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somanyratsinthewalls · 7 months

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Kinktober Special Part 2

Mo’s Kinktober Special

The Crew’s Whore (Part 2) (+18)

Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your power fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great skill. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy.

Pairing: Franky x afab!reader

WC: 3100 I'm so sorry

TW: IS THIS A SAFE SPACE?!?! Banging a robot, alcohol consumption oral sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, crying, forced orgasm? face shot, heavy use of pet names, cringe, his body is a sex toy idk, cringe, so much cringe, please forgive me I love him, idc

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Robo-boning uder the cut:

Chapter 2: The Cyborg

It was a breezy evening aboard the Sunny as you sipped from your wine glass while leaning forward against the railing of the deck. Sanji had once again prepared the crew a fantastic meal and you felt full and comfortable with the cool sea wind blowing through your hair. It was late, most of the crew had returned to their quarters. Zoro was up in his crows nest dojo having a late night workout, Franky had returned to his workshop to fiddle with some new cannon technology, Luffy was in a food coma and snoring loudly laid up against the mast, and even Sanji had finished dishes with Robin’s help and excused himself to bed. Robin was always so helpful with the dishes with her Devil Fruit powers and all.

You were alone out here with only the sounds of the waves crashing against the hull and your captain’s aggressive snoring. You thought about how you missed your old life, but also how happy you were with the Straw Hats. You loved your job at the brothel and it certainly was less dangerous… but this new life? It was… exhilarating. You loved it.

*I think I need something stronger* you thought to yourself…

You looked at your empty wine glass and walked into the galley for something more exciting. It was spotlessly clean and empty. You opened up the liquor cabinet and perused your options. Vodka, tequila, gin, rum.. hmm…

*It’s a pirate’s life for me, I guess.* You giggled and grabbed the bottle of spiced rum off the shelf. You realized that taking it straight from the bottle was a little barbaric for a late night solo cocktail and went to the fridge for a mixer. Orange juice, mineral water, nothing suitable to mix with rum. You wracked your brain, what would go well with rum? A lightbulb went off in your brain, there’s an obvious choice. Cola!

Rum and cola went together like peanut butter and jelly, like pancakes and syrup, like tea and honey. Your mouth watered at the prospect of a tasty drink… You knew there wasn’t any cola in the kitchen, but you knew exactly where it was. You filled a glass from the cabinet with ice and held it in one hand and the bottle of rum in the other. You pushed past the swinging galley door towards the hallway that went to the center of the ship. You skipped down a flight of stairs until you reached a wooden door marked with blue cartoonish stars. Blue lettering adorned the top of the doorway reading ‘Franky House.’

*So nostalgic of him* you chuckled to yourself before knocking twice.

“What’s up?” You hear Franky’s booming voice from the other side of the door. You opened the door and sidled in with your glass and bottle in hand.

“Oh heyyy pretty thing, what are you doing up at this hour?” Franky turned on his stool next to his workbench to look at you.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You smiled at him as you strode confidently towards the fridge you spotted in the corner of his room. “Fancied myself a rum and cola, figured you’d be the guy to call about finding a bottle of cola around here.”

“Yeah babe! Mi cola es su cola!” He flashed you a winning smile before he turned back towards his work bench and continued fiddling with whatever gadget he was working on before your intrusion. You grabbed a bottle of brown syrupy liquid from the fridge and brought it over to him. You said nothing, just pointed the head of the bottle in his direction. He barely looked up as he reached his large hard out and popped the cap off of the bottle for you. You smiled.

“Thanks, handsome.”

You returned to the desk in the middle of the room where you had set your rum and glass, setting the cola down. You picked up the rum and poured a GENEROUS amount over the ice. You topped it off with the freshly popped cola and brought the glass to your lips. Holy shit you over did it with the rum but damn, that’s good. You took a few more sips and let out a big sigh.

“Rough day, sweet cheeks?” Franky laughed after hearing your exasperated sigh.

“Hmm.. I guess. Just feeling a bit nostalgic is all.”

Franky’s hands continued to manipulate the mechanical item on his work bench.

“Yeah I get it. It happened to all of us, ya have this whole life and then all of a sudden you’re a pirate. It’s super weird. You’ll get used to it, y/n, we all do. We can talk about it, if ya like.” He doesn’t turn around. He had always been so good at expressing his emotions, such a tender and kind soul. He knew how you felt, and wanted you to feel heard.

*Such a sweet heart for a robot* you thought to yourself. But he wasn’t a robot, he was still a man. Sure, his body was more metal than flesh at this point, but it didn’t take away from what a gentle spirit he had. You started to wonder what other human instincts he had left…

“Honestly Frank? I’m kind of trying not to think about it. What are you working on?” You walk over to his work bench and lean up next to him, against the table backwards, able to see the item on the table but facing his body.

“Oh this? Nothing totally crazy, just something I was thinking about for my forearm cannon. You see this part here…” He was excitedly telling you about his work, clearly passionate about his science. You nod and give him “hmm”’s here and there. You pour another strong drink and bring it back over to Franky’s work bench. You set the glass in front of him.

“I can’t be the only one indulging tonight, right?” You say seductively as you slide the glass towards his massive chest.

“Well little lady, I’m usually a cola purist, but I guess one drink won’t hurt.” Franky grabs the glass in his large hand and slams the drink in one gulp. He hisses out, not prepared for how strong you made the cocktail.

“My god girl, you’re trying to get me drunk?!”

You laugh out loud and pour yourself another drink.

“No no, just trying to get more comfortable!” You laugh again. “Now tell me more about this hydraulic, fusion combustion, thingy again…”

You say this as you set yourself down on Franky’s wide lap, drink in hand.

“Okay so if you can see this piece right here…” Franky continued explaining his latest project to you as you became distracted by his handsome features. He had a strong, chilled jaw, defined abs, incredible thighs and you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to his swim briefs. Was it still real? Did he have anything or was he like a doll?

You let your thoughts get the better of you and you set your glass down on the workbench. You slid to your knees in between Franky’s spread legs and let your head rest on his thigh.

“WoAAhhh sweet thing, something else on your mind?” He dropped what he was working on and lifted his sunglasses onto his head as he looked down at you. He leaned back. You giggled up at him while stroking his crotch slowly.

“mmmm yes. How could I not wonder? I’ve thought about it so much. Never had someone like you before…” You drew your face closer to the growing bulge in his swim briefs as you palm him.

“Are you sure? How much do you want it? It might be too much for ya, doll face…” Franky puts his large palm on the side of your face, seemingly a bit concerned.

“I want it. I can take it, please show me.” Your fingers worked at the hem of his tight black speedo before he helped you bring it down to his ankles. You pull them all the way off and return to your kneeled position between his legs.

“Wow…”

His cock was so gorgeous. It had to be real. It was so long, thinner than you’d like, but the length was truly impressive. The base was decorated with tufts of blue hair.

“Is this good for ya, babe? Tell me what ya like and I can make it happen." Franky stroked your hair as you were staring at his cock from between his knees.

“What?” You didn’t know what he was talking about. Was he that confident in his sexual abilities? You felt your cunt clench in anticipation.

“No, this," He nods his head down at his erect cock. "I can make it anything you want. Too big?” You stared up at him with wide eyes.

“Want bigger? Maybe you’re a little size queen?” Franky smirked at you with those last words.

“No no,” You stuttered out. “Could you… could you maybe make it a little… thicker?” You were so embarrassed, you felt so silly asking for this man to change up his own cock for you.

“Of course doll, if you want to be stretched out real good, who am I to deny you?” Franky smiled as he pressed his metal nose.

You stared at his erect penis as it became girthier right before your eyes.

“No way…” You gasped quietly to yourself.

“Yes way baby! You really thought I would rebuild my own body and not give myself an incredible dick?” He grinned down at you between his legs. “Now… where were we?”

You felt his hand gently push the back of your head towards his newly engorged cock. You were snapped out of your stupor and grabbed the thick length with both hands and began to pump it slowly.

“Perfect….” Franky cooed at you as you stroked him.

You leaned forward and took his tip into your mouth. He groaned loudly. You knew he would be loud, he always is, why would now be any different?

You gradually took more and more of his cock into your mouth and bobbed your head up and down. With each pull backwards you slurped and dragged your tongue across the bulbous head of his dick.

“Fuck, shit, just like that…” He tried so hard not to ram his hips into your face, knowing it would scare you off. His body was too strong.

“Shit baby… You’re way too good at this… get up here and let me stuff you.”

Once again your pussy squeezed around nothing, pushing out a drip of your arousal. Franky leaned down and grabbed your hips to pull you upward.

In a moment you were on your back on Franky’s workbench, his projects swept to the the floor with one brush of his huge forearm. He was man handling your body to pull all your clothes off of you. You lay back down on the table, now fully bare in front of him.

“Franky, fuck me. Please. I want it.”

He hovered over you, massive body eclipsing yours.

“And you’re sure? I told you it might be too much… Once I start… well it can just be a lot for someone who isn't used to it.” Franky asked you for the last time, making sure you knew what you were getting into.

“Yes, Frank. I’m so sure.”

He pushed you down forcefully, but you protested by rising to your elbows and catching his lips in a wet kiss. He accepted your kiss and forced his tongue past your spit covered lips. You groaned at his dominance, such a change from how you were used to being with your other lovers.

After making out for several moments, you whined a bit too loudly when he pinched at your nipple.

“Okay okay needy girl, I’ll give you what you want now. But don’t say I didn’t warn you…”

He pushes your thighs up with one hand as he lines his perfect cock up with your sopping hole with the other. He squeezes himself in slowly.

“Holy FUCK, my GOD Franky…!” You shout out as he sinks balls deep inside of you, having you in a mating press with one hand due to his large stature.

“Oh pretty lady, we haven’t even started.” He begin to pull out and shove himself back into your cunt, slick coating his cock more and more with each thrust. You slammed your eyes shut in pleasure, his dick was hitting all the perfect spots inside of you almost like it was made perfectly to fit your body… oh wait… it was.

All of a sudden you felt a new sensation along with his heft length splitting you open. Was he… vibrating? Your neck snapped up and your eyes shot open to meet his above you.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that. Had to add something for the ladies pleasure, right?”

“FRANKY!” Your body lurched forward and grabbed his biceps. You had never felt anything like this before. It’s like your body was lit up by electricity. The smooth drag of his vibrating cock against your g-spot was complete sensory overload.

Franky chuckled. He continued railing into your tiny body, chasing his own pleasure, not worried that you’d reach yours.

“Frank I’m going to-!” You yelped as your body tumbled over the edge in pleasure. It was the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Your spasming cunt pushed out your release all over your lovers abdomen and legs.

“Wow doll face, I never thought you’d be a squirter!” Franky laughed over you as he drilled his hips into yours further, not concerned about your recovery from your intense orgasm. Your body was limp in his hold now, not able to produce any sort of coherent phrase.

“Franky wait, I feel like-Ah!“

You were cumming again. It was only a few moments after your last orgasm and your center was squeezing and creaming on Franky’s thick robotic cock again. You had lost full control over your body, it was like nothing you’d ever experienced. You screamed. You had no idea what words you were trying to scream, but you screamed.

“You like that, huh baby? How about one more for me? I think you can do it, right?” Tears streamed down your face as you laid on his workbench, boneless. Your cunt was throbbing in both pain and pleasure. You were being thrust into so forcefully that your body slid back and forth on the table, your breasts basically hitting you in the chin as they bounced so aggressively.

“Mmmm.. Hmm. FUCK! Yes I can do it, I can take it!” You felt drunk on pleasure, barely able to keep your eyes focused. The sensations in your pussy were unlike anything you’d ever experienced. As your cyborg lover pounded into you at an impossible speed, you felt the familiar wave of pressure bubble up from your center, but this time far more intense than the others.

“There it is baby, I can feel it, I knew you could do it for me sweet thing.” He coaxed you into tipping over the edge. Your back arched and you shrieked up at him. You vision went completely white for a moment as you felt your massive release splattering against Franky’s thighs and cock. Wet, sloppy noises filled the room as you felt your cunt start to tingle with numbness and overstimulation,

“Can’t… it’s too much!” You whine loudly at him as you make a feeble attempt to push at his abs, not entirely sure what you wanted yet.

“That’s just fine doll face, I’ve got something else in mind anyway.” He flashes you a huge grin before grabbing you around your ribs and setting you down on your knees on the floor in front of him.

“Open wide, pretty lady!” He held your hair in a makeshift ponytail with one hand and stroked his massive cock in front of your face with the other.

Obviously after 3 earth-shattering orgasms you were putty in his large hands. You stick your tongue out and look up at him. After seeing the makeup smeared on your face from spit and sweat and tears, there was no way he could hold back any longer.

“Fuuuuuuuck…!” He groaned out as he painted your eager, wrecked face with simply so much cum. It dripped off your cheeks and your chin as you happily kept your mouth open for him. He finally finishes his release and taps his cock on your tongue, so you can taste the last bit.

“Shit you look so super like this!” Franky beamed down at you covered in his thick cum. You grin back up at him, delirious from exhaustion, cum dribbling down your neck. “But I guess I can’t leave ya like that huh?” He grabbed a clean rag from a drawer in his workbench and started wiping his seed off your face, you were so exhausted your eyes fell closed and you held your head in his free hand.

“Hold on hold on doll, I’m almost done then I’ll put ya to bed.” Franky finished cleaning your face and picked up up off your knees and set you down on his bed. He tucked you in and went to put back on the little clothing he had on in the first place. He moved towards the door of his room.

“Well thanks for the break, little lady! I have a repair I need to finish up on the deck tonight, but you get some rest.” Franky says from over his shoulder on the way out to the rest of the ship. You close your eyes and relax your bruised and exhausted body into Franky’s mattress.

"Hey, if you’re feeling up to it when I get back, we can have a round 2! You haven’t even seen half the super stuff I can do, I just went easy on you!” He shouted as he left the room with his toolbox and the door closed behind him.

Your eyes snapped open.

“WHAT?!”

---

a/n I again, am so sorry lol but Franky needs more love. Justice for Franky Fuckers.

#one piece smut #one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece anime #one piece fanart #one piece fandom #one piece live action #one piece netflix #cyborg franky #franky #one piece fanfic #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n

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ifonlyitwasmidnight · 9 months

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Because I see you

Hi. Am I back? Eh. But I miss y'all. <3 I'm okay. Promise.

Fit 'n ship. Whoever you want.

TW: Depression, deep, deep, depression.

He could tell when the days were too hard for you to smile. Somehow, he always knew that days when rain fell in torrents were the days you needed to hide the tears you refused to let fall, breaking quietly, letting the rain wash them away. Too many days when you would look up to the sky, silently begging for the pain in your chest to lessen for but a moment so you could just breathe.

He often wished he could somehow snatch the pain away from you. Bury it deep within the caverns of his chest to save you from the torment that kept you awake too many nights, legs pulled to your chest, and a blanket draped over your shoulders. It was those nights that a quiet knock on his door left him sitting on his bed, silently holding you until you fell asleep.

It was an old hurt that you carried. Put there by someone else who never bothered or cared to fix it.

“Why do you care?” You had asked him one night, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I see you.”

It was the only time you spoke of it. Maybe you were content with that answer, and it was enough to soothe the ache. Perhaps you didn’t want to give him a chance to change his mind.

Sometimes he would find you silent even when the sun was shining. Holding an arm around your middle to block the pain from seeping into the ground at your feet, afraid it would infect the soil and spread like black flames. You often startled easily on those days when he would drape an arm around your shoulder, tucking you in tightly to his side.

“I’ve got you.” A constant reminder.

The thought of being a burden, too much, too you, plagued you. A buzz which settled in your ear, growing louder and louder and louder until it was all you heard, drowning out the sounds of leaves and laughter. It wasn’t always. Often you went long without the scares and shakes that brought you back to the darkness that greeted you like an old advisory, once again ready to do battle.

But he never let you give up. You never gave up. Fighting back against the darkness, scraping, clawing, teeth bared to return to the light. To the life you had breathed into, stroking the flames of your soul until it was ready once more to burn on its own.

It wasn’t in him that you found your will to fight. It was beside him. It was with him through laughter and the rare moments of quiet that you were able to exist in everything that you are while he sat with you, ever your protector.

You didn’t believe in knights in shining armor. If anything, you simply believed in him, knowing he would slay the monsters at your back with his two bare hands, refusing to let them break him to steal you once more.

Only those who care about you can hear you when you’re quiet. Words he had spoken on a rainy day when it all became too loud.

xx This was written with Draken in mind 'cause I feel like he would be the one to understand. But, as always, whoever came to your mind is him.

Also: Itachi, Ichigo, Shikamaru, Sesshomaru, Mitsuya, Aizawa.

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azaliyas · 8 months

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Hi! I saw this cute tik tok where Alhaitham is autistic and his weighted blanket was being washed so he was very grumpy snd couldn’t fall asleep so like kaveh decided to lay on top of him to try and emulate the blanket.

If it’s ok can you do that but alhaitham x reader, romantic and established relationship? Sorry if it’s confusing 😭

summary : alhaitham is a man of simple requests and simple needs, but when they're not met, like his precious blanket not being on him for the night, it can become quite the problem. luckily for him you, his amazing lover, have a solution that he will gladly enjoy (but he will never admit it).

word count : [ to be added later ]

genre : fluff.

cw / tw : none.

characters : alhaitham.

note : omg me?? posting?? what a rare occasion 💀 yes i'm not dead and i'm still writing! i just forget to post '^' anyway anon i'm sorry for the delay 😭 you have the right to bonk me if you want, i deserve it anyway ;-; this idea was so cute tho, i need to see that tiktok even if i don't ship haikaveh lol // i have more pieces ready they just need proofreading (if i can find the will to, otherwise to hell with that :D). on a serious note 1) i didn't understand much about weighted blankets so if this piece is off eeeeehhhh i tried 2) internet said that habibti was the right word, but if habibi is the one let me know please! hope you can enjoy this, sorry my sporadic appearances 🫠❤️

a few years into your relationship with alhaitham you learned quite the number of curious facts about the scribe that many didn't know — not because alhaitham kept them a secret, but only because of his reserved personality that didn't make him open up to the first person that was in front of him.

the scribe liked his coffee burning hot with no sugar and just a little sip of milk, enjoying it sitting at the same spot of the kitchen table every morning. he also liked working out mostly in the evening and take a shower right after. alhaitham loved sleeping on your chest, the sound of your heartbeat a comforting lullaby.

speaking of sleeping habits, alhaitham could only sleep with his weighted blanket wrapped around his body. because of this, the scribe was very attentive in washing it during the day so it would be dry for the evening. that was one of the first things you taught yourself to do in order to help your boyfriend, a gesture that had the dendro user fall harder for you.

at least, that's what you succeeded to do until today. the rain didn't allow the blanket to dry during the whole day, and so by the evening it was still dump. impossible to let it be used, even when you had hung out the blanket before starting cooking dinner for tonight. by the time you and alhaitham had to turn in for the night, it was still wet. and cold. defeated, you had to put the weighted blanket aside.

you found alhaitham standing near the mattress in your shared bedroom, pyjama on and ready to crash the bed and fall asleep. that was, but his blanket was amiss.

your groan came out sounding more like a whine noticing this scene. you cursed the rain while scrambling your thoughts trying to find a solution.

