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elysian-asphodel · 17 days ago

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(rewritten) Lay All Your Love On Me

. Pairing: Rockstar! Poseidon x Gn! Reader

. Summary: Neither you nor Poseidon fully understand, or want to understand, your feelings for each other. Your playful flirting suddenly feels too real. You find yourself wanting to be the one next to the other instead of anyone else. Zeus thinks you two should just fuck… Maybe he’s right? There’s only one way to find out.

. Warnings: +16?, swearing, mature and suggestive content, making out, mentions of sex and drinking

. Notes: Giving this a second chance, this time bigger, longer and hornier! This shouldn't have taken as long as it did 😭 I don't think it's worth the wait but honestly as long as only one person enjoys it I'll be happy 😭 Poseidon divider made by @/vibeswithrenai and taken from this post Art made by Neal Illustrator and taken from this post. The idea for this au was also inspired by her art And an infinite amount of thanks to @theproverbialpen for beta reading this and helping me out so much! Also please go check her stuff out, it's seriously so much better than anything I could ever write (if you like this you'll LOVE "EPIC: The Siren Saga")

. Word count: 12562

series masterlist

"Don't go sharing your devotion Lay all your love on me" - Lay All Your Love On Me, ABBA

Lights exploded across the arena—blinding, intoxicating—a cascade of greens, yellows, and blues swallowing everything in their path. The air pulsed with an impossible energy, electric with the anticipation of thousands who had been waiting months for this moment. It was contagious, seeping into your skin, winding itself through your veins until it felt like you could breathe it in and be swallowed whole.

The bass rumbled beneath your feet, a living heartbeat in the floorboards. You felt it climb your legs, coil in your stomach, and settle deep in your chest, thrumming like a second pulse. Ecstatic. Overwhelming in the best way. Alive.

People had come from all over, some traveling for hours, even days, just to witness this moment—to see Natural Disaster live in the flesh. Thousands of bodies moved in unison, swaying, dancing, losing themselves to the music. Their cheers tangled together into an indecipherable roar, but the glow of their faces, the messages scrawled on signs, the way they pressed against each other with sheer unfiltered joy made what they wanted to convey more than clear. They were utterly entranced. The whole place buzzed with an almost tangible force, as if the concert itself was something alive.

You took advantage of the moment, the tidal wave of sound and movement, and raised your camera. The crowd behind you sang and screamed, their voices a perfect backdrop. A few people near the barrier noticed you, those lucky enough to be close to the stage, and eagerly struck poses—some waving, some locking arms in excitement—before turning back to the show just as quickly. You chuckled.

It had become a habit, taking at least one picture of the crowd at every venue the band played. You were drawn to it—the beauty of people losing themselves, completely immersed, living in a memory they would carry forever. Simple, maybe. But special. And, if nothing else, it kept the social media managers happy.

For the past ten months, you had been traveling with Natural Disaster as their photographer, and despite having witnessed dozens of shows, the magic never faded. The crowds, the staging, the music, the reaction to the music—it never got old. It wasn’t as if you were unfamiliar with the scene, big concerts, blinding lights, the deafening sound of the speakers, but there was something about these ones that felt different. Maybe it was the way you got to see everything, the before, the after, the world behind the curtain. A world you never knew existed.

You still couldn’t believe you were there. Couldn’t thank your friend enough for pushing you to take the job—or hell, to even apply in the first place. You had been given the opportunity of a lifetime, one most fans could only dream of.

The song swelled into its chorus, and you found yourself mouthing the words instinctively. The melodies, the singer’s inflections, every pause, every note—it was all etched into you, like something that had always been there. After listening to these songs so many times, for so long, they had become second nature. More than once, you’d caught yourself humming them absentmindedly, the tunes slipping from your lips before you even realized. Who knows how many times it had happened unnoticed?

Then suddenly, the crowd near you erupted—cheers, screams, hands reaching past you, reaching for something.

You turned, reflexively raising your camera, part instinct, part curiosity.

And you found yourself almost face-to-face with him.

The lead vocalist.

He stood at the very edge of the stage, towering over you, eyes scanning the sea of bodies as he sang, every syllable sharp, deliberate. The LED screens behind him cast him in an ethereal blue glow, his long dark locks haloed in light. The tips of his hair, dyed royal blue, almost melted into the background, giving him an otherworldly aura. Small trinkets woven into his strands caught the light, shimmering like stars trapped in his hair.

His outfit, minimal, effortless—despite the fact that you knew every piece had been chosen carefully—somehow only amplified his presence. A tank top clung to him just right, highlighting the muscle of his arms. One was wrapped in a fishnet sleeve, his fingers hugged by metallic rings that gleamed under the lights. His right arm, a sleek blue metal prosthetic, caught every flicker of color, reflecting the energy of the crowd itself. He looked like something untouchable. Something unreal.

And then—his eyes found yours.

Locked. Held.

For a second, the world shrank. The lights dimmed. The crowd melted away.

Your lips parted, lyrics forgotten, the song lost at the tip of your tongue.

His eyes were beautiful.

You were frozen. Stuck. Trapped under his gaze, under his call, under his siren song.

And the bastard knew it.

As the instrumental break started, his lips curled into a smirk. Slow. Sharp.

Without warning, he crouched, closing the distance in an instant. If it weren’t for the stage being slightly taller than you, you would’ve been eye-to-eye.

He took his right in-ear out, letting it dangle from its wire over his shoulder. Resting his left arm on his thigh, he pulled his microphone away from his lips bringing it down to hang loosely between his legs—casual, lazy, intentional. His cheek pressed against his closed right fist, elbow resting on his knee, his gaze unwavering, almost mocking.

Over the screaming crowd and pounding bass, you barely caught his voice.

"Enjoying the show?"

It snapped you from your trance, though not quickly enough to stop the heat from creeping up your neck.

“I liked it better when you were over there.” You nodded toward the opposite end of the stage.

Poseidon raised a brow. “You did, didn’t you?”

The comment sent another rush of heat to your face, and you hated that he knew it.

You didn’t have a response. Just looked at him.

His smirk widened. Dangerous. Knowing. It reminded you of a shark—something predatory, something too aware of its power.

“Take a picture.” He motioned lazily to your camera. “It’ll last longer.”

"Stop it."

He only shrugged, as if to say, ‘your loss’. Then, just as effortlessly, he slipped his in-ear back on, lifted the mic to his lips, and stood—his presence filling the stage once more.

Still, it didn’t stop you from raising your camera, snapping a few quick shots, wishing he had stayed just a few moments longer.

Lowering the camera slightly, you peeked over it—

And there he was.

Still smirking.

Still looking directly at you.

And worst of all, you knew—without a single doubt—that smirk was meant only for you.

Your breath left you in a quiet exhale. You glanced down at your screen to review the shot.

Perfect.

The crowd erupted again, their voices blending into a thunderous chant—one name, over and over, rising like a prayer to the heavens.

"POSEIDON! POSEIDON! POSEIDON!"

The stage lights flickered in response, casting the entire scene in a fleeting, shimmering blue—like moonlight on crashing waves.

And for a brief moment, you wondered if this man was just a man or something far more.

And Poseidon—Poseidon tried his best to keep his eyes off you. But his attempts were futile.

──────📸──────

"I think tonight went great."

The four of you made your way out of the arena through a dimly lit back alley, slipping through the heavy metal door that slammed shut behind you with a dull thud. It wasn’t the most glamorous exit, but you had to stay humble somehow, right? In all seriousness, it was one of the safest ways to leave venues like this—without the risk of being swallowed by a screaming crowd.

