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chilling-seavey · 5 months

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National Anthem (gr63, ds)

↳ A/N The wonderful T-Anon (my og followers know!) introduced me into the world of Formula 1 and, of course, now I'm obsessed. What else is there to do but write something [sinfully] self-serving that incorporates both of my faves? I'm nervous to post this because last time I posted a multi-fandom fic, I got mega anon hate so I'm hoping this goes over well... 🙃

↳ Summary: As VIP guests of Scuderia Ferrari - thanks to Daniel’s best friend as one of their elite Formula 1 drivers - you have the privilege of travelling to Monte Carlo for the Monaco Grand Prix. While on this getaway, you and Daniel decide to lean into the grandeur status of the Monaco Circuit and celebrate the weekend in a way you normally wouldn’t back at home - and that comes in the form of a luxury yacht party and a handsome Mercedes driver who seemed to capture your eye from your first day in the paddock

↳ Pairings: Daniel Seavey x Reader, George Russell x Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 41.0k

↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, mmf threesome, one night stand, voyeurism, use of explicit language, oral (f & m receiving), overstimulation, minor choking and spitting, some derogatory names (slut etc.), unprotected sex (whoops), no Carlos in this (so sorry, but I had to give Daniel a familiar friend in this universe), & heavy manifesting of a Leclerc Monaco Win™

In the comfortable warmth of the Mediterranean sun, you nursed your icy drink in hand to the roaring sound of racing engines speeding along the streets of Monaco. It was a place you had never expected to be, with a VIP lanyard around your neck donning the Scuderia Ferrari logo against vibrant red, sipping on cocktails and grazing on expensive dishes as you overlooked the Saturday Qualifying races for the 81st Monaco Grand Prix. The open air rooftop of the Paddock Club overlooked turn eighteen of the circuit and kept the ambiance of the elite in high spirits with lively music and an open bar, the view of the harbour and the lush mountainous city of Monte Carlo in the near distance.

Not much of a Formula 1 enthusiast yourself, you felt a bit like a fraud being so present and doted upon by the staff of the Paddock Club while you were surrounded by genuine VIPs from public figures and star-studded personnel alike. It wasn’t unfamiliar to you to be in the vicinity of the odd celebrity as your boyfriend’s career in the Los Angeles music industry scene allowed for some interactions in passing with those whom he worked with. But at least in those instances, you held at least somewhat of an understanding of what was going on. Here, watching twenty race cars weaving through tight curves and narrow streets at unbridled speeds, you were out of your element.

Said boyfriend - your own personal ray of sunshine with eyes that could arguably put the Mediterranean blue skies to shame - was finishing off his third margarita in the span of just over an hour-and-a-half since you had arrived at the rooftop. Donning an official Scuderia Ferrari t-shirt that clung to him in all the right places, he made focusing on the final qualifying race going on below incredibly difficult for you. If it was one thing you had going for you was the fact that you knew Daniel much more confidently than you knew the ins and outs of Formula 1. Despite your shameless glances at him at your side, you didn’t dare to interrupt his focus since he was completely enthralled by the race. His wide blue eyes darted across each passing car down below as he sipped the remainder of his drink, on high alert for the individual whom you owed your little VIP vacation to.

“Ah!” Daniel suddenly yelped excitedly, pointing a finger over the railing to the red racing car donning the number 25 that zipped around the corner directly in front of you and then tore up the short straight before disappearing around another bend to complete his lap. “There he goes!”

Since meeting in grade school, Daniel and Corbyn had been best friends for almost as long as they could remember. Even with Corbyn traveling back and forth between Europe and the States during his karting days as a boy and, later, as he navigated the senior categories paving his way to his dream of F1, the two of them never drifted. In fact, Daniel was the only one of Corbyn’s friends from home who stayed loyal and true through all those years, always his biggest support system outside of his immediate family, and the first one he called to share the news that he was moving to Monaco at only twenty-one. That being said, of course it was only fair that Corbyn hosted his dearest friend at some of his races whenever he could and there was no better weekend than the infamous Monaco Grand Prix.

With Corbyn living in Europe and almost always traveling the world with his lavish career as a driver for Scuderia Ferrari, you had only met him a handful of times in person when he would come to visit Daniel in Los Angeles once or twice a year. He had such a busy schedule, in fact, that even though the two of you were invited as guests of his that weekend, you still had yet to meet up with the young man who was arguably your host. Regardless, you decided to look at that weekend as a romantic vacation for two, an all expenses paid trip to one of the most luxurious countries on the globe as VIPs for a world-renowned organization.

“That’s so cool.” Daniel beamed, tearing his eyes away from the track to look at you instead before he shared the news as if it were new information, “That’s my best friend! Isn’t he awesome?”

His obvious love for his closest friend mirrored that of brothers and you couldn’t help but smile at his transparent pride, answering him honestly, “He’s incredible.”

Your agreement only had Daniel soaring and he shimmied his shoulders in a little dance as he drained the rest of his drink up his straw. Taking the glass from him as a few nearby patrons glanced over at the obnoxious slurping, you set it on the bar-height table nearby and then rested your hand on his arm.

“And, baby,” you started softly, only interrupted by Daniel’s soft ‘mhm’ in acknowledgement as he stared at you and awaited your comment, “you look so incredible.”

Daniel leaned in smoothly to kiss your lips once, twice, and before you could raise your hand up to the side of his neck for a third, he was tearing away from you at the incoming roar of the shiny red car and he pumped his fist in the air with a whoop as number 25 zoomed past again.

The final qualifying session finished at 5:00 and, promptly, you and Daniel left the festivities on the rooftop for your next destination of the evening. You still had some time to kill before your scheduled meeting time with Corbyn but Daniel was not willing to risk being late - even if he played it off like he wasn’t worried. So, sufficiently buzzed on expensive drinks from that afternoon’s excitement, you navigated your way towards the adjacent F1 paddocks hand in hand.

Another perk of those classy lanyards you were supplied with meant that you had access to a lot of the behind the scenes areas where the public wasn’t allowed. Standing at the turnstiles under the F1 branded archway, you each scanned your pass and with a display of your name and host’s name on the screen, you were able to step through. Once inside the paddock, Daniel’s hand naturally fell into yours like you were regulars and you began your slow walk along the pavement that was packed with bustling team members and media crew alike.

For as far as you could see - or so it felt like - was branded Formula 1 team equipment and technical apparatus. Down the straight alley, the right side was lined with impressive towering motorhomes for each of the teams. The motorhomes as well-designed structures acted as a way to showcase the luxury and pride of the team’s brand while also proving to be some sort of unspoken architectural competition of who could put together the most impressive hub. Most towering at three-storeys high, they each had a sense of uniqueness to them that captured your attention from the first glance; Mercedes’ clean lines and all black exterior had their silver larger-than-life logo glittering in the late afternoon sun while Haas’ curves and vibrant white coddled their modest one-storey in something easily inspired by the mechanics of racing.

Across from each of the motorhomes, across the main straight of the paddock, were the teams’ trucks and containers in which they housed and carted their equipment, necessities, and, of course, their cars. It all looked a bit overwhelming but, at the same time, neatly organized. In an industry that was always on the move, it was an absolute necessity to keep everything in order whenever possible. Team members in branded polos and official uniforms bustled back and forth between motorhomes and equipment containers, zig zagging across the spacious paved straight with a task to do. Qualifying might have been over for the public but there never seemed to be a lull in the behind the scenes work.

You and Daniel walked all the way to the end of the paddock where the Haas team was set up before looping back around to head back the way you came. You tried your best not to get in anyone’s way but there was so much happening and so many people coming and going that a few times you ended up having to let go of Daniel’s hand for a team member or two to barrel right between you. The media presence seemed to pick up as more of the drivers returned from their garages, all the journalists eagerly thrusting microphones at them to try and get their thoughts on their performances during qualifying. You only recognized maybe one or two from Corbyn’s instagram feed when the odd friend would be tagged in one of his weekend photo-dumps but you definitely didn’t have anyone memorized by name or enough to feel starstruck. Daniel, who grew up alongside one of these drivers and who worked in an industry that was just as star-studded for different reasons, didn't bat an eyelash either.

The red and silver three-storey building of Ferrari’s motorhome was second from the entrance to the paddock and there was where you were scheduled to meet Corbyn when he finished with his responsibilities. Similarly to some of the other designs along the paddock, Ferrari’s architecture mirrored that of the style that one would find in mechanic’s garages but with a touch of luxury that seemed to be ever present in the world of Formula 1. The potted topiary trees outside the tinted front windows were a nice, homey touch, and as you and Daniel fell to a stop to wait, you reached out your free hand to touch the greenery.

“It’s real.” you said softly to him.

“It looks too green to be real.” Daniel doubted you as he touched the leaves himself. “Holy shit, it is real. How do they keep it that…alive?”

“Rich Italian Ferrari water.” you suggested playfully.

Daniel chuckled lightly, “Sparkling water, even.”

From behind you, two hands rested heavily on one of your shoulders each and, startling as if you were about to be scolded for touching the shrubbery, Corbyn quickly eased your momentary anxieties with a smooth, “Nah, we actually feed them gasoline just like the cars.”

Ignoring his joke for the priority of their long awaited reunion, Daniel spun around to greet his best friend with an enthusiastic call of his name and a slap of their palms together and they yanked each other into a tight hug. You took a small step back to give them their moment, smiling affectionately at the scene as they embraced and swayed in place in a quarter circle. Corbyn was still wearing his red Ferrari race suit that was half unzipped and bunched around his waist, leaving him in only his fireproofs beneath, finished with a matching branded red Ferrari cap which he used to attempt to tame his messy brown hair. Just behind him, almost hidden by the two six-foot-tall best friends, was a young woman with a professional camera hung around her neck with the utmost care. She, too, was watching the reunion with fondness before sparing you a split second glance.

Pulling away from their hug, Daniel and Corbyn shared their secret handshake they had coined as teenagers and Daniel praised him as they did, “Great job out there today!”

Corbyn kept his wide grin on his face and set his hands on his hips with a modest shrug, “Not really, but thanks.”

“What are you talking about? P4 is really good!” Daniel protested.

“Not on a circuit where overtaking is virtually impossible but I won’t bore you with the technicalities.” Corbyn chuckled before then turning to you with an arm outstretched, greeting you by name with a quick hug and a, “So glad you could make it.”

“Of course!” you gushed, “Thank you so much for inviting us out here.”

“Don’t mention it. We’d never say no to having some more cheerleaders on deck.” Corbyn teased with a friendly slap to Daniel’s bicep. Before Daniel could offer any rebuttal, Corbyn was turning to the young woman whom he had approached with and he introduced you both by name before offering her introduction to you, “Guys, this is Tabitha: my girlfriend as well as the best photographer on the grid.”

“Co-workers to lovers, I see, I see.” you teased before directing to the young woman across from you, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” she offered politely.

“Hardly co-workers to lovers when we were both silently pining after each other since our very first day here.” Corbyn nudged her playfully, “Right?”

Her little eye roll was balanced with a bashful smile, “Yeah, yeah. Took us long enough and whatever else.”

“How cute.” you swooned.

Daniel directed his half-joking question to her next, “You keeping an eye on my best friend here? Keeping him out of trouble?”

“Oh my gosh, she’s hardly his security guard.” you smacked his arm. “I’m sure she’s got her own trouble to keep out of - especially around all these crazy men in this place.”

The two of you women shared small smiles that went over the heads of your boyfriends but she replied to your defence with a wave of her hand, “You’d actually be surprised how often I sometimes have to play mediator. Little boys, most of them.”

“Not me.” Corbyn scoffed with a cheeky smile and tossed his arm around her shoulders to pull her into his side, “I’m the easiest.”

“Yeah, okay.” she chuckled.

“So you’ve been working here, like, what? Five years now?” you asked her.

Tabitha nodded, “Sounds about right. Although I’ve pretty much breathed F1 all my life.”

“Oh, wow.” you gaped. “So this position was a dream for you?”

“Definitely.”

“I love that.” you smiled fondly at the confession of achieved dreams, offering some more information on yourself to your newly acquainted, “I just got into it recently because I didn’t want to look like a complete dunce when we came here. Other than the knowledge Daniel knows from Corbyn, I’ve been filling in the gaps by watching the Netflix show.”

The flicker of an amused smirk grazed Tabitha’s face but you didn’t quite catch it as you glanced at Daniel with a proud smile of your own. The Formula 1 docu-series produced by Netflix followed each season of the prior few years in the racing industry, giving an inside glimpse into the life of the drivers and their teams alike. To you, as an outsider, it was perfectly fascinating, but to the inside few who had to deal with the constant live filming, camera crews getting in the way, and presumptuous questions from the film industry, it was less than ideal in most situations.

Therefore, Corbyn replied to your statement with a half-joking, “Honestly, I’m surprised they aren’t here shoving cameras in our faces right now.”

Tabitha, who much preferred her art form of photography over the opposing scheme of invasive videography that seemed to be growing in popularity thanks to Netflix, added under her breath, “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

As if on her same wavelength - or maybe he noticed the way her hand tightened almost protectively around her camera lens in some metaphorical habit - Corbyn took a step away from his girlfriend to ask her with a smile, “Hey, think you can take a few pictures of my VIPs? It’d be sick to add them to my Instagram photo-dump tomorrow.”

“Yeah, of course.” Tabitha lifted her camera, “Get in there.”

Corbyn hopped the few half steps over to you and Daniel and he weaseled his way in between you, draping am around each of you with his photo-ready grin already directed towards the camera. Tabitha adjusted her settings a bit and then peered through the viewfinder of her expensive camera, meticulously framing you three in the composition with the backdrop of the Ferrari motorhome behind you. With VIP lanyards hung around your neck, you and Daniel seemed to fit right in on either side of the world-renowned racecar driver. But, just like tried and true best friends, Daniel held up four fingers with a cheeky grin, referencing Corbyn’s placement from that afternoon’s qualifying race, earning him a smack to his hand by said unimpressed driver.

With a few photos snapped, you then huddled around the camera to see the results, admiring the crystal clear focus and stunning lighting that Tabitha modestly attributed to the late afternoon sun when your praises came in influx. She promised to send them to Corbyn as soon as they returned to their hotel room later that night so he could forward them onto you. Then, when Corbyn pitched the offer to take you inside the Ferrari motorhome for a proper tour, she politely excused herself from your group with pleasantries of ‘nice to meet you’ and some passing excuse that she should get a few more shots before the drivers wrapped up and headed out for the evening.

Corbyn seemed unbothered by her sudden departure although his eyes lingered on her for a few seconds as she walked off before he turned his ever-present smile back to the two of you. With a clap of his hands together, he said, “Let’s get this tour started, shall we?”

Daniel stepped aside with a gesture of his hand, “After you.”

Corbyn hopped up the front steps of the Ferrari motorhome with grace after near years of practice and pulled open one of the double glass doors to lead you inside, “Welcome home. Or, as we say here at Scuderia Ferrari: benvenuto.”

Stepping over the threshold of the motorhome entryway, you were met with a modest size space lined with square tables which were circled by Ferrari red dining chairs across dark grey vinyl tile floors. Despite the team members that dotted the space in their uniforms and work shoes, the floors still appeared impressively spotless as if the luxury of it all could also purchase the ability to stay pristine. Motorsport had the ability to get messy fast and keeping their equipment and spaces in tip top shape only helped the cogs to turn smoother - and smooth was key in the world of F1.

Along the far wall of the cafeteria space was a bar counter that spanned about half the length of the space and on top was a neat arrangement of serving dishes topped with pastries and snacks and various cut up fruits and vegetables. A lady behind the bar in a Ferrari polo was arranging the platters and pouring drinks for crew members who came by, but it seemed that once Corbyn stepped inside, everyone’s attention turned to him. Their overlapping greetings were warm and friendly and even being a stranger amongst the group, you could easily feel the overwhelming sense of family that grew.

Once he said his quick hellos to the group, he turned his attention back to you and Daniel to begin the tour, “So, the first floor is catering. We usually always have at least snacks and things over there on the bar, but the door behind leads to the kitchen where we have genuine Italian chefs always at the ready to cook you up whatever you’re feeling.”

“For free?” you asked without thinking.

Corbyn sent you a pointed look, “Yes.”

You and Daniel exchanged impressed glances before following Corbyn across the spacious dining area to the stairs and you moved up to the second floor. When you exited the staircase, you were met with an open communal area donning red sofas and white lounge chairs as well as collaborative round tables with black leather chairs all resting atop commercial grade carpet. The LED strip lighting along the ceiling really brightened the space if not for the floor to ceiling windows on the front façade overlooking the paddock beyond. The tables were dotted with small potted plants and pads of Ferrari branded paper with matching pens on top and the walls were lined with framed memorabilia from Ferrari’s rich racing history and heritage.

“This is our lounge space.” Corbyn introduced as you circled the floor slowly on your tour, trying not to bother the few small groups of team members that were huddled around a table or chatting on the sofa, “We come up here to chill or to have informal meetings sometimes.”

“This is classy.” Daniel whistled, dragging his fingertips over the back of one of the leather chairs on the way past.

“And no lounge is complete without a bar.” Corbyn gestured to the mini bar along the back wall. Daniel agreed easily, still feeling the lingering effects of that statement from that afternoon at the Paddock Club.

The lounge was slightly more narrow than the first floor footprint as some of the space was taken up by rooms hidden by frosted glass doors. Walking along that wall which was adjacent to the front windows, the first one donned discrete and classy white lettering across the glass reading ‘team principal’.

Corbyn said quietly to the two of you, “Team principal’s office. Unfortunately off limits on this tour.”

The next frosted door led to a private meeting room which housed a fair sized oval table lined with red leather seats and a large flat screen TV on one wall for presentations and meetings. Corbyn explained how they often came in there to sign merchandise for fans or other similar projects. The third frosted door was the administration room where a few tables were set up with computers and laptops and other various equipment, three team members working away inside without even an ounce of distraction on their faces.

“The brains behind the operation take place in here.” Corbyn said, “Everything from marketing to hospitality to travel plans are all based out of this room, pretty much. They organize the logistics of when we have to start taking things down to move onto the next city for the next race weekend.”

Cocking your head to the side, you asked, “What do you mean ‘take things down’? Take what down?”

Corbyn spread his arms out, “This. The motorhome. The garages. Everything.”

Your eyes widened, “This doesn’t stay here? This huge structure?”

“No.” Corbyn chuckled at your innocent cluelessness and Daniel just smiled fondly at you as his best friend went on to explain, “We’re taking up a good chunk of the streets of Monaco right now. After race weekend we basically have to disappear like we were never here and take all of this to be set up in our next location. The motorhomes are built basically like stackable cubes for ease of transportation. Dope, right?”

You were speechless for a beat, merely blinking at him, open mouthed, “Yeah.”

Corbyn led you farther down the length of the transportable building to two final doors, each housing a shiny red number in the F1 font - 16 and 25, respectfully. Larger than life low-opacity decals were almost disappearing into the haze of the frosted glass, each being a headshot of each of Ferrari’s two drivers.

Corbyn tapped his own face on his door, “And these are our personal rooms as drivers. Our trainers can help us with some minor routine exercises in here or sometimes we have massages before the race to help loosen us up and stuff. Basically these are just our own little spaces to break away from everything if we need to.”

He slid the door open for a peek inside his room, although it wasn’t anything too crazy or impressive - just the necessities. One wall housed a red leather couch that could double as a massage table with the right adjustment to the metal bars beneath and the opposite wall had a built-in cabinet with a quaint table tucked in the corner. The landscape action shot of Corbyn’s Ferrari race car took up the length of the wall between the two but he also had taped his own polaroids and photographs to the plain white that covered the interior of his space. You noticed a few of him and Daniel and some with his family and many with the other drivers just goofing around…and only one, right in the center, of him and Tabitha in the Ferrari garage, taken as if they hadn’t known anyone was watching, just in innocent conversation. It was so candid and so natural and so calm, and yet it still made you smile.

As Corbyn closed the door again, ready to move onto the next location on your journey, you were interrupted by someone approaching and a greeting in an accent you couldn’t quite place, “Oh, we have guests.”

You and Daniel turned to see who it was, finding yourselves face to face with Scuderia Ferrari’s very own il Predestinato, the predestined one, Charles Leclerc. He was wearing the same race suit as Corbyn, of course, although his was a striking white and his matching white branded cap had a striking asymmetrical pattern of red diamonds along one side. With a warm smile framed in charismatic dimples and green eyes that nearly sparkled, he didn’t wait for Corbyn to introduce you before he was thrusting out his hand and introducing himself.

“Charles. You must be the friends’ of Corbyn’s. He has been talking about you coming all week.”

You and Daniel each shook his hand with amused expressions that were countered by Corbyn’s tisk that came from the call-out from his teammate and Daniel took the initiative to introduce the both of you himself and you exchanged pleasantries.

“So, you've been enjoying Monaco, non?” Charles asked.

“It’s beautiful.” you answered easily, “Like straight out of a movie.”

“Good to hear that.” he smiled at you with a friendly wink.

Corbyn, standing beside you, explained teasingly, “My dear teammate here makes being from Monaco his entire personality.”

“Okay,” Charles laughed humorlessly at the lighthearted dig, “says the American.”

“Mm,” you scrunched your nose and glanced over at Corbyn, “he’s got you there.”

Gaping at you, Corbyn gestured his hand out helplessly towards Charles, “You just met him five seconds ago and you’re already taking his side?”

“I always side against the Americans, don’t you know that about me by now?” you nudged him playfully.

Charles cocked his head to the side faintly, asking you, “You’re not American?”

“God, no.” you waved your hand as if to physically remove that assumption from the air between you, “I’m Canadian.”

“Then how did you meet these two?”

Daniel took the answer proudly, “Well, Corbyn’s my best friend so she knows him through me. And she and I met at a mutual friend’s Christmas party two years ago or so now after she moved to LA for work.”

You piped up with a casual correction of your boyfriend’s statement, “We actually met before that at that same friend’s birthday party that summer.”

Daniel replied to you smoothly, “But I don’t remember that so it doesn’t count.”

“Because you were fucking plastered.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You were still a solid flirt though.” you smiled and wrapped your hand around his bicep as you glanced at him lovingly for a moment, “That’s never changed.”

Daniel smiled right back and leaned in to share a fleeting kiss with you.

Charles, who had been trying to follow your quick bantered dialogue with wide eyes, glanced over at Corbyn who merely shrugged. With a casual clear of his throat, Charles reached up to adjust the white cap on his head and then reached into his room long enough to grab his bag to sling over his shoulder.

Straightened up, he told you all, “Well, I should go home. I have to rest before the race tomorrow.”

“Yes! Pole position for you at your home race.” Daniel stated.

Not giving the poor guy a second to properly process Daniel’s sentence first, you added, “Is that why you have a snazzy fit and Corbyn’s is boring red?”

“‘Snazzy fit’?” Charles chuckled half-nervously with another glance towards his teammate but with his amount of experience around other chaotic English speakers by that point in his career, he could extrapolate what you were trying to say, “Ah, yes, the special edition. It was something I was working with Puma and the team. You like it?”

“Yeah, I love it!” you agreed, “Maybe it will bring you luck tomorrow.”

“We will see.” Charles laughed modestly, “I will see you tomorrow?”

“Maybe. But we don’t want to get in your way.” Daniel said, glancing over at Corbyn, “We just follow him around; wherever he tells us to go.”

“Alright.” Charles offered his hand out to share some casual fist bumps with each of you.

As he turned, Corbyn called out his name and when he looked back, he told him, “Almost forgot: Tabs wanted to see you before you left today. She should be around the paddock. Try McLaren?”

“Okay, thanks.” Charles sent him a quick thumbs up before continuing his path to the stairs.

You smiled over at Corbyn, “Well, he was the sweetest.”

Corbyn shrugged with a soft laugh, “Yeah, I might have the best teammate on the grid. Don’t mean to brag but…”

“Only would be better if it was me, right?” Daniel reached around you to give Corbyn’s shoulder a pat.

“No way.” Corbyn scoffed, “You’d drag our team down to last.”

Before Daniel could retaliate with any form of physical banter, Corbyn scurried away with a cheeky grin and you were forced to follow after him towards the stairs for your last stop of your tour.

The third floor was actually a terrace for the drivers, the team, and any personal guests. The third of the top floor that was indoor was, as expected, a bar and lounge area that continued the same design from the rest of the interior of the motorhome. Corbyn explained how this space was used to sign new drivers and he sat himself down in the same seat he had been sitting at the table when he signed with Ferrari back in late 2018. He then ordered you both drinks at the bar - none for himself since he needed a clear mind until after the race the following day - and then led you outside the large sliding glass doors to the open air of the terrace.

Outdoor lounge furniture was laid out neatly across the rooftop with a few sun umbrellas here and there. It was generally empty on the terrace which gave the three of you a bit of privacy to talk and enjoy the Monaco sunshine and the city in the distance. You stood at the railing overlooking the paddock, skimming the hustle and bustle going on below with a sea of various coloured uniforms and equipment being moved in all directions.

Corbyn and Daniel stood just to your left in some conversation that you didn’t think you needed to be actively involved in. Instead, you took your time to people-watch in this world you were unfamiliar with, sipping your fruity cocktail from a red straw with your forearms resting atop the warm railing of the terrace. Directly down below, you saw Charles walking out of the motorhome, probably having been stopped by some team members for a chat on his short journey between the second floor and the exit since parting ways with your little group. As he stepped out onto the pavement, he raised his hand up to someone farther down the paddock and you turned to spy on who he was calling over.

You spotted Tabitha with ease between her F1 t-shirt and that camera still around her neck but more likely thanks to the impressively tall man walking at her side that helped them to stand out from the crowd. In light wash blue jeans and a snug fitted branded black t-shirt of a team you couldn’t make out from the height you were at, the Monaco breeze ruffled through his neatly styled light brown hair. Although he was wearing black Ray Ban sunglasses, his smile was bright and infectious and as they approached Charles, he reached a hand out to share a fist bump with his friendly rival.

As Tabitha spoke with Charles about whatever she needed to see him for, the other young man at her side glanced up towards the terrace of the Ferrari motorhome you were atop of as if he could sense your stare. He reached a hand up in a little wave and, although embarrassed at first that you were caught staring, you lifted your hand from where you were resting forward on the railing for a wave back. Tabitha and Charles looked up at you too thanks to their friend’s move and you offered them a little wave too. But the lingering gaze of the mystery addition kept your attention for a moment longer until he, too, was turning back to look at Charles and he slid his hands in his pockets naturally.

Someone nudging your arm had you startling slightly and you looked over at Corbyn who was on Daniel’s other side from you, “I was just talking to Daniel about what our weekend is looking like - there’s going to be a yacht party out on the water after the race tomorrow. Did you want to join?”

“Yeah, of course.” you straightened up from the railing, “Who’s all going to be there?”

“Probably just most if not all of the drivers and anyone they feel like inviting along too.” Corbyn shrugged, “T will be there so you won’t be the only girl.”

“Oh, thanks.” you scoffed lightheartedly. “Not like I’d need anyone but Daniel to keep me company.”

“That’s right, baby.” he winked at you.

“I swear, if you guys make half the grid puke overboard from bearing witness to your immense amount of drunken PDA tomorrow night, I will revoke your VIP privileges.” Corbyn teased, although he sounded like he was only half joking.

Briefly changing the topic, you didn’t dare to look in fear of giving yourself away as you asked him, “Who’s that down there?”

Corbyn and Daniel both looked over the railing to the trio below.

“With Tabs and Charles? That’s George Russell. Drives for Mercedes.” Corbyn answered.

“He’s fine as fuck.” you stated.

“Excuse me?” Daniel gaped at you, all too familiar with your blunt statements but always one to feign offence all the same.

“Not as fine as you, my beautiful sunshine.” you promised with an innocent smile and a touch of your hand to his chest.

“Yeah, you better cover your ass.” he laughed warningly.

Corbyn snorted at your banter and cocked his head in your direction, “I would assure you that he’s single but you, my dear, are not.”

“Why would I need anyone else when I already have the best?” you slung your arm around Daniel’s shoulders, “Besides, I’m allowed to look at the menu…I just can’t order.”

Your boyfriend kissed the corner of your mouth as his hand slid around your waist proudly and you glanced back down over the railing, only to see George still staring right back up at the two of you from behind the shadow of his sunglasses.

The next day at daybreak, the paddock was arguably even busier than it had been the afternoon before. At 7:30, teams and drivers were arriving to begin their preparations for race day which began with breakfast in the motorhomes. Being Corbyn’s guests, you and Daniel gladly accompanied him to breakfast despite needing to wake up at an early hour back in his house - he only had to come into the guest room to shake you both awake twice that morning. The drive to the paddock in his luxury BMW sports car was brief given that Monaco was such a small country and the rush of warm morning air helped to liven you from your previous slumber and once you arrived, the team valet took the keys to park it with a wish of luck to Corbyn.

Donning your VIP Ferrari lanyards again and, of course, matching official Scuderia Ferrari merchandise, you and Daniel walked hand in hand behind Corbyn as he led the way through the turnstiles and then towards the motorhome. Tabitha had to be at the paddock before the drivers so she didn’t accompany you in Corbyn’s car that morning but she and her camera were greeted almost immediately by Corbyn with a little wave and a beaming smile as she stood amongst some of the other media personnel just inside the entrance to the paddock. One to take her work seriously, she didn’t wave back, but you could see her smile bashfully behind her camera and the flutter of the shutter.

You leaned closer to Daniel to whisper, “I feel famous.”

“You look famous.” Daniel complimented. “Did I ever tell you that you look so fucking good in red?”

“Once or twice.” you turned away from him modestly, leaving him to only give your hand a squeeze so as to keep the PDA to a minimum for the sake of Corbyn’s photo opportunities he was walking through. It was his weekend, after all.

The three of you sat around a table in the Ferrari dining area and a waitress came over to take your orders. It was all so fancy and impressive - something you didn’t expect from a world of silly race car driving. You and Daniel treated yourselves to pancakes while Corbyn ordered something high protein and sufficient to start his day along with a smoothie packed full of extra nutrition. The nauseating colour of it made Daniel scrunch up his nose at the mere sight and Corbyn just smiled at his best friend over the rim of his glass as he took a hefty sip.

“Gives me a traumatic reminder of when you made me one and it came out my nose.” Daniel shuttered.

Corbyn nearly choked on his smoothie and he put it back on the table to cover his mouth with his hand before stumbling out an, “Oh my God, I forgot about that.”

“I didn’t.” Daniel insisted.

“When was that?” you laughed.

“Uh, few years ago now. How old were we?” Daniel glanced at Corbyn, “Twenty? Twenty-one?”

“It was the year before I signed, I think.” Corbyn thought aloud, “Because I was desperately trying to beef up before that season in F2 and I wanted you to join me in the effort.”

Daniel shook his head slowly, “It was then and there that I realized I will only go so far as to accompany you to the gym but not join you in your insane routines.”

Corbyn reached over to smack Daniel’s arm teasingly, “Just say you’re weak, bro, it’s okay.”

You replied effortlessly as you took a bite of your pancakes, “His stamina makes up for it.”

Daniel sent you a wink from beside you and Corbyn snorted and reached for his smoothie again with a tisk, “Disgusting.”

After breakfast, around 9:00, the drivers were set to begin their usual race day routines which started with their strategy meetings with their teams. Since that was strictly confidential, you and Daniel had to say goodbye to Corbyn there and most likely wouldn’t see him again until after the race. Besides, the Paddock Club and its free drinks and entertainment were calling your names. So, Daniel and Corbyn shared a quick hug and Daniel offered him some words of encouragement that had often been delivered over text message for most of the races prior. You gave him a hug too and wished him luck - insisting that he didn’t need it - to which he thanked you honestly. Then, you were parting ways.

Back outside in the familiar bustle of the paddock, you and Daniel stepped onto the pavement and let your hands fall into each other’s like second nature. With the area being so crowded, you moved slowly to navigate your way through the photographers without getting in their way and the team members who had vitally important places to be. A few incoming drivers breezed past you - some with their game faces already on - either in their own casual outfits or their branded team clothing. Your gaze followed one of them right past you as he was trailed by photographers with their cameras and a few volunteers thrusting Sharpies and various Red Bull merchandise at him for a signature and in your momentary distraction, you trusted Daniel to guide you through the crowd.

Daniel suddenly yanking on your hand had you whipping back around and stumbling to the side just in time to narrowly avoid a guy on an electric scooter screeching to a halt mere millimeters beside you. His startled expression was revealed under an orange cap that barely tamed his curly brown hair.

“My bad. You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m so sorry.” you assured him quickly.

Daniel tisked at you, gesturing with his hand that wasn’t in yours towards the young man and his team uniform he wore, “He’s wearing neon orange, how do you not see him coming?”

The guy’s expression furrowed for a moment as if he were completely taken aback and, with one foot on the pavement to stabilize himself and his scooter, he pointed to his chest and the vibrant orange McLaren polo he was wearing under a branded black vest, correcting Daniel seriously, “Uhm, it’s papaya.”

You giggled softly, licking away your smile at his slight offence.

Then, his eyes flicked down to what you both were wearing and he nodded towards your lanyards, “Ferrari guests, huh?”

“Yeah.” You thrust out your hand towards him and introduced yourself and your boyfriend by name briefly.

He took your handshake with a smile that scrunched his eyes closed in the outer corners, introducing himself in return, “Lando Norris. Driver for McLaren - also known loudly and proudly as team papaya.”

“Full introduction. You think we didn’t know you or something?” you questioned.

He cocked his head to the side, pulling his lips in a disbelieving line, “Mm, not really. That blinding red was a bit of a giveaway. Think you need an upgrade to team papaya, mate.”

Always on hot alert to anyone to dare question his best friend, even in joking passing, Daniel replied, “And why’s that?”

Lando shrugged coolly, “Everyone knows we’re the best around here.”

His statement had you suddenly remembering the Constructors Championship standings updates and history that Corbyn had shared with you over breakfast that morning and you were quick on the rebuttal, “But didn’t you finish fourth last year? And that was - if I remember correctly - after Ferrari?”

“Oh, lookey here!” Lando laughed, “I underestimated you.”

Daniel grinned and let go of your hand in exchange for his arm to wrap around your shoulders, “That’s my girl.”

“Well, don’t worry. This year’s numbers will turn out differently, I’m sure.” he leaned forward on the handlebars of his scooter, “So, I’m assuming you’re Corbyn’s guests since you’re too English to be friends of Charles’.”

“Yeah,” Daniel answered, “He’s my best friend.”

“How sweet. I think I definitely remember him talking about you.” Lando leaned in towards you both a little to say quietly, “He’s told us all your secrets.”

Daniel’s eyes must have widened in momentary surprise because then Lando was laughing and swatting his hand through the air playfully.

“Nah, I’m just pulling your leg. Corbyn’s a great secret keeper. Although, I’d argue not as good as that girlfriend of his; she knows far too much about me and has somehow still kept it all under wraps.”

Daniel chuckled, “Okay, I’ll know to hassle her about getting some dirt on you next time I see her.”

“Good luck.” Lando said pointedly. “She is a vault.”

“Makes for a great friend then.” you said.

“That is true.” Lando set his foot back on his scooter, “You guys enjoy the race. If you change your mind, we have lots of extra papaya shirts next door if you feel like cheering for the right team. But for now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m already fashionably late to my strategy meeting.”

“Oh, we didn’t tell you?” you furrowed your eyebrows in his direction, “We were sent by Ferrari specifically to hold you up to sabotage said strategy.”

“Nice try.” Lando snorted, “I’ll have to hear you say that again when I’m on top of the podium later today.”

Then, he pushed off the ground with his other foot to zoom off again, calling over his shoulder,

“See you around!”

With his arm still around your shoulders, Daniel guided you towards the nearby exit of the paddock, both of you in lingering content smiles from that lighthearted interaction with a friendly stranger. Your boyfriend complimented you in passing on your wit and you slid your hand in the back pocket of his jeans with some reply about always trying to impress him. This wasn’t your part of the universe amongst the drivers and the cars, but when you were together, it certainly felt like it was you against the world.

Since it was only 9:00, you and Daniel took that time to explore some more of Monaco together and you walked the streets and found a few stores to poke into before your afternoon plans would begin. Most of the city felt as though it were closed off for the race so the traffic - both vehicular and pedestrian - felt much more than what would normally have been found in Monte Carlo. You took two hours to yourselves to shop and explore and take a few photos where you could before stopping at Corbyn’s house with Daniel’s spare key to drop off your bags so you didn’t have to lug them with you back to the track.

The Paddock Club welcomed you back in time for lunch and you and Daniel shared a table for two overlooking both the crystal blue water of the Monaco harbour as well as the race circuit carved out of the streets below. Your meal was prepared by Michelin star chefs and you and Daniel clinked your glasses of summery alcohol together in a content ‘cheers’ to your lovely weekend and sharing a ‘good luck’ to Corbyn and Charles on top of that.

A live band played across the terrace and the upbeat yet calming music was carried by the midday ocean breeze and the large screen set up on the opposite side of the rooftop was playing the recap from Saturday’s qualifying in preparation for the race ahead. Of course, Daniel’s attention was almost glued to the screen for any sort of spot of Corbyn’s impressive session, his only hint that he was aware he was there with you was the fact that his hand was resting in yours from across the table. You, instead, were focused all on him in the sunshine and the toe of your shoe gently rubbed up and down the bottom of his shin just under his pant leg, completely enamoured by merely the sight of him.

“It’s so cute how you’re so proud of Corbyn.” you spoke aloud.

Daniel tore his eyes away from the screen across the terrace to look at you with a soft smile, “He’s my brother and he’s in front of the world, doing what he loves. There’s nothing cooler.”

“Thank you for sharing this weekend with me.” you whispered as you raised his hand up from the table to kiss his knuckles and then you rested your cheek down against them.

Daniel’s gaze furrowed slightly in confusion, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, it could have been your guys’ weekend with Corbyn.”

“He’s too busy most of the time and I would have been super bored.” Daniel shrugged, “Besides, you and I always have fun together and I’m sure there’s lots more to come the next few days.”

You licked away your smile as you stared at him, “Yeah.”

Daniel gently moved his thumb from your grasp to caress your cheek softly, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” you whispered.

Then, he was leaning over the table to kiss your lips and you smiled against his mouth and cupped his face in your hands to keep him there for a moment longer. When he sat back down, he habitually pulled out his phone to check the time before gasping at the numbers staring back at him and he turned the screen to show you.

“12:27. We have to hurry to make the track tour.” he reminded you.

Just outside of the Paddock Club was where the track tour was picking up the VIPs. The flatbed truck was already awaiting the guests and a few were already loaded on and waiting for the tour to start in mere moments. You and Daniel showed your passes to the employees and you were permitted on board along with them.

The elite track tour was simply what the name implied: a tour around the Monaco circuit. Although the tour took the same path that the drivers would later that day, the truck that carried the guests was going much, much slower. You made some whispered joke to Daniel that you could walk faster than this thing. As you journey, facts and history of the circuit and Monaco Grand Prix’s of the past were given by a prominent figure in the Formula 1 world who could also speak to the best strategies that are key for that specific track. You hoped there wouldn’t be a quiz on who that individual was because you swore you had never heard his name in your life, but you still politely applauded his introduction along with the rest of the guests.

One lap around the track took almost an entire half hour and the truck returned you to the Paddock Club entrance where you had begun your tour. It appeared much busier in that area when you approached than when you left as if the usual bustle from the paddock had overspilled onto the edge of the track and the long red F1 branded carpet that was laid out over the pavement. You recognized a few of the drivers standing around together, chatting, between flutters of media personnel who were snapping pictures and a film crew that was weaving between small groups in preparation for the driver’s parade that was about to begin immediately following your tour.

The VIP guests were guided off the truck and ushered back towards the Paddock Club as if to prevent them from getting too distracted by any possible cases of star-struck. A few of the drivers were still struggling out from the paddock and as they were waiting, some were off to the side signing autographs for the fans thrusting pictures and merchandise through the fence - Charles among them - and he had an obvious grin across his face as he scribbled his signature for the enthusiastic fans of his homeland.

“Daniel!”

Someone calling his name had your boyfriend turning his attention from the crowds of fans through the fence to scan the smaller groups of drivers scattered about. As expected, Corbyn already had his hand up and a grin on his face, the other four drivers with him already staring in your direction as he called you over. As you approached, Daniel’s hand in yours as it had been for most of the weekend, you recognized the Red Bull driver from that morning who had distracted you enough to almost get hit by Lando’s scooter as well as Lando himself standing between him and Corbyn. The third person in their circle was George - the young man you had been eyeing from the top of the Ferrari motorhome the previous day - and he still wore those sunglasses, preventing you from getting a good look at him.

Although you could tell he was tall from your bird's eye view from the top of the motorhome, it surprised you that you actually had to look up at him a little when you took your place beside him in the group. You, Daniel, and he seemed to stand at least a few centimetres above the rest of the circle although you were sure the newly acquainted were surprised by your height.

“Aw, look,” Lando greeted as you approached, “it’s my new best friends.”

“You’ve met?” Corbyn glanced between you.

“This morning after breakfast when he tried to run me over.” you answered coolly.

The group chuckled faintly and the young man in the Red Bull uniform added, “Sounds believable.”

Lando pointed at him accusingly, “Hey, it was your fault she wasn’t paying attention.”

The stranger pressed his finger against his own chest in wide-eyed disbelief, “My fault?”

“Anyway,” Corbyn waved his hand to end the brief bickering before offering quick introductions of you and Daniel and then his circle, “You clearly know Lando already, that’s George, and this is Max.”

Hellos were shared and then George was turning to you, asking you both in the smoothest British accent you’d ever heard, “How have you been enjoying your experience so far?”

“Oh, it’s been amazing.” you answered honestly, half thankful for his sunglasses because you were sure his eyes would be as nice as the rest of him and completely distract you from your train of thought, “I was worried I’d stick out like a sore thumb around here but I think I’ve been catching on to what's going on enough to blend in at least somewhat.”

“Yeah, she threw some Ferrari statistics in my face this morning.” Lando shook his head, “Sounded just like our team.”

You held your hand to your heart in his direction, “So kind of you to say.”

“How’s your Mercedes knowledge?” George pressed cheekily.

“Weak.” you answered before explaining with a haphazard gesture across the small circle to Corbyn, “Our tour guide is a little biased.”

“Such a shame.” George shook his head in mock dismay.

Daniel shrugged, “I wouldn’t change him.”

“Hey, thanks, man.” Corbyn grinned at his best friend.

Lando made a heart with his hands, “Aw, bromance.”

Drawn back into a conversation with George, you added to your initial statement, “I think the only Mercedes knowledge I have is that you’re starting P2 today.”

“Very good.” he praised with a toothy grin.

Of course his teeth were perfectly straight and blindingly white and your hand tightened on Daniel’s at the way this stranger’s praise made your heart soar proudly.

Max then raised his hand slightly, expressing in a surprisingly serious tone, “I’m still wanting to know why I am at fault for Lando’s attempted murder.”

Despite Lando’s half-amused scoff, you replied briefly, “I was distracted by the impressive crowd of ducklings following after you through the paddock this morning.”

“And because of that, she wasn’t looking where she was going.” Daniel finished.

Max laughed lightly and nodded in understanding.

George piped up half jokingly, directing his explanation to you and Daniel, “You become world champion and suddenly people can’t get enough of you.”

You looked over at him on your direct left, sharing in his warm knowing smile for a brief moment as you desperately tried to ignore the invasive thought to just reach up and rip his sunglasses off his face. His skin just looked ridiculously soft and his fluffy brown hair that was ruffled by the seaside breeze was enticing to your fingers and you wanted a proper look at this man. Despite your itching curiosity, you were more than thankful for Daniel’s hand in yours to act as some sort of grounding in reality while he was too busy chatting with the other three. Why wasn’t George looking away from you? Why weren’t you taking the initiative to look away yourself?

It felt like ages that you were standing there in silence but it was truly no more than a few seconds before one of the F1 organizers was calling the drivers to load onto the flatbed truck for the parade, tearing you from your momentary distraction. The rest of the little circle shared brief fist bumps and goodbyes and they made their way to the truck a few paces away. George lingered back for a moment as he was at the back of their small group and he, too, shared fleeting fist bumps with the both of you.

“Are you coming to the yacht party tonight?” you asked him casually.

“Yeah, I think so.” he kept slowly walking in the direction of the truck but his body kept turning towards you both as if he didn’t quite want to leave too quickly, “Are you?”

“Definitely. We’ll see you there then.”

His lips perked up at the corner in a half smile, taking a step backwards, “Looking forward to it.”

“Good luck this afternoon.” you called after him.

“Thanks, love.” he replied smoothly and you could have sworn that if he wasn’t wearing those damn sunglasses, you would have seen him wink.

Entirely startled, you stood in near shock as he turned his back to you and hurried to join the rest of the guys on the flatbed truck, the snug black fabric of his long sleeve Mercedes shirt hugging him perfectly under the afternoon sun. You turned your head slowly to look at your boyfriend as if to see if he had heard that too, only to find him already looking at you with a peaked brow.

“Close your mouth.” Daniel laughed, using his hand that wasn’t in yours to physically nudge your chin up himself.

“Oh my God.” you glanced back towards the lineup of drivers on the flatbed truck, “Who is that man?”

