#i mean: never turn the front light on in the summer despite how dark it is at night

[eggy-tea]

Look. I know that most people don’t actually live in the woods surrounded by trees. So they have no way of knowing what it’s really like.

But. If you’re dreaming of living in the woods surrounded by trees, you have really got to learn to make peace with The Bugs.

#i don’t mean ‘oh there are a few mosquitoes sometimes and they’re so annoying’ #or ‘yeah we get fruit flies in the summer what can you do’ #or the usual handful of hardy city-dwelling nuisance pests #i mean: you’re sitting on your deck and there’s a vague fuzzy cloud hovering a dozen feet away and it’s just a swarm of insects #it’s fine they’re over there doing their thing #i mean: brush the spiders off your deck chair before you sit down ‘cause it’s your turn now; they can come back later if they really want #i mean: never turn the front light on in the summer despite how dark it is at night #because the second you open that door a few dozen flying insects *will* see it as an invitation #it is worth it. absolutely. but if you can’t handle that level of bugs you should probably start romanticizing being surrounded by fields #(still buggy. but. so much less)

[venus-haze]

Creep (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: You’d grown up in Ambrose, but seeing the mill town’s glory days coming to an end, your family packs up and moves the summer before your senior year of high school. You never expected to return to Louisiana, let alone see Bo Sinclair again, but when your distant husband’s new job brings both, your life goes to hell faster than you can blink.

Note: Yet another Bo Sinclair fic because that man lives in my head rent free. Reader is a cis woman (and a horrible judge of character), but no other descriptors are used. Title comes from the TLC song. This one isn’t as implicitly dark as my other Bo fics, but it’s still there…lurking through the rose-colored lens of nostalgia. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: Death, murder, violence. Marital infidelity, emotional manipulation. Implications of kidnapping and prolonged captivity. Sexually explicit content that involves coercion (dubcon re: degradation, choking, bondage, and unprotected sex). Do not interact if you are under 18.

The Traveling Wilburys song that was playing in Taylor’s Drug Store only served to remind you of how old the place was. You stopped in to pick up a prescription for your husband and do some light shopping. The interior hadn’t been updated since at least the ‘80s, save for the digital cash registers and security cameras, a monitor above the glass doors where you walked in reminding you that you were being watched. You shuffled along the scuffed linoleum tile, shopping basket on your arm as you looked at the shelf of painkillers. 

Throwing a bottle into the basket, you continued along, trying to remember what you had put on your mental list and coming up blank. You went to the snack aisle, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to grab a bag of chips. While considering whether to go with barbecue or sour cream and onion, you noticed a man walk over just a few feet away from you, holding a basket filled with odds and ends. Normally, you minded your own business, but you turned your head to get a better look at him. He was tall, wearing a well-worn flannel shirt that made you wonder for a brief moment what it’d be like to have your legs thrown over his broad shoulders. Despite the trucker cap pulled snugly over his mess of brown hair, almost covering his eyes, his profile seemed hauntingly familiar until it dawned on you—Bo Sinclair.

You could remember Bo being a cocky troublemaker with no regard for his own personal safety, regularly getting into fights in and out of school. With a swoon-worthy smile and an attitude that made your mother emphasize to stay the hell away from him, you did have a bit of a crush on Bo, one that you kept locked in a box to wither and die when your family moved out of Ambrose. Years had passed, though. You’d changed so much since high school. Undoubtedly, he had to have changed too.

Fuck it. You’d been in town a little over a month and had yet to make any friends. It was nice to see a familiar face—a handsome one at that. 

“Bo Sinclair?” you exclaimed, as if you hadn’t spent the past ten seconds staring at him out of the corner of your eye.

As expected, his eyes didn’t light up in recognition when he saw you. In fact, he seemed startled and suspicious. Brows furrowed, he stood stiff as he straightened his posture as you approached him in the snack aisle. His hostility made you second guess your decision to approach him, but you’d already made a spectacle of yourself. Nothing else to do but follow through and hope for the best. 

“I’m not sure if you remember me. My family moved out of Ambrose at the end of our junior year, but—“

He relaxed a bit, giving you a grin that made you want to throw your wedding ring on the ground. “Now I know I must be dreamin’ if I see Y/N standin’ in front of me.”

You smiled. “Yeah, you look great—I mean, y’know, it’s great to see you.”

“It’s great to see you too, doll. Ain’t many familiar faces ‘round anymore.”

“Do you live in town, or—“

“Still in Ambrose, few of us left out there,” he said. “Most of the stores shut down, so I gotta drive out here for stuff.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see you around, then. I just moved here a few weeks ago, and I still don’t really know anyone.”

“You mean you and your husband just moved here,” he said, motioning to your wedding ring.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

You had just barely missed it, the gleam in his eye at your response. Somehow, you suppressed the chill that threatened to run down your spine. That much hadn’t changed about him, the darkness that reared its ugly head whenever you found yourself getting too comfortable around him.

Just as quickly, he claimed he had to get going but that you’d see him again. You gave him a half-hearted goodbye, taking his promise with a disappointing grain of salt. 

Looking at the bags of chips yet again, you grabbed several, intending to spend the rest of the day marinating in your loneliness with snacks and movies until your husband arrived home from work. Maybe you could talk him into getting takeout rather than you having to cook.

The half-empty house was eerily quiet when you arrived back, ignoring the unopened cardboard boxes that had been taunting you for weeks. Unpacking on your own was a monumental undertaking, since your husband worked so much during the week and spent the weekends doing home repairs that you weren’t able to take care of on your own. 

The red light on the answering machine was flashing, and as you set your shopping bags down, you would have bet a million bucks on who the message was from and what it said. 

You folded your arms as you listened to the message, huffing discontentedly under your breath. “Hey honey, I’m working late tonight. We hit some snags with that big project for the quarter. Don’t wait up for me. I’m not sure when I’ll be home. Love you.”

“Yeah right,” you scoffed aloud, pressing the button to delete the message.

Just because it didn’t surprise you, it didn’t mean your feelings weren’t hurt. You’d suspected for a long time that your husband had been cheating on you, though you could never prove as much. Still, it didn’t take a genius to put together the consistent late nights, how he’d finally arrive home with the scent of another woman’s perfume lingering on his clothes as if to taunt you. The part of you that was still a little bit in love with him had hoped that the move would bring the two of you closer together, and for the first week, it did. Then, he started at his shiny new job and found someone to scratch his itch just as quickly.

Being in a new town meant you didn’t have your normal circle of friends to gossip and air grievances with, and doing so on the phone wasn’t the same. You wondered if they’d forget about you eventually, tuck you away in a corner of their minds that they didn’t explore often. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t done the same, running into Bo Sinclair earlier that day was the first time you’d even thought about him since high school. 

Your morbid curiosity getting the better of you, you wondered where your old high school yearbooks were. Looking at the intimidating stacks of cardboard boxes on the other side of the room, you wracked your brain for where you would have packed them.

The cardboard box labeled ‘photo albums’ proved your gut right, as you dug through it to find your high school yearbooks. The familiar blue and gold design that covered each of the books sent a rush of conflicting emotions through you. Fuck, did anyone actually enjoy high school? 

Even back then, Ambrose had been such a small town that to save money, the county had the middle school and high school in the same building. There were so few of you left that it hardly made a difference. Students often had to go to surrounding high schools to participate in extracurriculars and varsity sports. Families who saw college scholarships as their kids’ ticket to a better life would put thousands of miles on their cars to drive them to and from practice during the school year. Your graduating class–at least what was supposed to be your graduating class–couldn’t have been more than forty people. 

Such a small town with an even smaller school meant everyone knew each other’s business. It was suffocating. Still, you opened the yearbook from your junior year of high school and flipped toward the back of the thin book, skimming past the R’s and to the S’s. You studied his photo, strange yet familiar. Handsome with his messy brown hair and cocky grin, you wiped at the paper, assuming there was some kind of smudge on his cheekbone until you realized, no, it was a bruise.

Beauregard Sinclair. You’d forgotten that was his first name, not that anyone ever called him that anyway. You certainly never did. Vandalism, fighting, and hot-wiring cars were his hobbies of choice back then. He did well in shop, you knew as much because your home ec teacher bitched about how the shop instructor pulled some strings to let him stay in the class, even after he swung a wrench in another guy’s face and knocked out three of his teeth during class. You’d see him at house parties, lurking in the shadows with a dangerous and almost feral gleam in his eyes, a beer in his hand as he waited for the right time to pounce on a tipsy target. More reason to stay away from him, your high school best friend who you hadn’t spoken to in years would whisper to you. He was young, then, troubled and immature. The man you spoke with in the convenience store was so different–confident and flirty, a strong, blue collar man you should have pursued instead of being blinded by the false promises of white collar domesticity. Damn.

You looked at the photo directly to the right of Bo’s. A boy with long hair who seemed to shrink into himself, as if to be in as little of the picture as possible. You squinted to make out his odd expression–the mask, how could you forget the mask.

Vincent Sinclair. You remembered Vincent, odd and quiet, though by the end of freshman year no one said anything about it. Bo had beat that out of more than enough people that the gossip was only whispers. The two of you had several classes together. Perhaps because you were one of few students who actually gave Vincent the time of day, your US History teacher had assigned you as partners for the final project, an essay on a past president with a visual element to accompany it. Luck was on your side when you reached into the bowl at the front of the classroom to draw the name of the president you and Vincent would cover—John F. Kennedy. While most of the other duos made poster boards or had someone dress up for the visual element of their project, Vincent had crafted an incredibly detailed wax diorama of the Kennedy assassination that almost got the two of you sent to the principal’s office because the blood splatter looked a little too realistic for your teacher's taste. 

You set the yearbook down, wracking your brain for the name of the youngest Sinclair brother, a friendly boy who’d run around Ambrose barefoot and often covered in mud. He had just started middle school when your family moved, but you’d seen him briefly in the two times you had gone to the Sinclair house to work on the history project with Vincent. Linus? Leonard? Lester.

In all honesty, you didn’t remember Lester very well. All of the Sinclairs were odd, though. Their father was a doctor, but not the kind your parents ever wanted you to go to. Their mother’s wax sculptures lost their appeal after you turned about 10, the last year that you’d go to the wax museum as a school trip. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair had always been nice enough to you, but in the second grade, Bo had cut off one of Cindy Jacobs’ pigtails during craft time. He came into school the next day with a black eye, his already scarred wrists an angry red. You could never bring yourself to like the Sinclairs after that.

Slamming the yearbook shut, you closed your eyes, trying to keep memories of Ambrose at bay. Maybe it was for the best that your family moved. You took a deep breath before throwing the yearbook back into the box you found it in and retrieving a bag of chips.

Your husband had already put together the entertainment center, all of your VHS tapes and DVDs well-organized. They were one of the first things you unpacked. After briefly pondering your first movie choice of the evening, you grabbed The Postman Always Rings Twice and put it into the VHS player. 

As you settled onto the couch with your bowl of chips, the black and white screen was your security blanket, lulling you to forgetting your woes and instead on Lana Turner and John Garfield making the screen their home for the following two hours. You’d fallen asleep on the couch just before the movie ended, and your husband didn’t bother waking you up when he arrived home at some point that night, because you woke up with a crick in your neck and a note on the fridge that he’d be working late again. You threw the dirty plate he’d left in the sink at the wall. It didn’t make you feel much better.

The rest of the week dragged on as you went about unpacking on your own, your husband working his usual late nights. 

When you pulled into the parking lot of Taylor’s Drug Store the next Thursday afternoon, the same day and time you saw Bo the previous week, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit pathetic for deliberately planning your shopping trip around the possibility of running into him again.

Any negative feelings that festered within you on the short walk from your car into the drug store vanished as soon as you walked inside, seeing Bo standing in the shampoo aisle, brows furrowed as he stood in front of the dozens of bottles on the shelves. This time, however, he was dressed in a mechanic’s work shirt and jeans, his cap still pulled over his face, cigarette tucked behind his ear.

“Hi Bo,” you said as you approached him. 

He grunted in response. “Huh? Oh, hey, Y/N.”

“3-in-1 not cutting it?” 

“You always had a smart mouth?” he said, glaring at you. For a split second, you thought he was angry with you for your quip. “Vincent needs one with this Jujube shit in it. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m lookin’ at.”

“Jojoba oil? Here,” you said, grabbing a shampoo bottle and handing it to him. “He still got long hair?”

He nodded. “Yeah, he ain’t got it cut in a long time.”

“It suited him,” you said.

“I’ll let ‘im know you said so,” he grinned. “You always come in here on Thursday afternoons?”

“I do now.”

“Sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Do you wanna get coffee?” you asked, feeling foolishly bold.

He raised an eyebrow. “Your husband gonna be alright with that?”

“I don’t care,” you answered. So what if people thought it was a date, it’d be about time your husband got a taste of his own medicine.

“Well, we can at least pretend you care about your reputation and go somewhere a little bit outside of town.”

You smiled. “Sounds like you already got a place in mind.”

He wasted no time in throwing the rest of what he needed into his shopping basket while you picked up your husband’s prescription, not bothering to grab anything else that was on your list. It wasn’t like you had any other plans for the week.

You followed his truck to a small roadside diner, a greasy spoon type of place family would go to some weekends growing up as a treat. Even though you’d already eaten lunch before going shopping, the smell coming from the restaurant when you got out of your car was tempting enough for you to consider seeing what they had on the menu. 

The restaurant’s decor was simple, old yet charming, and as indicated by the handful of cars in the gravel parking lot outside, there weren’t many people there. A friendly-looking older woman sat you and Bo in a booth, the kind with worn out upholstery that cracked in some places to reveal the cushion underneath. You couldn’t help but smile when you sat down.

“Hi there, what can I get started for y’all?” the waitress asked.

“Just coffee for me,” you said.

Bo nodded, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and sticking it in his mouth as he muttered, “Same for me. Thank ya, ma’am.”

“You got it,” she said.

He lit a cigarette, leaning back in the booth seat a bit. Of course he managed to find one of the few places that still allowed smoking indoors. Looking at his hands, you didn’t notice any kind of wedding band on any of his fingers. The waitress returned to the table less than a minute later with two mugs of hot coffee, pointing out the creamer and sugar at the end of the table.

“So, are you working as a mechanic now?” you asked, fixing the coffee to your preference.

He smiled. “What gave it away?”

“Shut up,” you laughed. “You were always great in shop class. Didn’t you help one of the teachers fix their car once?”

“Vice principal, and he got me out of a suspension for it.”

“Do you work around here?”

“Got my own place in Ambrose. You’d be surprised how many people end up with car trouble in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’m really happy for you,” you said, trying to suffocate the ‘what if’ scenario that began making itself comfortable in your mind. Visions of helping him run a small family business, a kid or two with your smile and his eyes hanging around left you with a lump in your throat. “How are your parents?”

“Folks kicked the can a while ago. Nothin’ really you could do,” he said with a shrug.

“Yeah, mine too,” you said. “How about your brothers?”

“They’re good,” he answered. “Just doin’ their thing.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Any weddings, or—“

“Nope. But how long ago d’you tie the knot?”

“‘Bout four years.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

You paused, considering how to phrase your answer as you played with the ring on your finger that suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. Growing up, you and Bo weren’t what you considered friends, but his familiarity made you feel comfortable. Still, you felt odd airing your marital woes to a man you were supposed to just be catching up with over coffee.

It was one thing bitching about it with your friends, most of whom had their own relationship issues, offering you the validation you were seeking. Your strained marriage had come to define your life, as embarrassing as it was to acknowledge.

“Things were good for the first year or so, but after that, I could tell he was getting bored. No matter what I did, it felt like I was an obligation,” you said. “Then the late nights at work started, and by the time I realized what he was pulling, I didn’t know what to do.”

“Why not get divorced?”

“I haven’t worked in years. I’d be on my ass, and he knows it. Sometimes, I think he took the job out here so he could fuck around behind my back and not have my family or friends breathing down his neck about it.”

“Maybe he does it ‘cause he knows you’ll be a pushover about it.”

You scoffed. “I ain’t a pushover.”

“He’s only been pullin’ this shit for so long because he knows you’ll just take it,” he said, the cigarette pointed at your face punctuating his harsh words. “Sometimes when people do ya wrong, they don’t get the message ‘till you show ‘em.”

Clenching your jaw, you looked out the window, avoiding the knowing expression on his face. He was right. Your marriage had been on the rocks for far longer than things had ever been good, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be the one to initiate the end. It was long overdue, and you knew with his history of infidelity that you could get a decent settlement from a divorce. 

Perhaps you couldn’t admit to yourself that your marriage was nothing more than a dead horse you just kept beating. Throwing in the towel on your relationship felt like failure and inadequacy, which left a sour taste in your mouth. Things couldn’t continue as they were, though. You had to do something. 

You frowned a bit, looking at the clock on the wall behind Bo. He startled you by snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table, the rattling bringing your attention back to him.

“Got somewhere you need to be?” he asked.

“Nope, he won’t be home for another three or four hours. I got nothin’ but time.”

“Me too.”

You nodded, suddenly feeling shy and averting your attention to the empty coffee mug in front of you, tapping your nails against the ceramic. He put his hand over yours, the clinking noise ceasing as you mustered up the courage to look at him again. As soon as your eyes met his, you were a goner the moment he whispered something about a nearby motel that charged for rooms by the hour, his lips curling into a dangerous grin when you merely nodded in response.

It felt like you blinked and he had paid the check, pulled you outside with him, and led you to his truck, your heart hammering like it did when you were sixteen. The motel was just as sleazy as you’d expected, but when the clerk handed the room key to Bo after he’d gotten it for two hours, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

As soon as the door opened, it just as quickly slammed shut, Bo grabbing your purse from you and throwing it aside as he trapped you between himself and the wall, feeling as though you were shrinking beneath his intense gaze. When you tried to avert your gaze, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him, and you did. For the first time since you were in high school, you really looked at Bo Sinclair. He was just as handsome and terrifying as you remembered him being back then. You wanted him just as much as you did back then, too.  

He growled his one and only warning, “I ain’t gonna be gentle with ya, darlin’.”

“I—alright,” you said.

Your hesitance didn’t deter him at all. The kiss that followed was devoid of any romance, but you supposed you’d settle for passion. You kissed him back, trying to keep up with how much of you he wanted. Your open mouth, free for him to claim with his tongue, suddenly felt foreign to you, as if it were no longer your own. Oddly enough, it reminded you of your first kiss.

Despite being a memory you hadn’t revisited in at least a decade, as you replayed it in your mind, you could remember it a bit more clearly. Bo’s truck idling in the driveway, the radio playing soft as the two of you talked. He’d driven you home at his mother’s request as you’d stayed at the Sinclair house late to work on your project with Vincent. You had kept glancing at the front door, waiting for it to swing open and one of your incensed parents to drag you out by your hair for being alone in a car with a boy for so long. 

Then, taking you by surprise, he had kissed you, far rougher than you’d anticipated your first kiss being, especially when he tried pulling you onto his lap when you actually kissed him back. You remembered your heart hammering in your chest when he pawed at your thighs. Something else had happened which you couldn’t quite remember. You had felt shameful and uncomfortable when you walked into your parents’ house.

You gasped, brought back to reality when he stripped you of your shirt and bra, exposing your skin to the cool air in the motel room. He unbuckled his belt, and so quickly you could hardly process what he was doing, he grabbed your wrists, binding them tightly with the worn leather so that your skin chafed whenever you so much as tried to move your hands. 

If anything, it seemed your shocked and worried expression only served as motivation for him to rid you of the rest of your clothes, pushing you onto the dingy bed as he took off his own clothes, his wild eyes glued to your nude and vulnerable figure.

He stroked his hard cock in his hand as he approached you. “You’re gonna take all of it, ain’t ya?”

“Bo, I don’t know—“

“Don’t act stupid, doll,” he grinned, licking his lips. “It ain’t a good look on you.”

He slid two fingers in your pussy, kissing you as he pumped them in and out of you, and you moaned against his lips. Sure, you’d used vibrators and dildos to make up for your husband’s lack of attention, but you were almost overwhelmed at getting the real thing from a man who actually wanted you, even if it was on such dubious terms.

When he pulled his hand away, your whine at the emptiness became a strangled moan when he slid his cock inside you. His thrusts were harsh and unforgiving, as if he were punishing you for something. Maybe you deserved it for being unfaithful to your husband. You’d initiated everything with Bo until the moment you stepped into the motel room. 

You felt helpless beneath him, your bound wrists emphasizing what little control you now had over your body. The way his thrusts became more erratic, sweat beading on his forehead, you knew he was close. You could only imagine the state you were in.

“Gonna fill you up real good,” he groaned.

“Not inside, Bo. Don’t—“

He covered your mouth with his hand that he’d used to finger you. “What? Lil’ slut don’t want my cock all of a sudden? ‘S all you were thinkin’ about when we were sittin’ in that booth earlier.”

You shook your head frantically, unsure of whether you were doing so in protest of his cumming inside you or his taunts. A pathetic whimper came muffled from your lips, and he cursed under his breath, thrusting harder.

“Your pathetic fuckin’ husband don’t make you feel this good huh?”

Again, you shook your head. Sex with your husband was painfully boring. This was more painful than pleasurable, and you considered if you were the pathetic one for being so desperate for attention you’d let your old high school crush treat you with such brutality. You hated how the smug grin on his handsome face made you feel, wishing for a moment you could smack it off of him. 

His calloused fingers were ruthless on your sensitive clit, and your stomach tightened as you felt yourself nearing orgasm, struggling to catch your breath with his hand over your mouth. You were dizzy and could feel a tear roll down your cheek from the overstimulation. Digging your nails into the leather of his belt that was still secure around your wrists, you writhed as you came, your pussy clenching around his cock. His own orgasm followed soon after, and you felt him bottom out inside you, cursing under his breath as his cum filled you. 

When he pulled out, he pulled his hand away from your mouth, leaving you humiliated at the string of saliva that went along with it. He, on the other hand, didn’t mind as he licked it up, almost to your disbelief. 

Freeing your wrists from the restraints of his belt, he threw it aside and settled next to you on the bed. You rubbed your sore wrists, but found the additional friction only made them sting more. For a split second, you wondered how you were going to explain your soreness and the raw skin to your husband. You let out a frustrated exhale. He probably wouldn’t even notice, or maybe he would, but not mention anything, the same way you never called him on the proverbial lipstick on his collar.

A pit of shame and discomfort formed in your stomach as you lay next to Bo, but chalked it up to cheating on your husband for the first time. He deserved it, after all he put you through. You’d thought about cheating on him before, wanting desperately to for so long, but in your mind, it was more on your own terms, as an active participant rather than how Bo threw you around. 

Turning over to face him, he was sitting against the headboard, a smoldering cigarette between his fingers. You scooted over, throwing an arm over his bare torso as you rested your head against his chest. He stiffened, but before you could move away, he pulled you a little closer. 

The two of you spoke softly for the next hour or so, before finally getting up from the bed. Neither of you said much when you got dressed, you waiting by his truck while he turned in the room key. He drove you back to your car, which you’d left at the restaurant.

“See you next week?” you asked quietly, the slightest bit of hesitation in your voice.

He grinned. “You can bet on it, darlin’.”

This rendezvous continued for the next few weeks, the two of you eventually stopping the pretense of getting coffee altogether and meeting at the motel once or twice a week. Whenever you’d see him, he’d have a new bruise or scratch somewhere, claiming it was just a byproduct of his work. That didn’t explain the scratches that looked like someone had clawed the hell out of his arm. He never mentioned having a cat, and while you knew better to assume the two of you were exclusive, you wished he wouldn’t lie about it.

Though generally you knew what to expect from him, it was as if each time you had sex he was testing your limits, pushing you further than you were comfortable at times. Still, you were worried that if you protested too much, he wouldn’t want to see you anymore, and you’d be on your own again.

“He’s gonna be out of town this weekend for a work trip, at least that’s what he says. You wanna stay over?” you asked as you got dressed, taking care to keep the fabric away from the fresh bruises on your hips.

“You askin’ me to defile your literal marriage bed?”

“Yeah, and I’ll cook dinner too.”

He laughed. “You drive a hard bargain.”

In the days leading up to Bo staying for the weekend, you could hardly contain your excitement. You didn’t know anyone to have a housewarming party, so you never got the chance to show off the house to anyone. It was neat enough, but you wanted the place to be spotless, each room cleaned and unpacked so you could indulge in your increasingly frequent fantasies of Bo coming through the front door at the end of the day.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it to yourself, you were excited for the gossip. You had a cordial enough relationship with your neighbors, but you wanted them to see the truck that certainly wasn’t your husband’s in the driveway, the handsome man leaving your house Sunday afternoon looking far too disheveled and satisfied for an innocent weekend visit. What’s more, you wanted them to hear you, no doubt what you were up to while your husband was away, word eventually getting to him that his wife was stepping out on him. Finally he’d get a taste of his own bitter medicine.

Your husband hadn’t bothered returning home after work on Friday, bringing his suitcase to work with him in the morning so he could head straight to the airport from the office. You honestly didn’t remember where he was going, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when a little after six, you heard the knock that made you rush to the front door.

A change from his usual work shirt, worn out jeans, and cap, Bo stood on your front porch in a dress shirt and nicer jeans. You smiled, giving him a kiss on the lips for the neighborhood to see. Moving from the doorway, you felt a bit nervous for him to see where you lived.

“Some place ya got here,” he said, looking around.

“It’s his. My name’s nowhere to be found on the mortgage,” you said.

“The guy buys a house like this and is barely in it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t get it either. I’ll give you the grand tour later, though. For dinner I was thinking chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and I forgot to get a vegetable so that’s just gonna be frozen green beans,” you said as you walked into the kitchen.

“As great as that sounds, I was thinkin’ of startin’ with dessert first,” he responded, his gaze hungry as he took in the sight of you standing in what had become your natural element.

“The bedroom’s right up those stairs,” you whispered, glancing toward the staircase.

He grinned. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

Taking his hand, you led him upstairs and down the hallway, past the closed doors of the empty spare bedroom and hardly stocked guest bathroom. Your bedroom door, however, was wide open. You’d never admit the amount of time you spent cleaning it before he came over, at least wanting a nicer experience than the dingy motel rooms that the two of you had been accustomed to having sex in.

He hardly took a look around before pushing you back onto your own bed, kissing you as he slid one of his knees between your legs, pressing it against your clothed pussy.

“You know what I wanna see you do tonight?” he asked, his voice low.

“What’s that?”

He practically spat his answer back. “Ride my leg like a bitch in heat.”

Your breath hitched, and you nodded, wasting no time in moving over so he could sit on the edge of the bed. When you reached for the hem of your shirt to start undressing, he clicked his tongue.

“Clothes on, darlin’,” he said, patting his thigh. 

You could feel your face heat up as you settled on his lap. Doing this fully clothed left you with a sense of humiliation you weren’t sure whether or not you liked. Slowly, you grinded your hips against his leg, holding onto his shoulders for support. 

His hand slipped between you, his fingers rubbing your clit through your panties while the other squeezed your hips. You could feel your orgasm building up when he pulled his hand away from your clit suddenly, giving you a cruel grin in response to your look of betrayal.

He smacked your ass. “C’mon now, you gotta work for it.”

It didn’t take you long to get a rhythm going from there, squeezing his shoulders and letting out high-pitched whines of frustration as you chased the pleasure that seemed just out of reach. Something in your core tightened, and you desperately tried to get more friction from the rough material of his jeans to your aching, clothed pussy.

Biting your lip, your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment as you considered the situation you were in, humping the leg of a man who wasn’t your husband in your shared bed while he was none the wiser. It was wrong and debauched, but it made you wetter than your husband ever had.

“Jesus Christ, ya really are a lil’ bitch in heat, gettin’ my nice pants fuckin’ soaked,” he taunted, flexing his thigh as you rutted your hips against it.

You moaned, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “Bo, fuck, I’m close.”

“What the fuck?”

You felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on you upon hearing your husband’s voice. Turning around to look at him, he was furious—and marching right toward you. 

He pulled you off of Bo, and you landed painfully on the ground. Just when you thought he’d start in on you, he punched Bo square in the jaw. Pushing yourself off the floor, you narrowly avoided the two men beating the shit out of each other in your bedroom. Your husband managed to get a solid kick to Bo’s leg, and his knees buckled as your husband readied himself to land another blow.

“Fuck you! Get off of him! Get off—“ without thinking, you grabbed the lamp off of the nightstand and swung directly at your husband’s head.

The ceramic base shattered upon impact. He collapsed to the ground, blood slowly pooling from his head, though his limbs continued to twitch. You dropped the broken lamp, eyes wide in shock at what you’d just done.

“Oh my god. Oh my god—what am I gonna—“

You looked to Bo, who despite his split lip, was shockingly unbothered by the situation as he stood up. From the floor, your husband emitted a groan, choking on his own blood.

“He’s still alive. Oh fuck, call an ambulance or-or—“

Bo rolled his eyes, grabbing the cord from the lamp and strangling your husband with it until he stopped making noise. You turned away to vomit on the carpet.

“Are you finished? ‘Cause the way you were carryin’ on, there ain’t no way one ‘a your neighbors haven’t called the cops by now.”

“What do I do? I mean, can we say it was self defense?”

He kicked over your husband’s limp body, showing you the damage in all its bloody glory. “That look like self defense to you?”

“Fuck. Bo, I can’t go to jail. I can’t—“

“Darlin’, no one’s goin’ to jail. You just gotta do exactly what I say. Got it?” he grabbed your face, pulling your attention from your dead husband to him. “Got it?”

“Okay,” you whispered.

He instructed you to break the lock on the front door, and then gather any valuables you could. Your stomach lurched when you realized he wanted to stage a break in, your husband an unfortunate casualty and you abducted in the fray. It was genius, but worrisome how quickly he came up with the idea. 

As you set the scene of your now ex-husband’s untimely demise, you tried not to think about how Bo didn’t hesitate to kill him, cold and calculated. No time to consider the implications. You’d made your bed, and there was nothing to do but lie in it—except you couldn’t even do that, because your husband’s blood was splattered all over it.

You took one last look at the house, knowing whatever Bo had in mind involved you leaving and never coming back. The thought evoked no emotions in you. The place was never a home, somewhere you felt particularly attached to. Instead it served as a facade, an ornate casket that was fit for your marriage to formally be laid to rest in. 

Upon returning to your bedroom, you grabbed your duffel bag, the one you’d kept packed and hidden in your closet for when you’d meet Bo at the motel. Shoving what you could into the bag and your purse, you attempted to appear casual as you walked outside, putting your things in his truck and waiting for him to join you. You wished you had time to clean yourself up before leaving, feeling self-conscious of getting your husband’s blood and your own wetness on the passenger seat.

Your heart skipped a beat when he opened the driver’s side door a few minutes later, but you calmed down a bit when you saw it was him. Wordlessly, he started up the truck, leaving the headlights off as he slowly drove up your street. When he turned them on a few blocks away from your house, you let yourself breathe a little easier, but you weren’t off the hook yet, not until you got the hell outta town. 

“You passed the turn for the motel,” you observed.

“We’re not goin’ there.”

“Then where—“

“Ambrose. Ain’t no one gonna look for ya there.”

“It’ll be all over the news. Anyone could see me and turn me in,” you said.