Still, you had a feeling you could have walked right through the front doors if you wanted to. Considering how late it was and how long ago the concert had ended, most fans had already cleared out. It was Zeus’ fault, really. If anyone ever arrived late or left late, he was somehow always to blame. In this case, though, you silently thanked him for it.

"Yeah, we got to end it with a bang!"

You’d been told you’d need to wait a few hours before getting back on the tour bus—the crew still had things to pack and prep before hitting the road again. You weren’t too thrilled about the downtime, but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

"What did you think, [Name]?"

Three heads turned toward you in perfect synchronization, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They always asked, and you always gave the same answer, that didn’t stop them from cheering every single time. So this time, you decided to switch it up.

"Eh, it was fine."

You waved a dismissive hand, fighting to keep a straight face as the three of them froze in place.

"...Fine. Fine?"

Zeus, the bleached blonde, looked as if you had just personally insulted him and his entire bloodline. His mouth hung open slightly, his brows furrowing before he lurched forward and clamped a hand against your forehead, playfully checking if you had a fever.

"Are you okay?" He demanded, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

You laughed, batting his hand away. "Yes."

"You never say it’s fine. You’re always all like—" Zeus suddenly slung an arm over your shoulders, lifting his hand like a talking puppet, bringing his voice higher in what you assumed was a terrible impression of you. “‘Oh, well, I think it was splendid! Absolutely brilliant! Oh, Poseidon was my favourite part! He was truly divine! Oh please kiss meeee!’”

He brought up his other hand and dropped his voice into a deeper, raspier tone. “‘Of course I will, how could I ever resist you? I’ve been waiting for you to ask me for months because I’m too much of a wimp and can’t do it myself!’”

He then mashed both of his hands together, putting you in some kind of headlock and making obscenely loud kissing noises as if his hands were making out. You paid no attention to the last part—or at least you tried. Still, a slight heat crept up your neck and bloomed across your ears.

Sure, you and Poseidon exchanged flirtatious comments from time to time, but it wasn’t real… was it? At least, not from his side. You, on the other hand, had thought about it a little too much—more than you’d like to admit.

You were certain the impression of his brother was made just to upset and annoy him, that it didn’t hold any truth, just like Zeus had done many times before. You probably shouldn’t overthink it, you told yourself. Which, of course, meant you would.

Maybe he was just messing with you the same way he messed with his brothers. After all, over the past year or so, you'd grown close to them—not just as colleagues, but as friends. Real friends. The kind that could spend hours together on the road without wanting to kill each other (well, most of the time). You had late night conversations about nothing and everything, inside jokes that made no sense to anyone else, and a ridiculous amount of shared memories in different cities across the country. They had become your people. And, judging by the way they always included you in everything, you knew they felt the same.

So yeah, he was probably just messing with you.

“Leave it.” Poseidon’s unmistakable voice broke Zeus from his lewd puppet show. His tone was stern—warning him to piss off. He effortlessly replaced Zeus, shoving the blonde’s arm off your shoulders and draping his own there instead, almost protectively.

Zeus scoffed, rolling his eyes as he gestured toward you and Poseidon, looking to Hades for support. But the eldest merely shrugged.

You stiffened slightly at the unexpected touch, but when Poseidon looked at you, the tension faded. His scent—something faintly salty, like the sea—washed over you, strangely familiar and oddly comforting. It was strange, really. You hadn’t ever seen him anywhere near a large body of water, except for the few times the band stopped in coastal cities for a break. And yet, he always smelled like the ocean.

"Well," Poseidon drawled, giving your shoulder a light squeeze. "I think it’s a good thing. Helps us improve, doesn’t it, sweetheart?"

His gaze lingered just a second too long. Neither of you looked away.

It gave you a chance to look at his eyes—really look at them—deep blue as the depths of the ocean, beautiful but deadly if you stayed in them too long. You could get lost. You could drown. Still, despite the warnings, you always stared and kept staring, analyzing every detail you could. The way they sparkled under the fluorescent lights, the way they seemed to dilate when looking into yours. The way he raised a brow when the silence stretched a beat too long—a mixture of amusement and the tiniest bit of infatuation. The small amount he allowed himself to show, even if it wasn’t fully conscious.

For a second, you wondered if he was analyzing yours too. A small part of you hoped so. A bigger part of you buried that hope deep down, almost embarrassed for even thinking such a silly thing.

For a fleeting moment, as it seemed to become more common since you met him, the rest of the world faded.

Then—

"I heard of this one bar from a friend." Hades interrupted, breaking the spell as he glanced up from his phone. "We could go there while we wait. He said it isn’t usually busy."

Poseidon turned to him, giving his brother a thumbs up. "Sounds good."

Just as you began heading in the direction of the bar, a small group of lingering fans spotted the band and rushed over. Nothing too overwhelming, just three of them that seemed eager to interact with their favourite artists.

After asking for autographs, they requested a few photos. The band agreed without hesitation. You offered to take the pictures, already used to the role—it didn’t bother you. You took pictures for a living.

Poseidon let go of your shoulders. You hadn’t realized he’d kept his arm there the entire time, like it belonged, like it was molded to fit you perfectly. But you did notice when he let go. The warmth and weight you’d grown so familiar with was gone. You shouldn’t have missed it as much as you did.

Still, you smiled and held your hands out for their phones.

As you were snapping the last picture, a girl stepped forward and turned to Poseidon, asking if she could get a photo with just him. He agreed, giving her a charming smile. They posed, his hand settling on her hip as she leaned in a little too close. Not inappropriate, but... familiar. Too familiar. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he said something you didn’t catch—judging by her blush, it wasn’t exactly innocent.

And something inside you shifted. Not anger. No. It was a feeling you’d become too familiar with over the years. The only thing you didn’t understand was why you felt it—at least, you didn’t want to admit it.

You saw no reason to feel so strongly about it. Poseidon had had plenty of interactions like this before. Hell, he probably had deeper, more meaningful—even more sexual—encounters. You were sure of that. Some even happened while you’d known him.

He’d had them before you knew him. He’d had them while you knew him. And he’ll have them after the tour ended and you went back to your boring life.

So why? Why were you jealous?

Maybe it was just the feeling that you wanted to be that girl at that moment. The one who got to press close, laugh too loudly at a joke that wasn’t even funny, feel the weight of his hand resting easy on your hip like it belonged there. Maybe you wanted to lean in and feel him lean back, catch a whispered compliment that was meant for your ears only, something low and teasing and just a little bit dirty that would have you blushing all the way back.

Maybe you just wanted to be the one who made his eyes crinkle at the corners, who made his voice drop that octave lower—smooth, deliberate, like velvet dragging over bare skin. Maybe you wanted to feel the shift in him when the teasing stopped being just for show. Maybe you wanted him to lean in and murmur something you’d replay in your head for days, words you wouldn’t dare repeat out loud.

Maybe you wanted his fingers to tighten just a little around your waist, not enough to draw attention—but enough to feel. Enough to know. Maybe you wanted him to dip his head close to yours, so close his breath hit your neck and made you shiver, pretending it was the breeze. Maybe you wanted to press against him, just barely, and feel his body react, feel the tension settle low in his stomach, feel the way he tried not to show it.

Maybe you wanted to push him just far enough to make him crack, to make him slip up and say something that he couldn’t take back.

Maybe you wanted to see what would happen if there were no fans, no brothers, no distractions—just the two of you, and that look in his eyes. Maybe you wanted to see what his hands would do if he didn’t have to hold back.

