#the fact that at the end of the day they were doing something on this motherfucker's orders was such a bur under her saddle

[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?”

[lesbian-sunshim]

with few exceptions i don't ship any of the m6 with any of the princesses but I wanted to challenge myself and do exactly that; I combined a bodyguard au and an arranged marriage au and came up with this! - an au where bearing an element of harmony comes with a union to one of the princesses, and serves functionally as both a spouse and/or adviser, and a bodyguard.

been calling this either the harmony marriage au, or the elements of marriage lol

Rainbow immediately addresses the elephant in the room and all but volunteers to form a union with Luna; something she does partly to prove she isn't afraid of anyone or anything, but also because… look man she said she was sorry and she's gonna start her new rule with everyone against her - someone has to be there for her. Celestia especially approves of this union, as, even if these marriages are largely political, the element of Loyalty would make a true companion for a pony like Luna. Despite that, I think their start would be difficult, given all the ways the two are opposites… but ultimately flying by moonlight is just as nice as flying during the day, and the long stretches of peaceful nights give them plenty of time to get to know each other.

Cadance solves the unbalanced issue and forms a union with both Pinkie and Fluttershy. There's no limit to virtues that are compatible with Love, but Laughter and Kindness just have that little something extra that catches her attention, nevermind how stinkin cute they are. All three take to their new marriage well. It’s especially helpful that Pinkie and Fluttershy have a pre-established friendship that could easily remain platonic, or turn romantic or queer-platonic; there’s also the fact that Cadance herself was once a humble pegasus raised by earth ponies before being thrust into this royal life, which could be why they caught her eye in the first place. 

(Shining is still here, as someone needs to train these girls in the art of guarding, and their relationship is still active (although PinkieShy would not be considered his wives); bc if there’s one thing I’m going to do with the princess of love, it's show off some poly pride!)

Twilight would, at this point, ““have her choice”” between Generous Rarity or Honest Applejack; either would be fitting for her new title as the princess of Friendship, and both are good ponies who she could rely on. However, given just how much Twilight’s life is about to be upended with new, well, everything - ultimately Rarity turns out to be her best match. She’s generous with her patience and tact in a way AJ isn’t quite, and more importantly she understands the ins and outs of the high class, making her a real asset in Twilight’s transition to royalty. Nevermind that the two were maybe already a little smitten before their union even took place…

This leaves Applejack sort of “auto-paired” with Celestia. At first Applejack seems like a horrible choice for a princess who is practically a queen, given how very little she knows about this life, and the way the upper class look down on her, but it ends up that her more open/harsh honesty that would have maybe been too much for Twilight in her new role is actually perfect against Celestia. It takes Applejack a bit to learn how to hold her tongue in royal public but she learns to play the game in her own way, and her willingness to speak openly and bluntly with Celestia - in private - is so refreshing to Celestia, who hasn't had a pony tell her like it is in ages. That said, i think this learning curve takes quite some time to even itself out, and in the beginning they spend a lot of their marriage clashing with each other, though ultimately i see Applejack as a respectful enough horse that her southern charm does just that, charming the princess in a way she couldn’t expect.

The six are still all friends with each other, although given the sister pairs some of them see each other more often; Twilight, Rarity, Pinkie, and Fluttershy are a bit closer in that sense, while Applejack and Rainbow consider each other best friends. I’d be willing to say maybe something is going on between them, if i didn’t think that went against what the element of loyalty stands for, but there’s definitely rumors…

[gnarpmster42069]

MHA MEN DRABBLES

Shouta Aizawa

CW: Masturbation, Praise, Overstimulation

It’d been a long few weeks for you. Shouta had was never home with you anymore. He was always either rounding up Class 1A or out on his nightly patrols. He was never in bed with you anymore. And while you respected and admired his dedication to each profession, you couldn’t help but miss him sometimes.

You missed the mornings where you’d wake up with his arms wrapped around you, the moments where you two would nap together, the moments where he’d fuck you into your mattress. In fact, you missed these moments so much that it pent up into your predicament now.

You lay in bed with your head tilted back into the pillows. Sweated beaded across your forehead while your fingers pushed in and out your walls. You’d never been able to get too far like this and you’d never purchased any sex toys because frankly, you had your own personal one in your day to day life. But he wasn’t there right now.

Frustrated whines leave your mouth as you pout your lips out. It’d been an hour since you initially started and you still hadn’t came. It was starting to mess with you. Each time you got close, your body shifted and lost the spot you needed to hit. This time felt different though, your body was feeling hot again. That desire rising in your veins as you continued.

You could feel yourself clamping down quickly. You could finally get rid of this ache..until you moved again.

“Damn it!” You frustratingly huff to yourself. Just when you were about to give up and maybe retire for the night. A familiar voice.

“Need help?” Shouta raises an eyebrow as he leaned against the doorframe. Tired eyes beaming down at you with a hunger you couldn’t quite describe. He was still dressed in his hero outfit.

“How long have you been standing there?!” You finally looked and attempted to cover up. It wasn’t like you were naked. You had his shirt on and some panties but just the thought of him seeing you made your face hot.

“I asked you a question.” Shouta rolled his eyes and remained leaned against the doorframe.

Silence filled the room.

“Yeah..” you muttered out and looked away.

And that’s how you ended up here. It’d been at least 2 hours since he’d come home and tended to you. “Please..” a hand trailed to his chest to feebly push him back. It hadn’t worked. All he did was grab your hand and kiss your palm.

“Look at my pretty girl.” His other hand nuzzling your cheek as if he wasn’t pounding harshly into you. “You can give me one more can’t you?” You couldn’t. There’s no way. your body was spent. Shouta grabs a hold on your hips and holds them down.

“One more.” He leaned down to kiss your lips. It was sloppy and unorganized. Not at all like is usually stoic self. “For me?”

Keigo Takami

CW: Semi-Public, Making out (kinda), getting freaky on the job

This had to be the most inappropriate you’d ever been. Normally, you wouldn’t even think about doing something like this. But it was something about the way he was so passionate in saving people.

You were a detective working closely under Tsukauchi trying to catch the league of villains and Hawks, or who you personally call Keigo, had joined in as well as many other heroes. But you weren’t pinned on an interrogation room table by just any hero were you?

No, it was the number two hero that used one hand to hold your hips to the table. His tongue tangling with yours as a way of muffling your moans. “Tsukauchi will be back quickly.” He pulled away and trailed his kisses down to your jawline. “We’ve gotta make this quick.” While he peppered kisses at your neck, his hands trailed to your inner thigh.

Thankfully, your skirt made it a lot easier to maneuver around. “Keigo..” you mewled out to him attempting to close your legs. Seeing this, he bite at your neck. “Hold still.” His hand rubbed at your clit slowly before picking up the pace. “I wanted to go slowly but, I can already hear him down the hallway.” He started. Keigo pulls your panties to the side and teases your clit.

“Keep quiet, yeah?”

Izuku Midoriya

CW: Fingering, semi-public, you get walked in on but not caught

“Shh we’re gonna get caught..”

Usually, Izuku would have more control, he’s a hero and teacher after all. He’s a model for all of his students and interns to look up to for guidance. So then why, why was Izuku Midoriya currently bending you over his desk right now?

But here he was, his hands smoothly pulling your pencil skirt up to expose your stocking-clad flesh. Rough, scarred, fingertips gliding over the mesh fabric. Pressing his chest against your arched back and gently grinding his straining bulge against your ass, sweet nothings falling from his lips.

With the way he was handling you, you’d almost believe this was a pure, innocent, loving moment. Certainly not Izuku preparing to take you drinking his planning period, a lousy broken lock UA kept forgetting to replace and “keep out” sign stopping anyone from becoming an unwilling voyeur.

He gently grasps your chin, pressing a loving kiss to your lips. His unoccupied hand trailing lower and lower until…

RIIIIIIIIP…

Suddenly, your bottom half feels breezy. The newly-made hole in your stockings allowing a gust of cold air to blow against your soaked slit. A single one of his warm fingers running down the now cool damp patch. A shudder running up your spine as he presses down, seeming to touch everything but your sensitive bud.

He continues like that, his single finger teasing your folds over your underwear. Pressing them against your lips, the thin garment doing nothing to hide the shape of them. Then finally he swipes the pad of his finger against your clit, a jolt of pleasure shooting through your body. He chuckles at this, watching you try to hold whimpers and small moans from escaping your lips; lest you get caught by a passerby.

He continues to rub you through your underwear, a second finger joining the original, rubbing with more urgency. As you approach your peak you start to get louder, your moans more desperate and whiney. Just as you’re about to fall over the edge Izuku stops, pulling your skirt down over your ripped and soaked stockings. A minute after a student of his steps into the classroom, a concerned look on his face, he asks about strange noises; wondering if someone was hurt.

Izuku’s face is calm as he reassures the student that it was “just training down the hall” all the while rubbing a hand over your hip, smoothing out a bump under your skirt from the rip he caused.

What an asshole.

Neito Monoma

CW: Hate fucking, mention of reader having breast, dom reader (kinda), monoma cums inside

Neito Monoma has no idea how he ended up like this, under you, a former class 1A student. Someone he has aspired to beat for years, always ranking just above him on the hero charts. A mocking reminder that he’s always that far behind you.

But now he can’t bring himself to hate it, he can’t make himself spew some elementary insult. No, not when you look like this. Your hips straddling his own, eyes boring down into his, mouth pulled into a tight angry smile, and hero costume slowly falling down your shoulders. Just barely exposing the swell of your breast.

Just as he was about to get lost in his thoughts again your hips moved, rubbing yourself against his pathetically achy bulge, a whine sounding from his shaking lips. “I thought I told you to pay attention,” your voice is harsh as you grab his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes. “you can’t even do that. Should I just leave you like this?”

Instantly his eyes widened, unconsciously shaking his head no. “W-wait!- wait… you don’t need to leave..” his voice pleading as he searches your face for any sign of pleasing you. “Seriously? Everytime I see you, you act like you’re oh so much better than me? When in reality this is all it takes to break you down? Pathetic.” To punctuate your statement, you roughly roll your hips. Taking satisfaction in the moan that follows.

And so you continued like that, rolling your hips against his, his whimpers and moans music to your ears. His hands shakily holding onto your hips, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. Then, he came with a long drawn out moan, a wet spot instantly forming in his pants. You pull back, a teasing chuckle leaving your mouth as you look at him. Hair messy, face flushed, chest heaving, half hard boner poking against his now wet pants, so much for “better than you”. But, as merciful as you are, you reached your hand down to pull his zipper.

Which is how you ended up like this, gripping his shoulders while he sloppily fucks up into you. His mouth hanging open, babbling slurred pleas and praises, a mix of “thank you”s and “you’re so good” filling your ears. Biting your lip to keep from giving him the satisfaction of making you moan despite how perfectly he was filling you up.

“Fuck…keep going..” you groan, your voice coming out more needy than you had intended. Your body betraying you as you grip him tightly, back arching deviously. He wraps his arms around your waist for better leverage, thrusting harder. In response your head falls back, small moans leaving your mouth. “S-still fuckin’ hate you..” he chuckles and speeds up in response, voice not anymore collected tha yours. “Yeah.. I k-know..”

You feel like you’re going insane, brain and body at odds with each other. Almost like your denying the fact that someone you hate so much is making you feel so good. And maybe it’s the taboo in your mind or the increase in speed and power of his thrust, but you fall over the edge. A moan filling the air around you as you cum, clinching tightly around him. His hips sputtering and speeding up as he cries out and fills you up, both of you panting in the aftermath.

So there you lay, a puddle of sweaty limbs and bodily fluids. You find yourself drifting into sleep as you rest your head on his chest, steady heartbeat drowning out your thoughts. The last thing on your mind as you close your eyes being that maybe Monoma isn’t that bad.

Hanta Sero

cw/disclaimer: 18+, car sex, thigh riding, fwb

You sit in the passengers seat of Sero’s car in silence after dropping your friends off, letting them leave with the belief that he’s driving you home and going about his day. That couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Where?” he glances at you quickly before looking back at the road.

You search the neighborhood before your eyes land on an alleyway. you point, “There.”

He pulls into the alleyway; no people and no distractions. Finally.

As soon as he parks the car, you reach over the armrest and place your hands on his chest as you kiss him. Matching your energy, Sero moves his hands to your lower back, letting them travel up your shirt. His fingertips send shivers down your spine, only contributing more to your horniness. 

He pulls away for a second to catch his breath, “Backseat?” 

You nod eagerly, letting him travel back first before following after him. Gratefully, there’s enough room in the back of his truck to move in such a way. 

Sero leans against the car door, pulling you onto his lap seductively. Continuing what you started before, you lift his shirt up over his head. He kisses you again leaving red marks as he slowly travels from your lips to your neck. 

Lustful compliments leave his mouth when you squirm within his touch, becoming more desperate as his hands reach lower down your body. He props you up to easily slide your shorts off, exposing your underwear. 

The look in your eyes was intense, almost hungry. It was something about fucking your best friend that made everything much more arousing. Being impatient, you climb onto his thigh, not wasting any time before grinding against him. Sero assists you by pushing his knee up into your clit, motivated by your whines and heavy breaths.

You lower your hand to his waist which prompts him to take his pants off for you. 

“You want it?” he whispers, aligning himself with you. 

Heat rises to your face from his teasing, and instead of responding, you pull your panties to the side and slowly sit down on him. A pleasured groan escapes from Sero as he slides inside of you and guides your hips back and forth with his hands. You wrap your arms around his neck and let your forehead rest on his. 

You struggle to keep your composure when the boy under you starts to mumble your name, begging you to go faster and admiring the way you tighten around him. You bring your hand in between your legs to rub yourself as you ride him, which enhances your arousal. Noticing this, he fucks into you, leaving kisses on your skin again.

Your stomach tightens as you embrace your much-waited release, Sero following suit shortly after. Heavy, unsteady breathing fills up the space, and your mind clears as you come down from the high of your climax. You relax into his arms, satisfied with the advantages you have being Hanta’s favorite friend.

Tenya Iida

cw/disclaimer: college, orgasm denial, blowjob.

Tenya Iida has the annoying tendency to always engage in competition during class discussions, going back and forth with you before the professor interrupts. Not to mention you both are at the top of your class. The last place you thought you’d be is in his dorm room, let alone on your knees in front of him.

He looks down at you through dark strands of hair as you frantically attempt to unbuckle his belt.

“Do you need help?” he chuckles lightly, taking amusement in your struggle. 

You finally loosen his pants. “Don’t remind me that you’re you, Tenya.” you say, glaring at him.

Once his pants rest at his ankles, your heartbeat starts to pick up as you lower the tight waistband of his underwear. Your breath catches, surprised that he’s slightly bigger than you imagined he’d be. 

Iida shudders when you take him into your mouth, holding onto his nightstand for balance. You bring your lips up to his head focusing there while keeping eye contact with him. He curses under his breath when you take him in again, averting his gaze away from you.

It’s a nice change of pace to see Tenya be put in his place for once. With your newfound confidence, you start to go faster.  Your right hand assists you as you coax moans to leave his lips. He lets his hand rest on your head, moving a few strands of hair from out of your face. 

“Slower, I’m close..” he mutters, grabbing a handful of your hair. 

Not heeding his warning, you let your tongue engulf him as you go faster than you did before. You watch as his breathing becomes more erratic, throwing his head back at the ceiling. A sense of excitement rushes through you when he gets closer and closer to the point of climax, pulling away before he can do so.

Iida exhales desperately, “Why did you- ?”

You interrupt him with a soft, lingering kiss. “I still have classes to get to, remember?” You tease, pulling up his underwear and pants for him. He wouldn’t get what he wanted out of you, not right now.