“They won’t. Trust me,” he said, his firm tone giving you the assurance you were seeking.

He continued driving, the old country backroads becoming more and more familiar to you. So many times when you’d thought back to your youth, you wondered what was a dream or a memory, but these narrow, pothole-littered roads confirmed it was all real.

As soon as you saw the sign welcoming you to Ambrose, you felt like you could finally breathe. The sign had definitely seen better days, but it didn’t matter. You were home.

“God, it’s like nothing’s changed,” you whispered, mostly to yourself as Bo drove up Main Street, passing the places your teen spirit would haunt when life seemed so complicated but was still so simple. 

“A few things have,” he said, “but yeah, ya know how people are ‘round here.”

You nodded, about to respond when you noticed the gas station coming up. “Wait, can we stop here? I wanna see your shop.”

He hesitated for a moment but obliged, wordlessly pulling into the station and turning off his truck. You got out, leaning into him when he wrapped his arm around you. Being in your hometown again filled you with conflicting emotions, but the safety you felt on Main Street slowly began to fade as soon as you stepped foot in the gas station.

“So you run this place on your own?”

“Yeah, just me. Not enough people comin’ by to warrant extra help, but—“

He was interrupted by the sound of metal clanking and what you could have sworn was a woman’s muffled screams.

“Bo, what was that?” you asked, anxiety lacing your words as you stepped closer to the source of the noise.

He sucked on his teeth, the sound making your skin crawl. “Nothin’ you need to worry about.”

You stopped in your tracks, feeling yourself become dizzy as the distressed yelling didn’t stop. It sounded far too clear to be your imagination. “What the hell did you do?”

“See, if I was you, I wouldn’t be showin’ so much hostility to the man who saved your ass from the electric chair,” he snapped. “‘Less you want me to drag your ass to the cops that’re crawlin’ all over your house by now?”

“Bo, c’mon,” you whispered, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

“Just get back in the damn truck,” he said, his voice low. 

You nodded, dazed as you made the short walk back to his truck. Sitting in the passenger seat, you put your head in your hands, trying to figure out how your life got fucked up so quickly. You’d never know what brought your husband home from his work trip early—if that was even the case, maybe he had his own plans to cheat over the weekend that didn’t work out, his usual squeeze standing him up. 

There were so many what if’s that raced through your mind, like if you hadn’t impulsively grabbed the lamp and made the situation go from bad to worse. The way Bo had escalated things to absolute worst by dealing the death blow to your husband, cold and calculated, suddenly made sense. Even if your husband had approached the situation calmly, you knew Bo wouldn’t do the same. It would have come to fruition at some point, but you didn’t expect it to be so soon.

When Bo returned to the truck, you noticed the fresh blood on his knuckles as he grabbed the steering wheel, but didn’t mention it. What was there to say? It wasn’t like you could do anything to help whoever he had trapped somewhere in that gas station. It did explain the scratches and bruises he’d show up to the motel with.

“So, how about that dinner you were gonna make? I’m starvin’,” he said nonchalantly, the key in the ignition making the engine roar to life.

Staring blankly ahead, you whispered something about mashed potatoes. He gave you an unreadable glance from the driver’s seat before throwing his arm over your shoulder and driving up the street to his place, the Sinclair family’s house atop a hill. When he drove past your childhood home, the lights were on inside. You wondered who lived there now.  

#bo sinclair x reader #slasher x reader #bo sinclair x female reader #slasher fandom #slasher community #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #slashers #bo sinclair

[thedevilinmybrain]

this is the fic i was talking about that i started and just...never did anything with

Despite what television and movies would have one believe, once you've attended one college party - you've attended them all. It doesn't matter if it's in a cramped dorm room or a shitty apartment across town, it's always the same thing, the same cast of characters, the same outcome. Somehow, a fist fight will almost always break out. Someone will be left crying on the curb, waiting to be dragged home by friends. A couple will do a little too much in a too public place. And there is always a mess, sticky and suspicious, left on the floors and countertops.

It doesn't mean that the monotony doesn't have its own charms though. One can look around the room and finally settle into something that vaguely resembles home. There is an odd sense of serenity in knowing the gaggle of faces crammed into someone’s shitty apartment, recognizing who to approach and who to avoid, even the same pulsing, vibrating beat of the music has a certain familiarity with it.

After three months of the grueling summer heat, a sleepy college town emptied down to the locals, it's like a true revival to be here again. Louis lets himself sink into it, the atmosphere washing over him from the moment Zayn and him had wedged themselves in through the front door. It's an overwhelming and overstimulating experience. The lights are mostly off, just a few low lamps and a string of brittle Christmas lights strung up along the top half of the living room. It's enough to give some illusion of ambience, a  subtle glow that makes faces vague and wandering hands mostly in shadow.

It's not that the decor really matters anyway - it's the thick press of bodies - people shoved together, talking, laughing, shouting that makes it feel more intense. Someone has wedged the large couch against the wall, a tangle of people crowded into the center rug as a make-shift dance floor. They're the reason so many people are shoved to the perimeter of the space, little clusters of friends perched around, leaning close, not minding when they get shuffled this way and that.

Someone has been wise enough to tape Tupperware containers over the smoke detectors. The curl of smoke hangs over it all, thick and coiling, the sharp scent of cloves mixing with another sharper - more exact.

As it is, Louis is settled against the wall in the hallway leading from the kitchen to the living room, a six pack of Magic Hat between his feet. Because, as he’d learned early in his college part career, if you want to drink the good stuff at parties – you bring your own and you keep it with you. It's doing a good job of keeping his pregaming at a steady level, the vodka they had shared in a water bottle on the way over still sitting warm in his chest.

"How was your summer?" Matt - a guy from Louis' figure drawing class last year - leans into his space, shouting to be heard over the music. His dark hair is cut short, curling up on the edges from sweat and humidity, a large chest tattoo peaking out from his v-neck.

"Boring. Glad to be back. You?" Louis asks, tries to remember if he's even spoken to Matt before. Probably, maybe a group project last fall?

"It was good. Spent some time road tripping in Virginia. Really nice down there. Was really good for like, my muse, ya know?" With a small scuffle, Matt's speckled Doc Martens bump into Louis' Vans, squeezing himself close as a group of girls wedge themselves by. They're laughing loudly, Smirnoff Ice held above their heads. "Do you hike at all?"

"What?" Louis turns his head, tilts his ear up.

"Do you hike? Like are you into hiking?" Matt repeats himself, his breath warm on Louis' neck. "Or outdoorsy stuff?"

"I mean, sure. Who doesn't like a night out under the stars, am I right?" Louis is lying. He's lying so well he almost believes himself. When was the last time he went camping? Maybe that overnight field trip with the Boy Scouts in third grade?

"You should come with next time." Matt grins, his teeth flashing even in the low light. It makes his face appear oddly young, the stubble around his lips thin and patchy. “Me and my friends did some molly and I swear, it really woke up my chakra, ya know? Like, I felt so intune with nature. I painted for like six hours. Some of my best shit."

"Oh yeah?" Eyebrows raised, Louis nods his head slowly. He could really use another beer, or five, or at least a shot of the tequila that he can barely make out on the kitchen counter.

He's saved a moment later from having to say anything when a warm arm suddenly slings around his waist, a shock of bleach blond hair nudging into his shoulder. Zayn is burning up, his thin tank top clinging to his chest, the sides cut open along his ribs. It's too hot in the apartment for all of the people that have managed to cram in, but it doesn't seem to dissuade anyone.

"Where have you been?" Zayn hollers, his voice sharp and loud directly in Louis' ear. "I've been lookin' for you! I left for two minutes and you disappeared!"

"I've been here!" Louis shrugs, has to shift his weight, spread a little wider to keep them both upright. Zayn's pupils are so blow his eyes look black, staring at Louis' through a scrunched brow. "Where have you been?"

"I went to the bathroom and fuck." Zayn keeps his grip firm on Louis' hip, reaches down, tugs a bottle out of the cardboard holder between Louis' feet. "I don't know. Fuck it. I'm here now though. Who is this?"

"Matt." Louis points between the two of them. "This is Zayn. Zayn, this is Matt."

"Yeah, man, nice to meet you." Zayn nods, fumbling his beer a little as he pats himself. "Ah, shit."

Matt just stands there, giving a close inspection of the two of them. Louis already knows the conclusion he's going to draw, wouldn't be the first, as Zayn gives up on his own pockets and reaches for Louis instead. It's the easy way Zayn fits against Louis' side, his hand curling casually into the front pocket of his skinny means to pluck out Louis' lighter. He uses the bottom of it to pop the top on his beer, lets the metal clink to somewhere on the floor, lost in the mass of feet. It's too familiar of a touch, too intimate, and Louis watches as Matt's mouth turns down a little bit more.

"Uh, hey man." Matt hooks his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll catch you later, yeah?" He makes a little aborted motion with his hand, stumbles away with his 40 cradled to his chest before Louis can even reaction.

"<i>Shiiit.</i>" Zayn drawls, lets go of Louis to lean on the wall in the now vacated spot. "Were you trying to pull? I fucked it up, didn't I?"

"No." Louis rolls his eyes, takes the lighter back from Zayn's limp fingers and pulls his smokes out. He lights a cigarette, passing it over, before getting one started for himself. "He was trying to get me to go do molly with him and camp in Virginia and awaken my inner muse or some shit. I don't fucking know."

"You camping?" Zayn snorts derisively, shaking his head. "Outside? With bugs? And no wifi?"

"It's not the camping." Louis exhales a cloud of smoke up towards the ceiling, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh. Come on, Lou. You don't want to go out there and, let me guess? Become one with the higher powers of art?" Zayn's cackle is half drunk and half scathing. "Let's all just get in touch with ourselves and one another?"

"Semester hasn't started yet so if you could cut the hipster bullshit." Louis reaches out fast, flicks Zayn's ear. "<i>Thanks</i>."

Zayn makes to retaliate, hand already raised, when it's caught out of the air. A long arm covered in ink comes into view and suddenly Liam is stumbling forward into the them with a solid clunk. His beer bottle has dented the plaster a bit, a long scuff in the paint, but he doesn't even seem to notice as he smears a kiss to Zayn's cheek. Then one to Louis' temple.

"Oi! Payno, christ's sake!" Louis grumbles loudly, barely gets out of Liam's grasps as he means to drag the three of them into a group hug.

"My boys!" Liam croons, his face flushed and eyes glassy. They hadn't seen him when they came in, so there is no telling how long Liam's been here. His t-shirt is wet on the bottom though, wrinkled from what looks like the edge of a table. Liam's never been one to resist a beer pong tournament and his glassy eyes, red face give away that he was champion for a while.

"Easy, easy!" Zayn is laughing, leaning his cheek against Liam's as they straight up, nearly toppling into the couple making out behind them. "God, you fucking bear. Don't gotta maul me."

"Yeah? Thought you liked that?" Liam has that look in his eye suddenly, glinting as his eyes shamelessly roam over Zayn. This is a new development, barely started since the beginning of summer. They're still so new that the excitement hasn't even really started yet.

Louis lets his eyes roll away from them, tilts his body so he can see past and into the living room. It's dark in there, a collection of shadows and vague shapes, all milling around and dancing. Louis has half a mind to go out there, his cigarette now sitting in the bottom of his nearly empty beer. He could lose himself in the press of warm skin, strangers with wandering hands and sickly sweet breath. He knows he's already lost Zayn and Liam's attention, both of them still just staring at each other, having one of their silent conversations.

It’s not like he's big into dancing, not really, but the crowd is mostly just swaying into each other – bumping and pressed tight into a mass of moving part. Louis could do it, just wedge himself between some people and let the heat take over. It’s only a fleeting thought though, nothing coming of it. Through the sea of twisting legs, sprawled bodies, Louis catches the full view of the couch. There are half a dozen people squeeze onto the dark leather and Louis instantly scowls, feels the hackles on the back of his neck raise when he recognizes the man sitting directly in the center.

Colton Montgomery.

At least, that's what his name actually is. But a guy like that doesn't deserve to be called anything other than what he is. So, Louis refers to him as Asshole and Asshole only. Capital letter. Proper noun. Full stop. It's not like Louis to hate people like this - he's a people person! An extrovert with a loud mouth and a strong opinion. But there is a special spot in Louis' mind reserved for this guy.

Tall and blond and ridiculously handsome, Colton is the epitome of old money privilege. He's got an easy way of commanding a room, just steps through the door and grabs attention, draws a crowd. Maybe it's the luxury brands always draped across him or the perpetual tan that screams 'I just stepped off my yacht.' Or maybe it's the rumor that he's second cousins to the Rothschilds. Either way, where Colton goes, eyes follow.

That is until he ultimately opens his fucking mouth. All it had taken was one side eye, one long glance during Orientation Week for any awe to turn to ash on Louis' tongue. Colton and Louis had been assigned in the same dorm building, same floor even. And yet it was his cold, blue eyes glancing over Louis’ ripped jeans, his scuffed and holey Vans, a generic hoodie on, before contempt had settled in.

“They really will give anyone a scholarship here, huh?” Colton had sneered at his friends, his companions in vintage luxury brands, perfectly combed Martha’s Vineyard haircuts. It was all in that phrase, that hinted edge, the very unspoken hiss of ‘white trash’ and Louis had been done.

Sneering, Louis reaches into his pocket and pulls out another cigarette. It was just bad luck that Colton and him seemed to show up at the same parties, were always seeing each other on campus, had suffered through a class together last year. In a private art school though, it is almost expected. Louis can’t fucking escape him. He’s always around and always with those side long glances, that sneering mouth.

Louis watches through the haze of smoke as Colton slings his arm around the shoulders of someone, his head tilted back in a slow, lazy grin. The guy, small and pretty, tucks himself into Colton's sided, a hand pressed to his chest. It's clear where this is heading - all coy with heavy eyes made glassy with alcohol - leaning in to whisper to one another. It's a party after all, but it's just the way Colton goes around it - cocky and spread out on the couch, like a king to his subjects.

Louis French exhales, lets the smoke spill out from his nose as he means to turn back to his friends, put the Asshole out of his mind, when something else draws his attention. More of a someone than a something. There is a guy cutting through the crowd, uses his arm to wedge between people. He's tall, head tilted down so the wave of his dark curls falls like a curtain over his face. He tosses it back with a quick hand, crushes it to the side, and Louis can see the edge of his sharp jawline, big eyes illuminated in the dim, Christmas lights. His full mouth is twisted into a thin line, only deepening the closer he gets to the edge of the dance floor.

Hands placed on thin hips, the guy stomps in front of Colton, motions his hand between him and the pretty boy tucked into his side. It's too far away and way too dark to make anything out as far as words, but whatever the guy says makes Colton pull back. He's shaking his head then, saying something placating and pushing the smaller guy away from him, hands up in something like faux innocence. The curl haired one instantly takes the now vacated sea, sits with his knees close together, a pronounced space between where he's sitting and Colton's thighs rest.

Louis keeps watching, can't look away, as the guy starts talking, his hands raised in a sharp shrug. Colton laughs at him, sharp and loud even over the music, but the guy doesn't smile back. Instead, he flinches hard, his ringed hand coming to rest against the base of his throat, like he's holding himself back, swallowing it down.

"Oi. Payno?" Louis drags his thumb along the length of his beer, scratches halfheartedly at the label. He's trying hard not to stare anymore, keeps sneaking glances up from his eyelashes. The guy is illuminated by the Christmas lights now, the glow  highlighting the pretty contours of his face. "Who is that?"

“Who?” Liam swivels his head wildly to the side, tries to grab a glance of who Louis is referring. He's in every club on campus; practically an expert on the whole student body. “Who’s who?”

“Stop making it obvious!” Louis hisses, reaches forward with his foot and purposefully presses the toe of his Vans into the top of Liam’s shoes. “Behind us. Long hair. Open shirt. Talking to <i>Asshole</i>.”

Liam turns his head again, uses Zayn’s shoulder as a bit of a shield as he stares down the length of the hallway and into the living room. It’s not hard to figure out who Louis is referring to, the boy perched on the very edge of his seat, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Whatever <i>Asshole</i> – Colton – is saying to him, he doesn’t look very happy.

“Oh, um, I think that’s Harry?” Liam squints a little. His cheeks are blotchy and red, his beer sweating all over Zayn’s tank top as he leans heavily into the other boy. “Styles. Yeah. Had an Art History class with him last semester.”

“Oh. Cool.” Louis makes a point of looking disinterested, apathetically shrugging his shoulders, but Zayn is fast. He’s known Louis since Freshman Orientation. He knows all of his tells.

“Oh. Oh no. Lou no.” Slumping on the wall, Zayn rests a hand heavily on Louis’ shoulder, shaking his head. “Look at who he’s with! He has trust fund written all over him.”

“I wasn’t-“ Louis instantly defends, hope that the darkness of the hallway covers his slow blush. “I was just wondering.”

"If you want to pull, I'll help you out." Liam slings an arm around Louis' shoulder, glances around at the people milling by. "Saw some Freshmen in the kitchen a few minutes ago. Lookin' like they could use some company."

"I'm not going to pull an eighteen-year-old. Thanks. Not desperate enough yet to rob a cradle." Louis shudders, thinks of his own teenage sisters back at home. It's only a three-year age gap but it feels like eons. "I'm going to get some air."

"Louis." Zayn tries this time, wraps his hand around Louis' wrist. “I was just playing.”

"I'll be back. Don't leave without me."

Louis leaves them too it, sees out of the corner of his eye as Liam tucks Zayn back against the wall. He's sure they'll be there when he gets back, preoccupied with staring at each other or doing whatever it is that they do now. It's still too new to be anything other than desperate touching, but Louis is waiting for a bit longer before he starts to pry.

Outside, the air is thick with summer humidity, the cicadas chirping loud and shrill in the trees. Louis finds himself alone on the back porch, just the lone alleyway street lamp to keep him company. His throat is starting to feel raw, dried out from the alcohol and the smoke inside. He combats it by taking another swig of his beer, digs his Marlboros out of his pocket again.  

The new semester starts in two days. Monday hanging like an omen - foreboding and dark. Louis will be a junior this year, nearly finished, halfway there. It's hard to put into words how he's feeling about it. Art has never been about being a release for him, as so many other people say. It's something else. When Louis creates something, he's not releasing anything. He's pulling it from within himself, he's making himself raw, bloody, bruised. There is a fragility, a kind of selfish selflessness in letting himself be known and then judged for it. It's exposing self inflicted scars and then praying that someone sees them and understands, views the beauty in the creation.

With photography, it feels even more genuine. Sure, you can create with lighting, angles, forced perspective, but there is a point where you can't hide anymore. It's not like other mediums where a vague shape or a color choice can be metaphor’d away. With photography, at the end of the day, it is what it is. All that is left as a barrier is the view of the artist and the view of the audience.

Louis thinks maybe he's been a little morose about it, should probably not be so introspective when he's sat in the dark on someone's back porch outside of the first party of the semester. Thankfully, he's only a third of a way through his cigarette and he's interrupted a moment later.

With a sharp bang, the backdoor opens and then closes, lets out a burst of noise from the party within and then muffles it in the same moment. The man who steps out is tall, thin shoulders hunched as he shuffles across the back porch, steps haggard in a way that is most likely from alcohol as the beer bottle in his hand knocks against the far bannister.

It's hard to make out any features other than his long legs, wrapped up in jeans and ending in a pair of boots, until the alley light catches on his face. It's a sharp contrast - the soft curl of his hair against a sharp jawline, the curve of a cupid's bow and full mouth, the pale light gleaming on the wetness of his cheeks. With a rough sniffle, he rubs the side of his hand under his nose in a sharp, jerking motion.

"You know." Louis can't help it, sets his hands on the banister so he can lean out of the shadows of the house. Call it liquid courage or maybe just dumb fucking instinct. Zayn’s not out here to tell him not to. "You really are too pretty to be outside crying at a party."

"Excuse me?" The man jolts a little, turning to see where Louis is perched, the curl of smoke from his cigarette coiling around the end of the deck.

"Just seems a shame." Louis grins a little, just the corner of his mouth tilted up. "Feel like you should be in there, holding court with a couple fashion majors or something, dancing your heart out. Not out here by yourself, crying over some fucking prick."

"I'm not- What-" The man blinks, rolls his shoulders back. There is a dainty silver chain hanging around his neck, a small circle pendant resting in the center of his sternum, shiny with sweat. "Who are you?"

“An unbiased observer.” Louis swings his legs, watches the guy shifting around on his feet. “And someone who knows that you’re wasting your time if you think some pretentious asshole is worth your time. Colton is a dickhead. You should find someone else.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Brushing his hair over his shoulder, the guy rubs a hand along his cheek, mouth pulled down in a pout. He’s eying Louis now, gaze drifting over what he can see in the shadow of the house. “And I think you should mind your own business.”

“Alright. Sorry.” Carefully raising his hands, Louis relents as he slips off the bannister, getting to his feet. “I wasn’t trying to pry or anything. Just seemed like a shit reason to ruin a perfectly good party. First of the semester and all.”

“It’s a dumb party anyways.” The guy mutters, wipes at his other cheek now, a few stray tears still clinging to his jaw. “Who celebrates coming back to school anyways?”

“Ah, I don’t know about that.” Louis tilts his head back, watches the soft curve of the man’s mouth, lips flushed red from biting at them. “Why don’t you let me take you back inside? Get a drink and a dance? Take your mind off of it?”

“I-“ Looking up, a delicious sort of flush takes over his cheeks, and the guy looks decidedly certain before the backdoor is slamming open, Colton stepping onto the deck.

“Seriously? Jesus, Harry. It was a fucking joke. You’re always so sensitive.” Colton’s long, sun kissed arm thrusts forward, hand wrapping around the guy’s – Harry’s – wrist. “Are you seriously crying over – Oh!”

He stops when he spots Louis, takes one long look between the cigarette perched between Louis’ fingers, the blown out knees of his jeans, the cheap beer in hand. Louis’ entire outfit probably cost less than one of Colton’s shoes, the leather gleaming in the light. Colton seems to cataloguing it all away too – the way Louis is staring and the way Harry is standing – only a few feet between them. Drawing conclusions, his grin turns brittle, haughty and sharp, tugging Harry half a step back and into his side.

“Tomlinson.”

“Asshole.” Louis greets, resists the urge to draw himself up. Colton only has a few inches on him, but it feels like miles.

“Haven’t dropped out yet?” Colton smirks, ignores the way Harry has gone stiff beside him, rubbing at his cheek. “They still letting you paying tuition in coins?”

“Well, you know what they say, it’s better to be given a scholarship based on talent than flash your daddy’s name and bribe your way in.” Louis snarls, feels his teeth grind together around the words.

“Bribe? Why would I need to bribe anyone?” Colton does that scoffing laugh of his, the sound sharp and scathing. “I know it must be hard for you to understand, but I didn’t bribe my way into this school. I was formally invited.”

#will i ever finish it? #probably not #but maybe #but probably not #but perhaps #hmmmmm

[mrshenrybolet]

in which a smile overpowers Rachmaninoff at sunrise

in a moment, in a library, in a ray of sunlight, Henry Bolet Jr.’s life is changed.

PG | SFW

Henry Bolet Jr. absentmindedly gazed bleary-eyed at the sunrise emerging through the oak trees outside the library at Emerson College. He closed his literary theory textbook, marking the page with a coffee receipt before pushing it aside. Removing the headphones playing Rachmaninoff, Henry leaned back in his chair, giving his eyes permission to glaze over in the soft sunlight.

He was acutely aware of the expectation for him to be enamored with the night based on his elected appearance; his ink black hair, tattoos, and usually black attire were one thing, but he supposed that his tendency to keep to himself didn’t help matters much.

But Henry couldn’t help feeling drawn to the quiet, golden haze of sunrise that pricked through the night. Perhaps it was a welcome contrast to the ceaseless whisper of his seemingly endless inner darkness.

He knew he couldn’t logically blame Death for his childhood reality of abandonment by his parents to a life of lonesomeness.

And yet…

He couldn’t reflect on that for long, lest the ceaseless whisper give voice to a foreboding murmur — and he didn’t dare admit the blame aloud, in a quiet fear of retribution from the blamed party.

Though his Uncle Bruno had provided financial support through enrollment in boarding school and summer camps — and, when what Henry considered wit faculty had considered disrespect one too many times, military school — he had never been able to provide the emotional support and personal connection that Henry craved.

But here, Henry had a few friends, although not more than he needed fingers on one hand to count. Ned Nickerson was Henry’s best friend, though Henry knew that he was not Ned’s. No, Ned had extensive family, friends, fraternity “brothers” — if you were the type to take that seriously.

Henry felt a jolt of envy behind his navel, followed by a pang of shame that his jealousy led him to begrudge his best friend his support system. The bite of knowing that he wasn’t worth enough for people to bother staying in his life turned his stomach. But Ned stayed.

For now, came the morose whisper from somewhere inside him.

Preoccupied, he thoughtlessly chipped at the black nail polish on his thumb while watching the gilded rays of light wash across the library stacks.

Ned also had a long-term girlfriend, though she seemed to disregard him too frequently than he felt Ned should feel comfortable. Henry wasn’t sure how he felt about Ned’s girlfriend — was it Dani? Sandy? Henry had never met her, as it seemed she couldn’t be bothered to actually come to visit his friend. He recalled Ned reaching out to Henry on several occasions when he had gotten stood up on important dates; Henry figured Ned must have known that he wouldn’t have social plans himself and would be willing to listen to his heartache. Despite his seemingly callous exterior, Henry truly cared about his friends, a sentiment he hoped was communicated through his actions, as words were not his strength.

From somewhere behind him, Henry heard a rustling that gave him a start. The blissful tranquility that his headphones had brought had deceived him into the illusion of solitude until now.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” a disembodied voice called out in hushed tones. A figure emerged from behind the stacks, long legs striding towards him with ease. Henry blinked in an attempt to get his eyes to refocus. More distinct than what he could discern visually as the figure grew closer was the intoxicating, woodsy fragrance wafting off her sleek hair as she stepped in front of his desk.

“You’re Henry Bolet, right?” that velvety voice crooned. Henry’s own voice seemed to forget how to function, whether it was from lack of sleep or relative shock at someone actually approaching him, and he simply sat looking up at her, his mouth agape.

He knew his eyes must be fatigued from studying through the night. Yet he ignored their strain, reveling unblinkingly in her striking beauty, more powerful than the brilliant, near blinding beams of sunrise shining behind her, enveloping her in a golden halo. He could faintly hear the ending notes of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor play from his headphones that lay on the sun-strewn desk in between them.

Henry knew he would never be the same person again as she gazed down at him with alluring siren eyes and a coy smile that took permanent root in his heart.

“Call me Summer.”

#clue crew #nancy drew #nancy drew games #her interactive #henry bolet #henry bolet jr #legend of the crystal skull #cry #fanfiction #austen speaks

[dira333]

Road trip

Scotty x reader

The arctic road, Norway

Shore leave stretches out in front of you just like the dark road in front of the trailer you’re sitting in.

When the last houses fade into the darkness behind you, you curb down the window and taste the night air.

“You can go back and sleep,” Scott offers from behind the steering wheel.

“How long are you planning to drive?” You ask, pulling the window up again and turning to him. You can barely make out his face in the darkness, but after having spent five years on the same starship and another thirteen hours on a flight from San Francisco to Stavanger you know his features well enough to know he’s scrunching up his nose in concentration now as he contemplates.

“Should take us about an hour to that place we wanted to stay for the night.”

“You could just pull over at the next stop and come to bed with me,” you offer and realize the double meaning of your words only when he chokes in surprise.

“I didn’t mean like that,” you clarify and you feel his hand touching your arm immediately afterward.

“I know,” he assures you, despite his voice sounding the tiniest bit strained, “I know. I’m gonna pull over at the next rest area.”

You both fall silent after that. It’s a comfortable silence and one of the reasons the two of you are so close is the fact that you are able to be alone together, lost in your own minds from time to time.

After almost five years of friendship, you’ve just recently started dating, easing yourself into being more, a couple, lovers essentially.

You’ve started calling him Scott instead of Scotty and even though you had secretly doubted it at first, calling him by his first name instead of a nickname had left you feeling even closer to him. He had started to hold your hand whenever you two had to walk in the same direction or entangling your fingers when you sat down to eat in the mess hall. And instead of just pulling the other in for a quick hug when you had to leave for your work or the night, you pressed the shortest kisses on each other’s mouth, cheeks, and nose.

And now you’d go on vacation together. A trailer road trip through Norway, bringing back memories from all the times you had done this as a child with your parents. You had told Scott of the summers spent like that, of the countries you had visited.

“Let’s do this, then,” he had offered, “Let’s discover a country together. Name one you haven’t been too yet.”

“Scotland,” you told him immediately, “I mean, we went to Ireland when I was seven and I have been to South England two times, but I’ve never been to Scotland before.”

“Well, I think I’m a bit biased in this, but Scotland is a great country. But I’d just be me showing ye around, trying not to sound like an arrogan’ prick.”

You had thrown around other ideas then, not fully satisfied with any choice until you stumbled across a picture of the Pulpit Rock.

“Norway,” you had told him, “I promise you it will be great.”

Pulpit Rock

It’s still dark when you wake up, Scott snoring faintly beside you.

You step out of the trailer and look up at the stars that are already fading, looking for the morning star whose light is still bright enough to guide you, before planning your route with a flashlight and an old-fashioned paper map.

Scott does not wake up the whole time you’re driving, you can hear him snoring just a few steps behind you. The rhythm of it makes you forget time and you reach the Lysefjord faster than you thought.

The sun has started to rise while you drove, bathing the fjord in soft light. The mountains rise on both sides of the fjord-like thick stone walls and you feel safe and shielded down here on the green fields just shy of the waterfront.

You stop the car and walk back to make coffee, waiting for the sound of the boiling water and the smell to wake up Scott.

“What time is it?” He asks with a gravelly voice, stepping up to you with a messy bedhead, slinging his arms around you and pressing his face into your shoulder instead of taking the cup of coffee you had held out for him.

“Breakfast time,” you tell him, “And we got the Lysenfjord as a stunning scenery.”

“The Lysenfjord?” He asks, pulling back one arm to take the coffee from you. He takes a sip, savoring the strong drink that’s obviously helping him to gather his thoughts.

“Didnnae we stop for the night a bit after Stavanger?”

“We did, but I couldn’t sleep. Come on out and see.”

“Do I have to dress for tha’?” He asks, not waiting for an answer but slipping on shoes and stepping out into the clean morning, pulling you with him by your hand.

The Lysenfjord

By the time you’ve finished eating the sun has warmed up the air.

“The water will be cold,” you think out loud and he grins at you.

“When has tha’ ever stopped ye?”

“You’re right,” you nod, “Are you coming with me?”

“If I ever decline takin’ a bath with ye, please inform med-bay that I must have a serious disease,” he tells you with a wink.

You slip out of your clothes a few minutes later, looking over to Scott pulling off his shirt just a few steps away from you.

Your heart beats in your chest when you reach your hand out behind you, opening the clasp of your bra.

When Scott turns around there’s nothing more but a heap of clothes on the floor where you had stood, your bra right on top. He turns towards the water where you’re just resurfacing.

“It’s cold!” You tell him, “Come in!”

You start to swim to warm up, circling around the same spot to give him the time and privacy he might need.

