#Pool Sand Filters

[poolrestorationme]

How to Clean Cartridge and Sand Pool Filters In Perth?

Keeping your pool's water clean is mandatory and your ethical responsibility as well. This can be assured quickly by using high-quality pool filters in Perth. Another responsibility is keeping the pool filter clean because only a clean pool filter will generate crystal clear and clean water. This blog post focuses on the importance of keeping pool filters clean, and then we will also learn some steps to clean a pool filter.

Why It Is Necessary To Keep The Pool Filter Clean?

Experts of pool filters services say that the average life of a filter is around two years, depending on how it is used and how much maintenance is offered. Several factors contribute to decreasing the lifespan of these pool filters, and some can trim this life to almost half. Keeping pool filters clean means cutting the amount of debris and dirt in a swimming pool and making it more pleasurable and ideal for swimming.

How To Clean Pool Filters In Perth?

Cleaning pool filters involve different steps used for different types of pools. Let us understand the method of cleaning cartridge pool filters.

How To Clean Your Cartridge Pool Filter?

Vendors of pool service in Perth say that cartridge-based pool filters are the easiest to clean and maintain. The reason is they require deep cleaning just once or twice every year. However, if the pool is large and the pool filter is used more than usual, more maintenance would be required.

Experts perform this by turning 'off' the pool pumps in Perth and the air relief valve. This will remove all the trapped air, and then they release the mechanism holding everything together. They remove the top filter and set the cartridge aside to clean easily using a garden hose or a cleaner. Alternatively, let it soak overnight using a cleaning mixture and then rinse properly before fitting it back.

How To Clean Your Sand Filter?

Experts of pool filter services consider cleaning sand filters as the most formidable challenge, as they require backwashing or cleaning using very light chemicals. The first warning sign of your sand filter requiring cleaning is the increasing PSI of your pool. Similarly, if the water has started looking a bit cloudy, you must understand that your pool filters in Perth require some cleaning.

Experts of pool filter services will need a hose and a cleaning agent to start backwashing to remove all the debris. Before starting, they will turn the pump off and the valve towards the filter. They then turn the pump back 'on' for a few seconds to ensure that the cleaner reaches the filter area. Once the cleaner has achieved its destination, the pump is turned 'off' and left overnight.

This is followed by repeating backwashing again to remove all the debris and dirt. Once it is confirmed that the sand-based pool filters in Perth are completely cleaned, they will turn the system back 'on' and make it clean your pool again.

[mod2amaryllis]

hmmmm. Sarge the betta is showing maybe possible kinda the same early signs mistofelees was showing. hanging at the top of the tank, bobbing when he comes to a stop, slightly lower activity. it's subtle enough it could be paranoia but I'm trusting my gut and considering this tank contaminated, i just have no idea with what. gotta take it down.

moving sarge to the 5g qtank. man i really hope he doesn't get sicker :/

[bionicdogs]

the Cube

[aisands2-blog]

Precision Sands for Pool Filtration & Surface Prep

Pools require more than just water treatment—they demand quality materials behind the scenes. Pool filter sand is engineered to capture fine debris and particles, ensuring clear and safe swimming water. It works effectively in standard filtration systems and is a top choice for pool maintenance experts.

Silica sand for pool filter systems must be uniformly graded and chemically inert, making it a critical part of any pool setup. In Australia, silica sand for pool filters is widely used due to its efficiency and low maintenance requirements.

Beyond pools, kiln dried sand is used in surrounding pavers and decks for clean finishes. Landscapers and pool builders also use turf sand and artificial grass sand in backyard transformations, particularly for areas adjacent to the pool.

Homeowners often look for “sand suppliers near me” to source everything in one place—from pool filter media to decorative dry sand options.

Adelaide Industrial Sands Pty Ltd stands out as a reliable supplier of premium filter sand in Australia, trusted by professionals for performance and durability.

[azzayofchaos]

Since my other Nether worldbuilding post was received pretty well... I'm back on my bullshit!

This time featuring zoning and biomes of the Neath: Lore below cut

Nether (noun): the formidable hellscape straddling the boundery between the Fragments of the Overworld and Death's Realms.

Derived from Beneath -> Neath -> Neth -> Nether.

The Nether is most easily accessable through outer regions of the nether, regions that are comparatively closed-off, and lacking in biodiversity compared to the Deep Nether where most Neath civilizations are centered.

The Neth is divided into three primary zones, distinguished by altitude and general climates.

The Calfactory Zone: the largest and most iconic of the three, the Calfactory zone is blisteringly hot and bone-dry, it's most prominent features are its abundant seas and lakes of magma, and the massive Supermagmas atriums that are common above the magma. In the largest of these atriums, the ceiling may be so high above as to be completely invisible from the ground, obscured by an ever present smog of toxic vapor and minerals formed in the self-generated micro-climates that are generated from the rising heat of the lava that begins to cool at a higher altitude.  

In the Basalt Deltas and other biomes around the edges of these lakes, massive pillars of rock and crystals bulwark the more-visible ceiling. 

The most common of this zone’s biomes is the Crimson woods, home to hearty thermal-philic fungi and plants that grow on the minerals and vapors of the lakes. Many are carnivorous in their lack of access to water or sunlight, and these forests contain many sub-biomes and ecosystems of flourishing life. 

The Wastes are perhaps the most desolate regions of the Neath, irradiated deserts of red-rock, brimstone, and sharp sand. Even the vast majority of nether-folk avoid these deserts due to the leftover radiation that rots and destroys anything that waits too long. The only forms of life are particularly robust lichens and bacteria that are happy to sit by the boiling pools of sulfur and mud and toxic sludge that dot the landscape. Growing within the rocks themselves are colonies of amorphous fungus, called geocorpus molds, they get their spores into cracks in the soft netherack and slowly feed on it; the ‘rock meat’ is considered a delicacy in nether cuisine. 

The Temperate Zone: Cradled in the heights of the Neath’s atriums and sat below the roof is the temperate zones; the rising heat of the zone below begins to cool and by doing so, distinct weather patterns form within this zone, leaving it, while still sweltering, a cooler though much more humid climate.

The main biome are the luminescent warped-fungal rainforests that collect the high-rising minerals and odd moisture from the lakes. Liquid is actually present here, though, if it’s not safely filtered through the innards of the various plants and fungi, this water is usually aggressively corrosive, and it is best to shelter from the acidic precipitation to avoid chemical burns. The nether folk and ender local to these rainforests are suited to deal with these conditions and the ender especially do not have trouble with the extreme pH of the water here like they would in the overworld. The zone is lit almost exclusively by the biolumincense of the organisms there and have often been described as false-stars.

In the Deep Nether, the ceiling may give way, allowing one to pass onto the plateaus of the Nether Roof and the yawning void above. The bedrock of the nether roof is jagged and layered in huge slabs, sometimes broken up my mazes of pillar-like structures and shallow, thermal pools of crystal-clear liquid. The kind you don't want to touch of course. fogs may hang low to the ground, but when its clear, or above the fog, the entire universe seems to spill out into the sky. The nether roof was culturally significant and a source of much knowledge and inspiration in the early days, but I'll get more into that in a later post 0.0

The Rime Zone: Plunge deep enough and one might find themselves bellow the lava beds. Here, where the heat can't quite penetrate, the temperatures will drop rapidly to sub-zero.

Namely, the Rime Zone is made up of the soul valleys, flat steppes of cinder and clotted sand, you can imagine it almost with the blindness effect, a fog that pools by your feet, and a heavier darkness hanging from the sky, it feels massive and endless and claustrophobic all at once. Frost collects as crystals on the irradiated, soul-soaked barrens, and the bones of the massive nether wyrms lie fossilized, breaking up the landscape. The sands are also split with patches of crazing on the ground and vents of blue fire that spills out and sets the sand ablaze.

These same wryms can be found sometimes, ancient things that dig through sand and soft rocks and the magma lakes, far and few between and treated with both fear and reverence.

And in the deepest pits of the Neath are the glowing frozen lakes that are colloquially and rightfully called the Gates to Death, glowing blue from beneath their surfaces. Indeed, any further down and you pass into limbo, the edge of Death's Realms.

Extra Notes??:

Soul sand/soil is tread on carefully or not at all, is one form of remnants from the apocolyspe. Like the general radiated rubble present through the Nether, it's a fault of nuclear fallout. Unlike other areas of radiation, its also been infused with the souls of those who didn't survive the joining of worlds. That said, unlike soul sand, soul soil is used productively to grow certain nether crops. It’s minerally and magically dense.

This infused quality is also precent in Nether Debris, resulting in a material that takes magic particularly well.

Iron cannot be found in dense veins and crystals like gold or quartz in the nether, but it's a pretty rich mineral a lot of netherack, giving it its ruddy coloring.

Sorry for this massive rant that no one asked for. If you have questions please feel free to send an ask, I may not have an answer yet but I'll certainly come up with one if I can.

I'm also hoping to do a pass on my headcanons about history and culture in the Nether and then we might start talking about character headcanons since this is also an actual AU.

If you read this far, here's some notes on striders and ghast

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ thinking of summer slasher!pazzi...

best friends to lovers!pazzi. men & minors dni.

cw: slight gore, sexual tension, light sexual content, manipulation, morally ambiguous!p, morally ambiguous!a, the power of lesbians vs murder, unhealthy relationships bc y'all...p is killing people. but she loves her girl.

notes: i did not intend for this be 10.2k when i started. so, there's that. as always, feel free to give me all of your thoughts in my inbox. let me know who you think the other killer is. i try my best to respond to it all.

p.s. please don't date your best friend who's obsessed with you if she's murdering people, no matter how beautiful and charismatic she is.

okay, love you.

𓇼 it’s one of those summers marked by memories smeared with heat and a lazy humidity that fills you with a sun-soaked exhaustion. the girls are taking part in a training camp for the season. they flush with warmth and glitter with sweat, muscles flexing under tanned skin as they stumble in and out of cool gyms and concrete courts. the best parts come after when they lay alongside one another, tan lines left behind by the tightly tied straps of their bikini bottoms, slices of sunburned skin coming up rosy despite the efforts to slather on sunscreen. 

𓇼 the world is safe here. they are safe here. they know one another, can recognize one another by laugh—morgan’s is sweeter, clear like a bell. kk’s is child-like, loose giggles with a rise in the middle. they know who is standing above them by the slant of a shadow. this perfect space, the smell of it will haunt them forever: something deep blue, sticky with coconut, cream, and vanilla. a memory of artificial fruit smoke and the moon shape of golden thighs atop golden thighs.

𓇼 at the center of it all lies paige with her river of blonde hair only growing blonder in the sun, her violet swimsuit revealing perfect scoops of sun-darkened skin. she keeps her sunglasses tucked right on top of her head, her toned stomach flexing in and out as she rotates on the soft blanket they have spread out on the grass (there are no more chairs). 

𓇼 her shadow, azzi, has her head right on her thigh. she feels bleary and disoriented, the sun shining down with a strength that feels personal. her swimsuit is sugary baby pink, a sweet match to the girl lying underneath her. her curls have been dragged into a high bun in frustration, baby hairs slick against her neck as she sweats. her belly piercing sparkles, calls the eye to the soft dip of her hips and the thin strip of her bikini bottom.

𓇼 paige is terribly hot below her but she wouldn’t move azzi for anything, instead pressing loose strands out of the other girl’s eyes as azzi tries to sleep. 

𓇼 eventually azzi rolls over, patting a hand loosely on paige’s stomach as a thank you for being her human pillow. paige grins, gives in to her boyish nature and pinches the curve where azzi’s thigh meets her ass. 

𓇼 “you’re such a fucking teenage boy,” azzi murmurs. paige laughs, reties the strings of her swimsuit top. “you love me.”

𓇼 azzi does. it makes her stomach roll. 

𓇼 the world is safe here. they are safe here. and then they hear the news.

azzi can’t hear anything past the buzzing in her ears.

three female students found dead. 

the newscaster's voice snakes around her, and drags her to the pool’s tiled floor. her chest burns as she holds her breath, her heart close to bursting.  the world is watery and filtered bright blue through the pool water; the sky is an endless slur of pinks, oranges, and purples. 

the sun is setting, the world going dark, and there are three students—three girls—dead by knife at a camp nearby. three girls she knew in passing, had watched stretch and laugh together on the sands just before a friendly game of beach volleyball. 

the police had said they might’ve been dead for days, up to two weeks. aubrey had switched off the broadcast, visibly shaken and trying to spare the rest of them. jana had sat silent and still, frozen as the older girl pried the remote free from her grip.

she might be crying. with all of this water, it’s so hard to tell. azzi closes her eyes right as the pool lights come on and more water surges in from the jets, the chlorine smell made almost unbearable by the onslaught of the propellers. she has at most fifteen minutes before someone notices she’s gone—five max before paige realizes she’s slipped out from beside her. 

azzi stays under until her lungs scream, until she can’t.

until the burn in her lungs forces her up, air slicing hot into her chest as she breaks the surface. the sky is darker now, the last streaks of sunlight bleeding out into deep navy. the lampposts lining the pool deck have flickered on, turning the concrete a smokier grey and the water a deeper, artificial blue, shimmering against the tile.

azzi drags a hand down her face, slicking back her hair with wrinkled fingertips, and that’s when she sees her—paige, sitting at the water’s edge, feet dipped in, watching. azzi exhales, slow, tries to settle the way her body still hums with nerves.

“you good?” paige asks, voice easy, head tilting just slightly.

azzi doesn’t answer right away. she pushes forward, the water parting around her as she swims to where paige sits. she stops between her legs, lets her head tip forward, forehead resting against paige’s thigh.

paige doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift away. just smooths a hand over the crown of her curls, fingers lingering at the nape of her neck.

“i’m really scared,” azzi says quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “i knew those girls.”

paige hums, a soft, knowing sound. “i know. jesus. i hope they catch those fucking freaks.”

azzi shifts closer, pressing her face into paige’s stomach. she clutches at paige’s back, now covered by an oversized camp shirt, fingers twisting in the cotton fabric. it’s a hold that feels instinctive, that’s symptomatic of the heavy intimacy of their friendship—something azzi’s done before, maybe a thousand times, but never quite like this. paige lets her, like she always does, one hand still at the nape of azzi’s neck, the other resting easy on her shoulder. 

she’s warm and solid. the kind of presence that makes azzi feel safer.

for a moment, they just stay like that, the quiet settling thick between them. the distant hum of crickets, the low lap of water against the mouth of the pool. paige is the first to break it.

“what, you think you’re in a horror movie or something?” she teases, but there’s something serious about her tone, too.

azzi huffs a quiet laugh, but it barely reaches her eyes. “maybe,” she mutters. “i mean the situation matches up.”

paige tilts her head, studies her. “you’d make a shitty final girl, you know.”

azzi scoffs, pulling back just enough to glance up at her. “excuse me?”

paige grins, slow, shifting the hand on her shoulder to tap a finger against azzi’s chin. “you’d be too nice about it. you’d try to help, and then—” she makes a little slicing motion across her throat. “lights out.”

azzi rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitch, betraying her.

“lucky for me,” she says, resting her chin against paige’s thigh now, eyes flickering up, “i have a history of surviving things.”

paige hums, gaze first flicking behind azzi as if she can see the puckered scar over her knee from here, and then back to her face like she’s turning something over in her mind. then, with a quiet finality, she says, “hey. you’re okay.”

it should be comforting. it almost is. but it lingers, just a little too long.

and for some reason, it doesn’t feel like reassurance. it feels like a promise. azzi squeezes the sides of paige stomach and pushes past the unease in her own. 

“we both are,” she says.

𓇼 so, then it changes. no one goes anywhere alone, day or night. it takes some getting used to, the constant partnership. it’s more than they are used to, even as teammates. the extra measures come with their own irritations. 

𓇼 jana grumbles as she’s basically kicked awake by sarah to go to the bathroom with her at three in the morning. morgan’s nose twitches anxiously like a rabbit as she asks aubrey to come to get food with her at the mess hall, and the others try not to laugh when aubrey makes an off-hand remark about how she never realized just how much morgan snacks in a day.

𓇼 but azzi…azzi feels a little like the chosen one. because god, paige never complains. 

𓇼 if azzi wakes in the early morning with an urge to pee, paige is already unlinking their legs in their shared bed and sliding out to go with her. when azzi can’t sleep and sneaks to the living room of their cabin, just to read on her own, paige follows blinking weakly like a child with her bedding over her shoulder. she shoves azzi to the side, sinking down into the ancient cushions and bringing the blankets to her chin as she easily falls back asleep. azzi will go to say thank you, to tell her she’s sorry, but paige will only reach out a large hand and squeeze azzi’s sweaty one as if to tell her knock it off. it’s what i’m here for. and it's vice versa. 

𓇼 things seem to calm down. maybe it really was just a freak occurrence. camp comes to a close and the girls move on to another one, this time a larger one interspersed with girls from other college basketball teams. no one talks about the volleyball girls. it’s the one silent rule: don’t ruin a good time with the ghost of the girls you once knew, please! and lock the doors behind you when you leave the gym late!

𓇼 but azzi doesn’t forget, and it turns out she’s right not to—because it happens again. 

𓇼 the morning it happens, the air tastes wrong as if the trees have stopped producing oxygen entirely. the counselors try to shield them from it, but there's no hiding this—another girl, another athlete, this time from duke, found behind the equipment shed. the world slows down, gets sticky and hot, and impossible. azzi is struggling to breathe, a hand over her mouth as she tries not to throw up. her other hand is occupied by ice’s tight hold.

𓇼 there are whispers of coincidence, of copycat killers, of something worse. the camp directors hold an emergency meeting. no one is to leave their cabins after dark. no one is to be alone, not even for a minute.

the shower runs too hot against azzi's skin, but she doesn't adjust it. her muscles ache from today's drills, the coaches pushing them harder than usual, as if physical exhaustion might distract them from the horror unfolding around them. steam fills the small bathroom, fogging the mirror until she can barely see her own reflection.

she hears the bathroom door creak open.

"just me, princess," comes paige's voice, casual and easy. "kk and ice went to dinner early."

azzi relaxes her shoulders, not realizing she'd tensed them in the first place. "be out in five," she calls, rinsing conditioner from her curls.

when she steps out wrapped in a towel, paige is perched on the closed toilet lid, scrolling through her phone. her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands falling loose around her face. she doesn't look up.

"they found her shoes in the lake," paige says, voice flat. "emma's. the duke girl."

azzi's stomach drops. "jesus."

"yeah." paige tucks her phone away, finally looking up. there's something unreadable in her expression. "you know what's weird? i had a conversation with her yesterday. about three-point shooting form."

azzi turns away, pulling a clean t-shirt over her head. when she looks back, paige is staring at her hands.

"you okay?" azzi asks.

paige nods, but doesn't speak. azzi runs a hand down her back as she passes her, at a loss for words.

later, as they walk to dinner, azzi can't shake the feeling that something is off. they pass the equipment shed, now cordoned off with yellow police tape that flutters in the evening breeze. she looks away, sickened by the sight of blood in broad daylight.

morgan jogs up behind them, slinging her arms around both their shoulders. "hey," she says, voice strained and far too bright. "you guys hear they're thinking about ending camp early?"

"no way," paige says immediately. "they can't."

there's an edge to her voice that makes azzi glance over. paige's jaw is tight, a muscle jumping in her cheek.

"i mean, someone's literally killing people, paige," morgan says with a nervous laugh. "seems like a good reason to shut things down."

"that’s not—" paige starts, then stops herself. "whatever."

she pulls away from morgan's arm, walking ahead faster. morgan gives azzi a puzzled look.

"she's just scared," azzi says automatically, defending paige like she always does. but the words feel hollow in her mouth. “she’s probably worried this will follow us home, you know?” 

they're almost to the mess hall when azzi realizes she left her inhaler back at the cabin. the thought of going back alone makes her throat tighten.

"i forgot something," she tells morgan. "can you—"

"i'll go with you, ma," paige says, appearing suddenly beside them. her eyes look different in the fading light—sharper, focused, a darker blue than azzi has ever seen them. "save us seats?"

morgan nods and continues on without them. as they turn back toward the cabin, azzi feels paige's hand slip into hers, their fingers linking with ease. paige squeezes it once.

"you good?" paige asks, the same question azzi had asked her earlier.

"yeah," azzi says, but her heart hammers in her chest. "just freaked out about all this."

paige's thumb rubs circles against azzi's palm. "don't worry," she says, voice soft. "i've got you. nothing's gonna happen to you. swear"

with a nod, azzi breathes out and flashes paige a soft smile. as they walk, she stumbles over a stick and looks down her eyes catching on paige’s feet. her eyes narrow slightly, focusing on the dark stain on the cuff of the left sneaker—something that looks disturbingly like blood.

