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fireinmoonshot · 2 days ago

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love that lasts | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: When Thanos snapped his fingers and erased half of all life from the universe, he also took you from Joaquín. Five years later, he is still trying to learn how to live without you – until the Avengers can save the world. Warnings: Google Translate is my best friend – apologies if the Spanish is used incorrectly in this fic, I do not speak it but I tried my best to make sure I used words properly. Mentions of bad mental health, nightmares. It's very angsty at the start, has a bit of fluff, but mostly full of angst. Word Count: 4.2k A/N: I rewatched Infinity War and Endgame last week and came up with this idea. Since we know that Joaquín survived the snap, I decided I wanted to write something angsty about where you didn't survive and this was born. This was the most challenging fic for Joaquín I've written so far but also the most rewarding, I think. I know everyone's really moved on from the whole Infinity War/Endgame thing regarding fics, but I really wanted to write this so I hope people will enjoy it. The title of the fic comes from 'Still' by Noah Kahan – I had his album on repeat almost the entire time I was writing this.

Joaquin Torres always knew that the Avengers were going to save the world. From the moment that half of all life on Earth had disappeared, he knew that whatever had happened, the Avengers would somehow find a way to fix things.

He just didn’t count on it being five years later.

There had been one good thing that had come out of him not being blipped, though – the fact that his mom hadn’t been either. If he’d had to live without her, he’s sure he would have gone insane. Because it was hard enough to live without you.

He’d spent days wishing that he’d been taken too. The first few days had been the worst. He’d been unable to leave the house, having to learn to grieve you when he wasn’t even sure if you were dead or just gone.

He remembered every moment of that first day like it was yesterday. How he’d just arrived home from going to pick up some takeout for the two of you and he’d seen his neighbour turn to dust in his front yard while he’d been outside gardening, making the most of the evening light. He thought he must have just been seeing things.

He’d walked through the front door of your home and called out your name, heading into the kitchen to put the take out down before he went to find you, feeling more than confused. Then you’d appeared in the doorway to the kitchen and Joaquin had been flooded with relief.

“I’m home, angel, I have the takeout in the kitchen, come get yours” Joaquin called, starting to get the take out from the bags. “Hey, have you seen anything weird on TV today?”

“Joaquin…”

He’d looked up at you, then, just soon enough to see you say his name as you slowly started to turn to dust in front of his eyes. The blanket that had been wrapped around your shoulders fell to a pile on the floor as Joaquin stared at where you had been standing only seconds earlier.

“Angel?” Joaquin’s voice was small, hesitant. He put the container down that he’d been holding and walked towards the doorway, half expecting you to be hiding behind the wall, ready to jump out and scare him. It’d been a trick of the light, something like that. But all that was left of you was the blanket on the floor and your phone which had fallen on top of it.

He’d fallen to the floor, grabbing the blanket in his hands and holding it to his chest for what felt like hours as the feeling of numbness overtook him. The blanket still smelled like you and he never wanted to let it go.

Whatever was happening, whatever had happened to your neighbour and to you… there was nothing Joaquin could do about it. He wasn’t an Avenger, he wasn’t anyone special. He knew in that moment that he was going to have to live with it. That fact alone could have killed him.

His knees went numb after kneeling on the floor for so long but he couldn’t find it in himself to pull himself up from the floor. Not even when the sun finally set and the house was blanketed in darkness. The food on the counter had long gone cold. It was only when your phone, sitting in his lap, buzzed, that he’d been pulled out of his stupor. His mother was trying to ring you. She’d thought Joaquin had been taken when she couldn’t get a hold of him, but the second he answered your phone, she knew that you were gone.

Joaquin had stayed with his mother for a while after that, not being able to bring himself to be in the house without you there. There were memories of you in that house everywhere he looked. The sheets still smelled of you, all of your things were still in the cupboards, every time he opened up Netflix, your profile was there. Everything was there except for you.

“You could always sell the house and move back home with me properly, mijo,” his mother had said. “It’s not smart to be paying your mortgage on that house when no one is living in it.”

He shook his head. “I know it’s not smart, mamá, but I just can’t. We bought that house together. We were making a life there. I can’t even bring myself to move her things, how could I sell the place and clear everything out?”

His mother reached across the table and placed her hand over Joaquin’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Then you’ll stay here until you’re ready to go home.”

“I don’t know if it will ever really be home without her, mamá,” Joaquin said honestly, meeting her eyes. His were full of tears, as they were most days since you’d gone.

There was no hesitation as his mother stood up from the table and walked around to him, wrapping her arms around him to pull him into a hug. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “She was the love of your life. Just like your father was the love of mine. You don’t have to move on like she never existed, mijo. Time will continue to pass and she will continue to be with you, even when you cannot see her.”

Joaquin sniffed, holding his mother close as he cried. “I really love her, mamá,” he murmured, not really expecting her to hear him since his voice was so muffled.

She did, though. Gently rubbing his back, she closed her eyes and let out a long, shaky sigh. “I know you do. I loved her too, mijo. Just like she was my own,” she hummed. “Don’t lose hope. She will return to you one day, I believe that. Your soulmate will find you wherever you are, in any life.”

As the years went on, Joaquin started to believe that this was the way it was always going to be. The Avengers had not saved the world like he thought they would. And he was going to have to learn to live the rest of his life with only memories of you. Like his mother had said, time continued to pass, no matter how much he wished it wouldn’t.

The world changed. He changed. Things became darker and he became darker with them, though he desperately tried to keep the spark alive in his chest – if only because he knew that was what you’d want him to do. You would want him to still be the same Joaquin that you’d loved, but how could he be that person without you?

He threw himself into his job, working day and night to try and keep himself afloat. It seemed strange to be doing such mundane things in a world that was so different. To have to keep earning money to pay the mortgage of your house. To have to get out of bed every morning and shave. To have to make food for himself to eat during the day. To have to go to the grocery store to get milk for breakfasts and coffees.

Five years had passed slowly. Joaquin had made it through them relatively unscathed, with a few mental scars here and there. Every day he was grateful that he still had his mom. That she was there to comfort him when the days were hard and that he was still alive to be there for her as well. If she’d been alone through all of this, it would have broken Joaquin’s heart even more.

When he eventually moved back into your home, every time he cooked dinner it was like you were in the room with him. He could feel your hand on his back as he cooked, your arms around his waist as he washed the dishes. It was like you were still there with him, but then he’d blink and the memories were gone, washed down the sink with the water he drained.

He still cooked enough food for two people before realising it was only him. For a while, he could never bring himself to eat the second serving, until times got harder and he couldn’t afford to waste anything.

He would be laying in bed at night and he could swear he could feel your arm draped across his side. He could feel the ghost of your kisses on his lips. Your side of the bed was empty every night and yet, he could never bring himself to wash the pillowcase you’d once slept on for fear of the way you smelt disappearing entirely, forcing him to lose another part of you. He couldn’t lose anymore of you.

His friends who had survived the blip had suggested that he put himself back out there. Go on a date, find someone new. There were plenty of stories of people who had gone to support groups after losing loved ones and had found new love there. The likelihood of everyone who had been blipped coming back was slim to none, so why not? But Joaquin could never bring himself to let you go. Even just thinking about going on a date with someone else filled him with guilt. People had tried to set him up on dates but he had never gone through with actually going on any of them.

His mom was the only one who understood. Even if it meant that her baby would never be able to give her the grandchildren she’d wanted for so long, it didn’t matter to her. She had loved you like you were her own child. All she wanted was for Joaquin to be happy and for some miracle to bring you back to him so that he could be. But even she had lost hope after the past five years that anything could bring you back to him.

And then… the Avengers saved the world.

~~~

That morning, Joaquin is sitting in a coffee shop – one that had been your favourite before you were gone. He’s missing you a little more than normal this morning and had decided that a good way to feel like he was with you would be to come out and spend time at a place you loved. He’s taking a sip of his coffee when someone suddenly appears in the chair opposite him.

Joaquin almost chokes on his drink, coughing a little as he looks at the man in front of him. He hadn’t walked in from anywhere, he hadn’t been in the coffee shop before. He’d just… appeared. What the hell was going on?

“What the…” the man says, looking around the coffee shop with a confused and haunted look in his eyes. “You’re not my wife… I was just sitting here with her… Where is Sylvia?”

Joaquin’s eyes widen. For a moment he wonders if the man is just confused, maybe there’s something wrong with him mentally and this is his way of asking Joaquin for help… but then, on the table in front of him, his phone lights up and starts to ring.

The contact photo is of you and the name on the screen is yours.

He drops his coffee, spilling a little on the table as he reaches for his phone. His hands are already starting to shake. A part of him thinks this must all be a cruel joke. Someone has broken into your house and stolen your phone, or there’s some kind of technological glitch. But another part of him, the part that is still hoping after all these years, truly believes that when he answers the phone, your voice will be the one he hears on the other end of the line.

“Angel?” Joaquin’s voice is hopeful as he holds his phone up to his ear and presses the answer button. “Is that you?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line and Joaquin’s stomach drops. But then he hears it. “Joaquin… where are you? What’s going on?” Your voice – your voice on the other end of the line. It’s real. By some miracle, you’re home. “You were just unpacking the takeout and then…”

“Angel, just stay there, okay? I’m coming home,” Joaquin says to you, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair as he stands up. “I’m so sorry, sir. You should call your wife,” he mutters to the man still sitting on the chair opposite him, looking confused.

He takes off at a run, almost running straight into a few people walking through the door of the cafe. He doesn’t hang up the phone the entire time he’s running home, just grateful that your favourite coffee shop is within walking distance of your house. He’s grateful that he wasn’t driving – he doubts he’d be able to focus on the road properly, knowing that you’re home and waiting for him.

Joaquin runs faster than he’s ever run in his entire life. His throat hurts from his heavy breathing and the air rushing in and there’s a stitch forming on his side. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead, owing to the sweater he’d put on this morning and the pace at which he’s running. But he’s not going to stop or slow down for even a second until he gets to you.

Once he reaches your street, he pushes himself to run even faster. He can see your house in the distance and he hopes he’s not dreaming as he runs towards it. He doesn’t think he can deal with the pain of walking inside the house and not seeing you inside again.

He’s breathing heavily as he reaches the front door, fumbling in his pocket for the key. He doesn’t even notice his neighbour in the front yard, the one he’d seen disappear five years ago, standing right where he’d disappeared, holding his wife close.

Joaquin doesn’t manage to get the key in the front door before it’s pulled open, his hands shaking too much with adrenaline. His head snaps up and his eyes fall on you, your hand on the door handle and your cheeks tear-streaked as you look at him.

“Oh, dios mío,” Joaquin mutters, instantly stepping inside the door and wrapping his arms around you. He holds you tightly to his chest, worried that you’re going to disappear from his arms for good this time. “Are you real? Are you actually here? I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming. This can’t be real.”

Your hands fist the fabric of his sweater as he holds you close. Whatever happened, you don’t really know yet, but what you do know is that Joaquin is acting like he hasn’t seen you for years. The house looks the same, you’d noticed, as you’d walked around before Joaquin came home and you heard the sound of his keys at the door. But something is off.

“I’m real, Joaquin,” you murmur into his ear. “You’re not dreaming. But I don’t know what’s going on… where did you go? You were unpacking takeout and then you were gone.”

Joaquin pulls away from the hug but still keeps his arms firmly wrapped around your waist. He can’t bring himself to let go and he fears it’s going to be that way forever now. “Angel, it’s… it’s been five years since I last saw you. Thanos… he wiped out half of all life in the universe… you were– you were gone.” Tears start to fall down Joaquin’s cheeks and he doesn’t realise until your hand moves to gently swipe them away. He leans into your palm, finding comfort in the feeling of your warm hand on his cheek. “But the Avengers… whatever they did brought you back to me. It was them, I know it must’ve been.”

He internally curses himself for ever doubting them.

“Five years?” You frown, eyebrows knotting together as you try and piece things together in your mind. For you, it had just been like you’d blinked and things had changed but for Joaquin… it had been five years. Five years without you, and yet when you’d called… he had literally come running. “I was gone for five years?”

Joaquin nods, reaching one hand up to wipe the tears from your own face. He can’t imagine how terrifying it must have been for you to come back and not find him anywhere, for you to be alone in the house. He’s more grateful than ever now that he never tried to sell the house. If you’d come back and an entire new family had been living in your house…

“They were the hardest five years of my life, angel,” he says softly. “I thought that you were gone forever.”

You look at him for a moment, a little confused. “But you still live here… you still kept my number in your phone… you– Joaquin, you came running to me when I called… what have you been doing for the last five years?”

Joaquin’s heart cracks a little in his chest. “Angel, I’ve been waiting for you.”

With that, he can’t bring himself to maintain his self control any longer. The hand that had wiped the tears off your cheeks gently holds the back of your neck as he presses his lips to yours. You reciprocate immediately. Five years of wanting, five years of waiting for something he was sure was never going to come… a kiss five years in the making. Joaquin is surprised he was able to hold off for so long. He’s never going to take advantage of kissing you ever again.

~~~

A little later, you and Joaquin sit on the couch in the living room. Your hands are entwined, legs tangled under a blanket in front of you. It had taken a while to pull yourselves from the doorway. You were both in a little bit of shock – Joaquin in shock that you were finally back here after five years, you in shock that you had been gone that long.

“You really never dated anyone at all in the last five years?” You ask, resting your head on his shoulder as one of his fingers draws patterns on your palm that slightly tickles.

Joaquin looks down at you and sighs. “Believe me, my friends tried to make me. They even set up a couple of dates for me to go on, but I never went on any of them. I just couldn’t bring myself to get out the front door.”

Frowning, you look up at him. “Why not?”

“Because none of them were you, angel.”

He gives your hand a squeeze and you snuggle closer into his side. You’d been insecure in your relationship at times – five years ago – but you knew you could never be insecure about it anymore. How many other people could say their partner had waited five years for them on a sliver of hope that they’d come back after disappearing from the universe?

In his pocket, Joaquin’s phone starts to buzz. He pulls it out of his pocket and smiles as he sees his mothers contact on the screen. “I’ve got a phone call for you, mi amor.” He hands the phone to you and his heart warms as he sees your smile upon seeing who’s calling. “I think she almost missed you more than I missed you.”

You take the phone off of Joaquin and instantly hit answer, holding the phone up to your ear. “Suegrita,” is all you say and even though Joaquin isn’t holding the phone, he can already hear his mothers cries on the other side of the line.

He motions for you to put the call on speaker.

“Mamá, you told me not to lose hope,” he says, taking advantage of a moment of silence from the other end of the line while his mother isn’t sobbing. He’s already planning to go and see her as soon as possible – especially when she’s like this.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of his mothers sobs on the other end of the line, and then she speaks. “You bring her home to see me soon, mijo!” She exclaims to Joaquin. “Mi querida niña, you do not understand how happy I am that you are home with your love.” Her words are directed at you now.

There are already tears streaming down your cheeks at her words. “You must have taken really good care of him these past five years for me, suegrita,” you sniff. “Thank you for looking after him when I couldn’t.”

Joaquins arm wraps around your shoulders and squeezes tightly.

“I knew you would come home to him one day, querida,” his mom says. “Soulmates will find each other in life no matter what comes between them. I told him that years ago.”

His mother only hangs up after Joaquin promises that he’ll bring you around to see her tomorrow. You know you’re going to need to prepare yourself for plenty of hugs and kisses from her, and even though for you it’s only been a matter of weeks since you’ve seen her, it’s been five years since she saw you. It’s going to take a while to get used to that fact.

“Mamá took good care of me, angel,” Joaquin says, rubbing his hand up and down your arm. “I don’t know what I would have done without her here. I cried in her arms more than I can count over the past five years.”

You frown, moving until you’re straddling Joaquin’s lap and you can hug him properly. You bury your head in his neck and one of your hands moves to rest in his hair. His arms wrap around your back. “You don’t have to cry anymore, baby.”

Joaquin chuckles a little. “I think I’m probably still going to do a lot of that. I can’t make any promises, angel,” he rubs your back. “A part of me still thinks I’m dreaming. That I’m going to wake up any second and you’re going to be gone.”

You pull away just enough so you can look him in the eyes. “I’m real, Joaquin. I’m not going anywhere. Not unless there’s some other alien out there that’s going to get rid of half all life in the universe again.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Don’t joke about that. Too soon.”