But then he’s right there with you, wet hair sticking to his temple, drops of water running down his face.

“It’s cold!” He tells you and you laugh and let him pull you towards him, not thinking of anything else but the fact that he’s here with you, in this moment, this magnificent place.

You’ve never felt more alive than you do right now and you put your arms around him and kiss him, pouring everything you feel right into it.

Three weeks later you sit outside the trailer. You’ve parked half an hour from a city called Trollvik. Up here in the Arctic Circle, you’ve taken up the habit of sitting outside in the midnight sun, bundled up in blankets, sipping the tea Scott has made.

“We should stay here,” you tell him, leaning into him, enjoying the warmth of his body under the blanket, “At least the Arctic summer is over.”

“And what would we do then?”

“Drive back to the places and make more memories. Kiss you again at Pulpit Rock.”

“I don’t think skinny-dipping will be a good idea when it turns autumn.”

“Mmh,” you agree, “That’s right. But we can come back when it’s summer again.”

“We can,” he presses his face into your neck, pressing one, two, three kisses onto the soft skin there, “But right now I’m looking forward to everything else.”

“Tell me.”

“We can get shared quarters when we get back,” he tells you, the knuckles of his right hand rubbing circles into the skin of your tights, “I’d like to keep up our morning routine, too.”

“Yeah,” you smile and wiggle a bit closer to him, “I’d like that too.”

The midnight sun

#my writing #Star Trek #Star Trek AOS #Scotty x reader #Scotty AOS #Scott Montgomery #I wrote this years ago and I still don't really know what is his first name and what is not

[teagoddess99]

Tis the damn season

Modern Nessian! Nesta comes back to Velaris for the holidays after years. Despite being a successful celebrity in Los Angeles, her life has become lonely and sad. She hopes that by coming back her life will be as happy as it was that summer she spent there while she was eighteen. She soon realizes her plan is flawed.

Note: This is a funny rom-com sort of story. Also, English is not my first language so let me know if there are any mistakes.

Ch. 1

As Nesta pulled up to her sister’s snowy driveway, she couldn’t help to feel overwhelmed. She hadn’t been in Velaris for over 7 years and the sight of the city of starlight brought back all the memories she had been trying to forget the last couple of years.

Feyre´s call had been unexpected. Normally, for the holidays, the sisters exchanged a couple of texts and even sometimes sent each other gifts over email. However, for this Christmas, her younger sister had insisted she come stay with the family, as if she had sense from all those miles away, Nesta´s life was crumbling.

Nesta, for the first time in years, had had the urge to come back. From the outside her life was successful. She was a minor celebrity, the judge of a well-known dance show, and had her own apartment in Los Angeles at only 25. But, for the last months, she couldn’t really sleep. She would wake up sweating nightmare after nightmare and would only dose off into the darkness after she popped a couple of pills. So, when her sister invited her, she bought the next plane ticket to the place she had once called home.

-----

The house Feyre and Rhysand lived in was next to the river. A beautiful mansion far too different to the small cabin the Archerons resided in while Nesta spent the summer there. Nesta took her suitcase out of the cab and walked up to the front door. The home was fully decorated with Christmas lights and they even had Rudoph on the roof. Before she could knock, someone had already opened the door.

Elain had only grown more beautiful as the years passed by. Her brown hair was luscious, and her body had become one of a grown woman. Nesta could barely react because her sister was already hugging her.

“I missed you so much”. She spoke.

Nesta was never a hugger but she felt comfort in that embrace, even if she didn’t let it be known.

“too tight”. She complained.

Elain let go rapidly. As if she thought Nesta would get mad if she continued. To be fair, it was what Nesta would have done a couple of years back. But right now, she was happy to see her. They hadn’t seen each other since Feyre´s wedding and that had been a catastrophic event.

“How was the flight” Her sister asked.

“Good, although I didn’t remember it being that long.”

“I mean you haven’t flown here in a long time so... I’m happy you came.”

“Me too, even though I have to stay with the prick.”

“Come on Nesta, they have been married for 2 years, he´s not going anywhere.”

“I know that” she answered. “I just think he´s an arrogant asshole, and I don’t want to find out how big his ego has gotten, especially now that he´s the mayor”.

“Please, don’t cause any trouble” Elain begged. “Feyre is really stressed out these days and now not only does she have to plan the Christmas ball, she also is busy throwing this baby shower.”

“What?” Nesta asked.

And as she muttered the words, Feyre came into the room with a pregnant belly.

“Surprise” Her younger sister said. Nesta was happy for her sister. She came to hug her right away and Feyre took her in surprised. Nesta´s eyes started getting watery as if in between all that sadness of the last couple of months a light of hope was appearing.

“I’m sorry” she said, wiping her tears away “I’m just really happy”

“Wow! even witches have feelings, this really is a Christmas miracle” A voice spoke, coming into the room.

“Rhysand” Nesta said bitterly.

“Welcome home, dear sister-in-law”

This was the nature of her relationship with her sister´s husband. Only words turn into daggers in a war that had been going on ever since they were teenagers. There was a time they had managed to get along even if they didn’t like each other, but after things with Cassian didn’t work out and Nesta left, the war they had been fighting had gotten worse.

“Stop it, you two” Feyre interrupted. “It’s the holiday season and we are family and also I’m pregnant, so don’t make me angry because I will kick your asses”.

“Of course, Darling, I was just welcoming Nesta into our home, you know, the one she hasn’t bothered visiting since we got married.”

“You do know I’m a very busy career woman who didn’t have to depend on his father to be successful” Nesta clapped back.

The argument went on for a couple of minutes until a gorgeous woman entered the room. She was tall and slim. Could have perfectly been a model with her figure and long dark hair. Her green eyes popped up and her lips were plumped. Graciously, she introduced herself.

“Hi nice to meet you, I’m Tara”

“Nesta, a pleasure. Are you Rhysand´s secretary? we all know he needs help for everything to do a good job, good luck.”

“No actually” Elain interrupted carefully. “She´s…”

“Cassian´s girlfriend”. Rhysand said, grinning.

And as those words where muttered, Nesta´s hopes shattered. She thought that by coming back she would fix her problems and would stop being sad. The only time she had really been happy was the summer she had spent here with her sisters and with Cassian.

--------

After years of being exposed on television in a very famous reality tv show about a dance academy for little girls, Nesta´s mother had died, and she had to come back to her native city to be with her father and her younger sisters. That summer she had truly felt alive. She was finally free of her mothers’ claws and could be herself. Then she met Cassian and everything got better. Those nights they snoke out to the lake and would spend hours sitting there, talking and kissing. It was the best time. But after she realized he was just using her, she run away the minute she got the offer to be in another show.

She told herself it was just a stupid teenage fantasy and went on with her life. Continued to be on television and stopped dancing that much. She saw Cassian a couple of times after that, but she never had the courage to talk to him. And he didn’t approach her either. They both pretended it as if the other didn’t exist.

After her relationship with Thomas, and all the shit that went down, she started feeling lonely and begun thinking about that summer often. And when Fayre called, she thought maybe it was a sight of destiny to come back. That all her problems could be fix here with her sisters and maybe even Cassian.

She now realized she was an idiot.

----------

Staring at that beautiful woman, Nesta could clearly see the flaws in her plan. What was she thinking? That everything would go back to normal? For fucks sake, she wasn’t an eighteen-year-old anymore. Gods… why did she do this?

Happy holidays indeed.

#nessian #acotar #cassian x nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfiction

[eternalwritingstudent]

Witch Ring Excerpt

It was all a blur. The box lid closed and her world went dark. The next she was being lifted out and set on a stand, Enoch laying out components in front of her. This wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to still be here. She was to die and pass her magic to him. He never said she'd be here, aware, trapped, and unable to communicate.

"You lied to me!"

"No, I didn't. I spared you the agony of the truth."

Saranna gasped. "You can hear me?"

"Of course, I can, Saranna. We're connected now in a way no magic users have been in thousands of years. This isn't your final form though. You've got one more move to make. One that may be less… disturbing for you."

As he worked he never looked up at the orb. She could see the orb in the mirror behind him. She was nothing more than a purple haze rolling and boiling. In some ways, she still felt as if she had a form, a body, but it was just a phantom sensation.

"Anything is less disturbing than this. Does the queen know the truth? That you twisted the truth to me?"

"No, she doesn't. I won't burden her with that." He held up a ring with intricate lines carved around it. "This is your final destination."

"A ring? That is supposed to be less disturbing to me?"

"Perhaps less disorienting. It's not a clear orb."

"So I won't be able to see anything. I'll be conscious and locked in limbo with only your thoughts for company. Yes, that is much more comforting Enoch."

Was she bitter? Yes. He had lied, no matter how he tried to paint it. He wasn't the saint that he made himself out to be. Now she'd be even more trapped. In the orb she could hear the objects he moved, and his footsteps. Would she in the ring?

"Your attitude won't improve your situation, dear. It is what it is. Accept it."

"I have no choice to accept it. Doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. The least you could do is render me unconscious."

"I can't. You have to be awake and consciously feed me your magic or this is all for naught."

Saranna screamed with frustration, satisfied when he winched. The whole basis of the spell had been that he could use and channel it. She would be dead. She wasn't involved. Now she had an active role. What else hadn't he told her?

"What other secrets have you kept to try to 'protect' me, Enoch?"

"None. I swear." He laid the ring on top of the orb. "Here is a truth for you. I don't know after nearing two months in that orb, how this will feel or if it will hurt."

"Two months? What? No, you just closed the lid and reopened it a few minutes later."

"Allow me to reassure you." He moved the ring, lifting the orb and walking to the window.

The spring trees were now green. All buds gone, the flowers had changed to summer buds, and tree frogs filled the air.

"But I swear it was moments."

"It seems when you're not exposed to light, your consciousness sleeps. That should help you pass the time."

"Will you not be wearing the ring?"

"I will, but not always on my hand." He sat her back down, putting the ring back and began the move.

Saranna screamed inside his mind as it felt like her essence was pressed through what felt like a vice. "Stop! I can't fit! It hurts!"

Enoch didn't answer continuing to chant the spell. Once all the smoke was gone from the orb, he stopped sliding the ring on his finger. He gasped as she whimpered. The feeling of his magic was painful for her, like being stuck by lightning over and over.

"Take me off. Please, take me off."

"Share your magic, witch."

"I don’t know how."

"Just let your magic lead you." He twisted the ring, making her shiver.

She let her magic go, letting it go where it would despite decades of learning to hold it tight. She felt it begin to ooze into his skin and he laughed.

"Yes, I feel it. This is it."

As the magic eased inside his body, Saranna began to feel hollow. He picked up a book that was so old, the pages cracked as they moved. He began to chant in a tongue she didn't know, but seemed to recognize in some fashion.

He turned and pointed his hand at a target set up at the end of the room. The combine magic arched from his hand, twisting it, changing it.

"It's true! Saranna, do you know what you've given me?"

"I can't see through the ring so well… tell me." Her voice sounded distant, tired.

"Change magic. A dead magic no one has seen in thousands of years."

"That's impossible. It's not real."

"It is real." He held his hand up. The hay target was gone, in its place stood a golden table. "Next, living subjects."

@brimorganbooks

If anyone else wants tagged, just let me know.

#writing #original writing #my writing #writeblr #witch ring #saranna #wizard enoch

[derireo-galge]

Lost & Found | 1,1k | yoonmin✍🏼

A sketch where on Pale Moon once in thirty years a sacrifice has to be made to please the Ocean Goddess. Yoongi wishes he knew that when he was found by villagers as a kid and was kept despite being a rare fox hybrid. But obviously as an outsider, now he was chosen.

[ abandonment | mentioned past angst | sfw | happy ending | Jimin is secretly whipped for Yoongi ]

🌕🌊

He was sitting on a cold sand before rumbling salty waves. The wind was chasing stray dead leaves that appeared after all the snowy covers melted away, the poor remnants of brightly coloured autumn with its healthy harvests and joyful festivals.

He closed his eyes and thought of a scalding bath in the hot springs and the heat of evening bonfires.

Anything that would take his mind far from this place.

He was left in traditional clothes that were far too thin for the windy weather of the budding spring in these lands. He was clutching the half loaf of rye bread he was abandoned with, still lost at what to do.

He felt betrayed although somewhere in the deep corner of his mind he could understand the villagers he spent two dozen of years with. It was their tradition, their religion he never got into.

Of course an outsider like him was their first choice to become a sacrifice for the Goddess he didn't even know for sure existed.

He was a believer in Nature. He felt his best when he walked the ocean shore. It was calming him, filling him with the sense of stillness he could never get around other people. He felt as if the light breeze caressed his bare shoulders in the summer.

But now that he was abandoned to diе on the empty shore with no means to survive rather than a piece of bread he felt lost. The dark waters in front of him never gave him any answers no matter how long he stared between the foaming waves.

The sky was slowly turning dark blue and then indigo. Lone stars began to appear between the passing clouds, the full moon still in hiding.

When he started feeling numb from the drafts the clouds dissipated revealing a full moon that cast a silver white path on the surface of the ocean.

With his eyes barely open he thought he saw the movement at the end of the moonlit path.

And truly there was movement.

A faint shadow, sparkling like the water under it was moving closer and closer to the shore.

Was there something moving towards him, Yoongi thought, or was it him that was moving through the tunnel towards the light?

When the shadow approached he could recognize a figure of a person, and as they were getting closer he saw the moving sparkles were long traditional robes covered in glitter.

He wanted to ask who that was but his throat was dry after several hours of not having a single drop of water in it.

- Yoongi? - a soft voice said and he thought he might have imagined it.

Maybe he was already lying still in the sand, given up to the fate decided for him.

- Who are you? - he whispered - The Ocean Goddess?

He heard a melodious giggle, like twinkling of bells and the moonlit fog has dissipated revealing a beautiful person in front of him.

- I'm her nephew. My name is Jimin. - he answered simply, looking over the figure sat on the sand. - Are you here for her?

- Yes, - he rasped, - I was sent as a sacrifice...

- Ah, she didn't remember the exact full moon. I'm happy to finally find you here today. Hope you weren't waiting long.

- Wait, how do you know me? - Yoongi wanted to stand up but his limbs were more frozen than he thought.

- Frankly, I've been watching you for a while. I could wish to be unseen by the people and watch them from afar. - the man answered bashfully. - I'm here to save you from the unfortunate fate. Don't hold the grudge for those who did this to you.

No matter how much my aunt tells them through whisperers to bring handmade gifts or food they wouldn't listen to the voice of reason.

Yoongi nodded, resigned. There's nothing he could change now and he doubted he'd miss the people who oh so easily threw him away.

He remembered he had some bread in his hands and decided to offer it as a tradition for a good relationship in the future.

Some customs were common all over the world, after all. To Yoongis surprise the deity took it carefully and put inside a pouch he had tied to his waist.

- Thank you, beautiful. Let's share it later together?

Jimin held his hands for Yoongi and helped him up slowly. His body wasn't cooperating well so the other, holding his waist with both hands, offered him to shift.

With all the stress of the hectically happened events Yoongi already forgot he could have done it from the very start. Maybe he wouldn't be as stiff now. A moment later Jimin bent to pick a beautiful fox I his arms.

- You look amazing! - he exclaimed and if foxes could blush Yoongi would do it right on the spot. His heart started beating faster and he curled in the arms of the Goddess'es nephew.

- I'll take you to the palace. You need some time to recover and warm up. And after that you decide where to go. Or whether you'd want to stay.

The fox tucked his cold nose in the young man's neck and sniffed.

He was hit with a pleasant scent of apple blossoms. It reminded him of the tribe he was born into before the hybrid hunters got to it. He was lulled by the motion of the moving body and sound of the oceans waves passing by.

Maybe tonight fate has decided to give him a second chance in finding his true home.

Next time he opened his eyes he noticed he was in his human form. He was in a quiet room, engulfedin a smell of greenery and spring, curtains drawn on the beautifully decorated windows.

- Yoongi? Don't be scared, - a soft voice said, - You're in the palace infirmary.

Yoongi focused his gaze on Jimin who was sitting with a book in his hands next to the bed he was laid in.

The beautiful man leaned in and traced his forehead with the back of his hand, as if checking his temperature. The feeling that touch brought was so familiar Yoongi wanted to tear up.

- Was it you? The breeze on the shore? - he mumbled, thinking he was delirious for voicing what was on his mind.

- How did you know? - Jimin straightened his posture and hid half of his face behind the book. - I thought I was discreet.

- Don't worry, - the hybrid murmured, - you were.

His eyes turned into crescents and Yoongi caught himself thinking that he wanted to keep this sight in front of him for a long long time.

🌊🌕🌊

~the end~

#ai-ee au #ai-ee au sfw yoonmin #yoonmin #bts fanfction #bts au fic #yoonmin au #drabble

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Your Eyes Close As I Fall Asleep

A Cherry Trees fic

Read on Ao3

Fandom: Narcos

Ship: Javier Peña/OFC (Eva)

Words: 2,026

Tags/warnings: Kissing, fingering, outdoor sex, PiV sex, a little mishap involving a zipper and pubes, the big L word!

Summary: We revisit Eva and Javi on the ranch about a month after the end of What Spring Does To The Cherry Trees.

Taglist: @chronic-nosebleed, @flora-screeches, @stevie75, @a-trial-run-on-paper, @mswarriorbabe80 @paulalikestuff, @apascalrascal, @tanzthompson

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,

Or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

In secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms

but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,

risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Letting the last words of the Neruda poem linger in the air, Eva puts down the book in her lap and waits for Javier to speak. The sunset is giving a splendid performance in front of them, and the fall night feels cool. Eva pulls the coarse wool blanket tighter around her and leans the back of her head against Javi’s shoulder. In return, he tightens his arms around her and kisses the side of her head. His body radiates warmth against her back and with his lips against her hair, he mumbles:

“That’s beautiful, but I still don’t get it.”

She smiles, amused by Javi’s inability to appreciate poetry.

“If you think it’s beautiful, half is already won.”

“Why are you so hellbent on making me like poetry, mija?” His hands are slowly making their way to cup her tits under the blanket.

“No soy tu mija.”

“Excuse me, bébé.” He has now proceeded to tracing his lips along her neck.

She scoffs but can’t hold back a smile.

“It was your idea to come out here and to bring a poetry book,” she reminds him, redirecting her attention to the sunset and how it seems to paint everything in blazing shades of red, orange, and yellow. The low trees scattered across the grassy plain cast long shadows over the cattle coming to rest, the occasional low moo carrying with it a sense of sleepiness. The nocturnal chorus of insects is not as mighty as it was in summer, but still provides a welcome ambience to the peaceful scene.

“I like it when you read to me,” Javi admits. “And is there a special reason to why you picked that poem in particular?”

“How do you mean?”

“It had like five I love you’s. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Eva sighs softly. A month has gone by since she left Big River Ranch but came back before she even made it into town. Since then, she and Javi are no longer hiding the fact that they are lovers. What more they are is still unclear but her feelings for Javi are profound and real. I love you is, despite the three simple words, a very strong and complicated concept.

“Maybe I don’t see love as something simple, but I wish I could,” she replies. “If love is as simple as Neruda says it is… I probably am in love with you.”

It is no grand proclamation worthy of a movie climax, but Javi understands to take it for what it is. He pulls her in and kisses the side of her head again.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re here.”

“So are you.” Eva turns her head to redirect his lips to hers. The first kiss is a tentative brushing of lips, a gentle teasing of warm breaths in the cooling air. The second is more tangible, lips touching, nipping, Javi’s aquiline nose bumping against Eva’s, both chuckling faintly before starting the third kiss, where Eva leans into Javi, tilts her head, and parts his lips with her tongue. A low murmur rises from Javi’s chest, reverberating through him, the vibrations traveling to Eva as he kisses her back with his trademark hunger. When she shifts with the intention of turning around to face him, he stops her.

“Let me take care of you,” he tells her, his voice dropping more octaves than she thought was possible. Her arousal bleeds into her panties and Neruda’s works fall from her lap to the truck bed when Javi unbuttons her jeans and slides his hand inside. He finds her quickly, his other hand moving under the blankets to cup her breast. Her bra, t-shirt, and puffer vest make it difficult for him to get a good hold, so Eva quickly undoes a few buttons so that he can reach his hand inside, pull down the bra cup, and tease her nipple until it’s stiff and sensitive between his fingertips.

“Javi,” she gasps when he starts to work her clit with two expert fingers of his other hand. Holding onto his thighs on either side of her, she presses her back against his front, eyes closing to the spectacle of color in the sky before her. He peppers her neck with kisses, murmurs encouragements into her ear, and when her core starts to gather and coil up, she begins to move her pelvis and finds that he is hard in his jeans. She rubs herself against him, her moans growing louder and more desperate, legs kicking against the truck bed.

“Fuck me,” she begs of him, and he readily slides two fingers inside her soaked pussy, crooking them just right to make her shake. His hand is like a claw on her mound, his thumb presses down on her clit as he obliges her. It takes only a few moments for her to fall apart, pussy clenching around his fingers, spine bent in a stiff bow, head on his shoulder, his lips on her neck.

“Beautiful,” Javi praises her, withdrawing his hands and instead holding her tight while giving her a chance to collect herself. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

His stiff cock against her back is a palpable reminder that this is far from over, so Eva slowly turns around and comes to her knees between his thighs.

“This for me?” she breathes, hand on his cock straining against the tight denim. Javi swallows audibly and hums when she strokes him lightly.

“You did bring rubbers, didn’t you?” she asks, not really worried he wouldn’t have thought that this would be a perfect opportunity to fuck without Chucho in the next room.

“Back pocket,” Javi confirms, and Eva crashes her mouth to his, kissing him with a desperate passion. She fumbles with his fly as he unbuttons the rest of her flannel, and when she finally unzips his jeans, Javi startles with a shout.

“Ow, fuck!”

“What?” Eva jerks back, staring in surprise.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Javi’s hands go down to his fly. “My fucking pubes got stuck in the zipper!”

“Your what?” Eva’s not sure what she heard was correct.

“My pubic hair is stuck in the zipper!”

As realization dawns on her, she must use every ounce of self-control she has not to laugh. In the dying light, she bows over Javi’s crotch for an inspection.

“It doesn’t seem to be more than a couple of hairs,” she tells him. Javi is breathing in audible hisses.

“Do something!”

“I can either use a knife to cut off the hairs, or just yank – “

“No yanking!”

“This is what happens when you go commando,” she smirks as she moves across the back of the truck to the box of tools. Rummaging through it, she discards different barbed wire cutters and eventually finds a sharp knife. Javi’s eyebrows fly skywards when she shows it to him.

“Please be careful,” he groans.

“I have a steady hand.”

She easily and precisely cuts the offending hairs free and Javi breathes a sigh of relief, even if his face is still distorted in pain.

“Better?” she winks at him as she puts away the knife. Javi glares.

“It’s not funny.”

“It is a little funny.” She straddles him again, raising her hands to his cheeks, thumbs gently passing over his moustache like she was calming down a spooked horse.

“You okay?” she asks in a low voice. Javi’s eyes narrow.

“You mean am I okay to have sex?”

“Not what I meant at all.”

“Just thinking of getting dick…”

“Okay, fine: is your dick okay?”

He comes forward and catches her lips with his. “We’re gonna have to find out.”

The last rays of light find them stripped of their clothes and hiding under the covers, her leg hooked over his hip as they lie facing each other in the gathering dark, Javi’s cock pushing inside Eva’s slick, quivering pussy.

“So good,” she whispers breathlessly between the kisses, “Javi, your cock feels so good, I missed it all day…”

Javi curses in Spanish under his breath, hands fumbling for a grip on her that will keep her in place when he starts to thrust harder, deeper, faster. Eva offers a solution to his problem by pushing him over onto his back and straddling him. To keep warm, she drapes herself over his chest and pulls a blanket over her back, Javi immediately wrapping his arms around her to keep it in place. Reconnecting her lips to his, she starts a slow yet intense grind on his cock, savoring the delicious stretch.

“You feel fuckin’ amazing, hermosa,” he moans between the kisses. “You know just how to ride it.”

“Like this?” Eva squeezes him inside her and smiles when his breath stutters.

“Fuck… do that again.”

She complies, and the growl Javi lets out makes her shiver. She starts to ride him faster, finding the right rhythm for herself to build up again. Wrapping herself around him and hiding her face in the crook of her neck, she rolls her hips hard to get him to rub against the right spot, the heat under the blankets rising as she breaks a sweat. When the orgasm washes over her she sits up straight, cherishing the cold air on her sweaty skin, and shakes as her pussy pulsates with wet release. Barely has she lasted out the waves before Javi pulls her back down on top of him and starts to thrust up into her spent core. Each jab makes her cry out and hold onto his broad shoulders, and Javi throws his arms around her, holding her tight as if to prevent her from escaping until he’s done. When he cums, he sinks his teeth into her shoulder, like he so often does. She has grown used to it and has even begun to look forward to that brief sting of his teeth very nearly breaking her skin.

They lie entwined and look up at the stars twinkling in the dark expanse of space. The moon is almost full, the world bathing in silver and blue. It’s warm and cozy underneath the blankets and that heat in combination with the crisp air makes both of them nod off. When they wake up, they’re shivering and have to hurry to get dressed.

“Careful with the zipper,” Eva teases him.

“I’ve managed fine until you came and nearly butchered my poor – “

“Maybe time to buy some underwear?” she quips and jumps down from the back of the truck. Walking to the passenger side, she is caught up by Javi, who stops her by grabbing her shoulder and making her turn around.

“What – “ she begins, but falls quiet when she sees his face, calm and certain in the cold light of the moon.

“I love you, Eva.”

Eva stares at him, knowing he needs an answer. There’s no point in trying to evade the topic by throwing poetry and excuses at him.

“I…” She clears her throat and starts again. “I love you, Javier.”

He kisses her then, slowly and thoughtfully, as if instilling her with the love he just proclaimed for her. They’re both starting to freeze but kisses require their time and not until their teeth start to chatter does Javi open the passenger door for Eva before rounding the car to get in on the driver’s side.

#my fic #narcos fanfic #javier peña #javier peña x ofc

[sailorhyunjinz]

~ 𝐈𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 ~

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ; chan x fem!reader, bonnie&clyde!au, criminal!au, 60′s!au, bank robbery, heavy use of tobacco, explicit language,weaponry, mentions of infidelity, manipulation, mentions of murder, mentions of reader being smaller than chan, mentions of religious beliefs, authorities, american style!au, death, implied su-cide. 

𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ; SMUT!! sex against a wall (lmao good warning there cherry), dom!chan x sub!fem!reader, angry sex, dry humping, degradation, blowjob, face fucking, rough sex, dacryphilia, choking, possessiveness, implied corruption kink, creampie, unprotected sex (be careful plz), piv, clitorial stimulation, orgasm (m/f), cum. 

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 ; 5.9 k 

𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦 ; this was heavily inspired by both well bonnie and clyde but also “the serpent” because holy fuck i loved that serie so much 

also warning right; this is purely fiction and not meant to romanticise crime and i think it’s pretty obvious that i don’t know shit about how to rob a bank neither do i know anything about weapons,,, so take this with a grain of salt.

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 18

It was love. Love had led you down this path and shattered the one you cared the most about, the one that held your hand, the one that promised to die for you. Silence filled your mind as you stroked his cold cheek, his eyes closed. 

Your partner in crime.

Bang Chan.

“Tonight, coming up on channel 4, the continuation of the Lagoons.”

You turned the knob on the car radio, the windows on the silver vauxhall viva rolled down, your hair fluttering in the light breeze that accompanied the summer heat. The voice on the radio got distorted as you shifted channels, the antenna on the car barely being able to pick up signal from how far out in the desolate area the two of you were.

“Who the fuck watches the lagoons?” you said, furrowing your eyebrows, searching for some funky tunes as Chan was driving, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. He laughed, the cigarette smoke whiffing over to you, burning at the tip and hanging out of the corner of his mouth. 

“Where we heading, sweet cakes?” he asked, cocking his eyebrows and checking himself out in the rearview mirror. You scoffed, adjusting the silk scarf around your head and reaching into the glove compartment of the light colored interior of the car, grabbing the half empty cigarette box. 

“Don’t call me that, I’m married” you say, the flicker of the metal zippo echoing, a purple flame igniting and burning the white end of the cigarette in your mouth, the orange part quickly stained by your lipstick. Chan smirked, casting a glance at you as you puffed, putting the lighter on the dashboard and leaning back against the leather seats, exhaling the smoke through the window as you observed the mountains that passed you, sweltering heat making your vision blur.

“And still you fuck me. What’s he good for? Cheating on you? You should just throw that ring away, I’ll buy you a new one”

The ring.

You and your ex-husband never officially divorced. You just packed up your things and left one night when he was out drinking, probably snogging a woman younger his age. The emerald ring that he once put on your finger held no meaning, it was simply for aesthetic now. Memorabilia from when life was worse, reminding you to always strive for something better. It was ironic, the way the sun shined on the emerald green symbolizes wealth and toxic jealousy. You couldn’t help but to feel jealous of the many young women he spent his nights with. You thought you had moved on but maybe you hadn’t since you refused to let go of the ring. Thank god you didn’t have his child or else you’d be tied down for life. You escaped at the right time. 

You didn’t answer Chan, simply staring out at the window. The car zoomed past with speed, there was no time for resting since you two were the infamous criminals that could be captured at any moment, it was still a miracle you were alive and well despite how many times you’ve been in open fire with the authorities. The two of you always managed and had each other in the end and the plethora of guns that were loaded in the trunk could buy you freedom for a little while. A gritty highway that never seemed to end, the tumbleweeds rolling about in the distance, he searched for a place you could rest since dusk would soon arrive. Life as a runaway couple had it’s ups and downs but the worst part of it was not knowing if you would survive another day, cops could just arrest you, rip you from your lover and lock you up like you were once before, writing love letters to Chan on a filthy piece of paper until you were bailed out by none other than your mother that you abandoned for him. They didn’t understand. He might be a criminal, stealing cars with his older brother since he admired his fancy lifestyle with hookers, expensive liquor and gold. He was so close until he stumbled up to you through a mutual friend and fell head over heels, he was too much of a hopeless romantic for him to be able to lead such a lifestyle. 

A big sign was ahead of you, a small red building inching closer to the two of you. Sure, it wasn’t the safest place, anyone could call the authorities on you but luckily telecommunications weren’t that advanced out here, most of the news being the ones you heard from between others lips. You two were simply a married couple whatever new village you infiltrated or at least that’s what people thought, the two of you were simply well-off, being able to afford the most expensive cigars and perfumes. The cigarette had burned down, almost meeting your plush lips that were covered in the latest lipstick. You threw it out the window, Chan had done the same moments prior. 

“What you say, hm? How about here for tonight?” he asked in a low voice, his hair slicked to the side, his jaw clenching as he rested his head on the headrest, looking at you with a quick glance with a smile. He always smiled when he gazed at you, it was almost a reflex. He was too smitten with love. You nodded, grabbing your oval sunglasses from the seat in between you and Chan, putting them on and observing yourself in the exterior mirror. Now you were ready for greetings with strangers, hiding behind your dark tinted shades.

