#it's from the song north by sleeping at last | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yaut-jaknowit · 8 months ago

Note

Okay lil idea! Don’t force urself to do this I had to write this down before I forget.

Fem reader who has a soothing lullaby voice while also good at singing!, reader lives in a cabin deep in the woods, hunts and build her own tools, she uses a bow and arrow, got that magnificent strong will, stubborn as shit tho, never backs down from a challenge no matter how overpowered her enemy is. Very smart mouth always fights back never fail to step back from a fight.

Fem reader x We'ar-ow

Siren Calls for a Challenge

Pairing: We'ar-ow (female Yautja) x Reader

Word Count: 3913

Summary: Deep in the woods of Alaska, far up north in the state, you have a little hut. It serves it purpose throughout the years and seasons. You live and hunt up there, far from civilization. The best life you've known. As you venture out for a hunt you've planned, there a shimmer in the tree line.

Author Note: I'm gonna be honest, I don't know if I did the smart mouthing right. I had to look up good comebacks and comments as such for this. I tried to make the reader be super sassy... I hope it works! I do love sassy reader who gives no fucks about a Yautja. I should probably write more like that.

Masterlist

Ao3

Deep in the lands of Alaska, was a small little hut that worked perfectly. Just enough space to house one person and the necessities of life. A life of hardships, surviving in world meant for kill or be killed. You enjoyed it. The challenges brought to you almost everyday. The need to hunt for you own food. Even down to creating your own weapons to hunt for said food.

Guns and bullets are useful out here, easier to use against a large predator such as a bear. Yet, to get the ammo and supplies was another thing. It required you to leave the safety of the lands and travel more than fifty miles on foot alone to reach even the nearest civilization. It wasn’t a risk that was worth when arrows are craftable out here. A more renewable source for weapons. Use what the land gives in plenty.

In the confines of your hut, your vocal cords hummed with a tune your parents sung to you while young. Though, it’s original use was to lull you to sleep, now you use to fill in the silence that pierced the air. It was a soft tune that you remembered by heart, letting muscle memory guide you. Both in song and craft

More arrows were needed before the next hunt took place tomorrow morning. The supply was running low after the wind kept knocking them off course a week ago. You still brought down the elk, a smaller one than you meant to. It’s last you the week but supplies were running low. With winter coming as well, you truly needed to stock up on food before the first cold freezes over everything. All the creatures will either hunker down or rarely venture out. You couldn’t do either of those. Your stomach still needed to be filled during that time. Plus, the extra pelts never hurt to be dried and put to good use.

The last arrow had been created and sheathed into your quiver. That was set by the door with your trusty bow. A hunting knife was hung by its sheath next to the bow. Lastly, a machete for anything that tried to be up close and personal with you. This is Alaska. A dangerous land that tried to kill anyone on it, no matter who or what you are.

As the sun rose high above the ground, you slipped every piece of gear needed. Hunting knife? Check. Bow and arrows? Check. Machete? Check. Food and water? Also check. Once you deem everything in order, you stepped out into the chilling air. The door creaked closed behind you.

Cool air filled your lungs to the brim and enjoyed the bitting to help you wake up then you exhaled. A short, small white cloud appeared in the air. It immediately disappeared afterwards. Perfect.

A softly smile tugged at the corner of your lips while you began a path towards a known area for elk. A spot where they frequented as of late. You didn’t want to spook them from the area so soon and have to track them down all over again. Always a balance to nature, including this. After this, you would have to find a new spot to hunt before winter fell over the area. Or else, you would be stranded with no easy food source in the dead of winter. That was lesson you once learned the hard way. All it took was that one time.

Hunger wasn’t a fun feeling.

Though, you live within the confines of nature, you enjoyed every moment you were allowed this. A peacefulness that washed over you. As if you were just taking a normal stroll out to wander around. Yes, you were on a mission but it was never wrong to breath in this life you were given. A life you were too stubborn to die from, to give up. Anyone or thing would have to rip it out of your cold, dead hands.

In a peaceful atmosphere, you were still on watch. Lax as your form was, you watched everything around. Anything that could pose a threat to your way of life. May it be a mountain lion or bear growing to comfortably around your territory. You made a mental note inside of your head. Then, later on, a plan would be devised on how best to solve this situation all by your lonesome. There was no backup, no other savior this deep into Alaska. It was just you out here. Just you.

Light, carefully placed steps took you from the cozy little cabin you called home. Deeper into the forest, tracking down prey you needed to eat. With such knowledge, muscle memory guiding you, you reached the known grazing area and stopped just shy of the tree line. The meadows were void of larger life. Only soon-to-be wilting grass filled the open space. You hunkered down in a bush and took a couple sips from your water. It was refreshing over your tongue, cooling down your slightly warmed body. The hike long and helps warm up your body.

In the brush, you pulled your bow free from your torso and notched an arrow. Like the predator you’ve become, you wait as one, never faltering your gaze from the open meadows before you. Today, you were taking home next week’s food.

The day was slightly hotter, not enough to shrug off the jacket pelt that hung off of your shoulders. The sun rose higher in the sky but never crested to hit the peak. The tilt of the earth did not allow for that. It stayed midway through the blue sky the entire time, short in the amount of hours for light.

Soon, light would be a rarity this far north into Alaska.

As your hand reached out to touch the pouch containing water, a shimmer of light your attention. You froze to the spot, breath caught in your throat.

Out on the other side of the meadows, just into the tree line, sunlight reflected off something. You didn’t dare to move, only observing as the shimmered moved closer into the meadow. Nothing instantly came to mind to supply what this could be from. It wasn’t like light reflecting off of a cats eye. It was also too light for that to be. Your muscles grew taunt, ready to spring into action at a moments call.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed movement and had to take your gaze off of the shimmer. Elk. A herd of elk you’ve grown to know pranced into the meadow. A spot known for their grazing. The group bowed their heads and began to snack away at the grass.

The shimmer caught your attention again yet goes unnoticed by the prey animals. Downwind from them, you waited for a single elk to walk just close enough to strike down.

The herd dispersed a little, spreading out and growing closer to your hunkered down. You steeled your nerves despite the disturbance across the field. The bow in hand was held tighter and prepared yourself to pull the string back and fire the notched arrow.

As you prepared for the upcoming kill shot, the shimmer was on the move. Internally, you cursed and prayed to whatever god would listen to you this thing wouldn’t disturb your hunt. Just don’t spook the herd! That’s all you could ask for. It could be weeks before they returned to spot if it scared them badly.

Before you could comprehend the sight unfurling before you, one of the elks laid dead on the meadow. A large axe lodged into his head, nearly splitting the skull into two. The creature officially dead with no chance of escape. Your jaw dropped at that alone.

Then, the air was caught in your throat.

Pink, cream, and purple. A humanoid form stood at the down elk, easily dwarfing it. Adorn in metal armor, a mask covered the entirety of its face; hiding away what hid below. Four long… dreads hung over its shoulder. Then, the rest were tied up behind its elongated head shaped slightly like a dome on top. That was all you could get from the distance away.

All the other elk scattered like the prey they are. Anger flared to a blazing heat behind your sternum. With little care of what this thing was, you marched out into the field like a crazed hunter. Your steps were loud and easily announced your presence to this creature. This damn thing ruined your hunt and made you lose your next week’s food. Worst of all, this probably scared off the herd. They won’t return for some time. A growl rumbled in the back of your throat.

A blank, metal expression snapped up at you. That didn’t deter you in the slightest. You got within twenty feet of it before a bone rattle snarl bore through the rather quiet air. That stopped you in your tracks. A warning. A threat. If you stepped an inch closer, you would end up like its downed prey.

You still set a glare on the unknown, faceless creature. A challenge burning in your heated eyes. “You stole my kill. You ran off the herd. You spooked them! They won’t come back here for weeks,” you accused, knowing this thing couldn’t respond back to you. Humanoid or not. This wasn’t a human. Not with its height or the strange shape of its head. But it messed with your hunt. You weren’t about to let that slide.

Behind its emotionless mask, clicks and hisses sounded. It sounded like it was grumbling to itself. As if you were just some gnat that was annoying it. Your hand tightened on your bow, straining the wood under you palm. “You ruined my hunt,” you spat at it and pointed a finger at the unknown creature.

It snorted, muffled, and leaned down. The hatchet was swiftly pulled from the skull of its kill. The weapon twirled in its fingers. A skilled trick just show you how well it was versed with the axe. Your free hand drifted to the machete latched to your hip, ready to defend yourself.

“I did no such thing.” Soft in its tone yet told you about a chapter in its life of battle. Your grasp on the weapon nearly dropped it to the meadow’s grounds. This humanoid figure that clearly wasn’t human spoke to you.

Your eyes only flinched for a second before the glare was returned in full force. “Yes, you did! I set out this morning and waited in the brush since then for them to return here. They are a herd I follow. I know their pattern. You just scared them off!” Your body was shaking with anger. The comfort of your life had been disturbed by this thing.

The humanoid figure brushed you off by kneeling down. A knife was pulled free from a sheath at its side. With practiced movements, it sliced through the belly and began to clean its kill. This was hunter. It was too precise with the cut, the way it scooped out the guts. Your eyes narrowed on the creature and stepped closer.

An axe stuck out of the ground before your feet. Your gaze snapped down to it, nonchalant about its threatening manner. “You think that scares me?” you mused with a dangerous grin. You knew your prowess and were willing to challenge this creature for its hunt. “I’ve face worse than whatever you are.”

Without taking your eyes off of it, you leaned down and plucked the weapon from the ground. It wasn’t meant for you hand. The size and weight weren’t something even the average human would use. Yet, you still twirled it, testing its weight. “I think this mine now.” An shit eating smirk spread your mouth wide as you looked at the kneeling figure.

The growl it released shook the very ground you stood on. But, that didn’t deter you. Like any other predator who wonders into your territory, you’ll just beat it back until it learns its lesson.

It rose back to a standing position, body tense, ready just like you. You only shifted slightly into a less cocky stance and prepared to fight if it came down to it. This creature easily towered over your form, that much you could tell with the distance between you. That didn’t deter you. Instead, that only pushed more adrenaline into your veins, heart pounding into your ear.

“it’s only fair I keep this. Deny all you want, but you ruined my hunt. I feel like you need to pay for it. Either with me taking this as payment-“ you held up the hatchet- “or possibly with shed blood may sedate me enough.” The long-handled weapon was twirled again, showing off the fact you knew how to handle it.

Behind the mask, it scoffed and rolled its shoulders. “You didn’t have rights over this hunt,” it snarled at you and pulled out another hatchet on its other hip.

“I’d agree with you but then we’d both be wrong,” you snarked dropped your bow onto the ground and used the newly freed hand to grasp at your machete. Both of your hands filled with a weapon. One you were far more knowledgeable then the other.

The soles of your self-crafted shoes dug into the soft earth. Your muscles helped you launch yourself forward, straight at the creature. Instantly, you took up the offensive position. Your moved were swift, bringing down the hatchets blade to bed itself into the creatures shoulder. An action it caught onto quickly. You weren’t looking to kill, only maim.

This newer weapon was harder wield than your machete, a different fighting style in general. It left you open for attack. The hatchet held high above your head to bring down onto its skin.

It darted backwards and started its own offensive attack. A battle of dance, trading blows and swings. Neither figure willing to back down. There you were, keeping up with this thing. Though, only by the skin of your teeth where you able to skim past without losing a limb.

A slice cut at your side, tearing your shirt open. Fresh, hot blood graced the open sky and dripped down your skin. You snarled, teeth bared in a whole show of unbridle rage. The beast returned the gesture with a bellow that shook your bones. You bared more down on it with a slash that drew its own blood and dipped the tip of your blade with neon green fluids.

The two of you trading dodges and hits the same. You were able to keep up with a beast such as it.

More cuts opened your skin. None of them fatal.

Both of you backed away from each other. Sweat clung to your skin uncomfortably, doing its job in cooling down your overheated body. Your shoulders heaved with panting breathe as you surged for air and studied the beast after a timeless battle. It took panted, chest expanding with each inhale.

“I didn’t expect for you to be able to put your money where your mouth is. If you have one. I’m impressed,” you mused and rolled one of your shoulders. An ache growing in the taunt muscles. “It’s time to leave. I told you; this was my food for the week.”

Either it straight up ignored you or just didn’t bother to care. You were quick to find yourself back into a harrowing battle with it again.

“Whoa, whoa. Hold your horse, there’s-guh! There’s plenty of me to share. Gotta keep some of it for the ladies though,” you jestered. The grin returned to your face. The hatchet’s blade skirted past the spot you once were a second before. “Man, you truly want to break off a piece like a kitkat bar.”

A small pout passed over your features when it didn’t even make a chittering noise. “it’s okay if you don’t like me. I know not everyone has good taste.” The creature only faltered for a second but left you a moment slice along its pink thigh. The creature snarled and whipped its axe towards you. Barely missing your scalp if you didn’t duck just in time.

“Oh, you missed me!” Despite not seeing its facial expressions freely, you read the irritation clear as a sun day. The muscles that lined its forearms flex while it gripped the wooden handle tighter. You thought it was about to cleave your head into two when it had the chance.

Something caught the heel of your foot while dodging a particularly deadly swipe. You gasped and teetered over straight onto your rump with a grunt. This was the end. The dance had ended with you making a fatal mistake.

Instinctively, you brought up your machete to block an knowingly incoming blow. Pain exploded in your forearm as a weight bared down on it. You choked on spit and fought underneath the tremendous weight, but it was futile.

A blade was pressed to the vulnerable part of your throat. One swipe and everything would be over. You swallowed down the lump building in your throat and looked up at the winner.

Behind its massive head, a halo of light framed it. Like a god or goddess peering down at your injured form. The seconds began to tick on by. The only sound in the air being the two of you panting to regain a balance. Your tongue darted out to wet your dry lips.

It never came for the killing blow.