Smiling, you lean in and touch the tip of your nose against his gently. Joaquin takes advantage of the closeness of your face to lean up and capture your lips with his. He can feel you smiling into the kiss. Maybe if he does this enough, he can make his brain realise that this is real. That you’re here in his arms, your lips on his. That against all odds, you’re home.

~~~

He knows the nightmares aren’t going to go away any time soon. They’ve been plaguing him for years at this point. He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s woken up from a dream that you were alive, or a nightmare where he had you back only to lose you again. It’s why, when he wakes up later that night, his heart racing and sweat drenching his body, that it’s not a surprise to him.

What does surprise him is that he forgets you’re here now. It’s not until he hears your soft, sleep filled voice speak his name and feels the mattress move underneath him that he spins around from where he’d moved to sit on the edge of the bed to see you.

“Baby, are you okay?” You ask quietly.

Joaquin takes you by surprise by pretty much launching himself at you. He places a hand on your cheek, another one on your thigh. You’re sitting up, legs crossed, staring at him full of worry.

“Baby?” You try again.

“You’re real,” Joaquin mutters. “I’m not dreaming. It’s not a nightmare.”

You reach up a hand to rest on the one on your cheek. “It’s not a nightmare. I’m real.”

Tears fill Joaquin’s eyes again. He’s still haunted by the nightmare, one where he’d lost you again, and his brain is just sleepy enough to make him think that this is all a dream, even after trying to convince himself that it isn’t. Even after hearing your words confirm that it isn’t.

“Please don’t leave me,” he murmurs.

You shuffle closer to him until you’re face to face, until you can feel his unsteady breaths on your face and your noses are almost touching. “I’m not going anywhere, Joaquin.”

He brushes his lips against yours softly, barely even a kiss. “Don’t leave me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and kiss him properly in an attempt to wake him up a little. It’s almost like he’s still in the midst of the nightmare, that he can’t manage to pull himself out of it completely. The fact that he’s had to deal with all of this alone for the past five years makes your heart hurt.

“I’m home now, baby,” you mutter against his lips after you pull away. “I’m not leaving you. I’m home.”

Joaquin’s arms move to pull you closer to him until you’re almost sitting in his lap. “You’re home,” he says softly.

“I’m home,” you repeat.

He takes a moment to just breathe, then. Focusing on the feeling of your hands on him, the feeling of his hands on you, trying to ground himself. You’re home. You are really home. And for the first time in five years… Joaquin finally feels like he is home too.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america brave new world #mcu #mcu x reader #i'm lowkey terrified to post this cause this fic feels so special to me #but i really hope people will enjoy it!!

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delilahsturniolo · 2 days ago

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— ୨୧ it’s ok i’m ok . . . m.s

in which . . . your best friend matt helps you get over your ex boyfriend.

warnings . . . SMUTTY, unprotected sex, degradation, use of pet names, fingering, kissing, oral, (fem!recieving) breast play, wall sex, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, edging, teasing, dom!matt, veryyy brief (barely) handjob, reader grinds on matt’s face, ummm lemme know if i forgot anything?

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

SO CLOSE TO WHAT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #11

“i don’t wanna talk about it,” you say softly, stretching your arms out, letting your head tilt back. you hear him exhale, and then, after a few moments, you feel him. the heat of matt near you as you both stood in his room. not trapping, not overwhelming…just there. solid. present. your boyfriend of 1 year had broken up with you a few days ago, and you didn’t know how to feel. you were honestly happy…but also pretty upset. you just wanted to get away from your ex, to forget about him.

“you sure?” matt’s voice is low, rough at the edges, the kind that sends a shiver down your spine. you nod, and when you look up, his eyes are already on you, watching. studying. like he’s trying to figure you out, even though he knows you better than anyone. “i’m okay,” you murmur, a little softer now, and it’s true. maybe it wasn’t earlier. maybe you were spiraling, feeling like everything was slipping through your fingers. but here, with him, with the way his fingertips skim against your bare shoulder, you feel grounded.

he leans down, just a little, his breath fanning against your skin. “you don’t have to be, i’m honestly surprised you aren’t a sobbing mess right now.” matt shrugged. your chest tightens, but not in a bad way, not in the way that makes it hard to breathe. but in the way that makes you aware of him, of how close he is, how easy it would be to turn and close the space between you. and god, you want to.

“i just wanna feel good,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. and that’s all it takes. matt’s lips brush against your shoulder first, slow and deliberate, like he’s asking for permission. then, higher…your neck, just below your jaw, where he knows you’re sensitive. his hands find your waist, pulling you back against him, fitting you together like you belong there.

“then let me make you feel good.”

his words send a heat through you, a slow-burning fire that ignites at your core. you turn in his hold, pressing your hands to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. matt’s eyes flicker down to your lips, and you don’t even hesitate. you close the distance, sinking into him, into the way he tastes, the way he moves against you, like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have. his hands slide down, gripping your hips, pulling you even closer. the rest of the world fades away, the night, the noise, everything but the feeling of him. your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and the low sound he makes in response sends another shiver down your spine.

matt is on you in an instant, strong arms hauling you against his muscular chest. his mouth crashes against yours in a bruising kiss, tongue delving deep to claim you. you moan into him, fingers tangling in his dark hair as he walks you backwards until your ass hits the wall. he pins you there with his hard body, one hand gripping your wrists above your head while the other squeezes your boobs through your shirt. mmm, let me make you feel good, let me make you forget about that asshole." he growls against your lips, hips grinding into yours. you can feel his erection straining against his jeans, the thick ridge pressing insistently against your core. "please," you pant, arching into him.

with a quick flick of his fingers, he unhooks your bra and tugs it off, letting your breasts spill free. he palms them roughly, thumbs circling your nipples until they harden under his touch. "oh fuck," you cry out, head falling back against the wall as he pinches and tugs at the sensitive buds. his mouth descends on one breast, sucking the nipple into his hot mouth. he bites down gently before swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure through you. "matt.." you whimper, hips bucking against his. matt chuckles darkly.

his other hand undoes your pants, shoving them down along with your panties. he finds your dripping folds, stroking through the slick heat. "so fucking wet already," he purrs, circling your clit with a teasing touch. "you're a needy little slut, aren't you?" you whimper, trying to push your hips into his hand for more pressure. "that's it, grind on my fingers pretty girl.." matt taunts, plunging two digits into your tight pussy. he pumps them hard and fast, finger-fucking you brutally. his thumb rubs tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"cum for me," he demands, fingers thrusting deeper. "cum on my fingers." your orgasm crashes over you, back arching off the wall as you spasm around his invading digits. matt fucks you through it, drawing out your pleasure until you're boneless and trembling. as you come down, he pulls his fingers from your pussy, bringing them to his lips to lick your juices off. "you taste so fucking good," he groans, lapping at his digits. he drops to his knees in front of you, spreading your legs wide. "now it's my turn to eat this sweet cunt."

he buries his face between your thighs, tongue diving into your soaked folds. he licks and sucks at your pussy, alternating between long strokes and hard flicks of his tongue on your clit. you grip his hair, holding him in place as you grind shamelessly against his face. matt drives two fingers into your tight pussy, curling them just right to hit that perfect spot inside you. "fuck, just like that," you moan, walls fluttering around his invading digits. he pumps them faster, tongue lashing your clit as he finger-fucks you hard and deep.

"i'm gonna cum," you pant, thighs trembling. he doubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his hot mouth as he fucks you with his fingers. your orgasm slams into you, making you scream as pleasure explodes through every nerve ending. he keeps licking and sucking, drawing out your release until you collapse against the wall, absolutely spent. he stands, face glistening with your juices. "you're so pretty when you come undone," he says huskily, kissing you deeply so you can taste yourself on his tongue. you return the kiss hungrily, hands fumbling to undo his jeans and free his throbbing erection.

you wrap your hand around his length, stroking slowly from base to tip. matt groans into your mouth, hips rolling into your touch. "i need to be inside you," he pants, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. you line him up with your entrance, feeling the broad head of his cock nudge against your slick folds. "fuck me," you demand, sinking down onto his thick length in one smooth motion. he bottoms out inside you, stretching you. "oh god yes," you moan out, clenching around him. matt grips your hips hard as he starts to move, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in.

the force of his thrusts rocks you against the wall, his cock driving deep into your pussy with each snap of his hips. you hold on tight, nails digging into his shoulders as he pounds into you relentlessly. "ah, oh my gosh matt" you cry out, head thudding back against the wall. he smiles, fucking you so hard the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. "take my cock," he grunts, slamming up into you brutally. "fucking take it." your pussy spasms around him, drawing him deeper. "yes, just like that," you pant, feeling another orgasm building. he angles his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

"i'm gonna fill this pretty pussy up," matt growls, one hand snaking between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. "gonna make you full of my cum." the dirty words push you over the edge and you cum with a scream, your pussy clamping down on his cock. he follows shortly after with a loud groan, burying himself to the hilt as he explodes inside you. you feel his hot seed painting your walls, filling you up just like he promised. he rocks into you a few more times, drawing out both your pleasure until you're boneless and sated.

matt holds you against the wall, panting heavily as you both come down from the high of your shared climax. "holy shit," he says finally, giving you a lopsided grin. "you feel better now?" you can only nod as you stupidly smile, still lost in the haze of pleasure.

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cherryredstarz · 3 days ago

Note

hiii :3 ! can i request a silly smut where the lads guys have the readers legs over their shoulders rearranging her guts then reader starts feeling a lil mischievous and grabs the guys hair with her toes (i hope i worded that properly, i thought about it the other day and ive been giggling about it ever since)

A/n: hehe I love this 😂

Cw: FEET 🦶, Nsfw smut, unconventional use of toes, this is disgusting I’m sorry (I’m not into feet), if you like Rafayel then brace yourself, i didn’t know what to write for Xavier other than that he’d prolly like it 😭 YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Caleb 🍎

Caleb is absolutely raw dogging you right now—your thighs thrown over his shoulders, in a mating press as he mercilessly pounds your gummy, cum filled hole. He’s been like this for hours, and you definitely can’t say you haven’t been enjoying it—he’s made you cum like, five times, and you’re feeling a little delirious.

“H-hey Caleeebbb—” your words are a skewed moan from the unrelenting pistoning of his hips.

“Yeah baby? You like this?” He grunts softly into your neck.

“Lookie..” your words slur again. His thrusting slows ever so slightly, and he watches you weakly wiggle your foot, before stroking his scalp with your toes. You clench your muscles, making them latch onto his messed up dark hair. Caleb laughs.

“Yeah, wanna play around Pipsqueak?” He returns to destroying your wet cunt, making you mewl and moan. The Colonel is absolutely used to your antics by now—he’s absolutely unbothered.

Sylus 🐦‍⬛

Sylus is lazily rubbing his dick against the wet slick of your cunt, his red eyes looking at you with a teasing yet adoring gaze. “Ready Sweetie?” He kisses your cheek. Your thighs are over his shoulders, marred with hickeys: a declaration of his devotion to you.

“Sy—!” You moan as he pushed in.

20 minutes of being fucked into a blissful state, the mushy fragments of your mind get an idea—you wiggle your feet, and managed to make your toes touch his hair, giving the white strands a tiny tug.

Sylus paused, and looked at you. “What was that?”

“M’ toes.” You giggle, practically delirious.

“Mn.” He murmurs, before grinning.

His thrusts become ravenous after that—totally into whatever you give him.

Rafayel 🐠

He’s pounding into you, whimpering and whining how badly he needs you. “Ngh—so good baby—m’ sorry—need you—”

Your beloved fishy is somewhat manic, crazily pounding away at your frothy hole—he’s already come three times and it still wasn’t enough. You moan into his chest, shifting your knee so your toes grab onto his purple curls. The Lemurian moaned lewdly, grabbing your foot and taking your toes into his mouth.

You gasp and squirm, trying to wiggle your foot away from his feverish grasp, but he just moves his tongue against your little appendages. “R-Raf—” you whine. It’s kinda disgusting, but you can’t deny the tingling in your belly.

“Yeah? You wanna mess around?” He moans, slamming into you. “M’ bride. Mine..”

Safe to say, Rafayel’s gonna tickle your toes any time he is presented the opportunity, from now on.

Zayne ❄️

The doctor is moaning into the plush of your skin, his hips bucking against your cunt, stuffing you full repeatedly. And then he feels it—someone’s toes touching his scalp. He’s a little confused, his furrowed expression relaxing as he looks at you, and your silly, blissful grin.

But he’s not opposed or grossed out—he’s a doctor, after all—it’s simply human anatomy. And it’s you, his girl.

He’d be damned if he let you being a goofball stop him from satiating you.

Xavier 👽

Oh, Xavier’s into it. In fact, he’d coo at you, telling you to tug harder with your toes. This man would find a way to do it while giving you backshots too; because he’s a cute little freak.

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jeanie-beanie-98 · 3 days ago

Text

1. Felix Gaeta, Hanji Zoe, Gaius Baltar, and Levi Ackerman.

2.matches because I have short and stubby fingers.

3. Only when it's summer.

4. If science can prove it, most of them.

5. Daaaaaark Brown, almost black

6. Because I can🙃😹

7. Hair ties

8.2

9. Depends on my mood. Either black or a sweet and iced marble macchiato with caramel drizzle. I work at a local café.

10.Depends on the person. Normally, I'm not a violent person and can be reasoned with, but I like to live by the phrase, "do no harm, take no sh*t."

11. Animation, comic book writing/ drawing, hand sewing dolls, embroidery, and community theater.

12. It's rainy where I'm at, but I don't mind as long as the power doesn't go out.

13. An hour ago.

14. Absolutely! It reminds me of my original home in the East Coast. I miss the smell of the harbor and the sea food.

15. I'm a parent to my OCS, cats, and my plushie collection.

16. Not yet, but I'm trying to get my driver's license ✊

17. PAINFULLY nearsighted. It's gotten to the point where I put my glasses prescription lenses into steampunk goggles because I keep losing my glasses 😹

18.I use coconut oil, VO5, keratin, and tea tree oil ( I have naturally curly hair)

19. I would love to paint your nails ✨ I seen a really cool poly gel technique that somebody used and I would like to try it ✨✨

20. Soda

21. A majority of my plushies. Toy story really hit me hard ngl

22. I'm a sentimental bastard 😹 I hate to admit it but it's true

23. I love chilly weather! As long as I'm able to get where I need to go, I love it

24. Talking about existential stuff while looking at the stars and drawing pictures together.

25. I like the perfumes my folks get me around Christmas. Or really light perfumes, though I don't use them all the time

26. The scenarios I usually play in my head all the time or scenarios for my characters to be in before I fall asleep. Or I imagine my comfort characters doing silly things. It helps me through the day 😸

27. Don't ask me that🫠 What is this sLeEp that you speak of? I'm running off of ADHD in spite at this point.

28. Sometimes.

29. Hot water so I can burn the worries away

30. The only dishes I have in my room are my teaspoon collection and my novelty mugs.

31. I like songs that tell a story. It keeps me motivated and gives me inspiration for new stories. One of my main characters has a backstory based off a song I heard.

32. I sadly do not have a favorite towel.

33. The last adventure I went on was a drive with my folks after church last Sunday. It was stormy out but exciting. I like to feel the wind in my hair.

34. Most songs by panic at the Disco are songs I know by heart. Even the unreleased ones! I got "pray for The wicked"tattooed on my forearm for my 23rd birthday ✊

35. EST

36. On my other account ( only once)

37. I used to have a best friend that I was close to for ten years, and then they broke my heart one night and decided to never speak to them again. It's a long story.

38. The honey oatmeal brand soap smells good at the local Walmart

39. When I need it

40. No, but I did have lunch, so that's good

41. Black or sweet with extra caramel drizzle

42. Medibang, YouTube, Pinterest, Google Docs ( for writing), Amazon, and (once in a while) Tik Tok and Instagram.

43. I FRAKKING LOVE SPICY FOOD. Hell yeah🔥🔥

44. Again, normally I'm not a violent person, but I know a couple of people that should be in a prison but aren't. Let's just put it that way.

45. I went to uni and went home😹

46. Barbie and The Nutcracker. I'm a 90's/ early 2000's kid, so we played that one a bit.

47. I told my friend to stay safe at school

48. When I was 4 and took a swig of my dad's beer ( trying to be cool like the grown ups)

49. I can not😹

50. You absolutely can, especially if it's the silly stuff.

here’s weirder asks

who is/are your comfort character(s)?

lighter or matches?

do you leave the window open at night?

which cryptyd being do you believe in?

what color are your eyes?

why did you do that?

hair-ties or scrunchies?

how many water bottles are in your room right now?

which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold coffee?

would you slaughter the rich?

favorite extracurricular activity?

what kind of day is it?

when was the last time you ate?

do you love the smell of earth after it rains?

are you a parent? (all answers qualify)

can you drive?

are you farsighted or nearsighted?

what hair products do you use?

imagine we’re at a sleepover, would you paint my nails?

do you say soda or pop?

something you’ve kept since childhood?

what type of person are you?

how do you feel about chilly weather?

if we were together on a rooftop, what would we be doing?

perfume/body spray or lotion?

a scenario that you’ve replayed multiple times?

about how many hours of sleep did you get?

do you wear a mask?

how do you like your shower water?

is there dishes in your room?

what type of music keeps you grounded?

do you have a favorite towel?

the last adventure you’ve been on?

is there a song you know every word to by heart?

what’s your timezone?

how many times have you changed your url?

someone in your life, other than a relative, you’ve known for 10+ years?

a soap bar that smells good?

do you use lip balm?

did you have any snacks today?

how do you take your coffee?

an app you frequently use besides this godforsaken site?

what’s your take on spicy foods?

you get a free pass to kill anyone, who is it?

can you remember what happened yesterday?

favorite holiday film?

what was the last message you sent?

when did you first try an alcohol beverage?

can you skip rocks?

can i tag you in random stuff?

#personal #silly #ocs #questions #Felix Gaeta #gaius baltar #hanji zoe #levi ackerman #movies

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bucketbueckers · 18 hours ago

Text

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?”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #ncaa wbb

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angelltheninth · 23 hours ago

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ello! could i possibly rq some soft/teasing dom hcs with mydei and jiaoqiu with a shy fem s/o that's prone to getting very needy and affectionate with them in bed pls? ty! (and maybe some overstim if thats ok with u)

Possibly you could ask for that. And you might get it.

Pairing: Jiaoqiu, Mydei x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, overstimulation, sub/dom dynamics, gentle dom, teasing, gentle biting, pinned down, cuddlefucking

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Something about this scenario has me kicking my feet. And these two are so different, it was good practice writing for both.

Soft dom!Jiaoqiu is into cuddlefucking than anything where he pins you down, he is a huge fan of cuddles and he will wrap his arms around you, his fluffy tail tickling your thighs as he fucks his cock into you from behind in a steady pace

Soft dom!Mydei holds your wrists above your head so you can't hide your face while he hovers above you, your legs spread open by his broad hips, trembling more with every impact

Soft dom!Jiaoqiu playfully bites your ear while having sex, he loves watching you try to squirm away, that spot being particularly sensitive for you and one of his favorite weak spots to exploit

Soft dom!Mydei doesn't want you to be shy around him, especially not when you're having sex, when you're literally moaning his name, when your pussy is clenching around him, you chose that time to be shy, he won't let that happen

Soft dom!Jiaoqiu caresses and soothes you while you're trying to rock your hips back into his, needy, wanting more of his cock, wanting to feel him right against your ass but still too meek to ask him directly and openly

Soft dom!Mydei takes your chin between his fingers and looks into your eyes with a gentleness that should be impossible for a rough man like him, yet it's there, you see it, you feel it as he smooths his thumb over your chin and your lip, telling you he loves you

Soft dom!Jiaoqiu kisses your neck and shoulder, his sharp teeth pressing into your skin as he marks you up, causing you to shake with pleasure while making you hiss in pain

Soft dom!Mydei grinns hard when you finally let your voice out and tell him how deep you want to feel his cock, and even more when you take his hand and place it against your pussy

Soft dom!Jiaoqiu bickers with you when you tell him that you're gonna be sore tomorrow, but you were the one who asked him to fuck you faster because you couldn't come otherwise and if you didn't you were gonna be mad at him for the rest of the night