“Do you want me to tie your hair back for you or what?” Daniel gave you a little shove.

“Huh?” you tore your eyes away from your obvious staring - that was definitely caught in the background of some photos - to look at your boyfriend beside you again.

“You were flirting it up with that guy.” he tisked, although his tone was entirely amused and his cocky smirk was proof enough of that, “Right in front of me!”

“Not like I’d do it behind your back.” you shrugged, glancing back towards the truck.

Daniel tugged at your hand to bring your attention back to him, standing together in the middle of the red carpet, surrounded by media crew and professionals, as he asked quietly, “Think you want to ask him to join us tonight?”

“I mean, I’m thinking about it. I just dunno if I want to lay claim on him yet; he has so much going for him already that there has to be something wrong with the guy to balance it out.”

“Okay,” Daniel chuckled, “Your call, baby. Just let me know.”

You returned to the terrace of the Paddock Club to watch the Driver’s Parade on the big screen and share some snacks and drinks, and as you did, you were analyzing every word that George was saying to the interviewer, trying to see who he was under those preposterous sunglasses. Now it was Daniel’s time to admire you as you were focused on the screen, standing beside you at the bar table with his right arm leaning against the table top and his attention all on you. He had a faint smile on his face, eyes drifting between your habitually bitten lip and your unwavering attention given to the screen in front of you.

Just before 2:00, once the driver’s parade was over, Tabitha met you on the terrace to show you where you would be watching the race. Corbyn spared nothing when it came to making sure you and his best friend had the best treatment. Tabitha had been one of the photographers on the driver’s parade so, as usual, she still had her camera around her neck and her pass clipped to the belt loop on her jeans when she approached you.

“You’re busier than the actual drivers!” Daniel joked as she stopped at your table.

“We haven't seen you almost all weekend!” you finished.

“Yeah,” she sighed with a faint smile, “but I wouldn’t change it for a second. I love what I do.”

“Got any good shots?” you asked casually.

“Think so. But you won’t get to see them until later.” she set her hand protectively over her camera, “We also need to hurry because I need to find a good spot on the track to shoot the race. Ready?”

You and Daniel took one last sips of your drinks before following after her towards the stairs and down onto street level. The drivers were gone and the track was cleared and the red carpet was rolled up and put away and Tabitha led you across the pavement and towards the nearby entrance to the pit lane. She walked quickly despite her shorter stature, as if she always had to prove her standing in a career dominated by men, and you and Daniel found yourselves almost having to jog to keep up.

Daniel broke the temporary silence among you with a joking, “So what dirt do you have on Lando?”

“Nothing.” she replied plainly.

“He said you know all his secrets.”

“I do.”

“And?”

Tabitha stopped and turned to him, so suddenly that you almost crashed right into her, and she assured him plainly, “You’re utterly stupid if you think I’m going to tell anyone his secrets - especially someone I just met yesterday.”

Daniel, eyes wide, startled, merely nodded. You licked away your amused smile as she turned back around and continued walking.

Daniel looked over at you long enough to whisper, “She’s scary.”

You picked up the pace to keep up with her and you replied to your boyfriend coolly as he walked in step with you, “Your fault for trying so hard to be funny that you landed in ‘stupid’.”

“Just shut up and hold my hand.” Daniel grumbled and snatched your hand in his.

The pit lane was organized chaos with each of the ten garages filled with mechanics and engineers and team members all working around the impressively sparkling race cars and adjacent computer systems. You followed Tabitha down the centre of the lane to avoid getting in the way of the final work being done before the race was set to begin and the third garage from the entrance of the pit lane was Ferrari’s. Along the top of the open two Ferrari garages was a bold red stripe donning Corbyn’s name, number, home flag, and headshot over one as well as the same information for Charles over the other. Entering through Corbyn’s side of the garage, Tabitha kept close to the wall as the mechanics worked on the final touches to fiery red car donning ‘25’, and you and Daniel walked single file behind her, still managing to hold hands regardless, in fear of getting separated and lost amongst the chaos.

Walking between the towers of stacked tires, she then led you up a straight flight of metal stairs to the second floor of the garage and then right away turned up another straight flight to the third floor.

You tried to take in as much as you could of the areas which normally would be off limits while also keeping up with your guide. You managed to peek around the corner on the second floor to get a glimpse of the engineer’s room and the pit wall that was race ready and overlooking the pit lane and the grandstands that were filling with fans. Corbyn and Charles would be somewhere in the area taking part in whatever pre-race warm up routines they conducted for themselves - as were the other drivers in their team’s section - but you dared not to interrupt them, wherever they were.

The third floor was the hospitality area for Ferrari’s VIPS, lined with red and black striped walls dividing up the space cozily while also donning the once blank garage in applicable branding. You emerged from the top of the stairs towards the floor to ceiling windows that were angled downwards just enough to overlook the pit lane below and opposite grandstands and Tabitha showed you where the washrooms were just to the right before turning left into the modest lounge area. A handful of other guests were already there and ordering drinks with the bartender at the bar along the back wall. Outside the sliding glass doors was a curved patio that was just wide enough to fit a few chairs in a row and when you leaned over the railing, you could look directly down at the spot where the Ferrari cars would pull up for their pitstop mid race.

“You okay here then?” Tabitha asked from the doorway as you and Daniel took a moment to admire your new location and view of the Monaco harbour and the mountainous city of Monte Carlo in the near distance.

You turned around to face her, “You don’t wanna hang with us for a bit?”

“I don’t really like hanging around Ferrari areas.” she admitted softly, “These guys are not my biggest fans since they found out about Corbyn and me.”

You frowned, “That’s stupid.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” she scoffed before smoothly changing the subject, “So, do you need anything else?”

Daniel shook his head, “No, I think we’re okay. Thanks.”

“Here,” Tabitha stepped forward and held out her hand to you, “let me give you my number in case you need something. I won’t be able to leave my spot during the race but I can try to answer if it’s important.”

You took your phone from your purse, unlocked it, and then handed it to her as you said, “That’s amazing. You’re amazing. Thank you so much.”

With Tabitha’s phone number in your contacts, you said your goodbyes and she hurried off as fast as she had led you there. Standing at the railing, you watched her emerge from the garage below and continue down the pitlane to make it to the starting line before the opening ceremonies would begin.

You and Daniel helped yourselves to the open bar and returned to the balcony for your impressive view, trying to get a glimpse of anything interesting going on beneath you. But, not long later, the cars were emerging from the garages one at a time, breaking through the air with testing rumbles of their engines as they made their way towards the track. It was only a matter of time now.

The drivers did one reconnaissance lap around the circuit to test the track conditions and the quality of their car before each stopping in their assigned grid slot given from the results of qualifying the previous day. Their mechanics had met them there and the section of track around the starting line was packed full of people in various coloured uniforms, circling each car like bees to a flower. You and Daniel stood inside the lounge to watch the happenings on the large screen tv that was hung on the wall, admiring the flurry of red around the matching cars in P1 and P4 and trying to spot either of the two Ferrari drivers. Of course, you didn’t bring attention to the fact that you were also trying to get a glimpse of the driver who took up P2 beside Charles, squinting your eyes to see anything amongst the bustle of mechanics in black and teal.

At quarter to three, the Prince’s Orchestra lined up ahead of the starting line and the drivers were arranged together in two rows a step behind the Prince and Princess of Monaco. Charles, since it was his home race, had the opportunity to even stand ahead of the royal family, donning his custom white and red race suit and designer sunglasses; in all honesty looking more like the Prince of Monaco than the real one who stood behind him.

The band began to play the national anthem and Charles stood tall and proud at the head of the group. The camera panned over the lineup of drivers who were all standing with their game faces on - except Corbyn who spotted the camera near him and to which he gave a little wink. Daniel let out a little scoff at his best friend’s antics. You tried not to do the same but because of the fact that George, two spots down from Corbyn, was still wearing those damn sunglasses.

Then finally, once the track was cleared and the mechanics had removed their equipment away from the cars, it was mere minutes until the race would begin at the top of the hour.

As the drivers prepared in the last few moments, one of the Ferrari team members brought over headsets and radios for each of you in the hospitality suite and introduced how they worked and how to switch between the two channels, giving you a chance to eavesdrop on the discussions between the drivers and their engineers. Of course, Daniel switched his to Corbyn’s channel right away - as did you - and you headed back onto the balcony to claim your seats. Although, once the five red lights shut off and the deafening roar of twenty engines and the screech of tires against pavement could be heard across Monaco, you were drawn to your feet and right to the railing.

Although you could listen in on the radio conversation and see the best clips of the race on the TVs that lined both the hospitality suite and projections for the grandstands outside, nothing beat the real-life vision of red turning that corner right in front of you, just across the pit lane, whizzing in front of the packed grandstands to the excitement of the crowd as Charles stayed firm at the lead of his rivals. But right behind was that sleek black Mercedes that threatened him by only a few shrinking seconds, the driver of mystery still ultimately hidden from your curious view. You sipped your drink, eyes following the two leaders closely as the rest of the group trailed behind them.

Max and Corbyn were ridiculously close together at your first sight of them. Corbyn was desperate to try and take over into third but Max was strongly holding his own, especially with the rest of the drivers clogged up behind them and nipping at their heels. The first three laps or so were that mess of chaos where the cars were a colony of colourful ants and it had you covering your eyes for half of it, claiming that the sight of them all slowing down to a crawl and bumping into each other around the corners gave you too much of an ick to watch. Maybe you needed a drink.

You lingered at the bar as the bartender mixed your cocktail and you listened to Corbyn’s crackling radio discussion with his engineer through your headset, complaining about Max constantly cutting him off and trying to nudge him off the track every time he tried to get past. He had reiterated to you and Daniel multiple times that this circuit was nearly impossible to overtake your opponents so you applauded his dedication to the cause. Glancing up at the TV on the wall, you wondered where Tabitha had placed herself around the track to get those best shots of the race. Part of you wanted to message her to ask but you knew better than to interrupt her.

By the time you returned to the balcony to your rightful spot beside Daniel, there seemed to be a bit more space between the cars to allow for some breathing room. Not that they liked that, so you figured. Charles was still keeping his spot in P1 and starting to really put more of a distance between him and George. That only meant that Max - previous multiple World Champion - was gaining on him with his hungry eyes on that slipping P2. Although you were there to support Corbyn, you couldn’t help but silently hope that Charles and George could both hold their own - especially given that it was Charles’ home race.

About a third of the way through the race with not much overtaking but certainly a good amount of collisions for the bulk of the drivers, Corbyn was still sitting in P4 and discussing coming in for a tire change and you and Daniel listened to his impressively professional explanation of how the car was feeling through every turn and on every straight to his engineer. Lando was gaining on him but he had a few seconds worth of gap between them so Corbyn decided to take the opportunity. At the confirmation call of ‘box, box’ through the radio from the engineer to alert the pit crew, Daniel nearly threw himself over the railing to peer down the pit lane in anticipation of Corbyn’s entrance.

The red 25 glided effortlessly into the pit lane and right into the painted lines that were framed by matching red-clad mechanics, only taking a fraction of a second to change the tires and send him on his way, barely enough time for Daniel - a few drinks deep by that point in the day - to shout enthusiastically down towards his best friend who certainly couldn’t hear him. Taking off again, Corbyn had to stick to the speed limit in the pit lane but he pushed it the most he could without breaking the rules, desperate to not give up his spot to Lando. And when he pulled out of the pit lane, the McLaren was neck and neck with him.

As if spotting each other at the same time, they both pressed onwards to try and overtake the other. Close friends off the track, friendship was a mute point during a race, and the two of them threatened to push the other into the barriers if they got too close through the first turn out of the pit lane. The Monaco streets weren’t welcoming to two cars at the same time and the faint grazing of Lando’s orange paint against the edge had him nudging back against Corbyn’s left side to try and get back in the centre as they made their way up the straight side by side.

Although you had the headset on that gave you full access to Corbyn’s radio, the TV playing just inside the suite had the full live broadcast, meaning you could hear Lando’s frustration to his own engineer loud and clear,

“What is this idiot doing?”

Daniel, as if he was being asked the rhetorical question personally, answered without tearing his eyes away from the big screen battle across the track, “Winning.”

And through your headset came a just as agitated Corbyn, “Can this guy get out of the fucking way?! No one knows how to leave space!”

“He’s pushing me off!” Lando argued from the TV.

And as Corbyn managed to pull ahead going into the next turn and regain his spot in P4, the less than polite name Lando shouted at the Ferrari driver was bleeped by the broadcast. You and Daniel shared a high five as some of the other guests in the suite cheered at the Ferrari success.

But up at the front of the line up, Charles was breezing on through the streets that shouted his name; people lined up across balconies with flags and banners and packed along the mountainside until every space between the green of trees was taken up by people in glorious red. He was riding on the high of having his hometown behind him, letting the cheers from his crowd glide him around the sharp corners and sizzling pavement that he knew like the back of his hand. He felt invincible.

George was certainly not an issue for Charles as he was starting to struggle on his tires. He was in desperate need to change them but with Max breathing down his neck, it was hard to give it up. If nothing else, for Charles, George’s ability to keep Max from squeezing by him along those narrow streets was a blessing in disguise. Finally, the top three had no choice but to come into the pits to change their incredibly worn tires and it seemed as though each of their engineers had them stack up together to prevent someone behind them taking their place.

You and Daniel watched over the railing as Charles, George, and Max came gliding into the pit lane at the same time and slipped between their markers framed by their assigned mechanics, the Ferrari garage nestled right between the ones of Mercedes and Red Bull. It was a matter of seconds to see who would finish their tire change first and it felt as though everyone on your balcony was holding their breath. There was no fraction of a second that could have been spared in a moment like this.

Ferrari seemed to be on the ball that day - sometimes a rarity - and Charles whizzed away from the garage in an impressive 2.2 seconds with Max pulling up behind him at 2.5 seconds. That only meant that when George pulled out of his pit stop after a painful 3.5 seconds, he was now in third. His displeased comments through the radio broadcast was obvious with his overly dramatic “nooo” quickly followed by a bleeped profanity, although you couldn’t bite back your smile at his silly little accent as he finishing his displeasure with an exasperated, “oh my goodness.”

Charles managed to hold off Max for the following laps although there were too many close calls for comfort that had you physically turning away from the screens with your hands over your eyes. For someone who hadn’t a single clue about anything to do with Formula 1 before the trip, it was certainly easy for you to get into it and your dramatic reactions had Daniel laughing at your obvious change of opinion about the sport. It didn’t take a pro-racer to know that Charles deserved to win his home race more than anything, although maybe it was your inexperience that claimed that Max should share the glory of constant wins. It wasn’t that easy, so you were told.

The last lap had you holding your breath, eyes glued to the grandstand’s screen across the way, watching Charles lean into every curve just enough to keep Max a half pace behind him. And when they came zooming around the corner and along the track in front of you, your entire balcony was screaming his name, drowned out by the sound of the engines and the heartbeat of Monaco behind him.

Eyes glued to the screens for the last curve of the race, the entire country was holding its breath. The Ferrari team emptied from the garage and rushed to the track-side, climbing up on the fences and trees and cheering on the racing red as he sped down the final straight of the race. Max was fire on Charles’ heels, only giving him that spark to push him harder, faster, flying past the checkered flag as the voice of the commentator rang out across the country,

“And he brings it home! Charles Leclerc is the winner of the 2024 Monaco Grand Prix!”

You swore your ears rang with the cheers of the public and the bursts of fireworks over the circuit and the Ferrari garage nearly vibrated with the celebration that immediately ensued. The shouts from the floor below you at the pit wall brought a smile to your face over a team you hardly knew, hardly cared about, and yet you threw yourself into Daniel’s arms in a celebratory hug and he lifted you right off the ground with a beaming grin of his own. Charles’ shouts of joy over his radio broadcast crackled and broke from how loud, full of pure passion and overwhelming emotion from that long awaited, long dreamed about win.

It was a close finish with Max achieving P2 by only a few tenths of a second behind Charles while George managed to keep his P3 with only a few seconds of a gap. Corbyn kept his fourth place finish but through your headset still synced with his channel, you heard him hurriedly ask his engineer where Charles placed before even celebrating his own points scored.

“Charles placed P1 today.”

With a whoop of his own, Corbyn shouted his own adrenaline fused celebration for his teammate, “Yes! That’s my boy!”

The Ferrari employees in the hospitality suite had you return your headsets before they led you all to the opposite side of the building and a terrace balcony, packed like sardines among guests of the other teams to oversee the lively festivities and the end of the race as the remainder of the grid crossed the finish line. You peered down upon team members and mechanics all donning red uniforms, desperate for that first look of your glorious winner, held back only by metal fences. With one final lap completed as the rest of the grid finished their race, the podium finishers finally pulled their cars up to their markers at 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place, respectfully, and Charles took a second as if to compose himself, holding his gloved hands to the front of his helmet in near disbelief. The moment he lifted himself out of his car and stood atop it to greet his hometown crowds, the sound was almost deafening as the balconies and hills were filled with people cheering for him behind the bursts of fireworks, banners with his name fluttering from railings and rooftops. Charles, standing on top of his car still in his helmet, looked up to the sky for a moment and held his hand to his chest, basking in the moment, before he threw his proud fist in the air and jumped onto the pavement and stumbled right over to his team.

As Charles threw himself over the metal fence into the welcoming arms of his team, it nearly brought a tear to your eye at the emotion of it all - and you hadn’t even been around to see his struggles or his hard work throughout his career and the years that led up to it. Your attention was so focused on Charles’ moment that you almost forgot the other podium important winner of the evening as George had emerged from his car behind the 3rd place marker, greeted his team, and finally removed his helmet and passed it over to one of the Mercedes team members there to assist him before tugging off his balaclava to reveal his messy head of light brown hair and earned you your first glimpse of his face. You might not have known much at all about Formula 1 but in that moment it was safe to say you were suddenly quite starstruck.

His hand raked through his matted waves to push his sweaty hair out of his face, revealing the full effect of his handsome existence. His cheeks were flushed the softest pink from the race and his skin was glistening in sweat under the bright lights that lined the track under the early evening sun and his precise jawline flexed with the lick of his lips as he arranged himself out of his racing accessories. What his sunglasses had previously hid during the weekend were the biggest, most angelic aquamarine eyes you had ever seen - aside from Daniel’s brilliant blues - and you swore that they literally sparkled like you were in a scene in a Disney movie, batted behind long, thick eyelashes that would make makeup companies envious. He was a vision.

“Holy shit,” you exhaled, completely unable to tear your gaze away from the handsome stranger as you settled into confirmation rather than your hesitation from earlier that afternoon, “there’s nothing wrong with him.”

Daniel, who was pressed up so close to you in the packed crowd right up against the railing of the balcony with his arm tight around your waist, had already anticipated said confirmation - he knew you too well after all - and he merely smirked at you and pressed a kiss to your cheek. But it was far too busy and far too noisy to even attempt any conversation there and then so he didn’t speak to it, wanting to linger in the moment of celebration that filled the air for the time being. You had all night, after all.

A few official media personnel were right there to quickly interview the top three, beginning with George in P3. You had a perfect line of sight down over the dense crowd to right where he was standing with the interviewer and the modest film crew and the way he spoke into the microphone projected his voice across what felt like the whole city of Monte Carlo. He spoke so eloquently and contently, that wide smile ever present on his face as he reviewed his performance with grace with the interviewer. You clung onto Daniel’s waist a little tighter without realizing, in some sort of trance as you admired the handsome stranger that you were desperate to lay claim upon. Only time would tell.

Although the rest of the grid was back at the pit lane after the race and were there to be weighed and rested for a moment, the podium winners had their post-race processes done in the podium building just outside the track limits while the preparations behind the scene for the podium ceremony were hurried to be set up. With Max and Charles having completed their interviews, the three of them walked together into the building and out of sight, but you managed to catch George’s congratulatory pat to Charles’ back as they disappeared from view.

As you waited for the podium celebration to begin, you took that moment to scan the crowd below and the huddle of photographers and film crew on the terrace a storey or two beneath you, locating Tabitha at the front of them all. She was half squashed by the crowd of grown men with their noisy cameras, but she held her front and centre spot steadfast, her prized camera held securely in hand and ready to go the moment the ceremony would begin. Daniel’s hand didn’t stray from your waist the entire time you waited, holding you close, and between his touch and the anticipation for your exciting plans for later, you were antsy to get out of the crowd and get the night started.

Finally, with the Prince’s Orchestra back in formation on the track below and the Royal Family lined up along the second level of the podium above, the ceremony could commence. The commentator announced George first as P3 and he came out smiling and waving to the crowd in a black Pirelli cap over his messy hair, embroidered with his third place title along the side. You may have applauded a little louder than most in your area but Daniel just held you tighter, like you were his winning trophy. Then, Max was announced for P2 in his own matching embroidered hat and he came out with a few modest waves as he made his way to his tier of the podium. When Charles was announced as the race winner, the city went into uproar. From the large screens projecting the ceremony, you could see the tears shimmering in his eyes as he played it off with a beaming, honest smile and two handed waves to his homeland.

The three of them removed their hats for the national anthem of Monaco to be played by the orchestra and Charles, hands behind his back, held his chin up with a faint smile on his face and his gaze focused upwards as if he were lost in a thought or a memory of his own. After the national anthem, the Royal Family presented the trophies with the first one to Charles, then Max, and then George and photos were taken of the winners together. Once the trophies were set safely to the side, they each reached down to grab their large bottles of champagne they were provided with to pop and spray in celebration, always liking to make a ridiculous mess out of each other in good natured celebratory fun. Max and George seemed to gang up on Charles who ended up turning away with his shoulders to his ears in a beaming grin, trying to escape their bombardment the best he could. But the three of them were plenty soaked by the end of the ceremony and they gathered their trophies and the empty bottles and waved their last goodbyes to the crowd before retiring back inside the building.

Daniel leaned in close to you so you could hear him over the noise of the crowd, “Ready to go?”

You blindly searched for his hand without tearing your eyes away from the shadow of George just inside the glass walls of the podium building, “Yeah.”

Your boyfriend pulled you through the crowd that still hung around the balcony to linger on the excitement of the celebration but you had places to be and people to meet. You followed the same stairs back down to street level that Tabitha had led you up earlier that afternoon and in a bit of a tipsy haze, you burst out into the pit lane in giggles, buzzing from a successful race. Most of the cars were back in the garages by then and the mechanics were back at work and not paying you any mind as the two of you hurried down the empty pit lane hand in hand.

“Race you.” Daniel threatened, not even waiting for your response before he was ripping his hand out of yours and taking off towards the paddock at some attempt of a run.

“Daniel!” you gasped, your voice nearly echoing across the stark emptiness of the once lively track and you ran after him as fast as you could.

Life felt so freeing in that moment, wearing your matching Ferrari shirts donning Corbyn’s number and running over famous Grand Prix streets like you were the drivers of your own destiny, you stretched your arms out wide and let the fresh harbour breeze whizz past you. Your laugh was taken to the ocean, your joy heard and cherished by your boyfriend who suddenly slowed down as he approached the pit lane entrance and he turned around to face you, chest heaving, as he walked backwards for a few steps. You slowed down as you approached him and he held his hands out to you to catch you, sharing in your breathless laughter and wide grin and you leaned in to steal a greedy kiss from his soft lips.

“I love you so much.” you beamed, throwing your arms around his shoulders even as you both walked slowly in step with each other.

“I love you more.” Daniel gave your bum a pat, “Want a piggyback?”

“Yes.”

You let him out of your embrace so he could turn around and crouch down a bit, just enough for you to hold onto his shoulders and jump onto his back. He grasped your shins and pulled your legs around his waist, hopping in place to hike you up a little higher before he was continuing on your journey towards the paddock. You wrapped your arms around him and rested your head against his, letting him carry you across the streets of Monaco to the nearby paddock.

Although the race was over and the grandstands were emptying and the public was going home, the behind the scenes world was still very much lively. The night wasn’t quite over. The podium winners had their press conference to attend while the rest of the drivers would have brief interviews in the media pen to quickly discuss their race performances. Even moreso, each team’s personnel were already on track to taking down their motorhome and garage setups in anticipation for the next destination, no second spared anywhere in Formula 1 - both on the circuit and off.

Once inside the paddock, you and Daniel lingered outside the Ferrari motorhome to wait for Corbyn and Tabitha to meet you so you could start to get ready for the evening’s festivities. Daniel was buzzing to see his best friend and congratulate him on P4 and his hard fight he put out for the full two hours; and the drinks he had consumed throughout the day helped him to literally be bouncing on the balls on his feet as he looked up and down the paddock in search of Corbyn.

Then suddenly, like a beacon in the evening light, Corbyn in his brilliant red Scuderia Ferrari race suit appeared farther down the bustling paddock with Tabitha walking proudly at his side. His suit was unzipped and resting lazily around his waist to reveal his matching long sleeve fireproofs beneath and he donned a match red Ferrari cap over his unruly helmet hair. At the sight of him, Daniel nearly jumped off the ground before making a beeline straight for him and Corbyn broke into a jog to meet him halfway, the two best friends grinning over their own ridiculousness as they met in a hard embrace in the centre of the paddock straight.

“That was fucking amazing, bro!” Daniel praised loudly as they pulled out of their hug and he held a secure grip on Corbyn’s shoulders to give him a little shake, “You are a beast.”

Corbyn laughed bashfully at his best friend’s enthusiasm before replying modestly, “P4’s nothing great, really, but thanks, man.”

“Nothing great? Are you kidding?” Daniel shook him again. “Incredible.”

“Okay,” you grabbed Daniel’s arm as you joined their reunion and your boyfriend took a reluctant step back, “let’s not give the poor guy a concussion.”

“Incredible was Charles’ win today.” Corbyn corrected smoothly, “He’s been waiting so long for that moment…it’s so well deserved, and everyone on the grid knows it. Everyone is fucking buzzing…tonight is going to be insane.”

“Then let’s hurry up and get out of here.” you offered.

“Yeah!” Corbyn agreed, “I just have to change out of this. Gimme a few seconds. Be right back.”

He left Tabitha with a kiss to her cheek before hurrying up the few steps into the Ferrari motorhome to return to his streetwear. It was mostly empty since most of the main crew was still out in the garage or celebrating around the podium so Corbyn wasn’t met with too many distractions on his journey to his driver’s room. Outside, you and Daniel were left with Tabitha who already had her camera equipment packed up in a modest professional bag draped over her shoulder and she asked some expected polite question about how you enjoyed the race.

“I was surprised I caught onto it so quickly.” you confessed, “But I guess it’s repetitive enough to get the jist pretty easily. Did you get any good shots? I saw you at the podium ceremony.”

“Oh, yeah, I think so.” she looked down at her camera bag habitually, “I never look until I get home though so I can see them all properly on my laptop and get to editing.”

“You’re coming tonight though, right?” you asked almost worriedly.

“Yeah, of course. I’m not much of a partier but I think tonight is a special occasion.”

You sighed with a smile, “Phew, I was worried I’d be the only girl.”

“Nah.” she shared a small upturn of her lips with you.

Daniel, as if unable to hold himself back any longer, blurted out, “Corbyn did so amazing, right? That head-to-head with Lando was fucking stellar.”

Tabitha couldn’t help but laugh faintly at not only Daniel’s obvious exuberance but also your picture-worthy expression of playfully-annoyed amusement at your boyfriend’s thrill and she humoured him enough to nod, “Yeah, he’s always amazing.”

You ruffled your hand through Daniel’s hair and gave him a gentle shove of his head, “You’re fucking zazzed and we haven’t even gotten to the party yet.”

“Yeah, but you love me.” Daniel did a little dramatic loop around you before grabbing you around the waist in an attempt to pick you up. Squealing, you ran out of his grasp and around behind Tabitha to put distance between you.

“I do not really want to be in the middle of this.” she stated as the two of you stared over her head at each other, trying to out smart the other in who was going to make a move first.

Ignoring her, you darted around her and dodged Daniel’s reach of his hand out towards you but he grabbed the back of your shirt and yanked you back against his chest, swallowing you up in his arms. You tried to squirm away but he had you tightly, arms locked around you with your back to his chest and his lips pressed a kiss to your cheek and then your neck and you smiled fondly at his affection, even in the middle of the paddock. No one seemed to pay any mind anyway - they were all in their own worlds.

As you waited for Corbyn, standing there wrapped up in Daniel’s arms, your attention was drawn to the sleek black motorhome directly beside Ferrari’s as someone walked out of the front sliding glass doors. George’s teammate was heading out for the evening and his presence in his black Mercedes t-shirt had you silently remembering George himself and wondering what he was up to at that moment. Leaning your head back against Daniel’s shoulder so you could look at Tabitha adjacent to you, you asked your question aloud,

“When are the top three coming out?”

She checked her watch before answering you, “They should be in their media conference by now. They probably won’t be done for a little while.”

Playing it off, you looked back towards the Mercedes motorhome and your eyes followed George’s teammate past you and towards the exit, acknowledging her response with a casual, “Okay.”

Just then, Corbyn emerged from inside and he hopped down the few front steps and joined your group, “Ready?”

You hadn’t noticed Tabitha’s slightly suspicious glance at you thanks to your seemingly random question since you were too busy taking Daniel’s hand and accepting his fleeting kiss. Oh, you were so ready for the night to get started.

You couldn’t make it back to Corbyn’s quick enough despite the fanciness of his sports car in which he navigated the traffic dense streets of Monaco thanks to the Grand Prix shutting down half of the roadways. His modern hillside house welcomed you as the sun dipped lower onwards the horizon and his car locked with a chirp as the four of you climbed the front porch steps and he led you inside. The four of you split up to start to get ready for the party, you and Daniel closing the door to the guest room behind you.

Right away, he was pulling off his Ferrari shirt and tossing it onto the bed while you stalked behind him slowly from a few paces away, finally alone together and thus having your opportunity for a private conversation out in the open. Daniel crouched down to lift his suitcase up from the floor and he set it on the foot of the bed to rifle through a little easier, trying to find something to wear for the yacht party.

“Were you planning on showering before the party?” he asked without looking up. “I feel like I might…I’m a little sweaty.”

“Yeah,” you answered softly, falling to a stop beside him, “we can shower together if you want.”

Daniel looked up at you and licked away his playful smirk at your offer, “Sounds like a great idea.”

When he turned back to his suitcase, you cleared your throat quietly and shifted in place, staring at his profile that was permanently etched in your mind. Your heart was racing with the possibilities of what could ensue that night and although it had been a brief conversation you had with your boyfriend before leaving for this trip, the concept of taking the initiative to bring it up again felt a little shameful.

“So,” you started, “remember what we said before we came here?”

Daniel chuckled, “That’s specific.”

You pressed on, “About finding something wild and spontaneous to do that we normally wouldn’t do at home?”

Still busy rifling through his clothes in his suitcase, he didn’t offer you much more of a response than an encouraging, “Uh huh?”

“I have an idea.” you said.

Daniel glanced up at you, paused a moment as his eyes lingered on yours as if he were trying to read your mind before you could speak a word, but the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips was impossible to miss, “Oh really?”

You knew him well enough by then. He was going to make you say it.

“And what idea might that be?”

“Tonight, at the party,” you started, keeping your voice down so as to not risk Tabitha or Corbyn accidentally overhearing, “I think I want us to ask George if he wants to join us for the night.”

“You think?”

You huffed in half-frustration, sometimes hating the way he pushed you just to see the way you blushed at your own confessions of truth, but you corrected yourself the way he wanted, “I want us to invite George to join us tonight.”

Daniel slid a step closer to you with his eyes lingering on your lips as his hand ghosted over your waist, taunting you a little more, “Join us where?”

“Fuck you.” you laughed lightly behind the heat of your cheeks as you turned your head away from him, “You’re making me nervous.”

“You get all nervous from me looking at you and yet you expect to be all brave and invite another guy to fuck you? You’re gonna get all shy and blushy and mumbly around him and not even be able to get a word out.”

“Will not.” you insisted. “I’ll just need another drink…or two…first.”

“Mhm?” Daniel pulled you closer and you tucked your arms around his body habitually as he stared into your eyes, “How are you going to ask him?”

“I don’t know.” you whispered, “I’ll see how the moment feels.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” Daniel’s fingers ran up the length of your arms and then down and back up again before he was tucking your hair behind your ears and speaking to you softly, “It’s gonna be so fucking hot watching another man fuck you, knowing he can’t have you because you’re all mine.”

You bit your lip to hide your growing bashful grin at his possessive words and his nose bumped lightly against yours with how close you were. Your fingers scratched gently over the warm skin of his lower back and you slid your hands around his waist to grab onto the belt loops of his jeans to pull him impossibly closer. He let out a sharp exhale against your cheek at your move as his palms cradled your face and the sides of your neck, keeping your eyes on his.

“And if you ever feel like it’s too much, you tell me right away and we stop.” you whispered to him.

Daniel nodded, “I know. You too.”

Your hands ran up his abs and the shape of his figure over his warm skin, feeling his body against yours like that, taunting you with what you were sure to have later. You were already flustered from the way he was looking at you and speaking to you, his voice in that rich low tone that made your knees weak, but the anticipation for the mystery man with the aquamarine eyes and dazzling smile had your insides fluttering impatiently. It was a whole big mess of hormones swirling inside you, desperate to be released. Just a little more waiting.

As if thinking the same thing, Daniel sighed softly, “If we keep standing here staring at each other like this, I’m just gonna have to throw you on this bed and fuck you right now.”

Giggling, you pushed him away from you as you took a step back to leave space between the two of you and you turned for the ensuite bathroom, pulling your shirt over your head as you enticed him, “Come join me in the shower and we can warm up.”

Impressively, your shower was managed without too many wandering hands and intrusive thoughts although your steamy kisses between the shared responsibility of washing certainly didn’t make it easy. Daniel even helped to shave your legs for you and he helped to moisturize your warm skin fresh out of the shower afterwards, leaving you to work on your hair as he got dressed. After drying your hair, you took your time to straighten it and lightly hairspray it in place, making sure there wasn’t a flyaway to be seen.

Daniel lingered in the bathroom doorway as he did up his belt, watching you get ready and how you leaned over the vanity to meticulously apply your light makeup and made sure you finished it off with a sufficient amount of setting spray. Your attention to detail had your boyfriend smiling fondly with a soft shake of his head and he disappeared back into the bedroom to pull on his teal, grey, and white plaid shirt over his white t-shirt. You were right behind him, ridding your towel for your bra and panties and Daniel gave your bum a smack on his way past to take his turn in the bathroom mirror.

Once you were dressed and ready to go, Corbyn and Tabitha had been waiting for you for at least a good thirty minutes downstairs. They certainly had some teasing things to say about you both needing so long to get ready but you weren’t phased - you had very specific plans to prepare for that required extra attention in getting ready. At least they waited until you were done to call the taxi otherwise the poor driver would have been sitting there for a while.

It was just past 10:00 when you arrived at the marina and the once bright blue sky was an inky black, smudged into the rippling water of the sea along the horizon. The lights of Monaco were hard to appreciate from your position on land but as you stepped out of the taxi at the docks, you turned to look over your shoulder at the small city that thrived with nightlife of the rich and famous. You felt both out of your element and right in the middle of it all in the same. Another taxi pulled up beside yours and you waited with Corbyn and Tabitha so they could greet their newly arrived friends.

The young man who stepped out of the car was already all smiles as he saw who was awaiting him, his light brown hair fluffed neatly across his forehead and his light dusting of facial hair trimmed to a modest and tidy length. His smile was big enough to scrunch his eyes shut at the corners and if you didn’t know better, you would think he was part of Fashion Week with his designer attire of a crisp button up under a name brand letterman jacket over ironed slacks. Corbyn met him first with a fist bump and a passing ‘hey, man’ and then Tabitha was greeted by him by name,

“Tabitha,” he nodded in her direction, his words laced through a very obvious French accent, “Hello.”

“Hey, Pierre.” she smiled calmly at him.

“Funny seeing you without a camera on your neck.” he teased lightly.

“You’ve seen me plenty of times without my camera.” she reminded him lightheartedly although he just laughed softly at his own joke before she changed the subject, “Good race today.”

“Not my best, but thank you.” he shrugged, “Very good for Charles.”

“Agreed.”

Corbyn then introduced you and Daniel to Pierre, driver for the Alpine team, and you could remember them from their striking pink branding. Once hellos were shared and the five of you continued down the pier to locate the yacht, you trailed behind with Daniel, hand in hand, and you leaned into him to ask in a whisper, “Is everyone in this damn sport attractive or is the expensive alcohol I’ve consumed today giving me rose coloured glasses?”

“I think the alcohol has worn off.” Daniel reminded you, “So I think everyone’s just attractive.”

“Nice.” you muttered with a shake of your head.

Although the harbour was full of yachts of various sizes, the one that was docked at the end of the pier with all its lights on and already housing a few individuals on its deck that leaked thudding party tunes assured you that there was no question as to your destination. From the top deck, someone shouted down to you as you approached the end of the pier and you all looked up to see the brunette with a wide grin leaning over the railing.

“Oi! Corbyn! My brother! You made it!” he shouted down vivaciously, his already clearly tipsy words jumbled within a thick Australian accent. “Let me come down there and say hello!”

Corbyn turned to look back at you and your boyfriend, preparing you quietly, playfully, “Prepare to meet Daniel Ricciardo, the life of the party and arguably the protagonist of F1 according to the Netflix series.”

Pierre honestly laughed in agreement, lingering a pace behind Corbyn and Tabitha as they started to board. He gestured you and Daniel first to which you thanked him and then accepted your boyfriend’s hand to assist you across the gap to step onboard. By then, the host of the yacht party and ultimately the unofficial greeting committee had made it down to the main deck and Corbyn introduced you.

He shook Daniel’s hand then yours, “Good to meet ya, good to meet ya-” he then went to hold his hand out to Pierre who was behind you but then immediately took it back, “And I already know ya.”

“Good to see you too.” Pierre scoffed lightheartedly before excusing himself to join one of the groups of other drivers standing at the back of the yacht.

“So glad you could make it; the more the merrier!” the host expressed loudly, “Come, lemmy show you around. Give you the grand tour.”

You followed the Australian Daniel farther onto the yacht and through the sliding glass doors into the main interior space that was clad in black trim and dark wood finishes, completed with crisp white leather upholstery that absolutely drooled luxury. The 80” flatscreen along the right wall faced a spacious white sectional sofa and matching dark wood coffee table although everyone lingered outside instead, choosing the natural beauty of the Monaco harbour over television. Up two steps was the dining area with a marble waterfall table for eight that was nestled beside the large paned window overlooking the inky ocean. Just beyond was the small kitchenette and the bridge where the hired captain was preparing for your harbour party once everyone was aboard.

The second deck was the bar area and a few of the other drivers were already up there, helping themselves to the well stocked mini fridge and set up. The host poured you each a drink himself - insisting that he wanted to do the honours - and then walked you to the back of the top deck that overlooked the main deck below. It was a spacious yacht with plenty of outdoor socialization area that the party goers seemed to be making the most of; either lounging on the white upholstered sofas or loitering in little cliques by the water. Standing at the railing on the top deck, you peered down to the modest crowd of men below, trying to pick any words out of their loud conversations behind their mingled accents and the loud music that overtook the yacht.

Everyone looked so nice in their party clothes after only seeing them in uniforms and racewear all weekend and that only made your appreciation for people watching that much more interesting. It was always fun to see what kind of clothes people chose when they had a say. You sipped your drink and stood comfortably under the casual arm of your boyfriend as you chatted with your two friends and awaited the announcement that you were to be setting sail. A few people came past your group to say hello or share a fleeting conversation before moving on to chat with others. You were introduced to a few more drivers that way - some you forgot the names of the moment they were out of earshot - and others you had already met in passing throughout the weekend.

Charles got a huge cheer from the crowd of friends when he arrived on board and his bashful smile was passed around with one armed hugs or fist bumps with his friendly rivals. He was the homerace winner after many years of waiting and praying and although the attention and celebration of such caliber was a little unfamiliar throughout the grid, it was only proof of how much everyone loved Charles and knew he deserved it after all his hardwork and trials and tribulations. He ended up joining your group on the top deck and, already a drink deep, you had just enough courage to compliment his choice of an airy button up shirt that ruffled in the harbour breeze.

Unbeknownst to your friends, however, despite the good company, you were still awaiting someone’s arrival and as the minutes ticked by, you only felt yourself growing more and more antsy. You played it off well, you were sure, trying to use the excuse of admiring the Monaco harbour as your reason for constantly looking in the direction of the pier. But, like a watched pot never boils, your expected guest appeared when you were least expecting him.

The final few missing members of your party arrived around 10:45 and it wasn’t until Lando and his teammate emerged from the staircase that you glanced down to the main deck to see if they had come alone. Sure enough, George was finishing up his round of greetings down below and you kept your shameless gaze on him in his white khakis and t-shirt under a neat navy blue cardigan. His hair was tidied and pushed out of his face in those usual beachy waves as if he had showered and made an effort to clean himself up before the party; maybe that’s why he was a little late. Overall, his attire emitted the essence of the old money style and that was enough to have you struggling to keep your eyes to yourself as you stared him down greedily from the top deck.

Torn away from ogling George for a moment, you paid enough attention to your newly arrived friends and Corbyn held his hand out to Lando as they approached, “Late as always.”

Taking his hand to pull each other into a fleeting one armed hug, Lando answered smoothly, “Had to make an entrance, don’t you know that by now?”

Compared to their angry words from their battle on the track earlier that day, they greeted each other like nothing was wrong. It was a strange realization for both you and Daniel who half expected there to be lingering hostility between the two drivers after their incident, coming to terms to the polar differences from how they acted on track versus face-to-face. It really was an every-man-for-himself game out there but they were mature enough to know when to keep arguments as part of the job and let things slide off their backs.

At the same time, you were introduced to Lando’s teammate, Oscar, who was apparently the youngest on the grid. He definitely looked it, you thought, as his cheeks were reminiscent of a little boy still although he was still a legal adult at twenty-one. Lando, who was boisterous and personable and always up for a chat, seemed to act as Oscar’s emotional support teammate as the younger stood close at his side and simply observed for the first little while. Tabitha seemed to be good at coaxing some conversation out of him and soon he was opening up a little more - with help from a drink that Lando had thrust into his hand.

Only a few moments later, a girl in a flowing floral sundress emerged from the stairs and found her spot beside Oscar with a gentle touch to his back. He looked over at her and he broke into a grin that just took up his whole face before introducing her to the rest of you, “This is my girlfriend, Lily.”

Your heart swelled over the way he looked at her and their youthful puppy-love glances at each other had you ‘aww’ing out loud. Maybe it was the alcohol in your system or maybe it was the nervous energy in the back of your mind that you somehow needed a distraction from, but you couldn’t help yourself but reach out to pinch Oscar’s cheek gently, with a coo of, “You are so freaking cute.”

Lando snorted and turned behind Charles’ shoulder who snickered in amusement at your move. Oscar just blinked at you for a second, processing what just happened, and then he let out a little laugh and gave you a passive thumbs up.

“Thanks.”

Tabitha seemed to have your back in smoothing over what could have easily turned into an awkward moment, “He is the baby of the grid, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Oscar chuckled bashfully.

By then, with everyone on board, the captain came out to announce that it was anchors away and time to head out into the ocean and leave the Monaco coast and your ties to reality behind for the night. As the yacht’s quiet engine rumbled to life and the luxury vessel was steered away from the pier, you let your eyes drift from your little group down to the main deck again, sipping your drink as your eyes were locked on the handsome stranger down below. Daniel’s arm around your waist kept you distracted, however, and once conversation flowed with the drinks, you found yourself focusing more on your boyfriend than anyone else. You were out in open water by then so it wasn’t like George could make any kind of getaway before you could pitch your offer to him.

Your group grew and shrunk as the minutes passed and people mingled and soon, you and Daniel were alone on the top deck lounge. His arm was resting behind you on the railing as the sea air ruffled through his soft curls and his other hand nursed his uncountable drink from that night. The way he looked at you always made your inside flutter but especially then when you were a little tipsy and already a little aroused with anticipation and the lights that trimmed the luxury yacht sparkled in his blue eyes.

“You doing okay?” he asked, just loud enough to be heard over the music in your close proximity.

“Yeah, I’m great.” you nodded.

His arm raised from the railing to wrap around your shoulders and he pulled you into his side and leaned in to kiss your lips once. The gentle sway of the yacht had him leaning into you a little more and your hand reached up to slide around the back of his neck and keep his lips on yours. You shared a few soft kisses before he was giving your bottom lip a little nibble and you gladly opened up for his tongue to nudge against yours.

It seemed to be the standard that you ended up like that at a party, wrapped up together away from the crowd and drunkenly making out until it got a little too heated and you had to either stop or make a quick escape. Even on a yacht of wealthy strangers, nothing could get between the carnal lust you held for your boyfriend and the weakness you felt from his kiss.

Still holding his half-filled glass, he carefully slid that arm around your back and pulled you against his chest as he rested back against the railing of the deck so you were pressed chest to chest. You kept your one hand in the ends of his hair while your other kept to the side with the bottom of your glass resting on top of the railing, your lips moving in perfect harmony with his like always. All day you had been craving some sort of attention to satisfy that peaky lewd need that was burning inside you and even from only a few lingering kisses from Daniel were you already easing into satisfaction.

