you taste this for me, please?" Though Sevika looked like she didn't want to, you could see her eyes light up from your comment. Knowing that she secretly craves sweet treats.

You expected her to take the spatula, but she instead reached down to grab hold of your waist. Pulling you in with a cold yet firm grip from her mechanical hand. She then scooped some icing with her finger and brang it up towards your lips.

"Well, go on. Stick out your tongue for me, pretty girl."

You wanted to protest so bad , but they way she was looking at you? Made your knees buckle.

Legs unknowingly closing from the pet name, you obeyed. Sevika grabs your chin and places the sugary icing on your tongue. She had a shit eating grin on her face. Clearly amused from how quickly you obeyed her command.

Let's be honest, you wanted her as much as she wanted you. That's why you had prepared a surprise for her when she got home, knowing she'd be down due to her workload.

The pretty angel cake that you baked for her sat on the counter forgotten as a you two began your makeout session in the kitchen. She had kept on adding more icing on your lips and tongue, loving the delicious combination of the icing and your saliva.

She holds your hip firmly while the other hand slips behind you to take off your apron. As pretty as it looked, she wanted to fully feel you. While you entangle your fingers into her short raven hair. Sevikas' new haircut was... something. She thought you'd hate it, but in your opinion, she looks 10x hotter.

Sevika was the first to pull away as she leads you into your shared bedroom, and seats herself on her chair. That's right, you guys had enough money to buy her a desk set just in case she wanted to work at home rather than at the last drop. Which she appreciated alot.

Because now, she gets to fuck you on it.

"Come here," she commanded softly. Her voice was smooth and sultry. You eagerly climb onto her lap as Sevika's hands settle on your waist. Her fingers pressed into your flesh as she held you close.

As you settled, you felt a slight hum beneath you. Your eyes widened as you looked down at her pants. Sevika unzips the flap of her pants , revealing a hexcore powered strap on. She adjusted it so you could get a better look at it.

The soft glow flickering against her skin as she tilts her head, observing the mixed emotions you had on your face. A lazy grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

You were speechless as you look up to meet with Sevikas stormy eyes. Clearly she had planned this before she left for work in the morning and had been meaning to use her new toy on you as soon as she got home.

Anticipation was building up inside you as you caught a glimpse of the length of strap. It had thick girth and glowing bluish veins.

"Gimme a kiss," she whispers gently as she bumps her nose against yours. You complied rather quickly, closing the gap between you both as you met her lips in a sweet kiss. Hands still holding your hips , she moves you on top of her strap. Making you grind against it agonisingly slow.

Not breaking the kiss, she brings the straps of your dress down to reveal dainty lace bra. This made her stop dead in her tracks, pulling away with a string of saliva from the kiss.

You could see her eyes darken with lust and her nostrils flare slightly. It was no joke that you knew you weren't leaving the room at all 'til tomorrow morning.

"Hm, whats this?" She drawls as she thumbs over your clothed perked tit's, making your voice falter as you answer.

"Mmph -... this was supposed to be a surprise present for you after we had the cake," you manage to squeek out as she continues to fumble with your breasts.

Her hot mouth hovered over you ear and you shiver from the way she whispers into your ear, "Guess I'll have the real dessert now."

She swiftly moves her fingers behind you and unclasps your bra, letting it fall onto the floor. Moving from your ear back to your lips, she brings you into a seering hot kiss filled with lust and passion. You moan against her lips as she plays with your bare tit's.

"Lean back for me on the desk will you?," she whispers against your lips. You do as your told and lean on your elbows as she spreads your legs apart. The coldness of her metal hand made you squirm but she manages to pry your thighs open. Exposing your matching lace panties to her hungry gaze.

"Fuck baby, you're this wet already?" She chuckles , "Just from a few kisses?". You bite your lip, your face heating up from embarrassment. Your breath hitches as you feel her thumb against your clothed clit, feeling the bud twitch under her touch.

"I can't help it Sev -," you gasp as she kisses a trail from your thighs down to your hot core. Gently nudging her nose against it.

Before another word could be said, your panties were torn apart a slight tug from her mechanical finger. Realising she can't really have you properly on her desk, she picks you up in her arms bridal style and plops you down on the plush mattress.

Crawling onto the bed beside you, she then maneuvers you above her face. You peered down with heavy breaths at her as her mouth was now inches away from your throbbing cunt.

"You're gonna ride my face now, 'kay angel?"

You're not sure how long you've been riding her face, but it felt like forever.

"Nngh! Shit Sev, please...- can we stop for a sec..?"

Fucking Sevika. Just because she was a regular at the brothel, doesn't mean she gets to have her way with you.

You were beginning to get exhausted from the amount of times you came on her tongue. Of course, It didn't help with her completely ravaging you underneath like a mad woman. Making you squirm on top of her.

"Tsk, stop moving. You don't want me to tie you up and leave you high and dry, do you sweet thing?"

She mumbles against your wet core. The vibrations from her deep voice made you moan louder, surprising yourself as you quickly cover your mouth. The walls to your apartment were thin so the neighbours could definitely hear you two go at it. Not that Sevika minds, she knows that you on the other hand. Wouldn't want the embarrassment from your neighbours.

After your third orgasm , she pulls away while wiping her mouth. You didn't really have chance to breathe as she flips you onto your back again and positions her cock on the folds of your drenched pussy.

"Not done yet ," her voice deep with fervent as you could only sink into the pillows beneath your head and pray that she doesn't do anything too extreme.

The room filled with the obscene sounds moaning and skin slapping. Your body felt hot and sticky all over as Sevika continues to plunge inside you with her hexcore strap, the subtle vibrations adding to the pleasure. You tried your very best to keep quiet but it was hard with her being so rough.

You were surprised that it even fit in you considering the sheer size of the thing. But it slipped in quite easily due to the your own slick.

Sevika leans down as she folds her body over yours, pressing together your foreheads as she grunts. "Love this pussy so fucking much, you take my cock so well."

She captures your lips in hers as she deepens the kiss before pulling back slightly. Her intense gaze making you even more turned on than usual.

"You feel so good baby, 'swear I can feel you 'round me-"

Clinging onto Sevika , you felt the tension building once again as she fucks you relentlessly with a pace that leaves you breathless. You gently hold her face in your hands as look deep into her eyes as you whimper , "Pleae don't stop Sevy, you're doing so good for me."

Feeling her own high coming , she buries her face in the crook of your neck. Pressing hot kisses over the dark purple hickeys that we're scattered all over her neck.

"I won't angel, need you to come f' me ok?"

Sevika continues to pepper kisses all over your face and neck while her hands groped your tit's. Her thrusts becoming more faster and rugged , driving you both closer to the edge. You arch your back, your clit bumping against Sevikas abs with every moment. Your moans were getting louder so she leans in to swallow each one with a passionate kiss, making you borderline insane.

"There you go," she whispered, her voice a mixture of praise and satisfaction as she watched you unravel beneath her. "Taking my cock so well...just like I knew you would." Her words sent a thrill through you, and you felt yourself clench around her. Each thrust becoming faster and harder, making the bed creak beneath you.

" Vika shit...! I'm gonna cum-" you huffed breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers make deep dents and scratches on her back. With one final deep thrust, you completely become undone. Your legs shaking by her head with every thrust as Sevika slows down to help you calm down from your high.

Once you both came, she pulls out. Watching a mixture of blue shimmer and your cum drip out.

As the after math of the moment settled over you both, Sevika shifted back just enough to see the mess she made. A playful smirk slowly forming on her lips. She took in the scene beneath her, the sheets ruined and soaked. Your face was flushed and your messy hair created the illusion of a halo above your head.

"What a mess," she murmured, a teasing glint in her eyes as she caresses your cheek affectionately.

"Didn't know you had it in you." Her voice was low and playful. You were too dumbed out to speak so you just lay there, trying to regulate your breathing. Noticing how tired you were, she heads to the bathroom to turns on the taps and prepare a hot bath for you.

Picking you up gently from the bed, you weakly cling onto her while you lean in softly kiss her cheek. "Thanks Sev..."

" 's fine princess, let's get you all cleaned up. "

[hy6erion]

Heyyyy, so I'm new here, and I love your fics, but your work unspoken rivalry? Fucks me uuuuup

I wanted to know if there was any way at all I could beg for a part two? Maybe with either a threesome where they're like, competing who can make reader feel better, or just a date out with a fluffy little polyamorous resolution? Sorry if this isn't okay to ask!! Mwah mwah

𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞

✰⍣..𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞- 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, ,,𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞" 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬

𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐱𝐱 (´-ω-`)

It takes longer than it should for the three of you to actually plan a date.

Not because you’re unsure—by now, it’s painfully obvious that you’re all in too deep. It’s not even because of their bickering, though that certainly doesn’t help. No, it’s because neither of them will admit to wanting the date in the first place.

The realization comes to you in the middle of yet another argument, this time over something completely trivial.

“We should go to the observatory,” Jayce insists. “Great view, great drinks. Romantic.”

Viktor snorts. “Hardly. It will be crowded, and you will spend the entire time trying to impress them with your very limited knowledge of astronomy.”

“I do know astronomy! I built a hextech telescope, Viktor.”

“Yes, and you spent two months unable to align it properly.”

Jayce groans. “Okay, genius, what’s your big idea?”

Viktor shrugs. “A quiet evening. Somewhere peaceful. Good conversation. Less chance of hearing you embarrass yourself.”

Jayce crosses his arms. “That’s boring.”

“It is thoughtful.”

They stare each other down. You sigh, finally snapping your notebook shut.

“You both want to take me on a date,” you interrupt. “That’s what this is about, right?”

They both freeze. Jayce opens his mouth, then closes it. Viktor clears his throat and pointedly avoids your gaze.

You exhale, rubbing your temples. “And instead of admitting it, you’re turning this into another competition?”

Silence.

Then, quietly: “Not another competition,” Viktor murmurs, “so much as a continuation of the previous one.”

Jayce gives him an incredulous look. “Sure.”

You shake your head, fighting back a laugh. “Alright. We’re all going out. Together. That’s the final decision.”

Viktor hums. “A… shared hypothesis?”

Jayce snorts. “More like a group project.”

You roll your eyes, standing. “You two are exhausting.”

Viktor smiles. Jayce slings an arm around your shoulder. And just like that, the date is set.

—

The night of the date, you make exactly one rule:

“No fighting.”

Jayce scoffs, tugging at his sleeves. “We don’t fight.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Oh? What, then, would you call it?”

“Passionate debating.”

You groan. “You are not proving my point.”

The night starts at a quiet little restaurant—one of Piltover’s hidden gems, tucked away from the usual bustling streets. Jayce, for once, doesn’t argue when Viktor suggests it. Viktor, for once, doesn’t critique Jayce’s drink order.

The first twenty minutes are suspiciously normal. You almost think they’re behaving.

Then Jayce starts cutting your steak for you with entirely too much enthusiasm.

“I can do it myself,” you say, amused.

“I know, but I have bigger hands.” He winks. “Efficiency.”

Viktor scoffs. “Yes, because size always equals skill.”

Jayce sets down the knife, giving him a look. “Did you just—”

You sigh, shaking your head. “And there it is.”

The bickering continues, but it’s… softer. Playful. They don’t really mean it, not this time.

It’s in the way Jayce leans in close when you talk, as if memorizing every word. It’s in the way Viktor keeps refilling your drink before you even notice it’s empty. It’s in the way they both sit just a little closer than they need to, shoulders brushing against yours like they can’t help it.

And it’s in the way they both glance at you when they think you aren’t looking, warmth in their eyes.

Eventually, after much negotiation (and one very dramatic sigh from Jayce), the night ends at a quiet overlook above the city.

The three of you sit together, the soft hum of Piltover’s streets below, the distant glow of hextech lights flickering like stars. Jayce sprawls out beside you, stretching his arms behind his head. Viktor leans against the railing, pensive but content.