Soft dom!Mydei feels really proud when you're both spent on the bed and you ask him to hold you close, with his cock still inside of your cum-filled pussy, your heart drumming against your chest, your face red because it was because you asked for all of it

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wordsofwhimsy · 3 days ago

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this is for the fic you just posted loverboy what if it was all just a prank and when he bust down the door it's a surprise party!!!

stop it right now that is SO GOOD – had to write it right away 🙂‍↕️

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙗𝙤𝙮 - 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙬𝙤

Part One!

Mark’s pupils shrank as the blinding glow of party lights hit him.

The room was packed. Laughter and chatter echoed through the house, and a banner reading Happy Birthday, Mark! hung crookedly across the ceiling. Colorful streamers lined the walls, and balloons floated aimlessly, bobbing as if oblivious to the weight of the situation.

He froze in the doorway, his expression faltering as his gaze swept across the smiling faces of his friends—his friends—and there, in the center of it all, was you. You, standing there with a grin that was so wide it could barely contain your excitement. You were holding a plate of cupcakes, your eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Surprise!” you shouted, clearly thrilled, while everyone else cheered around him.

Mark blinked, his mind grinding to a halt as his chest tightened once again. “Took you long enough to get here,” you laughed while walking towards him, extending out the plate of pastries. “Come on, you know you love these. I made your favorite.” Your voice was so sweet, completely unaware of the storm that had just consumed him whole.

Mark stood there, feeling like he was caught between two worlds—one where he was about to tear everything apart and another where everything was normal, too normal. His hands trembled, the remnants of rage still simmering under the surface.

His breath was ragged, and his heart was racing in his chest. The manic, twisted grin that had been on his face only moments ago slowly faded into something unreadable. He looked down at the cupcakes, his mind still whirling, his power still surging beneath the skin.

He felt a moment of silence. A stillness that threatened to pull him under.

Finally, he glanced up at you, trying to swallow down the waves of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. “This… this was a joke?” His voice came out hoarse, cracked with the strain of the rage that still lingered.

You blinked at him, obviously confused. “Yeah, but it’s not a bad one, right?” You chuckled softly, pushing the plate closer to him. “I mean, I figured after everything that’s been going on, you could use a little something to lighten the mood.”

His mind was racing now, pulling in all the pieces, trying to make sense of it. The joke. The party. The betrayal he had felt—was it real? Had it all been nothing? Was he really that far gone that he had allowed a text message, a single message, to unravel him like this?

You placed a gentle hand on his arm, pulling him from his thoughts. “Come on, Mark,” you said softly, “It’s just us. No need to be so… intense.”

And suddenly, he cracked. His laughter started off slow, almost quiet, the rest of the people in the room smiling and joining in on the giggles. But rapidly the sound from his throat devolved into something twisted until it ended in a roaring cackle, stunning the room into silence. “Funny!” he shouted, turning his eyes onto an old classmate from high school who was standing just a foot to his left. Marks hand fell like a sack of bricks onto his shoulder, his fingers curling harshly into his flesh.

“H-Hey—“he stammered, his face faltering into a mixture of confusion and building fear.

Mark’s laugh echoed through the room, hollow and deranged, a sound that sent chills down the spines of everyone present. It was manic—too loud, too sharp. The absurdity of it all, the sharp contrast between the party's innocence and the darkness that had taken root in him, felt like a cruel joke. A joke that only he truly understood the depth of.

“Hey Tom—” he managed between fits of laughter, “Don’t you think this is funny?” His voice cracked, high-pitched with the kind of wild, unhinged glee that only madness could bring. His eyes were wild, glowing with something twisted, his smile growing wider, more unsettling. “Absolutely hysterical!”

Before anyone could respond, before they could even process what was happening, Mark moved.

It was too fast for any of them to react. His hand shot out and with a sickening squelch, Mark drove his arm straight through the man’s chest and out his back.

Tom’s eyes bulged, his mouth opening in a silent scream, but the only sound that came out was a low gurgle of blood pooling in his throat. Thick, crimson liquid dripped from Mark’s arm, staining his t-shirt as he twisted, pulling his hand out and watching the partygoer’s body crumple to the floor like a ragdoll.

Mark let out another laugh—uncontrollable, broken. He stood over Tom’s corpse like a predator reveling in its hunt.

“Now that’s funny,” Mark chuckled to himself, wiping the blood from his hand. The others in the room stood frozen, mouths agape, horror-stricken. They didn’t understand. How could they?

“Isn’t it hilarious?” Mark’s voice was thick with disbelief, as if he was the only one who could see the punchline, the absurdity of it all. “You thought you could be happy. You thought this was normal. It’s all a joke.” His gaze turned to the rest of them, his grin never fading. “You’re all so funny, just sitting here, all in on the joke.” His voice dropped into a sneer. “And stupid old Mark is the punchline.”

The next moment, Mark grabbed another partygoer, a girl named Sarah, by the throat and slammed her against the wall with a sickening thud. She gasped for air, her hands clawing at his iron grip, but Mark didn’t seem to notice. He leaned in close, his voice a low growl.

“You really think you matter?” He mocked her, his words dripping with venom. “None of you do.” With a sickeningly calm expression, he shoved his fist into her chest, feeling her ribs crack under the pressure. Her breath hitched, a final, desperate gasp escaping her lips, but it didn’t matter. Mark didn’t stop.

The room erupted into chaos as people scrambled to escape, screaming, but Mark just stood there, his laughter growing louder. Funnier.

One by one, he picked them off. The crowd of friends and acquaintances—people who had once trusted him—became nothing more than targets. His fists, his arms, his powers—they were all weapons now. The hero was gone. The boy who had tried so desperately to fit in, to be good, was nothing more than a sadistic god in a human-like shell.

He turned to look at you, his expression twisted into something unrecognizable, his eyes filled with madness. You had backed up toward the door, fear and confusion written all over your face. “And here I was thinking I’d lost the most important thing in my life,” he chuckled. “The only thing that ever mattered to me.” He was in front of you in an instant, his bloodstained hands softly tracing down the side of your face. “So glad you still love me, darling dearest! I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” His body was trembling with an electric, frenzied energy.

Your legs gave out beneath you, but his arm closed around your waist like a vice, keeping you on your feet effortlessly. You couldn’t move. There was no escape. You could see the complete and utter absence of the person you once knew in his eyes. This wasn’t Mark anymore. This was something… something darker, more dangerous than anything you had imagined.

His lips crashed harshly into yours, kissing you in a way he’d never done before. You felt nausea quell in your stomach, realizing you could taste iron on his mouth and knowing that was the fresh blood of one of your friends. You sobbed uncontrollably against him. He just sighed in bliss.

#invincible #mark grayson #invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible show #mark graryson fanfic #lensless mark #lensless mark x reader #no goggles mark x reader #no goggle mark

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rafesgreasycurtainbangs · 2 days ago

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reflection of me - rafe cameron

where s2!rafe accidentally walks in on you-his girlfriend of only a few months so far- having a panic attack

content: anxious!reader, panic attack, rafe being comforting, lowk non canon rafe because this is NOT how he would act in season 2 but 🤷‍♀️

au: this was sooo sweet to write

word count: 1.07k

Rafe had never been one for emotions. The idea of comforting someone wasn’t something that came naturally to him. He didn’t have the soft words or the patience for it, especially when things were messy. His life had been a constant swirl of chaos—drugs, violence, and uncertainty—and he’d gotten so used to navigating it that anything resembling vulnerability had become uncomfortable, foreign even.

But when he’d started dating you a few months ago, something inside him had shifted. He didn’t know how to explain it or even acknowledge it, but he cared about you in a way that was unfamiliar, even unsettling. Your laughter, your warmth—it all felt so different from everything he’d ever known. He couldn’t name it. He didn’t want to. But when you smiled at him, it felt like something real for once.

Still, he hadn’t expected to be here, standing at the threshold of the bathroom with the door cracked open, seeing you curled on the floor, your chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. He could hear the soft tremble of your sobs through the door before he even stepped inside. His heart skipped, a knot in his throat. He hadn’t ever seen you like this. You were always so strong, so put-together, and yet, there you were—on the floor, falling apart. The sight sent a wave of discomfort crashing over him. He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t prepared for this.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping inside. His voice was rough, unsure. You didn’t look up. You were shaking, your knees pulled tight to your chest, your hands gripping your arms. It was clear you were struggling to breathe, your body locked in a panic that Rafe knew all too well. His first instinct was to leave, to let you handle it. He wasn’t good at this, wasn’t good at comforting anyone, not even himself.

But something inside him told him to stay.

You looked up then, your eyes wide and glassy, and the moment your gaze met his, something cracked in him. You were scared, lost in whatever storm had overtaken you, and Rafe… well, Rafe had been in your shoes more times than he could count.

The weight of his own panic attacks, his own demons, flooded back to him. He had never been able to shake the feeling that he was constantly teetering on the edge, barely holding on. And now, seeing you like this, he couldn’t help but feel like he was seeing a reflection of himself. He hesitated. “Hey, baby… what’s going on?” His voice was shaky, a little too soft for his usual bravado, but it was real. It was raw. And maybe that was the part that surprised him the most.

You didn’t answer right away, your breaths still shallow, but you looked at him—like you were trying to focus, trying to hear him through the panic. He took a few steps closer, crouching down beside you. “Can I… can I touch you?” Rafe asked, voice hesitant. He wasn’t sure if that was okay. He didn’t want to make you worse, but the urge to help, to do something, was eating away at him. He could see it now—your chest rising and falling too fast, your hands trembling. You nodded weakly, a small, shaky exhale escaping your lips as you managed to whisper, “I can’t… I can’t breathe, Rafe.”

His heart ached at the words. Without thinking, he reached out, one hand gently touching the back of your neck, the other sliding down to rest on your arm. He could feel the tension in your muscles, the way your body was fighting against the panic. It wasn’t like anything he had ever dealt with other people, and it made his chest ache. He wanted to help you. He needed to. “It’s okay,” he murmured softly, his voice cracking just a little.

He hated that his words felt so empty, but he pressed on, pushing through his own discomfort. “I know… I know what this feels like. I get it. You’re okay.” You didn’t seem to respond, still too lost in the chaos of your own mind, but his words seemed to hit something. You were starting to focus on his voice, on the warmth of his hand on your arm. The moment his fingers brushed over your skin, a small shudder passed through you. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Rafe’s thumb slowly rubbed circles on your arm, trying to ground you the only way he knew how. His own breath was still shaky, his palms clammy, but he held steady for you. The last thing you needed was to feel like you were burdening him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice thick. “You’re not alone in this. You’re… you’re not alone, okay?” You managed to nod slightly, and that was enough. Rafe’s chest loosened just a little. He wasn’t great with emotions. Hell, he’d never been good at comforting anyone—but you? You were different. And for you, he could try. “Breathe with me, alright?” He said, his voice steadying as he gently nudged you. “Breathe in… breathe out. Just focus on me, baby. Focus on me.”

You started to follow his lead, your breaths shaky but slowing just a fraction. The panic didn’t disappear, not right away, but the tension in your body started to ebb. Slowly, you let yourself lean into him, your forehead resting against his chest. Rafe’s arms wrapped around you, and despite everything inside him that wanted to pull away, he kept you close, gently rocking you in his arms like a lifeline. His breath steadied in rhythm with yours, and for the first time, he felt something soft stirring inside him—something he wasn’t used to, something he didn’t fully understand. He wanted to protect you, to be the one you turned to when everything felt like too much.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re okay. You’re safe with me.” You squeezed your eyes shut, nodding, your body relaxing just a little bit more with each passing second. And even though Rafe didn’t fully know how to navigate this space between you, he knew one thing for sure—he wasn’t going anywhere. Not now. Not ever. You were his. And he’d take care of you, in whatever way he could.

And that… that was something he’d never been willing to admit to anyone before. But with you, it felt right.

taglist: @littlelamy

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zoieru · 1 day ago

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Weirdly specific headcanons about the lads boys and your lip balm / chapstick ~

Xavier ~

'what's that smell? it...doesn't smell like shampoo usually does.'

he's cuddling on the sofa with you and lifts his head, hair a bit fluffed from where he was tucked into your neck and chest, and his light eyebrows draw in at the centre trying to work out where it comes from.

'smell? Mm...its probably my lipbalm, Xavier, here,'

he takes it when you grab it and give it to him, rolling it over in his fingers to read any writing around the edge, head resting back against you again. he takes off the lid and sniffs it, eyes widening slightly before smiling a touch.

'its nice. does it taste good?'

he sort of asks without thinking of the double entendre at first, but a second later he realises and his eyes hold a flicker of mischief as he brings his face closer, eyes flitting to your lips.

'i dont know, you tell me?'

then he's all up in your business, eyes closing as he brings his lips to yours almost exploratory as when you try a new snack.

'mmh, yes. I like it.'

'good'

you plant a soft little kiss on the end of his nose to a cute blink and blushed chuckle from him.

over the next few hours he keeps coming back to kiss you more pointedly, more often, to a raised eyebrow from you. he likes the feeling and smell of it on his lips, it makes them soft and makes him think of you.

'Xavier you can take it if you want, i have a spar-'

'I don't want one.'

'but...?'

He only wants the thin soft coating of it on his lips when it means he's kissed you recently.

Rafayel ~

once this man catches drift of your scented lip balms he is all over that shit. he'll insist on going to choose ones, buying too many since you cant try them at the store, and then pouts when you tell him you cant face trying on and wiping off like ten different lip balms just so he can smell and kiss you over and over to see which one is best.

youre sat on the bed, the fading sunlight shining through the domed windows of your shared bedroom and onto this ridiculous pile of little cylindrical tubes on the duvet.

'but...'

'the scents will mix, and anyway lip balm is supposed to be nourishing, not causing my lips to be sore because ive applied and scraped off loads of different ones'

'well how am i supposed to know which one is the best then?'

'you'll have to wait and see i guess, i can put a different one on at few hour intervals, itll be like a fun surprise, you can guess which one i have on!'

'thats tooo longggg'

later you catch him applying one on himself in the bathroom, he just couldnt wait okay!! when you do put one on, he materialises at your side, hands running over your skin and finding their way to your jaw as if he could sense it from the other room, and he tilts his head with a little cute smirk.

'next taste test? this one's going to be good, i can feel it.'

Zayne ~

'here,'

he hands you one that he picked off the shelf next to you as you perused the options.

'what, you like this one?'

'i'm not familiar with it, but its important to use ones with more natural ingredients, especially when applying to sensitive areas like your face and mouth.'

'mmh, makes sense.'

you buy a few different types at his behest, and then he watches you try them and smell them as he puts his stuff away around the house.

'do you like them?'

'this one smells really good, actually.'

'mh?'

he's at your side, finding himself strangely excited to have another scent to not only feel and smell when he kisses you, but also to associate with you like he does with your hair stuff or your perfume.

'it does, you're right.'

he takes your chin in his other hands fingers, his usually gentle but firm touch, and then runs his thumb featherlight across the edge of your bottom lip, dark eyelashes lowering slightly as his eyes seem to both soften and darken at the same time.

'does it taste just as good?'

Sylus ~

'get all of them'

'Sylus, there are like fifty options here, why would I need fifty lip balms?'

he just shrugs, that annoyingly handsome smirk on his face as he feigns nonchalance.

'just trying to be supportive, kitten. no need to scratch now.'

'being supportive would be you helping me pick one'

'mmh, would it now?'

he was waiting to be asked, he's irritating like that. you rolled your eyes subtly and couldnt help the smile off his face as he on cue started analysing the options on the shelf with a discerning critical eye. after a silence, you pause, and glance at him sidelong.

'so?'

he points to a few in succession, speaking in a slow thoughtful sort of drawl as he ponders, playful yet serious simultaneously. It's an important decision, of course.

'too sweet, too floral, too colourful, too...is that glitter? i thought this was supposed to be health related, not glamourous. though i suppose a mix of both might be alluring. mmh...this one'

he holds it out to you, made up his mind. not stating his reason outright obviously. he looks down at you and eyes flick between your face and his choice, very subtly figuring out your reaction to his choice. as you leave the shop after buying, and go to put on your helmet to get on his bike, his hand comes to rest on top of it, stopping its path, and he raises an eyebrow, cocking his head. You blink.

'hm?'

'well, come now, are you going to let me try the latest flavour of the lips i so often indulge in, or would you be cruel and have me wait?'

Caleb ~

so...lets say one day you're buying something completely unrelated, but you double take as your eyes happen to flit over some apple scented lip balm on the store shelf. You pause, nibble on your lip with a faint curl to the corners, and grab it and apply it on the way home. It's good...that apple scent that isnt too artificial or plasticky but also sweet and sharp enough to be noticeable and tasty.

Its hard to keep it in somehow when he gets home? its like a secret, which feels stupid, but he looks at you and raises a suspicious eyebrow.

'why you smilin', pips? what have you done?'

he asks, starting to laugh a bit at your face as you tried to keep it normal. it'll be like after a while where he wrestles you off the stove or something playfully that he'll catch a whiff. i mean he's obviously noticed your lips seem a touch shinier, but didn't think a whole lot of it except 'nice'.

'did you buy new perfume?'

'no...?'

'but...its appley over here, you got one in your ear or somethin'?'

he makes a point of sniffing around you like a dog as your giggling form is pressed back against the counter. then he pauses as his nose nears yours and a cheeky smile stretches across his face. his hand lifts and he runs the back of his fingers ever so softly over your bottom lip, his eyes following the movement.

'ah, bullseye. so this is what you were giggling about earlier, you're so silly pipsqueak,'

'what? why?!'

'who gets all giggly about lip balm hm?'

he tilts his head, still in teasy puppy mode, though his eyes have softened and darkened as his face has come closer. as you pout he pokes your lips again with a smirk.

'mmh, an apple flavoured pout huh?'

he leans in achingly slowly to kiss you.

Weirdly specific headcanons about the lads boys and your scrunchie

#love and deepspace #lads #lads headcanons #zayne #zayne x reader #sylus #sylus x reader #caleb #caleb x reader #lnds #rafayel #rafayel x reader #xavier #xavier x reader #lnds x reader #lnds headcanons

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urbigsockssmell · 1 day ago

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Oh my god. I'm in love with this story. This story is certainly something else from any yandere story I've ever read. While I don't enjoy reading yandere or rape fanfics for the romanticization of it, this gave me exactly what I like reading about them. The psychological horror and realistic aspect that comes from indulging with a yandere and the aftermath of getting actually raped. Everything about this story was handled properly. With respect, with brutal realism that had me clenching my stomach with a gut feeling of pure unease. It hit me just how good this author's writing was when reading the sex scene. How gut wretching, awfully disgusting yet intriguing to where you're aroused for more it had me under it's spell. I had to screenshot it and save it in my gallery because of just how it felt reading it. I wish I could write that burning sensation of knowing you're losing your innocence and dignity held for God yet unable to prevent it because of how weak you are. I've never had sex before, but I could FEEL what Y/N felt in that moment. I could feel it down there and I know, from experience of reading these fanfics before, that it's going to haunt me in the future. I genuinely hold nothing but praise for this fanfic and I'm not trying to fetishize rape(and I desperately hope *that* wasn't the author's intention), I'm simply basking at how gory and beautifully disgustingly designed this story was presented. One complaint I hold is the writing's rythm. The sentences are structured too long, with 11+ words of paragraphs. To keep the reader engaged, you need more variety in the sentence structure because reading such long paragraphs of only 11+ word sentences gets repetitive and boring and dull. That's how most professional writers write and you just need like 5 word, 1-2 word, 8 word, then like 11+ words. I don't know if I phrased it well but I'd recommend looking into fanfics that are written like that, that hold that sort of flow and looking up what I mean on the internet. I'm only pointing it out because my attention wasn't held for long even though I was thoroughly enjoying this story for the plot and just because I named one critic that with practice is easily fixable doesn't mean that you, the author, should solely focus on that. Readers can feel when you're trying too hard to aim for that perfection and writing is supposed to feel natural and flowy. Don't be too insecure. I hope to God, because I can't check your Tumblr profile while writing this review, that my perception of your respect towards this form of content won't be ruined solely if your intent was to romanticize this. Because if not, I will be eating up ALL your fanfics for the sake of your blood and sweat put into it. Perhaps I've been reading way too many bear bones yandere fanfics(that hold minimal realism to what it's like to be with a yandere and aren't at all shiver me timbers psychological horror) that the moment I find THE one, I'm shocked to my core but I don't care. I liked reading this and I hope to traumatize myself even more with more od your content. xoxo :*