“If you’re expecting me to beg for my life, might as well finish your cleaning. You won’t get anything from me,” you spat though there was a slight tone of respect in your voice. It fought well again you and became the winner in the end.

More weight was shifted onto your arm as it shuffled above you. The hatchet was pulled away and latched onto its belt. You knew at a moments notice, it could whip it back out and finish the job. Then, it’s stolen weapon was plucked from your smash arm and sheathed all the same. You clenched your teeth together in both the pain and disappointment it got it back from you.

“Can you at least give me the curtsey of knowing who and what you are before you kill me?” you questioned, tone still firm but with less anger in it. You truly wanted to know what this thing was. At least you could take that knowledge with you before it took your life.

Weaponless hands, one pinched your chin and tilted it up so you could face it. The other reached up and pulled at two tubes attached to its head. A small hiss entered the air before it tugged the metal mask free from its spot.

What was revealed wasn’t something you would ever expect. You nearly cringed at the sight. This wasn’t anything known to mankind. As if a crab was turned humanoid with a face like that.

Four mandibles or fangs adorn its completely inhuman features and twitched every once in a while. Hidden behind those were more teeth you didn’t wish to meet at anytime. Then, orange pupils that could possibly glow in the dark peered down at you. A predator look set on your pinned form. This thing screamed predator. A creature born, built for the hunt.

The hand on your chin stayed and forced you to keep looking into its eyes. “You would be dead by now. Your head hanging from my belt. Consider yourself lucky that I spared your life. I see potential in yout skills. I want to help develop those skills. I will not let them go to waste. You need a teacher.” That voice, less muffled this time.

“Wow, sparing my life? I feel so honored.” Even after escaping death, not fully though, you were still being smart mouthed.

It tightened its grip. “I might take back my offer.” The creature leaned down crowded into your space. You flashed your teeth at it with a grin.

“Nah, you wouldn’t. Seems like you already like me too much to do that.” You don’t know how you do it but you act like this was conversation with an old friend. It growled and shoved your head to the side but never made a move to gut you like the elk.

Then, it stood back up, towering over your laying form. You sat up and rubbed at your wrist you knew surely was going to bruise later today. “You still didn’t answer my questions.” If you were going to work with this beast, you would like to a put to its strange face.

At this point, the two of you caught your breaths. Its chest expanded with a deep, heavy breath. The beast turned on its heel to look down at you with a critical eye. “I’m called We’ar-ow. You will learn later what I am once I deem you worthy of the information.” You faked gasped and got up, placing a hand over your heart.

“Oh come on! We just had a battle to a near death,” you whined. “I feel like I’ve earned it.” The machete you once bore was sheathed back into its spot on your hip. Your body now sliced with multiple cuts that will require some medical assistance but not at that very moment.

All the pink beast did was look down at you with a neutral expression. Despite the difference of features, you felt it was universal for the expression to mean the same. “Fine. If you can’t answer me that, can you at least tell me if you’re an alien or not.” Still with cheeky smirk on your face. Yeah, you’ll learned it could if it so wishes. Why not tempt fate while you’re at it?

Its pink back met you, long legs striding away from you. The creature turned its head to look over its shoulder for a second. “Yes.” You jumped up and thrusted a fist in the air.

“Ah-ha! I knew it.” You scrambled after We’ar-ow, not wanting to wander too far from it. “So… what happens now? You said I had potential or something.” You were forced to trot next to the newly friended creature. The steps easily dwarfing three of your own.

We’ar-ow, if you remember correctly, knelt down at the belly of elk it once worked on and returned to cleaning its kill. “You will quiet down and stop asking many questions,” she snapped at you but didn’t even look over at you, focused on cutting out unneeded parts.

“Well, that’s going to a problem. I want to learn, that requires questions.” You had the creature caught then. It grunted underneath its breath and sheathed its blade after wiping it off. “I can carry that if you want.”

Orange eyes glanced over at your smaller frame. Yes, you were muscular for having to survive in a wilderness that was more than happy to kill you. The creature dipped its domed head and stood up.

You walked over to the dead elk and glanced at We’ar-ow. “Watch and learn from the master.” You crouched down onto your haunches, careful of your weight and maneuvered the downed elk onto your shoulders. A single push and you were back to a standing position, proudly looking at We’ar-ow. “Where to master?”

Oh, you were going to have fun with this creature.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #alien vs predator #yautja x you #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #We'ar-ow #We'ar-ow's first ask!

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cloveroctobers · 2 months ago

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SILVERADO — Boone [September Prompts]🩶

A/N: this was actually supposed to be my first drop out of the small bits of twisters fics that I’ve written but I’ve been waiting on a certain song that I knew fit perfectly for my loud mouthed ADHD baby + storyline so blame her okay!?

WARNINGS: written in bullet form as a “quick” summarized read type of situation since I’m not entirely in the mood to write a fic, possibly language, giving Boone a backstory along with reader (not overly done for reader dont worry), & the anxieties of finding your place in the world!

PROMPT ADDED FROM HERE & I’m using: 8) a coat draped gently over a sleeping form.

˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు

It’s become a thing, pointing out Silverado’s or catching each other’s eyes across the field whenever the other spots it first.

This was also a shared look that was given after the EF5 hit down in Oklahoma (along with the vicious wind that shoved you to the theater wall that you thought you may have broken a rib. Boone rushed over to you, getting you back up to shaky feet and underneath the seats as he shielded a bruised you and you accepted that maybe this was how it was intended for you to die, right in Boone’s arms. When it was over you snorted to yourself, not believing that you were more dramatic than Boone in that moment!) and you both made it back outside to excess the damage before running to Kate out on the field.

A silent message of being thankful for that truck because the both of you came a long way since North Carolina but that didn’t mean you weren’t the same people inside.

You and Boone went to high school together, weren’t really in the same circles but had a few classes together and actually ended up bonding over a Saturday detention (you initiated a walk out during one of your classes and Boone set off fireworks in a nearby trashcan in the hallway for fun but actually caused the schools nervous wreck of a teacher to go to the hospital over it. She didn’t die though!) —real breakfast club type shit—which you mentioned and Boone was in awe that you knew of that classic.

That’s where you learned he was a huge film nerd and not just some loud class clown.

He would film majority of his friends doing stupid stunts and parkour all over the city but as an artist yourself, you appreciated the perspective.

Boone even started slipping pieces of paper of handwritten recs of films for you, whether it was in class or in your locker and you for him with books.

You learn he’s dyslexic and got crapped on about it by some “friends” and even a few mean teachers growing up. Boone even debated about dropping out of school after some disciplinary action was in place after he got violent because of his learning disability junior year.

thankfully he had a caring guidance counselor and a social worker who looked out for him and taught him how to start using his own voice in better ways, even if he chest got tight, blood was boiling, and if he stuttered.

Even learned new techniques to help him out with reading and writing.

He didn’t like getting confrontational but he had to learn to stick up for himself and sure it didn’t have to turn violent and he vowed to never get to that head space again but it was still a page of what made Boone, Boone.

He lived in many foster homes since the age of seven and some were less than pleasant. His mother couldn’t care for him anymore and he never knew why, which left an ache he couldn’t describe but he still remembered what she smelled like.

His father passed before he was born but he’s got a pocket sized picture of him at a race track…he’s got his easy smile and jawline.

His mother named him, “boone,” because that’s where she gave birth to him in NC. It’s not a nickname, or last name, it’s his government.

You’re originally from PA but moved away from a bad home life to live with your grandparents sophomore year in Banner Elk, NC.

Boone was able to reconnect with his father’s sister (who funny enough lived in Miami and actually knew Javi’s family) claimed that if she would have known she had a nephew, she would have done everything in her power to raise him.

He let her in because he’s always wanted to know what it felt like to have family that was blood.

Once high school was done, the both of you enrolled into community college with Boone majoring in media studies and video production and you in screenwriting and illustration.

Boone expressed that he felt like the school wasn’t teaching him anything he already didn’t learn on his own and quickly grew tired of the routine of school.

He was the first to drop out with the plan of having his own production company, he already had a camera or two and a laptop that he worked hard for at a shitty minimum wage job since he was fifteen and he had the YouTube channel that has over nine hundred subs then that he accumulated, thanks to those old videos of his childish high school friends but he also had side gigs of editing a few other YouTubers videos that gained traction.

It seemed Boone always knew what he wanted to do and didn’t mind if it took time. He knew after awhile that he couldn’t grow if he stayed in NC and knew it was a big ask for you come with him, asking you while the both of you swayed on your grandmother’s porch swing after that thanksgiving feast.

“…And where exactly are you going?”

He sent you that easy smile with the small laughter lines on his cheek, hands clasped together over the brown fedora that looked an awful lot like your papa’s (grandfather’s), “wherever the world needs me, baby. And I need my best bud to be right there with me but no pressure.”

Which sounds like he didn’t have any idea, just like whenever he would sneak onto your GranGran’s and papa’s property trying to get you to hang out with him at midnight on a school night. “To do what, boone?” You whisper-yelled from your window half awake; you hated having your sleep disrupted.

“Does it matter?! Why wouldn’t you want to spend time with me? I’m good lookin’, talented, the bestest buddy you could have ever asked for—

“Yadda, yadda, yadda.”

“Dang, don’t got to be so sassy about it.” Boone pouted with his arms crossed.

Yeah he was a sensitive thing but you loved him anyway, it was that kind of charm and heart that made it impossible to not believe in him. Sure you weren’t friends long back then but it felt like you were going to know him for a lifetime and vowed to have that friendship even more after that.

You didn’t break right away, telling him you’ll think about it but you were spending the holidays together and going Black Friday shopping with your papa—which your Gran-Gran all called you fools for doing.

She still went on that tangent about that time she went Black Friday shopping with her sisters back in the late seventies when she was pregnant with your father!!! which resulted in your papa having to post bail for her 😬

After a talk with your grandparents, your gran wasn’t exactly thrilled about this whole idea of you exploring the world while your papa was usually always down for an adventure and he liked that Boone brought that out of you.

In short: You were the house black cat and Boone was the golden retriever.

It’s funny how it took some time for papa to get along with Boone and see that he wasn’t just some loud mouth nut job who was always “all over the place!”, but actually found him to be a good friend of yours.

And Boone wasn’t going anywhere so Papa had to learn to love him.

You made some friends during your first year in NC, sophomore year but you know how high school friendships sometimes turns out!

Boone was the only one who you ended up being tight with after the diplomas.

Ofc they started to come back around once The Tornado Wranglers made it big but you made it clear that you wanted them to get well soon from their clout chasing. You really weren’t on the team anyway, which if you brought this up to any of the members they would tell you it’s all hogwash.

You came up a few of the designs and knew some web designers after the both of you settled in Arkansas (and they also helped you with your own work) but you kept far away from the tornados as much as you could…however you experienced one or two up close (before Oklahoma) after Boone and Tyler dragged you along just to show you what a day in their life on the job was like.

Tyler was also something.

He came up out of the blue and seemed to know who Boone was, Tyler saw his much smaller channel and was a fan of Boone’s work and said he could use someone like him for a team he had in the works.

Boone told him, “I appreciate that man, really I do but I’m a package deal.”

And that’s when the two of them snuck up on you at the parking lot of a 7/11.

You’re scowling at not having any luck on the lotto tickets that’s placed on the console when they catch you off guard.

You’re the skeptic of the two, wondering what the guy with the wide grins that resembles folds of batter motive was.

“Nah, I don’t buy it. You could be a undercover creep of a serial killer for all we know.”

Tyler laughs while Boone is rolling his eyes up to the clouds, “you’ll have to excuse my friend here…first they’re sour, then they’re sweet.”

“I’m not offended by any means, you do have to be careful out here…especially if you’re all each other’s got.” It didn’t take Tyler long to analyze the situation: old joints in a liter bottle, duffle bags tossed in the backseats, ash on the dashboard, minute man and Wendy’s leftover bags that decorated the front floor thanks to you having the passenger side door open to the 2007 Silverado.

In summary, Tyler assumed that the both of you were either on a lengthy road trip thanks to the NC plates or you were living in this car.

He would be right.

You held on for the longest being Boone’s road partner but there were times where this journey became a lot and arguments were had. Even storming off to catch a ride with a trucker back to the nearest rest stop to hitch more rides back to NC.

It took time but Boone searched for you, after you left. Almost had a panic attack once he realized the outcome of this disagreement—you no longer being by his side.

Boone’s voice is shaking once he locates you, “What? you don’t believe in my dreams anymore or somethin’? You don’t think I can do this?”

“I never not once ever believed you couldn’t. I’m your biggest fan, no matter what you do but I’ve got dreams too and this isn’t what I pictured.”

“Well i can’t fully say ditto to that cupcake, you’ve always been part of mine.”

And that got you back into the Silverado, things tossed right back into the backseat and arms wrapped tightly across his shoulders. “I love you booney, I don’t know how many times I’ve got to tell you and I can never picture a world without you in it. Life is just so damn hard sometimes and I don’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, I get it but we’ll be fine.” He mumbles against your shoulder, “I’m sorry for raising my voice…I just need you to never leave me, alright? You have no idea what that does to my heart.”

You kiss his cheek and apologize too.

That all happened a couple of days before Tyler found you two and ofc you didn’t want to be looked at like a charity case (especially since your gran-gran always told you to come on back home) but Tyler proved that wasn’t his mission in creating the wranglers.

You were more leery towards Tyler whereas Boone was more open.

Tyler even opened up his home in the natural state but you chose to continue sleeping in the Silverado for the first night or so until your back and neck told you to let your guard down some.

He gave you two the tour of his spacious storage unit where he sometimes did his sit down streaming on where he kept track of storms all over America and talked about them. If he wasn’t out there getting in on the action, he was sharing his knowledge on how this storm was working and providing links to support family and businesses that needed help.