“This worked out, huh?” Jayce says, glancing between you.

Viktor hums. “Surprisingly, yes.”

Jayce nudges your shoulder. “So. Did science win, or did I?”

You grin, leaning back. “I think the real winner is me.”

Viktor smirks. “A fair conclusion.”

Jayce groans, but he’s laughing. Viktor, for once, doesn’t argue.

You exhale, letting the night settle around you. Warmth on either side. Fingers brushing, just for a moment, before they both pretend not to notice.

This is good. This is right.

Jayce stretches again, then grins. “Alright, since we’re all on the same page, I vote we make this a regular thing.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Ah. So you are already planning the next experiment?”

“Duh.” Jayce winks at you. “Gotta keep collecting data.”

You laugh, leaning into both of them. “Fine. But next time, I pick the place.”

Viktor chuckles. Jayce grins.

And for once, neither of them argue.

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter IX

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.129 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

Y'all I am so sorry for taking this long to update, my whole entire family is in my house at the moment and they are all insufferable, pls send help. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You try to swallow your embarrassment along with your pride, hands still resting firmly against your brother's shoulder, but it's to no avail.

He doesn't budge, and neither does the shame.

Kareem is between you still, but you can't even look at him. – Leave. – He repeats. – You are a guest, not the owner. If you want to take up something with an employee you can do it in your own time.

He stutters, scoffing out a laugh as if he was being victimized. – She is my fucking sister, dude you don—

Kareem cuts in: – It still wouldn't matter to me if she was your wife. – His voice is ice, and he stands just as still as a glacier. – This isn't the time or place for you to come here shouting. So please. Leave before I make you.

– Excuse me?!

– You heard him, John. – He does another double take at your tone. – Please. This is my job now. You know just as well as I do how much we need this. Don’t make a scene right now.

– You have a lot of nerve.

– And you have a girlfriend and her whole family out there not to blow it all for. So leave! Make a good impression. I’ll make sure to give you the time to humiliate me when the paycheck comes.

You don’t give him the time to respond.

Like the whiny teenager he probably thinks you are, you shove him out the door and barely refrain from slamming it. Standing, face buried in your hands, back pressed against the door, in front of your new boss.

So much for good impressions.

– You’re the people-reader. – Kareem hums. – But I was right. He is a piece of—

– Please. – He makes no effort to hide his distaste as you raise a hand. – Look, I’m really really sorry about this, you can’t even imagine. – You take a deep breath, knowing you’ll be hearing about this forever. – You know how family is. John’s just— The words hang in your throat. – been very in his head since dad.

You don’t have to finish the sentence. Kareem gets the memo as he watches you flitter towards the oven to check on the pie, and he watches you move before walking behind you silently, leaning against the counter with his brows raised. – I get it. – He hums, crossing his arms over his chest. – But Routledge, you said it yourself, you need this job. Don’t let your family, your boyfriend, your best friend, your fucking parakeet, whatever, blow this for you. Believe me, the Camerons won’t appreciate your family drama. They’re complicated enough as they are. Don’t give them a reason to fire you.

You swallow, nodding. – I won’t. I promise.

– This isn’t on you, Routledge. This— He gestures exaggeratedly towards the kitchen. – Keeping this? it’s on the people around you, it's on them not to be around. Best thing for you, it’s to keep them away.

Funny. Even when things aren't your responsibility, somehow, you still have to be the one doing the work.

– Yes, chef. – Your shoulders feel heavier now, but you look straight at Kareem, the way a mature adult is supposed to do. – I won’t fuck this up. For either of us. Scout's honor.

– I know you won’t.

– Cause you’ll beat my ass otherwise?

– Damn right.

– Let me get this pie out of here before we come to blows, then.

He only laughs, clapping a hand over your back softly as you take the gloves from its handles and open the oven door.

The pie is apparently perfect, the sickly sweet scent of peach and syrup wafting through the perfectly savory golden crust. Your mouth waters as you set it down on the counter.

The smell takes you back. You didn’t make the connection when Rafe mentioned the pie, but John was right. This was your father’s favorite thing. The only thing you and him could do together. A pie for thanksgiving, one for his birthday, one for John’s birthday.

It had been your only marker of a decent day a long time ago.

And today it almost cost you your job. – I’ll take that there for you, if you want.

You’re almost startled, so deep in thought you barely realized Kareem was there, his gloved hands extended and ready even as a cautious look gleams in his eye.

– It’s fine, Kareem. – You laugh. – I know you don’t want to.

– Damn right I don’t want to. But that’s what partners are for. – He helps you remove the desert from the pan and set it on the dish. – We average each other’s misery.

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. – You think I’m miserable?

– With a brother like that, it would be a wonder if you weren’t. – You raise your brows at him, and he raises his glove-clad hands in response. – Hey, I’m just saying. Keep him away.

– You’re forgetting the part where he’s Sarah’s boyfriend.

– Holy shit, that's right. That piece of sh— He stops himself short at the face you make. – I'm sorry. I just can’t believe your bad luck.

– Wow, Kareem. That’s really sweet of you.

He frowns:

– Yeah, I'm sorry. That wasn't nice. – You set the pie down with a flourish, watching as the golden crust gleams under the kitchen lights. Kareem eyes it like it’s a ticking time bomb. – C’mon, let me take that there for you, – He offers, already reaching for it.

You snatch it back, scandalized. – Absolutely not. I don't want you to think I have no dignity.

He laughs.

– Dignity? That’s cute. You do realize he’s still there, right?

– I’m well aware.

– And you're also aware that he clearly is an idiot?

His shit-talking is starting to irritate you. – You talk an awful lot of crap for someone who has known him for twenty seconds.

– Look, Routledge, I've been nineteen before. 20 year old guys are types. And your brother is the entitled-freeloader-type, the man-child type. That little temper tantrum? They don’t grow out of that. Most of the time, they actually grow into it.

Well, there goes half your social circle.

– And you say you don't read people.

– People. – He stresses. – Assholes are another thing entirely.

– Okay. You’re gonna have to watch it. – You don’t know where the defensiveness came from. John and you weren't the “don't talk about my family” types. In fact, you were sure that, lately, John's favorite hobby was talking shit about you. So you breathe in deep and take the pie, ready to end this thought before it takes root. – I'm taking the pie and when I'm back we can both talk shit about someone else, together.

Kareem pinches the bridge of his nose. – Fine. But when he inevitably makes some smart-ass comment to embarass you, I want you to remember that you did this to yourself.

– Noted.

He gestures to the door with a grand sweep of his hand, and pulls it open. – Go on then, noble knight. Face thy dragons.

You scoff, chuckling as you balance the plate like a prized trophy. – You're a peach.

– So I keep hearing.

You step out and the door quietly clicks into place behind you. The hall is quiet, you barely hear murmurs from the dining room. But you catch your brother’s eye from the crack in the door, and he averts his gaze immediately, almost groaning as you step into the room.

– There you are. – Ward’s voice is a hum: monotone and content. – If you’d taken any longer, Rafe would have started a riot.

– Well, the peace corps have arrived.

Ward laughs, but Rose is not impressed. – Too bad she doesn’t get paid extra to be a comedian.

You can hear her husband begin to speak as you put the pie down, but it’s Rafe who cuts in, his hand on your arm, yet his eyes set on his stepmother: – Don't listen to her, newbie. Rose's just bitter cause she can't cook for shit.

Her scoff is like the swish of a blade, you almost feel the need to recoil.

– I don't need to cook, Rafe. I work. – You don't miss the venom that splatters on you, but where your mouth remains shut, Rafe's is twisted into a smile:

– Oh, you work, huh?

– Yes. I don't understand your tone.

– John B knows something about that kind of work too, don’t you John B? Freeloading off someone who actually makes their money by working.

It's Ward who cuts in then: – Rafe! Don’t get into this now. Is it so much to ask that we have one dinner in peace?

– He started it.

– Don't be childish, Rose. It doesn't become you. – He looks at you, nodding, almost relieved, as you take his plate. – Thank you, miss Routledge. That looks great.

– Yeah. Do me next, newbie.

– Can you fucking stop it?! – Your brother's voice cuts through the room. Even Sarah looks taken aback. – These innuendoes, this stupid shit you’re doing, it’s not funny Rafe!

– We don’t curse at this table, John.

– It was Rafe! He's the one—

– My son just asked for a piece of dessert. I understand you are protective of your sister, but he didn't mean anything by it.

Rafe laughs, the only person at the table that does so. And he squeezes your arm in his hand as he hands over the plate. – Does your brother always get so worked up when he sees someone working, or does he just extend that courtesy to you?

– Rafe! – Ward shouts, but his son ignores it.

You turn to take the plate from Rafe’s hand, ignoring the way his fingers linger against yours. His grin is lazy, almost triumphant, like he’s already won some invisible battle.

John is seething. You can feel it radiating off of him, the white-knuckle grip around his fork. Sarah tries to talk to him, the soft murmurs of her voice reaching your ears even as the words evade you, but your brother doesn’t seem to listen.

You clear your throat, ignoring the tension as you look back at Rafe. – How do you want the slice?

His eyes flick to yours, slow and deliberate. – I don't know. – He chuckles. – But I bet you like it with a lot of filling, don't you?

He licks a crumb off his hand, eyes locked onto yours.

John slams his hands on the table. – Are you fucking kidding me?!

– Language, – Ward warns.

Rafe tilts his head, expression all mock confusion. – What’s the issue, Johnny Boy? Can’t a guy appreciate a good pie?

– You’re disgusting, Rafe! – John spits, pushing back his chair. – You don’t even pretend to hide it anymore, do you?

Rafe just laughs, dragging his fork through the pie like he’s got all the time in the world. – I have no idea what you’re talking about. – He pops a bite into his mouth, chewing exaggeratedly. – Damn, newbie. You did put a lot of filling in this. Real sweet, too.

That's it.

John lunges.

The chair screeches, his fist flying toward Rafe’s face—but Rafe’s faster. He ducks back, chair tipping precariously before he catches himself on you.

You pull him towards the wall before John can near you, his back against your chest, your back against the concrete, heart hammering in your chest.

– Jesus, John B! – Sarah hisses, her hands gripping his shirt, his arms, his hands. But it's fruitless, like trying to put a leash of a bull.

Ward stands in a startle, pinching the bridge of his nose. – Sit down, John.

Your brother doesn’t move, chest heaving. He’s vibrating with rage, fists still clenched at his sides.

Rafe just grins. Smug. Pleased. You can feel the chuckle he lets out vibrating through his skin as your hand remains on his shoulders.

– You’ve got a nasty temper, huh? – He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, as if the whole scene was just a mild inconvenience, and then looks at you. – Jesus. Look at what you did, John B.

His eyes are wide, his voice is soft. You’re still holding him when he reaches for you, and yet you still flinch when his hand nears your face.

– I'm— Your breath is caught. – I should go back. Clean up.

Rafe catches your arm. – Hey. Hey, it's okay. He's leaving. Right, John B? Why don't you get your unemployed ass down to the Cut, huh? I bet someone could use you to mow their lawn. Or maybe that’s too complicated for you.

John lunges again, and this time it takes both you and Sarah to shove him back.

– Get off me!

– That’s enough, – Ward finally snaps, voice just sharp enough to cut through the chaos. His gaze levels on John. – You don’t raise a hand in my house. Do you understand me?

Your brother glares at Rafe, still breathing hard. – He started it.

Ward sighs, exasperated. – He was eating dessert.

– Oh, come on, – Sarah mutters. – Dad, you don’t even believe that.

Ward’s eyes remain on his daughter for a moment, but just as he opens his mouth, Rafe keeps firing:

– Yeah, John B. Chill out. We’re just having some family bonding time. I know you don't get a lot of that. What with the way you treat your sister, I doubt she wants to spend any time with you at all.

John’s fist connects with a sickening crack.

Rafe’s head snaps to the side, his weight falling back on you before you latch onto the edge of the table. For a second, there’s only silence. The scrape of the chair legs. The sharp inhale from someone—maybe Sarah.

