#drowning implication cw

[aresenics]

 have  you  seen  VERO  DE  LA  ROSA   ?   we’ve  heard  through  the  grapevine  that  they’re  ADROIT  but  also  DECEIVING.  when  you  think  of  them,  you  think  of  short  fingernails  and  bloodied  palms  from  taut  rope,  the  intricate  lines  of  old  weapons  you  see  mounted  on  museum  walls,  and  looking  up  from  deep  underwater  as  sunlight  shines  through.

THE  SECOND  KING  OF  SICILY  .

mentions  cw:  drowning  ,  homicide  ,  violence  .

*̲    ⋅   𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒔  :

FULL  NAME:  vero   rafael   de   la   rosa   .

PRONUNCIATION:  “  veh  -  rro  ,  ”  an  audio  example  can  be  found  here  (  the  italian  version  /  1st  example  )   !

NICKNAME(S):  ve  /  v  ,  rafa  (   by  youngest  sibling   )  .

AGE:  forty  -  five  .

GENDER  IDENTITY:  cisman  .

PRONOUNS: he  /   him   /   his   .

ORIENTATION:  biromantic  &  bisexual  .

LANGUAGE(S)  SPOKEN:  spanish  (   primary   )  ,  italian  (   secondary   )  ,  english  (  conversational   )  &  french  (   literary,  conversational   )  . 

ACCENT:  diego’s  irl   ! 

PARALLEL(S):  to  be  announced  .

*̲    ⋅   𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅    𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒌   :

BIRTH  PARENTS:  status   —   deceased  (   killed  in  battle  against  vero   )  .

SIBLINGS:   status   —   alive  ,  two  older  &  one  younger  .  

MARITAL  RELATION:  status   —   married  to  the  king  of  sicily  .  

CHILDREN:  status   —   alive  ,  three  (   two  adoptive  &  one  biological   )  .

OTHER  RELATIVES:  father  in  law  (  deceased  )  &   two  sibling  in  -  laws  (  alive  )  .

*̲    ⋅   𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒔𝒆  :

FACE  CLAIM:  diego  luna  .

HAIR  COLOUR:  waves  of  black  that  reach  the  nape  of  his  neck,  usually  smooth  &  soft  but  unruly  .

EYE  COLOUR: dark  brown  .

HEIGHT:  five  feet  eleven  inches  .

BODY MARKINGS:  a  scar  across  his  left  eyebrow,  indentations  across  his  knuckles,  another  at  his  right  thigh  .  one  tattoo  behind  his  right  ear  in  honor  of  his  youngest  sibling  &  another  located  at  the  space  where  his  stomach  ends  and  thigh  begins  .  vero  has  a  couple  of  helix  piercings  +  cuffs  along  the  top  &  center  portion  of  his  left  ear  .  

*̲    ⋅   𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓    𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆  :

the  enigma  -  inexplicable to an observer, such as the means by which something is effected, the motive for a course of conduct, the cause of a phenomenon, etc.

*̲    ⋅   𝒕𝒉𝒆   𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒕   𝒐𝒇    𝒊𝒕   :

vero  was  only  seven  when  he  was  made  to  take  after  the  selachians  of  the  sea:  swashbuckling  thieves  that  cared  none  as  to  whether  they  sailed  north  or  east,  nor  south  or  west;  wherever  their  compass  carried  them,  there  were  surely  fortunes  to  be  found  and  if  there  weren’t,  the  people  they  had  captured  were  useful  enough.  he  had  been  thrown  into  deep,  creature  infested  waters  in  traditional  test  to  see  if  he  could  manage  on  his  own.  he’d  gasp  and  sputter  the  salts  of  the  sea,  thin  legs  flailing  and  unruly  hair  plastered  against  his  forehead  as  he  tried  his  best  to  appease  the  ones  who’d  done  it  without  mercy  -  his  parents.  his  eldest  siblings  would  turn  their  chin  down,  eyes  narrowed  with  half  expectancy  and  half  anticipating  failure.  the  littlest  would  cry  out  for  someone  to  help  him,  only  to  be  answered  with  a  shove  to  quiet  down.  no  one  will  be  there  to  help.  he  had  to  learn.  they’d  leave  him  to  his  devices  after  a  moment  of  panicked  splashing,  getting  absolutely  nowhere,  not  daring  to  move  in  fear  that  any  lingering  animal  would  grab  at  his  legs  like  wounded  prey.  the  piercing  cold  didn’t  help  stir  numbing  limbs  either.  they  would  turn  away  from  the  edge  of  the  ship  and  continue  on  with  their  duties,  worrying  none  for  the  son  that  stood  overboard.  vero  had  set  it  in  his  mind  then.  the  sea  was  his  and  his  alone. 

as  vero  grew  from  child  to  man,  he  vowed  to  use  what  had  been  gained  from  silent  observance  and  cunning  trickery  to  master  quick  hands,  as  clever  and  smooth  as  the  seafolk  that  forged  him.  it  would  all  lead  to  their  greatest  downfall.  the  frailest  of  their  children  had  become  the  very  rival  that  would  overturn  their  power,  seizing  their  ship  and  claiming  the  crew  that  once  spat  at  his  feet  (  sparing  the  youngest  and  gravely  injuring  the  two  eldest  ).  wielding  many  a  sharp  weapon  and  swiping   purses  from  the  belts  of  those  who  bragged  about  never  having  been  fooled.  a  siren  who  used  a  gentle,  pretty  face  to  best  the  burliest  of  men  and  most  brilliant  of  women.  the  peak  of  piracy,  taking  what  was  his  and  slaughtering  the  name  of  anyone  who  dared  to  avenge  stolen  riches.  his  greed  and  deception  led  him  be  known  among  the  reefs  and  eventually,  the  shore.  a  slip  of  paper  would  roll  upon  his  desk  on  a  stormy  night,  carved  in  red  ink  and  sealed  shut  with  the  thickest  of  wax.  therein  read  an  offer;  a  deal.  become  one  with  the  land,  labor  for  me  and  dig  into  the  secrets  of  the  elite.  find  your  way  into  the  royal  family  and  we  will  both  find  what  we  are  looking  for.  i,  the  throne.  and  you,  everything  you’ve  ever  wished.

and  so  it  was  agreed.  vero  would  band  with  two  other  men,  all  skilled  in  their  own  proclivities  and  creating  a  pact  that  they  would  do  anything,  spout  any  fable  and  fool  anyone  if  it  meant  worming  their  way  into  the  circle  of  the  french  nobility.  vero’s  chance  would  present  itself  at  the  stories  of  an  upcoming  rebellion,  watching  as  the  new  generation  tore  down  conquistadors  and  any  tyrannical  group  that  took  down  innocent  ships.  he  saw  an  opportunity  to  attack  one  night  when  they’d  been  recuperating  from  a  battle  fought  the  evening  of;  replenishing  what  was  left  of  their  stock  and  patching  up  any  flaws  to  their  ship.  he  used  the  cover  of  night  to  dismantle  their  crew,  nearly  taking  more  wins  than  losses  of  men.  however,  despite. their  exhaustion,  vero’s  crew  was  bested  and  at  once,  they  were  all  caught.  they’d  been  brought  to  their  knees  with  sweaty  locks  gripped  between  the  fingers  of  a  scowling  seafarer.  the  sharp  end  of  a  sword  met  at  vero’s  throat,  belonging  to  a  young  man  of  sunkissed  cheeks  and  windswept  curls.  the  conniving  siren  would  stare  up  at  him,  eyes  pools  of  black.  of  wonder.  there  was  his  way  in.

 with  the  intention  to  have  vero  properly  dealt  with  by  his  father,  diego  had   intended  to  set  sail  to  sicily.  home.  however,  being  that  there  were  a  sudden  lack  of  hands  to  aid  in  the  repair  and  journey  back,  vero  was  forced  to  serve  every  need  of  the  crew;  a  form  of  punishment  until  his  final  sentencing. 

 through  tsunamic  waves  that  threatened  to  set  the  ship  off  course  they’d  sail  as  one,  earning  an  array  of  permanent  scarring  and  grunts  of  brute  strength  to  hold  the  boat  in  place.  shallow  currents  provided  the  perfect  excuse  to  dock  and  venture  out  onto  unfamiliar  islands,  diego  stopping  to  show  vero  the  joy,  trust,  and  community  that  he  and  his  father  had  guided  and  fostered  among  the  sicilian  people.  by  the  time  they  returned  home,  vero  had  captured  his  heart.  the  most  perfect  plan.  a  success.  diego  declared  the  desire  to  commit  them  for  eternity  and  despite  his  father’s  suspicions  about  vero’s  intentions,  he  gave  them  his  blessing  and  they  married  not  long  after. 

a  domino  effect  of  life.  first   the  passing  of  his  father  in  law,  then  diego’s   coronation  as  sicily’s  new  monarch.  they’d  adopt  children  together,  even  having  their  biological  child  via  a  surrogate.  it  all  came   far  too  fast  for  him  to  catch  breath.  he’d  never  seen  himself  as  a  father.  as  a  husband.  never  even  saw  himself  getting  this  far  (  a  reoccuring  jest  among  his  crew  that  he  wouldn’t  live  past  40  ).  and  yet  here  he  stood.  and  he’s  … .  happy  ?

every  time  that  he  looks  at  his  husband  he  cannot  get  enough.  as  if  seeing  him  for  the  first  time  all  over  again.  everytime  his  children  pass  by  his  heart  swells  and  he’s  not  sure  if  it’s  healthy  for  it  to  grow  that  much  in  size.  the  men  who’d  made  the  pact  have  grown  weary  of  his  idleness,  hunting  him  down  and  finding  the  perfect  moment  to  ambush  him;  threatening  to  bring  harm  if  he  doesn’t  deliver  his  promise.  a  fool  -  proof  plan  foiled  by  the  surge  of  warmth  that  had  been  shown  to  a  once  savage  beast.  but,  he  is  in  love.  with  all  of  it.  a  sea  creature  with  claws  for  hands,  gripping  onto  life  with  a  wild  thirst. every  waking  moment  that  he  is  with  family  he  is  consumed  by  guilt,  knowing  that  he  is  far  too  gone.  the  choice  is  yet  to  be  made:  fight  alone  with  the  risk  of  death,  unable  to  tell  his  kin  as  to  why  … . . or  bear  the  truth  and  reap  the  consequences. 

*̲    ⋅   𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅   𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔   :

to  be  announced  .  <3

[peppered-moths]

imagine this, if you will:

it is the end of the world. survivors like them are used to it. scott and martyn are in the final four (again, again). it doesn’t matter who the others are. martyn is running out of time. they all are, really, but his death is far more imminent. they stand in the ruins of the coral isles.

scott takes his hand. you know what has to happen next. no winner may ever win again, may never survive the ticking of their clock.

martyn protests. of course he does; loyalty is stamped in his very soul. loyalty and love (though they’ve never called it that, never will). time ticks down. twenty minutes, eighteen seconds.

the ocean is warm. still beautiful, despite the ruins of the coral reef. the only fish left are pufferfish now. the world ends. the world always ends.

for them, it ends as it began; with water, with blood, with one final embrace. there is no burial, no consigning scott’s bones to the ocean. there is only red, and a promise to end the world on his lips.

(martyn wins, in the end. he kills the other two, as many times as he needs to, as many times as it takes. the world won’t end. the world won’t fucking end until he’s done with it.

there is blood on his hands. there is blood still spiraling in the water, the last remnant of a life that may as well never have existed. martyn wades in. salt-copper tang fills his mouth.

drowning is very easy when you’re tired, even when you fight it. his vision goes hazy, even as he panics, even as he flails, stuck to the spot by the rocks he’s piled in his pockets.

the moment before everything goes black, martyn thinks he sees scott swimming towards him.)

the world ends. it always does.

[cynicallyscorned]

" Where's Macaque? Don't ask me. Ask the car at the bottom of th' lake. "

[look-on-my-works]

A form comprised of parts that do not fit.

There is a roughly cobbled together figure, and he stands by your peripheral vision;

Not the most appealing of forms, but each stitch was crafted with care,

And each badly fitting item was well chosen in the eyes of the beholder.

He tries to speak, of course, this shambling memorial to confusion, but the voicebox drips with venom;

Not his choice of course, but often creators will be cruel,

And fathers will be reflected so dutifully in their sons.

He speaks in this scathing and venomous tone, a plea, you think. Is it a plea? A cry for recognition, a something, a someone, a voice that didn't mean to hurt?

It twists and turns as though a tourniquet putting pressure on some wound deep in your chest, and you cannot place if it cuts or blocks off blood flow;

To save or to kill will look the same to the smudged near ghost of a friend lost, a broken mirror isn't wrong, just a strangled perspective, you see.

He hates his voice, he gargles out, through this rotten oesophagus, and he wishes so dearly for you not to speak of it, let him rest, let him go, let him free;

But all you can hear is the burn of stomach acid and the seeping, sediment seething in your gut.

You stumble away, put distance between yourself and the threat and the acid is neutralised by a viscous bile, a vicious tear from closeness to a tormenting time dilation;

It does move slower as the adrenaline shreds through roped capillaries,

A hangman's noose and the coronary artery does not sit as a crown but slips, choking around a broken neck.

This figure, this form, this fast approaching foolish coagulation of disorders and scraps,

He doesn't know it's his fault

He knows it could only be because of him

You look him in glassy and marbling eyes which marvel back at you in the second, in the hour, in the day, month, year, and you tell him.

You tell him the truth and the fact and the indisputable statement

His voice is his own

If he cannot fix it, what is he?

He is not good enough?

He is not correct?

He didn't do it, he pleads

He didn't do it, he cries

He didn't do it, he sobs through the drowning lake of tar,

and you cannot hear him anymore.

[utahimeow]

cw — reader and gojo have a daughter, established marriage, gojo is sad but reader comforts him

satoru gojo is not a man of many fears. heights, spiders, needles, death—fearing these is alien to a man who’s looked death itself in the eye and refused to let it touch him. however the words that his five-almost-six year-old daughter just uttered send shivers down his spine.

he’s frozen, eyes wide, face pale. he thinks his lungs stop working and his heart stops beating.

big, blue eyes round as a bug’s stare up at him, oblivious to the implications of it all.

the sentence echoes in his head like a taunt. he thinks he’ll hear it in his nightmares tonight.

then, her little hand as she tugs on his pant leg yanks him back to reality.

“daddy, i said my tooth fell out!”

satoru gulps, gaze falling to the crumb of bone in her hand, then to the tiny gap that’s now in the front of her mouth.

he didn’t think it would happen so soon.

you’re home from work not long later and the girl rushes to greet you at the door, screeching with delight to announce the loss of her tooth to you.

you’re gasping dramatically, gathering her up in your arms as she gives you a gummy smile so wide her eyes scrunch shut. staring at her is like looking in a mirror, a perpetually perfect reflection of you and your love combined into one small being.

“it didn’t hurt, did it?” you ask her.

“nope! i didn’t even cry,” she tells you, beaming with pride.

“oh, how brave you are,” you tell her, kissing her soft cheeks, grinning as her giggles bubble throughout the entire foyer.

she wriggles out of your grasp and then she’s off again, bounding back upstairs to her room to the pile of plushies upon her bed so she can continue to brew up tales and backstories for each of them. now that both her mother and father have heard her big news, she’s satisfied enough for it to no longer need to be on her mind.

you’re not surprised to find satoru in the kitchen, rummaging through the snack cupboard. you are surprised at the fact that he doesn’t turn to greet you like he always does. with a pout, you stride over to his towering frame and snake your arms around his slender waist, pressing yourself flush to him.

“hi, lover,” you hum.

in your embrace, satoru becomes lighter. the tension in his hard muscles lifts, his shoulders dropping, his back shedding the weight of the world.

“hi, pretty,” he replies, uncharacteristically quiet, yet somehow his voice still drips with affection for you.

“what’s the matter?” you ask him. you’re well aware of your husband’s melodramatic nature, and it’s because of that that you don’t find yourself worrying over his state of despair. still, you’re rather filled with a curiosity—what minuscule nonsensical issue has him down today? did they discontinue his favourite kitkat flavour?

hands migrating up his torso and finding his chest, you squeeze your fingers into the fat of his pectorals. in the blink of an eye, satoru is facing you and his cold hands have grabbed hold of your wrists. he grins down at you softly, amused by your antics as always, but you blink again and his face drops, growing almost grave.

“talk to me,” you urge, prying. his soft grasp leaves your wrists, moving to envelop your hands which drown in his. he brings them to his lips, kissing at your fingertips, making your heart beat in your ears and your face grow hot. it’s strange to think he once shrivelled away from your affection, convinced he was not worthy of it.

“how was work?” he asks.

“fine. good. same as always,” you tell him. “but you’re avoiding my question. and your feelings.”

he shakes his head, a child through and through. “tell me about your day.”

“satoru,” you say, stern, and it feels like you’re scolding your daughter for not listening to you. “i hate it when you’re… off like this.”

his eyes pierce through yours then, filled with unspoken apology. then, he exhales, long and hard, a sigh that’s heavy with weariness. for you, he’s learned to surrender.

“our daughter losing her tooth today made me realise that she’s getting older and i can’t stop it,” he admits.

you sigh along with him, half relieved that your conscience had been right in believing that it wasn’t anything serious. well, in the sense that no one had died. the rest of you knows he’s not being irrational. since becoming a father, and even before that, when having children was just a distant fantasy for him, an anxiety had lived inside of him. an anxiety of fucking up, of being inherently unsuited to fatherhood, of the idea that she may suffer the consequences of him being her father.

and now, a new anxiety sprouts.

“true, but we get to watch her grow, satoru. don’t you think that’s amazing?”

he stays silent, mouth forming an absentminded pout.

“i just keep thinking about when she was a baby… how tiny she was, how she would waddle around, and drool on my chest. soon she won’t be my little girl anymore, you know?”

“satoru,” you say firmly. your hands curl around the back of his neck, scratching at the snowy hairs of his undercut. “she’ll always be your little girl. i know that because she’s your whole world, and you’re hers. she may never be that little baby again, but she’ll never be as little as she is now either, so love and cherish her now instead of moping about the inevitable passage of time.”

satoru smiles a dopey smile at you, the same one his daughter has.

“i’m so glad i married you,” he says. his hands are warm now as they settle on your lower back, dipping down, down, down.

you roll your eyes at him, opening your mouth to reply with something witty, but he beats you to it.

“i’m being serious now, baby. you always know what to say when i’m being stupid.”

“when you’re being overdramatic, you mean,” you say, grinning playfully.

“hey, it just shows that i care, doesn’t it?”

you pull him down to your face by his neck and kiss him, moulding your lips against his, tender and warm and home. it’s not just his thoughts that melt away when he kisses you, it’s his entire head, until all that’s left is a man with nothing but his wife on his mind, heart beating for no reason other than to keep him alive so that he can keep thinking about you.

briefly, you pull away, in spite of how he chases your lips with his, because he could kiss you until the end of time and you could do the very same, but there’s something weighing on your mind suddenly.

“if you want a second baby i can make that happen, by the way,” you tell him, your hips pressing against his.

“oh, now you want another one? but every time i ask for one i get an earful? heh,” he says, quirking a brow, but unfortunately for him he’s hard in his pants in an instant.

“yeah, but now i feel bad for you.”

“babe, i don’t want a kid out of pity!”

[d1s1ntegrated]

Fugk shigrli LSOEE LOSER SHIGARAKI PLZ PLS SAVE MEEUGHHHH...can yu do..like THIS SOUNDS CRINGE BUT READER ISEKAI AND THEY R OBSESSD W SHIGARAKI,,, like, they get plopped down into his bar, they explain his lore to him, his fanarts, shiparts ALL OF THAT🙏🎀

Love u munch plz dont die

love u too munch!! hope u enjoy <3

i died violently in a car crash and all i got was this weirdo virgin!

shigaraki x isekai!reader

cw: no use of "y/n" (i used "______" instead!), fem reader, loser shigaraki (aka early chapter shiggy), virgin!shigaraki, isekai, tw: implications of death/major trauma, car crash, oral (male rec), loss of virginity, slight musk kink if you squint, kinda canon shiggy? rough sex, unprotected, pathetic virgin moment lol, teasing, missionary, p/v sex, choking implied for a few seconds, desperation, premature ejaculation, sliiiiiight breeding kink? if u squint

not proofread! pls dont eat me im sorry but its 5am i dont have the energy to edit rn!!!!!!!

you don't know how it happened. there was a sharp, hollow static, paired with the feeling of drowning, choking, sputtering. you could hear screaming, you could feel the branches interlocking with your innards, pinning you to the car seat. but...everything was so soft, so light...

until it wasn't.

you figured heaven would be a little less daunting than this. even atheists could dream up a place better than this.

but here you were, plopped onto a worn stool, a long mahogany bartop splayed in front of you. maybe it was a sick joke, maybe this bartop was the tree you lost your life to. maybe it was one big metaphor. either way, the leather was sticking to your legs already, a loose nail prodding at your thigh as you shifted in your seat. there was a strange smell here, a mixture of sweat and blood and something smoky, and you couldn't place whether you liked it or not. you tapped your fingers against the worn wood for a moment before glancing around the sullen room.

it looked so very familiar. worn furniture, brick walls, and a dingy carpet splattered the room like dollhouse furniture. the bar was fully stocked, but no one was tending to it. there were a few rooms down a hall, but nothing you could recognize. across from you, a little tv sat, with a torn poster of something you felt on the tip of your tongue. you forced yourself to move, standing from the seat and rubbing your eyes as you approached the wall. with a shaky hand, you wiped dust from the ripped paper, revealing a heroic-looking man. little holes scattered the image, as if it had been used as a dart board. bold writing splayed beneath his portrait read: "ALL-MIGHT", and like a crashing wave, everything came flooding back. your favorite manga series, my hero academia, had a bar similar as the base for the league of villains. you sucked in a sharp, excited breath as your eyes took in another look of the room. maybe this was heaven.

but...this shit doesn't happen in real life. isekai's were a favorite trope of yours, like re:zero or konosuba, yes, now you remembered- you had loved the idea of another world rather than death or rebirth. maybe it was your version of heaven. you bit your nail at the idea of being able to see the base for yourself. sure, it wasn't at all what you had imagined it to be- it wasn't as enchanting, per se, as you had thought. but it was...all in front of you. as you swallowed your discoveries, a squeal of joy erupted from your core. shit, your core. your body, fuck, was it okay? you lifted your shirt, expecting to see the gory visual of your death still imprinted on your skin...but it was gone. as if it had never happened. shit. this isnt so bad then, right?

but something surely was missing. and no, it wasn't your life. well, technically yes it was, but fuck that, who cares? what you really were missing was them. if this was a true isekai...

the sound of metal clanging sends a freezing shock through your bones. you whip around in time to see a very battered and bloody league stumbling in, kurogiri rushing to the bar to grab supplies. you stay silent as you watch them all individually groaning and pushing each other for a seat, too scared to say a fucking word. sure, your obsession was there, but it was all-too-intimidating when they're right in front of you. your breath is stuck in your chest, until a voice shatters your glass-persona.

"boss? who the FUCK is that?" a raspy voice slices the air and you feel everyone's stares fall onto you.

your eyes widen as shigaraki slumps out of his seat wordlessly and slinks over to you, hand extended. he's much larger than you thought he'd be. his frame towers over you slightly as he approaches, a sinister smile creeping up on his cracked lips.

