#sailing close to the wind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

delulujuls · 7 months ago

Text

the other one | jacaerys velaryon

hi, here comes the 2.7k of i don't know what, really. its for sure intense, so fasten up your saddle and enjoy the ride. i enjoyed making aegon such a cutiepie in my two last shots, but this man is designed to be a menace to humanity so yeah, i believe im gonna lose it in the next shots. prepare for chaos.

summary: heart want what it wants, and y/n's heart belong to young prince from dragonstone, not to the future cruel king of westeros.

warnings: targaryen brothers being mean to velaryon boys AGAIN, aegon is such a meanie oh god, fighting, arguing, threatening with a sword, last scene is smelling a bit like a rap3, so feel free to skip it. your comfort is the most important

pairing: sister!targaryen reader x jacaerys velaryon (ft. jealous, possesive and dark!aegon targaryen)

Two young princes stood at the gates of the castle, awaiting guests. For several minutes they kept glancing at the sky, looking out for dragons. However, only the sound of wind and waves crashing against the rocks could be heard, with no indication that any winged beasts would soon appear before their eyes.

“Do you think they’ll come at all?” Lucerys asked his older brother, glancing at him. The cold wind chilled him to the bone, and the youngest of the Velaryons longed to return inside and sit by the fireplace.

Jacaerys did not get a chance to answer because shortly after, a muffled roar reached their ears, and something flickered in the low-hanging storm clouds. The heavy sky was pierced by the massive body of Vhagar, who was the first to emerge from the clouds and flew towards the beach. Close behind were Vermithor and Sunfyre, who looked dainty in comparison to those two giant dragons. Aemond, Y/N, and Aegon had arrived at Dragonstone.

Soon after, all four appeared at the castle gates. Helaena was flying with her older sister on Vermithor, choosing not to sail by ship with their mother, father, and grandfather. The youngest of the siblings still couldn't bring herself to travel alone on the back of her Dreamfyre, but felt confident with Y/N, now walking hand-in-hand with her sister towards the castle.

Lucerys took a step back, seeing Aemond and Aegon confidently striding towards them. The youngest Velaryon swallowed hard.

“I hope they don’t sit close to us,” he whispered, prompting his brother to discreetly nudge his arm.

Jacaerys smiled at the sight of the siblings. “Welcome, it’s good to see you here,” he said.

Aemond, leading the way, wore his characteristic grimace, nothing like the smile the young prince offered him. The last thing he felt like doing was feigning politeness. In silence, he merely glanced at them, bypassing them and pushing the heavy gate doors.

“My favorite, strong nephews,” Aegon said sarcastically, with a mocking smile. Passing by, he nudged Lucerys in the shoulder, who was about to turn and say something when his aunt’s voice reached his ears. Y/N smiled joyfully at the sight of Rhaenyra’s sons.

“Luke, Jace,” she extended her arms, hugging them both at once. Hearing the girl's joyful voice, Aegon glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. He thought his sisters were too lenient with those bastards.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” Jacaerys smiled, embracing her and catching the smell of her lavender-scented hair. While he sincerely disliked Aemond and Aegon, he was very fond of their sisters. Helaena was shy and harmless, often speaking little and nodding more. Y/N, on the other hand, often reminded him of his mother, unafraid to speak up or defend her position. She was also wise and very pretty, and he was genuinely pleased to spend a few days in her presence.

“Are you coming, or are we going to freeze out here like a bunch of idiots?” Aegon asked sharply, seeing Y/N hold onto older Velaryon a bit too long. The young princess gave him an amused look, tousled Lucerys’ hair, and linked arms with Helaena. The four of them briskly walked towards the castle.

Rhaenyra was celebrating her thirty-second name day, so the entire family from King’s Landing had come to Dragonstone. Viserys wanted his daughter to celebrate her birthday in the capital, but she wished to spend the day her way. The ailing king, still battling illness, had no intention of arguing with his daughter, lacking the strength and health to do so. Even to the Targaryen seat, he chose to sail by ship rather than ride on the back of one of the dragons. After Balerion’s death, he had given up flying and now didn’t think about it at all.

During the evening feast, the dining hall filled with people. Despite it being Rhaenyra’s day, Viserys sat at the head of the table. To his left was his eldest daughter, beside her Daemon, Joffrey, Lucerys, Jacaerys, Rhaena, and Baela. On the king’s right sat his wife, next to her the Hand of the King, then Aemond, Aegon, Y/N, Helaena, and Rhaenys Targaryen, next to whom, at the other end of the table, sat Corlys Velaryon.

The feast went on in a calm and surprisingly pleasant atmosphere. Previous feasts often ended in arguments before they even really began. The main instigators of all disputes, Aemond and Aegon, sat quietly, not speaking much. Many might have thought someone stuffed hay into the dragons’ bellies to prevent them from breathing fire.

Aegon, however, increasingly clenched his hand around the wine goblet from time to time, hearing Y/N happily talking with Jacaerys across the table. His blood boiled hearing her so delighted with the conversation with him. He felt like slapping that fucking son of a bitch.

Helaena was also having a good time, shedding her shyness piece by piece with each sip of wine. She chatted lively with Rhaena and Baela, who were already slightly tipsy themselves. Rhaenys sent an amused look to her husband, who tightened his grip on the wine jug and pulled it closer. The Sea Snake had to be vigilant to prevent his granddaughters and the young Targaryen from getting too drunk. Helaena, however, had more to celebrate than just her half-sister’s birthday.

Since Viserys and Alicent’s daughters reached reproductive age, the Hand of the King and the Queen Mother began looking for potential suitors for them. While there was no trouble finding suitors for Y/N, who, besides her wealth and possessions, had a strong character and good disposition, finding a husband for Helaena was problematic.

From birth, the princess showed signs of abnormal development. Though she grew as a girl should, her mind seemed not to keep up, still trapping her in a world of childish dreams. Helaena was quiet, read a lot, and spent all her time in the garden, not burdened with unnecessary duties.

The Hand decided that when the time came, that is, when Aegon was to take the throne from the ailing king, he would marry Helaena, and Y/N would marry Forrest Frey. The plans were made at a Small Council meeting, which neither Helaena nor Y/N attended. Probably neither would have known about the plans to marry them off if Y/N hadn’t accidentally overheard their conversation when one of the doors unguarded by sentries was ajar.

“I don’t agree!” she said firmly, pushing the heavy doors and entering.

“Y/N, you can’t be here-,” Alicent stood up, wanting to calm her daughter, but she sharply pointed her finger upwards. “And you can’t do this to Helaena! I don’t agree!”

Aegon, who was one of the people at the table, also didn’t support the Council’s idea. However, he was too drunk to make any objections. Only his sister’s intrusion somewhat sobered him up. If he had to choose, he could marry Y/N since she wanted to fight so hard for Helaena’s better fate. Frankly, he didn’t care either way.

The guards first wanted to remove the young princess, but she began presenting her arguments. The Council didn’t think an eighteen-year-old’s arguments could make any sense, but many underestimated Y/N’s negotiation skills. In the castle, by Aegon’s side, she could be more useful than in the Riverlands beside Forrest Frey.

The Council decided that Helaena would marry Frey when the time came, and Y/N would marry Aegon. The young princess didn’t want Helaena to spend her life in the castle, locked in chambers and bearing children. She wanted her to break free from King’s Landing and experience a life different from the one she had lived so far. Y/N knew that unlike her sister, she could handle an incestuous marriage and an unwanted husband, who Aegon was to become in the future. Helaena might have been driven to suicide.

But for now, these were just tomorrow's problems, or who knows, maybe even further. Helaena, in a sudden burst of joy, stood up and climbed onto a chair, much to Alicent’s horror.

“To my beloved sister Y/N,” she said, swaying. Rhaenys held the chair to prevent her from falling. “And to my sister Rhaenyra, who celebrates her birthday today. I love you!”

Alicent, Otto, Aemond, and Aegon looked at her indulgently, raising their goblets. All the other guests eagerly toasted, applauding the young princess’s words. Rhaenyra stood up from the table and hugged her sister; Y/N also rose to do the same.

“Helaena needs rest,” Alicent whispered, gripping her daughter’s shoulder before she stood up. “Escort her to bed.”

Y/N shook off her hand and got up, embracing her sisters. However, when she felt Helaena’s heavy body in her arms, she held her close around the waist.

As soon as the sisters left the dining hall, Jacaerys, sent by his mother, joined them. Young prince apologized to Y/N and with a single, confident motion, picked up Helaena, who laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek, admitting that she would let such a handsome man whisk her away without hesitation.

Jacaerys only let go of Helaena when he placed her on the bed in her bedroom.

"Will you stay with her until morning?" he asked as Y/N began removing the rings from her sister's fingers.

"Helaena usually sleeps like a mouse under a haystack, but after wine, she sleeps like a rock," Y/N replied, smiling slightly at the sight of her sister's flushed face. "Wait outside, I'll change her for bed and join you."

The young prince nodded obediently and left the chamber. He stood outside the door, straight as a string, feeling like a guard. Shortly after, the princess joined him, quietly closing the door behind her.

"She'll sleep like a baby until morning," she assured, laughing softly.

"It's nice to see her with a smile on her face," Jacerys admitted as they slowly began walking down the corridor. He quietly offered his arm to Y/N, which she gladly accepted.

"I've noticed she smiles much more when she's here. I feel like the capital is suffocating her."

Jacaerys lowered his gaze. He had recently learned about the marriage plans for the young sisters.

"I heard she'll leave King's Landing sooner or later," he said, glancing at her. He didn't know how delicate ground he was entering.

The young princess sighed and nodded. She spent the whole way telling Jacaerys about everything that had happened in the past weeks. In the company of the boy, Y/N didn't feel like his aunt, as their relationship would suggest, but like a friend. After all, they were only a year apart in age. They had always had a good relationship and, unlike her hostile brothers, Y/N really liked Jacaerys. She cherished every opportunity she could spend with him. This was one of those moments.

The pair didn't return to the feast; instead, they went to one of the terraces. They sat on one of the benches, and Y/N involuntarily rested her head on the boy's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist, hugging her close.

"You deserve more, Y/N," he said quietly. "Both you and Helaena deserve more."

"I know I'll manage, I'm strong," she said, watching the remnants of the day dance on the horizon. "But I'm so scared for Helaena. She deserves the whole world, not what's waiting for her in King's Landing."

The young princess wasn't sad; at this moment, she could even say she felt a lightness in her heart. Jacaerys' body warmed her pleasantly, and the cool, salty air chased away the heat caused by the wine from her cheeks.

"You're the bravest dragon I've ever known," he said with a smile, looking at her face. The girl smiled at his words. "I don't know stronger people than Targaryen women."

"Do you really think so?" she asked quietly, looking into his eyes. She didn't know if his cheeks were flushed from the wine or the cold wind. Nevertheless, his dark eyes looked at her so gently that the young princess never wanted to look into any other eyes again.

Jacaerys smiled and nodded. He cautiously lifted his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He touched her cheek and gently stroked it with his thumb.

"I would take better care of you than they would, you know?" he said after a moment, his whisper lost in the whistle of the wind. Y/N heard his words clearly, just as she clearly heard the snort of disdain that came from somewhere to the side.

"I don't know which of you is more pathetic," Aegon said, looking at them with drunken eyes. He could barely stand, but his fists were clenched. Aemond remained silent, standing in the entrance and blocking it with his body. Unlike his brother, he didn't look drunk.

"What is your problem?" Y/N asked angrily, standing up. Unintentionally, she shielded Jacaerys with her body, who also rose from the bench.

"That you act like a complete whore," he spat through his teeth, causing Jacaerys to step around the girl to stand in her defense. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back when Aemond drew a dagger and stepped forward, defending his brother.

"Watch your words," Jacaerys said angrily. He didn't care that he was addressing the future king. In his eyes, Aegon wasn't worth anything, and he certainly didn't deserve to be Y/N's husband.

"Or what, bastard?" Aemond asked calmly, looking at him intently.

"We haven't done anything wrong," the young princess said sharply, though her voice trembled. She knew that her brothers were unlikely to hurt her, but she wasn't capable of protecting Jacaerys from both of them. She had only her hands, feet, and teeth at her disposal. "Get out of the way."

"Oh, really?" Aegon smiled. His drunken eyes were shiny from alcohol and dark-circled, his skin ashen. Even despite the fire of hatred burning in him, he didn't have a bit of a blush on his face. "I see a fucking dog clinging to my future wife."

"You wish she were your wife," Jacaerys said without thinking much about the words that left his mouth. Aegon lunged at him with his fists, to which the young Velaryon responded in kind. Aemond sheathed his dagger and grabbed Jacaerys by the shoulders, holding him and exposing him to Aegon's blows. In the commotion, the young princess managed to draw her brother's dagger and without hesitation, grabbed Aegon by the hair, pulling him back. With tears on her cheeks, she pressed the sword to his neck.

The four of them froze in place.

Aemond still held Jacaerys tightly, blood was trickling from his lip. Aegon's heart was pounding, not from fear but from adrenaline and, at that moment, also from excitement. His sister's small hand was firmly gripping his hair, forcing him to tilt his head back. Blood flowed from his broken nose, running down to his grinning lips.

"She's a dragon, see?" Aegon said, addressing Jacaerys. "You couldn't handle her, fool."

Y/N pushed her brother to the ground, releasing the dagger from her hands as well. She grabbed Jacaerys' hand and pulled him from Aemond's grasp, who would have lied if he said his sister's behavior didn't leave him speechless. In shock, he wasn't even able to oppose her.

"I'm so sorry," she began tearfully, pulling him away as far as possible from that place. "I should have killed them when I had the sword in my hand."

Jacaerys pulled her by the hand, causing her to turn around suddenly and fall into his arms. Without a word, he kissed her, feeling her salty tears mix with the blood from his split lip. Y/N returned the kiss but looked at him in shock. Jacaerys smiled warmly at her.

"Don't apologize to me," he whispered, cupping her cheeks in his hands. "You are a dragon, so be a dragon."

The pair didn't return to the feast. Instead, Y/N went with the young prince to his chambers. Jacaerys initially protested when she said she would help dress his wounds. Eventually, he agreed to her proposal, lying on the bed in just his trousers. The girl carefully cleaned his cuts, placing a cold compress on his abdomen. She sat beside him, looking at him tenderly.

"I'm so sorry, Jace," she whispered, squeezing his hand. The boy, however, seemed to be in a good mood.

"If every fight with them means I get to spend time with you, I'm ready to fight them every day."

The young princess smiled and shook her head at his words. She felt her heart swell when she was with him.

Their eager lips exchanged a few more kisses before Y/N quietly left his chamber, returning to her own. Helaena was still sleeping soundly, snoring softly. She lay on her side on her half of the bed, not even stirring when her sister began preparing for sleep. Dressed in a nightgown, she let her hair down and carefully combed it. She put the brush away and blew out the nearby candles, lying down on the bed.

As soon as she covered herself with the quilt, she felt someone sit on her, pressing her into the mattress, and a cold hand covered her mouth. The girl wanted to scream but felt a blade against her neck. The attacker leaned over her, his hair tickling her face. The young princess smelled alcohol.

"Every time you raise your hand against me," Aegon whispered, tightening his grip on the dagger's hilt, "I'll have one of your fingers cut off, understood?"

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. For the first time in her life, Aegon truly frightened her. She felt her heart leap into her throat.

"And that fucking Velaryon dog," he moved his hand from her mouth to her hair, gripping it tightly. "I never want to see him near you again."

"Aegon-" she whispered with difficulty, clutching his wrist to push him away. She felt herself running out of breath, and the cold blade pressed deeper into her skin.

"Is that clear?" he growled, pressing her harder into the pillows.

"Yes," she said tearfully.

A moment later, she felt her brother's alcohol-tainted lips forcefully and brutally kissing hers. Aegon stood up shortly after and left the sisters' chamber, closing the door behind him. In the darkness, the young princess found her sister's body and hugged her from behind, trying to suppress her tears. She was terrified.

How much she wished she could hide in Jacaerys's arms at that moment.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd season 2 #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader

1K notes · View notes

gogogodzilla · 6 months ago

Note

Helloo, i love how u write and this is my first time requesting so i hope u don't mind.

What abt reader giving harry head after a stressful day at quidditch? I imagine it like he whimpers and sorts.

Thank you!! <33

All to You || Harry Potter

harry james potter x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, facefucking, oral sex, gagging, both harry & reader are of age, slight dirty talk note: thank you for the request anon, and thank you everyone for 2k followers!!!!! <3 ✩ masterlist ✩

The roar of the crowd rivals the crack of thunder and the wind that howls throughout the quidditch stadium. Rain trickles down your forehead and you crane your head to catch a glance of your favorite scarlet uniform flying in slow, calculated circles high above the rest of the players.

Tension crackles through the air as the match progresses, with each team trying desperately to get ahead. The bludgers seemed even more aggressive than usual, which, combined with the pounding rain and lower visibility, leads to some close calls that had your heart skipping a beat.

There’s a shift in the air as Harry goes into a steep dive. The crowd erupts into cheers and gasps, and time seems to slow as he rapidly nears the ground. Milliseconds pass, and he reaches out a hand, ready to close around the golden snitch. You hardly have enough time to utter the first syllables of a warning before a bludger comes sailing through the air and into his side. You can’t tear your gaze away as he spins out of control, struggling to regain his balance.

He reaches the ground hard, and you cringe as he rolls across the pitch. The Slytherin seeker seizes the opportunity and catches the snitch in their grasp. The other side of the stadium is a cacophony of cheers as silver and green banners sail through the air. A wave of dejection rolls across the Gryffindor section, and you sink into your seat.

Slowly, the stadium clears as the Slytherin teams and their supporters celebrate their win. Mud squelches under your boots as you make your way across the pitch. Harry stands slightly away from the rest of his team, his broom clutched tightly in his hand.

You call his name softly as you approach. He doesn’t look up as you take his hand in yours.

“Sorry you had to see that,” he says after a moment.

Your gaze softens as you look at him and lightly squeeze his hand. “Let’s get out of the rain,” you murmur, gently tugging him toward the locker rooms.

As you enter, you wave your wand, drying your clothes as you walk toward his locker. It does little to ease the chill that seeps into your bones, and a shiver runs down your spine. Harry quickly pulls his uniform top over his head and digs around his locker for his clothes. The sight causes a different kind of shiver to course through you.

You lean against the locker beside his, pressing your back against the cool metal. “Are you doing okay? That was some hit you took,” you question as your gaze drags down his abdomen.

He glances in your direction, and a grin spreads across his features as he notices what’s drawn your attention. He raises a brow as your eyes meet his, and you purse your lips.

“Wanna make it feel better?” he teases as he pulls a sweater over his head.

You step forward and wrap your hands around his waist, spinning him to face you. Your hands dip under his sweater and splay across his torso. He tenses under your touch, hissing softly as your fingers graze against his injured side.

You look up at him through your eyelashes, and his breath shudders for a moment before he nods. Slowly, you use one hand to push up his sweater, taking in the blooming bruise against his ribcage.

You sink to your knees and drag your lips across the exposed skin on his stomach. Your free hand wanders across his thigh as you trail kisses down his abdomen. You trace your tongue just above his hips, pressing sloppy kisses against the skin just above his waistband.

You rest your cheek against his hip as your hands wander across the growing tent in his pants. Harry’s breath quickens as you pop the button on his pants and slowly, agonizingly tug his zipper down.

You dip a hand into the waistband of his briefs and release his cock from its confines. You wrap your hand around his cock, giving it a few tentative strokes. You’re practically drooling at the sight, and Harry whimpers as you twist your wrist with each pass over his length.

You look up at him as you bring your lips to his cock, pressing featherlight kisses along his shaft. You take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the leaking head of his cock. Harry bites his lip, stifling a groan as he leans his head back.

He reaches down and gently tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck, guiding you as you begin bobbing your head. You steadily take more and more of him while your hand strokes what you can’t reach with your tongue.

Harry moans and whimpers out honey sweet praises as you have him at your mercy. You rest your palms against the back of his thighs, beckoning him closer. He’s quick to indulge you as he matches the bobs of your head with a quick thrust of his hips. The head of his cock reaches the back of your throat and you gag around him. Harry pulls back just long enough for you to catch your breath before he’s urging his cock down your throat once more.

It brings tears to your eyes, and Harry cups your face, wiping your cheek as he does.

“Doing so good for me, love,” he praises, his voice breathy and strained. “So — fuck, so fucking good.”

With a few quick thrusts of his hips, he’s cumming with a strangled groan. He releases his hold on you as his orgasm washes over him, and you bob your head around him, milking him for every last drop.

Whimpers escape Harry as the feeling of your lips around him becomes too much for him to bear, and he gently tugs you off of him. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear before pulling you up and capturing your lips in a kiss.

You pull away, “Feel better?”

“Much better,” he replies, grinning.

#harry james potter smut #harry potter x you #harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #harry potter #harry potter x reader smut #reader insert #no y/n #zilla answers #hp x reader #hp x you #harry james potter x reader smut

930 notes · View notes

inkinflux · 21 days ago

Text

Raising the Mast

Viktor x f!Reader | 1.1k | 18+ You give Viktor a ride home from an event, knowing from experience that he won't be able to keep his hands off you for long. 🚫 I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING USED TO TRAIN AI 🚫

The carriage back to the Academy was pleasant enough, the cobblestones only causing a minor bump here and there as you traversed through the wealthiest district of Piltover.

“I can’t say I’m familiar with the sensation. The call for adventure,” Councilor Shoola carried your polite conversation. “However my wife is a different story. She goes sailing every weekend. I tried to join her once but got terribly seasick. Never again.”

You gave a soft laugh in response, your posture relaxed and open. The same could not be said for the man sitting next to the Councilor, his body turned to the window, cane cradled between his legs.

“I was lucky to never have gotten seasick during my sailing days. However, I’m not the most graceful sailor. One day when raising the sails a gust of wind caught me off guard and I got knocked overboard by the mast.”

Shoola cackled at that.

Viktor cast a side-glance at you, and you would’ve thought he was judging you if not for the amused smirk he was trying to hide.

“You must meet my wife. Perhaps tea, sometime soon? We’d love to host you.”

You smiled. “That sounds nice.”

The carriage pulled to a stop, and Shoola glanced out the window. The carriage stood outside of a mansion made of luxurious marble pillars framed by golden gates.

“This is me,” she said, standing. “It was lovely catching up with you, (Y/n).” She side-stepped the man beside her as she reached for the door. “Viktor,” she said by way of farewell.

The carriage shook slightly as she stepped out, and the driver closed the door behind her. There was a terse silence until it started rolling again.

Viktor continued watching the streets pass from the window. You slid your foot forward, nudging his.

“Did you have a good night?”

Viktor looked at you with barely concealed fatigue. “Of course not.” Despite his cold response, he lifted his foot, capturing yours underneath. You bit back a smile.

“What, you don’t enjoy hearing rich people talk about their breweries and boats?”

It had been a party celebrating the launch of a new beer brand. Viktor had been Jayce’s plus one, and you were always a permanent fixture on any guest list thanks to your status.

Viktor sat up, emphatically gesturing with his cane. “I would have enjoyed it more if it had ended with the securing of another Hextech investment.”

You leaned forward, “And how would you have swung this one, had you gotten it? ‘Yes, see here, the new HexScythe, made for ploughing the fields at an exceptionally accelerated rate-” You giggled as Viktor reached out, trying to cover your mouth with his hand and cease your accent-heavy impression of him. “-proven to increase wheat yield tenfold for all your beer brewing needs.”

“I do not sound like that,” he muttered.

“You’re right,” you replied breathlessly, seizing his wrist, “I give a much better sales pitch than you.”

Viktor’s eyes darkened with a challenge. He spun his wrist, instead capturing yours, bringing the back of your hand to his lips.

“Perhaps this is true,” he spoke low, placing a gentle kiss, “Or perhaps it is not the words that matter, but the person who speaks them.” Your body gave an involuntary shiver as Viktor looked at you from underneath his eyelashes and turned your hand over. “I’m certain you could have just about anyone eating from the palm of your hand.”

He sunk his teeth into the soft swell of your palm. This dance of modesty became shorter each time.

Viktor flipped his cane, slotting the handle behind your back and tugging you to the edge of your seat, capturing your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. He kissed with a ferocity that hinted he’d been waiting for this all night.

Pushing his knee between your thighs, he moved closer, dropping his cane to place a firm hand behind your neck, urging you towards him with a gentle pull.

You parted for a second to move on top of him, and in the same moment a helpful bump in the road had you landing in his lap, your legs spread atop him.

Viktor wasted no time in chasing your lips again, his mouth hot and just as greedy as his hands.