And then you move.

Your body reacts before your mind catches up. You reach for Rafe, clinging to his arm, hands skimming his face, his shoulder, searching for the damage.

You don’t know when your heart started racing, but you feel your ribcage ache with the speed.

– Rafe! – You breathe. Your pulse is buzzing in your ears, shaking within you. You feel like you might break apart.

He doesn’t answer right away as you hold him, steadying him. He just blinks, dazed, the emotions flitting through his face like a carousel: Confusion at first, then anger, and then something softer, something pleased. A slow smirk curls on his lips. But there’s blood—on his mouth, at the corner of his lip, smeared across his chin.

– Shit, – you whisper. – Jesus Christ. – He exhales through his nose, wincing as you press your fingers to the swelling. – I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

– What are you sorry about? – You don't register the laugh. The way his body relaxes as you touch him, how he leans into the pain instead of away from it.

You just see the blood on his lip.

The noise rushes around you like a vortex, you can’t even pay attention. All you see is Rafe, his eyes blown out just as they were that day at Barry's, and your hands shake as if the life was leaving him all over again.

– Just—just let me see, – You murmur, tilting his face toward you. – I'm sorry, Rafe. God, I'm so sorry.

– It's not your fault, baby. – He whispers, barely a hum.

John’s still there. Still heaving, fists clenched at his sides. But you barely notice him now. Your world has narrowed to the warmth of Rafe’s skin beneath your hands, the way he lets you touch him without protest. It isn’t the moment for you to ponder on how easy it is to die, but you feel your back pressing against the back of the chair Rafe would’ve fallen onto if you hadn’t caught him, and suddenly he feels like a newborn puppy. All soft, thin skin and whiny whimpers, something so delicate the world around him feels like a deathtrap.

You tighten your hold on him.

– Are you kidding me? – John’s voice is raw. Furious. It feels like he’s screaming at you from above. Like you and Rafe are sitting at the bottom of a river, the sound so muffled you barely realize its there. Your hands feel heavy as they move over his skin. – Him? You’re worried about him?

You don’t look up.

Your eyes are set on the blood at the corner of Rafe’s lips. It’s on your hands now, but it isn’t warm anymore. You don’t know why that thought scares you.

You can’t look away.

But Rafe does.

Even with blood on his lip, he’s still grinning, slow and smug.

– Aww, come on, Johnny Boy, – He drawls. His voice is rough, but not from pain. From something else. Something satisfied. – There’s no need to be jealous. She might like me better than you, but then again, that’s not very hard, is it?

John moves again, but Ward steps in this time. His voice is low, final. – Get out.

– Mr. Cameron I—

– You nothing, boy. You’re not gonna come into my house and be violent and disrespectful. I don’t tolerate that kind of behaviour here. Get out.

John doesn’t move. Not right away. His eyes flicker to you again, searching. Maybe he’s waiting for you to tell him something—anything—that will make this okay.

But you’re still touching Rafe.

His pulse thunders under your hands. You try to focus on that, pull yourself away from your thoughts. But you can’t. You’re still hovering over him, checking the cut on his lip, fingers light against his jaw.

His bones feel like glass beneath your touch.

John lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head before turning away. Sarah is the one to pull him back, her voice soft as she mutters something under her breath. The front door slams behind them a moment later.

But the sound takes none of the tension from the room.

You sit in the silence, Rafe’s pulse under your hands.

One, two. One, two. One, two.

Ward sighs.

– Rafe? Son, are you okay?

Rafe doesn’t acknowledge him.

Because he’s looking at you.

His eyes are hooded, his smirk lazy. You try to pull back, but his hand wraps around your wrist, keeping you close.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t whine, doesn’t groan.

Just sits there.

And smiles.

– I'll— I’m gonna go get some ice for you. – You’re shaking. You barely catch a stumble on your step as you sit Rafe down and rush to the kitchen. – Kareem. – You call him once, twice, a third time, but he doesn’t answer. The back door is ajar. His things are still on the table.

You shouldn’t be worrying about him.

So you turn. Your feet move before you mind does, and you’re rushing to the walk-in refrigerator.

Your fingers fumble as you wrap the ice cubes in a washcloth, pressing them together too tightly, the cold seeping through the thin fabric and stinging your skin. Your pulse is still thrumming too fast, rattling in your ribs, your breath unsteady as you step out of the kitchen.

And then you see him.

You almost jump back.

Rafe is waiting just outside the doorway, leaning lazily against the wall, his head tilted slightly, that ever-present smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. There’s a dazed look in his eyes, something distant, like he’s not all the way there. His lip is split, swollen, a smear of red still clinging to the corner, but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, he looks amused.

He exhales a short laugh, running his tongue along his teeth like he’s testing for more damage.

– Gotta give it to him. Your brother might be a bitch, but he's got a hell of a right hook.

You don’t laugh. Your stomach twists as he steps closer and leans against the shelf before you, that same strange look in his eye. Your grip tightens around the washcloth. – Rafe—

– Relax, baby, – he drawls, his voice softer now, slower. His hands bracket your arms, your skin is buzzing, like someone turned a light switch in you. – You look like you’re the one who just got hit.

You frown, shake your head. You can’t stop shaking it. – I’m fine. – Rafe laughs. He’s not acting right. He’s too relaxed, too loose, and there’s something almost sweet about the way he’s looking at you, like the punch knocked a different side of him loose.

– You might have a concussion, – you mutter, reaching out before you can stop yourself. He leans into your touch, holding onto your wrist as your fingers brush his forehead. – C'mon, let’s— let's sit you down.

He doesn’t fight you as you guide him toward the counter, settling him onto the cool surface. He’s still watching you, his head tilting slightly, studying you like he can’t quite figure you out. His hands twitch at his sides, restless, like he’s not sure what to do with them.

– You’re frowning. – He chuckles, like it's funny, and presses a finger between your brows. – You look really cute when you’re worried.

You push his hand away, the words flying over your head.

– This is gonna sting a little. – You step between his knees, pressing the ice against his lip, and he hisses softly at the cold. – I'm sorry.

– You said that already. – Rafe exhales, the sound more like a laugh than a groan. – I'll forgive you if you kiss it better.

You glare at him, but it’s weak. He grins anyway, his hands coming up, slow and unhurried, fingers trailing absently down your arms. It’s light, barely there, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

– You’re shaking, – he murmurs.

– The freezer. – you hum. – It's cold.

– Mm. – His fingers drift to your shoulders, then to the ends of your hair, twisting a lock between his fingers. He eyes it intently, pressing the strands between the pads of his fingers as if trying to assess whether or not they are real. – Dunno. Feels like something else is making you nervous.

You swallow hard, refusing to look at him, focusing on the ice pressed against his skin. You can feel the warmth of him, the way his legs bracket yours loosely, the way he just lets you tend to him.

It feels too much. Too something.

You have to stop yourself from backing away.

He exhales again, this time slower, his breath warm against your wrist. – You always this nice when a guy you like gets hurt?

You don’t answer. You just press the ice against his lip a little harder.

He hisses again, but when you pull the washcloth away, his lips part slightly, tongue flicking out to chase the cold. His eyes search yours, heavy-lidded.

Then, softly, almost teasing:

– You sure you don’t wanna kiss it better?

Rafe hums, low in his throat, his fingers still lazily playing with the ends of your hair. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up, his grin widening just slightly. – Still hurts, y'know? – He murmurs, tilting his head, exaggerating the movement like he’s testing the ache. – You really gonna leave me like this?

– You're gonna be okay.

– Dunno. – His hands drift, tracing up your arms again, then down, smoothing over your shoulders like he’s trying to work something out of his system. – I feel like I’m aching everywhere, baby.

He shifts slightly on the counter, his knees brushing against your hips, the warmth of his skin burning through your clothes. His voice is quieter now, softer, coaxing. – C’mon. Help me out here.

You shake your head. – You’re beat up, Rafe. You aren't making any sense.

– I’m not making sense? – His laugh is breathy, and his hands tighten briefly on your shoulders, fingers pressing lightly into your skin. – You’re the one standing between my legs with your hands all over me. Feels like you wanna help.

You don’t dignify that with a response.

But his gaze doesn’t waver. He tilts his head again, mouth curving into something dangerously close to a pout. – It really hurts, you know. Really hurts.

You sigh, hands itching to press onto his mouth and shut him up.

He's like a child. He pulls you around and he backs you into a corner, then his eyes widen, his lips pout, and you just have to do what he wants. – Please? – He whispers. Batting his eyes and tilting his head to the side just like your mother often did when she wanted something, from your dad, from her boss, from that guy at the drugstore she was always talking to.

It didn’t matter.

She always got what she wanted.

And so did Rafe.

You find yourself looking at the door as he pleads again, sliding a little closer until he can press your hips between his legs.

So you do.

Before he can say anything else, you lean in and press a peck to his lips—so small, so fleeting, you barely feel it. But you do feel the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers tighten against your shoulders, the way his whole body seems to go still, just for a second.

His mouth parts slightly as you pull away, and then he lets out a slow, pleased exhale, his voice low, almost smug.

– Forgot how good you kiss. – His grip shifts, hands sliding up the curve of your shoulders again, thumbs pressing into the dip of your collarbones. He’s already leaning back in, already chasing another taste, and his voice dips into something softer, something almost desperate. – Just one more.

But before he can close the distance, you press your hand to his chest, stopping him. It’s not forceful—not a shove, not a hard rejection. Just a quiet barrier, a gentle push.

He doesn’t move back right away. His lips part, his brows furrowing, like he wants to argue. Like he wants to beg.

But then—

– Rafe.

The voice cuts through the thick air between you like a knife, sharp and immediate.

Rafe’s shoulders go tense beneath your palms.

Your hand drops as he exhales slowly, his entire body stiffening, his easy smile fading into something angry. – What do you want?

Ward Cameron steps further into the kitchen, his presence like a cold gust of air. You straighten a little, keeping your eyes to the ice. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes flick between you and Rafe before settling on his son.

He doesn’t waste time. Doesn’t soften his tone.

– You were reckless.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head. – Oh, here we go.

– You knew exactly what you were doing, – Ward continues, ignoring him. – That mockery at the table was cruel, Rafe. The things you said, I'm surprised she didn't punch you.

Rafe rolls his eyes. – Oh, please—

– Don’t interrupt me, boy.

You felt like you were twelve again.

You might not know the man, but you knew that tone. — It was your father’s go-to, when he wanted you to feel guilty, or inadequate, or whenever he got bored of pretending you weren’t there.

For a second, Rafe almost looks like he might listen. His jaw tightens, and his hand clenches into a fist against the counter, but he doesn’t speak.

Suddenly you wish you could hold him.

Ward crosses his arms, his jaw clenched. – You know damn right you wouldn’t like it if someone spoke about your sisters that way.

Rafe lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. – Yeah, well, I’d never be as much of a cunt as John B is, so we don’t have to worry about that.

Ward’s expression hardens. – Watch your mouth around me, Rafe! I'm not one of your little friends!

– He’s right. – Both men turn toward you, surprised. – Rafe’s right.

You wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if you didn’t say anything, but you’re regretting that instinct even as your eyes meet the floor.

You shift slightly, exhaling through your nose.

You don’t resent your brother. You know what he was trying to do—protect you, in his own stupid, thoughtless way. But the problem with John has never been his heart. It’s always been his temper.

– John doesn’t know when to stop, – you say. – I know he was trying to look out for me, but that’s just it—he doesn’t know when to stop. If I don't walk away when we fight, eventually he just— Your voice dies in your throat. The bruise around your arm throbbing. – It's just like dad all over again.

Rafe doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, watching, waiting. Then he turns to his father. – I told you so.

Every last bit of calm on Ward's face vanishes:

– Every time I think you’re getting better… – He scoffs. – She’s not shifting the blame, Rafe. You were wrong, and you know that.