The young man swerves onto the dusty driveway, the dust billowing from behind the car as stones flew everywhere, the car coming to a hasty halt. Your back bounced against the seat, removing your safety belt and opening the car door, stepping out with your shining red heels. The hotel seemed kinda small, perfect place for two sought-after criminals to hide. The building was a cherry red, tacky curtain in mustard yellow covering the chipped white window frames that held up the grimy glass panes. It lied in a remote place, being the only building as far as the eyes could see, beside the hotel there was a kiosk where one could buy the most basic necessities like bread, milk and cigarettes. As you were looking around the place, standing with your feet wide and your hand on your hip, Chan was busy unpacking the car. Not the weapons that were nicely hidden beneath a blanket but your two small briefcases containing nothing more than a couple of expensive clothes, makeup, a small notebook of your poems, a camera and photos of relatives. As you observed the mountainous landscape and dry land where cactuses made their home a small old man hurried out, dressed in a half-dingy suit and vest, the colorful tie being the main focus.

“Welcome welcome!” he says in a scurried voice. “Please, let me!” The old man shuffled over to Chan, grabbing the briefcases out of his grasp to which Chan bowed subtly in thankfulness. You and him followed the man inside through a lime green door and were greeted by the lobby that had a dark oak check-in counter, decorated with small trinkets of older times, a golden clock and small piles of paper. The man put down the bags in front of the desk, you casting a glance at Chan that was looking at the keys and the tags attached on the walls on small hooks.

“How long will you be staying for?” the man asked to which Chan hummed, looking at you before clearing his throat and answering - “Just one night”

“alrighty hmmm,,, then I’m guessing a double bed would suit your fancy? You do make a lovely couple indeed” he said with a smile, showing off his yellow stained teeth, years of coffee and tobacco. You smiled, clenching your jaw in frustration. 

“Thank you, which room exactly?” you said quickly, wanting the old man to hurry his actions. He looked back, exposing his half-balding grey head of hair and stretched for a pair of keys at the top, the keys jingling as he put them on the desk. 

“Room 4, it’s just here by the side. That will be 30 dollars” he said, writing something down on a piece of paper. Chan opened one of the luggages, quickly pulling out the needed amount and tips out from one of many wads of cash that were neatly tucked away between clothes and other products. He put the green bills on the desk to which the old man heightened his eyebrows, the generous tip falling to his liking. 

“Keep the change” Chan said with a smile, picking up the briefcases and heading to the room. You smiled at the old man as well, picking up the keys and turning to head over to your lover. 

You put the keys in the lock of the brittle wooden door, a small golden plate saying ‘4′ with a clear font. As the door opened you were met by a rather rustic room, the walls colored light blue and the bed frame the same wood as the door, murky white duvet covers on the bed. Luckily it was just one night.

Chan started packing up your belongings, mainly picking up a map of the area that he bought at a supermarket hours prior. He unfolded the bunt of paper, laying it flat on a vanity that had a round mirror attached in front. He placed his index finger harshly on a certain point on the map, his fingers clad in all kinds of rings with jewels. 

“Here we are, Johnsons motel, right?” You nodded at his question, him continuing talking in a firm voice. “So if we take this route tomorrow at around 9 am we should be there by 10:50 am which is perfect, we c-” You interrupted him mid sentence.

“Chan, you told me we weren’t gonna do this until next week, we have money!” you yelled, only then remembering that the walls are thin in such a matured building. He sighed, turning to gaze at you with dark eyes. He hated it when you contradicted him, it was almost like he was addicted to making you his slave and sure, he did take care of you whenever you were hurt due to his actions but he liked having you totally dependent on him, risking your life for him. The veins running down his arms got bolder, he moved the arm that was holding him up from the vanity instead standing right in front of you with a wide stance, his eyebrows heightened.

“What did you say?”

Your back hit the tasteless blue wallpaper as Chan walked towards you, trapping you between the wall and his muscular figure. A harsh gulp descended down your esophagus as you gazed intently into his hooded eyes, yours twinkling with mere innocence though you were far from innocent in the eyes of the public. He looked you up and down, almost swearing with his eyes, gliding his tongue against the inside of his cheek. 

“I said why can’t we just wait with that for a bit? We robbed multiple stores last week and we have money? I don’t see why you need to hurry so, like fuck s-”

“So you think money grows on trees? We do this together y/n and I could just leave you whenever, I’d just laugh seeing your ass trying to survive”

He leaned closer to your ear, his body pressed against yours. His hot breath lingered near you, tickling the shell of your ear.

“Or better yet I could kill you, no one needs a criminal” 

His voice vibrated through you, the deep tone scaring you but oddly turning you on, the heat pooling around your core, your panties sticking to the thin fabric of your panties. You burst into laughter, catching him off guard.

“You motherfucker” you said through your teeth, smiling brightly at him. 

“I don’t like this attitude you’re giving me y/n, I’m not joking with you” he said with a devilish smirk, moving away from your ear and staring into your soul. It was almost as if he stared through you, his jaw moving as he clenched it.

“Does it look like I’m joking?” your facial expressions turned serious in seconds, the smile wiping off your face. You looked him dead in the eyes, not even flinching when he smashed the rough palm of his hand on the wall next to your head, the loud sound echoing in the cool room, the slight humming of the air conditioner above the bed.

“No and you won’t be after I fuck you” 

You wanted to rile him up even more, get him so angry that he had no other choice but to pin you against the wall and stuff his cock so far down your leaking cunt that you’d alert the other guests around the motel, hearing how good Chan fucks you. 

“Hah,,, is that your only threat?” you chuckled mockingly, running your pointer finger up his toned chest, lifting up his head by his chin and flicking your finger off it, striking a jeering smile at him. His knee traveled up your leg, jabbing at your wet clothed entrance to which you accidentally moan, the gain of friction finally arriving when your core was burning with pure arousal as Chan spoke. With a gleaming look in your eyes you rubbed against his knee, his slightly cold hands wrapping around your neck, feeling your larynx bob when you swallow your spit, not breaking eye contact for a second. His lips landed on yours, pushing his knee against your sex causing you to moan into the kiss as you rolled your hips on the flat surface of his dress pants. Your lips pursed, teasingly biting his bottom lip as a sign that you needed him, his tongue slipping into your mouth and danced around with yours in a sloppy battle. Your hands fumbled with the big metal buckle of his belt, undoing it in desperation and unzipping the black pants that covered his bottom half. Chan grunted as you palmed him through his boxers, his erection begging to be freed from it’s clothed prison, you squeezed his member, massaging it in your hands to make his knees weak, make him beg for you but this time you would be begging for him as he placed removed his knee from your dripping cunt causing you to whine from the loss of contact. 

“C-chan, please I need you” you pleaded in a thin voice, lifting your head up as his kiss diverted to your neck, his rough lips leaving kiss after kiss on the sensitive skin, moving down to your exposed collarbones. 

“You’ll only get what you want if you do whatever I ask you to”

You nodded eagerly, putting your hands down his boxers and stroking his cock, Chan groaning against the skin of your neck near your ear, your earrings rattling. 

“Yes, I’ll do anything! J-just fuck me already” you whimpered, your hot cheek against the wall. 

“Then you follow your little ass to the bank tomorrow and do what you are told, understood?” His voice was deep, humming as he nibbled on your ear, giving it small kitten licks.

“And if I don’t?” You challenged him for a last time, stopping your slow strokes down the shaft of his twitching dick and removing your hands from his underwear and instead wrapping your arms around his waist. He scoffs, pulling back and looking you in the eyes, slowly putting his hand around your throat and tightening.

“I’ll choke you to death, you know I’ll get away with it” he said with a lifeless smirk. You nodded in pure fear, your eyes twinkling in the minimal light that came from the sun setting outside the dusty windows. Suddenly his hands grasp a handful of your hair, gripping it by the roots and shoving you down on your knees that land on the frangible floorboards with a thump. He harshly lets go of your hair in order to pull down his pants and underwear, his hard veiny cock springing free mere inches from your saliva coated lips. Chan gave his cock a couple of strokes before rubbing the crimson tip against your lips, hissing when you poke your tongue out, him smearing his precum against the surface of your wet tongue. You pursed your lips around him, slowly working your way down his shaft, taking a breath of air every time you pull away, licking the underside of his dick with fat stripes all the way from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue off. His big hands grabbed either side of your head, him thrusting inside your throat, not caring if you gagged, that just made him even more viscous, hearing your desperate moaning and seeing the spit run down your chin and neck covered in his marks. Your head bumped against the wall with every thrust, your nose pressing up against his abdomen as he was balls deep inside your mouth. Your eyes burned, tears teasing at your tear duct, a cold salty stream rolling down your cheek as he stopped, pulling out your mouth, you coughing violently. He swiped his thumb over your cheek, wiping the tear with one finger before grabbing you by the neck, lifting your head up and looking into your eyes as he inserted his dick in your mouth once again, your thick saliva making his cock glisten. His silent groans only made you helplessly rub your thighs together, eager to have him inside of you. Every moan that slipped from between his swollen lips made the blood rush south, not to mention his fierce eyes that were glued on you as he coldly fucked your skull, no hint of compassion. He stretched out your throat, the clear outline of his cock making its appearance on your esophagus as he went deeper, groaning as you felt him twitch inside your mouth. As the familiar sensation of a knot in his stomach descended upon him he pulled out, rubbing the tip of his leaking cock against your glistening lips before he was quick with his movements. 

It didn’t take much for Chan to throw you over his shoulder, legs thrashing and you squealing, telling him to put you down. He did but not in the way you expected, slamming you down on the plushy bed, a fine layer of dust swirling in the orange sunset that shined in. The impact caught you off guard, knocking the air out of your lungs. Chan climbed on top of you, his belt buckle touching your body as he hovered above you. You hastily shuffled upwards to the headboard, lifting your hips as you removed your brightly colored bell bottom pants revealing your panties that already had a wet stain decorating them, Chan chuckling as his thumb glided over the patch of wetness. 

“You’re so needy baby, all worked up from giving me a blowjob, huh? I can slip my cock into you so easily” he purred at you, his fingers hooking at the elastic band of your underwear, slipping them down to your ankles, you shimmying your foot out of the fabric and letting the panties dangle from your other foot as your spread your legs, Chan being in between them. He danced his fingers up the wet folds that presented themselves in front of him, you squirming at the slightest touch. 

“You think you have control, you think you can do anything without me? You’re wrong, without me you’re nothing” he growled at you, his fingers covered in your slick as he teased your clit, fingers rolling in circles as you clutched onto the covers, knuckles whitening. You hurried by taking off your top, throwing your bra somewhere in the same direction, exposing your hardened buds, Chan’s mouth watering. He did the same, momentarily losing contact with your wet cunt as he pulled off his shirt, his perfectly sculpted body surprising you every time, as if you hadn’t fucked him countless times before. Chan attached his lips to one of your nipples, the other one being fondled by his hand, the cold pure silver causing you to shiver. Your hands stroked his soft hair, twirling it between your fingers and softly whimpering. He left tiny marks all over your chest, his lips sucking and gently nibbling on your supple skin. When your entire chest was a mess of marks and spit he lifted your legs, leaning them against his wide sturdy shoulders as he teased your wet entrance, rubbing his tip against your folds causing your back to arch slightly, a long pitched mewl forcing its way out of your mouth. When he finally slipped his cock inside you he groaned at your tightness. 

“fuck y/n, you’re so tight no matter how much I fuck you” he said, leaning over you so that your legs almost touch your chest, planting one hand beside your neck as the other one choked you, the restriction of air making you lightheaded but only adding to the pleasure that burned at your core as he relentlessly fucked into your squelching cunt. Your feet dangled near his shoulders lifelessly as the sheer momentum of his thrusts made you move upwards on the bed, the bed frame creaking due to the age it carried, you hoped no one noticed what scandalous activities was going on this room but it was probably already too late as your moans turned into high pitched cries. Your hands folded over Chan’s wrist as you tried to stabilize yourself, it took every ounce of strength to not close your quivering thighs. His thrusts got faster, rolling his hips against yours as the hand around your neck loosed, a harsh slap landing across your tear stained cheek, his thumb dipping inside your mouth, you latching on instantly.

“Look at you, thinking you’re so tough. You’re weak, remember that” he said with a lifted smirk, asserting his dominance through his dark gaze. You nodded, feeding his ego even more as the hand around your neck tightened, making you lightheaded with arousal, his cock ramming into your tight cunt that begged for release just like you. Chan loved seeing you like this. All fucked out with drool hanging from the corners of your lips, your eyes rolling back into your skull as he vigorously made your world shake, going hard enough to make the bed squeak loudly, the headboard bumping into the wall with every thrust. You couldn’t form a single sentence, blabbering incoherent sentences with his name stringed into it, in your mind you made perfect sense but your hesitant lips didn’t do the same. 

“f-fuck!” you cried out, the even pace getting sloppier as the skin slapping sound grew louder, bouncing against the awfully colored walls of the shabby motel room. You squirmed around on the bed, flailing your arms as you desperately tried to grab onto either your lover or the flowery sheets, your efforts fruitless as you felt your orgasm approaching with wide strides as Chan started circling your swollen abused clit with the pad of the hand that wasn't forcefully holding onto your throat, making you swoon. You arched your back as you couldn’t hold on any longer, clenching around his cock with every ounce of perseverance. With weak legs you interlaced them, trapping him deeper inside you as the merciless fiddling with your bud made you let out a breathy broken moan, your tits bouncing with the movements. The male looked at the tears that rolled down your cheeks, adoring your bloodshot eyes. How he loved staring down at his prized possession. He had ruined a once innocent girl, made her his with the mere power of love and crime. 

He lulled his head back as he was dangerously close to his climax, drawing in a harsh breath from between his clenched teeth, the air cooling down in his mouth before warming up in his tobacco-stained lungs. He was sent over the edge with a final thrust that made your body jolt in excitement, his thumb now simply resting on your clit as all thoughts were wiped clean from his mind, his hot seed spilling into your cunt, unknowingly making you cum as your abdomen contracted, your teary eyes squinting together, not in pain but in pleasure. His cum painted the quivering walls of your sex, draping his body over yours as he panted, staying inside you to ensure every drop of cum was where it supposed to be. His lips were coated with a fine layer of saliva, two lips meeting in a loveable kiss. It might seem odd to others. That you love a man that only brings you down or uses you, at least that’s what it looked like from a different perspective but you were infatuated, maybe even obsessed. He made you famous and he took you under his wing when you fled from your scumbag of a husband. 

Now Chan was the only thing that mattered.

He pulled out, falling down beside you, the weight of the bed shifting as his built back hit it. The cum dripped out of you slowly, hitting the sheets and staining them. You ruffled your hair before you stood up, cum running down your inner thigh as you made your way over to the shower. Chan instead crept down under the covers, staring up at the ceiling in a half lying position, casting glance at the dark oak bedside tables where a packet of cigarettes was left haphazardly along with your metal zippo, a gift from your dad that died in war. It was important to you, important enough to destroy you with smoke. Chan retrieved one of the deadly sticks from it’s pretty eye catching packaging and lit one end, inhaling the smoke. He put one hand beneath his head that was supported by the pillow as he other one momentarily removed the cigarette, flicking the ashes on the cold tile floor, the grey thick smoke spreading through the room, interlacing the bed sheets with it’s scent. The gentle tapping of the water on the bathroom floor calmed him, calmed him from knowing that tomorrow might be the last day he’s alive. Or maybe it’s you. 

Here you were again, getting into the sparkling clean car that was loaded with nothing more than a multitude of weaponry that many times wasn’t used against civilians, just to give a gentle reminder that you don’t fuck with the two of you unless you wanna get a bullet burned through your skull. If they ask for it they are gonna get it.

Chan loaded the suitcases into the truck where a blanket covered the weapons, the pile of murder machines looking innocent like this. The sand of the desert was blowing in your face, your long skirt flowing in the wind. Just because you were a criminal didn’t mean you had to dress out of fashion, the style was a part of it. You gazed out into the valleys of dust, the lonesome tumbleweeds drifting with the wind like a blind rat following the smell of musky cheese, not aware that it’s heading to it’s own death.

“Ready, sugarplum?” Chan said, wrapping his hand around your head and leaning it against his sturdy shoulder. 

“I was born ready” you whispered into the wuthering wind. He smiled but put on a serious face as you looked at him, before walking over to the passenger seat, opening the car door.

“Let’s do what we do best, darling.” you said with a bittersweet grin, sitting down and closing the door. 

The bank wasn’t too far away, that being that it was still in the same state since many other robberies required long car rides that was either filled with funky tunes or more cigarettes than you can count. This one wasn’t any different. His two hands were gripping the steering wheel as he drove faster than the speed limit, praying to whatever nonexistent god he had in his head that the police wouldn’t flash their red and blue sirens behind the vehicle. He probably prayed to the money. He often said that money did things not even god was able to do and there was truth in Chan’s words or maybe the both of you were too infatuated with the idea of money that you would go to any lengths just to get it. Just to smell the fresh dollar bills in your hands. The car was in complete silence, only the growling of the engine being heard. It was always scary heading to a new place, you never knew what would happen there. Maybe it’s the last time you witness your lover behind the steering wheel, the last time you feel the wind fluttering through you hair due to the rolled down window. Maybe it was the last time you would see the emerald green jewel reflecting it’s light as the sun bounced off the glossy surface of the stone. You denied your longing for your husband, beside all the cheating and drugs you were ready to stay with him but there was one thing that Chan could do better; love. 

You could tell how tense Chan was. The way he anxiously checked the rearview mirror and forcefully looked straight at the neverending road in the middle of nowhere. It was pretty apparent that this lifestyle was driving him mad, making all his nerves stand on the edge of his skin, paranoid to the bone. But there was no end in sight unless someone else put that end there. He was never gonna stop, go as far as he could and shoot for the stars. It was people like him, greedy people that life usually steered the wrong way and well,,, you were one of those as well, greedy for luxury even though the life you were living now was anything far from that. You turned to Chan, his one hand rested in his lap and you slowly reached over to grab it, rubbing your thumb over knuckles. His eyes momentarily diverted from the road to you, looking at your eyes that were focused on his slightly rough hands.

After what seemed like an eternity, Chan parked into the parking lot of the bank, the building being just as remotely placed as the motel. Perfect. The car was strategically placed near the road for easy escape if there would even be any required. As you stepped out of the car you opened the trunk, uncovering the multitude of weapons that lay beneath the blanket and passed Chan his favorite rifle, the M1918 Browning Rifle. You simply stuck to a revolver since you could hide it in your holster for when you needed two hands to grab the money and shove it into the burlap bag. 

There wasn’t much thought needed for the robberies that happened this far away from the city, the local police station was a good drive away so neither you or Chan worried too much but it was still a risk. The big wooden doors were slammed open by him, a shot up into the ceiling shattered a lamp and next second your ears were filled by the terrified screams of men, women and children. You didn’t hesitate your movements as you went up to the multiple receptionist desks where the women in neat uniforms were all kneeling on the floor. 

“Get the fuck up!” you yelled, jumping on the desk and pointing your gun at one of the girls, she looked rather young and innocent with her dark shaking pupils that wandered with pure fear. You yelled at her to open all the vaults, to which she complied not having any other choice than to get shot. Her hands quivered as she put the money in the bag, filling it up with valuable green bills that would promise you dreams. You glanced back at Chan that was pointing the rifle at the people that lied down on their stomachs with their hands on their head, the sound of a child's tears not even bothering him or his conscience. You held the gun to her head, lonesome tears streaming down her face as her legs were barely able to hold her up. A smile cracked on your crimson painted lips as the bag filled up, the feeling of adrenaline rushing through your blood making you fly on the clouds, you could do whatever you wanted in this moment. You were free. 

Just as you were about to turn around, signaling to Chan that the mission was done you heard another gunshot that was foreign from the usual sounds of the weapons you carried. It didn’t sound like it came from inside the building. The second after you heard a window shatter, glass flying over the civilians that screamed in fear once again and then you heard a thump, a loud one. You looked over your shoulder and there he was, your lover with a bullet through his back, the puddle of sangria red blood spreading over the bright vinyl flooring. This was the sight you feared the most in the world and here it was, right in front of your naked eyes. You dropped the revolver you held in your dominant hand and rushed over to him as you heard a male voice over a megaphone from outside the building. 

“Civilians, exit the building immediately”

The crowd of people squeezed through the doors, fleeing to whatever corner they could or hiding behind the countless cop cars that flashed their colorful sirens. You dragged Chan’s head into your lap as you fell down in defeat, looking at his closed eyes and his face that turned a pale blue with hints of grey, he was cold to the touch and his blood stained your clothes as well as the floor, the dark red marks on the floor that lead to his body as you dragged him closer to you, cupping his cheek. Frigid tears rolled down your cheeks and accumulated on your chin before dripping down onto his face, coloring his lips with a clear sheen. 

He wasn’t gone, he simply couldn’t be. He was your Chan, the Chan that always got away no matter what. Nothing could stop the two of you, not a stupid bullet through his back. You shaked him as you sobbed loudly, your lips quivering as black streaks of mascara covered the supple valleys of your cheeks. 

“Chan! Chan, fuck!! Wake up!!” you yelled as you shook him vigorously but his lifeless body was limp in your arms, no sign of life to be seen. You hugged him closer, not feeling his heartbeat or lungs filling with air from this cursed place. He wasn’t gone, he was still here and he would wake up one day, you told yourself these lies because they are easier to believe than the cold hard truth. Your blood boiled with pure rage. Somebody had stopped your dream life, that someone being the law itself but no matter who it was it still stopped you and you never took no for an answer. Your empty lost gaze diverted to the loaded gun that lied only footsteps away from your cowered body.

“Exit the building, leave the weapons” you heard the voice call out from outside, the megaphone crackling and distorting the voice. 

What was better?

Dying in the hands of the authorities or dying in Chan’s arms?

#stray kids smut #skz smut #bangchan smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #skzsmut #skz fanfic #stray kids drabbles #skz x y/n #skz x stay #skz x female reader #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #stray kids x stay #bangchan drabble #bangchan x you #bangchan x female reader #bangchan x reader #bangchan x y/n

[silver-weasel]

Diving (Deku x Reader)

Pairing : Deku x fem!reader (aged-up characters)

Rating : E, 18+

Tags : smut • fem!reader (she/her) • best friends to lovers / childhood friends to lovers • quirkless AU • p*rn with feelings (like. a lot of them) • public sex (more or less) • switching • hair pulling? • pining • Deku being flustered and an absolute angel what’s new • Reader being a teasing brat • It’s all soft and fluffy, I’m as vanilla as you can get 🤷‍♀️ • Happy birthday to the bestest boyyy I love him so much it hurts

Word count : 10 600 (Holy sh—)

A/N : Thank you @hoe-doroki my beloved and savior for beta-ing <3

Written for @rat-zuki​’s collab in honor of our favorite birthday boy, The Deku Agenda Escapes no One. Thank you so much for letting me join! (go check out the other amazing writers and artists!)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

The ground grinds repeatedly under your hiking shoes, some pebbles being kicked forward on your way. You’re way too deep in the forest to hear any cars passing by and during the two hours you’ve been here you haven’t run into anyone. The place seems empty, the only souls breathing the forest’s thick air being you, Izuku and the birds chirping all around you.

The afternoon is coming to an end, the sun sinking down on its way to hide behind the mountains. The remains of its soft light are filtering through the dense leaves all around and above you. You’re surrounded by green, lush and immeasurable greenery, every plant merging into another.

You’ve left the marked paths, now wandering deep in the richest, boundless part of a forest you both know like the back of your hand after roaming it all over innumerable times. All over, except for this part, in which you’re setting foot for the first time today. Your many previous hiking sessions were shortened by your questionable sense of organization, always arriving too late to explore further into the unknown.

Leaves brush against your knees with every single step you take as you follow Izuku on his heels. He’s moving at a steady pace, his hands holding tight the straps of his yellow backpack that he’s had for as long as you can remember. He’s always so organized, has everything you two could eventually need and generally never do. Two huge flasks of water, an entire meal he calls ‘little snacks’, with sandwiches, fruits, protein bars, even hard-boiled eggs. A first-aid kit with disinfectant, bandages, scissors and painkillers. Hell, you’re even wondering if he has any pads for you in there, in case of an unexpected period. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

You giggle lightly when you see him stumble for the sixth time since you got here; he can’t seem to keep his curious eyes from drifting up and around, looking in every direction, probably retaining every detail and logging it in some impressive mental database of his. And he’s commenting on every little thing he sees too; he makes you notice things you never would have if it weren’t for his candid interest in everything.

“Oh! Look at that bird!” he exclaims, pointing at a branch over your heads. “Do you see it, right there, with the red mark!”

You turn your gaze to where he’s pointing and see a little bird, very cute, but so tiny you’re wondering how one could spot it without specifically looking for it. That’s probably what you like most about Izuku: his attention to detail. That’s the thing—nothing is too small for him, everything is worthy of interest. His eyes always light up with such curiosity, this child-like wonder and it was always one of your favorite things to witness growing up.

When he came over to your house at age six, he was always running around with some bug on his forearm, calling your name, yelling, “Look at this!”

Most of the time, it was a snail or a ladybug, and that always managed to catch your interest. Sometimes, it was a spider or a beetle, and he had you screaming in horror more than once, running to your mother’s legs with weeping eyes. Those times, he always watched you go with wide, sad eyes and a wobbly lip, because, “I would never hurt her, Mom! I swear I didn’t want to scare her!”

“Oh, yeah, I see it! It’s so cute!”

And it is cute, the way his huge green eyes go even rounder in amazement. You treasure these hikes for providing occasions to witness this. But as much as you wish this moment could last forever, the sun is beginning to set, you probably shouldn’t go deeper in the forest at sundown.

“We should probably head back to the car, Izuku. It’s gonna be dark soon.”

“Come on, it’s still so light—there’s no rush!” His lips crook a bit into an impish smile. “Scared that a bear is coming to get you?”

“There aren’t any bears here—we’ve been coming for five years.”

“Because if it’s the bears you’re afraid of,” he begins, ignoring you on purpose, “you know I’ll protect you, right?” he says, sticking out his chest like he’s some superhero.

“Against a bear? Right.”

“You’re underestimating me? That’s just mean.”

You chuckle at his antics, shooting him a look of yours that says, ‘Come on, please?’.

His eyes soften a bit, but he’s used to that look; it’s been years since it worked on him as well as you’d like it to.

“We can just keep going this way, then we’ll make a loop and head back to the car directly! It’ll be even shorter this way.”

“Alright, let’s do that,” you agree, and the smile it elicits from him makes something tingle deep in your stomach.

You move forward again, sinking deeper within the forest. It’s becoming harder and harder to walk, brambly branches and huge leaves blocking your way more and more with every step.

You’re a bit ahead of him when you catch sight of a sparkle behind the bushes. Just a glimpse of light, but you’re positive you saw it. Is there water here? You never really looked at a map of the place before—you just always went wherever you felt like and used the same tracks on the way back. You hurry up a bit, curious eyes fixed on that glimmer of light.

Soon enough the dense greenery comes to an end, and you’re finally out of the bushes, finding your way into a little clearing. You’re standing, speechless, in front of a pond: it’s about forty feet wide, catching the last rays of sunshine in a dazzling reflection. The water is surrounded by gigantic trees big enough to be home to an entire niche of biodiversity, and a half-sandy, half-stony shore with reeds rising from the water on both sides.

It’s all calm and quiet and massive trees, branches pouring, cascading above still water. The air feels cool, filled with a pure smell of dew and spring even though it’s the end of a hot day of July.

Izuku is close behind you and lets out a very cute, “Whoa,” ditching his backpack on the ground next to you in the middle of the cove. The both of you just stand there for a moment in complete silence, aside from the birds chirping. Izuku breaks it first:

“How come we’ve never seen this before? This place is amazing.” He sounds distant as he speaks, soaking up his surroundings like he always does.

“I guess you never know everything about anything,” you say mindlessly, without detaching your gaze of the wonderful view ahead.

He’s standing close to you, very close. You’re only noticing now that you’re coming down from the high of your discovery. Your arms are brushing, you can feel his body heat from how close you two are. It wouldn’t be the first time; you’re no stranger to being physically close to Izuku. You’ve been playing together since you were able to put one foot in front of the other. And you wish you could say it feels any different right now, but that would be a lie. Being close to him always felt the same. Always felt like the only easy thing in your life. The only constant.

Yet it’s not enough. No matter how close, it’s never enough, it never was. You hate yourself for feeling that way; you’ve never been the greedy, unsatisfied type. You have everything with Izuku. Well, almost everything.

But right now this place—this very quiet, beautiful place with no one in sight is doing things to your fertile imagination. Despite the sun just beginning to set, the summer air still remains thick with heat. You find yourself staring in the abyss of that water, admiring the masterpiece of a reflection on the surface, a painting of leaves and clouds and blue sky. It calls you, sings an irresistible song of fresh water on sweaty skin and strong, freckled arms wrapped around you.

You don’t know if the slight, insignificant detail that you would have to undress in order to dive into that water—since you didn’t bring a swimsuit—is a better reason to do it or to refrain from doing so.

You’ve lost count of how many moments you’ve shared with him just like this one. So many chances for you to take. You never have.

Back to the original issue: can you see yourself walk out of that clearing the way you always do? Can you see yourself going home, adding this missed chance to your growing collection of lost memories, of hands within your reach that you chose not to take?

The answer pops in your mind, crystal clear for the first time since you met him.

You drop your bag on the ground, turning to Izuku with a delighted expression stretching your features. The look on your face reminds him of one he’d seen on you as a kid, bouncing on the balls of your feet in front of the ice cream truck. At this moment he just knows you’ve got some stupid shenanigan in mind, like you always do. Once again, he isn’t wrong.

“Wanna take a dip?” You’re squinting at him from his side, a mischievous smile lighting up your face.

“I-I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” he stutters.

It’s been a long time since he last stuttered in front of you. He got rid of it years ago, but it still resurfaces sometimes in front of intimidating strangers or in a socially uncomfortable situation. Never in front of you, though.

“Me neither,” you answer plainly with that same impish smile, and his eyes go round at your implications.

“Wait, you can’t be—Oh my God—”

His heart does a great flip in his chest when he catches you taking the hem of your shirt up over your head. In less than five seconds, you’ve got him scorching hot, feverish and suddenly he can’t tell right from left.

His reflex is to bury his face in his hands. He respects you too much to take a peek, but you’re making things very difficult for him. He can hear you move towards the water, can hear the thump of your forgotten shoes hitting the ground one after the other, can hear the soft pad of your naked feet on the rocks.

“For the love of God, please, put it back on…” 

“What? Look at this view, it would be a shame not to make the most of it!”

He’s not looking at the view right now, he can’t let himself. He knows very well he won’t be able to focus on the trees when you’re standing pretty much naked—although he’s not sure to what extent—in front of him. You could be entirely naked right now and he wouldn’t be able to tell, his burning face still hidden in his shaking hands. His voice comes out muffled when he stammers, “I-It’s starting to get late, we really should get back to the car…”

“What, you’re scared of the bears?”

He can’t see you, but he knows you’re sporting that smug grin of yours, the one he first saw when you showed him your impressive collection of Pokémon cards on your preschool’s playground. You’ll have to take a lingering silence for an answer.

“Izuku, come on. I don’t bite.”

