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heartilywrites · 5 months ago

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Hiii! Can i request a korra x reader fic where reader is lin beifong’s daughter and is also a soldier? Like they met when korra got arrested and later on reader joined team avatar

Thank u love u!

،، 𝓛ike it's magnetic ; Korra

request guide | masterlist

resume: an arrest for destruction of property couldn't get you anywhere, right?

content warning: fluff ; comfort ; angst if you squint your eyes enough ; Korra x fem!reader ; r is Lin's daughter which means a metal and earthbender ; she's also the lieutenant for the police force ! ; taking place in s1 ; no use of y/n

wc: 4.7k

a/n: i realize i can't do fics under 3k when the request needs a whole season for context, but i love doing it that way <3 HOPE YOU ENJOY, LOVE U TOO :D <33

“ There's no safety net that's underneath, I'm free falling all in you.

There was absolutely no way someone could prepare you for what one of the officers in the radio had just said.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm sorry, could you repeat again what you just said? A what now?”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “A girl from the water tribe just fire and earthbended and it's destroying some stores at the south of the city.” you frowned at the machine, turning around to look at your company, they shrugged. “We need reinforcement, she has a polar bear dog and is running away.”

After giving the order to follow coordinates to capture the girl, you quickly walked to the nearest window to look at the city. It was impossible... She had to be... No, the avatar was supposed to be in the South at this exact moment learning airbending! Or, well, at least that was what your mother told you.

They didn't pay you enough to be lieutenant, you thought to yourself while looking at the suspect in the streets, master Tenzin was supposed to be with her, what the hell was she doing in the city?

Once captured and brought to the station, you were the first one to hop off the transport and handcuff her before entering the building.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hey! What are you doing?” she tried to resist with no success to get out of your grip. “Wait, where are you taking Naga? Stop!”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm gonna need you to stay calm, avatar.” you said in a soft tone, as if that was the magic word, she relaxed her muscles and allowed you to guide her. “This is protocol, you were disturbing the peace and... Destroying property.”

Korra turned her face to look at you, confused. “How do you know I'm the avatar? Most importantly, why just me? There were three men robbing people!”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Well, for once, I don't really know any water tribe person who can fire and earthbend too, do you?” a funny smile painted your face, Korra felt her face grow warm at the gesture. “And I know that, I already have men bringing them too.”

The girl blinked surprised, feeling an electric current traveling along her back when your eyes met hers. Mossy green with thin yellow areolas and sparkles of grey, she caught after you looked away.

Both walked into an interrogation room and you got rid of her handcuffs for a moment, offering her a seat you stood next to the table, alert at anything that could happen.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “What's your name, officer?” Korra asked calling for your attention once more, when you turned to her your mouth opened to answer, but were cut off with the sound of your boss saying your name. You tilted your head like saying 'that' to the avatar and turned completely.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Ma'am.” you greeted the older woman, standing straight. “We got the suspects, Song is bringing the remaining men from the scene.” with a quick finger movement you locked back the handcuffs before the woman could see.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Thank you, lieutenant, you can leave us.” you nodded and walked out of the room, but stayed close. There was something about Korra that caught your attention, besides the fact that she was the avatar.

Against any popular belief, being the only other Beifong in the city at the moment didn’t give you any special treatment and that would include meeting the avatar before she arrived. Your mother was too strict, she had no interest on you meeting the girl for security. Your own security.

She knew how being close to the avatar could mean putting you in danger too and since you were her only daughter, she didn’t want that. You acted the way she wanted you to, even becoming part of the police force was her idea, she said it was to have you secure and for you to being able to defend yourself; your ascent to lieutenant was all on your own.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Lieutenant Beifong!” a familiar male voice called for you, your eyes looked up from the papers on your hands and a smile took place.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Councilman Tenzin,” you greeted back. “Can I help you, sir?”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm here to collect a troublesome avatar.” he answered, a tired look in his face made you giggle a little bit.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “We have her, yeah.” you pointed with your head for him to follow you to the interrogation room. “Is she here for training?”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “No, she's here because she didn’t understand that our training needed to be delayed.” a small grimace appeared on your face, your lips and nose frowned.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “She seems happy to be here instead of... wherever she was hidden before.” you said in a small voice. Tenzin looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Her place is not the city, not now.” he ended the discussion, you nodded and walked up to the door, announcing him to your mother.

After what appeared to be an agreement talk for all the parts, you saw the man and the girl walk out the room. Korra was the first to notice you and walk up to you, an almost invisible blush showed on her cheeks.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm sorry for the troubles.” she said, you brushed it off with your hand and a big smile.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Don't worry, I'm sure we will see each other again some time.” offering your hand for her to shake, she did and smiled big too.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Thank you, lieutenant Beifong, I'll see you around.” Tenzin said his goodbye, making you nod.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You're a Beifong too!?” Korra opened wide her eyes, you nodded once more with a little laugh.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Chief's daughter.” you answer in a whisper before sighing. “Here to help and serve you, avatar.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Call me Korra, please, that's my name.” she presented herself, your eyes sparkled at her name and your own voice repeated it in a low tone.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Let's go, Korra, we have to retrieve Naga too.” the airbender called, breaking the eye contact between you two.

She turned a second time and mouthed a little 'bye' before letting go of your hand and walk back to the man. You stood there watching her leave, closing the hand that had the avatar's almost like feeling the absence of the warmth you felt when you hold it and then your mother's voice saying your name made you jump in place and almost run to her.

After that interaction, the southerner was almost everything you got in your mind even when you were working. You felt so intrigued to Korra, almost daily you found yourself wondering about her, not being able to look for her mainly because of your work keeping you busy with the new anti–benders movement taking strength.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “We need to have all the officers available in every entrance.” was overheard when arriving to the room with a files that needed to be approved. The man in the room left with one of the folders after the chief dismissed him.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm on duty tonight, I can go.” you said without anyone asking, putting the other folder on a little basket and turning to your mother, she was arms crossed. “You said you need all the officers. I'm an officer.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You, young lady, will stay out of danger.” she said taking the folder in her hands.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Mom,” she side–eyed you, raising an eyebrow. “Chief, I can go. I'm a lieutenant whether you like it or not, I am more help than I am hindrance.” you defended your case.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “We are fighting equalist, lieutenant,” she began, letting the words on the air for a second before sighing. “I need you to be cautious and alert tonight, I don’t want anything happening to you.” the last part was said in a soft tone, you smiled.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'll be on my best behavior tonight, chief, I promise.” she dismissed you and that was your key to get ready.

Getting ready took you just a couple of minutes before following everyone to the bus. You got word about it being a championship of probending and how Korra was going to be part of it just as the group was entering the arena. Surprised took over you at the new information and seconds later, excitement at the thought of seeing the girl competing.

You greeted Tenzin when reporting to Lin about how everyone was on their spot and how you would take one of the balconies to be near the teams just in case.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Lieutenant Beifong, is good seeing you.” the man smiled ephemeral to you, you copied the gesture with a big smile. “Korra will be so happy to see you, I think she estimates you since the other day.”

Your eyes shined with curiosity and happiness to the comment. “Hopefully nothing big goes on and we can see her win tonight.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I wouldn't be so sure, kid. Take position, the match will begin soon.” Lin talked before Tenzin could make more small talk, you nodded and said goodbye to the older ones.

Knocking a couple of times on the door you entered poking your head to see the team of probenders. Korra's face lit up when she saw you and a big smile painted her face while exclaiming your name, she gave you a small greeting hug while you giggled.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hey, suspect, is so good seeing you here since someone doesn't like going to my work to say hi.” you poked her side making her laugh, your heart felt warm at the sound.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “It's been crazy days, I'm sorry.” she distanced herself making you want more proximity, but you had to get your head in your work. “Guys, this is the friend I've been telling you about,” she presented you by name to the two men and you smiled a little. “They are my friends and team, Mako and Bolin.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Great meeting you guys,” you said, both hands behind your back. “I'm here to ensure your safety tonight.”

A small talk began between the group and when the lights got low, everyone got in position. You decided to be near the edge for easy access and, conveniently, you were more attentive of the match. The first half went by smoothly, you were cheering for the fire ferrets and got to wave a couple of times to Korra, assuring her with pure gestures how it was okay to lose the first round.

Suddenly you started to hear electric shocks and the sound of metal hitting the floor, with a frown you tried to get a look of what was happening and before you could make any sound, you were hit by electricity into unconsciousness. Korra had fallen into the water by then, when resurfacing to look at you, she only caught your silhouette hitting the floor and seconds later, it happened to her too before she made any move to go to you.

Minutes that felt like hours passed and just as an explosion took place, you were able to get into consciousness and back on your feet. Seeing how you were again alone on the balcony, your mind quickly remembered Korra; with back pain you stood back up and ran to the edge seeing Korra submerge in the water, one look at the group of equalists trying to leave gave you the context.

When you calculated the distance you realize there was a chance she couldn’t make it in time with the limited water source, so you jumped to hang yourself to the roof with your metal cables and as suspected she started to fall back down after some height. You caught her by the waist, Korra looked up surprised at you and was met with a wink from one of your emerald eyes, she was thankful of how you were looking up planning on throwing her to the roof so you couldn’t see the way she blushed at the action.

It took you a moment after she was there to get up yourself and a second later, the chief made you two company. At first it was a fair fight until you got hit again by the electric glove of one of the attackers, a grunt came from you and made you drop to your knees with pain in your back... more than before.

Korra was quick to run your way and defend you as much as she could, you, on the other hand, took the hit as an excuse to stay down looking at her, amazed on the way she moved attacking the man and captivated on how good she looked fighting them.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Lieutenant!” your own mother screamed from a couple of meters away making you turn quickly at her. She had her eyebrows raised.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Right, sorry!” you were fast to stand up and help them fight as much as possible.

There was a point were Lin was able to hook to the airship, you were making sure she was well supported that got distracted and pushed by one of the men. Thankfully you were quick to use your cable to hook yourself and prevent a fatal fall.

You landed near Tenzin who helped you get up and a minute later, the same chief and avatar fell through the roof to where you two were.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Oh, thank the spirits you're okay.” Korra said when she saw you.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm a tough lieutenant, they can't take me down that easily.” you answered back, smiling, the avatar giggled. “That was... something.”

Korra nodded agreeing with you, her eyes looked up to the roof while yours stayed fixated to her face. “It was... I believe we will have a lot of work.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “We will...” you said on a low voice, when her gaze turned back to you, both blushed to the sudden silence and clash of eyes. “But, uhm, you can count on me if you need anything. Protection, defense classes, a friend.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Oh! Same to you! Well, no the defense classes since you don't have any other bending besides earth and metal. Which are really cool too! I wish I could metalbend too.” Korra spoke a little too fast for you to understand anything, winning a giggled from you, she blushed more and felt her heart race.

Your mouth opened to speak again, but got interrupted by your name being called. “We're leaving! We have a lot of work in the morning!”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “On it!” you screamed back before turning to Korra and smile with calm. “Okay then, you know where to find me. Don't get yourself in too much trouble, yeah? At least not when I'm not around.”

Korra mumbled a couple of positive answers, you took a step closer and gave her a kiss on the cheek as a goodbye before running to your mother when she called you a second time. The avatar stood still for a couple of seconds, not believing what had happened and smiling big afterwards, feeling like walking in clouds.

The next days were such a mess, work got more demanding than before, wherever the new chief was busy people looked for you asking for help or guidance such as had happened the night of your dismissal as police.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Lieutenant Beifong!” you knew that voice, a wave of relief washed over you after your eyes recognized her.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Korra, thanks the spirits you're here.” you said smiling ephemeral leaving the officers with their word in mouth, greeting her friends with your hand.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “What are you doing? You need to leave this people alone!” a small frown was painted on her face, you sighed.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “That's what I've been trying to negotiate.” your hand was quick to point over to Tarrlok, Korra didn’t have any doubt in believing you. She knew you were on her side, she followed you no farther than three steps away.

You let her do all the talk, standing with a straight back and serious face, your hand was brushing hers in a secret way, even if Korra felt it she tried to act as if nothing was happening.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “No one moves!” you order after Tarrlok had told them to arrest the crowd, turning back to the officers.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “What do you think you're doing, Beifong?” the man asked, anger and disgust filling his voice.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Ordering my men, the chief is not here and I'm the lieutenant. They answer to me.” you answered back with such calm, Korra looked at you amazed at how your voice changed from the particular soft tone she knows to an strict one, she had no doubt you earned the position.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Yeah, well, I'm the head in charge of this whole task force and you answer to me.” even when he was walking up to you, you didn’t flinch nor moved back. “Round them up!”

Half of the officers were a bit confused at the exchange, another part was hesitant since they were loyal to you, but wanted to keep their job and the last amount did it without any doubt.

When you started to hear the pavement break and some screams of fear, you grunted and broke eye contact with the man to help Korra get as many people out as you could. You were unaware of what was happening behind you until you got captured by cables and were forced to walk back to the police cars.

Seeing Korra lift two pieces of earth bigger than her with threatening aura made your heart skip a beat, feeling your ears burn and the officers took advantage of your distraction to hand cuff you.

'I'll get you out' she mouthed at you after you got into the car, a nod and a smile was your answer. You trusted Korra with your life by that point and you didn’t know it, but she trusted you with hers.

Being in prision was probably the most boring part of them all, you shared cell with Asami who you found to be such a sweet person and a great company while waiting to get out of prision and back into helping the avatar stop the whole equalists and Tarrlok's demeanor on the whole situation.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hope you got enough beauty sleep, ladies, let's go.” the familiar woman's voice made you close your eyes, wishing for the earth to open and swallow you in.

When you stood up, a nervous smile took place in your lips. “Heey, moooom...”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You and I will talk later, kid, we have a missing avatar we need to search for.” you felt your heart drop to your feet at the news.

It was almost impossible for someone in the group to deny how out of everyone, you were the most impatient of them all to find Korra. Moved by anger and impotence of the whole situation, you fought everyone who would interpose in your way of finding the avatar, having people pull you away from the unconscious bodies you fought with.

Lin surely made a mental note of that, adding it to the so said talk she wanted to have with you. When the group was able to find her wondering almost unconscious, you ran to her pushing everyone and asking to stop with the questions.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You scared the fuck out of me.” you whispered while taking her into your arms, she was quick to hug you by the neck and smile.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm sorry.” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes wandered along your features. A worried frown and an anxious glow in those mossy colored orbs she had been dreaming of since the first time she saw them.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm just glad you're okay.” with such caution as if you were handling the most fragile of things, you left Korra laying at the bison's seat. Your hands cupped her face while small caresses were provided by both thumbs. “We'll take you to safety so you can rest.”

One of her hands rested on top of one of yours and a weak smile met your gaze before she started to fall asleep and after that, you never left the avatar's side.

No one asked one question to either of you when the girl got better and you two started to be inseparable, when fighting you both found a way to complement each other's style, helping the other with every attack, sitting as close as humanly possible and making sure the other was okay when needed.

When having to divide and hide from the equalists, you made your life mission to protect the avatar from being seen anywhere and, clearly, following her when she wanted to see how the things were going outside. The night before the armed forces arrive to the city, you saw her sitting alone next to the polar dog while looking zoned out.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hello, stranger.” your voice made the avatar look up and smile, it was almost visible the way she relaxed at your presence. “How are you?”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Nervous, anxious...” she made space for you to seat, following her unspoken request you did. Her hand looked for yours unconsciously, you tangle your fingers together with a smile. “You know what's crazy? A few months ago I was in the south pole practicing for my firebending test.”

You giggled a little bit, she smiled at the sound of your laugh, feeling more calmed.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “And now... I'm in the middle of an all–out war.” her smile faded into a worry frown. Your body moved as closed as you could to her.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I was beginning my training for lieutenant.” you laugh after a couple of moments in silence, trying to lift up the mood. “Life will always take us to the most unpredictable of places, Korra, is up to us to use that for our own favor... But, at least I'm glad it took you to flee from the south, I got to meet you.”

Your eyes were looking at her face, but when she heard the last part, her face turned to you completely in an almost surprised way.

Her ice blue orbs had sparkles in it; the most cold tone of light blue, on the center of them a sunflower was painted, her pupils started to expand in such a slow way that it was imperceptible. You laugh to yourself at the thought of how you've never stopped to see all those little details until now.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm glad it was you who arrested me.” she confessed, even if it was on a jokingly way, you knew what she meant. A small laugh left your mouth.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “When we get that fucker thrown in jail, I want to take you out on a date.” you spat, feel the need to take advantage of the comfortable aura you two where involved in between all that chaos. “I know the best place in the city where can eat dinner.”

The avatar smiled big and nodded. “I would love that.” she said in such a soft tone, Korra looked for your warmth, wanting to have you in her arms. You didn’t step away, allowing her to hug you.

The final battle was a whole mess, the whole team was scattered all around the city fighting to bring down the equalists movement in just one hit. You went with the girl and Mako as reinforcement if anything went south.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Korra!” you exclaimed after getting backstage with the airbending family. She stopped to look back at you. “I need to go to my mother.”

Even if the last thing you wanted to do was leave her, there was this discomfort of needing to look for the ex–chief, to make sure she was okay.

Korra understood, she wasn't going to force you to stay, that wasn’t her. The girl walked up to you and without any warning, her lips met yours in a sweet, inexperience way that made you smile with such happiness.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Be careful, please.” you whispered over her lips, even if you wanted that moment to last forever, the clock was ticking, so you started to walk away. “Kick his ass and comeback! The two of you!” that was the last thing you said to the two before running after Tenzin and the kids.

And the next time you two met, Korra ran to your arms as soon as she saw you. “I lost my bending.” she whispered in a shaky voice, making you embrace the hug with a heavyweight on your heart.

You were sure to be by her side when the whole group traveled to the Southern Water Tribe in hopes that Katara herself could get Korra's bending back.

Resting your head in your mother's shoulder, you were holding her hand while she was alert to the door for the two of you. Once the older woman made her appearance, you stood up way too fast and payed attention with eagerness. Seeing the avatar show herself in the main room, you could only show her a smile from you and when she walked out your feet were the first ones to follow right away to her, calling for the girl.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Go, leave.” she said walking towards Naga.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I believe it would take more than that to stop me.” you talked back, raising one of your eyebrows. “We will figure this out, we–.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “No, go back to Republic City.” she cut you mid–sentence making you stop your steps. “I'm not the avatar anymore, you can go back to the city and live your life as calm as you were before I arrived.”