(P.s if ur readng this rev, do NOT reead any of me fanfics. They're old, bruh)

Yandere FarmBoy

[Yandere M. x F. AFAB Reader]

it's a bit longer than i initially wanted this to be, but i had fun writing it! it's a bit more rushed towards the end so sorry if it shows. this was supposed to be for october, but i ended up not finishing it in time, so i'm very happy to have it finally done

TW. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT Noncon, fingering, baby trapping, yandere, slut shaming, victim blaming, bullying, non consensual touching, misogyny, gaslighting, manipulation, implied future forced relationship, abuse of power

The local golden boy your father has hired has taken a keen interest in you, an impoverished farmer's daughter, and you can't seem to shake him off. As he doubles down on pursuing you, and you continue to refuse him, the lengths he goes to ensure you'll be his increase drastically with one autumn night and a chase through a wheat field.

7.2k words

You didn’t know why Daniel insisted on working on your father’s farm. It wasn’t like his family wasn’t well off. In fact, out of all the families within the valley, his was the most successful by far. Hell, they were the only ones who could actually afford to employ other people. He drove a shiny new truck just like the rest of his kin, and lived in a big, multi story house at the top of the hill.

Your daddy could only really pay him scraps. The land you lived on was rough to say the least, all overgrazed and tough, untenable soil that had a Ph level that could’ve come straight out of hell in your honest opinion. Basically, there wasn’t shit to be earned, and the only reason why your folks even tried to desperately keep growing crop after failed crop was because if they didn’t, then you’d be flat out homeless and starving. The stock your family produced wasn’t worth a dime, either. Milk too sour, corn too small, eggs so dull and tiny people thought that they weren’t even from chickens; you were surprised people even bought from your daddy at all.

The poor state of your homestead was reflected in nearly everything else around you. You always looked some kind of mussed up: Wild, unkempt hair, dirt under your nails, clothes that looked either too small, too big or way too out of fashion. You got bullied quite a bit by the other young ladies in town. That is if you could even be called a young lady. There wasn’t a lick of lady in you it seemed.

You and your family were always on the edge of going broke, going hungry or some other kind of misfortune, so you found it increasingly odd why the Petusky boy was so keen to get his hands dirty when there was nothing he could get in return.

Daniel Petusky, or Danny as he would so kindly remind you to call him, was by most accounts the sweetest, most eligible young man in town. He was a tall, stocky sort of guy with large, rough hands and a handsome smile. You’d be stupid to say he wasn’t quite the looker, and not to mention he was all muscular and strong lookin from all his time working. When you were in highschool, he’d been the star of the school’s football team, and there were even rumors that he was getting offers from big, fancy schools in big fancy cities. You remembered how blooming with jealousy you were back then because of that. But, as you were so constantly reminded of through seeing his working boots that had to be worth at least a couple hundred bucks, he was wealthy too.

He helped out around town, was sweet to older folks, and made all the ladies swoon with a flip of his sandy blond hair. He charmed your father just as easily, asking him if he could work his land for him, or at least help him with it. Of course your daddy would say yes. He needed all the help he could get, and lord know you weren’t nearly enough to actually keep this place afloat. Plus, who else would accept such low pay? It wasn’t like there was a line out the door for a chance to work at the [Last Name] farm, now was there?

You sighed as you hauled a bag of feed over to the chicken coop. It was mighty heavy, and you grunted as you nearly slipped in the mud. Hands shot out and grabbed your waist, and you gasped in surprise as the bag landed on the ground with a large thud.

“Careful there, wouldn’t want you to take a tumble now,” Daniel chuckled softly. His voice rumbled in your head like thunder on the horizon. He steadied you and pressed you close against his chest. Your heart thumped wildly in your ribcage, though only part of it was because of your little fall. No, it was the way his fingers inched over your curves, toying with the waistband of your jeans. You swallowed thickly.

“Thanks…” You mumbled out before you stooped down to pick up the feed once again. You didn’t miss the way his gaze stuck to you when you did.

“You really shouldn’t be doing heavy liftin’, you know,” He said and pushed you to the side to grab it from your strained arms. He made it look so effortless, and it annoyed you to no end. You followed after him into the coop, an encasement of wire around it. “That’s what I’m here for.”

You frowned and didn’t respond to him. You just kept on going as you ripped open the sack to spill out all the seed. The birds rushed around your feet to get their meal, and normally you would’ve laughed and indulged in petting a couple of them, but normally you didn’t have company. Daniel had been getting better at finding you it seemed. Day by day it felt like you saw him more and more.

You tried not to be one of those people that held onto their younger years, but whenever he was around, all you felt were the lingering memories from highschool. You were mocked on the daily. Most of the adults thought you were lost cause, always late to classes and struggling through the course material. You were called all sorts of names: ugly, stupid, slow. While he never bullied you directly, you always felt him staring. At games, in class, when he would drive slowly by you while you walked home everyday. You shuddered to think about it.

You always remembered a very specific moment that happened back in highschool. Especially now that you saw Daniel everyday again.

“What do you think about the farmer’s daughter?”

“Which one?”

He sounded so innocent, so sweet. Like he didn’t know.

“Don’t go fuckin’ with me, Petusky,” One of the guys chuckled, a cruel hint in his eyes. “You know which one I mean. The trash.” Oh… they were talking about you.

You were sitting in the diner eating a small plate of fries. You couldn’t really afford to eat anything more than that with your limited allowance and pay. You clenched your fist in your lap as you listened to the group of guys speak harshly about you. You were just out of view around the corner, all alone in the tiny booth usually reserved for couples and the like. The waitress shot you a pitiful look, and she slipped you a milkshake for free. It should’ve made you feel better, but it did more harm than good. She knew. Everyone knew you as trash.

“Come on, don't talk about her like that. She just ain’t got the means,” Daniel laughed. The sound rang in your ears, and you felt sick to your stomach.

“Or the looks.” A chorus of snickers erupted.

“She ain’t that bad,” He started, but he stopped short and just let out a playful sigh. “Hey, if y’all hate her, then y’all hate her. Can’t stop you from not wanting to fuck her if you don’t want to haha,” He joked. You could hear the strain in his voice and just imagine his blinding white smile. You busied yourself with the milkshake and tried to ignore how gross it felt to swallow down.

“Yeah, no way I’d ever touch that bitch without a three foot pole. Probably got fleas or somethin’.”

“Haha yeah…”

They sat there chatting shit for a while longer, and you sat there miserable, shaking, and on the verge of tears. You wanted to sink into the checker patterned floor and disappear forever. You knew people didn’t like you, but was it really that bad? Were you that awful? Your eyes stung, and you just stared at the empty seat in front of you.

Eventually, the group of guys, all clad in their Ariat branded clothing and snap back hats got up and got ready to leave. None of them spared you a glance, too busy filing out to their trucks to look around them. But Daniel did.

His hazel eyes swiveled over towards you, most likely just out of habit, and caught on you. He froze. The two of you stared at each other, and his face morphed from quiet shock to anger. The planes of his features, so normally joyous and polite, shifted into something so ugly and unfamiliar that you flinched.

No one else had seen, and no one, not even him, had ever brought it up again.

Daniel liked to follow you around when there wasn’t really much work to be done. The property wasn’t the biggest, so he could find you quite easily if you weren’t by the house. Like now, while you were lounging in the barn and reading a book while hidden behind some shelving. You clutched onto the pages of the novel (some old faded copy of a Jane Austen book that you had plucked from a free bin at the local thrift store), and looked up nervously as you heard his heavy footsteps thudding against the concrete floors. He loomed over you and hummed softly.

“What you got there?” He asked and crouched down to your level. You flinched back and glanced between the small, hard to read print and him.

“A book…” You mumbled out. It was always hard to speak when you felt so embarrassed. Everyone and their mother knew that you struggled severely all through school. The teachers pretty much gave up on you, and you stumbled your way through graduation. You’d never been very smart, but sometimes you wish you were. When that happened, you tried to push yourself and learn.

“Seems like a might hard for you,” Daniel chuckled and plucked it from your hands. You let out a noise of protest as he thumbed through the pages with a low whistle and patted the top of your head. You bristled a bit. “I’m sorry? Whaddya' mean by that?”

“Just that there are all sorts of fancy words in here,” He shrugged as he cozied up beside you. You could feel the warmth of his skin, burning from all the sun he soaked up, through the fine cotton of his shirt. It was long sleeved so that he wouldn’t get burnt during the heat of the day, but it didn’t make you feel any less flustered.

He was so confusing. Did he act like this with all the other girls in town? It was stupid to picture him as some robot who had his settings permanently flipped to flirt mode, but you genuinely couldn’t figure out why else he would be slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you into his lap.

“Daniel-”

“Danny.” He interrupted quickly, and you flinched from just how barely concealed his annoyance was. You tried to get up, you really did, but he was just so much stronger than you. You squeaked as he yanked you over his thighs. His strong bridged nose was pushing itself in the crook of your neck. “You call me Danny, you hear?” He murmured. His breath was so warm. All of him was just muscle and heat. You’d never been with anyone like this, never felt a guy’s chest pressed against your back.

Your daddy would skin you alive for this, surely. There wasn’t a single chance in hell that you wouldn’t be punished if not run out for fooling around with a respectable young man who you weren't even dating.

“The only thing we got is our dignity. It don’t pay no bills, but it do keep us in good graces. You do anythin’ stupid- and hear this well, girl. You do anythin’ stupid, and you’ll be out of this house before you can even pull your pants up.”

The threat was always so clear to you that it was impossible to not whimper and tremble as he groped you over your clothing. He chuckled, a soft sound that made you feel all sort of sick, and held you tight.

“Now honey, you don’t have to go all spooked on me.” He was kissing your shoulder, all tense and rigid. You felt like a piece of wood being bent far past what it should. Your bones were about to splinter, your heart about to fly out like shrapnel and just crack all over his insistent, firm hands.

“Don’t… It ain’t- ain’t right,” You stammered out. The spell was broken, and you started to grab at his wrists to get him to slow down. “ I’ll get in trouble,” You tried to reason, to hope that those golden boy manners would win out. Hope that he’d get off of you and leave you alone.

“Trouble? Hon, who you gettin’ in trouble with?” He laughed and reached up to cup your chin and face. Your head was pulled up in a craning stretch, and his fingers squished your cheeks in a playful, humiliating gesture. “With your folks? Don’t be silly [Name].”

“You’re grown, I’m grown… this is just normal between two grown people,” He hummed and started to tug up your shirt.

“H-hey! Quit it! I’m serious! I don’t want to,” You repeated, gaining your voice as he wriggled his way under the band of your soft, worn bra and began to knead your breast. He picked up the book while he pinned your legs underneath his own heavy ones and forced you to look at the random page he opened it to, completely ignoring your plea.

“Tell me, honey. What does this mean?” He asked

“What?”

“Read for me.” He drawled in a demanding tone. Your eyes flitted around nervously. “I want to know what you think you’re doing when you’re not with me. Hon, you really shouldn’t be wandering alone like this.”

“This is my farm-”

“Your Daddy’s farm,” he corrected and tugged on your nipple. You whimpered as a bolt of arousal coursed through you. Your cheeks flushed with heat. You’d never had such need dripping from between your legs before, and it got worse and worse as he pinched and rolled the sensitive nub between the rough pads of his fingers. You could feel the way his smirk felt against your skin.

“This ain’t your land, but that’s okay. I could buy it for your folks, make it so y’all don’t have to work so hard. And you’d get to sit pretty in the house all day, reading these books and whatnot. Now wouldn’t that be nice? Not having to work to the bone? Not having to get your pretty little face all mussed up?” He whispered and nipped at your cheek. You were on the verge of tears, watching helplessly as he threw your beat up novel to the side. You watched in detached horror as the words and ink were smudged and bled out by the small, dirty puddle it had landed in. Your hands curled into fists.

“Just say yes, honey. I’d treat you real nice. Promise.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and your entire body thrummed with shame, fear and arousal. You didn’t want to admit it. You’d rather have your heart torn out than ever in a million years say that it felt good, or that the attention he was sneaking you made you feel fuzzy inside sometimes. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he made you feel like this weirdo for ignoring him when he was, in fact, an actual, honest to god threat.

“No.”

“Hm? Repeat that for me now, would you honey?” He purred.

You gritted your teeth and with a burst of strength, you shoved off of him. His molten caress was gone in an instant, and your thighs shook as you scrambled to crawl away. Your chest heaved in little short bursts, and he looked at you with genuine surprise. He looked at you as if it was the first time he’d considered you could even do that.

“I said no!” You didn’t think it was proper for a lady to be hollering at a ‘nice young man’ like that, but you did. You didn’t care who heard you, not that it mattered. The barn you were in was a decent ways away from everything else on the property. You smoothed your hands over where he had touched and kissed you, like it would get rid of the pure lust he was heaping onto you.

Daniel’s pretty face scrunched up into a glaring, furious version of itself. You could see the way his veins bulged in his neck and the way he flexed like a predator getting ready to pounce. You swallowed thickly, but you managed to wobble up onto your feet, to for once be able to look down on him.

“I don’t know what you think your talkin’ about, but I am not some- some easy girl that- that you can just sweet talk into giving you some,” You spat out. He moved to stand, and you took a step back. His hands came up in a placating gesture.

“Now, don’t go rattlin’ off about nothin’ you don’t understand,” He said, voice sharp. There was an undeniable frustration to the way he carried himself, to the way he huffed slightly and never took his narrowed eyes off of you. “I’m not talkin’ about foolin’ around, honey. I wanna have the real thing. Kids, a nice wedding, to come home to you every day… I wouldn’t just leave you,” he nearly spat. His lips curled in anger, but it wasn’t directed at you. No, it was more the suggestion that he was fucking around.

“You and me, [Name], are going to be a proper couple one of these days. And you’re gonna be my wife, I’ll tell you that.”

You shuddered. There was a slimy feeling working its way up your body, through your guts and through the tips of your stood up hairs on the back of your neck. He was crazy. A downright maniac. There was that similar look in his eyes, the one he had given you years back in that diner, and you wondered how deep this went.

How long did he spend stalking you through the fields, hoping to have you pressed under him? How long had he been trying to worm his way into your life? More importantly, when exactly did he decide that just faking nice wasn’t going to cut it anymore?

“Like I’d ever let that fuckin’ happen,” You spat and ran straight out of that barn all the way home.

There was a fall festival happening in town. Your daddy was preparing to sell things at the market, though there wasn’t much interest in buying fresh produce this close to winter.

“Now there ain’t enough to go around for you to go. Just stay here and we’ll bring you back something real nice,” Your mother had said with a small, pained smile before they packed up the truck full of goods and lumbred off into the orange painted sky.

You were left standing in front of your empty house with the porch light fighting off the oncoming darkness of night. It was quiet when your family wasn’t here to fill out the house with sounds of cooking, arguing and just life in general. There was a weird sense of unease that settled in your gut now that you were on your lonesome. It felt like shit to just be abandoned like that, to know that your kin was out there having fun and interacting with the rest of the town while you were stuck closing up the farm for the night. You sighed, fists curling at your side as you kicked idly at the gravel pebbles on the path.

Well, there wasn’t much use in throwing a pity party. The coop needed to be locked up, the heaters in the barn needed to be turned on, the gates all had to be checked. It wasn’t all that much work all things considered, but it was enough to have you pushing through the shadowed fields at a hurried pace.

You carried out your tasks, floating through the empty farm with a goal of relaxing down in your cozy bed to read more of that novel you had been so desperately trying to finish. The cool autumn breeze brushed past your skin and made you shiver. Goosebumps. How strange… it wasn’t cold enough for that.

It was nearly silent save for the rustle of leaves and the crunch of your feet against the ground. You hummed softly and rubbed your arms as night finally fell over your quaint home.

“It ain’t supposed to be this chilly yet,” You grumbled to yourself as you walked down the path to get back to your house from the back of the property. You eyed the wheat field and stopped in your tracks. Hey now… there wasn’t any harm in taking a shortcut, now was there? It wasn’t like your father was there to holler at you for walking through the crops. You knew your way through it pretty easily, didn’t get turned around or nothing even if it was completely dark. The moon was full and practically beaming down onto the golden stalks, now painted pretty and silver.

You weaved through the field with ease, sighing softly as you could see the roof of the house through the leaves. You caught sight of the peeling paint and nearly slumped in relief. Well, you were being excluded from the fall festivities, but at least you could get all cozy for once. You stepped out past the edge of the field and now in the open, eyes fixed low on the ground as you tried to not trip over your own damn feet, but when you looked up you couldn’t help but freeze.

There, standing in front of your porch, was a tall imposing figure silhouetted in the hazy yellow light buzzing above the garage.

You came to a halt instantly, your breath hitching right as your heart stuttered. “What in the…?” You whispered to yourself as you took in the sight of the stranger. He was looking at the spaces where the truck would normally be, and you had half a mind to not just run up and start hollering at this stranger. What if he needed help or something? You didn’t see any car around or nothing, so maybe he was in trouble. You squinted, and you couldn’t help the little gasp that left your lips as you realized that he had on a burlap sack fitted loosely over his head. He had gloves on too, the nice leather kind that you knew cost more than what you spent on groceries in a week. But no good man wore gloves when he wasn’t working, and this guy wasn’t doing anything but staring at the front door.

Your fingers twitched as you just stood there wide eyed and slack jawed. What the fuck should you do? The kind, ladylike thing to do would be to ask if he needed anything or if he was lost, but there was something stirring in your gut that was telling you to go and hide as quickly as you could. You slowly began to back away, one footstep at a time. It was like everything was frozen around you, your breath stilling in your lungs.

You couldn’t look away from him, even as you retreated further and further. His head swiveled slightly as he examined the porch of your house, and you were sent further and further into a frozen spiral as he finally turned to finally look at the fields. The fields where you were inching towards, to be specific. Of course you couldn’t see his features, but there was no mistaking the fact that he was searching for something. And when he finally turned so that you could fully take in the way his muscles tensed and his posture hunched into something more haggard and eager than you’d ever have expected, you realized that something was in fact you.

A scream tore out of your throat as he barrelled towards you, his hands outstretched and ready to catch you. You could hear him calling your name, but you just started running. How did he know you? It didn’t matter though, not when you could practically taste the danger in the air with every ragged breath you inhaled.

