asapeveryday

[asapeveryday]

please i need me some noctuary smut PLEASE 🙏🏽

LOL trust the slow burn.

but if one of the upcoming chaps were to have smut...feel free to send prompts/trope/requests/things you'd like to see and maybe i can fit them in...

[asapeveryday]

how many parts do you think noctuary will have?

depends on how life treats me tbh but atm i see like 2/3 more chapters maybe? plus a couple one shots/hcs for the same story bc i don't think i can part from them too fast (even tho its been months)

[asapeveryday]

i need noctuary chaps to be 20k words long :(

INJECT TLOU PAIGE IN ME

AWEE bro i wish i had it in me to write long chaps but i just cantttt

but yes tlou paige is so so fun and amazing and yes!

[asapeveryday]

we NEED. a pt two to No Light No Armor 🙏🙏

anything specific i should write in?

[asapeveryday]

noctuary #7 - p.b x tlou au

noc·​tu·​ary ˈnäkchəˌwerē:

a collection of a single night's events, thoughts or dreams

pairing: Paige Bueckers x reader AU: The Last of Us 2 x Wbb crossover warnings: canon typical violence, veryyyyy brief mention of violent physical relationships synopsis: you meet her on the brink of giving up. she’s suspicious, too nice, too charismatic. you know you should be on guard, but you’ve got nowhere to go, and she’s eager to have nobody to be notes: why did I take 20 days to write this…life hit hard. Anyways, we’re nearing the end!!!! Woohoo!

Prev. Chap Here

THE NEXT TIME you see her, it’s the hottest day of the year.

You can feel it the moment you wake up. Your pyjamas are thrown across your room, limbs sticky with midnight sweat, hairline damp.

You begrudgingly slip out of your sheets, bare legs meeting the humid air.

Days were slow in Jackson. No more bonfires, or late night smokes. You worked, you came home. Nika had gone on patrol for a day or two with Aubrey, and ran errands while she was back.

Paige had been incredibly busy helping around the camp, and you’d barely said a word to her since she’d barfed on your lawn and slept over.

The stagnancy brought some good things too. Like your house, for one, that was finally starting to feel like home. You grew to appreciate the way the wood creaked beneath your feet, the way sun shone through your bedroom window.

Bare with the exception of a worn out tank and even more worn, lacy white underwear you managed to snag, you hum as you walk to your kitchen, taking your time as you drink your morning water and prep a quick breakfast.

The house is so quiet all the time, aside from the noises it makes on its own. Sometimes you find yourself thinking about the sound of another pair of feet on your floorboards, or another body under the running water of your shower. You’d heard the noise once, and never forgot it.

It should’ve unnerved you more that day, but it didn’t. You can’t quite forget that either.

How right it felt.

You shake your head in hopes of banishing the thoughts, walking to your couch with your breakfast in hand, when there’s a knock on the door.

Your eyes narrow.

It’s six-thirty in the morning, you don’t have to be at the barn till seven-thirty. There isn’t any reason for someone to be at your door.

Quietly, you approach the door, grasping the knife off of your plate for good measure. On your tip toes, you peek out of the peephole in the wood.

She’s standing there, hands in her pockets, head cocked, lip between her teeth in wait. Blonde hair messy, un-brushed and in scraggly waves that end past her shoulders.

You’re about to turn away when she opens her mouth.

“I know you’re there, horse girl.” She taunts, eyes staring down. “I can see your feet through the cracks.”

You let a groan out. “Isn’t it a little early, Paige?”

“You’re up anyways.” She smiles. “You gonna open the door?”

“Can you come back later?” You sigh, staring between your un-eaten breakfast and bare-naked legs.

“I’ll be fast.” She pushes. “Real quick.”

You consider. If it were anyone else, you’d tell them to fuck off. But for whatever reason, she makes all the difference. The knife in your free hand doesn’t hurt either.

Carefully, you creak the door open, twisting a little awkwardly to keep most of your lower half behind the door. She doesn’t so much as drag her eyes down there.

“You look a lot nicer when you’re not puking on my front lawn.” You snort. It’s true, she does look nice. Baggy, blue jeans held up by a thick brown leather belt. White tank, tucked in. Blue flannel, sleeves rolled up. Proper farm girl, enough to give you a run for your money.

“Moment of weakness.” She hums, smile still on her face. It’s mischievous, goading, even.

“What do you want?” You frown.

“I remembered I told you we’d patrol,” she shrugs. “So, let’s go.”

“Today?”

“You busy?” Paige grins.

“I might be.” You smile in return.

Paige raises a brow, arms crossing over her chest. “Doing what? Braiding Sue for the fortieth time and bartering with Nika for lingerie?”

“Careful.” Your eyes narrow.

Her cheeks turn pink the moment you say it, eyes breaking from yours like a nervous teenager. “I’ll give you like, twenty minutes to eat and change.” She mutters.

“Forty-five.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Forty.”

“It takes you forty minutes to eat and change?” She laughs incredulously.

“I take advantage of the fact that I get to enjoy my mornings now.” You huff.

“Well, if you’re gonna take that long I might as well wait inside with you.” She says. Her face is casual, no hint of emotion. Her only tell is her eyes, which sneakily dart downwards, glancing over the lacy trim of your underwear, and the bare expanse of your legs.

“Nice try.” You snort, slamming the door shut in her face. “I’ll take thirty.”

You hear her chuckle behind the door, and immediately shiver.

Despite how hot it is outside, your legs are covered in goosebumps.

You eat standing up, scarfing down your meal in 10 minutes flat before running to the bathroom to wash up, throwing your hair into a style that keeps it out of your face and freshening up.

Then you’re rushing around your room, frantically plucking things to throw in your backpack. It’s already mostly packed with essentials—hunting knifes, old rags, flasks of alcohol, extra clothes—you rush to add some fresh water and emergency food, before running back downstairs to get changed.

What should you wear? It’s sweltering outside, you’re sweating even with just your tank and panties. You can’t wear shorts, so you settle for worn out jeans that hang a little too low, and a breathable cotton top that shows some midriff when you stretch your arms—just for extra ventilation.

You’re double checking your bag for the tenth time when you pause by your bedside table, considering something in particular.

You slide open the table drawer, eyes meeting the plastic baggy you kept for company, four pre-rolled joints sitting in wait inside the clear film.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Twenty-five, let’s go!” You hear Paige call, muffled from the distance

You grab the plastic baggy and stuff it in your backpack, running up the stairs and hurriedly slipping your shoes on as you open the front door again.

“I said thirty.” You huff, finally managing with your shoes and stepping out beside her.

“See how good you are when you push yourself?” Paige grins. “You can be fast when you want to be.”

You just roll your eyes at her.

“Don’t be salty.” She hums. “Five minutes is almost nothing.”

“A lot can happen in five minutes, Paige.” You glance at her slyly. She just shakes her head with a suppressed smile, shoving past you slightly as she begins to walk out of your lawn.

You follow close behind her.

YOU FOREGO RIDING horseback—you don’t know how, and she doesn’t like it much anyways.

Instead you leave with nothing but the weight of your backpack, and her stare on your shoulders.

“We won’t be going far without horses.” You hum.

“We could if we wanted to take up a few days.” Paige chirps.

“Right.” You slow down, waiting for her to walk beside you. “I can’t believe you walked that far when you found me.”

She just shrugs.

The run is blazing, hot and bright on your skin as you and Paige walk further and further from Jackson’s massive gates. The grassy ground stretches for miles on miles, green and healthy from rainfall a few days prior.

The air smells like dirt and cedar as you let her take the lead, boots crunching on the ground beneath you with every step.

You don’t force any conversation, instead allowing the day to take its course. It’s like you have a billion things to say to her, but no way to articulate each point.

You want to ask her questions, you want to pry. You want to know what she’s like when she’s not being Jackson’s-Lifesaver-Paige, hear it from her mouth—why she leaves for days, like it’s just a few hours—and you want to know why she likes you enough to take her with her.

When the grass grows less barren, and the trees start to cover your sight, you settle with, “Where are we going?”

She’s still beside you, eyes straight ahead. “There’s a camp a little father out that needs some maintenance.”

“Camp?”

Her eyes meet yours, bright blue and slightly squinted due to the sun. “Jackson has these small camps near the city, they’re like checkpoints or emergency stops for people coming in or out.”

“Is this one far?” You ask.

“Not really.” She shrugs. “If we were on horses we’d almost be there.”

You nod, returning your gaze to the trees and the grassy path you’re following. The sun shines between every leaf, speckling the ground with golden spots against the green.

She’s still looking at you, you can feel it on your face. She stares subtly, eyes glancing down every now and then.

Finally, you have enough, and you turn to catch her staring.

You raise a brow. “What?”

“Nothing.” She purses her lips. “Just thinking.”

Now it’s your turn to stare, watching curiously as she peels her eyes from you slow as molasses, like it’s hard for her to pull away. You can see it on her face, she is thinking.

You fight the urge to ask her what it is that she’s got her mind on.

“What kind of maintenance do we have to do when we get there?” You ask.

“Basic restock.” She hums, tapping her backpack. “Stuff like medical supplies, non-perishable food. Essential stuff.”

You nod.

“Basic clean up too.” Paige adds, half glancing at you. “People leave those places looking like a crime scene. Plus, sometimes the odd straggler gets in.”

“Human? Or infected.”

Paige shoots you a serious look. “Both.”

“And when you say clean up…” you frown.

“Nobody can live in those camps.” She says. “Either they leave or come to Jackson. Infected aren’t so lucky.”

You nod.

“The camps can be really nice.” She adds. “The one we’re going to is. You’ll like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Paige nods.

“S’too bad we won’t be there to long then.” You hum.

There’s a glint in her eye as she smiles. “We can take as long as we want.”

“Paige,” You snort, “really? Geno knows where he sent us, we can’t take too long of it’s that close by.”

“He won’t know of we take a little detour on the way back.” Paige shrugs. “Or maybe the place is a shitshow, and we need to stay longer.”

“Paige.”

She glances at you, tongue darting out to wet her lips. The sun makes her skin shine, she looks brighter than she did before.

“You won’t get in trouble.” Paige says, her tone serious, sure. “And if you do, which you won’t by the way, I’ll take the blame.”

You can’t help but blanch a little at the statement, at the way she affirms your worries without you even having to say anything. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s not your fault.” Paige huffs, but you hear something beneath her words, “because it’s what I do.”

You stare at her a little too long, thinking about her. About her life. You footsteps are in sync with here on the grassy path.

“Are we almost there?” You ask.

She bites her lip to hold a laugh.

“Easy.” She hums lowly. “You’ll know.”

You snort. She smiles.

You both keep walking.

The path is long, a perfect clearing between densely packed cedar trees that fill the air with a fresh scent. You’re sweating your ass off even with your breathable clothes. Paige must be sopping under her flannel and tank.

“Aren’t you hot?” You pant.

“I’ve been told that.” She shrugs, before promptly yelling when you nudge her.

“I’m serious.” You frown. “It’s too hot out to be wearing layers.”

“Yeah.” She sighs, shoving her backpack off and rolling her shoulders back as she slips off the flannel. “You right.”

“See?” You stop to wait. “You’re sweaty as hell.”

“Just say you want me to lose the layers.” She scoffs, shooting you a cheeky look, which you ignore.

She slides the fabric off of her shoulders and down her arms, folding the material and shoving it into her bag. Her biceps pop against the thin white tank. Normally that would deter you, but your eye has been caught by something else.

“Paige, what the fuck.”

“What?” She asks, glancing up at you confused before following your line of vision. She peeks at her forearm.

Against the white of her skin, there’s a large, spindly gash. It’s still raw, just barely starting to scab at the corners.

“Oh.” She hums. “Yeah, that.”

The wound twists as she shoulders her backpack again. She looks at you plainly.

“Hello?” You grit your teeth. “Where’s that from?”

“Last patrol I went on.” Paige shrugs. “S’not a big deal.”

“Paige, that looks painful.” You frown, grabbing her arm. Her eyes widen in surprise, watching you intently as you inspect the wound.

“How did I not notice this?” You mumble, thinking back to when you last saw her. She had slept over at your house, worn your clothes, sat beside you on your front yard, and you hadn’t noticed.

“I didn’t notice it either.” She says, still surprised by your worry. “It only started bothering me when I went home after your place. Must’ve been the adrenaline. Or the weed.”

“You should cover this up.” You bite your lip, sucking in a breath at the thought of her leaving this uncared for.

“That was the point of the flannel.” She deadpans.

“Not what I meant.” You frown.

“It’s not a big deal!”

“Paige—“ you start, but you stop just as fast. There’s a crackle in the distance, familiar enough to make your stomach drop.

Paige stiffens, sliding her arm from your grasp to grip the pistol in her waistband without a word. You similarly grapple the knife Paige lended you for the patrol.

“Can’t use this right away.” She mutters. “If there’s a lot of em then the noise will attract them to us.”

“You don’t have a silencer?”

“It does a shit job.”

You nod tightly, eyes trained ahead. You can hear them clearer now, up ahead. There must be a few.

“Keep walking.” Paige hushes.

You raise a brow in question.

“We have to go that way. The camp is just up ahead.” She adds.

Carefully, you follow her lead. The trees don’t lower in density, bright green leaves at every turn, but you see it the closer you get. Dark wooden logs, stacked against each other. Old windows, pointed roof.

Two clickers on the front lawn.

“Ready!” She calls out to you, but they’re already running, jaws slung open, saliva flying from their rotten lips.

One reaches Paige first, growling as it lunges for her. You try your best to stab it, but the other knocks you off your feet, straight to the grassy floor.

“Fuck!” You groan, scrambling to get up before it mounts you. You hear a similar struggle close by, the sound of grass under Paige’s body as she grunts against the infected. It’s on top of her, mouth open, ready to bite.

You’re torn back to your own fight in an instant. The clicker flies at you mouth first, teeth bared scarily close.

You swing with all your might, slashing its neck and splattering blood all over you in the process. You try your best to keep your mouth closed despite your staggering breathing.

A little ways beside you, Paige flips atop the clicker, slapping its face with the barrel of her gun. Its jaw cracks on impact, the noise echoing through the woods.

There’s another click as she points the gun to the flailing creatures temple, safety off, eyes wild, lips spitting stray hairs out of her mouth,

You run over frantically before her finger can pull the trigger, stabbing the clicker in the heart. The blade makes a squelching noise as it pierces through the rotting flesh. It stops fighting in an instant, reduced to faint twitches and groans.

Paige loosens, exhaling through her mouth with relief as she lowers her armed hand. She blows a strand of blonde away from her face.

“I had that.” She mutters.

“Would’ve attracted god-knows-what else with the noise.” You mutter. “Fuck, look at your arm!”

She glances down at the arm that holds the gun. The long, scabbing wound from before has reopened from the fight, and deep red blood trickles down her elbow.

“It’s fine.” She scoffs, eyeing you up and down. “You look worse than I do.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask if it bit me?” You raise a brow, glancing down at your bloody state. You can feel it on you, covering at least half of your face and neck, drenching your shirt.

“I know it didn’t.” Paige sighs, getting off of the clicker. “I watched you.”

Your stomach dips a little at the comment, at how simply she says it. You say nothing, opting to stare at your surrounds instead.

“I’m gonna patch you up.” You say.

“I can do it.” She snorts. “You need a shower. C’mon, let’s head in.”

“Is that it?” You ask.

“If there were more, they would’ve heard us by now.” Paige mutters, stepping forward towards the camp.

You can see it clearer now without the distractions. It’s big, and beautiful. Deep, rich wood. Wraparound porch. Old, sun-stained windows. Nothing like what you had in mind for a camp.

“C’mon!” Paige calls out, and you realize she’s waiting by the front door.

Wordlessly, you hurry after her.

THE CAMP IS like something out of a story book, fully furnished, lights yellowed but working, water running and warm.

Most of all, the place is clean.

You’d expected a crime scene. The place was guarded by clickers after all, and you know these camps were checkpoints of safe houses for travellers or people on patrol who may need to hide out. You figured there may be a mess, some sign of struggle or injury, maybe.

But no, there’s nothing. The floors are clean. There’s no garbage around. No gauze, used and strewn. Not a chair out of place at the table.

Paige speaks first.

“This is so weird.” She mutters, mostly to herself, as she steps into the house. The wooden floors creak under her feet. “Huh.” She says as she surveys the place the same way you did.

“It’s really nice.’ You breathe. “Like nobody has been here.”

‘I’ve never done maintenance on a safe house where there wasn’t a mess.” Paige swallows. You follow her into the house, gawking at the sheer beauty of the place.

You let you finger trail on the kitchen counter as you pass it. Not even a spec of dust comes up.

Paige’s backpack falls limply to the ground as she steps past the beautiful, long, wooden dinner table, and begins to step downstairs.

“Wait here.” She says. “Gonna see if this place needs a restock.”

You nod, watching her disappear down the staircase. When she leaves, you take the chance to turn around and take in the place. The windows are huge, one is almost floor to ceiling with a sliding door that leads to a massive, wooden balcony.

“Whoa.” You whisper to yourself, approaching the glass carefully.

Just past the porch is another staircase that leads to a dock. And the dock leads to a small, but beautiful lake.

This camp is a lake house.

“What the fuck!” You hear from downstairs, and you immediately jump in surprise.

“Paige?” You call out.

She comes running up in a split second, brows furrowed.

“This place is fully fucking stocked!” She huffs with exasperation.

“Really?”

“Yes!” She groans. “What a fuckin’ waste.”

“You sure this place is a safe house?” You cut in, glancing back outside.

She starts to say something else, but softens at your expression. Carefully, she steps to stand beside you in front of the window.

“It’s nice, right?”

“Too nice.” You mumble. “You guys made this?”

She just shakes her head. “Not this one, no. This place existed before Jackson. Before the infected did, too.”

“Really?” Your eyes widen.

“Yeah.” She hums. “Geno said it was a vacation house.”

“Vacation.” You snort, glancing between Paige and the lake. “Forgot people back then could do stuff like that.”

“Well, people who stay here can too.” Paige grins, holding your eye.

You bite your lip in thought. She stares at you, and then your clothes.

“You got another shirt to wear?” She winces. “There might be clothes here if not.”

“I brought stuff.” You mumble, cowering slightly from her gaze. “Should I wash off..or do you…your arm. Let me—“

“Go.” She laughs, pushing you slightly. “You can clean me off after, since you’re so desperate. Just—wash off first.”

“Okay.” You frown. “Where do I..”

“Right, you haven’t been here,” she snorts, “down that hall, door on the left.”

You send her a grateful nod, shouldering your backpack down the dim-lit hall and through the left door. The bathroom is unlike one you’ve ever seen. The light crackles on with some effort, but the water from the shower runs warm. The bathroom fills with a slight fog as you peel your bloody clothes off of you, thankful that your jeans and undergarments stayed un-stained.

You step into the hot shower, sighing in relief as the water hits your skin and rinses off the blood and sweat. You’re still a little self conscious—the shower is only blocked off by clear glass, but it’s soon covered by fog. It’s not like Paige would come in anyways.

