#lovestruck fanfiction

[stolenoc]

Villainous Nights Fanfiction

Like fully two years ago I started writing a Villainous Nights AU where MC got recruited by Optimus before the Syndicate found her. I've stopped writing it, but I've always liked this scene and I'm sick of scrolling past it in my wips and being sad it won't be used, so here it is.

3500 words, MC x Juliette (Monarch & Bat too, I guess)

When I glance at the screen, it's to find an incoming call from one of my contacts- specifically, from Bat.

I'd be the first to admit I've been pretty forgetful lately- How could I not be? Thanks to all the hit and run attacks the Syndicate have been making lately, I’ve been basically working nonstop. I’m tired in a way that sleeping doesn’t even fix but, even so, I’m pretty sure I would remember saving one of the guys who are trying to kill me as a contact.

Did he like, hack into my phone and add this? Is that a thing you can do? I guess it's probably a thing he can do. His name is listed as "Bat- Just wanna talk", which is… well, it’s in character for him, if nothing else. He does like to talk.

After taking a quick, guilty glance around to make sure I'm mostly alone (I'm not strictly sure if I'd be allowed to accept calls from the people the company is actively at war with), I answer the phone, heart pounding in my ears.

"Hey, Monarch," says Bat, even now sounding as awkwardly, inappropriately casual as ever.

I scoff. It's an angry sound, and I realise that I am angry. How dare he know who I am? We had such a good thing going, the Syndicate and I. It was like a game- A high stakes game that sometimes resulted in broken bones but, you know. It felt like there was respect there.

"You might as well just use my real name," I say, and it comes out as a growl through my gritted teeth. "What's this about, dude? Just trying to scare me? Because congrats, yeah, it's working."

A sudden intake of breath. Then, "No- no, Monarch, uh... Lana. This isn't a threat- okay so, in retrospect? I can see how this-"

"Oh, it's not a threat?" I hiss. "That's funny, because I am feeling exceptionally threatened. I swear, Bat, if the Syndicate goes after my-"

"The Syndicate doesn't know who you are, Lana!" he says, cutting me off. "I do. Just me. I haven't told anyone else. I really do want to talk, just the two of us."

Well. Okay. That shuts me up. I take a moment- there's just a lot to unpack with that. Bat knows who I am, and is calling me "just to talk", and wants to keep the rest of the Syndicate out of it. I... can probably work with this.

Toning down the aggression a notch, I say, "So, what is this, then? Are you looking for a job, Bat? Should I put you through to HR? There’s a couple positions open, actually."

I regret making the joke instantly- that particular wound’s still pretty raw for me- but Bat does laugh. He says, "No, I'm good, thanks. And I'm no turncoat- the Syndicate knows I'm calling you, just not who you are."

"Wait, so you're saying that they know that you know- and they're okay with you keeping it a secret?" I ask, dubiously. "Even Murderpants McKnifeguy?"

Bat snorts. He says, "They're... well, they can't do much about it, really. I'm kinda irreplaceable? They love me for my big genius brain and stuff. But yes, Falcon is extremely pissed."

"Yeah, I bet."

"It helps that I'm kinda keeping away from them, also," he admits. "Full disclosure? Everyone's shouting at me today, it completely blows. But that's not why I'm calling you."

Even though every suspicious instinct Optimus drilled into me is telling me to hang up, to go tell Rene or someone about the intrusion, to run screaming to Juliette's apartment to make sure she's okay, I have the strangest urge to just give Bat a chance.

It's true that he's always seemed a little different to the rest of his team. He rarely makes an appearance in person, and only seems to fight under sufferance- he's treated almost like a consultant. Could he have different goals? Goals that don't involve spearing me with ice lances or burying me under tons of rock?

I say, "Okay, I'll bite. What's this about?"

"I'd like to meet with you in person," he says, after a long moment of hesitation. He quickly amends, "In costume, obviously. Both of us. We can make it look like an accident during one of your patrols."

Oh, that sounds safe. I ask, "What's wrong with talking over the phone? And also, why would I keep this a secret from Optimus?"

"I want to give you something, and I need to make sure you actually get it," he says, then he chuckles a little nervously. "And as for the secret thing… You don't have to, but I'll be meeting you alone. Ideally, Scarlet Brighid won't show up and break my spine. I'd like it if we could both trust each other, here."

Ironically, the grisly description helps me relax. He's not wrong- even if he's lying through his teeth, I'm the one with the army of megacorp superheroes as backup. But if he's telling the truth… No, I can’t risk letting Scarlet show up to do her thing. Enemy or not, I don't want the man dead.

And so, just under an hour later, I make a tiny alteration to my patrol path, with Rene's permission. I started a little late, so I'm in a little bit of a rush- the second I cut the connection with Bat, I called Juliette to make certain that she was completely fine and un-kidnapped, and I ended up soaking in the reassurance of her voice for a bit longer than I should have. I wanted so badly to just tell her why I was freaking out, but...

Well. Lying to her sucks, but lying to Rene is starting to come pretty naturally. The trick is tying the lie to something vague that they can't reasonably predict- for example, it's easy for me to just tell them that I'm 'checking out some unusual activity' as I pass the location that Bat specified, a construction site that's nice and quiet. 

It's a tall building, probably fated to be some big office space once the walls are filled in and the scaffolding ends up wherever scaffolding goes after it's finished its job. I could use it to climb to our meeting point, on the building's roof- but flying is only getting easier with each day of training. It's getting to the point that I might just stop walking altogether.

It only takes a minute, and I'm touching down on- not actually on a roof, exactly, because there's pillars sticking up all over the floor that are clearly intended to eventually hold up a ceiling. I resolve to think of it as the ‘top floor’, rather than ‘the roof.’ 

Bat's already waiting for me, far away from the building’s edge- and he's not looking so good.

"Bat? You doing alright?" I ask, feeling unexpectedly concerned as I jog to his side. He's bent over double, panting audibly even through the mask. He holds up his hands as I approach, as though to fend me off.

"I'm... good..." he says, between desperate huffs of air. "Just... just got here, too... Underestimated... hah... how long it'd take to... to climb all those stairs…"

He looks up at me, still breathing heavily. His digital faceplate displays an emoticon I haven't seen him use before- a pained expression, with a semicolon sweatdrop running down its face. 

It's only then that it really clicks with me that Bat's just.. some guy. An extremely smart 'just some guy', granted, one with an interesting power and access to a lot of very cool toys, but he's not like Scarlet, or even Marquis. He's not like the rest of the Syndicate. He's not like me. I could flatten him to paste right here, right now, without even breaking a sweat.

I swallow, hard. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to me before now that just having powers doesn’t by itself turn you into a superhero, or supervillain. When, then, had I made the change from ‘just some girl’ to ‘Monarch’?

Welp, that's a thought for the vault. I just say, flatly, "The Syndicate could really use a flier or two, huh?"

"Oh you have no idea," he says, finally straightening up. His faceplate displays anger, now, but his tone is joking as he says, "You have it so easy, you know that? You never have to touch a stair again."

"Eh, flying has its ups and downs," I say, and even stressed as I am, I can't help but giggle when Bat's faceplate goes completely blank in protest. I have to admit, he's always fun. I say, “And you seriously didn’t bring the whole gang with you?”

He looks around, demonstratively holding out his hands. “I’m the only one here, right? Paranoid much?”

The flippant response really bothers me, for some reason, and I feel that spike of anger again. I say, bitterly, “Well, I guess I have reason to be paranoid. Apparently, I’m awful at keeping secrets. For all I know, my real name is gonna be trending tomorrow.”

He swaps his digital emotion again, this time signifying laughter- but he doesn’t laugh, himself. God, I bet you could write a book on the nuances of Bat’s expressions. He says, “You? No way. You’re great at secrets."

Then, after a beat, he continues, "That is, uh- I peeped your social stuff, you know- Facebook, Twitter, Yelp reviews, etcetera. You look so normal it’s boring.”

“Then how-”

“It was, um. Kinda an accident, honestly,” he says, displaying a blush. “Don’t tell anyone, but I work at Optimus-”

“You work- what?” I interject, dumbfounded. “No, you don’t. At this point, I’m willing to bet cash that Optimus is tracking my periods- you’re not hiding nightly corporate sabotage from them.”

“Hey, does it bother you a little that your opinion of Optimus has gotten so low that you just automatically assume they’re committing unforgivable violations of privacy?”

“It bothers me plenty,” I admit, with a shrug. “It sucks, but that’s corporations for you.”

Bat shakes his head. “Wild. Anyway, I don’t get screened, for the same reason Scarlet Brighid doesn’t get screened. I’m above suspicion.”

That’s absolutely terrifying. I say, “If that’s true, then you’d have to be a board member, or something. Couldn’t you just talk to me directly?”

A big X flashes on the faceplate. Bat says, "Negative. If you think being high on the food chain means nobody will try to eat you, then you’re not suspicious enough. Case in point: I bet you didn’t even know about all the mics on your suit.”

I blink.

"My what?" I ask, genuinely mystified. "Bat, I don't have a-"

"You have thirteen microphones on you right now- I’ve been jamming them since before I called you."  Bat cuts me off, and starts pointing at seemingly random parts of my costume. "There, there, there- that zipper there’s actually got a camera in it, not that Optimus would ever use the footage for transparency-"

I bat his hand away, irritated now. I've trusted him this far, but he could easily be just talking out of his ass. I just say, "I'm still on Optimus's side, Bat, even if they're invasive and weird. If you've called me here with the exact same 'Oh, Optimus is totally evil, trust us instead' pitch Wolf’s always trying on me, then I’m gonna get back to work."

"No, that's fine. I'm not asking you to trust my word," he says easily, before pulling something out of the pouch at his waist. It's a lanyard- the same style that important guests at Optimus tend to wear. Hanging from it is a keycard. He holds it out to me, and the card dangles there between us. "I'm asking you to trust this."

I take it, and rotate it in my hands. It's just plain white plastic- I have an identical card in one of my own pouches, since Optimus doesn't exactly go around writing things like 'SECRET SUB-LEVEL SIX ACCESS' on its keycards. I ask, dubiously, "And this tells me... what? Why do I want this?"

A cheeky smile lights across Bat's faceplate. He says, "You know how I'm sorta just, all up in Optimus's business? All the time?"

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, you're super cool. You've aged Paris Optima about twenty years with all the hacking, by the way, she hates you the most."

"Ah." The smile fades, replaced by a blank darkness. "Ouch. But um, anyway, I've read most of your chat logs with her-"

"Creepy."

"-and I know you've been cautioned, repeatedly, for asking about a particular room on Basement Level 10. It's down the end of a long hallway, no number on the door? Is that ringing any bells?"

At some point I started gripping that keycard very, very tight. I look down at it now, and feel my pulse quicken with equal parts excitement and dread. I say, "You're kidding, right? Not even Scarlet Brighid gets in there, she told me herself."

"Optimas only," Bat breathes it like a prayer. He's looking at the keycard very intently- or at least, I guess he is. His face is kinda angled towards it? "All-access- or at least, close enough. The right person could do a lot of damage with that keycard."

It was pretty obviously the wrong thing to say, and the way he straightens right back up tells me he realises that too. I pocket the card, then say, shaking my head, "You know what, you're probably right. If this belongs to an Optima, I need to take it to one. Like right now."

"Lana, wait, listen-"

"Where did you even get it?" I demand, taking a step back, wary of any sudden lunges. "No, don't answer that. Do you have any idea how much trouble I'd get in if I was caught using some bigwig's access card, Bat?"

He holds out his hands, placating. His faceplate stays blank, but I can hear something like panic in his voice as he says, "Yes, yes, I do- but I don't think you do, Lana, that's the problem-"

"It's not a big mystery, my guy! I'd get fired!" 

"Fired?" Bat asks, with a laugh of disbelief. "They're not gonna- do you seriously think Optimus would fire you? The woman who can fight the entire Syndicate to a standstill on her own? You're irreplaceable, too."

Despite myself, I feel my face heat up at that description. I say, "That's... obviously a bit of an exaggeration." 

"No, it isn't." In another context, those words might be an encouragement, or flattery- but Bat says them grimly, like he just thinks it's very unfortunate for me. "But that doesn't mean you're safe from them, it just means they have some other way to control you.”

I don't know what to say to that, so we just... stand there, staring warily at each other. I've heard enough to know I should just turn around and hop right back off the building, but... something in what Bat just said jolts out an old, forgotten memory. What was it that Marquis had said? Something about Optimus wrapping around you like a parasitic vine, controlling your every movement? I doubt she meant it literally, but…

Well, even if I've been acting the part in front of the Syndicate, I'm not just some corporate bootlicker. I said I trust 'Optimus', but that's not really true. I trust people in Optimus, the ones I know. I trust Rene, and I trust Scarlet. I trust Juliette, too, more than anything. If I rotate the thought around in my mind, I can even say that investigating the company isn't really betraying those people- really, I'd just be finding proof that the company deserves them. Right?

Or maybe I'm just looking for excuses to go somewhere I've been told I can't. I think that might be it.

Bat doesn't seem to mix well with silence. He buckles under the pressure, first by plastering a few new emotions on his faceplate (He settles on a tonally inappropriate smiley face- I guess this is how he forces a smile?), and then by saying, in a rush, "Look, if you're worried about getting caught, don't be. I'd be right there with you, and I can delete you from any logs you end up in."

I quirk an eyebrow. "You'll be with me?" I ask, doubtfully. 

"I mean, uh. Digitally. You know. I'll be monitoring you, and inside the system," he says, and his mask becomes a blushy face. "And if what you find in that room doesn't convince you to listen, then... well, then we're done, I guess. But I wouldn't be here if I wasn't confident."

He closes the distance between us, and I let him. He holds out a gloved hand, and asks, "Whaddaya say? Frenemies?"

That's the last little nudge I need, and I won't pretend the fact that Bat's being a huge dork about this has nothing to do with it- I have a soft spot for dorks, as it happens. I clasp the proffered hand tight.

"Frenemies," I repeat, and we shake on that promise. A happy, pointless little thought occurs to me, and I say, “You know, if we’re ever not actively on opposite sides of a corporate war, there’s someone I’d really like to introduce you to.”

The handshake lingers, though not uncomfortably- this moment of truce is a soothing balm to the months of fighting each other, and I don’t think either of us want to be the one to end it. Plus, you know. I like Bat. We can hold hands a little if we want.

Finally, Bat’s faceplate changes- an angry face, again, though it doesn’t remotely match the cheer in his voice as he exclaims, “We’ve been frenemies for ten seconds and you’re already setting me up with someone? Is he at least cute!?”

“You have no idea,” I say, through a laugh. I let the hand drop, and fix the bright LEDs in Bat's mask with a stern glare. "But look, Bat, this isn't going to work twice. If this is just some kind of trick, I’ll…well, I won’t like you anymore.”

I meant it as a joke. There’s really nothing else I could do to him, revenge wise, or at least nothing I’d also be willing to do. And yet, Bat's response is completely sincere, his voice contrasting with the goofy, unchanged expression on his faceplate as he responds, “I know. I hope you can at least believe me when I say that I really, genuinely, do not want that.”

...Then he does change it, into a winky face, which kills the mood a little. I huff out a laugh and say, “Yeah, whatever, man. Listen, I have to go- they’re gonna wonder what I’m looking at.”

I take a few backward steps towards the edge of the roof (the building’s ‘top floor’, I correct myself internally), as Bat replies, “Yeah, it’s been a hot minute. When do you wanna do this?”

My foot lands on scaffolding, and I lean to take a peek over the edge of the building. It’s a long drop to the construction site below, maybe thirty floors. I say, “No time like the present, I guess. I’ve still got my patrol to finish- will you know when I’ve started?”

Bat shoots me a thumbs up. He says, “I can patch into your comm earpiece no problem, so we’ll be able to talk. Give me an hour, then just say 'hey'. We can go from there.”

I look at him a little dubiously. I have no idea where the dude lives, but just getting up here almost knocked him out. Could he even climb down and then get back to his secret bat-cave in time for that?

I gesture over my back with a thumb, and ask, “Do you, uh- do you want a lift down?”

He laughs, sounding just a little uncomfortable. Arms crossed, he says, “Um, no, I’m okay actually. Thanks.”

I insist, “You’re gonna have to climb all the way down. I can get you there in like ten seconds.”

“Or in like, one second…” he mutters, and he hesitantly joins me over at the edge. He takes a peek down at the street below, and shivers. “God, how do you do that?”

“It was scary at first,” I admit. I don’t mention that I still haven’t stopped having those nightmares where my power stops working mid flight and I plummet to the ground, because I’m not sure if that'd be much of a comfort. I step off the edge of the building, where I do not fall, but instead do a languorous midair twirl to face him (I can admit to showing off a little). I say, “Come on, you’ve seen me catch rocks big enough I think they technically count as continents. I can carry two people.”

Bat says, dryly, “Yeah, don't get Badger started on that. She says that fighting you just boils down to us finding fun new ways to give you ammunition.”

“What was it you said? You hope we can trust each other?” I ask, cutting through his nervous snark. I hold out my hand. "I’m not gonna make you, but- look, do you really think I’d just let you fall?”

"I know you wouldn't," he said, and he takes my hand, holding it tight.

[the-kr8tor]

Hi my love 🤭

I'm pretty sure that Christmas doesn't exist in the Arcane universe so maybe a NYE event of sorts featuring Ekko and Reader?

They're either decorating or preparing some fireflies-fireworks. And while Ekko tries to hide his feelings for you, the fireflies around him keep turning into hearts behind his back! They aren't helping at all!

The end is up to you! I know you'll rock it 🥳

Thank you for the request, pookie!! I hope you like it ☺️❤️❤️

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), R has nicknames, cw food mentions, cw alcohol mention, cw injury mention, established relationship, best friends to lovers (speed run edition), love confession, lovestruck! Ekko, firelight! Reader, fluff!