You pick up your tote bag from off of the floor and exit his room, fixing your shirt as you walk down the dorm hallway. You smile to yourself, knowing you’d be back later. 

[little-miss-apple]

Frustrated you rummage through your drawer. You have been looking for your favourite pair of panties everywhere. The laundry basket, the washing machine, the dryer...

This was the fourth pair of panties you had lost over the past two weeks. You started questioning your sanity after the last pair vanished because you definitely remembered throwing it in the laundry with the rest of your clothes.

You sit back, huffing in annoyance. How is this even possible? The other pieces of clothing you wore that day came out perfectly fine. You didn't pack much for this trip to Skyhaven so you'd soon run out of panties if they kept disappearing like this.

For a moment you debate if it could've ended up with Caleb's clean laundry, but the two of you didn't exactly wear the same type of undergarments. He would've noticed and returned them by now, right?

You mentally scold yourself as you slip into his room. You felt stupid for even trying but you were at your wits ends. So when you open his drawer and don't see your panties anywhere, you let out a dry laugh.

"I'm so stupid..." you whisper to yourself as you let yourself fall onto his bed. Your fingers trail over the fabric of his bedding. It still smells like him. He's away a lot these days, saying the fleet is busy.

You close your eyes and pull his pillow to your chest, wanting to feel and hold a semblance of him. The second you open your eyes they fall onto a familiar pattern.

"what the hell...."

Caleb returns home when it's almost midnight. The lights in his apartment are all turned off, so he assumes you went to bed early today. Panic sets off the second he peaks into your room and notices your empty bed.

He frantically calls out your name as he searches high and low, not stopping until he finds you sitting on his bed with dimmed lights and your limbs crossed.

"..you scared me pipsqueak," he says as his breathing regulates "what are you doing in here?"

"can't I be here?" you ask, voice sickingly sweet.

"ofcourse you can, you're always welcome in my room..."

"so, you're not hiding anything or something?"

"no...?" he says in a questioning tone "I usually keep classified documents in my office."

"Then what is this?" you say oh so innocently as you dangle your missing panties on your finger.

shit.

He instantly drops to your feet, still in his fleet uniform, his eyes look almost pleading as he looks up at you.

"I'm sorry, please... I don't know what came over me... I just- I thought I'd keep them for when you leave.. and I'll miss you... but they smelled so nice and like you-"

To be honest, apart from the fact that you were running out of underwear, you didn't really mind. If anything you thought it was kind of adorable in a sick and perverted way. But the way he looks at you, begging for forgiveness for giving into his perverted needs, it does something to you.

What was supposed to be some playful teasing suddenly intertwines with the need to almost punish him, keep him on his knees and make him beg for more.

"never knew you were such a disgusting pervert..." the words sound foreign when they leave your lips and if he was any closer, your speeding heartbeat would betray you.

His eyes grow wide for a moment before he stammers; "I am... I am a disgusting pervert.. you- you should punish me..."

Your heart is pounding harder by the second. You let out a shaky breath as you try to compose yourself.

"put your hands behind your back." you command and he oblidges.

Your foot finds its way to his shoulder and you notice the way his eyes flick to the edge of your skirt. You lean back and allow your foot to drag down his chest slowly, observing the way his breath hitches as you go lower.

"A highly respected colonel turning out to be a sick and deprived puppy for me..."

He nods feverishly.

"I'm your puppy, I'm your puppy.. I'll do whatever you want me to do- please-"

Your foot reaches the bottom of his abdomen and you gently apply pressure to his hard cock. He let's out a strangled groan.

"what did you do with them?"

"w-what?"

"with my panties... what did you do with them?" you apply some more pressure.

"I- I'd smell them... jerk off with them... imagine it was you.... 'cus- 'cus I'm your dirty puppy..."

"... take off my panties."

His dick twitches in his pants and you don't have to tell him twice. His hands eagerly lift your skirt and slip the lace white panties down your legs. His hands tremble as he notices how soaked they are.

"Can I eat you out? Please? please I'll be so good... please?" he begs you, puppy dog eyes almost burning into your soul. How could you ever deny him when he looks at you like that?

You nod, giving him the green light. You are instantly tackled as he grabs your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed like an eager puppy. His mouth immediately flies to you clit, sucking and licking it like a starved man.

Your hands fly to his hair, tugging it as you let out a surprised yelp. He hungrily laps your pussy, taking anything you're willing to give him.

"you taste so good..." he says, voiced muffled. He sounds like a drunk man, completely intoxicated by your juices. You can almost hear the way his eyes roll back in his head.

He puts his tongue flat against you, licking stripes from your opening to you clit, sucking the bundle of nervers when he comes near it. Your ankles lock behind his head as you desperately try to pull him impossibly closer.

You don't think you've ever came this hard before. The blissful release so strong that it leaves your whole world spinning as you arch your back of the bed and gasp for air. When you regain some strength, you look down, meeting his eyes that look oh so drunk on you, eyes hazy but still focused on you.

Shakily you sit up on the edge of the bed, forcing him to detach himself from your core. His lips are glossy with your juices as he looks up at you.

"did I do well?"

"yeah... so well..." you say, still breathless. "my good puppy..."

His eyes sparkle at your words of affirmation. He lunges towards you, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He starts to unbutton his uniform while the your lips are still connected.

"what are you doing?" you ask bewildered when you break away from him.

"you won't leave your puppy like this, right?" he says referring to the massive tent in his uniform pants. Before you can answer, your back is pushed against the bed and he's hovering over you, dog tags brushing over your collar bones.

"and we'll get you more underwear tomorrow, I promise..."

(( thank you @mcdepressed290 for the prompt! it's not very good but I actually really enjoyed writing a more subby caleb! my degradation skills definitely need some work though...))

[charmed-asylum]

GIRRRRRL ONCE AGAIN IM SNAPPING MY DIVA FAN OUT AND SNAPPING MY GOD DAMM FINGER OOOH GIRL I WAS THINKING THE SAME THING LORD MMM MMMM MMM. Nah bc she ain’t that stupid and with Sarah and Wheezie. Lets me realistic give the bene of doubt . What if Ward wanted the land and dad like no whole time. Makes sense why Rafe ain’t moving in to her land but snatch her up and shit. Like if it’s a real thing why didn’t they discuss this with the will or something no out side party to approve of this. You want the land I’m giving you money which again if Ward was doing so much why didn’t they not sale the horse why did they not gain the staff of what not others had and can share if it in fact a REAL THING. Also Rafe you can’t be more idk non bull in a china house shit. What would few days even do huh nothing ain’t nothing but a shit on a cracker. Huh.

Let be realistic you know not only did Rafe lose his shit seeing her in her outfit but I bet even Ward did a 👀. “The long-sleeve, cropped sweater that featured a soft ruffle trim that barely grazed your midriff, paired with a high-waisted, flowing skirt that swayed with every step” I feel bad because again he manipulating her to do stuff but she justifies it with things like oh I like to do it anyway and a thought of what happens if I don’t and do. “ You certainly knew how to get dolled up, like Rafe said, and lucky for him, you liked makeup and clothes that made you feel breezy and feminine” even at the end all he doing is manipulating her I’m sorry but I’m adding the fact that yes they just met but out of all the girls OUT OF ALL OF THEM he choose her so someone some how she got pick he could go to a shit tone of people but he went to her and they just met how the fuck does Wheezie know shit about her and she don’t know shit about them two days two days she knew them. That’s it.

Again out girl may say she a bimbo bc she got bimbo ways but girl yesssss remember that shit .” When the room grew quiet, Rafe’s words rattled around in your head. You’d always done what your father had said, let him lead you in all aspects of your life, because you trusted him. You couldn’t wrap your mind around how your father expected you to trust someone else. In the end, he was the reason you were here now.  He’d handed you over to someone else, like, what? A trade deal? The whole thing was completely unreal” I wonder what was the convo between John B and Rafe. Girl don’t be looking at his goods it’s a trap 🪤

Weee we meet wheezie omg thank you father of god huh use her girl use her a s shield. “ You liked her instantly “ When she was talking about what Sarah never had time to do I wonder if reader become that sister wheezie always wanted also what did they tell her regards the reader bc she acting like she should know a shit tone then she does. Does she know of anyone from the neighborhood.

AGAIN OUT GIRL AINT NO BLONDE HAIR BIMBO WOO WOO” It wasn’t urgent, but you had hoped to speak with Ward sooner rather than later. Part of you wanted to officially see the contract he’d wrote up with your father. Could two men really decide together that you should be married off? Was that still legal? “

Do you think the look Rafe gave reader was of possession more than shock or pleasure. Or his tone, Rafe’s voice cut through the growing tension, his tone firm, almost possessive. He makes me huh “ You won’t need to be over there, it’s no place for a woman “ Like 1st chapter I got better things to do now it’s MINE ERRRREREEEE WOOF WOOF 🐶

Sarah ain’t waiting for nothing lol

Rafe touch and firmness Man U need to go tho a year book and jerk off or something. Like damn he in that much of a rush I have to say even Ward should be a little worried like don’t this seem a little unstable and with Sarah calling bullshit even Wheezie shim in like damn .

Rafe sure as hell went from it’s a duty to know it’s about legacy with a puff out chest. Idk I feel he so calculated that what part real or not real it’s like an abusive man or a criminal trying to reason on why they do what they do. I just feel bad bc this reminds me of what she said in part one about family and shit he must of teacher diary ( something I can see him doing) once start talking about this bit I’m like yup he got the biggest breeding kink if I didn’t ever seen one. I’m just huh this shit got me getting high blood pleasure and I read it again I get mad again

rough hands, soft chains [2] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, DUBCON, loss of virginity, rafe is HUGE, breeding kink, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

a/n: i only tag people who reblog the fic AND let me know their thoughts, thank you :)

In which you meet your new family, the Camerons, and learn Rafe's true intentions.

word count: 5.1k

part one

rafe cameron masterlist

The spare outfit you’d packed for your failed escape attempt was a delicate two-piece set in white. The long-sleeve, cropped sweater that featured a soft ruffle trim that barely grazed your midriff, paired with a high-waisted, flowing skirt that swayed with every step. The lightweight fabric was a reflection of your usual preference for comfortable clothes. A handful of other items hung in the closet, clearly not yours, but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept whatever offering the Camerons had left for you.

After giving your reflection a look, you turned your attention your room. You floated over to the vanity, a rustic wooden display decorated with gold trinkets. You’d only packed the essentials, meaning you’d limited yourself to mascara, concealer, blush and lipgloss. You slid onto the matching stool decking to touch up your makeup, wiping away the smudged mascara and applying a fresh coat of lip gloss. Lip gloss always had a way of brightening your mood, even now. You certainly knew how to get dolled up, like Rafe said, and lucky for him, you liked makeup and clothes that made you feel breezy and feminine. 

When the room grew quiet, Rafe’s words rattled around in your head. You’d always done what your father had said, let him lead you in all aspects of your life, because you trusted him. You couldn’t wrap your mind around how your father expected you to trust someone else. In the end, he was the reason you were here now.  He’d handed you over to someone else, like, what? A trade deal? The whole thing was completely unreal.

Something caught your attention outside the large windows. Rolling pastures stretched out before you, dotted with fences and patches of wildflowers swaying gently. Your gaze drifted toward the yard below. Rain trickled down slowly but you realized the figures moving in the distance, behind a tall white fence, were Juliet and John B. Making his way to the fence’s edge, now adorned in a work jacket and dark hat to protect from the rain, was Rafe. 

They were soon deep in conversation. Your eyes lingered on Rafe’s figure a little too long before shifting to Juliet, whose movements were graceful and unbothered. She had been alone for so long, your father had been forced to sell the other three horses your family owned years ago, and her care had undoubtedly suffered as your father’s health declined. Surely, the Camerons had at least a hundred horses and the resources to ensure Juliet was well cared for and had proper company. For a moment, you wondered if she might be happier here, happier than even you.

You were grateful for the distraction when a knock came at your door an hour later. You expected it to be Rafe, but a fleeting thought made you pause, would Rafe even bother knocking?

When you opened the door, you were surprised to find a dark-haired girl standing there, no older than fifteen. She was smiling, her eyes full of curiosity.

"Hey," she said, giving you a once-over with a playful look. "I’m Wheezie, Rafe’s little sister.”

So this was the other Cameron sibling? You smiled instinctively and offered your hand. "Oh, hi! I’m Y/N."

You blinked, studying her more carefully. She looked nothing like Rafe, and in that moment, she seemed almost... approachable. Less intimidating. Her warmth, however, felt almost out of place given the situation.

"I like your outfit," she said, her gaze scanning your clothes and makeup. "And your makeup. Ugh, I wish I could do mine like that. Sarah never has time to show me how."

“Sarah?” you asked, a little confused.

"My older sister," Wheezie explained, raising an eyebrow as if surprised. "Rafe’s never mentioned her?"

You shook your head, realizing she might think you'd known Rafe longer than just today. “Uh, no. He hasn’t.”

"Well, there’s three of us," Wheezie continued, her voice casual. "And Rose, our step-mom."

“Oh, okay,” You nodded, taking in all of the information. You weren’t at all used to meeting new people, “It’s nice to meet you. Can I ask you if Mr. Ward is home yet? I kinda need to speak with him.” 

Wheezie’s expression shifted slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering in her eyes. “Him and Rose have been gone all day. Cattle auction, I think. They probably won’t be back until dinner.”

You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face. It wasn’t urgent, but you had hoped to speak with Ward sooner rather than later. Part of you wanted to officially see the contract he’d wrote up with your father. Could two men really decide together that you should be married off? Was that still legal? Wheezie, sensing your hesitation, brightened up and added, “I could show you around the house in the meantime.”

You thought about it for a second, then smiled. “Sure, that would be nice.”

Joining Wheezie out in the hallway, your tour began. Wheezie led you to Rafe’s room first, just beside yours. “He likes to keep it locked,” she said with a grin, “Or else I’d totally snoop around with you.”

You liked her instantly. Moving down the hall, you passed Ward’s study, a room that felt both timeless and functional. It had a desk covered in papers and shelves filled with books. Next was the master bedroom, a room with dark wood furniture and soft linens. 

Finally, Wheezie opened the door to the library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled the room, and large armchairs were scattered around a grand fireplace. It felt like the perfect spot for quiet moments. 

You couldn’t help but feel small in this place. It held the warmth of a family home but it was massive, the ceilings too high, and had decor that screamed “we’re wealthy”. 

Downstairs, the living room was the first stop, a grand space with towering ceilings. Soft leather sofas and enormous windows that offered a breathtaking view of the stretching land and mountains in the distance.

Moving through the open archway into the kitchen, you took note of counters made of polished stone, dark wood cabinets, and the appliances all state-of-the-art. The kitchen was bustling with a couple of workers, one chopping vegetables at the counter, the other pulling something out of the oven. You noticed a door that led out to a terrace.

“These are all Rose’s renovations. She’s really into interior design, and all that stuff.” 

“And the people. They work here all the time?” you asked, intrigued.

“My Dad can grill, but Rose doesn’t cook at all. So they get help,” Wheezie explained with a shrug. “I think she likes having everything perfect, you know?”

“She does have really nice taste,” You spoke genuinely, fumbling with your fingers as you looked around.

Past the kitchen was the dining room, where a long, weathered table was set for what could easily be a dozen guests. The chandelier above was massive, its crystals catching the light and casting a glow over the room.