Leaves whipped against your face and arms, leaving faint red lines from how harshly they scraped you, but you kept going. The man’s heavy footfalls thundered after each of yours, and you shrieked in pure horror as he reached up and grabbed the back of your shirt and roughly yanked you back. Your feet skidded in the loose dirt as you thrashed and tried to fight him off.

“Stop fussin’ and behave!” He commanded, his voice gruff with annoyance. It sounded like he was purposefully speaking deeper than his normal voice would allow. He followed his words up by clamping his gloved hand around the back of your throat and shoved you down to your knees.

“Ngh! Let me go! My folks will be back any second, a-and then you’re gonna get it you fuckin’ spineless little-!”

Your snarling was cut off with another cry of fear as he squeezed down on your windpipe for a fraction of a second. He grappled with your shaking body as he pushed you up against his chest and pressed you down into the earth. Your eyes were wide and your nostrils flared with panic at the feeling of soil against your cheek.

“Your family ain’t here. They ain’t gonna be here for a while. Quit cryin’ before I give you something to really cry over… shit and I’m tryin’ to be all romantic. I know you’re stubborn but shit…” He grumbled and nuzzled his face against the crown of your head. The burlap of the sack was rough and unpleasant, just another layer upon the mountain of shit you were in. He inhaled deeply, sniffing your neck and shoulder through the barrier of fabric. You shuddered and balled your fists up.

That voice, that touch: it was all so horribly familiar.

“Daniel?” Your voice carried a hint of betrayal you wish wasn’t there. You disliked him, thought of him a creep, but this was beyond anything that you would’ve ever thought him capable of. But then again, when had he ever given you the chance to actually trust him. If anything, you should’ve expected this. Should’ve known. Should’ve done something.

He stilled behind you, his feverish panting ceasing all at once and replaced with eerie silence. Sweat beaded on your forehead as the moment seemed to stretch on forever. Slowly his hands slid over your belly, pressed between the ground and your soft skin and ruching up the fabric of your shirt.

“Daniel,” You repeated his name, more panicked. It was like you were back in the barn again, but this time you felt no warmth from his skin. His sun kissed boyishness that had you squirming with unknown feelings was now replaced with simple cold dread, bathed in silver moonlight and casted with iron resolve. “Daniel, stop it.. Please,” you croaked out as tears gathered in your lashes.

“... You can still say yes [Name]” He whispered, nearly as desperate as you were for a brief moment. You flinched at his voice, but you found no sympathy in his rigid form. You opened your mouth again to beg, but you squeaked as he covered your mouth with his thick, gloved hand. You squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m tryin’ to give you the world here, and all you have to do is be a good girl for me and take it, alright?”

The sound of your clothes ripping filled your ears, and he yanked the tatters of your sweater away. He grunted at the effort, shoving you further down to secure you while he reached underneath your squirming form to unbutton your jeans. The denim burned your thighs as it scraped past, leaving your skin sore to his kneading of the soft skin. His breath hitched once his fingers wormed their way past your clenched legs to cup your pussy through the worn cotton of your panties.

“ Oh…” He sighed, sounding so dreamy and fascinated. It was like he weren't about to do the worst thing that had ever happened to you. “Would you look at that,” Danny murmured and fucking squeezed. You kicked against him as hard as you could, and he only laughed softly. “You’re already wet.”

You screamed in protest at that, but he whispered shushes into your ear.

“No use denying it, honey,” He almost sounded amused as he dragged your underwear down to finally reveal what he’d been after. He finally let go of your face, and you gasped for air, letting out a string of curses so foul your father would've surely beat you for even uttering them. He ignored your profanities and wrangled your pelvis into his lap, your thrashing legs on either side of his thick waist. Your nails dug into the dirt as you tried to crawl away, but he shook you harshly. “Quit squirmin’! I deserve a good look at my future wife…” he grumbled, annoyance muffled by the burlap sack. It was even worse that you couldn’t see his face.

Suddenly, your cunt was burning. You hissed, and your fingers curled around the earth. “Ow ow ow!” You cried. Daniel made a curious noise.

“Hm, was hopin’ you’d be a bit looser… relax honey, I ain’t gonna hurt you. You just gotta relax a bit,” He cooed and stroked your lower back, squeezing the globe of your ass and holding you in place with one hand while the other was currently trying to stuff its digits into your tight, clenched walls. You squeaked as his thumb pressed harshly down on your clit, and you jerked at the sensation. “Shh, shhh, it’s okay …” he murmured. It was the same way you would speak to frightened livestock before it was sent for slaughter, all placating and sweet despite the animal knowing something was obviously wrong. Your dry walls clenched around the leather, pulsing as he worked at the little bundle of nerves until pleasure sparked like embers. Slowly, but surely, he worked your hole into a leaking, slicked up mess, his glove covered in your juices.

After a while of prodding and trying to roughly finger you, he finally stopped. You were crying, your tears mixing into mud now smeared across your cheeks. Instead of relief, dread took over your gut.

“I think you’re ready, honey…” He whispered, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Your thighs trembled as he stroked them and moved you once again. His arms wrapped around your waist, his muscular chest pressed against your back. His breath was hot against your neck and ear, the burlap sack rubbing against your skull. The sound of a zipper flying and denim rustling flowed into your frazzled brain. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to say no anymore, your head rolling forward limply to try and avoid his heady gaze that you could feel burning into your skin.

Something hard and hot pressed against your ass cheek, and you jerked away. He fumbled around for a bit, trying to line himself up with your clenched entrance. There were no more hushed promises or niceties, just rough grunts and the strain of his muscles against you.

The first thing you noticed was how much it burned. It wasn’t like that of being burned, though you wished it was. No, it was more like the stretching you would do in gym class way back when. It was past the point of comfort, feeling muscle thin out and weaken while you breathed deeply to stop feeling it so much.

He groaned in your ear, loudly too.

“ Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” He rasped. “To have a moment like this?” You gasped as he bottomed out. Your guts were all squished up in places that you didn’t even know existed before. You moaned softly, partly out of pain and out of surprising warmth. Something stirred within you as he drew back, shuddering and stilted.

It took him a few moments to get it right, and he laughed in boyish glee when he finally managed to keep up a steady pace. He burrowed his head in the crook of your neck, joining you in the mud. Warmth spread through your gut as he pumped into you. At first it was just harsh prodding that hit the wrong angles in your stupidly wet cunt. Every blubber of fear, every hiss and whimpered ‘no’ only pushed him to find different places, find different ways to make you see stars and gasp when you should’ve been screaming.

“You’re always- fuck, you’re always fuckin’ teasin’ me,” He bit your earlobe through the thick fabric covering those charming, poisoned lips. “If it ain’t your goddamn folks around to stop me, then it’s you,” he practically spat, breathless and heady. “You ain’t got not right to say no to me when you know damn well that I’m the only one who can treat you well,” he snarled as his hips met yours roughly.

You felt so full, and when his hand dipped down once again to find your clit, you could do nothing but squeal as he pinpointed those spots that had you seeing blurry from both inside and out. Your back arched despite your muscles feeling like they were pulled thin to the point of no return, flexing and twitching with every slap of his balls against your thighs.

“You’ll see- hngh- you’ll see how good you have it,” He promised ominously.

He picked up the pace all of a sudden, emboldened by whatever was going on in that thick skull of his. You let out a strangled cry, your scuffed shoes kicking up dirt everywhere as the pressure in your belly finally started to rise into a frightening, all consuming pulse that rippled up your entire body. It was like nothing you had ever felt before, and it was fucking terrifying. Your eyes were blown wide, and you began to shriek and buck your hips not to meet his pace, but rather to seek and escape from the impending climax that was gripping your limbs and locking them in aching pleasure.

Danny shoved you further down, wrapping over you like he was some kinda snake. It felt like an apt comparison considering that this was the closest to being eaten alive that you could imagine anyone going through.

“ [Name] [Name] [Name] “

He chanted your name as he pumped his cock further and further into your pulsing heat. He was lost in the fervor of it all, too caught up to make his words coherent anymore. Not that anything would register through the haze of your tears and impending doom, but at least you didn’t have to pretend to listen.

“Ngh! Fuck!”

He had to be close by now. Your thighs were a mess of your own juices and smeared with his precum and sweat, and the two of you writhed together in some mockery of tenderness. Daniel gasped and tensed, his muscles locking together as he finally spilled his release inside of your waiting walls. His voice became high pitched and whiny, and then, in a moment of pure heat and desperation, he finally spilled within you.

You didn’t know when Daniel left your side, but it had to have been a few hours at the very least. You hadn’t moved, too shocked and sore to do anything but bleakly stare into the thick maze of wheat stalks just beyond your fingertips. But he did leave at some point, and when your folks came back, you were alone.

As you had suspected, your father was livid.

“ HOW COULD YOU BE SO FUCKIN’ STUPID?”

It was awful. Almost as awful as what had been done to you, but it was somehow even more shameful. It had been terrible, sitting there on a rickety dining room chair that screamed and groaned everytime you flinched and shuddered. Your mom at least had the decency to wrap a towel around you while you were torn into.

You had tried to tell them, “It was the Petusky boy” and “It wasn’t my fault”. None of your words seemed to hit.

“Danny wouldn’t do something like that.” Your Pa’s response was immediate, and you shut your mouth quickly, gaze boring into your hands curled in your trembling lap.

“Did you see who it was?” Your mom tried to coax out of you, though you got the impression she didn’t believe you either.

“No he had a mask but-”

“That settles it then,” Your dad cut in as he paced the room, his jaw was set tight, and your stomach churned uneasily. “He’s a good boy. A smart one too. He wouldn’t do something like that, and certainly not with you. Be honest [Name], you had to be askin’ for some shit. I’m not stupid. I swear-! We leave you alone for a goddamn second and you’re spreadin’ your legs for the first fool that comes by. And you have the nerve to blame it on an honest man,” he hissed out, and you felt tears brimming to your eyes.

Your mama glared at him, but she did nothing to say anything against her husband. She merely shushed you and rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“From now on, you ain’t settin’ a foot off of this farm, you hear?” He snapped. You sank further into yourself, wishing you could just disappear. “Now, we’re going to keep this quiet. You’re going to keep your trap shut about this, and you’re not going to say a word about this to Petusky boy. And if I find out you did or if you managed to knock yourself up? You’ll be out on your ass before the sun comes up.” The ultimatum was laid bare, and you could do nothing but bite your lip and nod.

In the next few weeks, it felt like you were living in hell. Daniel still worked on your family’s farm, and you tried everything in your power to avoid him. It was strange, though. Even though you could feel his eyes following you everywhere, he hardly spoke to you since that night. You almost could’ve mistaken yourself for having imagined it if it weren’t for the warning looks your Pa shot you nearly every hour. Honestly, it probably would’ve been better if you had just made it all up.

Of course, you couldn’t just forget, but you wish you could.

“Shit…” You murmured as you looked down at the faded calendar you had stashed in the barn along with your collection of paperback romances. It had been your escape recently, but now you once again were forced to face reality. You were late for your period. Pretty late at that, by at least a week in and a half. It was hard to ignore the reality that you could be pregnant, especially since he’d finished inside.

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

You screamed and tried to spin around, but Daniel quickly reached out to grab your arms and pin them in place, holding you still as his lips brushed against your earlobe. Revulsion and fear coursed through you, and your heart beat rapidly as he plucked the calendar from your trembling fingers.

“Hmmm,” His voice hummed low in his throat, a sweet noise that should’ve put you at ease, not on the verge of a breakdown. “You’re gonna have my baby,” He announced, smiling against your neck. Panic coursed through you, and you tried to squirm away as he snuggled up against you and dragged you over to some old crates to sit down. He played with the hem of your shirt, positively beaming with excitement.

“N-no I ain’t!” You protested with a face full of terror. He just laughed and hugged you.

“ I know… I know…” he murmured soothingly and pulled out a box, something rattling around inside. “But there’s a chance, ain’t there?” Pregnancy tests. A fucking two pack. You bit your lip, you couldn’t deny that you needed to know if you were or not. You silently took it from him and walked over to the run down bathroom. He waited, giving you space for the first time. Probably because he knew that even if he did, you had nowhere to run.

Two lines on both tests. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose as Daniel smiled softly.

“See? I told you I was going to make you my wife,” He reminded you, and you felt sick.

“My folks don’t believe that you did it.”

“Really? Well ain’t that something… don’t fuss too much, honey. I’ll just work my charm, and you’ll be up in my house with a rock on your finger by the end of the month,” His promise was firm, and he squeezed your side, careful not to press too hard on your lower belly.

“And what if… what if I don’t want to?”

The question was quiet, desperate even. His eyes burned a hole into your skull, digging around in your brain and trying to pull on your thoughts and feelings. Slowly, he reached his hand up and grabbed your face. It was just rough enough to make you stumble forward, and you gasped.

“ You think that anyone out there is gonna believe you over me?” He asked softly, deceptively so. “That anyone gives a damn about what you think and feel, [Name]? I am the best option you’ve got. I’m the only option you got,” He continued, entwining one of his hands in yours as he walked you to the door.

“Your folks don’t care, no one in this town thinks of you as anythin’ but a tramp, and, shit- when you start showing? You think anyone is goin’ to give you a chance to prove you’re anythin’ else? Now I know you ain’t stupid, honey. Come on, you know as well as I do that this is the best that you’re ever gonna get,” Danny’s words were mocking, and his handsome face was obscured in shadow by the light pouring in from the barn door. You swallowed thickly as he wrapped his fingers gently around your throat.

“And…” His voice lowered as he leaned in to look you in the eyes. “ If you decide you want to be dumb, then I don’t mind tryin’ again to set you straight. Matter of fact, I’ll keep doin’ so until you get it in yer pretty little head that you’re gonna be mine.”He dragged you out of the barn, down the dirt path, and up onto the rotting porch of your house. Daniel flashed you a dazzling smile, his fingers digging into your own. As he reached for the doorknob, you thought of a million ways of how you could get out of this, could leave and run for the hills, but in the end you could only stand there. He seemed to notice you lost in thought and pause, raised your hand to his lips, and planted a swift kiss to your knuckles. “Don’t you worry, honey. I’ve always got you.”

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mashtatosworld · 3 days ago

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lover boys (4)

summary: 'kissing someone else is not cheating' prank

[GD, TOP, D-LITE]

Kwon Jiyong (GD)

It started as a stupid joke.

You were at a rooftop party, warm summer air mixing with the scent of cigarettes and expensive perfume, lounging with your friends while Jiyong had wandered off to grab more drinks.

And then, someone brought up a ridiculous argument.

“You know what would be hilarious?” your best friend smirked, already three cocktails deep. “If you said, ‘Kissing someone else isn’t cheating’ in front of Jiyong. I bet he’d have a whole crisis.”

The group laughed - because, yeah, Jiyong had mellowed out over the years, but there was still that possessive streak lurking beneath the surface.

“No way,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

“Come on! He’ll probably write a whole song about it.”

“It’ll be fun,” another friend urged, grinning. “Let’s just see what he does.”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling dramatically. “Fine. Whatever.”

Just then, Jiyong reappeared, two drinks in hand, looking effortlessly handsome in a silk blouse and hat. He slipped into the space beside you with a sweet smile.

This was your moment.

“Well,” you started casually, trying to avoid your friends eager eyes, “I guess it wouldn’t be… cheating if it’s just a kiss.”

His head snapped up.

His eyes locked onto yours.

“…Oh really,” he said after a beat, jaw tensing. "I see."

And then -

That was it.

No protest. No argument. No reaction at all.

He just took a sip from his straw, looking away, completely unfazed.

You blinked. Wait. What?

You had expected an immediate rebuttal, a scoff, an exasperated sigh - something.

But no. He was just calmly accepting this absolute nonsense like it was nothing.

Now you were the one panicking.

You turned to your friends, who were equally thrown off. They shrugged helplessly but kept up with the changing conversation whilst you spiralled.

Jiyong stayed for another moment, then quietly excused himself, slipping off into the crowd.

You watched him disappear, a strange feeling settling in your chest.

"Don't worry," your friend nudged you. "He's probably just brushing it off. He can be defensive."

So you let it go.

For a little while.

Until -

“Oh, shit.”

The girls grew silent and you turned your head, following their intrigued gaze.

Because the man returning to you was not your husband.

Gone was the headscarf and hat, leaving his hair tousled to perfection. His buttoned-up shirt was now loosened at the top, collarbone and tattoos peeking through.

And his usual fruity cocktail - replaced by a glass of straight rum.

The moment you laid eyes on him, your stomach flipped.

He was walking - slower, smoother, more confident than ever, no, not confident. Cocky.

The way he carried himself, the way his dark eyes swept the room like he owned it - this was not the man who shied away from attention.

This was the man who had pursued you years ago.

Dangerous. Sexy. Intense.

Your breath hitched.

He strolled right up to where you stood - a neglected cigarette left to burn between your fingertips, and he tilted his head slightly, gaze hooded, lips curving into the faintest smirk.

“So,” he murmured, swiping the cigarette from your loose grasp. “You come here often?”

You blinked up at him, completely thrown off. “Um… yeah. We come here all the time?"

He hummed, slipping the cigarette between his lips, taking a slow drag before blowing the smoke away.

“Oh yeah?” His eyes dragged over you with a look that sent a thrill straight through you.

He took a sip of his drink, licking his lips, before asking,

“You and your boyfriend?”

What.

You squinted at him. “No… my husband?”

His smirk deepened.

“Where is he?”

You stared.

And then -

It clicked.

He wasn’t Jiyong right now.

He was GDragon.

Oh my god.

The hot, intense, arrogant rapper you had fallen for years ago? The one who had chased you down with that insane, magnetic energy?

Yeah.

He was back.

And your friends?

They were losing their minds.

You heard one of them whispered to another, “Holy shit, he’s doing a bit.”

Meanwhile, you were trying to remember how to breathe.

Jiyong - no, GDragon - was watching you, waiting.

So you played along.

“…He’s around,” you said slowly, lips curling into a smile. “Why? You interested?”

He grinned, leaning closer.

“I don’t do relationships,” he murmured, reaching forward to pass you back the cigarette. His fingers lingered.

“But you… You're a temptation.”

Oh.

Oh, this was bad.

Because you were very, very into this.

Your pulse was racing, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

The rest of the night was a game.

He stayed in character.

You tried to match him.

It was exciting - the flirting, the teasing, the tension.

It felt like you had been thrown back in time, back to the nights where he was chasing you, back to when he was untouchable and untamed and entirely too much.

The night seemed to stretch on forever, when usually you two would leave and go home to your cats - cozying up on the couch. But he had dragged you along when everyone piled into the car, heading to a downtown club.

A club.

It had been years since you two spent all night touching and dancing, sneaking off to the side to kiss against a wall like no one was watching.

You tried to keep up.

You really did.

But when you finally got home?

The moment you stepped inside, you collapsed onto the couch, kicking off your heels with a groan.

Your husband chuckled, rolling his shoulders.

You turned your head, half-lidded, exhausted, but still burning.

“…I think we’re getting old.”

His grin widened.

And then -

He scooped you up effortlessly.

“I’ve got about twenty minutes of GDragon left in me before I need my pyjamas and cuddles.” His voice was low and teasing. “That long enough?”

You swallowed.

“…Hell yeah.”

He carried you into the bedroom and tossed you onto the bed, crawling over you but just before he kissed you, you hesitated.

“Wait,” you murmured, arms around his neck. “You know I don’t actually believe that, right?”

His eyes softened.

Jiyong kissed your forehead, slow and tender.

“Jagi,” he whispered. “We’ve been together nearly ten years.”

He looked down at you, eyes full of knowing.

“I know.”

Because of course, he knew.

You two were connected.

Always.

He lips then found yours - hard and possessive.

And just like that, you were done for.

Because even after all these years, the darker side of your husband was still there.

And damn it, you loved it.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Seunghyun (TOP)

You were at some fancy dinner party, champagne glasses clinking, warm conversations buzzing around you.

And the topic of the table?

What counts as cheating?

Your friends were going back and forth, debating, until someone turned to you.

“What do you thinkm, y/n? If it’s just a kiss, is it really cheating?”

You barely had time to react before your best friend nudged you, grinning.

“C’mon, say it. I dare you.”

You laughed.