Your eyes blinked surprised at the way she was talking and you took the remaining steps away from her so she could look at you in the face.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “What are you talking about? I can't live without you.” you were quick to say, looking for her eyes. “There's no way I can live moving forward without you and I get it now, you're all I needed in my life to feel complete.” her eyes looked brighter with the tears beginning to accumulate. “Korra, I love you.”

As if the air was pulled out of her lungs, Korra excused herself and left without looking back. You squeezed your lips in a thin line and sighed afterwards.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “She just needs time.” Tenzin said walking slowly to you, you turned and smiled weakly.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I just want her to be okay.” you said in a soft voice, he let one of his hands rest on your shoulder.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “She will be, Korra is stronger than she thinks.” the man answered, looking at the silhouette of the girl getting farther by minute. “You remind me of your mother, you know?”

You frowned with confusion looking back at him. “How so?”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Doing everything in her hands to ensure everyone's safety.” your eyes blinked a couple of times and your gaze got back to the front. “Maybe you should go after her to make sure she's okay.”

When you looked at him one last time, his eyes had a soft gaze in them, like looking on a mix of appreciation and encouragement. You nodded for a little bit and were soon quick to almost run after the avatar.

Arriving to were you could see Naga's prints, you looked amazed at the southerner in the avatar state for the first time, bending a big water wave only meaning she was able to get her connection with the elements back. When she was back, she saw you with such a big and proud smile on your lips; Korra didn’t waste any second to run to you ans hug you by the neck with her two arms and leave a shy kiss on your lips follow with the most sweet 'I love you too' you had ever heard said, making you almost melt at how good it sounded on her voice.

#the legend of korra #the legend of korra x reader #korra x reader #avatar korra #korra x you #korra x fem!reader #avatar korra x reader #one shot #request

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sirfrogsworth · 1 year ago

Text

Review of Blue Eye Samurai on Netflix

There are some spoiler-ish things below, but I think most of it is in the trailer, so I don't think I will ruin anything. I'll warn you during the most spoilery section, though the show makes the "twist" pretty obvious from the beginning.

Premise

Blue Eye Samurai is a Kill Bill-style revenge tale that takes place in 17th century Japan. The samurai is half white/half Japanese. The show states that no white folks were allowed in the country back then, so the samurai tries to conceal blue eyes with some sweet BluBlocker™ orange glasses. The Samurai is displeased to have white heritage and decides to try and kill all the "white devils" hiding in Japan.

Will some reactionaries complain there is a show all about someone trying to murder white people? I have no idea. But they're all bad white people, so I'm hoping it won't become a thing.

My Hot Takes

A few episodes meandered a bit, but I enjoyed the series as a whole quite a bit. If nothing else, the sword fights were epic and bloody. I would have watched it for that alone. And there is some gorgeous art direction where they really take advantage of the 2D styled, 3D animation. Plus, Japan is just really pretty. There is also a puppet show that was brilliantly mixed in with the story and the way they animated it was next level awesome.

They fell into cliche a few times. I think they were trying to do homages and tributes but ended up in Derivative Land and some of them felt a bit cringe.

They used "Battle Without Honor Or Humanity" which is that rousing instrumental song from Kill Bill and it was way too on the nose. Like, yes, this show is obviously a 1600s version of Kill Bill, but you're not supposed to make it that obvious.

Also, there was a Metallica song that equally made me roll my eyes and think, "That is badass" so I give them a pass on that one.

And there were a few sections where it felt like you were watching someone else play a video game. I don't know how else to describe it. As if the narrative melted away and suddenly a bunch of Prince of Persia obstacles appeared.

That said, the story was enjoyable, the actors were great, the characters were interesting, the animation was solid, and the fight choreography was top notch.

The nice thing about animation is you don't have to do any jump cuts during the action, so you get to really *see* the fights develop. Thankfully they didn't make use of a lot of impossible-in-real-life camera moves, so it all felt very grounded. As if these fights could actually be filmed in live-action. I suspect they may have even used motion capture or closely adhered to reference footage. Most of the non-fantastical choreography felt like something a stunt performer could actually do. They even had some legit Japanese samurai-style sword fighting moves before it got to the "John Wick with a katana" part of the show.

Back in the day, samurai duels were more akin to jousting than fencing and usually only lasted one or two moves. It can be pretty exciting as long as you build tension and anticipation. But if every sword fight in the show was like that, it would probably get boring. But it was still nice to see it toward the beginning.

So the quality was a bit roller coaster-y at times, but I think it was a solid first season. And I am really hopeful they get a chance to smooth things out in a second. But it is Netflix, soooooo...

As far as content warnings, there is a lot of blood and sex and nudity. Women are very subjegated and some of those depictions are rough. There are some brutal torture scenes. And I think there is implied rape, but it isn't made super clear.

The nudity was surprisingly balanced which felt refreshing. So get ready for boobies and floppy cartoon peens. All the genitals get screen time.

Quick aside about erotic scenes...

There has been recent discourse about nudity and sexy time in media. My biggest issue has always been that men's bodies are rarely shown aside from the patoot. It is never balanced and I always felt uncomfortable with that arrangement. I know movies are a bit stuck because the MPAA has decided dicks in a sexual context are an automatic NC-17. But even in newer HBO-type content where they do show penises, they are usually prosthetics. Hyper real fake dicks on top of real dicks that probably cost tens of thousands of dollars to develop and apply.

Like, the folks with boobs don't get expensive prosthetics. Only the most famous actresses can opt for a body double. For years, if an actress wasn't willing to get naked they would just say, "Well, I guess we'll just have to find another actress."

And now if a guy doesn't want to get naked, apparently the response is, "Don't worry, we'll raise Stan Winston from the dead so he can make you a perfect megadick."

Women are usually asked to do the brunt of the nudity and I have long felt that wasn't fair and it was exploitative whether intentional or not.

I just think if you are going to ask actors to be vulnerable, everyone should do it or no one should do it.

I also think we need to see more normal non-porn genitals. Like, you can't brag about your progressive all-inclusive nudity if you slap a giant fake wang on every time.

/end tangent

And now, the spoilery part...

The big twist, which is really only a big twist for a character in the show and not the audience, is that the Blue Eye Samurai was born a girl. To avoid capture and death they essentially hid in a different gender identity. And I'm trying to decide if this is a trans story or not.

Sometimes it felt like the show was bluntly saying, "She's a girl. See, she has boobs and no penis. And we make a big deal about her getting caught naked. It's like Mulan!"

But then the show kinda/sorta implies that while identifying as a man was a tactic at first, the Blue Eye Samurai came to feel much more comfortable as a man most of the time and only revealed their feminine attributes to a select few. They also had a binding scene which felt like intentional trans imagery.

Since there wasn't the same concept of trans-ness in 1600s Japan as we understand it in modern times, I'm having trouble determining if this is just an homage to Mulan that wasn't thought very deeply about, or if this is allegory exploring a trans identity.

It is unclear if the identity was chosen purely out of necessity or if there was more to it.

Was it like... they tried on a coat because it was cold, but then they really liked how it fit and made it an essential part of their wardrobe?

Or was it just pure pragmatism? If they don't wear the coat they will die from exposure.

I'm worried they wanted to stay close to that line where they could say it wasn't a trans story if that ended up being more convenient. I don't know. I'm fine with allegory and I really enjoyed how they did it with Nimona, but this felt more deliberately ambiguous and it frustrated me a bit. It would be nice if we could just have blatant trans stories that didn't need to hide in ambiguity to avoid controversy. But maybe there were more obvious things I missed and my confusion is unwarranted.

I also think an argument could be made for ol' Blue Eye being genderfluid. Actually genderfluid would make a lot of sense. Their masculine side is the stoic warrior and their feminine side is their vulnerability, love, and humanity—reserved only for those most trusted. And when the two blend and they are a warrior woman they get super horny. So the entire spectrum is there.

I'm sure there will be a long complicated video essay analyzing this gender dynamic.

/end of spoilery section

In any case, I think if you liked Kill Bill, this might be a show that interests you. It has much less cultural appropriation and blatant stereotyping. No Pussy Wagon, but there is a cool horse. And they did use an all East Asian voice cast, so that representation was cool. And the co-showrunner was Japanese, and I think that influence definitely made a difference.

I give Blue Eye Samurai 7.5 Froggies out of 10.

#long post #blue eye samurai spoilers

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sokkastyles · 9 months ago

Text

ATLA LA Ep 3 Thoughts:

I actually did really like the intro to Azula. The way the camera focused on her watching the rebels burn alive with cold satisfaction felt so true to the original character. The scene itself felt ameutuerish so it was hard for me to believe in the stakes of it. Like, who is this random kid with a ragtag bunch of misfits and why is the royal family so personally invested in him that Azula would even bother?

On that note, here comes Ozai's speech from the trailer. Again, everything feels too low-stakes for me to believe Ozai would even bother justifying himself to this kid. It's a nice speech, but it feels like it was written for the trailer and then plopped into the scene.

"Do not speak to me of loss." Love that line (although again, it feels too good for the scene). I fully believe Ozai believes that he is the ultimate victim in his life.

I was already spoiled for this and knew I would hate it but not only is Ozai praising Zuko to Azula a change from the original dynamic, it also does not make a lot of sense even if he's just trying to fuel Azula's insecurities. I can't imagine Zhao's letter puts Zuko in a good light. The Ozai of the original show would most likely focus on what Zuko didn't do (didn't capture the Avatar) and that he actually did find Aang and lost him would only be more fuel for Ozai to see him as a failure. In the original show, Ozai has a golden child/scapegoat dynamic with Azula and Zuko, respectively. And in this type of dynamic, even the scapegoat's accomplishments are subject to ridicule by the parent, and sometimes even intentionally sabotaged by the parent. This is why, in the original show, when Ozai hears that Zuko found and then lost Aang, he sends Azula to bring Zuko back as a prisoner, dubbing him a failure. The fact that Zuko got close to Aang both highlights how he didn't succeed in Ozai's eyes and is a threat to Ozai's need to make him a scapegoat, so it makes sense that when the possibility of actually succeeding at what Ozai thought was an impossible task is on the table, Ozai would pull Zuko back. I understand that the show is trying to "humanize" Azula but it actually trivializes the abuse both Azula and Zuko experienced to make it about what Zuko or Azula did instead of about how Ozai sees them, because abuse is never about how good the kids are at pleasing the parent, it is about the parent's insecurities and desire to take that out on a vulnerable party.

It also makes it kinda funny when Azula is like "lol Zuko didn't do shit." I'm not convinced this would actually work as the psychological manipulation it is intended to be because it would be too easy for both Ozai and Azula to brush off this as yet another Zuko failure. You just KNOW Zhao's letter was like "dear firelord, guess what your incompetent son did this time, neener neener."

I also understand that they're changing things, but you can't change Zuko's dynamic with Ozai this much and still have him burn Zuko's face. Publicly humiliating and physically mutilating someone you intend to be your heir is just not logical, and I don't believe that even Ozai is that dumb.

Aang is so cute I just. I do miss Katara's anger and thought we would see a flash of it when Aang went all "just feel your feelings" but it makes sense that she doesn't get mad at him because he admits he's not the best teacher because he never really needed to listen to his teachers, instead of OG Aang who was not very self aware about being a prodigy and that frustrated Katara, who had to work much harder.

I feel like they are building the antagonism between Zuko and Zhao instead of having them be rivals right off the bat like in the original. Which makes sense if the show wants to explain something that was not explained in the original, but I do miss the hints of a shared history from the original even if it was never explained. Not everything needs an explanation.

"Allow me to contact a few trusted sources." LOL Zhao stay sleazy.

Oh, I love Zuko getting mad at Jee for "gossiping about a superior officer" right after he does that himself. They really nailed Zuko as someone who is so desperately insecure about his own vulnerabilities that he vacillates very quickly between uncertainty and obnoxious swagger, and Liu portrays it seamlessly.

Aang info dumping about Omashu <3

Oh, it's Jet.

Sokka, Katara was supportive about YOUR crush just a few minutes ago, what gives??

I expect 100k fake married in Omashu jetkotara on my desk by morning.

Teo precious bb

The subplot with the bombings does bring an urgency to how the war has really affected people.

Azula absolutely would be two steps ahead and ready to undermine Zuko from afar behind her father's back even if she doesn't believe he's a real threat. That's not so different from the original.

"Uncle Iroh and I will go." 100k jetkotara fake dating.

Jet is such an inherently ridiculous character. I can't decide if the merging of his plotline with the machinist makes things more complex or less. On one hand, Jet is more obviously wrong. On the other, I like that Sokka's conflict is focused on his relationship with the machinist instead of acting the overprotective big brother with Jet.

The machinist encouraging Sokka to follow his talents, aw! Sokka is so clearly missing his dad and in search of guidance.

Love the Aang and Teo scenes

"We don't have to be afraid of our pain." This scene is so zutara-coded, I'm sorry. Still don't like that Katara has to be told about her own bending by the boys in her life. But the thing with her mom was nice.

"Father would never approve of these under-handed tactics." Oh, honey.

Azula and Zhao! Zhao and Jee! The betrayal! The drama!

The scarf!

"Things might get a little hot for us around here." When will the fanfic be on my desk, I ask you?

Aang being like "Zuko I read your diary, who hurt you?"

The first time we see Iroh firebend is to save people while sacrificing himself.

There was a lot of entertaining stuff in this episode! Unfortunately the mixing of several plot points and merging of what was before episodic content into a long two parter that takes up a fourth of the season makes the world seem smaller, but that was kind of inevitable when you adapt a show like this. The show still feels rather directionless, although there was one mention of getting to the North Pole this episode.

#atla live action

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liveforjeongin · 1 year ago

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Annoyed

-tickle fic, if you don't like that you can keep scrolling

requested by: @astrxxii

warnings: a bit long(?

➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷

Skz were recording the music video of "Megaverse", one of the tracks of their upcoming album " Rock-star".

It was Chan's turn, he was recording a scene on a elevator while all the other members were just fooling around with each other.

Chan finished his part and went to the camera that was recording the making film at Felix's request, since he was the one that had the camera.

Chan started to talk to the camera, telling Stay how the recording was going, how he was feeling about it, the meaning of the song, and many other things. Minho, meanwhile, got tired of bother Hyunjin, he needed a new victim, and of course Chan looked like the perfect victim for him.

While Chan was talking to the camera, Minho went to a spot behind Chan, kinda far from him, but close enough to be captured by the camera. He started doing some faces as Chan was talking, which made Felix laugh while recording Chan.

Chan noticed something was amusing his dongsaeng, he turned back and noticed Minho making faces at him, gave him a killing look, as a warning for Minho. Minho understood that if he did anything else, he'd be dead, so went back to bother Hyunjin instead.

Chan went back to talk to the camera now that Minho had gone, but Minho, who was decided on tempting his luck, started yelling things like the classic "how old!" to Chan, at what Felix laughed again and Chan gave Minho another killing look.

Oh... Minho was so dead now.

A couple hours later, Skz finished the recording of the video, so they went back to their respective dorm, luckily for Minho, Chan lived in the other dorm, he wouldn't go to his just to punish him... Right?

The maknaes and Minho arrived their dorm, but a couple minutes after, Felix, Jeongin and Seungmin left again, leaving Minho alone at home.

About 20 minutes after the maknaes left the dorm, Minho heard the doorbell ringing and stood up to open the door. For his surprise (or not), it was Chan standing at the door.

"Hi, Lino" Chan said calmly, entering the dorm.

Minho sighed in relief, Chan seemed too calmed, of course it has to be a reason he's there besides punishing him... Right?

Chan sat on the couch, smiling reliably at Minho. Minho closed the door and sat next to Chan, almost 100% sure Chan won't do anything.

They turned on the Tv and started watching a movie, Deadpool for the 10296th time.

Suddenly, Chan jumped on Minho, overthrowing him on the couch. He sat on his hip and pinned his arms over his head with one hand, making it impossible for Minho to move.

"N-NO! WAIT!" Minho yelled nervously, there was no way that was happening.

"Aw, come on, you knew this was gonna happen in the moment you started annoy me~" Chan replied, sliding his hand under Minho's shirt

"H-Hyuhung, please! I'm sorry! I won't do it again, I promise!" Minho was begging already

Chan smiled teasingly at Minho "You're sorry? Mmmm... I don't think you are yet" said, and started tickling Minho's sides merciless

"NOHOHOHO! WAHAIT! HYUNG!"

"No what, Lino?"

"NOHOHO TICKLES, PLEHEHEHEASE!" Minho begged through his laughter

"Awww... But I'm just getting started!" Chan said and started moving up on Minho's torso, getting dangerously close to his armpits

"N-No, hyung... Please... Don't do that..."

"Oh but I think I will~" and with that, Chan started moving his fingers on Minho's armpits, softly and slowly

"N-No" Minho was trying to hold in his laughter, getting extremely red in consequence

"Awww~ You're trying to not laugh, huh? Alright, you left me no other option" said turned his back to Minho, setting his arms free. Minho sighed in relief, but then noticed what Chan was about to do

"N-NO HYUNG! Please, anywhere but there..." Minho begged

"Awww, you scared I tickle your worst spot? Oh Minho... But I definitely will~ Or is that too ticklish for you?" Chan teased, making Minho blush

"N-No, of course not... In fact, I-I'm not ticklish" Minho replied, all blushed

"Oh? Is that so? Well, then you wouldn't mind if I do this" squeezed Minho's thighs once, both at the same time, making Minho squirm and blush even more

"O-Of course not... I-I'm not ticklish... I told you!"