He’s not entirely sure the sight of you won’t gnaw him to the bone, won’t melt his entire body down and leave him a hot mess. He won’t be a man anymore, just a walking flame fueled by the heavenly sight of you. No, he can’t let himself fall into that. Obviously you don’t know what you’re doing to him.

Nevertheless, you’re probably the most stubborn person he knows. And he’s friends with Katsuki Bakugou, for God’s sake. He won’t be able to get out of this as easily as he wants, especially as he hears the delicate noise of water splitting at your feet as you enter the little pond.

He slowly moves his hands off of his face. You must have your back turned to him, so maybe he can drift his eyes off somewhere—

You are in front of him, thigh deep in the water now. In nothing but your panties. Your white, flower-patterned lace panties that are doing a very bad job at covering your backside. He lets out a long, pained whine, standing in the middle of the little shore with his arms dangling down his sides, not sure what to do with them.

“Why didn’t you at least keep your bra on?” His voice comes out way more wobbly than he intended to.

You turn a little so you can look at him, and it takes every little bit of strength he’s got left to look you in the eye. But as you’re turning around, the smooth curve of your breast starts showing, and God, is that your nipple?

He wants a giant hole to swallow him right now. He wants some forest creature to come for him right this instant, anything to keep him away from you, keep him from doing things he might regret. To punish him for having such thoughts about you, because you trust him, you’re so oblivious, so innocent, and he’s so weak against this inner monster that’s eating him away.

With a little frown, you deliver the answer like it’s self-evident as you kneel into the water, the surface just above your chest:

“I didn’t want it to get wet.”

“But you’re okay with your panties getting wet?”

The realization of what he just said is slow but surely comes. And when it does, he wishes even harder to get erased from the surface of this planet he’s already lucky enough to share with you. There is a long silence, and all he can hear for a few seconds are the birds chirping and the violent pounding of his heart against his ribcage, straining to get out.

You turn back around to look at him, dumbstruck. 

“I’m more than okay with that—”

“Please forget I just said that,” he cuts you off. He’s not sure he can bear to hear more of this.

“I’m never forgetting you said that. It’s pure gold,” you scoff.

He can only answer with a drawn-out whine. He doesn’t have any choice in this, does he?

When you dive in the water, he takes both his shaking hands to the hem of his shirt and starts undressing.

What the fuck am I doing?

The water is so pure you can see underwater as clear as day: the few rocks at the bottom, the little silvery fish all around you, and the last rays of sunlight permeating through the calm surface above your head. The water feels a bit cold on your naked skin since the sunlight and summer heat must only hit the clearing at certain hours of the day. Still, the cold water isn’t enough to clear your foggy mind.

What was I thinking?

You’ve always been a bashful person, why is it changing all of a sudden? Maybe it’s the devastating effect Izuku has on you.

You try to calm down a bit, taking a deep breath. So, you’re pretty much naked in front of him. Well, it definitely wouldn’t be the first time, and it (probably) won’t be the last. Now you just have to go through with your stupid idea. It’s no big deal, it’s only Izuku. Only Izuku.

Only Izuku.

Fuck.

You finally surface, not only because you can’t hide underwater forever, but also because, surprisingly, you’re not a fish, you have to actually breathe.

You push your dripping hair to the back of your head, still careful to keep your breasts under the water. Izuku’s already in to his hips when you turn around to look at him, your vision still blurry from the water trickling all over your face. He’s merciless, standing like that, only the elastic of his boxers peeking out of the water. You’re a bit surprised by the plain, black color. You were expecting something along the lines of blue, yellow and red. Izuku is full of surprises.

But nevermind the color of his underwear—what you find just above is mesmerizing. Your indiscreet, incorrigible gaze can’t help following the thin trail of hair tracing up to his navel, then the stunning lines of his abs, partly hidden behind his freckled forearms shyly crossed over them. The freckles spread up his powerful arms, gently sunkissed, scattering all over his broad shoulders.

Is he actually hiding, though? Doesn’t he know he looks like he was carved by the gods themselves?

“Have you done this before?”

The sound of his voice startles you a bit. Ah, right. You were shamelessly staring. It takes you a couple of seconds to force your distracted mind back into focus. “Done what?”

“Skinny dipping?”

“No, it’s my first time. It looks like it’s yours too.” His big, bright eyes drift around like they don’t know where to look. It’s really cute.

“It is,” he admits, now kneeling into the water as well. “I would’ve thought you were used to this.” You arch a single eyebrow in an amused frown.

“What, do I look like I have a professional degree in skinny dipping?”

“No, it’s just…You look confident, it just seemed like it.”

Confident? You’re nowhere near confident—you’re terrified. You try to keep your cool, but it’s probably the first time you’re putting on an act in front of Izuku.

“Well, you’re not so bad at it yourself.” You don’t miss the little blush coating his cheeks at that. “Also, I’m not exactly naked.”

“You’re not exactly dressed either, that’s a...v-very small piece of clothing.” He’s blushing a bit harder, looking away.

“Oh, seems like you paid some attention to my piece of clothing then, good to know.”

Now he’s quite simply scarlet. A very cute, very hot, freckled tomato. He’s so easily flustered, it only makes you want to tease him some more.

“Were your legendary All Might boxers in the dirty hamper? That’s a shame. I’m a bit disappointed,” you say in a mockingly innocent voice.

He doesn’t retort, simply stands there on his knees, shooting you an unreadable look and a little pout. After a few seconds, you open your mouth to continue, only to be startled by a strong splash hitting you in the face.

When you snap out of your shock, hair and face dripping all over your shoulders, you look up at him with what must be the scariest look of betrayal. Or the most ridiculous, apparently, since he starts laughing, louder and louder, and can’t seem to stop.

“Oh, you’re pretty pleased with yourself right now, aren’t you?” You can’t help but chuckle while talking, his laugh is so contagious.

“I am, yeah!” he manages to articulate, only starting to calm down.

As the calm of the forest returns, you watch his eyes go back to their usual round shape bit by bit, his face relaxing again. His smile causes butterflies to fly up and around in a whirlwind deep into your belly. You chuckle a bit at the feeling, almost embarrassed by how he’s making you feel like you’re in some dumb, cliche rom-com movie. On the outside, you must look a bit like a maniac, but he’s a nice guy, so he simply asks, “What is it?”

And before you can overthink yourself out of it, you’re hurling yourself at him. He barely has the chance to stutter a weak, “Wait!” before you’re putting all your weight on him, sinking his head deep in the water. Izuku may well be a nice guy, but you know he isn’t going to let you get away with this, so you’re not surprised when you’re dragged underwater by your legs. He lets go immediately, a bit abruptly, even, like it burnt his hands to touch you.

You both emerge from the water soon, and it takes you a second to get rid of the water blurring your vision, but then it hits you. How tantalizingly close you are to each other now, your bodies an inch away from touching. You’re both on your knees, enveloped in the coolness of crystal clear water and the reflections of the canopy of leaves above your heads. A spark of electricity makes you freeze on the spot; you’re so close to him your breasts slightly brush against his chest.

After a little eternity, you find the courage to look up at his face. He looks mindblowing, really. Despite the two decades you spent together, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen the pure, astonishing details of his freckles from this close. You would remember it, you definitely would. It’s a spectacular view, one of those visual memories that comes back to hit you in flashes. His nose and cheekbones are covered in them, drawing a mesmerizing pattern, more complex than the Milky Way itself. They’re an uncrackable equation, like a weird quirk of nature that you’ll never understand but don’t question anyway. They spread a little more scattered, but still very present, up to his forehead and down to his delicate jaw.

And his eyes—you could just drown in them. There’s this bright, blinding light there that feels like laying in the grass and looking up at the sunlight coating the leaves of this tree, the one you grew up near and always played under.

You swear you didn’t move, neither did he, and still you manage to get even closer to him. Now it’s you against the inexorable attraction that pulls you towards him like a fierce magnet. And it’s a losing battle, you think, as you’re both entering each other’s personal space like you share just one.

There’s nothing friendly about the way he can’t look you in the eye, seemingly too obsessed with your lips. You drop your gaze to his and find them calling for you. It’s been so long, now the thought of kissing Izuku seems unfamiliar despite being ever-present in your imagination for so many years. Like repeating a word so much it ends up becoming a series of meaningless sounds to your confused mind.

He’s the one who finally closes the distance, his lips landing on yours so softly you can barely feel them. He doesn’t move, simply content with the contact. You’re both eight years old again for a minute. The kiss feels like the little peck a kid would finally give to his crush in the middle of their school’s playground before running away to his friends.

Time seems to stop for God knows how long, and after what feels like no time and forever all at once, his lips move hesitantly against yours, bringing you back to reality. Right then, it all crashes on you like a tremendous wave. The distant echo of your mothers’ voices from the kitchen and the stupid cartoons they made you watch so they could talk for ten more minutes. The games alone together because no one wanted to play with you two weirdos. The piggyback rides, the dumb jokes, the video games (you always won). The neverending texting sessions at night because one of you couldn’t sleep. The fights that never lasted long enough to see the next sunrise because you both are way too weak for each other. All those stupid places that wouldn’t have looked half as breathtaking if it weren’t for him.

His lips are soft but roughly bitten. Hot and wet from the water and maybe from something else. He doesn’t taste like anything other than home, and that’s more than enough for you. His hands went up to cup your face at some point, but you’re too drowned in all the feelings coming up to the surface to pay attention to anything other than his soft mouth pressing on yours, more and more, opening up—

And it’s already over. You only notice that you’ve closed your eyes when you open them again when you don’t feel anything against your mouth other than the summer air. When your mind manages to regain any sense of function, the blurry focus of your gaze settles on his eyes. Wide open. Pupils eating up the dazzling viridian that puts the forest to shame. And a terrified expression in them.

He’s looking at you like he hurt you. His lips should still be on yours, kissing and sucking, not frozen like they are right now, obviously trying to express something painful as a few weak sounds pass their barrier before he finally manages to speak:

“Oh—Oh my God, I-I’m s—”

You don’t let him finish his stupid sentence. You don’t think twice before you take his face in your hands and lean in to kiss him again, with shameless intent this time. No more pretending—you’ve been waiting long enough for this and apparently, so has he.

It’s nothing gentle this time when your mouths crash against each other, teeth clashing and lips bruising under the weight of twenty years. You hold to his face like a lifeline, fingers sinking just a bit into his cheekbones, the tip of your nails getting caught in the knots of his dripping hair just above his ears. It’s messy, your noses rubbing before he angles his face better. One of his hands loops around your waist in a tight grip, forcing your chest to crush against his, the other burying in your hair at the base of your skull.

The feeling is electrifying, indescribable. It’s nothing like the pale, miserable depiction of your imagination. It’s discovering life in color when all you’ve always known was black and white.

The water is cool, but his body scorches against yours, burns your skin in the most exquisite way. The kiss is desperate on both parts, but neither of you is confident. His lips suck on yours with tentative motions, and you respond in kind the best you can. They are hungry, starving for flesh but don’t know how to hunt.

Your hands are gripping more and more of his hair, pulling harder, sending waves of heat all the way down his groin, and he’s not sure he can hide the bulge growing there for much longer.

He has to be sure, he has to be absolutely certain you want this as much as he does, because once he starts, he may not be able to stop. But you feel so good, all pressed against him. Your skin feels so soft under his hand at the small of your back he has to dig his nails in the skin of your waist so he doesn’t cross a line. But the curve just above your ass is begging for him to grip at the tender flesh and squeeze, fill his hands with it. He’s been dreaming about this for so long.

No, he can’t just hurl himself at you like a hunting wolf the first chance he gets—what kind of friend does that?

It takes him every bit of focus he has left to break the kiss, to part away from you. You have to discuss this, he can’t just throw away twenty years of friendship! Now you’re looking up at him with puppy eyes saying, ‘Why won’t you play with me?’ He breathes out a shaky sigh, and begins:

“Um, look. Believe me when I say I’ve wanted this for a very, very long time, and I love you so, so much. As a friend, I mean.” He sees you frown at this, catches a glint of something he doesn’t like in your eyes, then panics. “No, no, no, I mean, a-as a friend, but also more than that, o-obviously. But I don’t know what you want, you might be...d-disappointed, or...um—” His face starts heating up like it hasn’t in ages. He takes another breath, tries to clear up the muddled mess happening in his head. “Look, I just want the best for you, but you look...good, very good, and you’re making things very difficult for me, doing...this—”

“Izuku.” The deafening hubbub filling his mind falls suddenly silent, your voice a comforting, steady rock for him to cling to when his mind is storming out of control.

“Yeah?”

You get even closer to him, since he gradually set some distance while mumbling his anxious thoughts out again. You cup his face in your hands, a gentle, featherlight touch, and look up at him with determination in your eyes. You pull his head down a bit to settle on yours, your foreheads and noses connected, never breaking eye contact. Your lips graze over his, both your breaths mixing there, your voice a quiet whisper as you speak again. “Do you want me?”

Out of the jittery mess of his mind, the answer comes out like evidence, plain and simple: “Yes.”

“Then shut up and kiss me.”

You take action immediately, kissing him once again and this time he doesn’t hesitate to put his—still rather shaky—hands on you. The feeling of you is addicting, pushing his insecurities further in the back of his mind. He starts at your waist, running his thumbs there, feeling the goosebumps rising on your skin. They wander up your spine, counting every single bump of your bones, all the way to your nape. Then dragging them back down to settle on your hips, his fingers digging in the soft flesh. The little sigh you breathe on his lips causes an impressive amount of blood to run straight to his dick. 

Your mouth is distracting, dizzying, sucking on his bottom lip, nipping playfully. His tongue slides over your lips, then against your own when you open up immediately for him. You’re pressing against him even more, your breasts rubbing against his naked chest and he swears you’re going to be the death of him. You’re hanging from his shoulders by now, your arms circling his neck, still gripping a handful of green hair, pulling. You have to stop doing this—he might cum right away. He doesn’t say it aloud, only lets a moan escape him into your mouth.

He wanted this, wanted this for so long, and now that it’s real, it’s beyond everything he could have imagined. The heat of your skin, the weight on his shoulders as you cling to him, your breath in his mouth, your little sighs.

He’s only now noticing that his hands have gone to reach their destination with a mind of their own. They’re on your ass underwater, feeling the white, wet lace, the sole cloth on your entire body—that thing is just there to tempt him. He’s unsure if you like what he’s doing until you release a whimper, louder this time, enough to send a vibration against his mouth (and straight to his cock at the same time).

Suddenly, he wants to taste a lot more of you. You’re all open up to him for the first time—he has to. He trails a series of open-mouthed kisses from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, savoring every little sigh escaping your lips, then to your neck, dragging his tongue up the column of your throat.

The water is fresh all over you, and he doesn’t miss the shivers running up and down your skin at the contact of the twilight breeze. He needs to warm you up, needs to make you feel good, needs everything to be perfect for you. With his hands still on your ass, he trails lower down to your collarbone, allowing some occasional nips on the way that have you shaking. He freezes, looking up at you from there.

“Is this okay?”

The answer comes out breathy, a little desperate: “Yes, yes, please!” It sends a wave of heat all over him, the way you like what he’s doing to you, the way he’s making you feel good.

He’s not experienced or anything, only had a few hookups a couple of times, so he’s not very confident in his capacities, aside from running his hands all over you because that’s how his instincts are manifesting. You know him better than anyone—of course you would know how lost he could be in this kind of situation. But he also knows you’re not much more experienced than him, and that thought is comforting.

He’s experienced in one thing, though. He feels like the worst, filthiest person on the planet for this, but it’s astonishing the number of times he jerked off to the thought of what’s happening right now. How many times did he fuck his hand in the shower thinking about the water trickling down your skin, about licking it off your breasts all the way up to your neck.

So he does what he’s been dying to do for years. your breasts are just above the surface, so he sits on his heels and licks down your chest. When his tongue finally reaches your nipple, giving it a tentative lick, you let out a gasp, encouraging him to get bolder. And he does, closing his mouth on it like it’s the sweetest lollipop; it’s all cold and hard and raised from the water, but it warms up really quickly against the furnace of his mouth. His right hand leaves your ass to cup the neglected other, running his thumb against the bud, squeezing the flesh. That’s when you reach out to bury a hand in his hair, and pull again. God, you can pull on his hair all day and night like this; he’ll never get enough.

His left hand, still on your ass, rises up to the small of your back, feeling you arching more and more, pushing against his mouth. A harder nip has you gasping and he lets his hands run all over you, wandering without direction. It’s messy and urgent; he can’t help it—you feel so good, so soft under his hands. He’s like a kid getting to open his Christmas gifts in the morning after an endless, sleepless night waiting for Santa.

You trail your hand down his chest and his abdomen, a gentle reminder that the power he holds right now could slip through his fingers any moment. He’s willing to give it to you, especially since he doesn’t really know what to do next.

Like you just read his mind, you take his hands in yours, stopping their chaotic race. He’s feeling himself flush a bit—was he going too fast for you? Did he scare you? Or did he just let himself become overwhelmed by his feelings and it didn’t feel good for you? His eyes are looking down directly at your naked chest, he realizes he never took a proper look at them, too busy throwing himself to taste them. They look just as good as they taste, as beautiful as the rest of you.

Tentatively, he raises his eyes to find your reassuring gaze and fond smile. You lead his hands down slowly, setting them on your hips, over the criminal lace fabric preserving your modesty. Your foreheads connect again, but you never break eye contact. Lacing your fingers together, you guide his thumbs into the elastic on both sides, and now that he gets what you’re trying to do, his mind just stops.

Your voice is barely a whisper, a mesmerizing caress on his lips when you speak again. “I think I’ve waited long enough, Zuku.”

Your tone is fond, but you sound so desperate, it’s unbearably cute. His mind fogs up, the smoke of your words filling his skull and he wants to drive you as mad as you drive him. Sure, you’ve waited a lot, but so has he. He isn’t going to rush this, not if he has any say in it.

He slides your panties down your thighs underwater inch by inch. It’s even too slow for him; right now he just wants to rip the stupid piece of lace off of you and fuck you and him both stupid in the water, hard and fast. But even more than that, he wants to take his time with you, wants to take you apart piece by piece. And the testy whine it elicits from you makes it all so worth it.

You shift a bit so he can take your underwear completely off and, in a second, it lays abandoned on the sandy ground of the shore. Just knowing you’re now completely naked in front of him, it sends boiling desire flowing through every single vein in his body. He can’t see that part of you yet, the water darkening along with the sky clouding his view beneath the surface, but nightfall can’t do anything about Izuku’s wild imagination. He’s dizzy, feeling himself slowly falling into a half-conscious daze, but you anchor him right where you are, bringing him back to the reality of your arms hooked around his neck.

He rests his hands on your hips, dragging his fingertips down the soft flesh of them. The idea of touching you down there is making his head spin, he can’t wait any longer.

“Can I—”

“Yes, I want your fingers inside me,” you say before driving your lips back against his.

Without further ado, one of them goes straight to your core, making you jump a bit, breaking the kiss just for a second. He runs his index between your folds, feeling hot slick already coming out of you despite the fresh water around. His touch is light, slow, hesitant as it glides up and down, testing the waters. He’s getting a bit further, putting a bit more pressure with every stroke and earning a few pleased sighs from your heavenly mouth.

He expected a sudden reaction as soon as he found your clit, but that doesn’t mean he was prepared for the drawn-out moan coming out of your gorgeous lips, wet from his mouth and from your dip earlier. He wants to hear that again, every day for the rest of his life. He drags his thumb over it, again and again, slow at first, but then quicker and quicker, and your voice grows louder with every speed-up of his finger.

Your hands go frantic over him, running up his chest and down his abs in repeated motions that feel a lot like it’s lust driving your limbs much more than your mind. You stopped kissing him at some point, your mouth too busy expressing every ounce of pleasure you felt to focus on such basic motions. Your face is buried in his neck, your hot breath crushing against his skin.

He presses his index inside, but he’s so focused on what he’s doing, trying not to hurt you, that he doesn’t notice the shift of your own hand leaning down until he feels it cupping the painful bulge in his boxers. His eyes go wide with a gasp, and when he looks at you, you already have a playful, but intense, gaze piercing right through him.

“Did you think I was gonna let you play all on your own, Zuku?” Your fingers graze over the soaked fabric, down his entire length and to his balls, throwing gasoline on the fire that’s been consuming him for ages. “Don’t be selfish,” you whisper directly in his ear as your hands slip his underwear down his thighs.

As soon as the piece of cloth gets to join your forgotten panties on the shore, you wrap your pretty hand around him. And when you start stroking, his eyes roll so hard he swears he can see the inside of his skull. It feels better than he ever could have imagined; it’s blistering, astonishing. The only idea his brain can manage to work out right now is that he wants you to feel just as good.

He only notices now that his fingers stopped moving, and they go right back to a steady pace, but it’s a matter of seconds before he drives another finger into you. Soon, you’re both fucking the life out of each other with your hands. You’re sucking and nipping at his ear, and every single moan he draws out of you ends up turning against him, breaking into the defenses he built year after year by your side. He’s simply fucking into your hand now. He can’t help it, you feel so good. He doesn’t even want to think about what it’s going to feel like to fuck into your tight little cunt, he might cum hard just from the thought of it.

The spongy spot he finds inside you feels like he just struck gold. It’s glorious, the sounds you make right now, higher, louder. You’re tightening around his fingers, but it’s okay—you can crush them for all he cares. He wants you to moan higher for him, wants you to keep riding his fingers like your life depends on it.

“Izuku, ah—I’m close, I’m so close, please…”

“I got you, baby. I got you, shit—”

He quickens the pace again, feels like his fingers are gonna fall off his hand the moment he gets them out of you, but fuck, what his princess wants, his princess is gonna get. Your orgasms shatter the both of you to pieces, and in the bliss of his high, he can hear some birds flying away, scared by the harmonious, but probably very loud, song of your combined moans.

While his cum strikes out by ropes into the water, his clouded mind can only think about one thing.

He needs more of you.

You can barely stand on your knees, worn out from cumming the hardest you have in your entire life. You actually have to lean on Izuku so you don’t fall into the water head first like some boneless ragdoll. You just let your forehead rest on his shoulder and count the freckles there, splattered in a fascinating work of abstraction.

But apparently, he has other plans. You’re swiftly lifted up and out of the water, huge scarred hands firmly holding the back of your thighs that immediately come to circle his waist.

“Oh, nice. I don’t mind getting carried around like a baby. Where are we going?”

“Not far,” he says with a little grin, walking out of the water. “Do you think you’ll be able to walk?” His voice holds a sarcastic tone, one you’re not used to hearing out of Izuku’s angel mouth.

“I think I can manage, yeah.”

He drops you to stand on your legs, and immediately goes for his backpack. The sun has just set, its last rays of light filling the pink sky over your heads. You can still easily make out everything around you, and Izuku’s body is no exception.

You’re watching him with a raised eyebrow, letting your shameless gaze follow every curve you couldn’t see underwater. The day he started exercising in high school was the day you knew it was over for you. It was the day you couldn’t deny what you felt anymore, you couldn’t deny your best friend was everything you needed, and everything you wished for. The physical factor was only a—very pleasant— addition to the list of things that made you fall hard for Izuku Midoriya.

Your eyes linger over his impressive figure, staring at the dimples at the small of his back. You always knew they were here, but you never allowed yourself to look at them, to imagine how they would grow repeatedly hollow with every thrust of his hips into you.

He finally digs out what he was looking for: a plaid picnic blanket, because of course he would have one in there. He’s wearing a little victorious smile when he stands and turns around to spread it on a grassy spot that looks a lot more comfortable than the hard ground. He turns back to you but averts his gaze to the side, hardly looking directly at you for more than a second at a time. The heat of his gaze tracing your curves through quick glances pools deep in your core. 

“You know you can look, right?” You sure aren’t refraining from doing so after all.

His face reaches its usual redness—hasn’t he learned anything from making you cum like crazy with just his fingers? It’s cute nonetheless; Izuku will never change.

He doesn’t answer your rhetorical question, only gives you a shy command in that tentative, very cute voice of his.

“Could you lay down on this for me?”

You saw this coming, but still, you’re a bit surprised he’s asking you that out loud. You gladly oblige with your legs pressed together, slightly bent. It’s another golden opportunity to tease him a bit:. “This isn’t exactly the right use for this blanket. Aren’t we supposed to eat on this?”

He smiles at the ground while kneeling at your feet.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m planning to do.”

Your sly smile fades away. His tone is a contradictory mix of shyness and determination, so it’s a bit confusing but also unbearably hot—you swear an astounding wave of heat is crashing through your deepest parts, untouched, just from some words and a funny tone. You rub your thighs together before he grabs and parts them to slip himself between them.

He crawls over you and leans down to kiss you, a bit more confident than earlier. His hips are pressing between your legs, where you can feel his hardness best.

He’s rutting more and more against you as the kiss intensifies. You could think it’d be a lot less exciting now that you know he’s going to eat you out, there’d be no suspense. Wrong. The little shit apparently likes to tease you to death, because he left your lips to kiss your face, nip at your neck, suck at your ears. Dragging his devilish hands everywhere, pressing harder each time you get louder. An especially heavy whine makes him buck hard, his mouth back against yours.

“The more impatient you get, the slower it’s gonna be,” he murmurs against your lips, and starts to make his way down to where you want him, kissing every inch of you, clouding your mind with desire. It’s way too much and still not enough; it’s maddening. When he finally reaches down, you’re on the verge of a second orgasm like you hadn’t just come down a few minutes ago.

He’s holding your thighs apart in a firm grip. Just the touch of his fingers burns your skin deliciously, and the look he’s giving you from between your legs...his eyes are clouded, half-lidded, looking at the part of you he’s never gotten to see before. It feels like he’s been looking forever and just a second at the same time.

He finally dips into you, leaving butterfly kisses all over your inner thighs, punctuated by little nips, nuzzling the soft skin. He’s not looking you in the eye anymore, his gaze lingering all over your body—all over except for your face. You can make out a slight blush on his cheeks despite the dimness all around. You know him better than anyone, so you immediately recognize what’s going on in his mind just from the slightest hint in his eyes. He looks like he’s fighting a battle against himself, his shyness against his hunger. And you know who you’re both rooting for.

He finally gives in, and it takes your breath away. A single, slight lick on your clit and you’re gone. And the next ones, more and more intense, more and more hungry, push you further to tumble over your edge. He grunts into your heat, multiple times. Moans like he’s the one squirming under your mouth.

His hands hold a firm grip on your hips, squeezing the flesh and keeping you in place—he doesn’t even give you an inch to move. You can only take and take and take. But you still have the luxury of your free hands, and they rush to bury in the knots of his messy wet curls, your nails dragging, scratching his scalp.

His lips close on your clit and suck just a bit, and before you can refrain, you pull on his hair, hard. He gasps, and the moment you think you hurt him, he breathes his loudest moan, right into you. You’re filled with the vibrations—they spread all over your body, have you throwing your head back, trembling from head to toe.

The louder you are, the hungrier he gets, filling you with his insatiable tongue. You have to look at him right now. And you expected quite a show, but you certainly weren't prepared to see this—him rutting against the ground like an animal. You realize he’s getting off just from your taste, just from eating you out. His hips roll repeatedly, making you salivate just to the thought of those same hips bucking into yours, fucking you into oblivion. And the more he ruts, the louder he gets.

Now if he wants to moan, you’re going to give him a good reason to. 

You hint for him to face you with a light tug on his hair. As soon as he’s back up, he dives in to kiss you. You don’t let him. In a second he’s on his back with you seated on his hips.

“What did I say about letting you play on your own, hm?”

The ‘deer caught in headlights’ look is so cute on him. And the rest is a marvel to look at. You’re straddling him and he has no other choice than to let you devour him with your eyes—not that he couldn’t bounce you off of him with just a thrust of his hips, but he already would have if he wanted to. You let your gaze wander mindlessly over him—it’s surreal. There’s no way he’s actually under you, waiting for you to please him back with his mouth and jaw still shining with your juices. It has to be a dream—it’s always been after all.

You shift so you’re straddling his parted thighs. You can finally take a look at him. The whole thing, that is. His cock is resting against his lower stomach, hard and swollen and thick. It’s a pretty, bright pink, shining with pre-cum at the tip. Your mouth waters just at the sight of it.

He’s looking down at you, his face as flushed as his dick, that usual blush still exquisitely coating his freckles. You take him in your hand, dive in to give a lick to the tip and his head falls back down with a whimper. You let your tongue drag over the whole length on the underside, and your lips close around the tip in a wet smooch. His hips jerk up a bit, startling you.

You finally take him whole in your mouth, and you can feel his whole body tensing under you. You start bobbing up and down, going a bit further each time, earning a series of shameless moans because this boy is loud. You expected him to express himself during sex since he’s such a mumbler—and frankly, it was always one of your biggest fantasies, hearing him come undone because of you, lose any sense of shame and self-restriction when he’s such a anxious person otherwise.

But you could’ve thought about it every night and day and still never be ready for this. It’s sinful. His hand goes to grab your hair just like you did to him, and now you get why he liked it so much. The feel of his nails scratching your scalp is electrifying, soothing and destructive at the same time.

Your tongue hits a precise spot just under the tip and he jerks up again, nearly screams, “Fuck—yes, right there, please—d-do that again!”

And you do, you can only oblige—he asked so nicely. Your lips go up and down, over and over, your tongue grazing this spot with a bit more pressure every single time. You squint over him, and what you find there is a mess. Trying so hard not to buck into your mouth but failing miserably. Sounding like he’s at Heaven’s gate.

“Easy, Zuku. You’re gonna scare the birds away,” you chuckle against him, your lips brushing the tip, dripping with your saliva and pre-cum.

“Do I need to remind you…how loud you were for me earlier?” He’s looking back down at you as he speaks, a tremble in his voice telltale of his approaching climax. “You sounded...so good, baby, I swear...wanna hear you again, wanna make you scream, just for me, fuck—”

You can feel yourself soaking the blanket, can feel the slick trickle down your folds and stain the plaid cotton. Is he aware of what he’s doing? Or is he just saying whatever is going through his chaotic mind? In any case it has you starving. So you let go of his cock and, before he can protest, crawl back to his face and kiss him desperately. Tasting both of your fluids in a mindblowing mix.

You pull back just enough to be able to speak, because you need him to understand you loud and clear when you say:  “Please, Izuku, I need you inside me, I’ve waited so long. Please.”

“Okay, okay, fuck—” He cuts himself off, his eyes slightly drooping like a sad puppy. “I-I don’t have any condoms.”

“You mean you probably have pads in there for me but no condoms?” you say with your eyebrows raised, your mocking tone hinting at a teasing remark, far from criticism.

He frowns in confusion. “How do you know I have pads in there?”

“So the legend turns out to be true. After all these years—”

“Shut up, you’re impossible,” he chuckles heatlessly, resting his hands on your back.

“It’s okay. I’m on the pill,” you assure him with a soft tone.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m on the pill, yeah.”

He rolls his eyes, then clarifies, a hint of hesitation clear in his voice.

“No I mean...you’re sure you wanna do this?” He marks a brief pause, takes a short breath. “With me?”

You don’t even think before answering, it slips your mouth like it’s not even your own words: “I don’t want it with anyone else.”

There’s a silence.

“Fuck, that sounds cheesy,” you scoff, looking away.