“az?”

azzi looks up, and suddenly she can't quite remember if it was there before.

𓇼 as expected, camp is shut down. the girls are silent on the bus ride back to their university, terrified in their own way. it’s mid-july so the school lets them move in early, assuaging their parents’s questions surrounding safety with vague answers that do nothing to assure them. 

𓇼 the school is eerily empty on their side of campus; the off-campus athletic apartments even eerier. they stick to their buddy system. jana & sarah. morgan & aubrey. ice & kk. they’re sectioned off. every girl has their other half.  without question, they pair paige and azzi. 

𓇼 it should be relieving, but it only brings more observations to the surface. paige is evasive, leaving their apartment at odd hours and coming back even later. she tells azzi not to worry, that she’s just putting the work in to start the season right. she flashes that hollywood smile, her teeth bleach white, and blows her off with a quip: “maybe if you answered my texts before the week passes, ma…”

𓇼 and azzi, to her detriment, always laughs—so easily pulled into paige’s warmth, into the intoxicating orbit of being paige buecker’s favorite.

𓇼 they settle back into routine. the fear fades. well all fear except the massive amount belonging to one azzi fudd. azzi feels gaslit by everyone’s desperation to get back to normal. do they not see the pattern? the killers allow them to relax and then slice someone else up. 

𓇼 “you have got to chill,” sarah says one night, the girls getting ready for a night out. it’s somewhere different than their usual haunt. “i need to see the world outside of ted’s or i might just die,” jana had grumbled, grinning when yanna let out a laugh. azzi’s gut had clenched at the mention of death. 

𓇼 azzi presses her lips together, tries to focus on the strawberry sweetness of her lip gloss and the vanilla vodka taste of her breath. still, they slip out, saccharine and sarcastic. “sorry, it’s a little hard to chill when there are killers roaming and they haven’t been caught yet. but sure, i’ll try my hardest to be cool for you.”

𓇼 jana’s eyebrow raises and its at that second when azzi looks up to see paige leaning against the wall, her own blonde brow raised in agreement. azzi closes her eyes and huffs, scrambling up to storm into the kitchen and get another drink. 

𓇼 sometimes the girls forget just how mean and snappish she can be, especially when she feels overlooked. but paige knows, which is why she follows her. “az—” she starts, and azzi is already filled with irritation because paige had disappeared around two am last night and this time she was the one not answering her messages. when she came back she’d offered no explanation, rolling her eyes when azzi asked after her. so azzi ignores her.

𓇼 “az, i know you can hear me.” at this point, all bets are off. she’s either murdering to her heart’s desire or sleeping with someone azzi knows nothing about. she doesn’t know which one makes her more ill. she ignores her best friend with fervor, reaching up to grab the 818 tequila placed dangerously at the edge of the highest cabinet shelf.

𓇼 her dress is deliciously mini, sequined, and a buttery yellow that paints a stunning contrast to azzi’s bronze skin. as she reaches higher, one leg leveraged on the counter to better push herself up, she hears paige let out a curt breath. she’s either getting annoyed or she’s seen the edge of azzi’s cream-colored, lace panties. 

𓇼 (it’s both.)

𓇼 they leave the house like that.

azzi’s pressed into the corner of the backseat, her cheek against the window, feeling the slow drag of streetlights flicker over her skin. the night is thick, humid, sticking to her bare arms, her exposed throat. up front, someone—maybe nika, maybe ashlyn—is laughing too loud at something on the aux, the bassline thumping low in azzi’s chest.

paige is next to her, legs sprawled, taking up space like she owns it. she’s been quiet most of the ride, one arm draped over the back of the seat, the other resting on her thigh, fingers drumming against ripped denim. azzi’s felt her watching, though—casual, weighty, something unreadable sitting low in paige’s gaze.

azzi shifts, her own patience thinning. “can you stop staring, please? thank you.”

paige doesn’t even blink. “then stop being so twitchy.”

azzi rolls her eyes, exhales sharply through her nose. “you’re so fucking annoying.”

paige’s fingers twitch, then move—quick, sure, catching azzi’s chin between them. not hard, but firm, the kind of touch that says pay attention.

the car isn’t moving fast, but everything inside it tilts.

paige leans in, close enough that azzi can smell her—the faded trace of her cologne, something clean, warm, uniquely her. their friends are right there, blessedly oblivious, but it suddenly doesn’t matter. the space between them is tight, electric, stretched thin like the air before a summer storm.

"azzi," paige murmurs, low, almost thoughtful. her grip tightens, just a little. "don’t piss me off right now."

azzi stills. it’s nothing, just paige being paige—too confident, too rough, all bark with a bite she only ever shows on the court. but something in the way she’s looking at her now—head tilted, eyes dark, mouth set like she’s waiting for something—makes azzi’s stomach flip, cold and hot all at once.

for a second, just a second, she’s scared.

and paige sees it.

the shift happens so fast it barely feels real. paige lets go, leans back, scoffs like azzi’s being ridiculous. the corner of her mouth lifts, teasing, but her eyes are still watching, still waiting.

"damn, princess," she says, voice easy, lazy, as she settles back into her seat. "you dramatic."

azzi forces a breath past her lips, unclenches her jaw. she looks away, out the window, at the blur of streetlights sliding past.

she doesn’t say anything.

but she knows paige felt it.

and worse—paige knows she did, too.

𓇼 they make up within the week. it’s not really the plan, but things change when another girl is found dead and gone. this time it’s a neighboring university’s tennis prodigy, her dark hair gleaming wetly across the pavement as she presses a hand to the neat crescent across her neck.

𓇼 she wants to go home. she wants paige. azzi ignores the guilty looks the other girls send her as she’s proven right. instead, her mind is whirling. there’s no connection between the victims, at least none that she can see. the killer (killers?) are doing this for fun, for sport. for sport. wait. 

𓇼 the campus becomes a ghost town as news spreads. three more volleyball players from neighboring schools are found dead within days of one another. the pattern is undeniable now—athletes being targeted, sliced up with precision. azzi's phone chimes constantly with texts from her parents begging her to come home. she doesn't tell them that she's secretly packed a bag, ready to run at a moment's notice.

𓇼 security increases on campus. guards patrol the athletic buildings, checking IDs at every entrance. the team is assigned a personal security detail that follows them to and from practice. it should make them feel safer, but the constant scrutiny just reminds them of the danger. morgan complains about it the loudest, says it's making her play worse. paige stays suspiciously quiet during these conversations.

𓇼 azzi starts noticing things. small things at first—paige's late night disappearances becoming more frequent, the way morgan tenses whenever the murders are mentioned on the news, how the two of them exchange glances when they think no one's watching. one night, azzi wakes to find paige's bed empty, and when she checks her phone, there's a text from morgan: roof in 10. it wasn't meant for her.

𓇼 a memorial is held. everyone wears black, everyone cries. morgan the hardest, paige the least. her face is almost carefully blank. when jana breaks down during her speech, azzi watches paige's expression—there's no sadness there, only impatience. that night, azzi googles "sociopath traits" and then immediately deletes her browser history.

𓇼 geno cancels practice after another body is found—this time it's someone from their own school, a soccer player azzi shared an english class with last year. the girls gather in kk and ice's apartment, seeking safety in numbers. "we need to stick together," paige says, her hand finding azzi's under the table, squeezing once. azzi notices how paige's eyes never leave her face, watching her reactions with an intensity that makes her skin prickle.

𓇼 azzi can't shake the feeling she's being watched. not just by paige, but by someone else—someone in the shadows. she starts looking over her shoulder in the hallways, jumping at every sound. "you're being paranoid, princess" paige tells her, but her eyes are watchful, protective. that night, azzi finds a note slipped under their apartment door: hope you had a great day, a! it might just be your last.

𓇼 she shows it to paige, who crumples it in her fist, jaw set in a way azzi has never seen before. "no one's going to touch you," paige promises, voice low and dangerous. "not while i'm here."

𓇼 they decide to go out again one night, all of them, a desperate attempt at normalcy. the bar is crowded, loud, and for a moment, azzi can almost forget. until she sees nika and paige in the corner, heads bent close together, nika's hand on paige's arm like she's stopping her from something. azzi watches them argue, watches paige's face harden before she stalks off to the bathroom.

𓇼 when azzi follows, she finds paige gripping the sink, knuckles white. "i can't keep doing this," paige says, not looking up. she stops when she sees azzi in the mirror. "can't keep doing what?" azzi asks. paige's smile is strained. "can't watch you keep torturing yourself," she says. "you're safe with me, ma. you know that, right?"

𓇼 azzi doesn’t answer her, because paige is so obviously lying to her. so, she only extends her hand. “c’mon. let’s go back.”

the bar is loud, too loud, the low hum of conversation mixing with the clinking of glasses and the occasional laugh. paige is over-compensating, those oceanic eyes flickering over the crowd with that signature cocky smirk, and azzi can’t help but notice the way her attention seems to settle on the girl at the bar, the one who’s been giving paige lingering glances all night.

azzi's irritation bubbles up in a slow burn. it’s not jealousy, of course. no, she’s just—well, it's not like that. she crosses her arms tightly over her chest, trying to hide the way her jaw clenches. she’s tired of watching paige flirt with random girls like it doesn’t mean anything. it doesn’t mean anything, she knows that. oh my god, there’s a killer on the loose. this is not the time. 

but something about the way paige does it, so casually, so effortlessly… it’s like she’s throwing it in azzi’s face, just because she can.

"hey, you’re gonna let that one get away?” the girl at the bar smiles at paige, leaning forward just a little too much. azzi rolls her eyes at the way it pushes her cleavage up. what a slut. 

she feels terrible as soon as she thinks it.

paige laughs, clearly enjoying the attention. "maybe, maybe not. who’s to say?"

azzi feels a knot tighten in her stomach, the familiar burn of irritation seeping deeper, until she can’t take it anymore. she storms out of the bar, muttering something under her breath about goddamn bullshit.

𓇼

the cool night air hits her as she steps outside, the weight of the world following her like the world’s most suffocating blanket. she walks fast, not caring if the killer is nearby. let them come. she’s tired. she’s tired of pretending like she doesn’t care, tired of watching paige flirt—no. she’s just tired of this. of living her life in fear, of housing a deep paranoia inside of her, and being unable to trust the people she previously loved without question. 

behind her, paige’s voice breaks through the quiet night. “azzi.”

azzi doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t even turn around. “i’m surprised you even noticed i left. what, got bored of flirting with your latest victim?” the choice of words is intentional, and azzi takes great satisfaction in the silence that follows.

paige’s footsteps speed up, and she’s beside her now, matching her pace. “what the hell is your problem?”

azzi rolls her eyes. “i told you, nothing. it’s whatever.”

“don’t give me that,” paige snaps, stepping in front of azzi, her arms crossed. “you can’t just walk off like that, azzi. you gonna walk around alone at night with a maniac on the loose?”

azzi bites her lip, prays for patience. “oh my god, paige. what-the-fuck-ever. go back to her. she’s waiting.”

and there it is—the envy slips out, biting and sharp. azzi curses herself immediately, but paige catches the hint, that flicker of something in her voice. she raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“oh. oh, that’s not fair.” paige leans in a little closer, her gaze dropping to azzi’s pursed lips, making azzi wish she could not feel the way her chest tightens. “you want me to go back, huh? c’mon. use your words, mama.”

azzi seethes, but she won’t admit it. “it’s not like that, paige.”

“sure, it’s not.” paige grins, leaning back casually against the nearby streetlamp, clearly not ready to let it go. “so you’re mad because…i’m just having a little fun. that it?”

azzi turns away from her, irritation boiling over. “you know what? i don’t need this,” she huffs. “i’m going home.”

paige lets out a soft laugh, but there’s something different about it. she’s amused, but there’s an edge to it now, like she’s not ready to back off.

“azzi, stop this shit. you’re not walking home alone, alright?” paige grabs her by the arm, pulling her back gently when azzi tries to shake her off.

“actually, i think i am. i don’t need you, paige.”

“mm, yeah, you do.”

paige steps in front of her, blocking her way again. azzi’s about to argue when she realizes—paige’s not going anywhere.

“get in the car, az.”

“no.” azzi stands her ground, but she’s not fooling anyone, least of all paige.

“fine,” paige shrugs, and before azzi can react, she pulls her over her shoulder with one swift motion. azzi squeals, kicking her legs, the sound of her protests echoing in the night.

“hello! put me down, paige! i’m wearing a mini skirt!”

paige doesn’t even flinch, holding azzi firmly with one arm. “ain’t nobody looking.”

azzi’s face flushes a soft, dusky red as paige strides to the car, not letting azzi squirm free. “stop it! paige madison, you better put me down right now.” she slaps paige’s back, half laughing, half annoyed.

paige doesn’t answer, just opens the car door and tosses her inside as if she weighs nothing, sliding into the driver’s seat in a matter of minutes. “there. isn’t that better?”

azzi’s breathing hard, a mix of frustration and something else. paige catches her eye, and for a moment, the world feels oddly still between them.

“whatever,” azzi mutters, but it’s a little softer this time, the tension in her voice barely there. 

paige’s smirk never falters. “you’re welcome, princess. feel free to use the drive home as a chance to fix that attitude.”

azzi grumbles, sinking back in her seat, but she doesn’t argue anymore. she just watches paige drive, the weight of everything pressing feeling a little lighter now that they’re together.

𓇼 the campus goes on lockdown when another victim is found alive but badly injured. she describes her attacker as tall, athletic, wearing a mask. "there were two of them," she says. "one did the cutting. the other held me down." azzi is in the library when the alert comes through. she tries to call paige but gets no answer. when she finally reaches her, paige sounds panicked. "where are you?" azzi asks. "on my way to you," paige says. "don't move. please, az, don't fucking move."

𓇼 but this is a slasher, so of course, azzi moves. she wants to get to her best friend who sounded terrified out of her mind. but when azzi steps out of the library, someone grabs her from behind. she feels the cold press of a blade against her side, hears a voice—distorted, but somehow familiar—whisper in her ear. 

𓇼 azzi’s chest heaves in shallow, terrified gasps, her fingers slipping against the cool steel of the knife handle as she grapples with her assailant. the force of the attack knocks her into the corner of the hallway, and she barely catches herself before she’s on the floor, hands shaking, blood trailing from a shallow cut on her arm.

𓇼 the world is spinning, the air thick with the acrid scent of fear and sweat. azzi is crying—really crying, the kind of sobs that break you down from the inside. it’s not supposed to be like this. she’s not supposed to be here, in this hell, with a blade pressed dangerously into her ribs.

𓇼 “please—please stop,” azzi wheezes, her voice breaking in ways it’s never broken before, raw and desperate. tears spill down her cheeks, streaking through her makeup, and she’s shaking—shaking so hard she can’t breathe, her lungs fighting the air like they’re full of water.

𓇼 “azzi!” paige’s voice cuts through the haze of panic, thick with rage. it’s a sound Azzi hasn’t heard in a while—feral, protective. it’s all the warning azzi gets before paige is there, hauling the killer off her. she’s never been more grateful for location sharing. 

𓇼 “get the fuck off of her!” paige screams, her grip vicious as she tosses the killer aside, sending the ghostly figure sprawling into the wall. her anger is palpable, her voice high with fear, her stress pushing her past the normal calm. azzi’s reminded that they’re both just young women, college students trying to stay alive in a way they didn’t have to before, and she feels so ashamed that she ever suspected her. 

𓇼 azzi, gasping for air, curls into herself, her hands trembling as she presses them to her stomach. she can’t stop the sobs. Every breath feels too hard, too sharp. the pain from the cut doesn’t matter. it’s the terror that makes her break.

𓇼 paige drops to her knees in front of her, her hands shaking, trying to find zzzi’s face. her phone clatters out of her pocket.  “az, baby, please. please, look at me. it’s okay, you’re okay.” the older girl is borderline hyperventilating, casting panicked glances over her shoulder at the limp body of their unknown attacker. “i need you to move your hands, okay? just move them. i need to see how bad it is.”

𓇼 azzi’s eyes are wide, glazed with fear, but it’s the tremble in her voice that cuts paige deeper. “it hurts, p… it hurts so bad. i don’t want to die…”

𓇼 the words slice rip paige like a bullet, her heart almost collapsing at the sound of them. she doesn’t care if she’s bleeding too. she doesn’t care about the rest of it. she just needs Azzi to be okay. “i told you, ma… i told you, you’re not gonna die, alright? you ain’t going nowhere, you hear me? i got you. i got you.”

𓇼 the killer groans, rising with a hand to their masked head. “fuck!” paige whispers. “az, baby, we gotta move. ‘m gonna carry you.” azzi groans in pain as paige practically hauls her in her arms. “i know. i know, princess. fuck, ‘m sorry.” 

paige is pulling azzi into the bathroom, her grip firm but not hurting. she's trying to keep herself grounded, trying to focus on the fact that at least in this moment, azzi’s with her. paige’s chest is caving in with the force of her fear—she can taste bile in her throat—but she’s trying to stay quiet.

“shh, shh, baby…” paige’s voice is low, like she’s trying to coax azzi to stay calm, and her hands are already moving over azzi’s skin, lifting her shirt to see the damage, all business, checking for injuries, feeling for anything that could give her a glimpse of what’s happening underneath. 

and then her fingers brush over azzi’s ribs, her stomach, and there's a faint tremble in azzi’s breath, and there’s this sudden tension between them, a pressure rising along azzi's spine. 

azzi’s heart is racing, her breath ragged, but it’s not just from the pain. the nearness, the intimacy of it, the feeling of paige’s hands on her skin—it’s like fucking fire. the tenderness of paige’s touch, the way she moves so carefully over her body, it should be comforting but it’s only electric. azzi can't stop the warmth rising in her chest, can't ignore the strange pull of need that refuses to fade, even here, even now, in the middle of this absolute nightmare.

“please don’t say it. don’t you fucking dare, paige,” azzi chokes out, her voice shaking, half laughing, half sobbing, as she wipes her eyes. it’s too much. too much emotion, too much fear, and too much everything.

“you’re good, ma,” paige mutters, her thumb brushing over azzi’s stomach, gentle despite everything. “i’ve seen you like this before, don’t act like it’s new.” there’s a certain gruffness to paige’s words, like she’s pretending she doesn’t know the effect of the situation.

azzi huffs a little, trying to hide how embarrassed she is, how exposed she feels under paige’s touch. “i’m not wearing a bra,” azzi whispers through her tears, an attempt to divert attention from what was happening. it’s absurd, even in the face of this horror, how awkward she feels.

paige’s grin is soft, the kind of smile that azzi wished was occurring in a situation better than this. “ma, i’ve seen it all,” she teases, that teenage boy bravado in her tone. “we’re best friends. besides, you look good, like always. that ain’t new either.”

azzi laughs, but it’s broken, her body trembling with the sudden onslaught of pain. the adrenaline is wearing off. the blood, the fear,—it’s all so real, but somehow paige’s words make it feel like a momentary sick joke at a really intense tailgate. she can’t help it. she hits paige’s shoulder, weakly, but paige just takes it, laughing a little.

“not the time, az,” paige says, trying to keep things light, but azzi can feel how her voice shakes, how she’s keeping it low to not attract attention. and then, just like that, the sound of a booted footstep outside the door cuts through the tension. paige freezes, her eyes darting toward the crack under the door.

azzi, still struggling to breathe normally, goes stiff. her hands instinctively press against her stomach, trying to hold in the pain, trying to keep herself from falling apart.

“shit.” paige’s voice is even quieter now, the heat between them suddenly shifting, turning to a survival instinct. “we gotta go. now.”

paige doesn’t give her a second to argue, her hand on azzi’s back, guiding her away from the bathroom door, moving like they’ve practiced this a thousand times before—silent, swift, desperate.

𓇼 they spend hours in the police station, paige getting more and aggravated as the officers keep pushing for answers they don’t have. “what do you mean did they leave clues? bro, isn’t this your job?” azzi focuses on not having a panic attack. its only when the officer that seems to irritate paige the most dares to insinuate that maybe azzi should’ve been more careful that she realizes paige may recreate the crime scene. 

𓇼 “come on, p. i want to go home.” paige shoots the man another glare and wraps a hand around azzi’s waist, using her phone to call them an uber. 