"Mmm, right, you said it, but I remember differently" and with that, Chan started to squeeze Minho's thighs, his worst spot from far

Minho started to squirm and kick his legs aggressively, trying his best to not laugh, but really close to fail

"Oh come on... Laugh for me~" Chan teased and squeezed Minho's thighs faster, which made Minho laugh immediately

"OKAHAHAHAHAHAHAY, YES I'M TICKLISH, STOP IT, PLEHEHEASE. HYUNG I'M SOHOHORRY"

"You're sorry for what, Minho?" Chan squeezed faster, making Minho go insane

"IHIHIHIHIHI HAHAHAHAA HYUNG! IHIHIHIHIHI'M SORRY FOR ANNOHOHOHOHOY YOU! PLEHEHEHEASE NO MOHOHOHOHOHORE!" Minho answered through his laughter

Chan giggled at Minho's strong reaction, gave him a last squeeze and then stopped, getting off of Minho, sitting back in the couch, smiling down at him

"You okay?" Chan asked giggling when Minho sat breathing hard

"Y-Yeah... I deserved that... I know" Minho replied, resting his head on Chan's shoulder, closing his eyes

Chan chuckled "You certainly did" started to stroke Minho's hair

Minho fell asleep soon. It's sure to say that he did learn his lesson... But that doesn't mean he will stop annoying his only hyung, it wouldn't be him if he didn't

➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷

I think I put too much context I'm sorry💔

I hope you guys like it, it's my first tickle fic so I'll get better with the time, I promise

#skz tickle #kpop tickle #stray kids tickle #tickle #tickle content #ahhie's blog

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uhbasicallyjustmilex · 7 months ago

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Sorry I tried leaving this as comments on your reply to my ask but there was just too much waffle and it was all jumbled so I’m putting it here😂😂

Sorry it took me a MARATHON of time to reply to, I can’t explain how pleased it makes me that this comment made your day bc honestly every time you update it always seems to be during a v tough week and it’s just this ultimate stress relief and enjoyment that I so so love🥹

Just to quickly waffle about what you said, I’m so appreciative of how you fret over the characters sounding real bc it pays off SO MUCH and though I’m still of the mind that you’ve been given this unique ability to read their minds, I can recognise it must take so much studying of their characters and the words you choose and to have such a phenomenal skill <3333

And honestly I LOVE watching him have all these realisations through Suzy bc it’s so real and so satisfying and I’m so excited (but also terrified bc poor woman how do you compete with soul mates) to see how everything unfolds between them all.

And the LITTLE DETAILS that you should honestly trademark bc you do them so well 😭 but I literally have this growing list in my mind that I need to write down cause they make my heart flutter they’re so intimate and careful :’) I could literally waffle about them all day.

You’re so right, they have SUCH a special dynamic, and often I find it frustrating with real life ships bc it’s not like with films where though characters can be deep they have a specific kind of basis to them which fits a role. Real people are so complex and so it’s not 24/7 that someone gets them so right that you feel like you’re watching a segment of their lives (milex writers in general do tend to have an uncanny ability to write them brilliantly) but with you it feels like everything you write can just be added on to their actual interactions and it’s perfection.

I’m so so pleased that my ramblings had an impact on getting your confidence back to heights it should be at because I rlly can’t explain how brilliant you and your writing are so thank you thank you for all the work you put into it. I’m SO EXCITED for the next chapter 🥰🥰🥰🥰 and one day I’m gonna go into the absolute insane perfection that is the sex scene in chapter 8 bc the realism, build up, and EMOTIONS as well as pure sexyism (almost put sexism there which wasn’t quite right 😂) is just one of the best and sauciest things I’ve ever read.

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

Also trying to add a cute lil milex hug gif to this is impossible bc they’re all far too sexually charged or emotionally unstable 😂

hiii lovely!! 💝 oh my goddddddd i swear your asks just leave me a blushing, giddy mess every single time 😭😭

i'm so glad to hear that my updates always seem to manage to coincide with a time where they're able to provide you with a little bit of comfort and escapism 🥺

honestly i've always just found other people fascinating, and have found myself imagining what the world might be like through their eyes for as long as i can remember! it's been so much fun to get to really delve deep into that in this fic, so i really love that you notice and appreciate that side of it 🥰🥰 aghhhhhh. it truly just means so much to hear that you feel i capture something real about alex and miles and their dynamic in this fic, thank you 🥺

also STOP your flailing about the smut scene is too sweet 😭 i am SO glad you felt all the build up and emotions worked, and honestly any time you feel like going into it, please don't hold back - i am more than happy to hear your thoughts! it was hands down one of my favourite bits of the whole fic to write, actually 🥰

once again your utterly lovely words have lifted my spirits so much, thank you for your kindness and generosity in taking the time to share your experience of reading four walls with me 💖 you're an absolute gem and i cannot WAIT for your to read chapter nine! (which will be posted tomorrow... 😉)

(god you were not wrong about the milex hug gifs, were you?! aghhh they're both so ridiculous 😭😭 anyway here, have them being their silly, playful selves having the best time together! sending you all the best vibes for your weekend 💜🌟)

#asks #four walls #so sorry it took me a little while to reply to this!#life has been a bit manic #also i promise i haven't forgotten your other ask either #in fact i'm very much looking forward to posting my answer 😂

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hopeymchope · 7 months ago

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This doesn't really belong here, but oh well: Planet of the Apes time

The recent release of Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes looked weirdly good to me in its trailer? Maybe 2024 is just sort of light on movies to feel hyped about, idk.

It's strange because the whole "Planet of the Apes" thing never really appealed to me. I know the jist, of course. Everybody has absorbed information about the 1968 original via cultural osmosis, even if I've never actually watched it. And I've lived through the entire reboot trilogy from the 2010s, so I'm vaguely aware of the basics of what they were doing from their promotional campaigns. But like... apes. I never cared before now.

Yet somehow, something about Kingdom's ad campaign convinced me to go back and stream the recent Planet of the Apes 2010s-era reboot trilogy, casually watching them for the first time.

Well, I MEANT it to be a "casual" watch, anyway. By the second movie, I couldn't tear myself away. And now I can't stop thinking about them??? I'm partly obsessed with the motion capture tech and performances, which are just gobsmacking. Andy Serkis, y'know? The MOCAP GOAT.

But I'm also pretty obsessed with some of the these characters. Casesar is such a deep and compelling character that he carries the entire series despite being a CGI chimp. Koba is impossible to tear my eyes away from, with a heel-turn that I both totally understood yet hated to see happen. I adore an orangutan named Maurice now. Absolute fave.

Quick rundown of thoughts on the trilogy:

Rise of the Planet of the Apes — This was... fine. It is a movie that exists, but I don't feel particularly positive OR negative towards it. There are some great moments in here, but the greater package is kind of "whatever." This just feels like it's mostly just prologue/setup to something bigger, and... well, that proves to be true. But it does introduce us to important characters and give us background on them.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes — This was so fucking great. ABSOLUTELY my jam. Suspenseful throughout, fantastic human and ape characters, performances are stellar on both sides. Gary Oldman is barely in it and still makes me want to curl up and cry in a scene he has with NO DIALOGUE, that guy is so peak. Hell, this MOVIE is so peak. I don't even want to say too much. The journey was worth it for 'Dawn' ALONE.

War for the Planet of the Apes — Is this as good as 'Dawn'? No. Is it a good conclusion to the story arc of lead character Caesar the chimpanzee? Eh... not really imo. Is it obvious by now that this series utterly failed ALL its female characters? HELL fucking yes; big problem. Is it still a really, really good movie somehow in spite of all that? Actually, YEAH. Director Matt Reeves really knows how to handle some intense emotional storytelling and some really suspenseful scenes that make it a still-powerful experience overall. I was still riveted by this thing.

....guess now I'll have to see Kingdom.

#planet of the apes #movies

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redemptioninterlude · 2 years ago

Note

❛ have you found your favourite part yet? ❜ it makes him feel like a fraud to ask, a question from one apparently more experienced to a girl who has just had her first experience against the unrelenting lense of the camera; makes him wonder if they'd do best to express it the opposite way round, maybe. a suggestion, rather than an expectation above all over expectations, but its the thought he imposes on her selfishly instead. querying with something of a withered smile where he's certain ample curiosity should lay, chin resting on the edge of his knee in a way he's certain his manager will no doubt kick off about while she looks up next to him, nothing given away in the beauty of her eyes. it makes him feel comfortable / it makes him feel restless, something unfamiliar in the hollowness of his bones, the cracks of a mask he supposes should be best recognised as him; the contrast of a boy shining like the star before the camera, the ghost who haunts his mind like an afterthought, the city they inhabit like two unspoken twins that no doubt shine more vividly now that she has stood by his side in a familiar reminder that not all monsters start at home / not all monsters are so easy to get away with. ❛ i think mine is the camera, when it comes down to it. ❜ after all, there's nothing that makes him as pretty as those cruel words once tried to soothe him / nothing as forever as the danger of getting officially caught. / from kouu!! <3

random scenes in the inbox ( always accepting ) + @dangaer // kou

Images flicker on the screen ; Alice is nothing but a CONSUMER IN THIS, a tourist within the world that he finds himself so comfortably situated long before she comes along. The boy who played out his eternal curse now as a blessing to be made for others, when, he doesn't feel that shit at all within his chest, does he? He's faking it, the way the rest of them are when they stand on stage, and he only asks her to come along because he's trying to bother the others and steal her time and make a point of it, and she doesn't really mind, does she? It's an inch closer to the way she'll all too eagerly take a dip within those dreams of his, how much he exposes without realizing it, though, she knows too, that he'll play it all like a game, if only to save himself. That's always been his awful truth, his best defence.

They crowd into the shape of this editing booth, and Alice wonders if there's anything golden to be plucked from this. She's only ever been good at being impossible, and she thinks, maybe, it's not a good thing to for something like her to be captured on film, you never know what might round out at the other end in another life where someone might CATCH HOLD of something that wasn't hers and belonged to another Alice. That she'll hold no memory of this, and even seeing herself will spark... nothing. What a disappointment to swallow! But look at him now, Kou curled into himself and asking, asking ; what do you like? "Does it matter what I like?" her words dream-dragged and a laugh to come. "You said this was like a product. I'm here to sell a feeling. I'm just trying to tell..."

Fingers reaching out to touch the screen, ghosting the edges. "If I did it right. You do, of course. But you've loads of experience doing that, don't you?" it's a question just for him, despite the company in the room. How her head turns to smile at him just so, TONGUE SLIPPING BETWEEN A MANIACAL SMILE, her everything softening for a moment. "Sounds like you're just~ crediting the camera for your work. It's a tool. You're the product, right?" turning words back onto him, that this was all he saw it as when, she knows that feeling drives deeper than that for him. That even if he's exhausted of the superficiality of it all, that he's poured part of himself into this too. His hopeless existence made a little more special, as if it were all evidence to the fact that he existed at some point, and that he was loved. She wonders what she could keep him on that high, and if he thinks he's mattered even a little bit.

So in a move that seems almost arbitrary, she pointed to a moment, a frame ; him looking at her, and her on the run. Just like he'd asked for it all to be SET UP. "This one. This is my favourite. But why do I have a feeling it's the part you don't like the most? Maybe because it's sad. Then again, you always liked that kind of thing! Realistic kind of person that you are. But. Hey~ It certainly makes you feel something, doesn't it?"

#dangaer #❝ a. liddell ❞ ┆ canon verse ┆ curious and curiouser !#❝ a. liddell ❞ ┆ meme reply ┆ though she very seldom followed it !

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buckets-and-trees · 4 months ago

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First, how impossibly cute is Brambleberry Cove??? I adore that being the name of the town!

I have so much to say that I hardly know where to start!

I felt it! Steve can just have this wonderfully soft and warm effect that's so palpable - you're particularly adept at this, writing him in a way that's sweet without turning saccharine. BUT OH! I'M ALREADY READY FOR STEVE TO BE HOME!

This was such a beautiful moment captured - for Seaside Scoops, but also for Steve and who he is as a person - applying love and care, and then for their relationship that also could mirror the "yellowed with age and lack of upkeep" and how the reader feels like she's let everything go with him.

I also love that you so naturally incorporated Steve's canon drawing skills into the narrative.

OKAY, MOLLY!

What I love about this is that you wove these themes and imagery of the town, of ice cream, etc, into the story like wonderfully blended harmonies. But this caramel sound of the laugh? It made me just absolutely melt as a reader, but pump my fist in the air as your friend who loves your writing skills.

BUCKY!

Obviously I had a little happy thrill seeing him! And I loved that he was there, but he didn't overtake the story in any way - a beautiful side character use/moment.

And I love that he we know he absolutely was more than happy, eager, and ready to call Steve to take you home, undoubtedly knowing the torch Steve carried for you that maybe had returned to burning a little brighter now that you were back in town.

(And then later I love the mention/implication that Sam is one of the town's police, haha!)

um. everything about that. everything. I can't. surge of fluttering anda need down under.

This entire expository + smutty + emotional scene in the truck was LITERALLY SO GOOD!

I was heart-achey when the reader said not to steal away or minimize their first time togther. It was so beautiful!

and then

T h i s w a s e v e r y t h i n g.

I was literally breathless for how intense but tender this was while in the middle of all the heat and sexual intensity of the choking and just.

yeah.

couldn't breathe myself.

So, little aside of me reading this story... it's been a crazy week, and so I was saving this to the weekend to read. I ended up with an unexpected spot of time to start reading on Friday night, so I did, and I got through a good chunk of the truck scene, and then I was like, "Okay, we gotta stop here, we're clearly in a big smut scene, and then I'll have like 5k more to savor this weekend." But yeah, turns out I was basically almost done with the story. And I bring this up for a couple of reasons. First, the read up to that point just flowed so quickly, I didn't feel like I was hacking away at it, it just happened. Second, UM, MA'AM, I WAS READY FOR SO MUCH MORE! I JUST DIDN'T WANT IT TO END!

Which leads me to say that I genuinely think you should keep the idea of writing this into a novel close at hand, even if you don't do it right now. Your writing has always been good, Molly, it's why I'm always eager to devour your work and have been diligent about trying to read almost everything you've written in the last year or so (sometimes it's genuinely a character or kink I'm not into, and then I might pass, but often I still go for it because it's your writing), but I genuinely think that some of what you've given us here is your best work. This honestly has legs to stand on its own if you really wanted to pursue it. No pressure to, but I would encourage you to.

gif by sally @tvgif

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away.

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk.

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in.

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on.

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away.

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway.

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure.

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit.

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove.

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders.

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice.

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with.

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become.

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home.

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized.

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last.

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life.

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down.

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore.

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears.

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee.

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat.

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else.

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger.

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes.

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans.

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone.

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing.

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore.

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time.

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it.

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions.

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder.

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun.

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes.

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line.

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say?

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye.

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well.

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs.

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup.

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove.

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve.

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk.

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists.

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor.

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions.

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.”

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life.

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you.

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.”

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life.

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town.

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet.

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark.

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest.

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited.

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?”

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.”

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.”

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.”

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window.

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it.

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans.

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his.

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.”

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper.

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument.

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together.

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together.

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer.

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.”

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat.

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans.

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning.

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone.

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you.

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname.

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself.

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths.

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.”

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap.

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.”

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near.

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.”

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face.

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand.

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself.

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.”

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine.

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body.

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door.

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus.

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself.

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

#fic recommendation #steve rogers x reader #molly

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sapphireplums · 3 years ago

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𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭.

description || druig never thought he was even capable of jealousy, but when it comes to you, nothing was impossible.

pairing || druig x fem!reader

word count || 1,088

warnings || fluffy fluff! SPOILERS FOR THE END CREDIT SCENE

a/n || i really want to watch dunkirk again after writing this haha. feedback is appreciated!

AFTER BIDDING GOODBYE to your family, you decided it was best to leave earth for now and join Makkari, Druig, and Thena to find other Eternals in the universe.

You were a little reluctant to leave Earth at first, knowing that you've lived a majority of your life there, but when Druig asked you to come along, you couldn't dare to refuse him.

It was nice to be back on the Domo, with some fond memories reminiscing back in your mind. You looked out the clear glass window as you left Earth, the beautiful blue planet getting smaller as you flew higher into the universe.

You heard a pair of footsteps increasing behind you and turning around, you saw Druig with his soft smile appearing on his face. He grabbed your waist gently and pulled you towards his body, the leather on his jacket touching your bare skin.

"What are you doing here all alone, my love?" His tone was filled with tease yet genuine curiosity.

You turned your body around, facing the clear window, Druig not letting go of your body. His body was now pressed against your back, his arms still embracing your waist.

"Just looking at the beautiful world we saved. It's really beautiful." Druig saw the bright smile on your face, making his mood even better. He always loved to see you happy, your smile being the light of his day.

"Yes, it is, but it's certainly not as beautiful as you, Y/n." You turned your head and looked at Druig in the eyes. As you stared into his sapphire eyes, Druig couldn't help but place a gentle kiss on your lips. His kisses always started as gentle, but there were times where his eagerness go the best of him which led to interesting events.

The two of you walked back to the main room, hand in hand where Thena and Makkari were at. Makkari gave you a smile while Thena gave you a gentle nod. You sat on top of one of the tables skimming through books, while Druig went to get a bag of chips.

When he got back, his mouth was already stuffed with them, making his cheeks look like a chipmunk. You couldn't help but capture this moment so you took out your phone and took a quick picture.

"I still don't understand why you're so obsessed with that cellular device while you should be obsessed with me." His snarky remark made you slap him gently across the chest while snatching the bag of chips out of his hands in the process.

He gave you a playful glare before placing a small kiss on top of your nose. "You're lucky I love you very much."

You continued to eat the bag of chips until the sudden sound of something down the halls of the Domo caught your attention. Everyone stood up, on guard for any possible threats that were to come. Druig instinctively put his body in front of you as a shield, not daring to let any threat come your way.

But when a troll appeared out of a portal, your head tilted in confusion. He didn't seem to be a threat, more like a character from a fairytale story.

"Um, you see that too, right?" You asked Druig while the troll continued to talk.

"Yeah, I see it too," Druig whispered softly to you, his body still in front of yours.

Still not sure what was happening, your mind wandered in confusion, but when another person came out of the portal, your inner thoughts dissipated.

"Hello, fellow celestials. My name is Eros, I am the brother of Thanos." When Eros mentioned Thanos, your eyes widened slightly, not seeing the resemblance at all.

You stood aside from Druig's protective demeanor and cautiously looked at the other celestial, curiosity laced in your eyes, not seeing how he was related to Thanos.

"Love, stay behind me," Druig's voice appears in your head. You gave him a look then looked back at Eros.

"It's okay, Dru. I don't think he's a threat," you thought back. Druig was about to pull your body behind him until you walked up to Eros, his eyes gleaming towards your presence.

"Well, well, well, hello beautiful. What's your name, darling?" Eros asked you, his voice clearly flirtatious. You let out a nervous laugh before answering him.