His arms around you pulled you impossibly closer until you were standing between his legs and he tilted his head a little more to the side to kiss you deeper, licking his way into your mouth until you were groaning happily into his kiss and tightening your fingers in the back of his hair. You could taste the expensive alcohol on his tongue and his love for you on his lips and for a moment you were completely lost in him and only him. With the lights of Monaco sparkling like stars along the hillside in the distance and reflecting in ripples across the dark ocean around you, it was a picture perfect moment of you and him.

And then something had you pulling away from his kiss for a moment to flutter your eyes open and Daniel didn’t miss a beat as he moved his lips down your neck in plentiful open mouthed kisses. Your gaze was pulled from the beautiful city along the horizon down to the main deck that was littered with people who hardly paid you any mind. Well, except for one person, as George was already looking right at you when your eyes landed on him. He was standing in a small circle of some of the other drivers but they were chatting away completely clueless while he seemed much more interested in you and your boyfriend than anything that was being said by his friends. He didn’t look away when you caught him staring, his expression unreadable as he held his glass in his hand and hardly even blinked. His stare was intense and your hand tightened habitually around the back of Daniel’s neck and he trailed his kisses back up to your lips to kiss you properly again, but you kept your eyes open to keep George’s gaze and you couldn’t help the sly smile that came to your lips.

“What are you smiling at?” Daniel chuckled into your mouth.

“He’s watching us.” you whispered, keeping your hand snug at the back of his neck to keep him from turning over his shoulder to see for himself, “Don’t look.”

“What are you wanting to do?” Daniel asked.

“Kiss my neck some more.” you instructed softly.

Never one to deny you that, Daniel ghosted his nose along your jawline and pressed his lips to your neck in a soft kiss before planting another just under your ear. Although it was all a bit of a ploy to get the attention of your mystery man, the sparks that Daniel could cause to shoot across your skin were entirely real and as he licked across your flushed skin just under your ear and left an open mouthed kiss to the same spot, you could feel yourself throb down your jeans. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, just long enough to focus on that beautiful sensation for a few seconds, but when you opened your eyes again and looked back down to the main deck, George was gone from his group.

You pulled away from Daniel in slight confusion and he was finally able to look down to the deck himself without you stopping him. His eyebrows furrowed since it all seemed a little suspicious that you were playing it up that George was there and when he looked, he was actually nowhere to be seen. But before either of you could speak to it, the man you were looking for was emerging from the top of the staircase onto the top deck.

George walked casually across the wood floors towards the bar, offering you both a calm smile and he lifted his empty glass, “Sorry to interrupt. Just getting a refill.”

You and Daniel were still standing at the railing, now side by side, with your arms around each other, right up close, and Daniel didn’t say a word, knowing that this was all your opportunity and he wasn’t going to be the one to take the initiative to initiate a situation that was about you. Instead, he tore his stare away from you to look towards George at the bar, waiting and curious to see what your move would be. Almost as if he were thinking the same, George glanced up at you both across the otherwise vacant deck. The music was loud and the presence of the rest of the partygoers on the yacht was obvious with the lively sound of chatter and laughter from the deck below but, at the same time, your area felt entirely secluded and private.

Knocking back the rest of your drink, you tore yourself away from Daniel and strode across the deck to step under the roof and join George at the bar, your boyfriend trailing behind you. In a fit of alcohol induced bravery, you leaned forward against the bar top opposite this stranger and offered him a warm and flirtatious, “Hey, handsome.”

George, in near shock, looked up at you and then glanced past you to your boyfriend standing just behind you and then, finally, back at you. In reply, he offered a safe, “Hello, there.”

“Saw your win today. I was very impressed.”

George chuckled softly, setting the bottle of whatever he was pouring himself back in the fridge, “Hardly a win. That was all Charles.”

“I dunno…” you shrugged, “I saw a trophy in your hand. That counts as a win to me.”

“I like the way you think.” he complimented with a soft smile, lifting his glass up towards his lips as if anticipating a sip before speaking, “If only it worked like that.”

You watched him take a drink before setting his glass back down on the countertop as he recovered quickly,

“Pardon me. Did you two want refills as well?”

“Would love one, thank you so much. Whatever you’re having.” you slid your glass across the bar and he reached under the counter to find the bottle of whatever he had served himself from the fridge before pouring you your drink. As he did, you asked him innocently, “Did you come here with anyone to celebrate tonight?”

“Nope. Just Alex.” he chuckled, referencing his close friend from one of the other teams that you recalled briefly meeting earlier that weekend. “And Alex brought his girlfriend so I am the third wheel tonight.”

Daniel cleared his throat and turned his head to keep his smirk at bay, lifting his half-full drink up to sip from. He was already too far ahead in your plan for that evening and George’s innocent statement didn’t look like it was going to be solved by your pitch any time soon.

“I see,” you spoke casually, still leaning forward against the side of the bar, you dragged your fingertip around the rim of your glass without taking your eyes off of him, “That’s actually perfect.”

George cocked his head to the side slightly in curious confusion, “How is it perfect?”

“Well, we were wondering,” you spoke slowly, cautiously, a hint of that proud salacious smile in your tone, “if you had no one to help you properly celebrate your podium finish tonight…would you be up to celebrating with us?”

His eyebrows raised slightly, drink held in midair as he processed the meaning behind your words. He licked his lips and then bit them habitually, taking a second to arrange his thoughts before he answered, “And what do you plan on us doing to properly celebrate?”

Oh the warm richness of his voice in that enchanting accent was enough to make you drip. You played it off coolly as you dragged your fingertips up the length of your glass and back down absentmindedly without taking your eyes off his face, answering him with the sweetest innocence, “Well, the three of us can find a spot that’s a little more private than out here and we…I can help you feel like the real winner. I think you deserve that, don’t you?”

Your question put the ball back in his court, pressing him a little more for an answer.

George’s hand looked so big around his glass he was holding and you couldn’t help but glance down to the way his slender fingers held it so tenderly in his grap, your mind already miles ahead of where you were in your plan. You were sure if he said no that you would have to throw yourself overboard with embarrassment and so you nearly held your breath as you watched him ponder your offer. As if knowing he were stringing you along just a little, he lifted the glass up to his lips as he stared at you under faintly furrowed brows and he tossed back the rest of his drink smoothly before setting the empty glass down on the counter with a faint clink.

“Alright,” he cleared his throat lightly and took a step back from the bar, “come on, then.”

You straightened up quickly, trying to keep your shocked grin at bay as you glanced back at Daniel. He finished his drink too and set it down before sending you a knowing smirk as if he knew your plan would succeed, and his hand rested on your lower back to let you follow after George ahead of him. It was hard not to run after him with the excitement that burned within you and you paid extra caution on the stairs as the rocking of the boat made your already tipsy head spin a little more with each step.

Everyone was mingling around the main deck, both inside and outside, but George navigated through the edges of the crowd like he knew where he was going and led the way through the open sliding glass doors into the interior of the main deck. You followed him with a few paces between you while Daniel was directly behind you and your boyfriend’s hand found yours as you walked in a row and moved effortlessly past the obliviousness of the other partygoers. Adjacent to the dining table were the stairs into the depths of the yacht and you followed George casually so as to not draw too much attention to yourself. But your attempt at being blasé about it all was only slightly foiled when you reached the bottom of the tight staircase only to bump into Alex in the narrow hallway.

“Oh.” Alex stopped in his tracks before he could run right into George, “Hello, mate. Where are you all headed?”

As the close friends shared a habitual fist bump, George answered him calmly, “Showing our guests to the toilet, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah.” Alex stepped aside and gestured the group of you on, “Yeah, of course.”

“Thanks, mate.” George gave him a pat to his shoulder as you three slipped past him.

You were sure if you looked at Alex you would have given yourself away as if your secret plan was written all over your face in neon lights, so you kept your head down and tried to move past him as quickly as possible despite the tipsy smile that seemed to be every present on your lips. The moment the three of you were past Alex, he was making his way back upstairs to the party, only stopping halfway up to glance back down into the narrow hallway. George’s lie was smooth, but was it believable? You could only hope that Alex was too drunk himself to think much deeper about it.

You had to turn the corner in the direction of the bathroom to move out of the way for Alex but once he had disappeared upstairs again, George slid back to the way you came to reach the shut wood door directly at the bottom landing of the stairs. He tried the handle and it opened with ease and he cocked his head to encourage you both inside.

The cream commercial grade carpet softened your footfalls as you stepped into the surprisingly spacious bedroom that was located in the centre of the yacht’s cabin. Directly ahead of the entrance door was a neatly made king size bed with a sleek black leather headboard that reached the ceiling, the pulled tight duvet complete with throw pillows and a coverlet that was embroidered with the rental company’s luxurious logo. Both sides of the room had horizontal windows overlooking the darkened ocean and through the one to your left, above the built-in lower cabinet storage in that same dark wood detailing that shone in pristine condition throughout the entire yacht, you could see the sparkling coastline of Monaco in the distance. To the right, under the window and wrapping around to the wall you had passed through, was a corner leather window seat in white upholstery that matched those found on the upper decks, topped with throw pillows and concealing dark wood storage drawers beneath.

The room was absolutely handsome if nothing else and you felt as though you were dreaming; the entire weekend being so out of the ordinary for your normal life that it had to have been the only explanation. The click of the door behind you had you turning casually in the centre of the modest size room to face the two men, although your boyfriend drifted curiously to the window, leaning his hands on top of the lower cabinets so he could learn close to the glass and peer out at the twinkling city lights.

“How did you know this room was here?” Daniel asked in near admiration before turning back around to face the two of you.

“I have connections. It’s not important.” George brushed it off, “Besides, you attend enough of these parties and you start to find your way around.”

“You often escape to the bedrooms at parties?” Daniel challenged as he leaned back against the cabinet and crossed his arms over his chest with a coy smirk.

George chuckled modestly, “Here and there.”

“Ever with two people?” you asked.

“Actually, no.” he answered. “This is a first.”

“Us too.” you added.

George peaked a brow at you, “Really? By the way you were coming onto me I would have expected you to be pros.”

“No,” you drew the word out softly, sliding a step closer to him, “I just know what I want and I’m not going to let it pass me by.”

“And what is it that you want?”

His voice was so rich and enticing and he spoke to you in a tone that was gentle but with a firmness to it that had you biting back your restless smile. His slender frame was only two or so inches taller than you but standing right in front of him like that made him feel so much bigger than you. You fought with the intimidation inside of you, trying to lean into that liquid courage that had your chest feeling warm and helping to ease you into a more comfortable reality and facing the existence of your desires that were being dangled right in front of you, just within arm’s reach.

With a soft breath, you answered him, “You.”

“Mhm?” George couldn’t stop staring at you, “And how long have you been sitting on that confession?”

“Since yesterday afternoon.” you admitted, “Since seeing you talking with Tabitha and Charles in the paddock. I thought you were so fucking sexy.”

Your fingers raised quickly to ghost over your lips as if you hadn’t meant to let that last part slip out, wide eyes staring back at him. But George just chuckled warmly, his smile almost bringing you to your knees, and those big aquamarine eyes taking in every little inch of your face.

“I can’t imagine what your boyfriend thought of the idea at first.” he said playfully.

“It was his idea.” you confessed, glancing back at Daniel who was still leaning against the storage cabinets as you continued, “We agreed we’d have some fun on this trip and he said he’d let me pick whomever I wanted.”

You looked back at George and it took all your self control not to reach out and touch him, almost nervous that if you did, he would back out. He had already agreed though and you were sure he wasn’t going to rethink his decision. It was all in your hands to progress this night onwards and everyone in that room knew it.

“And today,” you rambled on, letting the alcohol in your system act as your fearlessness as you finally reached a hand out to testingly nudge the fabric of his open blue cardigan before ghosting your fingertips over his pecs, “seeing you race…and then getting up there on that podium…wish I could have been able to just lick that champagne off of you.”

“Jesus Christ.” George exhaled with a small shutter at your blunt words, “You’re not shy at all, are you, love?”

Daniel answered for you from his spot a few paces away, “Not when she’s tipsy. And she gets fucking horny after a few drinks.”

George skimmed his eyes across your face, agreeing quietly, “Yeah, her cheeks are already so flushed.”

Your palm bravely rested down against his chest and you dragged your hand down his torso to earn your first testing feel of his body. He was similar to Daniel with a slim, lean build, but his athleticism as a professional athlete definitely outshone Daniel’s recreational gym trips and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you felt the taught muscle of his abs through his thin white t-shirt.

“Sweetheart?” Daniel called out to you angelically.

“Yes, sunshine?” you answered obediently without taking your eyes off the exploratory path of your hand moving back up George’s body.

“Do you want to get us started?” Daniel asked.

“Yes, please.”

“Go on then. Gimme a little show, baby.”

Your eyes slowly, slowly slid up George’s body and your fingers followed in the faintest of touches until your fingertips were grazing over his neck and jaw and you could feel him shutter under your hesitant teasing. His skin was so warm and it drew fire across your body as he finally reached out to ghost his hands over your waist and you took a step closer to him, lost in the storm of his eyes and drawn in by the way he licked his alluring lips.

His expensive cologne smelt so good too - his scent tied in with hints of the salty sea air that kissed his skin from the hour on the deck of the luxury yacht - and your head tilted faintly to the side to tempt him closer, feeling his breath against your cheek. He was so close and you were already going fucking crazy stuck lingering in that torturous anticipation, feeling how your boyfriend’s eyes bore into the back of your head from where he stood watching. Shivers tore up your spine as George’s hands slid farther around your hips and rested politely over your back, guiding you gently towards him just as his lips grazed over yours.

Then, as you parted your lips just enough to lock with his in a soft, lingering kiss, you swore sparks of euphoria erupted in the back of your mind. The first kiss was nothing but the tiniest, most innocent testing of the waters but as you broke apart, he was tightening his hands on your waist and pulling your body against his as he leaned in for another. You couldn’t help the small hum of appreciation that slipped from your lips onto his as he kissed you again, lingering together like that again as your hand slid up from his chest to rest on his shoulder. You broke apart again just long enough to go in for a third and as you did, George lifted a hand from your waist to set tenderly on the side of your neck to guide you deeper into your shared kiss and his thumb slid around your throat. His simple move had you tilting your head a little more to deepen your kisses that only seemed to get hungrier by the second as you swayed together with the gentle rocking of the yacht on the restless ocean waves.

George kissed so much differently than Daniel and his lips were plumper which made sinking your teeth into the bottom one just a little more enthralling. He chuckled warmly at your move but pulled you in again by his hand sliding around the back of your neck and tangling in the roots of your hair, locking your lips with his in shiver-worthy kisses. Maybe it was the foreignness of the situation compared to the comfortable familiarity you had with Daniel, but he also seemed a little more gentle than your boyfriend; taking his time with you, making sure you knew you had every ounce of his attention.

God, but he knew how to kiss and that was obvious. You were finally getting what you had wanted all weekend and yet it still didn’t feel like enough, forcing you to wrap your arms right around his shoulders to embrace him closer and pull more from him. His tongue teased your bottom lip gently and you gladly opened up more for him, meeting him halfway for filthier kisses that had you throbbing down your jeans. The muted music from the party going on upstairs was obsolete as your ears were tuned right into the wet sounds of your deepening kisses and your breaths falling as one. George moaned softly into your mouth, a greedy rich sound that you felt throughout your body, and you arched into him habitually with a soft whine of your own and pulled him into you by your arms slung around his shoulders.

His front was almost completely pressed right up against yours but even that didn’t feel like enough as he dropped his hands to your waist and tugged you impossibly closer as his tongue pushed intently against yours. Kissing him back in a clumsy battle of lips and tongues, you moved your hands back to his shoulders to anchor yourself for a moment before breaking away from his mouth to trail impatient kisses down his neck. His warm skin under your lips was invigorating and you breathed him in selfishly as you kissed right up under his ear.

“Fuck.” George breathed to the ceiling as he tilted his head back ever so slightly to give you room, his hands tightening around your waist as you licked up his neck and seemed to reach all the spots that made him shiver.

From across the room and still leaning casually against the cabinetry, Daniel spoke again, “Good girl, baby. You’re just fucking throwing yourself at him.”

Words were a waste of precious time so you simply replied with an agreeable hum against George’s neck between open mouthed kisses that you moved down towards the collar of his t-shirt. Your hands slid down from his shoulders to caress his chest over his clothes and you stole a few more kisses from his lips as you pushed his navy blue cardigan off his shoulders and to the floor. He helped to shrug it off and get his arms out and before he was even completely out of it, you were already peppering hurried kisses down his chest and over his abs that were hidden under his t-shirt before you sank yourself all the way down to your knees in front of him.

Not wasting a second, you untucked his t-shirt from his pants and shoved up the bottom of it to get your first peek at his body, leaning in to press your lips just above his navel and kissing right down between his firm abs to the waistband of his jeans. You raised your eyes up to him, staring up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth as you pulled the leather of his belt through the buckle and tugged at it hard to get it unpinned, making him have to take a half step towards you to keep from falling over at your aggression.

“Christ.” he groaned lowly as he stared down at you, wide eyed, “You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you?”

You left his belt open so you could focus on popping the button on his jeans all while staring up at him with a sweet smile that was so incredibly hard to hide, only giving him a nod.

“Use your words.” Daniel reminded you firmly from a few paces away, “Show him what a good girl you are.”

You licked away your smile, still peering up at the handsome stranger that was quickly becoming less than a mystery to you as you rested on your knees for him, your careful fingers tugging down the zipper of his pants as you confessed up to him softly, “I’m so fucking desperate for your cock.”

Although his breath shuttered at your blunt words, he played it off with a brush of his fingers through your hair and a taunting, “Yeah? You wanna suck it for me, darling?”

“Please, can I?” you asked sweetly.

“Go on then.” he permitted.

He was so tall that you had you sit up on your knees with your posture perfectly straight to reach him comfortably but that fact only had you grinning excitedly as you tugged open the fly of his white jeans and then grabbed hold of the waistband of his pants and his underwear at the same time to yank them down together. You could almost hear the thudding of your heart over the muffled music and chatter coming from the deck above but your attention was all too focused on what you had been fantasizing about all weekend. Before this, the only man you had ever been with was Daniel. He was your first and your only, but even as you delved into a world of experimentation together, simply having him keeping a watchful eye from across the room was reassuring enough for you as you earned your first look at a man who was not him.

“Oh my God.” you exhaled, hands still grasping onto the waistband of George’s pants as you took a moment to just stare at him.

Neatly trimmed and kept, he was already somewhat hard and was at least somewhat bigger than Daniel. Not that you minded or made a point to speak to it, but the intimidation factor was certainly all encompassing of this man in front of you from his dazzling eyes and model height to the impressive dick that, tonight, was all yours. You hesitated, as if forgetting all your plentiful prior experience you had with your boyfriend, simply gaping at George’s dick in your face.

Daniel, who knew you better than anyone, was easily there with the save, “I think he’s waiting for you to touch it, sweetheart.”

You giggled shyly and moved your right hand away from his fly to gently wrap around the base of his heavy cock and you stuck out your tongue and leaned in to lick at the tip teasingly. George’s hand pushed through your hair again to get your bangs out of your face and his soft exhale had you dragging your tongue right up the side of his dick without tearing your eyes away from his.

“That’s my good girl.” Daniel praised honestly, dropping a hand down to adjust himself over his pants, “Now wrap those pretty little lips around him and show him what you can do.”

You tore your eyes away from your handsome stranger to look at your task at hand as you pursed your lips to dribble some spit down onto the head of his cock. Your hand gave him a few lazy strokes to slick your palm up in it as you shuffled a little closer on your knees and you pressed a tender kiss right to the tip before slowly guiding him into your mouth. Feeling the warm weight of his cock against your tongue had your eyes fluttering shut with a soft moan as you sunk your mouth around him farther.

George took in a sharp breath through his teeth and his hand tightened in your hair, staring down at your mouth wrapped around his cock and he used his other hand to pull the hem of his shirt up and out of your way. He then licked his lips habitually before speaking to you in a voice as smooth as butter, “You are such a good girl, aren’t you?”

You hummed around him softly in agreement before starting to pull your mouth back before moving down again, all while your right hand was keeping him in place for you. You could feel him getting harder in your mouth, swelling up against your tongue, and it was a feeling that had you salivating; the proof of which being the way your spit slipped past your lips and leaked down the shaft of his cock to your hand wrapped around the base.

After a few seconds, you pulled off him to take a breath - and to get a real, proper look at him - as your hand picked up the slack. It was true, what you had said earlier, that there was absolutely nothing wrong with this man; there was not a damn inch on his body that had even an atom of ugly and it blew your goddamn mind into nothing more than buzz of humanistic arousal. You couldn’t help the bite of your lip as you stared at your hand pumping his cock with steady flicks of your wrist as if you were trying to memorize the sight of him like that. Your weekend fling, that was that. You were going to have one and only one glorious night with this man so you knew you needed to make the most of it and make it count.

So you took his dick back in your mouth and nestled yourself down until your lips met your fist and when you pulled back, you hollowed your cheeks greedily to earn yourself a pretty moan from his chest. The sound went right between your legs and encouraged you to repeat that action just to hear more of him. Only a few strokes in and the modest bedroom was easily welcoming the sloppy sounds of your mouth taking him in steady bobs of your head, forcing more spit to drip from your mouth and down your chin. You never minded being messy with it.

Daniel from his spot across the room, was indiscreetly palming himself over his jeans with his gaze focused all on you and he spoke to you in a coo, “Look at you, sweetheart, you have a millionaire’s dick in your mouth. How's that feel?”

You could feel your cheeks heat up more than they already were but you didn’t want to lose out on a second with George’s cock in your mouth so all you gave your boyfriend in reply was a pleased moan in agreement.

“Really good, hm?” George taunted cockily, lifting his other hand to help keep your hair back as he kept his gaze all on you and the rhythmic strokes of your mouth you offered him. He bit his bottom lip through a faint groan with both of his large hands wrapped around your hair in a sort of messy makeshift ponytail that certainly was messing up your curls that you had meticulously worked on before coming to the party. You didn’t mind, however, as you were more than willing to let him ruin you however he pleased, and that only seemed to be working in your favour as he let another soft moan slip past his lips before complimenting you honestly, “You’re a fucking goddess.”

But maybe that was just stemmed from the fact you had his cock in your mouth.

You started to move your hand in twisting strokes at the same pace of your mouth taking half of him against your tongue over and over, desperate to bring him pleasure and show off how good you could be. With both of his hands in your hair, his shirt had fallen back into place and you took the initiative with your left hand to link your thumb under the hem and slide your palm up his body to hold it out of your way. The firm muscle of his abdomen had you hungry for more of him as you sucked on his cock in messy slurps.

Suddenly, the yacht swayed a little more than usual over a rougher wave and between that, the alcohol in his system, and his pants around his knees, George stumbled slightly with a, “Shit.”

You pressed your hand a little harder against his abs, instructing him with a gentle, “Lean against the door.”

He glanced behind him and then took the two steps back so he was resting flat against the locked door and as you shuffled on your knees to take your place in front of him again, he pulled his shirt up and over his head. You forced yourself to take a second to admire his bare torso as your hand stroked his dick in the meantime, wide eyes nearly turning into hearts at the sight of him and his vast expanse of soft caramel skin. The position felt so much more invigorating to have him sandwiched between the door and you and it gave you a flicker of powerfulness in your chest, especially as you got a whimper out of him as you finally sunk your mouth down on him again. George’s hands tangled in your hair again and as he fell into his own familiarity with the situation, he gently started to guide your motions a little deeper.

“Can you take more, darling?” he purred angelically.

Daniel answered for you, “She can. Honestly, just use her mouth all you want.”

Almost disbelieving, George looked over at him with slightly furrowed brows, “Really?”

“If it’s too much, she’ll tap out three times on your thigh.” Daniel assured him, “She likes it. Don’t you, baby?”

You pulled off George’s cock with a messy slurp and glanced over at Daniel as you smeared your spitty lips over the length of it before answering, “Yes, sir.”

“So you better tell him that then.”

You tore your eyes away from your boyfriend to bat your eyelashes up at the man you were on your knees for and with your hand snugly holding his dick against your mouth, you asked of him angelically, “Please can you fuck my throat?”

“Such good manners.” George praised warmly as his hands in your hair guided you in again.

You didn’t hesitate before opening up to take his dick in your mouth again as you set your hands on his thighs for balance. He then slowly started to take control of your head as he pulled you into shallow motions to start you off, his breaths falling in time with your rhythm. But you were impatient and desperately wanting more, so you took the initiative yourself and forced yourself deeper on him until you gagged yourself on him. He took the hint to tighten his hands in your hair and keep you at that greedy depth as he started to nudge his hips towards you, forcing another wet gag from your throat. Your fingers dug into his thighs but you didn’t complain about the slight discomfort that came with the responsibility.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl.” George groaned tightly, fingers locked in your hair just tight enough to keep a snug pull at your scalp that made you moan messily around him.

You tried to look up at him but the tears that burned your eyes made your vision blurry and you scrunched your eyes closed instead, putting your focus on staying right where he needed you. The sounds were horribly lewd and if you were a bit more sober you might have worried that anyone who walked past the door out in the hallway would be able to hear the gasping wet gags of your throat with his every thrust into your mouth. Maybe the music was loud enough to conceal you.

After a few more seconds, you were tapping out on his thigh and he loosened his grip on your hair so you could pull back with a messy cough, spit dripping down your chin and still connecting your lips to his cock as you blinked your teary eyes up at him. He wiped your mouth with his thumb and then slipped it past your lips, earning a pleasant moan of appreciation out of you and your eyes fluttered shut as you sucked on his thumb for a moment.

George tisked from above you, “You’re fucking incredible.”

Daniel’s hands on your shoulders startled you slightly but he just leaned down and grabbed the bottom of your shirt to pull it up and over your head, leaving you in your bra and your jeans on your knees. George’s fingers fell into your hair again as you wrapped a hand around his cock and leaned in to happily swirl your tongue around the head while Daniel crouched behind you and reached around your waist to unbutton your jeans.

“I think you deserve a turn now, sweetheart.” he cooed against your ear.

His warm breath sent shivers down your spine and you pulled your mouth away from George to turn your head back towards your boyfriend situated behind you to meet him for a kiss. Daniel lifted a hand up to cradle your jaw as your lips locked in sloppy tongue-led kisses just like second nature, while your grip was still secure around George’s dick in front of you and you gave him a few gentle strokes. His hand was still in your hair and he stroked your head faintly as he watched the way you kissed your boyfriend right in front of him just like he had back upstairs at the party. But now he had the added bonus of your hand on him, touching him so perfectly in twisting tugs that had his bottom lip between his teeth, while his eyes drifted downwards to watch Daniel’s hand slip down the front of your unbuttoned jeans.

Daniel groaned into your mouth, “You’re so fucking wet for us already, baby.”

You pulled away from your boyfriend’s lips with a withering moan only to peer right up at George above you as if to subconsciously see if he was watching you. Of course he was; dead focused on the disappearance of Daniel’s hand down your pants and the way your hips moved ever so slightly against his touch. Even as you succumbed to the pleasure of your boyfriend's touch, you couldn’t get enough of your handsome stranger as you leaned in to wrap your lips around his cock and suck on him lazily, letting him feel the sweet moans from your mouth right up against him.

“Wanna let me go down on you?” George asked with another rake of his fingers through your hair, “Is that alright?”

Daniel’s low chuckle from behind you had you pulling back from George’s cock, licking your lips as you peered up at him again and let your body mould against Daniel’s chest right behind you. Your head was spinning and you could hardly form a thought as your brain raced a mile a minute.

“You wanna say yes so bad, don’t you?” Daniel taunted softly against your ear, that cocky smile on his face, “Say it. Then I can get you out of these pesky clothes and hold your fucking legs open for him. Do you want that?”

“Yes.” you breathed without tearing your eyes away from George’s face.

“What was that?” George brushed the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, speaking to you in that warm voice of his that seemed to have perfected the art of feigning innocence although the weight behind his every word was very present, “Speak up.”

“Yes, please.” you repeated a little louder.

Daniel helped you to your feet and then tugged your jeans down while George, too, got out of his pants that had lingered around his knees for the last little while. In only your bra and underwear - a nice set that you had meticulously packed and chosen for this exact moment with help from your boyfriend’s input - Daniel led you over to the window seat by your hand and he sat himself down first, right in the corner, and then hurried to pull off his plaid shirt and then his white t-shirt, tossing both to the growing pile on the carpeted floor. He patted his thigh and you turned to sit yourself down on his lap, a position quite familiar to you, and although the denim of his jeans was less than ideal compared to how the warmth of his skin against yours would have felt, you had alternate priorities at that moment.

Sitting there on your boyfriend’s lap in the corner of the room, you had your first proper look at George’s naked body as he finished stripping completely and was making his way over to you. You shifted in place on Daniel’s lap and leaned back against his chest with a smile you couldn’t bite away, eyeing up the endless expanse of beautifully smooth caramel skin of the chiseled stranger in front of you. Between the sight of him in addition to the soft groan Daniel let out against your shoulder at your movements on his lap, you were already naturally spreading your legs at the ready.

“Hang on,” Daniel mumbled, guiding you off him long enough for him to give up on his jeans and he shoved them down his thighs and kicked them to the floor before pulling you back down, “That’s better. You comfortable?”

“Yeah.” you answered softly without tearing your eyes away from the man in front of you who resembled that of a Greek God. You licked your lips habitually at the sight of him and your hand slid down between your parted legs to rub yourself over your underwear for a moment, trying to ease that pesky ache.

George nudged your hand away as he sank down to the floor in front of you, right between Daniel’s legs which were, ultimately, keeping your legs open too. With a gentle hand, George dragged two fingers along the fabric of your panties right down the center, and his eyebrows raised slightly at the feeling of how aroused you already were.

“You’ve ruined these.” he exhaled, “Naughty girl.”

The way his accent sounded when he called you that had your head dropping back with a tight groan, definitely giving Daniel a facefull of your hair but he didn’t mind. Your boyfriend swiped your hair over your opposite shoulder so he could watch too, paying close attention to the way George’s large hands slid along your legs and how his lips ghosted over your inner thighs. You shivered on his lap and Daniel kissed your neck, trailing his fingers over your waist and up to your chest, playing with the lace of your bra that followed the curve of your breasts.

Playing on George’s words, Daniel whispered against your ear, “Yeah, you’re our naughty little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” you whimpered as you succumbed to your intrusive thoughts and reached a hand down to rake through George’s soft brunette waves.

Drawing his attention from the fleeting kisses he left over your thigh, his eyes raised to yours and he offered you a little wink from between your legs. He could tell you were antsy and he, himself, didn’t want to wait much longer either so he linked his fingers in the sides of your underwear and pulled them down your legs, watching carefully to see how the thin lace fabric stuck to your pussy for a moment thanks to the wetness you were leaking.

Once your underwear was discarded to the floor, Daniel linked his hands under your thighs and spread your legs for you, so much so that you had to fall back against his chest to be able to sit comfortably. Your cheeks were flushed in slight nervousness over the fact that you were now spread open and vulnerable for a stranger but the liquid courage in your system helped to ease any slight embarrassment until it vanished the moment George got his hands on you. His soft caress of your pussy with two fingers was quickly followed by a ghostly kiss to your clit just before his tongue was dropping out to earn his first taste of you.

You were already so sensitive that the first touch had your legs twitching from where Daniel held them and your soft squeak was almost completely involuntary. Despite your slight shyness, you couldn’t tear your attention away from the man between your legs, even as his big blue eyes raised to meet your gaze in time with another slow, teasing lick. Your hand was still in his hair and it only tightened its grip as you tried to pull him in for more, desperate for some sort of friction to soothe that ache.

“Good girl, sweetheart.” Daniel cooed against your ear, “Not even shying away. Look at you pulling him in.”

George set his hands on the backs of your thighs as Daniel held them out of his way for him, holding himself between your legs as his tongue slid between your lips in slow, full licks that had your toes curling. Your impatient hum had George smiling against you for a moment until he dragged his tongue up to your clit and swirled around it tauntingly.

“Fuck.” you whined, trying to nudge your hips up against his face.

“Isn’t this my celebration?” George retorted cockily at your greedy move, his warm breath fanning across your wet cunt and the feeling made you shiver, “So we do things my way, yeah?”

You exhaled your muttered agreement, “Yeah.”

“Good girl.” he winked before moving back down to slip his tongue inside you.

You groaned tightly as his nose bumped against your clit perfectly, just stimulating you enough to want more, and your fingers tightened in his hair to tug at it harder. The slight aggression from you had him moaning against your pussy and he pulled away just enough to spit loudly onto your glistening lips and make it messier.

“It’s like he knows just what you like.” Daniel chuckled softly, his head right beside yours. He lifted his hand up to wrap around your throat to give you a bit of pressure as you both stared down at the pretty brunette between your legs.

George’s eyes were all on you as if dead set on gauging your every slight reaction to his every slight movement, but his blinks were slower as he struggled to not shut his eyes and lose himself in you, instead letting his long lashes kiss his cheeks before opening up again. His tongue nudged inside you in purposeful motions and alternated with long licks right up to your clit and back down. He was taking in every inch of you with his mouth all without taking his eyes off of yours and it made you squirm.

From your spot on Daniel’s lap and leaning against his chest, you could feel his dick against the small of your back and even though he was still wearing his boxers, you could feel how hard he was already. You were sandwiched between the two handsomest men in the world, you were sure, and you mouthed a silent ‘oh my God’ to the room at the realization of your reality.

Daniel, with his hand still around your throat, guided your head back onto his shoulder so he could kiss your lips. Having the privilege of both kisses and oral at the same time was unheard of for you and it nearly sent shockwaves throughout your body, urging you to share your appreciation through pleasant moans into your boyfriend’s mouth. His tongue fought its way into your mouth between sloppy kisses and your free hand reached back to tug at the brunette curls at the nape of his neck to keep him where you wanted him. Your head was fucking spinning - although that may have been thanks to the sway of the yacht that only intensified the dizziness of your pleasure.

Your breath was falling shallower by the second and forcing you to break away from Daniel’s lips, urging his face into your neck instead as he kissed over your flushed skin. George dragged his tongue right up to your clit and lapped at it gently, even the slightest touch having your legs try to close at the growing sensations. Daniel’s hands grabbed your thighs again and pulled them farther back, his fingertips pressing indentations into your flesh as he held you open for George’s tongue.

“That’s it, baby.” Daniel praised against your cheek, “You’re doing so good for us.”

George pulled away from you just long enough to slip his middle finger in his mouth to wet it before teasing it across your pussy and finally sinking it inside you. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you stared down between your spread legs to watch his slender finger disappear inside you just as his tongue met your clit again. You jolted at his touch, earning a warm chuckle out of him right up against your body and your head fell back against Daniel’s shoulder.

“Sit nice and still for him.” Daniel warned you gently.

“It’s hard.” you whimpered.

“Yeah?” Daniel cooed, “Feels really good, huh?”

As if appreciating your praise, George slowly added a second finger inside you and as he did so, your mouth dropped open with a soft gasp and you heaved your head up from Daniel’s shoulder to look down at him. He couldn’t stop staring at you as his tongue lapped at your clit and his fingers thrusted firmly inside you, reaching only about halfway just to try and find that perfect little spot. You dropped your hand from the back of Daniel’s neck to join your other in George’s hair, unable to hold back the tumbling of moans that spilled past your lips as you tugged at those heavenly soft brunette waves.

He was a fucking prince and he certainly treated you like a queen, catering to your every need without even having to ask. You swore he was unreal, that he was some magnificent man written by the hand of a woman; that had to have been the only explanation to how he could make you see stars so effortlessly.

The lewd wet sound of his tongue on you and his fingers nudging inside your dripping cunt paired beautifully with his low moan stemmed from your hands tugging at his hair, his eyebrows furrowing slightly in equal parts concentration and his own pleasure. The vibration from his mouth had you gasping and Daniel’s hands gripped your thighs harder to keep you spread wide as your muscles worked against him to try and close yourself up in overwhelm. It was hard to smother your whimpers through your bitten lip and part of you didn’t want to; ignorant to the memory of the party going on above you or the fact that anyone could be walking by the room to locate the bathroom at any given moment. Your priorities were far away from what was deemed socially acceptable as guests on this yacht and amongst this group of wealthy and illustrious individuals.

Writhing on Daniel’s lap and against George’s mouth, you arched against your boyfriend’s shoulder and pleaded to the air softly, “Can I cum?”

“That’s up to our podium winner here. He decides when you cum tonight.” Daniel told you.

George didn’t correct him on the technicality that he wasn’t actually the winner because in that moment it sure fucking felt like he might have been.

Keeping his fingers moving at that consistently strong pace, he answered you softly right up against your pussy, his hot breath fanning against your slick skin and his words muffled slightly by your body, “Yeah, you can cum for me, darling.”

Your fingers tugged at his hair to keep his face between your spread legs, your chin held down to your chest as you desperately chased that taunting orgasm that was building inside you quickly. If you had any care at that moment, you were sure you would have looked ridiculous in such a position with your face screwed up in pure pleasure, but all that mattered to you in that moment was doing anything that would get you over those blissful waves. George was certainly making it easy as he didn’t dare move from his spot, keeping his two fingers right where you wanted them and his tongue flicked mercilessly at your swollen clit until he could feel you start to clench around his fingers.

“Mhm.” he mumbled against you encouragingly, staring up at your flushed face and gaping mouth.

“That’s my girl.” Daniel praised from beside you, “Show him what a good fucking girl you are and cum all over his fucking face.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes-” you squealed, letting yourself stumble out nonsense as that burning tight pleasure grew hotter and hotter.

And the feeling burst inside you like a pop of champagne and your head tossed back against Daniel’s shoulder with a strangled cry, eyes screwed shut, fingers locked in a white-knuckled grip in George’s soft hair as you creamed around his slender fingers. He licked up everything you offered him right through your orgasm, moaning greedily against you as his tongue joined his fingers and he worked you through it, all while your boyfriend praised you strongly against your ear in filthy words you could hardly even make sense of in such a state. Your legs trembled from where Daniel held them out, nearly vibrating, and you whimpered loudly to the ceiling with ears ringing faintly from the sudden intensity of it.

“Holy shit.” you gasped out of it. You took a hand from George’s hair to push through your own to get the messy strands out of your face and wipe your eyes that were brimming with unshed tears.

“Good girl, baby.” Daniel kissed your neck, gently setting your legs down to he could wrap his arms around your middle as he trailed kisses over your skin, “That was so fucking hot.”

From between your legs, George pulled his fingers out of you and slipped them into his mouth to suck clean for a moment before turning his head to press a lingering kiss to your inner thigh, followed by another alongside a soft groan as he spoke up to you, “You taste incredible.”

“Doesn’t she?” Daniel boasted with a proud smirk.

George leaned in for one more gentle lick at your swollen pussy and one more wet kiss - your body flinching with a soft whine in oversensitivity at his fleeting touches - before he was standing up in front of you, taking a second to wipe his glistening mouth before holding out his hand towards you, “Come on. I’m not quite done with you yet.”

You wouldn’t dream of declining him and you set your hand in his and let him help you off Daniel’s lap before leading you over to the bed. You took the initiative to turn yourself around and sit on the edge of the mattress before scooting back a little, reaching to grab George by the back of his neck to pull him after you. He followed your insistent lead to lock your lips in a well deserved kiss as he blindly followed you onto the bed until you were both situated near the middle. You could taste yourself on his lips and tongue, the undertones of possession setting your mind ablaze as you moaned into his mouth and your body tried to arch against him. But from where he was positioned half beside you and half in front of you, touching wasn’t all that simple.

Instead, George pulled away from your lips to move his kisses down your neck and over your collarbones while one hand slid behind your back to unclip your bra and toss it to the floor. You were pleasantly surprised at his secret skill of undoing it blind and one-handed and you glanced past him to Daniel still sitting where you had left him in the corner of the window seat, sharing silent impressed glances. George’s mouth on your breasts had your mouth falling open and your attention pulling back to him instead of your boyfriend, giving him a pleasant groan as he licked and sucked over one of your nipples while the other was tended to by his fingers.

“Oh my God, you’re perfect.” you exhaled shakily, sliding your fingers into the back of his messy brunette waves.

He laughed ever so faintly in response as he switched over to your other breast, covering you in wet kisses before taking your nipple in his mouth again. Your head fell backwards with a moan to the ceiling, having already come once but still wanting more from him.

George didn’t make you wait much longer as he pulled away from your breast with a soft pop and then smoothly leaned in towards your lips. Your tongues met first as your heads tilted naturally to lead you into filthy kisses, probably swapping too much spit in the process but by that point in the night you were well past acquainted. You barely had moved your hands to cradle his face in your palms when he was pulling away again and sitting back from you on his knees.

“Turn around for me, love.”

It was almost embarrassing how easy you flipped yourself around onto your hands and knees at his simple request. You often found it fun to push Daniel’s buttons and purposefully ignore his demands but, with George, his voice held this power over you that had you succumbing to his every wish effortlessly. Without being asked, you bent forward at the waist to rest your forearms on the bed and leave your ass up for him, giving him a little taunting wiggle.

His warm hand caressed the curve of your ass and he asked warmly, “Can I spank you?”

“Yeah.” you answered, “Only if you hit me hard though.”

As if in reply to your rule, George’s hand came down hard against your flesh, the sharp sound nearly echoing through the modest bedroom, and he followed it up with a taunting, “Naughty girl.”

You turned your head to the left to be able to see your boyfriend a few paces away, still lounged back in the corner of the window seat with his underwear pushed down just enough to get his cock out and his hand was already gently stroking himself. He licked his lips at the sight of you catching his eye and, as if more than willing to put on a show for him, you threw a request back to George, “Spank me again.”

“Yeah?” he smacked his hand down against one cheek and then the other, his strength apparent by the impact and the tingling sensation his palm left behind across your flesh. “You really are a slut, hm?”

“And I’m your slut tonight, sir.” you answered playfully, wiggling your ass back against him to earn you another spank.

Hearing you using his title to address another man had Daniel’s eyebrows furrowing slightly as he watched the scene in front of him unfold but he didn’t intervene. You could tell it got to him slightly by the way he shifted on the window seat and you licked away your sly grin, glancing over your shoulder at George behind you. He reached over to grab your cheeks in his hand and he leaned over you to kiss your lips, pressing right up close to you and you could feel his hard cock right up against your sensitive pussy.

“Holy shit.” you groaned into his kisses, breathless as he broke away from you.

“Do you have a condom with you?” George asked the both of you.

In all honesty, out of all your meticulous preparation, it had slipped your mind, and you looked over at Daniel with wide eyes in realization. He looked just as startled for a moment before turning it back to you,

“Your choice, sweetheart.”

You could only grin before directing to George, “We don’t…but you can just pull out. Is that okay with you?”

“Oh, blimey-” George was clearly taken aback by your statement for a moment, “If you’re sure.”

“I’m very sure.” you assured him easily.

He looked over at Daniel as if needed reassurance from him that it was okay that he fucked his girlfriend raw, but Daniel just tilted his head up slightly with a casual, “Go on; fuck her brains out.”

Your soft giggle had George looking at you again, bent over at the waist in front of him and so ready and willing. You were sure you never craved something more in your life; you had already come once but you wanted to feel all of him and really make the most out of your once-in-a-lifetime weekend plan. The feeling of his firm hands caressing over your ass again before giving you another passing spank had you whining impatiently. He then carefully dragged the head of his cock between your legs, slipping across your slick cunt and teasing you cruelly, just to watch how your body shuttered in anticipation for him.

“I want to hear you say it.” he ordered softly, his low voice thick with lust.

“Fuck me.” you pleaded sweetly in a gentle whisper, all too focused on his every taunting move behind you and every slight dip of the mattress.

“Louder.” George insisted, tapping his dick against your cunt just to hear the filthy wet slaps from how fucking wet you were. You could feel it dripping down your legs and you just wanted him to scoop it up and fuck it back into you, dammit.

With a huff, you tried again, “Please fuck me.”

“I still couldn’t quite hear that.” he tutted, his voice smooth and gentle in that angelic accent of his but the undertones of sterness were apparent, as if he had a demand to be heard and obeyed, “Come, now. Use your words.”

“My God, you’re cocky.” you mumbled weakly towards the sheets despite the lingering smile across your lips at that fact before giving into his demand with a firmly spoken, “Please can you fuck me?”

“Of course.” he cooed, running his palm up your spine and then back down as his other hand angled the tip of his cock right against your pussy, “You simply had to ask.”

You didn’t have an opportunity to offer any sort of witty rebuttal as he took that moment to sink inside you slowly. Your expression fluttered along that perfect balance of pain and pleasure and your fingers grasped onto the tightly pulled duvet to clutch some of the fabric desperately. The whimper that fell from your lips had George hushing you warmly as his hands took to your hips and he gave you a little squeeze as he pushed deeper inside you so cautiously.

“Good girl. This what you wanted?” he purred.

“Yeah.” you exhaled, “Thank you, sir.”

Across the room, Daniel watched with a firm stare as this stranger filled you up and received the privilege of that filthy title that was usually meant only for him. Daniel never pinned himself to be an insecure man and it was this fact that led him to understand his comfort for allowing a weekend plan like this to happen. Even in a moment like this, watching you be taken by another man right in front of him, he was unfazed. Your words were spoken out of habitual pleasure and your needs were nothing more than physical desire. Your heart still belonged entirely to him. It was his bed you were falling into at the end of every night. He was the one who could fuck you whenever he pleased - no strategic plan necessary. Yeah, George was the winner that night but Daniel knew he was the winner every night solely for the fact that he was the one who had you.