You knew this was a trap.

Seunghyun was sitting right beside you, leisurely sipping his wine, not caring to indulge in the conversation though still entertained. But his tensed frame told you that he was listening intently.

You thought about it.

Then - for fun, just to tease him - you shrugged.

“I mean…” You exhaled dramatically. “I guess it wouldn’t really be cheating - ”

Pfft.

Seunghyun made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, eyes flicking to you in amused disbelief.

“You can try,” he said smoothly, setting his wine glass down.

His voice was low, velvety, and incredibly confident.

Then he added -

“…Not like I’d ever let someone get the chance.”

You raised your brow.

The conversation continued to flow around you but something about the way he said it sent a little shiver down your spine.

Because Seunghyun was usually the calm, reserved type. He wasn’t the jealous, reactive boyfriend.

At least… not outwardly.

But tonight?

Well.

The moment he made that little comment, his entire energy shifted.

Suddenly, Seunghyun was on guard.

You didn’t even notice it at first.

But the next time someone came up to you to start a conversation, Seunghyun was just… there.

Like a shadow.

Standing so close, his presence looming, quiet but firm.

And when the guy in front of you hesitated - eyes flicking between you and your tall boyfriend - you realised.

Seunghyun was blocking you.

A human wall.

No one was getting through.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh.

The longer the night went on, the worse it got.

He wasn’t letting anyone near you.

You moved? He moved.

You reached for a drink? He grabbed it for you.

Someone tried to say hello? Seunghyun’s arm was already around your waist.

Usually, he wasn’t one for public affection.

But tonight?

Oh, he was all over you.

A hand on your lower back.

Fingers trailing along your arm.

His lips brushing your neck as he leaned in to murmur something about how “this party is getting boring, isn’t it, Princess?”

He wasn’t worried.

At all.

Because he was your big, scary, intimidating boyfriend.

And he could just… whisk you away whenever he wanted.

Which, apparently - he would.

Because at one point, mid-conversation, you suddenly felt your feet leave the ground.

What the - ?!

You barely had time to process before Seunghyun lifted you under the arms like you were a stray kitten and just moved you.

Like you weighed nothing.

“Seunghyun!” you gasped, laughing as he carried you a few steps away before placing you down like it was nothing.

He smirked, completely unbothered.

“What?” he asked, voice deep and amused.

You gawked at him, still half-laughing. “You just - moved me! Like a child!”

His brow raised slightly, eyes twinkling.

“Well,” he shrugged, tilting his head, voice dropping -

“I wasn’t about to let him finish that conversation.”

Your stomach flipped.

And that was when you realised -

He wasn’t playing around.

Possessive T.O.P had fully taken over.

Your fingers curled slightly against his chest, voice softer now.

“You know I wouldn’t actually ever do that, right?”

His eyes flicked over your face - sharp, unreadable.

Then he leaned down, lips brushing just past your ear.

“Good,” he murmured. “Shall I remind you why?"

You sucked in a breath.

Oh.

Oh, you really, really liked that.

And from the way his smirk deepened -

He knew.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Daesung (D-Lite)

The car ride home was loud - music playing, voices overlapping, the leftover energy of the night buzzing between all of you.

It had been a great night out, full of laughter, drinks, and just enough teasing touches between you and Daesung to make your heart race.

And then, someone in the front seat casually threw out the question:

“So, do you guys think kissing someone else counts as cheating?”

The car exploded with reactions -

“OF COURSE.”

“Duh???”

“Well, actually, it depends - ”

Daesung chuckled along with everyone, but his gaze fell to you.

Waiting.

Watching.

And when you decided not to chip into the conversation his expression dropped.

Still new in your relationship, he was tuned in to every little thing about you - every glance, every shift of your expression, every small hesitation.

And you?

You had hesitated for a second too long.

You could feel Daesung’s gaze burning into the side of your face.

But before you could answer, the conversation moved on.

The car filled with more chatter and laughter, but Daesung?

Daesung fell silent, eyes focused on the moving city beyond the tinted window.

When the car pulled up to your apartment, your roommates got out, saying their goodbyes.

You turned to Daesung.

“I'm still staying with you tonight, right?”

He nodded.

But something was off.

The usual warmth in his face had faded.

Instead, he was staring at his phone, brows furrowed, fingers moving quickly over the screen.

You tilted your head.

“…You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice too casual. “Just… tired.”

"Well, you did out do everyone at karaoke." You smile, patting his thigh and letting it rest there. Your boyfriend had practically given your roommates a full concert and they loved it.

You were so happy your boyfriend and friends seemed to get along. And they loved even more when his private driver showed up to collect everyone, saving the group a trip home in the rain.

Once at his place, the two of you slowly wound down - changing into comfortable clothes, playing soft music.

But Daesung?

Still quiet.

He was fidgety, fixated on his phone, tugging his hair and covering his lower face as he intently stared at the screen in his hand.

The tension was killing you.

So you joined him on the sofa and bumped your knee against his.

“Wanna make cookies?”

His head slowly lifted.

“…Cookies?”

You grinned. “Yeah. You love cookies. And you always boast you make the best."

For the first time since the car ride, he smiled.

“Okay.”

Thirty minutes later and Daesung stood at the counter, hands completely covered in dough.

“…This can’t be right,” he muttered, frowning at the sticky mess between his fingers.

You laughed, grabbing his phone. “Let me check the recipe - ”

You weren’t prepared for what you saw.

Because his recent search history?

help I think my girlfriend wants to break up with me how to stop your soulmate from breaking up with you my heart hurts - is this normal or am I dying??? can you have a heart attack at 27?

You blinked.

Then you bit your lip to keep from laughing.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Daesung stiffened.

“…What?”

You turned to him, holding up the phone.

“Baby…” you cooed, fighting back a grin. “Is this why you’ve been so quiet?”

His eyes darted to the phone.

Then his hands.

Then the phone.

Then back at you.

He was trapped.

Hands covered in wet dough, unable to grab the phone or defend himself.

“…Maybe,” he mumbled, looking down at the failed mixture.

You burst out laughing.

“Oh, my sweet, love.” You wrapped your arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I would never do that to you.”

His shoulders relaxed, exhaling loudly.

“…Really?”

“Of course.” You kissed him again, smiling. “You’re my favourite person.”

His face broke into a bright, relieved grin. You leaned closer once more and - instinctively - he raised his hand to cup your cheek.

Except.

His hands were still covered in wet dough.

You yelped, jerking back.

“DAE - !”

His eyes widened in horror.

“Oh -OH NO - ”

But it was too late.

His doughy, flour-covered fingers had left a big, smudged handprint on your cheek.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

And then -

You both cracked up laughing.

Falling into each other, breathless and giggling, the earlier tension completely gone.

He then sat you on the counter, grabbing a soft towel. And as he wiped your face clean - pressing a hundred tiny kisses all over to make up for it - you realised something.

Daesung might be sensitive, a total over thinker, and a little dramatic…

But he was also the sweetest, most loveable person ever.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

damn lover boys was highly requested - sorry i've been slow with it! hope you enjoy loves <3

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @lariem-blog2 , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby

#bigbang #kpop #gdragon #kwon jiyong #mashtatosworld #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #top #seunghyun x reader #choi seunghyun x reader #choi seunghyun #daesung x reader #daesung

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randomshyperson · 12 hours ago

Text

Butchered Tongue - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: The Halloween Disturbances separate Wanda from her wife, who, intrigued, begins to take a closer look at the anomalous activities in Westview. Or the one where you discover Westview isn't what it seems, Agatha loses her temper, and Death makes an appearance.

Warnings: (+18), there’s smut at the beginning (sub!wanda, hints of power dynamics, enchanted strap, creampie, dirty talk), mentions of magical manipulation, Westview canon compliance, agathario being agathario, dark and traditional magic, mentions of attempted magical resurrection, a lot of canon angst ‘cause why not, nothing bad ever happen to kids denial is a river | Words: 7.060k

A/N-> “Why this has an open ending, mary?” Well for start, this is a test. I’m writing a long fic that rewrites and inserts reader into westview drama and I wanted to see how further I could dive into this subject and also bring agathario angst. I liked it very very much but this work here I actually had a lot of fun writing it and i wanted to share it with everyone. I hope people tell me what they thought of it, if you all would rather have a story for the beginning with all the scenes of them together or just a story that moves forward (i haven't thought of a plot after this yet). Honestly, this is just for fun people, I hope you liked this and I hope that I someday write more about this little variation of new characters and dynamics I wrote in this one. The new series will have hybrid!reader ‘cause i’m a TVD fan and i miss that shit daily (and witches and vampires/werewolves are a match). Ps. I suck at summaries and now I just copy-paste the show's official summaries haha

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | *Series Masterlist

*you can read the two first "chapters" for context but it's not really necessary, to understand the story. This is pretty canon-compliant

-&-

Pietro's presence just worsens the tension between you and Wanda.

Not that he's behaving inappropriately or anything like that - his flawed personality is probably his charm.

The problem is that you had no idea Wanda had a bother in the first place. You were certain she didn’t, just two seconds before she opened that door, but by the same second she told you who that was, your mind went blank and a click of new memories was input into your brain. You could relax and pretend they were always there, and trust your wife but she must have been feeling strange about the whole thing as well, somehow sharing her hesitation through the magic that surrounded every corner and mind of that town.

That's why when Wanda came back to bed that night, she found you already asleep - or pretending to. Every instinct in your mind was telling you to run screaming, the image of your work colleague and his despairing eyes, begging for help, piercing all the new family memories you were getting now.

Children growing up years during one single evening, neighbors terrified subconsciousness, mystery brother. Things seemed to be getting out of control for Wanda as well, but she just kept saying everything was fine and you could trust her.

She didn't try to press you into a conversation, but you heard her tense sighing around the room while she changed into her nightgown.

In no time, there's a soft weight on the bed and a pull on the mattress. You feel her warmth behind you but don't move an inch.

Wanda shifts and you stop breathing when her fingers reach out for your back. Tentatively calling for your attention.

Sighting deeply, you slowly turn to face her. You don't know what you were expecting, maybe red irises that would take your doubts away. You weren't expecting to find teary eyes instead. The effect was nearly the same though - seeing Wanda crying knock down all your defenses all at once.

“Hey.” You start softly, one of your hands moving to her cheek. She leans into the touch immediately, a sad smile on her lips. “Why are you crying, darling?”

She shakes her head, and it looks like she won't explain further when suddenly, she sobs. “I can't believe he's really here.”

Wanda looks so vulnerable but you're so confused. You don't stop your caress on her cheek but you stare at her in doubt. “Oh darling, tell me what's wrong? Didn't you two get along?”

Wanda chuckles sadly. Your words are not meant to be anything but curious and reassuring of her feelings but they pierce her heart nonetheless. The fact that this version of you has no idea of how much she lost, and didn't even know who Pietro was until tonight makes her feel so wrong about everything.

“We did. He, hm…” She dries her own tears when evading your touch. To lie to your face, she needs physical distance not just emotional. “We grew apart, that's all. It's really nice to have my brother around again.” She turns away, to gaze at the ceiling but you frown at the sudden change of behavior. Wondering what you might have said to upset her, you swallow as Wanda yaws. “Today was just a lot. Let’s just sleep, okay?”

Wanda turns her back to you without another word but less than a minute later, you hear her trying to shuffle her crying.

You don't ask her any questions as you adjust to hold her, feeling her body tensing before relaxing completely.

There will be time for questions tomorrow. Right now, you just hold your wife while she cries herself to sleep, hoping she knows in her heart you'll be there for her.

-&-

Pietro Maximoff could be a bit inconvenient. But so could be Agnes, the nosy neighbor who seemed to share a special affection for Wanda's twin.

You couldn't really decide which one of them was the most cheeky.

With the daily routine falling into place again, you wanted to believe things were getting better but in fact, they weren't. That whole “foggy mind” sensation never left you, and you had the strong impression that the whole two weeks of Pietro sleeping on the couch and every other routine memory with the boys, Wanda and occasionally Agnes around the round was somehow implemented into your head during your sleep. It just didin’t feel like weeks had passed, but somehow everybody was acting like it did.

Without any proof to that, however, you found yourself staring at a colorful outfit in your shared closet.

Wanda got up early - She has been quite evasive about your agony. And her lack of interest just makes you more anxious.

But by the time you were ready to face another day, she was already dressed up in her red costume, looking way too pretty for someone you were supposed to be mad with.

“Hey darling good morning. Your outfit is right there, I'm gonna check if the boys are ready.” She spoke very quickly, hands busy with the last adjustments of her hair. But her little crown was slightly misplaced and you moved to her way before she could bypass you and leave the room. “What are you…?”

Without a word, your hands move to fix her appearance. Wanda stays put, eyes scanning your face as if searching for a hidden meaning behind your actions, and at the slight feeling of her presence in your mind, you chuckle.

“Is this what you do now?” You question and Wanda's cheeks grow red with shame. “Little peaks whenever you don't feel like talking to your wife?”

She gasps slightly at the accusation. But you're staring at her with anything but teasing behind your eyes and Wanda lifts her chin.

“I don't want us to fight.” She declares but she doesn't move away from your touch so you don't give her space either.

“Fight? You barely pay me a glance.”

“That is not true!” She defends herself immediately but you chuckle dry.

“How come is Halloween already? I could swear it was summer. Didn't we go to the local club just a couple of days ago?”

Wanda holds your wrist, moving your hand away from her red crown.

“Could you just behave? Today, at the boy's first Halloween? Please.”

She was not only diverting the whole situation guilty towards you but also ignoring your questions.

When Wanda decided that behaving so toxic towards you was acceptable you don't know.

What you know is that she needed to be reminded of a few important things.

“I'm afraid that your bother is having a terrible influence on me, darling.” You start, freeing your hand from her grip only to move both to her waist. She swallows hard but keeps an indifferent expression. “I'll be up to mischief all evening.”

She frowns, even if by instinct her hands find your shoulders to correspond to your touch, she looks tense.

“What… You're not sticking around for your son's first Halloween?”

You chuckle at her choice of words. Nowadays, every time you want to question something, Wanda goes for emotional appeal.

“Is it? They are already ten. I'm certain we must have taken them to pick up candy at some point. It would be odd if we haven't.”

Wanda narrows her eyes at you. So this is how you gonna play this game - by taunting her on everything that was weird about Westview, trying to see her crack on her indifference.

She takes a deep breath, fingers adjusting your pajama’s collar.

“You're trying to get a reaction out of me. I'm sorry, but I already said we're not fighting today. If you can't skip work, I'm taking the boys with their uncle.”

“As you wish, darling.” You retry with the same serious tone.

Wanda stares back. And there's a pause and another.

Then, a pull on her waist to bring her hard towards your chest. Wanda barely has time to blush or choke on her breathing when your lips meet her in an intense kiss.

She moans against her will into your tongue, her body melting as your hands squeeze her waist, that doesn't help her regain her posture one bit.

She feels her back hit the shelf when you push forward to press her against it, but that only makes her kiss you harder, the affected sighs during the kiss only making you crazier.

Your hands start to wander, and the bedroom door locks by itself, a spell of noise filling the wood as well. As your kisses go down her jaw, her trembling fingers try to undo the knot of your pajama pants. She ends up failing in the activity when you start biting a sensitive spot behind her ear, your teeth scraping the way down, and Wanda wonders if she should cause more fights to have such a mind-blowing turn-on like this; she feels like if you don't fuck her now she might combust.

She only realizes she's started begging because you give a sadistic giggle, which makes her cheeks burn.

"I might not let you leave the room, Wands." You tease, and she has trouble even understanding what you're saying because you've lowered your fingers to where she's already started leaking beyond her costume. "Making those delicious sounds, and dressed like that. I don't want to let you go."

She forces her mouth to work, even though she's first letting out a little squeal when she feels your palm press against her covered pussy. "I'll be quick." She replies hoarsely, and you raise an eyebrow at the double meaning. She chuckles weakly, sighing. "You won't even have time to miss me."

You hum absently, looking down. One of your hands caresses her ass and then her thigh, smoothing her pantyhose. Your fingers tease her intimacy, bringing the moisture she can't contain, and making her knees buckle. When Wanda shudders, in that sexy way she always does every time her orgasm is building properly, you sigh.

"Sorry, honey, I really need to touch you." It's your only warning, and Wanda wants to pretend she doesn't like it when you rip her costume at the bottom, but she ends up rewarding you with a new wave of wetness running down her thighs.

You kiss her again as your fingers find her entrance, but Wanda has trouble even standing, let alone kissing you back when you’re touching her like this. Your fingers tease her hot entrance before you push two digits inside without ceremony, grunting at the warmth and the way she squeezes you. Wanda sighs contentedly and resists the instinct to close her eyes to meet your gaze. She holds on as you rest one hand behind her on the shelf, and adjust the angle of the other, going deeper inside her. It’s almost a challenge as your thrusts start to get more determined and harder and she has to grip your shoulders to stay upright, biting her lip to muffle the sounds that tear from her throat.

The climax builds so quickly, she might be embarrassed if you weren’t her wife, and you know her body so well. Just adjust the angle, press her clitoris with your thumb, and Wanda arches and comes hard, keeping herself standing only by holding on to your shoulders, while all the lights in the room flicker and the place shakes as much as your body.

You have a satisfied little smile on your face as she tries to stop shaking, and she can't hold back her moan when you remove your fingers from inside her only to suck them clean one by one.

You kiss her again as soon as you finish, and Wanda finds it so dirty and sexy that she starts scratching your belly, ready for another. You break off with a giggle.

"Weren't you the one in a hurry?" You tease, your pants loosening as Wanda starts to feel around you, pulling the item down with some urgency.

"Weren't you the one who wouldn't let me get out of bed?" She responds aroused, managing to make you giggle before pressing your hips together, her firm hands squeezing your ass.

When she kisses you next, sucking on your tongue, you grunt. "Fuck, you drive me crazy, Wands." You break the kiss, manhandling her back to the bed, and standing behind her. "You're gonna get on all fours and watch yourself get fucked like the slutty housewife you love to be. Come on, Wanda." A slap to her ass has her whimpering on shaking limbs until she finally exposes herself to you. The mirror in the corner of the room is ignored, but you force her face up, and she stares at the sight that leaves her dripping.

It doesn't surprise her to feel the hardness against her entrance, but it makes her break into a deep moan. The toy conjured in your pants that are still hanging at your knees slides in easily, and you both grunt at the sensation of the enchanted cock filling her up. Your first thrust is the only gentle one. Your hands grip her hips and then her hair, and Wanda is transformed into a pathetic mess of begging and moaning as you begin to fuck into her hard, the bed rocking with your movements.

You grunt between thrusts how much you love her. How much you love filling her, how much you love the way she sounds and feels. How much you want to fuck another baby into her.

Wanda comes without warning, her hands gripping the sheets in desperation, her body giving in to the climax as she cries loudly into the bed. You don't stop your movements, the creamy slickness making a dirty sound that makes you curse softly and Wanda blush deeply. She grunts at the overstimulation, but her hips move in time with yours.

You tell her that you're going to come, your thrusts becoming more frantic and uncoordinated, and she keeps her gaze on your reflection, watching with adoration the way your body moves against hers, your face contorted with pleasure as she barely manages to stay on her own limbs. When you come inside, the sensation is too delirious to begin with, so Wanda follows your climax, moaning as your body falls on top of hers, holding her to the bed as you pour yourself inside her.

But as your breathing calms and the arousal has subsided to deep intimacy, you sigh and pull out of her, throwing yourself next to her on the bed. Wanda frowns at the change in your energy and looks at you curiously.

"We can't end all fights like this," you murmur, and she raises an eyebrow.

"Can't we?"