"good question, spinner" his teeth are bared, and he's inches from you now as you shake. "who the FUCK are you?" he repeats the question, a sickening twist in his voice that shows he's really not in the mood to talk. without hesitation, you slip underneath him and head for the door, but he grabs you before you reach it. he yanks you back with four fingers, his grip deadly on the back of your shirt. in a panic, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"please! i'm sorry! fuck, i'm your biggest fan i promise! i don't know how the fuck i got here i just died and woke up here pleasedon'tturnmeintoashesi'msorry!" your voice is rushed and trembling, but he releases you onto the ground with a thud. you catch your breath as you stand, wiping the dirt from your legs.

"...the fuck?" dabi's voice rings through the thick silence, and the group breaks into a bellowing laughter. except for shigaraki. he stands over you, a wide, confused expression on his face.

"fan? so you've heard of us?" his smirk reappears as he couches down into your face, and you nod rapidly.

"yes, yes, i know all of you, you're my favorite characters!" you point at all of them, reciting their names. toga's smile consumes her entire face as you do so, and grabs onto twice's arm as she squeals.

"characters? tch, what are we to you?" shigaraki shakes his head as he looks down at you.

your expression falls as you realize they all have no fucking idea what the hell you're talking about. you take a deep breath and begin infodumping about "my hero academia", your favorite manga. everything from deku and his quirk, to all might, to the league itself. shigaraki finally backs up a step and offers you space to stand, and you do so. he nods as you recite the plot, his eyes widening in confusion and anticipation. when you run out of breath, he raises a finger to you, and you go silent.

"she sounds fucking crazy..." twice mutters sing-songy through his teeth. you chuckle nervously as shigaraki glances to the rest of the group, still bleeding and beaten.

"tend to your wounds elsewhere. i want a minute alone with...this thing." he gestures with a curled lip to you and you wave awkwardly. the group sighs and exits to their own spaces, toga examining you head-to-toe before bouncing away, exclaiming: "okay, but i want her when you're done!".

you cant help the anxious fiddling as he guides you to the worn stools again. he throws himself in one next to you, poppy irises still fixated on you with furrowed brow. he scowls at you, but says with a hint of amusement, "tell the truth now". his voice has a twinge of agitation to it, and you smile weakly at him.

"that's the truth, i swear" you start, and he shakes his head. you can feel the annoyance leeching off of him, and you start your next sentence very carefully.

"have you ever heard of an isekai?" you drag the words as if it would prevent your death, and he nods. "okay okay, good. so i think that's what happened. see, i'm not from here, as you can tell...and i died in a car crash, really brutal shit man, like literal sticks in my lower intestines and shit, that sucked balls." you trail off as you describe the fatality and he sighs.

"sorry, i got carried away. but yeah, basically, no need for an introduction on your part, i already know everything about you". you smile gingerly as he raises an eyebrow at you and scratches at his neck.

"mhm. everything, eh?" he leans into you again now and your breath hitches. you can smell him now, and it's unlike anything you could have imagined. the smell of sweat is combined with a faint sugared citrus scent. it's strange, honestly you didn't imagine he'd smell like anything more than a general stink, but he isn't unpleasant in the slightest. he's also all-too-close to your face, and you're able to see every patch of dry skin, scar, and scrape on his delicate pale face. strands of powdery blue hair drape around his face, and he pushes it back with a brutish movement as he takes in the image of you. you fight the urge to reach out and touch him as he speaks again, his breath on your face.

"what else do you know about me then, hmm?"

him being that close to you was overwhelming as fuck, and it takes a minute to reboot your brain and respond.

"well, fuck i don't have my phone" you exclaim as you pat your pockets down.

"need mine?" he slips his out of his hoodie pocket with two fingers and you shake your head shyly. "no thank you" you creak out, and shrug.

"well, basically, you're like, all over social media. and people really love you" you start, and a smirk forms on his face again.

"so, in another world i'm...people like me? in this other world...do i kill all might?" he says excitedly, snaking his long fingers together with a clap.

"well," you start, "sometimes?" you bite your lip, thinking of how to phrase it. "people write stories about you, and draw you, hell, some people even cosplay you..."

"cosplay? like...dress up? like me?" he says shocked, and you respond with a content "mhm!"

"...in your other world, do i win?" he smiles manically and you frown. you know his fate in your world. but maybe, in his, it's different. maybe you can lie to him.

"yes." you recall the recent manga leaks and chapters, and force a smile out. "you win, victoriously. and...you're the best villain!"

he leans back in his seat, a cocky look on his face as he folds his arms. "and society...does it fall?"

"you make it yours, shigaraki" you nod, distracting yourself from the blatant display of his death that replays in your mind.

"excellent" he hisses out. "tell me how i do it".

you shake your head. "i promise i can!" a look of determination overcomes you, your confidence way too high for someone who just got obliterated by a fucking tree branch. "if...if i can join you, i can show you everything from my world and help you" you propose, fighting off the aching in your chest. he glares at you for a moment and purses his lips.

"hmph. i'll consider it" he raises a brow and you respond with a tight, flat grin. he rolls his eyes as you shimmy closer to him. at this point, he hasn't killed you, and fuck it, if you die again, who knows where you'll go.

"did you know that a lot of people want to fuck you?" you blurt out, and he chokes on air.

"WHAT?"

"yeah, and they write about it all the time. and draw it, too. they also think you and dabi are together, sometimes you and spinner, hell i've even seen you and eraserhea-"

"WHAT THE FUCK?" he shouts out, and you laugh. you feel the excitement from before come rushing back, making you slightly delirious next to this definitely unstable and unhealthy villain.

"yeah! in my world, you're like, so hot" you giggle.

"i'm going to need you to shut the fuck up while i process that" he raises a hand and takes a deep breath.

he takes a few seconds, rubbing his temples and sighing. "...in what world would i fuck dabi?"

you laugh, violently, and he grimaces. you cant reply, so you just shrug as your laughter continues to startle him.

"well, a lot of people also think you're," you whisper the next part, "a virgin". he scowls at this and flattens his lips. he doesn't respond, which causes you in your delusional state to scooch closer to him.

"...is that true?" you ask quietly, and he glares at you. you take his silence as a yes, and nod.

"hmm. thought so" you reply with approval, slightly satisfied your favorite headcanon was very much true. he grits his teeth and stands from his seat, stretching a bit before walking away with a huff. you immediately fling yourself off your own seat and follow him.

"you know, that's not a bad thing!" you say behind as he trudges down the hall. he flings open a door and slams it in your face, sending you back a bit. you frown, not realizing how far you've been pushing it. you reach for the doorhandle and somehow, it's not locked. you push the old wood and enter slowly, the smell of dirty laundry and that same citrus smell enveloping your senses. he groans as he meets your gaze and you smile sheepishly.

"hey, sorry, i'm not sure why that of all things bothered you..."

he rolls his eyes and flops onto his bed. the springs creak with exasperation as his weight squishes against the old frame.

"of course an idiot like you wouldn't understand. even in your world i'm still somehow seen as a loser" he grumbles and you bite your cheek. you close and lock the handle behind you, and shuffle over to the bed. you dont sit, but you sway slightly as you watch him. his body is more defined from this angle, you can see the gentle muscles under his tshirt-his hoodie has been flung onto the floor with the rest of the clothes-and his baggy pants fall just low enough to expose his porcelain skin just above the waistband of his boxers. you take him in with a greedy stare as you plan your next response.

"...well, yes, but...we all think it's hot." the words startle him and he sits up slightly.

"we??" his eyes narrow, "you're one of them?"

you cringe and nod slowly. "sorry, shiggy, but if its any consolation" he cuts you off with a snap-

"i should kill you right now and send you back to your other world".

your hands fidget uncomfortably at your sides and you fight the urge to take off sprinting again. seems as though when you died, your proper judgement died with you. you sit slowly on the edge of his worn mattress and raise your hands in defeat.

"i don't think that's how it works. if i die again here, i'll just be sent somewhere else, and then i can't help you". he interjects with a quiet "ughhh", and you shrug. "like i was saying, if its any consolation, everyone who does think you're a virgin just wants to fuck you all the more. so in my world you get like, infinite bitches" you grin, and he frowns again.

"are you also one of those freaks?" he retorts, and you wince.

"hmph. checks out. mystery girl from mystery world shows up and says i, quote, get infinite bitches, and allegedly wants to fuck me" he throws his hands up in defeat. "i don't suppose you actually want that, just the idea of it, hm? i'm sure you get off on your world's portrayal of me. for all i know though, you could be lying, you could be a narc little NPC that works for the heroes, and they sent you to weaken me. i don't think i'll fall for it this time, idiot. get out." he points furiously at the door and you pout, folding your arms.

"fair assumption, but with all due respect, even if i were a spy, i don't think i'd be so stupid as to lock myself in a room with you" you motion to the locked door, and he huffs.

"prove you aren't then." he challenges, and you very quickly oblige. at this rate, you're living a fanfiction fantasy and you're thanking that tree branch more and more. you yank your shirt off and climb into his lap, choking out an exclamation from him. you straddle him and almost immediately feel him harden underneath you, eyes blown wide in shock as you wrap your arms around his frame and plant your lips on his. they're cracked and dry, but you couldn't care less. it feels like death all over again, the swirling static enveloping you as you taste him on you. a sweet twinge of blood and candy and salt coats your tongue as you slip it in past his lips, swallowing him whole. he whines as you tug on his tangled hair, rutting into you from below desperately. his body is already shaking, a silent plea as you grind down into him again, the friction of his rock-hard dick against your already throbbing center causing you to both moan. you cant hide your excitement and desperation as you claw at his back. he pulls away for a moment and shakily points to his hoodie on the floor.

"g-gloves" he chokes out, and you nod. you spring up and reach for the pocket, pulling out two artists gloves and tossing them to him. your hands brush against Father in his pocket and you suck air in through your teeth, completely forgetting about that weird fucking thing. you shake off the strange feeling and turn your attention back to him. he's hastily strapping the gloves on and fiddling with the button on his jeans. you lower yourself down to his crotch, the fabric strained against his length. with a surge of newfound confidence, you bite the button and undo the zip with your teeth, and he gasps at the sudden motion. you silently fist-bump yourself as he shimmies the jeans down his legs, tossing them off the bed. you follow, peeling the fabric off your own body and placing yourself back on top of him. he finally reaches up and squeezes your tits with his gloved hands, groaning at the feeling of them in his hands. his eyes are lit up like stars as he ogles your chest, yanking them out of your bra. you silently chuckle and completely lift the article off of you, and his jaw drops. he looks absolutely blown away, and as he greedily cups your tits and squeezes them, he whimpers underneath you. you feel his cock twitch and you grind slightly against it, and within seconds, he's panting and cumming all over you and himself, crying out a string of vulgarities. you kiss him again as he coats you both in slick, hot beads of cum and he bites your lip in pure craze. you remove yourself from his wet lap and look at him with a soft expression.

"aww, you've made a mess already. your boxers arent even off, shiggy" you whisper out and he balls his fists.

"mmf, fuck you, mystery girl" he mumbles out, and you help him pull his boxers off.

"call me by my name, _________". you plant a chaste kiss to his cheek. as his cock springs free, you audibly gasp.

its much bigger, and much angrier right now, than you typically read about. you take it in your hand and feel it, the soft, delicate skin feeling almost out of place on him. it's surrounded by thick baby blue hair, going up to his navel in a sparse trail. its heavier than you expected, too, as it switches in your palm. the creamy skin of his length is offset by a very sensitive silvery-pink tip, already leaking precum again as you thumb over it, sending pathetic whimpers to escape his lips in a fury. you blink away your greater morals and bring your mouth to it, licking a thick stripe from the base, tasting the slightly salty precum against your lips. he shakes as you slip him into your mouth, stretching your jaw out more then you expected you'd have to.

you begin slowly, keeping a hand twisting around the base as your mouth adjusts to the sheer size of it. slowly, you gain comfort and confidence in your actions, and you let your hand go. you take him further into your mouth with a sharp exhale through your nose, and he grips at your hair. he pushes you down, shuddering, and you bury your nose into the mass of hair, breathing in the aroma of his sweat and warmth. you feel yourself slicken more at this, and you bob your head up and down graciously as he whimpers, your name spilling from his lips a few times between labored breaths. you feel the blood pulsing in his shaft, and you wrap your hand around his balls as they tighten, squeezing them as he shatters into you again, thick ropes streaming into your mouth. his grip tightens on your hair and he shoves you all the way down, gagging you slightly as his cum drips down your throat.

"hnng, f-fuck" he drools as his seed fills your mouth generously, adn you pull off with a sloppy mixture of saliva and cum dripping from your lips. you swallow it feverishly and he shakes, watching as you collapse next to him.

it takes him a moment to speak, and its barely above a whisper when he does.

"_______?" his voice is raspier than before as he says your name, and is thick with desire still. you turn to him, still aching for your own orgasm.

"i'm going to fuck you now" he says, a little louder than before. you look at him with wide eyes and nod, spreading your legs are he peels his tshirt off and centers himself between them. he grips a thigh with his calloused fingers, digging his dirty nails into your skin. you hiss slightly but your back arches at the contact.

"why aren't you afraid of me?" he presses himself against your soaking cunt, leaning in to bite your neck. you gasp and grab his face, bringing him to your lips. waves of desire crash over you as he throbs against you. for a virgin, his stamina is something else.

"because i know that if i die again, i'll at least die happy this time" you admit, and reach a hand down to grab his cock. you center it to your opening, and nod. he presses himself in sharply, without warning, and you shriek out in pain.

"gah, fuck, okay, shigaraki" you put a hand to his chest to slow him, "easy, slow, please". he shakes his head and rams himself back into you, snaking a hand to your throat as he pumps inside of you haphazardly. there's no real rhythm to it yet, and you do your best to adjust to the size of him stretching your tight hole hungrily.

"tomura" he replies through grit teeth, and you moan.

"tomura," you repeat with a desperate sob, "please"

his eyes glaze over and with a newfound glimmer of faith, he grips your hips and begins to slowly rut into you, allowing the both of you to finally adjust. he exhales slowly as he rocks his hips into you, and you grab one of his hands, dragging it to your core.

"try...fuck, tomura, touch me" you plead, and he immediately presses his middle finger to your clit. its hard, almost too forceful, and you pull his hand back. he loses concentration and falls out of rhythm for a moment as you guide his hand around, showing him what feels good. you recall a few stories you had read and get an idea.

"like an analog. thumbstick. fuck. you know what i mean" you stumble out, and he very quickly nods.

"so not like a trigger." he follows, and suddenly, his movements are a lot more fluid. he smirks as he rubs your clit steadily. he begins to thrust back into you shakily, then with harder, longer strokes. he follows your directions as you moan and squirm under him, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and shoulders as he gains momentum, the mattress squeaking rapidly under the both of you.

you feel yourself at your own breaking point, the fire inside of you melting like metal as it fills you, and you sink your nails into his back as you clench even tighter around his merciless cock. he snaps out with a cry and thrusts into you faster, becoming a little unsteady as you soak his length. your body splinters in ecstasy as he drives himself relentlessly into you, orgasm ripping your body like a hurricane. you call his name out like an unholy prayer as you fall from your high, and he throws his head back as his own climax tears through him. you feel it as he rams himself as deep as he can, filling you with sticky cum furiously. his jaw slackens as he huffs and pants, the most angelic sounds emanating from the villain's flustered body.

as you both crash hard, he pulls out slowly with a hiss. his arms turn to jelly as he collapses on top of you, the weight of him crushing the air from you slightly, and you giggle breathlessly. you wrap your arms around his sweaty, shaking frame and kiss the top of his head as he hyperventilates.

he gathers the strength to push himself off of you and rolls onto his back next to you.

"was that real?" he asks, and you chuckle lightly.

"well, as real as i am, i suppose". he shrugs and closes his eyes.

"did you read about this? in your other world?" he asks gingerly, and you turn to him.

"something like this, yeah" you admit, and he nods slowly.

"you can stay, mystery girl, so long as you keep telling me about those things you read. or just show me" he says, and you smile. "oh, and help me kill that all-might fucker."

your eyes flutter shut in pure bliss as his visage interrupts your greater thoughts. if this is what your new life would be like, then perhaps the violent death was worth it.

===============================================

this took me like 3 hours to write tbh, i hope its good! i think im gonna cross-post this to ao3 to get the ball rollin. thank u sm for the ask! it was a pleasure (literally) to write this :)

[strawberrychampagneglass]

Roses - pt. 1

Paige x Azzi

CW: cursing, implications of domestic violence (ONLY AT THE END), angst, maybe some fluff?, pining

9.3k words DAMN

A/N: holy shit guys I did not think I could pull this off and to think that this is gonna be a series is wild to me. Jokes aside, this took me about 2.5 weeks so expect (somewhat) infrequent updates due to school work and all that. Ik y'all have been waiting so I'll drop the first chapter. Something to be mindful of: initially this thing was in GSV then I changed it to LA last minute and then I changed Nika to Cam and Gabby to Dearica because Gabby and Nika didn't make sense to me at all so yea enjoy AND PLEASE DO GIVE ME FEEDBACK!!! I appreciate it a lot I WILL ADD A MASTERLIST WHEN MY HEART COMPELS ME TO

October 15th, 2028

Los Angeles, California

“Azzi,” her urgent voice calls out to the dark. She nearly trips over the entrance mat as she enters her apartment in the early morning hours. She drunkenly yells for her again as she stumbles towards her bedroom. 

The only response she gets is an echo of her voice.

She lands in her bed with a soft thud, her hand searching for the familiar warmth of another body. When she feels the cold bed sheet under her hand instead, the only thing she can hear is the hammering inside of her head while her heart throbs, threatening to pry itself out of its cage. Tears well in her eyes as she falls asleep. 

When she wakes up and checks her phone, she has one notification: a text message from Curt Miller. While it makes her heart palpitate as she remembers the happy memories, alarms blare in her head, reminding her of the bad that outweighed the good. 

Her excitement quickly turns to bitterness. Paige doesn’t want to play on the same team as Azzi. Not after the incident in her redshirt senior year. Not after their catastrophic argument at the 2025 WNBA draft. Not after she saw a new person with her Azzi. Not after she saw the diamond-studded ring on her fourth finger. 

Most of all, not after she built a stronghold with the most formidable defenses around her heart. 

July 29th, 2018

Minsk, Belarus 

The Belarusian crowd roars during the FIBA U17 Women’s Basketball World Cup final, drowning out the melody created by a screeching flute and deep, dulcet drum. With a very comfortable 32 point lead against the French in the middle of the fourth quarter, Paige is subbed out. She accepts the high-fives from her teammates before taking a seat at the end of the bench. Cheers flood the bench while they watch the clock wind down intently, waiting to relish in the intoxicating adrenaline following the victory. 

The blonde raps her foot against the floor anxiously; her jaw propped up by her clenched fists. From the point of view of her teammates, she is engaged in the game. However, inside of her mind, a storm brews.  She thinks of her best friend, the brunette girl with the number 6 on her back who is sat two seats to her left. Paige indulges in the memory of her fingers lingering on Azzi’s for that extra second after a high-five, their intertwined hands during the national anthem, and even when their shoulders brushed together in the team huddles and neither of them moved.

Her mind continues to wander until the bench unexpectedly explodes with chants of “USA” as the clock winds down into the last minute of the game. Paige springs from her seat on the bench, hollering as the adrenaline pumps through every vein in her body. When the final buzzer sounds, she shakes hands with the opposing team before hurling herself into the sea of navy jerseys. 

The rest goes by in a blur, her adrenaline depletes rapidly. The energetic girl is uncharacteristically quiet during their team dinner and even on the bus ride home where she opts to sit alone in the back, leaning her head against the cool window that soothed her aching head. 

As the bus pulls up to the hotel, Paige and Azzi lock eyes from opposing ends of the bus. The fatigue she once felt is quickly replaced with delight when Azzi gives her a tired smile with softened eyes, making her heart beat erratically. It’s still early in the evening, but the team agrees to celebrate in Cameron Brink’s room, without the coaches’ knowledge. While the team shuffles off the bus in a single-file line, Paige pushes through the never-ending hoard of her teammates until her eyes rest on a familiar brunette. She puts her hand on the brunette’s cold shoulder, catching her attention as she leaned into the warmth of Paige’s hand. Azzi chooses to ignore the pink that rose to the older girl’s cheeks and smiles at her. 

“Are you going to Cam’s?” Paige asks sheepishly, trying to hide her smile. Azzi chuckles before responding with a nod. 

“She is my roommate, so I guess I’m obligated to go.” Paige grins from ear-to-ear as they chat until they reach their respective hotel rooms. She changes into sweatpants and opts for a Hopkins Basketball hoodie. Although it's the middle of summer, the temperatures in Minsk are frigid compared to the Minnesota heat. 

Furtively leaving her hotel room, she spots her teammate, Zia Cooke, attempting to sneak several bottles of cheap vodka into Cam’s room, her shoulders are tense and eyes rove across the empty hallway. Paige giggles before walking over to the shorter girl to offer a hand. When her teammate’s eyes land on her friendly face, the muscles in her shoulders loosen.

“Paige, thank god,” she breathes, relieved. “I was so scared that Carla or Stephen would jump out of their rooms.” Paige laughs at the image of Coach Berube catching Zia while looking like a deer in headlights, juggling 5 bottles of vodka. Feeling bad for her teammate, she takes three bottles from her arms and opens the door to Cam’s room. The two girls are met with 10 pairs of curious eyes who cheer at the sight of the vodka bottles.

***

An hour later, the potent odor of vodka floods the room. Most of her teammates gossip about their crushes back home; others watch the late-night shows on the Belarusian TV channels, a few are even snoring obnoxiously on Azzi’s bed. Paige, who is completely sober, feels irritated from her spot on the floor as she watches the dramatic show that is being projected on the TV. She isn’t sure if it was the lack of alcohol, or if it was the sight of her best friend who presses her body against Hailey Van Lith while an arm that wasn’t hers is strung around the brunette’s waist and resting on her toned abdominal muscles. 

When Azzi notices the blonde’s glare at Hailey, she walks off the bed and carefully treads towards the table of alcohol, pouring a full glass of vodka. Her eyes flick to Paige, who stares at the glass of vodka in her hand. Unamused and frustrated, Paige returns her attention to the show on the TV until she feels a warm hand tilt her chin back. Azzi looks at her, emotionless, as she stands behind her. They stare at each other wordlessly before the older head lands on a soft, toned leg. Her lower lip meets the cool rim of the glass that Azzi filled with vodka.

The brunette moves her face closer before she tips the glass upward while noticing a light streak of red across Paige’s cheeks. “Drink,” she whispers, and Paige complies. She feels the alcohol burn her esophagus as she swallows the oily and bitter liquid. Their faces linger in the close proximity as they breathe in synchronization. It takes every ounce of self control in Paige’s body to not close the distance between their lips. 

“You look pretty,” Paige smiles, hoping for a laugh and a friendly slap across the shoulder from her friend. Instead, Azzi returns a frown with furrowed eyebrows, moving her head away. 

“Paige, I can’t enjoy my evening when you’re glaring at everyone I’m sitting with,” Azzi huffs with an edge to her voice. “Go get drunk and leave me alone.” Paige scowls; she knows that Azzi isn’t exclusive to her, but she wants some exclusivity. At the end of the day, they’re just best friends, nothing more. Nevertheless, the thought of another girl’s body pressing her body flush against Azzi infuriates her. From her spot on the floor, she feels the warmth of her friend’s body disappear as she walks back to her spot next to Hailey. 