«it's fine.» alhaitham said, turning on his feet to look at you. you knew he was lying.

«it's not! how are you supposed to fall asleep without your blanket?!» you whined again, a sound of exasperation leaving your throat right after.

«i can put more blankets on top of each other. it's not a problem.» your boyfriend rebutted, walking toward the wardrobe.

alhaitham pulled out some blankets and started laying them on the bed one after the other. deep down the scribe knew it wasn't the exact same thing, but a weighted blanket had its purpose in the deep-pressure touch that brought calmness and comfort. and that deep-pressure touch was given by the heavy weight. by logic, more blankets on top of each other had to be enough heavy.

but for once in his life, alhaitham was wrong. it was a weird feeling, but not as weird as tossing around back and forth, incapable of sleeping for more than five minutes before waking up again. his movements and his grumbling had you waking up.

you turned on your side and faced your boyfriend, just in time to meet his gaze. he furrowed his brows as soon as he noticed you staring at him.

«sorry for waking you up.» he murmured, annoyance clear in his voice. not at you, of course, but at his incapacity of falling asleep.

you looked at him, eyes focused, and alhaitham knew you were thinking hard about something, but what that something was he didn't know.

without a word you dragged yourself on top of alhaitham, who laid on his back as you took place on his chest, your blanket wrapping around both your bodies. your head rested in the crook of his neck, your hands gently pressed on his chest, right above where his heart was.

«habibti... what are you doing?» alhaitham looked at you like you just grew a second head on your shoulders.

«well, the comfort of a weighted blanket is in its weight, right?» you asked, raising your head to look at him. alhaitham slowly nodded. «hence my position: i will act as your blanket for the night.»

to say the scribe was flabbergasted was an euphemism. he didn't mind your wonderful mind and colorful ideas, after all it was one of the reasons why he fell in love with you, but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if you the hamster running on your wheel wasn't actually high on something.

«it doesn't make sense.» he rebutted.

«this is where you're wrong, haitham. it does. weighted blankets have their purpose in their weight, that brings comfort thanks to the fact they mimic a hug, helping you release serotonin and dopamine, hormones that soothe you and help you sleep.»

you concluded your explanation with a satisfied smile, chin resting on your knuckles while you looked at your speechless boyfriend. it was a very rare occurrence to leave the scribe without anything to say, and almost all of the times it was because of you.

sighing and subtly rolling his eyes, alhaitham decided at last to try your idea and sleep like that — although, your chest was a much better pillow than the feather ones his head was currently laying on.

...

oh what a delight was to see your boyfriend's stunned face the next morning, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to his god-touched features as he was blinking away from the sun rays pouring from the window.

«don't.» he grumbled.

your smile turned into a knowing smirk.

«told ya!» you happily chimed.

#✧༄ཾ┊ azaliyas #✧༄ཾ┊ azaliya's breaks #genshin fic #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader

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yikessmicah · 1 month

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bloodweave

heres some bloodweave brainrot copy pasted directly from my priv twitter bc i was going insane at like 3am last night

// tw mention/brief discussion of astarion and gale's trauma, including sexual trauma. ill highlight it red so you can read the rest if youd like while avoiding the triggering part.

also obvious spoilers for part of astarion and gale's personal stories/quests.

AND DISCLAIMER this is my opinion and straight up brainrot u can ship whoever u want in bg3 idc <3

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sorry im having bloodweave brainrot because out of everyone in the camp i think gale Would be the objectively best match for astarion to be in a successful relationship with.

he wouldn't push him to do anything (tho i dont think any of the companions would, but ykwim) and since gale has his own form of relationship and sexual trauma (the fact mytsra groomed him since he was Literally a child and was only ever intimate with him on the astral plane therefore he's never had real physical human touch and intimacy) it would be overwhelming for him too!!

hed WANT to take it slow, he'd WANT to be as accomodating and like. he also has something on his body that represents his trauma the same way astarion does!! astarion has his scars and gale has the orb tattoo on his chest. i also think just. astarion's whole life as a spawn was only surrounded by people he Hated talking to. people who would spit insults and berate him, treat him like he was pathetic and disgusting - but gale? gale of waterdeep who never fucking shuts up?

gale of waterdeep who would gladly wake up and immediately shower him with compliments using words astarion had never even heard before? gale who would would describe astarion's features for him re: him not being able to see his reflection in such words and with such ease that eventually astarion starts to *like* the fact he doesnt have a reflection?

gale of waterdeep who would spend every waking moment of his day - that he wasnt spending talking to or being with astarion - working on a way to cure astarion of his vampirism or at Least a way for him to walk in the sun?

GALE OF WATERDEEP . who would gladly and without fucking question give up touching astarion ever again if he told him to?

gale of waterdeep who would answer every question astarion had? who would comfort his every dark thought?

gale of fucking waterdeep who would CARE for astarion so fucking well that he would genuinely start believing and KNOWING !!! he was worthy of love.

gale of FUCKING !! WATEDEEP !! who would vow to never shut up again if thats what helped astarion deal with the memories of sitting alone in a dungeon for months or YEARS at a time at the hands of cazador (not that that would be particularly hard with how me he talks already /pos).

gale who would gladly give up ever seeing the sun again and completely flipping his sleep schedule if it meant being able to walk the streets with astarion safely.

gale who would truly and wholly give nothing but his honest and real self. bare and beaten but NOT broken. show that astarion was the same. not broken. not something to be "fixed". simply something - SOMEONE - that needed to be guided a little. simply someone that needed safety.

gale of waterdeep who would do anything for his blood to taste sweet for astarion again. so he wouldnt have to fear where his next meal was going to come from. so astarion would never have to sink his teeth into a beast - let alone a sewer rat - ever again. never again would he let him have to hunt criminals in the night through the streets Alone. EVER AGAIN!!!

gale of waterdeep who would give up sleep to be by astarion's side as much as he could (since hes human and astarion is an elf). i just. he would do anything for him. Truly Anything.

gale of waterdeep who would wait weeks, months, YEARS - CENTURIES. if that's how much time it took for astarion to say i love you back. gale would say it 300 times a day and not once would it ring with the exigency of needing him to say it back.

gale....

#bg3 #bloodweave #astarion x gale #gale x astarion #bloodweave brainrot #brainrot #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 bloodweave #baldurs gate 3 bloodweave #astarion ancunin #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios x astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 astarion x gale #original post

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angelxd-3303 · 9 months

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Ok, everyone asked for this, so here you go!

Tw: panic attack, mention of trauma

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"I don't understand, he's never done this!" Kamek gave his concerned agreement, saying:

"Indeed, this is very unlike him." He and Bowser were scouring the castle grounds in search of Luigi. The queen had gone missing around midday, with guards swearing that he'd never left. Certainly he wouldn't sneak out? Bowser was rumbling worriedly, looking over and under everything in his room. Then, he perked up.

"If I'm going to find him, I need to get down to his level. Get me one of the human potions." Too worried to argue, Kamek hopped on his broom and raced to his study. As he exited the room, he was met by all eight Koopalings. All of them sensed the fear from their elders, and it unsettled them.

"Where's Mama?" Ludwig asked.

"We, uh, don't know. Hey! Spread out and go help us find him. He's got to be somewhere in the castle…" The last bit was mumbled, but the koopa kits were already scampering off in all directions to find their Mama. Kamek rushed back to Bowser, where the frantic husband was letting out rumbling chirps to call his mate. Kamek smacked him on the head to snap him out of it; one instinct-driven MegaKoopa was one too many. Bowser growled, stopping once he saw Kamek. The wizard handed him the potion, and the eager Koopa King downed it in one gulp.

The changes were quick, and soon a strongly built ginger with dark skin and catlike yellow eyes replaced the gargantuan koopa. Bowser shook his head to clear it, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt. He rolled the sleeves up to the elbows, as he hated the feeling of them being all the way down.

"Ok, I'm gonna check the room again; go check on the troops. See if anyone's found him." Bowser ordered. Kamek bowed, racing on his broom to obey. Bowser looked around the room, opening closets and pushing aside a multitude of dresses to peek behind them. Nothing. He huffed.

Where could his beloved queen be?!

—------------------------------------------------

'It's ok, just wait here until Mario comes back.' It was no secret that Luigi had a hard time with solitude. He'd always been with his brother; being alone was dangerous. Being alone was bad. He had to hide. Hide until he wasn't alone.

That led to Luigi eventually tucking himself away in the back of a broom closet. He snuggled into his shawl, sighing deeply. Cleaning supplies surrounded him, and Luigi made sure they obscured his hiding place from view. He rested his head against the wall behind him, playing with his braid.

He had been taking care of some paperwork for the construction of a new set of ships. Rather than warships, these were made for the purpose of exploration. Since the Koopa Kingdom had shed their somewhat barbaric reputation, other worlds were more open to the idea of the kingdom expanding their knowledge.

The bookkeepers were thrilled to have their queen taking care of the paperwork. Not only was he more organized than Bowser, but they also didn't have to print all the papers out to be six times their size so he could read it. The only problem was, he had been alone nearly all morning. After saying a quick "see you later" to his husband, Luigi had been left to his own devices, aside from a servant bringing him lunch at his desk.

It started ok, with him carefully reading through each document before signing them. More and more though, Luigi found his eyes darting around the room nervously. His leg began to bounce, his forehead beaded with sweat, and his hand trembled as he picked up his glass of water. Finally, Luigi let out a whimper and jumped up from his seat. He braced his hands against the mahogany desk, shaking and panting. In moments, he was no longer safe in his home. Suddenly he was on the streets, and all he knew was that Mario was nowhere in sight.

Mind clouded by fear, Luigi snuck out of his study on featherlight feet. He darted about looking for a place to hide. He finally found a broom closet, rushing in and burrowing himself in the furthest corner. Finally he could breathe.

—-----------------------------------------------

"Mama! Mama!" Lemmy called, perched on the head of a paratroopa.

"Mama, where are you?!" Jr. peeked under a table, frowning at Wendy as she scoffed.

"He wouldn't be under the table, silly!" His twin declared. Jr. stuck out his tongue.

"Well I don't see you miraculously finding him, dummy!" He retorted. Iggy stepped between them, growling irritably.

"Shut up, you knuckleheads! This isn't helping! Quit fighting, Mama could be hurt, or trapped somewhere!" The pair sobered, resuming their search of the dining hall more intensely.

Morton, meanwhile, was out in the hall with Ludwig and Roy. Larry scampered in, frantic.

"He's not in his study, any luck?!" He shouted. Roy shook his head, tail twitching nervously. As they ran through a list of possible places, Morton suddenly perked up. He wasn't very good at talking, Mama was working with him on that, but he had a very good sense of smell. As such, the scent of lilac perfume and old books came to him easily. A smell that was so uniquely Mama. He sniffed the air, tail wagging as he followed the trail.

The rest of the kits had entered the hall, and Iggy frowned at seeing Morton shuffle off.

"Uh. Morton. Buddy. Ma's still missing, dude." He called. Morton shot him a toothy grin, wagging his tail.

"Mama this way!" He exclaimed. Morton didn't wait for them to answer, trotting off. His siblings tailed after, a chorus of trills sounding off as they picked up the scent. The kits rounded the corner, skidding to a halt. At first they didn't recognize the strange human, but the thick smell of apple wood smoke and honey marked him as their Papa.

"Anything, kids?" He asked.

"Morton found Mama's scent! We're following it now!" Laughing with relief, Bowser patted Morton's head.

"Atta boy, Morton! Let's go find your Mama." With that, the group followed Morton. He sniffed the air, pausing beside a closet door. He crouched down, sniffing under the doorway. Yup, Mama was definitely in there!

"Is…is he in there? Why would Mama be in the closet?" Wendy inquired. Morton chirped worriedly. Mama was in there, he was sure of it! Papa came up beside him, and opened the door. The kits all piled up in the doorway. At first, no one saw anything. Well, other than a broom closet. Then, way in the back, something moved.

Morton crawled in, burly body barely fitting. He nudged his Mama's leg, chirping. A soft snore met him, and he trilled. His Mama didn't respond at first, then his pretty eyes opened slowly.

"Mhh? Morton?"

"Hi, Mama!" Morton exclaimed. Mama looked sleepy, humming softly.

Behind him, Bowser sighed with relief. He turned to the paratroopa accompanying the kits.

"Tell the search parties we found him."

"Yes, sire." Bowser nudged Morton, who gave up his place hesitantly. Bowser crouched down, moving buckets and mops aside. Luigi was tucked into the back of the closet, and seemed to be just waking up. Bleary eyes landed on him, and Luigi whined quietly.

"Mh, Bowser? Wha-?"

"Shhh, it's ok." Bowser reassured him, gently scooping him up. It took a bit of wiggling, but Bowser managed to get out. Immediately, Luigi was bombarded by his worried children. All of them were trilling and chirping while rubbing their cheeks against his.

"Mama, why were you in the closet?!"

"We were so worried!"

"Are you hurt, did someone hurt you?!"

Luigi looked between the speakers with a dazed expression.

"Uh…huh? Wha-"

"Ok, I think your Mama is having a rough day, how about you go let all the search parties know he's ok? I'm gonna take him back to the nest." Leaving no room for argument, Bowser gathered Luigi up bridal style and carried him towards their shared room. Luigi went limp against his chest, groaning. As he was laid down, Luigi rubbed his eyes.

"Ugh, what happened?" Bowser sighed, pulling him into his arms as he sat down.

"I was hoping you could tell me. You went missing for a few hours; the whole Capital is in an uproar because no one could find you." He explained. Luigi groaned.

"I'm… I'm sorry. I…I don't know what happened. I just… I was alone for a long time…and I think…" Luigi twiddled his thumbs.

"I think I got really panicked. I started thinking that I was…back on the streets and had to hide." Bowser hummed, kissing his forehead.

"Well, we can't have that now can we, my Queen? How about we arrange for you to have an assistant with you so you're not alone while doing paperwork? Would that help?" Luigi's eyes darted around, he was clearly still disoriented.

"I don't- I don't know, I…" He sniffled, burying his face in Bowser's chest with whimpered apologies.

"Hey, shush, it's ok. I've got you. Let's just relax for a bit, ok? We can make decisions later. Just breathe, Turtledove." He whispered. Luigi nodded, and they did just that. Later the Koopalings would swarm the nest to comfort their still shaking Mama, and Kamek would come in to meticulously look him over to make sure he really was unharmed.

For now? They just sat in the silence and enjoyed the company of the one they loved the most.

#luigi #bowser #koopalings #bowser Jr #fic drabble #poor luigi #Morton koopa knows what's up #he may not be able to read well but he knows how to find his Mama #Mama Luigi #human bowser #father figure kamek my beloved

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imaginespazzi · 2 months

Text

Part 2: If Only You'd Been Here

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you (but ain't nobody love you like I do)

(In which a sadistic writer tortures her beloved ship a fair amount and maybe her readers too)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining, Hurt/Comfort and maybe Fluff if you squint

Words: 6.5K (someone please be proud that it is in fact shorter 🙈)

TW: Swearing, Alcohol, Injuries, Alludes to Sexual Content

A/N: Good morning my lovelies <3 Just a couple of things I changed that you should know before you read. If you follow WCBB, you know UCLA didn't win the Pac-12 tournament in 2023 but in this universe they did. You also probably know they lost in the NCAA tournament last year to SC in the Greenville region but in this universe, for plot purposes, they're gonna be in the Seattle region. I kept their seeding and who they were playing vague because it was gonna get too complicated to figure out. Also if you saw my list of part titles a while ago, no you didn't lol. As always, feel free to know what you liked, what you didn't, and anything you'd like to see in future parts. And as you're reading, let's just remember y'all love me and everything I do is for the plot. Happy reading and have a wonderful week lovelies!

December 2022

The distinctly “car” smell of her car is starting to make Paige more than a little nauseous. Going by the way Drew is pouting in the passenger seat, he’s also clearly over it. They’ve been driving in circles for what feels like hours. At first, still enamoured with being allowed to sit in the front, her little brother had gone along with her ridiculousness. Now, as they approach maybe the 12th or so lap around the neighbourhood, he seems less than thrilled.

“Alright let me out and you keep driving,” Drew says, fiddling agitatedly with his seatbelt, “I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Well hold it in,” Paige retorts unhelpfully as they re-round the block. She keeps her eyes focused on the road, ignoring the glare her brother sends her away. He takes in a dramatic breath and leans back onto his seat. She grips the steering wheel tighter as they pass the house again, still not brave enough to pull into the driveaway of a place she’d once considered just as much a home as her own.

Drew lets out another groan, “I shoulda just stayed home.”

“Well you didn’t-” Paige’s reply is cut off by the sound of a phone call reverberating around the car. The CallerID reads “Azzi (DON’T YOU DARE IGNORE)”, a name the younger girl had plugged in herself with a warning look the day Paige had left LA. Chewing whatever dry skin is still left on her bitten-to-death lips, Paige clicks accept on the call.

“What number lap is this?” comes Azzi’s exasperated voice and Paige can’t help the smile that creeps onto her face.

“Oh you know my car’s feeling the need to exercise today,” Paige hums back, suddenly feeling a lot lighter than she had just a couple of seconds ago. Sometimes, she’s not sure how she managed to go a year with this constant heavy weight pressing down on her ribs, and no Azzi to slowly ease her out from under it.

“Azziiiiii,” Drew whines dramatically, “please come save me. I’m gonna die in this car.”

Affronted, Paige splutters, “nobody forced you to come.”

“You begged me to come,” her young brother quips back and it elicits a laugh from the girl on the other end of the line.

“I did-”

“Paige,” Azzi cuts her off, “just come inside okay? You’re wasting gas for nothing.”

“I- it’s just-,” Paige’s hands tighten even more around the wheel, as she stops on the sidewalk, switching on her turn signal, but still not entering the driveway. She leans her head against the wheel, overwhelmed by emotions she can’t quite name. Drew places a comforting hand on her back and she sends him a reassuring smile, trying to shield her younger brother from the havoc in her brain.