Maybe you wanted him to forget about every other person, even just for one night. To turn to you with that easy grin and that fire behind his eyes and say your name like it meant something more than a casual joke.

And god, maybe you wanted to know what it’d feel like to have him back you into a wall in some forgotten corner of the venue, breathless and flushed, his lips hovering just over yours like a promise waiting to be broken. Maybe you wanted to hear him groan your name like it was the only damn word he remembered, feel the heat of his palms under your shirt, his mouth on your neck, on your—

Your “moment” got interrupted by the fan asking for her phone back. You hadn’t realized you’d already taken the photos. You were so used to it, it probably happened on autopilot. Being snapped back to reality made you actually process what you'd been thinking about.

What the hell was wrong with you?! Why were you even thinking that? That was creepy as fuck.

Sure, you worked with him. And yeah, once in a while, you’d flirt, tease each other, let your touches linger just a little too long, get lost in the way his eyes caught the light and— STOP.

That wasn’t the point. The point was: he was a rockstar. He was popular. He was hot. Of course, he got around. You knew that. He knew that. So why the hell were you thinking so much about it?

You needed to drop it. Yeah, drop it. Stuff every last thought into a drawer at the back of your mind, lock it tight, and hurl the key into the ocean, so deep that some clueless fish would mistake it for food, swallow it whole, and let it sink into oblivion. Poof. Gone forever.

You were good now, you told yourself.

You were, in fact, not good.

Poseidon caught your eye as you handed the last phone back, something flickering in his expression. Maybe amusement. Maybe something else.

You watched the group of fans disappear into the night, their excited chatter fading into the hum of the city. Zeus and Hades had gone back to squinting at a map on Hades’ phone, quietly bickering over which turn to take next.

"Jealous?"

His voice was sudden, low, and far too close, making your heart jump just slightly. You raised a brow, trying and failing to give him the impression that you had no idea what he was talking about.

“Your face gives it away. The way your nose scrunches up.” You subconsciously reached a hand to the bridge of your nose.

He let out a breathy laugh. “You don’t have to lie.” His smirk alone should’ve been a dead giveaway. The bastard did it on purpose, just to get a reaction out of you.

It had become your game. One you two had developed over the months of knowing each other: make the other as flustered as possible.

It started as just a couple of jokes, then slowly evolved into what you had now. You got touchier. The flirting started to feel a little too real. Like a desperate call to take the next step—but neither of you would admit it. You both had your reasons. You weren’t sure about his, but you were damn sure about yours, even if you didn’t like thinking about them.

Ever since you met him, you’d felt this pull. Sure, you’d had relationships before. You’d felt attraction before. But this… this was different.

Still, none of that had stopped you from playing the game. Maybe because deep down, you hoped one day it’d be real—that he was drowning in the same feelings and sending out an SOS call like you were.

But that’s what it was: a game. And damn it, you weren’t going to lose.

Before he could get another word in, you moved—grabbed him by the waistband of his pants and gave a firm tug, pulling him closer.

The unexpected action made him stumble slightly. You managed to catch the way his face shifted in surprise, how his ears turned red, the way his chest stopped moving as he held his breath, and how he stiffened, completely taken off guard. It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like that—and most of the time, he wouldn’t have that strong of a reaction—but it felt great every time you managed to get one out of him.

Now you were face to face. You could both feel each other’s breath.

“I know what you’re doing.” Now you were the one smirking, and he was the one frozen in place. And damn, it felt good. “It may have worked this time. But two can play that game.”

Despite himself, Poseidon snapped back into character. “Yeah? What are you gonna do?”

“You’ll see.”

“That’s a big promise coming from you.”

You gave him another tug, pulling him impossibly close, your middles pressed flush, pelvis to pelvis. Every inch of space left vanished, bodies molded together, breath caught somewhere between tension and something heavier.

“Are you two coming or what?” Zeus, already nearly a block away, called back.

Hades, not far behind, gave you an apologetic look.

“We’re going.” You responded for both of you.

You started dragging him by the waistband after them. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t protest. He just smiled and let you. Let you drag him along like he was caught on the metaphorical, almost literal leash you had him on.

──────📸──────

By the time you finally made it to the bar, the four of you had settled into a secluded booth toward the back. It was a snug fit but comfortable, the kind of space that made it easy to sink into conversation without interruption. The atmosphere was calm—almost homely—an intimate contrast to the chaotic, electric energy of the arena.

The warm glow of dim lights reflected off polished wooden surfaces, casting soft shadows across the walls. A low hum of voices drifted around the room, but no one was loud or disruptive—just small groups of friends talking in hushed tones, likely regulars who had carved out this space as their own. The only other sound was the faint murmur of a football game playing on a small TV mounted in one corner, though judging by the lack of interest from anyone in the bar, it was probably a rerun.

You sat with your arms stretched out toward the center of the table, your camera resting in your hands, its screen casting a pale glow on your faces as you scrolled through the night’s captures. The three of them leaned in, watching as you flicked through the images.

Comments were thrown around—some admiring the shots, others laughing at the more unflattering ones. Zeus, of course, was the loudest, making sure to poke fun at Hades’ stone-faced expressions and his own occasionally ridiculous poses. But as the slideshow continued, one comment, in particular, caught you off guard.

“Why are most of these Poseidon?”

Your fingers froze, embarrassed that your unconscious habit came to light for all to hear.

Zeus had a raised brow and an infuriatingly smug smirk, leaning forward with one arm propped on the table, hand supporting his chin. Before you could even process how to respond, his expression flickered—just for a second—as if he had been struck with sudden pain. Someone had clearly kicked him under the table.

You weren’t sure who.

“I just want to know!” Zeus protested, rubbing his leg and throwing an accusing glance around the table.

Your face heated up, mind scrambling for an excuse.

“He’s the main vocalist.” You said matter of factly, shifting in your seat. “If you have a problem, take it up with the people. It’s what they want to see.”

Zeus’ smirk only widened.

“Are you the people?” Before you could formulate a response, another thud sounded beneath the table—this one louder, sharper. Zeus flinched again, hissing in pain as he immediately bent down to rub his leg. “Stop that!”

Your attempts to fight back a grin—and the giggles threatening to bubble out of you—were futile. There was just something about seeing Zeus being put in his place that never got old. Not in a mean way. It was just... satisfying.

Too caught up in his misery, you hadn’t noticed Poseidon’s gaze settling on you. His expression shifted from one of irritation toward his brother to something softer, gentler, the corners of his mouth twitching at the sound of your laugh.

You did, however, catch the subtle look the eldest of the three sent him—a quiet warning. Poseidon rolled his eyes in response, leaned back against the booth seat, and rested his arm casually along the backrest behind you.

That alone made you realize that yeah. You had a pretty good idea who was responsible for those kicks.

Leaving your camera on the center of the table, you leaned back as well, your shoulders brushing lightly against his arm in a silent thank you.

He turned his head to look at you again. His eyes found yours—and this time, he didn’t look away. His smile was faint but real, something warm blooming beneath the cool exterior he usually wore like armor. You returned it, mirroring the expression like it was instinct.

“You too. Stop it.” Hades said to Zeus, his voice sharp and unamused.

“He started it.” Zeus’ defense sounded more like a pouty three year old than a grown man.

“No I didn’t.” You heard the indignation in Poseidon’s voice beside you, quiet but firm.