“It does, but we’re both cheesy idiots, apparently.”

You look back at him. His smile is so fond, so loving; it melts your heart in the best way.

“I wanna be your cheesy idiot,” you say against his mouth, looking right into his eyes, willing to fall in them.

“You always have been,” he nearly whispers. It fills your stomach with familiar warmth, intense and overwhelming, comforting.

There’s a bittersweet taste in your mouth, one of regret and lost time and God, we’re idiots.

Now it’s about time you make up for it all.

You look down at him, rolling your hips against him, dripping all over his cock, coating him in your juices.

“I think I asked you something, didn’t I?”

A whimper escapes him at the feeling. His hips buck up slightly, hands gripping at your back. When you do it again, you don’t get the chance to see his reaction; you’re on your back again, him towering over you, his thigh between your legs.

He’s looking at you with something in his eyes you don’t recognize, but the tone he speaks with has your entire body quaking.

“And you’re gonna get it, sweetheart.”

He holds himself over his left forearm, his hand thumbing at your cheek while the other strokes the whole length of your thigh. Your noses are brushing, your breaths crashing together. Your hands hold tight to his nape, playing with the short hair mindlessly as you’re waiting to be filled, finally.

You feel the stretch instantly. You try to focus on those mesmerizing emerald gems he calls eyes. They look right through your soul, eating you up and you barely feel the pain. He’s taking it slow, inch by inch, giving you all the time you need, caressing your cheek with a tender stroke of his thumb.

“Relax for me, baby.”

Izuku’s voice is a soothing sound over the incessant chirping of the grasshoppers. It was always one of your favorite things to hear, its every tone another blessing to your ears. It’s loving when he asks if you’re okay, comforting when he whispers sweet nothings to you as you cry on his shoulder, heartening when he’s going on about anything he’s passionate about.

He’s kissing every part of skin he has access to, over your face, your jaw, your neck. You feel yourself relaxing around him, and roll your hips up to give him the hint.

When he starts moving it’s still slow and careful. He doesn’t break eye contact, so you can see his every reaction, and he can see all yours. His hand is still playing with your hair, even as his pace speeds up with every second. The weight of him over you feels amazing, it holds him close against you, countless parts of you both rubbing together: your chests, your stomachs, your thighs. He doesn’t even have a lot of space to move. But getting to touch and get touched by him like this, it's incredible. You always had him so close to you, always right there and still so out of reach.

You still need more; you’re insatiable. You need to see him come undone under you, because of you. You push him to roll on his back, and you end up straddling him, setting the pace yourself. You start bouncing up and down on his cock, taking balance on the hard planes of his abs. He immediately reaches up to grab your hips, guiding you along.

His face tenses up, frowning, his nose wrinkling, his lips parted just to let out a series of breathy sighs. He looks wrecked and dizzy and stunning. He’s keeping his eyes open, fixed up on you, specifically on your breasts, bouncing with your every motion. And you can feel his gaze on your skin just as much as you feel his hands gripping harder at the flesh below your hips.

“Eyes up here, Zuku,” you coo with two fingers pointed at your eyes.

He doesn’t answer, only sits up easily and wraps his arms around your waist.

“You look so amazing, you have no idea what you do to me,” he says with a trembling voice, filled with bliss.

Your heart misses a beat at his words, they fill you with warmth and comfort because he definitely doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing to you. He delves his face into your neck, kissing and nuzzling, his breath coming shorter and shorter, crashing against your skin and his hands running all over you. The sound of his hoarse voice resonates through the forest and through your soul, echoing an enchanting song.

With little effort, he puts you back under him so he can pound into you with full force, and your legs immediately come up to wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. Your hands grab his hair, tugging to see if you get the same reaction as earlier, and it doesn’t miss: he lets out a groan right into your ear, speeding up his pace again.

The sky is dark now, and all you can hear are his moans and yours and the slap of your hips coming together repeatedly. Your head is thrown back when he grabs you by the hair, forcing you to turn your head and face him.

“Look at me. I wanna see you.”

“Izuku, I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby. Let go for me, come on.”

Just the feel of his hand trailing down your stomach awakens something in you, this familiar pressure growing tight in your belly. And when his fingers reach your clit, a couple of strokes are enough to have you screaming his name, tightening around him, and pulling him towards his climax with you. His thrusts come franticly as you milk him dry, clawing desperately at his back, panting in his mouth as he leaned down to kiss you through both your climaxes.

As soon as he comes down, he rolls over on his side, still laying close to you, an arm thrown over you. You both take a minute to catch your breaths and, weirdly enough, you don’t hear anything aside from your panting. You really must have scared the birds away. Izuku breaks the silence first.

“Do you wanna...sleep at my place?”

He’s looking over at you and, despite the sky getting dark, you can easily imagine the blush coating his cheeks right now, like he didn’t make you scream his name, drunk on his cock two minutes ago.

You can’t repress your fond smile at his proposition.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

You take a minute to gather your clothes from all over the place and get dressed, then grab your bag to tug it over your shoulder.

“You got everything?”

Izuku is waiting for you just outside the trees. You take a quick look around, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything, and turn around without a second look at the place.

Because although it was your first time setting foot here, it definitely won’t be the last; you will come back here with Izuku every chance you get, making it your shared secret, your own little wonderland.

You gladly take the hand he’s offering, making him blush a little harder, and you head straight back into the forest together.

You walk side by side as a comfortable silence settles, only disturbed by the grasshoppers’ incessant, boisterous chirping. The sky is utterly dark now, you can make out a few stars shining above the dense trees. You walk at a steady pace, but Izuku is going a bit faster with every step. Soon enough, he’s walking a bit ahead of you, still holding your hand. Another golden occasion to tease his eagerness.

“Are we in a hurry, Zuku?”

In the dark of the night, you struggle to make out the look on his face as he turns around to look at you. A second later, he’s running, and with your hand firmly held in his, you can’t do much but try to follow along. You giggle as you run, and it quickly grows into a belly-deep laughter. He’s fast, doesn’t get tired, but you follow him anyway, probably as eager as he is. You have to zig-zag so you don’t run straight into the massive trees standing in your way.

You get to the car in no time, but you’re both out of breath when you finally get in your respective seats, ready to go home.

Izuku doesn’t even wait to catch his breath before he starts the car, the engine roaring loudly in the silence of the night, probably scaring the birds away for the upteenth time that night. You catch his happy grin in the headlights glow before he heads back into the road.

You have a feeling the night is not over; you’ve only got twenty years to make up for after all.

#bnha smut #deku smut #deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #bnha x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya smut #mha smut #there it is omg it's long af #weasel writes

[katsukikitten]

Rapacious - rə-ˈpā-shəs- excessively grasping or covetous, living on prey,  ravenous

(A rapacious appetite only for you my doll)

Hello and welcome to my first formal collab with the lovely @lady-bakuhoe Our thirsty dms finally turned into a full blown collab where our writing melds into one. I hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as we did writing it! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

✧Triggers and Warnings ✧

Pro Hero Dynamight, aged up AU, adult themes, such as intense sexual interaction, yandere behavior, mind break (?), branding, and dub con. If any of these topics make you uncomfortable please do not read any further. Thank you.

The snow comes down heavily, beautifully as it sticks and clings to anything it can. Blanketing the outside world in an unsullied shimmer bringing a smile to your face as you watch the sun dip low over the horizon. The light painting the world in stunning reds and pinks as it filters in through your bay window that faces the street. A small shiver runs through your spine as you wait impatiently for your warm tea, convincing yourself that the chill has nothing to do with your outfit. An oversized Red Riot t-shirt, a pair of black dolphin shorts and black thigh high socks, it was comfortable and you felt cute. Even if it was just for yourself, besides what else would one wear to their solo Netflix binging? Surely not pants. 

A rapid knock comes at the door. Harsh, precise as you jump out of your skin, nearly dropping your mug. 

Lifting your cell phone to check the time, wondering who could be knocking at this hour, it was far too late for any visitors and it surely wasn't the post. The icy snow ensured that most people would be snuggled into their couches with a warm cup of tea, tucked away from the harsh weather. Much like you were trying to do, maybe if you ignored it the unsuspecting visitor would move on. 

But another sharp knock echoes around your living room, urging your feet to move. You pad through your small townhouse, trying to get a glimpse through the window only for the unwanted guest to be standing just out of view. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at the thick oak door, debating on whether to open it or not as another knock sounded from the other side. Curiosity with a hint of fear compels your fingers as you click your door onto the chain latch. Opening it slightly, looking out between the crack in the door to see who it was.

“H-hi.” Your eyes caught sight of the man outside your house, pupils widening in surprise at the sight of him. Messy ash blond spikes on top of his head as his hair faded to a low buzz cut at the sides, “Dynamight?” 

The man's scowl morphed into a smirk at your recognition, obviously proud that you knew who he was, his vermilion eyes glistening in the light gleaming from your house as you moved to take the door off the security latch, opening it fully so you could see him properly. His gaze immediately drank you in, glancing at the thigh high socks that hugged your thighs as he made his way up to the hem of your shirt, cherishing the exposed skin of your upper thighs until he noticed the shirt you were wearing. His nostrils flaring slightly at the sight of his best friend's face across your chest. It should be his. 

“My car broke down.” He motioned to the car that now sat motionless at the end of your drive, fresh snow already falling and covering its windscreen, “Can I come inside?” 

"Oh, um…" You're hesitant, technically you didn't know Dynamight but he was a pro hero. That meant he could be trusted right? Snow sticks to his blonde strands and shoulders. His hands and nose were a little red making it seem as if he had been in the cold a touch too long. Swallowing your fear you take a step back from the door, arm gesturing for him to come in. Silently elated he steps in as if he owns the place. What were the odds he would end up at your doorstep? 

"Um, can I offer you some coffee? Coco? Tea?" Your voice sounds small, stupid. Nervousness prickles over your skin as he sinks into your couch. 

"Tea is fine." His voice is silky and foreign in your warm home. He watches you with sharp eyes as you reach for a mug. Your short shorts ride up just a bit as your shirt gives him a tease of your back. 

Meanwhile you're buzzing from head to toe, THE one and ONLY Dynamight, the man you'd been dreaming of since his debut, the only face and voice that you ever imagined when your hands ventured into your soaked panties, was here. In your home, sitting on your couch and oh Gods...Which blanket did you have out? Was it his that you sprayed with his line of cologne so you would feel less lonely in your apartment? 

The kettle howls pulling you violently back to the task at hand. Should you ask him how he'd like his tea? You already know how he likes it, having read it in a magazine once committing it to memory in case you ever met him. But would that come off too strong? You settle on making it perfectly  in hopes it would paint you in the light of a "great hostess."  You grab onto the cup and turn to face the ill tempered hero head on. 

He turns away in time, relaxed on your couch as you offer him his cup. He takes it from your hands, his cool fingers brushing against yours. He takes a sip, peering at you over the rim. His vermillion eyes cause your stomach to flip as you nervously twist the hem of your shirt. His eyes rake over you with a smirk before they land on your worrying hands and that damned Red Riot shirt. Suddenly you're hyper aware of your inappropriate outfit, tugging your shirt over your exposed skin. 

His large palm settles on your thigh, starling you. 

"The outfit isn't the problem. I just think you look much better in my shirt." He tugs at the hem, "Maybe you should take this one off." 

“W-what?” You stammered, your body instinctively shrinking away from his touch.

“There’s just something about the way my face looks stretched against those tits.” He smirked, taking a sip of the warm mug before slipping it into your coffee table.

“What do you mean?” Confusion evident in your tone. What was he talking about? Your Dynamight merchandise? How would he have any idea about how much of a fan you were of him, just how many of his shirts sat in your closet right now. 

“Don’t act all coy.” Bakugou continued, turning his body to face yours on the couch, a dark look in his vermillion eyes as his fingers danced higher up your exposed thigh, feeling a warmth begin to seep from his palm as his cool calloused fingertips dig into your skin, “You know exactly what you’re doing.” 

“I assure you, Dynamight.” Bakugou groaned at the way his hero name sounded spilling from your lips, “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Every day you’re out there being a fuckin’ tease.” He growled, biting your lip as you felt his blunt fingernails digging into the plush of your thigh, “Prancing around in these short fuckin’ shorts and my shirts.” 

Wait, had he seen you wearing his merch before? Had he seen you in his clothes? How? You were certain he’d never seen the multiple selfies you’d take of yourself to upload onto social media, always too scared to tag your favourite Hero. Instead proclaiming your love for him shamelessly on your socials, gushing about how he was the perfect hero. Still, even if he was lurking on your accounts, he couldn't possibly remember someone as lowly as you. 

“You knew I was watching you, didn’t you?” He snarled, his other hand moving up to palm your breast through your shirt, the action catching you by surprise as you gasped, “You wanted me to see you acting like such a slut.”

“N-no, Dynamight. I wasn’t-” You stammer as you think back, trying to remember all of the times you thought you felt a weighted gaze on you. Only to look over your shoulder to find nothing before submerging yourself back into your mundane world.

"Wasn't what? You mean you weren't trying to show the whole neighborhood your ass when you bent over 'pulling weeds'?" His palm becomes uncomfortably hot as his voice dips lower, lips brushing your ear as you drown in his spiced caramel scent. 

"Maybe you heard about your new neighbor Pro Hero Red Riot, wanted to show off for him? Or maybe you're just a slut who loves the attention?" 

Your blood runs cold, icy despite his burning palm, you swallow thickly as he continues to recite your summer as if reading from a list. 

"You know exactly what you're doing don'tchya? So many men have changed their jogging route to include your street, even if it is well out of their way. They slow their pace in front of your house when you're outside. Bent over, head lost in your garden and your skin tight shorts show your plump lips, your thick thighs and that supple, soft ass. Tits almost falling out from your crop tops as you must refuse to wear a bra. But you're such a good girl, reminding everyone who you belong to when you wear those shorts with my name across the ass." 

He leans away from you to hold your gaze. A shiver runs up your spine, you had never posted those shorts. The fan made ones that say "Bakugou's" across the ass, fuck how did he-?

He reads the question across your face, a nasty smirk dances on his cruel lips as he takes delight in the fear that blows your pupils wide. 

"I've been watching you Princess." You feel your heart beating out of your chest at the realisation, “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

You didn’t.

“That’s why you put on such a show for me every time, isn’t it?” 

 You hadn’t noticed your favourite Pro-Hero had been watching you all this time. You were beyond excited when Red Riot had moved into the neighbourhood, wishing you’d catch a glimpse of him each time you left your house. Getting up early some mornings just to see the red head stretching for his morning run, his muscles taut across his thick frame. But not once had Bakugou been anywhere in sight. You were sure you'd remember the ash blonde standing next to your second favorite hero. 

“You do it on purpose.” Bakugou growled, his hand moving to your exposed waist, stroking against your naked skin as his fingers dipped underneath your top, “It turns you on doesn’t it? Everyone looking at your slutty little body.”

“No, please. It doesn’t- I’m not.” You tried to move away from him, but he already had your body trapped between the arm of the couch and his large, muscular frame. 

“All those eyes on you and you don’t give a fuck.” Bakugou’s large palm grasps your round breast, groaning when he feels your nipple pebbled underneath his touch, “You want everyone to see you.”

Before you have a moment to object, to tell him how wrong he is, his lips are already against yours in a sultry kiss. Your mind hazy as he immediately prods your lips with his tongue, desperate for entrance as he invades your mouth. You couldn’t believe what was happening, The Dynamight was inside your house. Your entire body burning as his heat engulfed you, this was something you’d dreamed about more than you could recollect. The amount of nights you’d touched yourself to the thought of his hands dancing across your body. Trying to imagine how it would feel to be completely ravaged by him, but now that he was here in the flesh you were nervous. The reality of the situation slowly consumes your body as your heart beats with more intensity. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect.” Bakugou rasps huskily as he tugs your shirt up and over your breasts, his vermilion eyes taking in the sight of your exposed chest to his prying eyes, “Even better than I imagined.”

You nervously tried to move your arms to your chest, trying to hide your body from his burning gaze, but his hand was quick to grab your wrist, tugging your arm away with a glare, “Don’t.”

You averted your eyes from his own, biting your bottom lip as he lowered his face to your chest. His tongue tentatively coming out to lap around your darkened areola, closing his lips around your hardened nipple as he began to suck on the tender skin. Your head falling onto the back of the couch as you let out a low whine, one of your hands coming up to brush through his buzzed undercut, stroking against the spiky hair as you arched your back into his touch. 

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this, sweetheart.” He murmured around your nipple, his warm breath fanning against your skin as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. An airy gasp leaving your parted lips at the sensation as you involuntarily arched your back into his touch, “Every fuckin’ time I saw you-”

Wait? Every time he saw you? How often did he seek out your address? How many times did his crimson eyes burn into your skin without your noticing? 

Your eyes dart to the large bay window, holding eye contact with yourself as you stare at your reflection. A pitiful and clear sight as the blonde's hands groped your exposed tits. If the pro hero was brazen enough to peer through your unobstructed window, just how many other eyes fall onto you? 

“When I saw you in my signed debut Dynamight shirt, I knew I had to have you.” His lips curving into a grin against your skin as his tongue lapped at your hardened nipple, rolling the other one between his thumb and forefinger, “There’s just something about the sight of you in my clothes.”

At the mention of your rare signed shirt your body goes rigid, numb. If he had seen you in the shirt you mostly kept tucked away for safekeeping, he had seen everything hadn't he? 

“Don’t go all shy on me now, Princess.” He released your nipple with a pop, palming your breast with a grin as he pressed his lips against your own, “Weren’t shy when you were putting on a show for everyone, were you?”

Your bottom lip trembled at the suggestion, worrying it between your teeth as you felt Bakugou lean forward to grab your wrist in a large hand, the scent of his quirk filling the air as you felt the heat radiating from his palm. Vermilion eyes glancing down at your half-lidded ones, a glazed expression over your features as you focused on his touch.

“Look at what you fuckin’ do to me, sweetheart.” Bakugou tightened his grip on your wrist, moving your hand towards his crotch. His cock bulging against his pants, desperate to be released as he lay your palm against him. Gasping at the sensation as your palm made contact with the fabric, feeling just how hard he was for you underneath the denim.

All the while his thoughts are consumed by you, your smell, the look of surprise on your face. The feel of your skin against his and the heat of your breath tickling his ear when he pins you to the couch. 

All of the things he'd been imagining for the last few months. Your small hand against his large, twitching cock. Even through the fabric your warmth is hypnotizing, drawing him in and captivating him with every inch of you.

Bakugou's problem is that he can be greedy, hungry for more. Wanting nothing but the best and much like his sun sign, once he had his eyes set on something nothing could overcome his stubborn ambition. Not even the small look of fear in your eyes but even he can see that it is fading, melding into desire. He watches your fingers flutter, teasingly trying to figure out just how big and girthy he really was. Your heart races as you stare into his clouded vermillion eyes. Blood running hot as your mouth salivates, imagining the same thing he is. 

How does it taste? 

You let out a soft whine, fingers prodding at the head earning you a borderline feral growl. 

"Quit being a fucking tease and take it out, Princess." He groans, you freeze at his bold request.

"B..but…" He crowds you as your protests die in your throat. His lips brushing against your ear as he breathes in your sweet shampoo. 

"But what Princess? Scared I'll fuck you stupid?" He nips at the shell of your ear, chuckling darkly when you shiver, "Or are you scared you'll get addicted to how I taste?" 

"T-taste?" 

"Aw look at you acting all fuckin shy?" He squeezes your thighs with a deadly grip, fingers creeping between them, "You weren't so shy last week sitting in this spot were you?" 

You freeze as you think back to last week, knowing exactly what you were doing, eyes glancing over his broad shoulder to see the snow coming down in sheets through the large bay windows. You thought you were high enough and far enough away from the road, there, there was no way he saw right? 

His fingers press against your clothed sex, rubbing rough circles unable to keep the deadly smirk off of his lips. 

"Your phone in one hand and your other right here. Or maybe," He moves the dark fabric to the side, sliding his fingers to your clit, "It was here." 

You bite back your moans as the rough pad of his fingers circle your clit, just barely grazing over it in an agonizing purposeful fashion. 

"What were you watching again? Amateur porn right? POV with the guy's face hidden but he was in a knock off Dynamight suit wasn't he?" He pulls back to watch your face, twisting with pleasure and horror, body arching towards his touch as your head swims. Cunt clenching as he dips closer to your core for slick. 

"And what did that slutty mouth say?" His smile is cocky, holding eye contact. Silence sits between the two of you as your eyes flutter. He pulls his hand away from your throbbing clit, squeezing against your pulse point.

"I asked a question, Kitten. Now answer it." His voice is dark. 

"Dy-Dynamight." You gasp out, he ruts his hips against your leg. 

"Again." His free hand slips back between your folds, fingers setting a rapid pace that already has you teetering on the edge already. 

"Dynamight!" 

"Again. Say my name again." His fingers work you over as the coil unexpectedly snaps in your stomach. 

"Katuskiiii." You gasp and whine, shamefully cumming all over his thick digits. He groans, shoving his fingers into your cunt to feel you grip onto him, he cannot wait to feel that pretty pussy molding to his aching cock. 

But he would wait, for now. 

"Good girl." He praises, pulling his fingers from your core, licking up them. Savoring your essence as you watch his eyes flutter paying you a high compliment. In quick motions he throws a pillow onto the solid hardwood floor, pulling the hair at the nape of your neck as he pulls you onto the plush cushion. His free hand undoing his belt with deft fingers before he pulls his pants and boxers down. His cock springs free, the head leaking precum as you lick your lips. 

"You're gonna keep being a good girl for me right, Princess?" He coos, dragging his cock across your lips, smearing his sweet and salty pre from cheek to cheek. 

"Fuck do you know how long I've been dreaming of your lips around my cock?" He groans, pulling your hair back to force eye contact. 

"How, how long?" Your question prompts that nasty smile as his crimson eyes gleam with cruelty and lust.

"Months." 

And with that he pulls your hair back hard enough that you cry out in pain. Bakugou takes the opportunity to shove his cock into your mouth. Bottoming out at the back of your throat causing you to gag, your spit eases the roughness of his slow harsh thrusts as your eyes water. 

Nothing could have prepared you for feeling Bakugou inside you for the first time, your wildest fantasies didn’t equate to this. The sheer size of his thick, bulging cock made it difficult for you to take him inside your mouth. The prominent veins that forked along the side dragging against your cheek as he eased you down on his length. Fingers stroking through your hair sweetly, a stark contrast to his previous movements. His husky voice cooing down at you, gentle praises that had you keening, desperate to hear more. The red, swollen tip prodding against the back of your throat as you gagged around him, a mixture of spit and pre dribbling down your chin as you tried to fit more of him inside your mouth hungrily. 

“So fuckin’ greedy.” Bakugou grunted, his fingers carding into your messy hair and tugging harshly against the root, pressing you further down his aching cock. Watching the way your cheeks hollowed around him as you tried to adjust to his size. The movement causing fresh tears to clump in your lashes as you tried desperately to breathe through your nose. His coarse blond pubic hairs tickling your skin as he held your head down on his cock. 

Struggling for oxygen as your tongue lashed against the underside of his length, the salty sweet taste of his cum mixed with the lack of oxygen making you light headed as you felt yourself falling deeper into him. Teeth grazing his sensitive skin as you tried to relax your throat, innocent eyes gazing up at him. The sight almost had him cumming on the spot, it was something he’d thought about for months, stroking himself raw to the thought of your lips wrapped around him. You felt gentle tremors flowing through your body as he finally allowed you a moment of respite, tugging you off his length roughly as you gasped for air.

“So pretty for me,” His warm palm stroked against your cheek, dipping his thumb between your parted lips as he felt you instinctively close your mouth around it. Your tongue swirling around the calloused pad of his thumb as you heard him groan above you, “Look at you.”

“How many times have you played with that slutty little pussy to the thought of me, hah?” Bakugou mused, his thumb slipping from your mouth as he pulled down your lower lip, watching the way your face followed after his hand to try and pull him back in.

“P-please.” You trembled, already feeling your clit throbbing painfully between your thighs, already feeling unsatiated as crimson eyes glared down at you.

“I bet you’ve never had anything this big inside you,” He wrapped his palm around his cock, smirking when he noticed your eyes hyper focused on him, “Have you?”

You shook your head nervously, even the toys you’d experimented before didn’t equate to his sheer size, “N-no, Dynamight.”

“I’m gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, Princess.” Bakugou’s thoughts already flooding to how your tight little cunt would feel being split around his cock. Moulding it to his size so you’d never be satisfied with anything or anyone else. You were going to be his and his alone, and he’d do anything to ensure that happened, “Wanna feel that tight little pussy wrapped around my cock, yeah?”

His words sending more pleasurable jolts to your core, rubbing your thighs together in anticipation as he helped you to your feet, his large palms keeping against your hips as he dipped his fingers beneath the hem of your shorts. Sliding the material down your thighs with one rough tug, exposing your naked body to his prying eyes. The sight of you completely bare in front of him had his cock twitching almost painfully, you were even more perfect than he had imagined.

“C’mere, Princess.” He cooed gently, a stark contrast to his earlier actions. You keened as you slid onto his lap, feeling his thick cock pressed snugly between your folds as you placed your hands on his broad shoulders to steady yourself. Your fingertips digging into his shirt as you tried feebly to get him to take it off.

“So needy,” He smirked, leaning forward to tug his shirt up and over his head. His chiselled abs now on full display as you focused in on each sharp ridge. He was even more perfect in person, and you couldn’t quite believe that the Dynamight was now in front of you.

Bakugou’s large palms moved back to your hips, pressing you down against his cock as you felt the length stroke against your slit, involuntarily grinding down against him as you tried to give your clit some much needed stimulation. The action did not go unnoticed by Bakugou who smirked at your desperation, digging his fingertips into your skin as he began to circle your hips against his cock. 

“You’re soaking my cock and I haven’t even put it in yet,” He smirked as he felt your slick coating his length, watching in amusement as you continued to grind yourself against him, trying to give yourself some relief, “Bet you could get yourself off just like this, hah?”

“No,” You whined, “Please,”

“Please, what?” He coaxed, his fingers slipping between your bodies to tease your puffy clit, a harsh laugh leaving his lips when he felt the way your body jerked at his touch.

“Please,” You trailed off, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous and self-conscious that you were now very much naked in front of your favourite Pro-Hero.

“You don’t seem to want it enough, Princess.” Bakugou teased, moving you away from his cock as you groaned in displeasure. Your eyes looking down at his shaft that was now coated in a layer of your slick. Fresh pre spilling from the tip as you reached out to grab him between your fingers. Bakugou’s reflexes were quicker as he caught your wrist in his large palm, giving you a warning look as his nostrils flared. 

“So fuckin’ greedy.” He moved his hands back to grab your ass, kneading the round mounds as he moved you to hover over his cock, vermilion eyes gazing up at you as he waited for you to speak, “You want my cock?”

“Yeah-” You felt your head nodding before you’d even had a chance to think, desperate to feel him sliding inside your warmth, splitting you open as he buried himself deep inside you. 

“Yeah?” He mocked, tilting his head to the side as he pressed a kiss against your pebbled nipple, “Then fuckin’ beg for it.”

“Please, Dynamight.” You rolled your hips again, grinding against nothing as you tried to create some friction between your thighs, “Want your cock.”

A groan spilled from his lips at such blunt words leaving your pouty lips, calloused fingertips digging into your supple flesh as he pressed you down on the head of his cock. The tip stretching you out slightly as you tried to drop your hips down on him, wanting to feel him deep inside you.

“You want Dynamight to fuck this slutty pussy?” He pulled you away from his cock which caused a needy whine to spill from your lips, trying to angle your hips back towards his length.

Bakugou’s palm wrapping around his cock to drag the swollen, reddened tip along your sopping folds. Feeling your slick coat his skin as it mingled with his pre, watching the way your eyes fluttered at the sensation of his cockhead brushing against your clit.

“Yes.” You hissed, already anticipating the pleasurable stretch his girth would create inside you. The thick head already back at your tight entrance as he watched you shamelessly try and drop your hips down onto him. 

"Yes what?" His voice is dark with pleasure as he glares up at you, a pitiful mess. He's toying with you, as a cat does a mouse and you feel utterly embarrassed. This was Pro hero Dynamight damn it, you wanted to make a good impression. You wanted to be sexy, not some whiny bitch in heat. 

Little did you know how much Bakugou loved it, lived for it as he gently bounced you on just the tip. Driving you wild as you whined, all the while he smirked. 

"Please Katsuki-sama." Your nails rake down his forearms, "Please, please fuck me." 

"That's my good girl." He slams you down on his cock in one swift motion causing your vision to spot. He relishes the way you flutter around him, adjusting as a shiver runs up your spine. 

"Now fuck yourself on my cock, Princess." 

"But-" He wraps his hand around your throat, malice and lust dance in his eyes as his free hand travels to your thigh. Palm heating with each pound of your heart until it begins to become too much, too hot.

"Ride me like you did your fingers last week. You were thinking of me then weren't you, pervert?” You gasped at his crude words, the idea that he had been watching you while you dipped your fingers inside your tight cunt had embarrassment ebbing in your core. Your body trembling as the object of your affections degraded you, “Wishing it was me finger fuckin’ that pretty pussy, yeah?”

Unable to stop the shameless moan that left your parted lips, the sound restricted to a strangled gasp as he kept his palm wrapped tightly around your jugular. 

“Or were you thinking of Red Riot since you love wearing his merch so much, hah.” Bakugou goaded, you could feel his grip against you tightening as his palms heated up dangerously, “Wishing he’d come in and bend you over like the little slut you are.”

“N-no,” You tried to gasp out, feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen that flowed through your body.

Bakugou loosened his grip around your neck, keeping his palm against your skin as he leaned his head closer to yours, his warm breath fanning your face as vermilion eyes bored into your own, “What was that?”

“J-just you, Dynamight.” You rasped, a rush of air filling your lungs as your chest heaved against him, “Only for you-”

“Yeah?” His lips curled into a cocky grin, immediately tightening his grip around your throat once more, “That’s fuckin’ right, you should be thinking about me when you play with that sloppy pussy.”

He squeezes both your throat and thigh harder. You rock your hips, fucking yourself on his fat cock as you gasp for air, hands desperately holding onto toned arms for support as the coil in your stomach begins to snap. 

“Now I want you to fuckin' show me how much of a Dynamight fan you really are." He groans at the way you grip around him, tongue lulling past his smirk for just as second. 

If you had to try and describe this feeling it would be something akin to euphoria, a constant throb ebbing through your cunt at the dull stretch his cock caused around your core. His cock moulding you to his shape as he bounced you on his lap, the thick jutting veins along his girth dragging against your inner walls with each pronounced thrust. Desperate cries of pleasure spilling from your lips as he fucked himself into you, hungrily searching to pull more of those sweet sounds from your pretty lips. You felt pearly tears begin to clump in your lashes as he fucked into your tight cunt with vigour, uncaring for giving you a moment of respite as he hungrily used you for his own pleasure. 

“Aw, you gonna cry, Princess?” He sneered, vermilion eyes gazing down at your own as he kept his pace, “I know you fuckin’ love it. I can feel you squeezing my cock.”