Rafe makes a quiet, irritated sound. – Can you spend a second talking without making me the bad guy?! The guy is an asshole, dad. He treats his sister like crap, how do you think he's gonna treat his girlfriend?!

You swallow hard, whispering. – Rafe.

He doesn’t listen. – I mean, look at what this piece of shit did now! You wouldn’t imagine he— He grabs your arm, pulling up the sleeve on your left arm. – grabs like a fucking—

– Please!

You don’t know what to do. You grab his hand, you're still holding onto it as you focus on your breathing, trying not to cry.

Rafe stops.

His shoulders shift, almost sinking into himself.

He’s standing frozen before you as if you’d just slapped him, his eyes wide again.

You don’t have to say it twice.

He lowers his head, and quietens his tone, squeezing your hand in his as he whispers – I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. That was shitty. I shouldn’t have done that.

The words lingers between you, his father suddenly silent, almost stunned.

– It’s okay. – His hand clutches yours tighter. He almost seems guilty. You pull the sleeve back down. – John does have a temper, but this was a mistake. He’d never hit me, even though he hates me right now. And he’d never hit Sarah either. Never.

You turn, unsure of what else to say, and your eyes fall back on Ward. The shock on his face is not hard to miss, barely a raise of a brow as his lips part open for a moment, he steps closer, placing a hand on his son's shoulder before he can give away anything else. But you catch it. That sudden shock on his face. – Go to bed, Rafe.

The boy’s tone is softer, but no less annoyed: – Dad,

Ward looks at you for a moment, then looks back at Rafe, almost cautious, as if he’s trying something out. – Please, – You feel Rafe’s grip on your hand tighten, and loosen again.

– You should rest. – Your voice is sweet, you know that. It's a low blow. But the shock on Mr. Cameron’s face stirs a question up in you. You’re not exactly sure of what that is, but there’s something there you need to probe.

And though Rafe hardens for a split second, you feel some tension leave him along with a breath as his eyes meet yours. His expression softens, his jaw unclenches, but he looks like a kid who's just been told off, all unkempt anger and barely restrained complaints.

So you keep going. – I'm gonna get you some painkillers. – You brush your fingers over his hand, soft, quick, thoughtless, but he chases that touch as you move away to get him some water and the naproxen in your purse. You can feel him watching you as you fill a glass with water, and when you put your purse next to him, he starts looking at it, playing with the clasps and toying with your keychains. – Here. You should close your blinds, and have some tea. I can bring it up to you.

He breathes, laughs. The stress in his face turning into something like amusement.

He lays your purse on his lap, patiently taking the pill and the water. His eyes still cling to you as his throat bobs, draining the cup as quickly as possible.

He seems so much calmer as he hands the cup back to you.

It worked. – Thanks, newbie. – He hums, with half a smile on his face, almost resigned. – I hate tea, though. File that for later.

– Filed. – You nod. – Do you need anything else?

– Yeah. – You're glad to hear him laugh, lighter now, with ease. – For you to quit doing those puppy dog eyes at me. It's breaking my heart.

You take back your hands, putting them over your eyes. Rafe chuckles, and you can see the smile even with your eyes closed— Sweet, soft— It's even sweeter when your hands fall back beside you again. – Better now?

– Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow?

– Eight AM on the dot, just like my boss told me to.

– That’s a good girl. – He hums, and stands, his eyes darker, his smile wider as he stands barely an inch away from you, and then moves again. – Night, newbie.

– Sleep well, Rafe.

The last you hear of him is a hum, something between a chuckle and a sigh, as he walks out of the kitchen, ignoring his father entirely.

Ward exhales slowly, his fingers smoothing over the cuffs of his sleeves. His gaze lingers on the door Rafe just walked through, his expression unreadable.

Then, suddenly, his eyes flick over to you.

You stiffen, instinctively straightening your posture. Your hands twitch at your sides, unsure whether you should be standing at attention or making yourself small.

– I’m really sorry about all of this, – You blurt out, voice steady despite the tension. – I didn’t mean for any of it to—

Ward lifts a hand, cutting you off mid-sentence.

– I don’t need your apology, – He says simply. – I need professionalism.

You nod quickly. – Yes, sir.

His lips press together, but not in disapproval. If anything, he seems almost pleased. Not overtly—nothing as obvious as a smile—but in the way his eyes narrow just slightly, as if filing your response away somewhere important.

He studies you for a long moment before speaking again.

– You handled that well, you know, given the situation.

You don’t know if that’s meant to be a compliment. You don’t know if you want it to be.

You're not sure you agree either, as the remnants of a racing pulse are still running slower under your skin.

– Thank you, sir.

– I have an older brother. – He says, almost like an afterthought. – He treats me just like that, like I'm the problem, as if I'm not the one who works. I know I wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face if I showed up to my place of work and he was there. Most people would have let their emotions get the better of them. Especially with Rafe.

You tilt your head without realizing, but you nod, and even if half-unconsciously, he keeps going.

– He gets that from his mother. Nothing in this world pleases him more than getting under people's skin. – Ward’s gaze flicks to the washcloth still clutched in your hands, the ice inside melting slowly, dripping down your wrist. His head tilts slightly, considering. – He didn't get under your skin, though. I thought you would punch him, with everything he kept throwing at you. But you de-escalated him at every turn.

– That's my job.

He hums, and you can see him file that response somewhere in his mind.

– How old are you?

The question throws you for a second, but you don’t let it show.

– I'll be eighteen in a couple of weeks, sir.

His brows raise slightly. Not in surprise—more like interest. Like he wasn’t expecting that answer, but it fits into whatever equation he’s solving in his head.

– You worked at The Wreck before this?

– Yes, sir.

– For how long?

– Three and a half years.

He makes a quiet noise in his throat, almost amused. – Started young, then. – You nod. – And what did you do there?

– I was a roast chef.

His lips twitch, like he’s waiting for something more. – A good one?

You hesitate, but not for long. – Yes.

That earns a small nod from him, his gaze flickering over you like he’s weighing something, testing something.

He watches you a second longer, then exhales, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. There’s a sense of finality in the movement, but it's not dismissal. It's not exactly approval either, but he seems pleased, the way a child is pleased when they figure out their homework.

– You can leave after you clean up. – He says. – I’ll see you tomorrow.

It’s not a compliment, but it feels like it. The fact that there is work tomorrow after such a giant crisis is the greatest reassurance you can receive.

And as he walks away, you realize that Ward Cameron isn’t just assessing you.

He’s pleased with what he sees.

The relief sinks into you like a carbon tablet, and it fizzles out slowly as you go through the motions, cleaning, putting away and writing down the rough draft for tomorrow’s breakfast. Halfway through 8 PM you realize that Kareem won’t return, so you follow Ward’s orders, and gather your things to leave.

The night air is thick and warm as you step outside, the damp heat of the island settling against your skin as you clutch your purse to your side. The driveway stretches long and empty before you, the distant glow of the streetlights barely cutting through the dark.

You exhale, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. Walk or call someone? Neither option seems particularly appealing at the moment. Walking means at least forty minutes alone in the sticky night air, but calling someone—JJ, since he’s your only option now—means answering questions you don’t have the energy for.

You’re still mulling over your options when you hear it.

Footsteps behind you.

You turn, and there he is.

Ward Cameron stands in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the dim light spilling from the house. His posture is relaxed, but his gaze is focused—zeroed in on you with that same unreadable expression.

There’s something familiar about it. Something you’ve seen before.

On Rafe.

That realization sits uneasily in your stomach, but you push it down, straightening as he steps closer.

– You’re not driving? – he asks, voice smooth. Casual.

You shake your head. – I don’t have a car.

He hums, as if he already knew that.

– How were you planning to get home?

You hesitate. – God gave me legs, figured I should use them.

His gaze flicks toward the road, the dark stretch of asphalt cutting through the island. His lips press together, but this time, in something closer to disapproval.

– I’ll drive you, – he says simply.

It’s not a question.

– Oh— You shake your head quickly, forcing a polite smile. – That’s really not necessary, sir. I can—

– I insist.

You swallow. – I don’t want to be any trouble.

His head tilts slightly, studying you. Then he exhales, slow and measured, as if he’s amused by your reluctance.

– You think it’s trouble to drive one of my employees home?

You don’t know how to answer that without making it worse.

His eyes flicker, something sharp and knowing flashing behind them. – It’s late, – he says, like that alone settles the matter. – And I’d rather not hear about something happening to you on your way home.

The words are simple, but the weight behind them isn’t. It’s not concern. Not exactly. It’s something else—something quieter, something calculated.

Something distinctly Cameron.

He doesn’t give you another chance to argue. He just gestures toward the car, expectant, almost commanding.

You hesitate for half a second longer, then nod.

Because really, what else can you do?

You slip into the passenger seat as he slides behind the wheel, the doors shutting with a quiet finality.

The engine purrs to life, and as Ward pulls out of the driveway, the silence between you settles thick.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. His grip is firm on the steering wheel, his posture at ease. But his gaze—steady, focused—flicks toward you briefly, that same unreadable look lingering.

The same look Rafe always has.

You exhale slowly, shifting your gaze out the window.

The drive stretches ahead, the road dark and winding.

And you’re not quite sure where you stand anymore.

The low hum of the car engine fills the silence between you, steady and rhythmic. The road stretches dark and empty ahead, the occasional flicker of streetlights casting brief shadows across Ward’s face.

You keep your gaze out the window, watching the shapes blur past, but you can feel his attention shift. The weight of his gaze settling on you, sharp and deliberate.

– You seem to know Rafe well.

It’s not quite a question.

Your fingers twitch in your lap.

– I— You hesitate, just for a second. – I wouldn’t say well.

Ward hums like he’s considering that. Like he doesn’t quite believe you.

– So how did you two meet?

You knew this was coming.

Your pulse ticks up, but you keep your face even, your voice smooth. Lies are easier to tell when they aren’t really lies. When they’re just stretched-out versions of the truth.

You inhale, carefully measured. – We were supposed to go to a party together. – Ward doesn’t react. Just keeps driving, keeps listening. – But he got sick, – you continue. – I stayed with him and drove him home.

A pause.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. His expression hasn’t changed much, but there’s something—something—about the way he exhales through his nose.

Like he’s remembering something.

– And when was that? – he asks, almost casually.

You swallow. – A couple days ago.

Ward laughs. But it’s not really a laugh. More of a sharp exhale, dry and humorless.

– That makes sense.

You stiffen slightly. – What do you mean?

Ward doesn’t answer right away. He turns onto a quieter stretch of road, the car gliding smoothly through the empty streets. His grip on the steering wheel is loose, relaxed, but his voice is steady when he speaks again.

– I’ve been wondering what’s gotten into him these past few days, – he says, almost like he’s thinking aloud. – He’s been… different.

Different.

You don’t know what to make of that.

– He’s always been agitated, – Ward continues, his tone even. – But lately, it’s like he’s been looking for something. Distracted. He's at home a lot more than he used to be.

His eyes flick to you, sharp and searching.

You keep your face carefully neutral. – I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir.

Ward hums again, low and thoughtful.

– No, – He says. – I suppose you wouldn’t.

But the way he says it makes you think he’s not entirely convinced.

The silence stretches again, thicker this time.

And you get the unsettling sense that Ward Cameron is still putting something together.

Ward doesn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it isn’t easy either. It stretches between you, thick and heavy, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll break it first.

You don’t.

His fingers drum against the steering wheel once. Twice. Then—

– He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?

The question is casual, but the way he asks it isn’t. His voice is light, but his gaze flickers to you, sharp and waiting.

You shake your head. – No, sir.

Ward exhales through his nose. He doesn’t look convinced.

– Rafe can be a handful, – he muses, like he’s not really talking to you, more to himself. – Always has been. He was a good kid, though. Smart.

The words are nostalgic, almost distant, but there’s an undercurrent of something else there. Something measured.

– Still is, – you offer carefully.

