SALTWATER SAINTS.
prologue: this cursed town.
jock!male!oc x male!reader
next chapter: prologue ii
series masterlist
will i ever finish a project before starting another on an impulse? probably not. this one’s been rotting in the corner of my mind for months now (I even made a pinterest board for this universe), so i decided to write it down.
imagine small town vibes, your brother’s best friend, the golden boy of the town (who is the vice captain of the school’s basketball team), being so down bad for you (final boss of avoiding people, and a future film student wants to leave town) and ruining all your future plans (unknowingly), following you around like an incessant, kicked puppy? yeah, that’s basically this story.
warnings: fixed last name for reader. but nothing else yet! this will be a bit more sweet and fluffier compared to my other works.
Ashford was a cursed town, that much was certain. Everyone who took their first breath in the damned place took their last breath inhaling the same salty air, as if the ocean itself had a retention policy. The population hadn’t changed in something years—no one could ever agree how many, because Ashford High stopped teaching statistics after three different teachers quit mid-semester and drove straight out of town, never to be seen again. Babies were born, people died, and somehow the math still refused to budge. Ashford didn’t grow. It simply… persisted. Like mold. Or a bad rumour. Or that one substitute teacher who smelled like cigarettes and despair.
Y/N Adler had clocked this early, the way some kids learned multiplication or God. He learned stagnation. He learned it in the peeling paint of the movie theater that only played remastered classics and never anything new. He learned it in the way teachers spoke about opportunities elsewhere with a tone that suggested they’d missed theirs. Ashford was a place that raised you gently and then sat on your chest until you stopped trying to breathe.
Y/N refused to stop.
He occupied the back row of every classroom like a permanent shadow, hood up, legs stretched too far into the aisle, notebook open to pages that were never what the syllabus required. His notes were scripts, half-scenes, scraps of dialogue stolen from overheard conversations.
Observations sharpened into weapons. He didn’t want to be seen here. He wanted to be watching, recording, someday reframing Ashford as a cautionary tale with better lighting and a bitterly accurate soundtrack. Film school. Writing. Anything that involved leaving this place and never looking back except to mine it for material.
Then there was Leon.
Leon Adler, identical twin in bone structure only, captain of the basketball team, beloved local hero, proof that Ashford did, in fact, reward compliance. Leon thrived here. He wore Ashford like it was tailored for him— broad shoulders, easy grin, future already outlined in pep rallies and alumni newsletters. Y/N loved his brother in the resigned way one loves gravity. Leon was unavoidable. Leon was everything Y/N wasn’t, and that was fine. Y/N had made peace with that.
What he hadn’t made peace with was Ezra Reese.
Ezra Reese, vice-captain of the basketball team, golden retriever incarnate, human embodiment of you good, man?—and, cruelly, Y/N’s brother Leon’s best friend. Ezra was everything Y/N was not: tall in a way that felt intentional, like he’d decided to grow into someone impossible to ignore. He laughed with his whole body. He listened like it mattered. Ezra had hazel eyes that lingered, soft and curious, and smiling like life had personally promised him a sequel. He had a habit —an infuriating habit— of slinging an arm around Y/N’s shoulders in the hallways, of leaning down to murmur dumb jokes during lunch, of looking at Y/N like he’d just said something clever even when he absolutely hadn’t.
Ezra had always been friendly. That was the worst part. Friendly could be dismissed. Friendly could be rationalized. Except lately, Ezra’s friendliness had developed… texture. Hands that stayed a second too long. A casual arm slung over Y/N’s shoulders in the hallway, like it belonged there. A lean-in during lunch, voice low, asking what Y/N was writing, like the answer wasn’t none of your business, please stop existing so loudly.
The first time Y/N caught the look—warm, open, almost hopeful—he nearly tripped over his own feet and had to pretend it was intentional. The second time, Ezra guided him through a crowded gym with a hand at his lower back, easy and protective, and Y/N spent the rest of the day acutely aware of his own pulse. It was horrifying. It was inconvenient. It was deeply unfair. Because Y/N was not built for distractions.
He was built for leaving.
Yet there Ezra was, showing up everywhere like a narrative device Y/N hadn’t approved. Sitting too close on the bleachers. Smiling like Y/N was funny when he was being objectively unpleasant. Looking at him like Ashford wasn’t a dead end, like Y/N was already something worth staying for.
Leon noticed nothing. Leon noticed rebounds, free throws, and whether the team bus smelled weird. Y/N watched his brother laugh with Ezra, watched Ezra’s eyes drift back to him every time, and felt the town tighten its grip. Final year. Final chance. And Ashford, petty and ancient and cruel, had chosen its weapon well.
Y/N hated that it worked.
Hated that the town felt less unbearable with Ezra around. Hated that the idea of leaving now came with an asterisk. Hated that for the first time in his life, Ashford wasn’t just a place he wanted to escape—but something that might, if he wasn’t careful, convince him to stay.
so, there we go! my babies, actually. my favorite trope— avoidant loser x golden retriever. ashford is gonna be a series, there’s just too many characters to explore: we have our resident and tired english teacher at the school, the owner of the bakery, leon adler, our skater boy, the town detective, etc!
