pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader
theme: fluff, suggestive
summary: spencer never had the experiences of a regular high school student, so when he comes up with a proposition for his wife, who was she to deny him of the experience?
content warnings: mentions of being horny and dry humping ig
a/n: i just wanna make out with spencer and hump him huh? who said that?
Spencer Reid never talked about high school the way other people did. When coworkers reminisced about lockers and football games, awkward crushes and worse haircuts, Spencer listened with polite interest, occasionally supplying an obscure statistic about adolescent brain development or sociological bonding through shared rites of passage, but he never volunteered a story of his own. There weren’t any stories that fit the shape of what people expected. He just never really had the high school experience everyone around him talked about so casually, like it was a universal rite of passage he’d somehow skipped.
High school, for Spencer, had been a blur of advanced coursework, social isolation, and the constant awareness that he was different in a way no amount of politeness could smooth over. He had been younger than everyone else, and far too aware of how much space he took up just by existing. Romance hadn’t been part of the equation.
It wasn’t something that hurt anymore, though. Time had softened the edges. Love had filled in the gaps. Marriage had given him a life so full that the past felt more like a theoretical exercise than a loss. She was more than enough for him to be able to forget. Still, sometimes, late at night, when the house was quiet, and his mind was prone to wandering, he wondered.
That was how it happened. It was nothing but an ordinary night, and she was leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone. Spencer stood beside her, methodically stacking plates with the kind of precision that suggested he was thinking about something else entirely.
He cleared his throat. She glanced over. “You okay, babe?” “Yes,” he said quickly. Then paused. “I mean...yes, but I was also thinking.”
She smiled. “Dangerous.”
“You know what I don't think it's impor—”
“Spencer.” He huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head. “Right. Sorry.”
There was a beat of silence. He adjusted his glasses. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. She watched him with growing curiosity. “You’re doing the thing,” she said gently.
“The… thing?”
“The ‘I’ve rehearsed this in my head seventeen times, and now I’m worried about execution’ thing.”
He grimaced. She knew him too well for this. She slipped her phone into her pocket and turned fully toward him. “Just tell me, I promise I won’t laugh at you.”
He hesitated, looking back to see if any of their kids were around. Then, very carefully, he said, “Would you—hypothetically—want to make out with me like horny teenagers?”
The words hung in the air for exactly half a second before she burst out laughing. Not a mean laugh. The kind of laugh that bubbled up uncontrollably, that made her bend at the waist and cover her mouth as if that might contain it.
“Oh my God,” she said between breaths. “I’m sorry—what?”
Spencer winced. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.” He turns to dry his hand on the towel above the sink.
“I said I wouldn’t laugh at you,” she managed, still grinning. “I’m laughing because that was the least expected sentence you could’ve said.”
He relaxed a fraction. “That’s fair.”
She straightened, eyes still bright. “Where did you even get that idea?" He shifted his weight. “Morgan mentioned it once during a stakeout. ”
That only made her laugh harder. “Of course he did.”
“It was an offhand comment,” Spencer said quickly. “Several years ago. He was talking about adolescence and impulse control, and then he said something about ‘making out like horny teenagers’ and—” He stopped himself, cleared his throat. “The phrasing was… memorable.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And it stuck with you for years?”
“Yes.” She stepped closer, her amusement softening into something warmer. “Why?”
He took a moment before answering. When he did, his voice was quieter. Thoughtful. “I never really knew what it was like,” he said.
Her smile faded into tenderness.
“I mean,” he continued, rushing slightly, “I understand the concept intellectually. Hormonal surges, novelty-seeking behavior, underdeveloped prefrontal cortex, the social reinforcement of shared rebellion—”
“Spencer.”
He exhaled. “What I mean is… everyone talks about it like it’s this universal experience. Sneaking kisses and being reckless just because you can. Wanting someone so badly you forget to be careful.”
She reached for his hand. “And you feel like you missed out.”
He considered that. “Not exactly. I don’t regret my life. If anything had changed, I might not be here with you and our three beautiful kids."
“But,” she prompted gently.
“But,” he admitted, “sometimes I’m curious. " She squeezed his fingers. “You know we don’t actually have to be teenagers to kiss, right?”