Tyler Owens journey was lengthy too, you two learn. He vaguely talked about it on his channel but he felt like he could be open with you two in private and saw the determination in both of your eyes.

Boone with all things film and you with illustrating. You picked up that interest more than ever after being trapped in the car and grabbing a sketch pad from the dollar store you two always made a routine of going to on Sundays nights.

It was long a time coming, seeing this kind of success. With boone being the head videographer and editor, finding more family members along the way, settling into Arkansas (which you never would have guessed for the two of you), finding your own path in this world writing for some tv series and selling illustrations as a small business online.

There were talks of a certain network that reached out to Tyler, wondering if he wanted to have his own show—which was different than running a YouTube channel—and everyone turned to you that night in your shared townhouse at dinner, which you were oblivious to as you chewed into your food happily before being elbowed by Lily who almost made you drop your fork.

“Ow?”

The woman with locs looks unapologetic, “So whaddaya think about that?”

“About?” You question, now reaching for your beverage.

Lily groans with a hand slapped to her face, Dani laughs with a shake of her head, and Boone is seated across from you, leaning on his own elbows to peek at the screen Dexter is on to see if he’s listening, since (you weren’t) he’s visiting family back in Detroit.

Javi speaks, “told y’all not to bring this up while they’re not all the way fed yet.”

“Shut up, Javi.” Kate says while he raises his hands in surrender.

You turn your eyes into slits as you wave the fork at each and everyone of them, “Wait…have you guys been talking about me behind my back? And what for?”

Tyler clears his throat, “well if you had your listening ears on—

“Hey,” Boone warns, “not too much, T.”

“My bad,” Tyler sends a knowing grin before continuing, “You would have heard that I have a proposal for you—

“Ew, this finger is kindly reserved and not for you.” You peek down at the tatted diamond on that exact finger.

Tyler frowns, “now wait a minute, what do you mean by ‘ew?’”

Javi and Dani snicker leaning into each other, trying to stifle their laughter at Tyler’s offense.

You keep your eyes on the cowboy while feeling familar eyes burning into the side of your face, “get on with it rodeo grinch, I’ve got an early morning.”

That makes the table go silent, which was odd. Everyone was used to having their own separate conversations but the focus was on you this evening.

“Right,” Tyler clears his throat glancing at Boone who dips his head and gives him the okay sign which makes you furrow your brows and ready to question what that was but he quickly carries on, “I have a feelin’ I’m going to be part of that early morning since the executives that you work for invited me…well Kate, Javi, and myself to meet with your writing team for a show that approached me and wrote to me about.”

You take in this information, “okay…that’s huge if you’re all open to it? You’re be able to reach even bigger audiences than you already have. Are they including everyone?”

Kate speaks now, “we told them we wouldn’t be involved if everyone isn’t. They just want to meet with us three first and then if we agree to whatever contract they have for us, then they’re bring in everyone else to do the same.”

Two seperate signing contract sessions…you hoped they had a lawyer they trusted.

You’re actually shocked that Kate was interested since she was sorta like you, not wanting to be the face of the wranglers and cared more about the work than the show. She’s introverted but seemed to get along with everyone once she got a better understanding of what this team was about.

“Wow! That’s great guys, I’m happy for you.” You smile at everyone, which lingered longer on Boone who winked at you.

“Which also means that it doesn’t work without you,” Tyler adds, “I told them if they’re going to have some sort of layout of how these episodes are going to go they have to give me the best when it comes to these things and that’s you.”

You pointed to yourself which everyone nodded to, “that’s sweet and all Ty but… none of you give scripted tv. It wouldn’t be authentic to any of your characters.”

“Hear, hear!” Lily raises her black plastic up, “thank you for knowing us so well! But we definitely need you just as much as they need us. You’ll have our backs on the inside, is what Tyler is taking too long to get at.”

Tyler sarcastically replies, “thank you, lily. Yeah…we already told them what we wanted and they said they would talk to you about it?”

“I guess that’s what Jason was blowing my phone up about all weekend but he knows not to bother me on the weekends and he did it anyway.” You mentioned, “I’m thankful that you all think so highly about me—

“Are you kidding?! Course we do! Each of us makes up the perfect puzzle to this little gang.” Dani announces while Dexter nods.

“What Dani said!” Dexter calls out.

“Don’t forget that other part though, Tyler. About you wanting them to also be your manager.” Javi tells, making you blink rapidly.

“Seriously, Dude!?” What was it with everyone speaking for Tyler tonight?

Javi shrugs, “Just had to rip the band aid off, man.”

“…you’re asking for a whole lot here…when did this even all come about?” You sit back in your chair, feeling your crossed foot shake a little.

Dani answers, “well there were talks about it before we touched down in Oklahoma but Ty’s been giving them the runaround. It wasn’t until he and Kate made it to New York to pitch the barrels that the producers actually popped up to Tyler’s house to talk more about the show in works.”

If looks can kill, if looks can kill!

“But Tyler’s been thinkin’ about making you his manager for the longest if that helps?” Kate also cuts in, her tone attempted to be comforting although she can tell you’re dissociating.

She’s been there.

“It doesn’t.” You’re monotone but Boone can see the pressure weighing in on you. He thought having you part of the wranglers in this way would be the best but he knew Tyler asking you to also be his manager would be more than a lot, considering you didn’t like him chasing after storms anyway but you would never get in between that.

It’s his passion and who were you to crap on it? You saw Boone in his element, watching the videos whenever he wasn’t around and when he was, witnessing just how much went into all of it and you were more than proud. So you always said a silent prayer, every time he ran off to Tyler’s red suv doing some wild flip that should have broken his neck and was always excited to clock in for the day with his other best bud.

“I told you we should have buttered them up with a root beer float or a possum pie.” Lily muttered to Dani and Javi, while you went quiet.

The rest of the dinner was a little awkward but you all pushed through it since there was the weighing question of what you ultimately chose to do. You were more behind the scenes if the wranglers ever asked for your help on anything, preferring it that way and sure it would still be the same but not really if you became Tyler’s manager.

It wasn’t about the money or not wanting to put in the work, it was about the big responsibility of having his career in his hands. You only liked having your small business and writing rights in your hands but this? Felt like holding the beloved Tyler Owens life in your hands and that was a weight you weren’t sure you wanted to sign up for.

Worrying about Boone was enough for anyone to handle!

Tyler never did anything in hopes of getting anything in return, this you knew while you got to know him and consider him a big brother over the years but you thought it over while you lay outside underneath Arkansas’ warm September air out in the inclosed patio.

Thought so hard about it that when Boone came out to check on you, he draped a jean jacket gently over your sleeping form.

He sighed beside you on the lounge chair, getting ready to smoke when you spoke with your eyes still closed, “that better not be a cig cricket.”

You were cupcake and he was cricket.

“Why no, it’s my number one girl MJ.” Boone informed, “and I wish you’d stop doing the whole pretending to be sleep, sleeping beauty.”

“Who said I was pretending? My eyes are closed.”

“Are you sleep talkin’ or prayin’ then?”

“…maybe.”

“Aye look baby doll, you don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to do. The tv part I thought you might be down for but I told Tyler that managing kind of pressure? might not be the best choice for you and not because I don’t think you won’t do a phenomenal job or nothin’…it’s just you overthink and you’ll constantly overthink that you’re gonna let him down.”

“You know me too well Boone Veluz.” You stretch raising your arms above your head, “but…there might be a good angel on my shoulder this time.”

Boone raises his brows while placing MJ behind his ear along with his hair, “don’t tell me I’m that angel?” He jokes while you scoff at him.

“I’m picturing more of a zendaya to be honest.”

“Hopefully not rue zendaya.” Boone mutters while you lightly kick his chair, which makes him chuckle a little.

You groan as you push yourself up into a sitting position, rubbing at your eyes before saying, “since we got to Arkansas…things have been looking up. It brought us to Tyler, you were able to further achieve your filming dreams, I was able to study and establish a career, we created a home together, found more family and happiness and I say that’s a huge blessing considering all that we’ve been through on this road.”

“Yeah you got that right, you’re a jelly roll hater.” Boone teases as he points an accusatory finger at you.

You glare, “if that’s true then you hate Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac.”

He exclaims, “Lies!”

“Anyway, I’ll have to see what tomorrow brings but I’m gonna sleep some more on it.” You start to get up, fixing Boone’s jacket to now drape over your shoulders, as a piece of chocolate slides out from one of the pockets.

“My advice if you do say yes twice: Just look at it all as a silver lining right?”

You hum as you toss the mini pack of chocolate into his lap before getting to your feet, “well…you’ve always been mine since the day we met.”

Boone felt like melting just then as you grab his hand, which he squeezes against yours as you kiss the back of his hand, “i love you, cupcake.”

“I know and that feelings mutual, Booney cricket.”

“You headin’ to bed?”

“Yes, I’m gonna need it for that abrupt meeting.”

“You’re gonna crush it, no doubt.”

You shake your intertwined hands up in the air before letting go, “God’s willing. Night.”

“Night.” He echoes and watches you go into the wood siding home, still being hopeful that one day he’ll plant one on you.

As always Boone just goes with the wind and where he’s needed, letting out a sigh as he checks the group chat where they’re looking for answers hoping that he finally did something about you.

“I’m not going to persuade them by kissing them, I told y’all that already. That’s not me. They got their own mind and know how to use it, so leave it be.” Boone quietly speaks into his phone before sending the message.

Lily: You must be a shitty kisser then.

Which is HAHA’d by Javi.

Dexter: not nice, Lilith.

Tyler: Patience little lambs 🙏🏼

Dani: uh…our patience ran out with you and Kate ijs🥤

Which receives two thumbs up from Dexter and Lily, an exclamation from Javi, and a thumbs down from Tyler.

Kate: gn 👋🏻!

Boone: goodnight lady! & guys…everything always works out the way it should 🤘🏽

Javi: hope that’s true my guy because my faith lays more with them than some monkeys in a suit.

Lily: whats storm par’s number again?

Dani: ohh!

Dexter: well…

Boone: damn ur on one tonight lil!

Javi: 🖕🏼

And then all chaos breaks loose in the group chat, which leaves Boone to rip into the candy with his teeth before he moves to head into the house and up to his room to get comfy as he watches this family dynamic carry on into the night.

Yet he can’t help but to let his own overthinking erupt in his brain—he’s always been a night owl—noticing that you didn’t leave his jacket on his bed this time and just hoped that you had nothing but good dreams and maybe even one about him!

Boone’s just counting on many more good years with you in it, is all 👉🏽🙂‍↕️👈🏽

౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు

more September prompts can be found here.

#Spotify #queued #boone twisters #boone twisters x reader #brandon perea #twisters #twisters film #twisters movie #twisters 2024 #September prompts #tyler owens

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moutainrusing · 2 months ago

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keeper

730 words, no warnings, @dorlenemicroficprompts

“Morning, love.” Marlene heard Dorcas’s voice in front of her, just as she was mid-yawn with sleep sticking to her lashes.

Flushing in embarrassment, Marlene quickly shut her mouth and rubbed her eyes. “Um, hi,” she stuttered.

Dorcas smiled in amusement, “Happy Valentine’s,” and presented Marlene with a gift, to which Marlene gaped at her, mouth opening and closing as she decided on which thought to voice first.

Eventually, she settled on, “I fucking love you,” and threw her arms around Dorcas.

“Hmph,” Dorcas jumped in surprise, moving the gift out of the way and wrapping her other arm around Marlene. “Careful,” she mumbled into Marlene’s hair. “You’ll break the jar.”

Marlene withdrew from the hug with a raised eyebrow, hands still on Dorcas’s shoulders. “So I can’t hug you because you care more about a jar than me?”

Dorcas shrugged jokingly, lips curving upwards, “I mean, you forgot it was Valentine’s, didn’t you?”

Marlene spluttered indignantly, “No!” And then sheepishness took over her offence as she remembered, “Well, I mean… Valentine’s isn’t as important to me as you are and I think we should celebrate us everyday.” As an afterthought, she added, “Sorry for forgetting…”

“S’okay,” Dorcas shook her head fondly, pulling Marlene back into a hug. “I don’t think it’s important either, I just wanted to give you something funny.”

Marlene grinned, taking the jar from Dorcas. “I love it, and I will,” she laughed, eyes scanning the words, ‘EAT ME, HOT STUFF,’ written across a jar of harissa, a North African chilli pepper paste which Marlene adored. She remembered trying couscous at Dorcas’s house, and the Meadowes had mixed it with this extraordinary paste, hitting Marlene’s taste buds exquisitely, burning the back of her throat and leaving a herbal sensation sticking to her tongue, garlic and citrus and smoky pepper, a thick, smooth then crunchy texture between her teeth, cumin and coriander seeds bursting against the walls of her mouth, as if she were containing some fiery explosion within herself.

Dorcas’s mum had shown her how to make it, pounding the ingredients to a paste by hand, even allowing Marlene to try each ingredient on its own to see how the flavours came together. Then with Dorcas’s dad, Marlene had created several dishes all using their beloved harissa, a gift from mother nature and Earth, and now from Dorcas, her world.

“Thank you,” Marlene injected sincerity into every letter. She’d been missing harissa since the week she’d visited Dorcas over Christmas break, like she could feel it lingering in the air but just out of reach from her tongue. Harissa gave her the same kick that kissing Dorcas did, and that was really saying something. Oh, and kissing Dorcas after eating harissa! Best thing ever. Tasting her favourite food on the tongue of her lover.

Dorcas pressed a chaste kiss to Marlene’s lips, gone as soon as she was there, the soft whisper of, “Anything for you,” fading into the air. Marlene wanted to repeat the sentiment back to Dorcas, but then Dorcas was back to conversational, saying, “Your last class today is Arithmancy, right? I’ll meet you there,” Dorcas nodded with a wink, walking back to the Slytherin table as Marlene stared at her back in awe.