"I'm Y/n, that's Makkari, Thena, and Druig." Eros gave a warm smile to everyone in the room, but when his vision went towards Druig, all the Eternal did was glare at him, not liking the way he was looking at his girlfriend.

"Nice to meet you all." Eros paused and looked back at you, flirt laced in his eyes once again. "Especially you, doll."

That's when Druig lost it. He didn't like the way this man was looking at you and the nicknames he was giving you pissed him off even more. He was the only one that could call you those named and the sudden urge of possessiveness overwhelmed him.

"Sorry, mate, she has a boyfriend and her boyfriend doesn't like when other people flirt with her," Druig said, his arm possessively wrapped around your waist. You couldn't help but smirk at Druig's claim on you. It made your heart skip a beat.

"Oh, well my apologizes, you have a very beautiful girlfriend though." Eros attempted to walk by you and Druig, your boyfriend's glare still digging into Eros' skull.

But as Eros walked by you, he sneakily winked at you hoping Druig didn't see, but oh boy, was he wrong.

When Druig saw his flirts didn't stop, Druig nearly pounced on him, but you held him back, preventing him from doing so.

"Can I kill him?" Druig asked you nonchalantly. Your eyes widened and you stood in front of Druig, not letting him get closer to Eros.

"No! Don't even think about it."

"But I didn't like the way he was staring at you, love," Druig admitted, finally looking into your eyes.

"Dru, I love you and only you." You pressed a soft kiss on his lips, him returning it swiftly.

"I know you love me and I love you so much, sweetheart. It's just that I don't trust him." Knowing Druig wouldn't stop worrying about you, you negotiated with him.

"Look how about this, if he tries anything again, you can just mind control him, okay?" Druig let out a genuine smile, yet it was filled with mischief and temptation.

"Deal." Druig kissed you on the cheek before walking back into the room with the other Eternals, his eyes still on Eros just in case he dared to do anything.

#druig x reader #druig #druig eternals #barry keoghan #eternals #marvel #mcu #druig fic #barry keoghan fic #druig angst #druig fluff #eternals x reader #druig imagine

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jessie-writes-things · 2 years ago

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Cherry Cola Kisses

How's your day going? I brought some cherry cola flavoured tea and then shat this out. 😅

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Neutral Reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: kissing. swearing. unedited nonsense.

Summary: I don't know, just a random scene that doesn't go anywhere.

You never liked summer growing up. It was too hot, too sticky, too bright. Grass gave a splitting headache if you sat outside too long. You missed your routine: get up, go to school, go to work, sleep.

Start over.

You reached over and took a sip of your drink before placing it back in its make-shift cupholder among the tree roots.

It was a hot, sticky, bright day and you sat in the grass, a tall evergreen by the river giving you enough shade that you didn’t worry about heatstroke. Watery eyes scanned the pages of the book in your lap, inky words worn and faded, near impossible to keep up with as you raced to the end of a line, not quite beating the sneeze that squeaked by.

You thought your sleeve covered hand was enough to catch the sound. Turns out you were wrong.

For the first time in hours, Steve moved, startled awake and pushing himself up on his forearms to look at you, one eye darting around the field while the other remained closed against the bright light.

He soon calmed down, his chest still moved fast but at least he didn’t look like he was about to jump up and round kick someone, if he could even manage that. ‘What the fuck was that?’

‘A sneeze.’ You giggled at his annoyance. ‘That’s what happens to us peasants who can’t handle grass.’

Steve held you gaze for a moment, straight faced, then flopped back down onto his back, arms in the air. ‘C’me here.’

‘I’m busy.’

‘C’me here.’ He whined, drawing out ever last syllable like it was his dying breath. ‘You’re being boring and I’m lonely.’

‘I’m being boring?’ You closed the book, carefully slipping it into your bag before making a slow crawl over to him. ‘You fell asleep for an hour.’

You easily slipped between Steve’s legs. He caught you in a vice grip, dragging you down, chest awkwardly pressed against chest, your chin resting just above his heart. Things stayed like that for a while, quiet, peaceful and you mapped out the lines of freckles that appeared along his golden skin in the light.

‘You’re staring.’ And he was smiling, fingers brushing up and down the length of your spine before that got too tiring, stopping at the hem of your loose t-shirt.

‘You’re too beautiful not to.’

‘Peasants can’t look at royalty.’

You shot up, well, as much as you could with his hands pressing you back down, mouth gaped wide in shock. You wanted to come up with something witty but all the air pushed out your lungs in a choked laugh and all you could splutter out was, ‘Wow. Just, wow.’

‘I’m joking.’ His eyes were open again, smile plastered across his face. ‘The pretty ones can.’

There were no words. Nothing to hold up against his cockiness.

Kind Steve won.

And for his prize, he wanted a kiss. Even with the uncomfortable positioning, he made it seem so easy, swooping down and capturing your lips. God, his lips were so soft, a little dry from spending hours in the sun, but they were warm.

His hand slipped under your shirt, stopping at your hips to guide you up and over, knees now either side of his hips, all without breaking away just so his tongue could join in.

You’re the first to pull away, stuffed nose making it hard to breathe. Meanwhile, Steve stared up at you looking cocky as all hell as he raised a brow at you. ‘What?’

‘You’ve been drinking my coke.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’ He punctuated his argument by lifting his hips and flipping you in one fluid movement, your back hitting the rough material of the picnic blanket below. ‘Your mouth tastes like fake cherry.’

‘I was thirsty.’ You rolled your eyes at his little pout. ‘I’ll remind you, you fell asleep for an hour. What?’

‘I was looking forward to drinking it.’

Dear God. ‘I’ll buy you a new can when we head back.’

‘Nope, that’ll be too late. I’ll die of thirst and then what?’

‘When the king dies, peasants rise?’ That cracked his façade, a small smile peaked through. You couldn’t keep a straight face either. ‘I’m sorry I drank your damn coke.’

‘It’s fine.’ Steve pressed down on his arms, staring at your lips that now hovered an inch below his. ‘Guess I’ll have to take advantage of the flavour while it’s still there.’

____

Tags: @grogusmum, @bunniesofsteel

I titled this wrong and it took me 3 hours and 40 notes to realise 💀😅

#steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fluff #joe keery #joe keery fanfic #joe keery fluff #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #jessie writes

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zaraquinn · 2 years ago

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dear billy…

—————

billy hargrove & fluff (sad)

word count: 839

younger sister!reader & billy hargrove / max mayfield

requested by: @loxbbg

a/n + additional notes: had to change this one up because it is a challenge, so I ended up having this from Max’s perspective. Hopefully, this still fulfills this request! also sorry for taking so long to get this done.

————

“Max! You can talk to me! Talk to us!” “Max just wait, please!” Stopping in her tracks, Max turned around, shoving her hands in her pockets as she faced Lucas and Y/N. “I told you, I’m fine.”

Lucas and Y/N look at each other for a split second, seemingly unconvinced. “Then why do you keep pushing us away? Look, I don’t need a letter, I don’t want a letter! Just talk to me. We’re your friends! She’s even your family.” Lucas points at Y/N, referencing the step-sister relationship. They used to be close, especially with El that summer. Max, who couldn’t even look at her in the eye, now does, but the horror replays in her head.

———

Max, runs and holds herself back beside Mike and Y/N; the bright lights from the fireworks explode and paint the scene almost poetic, but she sees horror. Terror, in their eyes as El, is on the floor, weak but Billy, above her, stops with tears coming out of her eyes. A hand, El’s hand reaches to touch Billy’s, and it was that look Max knew.

“Shit!” The Mind Flayer, whose roars shake the building violently, captures everyone’s attention as the fireworks and explosions slowly stop one by one. “Y/N! What are you doing? No!” Max’s voice screams as her eyes follow Y/N who bolts towards El and Billy and gets on her knees beside El.

“Y/N,” El says weakly; tears staining her cheeks for a solid moment, the mention of Y/N knocks the control the Mind Flayer had on Billy, and he notices her. He looks at her, those matching blue eyes mirror each other as his brow furrows. “I love you.”

He pushes them away and faces the Mind Flayer’s wrath, protecting El and the others.

Max and Y/N scream his name, watching him perish.

———

“Max! You can talk to me, right? I’m your family! I know how you’re feeling, I’m still grieving too, just please…” Y/N said, her voice breaking as she reached her hand out to take. Max kept silent. Looking at her sister’s hand, but did not take it. “I know.” “Then talk to us! She’s right here. I’m right here.”

Another beat of silence passes as Max shakes her head, turning around and heading deeper into the graveyard. “Okay? Just, wait in the car. This won’t be long.”

———

"Dear Billy, I don't know if you can even hear this. Two years ago, I would have said, 'That's ridiculous, impossible.’ But that was before I found out about alternate dimensions and monsters, so... I'm just going to stop assuming that I know anything."

"So much has happened since you left. Your dad and Y/N were a total mess. He and my mom started getting into fights. Bad fights. I don't think he could stand being here without you, So he left. And he didn't leave Mom much." “For Y/N, at first she was the only one I could talk to—to make me feel better. We were close, and, I clung to her because she was the closest I could get to you. But, it soon changed; she stopped feeling anything after a while. And maybe so did I.” "Mom’s taken an extra job, and we moved to that lovely trailer park off Kerley. Ever since you left, everything's been...A total disaster. And the worst part is, I can't tell anyone why you're gone."

"I can't tell them that you saved El's life. That you saved my life or Y/N’s life. I play that moment back in my head all the time. And sometimes I imagine myself running to you, pulling you away; going beside Y/N. I imagine that if I had, you would still be here. And everything would be...everything would be right again. I imagine that we...That we could've become friends. Good friends, like...like a real brother and sister. Like you and Y/N. because I knew, even though I was jealous, and we hated each other, that Y/N would help and try to get us to get along. More than Mom and Dad ever did. She loved you. And you loved her. And, I don’t know. Maybe I wanted that too."

"And I know that's stupid. You hated me. I hated you. But I thought that maybe...Maybe we could try again. But that's not what happened. I just...I stood there and I watched. For a while, I tried to be happy. Normal. Normal for Y/N, who was shattered without you. But I...I think that maybe a part of me died that day too. And I haven't told anyone this. I...I just can't. But I had to tell you. Before it's too late."

"If you can even hear this—I hope that you can. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Billy. Love, your shitty little sister, Max."

———

stranger things request post:

masterlist:

#zarawrites #stranger things #stranger things 3 #stranger things imagine #billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #zararequests #stranger things 2 #billy hargrove x reader #billy x max platonic #max mayfield #stranger things 4 vol 2 #stranger things 4 volume 1 #stranger things 4

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eoieopda · 2 years ago

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hali……….

the fact that you are this creative and talented and just — here ? blessing us for free ? like it’s casual ?? and i’m, what, supposed to be normal about being in love with you ?!??

✨ rambling below the cut ✨ but tldr; READ THIS RIGHT NOW.

the stream of consciousness nobody asked for because dumping thoughts into my notes app is the new live-tweeting or something idk

“I don't know why I reference frogs so much please forgive me” has me passing away already. remember me as i was ☠️

okay, first paragraph and i am having vivid flashbacks to growing up in [redacted] where there is a giant fucking billboard that screams “HELL IS REAL.” i am being transported to rural religious america eeeeeep

BRUH THE DESCRIPTIVE LANGUAGE!! i feel clammy and it’s literally a gas pump SOS

local police are of no help, you say? 🤔 are you sure this isn’t nonfiction 🤔🤔

the real bts lore of hobi opening shit with his teeth. this is 👌🏻 realism 👌🏻

don’t tell them i’m a witch / you can join my coven then — staaaaaahp i love this

yes, reader, it is strange. it’s all VERY STRANGE.

as someone whose other half is their sister, the history of reader & hanna as two lil spooky beebs on a couch is squeezing my heart so much 😭 i can literally taste the movie night snacks. fuck, the 🤌🏻 nostalgia 🤌🏻!!

um this sleep paralysis scene is incredibly well-written, and then you !!!! “It’s like you know you’re thinking, but you don’t know of what” !!! i didn’t realize you were writing the story of my life?

“gonna be a baby about it?” END ME 🥵

oh oh oh this is so sticky and sweaty and i ammmmmmmmm fine. i’m fine? ha ha ha! i’m FINE!

once again with the sister shit, ripping my lil heart to shreds ☠️ there’s no magic at play that i’m aware of but i think there’s a very specific irl telepathy that you’ve captured here. i think i’d sense a loss like this without having to be told, you know? that gut feeling. so, uh, ouch 🤙🏻

pitcher plant 👈🏻 frog 👉🏻 …… are you fucking kidding me with this? how you dare

tbh my toxic trait is that i would literally do whatever this hoseok asked and i will not unpack that, but thank you for asking!! i am a “idk that midsommer cult could probably pull me” type of buffoon, how did you know??

I LOVE THAT YOU ENDED HERE! to quote @here2bbtstrash, we cliff-hang like men!!

final thoughts: i am blown away by your mind, dude. i think this and fang fucker have been the only supernatural/etc AU bts fics i’ve ever read and you are setting the bar so impossibly high.

there is so much thought here, too. it’s perfectly clear how much time and effort you’ve spent on researching this (and i can assume your other fics like this, if FF is any indication) and coming up with your own lore when it works better — and i’m gobsmacked. for real.

AND THEN !!! on top of all the story and characters in and of themselves, you write like a dream 😭 this was crafted, not written, and all of it was so palpable that i have this vague sense of foreboding now. entirely your fault — i love it 😩

The Wood | JHS | (m)

→ Pairing: witch!Hoseok x female reader

→ Summary: From the moment you step foot in Kill Devil, you know something about the town is off. Determined to find out exactly how your sister went missing in such a small town, you receive unlikely help from the man staying in the motel room next to yours. But there is so much more than what meets the eye with Hoseok and the citizens of Kill Devil.

→ Word Count: 16,786

→ Type: One shot

→ Genre: supernatural, psychological thriller, southern-gothic

→ Main Masterlist: here

→ Rating: NSFW & 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging with this content. Any minors discovered interacting with adult content will be blocked immediately.

→ For: The To Love A Monster Collab

→ Warnings: Creepy town vibes somewhere in the south, unreliable narrator because she’s a dumb bitch, missing family member, descriptions of nightmares and night terrors, allusions to toxic citizens and intolerance in the southern US, cryptic exchanges, being attacked and choked by a strange entity, sleep paralysis, depictions of anxiety and panic and deep fear, manipulation, cat Yoongi.... sort of, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, slight hand job, a lot of spit and cum, fucking in a nasty ass motel room, mean Hoseok at the end, I don't know why I reference frogs so much please forgive me, ambiguous ending/unexplained ending, implied death of a side character off-screen

→ A/N: Not only is this absolutely a million weeks late, it also is the longest it has ever - and I mean ever - taken me to write a fic. This was so hard for me to write, and I have deleted anad re-written thousands of words for this. The end result is something that I absolutely did not plan. This fic is ENTIRELY different from the original outline and idea, so at times it might seem where this piece doesn’t know where it’s going because it wasn’t until I got to the end of the smut scene last night that I realized what the hell this story needed.

I want to thank @here2bbtstrash because I could not have written this fic without them, but also for the amazing and thorough beta they gave this. This was one of my choppier/messier pieces and they helped fix this so much and I have giant feelings for M that are very normal. Also a special thank you to @gimmethatagustd for keeping me somewhat sane while really struggling with this piece.

Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Only God can save us!

It’s probably the tenth sign of the like that you’ve seen. Your palms feel sweaty on the wheel, the unsettling feeling in your stomach as you drive through God’s Country increasing. For some reason, as you catch glimpses of old abandoned churches at the end of red dirt roads and leaning fruit stands with no seller in sight, you think that perhaps God has forsaken this place.

The drive has been unremarkable, but the closer you get to Kill Devil you think perhaps the town is aptly named. You can’t help but get the sense - especially when you stop at a gas station with no one inside and a single working pump - that there is a reason the town sports such a unique title.

It’s hard to imagine why your sister would ever move here, even temporarily. Outside, the locusts whine, a high-pitched buzzsaw hidden in the boughs draped with Spanish moss. The paint on the road has long since faded, single lanes stretching North to South in an endless strip.

Sticky heat prickles your skin. Though there’s no one else around save for you and the locusts, you can’t help but look around nervously, eyes scouring the oak trees. The door to the gas station is locked, and the other side of your single-station pump has a red bag on the handle.

The sk sk sk of the pump is a slow heartbeat. Pulling out your phone while you wait, your stomach flips when you see that you have very little service. You’re about thirty minutes away from Kill Devil and an hour away from any major cities. Peppered along the map are small towns like Kill Devil, home to pecan farms, corn fields, and cotton gins.

You feel a long way from home.

A tingle slides down the back of your neck. You look up from your phone, gaze sweeping back and forth through the trees and over the cracked pavement of the station. There’s nothing else there, but you have the sense that the trees have eyes.

The pump clicks loudly and your heart lurches, hand flying to your chest as you shriek and turn. For a few moments, your heart beats so loudly in your ears you can’t hear the chirping of the locusts or your ragged breathing as you close your eyes, trying to level out your moment of panic.

“Fuck,” you mutter, pulling the handle and jiggling it lightly to ensure any dripping gas is shaken off.

Naturally, you’re a pretty calm person. The jumpiness belongs to your mother, who screams every time someone turns a corner in the house unexpectedly. It’s something about the feeling that clings to you like a second skin as you get in the car that has you shaken.

Or it’s the fact that your sister has been missing for two months.

On instinct, your hand goes to the necklace around your throat. It’s a heart-shaped locket, which would seem cheesy to anyone else. But for you, it’s one of the few coveted items you have from her.

It’s also something that you swear burned you in the middle of the night two months ago. You’re not sure if you believe in spiritual intuition or connection between family members, but what you do know is that you haven’t heard from her, and the local police have been no help.

Trust your gut. That’s what she’s always said. And you do trust your gut on this, this knowing that something is wrong.

On the road again, your tension continues to increase. The land has turned to steep up and down hills, pines lined on either side of the road, pocked with deep canyons.

Orange tire tracks appear and disappear on the highway, turning off onto clay roads with washed-out shoulders and deep ruts from all of the rain over the summer. Your sister had mentioned the house she was renting was nearly impossible to get to when the rain was bad.

A green sign that says Kill Devil City Limits passes by. No welcome sign, no little plaque announcing the population. Your music skips in and out, the connection to your phone weak. You switch to FM, flinching at the roaring static that comes through, finger jamming on the arrows to skip through to something passable.