She grabs her wallet and phone and leaves the room. 

***

When she returns to her hotel room hours later, she slams the newly-bought bottle of vodka on her nightstand, shaking the entire room. It isn’t a big bottle; it’s around the size of a Gatorade bottle. The cashier at the convenience store didn’t bother checking the 16-year-old’s ID, assuming she was of legal drinking age. She popped the cap off the bottle and brought it to her mouth. Her lips begin to form a suction around the opening as she tilts her head back, swallowing the searing liquid. She throws the rest of the liquid down her throat when the thought of Azzi’s words cross her mind. She tightens her grip on the bottle and her tongue scours for the last few drops of the liquid, hungry for the feeling of the alcohol. She sits on her bed in silence, staring at her feet until she feels the effects of the alcohol course through her veins. Her vision begins to blur and the entire room begins to swirl. Through her blurred vision, she still manages to identify the lamp that sits perfectly still on the nightstand. Her free hand reaches for the dangling chain that serves as a lever for the light. Giving it a slight tug, the light flickers briefly before illuminating the entire room. To her shock, a familiar brunette girl with bronze skin sits across from her.

“Are you done being an alcoholic so we can talk?”

“Azzi, what the fuck?” the blonde stammers, frustrated. She sets the bottle down and stares at her friend in disbelief. When Paige gets no response from her, she stands up and starts stumbling towards the door, nearly tripping over herself.

“Paige, wait,” Azzi catches the blonde, observing the older girl’s cloudy eyes. Even while drunk, her blue eyes remind her of her lake house; her second home. The thought makes her heart flutter despite the agonized look painted across her best friend’s entire face. “I’m sorry, we can talk about this if you want. I know I hurt you, and I take full accountability for it.” 

Paige knows she is in damage control mode, but she has a soft spot for the girl; a part that is willing to forgive her and move on. 

She chooses to ignore it and let her irritation control her words. “You didn’t want to talk before, so you don’t get to talk now,” she hisses. Azzi flinches, unaccustomed to her hostility. “You told me to leave you alone, and now you’re in my room, begging for forgiveness. I don’t understand you.” Her arms fly erratically before reaching the collar of her hoodie, tugging it down to ease her tense muscles.“For god’s sake, we’re best friends. Sure, best friends tell each other everything, but my best friend doesn’t get to tell me to leave her alone and show up in my hotel room 2 fucking hours later.”

“I’m not yours, Paige. You don’t have any right to control my actions.” The retort makes Paige wince. “If I want to be with Hailey, you have to respect that. I have a right to be frustrated because I don’t belong to you.” 

“Okay, how about a heads up next time instead of you getting cozy with someone else in front of your best fucking friend. I thought we agreed that we would ‘see each other later’” 

“She was drunk and she came up to me, and we did see each other. There was nothing binding about that agreement. I can be friends with other people and you can too, unless I’m your only friend.” Azzi’s anger rises as well as she picks at her cuticles. 

“You’re an asshole.” Paige breathes, releasing the hoodie. “You tried to get me drunk while trying to seduce me.” The other girl’s mouth opens before getting cut off. “Then, you went back over and cuddled up to her. I don’t have a problem with you seeing people, but even a short-term notice would’ve been nice. It’s fucking awkward when I’m sitting there–surrounded by drunk people who are all passed out on the damn floor–and my best friend is cuddling up to a person we barely even know.” 

“You know what? You sound really fucking insecure right now. Maybe you should go book a flight back to fucking Minnesota and we’ll never have to see each other again. You’ll never get jealous over me when I go on dates with other people.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she wishes that she can take them back and shove them down her throat. Paige stares at her, emotionless. After a few minutes, Azzi’s voice cuts through the thick air. “Say something, please. You’re freaking me out.” 

“I wish I was yours, Azzi,” Paige whispers softly, so softly that Azzi thinks she mishears. She scowls, but her heart flutters from the confession.

“I need you to tell me that when you’re completely sober. I can’t trust you when you’re drunk.” she sighs, looking at the blonde who has tears brimming in her eyes. However, she can’t shake the warm, fuzzy feeling in her heart from her words. She can’t describe the feelings, and the thought of treading into unexplored emotional territory makes her queasy. 

“I wish I was yours,” Paige urges, with genuine sincerity in her tone despite the alcohol.

“Paige–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Paige grabs her wrist and pulls the younger girl into her. The blonde drags her along a premeditated route, stumbling several times. Biting the nails on her free hand, Azzi’s mind swarms with endless possibilities of danger; they could be kidnapped by random Belarusians, the coaches could catch them while getting a midnight snack, or they could get lost and never see their families again. But Paige was Paige, guiding her to their destination. The warmth radiating from the other girl’s body hypnotized her. It felt safe. Too safe. 

Paige leads her through the maze of the city until they reach the edge of a river. Even under the late-night sky, airplanes weave between silhouettes of clouds; their green and red lights blink, bringing life to the sky. The city is calm and serene at this hour, with the occasional passer-byer that ignores the two girls. The solitude is disrupted by cars gliding across the bustling road across the river bank with horns that blare occasionally. Street lights hug the river bank; streaks of yellow and orange rippled back and forth on the water. The breeze is soft, like a baby’s blanket. It carries the occasional, faint scent of cigarette smoke which is unexpectedly comforting. 

The two sit in mutual silence, away from each other. They both avoided the topic of the prior conversation. Paige hums softly, her body warm from the alcohol. “I didn’t know they had fireworks this late at night.” Her speech is slurred, yet Azzi still laughs in response. The sound of her laugh is like a piece of music written by Beethoven to her; a sound that can be played over and over without getting old. 

“They’re not fireworks, they’re street lights reflecting off the water.” The blonde squints, squatting on the large cement block that she had been sitting on. As she cranes her head closer, nearly falling off the block, Azzi scrambles to catch the blonde as she reflexively yanks her waist backwards. They laugh before Paige puts her hand on hers. 

“You’re acting really sober,” Paige declares while studying Azzi’s facial features. 

“I am sober, so I think it’s a good thing that I’m acting sober.” The younger girl chuckles, punching her friend’s arm lightly with her free hand. Flustered, Paige averts her gaze to the shimmering undulations on the surface of the water. Unsure of whether it was the alcohol that was twisting her mind, or if it was the dim, golden lighting that lights up the left side of Azzi’s face, all she can think about is that her best friend is beautiful.  It drives Paige insane; her bronze skin gleams and her umber eyes light up and become a light, almost golden shade of brown. 

“Sometimes I wish that you could be in Minnesota with me all the time.” 

“Well, you could come to Virginia and stay with me…” Azzi proposes before smiling at Paige, but she doesn't meet her eyes. The blonde is scrunching her face with her attention on Azzi’s arms, and not her face. “What’s wrong? Paige?”

“You’re cold,” Paige whispers, shifting her weight so she and Azzi sit facing each other. Trailing her hand up the other girl’s arm, her fingertips dance along the mountain ranges of goosebumps on her tender skin. Paige’s warm touch makes her feel something. Their eyes clash, uncertainty swarming in both pairs. “I meant what I said earlier,” Paige glances at her lips, breaking the eye contact. “I wish I was yours.” Her hand reaches for Azzi’s cheek, cupping it lightly, and the brunette melts into her touch.

Panic rises as a lump in her throat. They’re young–too young. Azzi’s feelings are new and confusing. She doesn’t know what love feels like and it scares her. As a kid, she was told that “love” was when two people cared for each other a lot. It was obvious that they care for each other a lot. They talk for hours, each word flowing effortlessly while they howl in laughter about something that the other said. Every touch they share is electric: sparks fly erratically through every vein of their bodies. After every argument, Paige is the first to apologize because she knows that Azzi overthinks. 

She moves her face closer and drapes her hands on the blonde’s nape. Paige takes the bait.

Her slightly-parted lips meet Azzi’s warm and soft lips. She closes her eyes, pulling the younger girl’s face in before pulling away after several seconds. The kiss is short, but sweet. Azzi looks at her hands, not wanting to meet the blue eyes knowing that she made a mistake, and the kiss shouldn’t have happened. The once well-established boundaries of their friendship are permanently breached. Yet her cheeks flush and she misses the warmth provided by the close proximity of Paige’s body.

“Raise your arms,” Paige mutters shyly as Azzi is enveloped in the warmth of a thick hoodie. Paige’s hoodie. The scent of Paige’s rosy perfume encases her and a contented sigh escapes her lips. 

“Are you cold?” Azzi observed her best friend’s exposed arms. 

“Nah, I’m alright. You can keep that by the way,” she motions to the hoodie that hugged Azzi’s torso. “It can be a souvenir from Belarus from me. Something that can remind you of tonight forever.” The brunette smiles and wraps her arms around the blonde; she is the clay that Paige can shape into anything she wants. They just fit together. 

The girls dance through the city and totter unsteadily to the hotel, where they collapse in the comfort of Paige’s bed, satisfied laughs slipping out of their mouths after sneaking past the rooms of their teammates. 

“Would you like me to walk you back to your room, Madame Fudd?” Paige teases before a pillow slams into her face. “Hey! Azzi!” She shrieks, scrambling to grab another pillow before falling flat on her face. Azzi laughs hysterically for a few moments until the room stills into an unsettling quiet. 

“You’re so chivalrous, Bueckers.” Azzi looks around her room, fidgeting with her fingers. “But, uh, since there’s a few drunk bodies on my bed,” The blonde cocks her head at her and smirks; the simple motion makes her heart lurch. “And also because you also don’t have a roommate and I thought that you might be a little lonely tonight, especially because you’ll be hungover in the morning, I was wondering if I could stay here tonight.” Paige breaks out into an ear-to-ear grin and tackles her in a bear hug, shoving them to the bed where their bodies melded into each other. 

Amongst the clamor, there is an uneasy feeling in Paige’s gut that she can’t shake, but she chooses to ignore the feeling as she lets her body intertwine with the younger girl’s. 

October 19th, 2028

New York City, New York

Azzi is selfish. 

Anything she gets her hands on, she wants to keep for herself. She is a hoarder who wants to keep everything that she loves forever. 

Unfortunately, when you fall in love with everything, you can’t have it all.

She paces back and forth at the gate, biting her nails and avoiding the gaze of her fiancé. Tugging the collar of her hoodie from her high school days over her head, she allows a satisfied sigh to escape her mouth as she is cloaked with a comforting rose scent. It was nostalgic; it held so many memories that felt so important and so irrelevant at the same time. But the scent made her feel hopeful of something she couldn’t place. 

“Is everything okay, babe?” startled, she drops the hoodie to smile weakly at her fiancé.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little tired. The thought of everything scares me a little.” Azzi chuckles. Instead of a friendly smile from her fiancé, she notices his scowl at the text on her hoodie. Her heart drops into her stomach, knowing that this would prompt an argument from him over a certain college teammate. 

“I’m so happy you finally chose to leave the cesspool of New York,” her fiancé sneers, “and, I’m so excited to soak up the LA sun.” Azzi doesn’t react to his comments, avoiding an argument at all costs. He came to all her games and cheered her on, but he always hated New York City. It was either too cold or too hot, too rainy or too sunny and never the perfect balance between the two. 

As long as he’s happy, I am too. 

Los Angeles, California

Paige is protective. 

She loves her possessions and hates it when people take them. She wants to shield everything she loves from hurt and pain. 

Orange and pink rays of sunlight stream through the tall glass panes by Paige’s bedside, bathing her bedroom in a warm glow. She stirs awake, her sore body begging for 15 extra minutes of sleep. Her throat feels raw and her eyelids are weighted. Instead of fighting against the weight, Paige lets her eyes close while thinking about the consequences of not showing up to Azzi’s welcome party. When she first caught wind of the news, she called Cameron Brink to come to her apartment. She complained to her for hours while blackout drunk before inevitably passing out. When she woke up the next morning to dozens of angry texts from Cam, she apologized profusely, showing up to her apartment with the shoes that her friend had been eyeing for months and bags of Sour Patch Kids.

It was safe to say that Paige wasn’t allowed anywhere near alcohol tonight if she chose to go. At least, not under Cam’s watch. 

The Sparks had an extremely successful campaign last year and capped off the season with a championship title along with Paige’s first league MVP and finals MVP awards. The feeling is still surreal, and the thought of it pumps more adrenaline through her body. Even though the season was extremely successful, the threat of injuries plagued the guards last year. Also, the Sparks were in desperate need of a guard with the ability to knock down shots and step into the role of a strong playmaker.

Was she expecting Azzi to join the Sparks? Eventually, yes. She is desperate for a championship run. 

Did she want to celebrate a piece of her past she let go before her birthday? No. 

Is she happy about it? Absolutely not. 

Her phone began to vibrate violently under her pillow, prying her from her thoughts. She rolls over to scrutinize the contact name with a groan. Her blood runs cold and she taps the green phone icon on the 4th ring.

“Paige! Thank god I got in contact with you.” Katie Fudd exhales. Paige feels the weight of her panic that reciprocates her own through the phone. “I know we haven’t really talked in about, um, three years,” she pauses, unsure of how to continue when she hears Paige’s sharp inhale, “but, have you heard from Azzi recently? She’s supposed to be arriving in LA today, at least that’s what the media says.” 

“No, I…I haven’t heard anything, Katie,” she rasps, her throat ablaze. Her lips run dry. The media?

Paige makes small talk with Katie, catching up on major events in their life while both of them try to avoid the topic of Azzi. It was brought up once and Paige could barely perceive the muffled, yet pained sobs on the other end of the phone.

“I know you have your Unrivaled league coming up in the new year, but it would be great if you could come visit us during Thanksgiving or even Christmas,” Katie proposes as they near the end of their conversation. 

“I’ll take a look at my schedule and try to pull some strings, but no promises. I have plans to visit my dad and Drew over the Thanksgiving weekend in Maryland, so we’ll see what happens.” Paige replies, acknowledging the piece of her that wants to let the past go. The part where she was too close to Azzi and her family. She knows that visiting them means treading into foreign territory. 

“We miss you, Paige. Jon and Jose miss their ‘son’ too,” Katie laughs, relieving Paige of a heavy, bone-crushing weight on her heart. “Happy early birthday too, we could never forget. We love you, you’re still family to us.”

Paige smiles, a genuine ear-to-ear grin. “Love you too, Kaite. Tell the brothers and Tim I say hi as well.” She says before hanging up. 

“You’re still family to us.” The words rang in her head, warming her frozen heart. It wasn’t enough to thaw it, but it was enough to invoke thoughts of hope. She was torn from her reverie by a knock at her door. Humming to herself as she sauntered out of her bedroom, she opened the door to her apartment.

“Woah, I never thought I’d see you smiling like you’re on Disney Channel,” the blonde at the door laughs, surprised. Paige scowls at her words which prompts Cam to laugh harder. “I did bring breakfast though, knowing your current mental state. You look like shit, Paige.” She sets two paper bags on Paige’s kitchen island. They sit across each other on the spinning bar stools Cam loves. 

The two chat buoyantly; Cam tells her stories about her boyfriend, Ben, and his new obsession with cars or whatever. Paige doesn’t really pay attention to her rambling because of a painful ache in her heart. Even though it had been a year since Cam moved to Los Angeles, the two still learn new details about Over the past year, Cam used the fact that the shorter woman struggled to maintain a relationship for more than a few weeks as the butt of all her jokes. Despite being annoyed at first, Paige was quite amused with herself.

“Azzi’s mom called me earlier,” Paige abruptly says, interrupting Cam in her spiel about her brother’s recent breakup.

“...is that why you were smiling earlier? Paige, not even 5 days ago you made me-”

“From what I’ve…figured out, they haven’t been able to get in contact with Azzi. Katie seemed distraught when she accidentally brought her up.” 

“Are you implying that she got kidnapped?” Cam laughs uncomfortably, trying to avoid the weight of the situation. 

“It’s a possibility.” Paige mutters. Cam stops laughing and an uneasy silence drapes the room like a heavy curtain.

“I guess we’ll find out later, but don’t stress about it. You could be overthinking the entire situation. Don���t make that face, I know that you don’t want to go, but out of respect for your future teammate, you need to.” Cam sighs while rubbing circles on her temples. “I’m going to pick her and her supposed fiancé up at the airport. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Thanks for breakfast, Cam. Drive safe,” she calls out as the door to her apartment shuts. And suddenly, her mind is thrown back 5 years to the keychain that Azzi bought them in their early 20s as a gift. Drive safe, I need you here with me. I love you. 

***

“Azzi Fudd! This is Kendra Andrews with ESPN. What are your thoughts on the Sparks franchise?” 

“What prompted the move from New York to LA?” 

“How do you plan to integrate yourself into the team?” 

“What excites you the most about the LA Sparks franchise?”

Dozens of reporters and journalists surround her. They fight amongst each other to thrust microphones into her face. Sweat beads down the back of Azzi’s neck as she tries to answer as many questions as she can while being mindful of her fiancé’s limited patience. He had gone on his phone, ignoring Azzi as she drowns in a sea of cheap cologne and felt-tipped microphones. She quickly interrupts the reporters after 10 minutes and bid a polite farewell. Her heart stings with a bit of remorse when some of the reporters in the crowd express their frustration through whisper-shouts to their colleagues because they got a different answer than what they would’ve hoped. As she makes her way to her fiancé, her head hanging low, she mentally prepares herself for the incoming argument. 

“You’re a piece of shit,” her fiancé hisses, “you took ten fucking minutes to talk to some fans.”

“Please, not here. Not while the reporters are still around,” Azzi whispers, frantically scouting for reporters. 

“Save your bullshit for later. Call an Uber and get me out of here.” While leading her fiancé towards the airport exit, Azzi picks at her cuticles. “Oh, and next time,” her fiancé continues, “don’t be a pussy-sucking people pleaser and just give them an autograph. I don’t have the time for this, there are better things I should be doing that does not include waiting for you.” Tears begin to well but she blinks them back, trying to put up a facade for the public as she smiles half-heartedly for selfies. The lump in her throat threatens to roll out of her mouth. The thought of a night in the hotel sends a cold bead of sweat down her back. She doesn’t want to be left alone with her fiancé. She doesn’t trust him. 

A firm hand grabs Azzi’s wrist, pulling her back into the present. She rips her hand away reflexively before processing the familiar face that belonged to her temporary roommate in Belarus. For the first time since she left New York, Azzi breaks out in a full-faced smile and throws herself into Cam’s open arms.

Her mind wanders to the other future WNBA teammate, who she had not seen since the 2025 WNBA draft. The thought of her quickened her heart, but the feeling sours when she becomes aware of her fiancé by her side. 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, oh my god,” Cam laughs, punching Azzi’s arm lightly, a gesture from her USA basketball days when Coach Berube made an off-handed comment. She flinches in response, which Cam chooses to ignore. “Oh, and you must be Azzi’s fiancé. I’ve heard so much about you, and it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Cam,” the blonde chirps, turning her attention to Azzi’s fiancé, offering a friendly smile and a hand. “I don’t think I ever got your name.” Her fiancé remains silent, but his jaw muscles tighten and his cold, green eyes look at her with animosity and spite. Not wanting to raise suspicion, Cam plasters a smile and leads them to her car.

Cam makes a mental note to tell Paige about their interaction with an emphasis on the flinch. 

“...This is the Uber you ordered?” her fiancé snarls when the other woman is out of earshot. 

“You need to calm down. She’s my teammate, and this is a thoughtful gesture,” Azzi retorts before covering her mouth. Her breathing becomes shallow and her face pales as her fiancé inches his face closer to her ear until his hot, rancid breath drowns out her awareness of everything around her. The hustling environment of the airport disappears and her world is engulfed in silence until four words snap her out of her trance. 

“Drop this shit, now.” 

***

The ride to the hotel where the two would be temporarily staying was brisk, although Azzi wished it would have lasted longer. The brunettes reminisced on their college days while laughing hysterically. 

“Have you talked to Geno after he finally retired?” Cam asks playfully, making eye contact with Azzi through the rear-view mirror. Instead of Azzi’s warm brown eyes, she meets her fiancé’s swampy green eyes. The blonde feels a chill run down her spine, unable to detect any emotion on the fiancé’s face. 

“Nope, not at all.” Cam raises her eyebrows, clearly amused. 

“Wow, it’s been two years since he retired. He even went to the draft to support you and, um, nevermind.” The blonde shakes her head, cursing to herself. Azzi laughs awkwardly, trying to lift the guilt off her friend’s shoulders, but her fiancé is unamused. “About time though, I thought that he nearly got a heart attack during the March Madness championship in 2025.” The two erupt in laughter, tears falling from their eyes. Her fiancé glares at Cam through the mirror, prompting her to awkwardly change the topic to the Sparks and their team culture. Azzi ignores the glare and continues her conversation with her friend. 

Her fiancé isn’t completely out of the loop despite his apathy towards Azzi’s WNBA career. He knows who Paige Bueckers is, the national championship they won in 2025, but he only vaguely knows about the relationship that she and Azzi shared during their collegiate campaigns. If their relationship was an iceberg, her fiancé only sees the tip of the iceberg, the visible part that the media shared, the two in a million SLAM cover, their rise to stardom in USA U16 basketball, and most importantly, their adversities through injury together. What she doesn’t know is the true depth and complexity of their relationship, veiled beneath a thick layer of dark, murky water that neither she nor Paige are ready to uncover. As their lives began to diverge, so did the currents in the water; they pushed and pushed on their relationship until it came crumbling down, splitting the iceberg into two parts that are now just Azzi and just Paige. 

Thanking Cam as they slip out of the car, Azzi checks into the hotel room where she and her fiancé sit on opposite sides of the king-sized bed. Her head hangs and she looks at her hands before her fiancé breaks the silence first.

“Hey,” he sighs, walking over to Azzi. When she lifts her head to meet her fiancé’s eyes, branches of tears stream from her eyes and down her cheeks, splitting into multitudes of different directions. 

“Am I not good enough for you? One moment you hate me, and the next you’re suddenly in love with me again.” Azzi sobs, pulling her hair in frustration. “I’m trying my hardest, and it hurts when you don’t reciprocate the feelings.” She wipes her eyes while her fiancé stares at her in disbelief, masking his anger. He paces to the door before walking back to Azzi, feigning an empathetic look. 

“No, baby, you’re perfect.” Her fiancé mutters , pulling the brunette’s head to his chest as he kisses her forehead softly while wiping her tears. “I love you so much. I appreciate everything you do.” Azzi could feel that his words felt wrong and uncomfortable coming out of his mouth. 

“Love you too”

***

Paige walks in circles around her room while Cam summarizes the airport pickup, sprawled out on the blonde’s bed. “You didn’t even get his name. Damn.” Paige’s voice is laced with worry. 

“All you need to know is that her fiancé is fucking weird. He was like ‘I’m so sick of this bullshit’ the whole time without speaking a single word. I introduced myself to him like a normal fucking person and he stood there and stared me down, as if I was competition or something.” Cam breathes, putting her face in her hands. Paige feels the same, unable to piece together the puzzling situation. “This whole situation is  crazy. I was talking about Geno’s retirement and she hasn’t talked to him in years. Isn’t that weird? I feel like he’s also the jealous type. She wore your Hopkins hoodie and her fiancé kept eyeing it the whole time.”