That fact was only solidified the moment your eyes locked on his from across the room, always finding him at any given moment, wanting to stare at him even as you were about to be fucked by another man. It was a whole new angle for Daniel and one he couldn’t seem to get enough of. He shifted on the window seat to push his boxers all the way off before lounging back against the cushions and he spit in his palm to help stroke his dick a little easier.

George, with his hands grabbing your hips, had filled you completely, stalling a moment with his cock buried entirely inside you and able to feel every last inch of your body hugging him so tightly. The angelic moan you let out as he bottomed out had his expression furrowing for a second as he forced himself to hold back for a moment, hands squeezing your hips to keep your ass right up against his body so there was absolutely no space between you. The gentle rocking of the yacht seemed to help get in started, pulling out of you only about halfway before easing into you again, finding a slow pace to get you used to him. You definitely appreciated that since he was entirely different from Daniel and your inexperience that came from your lack of quantity of lovers had you still slightly hesitant.

But it wasn’t long at all before you were easing into the feeling with your body starting to accommodate him a little better, and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip without tearing your eyes away from your boyfriend who was lazily stroking his cock and watching you both so intently. You started to push your ass back into George’s motions to meet him halfway, giving enough strength to start to have your sweaty skin clap together with each movement, and he groaned lowly with a two handed squeeze of your ass, punctuating it with a sharp spank to one of your cheeks.

“Yes.” you breathed dreamily, “Gimme more.”

“Naughty girl.” George taunted, giving you another spank as he started to thrust into you faster.

You squealed lightly at the growing intensity and tightened your grip on the sheets beneath you, letting yourself moan for him freely with your lip still captured by your teeth. It still wasn’t enough and you kept pushing back on him at that same pace to try and get him going.

“More.” you insisted, looking back at him over your shoulder, “Fuck me hard.”

Speaking up from across the room, your boyfriend guided him, “Pull her hair, bro. Do what you want to her.”

“Yeah,” you giggled in agreement, “this is your night.”

“Jesus Christ.” George exhaled in near shock before helping himself to a fistful of your hair. He gathered all of it in his grasp and then gave it a sharp tug, forcing a pleasant smiling moan from your chest.

“Fuck, yeah.” you beamed.

“Yeah?” he right away picked up the pace again, thrusting into you harder now just as you so obviously begged for, with his hand holding tightly to your hair.

The muted music from the party on the deck above was obsolete as your attention was all focused on the lewd slap of his skin against yours with every quick snap of his hips against your ass. His free hand came down hard on your flesh again and you cried out for him pleasantly. You rose up onto your hands flat against the mattress just to feel him pull at your hair until your head was forced to tilt up towards the ceiling.

“Oh my God, yes.” you moaned shakily as your knees spread a little wider just to make sure he was getting as deep as he could go. You were already getting dizzy from it, tears burning your eyes from how good it felt to be a little roughed up by this handsome stranger you had been ogling all weekend, and the way your knuckles were turning white as you gripped the duvet underneath you was proof enough of that fact. The whimpers and moans that tumbled from your lips were almost involuntary as it were nothing but your body’s natural honest reaction to the way he could make you feel but you still encouraged him with a pitchy, “Please don’t stop!”

“Naughty girl.” George spoke down to you firmly without breaking his pace, spanking you hard again so the sound nearly echoed across the modest bedroom, “Naughty fucking girl.”

His large hand groped your ass and tugged at your flesh as if to open you up some more, his eyes focused right down to where you were connected to watch how his cock disappeared entirely inside you over and over again. Licking and biting his lips under prettily furrowed brows, he couldn’t help the soft groans of his own pleasure, especially watching how you absolutely coated him in your creamy wetness with every thrust. He made sure to keep that snug grip on your hair all the same, almost using it to pull you back into his rough motions because that seemed to get the best reaction out of you.

“God, look at you taking it so well.” Daniel spoke from across the room.

You could only offer a pleading “uh huh” in reply, your sounds almost constricted by the way your head was forced back.

Daniel tisked, “My pretty little whore gets so fucking cock drunk…you can’t even form words anymore.”

With your hair pulled so snugly, you couldn’t turn to look at Daniel sitting across the room as much as you might have wanted to. It wasn’t nothing you hadn’t seen before, however, all too familiar with the image of him sitting in the nude with his cock in his hand, stroking himself off with his eyes fixated on you. You never minded him staring at you and you never minded putting on a little show for him to get that attention from him; this was no different. It was a new experience for the both of you but as initial nervousness had easily melted away, all the way left was pure erotic pleasure in the both of you and connecting you from across the room.

George’s hand in your hand pulled a little harder and you followed his wordless demand to get you up on your knees in front of him so your back was almost to his front and his hand let go of your hair to wrap around your throat as his lips met your neck. Your eyes rolled through your pleasant moan, reaching a hand behind you dumbly to try and grasp his waist as he kept his rough thrusts into you, stuffing you entirely full until the heat of it all was rushing right through your body and raising a tasteful sweat to your skin. His other hand drifted from your waist around your front to easily find your clit and his middle finger tugged greedy circles over the sensitive bud, earning a choked whimper from your throat.

“Yeah, that’s good, isn’t it?” he taunted against your ear, holding your body tightly against his as he had his way with you, telling you honestly in that warm rich voice of his, “You’re a fucking treat.”

You couldn’t even manage to string a reply together, only proving yourself to be embarrassingly agreeable with Daniel’s prior jab towards you, and all you could do was nod dumbly to the wall ahead of you with that view of sparkling Monaco in the distance. It was unreal. Between the way he fucked you and his hand on your already sensitive clit, he was drawing you closer and closer to another orgasm and although you couldn’t find the words to express it, it was glaringly obvious by the way your whimpers grew pitchier and your pussy squeezed tighter around him.

The way you were suddenly released from his arms and naturally dropped forward onto your hands on the mattress again startled you slightly but you barely had a second to process the change and the dwindling coil of pleasure inside you before George was pulling out of you completely as he grabbed your arm and flipped you over onto your back. It was his obvious assertion that had you gaping up at him as you were suddenly face to face again, your hands flying above your head to fist the duvet as he grabbed your ankles and pushed your legs open in a wide v-shape so he could lean down and spit loudly onto your pussy before straightening back up above you like a God.

“I decide when you cum, yeah?” he reminded you as his eyes locked on yours along with the demanding slip of his cock back inside you all the way. His eyebrows raised in time with your tight gasp at the return of that sudden stretch and his hand wrapped around your throat just as he began to fuck you again.

You nodded quickly with a whimper, “Yes, sir.”

“Yeah.” he exhaled strongly, guiding your left leg up to his shoulder before returning his hand to the back of your right knee to keep your legs spread wide, “You look like a fucking goddess. Don’t stop looking at me.”

As if you were in some sort of trance, you were sure you wouldn’t have been able to look away from him even if you tried. His hand around your neck and pinning you down to the mattress certainly helped; you wouldn’t have had it any other way. It almost felt like a wet dream that was too good to be true from just the sight of this handsome stranger above you, having a front row seat to the sight of his messy light brown waves flopping over his forehead in time with his rough thrusts into your pliant body and the expression of firm lust across his features that found home in his big stormy blue eyes.

The room was filled with the lewd sound of your shared breaths and soft moans, paired so filthily with the steady clap of your sweaty skin colliding in some consistent rhythm. His hand was so big around your throat that he could move his index finger up to slip into your mouth and, almost as if by natural instinct, you gladly sucked on it without breaking his eye contact. You wanted to lift your head up to watch how he fucked you but he gripped harder to your throat, pinning you down, even as you spit rolled down the side of his finger and over the back of his hand.

“Keep looking at me, love.” he ordered firmly. “Wanna see you turn into a fucking mess for me.”

But Daniel had alternate plans as his shadow appeared above you as he stood at the opposite side of the bed where your head was and he grabbed your biceps to yank you closer to the edge. George accommodated his move with grace as he just shuffled after you and slipped back inside you, filling you right up again with a handsome groan, still holding your leg out to the side so you could take all of him.

With your head hanging off the side of the bed just slightly, Daniel tapped the head of his cock against your swollen lips and you didn’t need to be instructed before you were opening your mouth for him. He praised you lowly as he carefully slid in against your tongue, moving slowly but surely until his balls nudged against your nose and you gagged lightly around him.

“Christ.” George groaned at the sight of your throat bulging slightly from the shape of Daniel dick helping itself to your body, and he slowly started up his thrusts again without tearing his eyes away from you.

Now you couldn’t see either of them at that angle, simply trusting them enough to use you how they needed from both ends. Daniel’s cock thrusting gently into your throat was forcing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes as you choked on him but George fucking you at just the right angle had you nearly sobbing with pleasure. So much so that you had to reach up to press a hand to Daniel’s abs to get him to let up and pull out of your mouth so you could cough up a pitchy moan and heave your head up to watch George’s cock pistoning addictingly inside you.

“Feels so good, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” Daniel cooed, stroking his dick right beside your face as he, too, was watching the scene unfold intently.

“Uh huh.” you whimpered, eyes raising to George’s face, only to find him already staring at you.

Your expression directed up at him had his jaw visibly clenching and his grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you in place as he kept his rough pace going. Daniel’s dick poked against your cheek from how close he was standing, smearing a bit of precum across your flushed skin, and you naturally turned your head towards him to guide him into your mouth with a greedy hand. He set his hand under your head to help keep you supported as you sucked on him and you moaned around him from the way George was fucking you so deliciously.

“I want you to cum for me now.” George ordered down to you, yanking you towards him a little more to make sure your head was back on the bed, all without faltering his strokes into your sopping body. “Think you can do that for me, gorgeous?”

You pulled away from Daniel with a string of spit still connecting you, answering him with a weak, “Please.”

He took his hand from your leg that was resting up on his shoulder just enough to lick the pad of his thumb so he could drop it down to rub at your clit, letting his palm and fingers apply a bit of pressure to your lower abdomen at the same time. You literally flinched under his touch, back arching off the bed slightly as your legs threatened to curl inwards. George was firm in his grasp as he kept your one leg held outward no matter how much you struggled against him, his eyes nearly unblinking as he stared at your face like he didn’t want to miss a second of your reaction to him.

“Harder,” you squeaked, desperate for more of that hint of growing tight pleasure inside you as your fingers slammed down against the mattress on either side of you to grab tightly to the sheets, “please, harder.”

“Naughty girl.” he spoke down to you but complied, quite literally pounding you into the bed that you swore the rock of the yacht might have been influenced by it. His thumb on your clit was just as quick, his spit mixing in with the slick of your pussy to have him gliding effortlessly over your most sensitive spot that was nearly throbbing with need.

“Yes,” you whimpered, forcing yourself to stare down your body to watch him touch you, fuck you, have you just the way you liked it in a way you never expected for your reckless weekend plan, “yes, yes, yes, yes, yes-”

Daniel still stood right beside you, pumping his cock faster as he kept his gaze flicking between your face and how this handsome stranger fucked you in a way only he had before. You were quite literally dizzy from pleasure, almost frightened by how quickly your body was ramping you up to your second orgasm of the night, but the presence of Daniel right there beside you was comforting.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” you cried out, face scrunching up as it just kept building, tears spilling down your cheeks from the sheer pleasure of it all.

“That’s it,” Daniel praised lowly down to you, the slick sound of his hand on his cock only enhancing your senses, “Give into it. Cum for him, darling. Give him what he wants.”

“I can’t! I can’t!” you sobbed, teetering right on the edge, drowning in overwhelm.

“Yes, you can.” George insisted firmly without stopping, his words strained behind his slight breathlessness, “Look at me.”

You forced your eyes to open and focus on him, already squeezing around him at the sight of his pretty face, especially seeing him so sweaty and ruined by you. He licked his lips dreamily before speaking again, in that beautiful rich accent of his that seemed to have captivated a piece of your soul,

“You’re gonna cum for me. You said this is for me and I want you to cum right now. Okay? It’s my fucking day and you’re my fucking toy and you’re gonna do what I say and cum all over my cock. Isn’t that right, naughty girl?”

The first slight pulse of your cunt around him had a small smirk pricking the corner of his mouth and you didn’t dare to tear your eyes away from his as he kept you going with more pretty words,

“That’s it. Cum for me, baby. Come on, come on, come on, gimme it,”

It hit you hard, forcing your head to drop back against the bed with a choked sob to the ceiling as your vision almost went black, fingers pulling hard at the sheets and nearly untucking them from the sides of the mattress in the process, legs trembling from where he held them splayed, and the intense grip of your innermost muscles around him had him groaning deeply as he fucked you through it.

“Good girl.” George praised loudly, “Fuck me, that’s it-”

He lasted as long as he could inside you until he was pulling out and taking his hand from your clit to stroke himself off instead, only needing a few pumps before he was coming right up your stomach in thick white spurts. His moans were as angelic as his voice as he claimed you up in pretty ribbons up to your navel and it dripped down his hand as his orgasm tapered off.

“Holy fuck.” Daniel groaned from beside you, interrupting your silent gaping towards George with his hand in your hair and he pulled your head in. You barely got your mouth around him before he was coming too, blessing your ears with those pretty moans you knew all too well as he came across your tongue and down your throat. Having been unprepared, you choked around him slightly but took it all, knowing it was better than making a mess on the bed or your makeup.

When he was done and you pulled away from him with a spitty gasp before swallowing, he then leaned right down to kiss you, hand cradling your jaw to lead you through a few sloppy kisses. The moment you separated, George’s fingers were on your lips and you let him slip them into your mouth, gladly cleaning them off for him with the salty taste of cum grazing your tongue thanks to the both of them.

“You okay?” Daniel asked you softly with a pet to your hair.

George took his fingers from your mouth and you nodded, assuring them both with a breathless, “Yeah. Fuck, I’m so good.”

The two young men chuckled softly in agreement and George gently put your quivering legs down on the mattress before shifting off the bed.

“I’ll get you a towel.” he announced before disappearing through the door beside the bed that led to the small ensuite bathroom.

In his absence, you forced yourself into a sitting position and Daniel sat on the side of the bed beside you, both of you facing opposite directions but able to look at each other easily that way. He pet your hair out of your face and leaned in to kiss your lips softly once, twice, and then you rested your head on his shoulder with a blissful smile.

“How was that?” he asked quietly into your hair.

“Loved it.” you whispered. “Love you.”

Daniel smiled and reached a hand up to pet your hair again, “Me too. I love you too. You were so fucking good.”

George returned with a damp face cloth and he knelt on the bed again so he could reach you comfortably and he wiped up his mess from your stomach like a true gentleman. You stared at him intently as he cleaned you up and you couldn’t help but reach out to run your fingers through his hair, asking him bluntly, “How does your hair still look incredible?”

His soft chuckle was warm and low and his smile was infectious to you as he sat back from you, “I doubt it’s still incredible after your hands were tugging on it for a while there.”

Your fingers trailed out of his hair and down the side of his face, tracing his sharp jawline until you ghosted across his lips, licking your own habitually, and he hesitated only a moment before leaning in to kiss you. Giddy thanks to this handsome stranger, you smiled bashfully into it, and only a few seconds later he was pulling away and sharing in your soft smile before he moved to toss the cloth into the bathroom sink.

Daniel kissed your shoulder before asking the both of you as he stood up from the mattress, “You think we should get dressed and get back up there before people wonder where we are?”

“Probably.” George answered, walking around to the end of the bed so he could grab his underwear to put on.

You stayed on the bed for a little longer to catch your breath and took that moment to watch the two of them get dressed before Daniel brought over your clothes for you. You thanked him with a kiss and he helped you get up. You seriously needed to lean on his arm as the combination of your trembling legs and the sway of the yacht had you stumbling and, the three of you still slightly tipsy, shared light laughter. George came over to offer his hand for you to hold for stability while Daniel crouched down to help dress you himself.

Once you were all dressed and you had each made sure you still looked somewhat presentable in the bathroom mirror - you needing to wipe the smudged makeup from around your eyes first - you made your escape back to the party. George led the way again, peeking out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear before slipping out of the bedroom with you and Daniel close behind. Daniel shut the bedroom door after you and he took your hand as you followed George right up the steep staircase.

Of course, your legs were still quite wobbly and as the boat rocked beneath you, you ended up half stumbling and nearly falling on George in front of you in the process. He stopped halfway up the stairs and turned to you as the three of you bursting into quiet giggles and they both helped you up again as if you were scaling a mountain together.

Since everyone at the party was quite intoxicated by then, your sudden ascension of the stairs right into the main space of the yacht went genuinely unnoticed and you melted right into the group with ease. You located Tabitha and Corbyn with ease near the rear of the yacht overlooking the dark ocean water surrounding you, talking with Charles and Pierre as well as Alex and his girlfriend. Tabitha noticed you first, giving you a lingering glance as you and Daniel approached hand in hand, George trailing behind casually.

“There you are.” Corbyn greeted you with a smile, his hand resting on the railing of the yacht behind Tabitha, “Where were you guys?”

“Just around.” Daniel answered casually as the circle shifted to welcome you three in.

You found your spot together between Pierre and Corbyn while George took to the other side of the little group between Alex and Charles. Daniel then took his hand out of yours to slide into the back pocket of your jeans instead and you stepped closer to his side and tucked your arm around his back in response, definitely overthinking how you were supposed to act in order to appear normal.

Alex sipped his drink and eyed George silently for a brief moment but you were sure that you were in the clear. Everyone seemed perfectly clueless, and your slight PDA with Daniel didn’t seem anything more than your usual drunken infatuation, the flush of your cheeks easily excusable as a result of the alcohol. Alex and Tabitha were looking at you like they expected more details of what you were up to in your absence but thankfully Charles went back to whatever story he was sharing and the attention shifted.

It was hard for you to focus on what he was saying when you were still buzzing with those glorious pleasure hormones and you were finding it difficult to keep your smile at bay. George kept glancing at you from across the circle, always having to keep looking away because one look at your obvious grin was making him start to smirk too. You couldn’t afford to have your cover blown. It was set to be the dirty little secret between the three of you.

In the early, early hours of the morning - some time around 3am - the yacht returned to the harbour and the mess of drunken professional drivers all stumbled out onto the pier to head home. Taxis and Ubers were called and there was a chaotic mess of intoxicated hugs and noisy goodbyes shared as people started to part ways. Corbyn and Tabitha stayed close to you and Daniel since you four were heading back to Corbyn’s together although part of you wished you had a bit of distance so you could have a proper, private goodbye with a certain handsome stranger.

Regardless, he still went in for the hug and you held onto each other probably a beat longer than real strangers would have. He gave your back a little rub and spoke to you as quietly as his drunk self could manage, “Thanks for such a memorable night.”

You giggled into his neck to try and hide your blushing smile, hands grasping onto the back of his soft expensive cardigan for a moment, replying sweetly, “You too. Get home safely.”

He pulled away from you and kissed your right cheek and then your other, half startling you, but no one seemed to bat an eye and in a second he was moving to Daniel to share a fist bump and knowing smiles with their casual ‘good night’s. And then, you watched him get into his taxi and shut the door without a look back and then he disappeared towards the winding late night streets of Monaco.

You couldn’t stop thinking about George for the rest of the night and well into the next day. You dreamt about him once your head hit the pillow that night - reliving your experience on the yacht in cloud-like detail - and you opened your hungover eyes in Corbyn’s guest room at nearly noon, tucked up in Daniel’s arms, with the memory of it all fresh on your mind. As you dragged yourselves out of bed to get ready for the day and even throughout brunch with your gracious hosts, your thoughts kept straying to wonder what George was up to and if you were going to be able to run into him again before you had to leave Monaco after only a few more days.

As Corbyn and Daniel took the responsibility of cleaning the kitchen, leaving you and Tabitha to hangout in the living room for a bit, you finally had enough of a distraction to stray you from the thought of George as you admired Corbyn’s shelves of trophies from throughout his career that lined the living room wall. Tabitha offered a few tidbits of information to you about some of them and you listened politely, trying to follow some of the lingo she was saying without making yourself look too much like an idiot. There was only so much to discuss at the trophy display so you eventually sat on the couch together and she asked you a few questions about how you enjoyed the party the night before and you made some lighthearted jokes about your underlying hangover you were nursing. She seemed insistent to know more about you and your night but to keep from having to spill your secret, you found a distraction in the album on the coffee table beside you.

Maybe you shouldn’t have just gone snooping through Corbyn’s things - especially with a title as personal as ‘Our Story’ that was written in curling calligraphy on the cover - but it was out in the open so you were sure it was fine. Tabitha didn’t stop you. Of course, what you had anticipated to be a good distraction, ended up being the opposite as the first page of the homemade photo album housed an image of a younger Corbyn, Lando, Alex, and George with their arms thrown around each other in a line up, each donning a different race suit. Underneath read The Rookies - FP1, Australia, March 2019 in neat printing. You stared at the picture and the younger, rounder face of George smiling back at you, trying not to think about the horribly sinful things that same young man did to you not even 24-hours prior.

Tabitha had asked you something, or maybe she had just said something about the album in passing, but you didn’t hear her at first until you finally looked back over at her to find her staring expectantly at you.

“Huh? Sorry.” you cleared your throat and closed the album before sitting back on the couch like you were touching something you weren’t supposed to.

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly at your startled reaction but she played it off with a gesture to the coffee table and a, “You can keep looking through it. It’s not a secret. Just a summary of Corbyn’s F1 career and a bit of him and me getting to where we are today. I gave it to him for his birthday two years ago.”

“Aw,” you glanced back at the book, “that’s cute.”

“Here,” she picked it up from the table and rested back against the couch with it, “let me show you the best parts.”

You leaned comfortably into the couch beside her and let her walk you through a few of the best photographs, all taken by her. It wasn’t long before Daniel and Corbyn joined you from the kitchen and Corbyn was holding his phone up as he called out to his girlfriend to drag her attention away from the album.

“Charles texted,” he said, “He’s having a little get-together at his place tonight. Did you want to go?”

“Another party?” she peaked a brow at him.

“Just a lowkey thing.” Corbyn assured her with a chuckle. “Looks like just Pierre is going over so far. Then us. Maybe Lando if we wanted to bring him along too?”

Tabitha looked at you, “Did you want to go?”

“Yeah, sure, it sounds nice.” you smiled in agreement.

“Okay. I’ll text Lando to invite him too.” she grabbed her phone from the table.

Part of you was hoping she would catch onto your telepathic girl-message to request her to extend the invite to George too but maybe you hadn’t known each other long enough for that to work. All you got in response to your silence was her acknowledgement that Lando was going to join the group at Charles’. You frowned but didn’t push anything. God forbid you made yourself look suspicious.

Charles lived in a nice apartment building farther into the core of Monaco, right amidst the hustle and bustle of it all, and Corbyn pulled his car into the two-car garage using the passcode he knew well by then, parking beside Charles’ sleek black Ferrari. You eyed the red and white stripes that stretched up the hood of the car as you followed Corbyn towards the entrance of the building. The lifestyle of these young men was nothing you had ever had the privilege of witnessing before.

Although spacious, Charles’ apartment was quite modest compared to what you were expecting but hints of luxury were present in the real hardwood herringbone floors and the high scale appliances and furniture. Right away, Daniel was admiring the white upright grand piano by the window the moment you walked in and he slid over to it with his hands held behind his back to force himself not to touch it without permission.

“This is beautiful.” Daniel complimented to your host as Corbyn and Tabitha headed into the adjacent living room to greet Pierre who was relaxing on the sofa. “I didn’t know you were into music. Do you play?”

“Thank you.” Charles smiled as he joined you and Daniel at the piano, “We used to have a piano when I was younger and my younger brother was spending hours and hours on it so I didn’t have really much time to play piano. But I always loved listening to him. Then a few years ago, when I had a bit of free time, I get a bit of time on the piano and actually learn and I love it. It’s a time where I can actually relax and disconnect from racing and everything that is around.”

“That’s amazing.” Daniel said honestly, “Piano is definitely my favourite. It really is an escape for me too. Corbyn and I actually met in music class in school.”

“Yes, he told me.” Charles said, “He plays too, a little.”

“Yeah.” Daniel glanced into the living room and then back to Charles, lowering his voice to add a cheeky, “Just not as good as me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Charles laughed.

Daniel then glanced at you with a nod to the piano in front of the three of you, requesting, “Add this to my Christmas list.”

You laughed humorlessly, teasing him truthfully, “For who? Me? I can hardly afford to breathe next to it.”

“Well then steal this one.” Charles joked, but hurriedly followed it with a lighthearted, “Just kidding. Just kidding.”

“I think even if we tried, the oversized baggage fee to get it home would cost more than buying a new piano.” you countered.

The two men laughed in agreement, all without taking their eyes off the sleek white instrument.

Charles gestured to it, offering to Daniel, “Would you like to play?”

Daniel’s eyes widened, “Can I? I’d love to.”

“Yes, of course.” Charles nodded him on.

Daniel nearly looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he sat himself down on the matching white wood piano bench and Charles lifted up the fallboard to reveal the pristine black and white keys. Daniel rubbed his hands together and then gently set his fingers on the keys, finding his spot, before pressing them down to begin to play. He began one of his original songs - one that he had written for you - and you smiled softly at him from your spot at his side, watching his focused face as his fingers danced over the keys.

Suddenly, Corbyn was beside you and scolding his best friend with a teasing, “Hey, that’s my spot.”

Daniel scooted over, “Duet with me, bro.”

“Oh, duet?” Charles crossed his arms over his chest in amusement, “Let’s see that.”

You left the three of them to their piano symphonies and you joined Tabitha and Pierre in the living room, placing yourself on the white couch with them as they chatted casually. You admired the view through the open blinds that revealed a breathtaking view of Monte Carlo and, in the distance, sparkles of crystal blue water, before skimming the room to familiarize yourself with the unfamiliar apartment. Like Corbyn, Charles had a display of his trophies along one wall along with a few race helmets and framed photographs from throughout his career and you smiled fondly at the few of little Charles from his racing days posing with people you didn’t recognize.

The ring of the doorbell had Charles leaving Corbyn and Daniel to their lighthearted bickering at the piano to welcome in the last of your group. Lando appeared in the living room doorway with two shopping bags that he placed on the coffee table as he greeted everyone cheerfully.

“What’s all in there?” Tabitha asked, leaning forward from her spot on the couch to try and see in.

“Nothing for you since it’s all alcohol.” he announced proudly, well accustomed to her sobriety, and he lifted two new bottles of vodka out of the bags to show off, “I woke up with a fucking killer hangover this morning but, you know what I say: the best cure for a hangover is to just drink more!”

“Oh my God.” Pierre laughed from Tabitha’s other side, shaking his head in amusement at the ridiculous declaration.

“Dude,” Tabitha sighed, “you’re going to kill your liver.”

“Yeah, well…YOLO.” Lando said in a singsong voice before setting the bottles on the coffee table and starting to unload the rest of them from the bags. Six glass bottles of clear liquor stood in a line on the table and he tossed the empty bags underneath it recklessly, setting his hands on his hips proudly at his little display.

You, Tabitha, and Pierre stared at him pointedly.

Suddenly, he clapped his hands together and turned in the direction of the piano, calling out, “Hey, Charles, where are your shot glasses?”

“Shots again?” Charles appeared in the archway, “I’m still ill from last night.”

“Yeah!” Lando brushed past him with a skip in his step, announcing over his shoulder, “Come on, you better show me the way or else I’ll start helping myself to your cupboards!”

“Oh my gosh.” you laughed into your hand over the messy notes from the piano from the next room, glancing over at the other two startled friends on the couch with you.

“Who invited him?” Pierre chuckled to you and Tabitha from her other side.

Tabitha sighed, “I think I have to take responsibility for that.”

You smiled, “That’s okay. He’s the life of the party.”

“That is some way to put it.” Pierre scoffed with a smile of his own.

The three of you entertained yourselves in the living room with modest conversation and you got to know Pierre a bit better and he shared a few childhood stories of himself and Charles - some that were encapsulated in frames on the shelves beside the couch. There was something so enthralling about Pierre’s demeanor and you swore you could listen to him talk for ages; he was just so relaxing. That was only proven more by the stark contrast that was Lando who literally bounded back into the room moments later.

“We ordered pizza too.” he announced as he set the Monaco-themed shot glasses on the coffee table with the unopened bottles but held one out to you first, “Wanna do a shot with me?”

You lolled your head to the side, pondering, “I dunno. I kinda overdid it last night.”

“C’mon.” Lando frowned, waving the empty glass in the air towards you, “I thought we’re new best friends.”

You took a second to stare at him and his pout as he tried to give you his best puppy eyes to get you to give in, but you didn’t need much convincing since the excitement of the night before was still fresh on your mind. So you leaned forward and snatched the red and white shot glass from him with a call to the next room, “Dani, I’m taking a shot!”

Your boyfriend shouted back from over his piano playing, “Okay, sweetheart!”

Lando unscrewed one of the bottles and you held out your glass so he could pour you a shot before taking one for himself and he offered the bottle out to Pierre who shook his hand to politely decline. Lando tisked in disbelief and then clinked his glass against yours, “To being the only two cool people here!”

“Here, here!” you laughed and tossed back the strong alcohol in one go.

Once the pizza arrived, Charles and Daniel and Corbyn joined you all back in the living room to eat and the spread of pizza and alcohol was squished on the coffee table. Tabitha was set on not drinking and she graciously offered to be the designated driver so Corbyn could succumb to Lando’s peer pressure to drink with the rest of you. Charles’ fridge ended up being raided for various fruit juices to make mixed drinks to sip on as you ate which was a much safer alternative than shots. You and Daniel ended up sharing the living room rug as the rest of the group took up the couch, you placed contently in your boyfriend’s lap, each with a half-filled cup in hand, Lando sitting closest to you on the couch and he was leaning forward to talk to you intensely about whatever conversation had arisen.

“No, no, no, listen.” he held his hand up in your face, “It doesn’t work like that. That’s not the point.”

You shoved his hand away in retaliation, “You listen.”

“Just listen,” he giggled.

“I’m not listening to you when you’re wrong.” you said louder.

“Stop!” he shouted over you, despite your shared laughter, “I’m not wrong!”

“Oh my God,” Tabitha shook her head from her spot right in the middle of the lineup between Corbyn and Charles, “You both are crazy.”

“And intensely intoxicated.” Corbyn added.

At the same time, you and Lando both pointed at him with a firm, “Wrong.” before bursting into laughter again. You flopped backwards against Daniel’s chest and his arms went around you habitually, smiling at your obvious drunken glee and he took another sip of his own drink, too tipsy himself to acknowledge how you were thrashing around your own cup and causing it to be dangerously close to spilling.

“Well, this is better than any film we could have watched.” Pierre said quietly from the end of the couch to the rest of the more sensible few alongside him.

“I’m just saying,” you continued loudly to Lando who was slouched back on the couch with his cheeks pink from alcohol and his tearful laughter, and you pointed your finger at him with the hand that held your cup, “One person can’t keep winning all the time! That’s so mean and selfish and…and…rude! They need to share! Like, if you have no wins and I have seven hundred, I’d be nice and let you pass me.”

“That’s not the point!” Lando whined, smacking his hands to his face.

“Might as well give participation ribbons to everyone at that rate.” Charles piped up.

You swooshed your pointed finger towards him instead, arguing all-knowingly, “Isn’t that what points technically are? Winners get fancy shiny trophies and the rest of you get little gold-star pity points?”

Pierre, Charles, and Corbyn just blinked at you for a second as if processing.

“No. It’s not like that,” Tabitha waved her hands in the air as if to clear that concept, before directing to the three of them, “Stop thinking about it.”

“You’re just afraid to admit that I’m right.” you smirked as you brought your cup to your lips to sip from your drink.

“No, actually, I don’t think you can be any farther from the truth.”

Hardly acknowledging her, you smacked Lando’s leg to get his attention, “Oh, oh, another thing: why is it that when there are three people on the podium are they not all called winners?”

“What?” he squeaked with laughter, “Because there can be only one winner.”

“It’s not the Hunger Games.” you insisted, “All three of you up there get a fancy trophy so why aren’t you all podium winners.”

“Podium winners.” Charles repeated as he licked away his amused smile and exchanged a glance with Pierre.

Tabitha argued in reply, “So everyone’s a winner to you? What about the rest of the drivers? What do you call them? Are they the pit lane winners?”

“Yes!” you gasped, “Genius!”

The guys audibly laughed out loud while Tabitha rolled her eyes despite her own little smile that grazed her expression and Corbyn flopped his head onto her shoulder affectionately through his chuckles. Daniel pulled you back against his chest again so he could press a chasté kiss to your shoulder and you smiled proudly at the reaction you got out of the group of them. You wiggled on his lap a little to try and get comfortable and his arm around you tightened to keep you close, but in your tipsy state, it was hard to sit still. Inevitably, you ended up splashing some of your drink onto Daniel’s jeans and he groaned as the wet sticky liquid seeped against his skin.

“Baby.” he huffed, gently nudging you off his lap.

“Sorry.” you pouted and stood up, almost stumbling over in the process as the alcohol was already in your head and making you dizzy. Tabitha habitually held out a hand to press to your back to keep you stable as Daniel got up from the floor and inspected the large wet spot on his right thigh.

“The toilet is down the hall if you need.” Charles offered, gesturing in the general direction.

“Yeah, thanks.” Daniel answered thankfully.

“Sorry.” you tried again, grasping onto his shirt to prevent him from leaving until he answered you.

Daniel kissed the corner of your mouth, “That’s okay, sweetheart. It was an accident. I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared down the hallway and no sooner was he gone that you were spinning around to face the group on the couch - stumbling slightly - and then you dropped back to the floor, nearly draping yourself over Lando and Corbyn’s legs with each arm.

“I have a secret.” you whispered to the five of them loudly.

“I don’t think now is a good time to tell secrets.” Tabitha offered as the only logical and sober one.

Lando leaned forward and thrust his hand out across Corbyn to hold his index finger towards her, “Shh. I want to know the secret. Don’t ruin it.”

“So…” you glanced behind you to make sure Daniel wasn’t there all of the sudden before turning back to the lineup on the couch, “y’know George? The tall sexy one of you?”

“Uh huh. He is very tall.” Lando nodded you on.

“Last night, on the yacht,” you held your hands to your mouth for a moment because the grin that was taking up your entire face was hard to control. The five of them were holding onto your every word as if they lived for the gossip and especially about one of their friends. You opened your hands to form a circle around your mouth and you confessed to them, “we had a threesome with him.”

There was a half second of silence that was quickly interrupted by Lando bursting into a fit of laughter and throwing himself backwards on the couch, clapping his hands together in full drunken amusement.

From the polar opposite side of the couch, Pierre had to look away to hide his cheeky smile with a hushed, “Oh mon Dieu.”

“What’s that you say in French?” you giggled, offering a crude translation for the two native French speakers in the room, “Ménage à trois.”

“Yes, yes, we know what you mean.” Charles assured you seriously, holding both hands towards you as if to quiet you, his tone bordering entertained and half-stressed.

Corbyn was in half-shock, “Daniel wanted to do that?”

“It was his idea!” you smacked his knee as if to say ‘can you believe’. “He so totally got off on watching someone else fuck me, it was so hot.”

“No fucking way!” Lando cackled, barely able to catch his breath as he asked you again as he raked his fingers through his curly hair in complete bewilderment, “Did that really happen? You really had a fucking threeway with George Russell?”

“Yeah, we did!” you leaned on his thigh enthusiastically so you could move in closer towards him and confess to him the naughty details shamelessly, “He’s got a big dick.”

Lando literally shrieked with laughter, thrashing on the couch until he flopped onto the floor with you as if having a complete fit. His laughter only had you keeling over yourself, sharing in his hilarity until the rest of the group were pulled into light chuckles themselves at the insanity of it all. Tabitha shot a pointed look at her boyfriend who merely shook his head with a baffled grin spread across his face, at a complete loss of words. Lando had tears pouring down his face as he struggled to catch his breath, clutching his chest through peels of laughter until you were both leaning into each other in complete silence as your lungs ran out of air.

Daniel returned to the living room at that moment, only to find the two of you in shambles on the floor and the rest of your little group in indescribable confusion and amusement on the couch. He stopped in the archway to assess the scene he walked in on for a moment before he spoke, “What did I miss?”

Lando just managed to catch his breath before turning to look at Daniel with a smooth and lighthearted, “I didn’t know you were a cuck, mate.”

“Oh my God, bro.” Tabitha gaped at his vulgar bluntness.

Daniel’s eyes widened as you and Lando burst into laughter again and he was right on the defence, “You told them?”

You wiped the tears from your cheeks and turned to your boyfriend, “I had to tell someone. It was fun and worthy of a brag.”

“Don’t worry,” Charles spoke up, “this will not leave this room, yes?”

Pierre, Corbyn, and Tabitha all agreed easily, while it took Corbyn to lean down and smack Lando’s arm to get him to catch his breath enough to agree too. Sprawled out on the rug, Lando held his hands over his stomach as he started to calm down, having laughed himself into a stitch.

“Fuck me.” he chuckled faintly before catching himself and wagging his finger between you and Daniel, “That was just a saying, by the way, don’t take that seriously or anything.”

“Oh, God, everyone on the grid is going to know by tomorrow, aren’t they?” you giggled, smacking your hand to your mouth.

“Nah,” Corbyn assured you, “We won’t let him say a thing. He listens to Tabs, at least.”

“Although, there were already suspicions last night as to who was occupying the room.” Tabitha said, “And Alex 100% knows since he saw you three.”

“What?” Charles gaped at her, “When did he see them?”

Daniel sighed and joined you and Lando on the ground, accepting his defeat, “When we were sneaking off, we ran into him. I guess George’s lie wasn’t as smooth as we thought at the time.”

“If only he could lie as good as he could f-”

Daniel’s hand smothered your mouth before you could finish your drunken thought but Lando was already sent keeling over in laughter once more.

#daniel seavey #why dont we #corbyn besson #george russell #f1 #formula 1 #george russell smut #george russell x reader #formula one #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #daniel seavey smut #daniel seavey x reader #why dont we smut #why dont we fanfic

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letteredwings · 1 year

Text

K.HJ | Doro Theou

DemiGod!Hongjoong x GN!Pirate!Reader

The sea is your love and your enemy.

She carries you on your adventures and toward your death.

Your one true love who shall never leave your feet, a constant that shall remain. And you shall never leave one another, for you both are made for each other.

That is until she brings you something unexpected.

Title: Doro Theou

Listen To:

Low Hum — Comatose

Ateez — Pirate King

Kawaye — Sweetest Life

Corbyn — Dantes Valley

Jungle — Cherry

Ateez — Wonderland

Taemin — Drip Drop

Michael Seyer — Lucky Love

Hope Tala — Cherries

Dre’es — Warm

DPR IAN — So Beautiful

Kylie Minogue — Chocolate

BMTH — Can You Feel My Heart

Ateez — Beginning of The End

Contains: Fluff, angst; (mentions of alcohol, swearing, death, very mild violence) | AU: Romance, Strangers-to-lovers, Slowburn | W.C. 41k+

A/N: Happy birthday to meeee! This is a VERY long slowburn and I appreciate anyone who reads. This was originally written with fem pronouns, so if you spot any being used for reader please let me know, I tried to take all fem pronouns for reader out. I hope you enjoy, I put a lot into this <3

The sea has a soul; a harbourer of darkness with the tenacity of a storm and the lull of a gentle breeze in a wind chime.

It is both serenity and turmoil.

I stared its soul dead in the eye as it consumed me overwhelmingly so, panic subdued, overtaken by a foreign feeling of calm, the sea singing a hymn that only its victims know. The absence of the night stars and its mother, the moon, leaving an eigengrau sky.

Or maybe, that was just what death looked like.

“Hang tight lads! The sea wants to play.”

Seabreeze whips at the grin on your face— a grin that portrays your brave and wild heart that seeks to conquer— proving how unbothered you are by the vicious waters that wishes to wage war as you guide your crew and your fair lady, Hecate, through the blunders of the sea.

The sun still fairs high in the sky, giving light to the once tranquil waters that all at once suddenly became perturbed, baring the seas soul for what it truly is; shallow waves soon personify the unhinged jaws of Hades hounds, coming in hastily and unwavering, the sun dulling behind woven clusters of darkening clouds that brought with it vehement gusts of wind, strong enough to knock any mortal to their arse.

You weren’t just any mortal, though your heart pounds and you bleed as one; you are the conqueror of the sea. Part of the furniture really by now, and you’d be damned if you were going to cower to it.

Over the yawns screeching into wails, you yell orders to your crew, seawater climbing onto the decks and spraying you with its salty tears. The ship holds steady, your voice that fights to climb above the startling sounds of thunder that give its own order for torrential rain, bringing sharp pelts that feel like shards of glass against your skin, soon grow strained. Yet it doesn’t deter you as you keep your grip on the smooth wood of the wheel, even as the water washes away any ounce of friction to make your hands slip.

Using all your strength to steer against the sea’s force you give a yell of “BRACE YOURSELVES LADS!”

The ship swerves heavily, bringing about more water to gush over the ship's side and sending many of your crew sliding against the floor as it rocks against the waves.

It seems that the sea's wrath will rage well into the night. Yet all at once the waves reign in as if they had never been raging to begin with. The clouds unweave from one another and disperse, drops of rain fading into nothing with only the beating rays of Apollo's sun falling over the expanse of water in shimmers like falling diamonds.

The air is always strange after the sea bears its anger to the world. Silence feels eerie rather than comforting, the stir of water echoing in your ears despite having long stopped, yet when it does fade from your ears, they feel clogged, like you’re beneath the surface rather than on top of it. Soon the murmurs of your crew are clear as day among the world that remains uncharacteristically quiet, unmoving, leaving you panting heavily with your iron grip curled around the wheel.

Then in harmony you all rejoice.

“AHHHHHHH!” Victory speaks like a spell, one that signifies your stand against the sea that has yet to take you captive.

“Our Goddess Hecate still blesses us in her leave!” Meli’s palm lands heavy and warm on your shoulder, prompting you to look at her. The seasalt dries in the tight coils of her hair, the sun glowing against her bilberry skin like the meaning of her name, honey.

“Or it’s that the Gods decided not to waste something as sweet as you to the underworld, Meli.” You tease. She only laughs, shaking her head as she fixes her blood-red bandana.

“How off course are we then?”

She moves from the helm to lay a map and her compass on a flat surface, eyes moving from the crinkled and worn sheet to the horizon. Even without her calculations, it is abundantly clear that the sudden storm has caused you to stray from your path.

“Captain, Olympus above— a man!” Oddeye draws the attention of not just you, but everyone on board as he looks out into the water. Like a magnet, you’re all drawn starboard and it is then that you see what Oddeye saw— indeed a man. “OI, LADDIE!” Of course, he’s unresponsive.

Your brows draw together, staring upon his body bobbing along the water, not sure whether he’s dead or alive. “Bring him in.”

He’s fairly small and you half expect his body to be battered and bruised— especially if he was caught in the sudden storm— though the only thing on him that seems to be evidence of a battering is his shirt hanging from him like a torn rag. Your crew pulls him in and you can’t help but to admire his features that seem so soft, especially under the kiss of the sun.

Seonghwa presses his fingers to the pulsepoint on his neck and lowers his ear to hover over his lips. “He’s still breathing.”

“Get him inside and sort him out, Hwa.” Seonghwa nods, ordering a couple other deckhands to bring him down.

“Captain, don’t you think it strange to find a man this far out and alive?”

Your eyes leave the young man to smile at Meli. “You know how much I love strange things.”

Oddeye follows you both back to the helm, a troubled look on his face. “We’ve known you long enough to know that, Captain.” He pauses, mulling over his next words. “But I also know that look in your eyes— when you’ve really taken a shine to something.” You open your mouth to protest, not sure what he means when you only looked upon the man for mere seconds. But Oddeye holds a rough wrinkled hand up, calmly regarding you. “I’m just sayin’ Captain, keep a weather eye open, ey?”

“Of course. The crew comes first, Oddeye.” You promise.

You both look to Meli, who pushes herself up with a sigh. “We’re about a day off course, Captain. Head North.”

“Aye, aye.”

—

Darkness blankets his vision— or rather, his brain is unable to conjure anything else under his closed lids, too feverish as tremors run through him aggressively, slivers of overbearing heat making him feel as if his skin is melting away over a bed of lava. The sinews of his muscles, deeper into his bones ache, and has his body twisting in staggering pain. A whimper crawls from the shadows of his throat, teeth clenching as his pulse hammers with the strength of Hercules himself, sending his blood rushing at an inhumane pace.

Am I dead?

His insides heave with the strength of a wave, bringing the air inside of him gushing from his lungs and out his lips; a sudden life returns to him, lungs filling with the air that had been lost to the invasion of the ocean water. Those heat-filled trembles still run through him, making his chest erratically rise and fall. The attempt to open his eyes brings about a dull thud behind his lids, vibrating throughout his head making him wince. “Oh Gods…” He rasps out, clenching his eyes tighter in response to the pain.