“I’m aware,” he said, lips twitching. “We do that regularly, almost every single day of this amazing life.”
“And very successfully too.” Nodding toward the direction of their children's rooms. Spencer laughs, pulling her closer. She studied him for a moment, then leaned in conspiratorially. “You know,” she said, “I heard, the whole thrill of it was that you weren’t supposed to get caught.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Caught?” She bites her lip before answering him in a hushed voice. “By parents. Teachers. Anyone with authority.”
He nodded slowly. She tilted her head toward the hallway. “Which means…” His eyes followed her gaze. Understanding dawned.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh,” she echoed. A slow, delighted smile spread across his face. “So the challenge has changed.”
She grinned. “Exactly.”
He adjusted his glasses, suddenly far too pleased. “Okay, our odds are significantly lower.”
She laughed. “Are you backing out?”
“No,” he said immediately. Then, more calmly, “No. I just like to assess risk.”
“Spencer Reid,” she said, stepping into his space, “are you telling me you want to make out with your wife and break the rules?" He didn’t back away. If anything, he leaned in just a little. “I’m telling you,” he said calmly, a slow smile tugging at his mouth, “that I fully intend to break the rules, with my wife...repeatedly.”
Without any further hesitation, she rose onto her toes and kissed him. It wasn’t hurried or polite or careful. It was the kind of kiss that forgot where it started, the kind that kept going simply because stopping didn’t occur to either of them. Spencer’s hands found her waist, then her back, then lingered there like he was relearning something instinctual. He tugs her along with him, gentle but insistent, backing them toward the sofa until he drops down onto it and she follows without hesitation. She settles over him, knees bracketing his legs, and their mouths meet instantly. Her fingers slide into his already-rumpled hair, threading through it as if they belong there. The sound of their smacking lips felt so loud that it echoed in their ears. This made Spencer's heart race faster. His fingers were gripping her waist tighter by the minute, slowly forcing it down for her to feel how excited he was under his pants. She smiles against his lips and starts moving her hips back and forth against his growing bulge. They laughed into it once, breathless and quiet, but even that dissolved as the kiss deepened, unplanned, unmeasured, completely unbothered by how much time passed.
Minutes slipped by unnoticed. Spence forgot the careful cadence he usually moved through life with. He kissed her like he was discovering her all over again, like every kiss unlocked another realization he’d been late to but was finally allowed to experience. This was what people meant. No agenda, just closeness for the sake of closeness. His hands finally found their way under her shirt, making her moan in exhilaration, but just as he was about to unclasp her bra, they heard it.
A soft, unmistakable sound. A door opening down the hall. Her eyes widened. His hands stilled like he’d been caught. They separated instantly, like gravity had snapped back into place. Spencer cleared his throat, straightened his shirt, and tried very hard to look like a man who had not just been making out with his wife like a teenager with no sense of consequence. She bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“Mom?” came a drowsy voice.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she called, far too cheerfully.
“Can't sleep, I need huggies.” Spencer nodded solemnly, as if this were a completely normal interruption and not the narrowest escape of his adult life. "Okay, hon, dad and I will be with you in a minute." When the footsteps faded again, she turned back to him, eyes sparkling.
He exhaled slowly. “I believe,” he said, voice low and absolutely delighted, “that we would have been caught.” She smiled, warm and victorious. “Which means we did it right.”
He leaned in, brushing his forehead against hers, smiling widely. “Is it possible to do that again?” he said quietly.
She laughed. “Yeah, baby, later.” He nodded. “Later,” he agreed, already planning it. They were definitely not just going to make out that night.
this is part three of the series deck stacked against you
❤️ PAIRING: enjin x fem!reader
♣️ SERIES SYNOPSIS: As a nanny for one of the elite families of the sphere, your life should have been rather comfortable. The life of grandeur displayed to outside eyes and secrets kept behind closed doors were as different as heaven and hell. The sins of your master spells your death, a sentence that casts you tumbling into the abyss. If this place you've woken up to is hell then the devilishly handsome, dimpled man must be a personal demon sent to torment you.