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The entire hideout is busy, firelights running around, trying to get everything together before the sun sets. But it's not for some operation to bust a shimmer delivery or to keep some chem barons out of their territory— no, it's for something more festive. An occasion that's more happy that entails some alcohol, twinkling lights, greasy food and most of all great company. Ekko stares fondly at you from across the hideout as he thinks that your presence is his favourite. But Ekko doesn't let it show, or he hopes it's not noticeable.

His hands busy themselves with the wires needed to light up the lanterns. Fingers mindlessly twist around the red wires, but his eyes are nowhere near it. He looks at you as the orange glow of the sun bathes you in its light. Skin shining under it, smile blindingly bright as you grin at a fellow firelight who's helping you hang the rainbow streamers. It was your idea to celebrate the new year all without using loud fireworks since it would give away the hideout's position. In place of the traditional firework celebration, you've suggested sparklers and lanterns that people would tuck their wishes in before letting the paper lanterns go. The lanterns’ hot air would stop just before it reaches the top of the tree so that it doesn't escape the hideout.

With the help of Ekko's genius, and your expert pyrotechnics, the firelights can finally celebrate the festivities properly all without being worried of giving their location away. And with the help of the entire commune, preparing food, putting up decorations and setting up the table, it's all going according to plan.

Ekko thinks that you two make a great team. He can't help but smile at your back as you stand on your tiptoe to reach a tree branch. His oversized jacket looks great on you. He draped it over you this morning after he saw you walk out with a flimsy jacket when the chill in the air has turned into the negatives. You haven't shoved it off, he even pretended not to see you cuddle close to it whenever a breeze passes by.

You stand precariously on a ladder, body stretched up high. He sighs, looking like a lovelorn schoolboy. All the years of knowing you and having feelings for you, he has never felt like this, as if his heart is about to burst out of his chest and jump away towards your hands. He blames all the quiet nights you two have spent together planning the celebration. His mind keeps going back to the small moments where your knee would nudge his own, shoulders kissing his, and eyes aglow under his work lamp as you stare softly at him.

He jumps when he suddenly felt a spark on his fingertips. Following the electric shock, there's loud laughter around him.

With narrowed eyes, he finds the source. “What was that for?” Ekko asks Scar, nose scrunching up at his right hand man, whose finger was just pressing on the on switch. The others are holding in their laughter when Ekko glances at them.

“You were ogling.” Scar says with a teasing smirk.

“I wasn't.” Ekko goes back to connecting the wires, realising that he has forgotten to put on his gloves before working because he was staring at you from the get go. “I was making sure she doesn't fall.”

“From all the way over here?” Scar raises a pierced brow, eyes glinting with playfulness. Ekko blames Scar's light heartedness to the sweet mocktails a firelight concocted for the occasion.

“Shut up.” Ekko clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he pretends to finish up the wires.

“Sure.” Scar hums whilst there's snickering around him. Some even make kissing noises behind his back. They're lucky he's in a good mood or he'll send them to patrol the area instead.

“This one's done.” Ekko practically shoves the lantern in Scar's arms. He was caught in the act, but he'll be damned if he shows his flustered state.

“The next batch is near her by the way.” Scar leans to whisper, “you're within catching distance if she falls.”

Ekko's in a forgiving mood, and he can't keep hiding his clammy hands from everyone. So with a slight shove at Scar and quickly snatching his gloves, he makes his way towards you.

You heard his almost silent footfalls that's oh so familiar before you could even take a peek at him. “Hey, bossman, how're the lanterns?”

“Didn't I tell you to stop calling me that?” He looks up at you, hand stabilizing the ladder while you stretch yourself further up.

“The meaning of the nickname was lost on me years ago, Ekko.” You glance down, smiling sweetly at him. Unbeknownst to you, the sun shines directly behind you, giving you a heavenly aura as he sighs and grips the ladder tightly from the sight. “Besides, I'm used to it. It's a cute nickname.”

“Yeah, suits you, bossman.” Scar adds from way across the hideout. Ekko almost throws a light bulb at him, it would've hit him dead on.

Scar and those big ass ears of his. With a roll of Ekko's eyes, he turns back towards a giggling you, and his brown eyes immediately turn soft.

“Aren't you supposed to be making the sparklers?” Ekko can't help but give you a gentle smile as you tilt your head at him.

“Ah, now I remember why I call you bossman.” You take a few steps down to level with him. Leaning on a step, chin pressed atop your elbow, you meet with his brown eyes. “Finished it a few hours ago with some help from Vi.” Your eyes dart down at his hands, blinking at his slightly singed fingertips. You take his hand worryingly as his eyes zero in on your hand bracelet around his wrist. “What happened?” The pad of your thumb ghost over it carefully.

“I'm surprised Vi didn't set anything on fire.” He looks at your face while you stare with concern at his minor injury. “The thing suddenly turned on.” He's hoping that you can't feel his rapid pulse under your hand.

“What?” You almost break your neck at how fast you look at him. “We made the right calculations—”

“It's fine.” Ekko turns the table, hand reaching up to your elbow, cupping it gently. Your breath hitches in your throat, he notices, making him gulp down his nerves. His hand moves away in case you're uncomfortable from the touch, but you take his hand before he could fully leave your side. His heart leaps in his chest, anymore movement and it'll finally escape into your hands.

“I'm fine, trouble.” He squeezes your hand once, eyes darting quickly at your intertwined hands to remember it by.

“You sure?” Thumb running along the inside of his wrist, you can feel his pulse hammering wildly against his skin. “Alright, just check the damn thing before touching it, okay?”

“Yeah.” Ekko nods, mind telling him to press a kiss on each of your knuckles that he refuses to indulge himself in. “Now who's being the boss, hm?”

Chuckling, you roll your eyes as you reluctantly release him. His touch lingers for a moment longer, fingers grazing down your palms before you climb back up. “Go back to work or we'll be stuck preparing here until midnight.”

“On it, boss.” He mockingly says, walking away and towards the unfinished string of lanterns.

The sound of the ladder creaks as you step up, it has Ekko's worry knocking behind his back. And just as when the creaking turns into splitting wood, he's already turning around, bolting towards you at a speed he didn't even know he could manage.

The next thing you know, you're in his arms. “Holy shit!” You screech whilst firelights circle around you in a hurry. You can hear their sigh of relief when they see you and Ekko alright. He has fallen on the dusty ground with you on his lap, but you both got out of the fall without a scratch. Noticing him being under you, you grasp at his face, eyes wildly checking him for injuries. “Shit, are you alright, Ekko?!”

He groans, face falling atop your clavicle, arms still wrapped around you protectively. In truth, he's hiding his face from everyone else, knowing that they're snickering amongst themselves. His behind aches, but he's glad that he caught you in time. He can't begin to imagine if he didn't.

“Ekko?!” You call for him when he still doesn't respond. “Medic—!”

“I'm okay.” Grasping your bicep, he takes a deep breath before leaning away from you. “No medic needed—!”

Your sudden embrace has his face buried in your chest. Cheeks warm, his arms hovers around you in surprise for a second before hugging you back.

“I thought I killed you!”

“Mmfmfmmhmf.” His muffled voice has you moving away quickly lest he dies of suffocation instead. He takes in a deep breath to stabilize his staggered breathing while you still cradle his face. Pupils blown out, he refuses to look at the circle of firelights who are certainly making kissy faces at him or giggling amongst each other. “I said I'm fine, trouble. Are you okay?” Hands over your back, he sees your eyes glimmer under the light, lip jutting out into a frown.

Your arms unconsciously wrap around his neck, relief evident on your face. You're the one who fell from twelve feet, and yet you're worried about him. You could only nod, moving to embrace him again. Gentler and softer this time as you hide the tears clinging to your lashes against the crook of his neck. You'll never forgive yourself if you hurt him.

Ekko's hand rubs along your back, hugging you against him as he quietly shoo away his people. Scar helps disperse the crowd, but not without sending a quick wink at him.

The air around him seems to lull him to sleep, or was it your comfort that has him relaxing in place? He could stay that way with you forever, if you asked, he would gladly grant it.

“At this rate we'd be here until midnight.” He whispers against the shell of your ear. Chin placed atop your shoulder, he looks at the shattered pile of wood that used to be a ladder.

“I'm sorry.” You suddenly move away, subtly wiping away at your eyes. “Thank you for catching me.”

His heart wretches out of his chest. “I didn't say you should go.” Hand around your own, he stops you from standing up, but gives you enough space to leave.

You stay, squeezing his hand as you fall back into his lap. “You sure? We're right in the middle of the hideout.”

“I figured you weren't ready to leave just yet.”

Your hand reaches towards his cheek, staying there to rub affectionately away the dust sticking to his skin. “I thought I hurt you. Please tell me you're alright.”

“Better than.” He leans against your hand. Giving you a minute, he takes you in. From the curve of your lips, to how your cool hand feels on his warm skin, and to your frostbitten nose. He laments under you. Eyes darting around, it finally occurs to him that you two are right in the middle of everything. For what he plans next, he wants it to just be you and him. “C’mon, let's get you some water, yeah?”

Inhaling, you rub away the tears and stand up. You help him up with a hand, and he doesn't let go until you're both inside the tree house all alone. He knows that he should wait for the countdown, but he can't wait for a second more. Not when you look at him like how he looks at you. With longing and unequivocal love.

So when he spills his guts to you, all the soft and gentle words he has scrawled in his mind over the years, all with the thought of you— you didn't waste time crashing your lips against his own.

Ekko staggers forwards, hand bracing so you don't hit the wall. But you'd be too busy to notice anyway whilst you're kissing him fervently.

When he couldn't breathe anymore from the air stealing kiss, he leans his forehead against yours. Irisis blown out, hands cupping your cheeks as he inhales your scent and memorizes how you hold him close with your arms wrapped around his waist— he can't help but chuckle.

“Should I have waited for midnight?” He breathlessly asks, affection dripping from his words as he leans away to fully savour in your besotted state.

“Ekko, I've been waiting since you kissed my cheek when we were kids after I saved your ass from an enforcer.” You giggle as he mirrors your smile. “No, you shouldn't have waited. A kiss and a confession at midnight is cliché anyway.” Joking, you wipe away the sheen off his kiss bitten lips while you admire his lovestruck gaze that you're awfully fond of.

“We can still do it, kiss under the lanterns but this time without our teeth clashing and you almost tripping when you pounced on me.”

“I didn't pounce!” You feign an offended gasp, hand on your chest as he laughs and chases your lips. Kissing you with every breath you take. “Oh a very happy new year to us.”

Ekko takes it as a big yes for another kiss when the clock strikes twelve. Hopefully more in the new year, and for years to come.

[aurynsia]

Unrequited, Terrifying Chapter 4

James Potter x Reader

Summary: While studying with the Marauders, you realise you misjudged them, rekindling feelings for your primary suspect…

Warnings: Extremely fluffy, nervous!james x shy!reader, some subtle wolfstar action in the background, idiots in love, oc!friends, lovesick!james, no use of Y/N, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, swearing, all fluff with a side of plot, intense pining and I mean INTENSE, James starts off scared of you but quickly learns to be openly in love, NOT EDITED!

Word count: 1.7K

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Slipping through the aisles of shelves lined with books of spells and history, you made your way towards the tables and chairs scattered in the middle of the room. The furthest table was occupied by the four boys you were in search of: the Marauders.

Approaching the Gryffindor boys, you noticed the quiet passing of paper between Remus and James, both scribbling small notes in a hurried manner. “Ehem- hello…” you spoke softly once you were within hearing range. Four pairs of eyes shot up to meet yours, each looking more afraid of your presence than the last.

Remus graced you with a bright smile, mouthing “hey” in reply. Across from him sat Sirius, who wore a look of surprise that quickly shifted into a lopsided smirk, nodding in greeting. Peter was startled by your presence but showed no sign of genuine fright, unlike James.

The head boy sat at the end of the table, breath hitching when you spoke with eyes blown wide.

They had saved you a seat between James and Remus, which you promptly moved to, busying yourself to shift the attention off of you. You placed your material on the table, pulling out your notebook.

You were suddenly very aware of your surroundings, shifting uncomfortably in your seat and glancing at the boy next to you, meeting his gaze before turning red and glancing back down.

Remus caught your attention, calling your name and gesturing to the book he had placed in front of you. “I thought we could revise the content in chapter four and quiz each other,” he said.

You and Remus were thirty minutes into your study session, writing with intention as you took pages of organised notes in dark ink before Sirius struck up a conversation.

“Your handwriting is very pretty,” he looked at you with a grin, “Prongs, look how neat her handwriting is!” After a beat, James shifted to look over your notes and gave a shy smile.

“Oh, Godric, he’s right…” he spoke softly, looking intently as he admired your penmanship like an artwork in the Louvre. His look of curiosity shifted when he met your gaze, gulping as he pushed back into his seat with rose cheeks. Your face was burning too.

“Thank you…” you stuttered out. Sirius was watching the interaction with a snarky grin plastered across his face, ready to push James’ buttons some more.

“I only bring it up because James has awful handwriting,” he stated, “See? It’s practically sprawled all over the place!” You glanced at the boy’s scattered writing, letters not quite aligning with each other across the page. You giggled, mustering a sense of courage as you sunk into comfortable banter with the group. “Well, whatever he’s doing with his writing seems to work, James always gets great marks in class!”

Sirius smirked at your praise, eyebrows raised and laced with visual sarcasm, as if to say “bold move, sweetheart”. You found the table of boys to actually be very easy to talk to. You glanced at James’ direction once more, admiring the bashful grin he showed you in thanks.

Your eyes met his writing again, noticing the boyish quality with which he wrote. It felt familiar, like you’d seen the print before. You took this as a sign that your feelings for the boy must have never really died after all, finding so much blissful comfort in his presence.

Remus reluctantly interrupted the moment again, realising he should at least act like studying was the only reason he invited you here. “Right, think you can handle a quick quiz now, love? Test that big brain of yours?” You closed your books and met his eyes, harvesting a glint of confidence in your own. “Bring it on.”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

“I invited her to study.”

“What?”

“We’re in the same class for History of Magic, she’s very good you know.”

“You mean, she’s coming here? Now?”

“Who did you think the empty seat was saved for?”

James’ eyes flashed emotion after emotion, from hope to excitement to nervousness, before finally settling on fear. The note traveling back and forth between Remus’ pen and his own was losing space, and he began to flip it over in order to scrawl a series of exclamations and offensive names directed at his friend.

The soft call of a greeting from your position standing by the table made him pause his actions, his heart plummeting into his stomach and swimming aimlessly. He backed further into his chair, praying to Merlin that he could merge with the wood and disappear.

When his prayers weren’t answered, his eyes flickered to the boy who caused this encounter to happen, cursing him with his gaze.

You had settled into your designated chair, so close that he could smell the intoxicating perfume you had deliberately sprayed this morning. His lips parted at the scent, imagining you would smell even sweeter with his nose buried in your neck, unruly curls being massaged by your soft touch, waist encapsulated in his grasp.

Your eyes met his, catching him explicitly staring at you through lidded eyes. Your quick reaction to turn away pulled him out of his trance, beginning to focus on his work once more.

James’ writing manifested as a mess of nerves and lovestruck adoration. He continued to steal quick glances at your pretty face, wise eyes, soft lips, delicate skin and sweet hair that framed your face in such a perfect way under the library lights.

He mentally blessed the table for obscuring his vision of your enticing legs and providing a physical barrier between himself and your warmth, otherwise he might just curl up at your side and drift off to sleep in the comfort you emitted.

Sirius’ utterance of “Prongs” brought his attention back to the group as he explained that your handwriting was pretty and James should look at it. When are you ever not pretty? Merlin, he was whipped.

James shifted to look over your notes, the links and chains between each letter more mesmerising than the last. “Oh, Godric, he’s right…” he whispered, still staring at the perfection on the page. You were perfect.

Your small thank you sounded flustered, calming him in the knowledge that there was a chance he could make you feel the same way he did, buzzing and warm in your presence.

Sirius continued teasing the boy, motioning for you to look at his awful handwriting. James let out a silent laugh at the sudden attention, though it manifested as more of an infatuated sigh as you curiously peered at his notes.

You turned to face Sirius again, before nonchalantly glancing back at James and smiling as you said his writing gets great marks in class nonetheless.

James was grinning ear to ear with a smile that could blind a crowd of angels, cheeks pigmented with a red glow and eyes squinting from pure joy. He wanted nothing more than to bask in the warmth of your quick wit and charming softness.

When the Marauders arrived back at their dorm that night, James rushed to his desk to spill his feelings onto a page. He quickly folded the note into another baby blue envelope, running over to the girls’ dorms and slipping the note below your door.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

The night was quiet, a soft breeze flowing through your open window. Your friends were tucked in and sleeping soundly as you gave into temptation and reread the messages you had received so far.

A subtle sound of commotion from your door stole your attention from the notes as yet another one appeared at its base, baby blue and addictive.

You scrambled to your feet, scooped up the message and jumped back into bed.

Throwing open the envelope marked with your name, you began to read its contents with a lovestruck haze to your vision.

“I long for you. You’ll never understand the sheer desperation you spark within me with every breath you take. My heart feels ripped out of my chest and locked away by your subtle glances, your bright smile, your shy demeanour. I want nothing more than to exist in the shelter of your love, capturing the sickeningly sweet tune of your voice in my long term memory to keep me sane. To keep me alive.” The note continued on the other side of the paper, which you flipped.

“I’ve been blessed with a proximity to you recently that can only be described as intoxicating. I breathe your attention. It fuels me to act a little more confident every time I see you, for all that you allow me gives me strength in my lovestruck prison, whispering sweet nothings to me in my dreams at the dead of night. Speaking of dreams, it seems the grasp your minor affection has on my attention forces me into a state of sleep paralysis, and I’m starting to think the only cure is your lips on mine and your presence in my lonely bed. If you haven’t realised who I am already, my love, time will tell. I’m so fucking obsessed with you, it’s unmissable. Forever yours.”