Dorcas had given her the best Valentine’s gift. Dorcas was the best. Dorcas remembered what class she had last. Dorcas was the best. Even though Dorcas’s last class was Potions, with quite a journey to Arithmancy, Dorcas was still meeting Marlene there. Dorcas was the best.

From beside her, having watched the whole interaction, Lily nudged Marlene. “She’s a keeper!” she whisper-yelled into Marlene’s ear with a sing-song lilt.

- - -

“Marlene!” Sirius squawked in horror. “Are you putting chilli paste onto your toast?!”

“Yup,” Marlene beamed, the entirety of her breakfast coated in a thick layer of harissa. She inhaled it blissfully, and smirked at Sirius, “Only people made of hot stuff can handle it.”

Sirius scowled, grumbling at his weak spice tolerance. “I am hot stuff,” he argued. “Remus gave me this for Valentine’s day.” He held up a scented candle with the words, ‘BLOW ME, HOT STUFF,’ written across it.

From the top of his cup of tea, Remus met Marlene’s eyes and smiled lightly, confirming that he and Dorcas collaborated over gift ideas. Marlene snorted, then almost choked on the burning sensation of harissa in her nostrils.

(for more: dorlene microfics)

#marauders #microfiction #dorlene #dorlene microfic #dorlene fic #dorlene fanfiction #marauders girls #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #dorcas x marlene #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #marauders fanfiction #marauders microfic

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summerclementine27 · 3 months ago

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Sign of The Times 🌹

Summary: Harry Styles is a Roman General who led his legions to many victories. He was favoured by the Emperor and known as an honourable General. Everyone also knows that he loves his wife, Y/N, more than anything, more than victory even, and dreams of seeing her again.

Time and place: Roman Empire sometime between 180 - 192 AD

warnings: bit of smut, breeding, and also old timey vibes due to roman era (so the smut is written in a funky old timey way but i decided to post it anyway).

notes: this is part three of my series of Harry Styles one shots that are inspired by his first album, I’m not doing the stories in order of the tracklist, and I also know that I am changing the meanings of the songs to fit the stories so for instance, sign of the times is about a mother who is dying while giving birth, but I changed it to be about a wife who is urging her husband to come back.

- pics of Harry or AI from Pinterest and the inspiration for this fic is gladiator lol.

The dust of Germania still clung to my skin, mixing with the iron scent of blood that had dried on my tunic. The battlefield had been ours, a victory to be sung by bards and etched into the annals of Rome. But as my men celebrated, raising goblets of wine to their lips, my thoughts wandered far from the camps and the spoils of war.

I could feel the ache in my side where the enemy's blade had found its mark—a shallow wound, they said. Easily mended with time and rest. Yet I craved neither the salves of the medics nor the comforts of the Roman city.

My thoughts were with Y/N, the woman who had waited for me through the years of war, who had kept my heart safe even as my body waded through the carnage of battle. The memory of her letters, the soft parchment that had borne her words across the miles, was a balm to my weary soul.

I cared for nothing as much as I cared for her, for all I prayed for during these years of battle was her safety. “Blessed father, watch over my wife with a ready sword. Whisper to her that I live only to hold her again, for all else is dust and air.” I recited every night, yearning to be in my ethereal wife's embrace once more, where the weight of the world would melt away in the serenity of her seraphic presence.

One of her last letters had arrived not long before the battle. I could still hear her voice in the words she had penned, a voice that had carried me through the darkest nights. I drew the letter from my belt, the parchment worn from too many readings, and let my eyes trace the familiar lines:

“My dearest Harry,” the letter began, “as I write this, I can feel the sun warming my skin, and I think of you, far away in the cold lands of the north. I miss you with every breath I take, and I pray for your safe return each night before I sleep. The fields here are flourishing, the olive trees heavy with fruit, but without you, this bounty feels hollow. The land awaits your return, as do I. I long for the day when you will return to me, when I can hold you in my arms once more, and we can live in peace, away from the horrors of war.”

Her words were sweet, like honeyed nectar upon the lips of a lover, gentle and soothing at first. Yet, as I read on, they grew earnest and urging, the ink heavy with her profound concern. My eyes were drawn irresistibly to the portion of her letter that held the deepest weight for my heart:

“Yet I know, as you read these words, your soul is entrenched in the depths of war, I understand that your mind is consumed with thoughts of victory, that your heart beats with the pulse of battle. But remember, my love, that while you fight for the glory of Rome, Rome shall endure, as she always has. It is you who may not, and it is you I fear to lose.”

Her words were like a gentle whisper, coaxing me back to the world beyond the battlefield. "I beg you, take care of yourself and do not tempt death, for you cannot bribe the door on your way to the sky, you cannot offer coin to the gatekeeper of the heavens, nor sway him with silver as you ascend. You look good down here on this mortal realm anyway. Do not die for Rome, live for her.”

“What shall become of us if we never learn? We have been here before, me tending to the fields of Hispania and you running from the arrows and swords, yet the two of us with the same fate; always caught stuck and running from the bullets. I know what the emperor demands of you, and I know you have led many battles to victory. You hesitate to leave, but you must, my love; you must find your way back to me. Just stop your crying, for this is but a sign of the times.

Stop your weeping, and have the time of your life. Break through the atmosphere of war and bloodshed, things are pretty good from here, Remember, everything will be alright.

Come home to me, my love, come back.”

I closed my eyes, letting the words wash over me, a balm for my weary soul. Come home to me, my love. The phrase echoed in my mind, a mantra that had sustained me through the darkest moments of the campaign. It was these words that had driven me to push forward, to fight for Rome but also to fight for my retirement. To earn the rest of my life back and spend it with my divine wife.

As I rode back to the camp, the letter tucked safely away once more, I repeated the words to myself. “Come home to me, my love.” It became a rhythm, a beat that matched the thudding of my heart, the pounding of my horse’s hooves against the ground. Each step brought me closer to her, to the life we had built together, and to the future that awaited us.

The camp was abuzz with the clamour of soldiers and the scent of roasting meat as I entered, my body still bearing the marks of battle and the weight of victory. The Emperor, draped in his imperial regalia, stood amidst his entourage, his presence commanding the respect of every man within sight. I approached with the measured steps of one who has fought hard and earned his rest.

He turned his gaze upon me, his eyes as sharp as the glint of his ornate armor. “General Styles,” he intoned, his voice carrying the authority of the throne, “when was the last time you were home?”

I stood tall, the weight of his question a heavy mantle upon my shoulders. “Two years, two hundred and sixty-four days, and this very morning,” I answered, my tone steady and resolute. The Emperor’s eyes narrowed slightly, perhaps in surprise or contemplation, as he considered my words.

His gaze lingered on me with a mixture of respect and expectation. “You have led our legions with great skill and valor, General. Rome still has need of such a commander. I urge you to remain in your esteemed position, to continue guiding our armies with the same honor and prowess you have so richly displayed.”

A solemn silence fell over the tent, the air thick with the weight of his request. I took a deep breath, my thoughts drifting back to the letter from my beloved wife, and to the quiet promise of peace that awaited me.

“Your Excellency,” I began, my voice steady but imbued with the gravity of my decision, “I have fought and bled for Rome, and I have served with every ounce of my strength. But my heart and soul yearn for a different path now. I have earned this respite, this time to lay down my sword and return to the life I once knew.”

The Emperor regarded me with a measure of frustration, his fingers drumming upon the armrest of his gilded throne. “You have been a pillar of our military might, General. To leave now, at the zenith of your glory, seems a disservice to the empire that has benefited so greatly from your leadership.”

I met his gaze with unwavering resolve, feeling the echoes of my wife’s words in my heart. “It is not disservice, but rather a fulfillment of a promise I made to myself and to her. I seek not glory nor honor from further battles, but the simple joy of returning to my wife and the life we dream of. My time as a general has been an honor, but it is time for me to embrace a different chapter, one of peace and companionship.”

The Emperor’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding—or perhaps resignation—crossing his features. “Very well, General Styles,” he conceded, his voice carrying a note of reluctant admiration. “If it is your wish to retire and seek solace in the embrace of your beloved, then it shall be granted. Rome’s gratitude will follow you, and your legacy will endure.”

I bowed deeply, the weight of my decision finally lifting from my shoulders. As I walked away, I felt a sense of anticipation and relief wash over me, knowing that soon I would return to the fields of Hispania, to the life and love that awaited me.

"My lord," one of the younger centurions approached me as I prepared to leave camp, a bandage in hand. "We must bind your wound."

I waved him off, though I knew the pain would only worsen on the long ride home. "I'll let my wife take care of me," I said, the words tasting sweet on my tongue, like the promise of harvest in a fertile field.

The journey back to Hispania was slow, each day stretching out like the endless plains we crossed. My thoughts were full of her—Y/N, my beloved, my anchor amidst the storms of war. The land of our villa in Hispania, a sprawling expanse of olive trees and vineyards, awaited me. But it was her presence, her tender touch, that I yearned for with each passing mile.

As my horse’s hooves drummed against the sun-baked earth, I imagined her in the fields, the wind tugging at her hair as she worked, her hands—those skilled, delicate hands—tending to the earth as she did to me. I could see her smile, that secret curve of her lips that had the power to unravel me more than any barbarian’s sword.

Finally, the fields of our home came into view, the golden light of evening casting a warm glow over the land. My heart quickened as I urged my horse forward, a boyish impatience overtaking me.

As I dismounted my horse and set foot on the familiar ground of our estate, I saw her standing there—my beloved, just as I had envisioned, her figure framed by the setting sun, a basket of olives in her arms.

The moment our eyes met, a wave of joy surged through me, overpowering the aches and weariness of battle. Her face, illuminated by the soft glow of the setting sun, radiated a warmth and love that I had sorely missed.

Without hesitation, she ran to me, her movements swift and graceful. The air seemed to hum with the electricity of our reunion. As she enveloped me in her embrace, I was struck by the intoxicating scent of her—lavender mingled with the faint, sweet aroma of the earth, a perfume that spoke of home and tranquility. It was as if every hardship and wound I bore dissolved in the presence of her love.

Her arms, tender and gentle, clung to me with a fierce affection. I could feel the softness of her skin against my own, a stark contrast to the roughened textures of my armor and the hardened scars of war. Her touch was both soothing and electric, a balm for my bruised soul.

As our lips met, her kiss was a sweet, fervent promise, a bridge between the years of separation. Yet, as I pressed closer, a sharp twinge from the wound on my side made me wince. She noticed instantly, her eyes filled with concern.

“Harry,” she breathed, her voice soft and filled with an anguish that mirrored my own. Her fingers, delicate and gentle, brushed against the tender spot on my side. “You’re hurt…”

“It’s nothing,” I murmured, my voice barely more than a whisper as I drew her even closer. I buried my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of her, the very essence of comfort and love, was a haven amidst the chaos of my return. “Nothing that your touch cannot heal.”

She led me inside, her movements tender and deliberate as if each step was meant to convey her deep affection and concern. The grand hall, though warmly lit by the flickering glow of the hearth, could not compare to the solace I found in her presence. As I sank into a plush chair beside the roaring fire, the heat from the flames did little to ease the persistent ache in my chest that only her touch could truly soothe.

I watched her with a heart full of gratitude as she worked with quiet diligence, her hands gentle yet skilled as she unwrapped the makeshift bandage and began to clean the wound. Her brow furrowed in concentration, each touch and movement imbued with a mixture of love and worry that spoke volumes of her care.

“You should have let the medics tend to you,” she chided softly, her voice a tender reprimand laced with concern rather than anger. The chiding was a balm, soothing and familiar, reminding me of the times we had shared before the endless battles.

“And miss the chance to be in your care?” I replied, my voice hushed but earnest. I reached up, my hand cradling her cheek, my thumb gently caressing the delicate curve. “I’d rather bleed out.”

Her lips curled into a small, affectionate smile despite her worry. She shook her head, her eyes reflecting a mixture of exasperation and adoration. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, General.”

“For Rome, perhaps,” I said, my thumb brushing tenderly against her skin, “but not for you.”

Once she was satisfied with the bandage, carefully wrapping it with a practiced hand, I drew her into my lap. The firelight danced in her eyes, casting a warm glow that made her seem even more ethereal. Her body fit perfectly against mine, the familiar curves and warmth a reminder of all that I had missed. As our eyes met, the hunger in mine was mirrored by the tender longing in hers.

“I’ve been gone too long,” I whispered, my lips finding their way to her neck. I trailed kisses along her soft skin, savoring the sweetness of her closeness. “I have missed you more than words can convey.”

Her hands wove into my hair, fingers trembling slightly as she tilted her head back, offering me more of herself. “And I you,” she whispered, her voice a soft melody that seemed to float between us, a song of longing and love that had played in my dreams during our separation.

I lifted her effortlessly, cradling her in my arms as I carried her towards our bed—the same one we had shared since our wedding night, a sanctuary of our love and devotion. The silks beneath us felt cool and luxurious as I laid her down, the gentle moonlight streaming through the windows, casting a silvery glow that highlighted the exquisite beauty of her form.

As I undressed her with a reverence that bordered on worship, I whispered against her lips, my voice a soft murmur filled with longing and affection. “I have won many battles,” I said, my fingers tracing the curves of her body with a tender touch, as if trying to memorize every line and contour. “But none so sweet as the victory of coming home to you.”

Her hands, delicate yet determined, moved to the laces of my tunic, undoing them with a familiar urgency that made my heart race. “Then claim your victory,” she breathed, her voice trembling with a mix of desire and anticipation.

I lifted her into my arms, cradling her with a gentleness that belied the strength I had honed on the battlefield. As I carried her to our bed, my heart pounded not from the exertion, but from the overwhelming love I felt for her. The silk sheets, cool beneath us, seemed to whisper promises of solace and intimacy as I laid her down.

The moonlight streaming through the windows cast a soft, silvery glow upon her, making her skin shimmer like alabaster. I gazed at her with a deep, aching adoration, my eyes tracing the graceful lines of her form. Her beauty was both a balm and a flame, soothing the wounds of my soul and igniting a fierce, tender hunger within me.