By the time you’re finished, you feel much better. You step out of the shower and towel yourself dry, before stepping toward the sink.

You swipe at the mirror to clear some of the condensation, peering at your face, your damp hair and skin, every blemish and pore. It’s the weirdest thing, that you suddenly feel the need to look nice. To look clean.

Those things never mattered before, you didn’t have time for it to matter. Somewhere between your banishment from your old camp, and your introduction to Jackson, that had changed.

And here you were, leisurely taking hot showers in a lake house, taking your time in the mornings, and wearing lace underwear.

And feeling warm at the attention that all of those things attract.

You feel your face getting hot like a little kid. Shaking the thought off, you shimmy yourself into fresh clothes and leave the bathroom.

As you walk to the living room, you see Paige crouched behind the kitchen counter. She stands up at the noise of your feet on the floorboards, her skin flushed red and her hair wet, soaking through her white tank.

“You took a shower too?” You ask, tossing your backpack as you sit on the counter.

“Yeah.” she says, eyes darting from your thighs spread on the kitchen counter to your face. “There’s two washrooms.”

You scoff. “This is insane.”

“If anyone asks, we had to hide out for the night.” Paige grins, kneeling back down to reach the cabinets under the counter.

You watch as she takes things from her backpack—gauze, disinfectant, sutures, bandages—and packs them neatly into first aid kids before storing them in the cabinets.

“They’re all stocked on food.” Paige grumbles from beneath you. “But a little low on this shit.”

“Good we came then.” You shrug.

“Nah.” She hums. “Would’ve been fine without the restock to be honest. No clue what Nika was on.”

“Nika?” You tune in, brain snagging on her name. “What about her?”

Paige glances up at you for a moment. From her stance on the ground, her eyes look so wide, peering at you like you’ve never seen before. She glances back at her hands before you can compute it.

“She told Geno that she passed by the place when she last went on patrol, and that it was a total mess.” Paige snorts. “Got him to put me on it. She even said it was so bad that I’d need help.”

You almost blanch at the statement. Nika, that sneaky little shit. She’d been egging on something between you and Paige, and here she was interfering in any way she could.

“Right.” Is all you say. Paige glances up at you again, curiously, before her hand grasps your calf.

“Uh—“

“Scooch.” She says, lifting your dangling leg so she can slide under. She’s still working at the cabinets, but now she’s between your legs under the counter.

You almost choke on your breath. She doesn’t even look up.

Your heart beats a little harder, you can feel it in your fingertips.

“Almost done.” She mumbles. “Then we can relax. You know, you don’t even need a vacation. You braid hair everyday.”

“Oh, shut up.” You squeak out, trying to get ahold of yourself. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“I was hoping to get your adrenaline going, you know.” She smirks. “I thought a little action might be a good introduction to patrol.”

“I’m fine with this too.” You say, a little too low, too sultry. She just smiles.

“Is it, though?” Paige says. “You’re an adrenaline junkie. Nothing’s had your heart racing since you got to Jackson.”

“Not true.” You shoot back. She looks up at this, one brow raised, lips parted. Daring you to say something that toes the line.

“Oh yeah?”

“We just had a fight outside.” You shrug. “That got my heart racing.”

She drops her gaze, shaking her head with a grin, knowing you got her. “That was nothing.”

“Yeah, could’ve been better.” You nod.

Without warning, she rises up to her full height between your legs.

“All done.” She smiles.

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Uhm, your arm.”

“Oh yeah.” Paige says, holding out her arm. “I showered, so that washed the mess away.”

“Pass me one of those kits.”

She grabs one from below and hands it to you. You grab the disinfectant spray and bandages, taking her arm with your hand.

“This might sting.” You smile. She just nods, eyes not even on your hands, but rather your face. Your lips.

You ignore it, spraying the alcohol, biting your lip as she winces. Her other hand leaves her side and grips your thigh—briefly—before finding the counter edge and opting for that instead.

“Sorry.” She bites out.

“S’fine.” You choke, dabbing the excess disinfectant before starting with the bandages. Still grasping her arm, you carefully wrap the bandage around the wound before safety pinning it securely.

Every time you glance at her, she’s already looking at you.

“Done.” You whisper, letting go of her.

She looks at her arm, then you again.

“Thank you.” Paige says.

She stays between your legs for a moment, and you feel your chest heave. Breathing seems harder, heavier, when she’s close like this.

She finally steps back.

“I’m gonna sit outside before it gets too dark.” She mutters, blue eyes barely dancing around you. “Are you…gonna…”

“Yeah.” You tut, a little too fast, “I’ll be there.”

“Cool.” She grunts.

You just try and relax before you embarrass yourself.

EVENING IS FINALLY SETTLING by the time you make it out. It took a lot of mental strength and effort, honestly. You were a little shaken after the debacle in the kitchen.

But weirdly enough, it felt wrong to leave her outside alone. And the view from the house’s dock is magical.

The sun begins to set on the water, docile and only rippling when the odd fish swims too close to the top. Orange and pink paints the sky, dark blue just chasing after it. May flies hoard random spots in the sky. Bull frogs croak from the cattails near the edges of the lake.

She doesn’t turn to look at you when you sit next to her on the dock, legs dangling just short of the water.

“Fuck, it’s not out here.” You groan.

“Thought you weren’t gonna come.” Paige hums.

“I wasn’t.” You shrug. “Changed my mind though.”

She sneaks a look at you, then. At your face, and at your hands which hold your plastic baggy of joints and a lighter.

“You gonna smoke?”

“I dunno.” You say. “I will if you will.”

Paige takes a deep breath in, and you see the cogs turn in her head before she says. “Nah. I won’t.”

You’re a little taken aback, stung, even, at the rejection.

“You going sober on me?” You half laugh, poorly disguising your surprise.

“No.” She chuckles dryly. “I just feel like we always high when we’re talking seriously.”

“And you wanna see if it holds when we’re not?” You finish her thought.

“Just curious.” She mutters, but you know this is more serious than she’s letting on.

After a moment of silence, you toss the lighter and baggy behind you, further up the dock.

“Fine by me.” You shrug. “That was my stash for when I can’t sleep, anyways.”

She doesn’t respond, and you don’t keep talking. Silence fills the air, but it’s not thick or uncomfortable. It’s careful. You watch the water. She pretends to.

Finally, she decides to break. “How’s your leg?”

“My leg?”

“Your calf.” She nods. “Remember? You got cut?”

“Oh.” You nod, swallowing at the memory. “Yeah. When we met.”

You bring one leg up, touching the obvious valley of skin that scars you. Paige’s eyes follow those movements.

“It’s good.” You nod. “Much better, after I got help in Jackson. Just left a nasty mark.”

“Does that bother you?” She asks.

“I dunno. It’s not my worst scar. Just my most recent.”

She nods, glancing at her arm. “I guess this one’ll scar pretty bad too.”

“Only if you keep opening it up.” You scoff.

Paige smiles slightly.

“Do the scars bother you?” You ask.

“No.” She hums. “Everyone’s got ‘em. Sometimes it’s the way you get them that hurts more.”

“Don’t I know it.” You scoff.

She pauses at that, looking at you.

“Can I ask you something?” She asks.

“You already are.”

“About…how things were before Jackson.” Paige mumbles.

You look at her, heart dipping at how careful she’s being.

“Okay.” You nod.

“How did you…” she swallows, “how did it find you? Were you born into it?”

“No.” You shrug. “Basic story, honestly. I dunno where my dad’s at, my mom n’ me were alone. She owed someone a big favour, ended up paying it off to that community. Eventually she couldn’t keep up with the work. When she died I was collateral. They took me in, and I started where she left off.”

Paige nods tightly.

“My turn.” You blink. “Were you always in Jackson?”

She shakes her head. “Most of my life, yeah. I was born in Minnesota, actually. My mom and I lived there for a while in this commune, but she heard from a friend of a friend that there was an actual functioning city in Wyoming.”

“Big trip.”

“Oh, yeah.” She laughs. “Lost mom along the way. Met Azzi. We made it together.”

“Cute.” You mumble.

“Cute?” She raises a brow.

“Fuck.” You straighten. “Not—not your mom…I’m sorry about that. I meant the Azzi part…sorry.”

She laughs. “It’s fine, I know.” Her knee nudges yours, and doesn’t move back. Your legs immediately cover in goosebumps.

“So…Azzi.” You swallow.

“What about her?” Paige snorts.

“I dunno. She’s your only ex. It’s still shocking to me that you only have one, I guess.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why.” Paige frowns. “Let’s not talk about this.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She shrugs. “Just…no point in thinking about the past.”

“Yeah.” You nod.

It’s quiet again. You curse yourself for the word vomit.

“On the topic of future,” Paige goes on, “what’d you see for yourself in a Jackson?”

You scoff. “No idea. I’ve been on survival mode for so long, it’s weird to imagine the future at all.”

Paige nods. “Yeah, lots of people are like that.”

“You’re not?”

“I try not to.” She shrugs. “But I dunno what the future holds, so we’ll see.”

“What do you imagine for yourself?” You ask.

“If all goes well, I’ll take over running the place when Geno and Dawn are gone. I’ll be away a lot, though. Expanding Jackson, making it bigger. And I’ll get married in the old theatre.”

“Married?” You gape.

“We have weddings all the time in Jackson.” Paige smiles.

“Wow.” You blink. “I totally forgot that was something…people did.”

Paige turns to you now, mouth agape. “You’re telling me nobody was together at your camp?”

“Well—people were together.” You snort. “But married? Like, exchanging rings and/or had a celebration married? Hell no. I mean, everyone our age barely even dated.”

“The fuck does that mean.” Paige gawks.

“Like…most of the younger ones. Like, our age, weren’t really committing to shit.”

“So you just…hooked up with whoever?”

“Yeah, basically.” You shrug. “I mean, most of us had favourites. But nobody was exclusive.”

“That is the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” Paige’s eyes screw together. She’s truly confused by this. You realize she must be the insanely loyal type.

“Is it?”

“Yeah?” She huffs. “Like…why?”

“Some thing that I just talked about…not thinking of the future.” You mutter, a little embarrassed now. “I guess…none of us really expected to live as long as we were. Every assignment was like a chance, you know? Everyone just wanted to take shit out on each other, live through each other.”

“Well.” Paige swallows. She’s really trying to understand for you. “Was it…fun? At least?”

“No.”

“No?”

You smile at her sadly. “No. It was toxic. Competitive. Aggressive, most of the time. Fucking was supposed to be an escape, but it ended up being an outlet, and then another way for us to hurt each other. Physically and mentally.”

Paige’s eyes are as wide as saucers.

“Like…there were certain people you knew to stay away from.” You huff. “The…violent ones. Everything else was like a game, you know? The person you’re hooking up with is doing it to hurt the last person, and you’re doing it to forget the next person. Or to forget you almost died the day before. Or to feel like you’re still in control.”

“Nobody fucked for love?” Paige mumbles.

“I’m sure people did.” You sigh, playing with your hands. “But I don’t think it ever lasted long.”

Paige opens her mouth then closes it.

“What?” You ask.

“I just…” she stutters, “did you?”

“Fuck for love?” You raise a brow.

“Love anyone.” She says. “In general.”

“I don’t know.” You say honestly. “Really, I don’t know.”

Paige searches your face, taking in your body language, the way you talk about it all like it’s nothing. She looks sad, so sad.

“It’s fine.” You wave her off. “Things are different in Jackson. I dunno if I’ll ever get married, but it’s nice to know people do.”

“Why wouldn’t you get married?” Paige asks.

You bite your lip. The answer is stuck in your throat, itching like a virus that burns your airways.

“I dunno.” You choke out. “I dunno if I’m…like…”

Ready? Able? Deserving? Easy?

“You’re a lot easier to love than you think.” Paige interrupts.

Now it’s your turn to gape.

“Sorry—“ she looks away from you. “Just…the shit you’re used to is so fucked up. You…love isn’t supposed to be impossible. Hard, yeah. But everyone deserves it.”

Your heart is hammering, and your throat honestly goes dry at her words.

“You deserve it.” Paige urges. Her hand is so close to yours on the dock. Too close. Not close enough.

“I hope so.” Is all you can mutter.

Her eyes meet you again, soft as a feather.

“I think you’re easy to love too.” You offer.

She scoffs. “I’m not.”

“Really?”

“I’ve got problems.” Paige snorts.

“Shit, Paige, everyone does.” You laugh in return.

“Really, though.” She says seriously. “I wanna be with someone for the rest of my life. But I dunno if anyone can handle me.”

“What is there to handle? You raise a brow.

She stalls for a moment. You let her consider.

The sky is darker now, blue against the deep water. Stars begin to speckle the sky.

“I’m…” Paige begins. “Everyone sees me one way. I see myself another way.”

You nod, giving her time to elaborate. Whatever it is she’s about to say, you have a feeling it’s what you’ve noticed all along.

“I just feel like—“ Paige groans, hands covering her face briefly, “fucking crazy sometimes. Like I’m about to break. It’s why I’m always on patrol.”

She rubs her eyes harshly, unable to meet your gaze. “Everyone thinks I’m some fucking hero because I’m always out, killing infected, bringing supplies, running errands for anyone who asks. But it’s more selfish than that. I’m just a coward, I leave because my head goes quiet when I’m away from it all. And then people just expect more.”

You can see how this has been weighing on her, you see it in the way her eyes squint and her brows furrow, how her lips quiver but her eyes don’t well with tears.

“I feel like a fraud, you know?” She laughs shakily. “I leave when things get tough, and everyone calls me a hero. Raises their drinks to me. Talks me up.”

“You think nobody will love you because of that?” You ask.

“I think nobody knows me because of that.” She urges. “And you can’t love someone you don’t know.”

“And you can’t tell anyone? You can’t say what you just told me?” You continue.

“I don’t know.” Paige says honestly, meeting your eye. “I don’t know. I don’t know why it’s easier with you, either. It just is. Shit spills out of me, weed or no weed. It’s pathetic, honestly.”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic at all.” You frown. “And you’re certainly not a coward.”

“Don’t lie.” She scoffs. “You noticed it before I even said it.”

“I noticed how accommodating you are.” You frown, leaning closer towards her, legs bumping hers.

“I noticed how much you cared for a total stranger with a chopped leg and a shitty attitude. I noticed how much you noticed me. How much you thought about me. How much effort you put into everything.”

“You hated me for it.” Paige scoffs.

“I hated being cared about.” You correct her. “And you understand now, why I felt that way. Why it felt wrong to me. But somewhere along the way I realized if it was coming from you, it was real.”

You hold her stare, those bullet-blue eyes against yours.

“Was all of that because of pressure?” You ask. “Or was it because it’s who you are?”

“Okay.” Paige whispers. “Quit talkin’ me up.”

“I don’t do that.” You smile. “I just tell the truth.”

“Don’t I know it.” She grins, and you smile back, heart skipping a beat.

“I mean it.” You nod.

“Mhm.” She mumbles. “You know, I really hate how I end up spilling my guts to you every time we’re alone.”

“Yeah, well. I hate how you always try. Even when I act like I don’t want you to.”

“You make it obvious.” Paige smirks.

“Make what obvious?” You hum, feigning obliviousness.

Her eyes part from yours and steer towards your lips again. You find yourself doing the same, glancing at the white of her teeth between her parted mouth. Soft, pink lips, slightly chapped, plumped from the dryness. Her tongue slips out to wet them, as if she can read your mind.

She’s too close for comfort. Somewhere between the staring she leans forward, slowly, like she’s afraid of what you’ll do. You don’t do anything. You let it happen.

Her pinky grazes over yours: careful, curious, soft.

Your nose brushes against hers. She tilts her head slightly.

Her blonde hair grazes your cheek. Paige’s blue eyes disappear, fluttering shut between closed lids.

The moment your mouth does so much as graze hers, your stomach drops. You pull away in an instant, and her eyes fly open.

“I’m exhausted.” You say shakily, getting up from the dock. “Can we sleep?”

Paige swallows, and you see her disappointment simmer in her expression.

“Yeah.” She coughs out. “Yeah, you go ahead. I’ll be right there.”

Your heart dips, unsurprised but hurt nonetheless. You simply nod, grabbing your stuff and walking up the dock towards the house.

Paige turns back to the water.

THE BEDROOM IS huge, wooden floor to ceiling, old windows covered by ugly curtains. You watch Paige’s back from the glass, before shutting them and darkening the room.

You didn’t see another bedroom upstairs, just one. The bed is kingsized, enough room for two people. It’ll have to do. You just hope you’re asleep before she gets here.

You shakily get under the covers, curling up into a ball on the left side of the bed, back to the door, face in your hands.

You don’t know why it’s so hard, why after all the conversation, you just can’t allow yourself to let go any more than you already have. You will yourself not to cry into your pillow.

Instead you lie awake for what feels like hours. After a while you assume she’s found somewhere else to sleep. The thought makes you feel even worse.

And then you hear footsteps behind the bedroom door. And the shadows they make against the crack of light.

You quickly turn away from the door. It creaks open a moment later, and you hear her steps come closer.

There’s a shuffle, a sigh. Then a dip in the bed, on the right side. A good distance from you.

You hear her breathing. It’s uneven. Off beat to yours.

It doesn’t slow in the minutes that pass. She’s just as awake as you are.

You inhale, exhale, will yourself to be okay.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble against the pillow. You feel her stiffen on her side of the bed.

“You don’t have to be.” Paige croaks, just as quiet. “I shouldn’t have…especially after what we talked about…it just…I was being selfish again.”

“It’s okay.” You whisper.

“Okay.” She mumbles.

A beat passes. Then two, then three, there’s no noise except for her breathing and yours, and the sound of the house. And the cicadas outside.

“Can I be selfish too?” You whisper softly.

Paige shifts, sitting up a little.

“Can you…” you start shakily. “Uhm…”

Paige doesn’t say a word. She just knows, exactly the way you were afraid of all this time. Wordlessly, she shifts over to your side of the bed. You feel her knees behind yours, her head on your pillow, her arm carefully resting over your body. Her warmth stretching over yours.

Eventually, you fall asleep.

You hope she does too.

next chap - here

tagsˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@juumecca @cowboybueckers @sweetbcgs @rishofkf @yailtsv @bueckers2fudd @syraxsbigfanfr @azziswrld @hellokittyfeenie @lively-blues @surferandskater5

[asapeveryday]

pls come

canada can i sleepover for a little bit things are getting crazy at home 💔💔💔💔💔💔

[asapeveryday]

im so hungry i could eat a noctuary chapter 💔

soon, I swear babe <\33 so sorry for the wait. I’ll give up this for now

chap 7 key words: sweat, sunlight, white lace, log house, wound cleaning, old scars, questions, nightmares, hair ties, exes.

Extra: popular fanfic trope involving sleep….😪

[asapeveryday]

I wanna talk to my mutuals moreeeee dm me or hit my inbox ily guys

[asapeveryday]

will noctuary be updated soon?

hopefully by the end of this week! sorry for the wait

[asapeveryday]

Nutt worthy!

DiVE 🥂 — PAiGE BUECKERS

loosely based on ‘dive’ by victoria monét.