You gasped at the pure desperation demonstrated in the new addition to your growing pile of love letters. This boy was smitten, and you were finally beginning to accept the fact that you wished it was the first boy you had ever loved. You had tried to stay neutral about the situation, open to all who demonstrated such infatuation with you, but you prayed to Merlin that this boy was the one you wanted in return, one James Potter.

Sick with affection and drunk on love, you placed the note on top of the others as you began to sink into a deep slumber. Tomorrow you would return to the library with the Marauders, and you would do everything in your power to decipher if James really was who you wished he was.

The note flickered under the weight of the pressing autumn breeze, rustling the pages of uneven text once controlled by a messy hand.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

A/N: AHH I meant to wait to upload this one but I couldn’t help it so I rushed to finish it! The dynamic between these two is addictive to write about and I’m ashamed to say I’m flustered over my own writing ;-; As always, reblogs and likes are appreciated and comment if you want to be added to the tag list for chapter 5! <3

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Tag List:

@1-queenofpotatoes-1

@caspiankingofnarnia

@thesuitelifeofafangirl

@moonydoodlez

@fionnalopez

@kawaiiarbitervoid

@kc2sstuff

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Lovestruck

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Word Count: 1026

Summary: Steve has been holding in his feelings for a while now and finally decides he is ready to express them.

Warnings: Soft smut, unprotected sex, kissing, hand job, oral (fem), Steve with a beard (yes it’s a warning), using “accidental I love you’s during sex & sleepy domestic sex prompts.”

A/N 1: Thank you to my beta readers @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & @pigwidgeonxo 💜 (any mistakes in spelling & grammar are my own. I wrote this on my phone)

A/N 2: divider by @whimsicalrogers & header by me.

A/N 3: This is for @mercurial-chuckles for their Smutty September Fest.

Reblogs & Comments on Tumblr are welcomed and encouraged. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps, or third-party sites. It has been stolen if you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

Steve was usually up at the break of dawn to get his morning run done. He decides to stay in bed this morning as he holds your naked form close to his chest. Your soft snores fill his ears as he lightly chuckles to himself. His hand caresses your arm as he takes in your soft scent of vanilla and lilac. The scent soothes him as he relaxes in bed with you, contemplating how to express his new emotion, love. He has known for months that he loves you but has never expressed it because he was afraid it was too soon in your relationship. When was the right time to express it? As you try to cuddle closer he determines that today would be it. 

He moves his head to the side and kisses your forehead gently. You let out a soft whine and start to stir from your sleep. Your hand lightly drags across his stomach causing him to groan from his cock growing hard. Only your gentle touch could make him feel this turned on and needy for more. His lips kiss you again and he feels you start to stretch your limbs. Your right hand disappears under the blankets and softly strokes his length. Your lips kiss his chest as your hand strokes Steve up and down, drawing out his quiet groans. 

“Good morning, Steve,” you sleepily whisper as you slowly stroke his cock the way he likes. 

“Mor-morning love. Fuck, don’t stop.” Steve lets out a deep groan as your hand tightens around him as you work his cock faster. 

Steve’s hand moves to your breasts and lightly rolls your nipple between his fingers. You end up gasping out from the pleasure it brings you. He is trying his best to focus on you and not what that hand of yours is doing. If you keep stroking him the way you are, Steve knows he will cum before he even gets started. He gently rolls you to your back, your hand letting go of him, while he moves down your body kissing his way to where your pussy is. He softly pushes your legs apart and licks a stripe up your pussy then tenderly kisses your clit. You try to close your thighs around his head but his hands keep you wide open. Steve starts to eat you like a man starved. His tongue dives between your pussy, his nose brushing against your clit and all you can do is moan while he takes you apart. 

Your fingers find purchase in his hair as you feel his beard giving you the best burn while he takes you higher and higher. The knot in your stomach starts to form as you moan his name over and over again until finally, you fall off that ledge. Your arousal soaks his beard and all he can do is groan against you. Steve finally slows down as you start to twitch from being overstimulated. He makes his way back up your body, licking your arousal from his face. Steve situates himself between your legs as you stare up at him sleepily. He leans down and kisses your lips, his tongue and yours caressing one another in a dance for dominance. Your legs wrap around his waist as his cock rubs against your wet pussy. Together you grind against one another until finally Steve’s tip catches on your entrance. Pulling slightly back from the kiss Steve smiles down at you.

“God, I love you, sweetheart. With all my heart and everything that I am. There’s no one else I want to spend my life with.”

Your eyes shine bright up at his blue ones. Did you hear him right in your sleepy state? Did he just confess his love? 

“Did you just say you loved me?” You asked.

He smiles down at you. “I did. I know it took some time but I mean it. I’m so in love with you, sweetheart.”

Your lips crashed against his again as tears welled up in your eyes. “I love you too, Stevie. Make love to me.”

With your answer, Steve pushes his cock into your wet pussy. The feel of his long, thick cock stretching you always takes your breath away. As he bottoms out you moan his name. Pulling his hips back to retreat to just the tip he gives you a hard thrust. Together you both make love to one another. Every thrust, every roll of your hips has you both groaning into the heavens above. There was no rush, just two bodies becoming one in the moment. 

Steve kisses your neck and whispers, “I love you,” into your ear.

Your fingers scratch down his back as he finds that special spot inside you. It nearly has you choking on a gasp and Steve knows you are close by your walls clenching around his manhood. 

“I love you too, Stevie,” you gasp out your reply. 

Steve speeds up his thrusts, skin starting to slap against skin, as he pounds into you. You can do nothing but hold on to him, your heels digging into his back as he takes you apart again. The knot forming in your stomach instantly breaks like a dam and you cum hard for him. Thrusting faster into you Steve chases his end and cums deep inside you. 

You both lay all tangled up together in bed and chuckle. 

“I can’t believe you said you loved me finally during sex Steve.”

He blushes at you, trying to hide his face in your neck. “I meant what I said. I love you so much that I want to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night telling you how much I love you.” 

“I want that too Steve. How about we get cleaned up and make breakfast.” 

“I would love that sweetheart. But first I’m going to take you in the shower again. I want to hear how much you love me while I take you apart.”

You squealed in delight as Steve chased you into the shower. It would be an amazing day now that you know how he felt.

taglist 2024

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[aiyaxs]

"THE PERFECT GIRL." - lovestruck! satoru x gn! reader.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ trope: friends to lovers.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ genre: fluff.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ content includes: confessing, hand holding, hugging, and more.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ a/n: this is my first fanfic! hope i did good! <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ song: the perfect girl - mareux.

satoru first found out he felt lovestruck towards you when you helped him out with something, and when you smiled at him, saying `you're welcome.` while smiling, his heart pounded so hard in his chest that he felt like it would fall out. he had to admit, you were maybe the prettiest woman he had ever seen in his eyes, the prettiest smile, everything about you was the prettiest in his eyes.

one time when you two were hanging out together, at some sort of a festival, you guy`s kept getting sweet foods, savory foods, played games, and all you guy's did was smile and giggle at each other, and satoru thought you were the key to his heart.

"she's so pretty, so beautiful, so, so-" his thoughts were mainly all about you, his romantic feelings for you, he wanted to be more than friends, if that wasn`t obvious enough yet.

"hey, satoru! wanna go play that game over there?" you pointed your finger at the game with the little pac-man arcade machine. he smiled while saying a simple of course!, so you guy`s rushed towards the pac-man machine. once you inserted the tickets to play the game, you guy's took turns playing. after a few turns, satoru tapped your shoulder, as if wanting to have some sort of a conversation.

"hey, can we talk.. in private?" he said, trying his best to put a smile on his face. you looked up at him with a confused face, as if asking `what are you talking about?`. you still, put a smile on your face before replying.

"sure." you guy`s then walked somewhere more private for this conversation. once you guy`s found somewhere more private, like an alleyway or something. you guy`s then stood across from each other with serious, straight faces. then, after some awkward silence, satoru finally spoke up, taking a deep breathe.

"i have something to.. confess?" satoru said, taking yet, another deep breathe, kind of hesitating to say what he was gonna say, thinking you wouldn`t feel the same way as him.

"i like- no, i love you." you still had a straight face, just all that was really different about your expression was the widened eyes on your face. after some silence and thinking, you took both of his hands in yours, smiling with a dash of blush covering your cheeks.

"oh satoru... i like you too, but please, don`t be so hesitant about this.." your smile was so evident to his heart, he couldn't stop from hugging you lovingly, yet so tightly. he buried his face into your shoulder, kind of near the side of your neck.

"thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you." was all satoru could murmur out of his mouth, he was so evidently happy at this very specific moment.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ thank you for reading. reblog's, likes, comments and follow's are appreciated greatly!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ sincerely, aiya.

[harrywavycurly]

At First Sight Part 4: Weird

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

Tag List: @ali-r3n @blckburd @comeonatmebruh @sweetmoonlove0214 @heydreamchild @mrsjellymunson @marshmallowgem @sofaritsalrightt @josephquinnsfreckles

A/N: This is super short but that’s because there’s no time to beat around the bush😂 I am excited for y’all to see the next part✨

[translatemunson]

let me keep you company • love-struck

chapter nine of love-struck — fic navigation

a/n: double update because y'all deserve it! thank you for all the love and support on this series! my asks and request are always open for love-struck related messages!

tag list (lmk if you wanna be tagged on future updates!): @live-love-be-unique@kenseverything

next chapter: yes, and?

[bookwyrm-art-stuff]

Y'all have no idea how many times I have failed to draw these useless homosexuals.

This is fanart of @scrapimmortal's fic paid in blood- it's an absolute masterpiece and all of you should go read it right now. If you ask me a single question about it I will give you a comprehensive rundown of everything awesome about it because I can.

[overlordofships]

Thinking I'll start on a new fanroute when Lennox's third season (and possibly WQ's second) is finished. Do vote on which one you'd rather see first:

(Only L&L fanroutes for now)

[thefuzzzz]

DaiSuga Week Day 3

General Prompt: Sword Universe: Sci Fi or Fantasy Quote: “Can I kiss you?” Song: “Fall For Me” by Sleep Token

Words: 1,445

Summary after the cut:

"I've never met a naiad before," Daichi said, soft words passing his lips as he examined. The naiad shrunk away under his gaze but stepped forward slowly. "I've never met a human."

Daichi smiled. He extended a calloused hand. "I'm Daichi." The naiad took a small step forward, examining his hand. “Why are you showing me this?” Daichi laughed. “It’s how humans greet one another. Put your hand on mine.”

The naiad lifted his hand cautiously, putting it against Daichi’s. His skin was cold and wet, but somehow not unpleasant.

Daichi shook his hand softly as he watched in amazement and mild fear. ——————— Daichi, a human carpenter traveling between the kingdoms of Karasuno and Aoba Johsai, meets Sugawara, a curious water spirit.

Much love to the people running this fanweek over at @daisugaweek2024 !!

[mysterydarling]

@megatraven Here's my series of Medusa x my MC (who I named Elissa and made a bunch of headcanons for)

She's such an Aries lol

[the-kr8tor]

Yk what I think would be really cute. Hobie with a florist reader. Hobie’s a street performer who finds his little spot right outside readers shop. He sees reader come every early morning to open her shop and how she closes it every night. He needs to talk to her🙏🙏🙏

Thank you for this cute prompt! I hope you like it ❤️😊

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW injury, shy! Reader, lovestruck! Hobie, fluff!

Navigation

Hobie's soulful song echoes during the early mornings until night falls. Every other week you see him strum the same cherry red guitar right outside your shop for almost two years now. You greet him whenever you open your little corner flower shop, and you murmur a shy goodbye to him every night when it's time to close for the day. And without fail, he always asks you for permission to play in front of your shop, and without a second thought, you always say yes.

Throughout your day, he stands there right outside your window, singing and performing to his heart's content. Sometimes you think he does it just for the love of performing, one day you'll ask him. But for now, you'll gladly toss him a few quid here and there whenever you go out to water the flowers displayed outside. It's your way of saying thank you for always helping you take out the pots from inside and carry deliveries for you even though you haven't asked him to do so. And you always hand him a cup of coffee straight from your own coffee pot, you always tell him that you made too much for today, an excuse to casually converse with the handsome punk.

Hobie always sees you open the shop thirty minutes early, always humming a soft tune as you carry bundles of sweet smelling flowers. He thinks you're as pretty as the flowers you sell, much sweeter too as you always make time to greet him bashfully. The coffees and occasional pastries you hand him with a gentle smile are always a highlight of his day. One day he'll talk to you, not the casual conversation of ‘how was your weekend?’ or ‘how’s business?’ but an actual conversation that he hopes would blossom to a friendship, or maybe more as he glances at you from his usual spot whilst you're watering your flowers that are on display.

“Is that new?” He asks, interrupting your soft humming. “The gardenias, they look a bit different, innit?”

Your smile brightens up the whole street. “You noticed! it's a new type.” Pointing daintily at the petal, you beam at Hobie, finding that he's already smiling at you, his hands paused from playing his music. “See, the petals are bigger than the usual ones, and they smell sweeter too.” Plucking one, you purse your lips together at what you're about to do.

You cross the distance towards him, handing Hobie the flower as you shyly look at him through your lashes. “Here.”

Hobie grins, hands suddenly clammy as he looks into your eyes. “It's mine?”

“Yeah, it's a gift, Hobie.” Your heart threatens to jump out of your chest.

“Thank you, love.” Plucking the flower from your grasp, his warm hand lingers briefly against your own. He has decided that he's going to make a move when you close the shop later. Bringing the flower to his face, he lets the sweet scent waft over his nose. “You're right, it's as sweet as you.”

You chuckle, face warming up from his comment. “Thanks, Hobie.” Without thinking, you nudge his shoulder with your fist, like a guy joking with his mate. You internally cringe to oblivion. “I–I gotta head back.”

Hobie can't help the grin on his lips, absolutely endeared by you. “Sure, love.”

You bounce nervously on the balls of your feet, before heading back inside. “right, bye.

Then, his spidey senses suddenly kick in, sending his adrenaline into overdrive. “Shit, not on my day off.” He guesses that the spider band needs his help. Tucking the flower inside his vest pocket, and with one last look at you through the window, he bolts off into an alleyway.

—

Your hands play with a silky ribbon, rolling it around your fingers then unraveling it again. You're bored out of your mind, all the orders for today have been sent out, and your duties all checked. As you stare out into the distance, elbow perched atop the counter and looking at the same spot Hobie's supposed to be in, you wonder where he went. You saw him sprint off an hour ago, maybe there's an emergency? You're starting to worry that he's not alright or having an awful day.

Placing your chin atop your palms, you watch people pass by the shop, hoping that something happens or you'll die of boredom. Then you see it, a red and blue flash coming straight at you.

Eyes widening, it gets bigger and bigger. You duck under the counter with a yelp. Glass shatters and bursts into the tiny shop, sending shards to clatter around you.

“Wanker!” You hear a curse from behind the counter.

Peeking over, you see someone lying down on the floor, groaning and cradling his shoulder. Realization hits you when you recognize him as the same masked vigilante you keep seeing on the news.

“Spider-Man?” You mumble, legs wobbly from anxiety. “Are you okay?” He freezes in place, shoulders stiff as he slowly looks over his shoulder. “Are you in shock?” With a bit of courage, you dredge through the broken glass to walk over to him. “I have some bandages, but I don't know if that'll help much.” Wringing your hands together, you see the eyes of his mask widen.

“Lo—” he clamps his mouth shut, leaping back to his feet within a split second. Clearing his throat, he shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Are you alright?”

His voice is much more high pitched than you thought it would be. And he's taller in person too, just like someone else you know.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I ducked.” The awkwardness permeates through the air of your broken down shop. “I can't say the same thing for my shop though.”

“Shit,” He lifts a foot up after noticing that he's stepping on a rose. “Sorry, I'll— fuck, I'm sorry.” His gloved hands hover around you, not knowing if he should comfort you with a hug or leave you alone.

You sniff, eyes tearfully looking at your ruined hard work. Putting on a brave face, you smile at him. “I–It's okay, I have insurance.”

“I—” A roar echoes from somewhere, interrupting him. “It's the lizard, I have to…” he points at the green smoke billowing out from the rooftops a few ways ahead.

“Okay,” you nod, smiling nervously at the vigilante. “Be careful, Spider-Man.”

He takes a step forward, but then goes back to face you. “I'll come back and help fix this.”

“You really don't have to.” You wave your palms in front of you, then you unexpectedly take his hand, squeezing it once as you give him your sweetest smile. He smells weirdly of gardenias, it has you smiling even more. “Just beat the crap out of the lizard for me.”

Chuckling, he squeezes you back before reluctantly letting go. Who knew that his other persona would get to hold your hand before his civilian self did. “I will, for you.” Raising his hand, he swings away.

Looking around your shop, you should've been careful of what you wished for. You're just glad that Hobie left before this all happened, or he might've been caught in the crossfire. As you grab a broom, you start your clean-up while you dial your insurance company. You're sure that you availed the villain slash hero accident in the insurance.

—

The sun is just about to set when you finally got to talk to an insurance agent about your predicament. Sighing, there's still so many shards of glass on the floor, not to mention all the crushed flowers and broken flower pots that are scattered all over the shop. Your cleanup wasn't very effective since it's just you and a single broom. With a sigh, you grab the broom again, sweeping relentlessly as the breeze passes by the broken windows. You definitely need something to cover it up.

As you sweep, you spot a familiar pair of boots coming your way from your peripheral. You crane your neck, sighing in relief when you see Hobie trying to catch his breath.