Paige’s heart skips a beat at her words. Her Hopkins hoodie. The one from the night in Belarus: even though it had been over 10 years, Paige remembers it clearly. It was the first time she was in love. “That’s weird. You picked them up from the airport, and he was glaring at you the entire time in the car. Then, you- like, jokingly punched her. How hard was this punch?”

“KK-punching-Ice-after-losing-a-bet-about-your-life hard.” 

“Okay, so not that hard.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard her fiancé call her a stuck-up pussy eater while they argued about the reporters before I picked them up.” Paige raises an eyebrow at the statement before coughing awkwardly, mumbling under her breath.

“Just– be careful Paige. She isn’t yours anymore. I know you’re still not over her,” She winces at her friend’s words, “and it’s the harsh truth, but I seriously think that you need to find someone else to distract you.” 

“We both know that finding someone else hasn’t worked for me either. I’m worried about her. She’s my best friend, my ride or die.”

“She betrayed you. You need to move on. Best friends don’t betray each other like… that.”

***

Flanked by her fiancé, Azzi walks through the large, wooden doors of the restaurant next to her hotel. It was a short walk, but she took in the salty smell of the city. The breeze was sharp and it nipped her exposed arms. She was shivering and rubbing her hands up and down her arms. 

“You must be Ms. Fudd,” the waitress waiting for her arrival smiles at her, “your table is over here, please follow me.”  The short walk through the labyrinth of tables set with velvety red cloths that had a golden trim on its edges was interrupted by a crimson-colored curtain. The chatter behind the curtains feels daunting, and she wants to turn around and run back to Arlington. The waitress pulls the curtain to the side to reveal a table full with people, her teammates, laughing and talking boisterously amongst themselves. The first person to stand up is Cam, who embraces her in a loose hug. Seconds later, nearly all of her new teammates have thrown themselves into her arms.

The last person to stand up is the blonde. Her wavy, blonde hair, lighter from the Californian sun, is tucked behind her ears and falls down her back like a loose shawl. Her skin glows gold against the yellow lighting of the dining room. She wears a freshly ironed button-up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose her toned forearms. Only the right side of her shirt was tucked into her brown trousers that hang loosely from her hip, ghosting her ankles. A beige bomber jacket that matches her pants is slung around her shoulders and a watercolor-patterned scarf is draped around her neck. The gold studs and helix ring on her left ear reflect the light of the chandelier that hangs from chains above the dining table. When their eyes meet, Azzi searches her eyes for a sense of comfort in her familiar blue eyes that her dark mascara emphasizes. Instead, she finds nothing in her cold and emotionless eyes. Paige embraces her new teammate in a stiff and loose hug, her muscles tense when Azzi’s hands roam her back. Immediately, she is engulfed in her rosy perfume, the same scent that she finds solace and comfort in. Her stomach churns, yet there is a certain warmth that flickers in her heart. Everything about the blonde screamed Paige, and Paige is beautiful. 

“Welcome to LA,” she says while pulling out of the hug. Refusing to look at her, she turns to the man looming in the corner while offering a hand. At the table, Cam sucks a sharp breath in, casting a warning glance at Paige which is ignored. Azzi stiffens and her heart hammers. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Paige, and you are?”

“I’m Charles,” he murmurs, accepting the handshake and offering a small, sly smile. Azzi’s eyes widen. Her fiancé is rarely friendly, especially not to Paige. They glare at each other for a brief moment before she takes a seat next to Cam. 

Her fiancé and her sit side-by-side at the table, across from Paige and Cam. Charles slides his hand into Azzi’s under the table, squeezing it softly. The small gesture makes Azzi smile as she leans into her fiancé, enjoying his comforting presence. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to take her mind off of the blonde sitting directly across from her, laughing with her WNBA teammates. It annoys her.

Azzi is selfish. 

***

The entire table has some sort of alcoholic beverage in their hands or in their stomachs. Paige sits awkwardly, sipping a Shirley Temple whose sugary and overly sweet grenadine has become bitter on her tongue. Nausea seeps into the edges of her head and begins to spread like wildfire and she finds herself rubbing circles on her forehead. She can’t stand the sound of Azzi’s bubbly laughter across the table. The sound that threatened to burn a hole through her heart. 

“So, how did you guys meet?” Dijonai Carrington cocks an eyebrow at the couple while swirling her cocktail in her cup. 

A brief panicked look flashes across Azzi’s face before Charles cuts in. “We met in college.” His answer is curt and dry, yet polite. Several of her teammates cooed at his response, gushing over the couple. The two women jump into a conversation about their college lovers. 

That should’ve been me.

“What a fucking people pleaser.” Paige snickers to Cam while blinking back the unwelcome moisture that began to form under her eyes. She throws back the rest of her drink before dropping her head into her arms.

“Are you sure you don’t want any alcohol? Like, a thousand percent positive?” Dearica Hamby, the star forward of the Valkyries asks Paige while rubbing the taller woman’s back. Through the seemingly innocent image of the question, she notices genuine concern painted in the woman’s softened eyes.

“She’s alright without it,” Cam answers before she could open her mouth. “We made an agreement that she would have no alcohol tonight because I had to clean up after her last time.” The entire table howls in laughter, and Paige joins them with a half-hearted smile while heart fractures. 

If her smile didn’t split into a frown at the corners of her mouth or her chin didn’t wrinkle, Azzi’s heart wouldn’t have stopped and she would’ve been laughing with her teammates. 

“Yeah, I had to show up to her apartment with shoes and a shit load of candy because I felt so guilty.” She sneaks a glance at the brunette sitting across from her. Instead of laughing with the team, she was engaged in a conversation with her fiancé, prompting her to avert her gaze. It takes every piece of her dignity not to stare at the brunette. Her dark, curly hair is braided and hangs just above her shoulders; the same hairstyle that she jokingly called a bob back in their college days. She wears a baby blue knitted tank that reveals her muscular arms and white, flowy linen pants that hug her hips. 

However, when Paige’s eyes pass by the soon-to-be married couple, searching for something, they follow the pattern of their intertwined arms and hands hidden under the table. Looking at Cam, she whispers, “I need to get out of here.” the taller woman waves a hand at her, signaling for her to go ahead. She files through her wallet and grabs a few hundred-dollar bills and hands them to Cam, which she graciously accepts. Dearica flashes her a sympathetic look before returning to her drinking game. 

“I got a call from my mom and I gotta take it. I’ll be right back.” Announcing to the table, she grabs her phone and stands up, stepping over her drunk and overly rowdy teammates. When she finally slips behind the thick velvet curtain, she finally feels as if she can breathe. The curtain has become a barrier between her and a certain pair of brown eyes that burns holes through the back of her head. She knows that man. The blur of dark curls and olive and brown skin became too vivid. She needs to get out. It hurts her. 

Paige is protective. 

*** 

The neat blonde bun disappears behind the curtain with a soft, almost inaudible swoosh. She tries to talk with her teammates, laughing at their jokes, but everything feels forced. The image of Paige's stiff posture and the death grip she had on her phone haunts her. All of a sudden, her fiancé’s once soft hand feels heavy and scratchy against her skin.

“I need some air. I’ll be right back,” She announces as she gets up, dropping her fiancé’s hand. Cam and Dearica pause their argument over their stupid drinking game and stare at her with their mouths agape. There is undeniable panic swirling in both pairs of wide-open eyes, but Cam gives a hesitant nod.  

“Is everything alright babe?” Charles’s voice is soft but urgent. “I can come with you.” Azzi looks at him with a warm smile before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. 

As she exits the restaurant, she is met with an intricate spectacle of orange, pink, and blue. The light of the day quickly disappears, but she discerns a hunched silhouette on the beach that glows under the golden light. Her attention shifts to the orange circle that barely peeks out through the edge of the horizon as it slowly sinks underneath the water, leaving a trail of orange and pink light rippling across the surface of the water. Waves crash loudly against the shore before they are drawn back to the ocean while laughter and joyful screams from children join the peaceful ambience. 

“Are you just gonna stand there or do you wanna sit?” A tired voice rips her out of her thoughts as she tears her gaze from the astonishing scene in front of her. She glances at the woman sitting next to her who has her knees up to her chest and her head resting on her forearms. Azzi decides to sit a few feet away from her. For a split second, it feels like their fragmented friendship could be salvaged again. 

She slips her sandals off and lets her feet absorb the texture of the flaky sand while shivering when a gust of wind hits her skin. Instead of ignoring the mechanical sound of teeth chattering, Paige shakes the jacket off her shoulders and hands it to her which Azzi graciously accepts. When she wraps it around her shoulders, she is engulfed in the aroma of roses again. 

“I thought you had a call to take,” Azzi remarks, her voice soft. Veins snake down the woman’s arms and hands until they disappear behind her knuckles. Her pale skin had become golden and her biceps protrude from the rest of her arm. The neat braids in her hair are now ruffled and frizzy, and small wisps of hair dance with the breeze. On her wrist is a beaded bracelet that reads “RESILIENCE.” The bracelet from her camp before their explosive argument. The sight of it makes her heart flutter, but when she reaches her face, a cold wave of dread washes over her as she notices the smeared mascara and faint patches of salty skin on her cheeks. 

“Yeah, I did.” Paige answers bluntly, her voice cracking slightly. An uncomfortable silence falls upon them; the air heavy from their unspoken words. Azzi’s heart throbs at her cold tone. “What brings you out here?” she asks after a few moments. 

“I felt nauseous.” Paige scoffs at her response, shaking her head. 

“Bullshit.” 

“Paige, why are you so fucking blunt?” Azzi exasperates, throwing her hands up in the air in surrender. “You hugged me earlier and that whole time, you were stiff as a rock. It’s been 3 fucking years, it’s time to grow the fuck up.” When Paige says nothing in response, Azzi continues. “I’m trying to be the bigger person here and you’re being unfair. I told you that we can stay friends and then you fucking gho-”

“Your fiancé,” the blonde sneers, tearing Azzi out of her rant. Her voice is shaky and dangerously close to breaking. Through the golden light, she can see the tears brimming behind her smudged eyelashes. “He’s the one that you met at Ted’s, right?” Azzi stays silent, giving Paige the confirmation she needed. “You’re not being the bigger person, not at all. You’re only talking to me because you want something out of me. Azzi, you’re being selfish.”  The last word hits Azzi like a cold bucket of water. 

“You’re being unfair,” Azzi says shakily, refusing to meet the blonde’s eyes. 

Paige lets out a strangled sputter before opening her mouth. “I’m being unfair? Me being mad over you getting cozy with another man after our natty suddenly means that I’m being unfair?” 

“No, that’s not what I meant. You’re being unfair because you’re hurting him with your comments. Do you think I can’t hear the derogatory names you’ve called him tonight?” Azzi scrunches her face and turns to the blonde, whose attention is on the sand that snakes between her toes. 

“Are you happy?” the older woman finally asks after a period of silence.

“I don’t know.”

“What?” Her blue eyes dart towards hers. 

“P.” Paige freezes at the use of her nickname, “I miss you. My offer still stands. We can go back to our friendship.” The last words are quiet, almost as if they aren’t supposed to be spoken. Memories of what they were rush through both of their minds. The women have something unreadable in both of their eyes as they stare at each other. 

“No, we.. we can’t.” Paige finally speaks, tearing her gaze away from her, letting out a shaky breath and gets up to leave, but before she can take a step forward, she feels a forceful hand clasp around her wrist that prompts a wave of panic to flood through her. “Azzi, let me go. You can’t do this. You’re getting married soon for god’s sake.”  

“Our last night in Belarus, I know you remember it. You wear the same perfume, you even gave me your hoodie. Shit, Paige, that was the time I knew that I fell in love with you. Every little thing you did for me felt like you were giving me your entire world. You fell in love with me too. Every argument we had, we made up, and we can make up from this too. I’m asking you to believe in us again. I won’t leave you.” For a split second, Paige’s eyes soften and she lets her walls down. She desperately wants to let go of her "tough guy" facade and let herself taste Azzi's lips again.

“No. You don’t get to say that now. Not when you have a fiancé waiting for you in the restaurant.” The vulnerability that Paige showed is once again blocked by the ramparts of her castle. The remembrance of Charles’s presence hits Azzi like an 18-wheeler. “It’s evident that you can’t own up to any of the mistakes that you made.” 

“You’re not taking any accountability for it either! Do you think I haven’t tried?” Paige flinches, backing away from Azzi who is now screaming. “You had to address it at the fucking draft. For fuck’s sake, let me explain my side of the story.” 

“I tried to give you space because clearly, you wanted to fuck around with him. You don’t get to explain your side of the story. It was the night of the March Madness championship and you ch-”

“Oh, shit.” A new voice joins their argument. Paige whips her head around and sees Dearica and Cameron looking at them with wide eyes. “Azzi, I don’t think you should-” 

“No it’s okay,” Paige feigns a smile before pulling out of Azzi’s grip. “Welcome to the City of Dreams, Azzi. I’m sorry for having to leave so abruptly.” 

And she’s gone. Packed away in the backseat of an Uber. It hurts Azzi more than it should. The doors to Paige’s heart that used to be held open for Azzi are now barricaded off, isolating her. 

“What the fuck happened?” The blonde turns to Azzi with an edge of hostility in her tone. Dearica glares at her, and Azzi’s heart free-falls into her stomach. 

“Azzi?!” Charles’s deep voice calls out, and Azzi is grateful to be saved from the awkward confrontation. When his eyes land on her, they soften and he wraps her into a tight embrace. Every piece of contact between them feels scratchy and uncomfortable, especially in Paige’s jacket. “Don’t fucking leave me again.” He snarls into her ear before glaring at her jacket. 

The other women turn to leave before exchanging an uncomfortable look with each other. 

***

An empty bottle of tequila is the only company Paige has on her bar table. Right as she lets the effects of the alcohol take her consciousness, her front door flies open. Every muscle in her body tenses and she buries her head into her arms in hopes that she will disappear. 

“P?” It’s Cam. Her body relaxes. 

A second pair of heavy footsteps make their way to the table. She stiffens again.

“It’s me, don’t worry. You’re alright” The other voice belongs to Dearica. She exhales and looks up. Cam’s eyes are fixed on the empty bottle of tequila and a heavy breath falls out of her mouth. 

“Again? Seriously, Paige?” When Paige puts her head back down into her arms, Cam’s hands rub her back. 

“Yeah. Again.” Sobs begin to wreck the blonde’s body and she shakes violently. Dearica and Cam exchange a panicked look before embracing their teammate. 

“I’m sorry, Paige. What she did is fucked up” Dearica’s voice is soft and reassuring. “We tried to talk to her but, her, um, we were interrupted.” She and Cam are walking on thin ice; one bad step and their teammate will plunge in the freezing cold water.

“Let’s get you to bed. You have a big day tomorrow, so let’s make the most out of it.” Cam and Dearica carry their teammate, whose body is shaking violently while sobbing to bed.

For the 5th night in a row, she cries herself to sleep. 

I need you.

***

“Charles, why do you want to marry me?”

“Because I love you baby, and I want to spend every second of my life with you. With us.”

“...Okay.”

“I promise I’ll never hurt you. I’ll be the one to protect you forever.” 

“Azzi Fudd. What the fuck was that?” Charles sneers. His emerald eyes are alive, burning with acrimony. She doesn’t look up from her phone screen where her fingers shakily hover over the call button under Paige’s name. 

“I’m sorry? I told you I was getting some air and I ran into Paige.” Her tone is surprisingly even and steady despite her trembling body. When a dark look falls across his face, she shudders. Suddenly, her phone is ripped from her hands and shattered against the wall with a loud smash that rings in her ears.

“Don’t fucking talk back to me. You saw what happened to your phone, and I know that you don’t want to be next.” He slams the door of their hotel room and stomps down the hall. When she doesn't hear the obnoxiously loud footsteps anymore, she allows her body to collapse and cries into her pillow while she thinks about the promises that they made on their engagement night.

I need you.

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

The idea that future Leo and mc having bouts of "was that past Leo just now??? Smh" is SO funny to me like

Imagine past Leo keeps coming back to take a look at his future, and it's starting to piss Leo off like ??? Man he just wants to cuddle with his wife after work, and now there's this little shit coming in to steal his cuddles AND he's treating his wife semi poorly??? (Future Leo can't fathom that it's his own damn self that's the problem LMFAO)

Future Leo starts to leave notes and passive aggressive comments on his body so past Leo can find it. Past Leo doesn't know what's going on but every time he goes to the future he keeps finding angrier and angrier notes (first it's "treat her well, you're a guest here" and "you love her more than life itself even if you don't know it yet" but after a few rounds he gets impatient and starts going nuclear "listen you little shit you make my wife uncomfortable again I'll remember this shit and shave your head in the past" "get the fuck out and leave me alone I'm gonna make you binge eat and make you fat")

Imagine future Leo being so pissed off about the "stolen" time that he insists that he gets EXTRA loving from his wife for it (it's really not that bad, he's just being dramatic again) and whoops it looks like all those extra rounds have gotten his darling wife pregnant 🥴🥴🥴

if past Leo manages to come back in the middle of a sesh with a very obviously pregnant mc he might just have a heart attack then and there pp

The diabolical streamer might be peeking into the future too much

Leo has gotten used to popping to the future for a little while. Leo is neither used to the interruptions to his life and very upset about it

Wc: 1,6K

Notes: nah but he would actually die jsjsjsj he knew he was married to her but not that he was that down bad! This was so fun to write

Cw: she/her for the reader, implications of sex and Leo comes when his future version has sex with his wife

Leo recognizes he can be hard to get along with most of the time, he is snarky, snoops around for secrets and extorts people with them, can be cruel, among many other things. But he never expected to say that he got himself fed up with his existence.

He seems to be getting on his last nerve, Leo notes at the greenish bruises on his midriff while changing clothes after bathing. He once again visited the birdpond even if his trip was a rather short one as Sho pulled him away when he (or rather whatever consciousness from his future self he had in his body) started hitting and scratching himself on the stomach.

Sitting down on his bed, he starts spending cream on the small wounds, he would hate to have any sort of scar.

“And you want to go back tomorrow after that?” Sho asks besides him, watching the reddish and purple splotches and thin red lines across his abdomen.

“Well, yeah, I want to see what number will be drawn on the influencer gala” he says, as nonchalant as ever, as if whatever damage he did to himself was nothing more than a light annoyance.

“You are crazy, dude”

“Hush, I'm learning a TikTok dance”

And as he said, that night as soon as Alan turned off his light they both sneaked off to the hedge maze centered around the birdpond.

“So, you remember what we are doing?”

“10 minutes in and I take you off. If you start hitting yourself I'm just allowed to hold you but not lift you”

“Good! If I see one more bruise and it will be all your fault, m'kay?”

“Hey, no, wait-!” But before he is able to complain he already dipped his head underwater.

Already used to the ache inside his lungs and the feeling of drowning, it doesn't take him much longer to settle on the current situation.

There is a colorful movie playing on the 65 inches mounted tv and he feels a comfortable weight on his lap. When he looks down he sees your head on his chest and legs thrown over his own, most of the weight must be from the sleeping toddler on your legs. A string of spit threatening to spill on his leg makes Leo recoil away violently, almost making you fall off the sofa and your daughter too.

Now awake and in a bad mood Emmy pouts and kicks her little legs “Daddy!” she waddles towards him so he would pick her up and lull her to sleep as always.

With the same coldness as you remember his first year version having, he spits venom at the, honestly quite messy, child “Don't even touch me, you have spit and sugar all over yourself, you are going to mess my clothes” and he barricades himself inside the bathroom, leaving you to calm down an upset toddler.

Hidden away inside the bathroom, he sits down on the bathtub rim and swipes around his phone, looking at his TikTok account and looking for videos that are around 10 years old. For once he curses being so active in social media as when he reaches his current year Sho was pulling him up to the past.

“So? Anything good?”

“Hardly anything and her kid almost slobbers all over me”

“I think that is also your child, dude”

‘stupid child’ Adult Leo growls mentally. Each and every time his past himself would rudely interrupt in his few soft domestic hours he has with his family and treat them like shit his head would be splitting down the middle with an unbearable headache, no matter what he took or if he drank water he would have to sit down for hours until it passed. Luckily his wife and daughter would comfort him while they watched tv with very low volume.

Wobbling out of the bathroom and aiming for the modular sofa he whines for any scrap of affection he believes he is entitled to “LI, Emmy, let's watch a movie, daddy doesn't feel good”

Plopping down on ‘his’ side of the sofa he just noticed Emmy was too busy getting calmed down to watch a movie with her dad.

“What happened, Emmy? Want to tell me while we watch Cinderella?” and even after attempting to bribe her with her favorite movie she just looks the other way with a pout before stomping towards her room, slamming the door.

Noticing your husband was back you smile, a part in relief of not having to take care of your toddler alone and another part of mocking delight “Emilia is very angry at you because your past self told her you weren't going to carry her because she was dirty and was going to mess your clothes”

Mortified, Leo grasps his forehead, he doesn't remember himself as one to be that mean to kids. When he feels you sit next to him and hug his shoulder he starts acting for affection and attention.

“That stupid brat is going to make my baby hate me”

“honey, that brat is you”

The attempt at reasoning with him is met with more whining. After years of marriage he learned that there wasn't anything he couldn't get from you with enough whining “my head hurts” he digs himself a space on your clavicle “I just want to sit down and enjoy myself with my family but now I can't even do that”

Combing some fly away hairs and planting a kiss on his helix honeyed words lure him closer “Emmy might not want to be close to you now but why don't we have some personal time together”

And with a devilish smile his hands dip down your back and butt while his mouth attached itself to whatever patch of skin he can get close to.

Family vlogs are something Leo found himself doing weekly, complying with his fans' demands. There is rarely anything interesting, sometimes doctor's visits, minor sickness, projects he had to say nothing about yet still hype, that sort of day to day things.

After going over a possible trip to Spain for a gaming convention he was invited to, Leo looks over the most frequent questions of the last vlog. He is so thankful that he coded a bot to group comments with the same or similar key words.

“So, for the last question… YN they are asking if you were hungry when we filmed the last video, they say you were scrolling UberEATS for a while”

You shrug while playing with your phone, not paying him much mind “well, when I was pregnant with Emmy I was pretty hungry, it is normal that I would be now too”

It is hardly one second before his usual fake smile dropped, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. In an attempt to turn off the video his hands fiddle with the button but it takes a few extra seconds than he expected. It is going to look awkward when he uploads it but why act as if he has ever cared about it and more so especially now?

The last few seconds it's possible to hear an ‘are you serious?’

His fans did go wild in the comment section after he posted

Leo_simp76: damn, he is locked down for real, let's cry simps

User_8274849: He already had a kid and is married, did you truly think he was free???

Leo_simp76: I would delulu into thinking he got babytrapped and was going to leave her!!

T.B.d.e: wasn't his child's first birthday one week ago?? How did she let him hit it?

Leo_simp76: I would let him as soon as I could stand. If anything it's weird it took that long!!

The last day before he took a break from looking into the future,as soon as he dips his head down to the water the usual annoyance in his lungs is overpowered by a different kind of ache caused by breathlessness like in Gym class.

“Leo, stop teasing~” a breathy moan begs from beneath him. Looking down he finds his hand snug against the column of your neck, lips connected to your skin just below your collarbone.

You were splayed under him, legs hugging his hips and one arm drawing figures on his biceps. Bodies close enough to notice your swollen stomach against his abdomen. Thankfully enough you had your eyes closed shut and couldn't notice the switch.

