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that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main · 4 years ago

Note

Hi!! Can you do a one shot of kyojuro ending up in our world and meets reader and they become friends and fall in love?

Of course! Thanks for requesting!!! I had a lot of ideas for this one! Thank you!!!!

Not exactly from around here

Kyojuro smiled as a scroll of parchment was dropped in his hand. Untying and unrolling the paper he looked at the newest target. Looking at the papers he seen a map on the second.

Confused he walked into town, looking around he spotted a shop owner setting up his sweets stand.

"Hello! Hi!" Rengoku called with a smile.

The middle age man smiled turning away from the Hawthorn he was skewing.

"Hey there! The sugars still heating up! But Can I interest you in my special sweet buns! There not typical!"

Rengoku smiled, "I was wondering if you could help me find this place."

The man looked over the stand looking at the map, "hmm...thats the old abonded train station, the tracks are covered in water." The man infromed, "If you want to go there, go down the back alley just down the street, you'll hit a dead end all the way down and take the stairs down, you'll see a fruit stand and turn left going down some more stairs."

"Thank you." Rengoku spoke putting the papers away, then looking at the stand, "how long is that sugar going to take?"

"Hmm? Not to longer more." The man spoke.

"Can I buy..."

Twenty mintues later Rengoku was walking down the second set of stairs with a bag of sweets in his hand and a stick of tanghulu-ed hawthorne in his hand, but before he could enjoy his sweet he past by a child playing by himself- so he was happy to share the Tanghulu with the small boy.

By the time he had made it to the run down station the sun was setting, the water filled the tracks like he was informed and the sitting area once well done was now over run with folliage, vines creating a curtain.

Walking down the colostone path he made it to a small ticket booth, swipping the vines away he seen no one in the ticket booth. Walking away from the ticket booth to look around a bit more he spotted a random mushroom in the middle of the walk way. Curious enough he went over to it- as it suddenly picked itself up and ran off.

Confused Rengoku followed the mushroom as it ran behind the sitting area and back around the far corner. Rengoku followed as he turned the corner. A shadow now in the ticket booth, and the small mushroom running over.

Rengoku followed moving the foliage again seeing the silhouette of what seemed to be a ticket master- the only solid thing was the brooch on the mans hat.

It was silent as the man held up a set of tickets.

"A ticket slip?" Rengoku asked, but got no reply, only a pointed finger at his haori.

Figuring it was the scroll hidden inside he took out the roll and set it on the wood.

The scroll was taken and ripped as it burnt to ashes and in replace Rengoku was given the ticket slip.

Taking it he looked at the slip- he had never heard of any of the stops passed the first three.

Walking over to the now clean sitting area he took a seat, a black cat joining his side as it waited with cat sized bag around its body, some other creatures such as more mushroom people, and flower fairies came to take a look at Rengoku- a human- none the less a demon slayer.

He looked down at the small group and smiled sending them into shock and hiding. He smiled brighter as they came out of hiding slowly- unsure if they'd be scooped up or slashed, but seeing his bright smile they took a seat, bathing in his sun like smile.

Hearing the train coming in he stood up, walking over towards the tracks to realize the water was still present, but filled with small fish and- what he assumed was an eel that pasted by. The colors in the water scattered as the train came in- coming to a slow stop as the doors slid open.

The cat took lead, hoping in as it held its ticket slip in its mouth. Rengoku followed after, still uncertain of what was really happening- but you could say curiosity killed the cat.

Taking a seat on the bench he looked out the window infront of him. Soon a ticket master- no more than the age of tweleve came floating by- two eyes following him as he held out a gloved white hand. Looking at the ticket he handed them to the boy, who took them and shreaded them in his hand processed shredder and moved on. On the first stop- people filed in, a veiled woman sitting next to him with a child in a wooven fruit basket- the child- of course wasn't human, and a male in a kitsune mask infront of him, smoking out of a Kiseru, and beside him sat the cat that minded it own bussniess.

It wasnt till the fourth stop he was left alone- the only residing was the cat. Rengoku looked over and waved smally with a bright smile but the cat never did respond.

Not so long after the same floating boy came back over- pointing to the door as the train came to a stop.

The cat got up as well as Rengoku went over the doors opening as they both walked out. Rengoku watched as the black cat made it own way leaving Rengoku alone in silence. Looking around he found some stairs, traveling up them he came to a back alley, he almost walked into busy foot-traffic, luckily stopping himself in time as he watched people pass by, werid items in there hands, dressed weirdly, some dressed in what seemed to be a uniform.

"You really are a slow one aren't you."

Rengoku looked up seeing the black cat sitting on an on-ing.

"Oh. So you do speak." Rengoku smiled. "I am-"

"Rengoku Koyojuro. I know who you are." The cat spoke, "why are you here?"

"I was sent on an assignment you see!" Kyojuro spoke with a bright smile, "that ticketmaster took my map. But I still have the letter- hey where are we?"

"Modern time- futuristic for you." The cat spoke, "Just do your job and leave. Don't cause a ruckus."

The cat left as Rengoku looked out into the crowd, with a bright smile on his face, and a hop in his stepped out into the crowd, just to be carried away by the crashing wave of people. When he finally got out of the crowd he looked around looking at the letter.

'Find Y/n'

Wss the first thing that stood out to him, he went to the closest person in veiw. A young girl in a school uniform with her friends.

"Excuse me!" Rengoku smiled happily.

The girls looked back at him- immediately flushed at his apperance, "Hi! I was wondering if you could help me find a Y/n?"

"Y-Y-Y/n? Y/n? W-w-what?" One girl spoke a flushing mess as she looked at the young man.

"Hmm..." Rengoku thought looking down at the paper.

"Ah! A Y/n L/n! Or a L/n Y/n! Which ever way sounds familiar would really help!" Rengoku smiled.

"L/n?"

"Ah as in L/n-Sensei!" One girl pipped up.

"The pretty teacher?" Another girl asked.

"Pretty teacher?" Rengoku asked.

One nodded, "She works at the highschool. Shes Mirus home room! Isnt that right Miru-san?!"

"H-huh! Oh...yeah!" She flustered.

"She should still be at the school. She said she had a meeting."

"Where can I find this highschool?"

"Its down that way."

Thanking the young women he left to find this highschool.

Walking along the streets he seen cars and bikes past by- confusing him- but interesting him none the less. Asking for directions once more he had made it to the school, walking through the front gate he stopped hearing windows being opened abruptly.

A young woman stood there, her hair down and relaxed as the breeze blew through it softly. The breeze now dismissed- showed her face, Kyojuro awe strucken by her appearance, she seemed to be the only simple thing in this hetic world he had traveled too- her bright colorful eyes made her stick out- show casing her warm heart and soul as she smiled.

From the corner of her eye she spotted the bright colors of the sun. Turning her head down she looked at the male looking up at her- there bright eyes locking with one another.

It was silent, the breeze coming and going as they stayed awe strucken by one another.

"Can I help you with something sir?"

There it was. Her voice, a love striken arrow piercing Rengoku's heart.

"My name is Rengoku Kyojuro."

His voice sent a warm fuzz to her cheeks.

"I am L/n Y/n."

This was her.

"I. I've heard of you." Rengoku called back, "I was wondering. If you'd like to become friends!"

"A pretty bold move for friendship Mr.Kyojuro!"

Rengoku smiled, "I suppose it is Ms.L/n!"

"we can grab some yakisoba, maybe a beer? Or some sake?"

Rengoku nodded as Y/n smiled, "Give me time to grab my things."

Rengoku patiently waited as the woman soon came down the steps and out the school.

"Its nice to meet you as a whole rather than just your upper half." Rengoku smiled as Y/n chuckled softly.

"So. How about that food?"

That was the start of it, there meeting- they had sat and ate talking along the way, laughing and joking- until Kyojuro brought his reasoning for being where they were.

"A demon train?" Y/n asked.

"It may be hard to believe-"

"It really isn't!" Y/n said, "This is the modern world after all- just if your a supposed demon slayer why didnt you just kill the thing instead of boarding it?"

"I'm still asking myself that question!" He laughed rubbing the back of his neck with a smile.

Y/n ate some rice as he contuied to talk,

He may be hot but kinda childish- or is it dense...

"So whats the plan then? How are you getting back?" Y/n asked.

"Oh." Rengoku spoke.

Well atleast he has a plan

"You see. I don't exactly know!" He finished.

Of course he doesnt have a plan

"Well how about staying at my place until then?" Y/n asked, "I teach mythology and history.So you'll be my living reference in return"

"That sounds great!"

"Well first we should dress you modernly. Im sure the police will arrest you for walking around with a sword." Y/n informed.

"Oh."

Rengoku listened as Y/n informed him on the modern world the two soon returning to her place, he was most interested in the colorized pictures on the wall as she started informing him on where things were.

"Rengoku?"

"Hmm?"

She turned around to see him with a frame in his hand, but he soon set it down.

"Something wrong?"

"No. Nothing at all. I've never seen so many. Who paints them all?" He asked curiously.

"There taken with a camera that links to my printer." Y/n informed.

"Can we take one? You know before we figure out a way for me to get back!" Rengoku asked.

"Yeah I don't see why not." Y/n smiled.

Rengoku smiled as Y/n continued the house tour. The next few days Y/n would help Rengoku get accustomed to modern life, and he'd teach her about his time- simple things she wanted to know really. He accompanied her to school where he sat in the corner in the from of the class- or in the back depending on the time. Most of the highschool girls fauned over him- and maybe even some of the boys.

It was safe to say- Y/n and Rengoku had become friends. Yet that didn't stop Rengoku from wanting to return home. A week into his visit he was still there, and he was missing home none the less.

Y/n frowned seeing Rengoku doodling little images of his old friends and world.

"What do you want for dinner today Rengoku?" Y/n asked.

"I picked yesterday! You can pick today!" He spoke smiling.

"How about pozole?" Y/n asked.

"Is that new?" He asked.

"No." Y/n responed, "it's a hispanic dish. I figured while your hear. Maybe you could try some other cultural food! Fish isnt the only thing out there you know!"

Rengoku smiled softly, "that sounds great then."

Y/n smiled, "how about helping me?"

Rengoku nodded as the two got to work. He had found himself attached- warm hearted next to her. He knew she was going out of her way to not only help him, but try and feel better.

They cooked and cooked, the two laughing along the way as they sat down with there bowls to eat.

Rengoku took a spoonful happily, "It's diffrent. I like it!"

Y/n smiled, "Im glad you like it so much. Now you know how to make it so you can make it whenever!"

He nodded as they contuied to eat, "I was thinking."

Rengoku looked up from his bowl, "maybe we could take the camera out? Go take some pictures together?"

Rengoku nodded with a smile, "I'd enjoy that!"

"Then it settled! We can go out after we eat!"

The dinner was filled with laughter and jokes, dishwashing contained a bubble fight. Ending in the two of them sitting against the counter taking a break. Just for them to get up again and get ready to head out, Y/n with a camera in her hands.

The evening was warm, and happy- a smile not leaving any of there faces. It was mostly goofy pictures of the two of them doing things- just one- as the other one was usually taking the picture.

Y/n intruppted a man for a quick question as he happily agreed, Y/n ran over to Rengoku pulling on the haori he had overlaping his buttonup.

"He's gonna take a picture of us." Y/n said pointing to the man who held the camera.

Rengoku nodded in understanding as the two stood ready bright smiles on there faces as they stood infront of some neosigns.

"There we go!"

"Thanks alot!"

"It was no problem!"

Y/n smiled looking at the photo.

"One more place?" She asked.

Rengoku agreed as she pulled him along, the route soon told him where they were going.

"I figured." Y/n spoke walking down the stairs, "the trainstation of which you magically appeared would be a nice photo right?"

Rengoku nodded, "It would be nice."

Y/n smiled as she found a rock to perch the camera on, "it'll be on a timer so I'll rush over and we can take the picture!"

Rengoku watched as she quickly ran over the two smiling as she held his arm, there fingers interlaced with each others. The photo snapped and Y/n smiled rushing over to get it. Making there way home Rengoku looked at her free hand, hanging by her side as she held the camera in one hand.

Feeling his pinky being taken he looked back down and noticed Y/n wrapped her pinky around his, looking back up at her she walked normally- following in suit he wrapped his pinky around hers.

"Hey Rengoku..."

"Hmm?"

She was silent for a mintue, "nevermind..."

Rengoku frowned as they got home, taking there shoes off, Y/n took her coat off and Rengoku hung his haori up besides it.

"I...Im gonna go print these pictures-"

"Wait a mintue." Rengoku said grabbing her hand, "What. What were you going to say? Before the nevermind. It must've been important."

"No. Nothing." Y/n spoke walking away and to her desk, "We should get these printed."

The mood suddenly changed, it was lighthearted once more as they figured out what pictures to print. Rengoku watched her smile and laugh as he stood over the chair using the back as a leaning support.

"Hey! Thats a good one!" Rengoku pointed out at the picture of Y/n feeding the deer they seen passing a tea garden.

Y/n looked at him, his face now level with hers as he looked at the computer with a smile. Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek he flustered immediately.

They looked at each other, Y/n flushing immediately.

"S-sorry." She apologized.

"You missed." Rengoku told her.

"I-I missed?" Y/n asked as Rengoku pecked her lips softly.

"See I didn't miss." He smiled brightly, "You try again-"

Rengoku was silenced as Y/n kissed him again, this time, the kiss lasted longer than a peck.

Standing up her hands ran through his hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. He only responded with his hands on her hips, pushing into the kiss more she stumbled back a bit and bumped into her desk.

Pulling away Rengoku smiled softly as did she, "sorry." He apologized with a light laugh.

She chuckled lightly, her head resting against his, "you...kiss good."

Rengoku flushed softly as Y/n rubbed the back of her head.

"I uh. The printers in my room." She spoke softly rushing off flushed as he followed with a smile.

She looked at the pictures with a smile, as he stood in her doorway, leaning against the frame.

"Hey. Rengoku here are-"

She froze as he was suddenly next to her, a smile as he observed her.

"W-what is it?"

He sighed,tossing his Haori on her bed as he rolled up his sleeves. Gulping unknowing of what was to happen she was suddenly picked up.

"If I want to keep that smile on your face! I suppose I must tickle you!"

"Wait! Rengoku!-"

She was tossed on the bed as he climbed over her. Almost immediately tickling her she cried out in laughter, finishing off his tickling with a kiss to her lips he laid on his side, waiting for her to calm down.

"Want another tickle?"

"No! No. Im okay." She chuckled as he smiled.

Sighing she finally calmed down, the two laying on the bed together in peace, she yawned as he covered them with the white, flamed desgined haori.

"Im glad I found you." Rengoku spoke softly kissing her head as she smiled.

"I love you Ren." She smiled hugging him.

"I love you too N/n."

The two fell asleep in each others embrace, the suns rays of the next day only waking the two up.

Rengoky yawned as he sat up, back pain immense as he covered his eyes from the sun- which was odd as he remembered you only opening your curtains a bit.

"Aniki?"

He looked behind him seeing Tanjiro.

"Ah! Thank god we found you!" Tanjiro sighed in relief.

Tanjiro?

Why was Tanjiro here?

Wait.

Rengoku looked around quickly, "No. No. No. No no. No. No! No!" He cried getting up to his feet.

He had returned to the trainstation that started his journey.

"Y/n!" He called out, maybe you had been brought back with him, "Y/n!"

Tanjiro frowned at Rengoku's sudden burst.

"Hey. Hey! Calm down. Aniki what's wrong? What happened?" Tanjiro attempted to calm, "where did these chlothes come from?"

"No! She was here! She was with me! I-" Rengoku jumbled together.

"Aniki. Please. Take a deep breathe." Tanjiro spoke holding Rengoku's arms, "maybe that will jog your memory?"

Rengoku turned arouned to see his sword on the floor and under it was paper. Rushing over he looked at the papers- photos you had printed and taken for him. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks as Tanjiro comforted him.

#demon slayer imagines #demon slayer #kny #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny rengoku #demon slayer rengoku #rengoku kyoujurou #kimetsu no yaiba rengoku

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maxineswritingcenter · 3 years ago

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You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader

So, back in the day I wrote this story on Quotev. And it was one of my first stories that got into the popular section and I am really proud of it. The only problem is.... It was written in 2013, uber cringe-ville. If you wanna try to find it, be my guest but be warned: the main character is an OC, she has “I’m NoT lIkE oThEr GiRlS” syndrome and there are some weird ass love lines added in. So, I am reviving and rebranding that story so it may live a better life, like witness protection. Anyway, hope you enjoy

* I wrote it in first person just because I thought it would be easier to read

(Y/N)’s family is killed in a fire that seems to plague Beacon Hills, moving in with the Stilinski’s was bound to cause hijinks, but what happens when she gets involved with the the illusive Derek Hale?

TW: Kidnapping, some violence

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At first glance Beacon Hills seems like the perfect community. It wasn’t until later that I would realize that everything I ever knew was a lie.

I slowly slipped out of the front door and locked it behind me. Sneaking out wasn’t my usual schtick, but it was the last day of summer and for the first time I was going to live a little before starting to work at the Highschool as a volunteer coach for the lacrosse team. It was my first time ever sneaking out and just the idea of it made my heart pound, but the anxiety turned to adrenaline as I made my way out without either of my parents noticing. They were both incredibly heavy sleepers, there could be a parade outside their door and they wouldn’t wake up.

The party would mostly consist of most of the men’s and women’s lacrosse teams, and what would a lacrosse party be like without the team captain?

Walking down the sidewalk, I thought more about college. UCLA was a choice, or a community college too. Most kids would have gone straight after graduation, but I decided a year off would be good for me to de-stress. But honestly, I was just more afraid of the change. That and leaving my best friend, Stiles, behind was a little hard to fathom. We had known each other our whole lives. Another thing was…would he be okay? After losing his mom… who knows. But then there was also Michael. Michael was my boyfriend, and I loved being with him for the last four years. He really hadn’t mentioned plans for college, just working in the family business. What the family business was, I never knew.

About a block down the road is when I heard the howl. My instincts first go to fear, wolf in the darkness. But then logic comes in, there had not been wolves in California for decades. It was probably the neighbors husky.

The autumn chill had no mercy, whipping my hair into my eyes, I stopped on the corner of Fifth and Main, pulling my jacket closer and waited for the wind to pass. When it did, the figure in front of me made me gasp. But the shock subsided soon after.

“Mikey,” I sighed in relief, “Why’d ya sneak up on me like that? Almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for you.” He smiled. Ominous certainly, but this was probably just another one of his pranks.

“I guess so, I thought you said you weren’t going to the party.”

“We’re not.” That’s when a chill ran up my spine. Something wasn’t right, he wasn’t acting like himself. His goofy smile was gone and replaced by a dark looming presence that I wasn’t comfortable with. It was like he was a completely different person. I took a slow step back.

“Come on, this isn’t funny.” He said nothing, only matching my step going forward.

“Michael.” With every step I took back, he took one forward, matching my increasing pace. With no other choice in mind, I chose to run. But as my back was turned, he grabbed me by my middle with one arm and pressed a cloth to my mouth with the other. Without thinking, I breathed in, the chemicals in the cloth slowly numbing my senses and my body. I tried to fight the darkness entering my vision, but it was no use. I was done to my knees, Michael right behind me.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).” Were the last words I heard before the darkness took over.

“Sweetie, time to get up.” My mother’s voice rang in my ears.

“C’mon mom five more minutes…” I grumbled.

“(Y/N), you need to wake up.” Her voice is more urgent. I finally opened my eyes, seeing my mother, her body engulfed in flames.

“Wake up!”

My body jerked as I woke up, leading to soreness in my arms and legs as a few things became clear:

1. I was tied to a chair, and

2. I didn’t know where I was.

The events from last night slowly started coming back and nothing made any sense. Michael had never been controlling or abusive. Was I so blinded by the relationship that I hadn’t seen the signs? No, there were no signs. As far as I knew, Michael had no history of mental illness so something like dissociative identity disorder didn’t make sense and it wouldn’t explain the behavior either.

There was a bandana tied around my head, keeping me from any sort of speech. From the layout of the place, it looked like an apartment Michael had, but everything was different. There was a tack board hanging in the living room with so many pictures of myself and my parents, shots that looked like they were taken without us knowing. There were scrawlings but they were too scribble-like to make out.

The door opening brought my head to look towards the source. Michael walked in, shoving his phone into his back pocket.

“Well good afternoon, sleepy head.” He closed the door behind him and made his way over to the chair I was bound to.

“Alright, I’m gonna take the gag out but you can’t scream.” He smiled.

I nodded along. With one hand, he pulled the gag from my mouth.

“HELP! HELP ME!” I cried, hoping one of his neighbors would hear and call the police.

“Shut up!” He slapped me across the face, the stinging pain only added to my screaming for help.

“I said shut up!” He pulled a knife from his pocket, pressing the tip of the blade against my cheek. This new threat silences me, leaving me breathing heavily through my nose, tears making their way down my cheeks.

“See, was that so hard?” He stood up and made his way across the room to the box TV on his floor, “I’m sorry for the mess, but with all my planning I hadn’t had a chance. I’ve been planning a big surprise and it’s finally done.” I didn’t speak, only continued to watch his movements.

“I figure, even if you didn’t listen, you can still have your surprise.” He pressed the round power button on the screen and it fizzled to life.

“-the same arsonist on the loose? Coming back to breaking news, the second house fire in six years occurred in the early morning today. Firefighters were called out to the residence of (Y/D/N) and (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N) where their home had gone up in flames.” There was footage of my home up in flames, streams of water coming from the firemen below. “ Both (Y/D/N) and (Y/M/N) were found dead, seemingly from being crushed by a falling support beam in their basement. Their daughter, (Y/N), has not been found and is considered missing. If you have any information on her please call Beacon Hills police.” My photo came up on the screen.

My heart sunk into my stomach and my throat ached to scream and sob. Michael turned off the TV then and looked down at me.

“I’m surprised they found the bodies with how hot it was.” He said nonchalantly.

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered. My parents were the nicest people in the world and treated Michael like he was a part of the family, why would he do this?

”Don’t worry, (Y/N/N). It’s all a part of the plan.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“I’m gonna head to bed, been out all night. I’ll see you in a couple hours.” He made his way to her bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Finally, I completely broke down. Silent cries poured out. My parents were just gone in a puff of smoke. And all at the hands of someone we trusted. Someone that I trusted more than anything.

After the grief quickly came anger. I don’t know how or when, but I am getting the hell out of here.

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Read part 2 here!

Likes, Comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

Message me comment to to added to the General Tag or the tag list for this series!