I began by brushing my lips against hers, savoring the sweetness of her kiss as if it were the nectar of the gods. The taste of her was intoxicating, a blend of warmth and familiarity that made my heart swell. I lingered there, lost in the softness of her lips, my hands gently caressing her face, committing every detail of her to memory.

Slowly, I trailed kisses down her neck, my lips lingering on her pulse point. The sensation of her warm skin beneath my mouth was a caress to my senses, and I felt the urgency of our reunion deepen with every touch. Her breath quickened, mingling with mine, as I moved lower, pressing my lips to the delicate curve of her collarbone.

With trembling fingers, I worked at the laces of her dress, the fabric white and pure, reminiscent of the gown she had worn on our wedding day. As I loosened it, the dress fell away, revealing the soft, flawless skin beneath. My gaze was ravenous yet reverent, taking in every inch of her with a fervor that spoke of my adoration and longing.

I kissed her shoulders with a devotion that made each touch a silent vow. My lips traveled down her arms, leaving a trail of tender kisses that made her shiver with delight. Each kiss was an offering, a testament to the depth of my love for her. As I reached her breasts, I pressed my lips to the soft curves, my tongue exploring with a reverence that bordered on worship.

My kisses continued their journey down her stomach, lingering at the gentle rise and fall of her ribs, tracing the lines of her hips. I marveled at the warmth and softness of her skin, my hands following the path my lips had taken, reverently mapping every contour. The sensation of her skin beneath my touch was a heady mix of comfort and desire.

When I finally reached her most intimate place, I paused, my breath coming in ragged whispers. My heart raced with a powerful mix of longing and adoration. The moment was charged with an intensity I had yearned for during the long years apart, and I could feel the heat of her skin beneath my lips.

With a deep, reverent kiss, I pressed my lips against her, my tongue gently exploring the softness and warmth of her. Her taste was intoxicating, and the sensation made my entire body shiver with pleasure. I heard her gasp, a soft, breathless sound that urged me on.

Her hands gripped the sheets, and I could feel her hips moving subtly, seeking more of the contact she craved. "Harry," she moaned softly, her voice a desperate whisper of desire.

I looked up at her, my eyes filled with devotion and love. "You feel so incredible," I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. "I want you to know just how much I adore every part of you."

She responded with a breathless sigh, her body arching instinctively towards me. "Please, don't stop," she pleaded, her voice trembling with anticipation.

My kisses became more fervent, turning into reckless licks, my movements ever so insistent as I reveled in the sweet, warm taste of her. The sounds of our pleasure filled the room, a symphony of soft moans and urgent whispers that only deepened my desire.

I was consumed with a profound longing for her, a desire that had only grown more fervent over the long years apart. Every moment of our separation had amplified my need to show her the depth of my affection, to make her experience the boundless pleasure that only I could bestow. I was keenly aware of the passage of time and wondered if she had discovered any means to reach such ecstatic heights as I would now bring her. The thought of her satisfaction, the notion of her feeling pleasure as intensely as I had imagined, drove me to the brink of my restraint.

With my touch, I sought to awaken her senses, my fingers caressing her with an ever-gentle firmness, the warmth of my hands mingling with her soft skin. My other hand began a tender exploration, slipping slowly, reverently, into her most cherished sanctuary. Each movement was deliberate, intended to elicit the utmost response from her.

“You like that, my dearest?” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion and desire, my breath hot against her ear.

“Yes, I do,” she replied, her voice a melody of pleasure and anticipation, her breath catching in soft gasps.

“I am determined to make you feel nothing but bliss,” I continued, my heart pounding with the intensity of my commitment. “I wish to taste and honor this sacred chamber of Venus, to give you pleasure that will leave you breathless and yearning.”

I leaned closer, my lips finding their way to her most intimate folds. With tender, loving care, I began to explore her, each kiss a testament to my devotion, each touch a silent vow of my love. My goal was to bring her to the pinnacle of delight, to ensure that every sensation was as exquisite and overwhelming as possible, so that she might feel the depth of my longing and the fullness of my return.

In the quiet sanctuary of our shared chamber, a question lingered on my lips, charged with both tenderness and longing. “Did you pleasure yourself while I was gone” I inquired, my voice a gentle murmur.

Her reply came softly, laden with devotion and a hint of wistfulness. “No, my love. I awaited your return.”

Her words stirred something profound within me, an awakening of emotions that had lain dormant through the years of separation. I felt a deep, aching desire to make amends for all the time lost, to bestow upon her the pleasure that had been denied to both of us.

“I yearn for you to find your release, my dearest Y/N,” I said, my voice trembling with fervent intensity. “Release it all, love.”

As her body trembled with the aftershocks of her climax, I could feel the shudder of her release against my tongue. The sweetness of her pleasure was intoxicating, a testament to the depth of our connection. In that moment, I knew that we both craved something more profound, a union that would fulfill the yearning that had grown between us over the years.

With a fervent determination, I slowly withdrew, my breath ragged and my heart pounding with a mix of longing and anticipation. I positioned myself above her, our eyes meeting in a gaze filled with mutual desire and unspoken promises. The need to be fully united with her, to deepen our connection, surged within me.

Her gaze was filled with trust and desire, and I moved with a tenderness that spoke of my deep affection and longing. Slowly, deliberately, I entered her, feeling the warmth and softness envelop me and savoring the way she wrapped around me, the way she sighed my name as if it were a prayer.

“Harry,” she moaned, and I grew concerned, fearing that the unfamiliarity of my touch after so long might be causing her discomfort.

“Are you alright, my love?” I murmured, my voice low and tender, brushing a lock of hair from her face. Her eyes met mine, filled with a mix of pain and yearning.

“Just... a bit,” she replied, her voice trembling with the effort to contain her emotions.

I continued to move with gentle persistence, my hands exploring her body, seeking to soothe her discomfort. As I found a rhythm, she began to relax, her moans growing more fervent, more eager. The shift from discomfort to pleasure was evident in the way her body responded, and I felt a deep satisfaction in knowing that I was bringing her the release she had longed for.

“Tell me, my love,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers as we moved together, “how does it feel?”

“It feels... so much better,” she gasped, her nails digging into my shoulders as her body arched beneath me. “Harry, yes…”

“I want to give you more,” I said, my voice rough with emotion. “A family, a future... I want to watch you swell with our child, to retire from the battlefield and spend my days here, with you.”

Her breath hitched at my words, and her eyes shone with a mix of desire and longing. “Yes, Harry… I want that too,” she whispered, her voice a melody of affection and need.

As we continued, I found a rhythm that was both passionate and tender, the connection between us deepening with every movement. I kissed her lips, my hands roaming over her body, savoring the softness and warmth of her skin. Her eyes fluttered closed as she lost herself in the sensation, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer intimacy of our union.

“I will plant my seed in you,” I vowed, my voice filled with raw emotion. “And you will carry our legacy. Our child will grow strong in your womb, just as our love has grown in this land.”

Her climax hit with a shuddering intensity, her body tightening around me as she cried out my name. The sound was both a release and an invitation, and I followed her over the edge, spilling into her with a groan that echoed my deepest feelings. In that moment, I imagined the life we would create together, the child that would be born of our union.

As we lay entwined in the soft embrace of our bed, the flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over our bodies. The silks beneath us were cool and comforting, a stark contrast to the heat of our passionate union. The scent of her, a delicate blend of lavender and the earthiness of our garden, filled the air and enveloped me, mingling with the aroma of our shared pleasure.

Her skin felt like silk against my fingertips as I traced lazy patterns across her shoulders and down her sides. Her breathing was slow and deep, a soft rhythm that matched the steady beat of my heart. Every sigh and murmur from her lips was a melody I’d missed more than I realized during our years apart.

“You look radiant,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion as I gazed at her. Her hair was a tangled cascade of dark curls, spread across the pillow like a halo. Her eyes, still clouded with the remnants of our passion, sparkled with a light that seemed to illuminate the room. “I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long.”

She turned her head slightly to meet my gaze, her lips curved into a smile that was both teasing and tender. “And I’ve waited for it just as long,” she replied, her voice a soft caress. “You’re as wonderful as I remembered, Harry. I’m so proud of you, all you’ve accomplished. And this house—” she gestured vaguely around us, “—it’s been my joy to care for it, to make it a place where you could return and feel at home.”

Her fingers traced a gentle path along my chest, sending shivers of pleasure through me. I cupped her cheek, my thumb brushing across her soft skin, and leaned in to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “I’m proud of you too, for everything. For holding our home together while I was away, for your strength and your love. It means the world to me.”

Her eyes softened, and she nestled closer, her body pressed against mine in a way that made me acutely aware of the new life we had created together. “And now,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe and wonder, “we have something even greater to look forward to. I’m honored to carry our child, Harry.”

I let out a deep, contented sigh, my hands resting on her still-flat belly. “You’re going to be breathtakingly beautiful with our child growing inside you,” I said, my voice husky with anticipation. “I can already imagine the way you’ll glow, the way your body will flourish as you carry our little one. You’ll be radiant, like a goddess.”

Her laughter was soft and musical, a sound that filled me with an overwhelming sense of happiness. “I can’t wait to see you as a father,” she said, her eyes shining with love. “Our child will be so lucky to have you.”

I kissed her again, this time more deeply, my hands roaming over her curves with reverence. “And I can’t wait to watch our family grow,” I said. “I imagine them running through our garden, playing in the sun, filling our home with laughter and joy. We’ll watch them grow, teach them, love them. It will be a new adventure, one that I’m eager to begin.”

Her smile widened, and she traced a finger along my jawline, her touch light and playful. “And I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way. Together, we’ll build a life full of love and happiness.”

As we lay there, our bodies intertwined, the weight of the past seemed to lift from our shoulders. The wars, the battles, the bloodshed—they were behind us. What lay ahead was a new journey, one of love and life, and I knew that with her by my side, it was a victory I would cherish for all my days.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles story

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sorchathered · 8 months ago

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Sacred New Beginnings- Chapter 8

A/N- thank you guys so much for being patient with me, I know that cliffhanger shook everyone up but I promise your patience will be rewarded!

Pairing- Jake Seresin x Reader (OC Stormy)

Warnings- injuries, cursing, smut

Song inspo- “Like I’m gonna lose you” - Meghan Trainor

It had been nearly 6 weeks since your accident, ejecting over the ocean in an aircraft during a dogfight which resulted in your shoot not properly deploying, sending you spiraling towards the ocean at a speed that thankfully didn’t kill you or your pilot. The emergency team that life flighted you to Maryland had to sedate you heavily to manage your pain, so excruciating that it required what the doctor had called a medically induced coma. Broken collarbone, broken left wrist, fractured femur and a gnarly concussion that had you out for several days, waking up alive certainly not what you were expecting; the first thing that caught your eyes was the golden blonde hair and green eyes of the man you loved. Jake had been there through it all, every sleepless night, surgery, pt until you were finally released to go back to your home in Pensacola. You knew your godfather had facilitated some sort of miracle to allow Jake so much time away from his job and for that you couldn’t be more grateful, Uncle Beau couldn’t be your support team so he made sure you had everything you needed.

You were exhausted, the plane ride had been painful and as much as you’d tried to put on a brave face Jake could tell you were suffering, he got you inside and settled in bed and refused to let you do anything other than rest, you knew he had to be running on fumes but if he was he didn’t show it. You weren’t wrong, he was wrung out both emotionally and physically but if he stopped pushing forward he knew he’d break down, there had been nights when you were sedated that he worried you wouldn’t get through it and having to face life alone without you was too much for his heart to bear. Now that he had you home and safe he couldn’t imagine going back to North Island, let alone watching you get back into your jet, the thought sent a shudder through him; losing you was never something he’d imagined before all of this but now it consumed his every waking moment. It wasn’t healthy, and he was a bad liar so he knew you could tell he was fraying at the edges, your doctor had suggested that it would be beneficial for you both to do therapy together or separate and he was sure that was an option that needed to be explored. He started a load of laundry and as the clothes swirled in the washer he scrolled through his phone to find admiral Simpsons number, maybe requesting a transfer could give him the peace he needed to sleep at night.

A week goes by, pt is going well, your godfather has extended Jake’s leave once again but his request for transfer was denied (which you expected and told him at least 1,000 times you didn’t need him to move across the country to babysit you), but you could tell his nerves were shot. when you woke up most nights he wasn’t in the bed, usually in the living room reading or watching tv, sometimes on a run that would last for hours. Therapy hadn’t been easy the first session, you’d rehashed the drama of your crash and had ended it in tears, you’d been assured it would get easier but it felt like it never would, especially with the walls it felt like Jake was building around you. He treated you like glass and it was becoming more and more frustrating, he didn’t want to talk about what was going on in his head, he definitely wouldn’t sleep with you and all you’d gotten were a handful of kisses and hand holding since you’d come back to Florida. It felt like he was pushing you away and that was what you knew would push you over the edge, injuries you could heal from but losing him? That would destroy you.

Jake of course is clueless to your fears, he is just pushing through each day trying to make sure you are healthy and getting better, the thought hasn’t even occurred to him that he’s been distant, how could he be? He’s with you all the time! But when he gets back from his nearly 10 mile run the tension he hadn’t noticed is palpable, you’ve somehow showered and changed without him and when he catches your eyes from your spot on the couch he knows you are ready for a fight. He’s seen that look over a dozen times but never aimed at him, the storm is raging in your features, jaw clenched and eyes red rimmed with tears; you’ve been crying and somehow it’s his fault.