He on a technical level guessed this future version of himself and you fucked (as awkward as that image is for him) there was Emilia, or Emmy, that looked very much like him and you; when he snooped around he found condoms and there were multiple pregnancy tests in the en suite bathroom. But he had never barged in during the act.

Such a great fucking time he gets in, balls deep inside the nerd and an orgasm threatening to wreck him. Or so he would think if a wave of dopamine didn't swallow him whole in the same breath.

Quickly he leaves the water, if Sho had to say he almost looked horrified, eyes wide, breathing quickly, face red and… oh, he was just suddenly horny. Any teasing he might have wanted to do is cut short with Leo's nasty side eye but no explanations.

On the other side of the timeline there is a married couple with a sulking husband.

“Are you feeling alright?” opening your eyes you manage to see a very clearly upset Leo resting his forehead against your sternum and a hand on your breast.

“I can't even have sex with my wife without that brat ruining it”

“What? He was here just now?!”

“Once again, I didn't get to enjoy it”

“Wait a second! I'm still sensitive! ~~!”

[rindough]

thinking ab boothill being seduced by someone working with the ipc so they can capture him... take the money and run by tamer... :3 - 💫

cw. gn! reader, fluff mixed w/ angst, strangers to fwb to lovers- then to enemies >:(, implication of suggestive themes

wc. 3,130

notes. STAR ANON IS HERE AGAIN :DDDD and wow this song, i LOVE IT, plus i think it rllyyy goes with the trope u gave. it gives the whole idea some sexy mysterious touch to it UGH but u know what makes it hit in the feels more worst? for this trope to take the "i shouldnt be doing this, but i must" typa route 😈😈 i actually edited the whole draft over the past few days, so i hope it's... understandable??? but oh man i rlly got carried away with this 🫨🫨 so have a seat star anon, get comfy n get something nice to drink and i hope u enjoy this AAAAAAAAAA

This song really, really goes well with the trope- so mysterious, much alluring so that Boothill does not pry his eyes away from your back as he approaches. His thoughts run on how many glasses would it take for him tonight to drown the tiredness that's slowly creeping up to him.

All the running, all the shooting. Boothill definitely needs some touch up here and there later but it's all worth it. His thirst tonight could never beat the thirst for revenge he has for the IPCs, especially for that shitbag named Oswaldo.

Through the waves of people and memos, he observes as he walks. The way Siobhan smiles at you, the way the bar's lighting illuminate your features, how you're dressed, it all suits you, he thinks.

Who is this all too unfamiliar person in his all too familiar bar?

"Usual?" Siobhan asks from the other end of the counter, eyes fixated on the syrup she's pouring into the cup.

"Usual, two big glasses."

As she begins to make your drinks, he finally plops down and takes in the stranger beside him, prompting you to turn to him as well.

It all suits that hard wall he's come to face when you meet eye to eye.

"Why do ya got a wall up like that?" Oh Aeons, it took a while for him to process what he had blurted out. Yet, seeing your eyes widened like that, it intrigues him.

You had felt the way this man has pierced holes through the back of your skull. Even until now does it sting, it burns to be under his gaze like that. Dangerous, yet so tempting.

You study him.

From the boots on his feet to the awfully tight pants he's wearing, there was no denying that those iconic target in his pupils had took your breath away.

He was more attractive in real life than the pictures you've seen in your office and reports.

"Huh, cat got your tongue I supposed..." He pouts and turns to Siobhan, who's just finishing making your drinks.

Finally you spoke, "Where are your manners, mister?"

With how your words slid past your lips in a sly, hushed tone, it pulls him in. Scoffing, he turns to face you again. "Asking me why I got a wall up high instead of my name?"

He rolls his eyes, getting a bit more annoyed since the fact you've taken his usual seat. "Says the one eyein' me down like no one's business. Care to explain yerself?"

What a hypocrite, it was his turn to eye you down now. Going from the crown of your head to the the curves of your shoulders, he comes back to face the color of your pupils and the shape of your nose. Your lips.

He thinks he could spend all his free time looking at you.

"You two know each other?"

Two heads now turn to the bartender, the question lingers in the air but she quickly cuts it off, "Anyways, enjoy your drinks, Gallagher's not here so I can't stay and chat all the time."

Watching as the lady slides off to her next customer, your eyes now fall back to target pupils that have already rested on yours. A smile creeping on your lips at the feel of your knees touching each other, now that you're both facing each other.

"Name?"

"Y/n."

"Y/n... very fitting for a person like you." He coos, smiling as he swirls the malt in his glass. Excitement boiling in him at the shy curl adorning your face. "Boothill."

There begins your interaction with the wanted man. He's a regular in here, yet from your studies there had been some days where the man in question does not come to the bar. However, the days you've picked out last week to visit Siobhan had became fruitful. Knees pointed to one another as you both engage in deep talks and quiet, flirtatious banter. Unsure when he'll see you again, Boothill offers you two days of each week for a rendezvous.

As selfish and attention seeking it may sound, he finds solace in your company, wanting nothing more than to bask under the light of your attention each night you two meet.

Hence, it's now the third week that you're here to visit him. It's a new routine you've been looking forward to in comparison to your work and other things in life. Now you're both here, knees once again touching, smiles exchanged while throwing in some flirtatious comments from time to time. But...

You have to push further. You have to lure the man in further. Partially due to your need to push the progress forward, and also to your dying urge to know him better, you asked:

"Do you feel anything, Boothill?"

He hums, his first drink already downed, leaving his hands to rest on the cool counter by your side. Through his side bangs, he blinks, having caught off guard by the question you've laid out to him. Yet, all he could do was reminisce that time whilst staring at himself through the reflection of the glass in his hands.

Boothill.

What has he come to?

Having put himself on the surgical table back then just to feel alive. Not an ounce of determination left him when he forced the request onto the poor doctor. But regret? Perhaps he did, he regretted back then knowing after the procedure he could not feel anything but pure weight.

"I don't feel anything, I suppose..."

Perhaps he had too much tonight now that he's running high on energy and feeling so many things, or was it the room that's getting more crowded by the second tonight and how vulnerable and alone he feels under your soft gaze?

"I don't exactly feel anything, more like can't feel much."

But what could he do, he drifts away from the glass and turns to you. It's better to look forward to things in his current state than to dwell on the past. It's something he tells himself from time to time, right now being one of them.

"I did it to maself," he puts up a hand between you, a playful look on his face. "But see? I do many cooler things now, this hand of mine's can do and has done many things."

The light weight of your fingers on the palm of his hand brings him to hitch his breath. He can't feel it yet he could tell despite being partially human, you still took into account how sensitive the topic was and to treat his hand like glass. The tension around you grows thick, air inside the bar getting hotter. He no longer feels timid and vulnerable, but more like he's determined to put a brave front for you to see and for you to seek comfort in. Your delicate dance on his metallic limp allows him to soften his gaze, but turns dark after hearing the words that leave your lips.

"What else can it do?"

Push.

"You do not what to know, angel."

"Oh, don't I?" Your gaze falls to how your hands lined up to one another, laid on the countertop. Even the cool countertop couldn't beat the heat that spread along the veins of your arm.

Push.

"What if I want to?"

"Fudgin' hell, ya sure don't give up eh?" He slowly sighs out the air he didn't know he's kept in, the smell of malt waves over your lips. He stood dangerously close, face daringly inching closer as if he was trying to tempt you, to scare you.

Yet, you know what he wants to do, and to be fair you wanted it too. It's hard to keep yourself in check when all you see, all you need- you want- is him. Maybe, you can let yourself go in this one. This one time.

There wasn't any time limit into how long you should capture him but definitely it should be done as soon as possible. That laughter of his that booms just loud enough for you to hear, that grip he indulges when you tug him out of the bar right then and there, and that praise and touch he leaves by the end of each coming rendezvous leaves you falling deeper into Aeon knows whatever this hole is.

Boothill knows he can't feel anything, but he does know that whatever's going on during your rendezvous is addicting. Not in the sense that he could drown himself in pleasure every week but he finds himself turning into someone he doesn't really know, or maybe someone he's lost a long time ago.

The cyborg himself knows he's different.

With a different body unlike his previous one, he could charge himself up to sleep, or be like a normal person and sleep in a bed. He could run on days without sleep and still be busting the IPC's asses and Aeon knows whatever stupid plan he has to ruin someone's day. Malt juice is now his go to for some sleep top-up and quick boost of adrenaline... but he realizes this later that it's unhealthy.

However, ever since this began he finds everyday to be less... taxing. To be less dull, less redundant, and he looks forward to it. Meeting you, catching up with you, ending the night with you, this whole thing is basically like a reward system for him. But because he knows this new routine is starting to change him for the better, he's happier. He's more pumped, getting more sleep, even he begins to try to be a little bit more careful during his fights or shenanigans.

And as the cyborg finds change to be an exciting challenge, he indeed loves it when it benefits both sides. He finds comfort in the way you turn in your sleep to curl into him, how despite you had to rush and leave for the morning you still find time to brush your finger along the scar by his eye. He finds solace in the words you speak and the secrets you shared amongst yourselves.

And tonight, there laid you in between the sheets in the all too familiar bedroom.

You study him.

The way the metallic surface rises and falls in rhythm to his breathing, his mouth slightly agape and head tilted aside in his sleep. How he without fail folds whichever leg in that's equivalent to the side of bed he's sleeping on.

Today, tonight, this time, you do not trace his chest. You mustn't, no matter how strong the urge was especially tonight. Silently cursing at how this had developed into a habit, you slip out of the sheets and into your pants and top.

Quietly into the night you ventured, feet in sync to your quick beating heart with fingers already dialing the familiar digits on your screen.

"Hey."

This mission was a curse. Meeting Boothill is a curse. Being with the IPC is starting to become a curse because this right here? It's self sabotage, but you know deep inside you can no longer keep up the facade.

"Two days from now, 20th system hour at Golden Hour's Dazzle Motel. Got it?"

The first day since the call was less painful, guilt was slowly creeping up to you at the back of your mind but it was bearable. It was easy to stay distracted thanks to Boothill's banter and finally (to the man's luck) trying out his favorite malt drink.

Day two though, was the beginning of your torture. Thoughts flood your mind and focus; it was silent tonight. The cyborg doesn't speak either, simply thinking it's one of those moments where you both fall into deep silence, listening to the crowd and enjoying in each other's presences. So, he finds comfort in the silence and never questions it. But he however questions your choice of seating today, leaving his old seat for him to sit as you sit in his 'new' seat.

But the silence tonight that lingers in the air leaves your heart to ache, it will be hard to end tonight. Especially noting the way his eyes glimmer and shark teeth beaming wide when you chug his usual down like a champ to drown your guilt. But he doesn't know that. He doesn't have to know that.

"Wasn't expectin' to see ya today, Y/n." He tries not let out a laugh, but fails when his amusement finally takes over. Peering through the rim of the tall glass, you smiled at him while swallowing the last bit of malt juice.

"I guess seeing you has become my favorite routine, wouldn't you agree cowboy?"

"Can't say that I disagree there-"

"And Boothill, maybe I want to discover more things about you, inside out." You confessed swiftly, turning back to face the glass in your hold, word vomiting without a care if he's able to catch up to what you're saying.

Eyes widened with a gasp flying out of his lips, your smile widens.

Jackpot.

But oh the pain does not only accompanies your cheeks but also grows in that tear in your heart.

Perhaps you could make it count, now that damage was done.

With gaze so intense he watches the way you lean back slightly, eyes traveling up and down his figure but it's different this time. The weight in your gaze holds such sincerity and fondness, Aeons! He could feel his lips wobbling in happiness.

Was this a move? Is this how you finally make the move on him?

"So, what do you say?" The pair of twinkling eyes he adores comes back to meet with his, the skunk-haired man could only blink, trying to process it all deeply.

He wonders how long has it been since you've been 'seeing' each other... A month? Two? Your meetups for sure have occurred every week.

"No?"

He snaps out of it, your face now turned towards the wall of soda and syrup bottles opposite the counter you both shared. "Well, too bad on my-"

"Y/n..."

You froze, cold fingers slip through strands of your hair and brush along the side of your cheek. Slowly you turned towards him, feeling his thumb rub the skin near your ear, his other fingers resting by your nape. He's got you trapped now, his body hovering slightly over your seated figure.

From his looks alone do you curse a million times again to yourself. From the soft plush and taste of his lips do you know it adds up to the tears that threaten to fall, that would accompany you on your days right after.

By the time you two step foot into the same place you spent every week, the front desk lady knew at this point what you've been up to and no longer pauses to hand Boothill the keys to the room.

You watch him, you study him, you remember him. The tight grip on your hand, the flow of his long locks under the cool hue of the dreamscape.

"Tonight Y/n, let's be honest with each other."

Your lips crash and the door closes with the help of your foot. You both turn round and round with eagerness to lead, hands coming up to pull his jacket with hands coming down to tug the hoops of your pants whilst moving deeper into the room. Each push and pull leaves you hoping, begging for this to be a nightmare that you'll both wake up from.

You'll remember every single part of this, even though it is short-lived.

You hold him back, resting your hands on the edge of his jacket. Catching your breath before you speak, "Wait." The softness of your voice elevates the running of his mechanical heart. Your gentle push right after causing the cowboy to fall back a little as he watches you turn your back and walk away.

"Where ya goin'?"

"Gonna lock the door." You glance back at him. "I want to start slow."

"How slow we talkin', angel?" His voice remains low yet it manages to bring a smile on your lips, just the tone alone could you tell the man was grinning as he spoke those words. "We don't got all night, I know you gotta leave for work by dawn."

"You can't stay back just for the day?" He asks out, despite being by the front of the bed looking all messed up and rowdy, he sounds as if he's holding onto the last ray of hope.

"I can't, Boothill." You turn to him, smiling but he catches how odd it was.

"You know I want to, but I simply can't."

He catches the force in it but oh it was all too late.

Arms now cuffed with the tight grips of the IPC guards, he watches as you exchange a few words with the 'front desk lady'. He don't have to ask what's going on, that look on your face was a dead giveaway to what you had done.

Guilt.

Shame.

His engine runs harder, his fuel boils hotter. The clanks and screech from his thrashing could leave the guards' ears bleeding but he could careless. The noise grew as you stood forward, coming face to face with him.

"Darn it!" He barks at you, pushing forward only to be yanked back in place, his eyes squint with so much focus you're certain it'll pierce through someone.

Not that it hasn't pierced through you already.

"When I get back at ya- Oh, ho ho ho...."

You don't flinch when he jerks forward again, but this time, he stays silent. You don't dare to reach out to touch his face, his eyes bear so much of dying hope and light you couldn't help but to utter out to him in hopes he could forgive you.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah right yer sorry." He growls through his teeth, his words adding to the final weight on your shoulders. "I was lenient with ya, I was careful for ya. Oh Aeons, I knew I shouldn't have let 'em guards down."

"May we meet again, Boothill."

"Don't ever come in my sight." He spits, eyes falling into despair as your figure disappear by the doorframe.

It is your fault.

You could have make this happen in a week's time, but hell- this was four months worth of visits, adding on a confession to a man you know so well could be a step closer to being lovesick. Adding on a confession that could make your dreams and longing come true.

But... what is there for you to do? What could you do now?

Meet him again? The audacity of yours.

The only question you could ask yourself day and night after this was how could you?

What were you doing?

©  2024 rindough, do not repost or plagiarize.

[kissesforsatoru]

ETERNAL DEVOTION ⟶ part one of two | wc : 1.3k

PRINCE! KUROKAWA IZANA x FEM!READER

₊˚⌗ izana is tired of waiting; he wants you. he wants you, he wants you, he wants you. so, he calls you to his room in the middle of the night, and he plans to take you, willingly or not.

⤷ cw : general yandere themes, super heavy stockholm syndrome, abuse of power, manipulation, master/servant dynamics, innocent-ish reader, virgin reader, nsfw implications + sexual tension, hints of coercion, one very heated kiss, use of pet names (my lovely servant, love, etc.) ⟶ smut will be in part two.

notes : this was such a spur of the moment little thing that i wrote??? i don’t know where it came from and it’s a bit different than most of my other works i think but! i hope you guys all like it 😭😭

“my prince,” you greet softly, bowing your head down in a display of respect as you sit on your thighs and fold your hands across your lap.

“look at me.” he bites the second you settle, and you do; you look up at your master through your lashes without even a sliver of thought, let alone hesitation. he makes a small, pleased hum, his lips curling into a lazy smirk.

you’re dressed in precious little—a thin, loose nightgown that you sleep in every night—drawing your master to stare at you with a flare in his lilac eyes. he licks his lips sensually while overlooking your body, making you out to feel utterly exposed to him. you would have worn something more appropriate, something much less revealing, had his summon not been urgent, leaving you no time to change before coming here.

you shift a little bit, attempting to hide more of your body to preserve as much of your modesty as you can, but it doesn’t work much; really, all your little movements serve to do is draw more attention to your body from your master.

“do you know why i called you?” he asks, a lilt of amusement dripping in his tone. you gulp before hesitantly shaking your head—the maids never told you, or perhaps you were in too much of a hurry to remember, but either way you aren’t exactly sure what it could be that your master needs, especially at such an hour when normally he and you are both asleep.

“use your words,” he urges gently, but an edge of authority leaves no room for you to deny his wishes—as if you would anyway.

“forgive me, my prince. i don’t know the reason you’ve called me here,” you whisper low as you bow your head down again in apology, only to look right back up at him as soon as you're done. he wouldn’t be too happy if you didn’t; he loves it when you look at him just as much as he loves to hear you speak to him.

“c’mere then,” he says, patting his thigh, “i’ll show you why, yeah?”

you crawl towards him slowly so as to not jostle the little clothes you have on and reveal even more of your body to him, but his eyes remain steadily trained on you, making you feel like he could see easily through the thin scraps of clothing you wore. when you reach him, he gently nudges your shoulders to guide you between his legs, and then one of his hand's ghosts over your skin until it reaches your nape, while his other hand comes to your chin, directing you to look up towards him.

he leans down close, and you gasp quietly, flustered by the proximity between you and your beloved master—his presence always has you fumbling for air and scraping for a semblance composure, but he’s never quite gotten so close that you feel deliciously suffocated by him. you want to pull away, if only a little bit because of how overwhelming his presence is for you, but you don't. you'll gladly drown in the high he gives you whenever he's close.

his eyes flick to your mouth and your tongue flits out to swipe along your lower lip, and instinctively you lean in a little bit closer. he smirks.

“you belong to me, you know that?” he asks in a low whisper, the warmth of his breath fanning across your face lightly as he speaks; you have to fight back a whine scratching in your throat for an escape at the sensation.

and, you do know that—of course you do. he saved your life, and in return you gave it up to him and him alone for the rest of eternity. while all the other castle staff can eventually retire and live lives outside of attending to the royal family, you will always be bound to him, even in death you will be his loyal servant and belonging.

you nod, and then quickly follow up with a small ‘yes,’ when you see him raise an eyebrow at you in warning. the command use your words, rings inside of your mind and you bite your lip in shame of making such a foolish mistake. his thumb strokes gently along your neck when you oblige his earlier orders though, causing your breath to flutter shakily when you sigh out in contented pleasure.

“i own your life, you serve me, so you’ll always devote yourself to me, yes?” he asks you, and this time you immediately reply with a soft ‘yes,’ instead of nodding your head.

he smiles, pleased, tilting his head a little bit to the left. he doesn’t say anything else right away, but the silence isn’t awkward as the both of you are caught by the other. his eyes are on you, your lips, and your body pressed firmly against him, while you’re paying rapt attention to the way he holds you so close to him, to the fan of his breath on your face, to his soft, cold fingers tracing your skin and leaving behind tingly shivers. he hums low, drawing out a fluttering feeling in your tummy.

“won’t you please your master, then?” he then asks, and the air in your lungs quickly dissipates, leaving you to choke on a withdrawn gasp.

“what is it that you mean, my prince? how may i please you?” you ask him nervously, aware of the many implications behind his words, but– but is that really what he would want from you, his lowly servant? he has many women and men of noble or royal lineage that he could have, all of whom would be much better for him in both class and experience, so why you? you know nothing about... sex, other than the basics you've learned through hushed whispers and giggles from the royal staff and other attendants. even if you weren't such a lowly servant, you could never hope to please him with such inexperience. does he think you’ve been off with a man? you haven’t.

“c’mon now, love, you know what i mean. i’ve waited long enough to have you, my lovely little servant, and i won't wait any longer, so quit playing dumb while i'm asking you nicely because i will take from you what i want using force if i have to,” he groans while beginning to press rough kisses to your check and jaw, nibbling on your skin in warning when you gasp and whine.

“but–“ you start only for him to interrupt you with a sight, and then before you can even process what's going on his lips are on yours in a bruising kiss. he shoves his tongue into your opened mouth to lap at the inside eagerly, swirling and mixing your saliva with his and savoring the addicting flavors of you. you don't shy from kissing him back; instead leaning yourself more into him like a puppy following its masters whims without question. the kiss is all too imposing and all too messy for you to keep up with him properly, but he doesn't mind at all as long as you're not pulling away from him, rejecting him.

he knew you wouldn't; you're too enthralled to ever deny him of anything he wants.

he groans as he pulls away to see you breathless, eyes glazed over with hazy lust and your pretty lips swollen from his kiss. he smirks at the sight of you so easily wrecked by him. just a simple kiss and you're already panting and pawing at his chest for stability do you don't fall over. so fucking sensitive, so pliant just the way you should be for him. and only him. nobody else will ever affect you the way he does.

“i don’t give a shit about whatever it is you were going to say, you belong to me and i will have you if i want you. and i do—i want all of you. do you understand me?” it's not a question, but a warning: 'don't you ever fucking try to refute me again. you do as i say without asking any questions.'

"mm, 'course, my prince," you try to sound like you aren't completely drunk off of him, but your words slur together and come out all breathy and whiny like one of the sex wrecked whores.

he smirks again lazily, "good. now won’t you please your master, like a good little servant, hm? you have to after getting me all riled up,” he motions to his lap, and you gasp realizing how hard he is. his thick, heavy cock is pressed against your tummy, and it’s huge, but you still have no doubt that its real size is hidden beneath the robes he’s wearing.

you bite your lip and look up at him, but he gently nudges your head down against his cock, “go on, love. your master is dying to have your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.”

© 2023 by kolyasobsession━all rights reserved. plagiarism is strictly prohibited. comments, likes, and reblog are highly appreciated.

[caslyra]

soulmates - @wolfstarmicrofic - words: 995

CW: (mild?) deprecating/ableist language

“Something to say, Moony?” said Sirius when they strolled into the Great Hall for lunch. There were a whole lot of things Remus had to say, but the waste of time their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson had been easily topped the list. N.E.W.T.s were coming up, which equated to spiking nerves - unless you were called James Potter or Sirius Black and graced with infinite talent and matching nonchalance. It wasn’t like Remus wasn’t doing okay; he was. He had no right to complain compared to Peter. But he would much prefer actually learning something useful about Patronuses rather than wasting a whole lesson talking about the implications of matching Patronuses. He could have practiced the Protean Charm or revised on Asphodel or...

So, yes, Remus had a few things on his mind, but what he said was, “No.”

“Your face disagrees,” said Sirius, eyebrow raised, while James loaded his plate with a generous helping of everything within his reach. “It’s the soulmate stuff, isn’t it?”