Only when his body gains a semblance of strength, slowly awakening enough that he can force the pain down, does he will himself to open his eyes. There's a subtle rocking that he realises isn’t his stomach turning, the motions giving him reason to believe that he is still at sea. Through his blurred vision he tries to piece together his surroundings; dull wooden planks smelling of rot and seasalt make up the small room, the entire structure yawns with each shift along the water, the sound now rushing into his ears. There’s crates pressed against the walls of the room, lines of rope woven around barrels and when his vision clears he can see the small table with a jug and some form of a cup. It’s a struggle to push himself to sit up, one that has his bones yawning like the ship when he moves to rest his head against the wooden wall, head lolling to the side as he pants from the effort.

With a shaky arm he manages to reach over for the jug and cup, water overspilling due to his weak hold. The jug lands heavily on the crate it had occupied, but he doesn’t bear it any mind when he starts to guzzle at the water in an urge to wash away the sandy sensation in his throat. Through deep breaths he studies the room closer, now noticing the slither of moonlight coming through the ceiling— where steps lead to two doors.

The brig?

Shakily, he swings his leg over the makeshift wooden bed that had been laid down with straw and cotton sheets. The mere movement gave away just how weak his body has become, energy nearly completely depleting when his bare feet set on the ground. He sways with the boat, stumbling with his knees buckling and hands reaching out to catch himself against the wall. He tries recalling what could have happened that he’s ended up here, but the attempt makes his head hurt as much as the answer.

Nothing comes to mind, only blanknless, as if his recent memories have been wiped.

It only serves to make him more anxious.

Reaching for his chest, fingers curl around the chain that rests close to his heart and its instinct to recite his mothers words in his head.

“My dearest Hongjoong, our strength lies in our song and the strongest song of all is the beat of our heart. Always find your strength in your heart.”

As if her words are some kind of incantation he feels an otherworldly power start to course through his veins. His weak demeanour immediately shifts to one of a being with the blood of a God and with this profound strength he rushes up the steps and pushes through the air to slam against the upper doors. Seeming effortlessly they crack open, the wood splintering where the iron fastenings have broken open allowing Hongjoong to stumble through.

The sea air burns against his already feverish skin, the soothing sounds of the water doing little to calm the adrenaline making him feel erratic. The moon is full and high in the sky, an abundance of stars lighting its expanse like lanterns of silver. He can’t see anyone, but he clearly hears the guffaw of those nearby.

Swiftly, he carries onward, hiding behind barrels in caution. He needs to think logically, though it is somewhat difficult with his body still fighting to cling to what strength he has.

In his assessment he concludes the obvious: he’s unarmed, on an unknown ship, in the middle of nowhere, with Gods knows how many men on board— their own intentions unknown to him.

Thoughts tangle chaotically in his mind and in the midst of his pondering he fails to notice the subtle steps creeping up behind him and before he knows it there’s a pressure of a cool and sharpened blade against his throat.

“Easy.” He flinches and the blade snags against his throat, the air hitting the open skin until the sting makes him wince. The voice remains calm, calmer than the tornado of anxiety swirling inside him. “We found you.” The stranger tells him. “Floating on the water and pulled you in… had one of my crewmen take care of you…” When you see that he’s listening and deem he’s not a threat, you let out a small inaudible breath of relief. “I’m going to move away slowly. We aren’t here to hurt you.” Keeping your word, you slowly move away from him and instead round to face him.

Unlike the softness of your voice, the image before him is a stark contrast. Whatever expectations he had as to what you would look like soon dissipated upon laying his eyes on your rough skin and unruly hair full of knots and twists.

He blinks when you speak again, eyes meeting yours. “How are you feeling?” You question gently.

He gapes at you for a moment longer, eyes straying over the monotone browns and beiges, to your hand curled around the hilt of your blade at your side. Again his eyes blink, clearing away his surprise as he closes his gaped mouth. “I… I feel confused. I don’t remember… much.”

You study him far more subtlely than he you. His confusion proves evident and you conclude that there is no reason to suspect he’s lying about not being able to recall the moments that led to your discovery of him adrift at sea, but despite that, you heed the echo of Oddeye’s words to be wary of him in your head.

“— Where am I?”

"— What do you remember?”

As you speak over each other it brings a smile to your lips and unexpectedly to Hongjoong’s too, relieving some of the tension in the air.

“You’re on my ship, Hecate.”

A jolt of recognition and curiosity for the chosen name travels through him.

“Oh, you’re sailors?”

You grin impishly and another jolt knocks Hongjoongs insides, though he can’t decipher the cause of this one. “In a way…” You say mysteriously, moving to lean against the ship's side as you regard him. “There was a sudden storm and the waters had gotten rough. Then it stopped as quick as it came and suddenly, there you were. Floating unconscious in the middle of the sea.”

He nods slowly, brows drawing together in thought. “Well, thank you… You saved my life and for that I’m grateful.”

“You should thank your lucky stars— you’re lucky to have survived that far out at sea.”

“Well, luck, a God, I guess they’re the same thing.”

Your head whips around, body immediately becoming alight with warmth and fondness. “Hecate!” You rush forward, no hesitation when you unceremoniously clamp your arms around her. Her thick black hair falls as a heavy plait at her back, her robe smelling of all the spices she works with, wafting up your nose— a smell you find comforting as you squeeze her. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here, my friend?”

She smiles with the gentleness and elegance of a Goddess, peaking around you to look upon her dear nephew, “Just checking in on your new friend.” She leans her body beside you to look on at the supposed new stranger aboard.

You turn your head incredulously. “You know him? Wait…” You pause in thought, looking between the two. “You guided him to us.”

Hecate gives a secretive smile when she responds. “Correct, my dear friend. Sweet Hongjoong was in trouble and I knew if anyone could help, it would be you.”

“What happened?” He finally speaks up, frowning deeper in question. Meanwhile, you memorise his name, an intruding thought that you think the name fitting in its beauty that matches him, despite not even knowing him.

Hecate seems to be in a playful mood tonight, her smile widening and baring the pearls of her teeth that look like they were carved from moonlight, vermillion eyes teasing. “All in good time, nephew. You’ll remember when you need to.”

“Nephew?” You breathe out, eyes set on the man— no, not a man— “You’re a God?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Demi.”

You’re left gaping between the two. “Like that makes a bloody difference.” You say, voice turning near shrill. “No wonder you survived out there. I should have known.” You rant, until Hecate lays a calming hand over your forearm.

“Be calm, friend. I must go now, but I have a favour to ask of you.”

“Anything.”

“Can you take care of my dear nephew for a while? I trust he’ll be safe with you until his memories return.”

“Of course.”

When Hongjoong goes to protest, Hecate merely raises a brow to have him submit to her wishes. “Yes aunty.” He mumbles.

“Splendid!” She claps her tattooed hands together, moving to take hold of yours, giving you a soft smile. “Thank you for this, friend.”

“Anything for you.”

With that she disappears into the night, like she was never there.

The silence stretches, the both of you in your own thoughts until Hongjoong eventually speaks again.

“Where are you headed anyway?”

You move to start walking to the helm and he follows you. When you reach the table before the steering wheel, you stab your dagger into the map. “Heard people disappear ‘round these isles.”

“So you’re going there?” He asks incredulously.

You laugh, leaning toward him, “Doesn’t it sound like an adventure?”

Hongjoong wonders if he’ll actually be safe with you. Guess he’s going to have to find out.

—

Morning tastes like salt cliffs shedding into his mouth, the very smell permeating his skin until all he knows is the grains rubbing his insides dry, like flayed fish left to marinate in the white rock, shrivelling and rough.

Gulls call out ahead through the window of the brig making Hongjoong squint toward the downpour of sunlight, golden and gentle unlike the rise and fall of the keel slapping back down onto the waves. It turns his stomach and in turn his head, a dizzy spell washing over him making him fall back with a groan. The incident has made his body less inclined to be at sea, a violent memory that though he cannot physically recall, lives deep in his sinews and has him recoiling from the watery prison.

As if sensing that he has awoken, the doors of the brig creak open, dragging away the shadows and allowing the light to fully inhabit the space. Down you come, a jug in one hand, liquid steaming its fragrance amongst the wood and twine and right up to Hongjoong’s nose, with a mortar in the other.

“Drink up, Demi-God. Lest you throw up on my decks again.”

Though humour tinges your voice, Hongjoong flushed with embarrassment, every heave and wretch rippling through his body as if he were reliving the exact moment he painted the floors with his ailment. A small smile pulls at your lips when he timidly takes the jug, a soft thank you drifting with the steam, You stand there waiting as he pours a cup and lets the jug settle atop the barrel being used as a makeshift table and watch as he draws the cup of dark liquid to his lips, blowing against the heat before taking a sip.

Lavender, pressed vanilla, crushed and fermented grape amongst other herbs swim warmly down his throat to his gut, soothing the sickness like a mothers lullabye. There’s a sweetness like nectar that sticks to his lips and tongue and a herbal bitterness amongst it. You supply an answer before he even asks. “A little remedy Hecate taught me— wine has many benefits. I used to get the most awful sickness at sea. You bring back memories.” Hongjoong wants to ask more— Hecate taught you? How did you even come to be friends with a Titan God? — but there’s no chance for his voice to rise as he savours the warm wine and you command instead. “Come. Oddeye is making breakfast. If you’re not fast enough you’ll only have a mere crumb.”

You warned him of that yesterday and the day before too. That every individual has quick hands and even quicker mouths, so he must learn to be quicker or starve.

But he doesn’t comment how just yesterday he heard you whisper to Oddeye to make sure the Demi-God gets something to eat and instead follows you up to the decks, where funnily enough Oddeye is frying some saltfish.

He’s drained the water he was soaking it in out into the already salty sea, now leaving it to rest in a ceramic bowl waiting for him to cook.

“Ah, Demi-God, come, come. Learn.” Hongjoong’s brows shoot up in surprise, but he really has no time to even utter the questioning me on the tip of his tongue because with a roguish laugh you push him toward Oddeye, walking around them both to take seat upon a crate and watch them both as if they were your personal performers.

Oddeye tells Hongjoong the method of making saltfish, how he prides himself in keeping only the best fish and taking the time to cut and dry and salt it in one of the claypots he gained during a raid. Hongjoong listens avidly, eyes like a baby bird watching a worm dangle from its mother's beak and you feel a foreign softness that you don’t quite register fill you as Oddeye starts instructing Hongjoong to make some parathas.

“What do you mean you don’t know how?” He chatices and the stricken look on Hongjoong’s face has you snorting behind your hand, the poor boy fumbling to copy Oddeye as he orders him to do as he does.

You wonder if wherever Hongjoong was before you found him, if he lived like a prince with people to do things for him, or if like a newborn lamb, he forced his legs to straighten and followed along, observed and learnt and did things for himself.

Watching him with Oddeye, pressing into the dough, rolling it out over and over, you like to think that Hongjoong is not an Olympian prick who relies on his Godliness. That he be more human than anything. Though you’re not sure why you should care at all. Afterall, he is merely here under the wish of your friend and you’re sure that soon enough he will be gone from your sight.

The crew stuff their faces on fish, fried banana skins and parathas and while you eat quietly, watching them shove their elbows into the other while tearing at the flatbread, you fail to notice Hongjoong’s eyes expectantly on you.

He watches your secretive smile and your attention fall to your own food, eyes zeroing in on your calloused hands pulling apart the bread and wrapping it around the fish and curried banana and his own lips curve secretively, pleased, when above the ruckus he can hear your appreciative hum, can see the nod of your head in approval and your hands reach for more of the paratha.

He doesn’t question his pleasure in your approval, only glad to see you enjoy it as he turns his attention back to his own food. (That one of the deckhands was secretly trying to reach for.)

Hongjoong ends up helping Oddeye for the next two mornings, each starting with you greeting him with the herbal wine and the woodworm remedy, with you watching the both of them with Hecate’s moon glowing in the depths of your eyes, joyous of Hongjoong under Oddeye’s instructions— one day teaching him what to do with nearly spoiled veg and the next how to cut open green coconuts with a machete and what to do with its meat after.

Today though, you hadn’t woken him. The wine sat cold and the wormwood waited for him to paint beneath his nose, but you were the only thing missing. Stretching, Hongjoong finishes his morning drink, then allows the scent of the wormwood mix to gather under his nostrils before he starts to make his way above deck.

Nothing out of the ordinary seems to be happening. The crew tend to their usual duties and Oddeye stands at his spot where he usually prepares food, his knife cutting into vegetables that he throws into a pot of boiling water. He tends to the fire beneath now and again, ensuring it is still burning and not escaping with its flamed limbs elsewhere, but he has yet to see you.

“Good morning.”

“Oh, lad, you’re up! I’ve done it all now, so don’t worry about helping me.”

Hongjoong nods, eyes still searching elsewhere. Licking his lips, he asks with a frown “where’s the Captain?”

“Below deck. They’re getting the lines ready.” Hongjoong raises an inquisitive brow, so Odd Eye supplies “we're hoping to get a good catch. These parts usually have the best fish you see.”

Today the skies are clear, a painting of watered blue that is near translucent above, void of clouds and only full of blinding light. This far out there are no birds scouring and cawing, only that constant rhythm of water knocking against the ship.

While taking his time admiring the vastness of the ocean, a load of the crew pile up from below and from behind you follow, holding an end of a net with the other crewmen. The five of you carry it to the very end of the ship and haul it into the water, keeping a secure hold of it. There’s mutters and you instruct a young boy to go get the ship moving, but gently, in hopes of scooping a school up.

Oddeye was telling Hongjoong about today's breakfast and then something about how well the fish will go with it, but he subconsciously tuned him out when his eyes locked onto your figure. Another billowing shirt that probably used to be white and frayed slacks that fell too low over your sandaled feet.

He hopes you don’t trip.

It’s that small cause for concern that compels Hongjoong to walk over, leaving Oddeye to talk to thin air and once he’s close, he wordlessly crouches down and starts to fold the hem up until the material is safely at your ankles. You look down in surprise only to see the crown of his head and his hands switching from one of your legs to the other. As if he knows your eyes are already on him, he looks up to directly meet your gaze. “Don’t want you falling over now, do we?”

“I suppose not…” Staring a moment longer, you dismiss the random gesture entirely. “How’s the seasickness?”

He stands to his full height and graces you with that Apollo-worthy smile of his. “Your remedy seems to be helping.”

You nod, retraining your attention on the net to help start tying it off to the ship's side. “That is good news. Hopefully you will not need it for long.”

“I hope so too. I don’t recall ever having this sickness before. If we’re to be at sea for so long, maybe I will become normal again.”

Your face falls slightly when you look at him again, swiping your palms together to clear some dirt.

“Oh. I meant until we get you back on land. I doubt you will be us for so long.”

A frown forms (as well as an odd sensation of disappointment). “Have you word from Hecate?”

“Well, no.”

“Am I that bad of company that you wish to be rid of me then?”

A cheeky smile forms on your face and Hongjoong feels his mind scrambling to memorise that look with all the light hitting your face, the lines created by your grinning lips. “And what if you are?”

Hongjoong feels cheeky himself. “It will displease you to know that I will have to stay by your side until you enjoy my company.”

That pulls a hearty laugh from you, a sound that skips prettily along the water into the distance, one that breezes its way into the chambers of Hongjoong’s heart and contains itself there. It blocks his airways momentarily. In fact it ceases his nerve-endings, not properly allowing him to function so he’s left standing there in a daze with a silly smile on his face.

He doesn’t even realise it’s there until Oddeye approaches from behind and slaps a hand down on Hongjoong’s shoulder, breaking his reverie. “I think he’ll be a good little apprentice, Captain. He’s quite useful, you know. Be a shame to see him go so soon.”

Your eyes narrow, part in confusion, part in suspicion, because isn’t this the same man who warned you to be careful around the newcomer. “Well you best get as much use out of him as you can while he’s still here, Oddeye.”

“As should you, Captain.” He lowly mutters, thinking you don’t hear him. Yet when your steely eyes glare at him, he has some sense to straighten up and walk away, muttering something about finishing cooking as he does so.

Your eyes are still trailing after him in annoyance when a snicker steals your attention, bringing your sharp gaze to cut into Hongjoong instead. But unlike Oddeye, he has no sense to stop and only laughs harder once he meets your gaze.

“Something funny?”

You forget that Hongjoong isn’t actually a member of your crew, that he isn’t someone who knows you, so he takes your serious tone in jest, baring his marble-like teeth to you and the sun, making him appear that much more dazzling.

Or maybe it’s just that unbothered attitude all the Gods have and he does know and simply does not care.

“I mean, if you need to use me, that’s perfectly fine.”

Yeah, he just doesn’t care.

The narrow of your eyes makes him break out into pure, unadulterated laughter, one that shakes him so hard his back bows and his face creases up into the cutes—

“Fine. Let’s go demigod.”

Hongjoong is left staring after your retreating body in confusion. You hadn’t even looked at him as you started walking away and it’s only when you’re at the mouth of the entrance to below deck that his brain kickstarts his body into action, feet tripping up on themselves when he starts to rush after you.

He can’t see, but you’re containing your smirk hearing his clumsy steps as you start to walk down the stairs.

It’s much noisier down here, with crewmen filing about from floor to floor, one end to the other, though as you get to a lower floor, the noises decrease and Hongjoong suspects why as his noise grimaces at the pungent smell of fish.

The lone lit lamp aids you in lighting up the others and soon bears both of your eyes to the barrels piled with fish. There’s only three barrels, but the depths of it is telling of how rich the catch was (if the smell wasn’t a clue) and three others, one with water and the other two empty.

“Here.” Hongjoong’s eyes fall to your outstretched hand to find you offering him a small blade. His bottom lip juts out as he airs the confusion he surely feels and this time you laugh at him. “You said to use you right? You can help me clean and gut the fish.” As his fingers hesitantly wrap around the hilt you smirk, voice challenging when you say “or is that too much for the pretty demigod?”

Hongjoong practically snatches it away from you, very clearly the fish caught in a net here when you smile, pleased to have baited the silly man.

“Done this before?” You’re moving easily, picking a fish from a barrel and using your own knife to start gutting it. Hongjoong shakes his head no. “The underside. Run the knife like so. Rinse the fish in this barrel. Make sure you’ve cleaned the insides out. Keep the tails and heads, Oddeye uses them.”

“That’s it?”

“Easy as that, Demigod.”

Hongjoong moves toward a barrel and by the time he manages to pluck one, you’ve gutted another three, moving with ease and sureness. “You must do this often.”

You scoff a laugh. “I’ve been at sea for as long as I can remember. You pick up a thing or two. Especially when it comes to a meal.”

Hongjoong merely nods, turning his attention to the fish. His browns squint together as he brings up the tip of the blade, however he doesn’t anticipate how tough the skin is, grunting as he pushes into it. “Oh, Gods.” He grunts when the blade cuts through to the other side.

He loses focus when he catches your mocking laughter, cheeks burning in embarrassment when you move closer and take the fish from his hands and discard it in the barrel of guts. Picking up another you place it in Hongjoong’s hand and then to his surprise you take hold of his hand weidling the blade and softly start to instruct with amusement in your eyes.

“Look. You start softly, following the skin. Go with it, not against it. Cut, cut, cut, softly. See! You’re in. Then it’s easy.”

Hongjoong finds that he’s holding his breath and not because of the smell, but because the crown of your head is right by face as it bows to focus on the fish. The light from the lamps wash warmly on you and sink into your eyes like it’s naturally a part of them. He can see the shape of your features, moulded to fit perfectly on your skin like clay under a sculpture's hand, the details of each lash lining your downcast eyes, tongue swiping your dry lips, and it makes his heart forget its own purpose of beating for a moment.

Until you look up and Hongjoong’s gaze sharply turns to your hands. He nods, as if he hadn’t just tuned out your voice halfway through your explanation and mutters “thanks, I think I got it.”

“Good! Because I don’t want us to be here all day.”

The experience shows in your pace, making it hard for Hongjoong to quietly observe the way it is supposed to be done. It seems as soon as you’ve grabbed a fish from the barrel you’ve already gutted it and are onto the next.

But his eyes are quick, his brain absorbing your actions and soon he can just about match your pace. Though you don’t look at him, you do let out an impressed whistle. “Not bad, Demigod.” The minimal praise shouldn’t make him as elated as it does, but he feels himself consuming it almost greedily, like your praise is the ultimate reward.

“Try to keep up, Captain.” He tests, thinking perhaps he can reel you in, but you merely scoff, shaking your head.

“How on Hellas could I ever keep up with a Demigod, hm?” The sarcasm grates his ears, but he senses no malice, spotting the faint curve at the edge of your lips as you smirk.

“Shall I slow down for you then?”

“And why should you do that?”

“So we are at the same pace of course.”

“I don’t believe we will ever be at the same pace, Demigod.”

That comment piques Hongjoong’s interest. “What makes you say that?”

“Different worlds and all that— literally.”

“I am still half of this world— I am in your world right now.”

You hum thoughtfully. “That is very true. So you should be on your best behaviour right?” It’s said so casually, but there’s something in your words that makes Hongjoong realise why everyone so easily calls you Captain, an edge that transcends your appearance, masked behind that airiness of it and has him blinking after you.

Noticing his silence you finally spare him a glance. When you quirk a brow he responds with an airy chuckle, nodding his head to himself, though you take it as him affirming your words.

The quiet remains after. There is only the sound of blade through flesh, of flesh hitting flesh as it’s dropping into the barrel and after a while Hongjoong pauses when sores bubble on his palm where he’s been gripping the knife. It’s for mere seconds he ceases to continue with the task, but you notice immediately, glancing to see Hongjoong press his thumb into his palms.

“Go see Hwa.”

“Hm?” You think that the way this Demigod blinks is somewhat cute, in the same way a child might be cute, clearly unaware you had even been paying attention to him.

“I said, go see Hwa. He can give you something for your hands.”

The blink returns to his open palm. “Oh. Oh. that’s okay, I can just go once we—”

“I wasn’t asking, Demigod. I know how painful those can get. It’s better you see Hwa now than risking your skin cutting open and dying of infection, don’t you think?”

He presses his lips together, unable to argue against that. Giving a simple nod he extends his hand to you offering the blade you lent him, but your eyes don’t even look. “Keep it. I have plenty more.”

Hongjoong smiles as if you bestowed upon him a chestful of treasure. And with that smile, he takes his leave, leaving you alone in the company of dead fish.

—

It truly must be a pure talent for the different ways that Oddeye can find to cook the fish. It has been nearly a week straight of fish and Hongjoong can only count his lucky stars that there are so many crew members to feed, because he’s certain that the menu would be fish for at least the month otherwise.

As he has been doing the past few days, Hongjoong is helping Oddeye to prepare dinner. Usually breakfast is so filling, they work through the day and then eat before the sun sets.

It’s odd how he hasn’t been here very long, but he almost feels at home.

Hours trickle away with the song of the sea in his ears, eyes scouring the constant motion of the crew, cleaning, hauling, bustling all over the ship, but when dinner time comes there’s a different kind of liveliness, relief and warmth and cheer when a meal is shared. It’s one of Hongjoong’s favourite things about being here.

“When you’re done, just put it in the pot.” Oddeye instructs, going between his own tasks.

Hongjoong is busy grinding up some herbs for Oddeye; cloves and dried mint, salt and dried chillies, garlic and peppercorn and the like. He offers a hum in response, gritting his teeth as he presses the pestle harder into the mortar, grinding everything together the way Oddeye’s shown him and that’s when you appear unsuspectingly at his side.

“What’s this, Demigod?” He jumps, jostling and nearly losing his grip on the pestle. Blinking at you with wide eyes you chortle at his expression, then wave the small object in question before him.

“Oh. It’s a fish.”

That has you rolling your eyes. “I can see that. I mean what was it doing in my quarters?”

Hongjoong gently rests the pestle within the mortar and fully turns to you, smiling as he eyes his handiwork.

“Just a thank you. For the knife. And your protection of course.” There’s a cheeky glint in his eyes that matches the curls at the edges of his lips when he says that, making you scoff your own barely audible laugh. But then his gaze turns serious as he asks “do… do you not like it?”

The question throws you off guard, because you didn’t really expect him to care whether you did or not. “I…. think it is nice. Thank you.”

He beams then, a smile that scatters the surroundings like the beating rays of the sun over the sea and it momentarily blinds you.

“Then I shall make you more.” He promises, so glad he carved that little wooden fish for you.

You ponder on if you should ask more, eventually allowing your curiosity to voice itself.

“Where did you learn?”

He tells you of the great craftsman Daedalus and how he met him while Hongjoong was entertaining the king and queen with his music during a festival.

“Well, I am glad you met him then.”

A simple smile is what you leave Hongjoong behind with.

—

A lullaby in the form of waves sends Hongjoongs mind adrift into the depths of sleep. Before it is able to swallow him, he sees your face and recalls the last moments with you once more. Your voice spoke just over the whisper of the sea breeze, a calmness that bled warmth into him when all you merely said was for him to get some rest and that you’ll reach your destination tomorrow, with an apology that his lodgings are so shitty at the moment. Though he questioned if he would truly be safe as his aunt hoped, he couldn’t deny the soft dulcet of your tone coming together like a melody of the sweetest nectar harvested by Demeter herself and providing a feeling so sweet, honey thick as it filled every nook and cranny of his insides, that there was simply no room left for doubtful thoughts— only serenity.

As his eyes fall heavy, departing into darkness, he thinks that your Apollo-crafted smile will fall away into the deepest remnants of his mind, however like a moth chasing the brightest light, you flutter into his subconscious and imprint that smile on the grounds of his dreamscape.

His bare feet digs into silk-soft sand, the grains sliding between his toes as he stands before a shore of azure that splits under the blinding white of the sun. He doesn’t know how he came to be here, but he doesn’t question it with his eyes drawn to such beauty, enamoured in a way that feels as if the essence of his soul is being drawn out to swallow it all in.

A light soon irritates his eyes, a reflection bouncing the ray right onto his face; he draws a hand up to shield himself, squinting towards the source and spotting a bottle washed up on the beach. Curiosity gets the best of him when he approaches the object. It’s heavy in his hand, though the glass is empty save for a roll of paper trapped inside. There’s a pop when he pulls the cork from the lid that he drops to the sand, tipping the glass till the paper is at the mouth of the bottle, using his fingers to pull it out the rest of the way.

The edges are worn, the paper itself crinkled and fragile as if it will fall apart from the mere kiss of the wind. He unravels it with care between his dainty fingers, eyeing the scrawl of black ink.

“It’s like a lie

A grand sight that’s like a lie”

He’s unsure what compels him to, but as soon as he’s read the words his eyes glance up to the horizon and a gasp breaks through his suddenly dry and cracked lips— the horizon becomes almost distorted, the sun seeming to dip into the sea before returning to normal.

It makes him stumble backwards and a cry leaves his mouth when he trips.

Another bottle.

The frown on his face deepens as he pulls it from the sand.

“I close my eyes then open them several times.

I’m like a Pundit, you know this feeling?”

As if the words have him under hypnosis, he blinks repeatedly, closing his eyes tight and opening them to the view before him.

He thinks he sees a small boat in the distance, its silhouette visible against the sun. The paradise seems to still be there, the water calm and the sun glistening.

Until it's not.

The sun dips into the sea and the air becomes hostile as it chills. It’s eerily quiet for a moment until a boom erupts and with it the ocean jumps like a bolt triggering a pulse, bringing with it a wave that seems to touch the sky. Fear seems to take the form of ice, freezing him entirely as he becomes shadowed in its great destruction, until something inside kickstarts his instincts to run.

His limbs tangle through hanging leaves and ropes of vine, the fuzz of webs catching his face and sticking to his hair, muscles burning as he pushes himself. His foot catches on a log and he tumbles forward, the bottles he didn’t realise he was still holding slipping from his hands and rolling away. He groans, looking back anxiously, only to see no sign of the wave incoming.

“What is that, what is that?” Hongjoong’s head shoots to the side of him and screams, scrambling away at the sight of a frog talking to him. He flips over onto his knees, about to push himself up when a turtle appears saying the same thing. Around its neck is a bottle hanging by a string. Shakily, he pulls it over the turtle's head.

“A frog and turtle, speaking to me,

Red sunflowers

What is that?”

Blooms appear out of nowhere— red sunflowers. They line in a certain way going deeper into the jungle he’s become entangled in and again, there’s a feeling like hypnosis when he starts to follow the path, the frog and turtles echoing ‘what is that’ fading behind him.

He follows until he arrives at a clearing that steals his breath. The green pastures are enclosed by rockslates where a single waterfill spills into a pool of glowing white— an image that suits Olympus more than it does Earth. It calls to him, drawing him in, that question of what is that becoming his own and soon he is thigh deep in the opal waters, skin radiating from its brightness.

But, like the beach he was on, the image before him distorts, flashes of snakes appearing before his eyes before returning to the normal image of the water. He feels like the air is being squeezed from him, but there’s no struggle as he sinks into the pools, ready to succumb to whatever it is offering.

The light starts to engulf him, Hongjoongs eyes on the sky that bleeds an array of pinks and purples making him feel so content—

In a sudden moment the colours swirl and muddy together and again, they distort, a sea of inky black above him. The light that was surrounding him disappears, the feeling of water clinging to his body now something heavier, more malicious, coiling tighter and tighter as if to crush his body and then it’s gone.

His body is dragged and he gasps as if it's the very first breath he’s taken. The last thing he sees is your face over him, shaking his shoulders and mutely calling out his name.

His saviour.

The sun has his eyes squinting against its strength when he emerges from his room. Sleep evaporated the moment he awoke from the dream, one that you had unexpectedly infiltrated. It’s instinct to search for you, soon finding you standing at the hull of the ship looking out at the sea.

Under the sun, your features bathe in its warmth, the rough edges of your appearance slinking away under the rays and making Hongjoong think you look more like the nymph's he sees dwelling upon the springs on Olympus. An overly large hat sits atop your head, probably a symbol of your Captaincy and you don similar clothes to the night he first met you. The wind billows out the loose off-white sleeves of your blouse even more and as he comes closer he can see that your eyes are drawn closed against the feeling.

Pushing the odd dream from his mind, he asks “what’s the plan then?” He knew you were due to go to those Isles for Gods knows what reason, but you told him the night before that you planned to make a stop somewhere first.

Your head tilts toward him, offering that smile that has etched itself in his memory long ago. Turning, you point at your pigs. “Gonna send them off first.” He frowns in confusion, but doesn’t get a chance to ask what you mean when you move to take a seat at the makeshift table.

“Tell me, Hongjoong. What did you inherit from the Gods?”

He takes a seat across from you, smiling as he thinks of his mother, one whom he sees in rarity, but cherishes nonetheless. “Music.” Your eyes become excited then, taking on the strength of the sun with their shine. “My mother, Euterpe, is a muse.” He ends up telling you stories of the muses— his mother, aunts and some of his cousins — how he was allowed to stay on Olympus in infancy and would gather in the great halls to perform for the Great Gods. How music soon became as natural as breathing for him.

You’re invested in each of his stories, his voice so captivating you’re sure that if he were to use it for what runs in his veins you would be spellbound to him.

A frown draws on your face though. Curiosity battling your mesmerisation. “Do you remember anything yet?”

That smile falls from his face and you think it a pity that he not bear what is probably the highest gift of the Gods and instead frowns himself. He’s about to tell you that he still can’t remember the events that led to him adrift at sea when he’s distracted by the creature striding over the table— a cat. He watches you pull a small greasy looking sack from your side, the bottom darkening as if it carried oil and the smell is pungent when you open it and pull out shreds of fish.

He resists gagging, instead watching you feed the cat with a barely concealed grimace. “I caught it fresh, princess.” You tell the cat, your features softening with affection as you coo at the feline. “Fit for royalty, don’t you think?” Princess meows as if responding in agreement, licking at your palm before nuzzling it’s head against it.

Hongjoong analyses you, noticing the scars on your body, one starting on your hand leading up over your forearm when you’ve pushed your sleeves up, another on your forehead, prompting him to ask you about them. You smile telling him how they relate to each of your adventures. He frowns. “So you get hurt quite often.” He states.

You only shrug. “Hazards of the job.” Your attention returns to petting your cat and soon you start to sing softly to it, causing a foreign sensation to shift in his chest.

“You sing.”

You look up sheepishly, an expression he didn’t think he’d see from someone like you. “A little.”

He smiles. “Like me.”

You scoff a laugh. “Don’t all Gods? Especially ones whose mother is a muse.”

“Not like me.” He says confidently.

“Well, you’re going to have to prove it.” Your challenge ignites flames in his eyes and in turn, it makes you feel alive, in a way you haven’t experienced before— especially not from mere eye contact. Clearing your throat, you look away first— another first for you. “When you’re more rested, ey? Can’t have you using the excuse that you’re still recovering for giving me a bad performance.”

Laughter erupts from him, the sound like music itself, enrapturing every inch of you inside out and you’re wondering if Oddeyes warning wasn’t totally off, just for a reason you never expected. “It’s a deal.”

Silence falls between the two of you, the crew working in the background, the water sloshing against the sides of the ship. Your curiosity seems to be contagious, because a thought pops into Hongjoong’s head. “Say...Where did you get the map to those Isles? I heard they were all burned up and the only one left was—”

“In the great library.” You smile, standing up. “Come, follow me.”

You lead Hongjoong to your quarters, distracting him from your busy hands as he looks around. The space is relatively tidy and very basic (not as basic as where he is staying, though), with a bed laid with purple sheets and a desk piled with scrolls upon scrolls and stacks of plain papyrus before it all. You head to the bookshelf while Hongjoong approaches your desk and picks up a scroll with excited eyes. “This is rare.”

Turning, you nod seeing the scroll in his hands. The Book of Monsters.

“Can I read it?” He asks, making you forget your original purpose of bringing him down here.

You tilt your head, taking a seat at the edge of your bed. “Only if you read it to me.”

Hongjoong smiles, moving to sit at the stool by your desk. He unwinds the thick scroll, fingers carefully turning the fragile pages till his eyes fall to the first page in old Greek and starts to read.

You’re enraptured by his voice— the way he story tells, each soft note reaching you.

In the midst of your hypnosis, ears keening to his voice, Meli appears. She looks from Hongjoong to you, but makes no comment on the matter. “We’re nearing the marina.”

You nod, standing, then offer Hongjoong a smile. “We’ll have to continue this later.”

Meli doesn’t comment on that either.

Closing the book, Hongjoong places it back on top of the pile he took it from then looks at you curiously, asking what’s going on. You only give him a mysterious smile. “Exchanging some pigs, remember?”

Hongjoong notes the change in air when you both come back onto the deck. It’s almost musty, a strange cloud of darkness falling over the surroundings, despite the sky being clear. The pier looks worn and decayed, creaking when Oddeye jumps onto the planks and twists rope around the cleat. As the crew ready to set forth from the ship, you regard them all.

“Right lads, one eye on your front and one on your back.”

There’s a chorus of ay’s and then the crew start to pile from the ship. When Hongjoong goes to move, you press a hand to his chest. “I think it best you stay here, Demi God.” He frowns at you, the brown of his eyes becoming misty, almost dusty like the old shorefront.

“And why do you think that’s best?” He tests, attempting to move forward again, only to feel the tips of your fingers dig harder against his chest.

“Because this is not the place for pretty boys or found-at-sea-amnesiacs, of which you are both.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

Your giggle distracts him from his original point, eyes near shining at him with your smile. “I’ve yet to meet a God who is not,”

“I should introduce you to several of my cousins then.” He mumbles, the comment bringing laughter from you yet again and it’s strange how his heart seems to be memorising that melody and it’s small changes each time you do laugh— it’s a sound that for some reason he is subconsciously holding on to. When he does recall the reason for your disagreement (only because he suddenly became conscious of your hand pressing against his chest) does the frown return and to your amusement a pout rises on his face making you chuckle. “Let me comeeeeee.” He whines and you really have to wonder if this isn’t a child stuck in a man's body as the laughter rises from you like lapping waves.

Still. There’s something compelling about this particular man, tugging your mind like the needle of a compass drawing north, that eventually has you relenting.

Your hand on his chest moves to instead draw the material of his shirt into your hands and you drag him so close your noses bump. His eyes are wide and shaky and this close it appears as if you can see the way the sun burns against the cosmos. You ignore the awe filling you, how there is almost a need to sigh out how pretty his eyes are, to instead look between them with a firm look on your face. “Fine. But you stick with me. You don’t wander off. You don’t talk to anyone— hell you don’t make eye contact with anyone. Understood?”

Hongjoong feels paralysed; the air seems to freeze in his lungs and his tongue is numb and mute, unable to conjure the words that even his mind scrambles for. It’s only a simple yes, but your proximity, the way your eyes encapture all he’s witnessed you to be so far— strong, headfast, beautiful— leave him dumbfounded and the way every inch of you is so close, your lips a mere breath away, is playing havoc on his insides.

“Well?” You quirk a brow and Hongjoong finally manages to swallow the sandpaper feeling that scratches at his throat, blinking his pretty lashes rapidly when he gives a small nod of his head slowly.

“Yes, Captain.”

You take his breath with you when you turn away. A yelp breaks from his mouth, hand flying out to catch the hilt of the sword you just threw toward him.

“Good reflexes.” You note, almost sounding impressed if it wasn’t for the teasing smile on your face. “You might survive, yet.”

Hongjoong follows you off deck, staring warily at the wooden planks that feel as if they would fall apart at any moment. When he realises you’ve already taken to the head of the crew, he hastily moves to get beside you, your instruction to stick with you an echo in his mind.

“So, I take it, it isn’t a friend we’re going to see.”

Your lips quirk into a smirk. “He’s something like...a frenemy.” You say, clicking your fingers.

There’s a snort on the other side of you— the one who patched Hongjoong up, Seonghwa. He moves his head to stare at Hongjoong. “That ship of ours…. It was kind of his.” Hongjoong’s eyes widen and you look the opposite of nervous when you gleefully chuckle.

“I got it fair and square.” You say, sticking your chin out.

“And now he holds a grudge.”

“Hey, not my fault he can’t hold his rum as well as he claims,” You exclaim making Seonghwa chuckle, Hongjoong wondering just how much of a grudge this guy holds.

The crew pass under a stoney bridge and come into a marketplace. The smell of fish; shrimp frying, fresh catch bobbing in barrels of water waft into Hongjoong’s nose, turmeric and cloves and other spices tangling into a fragrant scent. There’s men and women at the stalls, each looking as rough as the last. You guide them through the market's path, coming to an alley of sorts and come out onto a small square of brick flooring, surrounded by four buildings.

“Oi.” Hongjoong follows your gaze to the owner of the voice. A man with dark hair fringing cattish eyes watches you, nodding his head toward the building behind him. Wordlessly you follow him in, but as you all approach the doors he holds a hand out. “Just you.”

You laugh. “Not even a hello and then this, San? You lot that scared of us?”

The man, San, scowls, narrowing his thin eyes, making him look even more menacing. “Don’t get smart— get your ass inside.”

Within seconds your blade is at his throat, too quick for the man to register and with your movement in sync, your crew has their swords raised threateningly toward him. You tip his head further back with your blade and step closer to him.

“I don’t know nor do I care how you speak to anyone else, but you show some fucking respect with me.” His gulp is visible, the move pressing the blade further against his skin and Hongjoong thinks the man is smart to look fearful.

“Understood.”

When you withdraw your sword, you move him aside, throwing a wait here to the rest of the crew, Hongjoong frowns, eyes flitting over to Seonghwa’s. “Should we be letting her go in alone?”

Seonghwa’s eyes move toward Meli who looks as aggravated as Hongjoong’s starting to feel. “Not really. But Captain's orders.”

The brick corridor is dark and dusty, filled with the smell of burning incense. The odd silence is what has your fingers curling tighter around your sword's hilt, booted feet moving along the worn concrete carefully.

Just as you reach the end of the hallway, a waft of air hits your face as something unmistakably cuts through the darkness and reflectively your sword comes up, the inevitable clash of metal echoing around you.

Everything happens so fast— your hand grips the jaw of the stranger and shoves them back till their head collides with the wall and bounces off roughly, your feet moving with the sound of their groans fading behind you. Moving into a room, the light shines through a broken roof bearing the gritty floor and old wooden crates piled around, but there’s no time to take in the emptiness of the room when two men appear this time. In an instance your leg kicks out and jams your boot into the stomach of one ruffian, your sword swinging down to clash into the others— you both grunt, both hands around your swords hilt as you try to push back, ultimately releasing as you step back panting heavily. He growls, surging forward again with a cry, but he’s sloppy, down with a simple headbutt, the resulting crunch not even making you wince as you watch him howl in pain on the floor.

When you go to move, footsteps crowd around you— your eyes scour the entrances now filled with more ruffians, smirks of malice painted on their faces. You scoff, giving your own smirk.

“C’mon then.”

Outside, Hongjoong is becoming restless. “Isn’t she taking too long? Don’t you think we should go in?” Teeth gnawing at his bottom lip has made the flesh sore, so now he’s resorted to biting his nails.

Seonghwa gives him a disapproving look, lowering his hand from his mouth, lips drawing closer to Hongjoong’s ear. “There’s a reason she’s our Captain. Just trust her,”

Hongjoong frowns. If there’s one thing that he has been berating himself for in the very short time he’s come to know you, it’s that he does somewhat trust you. And he hasn’t decided if that's a good thing yet or not.

San leans against the door, picking his nails with the tip of a dagger and it makes Hongjoong grimace. He turns to say something to Meli only to notice she’s gone and then he notices that Oddeye has gone too. Before Hongjoong can say anything, Seonghwa’s back in his ear. “Easy… San is sharper than he looks.” The mention of the man draws Hongjoong’s eyes back onto him; he’s still doing the same thing as before, meticulously cleaning the dirt beneath his nails, but that doesn’t mean he’s not listening out for their whispers, that he’s not prepared to become hostile (as if he was very welcoming from the start).

Inside, every inch of your body is on alert. Your chest heaves with apprehension, eyes focused to the point they look crazed. Men circle around you and it’s as if their grimy hands are pressing against your skin already with how your back has locked up with tension.

At last, their thunderous cries spill into one chaos of echoes bouncing off the stoney walls, feet stampeding crowding over the sound, swords finally clashing. Your sword comes up and rebounds the three men coming at you, teeth gritting as you exert yourself, another sword being pulled from its holster swinging around you to defend your back. Crouching high and low, manoeuvring left and right, fists and metal, you fight off each man until that particular one shows his face.

He comes in all haughty, simply whistling to get the remainder of his men to stand down. The smirk on his face irritates you and you have half a mind to actually gut someone today— you don’t fail to notice how each of them were careful to not fatally injure you, but that doesn’t ease your annoyance any less.

The heavy leather boots he wears echoes with each step, his overly large hat tilted in a way that only bares his nose down, casting him in villainous shadow. At long last he looks up.

“I’ll show you how it's done.” Though he’s regarding his men, his eyes remain locked to yours.

You scoff, his men scuttling back like cockroaches, leaving the both of you encircled. “Still being a sore loser?” The boredom seeps into each word, a single brow lazily raised at him.

He merely shrugs, eyes widening manically, lips stretching into a menacing smile. “Maybe I just want to see you bleed.”

With that his arm comes down heavy with his sword, a move you easily block, grunting as your feet bear the weight you need to push back against him. He jumps back when you swing your other sword at his belly, a cackle of joy disturbing the air.

“Oh ho ho, very good.”

You grit your teeth, growling out “fuck you,” Ducking, you swing your leg out knocking him from under his feet. With the wind knocked from him, he groans, back smacking the concrete; the shadow of your sword falling across him like a slap, soon awakens his senses and sends him rolling away from the wrath of your metal. Your feet make fast to follow him, swinging down again and missing by mere inches. Rolling back to his feet, he surges forward, clangs and clashes, you evade one another with skillful swordship, cutting the air but not each other.

Until.

“Ah, fucker.” One of your swords falls away from your hand, the shallow wound prickling with your blood that slithers down your fingers, pitter pattering to the floor in steady drops.

“Ha! Finally I—” Making a run toward him, the momentum allows your leg to wrap around his neck and you swing, digging your knee into his back until he falls to his knees, your leg sliding from around him as you yank him back by his hair and press your sword to his throat.

He starts laughing nervously.

“OH! My dear friend, why didn’t you say that was you?” When you growl his laughter dies. “Alright, alright. May I remind you that I have you surrounded right now?”

“Do you now?” The dryness of your tone has him on alert and before he can so much as blink

the walls around you all burst forth harshly, bringing forth dust as it crumbles around you.

Meli and Oddeye stand back, the spears used for combustion charred within the stone scattered atop some of the men. And coming through with a disgruntled San, arms secure behind his back, are the rest of your crew, swords drawn.

“Now, that was a little over the top don’t you think?” He shrills, throwing his hands out.

“Getting your whole crew on my arse wasn’t?”

“Fine.” He grumbles with a roll of his eyes. “Consider us even. Now what can I do for you?”

“Like you don’t know.”

“I might have heard rumours.” He teases, smirking in that way that makes you want to throw your fist at his face.

“You owe me.”

“Always straight to business with you.”

“You could always get straight on my sword, Woo.”

He whines like a petulant child, stomping his feet and barking at his men to clear up the mess. “Follow me.” He says begrudgingly.

“I’ll be back.” You sing-song, following Wooyoung down a corridor.