“Baby what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Why didn’t you wait for me? You shouldn’t be doing anything by yourself-“ he started but you waved your hand dismissively and continued to scowl and tear up, he didn’t know what was going on but whatever he’d done he would get on his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to. “I’m not hurt, I managed to take my brace off to shower and put it back on by myself, that’s not the problem. The problem is us.” You said the last part in almost a whisper as you burst into tears, you’d never been much for crying when you were upset but everything had gotten so overwhelming and you couldn’t get your thoughts together, Jake surged forward to scoop you up and it didn’t matter that he was sweaty and gross you needed his touch more than you could say. You clawed at his skin and gasped out as you tried to stall your tears, pulling at his face to kiss you and he reciprocated but continued to hold you as gently as possible, afraid to jostle you too much and hurt your leg. Your eyes looked wild as he pulled you back a little to calm you down, but you kept clinging to him and trying to pull him closer, he didn’t want to stop but the fear of hurting you was prevalent so he pulled back completely and stood up, only to be met with another round of tears. “Hey hey, you gotta talk to me sugar I don’t understand what’s going on? You’re scaring me baby, just tell me what it is and I’ll fix it ok?” You looked at him and huffed like a petulant child and he almost laughed but knew it would only make it worse, something was eating you up and he didn’t have a clue where to start. “I don’t understand how you don’t get it, you’re doing it to me right now! You’re pushing me away, I’m not made of glass Jake! You’ve barely touched me since we got home, it’s like you don’t even want me anymore and I can’t stand it!” You wailed out and he had never felt more idiotic in his life. He had been so focused on your recovery that it had never even occurred to him that you would want him like that right now, but of course you did; you needed him physically just like he always had when things were hard and somehow he’d completely missed it. You were still sniffling as he ran his hand over his face and chuckled, which made you scrunch your face up angrily at him because how was this funny? He had been acting like an ass, of course he’d done everything to be your caretaker but damnit you wanted your boyfriend.

“Oh sweet thing I’m so sorry, I really have been stupid huh?” He said as he stepped back into your space and wiped your tears with his thumbs. “I didn’t realize, baby, can I fix it? Take you to bed and show you how sorry I am?” You nodded furiously and put your hands out for him to scoop you up, letting him carry you down the hall to the bedroom as you kissed his face and neck, running your hands through his sweaty hair and down his shoulders. He still treats you like your fragile, but it’s in the form of soft touches and gentle kisses placed all over your body as he removes your clothes, there’s a reverence in the way he loves you, you’d missed the intimacy of being with him so much it hurt, and now that he knew what you needed you knew he’d give you everything. He could tell you were irritated by the leg brace, couldn’t quite get close to him the way you wanted, you were terrible at hiding it with your furrowed brows and frustrated huffs as you tried to gain leverage and push up against him. He stilled you with a hand on your hips and kissed you sweetly on the forehead trying to smooth away the irritation. “You’re so stubborn, lay still and be a good girl ok baby girl I’m gonna get you there I promise, be sweet for me like I know you can.” You huffed out again but did what he asked, watching as he kissed down your torso and hitched your good leg over his shoulder, you were already so wet and gasping for him but he was going to draw this out as long as possible, you said you needed him to touch you so he would until you couldn’t take it anymore.

He was so damn lucky, and he knew it. He could’ve lost you, missed out on moments like this, watching you come undone for him as he tasted you over and over again until you were a crying mess, taking you to the precipice as you writhed and begged for him to let you cum, but he wouldn't let you just yet, white knuckling the sheets and sobbing his name, pussy leaking all over his hands and mouth as your beautiful eyes rolled back, it was heaven on earth being with you like this and he’d never take it for granted. You were positive that you’d come out of your own skin if he didn’t let you come soon, pulling at his hair and pleading him with wasn’t working, and soon you were too far gone to even do that, just letting little noises out as you rolled your head back and forth and gasped his name, and finally he pulled away from you, climbing back up your body to sloppily lick into your mouth, he was covered in you and it was sinful, you couldn’t stop bucking into him and squirming and he just chuckled as he groped your chest and kissed your neck. “Jake- I get it ok, I was being a brat just- just please please fuck me, need it oh fuck please please” you couldn’t stop babbling even as he began to glide his cock through your slick, and he slid into you with no resistance, your body so wound up that you couldn’t stop, immediately clamping down on him and succumbing to your orgasm. He growled into your neck at how good you were, continuing to fuck you through it as you gushed all over him and onto the sheets, he’d been so turned on by edging you that he was hopeless to hold back his own orgasm, thrusting into you hard a few times and spilling into you, both of you sweat slicked and sated, finally feeling like maybe you’d made it through the worst of this season of life.

You’d fallen asleep shortly after, going in and out as he cleaned you up and tucked you in, promises to come back after he started the laundry. You knew it hadn’t been long because the sun was still out but when you woke his side of the bed was still made and cold, so you hobbled down the hall until you could hear him talking to someone on the phone. “I know Mama, she’s gonna be alright but I don’t know how to leave her, I’m scared to death to let her out of my sight let alone in her jet again. Yeah, they’re sending me back next week, I’m gonna do everything I can to make things easier but- I don’t know mama I can ask if she wants the company, she’s got an extra room but I don’t want to overwhelm her, I just want to keep her safe.” You could hear the rawness in his voice, and your heart broke, you weren’t ready to be without him either but he had to go back, you’d already been given too many favors and the navy wasn’t likely to give anymore. “Jake” you called to him and he fumbled with the phone and swiped his eyes, looking up at you with the saddest smile you’d ever seen. “Tell your mama I’d love to have her here, you’re right I could use the company and we are definitely overdue for the girl time.” There it was, his thousand watt smile you fell in love with, he crossed the room to scoop you in his arms and you could see the relief on his face. You swiped the phone from his hand and laughed, “Hey Mama Leigh, how about we order you that plane ticket? We’ve got all sorts of catching up to do, and you can fill me in on all Jake’s most embarrassing stories.”

Leigh Seresin was the very picture of a southern grandma, styled blonde hair and perfect makeup, but none of the catty attitude, just warmth and kindness. When you and Jake picked her up from the airport she pulled you both up into a hug, fussing at you for not using your crutches and producing a big container of homemade chocolate chip cookies. She reminded you so much of your grandmother in so many ways, she wasn’t pushy but she wouldn’t let you lift a finger, making sure you were settled and then ushering Jake into the kitchen to help her make dinner as you dozed on the couch. She knew you were the one for her son, could see it on his face months ago when he’d admitted that you two were together, she wasn’t surprised one bit, she’d known for years that he had a thing for you and eventually you two would figure it out. Checking to make sure you were still asleep she dug through her never ending coach bag (Jake always called her Mary poppins because she seemed to have everything) and produced a small velvet box. “You said you wanted me to give this to you when you were ready, and I know right now may not be the right time but son one day it will be. She’s the right one sweetheart, I can feel it in my bones.” There inside the little green box was the thing he’d dreamed about putting on your finger from that very first weekend, Grandma Seresin’s vintage engagement ring. He knew he’d have to wait a little while, let you heal up all the way and see where your career took you but holding it in his hand and watching you sleep on the couch he couldn’t help but feel like everything was falling into place.

Jake Seresin masterlist

Tagging- @mamamaystbr @mamachasesmayhem @roosterforme @attapullman @bobgasm @djs8891 @mygyn @pinkdaisies9285 @mrsevans90 @seitmai @jessicab1991 @shanimallina87 @dizzybee03 @86laura11 @its-the-pilot @jostan456 @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @kmc1989 @nouis-bum @dempy @floydsglasses

#top gun maverick #jake seresin #top gun maverick fanfiction #jake hangman x you #jake hangman smut #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin smut #jake hangman seresin #sacred new beginnings #Jake and Stormy

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rosenotactuallyquartz · 4 months ago

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as someone who listens to sleeping at last and loves pearlrose, i’ve accepted the Beautiful Pain this has caused

saturn perfectly describes pearl’s feelings for rose. so does two. turning page is rose’s feelings for pearl. heart is also how she felt about pearl in their earlier days.

& then there’s songs that fit the crystal gems, too. north reminds me of the crystal gems with steven. for their most vulnerable moments, sorrow reminds me of garnet, and you are enough reminds me of ame, to name just a few.

song recommendations… i guess ?? i actually have made two pearlrose playlists with some sleeping at last songs and some others. one playlist is their story from rose’s perspective, the other is their story from pearl’s perspective. i can & will share them, if you want !

#pearlrose #steven universe #sleeping at last #ramblings #rose quartz #pearl su #crystal gems #pink diamond #prose #rose quarts su #pearl x rose #garnet su #amethyst su #su #pearl steven universe #rose steven universe #rebecca sugar

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sailoryooons · 2 years ago

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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

☾ Genre: supernatural, psychological thriller, southern-gothic

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ 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

☾ Published: May 29, 2022

☾ 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.

Masterlist | Ask | To Love A Monster Collab | Song Inspiration

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.”

#hoseok smut #hobi smut #j hope smut #hoseok fanfic #j hope fanfic #bts fanfic #hobi fanfic #hoseok x reader #j hope x reader #minors dni #j hope x you #hobi x you #sailoryooons

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theetherealbloom · 2 years ago

Text

UNEVEN ODDS - CH. 7

Chapter Seven: Let's Stay the Course and Let the Tension Make Us New

Summary: The Reader is dragged into the Last of Us universe and has no choice but to watch the events unfold or will she be able to change what was already written?

Paring: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Age-gap Romance, Violence, ANGST, LOTS OF ANGST IM SORRY, TW: Sexual Assault, Attempted Rape, Swearing, Suicide, FLUFF, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, the pandemic, character death, INFECTED, MY SCIENCE IS WONKY, probable plot holes, rusty writing, TLOU is dark please read at your own risk!

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: HI THANK YOU, GUYS, FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT ILY SO MUCH AHHHHHH ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ This chapter is gonna merge with Episodes 7 & 8 hORRAY— Lowkey had to turn to the game for a bit to figure out how I wanted to write this chapter hehe. Please note this chapter is a little bit more serious and heavy than usual. The names used here are fictional and I have no intent to post this chapter to glorify any form of harm. Rape and sexual assault will always be serious topics and should never be taken lightly. This is your final warning to read at your own risk and I am not responsible for any media you consume, dear reader, you have a responsibility and choice as to what content you read, and I urge you to never blame authors for that. As always, the end notes will have the outline of my thoughts if you wanted to read what my thought process was. ANYWAYS ENJOY! GOGOGOGOGOGOGO!

Song: Would've, Could've, Should've by Taylor Swift

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TLOU WORLD 2023

ABANDONED SUBURBAN HOUSE, COLORADO – EARLY MORNING

Snowflakes fell from the pale clouds, chilly sky as a crisp wind weaved through the buildings. The bitterness of winter, whalebone-white snow presented itself as an infinite blanket. The gravel-grey skies were bare, and the only sound you could occasionally hear was Joel’s uneven breathing. You had told her to leave you. Ellie didn’t accept that, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing either of you. She dragged both of your bodies next to each other on top of his sleeping bag, strapping and securing you together with rope as she rides her horse into the suburbs, dragging the reigns of your horse.

You managed to close your eyes for a bit, your vision getting a little blurry, and everything seems hazy, you hear the shattering of glass and when you open them again, you are now inside someone’s long-forgotten home. The garage is soaked with blood, and your horse shakes off snow from his head. You and Joel are placed on an old mattress in the basement of the house, as the pain had started to sink in. Breathing becomes a chore in itself. Each breath just gets shorter and shorter, when you try to take a deep breath your body refuses to let it in, a stabbing pain each time you try. Ellie is ripping out a piece of fabric, doing her best to stop Joel’s bleeding, she curses the whole time, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Come on, you gotta help me. Come on!” While doing so, Joel grabs her hand and painfully wheezes, “Leave. Leave.” Her tone is sharp as she hisses, “Shut up, Joel.” You try and say her name, only for a painful noise to come out of your mouth, “Ellie. Please.” She shakes her head at both of you and Joel breathlessly says, “Take the gun.” Panicked, while trying to multitask as she presses another cloth to your abdomen, “Joel, shut the fuck up!”

Joel grabs her by the collar of her shirt with the remaining strength that he had to bring Ellie to look at him, he weakly says, “You go. You go. You go north. You go to Tommy. You go.” She roughly pulls away from his grasp, falling to the ground with a loud thump. You turn your head to look at Joel who was bleeding out next to you. You can see the tears rimming his eyes, and he's almost comatose. Frail, you grab his hand, squeezing it as you tenderly gaze at him.

In response, she gets up and puts his jacket over him and your own as a blanket, and both of you are almost comatose. The warmth of blankets makes him nervous, suddenly things that are known to comfort him become destructive reminders of loss. Ellie's frustrated and walks upstairs, a kid on a mission, her belief that she could fix this over time, as if every imperfection is a lie, and you watch as a tear falls from Joel’s eye. Each breath you take is agonizing, the sharp stab each time you try to let in causes you to whimper in pain. You feel Joel’s rough hands squeeze your own, still trying to shield and protect you, despite him also hurting.

You see the longing in his eyes as he faces you, and you can’t quite put your finger on it. There’s just something about his face that makes you sad, as much afraid as it’s haunted. He shakily wraps his arm around you and tries his damn hardest to put pressure on your wound even though his energy is fading. You place your head on his chest, your ear right above his faint beating heart, he winces but doesn’t push you away. Instead, he gripped you as tightly as he could, pressing a featherlight kiss on your forehead, mumbling, “Tell me somethin’ good.” You shake your head, “You growin’ soft on me Cowboy?” His eyelids feel heavy as he spoke, “Only for… you. Always you.” You feel your tears slip faintly down your cheeks, “Out of all the things I’ve researched and discovered over the years… nothing will ever compare to what I found here.” The ache in his chest expands as he inhales and says, “Birdie… I…” You shush him delicately, “I’ve never related more to anything or anyone before… I can’t explain it. You are the best thing I never planned.”