♦️ PART THREE LENGTH: 4k words
♠️ PART THREE WARNINGS: N/A
🃏 AUTHOR'S NOTE: We're all just here for a silly goofy haha time (until we get zesty, then it's time to lock tf in).
This was so fun to write and I hope it does justice to how I picture it in my head.
MORE IMPORTANTLY, I hope that you all can enjoy it too!
DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE KEEP READING, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.
You sit bolt upright. Fuck! The clothes! You scramble out of bed, collapsing inelegantly to the floor with a thud. The door knob is cold against your palm as you haul the door open, abruptly halting. Your clothes are neatly folded in a pile in front of you with a note on top.
“You should really remember to lock the door, princess XO E”
It would have to be a new habit you develop... You scoff going to pick up the clothes when you notice something else folded underneath. You cradle it all in your arms as the door clicks shut behind you. Locking it dutifully you flip the note over.
“P.S. August gave me some clothes you can use while he designs your outfit (See him soon to give him your measurements or the next time you forget to lock the door he’ll take ‘em while your sleeping, just ask Rudo)
P.P.S. You could keep wearing my stuff, ZERO complaints from me, hot stuff”
He’s so STUPID, but you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. You set your clean clothes on the empty desk, withdrawing the set beneath to inspect it. The outfit is more stylish than you expected. A hazy memory of someone’s voice asking you to be a model drifts through your mind; a dream?
When pressed to your body over Enjin’s clothes, it looks like it’ll fit you like a glove; good eye. You fiddle with the hem of his shirt, the fabric feels comforting between your thumb and forefinger. His scent still lingers, woven into the material.
Hesitating you slip out of his shirt and sweatpants and flip through the small stack of clothes to find undergarments. Another smaller note flies out with the movement. “Oooooh~ Y/N, I’m blushing!” You crumple that one and toss it into the tiny waste bin next to your desk. What you find is not what you had worn when you arrived, shuffling through the clothes they aren’t found but you don’t let your mind linger on it too long. Maybe he had spared your feelings and just thrown them away, hell maybe you threw them away and have successfully repressed the memory.
After dressing you smooth the fabric of your new outfit against your body, it hugs you perfectly; thick but not heavy, tight but in a way that’s comforting. Through your window the sky tints blue at the borders, welcoming the sun. There’s an edge of drowsiness that’s crept in but you push it back as you make your way out into the hallway.
It’s a while of you wandering before you encounter anyone else who’s awake. You’ve wandered into what appears to be an entrance. The sound of paper being flipped through is what initially drew you to the space. Semiu sits behind a large desk, working her way, diligently through a book. A magazine? As you approach, shapes form on the pages. Salacious, erotic images of women on the full spread.
You avert your eyes. “Good morning!” You say, announcing your presence. She makes no move to hide her reading material as she sighs back, “Damn, is it morning already?” “Last I knew that’s what light outside means, I guess it could be different here.”
“Nah.” She says, flipping to the next page before continuing, “The boss just got back a little bit ago. He’s gonna freshen up but you can meet him in a bit. I’ll let him know you’re up.” She brings two fingers to a choker that matches the one you saw on Enjin last night.
The sound of your feet fidgeting mingles with a muttered, one-sided message from her into the accessory. Tall, red stone walls, no windows, thick wooden doors, warm light from the fixtures behind Semiu… Your eyes scan the space. Everything feels warmer, welcoming in a way that pure white marble never could.
“You can look around, but try not to get lost. Boss’ll be ready for you in twenty.” You nod, doubting she notices as her eyes haven’t left the page. You don’t want to disturb her further, walking with soft footsteps across to the adjoining hallway. You find that there are many long hallways, room after room, no wonder she warned you not to get lost.
Time drifted, but you weren’t sure if it had been five or fifteen minutes. Erring on the side of caution you wander back to the entrance, lingering in the hallway. As you lean against the wall you let your mind occupy itself.
That last poker night. The drunken bastards. The missing money from the pot, typical. It was that greedy bastard, you knew it, saw it. He always skimmed, but it had been too much, too new of a guest, and not enough empty bottles.