#teen wolf fic #derek hale #derek hale x reader #maxineswritingcenter

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probably-not-a-rocketscientist · 4 years ago

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calculated love and complicated confessions

summary: your time on cloverfield station has lead you to two conclusions: love is complicated and not everyone is who they seem

warnings: mutual pining, slight angst with a happy ending, mention of harm to others, one (1) german phrase that i'm pretty sure i butchered

a/n: did i write this all week when i should have been studying for my finals? yes. also, i saw this movie three years ago in chinese so i might have gotten some details wrong. english is not my first language so constructive criticism is encouraged. enjoy!

——

As an engineer, you knew the importance of trial and error. However, you did not expect for it to keep you in space for nearly three year with seven other scientist. You all found a sense of family with each other, but you couldn't help the need of being on earth grow every day.

One crew member you payed particularly close attention to was Ernst Schmidt. You noticed the little things about him; like how he would comb his fingers through his hair when it fell to his face because he insisted on keeping it long, or when he would curse in his native tongue when he got frustrated with his work.

After a while, the whole station seemed to have caught on to your fondness for Schmidt, except the physicist himself. He was oblivious to the constant teasing by the other crewmates, thinking it was only because of how close you two were as friends.

However, he wasn't the only clueless person on the station. You had failed to notice all the advances that Schmidt had made — like his hands lingering on to yours for a second more when they touched, or always insisting on being paired with you when you all were sent to do assignments throughout the deck. He found your presence to be intoxicating, but didn't push too far in fear that you didn't feel the same way.

—

The day before another test, you stayed in the dining room all night reviewing your calculations. You were almost positive that they were correct, but it would kill you if you were the one responsible for the accelerator being unsuccessful.

You were so focused on your work that you didn't notice how quiet the station was. You checked your wristwatch and it was well over midnight. Sleep wasn't a priority for you right now, but you knew you needed to be well rested for the test in a couple of hours.

Right as you were about to get up, Schmidt entered the room. His hair was messy and he was in sweatpants and a t-shirt. A pair of wire-framed glasses sat on his face, something he only wore when he forgot to put in his contacts — or in this case, retrieving an item from the kitchen at this ungodly hour. You forced yourself to look away, worried that you were starring at him for too long.

"Why are you still working? It's very late," he comments as he opens the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water.

"I'm just nervous about tomorrow. We don't have a lot of firings left and I want to get this right," you responded.

"You've been working non-stop for the past month, I'm certain you will do just fine," he reassured with a smile. "And if not, I will take over your post."

"The last time I checked, I had one more PhD than you."

"I'll catch up eventually, you know."

He was fidgeting with his water bottle, unsure how to prolong this conversation. "Let me walk you back to your quarters, you need the sleep."

Without hesitation, you rose from your chair and began walking beside him. Walking through the halls of the station at night usually made you uneasy, but Schmidt's presence made it slightly more comfortable. The heavy clanking of your steel-toed work boots contrasted the light thumps of his sneakers.

After a few more paces, you arrived at your room. You punched in your passcode and the door slid open.

"Well, this is my stop. Thanks for making sure I got back safely," you joked.

"Of course," he responded.

You could tell that he was also tired so you didn't want to hold him for too long. "Goodnight Schmidt," you bid.

"Goodnight liebling," he responded. He began walking back to his own room before you could process what he said.

"What does that mean?" you questioned.

"You'll understand soon enough," he answered without looking back.

Even though you were confused by his response, you closed your door and locked it. Exhausted, you fell onto your mattress without taking your boots or jumpsuit off. Within a few seconds you felt your eyelids getting heavy and slipped into your sleep.

—

The control room was silent, worried that any movement or noise would cause the dial to turn in the unfavorable direction. The particle accelerator was fired less than a minute ago and the dial was slightly moving in between the red and green zones. This was first time the machine had been able to turn on and to have it successfully work would be nothing short of a miracle.

All of you held your breath as the dial began to turn again, this time in the green. Suddenly, it lowered significantly towards the safety levels.

It worked.

Cheers and laughter filled the room as you all celebrated the victory. After years of failures and dead-ends, the feeling of achievement was exhilarating.

—

You were thrown into chaos when you got back to earth. After the return shuttle landed in the Atlantic, a helicopter took you all back to mission control in London. Everyday consisted of either physical test to make sure the artificial gravity didn't have any negative effects on your body, or press conferences about how the eight of you solved the energy crisis. You couldn't turn on the news without some mention of the Shepard, but you were just glad to be home.

By the end of the month, you and the rest of the crew were burned out, both mentally and physically. You, Tam, Hamilton, and Mundy decided to stay in London and lead a team at mission control to monitor the Shepard's status. Kiel, Acosta, and Volkov were to return to their families and respective countries tomorrow. You hadn't heard much from Schmidt, but you assumed that he would return to his life in Germany. Since today was the last day all of you be together for a while, Hamilton decided to take you all to a pub downtown.

You watched the others play, or at least attempt to play, billiards closely from the bar. Your feet were aching so you decided to sit down but you were still actively encouraging them. After a couple rounds, Schmidt walked over towards you.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked politely.

"It's all yours," you gestured. He pulled out the stool and sat with his back facing the tabletop. You notice his outfit, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of dark trousers. It was a change from his usual jumpsuit uniform and a polo shirt with jeans.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, letting the soft conversations of the pub fill the empty space between you. It was almost a bittersweet moment; one of the last moments you would spend together.

Almost as if he read your mind, he answered your thought. "I'm not going back to Germany," he said.

A sigh of relief rang through your head, but you still couldn't help but be curious about his decision. "Why not? You probably have hundreds of women lining up to be with the 'German man that saved the world'," you joked.

He was unresponsive to your comment as he gathered his thoughts. His demeaner changed and he shifted in his seat so that now he was facing you. "Can I make a confession?" he asked.

"Of course, Schmidt," you replied. Now you were worried that something was wrong. He wasn't one for serious conversations so you knew this was important.

"As you may know, my country has been trying to start a war with Russia for nearly a decade. When the Shepard was built, the government sent me as a spy to prevent it from working. I was suppose to send logs of my progress back to them, but I never did. The day before we activated the device, I received a transmission ordering me crash the station into the ocean with all crew member on board. If I go back to Germany, they will have me arrested for treason."

You were shocked by his words and couldn't think of anything to say. You knew that Schmidt would never betray the crew, and apparently the cost of that was being exiled from his own country.

He was now looking down on the floor, worried that he would see disappointment in your eyes if he looked up. "Can you please say something?" he pleaded.

"Why didn't you do it? You knew this was the result, yet you still made the sacrifice? Why?" you asked. You brought your hand to cup his face, tilting his gaze so he was now looking down at you. Your thumb ran over his cheek as an attempt to comfort him.

"I did it for you. And I would do it all again if it meant I could see your smile, even for just one more minute. I understand if you want nothing to do with me after today, but you deserve to know the truth."

It wasn't until now that you realized how close in proximity you were to him. You could smell the cologne he was wearing; citrus with a hint of firewood. Flammable items like fragrance and hairspray weren't allowed on the station, but you could still identify the scent as his own.

"I guess it's my turn to make a confession, right? To even things out," you half-whispered. You continued to move closer to him slowly, seeing if he showed any sign of resistance. His eyes were now fixed on your lips, and yours to his. Deciding to take the final step, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down.

The kiss was slow but filled with passion, the result of bottled up feelings for the past three year. He tasted like cigarettes and tap beer, exactly how you imagined him. His hands traveled down to your waist and attempted to pull you in as close as he could from the awkward position you both were in. A small moan escapes your lips from the contact, a sound that he found to be his favorite.

You pull away moments later to catch a breath of air. His quick breathing was in sync with yours and you let out a slight laugh of relief.

The intimate moment was interrupted by cheering and whistling coming from the billiards table. It was a mix of 'finally's and 'about time's. Your crewmates had a habit of embarrassing you and apparently it applied to public spaces as well. You put your head on Schmidt's shoulder to try to shield yourself from them.

"Should we go over there and say something?" you asked. The lighting in the pub wasn't great, but you could've swore you saw Mundy hand Tam £20.

"In a minute. I want to savour this moment for as long as possible."

#the cloverfield paradox #ernst schmidt #ernst schmidt x reader #schmidt x reader #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl x reader

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heavencollins · 3 years ago

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David Bruckner's The Night House: Mental Illness and the Effect it Has on Loved Ones

spoiler filled sections up ahead, go forth at your own risk.

The Night House is a tour de force. It's a fresh take on the classic horror metaphor for mental illness and how it affects your day to day life. The film opens after the catalyst that thrusts us into the story; Beth, played by Rebecca Hall, says her goodbyes to a family member/family friend at the door of her house. Once inside, surrounded by huge glass windows and doors, she throws a tin-foil covered casserole in the trash, and pours a glass of wine.

The film is slow, crawling, but never boring. It keeps viewers in the dark about things until we absolutely need to know. Beth’s husband, Owen, shot himself on their boat in the middle of the lake their property sits on. Built by Owen, Beth feels like she’s never alone now that he’s gone. When the sun sets, she can’t tell when her conscious life ends and her sleep life begins, often found waking up in the middle of random rooms throughout the house. Her friends are concerned, her neighbor is concerned, but she knows that something is happening.

Owen kept secrets. There is something in the back of Beth’s head that begins to feed that thought into her mind. Her “dreams”, or maybe bouts of psychosis, lead her further down that rabbit hole with visions of Owen and hearing his voice behind her shoulder. She finds the journal that held his floor plans for the house, but as she fingers through the journal deeper and deeper, nothing starts to make sense. Why is there a reverse floor plan of their house? What is this figure he drew in the middle of it? Why does he write about tricking something?

Beth reveals to her work friend that when she was a teenager, she died in a car crash. She was dead for four minutes, lungs crushed, heart not working, but was somehow resuscitated. Owen was the only person she ever told what she saw in the afterlife. Nothing. She saw nothing.

Furthering Beth’s paranoia, the suicide note that Owen left states that Beth was right, there is nothing. That nothing is following her, and she is safe. She keeps the letter with her, the blood stained envelope, messy handwriting. But what could be following her?

In the woods, after having one last dream about the reverse house, she finds the house Owen was hiding from her. Plywood and tarps and garbage bags form the skeleton, no furniture, just empty. Except for a little figure in the middle of a room upstairs. A voo-doo doll of some sort, with pins stuck through planned locations. She runs to her neighbors house, begging for more information on it, and learns that the neighbor once saw Owen bring another woman there, and left covered in mud. He never saw something like that again, and promised Owen he would never tell Beth on him.

Owen was stalking girls that looked like Beth. He has photos on his computer of women that look just like her, but slightly different. Hundreds of photos. Beth, in a desperate state, goes back to the reverse house. Begging for Owen to contact her once again. It’s night time, it’s raining, and everything is soggy. Her foot falls through a floor board, revealing bags of dead bodies. The bodies of the dead women.

Beth calls her friend in a state of shock, but it’s late, so she doesn’t answer the phone and leaves a voicemail stating that she never should have dug deeper, that she made a terrible mistake. In the bathroom, Beth calls for Owen, and a message appears on the fogged up shower wall: Here.

But it isn’t Owen that is there, it’s something else. It’s nothing. It’s the Nothing that Beth saw when she died for four minutes. It’s the Nothing that Owen has been trying to stave off for all these years, creating a duplicate of their house, placing a voo-doo doll in the house to trap the Nothing, murdering nearly exact replicas of Beth to try and trick Nothing. But Nothing figured it out, sooner rather than later, and he was here to take Beth back with him for good. Owen wasn’t there to protect her anymore. The Nothing drove Owen to kill himself.

In an earlier scene, Beth talks to her coworkers about Owen’s death, and they ask her if there were any warning signs. Beth tells them that she always struggled with mental illness, not Owen, that Owen is who took her out of those dark periods all the time, that he is the one who constantly made the bad thoughts go away, but that maybe it finally got to him and she’s the reason he died. Everybody tells her mental health isn’t contagious like that, but she laughs. Now, Beth knows the truth. It isn’t contagious, but the Nothing will do anything to get her.

Owen fought it for as long as he could, he built this house by himself so he knew exactly what he needed to do in the reverse house, even when Beth recorded him and told him that they could’ve hired people to build the house, and he just shakes his head. He built this house to protect Beth, to keep her safe, surrounded by windows that allow anyone to look in but still act as walls. He found as many replicas of Beth as he could, going as far as to seduce and murder them in his reverse house, while going home and still loving Beth. He was arguably possessed by the Nothing. But he didn’t want Beth to leave this mortal realm, and instead, took his own life.

The suicide note should have acted as a warning to Beth that something was going to happen, we can infer that the Nothing probably persuaded Owen to write it, to make her feel safe. The dreams, or most likely bouts of psychosis that Beth went under at night time were caused by the Nothing trying to get her to feel safe, to make her feel that it was Owen’s presence.

In Beth’s world with the Nothing, everything is dark. There are two moons; a red moon, and a normal moon, right next to each other. The Nothing lures Beth onto the boat, the same boat that Owen killed himself on. The Nothing presents as Owen, but has a dark voice, a brooding energy. The Nothing hands Beth the same gun that Owen used to shoot himself. She plays it over in her head, running the gun through her hands.

In the “real” world, Beth’s friend comes running out to the dock, after realizing that the house was empty and the gun was missing. It’s morning time, but not in Beth’s world. Everything is so dark, but Beth’s friend’s voice keeps breaking through. Beth drops the gun. She tells the Nothing, that there is nothing. After she says this, Beth’s friend grabs her off the boat, and they swim back to the dock. The movie ends with both of them getting to safety.

So what does that ending really mean?

Beth finally came to terms with her mental health, and how to live with it on her own. She knows the Nothing has no power over her, as she can take control of her own life. Owen succumbs to it, but she doesn’t have to. By standing up to the Nothing, she knows she can face anything now, even in the face of darkness itself.

The Night House is a perfect, allegorical tale of what it means to be a depressed adult with a seemingly normal life. You can hide from everything, but it’s always going to creep back into your life. But it also begs the question of how far you would go for the person you love the most, the person you would do anything for. Owen paid with his life for the woman he loved. It’s not necessarily romantic, but it shows the effect that depression has on loved ones, and how sometimes love isn’t enough, and the person has to help themselves rather than rely on those around you.

#the night house #rebecca hall #david bruckner #film essay #film review #essay #mental health #mental heath support

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ms-rampage · 3 years ago

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Old Friends, New Lovers - Chapter 3

Red Dead Redemption series

Jack Marston and Cristina Winchester-Smith reunite after 15 years.

Warnings: Slight language. These two idiots don't realize they have feelings for each other.

Word Count: 1.7k

Blackwater, West Elizabeth - 1914

Another few days have passed, Cristina is working her job at the Blackwater saloon. Going over her usual daily route.

Aggressively cleaning glasses, wiping the counter and serving customers. Still angry that her mother kept her fathers killer a secret from her, but she's more pissed off at Edgar Ross, like her best friend Jack, she has a vendetta to kill him as well.

Killing a weak, sick, dying man who couldn't even defend himself, and having the audacity to kill him in their family establishment.

Visibly upset and looking like she might snap if anyone looked at her wrong or said something stupid.

She leaves her job early to go back to her room at the boarding house. Too many thoughts blocking her conscience, slowing her down from her work. She didn't even want to work that day, but she had to forcefully pull herself outta bed.

Jack arrives at the saloon a few minutes after she had left. He approaches the bar and asks the older male bartender.

"Excuse me mister, I'm looking for Cristina Winchester. Is she here?" he asks.

"She just left" he answers, not looking up from cleaning some shot glasses.

"Do you know where she went?" he asks looking around the saloon.

"I don't know. Home probably" he answers, still not looking up at him.

Jack walks away from the bar towards the stairway going up to the 2nd floor of the saloon. A few women standing by the stairs, eyeing Jack.

"Hey there, you lookin' for some fun?" one of the saloon girls asks in a flirtatious tone. Blonde, wearing a long red tight dress and a corset that made her breasts stand out more.

"No thank you miss" Jack politely rejects her offer, while going up the stairs.

"Suit yourself" she responds.

"Don't bother with him Anna. He's lookin' for Cristina" the other saloon girl says to her, putting a hint of disgust in Cris' name.

Blonde as well, slightly shorter than the other girl, wearing the same type of dress and corset but in dark purple. Jack stops when he hears Cris' name and goes back down a few steps.

"You know Cristina?" he asks them.

They both scoff, "Yeah we know her. Don't really like her. She needs to act more ladylike if she wants to be treated decently" Anna tells him.

"Well I think she acts very lady-like" he tells them, "Do you know where she went?".

"Oh, are you one of her special friends?. Never thought she'd have a fella" the shorter blonde jokes.

"We're just friends" he tells them, "I just need to pass on a letter to her".

The two saloon girls exchange glances, and the taller one says, "She lives somewhere near the Great Plains. I think that one big brown brick house closest to the shore".

"Thank you" he says to the two girls.

He goes outside, hitching his horse and leaves towards the houses outside of Blackwater, once he sees the 3 story brick house that the saloon girl had mentioned to him.

He approaches the property, sees an older couple dressed in fancy rich folks clothing while watching a few other men sweeping and cleaning the front porch.

"Hello mister" he greets one of the men sweeping "I don't mean to disturb you. I'm looking for Cristina Winchester. I was told she lives here".

"Yes, Miss Winchester does live here" the older rich man tells him, "She stopped by for a bit, and went to the Broken Tree over in the Great Plains, it's not far from here".

"Thank you sir" Jack thanked him before leaving.

"Are you her lover?" the woman asks him, "She said she might’ve been expecting someone, a young man".

Jack lets out a short laugh, "No ma’am, I'm not her lover. Just an old friend of hers. You have a nice day".

He gets back onto his horse, and rides to the Great Plains. The Broken Tree is not far from where he lives. He wonders how long Cristina has lived there with those fancy rich folk. He figured they would've ran into each other a lot sooner, since their homes are so close to each other.

He sees her sitting by the tree, against the old stone wall next to it, and approaches her. Not hiding or covering up the sound of his footsteps.

"Hey, I've been looking for you" he tells her, sitting next to her under the tree.

She lets out a short laugh, "I figured, I left work early. Too much going on in my head right now".

He sighs as he sits down next to her, “You know how many times I’ve been asked if we were together?!”.

Cris lets out a chuckle, “How many times?”.

“Too many times. By some girls at the saloon, and by the rich folk where you live” he tells her, “Are you really living with those snobby, rich folk??”.

She lets out a short exhale, “Unfortunately I am living with them snobby rich folk that are charging me $18 a month to live in a one bedroom with a bathroom. I can get my own food, I have my own privacy. What more can a girl ask for?!”.

"Do you like living with them?" he asks.

She sighs followed by a shrug, "Sometimes, when they don't bother me".

They sit in silence under the tree for a moment, after a brief moment of not realizing that Jack has his hand on top of Cris' hand that was resting on her knee.

He quickly moves when they both look down at it.

"So yeah" she mutters, clearing her throat, "Uhh the girls you talked to at the saloon. What did they look like? Any names?".

"Both of them were blonde. I think one of them was named Anna" he tells her, "The short one, I didn't get her name".

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, "Anna and Elena. They hate me because I'm the opposite of what society expects women to be and act like. Because I'm not lady-like".

She says the last part in a mocking tone. Cristina Tatiana is a splitting image of her mother. Personality wise and looks. She doesn't wear skirts, dresses or a corset. She doesn't show any cleavage unless she wants to. Her personality is bold, blunt. Very strong headed, sarcastic, smart and can be somewhat cold to others outside her family.

"I think you're very lady-like" Jack tells her.

"Well aren't you a gentleman" she responds, giving him a smile, giving him a smile and a nudge to his arm.

"I may not have been brought up well, but I know how to treat a lady".

"Well shit. No wonder all those people thought you were my lover. You're such a flirt!" she jokes, playfully hitting his arm.

"Well if you want me to show how I can treat you, I live right over there" he points Northwest towards Beecher's Hope. Marston ranch, "Or I can just take you right here".

Usually when men talk like that to Cristina, she'll threaten them in 50 different ways, she doesn't like it when she gets creepy, old or young men flirting their way to some free drinks and some pus. But since this is Jack we're talking about, her long lost best friend, she's actually okay with it.

"And this is why many think we're together!" she jokes, "How would your mother feel if she heard you talking like that to me?!".

He laughs, "Probably smack me on the head, and force me to apologize".

She laughs at his response, "My mom would probably do the same to my brothers. Hell she'd do the same if she heard you speak like that to me".

"What about your pa? How would he feel?" he asks, shifting in his spot so he's facing her. Cris thinks about it for a moment, "He'd probably say something like… 'he clearly likes you, its very obvious' or something like that". She turns to him after she tells him.

He lets out a short exhale, and stands up. "Would he really say that to you??".

She does the same, "Yeah… probably. He thought every man I talked to was a lover or some sort of fling".

"You think I like you??" he asks seemingly out of nowhere.

"What? You mean like? In a relationship? Lovers?" she asks, feeling the hair on her arms and neck go up from his question. She always saw Jack as a friend, maybe when they were 4 years old yeah, but now? Now he's handsome. He has that whole bad boy attitude, and shit, like she doesn't have an attitude and hates law, government people.

A part of her believes Jack coming back into her life is fate. It has to be, since Edgar Ross killed their dads and now they're seeking revenge.

"Yeah, do you?" he asks, hoping there's more to them reuniting again after all these years.

"I mean, yeah I like you but as a best friend" she lies, "That's pretty much it. There's nothing more to it".

A part of Jack dies on the inside, he figured the feeling wouldn't be mutual. He was starting to fall for her, putting on a great lying face and hiding his true feelings for her.

He thinks she's beautiful, funny and he's known her for a long time. Yeah they went 15 years with no communication and all. He sees her as relationship material, but he doubts she'd want him, she'll just reject him like all other women do, the only difference is she's his best friend.

She's the only person who understands him and his hatred towards lawmen and government men.

"Well I'm glad the feeling is mutual" he tells her, holding back his hurt emotions. He just wants to grab her face and kiss her. Strip off her clothes, and fuck her under the tree. Not caring if anyone saw or heard them. Making her scream his name.

That's a fantasy he'll be thinking about later that night, as he tries to hide his hard on.

"Well that's a good thing" she says, giving him a slight smile, "I'm not what you call 'relationship' or 'wife material'. It just ain't my thing" she lies once again.

Now that they got their 'feelings' for each other outta the way, they continue their vengeance on tracking down Edgar Ross.

#adult jack marston #oc: cristina winchester smith #jack marston #red dead series #rdr1 #my series #writers on tumblr #red dead writings #red dead redemption #my oc #rdr1 jack #rdr1 blackwater #beechers hope #rdr1 fanfic #rdr fic

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sweetestlamb · 4 years ago

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Can You Feel The Love Tonight?

Summary: So-Bong stops fighting their attraction following the King's deception.