One of which slid up your back, fingers reaching into your hair before sharply tugging your head back, affording him the perfect expanse of your delicious throat. Viktor bit down on your hammering pulse, like flicking a switch that had your muscles tensing.

His skillful hands played your body like a symphony, directing with rough touches down your waist, thumbs digging into the divots of your hips, encouraging you to move against him.

You obliged, earning a moan stifled against your neck. You ground your hips in a fluid motion, ignoring how his leg brace dug into the back of your thigh.

Viktor ceased his incessant biting to watch you for a moment. You pressed a steadying hand to his chest, feeling the erratic thumping of his heart beneath. His gaze was wicked as he devoured you with his eyes.

It made you shiver.

He grabbed hold of your chin, pulling your face down to his, your noses bumping and laboured breaths mingling.

“Next time, let’s skip the parties, hm?” He suggested before kissing you once more. “It will save us from waiting to reach the part we both enjoy most.”

“And lose the opportunity to flirt with you in front of all my rich peers?” you grinned, eating the sounds your rolling hips elicited. “Are you kidding?”

Viktor huffed a laugh, his eyes unfocused and his cheeks flushed. “That part is pretty satisfying. If only for the soul.”

You nipped at his jaw, nuzzling under his ear. Viktor groaned as the fabric between you grew uncomfortably warm, his short nails digging into your waist, pulling you down against him as he chased more friction.

“You trying to tell me this isn’t good for your soul?” You teased.

Viktor panted, “Quite the contrary. Hmph.” His head fell back, eyes cast down at your exposed thighs as your skirt rode up. He pushed the hem further up, the touch leaving goosebumps on your legs. “I think my mast has pushed you overboard, hm?” he commented, rubbing his thumb along the damp spot between your legs.

You bit your lip as his touch started circling that sweet spot, losing your rhythm as he bent forward, sinking his teeth into your collarbone.

“Please,” you begged, pushing him away from your sufficiently-marked neck, “No nautical-themed innuendos tonight.”

Viktor laughed.

“No promises.”

#viktor #viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane #league of legends #writing #arcane fanfiction

713 notes · View notes

onlyswan · 6 months ago

Text

dreamboat | jjk (1)

summary: aboard the dreamboat, jungkook finds himself drawn to a beautiful stranger who appears to be drowning in melancholy. weeks later, he sees her face on the other side of the aquarium at his apartment building’s lobby. he soon learns that it’s not fate’s grand romantic plans that brought you back to his life. / (alt.) / a shipwreck and a dreamboat form an unusual bond in an aquarium.

non!idoljk x f!reader (jk is a business major who works at the amusement park ; oc works at the call center) / strangers to lovers / fluff, angst, suggestive / chapter wc: 14.9k / total fic wc: 30.8k

warnings/content (for full fic): is it an onlyswan fic if nobody cries? ; smoking ; making out ; mention of nude art ; mention of flashing ; panic attack ; a ghost cameo lol ; s*x scandal ; abuse of authority ; harrassment ; jk throws a punch once ; oc drives a motorbike without a helmet once ; vminjin + yeontan cameos :3 ; tae and jk are the same age tho

-> part two (wc: 15.9k) | spotify playlist (open to song recs <3)

note: my not so little summer project <3 i thought i wouldn’t have the opportunity to dedicate this much time to writing again in the near future so here we are! finishing this story alone felt fulfilling but even more so that i get to share it with you. pls treat it with gentle care 🫂 reblogs and feedback r very much appreciated i love talking to you guys🥺 special thanks to my lovely rio for proofreading and being the sweetest friend :") ilyily

࿐ for those who yearn <3

—

“wait! wait for me! don’t close it yet!”

jungkook’s whole life has led up to this moment.

from running away from his neighbor’s large snobby dogs during childhood— to participating in run for charity marathons mostly, only mostly, to appease his ex-girlfriend by being interested in her interests.

he successfully escaped from his uneventful class today by faking dizziness. half an hour later, he is racing towards one of the few places in this city where he feels something.

his best friend’s face is still blurry given the distance, but jungkook doesn’t need to clearly see taehyung’s face to know that he is looking at him unimpressed.

“why are you here? do you even have a ticket?!” taehyung interrogates him once he reaches the gate.

“do i have a ticket? really?” jungkook smirks, tossing his backpack to the ground.

he crosses over to the other side, and with ease, sneaks his hand in between the bars to push the lock into place.

“what do you think i work here for?”

taehyung sighs and mumbles to himself. “fine, my bad. thought we worked to pay for our bills.”

he picks up the backpack and swings it over his shoulder, heading to the control booth. on the other hand, jungkook climbs on the ship the amusement park owner lovingly named the dreamboat. he places his grip on one of the many vines curiously large butterflies are attached to, fully ignoring the existence of the steps. he hoists himself up onto the wooden floor with ease.

unhappy faces with blank stares.

he smiles at them cheerfully.

“i apologize for the hold-up. i’m your captain!”

“jungkook! sit!”

“wouldn’t he be the captain?” a high school boy at the very front quips, eyes pointing downwards at taehyung.

“eh, more like the wind behind our sails.” he ruffles the boy’s head in passing as he trudges over to his desired seat.

“what?”

his spot, a more suitable better term. the farthest row which most first timers do not dare to sit at; the part of the ship closest to the sky when it swings back and forth, higher and higher, until it feels like he’s going to fall off— but he doesn’t. for short bursts of moments, he’s flying.

the passengers are erupting in ear-splitting screams, curses, and laughter. the wide smile plastered on his face could probably be described as sadistic as he observes their reactions. most would find this ride as a nauseating, life-threatening ordeal and its name ridiculously ironic. however, to jungkook, this is what it means to be alive.

he imagined he would be alone here again today.

but as he is brought higher into the air, he discovers one person strapped to the last row of the other side of the ship.

the earth begins to move in slow motion.

they have their face buried in their palms, body shaking with what he can only guess is intense sobbing.

gone is the smile on his face.

jungkook has witnessed a few criers, sure, but not to this degree. a wave of sadness washes over him. he feels guilty and he doesn’t know why. why the hell would he be? he doesn’t even know who you are.

are you that scared? if you’re scared, why would you volunteer to go here alone? if not, then why is your heart breaking?

for a few seconds, the noises cease and his focus on you becomes amplified.

and why is his breaking too?

your sobs and gasps for air are once more drowned out by the fear and adrenaline of the majority. nevertheless, the ache they caused in his chest stays.

what could it be? the reason you’re crying like this at an amusement park? wouldn’t it be because you got stood up by your date?

lost in thought, he’s been unblinking. the wind blows as the speed of the boat picks up and he groans when dirt gets into his eye. he harshly rubs and rubs and he stops to check if it’s gone… he knows it’s gone because now he can see clearly— one of the most beautiful people he has laid his eyes upon.

the wind blows into your hair and it finally grants him a good view of your face. red, swollen eyes and mascara running. you wipe your tears away, distant eyes falling on your lap, and you take a sharp inhale. you’re a tragedy and so gorgeous still that the aching of his heart doubles due to its intensified pounding.

there’s no way… he debunks his theory. there’s no way a man could ever waste the opportunity of going on a date with you. only a fool.

slow motion comes to a full stop.

shit, shit, shit.

why can’t he look away?

you’ve made eye-contact and you’re not breaking it.

he nervously swallows the lump in his throat.

“huh?”

the ringing of the bell snaps him out of… whatever that experience was. he looks around and it is revealed to him that the ship has returned to its neutral position. passengers are already hopping off, including you.

wait, including you…

when did you get a cap?!

“fuck!” he curses, kicking his feet in annoyance.

he then proceeds to break the promise he swore to himself: never run after a girl again.

“yah, jungkook! where are you going?! you need to clock in!”

taehyung releases yet another sigh as he loses his best friend among the crowd. nearly at the same time, he hears a thud that originates from the control booth. he blankly stares at the backpack that mysteriously fell off the chair.

“does he have snacks in here at least?”

—

blue tube top and black baseball cap worn backwards. blue top and black cap. blue top and black cap. jungkook chants in his head like a maniac as he navigates the grounds, trying his best not to lose sight of your back. sweat has started to form as beads on his forehead. he squeezes one eye shut, wary of the sting, before wiping them away with the back of his hand.

he ran with all his might, but now that you’re almost within reach, he’s suddenly nervous.

“miss- miss! you dropped this!”

you turn around abruptly so his fingers end up only grazing your arm. the first thing he notices is your knitted eyebrows. he doesn’t know whether it mostly indicates annoyance or confusion.

you merely glance at the handkerchief on his open palm. “it’s not mine.”

you walk away from him and you are a magnet he is curiously drawn to.

he stands in front of you, sweaty and stuttering like a student introducing himself to a class for the very first time.

“but are you okay? i-i couldn’t help but to notice that you were cry- uh, uhm… you-you seem to have troubles.”

he clears his throat, turning his cheek for a second as to avoid melting under your intense gaze. he marvels at your beauty but he can’t pull himself together to admire it from a close distance.

“sorry, i don’t mean to pry. i’m just concerned.”

seconds pass and he doesn’t receive any sort of answer. no affirmative nod; not even a roll of the eyes. you stare at his face blankly as your feet become rooted into the ground. strands of your hair dance with gusts of the wind. it could be a haunting sight. your glossy eyes are reminiscent of deep, turbulent waters. there was a twinge of doubt on the accuracy of his words before, however, it now seems to ring true.

could it really be because of a boy?

a bicycle enters his line of vision.

a little too close not to cause an accident.

“move!” he yells out the warning, but he still takes matters into his own hands by pushing you over to the side and using his own body as a shield.

the bicycle speeds past and the rider screams something unintelligible.

jungkook’s nostrils flare. “kid, that’s not allowed in here! where did you come from?!”

the security guard running after the rule-breaker moves past him, but not before hitting his back with the baton.

“jungkook! why didn’t you stop him?!”

“yah! what was that for?!”

he scoffs, glaring towards the direction of the intruder and his co-staff, who has an entirely different job from him. why didn’t he stop him?!

while he was distracted by the commotion, he was also unaware that you managed to swipe the handkerchief loosely hanging from his grip around your arm.

his angry expression softens.

you wipe away your tears that are freely flowing against your will. earlier, you were sobbing. right now, your face is devoid of any expression. he can’t decide which is more heartbreaking.

“are you okay?” he carries on to ask again despite the both of you knowing the answer, but he just doesn’t know what else to do.

“i’m okay,” you say. “thanks for finding my handkerchief… and for saving me from the- the, yeah…”

you’re about to walk out of his life until his mouth blurts out- “wait! take this!”

he wishes the ground would swallow him whole. you blink at the small packet of sour gummies on his open palm and he wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

even he thinks this is ridiculous. he had a handkerchief in the left pocket of his jacket and now it’s yours. he had gummy worms in the right and for some reason he also wants you to have it.

“why?”

he has the same question.

“just because…”

no, that won’t do it.

“maybe it could make you feel better.”

oh my god.

“if you decide to ride the spinning top… it helps when you’re nauseated.”

still with the unreadable expression, you probe no further and accept his edible remedy.

“thank you.” you politely bow before taking your leave.

he doesn’t run after you this time. after all, his pockets are empty.

meeting you— this is probably the first and last time.

he exhales through his mouth. disappointed. he turns around and tries to look for you again.

blue top and black cap…

there you are.

leaving-

wait.

the spark of hope quickly fizzles out. you pull your hand out of your pocket, tossing something into one of the trash bins. he’s too far away to identify the item, but it couldn’t be… right?

he huffs in sheer disbelief.

“huh, she’s pretty and rude.”

—

if he’s being honest, jungkook doesn’t like this job much. graphic design is there, and it’s been a pretty sweet gig especially when he’s desperate for extra cash. anyway, taehyung got this job first, which took away time from their regular hangouts, so he would often visit his best friend during his free periods at the university. long story short, one of the managers scolded them both for playing around throughout taehyung’s shift, and as a punishment, she employed jungkook.

she is the reason why he is spending his sunday morning putting on strangers’ seatbelts and lap bars so they won’t fall off the rollercoaster and die. he was trained to double-check everything, but he is a bit more paranoid about lawsuits than the management, so despite the extra waiting time some passengers aren’t happy about, he makes that triple.

as fast as he can, while maintaining meticulousness, he does his final round of checking. so far, everyone is safely strapped to their seats. until he reaches the last row and finds the only person there with their lap bar unlocked. how did he miss that?

“ma’am, your lap bar isn’t secured. do you mind if i-”

the woman shakes her head without a word. as he gets to work, his eyes can’t help but to stray. most of her face is hidden by a face mask and sunglasses. it’s kind of funny because it’s actually been a gloomy day.

“ah, there you go. safe and sound!”

“thanks,”

he flashes her a bright smile. the last and apparently most important employee rule.

“you’re welcome!”

—

“why aren’t you eating?” taehyung asks with a mouthful of corndog.

jungkook lifts his head up from the table, sends him a glare, then drops it again. he didn’t get much sleep last night studying for their upcoming tests. he’d much rather spend his whole lunch break with his eyes closed. he’d go as far as saying that moving his jaw to chew food sounds like exerting too much energy and he couldn’t be bothered.

“change shifts with me. i fucking hate sundays.”

“depends…” taehyung pretends to be in deep thought. “will you buy me a meal everyday until our shifts rotate again?”

“do you want to die?”

“no, but it looks like you will before me.”

jungkook yawns, sleepy tears flowing down his temple. “you might be right…”

“were you up all night thinking of that girl?”

“huh? no.”

“you’re lying.”

“shut up,” he groans, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position.

so a beautiful stranger has been plaguing his mind. big deal! happens to the best of us.

taehyung cackles at his demise, thoroughly amused. “why? didn’t she throw away your gift?”

“it wasn’t a gift.” he argues. “and i know, she’s exactly my type.”

“bro, you’re fucking hopeless.”

“i know that too,” he calmly replies. “i kind of miss her.”

“at least it’s not your ex anymore, i guess.” taehyung mutters before obnoxiously sipping on his strawberry lemonade. “want to sneak into the security camera room? i’m curious. i want to see her.”

“can’t you just let me sleep?!”

“wow, you’re so grumpy today.”

took him long enough to deduce.

“then should we go after your nap?”

“i need to work!” jungkook snaps. he straightens his back, rubbing his face in frustration. “go- go do whatever you want!”

taehyung’s chewing slows down, appearing almost scared at his best friend’s outburst, but everything is a game with the two of them. “but i don’t know what she looks like.”

jungkook sighs, squeezing his eyes shut.

“okay, fine!”

in a state of exaggerated panic, taehyung gathers his things in one clean sweep, cradling them in his arms.

“i’m leaving!” he dashes out of the break room as if he’s running for his life.

jungkook huffs out a laugh at the comedic scene. as soon as his smile drops, so does his head.

—

it’s past midnight, which means it’s already friday. jungkook has been glued to the computer for the past three hours, working on a brochure he was commissioned to make. this task would go along smoothly if only his client didn’t have such a long list of demands, but alas, he is desperate for a good review after his past client’s four paragraph-long criticism. a boomer’s opinions hardly matter to him, but he knows how a single bad review alone can negatively affect reputation.

one thing’s for sure, everyone’s making it hard for him to fucking quit energy drinks.

he tosses the empty can into the trash bin beside his desk. away with his anti-radiation glasses, too. it lands in an awkward position over his keyboard. he couldn’t care less. everything hurts.

he keeps his eyes closed as he stretches his fingers, neck, and back with strained moans and grunts. the sweet relief causes him to slump lazily on his chair. at that moment, an internal battle starts. should he do the responsible thing and continue working? or should he just say fuck it and go to bed?

“no but seriously! why would she throw them away?!”

completely unrelated.

a thousand miles away from the topic at hand.

“jungkook!” taehyung growls from the bed, furiously pressing at the buttons of the controller. “it’s been two weeks! when are you going to move on?”

jungkook spins the chair to face him with a deadpan expression. the ps5 hogger is too focused on the television screen to even notice.

“you wouldn’t expect it but those aren’t cheap.”

“then maybe you shouldn’t have given it away to a stranger.” taehyung shrugs. “but that’s just me.”

“that was out of my control.” jungkook defends. “you should’ve seen her.”

“well, you wouldn’t let me.” taehyung mumbles, but he obviously wanted him to hear. “no thanks. crying at the amusement park? she’s got to have some real issues.”

“so what? we all got issues.”

“not me,” he sends jungkook a smirk. “if i don’t acknowledge them, they’re not there.”

“and that, my friend…” jungkook has decided to retire from his work area tonight. he pats taehyung’s shoulder as a display of faux sympathy. “is your biggest issue.”

wearing a childish grin, he grabs the other controller from the floor.

“now, shall we rank up?”

—

it’s been a few days since summer vacation started. he normally comes home to busan during the school breaks for a temporary taste of childhood bliss. he spends the entire day watching television, eating home-cooked meals, and not thinking about requirements at all.

too bad his vacation is suspended due to his adult responsibilities.

at least that’s the excuse he used.

his family has been staying with relatives for the past month because their home is currently under renovation. and well, jungkook’s dorm is suffocating enough on his own. staying under one roof with nine other people? hard. pass.

he may or may not be regretting that decision now, however. all of a sudden, coming home from work with a bag full of ramyeon and beer feels too depressing. even more so that he has no one to share them with. all of his friends have gone home. taehyung, too. he found someone who could temporarily fill in his place and did not think twice about leaving jungkook behind. he can’t blame him.

jungkook enters the apartment building. as always, quiet and dim. he gets that the owner is trying to save money, but isn’t it a bit too early to start turning off the lights? he rolls his eyes despite the lack of a witness.

they are very lucky that he has grown somewhat fond of this place.

jungkook allows himself to be roped in by the only source of warm light in the lobby. he finds himself incredibly silly for being entertained by goldfishes swimming around in an aquarium, but after a hectic day, this is where his brain cools down.

“hello everyone,” he coos at them.

do fishes even react to baby talk? he wouldn’t know. the only pet that lasted him years and is still alive is their family dog, gureum.

“how was your day? i hope it was better than mine.”

—

on the other side of the aquarium stands you, watching a boy talk to the fishes while he is blissfully unaware of your presence. an endeared smile graces your face unbeknownst to you.

eventually, there arrives a moment when most of the fishes favor a certain side and they clear out before his eyes.

that is when he finally notices you.

your heart begins to race, but he appears to be more shocked than you are. you stand up straight nearly at the same time.

despite the dark, they’re impossible to miss. his breathtaking eyes— which were filled with pure wonder and adoration only seconds ago— growing in size as soon as they saw yours.

“i know you…”

a bucket of ice cold water is dumped over your head.

“the girl who cried at the dreamboat!”

and while you do not appreciate the rather ungentlemanly pointing of finger, you’re glad to be able to breathe out a sigh of relief.

well, and there’s also the crippling shame.

you didn’t want your first impression on anyone to be the most pitiful version of yourself.

it’s been over a month for fuck’s sake. how does he remember your face so well?

“wow,” he gapes. “you changed your hair.”

you touch your hair, feeling a little conscious.

is that a good thing or a bad thing?

it’s your first time changing your hair color; plus, the last time you had bangs was in middle school. it’s been weeks since you had the big transformation, but you’re not quite sure how you feel about it yet.

“yeah, light pink…”

“it suits you well.”

“thanks,” is all you manage to respond with.

a gust of awkward silence passes by. there’s the instinct to run away— knocking at your brain, pulling at your limbs. but you can’t think of an excuse. your feet won’t move… eventually you stop minding that. the goldfishes are too beautiful to look away from. they work as the perfect distraction from the other soul standing across.

“so, um- i’ve never seen you around here.”

“i moved in today.”

“oh, i see… that makes sense.”

you hum to fill the quietness that follows, thinking of what else you could say, but he beats you to it.

“i live at the 13th floor.“

what did he say? do you live on the same floor? that’s impossible.

“how about you?”

“hm, 10!”

you blurt out the first number that pops into your mind. you quickly pretend like you’re not freaking out inside by shifting the topic.

“do they-” you gesture to the aquarium. “do they have names?”

“names?”

the random question seems to catch him off guard.

“none that i’m aware of.” he shakes his head. “i don’t think so- no.”

“oh…” your shoulders sag in disappointment. “that’s sad.”

but then again, you should’ve lowered your expectations and reminded yourself where you are. they were not bought as pets. they were bought for display.

—

the last time jungkook saw you was over a month ago. maybe your face is a tad different because you’re not crying. the new color of your hair compliments you in a way unlike before’s yet just as beautiful. the bangs make much of the difference too. he doesn’t know how old you are, but you look younger somehow. from his point-of-view, he could say that much has changed. but not the melancholia.

he watches you gaze into the aquarium in fascination; the lights reflect on your eyes as little twinkling stars. you’re not crying, but why can he still feel your sadness?

he once told taehyung that if you meet again, he’d give you hell for throwing his sour gummies away.

funny enough, that plan went out the window the second he laid his eyes on you again.

“do you want to feed them?” he offers.

“i already did.”

“you did?”

“i did,” you look up at him innocently, nodding. “i asked the guard.”

“aish, he didn’t tell me.” he throws his arms up with a groan. “i almost overfed them.”

you perk up with interest. “do you always feed them?”

“when i come home from work.”

“that’s nice…”

the soft smile you give him makes his heart skip a beat, but he doesn’t know it yet.

“sorry, um-” you begin smoothing out your clothes, also tucking your hair behind your ears. “i need to get to work. it was nice meeting you.”

“work?” he exclaims. “at this time?”

“graveyard shift,” you simply answer.

pictures of the dark alleyways immediately flash in his mind.

“but it’s dangerous to be roaming around here at this time.”

his radar doesn’t detect crimes being reported around the neighborhood, but with the majority of the building’s occupants being young adults, the streets are often littered with drunkards who have many things to be angry about.

“oh, i don’t walk. i’ve got a bike.”

he hasn’t known you long, but this is the most enthusiastic he has seen you. your face lit up as soon as you mentioned your mode of transportation.

however, he is a tiny bit confused.

it shows on his face, apparently.

“the motor kind,” you clarify.

“ah, the motor kind-” he claps once as soon as the realization dawns on him. he chuckles to himself. “of course!”

it was important for you to clarify, jungkook concludes from your tone. the fact that you own a bike is sexy, but you look adorable right now and it is so amusing to him.

“anyway, i need to go. it was nice to meet you!”

your heels click against the floor as you head towards the same door he walked in from.

“see you around!” he yells, still wearing a wide grin.

he remains standing there even though you’re already gone from sight.

hit with a useless yet concerning epiphany, he blinks.

“she rides the motorbike wearing heels?”

—

jungkook’s misery has been pushed to the back of his mind, replaced by an overwhelming giddiness that causes him to drop everything on the floor and jump on his bed. he buries his head into the pillow, but it does nothing to erase the happy grin that’s threatening to make his cheeks sore.

what a small world, huh?

what is this if not fate?

he flips over and stares at the ceiling as if it’s the starry night sky.

this might just become the best summer of his life.

—

jungkook comes out fresh from the shower clad only in a pair of black boxer shorts. he hangs the towel he was drying his hair with over his nape, heading to the kitchen to prepare his dinner. he rips the lid of the cup ramyeon halfway, and as he pours hot water into it from the electric kettle, your face appears on his mind again.

wait, there’s something wrong…

he tilts his head to the side, eyebrows knitting together as he tries to figure out what it is he forgot.

“ah, i’m so stupid!”

he totally forgot to ask your name!

“shit!” he shouts in higher volume when he realizes that the water has overflowed and is now dripping to the floor.

he puts the kettle down, taking a few steps back from the mess he made. praise heavens the water wasn’t hot enough for his toes to suffer anything more than a first-degree burn.

he starts to look around for anything he can wipe the floor with, his tongue poking his inner cheek.

“still having a bad day.”

—

but a bad day isn’t enough to break down jungkook’s spirit. he knows there will always come a tomorrow, so he seizes that tomorrow and comes home from work as fast as he can. there’s a big chance that you leave for work around the same time, right?

so he sits down on the sofa facing the aquarium, and he waits.

his head turns to the elevator each time it dings.

he taps his foot on the floor.

he checks tomorrow’s weather forecast on the app. clear skies. no chance of rain. high humidity levels.

he goes through the magazines laid out on the coffee table. he learns five ways to get over heartbreak. according to the quiz, he has a sweet and passionate personality based on the flavor of his lip balm. he thinks it’s pretty accurate. strawberry, he strokes his non-existent beard. could never go wrong with it.

next thing he knows, the clock strikes twelve.

he can no longer control his excessive yawning but his stomach is just screaming for the pack of jjajangmyeon in his cupboard.

he presses the elevator button with a tight-lipped smile. he’s disappointed that he didn’t see you at all today, but he was raised to have a positive outlook in life. you live in the same building. you have to run into each other again one of these days.