Flustered he had shouted, “A slight of hand- she must’ve grabbed it on the deal, search her! It’s somewhere on her, get her!” They had chased you through the halls, ripped at your clothes. That fucker. You had broken through a window to jump out but it wasn’t long before the Apostles caught up to you.
You swore up and down your innocence. Useless. Your words were meaningless against the condemnation of the nobility. You were filth, dirt, a liar, a thief, preying on the good graces of such a dignified family. He tacked on crime after crime, tying up all of his loose ends around you in a perfect bow and a noose around your neck. What a joke. Your chest flares with indignation at the memory.
The voice of Semiu echoing through the space snaps you from your reverie. “He’s ready.” You push off the wall, trudging past her to follow the direction her finger points. It’s a short hallway before you’re met with a closed door.
Hesitating, you give a gentle knock. “Come in.” A warm voice replies. The door is sturdy as you push it open to enter a cozy office space. You’re met with a handsome man sitting behind a very full desk. Morning light beginning to filter in through the window behind him. “Please have a seat.” He motions to a plush set of sofas sitting one across from the other.
You take a seat cautiously, eyeing the man before you, the boss. His skin is dark, hair pulled up, the tips of his ears are both pierced with wide silver caps, now catching the light behind him. “Coffee?” You sit up straight. With the action he chuckles lightly, “Figure I’ll need something to get through all of this.”
“Y-yes, I’ll get some right away! Where… Can I make it for you, boss?” Your eyes dart around the room. His slate eyes are intense but kind. They read you easily. “Where are my manners? I apologize, that’s an offer. You don’t need to concern yourself with things like fetching food or drinks anymore, though that’s just an assumption based on what I’ve gathered from your background. I won’t complain if you’re as eager to take on missions.” His voice is deep and gentle, a hint of humor at the end as he chuckles at his own joke.
You hesitate, a similar discomfort to what you felt last night. He closes his eyes with a soft smile before he rises, preparing the beverage before sitting across from you on the matching sofa. He places a teacup full of the dark steaming beverage in front of you before sipping his own.
“Thank you, boss…” “Please, my name is Arkha Corus. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. Though, I’m not your boss yet.” There’s a flash of panic. “I-I don’t have anywhere else to go. Please, I’m a hard worker and a fast learner.” His eyebrow quirks, “Please, don’t misunderstand. You’re more than welcome here, I just mean it’s entirely up to you.” You release a breath, feeling your body relax.
“I… I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. I still don’t really understand what’s happening… I’m not entirely sure this isn’t all a dream.” You laugh humorlessly. The bitter taste of the hot beverage coats your tongue as you also take a sip. “I’m sure that you have many questions, I’ll do my best to answer. I also have some questions for you.”
The conversation is comfortable. This man is unlike your master in every way; a perfect antithesis. You feel like an actual person under his gaze and not set dressing. He queries you about your life in the sphere. You answer wholeheartedly, no reason to restrain.
A few of your responses pique his interest, particularly the artwork your master was so fond of. He gives you a rundown of life here on what is called the ‘ground.’ What jinki or vital instruments are. You withdraw your pack of cards, feeling safe with him to show your treasure.
“Work with them, speak with them. You might be surprised what they’ll say back.” He states, finishing his cup of coffee. He rises, you follow. "It’s a pleasure to have you join us, Y/N. I’ll get everything set in motion for you, whether you’re a cleaner or a supporter.” He extends his hand. You take it.
His shake is firm and reassuring. “I’ll get you a choker so that you can stay in touch with everyone.” “Choker?” He motions to the accessory around his neck identical to the ones on Enjin and Semiu. “Try to relax and settle in.” He tells you, sitting at his desk, partially obscured by a stack of paper. “... Thank you. For everything…” “You’re very welcome.”
With a nod you make your exit, finding your way back to Semiu who gives you an approving glance.
***
The coffee that the boss made for you has sharpened your senses, fully alert and awake. If not a bit antsy. After some milling about you find yourself in some kind of study. You take a seat at a table and take out your cards.
It’s hard to tell how much time has passed since you started, but the cards are warm to the touch after your machinations. One trick after another perfectly executed. It could be your imagination but they feel more responsive than before.