Author's note: I'm back and so excited to write a consensual steamy night! This continues from Episode 14 👀👀 enjoy my fellow royal pervs. Thank you to everyone who send me good vibes and positivity after Tumblr decided to wake up and choose violence and delete my first draft. I hope you all enjoy this version too you never saw the other version but I was feeling very good about it and this one just isn’t it so I’m being pretty hard on myself. Comments are always loved and appreciated especially in these trying times LOL. More possibly confusing pronouns but I did write from the King’s POV towards the end so the pronouns stop being too crazy.

His breath stumbles out in choked tight puffs, saturated air squeezed from So-young's tired lungs. He feels restless, pacing the short distance of the room before he jumps at the door suddenly sliding open. Affection too strong to temper down washes over their body in a thunderous tsunami wave that crashes all his doubts and hesitations about his feelings for a particular monarch.

"My Queen." The title is stated with all the awe and reverence befitting royalty and before he can second guess himself, he's flying across the room to pull Cheoljong into a tight embrace. The King’s gasp of shock doing little to stop him from holding on tightly, pressing So-yong's face into the thick cord of the King's neck.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I thought she was dead. I really thought you let her die!" Their voice sounds shrill even to Bong Hwan's ears but he can't deny that his emotions are overwhelming, too close to the surface. Still too raw after the heartbreaking ordeal, how dare those bastards even suggest killing a child?

It's not until the King is drawing away, his dark eyes searching her face before his fingers reach up to brush away the tears that are streaming from her eyes. Bong-Hwan feels a tinge of shame in his stomach, embarrassed to be seen this way by anyone but especially the King, but the soft way he holds their cheeks eviscerates all shame.

"I didn't have any time to tell you my plan, I'm sorry I scared you. I would never let anything happen to her, she was just an innocent child and she saved you. I owe her a huge debt."

He allows the King to drag her shaking body further into the room, sitting on the plush bedding, face to face their hands tangled in between.

Listening carefully as he tells them how he placed harmless sleeping powder in the child's cup and in the darkness of night his brother would collect her body and bring her somewhere safe, no one else knew of the plan and would believe the young court maid to be dead.

All of the stress and guilt washes over him again and he breaks down, folding into So-yong's lap as hot tears cascade from her eyes drenching the night dress. The cries ravish her slight body until he's sobbing uncontrollably, finally realizing how heartless this Kingdom and almost everyone living in it was.

Except him.

He'd had no reason to save the young girl, had hardly known her and it did him no favors to spare her life. Yet, he did it because she asked him to.

I'll do my best.

"You kept your promise."

"My Queen?"

So-Bong lifts their head, moist eyes locked on the King's face reaching out to stroke his cheeks, trailing down to his strong jaw. The desire to kiss him surging through their veins.

"You said you would save her and you did. How can I thank you?" Gratitude coats each word as So-Bong crawls closer into the King's space, a breath apart now making his intentions apparent.

A slight blush spreads across the bridge of Cheoljong's nose, he looks beautiful in the dim candle light. Truly a sight to behold.

"You owe me nothing my Queen your gratitude is enough to warm my heart for days to come."

But he wants to, this desire isn't So-yong; at least not her alone. He wants the King. There's no denying it now, not faced with his selfless act. Now remembering the way his heart stopped when the King flew off the stage, bloodied on the ground reaching out for them. How desperately he wanted to shove everyone aside and have the King in their arms again.

Without preamble he grabs the lapel of the King's hanbok, reveling in the look of pure lust that devours his face before their lips crash into each other. He groans at the wet swipe of a tongue at So-yong's lips, opening up immediately to give the King entrance. When a large hand grips the back of her head, he moans deeply licking deeper into the King's mouth, heating scorching through their body like a wildfire.

"Don't get hurt again. Don't leave me." He pants into the King's hungry mouth, grabbing onto him desperately.

Cheoljong pulls away, lips bitten and red, panting now firm chest expanding and compressing.

"I won't. I'll stay with you."

In a move quicker than lightning, the King embraces them before covering her body on the bedding, begging for permission with those seductive eyes at So-Bong's nod he's ravenous, movements wild and disorienting. He tugs the material holding her sleep dress intact and the material falls away, but there are several layers beneath. He skillfully undoes everything, leaving her body bare to his eyes.

"So beautiful." He breathes out, eyes racing down her heaving chest before landing on her jewel, he reaches down to caress her smooth thighs causing goosebumps to raise in the wake.

Without a word he returns the favor, undressing the King with more fervor eager to reclaim the pleasure he'd denied just hours ago. The most pleasure he'd ever experienced in his life.

The King has a breathtaking body, broad shoulders that temper down into thick muscled legs but the thing that catches his eyes, dangles between the space of those marvelous legs. His third leg. It's hard to believe that was ever inside of them, it looks angry and red mushroom like head peeking through foreskin. Precum already oozing and coating the flesh in viscous liquid.

You're beautiful too.

He can't bring himself to say the words out loud, already feeling far too vulnerable.

Cheoljong moves to penetrate, gripping their legs as he crawls forward eyes locked on the prize. And the night comes back to him in a sudden flash, the pleasure had been immense but unfortunately so had the pain. There'd been no foreplay and her wetness had not been enough to thwart Cheoljong's impressive cock. It would be different tonight, it was time to teach their good husband about foreplay.

"Wait."

Instantly the King halts his movement, longing and question in his eyes. He is shaking from his rigid control.

In a move any porn star would be proud of, he brings her legs up locking onto the King’s hips and swiftly rolls them over until they’re on top.

The King gasps in surprise at the sudden reversal but the arousal in his eyes make it clear that he's still on board, the thick cock pressing into her thigh is even more proof.

Reaching back to unbraid her tight braid, he shakes her hair free smirking at the weak moan that falls from the King's lips.

"Like what you see?" He teases, bringing her hair over one shoulder and gazing at the King from under wispy eyelashes, a picture of coy seduction. Cheoljong groans at the action, reaching out to hold her hips and squeezing at the luscious flesh.

"Don't tease me."

He almost laughs at the soft command, having no intention of listening to such a thing.

With a gentle placating smile, he leans down to capture Cheoljong's lips in a peck that transforms into something deeper and wetter. Twisting the King's head to his liking, then groaning at the sensation. While the King's distracted he trails a dainty finger down his body, stopping to caress his hard pronounced abs the tight skin jumping under her fingers. Then he continues his journey until he reaches his destination, without any warning issued he wraps her hand around the King's sword firmly stroking from base to tip, twisting her hand to collect his juices to ease the way.

The King jerks as if he's been struck by lightning in her hold, breaking the kiss to grunt and thrust harder into the grip with a loud roar as animalistic as he'd been their first time. Watching him squirm in pleasure causes more moisture to gather at her center, memories of them thrusting and crashing into each other filling his mind.

"My Queen...what. What in the heavens are you doing to me?

"This is called a hand job. It is a gift a woman bestow upon a man.”

"Like a blessing?" He replies, looking thoroughly dazed as So-Bong continues to stroke and pull at his cock, copious amounts of precum making the motion effortless.

He chuckles at the King's understanding of the word, in many ways a handjob is a blessing.

With her unattended hand he reaches down to fondle the King's heavy balls, distracting him enough to slither down his firm body before he's eye level with the rigid length. Hungry for the burst of salt and skin that will flood her mouth, but still wary at this role reversal. He's received many blessings in his lifetime as a renowned chef he already ever wants for bedroom partners, women typically throwing themselves at him. But face to face with the one eyed beast, he falters tongue heavy in her mouth.

How did I.....do it?

He simply stares at first, at a long vein that cords up the side pumping blood to the thick organ.

Nerves immobilize him before the King finally looks down, helpless stare on his face his bottom lip slightly trembling. He gives a little hump up trying to alleviate some of the pressure and So-bong makes up his mind.

Just start slow. You've seen enough porn and anything feels good when you're horny.

So he starts with a kitten lick barely touching the throbbing organ, unprepared for the bitterness that explodes on his taste buds. It's a new flavor one he’s never experienced before but the King's reaction is enough to make him want to do it again, and again.

Cheoljong stills at first, as tight as the the quiver of an arrow before he breaks free from his stupor and thrusts so hard his cock slides down her throat almost choking them. He's draws off the King, thunderous glare at his appalling blowjob etiquette.

"This is called a blowjob. It's stage two of the hand job, but if you can't control yourself, then I'm stopping."

Immediate panic flares across the King's face and he falls limp on the bedding, staring up with pleading eyes. Looking thoroughly chastised and shamefaced.

"My apologies my Queen. I will accept your blessing. I place myself in your capable hands."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Nothing in his studies could have prepared him for this immense pleasure his Queen is bestowing on him, a serpentine tongue curling around his most private parts. Despite the various rumors of his prowess and the many times he's been accosted, both in his youth and during his time in the kingdom he's never indulged in the passions of the skin but now feeling this exquisite pleasure he wants to curse at himself, has this been what he's been depriving himself of?

He's been a fool of the highest caliber.

Another part of him is grateful that he's sharing this moment with her, he can't imagine sharing this intimacy with any other. Especially the many women at the brothels that he has frequented, preferring a willing partner.

In his laps his Queen is the devil incarnated, swallowing him in short bursts that leave his body feeling equal parts numb and bursting at the seams. Her kitten like licks at his head make his toes curl into the bedding, until pleasure flashes behind his eyelids so intensely he has to twists away before it's too late; barely escaping in time.

He pants loudly, harsh breaths rushing from his lips.

He jolts at the sudden warmth of her hands on his face, bringing his head back to meet her eyes.

She looks at him softly stroking at his cheeks almost.... lovingly. It's too much to consider. That the Queen could feel even an inch of what he feels for her. It's inconceivable.

"Did you like it?"

"Was that not clear? Where did you learn such sinful techniques?" He questions her but suddenly he doesn't want to hear the answer, not in the slightest. Maybe there's a reason why the head of the Justice Department is so obsessed with her, perhaps they had a relationship that was more intimate than he imagined. Maybe....

"Stop."

He stops looking back at her, trying to squash the jealousy boiling in his blood.

"Whatever you're thinking, stop. I've never had...that in my mouth. Or anywhere else for that matter. If it was good that was because of my natural talent. " She rolls her eyes at him, stern look as she crosses her arms across her tempting chest, ruddy dark nipples making his arousal deepen.

He breathes a sigh of relief and satisfaction, trying his best to keep those emotions off his countenance but her raised eyebrow makes it evident he has hidden nothing.

Slowly she crawls over him, straddling him face looming above his and he can't resist stealing a kiss, a burst of salt overcomes his senses and realization dawns on him.

That's me.

It shouldn't be that arousing to taste his own seed on her tongue but the thought of her tasting like him makes his blood boil hotter.

She lets him kiss her, her body soft in his arms as he rubs a hand up and down her side and he deepens their kiss, lips slotting together like matching pieces of an erotic puzzle.

When she pulls away he chases but a small hands on his chest halts the action.

He stares in awe at her beautiful flushed face, lips plush and inviting, the memory of them on his cock enough to make him groan.

"Do you want to make me feel good too?"

He's nodding before the question has fully left her pouty mouth and he immediately begins to position himself at her warm center, thrusting between the folds of her flower. Eager to be connected with her in the most natural way. But again his plan is halted as she shifts away after a quick moment of grinding back onto him.

He groans, "My Queen, what is the matter? I can't take this torturous teasing. You were hardly this coy last time."

His words are true, just yesterday he'd been shoved into the bed and ridden like a wild stallion, she'd sheathed him with no warning her grimace of pain enough to make him consider stopping before she grabbed his shoulders and arched her back in a manner that couldn't be human.

He'd been lost to the waves of pleasure after that.

"I was drunk out of my mind last time, I'd have let you do anything to me."

His eyes widen at the admittance, too many ideas flooding his mind.

"Stay with me, you sex maniac."

He's not quite sure but what a "sex maniac" is but he hardly believes that he's the only one here who is one. He hadn't been the one to seduce the other after all.

"Remember how I told you there are levels? You need to do that to me."

He stares blankly before finally understanding, running his hand from her hips down to the vee between her legs. Soft hair greets him before he pries between the puffy lips, stroking up through the moistness before pressing one finger inside, barely a knuckle but she's so wet that his finger sinks in easily, until he's deep inside her hole.

She breathes out softly, whining in his arms as if to take him deeper. He begins a languid pace, in and out, wanting to take his time and enjoy every second inside his Queen but she has other ideas.

"Another! Harder!"

She's already bouncing on his lap, all too easily accepting another finger, his middle finger now crying out at the stretch from two digits pounding into her core.

He's sure all the servants can hear their coupling, but it does nothing to discourage him as he grabs her hair pulling her in for a wet kiss needing to taste her moans, the vibrations tickling his mouth. His fingers are sloppy wet and their noises are indecent as she quickens their pace into something brutal. He doesn’t care if he keeps the entire kingdom up.

Always a quick learner, he shoves her down into the bed lifting her legs like a scarf around his neck and after a quick moment of eye contact he dives down to taste her, tongue sliding through her wet pussy with precision and certainty. She wails underneath him, screaming his name loud enough to wake those even miles away. Pride swells in his chest as he licks deeper into her sweetness, using his hands to spread her wider much to her boisterous satisfaction.

He grins when he feels her hand latch onto his hair holding him in place as she uses him, grinding onto his tongue. He's never experienced anything this blissfully erotic, never knew a partner could be this eager. All of his studies have shown women to be rather passive, simply laying as the man gains his pleasure. His Queen his anything but a passive participant.

Before he knows it she's whimpering, twisting and twitching uncontrollably and when she starts to pull away he clamps down harder dragging her back and forcing his tongue impossibly deeper, when he slips in a finger everything is wet, her juices flooding his mouth and he happily drinks it all hungry for more.

He continues to suckle until she pushes him away, hissing at him when he fights her at first.

"Too much."

He gently moves her legs from his shoulder and places them back onto the bedding. She's spent below him, eyes closed and chest heaving powerfully.

He flops down beside her, in a manner completely unbefitting for a King. Not caring in the slightest.

Her breath begins to even out, slowing down and he smiles tightly it seems he'll have to tend to himself. With a sigh he reaches down to wrap a hand around himself but almost instantly his wrist is grabbed.

"What are you doing?"

He turns to face her, almost laughing out loud at the look of offense that mars her face.

"You're spent my Queen, I can care for myself."

She scoffs at him, taking a fortifying breath before sitting up, he watches her lazily awaiting her next move. At first, she merely stretches light popping as she raises her arms over her head. He watches enthralled by the rippling in her taut body, she is a magnificent woman and he's merely a man. Then in a move as fluid as water, she raises to her knees before sliding down onto her arms, then lower onto her forearms. Her body a perfect arch, with her pert bottom in the air. For his position he can see directly into her wet core, he's moving before the action registers in his brain.

He's seen this before, the cow position but then she looks over her bare shoulder and smirks at him.

"Doggy style. You do all the work and you get a great view."

What an interesting moniker for this position but he can agree that this truly does resemble dogs mating as well. His knowledgeable Queen, he will surely have to add this to his dictionary.

He walks forward on his knees towards her until his cock is nuzzled between the meat of her thighs, thrusting once making stars explode behind his eyes.

"I must get oil." He sadly states, despising the idea of being away from her heat for even a second but before he can move she's thrusting back onto him, the head of his cock sliding inside with little effort.

This time his moan fills the room.

"I don't need that. Can't you feel how wet I am? Just fuck me already, I know you want to."

"Fuck you?" More new words, these one sounds filthy despite not knowing the full meaning.

She grinds backwards consuming him the rest of the way, "Yes. Fuck me until I can't walk straight."

He's never been one to back away from a challenge and at her insistence he slams into her, hard enough that she falls forward chest crashing into the floor as her ass raises higher in the air, giving him more access to her sweet wet entrance. He grips her ass pounding harder and harder before pulling her back to her arms. Leaning over her shoulder, he finds a bright red ear.

"Do you know who I am?"

He doesn't give her a moment to reply to his spontaneous question, instead rocking into her again mesmerized watching himself enter her over and over and over.

But after a moment he slows down, barely retreating just slowly grinding into her.

"Who am I?" He demands, bringing a hand around to fondle her breast pinching at the nipples.

"What are you talking about?" She pants out, impatiently trying to get him to return to the frantic borderline painful pace.

He pinches harder.

"Do you know I am right now? Are you in full control of your faculties? Who is fucking you right now my Queen?"

It's unbecoming but a vindictive part of him needs this, desperately wants confirmation that she wants this and is imagining no other. After all their other misunderstandings he couldn’t stand another one.

"You petty bastard!"

He pulls out. Completely. Leaving her empty, her hole twitching at the sudden departure.

"Now, now. Is that anyway to speak to your husband? It's a simple question, who am I? Who do you belong to? "

Seconds drag on and he wonders if he's taken it too far, has he made this uncomfortable? Has he ruined this moment completely?

As fear ravages his mind, he doesn't notice his Queen grinding her teeth before sighing.

She whispers, "My King. You are my King and you are the only one I'm thinking of."

Elation swirls in his heart and he's back inside so quickly she loses her balance, tumbling onto her best again but he gives her no chance to rearrange herself pounding away now, shoving himself as deep as he can go.

He props his strong arms on either side of her thrusting and biting at her neck, marking her for the world to see. Her whimpers are music to his ears as he prays that every man in the kingdom will hear her, and now that she is his woman. No other can have her, ever. Unless they want to taste his blade.

When her legs give out he rolls them onto their sides, never slowing his brutal place lifting one of toned legs to thrust even deeper. Then he feels her hand where they are joined, looking over he sees her rubbing frantically at a small engorged bead glistening above her hole. Knocking her hand away he begins to stroke the delicate pearl rapidly, grunting when her tunnel tightens around him.

She begins to scream, head thrown back as he chases the light blaring in his mind, the emphatic slamming of skin booming in the room until she bends her back arching away from him and he grabs her hips chasing her over the edge, pounding until he explodes inside her his shouts joining hers both deafening in the room.

Everything fades to black.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He loathes to leave her alone after the night they've had but he must check on his brother and their plan to save the young court maid, so he slips from her enticing heat almost undone when she grumbles at his movement reaching out for him. Her little grabby hands reminiscent of a small child.

Alas he must go. He's doing this for her after all. They will have much time to discuss later.

And if it leads to circumstances like these, he's not opposed.

By late morning he has dealt with everything necessary for the young girl, her body being transported to another town where they have created a fake identity for her. He knows his Queen will be sadden by the young girl's departure but this is the only way to keep her safe.

He's racing as quickly as he can to get back to her when he hears a voice behind him.

"Your majesty."

He stiffens immediately guilt riddles through him, the royal consort. He'd hoped to avoid her until he figured out exactly what to say to her, he'd yet to tell anyone but the Queen his true feelings for her. He didn't want to hurt the other woman but despite her many requests he would not be warming her bed. His heart was no longer his.

Slipping on a passive mask, he turns around plastic façade in place.

"Royal Consort, good morning to you."

She immediately closes the gap between them and grasps his hand in her own, he fights the urge to flippantly brush her aside. He knows that would be unnecessarily cruel to do to a woman he'd once been willing to lay down his life for once upon a time. It feels like centuries ago.

"I've missed you. You have been sleeping alone these days."

He hasn't. At all. He hasn't slept alone in days, the Queen's leg a permanent fixture in his back now but he can't tell her that of course.

But another voice sounds from behind him.

"He hasn't been sleeping alone. He just left my bed this morning."

This time he does pull his hands free of Hwa-Jin's tight grip, tighter with the Queen's arrival.

"My Queen." He turns to her apologetically fearing her wrath, imagining his own ire if he'd seen her in a similar predicament with her cousin.

But her eyes are locked on the other woman when he turns, cold eyes and a tight grin. Taking a step forward she stands between them, her back pressed intimately to his front.

Her scent fills his senses nearly making him sway. Sweet jasmine and...cooking oil? Somehow it smells like ambrosia on her skin, intoxicating.

"But I'd hardly say we did much sleeping. There are so many other.... activities. But you don't need to worry about his whereabouts, he is my King after all."

Before he can react to the blatant possessiveness or her jealousy, his hand is taken and he's being pulled away, he only gets to see the affronted look on Hwa-Jin's face for a second before she turns away with moist eyes.

He knows he must deal with this carefully later, but at the moment all he can think of is his arrogant and seemingly possessive Queen dragging him away, shooing away any who dare to approach them. Until after many twists and turns they're back in her room, various plates covering the floor.

"Did you make all of this?" He asks, voiced filled with wonder.

Instead of answering she drops his hand stepping further into his space, instinctively he wraps her up in his arms. Nose nuzzled into her thick fragrant hair.

"I missed you."

She doesn't answer at first then a little hums hits his ear, one of disbelief.

"Yeah you definitely looked like you were missing me holding another woman's hand."

With wide eyes he pulls away, unable to control his mirth now that it's just them.

"My Queen, are you perhaps....jealou-"

A hand slaps over his mouth before he can finish. Scorching eyes glaring up at him defiantly.

"I'm not jealous. Why would I be? You can do whatever and whomever you like."

Laughter bursts out of his lungs and he draws her into another embrace not allowing her to fight him.

"Shhhh, don't be difficult."

She punches in his ribs and he knows asking her such a thing is the equivalent to telling her not to breathe.

He tightens his hold as her squirming intensifies stroking her hair in placating swipes.

"Just as you belong to me, I belong to you."

That makes her still in his arms, arms lifting to finally return his hug but only for a moment before she shoves him away. Inconsistent as always.

"Okay, okay that's enough. I can't take all this sweetness so early in the morning. Let's just eat. When did I ever say I belonged to you? Sex declarations don’t count.”

He chuckles but accepts her offer, grinning more when she grumbles how he should feel special and she doesn't cook for just anyone.

He does feel special, having a woman like this is truly a blessing and as he devours her delicious food he knows that he will do everything in his power to stay by her side.

Anything it takes.

#Mr. Queen #queen cheorin #Kim So-yong #so-bong #king cheoljong #royal smut #someone called eui bin trash bin and that's her name now #tumblr tried to hold me down but we here #no touch princess #mr.queen

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fangirl-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Mommy?

Roger Taylor x Reader

Warning(s): Smoking, swearing, references to sex.

Notes: DISCLAIMER - Fake Wife. Fake Child. All things said and implied in this fic are fictional and have nothing to do with real life. No hate towards any of Roger's Previous or Current Relationships.

I imagined 80s!Roger, but you can go for Ben!Rog if it suits your fancy.

(PS This Roger Can Fuck Me Up)

Summary: After Roger's son mistakenly calls you mom, Roger begins to realize some things about you.

Roger was tired.

The moment he walked into the studio, you could tell.

His sunglasses were covering his eyes, but he was slightly hunched, his hair was a mess, and he only muttered a ‘morning’ instead of his usual boisterous announcement.

The other boys almost didn’t notice his arrival, too focused on tuning their instruments or going over some lyrics. It wasn’t until his son, Alexander, screamed at the sight of you did they look over.