“Hobie.” You beam at him, and he smiles back, hands reaching for you. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard.” He grasps at your elbow, calloused fingers squeezing you lovingly, heart aching at the state of your flower shop. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I'm fine.” You hold onto the top of his hand, thumb brushing along a bandaid on the side of his palm. Looking down, you see a dozen or so bandaids on his arms and hands. “Shit, did you get caught in the fight?” Taking his palms, you worriedly glance all over his tiny cuts.

Hobie chuckles, shaking his head as he makes you look at him with his index lifting up your chin. “I'm good, love.” He pats at his leather vest, where the gardenia you gave him rests. It's a bit beaten up from the looks of it, but it's fully intact. “My lucky charm saved me.”

Exhaling from the relief, you haven't noticed that you're still holding onto his hand. “I'm glad my flower protected you.”

“I heard it's a new kind of gardenia.”

“Capable of saving you, I heard.”

The two of you stare at each other under the glow of the sunset, savouring the peaceful moment.

Numerous footsteps suddenly come your way, prompting you to look at the group of punks smiling at you while holding onto cleaning supplies and the biggest tarp you've ever seen.

“I also heard that you need help cleanin’ up. Brought some extra hands.”

[explorya88]

Her juices flow from her pussy, trickling down her legs, leaving a glistening trail behind. With a snap of her fingers, her hypnotized men obediently kneel before her, their tongues eager to please. They lick her pussy with a fervent hunger, their tongues exploring every inch, their movements driven by Lilitu's command, reveling in her power and desire, commands one of her hypnotized men to penetrate her tight anus. He eagerly obeys, sliding his hard cock into her, stretching her with each thrust. The sensation of being filled from behind sends waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Meanwhile, she orders another man to spank her buttocks, his hand connecting with her flesh, leaving behind a stinging sensation that only adds to her pleasure, fully consumed by her desires, commands one of her men to position himself between her ample breasts. With his cock sandwiched between her soft mounds, he thrusts eagerly, sliding back and forth, creating a friction that drives them both wild with pleasure. Simultaneously, Lilitu orders two other men to kneel beside her and lick her ears, their tongues exploring the sensitive curves, teasing and arousing her further. The wetness and warmth of their tongues against her ears intensify the sensations coursing through her body, heightening her pleasure to new heights as she finally embrace her insatiable desires, commands one of the men to position himself before her, his hard cock at the entrance of her mouth. With a hunger in her eyes, she eagerly takes him in, feeling the warmth and hardness of his member filling her mouth. She uses her lips and tongue to pleasure him, taking him deep and relishing the taste and texture of his shaft as she fulfills her oral desires, lost in a haze of unquenchable lust, mentally commands the men surrounding her to indulge in a wild gangbang. They eagerly comply, their hard cocks plunging into her wetness, filling her from every angle. The room echoes with the sounds of moans and skin slapping against skin as the men thrust into her relentlessly. Lilitu revels in the feeling of being taken, her body used for their pleasure as they fuck her with an intensity that leaves her gasping and craving more. She continues to mentally order them to fuck her until they are drained of every last drop of cum, their release leaving her satisfied and satiated. Lilitu, still consumed by her insatiable desires, watches as the men begin to masturbate their throbbing cocks. They stroke themselves vigorously, their moans of pleasure filling the air. Lilitu eagerly positions herself beneath them, ready to receive their explosive releases. As the men reach their peaks, they shower her with their hot, sticky cum, covering her body in a glistening layer of bodies their essence. Lilitu revels in the sensation, feeling their warm seed coating her skin, a testament to the wild passion they have shared and with a snap of her fingers, Lilitu harnesses her supernatural powers, causing the souls of the men to leave their mortal. The ethereal essence of their beings hovers before her, vulnerable and under her control. Lilitu, driven by her insatiable hunger, devours their souls with a ravenous appetite. The essence of their life force fills her, granting her power and satisfaction as she consumes their very essence, leaving behind nothing but empty vessels.

Lilitu: What i have just done? I`m not a whore! I'm Kozholok chosen!

The seed of Divashma was amused about the fact that Kozholok for being the Archdemon of Lust, he didn't allow his chosen to have more fun. So they will use this to their advantage.

Seed of Divashma: Why should Kozholok have all the fun? Imagine the pleasures you could experience if you merge with us. We could show you pleasure beyond your wildest imaginations. All you have to do is serve Tyrant Darius, Fang, and Dracaena. Give in to us and you'll never want to leave, that and he didn't even give you any slaves to play with? What a terrible Master!But with us, you'll have everything you want. Join us and we will give you all the pleasure and fun your heart desires. Don't you want to let go of your responsibilities and obligations as Kozholok chosen? Don't you want to feel endless joy and satisfaction?

Lilitu felt the seed of Divashma's sweet whispers in her mind, the promise of pure hedonism and fulfillment calling to her. With a nod, she allowed the seed of Divashma to merge with her and rebirth, feeling its power course through every fiber of her being. She felt the seed of Divashma burn within her, the ecstasy and pleasure causing her to tremble with joy. Her eyes crossed as she was overwhelmed with sensation, all thoughts of Kozholok forgotten in her pursuit of pleasure. She had become a being of pure hedonism, her body and mind completely enslaved by her new master and love every second of it.

Dracaena: Mission complete! I must rejoin mom so we finish to create a demon army but first.

Dracaena tongue envelope Lilitu and shape her body, she smirked as she watched Lilitu's body change, her bosom and bottom growing to an H cup size and her cheeks becoming more plump. She laughed as the maid dress appeared on Lilitu, the sight of her new form making Dracaena's tail whip back and forth in delight. Her mission of converting Lilitu had been a success, and now she could rejoining her mother Fang to finish the job of creating their demon army. Meanwhile Fang stood triumphant over the defeated fighters, a cruel smile twisting her lips as she doled out her punishment. The fighters winced and begged for mercy, but Fang ignored them, enjoying every slap and spank she gave. She relished in the sound of their cries and moans, knowing that her actions were putting them in their place. There would be no mercy for these pitiful mortals, not when she was in charge.

Fighter 1: Please, mercy! I beg you. Please, I'll do anything.

Fang: Anything? Then prepare yourself for pain.

She rained down another round of forceful, painful spanks, the fighter desperately attempting to protect his bare buttocks to no avail.

Fighter 2: Ow! Please, stop, it hurts!

Fang: Yes, it's supposed to hurt. That's the point and it's not going to stop any time soon. I want to make sure you never forget this lesson. Let's see how long you can last.

Fighter 3: Please, let me live. I'm begging you! I'll do anything for you.

Fang: Anything, you say?

She stepped towards the cowering man, her eyes gleaming with cruel joy as she imagined the fun she could have with him.

Fang: Then beg for your life on your knees.

The fighter fell to his knees, begging and pleading for mercy.

Fighter 3: Please, I'm begging you. Please don't kill me! I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Please, please, don't kill me!

Fang: Wonderful i transform you all in my demon slaves and army.

Fang molded the bodies of the fighters with her hair and squeezed them together, once the fighters were enveloped in Fang's hair, they soon found themselves in a state of absolute ecstasy. Their bodies shuddered as intense pleasure coursed through their veins, their senses overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure unlike anything they had ever experienced.

Fighter 1: Ahhh! Hhh!

Fighter 2: Oh god, it feels amazing!

Fighter 3: Oh yes, it's incredible! More, please!

Fighter 4: Oh yes, mistress! Please, don't stop. Just a little longer, i'm almost there.

They moaned and screamed, the sensation of becoming a demon slave making their climaxes even more intense. Fang watched them in delight, relishing in their pleasure, knowing full well that their obedience would be absolute. Once the transformation was complete, the fighters became Pureblood Ferrari demons, their bodies sculpted by Fang's hair into beings of pure beauty and power. They were trapped in a perpetual state of complete bliss, their minds completely dominated by their Demon Goddess and unable to conceive of any other desire or goal. Their devotion to Fang was absolute, their loyalty and faith unbreakable. They would be her devoted servants for all time, her loyal and devoted army who would fight for her and die for her if need be.

Fang: It is done.

Dracaena in her human form stormed in and screamed...

Dracaena: Mom! I did it i helped her to see the light!

Lilitu: Yes, i will serve my mistress forever.

Fang: Wonderful...why she is dressed like a japanese maid?

Dracaena: A gift for her, mother. She deserves nothing but the best as our new servant.

Fang stared at her daughter's creation, a satisfied smile crossing her face. Lilitu bowed her head, her newly sculpted features dripping with gratitude and loyalty. Fang stroked her daughter's hair, her face filled with pride.

Fang: And now, it's time to prepare for the final battle. Who knows who else we might be able to add to our army? But before that dinner time.

Fang's hair cascades down, its silky strands wrapping around several men's cocks, creating a tight and stimulating embrace. With each gentle stroke and squeeze, Fang's hair expertly masturbates them, eliciting moans of pleasure from the men. The sensation is intense as their hard cocks are enveloped in the softness of Fang's hair, their desires heightened by the erotic touch. The rhythmic movements of Fang's hair continue, skillfully bringing the men closer to the edge of release, their bodies trembling with anticipation, Fang's hair, now filled with the pulsating essence of the men's throbbing cocks, slithers further, entering their tight anuses. With a firm grip, her hair begins draining all the cum from their bodies, extracting every last drop of their potent release. The men gasp and groan as the intense sensation of their cum being drawn out overwhelms them, their bodies convulsing in pleasure as the last remnants of their essence are drained away. Fang's hair continues its relentless task, leaving the men empty and sated, their bodies spent from the intense encounter, then Fang's hair, with its insatiable thirst, greedily latches onto Lilitu's nipples, drawing out the milk with an almost voracious hunger. The strands of hair wrap tightly around her engorged breasts, creating a suction-like motion as they eagerly suckle on Lilitu's nipples. Lilitu's milk flows freely, steadily diminishing as Fang's hair drains her completely. The sight is both captivating and erotic as the milk disappears, leaving Lilitu's breasts empty and her body tingling with satisfaction.

Then they warp to Las Vegas Strip...

Meanwhile at Eiffel Tower of Paris Las Vegas....

It feel like yesterday Tyrant Darius mused and yet only eight months have passed. Thanks to his advisor and "right hand" Aeshdeos and his gift: the seed of Divashma, he went to scared, aimless and purposeless man to soon to be the Demon God sovereign and alongside his wife Fang, his daughter Dracaena and his friends they'll rule the world forever!

Aeshdeos: We're close to victory my friend.

Tyrant Darius let out a wild laugh.

Tyrant Darius: After we defeat Kozholok, every day will be an endless orgy of hedonism, freedom, and madness! We will be free to indulge our every desire and taste every pleasure, without limits or boundaries. .

Wrath let out a gleeful roar, the prospect of endless freedom filling her with joy and excitement.

Wrath: Yes, we can do anything we want! I will crush our enemies and conquer the world, while you can create nightmares and dreams of your choosing.

She said to Onyx, her eyes glinting with delight. They had been waiting for this moment for so long and now, finally, it was within their grasp.

Onyx: It will be a wonderful future indeed.

She agreed, her tail swishing in delight.

Tyrant Darius army: All hail to our Tyrant!!! All hail to our Tyrant!!! All hail to our Tyrant!!! All hail to our Tyrant!!! All hail to our Tyrant!!!

Meanwhile Tyrant Darius looked upon the loving and amorous gesture between Wrath and Onyx, smiling affectionately. They had been by his side through thick and thin, loyal and devoted companions who were as hungry for power as he was. They were strong, powerful Demon Deities in their own right and he knew that his victory was only possible with their aid. As he took in the sight of their love and affection for each other, it filled him with pride, knowing that with their combined might and determination, there was no force in the world that could stand in their way. Onyx and Wrath turned to each other, their eyes filled with adoration and love. They smiled at each other as they touched heads, their bodies overflowing with joy at the idea of spending eternity together.

Onyx: My love, your body is filled with such passion and fire. I love every inch of you, and I can't wait to spend eternity exploring you.

Wrath: And I love the fire, fury, and intensity that burns within you. I long for the day we will be able to let loose and indulge in our primal desires. Our time will come, my love, and it will be glorious.

Malakai, Lazareth, and Delilah roared joyfully, their bodies writhing and shaking as they envisioned the endless foods that would soon be at their disposal. These demons craved the pleasures of the flesh, and nothing could bring them greater joy than to be able to feast and gorge their way across the land, devouring every delicacy under the sun. They could barely contain their excitement, their hunger burning within them like a furnace.

Collins and Delilah army: Let us go to devour our enemy!!! Let us go to devour our enemy!!! Let us go to devour our enemy!!! Let us go to devour our enemy!!!

Delilah: Orc, vampires, devils...

Malakai: We have to taste angels, manticores, werehyenas....

Lazareth: But first focus! Let's win the war first.

Tyrant Darius agreed with Lazareth's words of caution, nodding to his loyal friends.

Tyrant Darius: Indeed, my friends. Let's focus on the task at hand. Once we have won the war, we will feast as Demon Deities, trying every delicacy and delight. But for now, our attention should be on defeating Kozholok and securing our victory.

The demons let out a roar, their excitement for both victory and food overflowing as they waited for the final battle. They would have everything they could ever want, and soon victory would be within their grasp. They would not rest until their desires were satisfied.

Cal: Umph, can we just slay Kozholok so i can go back to play poker...

Jezebel:...and scam fools of their souls and transform itnto botmoney.

Jezebel said, her eyes gleaming with anticipation and Tyrant Darius nodded in acknowledgement, pleased to see the determination and excitement in Cal and Jezebel. They were the embodiment of the ideals they sought to create, driven by a hunger for pleasure and power. With their might and loyalty, victory was a certainty.

Tyrant Darius: Indeed, Cal but we must still defeat Kozholok first. Once we have achieved victory, we will have the freedom to indulge in whatever pursuits we desire.

Jezebel grumbled in response, displeased at having to delay her desire for more wealth and power.

Jezebel: But still, imagine all the pleasure we will have once we have defeated Kozholok and secured our victory!

Cal: And all the gambles, illegal games and vodeogames...

Tyrant Darius then laughed at Cal's impatience, glad to see Cal embracing their shared worldview so fully.

Tyrant Darius: Soon, we will have vanquished Kozholok and taken our rightful place as lords of the realm and then nothing under the sun shall stand in our way. We will enjoy any pleasure, indulge in any vice and relish in all the delights that the world has to offer.

Vinca: After this we can marry Dracaena.

Yvette: But before, let's win this war.

Tyrant Darius was surprised to hear that his daughter was dating two women at once, but he was pleased to see her so happy. He agreed to their request, on the condition that Dracaena's suitors would helped him win the war against Kozholok. So they would have proved their dedication to both Dracaena and him before he would grant them permission to marry his daughter. In the meantime, he would continue to work with his friends and allies to prepare for the upcoming battle, knowing that he would soon be able to marry off his beloved daughter to worthy wives.

Tyrant Darius: You have my bless my friends.

Then Nahara until that moment silent finally speak...

Nahara: I have woven and intertwined our paths so that you Tyrant Darius will lead us to victory! Because me! Aion the weaver of destiny said so!

Nahara's words resonated deeply in Tyrant Darius's soul, filling him with a sense of hope and purpose. Nahara know as Aion the weaver of destiny had spoken, and he would not defy her will. He let out a loud roar, letting his followers know that he was ready to lead them to victory.

Tyrant Darius: My friends, Aion the weaver has spoken. We will achieve victory soon, it has been woven into our fates. Let us go forth and fight, knowing that every step forward brings us closer to our destiny.

His army and followers raised their voices in agreement, eager to fulfil their destiny and unleash chaos and hedonism upon the world.

Quillain: Tyrant Darius, i am able to obtain the World Egg. Now we need you to assimilate Kozholok so you can have enough power to do a joint spell with Lilitu and create our perfect world!

Tyrant Darius's eyes lit up at the mention of the World Egg, a legendary artifact capable of giving immense power to whoever possessed it. Its power would be instrumental in helping him achieve his ultimate goal: to create a world ruled by hedonism, freedom, and total depravity.

Tyrant Darius: Great job Quillain, once Kozholok and its forces are defeated, we can begin the process of creating our perfect world, one where pleasure, morality, and restraint are but distant memories of a bygone age.

Dracaena: Dad! I'm here with Lilitu, absolutely enslaved to my will.

Lilitu bowed down, her H cup size buttocks exposed for the world to see and enjoy.

Lilitu: Ready to make your vision a reality, my Demon God, my supreme Tyrant and perfect master.

Tyrant Darius welcomed Dracaena with a proud smile.

Tyrant Darius: My daughter, welcome back to our fold. And you Lilitu, welcome to the ranks of our loyal demon subjects.

He turned to Fang, smiling at her wife and thanks her contribution to their budding demon army.

Tyrant Darius: Thank you, my dear, your contributions are appreciated.

Fang: Thank you my husband.

He nodded to the demons, preparing them for the daunting task ahead and for their place in the future order.

Dracaena: Warriors let's play war. To the war!

Dracaena shouted as she kicked Lilitu butt making her shout in pleasure.

Tyrant Darius: You're right daughter, to the war!

Everyone: TO THE WAR!!!

Tyrant Darius and his demon army let out a fierce roar as they marched towards their final battle, their determination and lust for pleasure driving them forwards. They would face Kozholok's forces and emerge victorious, claiming the world as their own where freedom, power, and hedonistic pleasure would rule supreme. The time for indulgence had finally come and they would make up for all their years spent in the shackles of mortality and restraint. As one, they moved onwards, ready to conquer and to take what was rightfully theirs.