✐˚ ༘ WORD COUNT | 9.0k

✐˚ ༘ SYNOPSiS | you've known paige for a while now— gotten pretty close, actually. she wants to get you away from your grueling schedule as a nurse and out on the town. paige invites you out to the club with her teammates and as conversation escalates, you can't help but wonder what she's like in bed. the only catch? you've never gone that far before with anyone and the night alone leaves your mind wandering and legs aching.

✐˚ ༘ WARNiNGS | 18+, smut, allusions to sex, they kiss and tell, reader's a little anxious, implied virginity, trusted-friend-sex (which leads to more btw), paige courting you, cunnilingus (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), inexperienced reader, soft paige, soft! dom paige, pet names, and praise.

✐˚ ༘ MiMiS NOTES | believe it or not, the hardest part of this to write for me was choosing if i wanna change my layout or not you and paige are so cute though!!! i’m such a music head, if you really wanna experience this fic, listen to dive by victoria monét and the lady in my life by michael jackson 😛 the highlight of this (imo) isn't even the smut LMAOOOO. it's just the romance overall and how soft paige's love is ✨ i think if i were ovulating this would be dirtier, but hey 🧐 no sense in splitting hairs! enjoy (>ᴗ•)

you shouldn’t have come.

you realize that somewhere between the third thump of bass and the second spilled drink that wasn’t even yours. the club is loud, the kind of loud that you can feel in your teeth, where conversation has to be yelled into ears or mouthed across small distances. bodies move in slow sync around you — some grinding, some just swaying in place, but all of them seemingly in on something you aren’t.

you sit at the edge of the booth, half-tucked in, half trying to disappear. there’s a vodka cran in your hand, barely touched. condensation runs down the side of the glass, beading onto your fingers. you swirl the straw to look busy.

you’re not a club girl. not the girl with winged eyeliner and a clutch bag and a dozen slick stories about the girls you’ve been with. you’re a nurse — sensible shoes, bun too tight, hands always washed and dry from sanitizer. you like tea more than tequila. and you came out tonight because paige asked you to.

she had texted you a few hours before with a casual “come out with us tonight? you work too much,” and something in the softness of it made you say yes before you could think better of it.

but now you’re here — surrounded by her teammates, glitter, sweat, flashing lights — and they’re talking about sex.

like, talking talking.

“i swear, you gotta do that thing with your tongue,” azaiah says, leaning forward, hair swinging as she gestures with a fry like it’s part of a demonstration. “not just circles — make it spell your name.”

someone shrieks with laughter across the booth. drinks clink. cheeks flush.

“nah, y’all doing too much,” another teammate jumps in. “you just gotta listen. the body tells you what to do. be patient with her.”

paige chuckles, deep and low, her arm slung lazily over the booth behind her. she’s got this white tank top on, loose in all the right ways, gold chain catching the strobe lights every time she shifts.

“mm,” she hums, swirling the straw in her drink. “listening’s key. but pressure matters. you apply it just right—”

you look away.

you shouldn’t have come.

you shift in your seat, tugging at the hem of your top, trying to keep your face neutral. but your ears are burning. not just from embarrassment — from longing, too. that quiet itch under your skin you’ve been ignoring for too long. that ache in your thighs you pretend is just stress.

because you’ve never had that. not even close.

you’ve never let anyone near like that. never stayed out late for a kiss or snuck someone into your sheets. never gave anyone the chance to know what your skin sounds like when it sighs under someone’s touch. and now, here you are — surrounded by women who’ve done it all, who speak desire like it’s a second language — feeling like a kid who showed up to the wrong classroom.

you stare down at your drink.

a voice leans in near your ear, gentle and low.

“you okay?”

you turn, startled. it’s her. paige. so close you can smell her perfume — warm, musky, something unisex and intoxicating. her hand is on the back of your chair, her body angled toward you, shielding you from the chaos of the booth.

“yeah,” you say quickly, too quickly. “i’m fine. i’m just— listening.”

she studies you. eyes clear even under the haze of colored lights. her mouth curves into something understanding.

“you don’t have to say anything,” she says. “they’re loud, but they’re harmless.”

you nod, your throat tight. “they’re just… experienced.”

paige lets out a soft chuckle. “that they are.”

you glance at her from under your lashes. “and you?”

she doesn’t flinch. she holds your gaze. “i know what i’m doing.”

it shouldn’t make your stomach flip. it shouldn’t send that twinge of heat low in your belly — but it does. because even in this crowd, paige looks like she’s glowing.

her skin is flushed from the warmth of the room, collarbone damp, lip gloss kissed off the edges. every time someone walks by, they glance at her — some subtle, some not. girls flirt when they bring drinks, or linger just a little too long when they laugh.

and the whole time, paige is calm. unmoved. leaning back like she knows the power she holds and doesn’t need to prove it.

you sip your drink again, trying to steady yourself.

paige bumps her knee against yours gently. “don’t let them make you feel like you’re behind.”

you look up. “am i not?”

“nah,” she says. “you’re just… waiting for the right moment. right person.”

you try to laugh it off. “and who would that even be?”

but something flickers in her expression. it’s soft. unreadable.

she shrugs. “you’d be surprised.”

you turn your head before she can see the way your heart jumps at that. you shouldn’t read into it — but god, she makes it hard not to.

someone calls her name across the booth, and she peels away with a little pat to your shoulder, sliding back into the rhythm of the group. she’s effortless again, telling some story about a vegas trip and a girl who wouldn’t leave her hotel room.

you watch her — the way she commands the space without trying, the way people lean in when she speaks, the way girls laugh a little too loudly at things she says.

you feel out of place.

but you also feel… alive.

like something’s waking up in you. something curious.

something hungry.

and the whole time, you think about her saying:

you’re just waiting for the right person.

maybe that person is sitting ten feet away, drinking mezcal with lime and never looking at you quite the same again.

-

the hospital smells like antiseptic and too much caffeine.

the overhead lights are sterile and flat, and your sneakers squeak faintly with every step down the hall. your badge taps against your chest, stethoscope slung loosely around your neck, fingers already dry and cracked from alcohol rubs and constant hand-washing.

you’ve been on your feet for hours. your body’s tired, but your mind won’t stop. not really. not since last night.

room 413.

you knock lightly with your knuckle and push the door open with your hip, warm smile already in place.

“good morning, mr. talbot. how’re we feeling today?”

he’s an older gentleman — somewhere in his late sixties — eyes a little glazed from the pain meds but still sharp enough to give you that same sideways smirk he’s been using since his admission.

“depends,” he grumbles. “you bring me breakfast or just more pills?”

you chuckle, already pulling up his chart on the tablet. “the nurses give love, not omelets.”

“shame.”

you take his vitals with the practiced ease of routine — blood pressure cuff snug around his arm, pulse ox clipped to his finger, murmured reassurances falling from your mouth without thought. it’s muscle memory now, this care, this work. you know it like the back of your hand.

but when you brush his wrist to check the time on your watch, you suddenly remember the way paige leaned in at the club the night before, her arm brushing yours. the quiet intimacy of it. her voice, low in your ear.

“you don’t have to say anything.”

“you’re just waiting for the right person.”

you swallow, throat dry.

“everything looks good,” you say, blinking yourself back to the present. “labs came back better than yesterday. looks like your kidney numbers are stabilizing.”

“because you keep nagging me about hydration,” he mutters.

“and because your body wants to get better,” you tease.

he waves a wrinkled hand. “nah, it’s probably the smile. that smile could revive a man.”

you laugh and roll your eyes, but your fingers pause slightly as you chart his data.

your smile — did paige like it?

you’d caught her looking a few times, hadn’t you? not just last night. before. the coffee drop-offs, the casual texts, the way she’d once brushed a curl off your forehead with the back of her knuckle, like it was nothing. but it wasn’t nothing to you. you felt that touch for hours.

you finish up with mr. talbot and move on to your next patient, mind flipping between medication dosages and the curve of paige’s throat as she laughed in the booth last night, the way her tank top stuck slightly to her shoulder. every time you pass a reflective window, your eyes catch your own reflection — flushed, distracted.

by the time you hit the med station, you’re cursing yourself softly under your breath.

pull it together.

you punch in your code and start prepping the IV meds. antibiotics, fluids, saline. one hand organizing, the other double-checking, but even now — you remember how gentle her voice was when she asked if you were okay. how carefully she looked at you. like you weren’t a punchline. like you mattered.

you take a deep breath, leaning forward, palms pressed to the cool steel of the counter.

she had said, “i’ll take care of you.”

you don’t know what part of that undoes you more — the offer, or the way you believed her.

“yo,” clara, another rn on your floor, sidles up beside you. “you good? you’ve zoned out like three times today.”

you blink. straighten. “just didn’t sleep much.”

she eyes you, skeptical. “was it because of whoever you were out with last night? saw your story. club looked lit.”

you shrug, trying for casual. “just some people paige knows.”

“basketball paige?”

you nod.

clara whistles. “she fine. if i was into girls, i’d risk it all.”

your mouth quirks. “she gets that a lot.”

you don’t say what you really want to say — that you can’t stop thinking about her mouth, about the way she looked when she leaned against the bar, gold chain resting just above her collarbone. that you woke up aching this morning, not just between your legs but in your chest. a need deeper than desire.

and it’s been growing. quiet and constant.

later, you’re changing the sheets on bed 419, looping the corners tight, when you think about what it would feel like to be beneath her hands. if her fingers would be firm or coaxing. if she’d look at you like you were fragile or something to be unraveled slowly. your own knuckles go white on the linen.

you have the day off tomorrow. you could swing by the gym.

your mind tumbles with what-ifs.

what if she says yes?

what if she touches you with that same gentleness?

what if you finally let someone see you— all of you— and it feels like relief, not shame?

-

the locker room buzzes with the post-practice energy: sneakers squeaking on the tile floor, water bottles clinking, laughter bouncing off the concrete walls. the scent of sweat, soap, and eucalyptus fills the air.

paige sits on the wooden bench, peeling off her sweat-soaked headband, her damp waves springing free. her teammates are clustered around, some still in their gear, others already halfway into their showers. the chatter is light, casual — but with an unmistakable undertone when someone brings up the night before.

“yo, paige,” azaiah nudges her from the bench across, flashing a sly grin. “that thing with your friend at the club? i’m telling you, the whole table was watching.”

paige rolls her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips, but her shoulders tighten just a bit. “y’all trippin’. i was just helping her feel included.”

“helping?” dijonai pipes up, a little laugh slipping through. “girl, please. you were practically glowing when you talked to her. like she’s your whole world or something.”

“yeah,” someone else chimes in, “and that look you gave her when she said she’s never really… you know.” she makes a vague gesture with her fingers.

paige shifts on the bench, pulling her towel tighter around her neck. “we’re close, that’s all.”

“close? come on, paige,” azaiah presses, eyes sparkling. “you’ve never looked at someone like that.”

paige gives a shrug that’s all grace and casual dismissal. “maybe i’m just a good friend.”

her teammates exchange knowing glances.

dijonai leans in, voice low but teasing. “friendship don’t look like that, paige. you were borderline protective. like you wanted to keep her safe from all of us.”

paige laughs, sharp but a little forced. “i’m protective of a lot of people.”

“sure, sure,” azaiah says, raising her eyebrows. “but you only got that soft look for her.”

paige’s mouth tightens. she looks down at the scuffed floor, then back up, her eyes steady but guarded. “you’re reading too much into it.”

“nah,” nalyssa says, standing and grabbing her water bottle. “we see it.”

as the teammates begin to disperse toward showers and changing stalls, azaiah lingers for a moment. “look, paige, no pressure. just saying, if there’s something there, don’t hide it.”

paige’s smile is small, private. “i don’t hide anything. not really.”

once the locker room quiets down, paige remains seated a moment longer, her gaze distant.

deep down, she knows they’re right.

there is something.

something new.

something electric.

something she can’t quite name, but can’t ignore.

-

it’s just past six when paige exits the gym, the air warm and thick with humidity, the sun dipping low enough to paint everything in soft gold. her duffel is slung over her shoulder, headphones tangled around her neck, the fresh post-practice ache still settling in her muscles. her mind is still half in the locker room — half in the teasing echoes of her teammates’ voices.

she rounds the corner toward the parking lot—

and stops.

you’re there.

standing by her car.

you look so out of place, so beautifully misplaced in this lot surrounded by chain-link fences and cracked concrete. you’re holding a takeout bag in one hand and a small bouquet in the other — lilies, soft ivory roses, their petals trembling slightly in the breeze.

your hair is a little messy like you’ve been pushing your fingers through it all day, your scrubs traded for a hoodie and leggings. and your smile — god, it’s there, but it’s nervous. full of tension, the kind that comes from building something up all day in your head and hoping it doesn’t crash down in front of you.

paige slows her pace. “hey. what are you—?”

“hi,” you say, almost too fast, and then immediately pause to catch your breath. “sorry. i didn’t mean to, like, ambush you.”

she smiles gently. “you didn’t. just surprised me.”

you lift the food bag a little, the paper crinkling in your grip. “i got you tex-mex. and these.” you hold out the flowers. “it’s not— i mean, it’s not a bribe. i just wanted to show up with… something. something that feels good. right.”

paige’s brow furrows, soft and curious. “what’s going on?”

you take a step closer and look at her, really look at her — flushed from practice, loose tank hanging off her shoulder, hair damp at the roots. she looks so good. and you feel so small.

“i’ve been thinking about last night,” you start, and your voice wobbles, but you push through it. “and about what they were talking about. your teammates.”

paige’s face shifts slightly — not away, not cold, just… careful.

you keep going. “they were talking about sex, yeah, but… it was more than that. the way they talk about being wanted. being seen. held. and i didn’t know how to add anything, because i’ve never really—” you stop, teeth catching your bottom lip. “i’ve never let anyone close like that. not seriously.”

she doesn’t interrupt. she’s just watching, giving you her full attention like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“but that doesn’t mean i don’t feel it,” you say. “doesn’t mean i don’t want it.”

your fingers tighten around the paper bag. you look down for a second before saying it, because the words feel like they’re scraping against your throat.

“and i trust you, paige.”

her eyes widen just a bit — not dramatically, not in disbelief, but in that quiet, startled way someone reacts when something inside them clicks.

you take a shaky breath.

“so i came here because… i want to ask for something. i want it to be from someone i care about. someone who knows me.”

you’re trembling now, just a little. she notices. she doesn’t move closer, but you can feel the way her body angles more toward you, like a magnet catching tension.

and then you say it.

“i want to be treated how you treat your girls.”

it comes out in a breath — part confession, part plea. your voice is thin but firm.

paige’s lips part slightly. there’s something unreadable behind her eyes. you rush to fill the silence, afraid she’s misunderstood.

“not just— not just for the sex, even though, yeah, i think about that too—more than i should—but i mean everything. the way you look at them. the way you touch them, talk to them, pull them close like they matter.”

your voice breaks just a bit.

“i want to matter like that. i want you to show me.”

paige is still quiet. but her eyes are burning now — not with judgment, not with shock, but something heavier. something like restraint.

finally, she sets her bag down on the hood of her car and steps toward you.

slowly. carefully.

she reaches for the flowers, and when your fingers brush as she takes them, her touch is warm. grounding.

“okay,” she says, voice low and steady. “let’s do this right.”

your breath catches.

“not because you brought food,” she adds with a small smile, “but because you’re here. asking like that. trusting me like this.”

she places the flowers gently on her back seat, then walks around to open the passenger door.

she nods at you you merely glance at her before hopping in. when you do, paige rounds the car and gets in herself.

the tex-mex is warm between you, resting on the center console, the car humming quietly around you. the scent of grilled steak and melted cheese fills the air, and you’re both unwrapping your foil-wrapped tacos with a quiet that borders on awkward.

paige glances at you as you struggle with a plastic fork, then smirks. “you okay over there? looks like you’re losing a fight with the rice.”

you huff a laugh and give her a look. “i’m nervous, not useless.”

“coulda fooled me.”

you toss a tortilla chip at her chest and she catches it with a dramatic, slow-motion flinch like it was a grenade. “wow. violence.”

your smile twitches, despite yourself. “you’ve had worse on the court.”

“yeah, but not while holding a taco. that’s sacred.”

you both settle into quiet again, chewing between shared glances. the silence isn’t heavy anymore, just full. full of possibilities. full of the awkwardness that only comes when something might actually matter.

you glance down at your hands. “i didn’t really think past showing up, if i’m being honest.”

paige wipes her fingers with a napkin, then leans back in the seat. “it’s okay. you kind of dropped a bomb back there.”

“i know,” you groan softly, covering your face. “god, i feel like i made it weird.”

“you didn’t.”

you peek at her through your fingers.

she grins. “but you were shaking like a leaf. like… hospital-grade nerves. chart it. page the doctor.”

you drop your hands to your lap and laugh, exhaling. “i was freaking out.”

“and i still said yes,” she says, nudging you with her knee. “so maybe there’s something kind of cute about watching you malfunction.”

you nudge her back. “sadist.”

“mm. maybe just for you.”

that quiet, teasing energy spreads between you again, warmer now. lighter.

you pick at a piece of grilled chicken and glance at her sideways. “so… how does this work? if we do it your way. the right way.”

paige leans her head back against the seat and hums. “okay. step one, i pick you up. like actually pull up to your spot, knock on the door, hold it open for you. none of that ‘meet me here’ stuff.”

“step two?” you ask, voice softer now.

“nice dinner,” she says. “not fast food. something you get dressed up for. something where i get to see you smile for no reason.”

you feel your face heat at that.

she grins at your reaction but keeps going, gentler now. “step three, we leave room for dessert. because you’re gonna pretend you don’t want it and then eat half of mine anyway.”

“i only do that when it’s good.”

“everything i give you will be good,” she says without missing a beat — and it’s flirtatious, but also not. it’s a promise under the joke.

you swallow. nod.

“and step four?” you murmur.

paige turns her head toward you, slow. “we go back to my place. not rushed. not expecting anything. we sit on my couch. i play you something terrible on the piano. we laugh. and then… if the moment’s right, and you still want that—”

“i will,” you cut in, quietly.

her eyes search yours.

“then,” she says, “i take you to my room. and i don’t treat you like my girls.”

your breath catches.

“i treat you like you. better.”

silence.

this one is still. reverent.

then paige lets out a little huff. “also. step five. if you cry during sex, you owe me two tacos.”

“what—” you start laughing, almost choking. “why two?”

“one for the mess, and one for emotional damage. i’ve got a delicate spirit.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re ridiculous.”

“but you like me.”

“unfortunately,” you say, biting into your taco to avoid the smile creeping across your face.

she watches you for a second, then looks out the windshield, a small, private smile pulling at her lips.

you’re not in a rush.

you’ve still got rice between your teeth and grease on your fingers.

but for the first time in a long time, the end of a day feels like the start of something good.