“Hey, the little man is here,” Brian said with a smile as the boy let go of his father’s hand to fling himself into your outstretched arms.

You stood up and propped him on your hip before giving Roger a look. It wasn’t the first time he’d come in like this.

He turned away from you and started to head for the drum set.

“Hey,” you said, grabbing him abruptly by the elbow. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t meet your eyes through the dark sunglasses and was suddenly very interested in the color of the carpet. “Yeah, m’fine.”

“Rog-”

“Really, Y/N, m’fine. Just drop it, okay?”

You released him, not satisfied with his answer, but you didn’t want to get him going this early in the morning. It wasn’t worth it.

Alexander pulled at your necklace to get your attention.

You smiled at him, pulling the chain gingerly from his fingers. “Let’s go sit down, and we can watch your daddy and uncles practice, okay?”

Alexander nodded excitedly, and you took a seat on the couch in the control room, so it wasn’t too loud for the little boy’s ears.

Alexander’s mother, Cheryl, wasn’t exactly the perfect wife and mother. She and Roger had been involved in an unhappy marriage for quite some time now. You absolutely loathed the woman.

At first, all the boys thought you were just jealous, but over time they came to see her for what she truly was and never doubted your judge of character ever again.

Cheryl was one of those women who liked the celebrity life more than the celebrity. She liked Roger for his money and his fame, not just because he was Roger. It was despicable. They fought nearly every night, Roger would sometimes drink himself into a stupor, and poor little Alexander would call you on the phone to tell you that “Daddy’s had too much juice.”

He never said anything about Cheryl, but she was never there when you came over.

You’d known Roger wanted her only for a good shag the moment you’d met her and he’d accidentally called her Crystal.

“Really, Rog, it’s never going to last if you can’t even remember the girl’s name. And honestly, she seems like a bitch.”

You and Roger were sat outside Freddie’s place, passing a cigarette between you.

He glared at you. “Oh? And what’s your fuddy-duddy boyfriend’s name again? George? Jacob?”

“Jeremy, actually. But I’ll tell you a secret,” You said, leaning closer to the drummer. “I don’t think it’s going to last either.”

You took a drag from the ciggy.

“Shall we bet on it then?”

You laughed, the smoke exhaling from your mouth. “What?”

“Bet on it. Whichever of us dumps our piece first owes the other. Mm. Twenty?”

“Twenty?” You leaned even closer to him, nose to nose and voice just above a whisper. “Quite low for a Rockstar, don’t you think?”

Roger hummed in agreement, looking at your lips with desire behind his eyes. “Perhaps...”

You ran a finger across his jawline. “Unless, of course, you desire something else from this bet?”

He licked his lips before taking the bottom one between his teeth. “Maybe I do...”

“And what would that be?”

“I think you know very well what that would be.”

“Do I? Maybe I need a reminder.”

“Ah, a reminder...”

He was so close now. You could smell the scotch he’d stolen from Freddie’s cabinet on his breath over the tobacco. It was as intoxicating as the drink.

He was about to inch forward again when-

“ROGIE!” Cheryl called from inside. “Where have you gone?”

You scowled as Roger immediately pulled back from you and took the cigarette from your fingers, taking one last drag before snuffing it out with his shoe.

“Coming, er-”

“Cheryl.”

“Cheryl!”

Of course, you’d lost the bet because Cheryl became pregnant, and you didn’t think you could stand Jeremy for another nine months. Sometimes you thought he married her just to spite you.

You were a different woman then, and he was a different man. You grow up, and you change, and you get over petty feelings for someone you couldn’t have.

“It doesn’t fucking need slowing down! God, it’s fucking creeping at the moment!” Roger shouted.

The boys began bickering back and forth, causing Alexander to stir in your arms.

You laid the boy out on the couch and entered the recording room. “Would you be quiet! Alexander just got to sleep, and you’re arguing over a stupid pacing problem. Pick it up, slow it down, who the hell cares! Just be quiet.”

Brian and Roger shared a look before muttering to themselves and returning to their instruments.

“Thanks, mum,” John called from his chair.

You stuck your tongue out at him.

Roger pulled off his sunglasses to rub a hand down his face, and you caught a glimpse of the dark circles under his eyes. You frowned. Oh, how you wished you’d been wrong.

He caught your eye, looking guiltily away from you. Confirming all of your suspicions.

“I think we should take a break,” Freddie said, noticing your silent conversation.

All the boys seemed to agree and put their instruments down to follow you into the other room.

You picked up Alexander again and he moved against you.

“Shh, it’s okay, buddy, go back to sleep.”

The boy cooed against you, snuggling into your shoulder. “m’kay, mommy,”

Your mouth dropped open, Brian ran into the control board, John dropped his newspaper, Freddie’s eyes were wide, and Roger looked like he was going into shock.

You cleared your throat and rubbed Alexander’s back, swaying back and forth to put him back to sleep. Too surprised to say anything.

Roger seemed in the same boat because he wouldn’t stop staring at you, even after he’d sat down. It made you slightly nervous.

“Where’s Cheryl today?” Freddie asked, barely hiding the smile on his face behind his coffee cup.

You glared at him. He pretended not to notice.

“She uh-” Roger still wouldn’t stop looking at you. “Went out with some friends...I think. Wasn’t home when I got up.”

You scoffed. Of course, she wasn’t. Was she ever there?

Roger had just come to the same conclusion. It was no wonder his son called you mommy. When was the last time Alexander ever woke up to Cheryl being there? Or when he went to sleep? He couldn’t remember.

But he could remember you being there.

He guiltily remembers all the nights that Cheryl drives him to drink, and Alex has to call you for help. No little boy should have to use the phone, let alone memorize your number.

But you always came.

He started to wonder how many dates you had to cancel, how many friends you had to bail on. Just because Roger couldn’t get ahold of himself.

Had you always been that beautiful? He wondered, watching you stroke Alexander’s head. ‘Course you had. He could remember in the early days when you and him...

“I think I’m gonna divorce her.”

The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about it.

Brian choked on his coffee, John looked up from the newspaper with his eyebrows raised, and Freddie looked positively gleeful.

You were looking at him with wide-eyes.

“Is that so?” Freddie replied, barely hiding his joy. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. You know, I always thought you and Y/-”

Brian elbowed him in the ribs.

The tables had now turned. You were avoiding Roger’s eyes while he stared at you intently.

Suddenly, a memory came flooding back to Roger. One blocked by his drunken brain.

“Roger,” You said, shaking his shoulder. “Come on, Rog, talk to me,”

Instead of replying, he garbled something sort of like words and you sighed.

“Well, at least you’re not dead. Come on,” You threw his arm over your shoulder and hefted him from his seat at the kitchen table.

Roger grumbled. “Alex...where’s-”

“He’s in bed. He called me.” There was bite in your voice, but he was too drunk to really notice.

“Mmmm...good. Always so good, y/n.”

You rolled your eyes. “God, you need a shower. Vodka, really? Picked the fucking worst thing to get wasted on.”

You dragged him into the nearest bathroom and dropped him in the shower before turning on the cold water.

“Bloody hell!” Roger yelled and you smacked your hand over his mouth.

“Keep shouting and you’re gonna wake up your son. Bet he’d be really overjoyed to see his father sitting in a shower fully clothed. Bet he’d ask a lot of questions-”

He smacked your hand away. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“Good. Now undress.”

He seemed to get shy for a moment, surprised by your request.

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, Rog, you can’t do this yourself, and it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

Seeing your logic, he relented and started undressing. Pulling his shirt over his head and handing it to you.

You smiled at him, taking it and setting it on the counter next to the sink.

He fiddled with his belt, grumbling as his fingers wouldn’t remember the action that they’d done a thousand times before.

You set your hands on his gently.

He looked up at you. “Let me.”

He dropped his hands and watched dumbly (and a little embarrassedly) as you undid his belt easily and pulled down his trousers.

Normally, he’d make a joke or cheeky remark about you wanting to get into his pants, but something about that night seemed to screw his mouth shut long enough for his eyes to really see you.

When he was finally naked (there was some trouble with the socks, he fell, you laughed, Roger cursed, you told him to shut up), you turned on the water again as he sat on the floor of the shower.

Roger swore under his breath. “Still gotta be fuckin’ freezing?”

“Yes. It’ll help sober you up,”

He pouted as you sat back down with the shampoo, conditioner, and soap, crossing your legs under you.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back underneath the stream of water to wet his hair. “You really need to stop doing this. One day, I might not be available.”

Roger hummed in response as you guided him back forward, removing your hand to pour the shampoo into it. “I know.”

You rubbed your hands together to make suds before running your fingers into his hair. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t just divorce Cheryl. She’s never there for you, and she’s definitely not there for Alexander like I-”

You didn’t continue, blushing mildly, but Roger understood what you were gonna say. ‘Like I am.’

Your fingers lathered the shampoo over his scalp and massaged his head. He felt like he was on cloud nine at the feeling of your hands running through his hair.

He whined when you stopped and you grinned. “Gotta rinse, ya big baby,”

He did as he was told, leaning back into the water without your help.

You smiled before getting up and sitting on the edge of the tub to help him get all of it out as well as washing the suds from your hands.

You repeated the notion with the conditioner.

“Think you can handle washing your body without help?”

Roger smirked. “I don’t know. I might need you to come and shower with me. Only way to really get me all.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, you’re definitely sober now. I’ll get you some new clothes and throw the other ones in the laundry.”

Roger missed you when you left.

He missed the feeling of your fingers in his hair.

It was weird. You two had had sex in the past, but it felt like that was the most intimate thing that you’d done. Roger felt taken care of. He hadn’t felt like that since...well since he was a kid.

Cheryl had never made him feel that way. They hadn’t even ever showered together, their intimacy was only sexual, it wasn’t loving or soft like-

Like you.

"Roger? Hey, Roger!”

He snapped out of his daze as Brian clicked his fingers in front of his face.

“You zoned out on us there, buddy, you okay?”

Roger blinked rapidly for a minute. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I was just lost in thought, I guess.”

“Please,” You finally spoke up. “You’re tired, Roger. We’ve all noticed.”

But you were the only one who would say anything.

“Y/N I-” He stopped. Unsure of what to say.

You were looking at him expectantly, curiosity filling your pretty (e/c) eyes. Did they always shine like that before?

“I- uh...” Why couldn’t he say anything? Why was it so hard to say what he was feeling? Was it because the guys were right there?

You sighed. “Roger, I really need to pee, so if you could take Alexander while you figure out what it is you need to say to me.”

You handed Alex gently over to Roger’s arms, the little boy’s sleep going uninterrupted.

You left the room, and once you were out of earshot, all the boys turned to Roger with raised eyebrows.

“What?”

“Are you okay?” John asked.

“What? Of course, I am, what do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, Alexander called Y/N ‘mommy,’ and then you totally shut down. Like you stared at her for a good fifteen minutes.”

Roger felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

“Then you said you were going to divorce that retched Cheryl, which I hope you were serious about, by the way,” Freddie said.

“Of course, I was serious about it. I think it’s time I got rid of ‘er. Honestly, Y/N’s been telling me for years-”

All the boys started grinning.

“What?”

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else?”

“What? Do you menaces want me to say I’m in love with Y/N? Because you already fucking know that.”

Brian handed John a few bills.

Freddie clapped his hands together. “Well, finally! Honestly, I’ve been waiting for you two darlings to get together and honestly-”

“Fred!” You scolded, coming back into the room just as Alexander sat up from Roger’s chest.

“Daddy?” The boys said sleepily. “Daddy, where’s mommy?”

You frowned. “Alexander, you’re mommy is-”

“Right here,” Roger said, making you look at him with surprise.

Alexander gestured with his hands for you and you picked him up off of Roger, who was grinning ear to ear.

“You think you’ll ever want to be a mother?” Roger asked, running his fingertips along your arm. The two of you were laying in his bed, cuddled up together, his gray sheets the only thing covering your bodies.

“That’s an odd question, considering,”

He rolled his eyes. “Just answer,”

“Someday, yes, with the right guy,” You replied. “What about you? Any plans on becoming a daddy?”

He smirked at you. “Well, I mean, occasionally-”

You lightly smacked his chest. “You know what I mean.”

He chuckled a moment before looking down at you. “Yeah. Someday. Not soon, though. My life’s too unpredictable right now. I’m hardly in one place.”

You hummed. “You still find time for me.”

He kissed your temple. “I’ll always find time for you.”

“And I’ll always be there for you,”

Looking back on it, Roger had been in love with you even back then. Friends didn’t do what you two did. What a fool he was for not acting on it. Perhaps he’d been afraid of love.

But, now, looking at you, he wasn’t afraid at all. His heart was full.

“Roger, what’re you-”

“Can I talk to you? Outside?”

You nodded, not about to turn him down.

You passed Alexander to John before following Roger out of the studio.

You stopped just out front and watched as he dug into his pocket and pulled out his lighter and package of cigarettes, taking one out before offering the pack to you.

You shook your head. “I don’t do that anymore.”

He smiled, stuffing them back into his trousers and lighting the cig. He breathed in deeply before exhaling, the white smoke falling from his lips. “I shouldn’t.”

“I know. I’ve told you,”

You had a strange sense of Deja Vu as you watched Roger smile, pressing the cigarette to his lips.

You shivered, crossing your arms, goosebumps crawling up them.

“Here,” Roger shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

Accepting the offer, you slid your arms in the sleeves and pulled it tight. It was surprisingly warm and smelled like his cologne.

He reached over and grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers.

You looked over at him as he took another drag from the cigarette.

Suddenly frustrated, you plucked it from his fingers and extinguished it with the heel of your boot.

He turned to you, surprised, sunglasses covering his eyes. You reached up and pulled them off, revealing his tired blue eyes to you.

You sighed, reaching up and running your fingers through his soft hair. “What are you doing, Roger?”

“Trying to work up the guts to tell you I love you.”

You were shocked, hand stilling at the back of his neck. “You- you do?”

He smiled. “I think I always have. Just never realized it until now.”

You laughed, tears coming to your eyes. “I don’t know what to say,”

“How about that you love me too?” Roger replied, his own eyes watering.

“I love you. Rog, I’ve loved you for years.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, a soft laugh passing his lips. “Well, that’s a relief. If only that was it. If only we were ten years younger and I was gonna take you back to my hotel room and show you exactly how much I love you.”

You laughed. “Sorry, Rockstar,” - you placed the sunglasses back on his head - “but you’ve got a kid I adore to take care of and a nasty wife to divorce.”

“Ah, well, right now, all I wanna do is kiss you like I’m twenty-five.”

He leaned closer to you, nose bumping with his. His breath smelled like tobacco, but it was the furthest thing from your mind.

“And perhaps I’ll let you,”

This was all he needed before advancing the last few inches and pressing his lips to yours.

It was different than how you had kissed in the past. This was new. It was full of love and longing. It made your heart ache with happiness as you clung to him.

Roger sighed into the kiss, absolutely blissful. You tasted sweet, just like he remembered. His hands slid up your back, the leather of his jacket cold against his fingers.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

It almost pained Roger to pull away from you.

You grinned, turning around to see Alexander running out of the door towards you. John was standing in the doorway, mouthing an apology as Brian and Freddie peaked over his shoulder.

You bent down, brought the little boy into your arms, and stood back up to look at Roger.

He couldn’t help but smile as his two favorite people beamed at him.

Roger ruffled Alexander’s hair, making him giggle.

Freddie grinned from behind John. “What a perfect family.”

Brian shook his head with a small laugh. “It’s not over yet.”

“Far from it,” John added.

Freddie waved their comments off. “Well, right now, I think they look pretty happy. In fact, Brian, would you do the honors?”

Brian brought his camera to his eye and snapped a photo.

#roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #queen imagine #queen x reader #ben!roger taylor x reader

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foilfreak · 3 years ago

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BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 8

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 Link Below:)

Several days had passed since Salvatore had sought out both his younger sisters, requesting items like jewelry or clothing they’d be willing to part with that Salvatore could gift to Nadine, as a sort of soft and informal introduction to ease the young woman’s mind and prove he meant her no harm.

The plan seems to be going rather well, as far as Salvatore can tell. Nadine found the gifts he’d laid out for her rather easily, and even correctly wondered if the person who lived here had left them for her purposefully. She seemed wary of the items for a time, though she seemed pretty wary of everything in the reservoir at the moment, but eventually she deemed them safe enough to accept, throwing the long white nightgown Salvatore had procured from Donna over her petit azure frame, and strapping the delicate golden locket Alcina had graciously donated around her neck.

Salvatore practically drooled when he first saw Nadine, slightly sheer satin nightgown flowing elegantly in the gentle afternoon breeze and golden chain glittering beautifully against her white speckled, ocean blue skin. She looked like a goddess, a true figure of pure ethereal power and beauty. Even the biting cold of winter wasn’t enough to touch the young woman, shielded and protected by her own glowing radiance.

Despite looking every bit like an other-worldly deity worthy of unending human devotion and worship, Nadine’s face held nothing but fear, anxiety, and loneliness as she aimlessly wandered the seemingly empty docks and windmills surrounding the reservior’s watery interior. An occasional dejected “hello?” still echoes out throughout the reservoir every few hours, growing less and less hopeful with each passing round of silence Salvatore spends hiding away from view.

The disfigured man’s heart twists and stabs in pain every time he cowers away from Nadine’s soft, anxious calls, desperately wanting to comfort the young woman in her moment of confusion and fear, but still so terrified of her inevitable reaction to his appearance that he finds himself unable to do anything but skitter shamefully to his room beneath the surface and try to drown her out with one of his old romance films.

How pitiful.

Salvatore spends much of his time lamenting and pitying himself over his soul crushing loneliness and his intense desire for a love of his own, and yet here he is, taking refuge in an old romance film while he hides himself away from the real woman he could be making his own romance film with, were he not a massive coward and a horrific freak of nature unworthy of anyone’s love and affection, of course. What a cruel irony it is, to have the one thing you want, more than anything else in the world, dangled just inches in front of your face, and yet knowing, before you’ve even tried, that it’ll never be yours.

Salvatore knows that no matter how much of a romance story this whole situation might seem like, Nadine will never be able to love him in the way the gorgeous women in the movies love their tall, dashing, dark-haired lover men. Not only was Salvatore the exact opposite of tall and dashing by literally everyone’s standards, but his patches of dry, greasy dark-hair did little to salvage the violent wreckage that was Salvatore’s whole appearance.

There was absolutely no way Nadine would ever be able to love someone as hideous as Salvatore, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to contact Miranda and inform her that, while he greatly enjoyed his gift, Salvatore didn’t feel he would be able to appreciate her in the way she deserved to be appreciated in all her beauty and wonder, and that perhaps it would be better for Mother Miranda to find better arrangements for her elsewhere.

“I-it’s for the b-best… i-i think… a-after all… Nadine… d-doesn’t want t-to live i-in a d-dingy place… l-like this for… for the r-rest of h-her… l-life… m-much less with… w-with someone l-like me… s-she’d hate th-that… im c-certain” Salvatore laments aloud, dipping his head downward as tears of painful realization and sorrowful acceptance pour down his face like waterfalls of lonely depression, already fully set on contacting Mother Miranda as soon as morning came.

“While it's very kind of you to keep my best interest in mind, I do think I am more than capable of making my own decisions regarding what’s the best place for me, thank you very much” a soft voice responded suddenly, causing Salvatore’s head to whip in the direction the sound was coming from in startled shock. “This place is a little rundown, sure, but the windmills still stand tall and the water is always just the right temperature, so I don’t think this would be the worst place to live, if I had to… so long as I wasn’t alone, at least.”

Even in the dimly lit area located at the end of the hallway, Nadine still looked so gorgeously stunning and elegant. It was incredible how she managed to sound so casual and yet look so ethereal.

In the brief moment before his panic set in, Salvatore couldn’t help but pause and marvel at the spot down the hall where the young woman stood, her gaze locked directly onto him and yet she showed no signs of having seen him. She even went as far as to begin moving about behind the large boards that blocked her from entering the room, clearly trying to get a better look at the room and, more importantly, the person she suspects is in it.

After a surprisingly large jump that launched Nadine all the way up to the ceiling, just narrowly avoiding hitting her head, Salvatore’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open in stupefied shock as the sight of Nadine, moving the way she was at the end of the hallway, brought to Salvatore’s mind a scene from one of his favorite romance films. In the particular scene Salvatore is thinking of, the actress’ character is an aspiring prima ballerina, and she’s having a brief moment of bonding with her fellow ballerina’s after a long, but successful performance. Dressed in a nightgown not too unlike the one Nadine is currently wearing, the ballerina is showing the others how to do other kinds of dance, like polka or Irish step dancing, but by the end of the scene the group of ballerinas are all merely jumping about the room excitedly, laughing and cheering while carelessly throwing themselves into the air, only to land gracefully back on their feet.

While not exactly the same obviously, the resemblance between Nadine and the absolutely stunning ballerina in the movie, in both silhouette and style of movement, was almost uncanny.

Stretched out as high as her short legs would allow, strong and gorgeously defined muscles flexed almost instinctually with every rapid twist, curl, bend, and jump of the young woman’s tiny body. Her lucious silhouette was only aided by the feminine aura of the long, sheer nightgown as it trailed after her with every movement. The delicate satin material caresses the sharp ridges of her muscular back and shoulders with the same tenderness and love as it does the weight of her breasts or the pillowy layer of protection atop her midsection. The lower half of the nightgown, cinched just below the breasts, twisted and jerked in whatever direction was necessary to keep up with the speed at which Nadine was fluttering and jumping about upon the tips of her toes. Her legs were hidden by the ferocious speed of her movements, but Salvatore did not need to see her legs to have some idea of what they were, or perhaps merely could be, capable of.

Whether or not Nadine was actually a ballerina herself, or if Salvatore’s delusions were merely that realistic now, the young woman appeared to move with nothing but effortless grace that hides the raw power and physical strength it takes to float as carelessly and as quickly as the young woman was, clearly growing more and more frustrated the longer her search failed to reveal what she was looking for.

Still paralyzed by the sudden presence of Nadine in his personal space, Salvatore could do nothing but hold his breath and hope that the light at the end of the hall didn’t reach far enough to reveal his presence in the room. The TV was still on, but the movie playing on it had finished running long ago, meaning the only thing being displayed now was a static filled screen that proved someone had been here at some point in time, but thankfully wasn’t a dead giveaway from the start.

“Helloooooooo… I heard someone talking on my way in, so I know that someone is down here. Please… just come out, ok… I won’t hurt you… honestly” the raven haired woman begs softly, her movements slowing a bit to allow more of her air to be used for speaking rather than jumping to look over beams over and over again.

Salvatore’s heart ached at Nadine’s desperate tone, knowing all too well what the mutant woman is going through right now, but trying his best to remain strong, since giving in means dooming this perfect young specimen to a life of bitter misery and unending terror, regardless of the best effort he’d try to put in. Whatever short term gain Nadine could get from being with him would only come back to bleed her dry once Salvatore was sufficiently attached, and therefore unable to allow her to leave once she inevitably decides that she’s had enough of pretending to love a disgusting freak of nature.