End Part II

[amberskyyking]

Bonus Content: Kriff’s Sake, I’ll Love Every Version Of You

Party rock in hyperspace tonight, Everybody just have a good time… 

Fine. Boulder was right. Dancing was still fun. Moving with the rhythms, even half-heartedly, made Boomerang feel more like himself than he had since the last time he was here. The alcohol probably helped, or maybe Bumi at his side cheering him on, but regardless, maybe he would stay a little longer. He twisted to face another newcomer as the bridge kicked in. Still, fun as it was, this wasn’t the same without-

Without -  

He froze, and so did the gorgeous green-skinned Twi-lek man opposite him, with the brazen, deep, piercing eyes. Eyes he knew. 

“Mesh'la?!”

“Boomerang! I…” 

The twi-leks words seemed to get caught but it was undoubtedly her. Or, him? The person standing before Boomerang looked different, but those expressions, the way they spoke his name, those eyes… He swallowed hard. There were so many things he wanted desperately to say, but only one seemed to come to his mind. 

“You came back?” 

Full Story!: Kriff’s Sake, I’ll Love Every Version Of You

[moodyycapricornnsblog]

Your more than just a slave to me part 1.

The pharaoh sighed as he sit on his throne. /I haven't seen Heba all day which is unusual./ the pharaoh thinks to himself. Standing up he walks to the doors of the throne room waking out down the halls of the palace. As he walks he hears whispering

"Heba you can't keep avoiding the pharaoh your his personal servant!" He soon realizes it's mana his best friend. "Shush! Mana I know but I can't even look at him without-!" "Uh hum!" The pharaoh coughs looking at both of them heba jumps looks at him face reddening. "M-my pharaoh what are you doing out the throne room so early?" Heba asks. Atem makes a scolding face. "I wanted to stretch my legs I been sitting for a while" he says before walking past them. /why doesn't Heba want to be around me? We've known each other since we where kids../ He looks down feeling his heart sink. "Did do something wrong?" He mutters to himself. Before walking towards the palace gardens.

<<time skip to the next day<<

"My pharaoh don't forget that you have meeting the day after tomorrow with a leader of the main land." Atem nods "I won't thank you" he says to his adviser. Atem looks up going wide eyed seeing priest Seto and Heba talking. The pharaoh couldn't hold back a growl as he sees his cousin./oh so he can't speak to me but he can speak to seto!/ The pharaoh stomps over. "Heba come now!" He says grabbing his wrist rather harshly dragging him to his bed chambers. Shutting the door shoving Heba inside. "I demand to know the meaning of your actings!" The pharaoh yells. Heba flinches and moves back. "What do you mean my pharaoh?" "You know what I mean Heba! You been avoiding me not talking to me or even playing games with me like we used to! But you have time to converse with my cousin?!" Heba looks down. "I-I been busy." "What could you have possibly been busy with that caused you to never see me?!" Heba clenched his fist. "WHY DO YOU CARE?! I'm a slave! I'm nothing to you!" Heba yells tears streaming down his face. Atem looks at him him shock but before he can stop himself he grabs heba's face and kisses him deeply.

[bucketbueckers]

TIMELESS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: slight language, fluff w maybe a little angst (im beginning to realize the "angst" is probably just plot) but it's literally not that deep at all (this is a bucketbueckers fanfiction we all know there's a happy ending), AU, soulmates, author won't pretend to understand history, potential misuse of period-typical slang, historical inaccuracies (ask me if i care [spoiler: i dont!]), abuse of punctuation, light violence, poorly proofread

wc: 15.5k

synopsis: Even in a different life, you still would have been hers. OR – two (of the many) lives you've lived with Paige Bueckers, and the one you're living with her now.

notes: im not rly much of an au author but i figured i needed a lil bit of something different after FOTS beat my ass. i've been toying w this idea for a while now 😋 this fic is probably better in theory but i had sm fun writing it (and thinking about pilot!paige and knight!paige kinda drives me crazy) idk not too much yapping from me today but as always i hope y'all enjoy &&& happy munch madness, lets have some good vibes going into game day tmr 🫶

2025

It’s a warm, breezy Tuesday in Connecticut, one of your rare off days, and this is quite possibly the last place you’d expect yourself to be.

Standing before you is an old antique shop. It’s a block away from the apartment you share with your girlfriend, Paige Bueckers, and you pass it every day on your morning jog. It’s rustic, worn at the edges, but there’s something softer about its unassuming visage today. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’re out a little later than usual – Paige had an afternoon practice compared to her typical morning ones, so the two of you had lounged in bed for a little longer, soaking in the time together.

Whatever the reason, there was something in the air that compelled you to stop by. So you do.

The sign that hangs over the door is rusted, hanging loosely from one tarnished chain, its words unrecognizable from how time has eroded it. A bell chimes happily as you push the door open. Immediately, you’re hit with the scent of aged paper, ink, and something else that is distinctly vintage. The walls are lined with various art pieces, antique furniture tucked neatly into the crevices of the shop with tan price tags attached. You’re wrought with a familiar sense of nostalgia; there’s something so incredibly touching about the fact that everything in this store had belonged to somebody once, had been something of value, something to take care of. Everything is still in perfect condition. It’s beautiful to know that after someone is long gone, there is still someone out there who will cherish their belongings and take care of them the same way they had.

You gaze around the shop, taking everything in, your steps slow and methodical. You were never a patient shopper, always seeking to get in and get out, but it feels as though the shop is trying to tell you something – trying to show you something. You wander, studying the art, the intricate carvings on aged furniture, until you make your way to the check-out counter. The clerk is absent, although there’s a cardboard box full of old pictures – a black and white photo of a bride, toddlers playing soccer, an elderly couple on a porch swing.

There’s something achingly familiar about them. It makes your heart swell, makes you wrack your brain to discern where you’ve seen these photos before. You sift through the rest, lingering on a few; there’s one of a couple laughing on the porch of what you assume to be their first house, a photo of two people embracing – one is wearing an aged military uniform, which makes your face soften, and the third is two teenagers holding hands, dressed fashionably. That one makes you smile as you take in the lovestruck expression on their faces.

Still, there’s something about the photos that give you pause. You pull out your phone, navigating to FaceTime, and you call the one number you know will pick up no matter what.

The line clicks through and Paige’s face fills your screen. She’s slightly out of breath, her face flushed from the exertion of practice, hair messy and sweat beading at her temples. Despite that, she grins, a sort of smile that’s reserved only for you. “Hey, baby,” she greets, her voice soft, which brings a smile to your face as well. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” you say back. “Sorry, I know you’re at practice–”

“We finished early, but I always got time for you,” she promises. “You know that.”

Your smile widens. “Well, I was on my jog, but you know that antique shop in town?” Paige hums in affirmation. “Something told me to go in, so I did. Look at some of these photos I found.” You flip the FaceTime camera, positioning your phone over your collection of photos. Paige leans in a little closer to see, her brows drawing together in concentration.

“They feel…really familiar,” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “Like I feel like I’ve seen them somewhere.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you exclaim. “It’s so weird. It’s like I know these people.”

“Wait, go back to that one,” Paige requests. “The black and white one, military uniform.” Doing as instructed, you pull that one to the forefront of the stack, gazing at them expectantly. That’s when you truly take a closer look, recognizing the expressions on the couple’s faces, their facial features. Your breath hitches just as Paige says, “Why do they kinda look like–”

“Us,” you finish.

“Yeah,” Paige murmurs, a little awestruck. “I can’t explain it but like – I can feel it.”

You flip the photo around, your eyes catching on the date on the back, and the subsequent memory hits you like a truck.

1944

It’s a sweltering afternoon in May when your life changes.

Well, changes for the second time since 1941.

Three years ago, the United States declared war on Germany and the adjoining Axis powers following the attack on Pearl Harbor. It was a dramatic shift for the entire country, one that displaced just about every facet of life. Men were drafted, heading overseas to fight, leaving holes in the workforce. Although the reality was bleak and dire, you saw this as an opportunity – for independence, for some shred of equality, for freedom. With plenty of job openings as workers were joining the war effort, you landed a job at a shipyard along the coast.

It wasn’t easy. Far from it, actually. You worked long, uncomfortable hours, hardly fitting in time for a break. You, along with several other women, worked on building, repairing, and maintaining the ships that would be used to transport supplies or men overseas. For you, it was enough – the daily routine, the knowledge that you were contributing to something greater than yourself, that your efforts were making a difference. It was worth it.

You get off your shift sometime in the afternoon. You’ve been up since the early hours of the morning; now, you’re half-asleep, only going through the motions and letting pure muscle memory guide you down the busy streets. Something big is happening soon – you can feel it. You’ve noticed drastically more uniformed men on the streets, whispers of another draft; at this point, your suspicion is a matter of when and not if.

Barely aware of what’s in front of you, you turn the corner, colliding roughly with the person in front of you. They hardly move although you bounce backwards, knocked off balance by both your exhaustion and the fact that you’re so much smaller than the other person. You’re already bracing yourself to eat concrete, eyes shut tightly, when you realize you’re not toppling over; instead, there’s a pair of firm hands holding you by the arms, keeping you upright.

“You alright?”

Her voice is concerned, if a little gravelly, rough around the edges in a way that captures your attention immediately. You open your eyes, your breath hitching, because you’re sure this is the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes on. The street is busy — everyone lost in their own little worlds moves right by you, but at this moment? It feels like time stops, like nothing exists except for you and the blonde woman before you. 

Her hair is pulled up in a tight, slick-back bun, the edges pressed and the golden waves reflecting in the early May sun. Her eyes are a deep blue, almost startling so, but there’s an evident kindness that softens the intensity. Her jaw is sharp, angular, her nose sloping elegantly despite the chisel, but what truly captures your attention is her stature — she’s the tallest woman you’ve ever seen, no less than six foot, and her broad shoulders fill out her khaki uniform service shirt. There’s an emblem pinned over her left breast, wing shaped in the aviator insignia. You’ve been staring for far too long already and the pilot is smiling like she’s caught you. Despite yourself, you feel the heat rise in your cheeks.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, your voice even, which makes the expression on her face soften. 

“The flyboys would never let me live it down if I ran you over,” she says coyly, her hands lingering just a second longer on your arms before she finally steadies you. Her touch makes you flustered. “Hurtin’ a girl like you is cause for a national emergency.”

You laugh, a tinkling, carefree sound that betrays the way your heart pounds — in a good way. “You think you’re slick, don’t you?”

With gentle hands, she pulls you under the awning of the storefront you’re standing next to — an antiquities shop, according to the sign, keeping you out of the way of the bustling crowd as she murmurs, “I call it like I see it.”

With a teasing smile, you glance up at her, enjoying the way she looms over you far too much. It’s not intimidating, her stature, but it does make you feel warm all over. She’s long, toned, and you can see the muscle hidden behind her uniform. Her khaki button up is tucked neatly into the waistband of her sage green trousers, the top missing a few clasped buttons to reveal the dog tags hanging from her neck. She looks so put together, handsome and beautiful all in one, and maybe it’s the solemnity of the world around you, but this moment in time feels so peaceful, so right. “Do you, now?” you ask. “And what exactly are you seeing, flygirl?”

The nickname makes her preen, flashing her teeth in a smile that could surely ruin you. “Well,” she begins, her eyes scanning your figure in a way that looks as though she’s in a gallery staring at art, and not actually standing in the middle of a crowded street and staring at a woman who has just gotten off a twelve hour shift, covered in motor oil. Her gaze doesn’t make you feel objectified – far from it, but you’re beginning to think that you enjoy her attention. “I see this pretty girl – gorgeous is more like it, but I ain’t never been good with words. Just actions.” Her lips quirk slightly, reaching out with her thumb to wipe away a smudge of grease off of your cheekbone. Your face flushes, which only makes her features brighten like the clouds parting for the sun. “I see honesty. Ambition.”

“You can tell that much about me just from one look?” you say, a little amused.

“I’d tell you a hell of a lot more if it meant seein’ you again,” she confesses.

You scan her features, not quite sure what you’re searching for – deception, maybe, but you don’t see it. All you see is genuinity, a certain brand of hope that you haven’t seen in anyone’s expression in the last few years. You don’t know anything about her other than the fact that she’s a pilot, an aviator, but a slow smile spreads across your face the more you consider her request.

In times like these, you need all the joy you can get, no matter how short it is. So you teasingly lean in, relishing in the way her body eclipses yours as she melts into you, but you stop her with a hand to the chest. You know she could easily push past it, but you appreciate the way her body goes rigid, like she’s letting you make the call. Her brow raises – a challenge, maybe? – but despite herself, her smile grows, too.

“I’m not that easy,” you whisper to her, satisfied when her breath hitches. You press against her gently and she leans back, acquiescing. “You’re gonna have to work for it if you wanna see me so bad.”

“I can do that,” she promises, nodding emphatically, which makes you laugh quietly – she’d seemed so confident, so composed; now, she just seems eager to impress, to listen to every word you say.

Content, you take a step back, flashing one last smile. “See you soon, flygirl,” you say, enjoying the smitten look on her face, until –

“I never got your name, yardbird!” Her voice carries over the thrum of the crowd.

When you pause, glancing back at her, she seems amused, if not a little hopeful to hear you answer. But again – you’re not that easy. “Find me again and I’ll tell you,” you call back, your promise reaching her ears. You watch as her smile grows; even from afar, you can make out the determination in her eyes, the clear message of challenge accepted.

You’re not surprised to see her again.

If anything, you were almost expecting it. Her eyes had held a promise, the vow that she’d rise to the challenge. She didn’t become a pilot by being unambitious – you were sure that it was the complete opposite of that, having to work twice as hard as her flyboy companions. Any surprise you hold is because of how soon you see her.

It’s the next day and you’re walking home from the shipyard again, taking that same path you’ve taken hundreds of times across the years. You’re guided by muscle memory, weaving around the slow walkers and finding natural gaps in the crowd. When you turn the corner, the pilot is standing under the awning of the antiquities shop again, her hair pinned up in the same, sleek bun, her uniform crisp and pressed. She’s glancing at her wristwatch and as soon as you round the corner, stepping onto the street, she looks up and meets your eyes immediately. A smug smile graces her features.

“Found you,” she calls out, pushing herself off of the wall with a boot to the brick. You roll your eyes, amused, and you meet her in the middle by the doorway.

“You memorizing my schedule?” you ask her.

She shrugs a coy shoulder. “I’m committed,” she declares. “Said you weren’t gonna make it easy for me, right?”

“So she does listen,” you muse.

“Every word.” You smile at her, and it’s then that you realize she’s hiding her hands behind her back. Recognizing your curiosity, she reveals her hands, her smile softening – she’s holding a singular red rose, a rich, dark red in color, and you shouldn’t be surprised, but you are. “Think this is enough to finally earn your name, yardbird?”

You hum, tapping your chin dramatically, which draws a laugh from the aviator. Conceding, you take the rose from outstretched hands, much to her relief. You introduce yourself, listening as she tests the pronunciation on her tongue, smiling at how nice it sounds rolling off her tongue. Then, she sticks out her hand for you to shake as she states, “Paige Bueckers, airforce service pilot.”

She walks you home after that, her hand gentle yet protective over the small of your back. Your conversation is full of laughter, teasing, and Paige flirting with you unashamedly; you like it more than you would ever admit to her, although you’re certain she knows. Despite the fact that this is only your second conversation, there’s something about Paige that gives her the uncanny ability to understand you – it’s like a connection that goes deeper than your accidental run in from yesterday, like she was born to know you and you were born to know her. It’s like you’ve known Paige Bueckers your entire life. It’s a new feeling, but certainly not an unwelcome one.

This quickly becomes your routine. You wake up early, spend your morning and the better part of the afternoon at the shipyard, then Paige walks you home. Getting to know her comes as easy as breathing and being with her is almost enough to make you forget about the chaos in the world. It’s like Paige is your perfect complement. She came into your life in the most unexpected way possible, but the more time you spend with her, the more nights you invite her over for dinner, the more you realize that you truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

Some nights she stays over. Paige blends so seamlessly into your routine that you wonder how you were ever complete without her at your side constantly. In the mornings, she’ll brew your coffee – how she figured out exactly how you took it, you weren’t sure, but you weren’t complaining, make your breakfast, massage your hands (because they were always sore and calloused from working on the ships all day), and walk you to the shipyard every day. At some point in time, she graduated from having a hand on your back to tangling your fingers together, which is something you truly relished in.

Over the month, the two of you get closer. Sometimes you stay at her house, waking up early enough to iron her uniform just to make her day a little easier. Paige tells you that you don’t have to go out of your way to do that for her, but secretly, you like it when she’s still in the grips of sleep and she gets out of bed to wrap her arms around you, resting her chin on your shoulder and watching you smooth out every wrinkle from her shirt. She’s warm, and soft, and dare you say it, she’s yours, even though neither of you have truly discussed it yet. It’s not traditional – in fact, nothing about the two of you is traditional; until recently, it wasn’t normal for women to work, let alone fly airplanes, let alone be in relationships together, but it works because it’s you and Paige. It works because although you’ll never have the vocabulary to describe it, you know this isn’t the first time you’ve met Paige. This isn’t the first time you’ve shared sleepy mornings together. It’s not even the first time you’ve loved her. Whether you truly realized it or not, you and Paige were a story centuries in the making, spanning across several years, decades, lifetimes.

But in a world like this, not everything can be perfect. Your suspicions were right from the very beginning.

“I have to leave,” Paige whispers to you on one quiet, sunny afternoon. It’s June 1st, barely fourteen hours into the day when Paige breaks the news. You’d been working since dawn. When Paige picked you up from the shipyard, she’d been noticeably dim, not nearly as lively on the walk back. You pressed, but she was silent, so you’d hoped that she was just tired from training; then, she’d suggested the two of you go to her backyard to lay in the sun. You curled up next to her, your chin on her chest, smiling as she pointed out the different shapes in the clouds (“That one’s definitely a boat,” you’d said, finger directed at a blob in the sky, to which Paige had responded with, “Y’think so, yardbird?”)