“Please-” You couldn’t think of the words, your mind foggy with the juxtaposition of pleasure and pain overwhelming you as he continued to fuck you with reckless abandon. 

“Don’t tell me I’ve already fucked you stupid, dumbass.” He grunted, the calloused pads of his fingers digging into the plush skin of your thighs, crude noising filling the air as you could hear just how wet you were for him, “That sloppy pussy is drooling all over my cock.”

"Who do you belong to?" His husky voice wraps around you like a vice, pulling your heart into your stomach. 

"You." You gasp as the heat of his palm on your leg begins to burn, skin warping beneath his touch. Hand glowing golden as if he were a God while his quirk begins to really activate. The smell of spiced caramel, smoke and scalded flesh cling to the couch and invade your senses as a crude whimper leaves your parted lips. The skin that he’d just burned throbbing under his touch, as heat surged through your body. His sharp thrusts helping to morph the pain you felt into a pure, unabashed pleasure as he watched you worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Good girl. Now everyone will know exactly who you belong to." Your eyes flicker away from his face before he uses his finger behind your jaw to meet his gaze, "Look at your King when you cum."

The combination of pleasure and pain paired with the thought of being his makes that delicate coil snap. Your body tenses and freezes as you shake atop his lap, biting nails drawing blood on his arms. He smirks, fucking up into you as another mind numbing orgasim washes over your body. Without withdrawing himself he flips the two of you against the couch. 

“Fuck, look at you.” Your back presses into the cushions as he towers over you. Gazing down and into your eyes as he slowly thrusts into you, switching hands to place one on your unburnt thigh, “So fuckin’ pretty.”

The telltale sounds of his quirk sound in the room as his hands crackle, heating his other palm, readying himself to repeat the action. To mark your body and claim you as his own, so if anyone dared to look at you they would know exactly who you belonged. Permanent hand prints marking you as his. No one else was allowed to have you, not that you had a choice, at least not anymore. 

Bakugou hissed as he felt your cunt continue to flutter around him in the aftershocks of your climax, snapping his hips as his pelvis hits against your puffy clit, head swimming from both pleasure and your primal need to breathe that was being wholly denied.

Bakugou was going to ruin you and you'd let him. 

"Who owns this pretty pussy?" Another possessive question that rockets you to the edge, body hoping for another mark, to make you symmetrical. 

Whole. 

"You." Another raspy breath but it's enough for Bakugou to hear. A silent moan tears from your throat as you try to keep your eyes locked with his. Pain blooming on your thigh with a delicious bite. 

 “What was that?” He snarled, pressing your thigh up against your chest as his arm slid underneath your knee, resting your calf over his shoulder as he changed the angle of his thrusts, his cock delving deeper between your folds as you felt the swollen tip bruising your cervix with each hard rut of his hips, “Say my name.”

“Dynamight.” You called out, already feeling your body throbbing in the telltale signs of another orgasm, your thighs quivering as you felt Bakugou fuck your body into the couch hard before using his grip on your thigh to drag you back into him. 

The crude sound of skin against skin vibrated around the room as his meaty balls slapped against the swell of your ass, Bakugou’s muscular frame dwarfing your own as he used you for his own pleasure. His own little cocksleeve that would succumb to his every request, you would be his and his alone to use as he pleased. 

“Again.” A low growl sounded from the back of his throat, a possessive undertone to it as he urged you on, “Say it again.”

“Dynamight.” You managed to whimper through sobs, tears trickling down your temples now and soaking into your messy hair. The sound of his name spilling from your lips made him readjust his thrusts with newfound intensity. 

“That’s fuckin’ right. Red Riot would never fuck you this good, hah?” He provoked, a clear sign of dominance over you, “You’re fuckin’ made for my cock.”

A cry slipping from your lips as he gave a particularly hard thrust inside your aching cunt, the tip of his length pounding against your cervix as he worked to claim your body as his own, trying to wipe thoughts of anyone else from your mind so all you could think about in this moment was his fat cock buried deep inside your tight heat.

“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect.” He grunted, his eyes mapping out your body as he worked himself against you, “Feel so good.”

Your breasts bounced with the intensity of his thrusts as he felt your inner walls quivering around his cock, already feeling another orgasm creeping up on you, the coil inside you impossibly tight as you tried to remember to breathe. Your vision hazy as you felt yourself becoming lightheaded, white dots blanking your vision as you shook beneath him.

“You gonna cum again already? Greedy fuckin’ bitch.” Bakugou’s lips curved into a grin as he felt your fingernails dig into his forearms, leaving crescent shapes in their wake as a dull ache tingled against his skin at the sensation, “My cock’s better than your fuckin’ fingers, yeah?”

“Yes,” You hissed, your toes curling as you felt yourself succumb to the pleasure. Your tight heat clenching around Bakugou’s cock as an usual sensation flowed through you, an intense throb in your core as you felt the unwavering urge to pee. Tightening your thighs around Bakugou’s firm body in an attempt to stop it from happening as wracked sobs left your body, your lower lip trembling as the sensation became too much. Too intense, too overwhelming as you allowed it to take over, your body crying out as you came. A clear stream of liquid gushing from between your thighs and soaking Bakugou’s crotch, his pace never once faltering as he fucked you through the sensation.

“Look at you, you messy fuckin’ slut” He howled in pleasure as he watched the liquid seep from your folds, “Look at your sloppy little pussy soakin’ my cock.”

“I’m sorry-” You cried out in embarrassment, feeling your heart pound in your chest as you saw his abdomen glistening with your release, “I didn’t mean-”

“What? You never fuckin’ squirted before?” Bakugou’s lips curled into a sly smile, his chest puffed out in pride, “Let’s see if you can do it again.”

Bakugou slipped a hand between your connected bodies to press four fingers against your clit, rubbing it frantically side to side as he tried to prolong the sensation, watching to see more of the clear liquid escape your heat. 

"I can make this pretty little cunt do what I want. Wanna know why?" He leans in with a deadly grin on his lips,  "Cause I own it." 

You cried out as you felt the sensation flowing through you once more, a dull ache in your lower body as more of the clear liquid gushed from your folds. The sight made Bakugou smirk with glee, his fingers relentless against your sensitive nub.

“Couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He goaded, feeling your body trying to shy away from him as you withered beneath him, the pleasure becoming overwhelming, “That fuckin’ desperate.”

“P-please,” You whimpered, your entire body felt unbearably hot. Unable to think coherently as Bakugou continued pounding his thick girth into your core, his warm breath fanning your face as he hovered above you.

“P-please,” He mocked, tilting his head as he glanced down at you, “Please, what?”

“‘S too much,” You stammered, your hand reaching down to wrap around his wrist, trying to tug his fingers away from their assault against your clit.

The movement made him growl, baring his teeth as his hand moved from your clit, reaching up to wrap around the curve of your neck instead as he instantly tightened his grip against your jugular. The action caused your eyes to widen in surprise before your soft whines turned into hungry pants as you tried to gasp for air. Bakugou’s consistent thrusts into your sloppy hole made it difficult to think straight, your body fully focused on the sight of him above you while his hand wrapped tightly around your neck. 

“Gonna fill that sloppy little pussy with cum, yeah?” You flushed at the suggestion, already feeling your inner walls fluttering around his cock at the thought, squeezing his girth as it created more friction as he dragged his cock along your velvety walls, his grip on your neck tightening as you felt your cunt clench around his cock in response, “You’re gonna look so pretty for me all full of my cum, Princess.”

A guttural groan spilled from his parted lips as you watched his eyes roll back, his thrusts stuttering as he came, bottoming out inside you as white hot spurts of cum splashed against your inner walls. His palms stroking along your exposed skin, sliding against the thin sheen of sweat that coated your body as he came down from his climax, humping a few more sloppy thrusts into your cunt as he cherished the sweet way your walls continued to flutter around him. 

You whined as Bakugou slowly eased his hips back, slipping his softening cock out of your quivering folds. His eyes immediately focused on your abused hole as he watched his cum begin to trickle out of you as it dribbled down towards your ass. Unable to resist reaching a finger out to collect the mixture, scooping it up as he slowly pushed it back inside you. Smirking at the way you tried to bat his hand away from your overstimulated folds, this only making him want to tease you more as he moved his finger to press against your inner walls. Swallowing thickly as he felt your body involuntarily clamping down around him in an attempt to pull him back inside you. 

“Such a good girl for me, Princess.” He moved his fingers up to stroke against your puffy clit, laughing at the way you arched your hips away from his touch, trying to stop him from teasing your satiated clit, “Took my cock so well.” 

You mewl in response, clutching your arms to yourself as you shake from the previous events. You looked so small and scared causing a sharp pain to bolt through Bakugou's chest. God he wanted you in his care even more now.

“You were even more perfect than I imagined.” He pulls you to him, trapping you in his embrace as he presses your face into his chest. Hand smoothing your damp hair as he hums lightly. His eyes catching sight of the Red Riot shirt he’d discarded to the floor, a thought occurred to him, one he cannot keep to himself, as another sadistic smile settled on his lips. 

“Kirishima told me not to come over here, said to leave you alone-” He pulls you back so you can look at him, and gods the look you're giving him. Eyes soft and submissive, hazed over in mind numbing pleasure as you float off somewhere far away. Only Bakugou's arms are keeping you bound to Earth. “But I was right wasn’t I, Princess?”

You'll never be able to escape his gravity now. 

“He just wanted you for himself.” His fingers feather over your body before he stands, guessing where the first aid could be. You clutch onto his shirt, eyes desperately glued to your new God as the fading sun washes him over in deep hues of red. The way you look at him makes his cock twitch, feeling the intense power he already holds over you. 

"You'll let your King go." A growl as his fingers find your throat, you nod with fresh tears catching on long lashes as he steps away. Sobbing from his absence before he returns. 

"Don't be a baby, I wasn't that far Princess." His voice all bite while his hands speak the truth. Calloused and scared fingers pressing ointment into the fresh burns tenderly. 

“But you’re mine now aren’t you Princess?” He dots over the burns, rubbing the salve in gently, “All mine.”

He leans away from you, cruelty ever plastered on his smirking lips. 

“Maybe I should show Red Riot what you look like right now, hah?” He pulls out his phone, going to snap a picture. You're hesitant at first but then move to strike a pose, wide eyes looking into the lens of the camera as Bakugou angles it to get the dark bruises and scars that now marr your perfect skin. "Fuck, I think showing him what a good girl you are in person would be much better." 

“W-we shouldn’t-“ You mumble, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought of your sweet neighbour seeing you like this, utterly debauched because of Pro-Hero Dynamight. 

“Don’t be shy, pretty girl.” He coos uncharacteristically, almost mocking you as he watches your lower lip tremble, “I’m sure Red Riot would love to see you like this. Probably jerks himself raw to the thought of you.”

He eases you to your feet, sliding your shorts over your thighs as you hiss when they get to the fresh brand. Your mouth waters from pain as you look down at them. His perfect palm prints etched into your skin forever. You bite your bottom lip, wanting more from Bakugou who slips his jacket over your shoulders before putting your snow boots onto your feet. He makes his way to the door.

"Comin' pervert?" He asks before you rush to your feet,  “Shall we show Red Riot what a desperate little slut his neighbour is?” 

He wraps his arm around your shoulders, engulfing you in his mesmerizing scent and heat. You nod slowly, wanting nothing more than to please your new caretaker. 

“Gotta remind that asshole who the fuck you belong to.”

#bakugou x reader #tw: dub con #tw: branding #yandere bakugo x reader #tw: mind break

[quindolyn]

hi can i request the maurauders going to see the reader do a musical like heathers or mean girls and they are just confused and turned on bc they didn't expect it to be this dirty (can lead to smut or not). luv you and hope you are taking care of yourself, if not go get something to eat, drink some water, take a nap, or do somthing you enjoy. or dont not trying to be pushy :)

Creature of the Night || Poly!Marauders

Word Count: 3029 (excluding song lyrics)

A/N: I think I liked how this turned out? I didn’t make it smut but it’s certainly suggestive, I went with Rocky Horror, I know that the musicals mentioned in the request are more modern but I fucking love Rocky Horror and I think it works with the request. When I first read this request I smiled so much because I love live theater, I don’t perform as much as I used to because as I progress with my education I’m focusing more on the stuff I can use to pad my resumes for college and stuff but I still love going to see productions. One of the worst parts of the pandemic for me has been not being able to go see shows, I miss it so much.

Warnings: theatre enthusiast reader, erections, suggestive material, song lyrics, slight teasing, wearing very little clothing in front of an audience, I believe that that is it

Masterlist

500 follower celebration

antici-

The magic of the stage was second to none. Sure, Hogwarts may have had witches and wizards, subjects like Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and ghosts that spent their time meandering about the halls but there was always a part of you that looked forward to the summer between your years at Hogwarts. Because no matter how magical Hogwarts was, the theater always made you feel completely and utterly alive. 

Every summer since the one after your first year at what all of your muggle friends thought to be a very prestigious boarding school up in Scotland, you’d taken part in your local youth theater’s productions. Your parents both being muggles thought that it would be a great way for you to be able to stay in touch with your muggle origins. 

The first year you’d been far too nervous to actually audition for a role, the very thought causing bile to churn in your stomach and threaten to make you sick all over your kitchen floor when your father first pitched the idea. So instead you’d done costumes and it was the most wonderful experience of your life. 

Who needed drugs when you had live theater? The hustle and bustle behind the scenes was electrifying but after two summers of costuming, of quick changes in the wings, learning how to use the ancient sewing machines they stored in the depths of the storage rooms, and pulling pieces for the actors to try on you decided that you wanted to try something more.

The moment you had stepped onto the stage it was like you’d come to life and you cursed yourself for not taking the risk earlier. You belonged on the stage, with the harsh stage lights on you and pounds of makeup plastered onto your face you could feel the magic thrumming through your veins and it was addicting.

If it was possible, you were even more excited to perform this summer, the previous school year you’d finally gotten together with your long time best friends the Marauders, turning them from friends to your boyfriends.

When your mother had sent word of the production being put on this summer you’d squealed while seated next to James and across from Remus, who had Sirius hanging off of his side. After explaining to them, mostly Sirius and James really, just what live theater was their first reaction was to ask if they could come see you perform.

“I don’t even know if I’m going to be cast,” You had explained gently, not wanting to get their hopes up in case you weren’t cast this year.

“Bull shit of course you’re going to be the cast,” Sirius had contested through a mouthful of jam and toast, waving his hand theatrically through the air, watching him that day was not the first time you’d considered how the way he acted often reminded you of an over enthusiastic theatre major.

Remus, the only one with any knowledge on muggle theatre had snorted, wrapping an arm around Sirius’ waist to pull him closer to his body, “She’s not going to be the cast Pads, she’s going to be casted,” He’d corrected gently, pressing a kiss into his long, dark tresses.

“Whatever,” The smaller boy had grumbled, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Which brought you to where you were right now, five minutes to curtain touching up your make up in the mirror of the shared make-up room.

“Hey (L/N),” One of your cast mates called settling into the makeup chair next to you as she plucked a tube of dark red lipstick from the small canary colored makeup bag she had previously abandoned on the counter, “Your boyfriends coming tonight?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, they are,” You responded, applying mascara to your lashes.

“Excited to meet them, that photo you showed us,” She smiled, fanning her face with her hand, “Smoking,” She smiled, making eye contact with you in the mirror.

Rolling your eyes you ignored her comment, “It’s five minutes to curtain, you’re just now doing your make-up?” You chuckled, noticing her black face.

“Oh, shove it,” She laughed as you pushed yourself from your chair, traipsing out of the room, giving her the middle finger on your way out.

“Break a leg!” She called after you as the door latched shut.

You weren’t usually this nervous before a performance but knowing that your three boyfriends were sitting out there somewhere in the audience had you pacing back and forth backstage wondering what they were going to think of the whole production.

“Rocky Horror?” Sirius’ confusion evident in his voice as he plopped down in his seat next to Remus, throwing his arm around the werewolf’s shoulders, drumming his fingers on his clothed shoulder hidden behind his knitted cardigan.

“Yeah,” James collapsed into his chair on the other side of Remus, tucking one leg under his body, “No clue what it’s about but I’m sure our angel will be wonderful. Can you guys see her?” He straightened himself up in his seat, craning his neck in attempts to catch a glimpse of you.

Remus being the only one with any ties to the muggle world knew a bit about the show and had to do his very best to suppress a smirk from overtaking his face as he knew exactly what he and your other two boyfriends were getting themselves into. 

“Just hush up you two, the show’s gonna start any moment,” He scolded, patting his large, scarred hand on James’ thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Rem,” Sirius whined, puckering his lips and closing his eyes, signaling to his boyfriend that he wanted a kiss.

“My needy baby,” He crooned, leaning in to connect his lips with Sirius’ in a quick liplock before pulling back, allowing Sirius to drop his forehead to smear against his shoulder.

“That’s mean,” Sirius murmured discontentedly.

“Poor baby Pads,” James cooed mockingly.

“Both of you,” Remus hissed as the lights in the theatre dimmed, “The show’s about to start, be good for me and be quiet yeah?”

Their response came in their silence as the crowd started settling down and the music from the orchestra pit began a voice coming from somewhere out of sight as it was played through the speakers,

“Michael Rennie was ill

The day the earth stood still

But he told us where we stand”

Not 20 minutes into the show all three of them were as hard as rocks, James had already made Remus check the playbill for the name of the character you were playing, not being able to remember what you’d told them as all of his concentration was focused on a certain place.

Janet Weiss.

Remus couldn’t remember either, but he was almost certain that’s the name he could make out in the dark theatre, printed next to a picture of your smiling face.

When you’d stripped down to your underwear the boys could barely focus on the plot line of the show, only being able to watch the way your bare skin shone under the harsh light of the spotlights. Watching as sweat glistened on your skin, making you shine as you moved about the stage. 

Enchanted by the melodic cadence of your voice they all felt a certain jealousy burning deep in the pits on their stomachs at the thought that there were dozens of other people packed into that theater, all observing you in your vulnerable state of under dress. Only they got to see you like that.

Sirius missed much of the first act glaring at members of the audience who he deemed as looking at you for too long for his liking, but if you were being honest a 4th year smiling at you in the hallway was sometimes too long for his liking.

It wasn’t like any of them had never seen you naked before, in fact they’d all seen you naked more than their fair share of times but something about you on that stage in a white bra with a matching slip was driving them all crazy.

Especially Remus, whose ultimate weakness was seeing you in anything white which was one of the reasons you’d been so excited to invite them in the first place, knowing that they would be horny messes the entire time.

On stage you did your very best not to look out into the audience looking for them, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to stop a ginormous grin from forming on your face and you couldn’t afford to break character. Not if you wanted the night to go your way.

As the opening notes to “Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me”, rose from the orchestra pit you had trouble stopping a small smirk from pulling at your lips as you opened them, inhaling deeply before singing the first words of the song,

“I was feeling done in, couldn't win

I'd only ever kissed before”

Despite yourself you caught a glimpse of long dark hair in the audience, quickly taking a glance at Sirius’ face, eyes glazed over in lust, legs shifting uncomfortably with his mouth hanging wide open. 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed another raven-haired boy’s mouth dropping as you shrugged off of your robe

“I thought there’s no use getting, into heavy petting

It only leads to trouble and, seat wetting

Now all I want to know, is how to go

I've tasted blood and I want more”

It was impossible to miss the way Remus’ jaw clenched as you laid your palm against Rocky’s chest, he was being played by your good friends who’d been working with the same theatre company as you since forever, he was like a brother to you. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t lay it on extra thick tonight with your boyfriends in the audience.

Tracing a dainty finger down Rocky’s chest you pushed your body against his singing out the next lyrics of the song,

“I've got an itch to scratch, I need assistance”

You turned you and your cast mate so that looking over his shoulder you were able to meet Remus’ eye, sending him a quick wink before focusing back in on Rocky.

“Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me

I wanna be dirty

Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me

Creature of the night”

Pressing your back up against Rocky’s chest you guided his hands with yours to your breasts, squeezing them as you followed the choreography you knew by heart.

You ripped your slip from your body with the help of Rocky leaving you in only your white bra, matching panties and a pair of small heels as you paraded around stage, belting the suggestive lyrics into the theater.

“Then if anything grows, while you pose

I'll oil you up and rub you down (down, down, down)

And that’s just one small fraction, of the main attraction

You need a friendly hand, oh i need action”

You smirked, thinking about all of the action you’d be on the receiving end of later that night as you sunk to your knees in front of Rocky, your hands grasping his thighs. Deciding to tease them perhaps a little more than necessary as you went through the number, curling your leg around his and pressing your bodies together so that there was no space between your two questionably clothed bodies.

As the number was brought to a close it was impossible for you to ignore the excitement bubbling up inside of you as you continued your way through the show you kept throwing glances at your boyfriends, always finding their eyes already trained on you. More often than not, on some body part other than your face.

If your boyfriends thought that they had a bit of a problem before that song they were in a terrible predicament now.

Remus caught Sirius on multiple occasions trying to move the hand that he was holding to grope at his crotch as he tried to buck up into his boyfriend’s hand. And much to his own dismay, Remus would pull his hand away, thinking it probably wasn’t the best idea to give his boyfriend a hand job in a crowded theater. Knowing that he wouldn’t have to worry about James touching himself because he would never dream of disobeying him, Remus divided his attention between you on the stage and keeping Sirius in check.

Each of the boys were counting down the seconds until the show came to an end and they could get out of there and relieve some of their tension.  As the curtains were pulled closed they all breathed a sigh of relief before they reopened, leaving all three of them bewildered and slightly annoyed, even more so when they noticed everyone around them standing as they applauded the actors.

Remus forced both of them up when you rushed to the front of the stage, curtsying as the crowd went wild, your boyfriends most notably. As you took your bow you blew a kiss to your boyfriends taking note of the uncomfortable way they all stood, trying to adjust their erections to make them less noticeable while simultaneously applauding you.

As you cleared the stage after curtain call you took your time, doddling towards the dressing rooms where you had left the clothes you’d arrived at the theater in along with a special outfit you’d brought for after the show. Usually you were one of the first actors to clear the theater after a show but tonight you took your time. Hanging up your costume with more care than anyone really should treat any garment with and certainly more than what it needed. 

You smirked mischievously as you pulled the you’d brought outfit from your bag and shimmied it up your legs before slipping the delicate straps up your shoulders. You glimpsed yourself in the mirror, the red satin of the dress clinging to your curves in an attractive manner, short enough to display miles of legs and low cut enough to show off a decent amount of cleavage and perhaps a sighting of the matching red bra you were wearing beneath it.

Slinging the back of your black heels over the heel of your feet you snatched your purse from the armchair in your dressing room before striding out to go meet your boyfriends in the lobby, where you’d told them to wait for you.

Their heads all turned as they heard the clacking of your heels against the tile of the floor, “Boys,” You greeted as they unabashedly took in your new appearance.

As he most often was, Remus was the first one to collect himself, “Puppy, you were wonderful,” He praised, walking to meet you as you approached him, leaning down to smear a kiss against your cheek, “You did amazing up there, so proud of you,” He threw his arm around your waist as you walked towards Sirius and James.

“We got something for you,” He explained, his grip on your waist tightening, “Jamie give it to her, yeah?” 

“Oh yeah,” The smaller boy grinned, remembering the bouquet he held cradled in his arms as he handed it over to you, “Here you go angel.”

“Thank you Jamie,” You said as you took it from him, closing your eyes as you buried your nose in the sweet smelling flora. As you opened your eyes you made eye contact with Sirius, who stood across from you, practically drooling as he took in your appearance without any shame, “They smell wonderful.”

“You okay Si?” You asked, looking up through your eyelashes, batting them innocently.

“Like you don’t know exactly what you did up there to us (Y/N/N),” Remus whispered in your ear, pressing his nose into your temple.

“You guys are the ones who wanted to come,” You lilted, rubbing one of the velvety petals between the pads of your thumb and forefinger.

“Could’ve warned us,” James mumbled, his eyes not leaving your thighs as he licked his lips, if it were anyone else you would’ve been uncomfortable but you couldn’t help but feel flattered whenever any of them ogled you. 

“And what’s with the dress Pup?” Sirius nodded his head appreciatively towards your dress, obviously admiring the way it hung on your body.

“What, you don’t like it?” You asked with fake hurt in your voice, knowing that he more than liked it, he fucking loved it. 

“S’not that,” Remus mumbled, nosing at your jugular, “Just that whole show, got us a little bit worked up. We didn’t expect it to be so sexual Puppy,” He nodded towards James and that’s when you noticed the erection he was still sporting. 

“Got us really worked up, can we go home now?” James asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying to distract himself from his little problem.

“Jamie,” You whined, smiling wickedly, “I wanted to celebrate, I was thinking we could go eat somewhere, I was thinking maybe Thai food?”

You watched as Sirius ground his teeth, conflicted between needing to get home and not wanting to deny you from what you wanted. 

“Having fun teasing us Bunny?” Remus asked you with a sly smirk, knowing exactly what you were doing.

“M’not teasing,” You insisted, turning indignantly to your other boyfriend.

“Sure you aren’t,” He chuckled, “Thai sounds great (Y/N), wanna talk with you about the show,” The idea of teasing Sirius and James even longer was very appealing to Remus and he was ready to make the sacrifice of being teased himself, knowing that he’d be able to get back at you later that night.

“But-” James began.

“You wanna argue with me Jamie?” Remus challenged, raising a singular eyebrow.

“No,” He moped, “Of course not.”

“Good,” Remus said, nodding his head approvingly, “We wouldn’t wanna deny our Princess would we?”

James shook his head, eyes pleading, desperately seeking Remus’ approval.

“Pads?” Remus challenged, turning his attention to the other raven haired man.

“What? Oh um, of course not,” He agreed distractedly, dragging his eyes from your form to meet Remus’, his reluctance evident in his voice.

“Good,” Remus said pointedly, his eyes cold, daring Sirius to question him. When he didn’t the werewolf continued, “Let’s get going then, there’s a nice little restaurant a couple blocks away yeah?”

As you all hummed your consent you made your way to the exit, “Ten galleons if you can make James cum in his pants at dinner,” Remus whispered in your ear quietly enough so that  James and Sirius trailing behind you wouldn’t be able to hear you, you could hear the smirk in his voice as you exited the theatre.

“Deal.” This was going to be fun, you considered that you might have to invite them to come see the show again.

-pation

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @amourtentiaa @superbturtlemakerathlete

#harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #marauders x reader #harry potter imagine #james potter #james potter x reader #marauders fanfic #marauders fanfiction #remus lupin #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fanfiction #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fanfic #poly!marauders fanfiction

[folkloreguk]

🍒Cherry Ice Cream (2)🍒

A/N: Part two is here! There won't be another one after this. I just wanted to split it into two little scenarios with one being cute and the other not so cute lmao...I hope you enjoy - as always I appreciate feedback a lot!

taglist: @lovely-ateez

genre: smut, optional bias (m) x reader (f), lifeguard!au, pool sex, unprotected sex

words: 3.4 k

PART 1 (fluff, both parts can be read independently)

It was the middle of the summer holidays and you had never been happier. Sunny weather, swimming, lots of free time and as much ice cream as you wanted were only a few of the reasons for your luck. The main cause was the boy of your dreams. A few weeks ago, you had met. It had been the most chaotic, embarrassing day at the public swimming pool – or so you had initially thought. Turns out being a walking disaster could not only attract negative attention. When the otherworldly handsome and kind lifeguard had pulled your clumsy figure out of the water and even bought you ice cream to make you feel better, you had a feeling things were about to change. And you hadn’t been wrong. Maybe you were seeing things through rose-colored glasses and a mix of lovestruck hormones, but you suspected he might just really be this great.

Ever since your first ice cream date, the two of you had been inseparable. Looks were one thing – and you had made yourself aware that though he was a picture of perfection, he could still have turned out to not be your type at all. But the inside reflected on his outside. Every day you found out a new enrapturing detail about him. He was a never-ending book that you were utterly unwilling to put back down.

Your days were spent at the public swimming pool, watching your lifeguard boyfriend do his job and questioning if this was all some sort of hidden camera prank. During his break he came running straight to your spot under the trees and plopped down on your towel, ready to spend the most time with you until he had to go back. Although your streak of bad luck was over, he still took care of you and made sure you were okay in the heat. He reminded you to drink enough water and sent you a good morning text every day. When he had first asked you to help him put sunscreen on his shoulders, you had hesitated with cheeks hotter than the sunlight that day. Now it was a daily thing, and sometimes when his hands were on your back, rubbing in the lotion, you caught yourself wishing there weren’t a hundred families around you. But it was hard scoring alone time with him at the pool. Even later at night, right before closing time, there were always one or two diehard swimming fans there.

“I love watching my cute girlfriend swim,” he would keep telling you.

“You better make sure you’re paying attention to the rest of the visitors, too,” you would reply, but secretly love his flirty remarks. Perhaps he wasn’t even so far off. After your first encounter, it was apparent that maybe you were the one guest who didneed the closest monitoring. Even his co-workers knew of you. They had made it their life mission to remind him daily how whipped he was for you, but he never cared about their teasing.

At night, you rode your bikes home. Towards the candy cotton clouds on the horizon, through the small suburb, you rode side by side, still damp hair flowing in the wind. Outside your home he cupped your face then, the sun kissed skin of his hands still warm to the touch. Like he was the slowly setting sun himself, he kissed you goodnight. You were addicted to his lips. He made you fly, brought back all your fondest memories as if he himself was in them, and let you forget every worry you’ve ever had in the world.

One evening at the pool, you lay on your bathmat, headphones in your ears and your favorite summer playlist taking you to another world. Suddenly, two hands grabbed you by the shoulders. You jerked up in surprise.

“Oh my god, we could have hit our heads together!” you scolded your boyfriend, who was smiling at you like an innocent five-year old.

“Guess what. My boss just told me that I can close the place up tonight. You know what that means, right?” he said.

“Tell me more,” you smirked.

“Technically, we can stay here however long we want. And do whatever we want. As long as no one finds out,” he whispered the last part into your ear. Chills ran up your spine despite the heat in the air.

“Do whatever we want, huh?” you said. “I thought you were being a model employee?”

“I am,” he shrugged with his child-like smile. “And the model employee needs to go back to work now. I have a reputation to uphold. You’ll be waiting for me, right?”

“Of course,” you nodded, watching his figure as he jogged back to his seat by the pool. The next hours seemed to go by extra-slowly, to your dismay. After his announcement, you only found yourself staring in his direction more than on any other day. Truly, you could never get used to his handsomeness. You thought of his voice that made you melt like ice and his hands when he kissed you. Too often they remained in innocent, safe territory. Maybe that was about to change. It was a Friday, meaning the opening hours were longer than usual. By 10 pm however, even the last person had left. The public swimming pool was closed. Officially.

You had to admit, you could get used to having an enormous swimming pool all to yourself. Blissfully, you dived through the water, not having to worry about crashing into anybody’s legs or losing track of your surroundings. You had always felt as though swimming was a little like flying. Not that you knew what flying would be like. But if you had to make a guess, feeling weightless and small in a seemingly endless space probably came close. All your life, it had remained the same. Playing pretend in the water, acting like a mermaid scavenging for the most precious treasure of the seven seas – all your loveliest ideas lingered in your memory like it had been yesterday.