𓇼 if azzi thought paige was clingy before, she was absolutely oppressive now.

azzi steps into the bathroom, about to close the door when paige’s voice calls out, “azzi, come on now, let’s use our brains. you know i’m not letting you even shower alone after all this.”

azzi rolls her eyes, trying to shut the door but paige’s arm is already wedged in, blocking it. she sighs, giving in. “paige! you can’t just follow me everywhere.”

paige raises an eyebrow, her tone completely unbothered. “girl, this is a classic horror scenario. haven’t you seen psycho?” she leans against the counter, casually pulling her phone from her pocket.

azzi stares at her in disbelief. “are you seriously standing there while i’m trying to take a shower? get out! go sit outside like a normal person!”

paige grins, looking incredibly comfortable in the moment. she’s changed and swept her hair into her signature slick-back bun, her bright blonde strands falling in just the right way, a thin silver chain resting around her neck. her sweatpants hang low and loose, and the black tee paired with it does wonders to show off her biceps as she crosses her arms. 

azzi shifts on her feet, feeling a strange pulse in her chest. she’s not sure if it’s from frustration or something else entirely. her gaze flickers down to where a tan strip of skin is revealing itself just above the rim of those damned sweats, and she unconsciously squeezes her legs together. paige notices, her smirk growing wider.

“be lucky i ain't coming in there with you,” she teases, her tone cocky as she scrolls on her phone, clearly unfazed by azzi’s protests.

azzi huffs. “spare me.” paige looks up and raises a brow. “you wouldn't.”

paige shrugs, scrolling casually. “we’ll see. i’ll be right here if you need me.”

azzi folds her arms, feeling a little cornered by both the situation and the fact that paige looks really good right now. it’s enough to make her blush, and she tries to pretend like she’s not noticing. “paige, seriously. get out.”

paige smirks, her eyes not leaving her screen as she leans a little closer to the bathroom door. “that’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

azzi rolls her eyes again, clearly fed up but also a little flustered. she glances at paige, then starts to undo her socks, taking one off slowly like she's in no hurry to just give in to the absurdity of it all. the moment she takes the sock off, paige whistles loudly.

“god damn, look at you.” she crosses her arms again, shaking her head, completely over the top with her reaction.

azzi freezes, her face turning the color of a maraschino cherry. “read my lips, paige. get out or i swear to god!”

paige raises her hands in mock surrender, laughing at her best friend's embarrassment. “alright, alright, i’m leaving! no need to bring our savior into it. you know you love me.” she steps back, still laughing to herself.

azzi rolls her eyes, trying to pretend she's not still flustered, and waits until paige is out of the bathroom before she breathes a deep sigh of relief.

𓇼

when azzi finally steps out of the muggy bathroom, her satin robe clings to her body in a way she really wasn’t prepared for. it’s short, the fabric cool and slick against her skin in a lovely shade of emerald green, and it leaves very little to the imagination—especially with how it sticks to her curves, still damp from the shower.

paige looks her up and down as she passes by, eyes narrowing in an exaggerated once-over, her lips curling into a smirk. “my god, az, you really trying to make me feel some type of way right now, huh?”

azzi huffs and quickly pulls the robe tighter around her, trying to ignore the avid embarrassment creeping up her spine at the way paige is looking at her. “oh my god, can you not?”

paige raises a brow, stepping closer, still completely unbothered. “what? you look phenomenal, mama. stop trying to act like you don’t know.” she steps in front of azzi now, blocking her way, a wicked grin tugging at her lips. “you could at least act a little embarrassed. i’m not the one who came out here in the world’s shortest robe, babe. that’s your problem.”

azzi tries to shift away, but paige reaches out and places a hand on her stomach, pressing gently—so gently, though azzi still sucks in a breath. the wound. the pain of it.

azzi’s breath hitches at the sensation, and she freezes. “p,” she starts, her voice wavering just a little, “seriously, it’s fine. i’m okay. we’re fine..” but she knows they’re not, not completely. not when the pressure of her best friend’s hand on her body sends an inebriate mix of heat and anxiety coursing through her.

paige doesn’t move, her thumb running in soft circles over the satin. the moment hangs there, both of them silent and unsure. she looks azzi in the eyes, her cocky mask slipping, replaced with something more raw, more vulnerable than azzi’s seen in a long time.

“that was way too close, az,” paige mutters, her voice low and almost trembling despite herself. “i’m not trying to be disrespectful or anything, but i wasn’t—i didn’t think it was real, y’know? like, it was always happening to other people, but then it was you—and that shit scared me.”

azzi looks up at her, the words hitting harder than she expected. it isn’t what paige usually says. it’s not the same sure, settled paige who never gets rattled. this is different. and it makes azzi’s stomach twist in a way she’s not sure she wants to think about right now.

“hey,” azzi starts again, her voice a little more sure this time. “i’m okay this time. really.” but the words feel thin. 

paige doesn’t pull back. she presses just a little harder against azzi’s stomach, right where the wound is, and for a split second, azzi feels like she can’t breathe. but it’s not pain—it’s something else. something that makes her flush. paige stares down at her for a long moment before taking a step back, but not without catching azzi’s gaze. her voice is back to being light, the flip switched but the edge of uncertainty still lingering there. 

“next time,” paige says, crossing her arms and giving azzi an appraising look, “i don’t care if i gotta lock you in a damn safe. you ain’t going anywhere without me. not even to pee. got it?”

azzi laughs weakly, but it’s forced. she’s shaking her head, though the tightness in her chest doesn’t loosen. “yeah, whatever, paige. you really think you can keep me all locked up?”

“trust, i will find a way. better start growing those curls out and change your name to rapunzel,” paige says with her trademark megawatt smile. 

azzi just sighs, rolling her eyes. “you’re so—.”

before she can say more, paige adds, more softly, “i’m serious, az. i’m not letting anything happen to you. i look after what’s mine.”

azzi’s heart thumps hard in her chest at the words, and she looks away quickly, brushing a wet spiral of hair behind her ear to hide the heat rising in her cheeks. before she can respond, paige’s phone buzzes loudly, breaking the tension between them. paige glances down at the screen, and her expression hardens. 

“i have to go,” she says. “i forgot i promised kk help on an assignment.”

azzi gives her a small, searching look before nodding. she watches her go, her stomach beginning to crawl with that uneasy feeling that only arises when she senses a lie.

𓇼 azzi wakes to the sound of the front door closing. it's three in the morning, and paige is slipping back into their apartment, her steps careful, measured. azzi pretends to be asleep, watching through slitted eyes as paige peels off her jacket, revealing a white t-shirt stained with something dark. 

𓇼 paige's hands are slightly trembling as she stuffs the shirt into the bottom of the laundry hamper. when she turns, her face is hollow, haunted. she looks at azzi's sleeping form with an expression that's almost tender, almost desperate. azzi squeezes her eyes closed, a single tear rolling down her face like a saltwater diamond.

𓇼 but like all things do, it comes to a head. paige is right back at it—the lies, the exceptionally late nights, the brushing off of azzi’s concerns. “so, you can be worried about me, but i have to play it cool?” she yells at paige’s retreating back. paige turns to face her before she slips back into her bedroom. “you got it, ma.”

𓇼 it's stupid and slick and she’s so obviously being cute and—why the fuck is it turning azzi on?

𓇼 regardless she’s had enough. so, azzi takes things into her own hands. 

the sound of the front door unlocking makes azzi tense, fingers curling around the blanket draped over her lap. the tv hums softly, casting pale light over her bare arms, her collarbones, the rise and fall of her chest. 2:47 am.

paige steps inside like she owns the place. she’s all black and strategic shadow, hoodie zipped up, joggers hanging low, her hair twisted into that stupid bun that looks effortless but isn’t. there’s something different about her tonight, something undeniably thick in the air between them.

azzi swallows. something is off. something's been off. she tries to find her strength from before.

paige kicks off her crocs, stretches her arms overhead, and looks at azzi with that familiar, lazy smirk. "damn, you almost scared me. you waiting up for me, princess?"

azzi doesn’t answer. just watches. the way paige moves—calm, controlled, unbothered. like she wasn’t just out in the dark doing god knows what.

paige tilts her head. "silent treatment? that’s crazy."

azzi’s stomach knots. she should just say it. just ask. her eyes flick up—linger at paige’s bun. she sees it now. the dried rust clinging to the strands, almost lost in the honey-blonde.

"there's blood in your hair."

paige stops in front of her, close enough that azzi can smell the warm spice of her cologne, something deeper beneath it. her grin flickers, like she wasn’t expecting that.

then she laughs, low and amused. "yeah?"

azzi nods, her throat dry. she’s suddenly so aware of her body. "yeah."

paige’s gaze dips. a quick flick—barely there—but azzi feels it, the weight of her eyes dragging down to the square neckline of her top, the way it presses tightly against her skin and pushes up her tits. it’s so quick she might’ve imagined it, but when paige looks back up, there’s something else in her face, something dark and hungry.

azzi’s heart skips.

paige leans in slightly, all sharp eyes and quiet hunger. "take it out and see." she grabs azzi’s wrist and presses it against her scalp, her fingers warm and firm over azzi’s skin.

azzi’s pupils blow wide. her heart slams into her ribs.

"see, az?" paige murmurs. "you’re just as bad as me."

azzi rips her hand away and backs up. paige follows, smooth, easy, and unhurried. azzi’s breath catches—there’s nowhere to go but down the hallway. she moves before she can think, turns—but paige’s voice follows her, teasing. 

"aw, don’t do that, princess. you know you can’t run from me."

azzi doesn’t listen. her socked feet slap against the hardwood as she bolts, and she almost slips, rounding the corner toward her bedroom. she doesn’t make it. paige is already there.

azzi’s breath shudders. she saw her in the living room. she just felt her presence behind her, but now she’s in front, her body loose and relaxed against the doorframe. 

azzi skids to a stop, heart hammering. paige just grins, cocking her head. "that was cute."

azzi’s stomach drops. she whirls around, runs back through the kitchen—paige is at the fridge, watching her like this is all some kind of game. azzi stumbles, chest heaving. she didn’t even hear paige move this time. didn’t realize how close she was until—

she trips.

a sharp gasp rips from her throat as she hits the floor. she scrambles to get up, but paige is already there, grabbing her ankle and dragging her back, slow and deliberate like she has all the time in the world.

azzi twists, pushing up onto her hands, her breath ragged, sweat clinging to the hollow of her throat. she might be screaming, but she can’t tell. her curls stick to her forehead, her lip combo still glossy, her skin warm and glowing in the dim light.

paige watches her struggle, mouth curving into something that shouldn’t be so blatantly fond. and then, low and appreciative: "jesus, ma. this top."

azzi gapes. “you can’t be serious right now.”

paige laughs—actually laughs, full and throaty, before ducking down and pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to azzi’s throat. azzi jerks, whimpers as a slow heat floods through her. 

"paige—"

"relax, baby," paige murmurs against her skin, lips grazing the pulse pounding at her neck. "you know i’d never hurt you."

azzi squeezes her eyes shut, chest heaving, fear and something unidentifiable tangling in her stomach. then paige pulls back, sighing like this is exhausting for her. she reaches into her hoodie, pulls out something small and sharp—a knife—and flicks it across the room. it clatters onto the hardwood.

azzi stares.

paige cups her face, tilting it up, her thumbs pressing gently into her cheeks. "look at me."

azzi does, breath uneven, her throat tight.

"i’m not gonna hurt you," paige says, softer this time, steady and sure. "you know that, don’t you?"

azzi’s lips tremble. and then the tears spill over. she makes a choked sound, shaking her head, her breathing turning sharp and uneven.

 "please," she whispers, voice cracking. "please, paige. you’re lying to me, i— i thought we were best friends. what did i do wrong? what—whatever it is, i’m so sorry.”

paige freezes. her face twists with an emotion so raw, that azzi is unsure if there’s a name for it. “azzi—”

azzi wrenches away from her grip and pulls back, hands tangling in her curls, her whole body wound tight. "there’s always two of you, right?" she gasps, voice rising in panic. "oh my god, i’m gonna die."

paige’s expression crumples. "don’t you dare say that shit."

azzi flinches, still hyperventilating, her shoulders rising and falling too fast, her vision swimming. paige exhales sharply and moves, pressing a steadying hand to azzi’s waist, keeping her from stumbling. 

"azzi, you can be pissed in a minute, mama. swear. but i need you to calm down first."

azzi blinks up at her, dazed, ribs aching.

paige tightens her grip, her voice dropping into something warmer, more familiar. "need you to breathe for me, baby. please."

and somehow azzi listens. her breath hitches in her throat as she slows it down, lungs expanding in time with paige’s steady exhalations, but it’s the space between them that feels suffocating now. paige’s grip doesn’t loosen. azzi thinks of her promise from before: i don’t care if i gotta lock you in a damn safe.

azzi’s fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, her skin still slick with sweat, as her mind races to catch up with everything that’s happening. that flicker of fear still burns deep in her chest, but—god, she’s so close to paige. too close. her neck is still tingling from where paige kissed it, the skin still warm and alive from her touch.

but paige… paige is a killer. the killer.

she tries to pull away again—shaking her head, trying to break free from the grip she can’t seem to escape. "i—i can’t."

paige doesn’t let her go this time. instead, she leans down, their faces inches apart, her voice like honey and danger all at once. "you can, though.”

azzi swallows. "you’re not the paige i thought i knew."

a pause. paige’s eyes darken just the slightest bit, but there’s something else in them, something softer, a flicker of recognition, maybe even a hint of regret. but it’s gone before azzi can pin it down, replaced by something colder.

"ma," paige says, and her voice is sharp, but there’s something underneath it—something that cracks in a way speaks to her. "azzi, this ain't easy for me either. i didn’t—this isn't the person i wanna be in front of you."

azzi’s breath hitches. "then don’t be." she shakes her head again, frustration boiling over. "i don’t understand, paige. i don’t even know what’s real anymore."

paige’s hands tighten around her wrists, gentle but firm, and for a second, it feels like she’s holding herself together instead. "what’s real is my promises. i swear to god, az,  i’m not gonna hurt you."

azzi laughs, but it’s hollow, the sound falling against the floor. "how do you expect me to believe that?”

“you do believe that. that’s why you suspected me for so long and didn’t say shit.” azzi freezes. "you know why i keep you close? cause you make me wanna be better."

azzi scoffs, eyes wide. "what? it’s not my job to save you, p.”

paige leans in, her forehead brushing against azzi’s.  "but you do it every day. you’re the one thing in this world that still feels right. and i’m not about to let anything happen to you. not now. not ever."

azzi’s heart tugs with the weight of paige’s words. the sincerity in her voice wraps around her like a velvet rope, pulls her closer. but then—then—the cold reality crashes back in. azzi shakes her head, her eyes filling with that uncontrollable fear again. 

"i can’t be part of this, paige. i can’t be in this world with you. it’s too much. i don’t—i don’t know who you are anymore."

paige’s expression hardens, but she doesn’t let go of azzi’s face. "you do know me," she says, a soft, dangerous promise in her voice. "i’m still me. the same person who’s been by your side, who’d do anything for you. i swear, azzi, you’re all i care about."

azzi blinks, her vision blurry through the tears, her chest tight with the weight of it all. "then why—why do you hurt people?"

paige’s jaw clenches, the shadow of the killer flashing across her features again. but when she looks at azzi, it’s with something broken. "i’m trying to protect you. to keep you safe, az. you don’t get it. i’m doing this for you."

azzi shakes her head, backing away again, her hands trembling. "you’re still lying."

"no," paige breathes, reaching for her again, but azzi pulls back, pacing quickly, hands tangled in her hair again, trying to pull herself together. "please, just calm down. i need you to calm down, baby. we’ll figure it out."

azzi whips around, her hand swiping at her eyes. "i can’t figure this out, paige! i can’t! you’re not just a friend to me, you’re— i can’t lose you, but i can’t do this either!"

paige’s face softens, and this time, she steps back, giving azzi space, her shoulders sagging just slightly. "i’m not going anywhere. not unless you tell me to."

azzi pauses, her breath still coming in jagged bursts. "why wouldn’t i tell you to leave?"

"cause you love me," paige says simply, but it’s not a boast. it’s the truth, in a way azzi can’t ignore. "and i love you too, maybe even more. and that’s enough. it’ll always be enough, azzi. just trust me."

azzi’s breath catches. "you can’t make this go away, paige." and suddenly she’s just so angry.

her hands curl into fists, eyes brimming with the weight of everything she's been holding in. she looks away, but paige reaches out, gently grabbing her chin. the touch is light but unyielding, pulling azzi back into her orbit. “hey, what are you thinking? talk to me.”

azzi stares at her for a beat, then explodes, words spilling out faster than she can control them. "you don’t get it! you’re so obsessed with how i feel, with fixing everything with me, you can’t even see how badly you’re fucking up. you don’t see it, do you? you just want the thrill of being the one i choose! what even is this? are you just throwing your whole life away for five minutes of fucking fame, paige? you can be so fucking selfish when it comes to me, and you won’t even admit it."

paige stands there, quiet for a second, then slowly smirks. “yeah, okay. i am selfish about you. i don’t see anything wrong with it. you right, ma.” she steps forward again, closer to azzi, inching her way into her space until there’s nowhere for her to go. “but that doesn’t mean you get to make me feel like shit for it. ‘cause you like being special.”

azzi’s breath stutters in her chest, caught off guard by paige’s rather self-accountable response. she opens her mouth to retort but doesn’t get the chance before paige leans in, close enough that azzi can feel her breath, her warmth.

“i know., i know. i’m not taking you seriously. i’m not listening. yep, for sure, ma,” paige murmurs. “just—”and then she kisses her. it's slow, deliberate, the kind of kiss that’s not just about desire but about the release of it.

azzi kisses back almost immediately, closing her eyes and digging her hands into paige’s hair. she opens her mouth, and paige slips her tongue inside, dragging a hand down to squeeze azzi’s waist. azzi moans, whole body shivering as paige presses two fingers to her aching clit. the pressure is fucking divine, and something sickly sweet swells in her tummy.

paige is playing dirty, and azzi is finding it hard to claw her way out of the web her best friend continues to spin. 

she pulls back, blushing as a thin string of spit connects them for several seconds before snapping. 

“don’t think for one second that you’re off the hook,” azzi says, voice shaky and defiant. 

paige only grins, smug, and presses harder against her pussy, rubbing gently through the fabric. “mmhmm. you taste so good, you know that? like fucking sugar, just straight honey.”

azzi’s pulse is racing, her chest tight, and she’s this close to yelling at her again. “you’re not even listening to me,” she says, but it comes out as a half-sigh, half-moan.

paige doesn’t back off, though. instead, she leans in again, slow and steady, keeping the pace of her fingers up as if she’d always known that this was where they’d end up. she presses her lips to azzi’s again and again, and azzi, against all her better judgment, melts every time. the next time it’s paige who breaks their contact. 

"i don’t know how to make it go away yet,” paige says, her voice quieter now as she speaks to azzi’s earlier worries. "but i need you to trust me. please."

azzi hesitates, eyes still wet, her chest tight. her heart aches. but for a moment, just a moment, she lets herself believe in paige. just a little bit, just a little more.

"what are you protecting me from?" azzi whispers, voice barely audible. “is it someone else?”

paige doesn’t answer at first, just steps forward and pulls azzi into a desperate hug. that only confirms it. this other person, the second piece to this horrific puzzle, has it out for her. 

"you don’t have to worry about that, baby. i got you. always."

azzi wants to believe her without any reservations because she knows, on a level, that it’s true.

that’s the worst part.

𓇼 it turns out azzi can forgive a lot when it comes to paige. loving her is a part of her genetic code.

𓇼 it's what she was meant for, body and soul.

𓇼 fuck.

© hcneymooners.

[peachversace]

يداك موجٌ، وقلبي شاطئٌ

your hands are waves, my heart a shore—

[ nsfw ] — smut (18+) ;

bakugou katsuki x reader

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 🌊

The morning is a quiet symphony, soft and slow, playing in the spaces between dreams and waking.

You stir in the faint glow of dawn, caught somewhere between sleep and awareness, your limbs heavy with warmth, your body lax against the cool sheets. There’s a familiar weight shifting the mattress behind you, the scent of something woodsy and dark lingering in the air—clove and musk, Katsuki’s scent, wrapped around you like a second skin.

He’s home.

A low murmur slips from your lips, nothing fully formed, just a sound of acknowledgment, of knowing. You feel his warmth, the steady presence of him, the way his fingers ghost along the bare skin of your arm, over the curve of your hip, reverent in their touch. He shushes you softly, presses a slow kiss to the nape of your neck, lips warm, breath steady. It’s a contrast, this softness from a man built like war, forged in fire and thunder. And yet, his touch is as gentle as waves lapping at the shore, and just as inevitable—pulling you into him, folding you into the current of his presence.

You melt against him like wax under a flame, pliant, surrendering without a second thought.