Wheezie led you into the garage next. The space was expansive, with polished concrete floors and a collection of vehicles parked neatly in their spots, sleek trucks, a few SUVs, and a couple of classic cars you assumed were more for show. Near the back of the garage, you spotted a few horseshoe-shaped saddles hanging on the wall, alongside an array of hunting gear. There were rifles and ammunition neatly organized on the shelves, a few pairs of boots stacked by the door, and weathered hunting jackets hanging from the walls. It was practical, but still had the polished look of the rest of the house, like nothing here was ever out of place.

“Do you ride?” Wheezie asked as you took in the details of the room.

“Yeah, I have a horse named Juliet,” you grinned. “Do you?”

“I can,” Wheezie replied with a shrug. “I’m not great at it. Sarah’s better, and Rafe—well, he’s good at things like that.”

“Does Sarah live here too?” you asked, curious.

“Yeah, but she’s been MIA for two days.” Wheezie’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You can’t tell anyone this,” she continued, glancing around before leaning in closer. “She and John B. are a thing. And she hangs out with his friends.”

“It’s a secret?” you asked, intrigued but still unsure of the family dynamics at play.

Wheezie nodded, her eyes flicking to the door as if checking for eavesdroppers. “My dad wants her to be with someone whose family is... more prestigious, if that makes sense?”

You processed that for a moment, nodding slowly. “But my family’s not... prestigious. But Ward wants me to marry your brother.”

A mischievous glint sparked in Wheezie’s eyes. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, clearly enjoying the tension in the air. “Is it true that Rafe got you pregnant and that’s why you have to live with us?”

You froze for a split second, then blurted out, “I am not!” You suddenly realized how loud you’d been and lowered your voice, grabbing Wheezie’s hand as you whispered urgently, “I am not.”

“Other people don’t think I’m pregnant, do they?” You continued, “Because I don’t think I’ve done anything that could lead to that…”

You questioned yourself for a moment, feeling a pang of uncertainty. You’d learned about the birds and the bees just once, when you were eleven, and it had been before your mother died. After that, your education had been limited, and anything beyond what she'd explained was a blur of confusion.

What you were certain of, though, was that the kiss with Rafe couldn’t have led to that. You had never heard of anything like that happening from a simple kiss. To your knowledge, you needed at least to sleep in the same bed for that to happen, and you and Rafe hadn’t crossed that line. Before your mind could wander to that possibility, Wheezie spoke. 

“I’m not trying to be rude, just curious,” She said with a smirk, her tone light and teasing. “No one around here tells me anything.”

A few hours later you entered the dining room again with Wheezie. You’d spend a good amount of time in her room and she’d explained more about her family, including more details about Rafe. You learned that she was Rafe’s soft spot. That he was cold to almost everyone except her. Ward had a lot of expectations for him and Rafe did about everything he could to appease his father. 

“I think Rafe just wants to do things his own way,” Wheezie had mused. “But, you know, my Dad has other ideas. He’s been trying to get Rafe to be more... ‘like him.’”

Kindly, you’d accepted her request for you to help her with her makeup. You’d done hers like yours, with bright blush and shiny lipgloss. She was so excited that she practically skipped down the stairs after, her happiness infectious as she bounced in front of you. A part of you couldn’t help but smile. Was this what it was like to have a sister? The feeling was new and strange, but warm, like something you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

Rafe looked you over, as if he was offended by your choice in clothing, “What did I do?” You asked, innocently. 

Maybe he didn’t think your outfit was cute. 

“Come sit next to me,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with something possessive, as if he were commanding you rather than asking. He waved you over. 

You hesitated, looking at Ward, who gave you a reassuring, welcoming smile, and then at Rose and Sarah. Sarah’s gaze was sharp, watching you with a kind of calculating curiosity, while Rose barely seemed to notice, her eyes distant and uninterested.

You exhaled slowly, making your way over to the seat next to Rafe. Your knees brushed against each other but he didn’t move his. 

“Everyone, this is Y/N. I’ve known her family for years, and after that everything’s happened, she’s going to stay with us. She’s been through a lot.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rose murmured, almost absentmindedly. “It’s lovely to have you here with us.” Her tone wasn’t cold, but it certainly wasn’t warm, either.

Ward’s words seemed genuine, but you didn’t understand fully why he spoke so kindly. The two of you were practically strangers. Wheezie smiled brightly in reaction. Sarah, on the other hand, was looking you over even more closely than Rafe. You could see the thoughts swirling in your mind. 

“I have a question-” She blurted out.

Ward interrupted, “I’d watch yourself, young lady.” 

“I just want to make sure everything’s clear,” Sarah said softly, her voice quieter now. “I’m just... trying to understand why, that’s all. A marriage seems a little bit rushed, don’t you think? They didn’t even know each other before today.” 

“They didn’t?” Wheezie raised an eyebrow. 

The pressure in the room increased, “Sarah,” Ward began to warn her but it was Rafe who spoke up next. 

Rafe’s voice cut through the growing tension, his tone firm, almost possessive. “It’s not rushed, Sarah,” he said, turning to look at her. “It’s just what it is. No need to complicate it.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the sharpness of Rafe’s gaze making you shift uncomfortably in your seat. He answering for you, as if you didn’t have a say in how things were perceived.

Sarah didn’t flinch. Her eyes held a quiet defiance. As if to change the subject, Rafe continued, “What is that on your face, Wheeze?” 

“It’s called makeup,” She shot back, annoyed, “Y/N did it.”

Rafe turned his head towards you, “It’s a little much for someone her age, don’t you think?”

“I think she looks really pretty. I started wearing makeup way younger than her,” You responded quietly but honestly, “That’s how you, like, get good at it.” 

“See,” Wheezie stuck her tongue out at her older brother. 

Suddenly, you felt Rafe’s hand touch your knee underneath the table. The warmth of Rafe’s hand on your knee sent a jolt through you, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite focus on anything else. His touch was unexpected, as though he’d done it without thinking, and yet, there was something deliberate about the way he kept his hand resting there.

Dinner was officially served moments later. Rafe’s hand remained there on your knee as you all began to eat the carefully prepared steak, potatoes and asparagus. Your steak was already cut into a pieces, a luxury that you didn’t even know others experienced. 

Sarah pushed around her asparagus, “How do you feel about moving in with us so suddenly, Y/N? I mean, do you really know what you’re getting yourself into?”

You paused, unsure of what to say, your gaze instinctively shifting toward Rafe. His hand was still on your knee, but the grip felt firmer now, like he was holding you in place, keeping you from saying something that might upset the balance of things.

You bit your lip, trying to gather your thoughts, but when you opened your mouth, it all just came tumbling out. “It’s kinda overwhelming,” you started, your voice soft but a little unsure. “I miss… I miss my Dad. And you guys have all this land, and this house is so huge, it’s hard to wrap my head around it all.” You glanced at Sarah, then back to your plate. “And, like, I didn’t think I’d get married this young, but… if it’s really what my Dad wanted…”

You trailed off, feeling a little embarrassed. Sarah’s gaze softened slightly, “It’s a big step. Are you sure you’re ready?”

Up until that point, you hadn’t realized you had a choice in all of this. You could see she wasn’t questioning you out of judgement. She almost looked concerned. 

“Enough, Sarah,” Ward spoke sharply, “This is bigger than what one person thinks is right. I don’t expect you to understand but it’s about responsibility. Rafe is growing up and he’s decided to take on new responsibilities. I don’t see why you can’t be supportive.” 

“I just think she deserves more time to decide,” Sarah said. 

“There isn’t a rush. I’m not rushing them, that’s for certain. Rafe and Y/N will take the time to get to know each other.”

The room fell quiet for a moment. You could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. You glanced at him and noticed the subtle shake of his head, as if dismissing the entire idea. “What’s the point in waiting? You can plan a wedding in a few weeks, right?” 

“Rafe, son, don’t you think two should spend some time together?”

“No, Dad, we’ll get married as soon as possible. If Y/N wants to have a real ceremony, Rose can plan it, but I’d be down to just go to the courthouse.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. 

“Rafe,” Sarah leaned forward in her seat, “Are you actually crazy?”

How did we get here? You had no answers, just a rush of emotions you couldn’t quite put into words. Maybe you should’ve said something, but the lump in your throat made it hard to think. 

“We’ll figure it out” Rafe said, cutting her off. He turned his attention to you, his gaze intense but unreadable. “Right, darling?”

The way he looked at you made your stomach twist. It was as though he was asking you to confirm something you didn’t fully understand yourself. You opened your mouth to respond, but Wheezie chimed in before you could.

“Dude, that’s like, so not romantic!” she exclaimed, scrunching her nose. “You haven’t even proposed yet!”

Sarah seized the moment, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. “Exactly. At least ask her properly, Rafe. Or are you afraid she’ll say no?”

The air at the table grew heavier. You glanced at Ward, who looked ready to intervene, but Rafe beat him to it. His lips curled into a tight smile, though his eyes flashed with something darker. “You think I’m afraid of that, Sarah?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm.

All you could think about was the way Rafe’s hand hadn’t left your knee, his grip steady, as if anchoring you to him despite the chaos swirling around the table.

“Can we drop it, please?” Rafe asked, his tone deep and final. 

“I want Y/N to stay,” Wheezie decided. 

“We all want Y/N to stay,” Ward clarified.

“Well, good,” Rose chimed in, her smile polished and hollow. “Then it’s settled.”

At the end of dinner, Ward leaned back in his chair, addressing you, “You’ll find we take care of our own here, sweetheart. Anything you need, you only have to ask.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure what else to say.

“We should get going,” Rafe announced abruptly, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. His hand left your knee, only to find the small of your back as he helped you up. 

Wheezie pouted. “But we haven’t even had dessert!”

“Next time, Wheeze,” Rafe replied, his tone firm. “Come on, Y/N.”

You followed him out of the dining room, feeling the eyes of his entire family on your back. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, trying to keep up with Rafe’s long strides. He’d given you his jacket and asked you to put on your boots, before guiding you out the front door. You clutched the jacket tightly, the night beginning to turn cool. The sky was still heavy with the remnants of rain but an orange and pink sun began to lower in the sky, peaking behind soft, gray clouds, “Rafe?” 

High grass tickled the bare legs hidden beneath your skirt as you walked into the fields, “Just for a walk. That okay with you?”

“You know, sometimes I think you really don’t care what’s okay with me.” Rafe flashed you an amused look, “Oh yeah? Maybe I like making decisions for you.” 

You snorted in disbelief but your heart fluttered nonetheless. 

"What's the real reason you brought me out here?" You asked, pushing the conversation forward despite the tension. 

Rafe stopped and turned to face you, his expression unreadable for a moment. He studied you, like he was considering his words carefully. "Maybe I just wanted to see you without all the noise around us. No distractions. Just you and me."

The ranch stretched out before you, vast and quiet. The ground beneath your feet was soft as you walked, fast enough to follow Rafe’s steps. A faint hum of crickets began to rise in the distance. 

A modest building tucked near the tree line, far from the main house came into view, “That’s the ranch hand’s quarters,” Rafe explained, “You won’t need to be over there, it’s no place for a woman.” 

The sun continued to hang lower as you walked, casting a golden hue over the land. Rafe led you further into the sprawling escape, pointing out different landmarks, “This land’s been my family’s for generations. But my Dad was the one who made it what it was today. It’s very important to me. This land and all the hard work that’s put into it.” 

“My dad’s tough on me but it’s his legacy, you know? It’s more than just making money or raising cattle. I don’t know, I just want to protect what I have. Make sure my kids and my grandkids have it, ya' know?”

He didn’t look for your understanding, his words genuine, but the look on his face was guarded. He paused, his jaw tightening slightly, “You don’t to get to be part of something big and not feel like you’ve got to give everything you have to it.”

“What if…” Your voice trailed as you tried to collect your thoughts, “How do I know it’s something I want to be apart of?” 

“As my wife, you’d stand beside me. You’d build with me. Raise our children. Make a home. You’d make everything that I’m working towards, worth it. That’s a life with purpose, yeah?” 

As he spoke, his voice deep and steady, you found yourself drawn to the way his features seemed to soften, despite the intensity of his words. Those blue eyes were focused on you with an intensity that made your throat go dry. 

He stood taller now, the weight of his words pressed in on you and you could see the full picture he was painting. It wasn’t just the land. It was you. It was him. It was a family. 

“Yeah,” You agreed, the word leaving your lips before you could stop it. Your gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, to his lips. They were slightly parted, the edge of his mouth curling just a bit as he spoke, and for a moment, you forgot where you were.

“Yeah,” Rafe agreed, a knowing look on his face, and his hand found the small of your back, “I owe you something, don’t I?”

“Owe me?” Your voice faltered. What was he talking about? 

Rafe didn’t answer right away. Instead, he simply pulled you forward, his hand firm against your back as he guided you through the tall grass. You didn’t have time to question him before the two of you reached a secluded barn, tall and clay-colored, tucked far away from the main house. The air smelled faintly of hay and wood, the earthy scent of the ranch settling around you. But you barely had time to take in your surroundings before Rafe was pulling you into him. His hand slid to the back of your neck, drawing you closer, until his lips were on yours. 

The kiss Rafe Cameron had promised you. 

All those thoughts you had about the land, the future, everything he’d said, it all slipped away. 

Someone, something, had overtaken you. Something ached inside of you, a part of your very being that had never been satisfied. You felt like an animal, desperate, grabbing at Rafe’s shirt, wanting him closer. He was already pressed tightly against you but deep down you wanted more. 

His lips weren’t as gentle as you remembered, they enveloped your mouth, his tongue tasting you, his arms keeping you where he wanted as he explored you.Without warning, he tugged you into an empty stall, the scent of hay and leather thick in the air. His hands were at the edges of your jacket now, pulling it open, his fingers brushing against your skin as the cool air of the barn nipped at your exposed flesh. 

A startled yelp escaped your lips as you felt his hands bunching up your skirt, the fabric sliding higher until it was gathered above your hips. Your eyes flew open, but Rafe was relentless, his mouth still claiming yours with fervent, unyielding kisses. You didn’t know exactly how babies were made but you had a feeling you were getting closer than you’d ever had before. Before you could process it, Rafe lifted you effortlessly, his hands sliding to cup your bottom as he held you tightly against him. Part of you began to panic. 

Then, with deliberate care, he laid you down. not on the rough ground but on his jacket, which was spread beneath you. Darkened eyes met your panicked ones. This was much more than a kiss. Although you’d enjoyed that part of the exchange, you weren’t sure you wanted more, “Rafe,” You whispered, your voice uncertain, as he moved his mouth from your lips to the sides of your mouth. Your mind raced, trying to keep up with the whirlwind of sensations. You pushed at his chest and felt you were pushing against a boulder. There would know way to get from underneath him, even if you tried, “Are… you gonna put a baby in me?”

He paused, lifting his head to look you in the eye and you had to remind yourself to breathe in that moment, “Jesus Christ. You’re something else, you know that?” Rafe grinned and some of your uncertainty went away. His reaction made the moment feel more lighthearted, like there wasn’t a boundary being crossed, like his intentions were innocent.

“I like the kissing,” You admitted, “It feels good b-but I’m scared–”

Rafe shushed you, peppering gentle kisses along your jawline, until he reached the side of your neck. Your thighs clenched tightly, your head tilted back, and you couldn’t control your moaning. Rafe spread your legs with his own, his jeans brushing against the smoothness of your thighs. He pressed his lower half into you and you felt something as hard as a rock, rubbing against your panties. It was then, your core started to feel like it was on fire. 

“Don’t be scared, it’ll just hurt for a moment,” Rafe spoke against your skin, huskily, his voice almost sounding like he was in pain, “You’re just gonna lay still for me, I need you to help me to take care of something.”

“Hurt?” You questioned, your mind hanging on that word. Then you thought back to your question. He hadn’t really answered. 