You come into his shabby excuse for an office. Its resemblance is closer to a raided building. Wooyoung grabs for a bottle of dark liquor, wipes across his mouth with his sleeve, then hands it to you as he walks across the room.

There’s a cage covered with a simple cloth and your eyes marvel at the sight when he reveals what it holds.

Smiling, you crouch down and eye the little creature, cooing when they make tiny squeaks. Too small to produce any real sound let alone fire.

“So you’re set on making the journey, then?”

“Of course. Why? Wanna come?”

He laughs. “When I have a death wish friend, I shall join you.”

“What if we make it?”

“What if you don’t?” He counters, pushing his hair back with a huff. “You piss me off, but that doesn’t mean I—” Wordlessly, he grabs the bottle from your hands and takes another hefty swig.

“Aw, is that care I hear in your voice, Woo?”

He looks at you then. No pretences. No tease, no smart-remarks, or banter. “Yes. It is care for my friend. I worry.”

Not expecting this soft show from him, you can only laugh. Standing from your crouching position, it’s your turn to grab the bottle and down the liquor.

He smiles. “But you’ve made up your mind.”

“But I’ve made up my mind.” You affirm, nodding.

He sighs, then moves to grab a small empty cage. Unhooking the tops of the large one and carefully pulling forth one creature and placing it within its new (shitty excuse) for a home. “Well then I wish you luck.”

“Thank you, friend. See you on the other side.”

As you go to walk away, Wooyoung gives you one last piece of advice. “It would be good to consult them about your travels. Perhaps they know something.”

—

You were quiet the whole way back to the ship. Wooyoung's words run in your mind over and over and as much as you hate to admit it, it might be a good idea.

Placing the covered cage on the deck, Hongjoong’s the first to ask what it is. And upon unveiling the important thing you required for your journey, you smile.

“It’s an aura dragon. Perfect age to not be a menace to us, but brilliant at sensing danger. Their scales change to signify how safe somewhere is. I’m planning to circle the island with it before we enter. We’re lucky to get a hold of one— they’re extremely rare.”

“Not to mention expensive.” Meli sighs.

“A few pigs isn’t bad.” You laugh.

“But soon we will be back to having fish for weeks.”

You only roll your eyes at her, recovering the cage and pushing it in her direction.

“See to it that our new crew member is made comfortable, please.”

“Ay, ay, Captain.” She says sarcastically, taking the cage and disappearing below deck.

You turn to head to the helm, wincing as you limp, but pay it no mind. Hongjoong, however, notices.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Hongjoong scoffs, rolling his eyes and follows after you. “You’re clearly limping.”

“And?”

His brow quirks then screws together in a frustrated frown. “What do you mean and? Let me see.”

“Unnecessary. I’ll take care of it later.”

“Want me to get Hwa instead?”

Your back grows rigid as you come to a halt. Head turning slow, eyes dark and murderous when they land on him.

“Are you threatening me?”

His smile easily slips back. “Never. Just giving you a choice, Captain.”

“Should have left him in the damn sea.” You grumble.

“What was that?” He asks with an infuriating smirk.

“I said. Get on with it then.”

It’s a mere snag on your calf (to you— not a big deal) trailing round to just by your ankle, but Hongjoong analyses it with a face so serious as if he’s going to have to amputate your leg. He disappears for a moment and returns with a bowl of sea water and some rags (that are as clean as can be on the ship). Each of his movements are potent with the grace of the Gods— swirling the cloth in the water and then wringing it out, slim fingers draped with the cloth start to pad against the wound, eyes concentrated with his mouth rounded as he gently blows air over it.

You try not to watch him. Forcing your eyes to the horizon to keep up your annoyance, but you can’t help but to drift back to his face.

You’re used to Seonghwa doing this, or even yourself. Hwa would usually scold you or be very medical about it all, but scanning and feeling his gaze and hands be all careful feels very different to those times.

He finishes by wrapping a cloth around your leg (that you don’t think is really necessary, but it’s done now) and ties it off.

“You know one day you’re not just gonna get hurt— it’ll be worse.”

You shrug with a small smile. “We all gotta die someday. At least when I go out, it will be an adventure.”

—

Morbidness of death stifles the greying air. The waters are unsteady here, as welcoming as the damned it harbours. It’s an effort for the crew to keep their legs steady when watery arms disguised as waves heaves itself against the underside of the ship, rocking it roughly along the surface. Jagged rocks duck and appear in the water, scraping against the sides only aiding in the oceans onslaught.

And of course, it’s raining.

“Captain, we spotted the cove.”

“Prepare to make anchor!” Your command echoes amongst the crew, each scrambling for ropes and manning the capstan, yet your eyes are far away, focused on the whispering fog blanketing the desolate mountain you’re nearing.

It’s not nostalgia, but an almost foreign apprehension that overcomes you.

“Captain, are we to bring the full crew?” Oddeye questions.

A smile that doesn’t reach your eyes finds its way onto your face and Hongjoong’s watchful eyes notice.

“We are to bring none of the crew. I shall be making the trek alone.” You inform, slinging a satchel over your shoulder.

“But Captain the grae—” Meli starts to protest.

“They won’t harm me. I think. But I’d rather you lot not be leverage for my potential torture.”

“Filling me with confidence here.” She quips, exasperation clear in her voice.

Teeth bare into a grin at your first mate, your hand falling heavy on her shoulder. “Fret not, Meli. For once, this isn’t unknown territory. If I shant return, you know what to do.”

“Why wouldn’t you return?” That voice, usually enriched with the sweet spill of ripe berries, cracks through the air like an oil lit fireball spat at its enemy. Surprise fills you upon noticing the hardness of his usual honey-warm eyes, the brown splintered like cracked bark, the shards cutting into you the longer he stares. You hope your laugh will dispel the sudden edge in the air, but Hongjoong seems determined with his gaze set firmly on you. “Why wouldn’t you return.” He repeats gruffly.

“There’s always a chance of no return. Whatever the voyage.”

“So why go alone?”

Sighing, irritation makes your brow twitch. Squaring your shoulders, you regard him with your chin upturned, authority radiating from you. “Because I am the Captain and I decided that.”

He has you surprised yet again. Because rather than backing down as you’re so used to people doing with you, his soft demeanour completely dissipates, features now moulding into something far more calculating and rebellious— the curls that you thought looked cute at the edges of his lips stretch with his smirk, his eyes darkening like the sun eclipsing the world and he scoffs a humourless laugh. “Good thing you’re not my Captain then. I’m coming.” From him there is a fire burning away in the depths of his orbs, and from you, a cataclysmic tide waiting to engulf him whole.

“Brace yourselves!

The stare off breaks, no chance for words when the ship violently jerks and sends you falling— in an instant Hongjoong leans towards you, encircling his arms around you and turns, a grunt leaving his lips when his back hits the hull. The ship is carried by a rough wave, tilting the boat and forcing your body further against his. You can barely register the closeness when you’re scowling at him, a storm still simmering under your skin at his nerve to defy you.

“I’m the one who is protecting you.”

His eyes draw low as does his face until his nose nudges against yours and it’s still not the closeness of your bodies that you register, but rather its the intensity of his eyes that feel as if the ropes of your ship have gone rogue and taken a life of their own to knot around you and bring you into their captivity.

“All the more reason I should go with you, no?” Then, his eyes move from your line of sight, but only so his lips can whisper into your ear with a lovers intimacy, sending the storm under your skin to your suddenly fragile heart, to encase within, the pressure of the winding sea thrashing inside seeming to want to have it breaking apart like a dam. “Who will protect me, if not you?” Your head turns to stare at him, his own head tilted, breath spilling against your skin and before you can even find some sort of words, the ship levels out with a heavy smack against the water, sprays of the ocean raining onto the decks.

Cold air slicing against your cheeks is the wake up call you need to break out of— well, you don’t even know what to call that, only know that you need to put some space between you both right now. Your hand presses against his surprisingly firm chest, ready to push him away, but again he has surprise instilling in you when his fingers curl around your wrist, keeping your palm against him. “I’m coming.” He says with a finality in his voice, releasing your wrist as he walks away.

There’s a curious heat where his fingers once were, one that lingers and makes you feel as if he still had them wrapped around your wrist.

Your lips set into a firm line, sight set on his retreating figure, following until he disappears below deck. Turning swiftly, you take note of the look Meli gives you.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.” But the smirk on her face seems to be saying something.

You’re in no mood to pull it out of her (though you have an inkling of what it is she finds so amusing), grabbing the arm of a crewmember passing by. “Ready the tender.”

“Aye, aye Captain.”

“So, he’s going with you, I take it?” Retraining your eyes on Meli, you can’t even stop your eyes from rolling.

“I guess so.” You mumble.

“By Olympus, I never thought I’d see the day.”

A scowl. “What.”

“Just never thought I’d see the day you relent to someone”

“I’m not bloody rele—”

“Boats ready, Captain.”

You leave Meli with a disgruntled expression, the face of her stifling her laughter burning into your mind. The deck moans beneath your feet, the sea howling at you as you near the light boat. You stumble when even with the ship anchored, the rough waters manage to knock the ship sideways, and before you can fall, a hand is steady at your shoulders, keeping you upright.

Hongjoong.

A quick scan of his body shows the addition of a sword, the hilt recognizable with a lotus and a single eye engraved in it— a parting gift from a certain one-eyed pirate's daughter. With a frown your eyes move to seek out the man one could say you consider as your own father. Once they land on him, you spot the sheepish look on his face, which you meet with your own betrayed expression. You jump when warm breath suddenly falls against your ear.

“He said it’s good luck.” Hongjoong drawls lowly from behind you.

You barely turn your head to regard him when you hotly ask “do you even know how to use that thing?” A gasp falls from your lips at the touch of cold metal against your throat, Hongjoong’s satisfied smirk in your provisional igniting a fire within you.

“Isn’t this familiar? How's it feel to be on the other si—agh...” You look down at Hongjoong groaning on the floor, his eyes squinting up at you standing over him with the rain falling around your head and spilling drops onto his cheeks.

“I’m leaving.” Is all you gruffly say, urging Hongjoong, with a pained groan, to roll over and hastily follow you onto the small boat.

It rocks with his weight when he sits. The scowl on your face makes his near breathless laugh fall away with the wind, his eyes not leaving yours as you’re both lowered onto the water. There’s a look of concentration and strain when you start to row, the oars weighing heavier when the tides are rough and pushing against you. Grunts pass through your gritted teeth, the skin around your knuckles stretching taut under your grip of the oars, shoulders rolling and heaving with each push against the water.

Even as it rains, with the clouds a cluster of grey gloom, Hongjoong can’t help but to admire you. Drops trail down your face, some pooling at your lashes, others tracing the curve of your lips and falling off your chin. There’s a fierceness in your eyes, a determination as you row to shore, your strength not merely physical but an unseen part of your very being. He’s met many strong people, women included, in his life, especially as the son of a Muse, yet something strikes in his heart as if you are leaving a mark there, that makes him think you are different, yet he has no clue what that something is.

His heart jumps multiple times whenever the boat rocks as if it will overturn, the lapping waves climbing up the sides and filling the inside of the boat. Giving a pointed look to Hongjoong, he gets the message and grabs for the wooden bucket and starts to shovel out the water.

A rock hiding in the rough waters drives your boat upwards sending you crashing forward. You yelp as your knees scrape against the rough wooden surface. Hongjoong’s hands reach out to steady you, but you’re already hauling yourself back upwards with a strained groan, not stopping lest you lose momentum, getting closer and closer to the shore. He stares at you, eyes moving to your hands and with the downpour it’s hard to notice, especially as the water dilutes and washes away the colour, but he soon realises the harsh grip you have on the wood of the oars has grated roughly against your skin, made them sore and bloody with its burn. As soon as the boat slides onto the pebbly shore, Hongjoong stops you before you can stand with a gentle grip on your wrist. You watch curiously as he tears at his own shirt, pulling the fabric into strips and then takes hold of your hands. There's an unfamiliar stutter in your chest, one that makes your heart feel out of place in your own body when he turns your palms upwards and you finally take notice of your own wounds.

Even with the iciness of the rain piling onto your palms and pooling in its dip, there’s an unmistakable warmth swimming up your bloodstream to circulate all over when his fingers delicately balance your hand between you both. With care he wraps one strip of his torn shirt around your hand, placing it down on your lap gently before taking hold of your other. You watch him the entire time, strands of his hair sticking together, water flicking off the ends to trail down his face, one down the bridge of his nose pooling at his philtrum, another flicking off his long thick lashes and trailing under his eye like the mimic of a tear. His eyes are downcast, concentrated on carefully tying the material off into a messy bow and as he curls your fingers back into your palm slowly, as if returning your hand to you, your eyes meet.

How many times will he feel the need to mend my wounds? For the second time he has come to your aid — has touched you with foreign care as if you are fragile and as if you need his care.

Your surroundings seem to be swallowed by something, because suddenly the sound of the rain pelting against the howling sea is lost to your ears, the ghoulish whistle of the wind is nowhere to be found, nor is the callous whip it brings against your skin. The rain doesn’t seem to bear down on you anymore, there is nothing but him it seems.

And for him, there is nothing but you.

The sound returns in a loud chaotic collision that knocks you from whatever spell you seemed to be under. Clearing your throat, you stand to your full height and look down at him. “Let’s get going then.”

Passage to your destination isn’t so much a dangerous one (surprisingly), as it is a long one. There are multiple trails that can lead to everywhere except where you need, meaning it's easy to get lost (and then end up in a dangerous situation), meaning you need to know the exact trail to take.

Luckily (or not) you’re very familiar with these paths, a map of its maddening maze etched into the fibres of your brain for as long as you could remember.

Wordlessly you reach behind you and settle Hongjoong’s hands on your hips. “Don’t let go. It gets really foggy and if you get lost here, there’s a chance you’ll be wandering until the end of your days.” His throat starts to feel rough like cracking land under the sun as it becomes dry. He tries to swallow the sensation away, but the mere feel of your skin, even with the barrier of your shirt, has the very tips of his fingers, each ridge, overly sensitive— receptive— to you, and again, he doesn’t know what to make of that.

Not allowing the ever-rising question to plague him further, he distracts himself. “It sounds like you’ve been here before.” He muses, not really expecting much conversation to come from it until you chuckle.

“Something like that.” You muse, the mystery in your voice peaking his curiosity.

“It’s rare to have travelled to the Graeae’s layer once, let alone a second time.”

You hum amused. “This will definitely be more than a second time.” Your reply has his head shooting up, the move tipping his balance and sending him backward. Your hand curls around his wrist, keeping him mostly upright. “Careful. You don’t want a death as boring as ‘slipped and cracked my head open’.”

You nearly laugh when he latches onto you tighter, if not for the acute awareness of his fingers digging into you like a lover seeking refuge. Eyes seek out the path ahead in hopes to (like Hongjoong) remove the strange feeling clouding your mind suddenly. Moving along the slated mountain wall, your fingers trace the grooves in the rock until you brush against a familiar symbol, snakehead. Stopping, you feel around until you come in contact with a vine. Pulling on it, you make sure that it’s still strong before speaking to Hongjoong. “I’ll go first. You won’t be able to see me still, so listen to my instructions carefully.” Keeping one hand on the vine, you take hold of his other and press it against the engraved symbol. “Feel that? From precisely here you wrap your hand around this vine. Then your other directly under that hand— that’s number two. Count exactly twenty-seven down, got it? Twenty-seven. Don’t count your feet, count your hands. You’ll come onto a thin ledge against the mountain much like this, it's far narrower so watch your step.There’s multiple ledges so you must count carefully.” You stress. ”Don’t let go of this vine until you can feel the one going across. I have to count exactly once I’m down there so I can’t wait for you, there won’t be enough space, but face sideways, one foot in front of the other and count eighteen steps. Okay? Count your feet that time. Then you’ll reach a crawl space— I’ll go in first. Like the ledge there are multiple holes you could go through, choose the one wrong and you risk death. You have to pull the blackest vine to get it open— but be careful or you could fall.” Then you mutter, suddenly anxious, “fucking hell, I really shouldn’t have let you come,” then louder, “maybe you should go back to the boat.”

Immediately, he goes against your words. Giving you a stern look that you can’t even see, he repeats the instructions back to you. “I’m not leaving you.” He says with finality in his voice. “Now if you don’t want to be here any longer, I suggest we get a move on.”

You can’t even argue. While you’re overly concerned for Hongjoong — this fawn of a Demi-God who you believe could die from a simple bug bite — he is right that you don’t want to be here any longer than you have to.

So with a sigh, you whisper good luck and start your descent.

You forgot how disorientating it could be here— hands tightly latched onto the wet vine, you fight to concentrate on your counts whilst the heavy fog literally fogs your senses. Not being able to see and having to merely rely on instinct and the touch of the vine is unnerving and midway your worries for Hongjoong and how he will manage start to form.

Quick to shake the image of him in your head, you remind yourself to worry about you and keep count.

Sweat beads your hairline, teeth grinding in their clench as you use all the strength you have to keep that precise grip on the vine.

There’s little relief when you finish counting and reach the ledge, immediately seeking the next guide.

“YOUR TURN.”

There’s a queasiness in your stomach when you start to walk across. You forgot how anxious this place makes you. How weak.

You thought you’d never have to return here, but I guess the Gods really aren’t that kind.

That anxieties only heightened upon wondering how Hongjoong’s doing. You haven’t heard any untimely falls to death, or any cries of distress — yet. But it’s eerily quiet apart from the continuous onslaught of rain and wind whipping, so there’s no way to really tell how he’s doing and that makes you uncharacteristically nervous.

The rain has made everything all the more unsteady, your legs quivering in their effort to stay firmly in line as you walk along the ledge up until you’ve counted down to the last step. You can barely tell there’s a hole before you; vines heavily shroud the opening and the rain makes it hard to search for the right one when the waters darkened them all. Pulling at the blackest, you send a quick prayer that it’s the right one and tug as hard as you can on it.

It’s then that the rest of the vines slither away unveiling the entrance to the Graeae’s cave.

Grunting, your sore hands twist around the vines, experimentally tugging before you use it to start hauling yourself up and crawl through the muddied space. Beetles and ants and the like crawl past you, forearms disturbing the soil and discolouring your faded white shirt until you stop halfway to look back.

Minutes seem to pass and with that your breaths grow laboured, Usually you’d go on, not second guessing, but each part of you seems frozen, apprehensive as pleas voice over and over in your head and you debate going back.

Just as you start to shift backward, the vines start to unravel and there’s a slither of light. Now you’re breathing in relief, waiting another moment until you’re sure Hongjoong’s coming.

“You good?” You call out, the echo making you cringe.

“Yeah.” He calls back.

Wordlessly you turn back around and resume crawling. Hearing his grunts and the occasional ugh surely upon spotting all the bugs and sinking into the mud, makes you feel relieved, almost amused.

But as soon as you reach the end of the crawl space, that humour dissipates and that familiar dread and anxiety clogs at your throat and you swear you could throw up right now.

Carefully, you drag yourself until you’re kneeling and can stretch your leg out. Keeping hold of a vine, you start to lower yourself until your feet touch those familiar cold stone floors. Hongjoong following suit not long after.

“Now what?” He whispers as soon as he lands.

“Shh.” You say sharply, eyes adjusting to the ghoulish darkness.

Taking hold of his wrist, you keep to the cave walls and carefully start to lead him.

The Graeae sleep much of the time and waking them suddenly is asking for a beheading. So each step is calculated, even aware of how your own breath could be startling.

Afterall you don’t know what goodies they have in store.

Unlike their official status of being monsters in exile, the Gods have shown to favour them — a favour for a favour.

Perhaps Hades has gifted them one his loyal hounds to guard their shitty fortress. Or mayhaps a wicked disorienting prison of walls built by Hephateus. You wouldn’t even be surprised if the messenger God Hermes has offered his tricks to them.

Though, you seem to have forgot that the Graeae — old, conniving and viscous — are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves without such gifts and trickents, because you feel the slightest draft atop your head, barely able to suck in a breathe when you look up and hanging above you—

“Wellllll,” the voice grates, husky and raw like a voice box left to form organically under the sun, “look what treat has decided to drop in.”

Every muscle you’ve honed to react swiftly has become null under the silhouette of the youngest Grarea. Her breath washes over you like the stench of corpses sitting in humid air. You can’t even get yourself to recoil. Completely frozen.

It’s Hongjoong who pulls you back as her spindly limbs climb through the crack above, overgrown nails clawing into the walls as she moves like an abnormally giant spider until she can jump right in front of you.

“No hug for your mother?”

You feel Hongjoong tense behind you at the word — the word that makes bile rise up your throat.

“I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“No?” She hacks, webs in her throat, coated in shadow. You’re not sure if you wish there was enough light in the room to see her. “Not here to steal again? Or have you finally come home?” Her head moves to the side and you can tell she’s peering at the man behind you. Suddenly, you feel protective and all the more stupid for bringing him. Standing straight, the muscles suddenly remember all they have learnt and guide your hand to your sword. “Oh?” that cackle is haunting, a taunt meant to bring dread. “Want us to meet our son in law?” Her laughter grows, wheezed and broken. “Bring him closer then.”

Her words are coated in slime, causing you to unsheathe your sword and hold it before you in warning.

“I’m not here to cause trouble.” You repeat through clenched teeth. “I require the eye’s sight.”

Now she sneers. Hollowness filling with rage. “You dare to ask—”

“—I have the scroll. The one of your curse.”

She turns so still, that you can’t even hear the faint whistle of her breathe through her distorted neck.

Then she wraps her stone-dead knuckles on the floor over and over, so hard you almost want to stop her in concern she’s hurting herself.

Silence.

Empty space, everything swallowed into nothingness to the point numbness seeps in. Something cracks and now your ears ring, like something explosive burst in your ears, an endlessly piercing sound.

Next your vision sways, dark spots amongst even darker spots throwing your whole balance off until there's a feeling of free falling— that sensation when you're on the cusp of slipping into sleep but your consciousness isn't ready to be quietened just yet and you're plummeting, plummeting until—

Gasp.

Steadily. Everything returns to you steadily. Air rushes around you and cocooned in that freshness the beat of your heart bounces around.

Air hisses out, the cocoon of air dragging away sharply and with it the ringing closes around a fist stopping its sound completely.

The first thing you register is your heavy panting. The next is the tight grip you have on Hongjoong’s hand. Blinking, your head snaps back to see the same dazed look on his face.

Scouring the surroundings, you note the rods of fire mounted roughly to the cracked walls. Along its surface are grooves of various shapes and patterns, almost artistic for the layer of the things deemed monsters.

Right. The monsters.

From the walls two more creatures slither out.

Rolling like white foam of the sea, then come unto the ground, spearing swift like the unforgiving sea until their bulbous greying faces are reared at yours.

“Child of ours!” They both shriek, snapping their heads left and right.

Ancient should not mistake one for thinking these are mere senile bugs to be squashed beneath one's feet. No. The eldest of the Graeae, in size and in their intimidating aura, are a force to be reckoned with.

Smaller than giants, bigger than even a large man, Deino and Enyo raise themselves by their heavy necks to their full height, like a pair of overgrown tumours on legs, limbs that are not spindly as many would think, but bubbled with lumps of skin grown over skin, heavy.

Deino — the eldest — has the tooth wedged into the snout, once her mouth, and bobs her heavy head back and forth above you.

Enyo’s loose skin beneath her chin drags across the floor, sweeping back and forth as she excitedly jerks this way and that.

Taking a deep breath, you grip Hongjoong’s hand and have him follow your movements into a bow. Upon touching him, you realise that just maybe you are thankful for his presence. Though you will never admit that aloud.

“Oh great Graeae, bless me with your sight and I shall make it worth your while.”

Silence greets you. Not even their loose skin flapping, or their incessant gummy clacking can be heard.

And then you recoil at their thunderous laughter, echoing volcanically in the cave. It’s such a haunting sound, but to you it’s familiar and your eyes squeeze shut as memory upon memory of such laughter being shared with you growing up flashes in your mind.

The most wicked play of a lifetime. One that would amuse Kings and Gods alike.

Standing tall, you jerk back when Enyo instantly lowers and you feel the cold of her finger tip your chin back and though she has no eyes, staring at her twisted face has your heart stilling.

Deep, unearthly, ghoulish, she asks “Is the boy the exchange?” Before she can turn her attention fully to Hongjoong, you step in front of him.

“I think our child is wedded.” Phemphredo tinkers, a child-like eeriness behind her giggle.

“I already told you—” You hesitate, huffing, “—mothers. I am here for the eye and the eye alone. This man is none of your concern. But know that he is under my protection. Let that be your only warning.”

“Oh, I only tease.” Phemphredo caws, huffing in her own way. “Daughter of ours claims to have the scroll.”

“The scroll.”

They echo, unnaturally waving their bodies around. A sight of glee.

“Show us.”

“Yes, show usss.”

“You know how this works. Part of the prophecy and then proof of goods.”

They skitter and grunt annoyed, swarming before you in their tantrum.

“Taught the child too well.” Enyo hacks.

“Mother is proud.” Pemphredo chitters, moving closer to you and tiptoeing her boiled claws along your unsheathed sword.

Deino, however, is less amused. With her fat tongue against the roof of her mouth, she sucks in sharply, gums bared and even her sisters have the sense to quieten down.

“Child of mine, I have dreamed of your return. And every dream your fate has never been the same. How long have you withheld the scroll from us until you deemed us necessary for your use again?”

There is a reason that Deino is associated with dread. The absence of her eyes… the complete empty blackness in her toothless semblance of a mouth… the corpse-come-to-life of her movements, dead, but full of something dark and daunting… you can feel every ounce of her disdain and if, and only if you were not their child, you would feel the air being sucked into your lungs and refusing to leave, drowning in that dread she so easily conjures.

But for you, this is just another bedtime whisper in lieu of a normal goodnight.

“Mother, you never had to dream of me to remind me that my fate hung in your callous hands. Now, I’m on a schedule so let’s get on with it, hm?”

The silence lingers and when at long last, she merely tuts, the sisters seem to understand because they turn into each other and whisper rapidly. You see Pemphredo reach into her side — literally into her side — and bare the eye.

The three place their hands together over it and ghoulishly chant, words sharp whispers and a nonsensical cacophony.

Part of you. A very small part softens at the sight before you. Because you know that your mothers would never turn their back to a visitor, lest they stick something in their back.

And you realise that this display means they still have some trust for you. Maybe even love. Or their version of it.

And you realise that maybe you do too.

Feeling choked up, you clear your throat, shaking your head and inhale deeply, standing straighter. Caught up in this reunion, you forget Hongjoong’s presence until a hand on your back makes you jump. Glancing over, his eyes face forward, trained on the Graeae, but that doesn’t stop the slow circles he rubs into you comfortingly. And unwillingly, your body relaxes into him. So much so that when the Graeae suddenly turns around you jump a little, tensing all over again.

“Death. But not written in stone.” Enyo begins, chin wagging along.

Pemphredo gleefully waves forward, distorted face holding an even more distorted smile. “A hook to decide. Made by him.

“Yesss by himm.” Enyo echoes.

“Hephaestus. Blacksmithhh. Creator of weapons. A hook to guide you through the fog of those Isles' dearest daughter.” Deino hollowly breathes out.

Of course, there was no need to tell them where you would be going. They saw for themselves.

Deino approaches you, staring upon your face as if she could actually see. And maybe she could, in an instance gripping your cheeks tightly, she leans closer to your ear. “Dangeroussss path. Even mother would be unhappy to see you go to the underworld so soon.” releasing, her head jerks back and she swiftly turns to face her sisters. “The scroll?”

True to your word, reaching into your satchel, the book is brought forth. Holding it out, Enyo snatches it and like a pair of children fighting over the last piece of bread, they smack into each other's sides, hissing and drooling to read it first.

“Childdd. Just because you have a way out doesn’t mean you willl. Things await there that even the eye cannot seee. Things that could mean the end of you.”

You’re not sure what to say. Staring at the backs of their heads wrapped up in a strange sensation of foreign familiarity.

So you don’t say anything. Merely take hold of Hongjoong’s wrist and turn to leave through the crawl space you used to leave… last time.

“I suspect this willll be the lassst time we seee you. Deathhh or nottt.”

Unsure of why — maybe the nostalgia, maybe the longing — but you throw a “maybe for my birthday.” over your shoulder and continue on your way.

“Tell the child the ressssst.” Pemphredo urges.

And before you can ask exactly what is the rest, Enyo bounds forward heavily until a roughened hand grips the back of Hongjoong’s shirt and heaves him above the ground, dangling him before you. Immediately, you spin, sword ready to cut through at a moment's notice.

And Enyo must notice the sudden bloodlust, because she cackles and tells you “be calmmmm child of mine. We won’t bring harm unto your little friend but! Be warned he is trouble — you best get rid of him. Mother will eat him if you so wishhh.”

Growling, you jab your sword against her armpit, not enough to pierce her tough skin, but enough to make her shriek back and drop Hongjoong.

“I’m just saying!” She hisses.

“She speaks the truth, child.” Deino affirms, keeping her back to you. “Trouble.”

“Trouble.” The others echo.

“Get rid of him and more than one problem will go — Love and Rhode.”

“Love and Rhode.” They chitter.

Road? Do they mean the path I’m to take? Always with their damn riddles.

She turns then. “Loveeee from Rhode, loveeee from you.”

Me? That makes you laugh. For real. “From me? Mothers, what love do I have?”

The smile to others would look horrifying. To you, that was one of the rare ones of warmth. “Keeppp him and findddd out. But get rid of him and be rid of Rhode.”

You finally leave with a scowl.

Love? Maybe the Eye really is on the blinker.

—

“What did they say?” Meli asks, hand curling around your forearm as she helps pull you up onto the deck. Seonghwa helps Hongjoong up and Meli’s question prompts you to look back at the man. Your brows furrow when you frown, averting your eyes and retraining your attention on Meli.

“Head a course for Clop Island.”

Her brows raise in surprise. “Okay. Why?”

She follows you to the helm, noticing the strange intensity surrounding you— it’s like the air around you has been pulled in to solidify in a crack of lightning and oozing black, leaving a shroud of darkness for you to carry. Taking your spyglass out, you distract yourself by looking off into the distance, even though it’s basically moot with how rough the waters are and the greying clouds dipping down to distort your surroundings. Meli narrows her eyes at you, wiping a stray droplet away when she comes up next to you.

“Y/n.” Whoops, your name, are you in trouble? “What did they say— why are we going to Clop island?”

Sighing you turn, moving around her to start heading the course yourself, hands gripping the ship's wheel. Except you forget this is Meli. As you move to steer, her own hand comes up to grip the wheel, a firm hold halting you from moving. Her pointed stare makes you sigh again.

“The odds are… more out of our favour than in. The giants can make us something to increase our chances, but even with that this could… be our last adventure. But isn’t that how we’ve been living? Like it's our last?”

She lets go of the wheel and frowns at you. “Exactly. And you know we would all die for you. If you know this, why have you got such a face? It can’t just be about that.”

Hesitance is written within your expression, buried in the fabrics of your skin, staining. The wood turns easily under your hands, eyes facing the horizon as you take the ship back out into more open water away from the watery-wench of this cursed place— the place you once called home.

“I’m not sure yet.” You mutter; the vague reply all you can really give her.

—

The journey to Clop Island takes a day and a half. You don’t sleep at all. Wading out of the waters of the Graeaes lair takes time and precision and with fog and darkness falling over you, it was time you couldn’t afford to waste, but had to. It felt like crawling through a swamp on your belly, gurgles of the unknown hiding below, the sharp teeth of rocks waiting to cut cut cut.

But in waters such as those, all it takes is a breakthrough. A stream of light parting the clouds and hitting the horizon, giving way for a direction of safety. Just as night hits you’re away from the foggy tomb and for but a while, you’re all on safer territory,

Even when you had come away, your hands refused to relent its steady grip on the wheel, the polished wood fusing with your flesh as if now a part of you. You’re not sure why you’re heaving the way you are— of course the task is strenuous and often leaves you exhilarated and breathing heavily — but you knew the niggling in your chest to get away was one of anxiety, the same poison you felt the first and only time you had departed from here.

Meli approaches. “Captain, I’ll keep us on cou—”

“No.” You don’t mean for your words to come as sharply as they do, but you need this feeling to go away, you need that knowledge that you’re where you’ve been for so long, you need the grounding of the sea. “I’m sorry, friend. Manage the sails for me. I’ll stay here.”

There’s that look in Meli’s eyes that lets you know she has noticed how tense you are, but again, she says nothing and leaves with a nod. The brief moment of being alone, gaze stretching out with the mass of the sea, finally has some of that pressing weight alleviating from your chest, allowing a shuddery breath to pass your lips. Pulling out your compass, the wheel turns under your hand in the direction you need, getting further and further away from where you once were, heading closer to where you need to be.

It’s odd how changed the air feels. As if aware that it’s away from the mangled decaying land of doom, now clear and fresh and filling your lungs with its purity.

You don’t realise how greedily you’re gobbling down that air, deep gulps swallowed down your throat, until a hand breaks you from the motions, heavy on your shoulder making your hair whip around.

The one person you really don’t want to see right now stands before you, and what’s worse is that damned expression on his face— concern.

“Are you alright, y/n?” You almost retch at the way he says your name. Those soft musical-like notes of his voice, that bloody telling God in him only has the voices of those you considered your mothers whispering love, love, love in your ears and it makes every inch of you sick to your stomach.

Love? Did the Gods not prove from the moment of your waking breath that you would know no such thing? Not from your birth parents, nor your surrogate parents and most certainly not this kind. Your new family that you gained after staining your life in blood are as broken as you— as unworthy of any good as you— you love each other brokenly because that is what you are.

So what does this Demigod of good think he’s doing showing you concern? It isn’t right.

“Yes. Leave me be, I have to concentrate.”

Though your eyes remain ahead, you feel the way he bristles from behind you. Lips part with his words dying on his tongue in confusion and soon he is frowning at the back of your head. But he puts your mood down to your fatigue. He wishes to tell you to rest. That sleep is needed after such a taxing journey, but he knows how stubborn you are. Something he has come to love and hate about you. So with that, he wordlessly retreats and you’re left to let out the breath you’ve been holding, begging your insides to be rid of this anxiety that deep down you know won’t fade as long as Hongjoong is still around.

—

“Right. As usual, be on your guard. The giants don’t take too kindly to strangers. Bring the stuff. You lot stay here. And you lot with me.”

“What about me?” Your tired eyes, already straining under the sun, strain even more when they lay on Hongjoong.

“Stay here.” You reply gruffly, already turning your attention elsewhere. “Make sure it’s secure, Astro. It’s gonna be a pain in the arse to carry. Leave the dragon. If Hephaestus is to help us, I don’t want him catching sight of our little friend and changing payment.”

As you move, Hongjoong’s hand shoots out and pulls at your arm. “Wait here? Let me come with you. I can help car— “

“No.”

He is taken aback for but a moment, until that same assertiveness fills his eyes when he convinced you to let him travel with you to the Graeae. He doesn’t count on your indifference though. Your eyes cold and voice even chillier when you move nose to nose.

“You are under my care and I am telling you that you will not be coming until I say you can.”

“I am under your care, but I am not one of your crew that you can just—”

“BY THE GODS HONGJOONG.” Everyone falls silent at your rage, Hongjoong’s eyes wavering under your heated stare. “You are very careless and seem to not mind that if you are to die or come to harm under my care that that means trouble for us.” A crack forms in his heart at that— us — a line you have just drawn between Hongjoong and all of you, the people who he has come to see as friends.

“What do you mean?” He whispers.

“What I mean Demigod,” oh, that hurts— when was the last time you called him that and not his name? “Is that Hecate left her dear nephew under my care and if something were to happen to you, who do you think the Gods will turn their wrath unto?”

He frowns. “But… Hecate wouldn’t. Nor would the other Gods. Why would they?”

“Hecate wouldn’t, but the rest of them.” You scoff. “The Gods have used less reasons to spread their plague.” You step away, standing straighter and squaring out your shoulders. “You will stay here. Even if I have to tie you to the damned mast myself.”

Silence settles over the crew, finishing preparations to head onto land with nervous glances between you and Hongjoong and once everyone is ready, you depart without sparing so much as a glance back at him.

Hongjoong watches the distance between you and him grow, feeling unnerved the further you went, as if you were really slipping away through his fingers.

Meanwhile, your sleep-deprived eyes strain among the treelines, peering through the dark shallows of the woods with your fingers curled tightly around the hilt of your blade.

Behind you, your crew grunts holding the case of precious metal to be given to Hepheataus as payment. They haul it uphill, feeling the dried mud slip beneath them soft like sand.

Each step is a reminder of how different this place is to that of the Graeaes land— where rough slate would lay, monotone and brittle, here stretches valleys of flora, the breeze billowing the sleeves of your shirt a soft greeting compared to the stabbing sharpness that swirled those gloomy mountainsides. The sweet scented blossoms that offered a reprieve, making a calm wash over you almost making you want to let your eyes fall shut and lay to rest on the grassy marshmallow ground, differs greatly to the stale air that only feels like each inhale is of a deadly poison.

Finally reaching the top of the slope, your eyes lay on the sight before you; two columns of trees, the aisle between it dusted with fallen leaves and stolen petals, a stream spills in a snake like formation around the tall trunks and leading down the aisle at the centre is a grand creation — one that speaks of a workmanship beyond that of a mere mortal.

The artistry begins at the floors, a circle embedded with a mosaic of rarities— emeralds and crystals and gems bringing about a ring of sparkling jewels to the feet that may be blessed to walk upon it. Standing tall on columns of gold intricately carved with opal figures dancing with wings on clouds, with a slab of smoothened wood balanced atop, is a sculptured giant carved of that same wood dauntingly shadowing over you all. The citron wood fragrance permeates to where you stand tracing each minute detail of the giant; armour moulded to look as strong as the wood, the crest of its shield bearing a wild beast, rustic silver draping down its back as a cape, with a sword of that same silver in hand, hilt a twist of ivory — every inch purposed to exude its value being beyond that of mere mortal coin, to grace those who might look upon it a chance to witness something that seems to have fallen from the heavens.

“Well. At least we know we’re at the right place.” Meli comments.

Not bothering to reply, you heed your crew a caution. “Don’t think about stealing anything. Remember, we’re here for their help.”

The giant seemed closer for it was that big, but the walk stretched into long minutes, the heavy chest of metal weakening your crew, drawing grunts and sweat. All the while you fight the sting in your eyes, the heat spurred by your movements sending you into further fatigue. Each bristle of breeze on leaves, each snap of twigs beneath a forest creature's foot, any rustle, any bird's caw sends your mind ablaze in overstimulation of sound, fighting to keep your senses keen while your body urges for rest.

You’re momentarily blinded by a stroke of sunlight burning your irises and suddenly you’re thinking of Hongjoong. Of him and his apollo-worthy smile and your fatigue sobers into rage. Your jaw clenches while you start to stomp ahead, with your brain, much like the sun on your eyes, burning that image of him at the forefront of your mind.

Behind you, the crew look on tiredly, even their tongues weighing down with that exhaustion preventing them from calling out after you to slow down.

But if you had slowed down and your senses were keen, without the stain of your needless rage, you wouldn’t have heard the arrow cut through the air like molten blade through rock.

Some would say you move as if you were the kin of Ares, God of War himself, gliding around like the moving winds, grace and sharpness, and swinging your sword to send the arrow ricocheting away from you.

“FUCK! TO THE TREES! CAPTAIN— Y/N.” Meli calls your name as you stand there staring back in the direction that the arrow came from, the rest of your crew scarpering for the tree line, leaving the chest abandoned in the middle of the path.

Sniffing, there is no linger of anything foreign in the air, but as you move your foot again, another arrow comes. You block it easily. That’s when you hear the subtle shift beneath your foot, the gravel crunching differently somehow. As you look, you frown to see you’re standing on some sort of contraception hidden amongst the dirt. Experimentally, you press down again, another arrow that you block coming.

“THERE’S SOME SORT OF WEAPON ON THE FLOOR TRIGGERING THE ARROWS. NO ONE’S HERE.” And though you shout the words, you’re careful to scan the surrounding woods, to listen out for anything else. “WE HAVE TO GO SLOW. WATCH YOUR STEPS.”

Gradually they come out from the trees, eyes scanning the floors while your head tilts back to stare at the enormity of the statue giant.

You can see why Hephaestus is considered a God of craft.

This time you wait for your crew to reach you before you move again, instructing Meli and Calista to watch the backs of those carrying the chest, now there’s this odd contraption to be wary of.

Studying each stone, scrutinising each ridge in the path, any cracks, anything out of place, your steps move slower and calmer, giving all your focus on weaving a safe path to the giant with your crew. And the moment you’re before the looming figure, you glance back in signal to wait. You lift the flap of your pouch, pulling forth a single golden coin, one of high value and move forward to place it on the large offering plate perched over the smoothened wood at the giant's feet.

Such a careless mistake of yours, to think that any danger would be over so soon— your foot lands on the grey step leading up to the offering plate, except the slab of stone grinds as it sinks under your weight until it completely locks completely flat in place.

Silence overcomes the surroundings, the most minuscule sound of the wind brushing along the scattered leaves even fading away to leave each of your souls holding its bated breath.

A chill that feels uncomfortably familiar runs up your spine, one that scars deeply as the sky seems to dull— a groan, heavy and thunderous, that soon turns into something ear piercing — the screech of metal — sends hands rushing to smother against ears and then the quaking of the ground comes, rumbling like the descent of a ten thousand army marching upon you all.

But this isn’t an army.

The Gods have wicked tricks indeed.

Urgency in your voice, a command to head for the treeline near tears your throat apart. Chest forgotten on the ground that rumbles and splits beneath your feet drives every one of your muscles to surge you forward faster, trying to remain steady as metal continues to groan and wood creaks and ache and then that droning hinge sounds out, languidly moving through the air casting a shadow over your stricken form staring up at another of the Gods beasts.

The giant’s metal foot lands heavy on the ground, compressing the earth, grounding it up into fine dust of destruction.

You’ve seen many things in your short lifetime— so much so, that you thought nothing would leave you frigid, boneless and unstaring with no logical thought or control of function over yourself to just run, yet now you are proven wrong..

The other leg rises, the iron that secured the wooden joints shrieking as it drags through the air almost in slow motion before your very eyes until it settles steadily on the ground.

And then it’s heavy head moans as it looks down. Directly at you,

Shit.

Those groans of heavy wood turning haunt your ears as it’s sword-wielding arm pulls back; the enormity of it casts the surroundings in chilling shadow and suddenly the total absence of warmth, of sun, pushes Hongjoong to the forefront of your mind once again, bringing forth blinding light, as if bringing his very own sun and it’s what snaps your body to attention— the metal sword starts to cut through the air as the wooden arm comes down heavily and all your instincts flare in a buzz under your skin; the unsteady floor is nothing compared to the rockiness of the ships deck, doing little to knock you on your feet as you rush beneath the giant, between its legs just as the end of its sword crashes down heavily, wedging deeply into the Earth. It breaks and crumbles away, gathering dust as its heaviness is lifted once more.

Taking advantage of its slowness you pull out your daggers stabbing it into its wooden leg and use it as leverage to start scaling its length. The giant lets out a deep wooden groan in confusion, bowing its body as it scours the dusty surroundings for you or anyone else. You grunt, the strain on your arms soon making them sore, each time you haul yourself up further, feeling the weight of the exertion on your shoulders. It’s when you’re halfway up the leg that the giant starts to move, loud rumbling steps along the broken up path.

Sweat limits your vision, your limbs trembling in exertion. The concern for your crew's whereabouts increases tenfold upon hearing Meli’s voice.

Everybit a warrior, in your place she leads the crew, commanding them to secure the giant's legs. No time to look back, you continue climbing, meanwhile Meli flings rope to the others, all of them working together to bind its legs together, grunting and feeling the rope burn their sweaty hands and their feet sinking into the ground as they strain to pull back and keep the rope secure.

It’s no use though, a simple swing tears the rope uselessly, the crew falling back.

“FALL BACK!”

“MELI!” You yell, reaching the giant's knee. “FIRE— NEED FIRE.” Gasping, she nods and orders them all back to the ship with her.

You need to keep the giant distracted from them.

On top of that you don’t know how long it will take for the crew to bring you what you need.

Think, think.

Everytime the Giant moves, its limbs make a horrendous yawn that hurts your ears. The metal holding it together grating and wait— metal… Iron…

Before the Graeae, you were mostly living out in the open and surviving the harsh nights meant needing to secure warmth. More often than not, that meant stealing blankets, or gutting larger forest animals, but one thing you picked up…

Wincing, your teeth grind into each other while you hang on with one arm, reaching behind you to draw an arrow. A special one. A lesson the Graeae taught you, was to always have a weapon for whatever foe. This particular arrow was meant to pierce the tough hide of Chimera, or a sea serpent, but the metal should spark the iron.

With effort, you tear at your shirt and wind it around the arrow and stab the arrowhead at the iron bolt over and over. The giant groans, sounding confused and looks down at you.

Shit.

At least you’ve stolen its attention.

More urgently, your hand brings the arrow downward against the iron, Letting out a squeal, the Giant raises its knee slightly as it brings its arm down, swiping at you, making you swing around, your back hitting the back of its knee. The groan you let out is pained when you haul yourself back up and hit again.