His hand moves with practiced ease, trailing lower, fingertips teasing against your inner thigh before dipping between your legs. The first slow circle of his fingers over your clit has you exhaling his name in a soft, drowsy sigh. The pleasure is gentle at first, like embers catching fire, like sunlight filtering through water, spreading warmth in slow waves. Your body stirs fully now, your head tilting, back arching just slightly as your lips part in a breathy moan.

Katsuki’s mouth is on you, kissing the line of your jaw, the curve of your cheek, the corner of your lips. He’s unhurried, savoring, taking his time, like he wants to commit the feel of your skin to memory all over again. You whimper when his lips finally, finally meet yours, the kiss molten and deep, his tongue slipping against yours, his breath mingling with yours. You shudder under him, fingers twitching against the sheets, the pleasure pooling in your stomach, slow and sweet, but building, always building.

And then—he stops.

His hand pulls away, leaving you aching, and a small, frustrated noise escapes you before you can catch it. Katsuki huffs out a quiet laugh, low and warm, pressing another kiss to your cheek, amused but fond. His palm slides along the length of your thigh, gripping just beneath your knee, his fingers sinking into your skin as he lifts your leg slightly, opening you up to him.

You can feel the heat of him against your back, the solidness of his chest, the way his breathing is steady but deep, as if he’s holding himself together through sheer force of will. And then—fuck.

His cock drags through your folds, slow and deliberate, the thick head brushing against your clit just enough to make you shiver. Your thighs tense for a second, anticipation curling in your stomach like a match struck against flint. And then, with a slow, easy push, he’s sinking inside, stretching you open, filling you completely. A soft, breathless sound escapes you as your head tips back against his shoulder, and Katsuki lets out a low, rumbling groan against your ear.

He stays still for a moment, pressed flush against you, buried deep, letting you feel every inch of him. His hand tightens on your thigh, grounding, tethering, claiming. Then he pulls back just slightly, rolling his hips forward again, a slow, controlled rhythm, like waves kissing the shoreline—pulling away only to meet again, over and over, relentless and unyielding.

It’s slow and deep, like the sea carving its devotion into the sand, like the tide knowing it will always return home. In this moment, with Katsuki wrapped around you, inside you, moving with you like you were always meant to fit together—he is home.

You’re liquid in his arms, melting, unraveling, pulled under by the tide of him. Every slow drag of his cock against your walls makes you tremble, every measured thrust a deliberate promise whispered into your skin. The pleasure is a steady pulse in your veins, a rhythm syncing to the movement of his body, the press of his chest against your back, the heat of his breath against your ear.

Your fingers curl around the back of his neck, nails scraping lightly against his nape, urging him impossibly closer. Katsuki responds in kind, tightening his grip on your thigh, his other hand reaching blindly for yours, threading your fingers together. His touch is fire and thunder, sparking against your skin, setting everything inside you ablaze. The deep, unhurried push and pull of his hips sends sparks shooting through your body, has your breath catching on moans that spill from your lips like a prayer. He’s so deep, so overwhelming, leaving you dizzy with the sheer weight of him, the way he fills you so perfectly, like you were made to fit him.

He presses a kiss to your jaw, slow and searing, and you turn your head instinctively, searching for more, craving the press of his lips against yours. When you find them, it’s destruction.

He kisses you like a storm crashing against the cliffs—fierce, unrelenting, meant to break you apart and put you back together in his image. His tongue slips past your lips, claiming, taking, possessing, as if he’s trying to fuse you together, as if he’s trying to imprint himself into every part of you. And maybe he already has. Maybe he always will.

Your body moves with his like it was always meant to, like something written into the very fabric of the universe. The ocean calls to the shore, the flame to the wick, your body to his—some things are inevitable. And this, the way he moves inside you, the way he holds you so tightly like he’s terrified you’ll slip through his fingers, the way his breath hitches when you moan his name—this is inevitable.

Katsuki’s hand tightens around yours, his fingers curling between yours as he thrusts deeper, harder, his pace still slow but desperate now, like he’s losing control. He groans into your mouth, the sound raw and wrecked, like the pleasure is stealing his ability to speak. His free arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back into him, grinding deeper, deeper, his forehead pressing against your temple.

You breathe his name, a soft, broken thing, and he answers not with words, but with his lips—against your mouth, your cheek, your neck. Each kiss lingers, as if he’s branding himself into you, marking you in ways deeper than skin. Katsuki slows his hips just slightly, his thrusts measured and deep, like he’s trying to savor this, like he wants to carve this moment into the marrow of his bones. He moves like the tide, rolling into you, pulling you under, and you don’t resist. You can’t resist.

His fingers trace fire over your skin, small bursts of heat sparking where his palms press against your thigh, where his grip tightens over your hand, his quirk barely humming beneath his fingertips. You feel the warmth crackle and fizzle against your skin like tiny fireworks, but you do not fear the burn. You welcome it. You have always welcomed it. You need it, the proof that this is him, your Katsuki—explosive and overwhelming, burning and beautiful, love and devastation wrapped into one.

Your head falls back against the pillow, body loose, liquid, undone by him. The pleasure rolls over you in slow, steady waves, dragging you deeper and deeper, until it feels like you are floating in the dark glow of the ocean at midnight, the bioluminescence of home glimmering beneath your skin, setting you alight from within.

And then his voice—low and rough, filled with something aching—murmurs against your ear.

“Come for me. Let me feel you.”

It takes you a moment to register, to breathe through the pleasure cresting in your body like the rising tide, but you manage a nod, fingers tightening around his as your body seizes up, as the tension inside you snaps. A moan spills from your lips, soft but wrecked, and then you’re coming, your body trembling against him, the pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave, like a freefall into the unknown.

You feel like you’re floating—adrift, weightless, untethered—but Katsuki is there, grounding you, holding you through it, his body pressing into yours, his breath heavy and ragged against your skin. He groans low in his throat, like the feeling of you clenching around him is too much, too good, like it’s ruining him.

And then his hips stutter, his whole body tensing, and with a shuddered, desperate gasp of your name, he breaks.

Katsuki’s warmth surrounds you, seeping into your bones, wrapping around you like the lingering heat of the sun against the shore. You let out a soft, content hum as he fills you up, his body still pressed tightly against yours, his hips rolling in slow, lazy thrusts, like he can’t quite let go of the feeling of being inside you. And then, finally, he stills. His breath is unsteady, a trembling exhale against your sweat-damp skin, and his moan—low, wrecked, beautiful—vibrates against your throat.

Your limbs feel light, boneless, but beneath the surface of your touch are earthquakes—tremors still rolling through you, the aftershocks of him still settling into your very core. Katsuki presses a few open-mouthed kisses against your neck, lazy and reverent, his lips soft, his breath hot against your flushed skin. You melt into him, like wax under a flame, like seafoam dissolving back into the tide. His breath against you is the gentlest thing you have ever known—calm, endless, familiar. Like the sea at dawn.

When he finally pulls out, it’s slow, careful, but his touch lingers, as if he can’t bear to fully part from you. His fingertips trace the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, like the echo of a wave long after it’s kissed the shore. There’s a moment of quiet, nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths and the faint rustling of sheets as he shifts, rolling onto his side to face you.

You blink sluggishly, your body still floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, and then—finally—you turn towards him with a lazy, satisfied grin, your cheek smushed slightly against the pillow. You nuzzle closer, burying yourself into the warmth of him, into the scent of him—clean soap and burnt sugar and something so unmistakably Katsuki.

He doesn’t hesitate. His arms come around you, holding you tight, pulling you into the solid heat of his chest. He holds you like the sea holds the shore—endlessly, patiently, like he was always meant to return to you.

A drowsy mumble escapes you, soft and barely there, but it makes his chest rumble beneath your cheek. “Hi.”

Katsuki huffs, a short snort of laughter, and bumps his forehead against yours, his voice still rough around the edges as he answers back. “Hi.”

He kisses you then, slow and sweet, soft like the sand, fluid like the sea—lingering, like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips against his. And when he pulls away, his gaze is half-lidded, warm and unbearably fond. His thumb traces the edge of your cheek as he murmurs, “You okay?”

You nod, sighing sleepily against him, and press a tiny, absentminded kiss against his collarbone before whispering, “Missed you.”

Katsuki’s arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer—if that’s even possible—and you feel him breathe you in, his lips pressing into your hair as he lets out a low, satisfied grunt.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Missed you too.”

You make a small, contented sound as you bury yourself deeper into him, your body molding to his like you were always meant to fit there. Sleep pulls at you, heavy and warm, like the tide drawing back into the ocean. Outside, the world is shifting—changing—as dawn stretches its golden fingers further into the sky, but here, in the cocoon of Katsuki’s warmth, none of it matters. Right now, it’s just you and him.

He has left fingerprints on your soul, invisible to the eye but felt in every breath, every beat of your heart, every place on your skin that still tingles with the ghost of his touch; it lingers in the spaces between your ribs, in the places where your skin still buzzes with the memory of him. It’s in the way his arm is slung over your waist, anchoring you to him. In the way his fingers lazily trace shapes against your back, slow and rhythmic, like he’s soothing you back to sleep. In the way his breath ruffles your hair, steady and warm, a quiet reminder: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. He is written into your bones, a permanent imprint of love and fire, and you don’t think you’d ever want to be without it.

Your lips brush against his collarbone as you mumble, barely awake, “Love you.”

It’s quiet, smushed against the pillow and his skin, but Katsuki hears you. He always does.

A soft hum rumbles in his chest, his lips finding your forehead as he presses a kiss there, slow and lingering, his breath warm against your skin. “Love you too,” he murmurs, his voice thick with exhaustion but heavy with meaning.

You grin sleepily against him, the kind of smile that feels effortless, that spills from you like warmth in the sun. And then you melt—like ice cream on a summer day, like seafoam dissolving back into the waves, like something that was always meant to return home.

And then, silence.

But even now, with the quiet stretched between you, you know.

You are still tangled in the same warmth, in the same gravity that has always pulled you toward him, no matter the distance, no matter the storms. You are still his, just as much as he is yours.

His love is always like the sea; endless, certain, and inevitable.

وأغرق فيك بلا مقاومة

—and I drown in you without resistance.

[melani3-fel0ny]

Teeth and Glass

Pairing: Ronin x Reader

Summary: Ronin takes you to the aquarium for a suspiciously wholesome day of shark facts, hand-holding, and bioluminescent flirting—but beneath the chaos and carnage is a boy who feels eerily at home among the predators.

---

The aquarium was dim, humming with the low, filtered thrum of water tanks and the distant squeals of children. You half-expected Ronin to complain about the smell or the overpriced tickets or the fact that he couldn’t bring his knife, but he hadn’t stopped smiling since you got in.

He looked almost… giddy.

In his own, terrifying way.

“Y’know,” he said, dragging you toward the first massive tank, “sharks don’t have bones.”

You blinked. “What?”

“They’re made of cartilage,” he continued, his face pressed near the glass as a sleek, pale shark glided past. “Like your ears. And your nose. Fuckin’ freaky, huh? They’re basically one big angry nose swimming through the ocean.”

You snorted. “That’s not how that works.”

“Don’t ruin this for me, darling.”

You smiled as he wandered along the curved glass, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes darting with manic focus. His reflection in the tank was warped and eerie, matching the movement of the creatures behind it—smooth, ancient things with dead eyes and endless teeth.

Ronin looked… at home here.

Not just comfortable. Right.

You watched as he crouched to get a closer look at a bottom-dwelling shark with mottled skin.

“This one,” he muttered, tapping the glass gently, “is a wobbegong. They ambush shit. Hide under sand, then chomp. Nature’s little sleeper agent.”

“Wobbegong is a stupid name,” you said.

“So’s ‘Ronin,’ and yet here I am. Sexy and full of facts.”

You laughed under your breath and followed him down the next corridor, deeper into the winding, watery maze of glowing blue tanks and bioluminescent signage. The crowd thinned the further in you got. Most people weren’t willing to read the tiny placards or endure the heavy, aquarium-dark silence that settled the deeper you went.

But Ronin thrived in it.

He stopped in front of the shark petting pool—a shallow exhibit lit by a weak overhead glow. A staff member stood by with a half-hearted smile, bored and chewing gum.

Ronin looked at the sign, then at you, then leaned down to swirl his fingers in the water.

You were surprised how gentle he was.

“They feel like sandpaper,” he said, brushing along the spine of a passing bamboo shark. “‘Cause their skin’s covered in tiny tooth-like scales. Dermal denticles. That’s your second shark fact. Keep up, darling.”

You watched his eyes gleam with childlike awe.

“You like sharks a lot, huh?”

He looked up at you. “Of course I do. All they do is eat and survive. No bullshit. No morals. No pretending. If a shark doesn’t like you, it bites you. That’s it.”

“That’s also how you work.”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

He flicked a bit of water at you, and you pretended to be offended, smacking his arm. He caught your wrist in a flash and kissed your knuckles with mock elegance.

“Don’t test me,” he murmured, “I will drown you in the stingray tank.”

“You’d get kicked out.”

“I’d get banned with pride.”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking, but his hand stayed laced with yours. Warm. Tight. Covered in half-faded sharpie doodles and a bandage over his knuckle.

He didn’t let go even when the hallway narrowed, the floor beneath you becoming glass, revealing a tank filled with nurse sharks and eels.

Ronin pressed his face to the side glass like an absolute menace.

“Third shark fact,” he whispered. “Sharks can detect electrical fields. Like tiny pulses in the water. Heartbeats, muscle twitches. It’s how they know you’re alive.”

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

“I’d find you in the dark, darling. Even if you hide.”

You swallowed.

Of course he’d say that.

Of course your heart would beat faster when he did.

---

The jellyfish room was quiet.

You stepped through a curtain of black and into an endless glow of floating, gelatinous ghosts. The only light came from the tanks—soft blues, purples, and reds pulsing like slow heartbeats in the dark. The floor muffled your footsteps. Even the signage was hushed.

It felt like being underwater.

And Ronin?

Ronin looked spellbound.

He stood in front of a wall-sized tank filled with translucent bells and drifting tendrils. His silhouette was backlit, shoulders relaxed, hair haloed by the neon pink light.

You moved up beside him. He didn’t say anything at first.

Then: “You ever feel like you’re dreaming, darling?”

You glanced at him. “Right now?”

He nodded, still watching the jellyfish.

“Sometimes I feel like I died a long time ago. And this is just the weird limbo where I get to hold your hand for a bit.”

You blinked. “That’s… incredibly depressing.”

He snorted softly, finally looking at you. “You’re the one who dated me. You knew what you signed up for.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

Ronin turned fully toward you, pulling you gently into his arms—slow, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. His cheek pressed against your temple.

“They’ve been around for millions of years,” he murmured. “No brains. No hearts. Just vibes.”

You stifled a laugh against his shoulder.

“Fourth shark fact,” he said, like it was a secret. “Some sharks glow in the dark, too.”

“That’s not even about jellyfish.”

“Don’t interrupt me. I’m being romantic.”

You grinned, holding him tighter.

The moment lingered, syrup-slow and gentle, wrapped in glow and quiet.

But of course, Ronin didn’t stay soft for long.

He took your hand and dragged you into the next hallway, manic energy returning like someone flipped a switch.

“Come on, come on,” he said, practically skipping. “It’s tunnel time.”

The underwater tunnel curved beneath a massive tank. Sharks gilded above and beside you, rays sweeping like ghosts over your heads. The light was dim and dreamy, fish silhouettes dancing across your skin.

Ronin walked backwards in front of you, arms open.

“Imagine if the glass shattered right now,” he said.

“Romantic.”

“We’d die instantly. Together. Pretty.”

You laughed, and he caught you by the waist, pulling you close.

His eyes glinted with the tank light.

Then: “Fifth shark fact.”

You leaned in. “Hit me.”

“Sharks have multiple rows of teeth. When one falls out, another pops forward. Always armed. Always ready.”

He kissed you before you could respond—quick at first, then slower, deeper, more sure of himself. His hands framed your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. The taste of salt from the air, the cool tank-light shadows—it all blurred around the warmth of his mouth.

You curled your fingers into his hoodie.

When he finally pulled back, he was smiling.

“Did I ruin the mood?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No. But if you give me one more shark fact right now, I will throw you into the stingray tank myself.”

He grinned.

“Fair.”

You kept walking, hand in hand, the echo of your laughter swallowed by the water above.

---

-Bonus Scene-

---

You didn’t even make it five steps into the gift shop before Ronin vanished.

One second he was beside you, pretending to be normal. The next? Gone. You looked left—just a rack of sea turtle t-shirts. Looked right—nope, just some child losing a balloon.

Then you heard it.

A muffled “Darling—look.”

You turned around slowly.

There he was. Crouched behind a display of glittery snow globes, clutching the world’s largest stuffed shark like it was a newborn. His face was all wide-eyed innocence. The shark’s plastic tag dangled like a noose from its fin.

“I need him,” Ronin whispered, barely peeking out.

You walked over with your arms crossed. “You already made me carry a stuffed jellyfish, a mood ring, and a shark hat. I think we’re good.”

“But this one has teeth. Look at him.”

You did not look at him.

“Ronin.”

“Yes, Baby?”

“Put it back.”

“…I would kill for him.”

You sighed and held out your hand.

“No, no, I’ll carry him,” Ronin said, standing dramatically and slinging the plushie over his shoulder like a rifle. “If I must walk through the fire of capitalism to rescue a soul, so be it.”

“You’re insufferable.”

He leaned in close. “And yet… still kissable.”

You gave him the flattest look imaginable, but he just grinned and waltzed off toward the register like the main character of a very cursed indie film.

As you followed behind, you realized the plush shark did look kind of cute tucked under his arm.

“You’re naming it, aren’t you?”

He didn’t even look back. “His name is Mister Chomp. He has a tragic backstory. He’s killed before.”

“Oh my god.”

“Just like me.”

You stared at his back.

“…So are you Mister Chomp or is the shark?”

“Yes.”

---

-Bonus-Bonus Scene-

---

The door slammed open.

Ronin kicked it shut behind him with the dramatic flair of someone who had just escaped a heist, not a children’s aquarium. “Home, sweet hell,” he announced, tossing his jacket onto the couch and unceremoniously dropping Mister Chomp onto the bed.

The plush shark flopped face-down like a corpse. Somehow, it made you laugh.

“You didn’t have to sprint up the stairs with him like you were evading a SWAT team,” you said, shutting the door gently behind you.

“He deserved dignity,” Ronin replied, dead serious. “He’s been through enough. You saw the way that toddler tried to grab him—he has trauma.”

You kicked off your shoes and padded over, flopping down on the bed beside him. Ronin was already laying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other cradling the massive stuffed shark like it was a real pet.

“Darling,” he said softly, “we’re a family now.”

You blinked at him. “We are not adopting the shark.”

“We already did. He’s one of us. Look at his little eyes. He understands us.”

“Mister Chomp is polyvinyl plastic and stuffing—”

“He’s seen things.”

You groaned into your hands. “We need a real hobby.”

“This is a hobby.”

Ronin turned his head to look at you, black eyes catching the low orange glow of the bedside lamp. His voice softened a notch. “Y’know… this was good. Today. The sharks, the dumb facts, the crime spree in the gift shop.”

You smiled a little. “You didn’t even get kicked out.”

He grinned. “Personal growth.”

A beat passed, calm and strangely warm.

Then Ronin scooted closer—just enough to press his forehead to yours, Mister Chomp still nestled between you like a peace offering.

“I like this version of us,” he murmured. “Quiet. Stupid. Happy.”

Your heart twisted a little at the word happy. It didn’t sound like something he said often.

You kissed his forehead, soft. “Me too.”

Ronin blinked slowly, like he was memorizing the moment. Then, he dramatically shoved Mister Chomp between you both like a wall.

“...Room for three?” he asked, grinning.

You didn’t have the heart to say no.

---

[cassieoz]

Hidden

The colours were breathtaking! Light beamed all around the natural rock formation. The filtering rays bounced off the water and reflected on all the walls of the caven. The silence was so calming. It was only interrupted by the falling shower from above.

Amelia smiled to herself. As she rubbed her huge core, she almost chuckled at the thought of how quiet this place was. It would not be that way for long. She slowly approached the edge of the pool. As she stepped forward, her toes pointed into the green water. Surprisingly, it was warm! The perfect temperature. She creeped forward until her ankles were submerged. The woman breathed and closed her eyes.

Without any warning, her body spasmed violently. Amelia groaned out loudly and crumbed forward. She hugged her lower body as she squatted down. The caven vibrated with heavy panting as she tried to maintain her composure. The pain quickly disappeared after a couple of minutes. The pregnant woman's breathing decreased as she closed her eyes to reflect on her current circumstances. Amelia rubbed her swollen belly, reassuring herself that she had got here just in time.