As the youngest prepared to retort, you downed the last of your drink, seizing the perfect opportunity to excuse yourself to shake off the lingering embarrassment sitting heavy in your chest. It wasn’t anything serious, nothing you couldn’t handle, but still, your skin felt a little too warm, your pulse just a little too quick.

“Gonna go get some more. Anyone want anything?”

A chorus of no’s and I’m fine’s met your ears, so you simply nodded and made your way to the counter.

As you waited to be served, another patron leaned casually against the bar beside you. He looked about your age, dressed in faded jeans and a hoodie, clearly just waiting on his drink too. It wasn’t long before you exchanged a few words, just friendly conversation, nothing out of the ordinary.

Poseidon turned toward his brother, voice lowered to an accusing whisper-yell. “Why did you do that?” His eyes darted toward you, just for a millisecond, checking to see if you were listening before snapping back to Zeus.

“What? I was just curious.”

He scoffed. “Curious? Like you wouldn’t jump at the chance to make someone uncomfortable.”

“I’m doing you a favor! Anyone with eyes could see how smitten you are. And you repay me with pain?”

The comment earned a dry laugh from Poseidon. “I’m not smitten.”

“Please. It’s been going on for months. It’s unbearable. The amount of sexual tension is—”

Poseidon rolled his eyes, tuning him out. He would be lying if he said he’d never noticed how good you looked, or how often his thoughts wandered to you when they shouldn’t. But the more Zeus talked, the more he wanted to scrub the entire idea from his mind.

While Zeus continued rambling on and on about ‘just manning up and doing something already’, Poseidon's eyes wandered—seeking something, anything, more interesting than his brother’s voice. Naturally, they found you.

It was always you.

It took him a second to notice the guy beside you. Another second to see your hand on the man's arm, your body angled slightly toward him. Maybe it was innocent. Maybe not. But the moment your eyes flicked back toward Poseidon, a smug little grin tugging at your lips—he knew. You were doing it on purpose.

Your words from earlier echoed back: two can play the game.

And by the looks of it, you were keeping your word.

He had to respect you for that.

“That smug little…” The words slipped under his breath, unfinished but heavy with meaning.

Still, his jaw clenched. His grip on the backrest tightened. His stare sharpened, locking onto the guy like he could scare him away with a look. It was almost laughable how intense his stare was—if looks could kill, that man would’ve dropped right then and there.

“–it could be resolved with a nice reservation at a hotel and—” Zeus finally noticed his words were falling on deaf ears. “Y’know, you keep glaring like that, and he might actually drop dead.”

Poseidon exhaled through his nose, tearing his gaze away and taking a slow sip of his drink, trying to appear indifferent. It wasn’t working. “I’m not glaring.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Not wanting to endure more of their bickering, Hades stepped in. “They’re into you. They might even love you. Where do you think all your chemistry comes from? They look at you with those eyes, the ones you once had. We’re not blind.”

Poseidon laughed, incredulous. “Love? I think you skipped a few steps. It’s just playful flirting.” Zeus opened his mouth, but Poseidon cut him off. “Don’t act like you don’t do it all the time. I don’t see you claiming you love every person you flirt with.”

“At least I’m not as bad as you.”

“That’s not what the media says.”

Let’s be honest—Poseidon wasn’t much better than Zeus when it came to nightly lovers. But by god, he clung to that small difference of public opinion like a lifeline.

“Since when do I care about what the media says? Don’t bring me into your sad little worry bubble.”

That was the problem. He did care. He hated how much he cared. Sometimes he envied Zeus’ ease, or even Hades’ ability to vanish from public attention. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was a fragile ego he didn’t want to admit he had. Or maybe—just maybe—he cared too much about how people saw him. What they thought of him.

He hated Zeus most days, but he had to admit—sometimes, he was grateful for the way his brother drew the spotlight away from him.

When it came to relationships, however, Poseidon prided himself on not caring. At least, he thought he didn’t. That they were casual, disposable. He could forget names the morning after and never wonder what they were doing now. He told himself it didn’t matter what his one night flings did before or after. Who they talked to. Who they touched.

But you... you might’ve ruined that for him.

In truth, there were very few people who had ever truly broken through the walls he’d built—and fewer still who had stayed long enough to know him. Those connections had always ended in ruins, leaving him even more guarded than before.

He’d always struggled with emotional intimacy. The very thought of someone seeing his deepest flaws and secrets laid bare made his skin crawl. He hated the idea of anyone looking past the persona he had so carefully built over the years. Vulnerability felt like weakness. So he kept people at arm’s length. Maybe that’s why everything always ended the same way: with disappointment, or worse—someone walking away with pieces of him he couldn’t get back.

“And those stupid braids! You let them braid your hair like some kindergartener every night!” Zeus threw his hands in the air, exasperated.

Poseidon instinctively glanced down at the braids you had done for him earlier that night. They weren’t anything elaborate—just a few loose ones scattered through his hair, with two framing his face. You’d woven small trinkets into them, mostly ocean themed charms—tiny seashells, beads shaped like starfish, a silver wave. He had reminded you of his domain, and you had made it very clear in your choices. And he wore them with pride, he wasn’t about to let his brother diminish them like they were something disposable, something without any meaning.

He absentmindedly reached up, running his fingers over one of the charms before looking back at his younger brother, expression almost offended. “They’re not stupid. I like them.”

Zeus snorted. “You look like a hippie.”

Poseidon arched a brow. “Look at yourself in a mirror before you speak.”

Before Zeus could fire back, Hades sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, enough.” He muttered, effectively cutting through their bickering. His gaze shifted to Poseidon. “They won’t be around forever for you to tell them how you feel and you know that.”

Poseidon’s brows furrowed.

How he felt? What did that mean? Well, he knew what Hades meant. He just didn’t like thinking about it.

He knew the burning sensation in his chest every time he looked at you. He’d always brushed it off as attraction—just lust, nothing he hadn’t felt before. But now… the weight of his brother’s words settled in his mind like an anchor.

This wasn’t the first time they’d teased him about it. But this time, it felt more like a wake up call.

He didn’t like that.

“No, no, no, do you know what he needs to do?” Zeus cut in, turning to Poseidon with a glint in his eyes. “Next stop—there’s this place over—hold on, I’ll just send it to you.” He didn’t even finish his sentence before pulling out his phone and typing. “You just gotta get out there, turn on the good ol’ Olympian family charm, tell them you have chemistry and let the setting take care of the rest.”

Poseidon rolled his eyes, but the lightest hint of pink dusted his cheeks. He brought his drink back to his lips.

Zeus, of course, had to make it worse.

“Or, in better words—just fuck already.”

Poseidon nearly choked on his drink.

He coughed, sputtering as he caught his breath. “You’re disgusting.” His voice came out more flustered than threatening, especially with the way he quickly glanced around to see if you had heard. Though... he didn’t exactly hate the idea. Maybe he’d thought about it once. Or twice. Or more. Not that he’d ever admit it—especially not to Zeus.

His blush deepened as Zeus leaned in, brow raised, smug smirk on his lips.

“I’m just saying—” He continued, clearly enjoying this way too much. “You need to quit acting like a prude and do something for your little guy. He’ll thank you.”

The sound that followed was so loud and pained, half the bar turned to stare. Hades had to apologize to the nearest table.

Between the curses Zeus let out and the ones Poseidon hurled back, the youngest still managed to spot the woman who had just walked into the bar.

He stopped mid rant.

Tapping the table once before standing up, he grinned. “Watch and learn, brother. Dear ol’ Zeus will teach you how to prevail. Look closely.”