Over and over.

But nothing happens. And the giant is becoming wilder with its movements. Kicking its heavy leg out, almost in slow motion from how much it must weigh and the effort to just raise it.

Resheathing your dagger, you take a chance as its knee passes by a tree to jump. Your stomach collides painfully with a branch, winding you, but with no time to stop, the adrenaline keeps you going. Swinging a leg up until you’re steady, you hastily shuffle to the trunk and yell out.

“OI! WOODEN BEAST OVER HERE.”

The giant groans in reply, heavy head slowly moving to a turn, its body slowly following after. As soon as it spots you, its arm draws up and chops down. Timing the giant's movements, you yell out, jumping to the tree next to it. Your hands just about manage to hang on, grappling for the bark and grunting as you haul yourself up.

You’re not sure how long you can keep this up for. But if you disappear from its sight, you’re sure it will follow Meli and the other’s path.

The giant is smart, however, instead of bringing its arm down, it swipes across at the line of trees you’re in, knocking them over as easily as a child blowing on a dandelion.

Running out of energy, the strength it takes extending your body out to jump and roll to the ground as the tree falls has every part of your body protesting.

Bruised like a peach would best describe the state of your tired and rugged form right now. But you can’t stop.

Quickly, your eyes scour your surroundings, urging your brain to just think.

Think. As you roll this way and that, jumping out of the way of the giant's foot and swiping hand.

Running back towards its base, desperation has you searching for something, anything.

Your surroundings show none of the beauty it once was, now heavy in dust and ruined ground. The only thing intact, the steps leading to the circular path around the giant statue.

The mosaic…

The giant is slowly stomping its way over. You have mere seconds, eyes trailing the mosaic embedded with those jewels you spotted earlier. There’s a chance. A small chance.

Iron pirate. There.

Crouching down, you hastily lay the material wrapped around the arrow and spear the metal head against the mineral. Growling, each strike weakens your already tired body, but you urge yourself to keep going. Keep at it until a laugh of disbelief hacks up your throat at the sight of sparks.

They fizzle against your cloth, bit but bit until as the giant's shadow looms over you, it catches alight. Picking it up with the arrow you hold it in front of you and run aimlessly toward the giant, poking at its wooden feet. Woodenly groaning, it looks down, stumbling back.

It’s only a small fire, and if you’re crushed to death it won’t be much use, but the giant has enough sense to fear it. Its sword scrapes against the floor, tearing up its base as it draws towards you, but it's easy to step under the giant in its blind spot and press the fire against its leg.

The moans of pain almost sound real and you wonder how even a God could make a wooden being feel.

Unfortunately, that little bit of luck seems to be running out, when Meli and the others arrive with lit torches and the Giant wails, turning towards them.

Amongst the crew is Hongjoong.

When he sees your scraped and weak body stumbling beneath the giant, calling after it as its angry steps turn towards them, all he can think is that he wants to protect you.

No other thought required, he runs ahead of the others and you see him. In slow motion you see his dumb self running ahead and the giant’s foot drawing back ready to kick him away like he’s nothing but an annoying bug.

You trip as you yell his name, about to run to him. The fire burns weakly beside you, eyes in a daze watching the scene unfold.

Maybe though, luck hasn’t quite left you.

Just a sliver of light hitting something causing your eyes to squint at the sudden bright reflection.

The offering plate.

The distance between the giant and Hongjoong is closing. Fingers seek the coin you’d wedged in your pocket, until you feel its coolness and bring it forth before you in all its golden glory.

With a whisper of a prayer and a kiss, you throw the coin at the plate, watching how it slides through the air at the same moment the giant’s leg is swinging closer to Hongjoong — Hongjoong with such a wild look on his face, you almost smile, thinking how pirate-like he seems.

And then it clatters into the bowl, rolling around, spinning until it falls onto its side with a slow stop.

Silence.

So silent you can even hear the sound of your own breathing now.

And so still.

The giant seems suspended in its position. The suddenness has everyone but Hongjoong stopping. That fool ignores the damn giant and keeps on his path to you.

As he passes, he has to duck out of the way when the giant brings its foot back down and nearly hits him. As if none of you are there the giant mechanically turns, its steps shaking the ground as it turns back towards you. Eyes wide, you watch the mammoth piece of wood reach closer and closer.

“CMON!” You’re not even sure when Hongjoong reaches you, but it’s a good thing. Hauling you up by your arm, he lets you lean against him as he pulls you away from the altar. The giant lays its foot on the wood, making a thunderous sound. Then the other.

If you had stayed where you were you surely would have been crushed.

Heavily panting, you look in amazement as the giant takes on its previous position and just, completely stills. As if it never moved in the first place.

“Are you okay?” You jolt hearing that soft voice in your ear. Looking beside you, all you can do is nod, swallowing the dryness in your throat when the proximity registers.

His arm still securely around you. Shoulder pressed against his firm chest.

That has you jerking away. Aching legs protesting the rough way you step away, shudders already travelling through you at the loss of his comfort.

He opens his mouth to say something, but by now the others have caught up.

“CAPTAIN!” The chorus of their yells brings a smile to your lips. Oddeye immediately scoops you up in a bearhug, squeezing you so tight you wince. Sheepishly he puts you down and as soon as he does, Meli jabs you in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“That was for nearly dying without us.”

That actually makes you laugh. “I did not nearly die. Had it all under con—”

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Rapid movement among the trees has you all on high alert, backing into each other with your swords at the ready.

More giants?

What emerges doesn’t make you feel at ease.

The God and his Cyclops.

“I do wish Zeus had taught you mortals how to follow instructions better. Though I have to say I’m impressed you thought to finish your offering.” Hephaestus takes a glance at his wooden giant and he lets out a gleeful laugh— a long, long gleeful laugh that spirals into a manic one that has him wheezing and bowing his body. “Brontes get to work on fixing up this mess, would you? Very quick thinking using fire. Not something one would usually have handy, either.”

“I believe in being prepared.”

The smile he gives you is almost twisted. “If you’re prepared, I take it you have also prepared something for me?”

“Yes, I—”

“Let us take rest first. There is another mortal guest, I hope you don’t mind.” The God interrupts.

No other words are given the chance for exchange when Hephaetues signals for the giant to start walking, each heavy step bringing tremors to the ground. Sharing a glance with Meli (and briefly with Hongjoong who you’re quick to look away from) you instruct the crew to grab the chest and start following.

The walk is a long one and now that the adrenaline has completely died down, every sore, ache and pull on your muscles is excruciating. Your jaw feels wired shut with how hard you’re clenching it, breathes coming out heavy under the burning sun. Sweat rolls down your skin, sticking to your lashes and the crevice of your clavicle.

All in all, you’re sticky, hot, exhausted and aching beyond belief.

But as always, you say nothing.

With your knees starting to feel wobbly, you gradually (and subtly) slow your pace behind the crew. There’s a drowsiness that makes your eyelids feel heavy, chest moving with your shallow breaths and you’re half concentrated on not passing out and the other half on walking straight— meaning, you completely miss the way Hongjoong’s eyes follow your lagging figure, quick to note how you slowly distance yourself from the crew. Concern fills his gaze that soon lands on your expression that is nothing short of exhausted. The lazy blink of your eyes, the dullness settling on your face and the way he can see you practically dragging yourself to move is what has his own pace subtly slowing and soon enough he’s far at the back, a few paces over from you leaving him to keep an eye on you out of the corner of his eye.

He hasn’t spoken with you properly since that tense-filled outburst back on the ship or after he asked you if you were okay. And the weight of it has manifested itself in a fist sized stone to press down in his gut.

Keeping his distance has that stone breaking into shards, stabbing at his insides. It’s just that painful to feel like he can’t go to you, having you so close, yet feeling as if you’re so far— all that was running through his head was to rush to you after being told that there’s trouble and seeing you on the floor behind the giant, looking ragged and near broken, smoke everywhere made him hold his breath with prayer upon prayer for your safety.

And the Gods answered his prayers at the very least— because you are safe and sound.

But as he watches your steps stagger and then your body begin to sway, he worries you’re not totally safe and sound, compelled to close the careful space he’s kept between you two.

And just in time too, because when your body slumps and you start to fall forward, you find that instead of feeling that harsh thud against the ground, you’re being propped up against something warm and firm, an arm slipping around your waist and allowing your weight to rest against it.

Something faintly floral and sea-kissed floats up your nostrils dizzying you further, yet calming the heavy thud of your heart. Which is surprising when you recognise that scent so clearly, skin humming in recognition of that touch on your body, and rather than pulling away like you so want to, your body decides that the comfort is needed, having no physical or mental strength to pull away from Hongjoong. (If you were conscious enough, you’d comment that you hoped this wouldn’t become a habit. And Hongjoong would have cheekily replied that he would definitely be making it one.)

You’ve both stopped walking — you with no choice to do otherwise and Hongjoong with his need to take care of you welling up inside him — he pulls you firmly against him whilst manoeuvring the canteen at his side between your bodies, pushing the cap off. The arm around your waist slides up to bend around your shoulder, his fingers delicately laying against your jaw and tip your head back. His frown deepens as he watches your eyes roll out of focus, softly muttering an encouragement for you to drink some water; you feel the rim of the canteen press against your lips, Hongjoong balances your face between his dainty fingers and then you feel the coolness of liquid flooding into your mouth. He murmurs softly for you to swallow, eyes focused on your downcast eyes and making sure you drink. There’s relief on your parched lips, in your throat and your overheated skin.

Though you’re still feeling weak, there’s a certain rejuvenation now, but not enough to get you to pull yourself away from Hongjoong. Ensuring you’ve had enough water, he replaces the cap and lets it swing back by his side. Gaze lingering on your face, soon you feel the brush of his fingers trailing up your cheek pushing the strands of hair sticking to your sweaty face away, curling behind your ear. The touch lingers and your breathing feels odd for an entirely different reason, sun-drunk no more, but rather intoxicated by the mere sensation of his skin against yours. There’s a tug at your heart, one that tugs on your dead brain that should be making you pull away.

But you can’t.

If anything you sink more into his comfort, letting him bear your weight as he slowly starts to walk again.

The distance has grown between you and your crew, though you can still see them and Hephateus perched atop the giants shoulder. Everyone but them has slowed down, fatigue hitting you all.

Hongjoong’s eyes switch between eyeing the ground and making sure you’re still at least conscious. It’s insane how those few seconds of those sparkling brown eyes falling over your face can make your skin feel like the sun is rising and bringing with it, it’s warmth.

The walk is long still, but the entire time he holds you securely, all up until you reach the centre of the island, where Haepheatus instructs one of his giants to tend to you all.

Everyone all but collapses on the green, a chorus of grunts and groans speaking of everyone's exhaustion. But, Hongjoong doesn’t care about everyone else right now. He only cares about you. Sharply, his eyes scour the group and once he spots that familiar face, again uncaring of the exhaustion it holds, he turns to you, walking to a tree surrounding the green and lowering you to rest against the trunk providing you shade, Hongjoong cups your cheek briefly, pulling his arms away. Your lids feel even heavier if possible, but the noticeable detachment, that missing comfort, has your hands automatically curling around Hongjoong’s shirt, a weak fist clinging to the flimsy material.

He freezes, swallowing the sudden dryness as his eyes flit down to where you’re holding onto him. Those shards in his stomach crumble away into nothing, insides nothing but sickly sweet honey. There’s no stopping the way the curls at the edges of his lips slowly start to stretch on his face as he smiles down at you. He wishes he could stay in the moment, but your head starts lolling and he’s reminded of the issue at hand. Voice gentle, he leans forward to press his lips to the side of your head, “I’ll be back, okay? I’m going to get Hwa.” Your reply is a bout of incoherent mumbling and there’s no way to explain the consuming ache that falls in Hongjoong’s chest when he carefully lets your hands drop into your lap and he steps away.

Those eyes scour the crowd again, relief flooding when he easily spots Seonghwa amongst the many faces. Energy drained from the journey and the heat piling down on him dissipates with the urgency to get help for you, legs speed walking through the outstretched limbs taking up the space.

“Hwa.” Immediately he looks up with a lazy glance, meeting Hongjoong’s concentrated eyes droning into his. “It’s y/n she—”

Before he can even finish, Seonghwa’s sitting up, brows furrowing. “Where is she?”

You’re in the same position Hongjoong left you in, albeit now your eyes are closed. Hongjoong watches Seonghwa crouch down and press his hand to your forehead, softly uttering your name until you respond with a moan.

“She’s probably exhausted. The heats not helping. It’s good you put her in the shade.” Hongjoong merely nods, eyes focusing on your face. Seonghwa notices the way he’s looking at you and huffs a smile that morphs into a full blown grin. Pulling a bundle of cloth from his side bag, Seonghwa empties the remainder of his water onto the material, allowing it to soak up the coolness before gently placing it on your forehead. “We should get her to drink some more water though. And get her a bed as soon as possible.” His nod is more fervent now, taking hold of his canteen to see how much water he has left.

Facing Hongjoong, Seonghwa’s voice softens with his smile. “Go ahead and get some more. I’ll stay with her.” Hesitance befalls Hongjoong’s face, something Seonghwa picks up quickly, making him snicker quietly. “She’ll be fine. Go on now.”

One of Hephaestus' one-eyed giants has already set up two large marquees; the temporary structure is made of smoothened wooden beams bent from saplings shoved into the ground by its strong hands and tied together, a covering of thinned leather draped over. In between the trees, there’s a building of wattle and daub, standing even taller than the giants head and after pulling up the latch securing the large and heavy door, he whines deeply, like a groan from the depths of the sea and waves his hand lazily, motioning everyone over.

Hongjoong slips in with the crowd leading into the large hut and realises its a storeroom. Barrels line most of the space, some uncovered allowing Hongjoong to see the dry grains stored inside. The hut opens up at the back, the light almost blinding as it reflects into his eyes and soon Hongjoong realises it’s a lake. He bypasses the rest going for cloth and straw for their makeshift pillows, or those seeking the mounds of bed piled in the corner and heads back out through the doors into the clearing.

Oddly, despite the sun being out in full force, here feels refreshingly cooler. A light breeze takes that stifling feeling off of his skin as he approaches the clear water and kneels at its banks. His palm dips just below its surface, gliding and allowing water to pool in his palm to rub along his neck and the back and over his face, gathering more for him to drink up. He gasps for air after swallowing, not even realising how dehydrated he had become in his concern for you.

The water echoes with his disturbance, eyes mesmerised by the motions for a moment. When it clears he sees himself. He looks so tired. Every inch dim and dull, from the brown of his eyes to the hue of his skin.

It’s like he’s about to worry himself to death.

Something he thinks he’s had to do more often since meeting you.

Except lately it hasn’t been worry for himself.

It’s you.

He doesn’t know how to decipher that exactly. He knows that he’s formed some sort of attachment to you — these thoughts unravelling slowly through his mind as he fills his amphora with water — but he isn’t yet aware of the extent of it. From the moment he met you he felt the enormity of your presence. You’re magnetic. With the way you carry yourself and the way you go about life, you manage to draw people in and he supposes that’s why you’re the captain, why you’re someone people look to for leadership.

But he knows it isn’t merely that. Walking back through the hut, eyes distant with the thoughts clouding his mind, he questions the why. He questions what it is he sees in you. And he questions what you see in him.

When he reaches Seonghwa you’re in the same position he left you in. Your breathing is steady and you seem completely relaxed.

“Here.”

Glancing back, Seonghwa takes the amphora, turning away to bring it towards your lips with soft commands to drink. Hongjoong watches the way Seonghwa lightly taps your face as he presses the rim against you, tipping it back into your mouth, water sliding down your chin as you lazily drink.

"Do you mind going to see if there's somewhere we can let her sleep?"

By now most of the crew have taken rest, all but passing out under the shade of a marquee. He notices that Meli and the few crew who had gone with you in the first place are sitting by the crate.

And soon Hephaestus arrives, exchanging words with Meli. Hongjoong catches him telling them to take rest and that they will discuss things once the captain is awake. Meli bows her head politely and once Hephaestus turns, you see her shoulders sag.

It’s like she can feel his stare, head lifting and swinging around to look directly at him. He offers a smile, continuing on his way, but when Meli starts to make her way over he slows his pace.

“How is she?”

His mouth gapes before words find him. “Fine, thank The Gods. Hwa’s with her now. I’m just going to get a bed ready for her.”

Slowly she nods. Then a misty faraway look overcomes her eyes as she stares straight ahead, making her way over to the storage hut.

“What happened? With the Graeae?”

That has his steps faltering. The thought of the place he’s discovered to be your old home has a thousand questions swirling together. But then at the forefront of his mind is the look on your face when you both left.

Frown blooming his clear skin, he speaks softly, distantly. “I… don’t know. They exchanged words about the journey and what was needed… about the possibility of death. But before leaving they said something that I didn’t hear and I haven't had the chance to ask…” His frown deepens and he wonders what they must’ve said for you to act so strange.

Meli chooses her next words carefully. “The Graeae… They have a way with words. A way that gets in your head. Sometimes you’ll leave knowing more than you came for. And that can be dangerous. Our captain’s definitely reckless, but today … I don’t know.,, just didn’t seem on form. And in any other circumstance, I trust y/n’s decisions. But I’m wondering if they’re thinking straight.” She suddenly stops, palm landing on Hongjoong’s shoulder and giving him a firm stare. “You should know that we would die for our captain. And our captain for us. And we have been in many a reckless situation. But something about this… is starting to feel off. And I’m certain it's because of them.”

Silence lingers uncomfortably. What is he to say to that? He chooses to say nothing. “I’m going to go get her bed ready.”

Meli frowns, withdrawing her hand. “Oh. Okay.”

—

When you come to, the sky is devoid of that sunshine warmth. Apollo has done his job of putting the sun to sleep and now looming high is Selene's moon, bringing forth the constellations.

Your view isn’t of the sky though. It’s of white cloth barely illuminated by moonlight. It takes several blinks for the fogginess to fade and several more before you can will your limbs to move by the inch. Groans of protest crack from your parched throat, body heavy and sore, but at least in much better condition than earlier.

At least you’ve not awoken in the underworld… well you think you haven’t.

Managing to roll onto your side, you’re startled to find a painfully familiar face. He’s propped up against a bundle of hay, head tipped back and mouth agape; like a child, features relaxed, totally vulnerable, and there’s a slick of drool pooling from the corner of his lips that makes you snicker. Compelled, you start to push forward, body protesting the movement as you outstretch your arm, a hair away from his face when he starts to move. Gasping, your hand drops and you roll back onto your back, shutting your eyes — like a child about to be caught being awake when they shouldn’t.

There’s some shuffling beside you and then a long yawn, his lips slapping together after and then just quiet again. You stew in the silence until you feel brave enough to open your eyes again.

And when you do, his are already on your face.

He blinks and suddenly sits up, shuffling toward you on his knees.

“You must be thirsty.” He mutters hoarsely, grabbing his amphora and sliding his free hand beneath your head helping you to raise up and meet the outpour. Though you’re acutely aware of his closeness, of his hand against your hair, you can for a moment ignore it, because he’s right— you are thirsty.

“Thanks.”

He mumbles back a ‘you’re welcome’, moving to his previous spot. The both of you stare up at the fabric ceiling in silence and oddly it's a peaceful one despite the many thoughts hitting tenfold now that you’re rested.

The tent flaps when it’s moved aside and through the darkness you hear Seonghwa’s voice.

“Suppers ready. We should wake them.”

“Ah, actually —”

“—I’m up, Hwa.”

He steps through, coming closer and you can hear his lopsided smile as he speaks.

“How you feeling, captain?”

“Like I just had a battle with a God-made giant.”

Chuckling, Seonghwa moves closer and crouches down in front of you. The back of his palm gently lands on your forehead and he nods to himself, pulling away.

“Your fever’s gone. Make sure you drink plenty.”

“Hongjoong gave me some water, don’t worry.”

He breaks into a short laugh. “Of course, he hasn’t left your side, so.”

Hongjoong clears his throat at the same time you quietly say ‘he hasn’t?’ wonder in your voice and a tightening in your chest.

It’s that very feeling that has you rushing out ‘you said suppers ready, right?’

A dizzy spell washes over you the moment you rush to sit up, but for the sake of distancing yourself from the odd sensation and the apparent cause of it, you ignore the lightheaded feeling, stumbling so much when you stand that both Seonghwa and Hongjoong spring toward you to support your weak form.

“Take it easy!” You shouldn’t be so surprised that it’s Hongjoong scolding you— not the caring could-be-doctor-Seonghwa— but that hint of care yet again makes your legs start to move with his words abandoned somewhere behind.

“Stop being dramatic— I’m fine.” Wiggling your arms free, a deep breath is all you need to start heading away.

Neither men move with you, only merely watch you weakly walk away until you’ve slipped through the tents curtain.

Outside, the evening chill bristles through the hairs on your arms, like an eel wading through the water, bringing goosebumps to your skin. The centre of the camp has a fire blazing, the burning smell of the wood and the meat being turned over the fire swirls up your nostrils making your stomach growl.

When was the last time I ate?

The crew mill around, some circling the fire and others on random patches of ground with their cloaks slung over their shoulders. The giants are out of sight, which you think odd— though you’re sure Hephaestus has more tricks up his sleeve for any unkind guests— and tending to everyone with pouring of wine and giving of bread are what surely must be nymphs.

Their dresses are glossy under the starlight with flowers woven around their garments and even in their hair. You could see both the men and women alike in awe of their beauty.

If made you want to scoff though. For all their beauty, here they were stuck, under the thumb of a God, serving others.

“Excuse me.” Your hand coils the arm of a passing nymph who looks like she wants to rip your surely filthy hand from her floral scented skin, but also clenches a smile in obligated politeness. “I need to speak with Hephaestus. Can you take me to him?”

“I will first ask if he is available.”

Before you have a chance to reply there is a chorus of yells, mostly of surprise— a name.

Turning, you see a hoard of people entering the camp, a sea of nymphs tending to them, but the chatter is from your own crew, that distinct tone of Meli's voice.

"Manvitha."

The nymph says something to you, but your own surprise consumes you, spurs your steps to the newcomers— Meli and the others simply stare, mouth gaping with the firelight bringing their expressions alight.

And you see it is true — that the person is who they say it is.

She stands before the crowd she came with, long hair in a plait of black silk. Older now, though it is unmistakable that it is her. That her features, roughened by the life she has led, yet a soft mimic of…

"Father…"

Oddeye is shell-shocked behind Meli. You've only just noticed him as he shakily comes to a stand.

How long has it been? Since that day they battled and he let her go?

The reunion moves like the sea; the crowd parts like water splitting and the waves seem to suspend in the air in the moments that chatter dies down and father and daughter properly face each other, hearts quaking behind their ribcage no different to the wailing winds rocking it about.

And then the wave drops— Manvitha rushes forward, letting her sack hit the floor with a rattle, easing around the bodies laying — even past Meli — until she's close enough to throw her arms over the broadness of Oddeyes and pulls him against her.

Still shell-shocked himself, it takes a moment for him to register his little girl physically being before him, let alone hugging him, before his face crumbles with a sigh of sweet joy and his own arms curl around her back, squeezing her to him.

It's like that for a long, long while and it is the scene that Hongjoong and Seonghwa confusedly walk into.

From behind you, Seonghwa asks "what's going on?"

With a small dazed smile you simply tell him "Manvitha's here."

If your eyes had met his, you would see the surprise and the alarm and something that he has hidden deep within himself for a long time.

But you don't see it.

And you don't see that when Manvitha parts from her father with a tear-filled laugh, that when she turns to Meli straight away, and the two linger apart with the small distance, their eyes a bridge that anyone who isn’t a fool could see is made of the stars themselves and they finally embrace, Seonghwa’s eyes shudder as if his insides have been twisted and pulled out.

Even as they part, Meli's hands move to hold her shoulders, scanning her as if she can't believe she is really here, both of their gazes lingering with those stars between them.

"Manvitha." You move forward with a grin that grows when her head whips around.

Behind you, Hongjoong stares, quietly asking Seonghwa "who is that?"

The question is simple, but his answer balls in his throat making it feel clogged up. He swallows. Then takes in a deep shuddering breath. "That's… Oddeye's daughter."

A simple response, but it sounds off. Peeking at Seonghwa's face, Hongjoong frowns. "You okay?"

Whatever it was, Seonghwa brushes it off with a grin. "Yeah. Just been a while since I last saw her. Since any of us have."

"What are you doing here?" Meli breathes out.

Manvitha laughs, now at her father's side, his arm keeping her under his wing. "I should be asking you that."

You grin. "For an adventure of course."

"Where you off to this time?" She laughs.

"The Flannan Isles."

Silence overcomes the camp— your crews chatter dying, Manvitha and those she came with drilling their eyes into you, even the nymphs have stilled in their tasks.

Manvitha’s mouth opens, but she’s interrupted by the arrival of another.

“So my aunts favoured mortal truly is suicidal.”

At Hephateus' arrival the nymphs, Manvitha and her companions all bow their heads in respect immediately and upon exchanging glances with Meli, one by one you and your crew follow.

“God Hephaestus, it’s an honour.”

He seems to glide across the floor, though his legs are stocky, solid Olympian muscle making his entire build. Hair unruly and face and hands covered in soot, he stands before you with his head tilted curiously.

“What do you hope to find in those isles, pirate?”

Meeting his eyes, an impish grin comes over your face. “Who knows, God Hephaestus? Whatever it may be, I want to be the one to find it.”

“Find it you may, live you will not.”

You don’t falter. “That is why I come to you, God Hephaestus. It appears my crew and I will have a better chance with your help.”

“The chest. What does it contain?”

“Adamantian. I have heard that you are always seeking such a rarity. I offer this to you in exchange for your help.”

He shows his Godliness in the form of his cunning smile, eyes dark and swallowing like an abyss. “Seems it would be easier to slaughter you where you stand and just take it.”

Each Nymph, once full of grace, moves from the simple power of his voice to round the backs of those closest to them— of your people— pressing the chilling sharp blade of daggers to their throats.

“But, I must admit that I was rather impressed with the way you handled my giant today. I can see why my aunt has a soft spot for you. Very well, I shall help you.” As soon as those words are said, the nymphs move away in uniform, resheathing their blades so well hidden you hadn’t even noticed they were there. They pick up their baskets and go about as if they weren’t ready to kill your people within a moment's notice. “Come with me.” He turns to a nymph and simply nods his head, facing forward again wordlessly whilst you watch a group of them gather to pick up the chest.

As you both disappear within the shrouding darkness of the forest, the chatter slowly grows again.

“The Flannan Isles, father? Really?”

“What do you know of those isles, impu.”

The word of affection that she feels she has not heard for eternity softens her gaze and her heart. “Who doesn’t know them, father? I’ve heard it is where lost souls go— that they haunt there and wait for fools like you to wander into.”

“Manvitha.”

Her eyes are sharp on Meli’s. “Don’t. You’ve always babied him. And what is y/n thinking— surely they know the dan—”

“They saw the Graeae.”

Much like those mountains, the warmth seems to get swallowed from the air bringing a chilling coolness to crawl up Manvitha’s skin. “I thought… They’d never go back there.”

“As did we.”

“Well see! This just proves my point! If Y/N had to go there just for this, then you shouldn’t be going at all— Father, surely you must agree?”

Oddeye rubs the back of his neck, but there’s no hesitance as he speaks. “We trust the captain and we would die for them.”

“Fools. The lot of you.”

“It’s nice to see you still don’t sugarcoat your words, Mani.”

“Hwa!” Each of his features lights up with a grin, arms open and ready to catch Manvitha when she heavily collides herself against him in a tight hug. It’s so odd how he sinks immediately into her comfort, he almost forgets where he is. But when she pulls away and looks up at him with a smile, that though is bright nonetheless, he feels that painful eruption in his heart when he notes those stars she shares with Meli are missing when she looks upon him. She distracts Seonghwa from that sinking feeling when her eyes peek behind him, at the unfamiliar man lingering. “Who’s that, then?”

Glancing back he simply says, “that’s Hongjoong.” The expectant raised brow makes Seonghwa chuckle. “We found him at sea and now he’s staying with us.”

“Hi.” The awkward wave makes Manvitha blink then snicker until she full on laughs.

“Hello. He’s… not like us is he?” She asks with a tilt of her head. Hongjoong blinks back at her while she scans him head to toe— his vibe alone is enough for her to know he’s not cut from the same cloth— her scrutiny making him shuffle awkwardly.

Meli rolls her eyes, slinging her arm around Manvitha. “Leave Joong alone. He’s been doing well with us— a great student. Right, Oddeye?”

Before the man in question can even input, Manvitha pipes up with a dry “bringing in strays again, father?”

Meli curves her arm in until it's against her throat and she has her in a headlock. “Who’re you calling a stray?” Manvitha responds in kind with a jab of her elbow in Meli’s gut, making her release with a wince. Their closeness never strays, however.

Manvitha grips Meli’s waist and gives her a teasing grin. “Who said I meant you?” Then her eyes are back on Hongjoong. “How’d you end up at sea then? I’d say a soldier abandoning his post but…” there’s that scrutiny again as she tilts her head and scans his body, “that doesn’t seem right. Fisherman caught in a storm then?”

Already, Hongjoong gets the sense that Manvitha is the type to say whatever’s on her mind— with minimal, if any filter.

He knows that his answer will be disappointing too.

“I’m not sure… I don’t remember.”

Her frown proves him right. She’s about to question him some more, but Meli appeases her with some more interesting information that they haven’t felt to voice until now.

“Hecate guided him to us. He’s a demigod.”

“Demigod? What God is your parent? One of the big three? Why do you stay here and not on Olympus? Are they not aware that you wer—”

“ —Come now, Manvitha. Leave the boy alone. We’ve had a long journey. Let us all eat now.”

Most of the crew has already started to feast. The nymphs have been pouring bowls of stew and offering water and wine and rolls of bread.

Once having got their own food, they all sit around the fire. Manvitha tells them how they were cornered by Greek soldiers and barely made it out— they took heavy losses, including their own Captain, drifting for days on their damaged ship before they landed on Clop Island. They thought they were goners when Giants arrived, but Hephaestus had told them to invite them in. And now they work for him.

“In exchange he gives us food and shelter. It’s not a bad life.”

“But don’t you miss it?” Seonghwa asks. “Didn’t you leave because you wanted to make your own adventures?” Hongjoong peers at Seonghwa whose eyes are boring into Manvitha with something he can’t quite pinpoint. There’s been something tense about him ever since he saw her again.

She doesn’t notice. Only offering a shrug as she spoons more food into her mouth. “I think… Seeing so much death… Made me rethink things. There is still that risk doing our work for Hephaestus, but there is also… security… I know that I will never have the life I want if I were to settle down somewhere. Women without money or status… well you know. Can you see me tending to a farm or some shit?” That makes the group laugh, Oddeye shaking his head with a fond smile. “But there have been times when we’ve run into trouble and I’ve felt that rush, you know? So I guess, yea, I do miss it.”

“You should just come back with us.” Meli blurts out. She tries to sound casual about it, keeping her gaze downcast at her bowl, but there’s something like hope in her voice.

If Manvitha notices she doesn’t mention it, only offering a snort. “Maybe… if y/n ever hangs up her pirate's life.”

That has everyone, but Hongjoong chortling. He frowns, turning to Seonghwa and softly asks “why’s that so funny?”

“I’m guessing you don’t know much about y/n, do you Hongjoong?” Of course he can barely open his mouth before Manvitha continues to speak. “When y/n left home they… didn’t have anywhere to go. And then they ended up on a ship— on another pirate’s ship. At first they were just a deckhand but the captain soon saw their talents and they rose up in the ranks. Except… it wasn't as easy as that. He liked to control them. Treat them like a slave. Something disposable. He was a shitty captain but he was worse to y/n. And one day y/n stood up to him. He dragged them to the decks and—”

“The gist is that after that everything changed. Seonghwa had to tend to the captain for days and the crew— none of us thought what he did was right. There was a mutiny and long story short, we voted y/n captain.” Meli’s words were clipped, devoid of emotion— clearly the memory is one she’d rather forget.

Hongjoong was able to put two and two together and he felt an unearthly swell of rage consume him from the inside out. He’s sure if he wasn’t dead already, he would kill the person who dared to harm you.

“Whatever that piece of shit may have done to y/n, it never changed the fact that they fell in love with being a pirate. It’s where they belong.” Manvitha tells him.

Silence overcame the small group and it was after a long while that Oddeye cleared his throat.

"Think it's time we get some shut eye."

—

The stay on Clop Island had been a mere four days. In that time you were a rare sight to see.

And when it was time to leave, you were all too eager to get your crew back on the waters.

With each sunrise and each moon high speaking of how much time has passed you, you find your irritation growing. It seems like this entire journey has been more of a load of detours than getting to your actual destination, and you’re starting to blame someone.

“How much longer?” You question Meli, steps full of your angst when you approach her at the helm.

Her laughter cuts off, turning away from Oddeye to regard you. She can sense your impatience, but doesn’t comment on it. “I predict half a full moon's cycle, Captain.” You huff, turning away from her with a nod and make your way back to your quarters where you’ve mostly been holing yourself up in.

Yet, you are intercepted. By the very cause of your irritation.

“Are you—”

“I haven’t the time.” You dismiss, moving around him as he mumbles 'okay?' watching you head further down the deck. A frown grows on his face and without hesitation he hurries after you, fingers curling around your upper arm ceasing your steps. The feeling of fire grows wild across your expression, filling your eyes with its inferno as you look at Hongjoong and rip your arm away. “What do you think you’re doing?” You hiss between clenched teeth.

He seems taken aback, straightening up as he lets his arm slap down against his side. “I wanted to see if you're okay if you stopped for two damn seconds.” Your irritation seems contagious because it fills his usually soft voice in a way that bites at you. And then he steps closer, the flames in your eyes reaching out to incinerate the colour in his. “What’s your damn problem, hm?” This darker more menacing tone needle pricks at your heart sending you rigid; he has an effect that you can’t decide is Godly, or just him on you, one that orders every nerve ending to be receptive of him alone, that commands your body to still near him as if you’re under a spell.

Maybe sirens aren’t only female and Hongjoong is one, because you very much feel like a call has penetrated your brain and driven away your will.

Especially when your voice comes out as a timid whisper. “Nothing.”

The only thing worse than his closeness and his voice is him touching you. The ridges of his fingers are embedded with hot embers that paint your skin in its heat when they brush your cheeks until he’s cupping you gently between his palms.

The sea is storming inside your chest.

The only response you can give is the widening of your eyes, because ice travels your bloodstream, rendering your insides frozen to your bones, a statue that can’t will yourself to slap his hands away the way you want to— well, the way you think you want to.

Being held this way, so tenderly, as if you were someone fragile and deserving of being handled as such makes you feel queasy and yet you can’t stop it— can’t stop the way your body welcomes him and his touch, can’t stop the way he contradicts the iciness of your insides to make you feel as if lava-hot rivers run through you instead.

It’s only when he starts to move closer, eyes diving into the depths of yours that something in your brain jumpstarts the rest of your body and before you know it you’re swinging your head forward, colliding with Hongjoong’s forehead making it snap back in a way you’re sure has given him whiplash too. A cry falls away with the motion and when his head rebounds forward his eyes are wide and startled. A maggot called guilt eats your heart from the inside out but you square out your shoulders and give him the coldest stare you can muster before turning sharply without uttering another word to him.

He doesn’t try to stop you this time.

—

It’s not until three days later that you cross paths again.

Something you’ve done as long as you could remember is stand by the sea, close your eyes and just listen. When you were younger you’d pretend she was talking to you, that the rifts in the water was her dancing for you, that the whistle along its surface was her hello.

Now, you know better. But you still find comfort to simply listen, to sharpen your ears to take it all in.

That’s why it’s so easy to hear the dull thuds of his steps even above the slap of water falling back down. Unwanted tingles spore along your back at the mere anticipation of his closeness— though you don’t know why you’re feeling anticipation when you’d rather he be anywhere but near you.

Still, you don’t move when he eventually leans against the railing, placing himself at your side.

At your side. God’s help you.

A music box of the ocean sounds plays between you both, sparking the calm atmosphere in something that bordered on magic with him close to you like this.

“Are we going to talk then?”

You sigh. Magic over.

“About what?” Your eyes slowly open and though you can feel his eyes and see the way his gaze settles on you in your peripheral vision, you allow yourself to glance up at the navy sea of the sky.

Hongjoong scoffs at that, finally taking his eyes off of you to look down into the waters, pressing his nails into each other. “Well… what happened the other day for one.”

Taking a deep breath, you supply him with an excuse, because you don’t want to face the actual reason, especially with the words of your caretakers echoing in your head. “I just value my personal space.”

He nods numbly, still staring at the lapping water. “Fair enough, but… I don’t think that’s it. You’ve been weird ever since we visited the Graeae.”

Instantly, water fills your lungs and a storm brews in your head, striking your nerves with lightning and you push away from the railing and make to leave. But of course he moves into your path, blocking you from leaving. Though, he’s mindful not to touch you this time at the very least.

“What did they say? Why are you suddenly so cold with me? ....Or did I do something…” His eyes flutter as he mumbles that and even in the dark you can see the way the light in his eyes dims and you detest how much that makes your heart feel like it's rupturing, a pain you didn’t think possible to experience, nor one you want when it concerns him. “Tell me so I can fix it.” He says hastily and again, you never thought that the pain would be able to increase tenfold, but it does.

Hate poisons your system— for yourself, for him, because you hate that you’re making him question himself and you hate him for making you feel this way in the first place, hate that you believe you have conquered the sea but now you feel like it’s drowning you, and you have no idea how to deal with that.

So you give him your rage instead of the comfort you feel you desperately want to instead. “There’s nothing to fucking fix. This is me. This is who I am. A monster thrown away at sea.” You feel like you’re swallowing acid, it only erodes, erodes and leaves the disfigured skin hanging from your jaw baring the darkness you harbour.

He’s quiet. Eyeing you closely; the way your chest heaves, the disturbance in your eyes under the stars, jaw clenched so tight it makes your lips quiver with your rage.

Softly, he asks, “you love the Graeae, do you not?”

The question has you pausing. The thoughts and feelings congesting you slow to instead stare incredulously at him. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“Do you, or do you not? You must do. Even though you left, it must’ve been painful to do so.”

How does he manage to make you feel like you’re made of clear glass that he can look into and see everything?

“If you know then why bloody ask?”

He steps closer and the move has you holding your breath. “Because,” he drawls, “some consider them monsters and yet they have your love. So what if you’re a monster? Does that mean you don’t deserve my…” He swallows, “deserve my concern?”

Though he is still mindful not to touch you, his proximity still makes you feel dizzy, his words a breath to hold within your lungs until the lack of air will have you desperately seeking it. The tides carry away the seconds, stretching it into minutes beyond the horizon, all the while his question drips like sap landing on your tongue, its thickness clogging up your throat.

Finally, you choke out a whisper. "I do not.

—

The sun breaks through the dark clouds, its light directly penetrating your orbs and seeming to bleed into your brain; its brightness shrivels the organ tight, tight, tighter, until your skull feels like it will collapse. Gritting your teeth, a heavy breath struggles past your lips just as you struggle to steer against the rough tides, putting your entire strength into making the ship turn, and when you do the sun cowers behind the mournful heavens above, the pressure in your head disappearing as the ship rocks over the water and slams down heavily creating a splash, the cold sprays sobering your dazed head.

“Are you okay?” Meli asks, concern etched in her features.

Each blink brings a feeling of sawdust trapped behind your lids, the last spells of dizziness leaving you along with the ear-against-a-shell sound fading. “I don’t know.” You mutter. “Think the journey took a bit out of me.”

Her palm is warm on your shoulder, warmth carried in its heart that resonates through your body leaving waves of comfort and familiarity. “Go rest, friend. I’ll keep us on course.” You haven’t the strength to refuse, legs suddenly feeling boneless, so you merely nod, whispering a thank you through cracked lips and make your way to your cabin.

That pressure in your head returns, one that feels as if your skull is splintering into your brain and you all but collapse onto your bed once you reach it.

With your eyes closed, you feel intoxicated, everything swimming around you even if you lay still, the motion of the ship and the sound of water drowning you in discomfort. Another breath struggles through your windpipe, a mere huff in the air, your lungs weighing down on you as if you were at the bottom of the ocean being crushed by its merciless body. Overcome with the sensation, tossing and turning, you don’t hear the footsteps approaching your bed. Nor the dull sound of something being placed on your bedside table.

“Oddeye sent me down with some chai, what is wrong?”

You hear that voice very clearly. It’s a song you can’t lose, a song that refuses to be lost and will only replay over and over in your mind. He sounds concerned, but doesn’t he always? It irritates you, that his nature be so soft compared to yours, yet you can’t help but melt into it. Words can’t find you when the pain in your head swims up your nerve endings and deems you nonfunctional. The bed sinks under his weight and amidst the sea of pain sinking you to hostile depths, you feel a hand reach out and start to bring you to the surface again.

There’s a touch of saintly song in his skin when his palm lays on the side of your face. You hear him hiss and the bed lift when he stands suddenly.

“You’re burning up. Hold on.”

There’s no chance of reply, he rushes off too fast anyway, his feet hastily carrying him to your personal washroom. There’s a jug of probably staling water, but he grabs it anyway, seeking out a cloth before returning to your side. His knees dig into the surface of your bed, his body heat washing over your searing hot body, except his heat feels as if the yellow of the sun materialised within its rays and wrapped around you. A sigh leaves your lips and without thought your body shifts closer to him. Lips dry and parched, his tongue runs over them as if it would soothe the desert you’ve left him in, as if it would ease the cracks waiting to be rejuvenated by you. The flannel is swirled in the water and the excess drips when he pulls his hand above the surface and wrings it out. You feel the coolness press to your forehead and manage a hum. Inside your body, there is a war like Gaia has erupted into a volcano, her molten lava and spitballs of fire engulfing everything in its path— a warning to run, run, run — and Uranus has decided to rain down on her to douse that inferno— a response that clearly does not heed her warning, the cool of the flannel battling it out with the fever poisoning your system.

When he moves, you groan, forehead creasing in disagreement, thinking he’s leaving you. But you hear the jug get placed on the bedside table and then he sidles up closer to your body, his hand cupping your face with those heaven-crafted eyes focusing on your face. The mere contact of his skin on yours seems to subdue some of the pain curdling your blood and aching your muscles and organs, bringing only enough strength for you to lay your hand over his and press him into your skin, as if to imprint the shape of it onto your flesh.

“Sing to me.” You mumble in a weak voice.

A flutter of air parts his lips and then it’s magic, his voice spilling like the euphoria of a cracked coconut between begging lips, caressing your insides with the tender touch of a lover tiptoeing sweet nothings up to an ear under the moonlight, each soft utter overwhelming like flora in a meadow, driving the pain into submission until finally his voice kisses the forehead of your conscious and sends her to rest.

Hongjoong notices your breathing even out, feels your skin burn away into a subtle warmth and breathes a sigh of relief. He hopes that with some sleep the sudden fever will totally disappear. There’s a tug on his heart when he starts to pull away, the act of separation, though not far, voices its displeasure within his chest.

And yet, he does it anyway.

Slowly he rises from the bed, standing over you to watch your sleeping figure for a moment longer. But soon his attention is pulled to the hasty steps coming down the steps.

“How is she?” It’s Seonghwa. There’s a hint of urgency in his voice and an anxious expression on his face dripping wet.

“I managed to get her to sleep. She was burning up.” Seonghwa approaches with heavy steps, looking down at you and Hongjoong notices the way his chest heaves as if he had been rushing. “Is something wrong?”

His eyes sharply move onto Hongjoong. “It’s the women. They’re all with a fever. Like the Captain.”

Hongjoong blinks in confusion. “All of them?”

Seonghwa nods solemnly. “Meli had to step away a mere thirty drops ago— then Oddeye took over, the winds became rougher, the sails taking a mind of their own and dragged us out into unknown waters. The skies are too murky to tell where we are— rain and Poseidon's rage are swallowing us and the compass turns with the tides. And now the women have begun to fall with this mysterious fever one by one. And now we can’t even ask our Captain what to do.”

Hongjoong’s eyes stray back to your face. “What would she do?” He asks in a mumble.

Air shoots through Seonghwa’s nostrils with his short laugh. “Something crazy.”

With a roll of his eyes, Hongjoong goes to complain about how true that statement is, when the ship suddenly sways and they both topple over into the bed. They hear yells above deck and the ship sways heavily again, the structure yawning from the sudden turn— except it’s not just a turn, it feels as if the whole ship is tilting.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong exchange looks, glancing at you to see you’re still deep in slumber. “I’ll go above deck. You look after her.” Seonghwa grunts, straining himself to keep upright as he moves across your room back to the steps. It’s a struggle, the boat continuing to tilt at such a degree books and ornaments fall from the shelves, a clay vase breaking on the floor.

It feels as if the whole ship will go over.

The whole time you stay still, almost at peace. Even he nearly forgets that something is very obviously wrong.

Especially when, just like that, the floors level out again, everything settling and for a moment everything seems strangely still and silent — even the sea has quietened down.

Chills crawl up his spine. The very air appeared nonexistent.

It makes him anxious.

Fuck.

He topples over when the ship comes to an abrupt halt. Painting on the floor, he listens out and again there's that eerie silence.