—

what does jungkook hate more than normal sundays? sundays when he didn’t get enough sleep.

for some reason, he’s still tragically stuck with working on the worst day of the week despite his repeated objections. the only upside to this particular sunday is that he is assigned to the ferris wheel. in exchange for thrice the amount of his daily wage in discreet tips, what happens in some of those cabins are none of his business.

if he ends up getting reassigned, he would be pretty fucking pissed off.

he’s restless as the elevator descends to the ground floor. he’s munching on a protein bar, jogging in place as to warm up his body for a race to the bus stop.

he can’t be the one manning the bump cars. bump cars are the worst. those kids hit you on purpose, he swears.

the elevator dings and he runs.

until an eye-catching color forces him to pull the brakes. his sneakers squeak against the tiled floor.

your back may be facing him, but he can recognize you from that cotton candy hair even from a mile away. you’re right where he was hoping you’d be last night, conversing with one of the janitors. this really isn’t the best time for your paths to cross again, given the reasons he was just grouching about, but his feet refuse to move.

you go on your tiptoes to sprinkle fish feed into the aquarium. you’re so adorable in your pajamas; you’re almost drowning in the black and white checkered cloth. are those yours in the first place?

“everything you need to know is written here… how much- how often you should feed them depending on the seasons, depending on how big they’ve gotten… jungkook worked really hard in researching. impressive, don’t you think?”

“i see…” he is finally granted his wish to hear your soft voice. “but why don’t they have names?”

the janitor scratches his head at your question. “they look too alike to have names.”

“hello! i heard my name!” jungkook pops in without a warning, causing mister park to flinch and slap a hand over his chest in shock.

“jungkook! i’m 71 years old! you could’ve killed me!”

“oh, that’s right-” he gasps. “grandpa, i’m sorry!”

jungkook attacks him with a bear hug, playfully rocking their bodies back and forth hoping that would calm down his vulnerable heart. for a brief moment, he feels like a child again.

“this is jungkook.”

the introduction was already made for him. that’s one less thing he has to overthink.

“____ here wants to feed the fishes every morning from now on. i told her it’s perfectly alright with me.” the janitor laughs. “with my age, you know how forgetful i’ve become.”

“really?” he breaks away, surprised by what he just learned. “that’s so nice!”

“it’s nothing. i’m happy to do it.” you smile and make eye-contact with him, but you soon break it, opting to glance at the aquarium.

you must like fishes a lot. he only felt bad for them because the janitor on night shift doesn’t give a single fuck about them; that’s why he did all that research hoping it would help with committing to the responsibility, which jungkook ended up shouldering in the end anyway. but you… you’ve been here for what? two? three days?

“tell you what…” he brings out the pen he keeps in the side pocket of his backpack. “this- this is my phone number. if you need anything, or incase you need someone else to feed them, contact me!”

he scribbles down his phone number on the notepad grandpa was showing you before his rude interruption.

“by the way, my unit is 1311. you can also just-” he knocks on the thin air, clicking his tongue to mimic the sound. “knock on my door.”

jungkook’s watch beeps twice everyday, once at 8:50am and then at 11pm sharp. the sun is burning bright and his shift starts at 9am. yes, he is nervous infront of a girl who is drop-dead gorgeous, but he should also be very much nervous about the (unfair) deduction from his measly salary.

“okay, i need to run to work! goodbye!”

—

so, his name is jungkook…

you crane your head to watch him rush out of the building. the uncomfortable sound of his sneakers squeaking against the floor makes you grimace.

the page he wrote his number on is ripped off from the notepad and handed to you.

“he’s a good kid.”

you force yourself to smile, and it slowly fades as you tilt down your chin and stare at the string of numbers in blue ink.

long after the janitor has left to fulfill his long list of tasks, you remain standing by the aquarium.

“you do have someone taking good care of you.” you whisper to the clueless fishes, caressing the glass. a genuine smile appears when two of them swim towards you, beady eyes trying to make sense of the stranger loitering around their homey cage. “you can breathe well and you’re warm in the winter. that’s a relief.”

after feeding them, next on the agenda is to cook your own breakfast. you head for the elevator, tossing the crumpled up paper into the trash bin before pressing the arrow pointing towards north.

—

“hyung…”

“why?”

jungkook sighs. “can you text me?”

“text you what?” seokjin’s forehead creases in confusion.

“anything. i just need to make sure my phone still works.”

thursday has been a slow day at the amusement park despite the school vacation and no one has tried to win a teddy bear since the place opened. seokjin is more than happy to spend his free time playing games on his phone in his own little corner at the amusement park.

well, that was before jungkook got bored at the ping pong toss booth and decided to hang out at the other side of the wall.

he shrugs and texts his younger friend the word ‘anything’ just to get him off his back. he goes back to playing his game, not curious enough to interrogate him with additional questions.

jungkook’s text tone rings at max volume.

“it does work!” he yells in exasperation, flopping down at his seat. “why hasn’t she texted me?”

“you were whining about the same thing the other day.” seokjin muses as his car crosses the finish line. second place. “you fool, just text her first.”

“i don’t have her number.”

“what do you mean you don’t have her number?”

“i gave her mine.” jungkook says quietly. “we live in the same building and i told her to contact me if she needs anything.”

“then i guess it’s safe to say that she doesn’t need anything from you.”

“seriously, why can’t i have friends that are nice to me?!”

seokjin bursts out laughing, definitely not a stranger to jungkook and taehyung’s bickering at the break room.

“you did this one to yourself! jungkook, flirt better!”

“easier said than done,” jungkook pouts.

you make him nervous. his brain goes blank when you’re around. in addition to that, he doesn’t know what you’re going through and he’s scared that you’d end up pushing him away if he oversteps.

“i gave her candy when we first met and she threw them away.”

“oh, that’s right,” seokjin loads a new game, snorting. “taehyung told me about that.”

jungkook’s jaw drops. “is he backstabbing me?”

—

jungkook enters the break room with yet another item from the lost-and-found. it’s been over two weeks since he found this orange beanie on the ground. must’ve fallen from the rollercoaster, that’s his best guess.

since no one has claimed it— “finders keepers,” he grins as he stuffs it into his backpack.

“thief,” seokjin jokingly accuses him from the other side of the table. “that’s how you were raised?”

“says the one who took the sony headphones yesterday.”

“i won it fair and square!”

he’d argue with the older man again, but his phone vibrating has stolen his full attention. he is hit with disappointment at the same moment that he snatches it from the table. it’s his mom, again, asking him when he’s coming home.

“you need to stop doing that. it’s getting sad.”

he sighs, hugging his backpack to hide his pitiful face. “i am sad.”

—

his walks home from the bus stop have always been a period for reflection and pondering. the streets of seoul are scattered with his indecision, worries, and anger. since his mother has been asking him for months, should he just go home and endure their living situation? maybe it’s better to be annoyed with the presence of people instead of being blue with a lack thereof.

so much for being independent. he spent most of high school anticipating the day he gets to move out, now he wants nothing but to go home. he can’t help but to think that life is but a vicious cycle of wanting and losing.

too lost in thought, he fails to realize right away that he has entered his apartment building’s vicinity. it’s the smell of cigarette smoke that brings him back to reality. the alley is dark, but he can make out the silhouette of a figure crouched down on the ground. assuming that it’s one of the guards hiding to smoke, he soundlessly enters the confined space with mischief up his sleeve.

when he gets close enough, the first thing he sees is the tip of the cigarette still burning red as the smoker takes a puff.

a car with blinding headlights zooms past.

it becomes unmistakable then— the identity of the person ten feet away from him.

there’s no one around here with same hair color.

none that he knows of anyway.

he is motionless; clueless as to what he should do. he should probably turn his back and leave. pretend this never happened. he never saw anything.

he can’t even be hung up on the fact that you smoke. if he thinks back on his past experiences with dating, this would’ve been a turn-off, but he loses the ability to care. the smoke in his lungs is negligible when your wounded sobs are breaking his heart. it’s ridiculous that the urge to also cry is spreading fast in his system, but he had a long day and he feels really fucking shitty.

you were going to notice his presence eventually.

he doesn’t know what he was expecting.

you lift your head, and eye-contact is made. none of you chooses to speak a word.

you’re as beautiful as the day he first met you.

you stand on your feet and you step on the cigarette, on the emotional connection he swore you had, crushing it under the weight of your boot.

he blinks away the tears threatening to escape his eyes. he should say something; offer an apology for intruding on a vulnerable moment, but you walk past him before he could form the words, shoulder harshly bumping against him.

could have it been on purpose?

“____!” he says your name for the first time, for what sounds like a plea. he follows you home like a lost puppy. “i’m sorry, i-i wasn’t… i thought you were another person… are you okay?”

“what do you think?” you spit out. the delicate voice he knows isn’t there, gone harsh and hoarse.

“is there anything i can do?”

no response.

he tries again. “anything at all?”

“oh my god, can’t you take a hint? leave me alone!”

your sudden outburst sends him stumbling backwards, the sensation of your hands on his chest still lingering despite the distance that was forcefully created between the two of you.

“i don’t know you! stay away from me!”

your infuriated voice echoes throughout the lobby. he is shocked. dumbfounded. his eyes, out of focus, seek your face, and he finds you heaving with tearful eyes.

he makes an attempt to speak, something to defend himself with, but in the end, he still says, “i’m sorry.”

a woman walks out of the elevator, and you immediately enter without looking back. jungkook remains standing where he is, with strangers’ eyes on him as if he has committed a grave crime.

—

you slam the door shut, hand still covering your mouth shut despite no one being around to hear your cries. you don’t bother turning on the lights. your shoulder bag falls somewhere on the floor and you collapse on the bed, still in your jeans and your heels hanging off your feet.

nothing matters anymore.

you’re suffering the punishment of somebody else’s crime. you’ve been casted out, stripped away of your dreams and your dignity. your life is over and you’ve accepted that, but maybe you haven’t. all is unfair. you’re so fucking angry but you’re too tired to feel it. and you’re alone. so alone. no one is on your side and it’s not fair.

you try to scream out, anything to release your pent-up rage, but it doesn’t happen. apparently, that’s what happens when enough people tell you to bite your tongue raw.

they say we curl up into the fetal position as a natural response to stress and anxiety because it mimics the sense of security we had when we were in our mother’s womb. the way you see it, your body will always be yours and it is the only one that you need.

so you curl up and you put your arms around yourself. you pat your own back until your wrist falls limp from exhaustion, and you keep your eyes closed until you fall into a deep sleep.

you pray to god that you never wake up.

—

you fail to achieve peace even in your dreams. in what is supposedly an imaginary land, you were being chased by faceless agitators with torches and pitchforks. you were crying and screaming, running on bare and bloody feet, tripping on branches and the stones they were throwing.

you open your eyes to darkness.

just as you predicted; nobody listens.

you feel nothing anymore and you hope it stays that way. if you can’t escape it, then perhaps, you can be desensitized to its horrors.

you force yourself to sit up on the bed, spending an unknown length of time staring into the void.

the first coherent thought formed in your head… no, not a thought… a person.

your bare feet brave the cold floor. the switch of the desk lamp is flicked as you sit at your desk. you grab a pen to write something on the free space of your opened journal pages.

under those numbers, you note down the name of the owner in cursive.

—

after the shitshow that transpired earlier, sleep became impossible for jungkook.

he doesn’t quite understand how he feels about you. however, it’s currently clear that there’s a part of him that’s pissed off. you made yourself very clear. he should maintain distance from now on. that’s the sensible, respectable thing to do. at this point, attempts at initiating any form of relationship with you appear to be futile. you’re a stranger to him, as you emphasized. this shouldn’t be as complicated as it is in his head… but fuck, the memories of your tear-stained face is corrupting his ability to rationalize.

it’s 2:33am. he’s been playing the guitar infront of the camera for an hour and a half already. the comment section is flooded by sleep-deprived people like him, sending song requests and questions about his personal life.

yes, he’s about to be in third year college.

no, he doesn’t have a girlfriend.

no, he can’t mention where he lives… but sure, he can sing ‘beautiful’ by crush.

“what do you mean? i just finished playing it ten seconds ago!” he squints as he scrolls through the new wave of comments. “sorry, art commissions are still closed. i’m behind on my workload… no, i’m not sleepy! don’t send me to bed yet… knees by iu? i love that song. should i play that next?”

his phone vibrates with a new text message, nearly causing it to fall from the stack of books he set it up on.

“oh- what was tha- what do i do? wait, everyone. i need to check on something!”

the live is temporarily put on pause.

“who is this?”

his eyebrows knit in confusion when he is greeted by an unregistered phone number.

2:45am

hi, jungkook. this is ____. i wanted to apologize for my behavior at the lobby earlier. i understand you were only concerned. i’m so sorry. i’d love to buy you coffee some time to make it up to you, if that’s ok.

this is real, right? he’s awake. he’s not hallucinating. the text message indicates your name and it says that you’d love to buy him coffee some time.

a gasp leaves his mouth, his hand flying up to seal his lips.

you texted him. you finally texted him.

he was starting to get convinced that you also threw away his number, but you didn’t!

he weakly sets down the phone, brain still processing the message you sent. does this make sense?

“i shouldn’t reply right away… maybe in the morning…” he nods to affirm myself. “that’s right.”

he begins chuckling out of nowhere. soon enough, those chuckles become chortles. he must be going insane. he picks up the phone and reads the message again.

“she sounds pretty even in chat. how is that possible?” he spins on his chair, so carefree. “but honestly, is one coffee enough for what she did?”

he shakes his head with a click his tongue.

“i don’t think so…”

hold on…

it feels like he’s forgetting something…

“ah, the live!” he jumps on his seat in panic.

he swipes out of the text message to go back to the app where he abandoned his thousand viewers.

“sorry, i made money.” he mumbles to himself. “i should end it now.”

—

his mood has done a 180. his routine consists of feeding the fishes dinner, and then himself, but he decided to skip the second part earlier for reasons that he has forgotten by now.

his stomach growls at his selfish decision.

given the time, he considered food delivery, but the fee made him exit the app immediately. he hasn’t gone to the grocery store as of recent either. the fridge has been wasting electricity, but his pride won’t let him turn it off.

how did people live without convenience stores before? that is what jungkook marvels about as he crosses the long hallway to reach the elevator.

a door ahead opens, and he would ignore it if not for one of the two people who comes out from the other side of it.

there is a man in his late 20’s, and then there is… you.

you are the deer and jungkook is the blinding headlights.

—

the coffee you originally offered jungkook has turned into a full meal. when you arrived at the convenience store, he knew what he wanted right away. he grabbed the biggest cup of ramyeon and tteokbokki, an egg, sausage, and cheese. he refused to let you pay for them at first, but there was nothing left to do after you handed the cashier the money.

the action was done out of obligation rather than will, but seeing how much he’s enjoying the food, you’re a little less displeased with the circumstances.

“is that all you’re eating? we can share mine.”

“it’s okay. i’m not that hungry.”

with the money you had left, you were able to afford a roll of gimbap. maybe it’s not enough to make you full, but it’s enough to satiate your hunger. you slowly chew the food in your mouth, an effort to hide your smile as you discretely observe jungkook devour his rabokki.

“the man from earlier, is he your brother?”

your chewing is put on pause. “how did you know?”

“how? it’s easy!”

he cheekily points at his nose using his chopsticks.

“you have the exact same nose.”

“ugh,” you grimace. “i’m tired of hearing that.”

your list of similarities ends there. he’s the golden child and you’re the black sheep. if your parents find out that he comes to visit you and he sends you money, they’d only see you in worse light.

“i know,” jungkook scrunches his nose. “i have an older brother too.”

cute.

“so… why did you lie?”

he’s seriously asking you like this? so casually?

you awkwardly set down your food on the table and you take your time sipping at your coffee to buy yourself some time.

—

“i was embarrassed with what happened before… me crying at the boat and everything…”

you’re having a hard time looking at jungkook in the eye. sensing your discomfort, he wants to punch himself for being so careless with his tone. until moments before, he felt too offended to consider the fact that you never owed him an explanation.

“you don’t have to be. it’s okay.” he reassures you. “we all have bad days.”

it doesn’t work the way that he thought it would. when you start laughing, he is lost.

“did i say something funny?” he chuckles along nervously.

“that quote, ‘it’s just a bad day, not a bad life.’”

“yeah?”

“it’s the opposite for me. it’s not just a bad day; it’s a bad life.”

you speak with such endearing humor and it works like a charm in making the atmosphere lighter. he’d pass it off as a self-deprecating joke, but based on your few yet impactful encounters so far, he doesn’t think you’re stretching the truth far. if he’s being honest, if your first meeting happened differently, he’d assume that you’re living a perfectly comfortable life based on your appearance alone.

“even now, i’m too embarrassed to show my face to you. but we’re neighbors, so i’ll try to get over it.”

“tell you what, let’s start with a clean slate.” he eagerly makes a proposal. “you can erase all the embarrassing memories of you from my brain.”

“h-how do i do that?”

“flick my forehead!”

you blink, eyes darting around as you try to make sense of what he said. “i was expecting some sort of stupid hypnosis.”

“or that,” he switches up, slapping the table as if you just came up with something revolutionary.

why did he say flick his forehead anyway? he knows you gotta have an overwhelming amount of pent-up emotions. you could go deku on him and blow his head off.

“let’s do that!”

“no, i like it.” you almost interrupt him. “i’ll flick your forehead.”

but he did suggest it… and you act so gentle and sophisticated. he doubts that you would make it hurt.

“here i go!”

he gets his bangs out of the way. “okay!”

he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for impact. “please have mercy.”

son of a bitch. that hurt.

“ow!” he rubs the affected area, face twisting in pain. his eyes flicker to you in disbelief. “you didn’t hold back, huh?!”

you smile at him sweetly. “did it work?”

—

“you fed them, right?”

“of course i did. you?”

“yes, this morning.”

“okay, that’s good.”

you and jungkook sit in silence after that, eyes twinkling with wonder as they follow the stunning movements of the goldfishes.

deep inside, he’s feeling restless. you make him nervous, and he’s also nervous about you noticing that he’s nervous. it’s been a tireless cycle.

he sneaks a glance at you.

perhaps he’s overthinking again. it seems like you don’t even care that he’s less than an arm’s length from you.

he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed.

he sighs without a sound, comfortably leaning all of his weight on the couch.

“it’s called the dreamboat.”

“what is?”

the boat you cried in— can’t say that. you might flick his forehead again.

“at the amusement park.”

“oh…”

it falls silent.

jungkook is thankful when you have a follow-up question because he hasn’t thought of a new topic yet.

“i wonder why they called it that.”

“oh, because the owner’s daughter loves boats!” he shares one of the few fun facts he learned over the past year. “that’s why it was designed like it came from a fairy tale too.”

a mirthful smile forms on your face “my guess was too far off.”

“what was it?”

“mhmm,” you hum, folding your arms over your chest. “dreamboat is a word used to describe a handsome man, right?”

jungkook nods his head like he knew that all along. no, he didn’t.

“so i imagined the owner met their handsome partner on a boat- no, or a ship,” the epiphany hits you in the middle of your sentence. “they have to be rich since they built an amusement park.”

a romantic. you imagined a love story based on a word alone. jungkook’s teeth dig into his lower lip as he tries to tame his wide grin.

“that does sound like a good theory.” he casually bends over, resting his elbows over his spread thighs. “i think i like it better than the truth.”

“how did you know that though? the truth?”

he shrugs. “i work there.”

“you work there?” your voice goes up a pitch. “i didn’t know…”

“you? do you study or work?”

“call center,” you answer to get it over with. to his surprise, your body language shifts and you’re now facing him. “what’s it like working there? is it fun?”

apparently, a job at the amusement park is now joining his very short list of your interests: after motorbikes, smoking, and fishes.

“it has good days and bad days…” he trails off. he hasn’t truly given this much thought, so he’s also learning about himself. “but i didn’t expect it to be as fun as it is. sometimes it’s boring, but when it’s fun, it’s really fun.”

you scoot closer. “do you get to ride for free?”

ah, yes, the deciding factor when he was offered the job.

“there’s an employee discount, actually! but i do it for free anyway…” he shyly scratches his head. “don’t tell anyone i said that.”

“i don’t have anyone to tell.”

his heart skips a beat when he hears your laugh genuinely for the first time. quiet and delicate and airy— you grace this blue summer night like a spring breeze that takes away with it everything that burdens your mind and heart.

once again, the aquarium becomes the most interesting collection of atoms in the building. as for him, he is still unable to keep his eyes off you.

“did you have a pet fish growing up? you really like them a lot.”

“no,” you reply. “i didn’t care about them until now.”

“really?” his eyes grow wide. “wow, i seriously thought you were a marine life enthusiast, or something like that.”

you give him a look. “i thought you were a marine life enthusiast.”

“we were both wrong.” he shrugs. “but what made you care about them so much now?”

“i don’t know. i just thought of something when i was looking at them.”

he feels your hesitance to continue. your eyes connect briefly and he communicates that he’s listening with an open mind.

“they’re different from other pets, you know, like cats and dogs. they can’t make a sound when they’re in pain.”

in the dark room, he sees the melancholy seeping from the cracked edges of you. although you act relaxed, your spoken thoughts paint the picture of a person whose sensitivity and sympathy touch upon everything.

“there should at least be somebody who cares enough to check up on them and make sure that they’re alive and well.”

“…and you wanted to be that somebody for them.” he concludes with a hushed voice, more to himself than you.

“but it turns out they have you already.”

“it’s not just me now.”

he mirrors your soft smile. it’s nice to see your frown turned upside down for a change. what was weighing down on him has become lighter, and he hopes it’s the same for you.

“the sun is about to rise.” you announce after a peek at the grandfather clock. “we should go home.”

jungkook isn’t a big fan of comfortable silence, but he can get used to it. he maintains a respectable distance from you in the elevator, engaging himself with the ascending number of floors on the screen. when the door opens, you’re the first to step out and he follows suit.

your destination isn’t far. you pause in front of unit 1303.

“uhm, this is me.”

yup, the same door he saw you come out of.

“i’m not far, just at the end of the hall. 1311, if you ever need anything.”

your eyes trace the direction of where he’s pointing before you nod in understanding. with a hand gripping the door handle, you offer him one final smile.

“goodnight, jungkook.”

—

if others cheese over good morning texts first thing after opening their eyes, then jungkook’s case is one of a kind.

he rolls over to his side, puffy eyes from sleep forming thinner crescent moons as he zooms in on your reflection on the glass.

10:08am

[attached image]

they’re happy and fed :)

10:10am

[attached image]

babies are getting bigger

this is how his mornings have been going for the past two weeks. he wakes up and he checks his phone for fish breakfast updates from you. in return, he sends fish dinner updates to you at night. he was the first one to send you a picture following the night you awkwardly bumped into each other. he didn’t want to wait around anymore.

were his palms sweaty? did he throw his phone on the bed after?

no longer relevant.

he now knows that your favorite color is blue and you have wednesdays and fridays off for the next month. that’s pretty cool.

another thing he’s taken notice of is that you don’t use emojis or emoticons aside from the smiley face.

although, there was once a miracle.

he scrolls up until he reaches your conversation from four days ago.

11:59pm

LOL i’m actually allergic to seafood ㅜㅜ

😭😭😭

“ah, i’m annoyed!” he kicks his feet; half of the blanket falls to the floor. “she’s so cute!”

things are indeed going great, greater than he imagined, but if he has to complain, he wishes he could see you in person more. he’s at work when you’re home and vice versa, so you don’t cross paths despite living on the same apartment floor. that 3am encounter was a rare phenomenon, it turns out. he chanced upon you a few times while running to work and you were feeding the fishes breakfast, but those conversations were barely conversations.

‘i just thought of something when i was looking at them… they can’t make a sound when they’re in pain.’

he hasn’t stopped thinking about that.

—

“when are you asking her out on a date?”

taehyung is on a mission to tease him for life even from daegu. he’s only thankful that his best friend isn’t video calling him from the toilet again because he’s currently having his lunch.

“i don’t know.” he grouches. “it doesn’t feel like the right time. i don’t want to scare her off.”

“when’s that ‘right time’?”

“i’ll figure it out…” he sighs, setting down the half-eaten sandwich on the table. “how do i say it…? i feel like- hm, she’s no- she’s not in the best emotional state right now.”

“so you admit it,” taehyung raises an eyebrow, smirking. “she has issues.”

that didn’t sit right with jungkook at all. he feels obligated to defend your honor.

“hey, stop being rude. you haven’t even met her yet.”

“come on, bro! i’m only looking out for you.”

the atmosphere shifts into a more serious tone.