Ward huffs out a small, dry laugh. – You think so?

You hesitate. – I think so, sir. – You swallow, all the recent interactions reeling through your mind like a movie. – I'd say he's a people person, though. Read me like a book. My brother too. – He looks at you as you look away. – They did know each other for longer, but, it's like he knows him in his marrow.

– Mm. – He watches the road for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then— You said this was a couple days ago?

Your stomach twists, but you keep your voice steady. – Yes, sir.

Ward nods, slow and thoughtful. His knuckles tighten just slightly around the wheel. – That would explain the missing motorcycle.

You still.

He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the weight of his words. The way they settle in the space between you, thick with meaning.

You don’t know what to say. What answer he’s looking for.

Ward exhales, shaking his head slightly. – Doesn’t matter, – He says. – I’m sure it’ll turn up.

Your fingers curl in your lap.

The street lights flicker past, the golden glow casting fleeting shadows across his face. He’s still thinking—you can see it, the way his jaw shifts slightly, the way his fingers tap absently against the leather of the steering wheel.

Then, finally, he speaks again.

– Rafe doesn’t take to people quickly, – He says, almost musing. – Never has.

There’s something off about the way he says it. Like it’s not a compliment.

You keep your voice neutral. – I wouldn’t know, sir.

Another hum. Another glance in your direction.

– But you’re here.

You swallow. – I needed the job.

Ward nods slowly, like he’s filing that response away. – Smart girl.

The words settle in your chest, heavier than they should, and you don’t quite know what to make of them. The car stops. You're in front of your house, you realize, and he’s still looking at you. – Aren’t you gonna thank me for the ride?

He chuckles, lightly, and you have to force yourself to smile back. – Thank you for the ride, Mr. Cameron.

– I'll see you soon.

– You bet. – The door doesn't open when you reach for it, you move two other times before you look back at him.

Ward is sitting still.

Watching.

Waiting.

Then as if it was nothing, he smiles again, laughs, and unlocks the door. – Sleep well, Routledge.

You do your best to maintain your smile.

– Thank you, sir.

You step out of the car, your pulse a dull, an erratic thrum in your throat. The weight of Ward’s gaze lingers long after his car disappears down the street, swallowed by the dark.

You exhale, rolling your shoulders, trying to shake off the unease.

And then you see it, right there, bathed in shadow, almost invisible as it leans againt the tree: yellow and red metal.

Rafe’s bike.

The porch light flickers against the metal frame, casting long shadows across the muddy driveway. The sight of it turns your stomach to ice.

What the hell is he doing here?

You don’t think—you just move.

The door creaks as you push inside, the house bathed in stretching darkness. The kitchen window lets in a sliver of moonlight, cutting across the counter in a thin silver line. The furniture sits in silhouette, familiar shapes swallowed by shadows. It feels empty—like the air itself is holding its breath.

You look over your shoulder at John's door.

The only glow in the house seeps from the cracks beneath it, a warm, flickering light bleeding into the hall. His voice is a low murmur, sharp and frustrated, barely intelligible from behind the thick wooden door, tangled with Sarah’s. The words are indistinct, but you can hear the tension, the way it scrapes against the walls.

Your stomach tightens.

If Rafe is here, he’s not with them.

Which means—

Your grip tightens around the strap of your bag as you take careful steps toward your room. The ground creaking beneath you, that sound sets your nerves alight.

You push open your bedroom door. The air inside is still. Undisturbed.

The thought barely forms before you turn toward your dresser and freeze.

There’s someone sitting on your bed, but it isn’t Rafe.

Your eyes drag over the cut on the jeans, caked with dry blood. The heavy boots, still powdered by dirt, the black wife beater.

Your stomach drops.

Barry.

He’s barely visible in the dim light, his posture relaxed but… off. One arm draped over his knee, the other flicking something between his fingers. Your lighter.

His gaze flicks to yours, cautious, almost nervous.

– Hey, sweetheart. – He says quietly, his voice is thick, slow, like he’s thinking too much about every word.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He flips the lighter open with a click, the flame briefly illuminating his face before he snaps it shut again. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t grin. He just watches you.

– I— He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. – I know I shouldn’t be here.

You don’t move as he stands, nearing you. His face shifts, almost hurt.

He clears his throat, tapping the lighter against his palm. – Door was unlocked.

You swallow hard.

His eyes flick over you, searching, like he’s trying to gauge whether or not you’re going to kick him out. He shifts slightly, closer than he was before, expectant, uncomfortable.

Then, voice quieter—almost hesitant—

– Can we talk?

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @myluvingera @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez @sassyvillaintrophy

[cardsweetheart]

New dad Ruggie holding his newborn kid.

Holding this small little creature in his hands and doing his best to keep his cool. Little ears peeking out from the head of the hair. Finding himself bouncing as he paces around the room.

"Hi. I'm your dad, I guess. Nice to meet you. I'm probably this huge monster to you right now but I'm not all that bad. Promise. I like to think I'm a pretty decent guy. I mean, I helped make you so that's already getting me a couple points ahead. As long as you don't turn out to be a dick. Wait, I shouldn't swear in front of you should I? Don't tell okay?

We're in this together. I scratch your back, you help me look like I know what I'm doing. Though that's kinda my job isn't it? Taking care of you. Making sure you know how be a person. I might not be your best bet but I'm going to do my best. Give you all the essentials."

The words weigh heavy on him, "You're never going to be hungry. If you're hungry, you tell me right away. Scream if you need to. Those shelves are stocked. Got it?

We got you a nice bed and these pricey sheets. Top quality stuff kid. The thread count on these things? Oh I'm going to have to teach you how to count. You don't even know what numbers are yet. Fuck, you really are just...."

He tightens his grip, cautious not to hurt the baby, "Nothings going to happen to you. I don't care what I have to do. You are going to have the best fucking life okay? You're with us now. We got you kid.

You're going to go to a good school, and you're going to get good grades, got it? You're going to be the smartest little shit in that place. You're going to behave too. A joy to have in class. But not a teacher's pet. Being a nerd's going to get you tormented and I can't be out here kicking kindergarteners.

You're going to be able to come to us with anything. I don't care what it is. I'm always going to be here. Any hour. I don't care. I'll come get you. I'll kill for you. I don't care. I've decided. I'd go to jail for you and I've just met you so you're going to be a real piece of work aren't you?"

The same set of eyes stare back at him, seemingly enamored by the sound of his voice. Not a peep of a sob or cry building, at least not from the baby. He hates the tears pricking the sides of his eyes because he can't hide them. He's holding a child that he can't even bring himself to think of putting down. He didn't want to let go ever. This was his baby.

"I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

[qqueenofhades]

I only recently found your Tumblr and have been enjoying it. I wondered if you'd seen the new article in The Atlantic yet? It's everything I was afraid of and more.

https://www.tumblr.com/meret118/776013260973539328/faa-employees-say-trump-and-musks-purge-is-a?source=share

I have not, because I am very, very careful about my news and social media consumption these days. Not least because I have been here since at least 2016 talking about how bad Trump et al are and what they can do, will do, and are doing, so I don't see the need to expose myself to even more distressing information that confirms what I already know and which I can do nothing to control. So, like... I know that Trump and Musk are evil rapacious shitbirds who are doing their level best to turn the US into a tinpot theocratic oligarchy for their own personal benefit, and are completely uncaring of any consequences or impact on the American people. As far as they're concerned, breaking things and causing pain and suffering is the point, just like the cruelty.

As well, the American media played such a large part in getting us into this mess that I am especially wary of giving them more Panic Clicks (TM) in the Trump 2.0 era, considering everything they did to bring it about. They destroyed Biden and forced him out of the race in six short weeks after the first debate debacle; they could have chosen to do this to Trump at literally any time, and they did not. The billionaires who own the news media are already bending their knee and eagerly lapping Trump's bloated orange backside with its PROPERTY OF VLADIMIR V. PUTIN tattoo. The more "liberal" outlets, i.e. the Atlantic, are getting back into their Principled Defender of Truth mode, where they can once more whip up Democrats and liberals into a panic (hardly as if that needs much help) to do... what?

Obviously, accurate reporting about the current Shitshow Moment is an important public service, but we had four years of Trump loudly stating his intentions at every possible moment while only continuing to get worse. As I said before, nothing he's doing now, heinous as it might be, is a surprise, because he said it all many times beforehand. But because half the country nonetheless just shrugged and voted for him again, the problem of informing them goes much deeper than just reading another Atlantic article about how it's exactly bad as we thought. This isn't pointed at you by any means; you're doing the work to keep yourself informed and to think about what you're going to do about it. Right now, however, I myself really don't need any more information and everything I learn about politics in the present moment is often against my will. (See: ferocious blacklisting, avoiding national news sites, trying to comment only on constructive aspects of the situation, etc.) So at this point, I'm keeping strictly away from the kinds of alarmist reports that tell me stuff I already know: it's really bad, it's gonna get worse, and we are the ones who are going to pay for it. But because half the country is locked in the Trump bubble, how do we deal with that? They're not reading highbrow Atlantic articles about how bad it is. They're reading AI gobbledygook on social media websites owned by fascists, that comfort them in their belief that however bad it is, it's a justified punishment for those Bad People over there and it doesn't matter if they suffer too, as long as the Bad People do. So we've gotta deal with that first.

Anyway: I hope this didn't come off as too dismissive, and I'm glad you're enjoying my blog! It's just that I really, really try to keep these kinds of pieces at arms' length right now, for various reasons, and put my energy into thinking what we can do about this situation instead. We know (god, do we ever) the basic fact that Shit Real Bad. But we can't stop there. Etc etc., Gandalf, What We Choose To Do With The Time That's Given To Us, so that is what I try to do.

[kelpweedkelpweedingkelpweeds]

Ok, so I think I'm slightly ready to talk about the comic (really I'm not but my brain has been thinking about them for an hour straight I have to let some of it out) This comic answered a hundred questions in my head and in the process produced a thousand more to replace them. The exploration of hyuna's thoughts as she was dying, it's so wonderfully complex and exactly what I expected out of vivinos.

Hyuna's feelings towards Luka is less so "I want to hate you, but I can't", rather it's "I hate you, you caused me so much pain and yet at the same time I pity the things that caused you to do this to me and I still care about you". A popular opinion is that as Hyuna spun Luka around her intent was revenge, and my 2 cents on it is that yes payback was part of it, but her kneejerk reaction was to save him.

There's still no official confirmation for Luka's role in Hyunwoo's death but he holds a major part in it. Hyuna cared deeply for her brother; it's no wonder she would hold bitter feelings towards someone who caused her to lose someone she loved. Hyuna knew that Luka loved her more than himself; she knew that she was the only person whose death would make him feel anything, not even his own. So she let herself get shot, made him lose the one person who ever made him feel human, made him feel the human grief of watching someone you care about sacrifice themselves, made him understand how the other performers on stage felt as they watched their friends die in front of them. This was her revenge, letting him feel the same pain she did, the same pain he inflicted on so many others on stage.

But at the same time, Hyuna isn't cruel. Her character is about love, love for humanity and the hope for freedom. As she heard that bullet fired, her first thought wasn't to make him suffer, it was to protect him. That she didn't want to see him die. Because watching him bleed out would cause her so, so much pain. It could be considered selfish, as she is the head of the resistance and he is the alien overlord's favourite pet, the person symbolizing the thing she swears destroy and never return to. But for someone who loves the world so selflessly, her love for Luka is and always has been selfish, and so is her resentment. He is her only weakness, the only person she would sacrifice her life for to teach the meaning of loss and pain.

She tells him that she leaves a puzzle for him to solve, which can be interpreted as figuring out human emotions for the first time. She understands him well enough to know that it will work, for he loves her more than anything else and loves her enough to at least try and move on like she wishes him to. Perhaps he may never find the answer, perhaps he might die before he has the opportunity to, but Hyuna knows he will try desperately, that perhaps in the process he could be given the chance to be human, as he deserved to.