And just like that, he was gone, striding toward the girl with all the confidence of a man who had never once been rejected, not that it was true.

Poseidon exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, his jaw tense.

Across from him, Hades silently turned the camera toward him, he pushed it toward him slowly, deliberately. His expression remained unreadable—sharp but oddly gentle.

The camera was heavier than it looked. He could almost still feel the residual heat of your hands radiating off of it, despite them no longer being there, like a ghost, an illusion, a trick his mind was playing on him, the strap slightly tangled from how you'd slung it over your shoulder earlier. And when Poseidon finally looked at the display—at the photo you had taken of him at the start of the night—his breath hitched.

You hadn’t posed him. Hadn’t warned him. He had barely realized you were aiming your lens his way—he blamed the stupid lights in his eyes, making him basically blind. He had just been standing there—eyes on you, shoulders relaxed, distracted for just a second, bathed in the glow of the lights pulsing from the stage behind him. Neon spilled over his silhouette, casting his form in a surreal aura, like he wasn’t entirely made of flesh and blood. A halo of color framed his hair, kissed the curve of his jaw, and wrapped around the gleam of his prosthetic.

And somehow, you’d caught it. That fleeting moment—unguarded, unperformed. The smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, subtle enough to miss if you blinked. His eyes, that so often looked like cold steel and stormclouds, looked... still. Gentle. Pleased.

When he saw the photo, it unnerved him—deeply. It stilled something inside him, cracked open the quiet ache he’d long kept buried beneath ego and bravado.

That’s how you saw him? Not the frontman, not the untouchable performer colder than ice itself—but that version? The one he hardly recognized in himself?

And yet... there he was. A moment immortalized. A man seen—not as a myth or a spectacle—but as something real.

“You know he’s right.”

Hades’ voice cut through the stillness. Poseidon looked up, startled by the sudden return to reality.

“He is?” The incredulous bite in Poseidon's tone bordered on defensive.

“You know what I mean.”

Poseidon exhaled again, more ragged this time. He looked away. “No, I don’t. You keep saying ‘feelings,’ ‘feel’—you know I don’t—”

Sensing the edge in his voice, Hades tried to bring him back down. “Tell me how you feel during those moments you have with them.”

That word again. Feel. As if Poseidon could just crack open his chest and read out what was inside.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, shoulders taut. “That again.”

He almost stood up and left, on instinct—fight or flight. But Hades reached out, his hand closing over Poseidon’s. Grounding him. That simple contact was enough to keep him rooted in place.

“Tell me.”

Poseidon didn’t understand why his brother kept pushing. Why he needed him to look at it, name it. Why he had to poke at all the things Poseidon had been doing his best to ignore for months.

But if he really had to think about it—if he really had to say it out loud—he’d start with this:

He loved your smile. Especially when he said something stupid, something that wasn’t even funny, and you still laughed like it meant something.

He loved how he could flirt, test the waters, and you’d play along, giving him just enough to keep him addicted. He loved the way you got flustered when he leaned too close, the way he got flustered when you caught him off guard with a comment or a look that felt far too intimate for the setting.

He loved your eyes—not just their color or shape, but the way they lingered. How they looked at him like you were trying to figure him out. Like you actually wanted to. It scared the shit out of him.

And your lips—god, he’d never admit it, but he’d memorized their shape. The curve when you smiled, the way they twitched when you were holding back a laugh. How sometimes, when you were deep in thought, you’d bite your lower lip and he’d lose every coherent thought.

He loved the way you listened—really listened—when he spoke, even when he was rambling. He loved the warmth in your voice when you greeted him, the quiet way you made space for him without asking questions. He loved how you saw him. Not the god, not the storm, not a performer. Just… him.

He loved—no.

No, he didn’t love.

He didn’t love any of that.

Poseidon didn’t love.

He wasn’t capable of love. He’d never be loved, not really. Yes, he was attracted to you. But love was something else. Something dangerous. Off the table.

Still, there was a part of him—buried deep beneath the bravado, beneath the waves—that wanted to say it. That wanted to hand you all the delicate, breakable pieces of himself and pray you’d be gentle.

But he didn’t. He wouldn’t.

So he didn't say any of it.

“I said it before. It’s just flirting. Pure tension built over months. Nothing more.”

Hades sighed—not disappointed, but with the kind of quiet concern only someone who’s lived through heartbreak can carry. There was a flicker of fear behind his eyes too—that Poseidon’s refusal to name what he felt would end up hurting him more than protecting him.

“Maybe Zeus is right.” Hades said with a pointed look toward their brother, who was now mid routine with the same poor girl as earlier. “Maybe you do need to ‘fuck it out.’ Go ahead. Try it. But when it’s done, and that thing in your chest is still there? You’ll try to bury it. And it’ll come back a thousand times worse. And you’ll feel like shit.”

Poseidon didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to picture what it would mean if his brother was right.

So he didn’t.

He slipped the mask back on with practiced ease. “Talking from experience?”

As if on cue, Hades’ phone buzzed against the wooden table, cutting through the conversation. The screen lit up, and Poseidon caught a glimpse of the contact photo—his sister in law’s familiar face.

Persephone.

It was almost a ritual at this point. Every night after a show, without fail, she called to check in. Maybe to ask how things had gone, maybe just to hear Hades’ voice. Either way, Poseidon had lost count of how many times this exact moment had played out.

Hades barely glanced at the screen before reaching for the phone, a rare, almost imperceptible softness passing over his usually sharp features.

“Think it through.” He murmured before standing up and making his way toward the exit. The door swung shut behind him, the cold night air swallowing his voice as he answered the call.

Poseidon glanced around the nearly empty table, a quiet exhale slipping past his lips. It was as if the universe was mocking him—one by one, everyone had slipped away, leaving him the last one standing. Hades had stepped outside, deep in conversation with Persephone. Zeus had all but disappeared, wrapped up in a flirtatious exchange with the woman who had just walked in. And then there was you.

He recalled the first time you two met—back when you were just the photographer, just another face amidst the crew. He was polite, maybe even a little distant, the way he usually was with new people. Keep it casual, keep it safe. That was the rule. That was the plan. He certainly hadn’t planned to notice you, hadn’t planned to see you. Not like that.

But then you looked at him. Smiled at him. Said his name in that light, curious tone that didn’t sound like you already had him figured out. And something in his chest shifted. It was subtle at first—how he started hovering nearby more than necessary, how he noticed the color of your eyes, how your laughter cut through the noise of the room even when he wasn’t listening for it.

The first few weeks on the road were filled with long days, quiet nights, and the kind of interactions that should’ve stayed professional. But something about you refused to be ordinary. And somewhere between stolen glances and shared jokes, he fell. Hard.

And he wasn’t supposed to fall—not like that. Attraction? Sure. Lust? Of course! But this? This ache in his chest when you weren’t around? This low, burning hum that lived under his skin whenever you were? That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to someone like him.

He kept telling himself it would pass. That it was just infatuation, just tension, just a trick of proximity and convenience. But the longer he knew you, the more the excuses thinned out. You weren’t just a passing interest, weren’t just something pretty to look at during the tour. You were real, and kind, and smart, and stubborn in all the ways that made him want to bite back a grin. You challenged him. Calmed him. Disarmed him without even trying.

And maybe that was what scared him the most.

He thought about what Hades said. About how he felt. About how you might feel. Did your chest tighten the way his did when you saw him flirt with someone else? Did you feel that same magnetic pull every time you were close? Did you want something more?

And what even was more? Was it just lust tangled with infatuation? Or something deeper? Something scarier?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know how to feel.