“It’s stupid,” Remus muttered before his brain had a chance to step in. He didn’t want to give this ridiculous soulmate thing any more thought. And he knew better than to get into this sort of discussion with Sirius. He had a sneaking suspicion that more often than not Sirius took the opposite stance of Remus just for the fun of it. “It’s not real, is it? They’re tricking us.”

Sirius’s lips twitched. “Tricking us? How?” But he was quickly drowned out by James’s resounding “Oi!” He flicked a pea which almost got stuck in Remus's left nostril but bounced off and landed in his potatoes instead.

“Thanks, Prongs.”

“Take that back.” James’s face was all seriousness. Of course, he wasn’t going to give up on this after just having found out that Lily’s Patronus matched his Animagus form. “I said take it back, Moony.”

“I take it back,” said Remus. “It’s unreal for anyone - except for you and Lily.”

Sirius laughed softly, but James seemed placated enough.

“Thank you.” James glanced sideways at Lily, who was sitting a few seats down the table, chatting. She seemed to feel the weight of his gaze on her because she turned her head as she brushed her long red hair behind her ear. Despite talking, her lips spread into a smile, her eyes softening. As if a switch was flicked, James answered with his own dopey grin, a grin they had all seen too often over the last seven months.

Seven months down the road, and James still seemed to forget the world around him whenever Lily so much as looked at him. There was a pull in Remus’s chest, something like yearning, and he found himself meeting Sirius’s eyes, who seemed rather amused by James having completely forgotten about his pile of food, but whose eyes were already set on Remus.

“Don’t mind him, Prongs,” said Sirius with a grin.

Remus rolled his eyes. He didn’t care whether Sirius was in the mood to play his little ‘I disagree with you just for the sake of it’-game today - Remus was anything but. “Save it, Padfoot. You won’t convince me that you of all people believe in that stuff.”

No, not Sirius ‘I predict Divination is a waste of time’ Black.

Soulmates, fate, fortune-telling. All nonsense.

But Sirius ploughed on with a thoughtful expression as if he was sussing out one of life’s great mysteries. He would do that often, although he hadn’t been able to fool any of them since second year. It was always in his eyes. And right now, they were still twinkling with barely restrained amusement. “I think he’s just jealous because it’s real for anybody but him.”

There was too much truth in that - even if this whole soulmate nonsense was real, it didn’t change a thing for Remus. Being with someone in that way - serious relationship and all - was simply not in the cards for him. A big ugly stamp starting with ‘l’ and ending with ‘ycanthropy’ slammed on him at the age of four and marking him out would forever make sure of that.

Under the table, Sirius nudged Remus’s foot with his own and hooked it behind his ankle, causing Remus to look up. “You’d need a soul to have a soulmate, wouldn’t you,” he said, tone just shy of accusatory. “Bad luck for being soulless and evil, deserving nothing, right?”

Remus’s breath hitched. Werewolf jokes didn’t stir him anymore these days; James and Sirius had made them all and then some. But there was no way this choice of words wasn’t deliberate, not when it was the  choice of words his own father had used years and years ago, when the Ministry had let Greyback loose. The words that had started it all.

He didn’t know how Sirius knew. But Sirius did know, no doubt. The smile had slowly dropped off his face, and he was now looking at Remus with an uncomfortable intensity as if trying to dig into his mind. As if trying to tell him something.

“I really thought we’d skip the werewolf jokes for at least a day,” said Remus lowly and only just to say something. “Clearly, I overestimated your self-restraint.”

A beat of silence passed between them in which Sirius just kept staring back at him. “Clearly, I overestimated your intelligence.” He shook his head, getting to his feet.

James looked up. “What’re you doing?”

“Asking Evans for some advice.”

“What about?”

Sirius inhaled, his eyes lingering on Remus. “I don’t know about soulmates,” he said. “But I know an oblivious idiot when I see one. And Evans seems to have some experience with those.”

James watched him march over to Lily. “I give him another three days before he loses it,” he said, then looked at Remus, who was still frowning. James's smile reached all the way up to his hazel eyes. “Two, if you keep looking like that.”

[alwaysmoncheri]

𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

summary: in which best friends, y/n henderson and steve harrington get caught up in their feelings while paranormal activities occur in the small town of hawkins, indiana

cw: fem!reader, I wrote this a long time ago(I apologize for everything cringe), shit writing, first person pov, implications of sex, 1k

<3

The day seems to drag on incessantly as I drown in my own pool of sorrow.

As I'm sitting at lunch, Tommy and Carol crack their typical 'humorous' remarks, triggering an unsettling feeling within me.

"I still think that creep killed him." Tommy says referring to Jonathan while spooning food into his mouth.

"He's such a freak." Carol comments, laughing.

Steve shoots his friends a look before he glances at me with a concerned expression. To my surprise, he rests his hand on my thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze, leaving it there, before returning to his food.

Steve doesn't bring up what happened last night.

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

"The brown current ran swiftly out of the heart of darkness, bearing us down towards the sea with twice the speed of our upward progress. And Kurtz's life was running swiftly, too—"

I slump in my seat, absorbing this incredibly boring lecture as the day reaches its conclusion. Suddenly the office lady walk in and halts the teacher's speech.

Thank god.

"(Y/n) Henderson and Nancy Wheeler? If you would come with me, please," She says motioning for us to walk with her.

With exhaustion dragging me down, I rise from my chair and shuffle after the lady through the classroom door to the empty cafeteria - a tense scene awaiting. There, Mrs. Wheeler sits, across from two officers, who look at Nancy and I with stern expressions, which causes my heart to quicken with anticipation.

Nancy sits down next to her mom and I sit myself down next to Nancy.

"We're here to discuss the whereabouts of your friend, Barbra Holland." One of the deputies says, with a notepad in hand.

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

"So, this argument you and Barbra had... What exactly was it about?" The officer, Powell asks.

"It wasn't really an argument..." Nancy says hesitantly, "Barb just wanted to leave. I didn't, so, I... I told her to just go home."

"Then what?" Powell asks.

"Then I went upstairs to put on some dry clothes." Nancy continues.

"And the next day," Powell says, "You guys went back and saw, a bear, you're thinking?"

"We don't know what it was... but we think..." I pipe in, "We think maybe it took, Barb."

"You need to check behind Steve's house—" Nancy starts.

"We did. There's nothing there." The other officer, Callahan, says shaking his head, "There's no sign of a bear."

"And there's no car." Powell finishes.

"What?" I say, as Nancy and I glance at each other.

"Look, we figure that Barbra came back last night and then she took off, went somewhere else." Callahan says.

"Has she ever talked to either of you about running off?" Powell asks, "Leaving town, maybe?"

"No," Nancy says shaking her head, "No, Barb wouldn't do that, ever."

"She wasn't maybe upset about the fact that you were spending time with this boy?" Powell asks, "Uh, Steve Harrington?"

"What? No." Nancy says uncomfortably.

"Maybe she was jealous because she saw you go up to Steve's room?" Callahan presses and Mrs. Wheeler looks at Nancy pointedly.

"It wasn't like that." Nancy argues.

"Like what?" Callahan asks.

"Steve and me... We're..." Nancy's starts, "We're just friends. We just talked."

Callahan looks down at his notes and I avert my gaze to the window, hiding my jealousy.

"Now was this before or after you changed out of your clothes?"

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

After riding my bike home, I grab a snack from the fridge as the phone begins to ring. I walk over to the phone holding it between my shoulder and ear. Opening the wrapper for my snack, I take a bite while answering the call.

"Henderson residence." I say into the phone.

"(Y/n)?" I hear Jonathan's voice through the speaker.

"This is she," I reply.

"Uh, could you help me with something?" He says hesitantly.

"Of course, what is it?" I ask, leaning against the wall.

"I need to organize Will's funeral and I just can't do it alone." He responds solemnly.

"Oh..."

"You don't have to, I just—"

"No, no, it's okay Jonathan," I say, reassuring the boy, "Pick me up in ten minutes?"

"Okay."

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

Jonathan arrives at my house approximately ten minutes later. As he drives us to the funeral home, my thoughts wander to the difference between riding with him and sitting in Steve's car. Jonathan's car is cold and bleak while Steve's car is warm and causes my emotions to buzz with excitement.

Jonathan pulls up outside the funeral home and we both head inside. An old man greets us with a sad smile and guides us over to view the available caskets.

"It's made of soft wood with a crepe interior," The old man says gently, "Uh, now, I don't know what your budget is but over there, we have copper and bronze." He says leading us over to more caskets.

Nancy walks in through the entrance, her steps slow and hesitant. Jonathan and I notice her arrival, prompting her to offer us a wave that mirrors her anxious demeanor.

"Can you just give us a second?" Jonathan stammers before we walk over to Nancy.

"Of course." The man says kindly.

"Hey." Jonathan greets.

"Hey, Nance." I say.

"Hey..." She says, "Your mom, um... she said you'd be here."

"I just... can we talk for a second?"  Nancy continues nervously.

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

"It looks like it could be some kind of perspective distortion, but I wasn't using the wide angle." Jonathan says looking at the taped picture Nancy hands him after we sit down on a bench.

"I don't know. It's weird" He continues handing the picture back to Nancy.

"And you're sure you didn't see anyone else out there?" Nancy asks.

"No." Jonathan replies, "She was there one second and then, um... gone. I figured she bolted."

"The cops think that she ran away." Nancy says sadly, "But they don't know Barb."

"And we went back to Steve's... and we thought we saw something..." I say.

Some weird man or...I don't know what it was." Nancy finishes with a sigh before looking at Jonathan.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here today." She stands, "I'm so sorry."

"What did he look like?" Jonathan says abruptly.

"What?" Nancy asks turning back around.

"This man you guys saw in the woods." Jonathan says, "What'd he look like?" He repeats.

"I don't know," Nancy stammers, "It was almost like he... he didn't have—"

"Didn't have a face?"

<3

next chapter . masterlist . steve harrington masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[bitbugbites-re]

𝙳𝙰𝙼𝚂𝙴𝙻 // 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔬𝔰 𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔦𝔯𝔞 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

As summer comes to an end, you’re desperate to get some pool time in while you still can. However, since it’s now October, you’re pretty much out of luck. Luckily for you, there’s an indoor pool at the Y. Not to mention, it comes along with a cute pool boy!

a03 link

word count: ~8.6k

gender: fem! reader

cw: NSFW, FLUFF // drowning // ktober

a/n: literally supposed to be reading the bible for class rn but god be damned, this lady knows how to write erotic fiction !!!

p.s. -- if you're only interested in the smut, you can scroll down until you reach the thin black bar lololol

You’re not crazy. You just want to swim.

Frowning, you stared down your phone as you read the most recent messages from your friends. They were replying to the flurry of texts you had just sent.

The first response read: “Girl. Lol.”

The next was: “You didn’t think about this in September???”

And the last response wasn’t even a response. It was a TikTok link leading to a video about things to do while in Vegas. You didn’t even live in Vegas. You’re on the East Coast.

You sighed, placing the phone down for a second before popping a Keurig cup into the proper machine, waiting for it to finish warming the water. When the buttons lit up, you pressed 12oz and leaned over the counter, one of your hands resting on your cheek. With your free hand, you picked your phone back up and re-read your initial texts as you listened to the liquid pour a straight line into your mug.

“u guys”

“I wanted to go swimming at least once this summer but I forgot”

“do u think there are any pools still open??? I don’t even care if its cold im desperate”

Yeah, so maybe you are a little crazy after all. It was October, and there was no way that even one pool would be open. You felt a little defeated, your desperation morphing into disappointment. Suddenly, the whirring of the Keurig slowed before spitting out the last bits of bitterly strong tea, a burning droplet jumping out and landing on your hand. You wondered if that was the Keurig’s way of calling you crazy as well.

Shaking your hand before wiping it with the opposite sleeve of your shirt, you stood up straight and leaned your back against the counter. With your phone in hand, you tapped out a string of shushing emojis in the group chat. Fuck it. You’re crazy and you’re proud.

You then pressed the video on, “Fun Things To Do In Vegas” which was accompanied by three exclamation points and a couple of emojis with their tongues out. The emojis implication almost made you a little scared of what “things” were going to be listed in the TikTok.

Before you could actually watch the video, though, a notification from your group chat popped up. It was from the friend who sent the Vegas video – they likely just now actually read the chat.

“Claire: Wait, what about the YMCA near your house? Doesn’t it have an indoor pool? Probably not the same kind of swimming that u were thinking of, but it’d be swimming lol.”

Oh shit. That’s a good idea. – Is what you both thought and simultaneously typed in response. Not missing a beat, you opened the search engine app on your phone and looked up the YMCA closest to you. Just under the images (which mostly consisted of it’s pool, oddly enough), you noticed that it was open from 5 A.M. to 9 P.M. 

It was only 6:30 P.M. right now. Meaning, it was still open.

You switched back to the group chat’s tab and typed away.

“guess who’s going to the pool tonight”

“(it’s me)”

“anyone wanna come with?”

Surprisingly, the responses flooded in pretty quickly. They said:

“Claire: I wish, but I’ve got a class in an hour. I knew it was a bad decision to pick a class at 7 at night smh. Can’t ever meet up with u guys on weekends anymore :/”

“Ada: Can’t. Lots of work. Maybe next time.”

“Jill: Sorry, I’m at work right now. Had to pick up my coworker’s shift again. How about on the weekend?”

You groaned out a whine, throwing a mini-tantrum. You didn’t really want to go alone, because what fun would that be? Nonetheless, you didn’t want to wait for the weekend either. It was rare you guys ever actually had the same schedule, so you were sure the plans would just end up getting canceled or be pushed back even further. You’d just have to go alone. 

You typed out a message informing your friends of your plan before placing the phone down with a heavy hand. Dragging your way down the narrow hall to your room, you plopped yourself down on your knees, opening up the dresser drawer that stored your bathing suits. You had an idea of which one you were going to wear, as it was a black one-piece with a deep-wired V down the front – It was appealing in the way that it wasn’t too revealing, but not unattractively modest either. Perfect for a venue that was family-friendly and not as free as the beach.

After a couple of minutes of rummaging, you slumped down to a hunch and huffed. You couldn’t seem to find the swimsuit. Not even after pulling out each bathing suit one by one. You searched, and searched, and searched, but it was nowhere to be found. 

You caved to your frustration and picked out a bikini instead. You didn’t have any other swimsuits, so it was either a simplistic bikini or nothing. And after all that hullabaloo in the group chat, you were not choosing nothing.

Changing quickly, you then grabbed your things and headed for the car. It was now already after 6:45 P.M., and you were running out of time before the Y would close.

Soon enough, you were turning your car wheel to pull into the YMCA’s parking lot. You found a spot fairly fast and quickly put the car in park, removing your keys from the hole with a twist and pull of the wrist. As the car’s engine whirred, shutting off, you observed the parking lot. You noticed there weren’t too many cars. Hopefully, most of the people would be in the gym or another section of the Y and not the pool, you thought to yourself.

Stepping out of your car, you held onto the handle as you got dusted in the face by the wind, your hair flinging all over the place. The wind was pretty bad, but the chill alone was enough for you to huddle your arms over your body before running into the building. You were starting to regret coming to the pool so late in the day, especially in October, nonetheless. At least the air smelled nice, though; there must’ve been a place nearby having a bonfire, as there was a heavy waft of burning wood.

You pulled the heavy glass door open, practically swinging it with all your might, and walked in heaving. Maybe you should be going to the gym instead of the pool – how could you be out of breath from only a short jog across the parking lot?

No matter, you walked up to the counter and paid for a day pass. You got to go in free since you’re a first-time visitor, although you felt a little guilty considering it was going to be wasted on a less than two-hour excursion. It was probably fine though – you don’t think you’d need to go to the Y again after this, anyway.

Walking through the building, you admired the decorative furniture and monotone walls contrasted with bright accent walls and signs. It had a clean, modern look and you were pretty impressed by how well-kept it was; it must’ve been hard for the janitors who worked there considering it was a pretty big community establishment. You appreciated how spotless they were able to keep it with this knowledge in mind.

Soon, you found your way to the pool after getting lost and asking a very tired-looking staff member. You almost felt bad interrupting them – their dark undereye mixed with the lighting made them look as if they were ready to be taken out back and put down. Not that you blame them – they must’ve been here for a while now. You were sure you’d look like that too if you had to work until nine at night.

As you pushed the door to the pool open, you were immediately exposed to the hot, humid air. Typical of a pool. You had to admit, though, it felt pretty good as compared to the cold breeze outside. Besides, you probably wouldn’t feel this type of heat again unless you decided to put your heater on full blast in winter. Although that would turn your room into what was practically an oven and not a fun chlorine-smelling paradise – so maybe it wasn’t the same after all.

You observed the area, your eyes immediately landing on the few kids splashing around in the middle of the pool. Great. In situations like these, you tend to sit on the side of the stairs to the pool – but that spot seemed to be occupied by a group of older men and women, so you crossed that option off. You didn’t feel like getting dragged into a conversation about retirement homes, or grandchildren, or…stuff. You weren’t really sure what the elderly chatted about.

Admitting defeat, you decided to just go sit on one of the pool chairs instead. You figured you’d just wait it out, betting that both the kids and the elderly wouldn’t stay for much longer. It was almost pitch-black outside, and seeing both children and old people at night was practically like spotting a leprechaun next to a pot of gold, you thought.

As soon as you sat and plopped your stuff down in the middle-most chair, you took in a breath and looked around. And that’s when you saw him.

You swore your heart stopped beating for a second. He was gorgeous. 

Most of the men you came across on a day-to-day basis looked downright horrendous, dressed in sweats and backward caps with dumb labels like “GymRat,” so to see a fit man with a haircut that suited his looks and facial scruff that looked like it was actively trimmed was like seeing that your younger sibling didn’t pick all of the marshmallows out of your favorite cereal and eat them. A blessing, that’s what this is, you thought.

You figured he was the lifeguard, as he was sitting in the lifeguard’s chair, leaning back with one leg dangling and the other using his heel to support his placement on the seat. He had one arm lazing on the armrest, while the other held his tilted head in place as he watched the kids dash up waves of water at one another. Every once in a while, his lips would curve into an amused smile, and he’d shake his black curls out of his face, eyes not straying from the children at play. Cute, you thought.

Watching him for a while longer, you noticed three things about him:

His eyes stayed trained on the kids in the pool, not the elderly. Every once in a while, if they made a sudden movement, he’d sit up, as if he were ready to leap from the tall chair at a moment's notice.

He seemed to be pretty proud of his body, or at least his looks. His posture was confident in nature and he never covered up any part of his body with his arms. 

He had a charismatic personality, or at the very least, was on good terms with the janitors. Every time they passed by, he’d quickly turn his head, see who it was, and make a comment of some sort. He always had a grin on his face as he did, and never showed a bit of discourtesy nor dislike, even if the janitor didn’t return the energy.

Of course, those weren’t the only things you noticed about him. You also noticed he had a great body. Did you mention he had a great body? He had a great body.

He didn’t even need to be shirtless for you to tell. His arms and thighs were fat with muscle, his calves fit for a marathon runner, and his chest with mounds big enough that you wouldn’t be surprised if he knew how to flex them one at a time, as a kind of party trick.

You also could tell that he was a pretty hairy guy, not that you were complaining. You liked that in a man. You wondered what it would feel like to run your hands down his arm as his legs brushed up against the skin of–

And then he looked in your direction. He saw you. As you were at your apex of wanting to eat him alive.

Your face burned with embarrassment as his eyes met yours, and before you made a fool out of yourself, you looked away. Grabbing your phone which now felt sticky from the humidity, you pulled up the group chat, pretending to be busy. 

“guys”

“there’s a rly cute lifeguard here and he caught me staring”

“im so embarrassed”

You stared at the screen for a while, waiting for your friends to respond, but none came.

Damn. Why is it that whenever you need a distraction, no one is active?

It didn’t take long after for you to give up, slinking your phone back down. You picked up a book instead, sneakily glancing up at the lifeguard once more to see if he was still looking your way. He wasn’t. His eyes were trained back on the kids, which surprisingly, made you feel a little disappointed.

You read for a while until eventually, you received a notification. 

“Ada: Lol. You have a crush?”

“Ada: You should go up to him.”

The longer you considered Ada’s suggestion, the more your heart raced. You seriously considered it for a moment, but abruptly shut it down after thinking about how weird it actually might be.

“I can’t do that”

“I don’t even know what I’d say”

Ada replied almost immediately.

“Ada: Then make him want to go up to you.”

It wasn’t bad advice. You thought about it for a bit, staring at the paved concrete below your pool chair. An ant scurried on by, passing your left foot, and once it was out of sight, you snapped out of your daze and returned your head to a forward position.

Once you did, you noticed the lifeguard’s gaze on you. He was looking at you first this time.

As soon as your eyes met, he flung his head to the side, pretending to rub his neck. It was pretty awkward to watch, as his hands moved aimlessly and unpurposeful, as there was really no physical reason for him to need to touch his neck. It was easy to tell that he was only doing it to play off the fact that he was caught staring, too.

His attraction – or at the very least, interest, was mutual, then. You felt a fire of confidence rising in your chest, and you now knew how you’d get him to come up to you first.

You stood up from your chair, keeping him in your peripheral view, pretending to dust yourself off before seeing his head move back in your direction. Good, he was watching you again.

Very slowly, you began to remove the regular clothes that rested atop your bikini. Once fully stripped to your swimsuit, you made sure to fold your clothes neatly. After each article was folded, you would bend over, your behind facing his direction, placing it flatly onto the pool chair. Each time you did this, you couldn’t tell if he was looking, but you were sure that he wouldn’t have been able to resist at minimum, a glance.

Once done, you began to walk towards the water. You felt a little conscious in your stride, your step heavy, but also determined to play it cool. When approaching the stairs of the pool, you grabbed onto the accompanying handlebar, creating a divide in the water as you were further submerged. You passed the elderly group, and once they thought you were out of earshot, one exclaimed, “I wish I still had a young body like that.” The others chuckled, agreeing with the notion. You blushed and continued your journey to an empty spot in the pool.

Wading through the water, you then came up near the area where the kids were playing. You went to the side opposite the lifeguard’s chair and leaned against the wall. It was a little noisy – no, very noisy being near the kids. On top of that, you were occasionally hit with splatters of water every time they tried to mimic professional swimmers, but at least your plan was working. You think. 

You weren’t really sure because you were too scared to look back up at the lifeguard. But that’s OK. All girlbosses have their weak moments.

While lost in thought trying to figure out your next step on alluring the lifeguard (as, for some reason, he wasn’t already proposing marriage and offering a bride-dowry to your parents consisting of 400 sheep, 200 goats, fifty pieces of silver, a years’ worth of unleavened bread, and seven years’ labor), you noticed two children playing roughly, one a bone-thin blonde, and the other a brunette missing one of his front teeth. 

The blonde child was in a small floaty, laughing as his friend tried to swim under the tube and get inside of it with him. Every time he dived under the water, the boy would swerve his donut-shaped float, swimming a few inches away, laughing. This went on for a while, until eventually, the blonde boy switched his tactic and began pushing his friend’s head away from his float while under the water.

You grew concerned as you watched, knowing they were starting to get a little too carried away, and you looked around for their parents. You then spotted a couple of adults on the pool chairs near the towel rack, busy conversing about something you couldn’t hear. You weren’t sure what to do and turned your head back to the kids, and then there was a stifled thump.