She didn't let herself get shot for the satisfaction of watching him cry for the first time, she died because she loved him and wanted him to come to understand grief and gain the ability to move on, things that he was deprived of since his birth. She never forgave herself or Luka over what happened, but she wanted him to learn to forgive himself, so that maybe he could do what she couldn't. She knew she didn't have to ask him for forgiveness; his love for her poured out of him like water, he could never hate her for the selfish thing she did. So maybe Hyuna died with bitterness lingering towards him for what he did, but ultimately she came to peace with the fact that she loved Luka, that she would die for him, that only he could bring her back to the damned alien stage as her burial ground.

Y'all I nearly cried writing this, can I PLEASE do a self indulgent post next about how pure Luka's love towards Hyuna is I DONT WANT TO DEAL WITH THE COMPLEXITIES OF HUMAN EMOTION IM BARELY HANGING TOGETHER RIGHT NOW

Here have a stupid lil image of them (sorry Hyuna isn't coloured in I know it's really bad but when all you can think about is how tragic they are all I want to do is draw them happy for the rest of eternity)

[cokoweee]

EHEHHEE Now I get to the DEEP STUFF~

Let's begin.

LOOK AT THIS LITTLE MANNNNNNNN EEEEEEEEE He's seriously so cute- he's like a flying metal kitten and I can't STAND IT- Also, I noticed that Shelldon's dialogue isn't the same either. Before, there would be numbers hidden between the letters- but it seems he's "grown" out of that with this mini upgrade!

Also seeing a genuine smile on Kendra's face is REALLY needed right now. She's just legitimately happy to see the lil robot again, safe and sound. (And NOT a kraangified creature bent on killing her.) These two's little interaction was quite nice to watch and I hope we get to see more of their dynamic. :) Note the fact that here, Kendra's dialogue is also becoming her signature pink again as well... <3

Okay back to the plot.

Now Kendra and Draxum have a... iiiiinteresting dynamic to say the least. It began a bit awkward with the care and medical treatment Draxum had to give her after she was stabbed- but then it began to mellow out by the time Kendra began to get sick. Even so, she never gave him permission to use her name. But here- she does. Here, she actually opens up a tiny bit, allowing this crazy weird old goat to actually call her by her first name. Kendra may be spiraling- but there are some healed pieces of her still shining through the broken shards. <3

Also- THE NECKLACE. Bro- WHY didn't I THINK OF THAT-

And here it is... what we've all been silently dreading~ the answer for Kendra's continued deteriorating health... When we get a peek at her expression here- man it's not a comforting one. She knows something's wrong with her. She knows it's not going away. And her face here is drowned in dismal acceptance.

Draxum goes on to explain as best he can where the problem must have originated from, and it confuses Kendra. (Me too, if I'm being honest. I always thought she got sick because of the knife stab. MAN WAS I WRONG.) Anyways, Draxum begins describing that the origin of the sickness must have infected Kendra at the farmhouse. Then he goes a step FURTHER and tells Kendra that what's attacking her body is the same that killed Raphael.

(I realize now how much her dream was really telling us... Coko you SNEAK.)

And then there's one more thing that I noticed about these panels: How the words referencing Cali the kraangified are highlighted BRIGHT PINK. (Just like Kendra's dream...) Which again, just proves that it was Cali who infected her all along.

I think we now see where that little scar on Kendra's shoulder came from. 0-0

...

EXCUSE ME HUH!?!??! C-Come again, Draxxy?? SIR???

THIS RIGHT HERE. This- haaaaiyyyaaaa this is foreshadowing at its finest. What's the cure? How will Kendra be saved?

Her shoulder... has to be... amputated. Her shoulder, as in her entire ARM???? Like- HELLO???? This is some really... heavy news. AND I LOVE IT. This kind of moment needs to be held with seriousness, and Coko, you aced it. :) Incredible work as always.

This series continues to impress me with your storytelling and foreshadowing. As well as the teeny tiny details that you need a magnifying glass to see. Then there's also the obvious details that are always so clean and beautifully illustrated. Your BG's. MANNN ALIVE THE BACKGROUNDS.

Seriously, Coko. Your work is extremely impressive, and I hope you know that at least by now, after so many like myself have loved it and looked forward to it. :) Thanks for giving me a new thing to look forward to and analyze the crap out of. ~^^~

That's all for now. :) See you after your next update!

~ Melissa

OKAY I had to hold onto this till after work just cause I barely had any time

SHELLDON’s new text!- I wanted to try something new and use the Genius Built font for him. It’s nice seeing ya interpret him as growing up a lil despite getting smaller lol

Kendra and Draxum have a bit of a weird relationship. They don’t chat it up often but they’re both pretty okay enough with eachother where they can have a meal together in peace. They’ve got some mutual respect for eachother

AND MAN YALL I WAS AUUGHHH every time someone blamed bishop, big mama NOPE IT WASNT THE HINT WAS ALWAYS THERE! Pink is not Kendra’s signature text color. I’m absolutely awful I make my hints at shit so stupid so subtle that it’s HORRENDOUS

Ok last lil thing cause im losing track of what im saying. Actually I’ve completely forgotten BUT I LOVE READING THESE RARARARARRARAAR

[dokyumms]

seventeen's reaction to you overworking yourself (maknae line) !

pairings: maknae line x reader (find the hyung line ver. here)

genre: fluff, suggestive ? (dino)

word count: 900

cw: overworking, light cursing

a/n: second part to the last reaction! tried to make this shorter and a little less angsty since i feel like i made the last one unnecessarily long. also thank yall so much for 100 followers!! i only started posting a couple days ago and i definitely wasn't expecting so many people to enjoy my work, i love you my kings ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

dk - dokyeom will do everything in his power to distract you from whatever you're doing. hunched over your computer? he's pulling you up and asking to dance. you're at the office for way longer than usual? he's calling you and telling you he's fainted, just for you to rush home and be greeted by a bear hug that you'll never escape.

he does it all in a jokingly manner, but in reality he is so scared that you're pushing yourself too far. at one point he'll sit you down and plead for you to take off some hours, and of course you can't say no when he gives you those puppy eyes.

mingyu - mingyu waits outside of your office when you normally get out of work so he can surprise you with a night out. after 20 minutes of impatiently waiting, he realizes you've decided to keep working, again. so he walks in, ignoring all of the staff that gawk at the fact they've never seen someone so attractive walk into the office (maybe besides you *wink*).

when you notice someone peer over your cubicle, you look up to be met by mingyu's face.

"gyu? what are you doing here?" he frowns in response.

"to pick you up, of course! need to get you off this damn computer," he mutters, walking around the cubicle so he can shut down your computer. "hey! i really need to finish-" he cuts you off, "you've been doing this to me all week babe, you don't see that this isn't healthy?" when you try to argue against him, he shuts you down with, "you'd do the same if it were me, so please, let me take care of you."

the8 - you know minghao is going to be so pissed when you get home. it's around 1 in the morning, and you're just now getting out of the office. your phone is dead, but you already know your boyfriend has called you a multitude of times.

when you finally enter your apartment, you see minghao at the counter. he sighs before making his way to you.

"were you seriously working this whole time? don't you know how late it is?" you apologize, trying to explain why you decided to stay back, but he unexpectedly embraces you.

"i don't think you know how much you scared me. you didn't even answer my calls y/n," he mumbles into your hair, only humming at your response when you tell him your phone died. "come on, i'll give you a bath," he suggests, dragging you towards the bathroom without giving you a chance to respond.

seungkwan - when you call seungkwan to tell him that you'll be home late again, he's very, very upset to say the least.

"baby, this better be a joke. it's already so late right now! how will you get home? wait- don't answer that- i'll be there in 5 minutes. don't move a single foot! love you!" and then he hangs up.

you try to finish what you can before seungkwan calls you, "y/n! i'm here, and don't you ignore me to keep working because i'll drag you out here if i have to." you definitely do not want to test THE boo seungkwan, so you pack up quickly. when you get down to the lobby, you're met with a rather determined looking seungkwan? something like that.

"that's more like it, now let's go home, you've been ruining my sleep schedule," then he grabs your hand. sure, he said he wouldn't drag you outside, but he wants you home and asleep by 10:00 pm sharp tonight.

vernon - vernon respects the hustle, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. he sits next to you and proceeds to watch you unravel for the next 4 hours as you try to hold your group project together.

you're pacing back and forth in the living room, rambling on how you just finished an exam and the last you want to do is carry your group project. he realizes it's too much, so he gets up off the couch to give you a back hug.

"hey, it's okay. you don't need to push yourself like this." he says, swaying you from side to side. "hansol, this is really important,"

"i know, but i can't just watch you tire yourself out like this, at least let me help you," to which you comply because with the way he's holding you, you're lowkey in a daze.

dino - chan's plan to get you to stop working? seducing you, duh. well- it's actually his like 50th plan, his 49 other attempts doing a whole lot of nothing. you're on your bed, tapping away on your computer when chan suddenly crawls onto the bed.

"chan? what are you doing?" he shuts your laptop before pulling you in for a kiss. you're wide-eyed, unsure if you should try to pull away or let him do what he wants, a little surprised he's so determined to get you to stop working. tossing the laptop to the side, he pins you to the bed and starts kissing your neck.

"babe, my work..." you say, attempting to keep your priorities straight as he basically devours you. he chuckles, "i think i have a better way to spend your time," it's going to be another long night, but this time, it's not because of your work.

[16wolke11]

BRAZIL - Franco Colapinto

Summary: After another crash of Franco the reader has to figure out a statement for the the public. Franco comes over to apologise while they sit out in the rain together.

Words:  1331

Warnings: Mentions of a crash

__________

"Fuck." It's the only muttered word that comes over my lips when I look at the absolutely wrecked Williams on the screen. I'm torn between the two feelings inside of me. On one hand, I feel very sorry for Franco, who already had a rough weekend before crashing out. On the other hand, I pity myself because I'll need to find a statement that won't rip us and him apart in the media and with the fans.

Sighing, I put my headphones away and head back to the Williams motorhome. It's probably best if I start working on those statements now. It's something I've had to do a little too often in the last few weeks, and this weekend already, with both drivers crashing out during qualifying. Explaining to everyone that Alex wouldn't be racing seemed so difficult yesterday, but now I need to justify another crash.

I grab my iPad, deciding not to take the laptop to write so I can roam freely through the building while doing it. Scribbling down notes, crossing out potential statements, and eliminating the ones we might have used too often in the last few weeks. At one point, I find myself on one of the rooftop balconies. The rain is still dripping down, but I don't care. I sit on one of the damp chairs, burying my head in my hands, not even realizing that my clothes and hair are slowly getting soaked.

Even when I hear hesitant footsteps approach, I don't look up. Only when the chair beside me is pulled back do I glance up. To my surprise, Franco has joined me out here. He's still in his race suit, but unlike me, he's wearing one of the large raincoats Williams has. I look at his face; his eyes are tired, and I know it's been a rough weekend for him with his grandfather passing, as well as his crashes in both qualifying and the race. We sit in silence for a bit longer until Franco clears his throat.

"I think we should go inside soon." His accent is thicker than usual, his voice low as if he doesn't have the strength to speak any louder. We probably should, but I can't bring myself to move. It feels like, as soon as I leave this rooftop, my responsibilities will crash down on me again, so I stay quiet. Franco stares at me until he's the one who moves.

Before I can process what's happening, he opens his large coat and pulls me to my feet. His grip is firm but gentle at the same time. "Wait, what are you—?" I try to ask but lose my voice when he pulls me onto his lap, his coat wrapping around my damp body.

"It's cold and it's raining. I'm not letting you freeze out here," he explains, his arms placed around me, holding me tight against his chest. I blush at how close we are. His body radiates heat, but I don't want to admit he's right, my mind is too scrambled to think straight.

"It's fine, really. I'm okay," I mumble, but I don't even convince myself. It's freezing out here by Brazil's standards, and my damp clothing does nothing to keep me warm. A shiver runs down my spine as Franco's warmth slowly transfers to me.