Zeus had made it sound easy. Months of flirting, looks, touches, that constant electricity. Couldn’t you two just… do something about it? Take the edge off? Release the tension that had been building over months?

Poseidon thought about what that might look like—what it might feel like. The warmth of your skin, the way your breath might hitch, how you’d look when you let go.

He thought about the dreams. The ones he never spoke about. The ones where you reached for him first. Where you said the things he was too proud, too guarded to say himself. Where you wanted him—not just in passing, not just as a game—but really wanted him. All of him.

And god, he liked the idea that you might think of him that way too. Maybe more than he should.

He should probably talk to you about it. Just lay it out, ask what it was. What you wanted. But what if that ruined everything? Would it be better to let things unfold naturally, the way they had been? Quiet, unspoken, simmering just below the surface?

But if nothing had happened yet, after all those months, all those stolen looks, all that heat, then when?

How much longer was he supposed to wait? How many more nights could he take this gnawing thing inside his chest—this ache that wouldn’t leave him alone? He couldn’t take it anymore.

He needed to do something.

Then he saw you. Standing at the bar, laughing with the man from earlier. You leaned in slightly, one hand resting lightly on the counter near his, your smile wide and easy. You touched his arm when you laughed—not inappropriately, but it still made something coil, tight and bitter, in Poseidon's stomach.

Before he could stop himself, his hand reached for your camera. He pulled it closer, like it was second nature to protect something of yours. Then, without a second thought, he stood and walked toward you—no hesitation.

You and the man were mid conversation. He was nice, friendly, maybe even a little charming. He looked surprised when Poseidon arrived, especially when he slid an arm around your waist like he’d done it a hundred times.

“What are you having?” His voice was low, close—closer than you expected.

You jumped a little, startled by the cool pressure of his fingers settling on your hip. It wasn’t just a fleeting touch, either. His thumb moved in slow, absentminded circles over the fabric of your clothes, sending an unexpected shiver up your spine. Your mind short circuited for a moment.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus. “Oh! Don, this is uhh…” You scrambled to remember the young man’s name.

“Noah.” He reminded you with a sheepish smile. He didn’t seem offended by you not remembering, or Poseidon’s interruption—more confused than anything, his gaze flicking between you and the man who had appeared at your side like a shadow. His hand, which had been resting lightly near yours, subtly dropped to his side. He clearly hadn’t expected Poseidon to show up, much less to touch you so casually.

“It’s his birthday. He’s here with his friends.”

Poseidon barely acknowledged him. He spared Noah a glance—one of those indifferent, faintly bored looks. Then, as if remembering basic politeness, he offered a dismissive “Happy birthday”.

Then he turned back to you, eyes expectant, clearly waiting for an answer to the question he’d asked before.

Noah blinked. Coughed lightly into his fist. “Umm, I—I’ll just go. My friends—”

“Oh, yeah, it’s okay!” You offered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt.

“Cool.”

“Have a good night.”

“Uh, thanks.”

You both stood there in the cringeworthy silence that followed, the tail end of the conversation awkward enough to make your skin crawl. The second Noah disappeared into the crowd, you turned to Poseidon, incredulous.

“What was that about?”

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“He was nice! You didn’t have to intimidate him like that.”

“I didn’t do anything.” He said innocently, though his voice held that faint edge—like someone trying very hard to sound disinterested when they absolutely were not.

“You scared him.”

“If he’s scared of me just standing there, he’s pathetic.”

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. “Didn’t take you for the possessive type.”

That caught him off guard. He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You were starting to get a bit toxic there." You teased, stepping just slightly out of reach, letting your smile do most of the work. A part of him almost made him reach back for you, just to feel the heat your body radiated once more.

His expression twisted, half offended, half bewildered. “It wasn’t about him. It’s you.”

He punctuated the statement by gently booping your nose with a finger, smug and accusatory. You immediately caught his hand and pulled it down, still holding it.

“So I did it.” You said, triumphant. “I made you jealous.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t try to pull away.

“No, no, you have to say it. With words.”

He sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, you made me jealous. You can be proud of yourself as much as you want.”

Your heart nearly left orbit, but you somehow managed to regulate your breathing before it gave you away. He admitted it.

Still holding his hand, you guided it back to your hip where it had rested before. A small, slightly anxious part of you braced for him to pull away.

He didn’t.

His fingers stayed where you placed them—warmer now, more certain. As if silently saying, I’m still here.

And yet, even as his hand stayed, Poseidon was somewhere else for a beat. Mentally turning over what had just happened. He had been jealous. And worse, he didn’t even try to deny it. That scared him more than he wanted to admit. So, of course, he changed the subject.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You giggled, the sound light and teasing as you lifted your drink. “Just some water.”

Poseidon raised a brow. “Nothing else?”

“Yeah, not in the mood to let you guys drink me under the table again.” You finally turned to meet his gaze, expression playfully accusing. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“It was one time.”

“It was embarrassing.”

“It was adorable.”

You downed what was left of your drink, not trusting your expression to stay neutral much longer. The cold hit your chest and helped calm the storm just enough. But then you looked back toward the booth—and noticed how empty it looked.

“Where are the rest? Are we leaving?”

Poseidon followed your gaze, then glanced at the clock on the TV screen. “We probably should.” He pulled out his wallet, dropped a few bills on the bar, and nodded to the bartender.

Without needing to say much else, he gently guided you toward the entrance, his hand still steady on your hip.

As you passed Zeus, still deeply engrossed in conversation with the stunning woman from earlier, Poseidon didn’t even slow his pace. Didn’t glance her way. Just dropped a single, casual bomb as you walked by:

“He’s married.”

The woman froze. Her face shifted in slow motion—smile fading, posture going rigid. She stared at Zeus as if he’d grown horns.

Without another word, she stood up and walked away.

Zeus groaned, throwing his hands up like a man betrayed. “Oh, come on!”

Poseidon didn’t even look back. He just smirked.

──────📸──────

The bus was quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine as it rolled down the darkened highway and the faint clicking and tapping of your laptop’s keyboard. The shining lights of the highway infiltrated through the drawn curtains, casting slivers of gold and silver that carved moving shadows across the narrow interior of the bus.

Hades had been the first to fold—calmly checking his phone one last time before slipping into his lower bunk and offering a quick “Good night” like clockwork.

The second was Zeus. He hadn’t done much more than mutter “Night” and disappear into the bunk above Hades’. He was usually the last one to fall asleep, staying up for ages doing god knows what on his phone before finally crashing at some ungodly hour. That night, however, he’d passed out almost instantly—if the deep, rattling snores behind his curtain were anything to go off of.

You had decided to stay up a little longer to transfer the night’s pictures from your camera to your laptop. You couldn't risk losing them—not when they were so important. They were moments frozen in time, bits of chaos and beauty captured forever. Highlights of a night that pulsed with energy, with light, with the electricity of the crowd. Moments one shouldn’t be able to forget.

And then there was Poseidon, the only one in the whole damn bus apparently having a full-blown existential crisis.

He stood motionless in the cramped bathroom, staring into the mirror. His braids had been undone. His expression was unreadable, carved from stillness. He looked down at the loose charms in his hands, fidgeting with them.

He thought about what his brothers had said. Words from earlier refused to leave his head, circling like vultures. “You need to tell them.” “It’ll come back a thousand times worse”. Like it was that easy. He groaned quietly, dragging a hand down his face. He hated to admit it, but he might actually take his brother’s advice—for once, Zeus might’ve been right.