-

you’d gone over your closet three times already.

once with too much confidence.

once with too much self-doubt.

and now… somewhere in between, your bedroom light golden and low, music humming faintly through your bluetooth speaker.

you stood in front of the mirror in a half-buttoned blouse, lipstick cap between your teeth, bare legs cold against the hardwood.

this wasn’t just a dinner.

this was step two.

paige had sent you a text earlier — just before she left practice — something short but easy, in that way only she could manage.

“hope you’re not freaking out yet. save a little mystery for the car ride.”

you had smiled so hard your teeth hurt.

and then you had, of course, immediately started freaking out again.

the next text came thirty minutes later:

“wear whatever makes you feel good. don’t overthink it. i already like how you look when you’re annoyed.”

you’d sent her a middle finger emoji.

she replied with a heart.

you reach for your perfume — just a small spritz to the side of your neck — and then pause to look at yourself. not just glance. look.

you looked… soft.

maybe a little too soft, you thought at first. not polished enough.

but then you remembered what she said.

“everything i give you will be good.”

your phone buzzes again.

“on my way. 10 mins. no rice on the shirt this time, right?”

you laugh out loud. this time, you don’t reply. you just smile, turning to grab your bag.

you check the mirror once more. smooth your hair down.

you weren’t sure what would happen tonight. you weren’t even sure what you wanted to happen yet. but something about the way paige looked at you — the way she listened without rushing, joked without pressuring — made you feel like you had space to figure it out. like she’d wait. like she’d still be here.

so you take a breath.

and when the headlights pull into your driveway a few minutes later, you don’t hesitate.

you just open the door, step into the warm evening air, and walk toward something that feels like a beginning.

you make it halfway down the front steps before you hear her voice.

“hey.”

you pause and look up.

paige is already out of the car, one hand on the top of the door like she wasn’t planning to sit for long. her posture is easy — casual in a linen button-down rolled at the sleeves, linen pants hugging her frame, her hair loose tonight, framing her face in gentle waves. but there’s something in her expression — a quiet focus — that makes you stop.

“what?” you ask, half-smiling.

she closes the door with a soft thud and starts walking toward you, head tilted. “you’re breaking protocol.”

you blink. “protocol?”

“step one,” she reminds you, hands slipping into her pockets as she approaches. “i pick you up. i knock on the door. remember?”

you laugh, a little breathless. “i thought we were past formality.”

“we’re not,” she says, firm but teasing. “not tonight.”

you pause on the second step, unsure whether to go back up or wait for her there.

“seriously,” she says, climbing the last step to stand in front of you. “you’ve been looking forward to this. you got dressed for it. you’re giving me that look. and i know your heart’s racing, ‘cause you’re doing that thing with your hand.”

you glance down — your fingers were fidgeting with your rings again.

“this is a real night,” she continues softly. “and i’m not about to let you walk into it halfway.”

you let out a shaky breath, heart softening as she reaches for the side of your arm — not pulling, just anchoring.

“go back inside,” she says gently. “let me start this right.”

you stare at her, stunned by how serious her voice is beneath the smile.

“you mean that?” you ask.

“always.”

you hesitate, cheeks warm — and then, for some reason you don’t quite understand, you nod and step back. “okay.”

paige’s face breaks into a grin. “good. now gimme thirty seconds. don’t peek out the window.”

you turn around, cheeks burning, and go back inside, shutting the door behind you.

thirty seconds later — a soft knock.

you open it to find paige standing there with a bouquet in hand, and a look that says yeah, this is ridiculous, but I’m doing it anyway.

“hi,” she says.

you melt.

“hi.”

she hands you the bouquet. “for the prettiest girl on the block.”

you laugh, taking it.

“ready?” she asks, offering her arm.

you slip your hand around her bicep, heart slowing, grounding into her warmth. “yeah,” you whisper. “ready.”

-

the windows are cracked just enough to let the breeze curl in, warm against your legs. the city around you hums with a friday night rhythm: headlights gliding past, people spilling onto sidewalks, laughter echoing from patios.

you buckle your seatbelt with shaky fingers, glancing sideways.

paige’s hand is loose on the steering wheel, her other arm resting along the console. the flowers you’re still holding rest in your lap, petals a little bruised from your grip. you don’t let go of them.

the bluetooth connects with a soft chime, and music filters in — something old-school and smooth. a little r&b. something you don’t recognize, but fits. background music for a feeling you haven’t named yet.

“you okay?” she asks as she pulls away from the curb, turning onto a wide boulevard lit by neon signs and traffic signals.

you nod quickly. “yeah. just… nervous.”

she hums, eyes flicking to you briefly before returning to the road. “me too.”

that surprises you. “you are?”

“mhm. you’ve got high expectations now.” she grins. “i promised a five-star night. gotta deliver.”

you let out a small laugh, glancing out the window. “you’re off to a good start.”

she turns at the light. “you look really pretty, by the way.”

your chest tightens, warmth blooming behind your ears. “thank you.”

“i mean it,” she adds, quieter now. “you always look good, but tonight…” she exhales like she’s trying to keep it cool. “you’re glowing. like, rom-com final scene level.”

you glance at her quickly, and she’s already looking at you.

the moment lingers. stretches. and then the music swells just a little louder — as if the universe wants to give you a break.

you bite your lip and look back out at the city. “you know, this is kind of surreal.”

“how so?”

“i’ve known you through so many little moments — practices, takeout, hospital check-ins, movie night catastrophes… but this feels like something else.”

paige nods slowly. “it is.”

“and you’re okay with that?”

she turns the volume down slightly and eases into the next lane. “i’ve wanted that,” she says. “i just… didn’t want to rush you.”

you sit with that. the car moving smooth beneath you, her voice still in your ears.

“you ever think about how we got here?” you murmur.

“yeah,” she says, grinning softly. “every time i look at you.”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you just breathe — steady and slow — and let your hand inch closer to hers on the console.

you don’t touch. not yet. but the space between you feels different now. not empty. ready.

as she turns toward the restaurant, paige breaks the silence one more time, voice light but sure:

“okay, dinner first. then dessert. then, if the night still feels this good—”

“—i cry during sex and owe you two tacos?”

she snorts. “exactly.”

you laugh, and this time it doesn’t tremble.

you’re still nervous. still uncertain about how the rest of the night will go.

but with paige next to you — steady, warm, teasing — it feels like maybe it doesn’t have to be perfect.

just safe.

-

the restaurant isn’t overly fancy — not white-tablecloth serious — but it’s intimate. cozy. the kind of place where the lighting is low and golden, where the wine glasses never match and the waitstaff wear denim aprons and call you “sweetheart” without being weird about it.

you sit across from paige in a half-moon booth, tucked away near the back, the noise of the room distant and warm, like a song you don’t know but somehow remember.

your menus have been pushed aside — your order already taken — and now there’s a soft basket of bread between you, mostly ignored. the candlelight flickers, catching in the gold of paige’s chain, the lashes shadowing her cheekbones when she glances down at her drink.

you watch her.

not because she’s doing anything remarkable. she’s just here. real and comfortable in her skin. fingers drumming the edge of her glass. smiling faintly at something the server says behind you. legs stretched out casually under the table, brushing yours now and then.

“you keep looking at me like that,” she says without looking up, “i’m gonna start charging you.”

you blink out of it. “i’m not—”

“oh, you were,” she teases, finally lifting her gaze to meet yours. “but it’s okay. i’m flattered. i mean, i did shower tonight.”

“generous of you,” you murmur, smirking into your glass.

she shrugs playfully. “bare minimum.”

you roll your eyes and tear off a piece of bread, mostly just for something to do with your hands. “you’re kind of charming when you’re not being a menace.”

“kind of?”

you glance up at her. “a little bit.”

she leans forward slightly, elbows on the table. “i can live with that.”

your heart taps faster again — that familiar nervous flutter — but there’s something about her ease that makes it feel okay. like you don’t have to hide it.

“you’re really good at this,” you admit quietly.

paige raises an eyebrow. “bread-tearing?”

you laugh. “no — this. being on a date. making it feel… like something. like i’m not crazy for wanting to try.”

she softens immediately. “you’re not crazy. you’re brave.”

you look down, overwhelmed by how easily she says it.

“and,” she adds, reaching for her water, “i’ve had some practice. you think this charm is natural? it’s been honed over years of first-date awkwardness, random ‘i think we have chemistry’ moments, and the occasional situationship spiral.”

you grin. “so you’re saying i’m not special?”

“no,” she says seriously now. “i’m saying… you’re the only one i’ve wanted to slow down for.”

the table goes quiet.

not uncomfortable. just charged.

you can feel the weight of her words settle into your chest. not heavy. Anchoring.

you glance down at your lap, then back up. “can i be honest?”

“always.”

“i’m scared,” you admit. “not of you. just… what this might unlock.”

“yeah,” she says softly, like she’s been there too. “it’s easier to keep some doors closed. even the ones you really want to open.”

you nod.

she watches you for a moment, then reaches across the table — not to hold your hand, but to rest hers palm-up in the middle, like a quiet invitation. you stare at it.

“we don’t have to rush,” she says. “we’re already here.”

you place your hand in hers.

and it’s nothing explosive. no fireworks or heatwaves. just warmth.

steady. grounding.

the server comes with your plates and breaks the moment, but you’re both smiling now — tucked into something safe and slow, like the first steps of a long walk.

“don’t let me order dessert until you’re really sure,” you joke as the server leaves.

“why?”

“because i’ll ask for two spoons and pretend it’s for sharing.”

paige smirks. “i know you too well already.”

you raise your glass. “to good bread, better lies, and figuring it out as we go.”

paige clinks yours gently. “and to you. for showing up.”

you smile, quiet and full.

-

the restaurant door closes behind you with a gentle thud, and the air outside greets you like a whisper — warm, breezy, soft with the scent of pavement and honeysuckle. the night is deep now, dark enough for the streetlights to matter, but not so late that the world feels empty.

paige falls into step beside you without a word.

you’re both full — the kind of full that makes you a little sleepy, a little slow — but neither of you is ready for the night to end. so instead of heading toward the car, you drift down the block, past closed storefronts and flickering neon signs, your shoulders close enough to brush.

it’s quiet. not in a pressured way. just peaceful. the kind of quiet that means we don’t have to perform for each other right now.

“that was a really good dinner,” you say softly.

“yeah,” paige nods. “food was great. company was even better.”

you smile down at the sidewalk, watching your shoes keep pace with hers.

a beat passes before she glances at you and asks, “you feeling okay?”

you nod. “better than i thought i would.”

“you were nervous.”

“still am.”

she hums. “but you’re walking next to me instead of hiding behind a potted plant. that’s growth.”

you laugh under your breath, cheeks warm. “baby steps.”

you pass a bookstore with lights still glowing inside — “late night reads,” a sign in the window says. there’s a cat curled in the display, asleep on a stack of poetry collections.

you both stop for a second to look at it.

“damn,” paige whispers. “that cat’s living my dream life.”

“curled up and unbothered?” you ask.

“mmhmm. and surrounded by stories that don’t ask too much of you.”

you glance at her. “you’re not as chill as you pretend to be.”

she looks over, surprised. “what makes you say that?”

“just a feeling. like… you carry a lot in silence.”

her smile fades slightly, not in a bad way — more like she’s been seen, and doesn’t quite know where to put that.

“maybe,” she says finally. “but tonight feels light.”

you nod. “it does.”

you round the corner, the sidewalk cracked and uneven, and your hand grazes hers again. this time, she doesn’t let it fall away. her fingers curl into yours, gentle and sure.

you both look straight ahead like it’s not a big deal, even though your pulse jumps.

“i’ve never done this like this,” you admit.

“done what?”

“taken something slow. been willing to take it slow.”

paige’s thumb rubs a small, absentminded circle against your hand.

“you think i’m doing this for you,” she says. “but the truth is, i’ve never wanted to rush this either. i’ve done the fast, messy, no-strings thing. this—” she pauses, glancing over at you “—this is new for me too.”

you walk a few more steps, the moment stretching out like soft taffy. sweet and quiet.

“so what now?” you ask, half-laughing. “we walk off our pasta and then what?”

paige smirks. “then we drive back to mine. maybe put on a movie we won’t finish.”

“what kind of movie?”

“something we can talk over,” she says. “or ignore completely if you decide to kiss me.”

your stomach flips.

you bite your lip, trying not to grin. “what if i need more time?”

“then i’ll keep the movie playing,” she says easily. “and let you fall asleep on my couch if that’s what feels right.”

your heart feels full — almost painfully so.

you squeeze her hand. “you’re really not rushing me.”

she turns to look at you. “i’m walking at your pace.”

and something in you unclenches — the part that’s always braced, always ready to run.

because tonight, for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re allowed to stay.

-

paige’s apartment sits on the third floor of a walk-up — wide stairwells, flickering hall light, a soft thud of someone’s TV behind one of the doors. the building smells like warm wood, laundry detergent, and the faintest trace of weed from someone down the hall. familiar. lived-in.

you trail just a step behind her up the stairs, eyes skimming the curve of her shoulder, the sway of her head, the quiet confidence in her body even now. she’s relaxed — but you know her well enough to see the alertness beneath it. she’s reading the air. feeling this moment for what it is.

at the top, she unlocks her door and pushes it open with a low creak. the soft light from the hallway spills inside.

“welcome to casa bueckers,” she says lightly, stepping aside.

you walk in slow. the place is warm, minimalist but cozy — wood floors, a navy-blue couch, a record player near the window, a stack of worn books on the coffee table, sneakers by the door. it smells like her. clean, a little citrusy, something earthy and unpretentious.

you kick off your shoes without being asked. “you keep it cleaner than i expected.”

she shrugs, smirking as she locks the door. “i know how to play the long game.”

you turn toward her, hands suddenly uncertain. “so…”

paige leans against the wall, arms crossed. “you’re in charge. i meant it.”

your breath catches. “that’s a lot of power.”

“you asked for it.”

you nod slowly, heart climbing into your throat. the silence stretches — not awkward, just thick with everything unsaid.

“can i sit?” you ask quietly.

“wherever you want,” she says, stepping forward. “but if it’s on my lap, maybe give me a little warning.”

you let out a breathy laugh and settle onto the edge of the couch, arms braced on your knees. your nerves are back, like a low simmer in your chest. you pick at a thread on your pants, trying to remember how to start something you’ve never done before.

paige watches you for a moment. then she moves — slow, unthreatening — and sits on the coffee table directly across from you, knees nearly touching yours.

her voice softens. “you don’t have to say it again. not if it’s too much.”

you meet her eyes, all humor gone now. “i want to. i need to be clear.”

she waits.

you swallow. “i want to be treated how you treat your girls. the ones you… see.”

her eyes flicker — something flicks deeper in her chest, and you see it.

“i see you,” she says quietly. “more than i probably should.”

you blink. “why ‘should’?”

“because once i start,” she murmurs, “i don’t know how to stop.”

you stare at each other. breath caught. hearts loud.

then, finally, she reaches out — not to kiss you, not yet. she slides her fingers into yours and pulls you gently to your feet.

“come here,” she whispers, standing too.

you let her lead you toward her bedroom — your pulse thrumming in your throat, nerves dancing across your skin. it’s not lust pushing you forward. it’s not curiosity.

it’s trust.

the kind that says: i want you to touch me, but i need you to hold me first. paige is the kind of girl who knows how to do both.

the room smells like clean linen and citrus. paige’s walls are soft beige, a few framed polaroids tacked near the mirror — teammates, family, the kind of moments you don’t post but never forget. her bed’s neatly made, low to the ground, sheets a warm oatmeal color, comforter soft and rumpled at the edges like she flopped down on it this morning and never fixed it all the way.

your hands are shaking a little as she closes the door behind you.

the light is dim — not dark, just muted. a soft lamp glows from her nightstand. she taps something on her phone and sets it down, and that’s when you hear it:

“there’ll be no darkness tonight…”

michael’s voice fills the room like silk, low and full, and something in your chest settles. “the lady in my life” plays gently through her speaker, the kind of song that knows how to keep quiet and still sound like love.

“okay,” paige murmurs, turning toward you. “still good?”

you nod, a little breathless.

“okay,” she repeats, stepping forward. “then let me take care of you.”

she’s so gentle with it. no rush. just fingers to the hem of your jacket, lifting it from your shoulders. your skin tingles as cool air hits your arms. she folds it and sets it aside. her hands graze your hips next — not to pull you closer, just to anchor you.

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. she notices.

“what?” she teases softly. “cat got your tongue?”

“you’re…” your eyes flick over her — shirt rolled to the elbows, soft waves brushing her jaw, chain catching the light. “you’re just really pretty up close.”

she grins. “so are you. even prettier nervous.”

you hide your face and she laughs, soft and warm, before reaching for the hem of your top. her knuckles graze your ribs as she lifts it, slow, watching you for any sign of hesitation. when she sees none, she slides it off and drops it behind you.

“arms up,” she whispers.

you obey.

and the way she undresses you — it isn’t hungry. it isn’t greedy. it’s intentional. like she’s done this before but never quite like this. every inch of skin revealed gets the kind of attention that makes your cheeks flush.

her lips press to your shoulder. then your collarbone. then just beneath your ear.

you giggle — breath catching — and her mouth curls into a smile against your skin.

“ticklish?”

“a little,” you whisper.

“noted.”

she kneels slightly, hands sliding down the waistband of your pants, kissing the spot just below your belly button before tugging them down. your legs shake a bit when you step out. you’re standing there in your underwear now, the room suddenly too quiet.

she leans back on her heels, gaze skimming up the length of you. her mouth parts slightly, reverent. “goddamn.”

you shift, nervous. “stop staring.”

“not a chance.”

you move forward, half-shy, half-daring, and let your hands find the hem of her shirt. she lets you pull it up — one arm, then the other.

come to think of it, you don’t know why you pull it up. it has buttons…

underneath, she’s in a black sports bra and matching briefs. her body is toned, lean. strong.

you run your hands up her sides. “so this is what dallas pays for.”

she snorts. “shut up.”

you laugh, but the moment turns quiet again — the music soft behind you now, michael crooning.

she pulls you close, hands sliding along your waist. her mouth finds yours, gentle at first. slow. then again, firmer, breath hotter this time.

you gasp into her kiss and she hums, loving the sound.

her hand finds the side of your face, thumb brushing just beneath your cheekbone. she leans in slowly — not teasing, just deliberate — eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes, like she wants you to feel it before it even happens.

when her mouth finally meets yours, it’s soft at first, warm and coaxing. but then she deepens it — tongue brushing yours, breath catching between you, a quiet, hungry sound slipping from her throat as your lips part for her.

the kiss turns messier, wetter, more needy — her fingers sliding into your hair, tilting your head just right so she can taste more of you. her other hand anchors at your waist, pulling you flush against her like she needs you as close as possible.

you moan into her mouth, and she swallows it greedily, kissing you like she knows every sigh, every tremble, every part of you that aches to be touched.

when she finally pulls back, barely an inch, her breath is ragged — lips slick, pupils blown wide.

“fuck,” she whispers, thumb dragging across your swollen bottom lip.

you stumble back toward the bed, kissing again, smiling into it. her hands find the backs of your thighs and she lifts you like it’s nothing, setting you down on the edge of the bed like you weigh nothing more than a breath.

the sheets are warm beneath you, soft against your back. you sink into them as paige settles between your knees, her hands spreading over your thighs like she’s mapping new territory. her fingers are steady, but her eyes… her eyes make you feel like the most delicate thing she’s ever held.