He seemed to ignore you again, his mouth moving lower on your body. He pulled your shirt down, and as your breasts spilled from their constraints, he left kisses on your nipples. Your head tilted back again when he took one of your nipples fully into his mouth, “Rafe,” You whispered but the sound of his name only seem to push him further. His fingers traced the edge of your panties before he slipped his fingers inside, brushing over your folds. You were wet down there, you realized, and mostly out of embarrassment, you started to pull away, “Please don’t touch me there.” 

You watched his pupils dilate as he stared down at you intently. He kept one hand in your underwear and wrapped his other around your throat, quickly, as if his body was reacting instinctively to your defiance. 

“Don’t tell me that,” Rafe said, almost growling, and your hands wrapped around his wrist, trying to push away his hand as you struggled to breathe, “I have to touch ya' here, darlin’. I’m gonna be your husband. This belongs to me, understand?” 

Your eyes widened as he rubbed circles over your sensitive skin. Your hips bucked in reaction and you silenced your moans, knowing you only had so much air to breathe, “Say you understand. Say yes.” 

You nodded your head quickly, “Yes,” You whispered. 

You were grateful when he loosed his grip around your throat, “It’s a good thing you’re wet. Nothing to be ashamed of. Just means this is what your body wants, baby. You already want to make me happy.” 

You weren’t quite sure at what moment your body decided to freeze. Your nerves were overwhelmed, of course, and it seemed like you’d come out less scathed from the situation if you did as Rafe said. You could stay still and take it. There was something happening with Rafe you didn’t understand but he was acting as though he needed something and you were only one who could provide it. You could stay still and take it if it would make him happy, right? It’s a good thing to make other people happy. 

You focused on the kisses on your lips, the way his soft mouth moved methodically over yours. The faint jangle of metal pulled you back to the moment, a sound you barely registered until you felt the press of something impossibly hard, slowly pushing against a place you hadn’t realized could take him. His manhood, you assumed, what made him different from you. It hurt like he said it would but not for just a moment. Were all manhoods this size? This is what your body really wants? 

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing despite the edge of strain. His hand brushed over your trembling thigh, steadying you as your body tried to accommodate him. “You’re okay. I promise.”

He started to rock into you once you felt completely full to the brim. Initially, it felt even worse than him pushing all the way inside you. Tears fell and your breath grew rapid, “It hurts,” You whimpered, “It really hurts.”

“It’s okay,” He said, maintaining his pace, “You’re okay, darlin’. You’re doing great. It’s just your first time. Gotta get used to me, that's all.” 

“Are-are you putting a baby in me, Rafe?” You asked, your voice an innocent whisper. His grip on you tightened as his rhythm grew more deliberate, his words spilling out in a low growl.

“Fuck yes, darlin’,” he said, his voice thick with unrestrained desire. “I’m gonna put a baby in you.”

His hands, his words, the pain between your legs that was slowly turning to pleasure, it made you dizzy, and you couldn’t keep track of your thoughts. You belonged to him? A baby? It didn’t make sense, but part of you felt comforted by the intensity of him. You trusted he knew more. Everything’s okay. You were okay. It felt like something you were supposed to be, so you let go and let him have you.

a/n: i only tag people who reblog the fic AND let me know their thoughts, thank you :)

[awordsmith]

tongue-tied 𝜗𝜚 s.r

Spencer breaks up with you because he’s been arrested for murder. He refuses to see or talk about you and you–dumbfounded–force your way back into his life by becoming his lawyer.

who? spencer reid x known!reader when? s12 genre: novella content warning: a bit angsty in the beginning, open ending?, little mention of work stress/not feeling like enough/feeling too much... ..reid with warm care !! word count: 3.5k a/n: i had a really vivd dream about this scenario; i don't know if any of you know what tiktok shifting is, but it felt like that–where it was first person pov and i didn't know i was dreaming until i woke up...enjoy!!

The ceiling fan buzzed; you wiped your eyes and stood, heading for the switch when your phone rang on the table. Your heart leaped and you rushed back to the table, forgetting the annoyance that moments ago haunted you.

It was him–you grinned and clicked answer, “Spencer, hey are you b–

“—...”

“Hey,” frowning, you took a seat at your desk, pulling a leg up on the chair to lean on, “what’s going on? Are you alright?”

You heard his breath on the other side of the line. Shaky–it passe over you like a cloud. You felt tears spring into your own eyes. You were never equipped to handle things like this–Spencer knew that–he was the yapper and you were the listener–but he wasn’t yapping right now.

“Spencer, say something…” you bit your thumb, “where are you?” You stood, moving your hands around in search of your keys, “I’m coming to get you–

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other anymore…”

Your keys fell from your hand and you dumbly slid back into your chair, glancing at the documents spread out in front of you–you had just finished a case that day–you were writing out your report and sorting the files in order. “What did you say?...”

There was no response, only heavy breathing. A tear broke free and you were quick to swipe it away.

“Where is this coming from?” Your voice, though quivering, full–you knew he could hear it–he could hear how pathetic you sounded, “did something happen in Mexico?”

You closed your eyes for a minute, before setting the phone down and putting him on speaker. This wasn’t happening–this was–what even happened?

“Spencer,” your voice grew louder, “dammit–Spencer answer me! I deserve a damn explanation!” You slammed your hands on your desk near your phone, knocking a few papers to the floor.

“...I know,” he dared to whisper–and then like that, the line went dead.

You slid to the floor, wailing.

No calls, no messages–you’d sent around 20 throughout the night as you fell in and out of sleep. You’d left 5 voicemails and still–nothing. You tried him again this morning when you woke up, once when you got out of the shower, once before you left the house, and once before you headed into the office.

At this point, you were starting to accept the fact that maybe it really was over–but that didn’t make any sense. He hadn’t blocked you–that was something? Maybe? Or maybe you were being delusional.

There had to be something bigger behind this–something you were missing–there was no way–not the Spencer that you knew–would do something like this–

“I love you, you know that?” He kissed your exposed shoulder, it was cold and you wondered if he had accidentally left a window open.

A giggle escaped you and pushed him off your back, “Spence–I need to–” Another laugh cut off your sentence as he kissed your neck, “Come on seriously,” you gave him a once over, “I need to work.”

He had an old, tall lamp that stood in the corner of his den–you remember helping him pick it out from the thrift store–Spencer was a thrifting-obsessed maniac. But you loved that about him. “Work can wait for tomorrow,” he whined.

You raised an incredulous brow, “Do I ever say that when Penelope calls?” His apartment had that same fresh parchment smell it always seemed to have.

“Fine,” Spencer sighed, “do you want takeout?”

You gripped the back of his desk chair, grinning, “I thought you’d never ask.”

There had to be some sort of misunderstanding–Spencer wouldn’t just up and do something like this to you, not after the year you’d been together. You were expecting to take the next step with him–not a breakup–

“This is great, I’ll email you some of the newer cases and you can take your pick.”

“Actually,” you grimaced, “I was wondering if I could take a few days off, one or two would be great.”

Your boss assessed you, his eyes roamed over your tired eyes and a messy ponytail. “Everything alright?”

Your lips pressed together and you forced the corners to turn upward, “yep, just…tired…”

He sighed and leaned backward, crossing his hands on his belly, “I see, well yes, of course–take as many days as you need.”

Your smile brightened slightly, “thank you, Sir, really.” 

He called your name when you were at the door, and you turned back, waiting, “just something to keep in mind…he’s not worth it. Don’t let it stress you out too much, you’re a great lawyer. Okay?”

You took a breath and closed your eyes. When they reopened, you fixed them on your boss, “Thank you, I know you’re just being kind. But with all due respect, Sir, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The Beauru wasn’t too far away from your office, perhaps a few blocks. You made it there in 15 minutes with traffic and were stepping through the doors in 20.

You tried Emily’s cell, but she didn’t pick up, and none of the other team members were responding either–you called Luke, but he didn’t pick up. You thanked the receptionist for your visitor pass, she’d grown accustomed to your presence.

You typically had lunch with Spencer when his team didn’t have a case, sometimes he’d surprise you at the office super early or incredibly late when he wasn’t supposed to get back until the next day. 

Which is why none of this made any freaking sense.

“Penelope Garcia,” you pushed open her door, but she wasn’t there. Recognition crossed your face when you saw her little fidgets and gadgets spread across her desk. Her computer was open, but locked. You frowned and stepped away from it. Should you just wait here?

Spencer normally accompanied you whenever you were at the Beaureu, you felt out of place without him. You huffed a sigh and sat in her chair, Spencer wouldn’t be able to resist spinning himself, the thought made you chuckle, but just as quickly, the memory of him dumping you via phone call crossed your mind.

Over a fucking phone call? You set your purse off to the side and swiped up on your phone again. There was something seriously wrong. You would get to the bottom of this if it meant forcing it out of everyone here.

“Ah, perfect timing,” you spun around, meeting Penelope face to…well waist.

“Uh…hi,” she said.

“You hesitated–” you jabbed a finger at her and stood.

“I–” she looked behind her as if you were on a reality TV show and cameras were hiding in plain sight, “huh?–wha–no, no no no.” She stepped forward, “whywhatar–e you doing here?”

You averted your eyes to the floor, “It's Spencer…”

“Oh,” she nodded, “he’s…not here at the moment…but I will–I can call you or text! You…if that’s what you…want.”

“Garcia,” you didn’t want to be mean. You didn’t want to be rude–but being around profilers all the time, she should’ve known how to hide her lies better.

“Okay–fine,” she waved her hands in her face, chest deflating, “but you can’t tell anyone I told you–least of all Reid–he’d…” she grimaced, “...hate me for life.”

“Garcia–”

“–Okay, right, yeah, you wanna–” she motioned with her hands and walked forward.

You followed her with your gaze, widening your eyes expectantly, “…well?”

“Oh boy– you’re gonna wanna sit down for this.”

“If there’s another woman Garcia, just tell me, I can take it–

Her eyes narrowed, “Oh no–God no–Ried would never–he’s crah–zy about you…trust me he never shuts up–anyway,” she shook her head and flailed her arms, “What I’m trying to say is that Reid would never cheat–he isn’t that kind of person. He–

“So then why!?”

“Reids in prison!” Her hands covered her mouth and her eyes grew, “oh my gosh I just said that–he’s gonna–he’ll never forgive me–

Your heart plummeted, “Spencer’s in…prison…?”

Penelope coughed up his file pretty easily. After getting her to spill the big beans on what happened in Mexico–or at least what Spencer had been able to remember, it wasn’t too hard to convince her that if Spencer hated her already, what would it matter that she do anything else?

You sped home, pulled into your complex, and ran toward your apartment. Upon locking the door, you set your things on your couch and took his files to your room. At a time like like this you really wished you had a pet, someone to comfort you–were it not for the surrounding circumstances, you could rely on Spencer. He was always there.

Which is why–despite his shitty breakup call–you had to be here for him, when he was at his lowest.

But first, you needed to cry.

A load of salty fries and two water bottles later, you were tying your hair back into a bun and grabbing a red marker. The copies Penelope had made for you proved to have nothing other than a few written statements from first responders–most of which did not favor Spencer–the crime scene photos, that were hard to look at, though nothing of which you hadn’t seen before.

And finally, his statement–his recollection pulled together in a jumble of phrases and half-sentences. Your heart lapsed again. You pushed everything in front of you and rubbed your face. It was getting late. Almost eight, you most likely weren’t on his visitation list–and if he’d kept all of this from you–he most definitely wouldn’t be expecting you.

Which is exactly why you had just one last favor to ask of Penelope.

You defended minor criminals whom you believed innocent on most, if not all accounts–the majority of the cases you took on favored your clients. You had slowly been working your way up to higher crimes–your last case had been a series of robberies, resulting in a shootout, though no one had died, the second it crossed your screen, you knew you had to take it.

This was your first murder case–though it wasn’t officially yours…yet. You needed more information, but first and foremost, you needed Spencer to agree.

Millburn Correctional Facility wasn’t the place you dreamt about when you wanted to escape reality–but Spencer was here, and he didn’t look happy to see you. The buzzer sounded and the doors were opened, the prisoners failed into the room in a straight line.

When he turned to face you, his expression became unreadable, you knew something was off then, because Spencer was always readable to you. His skin looked ghostly pale and his eyes looked a bit sunken–but that was still your Spencer behind the glass. 

“What are you doing here?”  Was the first thing he asked upon picking up the phone.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

A breath passed between his lips where words should have been. 

“Spencer, why didn’t you want me to know? Why did you–this is why you broke up with me, right?” He remained silent, eyes scanning something on your shirt, “am I right?”

He shook his head, “you shouldn’t be here.”

“How could I not come?” Exasperated, you slammed a hand onto the table in front of you, lowering your voice when you met the gazes of the other visitors.

“Who told you, Garcia?” He scoffed, “Did she also get you on my visitation list–is that–is that how you’re here?–”

“–The better question is why you didn’t tell me yourself.”

Spencer shook his head, “I can’t believe she would do that–

“You asked them?” You grit your teeth and take a calming breath, “you asked them to not tell me? That’s why no one’s been picking up my calls or messages?”

“That’s–

“–It’s what, Spencer?”

He went silent again.

You leaned forward, pressing the phone to your ear, “What happened in Mexico?”

“I can’t–I’m not allowed to discuss that with you–

“No,” you sat back and crossed your leg, the pencil skirt you wore riding up your thigh, “but you can with your lawyer.”

“What? No.” He shook his head, “No. I’m telling you right now, I will never agree to that.” He looked so set in his decision. Your bottom lip quivered a bit, you clamped down to keep it from giving you away.

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

The buzzer sounded again, “I already have a lawyer.” He shoved the phone back on its hinges and stood, you followed.

“I don’t care,” you shouted through the glass. Spencer’s eyes looked glazed over, you wanted to hug him–you wanted to breathe him in and tell him everything would be alright. But somewhere in you felt him drifting away, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t reach him.

“Don’t come back.” These were his final words before he was taken away.

The chair provided you with some stability–though tears pricked the corner of your eyes as you watched the back of him disappear. “Ma’am, it’s time.” An officer led you and the other visitors back through the doors, toward the front.

You wouldn’t give up. This was your case. You would make it yours.

“We can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s…nothing personal–” 

“–Except it,” Emily sighed, “I’m sorry,” she murmured your name, looking at the picture of sorrow, “I really am, but…” she pursed her lips and glanced away, “you’re not gonna let this go?”

“How could I?” You scoffed and stood, “This case is mine, Emily–whether you decide to help me is up to you.” You headed for the door, but Fiona, Spencer’s current lawyer called you back.

You glanced at her over your shoulder, waiting. She glanced away and blew out air, “I appreciate you thinking about me, and I’m glad to know you have this much confidence in me…”

“But…?” Emily slumped her shoulders and nodded, “All alright,” you spun around to face her, meeting her resolve with a heavy heart.

“If you can get Reid to agree, the case is yours.”

You let out a breath and dropped your firm stance, tears springing into the corners of your eyes. You looked up and blinked them away, “thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I think I have a rather good idea.” Emily’s smile was faint but evident.

“And thank you, Fiona,” you tried for a smile, surprised to find it somewhat genuine.

“Don’t be. This case is going to be rough–”

“Oh, and paired with the fact that Reid will never agree to it.”

“Wow, thanks for the confidence, Emily.” You snorted out.

She held up her hands, “I’m sorry, good luck.”

Emily watched you slip behind her office door and down the steps of the Beaureu. “Do you think he really won’t accept?” Fiona mumbled.

Emily turned toward her old friend and pressed a thing to smile to her lips, shrugging, “I have no idea.”

Fiona sat back down and ran her hands through her hair, “Yeah, but, I can tell why she’s so persistent.”