"No, you're not. Let me take care of you. Just for a little while." Franco's voice is firm, tightening his grip around me as if he's afraid I'll jump up any second. I sigh and accept my fate, carefully leaning my head against his shoulder. Maybe this isn't so bad.

"Thanks. You didn't have to," I say, and I mean it. Franco didn't have to be out here with me in the rain; he could be inside, warming up before heading to his interviews to charm his way out of trouble, like he always does.

"I wanted to." He says, his head resting against my body, and then we just stay like this, the rain and the occasional sound of the cars the only noise around us.

"I'm sorry," Franco suddenly says, and I'm startled. What is he apologizing for?

"For what?"

"Causing you trouble. It was my task from the team to crash less than Logan, but I'm not doing a great job. And you need to fix it with statements." He whispers, his voice laced with self-disappointment, and I sit up straight to look him in the eyes.

"So, sorry for making your job difficult," he adds, avoiding my gaze, and I sigh inwardly. Oh, Franco. I lift my hand to brush some of his slightly wet curls out of his face, but he still keeps his eyes firmly fixed in the distance.

"It's okay. It's really tricky out there, and even the more experienced drivers are struggling or crashing out," I try to reassure him. So many drivers crashed out during qualifying, and from what I watched of the race, they're all struggling with the conditions.

"But they didn't wreck their car like I did." Now he looks at me, his eyes burning with so many emotions that I have to swallow. He's full of grief, anger at himself, and disappointment. He looks more than tired—ready to curl up under a blanket and not come out until the next race.

"Alex can't even drive today. I think he did a better job than you yesterday in destroying the car." I remind him that Alex totalled his car in the session yesterday, and there was no way to fix it. "At least you managed to drive. Stroll even crashed out before the race even started." The fact that the Canadian driver didn't even make it to the starting line should help lighten Franco's mood, but it doesn't.

"He didn't damage the car." Now he sounds like a toddler, and I lose my patience with him when he tries to avoid my eyes again.

"Franco!" I snap, and his eyes widen, but he looks back at me.

"Stop sulking, okay? The situation isn't ideal at all, but don't be so harsh on yourself. If both drivers crash out constantly, maybe the problem is the car and not them!" I feel the rage inside of me, similar to the one I felt when it became clear that Logan would be dropped by the team. Yes, Franco did a lot of damage, but so did Alex, and the Williams was clearly not suited for weather like this. So, the team maybe should fix their technical errors before blaming the drivers for them.

Franco licks his lower lip before a soft smirk appears on his face. "Don't say that too loud, or they'll get rid of you next."

"There's your smile." I can't hold back my own smile, my hand back on his cheek, feeling his dimples under my touch. Franco leans his head into my hand, and I'm glad I could make him smile, even if just a little.

"Can we just stay here?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. As much as I'd like to stay, I'm sure Franco's PR team is already searching for him to get his interviews done, and I should probably start working on that statement.

"I fear we have to go back soon," I sigh, and Franco is silent, only tightening his arms around me for a moment.

"Can I come over to you later?" His voice is barely above a whisper, and it takes me a second to process his words.

"I don't want to be alone with my thoughts," Franco adds, sounding so vulnerable that my heart aches.

"Of course." I'll do anything to make him feel better about today, the weekend in general, and everything else that might be occupying his head, preventing positive thoughts.

"Thank you," Franco says, leaning his forehead against mine. I feel like him and I, wrapped in one coat, is the start of something that comforts the struggles in our lives.

[daylighted]

baby!reader working a case???

ok let me lock in bc i don't think i can logically headcanon this and we all deserve to see it come to fruition.

it was a very special day for you. new car, new clothes (really, a mix of dean and sam's handmedowns from the depths of their packed bags, but they were new to you which made them special), and a new identity.

they were acting as fbi for this case, something ghostly and ghoul-like and a bridge that seemed to be the centric point of it. they had badges and everything, dean even let you play with his before he got (rightfully) anxious you'd manage to lose it and took it back.

you'd seen them in action before, but it was so much less involved than this. you'd be where the new car was; parked at the beginning of the bridge, doing absolutely nothing at all, staring at the police cars that got to see more action than you did.

not today, though! you were walking right up to the scene, past the stupid police cars and the men themselves in their cute little uniforms, looking all serious and grimace-y.

it was going swell, too, until you'd accidentally made eye contact with the most grimace-y one, and he seemed to think that the fact that you were grinning at a murder scene was a little off, because he holds out his arm to stop the three of you from approaching.

"hey, what the hell is this?" he asks, glancing firstly between the two men and then to you.

that didn't ever really bode well, when people treated you as an afterthought. dean opens his mouth, sam's already fishing for the lanyard beneath his shirt, but you speak instead. "we are investigating."

the man's lips purse in amusement. like you were joking, or amusing. there was nothing funny about this. this was your very first mission with the winchester gang; it was so incredibly important to you.

"we are investigating," the policeman says, straightening his spine as he does, like he feels the need to emphasize his status and talk down to a girl. "you guys are going to get behind the yellow tape." again, it doesn't bode well, but it was dean's turn to interrupt you.

dean holds his fbi badge out. today he was dean williams. could you read? no. but he'd schooled you on what role you were and what his said so you didn't accidentally do something stupid, like this, and throw their whole game out the window before it'd even started. "the higher-ups called us in."

sam holds his up, too, and now you feel a little left out, but this was a part of the game.

the policeman nods to you, his face still impassive and, in a way, amused. "who's this, then?"

dean and sam look at each other, and then back at the man. you are still smiling like this is the best day of your life. it actually was, too. you didn't have many sentient days to use as reference.

"intern."

he watches you for a long while, like he knows that you're seconds from cracking, and just when you're about to tell him about how fun and exciting this is, he shakes his head. "nuh uh. this isn't happening. we've got it handled, thanks."

dean's lips flatten, and sam's already stepping forward to have a personal one-on-one with the cop, like he alone could change his mind, but your eyes go to the left. the edge of the bridge, where police officers are gathered around, assumedly, where something happened.

"...don't know where their daughter is," one says, low enough that you could only hear because you were attached to dean's arm, and he was drifting in that direction for the very reason of overhearing, "hasn't answered a call or text, but phone pinged here a few hours ago."

the bridge was long, and distant from any sign of civilization. your head tilts to the side. dean complained when he had to walk for long periods of time, sam was decently tall so it didn't take him as much time, but he didn't seem to like it much, either. neither of them would have walked the length of this bridge to somehow vanish, no matter if they were chasing something.

and daughter. assumedly younger, if her parents realized so quickly that she'd not come home the night before. girls could be tall, young girls could be tall, but even then, it would not make sense for a girl at least somewhat young to walk the length of this bridge on her own, especially in the middle of the night, from however far the family lived.

your head raises in an epiphany. you don't know social cues. don't know how to tell when a conversation is private, and when it's open for comment, so you blurt out the words in your head. "she was driving."

dean's head snaps toward you, and the police officers all tense, including the one that sam had been sweet talking.

"what?" dean asks you, even as the officers start to walk toward you with blatant intent.

how were you supposed to know that presenting a theory as a complete and total stranger bystander would lead to suspicion? that's not something taught in two hour long drives by the winchester boys.

you shove past all of them, going to lean over the edge of the bridge. the river below was deep and winding, its depths emphasized in the darkness of the water, even from this height. impossible to see the car that you knew was down there.

"she was driving," you repeat, your hands running along the railing, feeling for grooves or cracks you knew had to be there. sure enough, there's a huge crack a couple of feet from you, one that isn't paralleled on the other side of the bridge. "very fast. it's a straight road and bridge, so maybe she felt safer to speed. or maybe she was scared, and something was chasing her, which could be why she went to the left and..."

you nod toward the river below again, past the cracked edge. "went over the edge."

the entire bridge is silent. even the birds have stopped cawing. finally, the police officer who'd looked at you like you were nothing but a little girl trespassing presses the comm on his chest, holding it to his mouth. "get a search and rescue on the ground."

dean huffs out a laugh, not in the same way that the officers had poked and prodded at you. you knew dean very well, and knew his tells more than you knew general ones. he was impressed.

"what's your name?" the first officer asks as the others begin to load up into the useless, idle cars, heading off of the bridge toward the murky riverbank.

you straighten this time, as tall as you can be, and as proud as you could, in worn and faded and too-big clothes. "baby."

a huff of amusement, more similar to dean's than the officer's rude teasing before. he pats sam's back, offer's dean a gruff nod, and then turns back toward you. "you boys are dismissed. you can stay."

[tactical-jellyfish]

Breakup day drabble! (Part one: Johnny)

I missed Valentines day, I know. I planned to feed you guys but I ended up sleeping fourteen hours almost consecutively. Sorry gang, my bad.

This is gonna be a longer drabble, split into parts for each Tf141 member (and others, if requested and I can write for them), and one final poly breakup (separate from the others, obvi). I haven't fed y'all and I feel like an absent father lmao

Warnings!: Big sad. Yelling (it is VERY regretted), terrible boyfriends (all four of them are fumbling the bag like CRAZZYY)

Also I wrote this tired as fuck, so if I made any oopsies here, absolutely correct me <3

You've got no issue with a little fire in a partner. In fact, it's something you've come to seek out as you grew up.

It's only logical, isn't it? You need someone who can keep up, someone who's not going to be holding you back from getting orders out of the way.

Work hard, play harder.

Of course, you liked Johnny for many more reasons than just that one.

He was an absolute sap at just the right state of drowsiness, he drew you like you were a downright deity, he... he really fucking cared.

You didn't regret making it official, getting to know damn well that Scot was yours when the day was over and it was time to sleep.

That being said, every relationship has its rocky patches, and you've got the feeling you're about to be in the middle of an ugly one.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don't regret making the call. Not even a little bit.

This mission wouldn't have made time if you hadn't buckled down and pointedly ignored both Johns in your headset calling you a moron in a strained whisper from cover.

The objective was secured. There were a good chunk less terrorists in the world because you put them down. A little gash in your side, but that's no issue, so you'd deem it successful.

Unfortunately, Johnny doesn't seem to think the same way. You can feel the roiling, stirred-up and not calming back down like usual.

You let him stew on the flight back to base, quietly bandaging your own wound with a small antiseptic wipe Gaz had wordlessly put into your hand when he first saw you trotting up.

Price is tired, but he's not as upset as he used to get over this sort of stunt from you. It's a fatherly sort of exhaustion, you're half-sure at some point he said that you're giving him gray hairs.

You earned three days' work cleaning the bathrooms for snorting, but no more. You would have earned many more days if you asked if he was finally going soft, even if he was.

Still, after a few hours, Johnny doesn't seem to have cooled down. He's pointedly silent, fuming in his little corner.

It takes a special sort of bitchiness to make Ghost look like a put-together, social man. You've long accepted that your man is a little bit of a child on occasion.

So, as any reasonable partner would, you leave it alone. Let Johnny sort though these feelings, because you know he doesn't want to hear it from you right now. If he wanted to talk, he could ask.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, lo and behold, it only took five hours.

The knocks on your door are familiar. A three-beat rap-tap-tapping. Firmer than usual.

"Luv? You ready to talk about it now?"

You open the door to a sight. Not a great one, mostly because you know it shouldn't make you giggle a little.

A grown-ass man. Not just that, a sergeant, pouting.

"Bayonet."

He must see the way your brows pinch at your callsign being used instead of your name, but Johnny doesn't do a thing to stop himself.

"Are ye feckin' stupid, or jus' having a little craic on the clock?"

"Callsigns stay at work, Johnny. Unless you've got full intentions of this being a professional meeting."

That long-standing agreement was something you really did like. Johnny had agreed to use it a long time ago, and the only lapses (before this one, of course) were simple mistakes, easy to excuse and forgive.

"Och, this is professional alright, what the fuck were ye thinking?!"