“lay back for me,” she says.

you do.

she hovers over you, kisses trailing from your neck to your chest.

your bra is long gone and your nipples pebble when making contact with the cool air of her bedroom. she takes one bud into her mouth, sucking on it and pulling through teeth.

a kiss down the center of your stomach. each press of her mouth feels like worship. like a promise.

her hands slide beneath your thighs again, thumbs stroking. she looks up once, waiting.

you nod.

she kisses your inner knee.

then higher.

and by the time she reaches where you really want her, you’re already trembling — not from nerves anymore, but from the sweetness of it. the patience. the way she’s not just touching your body, she’s listening to it.

and the song keeps playing, soft and slow behind you —

“stay with me… keep warm tonight…”

“you okay, baby?” she murmurs, voice low.

you nod, breath catching. “just… you’re really close.”

her mouth curves. “that’s kind of the point, sweetheart.”

your cheeks flush. she sees it and smiles like it’s her favorite shade on you.

her hands glide up your thighs again — thumbs stroking slow, coaxing — until she’s kneeling just between your legs, kissing along the crease where thigh meets hip. her lips press to your skin over and over, as if she’s got nowhere else to be, no reason to rush. “i just wanna touch you,” her voice whispers through the silence, “not too fast, not too far.”

“paige,” you breathe, the name shaky in your mouth.

“yeah, baby?” she doesn’t stop kissing. just listens as her mouth ghosts across your skin.

“i… i don’t know what to do.”

she looks up, gentle. “you don’t have to do anything. just feel.”

and then her hands slide up, catching the band of your underwear.

you stiffen — just slightly — and she immediately pauses.

“we don’t have to,” she says quickly, lips brushing your hip.

you shake your head. “no… i want to. i do.”

she searches your face — those clear blue eyes like still water, reading you with precision.

“then breathe, baby. just breathe. i’ve got you.”

her voice feels like a balm, like silk smoothed over your ribs. and when she finally eases your underwear down, she does it slow. careful. like she’s unwrapping something precious.

your breath hitches. you instinctively try to close your legs, but she’s already there — hands warm, grounding you.

“don’t hide from me,” she whispers. “let me see you.”

you let out a soft exhale and force yourself to relax. the air feels cooler now against your skin, and the way she looks at you — like you’re art, like you’re holy — makes your chest ache.

she leans down again, kissing the inside of your thigh, then the other.

each kiss feels wetter than the other, like she’s salivating at the thought of tasting you.

her mouth trails closer, but she doesn’t go where you want her just yet. instead, she watches you squirm.

“so sensitive already,” she murmurs. “you’re so cute like this.”

your hands grab for the sheets. “stop teasing…”

“i’m not teasing,” she lies. “i’m savoring.”

her thumb brushes you — just a light touch over your clit — and your whole body jerks.

she smiles. “there she is.”

you bite your lip, breath stuttering.

“relax, baby. you’re doing so good,” she whispers, and then she dips her head and finally kisses you there — soft, slow, just the warm pressure of her lips at first.

you gasp. her hands slide up your waist, holding you steady as her tongue gently parts you, gliding slow and purposeful.

“paige—oh my god—”

her name cracks out of you, half gasp, half whimper, and she moans softly in return, the sound vibrating through you.

she keeps going like that — slow, steady strokes of her tongue, mouth working you open with devastating care. every flick, every kiss is deliberate. she’s learning your body with every second, listening to your breath, the way your thighs tense, the way your hips twitch up into her mouth.

“you taste so fucking sweet,” she mutters between kisses. “been thinking about this since you showed up with that nervous little smile…”

you arch into her, back bowing, moaning her name again.

and she laughs — soft and warm — because you’re unraveling just how she wanted you to.

“look at you, baby,” she whispers. “so responsive… so wet already.”

“i—i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” she coos, kissing higher. “you’re doing so perfect for me.”

her tongue flicks over you again, firmer now, and her fingers reach up — one hand sliding between your own to lace your fingers together, grounding you. the other dips lower, teasing your entrance.

your free hand moves to her hair, threading through the strands at the crown of her head. she lets you tug a little, lets you guide her just a bit closer, and when you whimper, she moans against your clit, the vibration dragging another cry from your throat.

“you okay, sweetheart?” she pauses to ask, her thumb gently stroking the inside of your thigh.

you nod frantically, too breathless to speak.

“words, baby.”

“yes,” you gasp. “yes, i’m—i’m good.”

“good,” she says, and kisses you again — deep and slow now, the flat of her tongue pressing in a way that makes your legs shake around her shoulders. “let me make you cum.”

each stroke she delivers your clit feels so sinful, but so right. they’re sharp and each time you need more.

you whimper, hips rising.

“shhh,” she whispers against you. “i’ve got you.”

and when she finally slips a finger in, slow and gentle, your whole body clenches around her. she moans softly like it’s her who’s being touched, and she starts moving it in rhythm with her mouth.

she pumps it slowly, curling just slightly with each thrust, letting your body adjust before slipping in another. the stretch makes you cry out, but she doesn’t stop her tongue — just slows it a little, gives you something to focus on while her fingers sink deeper.

“you’re doing so good for me,” she whispers. “so fucking tight… fuck.”

the sound is sticky, and wet, and lewd, yet so perfect.

you’re gasping now, hands clinging to her, head tossed back into the pillow as wave after wave starts building in your belly.

“i—i’m close—” you stammer.

“that’s it, pretty girl,” she breathes. “let go for me.”

and you do — body trembling, thighs shaking, her name breaking from your lips in a stuttering moan as everything comes undone beneath her touch.

she doesn’t stop until your breathing slows, until your hand goes limp in hers.

then she kisses the inside of your thigh one last time — soft, reverent — and rests her forehead against your skin, catching her own breath.

“you’re incredible,” she murmurs. “you know that?”

you shake your head, barely able to form words.

“come here,” you whisper.

and she does — crawling up your body, kissing your shoulder, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. you taste yourself on her lips. and for the first time in forever, you don’t feel embarrassed.

you feel seen.

safe.

wanted.

“stay with me, i want you to stay with me…”

the night slows to a gentle close. paige’s hands are soft and steady as she brushes stray strands of hair away from your damp forehead, her touch tender like she’s memorizing every inch of you. she reaches for a warm, damp cloth and carefully wipes the faint traces of sweat and kisses from your skin, her fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.

“there we go, baby,” she whispers, voice thick with affection.

once you’re cleaned up, she disappears briefly and returns with one of her oversized t-shirts, the soft cotton smelling faintly like her shampoo. she helps you slip into it, the fabric swallowing you in the best way — cozy and safe.

“here,” paige says, handing you a bottle of water. “sex makes you hungry. so i brought you some snacks too.”

she sets a small plate beside you with some fresh fruit and chips, watching you with a lazy smile that melts your nerves.

you lean into her side, feeling completely cared for, your heart warm in the quiet comfort of her presence.

“thank you, paige,” you say softly.

she presses a kiss to your temple, her arm wrapping around you like a shield.

“always, baby. always.”

© juumecca, all rights reserved.

[asapeveryday]

can i be added to your taglist?

ofc !!

[asapeveryday]

sierra!!!! how are you fave? 😆😆😆😆

i'm goooood mimi!!! sososososo busy atm this week is so hectic for me but after that i'm all free which im v excited abt

[asapeveryday]

Hehehe thank you mimi 😫🙏💗 ur the best

: ̗̀➛ No Light, No Armor

knight!paige.bueckers x princess!reader fantasy au

warnings: use of pet names, power imbalance(?) kinda goes both ways tbh, oral sex (r.receiving),reader is inexperienced , semi-risky sex, more plot than porn lol sorry

synopsis: you’re sheltered royalty, hidden behind vine-veiled cobblestone and powder pink gossip. being treated like a child has only made your less-than-innocent cravings more intense. it doesn't help that your new personal knight gives you more attention than you're used to. in fact, it only infatuates you more. (aka, we're kinda deprived and paige is...there.)

sierra says: i had so much fun writing this! kinda struggled w dialogue bc i wanted to go slighhhtly formal but also paige speaks pretty informally irl so i had no idea how to write her lines while making it sound like her. but its an au so its okayyyyy its not that srs.

THE CLICK OF your embroidered flats against the cool, polished castle floor are only hidden by faint giggles and the swish of fabric against bare ankles.

The two of you must be more careful. You bite your tongues and cover your upturned lips with beautiful hands to muffle the noise. A woman’s chortle holds power your father would rather die than allow you to take advantage of. No, you’re barely even allowed to grace a male with your presence, let alone slip any noises within proximity.

Still, you and your friend can’t help but squeal as you duck and scurry through the castle halls, hiding behind crevices and thick pillars to avoid being caught.

Your friend, daughter of your fathers advisor, had overheard her father and yours talking in hushed tones. Something about recruiting fresh blood, young and eager soldiers who ache to serve under the king. The best of the lot, a grand total of five extraordinary knights, were to be assessed today in the hall just north-west of your living quarters.

Naturally, both you and her decided it was only right to asses these knights yourselves. From afar. Quietly.

It’s exciting, the notion of the word fresh, meaning new. Young. Emphasis on young, most knights were—they had to be in peak condition of course—but your fathers preferred personal knights had grown older. He began to worry their temptations may precede them, that your youth may stray them from their duty.

You were wholly uninterested in the knights. They were silent creatures, just empty eyes behind sheets of armour, only opening their mouths to forbade you from freedom under daddy’s orders. If they had lingering stares that followed a gown hemmed too short, or a neckline too low, you hadn’t noticed. You tried not to notice them at all.

But still the rush of sneaking away to gawk at these new, alien beings is adrenaline racing on its own. If your father knew of your intentions, you’d be locked away till your wedding day.

“They’re tall.” Nika, your friend, smirks, head poking out from behind the wide pillar you’re both hiding behind. “Come look.”

Carefully, you shuffle over and peep your eyes just over the old marble slab that shields you. You can seem them a little ways down the curved palace hall, the five of them adorned in their shiny silver walls and guarded helmets, swords in their hilts, eyes hidden beneath metal. Alien, inhuman, a separate type of being from yours.

“How old do you think these ones are?” You whisper, and she shrugs,

“Papa said one of them was yours, so that one must be the youngest.” She mutters back, and you nod. Your father was far too paranoid to have a seasoned, older man stand guard by your room at night.

“The others may be slightly older.” Nika adds. “They’re all within marrying age, that’s for sure.”

“You want one?” You smirk, glancing at her. Her face grows pink but she shakes her head. “My wedding’s arranged already. No point in ruining it with an affair.”

“You’re not wed.” You scoff. “No such thing as an affair without a husband.”

“Not everyone can be so adventurous, princess.” Nika nudges you. “Trust me, I’d like to. But Papa would have my head on a platter served for luncheon before allowing even a rumour to float past him of my…activities.”

“Too bad.” You sigh, staring further at the knights, their perfect posture, their ridged obedience. “I believe every girl deserves to have a moment for loose behaviour.”

“Will that be your first rule as Queen?” Nika grins.

You shrug. “Pray that I find someone with enough heart to allow it.”

“A man of royalty would have you hung.” Nika snorts. “But a knight…perhaps.”

You almost gasp at the comment, eyes widening in her direction. “A knight?” You huff trying to stay quiet. “For me?”

“Why not?” She hums. “They have more heart than any royal man. One tough as nails, I’m sure. It’ll take more than…what’d you say? Loose behaviour? It’ll take more than that to shake them.”

“They’re poor.” You frown. “It’d be impossible.”

“Well I’m not saying you have to wed one.” Nika’s brows furrow. “But you could certainly bed one. And I doubt it’d be as much of a problem as any other man.”

“I guess so.” You hum, considering the sentiment. “But they’re so…distant. They never speak out of fear of my father. They rarely lift their helmets for the same reason. And when they do I’m often dissatisfied.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” You frown. “Too rugged, most of them. Stubbly, the kind that hurts when it grazes your cheek.”

“Princess.” Nika raises a brow. “If you want a man then the stubble is your sign of one. No man with a face bare as a baby is old enough to defend you at night, let alone take care of you.”

“Is that so?”

“Definitely.”

“Shame.” You sigh, gazing back at the knights as Nika’s dad drawls on about some Palace rules. “I figured I’d enjoy the smooth kind more.”

“No skin is smoother than a woman’s.” Nika nods solemnly. “Real men are rough as rock. Especially knights.”

The two of you watch in silence as the knights heed every word lectured to them, stances unchanging, still as statues. You wonder how a knight could possibly be your key to sin, when they’re so obedient, so loyal to the institution that imprisons you.

It’s only when your father’s advisor leaves that they become humans in the slightest, posture still straight but less stiff, heads tilting towards each other for quiet conversation.

“What do knights talk about, Nika?”

“The ones who fight in the wars are like barbarians.” She says. “All talk of their battles, their wins, their injuries. And food. And beer.”

“And those in the palace?”

“I haven’t heard them talk.” She shrugs. “Well, I have. But not enough to know of what.”

“Would you spy for me?”

“I’m not the one who has a knight posted outside their quarters from dusk to dawn.” She scoffs.

“I’ve tried.” You huff. “The last one didn’t utter one word in the years I knew him. Sometimes I wonder if father sews their mouths shut.”

“If they’re like the ones who brave the battlefield, it may be for the better.” Nika grins wickedly, and you just click your tongue.

“See those ones? They speak so softly. Look at how they cock their heads to exchange their thoughts.” You continue, eyes still on the five silver giants.

One of them turns their back to you, and you notice something slight. It shines in the sun, differently from the metal that they wear. Golden against silver, like silk. The slightest strand of blonde hair, peeking between the slices of armour left for mobility, the parting between the helmet and the backplate.

It’s not too unusual for them to have longer hair. Many men do, perhaps not that long, but long nonetheless. Even so, the pin-straight strand of hair throws you off, brings a femininity to figures you’ve only ever associated with rough edges.

You don’t mention it to Nika. You just watch the blonde knight whisper to another.

“Perhaps we have some chatterboxes in the palace for once.” Nika muses as she watches them. “Young blood breeds new tradition. Mouths can’t be sewn shut forever.”

“Indeed.” You mumble, eyes still latched onto the knight with golden hair. “They can’t.”

YOU’RE INTRODUCED TO your new guard that evening, summoned out of your quarters by a soft knock at the door. Outside waits your father and the silver-showered knight.

He’s taller up close, significantly more lanky than your last few knights. His posture is straight, confidently so. You can’t tell if he’s staring at you, or if his head is simply in your direction. His eyes are obscured by the metal grates on his helmet.

“This one is the best yet.” Your father assures you, nodding in the knights’ direction. “I know we’ve had too many changes darling, but I believe it’s best to have a consistent guard, rather than swapping them out.”

You cross your arms, uncaring of the company in front of you. “That’s only what I’ve been telling you for the past ten years. How am I supposed to form a relationship with the one who’s meant to keep me safe, when that person is constantly changing?”

“Ah, see that’s where you’re misled.” Your dad tuts. “You must trust your guard, not have a relationship with them.”

“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.” You frown.

“Nevertheless,” He smiles, bulldozing through any opportunity for argument, “this knight is here to stay. Age will not be a problem. If all is well, you’ll be protected by this one till the end of their days.”

You glance at the knight, who doesn’t even stir.

“You may attempt to have a relationship.” Your father chuckles. “But it will be futile. I’ve given a full rundown of my instructions already. You understood well, did you not?”

Your father half-glances at the knight, who you notice is even taller than him. The knight finally shifts, nodding surely. “To the bone, your highness.” The knight says.

Your eyes narrow.

The voice. Muffled beneath the metal, it’s hard to make out. But it’s higher than you’d thought it’d be.

“Just how young is this one?” You ask.

“None of your concern.” Your father grins. “You may go back inside now. Goodnight.”

Without any room for question, the order is given. The knight turns back to the walls that surround the outside of your quarters and stands ready with one hand on the hilt of his sword. Your father gleams happily, nodding at you to go back to your room.

With a huff, you do, stepping back into your prison. You stand against the door in wait, listening for the sound of your father’s footsteps until they can’t be heard.

And then you open the door again, just slightly. The knight’s armour creaks as his head turns to glance at you from beside the door.

“You’ll be protecting me till you’re too old to move in that suit.” You smile, trying hard to spy a pair of eyes between the metal grates of the helmet with no luck. “I see no harm in knowing your name.”

The knight turns his head away, staring back ahead at the empty hall.

“Typical.” you scoff, burnt by the rejection but not surprised. “Can’t even give me something as simple as a name. What am I meant to call out when some bandit attacks me?”

There’s a little noise inside the suit of armour. An exhale, maybe even a huff.

“You thought that was funny.” You grin, and the knight goes rigid. “You’re a fool to follow every rule my father gives you. He thinks I’m meant to trust you without knowing you at all. I’m never going to call out for you if that’s the case.”

The knight says nothing. You stare at him a little longer, aching for a response of any kind like the chuckle from before. He doesn’t give you that satisfaction.

You’re about to close your bedroom door when he shuffles.

“It’s not as simple as you think it is, princess.” He says, the last word sending a shiver down your spine.

That voice again, not high like the women you know, but certainly not a man’s. It drips with confidence and oozes amusement yet also something raw beneath. Nothing like something you can place.

You look him over again, once, twice. Something glints in your vision.

A dark gold, straight as embroidery thread. It shimmers just slightly under the armour against the light of the lantern mounted on the wall. Long, blonde hair.

An idea runs through your head, a stupid, impossible reason for that shocking voice and promise of lifelong service.

You wait. The knight says nothing more. You ponder, deciding whether or not to voice your question. Then you decide against it.

You close the door.

The knight is good.

Good at being present, at standing guard and staying awake, unlike the last one who grew too old to stay up till dawn, allowing you to slip out at night. Good at hovering a safe distance behind of you, far enough to give you privacy, some semblance of freedom, while close enough to be able to intervene should context permit it.

Good at being silent. At listening, not through walls like the one you had at sixteen, but rather at the comments you drop under curtesy’s and diplomatic quips.

When a joke falls flat, or a rude comment goes unnoticed, you never fail to hear a noise from behind you. An exhale, a scoff. If you’re lucky, that low yet girlish voice will let a chuckle slip.

But the knight is also an anomaly. Sometimes the chuckles are ones that catch you off guard, that make your breath hitch at their tone.

The flecks of blonde you see between cracks of armour make your brain buzz. The way he moves is nothing like the brash, abrasive men of steel you recognize.

You try every day, to see through those metal bars in his helmet. To catch a glimpse of eyes, lips, nose, anything.

You have no luck with that matter, but you do manage to crack a code to hear that entrancing voice more often.

Though, the first time isn't an accident.

It was a dark day, the kind that often made you feel isolated and alone. The type of night that either brought insomnia or nightmares.

That night brought haunted dreams that woke you up shivering, dreams of falling forever, of being locked away till your curls grow white and wirey.