“Hey,” Azzi’s voice floats through the fog, “it’s just me okay? Me and you and us. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

It’s like a child being soothed with their favourite binkie, that’s what Azzi’s promise feels like to Paige. She finally turns into the driveaway, and both Drew and Azzi cheer in tandem. The knot in her chest loosens just a little bit at that because the large crowds that scream for her make her feel adored, but this, her own personal cheer squad for her littlest of achievements, well it makes her feel loved.

“Freedom,” Drew yells as he practically flings himself out of Paige’s barely parked car. She rolls her eyes fondly at her mini me as he dramatically pretends to kiss the ground. It’s a small distraction from the memories that are swirling like a tornado in her mind. Minnesota is home, it’ll always be home but this place, this had been her safe haven, something she could hold onto at a time where everything else was slipping out of her hands. And then, like a fool, she’d let go of it.

The door opens even before they’ve made it halfway to the door and Azzi’s brothers run out into the front yard. Jon pretends to take pictures and José practically falls to his knees as they swarm around the blonde.

“Paige, Paige, can we get a picture or an autograph please,” they yell teasingly, “please Miss Bueckers we’re your biggest fans.”

“Move over boys,” Tim Fudd’s booming voice hollers, as he swats his children away, “her biggest fan is actually me eh Paige?”

The girl in question nods solemnly, her smile stretching the full length of her face, and both Jon and José let out a groan as their father beams at Paige. And then Katie’s there, not a hint of anything but pure happiness on her face as she wraps the younger girl into a hug. Paige melts into the embrace, trying her hardest not to burst into tears. Because all she can think about is the hundreds of calls and texts from Azzi that she’d left unanswered, all she can think of is Azzi's devastated face as she’d told Paige about just how hard she’d tried and that wretched ache of i don’t deserve this i broke your daughters heart wraps itself around Paige’s heart.

Over Katie’s shoulder, Paige watches as Azzi finally walks out into the law, her cheeks immediately turning red from the cold. The younger girl winks at Paige with a radiant smile, before giving all her attention to Drew who almost trips as he excitedly launches himself into Azzi, tiny hands wrapping around her waist. Paige watches, still buried in the warmth of Katie’s arms, as Drew animatedly tells Azzi all the stories he possibly can and Azzi nods along emphatically as if she’s being told the most important facts of her life. And Paige takes a snapshot of it to add to her ever growing collection of moments i just knew.

***

January 2023

“Call her.”

Paige doesn’t bother replying, burying her face further into her tear-soaked pillow. Maybe if she ignores her teammate, Caroline will get the message and go away. The earth-shattering pain that she’d subdued for the last couple of months had finally reared its ugly head. And that too at the worst time possible, when her team needed to be a source of strength and with cameras catching the teardrops falling as she mourned the loss of not being able to play in the epic UConn-Tennessee rivalry. She’d done so well at holding it in, breaking apart only a couple of times, sometimes alone and sometimes with Azzi on the other end of the line. Until tonight, when the bright lights and roaring crowd had reignited the itch to just fucking play ball.

“Paige,” Caroline says again, “stop being stubborn and call her.”

“She has a game tomorrow, she doesn’t need my dramatic ass worrying her right now,” Paige replies, getting into a sitting position when she realises the other girl isn’t about to just let this go.

“You’re eventually going to call her. The two of you haven’t gone one day without talking to each other since this summer,” Caroline gives her a look, a hint of a smirk play on her face when it tints Paige’s cheeks pink, “seriously, just call her.”

It’s not that Paige doesn’t want to. She’d scrolled through her contacts and stopped at Azzi’s one too many time’s tonight. And each time, just as her fingers had hovered over the green call button, she’d felt guilt claw at her neck. Since she’d shown up in LA, Azzi had shown up for Paige every step of the way, checking in regularly, listening to Paige vent her anger at the world and whispering words of comfort that only sounded true when they came from Azzi’s mouth. Sometimes, if she tries really hard, Paige can feel the ghost of Azzi’s arms wrapping themselves around her shoulders, just as they had that one night in LA when Azzi had held her, so delicately as if she was made of porcelain, through the worst of her breakdowns.

“She needs to focus on her game,” Paige says after a moment.

Caroline sighs, mind wandering to the countless texts on her phone from Azzi begging her to take care of Paige and to let her know when the blonde wasn’t doing okay, “I know but she’d want you to call her if she knew. You need her.”

“And where was I when she needed me?” it’s the word need that triggers it, the quick snap because it’s all Paige has been able to think about lately.

Without basketball, she’d had far too much time on her hands and she’d ended up going down a spiral of watching Azzi’s games from her freshman year, something she’d religiously avoided doing when they had happened live. At first, it had just been this immense feeling of pride, seeing her best friend be the college basketball phenomenon Paige had always known she would be. She’d shoved away the envy of it was supposed to be us that immersed her seeing the way the Bruins celebrated their new star player, and just let herself be happy in her best friend’s happiness.

And then something changed around at the beginning of January 2022. It had only lasted a couple of games, but Azzi had hit a wall. Threes were short, cuts were made at the wrong time and she kept on getting lost on defence in a way that was very unlike her. And all Paige could focus on, eyes glued to the screen, was how completely and utterly exhausted Azzi looked during that stretch, despite the fact that she’d just come back from winter break. The smile had vanished off her face, replaced by stress lines Paige wished she could go back in time and erase.

It wasn’t until she’d binged through all the games, cheering silently as Azzi slowly returned to form, that the realisation had hit Paige. She’d been slapped with the memory of a store decorated brightly for Christmas and a familiar voice calling her name, as she’d purposely walked the other way, pretending she hadn’t heard and the more than deserved i’m done trying text that had followed right after. For a year, perhaps longer, Paige had convinced herself that she was the only one who had lost something, she was the only one who had a right to hurt, to break. And still, she thinks she’d take all of that pain again a thousand times, if it means she could erase the fact that in all of her self-pity, she’d broken Azzi too.

“Where was I when she needed me?” she repeats again to Caroline, as the brunette stares at her in confusion, “the answer to that Carol, is that I was anywhere but with her.”

Caroline’s eyes soften in realisation as she takes a cautious step towards Paige, “oh P don’t do this to yourself.”

“I want to call her,” Paige confesses in a whisper, tears brimming in her eyes, “it’s the only thing I’ve wanted to do all day and maybe- maybe I should have but I’m just- I’ve been so unfair to her.”

“You were hurt Paige.”

“I know- I know that. But so was she. You don’t- god Carol- you don’t even know the things I said to her before she left for LA. And she’s still here,” the first tears fall from her blue eyes, and then the next and the next until there’s a steady waterfall streaming down her face, “you know I almost didn’t let her in when she first came over this summer?”

Caroline doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to come sit next to Paige and wrap her arms around the point guard.

“I didn’t answer her calls or her texts for a year and still, still she’s picked up every call, replied to every text I’ve sent her since summer. I know- I know I need her and she’s going to be there of course she is. But when she needed me, where was I?” Paige drops her face into her hands, “I just- I don’t deserve her.”

There’s a moment of silence as Caroline rubs Paige’s back and lets the older girl wallow in her guilt. And then she reaches for Paige’s phone on the nightstand, ignoring the little grunt of protest. When the screen lights up, there’s already a notification of new messages from Azzi and Caroline can’t help but smile.

“I think,” she begins softly, “Azzi’s a smart girl so maybe give that tiny little brain of yours a little bit of rest and let her decide who deserves her,” she hands Paige her phone “let her be there for you. I think maybe she needs that too.”

Caroline gives Paige’s shoulders a little squeeze before heading out the doors, giving the older girl a moment of privacy. Paige sighs, getting herself comfortable against her pillows, and rubbing away her tears, before finally giving in and pressing the facetime call button.

“Do you want a distraction or do you want to talk about it?” Azzi says as soon as she picks up and Paige can see the concern etched all over her face.

“Or maybe I’m perfectly fine?”

“Ah we’re playing the pretend game tonight. Should have cleared your throat for a second longer maybe Miss Perfectly Fine, your eyes are red as fuck and you sound like a dying cat.”

“Wow, that was rude. Maybe I’m sick?”

“With what? The “lies to her best friend” flu?”

“That UCLA education has you making up illnesses now? Damn Az, you’re supposed to get smarter in college.”

“You’re so funny, like so funny,” Azzi huffs sarcastically before they both dissolve into giggles. It’s always just been so easy with them. And Paige’s isn’t a poet, but if she was, she’d write sonnets about the sound of Azzi’s laughter, and the way it makes the corner of her eyes crinkle.

“I watched the game,” Azzi says after a second, “and I saw you.”

Paige smirks, “so you didn’t actually watch the game, just stared at my gorgeous face the whole time?”

“There’s that comedian streak of yours again.”

“Hey you’re the one who said you were watching me instead of the game. But who could blame you really?”

“I didn’t-” Azzi rolls her eyes, as Paige’s cocky smirk deepens, “stop it.”

“You can admit I’m a pretty girl Az,” she teases, delighted when it makes the younger girl blush.

“Fuck off, you have enough people telling you you’re a pretty girl.”

“Yeah but it means more coming from you,” she says quietly, biting her lip. It’s not the kind of thing you’re supposed to say to your best friend, at least not in the soft, wanting way that Paige says it. Except they both know that the lines in their friendship are far more blurred than they should be, even if they've both done a pretty fantastic job at ignoring that kiss. Paige had learned over Christmas that Azzi was exceptionally good at the pretending part, moving away the moment Paige’s hands lingered a little longer than they should, changing topics if they even got anywhere near addressing the something between them. It shouldn’t have hurt but it did and Paige doesn’t understand how she can so desperately miss something that she never even had in the first place.

“So distraction then?” Azzi says after a second, changing the subject back to her initial question.

Paige closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath, “it was just- it was a lot tonight. I didn’t realise I was being that obvious.”

“You weren’t. I just know you a little too well.”

“These are my favourite types of games, you know. The rivalry, the crowd booing my name and getting the chance to quiet them, that’s- that’s the type of game players live for and I just- I miss it Azzi. I miss shooting, I miss defending, I miss just standing on the fucking court sometimes. I miss playing basketball. So. Fucking. Much,” a fresh set of tears leak out of Paige's eyes, as her free hand fists at her bedsheets.

There’s silence as Paige’s words linger in the air. In a way it’s freeing to be able to say it out loud, to just let herself feel how she feels instead of fighting them.

“You’re gonna miss it every day until you play again,” Azzi says quietly, her own voice thick with emotions, “and it’s not really gonna get easier until you get it back. But when you finally do, just- just imagine it okay, your first game back. The feeling of the crowd. Dribbling up the court. Making that first shot as everybody loses their minds. Finally just playing the game you love. That’s when that feeling of loss will finally go away.”

Using Azzi’s steady breathing as an anchor to still her erratic heartbeat, Paige lets herself get lost in the picture the younger girl has just painted for her. She lets her mind run to the future that lies ahead of her and if she focuses hard enough she can almost hear the Gampel crowds roaring as she finally returns to the court.

“It’s kinda really fucking annoying how you always know what to say,” no it isn’t, it’s the only thing that’s keeping Paige going these days.

“Surviving an ACL injury will do that to a girl,” Azzi says with a pained smile.

That’s not it Paige thinks, it’s not experience, it’s you and I really wish you were here. But she can’t say that, so she changes the subject instead.

“Tell me about your game tomorrow.”

They both settle back into their pillows, getting into more comfortable positions. Azzi tells Paige all about her upcoming game and then moves onto another topic, then another and another and another. They’ll wake up tomorrow morning to phones that died and no memory of when they’d fallen asleep. And then they’ll remember who was on the other end of the line, and if that makes them smile a little too hard, well that’s just another thing they’ll pretend didn’t happen.

***

March 2023

It’s only natural that when Paige finally feels like she can learn to live with just having a little bit of Azzi, that the world would show her just how wrong she could be. She’s been in a much better headspace these days, her knee finally starting to feel like itself again, bit by bit. The guilt of not being able to help her team is still settled into the pits of her stomach but even with that, she’s reached a sort of acceptance. And while she’s still struggling to fight the part of her heart that wants so much more, she’s learning to be content with just having her best friend back.

It’s that little bit of time in between conference tournaments and the NCAA tournament when it feels like the calm before the storm and it’s the first weekend since before the season that the UConn team finally gets to go out and let loose for a bit. They’re riding the height of winning another Big East title and even if it’s a little bittersweet that they did it without her, Paige is beyond the moon happy for her team.

She turns up the music in her room and changes the lights for the sake of a little ambience, before sitting down at her desk, to call Azzi and do what little of her makeup she knows how to do. Normally she’d get one of the other girls or Kayla to do it, but she’d rather sacrifice a flawless makeup look then miss out on having Azzi tease her about how she still didn’t quite know how to do her eyeliner properly yet.

The fact that it takes Azzi longer than the third ring to pick up should be Paige’s first warning sign but instead she’s sucking in a deep breath at the sight of her best friend who looks breathtakingly beautiful tonight. Paige’s heart stutters as she takes in Azzi’s face, the light layer of red lipstick (that Paige wants to kiss off), the blush-tinged cheeks (that Paige wants to caress delicately) and the perfectly done mascara on her eyelashes (that Paige wants to feel flutter against her own skin).

She lets out a low appreciative whistle, “celebrating that Pac-12 championship in style huh?”

“Something like that,” Azzi bites her lip and really that should have been warning sign number two, “was there- was there something you needed?’

“I can’t just call you?” Paige asks, noticing the tension on Azzi’s face, “are you busy?”

“No it’s not-”

“She is actually,” a different voice cuts in aggressively and Azzi immediately gives whoever it is an exasperated look. Paige doesn’t know who it is, but she guesses it’s one of the UCLA players. It’s no secret they aren’t huge fans of her. They’d made that much clear the few times they’d met Paige during September, always regarding her with a wary eyes. It wasn’t their fault really, Paige understood their protectiveness, in fact she appreciated it more than they would ever understand.

“Chill Angela.”

“Are you not busy then?” the other voice who Paige assumes is Angela Dugalic says, clearly a little annoyed. And then Azzi’s phone is being shifted away from her and instead it’s Angela’s face that covers Paige’s screen.

“Oh,” the blonde manages to get out, taken aback by the sudden change, “hi Angela.”

“Hi Paige,” the other girl says, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

“Angela,” there’s a clear warning in Azzi’s voice and Paige already knows, even before the words are let out into the open, that whatever Dugalic is about to say is going to tear her apart.

“Azzi has a date tonight,” Angela pronounces the last words with a gleeful lilt.

The world spins and Paige’s head spins with it, as she grips onto her desk for some semblance of stability. She can hear Azzi spluttering in the background as she tries to get her phone back but it’s of no use as the UCLA forward powers on.

“With a really pretty girl,” Angela smirks at the camera, clearly trying to prove something, “Zoe’s really wonderful. You’d like her, Paige.”

Zoe. Recognition registers in Paige’s brain. She remembers seeing the name flashing on Azzi’s phone a couple of times, accompanied by a photo she never quite caught a glimpse of. But as she tended to do with most phone calls that came during her time with Paige, Azzi had simply just declined the call and texted whoever that she’d call her back later. And so Paige hadn’t really bothered caring about Zoe, chalking her up to being some random friend Azzi had made. But fuck, maybe she should have cared.

“And Azzi really likes her I think. They’ve been tiptoeing around it for ages you know? But we all knew it was only a matter of time.”

A strangled noise escapes Paige’s throat and she tries her best to disguise it as anything but the cry of despair it is. It feels like there’s a thousand knives digging into her skin, pressing harder and harder until she has no blood left to bleed.

“They’re gonna make the cu-”

“Give me my phone back Angela,” Azzi’s voice cuts in harshly and Paige hurriedly rushes to contort her features into a smile right before the camera’s back to facing her best friend.

“So you’re all dressed up for a date then?” Paige manages to get out and the word date sounds like bile on her tongue.

“Doesn’t she look lovely?” comes Angela’s voice again; the girl seemingly on a mission to break Paige as much as possible, “give her a proper look Az.”

“Angela,” Azzi hisses through gritted teeth.

“N-no show me the fit,” Paige counters, because that’s what a best friend’s supposed to say right? Show me how fucking perfect you look for a girl that’s not me

Azzi hesitates, swallowing nervously, before she takes a couple of steps back so the camera captures all of her. And Paige wishes she’d never asked to be shown in the first place, hell she wishes she’d never bothered to call tonight. Because she thinks the image of Azzi’s casual light blue jeans and simple green off-the shoulder top will be etched in her mind forever, captioned with the words not for you.

“You look lovely Azzi,” she whispers quietly, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Zoe won’t be able to keep her fucking hands off of you,” Angela supplies and this time the glare Azzi shoots her is murderous.

“I think I hear Emily calling your name Angela.”

“I don’t-”

“Yes,” Azzi says pointedly, “yes you do.”

Angela rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest this time. She turns to the phone with a devilish grin, clearly feeling accomplished in being a menace, “nice talking to you Paige.”

She waltzes out, leaving Paige, Azzi and a silence that feels like it could drown them.

“You could have told me,” the blond says after a second, averting her eyes from the screen, “aren’t dates the kind of thing best friends are supposed to tell each other?”

“Paige-”

“It’s good though- you-uh- you deserve a night out.”

“P-”

“Listen, I uh- I’m going out too so- I- umm- I better get going but-,” Paige takes in a deep breath, “have a- have wonderful time on your date Az.”

She hangs up before Azzi can reply, the concern in the younger girl's eyes becoming too much to bear. For a moment, she stares straight ahead at the wall, just processing. And then she lets herself fall apart.

***

It’s 1 a.m., Paige is drunk and miserable and so fucking tired; it’s an extremely dangerous combination. Aaliyah and Amari had practically had to carry her to her dorm because she’d been stumbling far too much and everyone was worried she’d eventually fall flat on her face. Personally, Paige thought they just didn’t have enough faith in her. She wasn’t even that drunk, she couldn’t be. After all she could still feel that stupid Azzi-sized scar on heart and wasn’t the whole point of being drunk supposed to be not being able to feel? But she has to be drunk because sober her would know better than to do what she does next, would know better than to call Azzi when she has no control over herself.

“Paige? Is everything okay? Are you okay,” Azzi’s voice is filled with concern when she answers.

“Azziiiii,” Paige slurs, “areyoustillwithyourdate?”

“What?”

“Are. you. still. with. your. date?” Paige pronounces each word slowly.

“I- yeah. She’s in a different room. Paige, are you okay?”