Your heart started to race as the blonde boy started to look worried, noticing his friend wasn’t coming up out of the water. You noticed what was happening when the child leaned over his tube, holding his reddened elbow, freezing in place.

The toothless boy was knocked out.

The child with scrawny arms somehow managed to deal a blow hard enough for his friend to lose consciousness. He whipped his head around to get the lifeguard’s attention, desperately screaming, “Help! Help!” 

The lifeguard was already halfway down the chair even before the boy started yelling. It seemed like his gaze had been so focused on the children earlier because he knew something like this was bound to happen.

The child was now sobbing, looking around for his parents, of which the whole group was now running over to see what the commotion was about.

You saw the kid whose body started to sink downwards, your heartbeat stammering in your chest.

You had to do something.

Launching yourself forward, you began to swim to the child nearby. As you did, you heard the lifeguard jump in the pool, a loud splash of water mixing in with the cries of the children’s parents. 

You made it to the boy under the water first, diving straight down. Once you got a hold of him, you yanked his arm up, pulled him to your body, and positioned his behind on your arm, so that his head would immediately be above the water. 

Both of you came up, and you gasped for air, blinking rapidly so that you could see. The lifeguard was right next to you, hurriedly taking the boy from your arms, rushing him toward the edge of the pool, and plopping him down on the concrete. You followed over, as did pretty much everyone at the pool, watching the lifeguard push desperately at his chest.

After a short while, which actually felt like forever, the boy gasped, throwing up the water that was in his lungs. The lifeguard helped the boy sit up a little, rubbing his back as he continued his violent coughs and sobs. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered. “I got’cha, bud.”

Once the brunette had finally gotten a hold of himself, he ran to his parents, who held him and began petting his head. The other parents, who seemed to all be friends, began thanking the lifeguard profusely on both the boy's and his parent’s behalf.

The lifeguard was crouched, slightly hunched over, breathing heavily, simply shaking his head to assure them it was okay. “Just doin’ my job,” he smiled despite the apparent stress on his face, “Actually, you should be thanking the kind lady over there.” 

His gaze moved from the worry-stricken parents to you. “She’s the one who saved his life.” 

You blushed, your eyes moving from him, then to the parents, not sure what to say. You didn’t think you did that much. 

The parents came up to you and began thanking you as well, telling you how brave it was of you to dive in after the boy. You were only able to stammer out a couple of “it’s no problem’s” and “thank you’s” in return.

Soon, almost everyone left the pool, deciding they had witnessed enough of the pool for the night. Even the group of elderly packed their things and headed towards the changing room. 

You too had figured it was probably time to go, forgetting your entire plan of romancing the man who had just previously given you all the credit when he was the one to bring the boy back from unconsciousness.

However, as you turned and began walking back to your stuff, the lifeguard ran up to your side, trying to get your attention. “Hey, hey.” 

You turned to face him, stopping in place. “Um–yes?” you said, a little taken aback at his greeting, not expecting him to have started a conversation.

“Ah–oh,” he said, tripping on his words. “I just wanted to thank you, for saving the kid.”

You smiled at his words. “Sure,” you said. You then tilted your head, quirking a brow. “I didn’t really do much, though. You did more than me, so–”

He quickly cut you off, a tint of excitement in his voice. “No, no! If you hadn’t gotten him out, he would’ve been under even longer. Every second matters–you saved his life. I only got the water ‘outta his airway.”

You blushed a little at his enthusiasm for your act of heroism. “Well, uh, thank you–”

“You were so cool,” he said, and you swore you felt your heart explode.“Thanks,” you mumbled out, and soon enough, silence grew between the two of you. You were trying to figure out what to say back.

“Well, I should–” the lifeguard started to say, turning his body to leave. You scrambled for a response back, not wanting him to go.

“You were cool, too.” You said, your voice sounding a little wobbly. You felt your face start to grow red, your blood rising in degrees with every millisecond that passed.

The lifeguard seemed shy now, too, raising an arm behind his head, rubbing at his neck like he did earlier. “Oh–really?”

“Y-yeah,” you breathed out.

There was silence once more before the lifeguard laughed a little and held out his hand to you. “I’m Carlos. It’s nice to meet ‘ya, Phelps.”

You took his hand, shaking it gently. He had a good handshake, and his hand felt huge in your own. “Phelps?” you said, not really understanding why he was referring to you as that.

“You know, Michael Phelps? The swimmer guy? Because you dove in to get the kid?”

You let out a long “ooooooh” as soon as you recognized what he was talking about, and laughed in response. “Pretty rude to call a lady Michael Phelps, dont’cha think?”

He laughed back before running his hand through his hair – which, miraculously, was able to stay dry since you were the one to reach the kid underwater. “Sorry, pretty lady. What should I call you then?”

You blushed a little upon hearing him call you “pretty lady,” a cheeky grin growing on your face. “You can call me Y/N. Or pretty lady, too. I don’t mind either.”

He laughed, shaking his head in an amused manner. He placed his hands on his hips, and tilted his head back a little, grinning. “Okay, pretty lady. How old are you? You in college?”

You nodded your head. “Yeah. What about you?”

“Yep. I’m a senior. You?”

You replied, and from there, your conversation began to take off. You talked about things as small as favorite colors, to medium things like what your majors were, to big things like how many dogs were too many dogs for a person to have. You both seemed to click really well, and you had to admit, you had never met someone as easy to talk to before Carlos.

As you both started passionately debating on whether or not the pool slide was white or beige, an announcement sounded over the speakers.

“Attention guests, the YMCA will be closing in five minutes. Please make sure to gather all your things and head to the exit. Those who are still in the building after closing will be escorted outside by staff. Thank you for choosing the YMCA, and we hope to see you again soon!”

You and Carlos looked at one another, not sure what to say. 

You realized then, that all this time, you’d been keeping Carlos from leaving when he probably could’ve packed up early for the night. Embarrassed, you jumped up from where you both had been sitting. At some point during your conversation (before its interruption), you both had sat at the edge of the pool, your legs resting in the water.

“Shit, I’m sorry for keeping you–” you said. “I’ll go get my things so you can leave–I’m so sorry–”

As you turned in a hurry to go get your stuff, you felt Carlos’ hand rest on your shoulder, stopping you. “Hey, hey–you’re fine, you’re fine.”

You jumped a little at the contact, your face turning red, and once you turned to face Carlos, you noticed he had realized what he had done.

You were wearing a swimsuit. You had on practically next to nothing. And he, a stranger, was touching you.

He pulled his hand back, going to rub his neck, but pausing as he began to raise it. It seemed like he didn’t know what to do with himself now. “Uh–”

“Sorry, shit–I didn’t mean to–uh,” he stumbled. “Was that weird?”

You took in a deep breath and averted your gaze. “No. No, you’re fine.”

“Are–are you sure?” he pushed.

“Yes, yes, you’re fine. Don’t worry.”

“Well, I’m worrying. You can tell me if–”

You sighed and looked him in his eyes. “It’s fine. I liked it.”

Upon hearing the words come out of your mouth, you froze. Your frustration with his reluctance to accept your assurance must have gotten to you, as you didn’t mean to say the last part. 

“You liked it?” he said. He seemed a little surprised, with a mix of something else. You weren’t quite sure what.

“Um. Yeah–yeah.” you asserted. And then there was silence again.

Unable to take the awkward tension, you cracked a joke. “I’m flattered by your desperation to keep me from leaving. Very, uh–flattering touch.”

Turns out you weren’t very good at jokes.

Nonetheless, he seemed to like it. He chuckled a little, which made your heartbeat increase in pace. He seemed to have good humor even in cringy situations. You liked that.

“Well, I’m glad you’re flattered, at least. I’d do it again if I needed to.” He smiled.

You blushed, and that’s when your mouth started to move on its own. “Then do it.”

“What?” he said, a little surprised.

“I’m on my way to leave. The building closes in…” You checked the clock on the wall. “...a minute or less. If you don’t want me to leave, then touch me again.” You looked up at him expectantly.

He paused for a minute and it was clear he was debating on what to do. You waited, watching him shift in place – going to rub his neck again, as he had been doing whenever he was nervous.

Suddenly, it was 9 P.M. and the announcement over the loudspeaker played, declaring it was closing time and all the guests who hadn’t left yet needed to begin their way on exiting the building. Your heart dropped a little, taking his lack of response before the loudspeaker’s interjection as a “no.”

You smiled weakly, taking the hint. You turned to grab your things off the pool chair and spoke. “Well, it was nice to–”

In a heartbeat, he grabbed your shoulder with a sense of determination, spinning you towards him. He placed one hand on your hip, pulling you in, before kissing you with wild passion.

You felt the roughness of his stubble first and then the softness of his lips. Slowly, you closed your eyes, kissing him back. 

He was a fast kisser, constantly changing the way he sucked at your lips, alternating between tilting his head to the side so that he could press his mouth into yours, and tilting his head downwards so that he could pull your mouth while you struggled to stay connected. He was constantly desperate for more access as if he wanted to make sure you felt him all over your lips, not one spot untouched.

Your hands rested on his soaking wet shirt that clung to his skin from when he had jumped into the pool to save the kid. It felt a little cold, but you got used to it as your kiss continued.

The only thing the two of you could hear was each other’s heavy breathing, along with the smack of your lips as they collided. That was, until, the sound of the pool door opened.

Both you and Carlos separated immediately, your lips feeling cold at the sudden touch of air, missing the warmth of Carlos’ own warm lips. You did, however, still feel the tingle left from his feverish push-and-pull play.

With about a two-foot distance now between the two of you, you both looked over to see what the noise was exactly.

In walked an older woman, one you would’ve guessed was in her early 60’s. Her hair was completely gray, resting in a shaggy bun with little hairs falling out. She looked rough – and ready to go home for the night.

“H–hey, Mary. You almost done for the night?”

She eyed him suspiciously before replying. “Wouldn’t that be a damn miracle.” 

She continued to go about her business, and you felt awkward watching their conversation. 

Suddenly, Carlos’ head shot towards you and then back towards Mary. “Oh, uh, I was just about to escort this…young, damsel-in-distress out of the building. She didn’t know where the exit was, you see.”

You shot him a dirty look as if saying, “I know where the exit is.”

Mary didn’t seem to care. She simply took the mop out of the water in the cleaning cart and plopped it on the floor. It made an uncomfortably loud squelch sound in an otherwise silent room. “Mmm.”

Carlos grabbed your things for you, and put an arm around your shoulder. “Well, I’ve gotta maintain my status as a gentleman, so…we’ll be on our way! See ‘ya later, Mary!”

It sounded like she mumbled out an “I hope not,” but you weren’t too sure.

The two of you walked quickly to the door, and once it shut behind you, Carlos let go of your arm. 

“Well, that was, uh–something?” He smiled, still holding onto your clothes and other items.

“Yeah,” you said, before looking up at him with an amused smile. “Damsel-in-distress, huh?”

He laughed and shuffled on his feet. “What, you the type that doesn’t like to be saved?”

You smirked. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. You wanna find out?”

He grinned as he looked at you, raising a brow in an amused fashion. “Only because you make it sound so alluring.”

After hearing his reply, you closed in on his body, wrapping your arms around his neck. You stood on your tippy-toes, whispering in his ear as your cheek brushed against his lengthy hair and scratchy stubble. “I’ll show you every part of me that you want, but you need to take me somewhere private first.”

You pulled back, and you saw that he was grinning. It was evident in his eyes alone that he was excited, although, there was a mix of something else, too. The other kind of excitement, perhaps – it was a very lustful look.

He held out his hand, and as you took it, he led you down the hall. You both laughed a little at the situation, adrenaline coursing through your veins. It was cold in the building, probably mostly because you still only had on a bikini, but you weren’t too focused on it. The warmth of Carlos’ hand and the anticipation for what you both were about to do were the main things on your mind right now.

Soon enough, Carlos pulls you into a room, and you look around, observing it. It was a locker room, although you hadn’t noticed whether it was for men, women, or unisex. You figured it didn’t matter all that much, though – it’s not likely that anyone would walk in.

Carlos twirled you around, pulling you into his chest again. He looked down at you, smiling before leaning down and kissing you. 

This time, his kiss was soft and exploratory. He took his time, not making any wild moves, although still leading the pace like he did the first time he kissed you. Maybe you were a damsel-in-distress after all – it was starting to seem like you were swept up in his game with no escape.

After a while, he broke away from the kiss, looking at you with gentle eyes. 

“I don’t have a key to lock the door. Someone could walk in. Is that okay?”

You laughed a little, smiling. “Let them walk in.”

He chuckled back, speaking in a soft voice as he pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You’re a bold girl, huh?”

Before you could respond, his lips were back on yours. His hands moved down your back before interlacing his fingers, keeping you pressed to him.

The kiss you shared was slow again at first, but it didn’t take long for it to pick up again. At the apex of your kiss, Carlos pulled his lips away, moving them to the corner of your mouth, to your cheek, and finally to your neck. It tickled at first due to his facial hair, and you let out a small laugh, but eventually, it started to feel really good.

He found all of the sweet spots on your neck, sucking and licking, desperate to hear the pleased moans that escaped you every time he touched you the way you liked. Once he seemed to want more, he began to travel further down your body. You smiled when he ventured over your breasts, gasped when he reached your stomach, and paused when he kissed your pelvic area.

Petting his hair, you spoke. “Carlos?”

“Hmm?” He mumbled, looking up at you. He was waiting for you to give the go-ahead.

You felt a little nervous asking, but you knew it was important. “Have you been tested recently?”

He paused, thinking. “I haven’t been sexually active for a while, so I haven’t gone to get a test any time recent. The last time I did, though, there were no concerns.” He then picked up your leg, throwing it over his broad shoulder. He placed a kiss on your inner thigh. “Is that okay?”

You nodded your head and returned to running your fingers through his curls. He smiled up at you and started kissing through the bottom piece of your swimsuit again.

Once he figured he had done enough teasing, he removed your leg off his shoulder, slipping the bottoms down. You stepped out of it, and he picked your leg up again, placing it in its former position on his shoulder. 

“You’ve got a pretty pussy.” he said nonchalantly, placing a kiss on where the slit started. 

You laughed a little, pulling his head back to look up at you. He let you do it. “And you’ve got a pretty face to look at while you eat my pretty pussy.”

He let out a small exhale of a laugh, and you felt his breath brush up against your clit. Your grip on his head shivered, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

Soon enough, he was licking and kissing your soft spot. He took his time, remaining very gentle and attentive. No tremble, no shake, no quiver went unnoticed while he worked. 

As you started to get closer to orgasm, you pulled him by his hair, tilting his head up at you. His eyes were half-lidded, staring up at you, his lapping at your folds unwavering. 

You rubbed yourself a little more forcibly into him, grinding against his face. He seemed to like it, as he placed a hand on your hip, bringing you down even harder onto him every time you pushed up against him. 

You felt yourself getting close, and the moans you had been stifling were getting hard to hold in. “Fucking god, Carlos, I’m close.” you murmured.

Carlos didn’t respond, nor speed up, he simply shut his eyes and kept the pace he had been going at. You stared down at his eyelashes, admiring how long they were as you came.

Your body shook a little, and once the high was over, you were panting, relying on Carlos to hold you up. He slowly pulled away, placing your leg back down, running his hands up your body as he stood up with you. 

He held you for a moment, placing your head against his chest, and rubbing your back as you calmed down. 

Once your breathing was steady, you pulled away from him, grabbing him by the shirt. His eyes widened, and he gave you an amused look.

You clung to him for a moment, before running your hands down his body as you got onto your knees in front of him. 

Panicked, he took your hands off him and held them gently. “Hey, hey– you don’t have to–”

You looked up at him, still panting a little. “I’m paying you back.”

He shook his head, and then let go of one of your hands to caress your face. “Nah. Not this time. You can pay me back another time. After all, if I let you pay me back now, you might just run away and I won’t get to see you again.” 

He smiled down at you as he said it, and you blushed a little when you realized he said not this time. That meant that there would be other times.

He then helped you up to your feet and kissed you again. It was a gentle kiss, but after your last orgasm, you were feeling needy for something faster.

You took the lead from him, kissing him as aggressively as you could to show that you were ready for him to be a little more rough with you. He seemed to get the hint but pulled away from the kiss. 

“I don’t have a condom,” he said, seeming a little downcast at the thought.

You smiled at him, your arms now around his neck. “I do.”

He perked up a little and smirked at you. “You’re a little too prepared for a damsel-in-distress, aren’t you?”

You laughed and replied as you went to get the condom from your purse. “I’d say I’m just the right amount of prepared.”

As you walked back over to him with the condom, he pulled you in and started kissing your neck once more. He moved from up, down, up, down, then up again before whispering in your ear. “Think you’re prepared enough to put it on me?”

You laughed at his smooth words, and you whispered back. “What, you don’t know how to put one on yourself?”

He chuckled, and pulled away, taking the condom as you handed it to him. He tore it open using his teeth, staring down at you as he did it. Once it was open, you made a smart remark. “You know you’re not supposed to use your teeth to get it out, right?”

He chuckled, placing the wrapper and condom in his palm. He made a closed fist and went to remove his clothes. You admired his body as he did – and in regards to your earlier comment about him being a hairy man, you were right. He had just the right amount of chest hair, as well as a happy trail stemming from his trimmed pubic area. “Guess you were right – I don’t know how to put one on, after all.”

You laughed, watching him slide the thin condom onto his shaft. He was pretty big – you were a little worried about being able to fit all of him in. 

Once he was certain the condom was on well, he looked over at you before picking you up in a rush. You giggled, wrapping your legs around his hips and burying your head in his neck. After a couple of seconds, you felt the cold wall against your back, and arched into him a little, trying to escape from the freezing touch.

He made a hmm noise that sounded amused at your squirming and then began pecking little kisses on your neck. You slowly eased back against the wall, getting used to the cold.

Once you did, Carlos began to press his body into you. You could tell Carlos enjoyed getting as much skin-on-skin as he could when intimate because he was always somehow buried in your touch. 

His hips ground his cock into your stomach, humping you slowly as he continued to suck your neck. You were starting to get a little impatient now, wanting him inside you already, and so the next time he ground into you, you ground back.

He didn’t seem to be expecting it, as he let out a throaty, closed-mouth moan. He got the hint, though, as he pulled back a little, and propped himself at your entrance. 

Slowly, he lowered you down onto his cock. He inserted the head first, watching your expression to see if it was okay. You winced a little, and he noticed.

Whispering, he tried to encourage you while he eased into you. “You’re doing good, Y/N. Most damsels-in-distress would’ve given up by now.”

You laughed, feeling him sink into you more. He smiled, watching your face as you adjusted. “Want me to make some noise for you?” he said, lowering his voice.

You nodded your head, interested in what noises he was going to make. 

He placed his head on your shoulder, beginning to make subtle grunts and moans the more his cock delved into you.

You started to get a little more wet from hearing his voice, turned on by the presumable pleasure he was feeling as he moved in deeper and deeper. Eventually, he was fully in, and you were more than ready to get started.

You tapped his shoulder, insinuating that you were good to go. He picked his head up from your collarbone, then pressed his forehead against yours as he began to pull out, then push back in.

Both of you gasped silently, gripping one another as a way to express how good it felt. He continued to move, alternating the way he did it, going from rolling his hips in a continuous rhythm to jerkily bucking into you. Carlos was proving to be a spontaneous lover, and you had to admit, you enjoyed being kept on your toes.

Eventually, things started to pick up, and Carlos was now thrusting into you with a feverish desire. You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you, hearing his heavy breathing every time he pulled away for air. You knew it wouldn’t be much longer until he came, and so you decided that you would start making your way to orgasm as well.

One of your arms reached down to your clit, and you began to rub yourself while Carlos buried himself in you. He pulled away from the kiss with a pop, which actually wasn’t as audible, since it was drowned out by the sound of both of your breathing, moaning, and collision of skin. 

He buried his head into your neck, a slur of whines, grunts, and moans escaping his lips.

You listened to his voice, closing your eyes, and focusing on reaching your climax. It didn’t take long after he caught on that you were right there, and whispered in your ear, “Do it. Cum on me. Cum on my cock.”

As you came down from your high, you trembled in Carlos’ arms. You noticed he was starting to become shaky himself, and you were a little worried as you felt his hands wobble underneath your bottom. It was likely that his arms were getting tired from holding you up for a prolonged amount of time.

You pulled his head in close, whispering in his ear. As you did, you heard his breath hitch, panting as if he were desperate for air. “Carlos,” you said, “Let me help you cum. What do you need?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but only a moan came out at first. “My back…scratch up my back.”

You listened to what he asked, digging your nails into his skin, softly at first, and then a little more rough once you felt him shiver. He seemed to like it a lot.

He continued, which surprised you a little. You thought he would’ve stopped at his one request, but he didn’t. He must’ve been a needy man. “Kiss my neck,” he huffed, “please, Y/N.”

You followed what he asked, kissing on his neck as you clawed up the muscles on his back. It didn’t take much longer after that, and soon enough his entire body was trembling. He thrust a couple more times into you, grunting as he did, and you felt his cock jerk as he spilled his warm seed into the condom. 

As soon as he came, his hands lost most of their grip on holding you, and you unwrapped your legs around his waist, jumping down. You felt him press into you, heaving as if he weren’t getting any air. You smiled and decided to comfort him as he did for you earlier after eating you out.

Pulling him into an embrace, you felt his head rest against the wall, trying to reach your shoulder, but failing as he was too tall. You chuckled and began to rub his back, talking to him in an endearing tone. “You good, Carlos?”

“Yeah–yeah, I’m good.” he huffed, and soon after his response, he pulled back, standing straight as he looked down at you.

“So, was it good? For you, I mean.” He said, running a hand through his hair. 

You laughed, reaching up to caress his cheek. He leaned into your touch. “It was really good. The best I’ve ever had, I’d say.”

He smiled, taking your hand from his cheek and kissing it, “It was good for me, too. Turns out I really like saving damsels-in-distress. Who knew, huh?”

You rolled your eyes at his comment. The two of you then continued your back-and-forth witty remarks, while agreeing on going to wash yourselves off quickly in the showers that were a part of the locker room you just had sex in. As you both bathed in separate stalls, you continued to talk, practically yelling over the bustling of the shower head as the water fell.You hoped no one was nearby outside, because it was likely they would have heard you.

Once finished, the two of you got dressed and grabbed your stuff. Luckily enough, the locker room that you went into was the men’s, so Carlos was able to grab his things from the locker he usually uses when on lifeguard duty.

The two of you then walked out of the building together, acting like a newlywed couple. You teased one another, laughing and joking around as you had the entire night.

Once outside, feeling the chill on your skin, you both paused, not sure where to go from there. You both didn’t really want to go your separate ways.

You desperately wanted to ask for his number, but you weren’t sure how to do so in a witty and playful way. You didn’t want to ask outright, because for some reason, even after all you just did, you worried it would come off as desperate. Even though you were desperate.

You opened your mouth to speak but was cut off by Carlos. “Hey, so, if it’s alright with you–you wouldn’t mind me asking for your number, would you?”

You giggled, happy that he was thinking of the same thing. “No, I wouldn’t mind at all. I was just thinking of asking the same thing.”

Carlos smiled, and the two of you quickly exchanged numbers. “Make sure to give me a cutesy name and contact photo.” He said playfully grinning at you.

And that gave you an idea. “Hey, why don’t we take a picture right now? That way we both get to have a cute contact photo.”

He smiled, ruffling your hair, and then let you hold your phone up, ready to take the picture. 