The knight is in your room before you realize you're shrieking, metal lit by the lantern he holds, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Princess." He says softly, voice muffled beneath his helmet. In an instant he's analyzed your state, pulling the hand from his weapon to the side of your bed. Distant, but ready to offer up his services.

"I don't wanna stay here." You breathe, chest heaving. Your face is wet with tears, chest glittering with the sheen of sweat. It doesn't even occur to you to feel exposed in your night gown, the frilly white one that sits too low past your collarbone. "I can't—I can't be here till I wither away."

"You're young." The knight reassures you, setting the lantern down and kneeling by your bedside, iron clanking. "You're still young. Your life is just beginning, and it won't be wasted away here."

You scoff breathlessly, shooting the tin-warrior a nasty look. "Don't be a fool." You bite. "Look at me, look at everything you watch me do. Every single day I live like a child, I'm treated like a child, I'm followed like a child." Your eyes flare. Despite the fury, you still feel your bottom lip tremble, visions of your old, withered body never making it past the palace still fresh.

The knight just shifts, and you can't help but wonder if it's a shift of guilt.

"I mean honestly," you sniffle, "I'd thought when I had my first bleed I'd be womanly enough to have some freedom, but it only got worse." You chuckle sadly. "Turns out the prospect of marriage is only more reason to keep me hidden away."

"...yes." The knight mumbles carefully. "You really shouldn't discuss those matters with me."

"You're not disgusted." You say. "Are you?"

"More terrified of what the court may do to me if someone hears you." The knight says, and you can hear a slight smile.

"Why aren't you?" You ask suddenly, eyes narrowing. "Why aren't you disgusted?"

The knight shifts again, and you see another fleck of gold hair under his chest plate. "I'm more familiar with those matters than most."

That statement alone is enough to confirm any suspicions you may have had before.

Before you can poke around much further, he rises from the side of your bed, takes the lantern and nods to you stiffly. A farewell.

"Wait!" You sit up. "I'm not finished with you!"

"You're too smart for your own good, princess." The knight says. His broad back turns away, and your room grows dark as he walks out, door clicking behind him.

Something burns in your stomach at that retort. You even dream again that night, but it's not nightmarish at all.

And so, you take advantage of the next terror. A few nights later. One where you step foot off of a palace balcony and never hit the ground, cursed to eternal falling.

It's not enough to wake you in cries for help, but you do come to consciousness damply, nightgown sticking to your legs from sheer cold sweat.

You wonder if he would come if you called. Though you didn't have a name to taste for him. Perhaps that would be your goal for the night.

Instead, you opt for a few whimpers, eyes screwed shut, body scrunched tight against your pillow. It's awkward, but it works. You feel the light of the lantern against your closed lids, and you hear the clank of metal as he enters.

"Princess."

There it is again. The voice. The tightness it causes inside of you.

Slowly, you allow your eyes to open.

"Another nightmare?" The knight asks kindly.

"You'll discover I have many of those." You sigh, making your voice small, pathetic. "I'm imprisoned, even in my sleep."

"A dramatic prisoner." The knight chuckles, kneeling once again by your bed. "In another life you're a playwright."

"Don't make me mourn the idea." You scoff.

"So tonight, what is it that scares you?" The knight asks,

"A common one." You hum. "Out of questionable circumstances, I lose my footing on the balcony and fall."

"Gruesome, princess."

"Not quite." You sigh. "I never hit the ground. I just tumble down through the air. It's sickening, really. Endless torture."

"I can imagine." The knight hums. "Should we make that a new punishment for those who commit treason?"

"Perhaps." You say, smiling just a tad. Slowly, you peel your covers off of you and trail your hand gingerly from your chest to your stomach. "I wish there was something to cure this. It was only a dream, but I really am sick to my stomach."

"Careful." The knight mutters, shifting to pull the covers back up. The feeling of cold chainlink metal grazing your arm makes you shiver with delight you've never experienced before.

"I can't stay long." The knight says. "But I really am sorry that you can't get a good night's rest."

"It's not so bad anymore." You shrug. "At least I can rely on you to be there. It's nice to hear a voice other than the few I know by heart now."

"I'm going to get in trouble for talking to you so much, princess."

"I know." You frown, pouting slightly, hoping that somewhere behind that metal helmet lay eyes that catch on the plumpness of your lips. "But it's more help than anyone's ever offered. I--I don't dream so harshly after we've spoken."

The knight pauses.

"I'm glad." He settles.

"One day I'll want to call out to you." You add, trying your best to look sweet and persuasive. "I'll need a name to do that."

The knight gets up slowly. "If I could give you that, I would." He says. "But trust me when I say I'll be there before calling out even becomes an option."

You scoff, shooing the knight away playfully. Though you think about those words until sleep claims you again.

"I dreamt of you." You sigh a few weeks later. The knight is perched by your bedside again, you're turned on your side, hoping the way your breasts cling to the fabric of your nightgown catches the right eyes. The lantern light is routine now, but intimately so.

"Oh really?"

"Indeed." You sigh, breathless. "I dreamt that I had a nightmare, and a knight came running in."

The knight cocks his head.

Days with the knight were different now. You had your suspicions about the sex of whoever may lay beneath the helmet, but it didn't deter you in the slightest.

If anything, it made a sense of passion burn inside of you. You can just feel it, those possibly-feline eyes glazing over your every move. It doesn't seem as imprisoning, but rather empowering.

It certainly helps when the knight drops little comments between the hours.

"Careful, princess."

"I'll always be there."

"That look just might find you a suitor."

"If I could have my post be inside of your bedroom, without a doubt I would."

Every word set you ablaze. More than you think that metal-tease could be aware of.

"So," the voice drawls, smooth against the night. "I came to your rescue?"

"It wasn't you. I could tell, even with the armour." You continue. "Well, I thought I could. That was the problem. I had this feeling that it was someone else, but there was no concrete proof."

"No?"

"No." You frown. "You all look the same, after all. Even voices blend together after a while."

"So this scared you?"

"Of course." You say. "I trust you to comfort me, nobody else has had that pleasure."

"Aren't I lucky." The knight scoffs.

"Don't tease." You huff. "It's true. Your presence is magic. And that knight made me fear the magic was gone."

"What if it was me?"

"Well, how would I know?" You shoot back. "With no name to call for and no face to recognize, you could be a bandit in armour for all I know."

"I'm sorry for that." The knight says genuinely.

"If you are then fix it." You smile. "Give me something to recognize you by, even in my dreams.

"Not much I can give, princess." The knight says, and you can feel the smile in every word.

"I can think of plenty." You sigh, holding out a hand to touch the cool metal helmet in front of you. "But I don't want to get you into trouble."

Slowly, you run your fingers over every ridge and bump, trailing through the metal that casts shadows over the eyes. "But these could do with some uncovering." You hum. "Eyes are the window to the soul."

"You care for a mere knight's soul?"

"More than you may know." You smile.

The knight stiffens ever so slightly.

"Go ahead, then." The voice says, dangerously quiet.

You lift the hinged iron, resting it higher on the helmet, and a rectangle of skin is bared to you. Eyes, round and inquisitive, stare back at you.

Bright. And blue, like royalty from far away.

You swallow. "Beautiful."

The eyes blink. You wonder what features may lie below them. Just from seeing these eyes, you have an idea of the nature of those features. Full, soft and feminine.

"You're a woman." You breathe, finally saying it out loud.

The knight flinches, pulls back from your hand, and hastily shifts the metal slate over her eyes again. Your heart sinks as she gets up and begins to retreat from your room.

"Goodnight, princess." She says. Her voice is almost too low to hear, before you're engulfed in silence.

The knight does not speak more than a word to you from that point onward.

Days pass slowly. Routine becomes bland and boring again, there's no rush in your heart or tightness in your core at the sound of her voice anymore. Just stiff nods in your direction. Blank metal that holds no warmth, no ounce of frosted colour like it did that night.

What's worse is that your nightmares have halted, instead being replaced by a much more sinful species of dream that leaves you waking up exhilarated. Dreams that feature cold iron on your skin, blonde hair tickling your abdomen, blue eyes that stare up at you, preening, begging, giving.

Nika doesn't help.

"I can't even fathom it!" She squeals, half whispering, half yelling. You turn around to see if the knight is watching. If she is, you can't really tell. But she lingers far enough for conversation to be safe.

"No?" You respond mindlessly.

"No!" Nika huffs. "I mean, the boy has to be lying, he's only a valet after all, but servants know all kinds of things so then again—"

"Nika, calm yourself." You shush.

"I can't!" She groans. "A female knight? In what world? How is this possible? Why wasn't this made aware to me?"

"Why would it be?"

"If i'd known that was an option, I'd be on a battle field slaying enemies right now."

"You're joking."

"Dead serious." She frowns. "I'm more jealous than anything. Who is this girl and what does one have to do to trade places with her."

"You never know." You shrug. "It might not be as fun as it seems. Who says she's fighting?"

"Well, she's here, so obviously she's not." Nika rolls her eyes. "But she's got the title nonetheless, lucky bastard."

"What else did this valet say?" You whisper.

"Oh, just some foolish boy-things." Nika waves. "He claims she's gorgeous, but I don't think that's possible for a knight. All of the men are rough and rugged. I doubt a woman would be different. I can see it now, a handsome woman. Though gorgeous fits his description more."

"Gorgeous?" You quip, interested. "How so?"

"Oh, he's an idiot." Nika laughs. "Described her like she was an angel. Long blonde hair, full lips, pale skin." She hums. "Big, blue eyes."

You try not to grin to yourself at the details. "And she really is pretty?"

"Yes, princess." Nika smirks. "You gonna ask daddy what he can do to send her over? For your sake and mine?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." You shrug, straight-faced. Nika just snorts, and the rest of the stroll is silence.

Nightfall bleeds through the windows of your room as you stare at yourself in the mirror. It's well after midnight, but you feel as awake as ever.

Your heart is beating fast beneath your beautifully embroidered dress. It's one you'd had made for when the time came to start accepting suitors, in your favourite colour. Form-fitting around the bosom, enough to make your breasts pop, but flowy just below that. It glitters in the night. You've done your hair up too, not extravagantly, but just enough to look effortlessly good.

This is all moving too slow for you. You want to see how much it'll take before your knight breaks.

Slowly, you approach the door to your room and open it. Just a tad.

You see her, leaning against a pillar just in front of your room. You can't tell if she's stark and awake, or nodding off. All the better.

Careful and practiced, you slip out without a sound.

She doesn't turn.

You can't help but internally celebrate at that. All you have to do is walk behind your pillar, and hope she doesn't turn your way. If she hasn't recognized you yet, perhaps she wasn't very good after all.

You manage past the pillar with much difficulty, finally succeeding in making it to an empty corridor. Finally, you can let a breath escape your lips at the relief. She'll be in a shock if she checks on you throughout the night.

You're too busy internally celebrating in the empty hall before a firm hand wraps around your wrist, and pulls you back.

"Oomph!" You squeak, almost bumping into a full wall of metal. Looking from the hand on your wrist to the face towering above you, your heart sinks to see a knights helmet staring back.

"Going somewhere?" She says, that stupidly amused voice sending shivers down your spine.

She still holds your wrist.

"Let go of me." You grind your teeth.

She does. You wish nothing more to see what expression that angelic face holds right now, at the sight of you all prettied up and caught red handed.

"Back to your room, princess." She snorts.

You stand brave.

"I'm not going anywhere."

The knight steps forward. "Clearly you were planning on it."

"Says who?" You shuffle back.

"Nobody wears a dress like that for nothing." The knight says, sauntering forward. "How is it that you have a secret beau that I haven't known about in the months I've been your knight?"

You can hear the stint of jealousy in her voice. You hope her eyes are burning with it, the thought makes your thighs clench as you step back again.

Of course, she steps forward.

"Are you cold, princess?" She bites. "Your arms have turned into gooseflesh."

"Quite a chatterbox now." You scoff. "Did you grow tired of pretending you have no voice?"

You back up, slightly jumping when your bare back hits the cold, marble walls of the palace. The knight has you herded like prey, the height of her truly evident now.

"Does he know how often his dear princess has her knight in her quarters?" She asks innocently. "Does he know how late the hours turn?"

"Why should he be concerned?" You shoot back. "This knight has no name and no face I'm familiar with. What is there to worry about?"

"Funny, since you lack that information yet still beg for my comfort each night without fail."

Your face burns. It's worse that you can't even see hers.

"Who's the boy?" She bites.

"You won't ever know." You pout.

A gloved hand comes to tilt your chin up. Her fingers are gentle, but cold.

"Tell me." She whispers, and you almost melt. "Unless there isn't a boy after all."

Your lip trembles, and your legs even shake under your weight. You've never felt like this, only dreamt of it, fantasized about it it's a page out of your sinful, awful, dishonourable story book. So beautiful you could almost smile.

"Take the helmet off." You whisper. "And I'll tell you."

Her hand leaves your chin like a ghost, and her arms raise to meet the hard material of her helmet. In a swift motion, she pulls the helmet off.

Long, hay-coloured hair spills out from the helmet like a cascading waterfall, settling around the silver of her shoulders.

Angel is an understatement.

Her eyes, the one part of her that's stayed consistent in your dreams, they bore holes into your soul unlike anything you've encountered. Iced blue irises stare at you so knowingly, like they've perceived all that there is to notice.

Lips—pink, plush and full. Slightly parted, an exhale leaving through them. High cheekbones, long lashes. Mousey brown brows. Pale skin, a decent contrast to yours.

"So?" She mumbles, blinking slow. "Talk."

"Not much to say now." You mutter, genuinely awestruck. "I've gotten what I wanted."

Her expression furrows. You almost fold over.

"That's too bad princess, because I'm not satisfied." She cocks her head. "What a desperate plea for attention."

"You don't mind." You hum, glancing at the tinge of pink in her cheeks, the rush of blood to her ears. "You like this just as much as I do."

"Shouldn't royalty be more chaste than this?" She mumbles, eyes still unbreaking from yours. She begins to pull away.

"Wait!" You squeak, your hands flying out to grip her forearms, pulling her forward. She's left pinning you between each hand against the wall, your grip steady on her wrists.

Her eyes widen in suprise, the tiniest noise escaping her mouth. It's like music to your ears.

"Princess," She mutters, "what is it, exactly, that you want?"

You chew your lip, nervous in thought. Though, it does feel good to finally see her eyes follow your expressions, to catch her looking at your mouth.

"I'm naive." You whisper. "And sheltered, and unknowing of the world."

Her brows scrunch, but she listens.

"And you're a woman. And a knight." You continue. "You've probably experienced more now than I will in a lifetime."

"You're so wrapped up in your isolation." She huffs, shaking her head. "If you're so desperate to be free, make an effort to be."

"Listen." You pout, and without hesitation, she does.

"One day, my father will realize I can't be here forever." You mutter. "And then I'll be wed, and led into isolation once more. And then I'll be left confused, and unknowling, floundering around and relying on another man to teach me what there is to know."

She raises a brow.

"I know of sex." You finally say, and you swear her heartbeat quickens.

"I refuse to give my maidenhood unwillingly, to an imbecile I wouldn't have chosen, nonetheless."

Her fingers flex beside your head. "And how can I help with that?" She frowns.

"Knights are experienced." You mumble. "I want you to show me what there is to know."

She just stares at you, face unchanging, eyes piercing holes through you, undressing you between every blink.

"You want me to fuck you." She states quietly.

With batting eyelashes, you nod.

"It won't be what you think." She mumbles. You don't miss the glances at your lips, the way one hand leaves the wall to cup your face. The cool tingle of metal against your skin makes you shiver. "I don't know what fantasies you dream up in your head, but you have no idea what you want."

"It doesn't matter." You hush, almost shaking with excitement. "You're already alone with me, cornering me in the corridor this late at night. If someone were to hear of this..." You trail off, eyes glinting with the slightest bit of malice, "it'd be quite bad for you."

"Is that supposed to be encouraging?" She grunts.

"No." You hum. "But if it gets to that, you might as well make this time with me worth it. Take advantage of the situation."

"And if I don't?" She cocks a brow.

"I don't do well with rejection." You say, gazing up at her innocently.

She understands the implication. The stakes. She knows this is a huge risk, taking the princess she’d sworn to protect like an animal in heat, right here in the empty corridor. With that invigorating, false-innocent look you’re giving her, she knows there’s no winning.

Her lashes flutter, and she leans into you slowly. You feel as if you might just float on air, with the way her thumb grazes back and forth on your cheek so softly, the way her lips just barely ghost yours. You can’t help but stare at her as her nose tickles yours, as your faces slot against each other like the stones that line the wall as of the palace.

Her lashes graze your cheek, her lips part ever so slightly, and finally plant themselves on yours. Gently, with utmost care. She kisses you like a butterfly drinks nectar from a flower, fleeting and instinctual, light as a feather.

You can’t help but stand up on your tip-toes and chase after her every time she pulls away. Your first kisses with her are dreamlike, they’re a fantasy against the dim light of the hallway.

“You’re the most evil princess i’ve ever met.” She whispers against your cheek, pressing her lips against your powdered skin between each word. As she trails towards your jaw, she says, “Dressing like this in hopes of seducing me, calling me into your room each night with your nightgown too loose and your sheets thrown off.”

You shiver as she nips at your delicate skin, exhaling as her mouth trails down to your neck. “You noticed?”

She scoffs, breath warming your neck. “Of course I did. I was lucky I had that helmet, or else you would’ve had me hung for being a pervert the first day we met.”

You begin to chuckle softly, but your laughter is cut off by a soft whimper you didn’t know you were capable of. It’s not surprising, not as she presses open mouthed kisses to your collarbone and your breasts as they press against your low-cut dress. Her knee slips between yours, adding a friction you haven’t felt before in your life.

You’re ablaze, skin tight and mind buzzed as she smothers you with kisses, as her knee rocks against your groin. You can’t help but rut against her too, chasing a high you’re not even aware of.

Your hands grip her shoulders, hips jutting against her leg, before she grabs your wrists and pulls them towards the wall again.

“Stop.” She huffs.

“Wh—” you huff, the tension in your stomach drying out. “Why?”

“You’re going to finish before I’ve even done anything.” She says, smirking like she’s won a war.

You pout, face burning. “No I’m not.”

“Oh, princess.” She drawls. “You have no idea.” She says, and this time when she presses a kiss to your lips, it’s open mouthed. Her tongue ventures into your mouth before you can even register, and when she pulls away a string of saliva connecting her to you follows.

And then she pushes you flush against the wall, hands grabbing your hips, and kneels down to the ground.

The sight of her staring up at you, blue eyes wide, is a dream come true.

“You’ve been asking for a name to call out.” She licks her lips, finding the bottom of your dress and toying with the edges. “It’s Paige.” She says, and then she lifts up your dress, and ducks under.

The best you can do is slap a hand over your lips to muffle your noises as you feel her fingers graze the bare skin of your thighs, as the cold chain link metal on her arms raises every hair on your body. As her fingertips reach the hem of your undergarments and pull down.

And then you feel it, warm against your naked skin, sopping wet and needy.