“i don’t want you to get hurt trying to fix another person again. it was hard to watch.”

he moved on and learned his lesson— he wants to spit out as a rebuttal, but his best friend gave him much to think about. would it make sense to say that he’s moved on but he hasn’t healed?

“i know,” is what he ends up saying absentmindedly, distracted by thoughts that he isn’t keen on sharing.

and as if he’s been slapped back into reality, he fixes his posture and picks up his sandwich. “so, what’s up? have you even slept yet?”

“no,” taehyung responds nonchalantly. between the two of them, he absolutely has the more fucked up sleeping schedule. “i’ve been awake since 12am.”

“didn’t you say you’d spend the entire vacation sleeping?”

“this vacation was a trap.”

the camera darts to the abandoned mop on the floor.

“my mom makes me do all the chores everyday. this is worse than my actual job!”

a devilish grin is drawn on jungkook’s face. ah, the grass is always greener on the other side.

—

“mondays stay to be a pain in the ass.”

does it look like he’s exhausted and dirty from chasing around children all day? jungkook is stressed as he checks himself out on his front camera. he’s walking home from the bus stop after clocking out of work.

the street is mostly quiet, until a roaring engine approaches and he cringes at the raucous sound assaulting his eardrums. he’s already at the sidewalk for his safety and in accordance with the law, but he feels compelled to stay further back and wait for the vehicle to pass by.

seconds later, a black harley races past.

jungkook is dumbfounded as he tries to piece the puzzle together.

the lights are bright, and your pink hair blowing with the wind is even brighter.

“w-was that…?”

—

he was going to bring it up over text last night, but he decided to reserve it for physical conversation because he wants to see your face light up again.

you’re so fucking cool.

he’s both amazed and envious.

also, he’s pretty damn sure that you’re rich. he doesn’t understand why you’re living in this place and enduring the graveyard shift at the call center.

a foolish smile is permanently plastered on his face as he sketches a commissioned digital portrait. he really should focus, or else he might end up drawing you instead of his client.

he spins on his chair, pushing the wheels towards the bed, where he comfortably extends his feet over. almost missed it. the power has been out for an hour and he doesn’t expect it to come back until dawn. he was pissed about this being a normal occurrence during the first year of his stay here, but he’s gotten quite used to it. invested in a powerbank that almost looks like it can charge a car’s battery and he’s all set.

the aggressive pounding at the door drowns out the pop ballad he’s listening to.

“what? who could it be at this hour?”

he pauses the song, turning up the brightness of his ipad to use it as a makeshift flashlight.

the last person he expected to appear at his door says the last thing he expected them to say.

“jungkook, i think there’s a ghost in my apartment.”

—

jungkook sets down a hot cup of tea infront of you. in his mind, he thanks himself for keeping everything his mom sends him, even the things he do not like.

“thanks,” you mumble, picking it up by the handle.

he patiently sits on the other side of the table for two, giving you the time to calm yourself down from the horror that you witnessed. he has his emergency light propped up on the kitchen counter. he was saving it for when he finds himself in a grave situation, like a total blackout or an apocalypse. he didn’t imagine he’d end up using it for an unusual night like this.

“are you feeling better?” he asks worriedly.

you nod. “yeah, i just don’t want to be alone right now.”

“i’m here. you can stay until whenever you want.”

“thank you.”

you sigh with your eyes closed. you look like life has been drained out of you.

“i’m really scared, jungkook.”

“are you sure about what you saw? i mean, it’s dark. your mind could’ve been playing tricks on you.”

“i saw him. i really him saw him!” you frantically defend yourself. “i was washing my hands then i turned around and i saw him, sitting at the edge of my bed! he looked at me!”

his heart drops to his stomach when your chin begins to wobble and he sees your eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“and his skin was burnt off, jungkook.” you enunciate the words to emphasize the severity of what you experienced. “it’s so horrifying, i had to run.”

“hey hey hey- it’s okay. i believe you.” he squeezes your cold, trembling hands. “you’re safe now. it’s only us here. no spirits- i promise.”

he’s losing his mind a little bit. he’s holding the hands of the girl he likes and her pinky is wrapped around his. you’ve been putting him through a rollercoaster that, for once, he is terrified of. he wants to bask in this moment… but the specific detail you revealed is bothering him.

“and you said… he was burnt?”

“yeah, why?”

he presses his lips in a thin line, shaking his head. “no, it’s nothing.”

“there’s something.” you stop crying. “i see it on your face.”

“i swear, it's nothing!”

“you’re lying!” you accuse him. “what is it?”

“forget it, ____.”

“jungkook,” you say his name sternly. “tell me.”

shit, he’s done for. you can’t do this to him when he’s trying to protect you.

he swallows nervously. “but i don’t want to scare you.”

“i saw a ghost. what else can scare me?”

“the truth is…” he pauses, still weighed down by hesitance. but he realizes he has reached the point of no return. also, you’re squeezing his hands a little too tight. “this building had to be restored. it burned down a decade ago. people suspect there was foul play, but the firemen said it was faulty wiring.”

he’s the one telling the story, but he also feels chills run down his spine.

“oh… so you’re saying…”

“i… believe so?” he winces with a mix of guilt and fear. “but it’s the first time i’m hearing of a ghost story here. i haven’t had any encounter either.”

“i need to move.” you declare, not an ounce of humor in your voice.

“don’t!” he protests.

perhaps a little too passionately. could he be any more obvious?

“what do you mean? you need to leave too!”

“i can’t,” he fakes a pained expression. “who’s going to take care of the fishes?”

that works like a charm.

you untangle your hands and lean against the chair, transforming into a pensive state.

if he wasn’t going to convince you to stay, the fishes would.

“fuck,” you curse in a low whisper, sipping on your tea.

—

“i’m not the spoiled brat you think i am.” you frown, dangling your feet from the bed. “i sleep on the floor too.”

“i’d be rude if i let you do that.” jungkook insists as he fluffs his pillow. “i’m comfortable right here. i’m used to it.”

he was relieved that you weren’t stubborn enough to go back to your place and force yourself to sleep there. after seeing how terrified you were, it would’ve been impossible for him to close his eyes and shut down his brain from worrying. he hasn’t seen a ghost, but they have to be real. he likes to believe that we do not cease to exist and we have some place to go when we die. however, that does co-exist with being alarmed by a ghost of a burnt body sitting on your bed. he isn’t going to let you go back in there tonight. no way.

“you should get some rest. just tell me if you need anything, okay?”

“thank you, jungkook.”

“it’s no problem!”

his name sounds so sweet when it comes from your lips. he can’t help but to feel giddy every time he hears it.

you lie down on the bed, facing the portable fan strategically set up on jungkook’s gaming chair. on the other hand, the emergency light is at the nightstand, acting as a night lamp.

he checks the time on his ipad: 1:48am. his battery percentage: 55%. he’s not yet sleepy, so he decides to continue working until he gets the low battery warning for 20%.

sitting down without back support becomes too uncomfortable after a while, especially when drawing. he doesn’t realize it when he changes positions, too focused on drawing the intricate floral patterns on the client’s blouse.

“is that your girlfriend?”

jungkook turns his head towards the voice and your face is only inches away from his. the word stops for a moment.

“is she okay with me sleeping here?”

he scoots a little further away to grant his racing heart some mercy. “u-uhmm, no.”

“no…?” you repeat slowly, sounding concerned.

“no, as in she’s not my girlfriend!” he further elaborates in distress. “i don’t have a girlfriend.”

“okay, cool. you scared me.” you huff out a chuckle. “i don’t like being the girl who causes problems.”

“no, you’re safe.” he manages to also laugh. “no one’s coming to pull your hair.”

“then who is she?” you point at the screen with your pouted lips, particularly the reference photo that’s been burnt to his memory.

“a client. people pay me to draw them.”

“oh, so she’s one of your french girls?” you crack a humorous remark.

the reference catches him off guard, even though he should’ve totally seen it coming.

he squints. “mhmmm, i guess? kind of like that… except they’re not, you know, naked.”

“i see,” you hum in interest. “you don’t like doing nude drawings?”

“honestly? i don’t know. i’ve never done it before.”

“no one’s asked you?”

he shakes his head. “no one,”

“would you do mine if i ask you to?”

he secretly pinches his thigh to prove that he’s not dreaming.

what the fuck?

did he hear you right?

it sounded like such a genuine and casual question in the name of art, but the worst thing he could do while his crush is sleeping over is to imagine her naked. he feels the warmth spread across his cheeks, possibly reaching his ears.

“hey, breathe!” you giggle with a push of his shoulder. “you don’t have to answer that. sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

“sorry, i was just surprised.”

he forces himself to laugh and act like the question isn’t putting him through a crisis in so many levels.

“i’ll let you finish your work.” you smile at him, pulling up the blanket.

please do and stop shaking up my heart.

“goodnight.”

“goodnight, ____.”

—

jungkook is still flustered by the conversation. since you opened up the topic, he did give it some serious thought. he thinks he wouldn’t mind if someone asked him to do it. he makes all of his negotiations and transactions online so everyone so far have been a stranger. as for the people he personally know, unless it’s his significant other, wouldn’t it be awkward?

anyway, the chances of it happening are low. stressing over it is pointless.

he needs to finish this commission and move on to the next, or else he’d be encumbered by the pile of deadlines. he’s making the most out of this vacation so he can save more money and work won’t have to interfere so often with his studies.

sometimes he doesn’t understand why he works so hard either. his family isn’t struggling financially. in fact, he’s studying to take over their businesses. his parents have been nothing but kind and supportive, but he is never compelled to ask them for money. he feels this strong and all-consuming need to prove himself as capable and independent. nothing compares to the gratification of buying his wants and needs with the money he sacrificed his blood, sweat, and tears for. he can’t stop himself.

“i can’t sleep…” a quiet murmur reaches his ears. “may i watch you draw?”

oh, he thought you’ve fallen asleep twenty minutes ago.

“of course,”

he is more than happy to move closer to give you a good view of his progress.

if there’s one thing he isn’t ashamed to boast about— it’s this.

it’s silent except for your breathing and the taps of his pen on the screen. he’s a tad self-conscious with the presence of engrossed eyes, but he would describe the atmosphere as peaceful.

“you’re such a great artist.” you whisper in awe.

jungkook can’t recall the last time he felt this simple yet profound type of joy.

—

true to your words, you did move as morning came.

jungkook wakes up to an empty bed and a commotion outside.

“____?”

he knocks on the bathroom door, not expecting it to swing open from the action. he takes his chances and peeks inside with another call of your name, but you’re still nowhere to be seen.

did you really leave without saying goodbye?

he sighs in disappointment. he was planning on buying you breakfast, too. he knew it. he should’ve made the invitation last night.

a series of loud thumps prompts him to scratch his head in irritation. he’s tired and sleep-deprived and he didn’t see his crush’s face first thing in the morning. the day has barely started and it’s already a bad one.

he opens the door with a considerable force, mouth running before his eyes could perceive his surroundings.

“could you guys turn it down? people are still slee-”

“jungkook! you’re awake.”

you jog over to him with a more cheery expression than last night’s. there’s no windows but the sun is shining over his face.

“sorry about the noise. i’m moving to a new unit.”

he can see that, but his brain remains in a muddled state. how did you make the arrangements overnight? he gapes at the men hauling your things to your new apartment.

“1309?” he exclaims.

“yeah,” you shyly reply. “it’s the only vacant one left.”

almost but not quite. does he have the right to complain? you’d be one door away.

he’s fucking ecstatic.

if he just sets aside the fact that it took a ghastly ghost encounter for the stars to align.

the wrinkles on his forehead disappear and become crinkles by his eyes, accompanied by an excited beam.

“should we feed them together then grab breakfast after?”

—

time passes by too fast for jungkook’s liking. summer vacation ended a month ago and he’s back to busting his ass off at the university. he misses the days and nights when the only thing he was going insane about is you.

what’s taking you so long to reply? did he say something stupid? does he look nice? smell nice? are you crying again? that ghost isn’t bothering you again, is he?

now that he needs to focus on something less interesting, say studying taxation and business law for subsequent long quizzes tomorrow, he’s back to crushing cans of energy drinks.

fuck, he misses you.

your purple hair tie is still wrapped around the knob of his bathroom sink faucet and he keeps forgetting to give it back to you. you make him nervous but he forgets he ever felt that way after five minutes with you. he craves to be connected with you on a more intimate level. he wants to be more than just a neighbor you make small talk with, over text. he wants to be more than a friend you sometimes eat with, on your days off. but he likes you so much that he can be content with the way things are, so long as it means you won’t go further away.

he’s absolutely pumped to hear his friends berate him for being stupid enough to enjoy the bare minimum from a woman.

an email notification interrupts his intense cramming session with his ipad and his illegally downloaded ebooks.

No Name

Subject: IMPORTANT! READ ME!

snack break at the aquarium?

he already has a strong inkling on who the sender could be; he clicks the email address and unsurprisingly, it says that it’s you.

did you seriously go out of your way to email him because he told you that he was going to keep his phone turned off while studying?

ridiculous.

so cute and ridiculous.

—

“i brought your favorite.” you meekly present your gift to jungkook. “uh, actually i’m not sure if it’s your favorite. but it’s become mine since you gave it to me.”

jungkook gapes at the bag of his favorite gummies sitting on his lap. just for comparison, the packet he gave you that day you first met came from his pocket. this one is almost as wide as his thighs slightly spread apart.

but most importantly, what did you just say?

“y-you didn’t throw it away?”

“what are you saying?” you pout, a little hurt by the question. “why would i throw it away?”

“you should’ve. you can’t just accept food from strangers!”

he was being pretty before. he humbly admits that. he just wanted an excuse to bring you up so he whined about it for weeks, but he was never genuinely upset. not specifically about that, anyway.

“why are you so upset?” you match the rise of his voice. “i’m fine and we ended up being friends. now say ‘thank you’ and open it!”

“ah, sure-” he panics, fumbling with the zigzag edges of the packaging. you were kind of hot for that. “thank you! this was seriously so thoughtful of you.”

you nod in satisfaction, stealing a gummy worm the second that the plastic is torn open. “you’re welcome!”

—

“i should stop eating.” jungkook mumbles to himself, chewing the other half of his nth gummy worm of the night.

“yeah,” you agree, pulling your hand away from the bag with an impressive show of restraint. “we should.”

the two of you probably look bizarre in the eyes of strangers, particularly those who have seen you one too many nights admire the golden creatures like you’re being hypnotized and nothing else in the world matters. jungkook never knows what’s running in your head, but to him, these moments are all about being beside you. the loud beating of his heart could be attributed to the caffeine, or the bare skin of your knees touching and no one daring to move.

“the tank feels…” there is a delay as you search for the appropriate word. “dull. can’t there be more variety of plants?”

“i tried,” he laughs at the funny memory you evoked. “when i came back the next day, two of them already ate everything.”

you gasp. “everything? is that normal?”

he opens his mouth to speak, but you unknowingly interrupt him with a raise of your hand.

“okay, i’m searching on naver.”

jungkook behaves for the fifteen minutes that follow, sneaking a peek at your phone screen every now and then with squinted eyes. you read fast, and your knees shake when you have to think hard. they’re small things. they don’t matter that much. but they’re still parts of your entirety which he is to be well-aquainted with.

“according to this person, we can try giving them marimo moss balls to play with… and hmmm-” you hum, lips puckering into a pout. “then for plants, anubias and java ferns?”

“i still know the address of the place i bought the plants from before. we can go when you’re free.” he offers, jumping on the opportunity to spend time with you outside of this building.

“you free sunday?”

“is the afternoon alright? i have to go to uni in the morning.”

please say yes.

“sure, that works.”

he breaks into a triumphant smile.

yes!

—

jungkook has been looking forward to this day all week. he breezed through work and college, motivated to finish all his tasks so he could enjoy his time with you without any worries. he knows it’s not a date, but anyone can be excited to meet up with a friend.

“you look pretty.” he smiles, breaking the silence in the elevator.

“you can barely see my face.”

“i see it!”

your nonchalance slowly fades, seemingly replaced by unease, which confuses jungkook. you put on a white face mask from the pocket of your hoodie before facing him.

“now you don’t!” you banter with him playfully.

“too late,” he sticks his tongue out. “i can draw it from memory.”

this is your usual day outfit, a basic classic. a hoodie paired with shorts and sneakers. the face mask is part of it too. in a crowd, you could be anyone, even him, if only your hair doesn’t stand out among the neutrals. he likes it. he likes how you match outfits without trying to. you get more dressed up at night, which makes sense since you go to work.

“so you can draw me even if i flash you just once?”

scandalized, he almost chokes on his own spit. “____!”

“i’m joking!” you giggle.

“no, please do it.” he encourages you in jest.

that earns him a slap on the face. he touches the affected area. it didn’t hurt at all, you did it with a light hand, but he gapes at you dumbstruck.

“you can joke about it but i can’t?!”

you only laugh at his reaction. he also imagines that he looks funny. not long after, the elevator opens and you drag him out by his hand.

—

the cashier pushes back your extended hand. “sorry, we don’t accept card payments.”

while you pout sadly at the rejection, jungkook rushes to grab the wallet that you made him hide because this was your ‘idea.’

“here,” he puts down the paper bills on the counter.

“i’ll pay you back.”

“no, it’s fine. my treat for the fishes since they’d probably eat them anyway.” he jokes to comfort you.

“yeah, okay,” you respond listlessly. “then i’ll buy our dinner. samgyupsal?”

“call!”

jungkook guesses you have come to know him well too.

“okay, let’s go.”

he invites you to leave after the cashier gives him the paper bag. as you walk out together, your shoulders brush, and for a brief moment, he assumes that you would cling to him. he doesn’t know why he keeps doing that. you never do. he continues walking and he doesn’t even notice that he has left you behind.

the door is half-open and he’s stood in place, eyes scanning the store like he just lost a child at the mall.

of course, he finds you hunched over infront of an aquarium inhabited by a betta fish.

“do you want to get it?” he whispers, mindful of scaring away the little creature. “i don’t think i’ve seen a purple fish before.”

not even in art or television. it’s strange.

he feels your eyes glued to him. persuaded by curiosity, he turns his cheek.

his breathing stops when he sees your face so close.

he doesn’t know you removed your mask. you’re staring at him so intensely with those beautiful eyes, sparkling with the reflections of light. you’re dazzling, and intimidating, and it’s doing dangerous things to his heart.

a little nudge and he’d give you an eskimo kiss.

if there’s a perfect romantic moment to kiss your lips, he’d say it’s right now.

“it’s not the fish i want.”

he doesn’t hear you.

do you see how entranced he is by your lips?

“the shipwreck, it’s beautiful.”

his eyes chase the sight of them when you return your gaze to the aquarium.

“like you,” the words slip out without thought.

—

a soft smile tugs at the corner of your lips. you blink away the tears and you stomach the heavy in your chest. you know jungkook is still staring at you with those bedroom eyes and there was no deep thought behind his compliment. will he still find you beautiful when he sees who you are beyond the surface?

“like me…”

—

after dinner, you and jungkook planted the plants and installed the shipwreck you wanted. it was not cheap, but it was worth it, if it meant seeing your priceless joy. he carries around more cash than necessary when he goes out with you. he’s praying that you didn’t see his sigh of relief when the waiter said the restaurant accepts card. he doesn’t know much about your circumstances, why you stopped going to school and why you opted to work instead, but he knows you lead a lifestyle different from his. he’s not ignorant. he estimates your bag is five times more expensive than his ipad. but with how you’re soundly sleeping on his shoulder, he can say that it’s justified.

he learns that you’ve been working straight for fifteen days, with 10-20 hours of overtime per week. you practically live there. he can feel the weight of your shoulders on him, which is why he doesn’t have the heart to wake you up despite his bladder’s need of the bathroom. this is probably the closest he will ever be to you. he can’t be the one to walk away in this memory.

the humming noise of the aquarium’s filter fills the silence.

it always feels like he’s dreaming when he’s with you.

“after all that money we spent, we should really name them now.”

you release the yawn you were holding back while speaking, head dropping on his shoulder. jungkook stiffens at the suddenness of the physical contact, but then relaxes thanks to the tranquilizing scent of your shampoo— it has to be coconut, with some sort of flowers that perfectly compliment it.

“have any ideas?”

“yes,” he hears the smile in your voice. “you know those two who have similar hues?”

he hums, body vibrating underneath your soft cheek.

“tangerine, and then clementine for the smaller one.”

“those are cute names.”

“you like them?”

“yes, they really sound like siblings!”

“okay, i won.” you shrug your shoulders as far as they can go, as if you’re so pleased you could burst. “that’s settled. your turn!”

“hmmm…”

he unconsciously bounces his knee as he racks his brain, which you swat with a disapproving noise, mumbling “making me dizzy!”

“sorry,” he winces.

your giggles are infectious, bringing tickles somewhere deep inside of him, butterflies in his stomach coming alive like spring only arrived.

“shouldn’t we at least have one named after a flower?” he suggests. “hold on, i’ll search for good ones.”

“let’s give the flower name to the yellow one. she stands out, like a flower.”

you blink wearily, a soft smile amidst the haze, sent to the yellow fish who swam closer as if it heard itself being called.

he reads the list of yellow flower names out loud.

“sunflower, daisy, azalea… for-forthysia? lily, cosmos, dahlia-”

“dahlia-” you quietly repeat the name in awe, clinging to his arm to steal his attention.

“dahlia it is!”

“i wish dahlia would live forever.” you sigh, haunted by the inevitable.

“dahlia will outlive us.” he chuckles.

“i’ll protect her from the afterlife.”

he squeezes your hand tenderly. “i’ll be right there with you.”

and with unspoken mutual understanding, your fingers intertwine. neither one of you wants to let go, he feels it strongly and he is sure of it. his cheeks may very well begin to ache with how elated he is.

“that’s three… you know, i saw someone on youtube who named their fish coral. i thought it was a very pretty name. how about that?”

“i like it,” you chirp. “i kind of wish it was my name.”

“should i just give it to you?”

you lift your head a little, sleepy eyes connecting with his. “do you know someone who has the same name as me?”

“no,” he slowly shakes his head. “you’re the only one.”

“let’s give it to the one with the longest tail.”

your head drops on his shoulder, as if it’s where it belongs.

“i like being the only one.”

you fell asleep seconds after that.

he found entertainment in watching as much as the goldfishes playing around with the shipwreck. it’s a wooden ship split in two, with cracks and holes big enough for them to swim in and out of. even the sails have holes. the drawings on them are unrecognizable beyond his imagination.

it’s quite charming, but he doesn’t understand what’s special about it the way you do.

a teardrop drips from the tip of your nose and crashes on his arm, but he doesn’t feel it.

eventually, it dries, and is erased from history.

#jungkook au #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts fluff #bts reaction

987 notes · View notes

twooftheluckyones · 3 months ago

Text

Cult of the Lamb fancomic: Luck of the Lamb

Part 1: Give Unto Me A Name

To say the name of the gods is to knock against the doors of their divinity. Such that they held their true names closely, for the call could surpass all barriers. Exchanging true names became a sign of partnership, trust, and perhaps even in some cases, union…

~Next~ ~~~~ Story Segment Under Cut ~~~~

"-and boil for eternity!" Narinder boomed, laughing to himself as he imagined Heket locked in a cauldron of oil. Chains tightened against his arms from his motions, and his laughter withered like a sail with no wind. He bowed his head and was quiet for a long moment, looking the Lamb in the eyes. "Return to your cult. Shamura is the last to hold me. Drive a knife in their heart, and at last I will be free... Go now. Please." He pointed towards the stone to teleport back, mind a mixture of rage, gloom, and loneliness. She nodded, excited by his sheer energy and power. But before she left she had a question. "...I have one request," she paused, hands wriggling in a sudden flash of anxiety. Shamura's words echoed in her mind, one burning like a forbidden flame. "I was told your name while on my mission, but I wanted your blessing before I dare use it... As your vessel, may I address you by name?" "You ask for so much little lamb," he chided. "Do not press the limits of our affiliation too quickly." He paused, humming thoughtfully, an ear flicking. Perhaps there was something to be gained here. "I will not give you the privilege without something in return." His brow raised, curious. "Tell me your own and you shall have mine." She hadn’t given her name in a very long time. It was hard to even remember it at all. Memories of her 'life' were almost foggy, stretching back hundreds of years from the time she'd spent in his service. From the depths she retrieved it, but more than just her name surfaced. Her father, pinned down with arrows bristling from his chest as he pleaded for her to run. Her mother, grabbing her wrist in a vice grip as they fled. The memory was so distant, yet felt like it had just happened. "Una. My name is Una." Her voice numb, barely a whisper. She blinked, shaking away the past and returned to meet his eyes. "Una..." He tasted her name on his tongue, trying to decipher what it meant. He hadn't been on the surface in hundreds of years, culture was entirely lost. "Very well then, you may refer to me as Narinder. But know that divine names have power. To use them can be a summoning, of sorts. Were you to use my name, I would know it. Your shred of divinity may share that, so guard your name well." Shadow covered his face, nothing but the faint light of three red eyes breaking past its veil. "Not all summons are made with good intentions..." He looked at the chains on his wrists, glaring with hatred. "Narinder," His name had a distinct flavor. Faintly reminiscent of the iron tang of blood, a faint chill lingering beyond the sound. She could feel the magic in it, sparks in her body, tingling and electric. While she knew she would only use his name in conversations with him and him alone, that didn't mean she wouldn't use it in private moments of prayer. Perhaps he would be just a little present in those now. She liked that thought, smiling and blushing despite herself. "Your name will be cherished and protected." "Good. Now Una, go rid this world of my enemies, slowly and horrifically please." He grinned, sharp teeth glistening from ear to ear.