But despite your dry chuckle, there's no joy in your eyes. It makes Wanda feel like the worst person in the world, even after what was probably the best sex she's had in a long time.

"I'm gonna go change. I promise I won't ruin anything for you today." You say, and she wants to pull you back and tell you that you never ruin anything, that this is all for, but none of that comes out.

She just stands there in silence, until she remembers everything she had planned for today with the noise downstairs.

She's already fixed her costume and tidied the room when you come back with a towel slung over your shoulders.

“I…” But the boys running and fighting with their uncle downstairs make Wanda sigh. She offers you a lingering glance once she touches the doorknob. “I love you, Y/N. Never forget, alright?”

You give her a lopsided smile. “Don't start or I'm gonna kiss you again.”

She smiles and leaves without saying anything else. You don't know how her heart ached at the fact you didn't say it back.

-&-

The further you went, the less habited Westview became.

The realization gives you chills, and as the city turns into this creepy empty scenario, you start to consider giving up your little investigation and just go back to your lovely wife and children.

It's the neighbor's parked car at Ellis Avenue that makes you sigh determined.

You're surprised to find Agnes having a drink inside. The small bottle has an insight that looks strangely familiar to you but you can't put your heart on that. And you're busy speaking:

“Goodnight, Agnes, is everything alright?” You greet but upon your sudden arrival, she chuckles ironically.

Not even bothering to hide away the bottle that has something so strong that you can smell the alcohol from afar, she leans into the window to get a better look at you.

“And what are you doing here, sugar?”

Her attitude chocks you. Not only that but something about the ascent also makes you frown. But you decide to play along because things are weird enough those days.

“Hm, I was just going for a walk.”

Agnes lifts an eyebrow at you. “Oh, does she know you're out?”

You know immediately she's talking about Wanda but you have no clue what that means. So you swallow drily and stare at the older woman.

“Yeah, I… I tell my wife everything.”

Agnes giggles wickedly. “Is that what you believe? Truly? How lovely.”

“Agnes, I don't understand -”

“Stop this act for once!” She cuts off angrily, opens the door, and almost hits you in the process. You step back so she can get out of the vehicle, and she hits the door a second time. “I'm Agatha! We know each other! Stop this foolish act for once!”

You frown and shake your head confusedly. “Of course we know each other, you're my neighbor-”

She groans impatiently, giving your shoulders a hard push. “Do you know how worried I was when you disappeared? Do you even care?”

“Agnes, I don't-”

“When you said you wanted to do the right thing, I let you. I gave you the space you wanted. When you said you would play superhero with those lunatics, I said okay, do one crazy thing this century, we all have our phases.” She continues to vent, without caring about your confusion. “But then you were gone! They brought everybody back except you. There was a whole fucking memorial you know? And I thought, fuck that stupid asshole finally got what she was looking for. And yeah I took your body from those shitty agents like you made me swear I would do if you were ever treated like a lab rat, but then I came here for a job and here you are! Playing housewife with that witch as if nothing bad happened ever happened!”

You interrupt her: “What bad thing happened?”

“You died, your idiot!” She screams back, stealing the air from your lungs. But she sighs to keep her composure and then chuckles humorlessly. “Or at least that's what the news said, right?” She retorts, her eyes shining lit. You don't know if it's the tears or the challenge behind her iris. “What is this anyways, Y/N? Where even are you right now? Do you know? Does she?”

You step back, your heart racing in your chest. “None of this makes any sense. You're clearly disoriented, and I'm sorry but I can't deal with this right now.” You practically run away from her, but Agnes - or Agatha at this point you're not sure of anything anymore - stops following you. She shakes her head in disbelief and takes the small bottle from her pocket again. With a long gulp, it looks like she drinks all of it before turning back to her car.

You just keep moving.

The Avenue limit is in front of you, and you don't have to make much of an effort to realize there's so short of energy there. Like a wall right in front of you.

Taking a deep breath, you raise your hand to the border moving forward with your fingers.

The second you're out, Westview disappears.

-&-

Before.

When Agatha Harkness decided her apprentice was ready for a real mission, she expected the witch she chose to spare instead of sacrifice once, to go for something simple, like killing a dragon or exploring a different realm.

She was not expecting an infinity stone.

“It's stupidly dangerous.” She said when you suggested but you didn't lose your posture.

“And when are we doing things that aren't dangerous?” Your argument started there just before you listed how inconvenient it would be if Hydra learned how to manipulate the stones for the actual magical community. Teasing Agatha by saying you might ask the Kamar Taj Mages for the same mission was the main reason she agreed with this.

In no time, you're heading off to a little place called Sokovia. Alone for your first mission, you didn't call for help when you got captured because that would be too humiliating. It was your first mission without Agatha, you could handle Hydra and their weird science.

You could handle their experiments and torture in search of truth. You could handle an infinity stone being carved into your skin as they tried to study the magic from your veins. If there was something that Agatha taught was that you should never fear power, no matter what, you should take it. And so you did.

Agatha was supposed to be proud - You did not only succeed in your mission when you interrupted the experiments by stealing the stone from Hydra to give it to the Avengers (who were not supposed to do the same with it to be clear), but you were also much more powerful than any witches your age and beyond due to the experiments. But instead of being proud, Agatha got jealous. She was worried too, but mostly jealous. It's just who she was after all - the most ambitious person you ever met. And having her apprentice overcome her power in one mission didn't make her feel very good about herself.

After the fight that escalated with this jealousy, you two departed for years. You became an Avenger, and Agatha kept doing what she did best. The stone craved at Vision’s head kept whispering fears into his mind until finally, the mad Titan came to Earth to retract what he believed belonged to him and kill anyone who stayed in his way.

You were given a proper and public funeral organized by Natasha Romanoff, so Agatha knew you were gone. She saw the news, then she visited the grave.

The Avengers didn't know the old ways of witchcraft, so she felt she was in her right to steal your body without giving any explanation. Leaving an empty and destroyed grave behind. It was not the witch community problem that a new tension surfaces with that, whispers of government organizations or criminals wishing to have your body for their own experiments. The talk of men was of little importance for a 300-year-old witch anyway.

Five years came and a flick of fingers brought everybody back from the dead. All but you.

Agatha had your body magically preserved - untouched by the lady of death as one last favor from Rio - she made sure you were buried in her family land as well.

You must rest with your kind she would say.

But everything changed one afternoon. She felt a powerful magic emission from afar and left her property. Unaware that you heard the same calling.

The connection you held with the witch calling whatever was deeper than the dark roots of that cursed magical ground your body was buried in.

The stone that was used to amplify Wanda's and your powers created a magical bond between you two that not even death could break. That, and well, you loved each other very deeply. The second her heart screamed your name during the Creation of Westview, you moved to her.

Your poor stitched body couldn't do the travel - the fight with the Titan weakened your flesh to its limit. You crawled into the Harkness Residence while its owner flayed to answer the magical calling before you could.

The only way you were able to reach for Wanda was with your mind. The preserved connection of the stone to yours and her power brought your conscience all the way to Westview but weakened by the distance and your wife's grief, all memories were gone.

You were there, but not really.

And while Agatha's employees woke up and freaked out about a body in the living room, your Hex version and her were locked inside Westview, following up fantasies for what felt like a lifetime but in reality barely a week had passed.

That until of course, you stepped outside.

The first person you see is Darcy Lewis. But she's nothing like you remember her.

Just like everybody around, she had circus outfits and even some handcuffs and chains around her that made you frown.

Getting up from the ground you didn't even realize you fell into, you take a moment to clean up the amount of dirt from your clothes.

“Darcy, is that really you?”

The brunette let out a nervous laugh. “I'm sorry, am I the only one who saw this woman appearing out of nowhere? Hello, guys? Okay, I'm out of here.” She moves away nervously but you stumble behind her.

“Wait, Darcy, is me-”

“Get away from me, stranger!” Darcy shouts back, almost running but you focus on using your abilities. It's painful, as if your mind and body - and the Westview version of yourself are - getting used to magic again, so when you teleport to her way, your knees give up and Darcy is kind enough not to let you fall to the ground. “What the hell was that?”

You balance yourself with her help. “Darcy is me. How can you not remember me?”

“Sorry, I'm not good with names.”

You chuckle weakly. “Not even Jane Foster? Or Thor?” She blinks, suddenly more uncomfortable than before. When she hesitates, you reach for her head. The magical subjugation is forced away by your magic and Darcy gasps in chock.

“Oh my god, is really you is it, Y/N?” She finally recognized you, her memories coming back to her at high speed. You sigh in relief, moving closer to free her from her chains. You hug her back as her arms lock around you tightly. “I knew they were wrong when they said you were gone.”

You break the embrace to give her a small smile. “Well, about that…”

You had to tell the story very quickly; your goal was to get back to the city, to your wife. Who needs to explain to you how the hell you were here and not buried in New York. If Wanda wouldn't talk, Agatha would have to do it.

Darcy, fortunately, managed to get a car.

"[...] do you really think she resurrected me?"

Darcy shrugs, she's driving and even though she's not a witch, she seems to take the whole story very seriously.

"Look, it's like I told you, SWORD called all kinds of experts to this place. No one really knows what the Hex is made of, much less how you're here. But what we do know is that your body was stolen about three weeks ago, and no one has been able to locate you anymore."

You imagine how Wanda would have done it, and the image of her digging your grave and dragging your body through the city gives you chills. But it also has nothing to do with Wanda, and makes you sigh wearily.

"I don't know, Darcy. It doesn't sound like anything she would do."

The woman with the glasses forces a sad smile at you. "Grief is a strange feeling, my friend. We often do surprising things."

There's a pause, but when Darcy speaks again after a whistle, her tone is much lighter than before.

"Now, talking about your body, are you sure you don't feel... you know, physical?"

You laugh, scratching the back of your head awkwardly. "It's hard to explain. I don't think I would notice if I weren't a witch, and well the spell is strong and capable of fooling everyone here. But I can feel that I'm not complete." You try to explain. "I only noticed when I left the Hex. It was like a tug, behind my head, as if my mind is the only physician thing here somehow. I don't know how Wanda brought me back, but I have a few guesses. A lot of them involve necromancy, but I don't know where she would have learned that. Although, the presence of a friend here in the Hex gave me some pointers."

Darcy frowns. "Friend? Who?"

She has to brake suddenly, because there's a sheep crossing in the way. It's your turn to grimace.

"What the hell...?" The herd lingers and then gives way to children crossing the street and an old lady with walking sticks.

Wanda is keeping you away. But why?

"She's doing this, Darcy." You mutter irritably, looking out the window at the next distraction on the road - roadworks - before unbuckling your seatbelt. "This is ridiculous. I am dead, and my wife would rather arrest me on the road than talk about it. We'll meet downtown, Darcy. And thank you for coming here to help Wanda." You get out of the car before your friend can protest, and fly away without waiting for anything else.

It's time to have a grown-up talk about things.

-&-

Your sudden departure, although short, was enough for your physical body to gain the little vigor it needed.

Just enough to call the only person who could help you in this state.

Agatha had few trusted employees, but they all liked you. Worried and attentive to every movement, to every weak breath of yours, while they stitched and healed your body, they heard you whisper the name that had not been pronounced under this roof for hundreds of years.

“Rio Vidal.”

Harkness Mansion grew cold at once, and the employees shrank in fear but also lowered their gazes in respect for the personification of death that had just appeared at the entrance.

Rio walked unhurriedly to the stone bench where your body rested. She touched your face and hoped you had some strength to open your eyes.

Completely white irises stared back at her. An empty, soulless cocoon.

"Poor child." The woman whispered, tracing your cheek carefully. "Agatha never learns."

She made to move away, but you managed to move your hand to hers. "Help me." The mansion's servants left the two of you alone, but Rio didn't care if she had an audience or not. She sighed sadly, her free hand resting above your ribcage.

"Agatha asked me not to take your body, but this is inhumane. You're suffering, Y/N." You shake your head, tears escaping the corners of your eyes. Rio looks at you in confusion and insists: "Of course you are, child, look at you. You're empty. You're not even here anymore." Your fingers intertwine with hers in desperation. "We..West...view."

You struggle to get the words out, until finally, Rio understands.

"Westview is a town in New Jersey. That's where Agatha anchored the preservation spell, isn't it? Tell me where. I'll set you free."

You shake your head and your words change. "Wanda."

The woman frowns. "Wanda? Your wife? What does she have to do with...-"

One of the servants comes back into the room, a newspaper in hand. He seems too scared to interfere, but he still manages to hand the item to Rio.

When she reads the headline about Westview and a mysterious Hex that has quarantined the town, she laughs in disbelief.

She comes back to you only to pull you up in a sitting position, ignoring your grunts of pain.

"Our wives are insane, honey. Get up, let's clean up their mess."

It's a quick trip with Rio's skills, of course.

And you arrive for a very ugly fight, which your body certainly couldn't handle. That's why Rio keeps you both hidden, watching from a distance.

Agatha - as always - takes impulsive actions and this time, she can't win.

In any other situation, Rio would have intervened on her wife's behalf. This time, having to help your body stand up, prevented from decaying by spells because Agatha refused to let you die, she doesn't do it. She just watches Wanda take her power.

After so many centuries of watching Agatha do the same to other witches, it's definitely an interesting scene.

The limit is drawing in imprisoning her. That Rio can't allow.

"May I interrupt, ladies?"

Rio's sudden appearance makes Wanda go on alert and prepare for a fight. But her entire posture collapses when she locks eyes with you.

With a sob, Wanda calls your name and then runs to meet you.

You have trouble staying upright with the hug but you don't dare complain.

Billy and Tommy look at the scene with confused faces, and it is Billy who whispers his version of Hex:

"Why is mom hugging that zombie?"

You laugh softly, ruffling your two children's hair. Wanda is crying, unable to let go of your body, and you sigh tiredly. You feel the tug coming from there, but you have no idea how to regain a physical form. The connection seems impossible.

Agatha starts to cause a commotion with her ex-wife.

"You're so irresponsible, I told you a million times that breaking the natural order of things is impossible, and it's temporary. You don't listen, and you don't learn!" Rio accuses, trying to reach Agatha who is running away from her until she reaches your Hex version.

"Here’s the proof that it's not impossible!" Agatha retorts in despair, ignoring the looks in her direction. "Look at her! She lives! It's her soul! Wanda brought her back. She could-"

"Agatha." Rio cuts her off, tears in her eyes for the first time. She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. And when she speaks again, her voice is much softer than before. "Not him, okay?"

And the witch who is holding your shoulders tightly, sniffs softly, trying to hide her own emotions. "Why? Why can't you give me the only thing I want?"

Rio swallows hard. "He found peace, Agatha. There is no return for his soul. Y/N is still here because you imprisoned her. And Wanda was able to call her back. And now." She gestures to your two versions and your wife. "It's time for goodbyes."

Wanda didn't want to let go of you, but you gave her a reassuring smile.

Your physical body couldn't speak, and she noticed it immediately. She touched your cheeks and stared into your completely white, lifeless eyes.

"I'm sorry for doing this to you." She whispers, sniffing softly. "I'm going to let you go."

The boys don't listen, having been taken away from the confusion by Monica as soon as Agatha and Rio start arguing. And Wanda needs to leave your body with Lady Death, even if it breaks her heart into a thousand pieces.

"Will you take care of her?" She asks, swallowing the urge to cry again. She looks at Agatha, sulking in a corner as if she would also start crying at any moment, and sighs. "Of the two of them?"

Rio nods and looks at Wanda curiously. "We'll meet again, Wanda Maximoff. I'm at the end of all journeys."

The younger witch can't smile back, she just looks at Rio with such deep sadness that it makes the entity regret having been present in so many moments of Wanda's life.

With one last look at your body, the Scarlet Witch joins her family from the Hex, and leaves towards their house, while the magic fades in the sky and around everyone.

-&-

You turned on the lamp just as Wanda had turned off the opposite one, and she smiled as she looked at you.

The boys were sleeping upstairs, and from the window, you could see the Hex closing.

"Sorry, I remembered..." You start awkwardly, out of breath. "That it's bad luck to say goodnight in the dark."

Wanda smiles, approaching in small steps. "Is that so?"

You nod, your hands in your pockets because you don't know what to do with them. You didn't know what to do with anything.

"It's the name of a song, isn't it? One of the many you used to listen to in the Avengers Tower."

Your wife sighs, giving you a sad, almost guilty smile. She's finally close enough to touch.

"I'm sorry about your memories." She asks softly, her hands moving to your wrists. So that you take your hands out of your pockets, and place them where they belong. Around her. "I would have told you the truth from the beginning, but I didn't know-"

She trails off when instead of wrapping your arms around her waist, one of your hands reaches for her cheek, caressing it with a tenderness that makes her melt and gasp.

Wanda can't do this. She can't. She doesn't want to say goodbye, and she can't say goodbye to you again.

"I'm so sorry for making you cry." That's what you say, which just makes her break down into a sob. You give her a tearful smile, your other hand also reaching for her face, to hold her tenderly. "You, Wanda Maximoff, are by far the best thing that has happened to me in 345 years on this earth. The fact that I get to die knowing that I was loved not just by anyone, by you, is the epitome of a fulfilled life.” You say, caressing her skin with your thumb. You take a deep sigh, as your wife tries to hold your hands in her face. “I love you, Wanda.”

“Please.” She cries, falling into your embrace when you move your hands away. She holds you as tight as she can, but she can feel the fading of the spell. “Please come back to me.”

With all your heart, you wished to fulfill her request. And with the end of Hex, the last sensation you felt was Wanda's embrace, and her tears wetting your shirt.

It made all the sense that you woke up with a jump, calling her name.

The place you were in looked nothing like Westview or any place you had been in years.

But it wasn't completely unfamiliar. It looked a lot like a forested area you hadn't been in since the last century.

And the little boy picking flowers near the river where you emerged from took all the air from your lungs.

Little Nicholas Schatch looked back as if he had guessed you were awake.

"Hi, Aunt Y/N."

You gasped with excitement, sitting up. He came closer and didn't complain when you pulled him into a tight hug. Even though you came from the water, your clothes were not wet.

"Hi, Nicky." You cried, holding him until he laughed at the tightness and tried to escape the grip. "Look at you, boy. You look so handsome, so grown up."

It had been so long since you had seen him since you had helped Agatha bury him. He didn't seem to have aged a day, but he had looked so small when he passed, that you had the impression he had grown. "It's so good to see you again, dear." Nick smiled, sitting down next to you on the dry grass.

"You didn't bring Mama with you." You give him a sad smile, shaking your head.

"I'm sorry, little prince, your mama isn't ready yet." He nods in understanding, upset but not insisting. You look around, recognizing that scene, the cabin in the background, the river. You sigh before looking at Nicholas again. "Where's your other mother?" He shrugs, gathering the flowers in his lap. You realize he bound them together with magic, not with knots. You frown, touching his hands. "Can you do magic now, little prince?" He nods, smiling.

"My mother taught me." You stare at him in surprise and then look around again.

"Where are we, Nicky? Do you know?" He gives a confused laugh.

"Home, Aunt Y/N, of course."

You accept the flower necklace he made for you but don’t get up when he walks away back to the lake.

“Nicky.” You call after a moment of thought. He hums, signaling that he’s listening. “Did anyone else come with me? Two other little boys?”

He doesn’t look up from the new necklace he’s making. “No, Aunt Y/N. My mother said Billy and Tommy ran away.”

Your stomach drops. You choke. “W-what… Ran away? Where?”

He shrugs and finally looks at you again.

"She doesn’t know, Auntie. But my mother keeps me here safe, away from the disease. She said she could keep you and Billy and Tommy too. But she needs to find them first."

You freeze and try to hide your reaction from your step-nephew. He gives you a smile before going back to playing, and you force your body to work and stand up.