After a few minutes, the peace of the cave returned. Amelia walked out of the water and began to set up her supplies from her backpack. Everything was safely inside! She was well supplied as she had planned this for months. The solo adventurer had known what was needed for a long camping trip. Especially as her career in the city was being a maternity nurse!

As her warm sleeping bag was placed on her air mattress, the violent cramping returned with unwelcomed intensity. Amelia squeezed her eyes closed and clutched the softness in her palms. She counted and panted rapidly as she waited for the severity of the pain to pass. Three minutes apart! They were coming faster, harder, stronger! It would not be long now

An hour later, Amelia was lying out on the mattress, gasping for air! Sucking in, she rapidly breathed as beads of cool perspiration formed on her forehead and neck. Her clammy fingers gripped the sleeping sheets underneath her. The pain was growing unbearably strong. She rocked from side to side, releasing the sheets and rubbing her sweating core frantically. She couldn't believe how painful this labor was be becoming. All her experience and planning had not prepared her for this type of agony. As the contraction eased, she rolled over onto the sand and stripped off her top! The coolness in the air relaxed her shaking body. Amelia's fingers brushed agsinst her aching nipples. She gasped in surprise as her folds tightened between her legs. The aching was uncomfortable but the stimulation was a welcome distraction. The heaviness of her body was overwhelming. She didn't want to stand! She slowly crawled on her hands and knees the short distance to the pool edge. Amelia relaxed into the warmth.

The laboring woman found her erect nipples again. She couldn't stop her need to find relief. With one hand, she rubbed wildly and her other free fingers, pressed against her throbbing clit. A long, satisfying sigh escaped her lips followed by rapid panting as another contractionn rocketed downwards through her birthing passage. Rubbing harder and faster, Amelia worked frantically to achieve temporary bliss. When the eruption came, she yelled out with the incredible explosion. The madness of the pain quickly overtook the pleasure. The pressure pumped down, spreading like a wild fire towards her opening folds. Her body commanded the birther to widen her legs. Rapidly, the urgent need to bear down on the torture consumed her. More pain descended through her canal as she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. The peak came with the power of a hurricane. She roared and pushed wildly with incredible strength.

Amelia's labor accelerated without mercy from the first hard push. Active pushing completely consumed the birthing woman. Her body quaked violently as one screaming push followed the other in a torturous sequence of labor. The water washed over her quivering core as the crown pounded towards her opening. Amelia couldn't think of when she felt the head! All she knew was its heaviness was pounding relentlessly through her now.

The burning was breathtaking. The tip squeezed her open with each fresh explosion of agony. Pushing gave a temporary distraction as the tip plunged forward, only to disappear when the need to bear down evaporated. Amelia was drenched in perspiration, her long hair was stuck to her face and neck in an uncomfortable twisting pattern. Sweating profusely, she reached for relieving stimulation. Thrusting wildly against her pounding clit, an uncontrollable climax built! When the relief came, the howling release was deafening in the cave. Amelia's primal cries vibrated as her strenuous pushing returned with super human intensity.

A darken figure appeared from the corner of the cave. Amelia looked up with desperate eyes as the figure bend forward and rested her laboring body against his huge frame. He replaced her fingers with his and continued to thrust harder and faster. Amelia shouted out and pushed down. The head filled her again and again with unstoppable force. She was yelling constantly as the head parted her, brutally through every torturous push. Struggling with the pain, she rocked at the edge of water. The figure helped her slowly out of water and back to her mattress. The pain was erupting violently with each contraction. Spreading her legs wider, clutching the sheets and on all fours, Amelia lost all control. The head pounded at full speed through her folds and birthed in one long, screaming push! Shaking, her supporter assisted as the rest of the baby came in another long, yelling effort!

The baby wailed as Amelia turned and the eyes of his father locked onto her with passion and intensity. "Thank you! I was so scared you would not find us in time!" He smiled and leant forward and passionately kissed Amelia. "Next time, you won't be alone! Next time, you will be safe with me!"

[rrrrinmaru]

rin's side stories: 01 - where rafayel debriefs the flammula

wc: 1.2k rating: G brief: after rafayel's first meeting with mc, he decides to debrief someone he can trust. someone who can't spill his secrets to anyone who can repeat them to mc. notes: gender neutral!mc, fluff, comedy, canon-compliant

“I was rather suave, wasn’t I?”

Silence answers him. The man doesn’t seem deterred—he flips over on his couch, back lying flat on the sofa as one leg crooks at the knee and dangles off the edge. 

“See, you might not have gotten a good view of the scene, but I appeared like a knight in shining armor, okay? Exactly like all those fairytales. Picture this, the setting sun, a golden glow sinking over the city like a blanket. The light dancing off the water surface, making everything look iridescent and magical. The soft splashes of you guys, adding to the ambience of the place. It’s quiet. It’s picturesque. Am I painting a good picture for you?”

The red flammula circles around its massive tank. The tank is perched on the reinforced glass table, large enough that it practically takes up all the space. There are small underwater plants swaying with the ripples sent up by the portable water filter attached to the side of the tank. Sand and gravel sit at the bottom, with a few coral stones tossed in to add color to the place. 

Inside, the flammula spits out a string of bubbles.

“You don’t get it. So there they were, helpless and shaking, like a seal pup in front of a great white. The setting sun set their hair alight, awash with that orange hue—I really need to paint this before I forget it—and they were just standing there. Their eyes darted around, begging for help, and there I was! Right in their line of sight; tall, handsome, elegant. Offering a comment about your tragic lifespans on land so they know I’m intelligent.”

The flammula hides behind a particularly big rock. On the couch, the figure splutters, sitting upright. 

“Dropping an information snippet about the lifespan of aquatic creatures is not boring. It caught their attention. And then I took the net from their loose grip, emboldened by the hopeful gaze in their eyes, and swooped you up in one quick snap of my wrist. Really, you need to be better at running away from nets in the water. Is this how you got caught the first time?”

A long string of bubbles. The flammula swims out just to brush its underbelly against the sand before swimming back up to where the plants are swaying with the ripples. 

“After catching you, I proceeded to tell her about your historic legend—”

The flammula winds itself around a long, dark green plant. It flops over, the plant wrapped around it, and pretends to go still.

A hand reaches over, one knuckle knocking in irritation at the side of the tank, right next to where the flammula is.

“A little respect would be deserved,” Rafayel huffs, throwing his head to the side. “I didn’t have to save you, you know. I could have let you live up to your exceedingly short lifespan with the rest of your brethren in that tiny pool, at the mercy of small land children with sticky fingers and unwashed hands.”

The flammula revives long enough to flap a fin at Rafayel and breathe out bubbles before it returns to playing dead. 

Rafayel rolls his eyes. “Anyway, they then told me that Hat Island was closed off because of Wanderer sightings. Not that it would have stopped me, if I had really wanted to go, but—hey! This means they were concerned about me, weren’t they?”

The flammula doesn’t respond. 

“I mean, I picked a random pamphlet out of that booth near the place just so I had something to do with my hands, but what a stroke of luck!”

Rafayel dips a hand in the water, far enough to gently poke the flammula with the tip of his index finger. “Look alive, comrade. I’m not done here.”

The flammula twists its body, slapping Rafayel’s index finger with its tail. 

“They didn’t say it just because I’m a civilian and they were doing their job,” Rafayel shoots back, sounding miffed. “Well, whatever. Let’s move past that to the next important installation of our interaction, wherein I, very handsomely, popped you into the small container they were holding on to.”

A flurry of bubbles rise in the tank. The flammula seems to have a lot to say, reviving once more just to swim accusingly around Rafayel’s hand and bump angrily into his open palm. 

“You were not going to die from air exposure. I barely held you out for less than a minute. I wasn’t going to just let you die like that. And you are really detracting from my entire experience, here. Regardless, after you were finally allowed to breathe again, they told me to go to Whitesand Bay. How cute,” Rafayel remarks, a smile pulling at his lips.

The flammula scrapes its body against Rafayel’s fingers, nipping at his fingertips. 

“This level of aggression is seriously uncalled for,” Rafayel complains, poking the flammula’s tail. “I’m just trying to tell you about our meeting, and you’re acting like I tossed you into the middle of an oil spill. They told me to go visit Whitesand Bay, you know?”

He points outside the windows lining his wall, tempered glass from ceiling to floor, gesturing at the miles of paper white sand that stretch out before him. “How cute. Maybe I should invite them to walk with me at Whitesand Bay sometime.”

The flammula swings its tail, hitting Rafayel’s fingers. Once it gets the last word in, the flammula swims in a harried manner to the stone cave attached to the side of the tank, clearly ready to hide in there until Rafayel stops bothering it.

“You are no fun,” he tells the flammula, fishing his hand out of the water. There’s a brief flash and fire creeps up his skin, starting from his fingertips and crawling up his palms, the back of his hand, his wrist, his forearm—the flames lick at his elbow, and Rafayel shakes his arm out. 

Just as quickly as it appeared, the flames disappear. Rafayel slips his dry palm into his pocket and stands, turning to eye the view from his window. The translucent curtains flutter in the seabreeze, carried in through one of the open windows, and Rafayel tilts his head back, slowly breathing it in. 

“I’ll pack the rest of them and send them to where they should be,” he says, eyes closed, face turned to soak in the moonlight filtering through the glass. “I’ll send you along with them, I suppose.”

Bubbles escape the stone cave. 

“I’m not in the business of raising dependents,” Rafayel comments, looking back to eye the tank speculatively. “If I do keep you around, historic part of Lemurian culture or not, know that I may or may not end up using you as a midnight snack if I’m feeling peckish.” 

No response. Another round of playing dead. 

“How interesting,” he murmurs, bending down to tap the glass. “Well, if I ever come up with a use for you, I’ll let you know. Maybe I can trick them into thinking we’re co-parenting you. Heaven knows you need to learn some manners, disobedient punk.”

The thought makes Rafayel smile. They wouldn’t get it; they would likely be confused at the concept of teaching a fish manners, but it’s as good an excuse as any to get them into Rafayel’s home.

==

© rrrrinmaru 2024 | no unauthorised publication or reproduction allowed

[monster-disaster]

[lion rakshasa] Dain

lion rakshasa!Dain x human!Reader Good to know: smut

Summary: Dain needs a massage.

With a sigh, you open the door to let the warm breeze run through the small cabin. The scent of oils, candles, and cleaning supplies mix with the dry smell of the night. The rush of air caresses your cheeks and plays with your hair as you lean against the door jamb. You cross your arms in front of your chest. Your gaze wanders over the view of the resort.

The other cabins around you are closed. Their windows are dark. You are not surprised, though. It's already late, and you feel the tiredness in your bones and the soreness in your muscles. You almost laugh. You could kill for a massage. Rolling your shoulders, you straighten your posture. The familiar throbbing between your legs is almost painful, and you wish for nothing more but a warm bath and your comfortable bed.

Lush greens and colorful flowers bloom on the side of the road, leading to the pools on your left side. There is a small waterfall that falls from one to the other. The sound is relaxing and seems loud in the silence. The crystal-clear water sparkles under the silvery glow of the moon. Your gaze moves up to the sky, pausing on the glinting stars before dropping on the hotel nearby. Light filters through a few windows. One side of the building is covered with greenery. You can barely see the sand-colored wall underneath the leaves, waving in the rhythm of the wind.

And behind everything, there is the desert with its ever-changing form. Under the cover of the night sky and the stars' gentle glow, the endless sea of sand spreads out as far as the eyes can see. It looks like it melts into the darkness at the horizon. In the distance, grand dunes emerge from the ground with elegant edges and slopes.

"Hey!" A deep voice breaks the silence, and you almost jump from the surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to frighten you. You are the masseur, right?" You smile and shake your head. "It's fine," you tell him. "You are Dain, I hope?" He nods, and you step away from the door to let him in.

The male is burly, even for a lion rakshasa. His mane is a few shades darker than the fur covering his body. He is a mix of muscles and fat. His shoulders are broad, but a slight belly is bulging under the white towel around his waist. The fabric stretches around his trunk-like thighs.

He looks good. He definitely looks good.

You close the door behind you with a soft click.

"You can take off the towel if you want to," you tell him. "And lay down on the table." The male grunts, and with a quick tug, he takes off the towel and puts it on a chair nearby. You can see the muscles of his thighs working as he moves. His tail sways to the side in a gentle rhythm. Your eyes are glued to the hard flesh of his bottom as he lies on his stomach on the massage table. "It won't break under me, right?" He asks. His voice is muffled. "No," you assure him. "You will be fine, I promise."

As you start to work, the soothing scent of the oils you use fills your nostrils. The inside of the massage cabin is covered in an orange hue from the candles. Small flames dance on top of them. The dim light makes the color of his fur darker. They are soft under your hands. His tail still sways left and right, and from time to time, you can hear a deep purr rumbling out of his chest. You can feel it in your core.

Using your body weight, with the heel of your hands, you stroke down the line of his spine until you reach his tail. You knead the hard muscles of his back, changing the motion of your hands every now and again as you watch his reactions. Dain's breathing is calm and even, and slowly but surely, you can feel him relax under you. You circle your thumbs on his shoulder blades, going up to his shoulders. Your fingers dig into him, finding every nerve and knot on your way. When you are done with his upper body, you move to his legs, using your thumb to massage and rub his muscles. "I'm sorry," he grunts when his tail curls around your arm for the second time. You let yourself laugh a little. "It's fine." Your finger slides over his tail, reaching the base. You are careful and gentle as you stroke it. He jumps at the sudden contact but doesn't move to get away. Another rumble breaks through his chest. "Is it good?" You ask him. "Yeah," he grunts. "But it starts to hurt." For a second, you panic, letting go of his tail immediately. "I'm sorry," you gasp. Dain shakes his head. "Not that," he replies, turning to the side, then onto his back. "That." "Oh."

Oh.

A lazy smirk pulls on your lips at the sight. Dain's hard cock bobs as he moves. He is thick and wet from the pre-cum that slips down his shaft. A drop follows the line of a vein on the side of his cock. His balls are heavy between his legs.

You continue your session. Moving from Dain's legs to his upper body, you work on his muscles, letting him relax and enjoy the silence. Your gaze lands on his erection every now and again, but you don't make a move yet. You tease him and massage him all over.

His eyes are closed. An amused smile plays on his lips. "You are the devil." His voice is hoarse. "Am I?" You grin, smoothing your palms down his chest. His fur shines under the dim lights with the lotion you used on him. His cock jerks when your fingers brush the base. Another drop of pre-cum drops down his shaft. "Gods, woman!" Dain groans. You laugh but decide to have mercy on him. He was still more patient than most of your guests.

Your fingers curl around the base of his shaft, squeezing the flesh softly. A low groan echoes off the walls, and you can feel him twitching under your hold. Dain is warm and soft under your palm. The lotion and his pre-cum mix as you move up. Your other hand rests on his thigh. His muscles are tense with anticipation. You feel it too. Need burns your insides as you pump his shaft lazily. You use your thumb to smear his juices even more on his cock, following the thick vein on the side up to the head. Your nail grazes the sensitive skin. The rakshasa shudders under you. His breathing is labored. "Are you sure you are not a cat?" He asks with humor in his voice. "You play with my cock like a new toy." You grin, leaning closer. The air escaping your lips is warm on Dain's erection. "But it is my new toy." His deep laugh ends in a snarl when you lick up on his length from the bottom to the top. You flick the soft skin under the head. His taste is strong on the tip of your tongue. It's salty and makes you want more. You lap up on him again, once, twice, three times. "Fuck!" He growls. The sound vibrates through the air, going straight between your legs. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you force a smug grin down and take his cock into your mouth. You go inch by inch, letting your lips stretch around him. Keeping your hand on the base, pumping him slowly, you lick and suck on his crown, pressing your tongue into the tip. You can feel him snapping any second, but you are not done yet. You squeeze him, making him snarl again before his breath is taken away as you slide him down deeper into your throat. You hum around his length, letting the vibration of your throat rush up his spine. "Fuckfuckfuck!" Spurts of pre-cum fill your mouth, dripping down on his cock and balls. His hips push up against you, wanting to fuck your mouth. You hum again in agreement, hollowing your cheeks some more. Tears burn your eyes as he starts to move up and down. He thrusts into your mouth hurriedly, chasing his pleasure in your warm, wet mouth. Your tongue is flat against the underside of his cock. "You born for this," he growls. "A warm mouth for all the monsters who come here." You are slick between your legs. Your pussy throbs with desire even though you are already sore because of your previous guests. "You feel so good around my cock! Fuck!" Your free hand from his thigh slips to his balls. They are heavy in your palm as you start to play with them. His cock twitches in your mouth more often than a few seconds ago. "I'm going to cum," he warns, still pushing his hips. Your jaw and throat ache. You let him use you to reach his high. Your hand on his cock jerks him faster, and you bob your head against his thrusts. You want him to lose his mind when he comes into your mouth. The cabin is filled with his groans and moans.

"Fuck!"

He floods your mouth, and you gulp down everything he has to give you. The work of your throat squeezes his cock even more, pushing him harder and harder into his orgasm.

The male needs long minutes to come back to his senses. "Will you be there tomorrow?" He asks, still panting. His voice is hoarse, and his cock lays soft on his thick thigh.

You really want to know how it feels inside you.

"I will write you up."

- Masterlist Mirage Resort Masterlist Patreon

[ohwaitimthewriter]

The Memory Keeper

Chapter 6: Cruise

Pairing: Noa x human!reader

Warnings: None!

Summarize: A woman, allowed to live as long as the virus keeps running through her body, living on autopilot for 260 years, is going to see her life takes a new turn, finding hope in something that might come to put an end to her wandering.

Words: 3k+

A/N: Hi there! After all this time, I've decided to post the first part of this chapter. So it's not complete in what I wanted to tell entirely about this chapter. However, I find myself with a rather significant lack of inspiration and motivation, which has been going on for over a month now. I hope that working in this way will enable me to start the rest of this chapter under better conditions.

In the meantime, I hope you'll like this first part!

Enjoy your reading 😊

The Memory Keeper Masterlist / Planet of the apes Masterlist

Gifs credit (1) & (2)

Your brain was about to collapse. Its cogs were running at full speed in an engine flooded by years of letting yourself sink. Reaching the bottom of the ocean and letting yourself be carried along by the sea currents, getting used to seeing nothing but the crushing blackness of the abyss. Getting the engine running again made the rusty nuts creak, and no matter how many times you jabbed the storm-shaken screws with a screwdriver, it felt as if every turn sheared through your temples.

And everything was suddenly too heavy. The weight of your head ended up in the palm of your hands as your fingers desperately tried to cling to the hairline that defined your forehead.

Your cogs floundered in the muddy sand of the seabed that had become your brain. A flooded, clogged and slimy wading pool that struggled to rid itself of the stagnant seaweed that had accumulated until it filtered out the slightest particle of emotion that dared to try and find its way back to the surface. Drowning in your own wading pool. In your own brain, so as not to see the immeasurable extent of the damage inflicted by the tidal wave that had left you shipwrecked.

Shipwrecked. Today, it was difficult to remember when the boat had capsized. Had it happened gradually? As each crew member fell overboard? One after the other. And despite the lifebuoys, despite the rafts, all you could do was watch them sink, helpless as the ocean slowly took what had always belonged to it.

Shipwrecked on a wandering ship, meant to stay afloat despite the shattered hull and torn sails. Sometimes you still wondered why the ocean had chosen never to come and get you. The one that decided to toss you around like a lost buoy in the middle of the blue vastness, the one that made you swallow water at will, knowing full well that salt water couldn't carry you off. The one that dragged you to the open sea with no promise of ever seeing the end of it. Now the ocean was offering you the chance to wash ashore on a white sandbank.

But how do you dock without a captain at the helm?

A broad hand came to rest on your shoulder, engulfing half your shoulder blade, and a few comforting taps pressed against your shoulder.

“How do you know his words?”

Raka. He seemed to have a better grasp of the concept of empathy than did his friend. But you couldn't blame Noa. Even you didn't know how to steer your boat. So to ask a near-stranger to trust you to navigate between waves and sea rocks and reach that sandbank…

And how could you dock without a captain at the helm?

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

The world was changing.

And the more you watched it burn away, the more you realized there was no one left. There was no one to tell the story. Radio, TV news, newspapers, books… no one would run them or write them. The human ability to convey an event around the world as we would slip a letter into a mailbox had gone to ashes when the virus had set humanity ablaze.

You no longer knew what the world was becoming, and only its progress could be observed directly through the lens of the camera you'd found in the ruins of a crumbling city center.