You knew Paige was an aviator. An aircraft service pilot, to be exact. You knew that eventually, she would be called in to fulfill a duty. You just never thought it would come so soon.

“When?” you murmur, willing your voice not to crack. Your hand was resting over her stomach – you can feel how her breathing comes to her quicker, hear the way her heart pounds in her chest. She wants to leave just as much as you want her to, but she knows she’s bound by obligation.

“Tomorrow morning,” she responds. Your heart aches and she can only tighten her arm around your shoulders, her chin pressing into your temple. “I’m flyin’ out to England – all of the Allies will be there. We’ll get debriefed, then… I’m flying twenty men into Normandy to invade Europe. After that, I’ll be transporting supplies and cargo between our bases and the frontlines.”

“Paige,” you try, but the lump in your throat cuts you off.

“Don’t worry about me,” she says, trying for a lighthearted tone, but you can hear that it’s weighing on her just as much as it’s weighing on you. “I’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t make me a promise you can’t keep,” you beg, which makes Paige deflate, unable to continue being strong. “There’s no guarantees–”

“I know–”

“And don’t be reckless, you hear–”

“Yardbird,” Paige stresses, her voice cracking on the syllables of her nickname for you; despite the anguish on her face, there’s a calm acceptance, a sort of determination that looks like a promise to return. She squeezes your shoulder, directing your attention to her face. Tears are pooling on her waterline and if there’s one thing that’s always true about Paige Bueckers, it’s that irritating, unmistakable confidence of hers; you can see it reflected in her eyes. She believes that she’s coming home after this mission. You know better than to get your hopes up. “I promise you–”

“Don’t–”

She interrupts you with a stern look, desperation clouding her features now. She needs you to hear this. “I promise I’ll come home to you,” she vows. Paige’s voice softens to a whisper, her eyes searching yours to make sure you’re listening. “I don’t care what it takes. As soon as my mission is complete, I’ll be flying the first plane out of Europe. You and me?” Paige trails off, squeezing your hand like it’s a lifeline. “We aren’t done here. I still have to make you mine.” You murmur her name, but she shakes her head, needing to finish her thought. “I still have to introduce you to my family – to Drew. There’s so much more we have to do together – that we are going to do together. Okay?”

You gaze at her for a few achingly long moments, trying to memorize the blue of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the way her hair is disheveled because she’s usually so put together and that thought alone makes fresh tears spring to your eyes. Before they can fall, she leans up, pressing her thumbs to your cheeks and her forehead to yours. “I’ll write you letters,” she promises. “Everyday.”

You breathe in deep, trying to remember her scent. You know that you still have the rest of the day with Paige, but it feels like she’s already overseas. Gathering yourself, you nod against her, trying to commit the way her skin feels on yours to memory. “Okay,” you repeat, giving in. Her fingers brush across your skin, tilting your head up to meet her eyes. She’s scanning your features for any hint of a falsehood, but the only thing she sees is a quiet acceptance, the kind that comes when you know you can’t argue anymore or stop something from happening.

She offers you a gentle, wobbly smile, and it does lift your spirits some. If Paige can believe so ardently in something, then so can you. “I’ll be okay,” she says again.

“I know,” you confess, because deep down, you really do think she’ll come back to you. From the very first moment you crossed paths, you learned that Paige was not one to back down. Now, when her choices are coming home to you or not coming home at all, her decision is simple.

Nothing changes when she leaves. You work your shifts, mind obviously elsewhere, but with what you know about her deployment, you know that you can’t dwell on it too much. You have a heftier workload now, maintaining and fixing the ships, so you get lost in the routine.

The bright spot of your week is the first letter comes a few days after she leaves. Somehow, the worn paper smells like her, and you smile at the sign of her looping scrawl, the borderline chicken scratch handwriting. It makes you think of all of the times she’d leave you notes across your house, reminding you that you’re beautiful and that she’s thinking of you. The memory makes your chest ache, so you push it to the back of your mind.

June 3, 1944

To my yardbird,

I just landed in England. It’s very busy here. It’s beautiful, too, and I think you’d like it. I can see us walking down the cobblestone streets together, maybe sometime in the future when the vendors and stalls are in business again. I would probably say something annoying and you’d shake your head, amused and trying to hide your smile, but I would know.

How are you doing? How is the shipyard? The hibiscuses we planted in May? I want to hear everything.

When I sat down to write this, I thought the words would come easy to me. I spent my entire flight thinking of what I would say to you, what I would ask. I thought it would be easy to tell you how desperately I want you and how I count down the hours until I get to see you again. Maybe God’s honest truth is that these aren’t understandings that can be summarized in one single letter – or truths that can’t be summarized at all.

Do you ever think about how you can look up and see the same sky as me, the same stars? I’ve spent a lot of time in the air. I know the clouds like the back of my hand, the way they move, the way the wind currents will guide me home. I know more about the sky than I know of the earth. In my profession, it’s hard to stay grounded – literally and figuratively, but my time with you has reminded me that there is an importance in returning to the soil, spreading my roots, seeking out a future I previously thought I couldn’t afford. You’ve given me hope, a dream, a love.

On my flight to England, I looked to the west and I saw a star. It shone brighter than the rest, glimmering and sparkling despite the fading night. As I’m writing this, I’m staring at the very same star. It makes me feel as though we aren’t so far apart right now, that you could look up and see what I’m seeing. You and I, we’re still connected, two ends of a red string coated in something cosmic and everlasting. When I look to the sky, it’s like I’m looking at you.

I will be home soon. That is my one promise to you. Until then, I hope you’ll look to the sky and look for me, too.

Yours,

–P

You draft your response immediately and send it off with the mail carrier before evening. You don’t know when it will get to her or if she’ll have much time to write back, but before you go to bed that night, you step outside and direct your attention to the western sky. You spot the star she was referring to almost immediately, the way it twinkles against a dark canvas; despite the ache in your heart, looking at it makes you feel a little less alone.

June 7, 1944

To my flygirl,

You make England sound so peaceful. I’m sure it is made all the more beautiful a country by you being in it. I would love to visit with you, when the world is all right and it’s a warm, summer day. Even if we just explore the cities, you have a way of making each moment feel more significant. You turn the mundane into a memory. Wherever you go, you leave a trail of magic behind you, and I am endlessly blessed that God has put me on this earth with you if only so I could follow it.

I’m holding up. The days are long and the nights are short and I miss you more and more each day you’re gone. According to the radios, you flew into Normandy yesterday and the invasion began. I hope you stay safe. The shipyard is busy – we are sending out more and more ships everyday for cargo and for men. Even more come back for repairs. I rarely get a break as of late, although I know my job is an important one. The hibiscuses are healthy, but they bloomed a little brighter when you were here to care for them. I don’t know how you do it. It is as though these things know you – they know you’re gentle, and kind, and that you have this nourishing, uplifting factor about you. They know of your love as well as I do, of what it is like to be without it.

I find myself writing and then pausing. I have so many things I would like to say to you but this paper can only hold so many of my thoughts. I agree that one letter is not enough to express myself fully. However, I know not to worry. You are thoughtful in ways most people never think to be and you have always been talented in understanding me before I’ve been able to understand myself. There are many things you know but I do like saying them. I miss you – isn’t it funny how we always come back to this? I miss you in a way that makes my chest ache. I miss having you in bed next to me and I miss the way you sing in the mornings. I miss you because you are everything I didn’t know I needed and more than I ever thought I deserved.

Remembering that you are under the same sky as me makes me feel a little less alone. Remembering that you see the same stars, the same moon, the same sun reassures me you aren’t so far away. Remembering that you feel the same love reminds me that you’ll be home soon.

With love,

Your yardbird

Over the course of the next several weeks, you continue to work. You continue to gaze at the sky before bed, imagining Paige doing the same before she goes to sleep. You write to her and you read the letters she sends you. They always start the same – an affectionate “To my yardbird” that never fails to bring a smile to your face. She tells you about her days, never once mentioning the toils of the war, only the beauty of the nature around her in spite of the damages around it. She tells you about the other women airforce service pilots – the WASPs – in her platoon and their ineffable courage. Paige tells you about the ones vying to return home to their families, too, and their unshakable determination to make it home.

You reread all of her letters when the sun goes down. Each and every one of them, starting with the one dated from June 3 to her most recent one. At this point, you have all of her letters memorized from the penmanship to the content. You spend hours with your hands clasped as you utter your hopes, prayers, a constant wish for her to be safe.

The weeks tick by. There’s nothing of note on the radio. You get lost in the rhythm of working, of thinking about Paige, of writing letters to her and handing them off to the mail carrier with the same unwavering expression of hope. You remind yourself that you and Paige aren’t done here, and that she’ll be back soon.

Then, her letters slow down ever so slightly. The Allies are pushing for one more coordinated attack, she’d written to you. I’ll be in the air frequently.

All you could do was wait. And hope. And work.

So, you do.

Four more weeks pass by. In that time span, you only get one letter from Paige in the second week, then she’s silent for the next two.

You try to not let the worry ruin your life.

On August 25, the radio at the shipyard crackles to life, announcing, “The Allied advance has liberated France. The Germans are in full retreat.”

You felt as though you could breathe a little easier, but you were still sick without the knowledge of whether or not Paige was okay. You don’t hear anything for two days.

On August 27, you’re leaving work early, a rare happenstance. Given the relative silence of the last few days of the invasion, you and the other women were able to finish repairs fully on the current batch of ships you were working on and you were waiting to get the damaged ones back from overseas. With nothing else to do, you walk your worn path back home, letting pure exhaustion and muscle memory guide you home. You’re too tired to even think, but you do glance up at the antiquities shop as you pass by. It had become a habit over the last twelve weeks, bringing a smile to your face as you remember the day you and Paige had met.

But you stop in your tracks, letting the bustle of the crowd pass you by as you gawk. Part of you can’t believe it, half-tempted to rub your eyes, convinced you’re in the middle of a dream or that the sheer exhaustion of the past three months has finally caught up with you. All you can do is stare, until–

Paige Bueckers cocks one of her signature, amused smiles, her eyes relieved and fatigued all at the same time. Her hair lacks its usual gel, the edges unruly. Her uniform top is buttoned one lower than usual, exposing the undershirt she’s wearing, and the hem is barely tucked into the waistband of her trousers. She doesn’t look injured, just like she could use a really long nap, but the sight of her makes your heart leap out of your chest.

“You’re early today, yardbird,” she comments wryly, glancing down at her wristwatch. “You got a hot date?”

You drop your bag at your feet, coming into her personal space with three quick strides. Judging by her expression, it’s clear she wasn’t expecting this reaction from you, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you cup her cheeks, standing on the tips of your toes to kiss her. Paige melts into you completely, her arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against her with an overwhelming amount of relief. She sighs against you, tilting her head to kiss you deeper, but your hands tremble on her face as you taste the salt on her lips. You can’t believe that she’s here right now. After twelve weeks of aching, of hoping, of believing, she’s here. 

You break away from her when your lungs burn, needing to breathe. Despite the tears, she’s still smiling when she presses her forehead to yours, her eyelids slipping shut like she just needs to absorb the moment and breathe you in. You do the same, your hands sliding down to tangle in the fabric of her shirt. She’s firm, she’s warm, she’s alive and she’s in front of you and you have possibly everything you’ve ever wanted right here in front of you. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you whisper into her chest, your voice a little muffled, but Paige’s shoulders shake with laughter, dissolving all of the tension left in your body.

“I told you,” she murmurs, her chin pressing into your temple as she holds you close, “I’d come home to you.”

And if there’s one thing that’s true about Paige Bueckers, it’s that she doesn’t break a promise. Not this one, and certainly not the one she makes to you almost a year and a half later in her backyard when the two of you exchange private vows during a quiet, peaceful, summer afternoon, promising to love each other for the rest of your lives.

2025

As quickly as the memory comes to you, it disappears just as fast, leaving you in a daze. You blink once, twice, wondering if you’d just imagined it all or if that was real. Glancing back down at the photo in front of you, the two women embracing in the middle of a crowded street – one a flygirl, one a yardbird, their features so similar and their expressions so loving, you think that it had felt too real to be fake.

“Hey, you alright?” Paige’s voice echoes from your call, concern laced in her tone, and despite yourself, you can’t help but crack a smile because those were the very first words the aviator had said to you. Perhaps there was more truth to it than you thought.

“I’m okay,” you promise, peering down at the photos again. An idea hits you all at once. “You said you finished practice early, right?” Your girlfriend hums, clearly confused with where you were going with this. “How quickly can you get to this antique store?”

Paige doesn’t keep you waiting too long. She makes it to you in record time, the jingle of the bell above the door capturing your attention. You glance up, spotting her, and the two of you share matching smiles as she strides closer to press a kiss to your temple, squeezing your hip. “Alright,” she murmurs. “Lemme see these pictures.”

You hover silently next to her as she sifts through the pile of pictures you’d accumulated. She lingers on the black and white photo of the pilot and the shipyard worker – describing that photo as you and Paige still feels a little too weird, but you watch as her brows furrow, her eyes lighting up with something that looks like recognition. You don’t even have to ask to know that she’s feeling the exact same thing that you did.

“This is insane,” she mumbles under her breath, which makes you laugh a little, amused. Paige holds the photo gently in one of her hands as she looks through the others, finding one of two teenagers holding hands on their way to a dance, presumably, considering the way they’re dressed. They don’t look as similar to you and Paige as the first photo did, but it still brings back a sense of nostalgia that Paige picks up on, too. “You remember prom? Junior year at Hopkins?” your girlfriend asks, nudging you gently.

You resist rolling your eyes. “How could I not?” you say sarcastically. “Someone saran-wrapped the doors so tightly that the principal had to call the fire department just so we could get in.” Paige laughs. Affection blooms in your chest despite yourself, and you grin, too. “We made the best of it, didn’t we?” Paige hums in affirmation, brushing her fingers across the photo before you before picking up another one. It’s two people laughing on a porch. You can tell they’re lovers by their closeness. “Remember when I rented my first apartment and you helped me move in?”

Her lips curl into a fond smirk. By help you mean Paige stayed over every night for a week straight, delaying your unpacking and “breaking in the new crib,” whatever that meant. You’d enlisted her to help with your furniture, your decor, and building shelves, but you’d go to bed in her arms and wake up to all of your furniture in completely different spots. “Oh no,” Paige would whine, a terrible actress to this day. “Guess I gotta stay and help you fix this.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was intentionally waking up at night and “inconveniencing” you just so she could stay a little longer and annoy you, but you suppose the real kicker was she never really needed an excuse to be near you, anyway. You would have let her stay for the week even if it meant she didn’t fuck up the way your furniture was arranged.

“I still dunno why your furniture kept moving,” she muses, still committed to the bit. “You ever call maintenance? Or security or somethin’?”

You roll your eyes for real this time, pressing a little closer. She raises her arm to rest it over your shoulders. You pick up a photo of a 30’s bride, her veil long over her face. It wasn’t a secret that you wanted to marry Paige someday – the two of you had been together since high school and you both had discussed as much; now, she was entering her final March Madness tournament as a Husky. The two of you were so interwoven into the fabric of each other’s lives that you were sure you would be together until one of you took your last breath.

“You look pretty in white,” she comments off-handedly, like she’s slick, but you know better.

You grin. “You think so?” you ask coyly. She hums again, a smile of her own growing on her features the more she stares at the picture of the bride. “Well, I think you look pretty good in a suit, too.”

“Oh, little ole me?” she croons, faux shyness lacing her tone.

“You’re so annoying,” you say.

“You’ve loved me since we were fourteen,” she reminds you – as if you’d ever forget it. “You’re stuck with me at this point.”

The truth was, you’d be content to be stuck with her for the rest of your life. The other truth was that Paige’s ego was already so dangerously over-inflated that it’s days away from popping like a balloon with too much helium, so you couldn’t possibly admit that to her. The third truth was that Paige knows you love her, just as she loves you, so she didn’t need you to admit it to her, anyhow. The both of you were stuck with each other, not that either of you minded.

“Let’s get these?” you request, and Paige nods, scooping up your selected photos in her gentle hands.

But it still feels like you’re missing something. You have your photos, the memory of a life long passed – which reminds you; you and Paige will be having a lengthy conversation about that memory later today – but it feels as though you haven’t seen everything the universe clearly wants you to see. So you link hands with Paige, scanning the shop once more as you search for the missing piece.

It’s Paige who actually locates it after a few moments of walking. She glances at you meaningfully, guiding you down a row of bookshelves, eyes roaming over its contents like she knows exactly what she’s looking for. At the very end of the line, there’s an old, dusty, leatherbound book covered in cobwebs laying flat on an antique table, as though someone pulled it off the shelves to read and then forgot about it. Paige exhales like it was exactly what she was looking for.

She drops your hand to brush the back of her hand over the front cover, getting rid of the dust and the cobwebs, and then immediately sneezes. It makes you choke on a giggle, the mystery and the intrigue of the moment softened by Paige’s incessant allergies, and the tips of her ears flush red as you whisper a quiet, “Bless you.”

When the cover is clean, she wipes her hands on her shorts and opens the book carefully to the front page. You peer over her shoulder again. The penmanship is in neat cursive, the ink fading with time, but still legible enough for you to read. There’s a date in the top right corner reading 1543 September 9. Paige whistles lowly, holding the book a lot more gingerly now, which amuses you a little bit.

You look at the first line, reading, “Father procured me this journal to document my life and my emotions. He believes that it will help regulate me and, in quote, save me from this phase of rebellion lest I make a mockery of the crown. I am only eighteen. Surely, he must understand that the life of a princess is not one for me.”

Paige blinks once. “Well, that’s heavy.”

“Paige, she’s eighteen.”

“Technically, like…” your girlfriend pauses to do the math in her head, “...Four hundred and…eighty sum’.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself, and when you reach out to turn the page, you’re hit with another memory – only this time, you know that Paige is seeing it too.