“Paige.” You whine, muffled behind your palms. Her hands grip your legs, spreading them apart wider as her tongue darts out to lick at your core, sending jolts of feeling throughout your body.

You peel one hand from your face to hike up your dress, finally catching sight of her as her mouth attaches to you. You watch, intent and exhilarated, as she sucks on your clit, swirling her tongue around it circularly, dipping into your hole with every shudder of your body.

Her eyes are closed as she does it, like she’s completely devoted to your cause. You shouldn’t be surprised, she is your knight after all. How good would she be if she wasn’t devoted in all areas of her work?

And god, is she good.

She shakes her tongue back in forth, she nuzzles in closer to you like you’re seeping nectar instead of arousal. Her voice, Paige’s voice, escapes in little grunts and gasps as you preen and shake above her, as your thighs try to close before she forces them open again. She splits you open, body and soul, with her mouth alone in that empty corridor.

“Paige,” you whine, head thrown back agains the cold wall. “Fuck, I feel—I think I’m..” you trail off, swallowing another moan before someone comes to investigate the noise.

The noise is another thing, besides your voice and hers, you’ve never heard a noise so crude as the result of her fucking you with her mouth. It’s embarrassing but powerful, that in itself is enough to build you up.

Something deep in your gut is tightening like a sailors knot. She seems to notice, maintaining the perfect pace and pressure until you’re bucking and jolting against her. Her hands, her large, rugged hands, handle you like you’re just another piece of weaponry to her.

Even that thought isn’t enough to dull your high. You come hard, bursting against that wall and biting back a whine as she licks your thighs clean of anything that escapes you.

You’re left panting and fuzzy as she rises from her kneel on the ground, metal clanking, lips glistening from saliva and sweet arousal. Her eyes are open again, blue bullets that shoot with full precision. Gently, she wipes a stray tear from your cheek.

“Alright, princess?” She asks voice raspy.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut when she leans in again for a shorter, more chaste kiss that still somehow sends you reeling.

“Take me to my room, Paige.” You sigh with satisfaction.

She smiles like she’s got something up her sleeve, but you’re still surprised when she swoops you off of your feet, and carries you bridal style back to your room.

You’r even more surprised when she places you on your bed, and closes the door behind her, still inside with you.

No nightmares taunt you for the rest of the night. In fact, you barely sleep at all.

tagsˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@booposaurusrex @jujueilish @juumecca @iknowwhatyoutellyourfriends @cowboybueckers @azzisworld @tengens5thwife @ellehoops @jadasogay @idkkk343 @elleaitch22 @ilovepaige3 @gabriella-dawn @onlyhereforpazzi @stargirlbils @classicvines03 @saverdelrey @bamblebini-blog @evanpeterstoe @yailtsv @matildas123

[asapeveryday]

Need some Paige fic recs to fuel me before I write anything new !!! Drop ur recs or fav writers pls

[asapeveryday]

reheating hcneymooners’ nachos with an x reader fic 🥀🥀🥀💔

hi I don’t know who that is but I released a poll well over 10 days ago where people told me they wanted this trope and i’ve been writing the fic since then💗ty, all love to them tho.

[asapeveryday]

: ̗̀➛ No Light, No Armor

knight!paige.bueckers x princess!reader fantasy au

warnings: use of pet names, power imbalance(?) kinda goes both ways tbh, oral sex (r.receiving),reader is inexperienced , semi-risky sex, more plot than porn lol sorry

synopsis: you’re sheltered royalty, hidden behind vine-veiled cobblestone and powder pink gossip. being treated like a child has only made your less-than-innocent cravings more intense. it doesn't help that your new personal knight gives you more attention than you're used to. in fact, it only infatuates you more. (aka, we're kinda deprived and paige is...there.)

sierra says: i had so much fun writing this! kinda struggled w dialogue bc i wanted to go slighhhtly formal but also paige speaks pretty informally irl so i had no idea how to write her lines while making it sound like her. but its an au so its okayyyyy its not that srs.

THE CLICK OF your embroidered flats against the cool, polished castle floor are only hidden by faint giggles and the swish of fabric against bare ankles.

The two of you must be more careful. You bite your tongues and cover your upturned lips with beautiful hands to muffle the noise. A woman’s chortle holds power your father would rather die than allow you to take advantage of. No, you’re barely even allowed to grace a male with your presence, let alone slip any noises within proximity.

Still, you and your friend can’t help but squeal as you duck and scurry through the castle halls, hiding behind crevices and thick pillars to avoid being caught.

Your friend, daughter of your fathers advisor, had overheard her father and yours talking in hushed tones. Something about recruiting fresh blood, young and eager soldiers who ache to serve under the king. The best of the lot, a grand total of five extraordinary knights, were to be assessed today in the hall just north-west of your living quarters.

Naturally, both you and her decided it was only right to asses these knights yourselves. From afar. Quietly.

It’s exciting, the notion of the word fresh, meaning new. Young. Emphasis on young, most knights were—they had to be in peak condition of course—but your fathers preferred personal knights had grown older. He began to worry their temptations may precede them, that your youth may stray them from their duty.

You were wholly uninterested in the knights. They were silent creatures, just empty eyes behind sheets of armour, only opening their mouths to forbade you from freedom under daddy’s orders. If they had lingering stares that followed a gown hemmed too short, or a neckline too low, you hadn’t noticed. You tried not to notice them at all.

But still the rush of sneaking away to gawk at these new, alien beings is adrenaline racing on its own. If your father knew of your intentions, you’d be locked away till your wedding day.

“They’re tall.” Nika, your friend, smirks, head poking out from behind the wide pillar you’re both hiding behind. “Come look.”

Carefully, you shuffle over and peep your eyes just over the old marble slab that shields you. You can seem them a little ways down the curved palace hall, the five of them adorned in their shiny silver walls and guarded helmets, swords in their hilts, eyes hidden beneath metal. Alien, inhuman, a separate type of being from yours.

“How old do you think these ones are?” You whisper, and she shrugs,

“Papa said one of them was yours, so that one must be the youngest.” She mutters back, and you nod. Your father was far too paranoid to have a seasoned, older man stand guard by your room at night.

“The others may be slightly older.” Nika adds. “They’re all within marrying age, that’s for sure.”

“You want one?” You smirk, glancing at her. Her face grows pink but she shakes her head. “My wedding’s arranged already. No point in ruining it with an affair.”

“You’re not wed.” You scoff. “No such thing as an affair without a husband.”

“Not everyone can be so adventurous, princess.” Nika nudges you. “Trust me, I’d like to. But Papa would have my head on a platter served for luncheon before allowing even a rumour to float past him of my…activities.”

“Too bad.” You sigh, staring further at the knights, their perfect posture, their ridged obedience. “I believe every girl deserves to have a moment for loose behaviour.”

“Will that be your first rule as Queen?” Nika grins.

You shrug. “Pray that I find someone with enough heart to allow it.”

“A man of royalty would have you hung.” Nika snorts. “But a knight…perhaps.”

You almost gasp at the comment, eyes widening in her direction. “A knight?” You huff trying to stay quiet. “For me?”

“Why not?” She hums. “They have more heart than any royal man. One tough as nails, I’m sure. It’ll take more than…what’d you say? Loose behaviour? It’ll take more than that to shake them.”

“They’re poor.” You frown. “It’d be impossible.”

“Well I’m not saying you have to wed one.” Nika’s brows furrow. “But you could certainly bed one. And I doubt it’d be as much of a problem as any other man.”

“I guess so.” You hum, considering the sentiment. “But they’re so…distant. They never speak out of fear of my father. They rarely lift their helmets for the same reason. And when they do I’m often dissatisfied.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” You frown. “Too rugged, most of them. Stubbly, the kind that hurts when it grazes your cheek.”

“Princess.” Nika raises a brow. “If you want a man then the stubble is your sign of one. No man with a face bare as a baby is old enough to defend you at night, let alone take care of you.”

“Is that so?”

“Definitely.”

“Shame.” You sigh, gazing back at the knights as Nika’s dad drawls on about some Palace rules. “I figured I’d enjoy the smooth kind more.”

“No skin is smoother than a woman’s.” Nika nods solemnly. “Real men are rough as rock. Especially knights.”

The two of you watch in silence as the knights heed every word lectured to them, stances unchanging, still as statues. You wonder how a knight could possibly be your key to sin, when they’re so obedient, so loyal to the institution that imprisons you.

It’s only when your father’s advisor leaves that they become humans in the slightest, posture still straight but less stiff, heads tilting towards each other for quiet conversation.

“What do knights talk about, Nika?”

“The ones who fight in the wars are like barbarians.” She says. “All talk of their battles, their wins, their injuries. And food. And beer.”

“And those in the palace?”

“I haven’t heard them talk.” She shrugs. “Well, I have. But not enough to know of what.”

“Would you spy for me?”

“I’m not the one who has a knight posted outside their quarters from dusk to dawn.” She scoffs.

“I’ve tried.” You huff. “The last one didn’t utter one word in the years I knew him. Sometimes I wonder if father sews their mouths shut.”

“If they’re like the ones who brave the battlefield, it may be for the better.” Nika grins wickedly, and you just click your tongue.

“See those ones? They speak so softly. Look at how they cock their heads to exchange their thoughts.” You continue, eyes still on the five silver giants.

One of them turns their back to you, and you notice something slight. It shines in the sun, differently from the metal that they wear. Golden against silver, like silk. The slightest strand of blonde hair, peeking between the slices of armour left for mobility, the parting between the helmet and the backplate.

It’s not too unusual for them to have longer hair. Many men do, perhaps not that long, but long nonetheless. Even so, the pin-straight strand of hair throws you off, brings a femininity to figures you’ve only ever associated with rough edges.

You don’t mention it to Nika. You just watch the blonde knight whisper to another.

“Perhaps we have some chatterboxes in the palace for once.” Nika muses as she watches them. “Young blood breeds new tradition. Mouths can’t be sewn shut forever.”

“Indeed.” You mumble, eyes still latched onto the knight with golden hair. “They can’t.”

YOU’RE INTRODUCED TO your new guard that evening, summoned out of your quarters by a soft knock at the door. Outside waits your father and the silver-showered knight.

He’s taller up close, significantly more lanky than your last few knights. His posture is straight, confidently so. You can’t tell if he’s staring at you, or if his head is simply in your direction. His eyes are obscured by the metal grates on his helmet.

“This one is the best yet.” Your father assures you, nodding in the knights’ direction. “I know we’ve had too many changes darling, but I believe it’s best to have a consistent guard, rather than swapping them out.”

You cross your arms, uncaring of the company in front of you. “That’s only what I’ve been telling you for the past ten years. How am I supposed to form a relationship with the one who’s meant to keep me safe, when that person is constantly changing?”

“Ah, see that’s where you’re misled.” Your dad tuts. “You must trust your guard, not have a relationship with them.”

“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.” You frown.

“Nevertheless,” He smiles, bulldozing through any opportunity for argument, “this knight is here to stay. Age will not be a problem. If all is well, you’ll be protected by this one till the end of their days.”

You glance at the knight, who doesn’t even stir.

“You may attempt to have a relationship.” Your father chuckles. “But it will be futile. I’ve given a full rundown of my instructions already. You understood well, did you not?”

Your father half-glances at the knight, who you notice is even taller than him. The knight finally shifts, nodding surely. “To the bone, your highness.” The knight says.

Your eyes narrow.

The voice. Muffled beneath the metal, it’s hard to make out. But it’s higher than you’d thought it’d be.

“Just how young is this one?” You ask.

“None of your concern.” Your father grins. “You may go back inside now. Goodnight.”

Without any room for question, the order is given. The knight turns back to the walls that surround the outside of your quarters and stands ready with one hand on the hilt of his sword. Your father gleams happily, nodding at you to go back to your room.

With a huff, you do, stepping back into your prison. You stand against the door in wait, listening for the sound of your father’s footsteps until they can’t be heard.

And then you open the door again, just slightly. The knight’s armour creaks as his head turns to glance at you from beside the door.

“You’ll be protecting me till you’re too old to move in that suit.” You smile, trying hard to spy a pair of eyes between the metal grates of the helmet with no luck. “I see no harm in knowing your name.”

The knight turns his head away, staring back ahead at the empty hall.

“Typical.” you scoff, burnt by the rejection but not surprised. “Can’t even give me something as simple as a name. What am I meant to call out when some bandit attacks me?”

There’s a little noise inside the suit of armour. An exhale, maybe even a huff.

“You thought that was funny.” You grin, and the knight goes rigid. “You’re a fool to follow every rule my father gives you. He thinks I’m meant to trust you without knowing you at all. I’m never going to call out for you if that’s the case.”

The knight says nothing. You stare at him a little longer, aching for a response of any kind like the chuckle from before. He doesn’t give you that satisfaction.

You’re about to close your bedroom door when he shuffles.

“It’s not as simple as you think it is, princess.” He says, the last word sending a shiver down your spine.

That voice again, not high like the women you know, but certainly not a man’s. It drips with confidence and oozes amusement yet also something raw beneath. Nothing like something you can place.

You look him over again, once, twice. Something glints in your vision.

A dark gold, straight as embroidery thread. It shimmers just slightly under the armour against the light of the lantern mounted on the wall. Long, blonde hair.

An idea runs through your head, a stupid, impossible reason for that shocking voice and promise of lifelong service.

You wait. The knight says nothing more. You ponder, deciding whether or not to voice your question. Then you decide against it.

You close the door.

The knight is good.

Good at being present, at standing guard and staying awake, unlike the last one who grew too old to stay up till dawn, allowing you to slip out at night. Good at hovering a safe distance behind of you, far enough to give you privacy, some semblance of freedom, while close enough to be able to intervene should context permit it.

Good at being silent. At listening, not through walls like the one you had at sixteen, but rather at the comments you drop under curtesy’s and diplomatic quips.

When a joke falls flat, or a rude comment goes unnoticed, you never fail to hear a noise from behind you. An exhale, a scoff. If you’re lucky, that low yet girlish voice will let a chuckle slip.

But the knight is also an anomaly. Sometimes the chuckles are ones that catch you off guard, that make your breath hitch at their tone.

The flecks of blonde you see between cracks of armour make your brain buzz. The way he moves is nothing like the brash, abrasive men of steel you recognize.

You try every day, to see through those metal bars in his helmet. To catch a glimpse of eyes, lips, nose, anything.

You have no luck with that matter, but you do manage to crack a code to hear that entrancing voice more often.

Though, the first time isn't an accident.

It was a dark day, the kind that often made you feel isolated and alone. The type of night that either brought insomnia or nightmares.

That night brought haunted dreams that woke you up shivering, dreams of falling forever, of being locked away till your curls grow white and wirey.

The knight is in your room before you realize you're shrieking, metal lit by the lantern he holds, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Princess." He says softly, voice muffled beneath his helmet. In an instant he's analyzed your state, pulling the hand from his weapon to the side of your bed. Distant, but ready to offer up his services.

"I don't wanna stay here." You breathe, chest heaving. Your face is wet with tears, chest glittering with the sheen of sweat. It doesn't even occur to you to feel exposed in your night gown, the frilly white one that sits too low past your collarbone. "I can't—I can't be here till I wither away."

"You're young." The knight reassures you, setting the lantern down and kneeling by your bedside, iron clanking. "You're still young. Your life is just beginning, and it won't be wasted away here."

You scoff breathlessly, shooting the tin-warrior a nasty look. "Don't be a fool." You bite. "Look at me, look at everything you watch me do. Every single day I live like a child, I'm treated like a child, I'm followed like a child." Your eyes flare. Despite the fury, you still feel your bottom lip tremble, visions of your old, withered body never making it past the palace still fresh.

The knight just shifts, and you can't help but wonder if it's a shift of guilt.

"I mean honestly," you sniffle, "I'd thought when I had my first bleed I'd be womanly enough to have some freedom, but it only got worse." You chuckle sadly. "Turns out the prospect of marriage is only more reason to keep me hidden away."

"...yes." The knight mumbles carefully. "You really shouldn't discuss those matters with me."

"You're not disgusted." You say. "Are you?"

"More terrified of what the court may do to me if someone hears you." The knight says, and you can hear a slight smile.

"Why aren't you?" You ask suddenly, eyes narrowing. "Why aren't you disgusted?"

The knight shifts again, and you see another fleck of gold hair under his chest plate. "I'm more familiar with those matters than most."

That statement alone is enough to confirm any suspicions you may have had before.

Before you can poke around much further, he rises from the side of your bed, takes the lantern and nods to you stiffly. A farewell.

"Wait!" You sit up. "I'm not finished with you!"

"You're too smart for your own good, princess." The knight says. His broad back turns away, and your room grows dark as he walks out, door clicking behind him.

Something burns in your stomach at that retort. You even dream again that night, but it's not nightmarish at all.

And so, you take advantage of the next terror. A few nights later. One where you step foot off of a palace balcony and never hit the ground, cursed to eternal falling.

It's not enough to wake you in cries for help, but you do come to consciousness damply, nightgown sticking to your legs from sheer cold sweat.

You wonder if he would come if you called. Though you didn't have a name to taste for him. Perhaps that would be your goal for the night.

Instead, you opt for a few whimpers, eyes screwed shut, body scrunched tight against your pillow. It's awkward, but it works. You feel the light of the lantern against your closed lids, and you hear the clank of metal as he enters.

"Princess."

There it is again. The voice. The tightness it causes inside of you.

Slowly, you allow your eyes to open.

"Another nightmare?" The knight asks kindly.

"You'll discover I have many of those." You sigh, making your voice small, pathetic. "I'm imprisoned, even in my sleep."

"A dramatic prisoner." The knight chuckles, kneeling once again by your bed. "In another life you're a playwright."

"Don't make me mourn the idea." You scoff.

"So tonight, what is it that scares you?" The knight asks,

"A common one." You hum. "Out of questionable circumstances, I lose my footing on the balcony and fall."

"Gruesome, princess."

"Not quite." You sigh. "I never hit the ground. I just tumble down through the air. It's sickening, really. Endless torture."

"I can imagine." The knight hums. "Should we make that a new punishment for those who commit treason?"

"Perhaps." You say, smiling just a tad. Slowly, you peel your covers off of you and trail your hand gingerly from your chest to your stomach. "I wish there was something to cure this. It was only a dream, but I really am sick to my stomach."

"Careful." The knight mutters, shifting to pull the covers back up. The feeling of cold chainlink metal grazing your arm makes you shiver with delight you've never experienced before.

"I can't stay long." The knight says. "But I really am sorry that you can't get a good night's rest."

"It's not so bad anymore." You shrug. "At least I can rely on you to be there. It's nice to hear a voice other than the few I know by heart now."

"I'm going to get in trouble for talking to you so much, princess."

"I know." You frown, pouting slightly, hoping that somewhere behind that metal helmet lay eyes that catch on the plumpness of your lips. "But it's more help than anyone's ever offered. I--I don't dream so harshly after we've spoken."

The knight pauses.

"I'm glad." He settles.

"One day I'll want to call out to you." You add, trying your best to look sweet and persuasive. "I'll need a name to do that."