With a deep breath, he finally built up the courage to step back out and maybe, just maybe, face you again. He gave himself one last look in the mirror, fixed his hair half-heartedly, and opened the door.

What he didn’t expect was to find you still awake.

You were sitting cross-legged, laptop propped on your thighs as you worked. Your bunk was the top one—you had fought tooth and nail to get it, determined not to settle for anything less. What you didn’t know was that Poseidon had let you have it, even if he’d never admit it.

He paused, watching you. You were focused, brows furrowed, lip caught between your teeth. The soft blue-white light of your laptop painted your face in quiet hues, and for a moment, he just looked.

“Still awake?”

The sudden voice startled you. You flinched, snapping your head toward him.

He was already dressed for bed—shirtless. You’d always liked his chest tattoos: ocean blue ink forming intricate images that flowed together like currents, puzzle pieces locked into harmony. His pajama pants hung low on his hips in a way that made it impossible not to look, revealing the start of his happy trail. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this, but it was the first time his pants sat that low, inviting your imagination to fill in the rest. And there you were—just sitting there, gawking like a total idiot.

He noticed. Oh, he noticed. He raised a brow, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, then casually walked past you.

You snapped out of it fast. “Y-yeah, just making sure I don’t lose any pictures.”

“It’s been a long day and it’s pretty late.” There was a thread of concern in his voice, so faint you almost missed it. “You should sleep. You can do that tomorrow.”

He crouched beside your bunk, reaching into your backpack like it was second nature. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. He pulled out the small plastic container where you kept all the little charms and trinkets collected during the tour. Quietly, carefully, he dropped the ones in his hand into it—resetting everything for the next time you'd braid his hair. And he’d let you, without question, because whenever your fingers threaded through his hair, it was like every part of him unraveled in the best possible way.

You returned to your work, fingers tapping away. “I could. But it’s already happened one too many times—pictures just... vanish. This piece of junk—” You jabbed a finger at your old camera “—needs some serious repairs.”

“Looks like we’ll need to get you a new one.”

You missed the we. “Yeah, I already started saving up for a new one.”

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t correct you. He just reached out and gently took the camera from your hands, putting it into its case without a word, like it was instinct.

With two strides, he was in front of you again. He rested his hands on your knees, peering at you over the top of your screen.

“Can I look at them one last time?”

You turned to him, surprised by his genuine interest. "Of course."

With effortless strength, Poseidon grabbed the edge of your bunk and hoisted himself up, careful not to bump his head in the cramped space. He had to hunch a little to fit. You adjusted your laptop, angling the screen toward him as he settled beside you, shoulders touching.

You scrolled through a few shots together, laughter slipping between you as you pointed out ridiculous expressions and perfectly timed moments. Then you reached a very specific photo. The one Poseidon had grown familiar with earlier that night. He went quiet the second it appeared. You both did. It wasn’t an awkward silence—it was weighty. Intentional. The kind of silence where words weren’t really needed.

Still, you felt the urge to speak. To fill it. To say something.

“You actually managed to look right at the lens.” You said, half a laugh in your voice. “Which is wild, because with all those lights, I’d imagine it’d be hard to spot it.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at you.

You hesitated, then pushed forward. You had to get it out—what had been haunting the back of your mind all night. “You kept looking at me.”

Poseidon tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking from the screen to you. His thoughts moved a million miles a second—his brother’s warning, the implications, the risk, the truth. And then—

Fuck it.

“It’s hard not to.”

You froze.

He had leaned in to say it—so close, his breath brushed your ear, his voice deep and low. Your entire body tensed at the unexpected sensation. The space between you felt suddenly nonexistent. He was always cool to the touch, like the ocean breeze on a late night, but now—now he was warm. Too warm. His presence was overwhelming in the best way, his body radiating heat like a fire in the dead of winter.

Your fingers stilled over the laptop. The moment stretched. You turned your head, searching his face. His eyes. The small flick of his brow. The rise and fall of his chest. You scanned every inch of him for a clue—for anything—was this just more of the playful flirting he always threw your way?

He waited patiently for your answer, but the way his gaze dipped briefly to your lips... one could tell he didn’t have much patience left in him.

That tiny flicker told you everything.

The air between you thickened, charged. Before your brain could scream at you to stop, you leaned in. Something—maybe gravity, maybe fate—pushed you toward him. His lips met yours—soft, warm, lingering in a way that felt certain. No hesitation. No teasing. Just him. The scent of smoke and sea salt hit you as you inhaled—comforting, familiar.

He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, his hand drifting to the back of your neck, pulling you in like the tide. You melted into him. The only thing that could part you was the desperate need for breath.

And so it did.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, he hovered just inches away, your noses brushing, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin.

You looked into each other’s eyes, admiring one another—neither of you able to break the silence. His breath brushed against your lips, warm and shallow. And his eyes—oh, those eyes—deep, deadly, and yet they filled you with something that felt almost like life. They seemed unreal, like they didn’t belong to a mere man, but a god. At that point, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was one. I mean… have you seen him?

You didn’t know what possessed you to say what you did next. “You know… everyone always sees you as this rough, bad, untouchable persona you put up. And you go along with it. But I think there’s more.”

A small part of Poseidon screamed at him to back away. To go back into the bathroom and lock himself inside until the next stop. That you were poking too close to what he didn’t want anyone to see. Still, he ignored every warning. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how. He just did. “Is there?”

“I know you.”

He let out a short, silent laugh, leaning back slightly at your naiveté. He took the hand he had placed on your neck with him.

Oh, you fucked it up, didn’t you? Why did you say that? Fuck. You were so close, and you just ruined everything with three words.

“Really?”

Even though some part of you knew this was probably a terrible idea, you doubled down. “Really.” If you were going to screw everything up, you might as well go all the way.

He smiled, amused. “We’ve only known each other for a few months.”

“...Still.”

Far too entertained, he leaned back even more—at least as much as the cramped space allowed—and raised a brow. “If you know me…” He paused, just briefly. “You should know what I want right now.”

It felt like some kind of test. Torturous. Awful. If you answered the way he wanted, would he keep holding you? If you got it wrong… would he leave you high and dry?

“What you want…” You echoed under your breath, your gaze faltering for just a second.

In response, he gently grabbed your chin, guiding your eyes back to his. He was closer now. Heat rushed to your face. Your heart beat so fast you were sure he could feel it.

“What do I want?” He whispered, voice dropping an octave. It sounded less like a question, more like a command. “Show me.”

The next kiss was different—hungrier. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moved over yours, stealing every breath you had to offer. His lips were warm, demanding, moving with purpose as if trying to memorize yours. Your laptop became an afterthought as one of his hands found it and closed it carefully. He pulled it off you, delicately lowering it to his bunk below, the act oddly gentle compared to the feverish kiss.

You subconsciously followed his lips with your own, not wanting to miss his touch again. At your eagerness, he chuckled into the kiss, the low rumble vibrating against your lips—

Thud.

He hit the side of his head on the low ceiling ledge, where the curtain rails ran. He muttered a few curses, then finished lowering your laptop, properly this time. He turned to you again just to find you trying to stifle a laugh. When you spotted him looking at you, rubbing the sore spot, you couldn’t suppress it anymore.

"Oh, you’re laughing? This is funny?" Despite the words, there was no real heat to them.

"A little bit." You teased.

Poseidon narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. “I’ll shut you up.”