There was no one left to hold on to a lost humanity… except you. These history books, these tales of the years that modern society had never had the pleasure of exploring in its own lifetime, but only through the remnants that others recounted - in those historic eras of the birth of societies - were going to be the last. And the world you knew would eventually die in the memories of the few humans who would in turn die out without being able to ensure an offspring.

Only you would be left to remember this humanity. And if you dared to hope that the memories of the apes around you would be passed down through the generations, there was little hope that humans would live on in their memories and the tales you imagined would come to life around the rise of simian societies.

Perhaps that's what prompted you to bring back that camera. A Polaroid you knew would only last a year, or as long as you could find enough to keep it going between the batteries and photo paper it consumed with every click to capture an event, a group of apes fishing, or the sometimes gigantic wooden constructions rising several meters above your head.

Those pictures that were instantly printed would stay. They would tell the story. They would remember the time when humanity had been turned upside down and could not turn back. They would remember the new world that was being built under your admiring gaze. And they wouldn't forget. They wouldn't forget what the world had been, what humans had done and what the world was about to become.

It was important. You couldn't fully imagine how significant it was, but you'd been steeped in history classes and there was something comforting about knowing about a past you'd never witnessed. Perhaps because it was proof… the only proof of the existence of the past.

And if you'd been willing to give up the humanity you'd lived in, you weren't yet ready to forget its existence.

Through the lens, you could see the symbol made from pieces of wood hanging at the entrance to the village. A circle containing the shape of a four-pointed star. The symbol of Caesar, his words and the ideology he embodied. It was the kind of memory one shouldn't forget.

“Why… symbol?”

A sudden jolt.

Your finger pressed the button, completely out of focus on the image you'd just tried to center, and the click was followed by the distinctive sound of a photo printing. Your eyes turned for a second to the owner of the baritone voice as an amused sigh escaped your lips when you saw the blurred picture emerge from the polaroid.

“Because it's important.” You answered casually, a small smile on your face.

Caesar puffed through his nostrils, lips pursed in a brief upward movement as he tried to grasp the interest you had behind every picture you took. He'd seen it all before, thanks to Will. He knew humans liked that sort of thing even if it made no sense to him.

“It's important to remember.”

You went on, again looking into the lens to adjust the image of the symbol. This time, the photo came out clearly and the four-pointed star stood proudly in the center, the angle of the picture making it even more imposing than it was.

Caesar remained silent, his face eternally scowling, but you had a well-trained eye, you spotted a certain curiosity well hidden in the corner of his solemn gaze and you handed him the picture with a big smile.

“Long from now, the apes will be able to remember, thanks to this photo.” You carried on, lowering the camera to observe with your own eyes the life of the apes displayed in front of you.

Caesar listened carefully, and the ridge of his eyes hardened, puzzled by your words.

“Why… keep… the past?”

A very human notion, certainly. What's the point of remembering what yesterday was when today brings everything you need? And you seemed to be asking yourself the same question. Caesar didn't often see you with your eyebrows furrowed, your facial features slightly tense as your eyes sought a suitable answer to give him. Your hand went to the back of your neck to try and soothe the tension in your muscles, and he knew from this simple gesture that you were going to need time to build up a thought that you probably hadn't even considered yet.

You kept this attitude only in those moments when a simple question made you question again everything you were sure of, and Caesar took a certain pride in it. An ape making a human doubt. There was something exhilarating behind this feat. Even if you'd never seemed narrow-minded in your ideas, it was pleasant to see you reflect on a notion that seemed so obvious to you.

Humans were always like that. Sure of themselves and their beliefs. Confident that their values were the best, without questioning for a second their credibility or the nuances that might exist.

Why remember the past? What was the point of knowing about the advent of human societies? The horrors and destructive wars? The great names of men and women who have left their mark on history in one way or another? The great dates, whether of atrocity or freedom?

And beyond human history, and in the more mundane events of everyday life, what was the point of remembering our childhood home? Or that old aunt telling of her travels to the other side of the world? Or that birthday when nobody came?

Your fingers traveled to your wristband, tracing the outlines of the polished bone pieces under Caesar's gaze. If not for this wristband, or this lame hip, what would drive you to remember why Caesar and his kind had taken you under their wings? There was nothing else. Your body had forgotten the torture and pain. There was nothing tangible to prove the existence of abuse apart from that wristband and that hip. The brain was quick enough to forget what was of no use to it or what was too painful to remain in living memory. And if the brain forgot, if there was nothing to remind it to remember, how could one prove the existence of what had been?

And… why should one prove it?

“Because it existed… and… if we forget, how could we do any better?”

Caesar snorted, and you watched his eyes widen dubiously. Had humans done better? He wasn't very knowledgeable about humanity's past, and on second thought, maybe he wasn't interested enough: whatever had been, good or bad today, that's what was important.

“Humans… have they done better?”

Caesar was skeptical, and had every reason to be. On second glance, perhaps humans were doing worse today. The lesson was never learned, and the human was diving headfirst back into his bad habits, making sure to choke on them. This made you smile. His skepticism was right in spite of you, and you even suspected that he knew more about the human species than you did.

“No,” you answered with a giggle. “But apes might.”

There was a glimmer of hope in your eyes. The human cause was lost, and had been for a long time. Even before the virus had spread, humanity had already begun to dig its own grave. Beyond the wars and hatred, the Earth itself was rotting from the inside out under the impact of the human hand. It had only ever been a matter of time before humanity came to the end of its reign.

You weren't even sorry to see your species die out. You were only sorry that it was taking everything else with it.

There was a form of supplication in your eyes. Let the apes do better. Better than wars, better than hatred, better than the destruction of nature, better than the aggressive ambition of some men, better than… the human species in all its consequences.

Caesar raised his head proudly. He was sure of one thing: apes were, in all their consequences, better than humans.

“Apes… don't need… to remember… to do better.”

His gruff voice was adamant, and despite his assurance, a twinge of anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach. How could one do better if no one remembered what had been? You looked up at him, and couldn't help admiring the self-assured features Caesar wore on his face. Broad-shouldered and imposing, his chest puffed out in defiance of anyone who wished to argue with him, what would become of simian society if he were no longer present in the minds of the apes?

You saw it every day. All you had to do was say his name and the apes would bend their backs without batting an eyelid. But none were afraid of him. Caesar had earned the respect of his people because they knew how, thanks to him, they had won their freedom. They respected him and his words, because they remembered.

“In 300 years, don't you want to become the legend of Grumpy Caesar?”

Your gently teasing laugh was greeted by a grumble, probably offended by the nickname you kept harping into his ears, but for the benevolent smile that followed every time, Caesar could never take it the wrong way. It was you, and he'd learned that your words of affection sometimes resembled those teasing words. Those words always followed by a slight, playful shove of the back of your hand against his biceps as your lips stretched happily. He'd also noticed that this was the only time you dared to touch him. And that made him smile.

To become a legend, there was no such thing in the minds of the apes. When his body had breathed the last breath of oxygen that life would grant him, and the sun had decided to stop shining on him, the apes would find another sturdy branch on which to stand. This was how it was meant to be, and his name would become nothing more than the caress of the wind, forgotten once it had gone by.

“Too faraway, apes will forget.”

Caesar preferred to sign these words. Sign language always seemed to have a deeper meaning. When audible words didn't speak loud enough to resonate emotions swallowed up far beneath the ribcage, signs spoke with more truth. A truth that seemed very heavy to you.

The apes will forget. Perhaps that was the truest and saddest thing of all. His name will crumble in the memory of the apes like wood devoured by growing flames. And once the wood has shattered, it will simply lie in a pile of ashes, waiting for the breeze to carry it away and scatter it as it pleases until there's nothing left.

It was his truth. At least, if there was nothing to remind them of him. Your eyes fell on the camera hanging around your neck before settling back on Caesar. He was looking at his people the way he looked at his sons, and if that's all it took to save his name, whether he understood it or not, you'd immortalize the little stones that were building his empire as many times as he'd let you.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

An empire shaped like a ship to endure the years, and when it was the captain's turn to walk the plank to fulfill the ocean's call, the rudder had slipped into your hands. And you accepted it. You knew that sailing against wind and tide would be an arduous task. You knew it. And it seemed to you that you had fought well. Sails wide open to catch as much wind as possible and the remaining crew paddling hard against the pull of fallen anchors. The endeavor had been going on for a long time.

For so long.

For too long.

Every crew member was an anchor desperately dragged along by the ship you were trying to keep afloat until the mainsail gave way. The increasing weight and the fading wind had worn away the fabric until only the tatters floated scattered in the wind. And the boat that had sailed at full speed for so long found itself slowing down… more and more, until the natural swell of the blue vastness became its only driving force.

No matter whether you wanted to go to port or starboard, the ocean pushed the boat in the direction it thought best without ever consulting you, sometimes leading it into storms where the sea grew high above the masts. You often watched helplessly as the huge waves crashed over the deck, washing away the rubble that an earlier storm had caused, and soon, shipwreck would be bound to occur.

How long had you been at the helm before you let go? A rudder that had let you down long before you gave up. And how long had you just watched that rudder go from left to right at the mercy of the ocean without doing anything about it?

You weren’t sure how to act upon it. As natural as it had been in the past, navigating Caesar’s memory again across this ocean had become a mystery.

If time hadn’t run its best sprint, perhaps there would have been a time when explaining would have been easy.

But today…

Today, the sand bank on the horizon might just become a mere illusion.

Your glassy gaze fell on Raka as he watched your fingers run over the frame and brush against Caesar's image. Such a simple question demanded an equally simple answer. But was it really? Telling them that you'd known him would most certainly trigger a cataclysm that would turn your dilapidated ship upside down, and you were already lacking strength at the mere thought of having to put it back afloat. Swimming to the end of an endless journey was not in your plans, even if the countdown to impact was already ticking away in front of your eyes.

Raka's green eyes eventually found yours, and a series of soft hootings encouraged you to speak as you could only swallow as you spoke anxiously.

“ What about you… how do you know them?”

You watched his gaze slide from your eyes to Noa's, who was listening to your conversation with great interest. His curious stare dropped like a domino to the gauntlet on his left hand, and with a precise gesture, Noa pulled out a pendant crafted from what looked like white wood.

A pendant in the shape of…

“The order of Caesar, naturally!” Raka exclaimed as if it was an obvious fact.

A four-pointed star.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

Tags list:

@callsignwidow

@youdontknowe

@katzykat

@koshi-sama

@violet-19999

@queen-luna-007

@sciencewithottsnpotts

@sparks0918

@moonlightnyx

@analuw

@night-shadowblood-writes2

[aisands2-blog]

The Role of Pool Filter Sand in Clean, Healthy Swimming Water

Proper pool maintenance starts with the right filtration media. Pool filter sand plays a key role in keeping pool water crystal clear by trapping dirt and debris as water circulates. This sand must be highly uniform, durable, and designed for repeated use.

Silica sand for pool filters is the most trusted choice, offering effective micron-level filtration. In Australia, many turn to sand suppliers near me to find top-grade products that meet industry standards. Quality matters—using the wrong type of sand can clog filters or reduce filtration efficiency.

For consistent performance, silica sand for pool filter systems should be properly cleaned and replaced every few years. Pool owners and service technicians prefer dry screened sands for their cleanliness and minimal dust.

Adelaide Industrial Sands Pty Ltd proudly supplies filter sand, trusted nationwide for reliable pool and industrial filtration performance.

[lady-of-tearshed]

Stupid Spring! Stupid allergies!

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

A/N: I'm currently suffering from allergies AND asthma. So I'm making it Lucien's problem. Bear with me, I wrote this with 4 hours of sleep. 🫡💕

Sumarry: You are visiting Lucien's old friend in Spring Court. Only, your allergies are being a pain in the ass, and you can't wait to get the fuck away from this Court of Sneezes and Tissues.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: None.

Divider made by @saradika-graphics 💕

Your eyes were dry from staring at the turning clock hands centered on the tapestry covered walls. You turned your head to the side of the bed, throwing an accusatory grimace at the extravagant pollen nest. People would most likely call that pollen nest a colorful and pleasant smelling bouquet of extravagant looking flowers, but to you, it was just a fucking pollen nest. And a big pain in your ass, considering your allergies and unbearable asthma. You take a deep breath and roll out of bed, sniffling. You shove the bouquet out of their vase, and carry it towards their tragic fate. You open up the window as quickly as possible, and throw them out of the window, closing it back before any pollen could sneak in. You look over Lucien’s side of the bed, and spot another one of this enemy's hideout. You yank the bunch of sadly beautiful flowers, almost making the vase smash onto the ground, and give that bouquet the same fate the other one succumbed from. You peer over the window, at the piled up flowers, and silently clasp your hand in content. You close the window, once again, and as if the flowers were getting revenge on you, despite their absence, you sneeze, and mutter a curse. 

The softness of the linen sheets welcomed you back in bed, and if it weren’t from those allergy symptoms, you would’ve fallen asleep like a baby, just like Lucien was. You roll on your side, staring at his beautiful features, and you sigh in content at the sight of him. You wiggled closer to him, watching his chest fall and rise, his lips slightly parted, and take in his scent. He smelled just like usual, but there was an additional smell of mint lingering on him, probably because he brushed his teeth before bed. His body was hot, so hot… He was hot in every sense of the word, actually. His thigh muscles looked like they had been carved by the Cauldron itself, you ran your fingers along those, his golden-brown skin shone under the moonlight filtering through the curtains. He shivered and grumbled as your hand started stroking his delicious thigh, and you can’t help but pout and pull your hand away at how grumpy your mate was when asleep. You took an exaggerated loud sigh, hoping Lucien would stir from his peaceful slumber to accompany you through your insomnia. 

“Lu,” You whisper through the silence at your first failed attempt to obtain his attention. The constant ticking of the clock echoed through the ridiculously huge bedroom of Tamlin's manor, it was the only sound breaking through the silence as you waited fo Lucien’s russet eye or golden prosthesis to open. That idiotic redhead was peacefully snoring beside you, and you swore that you could see drool pooling from his soft lips with the rising daylight that filtered through the pastel colored curtains. “Lu,” You whispered again, shaking your mate's shoulder a little to wake him up. Why wake him up? You didn't know. Maybe you just wanted him to suffer from the same lack of sleep he was putting you through by forcing you to come here, only to visit his old friend. It felt as if your nose was filled with snot, and your eyes filled with sand. How could something as small as stupid pollen make you feel as if you were on the verge of dying from the lack of oxygen properly entering your lungs? You gently nibble on Lucien's ear, and he grumbles, clicking his tongue and shoving his hand in the air as if he was chasing away a fly. “Sleep.” He whines sleepily, and you scoff. “Sleep?! You think I can sleep?!” 

He rolls on his side and yanks you into his arms, he wraps them around your waist, making sure to not crush your lungs. “M'love… You took those allergies and sleep tonics before bed, there's not much I can do even if you pull me out of the peaceful land of dreams,” You gasp out an offended sound, and Lucien sighs, just wanting to knock that dramatic attitude out of you and fall back asleep. “So what, when our children will be sick and need you in the future you'll just drug them and sleep through it?!” He narrowed one eye open at your slightly frustrated tone, a lazy grin appears on his face. “Love, we don't have children. You said you didn't even want them yet. Changing your mind now?” He purred, snuggling his face in your neck. You tried to scoot away from his embrace, but Lucien wasn't having it. The more you tried to wiggle out of his grip, the more his fingers mercilessly tickled your ribs. “Nope! I'm certainly not changing my mind so soon about having children. Lu- Stop it!” You wheezed, trying to hold back your chuckles because you knew that would only fuel him to continue. 

“Alright, alright. Now be a good girl and close those pretty eyes,” He locks his arms around your waist, holding your back tightly against his chest and pressing a lazy kiss at the top of your head, “We'll be taking our leave tomorrow, I'll inform Tamlin that my precious and strong mate has succumbed to pollen.” You mimic Lucien’s annoying tone under your breath, but his Fae ear caught your voice. “What was that?” He challenges you to do it again, but you only growl in defeat, sneezing once more. “That’s what I thought. Good night, I love you, my beautiful flower full of pollen.” He snickered, proud of the nickname he just now made up to tease you. You cross your arms, but bring one of his hands to kiss his knuckles, even if your cheeks were bright red from his constant mockeries. “Love you too, my big pain in the ass.” “Your very lovely ass.” He added, before falling asleep in a heartbeat. How fucking lucky he was to easily fall asleep like that, you thought. 

—

You stared blankly at the steaming mug of black coffee in front of you, and poured a ridiculous amount of maple syrup in it. Your eyes dart up in Tamlin's direction when you hear his choked laugh coming from his side of the table. As delighted you were to hear that spark of happiness coming back to your mate's dearest friend, you couldn't help that dark stare directed to him, matching the dark circles looming underneath your puffy eyelids. “Slept well?” “Wonderfully.” You and Lucien answer at the same time, the read-head's voice sounding way more cheery than your sarcastic and raspy one. You continued to eat in silence, and you kicked Lucien’s feet from under the table as if to say “tell him!”. Lucien cleared his throat, and spoke up, “We’re leaving for Dawn today, to visit Nuan.” Tamlin noded, a wicked smirk growing at the corner of his lips. “That’s wonderful, I’m sure Thesan and Nuan will be delighted to see you again and meet your mate, Lucien,” He bit his lip to stifle a laugh, and by the glimmer that shone in the High Lord’s irises, he knew that he was about to tease you a little. Tamlin's cheerful voice rang again, “I heard that they had trouble with pollen lately, too. There have been high winds in spring lately, and it might’ve made the pollen travel all the way there… Unfortunately.” You drop your spoon in your coffee, almost breaking the cup as you shoot a panicked glance towards your mate. But your expression immediately turns from a troubled to an annoyed one when you notice the two Fae males bursting into a fit of laughter, tears at the corner of their eyes. “Ha.Ha. Very funny you two.” 

At least now, Tamlin was happy. And Lucien was too, because currently, his friend was healing. And getting better. 

[not-neverland06]

The Other Woman

Previous part / Next part

Series Masterlist

Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The Ghoul x fem!reader CW: 18+ Summary: He looks like he’s dying, you hope he is. When he finally gives into his disease, you’re taking Lucy and you’re making a run for it.

The sun was bad when you had water and shelter in the trees. Completely exposed and ankles half buried in sand, you think you might die. It would be the preferable fate at this point. You’re sweating so much in your suit that the dried blood from your wound has become wet again. You’re sure the bandages around your thigh are soiled. Anything Lucy’s Stimpak did for you has been undone by the grit and grime coating your body. 

She’s not faring much better than you, trailing slowly along ahead of you. Like yours, her lips are peeling back and paling under the harsh sun. Cooper has already taken all the damage his body can handle. You’re sure he doesn’t even feel the sun under that rough exterior of his. 

You stumble forward, feet tripping over each other as he tugs on your leash. You can’t even be angry at him anymore. You’re too exhausted and beaten down to feel anything right now. But the lack of a reaction only seems to fuel him further. He keeps tugging, prodding, poking, seeing what it takes to get something out of you. 

Sweat is practically bleeding from you. You can feel your skin peeling up and shriveling under the sun’s ruthless gaze. Sand has been steadily seeping into your boots the longer you walk and it’s only irritating you further. Lucy hasn’t once looked at you since Cooper dragged you both out of the old gas station. 

You’d had to be quick about it with the Deathclaw still lurking around nearby. He’d barely given you anytime to wake up. He’d simply grabbed the rope around your neck and ran outside with you, rushing through the old neighborhood until you cleared the Deathclaw’s territory. He hadn’t woken up Lucy or tried to get the dog to come with him. They’d simply followed. 

It terrified you, knowing that the only thing he cared about was you. This dedication wasn’t born from love or care. This was him wanting revenge. Revenge for lying to him and screwing him over. You’d think two hundred years would have been enough for him to just get over it. Self reflect and move on. 

But, no, he’d always been stubborn. It seems like the fallout only made that worse. 

You don’t know how many hours pass before you start to see something other than sand on the horizon. Could be four or eight, you’ll never be able to tell. It all blurred into one miserable memory of nothing but too bright light. 

But eventually, by the grace of God or the universe taking pity on you, buildings start to grow in the distance. They’re all destroyed, the tallest of them half crumbled and the debris spilling across the ground. Lucy perks up slightly at the sight of them, curiosity overpowering her own fatigued state. You do not share the same passion as her. You’d seen it all when it was still standing, wasn’t impressive then, isn’t impressive now. 

If it was a pool of clean filtered water, maybe then you’d be interested. 

Lucy gazes up at the taller buildings, mouth agape and eyes looking glossed over. Cooper moves past her, not bothered by leaving her behind. He knows she’ll follow, same way he knows the dog is going to stay with the head. 