“Okay, why?” Though Emily had an inkling of suspicion herself, she never wanted to assume anything.

“Because she loves him–with her whole heart.”

“People in love do stupid things,” Emily clicked her tongue.

“Sometimes I wish someone would love me enough to do stupid things for me.”

“It’s a both blessing and a curse.”

“I’ll raise to that.”

The two friends laughed as their morning coffee cups met.

The prison was icky–perhaps you should have worn sweats this time. You crossed our legs, trying to ignore the stares.

“I told you not to come back here.” Spencer hissed.

“You don’t own me, Spencer. You cannot tell me what to do–

“–No, but I can take you off my visitor list.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me–”

“–Spencer!” Gosh, what was wrong with him!?

Fragments of his voice seeped through the speaker on the old landline. A hairsbreadth of a word, a name–your name.

You watched the phone in horror. Why–Why? Wasn’t he letting you help him? Did he not think you were capable? “Spencer.” You said in response. “Spencer. Spencer. Spencer.”

“Dammit.” He cursed and a guard asked if you were alright, of course, you were alright. He would never hurt you. That wasn’t him. Prison wouldn’t change Spencer–there was no way–

“Tell me something.” You urged, “Tell me something outlandish–something no one would know about unless they were…you.”

He flinched. His pupils dilated and you could tell he was thinking of what to say next. “Why are you doing this?”

The tone in his voice unnerved you. It reached the cracks in your body that led to your soul. He sounded tired–so tired from the last you’d been to see him. You would not be pushed down. You wouldn’t give in–this wasn’t scrabble or chess–this was his life. How could he not see that?

“You know why.” You watched him–every tick, every muscle; every movement, you analyzed, and perhaps overanalyzed, but you didn’t know another person who wouldn’t in your situation.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I know.”

Two weeks later you were taken off Spencer’s visitor list, which was madness because you had thought you’d had this conversation already.

“Penelope Garcia,” you spun around in her chair.

“AH–Gya, you’ve got to stop doing that. I half-expect you to be petting an evil cat in your lap.”

“Why did he take me off, what’s going on? Has there been a break in the case? Nothing had come across my desk since Tara’s cognitive with him.”

Penelope averted her eyes and fidgeted with the chunky rings on her fingers.

“Penelope I’m serious. Why does he keep doing this? What is going on? Something happened? Right? That’s why he doesn’t want me to see him? I drove down there yesterday and waited two hours just to be told I couldn’t see him.” You weren’t seething, but you were close to it.

“I–I don’t know, honestly.”

“But you know someone who does,” you stepped forward, “Penelope come on,” you fell against the wall, holding in all your emotional turmoil that has caused you to have freak accidents. “I’m losing him, Penelope.” You swallowed and slid to the floor of her office, “I’m losing myself.”

“Oh, oh sweetie,” she crouched down, pushing hair out of your eyes. Her fingers slid across your tear-stricken face, “...Emily. Emily knows.”

You took a moment and sat up, gulping down your breakdown, then breathing out, “Thank you.”

Up until the new documents crossed your desk, you neglected to see Spencer. You couldn’t–you didn’t want to. Not after you knew the reason behind why he’d taken you off the list.

It was too much–this entire situation was too much. Sometimes you had felt like you were bearing everything on your shoulders alone and no one was asking you to–no one cared because no one had wanted you on this case in the damned first place.

“Cat Adams, that name ring a bell?”

“The psycho hitwoman you guys captured months ago?”

Rossi and Emily exchanged glances, “yeah…” she motioned for you to sit down, “you’re going to want to sit for this.”

The lights in her office seemed to grow brighter with each sentence that flew from her mouth. Your soul stitching itself back together, that was how you felt when you left her office. You were on your way to Spencer once more, he was free. He didn’t do it.

Hi false testimony wasn’t Scratch playing games–he really was just too deluded. He wanted to remember so badly, his mind gave him false memories.

It disturbed you more than you would have liked to admit. Spencer was a prodigy–a genius in simple terms–and if even he couldn’t trust his own brain in times like these, could you ever trust yours?

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Spencer paced back and forth in front of you; JJ stood in the corner watching.

“She’s right, Spence, we can find another way–”

“–No. No, I can do this.” He ran a hand over his face.

“Hey–hey–” you grabbed his shirt and cupped his jaw in one of your hands, “it’s okay. I’ll be right outside.”

Spencer breathed you in, were it not for the stress he would have melted in your hands. He dind’t know how to express to you how deeply he had come to love you. You were the sun on his rainy days, you were leaves when Fall took them from the trees. The ocean when he was stranded on a desert island. 

He wanted to walk into his house and find you curled up with a book in your hands, using his favorite blanket to keep the cold from reaching your warmth. He wanted to see you wearing the only t-shirt he owned, the one he’d been given when he had graduated from MIT; he wanted to curl up beside you on his couch like a cat and nuzzle his head in your lap.

There were so many things he wanted, but he wasn’t sure if he deserved any of them. “I–” he wanted to say I love you, but it didn’t seem like enough.

“I know,” you whispered. “I know.”

a/n: a little quick write, i hope you enjoyed cari!!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody @kennedy-brooke

[ducktoo]

How to take care of Jiwon

IVE's Liz x Reader

Note: Anon, hope this was something you were asking for (I think). Twas' a fun prompt and I enjoyed it frfr. Feel free to DM me ur thoughts!

(This German girl do be looking cute-)

“Again?”

You don’t even look up from your computer screen. You already know who it is.

There’s a quiet giggle, followed by the sound of someone shuffling through your things. You sigh, rubbing your temple before shooting a glare at the intruder currently invading your workspace—none other than Kim Jiwon(or Liz), your childhood friend turned global idol, standing beside your desk like she owns the place.

“Can you not touch my stuff?” you grumble, snatching a framed photo from her hands before she can get any ideas.

She blinks at you innocently. “You keep this here?”

You glance down at the picture, already knowing which one she’s referring to. It’s an old, slightly faded photo from elementary school—Liz, missing her two front teeth, flashing a peace sign, while you stand beside her with the grumpiest expression imaginable. You had never liked taking pictures, but Liz had insisted back then. Looking at it now, you don’t even remember why you agreed to keep it on your desk.

“It’s just decoration,” you mutter, setting it back down.

Liz hums, but there’s a knowing glint in her eyes. “Sure, sure.”

She doesn’t leave. Of course, she doesn’t. You’re already used to this little routine.

Despite her packed schedule, Liz always finds time to drop by your office whenever she’s at the company. She claims it’s because she’s curious about what you do, but you know better. The real reason? She just enjoys annoying you.

She picks up your stationery, taps at your keyboard, sometimes even steals your coffee—because “staff coffee tastes different.” You tolerate it because, well… it’s Liz. You’ve known her since you were kids.

It’s still crazy how you both ended up here…especially after how you reunited.

-

To this day, you still don’t know how the hell that situation happened.

You had only been working at Starship Entertainment for about a month at that point. Just a regular staff member, trying not to get scolded, running around delivering paperwork, managing schedules—nothing out of the ordinary.

Then came that time.

One of your first bigger assignments had been to handle some logistics for IVE’s new comeback. Simple enough. Make sure the equipment was working, ensure the space was ready, help with any requests—it was routine.

What wasn’t routine was somehow ending up in a storage closet with a girl in a hoodie, a bucket of spilled cleaning supplies, and the worst case of déjà vu you’ve ever experienced.

…Let’s back up.

That day, you had been in a rush, carrying a stack of documents for the management team when you took a wrong turn down a hallway you didn’t usually use. It led to one of the storage rooms, where cleaning supplies and extra equipment were kept.

The door was slightly open.

Then, without warning—

CRASH.

Something—or someone—barreled right into you, sending both of you stumbling backwards into the closet.

The door slammed shut behind you.

Silence.

For a moment, you just laid there on the floor, trying to process the fact that you had just been body-slammed into a janitor’s closet. Your head throbbed. You could hear the faint creak of a mop falling somewhere nearby.

And then—

“…Wait. Grumpy?”

You froze.

That voice. That stupidly familiar voice.

Slowly, you looked up.

And there, crouched in the dim light, staring at you like she had just seen a ghost—was the one and only. Your childhood friend. The same girl you hadn’t seen in years.

In a janitor’s closet. With you.

What. The. Hell.

“…What are you doing here?” she asked, blinking rapidly.

You stared at her. “What are you doing around here in the management area?”

“I asked first!”

“I work here!”

That seemed to short-circuit her brain for a second. Her eyes widened, then darted to the staff ID clipped to your shirt. Slowly, realization dawned on her face.

“…You work at Starship?”

“Yes?!”

"Since when?!"

"Since I got hired, duh!"

Liz opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. She blinked.

Then—

She burst out laughing.

“You—You actually work here?” she wheezed, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, this is unreal. This is so unreal.”

"Tsk." You scowled. “Glad to see my suffering is entertaining you.”

“I can’t believe this! We literally grew up together, lost contact, and now you’re working for my company? This is insane.” She wiped at her eyes, still laughing. “And—wait, you of all people? You always hated dealing with people!”

“Yeah, well, life’s funny like that,” you muttered. You rubbed your temples, exhaling through your nose. “Okay, but why were you sneaking around?”

Liz suddenly looked away, suspiciously avoiding eye contact. “No reason.”

“…You were stealing snacks from the staff area again, weren’t you?”

Silence.

“…Maybe.”

Unbelievable. Some things really never changed.

-

And that was how you reunited.

You had spent a solid fifteen minutes stuck in that closet with Liz before someone finally found you two. The rest of the staff had been utterly confused, and you had to endure Liz wheezing with laughter for the rest of the day.

Ever since then, she had made it her personal mission to annoy you at work.

Which brings you to now.

“Alright, stay put. Don’t touch anything,” you warn as you stand from your desk, stretching your arms before grabbing your phone. “I need to get some files from the storage room.”

Liz, perched on the edge of your desk like she owns the place, swings her legs lazily. “No promises.”

You narrow your eyes. “I mean it. Hands off.”

She hums innocently, lips curling into a playful smile. “Of course, of course.”

You don’t trust her one bit.

Still, you leave, because you have to, but you throw one last suspicious glance over your shoulder before stepping out.

The door clicks shut…and Liz immediately disregards your warning.

“Don’t touch anything,” she mocks under her breath, rolling her eyes. As if she could ever listen to that. "Bleh. What are you, my mom?"

She stretches her arms with a yawn, then lazily lets her fingers drift across your desk, poking at whatever looks mildly interesting. The keyboard? Tap. A stack of documents? Poke. Your half-empty coffee cup? Swirl.

And then she sees it.

A small, slightly worn notebook tucked beside your monitor, the corner peeking out as if daring her to take a look.

Curious, she pulls it free and flips it over in her hands. The second she reads the cover, her breath catches in her throat.

"How to Take Care of Jiwon the Annoying Child"

She blinks. Once. Twice.

Then, a slow, delighted smile spreads across her face.

“Oh?”

Her heart beats a little faster as she carefully flips the first page. The handwriting is neat—your handwriting. She skims over the lines, amusement bubbling in her chest.

Jiwon gets grumpy when she hasn’t eaten. Always have snacks on hand.

She giggles. “So that’s why you always have extra snacks.”

She flips to the next one.

She gets sleepy after eating too much. Don’t let her nap on the practice room floor. Would be annoying to tend to the sick Jiwon.

A small gasp escapes her lips. “Wait, is that why you always wake me up first?”

Another page.

If she’s sad, buy her ice cream. Preferably chocolate.

Her heart flutters. You really do notice everything, huh?

She keeps reading, her amusement growing. But then—

The notes start getting weirder.

If she starts humming randomly, she’s in a good mood. If she’s humming AND staring at me, she’s plotting something. Probably my usual dose of suffering.

Liz snorts. “What do you mean?”

DO NOT let her near a stray cat. She will try to take it home.

She gasps, clutching her chest. “That happened one time, trust me–”

If she says ‘Trust me,’ DO NOT TRUST HER.

Liz bursts into laughter. “Damn it! Okay, fair.”

The notes only get more ridiculous.

She once ate an entire cake by herself just to prove she could. Do NOT challenge her to food-related dares.

If she looks too smug, she probably stole my drink.

If she looks too cute and uses her dumb aegyo, she’s about to ask for a favour.

Her giggles come uncontrollably now. She flips through the pages quickly, eager to see what else you’ve written. But then—

The shift happens. The notes stop being ridiculous. They start being… something else.

When she’s nervous, she fidgets with her necklace. Let her hold onto my sleeve instead.

Her fingers touch her necklace instinctively. "Huh…you do wear long sleeves every time we meet…"

Liz acts tough, but she cries at sad movies. Keep tissues ready.

Her laughter softens. "No I don't…mostly…"

She overworks herself even when she’s exhausted. Sometimes she just needs someone to tell her to rest.

Her heart clenches.

And then, the last note. It might have been scribbled out but…She stares at it. She couldn't unsee it after once.

If she ever gets too tired, remind her she doesn’t have to do everything alone. Remind her that I’m here….

Her grip tightens on the notebook.

She rereads the words, once, twice—three times.

She always knew you cared. In your own way—grumbling, teasing, acting like she was the most annoying person in the world. But this? You had written this down. As if it was important. As if you wanted to remember, just in case.

As if she mattered.

Her chest feels warm.

The door creaks open.

“Alright, I got the—”

Your words cut off when you see her holding the notebook.

You freeze mid-step.

Liz is holding the notebook. Jiwon is reading the notebook.

Your stomach drops.

She looks up at you, notebook still clutched in her hands, her expression unreadable.

You stand there, the file folder limp in your grip.

Then, slowly, a mischievous glint appears in her eyes.

“You mother f—”

Before you can even lunge for it, Liz hugs the notebook to her chest, scrambling to her feet. Her breath comes out in an excited rush.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, eyes sparkling. “You do care about me!”

You feel actual panic set in. “PUT THAT DOWN. KIM JIWON.”

She takes a step back, holding it tighter. “No way! This is adorable! You—You actually wrote down how to take care of me?!”

You can feel your dignity slipping away.

“I— It’s not what it looks like—”

“Ohhh, let’s see what else—” She flips back to the earlier pages, reading aloud dramatically. “‘If she’s nervous, let her hold onto my sleeve instead.’”

Your ears burn as your hand subconsciously rolled up your sleeves in embarrassment.

"Oooohh, you're wearing long sleeve today as well, huh?!" Liz gasps, looking up at you with exaggerated shock. “You let me do that? Willingly?!”

You grit your teeth. “GIVE. IT. BACK.”

She twirls away, flipping through more pages. “Wait, wait—‘If she looks too smug, she probably stole my drink.’” She gasps in fake offense. “So that’s why you glare at me whenever I take a sip.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Jiwon—”

She keeps going, eyes darting across the pages. But then—

She reaches the last note again.

Her laughter fades.

Silence stretches between you.

She rereads the words, her fingers brushing lightly over the ink. Then, slowly, she lifts her head.

The teasing glint in her eyes is gone. Instead, there’s something softer. Something more sincere.

“…You really meant this?” she asks, voice quieter.

You shift uncomfortably. “U-um…I—”

Her gaze lingers on you for a moment. Then, before you can react, she lunges at you again, but this time, she hugs you.

You stiffen immediately.

“…Ya.”

She squeezes you tighter.

“Shhh,” she mumbles into your shoulder. “Just let me hug you, you tsundere.”

You stand there, unmoving, ears burning. Your hands hover awkwardly before—finally—you sigh and pat her back.

“…You’re so annoying.”

She giggles against your shoulder. “I know.”

After a moment, she pulls back, grinning. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

You roll your eyes, snatching the notebook from her hands before she can react. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t expect me to serialise this and give it to your members.”