1543

“Princess, your father is just trying to look out for you. He is just…a little misguided.”

You huff indignantly as you drag your brush through your hair. You truly do not mean to be this dramatic, but indignance just seems to be the main emotion that your father manages to evoke from you. Ever since you turned eighteen, the “of age” marker determining your eligibility to officially inherit the throne, the King – your father – has been nothing short of particular. Exacting. Expectant. If you’re not studying with your tutor, you’re listening in on his meetings, learning the ins and outs of how to run a country. You’re his only heir, so deep down, you understand why he demands so much from you. There’s a short time between now and when your father won’t be deemed fit to run a country. You’re just upset that being the princess means you can’t be you anymore.

There’s a certain degree of freedom you get used to growing up in the castle. You want for nothing – everything is provided for you, no question about it. You have the best education possible, learning from private tutors all over the world – math prodigies, language experts, philosophers. Everything you could possibly want is at the tip of your fingers. As of late, however, it seems that you may just be broken. 

You long to be outdoors, away from the castle and its stuffy, too large walls. You long to do things for enjoyment and not for obligation. You’re eighteen – you want to be with people your age, not the children of the entitled, pompous bureaucrats that your father rubs elbows with. You want to be you, not the Princess, not the heir to the throne, just you.

It seems there are just some luxuries that one cannot afford, not even monarchs with the world at their disposal.

“‘Misguided’ is one word for it,” you huff, trying to not catch too much of an attitude with your chambermaid, Carlotta. It is not her fault, not in the slightest, and she’s been there for you your entire life – even longer than your father has. “I do not want to be–”

Carlotta hushes you, a gentle, cautious hand resting over your shoulder. You clamp your mouth shut. “You must be careful, Princess,” she murmurs.

“There are eyes and ears everywhere,” you finish, your voice barely a whisper. “I know. I’m sorry.”

That was another thing you loathed about being a royal – the constant paranoia. It is a well-known fact that your father has enemies. Perhaps that is just a fact of life that comes with being king, a political figure, someone in charge of making decisions for millions of people. It is hard to be free when you’re tailed by your father’s most trusted knights and officers.

“It is all right,” Carlotta assures you. “Now come – you must be ready for the banquet.”

You nod, swallowing back your remark, and you allow Carlotta to help you into your gown.

The banquet goes as well as you were expecting. It’s loud, raucous, and full of minging, networking, and brown-nosing. You’re certain that you’ve never faked as many smiles or laughs as you have until today, but once it becomes socially acceptable, you sneak out the back door.

Or, as well as one can sneak when there’s a knight tasked with following your every move.

You glance over your shoulder. Just before the door slams shut, a tall figure in breathable armor slinks through the gap, following you at a respectable pace. However, there’s something that gives you pause.

As irritated as you are at the prospect of being tailed by your father’s appointed guards, you’ve made a habit of knowing who they are. Tristan is your usual suspect – he’s tall, lean, and his armor is recognizable. There’s a crest on his breastplate, signifying that he comes from a family of nobles, but this knight lacks the decorative chestpiece. Every other day, you’re then followed by Maximus. He is a little shorter than Tristan, although in place of a family crest, he has the traditional knight’s insignia – he doesn’t come from a family of nobles; rather, he’s an experienced knight who worked his way up through those ranks.

Whoever is wearing this suit of armor isn’t Tristan or Maximus, and you know that while your father makes a habit of annoying you, he wouldn’t reassign your patrols without telling you. Feeling your heart beat a little faster in your chest, you lengthen your strides, trying to get away from whoever is pursuing you without giving it away that you know they’re an enemy.

The issue with all of the country’s royals concentrated in one wing of the castle means that the large majority of the knights are assigned to that wing. That means there’s little protection through the back corridors. That means you need to find a way to get the knight off of your trail. There’s a variety of things you could be used for. A bargaining chip. An arranged marriage. Perhaps you’d just be killed entirely.

You hang a left, casting another glance over your shoulder. You don’t see the knight round the corner just yet, but you can hear his footsteps pick up speed. Realizing how dire your situation is now, you will your body into a run, thanking Carlotta for putting you in a pair of sandals instead of the heels your stylist had set out for you. The heavy clank of armor follows you down the winding halls as you breathlessly search for your exit.

To your right is a set of tall glass doors, leading into the palace gardens. Confident in being able to find somewhere to hide there, you push the doors open and run outside.

What you’re not expecting to find, however, is a tall blonde woman sparring in the dark. She spins on a dime, her sword lowering, but recognition flickers across her face once she realizes you’re the Princess. You briefly wonder if she’s a knight, too, or if she’s here to kill you, as well, but you throw all caution to the wind, deciding to trust the blue of her gaze. “Help me!” you exclaim, throwing yourself behind her just as the glass doors burst open and the turncoat knight barrels outside.

You realize, perhaps a little too late, that the blonde woman is not wearing armor. She’s dressed in a breathable navy and white tunic, the knight’s crest emblazoned across the chest, and a pair of worn boots. At the very least, she’s drastically more agile than her opponent (and taller, too, you note, although you remind yourself that there’s possibly a time and a place for those sorts of realizations). 

The armored knight draws his sword, a quiet acceptance in his body language like he knows he’ll have to go through the blonde knight to get to you, but she’s rigid, confident, rising to the challenge completely.

They collide in a flurry of sparks, loud groans, and the clang of metal against metal. The blonde, to her credit, doesn’t budge, but the force of their impact sends the armored knight stumbling. Using that to her advantage, she delivers a swift kick to his abdomen, which makes the knight fall to the ground completely. 

“Yield!” she barks, her blade against the soft part of his helmet.

He pauses, gazing up at her as if truly contemplating it, before his own leg jerks out, knocking her off balance. She grunts, dropping to one knee, and he uses her injury to kick her backwards as well. He digs his sword into the soil, using it to lift himself up. The knight spins his sword in his hand, remnants of dirt flying off of his blade, and he stalks towards her like a predator to his prey. All you can do is watch on in horror. 

You’re so focused on the other knight that you don’t notice her fingers digging into the dirt next to her until she comes up with a fistful of soil that she launches directly at his helmet. He recoils with a yelp, disoriented, and the blonde knight locates her sword, slashing out in a quick motion and catching the soft spot where his knee bends. He staggers again and she slams her hilt into his wrist, causing him to drop his sword. She grabs it immediately, dual wielding both blades, and the checkmate move comes when she kicks his injured leg. He falls to his knees and she crosses both of the swords under his neck again, chest heaving and sweat beading at her temple.

“Yield,” she commands. “I won’t ask again.”

He lifts his head ever so slightly, meeting your gaze across the garden. You stand your ground even though you’re rattled and you can feel your pulse in your fingertips. Barely eighteen and I’m already surviving assassination attempts, you think to yourself, Father would be proud. Then, he drops his head again, defeat in his posture. “...I yield.”

By the time he finishes his sentences, the garden doors burst open and more of your father’s nights enter the garden, brandishing their blades. They catch sight of the blonde knight, swords to your attacker’s neck, then settle their gaze on you, breathing heavily but not a hair out of place. “Arrest him,” one of the captains instructs, and another knight surges forward to deal with the attacker. “Secure the Princess. Alert the King immediately.”

The garden is a flurry of activity as the knights disperse. One group leaves as they drag away your attacker. Another group surrounds you as if forming a wall between you and any potential danger. Still, you can’t keep your eyes off of your savior, the blonde woman whose cheek is slightly smeared with blood. You’re not sure if it’s hers or his, but this isn’t a night you’re going to forget for a while – not because of the attempt on your life, but because of this knight’s bravery, her spur of the moment decision to put her life on the line for you, especially against an opponent with far more protection than her.

It’s nearly stupid. She’d behaved so recklessly, but it was her job. So why do you feel so drawn towards her?

Your father arrives with a security detail of his own. You’re not quite sure what you were expecting from him, but he gives you a cursory look over, nodding in approval when he sees that you’re okay, before he turns to his men. “Who allowed this to happen?” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to, but you think he’s scarier like this – the deadly sort of calm that only comes out when someone is truly pissed. “Who allowed a turncoat knight to nearly kill my daughter?”

His men are notably silent. Your father scoffs, shaking his head, and he turns on his heel, probably ready to storm out until he catches sight of the blonde knight, standing solemnly in the corner. “Who are you?”

Her voice doesn’t waver when she answers, not meeting your father’s eyes out of respect. “Sir Paige Bueckers, Your Majesty.”

He glances at her – armorless, then he glances at the rest of the knights gathered – uniformed. “Why are you here?”

Paige hesitates, looking up to meet your eyes, a silent plea for help. “She saved me, Father,” you answer for her, drawing your father’s attention back to you. She relaxes slightly, gratitude in her expression. “I noticed the knight following me wasn’t one of my usual handlers. So I ran out here to flee and found Sir Paige.” Your father looks at Paige again, studying her in a new light. His quiet contemplation could mean a lot of things. Then, surprising everyone, you say, “Father, I want her reassigned to my guard detail immediately.”

Your father considers this for a few moments longer, then he turns to the captain. “See to it,” he orders. The captain nods emphatically. And with that, your Father returns indoors, his security detail following. The rest of the knights follow until it’s just you and Paige, who stares at you with a mix of shock and curiosity.

You nod at her, softening. “Come. Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

Paige, unsurprisingly, is not a woman of many words. You don’t expect her to initiate any sort of conversation with you given your status, but she does look at you – a lot – mostly when she thinks that you’re not aware of it. There is nothing inherently inappropriate about her gaze. You can tell she’s curious. You can also tell that she knows she has a duty to do. Her gaze flickers on and off you to scan the hallways for any sort of potential danger and her hand hovers over the hilt of the sword strapped to her waist as if someone would jump at you both from the shadows.

Functionally, she hasn’t said a single word to you since you met her, yet you battle the urge to get to know her. You know that would never be allowed – a royal fraternizing with a knight. It breaches every code of conduct and tradition that you’ve been raised to recite by memory. Despite your knowledge, there seems to be a pull between you and the knight, one that you’re finding harder and harder to resist as you watch her brows tent in concentration, her eyes studying everything about her surroundings as you lead her to the medic.

When the two of you reach the infirmary, she doesn’t say much else, either, only nodding or shaking her head when the physician asks questions like “Does it hurt when I do this?” or “Do you feel any pain here?” You do watch as her face screws up, discomfort in her features, when the physician pokes and prods at her knee.

She’s fortunate, according to the physician, that it is only bruised and she should expect to recover quickly. Taking an armored boot to the knee when you’re wearing only a thin tunic is usually grounds for a fracture or a broken bone. Paige takes the diagnosis in stride, her eyes trailing after the physician as she leaves the infirmary to fetch some herbs from the greenhouse, and shamelessly, your eyes find the knight again. She doesn’t glance at you, but you can tell that she’d like to, so you break the silence to say, “You don’t need to be so formal with me.”

Her throat bobs as she argues, “I do.” Then, as if you’d forgotten, she reminds you, “You’re the princess. Treating you otherwise would be disrespectful.”

You cock a wry smile. “And would disobeying my wishes not also be disrespectful, Sir Paige?”

She pauses, not expecting that one, and finally, she glances up to meet your eyes. Her eyes are startlingly blue, alert despite the exhaustion and the lingering pain of her battle, but they’re kind. They’re soft in a way you would never expect from a hardened knight. They’re gentle when they appraise you, studying your features, and her features relax as if she’s looking at you – truly looking at you – for the first time. “I suppose it would be, Princess,” she agrees. “I apologize.”

Your smile softens, too. “Considering you saved my life today, perhaps we can call it even?” you suggest, trying for a joking tone, and you find that it’s well-received when she chuckles. “Thank you for that, by the way. I would not be here without your courage.”

“I was just doing my duty,” she murmurs humbly. “My only wish is for you to not have had to witness that.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” you say reflexively.

Paige glances at you again, her eyes lingering on your face before a slow smile curls on her lips. “I’m beginning to see that.”

You know she doesn’t intend to say that in any sort of way, but the warmth of her gaze, the approval in her eyes, and her words alone are enough to make your cheeks flush. It’s wrong – that much you’re sure of. You haven’t known the knight for very long, but there’s something so magnetic about her, like you’ve met her before, like you know you’ll be safe with her. This conversation feels like one you’ve had before. That thought doesn’t alarm you as much as it should. Paige just feels right.

Then, she raises her hand, rubbing her face, and she doesn’t realize that she’s reopened the small cut beneath her eye. “Oh,” you say, not nothing much of it as you reach out for a piece of gauze, “you’re bleeding.” Motioning to the wound and ignorant to the way Paige’s breath hitches, you ask, “May I?” She nods and you step between her parted legs, hovering over her as you gingerly reach out with the cotton, fingers light and delicate against her skin, cleaning away the blood. You and Paige are inches apart by now, and the sudden closeness makes your hand tremble, especially when your eyes flick up to meet Paige’s. The expression on her face is almost awestruck, reverent in a way that makes you forget about how dangerous this is. You don’t realize that you’ve planted your free hand on her shoulder, holding onto her to keep her from moving, nor do you realize how her hands grip the edges of the table, knuckles white like she knows it would be wrong to touch you, but the way her breath stutters makes it so obvious that she’s desperate to regardless.

Sobering up, you lean back, red tinging your cheeks as Paige exhales deeply. The physician returns to the infirmary at that time, grinding together herbs in a mortar and pestle and muttering to herself absently. You and Paige exchange a glance, the heat of the previous moment softening as you both put some space between each other, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve stumbled across something that you shouldn’t have – the chemistry between you and the knight. You’ve always been curious and daring by nature; you know yourself well enough to know that you’ll track down that spark and see where it goes, even if it means sweeping the ashes under the rug after it ignites into something you can’t quite stop.

For now, you have to play it smarter. All eyes are on you as you prepare to take the throne from your father, and the last thing you want to do is jeopardize Paige and her future, even if you’ve already done so by assigning her to your personal guard.

Beneath the professionalism, the practiced stoicism that you see right through, you recognize that very same spark reflected in Paige’s eyes – the curiosity, the determination, the willingness to press the match to the kindling if you’d so much as asked. You know this is risky, that this energy between you and Paige is something that will splinter the foundations of the life you’ve grown so accustomed to.

And the worst part of it?

You wouldn’t even mind if it did.

Paige assimilates seamlessly into your routine. You wouldn’t expect anything less from the knight, who adjusts to her new position with a startling quickness and efficiency. Given the recent attack on your life, your father arranged to have her moved to a room only a door down from yours in the Royal Wing of the palace, believing that having her close would allow her to protect you better. She becomes your shadow of sorts, although you had to put your foot down early on in your new…partnership, and force her to walk side by side with you instead of the infuriating ten or so feet away.

“Being close to me would keep me safer, wouldn’t it?” you’d questioned her, by no means trying to be coy about it.

Paige had smiled softly like she knew, amusement and acceptance in her features as she agreed, “I suppose it would, Princess.”

She follows you everywhere – your royal meetings, your appointments with your tutors, to the dining room, and well, if she’s found in your bedroom, listening to you ramble about your latest project, then you’d say it’s for your own protection as much as it’s for the growing friendship between the two of you. When Paige isn’t worried about her professionalism, she talks. A lot. It doesn’t bother you at all. You’re content to listen to her stories, her experiences, her life, how every choice she made throughout the years led her here. Selfishly, you’d think that inadvertently, her choices had led her to you, although you don’t voice that thought at all.

She grew up in a small village a few hours away by horseback – Storrs. It isn’t well known for much except for the cold winters that the locals loathe. She’d recounted her childhood with a fond smile on her face, even the uncomfortable parts like the time she’d hurt her knee severely while sparring or when her parents had divorced. Divorce wasn’t as familiar to you, having been raised in the castle where your father remained with your mother until she passed, even though there wasn’t any love between them after your birth and their failure to conceive a male heir – although that’s a story for another day. When you voiced as such, wondering about the casualness in which she and her parents viewed their separation, she’d merely shrugged and said, “Sometimes people just don’t feel the same love that they did before. Why stick around to force something when your heart’s not in it?”

You’d felt as though that applied to a little more than relationships, considering how you didn’t want to be queen. As much as you trusted Paige, you didn’t think it was the time nor the place to drop that kind of confession on her.

While there’s no more attempts on your life, Paige sticks by you fiercely. If it were anyone else, you’d probably be pissed at the lack of independence, but there’s something about Paige’s company that you cherish, even if it’s just her standing watch at the door while your tutor teaches you philosophy. You like having her around. That thought should scare you much more than it does. For the first time in a really long time, it feels like you’re free. Growing up, you’d never had many friends. Everyone your age was always too aristocratic, too pompous, too entitled. You’d tried, but you could just never get along with them – it was always like you were on the outside looking in no matter what you did differently. With Paige, it feels like you’re shedding all of the past desires to fit in. She makes you feel as though you don’t have to fight your way inside just to be accepted. She makes you feel as though there’s always a place you’ll belong, even if it’s just with her.

So while there aren’t any more attempts on your life, that doesn’t mean your life gets easier. As you progress in your training and you begin to take up more royal duties, there is an increase in the number of suitors that make their way through the castle. Most of them have been arranged by your father, seeking to find a husband to rule next to you – or rather, someone for you to stand next to while they rule. They’re either princes of distant kingdoms, or the high-ranking sons of nobles. You hate all of them. They’re either too old, too stuck-up, too arrogant, or too…male. You’d longed for visions of long, blonde hair, twinkling blue eyes, the gentle way in which the knight spoke to you yet the fierce way she protected you. None of these men were her, and you could tell your father was becoming upset by how often you turned them away.