Country. Country. Church. Country. Rock. Pop.

You leave it on the pop station, turning your eyes back to the road. A logging truck comes roaring up the hill, blasting by your sedan at top speed, making your car shake. Your heart squeezes in fear. You’ve passed over two dozen of them and they never drive any slower or any safer each time.

You’re going to kill Hanna if you find her lounging in her house, making you come all this way.

She had taken up a story there, investigating the town's eerie occult background for the media company that she worked for. Her editor had stopped receiving updates from her around the same time you’d stopped hearing from her.

When you called the landlord she was renting from, he was no help. Some idiot who owned seventeen houses dotted around the country, renting them out for twice the price they were worth.

The local police station had been worse. They’d done a wellness check several times after you called but insisted she wasn’t home. No signs of a break-in, no signs of a struggle. No reason to be missing. They refused to make it an official report, as there was no reason for her to be missing.

Have you considered she just doesn’t want to talk to you? they’d laughed on the phone.

It was a joke. Somehow you could not believe they refused to file a report, and you threatened to take it to the state police and anyone who would listen to you. The woman you had spoken to had chuckled then, her mirth sending a chill up your spine.

Have fun on hold, sweetheart.

You could not fathom how not a single person cared. Not the news, not any authority that you could get in contact with, and certainly not the lawyer you reached out to.

Let law enforcement handle it. Your pleas fell on deaf ears and it was like it didn’t even matter that an entire person was missing. You’d heard about the blunders of the law enforcement system before, but this was a new level of ignorance and oddity.

It was… unexplainable.

Which was why now, you were driving into the backwater town of Kill Devil in the southern part of the United States.

Dropping your speed down, you take the chance to look around. There are a few houses on the outskirts of the town, their yards sprawling with kudzu and their homes leaning heavily with brown vines climbing up the eaves. There are several old, broken-down trucks in the middle of the kudzu fields, swallowed by the invasive vine-like devil’s snare.

You’d heard of one-stop-light-towns but you had never seen one without. Kill Devil is made up of all stop signs. Everything is built around the courthouse, a red brick building dropped in the middle like a fungus growing its roots outward.

The sheriff’s office is just across the street with Crown Victoria model patrol cars. A taxidermist is right next door, the gold cursive font on the front of the glass door telling you it’s been there since the 70s.

Kill Devil has everything you expect. Antique shops with dusty windows and dry-rotted awnings, a convenience store that looks straight out of retro America, closed-down shops with empty shelves and shattered glass, and a single diner with station wagons and mud-slicked trucks in the parking lot.

A single motel stands at the edge of the town center. When you pull into the parking lot, you look up at the sign and frown. Like something out of a horror movie, the Lodging Motel is missing several letters in long-burnt-out neon, three letters blinking in the fading afternoon sun: Lodging Motel.

Die.

With one look at the crusted, three-paneled windows and mold-covered brick face, you think that you just might die.

Pink sun sinks behind the rolling hills of pine. You get out of the car, stretching and popping your joints as you look at your lodging with a sour taste in your mouth. You pass the ‘vacant’ sign as you walk to the small square building at the end with ‘front office’ on the window.

“Yeah no shit,” you mutter. You cannot imagine who would stay here out of anything but necessity.

In fact, it seems like there is no one staying at the hotel. This fact makes you jumpy as you approach the office, which is just a clerk's window and a woman with sunken eyes and a scowl on her face watching you. You swallow thickly as you give her a weak smile and nervous wave, trying to get past the sudden anxiety trembling in your hands.

“Hi,” you say. “I have a reservation for-”

A small window that’s about six inches tall and a foot wide pops open. She hacks, fluid-sounding and phlegmy before saying, “I can’t hear you with the damn window closed. What do you want?”

You clench your jaw. Slowly, you begin again. “I have a reservation.”

“ID and credit card.”

You slide the materials through the window. She holds them up close to her face, scrutinizing them. Crickets join the singing of the locusts. Mosquitos fly around your head and you cringe, swatting at them as you wait while she rolls her chair over to a cabinet.

Wordlessly, she puts your credit card on a manual credit card imprinter. You raise your brows, unsure of the last time you’ve seen someone do paper credit card printing instead of sliding it through a machine.

While you wait, you look past her into the office. It’s dingy inside but you can see a box TV and a window unit air conditioner rattling in the window. There are metal cabinets that form their own little skyscrapers around her office. An episode of I Love Lucy plays on the fuzzy TV screen.

“Here’s your room key.” She tosses it through the window. It’s room three, the key hanging on a diamond-shaped, acrylic keychain with Lodging Motel written in Sharpie. “We don’t got room service or maid service. If you need more towels, the launder-mat is down the street. Don’t run the hot water more than twenty minutes or so. If the AC ain’t on, hit ‘er a few times.”

“Great,” you deadpan. “Anything else?”

She scowls. “Mind the raccoons. They got rabies.”

“Thanks.”

Inside the room is just as expected: peeling wallpaper, red shag carpet with questionable stains and the unmistakable stench of cigarettes, sconce lighting with lampshades that look decades old, a twin with a horrible patterned blanket, frayed at the edges and moth-eaten, and a single, square dresser with a box TV on top and a white, corded phone.

The bathroom is no better. The tub is stained with limescale, cracked tiles, and a lamp that buzzes when you flip it on. You scream when you see the massive roach hanging out in the tub, gagging and running out to look for anything to kill it with.

You settle on a sneaker, and it’s a battle involving your high-pitched scream as you try and kill it. You do win, but you’re covered in sweat and shaking after your victory.

A sharp knock on the door startles you further. You drift to the front door, looking out the peephole to find that it is cracked and you cannot see the person standing just on the other side. You slide the chain lock in and open the door tentatively, peering out into the now early night.

“Everything okay?” a male voice asks. “I heard screaming.”

The voice belongs to someone who absolutely does not belong in Kill Devil. He’s dressed in jeans with large rips at the knee and a plain white shirt that hangs off his frame stylishly. He has a few necklaces on, a single hoop hanging from his right ear that catches the flickering parking lot light.

And he’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that stuns you. He has a slender face with smooth, flowing skin. His eyes are kind, glittering brown with flecks of lighter shades throughout. The slope of his cheekbones and jawline makes you think perhaps he’s into modeling, which would explain the taste in clothes.

But it does not explain what someone who looks like that is doing in this shithole town.

“I had to kill a roach,” you admit, a little hesitant. Your skin tingles under his gaze, your instincts picking up something that you can’t put your thumb on. “I don’t like them very much and it was fast.”

“Disgusting. I had to buy killer for them - it came in a two-pack if you want?” You don’t answer, watching him warily. He picks up on your anticipation and smiles, disarming. “Sorry - my name is Hoseok. You can call me Hobi, if you’d like. I’m staying next door which is just as gross as your room is I’m sure. I heard you yell and I got worried.”

“That’s kind of you. This doesn’t seem like a place where people would care if they heard screaming.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not from here.” He looks around the parking lot and his eyes focus on a raccoon meandering near the trash. You grimace, thinking about rabies. “Thank fuck, this place feels right out of fucking Deliverance.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling better at his distaste. “One sec, let me slide the lock off.” You close the door and slide the chain before opening it a little wider this time. “Yeah, this place gives me the creeps. Hopefully, I don’t have to be here long.”

“A night is long enough. You want that spray?”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

Hoseok grins and holds up a finger, asking you to wait as he jogs to his room. He’s only gone for a moment, leaving you in the poorly lit lot with the tk tk tk of the raccoon pilfering through trash and the crickets creek creek creeking.

Hoseok’s door opens and he’s back, handing you a large, red can of lemon-scented Raid. “Just make sure you drown them. They did outlive the dinosaurs. Makes you wonder what the hell is in that stuff.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem…” He drifts off, unsure what your name is. You laugh, a little flustered by the way his entire face lights up when he smiles, and give him your name. “I like it. Well, I don’t know how long you’re here, but I’m your neighbor for a few days. Try not to catch any infections while you’re in there and holler if you need me.”

“Thanks,” you grin. You hold up the can and add, “Especially for this.”

With a wave goodnight, Hoseok returns to his room. The buzz of something instinctual fades with him, replaced once more with the unsettling frequency the town seems to vibrate at.

Closing the door firmly behind you and flicking the lock, you shiver. The eerie feeling that had been following you lingers.

After changing the sheets, inspecting the rest of the room and setting the spray can firmly on the pillow next to you, you lay on your back in bed, mattress lumpy and air conditioner rattling.

Moonlight streams through the curtain, catching dust motes floating in the air and turning them into diamonds. You stand in the middle of the room. Cold but humid air clings to your skin, the air conditioner rattling and dripping as it cools the room but does nothing to suck out the moisture. You don’t know why you’re standing in the middle of the room and you don’t remember waking up and getting out of bed, but you face the window, the curtains open just enough to face the empty parking lot.

Silence blankets the world. The hum of the air conditioner fades and you stare out into the silver-painted parking lot. Above the lot, a street light flickers on and off weakly. It goes out for a minute and flashes back on.

Someone leans against the pole. You can’t make out any features, just that there is a person there, perhaps facing you. The hair on your skin stands on end but you can’t move. Your instincts begin to prickle and there is a sharp feeling in your chest.

Belatedly, beyond your hypnotized stare, you realize the feeling is fear.

Your ears start to ring. You stare out at the shadow and the shadow stares back. Something is telling you to run run run but you don’t know how. Can’t move your feet. Panic begins to rise, your heart beating so fast that you can hear it over the steady whine in your ears.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thumpthumpthumpthump.

You can feel your pulse skyrocketing, your chest squeezing tight with terror as the beating gets louder and louder -

Awareness hits you like cold water. You lurch forward in bed, hands flying to your chest as you gasp for air. It takes a moment to get your bearings, the pounding in your heart so hard it feels like you might vomit. Battling the sheets, you rip them off of you, legs sticky with a sheen of sweat.

The lamp is still on in your room, the curtains are closed just the way you left them, and the bug killer rolls on the bed as you get up. Several paces away from the window, you catch your breath, running a hand over your face.

“Fuck,” you pant, realizing you were dreaming.

When your breathing levels out, you glance at the closed curtains. Something niggles at your brain. Slowly, you walk toward the window, feeling the hairs on your arms tingle and stand on end.

Lifting your shaking hands, you grip the curtain tight. Taking a deep breath, you hold it in and pull open the curtain just a bit.

Unlike your dream, there’s no moonlight outside. It’s so dark you almost can’t see anything in the parking lot. When the lot light flickers back on, your heart squeezes, expecting to see a shadow leaning against the pole. There’s nothing there, just empty lot and a dumpster. Not even the raccoon is around.

Blowing out your held breath, you close the curtain again and shake out your hands, trying to get rid of the jitters. Rolling your neck and shoulders, you try to work out the tension as you sit on the end of the bed, staring at the faded wallpaper.

The dream felt so real. You swear that if you turn your head, you’ll see silver moonlight through the curtains. That you’ll see that person - that shadow - standing outside of your window.

Exhaustion weighs heavy on you. You crawl back into bed, mattress damp and smelling like mildew even with the sheets that you put on it. You’re under a lot of stress and you hate this motel room as much as you already hate this town that you’ve barely started to explore. It makes sense that you’re having weird dreams.

Blanket pulled up to your chin, you eventually let your lids flutter shut until you’re taken by dreamless sleep.

Morning sun chases away the dregs of your strange dream from the night before. With daylight streaming between the curtains, the room looks no better. It’s a futile hope, perhaps, to keep thinking that the room will suddenly not look nearly as questionable as when you checked in.

At least there are no bugs.

Outside, the balmy air is filled with the voices of the locusts. You lock the door behind you and glance toward where Hoseok vanished the night before. His windows are closed and there’s no sign of him anywhere in the parking lot, so you head to your car, stomach begging for food.

Kill Devil is small in both size and population. The Diner is easy to find, tucked in the southwest corner of the town across from the courthouse. Folks wander about the parking lot, shaking one another’s hands and laughing as the weekend rush of people meanders up the steps for breakfast.

Your arrival is noted immediately. Eyes turn your way as you walk through the lot, loose gravel crunching under your feet. The lot is more packed dirt than pavement, full of holes and mud softened by rain.

Seeing a new face in a wretched little town like this probably isn’t common. Though you’re not familiar with growing up in such a small population, you remember what it was like knowing everyone at school. The same theory applies here when a portly man with raised brows stands, screen door in hand as he stares at you.

The man blocks the way to the inside of the diner. You pause and look up, noting the confusion on his face. After clearing your throat, he realizes that he’s completely frozen from opening the door and coughs, bowing his head and apologizing.

“You uh - visiting?” he asks, holding the door open for you. When you nod, he seems surprised, though that had to be the only answer. “Well, that doesn’t happen often. Welcome to Kill Devil.”

There’s a small host stand with a pile of laminated menus on top. A girl who looks to be about your age stares back at you, wiping her hands on a red apron tied around her waist. She’s in jeans and a t-shirt that says The Diner across the chest, her hair pulled up and stabbed through with a pen.

“Just you?” she asks, eyes fluttering to the man who shrugs behind you. You nod. “Right this way.”

The wooden walls are painted white, some of the paint peeling. There are miscellaneous animal heads with plaques underneath stating the names of their killers with a stamp of Jason’s Taxidermy. You try not to make eye contact with their black, glass eyes as you sit in a chair that wobbles from side to side.

You thank the hostess as she wanders off to get you coffee. The family at the table next to you does their best to whisper about who the hell is that as you look over the menu, flipping it to the breakfast side. The laminate is sticky and peeling at the corners.

It’s a pretty standard breakfast menu. You put it down on the table, nudging the container holding different colored sugar packets and sweeteners while you wait for your coffee. There’s a breakfast bar with people bent over steaming eggs and sitting atop cracked vinyl seats.

The door opens behind you at a steady rate as people pay their bills and leave while new customers are sitting. A presence at your back sends a cool tingle up your spine, making you straighten and look over your shoulder.

Hoseok stands in a shaft of sunlight coming through the window, turning him gold. For a moment, the diner around you falls to a hush of murmured voices, muting the clinking of spoons against ceramic and scraping chairs.

He’s dressed well again, in a simple white button-up with the button undone to reveal a strip of golden chest. His hair is slightly damp and styled back, an outrageously good look on him. The same hoop earring dangles in his ear but today he has on a few necklaces and rings on his fingers. Somehow, he makes the delicate pieces carry an edge.

“You survived the night, huh?” he says by way of greeting and then gestures to the chair across from you. “Would you mind company for breakfast?”

You shake your head, forgetting words for a moment as he smiles, radiant as ever. Hoseok pulls out the chair and sits down, a twinkle in his eye that makes your heart flutter as he plucks a menu from the holder at the center of the table. You can smell his rain and lavender scent from across the table.

“Thanks again,” you say, realizing you haven’t spoken yet. His brown eyes look at you over the top of the menu, and you can’t help but admire how beautiful they are. Warm, both dark and light, with flecks of chipped gold. “For the bug killer. I haven’t seen any more but I just know they’re there.”

“That’s the shitty thing about the South. All of God's least favorite creatures are here.” He glances at the table of scowling men next to you to emphasize. You hide your laughter with the plastic menu. “What brings you to this shit hole?”

“I’m… visiting my sister.”

“You sound unsure of that. Does she not know you’re coming?”

“She doesn’t.”

While they aren’t technically lies, you don’t know how much you can trust him. Instinct makes you hold the truth from him. After all, you don’t want him to know you’re in a town where no one knows you, and where no one knows you are. By yourself.

Hoseok looks at you again, his eyes narrowed. You feel tension creep into the air between you, your mouth drying out as he watches you silently.

The arrival of the hostess who is also your server saves you from another question. You both place your order, and you note the way the girl cuts her eyes to Hoseok, wary. Her hands shake a little.

When she leaves the two of you, you ask, “How long have you been here?”

“A few weeks.”

“Enough to win over the locals, hmm?”

His grin is sly as he drums his fingers on the table. “I’m their favorite - you’re perceptive.”

“My sister is an investigative journalist. She’s made me watch all kinds of shows and read books about psychology and body language with her. I picked up a few things.”

“An investigative journalist, huh?” Hoseok plucks a sugar packet and rips it open with his teeth. He shoots the ripped piece onto the table with a huff of air and dumps the contents on the table. Leaning on one elbow, he begins to trace patterns in the sugar. “So you’re not from here. No one here is smart enough for that.”

“No, she’s been living here since July.”

“What’s she investigating?” You hesitate again. He doesn’t look up from the patterns he’s tracing on the table, finger steady as it cuts through the white sugar.

“I don’t really know.” He does look up when you say that, gaze razor-sharp. A chill slides up your spine. So you add, “Something to do with the occult.”

Hoseok stops moving his finger through the sugar. He doesn’t look at you, but he’s fixated on the mess he’s made on the table. You chew on your bottom lip, eyes dropping to his little sweetened artwork. You don’t understand the pattern that he’s traced, but it buzzes your brain when you look at it.

The silence stretches on. He remains unmoving and silent. Anxiety starts to creep in and you wonder if he thinks you’re crazy or is going to get up and leave-

With a huff of laughter, he leans back and smiles at you.

“The occult huh? Interesting subject.”

“Know anything about it?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I mean, what is really considered occult? Most of these Bible thumpers around here would consider being queer witchcraft.”

“You have a point there. Don’t tell them I’m a witch.”

He grins. “You can join my coven, then.”

“Do you think they know there’s more than two genders?”

Hoseok’s laugh is infectious. You laugh along with him, visibly ruffling the feathers of the table next to you.

For a moment, the two of you share a secret smile at your little table, wedged between the people who go to church every Sunday and swear by Fox News at brunch. It feels good to know you’re not the only person completely out of place in Kill Devil.

The arrival of your server with steaming plates breaks the moment, but you feel better about your morning nonetheless. Especially when the conversation switches from stilted exchanges about your sister and the occult to things about you and Hoseok.

Over runny eggs on toast and crunchy bacon, you learn that Hoseok is a shop owner in a small town very far from Kill Devil. He brushes over the fact that he’s visiting family to tell you all about his small corner of the world and all of his favorite plants.

“Fiona is a venus fly trap,” he giggles with a snap of bacon. “She’s my second favorite, but what I really love is my pitcher plants. They eat bugs, mostly, but they like to devour frogs too. The frogs love to hide in them, but sometimes the pitcher plants take kindly to them and don’t eat them. It never lasts.”