Salvatore had never been very good at accurately predicting the outcomes of situations, but he knew for certain that Nadine was in no way deserving of the hellish punishment that living in the reservoir with him would undoubtedly become, if it didn’t start out that way from the beginning, that is. Perhaps the young woman could convince herself to accept her situation and play into his affections as a means of survival for a short time, but based on what he’s heard of Nadine thus far, Salvatore doubts such a strongwilled and dangerous woman would allow herself to play wife and sex slave to anyone for very long. If she didn’t somehow successfully murder him in his sleep within the first 48 hours of her “slavery”, it would only be a matter of time before she finally ran out of patience and unleashed... whatever the hell it was she did back in the labs, upon him.

For a brief moment, Salvatore entertains the question of whether Nadine could potentially be strong enough to take him out with a single hit, as well as whether that thought should be something he finds arousing or not. His thoughts are quickly interrupted however, by the sound of shuffling and grunting, and upon turning his head toward the sudden racket, Salvatore is horrified to see Nadine, just small enough to fit her tiny body between the thin cracks of the boarded up wall, attempting to climb through the barrier, and enter the TV room.

Body shaking and voice beginning to tremble slightly, alongside his already labored breathing, Salvatore unsteadily backed his way further into the room, putting his hands out in front of him as if to try and stop Nadine from entering, though he makes no move to physically eject the invading woman himself, oddly enough.

“N-nooo… p-please… don’t come i-in...” Salvatore stutters helplessly, shrinking further in on himself in fear as the young woman effortlessly slips through the wooden boards like a slippery eel, quickly and easily landing on her feet before turning back to the mostly darkened room.

“H-Hello?” Nadine calls out again nervously, taking a tentative step forward, both hands extended outward beside her until her left hand made contact with the wall. Gaining some purchase on the vertical slabs of wood, Nadine slowly turns her head to look about the room, carefully inspecting everything from atop the surface of Salvatore’s messy desk, to the very dark corner in the back right of the room that Salvatore himself was currently shoved as far into as physically possible.

Nadine stuck her arm out in front of her and began slowly walking toward the opposite wall, eyes open, but unfocused, and right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a brief moment, as though trying to feel around for the other wall despite it clearly being right in front of her. The hooded man had no idea how she hadn’t seen him yet, he could practically feel how absolutely ridiculous he looked, his bony, weathered, turtle-esque body hunched as low to the ground as possible with his chin tucked between his knees and hands covering the rest of his face, leaving only the smallest bit of space through which he could observe Nadine’s inevitable reaction to him. And yet, despite the amount of time the young woman spent glancing over Salvatore, back and forth across the room, her bright golden eyes resembling that of a ravenous alligator in their intensity and ferociousness, no scream left her plush lips nor did fear and horror suddenly mar her supple face. In fact, not only had the mutant woman not seen him yet, but it was in that exact moment that the reason why Nadine couldn’t see Salvatore, obviously shoved into the corner, just to her bottom left, became immediately clear to him.

“Y-You’re blind...”

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1kook · 4 years ago

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acatalepsy

— 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ; 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐞𝐭𝐡

chapter summary; Since the appearance of the entity the world he knew had begun to dismantle itself. Societies they had spent centuries building up crumbling in the mere span of a few weeks. He hadn’t seen a person in almost a month now, and the first ones he did see almost beat and humiliated him to death. He can’t be blamed for his pessimistic outlook. overall warnings; gorey scenes, depictions of death, appearance of weapons, survival!au, apocalypse!au, super l o o s e bird box!au (no birds - jk is the bird 👀), eventual smut, dark and angsty, character death chapter specifics; depictions of death, depictions of animal dissection, fall of society, otherworldly entities, appearance of weapons, assault of main character, mentioned acts of self-sacrifice, brief nudity wc; 8.2k

notes; yes this is dark and sad BUT it’s the introductory part where I have to dump all this info on u guys so u understand later hehe enjoy, all feedback is welcome !!!

special thanks to; rumu ( @kigurumu ) my amazing proof reader and editor🥺 i would be in a ditch without her ...

When Jungkook was in his last year of primary school, his class had been tasked with the very grown up job of caring for the school’s pet rabbit. It was a fuzzy brown ball that lived in a wooden cage, built along the side of their communal garden; a little on the overweight side, a fact that greatly confused the school. As far as his classmates and teachers were concerned, the rabbit ate its regularly scheduled two meals during school hours, an additional serving given to him by the night custodian. A scan through the cameras proved that no one broke into the primary school lot after hours, no one was unnecessarily feeding the rabbit. So there was really no reason for the rabbit to be as big as it was.

But Jungkook knew better.

The rabbit, as endearing and angelic as it appeared, was an intelligent creature that had wormed its way through a loose board on the side of his cage, sneaking into the neighboring garden frequently to munch through their cherry tomatoes. It always did so when it knew no one was around, save for the day Jungkook had seen it, the two of them caught in a staring battle that had both parties grappling for a way out.

Jungkook had never snitched.

He simply pocketed that little secret for himself to laugh about when his mind drifted too far from the material on the chalkboard. He remembered the tiny twitch of its nose as it regarded Jungkook. Its eyes were two dark marbles, no signs of the milky white that Jungkook had, zeroed in on Jungkook’s frozen figure. In the moment, Jungkook was amazed by its cunning nature, even more so by the way it had come to recognize him, repeatedly showing off his little trick whenever it was Jungkook’s turn to clean his cage. He slipped to and from the garden with ease, as if he trusted Jungkook to carry this secret to the grave.

He did, and when he graduated from primary school into secondary school, he often found himself wondering what that sneaky rabbit was up to then. Had it been discovered? Had the adults caught wind of the rabbit’s thieving nature and patched up the board? He’d never know. All he knew was that rabbits were quite devious creatures. A cute exterior that hid a more complex personality.

It is probably why he doesn’t feel a single ounce of remorse now, dark brown fur clutched tightly between his knuckles, squeezing until the last breath escapes the small rodent. The memory flashes through his eyes, a glance into an innocence he will never have again. The rabbit thrashes in between his hands, muscular legs kicking wildly until finally, it falls still.

He should feel bad, he knows he should.

This animal had played a nostalgic role in his youth; for a brief moment, this rabbit had been a leading source of happiness for him. Its black eyes remain open, forever frozen on Jungkook during its last few moments. Jungkook should be disappointed in himself for ever harming such a creature, and he almost does, before he’s interrupted by the painful tightening of his insides contracting on an empty stomach.

So he pushes it away, choosing to rise to his feet instead, dead catch dangling in one hand.

The trek back to the gas station is lonely. When he crosses the street, there is no angry driver to honk at him for not checking both ways, or a jogger rudely bumping into his shoulder. The street is empty just like the rest of the town.

Jungkook imagines it was probably like this before anyway. It’s practically in the middle of nowhere, this place he finds himself in, just another unimpressionable name on a map that Jungkook’s probably never heard of. There’s a main street lined with essentials—a diner, a car shop, and this gas station—and a few tiny homes littered behind it. It was one of those places his family would drive through on their way to see a far-off family member or as a stop on a road trip.

Either way, it looks exactly like the handful of towns he’s been through, all small and empty just like this. At least in the city there was variety, there was excitement. The most exciting thing Jungkook sees these days is the occasional deer.

The bell above the door chimes when Jungkook enters, not that there is anyone it would have alerted of his presence. It’s empty just like the rest of the town. Well, kinda. There’s a body in the women’s restroom that had scared the shit out of Jungkook when he first arrived, had left him trembling in shock for about an hour before he was able to go back and tug the stall door shut.

He finds them occasionally, the undeserving victims of an evil he will never understand. Each encounter wears him down, until eventually he feels no emotion toward them at all. They were bodies, he tells himself, nothing else.

How they ended up like that is another story in itself.

Truthfully, Jungkook isn’t completely sure how it happened, but he remembers when it started.

He remembers the cacophony of laughter that had filled their club bus, some corny Top 50 song filling the speakers, as they had celebrated another win that would push them further up the league ranks. His feet were sore from all the running they’d done on the pitch that day, and he was hungry as hell. Luckily they’d been on their way to their favorite celebratory diner, ready to suck the place dry of its Cherry Coke and bottomless fries the same way they did every other Saturday after a victory.

Jungkook’s coach had pulled him aside shortly before they arrived and had mentioned the possibility of Jungkook becoming the team’s captain next season. He had been ecstatic at the news, immediately pulling his phone out to call his dad.

His hand stills on the counter where the dead rabbit is limply sprawled across. He can’t remember where the switchblade he’d opened last week was, so he stomps to the other end of the shop, snatching another one off a rack. The only problem then is the zip tie that binds the blade to the cardboard display sheet. It doesn’t give when he tugs at it, and with a growing sense of irritation, Jungkook realizes he doesn’t know where the scissors are either. Before he can get too down on himself for misplacing things again, he angrily tears at the tie, loops two fingers on opposite ends. The skin on his palms pales at the pressure, and one mighty tug later has the tie snapping apart.

There. Now he could skin the rabbit in peace.

His dad answered on the second ring, immediately launching into a congratulatory song. Jungkook’s parents watched all his games, sometimes from the sidelines, sometimes through a TV. They were his biggest fans, the same people who had first enrolled him into summer little league watching him grow into the leading scorer of his city’s club.

The first chorus had just ended when the coach bus began swerving, the men stumbling across the aisle as it became apparent it wouldn’t stop anytime soon. Their manager had shouted first, snapped at them to find their seats, before lurching forward to the driver’s seat to presumably stabilize the vehicle. An effort made in vain when the bus flipped. It had almost happened in slow motion, Jungkook recalls, the two turns of the bus, ultimately skidding to a stop on its side, ramming straight into a light pole.

The initial shock had lasted for a few beats, the pained groans from his teammates around him slowly filtering back into his ringing ears. Some of them had panicked right away, choked gasps as they struggled to breathe. Dongmin was the first to get up, jamming the emergency window open on the side of the bus that wasn’t flush to the pavement.

Immediately, Jungkook knew something was very wrong.

Outside there were terrified screams from all around, the telltale shriek of car brakes working hard, the eerie wailing of weather sirens. Was it a storm? A quake? Jungkook didn’t know as he climbed out of the wreckage, taking Mingyu’s hand as he hopped off the side of their bus.

The ears are cut off first.

Two, silky appendages that don’t stand a chance against the blade. Without them, Jungkook finds the rabbit looks funnily enough like an otter. But with the separation of the ears comes an unsettling feeling in Jungkook’s chest as he falters.

He’s never killed a rabbit before, but he has killed a handful of birds these past few weeks. He imagines the process is the same. With the birds, one quick twist of the neck made them go limp, their feathers easily falling away. With the rabbit, Jungkook only remembers the rapid thumping of its hind legs and the soft texture of its ears.

He didn't particularly care for the birds—and he probably never would. The rabbit, his memories remind him, is a different story.

There was neither a storm nor a quake that had brought upon this chaos. Whirling around, there was no imminent attack occurring, no invasion, that could cause all these people to suddenly lose all semblance of normalcy.

There was a woman beside a fire hydrant, an abandoned stroller flipped on its side. A bundle of fabric in her arms cried loudly, nearly drowning out her own tears as she begged for her life. From what? There was nothing attacking her, nothing threatening her and her child. But the longer Jungkook watched, the more distraught she became, until eventually, her eyes cleared over. Her screaming stopped, though the baby’s continued. She began ramming her head face-first against the metal of the hydrant, blood gushing down over her eyes.

Jungkook and his teammates had stood by in horror, watched her bash her head in until she fell back lifelessly, the child on her chest wailing before a sight it would never understand.

It was Jaehyun who had urged them to move the second time, pulled him away from the scene before them.

With every stride he took, he was rewarded with similar scenes. All around him the chaos spread, people being infected with this, this madness, Jungkook supposed.

They’d stepped out of their cars in a daze, eyes clouded over before taking their own lives in a multitude of ways. It was a disturbing scene to watch, one that spurred Jungkook to run faster and faster, until he bumped into the back of a teammate that had been running before him. He remembers the shout he’d let out, frustratedly scolding the man for stopping now of all times. He was their main striker, could run faster than anyone else on the team, yet here he was, frozen stiff.

Then, slowly, he’d turned around. Jungkook had watched as if behind a glass wall, watched a man he had played alongside with for years saunter over to where the railing of the highway began. His face was devoid of any fear, almost peaceful, as he climbed over.

Jungkook coughs, the overwhelming stench of animal blood flooding his nostrils. This is always the most difficult part for him, trying to overcome the initial putrid stench as he slices the animal open with one clean cut down its ventral side. When he does, one of the rabbit’s hind legs surprises him by twitching.

He vaguely remembers learning this in a high school anatomy class. Something about the stiffening of muscles after death. Rigor mortis? He’s not really sure, pushing the leg to lay flat against the table gently. He lets out a humorless snort, like this animal needed this type of caring treatment now.

The wail Jungkook had let out had wrenched itself from the depths of his soul, and he fell to the ground in horror at the scene he’d just witnessed. His forehead touched the rough pavement beneath him, body trembling as his mind struggled to process the world around him. As he did so, a strong gust of wind whipped around him, the mania around him increasing as it went. It fluttered through the cotton of his tracksuit, tickled his skin as it went, until eventually disappearing.

He had either laid there for seconds or hours. Jungkook wasn’t sure. Dongmin had been the one that had finally hauled him to his feet, grip deathly tight around his wrist as he pulled him along.

They ran and ran, until the forest outside the city came to view. He didn’t want to look back, in fear that whatever had possessed those people would get him too. He was out of breath and lost, caught up in the whirlwind of whatever those things were that made people lose their minds. He was comforted by the fact Dongmin was there. Mingyu and Jaehyun, too. He was too afraid to ask where the others were.

There’s a hot dog cooker on the counter, thick with years of grease. The overhead heating lamp takes a moment to flicker to life, and when Jungkook decides it’s stable, he tosses his lunch onto it, watches the pink meat roll back and forth.

He could use the sacks of coal littered along the back aisle to start a real fire, the prongs and tools above them, but that was too much work.

They had done fine for a while, aimlessly traveling about in search of help. But after the first town they realized whatever happened that day in the city wasn’t an isolated event. The entity had scoured through this town too, leaving bodies in its wake at a smaller scale compared to what had happened in the city, but just as horrific. They were a fleeting creature, whatever they were, that confronted people with their greatest fears. Infected them with a madness, as Jungkook has grown to call it, so twisted and gruesome that it drove people insane. After infecting every person with the madness they’d leave. They seldom returned, most likely content with the way they left things.

From Jungkook’s understanding, the entity was a singular being that felt like a thousand. It could easily spread over large places, infect everyone with the madness at once, but that would be too easy. It took pleasure in catching people one by one, focusing its powers to properly torture each individual to the fullest.

Their little gang had gotten along fairly okay after that realization, their own natural abilities supporting each other. Dongmin led them, mostly because he was the only one among them with a sense of direction. Jungkook knew which way was what only when the sun rose and set. During the day he was clueless. Dongmin always knew which way was north or south, east or west, regardless of the time of day.

Mingyu and Jaehyun had been the brawns of the group, muscular bodies lifting fallen signs from in front of shop entrances, wrenching car doors open. There wasn’t a place they couldn’t get into. They were quick to barricade buildings they slept in, even better at dismantling them. Without them, Jungkook thinks they’d have starved early on.

As for Jungkook, well. Jungkook had a special ability under his belt—he could sense the entity before the others. It was difficult to explain such a feeling, but he knew he had it because he’d saved them many a time. Sure, the tell-tale gust of wind alerted them of the entity entering their little circle, but that was useless. Once the entity was there, they didn’t go away until they completed whatever fucked up mission they had.

It was a tickling on the back of his neck, the faint feeling of never being alone that Jungkook felt, usually a few minutes before they appeared. It was like the uncomfortable silence of a concert hall, the voices all echoey and distorted. It awoke an animalistic reaction in Jungkook, one that would have him shoving his friends into a pile of dead bodies.

Whatever it was, they didn’t distinguish well between those alive and those, well, not alive. Tricking them was by no means a simple feat, but it certainly did save them a few times, even if Jungkook was forced to lie face to face with an unmoving figure, stare into the horrified gaze of someone who was taken too soon.

Overall the four of them together were a great team. Well, were. It's been a couple weeks now since they’d gotten separated. Since he got separated, watched their retreating forms head down to a lake to bathe. He had been reckless, forgot about the feeling behind his neck until it was too late, the window shutters of the motel they’d taken shelter in suddenly flailing wildly.

He remembers dropping to the ground with shut eyes, cupping his hands over his ears as the sinister presence of the entity surrounded him, trying to get inside his head. He had suffered through it for twenty minutes, quietly sobbing against the motel’s ugly green carpet.

Just as he’d resigned himself to the same painful death he’d seen so many others fall prey to, he’d heard Mingyu’s harsh laughter, the soft chattering of voices, as his friends returned to the motel.

He knew what he had to do then, desperate to save his friends from suffering through this same, undeserved pain.

So Jungkook did the same thing they’d been doing until then: he ran.

Blindly at first, arms feeling around for the door, for his coat. The pavement of the single road that passed through this town had been smooth, his ratty shoes slapping hard against it. He could feel the tears squeezing out from his screwed eyelids, the air that whipped at his face with every step he took. The entity had followed him for hours, whispering in his ear, caressing his skin.

He’s not sure how long he ran, how long he wished it would all end, as he listened to those twisted visions. Jungkook just knows that one moment he was running, and the next he was falling, tumbling into a small stream filled with cold water that soaked him to the bone.

Beneath the water, all sound was distorted. He couldn’t hear the entity, nor sense its all-consuming presence. And when Jungkook had broken through the surface, gasping for air, he couldn’t feel it there either.

In his paranoia, he had sat there for an hour, routinely dunking his head in and out until he was brave enough to open his eyes again.

That had been weeks ago. Jungkook’s great escape from the entity feels so far away now, he thinks, idly watching the meat roll over the hot dog cooker. It’ll be hours before it’s cooked safely, but Jungkook will probably grow impatient and eat it before. Whatever, he thinks, settling against a plastic chair behind the counter. The cash box is unlocked, a multitude of bills sitting out in the open. Jungkook flips through them, figures they’re pretty useless now.

If the entity had been able to dismantle a city as populous as the one Jungkook had lived in, the one he had spent his whole life in, he imagines it’s done it again. After all, the towns he’s crossed through until this point were all devoid of life.

He’d like to wash his hands after touching all that money, but he knows none of the water lines in this town work. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a shower or cleaned himself. The old clean freak in him was suffering.

He’s just about settled in for a nap when he hears something.

It’s quiet at first, a faint humming from outside. As it grows closer it becomes louder, until Jungkook can distinguish the sounds of chattering somewhere down the street. Shit, he panics. He’ll never be able to say why exactly the thought of meeting other people terrifies him, but it does. He slinks down behind the counter, glancing at the emergency exit that leads to the dumpsters behind the gas station.

He shifts over slowly, ears perked like the rabbit’s. The voices grow closer, and when the bell over the door rings, Jungkook uses the opportunity to shuffle completely across the floor.

There’s a ball of nerves caught in his throat as he listens to these people come in, though it will never match up to the fear that the entity instills in him. They move around the shop, picking up things as they go. There’s a relaxed tone to their words, like they’re the least bit worried about whatever horror awaits them, just another group of friends stopping by a convenience store.

In another life, he’d feel drawn to such a group. He was a somewhat shy kid in high school, too focused on his training to truly make friends. Not that he didn’t have any; the soccer team had always been his friends. Jungkook could always count on them, young boys and men who were there for him at the lowest points in his career. College had been the same, and by the time he made it into the league nothing much had changed.

After being separated from his friends now, he doesn’t see the point in making new ones. They were all going to die anyway.

When he places his hand on the doorknob, the metal releases an obnoxiously loud creak. Jungkook freezes, as do the people on the other side of the counter. The longest second of his life passes, breath caught in his throat as he waits for them to brush it off, letting him escape into the forest behind him in peace.

They eventually do, conversations picking up albeit more quietly than before. Jungkook exhales, tightens his hand around the knob as he turns it. It doesn’t make a sound.

But when Jungkook nudges the door open, the opposing air on both ends emits a popping noise, and that sets the group off. “What was that?” One of them barks, and before they can find him, Jungkook is flinging the door open, all reservations thrown aside as he stumbles into the forest.

He tears through the initial overgrowth of bushes behind the gas station, stumbling into the dirt. Faceless voices are shouting behind him, their hurried footsteps jumping over the counter in their attempt to grab him.

Fuck, why were they chasing him? Why couldn’t they just let him leave? He wasn’t the entity they feared, he was just some guy trying to live.

He runs for about twenty yards, but the tree line nearest to the town is thin, and he doesn’t doubt they can see him out in plain sight. He needs to lose them and fast. Running a few more meters, he dives into a thicket of bushes. If he curls himself up small enough, maybe they won’t see the glimpses of his blue tracksuit from above.

He knows it’s stupid, thinking the distance will delude them into thinking he was farther or closer, but what else can Jungkook do? Literally nothing. He hugs his knees to his chest, slows his breathing as they come up closer.

“Where’d he go?” One of them shouts a few meters ahead of him.

Jungkook holds his breath, listens to their dragging footsteps against the forest floor. They pad around for a few minutes, probably sweeping over the tree line in search of him. One of them comes scarily close to his hiding spot, and through the gaps in the flora, Jungkook can see a knife strapped around their thigh. Eventually, they seem to congregate a little further away from him, quiet murmurs as they pronounce him gone.

Jungkook nearly cries in relief when they begin marching away.

He celebrates too soon.

“You alright?” One of them calls to another, and a long beat of silence follows. Jungkook wonders if they got injured, hurt themselves in their hurry to catch him, but he finds he doesn’t really care anyway. Just as that selfish thought hits, so does someone’s boot against his face.

Jungkook splutters, the iron taste of blood flooding his mouth as someone drags him out from the bush, the cold glare of a stranger greets his blurry vision. “Got ya,” he sneers, shoving Jungkook down to the ground. “Look what I found,” he calls to the others, and they all chatter excitedly at his find, swarming Jungkook’s body.

A wave of emotion floods him one by one. First is the fear that tightens around his heart when he registers the guns in their hands, on their waists, or over their backs. The knife alone had startled Jungkook; the sight of an even more murderous weapon scared him shitless. Second is the confusion, similar to the one from earlier. Didn’t they recognize there were bigger, scarier evils out there to worry about? Why were they so bent on catching him, just another straggler as far as they were concerned. Lastly is overwhelming humiliation.

Here he was, pushed to the ground in front of a group of strangers who sneered and laughed at his trembling form. They were obviously amused by his discomfort. Jungkook never wanted to hide so bad in his life.