The knight gets up slowly. "If I could give you that, I would." He says. "But trust me when I say I'll be there before calling out even becomes an option."

You scoff, shooing the knight away playfully. Though you think about those words until sleep claims you again.

"I dreamt of you." You sigh a few weeks later. The knight is perched by your bedside again, you're turned on your side, hoping the way your breasts cling to the fabric of your nightgown catches the right eyes. The lantern light is routine now, but intimately so.

"Oh really?"

"Indeed." You sigh, breathless. "I dreamt that I had a nightmare, and a knight came running in."

The knight cocks his head.

Days with the knight were different now. You had your suspicions about the sex of whoever may lay beneath the helmet, but it didn't deter you in the slightest.

If anything, it made a sense of passion burn inside of you. You can just feel it, those possibly-feline eyes glazing over your every move. It doesn't seem as imprisoning, but rather empowering.

It certainly helps when the knight drops little comments between the hours.

"Careful, princess."

"I'll always be there."

"That look just might find you a suitor."

"If I could have my post be inside of your bedroom, without a doubt I would."

Every word set you ablaze. More than you think that metal-tease could be aware of.

"So," the voice drawls, smooth against the night. "I came to your rescue?"

"It wasn't you. I could tell, even with the armour." You continue. "Well, I thought I could. That was the problem. I had this feeling that it was someone else, but there was no concrete proof."

"No?"

"No." You frown. "You all look the same, after all. Even voices blend together after a while."

"So this scared you?"

"Of course." You say. "I trust you to comfort me, nobody else has had that pleasure."

"Aren't I lucky." The knight scoffs.

"Don't tease." You huff. "It's true. Your presence is magic. And that knight made me fear the magic was gone."

"What if it was me?"

"Well, how would I know?" You shoot back. "With no name to call for and no face to recognize, you could be a bandit in armour for all I know."

"I'm sorry for that." The knight says genuinely.

"If you are then fix it." You smile. "Give me something to recognize you by, even in my dreams.

"Not much I can give, princess." The knight says, and you can feel the smile in every word.

"I can think of plenty." You sigh, holding out a hand to touch the cool metal helmet in front of you. "But I don't want to get you into trouble."

Slowly, you run your fingers over every ridge and bump, trailing through the metal that casts shadows over the eyes. "But these could do with some uncovering." You hum. "Eyes are the window to the soul."

"You care for a mere knight's soul?"

"More than you may know." You smile.

The knight stiffens ever so slightly.

"Go ahead, then." The voice says, dangerously quiet.

You lift the hinged iron, resting it higher on the helmet, and a rectangle of skin is bared to you. Eyes, round and inquisitive, stare back at you.

Bright. And blue, like royalty from far away.

You swallow. "Beautiful."

The eyes blink. You wonder what features may lie below them. Just from seeing these eyes, you have an idea of the nature of those features. Full, soft and feminine.

"You're a woman." You breathe, finally saying it out loud.

The knight flinches, pulls back from your hand, and hastily shifts the metal slate over her eyes again. Your heart sinks as she gets up and begins to retreat from your room.

"Goodnight, princess." She says. Her voice is almost too low to hear, before you're engulfed in silence.

The knight does not speak more than a word to you from that point onward.

Days pass slowly. Routine becomes bland and boring again, there's no rush in your heart or tightness in your core at the sound of her voice anymore. Just stiff nods in your direction. Blank metal that holds no warmth, no ounce of frosted colour like it did that night.

What's worse is that your nightmares have halted, instead being replaced by a much more sinful species of dream that leaves you waking up exhilarated. Dreams that feature cold iron on your skin, blonde hair tickling your abdomen, blue eyes that stare up at you, preening, begging, giving.

Nika doesn't help.

"I can't even fathom it!" She squeals, half whispering, half yelling. You turn around to see if the knight is watching. If she is, you can't really tell. But she lingers far enough for conversation to be safe.

"No?" You respond mindlessly.

"No!" Nika huffs. "I mean, the boy has to be lying, he's only a valet after all, but servants know all kinds of things so then again—"

"Nika, calm yourself." You shush.

"I can't!" She groans. "A female knight? In what world? How is this possible? Why wasn't this made aware to me?"

"Why would it be?"

"If i'd known that was an option, I'd be on a battle field slaying enemies right now."

"You're joking."

"Dead serious." She frowns. "I'm more jealous than anything. Who is this girl and what does one have to do to trade places with her."

"You never know." You shrug. "It might not be as fun as it seems. Who says she's fighting?"

"Well, she's here, so obviously she's not." Nika rolls her eyes. "But she's got the title nonetheless, lucky bastard."

"What else did this valet say?" You whisper.

"Oh, just some foolish boy-things." Nika waves. "He claims she's gorgeous, but I don't think that's possible for a knight. All of the men are rough and rugged. I doubt a woman would be different. I can see it now, a handsome woman. Though gorgeous fits his description more."

"Gorgeous?" You quip, interested. "How so?"

"Oh, he's an idiot." Nika laughs. "Described her like she was an angel. Long blonde hair, full lips, pale skin." She hums. "Big, blue eyes."

You try not to grin to yourself at the details. "And she really is pretty?"

"Yes, princess." Nika smirks. "You gonna ask daddy what he can do to send her over? For your sake and mine?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." You shrug, straight-faced. Nika just snorts, and the rest of the stroll is silence.

Nightfall bleeds through the windows of your room as you stare at yourself in the mirror. It's well after midnight, but you feel as awake as ever.

Your heart is beating fast beneath your beautifully embroidered dress. It's one you'd had made for when the time came to start accepting suitors, in your favourite colour. Form-fitting around the bosom, enough to make your breasts pop, but flowy just below that. It glitters in the night. You've done your hair up too, not extravagantly, but just enough to look effortlessly good.

This is all moving too slow for you. You want to see how much it'll take before your knight breaks.

Slowly, you approach the door to your room and open it. Just a tad.

You see her, leaning against a pillar just in front of your room. You can't tell if she's stark and awake, or nodding off. All the better.

Careful and practiced, you slip out without a sound.

She doesn't turn.

You can't help but internally celebrate at that. All you have to do is walk behind your pillar, and hope she doesn't turn your way. If she hasn't recognized you yet, perhaps she wasn't very good after all.

You manage past the pillar with much difficulty, finally succeeding in making it to an empty corridor. Finally, you can let a breath escape your lips at the relief. She'll be in a shock if she checks on you throughout the night.

You're too busy internally celebrating in the empty hall before a firm hand wraps around your wrist, and pulls you back.

"Oomph!" You squeak, almost bumping into a full wall of metal. Looking from the hand on your wrist to the face towering above you, your heart sinks to see a knights helmet staring back.

"Going somewhere?" She says, that stupidly amused voice sending shivers down your spine.

She still holds your wrist.

"Let go of me." You grind your teeth.

She does. You wish nothing more to see what expression that angelic face holds right now, at the sight of you all prettied up and caught red handed.

"Back to your room, princess." She snorts.

You stand brave.

"I'm not going anywhere."

The knight steps forward. "Clearly you were planning on it."

"Says who?" You shuffle back.

"Nobody wears a dress like that for nothing." The knight says, sauntering forward. "How is it that you have a secret beau that I haven't known about in the months I've been your knight?"

You can hear the stint of jealousy in her voice. You hope her eyes are burning with it, the thought makes your thighs clench as you step back again.

Of course, she steps forward.

"Are you cold, princess?" She bites. "Your arms have turned into gooseflesh."

"Quite a chatterbox now." You scoff. "Did you grow tired of pretending you have no voice?"

You back up, slightly jumping when your bare back hits the cold, marble walls of the palace. The knight has you herded like prey, the height of her truly evident now.

"Does he know how often his dear princess has her knight in her quarters?" She asks innocently. "Does he know how late the hours turn?"

"Why should he be concerned?" You shoot back. "This knight has no name and no face I'm familiar with. What is there to worry about?"

"Funny, since you lack that information yet still beg for my comfort each night without fail."

Your face burns. It's worse that you can't even see hers.

"Who's the boy?" She bites.

"You won't ever know." You pout.

A gloved hand comes to tilt your chin up. Her fingers are gentle, but cold.

"Tell me." She whispers, and you almost melt. "Unless there isn't a boy after all."

Your lip trembles, and your legs even shake under your weight. You've never felt like this, only dreamt of it, fantasized about it it's a page out of your sinful, awful, dishonourable story book. So beautiful you could almost smile.

"Take the helmet off." You whisper. "And I'll tell you."

Her hand leaves your chin like a ghost, and her arms raise to meet the hard material of her helmet. In a swift motion, she pulls the helmet off.

Long, hay-coloured hair spills out from the helmet like a cascading waterfall, settling around the silver of her shoulders.

Angel is an understatement.

Her eyes, the one part of her that's stayed consistent in your dreams, they bore holes into your soul unlike anything you've encountered. Iced blue irises stare at you so knowingly, like they've perceived all that there is to notice.

Lips—pink, plush and full. Slightly parted, an exhale leaving through them. High cheekbones, long lashes. Mousey brown brows. Pale skin, a decent contrast to yours.

"So?" She mumbles, blinking slow. "Talk."

"Not much to say now." You mutter, genuinely awestruck. "I've gotten what I wanted."

Her expression furrows. You almost fold over.

"That's too bad princess, because I'm not satisfied." She cocks her head. "What a desperate plea for attention."

"You don't mind." You hum, glancing at the tinge of pink in her cheeks, the rush of blood to her ears. "You like this just as much as I do."

"Shouldn't royalty be more chaste than this?" She mumbles, eyes still unbreaking from yours. She begins to pull away.

"Wait!" You squeak, your hands flying out to grip her forearms, pulling her forward. She's left pinning you between each hand against the wall, your grip steady on her wrists.

Her eyes widen in suprise, the tiniest noise escaping her mouth. It's like music to your ears.

"Princess," She mutters, "what is it, exactly, that you want?"

You chew your lip, nervous in thought. Though, it does feel good to finally see her eyes follow your expressions, to catch her looking at your mouth.

"I'm naive." You whisper. "And sheltered, and unknowing of the world."

Her brows scrunch, but she listens.

"And you're a woman. And a knight." You continue. "You've probably experienced more now than I will in a lifetime."

"You're so wrapped up in your isolation." She huffs, shaking her head. "If you're so desperate to be free, make an effort to be."

"Listen." You pout, and without hesitation, she does.

"One day, my father will realize I can't be here forever." You mutter. "And then I'll be wed, and led into isolation once more. And then I'll be left confused, and unknowling, floundering around and relying on another man to teach me what there is to know."

She raises a brow.

"I know of sex." You finally say, and you swear her heartbeat quickens.

"I refuse to give my maidenhood unwillingly, to an imbecile I wouldn't have chosen, nonetheless."

Her fingers flex beside your head. "And how can I help with that?" She frowns.

"Knights are experienced." You mumble. "I want you to show me what there is to know."

She just stares at you, face unchanging, eyes piercing holes through you, undressing you between every blink.

"You want me to fuck you." She states quietly.

With batting eyelashes, you nod.

"It won't be what you think." She mumbles. You don't miss the glances at your lips, the way one hand leaves the wall to cup your face. The cool tingle of metal against your skin makes you shiver. "I don't know what fantasies you dream up in your head, but you have no idea what you want."

"It doesn't matter." You hush, almost shaking with excitement. "You're already alone with me, cornering me in the corridor this late at night. If someone were to hear of this..." You trail off, eyes glinting with the slightest bit of malice, "it'd be quite bad for you."

"Is that supposed to be encouraging?" She grunts.

"No." You hum. "But if it gets to that, you might as well make this time with me worth it. Take advantage of the situation."

"And if I don't?" She cocks a brow.

"I don't do well with rejection." You say, gazing up at her innocently.

She understands the implication. The stakes. She knows this is a huge risk, taking the princess she’d sworn to protect like an animal in heat, right here in the empty corridor. With that invigorating, false-innocent look you’re giving her, she knows there’s no winning.

Her lashes flutter, and she leans into you slowly. You feel as if you might just float on air, with the way her thumb grazes back and forth on your cheek so softly, the way her lips just barely ghost yours. You can’t help but stare at her as her nose tickles yours, as your faces slot against each other like the stones that line the wall as of the palace.

Her lashes graze your cheek, her lips part ever so slightly, and finally plant themselves on yours. Gently, with utmost care. She kisses you like a butterfly drinks nectar from a flower, fleeting and instinctual, light as a feather.

You can’t help but stand up on your tip-toes and chase after her every time she pulls away. Your first kisses with her are dreamlike, they’re a fantasy against the dim light of the hallway.

“You’re the most evil princess i’ve ever met.” She whispers against your cheek, pressing her lips against your powdered skin between each word. As she trails towards your jaw, she says, “Dressing like this in hopes of seducing me, calling me into your room each night with your nightgown too loose and your sheets thrown off.”

You shiver as she nips at your delicate skin, exhaling as her mouth trails down to your neck. “You noticed?”

She scoffs, breath warming your neck. “Of course I did. I was lucky I had that helmet, or else you would’ve had me hung for being a pervert the first day we met.”

You begin to chuckle softly, but your laughter is cut off by a soft whimper you didn’t know you were capable of. It’s not surprising, not as she presses open mouthed kisses to your collarbone and your breasts as they press against your low-cut dress. Her knee slips between yours, adding a friction you haven’t felt before in your life.

You’re ablaze, skin tight and mind buzzed as she smothers you with kisses, as her knee rocks against your groin. You can’t help but rut against her too, chasing a high you’re not even aware of.

Your hands grip her shoulders, hips jutting against her leg, before she grabs your wrists and pulls them towards the wall again.

“Stop.” She huffs.

“Wh—” you huff, the tension in your stomach drying out. “Why?”

“You’re going to finish before I’ve even done anything.” She says, smirking like she’s won a war.

You pout, face burning. “No I’m not.”

“Oh, princess.” She drawls. “You have no idea.” She says, and this time when she presses a kiss to your lips, it’s open mouthed. Her tongue ventures into your mouth before you can even register, and when she pulls away a string of saliva connecting her to you follows.

And then she pushes you flush against the wall, hands grabbing your hips, and kneels down to the ground.

The sight of her staring up at you, blue eyes wide, is a dream come true.

“You’ve been asking for a name to call out.” She licks her lips, finding the bottom of your dress and toying with the edges. “It’s Paige.” She says, and then she lifts up your dress, and ducks under.

The best you can do is slap a hand over your lips to muffle your noises as you feel her fingers graze the bare skin of your thighs, as the cold chain link metal on her arms raises every hair on your body. As her fingertips reach the hem of your undergarments and pull down.

And then you feel it, warm against your naked skin, sopping wet and needy.

“Paige.” You whine, muffled behind your palms. Her hands grip your legs, spreading them apart wider as her tongue darts out to lick at your core, sending jolts of feeling throughout your body.

You peel one hand from your face to hike up your dress, finally catching sight of her as her mouth attaches to you. You watch, intent and exhilarated, as she sucks on your clit, swirling her tongue around it circularly, dipping into your hole with every shudder of your body.

Her eyes are closed as she does it, like she’s completely devoted to your cause. You shouldn’t be surprised, she is your knight after all. How good would she be if she wasn’t devoted in all areas of her work?

And god, is she good.

She shakes her tongue back in forth, she nuzzles in closer to you like you’re seeping nectar instead of arousal. Her voice, Paige’s voice, escapes in little grunts and gasps as you preen and shake above her, as your thighs try to close before she forces them open again. She splits you open, body and soul, with her mouth alone in that empty corridor.

“Paige,” you whine, head thrown back agains the cold wall. “Fuck, I feel—I think I’m..” you trail off, swallowing another moan before someone comes to investigate the noise.

The noise is another thing, besides your voice and hers, you’ve never heard a noise so crude as the result of her fucking you with her mouth. It’s embarrassing but powerful, that in itself is enough to build you up.

Something deep in your gut is tightening like a sailors knot. She seems to notice, maintaining the perfect pace and pressure until you’re bucking and jolting against her. Her hands, her large, rugged hands, handle you like you’re just another piece of weaponry to her.

Even that thought isn’t enough to dull your high. You come hard, bursting against that wall and biting back a whine as she licks your thighs clean of anything that escapes you.

You’re left panting and fuzzy as she rises from her kneel on the ground, metal clanking, lips glistening from saliva and sweet arousal. Her eyes are open again, blue bullets that shoot with full precision. Gently, she wipes a stray tear from your cheek.

“Alright, princess?” She asks voice raspy.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut when she leans in again for a shorter, more chaste kiss that still somehow sends you reeling.

“Take me to my room, Paige.” You sigh with satisfaction.

She smiles like she’s got something up her sleeve, but you’re still surprised when she swoops you off of your feet, and carries you bridal style back to your room.

You’r even more surprised when she places you on your bed, and closes the door behind her, still inside with you.

No nightmares taunt you for the rest of the night. In fact, you barely sleep at all.

tagsˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@booposaurusrex @jujueilish @juumecca @iknowwhatyoutellyourfriends @cowboybueckers @azzisworld @tengens5thwife @ellehoops @jadasogay @idkkk343 @elleaitch22 @ilovepaige3 @gabriella-dawn @onlyhereforpazzi @stargirlbils @classicvines03 @saverdelrey @bamblebini-blog @evanpeterstoe @yailtsv @matildas123

[asapeveryday]

it's so incredibly dystopian and INSANE to see this go down in the US. As a Canadian I'm sending my prayers to everyone who is being affected by this human rights monstrosity. These are human beings who are being hounded and treated like less than, it's sickening and terrifying.

i know this is a little bit different from the usual content i put out, but i have recently seen one of the worst experiences to happen to a family. my next door neighbors are hispanic, a wife, husband, and two little boys, ages 8-10. me and my family were not home tonight, just to come back to my neighbor being deported. a family man, who provided for not only his family, but for me and mine at times too.

having to translate his wife’s words to my dad broke me, the crying all her and her boys had done in my mother’s arms by the time we got back home.

this is AWARENESS. this isn’t fun and games like the IDIOTS that voted for the most evil, cruel, and inhumane man thought this was, this is real life.

they snatched this man from his family, the people he looks forward to seeing every single day. the people he would die for.

trump doesn’t care about you, me, or anybody living under his reign. he cares about himself. always going to be about him.

he’s made countless mistakes, ultimately ruining what we thought could be a refuge, to seek better life, and better opportunities. it’s sick.

if you or anyone you know is at risk of deportation, please let them know that they have RIGHTS. you cannot take that away from anybody.

knowing this could have happened to me if my mother never got her papers right, sickens me. if you wanted to make america great again, don’t do shit that’ll get you assasinated

and if you choose to go into a profession that rips mothers, fathers, aunties, uncles, grandparents, CHILDREN, from their families for a little paycheck, you’re a bitch

these are not criminals. these are real life people.

trump is not above the program, his time will come. all the lives he’s endangered, taken away, shunned, he will get the karma he deserves.

people who voted for him are sick, (and you’re ugly too)

keep people close, always

and free fucking palestine, free gaza, and free congo