“I would hate for them to eat the frogs.”

“Hmm, circle of life.”

“But the poor frogs!”

Hoseok isn’t swayed. “There has to be a balance to everything. The pitcher plants will kill the frogs eventually. Sometimes a predator likes to play with its prey. Their ecosystem doesn’t make sense. In order to pay back the food the pitcher plants bring them, the frog must die. It pays for power, in the end.”

“How do you mean?”

“Everything has a give and take.” He pauses to sip his coffee. He makes a face, opens a sugar packet, and empties it into the coffee. “In order to have life, we must have death. In order to have water, we must have fire, for earth, we must have air. There is a give and take in existence, and it has to stay that way.”

“If it doesn’t?”

“Chaos.”

“You know, a lot of theology believes that chaos created the world.”

“And perhaps it did. But in order to make the world, chaos needed…” Hoseok takes his butter knife in one hand and sticks out his pointer finger with the other. You watch as he places the knife horizontally across his finger, sliding it just so until he slowly lets it go, leaving it teetering back and forth, but never falling. “Balance. There has to be even weight on the scales to make it work.”

“Interesting. So you think there is true balance in the world.”

“Not always, which is why we must make it.”

“Hmm. You have some interesting opinions.”

“I am an interesting person.”

You like Hoseok. Conversation flows easily and it seems that he either doesn’t notice or does not care that he draws glances around the room, particularly when he gives a high-pitched laugh, leaning backward on the metal legs of his chair to clap his hands excitedly. You swear you see the table next to you flinch, though you can’t imagine why.

Hoseok insists on paying the bill, though you fight him all the way to the register. The elderly woman behind the till jams the pricing in from the ticket and slams the cash drawer shut when Hoseok hands over the bills. She makes sure not to tell you to have a good day, and you feel her sharp stare as you leave the interior of The Diner.

In fact, the stares of the citizens are just as intense outside. Hoseok rattles on about a time he got really high and forgot to feed his cat. “Yoongi was so mad he wouldn’t talk to me for a week.”

“What?” you ask, distracted by the way a group of men leaning against a red pickup glare. “Your cat talks?”

“Oh- he- well he meows, you know what I mean?”

“No, but I’m sure he was very vocal.” Hoseok smirks, toeing the gravel of the parking lot as you reach your car. You glance over at the pickup truck again, seeing the four sets of eyes fixated on the two of you. “Why does everyone around here stare?”

“They’ll ignore you soon enough if you ignore them.”

“They don’t seem to ignore you.”

He gives you a wry smile. “I guess you’re right. Going to visit your sister, then?”

Digging around in your bag, you search for keys. “Yeah, she lives out in some place called Grave Hollow. How creepy is that?”

Silence is your only answer. You look up, pausing the search for your keys to find him staring at you with a blank expression. Your heart skips a beat - it’s the same wiped-clean face he had when you mentioned your sister investigating the occult.

Licking your lips, you ignore the feeling of a weighted stone dropping into your stomach. Hoseok says nothing.

Then, he’s chipper again. “Well have fun,” he chirps, shrugging and giving a wave as he backs away to leave. “Hopefully she has some cool occult stuff to tell you about. You know where to find me!

It’s hard to keep track of the way Hoseok’s mood flips on a dime. You stare after him, but he’s all smiles and sunshine again before turning on a heel to walk out of the parking lot. His hands are tucked into his pockets and he tilts his face toward the azure sky, whistling a tune with a happy cadence.

Something sticks to you as you watch him leave. You don’t know what it is, this feeling that you’re missing a critical detail. It’s like your instincts are scratching lightly at the door, but you have no key to flip the lock and no crowbar to force it open.

Anxiety returns when you remember the weight of the eyes still focused on you. Hurriedly, you snatch your keys from your bag and get in your car, tossing your bag on the seat and starting the engine. As soon as it purrs to life, you feel instant relief.

You hope that it lasts.

According to the research you’d done on Kill Devil, the town had been officially founded in the 1700s. Of course, being ‘officially’ founded didn’t mean much in the way of Western colonization. You had little doubt that the migration of people to the South chased out Native American tribes, as was the story everywhere.

Kill Devil has been named such since its inception, which occurred a little after Georgia had been named an official state. The abundance of soil for cotton and peanut fields made it a wet dream for the expansion of cotton gins and eventually, peanuts - there was even a rumor that peanut butter had been invented in Kill Devil first, but you knew that to be untrue.

A small town with a small impact. That was Kill Devil at the heart of its existence. It has always had a small population of sleepy folk. No stop lights, one church, a lot of paper companies coming in and cutting down trees, and some farming fields for various reasons.

There’s no reason that for a tiny little dot on the map, the town should be significant.

And yet it had called your sister here.

The car bounces, the suspension whining as you drive down the dirt road. A clay wall comes up on either side of you, roots of trees sticking out periodically. There’s no shoulder to the road, the rain has deepened the ruts on either side. You’re careful to keep in the middle, slowing down as the road tightens on corners.

Pine stretches as far as the eye can see. You pass the occasional neon tape, marking sections of trees for the paper company to let grow a little longer before hacking them down. Several metal gates with keep out and declaring different hunting clubs flash by. There’s even a sign that says Rucker’s Meat Processing.

GPS is unreliable out in the sticks where the cell towers don’t quite reach. You keep an eye on the flattened paper map in the passenger seat, marked with your red marker to make sure you take the right road.

A sigh of relief escapes you when you see a little metal post with a turn-off sign: Kill Ditch South. The house that your sister is renting lives off of that, only a mile down the road or so. Long drives appear between the trees, houses parked at the end of them. You feel a little less alone in the woods now knowing that there are people around.

Though you’re not sure how helpful they would be if something was wrong.

Worry creeps into your stomach as you slow the car. There’s a little mailbox with the address your sister gave you. It’s at the end of a short drive that’s been layered with gravel to make the incline easier on tires. It crunches beneath the tires as you drive toward the modest, white house. Your sister’s Four Runner is parked outside, making your heart thunder.

Turning the car off, you slide out into the humid air, hands trembling. Locusts scream, hidden in the trees. The sun is at its zenith, beating down on you as you slowly walk toward the house. It’s a single-story with two sets of windows facing the front. A wrap-around porch that leans to the side stands empty, save for a single bench.

As you pass your sister's car, you notice that the grass underneath is dead and dry. As if the car hasn’t moved for a while, denying the grass any sun to live. It makes you feel nauseous, feet like anvils as you take your first step up the stairs.

The creak of the wood makes you flinch.

“Hanna?” You call, voice shakier than you want it to be. “Hanna, it’s me! Don’t freak out!”

No one answers. Your stomach bubbles like acid, the slow drip of sweat down your neck making a chill rattle up your spine. You reach the door and swallow thickly, lifting your hands and knocking loudly.

“Hanna?”

Nothing but the sound of the locusts answers you.

Your palms feel sweaty as you knock again. This time, your voice cracks when you call, “Hanna? Please answer the door.”

Wind sweeps across the trees. One thing about the wind in a land of pines and hills is that it’s loud, making a whooshing sound as it’s picked up by the boughs of the trees, rattling and letting their needles shake to the floor.

It’s cool at your back and you feel your lip wobble when you lower your hand to the doorknob. When you twist, the door opens immediately, swinging of its own volition when you let go.

Inside the house is the kind of silence that terrifies you in horror movies. The air is heavy. Your ears ring, searching for any rasp of sound to tell you that your sister is home. Licking your lips, you step over the threshold, the wooden floor cracking beneath the weight of your feet.

To the immediate left of the door is an open kitchen. There are dishes on the dry rack and plants in the window, though they are wilted and dry. You chew your lip as you step further into the house, eyes sweeping around.

A blue, painted table stands in the middle of the kitchen. Piles of mail sit on top of it with a fake plant centerpiece and your sister's car keys.

Across from the kitchen is an open doorway with a stacked washer and dryer, and a folding table. It smells faintly of detergent, clothes folded in neat piles as if Hanna had just completed a laundry day.

Everything is silent in the living room. The couch looks cozy, with piles of blankets draped across it. There’s a faint smell of vanilla, though the wick on the candle doesn’t look like it’s been lit in a while. Dust collects on the TV stand and there are sandals by the door that leads to the back porch.

Chewing your lip, you gently press your fingers to the door of Hanna’s bedroom, holding your breath. The sudden fear that it’s going to swing open and you’ll find your sister dead in her bed nearly incapacitates you, making the room spin a little as the door fully swings open.

Nothing. No Hanna, no rotting smell of a dead body. Just an unmade bed in a room that smells vaguely of her cherry perfume, a bathroom with the door open, and a pile of clothes near the hamper.

The sight of the clothes on the floor and right next to the hamper slams you with a wave of nostalgia. You walk into the room and you unceremoniously plop yourself down on the edge of the bed. It sags underneath you but you don’t care, letting your face fall into your hands and letting a sob rip through you.

Hanna isn’t here. You knew she wouldn’t be, but the relief that you don’t find her dead is so poignant that you can barely breathe past the snot clotting your nose and the way your throat constricts as you let out the fear.

The sobs subside and you wipe your face, hands coming away sticky and wet. Through swollen eyes, you look around the room. With a wipe of your hands on your jeans, you get up and start looking around, pulling open drawers and looking for evidence of the last time that Hanna was in this home.

It’s slow going. You’re unfamiliar with the space and you don’t know what to look for. It doesn’t seem like she had packed anything, but then again, how would you know if she did?

There are signs that she hasn’t been in the house in weeks. Rotted food inside of the fridge, molded bread in the pantry.

Outside, weeds grow around the steps. A cricket pops from the railing to the grass where its green body vanishes. The yard isn’t much of a yard - it’s open to the trees and a kudzu field to the west.

Back inside, you grab Hanna’s keys and open her car. There is nothing inside that looks like she was trying to make a quick getaway. An extra pair of shoes shoved in the back, and an empty grocery bag she was using for trash - all normal things.

In the passenger seat, you strike gold.

Hanna’s journals and folders sit in the passenger seat, stacked in a leaning tower with pages sticking out from the edges of her books and slanted handwriting scrawled on the folder tabs. Gathering all of it, you head back inside and deposit the stack on the kitchen table before looking around the house again to see if there’s any sign of her.

Something in your gut tells you that Hanna hasn’t been in the home for at least a month, if not more.

Dread creeps into your stomach as you gather items and pack a bag. Your intention is to keep it on you at all times in the event that you find her cold and alone somewhere. The thought of needing it leaves a sour tang on your tongue, but you pack it nevertheless.

Bag over your shoulder and stack of Hanna’s investigative work in hand, you head off to your room at the motel. The afternoon sun still burns hot over your head, but you have no intention of sitting in the empty house that carries the scent of your sister’s absence.

… While most historical accounts and official state documents indicate that Kill Devil was founded in 1730, journals buried deep in the city’s crumbling library have written records of townsfolk living in this settled town long before it was declared an official town. The journals reference the town as Covenstead and are filled with generations of the same family names.

Booth.

Park.

Warren.

Kim.

Jung.

Jeon.

Min.

Generations of these families settled in Covenstead and built what is now Kill Devil. From the description of the town in the collection of journals, it appears that the general layout of the town is similar to Kill Devil’s current city map.

Throughout the journals, there is a reference to the Wood. It seems to be a place mentioned in reverence, and there are allusions to celebrations in the Wood with entries dated in alignment with sabbats on the Wheel of the Year.

Only Mabon is referenced in any of the journals explicitly, in a strange entry from a man named Yoongi Min. I have written it here for safekeeping: We bringeth the little lamb to The Wood today for the honor of Mabon. I loathe seeing him go, for he hath brought cheer and many a smile to the Covenstead. May he bring us blessings and warmth in the winter.

Your finger traces over your sister’s writing. She still writes in her cramped, crooked way, with the sabbats of pagan holidays crammed in the margins. You smile, biting your bottom lip again as you go through the written notes of her study. It is dizzying and you’re unsure what exactly you’re looking at, but something tickles the back of your mind as you reread the entry she copied from the long-dead Yoongi Min. There’s something you're missing.

This time, your eyes snag on a word.

“The Covenstead,” you murmur, reading it over again. “Why would he call it the Covenstead? Is that just an older way of speaking?”

A tingle pricks your neck as you stare at the entry. You can’t understand what made your sister think this entry was odd besides the old-fashioned writing and reference to Mabon, because she writes nothing more on her analysis, and none of the journals she had been studying were anywhere you could find.

Sighing, you push away her notebook and pull out a collection of folders and papers that she had on the town. It’s mostly renderings of the town in its heyday with maps and newspaper articles. There seems to be no correlation between her clippings of new business openings and random town news.

Kill Devil Court House Gets New Building

Bird Flu? Poultry Farm in Trouble After Flock Dies

The Grove Neighborhood Building Plans Accepted by Mayor

Mayor’s Son Experiences Fatal Well Accident

Something catches your eye in the article about the mayor’s son who fell into a well and died at the bottom. You reach for your sister's notebook and flip to read the small dates shoved into the margins.

Mayor’s Son Experiences Fatal Well Accident

June 19, 1781

Litha: Summer Solstice

June 19-23

Grabbing the other newspaper clippings, you climb off of the bed and lay them flat against the sheets, each crinkling under the excited press of your fingers as your brain whirs. It’s a puzzle your sister seems to have figured out already, and one you don’t expect to understand.

But you do.

Kill Devil Court House Gets New Building

February 14, 1899

Bird Flu? Poultry Farm in Trouble After Flock Dies

March 19, 1899

Ostara: Spring Equinox

March 19-22

You suck in a breath as you look at the next clipping, using your pointer finger to keep your place on the sabbats calendar your sister has written down to see that the article for the new neighborhood The Grove is dated only a month before the mayor's son fell tragically in the well.

“Holy shit, Hanna,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your mouth and staring with burning eyes at the dates. “They match with pagan rituals? Something good, followed by something bad… like revenge? Punishment? Payment?”

The question bothers you. A flutter in your gut tells you that you’re asking the right questions as you stare at the pages, unseeing and trying to understand what your sister is getting at. She didn’t write down her thoughts explicitly - in case anyone stole her work, she’d said - and now you’re wishing she weren’t so paranoid. Or that she at least used a computer.

It isn’t an easy answer to puzzle out. An ache has settled deep in your temples and your half-eaten dinner has long gone cold. You decide you’ve earned a shower, though you don’t go into the bathroom without the bug spray armed and ready.

Briefly, you think about Hoseok. Such an oddity to the town. You can’t help but think about the way he changes from light to dark so quickly, face becoming shadowed and eyes masked, expression there and gone so quickly that you’re unsure if you saw it at all.

Strange. It’s all very strange.

There is a shadow in the parking lot again. This time, it’s closer. The bulb burning above the lot flickers, but stays on. The shadow stands just beyond the silver halo of light it distributes.

No moon hangs in the sky. It is dark dark dark - impossibly dark. You stare through a crack in your curtains, watching the shadow as it watches you. Dread weighs down the pit of your stomach and you feel a fresh wave of terror-laced nausea sweep through you.

You slide a foot backward gently, preparing to step away from the window. The shadow twitches and cocks its head to the side, not unlike a dog curious about something it’s heard. You suck in a sharp breath and hold it in, air screaming in your lungs, heart racing a frantic staccato.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck it seems to say, beating until it’s all you can hear and feel, pumping your system so full of adrenaline that you feel light-headed.

Your heart turns into a drum, frantic. It beats louder and louder and you feel rooted to your spot on the carpet, the soles of your feet surgical-stitched to the ugly shag carpet. You stare and stare and stare at the shadow and your heart is hammering so loud boom boom BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM-

Sweat-drenched and gasping for air, you sit up. Your heart pounds so hard you can feel it under the palm you have pressed against your chest. But the banging is coming from the hotel door, a steady stream of closed-fist hammering and Hoseok’s voice calling your name.

Peeling the covers back from your damp skin, you stumble to the door, nightmare-drunk and disoriented. You forget to remove the chain from the door, yanking it open and immediately slamming it to a stop as the chain pulls, refusing to let the door open.

Hoseok is on the other side, hair slightly disheveled, brows pulled together. He’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants, a casual look by anyone’s standards but still effortlessly put together.

“Shit, hold on,” you slur, tongue heavy in your mouth with sleep. Closing the door, you slide the chain out, then reopen it successfully. “Sorry, is everything-”

“What’s going on?”

“What?”

His gaze is thunderous as he looks past you into your room. “You were screaming at the top of your lungs.”

Heat flushes your neck and face. “I-I’m sorry. I was having a nightmare. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m not mad. What’s going on?”

In the shadow of the night, he looks dangerous, made up of edges and eyes narrowed. “Can I come in?”

You open the door and move out of his way. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Out of habit, you latch the door when you shut it.

Hoseok is a little out of place in your room. Even when dressed down, he looks like he belongs on a private jet, lounging among soft, polished leather and sipping exotic coffee. Not in a rundown motel room with peeling wallpaper and smoke-stained ceilings.

“What’s all this?” Your stomach plummets when he sees the journals and papers on your bed. you rush to shove it all under the blanket but Hoseok is fast, plucking a sheet of paper and looking over it, face pinched. “Is this what you meant by your sister studies the occult?”

“Yeah, sorry, I was just um- looking over her work.”

“You know about the occult?”

“Not at all.”

He glances at you, razor-sharp. “Then why would you be looking it over for her?”

The atmosphere shifts. It occurs to you that he doesn’t know your sister is missing. Has no idea that you’re desperately trying to put together pieces of a broken puzzle, without any clue on where to find the remaining parts to view the entire picture.

You weigh the options of lying, losing precious time as the silence hangs heavy and awkward between the two of you. He watches, brows raised and expectant, fingers gripping the paper.

“My sister is missing.” It feels weird to say it. Your tongue feels heavy and as you stare over his shoulder at a fixed spot on the wall, it feels like someone else enters your body to tell him, “I came here because no one would help me find her. She was here studying the town's occult myths for work and vanished. I had this… horrible feeling when she stopped calling and answering.”

“Have you contacted the authorities?”

You scoff and throw a glare at him. “Of course I have. It’s useless and frustrating. No one seems to give a shit that there is a missing person, and every lawyer, law officer and city official I talk to don’t fucking care. It’s like they’re all programmed to give me the same answer. They keep telling me that they’ve seen her around or that she’s probably ignoring me on purpose. They make me seem crazy.”