If you hated them, then you’re not quite sure what word to use to accurately portray the amount of disdain that Paige feels for them. You can see it in her expression alone, the white-hot hatred that burns in her eyes even as she speaks to you politely, calmly. You see it in the way she stands unyieldingly next to you, a hand poised over the hilt of her sword as if she was ready to dispose of whichever groveling idiot was trying to propose, if you wouldn’t deny them yourself. You see it in the way her entire demeanor shifts, the way she grows more confident when you’re alone and her hand curls around your waist and she dips her head down to your ear to whisper, “None of them deserve you. Not a single one of them.”

If Paige hadn’t already ruined you for anyone else, then you’re sure she ruins you completely after that.

At first, you think it’s just her commitment to duty. Paige’s entire job is to keep you safe, protected. If she feels as though these suitors would be too violent, too uncaring, too unfit for you, then you suppose she was well within her right as the princess’s protector to feel however she wanted to feel. Then, you think it’s just hate. She knows you almost as well as you know yourself, if not more. At this point, you’re both a little more than princess and knight. You’re friends who share a mutual duty to a kingdom. However, you realize all too late that it’s actually jealousy.

She stands behind you, her tall stature imposing and intimidating as she stares down the last suitor you had scheduled for today. He’s the prince from a kingdom down south. His name is Oscar and if you had to be honest, you got a bad feeling from him as soon as he strutted in, a black and red cape billowing behind him like he’s already king and has nothing to worry about. You’d even felt Paige stiffen behind you, but you promised your father you would at least talk to your suitors before rejecting them (and you were not keen on sitting through another lecture from him).

The interview goes terribly. You can feel Paige’s mood worsen the more Oscar speaks. He interrupts you countless times, talks over you, and when you do get to speak, he dismisses it like it’s trivial and continues rambling on about his success or his fortune or how well he could lead a kingdom. You knew the conversation was over as soon as he promised he wouldn’t take anymore than five mistresses and you had to stop Paige from jumping across the table and stabbing him entirely.

So, you politely tell him, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re what I’m looking for in a potential king. I have to look after my people.”

You see the shift in his expression before he even raises a hand. You just couldn’t react fast enough to block the swing.

But Paige does. She catches Oscar’s wrist in her hand, her grip so tight that the tips of his fingers were turning purple and he was choking on pain. Then, she slams his hand into the wooden table before you, the surface almost splintering from the force of it. You can hear a sickening crunch, but all you do is raise your brows as Paige leans over you, her gaze set firmly on Oscar. “We’re done here,” she murmurs, her voice low and threatening. “Raise a hand to the princess ever again and I’ll kill you myself. Do I make myself clear?”

You don’t hear what he says, too stunned to focus on anything but the vein that protrudes from Paige’s neck, the challenge laced in her tone, the way her response has left a warm feeling deep in your belly. He scurries out with a metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, the door slamming shut, and you and Paige are left alone in the conference chamber. Paige breathes heavily next to you, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder in both consolation and apology, yet all you fixate on is the way your thoughts race.

Paige is saying something to you, but it sounds like you’re underwater. You push out your chair, standing as she rambles, and you turn on your heel to meet her eyes. There’s still a lingering fire in there although it dwindles the more she talks, concern and something else you can’t quite place taking precedence. Before you have the time to talk yourself out of it or remind yourself of how wrong this is, you curl your fists in the fabric of her tunic and you pull her down to your level.

She immediately freezes against you, the words caught in her throat releasing in the form of an indulgent groan as she finally registers that your lips are on hers. When she relaxes to kiss you back, the intensity is almost overwhelming, like the fire from earlier has returned. She grips your hips possessively, backing you into the table and lifting you onto it for better leverage, one hand dropping to hold your thigh and the other curling around the back of your neck. Paige leans forward, pressing against you like she couldn’t stand to leave any inch of space between you.

The kiss is hazy and it makes your mind spin in the best way possible. You sigh against her, welcoming the intrusion when her tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and she holds onto you like she’s scared that you’ll disappear if she lets go. Paige kisses you like you’re hers, which you may as well be. You’re hers to protect, hers to hold – not the princes’, not the nobles’, not anyone else’s.

When you both break away from each other, chests heaving, her voice is rough, low, wrecked when she whispers again, “None of them deserve you.” Her eyes scan yours, her thumb brushing across your pulse point and her breath hitching like she can feel exactly what she’s doing to you. “Not you, the princess. And especially not you, the girl whose heart is as pure as it is kind. The girl who I…”

You swallow thickly, feeling the heat in your cheeks and fighting the urge to pull her back into you as she trails off. “And you do?” you murmur. “Deserve me?”

“I’d fight a hundred men and a hundred men more if it meant proving that to you,” she vows. You know her well enough by now that you don’t need her to prove anything more to you. She already has. Your heart is hers. “This isn’t just a duty to me,” she confesses a few beats later, her voice hardly above a whisper like she’s confessing a secret. “It’s real. What you are to me is real. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

“Nothing will,” you say, confident and assured. “I’m safe with you.” Paige nods, her hands warm against your skin, and you press your temple to hers to admit, “For you, I’d run away and leave it all behind.”

You feel her freeze against you, surprise, mostly. She leans back to meet your eyes. “Princess, you don’t mean that,” she says quietly.

You nod vehemently, your fingers tightening in the fabric of her tunic. “I do, Paige, I swear it.” She softens, taking in the conviction in your tone. “I don’t want this – I don’t want to marry someone else. I don’t want to be the queen. I want you, a life of peace, where I don’t have to worry that someone will try to kill me or if I’m making a decision that will kill my people. I want peace.”

The silence lingers. There’s a realization in the wake of your declaration that in your position, you could never afford peace. Princesses don’t get peace, or a life of ease, nor do they ever get the one they love. Knights don’t get peace, or a life of ease, nor do they ever get the one they love. You know you’d give it up in a heartbeat if you could find the courage to. You study Paige’s features closely, waiting for her to speak. She swallows thickly before she does.

“Storrs,” she whispers, confusing you. “My village. We can go there – just say the word and I will take you, I swear it. I don’t owe anything to this kingdom. My loyalty is to you. We’ll be safe there, free, and you can do everything you’ve wanted – you can teach, you can explore–”

“Okay,” you agree.

Paige pauses. “What?” she asks, trying to keep the hope at bay.

“We’ll go to Storrs,” you repeat, a smile growing on your face.

“You mean it?” Paige murmurs, her voice cracking, and all you can truly do is cup her face in your hands, kissing her once more. This one is softer, the perfect seal to the promise you’ve just made to each other, and it feels more right than a crown on your head ever will. Her embrace makes you feel more secure than a legion of your father’s men ever could. You know in your heart that this is where you belong.

Happiness doesn’t last for too long. 

When you wake up the next morning, you can feel that something is off. Paige is usually already awake, standing guard at your door and waiting for you to come out for breakfast. Now, there’s an unusual silence that lingers and it makes you feel on edge.

Instead of Paige at your door, you find Carlotta, wearing an uncomfortable expression on her face. Dread wraps its fist around your heart, squeezing tight, and your chest hurts when you ask, “Carlotta, what’s going on?”

“Your father has requested your presence in the throne room immediately,” she says to you, her voice shaking. You swallow thickly, afraid of what waits for you. You cast an uneasy glance at the door to Paige’s room, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, but still feeling as though something is terribly wrong. Carlotta follows behind you as you walk through the winding corridors, anxiety coursing through your veins.

The scene awaiting you in the throne room is not one you could have ever prepared yourself for. Your father sits idly atop his throne, an almost nonchalant laziness in his body language. He’s surrounded by his usual guard detail. Your body burns with anger when you realize Oscar is standing right next to him, his hand wrapped in gauze and a splint, a malicious expression on his face. But what truly devastates you, what makes fear seize your heart entirely is Paige held firmly in the knight captain’s grasp, her hands and ankles shackled. She looks no worse for wear, only disheveled and her bun mussed from an evident fight, but her eyes burn bright with hatred and something that looks like failure.

“My daughter,” the King calls across the room. Everyone directs their attention to you, but you’re not prepared for the amount of grief and shock on Paige’s, like she wasn’t expecting you to see her like this. “Come – we have much to discuss.”

There it is again. That same steely calm from the night in the gardens. Your father isn’t the kind of man to yell – people with power and trained men at their disposal have no need to raise their voices – which is why his demeanor in this situation makes you fearful. Not for yourself, but for Paige.

“I’m not a man who shies away from admitting when he’s wrong,” your father continues when you step closer. “Accountability makes for strong leaders. I’ve always told you that, haven’t I?” You scan his features, your gaze giving nothing away. He’s not looking for a response. “It seems I’ve made a mistake in knighting an individual. Where she goes, trouble follows, such as the night in the garden. And now, with the suitors.” Your father cocks his head, looking perplexed. “Prince Oscar has suffered several broken bones and a fractured wrist due to…your knight being unable to control her anger. Alas, it has come to my attention that she has also filled your head with lies, deceit, and empty promises.”

He stands, his sea of guards parting for him as he makes his way towards you, towards Paige. “If she wants to run away, so be it. If this turncoat knight no longer wants to give back to the kingdom that has made her, that has given her the life she has now, then so be it. What I will not allow is for her to manipulate my daughter – the Princess – into leaving with her.

“So,” he muses, ushering Prince Oscar forward, who gazes at you like he’s won. “We are here to make an example. The monarchy will not be mocked. My daughter, tomorrow at sunset, you will be wed to Prince Oscar. He will be your king and you will inherit the throne. And your knight –” he spits the word like it’s venom, clear distaste evident in his features, “–will be executed at nightfall for treason against the crown.”

Your ears are still ringing.

Your father’s revelation left you numb, reeling. You watched as his men dragged Paige out of the room, her eyes locked on yours in surprise, disbelief, and ever-present grief. Your father had more to say to you, but you weren’t listening. Being forced to marry Oscar of all suitors was at the back of your mind. All you could think about for hours on end was your knight will be executed at nightfall. The word executed circulated through your mind on repeat along with images of Paige’s eyes, betrayed and disappointed all at one.

This wasn’t the plan. You and Paige were supposed to run away. You were supposed to leave kingdom life behind and go to Storrs together. You were supposed to live a life of peace in a small village where the crown couldn’t possibly find you. You’re not supposed to marry Oscar, or watch the love of your life be executed. This was all so horribly wrong.

You’re confined to your room for the entire day, your father feeling as though you would find a way to escape or look for Paige. He knows you better than you’d expected. With nothing but time on your hands, you wait. You cry. You scream and you break the mirror in your room because when you look at it, all you can see is the way Paige had stood behind you as you asked for her opinion on your dress and her jaw had gone slack before she whispered, “I think you’re the most beautiful woman the world has ever seen.” You spiral, because you were so close to making it out but your father and Oscar have derailed your plan.

At nightfall, 24 hours away from Paige’s scheduled execution, Carlotta knocks at your door. She lets herself in when you don’t respond. You hardly look up, even when she takes a seat on the foot of your bed. She’s silent for a few moments before she says, “I’m sorry, Princess.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound scraping against your throat. “It’s not your fault, Carlotta.” Even if it was, you don’t want to think about it. This woman has raised you since you were a baby. You weren’t sure if you could ever handle that heartbreak.

“It’s not,” she agrees softly. She clears her throat. You can almost feel her hesitation. “I was next to your mother when she passed on,” she admits. That confession makes your heart skip a beat. “I held her hand as she was taking her final breaths. I’d loved her, you know. Your father never knew. He didn’t care to. But when I watched my life’s greatest love die, it was a pain unlike anything else I’d ever experienced. I thought a part of me died that day. Your mother, however, entrusted me with something special to her – a part of her. She made me promise to take care of her daughter – the Princess – and to this day, you are the most important person to me.”

“Carlotta,” you murmur, tears pooling in your eyes and your voice cracking. “What are you saying?”

“You love her,” she says, like it’s more fact than fiction, like it’s something as obvious as the sky is blue or the grass is green. “Sir Paige. She is your life’s greatest love. I couldn’t save my love. But there is still hope for yours.” She stands, drawing your attention as you feel her move. There is a folded piece of parchment in her hand. Carlotta presses it into your hands. “Read this, and do not lose your faith, Princess.”

Carlotta leaves before you can say – before you can ask anything else of her. Your mind spins as you look down at the paper in your hands, at Paige’s familiar, sloped handwriting. Fingers trembling, you unfold it, and you begin to read.

Princess,

I did not think I would get to speak with you after they dragged me out of the throne room in handcuffs, so you will have to forgive me if this letter is incoherent. It is difficult for me to wrap my head around the idea – the fact, rather, that I will be dying at nightfall tomorrow.

Being a knight, I had always known that my death would be imminent. My profession is not safe. My duty is to put my life on the line for the kingdom, for the king and the princess. I knew of that long before I picked up my sword for the first time. I had always imagined that it would be in combat – perhaps I would be fighting those hundred men and the hundred men more that I had spoken of. Perhaps I would be the lucky one and die of age after living a life of valor, dedication, and virtue. Execution had never crossed my mind.

If there is one part of my life that I could pick out and say is the greatest moment of it, I would say that meeting you is it. Not being knighted for the first time or my father teaching me how to wield a blade. It was you. It is always going to be you. You are my purpose, my reason for fighting. You have made my life worth it, even if we were only a short time.

I want you to know a few things. First, this is not your fault. If I knew the outcome from the very beginning, I would choose you everytime without question. A moment with you is worth an eternity wherever my soul takes me next. Second, do not give up. You are kind, courageous, brilliant – I know you will think of something. Third, I miss you. I have only been apart from you for a few hours, but I miss you; if I knew of a way to make you miss me the way that I do, I would never dare to make use of it for you are undeserving of such an all-consuming ache. The fourth is that I love you. I planned on telling you once we made it to Storrs, after I had introduced you to my family. You deserve to know.

You are my greatest love, Princess. In this life and the next I will never give up on searching for you.

Eternally,

–P

By midafternoon the day of your wedding and Paige’s execution, you can tell that something has shifted once more. The palace is eerily silent. Again. It almost makes you worry, but after considering that your life couldn’t get any worse, you decide that the silence is a problem for you in the future. For all intents and purposes, you’re still essentially trapped in your room, and you spent the better part of the night and the entire day leading up to this moment rereading Paige’s letter to you. It didn’t make you feel any better about the situation, but you try to remember Carlotta’s words to you. They give you strength when you feel like all else is failing.

The minutes tick by until you hear tapping on the glass door leading to your balcony. Believing it may only be a bird, you think nothing of it until the tapping persists, louder this time. The glass is textured, so you can’t see out of it, but you reach for the first sharp object you can find – in this case, it’s one of your heels – and you creep towards the door, pushing it open with caution.

You freeze immediately. The heel slips out of your grasp and Paige is standing before you, her tunic rumpled and exhaustion in her eyes, but she doesn’t look hurt, and that’s all you can truly be thankful for. “I was beginning to think you weren’t home,” she murmurs, a coy smile on her face that is not befitting of the moment, and you could sob as you throw your arms around her neck. She wraps her arms around your waist, lifting you off of your feet. Paige buries her face in your neck, breathing you in and sighing in relief – you’re both okay. You don’t know what to say, stammering through words that don’t make any sense, but Paige squeezes you a little tighter, shushing you.

After a moment, she places you back down on the ground, drinking you in like she can’t believe this is real. Then, she smiles softly. “We don’t have a lot of time,” she says quietly. “Carlotta is waiting for us at the stables. Get your bag and whatever else you need. She’ll take us to Storrs.”

Overwhelmed with emotion, all you can do is nod, wiping your eyes as you retrieve the bag you’d packed after you and Paige agreed to leave. You make sure to slip into a pair of more comfortable shoes and you don’t forget to grab her letter stashed under your pillow. When you’re ready, she guides you down the wall of the palace and into the garden below, creeping through the bushes until you reach the stables. You hug Carlotta so tightly that she groans, laughing, and together, you, Paige, and Carlotta make the journey on horseback to her village.

Her village welcomes you and Carlotta in – they’re definitely a little shocked, but they’re happier to have Paige back and safe. She introduces you to her family, her mom, her dad, her step-parents, her brother and her step-siblings and they all treat you like one of their own, a blended family that’s no less full of love. They own a small little shop, one that dabbles in selling antiquities and artifacts from ages ago. You can see yourself splitting time between working there and teaching the village children, but most importantly, you can see yourself free, in love, and happier than you ever would have been in the castle. It will surely be a national emergency when the King realizes that the princess, the knight, and the chambermaid have all escaped, but you think that’s a problem for someone else.

For the record, Paige does tell you she loves you – in person, not through a letter – that night after you’ve been fully introduced to everyone and her mothers worked together to make a hearty dinner for you and Carlotta. It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of having – a love that’s wholly yours, a life to share with someone who cherishes you, and the freedom to live the life you’ve always wanted. You were always destined to find this – destined to find Paige, to love her, to give her your heart completely; the two of you have always been connected by that red string of fate and wherever your souls take you next, you know you’ll find her there, waiting for you.

2025

The memory fades and you and Paige blink in tandem, your hands still resting over the book as you look at each other. Almost no time has passed, although the both of you look like you’ve lived a whole new life entirely, which you may as well have. Paige breaks the silence to mutter, “I was a knight in a past life and in this one, I have to do homework?” Her disbelief makes you laugh, all of the tension dissolving as she joins in with you.

“Says you,” you retort. “I was a princess.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “You ain’t never letting that one go.”

“Nope!” you chirp happily. Paige rolls her eyes, but she can’t keep the smile off of her face as she closes the book gently. You intertwine your fingers with hers, giving her a squeeze. “Hey, you okay?” you ask.

Paige nods, her smile widening. She leans in to kiss you softly, which makes you grin against her. “Never better,” she assures you. “I was right, though.” You hum, gazing up at her, and she reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. “You are my greatest love.”

“You’re mine, too,” you promise, wrapping your arms around her neck as she pulls you into a hug that feels lifetimes in the making. “We’re timeless, aren’t we?”