Joel shudders in the basement, his breathing becoming shallow with each breath. Wave after wave, he’s more afraid. It’s been a hard year and it’s been a high tide, but his body decides one part at a time. But what about the meantime? How do you ignore the signs that the things you love will fade or get taken away? There's something so strange about human nature, you get so used to the gifts you receive. He is watching the tears slowly continue to slip out of your eyes as he breathes lightly next to you, he still has so much he wants to tell you and still has so much to figure out. When the words came to him for the first time, he knew he was hooked on you. Your quiet charm, the way your eyes crinkled as you smiled, the calmness and chaos you carried. He wanted it all with you. Could it be, you both didn’t stand a chance? How cruel could fate be? To have found you only to lose you in a matter of days.

What was flawless canvas white, and what was kindness in your eyes, is now a blemished masterpiece. You are X-rays of something broken, made up of cold blood and bruises. You noticed your hearing started to fade. In an underwater afterimage, the hearing effect is just a bit less heavy. As time went on the underwater hearing effect started becoming more strong and you barely start hearing people. Into the darkness, you will send your symphonies. A shorthand of existence, a slowly turning key, the voyager will leave you with this modest memory of home.

You believe you’ve seen a ghost, and you don’t know who it is. It just follows you around pretending to exist. Radical acceptance sure feels like surrender, but after just a little longer, everything will make sense. Broken things will be remade, there’s some kind of heaven just around the corner and all this sorrow and agony will be replaced with unimaginable grace. With the remaining strength you had, you took in his darkly golden eyes, a smoldering visage, and warmth like home. The muffled sounds of rapid and loud footsteps from upstairs, the clattering of drawers and cabinets. You take one more breath in, the small part of you has the glimmering light of hope but the shadows keep inviting you to their clutches, and to be honest, it seems so tempting to just give in.

You hear the suppressed sound of Ellie running down to the basement, rushing to your and Joel’s side, you subconsciously wonder what took so long or if she hesitated during the process of looking through the house for supplies. You can blurrily make out the vision of Ellie holding a needle and thread, you let out a small gasp and Ellie only looks at you with worry. Your eyes flutter close, unable to help yourself to watch as she shakily stitches up Joel, he groans in pain every now and then, while you listen to your own blood dripping onto the mattress and sliding down to the concrete floor. You slowly begin to seek comfort in the ensnares of the darkness.

YOUR ORIGINAL OBSERVABLE UNIVERSE — JANUARY 13, 2023

WASHINGTON STATE UNIVERSITY, FUNDAMENTAL QUANTUM PHYSICS LAB — NIGHT

Ever since The Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences has decided to award the Nobel Prize in Physics 2022 to three scientists for experiments with entangled photons, establishing the violation of Bell inequalities and pioneering quantum information science. You were immediately intrigued by their findings and continued your own research with the given information. You sit in the dim lighting of the lab, and the glow of the screen hypnotizes you as you continue to scroll through the PDF file, text containing the explanation of quantum entanglement and the possibilities of quantum teleportation.

The mountains of paper, pencils, pens, and highlighters clutter around your large desk. You bring your arms up and stretch your lower back. Waiting for the possible outcome of the computer-generated model, a theory could change how information is sent and transmitted, including transportation. You suddenly hear your other coworker, Alisha shakily call your name, and you spin your chair around to find her disheveled state. A bruised lip, her hair in a mangled mess, and her eyes red-rimmed, you look down at her once-white lab coat to find blood at the edges. Your eyes widen in concern, “Ali, what happened to–” You didn’t even get the chance to finish, she had made her way across the room to hug you and began to cry in your arms, falling apart piece by piece. You hear her beg and whimper broken words, “Please… Please don’t let him find me… He can’t…”

You then hear the yelling voice of her partner Richard, screaming her name through the halls, and soon enough, outside your door, you try to stand and lock it but since Ali was clinging onto you, you barely got up before the man came barreling through the door. You and Ali flinch at his arrival, wearing around his father’s hand-me-down anger. Your skin crawled and your bones rattled, your muscles screamed of a horror unseen. Ali’s breathing is shortened and you feel her skin become cold, your leg and arm muscles tightened. There is a sound coming from his mouth, but nothing registers as the ringing in your ears has appeared. He marches towards you and Ali, the taste of bile rose to your mouth and you swallowed, the acid rising and burning your throat.

TLOU WORLD 2023

A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER…

ABANDONED SUBURBAN HOUSE, COLORADO — DAY

You wake up choking, the feeling of being smothered overwhelms your body as you try to gasp for air. Ellie is quick to your side, as you cry out in fear and pain, the awful memory of your past that you had buried, had been used against you in your sleep. You take some time to realize where you are, and Ellie is clutching your hand as you try and jerk forward, “Hey… Birdie… shhh… you’re okay,” she said as she gently pushes you down next to Joel. You shiver and whimper, “Ellie…” She shushes you again and lets you drink from a glass of water, you painfully gulp it down, and she gets you to try and eat a bit of food from the rations, you brought with you. Dizzily, you chew and swallow whatever you could, urging yourself not to puke on the teen.

You turn your head back to Joel, who was shivering, and barely conscious, you weakly speak to Ellie, “Can you… please lift his shirt for me?” The young girl shifts to Joel’s side, doing what she was asked of, the sickly sound of blood that clings onto his flannel has your eyes looking down at the yellow puss seeping from the now closed and stitched-up wound. To put it plainly, everything fucking hurt. You wince as you bring your shirt up to check your abdomen, finding that it had also been patched up and luckily not as infected as Joel’s. You bring your shirt down and watch Ellie take care of Joel, tucking him back in his blanket, and giving him water and a bit of food left placed on top of his blanket. You hoarsely say, “We need an antibiotic for his wound. Are there any in the drawers upstairs? In the medicine cabinet… maybe?” Then teen shakes her head, “No, I checked everything.” You cough a little, before giving her a small nod.

Ellie looks at the rifle leaning against the wall, and you hear her whisper to you both, “I’m gonna be right back… okay?” You try and call for her, but she doesn’t stop preparing her things, too focused on trying to get you and Joel better and moving. Her footsteps sound heavy as she makes her way upstairs while carrying the heavy rifle on one shoulder, you shudder as if you were seconds from breaking down from the orbit, gravity throws you down. She will discover that life will knock you down and wait for you to stand back up before kicking you in the stomach. But, the only way to make your lungs remember how much they relish the flavor of air is to knock you out completely. Underneath, there is hurt that cannot be soothed by poetry or bandages. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. You weakly grab Joel’s hand from underneath the green and white plaid blanket, squeezing it as you shakily say, “I don’t know if you can hear me… but if you can… Joel, you were good to me. If you're wondering why I've stayed—and for all I know, I'll stay—the truth is because the stars told me to.”

A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER…

ABANDONED SUBURBAN HOUSE, COLORADO — SUNSET

You weren’t sure how long you slept, or how long Ellie had been gone. But you stir to the sound of Ellie’s footsteps running down the wooden creaking stairs. You blink your eyes open, She unzips her jacket and lays the rifle next to Joel, and pulls out a wrapped pouch. You hear the bottles clink as she unwraps them, and she tells you it’s penicillin, she then looks at you shaking your head, “Give it to Joel first.” Ellie sniffs and nods, peeling back the blanket that covers his pale body, you murmur out instructions, “Hold the syringe in your hand like a pencil, with the needle pointed up.” She does as she is told and you continue to guide her through it, “With the cap still on, pull back the plunger to the line on your syringe for your dose. Keep the syringe tip in the medicine. Tap the syringe with your finger to move air bubbles to the top. Then push gently on the plunger to push the air bubbles back into the vial.” As if she was an expert, she does everything perfectly, but she begins to panic about where she would administer the penicillin, “Okay, the fuck do I put this, Birdie?” You exhale in pain but keep going, “Do not inject it into a vein. You need to administer it on a large muscle, either his back or his thigh.” Ellie exclaims, “I am not pulling down his pants!” You wince at her sudden yelling, and she’s quick to apologize, you groggily get up, everything was spinning but you needed to help her. You tell her, “Okay, turn around.” She does so, still holding the needle for you as you unbuckle his belt and carefully undress him, he groans and you try your best to ignore it. You focus on the task at hand, bringing his jeans down enough to see a portion of his thigh, “Do we have any… alcohol?” You ask and Ellie hands you Joel’s metal flask, your mouth forms a frown but you unscrew the cap and pouring a tiny amount of the vodka as an antiseptic, cleaning it off with the only clean rag left in your bag.

You ask for the needle from Ellie and she hands it to you. Your heart is racing, but you manage to inject him with the required amount of penicillin, you hear Joel sigh with a mix of pain and relief. You redress him quickly and mention to Ellie it’s safe to look again, she turns to see you sitting on the mattress again, watching Joel fall back asleep. You yawn in exhaustion, drearily blinking as you try and center yourself. Ellie says your name and you tiredly bring your eyes to her as she says, “There’s another needle if you wanted to…”

You nodded gratefully and followed the same procedure as before, Ellie turns around as you undressed a part of your jeans, quick to the point of just stabbing the needle into your thigh to get it over with, gritting your teeth as you pushed the plunger down, feeling the antibiotic entering in your system. You zip back up and lean back into the mattress, Ellie hearing you shift causes her to turn around again, and you gently pat the middle of the bed, indicating for her to lay down and rest. She is snug in the middle of you and Joel, her tiny arms wrapped around him, with you kissing the top of her head. Joel leans into her touch, resting his head above hers, and quietly breathes. Your tired eyes slowly close shut and allow yourself the comfort of the people around you.

ABANDONED SUBURBAN HOUSE, COLORADO — MORNING

As thin as air and as light as snow. The sunlight streaming through the basement window causes you to stir awake once more, Ellie is sitting up in between you and Joel, and she asks, “Do you have to inject him again?” Tiredly, you nod and carefully push yourself up, raising a hand to his forehead to check his temperature. You lift a portion of the shirt while Ellie watches you move skillfully, you sigh in relief as you inspect the injury and the wound already looks slightly better and then you lift your own shirt to see your own abdomen healing as well, you look up to Ellie who tearily laughs, “Thank fucking God.” As you prepare to administer another dose of penicillin, Ellie puts on her jacket and beanie, “I’m gonna go outside and feed the horses, I’ll be back.” You smile, “Please be careful.” She nods and is quick to run up the steps, and you undress Joel once more to inject the antibiotic into his thigh. You place him back into his jeans and place the blanket over him again, wiping away the sweat from his brows as you try and catch your breath. You then let your hand slide down, cupping his cheek tenderly, “Come back to us, Joel. Please, we still need you.” Kissing his head and then laying down to rest next to him, allowing your body to melt with his, the past two days have drained most of your reserved energy, you drift off into a deep slumber.

The crows caw violently as they fly away from the approaching danger, the leaves shake and swirl all around and Ellie is quick to investigate. She hugs the fence and crouches down to see David and his men quickly approaching, searching for Ellie and her two guardians. She curses and dashes back to the house, her boots heavily thudding against the wooden steps down to the basement, she first tries to wake you, but you don’t even stir, you have no more energy to give, each part of you spent trying to care for both of them and barely trying to keep yourself alive. Ellie panics and turns to Joel, shaking and yelling at him, “Joel! Joel, wake up. Joel, wake the fuck up, Joel.”

Ellie moves away to unsheath the knife from his bag and Joel forces his eyes open, she moves back to place the large blade on his chest, grabbing his hand so he could hold it, saying, “Okay, okay, look at me. There are men coming, okay? Birdie isn’t waking up and she’s probably exhausted from all of this. I’m gonna lead them away from you two but if anybody makes it down here, you fucking kill them. You got it?” He does reply, still barely conscious and Ellie snaps her fingers at him, “Joel. Joel, do not fall asleep. She needs you to keep her safe. I need you to keep her safe. Do not fall asleep.”

There isn’t enough time to form a reply to Ellie, she instantly bolts up the steps, placing a large cabinet to block and conceal the basement entrance. His eyes close once more, like a final puzzle piece, It all makes perfect sense to him. The heaviness that he holds in his heart's been crushing him.

ABANDONED SUBURBAN HOUSE, COLORADO — DAY

Joel hears the sound of footsteps from above, each thud causing him to jolt awake from his slumber, he tilts his head to find your beautiful figure stirring, as if your body senses the danger. He pushes himself up from the mattress, having one mission in mind, keeping you safe and alive. He shushes you, kissing away the lines on your forehead, and slowly they disappear. He hears the cabinet being moved, and quickly hides his figure, not enough time or strength yet to hide you as he limps to hide in the shadows.

The sound of floorboards creaks with each step the intruder takes, slowly approaching the landing of the staircase. He sees your resting figure deep asleep and quickly glances around the basement to see if the man who killed his friend was here. This was the moment Joel wished he was younger, quicker, and not in the worst fucking physical pain he has ever felt. The man approaches you, eyes glinting with starvation as he licks his lips, he dives onto you, nailed your wrists to the mattress, and covers your mouth as you screamed awake, shrieking and kicking, screaming for Joel. Your voice threw itself over the edge of your throat and landed at the bottom of your belly. The same way Richard did that night, you cry loudly as you continue to kick and struggle through the flashbacks of the past you had buried.

The sound of screaming from Ali haunts your mind as you hit Richard with all of your strength, he covers your mouth and you bite it fiercely, he curses and spits at you, “You fucking bitch. Come here.” You kneed him, hard, in the genitals, he folds over and you crawl over to the toolboxes on the table above you, he grabs your ankle and drags you back to him.

You were fighting harder than before. The guy is removing his belt and pulling down his pants. You can barely contain your cries, a bird with a broken wing. You didn’t know when your being and body became something that took up too much space.