You expect him to tell you to leave it to the authorities. That’s what Hanna’s boss had told you to do. No one seems to be alarmed, no one cares. But you do. Desperately. And you cannot wrap your head around them looking the other way.

You’re preparing for the same reaction when Hoseok surprises you by saying, “You’re not crazy.”

“I’m not?”

He quirks a brow and his rosebud lips twitch in a smirk. “Well, you probably are. But not for this. Have you asked around town about her?”

You shake your head. “I only went to the house that she was staying at. I wanted to see if maybe she really was ignoring me or maybe just… I don’t know. In the zone for work. She wasn’t there and it doesn’t look like there was any sign of distress.”

“Take me there.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.” He tosses the papers onto the pile on your bed. “We’ll be safe.”

“First of all,” you hedge. “How do I know that? I barely know you. Second of all, what is going there in the middle of the night going to help?”

“I’m good at investigating. Maybe I’ll see something that you don’t.”

“Sorry, are you a cop now?”

“No, it’s hard to explain but I promise I’m trying to help you.” When you don’t move, Hoseok grimaces. “Look,” he explains evenly. “I really am trying to help you. I haven’t been entirely honest about why I’m here in this town. I came because I was also interested in some things happening here. Now I’m worried your sister is involved.”

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. “Involved how?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping it’s a coincidence. Believe it or not, those do happen. But I’d like to visit her house to see if there’s anything at all that sticks out to me.” You hesitate, chewing on your lip. You don’t really know him, and now you trust him even less with his reasoning. “Please,” he adds.

You relent. “Fine.” Hanna is your main goal. You don’t trust Hoseok, but you wonder if he really can help you when no one else has. “Let’s go.”

Damp air rushes through the open windows of your car. You lowered them as you got in for a quick escape if Hoseok attacks you while you drive. He says nothing in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the pine trees rushing behind you.

Outside, the world is painted night-blue from the moon. There’s a weird hue to everything, making it feel as though you’re wading with heavy limbs through a dream. It’s no better when you arrive at the dark house.

It looks terrifying at night. There’s no street light to guide you, only that of the silver moon and the bright halogen lights of your car. You turn off your vehicle but switch the headlights on, turning on the high beams to shine on the house.

On the edges of where the light fades to shadow, your fear lies. The trees look taller than in the daylight, their branches like craggy limbs and reaching fingers. Anxiety bubbles uncomfortably in your stomach.

Each crunch of the grass beneath your feet falls too loud against the heavy silence. Here, you notice that the crickets are no longer singing. It’s just the hush of the wind gusting through the canyons and the far-away swell as it blows up the hills.

Though it’s not cool outside, there’s a chill on your skin. Hoseok walks up to the house, the beams of the car’s headlights throwing his shadow across it in jarring, monstrous shapes. You keep your eyes focused on him and your keys tucked in your hand, ready to use them as a weapon if needed.

Hoseok doesn’t seem concerned about your anxiety or the silence thrumming around the home. He walks up the steps and opens the door, vanishing into the dark mouth of the threshold. For a moment, you stand in the front yard, getting tunnel vision as you stare at the darkness in the doorway.

You imagine stepping over the threshold into that cool dark, letting it suck you in. You imagine that as soon as your shoes hit the creaking floor, Hoseok will snatch you by the waist and pull you into the belly of the beast. Once in his clutches, he’ll throw you to the ground and the last thing you’ll remember is-

Hoseok reappears in the doorway. You blink and the waking nightmare melts away, so vivid that you’re shaking where you’re standing, looking at him in confusion. He hops down the stairs, scowling as he crosses the front lawn in a few long strides.

He pauses when he sees your face. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I…” you shake your head, trying to dispel the weird vision you had a moment ago. “Nothing. I just don’t like the dark very much.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you find anything?”

His lip twitches. It’s almost impossible to detect, but you’re so focused on his face and trying not to picture him as the man in the terrifying thought you had moments ago, that you see it. “No.”

Lying. He’s lying. You clutch your keys and your breath quickens. He moves to round the side of the car and take the passenger seat, but you step in front of him. He pulls up short, eyes narrowing as you stand between him and the vehicle, blood pumping.

“I think you’re lying.”

“About what?”

“A lot of things.”

“What gives you that impression?”

“My instinct.”

He hums. “Instinct isn’t always a good thing.” He looks you up and down. “I didn’t find anything,” he says again. “I just got a really weird feeling inside of the house.”

“And?”

“And it’s the same weird feeling I’ve gotten in other places where people visiting went missing. Including the motel we’re staying at.” That makes you recoil. You feel the blood drain from your face, making you a little dizzy. You don’t know what’s going on, don’t understand what he’s getting at. “Your sister’s notes were about the covenstead here.”

That word again. The covenstead and not Covenstead, like a town name. “It was the town name before it was Kill Devil.”

“No,” he corrects. “It was a landmark. A covenstead, for people who lived here. A coven.”

“A coven.” He nods. “Like vampires and witches?”

Hanna’s notes had included all of those pagan holidays crammed in the margins of her work. Marking dates of occurrences that coincided with sabbat holidays. “Hoseok,” you say slowly. “Are you telling me that a bunch of witches live here and have kidnapped my sister?”

He regards you for a moment, eyes flickering up and down. His face is unreadable and dark in the night air, eyes shadowed and haunting. “That’s actually exactly what I’m saying.”

“Witches aren’t real.”

He frowns. “I can prove that they are.”

“How?”

He gestures to the car. “Let’s go.”

When you were younger, your sister always believed in magic. You remember spending all of October huddled on the couch with crocheted blankets, watching Halloween movies with the blanket pulled warm over scabbed knees, with popcorn-greased fingers tucked under heated thighs. Hanna always picked the movies - Halloween was her time of the year and you were happy to indulge.

Hanna’s choices were always superb. Hocus Pocus received more airtime than anything else, replayed between Halloweentown one and two, Practical Magic, The Witches and The Addams Family among others. Every night of the month was crammed full of magic and spells and haunted houses, sweetened by candy corn and Butterfingers.

Those were the nights that you loved the most. There was no fighting, no whining and crying over Hanna stealing your hair clips or you breaking her hair dryer. It was just the two of you, pressed skin-to-skin and spelled by the scrolling movies.

It’s as close to magic as you’ve ever been. You don’t think you were ever closer to her than in those moments. Under the blankets and the dim candles your mother lit, you were one being, melded. You knew when she would gasp at every jump scare and whisper each one of her favorite lines.

Thinking back on it, you wonder if Hanna was onto something. She always insisted that parts of the movies had to be true. Stories are rooted in history, and though myth and legend changed with culture, colonization and the introduction of new religions, science and ideas, there was something about the concept of magic and spirit that felt real to her.

It was why she went to school and majored in journalism with minors in folklore and history. She had even started a master's program for occult studies and folklore, spending late nights studying between traveling across the country from haunt to haunt for her job.

Staring at her work on the bed of your hotel room as Hoseok adds some of his own notes and findings, you have never missed her more. There is a sudden ache inside of your chest, so strong that it takes your breath away. Your hand goes to the necklace at your neck, feeling flushed, heart pounding.

Hoseok is explaining how there used to be a coven of witches that lived in the Wood long before Kill Devil existed. The Wood, Hoseok explains, is like a living and breathing conduit of power. It was something that gave the coven power but also needed to be fed.

The Covenstead. You remember the journal entry that had called it the covenstead. A place where witches commune and live together as one functioning body of magic. That much power does things to a place, skews the way the world works a little bit. He gives examples of places all around the world with similar experiences: the Bermuda Triangle, Door To Hell, Reed Flute Cave. All places where an abundance of magic and energy warps the way life functions.

But the Wood was strange before the witches got here. Hoseok rolls out a map, fingers tracing the lines of the city. Clarity snaps like a rubberband stinging against skin as you stare at it, lips parted, inhaling sharply.

The city roads make a pentagram, and at the very center is the courthouse.

“This is on purpose,” Hoseok explains. “There are other places in the world where the way the city or town or village is built is like a pentagram. Usually, these are called portals. They’re different from faerie rings which have their own power and distortions. These portals are for practicing witches and those who know how to use them.”

“Portals for what?”

“Creatures of great power that exist in worlds that don’t belong to us. Part of what gives witches their ability to perform magic is their energy. They are attuned to the world around them in a way that humans are not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you understand the concept of third and fourth dimensions?”

“Third dimension is what we live in,” you answer mechanically, somewhat familiar with the idea. “If a fourth dimension existed, we wouldn’t know because it moves in a way that we are unable to perceive. The fourth dimension, in theory, is movement and sight we would never have.”

“Exactly. But witches are attuned to that. These pentagrams,” Hoseok murmurs, tapping the map. “Are made to connect to the fourth dimension. Pentagrams are not inherently evil or even paranormal, but similar to sacred geometry, they… radiate at a frequency that other dimensions do. Powerful symbols like this have existed since Mesopotamia.”

“I… how does this prove that magic is real?”

For a moment, you’re distracted by the way Hoseok’s artful fingers pluck your sister's notebook from the bed. He flips until you’re looking at her journal entries and the newspaper clippings with dates and headlines.

“Witchcraft is different in every culture and part of the world. These holidays have roots in Celtic and Welsh craft. It was brought over by the pilgrims when people fled England and traveled here. This is old - not as old as whatever lives in the Wood, but old enough that it’s powerful. These dates you’re looking at? They’re sacrifices to keep the Wood powerful.”

“How do you even know all of this?”

“I’ve studied it my entire life.”

“Why?”

“It’s just something that runs in my family. We’re very spiritual people.” Something about the way his voice wavers makes you look at him sharply. Hoseok isn’t looking at you, busying himself with sifting through papers. There’s a pinch in your gut that makes you think he’s lying, but you’re afraid to push the matter.

“Get some rest,” he says, breaking your exhausted train of thought. “We can talk more in the morning when you’re not exhausted.”

“Yeah.” You rub your weary eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

With Hoseok gone, you crawl into the bed, leaving the light on, staring off into the distance as your hand clutches your necklace. Your lip trembles and your throat constricts painfully. When you close your eyes, you feel tears slide down your face.

Tucking your face into the pillow to hide your tears, you let out a small, aching sound. You just want to know where your sister is, and somehow you’ve landed in the middle of a hateful little town with strange little people and a strange little fantasy.

Crying is inevitable. But at least it puts you to sleep.

This time, you know you’re dreaming. You don’t know how you know, but you do. There’s a watery feeling to the hotel room when you open your eyes. As though you’re both there and you’re not.

You glance at the clock but the numbers are all wrong. You rub your eyes and look again, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t make sense of them.

You want to sit up. You move your arms - no, you try to move your arms. They don’t move, suddenly too heavy to slide under the covers of your blanket and peel it back. Panic sparks in you as you try to shift your legs, but though you can feel them, you can’t move them.

Terror as you’ve never known slides between your ribs, sharp and poignant. You can’t breathe and you know you’re dreaming and yet you can’t move. You close your eyes, brain repeating the same words over and over again: wake up wake up wake up wake up WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP-

It doesn’t happen. You open your eyes and your room still has the dream-glazed light to it, and you still can’t move. Something shifts in your peripheral vision. Your heart seizes in your chest so sharply you think you’ll die.

You cannot turn your head to look at the shadow that moves just beyond your sight. Tears slip from your eyes, hot, wet and burning. You can’t wipe them. They blind you, turn your vision into an opaque, watery mess as something slides to the foot of your bed.

When you feel the mattress dip, you try to scream. The sound is locked in your throat, with so much force behind it that you wait for your vocal cords to explode. The fear is raw now, your eyes wild, tears leaking as you mentally thrash and thrash and thrash.

Weight shifts on either side of the bed and you have the sense that there is someone crawling on you but you can’t see beyond your crying, can’t hear beyond the pounding of your own heartbeat slamming in your ears, blocking out every other noise and-

Something invisible to you grips your throat. You still have the instinct to move, driving you to madness as your brain signals for your hands to fly to your assailant and yank and remove the hold on your neck.

It’s crushing. You gasp for air, no noise coming out as the grip tightens, and you know with certainty that this is it. Whatever dream this is will kill you, this time.

The realization that you’re going to die suddenly mutes the terror. It slides behind a glass door, beating its fists, but it's duller now. You have sharper clarity, and briefly you think of what Hoseok said about beings from the fourth dimension, and how the witches summon them through their craft here. To this place. Where you cannot perceive them.

You wonder if this happened to Hanna. You miss her, your sister, with big dreams and fast smiles and a head full of magic and wondering. This, you think, is how you go. And perhaps you’ll join her.

Thoughts blend together, sloshed wine in a glass. They’re warm and liquid and have no shape to them, no real purpose. It’s like you know you’re thinking, but you don’t know of what. Darkness pools at the edge of your vision. It feels cold and alone but you drift toward it, away from the pain.

And then you can breathe.

Air comes sweeping in, forcing its way into your mouth, into your lungs. Your lungs inflate so painfully that for a split second, you think they’re on fire. Oxygen burns its way through you and bursts of color explode on the canvas of your closed eyes - you don’t remember closing your eyes.

You roll over in bed, coughing, mouth wet with spit and phlegm as you try to gulp in as much air as you can.

High-pitched ringing whines in your ears, and there are muffled sounds on the other end of it. The motel room tilts back into vision, melting into place. You think that the room has reloaded into your world wrong - everything is crooked.

Then you realize you’re laying on your side, gagging and gasping for air. There is a hand against to your back, palm cold, fingertips freezing. The touch, you realize, feels full of energy, your spine tingling where it’s pressed against you.

Lurching away from the touch, you roll to the side of the bed, looking at the person whose hand had been pressed against you.

Hoseok’s tangled in the sheets, hair a mess, shirtless and in sweats. He’s panting, flushed, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his body. But it’s his eyes that stop you from scrambling away. They’re dark, burning like two pieces of coal as he looks at you, kneeling with his hands in his lap, palms facing the ceiling.

Hoseok says something. The ringing in your ears has just started to die down and you shake your head, unsure of what he means and not confident in your ability to speak.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck just happened to me?”

“This is my fault, I’m so sorry.”

“What?”

He lifts his hands and you flinch. The look on his face is pure heartbreak, shrouded in golden light. “Please,” he murmurs. “Let me help you. I’m not going to hurt you.”

It’s quiet, save for the sound of the humming air conditioner.

Trust your gut, your sister had said.

So you do because he’s offered to help you thus far. You nod, giving him access to you. He sags in relief, shuffling forward tentatively as he takes your face in his hands. His palms are impossibly warm. Your eyes flutter shut at the touch, unable to look at him this close, this boy of light and something, as he cradles your face.

Warmth pools in your face, saturating down to your neck and chest. The ache in your lungs eases, and the lump in your throat continues to recede. You don’t want to ask what he’s doing. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to feel the terror of moments ago ever again, and with the way Hoseok is touching you, so close that his breath fans your brow, and you can smell him like rain and lavender, you want to embrace it.

There’s no thought process to the way you lean up into him. Your eyes are closed, your breath shaking as you seek him. Hoseok makes a surprised noise, but it vanishes as you press your lips against his.

Relief sweeps through you. It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before, every drop of terror fading away, momentarily forgotten. Every ache vanishes. It’s just Hoseok and the way he burns brighter than the sun, and the way it doesn’t hurt anymore.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he kisses you back. It’s sweet and soft-lipped, his fingers pressing into the side of your face gently as he pulls you to him. You follow his pull, both physically and something like a tether, getting up on your knees to get closer.

Hoseok breaks the kiss, nose brushing yours. You open your eyes, half-lidded and feeling dizzy from just the gentle press of lips. His eyes are dark, but you see the light flecks of brown in them, like an entire world of sun and stars exist in their depths.

“Make it go away,” you whisper.

You don’t specify. The pain, the nightmares, the fear, the weird town, the worry about your sister. You want it all to stop and this person you barely know - you feel as though he can take it away. Or mute it.

He nods, eyes closing as he kisses you properly. You forget what you were worried about, and it’s all you can do not to fall headfirst into Hoseok. His mouth is warm and wet, tongue soft but greedy as he pries your mouth open, drinking you in.

Hoseok’s lips tingle against yours, sending a shiver skating down your spine. You wrap your hands around his neck, fingers tangling in the silky strands there. He hums appreciatively when your nails slow-scratch at the base of his scalp.

Carefully, Hoseok shuffles you into his lap. Your knees dip on the mattress on either side of his hips, straddling his waist. His hands find the hem of your sleep shirt and pull upward. You break the kiss, a string of spit connecting your flushed mouths before the garment breaks it.

The room is cold, air hitting your bare chest and hardening your nipples immediately. You whine but Hoseok is fast, pressing your chest to his as he attaches his mouth to your neck, sucking at the tender flesh sharply.

“Fuck,” you whisper, letting your head drop backward heavily. Your eyes are shut and the world feels like it’s spinning. He has one hand on your hip, the other on the small of your back, pressing you to him to keep you warm and to rock your hips gently into his. “Feels good.”

He hums in response, sucking wet stains onto your flesh as he moves toward your chest. You push your tits out to meet his searching mouth, gasping lightly when the rough drag of his tongue swipes across your nipple.

The sensation is overwhelming. Your fingers dig into the back of his neck as Hoseok sucks your peak greedily. You’re grinding into his lap on your own now, panties clinging to your hot, sticky folds as you seek friction. He’s hard beneath you and you want to feel him.

Letting you rut in his lap, Hoseok drags delicate fingers over the curve of your ass and thigh, and his nails leave goosebumps in their wake. The feeling between your legs and at the base of your spine is heady as he lets go of one nipple with a sharp pop, tongue tracing a sloppy line to the other.

Hoseok’s teeth tease the tight bud and you whine. “Oh?” he asks, voice rough and low. “Gonna be a baby about it?”

You shake your head, but your lip juts out as you look at him, dazed. “Want more.”

“Tell me.”

Dropping one hand from his neck, you take the hand resting on your thigh, guiding it between your legs. Hoseok presses the pads of his fingers to your underwear and you let out a keen. It’s not nearly enough, but the pressure sends another wave of arousal flooding through you.