The pool had a shallow end, about the depth which allowed your head to reach above the surface, and progressively deepened towards the other end. You took a gulp of air and descended into the darkness. Taking long strokes, you dived towards the white light at the wall of the shallower pool end. With the brightness ahead of you, you failed to notice the shadow behind you.

As you were in the process of coming up from the water, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around you. For the second time that day, you jolted in surprise and quickly gasped for air.

“You scared me out of my wits! Will you stop that!” you said, but you were already smiling. It was hard to carry grudges against the boy behind you. Not when he held your waist and rested his chin on your bare shoulder, grinning as if it was a crime to even suspect him of such things.

“Hi, there,” he said and pecked your cheek sweetly. “I missed you.”

“So did I,” you admitted. Only months ago, you had made fun of how lovestruck your friend had been. You weren’t one to speak now. His hands let go of you while you turned your body to face him. Then they were on you again, and although it was a small touch, your lack of clothes created a tension between you right away.

“Wanna race me?” he whispered into your ear, as if there was anyone around to listen in. Was he serious? Did he really think you wanted him to let go of you now? His voice on your neck rendered you wanting him so bad, you had to take a deep breath to compose yourself.

“I’ve been swimming all day,” you said. “Besides, didn’t you say we could do whatever we wanted? We can swim whenever we want, during opening hours.”

“Oh, sounds like you have better plans?” he asked. For a moment, he touched your forehead with his. If you bent forward slightly, you could have kissed him. His hungry eyes were on your lips when you had finished the thought.

“I was thinking you could kiss me, for starters?” you coaxed him. He chuckled.

“So you’ve been thinking about it too, the past few hours,” he realized. “You know, I was trying to be subtle about it.”

“Forget about being subtle,” you said. “Let’s just make out, please?”

“I’d like nothing better than that,” he smiled, and then your mouths touched. His gentle lips tasted faintly of chlorine and salt, a taste you had come to associate with him and magnificent things. You held his face in your hands tightly and pushed your body against him yearningly. Reacting, he sighed and deepened the kiss. His wandering hands found the small of your backside as you arched your back into his frame. You hummed quietly, hands burying in his wet hair and playing with it at the nape of his neck.

All your childhood you had been searching for your treasure under the water. Now you understood. He was right there in front of you. Little you would be proud you had found someone this precious and incomparable. And hot.

“Jump,” he said. You did as he suggested and wrapped your legs around his waist. The proximity of his body made your heart hammer against your ribcage with such feverishness, you worried it might jump through your chest. With the way he touched every curve of your body, you almost forgot how to kiss. Luckily, your instincts did the job for you as you sipped on his lips and sighed every so often. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, and you felt his smirk when you moaned in surprise. Every inch of your skin burned with desire for him.

As he carried you over to the side of the pool, you pulled away shortly. You took the liberty to attack his neck with frenzied kisses. It felt just as you had imagined a thousand times. You couldn’t possibly recount all the instances when you had found yourself staring at his neck and shoulders in the past weeks. He was easily the biggest distraction you had ever known. But it wasn’t your fault his tanned skin was so inviting and his strong presence ever so alluring. Returning his teasing, you bit into his shoulder, kissing and sucking on it right after.

“Fuck, baby,” he said in a throaty tone. “You’re amazing.”

Softly, he rubbed his nose against yours before your lips locked again. The kiss was all but soft. Your tongues meddled as if you were starved people and you could barely keep your hands in one place. Not that you would want to. You wanted to glue his hands onto your body or better yet handcuff him to your wrists. What was the opposite of a restraining order called? You were about to invent a word for it. Never before had you been so intoxicated, so in ecstasy with another person.

He pulled aside the fabric of your top momentarily and cupped your breasts in his hands. You gasped and melted into his touch and the way he played with your nipples. He attacked your neck in kisses and you shut your eyes, enjoying the sensation of his lips.

“I really want you.” He had his hands on your ass and all you could think about was the growing bulge in his swimming shorts. Your hard nipples rubbed against his chest, the thin fabric of your swim top doing little to nothing to separate your bodies. How could somebody’s whole existence be so titillating? He pulled away, just far enough to speak but barely. “I’ve wanted you like this for a while. But I didn’t want to unsettle you by making you think I just want sex from you. Truth is, I don’t want you to be just some summer romance, Y/N. Every day I hope you’ll still be here when summer is over.”

“Why would you think I’m going anywhere?” you asked. “You’re the reason I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I ask myself every day how I managed to end up with you in the first place.”

“That’s easy. First, threaten to demolish the turnstile with your stubbornness, second, offer your head to a bunch of kids with a water ball, third, square up against a bug in front of a hundred people, fourth- “

“Okay! Enough,” you said. “Don’t bring up my clumsiness. That’s just about the least sexy thing in the world.”

“Baby, I think there’s nothing not sexy about you,” he spoke. He kissed you deeply and all your embarrassing memories vanished at once. “So, you’re cool with this?”

His sudden change in tone caused your breath to hitch in your throat, as his hands lingered by your hips, just above your bikini bottom. You only nodded, the motion getting more eager as the words sunk in. He slid his fingers along the inside of your thigh, and you squirmed under his touch in desperation. Swiftly, he pushed aside the material above your center. His digits slid through your wetness, catching the nub between them, and rubbing ever so slowly. An overwhelmed gasp spilled over your lips, and you closed your eyelids.

“Fuck- ,“ you muttered under your breath. He teased your core, nearly sliding his finger into you, but then pulling away to find your nub to toy with.

“You look so beautiful,” he said. At his words, you looked at him through fluttering eyelids. He was one to talk about beauty. The luminescence from underwater sharpened his features, and his eyes had something magical, something enchanting about them. Like he could have you – or anyone – without saying a word. He reminded you of a merman, or rather a siren. Ready to drag you along with him, deep under the surface. And you were so willing to let it happen. For all you knew, you were long lost and under his spell anyway.

“Have you ever done it in public?” he asked. You were too distracted by his fingers on you at first, head hanging back in ecstasy, until you snapped out of it.

“No, but – fuck – I guess I can strike that one off my sex bucket list after tonight, can’t I?” you said.

“You have a sex bucket list? Interesting, tell me more about it,” he smirked. His eyes darkened and his tongue licked over his lips once. As if on command, his lazy ministrations on you quickened, rubbing your clit in small, circular motions until you were a moaning, stammering mess. You suspected he did so just to see your immediate reaction, and you gave him just what he wanted.

“Can we postpone the – the talking…on later?” you murmured, feeling like collapsing against his broad shoulders. “I’m kind of too busy to – to talk.”

“I can see that,” he teased you, kissing you gently. The delicacy of his lips only made your head spin more. “You’re so sweet, baby.”

“Don’t you want to get busy too?” you asked. You reached for his swimming trunks and wrapped your hand around his hard member through the material. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“Shit- me too.” His arousal echoed in his moans, and he sucked in a breath. There was a sense of power in knowing you could make him react so gravely by doing so little. You tugged on his trunks and pulled them down a little to reveal his full length. Palming him, you felt how painfully hard he must have been for a while now. He groaned and it was the best thing you had ever heard. Eagerly, you slid your bikini bottom off and watched for a moment as it sunk down into the depths of the pool. Your legs wrapped around his waist again as he aligned his cock with your core.

At this point you supposed you were both out of words. Hunger had taken over and you barely managed to form a sentence. He kissed you and you hummed and nodded, wanting him to know you were ready. Easily, he entered you and you whimpered at the way he stretched your velvet walls after all the wait. Your senses were overcome with everything around you. The warm water enveloping the both of you, the soft summer breeze caressing your faces, his hands on your hips as he guided your body into his thrusts and the sound of your breathless moans and sighs – it was pure bliss. Night had almost fallen, with the sky being a deep blue, almost black by now. It was a perfect setting for a perfect night with your favorite person.

You gazed into his dilated pupils and the coil in your stomach tightened in the most delicious way possible. Now you recounted a myriad of dreams you’d seen him in. Not always, but occasionally he showed up in your dirtiest of dreams, with his gorgeous, addictive smile and strong arms. But now he was right there, in front of you – inside of you – and you apprehended how weak your boldest imaginations had been. Your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders as you clenched around his cock. He moaned your name huskily and it only clouded your head further.

It was crazy how loving a person could magnify everything. Even with closed eyes, the mere idea of him fucking you, at night in a public pool, could beat every single other experience you’d ever had. You felt like you were blessed with the audience with a god. A god, who had manifested on earth only to scoop you up and show you the finest things in life. You definitely couldn’t think of a finer thing than his cock dragging through your walls, hitting your g-spot repeatedly, while he had you cased against the pool tiles. Moans and little whimpers fell from your lips, and you were glad there wasn’t a single soul close by who could have heard.

He was jaw-dropping. With the way he pounded into you hard, using the poolside wall as support on your back, you felt your head spin as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your skin seemed to prickle wherever he touched you and you pushed your chest against his. Just a little closer, you told yourself, even though you were running out of space already. It was body against body while he whispered naughty things into your ears, telling you how incredible you felt, how lucky he had gotten with you and how sexy he found you.

“You’re the fucking best I’ve ever had, baby,” he said. His teeth grazed your neck as he kissed your sensitive skin messily. You could have counted every single drop of water hanging from the strands of his hair and adorning his face. Could have taken notice of every single eyelash and even the tiniest speckles of color in his irises. But you could barely command your eyes to stay open.

“So- close,” you said. In your ecstasy, you clawed at his back as another wave of pleasure went through your entire body.

“Together, hm?” he said, lips brushing over your cheek with every thrust. You hummed and nodded, as he picked up his thrusts to a toe-curling speed. With every touch of your sweet spot, you felt reality slip away a little further, and you were doing nothing to fight it. You invited the feeling in, resting your forehead against his, breaths coming out in short puffs. And then it overcame you. Your orgasm jolted through you like electricity, and you clung to him as if you might have sunken otherwise. It made your shared moans high pitched, and he followed you, pulling you into his arms like it was alone you who was keeping him afloat.

The splashing of the water softened as he drew out your highs for as long as possible with slower thrusts. Eventually, he halted completely. He cradled your face in his hands and when you finally opened your tired eyes, he was watching you with full adoration. His charming smile caused an eruption of butterflies in your stomach. This was only the beginning of your time together, yet you could barely fathom your fortune. And as it seemed, this time fate was on your side.

#optional bias #optional bias smut #optional bias scenarios #optional bias imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #bts smut #ateez smut #pentagon smut #btob smut #seventeen smut #exo smut #the boyz smut #monsta x smut #txt smut #ikon smut #nct smut #astro smut #stray kids smut #day6 smut #the rose smut #onewe smut #oneus smut #a.c.e smut #got7 smut #cravity smut #n.flying smut #sf9 smut #kpop imagines #enhypen smut

[qyllenhaal]

American Pie

Lee Bodecker x Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: The Summer heat gets to everyone, including Sheriff Lee Bodecker who is looking to stir up with his favorite girl.

Warnings: 18+ only!!! DubCon (!!!), Dark themes, age gap (reader is early 20s), infidelity, alcohol abuse, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, spanking.

A/N: I didn’t expect to finish this in one night, but I did! I may have missed a few things to include in the warnings but I believe I got all the major ones. Enjoy!

Hot weather makes people feel more rowdy, like they can do anything just because the temperature is rising and the sun is out for longer. When the number of troublemakers at the bar goes up, so does the number of visits from the police.

Someone was always anonymously calling the police because someone at Tecumseh Lounge was stirring up some shit. They rarely came and when they did they did nothing. The deputy they dispatched would just write down a few things in a notepad and leave. No one ever truly got in trouble and that's because the Sheriff is rumored to be "in'' with the owner.

The rumors are true but the nice ladies and gentlemen from the nicer parts of the county will never see it for themselves. Tecumseh is rough, and nasty. There were more vices here than just alcohol, and most of it was done under the table.

Y/n was crazy to take this job as a bartender at Tecumseh. She didn't know that a hidden prospective for the job was fucking the patrons. One of the other girls working here did it, and so did Sandy despite her brother being the sheriff. Y/n was not interested in the advances pressed on her by the men. They were either married or been fucking "ladies of the night" for years and probably have something. No one who frequented a place like Tecumseh wasn't someone Y/n wanted to go home with. Yet she let Sandy's brother talk to her in any kind of way.

For someone who was the sheriff, Lee Bodecker was here a lot and it wasn't because the drinks were good. Sometimes his sister served him while he interrogated her about her husband Carl. Y/n had seen Carl a few times and she found him to be sleazy. Poor Sandy was stuck working behind the bar while Carl flirted with a younger girl just a few feet away from her. But Sandy would also take some patrons out to the back and get fucked when her shift ended. It seems like an even deal, but the difference is Carl looks happy doing it and Sandy always comes back looking a mess, and not in a good way.

Y/n has been applying for a waitressing job closer to her house. She wants out of this place yet whenever she says Tecumseh is her current place of work, her application gets thrown out. Her aunt got her the job and she wished to god that woman never did. She should've gone and worked at someone's farm doing hard labor instead of accepting the offer to work. She was talked to like she was a whore and there was nothing to do about it because her boss did the same thing.

Friday night shifts are the hardest for her. The men drink harder because they don't work weekends. The influence of alcohol made them relentless when talking to Y/n. They made what they believed were compliments about her body and proclaimed how they wanted to fuck her. She just had to press a smile because the more they found her fuckable the more they tipped her. The low-cut top she wore was not coincidental. While she didn't fuck patrons for 20 dollars, she did put out for their attention.

Not even 30 minutes before her shift and a fight breaks out. She has to call the police because the fight between two men turned into a fight of three, four, and then five. No one looked interested in breaking up the fight, just watching with glib smiles and jovial laughs. This was the kind of entertainment they came for, but it was a pain to deal with as a barmaid.

Police sirens and the lights made some patrons, including two of the people involved in the fight, went running out through another exit. Their fears were pointless since it was rare for anyone to get arrested here.

"Alright break it up," Deputy Brooks' voice boomed.

Whenever an officer was called to come down to Tecumseh Lounge, it was only three policemen who showed up: Deputy Brooks, Deputy McConnell, and the sheriff. They must've worked out some kind of deal with her boss because they come in, don't do shit about the reason they were called for, and they never failed to ask for a drink before leaving. Tonight is no different; they just break up the fight and tell the men to leave but they never force perpetrators to leave.

The fight dissipated a few minutes after the deputies showed up and the patrons grumbled because the fun was over. The two deputies looked around the place to give off the appearance of holding authority then they made their way over to the bar.

"One of your coldest beers," Deputy Brooks didn't greet Y/n nor was he polite. He just demanded what he wanted.

"No free drinks." She tries to keep her tone of voice strong. She is not afraid of these two men who only feel powerful because they have a badge on them. Deputy McConnell was only a few years older than her and she remembers when he was a scrawny kid who got picked on even as a senior in high school.

"We just broke up a fight at your fine establishment. The least you can do is give us a beer," Brooks rebuttal.

There was no arguing so Y/n sighed and went to grab two beers for the men so they could just get out of her sight.

"I need two beers. Not just one," McConnell interjected. Y/n didn't like how they drank on the job, especially since they were going to be driving so late at night.

But Y/n obliges just to get them out of her face. She hates the smug look on Deputy Brooks face as he grabs his beer and walks out with the other deputy behind him.

The rest of the night is Jenny's problem because Y/n was clocking out immediately. She smelled like cigarettes and just wanted to wash the layer of sweat off of her body. All the money her boss accrues from shady dealings, he was too cheap to install an air conditioner. People get angry and agitated when it's so hot out. Even at night the air feels sticky and falls just to the low 80s.

She headed out the back to avoid the incoming patrons. She is fair game to some people now that she is single.

Out back she can hear three unmistakable voices. Deputy Brooks and McConnell were standing by their car that was parked right next to the nice, clean sheriff's car. Y/n is not in the mood to deal with the two dickheads and their boss sheriff dickhead, but she knows they are going to say something to her as she walks back.

"Well if it isn't my pretty, pretty Cherry."

Lee Bodecker's voice punctuated the night air, making even the humid atmosphere feel cold.

Y/n stops in her tracks, knowing that she cannot avoid this without causing trouble for herself.

"Don't call me that."

"You sure like the name last week when I had my head between those thighs. 'Lee...oh Lee!" He imitated her voice which made his deputies laugh. Lee has a beer in his hand, reminding Y/n that McConnell asked for two back at the bar. She should've known it was for Lee.

She was embarrassed by him talking about their time together in front of his subordinates. Lee is married and Y/n is turned off by men with gold bands on their ring finger who try to take her home after her shift ends. However they have fucked on multiple occasions, making him the only patron she has given into. He was mean, but authoritative. Y/n couldn't help herself and she sometimes let the sheriff rough her up in the back of his car.

"I'm only messing with you sweetheart. You don't gotta stand there lookin like you saw a ghost."

Y/n feels humiliated but Lee doesn't seem to care. Lee gets off on seeing her squirm, on seeing her be degraded. She's not a whore like the other woman who works here and his sister, but he fucks her like she is. He has something many of the men inside the dingy joint wanted. Y/n isn't easy, which rare for a female Tecumseh worker.

"I'm just wonderin if you seen my Sandy," he made an attempt to change the subject.

"She's your sister Lee."

The truth is Y/n hasn't seen Sandy in a week. She said something about her and Carl taking a trip but she didn't say for how long. Y/n is not too fond of Sandy to pry into her life. She feels bad for her though. She always comes into work with dingy hair and not to mention the amount of weight she has lost which makes her face look gaunt.

"You better address me as ‘sheriff’ girl. You have no manners. You weren't even going to say hello to the men who keep you safe."

Lee did nothing to make her feel safe. He made Y/n feel on edge when he was around but downright euphoric when she was in the throes of passing in the back of his car. He was just using her to get his rocks off and he only went after her because he wanted someone "fresh" for him. He doesn't respect her or care for her.

"Shouldn't you three be patrolling? Looking for crime?"

"Don't catch an attitude, Y/n. It's none of your business what we do. Besides, all the crime is in that building you just came out of."

"You guys never do shit. All you do sheriff is come and collect money from Leroy-"

"Watch your fucking mouth."

Y/n is not sure why she's still here trying to bump heads with him. She will never win, especially when he is the authority around here. No one challenged Lee because they were scared to death of him. He's a shady sheriff but he's feared.

"I'm leaving," Y/n sighed. She tried to walk away but Lee stood up from leaning on his car and grabbed her arm

"Uh-uh," he shook his head at her as the grip on her arm tightened. She looked up at him with fear in her arms and he felt his cock getting hard "You don't get to leave until I tell you too. I think you owe me for last week anyway, cherry."

"Please...just let me go," she tried to plead. She tried to plea to the man who she's been fucking, hoping that his attachment to her would make him be kinder to her.

"You need your ass to be put in place. I thought I did that a few weeks ago when I spanked your ass until you cried, but you're still as defiant as ever. You'll never fucking learn."

Lee dragged her back to his car and bent her over the hood. He placed her arms behind her back and cuffed her. He wasn't going to arrest her but making her believe he was sure was fun to him.

She can see both of the deputies watching her. Her face was planted against the top of his car as he held her down. Lee pulls her dress over her ass and she feels so exposed.

"Those panties look damp to me. What do y'all think?"

Y/n hears the deputies chattering lowly amongst themselves, probably afraid to say something obscene about the woman the sheriff is hooking up with.

"How many men seen you like this before? Who you let fuck you today?"

"No one sheriff."

"That's right. That pussy is mine."

His rough hand caresses her ass. He wants to spank her for talking back to him in front of the two younger officers. She was trying to embarrass him which called for a punishment.

"You better count 'em or I'll start over."

Y/n just groaned in anticipation of the first blow to her ass. She hates how Lee takes his time and she wishes he would just get it over with. Her heart is racing as Lee gets a firm grip on her hair.

"Bad little girls get their asses spanked. Don't think just because you're not peddling your cunt that you're not a whore," he threatened with anger.

Her panties were ripped off with rage and she was truly exposed. The warm, summer breeze ghosted across her cunt but it made her shiver. She can already feel the heaviness of her hand on her ass before it even comes down. The first smack was so loud that it pierced the dark night's air. Her cry was even louder.

"One," she says breathlessly. Her eyes close so she doesn't have to look at the two men staring at her with wide eyes and tents in their pants.

Lee believes pain is the best discipline for a girl like Y/n. He would never do this to his wife, but he also doesn't fuck his wife like he fucks Y/n. She was a tough thing to crack but she rides him into the night until his car is shaking and he's cumming into a condom.

"You can count louder than that, cherry."

He was mocking her only because they had an audience. The belittling and having her body exposed was humiliating. But that first slap of her ass sent all the blood in her body rushing to pussy.

Lee smacked her ass again and again and each time she pathetically sobbed out the number of hits her ass has received so far. Her skin felt hot and it wasn't because of the temperature. She wanted to cry so bad but she kept it. She has never cried in front of Lee and she isn't going to start now; no matter how painful his brutality is.

"Look how fucking wet she is from getting her ass whooped."

Y/n heard the shuffling of the deputies and there was not doubt they were looking at her glistening sex. She felt like she was dripping and she wanted to press her thighs together so bad to hide herself. That would only make things worse for her and the last thing she needs is a harsher punishment.

"Learned your lesson, cherry?"

She nods, her eyes still closed.

"Good girl."

The sound of Lee's belt coming undone makes her stick her ass higher into the air. She's been trained like a dog who wants a treat to behave this way. A sense of shame consumes her as she acts so shamelessly.

"My good little bitch," he coos. He pulls himself out and lines up the head with her wet slit. "I don't have a condom on me sweetheart. I finally get to feel that pussy of yours."

He was lying. He always kept a pack of condoms in the glove compartment of his patrol car because he couldn't bring them into his home. Plus having them in there would always leave him ready to fuck Y/n. He did not like the feeling of condoms but he can't knock her up when next year is an election year. Having a bastard child with a barmaid from Tecumseh would fuck everything up and send his efforts down the drain.

"Lee no! You have to use a condom."

"I don't have to do anything."

She's stupid to think he would listen to her. She is completely powerless and can only operate to his whims.

"Then please pull out...please," she whispers in defeat. The laugh he lets out tells her that she doesn't get a say in this at all.

Lee pushes on her back with one hand and the other is holding onto her hip. He finally sinks into her and he is in paradise.

"You expect me to pull out when your cunt is this warm and tight? No fucking chance darlin'"

He starts to fuck into her, each thrust earning him a pathetic moan. She feels so good wrapped around him and he vows to never wear condoms with her again. She's the tightest thing he's had in years and he has to go slowly to brace himself or else he is gonna cum. This position gave him so much access to her cunt and he pushed in as deep as he could. His bare head was kissing her cervix over and over again. His thighs slapped against her bare ass and the noise reverberated into the night.

The deputies just stood there; eyes wide with shock but lust filling their veins. They never took Lee as a cheater yet he fucked Y/n he knew her body so well.

Tears slip down her face, but they aren't from sadness or anger. She's overwhelmed by the pleasure Lee is giving her that she can almost forget that they have an audience.

Lee lifted her head off of the hood of the car. She could see them in the reflection. She looked a mess while Lee looked like he was in heaven in her bare cunt.

"You wanna tell them how you never had a man in your ass until I fucked you? Begged for it like a whore?"

His voice has some much grit in it and Y/n wondered where this new fire in him came from. Lee was rough with her but never has he pounded into her like she was just a toy. Most would be surprised to know that Lee can be a gentle lover that had a primal urge to be inside of Y/n. She wondered if he was like that with his wife, but according to him she was just a "wet blanket." Y/n does not know whether or not to believe him because it's not uncommon for men to disparage their wives to women they're having sex with on the side.

"Gonna cum Lee," she cried.

He felt her tighten around him and he was about to cum too. He was going to cum inside of her.

"Show 'em how you cum for me. Let 'em see that pretty face of yours."

Lee pounded into her until she was crying out. Her orgasm wrecked her body and the only thing on her mind was Lee and his cock. If she was asked to speak right now it would just be babble. He fucked her stupid and he's not going to stop until he spills inside of her.

A few more hard, rough thrusts and Y/n feels Lee spill inside of her. She sighs at the blissful sensation. His grip on her loosens, a symptom of the exhaustion that starts to set in. His cock begins to soften inside of her but the two of them are still panting from what they just did.

"Go on. Go home," he slaps her ass one last time just to tease her. His eyes are trained on the sight of his cum oozing out of her and he never wants to look at anything else. But he has a shift to get back to

Y/n reluctantly stands up, her dress falling over her ass to cover her up. She can feel his cum running down her thigh but she's too embarrassed to clean herself up in front of these mean. She accidentally catches Deputy McConnell's eyes before she scurries off to her car. She hears a laugh and then a few more joining in. She's sure Lee is bragging to them about her always being willing to fuck him. She just hopes he doesn't tell them everything they have done together.

-

Lee had been silent for more than a week now. No calls, no visits to the bar, and even his patrol car hadn't ridden down her street. Y/n felt insecure about his absence; like he thought she was an easy slut like the rest of the barmaids. He knows she isn't willing to fuck anybody, but she was not sure if he believed her when she said it.

The days moved so slowly as she watched the door hoping he would come in one late night. She even hoped for a fight but suddenly no one had the energy anymore for a melee.

Y/n was working a late shift tonight. She'd cover the bar from 12 until last call. It was her day off but she had to fill in for some girl at the last minute. If it had been the weekend she would've said no, but it's a Tuesday night which means it would be an easy night of minimal work.

Y/n was wiping down glasses not five minutes after she clocked in and she heard the shrill voice of her co-worker Sydney.

"I'm not dealing with him. Last time I tried to cut him off he threatened to arrest me! I don't know where Sandy is but she needs to be the one here to deal with her brother."

Y/n's ears perked up. She didn't notice Lee in the room when she walked in. The room was dim and it was not always easy to make out customers, especially if they were far away.

"What's going on?"

Y/n walked over to where Cindy's voice was coming from and she was talking to their boss Leroy.

"Sheriff is drunk off his ass and I'm supposed to deal with him. My shift ended five minutes ago and once I'm off the clock then anything that happens in this place is none of my concern!" She said with contempt.

"You work for me. You don't get to decide what you will and will not do at my bar!"

As much as Y/n wanted to avoid a tiff between her co-worker and boss, she wanted to talk to Lee even more.

"I'll take care of it."

Leroy didn't care either way. As long as he didn't have to deal with Lee who was pissed off at him about something. Lee often complained that her boss was a "useless fucker." Leroy walked away from the two and Cindy gave Y/n a small smile.

"Thank you."

"It's no problem. I'll see you tomorrow Cindy," Y/n called to the blonde who was already peeling out of the place. She doesn't think Cindy likes her all that much but she was at least courteous to Y/n.

The bar was dead enough for Y/n's other co-worker to cover while she went to deal with Lee.

He was at a table in one of the corners of the bar; slumped over in his chair and too intoxicated to speak in complete sentences. There was no way he could properly function or drive home. She had a choice to make whether to leave Lee like this or take him home. She had just gotten to work, but the night was nothing that her co-worker couldn't handle. If Leroy threw a fit and tried to fire her she could just get Lee to threaten him.

He was so heavy as he leaned on her to walk to her car. Y/n loathes this man yet she does so many caring things for him that it makes her stomach hurt. She gets nothing out of this exchange yet she continues to go back with him.

She placed him in the passenger seat of her car and he just mumbled to himself the entire ride to her apartment. She was thankful to be on the first floor because it would be a hazard to try to get Lee to walk up some stairs like this. She helped him sit on her raggedy couch. He looked like he was going to vomit.

"How many drinks did you have?" She began her interrogation on him, but she doubts she will get a coherent answer tonight.

"Just one."

As he spoke he reached into his pocket to show her the "one" bottle that he drank from tonight. A few candy wrappers fell out of his pocket when he pulled the bottle out. They were jolly ranchers wrappers which was the kind she bought to share with him.

"What happened? Why did you get so fucked up? I need to get you home Lee."

Y/n was in panic mode. There was no way she could take Lee home but she didn't know how to deal with him like this. He had been tipsy around her before, sure, but she has never seen him this drunk.

"No, no...don't wanna go back. Just let me sleep it off," he slurred. He haphazardly kicked his shoes off and pulled his jacket off so he could get comfortable on her couch. He's going to wake up with a sore back if he sleeps on that thing.

"You can't get drunk like this ever again. And you also can't stay the night here ever again. Your wife is going to find out one day

He just groaned and turned away from her on the couch. She just sighed in defeat. She will deal with him in the morning.

-

She feels the bed around 3 am. She could not sleep after leaving Lee in a state like that on her couch and she has been up ever since. Y/n was so tired but her body was not agreeing with sleep at the moment. Heavy arms wrapped around her as she held her breath.

"You smell so good, Florence. Just like roses."

"Lee, it's me." She waited for him to respond, afraid that he would get upset or angry with her for no good reason. Her ego was a little hurt after he mistook her for his wife.

"I'm just jokin' with you cherry." Even though he was suffering from a hangover, he still has the capacity to tease her.

Y/n turned around to face him but he had his eyes closed and a pleased smile on his face. She can't deny how handsome he looks, especially with his full cheeks.

"Why did you get that drunk last night?"

"I'm a grown man."

"You weren't acting like it last night. You were like a defiant child," her voice began to rise in volume and Lee winced.

"Don't yell, please. You can be mad at me all you want but please don't yell. I've got a headache that's going to last for days."

"It's what you deserve."

Lee finally opened his eyes just so he could see that pouty look on her face. Y/n called him a defiant child, but she was one to talk. She was always acting like a brat around him.

"You don't mean that girl. If you did, you would've left me at Tecumseh. You care about me."

"Lee-"

"Just admit it. You care."

"Lee, you are married."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

This was the uncomfortable conversation Y/n wanted to have. It was always shot down by Lee. He had no problem fucking her, but talking about where they stand or his cheating was always a problem.

"Cherry, I wish you'd just let things be as they are. Wish you would always be a good girl like you are in the back of my cruiser."

"I don't want to be your mistress Lee. If we keep doing this then we're going to get caught and your wife will leave you. Then what?"

"I'll move you in and put a ringer on your finger. Maybe give you a few kids too," he chuckled.

Y/n couldn't bring herself to find joy in his comments. She has some underlying feelings for him and he's right, she does care. But her conscience can't stop thinking about the fact that he has a wife. The only time she forgets is when his dick is inside of her.

"I'm a whore, remember?"

"Just because I fucked you like one in front of my deputies doesn't mean you are one," his hand rested on her hot cheek and he stroked it with his thumb, "you're my cherry girl. The only person I love being inside of. You act like you hate me but you're always wet for me; I bet you're wet right now. I love what we have and I don't want it to end."

She has no more to say to him. She just sighs and closes her eyes. Lee can practically see the wheels turning in her head. While he saw this as a very simple situation, she viewed it as more complex and always seemed to look for ways to make it complicated for the two to just enjoy it for what it is. Y/n is young and Lee is sure she is not ready to settle down yet. They're just having some fun. And if they do in fact get caught and his wife leaves him, then his cherry would make one hell of a wife.

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x ofc #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x y/n #Sebastian Stan #lee bodecker fic #The Devil All The Time #Dark Fic

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

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Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me. 

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it. 

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost. 

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl? 

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own. 

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

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