His voice is raising, but it brings no fear, just annoyance.

"If I have to remind you, it worked. We wouldn't have made it back to Nik on the clock if I hadn't. No major injuries, either."

Johnny's starting to fume. His brows are knitting together, usually-bright face drawing down into some ugly mixture of anger and something else you don't quite have a word for right now.

"Are ye actually-"

"MacTavish, it fucking worked. I only take risks when I know it's something I can handle, and frankly, if you're upset about me doing my job, then you should handle it the way we agreed to handle it."

Calmly. Slowly working through the issue, training together, anythinig as long as it wasn't a screaming match or a contest. Not this.

"You're a fucking liability is what I'm trying to tell you! Your callsign is Bayonet fer a feckin' reason, you daft cunt!"

You're not sure who made him think he could talk to you like this, but he just. Keeps. Going. It makes your chest heat to a fever, though you keep your face measuredly ice-cold, flat so Johnny can't gleam anything from your expression.

"Ye're a gamble at best, a last resort, ye should'ave stayed off the line an' let someone else handle it! Ye got hurt because you dinnae listen to th' orders!"

Ohhhhh, that's not professional anymore. A slight on your own callsign, when he wasn't even there to see you earn it.

Asshole.

"Watch it, Soap." Is the only warning you can bring yourself to offer, glaring into those baby blue eyes with the vitriol provoked by the man before you.

"Nae, ah'm not gonnae watch it! Ye pull shite like this, an' I have to come o'er an' pretend I wannae patch yer stupid arse back up!"

You've never been in the business of cutting someone off before they can finish their sentences, but you're starting to doubt your ability to be civil.

Soap's refusing to meet you on any agreed-upon grounds, he's not separating your relationship from work and that's a slippery slope.

And you're fucking upset. This anger isn't something you can tamp down, it's the worst kind.

The sort that twists you in the guts and makes your eyes hot. The sort that makes a headache sparkle to life and the small wound in your side throb and ooze into the bandages a little bit more.

The sort that makes you want to scream. But you won't do that. Not to Soap.

"This isn't how we agreed to handle conflicts. Come back when you can sort your feelings enough to keep yourself from screaming."

Icy, you know it is, but Soap grabs the door before you can finish.

"Close this fucking door on me, and I will skin you." The threat rings hollow. Oddly similar to the sound of the plywood door sliding shut.

Soap moves his fingers away just before they gain a set of new joints in all the wrong places.

There's a frustrated growl, and a series of footsteps thumping away, in the direction of the gym.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You slept awfully that night.

The frustrated tears cleared easy, but the anger itself didn't, because really, how dare he. Showing up to your space, calling you a dunce, and breaking the most fundamental rule of your relationship.

Luckily, a small ping pulls you from the continuation of this spiral. A text from one Kyle "Gaz" Garrick.

What did you put up Soap's arse? Just asking.

You snort.

Nothing. Reckon he'd be in a better mood if I had.

The three dots appear, vanish, reappear before you get a response.

He's being a cunt today. Think you should steer clear.

That dampens the mood a bit, but again, it's not too far from your expectation. Johnny had his feelings big, and loud. It was honestly overwhelming sometimes, but you'd learned to handle it over time.

You hated it most when he made issues he had with you a team issue.

Girls' night then? I got that oil for your hair

...I'll bring the bonnets

You smile despite yourself, and rise from bed to get yourself ready for an easy day.

Unfortunately, the next notification is one you miss until you come back to your room, exhausted but satisfied after writing the mission's postmortem.

I'm done wie yer shite

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Most of the "girls' night" Kyle wanted to share with you is making sure you don't cry so hard you pull your stitches.

[cherievivi]

the worst tragedy is knowing the ending before the story even begins

basically, i tell you how this story ends, and you have to read the events that lead up to it afterwards.

jinvivi (selfship!!), 598 words, angst, blood, death

It burns. Why does it burn? I thought I dodged it? Was I not quick enough?

I can hear him saying my name. Over and over again. He sounds desperate. His hands press against my chest and I can feel how they shake in what I assume would be fear. I know better though. I think. I never got to master the art of reading what was in his heart. Oh, but his expression this time is clear. He's in distress. Why? What's happening? 

Warmth spills over my chest. I don't know what it is. He noticed it too. Is it bad? He's yelling now. I can't hear him anymore. Why? What's going on? 

Whatever the warm thing was, it's all over his han—

Oh. I'm bleeding. It's blood. 

I think Iet out a laugh. I can't hear anything. I can't really feel anything besides his hand pressing down on where I assume the wound is. Is this really where I die? I can't die here! They still need me!

But I am getting tired.. and I can't stand to see that look on his face for much longer.

I try to smile at him. I can't tell if it works or not. Is it one of those smiles he said was pretty? Was it too awkward for my last moments? I would hate for the last thing he saw from me to be an awkward smile. Or a smile at all. Smiling is a beautiful thing, and death is as ugly as it gets.

“Jin…” I manage to croak out. My voice sounds like shit. This really is my end, isn't it?

“No, don’t talk like that.” His voice cracks. It cracked? His voice is always clear. I've depended on it to keep me steady since I was transferred to Frostheim, but when he speaks like that, I really think there must be no hope for me. He’s usually so, so composed, but right now, he looks like a mess. Why? You told me you never wanted to see my face again just hours ago. Why can't you make up your mind?! 

“Keep your eyes on me. That's an order.”

I want to, but when you look at me like that, how am I supposed to hold your gaze?

I'm tired.. and everything is getting blurry. The warmth of his hands, and his arms around me, it's all making it so easy to close my eyes and rest.

His hands are warm? That's new. It must be because of the blood. Hah! I told him I would mark him one day.

“Jin..” I whimper again; his name is all I can say. It's the only letters I'm able to pronounce.

I think I’m crying. Or maybe he is. Either way, there's something warm dripping down my face. And it tastes like salt.

He pulls me closer and presses his forehead to mine.

“I love you,” he says. I wish he didn't. He had so many chances to tell me. I begged him to. “so don’t go. Please.”

Something about having Jin Kamurai beg me to stay with him is amusing. Wasn't I supposed to do that?

“I love you.”

I want to say it back. I want to stay. But my body isn’t listening anymore, and the last thing I hear is his breath hitching before he screams for Tohma to hurry up.

Tohma isn't coming. I made sure of that, didn't I?

I told you to leave before my curse could get its hands on you.

[amischiefofmuses]

-- ❝Yes, exactly!❞ Steven's response comes out excited despite the depth of what is being realized here, he's thrilled that not only has he figured this out but Marc's actually listening to his explanation. Everything else aside, that feels like a win and he'll absolutely take that for all its worth. Especially since his excitement isn't given long, not with the way Marc seems perturbed by the implications. Sure, it certainly could be a dangerous tool, armies could be doubled with something like this and who knows what it would do to the minds of those who don't have the unique state of their own- his own? Oh, that's going to be strange to consider from now on. His brain. Not theirs. Hm-

-- ❝Marc..❞ Struggling to get a word in, he lets the other man spill out his concerns, book drawn to his chest and arms wrapped around it with a frown. While justified in some of his concerns, it really does seem like the least of their problems right now. But maybe that's the point, maybe Marc needs something else to worry about rather than focusing on their situation - but this isn't a healthy way to go about that at all. -- ❝Um- well, we've had it for.. what, years now?❞ Finally managing to get a chance to speak, he reaches forward and rests a hand on Marc's shoulder, offering a lopsided smile. ❝If someone was looking for it, I think they'd have come after it by now, yeah? I mean, it's become a fishtank decoration..❞ A fact that, while useful for keeping it hidden and as innocuous as possible, pains his heart as someone who cares for the preservation of history. He can only hope its magical properties also mean it won't degrade in the tank. -- ❝I think it's safe enough.❞ He reassures with a gentle pat to the shoulder before drawing his hand back, finally releasing the book he was holding to set it on the table. They both needed something to focus on, however, that much was absolutely true. Something practical, ideally, engaging enough to keep them occupied but not so much to overwhelm. He has just the thing. -- ❝So, lets take a deep breath-❞ Doing so, whether or not Marc follows suit, he holds it for a few seconds before finally exhaling. ❝And instead, we figure out where we go from here. What-..❞ It's meant to be an easy discussion but the very thought of Marc possibly leaving, making his own life now that they're apart, halts his words before he can say them. He doesn't want to even suggest it, just in case Marc hasn't yet realized it's an option. -- ❝…What do you want for dinner? We should get some food.❞

If my brain is big enough for DID to happen, those goldfish cannot be too far off...

Yeah, that's a thought that goes through Marc mind, remaining unspoken; He cocks a brow as he stands back up straight, arms folding in front of his chest once more - taking in the sight the way those fish keep circling the artifact as if it's pulling them in somehow. It's mesmerizing to watch, oddly so.

But then Steven hurries into action all of a sudden and Marc's attention is back on him, eyes following the other making his way to the desk to grab his notes - some of them, at least. It doesn't surprise him that Steven seems to have some knowledge regarding the whole thing, including the artifact; The man is basically a human sponge when it comes to anything ancient Egypt, might be the biggest nerd earth has ever seen in that regard.

Yes, Marc used to belittle Steven's raw obsession a bit, whenever he'd been just aware enough to watch him sit on his desk for hours on end reading and scribbling down note after note - Marc could never understand how someone was able to end up being this invested when it came to such things, really. But he has to admit now that it comes in handy, all that knowledge, and that Steven's eagerness is... fascinating to witness, all things considered.

As said, also very much contributing to that shitshow now - Marc sure as hell wouldn't be able to figure all of that out without someone guiding him along.

"Yeah, we did meet Hathor's avatar - I remember her...", he mutters under his breath, thoughts briefly trailing to the whole thing he's gone through within the Pyramid, facing ancient gods while screaming Khonshu's words out to be heard by them. Or, well, not really, in the end. ---Anyways...

"So, this means..." Oh god, thinking feels incredibly hard with how much his head is hurting; Marc closes his eyes for a brief second, then breathes through before he focuses his gaze back on Steven, one hand gesturing at the fish tank - or rather what's inside of it. "...This artifact truly does split people. If it was made to separate Hathor and Sekhmet, turn them into individuals to free Hathor - it's doing this to everyone else as well, hence us and... the goldfish."

The mentioned goldfish continue to circle it, unfazed, and Marc brings his hand up to his forehead to push his fingers into his hairline, combing through locks that lack the hairgel he's usually so fond of.

"Steven, that means this thing is incredibly dangerous. If this split us apart - which it did - what does it do to people, living things, who aren't... us?" Us, as in, two personalities who used to live within one body. Marc blinks, a certain kind of urgency lingering on his features as he takes another inhale, both brows now lifting with his eyes remaining fixed on Steven.

"If anyone gets to know about this, Steven, it will open up a whole can of worms the world isn't ready to handle just yet. The potential of this thing is ---" Arms are thrown into the air. "The bad guys will find a way to use this to their advantage! You know what that means?"

With that Marc takes a step closer, shortens the distance between both him and Steven, and lowers his voice - as if someone could hear them right at that second...

"No one, and I mean absolutely no one should get this thing into their hands. Both literally and figuratively."

---And that means that Steven and Marc have to protect it for now - great. Amazing.

[fridgrave2-0]

hehe ghost-turbo haunting felix au

turbo is connected to the last piece of his code in the whole arcade - a trophy he gifted to felix in mid 80s as a symbol of him genuinely caring about their relationships on par with being the best racer. felix also gave him one of his medals and both kept their gifts next to other rewards, but when roadblasters and turbotime were unplugged, the medal was gone with everything else

now, after burning in cola-lava turbo is basically dead, but scraps of his code still were intertwined with the trophy (after all, it was his first winner's cup, but felix never knew about it), giving turbo an opportunity to exist as a shadow incapable of interacting with anything and anyone besides felix, who kept the trophy even after the roadblasters incident

also I went crazy in tags, feel free to check them out