“Interesting,” the blonde remarks quietly, “you never picked up her calls when you were with me. And we weren’t even dating.”

She hears Azzi’s breath hitch on the other end, can almost picture her doing that nervous swallow of hers, “ I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You didn’t care if she was okay then? Those times she called you?”

“That’s not- she didn’t call me at 1 a.m.” the younger girl justifies hollowly.

“Bullshit,” Paige scoffs, “1 a.m. isn’t even that fucking late. Why is it so hard for you to admit you care about me waaaayyyyy more than you care about Zara or whatever?”

“Zoe. You’re drunk Paige, go to bed,” and Paige really should listen to the edge in Azzi’s voice.

“Where did y’all go?” she asks lightly, changing the subject, “c’mon Az, best friends share their date stories right?”

“Baltaire,” Azzi relents, choosing to let this battle go.

“Oooh that restaurant we passed that one time wow,” Paige coos, “too fucking bad you hate fine dining huh? But she wouldn’t know that now would she? Because she doesn’t fucking know you.”

“Paige please,” Azzi breathes out quietly in a pained voice.

“But you know who does know you? Me. And I would have never taken you to some boring old fancy ass piece of shit restaurant like that.”

“Don’t-”

“I would have taken you on a picnic. Do you remember that park you loved, the one by my air bnb? There, that’s where I would have taken you. And I’d have gotten you supermarket sushi even though I fucking hate that shit but I know, I know, you like it. And flowers. Did she get you flowers? Because I- I would have. Roses and peonies and lilies, a whole fucking bouquet.”

And Paige is crying again, for the second time tonight, one hand gripping at her phone as the other one tries to wipe away the frantically falling teardrops.

“And we’d stay at that park til the sun goes out and I’d take a polaroid of you in the sunset and I’d keep it forever. I swear Azzi, I’d keep it forever and I’d put it on my wall.”

“Paige,” Azzi whispers, as if it’s the only word she knows, as if it’s the only word that matters.

“I’d bring my laptop so that when it finally gets dark, we can watch a movie. You choose Az, whatever you want. And I’d get distracted and start playing with your hair or something and you’ll pretend it’s annoying you but you’d be smiling. Fuck I love your smile.”

“You can’t- you can’t just say these things Paige.”

“Why not? It’s the truth right- why can’t I say the truth?,” Paige says petulantly, “but hush okay I’m not- I’m not finished yet. And then, then we’d just lie under the stars and it'd just be you, me and the sky. Perfect.”

Azzi lets out a broken sob and Paige hates it, she hates it but she keeps on talking.

“And then I’d take you home and I’d kiss you,” she whispers the last bit like a confession, “everywhere. Fuck, I’d make it so good for you Az. So good. Everything you wanted, everything you needed, I’d give you all of it. I’d make you come apart on my fingers and then my tongue-”

“Shut up,” Azzi’s voice is suddenly cold and frosty and it feels like all the heat has been sucked out of Paige’s room as well, “shut up, shut up, shut up.”

“Azzi-”

“No,” Azzi all but yells, “you don’t get to say all of that to me.”

“Then who does? Her? Zia or whatever? Who the fuck even is she?” Paige spits out venomously.

“Zoe. Her name is Zoe and you wanna know she is Paige?”

She should say no. She should apologise for interrupting Azzi’s date and hang up the phone, but no, Paige doesn’t do any of that, “enlighten me why don’t you.”

“She’s the girl who was there,” Azzi says, her voice cracking, “she’s the girl who held me last year when I was going through the worst time of my life. She was there when I couldn’t make a fucking shot and I thought maybe I’d never be good enough. She was there when I let the pressure and the media and all of it get to my head. She was there when I was crying my eyes out over losing the one person I was sure would always stay. She- she’s who you were supposed to be because she was there, and you weren’t.”

Paige isn’t sure if it’s the bitterness behind Azzi’s words or the brokenness of her sobs that is the reason for the ache in her own chest. All she knows is that she still remembers tearing her ACL, and she doesn’t think it hurt as much as this.

“It was supposed to be you,” Azzi sniffles, “I wanted it to be you. Because I’d have let you- fuck- Paige- I’d have let you take me on a picninc and if you brought me sushi I’d have brought you your favorite mac and cheese. I- I know you don’t really care about flowers so I’d get you chocolate, the rum-filled ones that you love. And that sunset polaroid would have been a selfie of us, where you’re kissing my cheek and I’d have it framed. I’d pick out a movie but first- first you could watch whatever basketball game was on and you’d get exasperated when I don’t know the team because I’m literally a basketball player,” she lets out a wet laugh, “but I know you secretly like explaining the NBA to me. And then- then I’d have let you take me home and I’d let you take everything. Whatever you wanted, it’d be yours.”

The vivid image of a date that never happened fills every inch of Paige’s brain. She feels like she’s in a bad dream, trying so hard to reach for a happiness that keeps on evading her grasp.

“But you weren’t there then Paige, and you aren’t here now.”

“Azzi-” Paige chokes out.

“Go to bed Paige,” the younger girl says, her voice shaky but adamant, ‘Get some sleep. Maybe you’re drunk enough that you won’t remember this when I call you tomorrow.”

“Right. So we’re gonna pretend this never happened. Again. We’ll just keep on pretending forever I guess,” Paige retorts bitterly.

“Yes, we will. Because if I stop pretending, I don’t think I’ll be able to survive.”

***

The buzzer rings around Climate Pledge Arena as the UCLA women’s basketball team loses in the Elite 8 on a last second buzzer beater. Azzi’s face contorts into one of sheer disappointment, and in the stands, Paige feels her own heart drop. She’s not one to root for a team outside of her own and god knows what would happen if Nika found out that she’d been screaming her head off each time the Bruins, or at least one specific Bruin, scored, but for Azzi, well, there’s not many of her own rules that Paige follows when it comes to her best friend.

It had taken a fair amount of convincing on Paige’s part to even be able to come to this game. Everyone had wanted to leave immediately after the Sweet 16 loss but Paige had insisted they needed to stay in Seattle, do something to get the team’s mind off of the terrible end to their season. And that wasn’t a complete lie because even if she hadn’t been able to help when they needed it on the court, she could try and help boost morale. But she knew her teammates weren’t fooled. They knew the schedule just as well as she did and they knew exactly what or better yet, who she wanted to stay for.

On the court, Paige can tell Azzi’s fighting back tears. The brunette had given it her all, scoring an efficient 34 points and really the game could have gone any way. That last minute heave from the opposing team really probably shouldn’t have gone in, but at the end of the day the NCAA tournament was a lot about skill but also a little about luck. But Paige knows, Azzi isn’t thinking about any of that, too busy finding a way to blame herself even though she’d had a near perfect night. They were just too similar sometimes.

Azzi’s eyes flicker through the stands, clearly looking for a familiar face. Paige resists the urge to run on to the court and pull the younger girl into her arms and soothe away the defeated look in her eyes, if only for the fact that Azzi doesn’t actually even know she’d figured out a way to stay back for this game. Despite being in the same city, they hadn’t been able to spend nearly as much time together and while Paige’s teammates had tried to be of some help, Azzi’s teammates had seemed determined to pull her away as much as possible. All of that on top of the fact that they’re still playing that stupid game of pretend had left Paige wanting for just one moment alone for the two of them.

As soon as the UCLA team starts heading back to their locker room, and the crowd starts leaving, Paige scurries towards where she knows Azzi will be. Their assigned locker room isn’t that far from where UConn’s had been and Paige gets there in almost record time, her mind firmly planted on being there for Azzi. She’d missed so many opportunities, but this time, this time she’d be there.

Azzi’s leaning against the wall, her eyes closed and Paige has to take in a breath at the sight of her. Sweat sheens against her tan skin and her gameday braids are falling apart just a little but still, she’s perfect. Before Paige can take a step towards her, there’s another girl, all dark hair and long legs, brushing past her, rushing to get to Azzi’s side. It’s like the world has stopped and yet is spinning too fast all at the same time, as Paige watches this girl, Zoe, pull Azzi, Paige’s Azzi, into her arms.

After the night of the date (and everything else they’re ignoring), Paige hadn’t bothered to bring it up and Azzi had never said anything about it again. Naively, the blonde had thought that maybe that meant nothing much had transpired after the date, silently patting herself on the back for possibly even having had a hand in that. Except, the way Zoe holds Azzi isn’t fucking platonic and the way Azzi relaxes in Zoe’s arms, isn’t fucking friendly.

“I”ve got you Az,” Zoe whispers into Azzi’s hair and Paige wants to die. She should look away, she should walk away but her feet seem to be glued to the ground. And she remembers the way Azzi’s eyes were searching the crowd and oh- she’d been looking for- Paige can’t even let herself complete the thought because she’s sure she’ll burst into flames the second she does.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Azzi says quietly to Zoe. To Zoe, and not Paige. If she could feel anything beyond the dagger twisting in her heart, maybe Paige would hear the way there’s still a tinge of disappointment in Azzi’s voice, as if she’s wishing it was someone else.

It takes Zoe pressing a kiss into Azzi’s forehead, eliciting a sigh from the brunette for Paige to finally tear her eyes away. Her feet finally move and then she’s running faster than she has in a long time, ignoring the way it causes her muscle to ache. She can’t tell if her rapid blinking is to usher away the tears or to try and prevent the memory of Azzi with some other girl from welding itself into her eyelids. It blurs her vision and in the speed of things, she can barely tell where she’s going. Paige runs chest-first into a wall, bruising her elbow. Her phone slips out of her hands, falling to the ground with a loud thud, the screen protector cracking into pieces.

And when Paige looks at the mess of her phone on the floor, she thinks it couldn’t possibly have cracked harder than this silly little stupid heart of hers.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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cautuscoralcoast · 4 months

Text

Pluton — 3 You

Portgas D. Ace x reader

Synopsis - In which Ace recounts his life story and relation to you

Tw. Mentions of suicide

✾❊❃✾❊❃✾❊❃✾❊❃✾❊❃✾❊❃✾❊❃✾❊❃✾

There was once a time he wanted to die.

He felt undeserving to live. He saw how everyone would look at him; as if his existence was a sin.

"A demon child" was what some would call him. He would be chased out, attacked, all because he was the child of the pirate king.

Then he got a family. A foster mother who was kind of neglectful yet still managed to show her mother. A "grandfather" who he only saw occasionally. He also has two brothers; three brothers bound not by blood but familial love. They'd talk about dreams and the future; they wanted to be pirates of their own crew. They were the only reason he was able to love himself. But then one of them died, and there was only his younger brother and him.

Eventually, he left his home to start his life of piracy. He remembers his brother waving goodbye and the vice admiral shouting at him in anger. Not long after, he found himself stranded on an island. There, he found the Mera Mera no mi and the very first member of his crew. He remembers telling the masked man about his goal of taking down the yonko; he remembers being called crazy. He remembers getting off the island and the spade pirates forming. Eventually, more people joined his crew, all wanting to him grow.

He remembers when that Fishman called dangerous and that he'll fight instead of Whitebeard. He remembers the fight lasting for days. He remembers Whitebeard intervening and taking him on in a fight. He remembers waking up and trying to kill Whitebeard to save his crew. He remembers accepting Whitebeard as his father and Whitebeard accepting him as a son.

He remembers when he first met you. Anxious and stressed; you flinched when he came in the infirmary. You gave him a look of annoyance as he called out for Tate. He remembers seeing you standing in front of Whitebeard as you trembled in anger talking about Pluton. He also remembers you yelling at him for calling Pluton "some ship."

The stars. They looked like gold woven into the sky above. He remembers how the moon shined down on you two. He remembers asking for your name in which you said you didn't have one.

"Hey dreamer!"

"Huh? 'Dreamer?' " You furrowed your brows as you looked at him. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

He sat down next to you as he peered over at your book. "Just that you dream a lot about ships and dragons!"

"And you dream rather loudly."

"Yea- What?"

"The amount of times I woke from hearing you snore or yelling in the middle of the night is terrifying."

"Ah! Sorry..."

He remembers not thinking much about you; small, rude, naive, and perhaps obsessive for that ship. You were just another guest on the ship. He never thought you would want to stay, then again, he never thought he stay up so late into the night: watching the stars dance in the obsidian sea.

"A— Ace?!"

He remembers when he first fell asleep in front of you: He was dining with you when he fell over. He remembers laughing at you when he awoke. Seeing you so flustered and confused was a look he'll keep with him for as long as he possibly remembered.

"So, you were worried 'bout me?"

"Shut up."

He doesn't know you too well. He doesn't know your name, favorite food or color, what your background was, nothing. You also didn't know much about him either; just that he has a brother and adopted by Whitebeard. You two never confided about either's past: He didn't like talking about it, and you had nothing to talk about.

But that was fine with him, and so were you. There were no words that could describe the bond between you two. You had nothing in common with him. You disliked his hobbies, hated his recklessness, despised the foods he liked; and he hated the say you spoke, loathed your passiveness, and absolutely despised the look of annoyance you would give him.

But none of that mattered: not when you and him had the stars to tie you together. There were no words needed to understand each other; no language, look, writing, painting, nothing that could explain it.

He didn't know when it began: When his feelings for you began to change.

You weren't the type person he'd see himself with. You were difficult to handle. You lacked basic knowledge about the world. You didn't know how to properly take care of anything. You were far too off put by the crew to even talk to. You were far too brash to get along with. You didn't even like him in the first week. All he knew then was that he hoped you leave soon.

"Allow me to treat that for you."

He was confused by your tone: It was softer than usual, smooth and gentle. Not to say you're never kind, you are, it's just that you looked worried.

"Ms. Tate taught me how to tend to injuries like this. It won't kill you, but it's best to ignore anything as minor as this."

It wasn't even anything serious. A struggle between marines in which he and a few from the seconded division were injured: a battle in which he won.

"I'll be fine—"

"You were shot."

"It grazed my ar--"

"And what if it was something more? You have that logia fruit, and yet you still find a way to get hurt."

You tightened the bandage around his arm as you looked away from his eyes. You held discontent in your eyes. He felt himself hold his breath as he saw you.

"And I'll be fine nightlight!" He placed his hat on your head as he let out a chuckle. "I'll try to be more careful from now on, but I can't promise that this won't happen again."

After this interaction, he began to notice little things about your behavior. You became much more vocal than you used to be. You told him more about your thoughts and observations. He noticed how you began to soften up around the crew. Often seeing you and Thatch in the kitchen trying to teach you how to cook.

"I made this applesauce for you!"

"Applesauce, huh?"

"Do you not like it?"

"No, no, I just swore I saw you and Thatch making cake."

"....."

You didn't want to talk about it. Though the smell of burnt metal explained it for him.

You began to grow more emotional as time went by. You were so focused on Pluton that you ignored everything around you, including yourself. You held little depth in personality; you didn't know yourself at all to have one. And so when he saw you so expressive for the first time, he got flustered.

"Ace?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you... love someone?"

As soon as he heard this, flames flared up from his skin as he hastily turned to you. He never thought he would ever hear you ask this. "Love as in 'will you be mine' or as 'I love you like a brother?' "

"Any type of love."

"Well.... I can for sure say that I love my younger brother, definitely pops, and the rest of the crew, but I can't say I really loved 'loved' anyone."

It's true. He loves everyone on this ship. He lives his younger brother, pops, the crew, and just everyone. But has really fallen in love? Maybe Isuka, but their life choices prevented them from ever being together, and they just never really clicked.

" 'loved anyone' ? But you said that you love your brother and the others? Didn't you?"

Ace chuckled softly as he took off his hat and placed it on your head. "I love them all that I'll die for them if I have to. But I never met anyone who I can really connect to; like to love so much that can't bear being apart from, ya' know?"

He gazed at the Sunset as he let go of your head to rest on the ship's railing. He felt heart calming down as the conversation was over. He didn't think he could ever handle you.

"I suppose."

He heard you mumble and looked over at you. You rest your arms on the railing as you hid your face in them. Your face blushing and a glare at the ocean. You looked so cute he couldn't help but feel red himself.

How could he not love you?

And how could he lie to you? He knew what island you were talking about. A dragon and king: People in damnation and in suffering. He knew because he was there and so was one of the other captains and he lied.

"Ace?"

"Yes?"

"I think I love you,"

It was a pleasant feeling; he always wished to hold you as he did now. Wishing to cradle you in his arms as he tells you stories about the sea. Wishing to hear you tell him your new discoveries and stories you heard from the crew.

"...I love you too,"

He held you close to his chest as you struggled to keep your eyes open. You were losing blood quickly, and it would be another hour before the Moby Dick arrived on land. You'll be dead before then.

"Ace?"

"I'm here,"

"I—my......name..."

"Stop. Take it easy, okay?"

He ran his hand through your hair as he tried to keep himself from breaking down.

"No matter what happens, I'll be here, you hear?"

#one piece #one piece x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #Pluton #ace is down for reader but not as bad #i wrote most of this half asleep #this is part of series fam #pls read the rest of the other chapters #😢

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boots-with-the-fur-club · 1 month

Text

DONNIE’S TURN

TW for sensory type stuff and blood. Check the tags as well!

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Donnie sends weapon after weapon at the hand. It reminds him of a cockroach with its uncanny ability to dodge and survive. He considers the thought that like the bug, this hand was cut off something more powerful as an attempt to keep surviving.

He has to divert those thoughts. One wrong move and he’s spored all over again. Hopefully this has been enough time to give the universe’s new Phonora guest time to escape.

Maybe now is the time for him to get going as well.

Or, it would be, if more people didn’t start walking around!

Hold on, he recognizes one of them. It’s the Mikey who tried to steal from Leo’s Fanny Pack. There’s an alternative Donnie he sees with him that must be from the same universe. He’s aware that they’ve had to deal with the hallucinations as well.

Wait, is that also a mutated April!?

Mikey must have sent out help looking for Leo.

“You three! Get out of here! That hand is still in the area!”

He watches as the hand suddenly springs out at them. The other version of him shields his brother, and Mayhem April moves in front of them both.

No, this is not happening to them again.

That Mikey is small. Even in comparison to other Mikeys, he’s small. Malnutrition stunted his and that other Leo’s growth.

He’s too small to go through this again.

And, though he won’t admit it outright for no good reason, seeing another April further enforces his decision.

He creates and tosses a device at them. It becomes a shield type bubble around the three. The hand slaps against it and slides down.

Donnie smirks in pride.

Not this time, you demon.

The hand lands on the floor and turns back to him.

Uh oh.

Donnie whips around his tech bō, hoping to hit it back when it inevitably comes after him. He takes a step back, only for the floor to sink beneath his foot.

Are you kidding!?