The one from before nudges him hard in the ribs, pulling a pained groan from Jungkook. “Who are you with?” He spits, narrowed eyes focused on Jungkook.

Jungkook flounders, weakly covering his body with his arms. “H-Huh?” He stutters, not understanding their question. Who was he with? Obviously no one. Why else would he be here hiding in the forest like a baby?

The man, who Jungkook assumes is their leader, doesn’t find his answer amusing it seems, as he digs the toe of his shoe against Jungkook’s side again, rough enough to fracture. “Who the fuck are you with?” He repeats. Jungkook flinches.

What is he supposed to say? No one, I’m alone and scared of whatever is out here. As if the man would understand. The glint in his eye tells Jungkook he won’t be gaining any sympathy points with that one.

Enraged with Jungkook’s lack of response, he begins raining down more painful blows against him. The others join in, kicking his quivering body until Jungkook is crying out, begging them to stop.

After all his grueling efforts running from the entity, he can’t believe he’s going to die at the hands of another human. Fate was cruel.

Just as he’s resigned himself to his shameful death, the crack of a gun bounces across the treeline, the whizzing of a bullet filling his ears. For a moment he thinks he’s been shot, body coiling up as his attackers slow to a stop.

But then one of them curses, hiking his weapon into his arms. “Fuck, where are they?”

“I don’t know!” Another responds, whirling away to scan over the area. With their attention turned away, Jungkook goes to escape, making a pitiful attempt at crawling away. “I don’t see anyone.”

The leader seethes at the reply. “Well, they’re fucking here.”

Jungkook doesn’t know who ‘they’ are or why this admittedly terrifying group of individuals is afraid of them, but he supposes he should be too. After all, whatever scared these folks was certain to petrify him.

Another gunshot sends them scrambling apart, the metal bullet digging into the wood of a tree just behind Jungkook. They all see it, his attackers sharing a look of unease amongst themselves. Finally, they seem to come to the same conclusion, gesturing for the leader to speak.

“Alright,” he shouts to no one in particular. “We get it. We’ll back off now.”

A pause, another shared look, before they slowly begin retreating in the direction of the gas station. Jungkook wants to follow them, despite how scary they are, because he’s even more terrified of whoever scared them off. When he leans up onto his elbow, one of them kicks it from under him, sending him face first into the soil.

They snicker as they leave. “Good luck with those bitches,” one of them jeers, gives him a wonderful parting gift by spitting in his face.

Feeling thoroughly humiliated, Jungkook stays put.

Maybe it’s better to let whoever is out there just end this for him now. He can’t believe his first interaction with people outside of his friends was this degrading, this disheartening. Why had he spent so much time running from the entity if this is what waited at the other end?

The rev of an engine starts up, and he watches in disgust as a Jeep full of assholes takes off down the road, hurling a multitude of insults his way one last time.

As if he didn't feel bad enough already.

So caught up in his depressing thoughts, he forgets about whoever scared them off in the first place, finally sitting up and dusting himself off. His already dirty tracksuit reeks from weeks of usage, the front now stained with blood. When he reaches up to wipe the spit off his face, he sees the dirt that crusts over the sleeve. Would anything ever go right for him?

Something moves to his left.

Jungkook pales, stills his movements as the shuffling continues, eventually registering in his ears as the harsh crunch of leaves under someone’s boot. His heart thunders in his chest, expecting another kick to the face, a shove to the ground. When a hand touches his shoulder he nearly sobs.

“It’s just a kid,” a gruff voice calls out, and the announcement has more people crawling out of obscure hiding places, more strangers appearing before him, until a new set of faces towers over him.

There’s not as many of them, only about six that surround him. The group from before easily outnumbered them two to one.

Amidst the people, one person maneuvers their way to the front, an inquisitive face that’s presence makes everyone step away from the claustrophobic half-circle they’ve formed around him. “Let me see,” the woman says, dropping down to a squat before him. She's got a pistol attached to her hip, a larger rifle slung over her back.

Her eyes flicker over Jungkook’s face, and his over hers. She’s got ethereal features, he thinks, that don’t match the automatic weapons decorating her body. Despite the protection she carries, Jungkook doesn’t feel the same crippling fear from before. In fact, there’s something comforting about the way she glances over him, over his bruised eye and bloody nose.

A hand taps his cheek, a tentative pat, as if she senses he’s not fully there. “Hey,” she greets carefully, meeting his gaze for the first time. “You okay?”

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say. For many reasons, he was obviously not. Mentally, he was still as distressed as he was the first day the madness hit, since the entity appeared. He feels like he’s going insane from the weeks he’s spent wandering through a desolate world, alone and desperate for human interaction, a sort of self-induced madness of his own. He’s so afraid too, but he imagines she understands that. Physically, he doesn’t think he looks much better.

He wants to say, no, not really, those people made me feel more humiliated than I ever have in my entire life and I would like to go home now except my home doesn’t exist anymore and it probably never will.

In a monotone voice he replies, “just peachy.”

A couple of the people behind her snort, and her lips pull into a subtle smile.

“Well,” she claps, rising to her feet. “Glad to hear it.” She sticks out a hand for him. He stares at it like he’s never seen one before. She shakes it in his face, and he belatedly realizes he’s supposed to take it. She hauls him up with a strength Jungkook doesn’t expect, wiggles the sleeve of her dark sweatshirt down in a fruitless attempt to wipe the spit and blood from his face. He imagines it doesn’t do much, but it’s the thought that counts. “My name’s __,” you tell him, and he lets the name roll around his head as he stares deeply into your eyes.

Fifteen minutes ago Jungkook had given up on humanity as those psychos pummeled him into the earth.

He wonders if this is the universe’s way of apologizing to him.

“Jungkook,” he says breathlessly, eyes focused on your every feature, like if he blinks you’ll disappear from right in front of him. He’s partially convinced himself you’re a figment of his imagination, a reprieve his mind provided in these dark times, when you speak again.

“Jungkook,” you repeat; he doesn’t think anyone’s ever pronounced his name so beautifully before, but everything about you seems to be just that.

Vaguely, he remembers learning about this in some freshman psychology class. What was it called? Suspension bridge effect. Was he seeing you like this just because you’d saved him from a very dire situation? Probably. It’ll go away soon, he assures himself.

“Well, Jungkook,” you say, stepping back into the comfort of the group of people with you. The aura you emanate is the complete opposite of his attackers from earlier, despite the fact you’re nearly identical in appearance; dark clothing, utility boots, armed weapons. “Are you alone out here?” He barely remembers to nod. You hum, glancing at the man beside Jungkook who initially stepped out. “My friends and I have a place out here. Hidden from psychos like them,” you glare pointedly at the gas station obscured by the trees, “you’re welcome to come rest up there if you’d like.”

Unlike his attackers your group seems to travel on foot, carefully navigating through the forest like you’ve got it memorized. You stick him with the guy from before, a fellow named Taehyung who’s quite the chatterbox once Jungkook breaks through his serious exterior.

Before anything, Taehyung gives him a practiced speech detailing the horrors of the world right now, almost like he’s had to explain this to people before. Jungkook already knows it all, but still nods along politely to everything he says. The longer they walk, the more anxious he becomes.

Maybe following this pack of strangers back wasn’t the brightest idea, he begins to think. For all he knows you could be exactly the same as that original group of stragglers, luring him deeper into an unknown landscape to kill him. Part of him is disappointed in the negative progression of his thoughts, the lack of faith he has in his fellow human. But what else is he to do?

Since the appearance of the entity the world he knew had begun to dismantle itself. Societies they had spent centuries building up crumbling in the mere span of a few weeks. He hadn’t seen a person in almost a month now, and the first ones he did see almost beat and humiliated him to death. He can’t be blamed for his pessimistic outlook.

They walk through the forest until they reach a creek, a thin trickle of water that widens the further south they go, and continue flush against the water bed. Eventually, Jungkook begins to hear the bustle of more people, which immediately sets him on edge. Taehyung flashes him a wide smile that grows the closer they get to the noise.

His heart pounds in his chest, feels it in his ears.

Part of him is expecting an end to this long journey, maybe a bullet to the head or a knife to the chest. No matter how much he tries to convince himself that you and your friends are nice people, he can’t. He’s caught up in a whirlwind of anxieties, breaths growing more shallow and choked off, and by the time they finally stop walking, he’s nearly struggling to breathe, peering through the trees only to find—

A huddle of tents. A few wooden structures. Some kids kicking around a ball.

A hand claps down on his shoulder, and Jungkook flinches with a loud yelp. “This is Oleander,” you inform him, waving a hand over the tiny establishment.

Oleander.

He walks through the grounds with his shoulders pulled up damn near his ears, nervously glancing around at the people that wander by him. There’s about fifty of them—some older and some younger—that mill about, all greeting him politely. In his shock, their faces all blend together and he can’t tell one apart from another. The first face that his mind truly registers is that of a trustworthy man with a big smile.

Hoseok, you introduce him as before promptly disappearing.

Hoseok is the man who shows him around this Oleander place, walking him to and fro. He’s also the man who shows him to the creek about a hundred meters behind the Oleander base, as he calls it, watches over him as Jungkook scrubs weeks of grime off his skin.

Oleander, apparently, is a safe haven established by Hoseok and you. You make do by scavenging through nearby towns, occasionally sending groups of scavengers farther out. You’re accepting of all those who wish to escape from the entity, finding solace in a carefully secluded plot of land far from any signs of civilization; Strays, Hoseok refers to him and others like him as.

Beneath all the dirt, his skin is tender, soft, and pink. When he rises from the water, he’s extra careful of covering his privates with both hands. Hoseok says nothing of his nudity, tosses him a towel and new clothes, though he advises him to wash his smelly tracksuit anyway. The garments are similar in style to the ones everyone else on this base wears, a collection of muted browns and muddled greens that make him blend into the trees around him. The stained tennis shoes go back on his feet, because Hoseok doesn’t have anything else to offer him at the moment.

“I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions about what this place is, so feel free to ask me!” Hoseok tells him when they get back, passing by the largest of the wooden structures that smells absolutely heavenly. Suddenly, he remembers the rabbit meat he left on the hotdog cooker.

Jungkook’s mouth starts before his brain. “Why the tents?” He asks, watching people duck in and out of the shabby quarters. They’re camping tents, the same kind his dad used to rent on their family trips. He quickly pushes that memory away.

Hoseok answers his question. “Well, as you probably know, the Thing out there likes hitting up cities, towns. Anywhere with noticeable traces of life,” he explains. Jungkook nods. “This place is pretty empty as you can tell,” he says, gesturing towards the vast expanse of forest around them. “So we’re not too worried about it finding us here. But in the case that it does, however,” he shakes his head here, like he doesn’t even wanna imagine that possibility. “We gotta be ready to move everyone quickly.”

“It’ll follow you,” Jungkook blurts out, hates how negative he sounds telling a sunny man like Hoseok such news.

Hoseok doesn’t seem the least bit phased by Jungkook’s words. “Yeah, but,” he trails off, glancing over the grounds, until he finds what he’s looking for. “We have a secret weapon,” he sings, gestures towards where you’re standing by a group of kids trying to scale the side of a tree.

Now what did that mean? “A… woman?” He says tentatively, and Hoseok laughs.

“You’re a funny guy, Jungkook,” he says, patting his back. “But no. We have someone here with a, let’s say, unique ability,” he explains. Jungkook blinks. Hoseok grins, tugs him close like he’s about to share some national secret with him. “Our friend __ over there can sense the Thing,” Hoseok whispers.

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat. “So can I?”

Hoseok, a fairly relaxed soul as Jungkook is quickly learning, let’s go of him in favor of releasing a deep, belly-shaking chuckle. “Let me guess,” he teases. “The wind and the voices? We can all do that, buddy.”

Jungkook shakes his head, eyes slowly returning to you. You’re holding onto one of the kids now, tucked beneath your arm like a football as you drag them closer to the camp. “No,” Jungkook says softly. “It’s different.”

“Really?” Hoseok drawls, though Jungkook can tell he doesn’t believe him for a second. “What’s it like?” He plays along anyway.

Jungkook shrugs, glances down at his fingers. He recalls the sensation, eyes fluttering shut as he loses himself in the memories. “It’s like… a rope around my throat. Except the knot is never tied, so it just brushes the back of my neck, over and over again.”

When he opens his eyes, Hoseok is staring at him like he has three heads. Jungkook takes a step back, fearing he’s grossly overshared and now they think he’s some nut job. “Holy shit,” Hoseok exhales, glancing over him with wide eyes.

“Seokjin!” He screeches, catching Jungkook’s wrist in between his bony fingers before he can run away. Jungkook’s heart lurches in his chest, cheeks flushing when Hoseok pulls him across the grounds under everyone‘s inquisitive glances. They stop before a tent that’s larger than the others, one flap pinned open. “Seokjin,” Hoseok repeats once inside, the space smelling strongly of antiseptic.

How long have you and your friends, as you called them, been here? There’s a huge amount of medical supplies overflowing inside this tent, like you’ve raided every pharmacy in a fifty mile radius.

Hoseok pushes him into the center of the space, where he nearly bumps into a tall man in glasses. “Seokjin,” Hoseok gasps. “This kid has the thing.”

“Huh? What thing?” The man—Seokjin—asks, seemingly unimpressed with Jungkook’s appearance before him. “Who even is this kid?”

“Jungkook,” Jungkook offers, though it gets lost in Hoseok’s sudden outburst.

“He has the thing,” he emphasizes. “The __ thing.” He glances at the entrance to the tent, like you’ll suddenly appear at the mere mention of your name. You don’t.

Something registers in Seokjin’s features, a slow realization as his eyes flick over to Jungkook. “Holy shit,” he says, wide eyes bouncing between him and Hoseok. “You’re kidding.”

Hoseok looks oddly proud of himself as he plops down on the cot pressed against one end of the tent. “Nope,” he responds. “Described it just like her and everything.”

Seokjin pushes his glasses up his nose, eyes scanning over Jungkook’s frame behind the magnified lens. “Uh huh,” he hums, pinching the skin over his tricep. Jungkook flinches. “I see.”

Jungkook can’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry—who are you?” He blurts out, taking one cautious step away from Seokjin and his grabby hands. He hadn’t interacted with another person in weeks and today alone he was beat up like a loser and now gawked at like a slab of prime meat.

“Oh, right. Kim Seokjin, only registered nurse in this lovely Oleander,” he introduces, sticking one hand out for Jungkook to shake. He does, surprised by the force of his handshake. He doesn’t give Jungkook the chance to introduce himself either, using their connected palms to hold Jungkook’s arm up and glance over him some more. “Lean, healthy. How old did you say you were?”

“Twenty-five,” he responds, snatching his arm away. Seokjin doesn’t seem offended, instead circling around him. Sensing Seokjin won’t be of much help, he turns back to Hoseok. “You said if I had questions to ask you.”

Hoseok nods. “I did.”

Seokjin gasps. “Hobi, look at the thighs on this kid, Jesus,” he exclaims, poking at the corded muscle beneath his borrowed pants. “You run track?”

“Soccer,” he corrects. “Who were those people and why did they attack me before?”

Another voice answers, significantly less loud than the men he was currently stuck with. “Magnolians,” you reply from the entrance. Jungkook jumps at your abrupt appearance, suddenly finding it hard to look you in the eye. “Another camp like ours who used this catastrophe to become the sick fucks they never got to be in their regular lives,” you explain, coming around to stand in front of Jungkook. Your solemn expression fades upon meeting his gaze. “Jungkook, how are you feeling?” You inquire, worried eyes checking him over the same way Seokjin’s just did, except it sparks a sense of bashfulness in him when it’s you.

“Fine,” he mumbles, suddenly wishing Seokjin was back on him again. But the guy chose now of all times to fuck off, settling beside Hoseok to watch him talk to you.

“That’s good to hear,” you say, and then almost absentmindedly reach a hand up to caress his hair. Jungkook freezes, hyper aware of your close proximity. He very pointedly ignores looking at your beautiful face. It’ll go away, he reminds himself, heart panging when you retract your arm. “Is Seokjin evaluating your health?”

He glances over at the man, who gives him a half-assed shrug. With not a lot of confidence in his answer, Jungkook replies, “kinda.”

Before you can question him or Seokjin, Hoseok is jumping in to intervene. “Jungkook has the same freaky power as you,” he reveals, eyes sparkling at the news he reports.

Though you initially jolt in surprise, meeting his gaze with a wondrous glint in your eyes, it eventually fades away. Replacing it is a look of skepticism. “Really?” Your arms fold over your chest as you trace over his features. Jungkook has never felt more shy in his entire life, having a woman like you drink him in with absolutely no shame. “And what power is that?”

If it’s a test, Jungkook fails it. “The, um. Thing.”

Seokjin snorts, burying his face in Hoseok’s shoulder at his weak response. His cheeks flush, the rosy hue slowly filling his face until the tips of his ears are warm, your unimpressed expression staring back at him.

He rushes to redeem himself. “The feeling,” he adds. “Around your neck. Like there’s someone else in the room but you don’t know where.”

Slowly you nod, arms falling back to your sides. You don’t say anything else about this power (as Hoseok calls it), instead turning to face Seokjin. “Your thoughts?”

Seokjin claps his hands together, hopping off the cot to round Jungkook again. “Great body, experience in sports, so I’m assuming lots of stamina. Doesn’t look like he knows his way around a gun, but that can be taught.”

The ending of his evaluation leaves Jungkook confused. “Why would I need to know how to use a gun?” Seokjin glances at you pointedly.

“Actually,” you admit, “I came here with a proposal for you, Jungkook.” Jungkook stills. The only proposals he’s ever heard of usually end in big, classy ceremonies on the beach. He’s just met you a few hours ago. “I would like it if you joined us here in Oleander.”

Jungkook falters, glancing warily between you and the other men in the tent. “Why?” He says, sounding like a child.

You don’t mind. “Well, truthfully, I think it would be good on your end,” you say, “to have the extra protection. Taehyung tells me you’ve been on your own for a while now. We wouldn’t mind taking you in.”

“What’s in it for you?” He interrogates next.

Jungkook thought you were really cool. You had saved him from a group of crazies who wanted to kill him, showed him your secret hideout, and on top of that, you shared something in common with him (apperently). Sure, you had helped him, but Jungkook knows better than to not expect anything in return.

His straightforwardness brings a smile to your face. “Well, if what Seokjin says is true, I think you could become a valuable member of Oleander. I think your support and protection would be a huge help to us here.”

You’re looking at him with these big, sparkly eyes, like the mere idea of Jungkook joining this group of strays is all you’ve ever wanted. Admittedly he sees the logic in your words.

Jungkook thinks about leaving here alone, about returning to that nameless town in the middle of nowhere. There were only so many bags of beef jerky he could eat through, so many rabbits he could strangle before it wasn’t enough. What would he do in the winter? It didn’t snow often in this part of the world, but with the animals in hiding, what would he eat? Would he have to keep traveling from town to town, risk encountering those Magnolians from before?

They really did a number on his faith in humanity. How could people just resort to violence so easily, even after having the knowledge that there were far more harmful things out there than a loaded gun? Jungkook’s been thinking about it since it happened, hours after the event, and he still hasn’t reached a plausible conclusion. Were they deranged? Or simply losers, as you’d so eloquently implied, who were taking advantage of such calamity to live out these frankly disturbing lifestyles. Jungkook didn’t understand, and the longer he ponders it, he realizes maybe he never will.

Some things are just better left unknown, he supposes. But that didn’t mean one had to face them alone. He returns his attention to you and your expectant eyes.

As for you, he still had a lot of questions— who you were, why you did this, what this shared power of theirs was. He figures he can ask you them later. For now, he sticks his hand out for you to take.

“I’m in.”

⇢ part two

#jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #thekpopnetwork #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts fic #mine #!!!!!!

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konglindorm · 4 years ago

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Lindworm: Chapter 1

(This is a little over half of the first chapter I had planned to share the whole thing, but then I realized it was 7,000 words. You can buy and read the rest of Lindworm here!)

“Thank you so much for thinking of me,” Marit said, “but really I would rather not marry a monster.”

Marit would not have thought herself the sort of person to talk back to kings, had she ever had cause to contemplate such matters. But then she never would have thought the king the sort of person to sacrifice a girl to a lindworm, and yet here she was, the third victim.

She was only seventeen, and this wedding was a death sentence.

Six months ago, Prince Harald had set out to find a bride, and had been stopped by a great serpent in the road. Since then, the serpent—the lindworm—had eaten two foreign princesses, both after a sham of a wedding. Both women had thought they were coming to marry Prince Harald.

Here, in the forest outside the capital city, rumors had flown. Rumors that they would shortly be at war with both kingdoms that had lost a princess, and rumors, more interesting to their small family with no members likely to be sent to the battlefield, of the lindworm, of why a man-eating dragon would be welcomed to the palace and fed. Rumors that said the lindworm was Prince Harald’s brother, that the king humored it instead of killing it because the monster was family.

Marit didn’t know how much truth there might be to such rumors. She didn’t know how a queen could bear and birth a serpent, but she did know the world was full of strange, incomprehensible things.

The king stared at her, his men standing stiffly by. It had not, of course, been thoughtfulness that led him to her cottage in the woods. Marit knew this, and knew that the marriage was not optional, and that one could not speak to a king in this manner and expect to keep one’s head. But when one has already been sentenced to death, such things as respect for royalty matter very little.

“It is not an offer,” the king informed her when he found his voice. “It is a command, and you may choose to obey or not, but willing or unwilling, you will find yourself before a priest in my great hall one week from now.”

One week, she thought. One week to live the rest of her life. She could run—could she run?

No, if the king was leaving her a few days to say her goodbyes, it was only because he knew she could not run. There would be guards posted. She would be caught and brought back. She would still end the week dead, and likely her father and sister, too, if the king suspected they had helped her. As they certainly would.

Her family—they were away from the house now, deeper into the woods, scavenging. There was little left to eat, their winter stores almost empty by March, and the ground still too frozen to begin the year’s planting. She had stayed behind to tend to the animals, too likely to slow them down after twisting her ankle yesterday, falling from a tree; it had barely hurt, and would be healed by tomorrow. The king would be long gone before they returned, and it would fall to her to explain her upcoming death.

“There will be a bride price, of course,” said the king.

Marit wasn’t quite sure what a bride price was, thought it may be like a dowry—she’d sewn items, slowly, over the last several years for her dowry, but doubted the lindworm would demand her linens as well as her life.

The king went on to explain the bride price, the amount of money her father would be given for this farce of a marriage—the opposite of a dowry, then, and a staggering amount.

It had been a long, brutal winter following a short, dry summer, and for that price Marit may have volunteered herself. Any number of young women may have; it was enough to save not only their own small farm, but those of a few near neighbors. Enough to buy a second goat, a few more chickens, enough to pay all of their debts in the city and have their broken tools repaired.