“Cheese!” you exclaimed, and he laughed as you pressed the camera button. 

After taking the photo, you sent it to him straight away. The two of you then realized it was getting late, and you couldn’t drag your time on with one another any longer. You said your goodbyes, and both went in different directions to get into your cars.

As soon as you got into your car, you started it and began to think about your night. Your cheeks blushed, and you immediately grabbed your phone. You had to tell your friends what happened.

Unsurprisingly, they all freaked out on you, exclaiming how they were wondering where you went. You laughed a little, typing out a quick summary. After hitting send, one of your friends began to ask strange questions.

“Jill: Wait, what does he look like?”

Puzzled, you typed out a relatively simple description. After a couple of minutes, your friend responded.

“Jill: Wtf I think I know him”

“Jill: He’s in my science class???”

“Jill: Dude sucks at science lmao”

You were a little taken aback by the revelation of Jill knowing Carlos, although you were a little more shocked at him sucking at science. He seemed like a science-y kinda guy.

As you continued to chat with your friends, you got a notification from Carlos. Your heartbeat quickened, and you wondered what he had to say so soon.

Upon opening the notification, you saw that what he had sent was a screenshot of your contact name and profile picture in his phone – it was the selfie the two of you took, along with the name “Damsel.”

You reply with your own screenshot, which also used the selfie the two of you took, while his name was set to “Phelps.” It didn’t take long for him to reply,

“Phelps: Hey, hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to call a gentleman Phelps?”

You laughed out loud, and could already tell you’d be spending the rest of your night talking with Carlos.

Oh well. The night was still young.

For the official and original Kinktober 23 prompts, check here. Credits to @kinktober2023 for the ideas!

[lucagray813]

Better to Forget

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,567

Main Characters: Macaque

Minor Characters: Wukong

Relationships: Macaque & Wukong, could be interpreted as Shadowpeach

Summary: Macaque is running out of time and options.

Additional Tags: Hurt No Comfort, Angst

CW: Implications of death and suicide

Link to AO3 Version

----

You'd never catch Macaque complaining about being free from the Lady Bone Demon's chains but in the months following her demise he was coming to appreciate how much her magic had been doing to keep him sane.

Although, he thought that the constant struggle to resist her, combined with an all consuming lust for revenge, had to be given credit for keeping him from truly acknowledging the horrors he had endured in the pits of hell.

Either way, he was haunted by what his soul had endured in the attempt to cleanse him of his sins. No living creature should be able to remember what torture their soul had suffered, their minds simply weren't made to comprehend it.

In the light of the day he could find ways to occupy his mind, even if on occasion that meant finding ways to drown out the memories, to numb the phantom pains, if only for a moment.

But at night, there was no such escape. In his dreams he returned to the Dìyù and, so terrible and agonising was the experience, he could almost believe his soul was being stolen away in his sleep to continue with its eternal damnation.

Nothing stopped the nightmares.

They came from his very soul and nothing he could do to his mind or body could force it to forget what had happened.

Increasingly it seemed there were only two outcomes - he went mad or he returned to the Dìyù. Although if he was being honest it was more likely he went mad and then returned to the Dìyù anyway. If his soul wasn't so vehemently against it he might have been tempted to just speed things along to their inevitable conclusion.

He couldn't say his mind and body were on board with such an idea either - after everything he had suffered through to come back to life he was just going to throw it all away? No, there had to be a way to overcome this.

Souls were reborn millions by the minute with no memory of their time without a body - there had to be a way to forget what had happened to him. It would be much easier to search for a solution though if he could manage even a moment of genuine rest, free of torment. But that wasn't going to be happening anytime soon.

His soul was in tatters, his mind was on the countdown to joining it and then god knows what would become of his body.

He needed a solution and he needed one now.

After an excruciating period of desperate searching, he found himself making a deal with a truly ancient demon. And if his soul ever did find its way back to the Dìyù then the atrocities he'd committed in order to uphold his end of the bargain all but guaranteed it would never leave. So irredeemable and dangerous would the Ten King's judge his souls to be they'd probably just destroy it on the spot.

Regardless, he now held a potential solution in his hands. Yet, despite the fear of the Dìyù and the terror of the ever encroaching madness, he still hesitated to free himself from his hellish existence.

He didn't have time to find another solution but the one he had...

All it truly amounted to was a death his soul found palatable.

The spell in his possession would reset his mind, body and soul to exactly as it had been when he first took form in this world, with no possibility of it being undone.

The Six-Eared Macaque had been born from Wukong's runaway shadow on a lunar eclipse during the worst storm Flower Fruit Mountain had ever seen before or since. He'd emerged as Wukong had - fully grown, cognizant and capable.

He could almost muster up a fond smile at the memories of he and Wukong's first meeting - the latter furious over his stolen shadow. He had refused to give it back, mocking him for losing it in the first place... Wukong had chased after him for weeks trying to retrieve it.

If he were to start again, he would not need to worry about being helpless. In fact, starting again he wouldn't know to have a worry in the world. Nothing that haunted him now would continue to do so and yet...

He wouldn't be him. He would never be him again. The Six-Eared Macaque who had started life as the shadow of the Intelligent Stone Monkey would be as good as dead.

He grappled with this knowledge even as he prepared things for his rebirth. He would give himself the best start in life, he would leave himself with not only the knowledge to survive any potential danger but also his wisdom on how to thrive in this world - to appreciate it in a way he had failed to.

Although admittedly, that "wisdom" could simply be boiled down to "For the love of the gods, don't do what I did!".

Knowing who he had once been however, he knew he would not be satisfied without answers to how he came to be in this little piece of paradise Macaque had painstakingly carved out for him. He would need to provide some level of explanation.

He also knew that no matter what he did there was a not so insignificant chance that his new self would find his way back to Wukong somehow - whether it be intentional or not. And he had to stop him from making the same mistakes.

So he wrote his memoirs carefully, painfully aware of the dangerous ego he had once wielded. He didn't want to goad himself into trying to one up him, convinced he could do better nor did he want him to think that a bit of revenge was still in order.

He tried to impress upon himself that his life would be better off spent as far away from Sun Wukong as possible but if, for whatever reason, he wanted proof of who he'd once been then he'd need look no further than Flower Fruit Mountain but he warned him not to expect a warm welcome.

Despite all he was dedicating to his new life, he grieved for his current one. Some days he had to stop himself from burning everything he was trying to gift to his new self to the ground.

He didn't want to forget, he didn't want his suffering to have amounted to nothing. And in moments of true madness he even found he didn't want to forget the happy moments that made the bad so unbearable.

As he neared closer to his rebirth he had a quiet moment where he considered if he should say goodbye. It was a hysterical thought - say goodbye to who? Wukong?

The demon that had ruined him? That had driven him to this point? The demon that had promised him forever if only he stayed by his side? That had never truly loved anyone as much as he had loved himself but had easily convinced him otherwise?

No. There was no goodbye necessary.

But he had one last errand to run before the end - he needed to steal a peach from Flower Fruit Mountain to eat when he awoke for the first time. And as he held the pilfered fruit in his hand, his traitorous ears picked up the steady heart beat and gentle breathing of Wukong fast asleep in his hut.

His mind screamed at him to leave and yet before he knew it he found himself standing beside Wukong's bed and looking at him one last time. Numbly he thought to himself that he must have finally lost his mind because, despite everything that had happened, in that moment, his heart ached with a love he'd never managed to kill.

He took a shaky breath and quietly leaned over to place a tender kiss on his forehead before resting his head against his for a moment longer.

He stood and whispered, "We'll meet again. I know myself well enough to know we will."

He left before he could do anything more foolish than he already had.

Everything was ready, he had done everything he could to give himself the best start when he began anew. All he had to do was perform the spell.

He looked at himself one last time in the mirror - glamours and clothes off - and he saw a body worn down by life. He brought a hand to his blind eye, it and all his other scars would be gone. The slate truly wiped clean.

He moved away and laid a hand on the letter he'd left for himself, skimming over even though he knew the entire thing by heart. He was stalling. But he thought he could allow himself these last moments of weakness.

Eventually he brought himself to the bed and lay down, the spell in his hand.

Perhaps he should have prepared a eulogy but it was too late now. He laughed as tears escaped his eye, "Here lies the Six-Eared Macaque... May he who rises in his wake live a better life than he did..."

He closed his eye and the spell started to hum in his hands, he managed what felt like it could have been a smile.

"Don't mess this up, kid... You've got everything to live for."

--End--

LMK Fanfic Masterlist

[elfqueen006]

The Lifeguard Part 4

Tags/CW: summer camp au, camp counselor au, horror, slasher, rivals to lovers. Drama. Skinny dipping. Minors DNI

It’s that dream again.

That dream where everything’s perfect.

It’s a sunny day. Everything’s in slow motion, but the sounds are in real time. Everyone is whooping and cheering. Children laugh and run past him. In the distance they zipline and play games. Counselors smile as they wave at him. Everyone is happy. Everything is perfect.

But there’s one thing missing. Skylar. It’s often in these dreams she’d walk past him and smile, giving a coy wave and a wink. She’s dressed in her loose counselors’ tee and jean shorts. Her blonde hair that catches in the sun flows behind her and her blue eyes sparkle. She’s perfect. But she’s nowhere to be seen. 

He hears the distant shrill of the lifeguards’ whistle. The water is still and perfect. There’s no one at the lake but you. You’re in the lifeguards’ bright red leotard and wearing shades. Sunlight glints off your perfect legs. You lie back in your chair, a sigh of pleasure echoes as you soak up the suns’ rays. Then you look at him and the sounds of laughter are drowned out. You smile perfect whites and blow him a kiss.

---

After a week, the camp had put out a missing persons’ flier for Skylar, Ian, and Bill. There was really nothing Jack could do to protest on the basis he’d look suspicious. It made him feel awful once local parents caught wind that people were going missing and decided to pull most of their kids from the camp. He couldn’t have imagined how much of the experience had been ruined for them, and he even had to hold back some tears of his own as he watched the smaller ones scream and cry to stay but to no avail.

But no, he reasoned, it was better this way. Less kids at the camp meant less of the likelihood that they’d go wandering past campgrounds. And that was less people to keep track of going near the shed, which after that fateful night with Bill he’d made certain no one else had ventured near it. And in the meantime, he’d kept himself occupied… a little side project you might say. He planted flowers. 

He planted them behind the shed, on top of the mound where they’d been buried. He hadn’t even known where he’d gotten the idea. But one day he’d simply ran up to the local convenience store, found some seeds and started planting. They were scorpion grasses - “forget-me-nots”. He grimaced at the implications. It didn’t take long for the other counselors’ to start noticing them in the distance. So of course they questioned him.

“Oh that?” Jack asked, “That’s sort of a… garden I’m starting.” That earned him a few narrowed glances and side eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, using the flush of guilt to play it up like he was embarrassed. “I… haven’t been able to really sleep much since Skylar disappeared so… I just started without thinking.” At the very least, the words were true. And a half truth is always good to sell in the right context. Finally he said, “I figured maybe… If I planted these they might see them. They might want to come back. I dunno…”

They ate it right up. Their looks of suspicion turned somber and apologetic. They muttered sorrows and walked past him giving pats on the back. All except you, who sucked your teeth at the explanation. You shook your head, “They ain’t coming back.”

All eyes were on you now. Another counselor named Olivia folded her arms and raised a brow, “And… why is that Y/N?” She asked.

“Because they’re guilty.” You replied matter-of-factly. Jack gave you a pleading look, which you aptly ignored.

Olivia pressed, “Of?”

“Being slimy, trifling, no-good adulterers.” Your statement was met with scoffs and mumbles of disbelief. You simply shrugged, “You heard me, they were creepin’.” You then proceeded to spill everything you heard from Jack that night, though you were sure not to mention his name. Still, it made the mascot visibly wilt. And now it looks to everyone like he was pining after a “bad girl” who acted like a “good girl” and led him on. Where that last part came from he hadn’t known. But apparently everyone knew at some point he liked Skylar.

People weren’t so sympathetic towards you however. You’d been cheated on, that much was certain. They had no reason to dispute you, and it would explain your shit attitude the week before. But your apparent hostility towards the whole thing had made other counselors grow wary of you and they began to talk.

“She’s not even joining in on searches for them!”

“Yeah, that was still her boyfriend and best friend. You’d think she’d be a little more caring about the whole thing...”

And then things got on the more insidious side.

“I know she can be a bitch sometimes but this is too far.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if it turns out she had something to do with their disappearance.”

Jack’s blood ran cold. The thought that anyone would be accusing you of murder… It rubbed him the wrong way. The more ruthless part of him thought this was likely the best case scenario. You hadn’t mentioned his name and suspicions were already on you. You weren’t exactly what came to mind for blood thirsty ax-murderer but looks could be deceiving. He could always just relocate the bodies, adjust some wounds and… He shook his head clear of the incriminating thoughts. That wasn’t who he was. The goal was discretion and scarcity. There was no need to make things more complicated. Aside from that, there were things that needed clearing up…

You were on lifeguard duty as usual, and while there weren’t as many kids to manage, it was all the more reason to stay vigilant of them. Some counselors left due to stress but it was more you hung around to stave off boredom. You lie back in your chair, soaking up the sun’s rays, absentmindedly chewing gum. Jack shuddered, remembering his dream.

He got it again when he walked to your high chair and knocked on the stilts. Without even looking down you hop from your chair and take off your shades. You grin, “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”

“We need to talk.” Jack said.

“You always wanna talk,” You then turn to the kids in the lake and tell them to take a hike. They all groan, disappointed their fun was interrupted. Nevertheless, they obey and go to dry off.

“I think they may hate me more than they did a week ago.” You said casually.

“I want to talk about what happened earlier this week.” Jack said.

“What about it?”

Jack sighed, “Don’t play dumb. You made such an unnecessary scene back there.”

“Sorry.” You said unapologetically.

 “I mean it. People are starting to talk.” Jack briefly glances around, “They think you have something to do with Ian and Sky’s disappearance.”

Your eyebrow furrows, “Where’d they get that from?”

“You’re bitter. You don’t help with searches. You’re just generally-”

“A bitch?” You interrupted.

“... Uncompromising.” Jack corrected.

“Oh yeah sure...” You said. “You know what? Let ‘em talk, Jack. I don’t have anything to hide! I couldn’t give less of a damn if they were found or gone forever. If they’re found – goodie. Whooptie fucking do. If they’re gone? Also good because I don’t wanna see their sorry asses anyway!”

You go to march off the docks but he sidesteps you.

“Hey- Y/N, stop.” He said.

“Bye Jack.” You bumped past him.

“Y/N-”

You waved a dismissive hand at him, heading back to the main campgrounds.

---

It’s nightfall.

The other groups of counselors have just come back from a fruitless search. The kids have been resigned to their cabins since seven in the evening, now having a curfew to prevent further disappearances. You, however, stay right where you are. You pull out another stick of gum and pop it in your mouth. The sugar sweetness turns bitter when your fellow counselors cast scornful looks your way. Even Shaun, whom you’d grown to be good buddies with since summer started, avoided your gaze. 

They aren’t even a few feet away from you when Shaun decides now is the best time to boost morale. “We’ve had a long day… what do you guys say to a movie night?” He said, a good natured lilt in his voice.

The counselors clamor around him, humming in agreement. You don’t miss the wary glances casted your way and hushed whispers about what to do about you, as if not getting an invitation would cause you to drop in and ruin their good time. Which in all honesty, wasn’t a bad idea.

“We aren’t going to invite her, right?”

“It’d be alright to ask,”

“But do we have to?!”

Exaggeratedly, you checked your nails and attempted to drown out their whispers by chewing your gum harshly. Before you knew it though, someone came up beside you. Nick Hererras. Oh boy.

Nick was an emo guy who had some kind of influencer page on Twitch or Youtube. He had an obvious crush on you and while he was cute in his own right, his sullen and heartsick vibe around you was somewhat of a downer, especially in contrast to how easygoing he’d be around others.

Nick rubbed the back of his neck, “Hey…” 

“Hey,” You replied casually.

“...It was kind of a long search today.”

“You must be tired.”

“Yeah,” He chuckled softly, “I-it was a lot.” You hum curtly. He wets his lips, picking up that he’s losing your attention before even getting it. “We- we’re having a movie night! Shaun’s hosting so… typical horror bullshit. Slashers and all… Maybe you’d like to come… a-and join us?”

You look past him and at the group of counselors. Many of them shift uncomfortably and scrunch their faces up in discomfort, obviously displeased Nick went to invite you. The fact that they don’t even hide their disdain makes your ears burn hot. You shoot up from the steps and start towards the docks, “Nah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the invitation.” You bite out.

Nick’s weak protests could be heard. Some of the counselors sighed in relief.

“Thank God.”

“Well, we tried.”

---

“Goddamn…motherfucking-”

You roughly shucked off your pants and pulled off your shirt. The force of their removal from your body could have very well ripped them but you didn’t care. Your skin was burning with anger, embarrassment, and everything in between. With added frustration you hurriedly tore off your underclothes before taking a running start across the docks. The wind blew through your hair, though it did nothing to cool your skin; you wouldn’t be pacified until you were in the water.

Upon reaching the edge of the dock, you leapt off the wood as easily as you would a catapult. You flew through the air hands out before pulling them in along with your feet, the aerodynamics of your form caused you to flip over twice and land in the water with a big splash. The force of your dive pushed out the surrounding water, shooting it up around you. It fell in droplets on your skin as you rose to the surface. 

You sigh, wading on your back and letting the water carry you for a while.

These past few weeks have been hell. Nevermind the ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend eloping to god-knows-where, or that the head counselor had suddenly gone AWOL – but to think you were actually being suspected of murder? Jack might’ve not said those exact words but it was obvious enough what he was implying.

Your mood sours when the mascot comes to mind; even more so when you remember the garden behind the shed. 

“He’s so stupid…” You hiss. He so obviously still harbored feelings for Skylars’ trifling ass. And why that made you so ornery you couldn’t figure it out; it’s not like he owes you his allyship due to Skylars’ actions. But you didn’t understand how anyone could still like someone willing to do something so shitty. But then again, you often had your own well-being in mind and if someone proved a threat to that, it was pretty easy for you to cut them from your life completely. You’ve lost a lot of potential friends in the past because of that, and you assumed Ian would’ve been different. But in the long run he proved to be no different than the rest…

Snap.

Your head shot up as you peered out into the darkness. “Hello?” You called out. The woods responded with silence. Thinking it was the kids you called out, “If there’s any campers out there, go back to the cabins – it’s past curfew!”

Silence. Then the subtle crunch of branches beneath footwear.

“Y/N?” Jack’s soft voice called out to you before he emerged from the trees. He wasn’t in his usual costume of the big blue foamy jacket and brown pants with garish primary colored shoes. He now wore a tight white tee that hugged his muscular frame, with a pair of gym shorts. He still had on the makeup, though, probably having forgotten to wash it off.

Your ears burned hot as you realized he’d be one of the first to see you like this: swimming in the buck. Subconsciously, you folded your arms over your chest as he approached the lake.

“Y/N, why are you all the way out here?” Jack asked, “It’s not smart to separate yourself from the other counselors.”

Your initial shyness depletes when he mentions the other counselors. “You should tell them that, they’re the ones separating themselves.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Shaun’s hosting some stupid movie night and no one wants me there.” You said.

Jack blinked in surprise, “Shaun? But he’s one of the nicest counselors here.”

“Well, Nick tried… to extend the invitation, I guess. But it’s not like I wanted to go anyway. Horror movies…” You scoffed, “they’re so dumb. And it’s all Shaun watches!”

Jack sighs, “Still, you should stay close to the camp. I dunno what I’d do if another counselor went missing…”

A smirk broke out on your face as you swam up to the boardwalk, placing your hands on the wooden edge as you looked up at him. “Oh? And what would you do, Jack?”

Your sudden change in demeanor caused him to blush bright red, “I-It’s not like that!” He exclaimed, “I mean, I just want you to be safe!”

“Aww. Look at you, worried about lil’ ol’ me!” You cooed.

“Y/N, you-” He paused, finally getting a better look at you in the moonlight. It shone off your wet skin and hair, giving you the feel of some kind of siren, especially with that seductive look on your face. His eyes were drawn to your neck and shoulders, which seemed not to be covered by anything. And then he spotted your clothes…

“God, Y/N! Are you seriously skinny dipping right now?!” Jack exclaimed. 

You immediately clutched your shoulders, but you start cackling, not really finding it in you to feel guilty like before.

“Eeeyup! Care to join me?”

____

Hiii! Sorry this took awhile. This shit is hard to write my guy. It was intended to be longer but I've hit my limit...

Don't fret however, there's more to come!!

[scumashling]

Welcome newcomers! You can call me Ash (they/she).

About this account

•i made this account after realizing I've been into whump for years without knowing it and discovering that I'm not alone in finding comfort in fiction about characters being put through emotional and or physical hell. I've often struggled with intense shame related to my interest in whump, especially as it's tied to my own trauma, so learning about this community has felt like a huge weight off my chest.

•fan of: defiant whumpee, intimate whumper, Lady whump, living weapon, non con body modification, drugged Whumpee, revenge whump, dehumanization, fantasy whump,Bastard whumpee, religious whump, Whumpee turned Whumper, Bad Caretaker and nsfwhump,

•I'm fairly new to tumblr and am still trying to get a feel for how things work around here, both in terms of the people and the site itself, so I apologize in advance for any possible future faux pas. I'm also a novice writer and still building my confidence in it, but I do I intend to post some of my own fiction, art, and memes.

•I'm in too many fandoms to count but currently you can expect stuff related to Chainsaw Man, Berserk, Slay the Princess, The Boys, and Delicious in Dungeon

•DNIs: I don't intend for this to be an overtly political account, and i'm not into policing people's behavior so giving a list of opinions/positions I find morally objectionable and demanding you keep away from my account if you hold them isn't my style. If I think something you posted is wack then I will simply unfollow or block you, because I am an adult who knows and enforces their own boundaries. That being said, I am a leftist (socially, economically, foreign policy wise) and related themes are more then likely to show up in my fiction, so if you have a problem with that my account probably isn't for you. The one exception to the DNI is Zionists (including "progressive" two staters) in which case, fuck Israel, fuck genocide, fuck you for supporting it, you're a N@zi, Long Live a Free Palestine 🇵🇸

•WARNING: there will be non con stuff posted on this account, as well as general content related to abuse, kink, trauma and addiction, as well as the occasional gore post. I will use appropriate tags/cws but if that is not something you can handle, or just not something you're into hearing about, please take care of yourself and disengage. I use fiction to cope with my own history and truly do not want anyone else to be harmed by it

•I do not consider myself proship or antiship and as far as I'm concerned yall both have some weird people on your side. Basically as long as you aren't being creepy or harassing anyone, have common sense around media literacy/ engaging with fiction as fiction, but don't use the fact that it's fiction to avoid thinking about real world implications/themes, you are welcome on my page.

some facts about me:

•im a nonbinary femme lesbian who's currently studying fine arts.

•I'm mixed (Asian and white)

•I'm a 23 years old

•I was diagnosed with autism at age 18. Some of my special interests include manga, horror, feminist theory, animation, media analysis, mycology, vampires and cooking.

•i adore poetry, my favorites are Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath, Ozymandias by Percy Shelley, and She Had Some Horses by Joy Harjo (specifically the canto Drowning Horses)

•I have been drawing for 7 years