How is a hand smart enough for booby traps!?

Darts carrying spores whiz by him, spraying in his face. He coughs and sputters.

“April! Mikey! Other me! Go back to Mikey! Make sure he’s safe!”

April’s face falling tells him all he needs to know.

He grips his tech bō tighter.

“Then get Raph! Warn him!”

“We’ll get you help! I swear!” April shouts.

They all try to get the ball moving somehow while in the cramped space. Donnie takes a breath, glad that he’s managed to save them at least.

“You’ve come back.” A voice squirms into his brain.

Donnie gets a full body shudder.

So this is what it’s decided to make him think about this time.

“Perhaps we were too hasty to remove you last time. Join us once again, we’ll put your mind to good use.”

The Kraang hive mind.

He takes a deep breath.

They’re long gone. It’s okay. He’ll never have to feel that way again-

OH BANANA PANCAKES, WHAT IS TAKING OFF HIS BATTLE SHELL!?

He moves around as quickly as possible to stop the sensation. His eyes avoid where he left the others. He’s hoping they aren’t watching him lose his mind.

There still some level of pride he’d like to keep.

Or maybe….he just really, really, that’s two reallys, doesn’t want a Mikey and April specifically to see this.

His movements don’t quell his feeling of vulnerability. The battle shell is fully taken away and tendrils start poking into his soft shell.

There’s no way to move from whatever was doing this. It’s a hallucination, of course he can’t.

It’s everywhere.

He’s unable to ignore how well it’s replicating the worst thing he’s ever experienced.

His arms start to feel-

No! Why is it in his arms!?

That did not happen!

No, no no no, it’s in his legs!

It’s all over!

He moves around like a madman, as if they’ll leave his body if he does so enough. It’s taking all his strength not to scratch into his skin to make it end.

His breathing grows heavy, he squeezes his arms tightly enough for his nails to dig into them.

On the verge of shutting down, his thoughts go back to how being the ship felt. It was so much, flooding his senses as he was surrounded by feelings and touch and voices.

The same happens to him now. Being pulled away from reality into a sea of endless consciousnesses where you don’t know where you begin and end. You just exist within everything.

It’s suffocating.

He gets on his knees and rocks back and forth. It’s a useless attempt to self soothe. How could it possibly help?

Why can’t it just go away!?

I hurts!

He doesn’t want to feel it!

Make it stop! Please!

Anyone!

Leo! Raph! Mikey!

Oh Mikey……

What a poor excuse of an older brother he is.

Leo is probably in an as bad or even worse situation than Mikey is based on how long he’s been gone. He has no idea where Raph is.

Why did they separate!?

They should never leave each other’s side again at this point!

He wants to see them so badly….

A small, tiny part of him wishes the other versions of his family were still here.

Would the spores even let him see the real them?

He’d probably see them dead or missing pieces or something equally as horrible.

Does he dare look?

He pulls himself out of the grip of the hallucination just enough to take that chance.

The other Mikey is sobbing, beating his fist on the inside of the ball. April and the other Donnie are mostly successfully holding him back but he keeps wriggling away.

He’s….yelling his name?

Why does he care? He’s not his Donnie.

Maybe for the same reason Donnie protected them all.

Ah, sentimentality. It’s the folly of all of them, and most versions it seems like.

He shakily reaches up but doesn’t dare even think about getting rid of the bubble. There’s danger all around. It’s the only thing keeping them safe.

The other Mikey presses his face against the inside of the bubble.

Donnie smiles slightly.

“It’s okay.”

“No! It’s not okay! Donnie, do something! Please!” Mikey pleads.

“How!? We can’t get out of this bubble! I don’t even know how his device works!” The other Donnie insists.

Mikey gives him as big of puppy dog eyes as he can manage.

“Even your cutest face can’t change reality! He probably doesn’t even want us to try anything. You know why he did this.” Other Donnie continues.

Mikey looks back at the spored Donnie.

His eyes were filled with purple light that had begun changing to a very creepy blue. It hurt to see him so uncomfortable, so in pain. The blue only stopped getting worse when he saw Mikey.

That means Mikey can do something, right?

He quickly turns to April.

“What happened with his Mikey? And-!….Wait, where’s Karai?”

April frowns deeply.

“He got spored, again. Karai….trapped herself with him and Leo to stop him. He went crazy! We couldn’t snap him out of it. His arms-“

Donnie hits the bubble, startling all inside.

“Did he use his ninpo again!?”

He seems a lot more lucid.

April gets an idea. It’s a very painful one she knows she won’t feel good about even if it works, but it’s all she has.

“He did! Donnie, it’s…..it’s bad. Real bad. Leo is covered up by all these viney things too!”

The blue in Donnie’s eyes is nearly vaporized by all the purple. He grips his teeth and stands up, completely ignoring the squirming from before. The feeling is starting to go away entirely.

He grips his tech bō again and sees the hand making its way out of the room. The tech bō turns into a spear he launches right towards it. Black blood drips onto the ground but the hand isn’t still.

It squirms and writhes, trying to get away.

Donnie walks over, the hand removes itself from its arm portion and runs off. He lifts it up and smirks slightly as he looks it over.

At least he knows it could be injured.

“You did it!” Mikey cheers in relief.

Donnie looks back at him, smiling a bit more before a headache suddenly starts pounding in his head.

No!

He won, didn’t he?

A different voice booms into his skull.

“Come to me. Feed me your fear.”

He’s still connected to the hive mind.

The hand scuttles off, knowing it barely escaped this time.

It doesn’t fear for the turtles’ lives as it does not have the capability of fearing anything.

That isn’t to say that it does want them dead.

It simply knows that it isn’t how this story will end.

The tragedy and angst has been so entertaining, but they will be saved. It’s proven already. It’s written in fate itself.

Three(?) down.

One to go.

#tw sensory issues #tw blood #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #no fun in fungus #2018 tmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2018 #rise fanfiction #rottmnt fanfiction #i’m getting spored now i guess

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ereardon · 1 year

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That Summer || Part One [Bradley Bradshaw x Reader]

A Bradley Bradshaw AU

Summary: One night during the summer you turned eighteen, you woke up to a surprise. Your father, a retired Navy Admiral, had posted bail for the son of a former colleague who was now orphaned and had gotten himself mixed up with the law. Instead of letting him get lost in the judicial system, your father signed himself up as Bradley Bradshaw’s guardian to prevent him from going to juvie. You were explicitly told to stay away from the boy in the attic room. But as the summer went on, you and Bradley struck up an unlikely friendship that turned into a forbidden relationship. Bradley tipped your world upside down, challenging everything you had once thought you knew. How could the two of you think it would end any differently than it did when your father called the cops the night he found the two of you in bed together?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, illusion to violence, mention of dead parents, angst

Wordcount: 3.5K

Series masterlist here; Part Two here

“Do you know him?”

You looked over. The familiar dark hair. The tanned, even skin. The dazzling smile. You could hear his laugh in your ear even though it had been years. You could practically feel the vibrations of his voice and the way it used to smooth over your skin in the middle of the night as the two of you laid side-by-side on the queen mattress, the stars twinkling through the skylights of your childhood bedroom.

You would know Bradley Bradshaw anywhere. It didn’t matter that it had been fifteen years since you had last seen him. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t heard your name fall from his lips since the night the two of you were ripped apart. It didn’t matter that you had once told yourself you’d never love another person the way you loved Bradley, only for him to be gone in an instant.

He was bonded to you. He was infused in every single atom in your body. He ran through your veins alongside your blood. He haunted your dreams. He patrolled your memories. His touches were tattooed on your skin like a glow-in-the-dark map that only you could see.

You looked up one last time. And watched as Bradley turned, his hand pulling at the sunglasses that sat squarely on his nose until he was looking, staring, at you. And it was just the two of you, once more. It was like none of it had ever happened, and also everything had happened. And you were eighteen again, on the beach, in Galveston. And he was just a boy who held your hand and promised you the world even though he didn’t have a dime to his name. Even though he had no right to offer you a future, even if you both knew it was a lie.

You looked away. “No,” you whispered softly. “I don’t know him.”

***

In the middle of the night, you jolted awake in bed. The sound of voices in the foyer and the familiar thump of the giant wooden front door as it sealed closed caught your attention. Your father ran a tight ship and an even tighter house. It was incredibly unusual that anyone would drop by unannounced in the middle of the night. You turned to the clock on your nightstand. It was after two in the morning.

Silently, you eased out of bed and tiptoed out of your room into the hall, peering down from the railing of the curved staircase. Two stories below, you heard voices and spotted several figures moving into your line of sight through the wooden posts on the stairwell.

You saw your father’s familiar, formidable, figure first. Tall stature, hair grayed with age. You could tell, just by how rigid he was standing, that this wasn’t a positive interaction. He radiated anger and disappointment, even from two stories away. You were all too familiar with this side of him.

The next person who popped into your field of view was a police officer, dressed in uniform. You frowned. Your father, a retired Admiral, wasn’t unfamiliar with the local Galveston police force. But they didn’t make it a habit to come to your house at two o’clock in the morning, unannounced.

Finally, a third figure floated into view. You sucked in a breath. He was young, late teens, with sandy brown hair, wearing a ratty t-shirt and a pair of shorts. You watched his body language. How he kept his eyes trained on the ground, head bowed so low his chin must have been touching his chest. How even from all the way on the third floor you could tell that he was in desperate need of a shower.

And then, finally, the voices ceased. The policeman held out a hand to shake your father’s. He looked at the boy, who raised his eyeline and nodded solemnly. And then the door was shut and it was just your father and the boy, staring at each other in the foyer. You leaned down, close to the white wood posts in the railing, trying desperately to hear what they were saying. And then you watched as your father sighed, shaking his head, heading for the stairs.

Before you could scramble out of your crouched spot, the boy looked up, catching your eye.

That was the first time you saw Bradley Bradshaw.

You were seventeen, about to turn eighteen. You had your entire life ahead of you. You had kissed boys before. You had thought, wrongly, that you had experienced pain before. You had thought you understood the world and its intricacies. You thought you knew exactly where your life was going to go.

Everything you had ever known went out the window that night as you looked down the curved flights of stairs and saw Bradley. Everything you had ever thought was true was flipped on its head the second his warm brown eyes locked on yours.

You scurried back to your room, closing the door as you heard your father’s footsteps on the second floor platform, starting his ascent to the third floor. You waited with baited breath as two sets of footsteps passed your room, turning down the hallway toward the attic tower room.

Your family had moved to Galveston five years prior once your father finally retired from his post at Top Gun in California. The first time they brought you down to Texas, you gawked at the house. It stuck out like a sore thumb. A giant Victorian monstrosity near the beach, with a steep, gabled roof and a round tower on the right side.

The tower room remained empty for as long as you could remember. It was mostly storage for your mother’s hideous Christmas decorations or whatever hobby she decided to have that week that would inevitably get stored away once she turned her mind to something else.

The sounds of their footsteps grew more muted as the two of them climbed the stairs to the tower room.

You closed your eyes, trying to wash away the haunting image of the boy staring up at you only moments before. But it was burned in your retinas.

Somehow, even then, you knew. He was going to change everything.

***

When you woke up the next day, you had almost forgotten about the entire event the night before.

That was, until you floated downstairs in a tiny white cotton pajama set and spotted an unfamiliar, but somehow familiar, person sitting at the breakfast table, their back to you, just a head of brown curls in view.

You looked up at Louise, the housekeeper, with a frown. She shrugged.

“Y/N.” Your father’s voice boomed across the expanse of the kitchen. You turned as he strode into the kitchen through the side door, already dressed for the day with nowhere to go. Thirty-five years in the Navy had acclimated him to a sleep schedule that you could never wrap your head around.

“Daddy,” you said softly, stepping further into the kitchen. The boy at the table remained still, not facing you, instead looking out through the bay window next to the breakfast nook, overlooking the ocean.

“Louise, can you get my daughter some coffee, please?” he asked and she nodded, returning in a moment with a delicate china cup filled coffee with cream, exactly the way you liked it.

“Thank you,” you whispered softly.

Your father’s eyes rolled over to the boy at the table. “Y/N. This is Bradley Bradshaw. He will be staying with us for a while.”

Still, he didn’t turn. You stepped forward, sliding into the bench seat that hugged the curve of the bay window, setting your coffee cup down gently. “Hi.”

That’s when Bradley finally met your gaze. You had to stifle a gasp. He had cuts and scrapes across his face and down his neck, and a black eye that you hadn’t been able to distinguish in the darkened lighting the night before. His lip was split. He looked at you silently for a moment before uttering, “Hey.” His voice was timid. Broken. He didn’t sound at all like what you had expected.

You weren’t sure what you had expected.

Your father put his hand on your bare shoulder. “Bradley’s father and I served together at Top Gun back in the day.”

“That’s nice,” you said, taking a sip of coffee. “Is he still in California?”

“He’s dead,” Bradley said and you sank back in shock. The way he said it had the effect of curdling the milk in your coffee. It was cold. Detached.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Bradley turned to look back out the window, ignoring the plate of eggs in front of him.

“Y/N,” your father said, “can I speak to you in the living room please?”

You nodded, sliding out of the booth seat and following him through the doors into the wider living room.

He turned to you. “I need you to be careful,” he whispered.

You frowned. “Careful about what?”

“That boy,” he replied. “Bradley. He’s deeply troubled. His father, Nick, was a good man. But it seems that Bradley has gone down a rather troubled path.” He paused. “Stay away from him. Promise me, Pumpkin.”

Pumpkin. The nickname your father had called you since you were born. Your parents had wanted a house full of children, running and screaming and creating chaos. And instead, they had gotten only you. And the weight of that sat on your shoulders every day that passed.

“You may see him at meals, but don’t fraternize with the boy,” your father warned. “He’ll only bring you trouble.” He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“Promise me?”

You nodded. “I promise.”

He smiled. “Good. I’ll see you at dinner.” It didn’t matter that he was retired. Your father always had somewhere to be, no matter what day of the week. He frowned upon sleeping in and relaxing.

“Daddy?” you asked as he turned to leave. “What did he do? Why is he here?”

Your father sighed. “He was in trouble, and needed help. That’s all you need to know.”

“But what did he–”

“Y/N.” His voice was firm. It was his military voice. You knew it well. “Don’t ask questions you don’t need answers to.”

***

The move from California to Texas had been extreme. Your parents were Texas born and raised, and they had taken their ideals and their tendencies with them to California. But growing up in San Diego has been a blessing. You visited cousins and grandparents back in the South during the holidays and the summer, but it wasn’t until your father retired that you had truly understood what it meant to be from Texas.

Your mother never worked. Not a day in her life. She was raised to be someone’s wife, someone’s mother. And that’s why it was such a disappointment that you were her only child to care for. It’s why it was such a disappointment that you hadn’t turned out at all like the daughter they had hoped for.

You wore bikinis all day during the summer and let your hair get bleached by the sun and you read books with sexual themes and you resisted going to bible study youth group and you were not the daughter that they had expected.

So when your father retired and moved the three of you to Texas, your mother signed you up for a debutante ball at the end of the summer. As if spinning around a dated country club ballroom in five layers of taffeta would have the effect of making you a lady, someone they were proud to call their daughter.

“Mother,” you whined when you found out. “I am not doing that.”

“Y/N Sullivan,” she warned and you just knew that your full name rolling off her sharp tongue was never good. “You’re doing this and I’m not going to hear otherwise.”

You turned and rolled your eyes behind her back. And that was how you ended up buying elbow-length gloves for the end-of-summer Ball at the Galveston Artillery Club.

The gloves, and the dress, hung in perpetuity in your walk-in closet. Every morning when you went in to get dressed they taunted you.

August 15 could not come and go soon enough.

***

You didn’t see Bradley again until dinner.

As usual, your mother was nowhere to be seen. You spent the day on the beach, tanning on a towel, reading books with your head ducked beneath a thin linen shirt, letting the Texas sun scorch you until you were so hot you had to run into the water.

By the time you had showered and dressed for dinner, it was closing in on seven. Dinner was always at seven and it always required an outfit change. Other kids had grown up in TV dinner houses or with takeout meals eaten on the couch. You had grown up with a strict dinner time and a dress code.

You smoothed the silky fabric of your slip dress down with your palms, making your way through the living room to the formal dining room.

Once again, it was only you and Bradley. He looked up as you entered. He was wearing a collared shirt, obviously one of your father’s from years past, that was too large on his frame, the orange color highlighting the injuries on his face.

You sat down in your normal chair across from him at the ten-person table. “How’d you get those?” you asked, nodding toward him.

He frowned. “Thought you weren’t supposed to talk to me.”

“Shit,” you whispered. “You heard that?”

Bradley nodded.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “My father can be temperamental.” To say the least.

Bradley shrugged. “Whatever.”

At that moment, your parents entered the room. Your mother’s eyes swept over where you sat across the table from Bradley, a permanent crease between her eyebrows taking hold. “Y/N,” she said softly before turning. “And you must be Bradley.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, head bowed.

Your father grunted and sat down at his normal spot at one end of the table. Your mother took the other end. It feel surreal, like an extremely fucked up Norman Rockwell painting sprung to life.

The entire dinner was consumed in near silence. Just the sound of forks and knives scratching at the china plates that your mother loved so dearly. Your eyes drifted across the table to Bradley, who looked like he was in pain when he chewed. He kept his eyes trained on his plate, only lifting them when he was asked a direct question.

You were sawing through a piece of undercooked asparagus when your mother’s voice slid across your skin. “Have you found a date for the debutante ball yet?”

You put your silver fork and knife down. “Not yet.”

“It’s in less than two months,” your mother replied. “You need to move before all the escorts are snapped up.”

“Maybe I’ll hire a real escort then.”

Her jaw dropped. “Y/N, don’t even tease.”

“Sorry mother.”

“What about the Althans boy? He’s charming.”

“He’s five foot four and smells like pickled onions.”

At the other end of the table, your father snorted. You looked up and smirked. “Daniel!” your mother scolded. “Can you please tell your daughter she’s being a brat.”

“Y/N,” he said, turning to you.

“Yes, daddy?”

“You’re being a brat,” he replied and as you opened your mouth with a retort he added, “and you’re right about the Althans kid. He smells God awful.”

You laughed. “What about Frank Turner’s son? The engineering student.”

You grunted. “Pass.”

Your father sighed. “And what’s wrong with him?”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. That you had been at a bonfire last summer and Ethan Turner had made a pass at you and you had lost your virginity to him on a beach towel in the dunes. It had been awful and ever since you avoided Ethan the best you could. The last thing you wanted was for him to be your escort.