Narinder watched her go, as she turned into an ethereal energy and vanished. The gateway was silent. The realm of death was not known for its liveliness. Aym and Baal stood stoic and unflinching, as if they had not heard any of the conversation. Slowly the tension in his body faded, feeling the familiar weight of the chains on his arms. Soon. Patience. Their next meeting would likely be after Shamura's defeat, and then everything would be in place.

"I look forward to our next meeting Una."

#cult of the lamb #cotl lamb #narilamb #narinder x lamb #narinder #cotl #cotl narinder #LOTL COTL AU #fanfic #totlo art

470 notes · View notes

65ths · 1 year ago

Note

does this count

bingo : are you finnick’s type? fill it out and send it back!

:/ that's awkward... looks like annie's not his type 0/25... that's so tough but to be quite frank, i kinda expected this for them. i don't think they ever had a chance

#70th #of course this counts #and you saved yourself some effort work smarter not harder exactly. bonus points for that. BIRDIE points for that #sailing close to the wind / asks

6 notes · View notes

bugbear55 · 2 months ago

Text

mercy saga au

remember this?

OCEAN SAGA

The saga begins with Storm.

Odysseus and his crew set sail to Ithaca, and get caught in a violent storm. They find a floating island, which Odysseus claims to be that of the wind god, Aeolus. With the support of his crew, he goes up and asks Aeolus for their assistance.

Keep Your Friends Close

Aeolus gives Odysseus a bag of wind that contains the storm, telling him not to allow anyone to open it. Odysseus returns to the ship and the winions claim that the bag is full of treasure. Odysseus decides to stay awake in order to keep it closed.

Polites and Eurylochus convince Odysseus to sleep on the ninth day with the promise that they will keep the bag closed. Odysseus goes to his quarters and leaves the bag with his friends, trusting them.

And then…

Luck Runs Out

One of the crew members begins to argue against Odysseus’ command.

Elpenor is still furious, grieving the death of his friend, Perimedes. Elpenor claims that Odysseus is a liar and cannot be trusted, since he cannot even be trusted to keep his men alive. Polites argues in defense of Odysseus and Eurylochus attempts to mediate.

Elpenor opens the bag.

Odysseus bursts from his quarters to see the bag open. He attempts to close it and Eurylochus helps him. Polites pulls Elpenor away.

Ruthlessness

Poseidon rises from the water.

Only one ship is left standing by the end of the song. Odysseus is wracked with grief and guilt.

They keep going, and soon come across an island..

#epic the musical #epicthemusical #odysseus #epic odysseus #polites #epic polites #eurylochus #epic eurylochus #elpenor #epic elpenor #poseidon #epic poseidon #the mercy saga #mercy saga au #mercy saga #epic au #epic the ocean saga

410 notes · View notes

starsofang · 3 months ago

Text

CALL OF THE SEA / PART SIXTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, depictions/mentions of violence, dark themes, surprise appearance!!, lots of feelings masterlist

Your world felt moments away from collapsing in on itself. The very man you had only seen for mere seconds, a brief glimpse, yet had undeniably began to torture you brainlessly was only waves apart from you.

His ship was hidden behind smokey clouds, but you could spot a faint red glow coming from one of the windows. It glimmered back at you in a taunting dance.

The ship was significantly larger. While Price’s ship was a dime, Graves harbored a war ship, one that you knew instantly housed more men than the four you’ve come to know. Its wood was stained black, nearly mirroring the dark sea as it roared its reins. The flag of a skull waved angrily in the wind.

There was no mistaking it. Graves had come, and you weren’t sure if it was for you, or for Ghost. You had a good idea of who.

“Dove!”

You spun around to see Gaz, struggling to hold the rope of the sail tightly bound. His face was pleading, eyes peering up at you in exasperation. Soap stood beside him, expression concentrated—eyebrows pulled together, shoulders straining against the heavy winds that threatened to pull his rope free.

“Get down from there! Are you fuckin’ crazy?” he shouted, his voice mixing in the wind and nearly getting lost.

You glanced back at Graves’ ship. It was small in the distance, not quite close enough to pose a heavy threat—yet. You had a choice to make, but you knew you had to be quick.

“Ghost! Get her down!” Soap yelled.

Ghost, hurrying to his return from stowing away the valuables on deck almost lost from the storm, snapped his head up to you. In such a distressing, grim atmosphere, he looked scarier than ever, all tall and brute, the mask mirroring the very flag that flapped among the sea.

His body grew tense, a flip switching. It was clear as day, the way his hands balled up, his shoulders stiffening, his legs moving on their own accord—he switched to serious and brooding, and he was just as spiteful with the fact you had ran from cover so stupidly.

By the time you were scrambling to place your feet on the rope ladder to scurry down, Ghost was waiting for you at the bottom, his arms held out in case you fell. The rope swayed uneasily, unable to keep itself steady with the roaring wind threatening to flip it.

“The fuck are you tryin’ to do?” Ghost growled, hands clasping around your waist to haul you down one you were close enough. “Kill yourself?”

Your breath caught in your lungs when he grabbed you, his grip firm and irritated, yet considerate enough not to hurt you. The air released once you were on your feet, the rocking of the boat making you unstable.

It was an absolute downpour on you, Ghost’s mask dripping with unhappy raindrops that slithered down to soak into his balaclava. Your clothes stuck to you uncomfortably, and you hated that your initial reaction was to be upset that one of the dresses Gaz purchased for you was going to be ruined.

“The Captain—” you gasped out, hands pressing against Ghost’s chest in attempts to release his hold on you. “I must go to him, I must tell him what is happening, he must know—”

Ghost paid no mind to you fighting in his grasp, his hands coming to take hold of your wrists. You squirmed against the restraint, eyes frantically searching for Price’s.

“Calm yourself,” Ghost hissed, not unkindly. “Tell me what’s burdenin’ you. Tell me.”

You hadn’t realized how sporadic your breathing became until you slowly began to stop your fight. Your chest heaved, lungs clashing against your rib cage painfully. A ringing shrouded your ears, combined with the heavy rain the pattered loudly against the deck.

Graves festered within the back of your mind. Always there, always mocking.

“It is Graves,” you quavered, your hands balling into fists. Ghost’s grip only tightened on your wrists. “He is here, I have seen it from up there. His ship is among the sea, waiting.”

Ghost stared at you with eyes heavily filled with an unspoken grief with guilt tinging the edges. He stood frozen in place, even as you began twisting and turning to unclasp your wrists.

“You must let me go, Ghost, please. I must inform the Captain, I do not wish to die—”

You stumbled off balance when the release was so sudden. His hands fell to his sides, dull fingernails digging into his palms as he furled them.

“Do what you must,” he rumbled low, his head turned to the sea. He looked out into the abyss as if searching for prey. “I will take care of it.”

“Ghost—”

“I said, I will take care of it,” he snipped, whirling his head back to you. “Go.”

With a light shove, he averted you in Price’s direction on the helm of the ship, where he fought against whipping rain and keeping the boat as steady as he could. You watched Ghost turn, stomping over to Gaz and Soap. A man on a mission.

You couldn’t hear the exchange between the three men. Ghost had gruffed something to them, switching places with Gaz.

He hauled the rope so it tightened, tying it around its pillar before shifting to Soap to articulate the same. While you watched Soap and Gaz struggle to keep the sails at bay, Ghost had gained a bitter strength to hanker down the fort and keep them tied down himself. The news of Graves’ approach had shifted him into something ravenous, as if he were out for blood and nothing would dare to stop him until he took a bite.

Ghost, as if sensing your stare, whirled around, glowering at you. “You must be really tryin’ to kill yourself, dove,” he jeered loudly to ensure you heard him.

“Ghost, calm yourself—” Soap tried, reaching out for him.

“What did I tell you? Go.” Ghost finished.

That notion alone was enough to have you refocus your alarm on the true worry at hand. You gathered yourself, stumbling along the soaking floors that continued to ingest the downpour.

Price, you must tell Price. He was clueless. You weren’t even sure Ghost had explained the situation to Gaz or Soap, you could only assume. He would tell them, right?

“Captain!” you shouted, sprinting to the helm. Your legs carried you quickly, running on autopilot. The blood pumped erratically through your veins, filled with nothing but determination.

Price’s hands were tightly wound with the wheel, spinning and turning with each and every wave that threatened to overtake his control. At the sight of you, he wavered, his initial anger replaced with concern.

“Dove,” he breathed. “The hell was that, huh? Climbin’ up there like a fuckin’ animal? Don’t you know how dangerous these waves are? You could’ve been flown overboard and I wouldn’t have the means to save you. You need to fuckin’ think!”

Your body shook with adrenaline, hands unable to remain by your sides. You nodded mindlessly along with his words, taking them half to heart. You knew you had bigger things to tell him, things he needed to know. Your safety in the crow’s nest was the least of your worries.

“Captain, it is Graves— he is coming,” you panted, watching his expression morph into one just as sinister as Ghost’s reaction. “His ship is just beyond the waves, he is coming. I owe you my apologies for disobeying your orders, but you must understand—”

“How do you know?” he asked, tone growing a dangerous bite.

“Up on the crow’s nest,” you paused, inhaling. “I spotted his ship. He has called me, I hear him speaking to me. He waves a flag of that of Ghost’s ring—the skull. I know, Captain—it is him. He has told me so.”

Price reared back from the wheel, muttering a string of nasty curses. You had never seen him so angry before, so bloodthirsty.

He was the epitome of rage, spewing out poison and oozing pure loathe. A dark cloud circled him, trapping him in its arms and luring him towards the pits of fire. The Captain was at his wits end, his last string of sanity snapping.

With nobody in control, the ship began to shift, leaning with the waves and forcing you to hold your ground with but the crevices of your shoes. Price held himself together enough to grab hold of the wheel once more, but in a deathly grip, white-knuckled.

“You will return to my quarters,” he muttered. “You will stay until I tell you to come out. Do as your told, and do not disobey my order again, or I will hand you off to Graves myself. Are we clear?”

You would be a madman to argue. The look in his eye was borderline murderous, a complete shift from the man you were beginning to know. What you saw was the reflection of Price the day you met him, when he held a gun up to the fear-stricken faces of your village and barked out commands just as he was doing to you now.

Even if you were crazy enough to argue, there would be no room for it. He’d make sure of that.

“I fear him, Captain,” you found yourself saying, voice quivering. Your eyes darted to the floor, unfocused. Your anxiety began to broil. “He is a siren among the seas, and I do not know how to swim. I cannot be a prisoner again, I will not—”

The touch of a rough hand grazed your cheek, guiding you to look up. Price kept one hand on the wheel while the other stroked a gentle thumb along your skin. Gone was the crimson red from his pupils and instead, that familiarity you’d come to enjoy. Soft around the edges, swarming with silent apology.

The rain dripped down your face and spread along his hand as he traced your features.

“I will not allow it,” he assured, certain. “I am sorry, I did not mean those—those words I have spoken. You must understand how dire of a situation this is for you—for us. I fear, too, dove.”

The awestruck look on your face didn’t go unnoticed from anybody except you. You were too caught up in his touch to will embarrassment.

He was touching you. So tenderly, as well. Even in a fit of erupting chaos and impending doom, you found yourself stuck in time, accompanied by the taste of comfort you’d longed for since the moment you learned what it was. You’d spent lifetimes searching for it, and it was there all along, right in front of you.

The Captain was expressing the same fear you’d been consumed by since the moment you entered the ship, since Graves had slinked into your life and taken control. He understood you on a new level, and it was a calm in the fierce storm.

“I do not want to hide away in your quarters, Captain,” you confessed. With a brief hesitation, you slowly raised your arm, flattening your palm over the back of his hand. He could only stare at the featherlike touch along his rugged skin. “I wish to be apart of this, like a real crew is. I wish to be one of you, fighting along your side, even if the cards are not dealt in our favor.”

“You do not know what you are askin’ for, dove.”

“I know. I do not hold regret.”

Price’s gaze flickered over your face, searching for any sign of deception. What he found was a bird willing to flap its wings until they grew tired, determined to fight for its flock even as the weight of life grew heavy.

He couldn’t will himself to deny you. Even if he desperately wanted to, you were theirs, and he’d rather slit his own throat before forbidding you to a man rotted from the inside out.

His hand slipped away from under yours, only to grasp it in his hold, holding your fingers tightly with his.

“You are a pirate,” he said, a hint of a smile in his tone. “You sure as hell fight like one, dove.”

Your heart felt like it could burst at any moment. This was the belonging you craved, this was what it felt like to hold it in the palm of your hand. While death was creeping in through the cracks in the old wood beneath your feet, the light was searching for a breakthrough, fighting to reveal its presence.

Standing in the swirling storm, pummeled by heavy rainfall with clothes soaked to the bone, Graves mere seas away, you found yourself smiling. You no longer had to reach for acceptance to claim it in your grasp—it had come to you all on its own, and for that, the world didn’t feel so scary anymore.

“There is not much to do besides ride out the storm and steer clear of Graves. I will do my best to make it happen, but for now,” Price paused, his hand gripping yours tighter. “Return to the quarters. I will have the others accompany you. When it is time, if is time, you will fight with us, and you will die with us. No man left behind.”

As much as you wanted to stay in this moment, glued to his side to face the roaring winds with him, he knew best. You trusted him, more than you ever had before, and nothing would waver that. Not Graves, not yourself.

“You will be okay out here?” you asked, concerned.

Price smiled, no longer as tense as before. And if he was, he was great at hiding it for you. “It is not my first storm, dove, nor will it be my last. I’m a captain. You think so little of me?”

“An absurd statement, that is,” you humored.

“Then all will be well,” he assured. He let go of your hand, his hold lingering, as if he feared missing out on your touch now that he had it.

You nodded, letting your hand fall to your side. You felt a faint tingle in your fingertips from where he’d just been. “I’ll return to your quarters, then,” you replied. “I will be here, were anything to happen—”

“I know,” he interrupted softly. You shared a look of understanding, and with one last nod, you trudged through the rain, slipping back into the comfort of the Captain’s quarters, saying a silent prayer for what was to come.

The dampness of your clothes did nothing to hold back your subtle shivers as you sat at the Captain’s desk. The dress you’d purchased, courtesy of Gaz, was plastered on to your skin, sticking to it like glue. It was entirely uncomfortable, yet the least of your worries as your mind wandered off to the men battling the blaze outside.

You feared for how the night would end. You trusted Price to do everything in his power to escape the grubby hands of Graves and hold off on his arrival for a bit longer. None of you were prepared for the storm, nor the evil hiding in its wake. A thousand possibilities coursed through your mind at light speed, none of them ending well—until you forced that light back in and held on to hope that all would be well, just as Price had told you.

It scared you, just how much you worried for them. What a dangerous thing, to find care in your heart for another in a world full of heartache. It was riddled with betrayal and selfishness, something you learned as a child and took with you as you transitioned into adulthood. It was the very reason you locked your heart up and set forth to a world of your own, burying yourself in studies and denying yourself the pleasure of another human.

Now, you wondered how much of life you had missed out on, just from a quick taste of adventure with the pirates. It was difficult and maddening, while gifting you joy and laughter; a true way of living, as you were learning that life was never meant to be the picture perfect image you had in your mind.

What would you do if you lost it all? How could you go on, knowing that the other side of life’s trail had nothing in store for you if it wasn’t with them?

The door opening was the only thing able to snap you out of such conflicting thoughts, trapped in your mind like you were encaged. You perked up, blossoming with relief when Ghost walked in, dripping from head to toe right on the floor. Though, the peace didn’t last.

He stared at you, silently shutting the door behind him. He held the same grueling bitterness, something you could feel radiating off in waves. It invaded your senses and left you defenseless.

“You and I are goin’ to have a little chat,” he snipped, stepping further into the quarters. His boots clunked loudly with every step, strengthening the blow.

You trembled from a mix of chill and sheer emotion. You weren’t sure what to make of the brute leering towards you. You knew Ghost, but you didn’t know his heart.

Ghost stood in front of you, peering down like a predator to a prey. You could do nothing but stare back, neck straining due to the stature he held over you from where you sat.

The mask he wore pierced your soul, dark eyes peeking out from the slivers. He was studying you, stare slinking down your frame and taking you in. For a moment, he did nothing. Then, he was turning away from you, sauntering off to the other side of the quarters.

Ghost opened a cupboard, rifling through it before pulling out… a dress?

You were bewildered. What on Earth was the captain doing with a dress in his cupboard?

Ghost shut the small cabinet, returning to you with the fabric in his hand. He hesitated, before offering the dress to you. It was plain in color, and the frame was much more flowy and billowy. It was made for comfort, not for style.

“You’re shiverin’,” he grumbled, darting his gaze somewhere else.

You took the dress graciously, smoothing a palm over the soft fabric. “Why does Price have a dress?” you asked, curious. From what he told you, he had never harbored a woman on ship before.

Ghost sniffed, uncomfortable. “Soap and him got it the last we were on shore. Somethin’ for you to have outside of the dresses Gaz paid for.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and you traced along the seams with delicate fingers. “I wasn’t aware.”

“Well, sorry to ruin the surprise.”

You looked back up at Ghost. A frown pulled on your lips. Even you could detect the sarcasm.

“What did you want to talk about?” you asked.

Ghost met your eye once more. His eyes were cold, returning to that frigid daze. “There’s stuff you’re not tellin’ me,” he muttered. He leaned forward in a way meant to taunt you, leering over you. “You’re playin’ mind games.”

“I am not,” you defend, offended he would even assume such a thing. “That’s an absurd accusation.”

“Is it?” he mocked, cocking his head. “Then why am I only hearin’ about Graves talkin’ to you through Soap? Mind tellin’ me that?”

You gawked at him, feeling a rush of adrenaline from the sheer outrage. You knew energies were high right now and it was no time to bicker, but if he wanted to pick a fight, so would you.

“Perhaps if you didn’t lock yourself up from dawn until dusk, you would be in the loop,” you jeered back, balling the dress in your fists.

“You do not seem to have an issue findin’ your way to my quarters,” he snipped back. “Might you have simply found me to tell me these concerns, I may have been of help sooner.”

“You are not approachable in the slightest.”

“Oh, it is not the mask that scares you, dove,” he sneered. “It is honesty. It is truth. I’m not afraid to tell you the truth, dove, believe me.”

“Then please, the stage is yours.”

“Why must you be so insufferable when I am the only one who understands?”

“You do not understand me in the slightest, Ghost, so please do not pretend,” you leered.

“We are two sides of the same coin, for God’s sake!” he shouted, slamming a fist on the table. It shook under the impact, rattling the Captain’s minimal decor before they settled back in place. “We’re both bein’ dealt the hands of death, yet you seek solace in the ones who do not know what it’s like. To live in fear, to hear whispers in the walls that drive you mad, to feel a prickle on your neck as if you’re bein’ watched even though there’s no one around. That is somethin’ only I can understand, yet you parade around me as if I’m a monster.”

Your body froze, words dying in your mouth. You hated that every phrase he uttered was right and he truly was reading you like a book.

You avoided him, intentional or not. There was a taste of fear the felt like vile in your throat when he was near, and it overpowered the care you knew you held for him.

The distance was your fault as much as it was his. Though your souls were on the path to the same fate, you reared off in separate directions and found yourself lost. Now, a dam was breaking, flooding its roaring waters to trickle you back down to one another.

“You are not a monster,” you whispered, tone guilt-ridden. “I—I am so terribly sorry that I have made things that way. You are right, Ghost—I fear the reality, and I am beginning to understand my flaw.”

Ghost paused, taken by surprise that you didn’t continue to fight. It was as if nobody had taken the time to hear his truth and digest it in its entirety.

You felt horrible.

“I only wish to be there,” Ghost murmured, looking away. “But I don’t know how. I am not good with… with all of this.”

“I am not, either,” you confessed honestly. You unfurled your fists from the dress, putting it out of its misery. Your fingers felt stiff from how tightly wound they were woven in the fabric.

The room filled with a heavy silence as the two of you allowed yourselves to calm down. Not a glance was shared, a sudden awkwardness piling between you.

“I’m sorry for puttin’ you in this,” Ghost muttered, ashamed.

You perked up, throwing him a bewildered look. “What? This is not your fault. Nobody is to blame but Graves. He is the true enemy, not ourselves. I have never blamed you for any of it.”

Ghost shifted on his feet, the wood creaking beneath his weight. You could see the water that had dripped down seeping into the cracks. His hands were balled into fists, and you could faintly see a glimpse of pink.

“How are your hands?” you asked him.

Ghost grunted, uncurling his fists and spreading out his fingers. “What?”

“Your hands,” you repeated. “They are irritated.”

“They’re fine—”

“Ghost.”

He huffed, turning his head. He’d almost resemble an annoyed child if he weren’t so large. Reluctantly, he held out his hands for you to take. You held them with carefulness, inspecting the small indents on his palms from where he’d dug his dull fingernails into the skin.

“Fine,” you muttered with a shake of your head. You instructed him to keep his hands held out, turning to gather your bag that was left abandoned in Price’s quarters when the storm had hit and Soap barged in.

You knew you didn’t have much, but you sifted through the bag until your hands wrapped around a round jar. You tugged it out and made quick work opening it, collecting a dollop on your finger.

“What’s that?” he mumbled suspiciously.

You eyed him, opting not to answer while you took hold of his hands again and began lathering the soothing balm on the sore skin. He didn’t move a muscle, unfazed by the medicine, and he watched you with a keen eye the entire way through.

“I must confess something to you,” you said quietly, keeping your gaze on his hands as you worked.

Ghost hummed in reply.

“The mask—I have seen it off. I did not mean to, and it was an accident, but now that we have spoken, I feel I must get the guilt off my chest.”

He was silent for a moment, eyes unwavering from your fingers working into his palms. “When?”

“When I came to your quarters so I could talk things out with you. I did not mean to intrude, but the door was open and—I saw. It has been eating at me ever since,” you admitted woefully, fearing he’d grow angry.

To your surprise, his composure didn’t waver. You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or worried.

“Stop stressin’ about it.”

Your head tilted up to peer up at him, confused by his reaction.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbled, feigning annoyance. “I’m not afraid to show my face; I’m afraid to show weakness. I wear it for me, not for anyone else. You seein’ it doesn’t matter, so stop worryin’ your head about it.”

Your hands paused their motion on his hands, simply holding them. You searched for any sign of a lie, but ultimately found honesty.

“I am glad then,” you sighed out in relief, smiling to yourself. “I did not want to invade your privacy.”

Ghost went quiet, peering down at your hands in his. Small in comparison, something that felt foreign to him. “Are you done?”

You sputtered when you realized your position and quickly removed your grasp, gearing your attention to shutting the jar and placing it back in your bag.

That awkward silence began to suffocate you once more, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, attempting to unstick the damp dress from your skin.

Ghost stepped away from you, instead turning his front towards the wall and occupying himself with the sight of Price’s neat cot. You tilted your head in confusion, wondering what he was doing.

“Change,” he mumbled, folding his arms over his chest. “If you get sick, I won’t hear the end of it.”

You smiled to yourself, standing to move to the other side of the room. Peeling off the wet fabric proved to be a challenge, but you managed, slipping into the dress Price and Soap had gifted you without your knowledge.

It truly was comfortable, and you found yourself much more at ease, the tension in the room fading.

“I am finished,” you told Ghost, who grunted and turned back forward. “Do you think the boys are alright?”

“They’ll be fine,” he assured, albeit it plainly. “Think they’re more worried about us. Why don’t you try and rest for now? Not much we can do but wait.”

You weren’t sure you could rest, knowing Soap, Gaz, and Price were still outside, wrestling the monstrous storm. But, you didn’t know how much longer it would be until Graves infected your mind again for his own personal pleasure, or worse, if he made it to the ship.