“Hmm,” he hums, dragging his fingers back and forth over the damp cloth. “Soaked from just that, huh?” You nod and he bites your collarbone. Fuck, he’s going to kill you, sending another tremble down your frame. He hooks a finger in your underwear, sliding against your glossy folds experimentally and he curses, “Fuck. Pussy is already messy and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Please.”

“What do you want? I already asked.”

“More.” Hoseok presses your clit, letting you drip onto his fingers, but he doesn’t move them. You grit your teeth. “Want your fingers,” you ask through clenched teeth. “Fuck me with them, anything. Please.”

He grins, face wicked before he kisses your nose. “See, you just had to tell me.”

You’re tense as he pulls your underwear to the side, shoving the fabric against your thigh. Cool air hits your cunt. You can’t recall ever wanting someone like this, vibrating uncontrollably as he traces your slit with his fingers, lazily circling your clit.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips and you drop your forehead on Hoseok’s shoulder. He lets you sag against him as he plays with your pussy, fingers barely dipping to tease your hole and gather juices before coming back to trace your clit, applying delicious pressure.

It feels so good. It’s mind-numbing, letting him do what he wants. Hoseok pants in your ear, breathing stilted between chaste kisses against the side of your head.

Painfully slow, Hoseok inserts a single finger into your wet heat. The sound you let out is high-pitched and loud. It’s not nearly enough, but you lose all sense of asking for more as his finger slides in deep, pressing against your front wall to massage that delicate spot inside of you.

“Oh shit,” you stutter, unable to help it.

He laughs, voice deep when he asks, “Yeah? That the spot?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He slow-drags his finger in and out of your pussy, fucking you slowly. He curses, teasing you only for a moment before he gifts you another. The stretch is so much better, and you melt. He thrusts leisurely, not hard and fast but deep. Your walls swallow his fingers, gripping them and begging him not to stop as a tight coil winds in your stomach as he presses hard against your g-spot.

It’s messy, the wet drag of his fingers in your cunt. You feel the slow drip of arousal every time he pulls back, soaking his hand. It drops down your thighs as he picks up the pace. You lift your hips a little, adding a bounce to his motions.

“Oh? You wanna do it?” He stops moving his hand and you let out a desperate sound. He laughs. “No, go ahead. If you’re so eager, do it yourself. Fuck yourself on my fingers.”

Seeking balance by holding his shoulders, you grip him tight, face tucked in his neck as you maneuver yourself, using your knees to lightly fuck yourself on his fingers. It feels so good, and you adjust the angle until you feel him hit that spot again, making you see stars.

It’s electric, this feeling rippling in your bloodstream. It feels different with Hoseok and you can’t place why, but your orgasm is building so sharply in your stomach that you nearly stop thrusting, overwhelmed by the sensation.

The pressure in your stomach winds and winds and winds until it snaps, every muscle in your thighs and ass squeezing tight, your hands turning to an iron grip, breath stuck in your lungs as you let out a strangled sound, squeezing Hoseok’s fingers as you come.

Hoseok is whispering something in your ear, but you can’t hear him over the thundering heartbeat of your pulse, shaking as you come down from your high. When you do, you’re vaguely aware that he’s pulled his fingers out, but he’s massaging the tight ring of muscles, making you shiver.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Wanna see you stretch yourself on my cock like that.”

“Wanna,” you mumbled.

Your limbs are heavy and lazy as you shuffle, uncoordinated. Hoseok laughs, finding you endearing as you scowl and shift off his lap. His touch is featherlight as he pulls your panties off. You need him, completely naked and shivering as your eyes drop from the smooth, carved planes of his chest and abs to the heavy imprint of his cock in his sweats.

And the wet stain mess you’ve made.

Flushed, you watch as he looks up at you, smirking. “Go on.”

Scooting toward him with eager hands, you rest with your feet tucked under you. Dipping your touch below his waistband, you grasp him firmly, cock heavy in your hand. He sighs, head tilting back a little while you slide your grip along his shaft.

Brushing your thumb over his tip to collect hot, sticky precum, you spread it, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you stroke him gently, testing the waters. His hips twitch and his mouth parts, gold light of the lamp turning him into Giovanni’s Apollo. He is ethereal, a burning sun and you suddenly understand why Icarus flew to his demise.

Maybe you will too.

With your other hand, you push Hoseok’s sweats down. Though you could feel the size and swollen weight of him in your hand, it’s still a marvel when you see his thick length, dark tip oozing precum.

A hiss escapes his teeth when you give him a firm squeeze. He lets you pump him lazily, and your mouth catches the underside of his jaw, teething and sucking sharp marks into his skin. He tastes like something electric and a little bit of sweat, your tongue buzzing.

“Hmm,” he hums, fingers gripping the back of your neck to pull your mouth back up to his. It’s more spit and him gasping into your mouth more than anything. “You know how stunning you are?”

You feel heat creep up in your cheeks. Hoseok shuffles away from you and you let go of your grip on him, watching his dick slap against his stomach, smearing precum. He sits near the headboard, leaning against the wallpaper and staring at you with hungry eyes.

“You’re going to make me shy,” you say softly, though you still crawl toward him. You can feel the slick slide of your inner thighs. He pumps his cock lazily, giving you a look that says he doesn’t believe you. “You’re pretty.”

“Think so?”

You nod, a little light-headed and uneven. You tilt toward the side and he catches you, hands sticky from your mixed arousal. Bending down, you capture his lips. Hoseok runs the crown of his cock through your folds and you moan, lips parting. He drinks in your sounds, licking them from the roof of your mouth.

For a moment, it’s just the teasing and sloppy kissing, pausing to pant into each other's mouths, slick from sweat. He presses the blunt head of his dick into your hole, dipping only a little before retreating and sliding back up to tease your clit.

“Hoseok,” you growl, biting on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the iron tang blooming in your mouth. He hisses out a laugh and does it again. This time, you lower your pussy, trying to catch him on an angle to sink down on him. “Stoooop.”

“Whiny baby,” he teases again. “Cock-hungry, huh?”

“Wanna be full.”

“Mmm.”

Hoseok repeats the motion, but this time lets you sink slowly on the length of him. The stretch stings, hurt-laced pleasure as you suck in a sharp breath and hold it. It feels like your lungs might burst, shaking as you slide down until your ass rests on his damp thighs and you feel the tip of his cock deep in your gut.

“Fuck,” you gasp, leaning forward, palms pressed to his shoulders. They slide a little, his skin warm and sweaty. You dig your nails in for purchase and he sucks in a sharp breath, but lets you claw your way back to sanity from the feeling. “Deep.”

His hands find purchase on your ass, digging in and massaging. “Come on, then. You were so eager for my fingers.”

You lift your hips a little, the slide delicious against your warm walls, and drop down with a wet smack. You both moan at that and you grin, putting the weight into Hoseok’s shoulders as you lift your hips again, hypnotized by the wet schlick of your cunt sliding on his length.

Everything fades away again. Your thighs burn as you increase your movements, chasing the buzz that has settled deep in your stomach. Hoseok lets you use him, his eyes fixed on the way your cunt drips into his lap.

His nails bite into the meat of your ass and you feel dragged under by the pleasure, the sting of his grip and the pressure of his cock hitting your g-spot sending you further and further.

Your legs grow a little tired, movements sloppy. Hoseok doesn’t mind, planting his feet on the bed and thrusting upward to meet you, hands supporting your weight under your ass. He helps lift you, pulling you up and down until you’re mumbling incoherently.

It feels mind-numbingly good, and the tension in your stomach grows taught and tight, your second orgasm oncoming.

“Come on,” Hoseok demands between clenched teeth. “Give it to me.”

You nod, sliding a hand between your thighs, fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure and speed to get you shaking again. White spots appear in your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut, letting him take over and fuck up into you, cunt gushing as you come hard enough around him that you fall forward.

Hoseok lets you lay on his chest, dead weight as he claws at your ass and thighs, rutting up into you. You’re dimly aware of the soaked mess of your smacking bodies, but your ears are ringing and you feel lighter than you’ve ever felt before.

You begin to whine in oversensitivity just as Hoseok slams into you as deep as he can, cock twitching and filling you up. You shiver as he grunts, hips bucking with a wet squelch as he gently fucks you through his orgasm.

Both of you lay there in a messy pile as his cock softens inside of you. Cum pools between your pressed bodies, but you don’t care. The room is humid, the light dim with the haze of how far gone you feel. Hoseok traces soft circles on your hips with his fingers. Your mouth is pressed against his jaw, breath kissing his skin.

You could fall asleep here, you think. It’s nice to forget for a while, to let your body feel the pounding of his heart against your chest, the shaking of his thighs against yours, the ache in your muscles.

Heaviness tugs at you, so close to pulling you under, but Hoseok stirs. You feel drunk, letting him peel the two of you apart until you’re stumbling to the shower. The air makes your tacky, cum-covered skin cold.

It’s hard to fit both of you in the shower, but you manage it, rotating under the rough spray of the hot water, hands exploring and kneading sore muscles. Your lips are abused and feel bruised, but it doesn’t stop you from seeking the comfort of his mouth, the world turning to static every time you kiss him.

The motel room smells like sex and sweat when you return to peel clothes back on. Wordlessly, Hoseok takes your hand and leads you to his room on the other side of the wall. It has the same faded wallpaper, the same dusty and stained lampshades, but it looks more lived in.

There are added pieces in the room. A dehumidifier hums in the corner, and there is a hamper full of clothes. Hoseok has added plants near the window, plasticky leaves vibrant green and shiny. Burnt-out incense sits on the plastic folding table he’s erected, books and papers splayed out over its surface. There’s a collection of crystals you can’t identify.

An inviting bed beckons you. You both fall into it, heavy-limbed and sighing. It smells like Hoseok, a mix of rain and lavender. There’s a sense of trepidation as you roll over on the mattress.

Carefully, Hoseok pulls you to him. He presses your back to his chest, one arm going under his head as he yawns and smacks his lips lightly, the other looping over your waist.

“No one is going to bother you,” he sleep-slurs. “I got rid of them. And they won’t go against me.”

You hum, sleep crawling up and stealing your thoughts. You wonder how he got rid of them and why they’re afraid of him.

It isn’t until he mumbles a response that you realize you’ve spoken your question out loud. “Because,” he sighs, words slow and soft, as he drifts off to sleep. “I told them you’re mine.”

Hoseok’s words are lost on you because you’re long asleep.

No dreams disturb you. When you wake up, you feel the weight of the night before on you. It’s cool and empty behind you as you startle, realizing you’d fallen asleep with Hoseok there. You look over your shoulder, blinking away sleep, and see that it’s just you in the dark room.

From the bathroom, you can hear the shower. You relax a little, groaning as you roll to your back and stare up at the popcorn-textured ceiling. Your thighs still burn with the soreness from the night before and you bite your bottom lip, trying to conceal your grin.

Gently, you bring your hand to prod at your neck where it had hurt so much last night. You remember the lock-limb nightmare, the feeling of needing to scream. The thought that you were dying.

Hoseok had saved you, but it begged the question of how. You remember asking him last night, but you cannot remember what he answered. You’re also surprised to find that you’re not in any pain from whoever or whatever had attacked you.

Unease turns your stomach but you decide to crawl out of his bed, wandering around his room. A salt lamp casts an orange glow on his makeshift desk. You’re drawn to the mess on top of it, looking at the stacks of books and frowning. They’re not in English - or any language that you know, embossed symbols and shapes on the covers and cracked spines.

Lifting a heavy, green canvas book, you flip it over in your hands. The edges of the paper are yellow and oxidized with time and there is a gold symbol pressed on the front. Your fingers trace the groove, remembering what Hoseok said the day before about sacred geometry.

Putting it down, you select another book. It has a pentagram on it. When you flip the book open, the pages are filled with slanted writing, diagrams, and shapes. You recognize sabbat dates and stop when you get to a picture of interlocking shapes. You trace the symbol absently, wondering what it means.

Why does he have books like this?

A current of electricity slides up the finger that’s tracing the symbol. You squeak in surprise and drop it, cringing at the loud clatter that it makes against the table. The shower flips off and you look at the shut door. Hoseok moves around before opening the door, sticking his head out. He’s dripping in water, hair slicked back, golden skin glistening.

Despite the night before, you avert your eyes, shy. He doesn’t notice or doesn’t say anything, instead asking. “You okay?” He glances down at the books. “Good luck reading those.”

“Yeah,” you answer absently.

He grins. “Be out in a second.”

When Hoseok shuts the door, you feel unsettled. Rubbing your arms to fend off a sudden chill, you continue looking through the things on his table. There’s a small glass case with the exoskeleton of a frog. You cringe, thinking about Hoseok’s pet frog awaiting death in his pitcher plants.

Hoseok’s phone starts vibrating on the desk, making you gasp. Your hand goes to your chest, feeling the way your heart pounds violently against your rib cage. Looking at the screen, you see that someone named Yoongi is calling him.

You hesitate, cocking your head. The name rings familiar, and you watch as the call goes to voicemail. The screen fades to black but you keep staring at it. Not for the first time on your trip, you get the sense that you’re missing something, that there is something right there.

A text from Yoongi comes in, lighting up the screen.

Jung, you better not be fucking around with your prey again. We need to prepare.

It doesn’t sit well with you. When the screen goes dark, you tap it, bringing up the preview. What the hell does Yoongi mean fucking around with your prey? And what are they preparing for? You swear you remember the name Yoongi, retracing your thoughts.

You feel the blood drain from your face. You do know that name.

“Yoongi was so mad he wouldn’t talk to me for a week.”

“What?” you had asked him. “Your cat talks?”

“Oh- he- well he meows, you know what I mean?”

Slowly, you stiffen, remembering Hoseok’s words after breakfast. It had seemed silly then, that Hoseok was talking about a cat. But it’s not the only place you’ve seen Yoongi’s name.

Trust your gut, your sister always said.

You look at the bathroom door once before turning on your heel and creep from the room. You pull the front door open slowly, wincing and holding your breath as the outside world makes noise. Slipping through, you’re careful not to let the door click loudly before running to your room.

With the same care, you shut your door, flipping the bolt lock and sliding the chain in the door. The room feels like it’s spinning, your tunnel vision making you dizzy as you sweep your gaze back and forth, looking for the piles of your sister's research. It’s sitting on the floor, shoved off the bed where you let him fuck you last night.

The urge to vomit flips your stomach as you dive for the papers, riffling through them and scanning, feverish and sweaty. You find the entry you want, finger pressing to the page as you read it multiple times, fear making the words tangle.

Only Mabon is referenced in any of the journals explicitly, in a strange entry from a man named Yoongi Min. I have written it here for safekeeping: We bringeth the little lamb to The Wood today for the honor of Mabon. I loathe to see him go, for he hath brought cheer and many a smile to the Covenstead. May he bring us blessings and warmth in the winter.

Yoongi.

A sick feeling coils in your stomach as your hands tremble, eyes scanning the list of names your sister scribbled out as old families in Kill Devil. There’s another one you remember, the one that Yoongi used in his text to Hoseok.

Booth.

Park.

Warren.

Kim.

Jung.

Jeon.

Min.

A shaking hand presses to your mouth. Jung. “Fuck,” you squeak, looking at the wall separating you from Hoseok’s room.

It occurs to you that all this time, you thought the citizens were looking at Hoseok with contempt. How easily hatred can be confused for fear. Hoseok, who had shown up every time you were having a night terror. Who seemingly knew all the right things to do to ease you.

Hoseok, who had flashes of darkness that terrified you. Whose expression could go blank as he thought about something, but flip on a dime to a bright, sunny boy. Hoseok, whose presence always gave you a weird tingle, triggering some sort of instinct you couldn’t place.

Something happens then. With absolute certainty and a razor-sharp resolve that you’ve never experienced, you know your sister is dead. Perhaps you’ve always known. The sudden burning of your locket that night two months ago, the way that it looks like she ceased to exist. The eerie feeling dogging you, nipping at your heels.

Hanna is dead. The pain is only sharp for a second, a slice of agony as you bend over, arms wrapped around your stomach as you let out a silent scream. The grief is powerful but abrupt as you hear Hoseok call your name on the other side of the wall.

You stand. Because now you can’t mourn. Now, you must leave as quickly as possible. Because you hadn’t been trusting your gut, ignoring that weird little sense of something wrong.

Now isn’t the time to scream over what you know. Now you must get away from-

“Was it the books or the phone call?”

You whirl around. Hoseok is leaning against the wall by the door. The bolt is still flipped and the chain is still in place. You’re frozen to the spot, staring at him. He looks at the papers on the floor and back to you, smirk razor-sharp. Of course, he could get into the room without opening the lock.

All of the features you thought were beautiful are suddenly terrifying. “It took you way too long to puzzle it together, but I guess you’re not nearly as smart as Hanna.” You open your mouth but nothing comes out, throat constricted. “You were so easy to convince though, so I guess that’s something.”

“I don’t…” your voice is raspy, shaking.

“When you kept calling the city officials, I knew it was only time before you showed up here. I’ve been living in this fucking shit hole waiting.” He tsks and shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Took you forever.”

“The citizens?”

“Stay out of my way and stay out of the Wood. They’re the frogs I let live, so long as I find other ones.”

“Why?” you ask, shaking your head. It’s the only question you can think of. It’s the only question that matters: whywhywhywhy. “Why help me?”

“Sometimes a predator likes to play with its prey.”

It dawns on you that he had said as much at breakfast while he was tracing symbols on the table. He had been talking about his frogs, but he had been talking about you too. How many signs had you missed because he fucking smiled at you? Something dangerous lurking behind light flirting.

He points to himself. “Pitcher plant.” He points at you with a grin. “Frog. Ribbit.”

“Fuck you,” you snarl, fear replaced by a hatred that burns so hot the edges of your vision flash red. But it isn’t him you’re mad at. It’s you. For being so easily deceived. For being so casually influenced in a matter of days. “Fuck you, and your fucking town.”

“I did fuck you. You were special, though. I hope that makes you feel better. Didn’t fuck your sister. You’re cute, and I had time to spare.”

“All of this for what? To get off on the chase? The manipulation?”

He scoffs. “I already told you what this place is. It isn’t my fault you didn’t put it together. I almost hand-fed it to you. The Wood gives us power, and the Wood needs sacrifices.” Hoseok pushes himself off of the wall, his smile like the first light of the morning sun. “I’m taking you to the Wood.”

#fic rec #jade’s faves #like fr perhaps one of my ult faves #hobi #hoseok x reader #hali 🍤

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