“Fine,” he said, setting down his knife. “You have until the end of July to find a date, Y/N. And then your mother and I choose for you.”

You took a sip of water. “Fine.”

***

You heard him that second night. At first, you thought maybe it was the wind. But when you got out of bed and looked out the large windows facing the water, you saw that the dunes were still. It was just another hot, oppressive June night without a whisper of a breeze.

And then you heard it again. A soft whine. A thrashing. You tiptoed out of bed and creaked open the wooden door, tipping your head out into the hallway. It was coming from the tower room. If you had been a child growing up in the house, the attic in the tower probably would have held some sort of exotic magnetism over you. A forbidden playground. Instead, it exclusively gave off Bertha Mason from Jane Eyre vibes.

The moaning and groaning from behind the door didn’t help. You debated seeing what was wrong. But your father’s words rattled around in your head. So you crept back to bed, sliping a pair of foam earplugs into your ears, drowning out the sounds of the boy upstairs.

You heard it for two more nights before finally you got up the courage to reach out and twist the door handle, gently tugging it open, ascending the wooden stairs up to the tower room.

The staircase tossed you out into the middle of the room, which you saw had been cleared out of holiday decorations. Instead, there was a dresser against one wall, a small reading chair, and a double bed underneath the main window.

On the bed, Bradley was tossing in his sleep violently, the white sheets tangling between his bare legs. You slowly stepped off the top step onto the hardwood floor, and the creaking noise caused Bradley to sit straight up in bed.

You noticed first that he was panting, like he had just been chased down the beach. Second thing you noticed was that he was shirtless, sweat dotting his entire chest, along with scratches of varying hues.

You raised your hands up in a surrender pose. “I heard you fussing,” you said softly. “And wanted to check and make sure you were OK.”

Bradley blinked, hard, shaking his head a few times like he was trying to orient himself. “I’m fine,” he whispered gruffly after a moment.

“I think you were having a nightmare.”

“Is it a nightmare if you have them every night?” he asked quietly. “Or is it just how I dream?”

You frowned, stepping closer. “Every night?”

Bradley looked down at his hands where they were gripping the white sheets but didn’t respond.

“You never told me how you got those scars,” you whispered, pointing to the ones on the side of his face.

“You should go,” he said after a moment.

“Why?”

“Because if they find you in here, they’ll kick me out.”

“Do you care?” you asked. It was a genuine question. All you had seen so far from Bradley Bradsahw was indifference.

Bradley’s eyes landed on yours. You felt the look all the way to your toes. It tingled across your veins. “I have nowhere else to go,” he said quietly. “So yeah, I care. I have to.”

You nodded. “OK, I’ll leave.” You turned to leave, hovering on the top spiral step. “Bradley?”

He hummed.

“Third door on your right,” you replied quietly. “If you need me. Or if you want to talk. That’s my room. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Back in your own bed, you pulled the covers up to your neck, thinking about the raw animalistic terror in Bradley’s eyes the second he woke up. There was something about him that drew you in. Something you couldn’t let go of.

He was as lost as you felt.

***

You had exactly one hundred days until you left for Stanford.

One hundred days of summer. Nothing but the debutante ball looming over you.

You had wanted to get a job, something to do to fill the hours of the day. But your mother was old fashioned. She begged you to get a volunteer position instead. Your father agreed. You capitulated.

“Being well-rounded is good for a girl your age,” he said, sipping on a glass of whiskey as you stood at the large built-in bookshelf in his office.

“I can be well rounded and serve fried clams at Nick’s Kitchen.”

“Over your mother’s dead body,” he laughed and you sighed, choosing a tome off the shelf and bidding him goodnight.

You spent your days languishing on the beach, volunteering at the animal shelter on the other side of the island, reading for your courses in the fall. It was supposed to be a banal summer. Ordinary.

And then Bradley showed up and everything was suddenly, undeniably, altered.

A/N: I had originally considered posting this as one LONG piece, but this felt like a good natural stop for the first part so it will be split into parts, not sure how many (at least three)!

Tag list (or turn on notifications for my library page @ereardon):

@double-j @topguncultleader @hangmandruigandmav @minamisulemisa @blue-aconite @shawnsblue @seresinhangmanjake @brehonodea @babyminghao @crthurston

@angelbabyange @secretsicanthideanymore @taytaylala12 @mizzzpink @wkndwlff @mygyn @sadpetalsstuff @shanimallina87 @averyhotchner @oneelleandaneye @rosewritesitout @atarmychick007 @khaylin27 @wittywhispers @wildlyobserving @eyesthatroll @localhockeygirl @xomrsalliej4787xo @rosiahills22 @teacupsandtopgun @sexytholland @djs8891 @rxmtoon

@darkestbeforethedawn16 @cactajuice @purplevortexx @dempy @lemur46 @louie-bug @arson-tm @valkyrja-siren-blog @avengers-fixation @fudge13 @phantomxo @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @not-two-shrimp @xoxabs88xox @abaker74 @evans-dejong

#bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster fanfic #rooster imagine #rooster top gun #rooster x reader #bradley x reader #top gun imagine #top gun x reader #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #reader fic #bradley bradshaw au #rooster au

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ryverbind · 2 months

Text

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Beg For It [21]

TW: smut :P

_______________

dacnorthxx started following you.

sallysusedtoiletpaper: VI WHO IS THIS WHO IS NORTH WHY IS THIS INTERACTION GIVING ME LIFE??? t0ddles2: @sallysusedtoiletpaper frontman of dark autumn complex sallysusedtoiletpaper: @t0ddles2 oh omg ok... I've never heard of them are they any good?? ashypoops: I haven't heard of them either. What genre? More importantly DOES VI HAVE HER VERY FIRST SHIP toodswithoutthed: @ashypoops I WAS ABOUT TO ASK BC THE CHEMISTRY!?!? they're obsessed w each other... I went stalk his profile. Ship name options: northlence, violeth... t0ddles2: they're rock/metal. even if u don't like the genre, they're worth a listen sallysusedtoiletpaper: WORD I just followed him and their band account >:3 also @toodswithoutthed I'm personally a fan of violeth. I'm linking this shit in the faces fan discord ashypoops: THERE'S A FAN DISCORD??? can u send me an invite pooks🥺 sallysusedtoiletpaper: @ashypoops ofc😘 sallysusedtoiletpaper: OMFG SOMEONE BEAT ME TO THE CHAT EVERYONE KNOWS NOOOOOO

———

Yea, so I lost my job. Big shocker.

Once my boss found out that I dipped mid-shift, the text was typed out and sent by the evening.

In any other situation, I'd be fucked. Indefinitely. Completely broke and flailing to get a new job. In fact, that was my first thought. As soon as I got the text, I clicked onto my bank account to check how much I'd have to live off of until I found a new job--

--only to find out that I had over $2,000 just sitting around, which was such a nice surprise. I don't think I've ever had so much money to my name before in my entire life. And all the transactions were straight from all my streaming apps. All within the past two weeks since being back in LA.

To say the least, losing my job couldn't have happened at a better time. Now, I can put my focus into something I actually enjoy doing.

But first, a trip to Nockfell, which is proving to be more chaotic by the second.

"Todd, dude, there's a chemistry to this thing, okay? It's a ritual," Larry says, all seriousness and business face as he stares back into Todd's uninterested gaze. "I can't fly without it."

Todd blinks, a flash of frustrated disappointment crossing over his features. "You're not taking an edible before the flight, Lartholomew."

Ash had a ticket ready for me before she even got to LA yesterday. Her entire mastermind plan was to abduct me whether I liked it or not-- not that I would've said no to begin with. And besides, having her at the apartment to help me pack last minute made pre-flight stress non-existent.

Travis is camping out at my apartment. He was more than happy to kick me out of my own house, claiming that my bed is comfiest anyway. Regardless, he said he had no desire to return to Nockfell anyway. And dad was just excited for me to go visit considering how much I've complained about missing the little town over all these years.

Sal and I haven't spoken since his last commanding text to me. Right before his very sudden face reveal. He's caught in an almost petrifying silence-- has been since he put his prosthetic back on. I, on the other hand, very much resemble a little puppy whimpering and begging at his feet. Metaphorically, of course. I wouldn't dare to physically exploit my internal thoughts.

The really sickening truth is that I'm so desperate to see his face again that I'd trip him down a flight of stairs just to recreate yesterday's scene.

Just kidding. I don't mean that. I definitely don't.

"All our seats are kind of screwed up, so I have no idea where you're sitting, sugar." Ash pokes my cheek, her chin in her palm and elbow propped on the armrest of her seat. "I bought them kind of last minute so I took whatever they had available."

A little smile tips my lips as I turn my attention away from the grumpy smurf and focus on my stunning best friend. Her viridian irises glow with renewed joy and energy like our plans check off so many bullet points on her bucket list. "That's okay," I reply, tilting my head. "At least we actually have seats, right?"

Ash grins, her maroon shaded lips accentuating the light freckles along the bridge of her nose. "See?" she chirps, arm winding through mine to pull me closer. "You get it. When do you not get it?"

Our plane calls for us to board, and so begins the toxic, anxiety-inducing split-up of the century. I lose all The Faces somewhere in the crowded line that gathers at our gate in just a matter of seconds. That's okay though, I'll probably end up sitting with some old lady that smells like an odd mixture of peonies, Dial soap, and Lysol. You know, a funeral home and two colds away from death. So long as she's nice, I'll catch her dentures when they fall out of her gaping mouth as she naps.

Anything for MawMaw.

I hobble my way into the plane, brain set on finding my seat before stressing about all other one hundred and fifty two things I have to worry about later. People are everywhere and it's, expectedly, a huge plane. Three rows-- two seaters against each wall and a row of three seats down the middle. Sickening, really. Social anxiety's worst enemy is looking for means of escape only to be met by even more people.

I block everyone out as best as I can, pretending that the people I bump into are just very dense pieces of furniture. Or, actually, even better-- a bunch of really buff kitties. Yep, just passing through a horde of Maine Coon's and Munchkin's.

I spot row F, my pupils zeroing in on the letter like a scope on a gun. Target acquired.

The majestic way I veer around what my mind imagines is a really tall Siamese and their spouse, a yellow Persian, is something that the directors of The Matrix are pissed that they couldn't come up with. I swing my foot around a figurative pair of paws and reach my free hand out to grip onto my seat-- F20. That's right bitches, I did it.

I swing my suitcase up, somehow managing to actually get it into the overhead compartment. I give it a good shove with both of my hands and a grunt, then pull the backpack off my shoulders to keep it at my feet when I sit down.

But now that I've stopped, cats are pushing past me and it's so aggressive and rushed that they suddenly aren't sweet, fluffy kitties anymore. They're people again and I'm starting to get dragged away from my seat by this sea of shared distress.

Nimble fingers latch onto my wrist from the seat beside mine-- the seat against the window. The hand tightens around me, giving my body a good yank forward. I use the aided force to weave my way around a few more people up until the hand pulls me into my seat.

I huff out a breath, pushing my hair out of the eyeholes of my mask. And begrudgingly, I turn my head to meet bright cerulean hair.

Sal isn't looking at me, he's facing the window. His entire stature gives off a mixture of unbothered and ashamed. He shouldn't feel that second one-- never. Granted, he shouldn't feel angry half as much as he does but that's besides the point.

Ever since it happened, I could tell that the abrupt exposure of his face has been heavily weighing on him. I don't owe this man a single thing-- he's been awful to me in so many ways, but I give credit where credit is due. Not only did he own up and apologize to me yesterday, he helped me to my seat... and he is handsome. Regardless of how he views himself.

He's my biggest enemy and I, his. But if I plan on getting fucked during my visit to Nockfell, I have to give him the Beating of Truth.

"So," I mumble, chewing on the inside of my cheek. If you couldn't tell, I'm absolutely forcing myself to do this even though it's the last thing I want to do. "How are we working around Ash, Larry, and Todd when we get to Nockfell?"

Sal's head tips up a bit, like he's wondering to himself if I actually just spoke to him. Then his head pivots sideways so that he can side-eye me.

"What?" He asks, voice genuinely shocked and confused. It makes my heart stutter a bit. Any time he speaks in a tone that isn't aggressive, it completely reboots my system.

"How are we going to follow through with this arrangement?" I try again, simplifying it into Sal terms. He has a wide vocabulary range; maybe using bigger words will snap some sense into him. For added effect, I lean onto the armrest separating him and I, trying to show that he doesn't repulse me or anything of the sort.

Sal doesn't move away, instead, he adjusts his body so that he can address me. Fully turns his prosthetic face to me and settles into his seat. I didn't realize how tense he was when I first sat down, but watching him relax now shows me how much my simple mention of our agreement settled his mental turmoil.

He's quiet for a moment, eyes dancing across my mask and body before his gaze meets mine again. "You still want to?" he finally decides to ask, eyebrows lifting beneath his prosthetic.

"Yea," I snort, scrunching my nose up as if his question is ridiculous. "Why wouldn't I?"

Okay, stupid question. I know the answer and the words came out before I could stop them. In more ways than others, that was a genuine response though. I can't accept that Sal would be so put off by his own appearance because I truly think it's so lovely. I have to remember though that not everyone sees themselves the way I see them though.

Sal's brows bunch together again, his eyes narrowing. "Stupid fucking question," he echoes my own thoughts, voice even and void of tone. Whoopsie.

I roll my own eyes, sighing. "Well, to settle the whole debacle," I start, aiming to just bite the bullet and extinguish the awkwardness and misplaced fear vibrating between us. "I think you're quite the catch."

Friendly banter is weird. Borderline uncomfortable, but... not quite. Just so that I'm ready to get this over with but I'd be prepared for it to happen again.

A nasally snort leaves Sal and he rotates his head so that he's facing the pair of seats in front of us.

"So," he prods, ignoring my statement. "North?"

Mission success. I know he'll never admit it and he doesn't need to, but I think he appreciates the compliment.

"What's it to you?" I counter, adjusting my position in turn. I sit criss-cross applesauce in my seat, making sure my feet don't touch Sal because God forbid. "You still get to fuck me."

"Not much," he says lowly, hand moving to ruffle up his fringe. There's that dagger tattoo again. And then his head tilts just a bit, haunting sapphire blue piercing straight through my soul like the weapon etched onto his skin. "But you're mine. North can't give you even an ounce of what I can."

Fuzzy fingers, a pounding heart, and the worst case of cold sweats possible dominates my body for the rest of the flight. My brain replays that statement over and over again, plaguing me with recurring physical reactions like I've just heard it in real life again. I wish he hadn't said anything at all if it was going to leave me like this.

Neither of us said another word. The only sound between the two of us was the constant cracking of my knuckles accompanied by me putting my feet on the ground-- then sitting criss-cross again-- then having to readjust again and again and again. He left me quite literally restless and I'm sure he's relishing in just the knowledge of it.

Landing in Nockfell was a quick divergence from bubbly hearted affliction in my being. A good distraction from Sal.

Perpetual autumn. Nockfell never gets too hot or cold. The air is always misty, the sky always grey and cloudy. Tall, ever-growing trees dominate both night and day, stealing all the light from the sun and hiding it in their leafy treetops. Nockfell houses the kind of atmosphere that I've dreamt of returning to for years now; the gentle eeriness and chill that I've longed to bask in ever since I left.

We step out of the airport and into the small parking lot where a suspiciously blue haired man is waving at us with a big, dad-like grin on his face. Not a question in my mind. That's Sal's dad-- the cropped, receding cerulean hair was the first obvious sign but as we grow closer, his bright azure eyes are the second giveaway.

"Wassup, daddio!" Larry exclaims, wrapping Sal's father up in a huge bear hug (which is so Emo Buff Daddy of him). I nearly forgot that Sal's dad, who I now know as Henry, is also Larry's step-dad. Crazy.

"Not much, big guy!" Henry chuckles, rubbing Larry's back affectionately once the hug comes to an end. He pats Larry's shoulder, that big smile still on his aged face. "You guys brought the friend back! Convinced her to come huff up our humid air?"

Henry moves over to Ash, Todd, and then Sal to hug all of them. He purposefully places a discreet kiss on top of Sal's head before turning to me.

He holds his arms open suggestively and my heart flutters. "You okay with hugs?" He asks me. "Everyone's family here."

A grin of my own sneaks onto my face as I take a little step toward Henry and wrap my arms around his middle.

Henry's arms latch around my body, shielding me from the moist, heavy air of Nockfell and anything else that could possibly hurt me here. His embrace is so comforting, so familiar, so protective that tears I've been holding back for weeks suddenly rush to the surface.

I love my own dad, he's perfect, but being hugged by his near doppelgänger reminds me of how much I miss him. I wish dad and I weren't apart so often. But that'll change soon with the money I'm making.

I don't allow myself to weep, I hide the tears and pull away from the comforting hug I needed so desperately to smile sweetly at Henry. Lovely man, his own smile widens.

The group of us piles into Henry's old 2000 Nissan Pathfinder to navigate around Nockfell.

We first stop at Ash's place-- a home I haven't seen in a decade now. Everything is so nostalgic-- the tall, two story, white-painted, wooden home and the canopy of evil-looking trees that hide it from the road reminds me of a time that's been ripped away from me.

Ash leans on the door of Henry's SUV, the window down for her to speak to me before she disappears. "I'll come by Sal's or the apartments later to scoop you up, 'kay? Parents and I have a meeting with some guys to transfer ownership of some things to me before the move." She chews on her lip, a deep yearning in her pretty eyes. "I'd let you stay with me if I could."

I shake my head at her-- I don't want her to feel guilty for handling business. "No that's okay." I tell her sweetly, grabbing onto her hand. "I'll kickback with the guys."

Ash smiles, squeezing my hand in hers before breaking off to head to her house.

Now, I never imagined I'd end up coming back to Nockfell in general, but to stand in Sal Fisher's home? These were even more improbable odds.

And worse, Todd suddenly slips out of the house with the very mean (he's ditching me!) excuse of meeting with Neil for a late lunch. That just leaves me, Larry, and Sal standing in the spacious kitchen of their shared two-story home. It's quaint, roomy, and pretty nice. I imagine it's kept up specifically because Sal tends to it.

And Sal, he doesn't say anything. Which is typical behavior from him. He only, swiftly, spins on his heels, luggage in hand, and disappears into a room right past the stairs. Okay, fair. It's late in the afternoon-- naptime.

And now it's down to two.

I look to Larry with a grin. And he's grinning back excitedly, wiggling around like an antsy child who's about to go on a field trip.

"I can't believe we managed to get you over here," he whisper-yells, screaming silently. You know, just open-mouthed and head tipped to the ceiling in pure excitement.