“You will stay?” you asked.

Ghost stiffened before giving you a nod. “I’ll stay.”

You nodded, forcing yourself into Price’s bed while Ghost thumped into his desk chair. The cot provided you with heat against your chilled skin and you sunk into it, letting it calm your nerves for the time being.

All was a waiting game, and you’d waited for longer things before. It was the pumping fear that was the worst part. As you lay, you allowed your worries to lay to rest, saying a silent prayer that all would be well by the time you woke—and if they weren’t, you’d hold up to your promise of fighting back, just as you told Price.

You were a pirate now; and pirates stuck together through death.

"Dove," a hushed voice woke you. You grumbled to yourself, face scrunching together as you shifted on to your side. "Oh, dove. Wake up."

That voice, you couldn't pinpoint it. The familiarity was on the tip of your tongue, floating somewhere in the back of your mind.

With a sluggishness, you rose from your sleep, peeling your tired eyes open. Perhaps it was Ghost waking you to tell you things were alright, or even that the storm had died down.

Instead, upon opening your eyes, a sinister smile blared back at you rather than the familiar skull you'd come to know. Your blood ran cold and the bumps on your skin rose harshly.

"Ah, there she is," Graves murmured in his own sickening amusement, as if he were watching a circus animal rise from a slumber. "Come to join the fun, finally?"

None of your crewmates were in sight, not a single strand of hair to indicate their whereabouts. You were alone with the Devil, and he was grinning with eyes full of hellish fire that he'd surely engulf you in if he pleased.

536 notes · View notes

onlyhereforthestories · 3 months ago

Text

Tell Me Some Things Last (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Sorry I didn't get this out yesterday! Hope you enjoy 😊

Take my mind take my pain like an empty bottle takes the rain and heal

Pain. That’s all you could feel, pain. And not even physical pain, it’s the kind of pain that consumes your mind and leaves you empty. When they said break ups could literally bring you to your knees you didn’t realise how true they were. Christen had literally just torn you to pieces without much more thought than “It’s just not what I want anymore y/n.” You wished you could say you saw it coming you really did but you didn’t. Up until the words came out of her mouth you thought you were both happy.

You didn’t have anywhere to go; the weather was damp and dark, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You sat on a bench in a park not far from your now ex’s apartment soaking in the rain as it fell. You wanted nothing more for this pain to stop, to fade into the background so you could breathe again. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop or fade it just sat there on your chest like it never wanted to leave.

You weren’t sure how long passed but you knew it was a significantly long period of time, the night had settled in, and the clouds had grown stormier. When the crack of thunder started was when you got up to leave, you were already soaked to the bone and shaking, not that you really cared. A fleeting thought that scared you to your core, that closed off mindless feeling was something you didn’t want to fall back into.

But you were, you could feel it.

Take my past and take my sins, like an empty sail takes the wind and heal

6 months passed pretty quickly after Christen broke up with you, when you go through the days on autopilot its quite easy to get swept along without a care. You woke up, ate breakfast, had training, ate lunch, had strength sessions and then went home to have dinner and sleep before repeating it again.

Game days were the hardest for you, it was the main time you had to interact with her. Goals were celebrated and team huddles were a thing that you couldn’t avoid like at training. You were pretty stoic on the field anyway, so your current wall wasn’t too different to your game face which meant that the fans didn’t really pick up on your change in mood and behaviour. You were playing each game as a means to the end now, you had put in to be transferred as soon as the breakup had happened, and you had found out that you had gotten a few offers yesterday in a meeting with your manager.

You had yet to find out who the offers were from, but you were just happy to be getting away from the current climate you were a part of. You really wanted to leave the past where it is now, you wanted to get out of here and never look back. You hoped with everything you were that leaving here, leaving all this in the past would help you move on from her. That it would help you heal.

And tell me some things last

It was your final game, no one knew it yet, but you did. It was the first time you had felt joy going into a game and you wanted to leave the fans with something to remember you by. They were always so supportive and if it weren’t for Christen and the situation with her you wouldn’t be leaving them.

Football has been all you’ve had in the last 4 month; it has been the only constant and the fans had given you the push you needed to keep going. You knew football would always be something that lasts for you.

And tell me some things last

You won the game; you had scored a goal too just to top it off. You were doing a slow lap of the pitch interacting with as many fans as you could and signing everything possible. You had lost your top and your cleats along the way not that you cared, you wouldn’t need the jersey anyway. You didn’t want to keep it; you didn’t want to remember they end of your time at this club you just wanted to move on.

You were nearing the tunnel when a young girl called your name, she had a shirt with your name on in her hands and she was bouncing on her toes as you made eye contact with her. you headed in her direction and signed her shirt, she asked for a photo so you hooked your hands under her arms and placed her on your hip so her guardians could snap the photo. You were chatting to her about the game and where she plays when she caught you off guard, “Where are you leaving to?”

You stood shocked with the girl who could only have been 7 sitting looking at you, none of your teammates had picked up on your slight change in behaviour or your hesitation to leave the field but this little girl had. They do say kids pick up on everything. “How do you know I won’t be playing here anymore?” You gave her a little tickle to let her know she wasn’t in trouble for asking.

“You have stayed out here with us for so long, that normally only happens when someone is saying goodbye without actually saying it.” you shook your head slightly with a smile and gave the girl a squeeze.

You walked her back over to where she watched the game and handed her back, just before you gave her back you whispered in her ear. “Don’t tell anyone but you will see me in Spain next season.” You pulled back with a small wink and watched as the little girl beamed at you wishing you luck and telling you hopefully, she’ll be able to see you play again soon.

You quickly got who you found out to be her aunt’s email so you could make sure that you could make that come true for the girl.

Take my heart and take my hand like an ocean takes the dirty sands and heal

Barcelona had been good for you the moment your plane landed on the tarmac, the sun shining down on you making your body feel warm for probably the first time in 6 months. You had 2 weeks to settle in and explore the city before preseason started and you would have to get used to being a teammate again.

You spent the 2 weeks being a tourist and learning some of the language, you went to all the spots you got told were tourist traps, you tried loads of different local foods and explored the coffee shops around your apartment.

Before you knew it you were putting on your training kit and getting ready to be introduced as the latest member of the Culers. You had just done all your management stuff like contracts and photos with the president which meant you were meeting the team a little into their training session.

You walked out into the sunshine and strolled up to Jona on the side lines. He shook your hand and called all the girls in to introduce you, which you did before he could. “Hola chicas, I’m y/n and I am honoured to get to play alongside you for the next hopefully few seasons. I am sorry about my lack of Spanish I am working on it but for now bear with me.”

You looked round the group of smiling women, you recognised pretty much all of them, but you made a mental note to make sure you interact with Keira, Lucy and Frida as you knew they spoke your native language. What shocked you was your reaction to locking eyes with beautiful brown ones that held such a soft look towards you. You could feel your body tingle with something you haven’t felt in a long time and that was really scary.

Alexia stepped towards you to introduce herself properly, taking her captain duties properly as well as the fact that she felt a pull towards you. She reached out and took your hand in a soft handshake as she welcomed you to her hometown club.

Take my mind take my pain like an empty bottle takes the rain and heal

You had been playing in Barcelona for 6 months now, and you could quite honestly say it had been the best 6 months of not only your life but your career too. Everything just felt right, you were playing the best you ever had, you worked well with everyone on the team, and you weren’t missing your old life.

What was holding you back was your past, more specifically the pain you still felt lingering in your heart when you saw Christen and Tobin’s relationship plastered over the internet. You weren’t jealous, you really weren’t, you had not loved Christen for a long while now. The pain was caused by the fact that you never let yourself talk about what happened, never found out what you did to make Christen not love you anymore.

You had been pretty good at keeping your mind off of it when you were with the team until today. You found yourself alone in the changing rooms after a pretty long training day or so you thought, you heard muffled voices coming from the toilets and picked up on Frida’s voice. You had no idea who she was talking too, and you were going to pick up your stuff and leave unit you heard the name you had been avoiding.

“Have you seen Christen and Tobin’s post. I really admire them for the way they have slowly introduced their relationship to the world without actually announcing it. it makes you wonder how long they have been together doesn’t it…” You stopped listening after that, the sentence piercing your heart. You grabbed your stuff and bolted to the door; you could feel the tears starting to fall before you could even get out of the changing rooms. As you pushed at the door it was pulled from the other side and you almost ran into Alexia. She managed to catch your shoulders with her hands before you could topple the both of you over, she went to speak but stopped as soon as you looked up at her.

The sight broke her heart, you looked so broken. Without saying anything she whipped the tears from your face and reached for your hand, which you let her do and followed behind her as she dragged you out of the facility and into her car.

You stared out the window as she drove, you weren’t sure where you were going but at this moment you didn’t care. You just wanted to get away from any talk of your ex and her perfect relationship.

When Alexia pulled the car up and got out you were slightly confused, you could see the beach from the car window, and you felt the weight on your chest already starting to lift. You were so caught up in your thoughts that Alexia got to your car door before you could even think about opening it.

“Come on let go walk.” She holds out her hand in front of you and you didn’t hesitate to take it. She pulled you out of the car and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go and walking towards the crashing waves.

The two of you walked side by side for about 20 minutes before you spoke up. “Christen is my ex, she wasn’t with Tobin a year ago she was with me, or so I think. She broke up with me because she just didn’t feel anything for me anymore, like you can just suddenly not love someone. I haven’t spoken about this with anyone because we never told anyone outside her family, she didn’t want to. Maybe that should have been my first warning sign. Looking back on it now, I know it wasn’t a relationship that was going to last, but I still gave her my all and I have no idea what I did wrong. What I did for her to not love me, for it not to last.”

Alexia let you speak; she waited as you paused to think about the next thing you wanted to say and then continued to listen when you carried on speaking. She sat down next to you when you took a seat after you’d said all you needed to say, and she just sat there while you processed it all. After about 10 minutes of silently listening to the waves you turned to the slightly older woman, “Thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for.” The reply made your lips quirk up, of course she plays down her importance in this current moment.

“I have everything to thank you for. You have listened to me spill my shit, you have taken time out of your day to take me away from the situation earlier without a thought or knowing why I wasn’t okay. And you haven’t left, you’ve stayed.” You reached out and grabbed her hand hoping to get her to really listen to how thankful you are for her right now.

She moved her hand around a littler to interlace your fingers. “I would do a lot for you and that is all I’m going to say for now. But just know that there is more to that statement and that when you are ready, I will tell you.” You could feel your cheeks heating up. You knew your attraction to the Spanish superstar was there but having that conversation right after crying over an ex probably wasn’t the best idea. No matter how over that woman you were.

You sat on the beach with the woman you were sure would be a major part of your future for a little while longer, soaking in the setting sun hand in hand until the time came for her to take you home.

And tell me some things last

The Champions League quarter final second leg was fast approaching, and you were nervous. You had played at the Camp Nou stadium a few times now but this game you felt those added nervous of such a big crowd. The first leg hadn’t quite gone as you had all hoped and that meant that there was a less confident energy going into this one.

You were also nervous because your special guests were coming today, you had managed to arrange for Lyla the little girl from your final game at your previous club to be here today. You had even managed to get her to be a mascot too which you had to thank Alexia for, she was the main one to ask the organisers. You had been in contact with her aunt all day and so you knew that she was here and ready to go being as the game was due to start any moment and you needed to walk out.

You walked out of the changing room last like always, head down and mind focused until you heard the excited squeal of your name, “Y/n, Y/n I missed you.” Before you could even think the slightly taller than the last time you saw her girl was throwing herself at you. You managed to catch her under the arms and swing her up onto your hip as you returned the sentiment.

You spoke to her for a small second whilst the rest of the team got ready and waited for the ref’s signal to walk onto the pitch. What you didn’t see was the way Alexia was looking back at you and your interaction with the girl you had flown half a world to see you.

The game had gone pretty much perfectly this time, the only annoyance being that you couldn’t keep a clean sheet. You were walking along clapping the fans with Lucy and Keira when you saw Lyla jumping and waving your way from her place with her aunt, you were quick to excuse yourself and head over.

“Hola chica.” You sent her a little wink at your use of your currents homes language which had the girl giggling “how did you enjoy the game? Pretty cool stadium, right?”

The girls toothy grin and vigorous head nod started her positive answer. “Si.” You cut her off a little with a laugh of your own at that answer. “It was so good; I have never been to a place this big! And you play amazing. You really like it here, don’t you?”

Instead of talking up to her over the barrier you signalled to her aunt to make sure it was okay to get her down on the pitch with you. When you got permission, her aunt helped you get her down and said to go have fun, you told her you’d bring her back in a little while. Grabbing her hand, you dragged her along with you as you listened to all she wanted to say about the game. “… Watching Alexia in person was super cool too. She is soooooo good.” You couldn’t help but agree with the girl, she was something else on the pitch.

“Would you like to come meet some of the girls?” The nod you got in return was again vigorous and so you tugged her in the direction of where you had left Lucy and Keira not even 5 minutes ago.

After introducing Lyla to most of the team there was one final person left. Alexia had been on media duty so you could only hope she would be done and in the changing room for you to introduce Lyla to. You quickly ran over to her aunt to make sure she knew where you were going before leading the small girl through the tunnel.

You poked your head into the training room to find the woman you were looking for in a state of dress that had your heartbeat spiking. Swallowing quickly and blinking a few times to make sure you weren’t dreaming, you averted your eyes slightly and spoke, “Hey Ale I have someone that wants to meet you is that okay?” Alexia’s head whipped round at your voice, and you saw the blush rise up her cheeks as she realised you were seeing her in her sports bra. Not that this was the first time, but it was on your (well pretty much) own and after the beach.

You stepped back into the hall when she told you she would love to, but she just needed a second and waited for her to be ready. Before you could even start a conversation with Lyla the door was swinging back open, and Alexia was dressed in her tracksuit. You were a little shocked when Lyla started hiding behind you a little bit as this was the person she was most excited to meet.

“Ale this is Lyla, she my favourite fan from back in the States. Lyla this is Alexia the best midfielder in the world.” Alexia bent down to Lyla’s height and kept a little space between them before she spoke to her. You spent a good 10 minutes listening to the two girls speak before the rest of the team filtered into the changing room cutting your time short. Lyla said goodbye to the team and you along with Alexia walked her back out into the rapidly emptying crowd, those that were left cheered your names as you entered.

You slowed your pace as you got closer to letting Lyla go, you really did hate goodbyes. Alexia could see your hesitance; she couldn’t tell why you were so reluctant to let the little one go but she could tell it was really playing on you. She reached behind you and rested her hand on the middle of your back, rubbing small slow circles there as you lifted Lyla over the barrier.

After saying goodbye and getting changed you grabbed Alexia’s hand and pulled her along behind you and out to her car. Without questioning it Alexia opened it and let you settle yourself into her passenger seat while she put the bags in the back and got behind the wheel. Deciding that taking you home right now wasn’t what you needed or what she wanted she made the decision to take you back to your spot.

You were not paying attention to where the woman you cared very much about was taking you, you were just lost in your current thoughts and feelings about saying goodbye. It was only when the vehicle stopped that you realised just what the Spanish superstar had done, you were back at the beach by your spot. She didn’t wait for you to say anything just got out and came round to open your door.

You didn’t hesitate to take the hand she offered you when the door was wide open, and you slightly shocked the woman when you held on tighter when you were stood up straight. You gave her hand a squeeze and sent her a small smile that had her grinning and tugging you from your linked hands towards the shore.

You sat yourself against a rock by the shoreline and patted the open space between your legs which Alexia happily sat in, she was a little more hesitant to lean back but didn’t resist you when you lightly tugged her shoulders. The two of you sat there for a little while before you found yourself speaking.

“Thank you for earlier, I really needed the comfort of your presence there to say goodbye.” When Alexia turned her head to you with a questioning look you knew it was a subtle way to ask but also let you know you didn’t have to explain but you wanted to. “She was the last link I had to my first home; she was the final goodbye. That place was where I had my first love, where I got my career started and where all the pain came from. Pain that I think I’m finally over and healing from. Pain that I won’t now let stop me from saying I’m ready if you still are.”

You felt Alexia relax even more into you and you were incredibly happy to feel her hands snake into yours. Neither of you needed to say anything more about it right now, this moment was for basking in the possibilities and future you were about to start.

And tell me some things last

It had been about 2 weeks since you had told Alexia that you were ready to see what could happen between the two of you. Not a lot had really gone on other than an increase in the time you spent together as well as the thoughts you were having. Whenever you were with the Spanish woman you couldn’t help where your mind ran to, the kisses you imagined and the future you could really start to see coming.

So when Alexia asked you to pick her up for training on morning you were secretly hoping that meant some more time together. You pulled up outside her flat with about 20 minutes to spare so decided to go up with the coffees you had got for her. Knocking on her door you patiently waited for the woman inside to answer and when she did you were in a state of shock and awe. Alexia was stood in her sports bra and training joggers, hair tied back and signature Nike band pulling her baby hairs back and out of her face. It took you a moment to compose yourself and drag your eyes away from her exposed torso something she could not help but notice and tease you about. “Like something you see love?”

You exaggerated the wink you sent her way which had the woman full on belly laughing as she let you in and followed behind you as you made it into the kitchen. You set both cups down onto the side and spun to face the still semi dressed beauty, you mind was going a mile a minute over the sight and all you wanted to do was wrap your arms around her waist and kiss her.

Alexia could see your mind working, she could see your thoughts spinning round your head and she was so ready to hear what they were. Deciding you both had been dancing around this for long enough she took a small step towards you and asked the question she wanted the answer too. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

You snapped your eyes to lock with her gaze, a gaze that was soft and reassuring and all you needed to take that leap. “You and how much I want to kiss you right now but I don’t want to push if you aren’t ready yet I know…” you were cut off by the lips you have been dreaming about.

You wrapped your arms around the slightly older woman’s waist and pulled her closer to you, you brushed your hands up and down her sides as you deepened the kiss something that sent a shiver down Alexia’s spine and a sigh to leave her lips as you both briefly pulled back for air. You weren’t ready for this moment to be over and you wanted to commit more to memory so you lent back in and connected your lips with hers again for a slow kiss.

Alexia pulled back once air was once again needed but she didn’t go far, she rested her forehead against yours and rubbed her thumb over the base of your neck where she had her hands rested. You both just stood there in her kitchen soaking up the moment, committing it to memory and dreaming about what else was to come.

You broke the quiet moment by pressing a small peck to her lips and asking the question you have been wanting to ask for the last couple weeks. “Will you go on a proper date with me? I would like to take you out before I ask the next question I really want to ask you.” Alexia quirked her eyebrow at the cryptic nature of your question but decided to just answer the one she could and wanted to.

“Of course I will go out with you properly. There is nothing I want more.” She went to press a kiss to your lips or so you thought. You closed your eyes as she got close only to feel her press against you for a second before all the warmth of her was gone causing your eyes to spring open. She had grabbed her coffee and was walking towards her bedroom with an extra swing to her hips.

She was going to be the death of you and you both knew it.

And tell me some things last

The last few months had been amazing for you and your newfound love. Alexia had treated you to a fair few date nights and you had managed to get the woman to come over for some homecooked meals. It had been the perfect start to what you hoped would be your forever.

Alexia had excused herself from you now normal Thursday evening plans of dinner and a movie to spend some much-needed time with Mapi which you were more than okay with. It gave you the chance to spend some time with Lucy and Keira ahead of your birthday.

Your English teammates took you out to a fancy meal and drinks in one of your favourite spots in Barca. As the night drew on and the drinks flowed you felt yourself get lighter and lighter. You got to the point that you were so carefree you didn’t care who you were dancing with, nor did Lucy who was your main dance partner anyway.

At this point Keira decided it was probably best to call it a night and phoned your now girlfriend. Alexia was waiting for this phone call really; you had mentioned you were going out with the English pair and that never normally ended with anything less than you and Lucy drunk as and Keira and Alexia dealing with you both.

Alexia had just dropped the English duo to their place and was now sat with a very inebriated you at a red light. She turned to look at you as you dozed off in the passenger seat of her car. The streetlights bounced off your features in a way they had Alexia frozen, she knew that she was falling incredibly fast for you, but she didn’t realise quite how fast until that moment.

She picked up her phone quick and snapped a couple of pics of you before the light turned green and she got you home safe.

A few days later you would see that photo for the first time, and not directly from the woman herself. You woke up to breakfast in bed and sweet kisses for your birthday, you had been so distracted with the people in your life wishing you happy birthday that it took until the evening when you were getting ready for the dinner out with some teammates that Alexia had planned, that you would see the picture along with 3 others.

It was Alexia’s post, it started with a photo of you both in your Barca gear before a game, then it was of you and Nala out on a walk, then it was of you cooking some dinner in Alexia’s kitchen and the final one was the car photo. The caption was simple, Here’s to the first of many birthday celebrations.

And tell me some things last

Alexia was freaking out and you could tell she was. You had yet to speak to her about your upcoming contract issues with Barca. Which had become a more pressing issue with your initial 3 years rapidly coming to an end. She knew that talks had been happening as she is your girlfriend and the captain of the team but what she didn’t know was that you had been offered and accepted a new 5-year deal.

You had managed to get the club to not tell her before you did so that you could surprise her. Your apartment lease was up, and you hadn’t renewed, the reason for this was you were hoping to be able to move in with your now 2-year long girlfriend, not that she knew that plan just yet. You were nervous to ask such a question, but you were sure she was who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with if she would have you.

What you didn’t plan for was Alexia finding out about you not renewing your lease. You had promised Ingrid you would meet for coffee after the mornings training and Alexia had promised to meet you at yours as you would be cooking for tonight’s Thursday date night. Unfortunately, you were not aware that your landlord was due round to speak about the changing of keys when you moved out. A conversation that Alexia had now had with said person and not you.

Mapi had picked you and Ingrid up from your little outing so you had asked the pair to come up for a drink, thinking that Alexia would be happy to have some time with her best friend. However, as soon as you walked in and made eye contact with your lover you knew the invite up was the wrong thing to do.

It wasn’t just you that noticed, Ingrid saw it too. She was quick to grab Mapi and make up a hurried excuse that had the blonde defender opening and closing her mouth like a fish as she was dragged out of the apartment.

You waited to hear the click of the door shutting before you started to speak. “What’s wrong babe?” You tried to keep the nerves out of your voice, opting to move a bit closer to the older woman as you spoke too.

In the time it took for you to sit down on the sofa, the woman was up on her feet. “What do you mean what’s wrong. You know exactly what is wrong, you are leaving. You are leaving and you haven’t bothered to ask me what that does to me, to us. I didn’t even get to know let alone get to ask you to stay.” You were frozen in place, what was she talking about leaving. You weren’t leaving why would she think that, had you waited too long to tell her about the contract extension? You felt like an idiot for causing her to be this upset.

“Lo siento babe. I am not leaving. Let’s get that sorted first. I could never leave you.” You took a moment to wait for your words to register in the distressed woman’s mind. When they did, she looked at you, and the look she had in her eyes almost broke you. It was like she was pleading with her eyes for you to be telling the truth. “Come here, Lo siento mucho. I didn’t mean to cause you this much stress. I was just trying to surprise you. I should have done better here.”

Alexia did as you asked and came and sat next to you. She didn’t make any physical contact with you like she normally would, but you understood. You took that she was at least next to you and not out the door and a positive sign that this wasn’t a major fuck up. You gave her a few moments to process her thoughts as you did and waited for her to speak.

“You really aren’t leaving me?” That broke you a little bit, you shifted a little closer to the woman and gently took her hand, when she didn’t pull back you squeezed it in yours to try offer some comfort before your words could do the rest.

“No Ale I’m not. I’m staying right here with you for as long as you’ll have me.” You would happily commit the rest of your life to this woman and everyone around you knew it. You obviously hadn’t spent enough time making sure she knew it though and you made that silent vow in your head to rectify that.

“Forever por favor.” You couldn’t help but smile at her words. “But your contract with Barca, it’s almost up.” You let go of her hand to turn your whole body to face her, legs crossed on the sofa. You retook her hand and tugged a little to try and get her to look at you as you spoke.

When you finally got her to make eye contact with you, you told her your secret, “I renewed about 3 days ago, 5 years babe.” The way your favourite eyes lit up in front of you in that moment would be forever imprinted on your brain. There was just joy in them as you said this, and you couldn’t stop the feeling it brought up inside of you. You were about to continue speaking when her facial expression changed again, not to as sad as it was but to one of more confusion.

“But your landlord said you were giving the keys back at the end of the month.” You couldn’t help but smile at that, of course Alexia wasn’t quite following where your brain was hoping.