She beams. “That sounds fun actually.”

[tinybluealien]

that is in fact what we are taught, yes.

the sad fact is that our public school system is designed to beat creativity and original thought, and in many cases, curiousity about the world, out of us. our public school system was designed to create somewhat-educated *factory workers*.

not intellectuals. not lofty thinkers and philosophers. cogs for the wheels of capitalism. drones who get up at 5am, work from 6-6, go home, sleep, maybe produce the next generation of workers, and then wake up at 5 the next day and do it all again.

it is very good at it. it produces people who have little to no intellectual curiousity, who cannot read a map, and who wouldn't think to go look something up if they weren't told they should. people who believe what the authorities tell them.

and then bush's No Child Left Behind bullshit left a LOT of kids behind, because it very quickly ended up with kids getting advanced to the next grade when they should have been held back (because if too many were held back, funding was taken away. which is the opposite of what should happen if kids are failing. they need MORE not less!).

it sucks, and it sucks more that our failed system is having an outsized effect on the world, especially right now.

Yesterday I saw an American youtuber say Nigeria and Kenya are in the same vicinity (they're 4800km apart) and just now I saw another American youtuber say Thailand and New Zealand are near each other (Nearly 10,000km apart).

I swear Americans think the world looks like this

[gomtangii]

can't keep my hands to myself

minors and ageless dni professor!caleb x grad student TA fem!reader wc: 1.9k cw: caleb's in his late 20s (like 28-29 maybe) while reader is around 23-25, stalker caleb KINDA, not a lot of foreplay just making out mostly, penetration, unprotected sex, lmk if there's anything im missing :3

the youngest and hottest professor at skyhaven skyline university and you get to be his teacher assistant (TA). how lucky. you've been blessed ever since you started university—you got to take professor xia's class despite so many other people coveting for a spot and camping course request for days, you get accepted back to your alma mater for grad school a year after undergrad, and professor xia chose you to be his TA. every other person that applied is probably seething with jealousy, but little do you know how calculated this is.

it all started during your senior year of undergrad when you sat not too close to the front, but still close enough to make proper eye contact with him on the first day of class. caleb was nervous, it was his first class that he was teaching as a professor after all. he was hiding it well, but his mind was racing until he saw you. it's not like you calmed it down or anything, but rather you gave him something to be distracted from his nervousness: lust. the moment he saw you stirred an unquenchable thirst in him and he doesn't know why. your rosy cheeks, glossy lips, crossed legs in that pink plaid skirt, and bright eyes that said you were ready to learn. how cute.

and just like that, the semester flies by and all you did was tempt him with your cute little skirts and dresses every time you showed up to class. it was a shame he let you get away... except he really didn't. there's no way caleb would've let you go without keeping tabs on you the entire time through your well-used social media. he'd save his favorite photos for his personal use even though you never posted anything risqué because caleb was truly depraved. he could probably jack off to a photo of you smiling in a simple sundress because that's all it took, that's how much you drive him insane.

but now you're back in the palm of his hands. he couldn't believe his perfect girl wanted to be his TA, it was like a dream come true. when you walked in with that blush on your face, a pleated skirt and tweed jacket, he wanted to bend you over his desk, but he held back, made you wait for a day or two, then emailed you that you got the position.

first day of classes and you were excited to learn that you two would be sharing the same office. although your office hours were different, you'd still be working closely with him and that made you even more giddy. you began to foster a sort of friendship with the professor. you would get each other coffee, eat lunch, talk about stuff pertaining to classes, etc. you felt comfortable with him. even if he did touch your bare knee occasionally, or pass by you with a hand on your waist, or tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you didn't mind! in fact, you kind of liked it. err... you really liked it. so much so that you would stay for his office hours just to be with him.

one day you tried to stay during his office hours, but he actually turns you away, telling you that he's really busy and has to send something in by the end of the day. you offer to help like the good girl you are and he can't refuse your cute pout, so he lets you. and drags it out until it gets dark so that he can offer you a ride home that he knows you'll take. as you arrive at your apartment, you're holding onto the hem of your dress, looking at him nervously.

"um... do you... want to come in for a bit...?" you ask softly, fiddling with your thumbs when you realize that might've been weird, "j-just for a cup of coffee! because, y'know, youworkedsohardandit'slateandidon'twantyoutobetiredwhenyoudrivebackh—"

"i would like that a lot," he chuckles at your blabbering, smiling at you affectionately.

you lead him inside, suddenly feeling conscious about the decor of your apartment. will he think you have bad taste? is it too minimal? too messy? unkept? or—

"it's cute, really resembles you," his eyes crinkle at the corners as he says that, tucking a hair behind your ear. you blush, looking at your feet, not noticing him leaning in. his lips are a breadth away from yours as he looks into your eyes, mirroring your hesitance.

“is—is this okay?” he whispers, his eyes looking at your lips for a moment before returning his gaze to you. you lightly nod, but he just shakes his head.

“words, pretty girl. need you to say it for me,” and you melt.

“yes.”

in that instant, he kisses you, it’s soft and brief, as if he doesn’t want to hurt you or scare you away, but it’s not enough. you pull him back to you, your lips melding on his. he freezes only for a moment before pulling you flush against his body, his hands flying to your waist. your arms are wrapped around his neck as he picks you up and places you on the countertop, both of you never breaking the kiss.

“fuck, i’ve wanted this for so long and i—” he nips your ear, “i just like you so much, i always have.”

“i like you too, i’ve liked you for so long, but i didn’t know how—i didn’t know if this… this was okay.” you confess. even now, you still have your own reservations about making out with your professor. you weren’t sure if he really liked you either or if he was just playing around.

“it’s okay with me. i don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he explains, looking for any hint of doubt, trying to ease them, “i’m in love with you.”

your cheeks flush as you lean your head against his chest.

“say it again.”

“i’m in love with you?” he chuckles, repeating himself.

“again.”

“i love you.”

“...i love you too.” you kiss for the millionth time that night, his lips trailing from your lips, to your cheek, ears, and neck. you moan softly and he’s already addicted. he teases you again, nipping at your collarbone when you whine, asking him to carry you both to your room upstairs. he holds you with one arm as he leads the way and you’ve never realized how… buff he is. you knew he worked out, he had told you that he goes on runs in the morning and goes to the gym after his classes, but you didn’t think he’d be this strong!

he gently lays you on your bed, hovering over you when you paw at his shirt. his heart squeezes from how cute you are and he just can’t help but oblige. he strips off his shirt in one swift motion and you press your thighs together at the sight, the motion doesn’t go unseen. he slowly unbuttons your shirt and you let him, making eye contact the entire time. he stares at your body as if he’s searing it into his mind. he presses kisses against your collarbone, not wanting to leave marks as to not inconvenience you, but starts trailing towards your cleavage. he cups your breasts through your bra, burying his face between them, savoring them. he lets them spill out from the cups and he groans. everything about you is beautiful, he just wants to worship you.

he’s careful not to leave marks, he doesn’t want to inconvenience you, but you don’t seem to share the same sentiment. you pause him in his tracks, pushing him onto the bed instead as you straddle his lap. he cocks an eyebrow, but lets you do what you want. you kiss his neck and he grips your hips tightly, grinding against you with soft groans. you mark him up, hickeys, bites, and lipstick stains his neck and chest, and he loves it. yeah he’s going to have to wear a turtleneck tomorrow in the middle of Spring, but he doesn’t mind. he continues to grind against you, rolling his hips up when you yelp when he hits a certain spot, and he snaps. he manhandles you into a new position and giggle as he’s desperate to get into your pants. he fumbles with your zipper so you help him, placing your hands on top of his and leading him slowly through it. he doesn’t even take off your pants all the way before unbuckling his belt and lowering his own just enough for his cock to flop out. he’s in such a rush, only pulling your panties aside when he teases you with his tip, letting it get coated in your slick.

“princess, you’re so wet,” he smirks, dipping his tip in before popping it back out, eliciting a whine from you.

“professor xia—”

“caleb. call me caleb.”

“c-caleb, please, stop teasing, i’m wet enough, i can take it—” you gasp when he pushes his cock in, the stretch bigger than you expected. he goes as slow as he can to not overwhelm you, but your eyes are still rolling back. when he finally bottoms out, he just stays there, his body against yours as he savors your warmth and tightness. you beg for him to move in a cute, needy voice, and he can’t resist you. he can’t deny you when you’re asking so sweetly, can he?

so he does just as you asked for. he lets his cock drag against your walls as he pulls out, taking all the time in the world, before thrusting back in quickly. you gasp again when sets a brutal pace, rutting into you like a mad man because his fantasies for the past two years are finally coming true.

“princess, you’re so t-tight,” he groans, his balls slapping against your clit and his tip kissing your cervix.

“no, y-you’re too big,” you retort, moaning uncontrollably as you hold onto his shoulders.

he curses for the first time as he grabs your pants, yanking them off along with your panties so that he can have full access to your cunt. he grips your thighs and pushes you back so they lay against your chest, reaching even deeper than before. he thumbs your clit while fucking you rougher than he would’ve liked for your first time together, but he can’t help himself. you’re so delicious. there’s so many things he wanted to do with you, but he couldn’t hold himself back. he wanted to finger you and eat you out for hours, to edge you and overstimulate you at the same time, worship your body from head to toe, but the moment he heard you moan, he lost all reason.

his thrusts are getting sloppy as your moans are getting louder when you finally snap, cumming and squeezing his cock oh, so good, making him reach his peak as well. he spills his cum into you, groaning against your shoulder, biting down softly as you hold him close, not letting him go or pull out. when you both come down from your highs, he kisses your temple, but his cock is still hard.

“ah, one more round? or did you want that coffee break?”

oh god. am i ovulating? cuz why did a video of caleb in glasses captioned with "professor caleb" make me run to tumblr

[brucewaynehater101]

i've been thinking about Tim's 16th birthday, and had an idea, what if after that disaster Tim realizes he couldn't handle another birthday like that, so on his next birthday he decides to try making his own party, he invites his friends from YJ, rents a place outside of gotham and just completely ignores everything that comes from the Batfamily that day. And it ends up being the best birthday of his life, and so he decides to keep doing it, and it continues going well, until a couple of years later when Dick realizes he never celebrated Tim's birthday, so he decides to give Tim a surprise party. Surprisingly everyone of the batfamily gets together to make the party, and they think they managed to hide it from Tim, only despite the fact that his last few birthday parties were amazing Tim still has a lot of paranoia near his birthday, so as soon as he noticed the family was planning something on his birthday he left Gotham a week before his birthday. No one noticed until the day of Tim's 21st birthday, when Dick tried to find Tim, only to get an automated message saying that Tim's not working today because of his birthday, also that message was always on Tim's birthday ever since he first decided to truly celebrate it, only that was the first time Dick saw it because he never sent a message to Tim on his birthday. Later the batfamily discovers that Tim had a party without even mentioning it to them and get angry because they put a lot of effort on a party for Tim, while he didn't even want them on his birthday. Up to you how Tim responds to that.

I love exploring Tim's 16th birthday trauma. I'm going to tweak your idea slightly, if you don't mind. I myself hate celebrating my birthday, so imma be biased :) Let's go!

Warning: This is an AU, so obviously a lot of details aren't gonna be canon accurate.

Tim's birthdays have always been a hit or miss for him [If you want extra trauma, y'all could make the Flying Grayson show a birthday gift/celebration for Tim. Can be the weekend before, after, or directly on his birthday... Just for fun :D]. Before Tim became Robin, his parents... tried. They tried to be home, to celebrate, to be there. More often than not, they were too busy to actually be present. In those cases, if the connection allowed, they would call Tim.

His parents believed the gifts they gave him, the money they spent on him, made up for them not being there. This is when Tim started to have a complicated relationship with gift giving.

This was the case until Tim's fourteenth birthday.

Tim asked Bruce to become Robin at thirteen, but didn't actually hit the streets until he was fourteen. Obviously, a grieving Bruce didn't celebrate Tim's birthday with him, particularly because Tim wasn't Robin.

For Tim's fourteenth birthday, imma present you with two options:

His parents actually managed to come home and this is the last birthday he gets to spend with his mom

Tim was training in Europe over his fourteenth birthday and thus he was the one to tell his parents they can't celebrate with him

For Tim's fifteenth birthday, his dad is in a coma and his mom is dead. He's also a temporary ward with Bruce. Thus, he gets a fantastic and normal birthday for once. It goes far better than his previous one, giving him hope for future birthdays.

Then the 16th birthday happens.

After this, Tim doesn't trust Bruce and Alfred. Dick, Barbara, Steph, and YJ didn't know about it, so he still tentatively trusts them.

To add extra trauma, let's say Tim's 17th birthday occurs during the BruceQuest :)

Now, for Tim's 18th birthday, he's an adult. He has rocky relationships with his family, and he knows how to engineer distractions/excuses to avoid celebrating his birthday with the Waynes. Usually, he has "missions" with his friends that are really fun adventures or vacations.

He used to leave Gotham two weeks in advance, but, after his eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth birthdays, he calms down. He isn't expecting The 16th to happen again.

[To flesh out some of his other relationships (and feel free to regard as you please), let's say that Cass gets invited to the nineteenth and twentieth.

Steph (after Tim and Steph fix their relationship with one another) gets invited to the twentieth.

Jason and Tim both share a dislike for birthdays or presents, so they usually just send each other some text message phrased as an insult ("Seems you actually survived another year. Would you look at that?") and a cheap gift (a pack of cigarettes for Jason and a pack of Zesti for Tim).

Barbara and Tim send each other puzzles/challenges for each others' birthdays. Maybe Duke is the same way too.

Dick goes out with Tim *after* Tim returns to Gotham post-Birthday (if you want a trying/good brother Dick)

Tim does not accept gifts from Bruce nor Alfred. Alfred will instead make Tim's favorite meal and leave it in his apartment for when he returns. Bruce, on the other hand, feels immense guilt over it and only sends Tim a happy birthday text and money.]

But... Then, for Tim's 21st birthday, he notices his family planning shit. His ass immediately flees town and doesn't return for an entire month, just in case.

The Waynes are pissed at him, particularly the ones who don't know about the 16th. I think Cass probably told them not to plan anything and went with Tim when the Waynes continued their plans despite her warning.

Anyways, if anyone actually yells at Tim that they "put a lot of effort into that party for Tim," I hope he crashes out and yells at them for getting upset without even asking him what he wants. All of this could have been avoided if even one of them had asked him about his plans for his birthday and how he likes to celebrate.

[merakiui]

Do you have any thoughts to share about the housewardens with a girlfriend with small boobs? I never see anything positive about that, maybe you have some?

Absolutely!!! :D time for small titty appreciation~

Riddle likes you as you are, regardless of the size of your chest, but if he’s being truthful he’s especially fond of the way your small boobs make his dick look bigger in comparison. ^^;; also, he once read a statistic that a person with smaller boobs is more sensitive than a person with bigger boobs. He’s determined to see if there’s any truth to that, and any statistic needs adequate evidence. :)

Leona doesn’t have much of a preference either way. Tits are tits. He likes them because they’re your tits, but if you really want an answer he’ll tell you it’s because they’re fun to play with when they’re so perky all the time. And they fit in his mouth so perfectly. But what does he know? He’s an ass man first.

Azul is a pervert and he’ll admit that one of the biggest appeals of your small tits, aside from the size itself, is the fact that it’s very appealing to hold them entirely in his hands, cupping them with ease and they won’t spill out. It’s even better when he’s in his mer form and his tentacles cover them completely, suckers latching onto a cute, pebbled nipple. >_< there’s something so erotic about your small tits and how a mark or two from his suckers could cover them almost completely. Size difference flips the switch in his tako hindbrain.