For such a sum, she would have volunteered. She would have gladly given her life to so dramatically improve the lives of her father and younger sister.

But the king had not asked. The king had demanded, and Marit knew she would resent him for however many days she had left to do so.

He left her, as she’d expected, with guards posted nearby, and she led the animals back to their shed and let herself back into the cottage, not wanting to look at them, their clean uniforms with shiny brass buttons, their polished boots slowly gathering mud, their faces as they avoided her eyes, because they knew, must know, that this was wrong, and yet they were loyal to their king, and would not let her run.

Marit watched through the back window, working idly on her knitting, unable to stay focused on the difficult stitch she’d meant to master this week, until she saw her sister and her father coming out from the woods. She ran to meet them, and hurried them inside before they could ask about the soldiers scattered about. And then she told them.

“Why you?” Greta cried. “Why you?”

She hadn’t asked how he’d chosen her, out of all the unwed maids within walking distance of the palace. She didn’t think she wanted to know why it was her that must die, and not Annette, who had no father to protect her, or Martine, who was more beautiful, or Signe or Gretchen or any of the other girls she knew.

She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to be the kind of person who wished death on her friends, either.

Besides, the lindworm had already eaten two women, and there was no reason to expect he might stop at a third. They may all be dead before this ended, Gretchen and Signe and Annette and Martine, and the younger girls, Greta and her friends, all the forest, all the city, someday all the kingdom sacrificed to satisfy the appetite of a monster that should have been killed the moment it showed itself to Prince Harald.

She could only hope that the fathers of the dead princesses would declare war, that they would kill her king and his lindworm with him before the whole country was devoured.

King Olaf had always been known as a kind and noble king. He’d lowered taxes and held festivals and been much loved, before these last six months, and Marit didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how a good king could become a bad one overnight because of one monster.

Maybe it was his son. Marit would throw the whole world over for Greta, she knew, but she’d been at Greta’s side since she’d emerged from their mother’s stomach, been the first to hold the new baby, tiny and wrinkled and red, getting blood all over her vest, as their father had said his goodbyes to Mama, only turning his attention to Marit and the new baby when his wife was gone.

For Greta, for her father, for Mama if she’d lived, Marit would do anything. But if a boar walked out of the woods and claimed to be her long lost brother, she wouldn’t take him at his word, wouldn’t escort him into the city to trample the blacksmith just because he asked her.

She didn’t think the king could hide a paternal relationship with a lindworm for several years. They must have met only when he stopped the prince on the road. And Marit didn’t understand.

She gathered Greta in her arms and listened to the younger girl cry, unable to shed any tears for herself, unsure why. She looked over Greta’s head at her father, and saw the same desperate sadness in his eyes that she had seen when she was five years old, and her mother was dying in childbirth. Her father loved her, but he could do nothing to save her, and they all knew it. He could not defy the king; to try would only make him angry, would likely risk Greta’s life too.

He came and wrapped himself around them both, and Marit thought, but was not quite sure, that he wept too. She sat, dry-eyed, between them, for long hours, until it was time for dinner and bed.

They watched out the window as a new group of soldiers marched in, and the first group left. At least they weren’t expected to feed and board their prison guards.

In the morning they found that the soldiers would let Marit go where she pleased, but one or two would always follow, from a respectful distance. No one followed her sister or father, so they went in three different directions, to the neighbors and to the city, Marit to make her farewells, and all of them to give warning. The king is feeding maidens to his lindworm. Marit is the first; she will not likely be the last. Send your daughters quietly to family in other cities, if you can. Marry them quickly to boys in the village, if you can. We do not know why the lindworm wants weddings, but he does, so make your daughters unweddable.

Gretchen, when Marit told her, said it probably had to do with a dragon’s fondness for virgins. She then said that if the king came to her, she would rid herself of virginity with the first man she could find before she would go to the lindworm, with the whole town to watch as proof, if necessary.

Gretchen’s older brother, the only other person there save the guards, too far away to overhear, made a sound of disapproval in the back of his throat, but said nothing.

Marit wondered if it was too late to try Gretchen’s plan for herself, and concluded it probably was—if the lindworm demanded a virgin, then the soldiers would not let her cease to be one. The small chance of success wasn’t worth giving herself to a man she didn’t want and wouldn’t be allowed to keep. And the kind of man who might cooperate with such a plan would likely not make it a happy experience to cherish in her final days. She reminded Gretchen of the soldiers before moving on to the next neighbors.

Marit spend her days wandering, mostly. There was work to be done, and she helped, or tried to—her father said not to trouble herself with anything in these last few days, and when she insisted, she often found herself too distracted to finish, or at least to finish well, haunted constantly by imaginings of what the lindworm might be like, how it might feel to be eaten. She remembered breaking a finger in a slamming door as a child, the sharp crack of it, the pain. She imagined the pain and the cracking both amplified as an enormous snake swallowed her whole, as snakes will do, and then, bizarrely, imagined cowering on a banquet table as the lindworm sliced her to pieces with a knife held in its tail, popping each slice into its mouth one at a time, sometimes dipping a slice in a butter-sauce first.

She still had not cried, though she had found herself several times laughing hysterically at humorless jokes she couldn’t explain. Greta didn’t need to know about the butter sauce.

When there were two days left before the wedding, she went out intending to collect eggs from the chickens, and her feet carried her, instead, deeper into the woods.

The guards followed at a distance.

Marit stopped when she saw an old woman ahead. She was short, with white hair spilling from her cap, bright and cheerful in a blue skirt and red vest, and she smiled like an old friend at Marit, and asked why she was so sad.

Marit wasn’t a fool. She knew how it was with mysterious old women in forests, knew they were to be respected. Knew how often they carried magic within themselves. Knew that to cross them was idiocy, and that to be kind and respectful could change the course of one’s life.

So Marit told the woman her troubles, and the woman smiled again. “It will be all right,” she said. “If you obey me, it will be all right. Now, here is what you must do.”

Marit wasn’t foolish enough to think she might live through this, but she wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the gift of a wise woman in the wood, either, even when that gift was the strangest advice she’d ever been given. Wear ten shifts beneath your dress, have milk and lye and whips waiting in your bedchamber.

She was already going to die; what did it matter if the king’s servants thought her a madwoman?

Ten shifts, though, would not be an easy thing to manage. Marit had two shifts, and two night shifts, which were wool instead of linen, with sleeves too wide to be hidden beneath her dress. She would have to rip them off. Greta owned the same, not much smaller as she was tall for her age, but Marit could not deprive her sister of all her undergarments, so only took one day shift and one night shift from her. That brought her to six, and four more yet to find. She couldn’t buy them; the king’s money wouldn’t come to her father until the day after the wedding. She had her dowry linens, unneeded now, and could use the fabric to make more shifts. But she had two days left to live, and wasn’t willing to spend her last precious moments sewing. With Greta’s help she converted one white bedsheet into a shift, but would sacrifice no more time when she had so many goodbyes to say—to friends, to livestock, to trees and streams and every future she had ever imagined for herself.

She begged one more shift from Olga, whose family was wealthier and who had one to spare for an acquaintance going to her death. Eight shifts, eight, two short, and no time to find more. It would have to be enough.

The morning she was to be taken away, Marit’s father pulled out her mother’s wedding dress and offered it to her.

Marit shook her head. “It should go to Greta. To a real wedding.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” her father said. “Take it, so your mother can be with you, as Greta and I cannot.”

So Marit put on her eight shifts, and she put on the dress. She was a bit smaller than her mother had been when she married, and it still fit despite the extra layers. Greta had wanted to make her a crown of flowers to match, but there were still few flowers in bloom, so she wove the crown from evergreen branches instead, coating her hands in sap, and placed it carefully on her sister’s head.

The three of them waited, solemnly, for Marit to be taken away. There was nothing left to say. All of the goodbyes were finished, all of the plans made. The next morning someone would come from the palace with the bride price and whatever was left of Marit to be buried. Her father would sell the animals and the house, give them away if he couldn’t sell them fast enough, and he would hire a wagon to take them far, far from the capital, to start a new life where the lindworm would never touch Greta. They’d gone over the details last night. Greta had cried again.

Marit still hadn’t cried, and thought she might be able to, now, but would not let herself; she didn’t want her tears seen by whoever took her away. She found she was more angry than sad. She felt a sharpness growing within her. Her life was forfeit, and so too was her sense of obligation to respect, to loyalty. The king, the queen, the prince, the priests who’d performed the weddings and the soldiers and couriers who’d stood by—damn them, she thought, damn them all, and damn the idea she owed them the barest amount of anything.

The king came to fetch her himself, and she refrained from spitting in his face only because of the guards that surrounded him, the fear they might kill her where she stood and cost her father the bride price.

The king was different, not angry and demanding as he had been a week ago, but stiff with an awkwardness that might almost be shame. Marit hugged her father and Greta one last time, and followed him back toward the city, his guards forming a circle around them. She didn’t care that he may feel shame; she had enough anger by now for the both of them.

He was quiet, and Marit didn’t want quiet. Not quite understanding the compulsion, she found herself goading him.

“What will happen after this?” she asked, and the king looked at her, then quickly away again. It was a long walk on foot, and she didn’t know why a king wouldn’t take a carriage, but she didn’t mind the extra time in her forest.

“You will be prepared for the wedding by lady’s maids. The wedding will be in the great hall, and after that we will have a banquet.”

“Not tonight,” Marit said, spurred by the thought of Annette being sent hundreds of miles away to an uncle she’d never met, of Gretchen searching for a man to defile her rather than be eaten. “Not to me. What will happen to your kingdom? After me, you’ll kill off every maid in the country, and then I suppose you’ll have to go to war, and find slaves to feed his appetite? Discipline is important for growing boys, Your Majesty. Learn to say no to your son.”

He raised a hand as if to slap her, and she tilted her chin forward, daring him—let him hit her, here surrounded by a small army, let all these soldiers, already uneasy with their roles, go home and report to their friends and families that their king was a man who struck defenseless maidens.

He lowered his hand, leaving Marit oddly disappointed. It would have been another reason to be angry, and her anger was protecting her from her fear.

The king sighed heavily. “We all do foolish things for our children.”

She wondered if he meant the lindworm, or only Prince Harald, who could not be married until it was satisfied. It didn’t matter—the result was the same for her.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, suddenly exhausted. Maybe a king could afford to do foolish things for his children. Her own father had to be sensible—foolishness would only have hurt Greta. She felt the anger draining away, the fear rising up again. She didn’t want to die.

They arrived at the palace from a side gate, not taking the wide, paved road beneath the cherry trees, where any number of people might have seen their arrival. The king and his soldiers handed her off to a large group of women, some more elegant than others, and she asked him, before he left, what time the wedding would be.

“At eight o��clock,” he said. “Will that give you enough time to prepare?” One of the more elegant women assured him it would, and he told her, “Give the girl whatever she wants. It’s her wedding day, after all.” He laughed, unamused, more bitter than cruel, and then he was gone.

“Is there anything special we can do for you, miss?” asked one of the plainer women, who was likely a maid.

Marit thought of the old woman in the forest. “This is going to sound a little strange.”

All of the more plainly dressed women left to carry out her last request, leaving Marit with a flock of beautiful women whose most simple everyday clothes were likely ten times more expensive than her mother’s wedding dress. They tried to have her out of it, into borrowed silks instead, but she refused. It was the last gift from her father, the only familiar thing in this place. She kept her evergreen crown as well, but let them take it away long enough to clean away the sap, rubbing it from the branches and brushing it out of her hair.

They re-braided her hair into a more elaborate style, stringing in gemstones to match her dress, and applied powders and creams to her face, which itched and made her sneeze. She watched them carefully, picking out one who seemed both kind and fancy enough to know little of a peasant’s daily life. She drew her away from the crowd and explained, in a whisper, “I haven’t any underthings. I only own the one shift, and I left it for my sister, so she would have one to wear on laundry day. I didn’t think it would matter, when I’m only to die tonight, but I’m—I’m embarrassed to have all these fine people watching me, thinking that if the light hits just so they’ll see I’m not dressed properly.”

The woman believed, somehow, that a peasant girl might have come to a royal wedding with no undergarments, and offered to find a spare shift.

“Could I have two, please?” The woman raised her eyebrows, and Marit ducked her head. “It’s a tradition—I know it shan’t be a real wedding night, but it’s a tradition to make the groom work a little harder the first time.”

The woman believed the tradition she’d never heard of, as well, and came back shortly with two more shifts, beautiful, silken things, bringing Marit to the required ten.

The next problem came when she realized the women had no intention of leaving her alone while she took off her wedding dress and put on the shifts, which was awkward for more reasons than the eight shifts she already wore. She explained that she was not accustomed to being seen undressed by strangers, and finally they left her, for the first moment of privacy she’d had in hours, and the last she expected to have in her life.

She took off the dress and put on the shifts. She paused to look in the mirror—a thing she’d heard of but never before seen—and wondered if that was what she truly looked like, or only the effect of the powders and creams. She pulled the dress back on, took a few deep breaths—she had not cried yet, she would not cry now—and reopened the door so that the women could help re-fasten the dress in the back.

They set the evergreen crown back on her head, and took her to the priest that would read her last rites.

The hall where they held the wedding was gorgeous, with shining wood floors and dark walls covered in rosemåling, blue and gold and red. All the court was seated when she arrived, dressed in their finest clothes, looking horrified. She recognized the king and the queen and the prince, familiar from a dozen parades, sitting in the front row. The rest were strangers.

And then she saw the lindworm.

It was the height of six or seven men, white like a maggot, or the mold on stale bread. It had dark wings on its back, too small to hold its weight in flight, and shiny white fangs quite visible even when its mouth was shut. It had no legs. There was a crown balanced at the top of its head, the size a man would wear, which might have been funny if it hadn’t planned to eat her.

It was staring at her with an expression of mild curiosity, recognizable because its eyes were the eyes of a man, over-large, but still small in its serpent head, the same shade of blue as a dozen young men she’d seen in the city.

#lindworm #fairy tales #folklore #Fairy tale retellings #new release #my book #it's almost here #two days #prince lindworm #king lindworm #king lindorm #kong lindorm #wax heart press

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griff-us · 3 years ago

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Title: Being So Normal Part: One Pairing: Black!Reader/Bucky Barnes Summary: Neither of them are very good at being normal. Good thing the spectrum of normalcy these days is anything but the definition of the word. In other words: two broken people mend together. Warnings: typical canon level violence, mentions of past abuse both physical and emotional, alcohol abuse and mentions of, drug abuse and mentions of.

Chapter Theme: Being So Normal, Peach Pit

Notes: Just a little self-indulgent series that's been sitting in the back of my brain that I have finally decided to work on after kinda scraping the previous one.

Sort of a Neighbors's AU mixed with a Coffee Shop Au. Lots of character introspection for the reader, and Bucky, and some fun and drama along the way. This will no doubt be a slow slow burn.

Hope yall enjoy and feel free to leave any comments or hit me with questions! Oh, mood board slapped together by me! Also, no Beta. Tbh I'm lazy and impatient so excuse any mistakes.

Saturday: 11:30pm

Sam was the one who convinced him to come---or maybe forced would be the better word. Life has been returning to somewhat normal for the two of them; Sam shouldering his mantle as Captain America, and James slowly easing into his role as Sergeant Barnes rather than The Winter Soldier. But, it’s not all easy, at least not for James. Normalcy is not his strong suit, not when the urgency of survival had been drilled into his skull for the past hundred years or so. Sure, he was comfortable, but not necessarily happy. James is lost, and no one can tell that more than Sam.

And that is how he’s found himself in this crowded club with flashing lights and a bass beat that he can feel in the pit of his stomach. It’s not that the environment is too much---it’s just that he feels so...odd out. After all, Jame’s idea of a night out used to be something more akin to a jazz bar and dancing. Not whatever gyrations and wiggling around the kids called dancing was these days.

God, he really is old.

“You gotta loosen up man, you’re killing my vibe.” Sam, as if on cue, shoulders into him. James scowls, making sure to keep a tight grip on his beer---if you could even call it that. The brewery it was from managed to pack so many damn spices and fruit in it that it tasted more like a cocktail than any beer he’s come to like.

“You’ve got a weird vibe then, Sam.” the other man laughs, elbows resting against the bar top behind them while he scopes out the scene. It’s a typical New York club; fashion being the forefront of it all, the entire reason anyone is out right now is to be seen and admired. Among other things.

“That cutie over there keeps tossing you looks, you should go say hi.” James follows Sam’s gaze across the bar. A gaggle of young women crowds around a booth, all of them eyeing them and whispering to one another. He rolls his eyes and takes a long swig of his beer.

“I think you mean they’re looking at you, Sam.” The super soldier turns back toward the bar to push his empty glass to the bartender who only nods his way and produces a refill without another word.

“Eyes up, Sergeant, they’re coming over.”

James doesn’t pay any mind to the coming onslaught; it’s always the same really. Sam is descended on by a group of gals excited to meet the new Captain America and even more enthralled when they realize he’s pretty damn charming. Not that he’s jealous in any way. Annoyed? Sure. See, he just isn’t one for new people---especially the kind that Sam tends to attract sometimes. The airheads, the young ones just waiting to hook up and never talk again. He just can’t vibe with it, can’t grasp it. Maybe he is too old for this modern age of love and romance.

James just turns his attention to the muted TV over the bar, his back facing the chatty group of women behind him while they flock to Sam like vultures starving for a meal. The news flashes between stories from all over; follow-ups on the last of the Flag Smashers, some weird disturbances in a tiny town somewhere far off, and a local story on a stray cat that is just “too cute to not have a home.” He snorts, lips smacking from the twang of his beer.

“Sorry about them.” The tiny voice from his left nearly makes him jump, and James can only blame the blaring music for his lack of attention.

“Huh?” He peers down to see an average height woman; with big brown eyes and skin a deep tan and sunkissed. By all accounts, she is stunning---and looks nearly as out of place in this massive club as he does.

“My friends---” her head jerks towards the group of women still fawning over Sam, who no doubt is loving all of the attention. “I tried to explain to them that you guys are just normal people too," she thinks they're normal? "but the alcohol made them all braver than they normally are.” The woman rolls her eyes but by the soft smile she wears he can tell she means no malice.

“And what about you?” James leans his full weight on the bar top now all the while inching closer to the woman. He can read the confusion on her face. “Are you feeling braver than normal?” she flushes at his clarification, and an easy shrug rolls from the shoulder.

“I’m just the mom friend trying to make sure my friends don’t end up dead, in jail, or worse.” James can’t help but laugh at that.

“A mom friend, huh?” gloved fingers pluck the pint glass from the bar and neither of them breaks eye contact while he swallows nearly half the glass.

“Yeah, kind of how I’ve always been; just an eighty-year-old woman at heart I guess.” James gives her a crooked grin: he could understand that.

“You’re too young to talk like that.” he elbows her gently, suddenly so comfortable with her presence that he can feel himself loosening up a bit.

“Then what’s your excuse?”

Brows cock high, that twisted little grin never once wavering from his face. He likes her---the idle and quiet wit, the way she matches his quips with equal stride.

“What’s your---” but before he can finish the group of girls are flagging her down, yanking her arm in one direction while they all gossip about how someone managed to snag Captain America’s number. James watches while she shoots him an apologetic smile while she is all but dragged back to their booth across the dance floor. Before he knows it, her face is lost in a sea of people.

“You would pick up the prettiest one.” Sam’s voice yanks James from his thoughts, and he looks up with narrowed eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t see that little flirt session. You get her number?”

“I’m going home.” James slaps a crisp bill on the bar top and Sam laughs, all loud and boisterous.

“You didn’t even get her name, did you, man?”

“Good night, Sam!” with hands shoved deep in his pockets, James turns heels and heads home.

Sunday: 8:am

The mornings were his favorite time to jog. Consider it a coping mechanism---not that he necessarily needed to go for mile-long runs or work out, what with the serum, but it was the only time his mind was truly quiet. So, James kept to a strict schedule of an hour or so run every morning followed up by a tall dark roast. Only today, he is late by nearly an hour to get to his usual coffee spot; which wouldn’t be terrible but James lives for routines. Without one, his entire day is skewed.

It’s eight in the morning when he strolls into the coffee shop, a tiny little place sat precariously on the corner of two streets only a couple blocks from his apartment. Clad in joggers and a simple black t-shirt, he strides up to the counter; eyes glued to the menu board for any new sweets that may catch his eye.

“Well hi again.” brows grow taught at their center---he knows that voice. James looks down to see the same woman from the night before. Black hair is piled high on her head and rather than the slim little dress from the night before she sports simple leggings and a graphic shirt of which the reference he is utterly lost on.

“Oh. Hi...uh....” blue eyes look for a name tag, and he finds none. Damn it.

“Y/N” she smiles wide at him, much like she had in the club only this time, with better lighting, he can make out the dimples that crease each of her cheeks.

“Y/N.” he repeats her name back slowly. “Uh, nice to meet you, or see you again. I guess.” he points to himself, “I’m Bucky.” said so lamely, so simply, he really can’t blame her for laughing at him.

“I know. What can I get for you, James?”

James.

That throws him; tosses him so off-kilter the man can hardly remember his order. Sure a couple people call him James, well really only his mother and his therapist when he’s in deep shit but…. To hear a name nearly forgotten to himself, and from her? Well, it turns his brain to static.

“Just a large black coffee and one of those brownies please.” She nods and starts to prep his order, all the while he stands there like an idiot with a ten-dollar bill in his hand and his heart in his throat. Finally, he finds a safe landing back on earth.

“How was the rest of your night with your friends?” Y/N groans while she pours him a fresh cup of coffee.

“Catty. I finally got the last one home around three in the morning. Got home just in time for a nap before I came in here.”

“That sounds---awful.” James trades her the coffee for the ten, and watches while she works the register.

“Wasn’t so bad. I don’t sleep much these days anyway.” Y/N offers the change back to James but only nods his head toward the tip jar.

“Sounds like you earned it. Did you just start working here?" he's never seen her working here before, and per his routine, James is here around this time at least five times a week.

"Covering for a friend, I usually work the closing shift if I'm not teaching." Teaching? James would assume she'd be on the younger side to teach.

"I'll have to come more often around that time then." he watches while round cheeks twitch, and flush.

“Deal. I’ll uh...see you around, James?”

“Y-yeah. See you around, Y/N”

#james bucky barnes #james barnes #reader insert #bucky/reader #bucky/you #james bucky barnes/reader #james bucky barnes/you #mcu fic #mcu reader insert #reblogs more than welcome #actually encouraged #thank

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asscreeds · 4 years ago

Text

Heila - Chapter 4

thank you again to @freyastrider for letting me yoink your screenshots :’D

TW for graphic descriptions of violence & death. Read on AO3 | Masterlist

The cool midday wind blew from the North, hastening the journey by longship, and Eivor thanked the Gods for their favor today. Curled up at the Wolf's feet, Nali hissed at Dag almost comically when he had boarded, scarcely recognizing the man, making Eivor chuckle. Not even five minutes into the journey, Dag started up another one of his stories, and Eivor did not realize how much she had missed the man's silly tales until her crew burst out into laughter at something absurd he said, the Wolf-Kissed joining in heartily.