“I am yes. There is only one place I want to live.” The puzzled look stayed on the Spanish beauties face. A fact that had you full on laughing out loud at the cluelessness of your girlfriend. Deciding that you would put her out of her misery you told her what you hoped could happen. “How would you like to live together mi amor?”

Alexia didn’t answer verbally, no she answered with every other option but that. She pretty much tackled you to the sofa, your back hit the cushions before you could even process what was happening. You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of your mouth as the woman stared peppering your face with kisses.

The joyous moment turned tender quickly after that. Alexia had one arm on the cushions next to your head to prop herself up and the other reached down to cup your cheek. “I want nothing more than you being the first thing I see in the morning and the last I see before I fall asleep.” You could feel the heat creeping up to your cheeks, it wasn’t often you got romantic Ale but when you did it never failed to turn you to mush.

Words would fail you in this moment and you knew it, so you did the next best thing. You reached up and tangled your fingers in the brunettes’ locks of your very soon-to-be house partner, pulling her down so that you could press your lips eagerly to hers in a kiss that could only be described as coming home.

#woso x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagines #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

414 notes · View notes

comfortless · 11 months ago

Text

Only Other

chapter one of three.

Goth soldier! König x fem, Roman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, mentions of an arranged marriage with a large age gap, slight sexism, descriptions of gore, groping, dubcon sword/knifeplay. additional warnings will be added to the next two chapters.

notes: for @writersdrug’s request. ^^

wc: 11k.

The barbarians are here.

The dream of river water lapping over your knees and songbirds in swaying trees fades out into a hazy fog as you begin to rise, dropping your legs from the mattress to spur yourself to move across the small room as quietly as your feet can carry you.

Heavy footfalls and staggering hoof beats from their horses weighed down by heavy sacks of supplies is what has pulled you from sleep.

The flames of their torches crackle, accompanied by the shrieks of clanging, well-polished metals singing out as if in the throes of war becomes a dull song; weapons, wicked and crudely crafted unlike the spears of the soldiers donned in red you were so accustomed to by now.

You had heard the whispers on the wind of the untamed beasts from Germania filtering in, settling down here; their arms and their blood for just a sliver of land to claim, soil to birth farmland, a semblance of peace from within the walls of the great empire.

Never, in these small words from gossiping tongues, did you suspect that these rugged men would be taking to camp so very close to your city. Not only that… they’ve been accepted into the walls, the door flung open for them with their gnashing teeth and thick, ugly weapons. These men of myth were usually set further out into the countryside, far from view of polite people to sow seed in soft fields, build the little shacks that seemed far too fragile for their rugged forms that could never compare to the villas built here.

Peering over the sill of the open window, stretching your upper half out into crisp night air to catch a glimpse of torches sailing along the breeze, flames just as ever-shifting as their darkened silhouettes, your breath seems to halt entirely. They look the trueness of harbingers like this: each somehow more imposing than the one they follow behind. You count only two horses split between the eight men of this small band.

Could any of them even speak in your tongue?

What stories could they tell?

Had any of them ventured as far as the sea or had they only bathed in waves of warm blood?

With eyes wide, you even dare to perch there to watch on, never bothering to conceal your underclothes with the faith that the darkness would hide away anything more than a illusory view of your shape.

Through the faint glow of the yellow-red flickering flames, your gaze drifts to something large, hulking and brutish, darker still against the backdrop of a sable horizon.

The shadow walks in line with the others, their proud and raucous foreign voices feathering through the otherwise quieted air… only he does not speak, does not make a single utterance of mirth or glee. He stares only forward as his feet tread on just paces behind the rest of the group.

Nine, then.

Like the tales you’ve heard of the Goths, you’ve also listened in on the children spinning wild stories of monsters, the legends of heroes of old slaying cruel beasts told by their elders. You had always believed them, even without the evidence currently striding through the sleeping streets, dark like a crypt, like the underworld itself. A true titan.

Just as your eyes track the brooding, silent form, he abruptly turns his head in your direction.

The glow of a nearby torch paints the shrouded face in the color of a dying sun, casts a glint on the thick seax strapped to his hip.

In that moment, it isn’t wonderment curling through your blood, but surprise, maybe even a tinge of fear.

Your heart hammers as you pull yourself from the window to whisper hurried, hushed prayers to Juno, protectress of women, as you reject your curious nature and climb back into your bed. You’ll bring your offerings to her altar just as any devout: incense and a sweet pastry so long as she keeps you safe, chaste.

Buried beneath cushions stuffed with straw and thin fabric sheets to tuck yourself away, you wish only to return to dreaming of the river’s silt beneath your feet and colorful birds parading past in the open air that smells only of violets and honey.

Instead, you dream of fire.

You dream of the city bathed in gold, molten and angry as the walls come down around you.

You watch as your neighbors, friends, all begin to writhe and shriek as their skin begins to blister, boil beneath until it melts layer by precious layer to puddle like oil where feet once stood until the mighty, wraithful scorch takes even that away too. What once was human becomes smoke: women, men, children, it made no difference. It all becomes a mighty roaring flame as the structures wail and crumble around you.

Yet, you remain untouched.

Dawn breaks with the puppets sewn in shadow all but entirely forgotten, washed away in the fearsome tides of your own dreaming.

You startle and bolt upright as you wipe cold sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

You’re no oracle: it’s just a dream… Vulcan would never turn his fiery gaze to your people after you’ve all honored him so, the offerings paid at his altar had been plentiful this past year with the steady expansion of the empire and the need for well-smithed weapons.

There were no volcanoes here to sweep away your life with magma and sulfur… only the lemures that haunted old shacks with their wailing had paid a visit to you last night. You let them in with your fears, and you would ward them away next with your courage.

The sun’s warmth creeps its way in, sweeps up from your blanketed legs until it curls and caresses at your cheek. From its positioning, proud and impossibly high in the sky it’s almost as though Sol himself were staring down at you, radiant yet scolding.

You’ve overslept.

Hurriedly, you ready yourself for the day, cinching your waist, clasping the shoulder of the stola, and dutifully washing your face with still water held in a clay pot. There was little else to do than bide your time with tedium: the animals loitering about needed tending to, a neglected sewing project lay strewn across the floor that had long-awaited its completion, and as the questions began to stir in your mind again… perhaps, gods willing, you would safely be gifted the opportunity to peek at the barbarian camp. To see that peculiar titan that they kept tethered at their sides.

It was dangerous and unheard of for a maiden, of course, but with little else to do than work and practice stitching threads for a betrothed you held no true affection for, this was a significant reprieve from the humdrum of what was scrawled out into the stars.

You weren’t given the luxury of further studies and communing with the aristocrats at their hearty banquets, sipping wine and prattling onwards about politics and how to further Rome as a whole. A part of you preferred this simple life of taking to the street, to peruse the market with what little money you held clutched in your palm, to pet the horses and watch as bulls sparred out in the fields beyond. Returning home to an empty house was a comfort, too.

As always, the market is a lively place, full to bursting with people exchanging anything under the sun, either beneath painted wooden stalls or from the first floor of their very homes, all with very little regard for you.

The city was simply too full to take in every name and face, and only their chatter seemed to intrigue you anyhow. You didn’t need a scroll or a song about each individual, your people were easy enough to read: war, pride, and duty all embedded into their very blood. The only ones that drew your attention were the poets and bards, entertainers who spun their stories of lives vastly different from your own… but there were none awaiting coin on the streets today.

A man passes with his wife at his side, loudly bolstering onward about his progress on some expedition.

Women with flowers woven into the braids of their hair laugh softly behind their palms as they exchange their secrets in singsong whispers.

The children play and pocket with eager palms when salesmen are unaware, likely to be caught later on and have their hands whipped raw.

There’s no talk of the Goths.

With these foreign men, most of your people seemed unbothered, taking solace in the knowledge that the empire’s cavalry would ride to strike down any opposition. A tentative, arrogant sort of comfort that you knew very well not to trust entirely. Most were simply not as educated on the potential of what could be, hadn’t snuck around on quiet feet to listen in on the men discussing failed treaties and negotiations.

The Goths could find their own food, their own women and shelters after fighting for the empire for a time: likely what they were here to do… give up their lives in exchange for a sliver of a Roman dream. A band as small as the one you witnessed could never quite hope to topple an empire, anyhow.

That sense of safety brought forth disinterest and smug little grins with little else to say, whereas your mind only took to further conjuring curiosity.

The more you wander the more you question whether you saw them at all, or if they were mere specters, already slain and silenced on some field far off from here, long dead and forgotten by all but the sleep-addled mind of a maiden.

You’ve never felt so disheartened. Though the city remained constantly bustling and full of intrigue when you knew where to look, these days the ease of it all only seemed to further the boredom. If nothing were to come, it would be no surprise to find that Juno would serve her purpose, looking after all with her blessings. You almost regret calling for her safety last night.

If the barbarians were indeed real, had some plot to overthrow an empire with their small numbers, perhaps only a vulture would be pleased with your thoughts now: teetering on the cusp of anticipation and wonder. You would never think yourself treasonous, but to learn, to see more… Your appetite for something further than a life spent sewing and child-rearing after marrying a man that made your skin prickle with distaste in the coming winter was rational.

Maybe not to most, but to you.

The fruit stall pulls you from thought with its sappy, honey-sweet scent and brilliant colors littered in crates: reds, greens, even some soft and blue… You only then notice you’ve been standing entirely still here, lost in thought, as if expecting a bolt of lightning to split the world in two.

Two apricots were purchased, one for you and the other for the gray mare in the stable you had grown fond of. You give the merchant a smile and a few bronze coins and carry on your way, nibbling at one of the fruits on your walk.

There were usually servants tending to the horses just beyond the city's paved streets, but it seemed today they were busy with other affairs: Quinquatria would be upon the city soon, and there was much to prepare for such an important festival. The place was empty all apart from yourself and the horses, some off in the fields to gallop to their heart’s content, while others like your mare, secured by wooden gates and paddocks.

You feed her, cooing gently as she takes the pitted fruit from your hand and between her blunt teeth; then, allows you to lead her into the grass with your honeyed words and languid steps.

One day, you hoped to have the opportunity to ride her, perhaps far away to touch the waters of the ocean, to see the foreign trees in some great adventure that would leave you more fulfilled. Ideally, without being weighed down heavy with child.

Your hand strokes at her nose before she begins to tense, eyes wandering from your form to something just beyond, far off and nestled in tall, fluttering grass and small bushes. You track her gaze for a moment, finally turning to look over your shoulder.

The wind has the tops of the trees swaying along the hills, grass pushed down to kiss the earth with each flutter of air. It all smells and feels so gentle, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the soil and salt of the earth itself. Ceres would have found herself prideful at the sight; everything rich and lush with the spring… Harvests would be bountiful this year, and everyone would be well-fed and contented. It’s no surprise that after pilfering through old calendars and running his tests upon the soil, Gaius had declared that this was the year he would take you to be his wife.

Past the expanse of soft blossoms and a cavalcade of greenery, all sweeping and rolling, a beauty that would stifle anyone should they think to look hard enough… but amidst all of this sits a man that you recognize immediately. Though he remains utterly faceless, his stature is somehow enough to make a gladiator blush and turn tail in shame.

There, just where the hill dips down and gives way to the soft rush of the stream, sits your warrior. His head is lowered as he crouches by the water, hands tucked to his front as he busies himself with something in his lap. The bare expanse of his back presented to you is unfathomable even from such a distance.

The men from Germania were said to be huge, dwarfing those that you were accustomed to by lengths, tall and thick like the weapons that they carry. They were said to be handsome, too… and like some hazy dream you were already certain that he was, somehow, beneath the pelt tied round his waist to keep him warmed at night, the sable shroud hanging over his head as he works away at sharpening the blade laying over his lap.

Your legs feel weak like a freshly birthed lamb’s as you watch him; the muscles of his bare arms bulging and quivering, his nude back tensing with effort. The soft rays of the sun beaming down only seem to paint him golden, untouchable except by higherborn women and men who could pay well to have him dirty his blade or his cock. Radiant, cruel, maybe even a bastard son of Mars himself, because what better a place for a man so vast and laden with scar tissue to be than in the midst of some great war.

Someone like this, you know with a certainty, would have no time for fickle maidens with their heads filled with the fluff of fantasies, and in a way that only seems to solidify a plume of possessiveness stirred up within your head.

You wonder even, if he calls to Vulcan as he pauses to hold his blade up to the sun to marvel at his work, the sharpened silver glinting in the light. The weapon casts its rays to only further illuminate the paleness of his flesh, coupled with the gleam of the flowing water ebbing past it only serves to make him look the very picture of those old stories and myths. The older women in the city would have tapestries embroidered of this scene, no doubt, if they could see through your eyes now.

Your horse trots off, satisfied that there is no true threat here, and you feel yourself begin to creep forward.

The gods and goddesses must play their tricks, because you are no fool. The pull only feels undeniable, something that you could not fight with a stern will alone. You pacify your impromptu decision with the thought that you could turn away at any point in the meters it would take to reach him. Surely, if he turned to face you before then that same fear from the night before would come to surface and you would sprint, startled and wary.

Perhaps he would even give chase…

There’s no excitement to be held on him, either acutely unaware or ignoring your presence entirely as you draw ever-closer. The grass softens your footsteps, the breeze blanketing any sound from each shift of your legs beneath the linen stola. You’re near silent in your approach, only halting where the hill crests over the bank several paces away from where he remains seated.

Only then does he turn to look your way.

There’s no greeting, no display of friendliness. His body language remains closed off, distant, like that of a wolf in cautious preparation; deciding whether or not it would be necessary to bare his teeth, to snap and growl until your flesh rends beneath him.

So it’s left up to you and to Juno who remains harbored in your heart. The goddess would protect you most assuredly, you’ve left her offerings for as long as you could remember, prayed at her altars and devoted yourself entirely— perhaps not in the same way of the temple maidens, but certainly more so than most.

You take a breath, watching him with kind eyes and an air of unease about you that only seems sweet by comparison to the very danger that his presence proposes. He only returns your stare with something colder, detached and unamused beneath that ugly veil he wears: two holes for the eyes, dyed beneath with the red rimming yellow like the tissue a butcher may find in a plump calf.

“Can you understand me?”

There’s a long, tense silence that follows your frail question. The titan stares, looks you over from the crown of your head, briefly pauses midway- at your hips- then further. It’s both heated and cold, coaxing yet analytical.

Finally, the barbarian gives a curt nod in response, seeming no less frigid and closed off even as your voice feathers over the breeze. But he understands, can decipher your language, that’s a start.

“You are… one of the barbarians, yes?” Is that even what they preferred to be called? The word certainly sounded prettier on your tongue than the brutish pronunciation of ‘Goths’. There would certainly be some price to be paid if your blood was spilled over a mere insult…

Graciously, he only seems to overlook it as he sheaths his blade and rises to his full height, tall like the mountains you had only heard stories of, where gods and goddesses sit in council not meant for mortal ears.

Freed of any covering upon his upper body, you find yourself reluctantly mesmerized by the trail of light hair that runs from chest to abdomen and down further… until a little tuft peeks from the hem of the pelt tied around his narrow hips. The layer of fat over his midsection paves a way upward to reveal the muscles of his chest, wider and more prominent somehow than most breasts you’ve seen.

Unruly thoughts clutter that would have others questioning your status and devotion to your Gaius if they could hear them. It couldn’t be helped, you reason; you had never seen a man quite so vast, so meant for battle and breeding.

“That is what your people call me,” he huffs, bull preparing to charge. His words come out with a thick accent, northern. The trees and mountains would sound similar if they could speak at all.

He drinks you in with his eyes, fingers twitching at his sides as though itching to touch your most sensitive parts. Though he doesn’t move yet, you get the sense that all it would take is one false move, a skitter in your step that leaves you tumbling to the earth, and he would be upon you like the downpours of spring. You even wonder if he would roar like the thunder delivered from Jupiter’s weighty palms if he were to mount you.

Of course, what he sees before him is not a maiden of Rome. His people didn’t care for purity, for your religions and ideals: you’re a fertile little doe, wandering straight to a buck in his prime.

You swallow hard, a little bob from your fragile throat, to force those treasonous thoughts from your mind. Even talking to this man was a risk to your reputation… Your poor betrothed, nearing thrice your age and horribly delicate by comparison to this beast, would be up in arms if he were to find you here. More concerning, you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

“What do you call yourself, then?” Your voice comes almost breathless, thighs pressed together beneath your stola as your own body sends its signs and omens to tell you that you’re precariously close to the underworld just by gracing him with your presence. Perhaps it would be that dark, too, if this giant decided to push you to the soil, hover over you as he plucked you apart like petals from a flower.

His eyes track that subtle shift of your legs, crinkling at the outer corners when they roam back upward to your face. The beast grins beneath his hood, you’re certain of it, and those eyes of pale blue seem to glitter like the sun's rays on the stream to your side. He shifts, crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his hips just slightly forward, some strange display undoubtedly meant to tempt and charm you.

You don’t budge from your perch, despite your body’s persistent singing for him. Enticing scents and views of flesh could do that… this man wasn’t special, you were just curious. That’s all that it was.

“König.” He answers things plainly in that lilted voice, as though he’s trying to seem more of a man to spite that boyish way of speaking. And gods help you- it’s cute.

“Does it have meaning?,” you settle to ask when he does not request your name in turn. A bit rude, though you do wonder if perhaps the bullish men in his settlements see delicate things like you more like pets anyhow. The thought of this warrior whisking you away and naming you one day… You swallow that lump in your throat again, teetering back on your heels as if to place more distance between you two.

“What do you think it means?”

That simple non-answer does finally allow your pulse to settle, only to rise immediately to find it insulting— as if this wild man with no proper education had the right to insult you at all.

He only smiles again beneath that veil when your face sours. Awful, wretched, gorgeous creature… You’re no threat to him and he knows it. He’s only playing with you, dodging your pretension with a bit of his own, and unfortunately… This is the most pleasant conversation that you’ve had with any man.

Your betrothed was only arrogant and dull, there’s no light in his eyes when he smiles at you- everything is duty. Not here. Not with König, and surely the goddess of marriage and love is frowning down at you from her lofty throne, because you’re almost certain you’re infatuated with the brute by now.

“You’re a bit rude.”

“King.” He grins, a grin that you can see when he frees the leather flask from his belt and shoves his mask upward to take a heavy gulp of what is undoubtedly Roman wine. The glimpse alone makes you weak again, honey drips from your thoughts to your cunt, and you know now that you were never simply curious.

No, this brute would be the end of your engagement and even you if you allowed it.

You watch him take his fill, catch the bitter scent in the air as a bit trickles down from his rough jaw to his throat, all covered in scars. He’s been in battle for a long time, likely why he wears the hood at all. The rest of that handsome face is undoubtedly a wreck just as what could be seen of his body, all covered in memories of where he’s had scrapes and dances with daggers only to fell his foes one by one with that long seax dangling from his hip.

After the hood and the flask are in their proper places once more, he gives you a nod, then speaks, “How many coins?”

It takes a moment for the question to register in full; he isn’t asking what you have on your person, but how much you’re worth. How much it would cost for you to spend a night in his bed, tolerating this giant between your legs…

Your attractions billow up in smoke immediately, just as you expression sours and your hands curl to fists at your side, crushing the half-eaten apricot in the process. You toss the ruined fruit to the ground, allowing the sweet juice to coat your fingers as it flows downward.

You wring your hand as you very nearly shout, “You are an animal. I’m not here to sell myself.”

Your voice falters to a meek, little whisper with your final words, the breath a weak gust through the first tiny blossoms of spring.

Of course he catches onto your body language, to the way your thighs rub and tense beneath your skirt, the way your nipples peak at the mere sight of him and all of the infatuation and curiosity in your eyes. Men knew things like this, offhandedly, it seemed; if the others were correct then this beast could surely smell you, too.

The bastard only stares, eyes narrowing as his brow pulls together beneath the hood in some strange confusion. The whores wore their togas, not the stolas of maidens and married women, even a barbarian should have known that: his men were certainly no strangers to the sweet women with their faces chalked in lead.

Then, his shoulders pull up to fall in a shrug.

“Run, then, little one.”

It’s almost as though he knows your thoughts in and out, a lemure himself as he presents the bulk of him that would strike fear into any man, taunts and goads. You don’t want another fire dream. You force your courage and mirror his stance: chin up, back straightened as you look down upon him like a goddess sent to deliver her fury with… a pitted apricot at your feet rather than bolts of famine and misfortunes.

His eyes become stars, twinkling in earnest when he sees you then. You’re no aristocrat, no empress, but you certainly feel the part when the giant’s gaze finally relaxes its pilferage and settles upon your face instead.

Your act is all for naught, because you realize that his men are approaching, opposite the stream. One of them was enough, but a hoard of others… You were not even certain that he could understand you properly, and the others could be even less patient. Your gaze travels over their forms, smaller than this ‘König’, but each equipped with their own weapons and their own scars from battle.

They look from their leader to you, eyes grazing over the plush flesh that your stola dutifully conceals like starved dogs. One of them mutters something in a foreign tongue, harsh and guttural, his eyes never leaving your shape in a display of brazen appraisal.

König responds in turn, voice taking on a lower octave as he all but barks his response: harsh, unyielding language that you couldn’t hope to interpret… but if you had to guess, you were nearly certain that his men were asking who would lift your skirts and have their way with you first.

You depart from them with tentative yet hurried feet, and you don’t look back as you cross across the lush field. There’s no stopping at the stable, not a thought in your head except that you would most assuredly not be returning. The barbarians could have the field, the stream, whatever the city’s officials had allowed them.

Just not you.

It’s Gaius that greets you when you arrive home, to the little villa he had secured for you; to the place that would become less of a home and more of a prison once the two of you were wed. You’re barely a foot in the door when the man’s gaunt face turns to you, his lips set in a stern line.

“Where were you?”

You knew that look, it’s the very same that he gives to his slaves when he’s about to bleat out his orders like an enraged goat, shove them or grab at them to feel less small than he truly is.

Your brow pinches, a shaky breath leaving your mouth as you try in earnest to look the part of an innocent lady who had not just crossed a field and fantasized endlessly of some rude, barbaric oaf.

“In the field. With the horses,” you deliver your half-truth with practiced ease. This wasn’t the first time you’ve lied to him, and it certainly would not be the last. If the protectress of Rome could overlook your stunts and recognize your discomfort in this wretch’s presence… then she might even side with you; save you from a future of sharing this man’s bed.

Gaius relents then— as much as a stoic, old man could. He reaches out to cup your face with one weathered hand and you have to force back to urge to shudder.

It’s not that you mean to be cold, not after all that he’s done to care for you… it just comes as naturally as the seasons and the wills of the gods. Something about him always made you feel ill.

You eventually, tentatively jut your chin forward just a bit to force yourself into leaning toward the touch of his cold hand.

His lips curl into an unsightly grin; then, he pats your cheek and draws away enough to bless you with fresher air to breathe without his withering presence alone contaminating it.

“I brought you a gift, meum corculum.”

“Oh…” Your words come in a little hiss, your heart stuttering in your chest as you teeter back on the heels of your sandals. The straps along your calves feel tighter now, your stola too… maybe even the room itself: everything seems to close in, and you could only silently hope he doesn’t request your affections for doing such. “… you didn’t have to-“

“Nonsense.” Gaius raises both of his hands, arcs them before stepping out of your path to reveal a new dress lying on the wooden table just beyond him, dyed a light blue.

It’s pretty, well-spun and soft-looking… yet you still hesitate a bit when you step closer to run your fingertips over the fabric. It yields beneath your touch, bunches when you move each digit along the pliant linen, and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever touched, maybe even softer than the lambs and kittens you’ve played with in the streets.

“I thought that you might like something nicer to wear during Quinquatria,” he adds from just behind you. You feel his hands trace along your arms, further, until they reach your shoulders and give a gentle, but almost demanding squeeze.

It’s meant to be affectionate and he is your husband-to-be… but he still manages to make you feel ill. It’s only a blessing that he’s never requested more from you than a peck for his offerings to you.

What a man in his late stage of life could see in you, you couldn’t hope to imagine. A fertile womb, likely, and you could only hope that that isn’t also what he saw in the women he kept as slaves in his own home further toward the city’s center. Nosy, dull man that he was, of course he needed to be closer to the housings of banquets and discussions to feel some level of importance while he kept you locked away toward the wall and the slums like some filthy little mystery.

“I’m tired, my love,” you manage, voice thin as you slowly pull yourself away, from both Gaius and the delicate blue thing you would be forced into wearing for the coming festival.

The man balks, but doesn’t push. A few seasons and he would have what he’s awaited for years, the confident gleam in his eyes tells you that he’s certain of it.