Kalim loves the way they look when pressed up against your shirt when you aren’t wearing a bra, hard nipples poking through in such a delicious way. Even better if the shirt is soaked and clinging to your chest, creating such a perfect contour. He just thinks it’s so pretty!!! He can’t help fawning over them. They’re so cute. He’s sorry if this isn’t the answer you were hoping for. He’s just hopelessly enthralled with you and your adorable tits.

Vil is a firm believer that all shapes and sizes are beautiful. Maybe he’s biased because it’s you and he adores everything about you and your body from top to bottom. He thinks there are so many fashion styles and lingerie that can flatter those with smaller chests (just as it’s the same for those with bigger chests). Besides, more than a handful is a waste when you’re concerned. He enjoys being able to toy with your tits,,, especially when it’s so easy to get a hold of and grope them.

Idia has this mentality: flat is justice. Yeah, mega milk-sized tits are great and look amazing in the shirt, but he likes the perky pair you have. He also likes them because he has big hands and long fingers and it just looks really erotic when he has his hands on your chest. OTL he will defend small tiddies until the end of his days.

Malleus hopes your chest isn’t a point of insecurity for you because he thinks they’re divine. You’re asking him why he likes your chest? Well, if you had a bigger chest it may get in the way of hugs and skin to skin contact. :< there’s more of you to hug and hold when you have a small chest that doesn’t get in the way of that.

[https-murdock]

careless - matt murdock

summary: matt often thinks about how careless he was with you

word count: 408

warning:⚠️ angst

note: was feelin angsty after ddba :( i love writing angst its always one of my faves when i get into it. just a lil one i had in my drafts i’ve been adding to, it felt complete, enjoy!

masterlist // join my tag list

it’s careless, the way he’s searching for your touch tonight knowing it’s not there.

on the other side of his bed, it’s as if your warmth basks in his sheets. he can feel it from his position, the way your chest is rising and falling with each breath - it all feels so familiar yet so far away.

there’s something about the way the sun is shining through matt’s new apartment that makes him question how he ended up here - sitting in your shared bed without the feeling of you next to him.

he wonders where he went so wrong.

he thinks of the way you’d laugh at him for the weird positions he sleeps in, the way you’d sometimes sigh in your sleep like you were finally relaxed. he noticed that a lot, you only relaxed when you slept, away from him.

the guilt was always ever present, sitting on his lungs like a heavy push. he knew that what he did was stressful for him, the things he saw and the things he had to do - and yet somehow in the stress of trying to keep up with his own life, he forgot about how hard it was for you to witness so many of his downfalls.

the lock on his door is never actually set, there’s something in matt’s heart that hopes you’ll use your spare key just one more time so he can tell you everything he felt that he was too scared to say when you left.

it’s so unlike him, to be so careless. his direct focus on each breathing thing in his life was a constant - so much that he forgot to check you were also breathing.

each time he allows his eyelids to close, he sees you packing your bags. soft touch still present even when you’d finally had enough of what he was doing - or, more so, what he wasn’t doing.

matt was always a presence, always something you felt around you but somehow that’s all he was in the end. never home, always running off somewhere you weren’t. he was careless with the way he loved you, and that’s something that will hang over him for the rest of his living days.

matt was always acutely aware of the fact he couldn’t see your expressions - but he always knew he could feel them.

what he didn’t understand was how he overlooked them so greatly.

how he let you leave.

— tags 🏷️

@lambmurdock @parker-murdock @silas-aeiou @audreyclimbs @pupmurdock @millennial-birkin @poeticbookwormcat

[ang3lvrse]

WHELP CAPERS — m.jh

in which, you start ovulating in the middle of the night—something that your puppy catches on to even before you did

GENRE— pwp (barely any plot), hybrid au

WARNINGS— dubcon, reader is ovulating, jaehyun's hybrid-like attributes consist of a tail and ears, along with a hightened sense of smell and a lot more strength than a normal person, oral (fem! rec), much!jaehyun, clit biting, clit pinching, squirting, unprotected sex (don't!), doggy, clit pinching, scenting, let me know if i missed any!

WORDCOUNT— 2.8k

NOTE— another revamp, to apologise for the lack of bnd fics from me 🙏🏻

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

a delicious smell wafted through the air, waking up jaehyun in the middle of the night. he groggily opened his eyes, his nose twitching. what the hell was that smell?

he managed to sit up, rubbing his tired eyes. he blinked carefully, still extremely sleepy. that smell… it only seemed to intensify by the minute. it was so good, but—what exactly was it?

he let his curiosity get the best of him, causing him to take a deep inhale—biggest mistake of his life. or was it?

the smell invaded his senses fully, a deep growl leaving his throat—unintentionally. his ears, that sat on top of his head, twitched. his eyes were wide open now. the smell had caused a stirring in his groin. there was no mistaking it. that smell was painfully similar to the smell that female dogs emitted when they were in heat. but—he was the only dog hybrid in this household, hell, the only hybrid in this household, so how–

he let out another groan, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, as the smell kept intensifying, affecting him more than it should have. his tail was thumping madly, his cock growing harder and harder, straining against his pants, begging to be let out. he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to find out the source of the smell, even fuck it if necessary–

he quickly got off the bed, following the smell. it wasn’t too hard to track it, given his amazing sense of smell. what did surprise him though, was the fact that the smell was coming from your room—which, in retrospect, did sadden him. did you get another hybrid while he was asleep? did you think that jaehyun wasn’t enough for you?

although, when he entered your room—which wasn’t hard, considering you always kept your door ajar, just in case your beloved puppy, aka jaehyun, ever needed something—he was pleasantly surprised to not be able to see, or sense the presence of another hybrid, dog or not. however, the smell was extremely strong inside your room, causing him to bite on his lip to stop a whimper from spilling out.

he noticed you on your stomach, your hands under your head, chest rising up and down slowly, indicating that you were fast asleep. another whiff confirmed the fact that the source of the overly delicious smell in your room was in fact, you.

but how were you emitting such a delectable smell? that was something he simply couldn’t wrap his head around. his innocent and pretty human, his almost naive owner, giving off such a provocative smell? how?

he went closer to the bed, his hands twitching from the effort of trying to hold back from jumping your sleeping form. you were driving him crazy, and neither you, nor him had any idea how.

he bent down near the bed. he had a suspicion, and was proven right. the aphrodisiac-like smell was coming from your core.

he put his hands on the bed, pushing down on them, climbing up on the bed. he knew it was wrong, this entire situation was wrong. but this was your fault, wasn’t it? all of it was your fault.

why were you wearing such skimpy shorts and a thin tank top that left barely anything to the imagination, to bed? don’t you realise that you live with a hybrid, who is, at the end of the day, a man? a man with needs? needs that he desperately wanted you to help him with?

you’re always such a fucking tease to him, always in those tiny little outfits that barely covered anything, prancing about in the apartment. such a naive thing too, never realising that the look in his eyes was lust, not curiosity. always calling him your ‘sweet little pup’, like he doesn’t jerk off to the thought of your face, begging him to fill you up and breed you like the little slut you were, every fucking night.

you never realised any of his dirty fantasies, never caught him doing anything as lewd as that. you couldn’t ever think jaehyun would harbour such disgusting thoughts about you, not even in your wildest dreams. poor you, if only you knew.

but sometimes, ignorance is bliss. especially now, when you left your door ajar, for him to come inside and do whatever he pleases. you wouldn’t mind that, right? no, you wouldn’t. if you did, you wouldn’t have left the door open. you leave it open for him anyways, so why would you mind?

maybe he was trying to justify his behaviour, he definitely was trying to justify it, but he couldn't bring himself to care right now. he leaned down, grabbed your thighs, and slowly pulled them apart. you wouldn't sleep in such a vulnerable position if you didn't want him to do something about it, would you?

he leaned closer to your core, taking a deep sniff from your shorts, immediately muffling a groan. the smell was so strong. with extreme cautiousness, he completely laid down between your legs, dragging his nose back and forth on the damp material of your skimpy shorts. fuck, you were so wet, and smelled so fucking delicious. the urge to devour you was extremely high.

so that's what he did. there was nothing stopping him, so why would he care? he pulled down the waistband of your shorts, your panties following them. he licked off the strings of arousal sticking to your panties from your core, his dick starting to hurt from how much it was straining against his boxers.

he trailed kisses up your thighs, as if apologising for what he was doing. he was horny, but not a complete monster. at least that's what he told himself, as he finally licked a long stripe up your slit. he felt you twitch against his tongue, a small muffled moan leaving you, the noise so subtle that it wouldn't have reached him if he didn't have a sharpened sense of hearing; perks of being a dog hybrid.

of course, what jaehyun was doing was bound to wake you up anyways, so he got right into it. he unhinged his jaw, as if trying to eat your entire pussy in one gulp, before he started ravishing you like he was a starving man and you were his first meal.

he licked and sucked, licked and sucked, whatever part he could reach. he was nuzzling his face inside your cunt, practically making out with it. the way he moaned into your pussy, it was as if he was getting relief from eating you out.

of course you had woken up. how could you not? the moment he started ravishing you, you had woken up with a jolt, the absolute unadulterated pleasure making your drowsy head spin. you could hear the sound of a tail thumping, causing you to widen your eyes in realisation—that was your little puppy!

you tried to crawl away from him, begging him to stop. “j-jaehyun w-wait, please– stop–” but all he did was let out a loud growl, the sound reverberating through your pussy, sending tingles of pleasure through you, as he continued to devour you. 

the pleasure was overwhelming, causing you to struggle to keep your eyes open. you couldn't get away from him, no, he was far too strong for you. all you could do was take what he was giving you. you couldn't help the unabashed moans and whimpers spilling out of your lips in a frenzy, begging him for more. it was wrong, so very wrong, but it felt so good.

you couldn't help but grind down on his face, something that he absolutely didn't mind. he bit your clit lightly, not even realising that he was humping the bed, too intent on trying to get you to cum on his tongue. he needed to taste you, absolutely had to taste you—if your slick tasted that good, he absolutely had to taste your cum.

your head felt like it was clouded in a mist—a mist of lust. all you could do was grind back on his face, high pitched whimpers of “jaehyun”, “feel s’good” and “r-right there!”s leaving you. you couldn't think at all, his mouth feeling a little too good on your needy cunt. almost as if he was made to eat you out.

he flattened his tongue on your clit, flicking it, before harshly sucking on it. he brought his hand up, pushing two fingers inside your fluttering hole, dragging them across your walls with incomparable expertise. your drawn out gasps and whines encouraged him, causing him to drag them harder, with purpose. your shuddering body caused him to moan into your cunt, the vibrations causing more slick to pour out of you, which he gladly drank up.

he pushed his fingers in deeper, curling them, to hit a spot that had you crying out his name in ecstasy. he thrusted his fingers in and out of you at a faster pace, making sure to hit that spot everytime, your loud cries and whimpers, paired with the squelching sounds from your pussy, being the only sounds in the room.

he switched his fingers with his mouth, pushing his tongue inside, shoving it as far as it would go, his face practically becoming one with your pussy. his thumb rubbed circled onto your clit at a fast pace, trying to coax your orgasm out of you. you grinded back on his face, your walls clamping around the thick muscle of his tongue.

the band in your stomach continued to tighten, threatening to snap at any moment. you choked out a moan, trying to form a coherent sentence. “j-jaehyun, i’m s-so close–” you let out a loud gasp, your eyes rolling back, as he pinched your clit harshly, the band in your stomach finally snapping. your mouth was open in a silent scream, your ears ringing, as your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami. your entire body was shaking, legs feeling like jelly, as it finally stopped, your chest heaving up and down, panting.

you had never squirted before. but you did today, all because of your puppy’s mouth. as the post-orgasm clarity hit you, you realised you were ovulating—which would make perfect sense, if you looked at the date carefully. your eyes widened, as you remembered that dogs and dog hybrids alike have a stronger sense of smell. it was possible that jaehyun had smelled you, which caused him to act the way he did.

but you had no time to ponder, as you heard the sound of shuffling behind you. before you could say anything, you were suddenly lifted up, so that your back hit jaehyun’s chest, which was—bare, for some reason. your eyes widened as he tugged on your tank top, before impatiently tearing it off.

you let out a loud gasp, but didn’t have anytime to react otherwise, feeling his cock poking at your wet entrance. your eyes widened, as you tried to stop him. you tried to push his hands away—a useless move on your part. he was strong, much stronger than humans.

you had no other option but to let it happen.

jaehyun let out a loud groan, as he rubbed his angry red tip on your dripping folds, collecting your wetness. he whispered in your ear. “you don’t actually want me to stop, do you? if you did, you wouldn’t have worn these sorry excuses of clothes to bed, would you? you wanted this, wanted me to come and take you in the middle of the night, didn’t you?”

you couldn’t speak, the overstimulation from your previous orgasm sending your brain into overdrive, his words barely registering. each time his cock rubbed across your folds a mixture of pain and pleasure shot up your spine, your cloudy brain starting to register only the pleasure. it hurt, but it hurt so good.

he tapped his mushroom tip on your clit, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine, causing you to flinch. he spoke in a mocking tone, making it clear that he was taunting you. “fuck princess, don’t jump like that. almost made me think you didn’t want this.”

he didn't let you answer,—not that you could, given how overstimulated you were—pushing his mushroom tip in. the tip itself stretched you out, your bottom lip pulled in between your teeth, as you let choked back a whimper. you unconsciously rocked your hips back, trying to get him to fuck you properly.

he let out an amused chuckle, slowly pushing himself inside. your eyes rolled back, his cock hitting every single spot, dragging across your walls deliciously. the slow pace of him pushing inside you had your back arching, ripping out a broken mewl. he felt so, so good inside you. 

even if everything about it was wrong, it just felt so fucking right.

he filled you up to the brim, and then some more. he just kept going and going and going. finally, he stopped, fully sheathed in your, the veins on his cock pulsing inside you at a rapid pace. you clenched around him, trying to make him move. you needed it, desperately needed it.

the abundant slick you were producing had made the glide way too fucking easy, your pussy clamped around him like a vice. you were a temptation that he could never even think of resisting, let alone attempt to.

his grip on your hips was tight, tight enough to leave bruises, as he pulled himself almost completely out, before slamming right back in—somehow managing to fit another non-existent inch inside of you. you had to stifle your cries, as he set a ruthless pace, one that left you dizzy—not just because of how well he was hitting all the right spots, but also because of the force with which he was hitting them.

but biting down on your fist could only take you so far, before he shoved your hand away from your mouth. without stopping his brutal pace, he leaned closer to your ear, whispering in it. “c’mon baby, don’t muffle your pretty noises. let me hear you sing, yea? need to hear how good i make you feel.”

his words somehow managed to bring out a fresh wave of slickness out of you, dripping down his length, past his balls. it was maddening, the loud sounds of squelching between your bodies, jaehyun’s grunting, and your moans. all of it combined into a white noise in your ears, leaving your brain hazy. you could barely think, let alone form a coherent sentence. the slightly unaffected part of your brain screamed ‘slow down!’, while the other half screamed at him to go faster. whether you said either of those out loud, you wouldn’t know, since he was too busy trying to hit your g-spot.

he lifted your hips upwards slightly, pushing down on your back to make you arch better. the new angle had you letting out shuddering noises of pleasure, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, making you see stars. yep, he had definitely found the spot.

he pounded into you at a faster, more desperate pace, muttering furiously in your ear, trying to force an orgasm out of you again—not that he needed to do much convincing.

“c’mon baby, squeeze my cock harder, show me that you like this.”

“yea princess, you like that? like when i bully my cock harder into your sensitive little cunt?”