You’re all dogs to him. Just cattle to be herded. He doesn’t see you as human, you doubt he sees anything other than profit and gain. Your worth is measured by your usefulness to him. You don’t know what he thinks he could get from Lucy, you’re sure it’s not good. You know your own fate is going to be slow and horrific. 

You offer him petty revenge. Cathartic and vicarious vengeance on those from Vault-Tec who had wronged him and turned him into the monster he is today. Your value is immeasurable to him, what you offer goes beyond simple bounties or those little vials he keeps puffing on. 

You don’t know what he’s huffing, but you have some guesses. RadAway for one. It would explain how he’s managed to last as long as he has without turning feral. 

He stops, tugging out his canteen and undoing the cap. You know the break isn’t meant for your benefit but you’re grateful nonetheless. You’ve been walking so long you’re sure the bottoms of your feet are nothing but bloody stumps. 

You let your gaze drift as Lucy makes her way back to you both. Your vision blurs and you find yourself drifting as far back into your mind as you dare. You try and find a happier memory to live in so you can pretend for one minute that you’re not as miserable as you are. But Cooper ruins it. 

A sharp, wet sounding cough breaks through the haze you’d created around yourself. You turn your head slightly to stare at him. He’s got his hands braced on his knees, back arching in pain from how hard he’s coughing. You see blood and spittle flying from his lips. Both you and Lucy share a brief look. 

Your eyes dart down to the bindings on your wrist and neck, wondering how far you would be able to make it before he yanked you back. You’re about to tell Lucy to just make a run for it when he straightens up again. He lets out a deep shuddering breath, wiping his chin off with the back of his hand. 

You fix him with an unimpressed glare, “I was hoping you’d choke.”

He smirked and tugged on the rope, yanking you unceremoniously to your feet. “Better luck next time, sweetheart.”

“You,” Lucy cut herself off as she stumbled over a skeleton. Her face screwed up briefly in disgust before she continued on after you. “You need medicine, right? That’s why you’re coughing.” Cooper didn’t offer her anything more than a bored hum as he trudged along. You tried to look over at her but he was being more vigilant about the rope now that you had mouthed off. 

“If I found you some would you let her go?”

Cooper came to a sudden stop, ignoring you as you stumbled into his back. He turned towards Lucy and his hairless brows lifted up. You couldn’t tell if he was impressed by her boldness or sick of it. “Well, that’s where we’re going darling.” 

He didn’t offer anything else but a sinister smile. It wasn’t much different than his usual ones. His tone sounded ominous, like he was laughing at a joke he didn’t want to share with either of you. Lucy picked up on the veiled hidden meaning of his words and her mouth snapped shut, eyes narrowing as she tried to decipher what he meant. 

He dug his fingers underneath the rope on your neck and you hissed at the contact of the raw sunburnt skin. It only emboldened him as he dragged you forward, tucking you under his arm and forcing you to keep up with his stride. 

You felt slight satisfaction at the small coughs he would try and hide under his breath. But with your ears so close to his chest you could hear him wheeze, feel the struggle each breath caused. Every gasp makes you feel a little stronger. Even though it hurts, you glance over your shoulder at Lucy. Her eyes are trained on him, on each stumbling step. 

There’s a look shared between the two of you. A promise of waiting until he’s weakest to finally escape. You only need him to take a break again and that would be your chance. You could finally get rid of him. You don’t have to wait much longer. 

He leads you both to a Super Duper Mart. Cars have been pushed out of the way, a gate set up around the perimeter and most of the debris cleaned away. You’re assuming this is some sort of base for survivors. But that doesn’t make sense. He wouldn’t be taking you anywhere that would take care of you. 

He stops in front of a call box, pressing the button, “Transaction.”

It takes a moment before a staticky British voice answers back. “Yes?” Your brows furrow in confusion. You recognize that voice, you just don’t know how. 

Cooper glances over at Lucy and you finally put together what he’s doing. “Exchange one female, mint condition, for two month supply.” He looked her over, the sweat coating her and wounds she’d acquired over your short stay on the surface. “Near mint condition.”

“Condition requires grading, please send her in.” A buzzer goes off and the glass doors ahead of you slide open. Your gaze darts from the doors to Cooper’s. 

“You can’t-” He cuts you off with a tight grasp on your neck. It's just enough to keep you quiet and immobile. Lucy doesn’t even look surprised, just a subdued anger as she glares at him. 

“You’re selling me?” Her tone is incredulous. This was what Cooper thought was so funny earlier. This is how he gets his medicine, selling people. You’d known that he had changed from being up here, but this was insane. This went so beyond changing for the sake of survival, he looked like he was enjoying it. 

With no hesitation he tugs his gun out and points it at Lucy. She flinches back from it, staring down the large barrel with hesitance. Your attempts at breaking free are useless and draining. The leather of his glove creaks in your ear as he tightens his hold around your neck. 

“Quit your squirming,” he mutters in your ear, “what I got planned for you is much more fun.” You feel your heart drop to your feet and your struggles cease. This is pointless, struggling is pointless. Fighting back against him is pointless. You’re too weak to do anything to him, you’ll just piss him off more. You should just give up. 

He looks over at Lucy and nods towards the doors with a patronizing click of his tongue. “Go on, sweetheart. You got problems out here too, I suggest you try your luck in there.” Lucy looks to you but whatever broken thing she sees on your face is enough for her to sag in defeat. She backs towards the doors, sparing one last glance at you before taking a step inside. 

When the doors close behind her Cooper finally lets you go. The lack of support has you crumpling, you land roughly on the ground and glare up at him. “What’s going to happen to her?”

He spares you a brief glance, sneering down at you. “Diced and sliced,” he empathizes the word with a loud click of his teeth. It takes everything in you to force your spine into steel and be unflinching when he kneels down before you. He prods your chest with his gun painfully, “Your little friend is about to become meat, sweetheart. Ain’t even gonna spare her a tear?”

Your mouth is dry, parched from your long trek in the sun. But you still manage enough spit to land on his cheek. He blinks then blinks again, slow to process what you’ve done. When he does, reaching up to wipe the smear of saliva slowly off his cheek, he huffs a laugh. You don’t see the hit coming until he’s backhanding you down to the ground. 

You groan, pain throbbing in your right cheek, “Fucking dick,” you spit out. He shakes his head and stands back up. 

“I was wondering where that attitude of yours had gone. Glad to see you still got some of that fire.” He glanced down at the call box, a slight cough shaking him as he taps his foot impatiently. “The fuck is taking so damn long?” You’re clearly not meant to hear him. You doubt he wants you to perceive him as weak in any way. 

“I’m sorry,” you glower, “is my friend’s murder taking too long for you?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, glaring over at you with his eyes narrowed and his lips curled, “it fucking is.”

Fucking asshole. 

Fear is a bitter taste on your tongue when he starts to cough again. This isn’t something small that he can swallow down. This is bad, lasting longer than should be possible and making your ears hurt with the way they echo through the air. You flinch back from him when he falls to his knees, hands grasping desperately at his throat. 

He looks over at you, something like a plea in his gaze. Dread boils and bubbles in your gut with the horrible realization that if he turns, you’ll be the first thing he sees. You’re assuming that whatever he takes stops the radiation from burning away holes in his brains. If he goes feral now, the only thing he’ll remember about you is how much aggression and hostility he holds for you. 

You’ll be ripped to fucking pieces. 

He slumps forward, hands clawing at the ground as drool dribbles from his lips. He wheezes, inhaling the red dirt as he tries to get a steady breath in. You fight back the paralyzing fear of your situation and slowly crawl towards him. He doesn’t seem to see you, his eyes glazed over with the primal panic of knowing you’re about to die. 

You reach out and snatch the knife from his waist and leap away from him again, trying to keep as much distance as you can between the two of you. Placing the handle between your knees you start to saw at the rope around your wrists. Your eyes don’t stop darting between his prostrated form on the ground and your bloody hands. You can’t risk keeping your eyes off of him for too long. You’ve grown too weak under the sun. 

If he turns, you won’t be able to fight him off. 

Agonizingly slow, you start to see the rope fray. Only a few more frantic tugs and it unwinds from around your wrists. You drop the knife to the ground, quickly loosening the noose around your neck and ripping it off. 

When you look back over at him you realize he’s gone silent. It only causes more panic to rush through you. The emotion threatens to choke you, freeze you in place and wait for the inevitable. You refuse to let it. Refuse to let him terrify you into accepting your death at his hands. 

Slowly, like you hope he won’t notice you, you creep forward. On hands and knees you drag your body towards him and reach tentatively for the belt around his waist. You groan, using what’s left of your strength to roll him over so you can better reach the gun on his hip. He does nothing but twitch and moan in response, eyes cloudy. 

You unzip the top of your suit and tie the arms around your waist then tuck the gun in your pants. Your fingers skate across his chest, groping around for any bullets you might find hidden away in his jacket or the bag he keeps across his shoulder. Whatever you manage to find is stuffed into your suit, you don’t pay much attention to what you grab. You’re just trying to get this finished as quickly as possible. 

When you’ve raided him of everything valuable you finally glance over at the glass doors. The one Lucy disappeared behind. He told you that she was going to be turned into lunch meat. He has no reason to lie to you, and you have no reason to doubt what he says. There isn’t much of you that still believes there's good left in him. 

You feel something like grief creeping up the back of your throat, burning at your eyes. But you dismiss it as quickly as it comes. You don’t have time to wallow or mourn. You need to get out of here. Lucy is gone. Crying about it isn’t going to fix anything.

You scoff, so much for her precious golden rule. 

You stand up and turn your back to him, hoping you can figure out a way back to the vault. You still have your Pip-Boy, you might be able to use the map to find your way back home. 

Fuck Hank. Fuck the surface. You were done. You wanted to shower and eat something and feel air conditioning again. 

But nothing up here is easy. 

Something wraps around your ankle and you scream, jumping away from Cooper’s hand and kicking out with your foot. His fingers make an odd cracking sound under your boot and you glare down at him. 

Out of instinct the gun in your pants is drawn and pointed down at him. His eyes don’t betray any surprise or fear. He just looks desperate. Pathetic and desperate. You pull the hammer back and move the gun from his chest to his temple. “I could put you out of your misery right here. Right now. Would you like that?”

He wheezes, barely able to move on the rough ground. Finally, he shakes his head. It’s a small move, but even now he clings on to the desperate threads of his remaining life. You huff an unimpressed laugh and glare down at him. “Stubborn fucking bastard.” You tuck the gun back in your pants and you run. 

You don’t look back. You don’t think about Hank, or Lucy, or Cooper. The people you’re leaving behind once meant something to you. But you’re selfish, and you always have been. Your survival means so much more. 

It’s only when the sun starts to set that you finally find a place to settle down for the night. It’s an old building that seems just stable enough to not come crashing down on you while you sleep. It’s also the only place nearby that doesn’t have the sounds of ghouls or other critters echoing through its foundation. 

You have no water, no food, but at the very least you can finally sit down. You debate taking your suit off, just to check on your wounds. But you figure that you’re better off not knowing the state of your body. All the adrenaline and exhaustion from the sun is keeping you going. You can’t let yourself break the illusion that everything is fine. 

You do what you’ve always done when you try to distract yourself. You let yourself fall down the rabbit hole of your memories and attempt to get lost in them. You should have known the direction they were going to go. 

Perhaps it’s a form of mourning that you start to think about Cooper. You’d assumed him dead or lost to you for years. But actually seeing it happen had opened up a wound of grief you’d thought closed. 

The good memories come first, like they always do when you think of him. The first time you met, the first time he cooked for you. They’re all innocent enough. Remembrance of the man who once was the love of your life. 

And, inevitably, comes that one memory. The one you’d thought buried a long time ago. It usually would creep up on you when you would lay with Norm at night. Alone in the bed you shared with your husband, you would think of that one night. And the yearning would bury the shame. 

You’d once reasoned with yourself that there was nothing wrong with your relationship with him because nothing ever truly happened between you two. It was a lie, a bald faced lie to yourself and to him. Something had happened, something you’d shamefully buried. 

You’d been riddled with guilt after. He was still a married man, a father, and someone you were manipulating and actively lying too. It never should have happened. You never should have gone for drinks with him. You’d known it was a mistake and you’d done it anyway. 

You pick up the handset and try - and fail - not to let your irritation show in your voice. “Hello?” You’d barely stepped through your door and your phone was about to fall off its hook. You don’t know who's calling you, but they must have been at it for a while. 

There’s a breath on the other end and you know it’s him. Isn’t that absolutely pathetic? You know him from the way he breathes. That’s not normal. How much of you is wrapped up and intertwined with him isn’t normal. Certainly not because you’re only meant to be his assistant.  

“Sorry, sweetheart, is this a bad time?”

You want to say, No, it’s never a bad time when it's you. I wished you called me more. I wish you weren’t married and I didn’t have to feel so guilty about my feelings for you. But that would be insane, so you keep your mouth shut and just say, “No, now's fine. What’s up?”

“I had plans to meet up with Seb tonight, but he canceled on me. I was wondering if you’d wanna come out for a little while?”

You should not say yes. This is a perfect opportunity to start setting boundaries within your relationship. Eating dinner and dancing with him was bad enough. Especially considering Barb could have walked in on you two at any minute. 

But, god, are you lonely. You’re tired of coming home every night to an empty apartment devoid of any life or happiness. You’re tired of feeling so gutted everytime you see a happy couple on the street and all you can think about is the married man you’re in love with. And you’re selfish. 

You always have been, since you were little. You used to get in trouble for never wanting to share your toys and being too jealous of others. You supposed, as you got older, the traits stayed but the toys changed. 

You shouldn’t say yes. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The bar is nice, nicer than the ones you’re used to. You should’ve known that when he invited you out he wasn’t going to take you to some crappy little place where the floors are sticky and the music is too loud. The bar itself is a full circle surrounded by a shiny oak counter and nicely furnished stools that don’t have stains from beer spills. 

He’s sitting more towards the corner. It’s a higher end place, the people that come here aren’t impressed with his wealth or fame, because they’re just like him. He doesn’t have to hide here but you feel like you should. 

You’re incredibly out of place in your work skirt and blouse. It's something cheap from an outlet store that you got out of a bargain bin. It doesn’t fit in with the finely dressed women in the booths. 

But then he looks over at you, his eyes even prettier under the warm lights above him. When he waves at you, you find that you don’t really care what you’re wearing. You skirt past a couple blocking the doorway and hop onto the seat beside him. 

He smiles at you, but you can tell there’s something weighing him down. A sadness in his eyes that makes you want to reach out and comfort him. Instead, you flag down the bartender and offer Cooper a brief smile. “Sorry Seb canceled on you.”

He shakes his head, tossing the olive from his martini into his mouth. “Did me a favor.” At the questioning look you give him he grins. A real one this time. “I’ve got much better company now, darling.”

You resent the heat that flushes in your face. You don’t want to feel like a crushing school girl, you’re a grown woman for god’s sake. But he just brings something youthful out around you. Replaces what your soul-sucking corporate job has stolen from you. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Howard.” 

You expect him to give into the usual routine. A bit of playful banter to get rid of the tension and then you two can talk like normal. You don’t expect his hand on your thigh and the way he leans in to whisper in your ear, “I think it will get me everywhere, sweetheart.”

It catches you off guard, the boldness of his words, his completely public display of affection. Everyone knows you’re his assistant, you’ve been in enough photoshoots with him at red carpets. Admittedly, more than you should have been in. 

But then you look up, and you really take in the place that you’re at. The bar is well lit, but the booths in the back have dimmer lighting. It makes it harder to see the people who sit there. But you recognize them well enough. Figures with wives and families that are recognizable to the public’s eyes. Except the women they’re with aren’t their wives. 

You connect the dots slowly, not quite wanting to believe what you’re seeing but also desperate for it. You can’t lie, a part of you is disappointed in him. Most of his charm, his attraction comes from what a good man he is. How devoted he is. The fact that he invited you somewhere like this makes you feel cheap. 

You feel like one of those women who purposefully goes after married men. But that had never been the plan and that had never been your type. Cooper was such a rare exception to your usual dates and interests. Now you just feel dirty. 

But it also doesn’t fit who he is at his core. You look over at him and finally get a really good look at him. His hand is on your thigh, there’s a suggestive undertone to his voice. But it doesn’t fit with his face. His eyes are too sad, the stubborn downward pull of his lips gives away his mood and cracks away the mask he was trying to wear. 

You shift minutely, dropping his hand from you and turning to fully face him. “What’s wrong with you?” There’s no point in dancing around the question. 

His eyes widen and he moves away from you, laughing slightly as he does. “You know me better than I give you credit for.” You give him a bored hum and motion for him to continue. He sighs, ordering another drink, and finally speaks. “Barb took Janey to her mom’s for the week.”

You try to keep your expression neutral but you know you’re failing miserably from the self-deprecating laugh he lets out. Things have been tense between them, it’s gotten worse ever since he went to one of those Hollywood against Vault-Tec meetings. You don’t know what he heard there, but it was enough to make him a lot more hostile towards your company and Barb by extension. 

You can’t count how many of their fights you’ve accidentally interrupted lately. 

You should feel sympathetic towards him, but it only pisses you off. You scoff and he frowns, surprised by your reaction. “So, what, Barb wants a break and you decide to fuck your assistant? Seems a bit cliche, even for you.”

He looks slightly dumbfounded by the suggestion. He shakes his head but at your continued glare finally looks around and realizes the message he’s sent across. He groans, head falling into his hand. “That is not what I wanted, sweetheart.” He looks up at you with a sheepish smile but it almost feels condescending. “I just wanted to talk somewhere that I knew we wouldn't be photographed. You know ever since that article about us we have to be more careful in public.”

You feel embarrassed, and you shouldn't. Anyone in your position probably would have assumed the same thing. That he had less than honorable intentions by bringing you here. But there’s a needling feeling in your gut, questioning the hand on your thigh and the way he’d looked at you. You try and dismiss it, passing it off as him just being too friendly when he has a couple drinks. 

You let out an embarrassed groan and turn away from him, “I’m sorry, I just assumed-”

He laughs, taking your hand in his and turning you to look at him. “It’s alright, I probably should have thought this out before I called you over.”

You hadn’t realized the bartender had brought you a drink until Cooper slides it over to you. It’s a peace offering and an apology when he clinks his glass against yours. You smile at him and take a sip, finally letting yourself relax. 

You should never relax. Ever. You make the worst damn decisions in the world when you’re not tense and constantly aware of everything around you. 

Honestly, you blame the bartender. He kept bringing you and Cooper more and more drinks until everything was covered in an alcohol induced haze. You’ve never made good decisions tipsy.

Apparently, neither does Cooper. 

You don’t feel like yourself, and he doesn’t feel like him. You’re not the lying bitch who's going to ruin this whole thing in a few months. He’s not Cooper Howard, the husband, the actor, the success. He’s just Cooper. 

Your Cooper. 

You giggle as you stumble into the hotel room. Because of course this place has a hotel above it. Probably for the same salacious reasons you’re about to use it for. His hands are grasping at your waist, rucking your shirt up until it’s untucked from your skirt. 

Your fingers are frantic, rushed and uncoordinated as you tug at the buttons of his shirt. He chuckles against your lips as you break away from him. Frowning down at the impossible shirt. Gently, he eases your hands away from him and undoes the buttons himself. 

You’re pleasantly surprised when he takes his shirt off. You knew he had to keep in shape for his roles, but you didn’t expect him to be so fit. He doesn’t let you admire him for long, not ready to be parted from you even for a second. He surges forward, hands clasped tightly around your cheeks and lips devouring your own. 

You fall into the kiss, nails digging into his shoulders as you open your mouth to him. His hands find the bottom of your shirt, gently tugging it up. But you don’t want gentle, don’t have the time for it. Because in the back of your head there is a little voice whispering how wrong this is. 

The longer you wait, the louder it gets. You take your shirt from him, yanking it up and over your head. Then you shimmy out of your skirt and reach for his belt. If he’s surprised by the speed in your movements or the desperation of them he doesn’t say anything. Which you’re grateful for. 

You’re just drunk enough for this to be okay, but if you sober up anymore you’ll leave. You don’t want to leave. You don’t want to feel the guilt. You just want to feel him. 

There’s a brief trip as you both stumble over the clothes littered across the ground. And then you’re falling onto the bed, into each other. You don’t stop kissing him, just beckon him closer with open legs and guide his hips towards yours. 

He parts from you then, backing off and looking like he wants to say something. But you don’t let him. You surge up to kiss him again, drawing him forward until he’s thrusting into you. There’s a stretch, it borders on uncomfortable. But you’ve been waiting for this for so long, for him, that you don’t need much more than him kissing you to be ready. 