But then it comes.

The screams.

The men's voices come out as bellows, roars like those at work but then they become piercing, ghouly screeches that grate Hongjoong's ears. The sound of swords being unsheathed, of feet trampling the decks and then the crashes and thuds— bodies and the ship slowly going to ruins.

His mother's voice drifts into his mind, that calming mantra and it spurs him to his feet.

The entirety of the ship quakes and slows him on the steps up to the decks. Slamming against the sides, he grunts and falls to his hands, using his palms to help push him up the steps.

When the air hits him he feels like he's standing beneath Mount Olympus watching it erupt with the titans.

Part of the railings flame, ash swarming the air.

And as if he really is witnessing war, he sees the men, expressions twisted with fire and courage and strength and the glint of their swords.

But then he sees the enemy.

Mermaids.

One arches from the water over the boat, hair a twist of tentacles that lashes out as it dives over to the other side and before it hits the water, those tentacles wrap around the throats of one of the men— Pelops, a boy really, who's face showed his youth— gets dragged along the deck floors, tentacles tightening to the extent his eyes start to bulge, fingers desperately clawing at the thick appendage. Three—four men turn and desperately swing with all their strength at its morbid flesh— but it's no use. No mere mortal blade can pierce.

Pelops starts to lose air, the men stuck between hanging onto him and tearing at the beast. His legs flail, shaking as the suffocation becomes too much, hands losing their strength and Hongjoong tries to think of all the stories his mother told him about the monsters that lurk in Poseidon's kingdom.

And there her voice comes. That soft lull in his ear painting stories in his head.

So, his mouth falls open. Amongst the screams of terror, amongst the chaos of battling feet, amongst the desperate fight for survival, Hongjoong opens his mouth and he sings.

His voice alone halts every sound, ceases all movement for but a moment, until the mermaids wail— a piercing unearthly screech that has them flailing in the water until his voice seems to reach deep within and they still. Completely.

Their bodies slack and eyes stare up to the ship almost hypnotised— the mermaid who had her tentacles wrapped around Pelop's throat weakens and slides from around him, falling slack into the water with a splash.

The men breath heavily, anxiously, backing up into each other with eyes darting all around them.

When Hongjoong finishes his song, he merely looks on at the mystified creatures, his own eyes glowing like stars of emeralds.

"Go."

Powerful sprays hit over the sides when they dive back into the depths from whence they came.

And once they are gone, the Godly surge lighting his eyes fades and all that remains ate the trembles in his body.

"We need to go. Who did we lose?"

"About half the men. All the women are still below deck asleep. These things— they came out of nowhere. The water...suddenly still. Quiet. Then they came… we had no chance." Būlus whispers mournfully. Tears welling in his eyes when he looks away from Hongjoong.

"It makes sense. The women. They don't hurt women." The tremors hit his voice and he swallows hard. "Oddeye. Where is he? Or Seonghwa?"

"Seonghwa took some of the wounded below deck during that chaos. Oddeye… I haven't seen him."

The dread increases tenfold and Hongjoong barely registers the men talking about the damage before he's turning away.

Every movement appears before him in slow motion. Blood being scrubbed in a withdrawn push and pull. Amphoras being passed around with haunted eyes. Boneless strolls to clear the deck.

Hongjoong is sure this is a day no one is likely to forget.

His own energy seems depleted. Even more so than the days you had first found him adrift. That time seems so long ago — and it has been — but at the same time the man he has become… after you, seems to have come about so quick it makes his head spin.

He wonders if his mother would be proud of him. Of all he has been able to face and all he has seen and learnt. He knows his mother would take a liking to Seonghwa, would dote on him. She would share plenty of laughter with Oddeye and maybe even scold him for making her precious son work, but it would all be in good humour.

He thinks that she would love you. That for all the hard exterior you try to put on, she would easily spot the warm soul you hold within.

Though he is anxious to find Oddeye, he is even more anxious to check on you. Even though he tries to rationalise that he knows you and the other women are safe asleep — or under the mermaid's enchantments — he still longs painfully so to be by your side, so he can see with his own eyes your health return.

As he passes one of the doors leading below deck, it pushes open and there stands Seonghwa. He looks as worn and as wrecked as the ship. Skin paling and eyes distraught. Blood mars the hands he works to keep neat and tidy, a personal principle he follows as the crew's only doctor.

Hongjoong recognises the invisible wound Seonghwa has. Pain.

Without thinking Hongjoong draws closer until he is able to wind his arms as securely as possible around Seonghwa. The man tenses, clearly startled, but the longer Hongjoong remains embracing him, the more Seonghwa’s body gives in to the comfort. His face falls against Hongjoong’s shoulder and hugs him back, heart that had become twisted the longer he tried and failed to save those who he considers family slowly unwinding.

The ache now is a little more bearable.

Pulling away, Seonghwa quickly wipes at his eyes. “Thank you.” He says quietly.

“Of course.” The silence lingers between them, the reality weighing on them. “Hwa… Have you seen Oddeye?”

His face becomes even more grave if possible. “No. When I left you… it all happened so fast, we didn’t stand a chance.” Hongjoong nods, gnawing at his lip in anxiety. “I don’t understand… getting dragged off course like that… I’ve heard of mermaids attacking ships, but never for no reason. If they feel their territory is being threatened or something maybe. I didn’t think they’d come this far out either.”

Hongjoong frowns. “That’s true… They aren’t usually in the middle of nowhere.”

“At least it’s over. Why did they leave anyway?”

Sheepishly Hongjoong scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, something my mother told me about them came to mind.”

“Well I owe you all my lifetime’s, friend. You saved many. Including me.”

“You saved me first so consider us even.”

They’re able to at least laugh at that.

“Let’s find Oddeye.”

Oddeye is nowhere to be found by the time the last light starts to fade. By now the deck is some sort of semblance of what it once was. A strong man of bronze by the name Athis had helped Seonghwa to gather and wrap the bodies— Seonghwa told Hongjoong that Athis was probably the only religious man amongst the crew — him and his brother — whom he helped Seonghwa to wrap. They agreed that once the you and women were awake they would complete the funeral rites.

Hongjoong thinks that despite all the stories he has heard, those both dangerous and those full of pure adventure, that now they all need prayer.

At the helm taking charge of redirecting the ship and finding the path is Porus. A quiet man, his beard and sun-browned skin reminded Hongjoong of Oddeye. In all his time here, they must have exchanged five words at most, but he is said to be one of their wisest and deadliest— a soldier who had been captured by the Greeks and made a slave and quietly learnt their language and secrets before escaping, he bargained his way onto the ship with knowledge of treasure. Apparently you had taken a liking to him rather quickly, which was a rare occurrence.

With you and the women still in slumber and Oddeye missing, the crew have placed their trust in him to lead the way. Though Hongjoong is unsure of where they should be going now.

Surely you won’t want to continue after such a great loss? Surely you should see that your suicide mission is not worth it?

Leaning against the rails, Hongjoong inhales deeply and allows his eyes to close as his head falls back. He thinks back to that night, not long after departing from Clop Island, where he spoke to you right here. The pain in your eyes that he could see even with your guard coming up. Your sharp tongue meant to strike like a blade only hitting his foolish heart with the softness of a lone floating petal falling against his skin.

He worries that you still haven’t woken, even though Seonghwa has assured him that you are fine. You sleep so still that Hongjoong’s eyes have tricked him into believing your breath has gone and you’ve left the shell of you behind for him to grieve. A madness has struck him, one filled with his own rage and pain and grief— for the men, but for Oddeye. Seonghwa has tried to stay strong. To keep up with his own duties, but he knows it has taken its toll. And still he reminded Hongjoong with a soft smile to get some rest. Hongjoong dreads to think how you will react with the news… The man he knows you have come to view as a father now lost at sea and he knows you will blame yourself. Think that you falling under an enchantment would be some kind of weakness on your part.

Pushing away from the rail, Hongjoong goes to turn away, but suddenly stops. Far in the distance, under the moonlight, he can see something. He squints, trying to recognise what it could be. It floats atop the water, large — burly — and when it moves sluggishly, Hongjoong’s eyes widen.

“Porus!” he calls urgently, heading toward the helm. “I think there’s someone out there.”

The man merely gives him a look, one that seems to penetrate Hongjoong’s eyes as if to seek all his secrets.

“Look! Over there! I saw them move!” He can see the doubt in the fine lines of his forehead. “You found me in the middle of nowhere— someone’s out there, we should help.”

The man is quiet for a while, but wordlessly he starts to turn the steer toward the floating figure. Hongjoong leans against the side, calling out, though they are still too far for them to hear. He doesn’t know why there’s an urgency in his chest, one that makes him start biting his nails.

“What’s going on?” Seonghwa appears beside Hongjoong, brows pinching together looking in the direction Hongjoong’s focused on.

“I think there’s someone out there. I swear I saw them move.”

“Who would be all the way out here? And alive?”

“I managed.”

“Oh goodie, another demi-god.”

Hongjoong scoffs. “In that case, we’ll leave them.”

That has Seonghwa breaking out into a hearty laugh. “I think you’ve been hanging around the Captain too much— that’s cold.”

Hongjoong only grins in response.

His expression grows serious the closer he gets and by now, more of the crew have gathered at the rails, looking out at the unknown figure floating in the ocean. They start calling out, but this time whatever’s out there doesn't move an inch. Hongjoong isn’t even sure if they’re breathing— even sure if it is a person. The men stretch their arms over the sides with lit wooden torches. The flames glow on the sea's surface, pooling out its light. The sail ripples with the light breeze and soon they start to slow.

“Well? What is it?”

“Should we pull it in?”

“It’s not moving— OI!”

Seonghwa’s eyes drift to Porus over the calls. “What do you think?” Porus is quiet, simply crossing his worn hand over the other and leaning against the wheel. Finally he nods his head. “Come on then, let's bring it in.”

It takes time and effort for the men to form a contraption long enough to get a hold of the object, grunts and curses pushed through gritted teeth, until they eventually give up.

“Shall we send a rowboat? This is useless.”

Hongjoong has to agree. This is useless.

“Okay, you three go.”

The crowd parts for the three men, watching them depart onto the rowboat, then steadily get lowered into the water. Their oars move swiftly through the waters, growing farther from the ship and closer to the mystery at sea.

“What is it?” Someone shouts to them.

They grunt, balancing on the boat as they move and try to use the oar to reach out. It looks like a piece of wreckage suddenly came up, slimy seaweed piled atop.

“Rubbish.” They yell back.

They move the torch over the pile, squinting their eyes, ultimately deciding to just head back. The boat rocks a little unsteadily as they move back to take their seats. Just as their hands curl into a grip around the wood of the oars, they hear a noise.

It makes them freeze. The hackles of their backs rising, that sense of doom still instilled in them since the attack.

Now that they are still, the noise that comes after a few seconds of silence is clear — a groan — a sound that is very human.

Hastily, they draw the boat closer and use the oar to reach over and bring the wreckage closer, Expressions twist into grimaces when their bare hands pull apart the wet and sticky heaps of seaweed and—

“Oddeye! It’s Oddeye!” Laughs of disbelief echo in the vastness, the happiness so pure and filling that they embrace one another in hopeful hugs.

The men on the ship squint their eyes and shout, asking what’s going on. But there’s no hope of them being heard over the trio's own roars of celebration. Eventually, they watch them move on the small boat and reach out for the floating wreckage. Each of them holds their breath, wondering what it is they’ve found, unable to properly see out in the darkness, even with their lit torches glowing bright.

It’s some time before they start rowing back. Each minute that ticks by weighs down, knots their muscles in tenseness. When the boat is close enough, the flames bare their grins and their hollers are much clearer.

“Oi! Hwa, we’re gonna need you.”

They move back and none of the men aboard the ship can believe their eyes. Immediately they’re all calling out his name— Oddeye! Oddeye!

All that somberness seems to dissipate for the mere reason that the man they were certain would be on route to the underworld by now is alive and mostly well.

“Quick, pull us up.!” They collectively work the ropes, the strength they’ve all been depleted of suddenly rejuvenated as they start to pull and pull, bringing the boat higher and higher up the side. It takes five of the men to help pull Oddeye onto the deck, carefully letting his body slump against the cold wood. As soon as Seonghwa’s at his side, they back away to give him space. Everyone watches closely, tentativeness filling their eyes.

“We gotta move him — help me.”

“Will he be okay?”

“I… don’t know. Someone get water and someone go set up a bed, get blankets and bring my stuff. You lot help me move him.”

The joy is brief; feet rush around the deck and just like that, the brief joy and relief has been swallowed and that anxiety has reared its ugly head.

Porus is silent at the helm, redirecting the ship and Hongjoong is left standing there with a dry mouth feeling lost.

There’s an ache in his chest that he hasn’t really taken the time to process since the heavy loss— one that grew when he thought Oddeye dead.

With no conscious thought, he finds himself moving. That urge for comfort brings him to the doors of your chambers. Just knowing the fact that you’re beyond the doors is enough to have his skin buzzing with warmth.

And when he pushes the doors open and moves down the steps and sees you still laying there peacefully, it’s as if he’s taking a breath for the first time.

He finds himself kneeling at your side and if anyone were to look in, they would not find an ounce of the Godliness in him, because Hongjoong looks about ready to worship you. Those brown eyes of his shine adoration usually bestowed upon divinity, fingers reaching and hesitating like a mortal remembering its palace at the feet of a God — only look but don’t touch.

But he needs to feel the saint of you kiss his skin.

The pads of his fingers brush the loose tendrils of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with care. They move to trace across your cheek, over the arch of your nose to your other cheek, dragging his finger down to your jaw. When he’s done, he settles for grasping your hand in his.

He sighs in content, eyes slipping shut and head falling to rest on your bed. “Wake soon please, my love.”

And before he can register what he called you, sleep overcomes his heavy and tired self.

—

The abyss of darkness you find yourself in is strangely comforting. One would expect that fear would manifest in the sinews of your being, yet something mellow and song-like soothed each joint and muscle to relaxation as you float in this nothingness.

A song surrounds you, lulling you peacefully. It should be eerie, the way it fills the vastness you seem to be in. An ethereal harmony making you feel like you’re ascending.

The voice soon changes. To one familiar to you. It has your heart reviving from its dormant state into a whirlwind that sends pressure through the valves and the muscle, making it strain and beat so madly you don’t spot that first breakthrough of light in your abyss, don’t notice the bubbling in your ear as if you’re finally taking a breath only to find water filling your lungs.

You don’t notice until the voice seems to drag you to the surface where that light has broken through.

The feeling of waking up is odd. Your eyes move behind your lids, like you’re dreaming. In your ears is that familiar sound of the open ocean and the birds whistling under the Greek sun. Like many times when you’re about to awaken from your slumber, there’s a heaviness in your limbs that takes its time to go as your muscles start to awaken. You feel the need to stretch, groaning softly as your legs reach out and your arms pull out at your sides.

When you slump back into your relaxed state, you start to rub at your eyes, squeezing them shut until finally you start to slowly blink them open. The blur clears after a few more blinks and groggily your eyes look upon the dimness of your quarters ceiling. Breathing slowly and allowing your mind to fully awaken, you simply lay there for several moments longer.

When some coherency returns, fragments of your last conscious memories appear— the journey you and your crew set upon and the moments of your anxiety to reach its end until finally the moment a sickness befell you. You recall Hongjoong’s concern— him being in your chambers— and the way he treated you with fragility as he took care of you…

Lo and behold when your head turns you find him there as if he had never left you. He kneels on the floor, which you know must surely be uncomfortable, with his head resting over his folded arms.

The sight of him makes you swallow harshly. Tendrils of his hair fall across his sun-kissed skin. His lips are parted the slightest, back rising and falling steadily with each inhale, exhale. His lashes cast shadows beneath his eyes, empathising the beauty of them, even closed.

You’re not sure what compels you, but the memory of his voice bringing you into the light from that abyss just before you woke up sounds in your head again and has your hand reaching out. The pads of your fingers find themselves pushing through the soft strands of black, cushioning themselves against his scalp rhythmically like the tide gently pushing and pulling from the shore.

What you’re doing registers belatedly, making your hand reel away from his hair. But as you pull away, you find your motions stopped by the burning coil of his fingers reaching up to grip your wrist.

Then those brown eyes are piercing your own.

Now you can see the bags darkening and sagging on his skin, the veins making his eyes look bloodshot. He looks as if he has been to hell and back.

But the moment he sees you are awake, you watch the way light fills the muddied brown, bringing forth a golden constellation. He says nothing. Merely breaths a heavy sigh, as if relieved, and then presses your palm against his cheek and allows his eyes to slip shut.

It startles you, but not as much as it should. Doesn’t have you recoiling like you should. Instead you watch him and allow your palm to mould the shape of him.

Finally though, you clear your dry and scratchy throat and manage to ask “how long have I been out?” His eyes open and he merely stares at you, not making any move to reply. “Are we still on course? Are we close now?”

He lets your palm slide from his face, but you note that he keeps his hand pressed against yours.

“We’re heading back to Clop Island, because the ship needs repairs.”

“What?!” You wince as soon as you try to sit up, groaning against the stiffness of your back.

Immediately Hongjoong smooths his hand over your shoulders and ushers you to lay down. “Take it easy.” He scolds softly. Before you can question him further, he stands and disappears in your personal storeroom, reappearing with a jug and a cup. You watch him fill it and place the jug on your bedside table and take a seat beside you in silence. He doesn’t say another word either, only prompts you with a gentle hand behind your head to meet the cup he brings to your lips. He makes sure you finish it to the last drop, lowering your head with his hand back onto the pillows.

“Would you like some more?” You only shake your head no, staring after him and wondering why, despite the havoc your hearts wrecking inside your chest, why you haven’t dismissed him. He nods, placing the empty cup beside the jug.

Silence falls over you both. You’re so curious and concerned, but you can’t voice any of it because your eyes are stuck on the tenseness held within his shoulders.

He looks upon your face again, reaching out to brush your hair away from your face and just as his lips part, the doors to your chambers noisily push open.

His fingers recoil into a fist and he draws his hand away from you, turning toward the feet clambering down the steps.

“They’re awake.”

You frown behind Hongjoong’s body, shielding you away from the person you recognise as Seonghwa.

Who’s awake? What does he mean? What’s going on?

Hongjoong moves aside and Seonghwa’s gaze falls upon you.

“As are they.”

—

All this time, you’ve been focused on one thing. On one selfish thing. And that’s the chance for adventure, everything else be damned.

Everyone else be damned.

That loyalty — that blind loyalty — your crew hold to you seems entirely pointless as your eyes move over the wrapped bodies of your men. Of those whose bodies they had managed to hold onto at least.

Some of them looked much too small and sickness wells in your stomach thinking of your younger members succumbing to such a fate.

We’d die for you.

At the time, words that encouraged you, that spurred the wildness in you to seek the extremes, to go so far that it might have even meant your end, now taste bitter. Poisonous.

It’s not like you’ve never been in such perilous situations before. But, this is something else. These feel like pointless deaths for a pointless quest and it’s all because of you.

Your bowed head finally lifts, your silent prayer over. Your gaze lingers one last time over your men and then you turn and leave.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa follow quietly behind you. It took much of your impatient questioning while Seonghwa examined you before they finally revealed to you what happened while you were knocked out. Never in your life had you felt this useless and this much self-loathing and that’s something you’ve felt often before. You don’t think you truly processed the extent of your grief, that you really believed it to be true until your eyes witnessed the grave your ship has become for yourself.

Onto the next room, you pause with bated breath. The hesitance shows within every inch of you; tremors make you close your hands into fists and the sudden lightheadedness makes you squeeze your eyes shut. Hongjoong instinctively moves closer, waiting for the moment you pass out to catch you.

But you don’t. Taking a deep breath, your eyes reopen and you push the door open before cowardice can settle in.

There lies Oddeye.

Your feet only go as far as the threshold once you see him. No thoughts or feelings come to mind immediately as you stare after him with wide eyes. He looks so still… skin ashen and devoid of the life he usually holds… It’s as if… He’s dead.

Invisible chains wind around your ankles and root you in place as the thought repeats itself over and over in your head.

Dead dead dead dead.

A shudder runs through you and your breath comes out choked. Slowly, you move closer and closer until you’re standing over him. Your face contorts into one of pain as your hand reaches out and when you cup his bearded face that connection ignites your nerves, leaving them splayed to be stabbed violently at until tears well in your eyes. The tears flood like Poseidon sending a tidal wave to destroy a city and you’re the fragile structure brought down, your body falling over him as you hold him in grievance.

There’s still warmth to him and that fatherly scent and you cling even tighter, begging the Gods to keep him safe and if anything, to take you instead.

It’s some time before your tears cease and even longer still when you part from Oddeye. You say nothing when you wipe your face and turn away from him.

“I’m going to speak with Porus.” Don’t follow me is what you don’t say, but the two men understand nonetheless.

You leave them in silence.

They both release breaths they didn’t realise they’d been holding once you’re gone.

“I’ve… never seen them cry before.” Hongjoong’s the first to speak. Voice hollow and cracked. He doesn’t want to leave you be, even if those are your wishes. All he is thinking is that if he feels like the fabric of his soul is stained in turmoil and his heart is breaking just from seeing you cry, then he can’t even begin to imagine or understand the extent of pain you’re feeling right now. He swallows hard and blinks away his own tears, inhaling deeply through his nose.

“It’s a rare occurrence. In all the years I’ve known y/n I’ve only seen them cry a handful of times.” Seonghwa debates his next words, but decides that now is a time best as any for him to say it. Turning, he looks Hongjoong directly in his eyes. “They’re going to need you now more than ever. But y/n won’t admit that. So go at their pace. But please… just… be there for them.”

He tries and fails to hide his surprise. But still, he nods. “I will.”

—

Porus is at the helm drinking from his amphora and you suspect that it’s not water in there. As you near you’re hit with that familiar waft of rum.

As soon as he notices you approaching he holds it out, lips curling into a barely there smile when you take it without hesitance. You gulp the liquor down like it's your lifeline, the burn exactly what you need and when you’ve had your fill you gasp satisfied.

“Thanks.” Porus nods in response. “How far are we?”

“Least a week.”

“Is there nowhere else?”

Porus moves to the table and points at the map. “There’s these isles, but there’s no telling what lies there.”

“If we went there first and there’s nothing, how many days would it put us out of getting to Clop?”

“Depending on the tide and weather, only a day. But that is still a day more.”

You gnaw your lip in contemplation. The crew are tired and resting on land would be better sooner rather than later. They have the tools needed to use whatever natural resources are on the island to fix up the ship and Seonghwa knows what kind of herbs to look for, for the wounded. It would be no Clop Island maybe, but it’s still something at the very least.

“Set a course then for…well what is this place called?”

“Rhodes.”

It seems your senses have really dulled under your pain. Or perhaps you would have remembered your mothers warning.

—

The Island of Rhodes is three days out. The crew seem to think it’s good news that you will anchor somewhere soon.

Seonghwa urges you to rest, to regain your strength. But you can't will yourself to leave Oddeye’s side. You keep begging for him to wake up. Joke that Manvitha will kill you otherwise.

Hongjoong stays close always. Watches you from the corner of the room while you sit by Oddeye’s side holding his hand. Meli drops by now and then and forces you to eat. She seems to think the same as Seonghwa — that you need him. When she comes with food she doesn’t give it to you, no, she gives it to Hongjoong.

At first he worried. Thought you’d go back to pushing him away. Even if you hadn’t told him to leave you alone while you sat beside Oddeye, he was just waiting for you to throw those sharp words of yours at him, to twist a dagger in his chest and tell him to leave you alone.

But you didn’t.

You’d let him stay in your presence. And you’d let him pull up beside you when it was time for you to eat. Let him feed you. Let him brush the hair from your eyes even if you didn’t look at him. Let him spoon mouthful after mouthful into your mouth and let him clean your lips when you were done.

The night before you’re to arrive at the island, Hongjoong helps you to bed. The waters have become rough and makes the ship unsteady. The skies storm and pelts rain onto the decks and makes the waves rise high in defiance to its attack. Unlike before, the warrior cries of thunder makes you jump and Zeus's bolts have you flinching.

So when Hongjoong helps you into bed, he does the only thing he can think of to soothe you. Now wrapped up in the comfort of your sheets, he sits beside you and pats over your hair and starts to sing. Each of your senses dull out your surroundings and hone in on him and his voice alone.

He’s so beautiful. Like an unreachable dream of paradise.

When he notices your eyes start to droop, he sings the last words of his song and then moves to stand.

Unexpectedly, your hand reaches for his wrist and your eyes are glossy with something he’s never seen in them before. Vulnerability.

“Stay with me please.” You say so softly he strains to hear. You don’t know why you’ve asked him this, but you hope he does.

He looks between your eyes, warring inside himself on whether he should or not. Because he doesn’t think he would be able to take it if you go back to pretending he means nothing to you.

But he also realises that you need this. That you’re in pain and that he would do anything in the world to ease it for even a moment. Even if that meant he were to get hurt in the process. He would carry all your pain if it meant you’d live happily.

There’s nothing to say. So that night he slips into your bed, right beside you as if he belongs there, and he holds you in a way you’ve never been held before.

And though your heart is a mess and those ugly thoughts invade your head, you still fall asleep feeling warm and safe in his arms.

—

When morning comes you find that you don’t want to move. You’re so unbelievably warm, or rather, cosy would best describe it. Totally cocooned in something secure, your body naturally does not want to part from it.

But upon opening your eyes, you realise the reason why you are feeling such things.

He didn’t leave. He stayed like you asked.

The back of your throat clogs up with the accumulation of feelings stirring within your erratic heart and you’re not sure if you want to pull away to stop the feeling or embrace it.

Before you can decide, the doors open and steps come down the stairs and your eyes are left wide now that you realise you’re about to be caught.

In panic, you start to push against his chest, hoping you can roll away from him in time at the very least but the utter fool with his soft features embracing sleep, merely frowns in his slumber, letting out a sleepy confused groan before pulling you against him even tighter.

Please Gods.

You attempt again, gritting your teeth and pushing more firmly against his chest, but unfortunately all that does is awaken the poor man. Sluggishly, his lids half pull open, eyes wearing his sleep so heavily as his brows pinch together. When he sees your face, you completely forget what you were doing, because he smiles. In those moments upon waking when one’s guard is down and their eyes bear their truth, you witness how the planets align amongst all the stars within the depths of his gaze and you completely forget that you were trying to escape.

Until someone clears their throat.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you manage to lift enough to look over Hongjoong’s shoulder and there stands Seonghwa trying to contain his shit-eating grin.

“Ahem, Captain, we’ve made anchor.”

“Right-right. Um. Give me a moment.”

“Of course.” He near snickers before turning away.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you collapse back onto your bed — well Hongjoong — and sigh out. And when the man in question moves, your eyes snap open, recoiling as much as you can in the cramped position, finding him looking at you with amusement on his face.

“What?” You grumble, trying to move again. He tightens his arms, suddenly bringing you further into your chest making you gasp. The position leaves his face so close to yours that you feel the warmth of his breath fan against you. Swallowing harshly, your eyes flutter up to find his low on you. So close you can count each lash and see each speck that makes up that wonderful brown of his eyes that you’ll never admit is becoming your favourite colour.

“Did you sleep well?” Oh. Oh, why has that usually soft voice become so raspy and low in that way. And must he be so close?

Breaking eye contact you merely give him a nod, tapping at his chest in signal. “Yes, thank you. Um. I gotta go. Sort things out you know…” Have I ever sounded so awkward in my life? Who am I?!

The edges of his lips curl and you can tell he’s teasing you when he asks “Do you really?”

Ensuring your tempers in check you tell him, “yes I do. So let me go.”

“I’m not stopping you, though.”

“Hongjoong.”

“Y/n.”

Staring him down, he rolls his eyes and finally you feel his arms slip away from you. And you absolutely hate how your skin craves that it returns.

“You should get ready too.”

“I think we should wait here.” Seeing that you’re about to scold him for telling you what to do, he raises his hands defensively. “With Oddeye and the others. Some are still too weak to go. Hwa’s going with them and Porus will lead them too.”

Damn him for making sense.

—

“You lot help Hwa gather whatever he needs. You three are in charge of getting fresh water and seeing if there’s any food we can take. The rest of you help Porus.”

“Captain.”

Watching them leave, you send a silent prayer to the Gods for their safe return.

The island of Rhodes isn’t that large, even up close. Most of the surrounding area seems desolate, mere sand and dirt taking up the space. But going into the island, it slopes high, with bushes and trees shrouding it's hill. It’s as if the outside is dead, while within it flourishes.

You only hope that they are able to get what you need and be on your way.

“You worry.” Hongjoong looks out after the crew too as he comes up beside you.

Nodding, you quietly say “how can I not?”

“The dragons haven’t sensed anything at least.”

You huff a small laugh. “Maybe the God’s are giving us a break.”

“Wouldn’t that be the day?” He grins, eyes falling to your face.

Looking up, you meet his soft gaze and find that you can’t stop your own smile, even if it is only a small one. “I guess they’re not so bad…”

"I'm glad you think so." When did he start coming closer? Fluid as water, your body the shore he is moments away from meeting. Peering into your eyes, his gaze alone tethers you, making you await for the tidal wave he is sure to consume you under— and you hold your breathe, anticipating or anxious or both— when the backs of his fingers graze up your cheek and smoothly slide into the rough and unruly strands of your hair and his shadow falls upon your face as he nears.

But whether there was any anticipation, a jolt rocks your insides like a kickstart to your brain and you step backwards, shakily clearing your throat and feeling your entire being buzz in miniscule flashes of heat. Inhaling sharply through your nose, the jitters make you move as awkward as you feel. Arms flailing (much like an octopus unfortunately), your head follows the mad dart your eyes do from here to there — everywhere but Hongjoong — until you manage to squeeze out “I’m going to be with Oddeye, now. Uh… Do you mind keeping look out?”

If Meli were here, she would tease the sound of your voice for days on end.

Trained on the path the crew left on, Hongjoong steals your attention with a boisterous laugh. Staring, all you can do is watch the way his eyes squeeze shut tight and every muscle in his cheeks work to pull them high and stretch his lips baring his teeth. He laughs so hard and so freely the sound breaks into raspy howls of air and his body bows, stomach aching with the depths of the sound so much so his arms clutch at it.

Finally breathing again, snickers here and there with only a grin left on his warm face, he meets your stare. All he says is “of course, Captain.”

—

Hours pass by.

You sit with Oddeye feeling much calmer and hopeful than these past few days. You’re unsure if it’s because you’re carrying the sight of Hongjoong laughing like that right in the crevices of your chest, or if it’s the fact that you’ve managed to make land somewhere.

At first you laid your head against his arm as you held his hand, feeling your eyes grow heavy, but refusing to give in to sleep. And somewhere along that time of fighting exhaustion — a mix of lack of sleep and the weight of everything draining you — you start to mindlessly say that first thing that came to mind. Or rather the only thing.

So naturally Hongjoong’s name falls from your lips. So naturally did you start to spill word after word about him. The way he’s silently been watching over you. His concern. Making sure you eat. Staying by your side despite the way you’ve treated him. Even just last night… when he stayed…and held you… just because you asked him to.

You didn’t even realise how much you were talking about him, until there was nothing left to say and you were left alone with only the thoughts of him.

Do I…? That’s not possible though— how could someone like me ever? There’s…just… no way… how could I—

“Some of the others have started to come back.”

The thoughts distort and swirl startled in your eyes that meet his.

Mouth hanging open, all you can do is merely blink at him.

"Captain?"

"Uhhhh. Yeah. Yeah. Right. Okay, I'll be…up. Yeah."

"Right… you okay?"

"Uh huh— yeah, yeah. I am completely, undoubtedly fine."

Awkwardness stems between you both, stare upon stare until finally, slapping down on your thighs you stand, clearing your throat and choosing to look past him.

"Shall we?"

Sure enough, when you're back above deck, Meli and Saira are helping the others board.

"Check it out, a hoard of coconuts, papaya, mangoes— oh Oddeye’s gonna love that. Wouldn't think this island would be so rich, ey?" Meli boasts.

"A shame there's no rum." You grin at her, moving to help carry the few crates on board.

"Some of the others are still out looking for fresh water. I reckon we'd probably manage to get a bird or two in there Captain. Some meat would do us good." A crewmate tells you.

"I agree, Kaleb. I shall go with you. It's been a while since I've hunted." You look upon Meli. "I bet I can get a flock of four."

Her gummy grin says it all. "I bet six."

"Achaikos, you're with me."

"Of course," he smiles full of pride, "I am the best."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, little one. I am not just first mate for my pretty face."

The way you all laugh makes you feel the lightest you have in a while. Makes you feel like everything will be okay.

As the thought crosses your mind, your gaze is propelled towards Hongjoong and you find that his eyes are already on yours, those sweet lips of his curled into an even sweeter smile.

"You alright waiting for the others here while we're gone?"

"Of cour—"

"—LOOK OUT!"

You fall atop of Hongjoong, bringing you both crashing to the deck floors heavily, eyes checking over him before flying to where the arrow has embedded in the wood. Head twisting rapidly, you see the one responsible boarding the ship— and they're not alone.

"Kneel trespassers." The growl is unearthly, deep and intimidating. It should be enough for anyone to submit, but the reel of an arrow getting shot at Hongjoong has your vision turning red.

Blood-rage is the madness you fall into as you unsheathe your sword, its sharpness cutting through the air, wild eyes focused on cutting the throat of the one who dared to shoot an arrow at your Hongjoong.

Every tendon, the entirety of your muscles have you swinging the metal through the airs tension, left, right, left, right, down, down, down the sword comes just to be met with smooth blocks, almost slow-motion movements each time.

"You humans," she says, stopping in front of you and gripping the hilt of your blade. It creaks as easily as it's bent, like it's made of nothing. "All bark and no bite." You grunt, pushing against her, giving a final cry, quickly pulling your dagger and slitting across her stomach. She merely hisses and before she can think to move you strike at her inner thighs— one slice, then another to the opposite. Sliding up to get her throat, your wrist is squeezed under her grip and you can feel that it is no mortal strength as she tightens. Gritting your teeth, you wind your head back and rocket forward smacking her head on with yours.

"Wretch."

"Enough." A great gust comes and the force of them landing on the deck knocks the crew over. "You are all trespassers on my island. Kneel before your Goddess."

Hongjoong attempts to be the voice of reason. "Let's talk this through. Please, we just needed aid."

At the sound of Hongjoong, the Goddesses demeanour changes entirely. Scorching, changing the surroundings to reflect the pure rage building within her; the water bubbles and rises up the sides, cold building and building from the waves, the island starts to quake so hard the earth slides its hills.

"You. Should be dead."

You frown as does Hongjoong.

"I— what do you mean?"

But then suddenly, recognition flashes in his eyes. Like a door unlocked unveiling all.

That night. Hongjoong arriving on the Island. The Goddess Rhode welcoming him. Spending days exploring the island, tasting the land's fruits turning into the sweetest wines, watching the stars seem to fall from the hilltops, sharing songs every night around the fire and then…

"I've become fond of you, dear Hongjoong."

"And I, you."

"That is why, I must insist you stay here."

"Stay? Goddess, I am grateful for your hospitality and your company. But, you know my dreams. I wish to explore this world. I cannot do that from here. I'm sorry."

"No. It is I, who is sorry."

"It…it was you. The night I left… you made the sea uncontrollable. You tried to kill me."

"No one disrespects me. Especially a lowly half-God. I was disappointed to hear the mermaids didn’t finish you off. Not to worry. I won't fail this time."

The Goddess moves in a blink and every instinct drives your reaction— without thought you breakaway and move in front of Hongjoong and the Goddess pauses.

Her laugh is grating, mocking. "Well, well, isn't this cute. You want to protect him? Fine, I don't mind killing all of you."

Water pools in her hand forming a dagger and with venom in her eyes her hand draws back.

But it seems that protective instinct isn't just in you.

Before you can stop him, that hopeless fool, your fool, turns you into his arms, giving Rhode his back. And that dagger meant for you, pierces him.

Your eyes meet his and this fool — this complete and utter fool — gives you that smile even as pain wells in his eyes.

"HongjoongHongjoongnono."

His weight pulls you down and you hold him in your arms, a scream in your ears that you soon realise is yours once the tears impede your vision.

"Pleaseplease." You beg, cradling his face. The warmth of his palm comes and rests over yours, still that smile there and you sob harder.

"Aw, how sweet. Hang in there Joongie. Do me a favour and stay awake long enough to watch her die too."

"Rhode, I never thought you were this petty. Honestly, I expected more from you niece."

"Auny. A bit far from. Well whatever dump Zeus put you in. This has nothing to do with you. So why don't you run back to it."

“Aw, aren’t you sweet.” Hecate says dryly, stepping around Rhode like she’s nothing and resting her hand upon Hongjoong’s forehead. “I am more than happy to fight with you Rhode, but I am telling you. One way or another, my friends will have a safe passage away from here.”

Rhode gives an outraged and astounded scoff. “The Assembly shall hear about your meddling, Hecate.”

“And they shall hear about your madness. How lovely. Now.” Hecate turns to face Rhode head on. “Get off this ship, before I make you.”

In the distance, Seonghwa and the others start to approach. They’re being ushered by what you can only assume are Rhodes people, weapons turned on them.

“And call off your lackeys.”

You can see both the fire and the resignation in every one of her features as Hecate juts her head at the bitch. Rhode pulls out a horn, blowing into it and you watch each of her cronies come to a standstill, standing straight and facing forward like a band of soldiers awaiting their next orders.

“Now begone.” Hecate’s voice booms, Titan blood coursing, curling her words in ancient superiority.

Cradling Hongjoong in your arms, you’re not sure that you have any fight left in you. From Oddeye to this, you can’t remember the last time you felt so worthless. So pathetic and weak and so much pain. You can’t remember the last time you cried this way. All of your attention falls on his face, blurred vision on the weak smile he sports and by now, the power of your cries are coming out as croaks.

Weakly, he lifts his hand and swipes at your tears.

It only makes the tears spill heavier.

“You must take care of him.” Hecate tells you, watching Rhode grit her teeth and disappear into the water.

“H-how?” your lips tremble, throat restricted, “I-I can’t do anything.”

“He’s fine, but we must get to the giants. Here. Place this on his wounds. It will buy him time.” She hands you a small jar stuffed with herbs. Your hands shake when you take it, every inch of you feeling boneless.

Grateful, Meli reaches between you and Hecate and softly tells you “I’ll do it.” Hugging Hongjoong into your chest, room is made for Meli to rip the back of his shirt and get to his wound, spreading the herb mixture around. He winces, eyes clenching shut and without thinking you lean down and brush your lips across his forehead.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You mutter, unsure if you’re trying to reassure him or yourself more. “I’m here…”

Hecate calls your name. “What did your mothers tell you?” Frowning, it takes a moment to think on their words before things finally start to make sense in your head. They never meant road, they were warning you of Rhode. And the love they spoke of… Hecate sees the look on your face as you recall and she smiles softly at you. “It’s time to let go of your past and let yourself be happy.”

Happy…

Soon the crew are piling onto the ship and they’re all speaking to you at once, but it’s just noise.

Seonghwa pushes through and crouches down in front of Hongjoong. In the background and you faintly register Meli updating him, but everything is fading in and out.

Staring at Hongjoong’s weak face, something seems to click.

Happy?

—

You never left his side.

Seonghwa set up Hongjoong next to Oddeye and you were grateful.

He slept the entirety of the journey and the whole time you just prayed that he would wake up.

That both of them would.

Maybe you really are cursed. The man you love like a father, still unconscious. And the man you’ve only just realised you… Now like this.

And when you finally arrive at Clop Island you realise you need to have an honest conversation with everyone.

Returning from a bath, you see Seonghwa stepping out of Hongjoong’s tent. He’s watching something — someone.

Before you can get a word out, he talks first. And it’s something unexpected. “I’ve decided to return home.”

Surprise fills your expression. “Home? To do what?!”

Sighing, his eyes never leave that spot. Gaze filled with longing as he watches Manivrtha laugh with Meli. “I’ve loved the freedom of being at sea, but… there comes a time when you’re ready for home again.” He gives you a pointed look and it’s crazy not only how you understand him straight away, but that you’re accepting of the fact that you have, at long last, found somewhere, or someone to call home. “I’m going to become a proper physician — the best in the world actually. So, you better look me up.” He grins, finally looking at you.

Teary eyed, you’re quick to embrace him in a tight hug, pushing the air out of him. But he returns your embrace nonetheless. “I promise.” You whisper.

And that night you gather your crew.

At first, there’s the tired talk of the journey thus far. The ups and many downs. Then comes the tales of past expeditions and the jovial laughter that follows upon the reminiscing.

I’m going to miss this…

Clearing your throat, you tell your crew something you’re sure they would have never expected: a goodbye.

—

It was seven days later when Hongjoong awoke from his deep sleep.

And you were right by his side to greet him.

The nymphs tried moving you to check over him, but one glare and they backed away. You took it upon yourself to place his head in your lap and caress his head. To help pour water past his cracked lips. To whisper that everythings okay and you’re right there.

To care like you’ve never before.

And now, at the time of the moon, you have a steady hold of his arm, guiding him out to the cliffs to stare upon the sea side by side.

His head immediately tilts to rest upon your shoulder once you’re both seated on the grassy edges. The tide is out and the waves feel calm, the moonlight skipping across in a night time greeting. Without thought nor care, you take hold of his hand closest to you and bring it to rest on your lap. You just about hide your smile when he squeezes your hand, but you can’t ignore the way your heart squeezes as if that’s the thing in his hold.

“I’ve noticed the crew are gone. Care to fill me in?”

You inhale sharply. Since he awoke, you’ve been tending to him and avoiding the fact that things have very much changed in favour of focusing on him.

But the day has passed and now, out here, by the sea, it feels as right a time as any to tell him.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to tell him less anxiety inducing news first. “Well, Seonghwa has officially laid down his pirate sword. He’s decided to return home and finish his residency. Become a proper physician and all of that. He was sorry he would not be around to say goodbye himself, but promised to write to the both of us as soon as he could.”

“Oh wow… I shall miss him, but I know that he will do amazing.”

You hum in agreement, deciding what to say next. “Oddeye woke up…He was in good spirits.” You smile, fondly recalling him shooing off the nymphs and Meli and Manvitha and even you for fussing over him. “And after seeing him and realising she no longer wanted to be apart from Meli, Manvitha decided she would sail with them instead.

Hongjoong laughs softly. “I am happy to hear that. Meli deserves to be with her love. I could tell as soon as they laid eyes on each other that their souls sang the same song.”

And do you think the same of our souls? You want to ask.

With that thought you steel yourself to deliver the news of your fate. “And…I am no longer Captain. Meli is now Captain of the crew.” Your breaths are shuddery, throat dry. “Choose the pirate life or choose you.”Hongjoong tenses against you for one, two, three seconds before relaxing again. But you are far from relaxed and before he can even think to reply you confess "I was abandoned as a child. Left to fend for myself. I would go about stealing just to keep myself fed and warm. And one night Hecate found me. She told me she would take me where I needed to go. She gave me to the Graeae. At first I was frightened. I begged her not to leave me there, but she just gave me a smile and a promise that it would do my heart well. And you were right. I do love them. They were true mothers to me. I just… couldn’t take the darkness they surrounded themselves with… How they could have love for me, but everyone else be damned. And once I fell in love with the sea… though I was happy it wasn’t like that to begin with… I just hardened my heart. So if I were to be left alone again I wouldn’t feel anything. But now…It scares me that I don't know at what point my heart was no longer mine. But… I am no longer fearful that it is you who has it.

The silence lingers and you start to feel an unfamiliar sickness brewing in your guts at the thought that all this time you’ve read his affections wrong and now he’s going to ask why in the bloody hell would you think I feel the same?!

And your anxieties become even more tumultuous inside you, loud and berating, calling you foolish and worthless when he lifts his head from your shoulder.

But it’s only so he can look upon your face. Tenderly, he cups your cheeks, angling your gaze towards him and with a completely disarming and God worthy smile he tells you such utterly ridiculous sappy words.

“You can be the Captain of my heart.”

And no one would believe that you could give such a smile to words as cheesy as those.

And you of all people would never believe Hongjoong when he thinks that your smile is God worthy.

Between the way his moonlit eyes look upon yours and the starry smile upon his face there;s an overwhelming whirlpool of emotions building up within your chest.

If I cut open my heart, would I relieve myself of all that is drowning me? Would breaking the dam mean release?

But that is too violent of an act, when his fingertips are morning dew settling on flowerbeds and a cut is much too harsh and unnecessary for release.

This. This is what you need.

His lips slowly descend upon yours and your own like the hull of a ship meeting a wave draws to him. Except the inevitable drop that a ship would take wasn’t rough. It was a slow sink into one another, his head angling to draw you in calmly and warmly. Each passing second a thousand lifetimes of seasons passing and sunrises, sunsets and moon cycles.You breathed him in as he did you. Lips singing silently, sighing out home.

And when you part a breath away, eyes open to find him so close and you see his eyes. You see the song in them.

And that song is a simple one; love, all the notes dancing in colours that spoke to your soul.

He truly is a gift from the Gods.

#kwritersworldnet #ateezlovenet #kdiner #Hongjoong fluff #hongjoong angst #ateez fluff #ateez angst

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