“fucking hell angel, pussy feels so good—gonna cum on my cock, yea? s’fucking close, aren’t you?”

he pinched your clit harshly, before rubbing circles around it at a maddening pace, occasionally flicking it. that was your last straw. your eyes rolled back into your head, your mouth open in a silent scream, as your cunt squeezed around his length harshly, spasming as you coated it in your release. he kept fucking you through your orgasm, a white ring forming at the base of his cock.

his own followed not too long after, your pussy milking him for all he was worth, as he spurted load after load of hot cum inside you, veins on its sides pulsing wildly. he pulled his softening length out, despite it giving a last weak twitch inside you.

he flipped you over, carefully laying your exhausted body down, collapsing next to you. as if a switch had flipped inside him, he returned to his normal puppy boy nature, snuggling up to you, his nose dragging across your neck, scenting you—despite his scent having fully engulfed you after the rough dicking down he gave you.

your mind swam in and out of consciousness, exhausted from your previous activities, feeling him occasionally lick your neck. you could discuss what had just transpired this night later on, the next morning perhaps—but right now, all you needed was some good sleep.

[m00n-knight-head-ass]

Like what, do people who think like this want me to admit every day to shit like "my roommate ditched us in a store over and over again when a little was fronting and their phone doesn't work without wifi so even if the little knew calling people was a thing they couldn't get in touch with the roommate. The little was lost in front of a dairy isle just frozen in place and looking around frantically for what felt like ages for them. And then later at the check out they heard a kid yelling about something that triggered immense pain and grief. And oh yeah they felt like almost crying for most of the time they were in the store but knew they 'couldn't' cry." Like do these guys also expect to hear every damn day that "a caregiver and a protector were trying to help them but they kept ending up not being able to talk to each other and ended up forcing each other into the back seat by accident so that when they came fully front they had had body awareness the entire time but didn't hear almost anything from each other because they Just Fucking Couldn't no matter how hard they tried."

Oh oh do they also want to here "this was all made worse by the fact we hadn't slept in 20hrs and hadn't eaten for about 10 but no one in front was aware of this fact whatsoever and just assumed the body was in working order or whatever."

(Sorry vent about today because we are so not happy. Not to mention someone put back the stuffed bunny we were going to get for different littles to be able to treat roughly if they needed too. Dude we wanted to buy it for them all, but nooooooo, someone made an executive decision without asking anyone when we do in fact have enough money saved from Christmas to buy the $12 stuffed animal bunny.)

Sorry for kinda derailing your post sys202, we just REALLY needed that.

“can systems post about more than their alters cause there’s more to the disorder” there is, but frankly most of us do not want to and should not have to talk about how debilitating being a system really is. i understand that systems being watered down to simply just alters is what makes endos and transsys but actual educational blogs/sites/whatever should focus on educating, not just your normal everyday system trying to escape how hard it is to live with this disorder. i’d much rather talk about how frank had to get alina to finish his spicy ramen for him because he was “too white for this shit” than vent about how frustrating and exhausting it is to be a system. WE DO NOT EXIST ON THESE PLATFORMS TO EDUCATE YOU. thank you. mic drop. -C.G

[asterafroditis]

Hello! Would you mind writing a platonic India & reader fic in which idia and gn!reader were childhood friends, like practically attatched to the hip. But after ortho's incident, idia started shutting himself in his room, never getting out, and once reader found out what he was up to, they decided to help, so they worked on Ortho in his room daily but never really spoke if not for the basic necessities. And once Ortho was fully built and coded, they didn't really have a reason to be together anymore, and their relationship was awkward, so they stopped seeing each other. And once they're in night raven college in the same dorm, they have the first concrete conversation after years? Please?? I hope you're having a great day btw

𐔌 . ⋮ lost connection .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Platonic Idia Shroud x gn! reader

𓏵 1000 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 2nd Person POV, no pronouns used, angst, neutral ending

idk if you wanted hurt/no comfort or hurt/comfort so I kept it neutral, hope that's okay TT feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

You and Idia had been inseparable once.

Back then, he was a little awkward, a little quiet, but never distant. He’d talk your ear off about games, anime, or whatever niche interest had caught his attention that month, all with that rare excitement that made his eyes burn like embers. He never liked going outside, but with enough convincing, he’d do it—for you. And in return, you learned to love the things he loved, spending long hours at his side, backs pressed together as you battled through co-op campaigns or designed your own game concepts just for fun.

It had been easy. Comfortable.

Then, Ortho died.

And suddenly, Idia wasn’t there anymore.

At first, it was just messages left on ‘read,’ then excuses—sorry, not today, I’m busy, maybe later. Then nothing at all. You hadn’t even seen him at the funeral. It was like he had disappeared entirely.

You should’ve expected it. Idia had always been a shut-in at heart, but this was different. It wasn’t just him retreating into his room—it was him shutting the world out, locking himself behind doors no one else could open. He wasn’t even playing the games you used to play together. His account had been inactive for months.

So you went to him.

When you finally stepped into his room, the first thing you noticed was the smell—burnt wires, solder, metal shavings, something synthetic humming in the air. It was a mess, scattered with blueprints, disassembled parts, unfinished code flickering on multiple monitors. And in the center of it all, hunched over his desk with dark circles so deep they could’ve been bruises, was Idia.

He didn’t even look at you.

“You’re building him,” you had said. It wasn’t a question.

His fingers froze over his keyboard. Then, barely above a whisper:

“I have to.”

And that was that.

You could’ve said something then. You should have. You should have told him that this wasn’t healthy, that bringing Ortho back like this wouldn’t fix anything, that no matter how perfect he made him, it wouldn’t change the fact that Ortho had died. That Idia shouldn’t have to cope like this—isolated, barely eating, drowning himself in lines of code and artificial skin.

But you didn’t.

Because what else did he have?

So instead, you sat down beside him, grabbed a spare wrench, and started helping.

It became routine.

You spent nearly every day in his room, working with him in silence. It was strange, at first. You had never gone this long without actually talking to him, without hearing him ramble about stats or lore or how some company completely butchered an adaptation. Now, the only words you exchanged were functional—pass that to me, check the output, hand me the screwdriver. It was all just work.

And yet, you kept coming back.

Because someone had to make sure he was eating, that he was still sleeping (however little), that he didn’t completely disappear into this project and forget he was still alive. You could barely recognize him anymore—he never smiled, never laughed, never looked at anything but the machine in front of him.

Sometimes, you wanted to shake him, to scream this isn’t what Ortho would have wanted—but the words never came.

Because what if this was the only thing keeping him together?

What if, the moment you took it away from him, he shattered completely?

So you stayed.

And then one day, Ortho opened his eyes.

It was eerie, at first. He looked the same, sounded the same, even moved the same—but something was different.

Or maybe, something was missing.

Idia didn’t see it. Or if he did, he never let himself acknowledge it. He only looked at his brother with something you hadn’t seen in him in so long—relief. Like he had been holding his breath all this time and could finally breathe again.

You should have been happy for him.

But all you could feel was something cold sinking in your stomach.

Because your part was done now, wasn’t it? There was nothing left to fix, no more reason for you to be here. Idia had what he wanted.

So you left.

And he didn’t stop you.

Years later, you found yourself at Night Raven College.

You weren’t surprised when Idia ended up in Ignihyde—you knew he would. You had even known you’d be dormmates, though somehow, you never really ran into him. It wasn’t like he ever left his room. If he knew you were here, he never reached out.

And you weren’t sure if you wanted to be the first to break the silence.

So you ignored it.

Until now.

“…Why are you here?”

The voice was hesitant, muffled slightly by the door cracking open just enough for you to see his eyes—still burning, still wary.

You blinked. “I live here.”

A beat. Then, “…Oh.”

For a second, neither of you spoke. You wondered if he’d shut the door in your face, if you were supposed to pretend you hadn’t spent years knee-deep in grief together. If he even saw you the same way he used to.

Then, after what felt like forever, he muttered, “…You look different.”

You almost laughed. “So do you.”

Another pause. You could hear faint game sound effects in the background, the same ones you used to hear through his headphones all the time.

“…Do you want to come in?”

You hesitated.

You weren’t sure if stepping back into that room would pull you into something you had already left behind—if you were ready to face the weight of everything that had been left unsaid between you.

But then again, hadn’t you already been carrying it this whole time?

So you stepped forward.

And the door closed behind you.

[filmbyjy]

HIDDEN LOVE

SYNOPSIS > park sunghoon was the most good looking and respectful man you’ve ever met at the age of 13. ignoring the fact that you had a loud and obnoxious older brother, park jongseong, as his best friend. with things going by in your life and a heartbreak at 17. what happens when you coincidentally reconnected with your past crush on someone 5 years older than you?

SEVEN – nice to others

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

WC: 1.5K words

a/n: she's back after *flips calendar* a week! i do apologise. i wanted to release other writings that i have in my inbox. it just so happens that it was a sunghoon one. anyways, this is a decently lengthy filler chapter so enjoy!!

you were stupid. however, park sunghoon was way more stupid. why did he just randomly told you off for almost having a high school relationship? he isn't your brother. you had groaned into the pillow once more. you should get some sleep. it's a long day ahead as there was school tomorrow.

you didn't know as to when you had woken up but you were dead tired. you needed more sleep. the alarm went off and you had turned it off. once again, back to being stuck in school for a few hours of education.

after showering, leaving the house and taking the bus, you had made it to school. the class was alive with students chattering with their friends. you had seen your best friend, rei, coming into class.

"hey, rei! did you have a good rest over the weekend?" you had asked her but she ignores you and choses to walk past. she settles down right on her seat in front of the desk.

you were disappointed and quite sad but you didn't let that waver you. instead, you had tapped her shoulders and ask her once again. "rei, are you okay? did something happen?" she ignores you. now you were sure she definitely was purposely not listening to you.

just as you were about to ask her again, the teacher walks in and everyone was ordered to stand and greet him. guess you'd have to ask her on the way to lunch. studies were never your thing but after that incident in middle school with sunghoon, you had been listening well and doing better in high school. it was for sunghoon after all.

"we will be having a school's sports day for our class and we need participants for hurdling. which one of you have yet to sign up yet?" the teacher voices out. he looks around the class and hums.

"(name). you have yet to sign up. i'll put you into vaulting. go practice for it after school and during PE." he says. you had sighed under your breath in distaste. you had raised your hand.

"sir, i can't do vaulting. can i just take running?"

"we have too many signing up for it. maybe if you give me a good reason as to why you don't want to jump then tell me."

"m-my legs are too short?" you say as if you were second guessing yourself. the whole class erupts in a laughter and you were embarrassed. you had slumped your shoulders over.

"not a good reason. you have to do this no matter what. our class is routing for you."

you had groaned quietly at the teacher's words. the bell rings and it was finally lunch. you had tried to catch rei but she was leaving with another classmate.

"rei, wait." you had ran up to her. "let's talk and get our usual lunch together."

"i don't want to." she says. it seemed like she was upset. you didn't know what to say. you had watched your best friend walk away. instead of going to the canteen. you had retreated into your class and ate lunch alone.

why was she reacting this way? did you do something wrong?

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

there were loud cheers from around the stadium. Decelis High was holding their sports day at Nosferatu College. the college that both your brother and sunghoon attended. you had prayed and prayed that you wouldn't see them.

you were watching other classes play against each other in the 'tug of war' game. rei seemed so happy cheering for them. they were neck and neck. then one tug sent the other class fly into the losing end. everyone cheers. then you had noticed myung jaehyun (myungjae) was in the winning class. ah, she liked him and you had hurt him by rejecting him. was that why she stopped talking to you?

she notices that you were looking at her and she looks away from you. you had turned away and started to walk somewhere else when myung jaehyun runs after you.

"hey." you smiled a little.

"hi."

"i saw your name on the list. you're going to play vaulting, hmm?"

"yeah. not exactly looking forward to it."

there was an announcer telling the people who chose vaulting to start signing up. it was your turn and you couldn't run away from it.

myungjae sighs, he scratches the back of his head awkwardly. "good luck out there. i umm sorry for taking the rejection so badly."

you had shook your head. "it's not your fault. i probably should've let you down gently instead of being mean." he holds out his hand.

"friends?" you took his hand and shook it.

"friends." the announcer calls out again and myungjae pats your back.

"go out there and win for your class." you gave him a small smile one last time and turned around to walk towards the registration booth.

"okay, next." you heard the person say. here you were face to face with jay. he was shocked. there was a look of mischief flashing across his face.

"oh my god? turn around." he says. you had rolled your eyes. he wanted to see the number you had and confirmed with your name on the list. you had whined.

"fuck off, oppa. you're so annoying." jay laughs. he laughs so hard that he bangs the desk and wakes up the person beside him. it just so happens to be sunghoon.

oh hell nah. why did it have to be park sunghoon...

there was a strange look in sunghoon's eyes. almost like a glimmer of happiness that you were here but you didn't want to assume it was. jay smacks sunghoon's shoulder.

"dude, are you seeing this right? my little sister is doing vaulting." jay laughs once more. you had folded your arms, annoyed by your older brother. sunghoon tries to get your brother to quieten down as he was being quite loud. once jay's laughter dies down a little, he turns his attention to you.

"it's hot out. did you wear some sunscreen?" he asks. you had hummed at his words. he gestures for you to lean forward and steals jay's cap before placing it right on your head.

"be careful, okay?" he sweetly says. jay almost mocks sunghoon once you had nodded and left.

"acting like a big brother to her. how sweet." jay says. sunghoon lightly pushes jay away.

20 minutes later, you were in line to do vaulting. each girl before you had made it over the first line. you were nervous. finally, it was your turn and your classmates had gathered around to cheer for you. you had breathed in and started running. just before you had jumped, you had stopped. everyone around still cheered for you so you could jump over the pole. you had went back to the starting line.

i can do this. it's not that hard. just jumped over and we're done.

you had breathed in and out once more and just run. you had jumped and you genuinely thought you made it over but you fell over and scraped your knee. you hear everyone gasping and two people scrambling over to you.

"get on my back," jay instructs. you don't move. sunghoon's back really good to lay on...you were just saying...

you don't get to say anything as sunghoon helps you up on jay's back. hmm, how were you going to be able to get on sunghoon's back...you had to think.

start an argument with jay as he carries me! 'you're so smart'. thanks brain. 'thank you, (name) :D'

as jay was bringing you over to the station, you had started to squirm in his arms and jay huffs. sunghoon had just followed along making sure you were okay.

"stop moving."

"you're hurting my legs." you groaned. jay rolls his eyes.

"i'm not even touching your legs."

"you are and it hurts!" you whine once more.

"too bad, now just deal with it."

"my fragile hea-" you were midway whining and complaining.

"sunghoon, you carry her." jay tells sunghoon. he passes you over to sunghoon. you had climbed over to sunghoon's back and he easily carries you.

let's go. i'm so smart. now, i get to be on his back :3

he carries you over to the medical station and looks around for the medical staff but they weren't around. he looks around for a disinfectant and a bandage. he lightly blows on the injury after disinfecting it and placing some ointment. he then places a bandage right over it.

"your ankles might be swollen for a bit. stay here. i'll get jay to look around for the nurse. you might have to be in an ankle brace for a little." sunghoon explains. you hummed. he looks up at you.

"are you okay? you look like you're going to cry."

"i'm okay. i think. thank you, sunghoon oppa." he smiles a little.

"don't worry, kid. you'll be fine. just be strong. it's nothing too serious."

just then someone else falls and it catches sunghoon's attention. he ruffles your hair and runs to help out. you had watched the whole scene go down. he allows the girl to put her arms around his neck as he leads her towards the medical station.

he's always so nice to others and not just me...

i wish he'd pay attention to me more

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