It’s difficult to believe that someone you had once considered a hero and a friend could make you feel so much disgust now. You were naïve, then, and now you only feel how those poor horses locked away in the stables must feel, burdened with a constant yearning for your own freedom.

“Then rest.”

When the door shuts behind him, you’re only then able to expel your relief. The weight of what you must do settles upon you, heavy and unyielding, the boulder of Terminus.

You can not marry Gaius. You can not continue to breathe in the stink of the city from its miasmic aqueducts, perfumed only by the crowded marketplace full of mortals so contented with their own tedium. The unknown calls and calls, howling like a mother wolf to guide you. Even with the stories told of what fiends and horrors lie outside of the city you could almost feel with a certainty that you were destined for it.

You light your incense with a lump of coal in the burner of a clay pot. Just cinnamon would have to do for now. You make your peace with that promising Juno whichever sweet, flaking pastry that appeals most during the festival of Minerva.

Though you were more than content with your wish for nothing more to do with the barbarians after meeting with König earlier… he comes rushing back into your mind, rolling and lapping like waves as you begin to prepare yourself for sleep. The polished tin of your hand mirror reflects your face as you twirl the handle in a curled palm and you stare. Did he see beauty or simply a womb…? Had you taken offense to nothing? The questions stir up remorse as you strip away your gown and take to the bed.

Just one more meeting with the foreigner, maybe. Just to say your farewells, wish him luck in future battles, bless his seax and his shield with a touch and a prayer (if he even had the sight to keep any form of defense on his person).

When Quinquatria comes, when the people are busy and satisfied with their food, fortune telling and the gladiator games, you will take your mare and ride off into a sea of stars. Each light will be a point of guidance until you reach the riverbed you’ve only ever dreamt of, until you scale the mountains that sang so sweetly from the goth’s tongue…

And perhaps he will chase you.

— — —

Quinquatria used to be one of your favorite festivals. The fortune tellers were your favorites, always seeming to know so very much with so little insight into your life. Then there were the revelers donning their colorful masks, barking out song with bitter wine painting their tongues.

You try to listen in on them as a woman traces over the patterns in your palm, the curved lines and straight, fine indentations. Palmistry, rather than any proper reading with sacrifices and proper seers stood before a temple. You reason that this is for fun, just like the wine-drinking and the gladiators fighting for their lives and the horrible stink of the city’s streets: natural, reasonable, and dreadfully normal.

The fortune teller hums as she reads you through your hand, laughs a bit when she seems to note a secret or… something. You were not entirely sure. The woman was young, her belly likely as full of fermented fruit as everyone else’s as they dance and crowd the street where you two are stood.

“You’re unhappy, girl,” the woman muses, giving you a sympathetic look before another laugh pulls from her lips.

You give her a nod but don’t say a word as she continues to stroke at your palm. Of course you were, anyone could tell just by the frail look upon your face, as if you were indeed bereft and ready to cry at any moment in this horrible, dainty dress with your betrothed fondling some lady mere paces from you.

“Yet, so lovely,” she continues, nimbly running her fingers to your wrist. She curls them around you, turns your hand over and gives it a soft pat to signify that your reading is done.

“You’re destined for a summer wedding.” Winter, you want to correct. “And your husband… strong and brave like the sacred wolf.” Weak and old, you force back with a clenched jaw.

She releases your wrist with one last assessment, “Juno favors you, sweet girl.”

You want to call her a fraud, but instead you merely part with the bronze you had promised to her. With Gaius preoccupied, his wrinkled hands already tucked beneath the skirt of the other woman’s stola, now would be the best time to wrench the door of your little cage wide open… not make a scene.

Your chest feels tight, and for the first time it isn’t from some unknown fear, it’s excitement. Your heart hammers as the blood stirs within your veins, belly tense and breathing shallow, taking a stiff pace to walk along the shadow untouched by silver paths of moonlight.

There’s a bellow, a wail as the gladiators fight some distance off. Soft words and whispers filtering past like eerie words from something ghastly, moans from a brothel, bells on the wind, the stink of rot and perfume all from all that you’ve known for so long as you leave it all behind.

Your mare is pacing restlessly in the field, her ears flicking and tail swaying behind her. You’ve no saddle, you hadn’t even thought to procure food or any supplies. You’re not even certain that she’s been ridden by anyone, but you coax her over to the wooden fence that your body rests over; hands find the velvety fur of her gray snout, fingers moving to gently caress her mane and ears.

“We are going to be free,” you whisper as your hands curl over her neck. The mare makes her displeasure known immediately, huffing and tensing immediately… and you realize that this isn’t going to work, not without her bucking you off and leaving you injured or dead. You’re not stupid or brazen enough to break a horse or anything, really. Not Gaius. Not…

You would find König. Perhaps you could even trade the Goth for a horse already accustomed to being ridden… he had already revealed his intentions, and he was easy enough on the eyes to entertain the thought.

You give the mare a kiss farewell, right on the softness of her cheek and detach yourself from the fence to wander past the silver field, the gently flowing stream. The water dampens your dress, embeds it’s cold into your very bone where the sandals fail to protect. Spring or not, it’s hardly warm at night, and there are only so many rocks lying in the water to keep you from sinking in.

The clothes are drenched by the time you crawl to the other side. On the opposite bank, it’s only then that you turn back to look over at the city, one final glimpse of a place bathed in gold; cinder and ash from torchlight, flowers and the creeping scent of decay carry on the breeze. Even from the distance you can hear the music, chimes of steel on steel, the laughter and cries of mirth and pleasure.

Begrudgingly, you feel the first seeds of regret plucking at your heartstrings. You’ve nothing to your name apart from a few coins in a pouch strapped to your hip, no weapons, no food. You could die, you verily would if you went at this alone. And still, you force your face forward and continue your steady waltz to look the unknown straight in its bloody maw.

You won’t panic, won’t fear. Whatever awaits would be better— it had to be.

The barbarian camp comes into view some time later. You couldn’t be certain how long you’ve been walking, as though some spirit had plucked the chords of your mind and left you in some confused daze. It couldn’t have been your own desperation. Something greater had to be at play, a proper destiny: one much better than the life of Gaius’s wife, owned like a hound, imprisoned and uninspired.

Though their torches burn, their tents stitched together amalgamations of old pelts and cloth, the air is fresher here. You expected the reek of death, heavy on their skin, bathed in blood and the rot like visions of Mors herself. Instead, you smell smoked meat and wine on the air: a boar and fermented grape, fruit from the surrounding orchards, the heavy scent of men. There’s no celebration here, a few men talking quietly as their eyes wander over what you can only assume to be some sort of map— tactical discussion for their next bloodbath.

You puff your chest and steel your gaze as you walk towards them, expression set not unlike the stern looks your betrothed would give.

Your attempt at intimidation only earns a flicker of hunger in the gazes of these men, and then a bout of grating laughter. They glance at one another, discussing you in hushed voices in their mother tongue before one finally looks to you and asks a simple, “Was?”

“König,” you answer simply. “Where might I find him?”

The question undoubtedly goes uninterpreted, but the name does spark a wave of interest that passes between their faces. Finally, one points toward the tent at the far side of the camp: ugly thing, vast and layered in dark tones of gray and maroon, the very structure is a bleeding animal.

You hear the laughter behind you, the lewd whispers and jeers and only a simpleton wouldn’t be able to interpret the meaning; the titan that heads their little group has a lovely woman seeking him out like a wayward dream, and with adrenaline already coursing through you the thought of spending your night here doesn’t even seem an insulting prospect.

The flap serving as the door of the tent parts as your hands move to lift it, and sure enough… the beast lies in wait in his den, seated on a mattress made up entirely of fur. His hood remains over his head as he traces the carvings on the handle of the seax, under flickering flame and the shadow of the tent König seems further unearthly, god walking amongst men as he toys with his weapon in some strange sort of ritual.

The ritual only seems to be one of boredom, because his eyes light up when they rest over you, standing like a dream as your dress billows with the breeze creeping in. You’re drenched and dirty and pitiful in his presence, but he only seems to soften when he beckons you toward him with a curl of his fingers meeting his palm.

You obey with tentative steps, stopping next to him as he waits on the bed. If it were possible for your heart to seize and halt entirely without you collapsing to sink beneath the earth, it surely would now, so close to him.

“I need a favor,” you explain in whispers. “A horse.”

“A horse,” he repeats as his weapon is set aside, “Warum?”

You don’t want to explain a thing. He’s working with the very men that could drag you back to the city after being paid heavily by Gaius… your trust is blind and foolish and you almost want to break apart right here. How stupid to believe that you could find some solace here, with a giant that walks along the cusp between men and beasts. Your shaking hands reach out to drag along his vast shoulders, lingering on the healed wounds that dent and give rise to his flesh.

“I’ll do what you want,” you offer quietly, earning a pleased rumble from his chest.

Though after a moment, he only sieges your wrists, pulls you down to the mattress at his side. He touches you no further, only stares down at you in a twist of amusement, reverence and confusion.

“Warum?,” he repeats, “Tell me.”

You wind over onto your side, staring up at him with a desperation that you’ve never known until this night, clawing down from your throat to bed it’s way into your roaring pulse, frightened and pleading. Just give in, ask no more, you want to wail to him as your vision begins to blur with tears.

Mercifully, he doesn’t ask again. König lies at your side, mimicking the way you curl onto your side and again… he smiles, though this one is unlike the way he looked upon you by the stream. It lacks that boyish twinkle, the intensity of the lines forming beneath his eyes: it’s more of a pleasantry than anything genuine.

“You are married?”

“What? No…” You swallow hard, toying with a thread that’s begun to pull free from your hip, twirling it between your fingers. “…not yet.”

“Ach… but you belong to another, ja?”

You want to howl out your frustrations up to every god and goddess above, burn through the Elysian with your misery alone. You wish, yearn for the courage to cast off that mask and lure him in with a kiss, erase any memory of Gaius with the kindling of a truer passion.

Your voice doesn’t come, and your fingers steadily pluck at that thread, feeling more unsure of yourself with each passing second.

Again, your bastard god grants his mercy as he raises a hand to cup your jaw, the warmth of him singing away the memory of the weathered hand that had touched you there before. His hand is so much larger, strong and riddled with calluses; you swear that you can feel his own fluttering pulse through his fingertips when they press against your bottom lip.

“Not after tonight,” he hums.

When the shroud is tugged up and his mouth meets your own, König’s kiss is exactly what you had expected: a sloppy, eager clash of teeth and tongue. He steadies you with a hand pressed to the back of your neck as his grunts filter past your own lips. Your eyelids flutter, then close as you allow your mind to finally relax, coaxed into the ethereal with each swipe of his tongue and pleasured sound drawn up from the well of his throat.

He pulls away with a gentle peck to the corner of your mouth, gazing down at you as though he’s been deprived of light for the entirety of his being and had only now met the sacred flame. It’s incomparable to how easily your betrothed would cast his scrutiny; though the hunger is similar, there’s something far more enticing here.

“Do you trust me?”

König’s voice holds no apprehension as he speaks; the question is just as blunt as each bulge of muscle and peek of teeth through the grin on his face, only set aglow by dim candlelight in the tent. You don’t nod, don’t even reply immediately as you stare at him a little dumbly, still intoxicated by the ferocity of his affections.

“… I don’t know.”

He moves a hand over your eyes then, gently presses his palm over you until you’re bathed in such darkness that you shudder. It’s a disconcerting feeling— not because you fear him so much anymore, but because if this were Gaius you would have already been squirming away, rushing to hide. You want to kiss his palm, revel in whatever piece of him he gives to you.

“Sehr schön,” König coos to you in a whisper. You settle further, allowing the tension to leave you almost entirely as you fall into the velvety embrace of all of this darkness and the pelts beneath your back.

He shifts at your side, and almost immediately there’s a cold chill at your collar, something sharp that he rakes over the softness of your flesh, then down, down to snag at the top of your dress. Your gasp is quieted by a kiss as you feel his weight shift over you, and just as you begin to melt into it… the fabric begins to tear, shreds as he guides his blade further, past your breasts and along your sternum, your belly, further.

“Don’t..,” you manage to hiss against his mouth, immediately taken over by the feeling of his tongue lapping at your teeth. Your nipples peak at the sudden chill as your dress lies ruined to either side of your body, thighs trembling as the blade hooks along the linen concealing your maidenhood.

One more generous, gentle cut and that comes away too.

You’re entirely bare when he retreats to your side again, one hand still clutching the blade as he moves his head to lay over your breast and… never, never had you heard of a man lapping and suckling at a woman like a pup, but that’s what he begins to do; his tongue circles over the bud, tugging it between his teeth until you feel the wetness between your legs beginning to drip to smear upon the mattress.

It’s caught, quick, as he turns the blade in his hand to slot its grip against your sex. It’s cold, but his mouth is warm, attentive as he licks between the valley of your breasts to capture your other nipple.

The noises that leave your mouth are filthy, rivaled only by the sounds you’ve heard in brothels… König only seems appreciative of them, muttering praises as he grinds the cold metal against your cunt, careful as the ridges of it graze your throbbing bud, gathering your slick to make the glide that much easier.

When he moves to dive for your breasts again, you cradle his jaw in your hands, peering up at those moonlight eyes in silent pleading as you capture him in another burning kiss.

The blade turns again, its sharpness directed down so as to not bring you any harm as you desperately roll your hips against its coldness. He groans into your mouth, panting softly just as you begin to whine.

You’ve never heard of a man making love to a woman with a weapon… or of one suckling at her as though she’s lactating when she is not, but… it has the desired result when your body tenses and all that can escape you is a frail whisper of his name.

The heat sweeps from your foggy head to your middle as your thighs squeeze around the damned thing and König presses his lips to your temple. You climax for him, chasing wave upon crashing wave of intensity with stilted bucks of your hips. He clicks his tongue in approval when you’ve finished, holds up the seax again, smeared wet with your essence and twinkling as though it had been bathed in the stream once more.

You know with a certainty you’ve lost Juno’s favor. If he chose you to carve you open with his come-stained blade the goddess would not make her descent to save you.

“Gut,” he whispers into your hair. To your horror, maybe even fascination, he raises the dirtied silver to his lips and licks your sweetness from it with another low groan.

“Wh… why would you do that..?” Your rapture feels almost shameful as you watch him lap at the weapon, the long tongue meeting silver only warmed by your heat.

He’s mad, certainly, and you only find yourself further infatuated: you reason that you must be too…

König doesn’t answer you as he sets the seax aside again, not in words. Instead, he cups your face and directs your lips to his own where he laps at your tongue, suckling it in the same way he did your tits. It’s slow and sensual, and you can taste yourself in his mouth, smell yourself on him as his hands find your waist and tug you closer until you’re lying almost entirely over him; one leg thrown over his thigh with your hands splayed over his chest.

The titan is hard beneath the pelt he wears, felt against the plushness of your thigh, the brown fur wrapped around his hips is pushed to rise where it’s harboring something akin to a pillar… but he doesn’t force you to settle over it, makes no attempt to tug it free, despite its throbbing against your leg,

“I needed your blessing,” he mutters, a hand settling over your naked hip, tracing small shapes with his thick fingers. The other finds your shoulder to pull you into a cuddle, pulled so tightly against him that you’re hardly able to discern where your warmth ends and his begins.

“A.. a blessing?” Your voice comes as a trembling croak, head pressed into the gap between a broad shoulder and the column of his throat.

“We are leaving in the morning.”

“Oh…”

“I will give you the horse when I return.”

Your head feels like a mess. You’re not even certain of what you’ve just done— did that count as sex? Would he tell the Roman soldiers he works alongside of how he had convinced some pompous aristocrat’s lovely bride to lustrate his blade with her essence? You could hit him, demand the horse now and bolt, but you only melt against him: eyelashes fluttering as exhaustion takes hold and the tension leaves you entirely.

“That’s all?”

König pets you, running a hand along your spine and back up to repeat. He presses his nose to the crown of your head, nuzzling against it until his hand is freed from your form and only then does it coax its way beneath the fur covering his groin.

He laughs at the weak sound of surprise you elicit when that beast is pulled free, another, thicker weapon curled in his hand. The thickness, the length of it that tapers off to a layer of skin, eager and pulled back from the tip, leaking beads of milky white: something that would surely tear you if he were not careful, and the thought brings you to squeeze your thighs together, concealing the leaking, thrumming thing between.

“I will fuck you when I return, too,” he huffs into your scalp, causing you to further bury your face against him, intent not to let him see the effect his derangement seems to have on you. You would let him bury himself into your chest, steal the breath from your very lungs, but you don’t breathe a word of it. Something tells you it’s a mutual thing, perhaps it was all spelled out for you when he asked for your favor rather than from any of his foreign gods.

You count your undeserved blessings. He seems sated only ruining you with his touch for the time being, you’re very comfortable here, and though you dare not speak it… you do find this brute charming. He speaks where you fail to, whispers of your beauty being like that from myths and dreams.

He doesn’t force you to leave, either, only paws at and squishes your breasts until you squeak and whine your protests, already sore from his teeth leaving their marks all over them. When he tires of his fun, you’re pulled into a crushing embrace where he rests his head against your own, blankets you in himself entirely. You were right… the shadow he casts over you blackens out the sun, moon, stars all of it; dulls the haze of carnality with something far more tender.

Your night becomes entirely made up of König: his scent like forest and sweat, the furs from beasts he’s chased down and slain, his soft breathing and gentle snores when he does fall asleep against you.

No dreams come to you, no lemures to haunt you with their wails and flames. Not even Juno descends to punish you. You’re warm and soft and contented like the kittens curled up in clusters along the streets on cold nights.

It’s the first night of peace you’ve had in some time.

When morning comes, the brightness of the sun peeking through the flaps of the tent, you wake to find König already out of bed. He stands at the far side of the tent, strapping on pelts and gear and the leather pouch filled with wine. His seax is held up in utter revelry, and mortifyingly enough… you immediately note that he hadn’t cleaned away the remnants of what occurred last night either.

When you bring yourself to sit upright, the giant only drops to his knees at your feet and curls his arms around your middle, pressing a kiss to the valley between your breasts through the thick fabric of the hood.

And… it almost hurts, to realize then that this is something you’ve longed for. You’re not arrogant enough to believe yourself worthy of some foreign worship, but he seems to liken you of some devout little acolyte, as if your come and kisses could grant him favor while he butchers poor souls all in favor of your empire: the people he had likely been communing and trading with only months before. Traitorous, mad, utterly enthralling man… You’re not certain whether you want to relieve yourself from him or guide him back into bed for more frenzied pleasures.

“You will stay?,” he murmurs into your skin as his kisses trail up to your neck.

You hadn’t even considered what you would do, it never came to mind, but staying in a shoddy tent in wait for him to return with the horse he’s promised was far from favorable. You’re out from the city, still without food or weapons, your dress and underclothes are a torn ruin on the floor, nothing but the wind and the stream and König’s stinking furs… The bathhouse seems to call to you now more than ever. Your lower lip trembles when you think of returning to that stale place, to be questioned endlessly about your affairs from your ‘doting’ husband-to-be…

Your head shakes solemnly. “I’ll wait for you at home.”

König drags you up onto your feet and closer as he savors in another embrace. You’re cloaked in a gray pelt, tied up and over your shoulders like the gaudiest tunic in the world, but you bur your nose into its shoulder, humming in contentment when you find that it smells just like him.

He’s more confident and proud than you’ve ever seen him now. The filthy blade remains strapped to his hip when he gathers you up to sit at his front on the back of his horse— a dark stallion with a pelt the same shade as the night sky. It doesn’t even seem to flinch at your combined weight, just canters along smoothly as König directs it through the sprawling field and past the stream to lead you back towards the city’s gates.

You’re not thinking of Juno or Gaius or traditions when König cinches your waist with a thick arm to draw you in closer; there’s nothing but fluffy warmth pooling in your chest sent by Venus when you feel his hips shift to press himself against your back. His head dips to kiss at your neck, your burning cheeks, shoulder, anyplace that he can.

When the horse comes to a halt with a sharp tug of its makeshift reigns, some length of rope and twine, his hand is at your rear.

Everything’s incensed and floral when you’re lowered to the ground, when he lifts the hood to grin down at you, not only with his eyes this time. It’s a sheepish, gluttonous grin, drunk off your very presence.

“I will come back for you, meine Göttin.”

And you know now, that the palm reading had been true— there’s your wolf in preparation for a hunt, the man who’s unwittingly aiding you in your pursuit of freedom painted with mountains and vast, blue skies. You will convince him to come away too, lay down the blade you’ve blessed with your pleasure. A summer wedding… far from wars of greed and smirking old men.

Your head swims when he bids you farewell, rides off on his massive horse back to his camp to gather his own men to march. You watch him go, breath caught up in your throat, a burning longing in your chest that you can not entirely dismiss.

The walk of shame only comes when you’ve crossed the threshold separating König’s world from your own.

The stink of the streets immediately washes away any lingering scent of him on your skin, on his pelt you now hide away with your arms curled around your waist.

You catch your reflection in stagnant water held in a pot, swaying and ebbing gently as others breeze past you.

You’re in a foreigner’s clothes that just barely crest your thighs, hair a mess and the carmine you had worn to bring a false blush to your cheeks is smeared over an eye and down to your jaw. You look the part of an adulteress, maybe, even as you dip your hand into the water to wash the makeup from your face.

There isn’t much to be done about the marks left over the hints of your chest revealed beneath the fur, but you make your way home without anyone even bothering to ask. If anything, the festivities from the night prior only seemed to subdue the standard bustle. You could only imagine how exhausted the hungover soldiers may have been as they undoubtedly prepare for the expedition König had mentioned.

That overrides your shame, sobers you from that sugary elation somewhat. You’re worried. It’s not just about König himself, not about the threat of fucking you when he returns left unfulfilled— though, those are enough to make your heart begin it’s hammering, rabbit in the throes of a chase. The horse, too. That proud stallion, your hope of a swift escape before winter comes and it’s all lost. If his drunken allies fail him in battle, if some other barbarian’s spear strikes true and fells your titan then the dream is dispelled into smoke, sunken down to river bed to be lashed away by frothing waters.

Whoever decided that the day after revelry would be the time to move was a fool indeed. The deities couldn’t look at you after last night, you know if they saw their noses would be turned up in disgust… perhaps not Jupiter’s, he’s more guilty than you could ever be, but your offerings had never been for him had they?

You fret and hiss below your breath as you wind your way back to the villa with its white walls and terracotta-tiled roof. The sun bears down on you like the flame of your dreaming. You’re afraid again, letting the lemures find their way in through the gaps in your shivering limbs to haunt your dreams.

Gaius is not there to greet you, likely still recovering from his own fevered night. You’re grateful for that.

The little altar to Juno still stands atop a table in your room, the burner still smells of cinnamon, dried flower petals and a dish of honey still sat there entirely untouched. She hasn’t split it in two, abandoned you, but it does feel that way when you peel away the fur.

Your fingers nudge at the bruises laden into your skin, the marks that look like teeth to either side of your breast. You press into them, gently, immediately feel that coil of heat, and you don’t want to sleep. That fire from your dream only seems to have become a part of you: you know it intimately now, it comes with pleasure and bite marks and a heavy weight harbored in your chest.

You cinch your waist and tie your stola at your shoulder, brush your hair out with a comb made of ivory. You rub your bruises with a salve made of honey, bandage up what you can and hide away what you can’t by tugging up your breast band.

The same as any other day, you take to the streets of the city and peruse the marketplace, take to the empty bathhouse to wash away all that’s consumed you over the past day. And you watch the soldiers go as they march through the streets, women and children waving away their fathers and brothers with prayers and sentimental words.

They don themselves in red, clutching their gladiuses, spears and heavy shields as they filter out and away where your very being longs to be. Their faces are giddy, almost: the prospect of pillaging and felling each enemy another delightful treat just like those found in the gladiator pits and amidst rolling with the whores in their brothel beds. You can not hope to understand their mirth, the happiness in any of the civilians either.

You watch them leave wistfully, lips pressed to a thin line, fingers digging into the waist of the stola. You down your fair share of the wine Gaius has left in your cellar. The day merely passes you by, the sewing left undone on the floor, altar bathed in cinnamon and saffron as you make your prayers and beg like any dog.

The mattress feels lonely and sad without the warmth of a body made for war curled against you, without his breath in your hair and his arms wrapped around you. It’s cold, too, and far harder than his, all straw and thin sheets. None of this feels like home.

Your eyes eventually close as the last of the sun’s rays begin to die, blotted out by the dark, untouched by torchlight.

You dream of fire.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #konig x you #cod fanfiction #f: only other #tw: dubcon

1K notes · View notes