"Even Copernicus wouldn't be able to debunk this turn of events," I joke, watching Larry dance around his kitchen. I put my bags down. I'm sure we'll figure out this situation later when Ash returns.

Larry opens up his refrigerator, moving around some bottles before uttering an expletive. "Ah, fuck," he hisses out, quickly lifting his head which results in him slamming said head into the freezer door. I pause, wincing, eyeing his silhouette warily while awaiting whatever he has to say next.

He resurfaces from the fridge, rubbing his aching head and chewing on his bottom lip. "I left my fucking bags in Henry's car." He curses again, glancing up at me with agitated eyes. "I have to run over to the apartments real quick." Larry starts inching away from the fridge and I feel my heart leap. How could he forget his luggage in the car? And is he really about to leave me here with the master of aggressive seduction himself? We're bound to tear this house apart either via sex or a physical fight. I just don't know which one.

"I'll be like... ten minutes at most," Lar says, squeezing past me and around the kitchen table, rerouting to the front door. He gives me a look that screams vulnerability and urgency. "Please don't kill Sal, and don't let him kill you. Okay? I'll be back in a jiffy."

I blink at him, running my tongue along the inside of my dry mouth. This is not going to go well. "Okay," I say anyway. I can already see the headline on the newspaper-- 'Masked Streamer, Sally Face, Brutally Murders and Chops Up Rising Streamer, VioletViolence, With Kitchen Knife.'

Larry nods at me, pinches his lips together in a moment of concerned hesitation, then disappears through the front door.

I stand in the empty kitchen for a moment, watching the back of Larry's head through the front door window. "In a jiffy..." I murmur to myself, recalling the most soccer-mom words I've ever heard come from Larry's vicinity. It was so odd, I mean he would never say something like that, but here we are.

The house is empty aside from myself and Sal. What the hell am I supposed to do? Watch The Office?-- well, that actually doesn't sound bad at all.

I can literally do anything I want, though. I have been given the most opportune opportunity to act upon my will as I see fit. With that in mind accompanied by the suspiciously good conversation a certain blue-haired individual and I shared on the plane, I think I have an idea of what I could do. And I know I'll have a willing partner.

This will either end in a homicide via kitchen knife or an orgasm. I'll take my chances.

A sly little grin fights its way onto my lips as I spin on my heels, trekking over to Sal's room. His door is closed, giving him an ample amount of darkness to hide in while gaming or sleeping or whatever he's doing. But for me, it's the ample amount of darkness to create a moody setting. It's perfect.

The cold, metal doorknob sits comfortably in the palm of my hand as I give myself one last chance to think about this. I really shouldn't do this, but the timing will never be this good again. With everyone moving to LA, I may never get a chance this convenient since someone will always be around.

That's the last little bit of encouragement I need to twist the knob and slowly push the plain, white painted door open.

The wood squeaks on its hinges, making Sal turn his head up from his PC. His dark, shadowed eyes meet mine. They go from curious to a bit miffed in half a second— but he doesn't say anything, really just ignores me and turns back to his setup.

My heart races. He didn't turn me away or tell me to get the fuck out of his room. That's a good start. But that also means I can actually follow through with my very sudden plan— a plan which has no plan. I didn't even brainstorm what I could do because I genuinely didn't think I'd get this far.

I watch him closely, noting the way his computer casts a cool, blue glow against his prosthetic. His hand moves the mouse around and he clicks on various things, really paying me no mind at all.

My teeth clamp onto my bottom lip as I step past the threshold of his room, grabbing hold of the door and slowly closing it behind me. Once it latches into place, I wait, simply observing the man with my back to the door. For good measure, I turn the lock. You know, just in case I manage to get somewhere.

And he still doesn't look my way. The fact that he's ignoring my presence right now makes anticipation build up within me. My heart thumps a little faster than it already has been. My cheeks feel warm, I can't keep my hands still. It's like my brain is kicked into overdrive, forcing me to take notice of every little thing.

I lick my lips and take a step forward, scratching at the skin on my knuckles. I take another step, then another, my body growing warm with anxiousness all because I may stand in front of this man, present myself to him, and come to regret it. I really might embarrass myself. Just because we agreed doesn't mean he wants me at this exact moment.

But before I'm even really prepared, I'm standing right beside him. And he's sitting there without a care in the world, comfortably propped up in his gaming chair and pulling up different comments on what looks to be YouTube.

I've done about all I can for right now, but we are on limited time. So I watch him for a moment. He has to know I'm right here— I wasn't quiet, I didn't avoid his field of vision. I'm right here.

And I still get nothing.

Time to think. Should I say something insulting? That usually gets him riled up. Maybe then, one thing will lead to another.

I bounce on my heels for a second as I think up a quick insult. "Is this how you waste your time? Figured you'd at least reply to some of your fans if you were going to read their comments. Kinda shitty of you." Low blow probably. I don't really mean it, but I'm sure he'll take it seriously. His fans mean a lot to him, it's the best way to gain his attention.

But Sal doesn't even react, only scrolls through a few replies under a comment and clicks 'like' on a some. He doesn't flinch. Doesn't look at me. Never makes a sound.

I roll my eyes. Playing hard to get are we? He fusses at me for not complying all the time— he's such a hypocritical asshole. I hate that I'm into it.

I swallow thickly, putting my hands behind my back to try and hide my nervous fidgeting. "Sal," I try, cringing a bit. That was desperation— he has to know that.

Again, nothing.

He really must be trying to piss me off, that or he isn't interested at all. But thankfully, the zero interest half doesn't stink like I was afraid it would. Instead, it spurs me into action.

He can ignore my words all he wants, but he can't ignore me.

"I'm going to touch you," I warn because consent is important. "If you don't want that, you need to tell me."

I wait a good thirty seconds but he stays silent.

I pinch my lips together then grab onto the armrest of his chair, pulling it back just enough to place my body between him and his computer. He simply looks up at me with disinterested eyes, so I go further, fueled by the spark in my soul and the rage of him purposefully pretending I'm not even there.

I take a step forward and put a gentle hand on his shoulder for balance, then easily slide myself onto his lap. His thighs are warm beneath my own, his skin smooth under my fingertips. The dark ink on his biceps contrasts beautifully with the milky color of his skin and it's quite an honor to finally run my hands over his art.

I watch the way my fingers drag down his arm then up again, returning to his shoulder. I'm on top of him and he still hasn't said a word, still hasn't touched me. At this point, I'm yearning for something— anything.

The only good sign I'm getting is that he hasn't pushed me off.

I glance up, looking into his blue eyes that are darkened by the shadows of his room. They're watching me closely, no ounce of emotion reflected in them. He's just observing.

My other hand travels to his prosthetic face, gripping onto his jaw in the way that he does to me so often. "Think you can ignore me?" I whisper, a little smirk quirking my lips despite how badly I wish I could contain it.

A slight furrowing of his brows is what I get in return.

Ha, got him.

He still doesn't say anything, but I've piqued his interest at least.

"Larry's gone," I say next, my eyes traveling to the rough prosthetic in my hands. I run my thumb over the underside of his jaw, feeling a number of scars.

"I assumed so," he says, voice a bit deeper than it normally would be and toneless like it seems to have been all day.

My gaze meets his again, and this time there's a little fire in his pretty eyes. There's desire, interest, slow-building exhilaration. I love seeing this look on him.

"Mhm," I hum, moving my other hand from his shoulder to the side of his neck. "Are you going to sit here and ignore me like the asshole you are, or are you going to have mercy on both of us?"

Sal slowly blinks, eyes traveling over my form, drinking me in like I'm the last drop of water on earth. "You called me an asshole for a reason," he bites out. "Don't expect much. Unlike you, I can actually hold out."

"But what's the point of holding out?" I counter, tilting my head to the left. "Larry's heading to the apartments. We have about ten minutes. That's enough room for one of a couple options. Stop being a little prick and do something."

"More like twenty. Larry takes his sweet ass time." Sal's eyes narrow. "You think insulting me is going to coerce me into this, you little bitch? Thought you knew our dynamic well enough by now." My words are getting to him. That's exactly what I want.

"I do know our dynamic," I whisper, leaning my head down so that my face is level with his. I look into his cerulean eyes and they gaze back at me, one pupil dilated. Then, I bend lower until I'm at the nape of his neck, his hair tickling my jaw.

I use the hand holding his face to tilt his head up and away from me, using the angle as leverage to place my lips onto his warm skin.

I hear a muffled sigh from him in response and it takes everything in me not to smile.

My mouth moves slowly along the side of his neck, placing meaningful, wet kisses along his throat. But when I get to the hilt of his tattoo, I bit down gently.

He flinches at the feeling of my teeth digging into his skin, then completely aborts his mission to ignore me completely.

Sal's hands fly to my waist, one gripping tightly onto my hip and the other trailing up my back and into my hair, gripping the strands tightly before yanking my head back.

My teeth are ripped from his neck immediately and Sal pulls me away from him by the base of my neck. I gasp, staring into his captivating azure eyes from just centimeters away. His prosthetic nose bumps my mask's and he holds me there without a word.

His eyes trail down my face and heavy breaths follow his gaze. His cold fingers are curled into my neck, his nails digging into my skin.

I swallow, wondering if maybe I should have just minded my own business, stayed in the living room and waited for Larry to come back. Maybe I pissed him off.

I lick my lips and blink at him, my mouth gapes open as I try to find something to say. He's silent. It's not awkward, just scary. Scary is ten times worse.

Sal must see the regret and fear in my eyes because his own eyes lessen their harsh glare a bit and then he rasps out, "Can I touch you?"

Every inch of my body goes rigid with shock, anticipation. "Yes," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers tighten ever so slightly on the underside of his jaw while my heart runs an entire marathon in my chest. Now is not the time to get nervous because I sweat when I'm nervous. I need to be horny– not nervous.

Sal takes a deep breath, eyes set on mine. I feel his chest rise ever so slowly, then go back down the same exact way. The pause between us is utter agony and I feel like I'm going to start spazzing out or something. Honestly, with the way I'm sitting on top of him, I might just fall over and die on the spot. That feels less incriminating than whatever is about to ensue.

Cool fingers grasp onto my thigh, his palm flattening against my skin. His hand drags up to my side, followed by his other hand leaving my neck to grab the other side of my waist. The feeling of him touching me, just like he'd asked, fills me with memories I tried so desperately to forget just a couple weeks or so ago. This is deja vu in the best way.

In one swift motion, Sal lifts me up and plops me on top of his desk. I brace myself with my hands on either side of his keyboard that lays behind me. Questions of concern start flowing through my brain because this is an odd place to be.

"Don't knock over my shit," Sal breathlessly informs, eyes glancing up to me. HIs hands move to the waist band of my bottoms and I suck in another anxious, anticipatory breath.

I nod quickly, watching him with wide eyes as he looks down at my waist, his hands circling to the front of my stomach and fumbling with the button of my shorts. Oh my gosh.

I gulp, looking at anything but the man between my legs, currently pulling down the shorts I'd traveled in. His cold fingers brush along the outside of my thighs, causing goosebumps to rise all over my skin. He's slow, purposeful, dragging this out to get whatever reaction out of me that he can. It feels like my heart is about to explode.

I have no idea what he's about to do, he doesn't warn me either. I don't have the guts to watch this scene play out. The prospect of his dilated pupils, messy hair, and that glare in his captivating eyes is too much-- so much that warmth pools between my thighs before he can initiate anything.

"You look scared," he murmurs and I flinch at the gentle, comforting tone he uses with me. I've never heard something such as this come from him and be directed at mebefore.

"I am," I answer honestly, licking my lips while his fingers slowly pull my shorts down my legs. I lift myself a bit to aid him, shivering when my bare legs meet the cold surface of his desk. "A bit."

"Why?" Sal asks, hands pressing onto my thighs. With how warm my skin is and how cool his fingers are, the contrasting temperature is enough to spark an aneurysm. He drags those hands of his up my legs until he reaches my panties, hooking his digits into them.

I shake my head, chin quite literally tilted up to the ceiling. I'm not quite sure what has me so scared. Am I afraid of myself? Him? Getting caught? Being dropped again?

One risky hand leaves my hip and Sal's prosthetic comes into view. He's hovering over me, in a standing position now. His hair falls onto my shoulders, shielding us from the rest of the world like a curtain. I blink up at him, breath caught in my throat as a rush of chills invades my body.

"Hey," he says. His voice is a bit on edge, but it's concerned. So concerned that it distracts me from my own fear for a moment. "You're okay," he continues, his hand gripping onto my chin and pulling my head down so we can be eye level. I look between his bright eyes-- his eyebrows are risen a bit, as if to communicate to me that I can trust him. But can I?

"I'll take care of you. If you want to stop, if you don't want to start-- let me know. Say anything and I'll end it immediately." He tilts his head a bit, eyes glancing over my face. This is different. This looks vulnerable. "If I made you uncomfortable at all, I--"

My head shakes in opposition. I don't even have to think about it. "No, it's not that. It-- I trust you." The words spew out of my mouth and I immediately regret it. Something smug takes over his expression and I press my lips together, grabbing onto his wrist connected to the hand that's still holding my chin. "I trust you with this. If I was tied to train tracks, I wouldn't even think of calling you." I narrow my eyes at him to exemplify my point. His eyes squint as if he's... smiling? I'll ignore that. "But you've never... made me uncomfortable. You always ask. You always check. So..."

I watch him nod slowly, our gazes never disconnecting. He seems to contemplate what I've said, measurably formulating his next move. "Do you want to talk about what's stressing you then?"

My head rears back and my eyebrows furrow, his hand falling away from my face. "What brain eating amoeba has overtaken you?" I blurt out, holding a hand out between us. It's incredibly odd-- this is out of place. "You are never concerned about me-- what is this?"

If you can't tell, I'm not a fan of change. I greatly prefer stability even if it's toxic.

Sal drops the caring act almost immediately, his eyes rolling so hard that I'm worried they'll sink into his body. "I can't go down on you if you're freaked, can I? I wouldn't even feel comfortable doing that. I'm an asshole, not a monster."

I pause, every facial feature relaxing as his statement slaps me in the face. Key words: go, down, on, you, asshole, monster. Yep, only monstrous assholes go down on their enemies. I'm the very brave, very eager, very shocked recipient of this going down.

I take a deep, shaky breath, blinking at Sal who watches me with what looks like a raised eyebrow. "Okay," I breathlessly whisper. "How are you-- are you..." Why am I rambling? What kind of answer am I looking for? Obviously the prosthetic is about to come off and I just have to contain the desperate, whore-like rage within.

"Shut up, Vi," he chuckles over my nickname, grabbing onto my thighs and tugging me to the edge of the desk as he sits in his chair again. My fingertips press into the wooden surface while my heart threatens to pound its way through my ribcage. "Just let me taste you."

Cue internal screaming. I'm so going to faint-- and the addition of watching his pretty guitar-playing hands leave my skin to unbuckle his prosthetic is pushing me to astronomical heights. I don't even exist anymore. I'm just a wisp, a little phantom fairy watching her favorite sex movie play out in real time. It's called Faceless Fixation. She's the Fellatio Fairy. I don't even-- whoever is writing my life needs to give me a break.

I'm shivering like I have hypothermia by the time Sal carefully pulls the prosthetic off his face, making sure to not mess up his hair. And then he glances up at me. Bright eyes hesitant, sort of wide. Eyebrows risen just a bit and lips pressed together like he wants to say a thousand things but can't. He looks so nervous and it's a moment we can both share.

For reassurance (I think we both need it) I smile at him. Just a slight upward tilt of my lips as I press my thighs together. He's so beautiful. Every scar, every indentation, every feature, every little freckle. Just wow-- he's a sight to behold.

Sal's gaze flits to my lips, then down to my legs and he grabs onto them again, purposefully pulling them apart. His black polished nails dig into my skin as he gazes down at my underwear. I'm so used to watching his reactions and feelings portrayed only through his eyes, but watching the way his jaw tenses and the moment his lips part like he can't wait any longer makes me feel like I'll implode.

His fingers run up my legs to my hips, dipping into my panties and pulling them downward. I gulp over the sight, relishing in the deja vu. How kind of him to not rip these this time.

I lift myself up as he shimmies them down my legs, finally pulling them from around my ankles and holding them up for me to see. I blink, warmth rushing to my face at his boldness. And Sal, well-pleased, quirks a little seductive smile at them before switching his gaze to me.

"I haven't even touched you and you're soaked," is what he murmurs, eyes dancing over my half naked body with very little focus on my face. It's like he's glued to what hides behind my clenched thighs, eagerly awaiting what he'll find between them. "You're inflating my ego way too much," his voice is a bit louder this time-- darker, more sinister. The pronunciation of his words shows off charming, slightly crooked front teeth and sharp canines. I'll never know how I haven't ascended already.

I shiver, trying and failing to hide my reaction. But it doesn't really matter, seeing as Sal caught onto it anyway and his hooded eyes are on mine, a dangerous glint clashing with the hypnotizing azure shade of his irises.

His hands are on my legs again, fingers roughly squeezing my skin. He isn't putting off his plans again though. When he separates my legs and I try my best not to push him away out of fear, Sal leans forward and presses his lips to the inside of my left thigh.

I take a deep, shuddering breath as I bathe in the feeling of his soft, jagged lips moving along my sensitive skin. I commit the image to memory, absolutely astonished over the way his blue eyes are closed while he inches closer and closer to my pussy.

I'm unable to take a full breath at this point, my body is tense while I try to hold myself in an upright position, pathetically falling apart as his mouth dances along the inside of my thigh like he's studied and perfected each step he takes. His hands are molded into my skin, they've become a part of me. He's pressing my thigh up to his face, leaving the most inebriating kisses. I wish he would stop teasing me already.

At the same time, I'm obsessed with the way he's handling me. Delicately, carefully, but he's in full control and making me wait. Testing me. Seeing if I'll push him, hoping I'll give him a good reason to punish me.

Sal's eyes open again, glancing up to meet mine. I suck in a breath, watching as he opens that dirty mouth of his and bites into the sensitive skin at the top of my thigh.

I hiss, wincing at the slight pain but my eyes never leave his. They could never. And he loves that, takes it as a challenge because those sky blue eyes close and he bites down harder, sucking my skin into his mouth to leave his mark.

Some kind of satisfied, sickeningly delighted feeling swells in my chest at the knowledge of having a mark from him on my body. It's primal, it's a little weird, but I adore the idea and maybe he does too. After what he said to me about North on the flight to Nockfell, I'd guess he's more than happy to stake his claim even if it's invisible to the outside world.