You kick him with your other foot again, using your fingernails and clawing his face and skin. This catches him off guard, releasing your ankle, you take the opportunity to grab a metal wrench, swing at him, and walloped him on the head, repeatedly, the crunch of his skull as you hack into him with every pent-up rage you had harbored over the years. Your anger often melts into sadness, it will just disintegrate into shame or fear, and your clenched teeth release into chatter. But he has found the right mix of arrogance and abuse. Telling you again how you are just not understanding the point, reminding you how he is an expert, touching your knee, thigh, and lower back, ignoring you twice, three times, continuing to talk over your screams and plea to stop. Some of us are born chasing disaster. From the moment you entered this world, screaming, you are looking for lightning, the raw of your body, always searching for clever hands.

Joel appears from the shadows, every fiber, every vein, pumping him full of adrenaline, and pure raw rage you have never seen before from him. His eyes were a deep rich black, and his eyebrows were pulled so close together, the lines on his forehead were so prominent as if they were canals and channels of rivers. He pulls the man off of your shaking body, and stabs the man from behind, hitting a part of his neck of the predator, he begins to struggle and you push yourself away from the fight, your back hitting the wall and trying to calm down to no avail. By the time the man has passed out, Joel rolls over to his side, pushing himself up and crawling to you.

When Joel makes it to your scared and confused figure, at first you try punching and kicking at him too, still in survival mode. But he manages to grab you and is desperately hauling you to his chest, one hand cradling your head, the other wrapped around your waist as you loudly wail and dry heave, he rocks your bodies back and forth and strokes your head, trying to soothe your hysteria, “I’m so sorry darlin’, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, my sweet hummin’ bird. Shh, I’m here. I’m so, so, sorry. I’m right here.”

You were sitting at the back of an ambulance vehicle, a blanket placed over you, the flashing lights and sirens blending together with the occasional radio chatter from an officer. The blood on your hands had dried and stuck to your skin, across from you Ali was giving her statement on what had happened as an EMT continued to check over you, finding bruises on every part of your body. Strangely enough, you felt numb, there was no ounce of guilt or remorse for what had occurred and transpired. You look up at the officer, his pity radiates off of him, and you barely hear him ask for your statement only for the EMT to shoo him off, telling him to come back later, you were still in shock.

You slowly raise your chin, eyes dancing at the sight of the commotion. Like blueprints constantly being rearranged, over microscopes you plan and strain. But every sighting is proof and every heartbeat proves it too.

When it hurts too much, you might fall in love with someone with only one touch. The light shines brightest in the darkest places. Even if truth weighs more than fiction, gravity lifts as the projectionist rolls the tape and you become brave once more. You persevered despite the dangers and never-ending tight escapes, and you are still alive. Nobody will ever be able to comprehend the struggles you had to go through inside just to recover, just to develop, to get to where you are now. Be proud of yourself for battling to save yourself. Be proud of how you managed to survive.

THE ABANDONED SUBURBS, COLORADO — DAY

Joel eventually manages to calm you down, centering you, he tells you, “Darlin’, we need to find Ellie. Okay? You have to continue being brave for me, okay? Can you do that?” He wipes away your tears as you nod, he kisses your forehead and holds your face gently, “There’s my girl. C’mon.” He gets the both of you to stand, and you both drag the man up the steps, not caring if he would sometimes groan in pain. You didn’t have a very violent side, it takes a lot to push you to your limits, but when it does burst out of you, it happens in one go, and it is a blur each time you lash out.

The rattling of the branches causes your ears to perk up in alertness, and Joel lets the predator thump loudly upon the cold snow on purpose. Joel asks you to hide behind the shed, wanting to take care of the other man himself. You hear a voice call out, “Timothy?” And you spot the second raider walking through the broken fence, taking the bait as he spots who you now know as Timothy struggling face down on the crisp white snow, “Oh, shit.” He kneels on the ground to try and help his friend, but Joel comes at him with a force so strong as he hits the man on the head with the butt of the rifle, he falls to the ground instantly and becomes unconscious.

Both of you work together to prop the both of them up into the house, taping both of them with duct tape, and Joel needs to do the rest of the work out of guilt and shame, forcing you to wait down on the steps of the basement. You hear him beating the shit out of Timothy, and he wails in pain with every strike, “Stop, stop. Please.” Your lips form a line and hug your body as you decide to quietly walk up the steps, peeking at the sight.

Your mouth parts open, watching Joel’s violence happen in front of you in real-time. A satisfying crunch could be heard with each punch Joel throws at your assailant, you take a good long look at your man, and can’t help the way your breathing quickened at the thought of him protecting you and trying to save Ellie from these bastards. There is no evil in Joel’s eye, just pure focus and exhaustion. You hear the other voice beg, “Leave him alone.” To which Joel roughly replies, “You’re next.” He pulls out the knife from his back pocket and Timothy begs, “Please, I don’t know any girl.” Joel stabs him in the knee and he yells in pain, “Oh, fuck!” And the other attacker exclaims, “Jesus!” You feel goosebumps rise from every portion of your skin and try to steady your breathing once more. Timothy calls for his friend, “Marco!” And Joel grabs Timothy by his hair, roughly pulling it to get him to look at the man you cared for, his voice drops lower, “No, no, no. He can’t help you. You focus right here. Or I’ll pop your fuckin’ kneecap off.”

If Joel asked you anything in that tone, you would do anything in a heartbeat. You smile knowingly but quickly shake your head at those thoughts, needing to find Ellie. “She’s alive,” Timothy says as he is dripping in blood and the taste of copper buzzes in the air. Joel shakes his head as he asks, “Where?” Timothy doesn’t immediately respond to which Joel twists the knife impaled in his knee, and he begins to cry in pain, “Fuck! Fuck! The town!” Joel's voice booms so loudly, you watch as his spit flies in the air, the room felt like it was shaking and every part of your body felt the vibrations as he yelled, “What town?!” Timothy pants in fear and pain, “Silver Lake.” Joel pushes his head backward and cries out in ache.

Joel pulls out the map from his back pocket and unfolds it, Timothy begins to stumble over his words as he spoke, “It’s not a real town name. It’s a resort.” Joel’s eyes narrow, “A resort?” Then he quickly pulls the knife from his kneecap, the blood squirting out as he does, Timothy is crying out again but your eyes only watch how efficiently Joel moves. He stands and shoves the handle of the knife into Timothy’s mouth, and your posture shifts, you are now blinking wildly at his actions, and the unexpected rush of heat flows in every direction of your body, you swallow in anticipation.

Joel’s voice is gruff and grave as he instructs him, “You’re gonna point to where we are and where you’re ‘resort’ is. And it better be the exact same spot your buddy points to.” Timothy cries as he nods and the muffled sound of his reply, ”Okay.” He does as he is told, his blood becoming the markers of where you are and where you were now heading. Timothy drops the knife from his mouth, letting it fall to his lap, “That’s where we are. I swear.” Joel falls to his knees as he takes in the information, looking down directly at the map and then his hard gaze looks up as Timothy continues to beg, “Go ask him. He’ll tell you. I’m not lying.” There is no moment to react as Joel takes the knife, stands up, and stabs him right through the chest, he wails and screams, and you inadvertently flinch in shock, Joel twists the knife, letting his anger take over. Marco cries out to Joel, “No, No! Shit! Jesus! No! Why the fuck would you do that?! He told you what you wanted!”

Joel walks over to the chair on the side and grabs the rusty metal pipe atop it. The man you have journeyed with, kissed, and cared for is now pushed to his limits. He is tall and domineering over Marco as he squirms and curses at him, “You motherfucker. Fuck you. I ain’t tellin’ you shit.” Joel nods, his voice as bold as whiskey, deep and rich, “You see that woman over there by the corner, watchin’? That’s my girl. Your buddy over there was gon’ touch what is mine. And no one fuckin’ touches anythin’ that’s mine.”

Your eyebrows raise and your breathing lazily declines, as your system creates sparks and tingles all over your skin. The very sensitive part of you aches for Joel, and you allow yourself to lust over him. He claimed you right here, you are his girl, and anyone who hurts you would pay the price. A brutal and torturous death.

“And you know what, it’s okay. I believe him.” Joel said, and raises the pipe and Marco begs, “No, no. No!” The crunching sound of his skull being pried open, Joel using every bit of muscle and strength as he beats him to his death, blood splatters on the wall and the floor, he lets out his rage, and you enjoy every bit of violence that he exhibits right now, knowing he would never hurt you, just the people who threatened you and Ellie’s safety.

By the time Joel drops the pipe to the ground, you are no longer peeking around the corner, you are visibly standing a few feet away behind him, as his broad shoulders rise and fall from his heavy breathing. You are well aware of the shadows in your heart, but you want to feel tectonic shifts and as he turns to face you, he sees the wide-eyed beautiful woman he has given his heart to, not a single bit afraid, yet he can’t help but ask, “So you know all about me?” You nod, “Yes.” He questions, “And you still want me?” You close the distance between the both of you, gently cupping the side of his face. There is no hesitation in your response, “I want you all the more.”

You pack what you can and trek through the snow, the blizzard, and the wind is harsh and colder, you and Joel stumble about but keep pushing on, trying to get to Ellie on time. Joel holds your hand in his, guiding you to the resort on the map, he clutches a stone pillar of an establishment, and you tug his sleeve as you spot the trail of blood staining the icy snow. You and he follow the bloody path and break into the locked door that the trail leads to with the butt of his rifle, ushering you inside and then slamming the large wooden door shut. You and Joel catch your breath, and turn on your flashlights, letting them shine through the dark. You both have your guns drawn at the ready, inspecting the building, Joel crouches down to the bottom shelf, finding Ellie’s pack. You walk deeper into the dark house, following the trail of blood, and pushing past the doors. He finds both of your horses inside, the room and you blink away the tears as you continue to try and be brave. You tiredly bring your flashlight up to hear the weird creaky noise from behind the canoes, you feel Joel behind you as he also points his flashlight to a gruesome sight.

Every step you took was a confirmation, needing to reassure yourself that this was actually in front of you, you had known there was a character named David who was a cannibal but were not fully aware when that would happen or if it would even occur. You cannot utter the careful words that you needed, you could barely speak out loud. Your heart pounded, your head spun and your eyes saw the three human bodies tied up by their ankles without any heads. It took everything in you not to throw up right there, feeling the reflex crawl up your throat, holding back from gagging at the sight in disgust. Joel stands there speechless as he stares at the dangling corpses, you reach for his hand for comfort, and he squeezes your own as you shakily breathe in and out.

You both exit the building, and point your nose up in the air, smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house. You and Joel rush to the source of the grey clouds of smoke and hear the loud door opening, Ellie’s shaken figure dazedly walking away from the scene. Joel swiftly catches up to the teen and grabs her from behind, which causes Ellie to go back into fight mode, she kicks and screams, “No! Get off of me!” She squirms in his arms, screaming and begging, “Get off!” Joel turns her around, and it takes her a bit to calm down and realize it’s you and Joel, “It’s me.” Joel says and Ellie falls to her knees crying, and punching him. He holds Ellie’s head in her hand, saying, “It’s me. Hey, look. It’s me. It’s me. It’s okay.” And Ellie almost can’t speak, as she hugs him, finally feeling safe. At this moment, Joel says, “It’s okay, baby girl. I got you.”

Though not the promised land, nor any perfect plan along your neutral path, there was a single lowered branch. Your ears are ringing at the slightest sound. Like a huge piano descending a million stairs slowly. The noises it produces, however, are only the growing pains of mending. You bring your arms around Ellie, and as the three of you hug, every wrong will be made right, what was adamant, even permanent will have a change of heart and mind. In your disbelief, you'll clear your eyes as if you're seeing light for the very first time. Joel pulls away quickly to remove his jacket to place it over Ellie, holding his backpack in his other hand. The three of you walk away from the smell of smoke, miles away, clutching each other afraid and vulnerable, three panicked souls in the cold, for now, the dissonance disappears.

END NOTES

HORRAY VIOLENCE! (this is a joke- do I need to explain that-) I know, I KNOW THE CHAPTER IS SOOO SHORT PLS THERE WERENT ENOUGH SCENES CALMMMM IM JUST AS SAD but there is only so much I can dOOooo Many songs, quotes, and poems inspired me for this chapter HNGGG THESE WERE VERY VERY exPLICIT AND vIOLENT scenes to write and convey. Some parts of the story were taken from experiences I personally had by literally existing as a woman. The feeling of being unsafe and being taken advantage of is a sad and harsh reality of this world. YAY FOR TAKING CARE OF JOEL AND GUIDING ELLIE… EVEN THOUGH MF UR STILL INJURED TOO GIRL CHILLLLL RIP HORSEY NOOOOOOOO At first, when I was writing this chapter for both Episodes 7 and 8, I was like, “Fuck, maybe I made a wrong call, Birdie shouldn’t have gotten hurt and should’ve got captured with Ellie.” And then I sat and thought about that for a good 3 hours, and realized that it would be a huge mistake, because Ellie and Joel still needed their resolve, meaning Ellie had to survive on her own for a while. Because there will be times when adults can’t always protect or shield their child from inevitable pain or problems. And essentially, you and Joel already had your own moment last chapter tehe David had it comin’ and only had hiMSELF TO BLAMEEEEE FUCK YOU CREEP, PREDATOR, ABUSER, STINKY MF MAN, YOU GOT WHAT YOU DESERVED yEaHHHH GET HIM ELLIE! Bella Ramsy shrieking as she drives the knife into his chest multiple times, and then her last note faltering at the end, absolutely shattered every bit of my being, I love her, she’s so fucking talented, 5/5 stars cast mwah <;3 The way I would give literally anYTHING TO BE HUGGED BY PEDRO LIKE THAT IN COMFORT T^T damn aGHHHH hORRAY MORE PARARALALALLELS WITH YOU AND ELLIE! Fighting for your life and your friend's life in that lab, at this point the school should pay for your therapy bill lol fUCK U RICHARD Also, it’s important to note, the night in that lab was a highly traumatic experience for Birdie, so she essentially froze a tiny bit when she felt like it was happening again. feel free to send me an ask if you have any kweschons, quonserns or klarifiqaystions :> - Grace

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