You take one last look at him before heading towards the cabin, and as soon as you arrive, you realize that it is exactly as you remembered, how you visited Agatha and Rio for decades before Nicky was born - when their life was calm, happy, and peaceful.

Everything that time has erased, photos, paintings, and furniture are fully preserved here. You lean against the walls until you sit in one of the empty chairs at the table.

You notice the pots of food and frown.

Since when do the dead need to eat?

Raising your hand in the air, your first attempt is a simple conjuration. Anything, even a spark. And you end up having to suppress the grunt of pain as you try. Nothing.

Maybe the passage took away all your magic, or maybe it was the river’s doing. Either way, you're dry.

You look through the half-open door at the child playing in the river and bite the inside of your cheek. Your fingers find the flower necklace in your pocket, and even faintly, you feel the magic in them.

Well, a few dozen more, and you'd have enough to get you home.

Hopefully it would be a trip for two.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines #sub!wanda #bottom!wanda #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fics

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tokoyamisstuff · 18 hours ago

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I’m absolutely in love with ur Prison! Mark !!!

He’s so overlooked, I adore my bald-headed freak ♡♡♡

Got any HC for him, regarding his scars and or his massaging specialty ? 👀👀👀

Omg sure! I'd love to write a Oneshot for him but I don't have any inspiration, maybe you got a scenario in mind? 👀

Don't be fooled, this man is just as ruthless and sadistic as his multidimensional counterparts.

The greatest difference between him and the others however is that he fully accepts and even cherishes his human side, since it makes him stand out even from the other Viltrumites. [Slight Comic Spoiler: Adrenaline, iykyk]

For that very same reason he sees his bond with you not as a weakness, but the very souce of his strenght. Many times before, his love for you has brought him to exceed his limits when it came to keep you safe.

The thought of harming or doing as much as leaving you never crossed his mind. You're his precious soulmate, meant to reign at his side and he'd be damned if he let any circumstance take you away from him.

He's a self-proclaimed 'liberator', once even siding with the Coalition of Planets just to betray them in the end.

His motives have always been selfish, aspiring to create his own empire after getting rid of Viltrum from the inside.

When the Viltrumites found out about his intentions, they forced Nolan to carry out the punishment to prove his loyalty.

I really have no idea how exactly they did it, but they literally cooked him alive and somehow slowed down his healing afterwards, so he remained with the proof of those injuries.

Seems like he also inhaled some of whatever burned him, which is why his voice is so much more low and raw compared to his variants.

After this agonizing event not only his body was left severely affected. But instead of fearing the fire, he grew to crave it. #pyromaniac

That incident, and especially the fact that Omni-man putting you in harms way several times, trying to use you as leverage in order to make his son cooperate, are the cause for Mark's deep-rooted hatred for his father.

When he first reunited with you after all of this, his scars didn't seem to have diminished his confidence at all. He never doubted that you don't care about superficialities, after all.

And yet during intimacy he prefers to stay clothed.

This guy is a fucking animal in bed. Like, the sounds that leave his mouth are more animalistic than human. If it wasn't for him holding back due to your fragile human physiology, you would've probably died a very blissful death already.

Kiss or trace his scars with your finger while calling him your pretty boy and this beast of a man will become putty in your hands. Blushing and giggling and hiding his face in your neck, the whole package.

He really is the embodiment of a 'bad boy', but one with a soft core that is genuinely devoted to his partner. He'll make entire civilizations subdue to his will and then come back home taking care of you.

I hope you like big gestures, because this man cannot be subtle about anything. He really enjoys seeing you in charge and always encourages you to go all out, since whatever you desire he'll provide.

He'll gladly grant your every wish and always prepares unique ways to be romantic. Like, really concerning things that probably involve murder and such, but it's the thought that counts.

Loves to infuriate other Viltrumites by shoving his worship for you into their face. They'd send diplomates and he'll have you sit on the throne while he kneels at your feet, ordering them to address any matter to you instead.

Oh, he absolutely allows no disrespect to his mate. It's one of the few occasions where he actually loses his nonchalant attitude, and the consequences will be dire.

In general the two of you are like Bonnie and Clyde but on an interplanetar scale. You live in the moment, do whatever you feel like on a whim and leave the mess you caused behind.

It's only a matter of time until he finds the source to immortality, really. Asides from his other goals, he is searching relentlessly for a way to extend your lifespan during his travel across the galaxy.

All in all, with this Mark you're in for a fantastic sci-fi adventure that'll have you make countless new aquaintaces and experiences.

#watch me make shit up bc the source material gives us 0 background info #invincible #mark grayson #prisoner mark #prisoner invincible #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #prisoner mark x reader #prisoner invincible x reader #writing #fanfiction #headcanons

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shelbgrey · 3 days ago

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hi hi! I just saw that you said you’d start writing for Hotch (he’s such hot dad/ boss material right?!) anyways could I request a Hotch x new reader where she’s the newest member of the team and he’s very protective. Everyone thinks it’s just because she’s new & younger but it’s actually because he really wants her even though he’s her boss. (But that just makes it hotter honestly.) I hope that’s okay & not too vague!

In the name of love(Aaron Hotchner)

Paring: Aaron Hotchner x Reid!Reader

Summary: (based on season 4, episode 1) Hotch has always been protective of y/n, but always played it off that was she was newer to the bau then when that excuse expired it turned into the fact they're best friends. They danced around their feelinga until an act of sudden death entered their lives.

A/n: I kinda had to chang the plot a tiny bit, I hope you like it 😅

MasterList ML2

Ever since Spencer Reid's older sister ditched the medical life to join the BAU to was inevitable she'd become an important part of the team. The BAU is used to the gruesome cases and dead bodies, working in the medical field this didn't bother y/n. It was obvious they were such a close team and it didn't take long for y/n to fit in. In the beginning she wasn't seen as a Rookie, but someone they'd quickly take a bullet for. They were the type of family that would take a bullet for one another. Aaron Hotchner, her unit chief, is someone who would take a bullet for her without a second thought, even if he didn't realize how much she truly meant to him.

The team, especially Derek and aside from Spencer would give him crap for how protective he was. Derek saw right through it and with Rossi Intoe they'd joke and push Aaron to make a move. Spencer on the other hand was clueless to it all. And on top of that y/n would just follow orders, especially in the beginning. But she wasn't stupid, she caught onto his over protectiveness and honestly she loved it. She never had someone care that much about her safety. She was always the one protecting Spencer and taking care of their mother. This time she had someone taking care of her, deep down it scared her because it was such a new feeling, but she got used to it. Especially when she started considering Aaron her best friend.

Months passed and she wasn't new anymore, but Aaron was still protective. His over protectiveness followed them into New York for a case. Their case was about people who apparently have nothing in common and are being shot randomly in New York City. The team didn't know if it was a single person or a team. Of course, under Aaron's orders, y/n spent most of the case inside with JJ and away from flying bullets. To the dismay of Aaron Hotchner, he learned quickly he couldn't protect her from everything. No matter how hard he tried.

That night Aaron offered to take y/n back to the hotel like usual. Like usual she agreed. Both of them were unaware of the trap that was set under that SUV. They were just a couple of feet away from the SUV when the bomb the unsub planted exploded, shooting them across the street. Y/n landed the farthest away. She layed on the road in pain.

“Aaron!” she cried out, holding her side.

The impact of the blast knocked Aaron to the ground, his ears ringing from the sound. He groaned as he slowly got to his feet, pain shooting through his body from the fall. “y/n!” He managed to say, his head spinning.

He looked around, panic starting to set in when he saw her lying on the ground. He rushed over to her, stumbling as he moved as quickly as he could. Aaron knelt down beside you, his eyes widening when he saw the blood. He carefully pushed your hand away, his touch gentle as he examined the wound.

“I think I'm bleeding” y/n gasped softly, disoriented. She grabbed the side of her stomach, feeling a pool of blood, leaking over both of their hands.

“It's bad” He mumbled, trying to keep his voice steady. His heart was racing, fear and worry written all over his face. He could see she was barely conscious.

Y/n winced when he put more pressure on the gash on her body, both of their hands were getting reader, soaking in blood. “God dammit” she gasped softly.

Aaron cursed under his breath, the sight of the blood making him feel sick. He continued to apply pressure to the wound, trying to stem the flow as best he could. “Just, just stay with me, okay? You're going to be alright” He said, trying to sound reassuring but failing miserably.

He knew that help wasn't going to come anytime soon and that he had to do what he could to keep her alive.

“Explosions are a lot cooler in movies than they are in real life,” y/n winced. She talked a lot when she was nervous. She was nervous plus getting light headed. “Aaron, that idiot exploded the car”

Aaron agreed, focusing on keeping pressure on her wound. He could see that she was getting lightheaded and knew that time was running out. “Try to stay awake, okay? You've lost a lot of blood” He said, his voice cracking with fear.

“God dammit, why did it have to be in New York?,” y/n was losing consciousness, not really understanding what she was saying now. “I don't want to die in freaking New York”

Aaron’s grip on her hand got tighter. He was trying to keep his composure but the panic inside him was growing. “You're not going to die, you hear me? You're not. You're going to be fine” He said, his voice shaking as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. The thought of her not making it through this was unbearable, he couldn't lose her.

--------(flashback)--------

“You know there's a difference between being protective and just plain benching the poor girl” Rossi said.

“You saw what happened, when that bastard kidnapped Reid and her, ” Aaron said flatly, thinking about the unsub(who had split personalities) had her and Spencer. “I'm not risking that again”

“Ever since that day you haven't even considered the idea that she knows how to take care of herself” Rossi said seriously and quietly.

“I know she can, but that doesn't mean I'm not gonna have her back”

--------(end of flashback)--------

“New York is gross and loud,” y/n said softly and breathlessly. She was getting disoriented. She gulped as she gripped the hand he had on her gash. Both of their hands were nothing but red with blood now. “why can't we have an unsub in Tennessee or s-something” To y/n there was only one reason to go to Tennessee, Memphis specifically and the only reason to go there was Graceland and all Elvis stuff.

Aaron chuckled softly, despite the situation the both of them were in. “Yeah, you've always hated New York,” He said, recalling all the times she had complained about the city. His eyes flicked to their bloody hands. The sight was a stark reminder of just how dire the situation was. “And we don't get all the crazy cases. Plus, you'd go out of your mind for all the Elvis stuff in Memphis”

Y/n tried to laugh, but ended up just letting out a painful cough. “yeah, P-probably couldn't be trusted to n-not w-wonder off” she winced, trying to stay focused but she just got dizzier.

Aaron noticed her struggling to stay focused and he tightened his grip on her hand, trying to keep her grounded. “That's an understatement. You'd be going to Graceland every day like a kid in a candy store” He said, trying to distract her from the severity of the situation. He could see that she was getting weaker by the minute.

“I never actually got to go. D-didn't,” she winced, losing blood. “didn't have the money as a k-kid, Now with the job I don't have e-enough time” she shuddered, her vision getting blurry.

Aaron's grip on your hand tightened. “We'll go. When we get out of here, I'll take you to Graceland. We'll go as many times as you want” He said, his voice determined. He knew that she was fading and that she needed to stay awake.

“It's okay. We just have to wait for the others to get here” He said, his voice shaky and unsure.

“N-no, they C-can't see this,” Tears pricked her eyes as she fades in and out. “Spencer C-can't see it. He can't lose someone else” she shivered, not wanting her little brother Spencer seeing her die.

Aaron winced at her mention of Spencer. He knew how close the two of them were and how much it would hurt Spencer to see her like this. “He's not going to lose you. You're going to be fine” He repeated, trying to reassure himself as much as her. He could see the tears in her eyes and he felt helpless, knowing that there was nothing he could do except keep pressure on her wound and wait for help.

“At least if I kick the bucket now we won't have to worry about him seeing me getting all old and schizophrenic like our mom”

Aaron shook his head, refusing to even entertain the thought of losing you. He couldn't bear the idea of her giving up. “Don't talk like that. You're not going to die, you hear me? You're going to be fine” He said, his voice more firm than before. He could feel her grip on his hand loosening and it terrified him.

“A-Aaron”

Aaron looked at her, his eyes meeting her hazy ones. His heart was racing, fear making it difficult for him to think straight. “Yeah?”

“I N-need to tell y-you something, I can't take it to my grave”

Aaron's grip on her hand tightened and he nodded, his expression serious. “No, you're gonna tell me when you're safe and sound”

he didn't want whatever y/n was about to tell him, he didn't want it to be something she felt like she had to say because she thought she was about to die. He wanted to hear it when she was out of danger, even if it was just to give him peace of mind.

“Aaron” y/n sighed.

Aaron looked at her, his expression full of concern and worry. He could see that she had something important to say and he braced himself for what was coming next.

“I love you,” y/n said softly. “I never expected to fall in L-love with you, b-but I did” she winced as hers and Aaron's hand put more pressure on the gash on her stomach.

Aaron's heart skipped a beat as he heard her confession. He was taken aback, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. He had always felt something for her, something that went beyond friendship and the protection he felt for her, but he had never let himself entertain the idea that it could be something more

But at that moment, with her life hanging in the balance, he couldn't deny it any longer. He realized that he felt the same way, that he loved her with every fiber of his being.

“I'm sorry. I loved you since the day we met” when they met he was married and made y/n feel awful to some degree. He was divorced now, but it still felt weird to confess. But if she was gonna die he needed to know.

Aaron felt a lump form in his throat as y/n confessed that she had loved him since the day they met. It was like a punch to the gut, knowing that all this time she had been carrying those feelings for him. He felt guilty for not seeing it sooner, for being blinded by his own feelings and for what happened months ago. “Why didn't you say anything?” he managed to say, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I think we can make a long list about why I didn't say anything” y/n mumbled.

Aaron chuckled weakly, knowing that she was right. There were a thousand reasons why y/n hadn't said anything, all of them valid and understandable. “guess we could” He said, his mind racing as he processed everything she had just said. He still had a million questions, but they would have to wait until later. Right now, his only concern was keeping her alive until help arrived.

“If, If something does happen. If I die, tell Spencer I'm sorry. That I'm proud of him”

Aaron shook his head, refusing to even entertain the thought of her dying. He couldn't lose her, not now, not after everything that had happened. “You're not going to die. You're going to be fine. You're going to make it through this” He said, his voice firm and determined, but there was a hint of desperation in it. He was desperate to keep y/n alive, to keep her with him.

Just then, in the distance, he heard sirens. Help was finally coming. He looked down at y/n, his eyes hopeful. “See? Help's here. You're gonna be alright”

Y/n nodded softly, barely keeping focused. Aaron's grip on her hand was so tight it was probably hurting her. He was terrified of losing her, of letting go. Finally, the medics arrived and took over for him, gently prying his hand away from hers.

He felt helpless as he watched them load y/n onto a stretcher and into the ambulance, his heart racing with worry. He followed her into the ambulance as she lost consciousness.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

It was a long night for Aaron. He paced around the hospital waiting room, his eyes glued to the clock. Every tick of the seconds felt like an eternity. He was desperate for news, anything to tell him that y/n was okay.

“Pacing around isn't gonna help” Rossi said softly.

“I really don't want to hear it, Dave” Aaron sighed, as he sat down next to him.

Aaron sighed, slumping down next to Rossi. He rubbed his hands together and his knee was bouncing up and down nervously. He could hear the faint ringing in his ear from the explosion, meaning the adrenaline he was feeling was dying down and he could feel the damage that was done to him.

“You should get checked out” Rossi said softly, looking at the cuts on Aaron's face and the red stains on his hands.

“I'm fine”

“Y/n won't be out of surgery for another few hours” Rossi said softly. “you've protected her enough for the night, take care of yourself”

“I found out tonight I can't protect her from everything”

“It's pretty much impossible, but that doesn't make you any less of a good person” Rossi reassured to which Aaron stared off in the distance and nodded.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

Later that night y/n woke up from surgery. She winced softly, making Spencer and Aaron both jump to her side. Y/n opened her eye and smiled slightly when it clicked Arron and Spencer were there with her. She swallowed. “Did you get the unsub? Y/n asked in a soft, weak tone.

Aaron's eyes are red from lack of sleep and from worrying about her, while Spencer looks exhausted but relieved to see that she was awake. “Yeah, we got him. Morgan found him and got em” Aaron said, his voice filled with exhaustion. He lets out a sigh, feeling a weight lifted off of his shoulders.

Y/n nodded as Spencer reached out and gently took her hand, she could see in his eyes how terrified he had been. Then he started crying in relief and worry.

Y/n gave him a weak, sympathetic smile. “Come on, don't cry, I'm okay”

Spencer tries to stop himself from crying, but he can't help it. He's been worrying about y/n for hours and now that he knows she's okay, the floodgates have opened. “I can't help it. I was so worried about you” He managed to say through his tears.

“I'm okay” y/n repeated.

Spencer nods, trying to compose himself, but he's still crying softly. He's just so relieved that y/n was okay and that she was awake.

Meanwhile, Aaron is standing next to him. His expression is a mix of relief, exhaustion, and something else. There's a intensity in his eyes as he looks at y/n, like he has something he needs to say.

Aaron takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with what he's about to say. “Can I talk to you for a moment? Alone?”

Y/n nodded softly as Spencer looks reluctant to leave, but he also knew that she and Aaron needed to talk. He gets up from his chair and leaves the room, giving her a worried look before closing the door behind him.

It's just y/n and Aaron now. He stands there, staring at her, taking in every detail of her face.

“Always so serious” y/n said, giving him a weak grin.

Aaron let out a small chuckle, his expression softening. “Yeah, I have to be. I'm the unit chief, remember?” He took a step closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said softly, clearing her throat. “I know”

*He smiled warmly at y/n, glad to see some color returning to her cheeks. “You had me worried, you know that?”

“I know” y/n said softly, clearing her throat gently. It was still dry and rough from the surgery.

Aaron could see the discomfort on her face and he wished he could make it go away. “Are you thirsty? I can get you some water”

“N-no, I don't want you to go away”

He shakes his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay right here”

He takes the seat to y/n’s side once more and gently grabs her hand, his thumb running circles over her knuckles, making her smile weakly. He can feel the weight of everything that happened finally lifting off of his shoulders. Y/n was going to be okay and that was all that mattered.

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. “There's, there's something I need to tell you”

Y/n nodded softly and he hesitated for a moment, struggling to find the right words. He had been thinking about what to say all night, but now that the moment was here, he found himself tongue-tied. “I just, I need you to know that I-”

“You don't have to say anything” y/n said softly, shaking her head. “I shouldn't have brought it up in a moment like that”

Aaron shakes his head, cutting her off. “No, I do. I need to say this,” He takes a deep breath, looking y/n directly in the eyes. “I love you”

“I love you,” she smiled weakly. “I'd be more spontaneous and maybe even try to jump your bones, but I'm so high on pain meds and I feel like an elephant is sitting on me all at the same time”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head at her attempt to lighten the mood. His grip on her hand tightened, his expression growing serious again. “You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

Y/n smiled softly and Aaron shook his head, his expression softening. “But seriously, you scared the hell out of me. Don't ever do something like that again, you hear me?”

“I hear ya”

He was quiet for a moment, just looking into y/n’s eyes. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to do, but he knew that she wasn't in any condition for that right now. “Get some rest, okay? I'll stay right here”

#Aaron hotchner x reader #Aaron hotchner #Hotch #Aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner headcanons #Criminal minds #Criminal minds x reader #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid imagines #Criminal minds imagines #Bearded Hotch 😩

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