Sal finally pulls his teeth from my leg, revealing a gnarly, dark purple mark in his wake. He places a quick, soothing kiss to the abused skin before trailing his way closer to my pussy. He masks his destination with more wet kisses and bites and I'm so worked up by now that a light sheen of sweat has formed on my forehead. I can't be doing this-- this is complete torture.

"Sal," I groan out, flinching at the sinful tone of my voice. It makes him pause his movements as well. "Please," I tack on, the word quiet and agonizingly pleading.

He hums against my skin, eyes zeroed in on mine. I hate being so direct, it's terrifying, but it's worth it if it'll end up with his tongue buried in me, right?

"Beg for it," he says lowly, a slight rasp to his voice. His tone makes me shiver, as well as his words and I would drop to my hands and knees if he told me to right now.

My lips part upon hearing him and I release a shaky breath, thighs drawing together until he stops them with his tight grip. My heart is running a marathon, my limbs are trembling and I'm wondering if maybe this is all just a really awesome dream.

"Please," I repeat, voice coming out as a whine. For once, I don't regret it because this is what he wants. "I'm desperate." I don't know how else to portray to him that I need this-- the wait is nearly excruciating. "I need to feel you."

Sal pulls away from my skin, tongue lapping at all of his bite marks before a sadistic smile pulls at his lips. "How much do you hate me?" And he's waiting, waiting for a wordy explanation of my distaste for him. But now, with the way things have changed between us-- even if it's slightly-- describing my loathing somehow feels harder.

So I snort, trying to coerce him into putting his mouth on me again regardless of the location. But all the shivers, waiting, and very slow building orgasm is slipping away into the distance. "A lot," I whisper shakily.

He gives me a look, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together as if I've disappointed him. "You can do better than that, Vi. Where's the fire?" He leans toward the thigh he hasn't captured with his mouth yet and skims his teeth along my skin. "Should I give you an example?"

I lick my lips, a sudden fluttering in my chest making me feel light headed. I hesitantly shake my head-- the longer he isn't paying attention to me, the farther I am from cumming. I can come up with something to say can't I? Of course I can. He's infuriating enough.

"Alright then," he mumbles monotonously, finally ditching my thighs. He yanks me a bit closer, eyes still rifling through my soul. "Then tell me. And if you stop," he warns as I swallow against the pounding in my chest due to his positioning, face mere inches from my sopping cunt. He's dragged this on long enough. "I stop. Keep that filthy mouth of yours moving."

He waits for me to launch into a monologue of detest. His mouth so close to my clit, breath tickling my skin and forcing a quiet little whimper from me.

"I fucking hate the constant foul mood you're always in," I force out, feeling my heart leap into my throat the second the words leave my mouth. Because Sal keeps his promise and with an inebriating grunt of approval, he finally attaches his lips to my clit, tongue running over it like he's desperate to soak up every inch of what I have to offer.

The feeling of his mouth on my pussy is incomparable to any other type of satisfaction in the world-- this is what I've waited for. And he happily makes up for the lost time, expertly flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves and sucking it farther into his mouth. He moans against my cunt, hands dragging up my thighs to cup my ass and force me even closer to him. He squeezes my skin, a reminder to keep talking.

I dig up all the things I can't stand about him, slathering them across my brain so I can tell him about it. "You're a brick wall. No matter what I say, you refuse to listen. How come you're never open to hearing anyone out?" I whimper between words, squirming around on his desk and trying my damn hardest not to ruin any of his belongings.

Sal lifts my legs over his arms, pushing them onto his shoulders and I swear I'm about to combust. The way his tongue maps figure eights and circles around my clit does nothing to help, only sends me further toward falling apart.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fingers curling over the edge of his desk, heavy breaths and quiet moans falling past my lips no matter how badly I wish I could keep them inside. "You have some kind of God complex. You think you're right about everything, have to be in control of everything and I can't stand it. I can't stand you and your constant need to have everything you want."

His teeth graze over my clit and my mouth falls open, waves of pleasure rolling through my body like I've never experienced before. He moves downward, his tongue buried between my folds and licking up every bit of my arousal that he can get. Upon getting a better taste of me, he moans and I can feel the vibration of it everywhere, all the way up to my fingertips.

"I hate how easily you turn me on, how wet I get just from a simple touch," I admit, teeth clamping down onto my bottom lip as his tongue explores the inside of my pussy like he's been starved of me for far too long. His nails dig into my skin, the action eliciting a stinging sensation that only adds to the pleasure he's giving me. This is everything. "And you're so unfair. So pretty, so damn attractive with that horrible personality of yours. Why can't you be pretty through and through?"

I open my eyes again to watch him, drowning in the prospect of his face buried between my thighs, cheeks flushed and hair a mess. I watch as he drags his mouth up to my clit again, drawing patterns and shapes I don't care to know over the bundle of nerves. The rough, slick feeling of his tongue on such a sensitive place is addicting. So long as he's around to bring me to new heights like this, I don't need anything else. Maslow's hierarchy of needs has never been so wrong-- this is my sole need.

I can't help myself-- I reach a hand out, my fingers burying themselves into Sal's hair. It's soft. Just as soft as I knew it would be. And he doesn't seem to mind, only continues to suck on my clit and abuse it with his tongue. I close my hand into a fist, lightly tugging on his hair. I need something to hold onto.

"And your stupid fucking mouth," I groan out, sucking in a breath that never fully fills my lungs. His tongue dips into my pussy again, making another little groan follow my first. My thighs are clenched tightly at this point, quaking furiously. Sal never tries to stop me, doesn't calm me. It's clear how much he enjoys bringing me to ruin. "All the awful things you say, so many dirty words and you are so good with your tongue. I've never craved and loathed something so much in my life."

Sal smiles against my pussy-- I watch in pure amazement as the corners of his lips curl upward like what I said was everything he's always wanted to hear. It's so lewd, so perverted and I absolutely will never forget this moment.

One of his hands lets go of my ass, trailing down my thigh again but moving to the inside this time. As his teeth gently nip at my clit and his tongue laps at my pussy, the tips of his fingers press against my opening, a silent request for more of my profession of hatred. A profession I'm more than happy to give him.

"I can't imagine how much I'll hate the way you fuck me just because I know it'll be better than any sex I've had before," I tell him, watching his mouth move against my cunt with furrowed brows and my lips parted in intrigue. Oh, he's so good at what he does.

Sal's eyes meet mine again. Eye contact with him when he's in such an erotic position is incredibly intense. I feel like my entire body is going to crumple before he can finish me off and it all counts on if he's able to hold me up or not. But as soon as his cerulean gaze meets mine, two of his fingers sink into me. The action is slow, drawn out, and drags a nasty moan out of me in turn.

Sal whimpers against my pussy, taking care of me like he promised he would. When his fingers reach as far as they can go, he curls them, causing me to flinch at the sensuous feeling. There's so much going on to the point that every inch of my body feels impossibly overwhelmed.

My sensitive clit gets sucked into Sal's mouth again, but then he pulls away. His fingers make up for the absence of his tongue, pounding into me in the same salacious way he's done before.

"Is that all you've got?" he grumbles breathlessly, glazed eyes glaring into mine. This is the expression I'm used to with him-- anger and dominance.

I choke on the breath I try to take, my thighs pressing into his neck as his fingers slam in and out of my soaked cunt, digits only pausing their relentless pace to curl into me. I try to fight against my one working brain cell, try to form words for him, but-- "I can't." is all that I'm able to create, the two short words coming out as an imploring cry.

Sal stands, finger-fucking me into an alternate dimension. He hovers over me, his hair brushing my shoulders and neck. I watch him, an absolute mess beneath him but I can't look away-- even through the panting breaths that morph into whimpers and moans.

His eyes glance between mine, seemingly contemplating something in that meticulous mind of his.

"Yea, you can, gorgeous," he grinds out behind clenched teeth, using the hand that's gripping my ass to press me against his chest. Our even closer proximity somehow forces his fingers deeper into my pussy, his thumb rubbing my clit. "Tell me more." My mouth is dry, I'm going to cum soon, and hopefully I don't actually fall over before that.

Sal takes a page out of my book, leaning closer to me and nipping at the skin of my throat. A little gasp falls past my lips and I finally let go of his hair, dragging my hand down to his neck. Those fingers work me to the core, never ceasing their movements and pushing into me with so much perfectly applied force.

His mouth moves along the side of my neck, his lips still wet from my juices. I have no idea what gave him the confidence, but I'm not mad. Everything that couldn't be done with his prosthetic can be done now and he's taking advantage of it. "Speak," he snaps, tone not so gentle or comforting like it was when this first began. "Or else."

My mind is blank. "I'm about to cum," I begrudgingly whisper, completely overtaken by his fingers thrusting into me and his thumb focused on my oversensitive clit.

I shut my eyes, my free arm wrapping around his shoulders. Every inch of my body is tense, senses heightened and alert. I don't think I can possibly hold on any longer-- I doubt Sal needed my confirmation to tell that I'm close.

His digits curl into me again, repeating the action. I follow up with a loud whimper, my nails digging into the skin of his neck as he sucks on the skin behind my ear. I wish he'd have ditched the prosthetic sooner because I've really been missing out.

The hand still gripping onto my butt retreats to my stomach, fingers disappearing under my shirt and crawling across my ribs to my bra. He treats it as if it isn't even there, hand easily dipping beneath the fabric. His palm envelops my breast, squeezing gently and massaging the skin. It's such a considerate touch compared to the way he treats the rest of my body-- he knows exactly where the sweet spots are.

"Cum," he commands, lips brushing the shell of my ear and fingers pounding into my sore cunt, thumb running over my hardened nipple.

My head drops onto his shoulder and with one more curl of his fingers, I do as he says and fall apart in his arms. I burst almost instantly, doing anything to keep myself silent over the feeling of his fingers gently caressing the inside of my pussy, riding me through my orgasm just like he did the first time. My teeth sink into his shoulder, a muffled whimper following soon after. Sal tenses up in my arms, a pleasured breath falling from his mouth and fanning over the side of my neck.

"Good girl," he purrs into my ear, lips skimming over the warm skin at my throat. He leaves one more sloppy kiss to my neck then pulls away to look into my eyes again. I can hardly hear anything he says as my teeth are forced away from his shoulder, still reeling from the orgasm that slammed into me nearly unannounced. My limbs feel like jelly as chills run up my spine. "You listen to me so well," he continues. I can't even look into his eyes; I just watch the way his lips move. How his tongue presses into the back of his teeth to pronounce a syllable. His sharp canines that undoubtedly left their own bruises on my skin.

I gulp, unable to peel my eyes away from the mouth that masterfully brought me to climax. For the first time ever, I wonder what his mouth would feel like against mine. How soft his scarred lips would feel, not on my skin, but captured by my own. What his tongue would taste like. What his teeth would feel like nipping at my lips.

Sal doesn't move away from me-- keeps our close proximity with his nose nearly brushing my mask's. He slowly, delicately pulls his fingers out of me but only continues to gaze into my eyes.

This is dangerous territory. Very dangerous. Because the impossible is coursing through me right now and I... somehow can't find it in me to hate him in this exact moment.

But then he blinks. Stands to his full height, moving away from me. His azure gaze turns to the desk I'm sitting on and he grabs my panties, offering them to me. Not an ounce of emotion evident on his face. I'd always wondered what he'd look like simply because I was curious if his face gave away his emotions better than his eyes could. It's pretty impressive how he's able to keep a straight mug though, RBF and all. Especially when he lifts the hand he fingered me with to his mouth and licks my cum off. He doesn't even look at me as his tongue runs up the length of his digit, just turns away from me and walks to the other side of the room.

I'm floored, jaw dropped and pussy wet. Again. That's really fucking hot.

I watch him strut away, follow his movements as he drops to his haunches and opens up his suitcase with his clean hand. He grabs something then faces me again, beginning to walk back with a finger still in his mouth.

My chest tightens at the sight. He can't be doing this to me. Not when Larry is going to be home any minute-- he needs to keep both his hands at his sides.

Thankfully, Sal has some mercy on me and finally finishes cleaning his fingers, eyes darting up to mine again. He walks up to me, right where I'm still sitting on top of his desk and drops fabric onto my bare thighs.

My brows furrow and I look down, grabbing lace. I lift it up, unfolding it to see that it's a near replica of the lace underwear he'd ripped off of me in Vegas. Only it's a completely brand new pair. No rips, no issues. My heart swells a bit at the gesture-- he bought a new pair like I'd told him to. I wasn't even serious, but he did it anyway.

I puff out my cheeks, contemplating what to say. Thank you's are virtually nonexistent between us. My eyes flit up to meet his again and he stuffs his hands into his pockets, watching me.

"You taste good," he nonchalantly comments, causing an infuriating blush to heat my cheeks.

"Thanks," I murmur, holding up the lace panties to show that I'm thankful for them too. "You taste pretty good too." He does. I'll have to return the favor to him when I get the chance.

A barely audible snort comes from him and I almost smile.

"I'd fuck you, but Larry will be back any minute and Ash probably isn't far behind him," he says, turning on his heel and walking toward the door. "I suggest you put your clothes back on. Panties are clean, I washed them."

My eyebrows raise and I pinch my lips together. Huh. "How kind of you," I say half sarcastically. Only half because it's helpful that they are clean-- it's almost like he knew he'd place me in a predicament where I needed fresh underwear. "You trying to kick me out?" I add. Of course he is, I'm just trying to make my way out of here as awkward-less as possible.

"Hell yea," he says proudly, "I have shit to do."

"Are you calling me a distraction?" I ask, looking toward him as I shimmy my underwear and shorts up my legs then start working on the button.

Sal tilts his head, hand on the doorknob. "And a mild aggravation."

"Oh, wow," I gasp, feigning surprise. "Mild? I must be working my way onto your good side."

"Fuck me good enough and we'll see how far you get," he replies, eyes watching my every move but face still unreadable as I begin walking toward him.

I roll my eyes. Of course. I pinch my lips together and give him a disinterested look. This is my lesson to never try to have a casual conversation with him again. He clearly doesn't want it, which, fair. Our agreement is sex, not friendship. "Okay," I say dramatically when he opens the door for me. "Bye, Sal."

The man nods his head, acknowledging the shift in the room. His eyes stay glued to mine like they have been the entire time I've been here. Now that I'm not distracted by his mouth on my pussy, I realize that this is an odd thing for him to do. He looks at me every once in a while, but not in such a... scrutinizing way.

He purses his lips and says, "Bye, y/n."

Every nerve-ending in my body suddenly shuts off. Everything is still. I have no thoughts for a moment, no physical reaction. Just stillness. I don't breathe, I don't move. I just watch him.

There's no way— he has to have mixed up my names. It has to be that.

And then everything hits me. Sal Fisher just said my name. And not the fake one that I've been hiding behind. He said my actual name— the one that's on my birth certificate. And now my hands are shaking, my heart is racing, my breaths are uneven, and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

"What the fuck," I say shakily. I'm not ready for this. I'm going to completely switch his thought process around-- "did you just say?"

The look in his eyes changes, they light up a bit as if he's caught me. And still he decides to mess with me. "Huh?" he innocently asks.

Okay, I'd really like to wake up now.

My eyes narrow. So that's the game he wants to play? This isn't the time and I don't have the mental capacity to handle this. Not only am I recovering from a mind-blowing orgasm, but I was just getting over the overwhelming anxiety I suffered from yesterday.

"I'm not y/n, if that's what you're thinking," I rush to tell him, even adding in the fakest little smirk I've ever slapped onto my face. Anything to get him off my tail, whatever I can think of to save my ass. This really can't be happening to me.

He's still watching me speculatively and it's making my brain itch. "You know," he finally starts, voice disgustingly pleased. "I went out on a limb with that one." I watch in horror as a little smirk begins to grow on his face. I don't want to accept it yet, I really don't, but I think I'm fucked and not physically.

At the end of the day, he's still managed to fuck me in multiple ways. I cannot stand Sal Fisher.

"What are you even talking about?" I ask him, clearing my throat quietly while taking a safe step out of his door and into the living room. I try my best to keep my eyes on him while extinguishing the fear from my gaze. If I act horrified, he'll sniff me out instantly. That is, if he hasn't already.

Sal chuckles deeply— it's, shockingly, an amused and prideful one rather than something sick, dark, and twisted. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. I try my best not to adore the way his scars stretch with his laugh and the sight of his pretty teeth. "Any other woman would have assumed I was sleeping with someone else if I called them by another name," he says lightheartedly, tilting his head down a bit. "But you didn't. And that can only mean that I'm right."

I open my mouth to decline, fear thrumming through me. He caught me red handed. I can't fucking believe this.

"And don't try to deny it, you won't change my mind. I've been very sure of who you are for months now."

My head slowly begins to shake of its own accord. He never fails to shock me. "How..."

Sal shrugs. "You couldn't have timed your introduction more horrendously. Think about it," he says, chewing on his bottom lip. "I bitch at y/n over a phone call, then the next day, a wild VioletViolence pops into my life and isn't too surprised by my shitty personality. The second you were added to the Discord server, I had my suspicions." He shrugs nonchalantly, like the confirmation doesn't bother him in the slightest. "I talked it over with Larry and Todd too. They're pretty sure of your identity as well. They were just nice enough to wait for you to tell us on your own." His eyes narrow, sly like a fox. "But I'm not nice and wanted to know for myself. Wanted to scare you a bit too."

I swallow over the bile rising in my throat. Scare me, he did. I have no idea what to do with myself. I must look like a deer in headlights nearing its death sentence. "It... it doesn't bother you?" I decide to ask in a small voice, unable to blink as I watch him closely.

That same smug little smile is still lighting up his marred face as he says, "Regardless, I still can't stand you and I'll still fuck you stupid."

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A/N::::::: OMFFGGGGG I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS CHAPTER FOR AGESSSSSS PLEASE!!! more specifically the end of it! i've had this last scene written since like... 2022 o_O

i want to give a HUGE thanks to my very good friend, Phoebe, who inspired me to write the catalyst of the smut scene with this AMAZING piece of art that they drew :3 i am soooo so grateful for having the opportunity to see the art in general, but getting to write it too??? OMG so incredibly grateful <33

side note: this is my first time writing a smut scene like this one-- well, actually any time i write a different kind of sex it's new for me LMFAO i am exploring EVERYTHINGGGG and i also have no idea if this is any good. so like last chapter, if y'all could give me some tips or things you like and didn't like, i would GREATLY appreciate it :3

i'm going catch up on my neglected homework. as always, have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night. my heart belongs to all of you <3

#sal fisher #sally face #larry johnson #ash campbell #todd morrison #travis phelps #enemies to lovers #sally face fandom #sally face fanfiction #fanfic #smut

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