Still, the feeling of him inside you borders on too much. All of it is too much, too overwhelming. This aching need inside you to consume him, have him, is nearly painful. It’s almost like a punishment for yourself. You don’t deserve something pure and good and untainted. You deserve this. Deep thrusts that cause you to keen and wince. 

He mumbles praises against your neck, how good you feel, how long he’s wanted this. It almost makes you want to cry. And you don’t know why. You don’t know why this is affecting you so much. But you can’t listen to him anymore. You can’t hear how good you feel when all you feel is dirty and desperate. 

You kiss him again, so you don’t have to look at him or hear him. You just picture yourself being somewhere else. Somewhere where this whole thing isn’t so horrible and you can be happy with him without feeling guilty. 

Your brain numbs, gives into the gentle motion of him moving inside you. The pain disappears and the pleasure builds slowly. In your toes, traveling its way up your legs and squeezing around you until it explodes into something blinding. You let the wave crest and wash you away, forgetting all about what was wrong in the first place. 

You must have fallen asleep at some point. When you wake up, it’s still dark outside and there’s something heavy wrapped around your waist. Your head pounds from the lingering buzz of alcohol that’s quickly fading. 

You look down at Cooper, how peaceful he looks resting against you. You feel something deep and aching building in your gut. You don’t know what it is. Desire, pain? It doesn’t matter. You choke on a sob, covering your mouth so you don’t wake him up as the tears start to pour. 

What the fuck did you just do?

You’re snapped awake by the sound of cussing. Your hands go to the gun resting on your waist but it’s too late. Four men surround you. You tilt your head, taking in their outfits and frowning. Where the hell did they get deputy outfits? Did they raid a Halloween store or something?

The mental image is enough to make you laugh and they don’t take too kindly to that. One of them kneels down in front of you, scowling. “Yur under arrest,” the accent is heavy and only makes you laugh more. 

“Yeah, on whose authority, Spirit Halloween?”

He rips his glasses off and you curl into yourself from how hard you laugh. He glares at you through crossed eyes, “The government.” You're still laughing when they tie a rope around you. Maybe you’ve finally lost it. 

The sun got to you and you’re having a heat stroke. Because even though you’re going from one captor to another, you can’t stop laughing. And it’s not pissing them off anymore. If anything they’re starting to look scared. 

But you can’t bring yourself to care. There’s a manic feeling rising in your chest, ripping through your sternum and suffocating you. You want to cry, you want to laugh or rip out your hair. You don’t know what's happening or what's wrong with you. But clearly they don’t want to deal with it. 

One of them comes up behind you and hits you with the handle of his pistol. There’s a sharp pain and then everything is black. 

“I could leave you here.” Lucy scoffs and glares down at him. It’s hard to hear her, everything around him is swimming. His heart is beating so frantically inside his head he’s sure it’s going to explode. “I should leave you here, after what you did to me.”

She glances around and seems to finally realize her little friend is missing. “Where is she?”

He’s got nothing for her but a wheeze, it’s all he can manage to get out. He’s fighting right now to stay sane. To not see her as anything more than meat or food. She sighs and kneels in front of him. In her hand are three vials of everything he needs right now to live. 

More drool dribbles from his lips and he tries to reach for them but his hand just twitches. Lucy places them in front of his face and stands back up. “Golden rule, motherfucker.” 

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

It’s ironic that that’s what saves him. Her goddamn golden rule is the only thing to keep him tethered to the world of the sane. 

He takes in a deep rasping breath. He forces any strength he has left into his arm and slowly drags it across the dirt. The process of moving is painstaking and nearly futile. He’s at the point of desperation where his body is no longer cooperating with him.

Eventually, he manages to shuffle the vial into his inhaler. One is enough to get his breathing regulated. He needs all three just to get his fingers to twitch when he needs them too. He finally manages to scrape himself off the ground. 

Dirt has buried itself into the grooves of his skin, caked in further by his own drool. He’ll feel disgusted later. Right now, his legs are moving on pure instinct to where he knows more vials wait for him. 

He’ll think of you later. Of your escape. What he’ll do with you will all come later. As soon as he’s had just a little bit more medicine and numbed his brain with other illicit substances. He doesn’t want to think now. Doesn’t want to consider what would have happened if it had been his fate in your hands and not Lucy’s. 

When he wakes up it’s alone. Sun peaks through the curtains and he moves his hand blindly across the bed. When he doesn’t feel anything but a cold sheet he sits up and stares at the spot you once inhabited. 

There’s still a groove where you’d laid, a wrinkle in the sheets is the only sign that you were ever here. He sits up, looking around the room. There’s a little bit of hope that maybe you were just in the shower or hiding somewhere for some odd reason. 

You’re gone, though, clothes picked up off the floor and heels no longer by the door. He sighs, rubbing his chest to soothe the ache. He shouldn’t be disappointed. He should be ashamed. He should be disgusted with himself right now. 

He can’t be, all he feels is this deep aching sadness that he didn’t get the chance to wake up next to you. The drive home is lonely, almost shameful. 

He’d paid for the hotel room, he couldn’t look the man in the eye as he did. All he could think about was you, sneaking out. Running away from him. Why? Were you ashamed?

It was his fault. He knew what he was doing when he invited you to this place. He knew what it meant. But Barb had left and he was lonely in the too big house. He’d just wanted to see you because he knew it would make him feel better. And it did. 

You always made him so much happier. He just doesn’t know why you would leave like that. He gets home, tossing his keys in the bowl by the door and walking into the kitchen. He’s got a lingering headache from the drinks last night and a pain in his stomach from not eating anything. 

He knows he shouldn’t, it’s too early in the day, but he pours himself another drink. He doesn’t know what else to do, doesn’t know how to get you out of his head and the taste of you off his tongue. 

The phone rings beside him and he jumps for it. Maybe it’s you, apologizing for leaving and explaining there was an emergency. Or maybe you’d just left to get breakfast and returned to the room to find him gone. 

“Coop?” His stomach drops and he lets out a heavy sigh. 

There should be some sliver of anxiety that it’s his wife on the other line. He should be worried that she’ll hear the guilt in his voice and know something is wrong. But there's only stark disappointment that it isn’t you. 

He hums, not enough energy to try and speak with her right now. “I’m coming home early. I want to talk, I want to work this out.”

No, she doesn’t. She just wants to keep him under control. She realized if she’d strayed too far that the leash would loosen. He doesn’t bother responding, just hums again then hangs up. He needs to shower and get rid of the smell of your perfume on him. 

He’s reluctant to do it, wanting to hold on to the last bit of you he has. He sighs, runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. 

Why would you leave?

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[outsideratheart]

Can I Ask You a Question? (Alexia Putellas x reader)

A/N: Chapter 3 in the Legacy Series

The sun shon down on the beach in Ibiza. The heat along with the smell of the sea was enough to make you forget about the past and the future. For the past 4 days you had been in the present and it made you feel more at ease than you had done in months. A couple of nights ago you had bumped into some of the Barcelona girls and in Jill’s slightly drunken state she had invited them over to your house for food and drinks. This is something you didn’t fight, in fact you encouraged it stating that you will set up the entire night. All the Spaniards had to do was show up.

Alexia had reached out after the World Cup final and the two of you had been talking ever since and much to your surprise football didn’t get brought up once. It did however bring up feelings that you feared would come but you couldn’t blame yourself the woman was beautiful and getting to know her on a personal level only added to your crush.

“Y/N!” You heard Daan shout from up at the house.

The villa you were staying in was beautiful and owned by a family friend. It had everything you needed: several bedrooms, a huge pool and a private beach. You really had no reason to leave but there’s no way you can come to Ibiza and not venture out to experience the electric night life.

“Coming!” You unbury your feet from the sand before making your way to the house so you can get ready.

Choosing an outfit proved to be a difficult choice. Alexia, in her nervous state, had messaged you earlier in the day asking what she should wear. A couple of hours later she sent you a photo of a dress. It was simple yet you know it would take your breath away once you saw her in it.

As you looked through your wardrobe, which was full, you felt like you had nothing to wear.

You stormed into Jill’s room in frustration. The blonde only laughed at your child like behaviour before reaching into a shopping bag. She help up an olive green silk dress with a low cut front which was borderline on being too low.

“I saw this when we went into town earlier. I thought it would suit you and it will be sure to drive any woman wild, especially Catalonians who you may or may not have a crush on”

“Can you blame me? Alexia is hot, like really hot”

Jill may not have mentioned her name but she saw the way you watched the Spanish woman dance when you bumped in them the other night. She would say you had heart eyes but they were full of lust.

“I thought you weren’t the type to have flings”

“I’m still not”

“Not even a little holiday romance”

“That’s not who I am and you both know that it’s not like I can sleep with her here and not face the consequences when the season starts”

“Wait! What!”

You had been so careful to keep you mouth shut and having told Jill out of all people might come back around to bite you in the arse.

“I mean it could do, if I decide to go there”

Silence filled the room for all of five seconds before Jill changed to the subject and showed you what she planned on wearing for the night. You could only hoped she believed your cover and if not you prayed to the higher powers that she keeps her mouth shut but you knew it was a gamble because Jill had no filter when she drank.

Alexia took one last look in the mirror as she gave herself the once over for the fifth time in last ten minutes. Whenever she came to Ibiza in the past her main aim was to relax and recover in anticipation for the upcoming season but tonight she was willing to let go and have fun. She wasn’t sure what the future held and knowing that this might be the last night she saw you for some time she was planning on making the most of it.

“Ale! do you want a dri—“ Leila comes barging in the room, stopping in her place as she sees her friend standing in the corner, a little uncertain of herself.

“Is it too much?” Alexia felt a little insecure, it wasn’t everyday that she dressed like this.

“Not at all” Leila walked towards her “You look beautiful Alexia. I’m not saying you are but if you are dressing to impress a certain someone then I think this will do the trick”

“You think?”

Leila didn’t tease her captain for admitting she wanted to impress you although she didn’t mentioned you by name. This was uncharted territory for her best friend.

“I know so. Speaking of the Dutch, well not really but still. Lieke has just text me saying that they will be ready in half an hour and for us to get there in about an hour so that the chef can prepare the food”

“Chef?”

“It seems Y/N is pulling out all of the stops. It’s almost like she wants to impress us” Leila raised her eyes playfully and Alexia knew exactly what she was insinuating.

“Leila please do not mention it tonight” it was a warning and Leila showed her understanding by pretending to zip her lips.

You were speaking to the chef when you heard the front door open. You couldn’t know for sure who it was but the butterflies that had suddenly formed in your stomach was a good indication. When you entered the outdoor area which had the makeshift bar, the sight in front of you filled you with happiness. The Dutch and the Spanish together, acting like they were old friends reacquainted.

“Bienvenidos” you join the now double in sized group of football players although only one player has acknowledged your presence.

“Gracias para la invitación” Alexia hands you a drink. She senses your hesitation due to not knowing what was in the glass “I saw Lieke make it”

You were in the clear. The drinks Lieke made are safe, you can have a few and still stand. You other team mates on the other hand well they preferred alcohol percentage over taste.

Not before long you were called over for dinner. The long table held just enough seats to fit everyone and unlike the other nights spent at it, you choose against sitting at the head of the table. Whether it was on purpose or not, one side held the Dutch and the other sat the Spanish with Alexia sitting directly opposite you.

At first you thought the language barrier might be an issue but you soon find that everyone has agreed to speak English, as broken as it may be. The first course is served and the whole table settles into a comfortable silence as they savour the meal prepared for them.

“What?” You whisper as you see Alexia looking at you whilst she takes a sip of her wine.

“Nada, I mean nothing” Alexia corrects herself but the smirk that tugs at her lips lets you know her mind is far from being empty.

That’s how the next half an hour or so went. You and Alexia stole glances when you thought the other wasn’t watching only to get caught in the end. It filled your head with thoughts that you had tried to bury deep over the past couple of days or if you’re being honest ever since you met her at the seaside restaurant in Barcelona. Now whilst her execution was poor that night, she did show just how much she want you to play for Barcelona and her clear passion for the team reminded you of that same passion your father had.

You were in the middle of a stare off, the only words spoken with your eyes. Oh her eyes, the hazel orbs which looked perfect as the sun hit them at the right angle.

“Señorita Cruyff” a member of the chef’s team politely taps you on your shoulder.

You couldn’t know for sure how long she had been standing there or if she had been trying to get your attention but the look of the other women at the table told that this wasn’t the time time she had called your name.

“¿Quieres más vino con el plato principal?”

All eyes are on you with your Dutch team mates not knowing what the woman was saying and the Spanish waiting to jump in.

“Sí. Por favor traiga lo que recomienda”

And with that the woman leaves you be but when you turn your attention back to the table you are met with eyes that hold something you don’t recognise. They had never heard you speaking Spanish before and even though you had a Dutch accent when you spoke Dutch and English, the Spanish one you had when speaking Spanish was almost native.

“I forgot she’s Spanish” Patri explains your fluent Spanish to her friends.

Whilst Patri was correct you always saw yourself as Dutch because that is where your family is from. The only time your place of birth got brought up was when you were chosen to play at a senior national level. You had only ever played for The Netherlands youth team but when the time came to chose a senior team Spain came calling but it never got passed a phone call. Your father played for the Netherlands and so would you, there was nothing more to discuss.

“She’s Dutch” Jill corrects her “it’s bad enough you get to play with her all season, you don’t get to have her for international break too” she says the last part under her breath but you still can’t believe she said it out loud at all.

“Jill!” You scold her hoping that only you and her had heard what she said.

“Sorry”

Just like the rest of the night you turn you attention back to the person sitting opposite you only to find her watching but hopefully not listening to the discussion taking place between you and your best friend.

In a split second you decide the best approach is to imagine that she was none the wiser.

“You seem to be having a good time in Ibiza” with anyone else this could be classed as small talk yet with Alexia it didn’t feel this way.

“I always do. My favourite day so far have been the boat trip we went on yesterday”

“Those are my favourite days too”

“Yeah Y/N loved the photos you posted it. She was a big fan of your bikini” Daan added from her place down the table.

A deep blush flushed your cheeks as you get all but outed by the brunette. Your trail of thought shifts as you remember the photos in question, there were five in total but it was the third one that caught your eye the post. Alexia posed against the railings of the boat wearing nothing but a bikini. The way she posed showed off her toned body enough to fill your mind with less than innocent thoughts.

“You did?” Alexia, for the first time since meeting you, felt like she had the upper hand.

“The bikini—it erm—verdomme“ you finished what was left in your wine glass “You looked hot, beautiful in fact”

You could tell the entire table was enjoying seeing you flustered but you wasn’t a fan. Not when the woman who played a huge part, yet did very little, was sitting in front of you. Wanting to remove yourself from the centre of attention you stand to leave but Alexia reaches over the table and grabs your hand.

“You can’t leave now. The main course is coming” Alexia used her other hand to point behind you where low and behold there was in fact servers bringing out the next course of food.

Vulnerable. That is how you felt as you ate your food. Alexia was now aware how you saw her, you only found a little bit of peace knowing that she didn’t know just how beautiful you found her.

Once all courses had been served and dated you politely excused yourself making sure to take your glass of wine with you. You wasn’t exactly sure where you were going but you knew that the glass of red would be needed.

Alexia watched as you walked away. At first she thought you would go back into the house for whatever reason but instead she sees you walk towards the edge of the grounds the house sat on, unaware of what it lead to.

She tried to include herself in her friends, and yours, conversation but it was to no use. Her focus remained on you even though you were no longer in site. There was a lot she wanted to say to you, even more so with what she had learnt in the last hour or two. When the barcelona captain sees one of the bartenders bringing out the last couple of bottles of wine she is quick to swipe one and go in search of you.

There was something about water that made you happy. Maybe it had something to do with memories of walking along the canals of Amsterdam with the your father when you would take the family dog for a walk or how the entire Cruyff family could spend the whole day at the beach in Barcelona yet still want to go back and do it all over again the next day. As you got older you came to the conclusion that it’s because the ocean makes you feel small and it puts your life into perspective. You would spend hours looking out at the never ending water whilst letting you mind run wild.

“Care for a top up?” The voice makes you jump but your heart beat soon returns to its natural pace when you see the who had spoken.

“Please” you hold your empty glass up.

Alexia uses the action as a way to sit next to you without it being a big deal. The two of you slip into a silence with the only audible sound coming from your friends back at the house.

“So I’m beautiful huh?”

You let out a groan at Alexia’s teasing because that’s what is was and you both knew it.

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“We could talk about what Jill said?”

“I take it back. I’d rather talk about your beauty”

Funnily enough Alexia didn’t have much to say at your compliment. When you said she was beautiful at the table she thought it was just something you said to please the table but now it was just the two of you, surely you meant it.

“Can I ask you a question?”

You hesitantly nod.

“Have you talked to anyone about it?” She needed need to be specific, you knew what she meant by it.

It was a good question. Apart from Aitana, you hadn’t really talked to anyone about your move. You knew that you could trust Lieke but she played for Barcelona and as your best friend you thought she would be biased but at the same time no one knew more about your struggles. You didn’t want to talk about moving to Barcelona with your family but the reasons why you didn’t want to would only bring up emotions that you had all tried desperately to bury as unhealthy as that may be.

“I’ll take that as a no”

You took a large sip of your wine before you try to explain the thoughts that have been keeping you up at night.

“It’s hard”

“When you came to the match it —“

“Was the first time back since it happened, yes” by cutting her off you stopped her from saying the words.

You could already feel your breathing building at a rapid pace and like any other time this happened you hands began shaking in suit although you had learned to control that or hide it, at least that’s what you thought. When you feel Alexia take your hand in hers you realise that it must have been obvious.

“The club meant a lot to him and I don’t think I could handle—“

“The pressure” now it was Alexia who attempted to finish your sentence only she got it all wrong.

“His presence”

“I lost my dad a few years ago” Alexia knew that she was asking you to open up to her, someone who was closer to a stranger than she was a friend. Hopefully if she shared a little bit of her pain that you would feel comfortable to do the same “I know I don’t wear his name on the back of my shirt but it is his family name that gets said when I win an award. I understand what it’s like to live your life hoping to do someone proud when they can never tell you themselves”

“He always wanted me to play for Barcelona. He said that is where I will play the football that I am destined to play”

“I think he’s right” Ever since the meeting where she learned you would be leaving Ajax she couldn’t help but think about what the two of you could achieve together. The team was a perfect fit for you but she couldn’t make you move there. Right now she would settle for being your sounding board.

“Of course you do. If he is right and I do what he wanted then I come to Barcelona. That has been you aim from day one” the look you give Alexia lets her know you are playing and trying to get a rise of our her yet she cannot help but bite.

“I was out of line but I can’t sit here and say that I don’t want to come play for us because that would be a lie. This is your decision and you have to do what is best for you. I know that whenever I go back to Mollet my heart is heavier and I can’t imagine facing that everyday but I know what it’s like. The thing about Barcelona is we aren’t only a team, we are a family. You will never be alone on your bad days, I know this because I never am”

“Alexia” you could feel your nose begin to tingle as your emotions rose to the surface. In this moment she wasn’t appealing to the player, she was talking to Y/N the girl whose heart broke in 2016 and had been in pieces ever since.

“I have an idea” Alexia eyes light up “I leave Ibiza the day after tomorrow and I have a couple of days before we need to prepare for the WICC cup in Portland, I’m guessing you have a few days left off too. Come to Barcelona, don’t tell anyone but come. I’ll show you around and give you a taste of what life could be like off the pitch because that is when you will really see the city”

The Catalonian waited in anticipation, worrying that she may have crossed a line but she couldn’t help herself. The thought of you moving to Barcelona felt more like a reality and to say she was excited would be an understatement.

“Can I take a rain check?”

You physically saw her face drop in disappointment.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I got ahead of myself, I shouldn’t have said anything. I think it’s best I leave” Alexia hastily stood up. She was embarrassed and didn’t want to stick around to face a rejection.

“Alexia” you stood up just as quick as she did and grabbed her hand, stopping her from walking any further “I have to go home to Amsterdam tomorrow. I have some meetings that I cannot reschedule but I would love to see Barcelona though your eyes whether I move or not”

Not only had you given Alexia something to look forward to. You had told her that you wanted to see her again regardless of your decision and that was enough to make the risk of opening up to you worth it.

The two of you finish the bottle of wine whilst admiring the view before rejoining your friends who in your absence had managed to drink the left over wine and move onto the cocktails and shots. Yet another moment where you shown a scenario that could become a regular occurrence.

You left Ibiza the following morning lighter than you had felt in months because the impending question of Barcelona or Arsenal was no longer looming over you.

A decision had been made.