The third kiss was the best one yet. A perfect mixture of the two that came before. Hungry, but not desperate. Gentle, but not cowardly. His hand cradled the back of your neck, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, grounding you. Your mouths moved together with increasing rhythm, like you were beginning to find the right tempo, the right balance. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and when you granted it, the kiss deepened, turned breathless. It sent sparks across your skin and heat pooling low in your belly.

You finally properly turned your whole body to him. And now, without anything between you two, you were able to pull him closer, grabbed his waist with one hand while the other gripped the fabric of his pants, bunching up right over his thigh. Your bodies pressed together, chest to chest, hips aligned as if molded to fit this way.

He started lowering you back onto the mattress, your bodies a mess of interwoven limbs. He positioned himself over you, one leg between your own, the other to the left side of your body. Arms braced to the sides of your head, holding himself up in a plank position, his weight hovering deliciously close.

As he pulled away from the kiss, he playfully bit your lower lip, not enough to hurt—just to claim. His long dark hair cascaded around you like a curtain, shielding you from the outside world. Some strands were still curled where you had braided them earlier, contrasting the rest of the silky, straight locks. God, how you loved touching it—feeling the cool softness slide through your fingers, silky and weightless, like ink in water. You could lose hours playing with it, and by how relaxed he always got under your touch, you knew he liked it too.

Without thinking, you lifted your left hand to pull one of the strands partially covering his face behind his ear, your thumb brushing his cheek along the way. His skin was warm under your touch, a sharp contrast to the cold edge of the metallic hand that suddenly lifted to meet yours, holding it in place with surprising tenderness.

He turned his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought your hand to his lips. A kiss to your palm. Then your wrist. Then your forearm. Each one slow, deliberate, like a trail of breadcrumbs leading you further into the forest of him. His mouth was soft and reverent, and each touch sent a tremor through you—like you were being worshipped piece by piece.

When he reached your neck, he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough with need. “You drive me crazy.”

His hot breath brushed over your pulse point, and it hit you like a tidal wave—your skin prickled with goosebumps, your lungs forgot how to fill. His mouth settled in the delicate space between your jaw and neck, and when he spoke again, it was like a confession dragged from somewhere deep inside him.

"Every time I see someone else as much as look at you the way I want you to look at me, I can barely breathe."

He kissed higher, angling your head with one hand to gain better access. You let him guide you without resistance, surrendering to his touch, your body pliant under his. Your hand slid down his side, curling around his ribcage, as if anchoring yourself to the moment.

"I’ve been thinking about this exact situation for months." He whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “How I’d hold you. How I’d kiss you. How I’d caress your skin. How you’d have me. How you’d react to all of it.”

Each sentence was punctuated with a kiss: to your chin, the corner of your mouth, the dip beneath your ear. His voice rumbled through your bones, and the heat of his body enveloped you from everywhere at once. He wasn’t just close—he was everywhere. Around you, above you, inside your chest. Breathing you in like he couldn’t get enough.

"I know it’s greedy. I know I shouldn't. I can't help myself." His forehead leaned against yours, voice thick with longing. "Please, lay it all on me—say you’ll be mine."

Your heart felt like it was about to detonate inside your chest. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your fingertips, the very tips of your toes. You had never been more aware of your body—and of his—than in that moment. The truth sat heavy in your chest. No promises of forever. No declarations of love. There was no romance in his words, only raw longing. But still… you’d take what you could and hold it tight. So, if only for a night—if it was temporary, if it was just lust—you’d indulge. You’d be his. If only for a little while.

"I’m yours." You whispered, your lips barely brushing his own.

“Say that for me one more time.” He whispered. “Say you’re mine.”

"I’m only yours."

You rose just enough to meet his lips again, but he pulled away at the last second, just to smirk and mutter: "Needy much?"

Your only answer was to tug on his waistband, bringing his hips down so they met the press of your leg. The friction was electric. His breath hitched, his jaw flexed. He tried to stay composed, tried to swallow the sound clawing its way up his throat, but you still heard it—

A soft, low groan.

He tried to play it off, tried to act like it hadn’t affected him, but the slight flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. The crack in his armor only made you smile.

"You’re the one who pleaded." You said with a smirk.

He let out a breathy chuckle, defeated. "I love it when you do that. But keep it up and see what happens to you."

The warning lit a fire in your stomach. He shifted his weight to the side, leaning into the wall of the bunk for balance. His left hand slid down and gripped your thigh, kneading the muscle, firm and slow. He pulled it up around his waist, drawing you tighter against him. His touch was confident but unhurried, like he was savoring every second of contact.

His fingers traveled upward, brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh. Sparks shot down your spine, your breath caught in your throat. You could feel everything. The tension. The weight. The need pressing hot and thick between you both. He held you like you were something fragile, like if he let go too fast, you'd disappear.

With your hand still at his waistband, you moved it, splaying your fingers against the firm plane of his lower stomach. Your palm met the soft trail of hair that led downward. You hesitated only a moment, then followed it, your fingers slipping beneath the hem of his pants. The air between you shifted—charged, electric. You glanced up at him, silently asking for permission.

He met your gaze. Didn’t speak. Just nodded, slow and deliberate. A silent yes.

At your touch, his body tensed. The fabric of his pants suddenly felt too tight, too restrictive. His breathing stuttered, his jaw clenched. It was like you’d hit a switch—one gentle stroke and his composure was slipping through his fingers like water.

He didn’t want to let the sounds out. Didn’t want you to know just how badly he needed this. So he buried his face in your neck, left open-mouthed kisses that turned into small bites when restraint failed him. Your gasp, soft and surprised, spilled out without permission, and it drove him wild.

The warmth of his mouth, the graze of his teeth, the way his breath fanned across your pulse—it was dizzying. It made your limbs feel like liquid, your thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm. You arched into him before you even realized you were doing it.

He smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. He barely had time to say anything before—

“HEY!”

Zeus' voice shattered the moment. “If you're gonna have sex, do it at the next stop OUTSIDE the bus. I don't wanna hear you two going at it!”

Heat flooded your face. You buried your face in the crook of Poseidon’s neck, laughing softly in embarrassment.

Poseidon groaned. Of course—he had finally calmed his insatiable need for you, and now Zeus was butting in? Telling him to stop? After he had told him to do something about his ‘little guy’? “Shut up, Zeus.”

Zeus snickered. “You’re welcome.” It was revenge for what he had done before.

Poseidon muttered something under his breath, but as you glanced up at him—his face slightly pink, his lips kiss swollen—you just smiled.

You gave him one last chaste kiss on the mouth, slow and lingering, a quiet promise that this wasn’t the end of whatever had just begun. Your fingers brushed over his arm in a gentle pat, grounding both of you back to reality.

"We should go to sleep." You murmured, your voice softer now, reluctant but firm.

His eyes, still hazy with emotion, softened at the sight of you. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something that made your heart clench just a little. But he didn’t argue. He simply exhaled, slow and steady, before finally loosening his hold on you.

His fingers grazed your waist one last time as he pulled away, as if reluctant to break the connection.

"Yeah," He finally said, voice quieter now. "we should."

With one last glance, he eased himself down from your bunk, settling into his own below you. The space between you suddenly felt colder, emptier—but the warmth he left behind lingered on your skin. You couldn’t help the smile that had formed on your face from ear to ear, you had to physically stop yourself from squealing.

And with that, the bus rolled on, carrying you both into the quiet of the night.

. taglist: @hornehlittleweeblet2 @kyeunderyourbed @burnoutpisces @xdolls-crownx @fastleopard1521 @elysian-asphodel @gdfhi @itsjust-gabs7

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