Four hours passed and they had just passed Roucistere. By then the sun had sunk further into the sky, sending its rays into everyone's eyes and turning the sky and eastern sea a beautiful gold. Were it any other day, Eivor would have found the scenery beautiful, yet even with Dag's stories and the lightheartedness of the journey as her and her vikingr were reunited on the ship once again, she could only think of the battle ahead and prayed that it would go smoothly.

Thinking back to your sobbing form made her heart squeeze with some unknown emotion; she could not decide if it was pity or something else. The name 'Gunnar' stuck in her mind. Who was the man to you? Part of your clan, obviously, but what was he to you? A companion? Brother? Lover, maybe? Despite her trailing thoughts she surmised it was not for her to know and began chastising herself for even pondering. It was not important to her; what mattered was honoring her promise to you and seeing that he and the others were returned to you safely.

As they pulled into the docks, Eivor could see a few of her men that had been sent forward earlier in the day had already set up a small camp above the beach, higher on the hillside where the two-dozen horses could graze and rest. Jumping from the lypting of the ship to the dock she bid her vikingr follow her up the hill to the forward camp, the raiders most grateful for being able to stretch their legs after the journey.

As they gathered about the campfire, she called for their attention. "From what the scouts have told, the Danes are being held to the southwest of the barracks, near the most open portion of the city. There is a northern gate near the barracks that leads to the heart of the city that we will rush through. If two or three could ride forward to fire arrows and slay the gate's guards, we will catch them off guard and ride forward with little problems. The issue lies in exiting the city once we have freed the Danes, as the northern gate will be undoubtedly crowded with the soldiers from the barracks. We may either leave by the most western yet farthest gate, or the closer eastern gate - it depends on how the guards will react. Whatever happens, stick together," she explained, and her vikingr nodded, some cheering. Before letting them mount the horses she added in one final thing: "Remember, these are people who have been scarcely fed for days and been treated as animals. There is a very low chance that they will be able to defend themselves if they are targeted - load them onto the backs of your horses, then ride as fast as you can. Do not engage in battle unless you must, if you are outnumbered or are blocked from pushing forward. If all goes well we will overwhelm them with the suddenness of our attack and we will be able to slip in and out with little issue."

Then she let them go, and they each mounted a horse, standing near the mouth of the road waiting for her to lead them. To her surprise she found her personal mount among the horses; Askr, the rowdy, black destrier stallion she had purchased from Rowan a few months ago, whom she had just recently bonded with enough to be able to ride him into the heart of battle. Patting his nose, she mumbled, "I pray to Thor that you will not suddenly turn your heart in the middle of this and buck me," and then took her seat in his rune-inscribed saddle. The horse only gave her a side-eye and snorted.

Walking Askr forward to the road, she raised her fist to the sky, looking at the vikingr. "To Canterbury!" she cried, and the resounding war cries of the warriors hastened their mounts forward into a comfortable gallop on the stone road. By now the sun had eased down into the horizon, and they would reach the city hopefully just in time for the gap in guard rotation as the day rota switched for the night.

Even in the dim light of dusk Eivor could still see the steeples of the church rise into the sky as they rode over the hill, and then Eivor pulled them all to a slow trot. Much to her delight, they had just begun lighting torches for the night and even from a distance she could see only one lone guard at the northern gate. Looking over and nodding to an archer, she sent them forward to deal with him before they rushed in and the guard could call for help. "Light your torch near the gate once you have dealt with him." One Norseman would only puzzle him, instead of seeing an entire raiding party descending down the hill like a flood.

By now the last light of the sun had nearly gone, and the sky turned a deep indigo as the first stars began to shine and the slim crescent moon began to rise higher. For what was about to transpire, it was such an incredibly calm night; a gentle breeze, the soft chorus of crickets, the hooting of an owl nearby. As they crested over the hill in definite eyesight of any eagle-eyed guardsmen she saw the torch of the archer being waved around near the gate; their signal. Bidding Askr into a canter, she and her warriors rode forth to the gate, meeting with the archer that had remounted their horse. The breach was quiet, and though the thunder of the horses' steps were a dead giveaway, it seemed that scarcely anyone had noticed their arrival. Good.

Things did not go so smoothly once they rounded the corner to the area where the Danes were kept. Almost instantly four or five guards jumped up with weapons drawn from where they had been conversing around a table, and Eivor could only give a smirk as she and a few others drew their bows back to release a volley of arrows upon the men, not missing a single mark. They quickly fell, and she rushed forward to the imprisoned Danes. Despite their cages being secured with a lock and her nor the guards having the key for them they bent and broke easily enough. Drawing out her torch and stepping forward into the cage she was met by sad, sunken eyes that should have never belonged to any human being. Slowly, she approached them.

"I have been sent by y/n to rescue you. We will help you to mount the horses, take you to our longship and to Ravensthorpe where you will be fed and bathed," she said quietly, and immediately some burst into tears, rejoicing, others staring ahead quietly afraid. In all there were only maybe a dozen of them, four women and eight men divided into separate cages, all as visibly ill as the next. She did not ask any of them for their names.

As the fifth Dane was paired to a horse, a patrol rounded the corner to the clearing, and Eivor felt the rush of adrenaline blanket her mind. They were met with swift swords to their shields almost instantaneously as her vikingr beat them back away from the Danes, and the shouting from the conflict seemed to wake the entire city. Another two Danes were paired, and suddenly the church's bells began to ring, splitting the calm air of the night in two. Shit.

Moving as fast as she could she lifted a large man with bright blue eyes to rival her own onto her shoulders, placing him on the back of her horse. The man groaned with the movement and in her torchlight she could see dried bloodstains about his torso; another sad victim. She bid him to wait, leading Askr a few paces away in a shadowed alleyway between buildings to hide, and then ran back to the others to continue to pair the ninth, tenth, and eleventh Dane.

By now many of the Saxon guardsmen knew what was happening and descended upon the warriors like fighting dogs, and though the Raven Clan had a mounted advantage they were beginning to be pushed back into the clearing. Some had already fled, beginning the ride back to the longship. Eivor prayed that they would not be followed.

Grabbing the final Dane was where things went sour. An arrow flew right into the eyesocket of a Danish woman, who fell limp in the saddle and shocked the warrior at the front with the sudden dead weight at their back. More heavily-armored guards rushed in from the barracks and were poking and slashing at the horses chests, spooking them; little by little they were losing ground and precious time. The last prisoner secured, and with a final push from the guards, Eivor mounted Askr and commanded her warriors to follow her and run. They galloped higher into the city, heading towards the eastern gate with hopes of escaping cleanly - unfortunately, these guards were intelligent and had swarmed not only the east gate, but all other exits, too. They were penned in.

Eivor could not see any other solution. Pushing Askr into a hard gallop she rode forward as archers stationed in the barbican above the gate released their arrows and the Wolf-Kissed had raised her shield just in time to prevent them from piercing her and the man's flesh. Some others were not so lucky nor swift enough. Three more Danes were struck by arrows. In the pause of archers knocking arrows again her vikingr rushed behind her, yet this time the arrows were set aflame. The portcullis was still open, thankfully, though beset by a formidable wall of soldiers.

They would fall and be trampled just as any other.

Galloping forward in the final stretch Askr's chest connected with the unfortunate men in the path of destruction, hooves pounding on their bones as if wading through water. What a good horse. Thankfully, he was never wounded by the effort. Taken aback by the feat most archers did not fly their arrows a second time, and those that did scarcely hit their target. Nobody was injured that time. The other horses followed close behind and soon there was a pretty pile of corpses lying near the mouth of the portcullis like a disgusting blanket.

Exiting the city and breaching the cold night of Cent made Eivor release a breath she did not know she was holding, the shock of adrenaline still hitting her hard. She definitely was not going to do that again any time soon. Glancing behind her to check they were not followed, she opted to take the quickest route to the longship; regardless if someone came after them they would still board the ship as quickly as they could.

She decided to try and talk to the man on her horse, just as she'd done to you. "What is your name?"

The man stirred slowly, as if he did not recognize that he was being talked to. He could not focus on much past the way his body felt as if it were being carried forward by a valkyrie, mounted on her horse and riding towards Valhalla. "G-Gunnar," he croaked, and Eivor nearly choked on the cool night air. Ah.

Looking behind her at the state of the man, she realized he was in a far worse state than you were when she'd rescued you. His eyes were clouded, unfocused, dried blood seeped down from a wound at the center of his forehead; he was weak, with the way he barely clung onto the Wolf-Kissed's smaller frame despite being heads taller than her. There were the dried blood stains at his middle, too, and she could not guess where those wounds came from.

She prayed to all the Gods she could think of, even those that she did not revere, that he would stay alive long enough to make it to Ravensthorpe.

"Alright, Gunnar. I am Eivor. We're taking you and your clan to a safer place." The ride to the ship felt much longer than riding from it, despite being the same route.

Gunnar would seemingly gain awareness some moments, holding tighter to Eivor's waist and groaning in pain, and then completely lose it at others, falling limp at her back and scaring her each time thinking that the man had passed.

Only one time did he address her. "Y/n sent you…?"

"Yes, she did," Eivor said, and the beach and her longship were in her sight. Nobody was followed. Five of her raiders and their paired Danes had already boarded the ship, keeping it still to the harbor even in the night's high tide.

Gunnar let out a breathy wheezing sound. "Ah, she's alive…" he said, and Eivor could hear the smile in his voice despite everything. "Alive…"

Slowing Askr down to a trot they approached the longship, the tide rising to the point where the horses were lifting their legs in the water. There were still more of her clan stationed at the forward camp; they would return the horses to Ravensthorpe after they departed. Dismounting the horse, she grabbed Gunnar by the waist, laying the large man over her shoulders and carrying him to the ship. He could not find the strength to sit up on the seats. Eivor slowly lowered him against the side of the ship, propping him up.

Taking a headcount, every single one of her drengr survived; out of the dozen Danes they rescued, five would not live.

Jumping to the lypting again she commanded the ship be turned round and the sail raised. The sea's wind roared, boosting the speed of their getaway, though it would not hold over the river Thames as they passed Roucistere. The night's calm northern breeze did little to bend the cloth of the sails, so it was lowered.

At some point, Gunnar roused again. Nali had curled at his bloodied side and was purring furiously, and the man gently petted the cat, in another spell of awareness. "Hello, little friend of Freyja," he spoke, spooking Eivor.

"You are awake, Gunnar. Are you feeling better after a bit of rest?" Eivor asked, grasping at anything to keep the hope of this man reaching Ravensthorpe alive.

"No," came his simple answer, looking up towards Eivor. Blood began oozing from the corners of his mouth and his nose. Immediately Eivor rushed to his side, and all her warriors turned their heads, and upon seeing why the Wolf-Kissed acted so suddenly, they understood.

Gunnar could only look to Eivor still with an unreadable expression. Taking a cloth from her pouch she began wiping away at the blood, though it continued to run and run, and then Gunnar smiled at the Wolf-Kissed's efforts. In the calmness of the moonlight and Gunnar's awareness she realized how bright his eyes were and how they crinkled at the corners when they were not clouded with pain. Grabbing her hand, he willed her to stop.

"It is no use. I am a dying man," he said, and then let out a great, wheezing cough to drive the point home. Blood still ran from his mouth, down the scraggly hairs of his beard, onto the front of his tunic. Eivor stared, wide-eyed, her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as she stared at the fading man.

"...What would be your last wishes, drengr?" she asked, and Gunnar picked Nali up from his side and set her down farther away, and though Nali only weighed not even a stone it was a great effort for the man, who then fell limp after.

Gunnar seemed to pause, taking in wheezing breaths, thinking of the many answers he could give. Avenge my clan. Slay Frederik. Send word to my wife and daughter in Denmark of my death. Above all he chose one.

"Keep y/n safe," he rasped, suddenly reaching for Eivor's hand and holding it firm. "Keep her safe. Keep this clan safe. There is nothing else left of us.

"I have known her since we were children. Like a brother. I have cared for her as I have cared for my own blood. She is the voice of reason that kept us all bound together in times of strife. I could not protect her when I swore I would. I have known I would die this way for months, yet I did all I could to fight against it. For her. Please, keep her safe. In this world, and the next," he said, and his cryptic words both puzzled and troubled Eivor.

Eivor nodded, and squeezed the man's hand. "I heed your dying words. I will protect her to the ends of the earth."

Slowly, like the moon's face dwindling away as the sun rose each morning, he faded, the light in his eyes dying with him, and he went with a calm exhale into the night air. Eivor set his hand upon his lap and closed his eyelids. He would be given a proper burial, though where, she did not know. It was for you to decide.

The rest of the journey was in silence.

...

You had spent the better part of the day anxious, uneasy, unable to rest like Valka had wanted you to. To keep your mind distracted she asked you of your homeland, to which you gave mostly simple answers, and eventually you grew so anxious you had to pace. Scarcely moving around for days except to relieve yourself made your body shriek in pain with the effort of moving that you would have collapsed if Valka had not caught you. She scolded you like a mother would a child, and then you'd begged her like a child (much to her amusement) for her to help you relearn to walk.

After an hour and some more food and drink you were able to hold your own weight again, and after two more you could walk, albeit slowly, without the strain of the sliced muscles in your back bothering you too much. Valka took you to the pond behind her hut, and you revelled in the sound of the waterfall, and though the movement pained you enough to cry you could not stop yourself from cupping the fresh water in your hands and splashing it in your face. Valka laughed and said she could draw you a bath later. You stayed there for a while, until the sun began to hang lower in the sky, and then you noticed peculiar wisps of light that you've never seen before - catching one you found it was some type of delightful insect that held light within its body, and you let it be free again.

By now your stomach growled with hunger and you slowly raised yourself off the ground and went back into the hut where Valka had already gotten the two of you fresh bowls of soup and bread. Ever grateful you ate quickly, feeling a little calmer after the day. After you ate Valka drew a bath for you, and though the water was lukewarm to ease the pain of your injuries you were grateful to be able to clean the layers of sweat off your body. Valka helped you with the areas that you could not reach, even helping to wash and rinse your hair, and not once did you feel uncomfortable with your nakedness in front of the other woman. It felt natural, in a way, and you surmised she wouldn't really care, anyway. After redressing your wounds, you were surprised by her giving you a freshly-washed, simple chemise, made of soft linen and about ankle length, saying that "It would be easier on your body to sleep warmer, yet not be inhibited by heavier clothing," referring to the men's trousers and tunic you had been dressed in as a prisoner.

Then Valka made you more of the sleepy tea, and you fell asleep before the sun had even set. Thankfully you did not have a nightmare this time, and were back to the normal nonsensical dreams that you would never be able to recall come waking up.

Your sleep, however, was disturbed by the sound of a horn being blown, your mind instantly connecting the sound to Frederik’s horn, and you were sent into a minor panic before you remembered who was blowing the horn. It was not Frederik coming to face you, nor were you back on his longship heading to the monastery; it was Eivor, bringing the remnants of your clan to you. Adrenaline fueled you and you leapt from the bed, frightening Valka who had not yet fallen asleep and she rushed to your side, bidding you to return to bed, but you could not. You had to see Gunnar, you had to see your kinsmen. Limping forward a few paces out into the cold air of the night Valka ran back to her hut and returned with her heavy fur cloak, gently setting it about your shoulders so that you did not freeze.

You walked past the stables, down the western side of the longhouse, past numerous buildings you did not know the purpose of and saw several people getting off the longship. And even in the dark of the night you could see bodies being lifted onto stretchers, and your heart dropped. Some deep, deep, ugly part of you hoped that they were Eivor's warriors and not yours, to no avail. There were five of them, and you rushed forward, stumbling, and in the light of the torches you tried to make out faces.

A hand was felt on your shoulder, preventing you from toppling over, and you turned to face Eivor, who looked at you with a somber, defeated face. You did not like that look, nor the way you were turned away from looking at the final body of your kin. You could only stare silently into the Wolf's eyes.

"Y/n, I…" Eivor started, unsure of the right words to say. She sighed, and then took hold of both of your shoulders and squeezed. "I am sorry," was all she said, pulling you closer to her chest in comfort. You did not like her tone and what it meant. You could not make yourself move to match the warmth of her hug. The entire clan had gathered, but they were all silent.

Slowly, she let you go, and you turned around to look at the bodies. You could recognize the pallid faces of poor Lissi, and Jørgen, and Erna, Nils…

And then there was Gunnar, stiff and pale, blood staining the cloth of his tunic all around, and you froze, your mind not processing what you were looking at. And then you drew in a great breath and wailed, a painful, broken-hearted sound pulled from your throat like a bow running harshly across the strings of an instrument. You dropped to your knees, crawling closer to the man's body and pressing the palms of your hands to his cold cheeks, sobbing and gasping for breath. like a madwoman over his body, willing your hot tears that fell onto his face to bring him back to life. Why was he to die like this? Away from his family? His home? He did not even die in battle. He did not deserve this death. You hunched over his body, still sobbing, pressing his cold forehead to yours and then closed your eyes, and prayed that he would find his way out of Hel's domain to where he belonged, seated with the other einherjar in Valhalla. Maybe guided by a valkyrie, maybe out of his own will.

When you pulled away you were now weeping silently, and you could not bring yourself to look at the bodies of the rest, nor look at the faces of those that were alive, passing by you as they were carried to the barracks. You instead looked out into the forest on the far side of the river, and you could not bring yourself to move even as Eivor's men began to haul the stretchers away.

The Wolf-Kissed approached you, slowly, and set her palm on your shoulder again. "He passed peacefully, facing the moon and stars. His wounds were too dire for him to go on," she said, and you rose from kneeling on the ground, her hand on your shoulder a wonderful feeling keeping you grounded in reality. You could not speak, only staring ahead still. Eivor stayed by your side, silent for a moment.

"He… he called for me to protect you, to keep you safe as his dying words," she said quietly, and this made you turn and look at her through your tear-laden lashes. Eivor's heart squeezed. "I promised to him that I would. And my word is my bond. I will keep you safe, until… until you decide what you want to do," she said, the last bit sounding strained, as if that was not what she truly wanted to say. This was all very sudden to your already exhausted mind.

You stared at her for a moment longer, and Eivor felt you were looking through her, not at her. Blinking some tears away you slowly turned from her, looking at the water's edge and how it reflected the moonlight, trying to clear your head. "I… he… " you began, trying to find your words and will the lump in your throat away. "H-he… he was not my blood. But we grew up together… a big brother to me," you mumbled, not truly knowing why you were telling Eivor this. "I… I cared greatly for him. I still do. I've thought before what I would do if he passed, and even that hurt, but… this is…" Snivelling, you pressed a palm to your mouth so that Eivor would not have to see the ugly way your face contorted and lip quivered as you tried to hold in another anguished cry. The woman did not think any less of you. She stood unmoving behind you. "This is… this is Frederik's fault. All of it. If he had done anything…" you croaked, the lump in your throat rising again to the point where you could not speak further nor breathe, choking on air and holding it for far too long, and Eivor set her large palm on your shoulder again. When you did not respond, she slowly pulled you into another hug, being ever mindful of the injuries at your back, and you immediately clung to her, shoving your face into her chest even though it was still armored, your head under her chin, and sobbing anew. You couldn't help it at this point. You felt like a maelstrom of emotion, waves of sorrow washing over you as you kept thinking of Gunnar's soft smile that he gave you on the longship and how it contrasted with the stillness of his pale, dead face. And then you realized how cold you were, even in Valka's coat, when the warmth of the larger woman began to seep into your body; a small comfort. Eivor shushed you gently and dared to smooth your hair out just as Valka had, and you felt yourself growing calmer in the arms of the warrior.

After some time you felt more composed, calmed, and you slowly removed yourself from Eivor as the intimacy of her consolation and promise to Gunnar hit you and you suddenly felt uncomfortable, stepping back and looking to the patterns in the wood of the docks.

"I know Gunnar had a wife and child, back in Denmark. They should know of his passing," you said, running your fingers over the edges of Valka's cloak. Eivor nodded. "I will send a letter, then."

Swallowing, you thought of her words earlier. Protect me until I decide what I want to do, she says… you did not see any other path.

"You… you said that you would protect me, until I have decided to go elsewhere," you started, looking up to match Eivor's blue eyes, though difficult it may be. The woman blinked slowly and nodded.

"I… I do not think I could go elsewhere. I do not want to return to my family, knowing that Frederik could potentially return there, too. And whatever lies he spun they would believe his words over mine. I do not have a home there, not anymore," you explained, and then broke eye contact with the drengr, feeling a burst of anger at the entire situation for a moment before you took a deep breath, sighing.

"And you… you saved my life. You and Valka, you've helped me to recover. And that is something that I feel I can never repay."

You met Eivor's blue eyes again, and even in the dim light of the moon could see how soft they've grown. "I would stay with the Raven clan, if you would let me," you said, feeling small again. Eivor blinked again, and then her expression somehow grew softer, and nodded. "Of course, y/n. You will always find a home here in Ravensthorpe, and wherever else we may go," she said, sending you a muted smile. You will always find a home with me.

You let out a breath, sighing in relief and in exhaustion, and realized how cold it had gotten when you could see it hanging in the mist, and then you felt it seep into your bones. "Th-thank you, Eivor," you shivered, and the Norsewoman took note of your state almost immediately, and on instinct pulled you to her side and began walking you back to Valka. "Of course, lagr kærr."

Passing the barracks you were relieved to see some of your kin already tended to and resting; you would speak with them tomorrow of your decision. You did not have a leader, not anymore, and it was up to them whether they wanted to leave or stay once recovered. You, however, would find a home in the Raven clan yet.

Valka was, as expected, not in the hut, most likely at the barracks treating the last of your friends. After such a long day both you and Eivor were exhausted, and the Wolf bid you farewell at the door, turning to go to her own place of rest. Shrugging off Valka's coat you placed it in it's usual spot and then crawled into your cot, still straining with the movement. Your body had its own celebration when you finally relaxed, and though you would certainly feel the soreness tomorrow you were glad that you still had some mobility after the wounds near your spine had become infected. You would heal in time. Closing your eyes, you fell asleep blissfully quickly.

In the shadows of the longhouse's exterior, Randvi had watched how your smaller form tucked into Eivor's as the two of you ascended to the seeress's hut, and felt an ugly twist of envy in her gut. She turned away from the scene to storm to the alliance map. She still had reports to write.

#yall dont get a summary this time i am tired #my writing #valhalla #ac valhalla #eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #eivor #lady eivor

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