You feel silly, but lean down, looking at your cards fanned in your hands. “Hey guys… Uh… Thank you… For everything.” You whisper. There’s a small buzzing, a fuzzy vibration in your hands which makes your heart skip a beat.
The chair clatters as you jump up, darting from the room. Your face is split with a wide, excited smile as you bolt down the hallway, eager to show someone your discovery; mind full of questions.
As you round a corner you collide with a body. “Woah ho ho, careful there, princess.” A familiar voice says. Two large hands grip you, preventing a fall. You’re too excited to be annoyed by the nickname.
“Enjin, look!” You hold your fanned cards in his face. “... That’s… Nice… Am I supposed to, like, pick one or?” “No, stupid- look at them!” “... They’re… Nice… Oh these are sooo nice, Y/Nl!” His voice is dripping with a snark.
You huff, “C’mon! Be serious! They were doing something.” He hums, entertained. “Come on…” You hush your voice, whispering to the cards, “You can do it, do it again, show him.” The two of you stand there staring at your cards as he stifles a laugh. “I think your next line is, ‘is this your card’?” He teases.
You glare at him, “Uhg! They must be allergic to idiots.” He quirks an eyebrow, comeback locked and loaded. With a wave of your hands you grimace, “low hanging fruit, Enjin, spare me.” “Well, I wouldn’t call it low hanging, but I am hung.” You toss a card at his face in annoyance. In a split second he’s dodged, but both of you are shocked as the card glows and makes a hairpin turn to shoot at his turned face.
He crashes into the wall to jump away. An angry red line rises on his cheek where the card nicked him. It’s stuck in a crack on the floor. “Holy shit, I didn’t mean to-” The card vibrates, appearing to charge up to shoot again. You thrust out a hand and the card shoots to it, pressed into your palm.
“Now that’s a card trick!” His excitement is now mirroring yours earlier, eyes alight. You’re still hopped up on adrenaline, eyes locked on the reddened skin. The teasing edge of your voice wavers with it as you ask, “Is this your card?” His boisterous laughter bounces off the walls.
A door crashes open, “Shut the hell up, Enjin! Some of us are trying to sleep.” A grumpy Rudo shouts. Another door down the hallway creaks open and a sleepier voice calls out, “What’s going on out here?”
Enjin fully ignores Rudo to call down the hall, “Hey Zanka! We have another giver on the team! Think you’d be up for some training today?” Zanka rubs sleep from his eyes and with a yawn he says, “Sure, I can take care of it.” “That’s our Zanka!” Enjin says with pride. He’s a ways down the hall but you swear you see a stupid smile on his face, poorly hidden by the hands rubbing at his eyes.
“Volume…” Rudo groans, closing his door and clicking the lock. “She can join in with Rudo, we’ll go through some exercises.” Zanka says, thumb on his chin as he mentally prepares a schedule. “Sounds good! I’m popping out for a bit, but I’ll be back later to see the end of training.” He turns to you in a lower voice, “Then you can show me what you’ve got, sweet stuff.” “Y. N.” You enunciate your name to him.
A question pops into your mind; where are you going? You shove it back. “Let’s go Y. N.” Over-enunciating your name. He shouts over his shoulder to Zanka, “She’ll meet you out there!” Stepping around you, guiding you down yet another hall.
The training area is dewey, the coolness of the night still lingering. The graffiti on the wall comes into view as the sky above becomes bluer and lighter. Taking a deep breath, the fresh air fills your lungs. “He’ll be down here soon, think you can survive without me?”
“I think I’ll thrive.” You walk to a bench situated to the side, taking a seat to shuffle through your cards more. Curiosity and a tinge of confidence creeping in. “That’s my girl.” He calls to you. “Not your girl.” You call back, shooting the cards from one hand to the other with a flourish.
His dimples are pressed deep as he smiles, taking his exit with an exaggerated bow. As his footsteps fade, the sound is drowned out by the fluttering of the sturdy material of your cards. Experimenting, you move your hands further apart, testing the limits of your shuffle. There’s a magnetic feeling. That no matter how you move your hands the cards will always find their way from one to the other.
As your experimentation continues, you add unnatural ripples to the stream. Waves and spirals as the cards fly from left to right, right to left. You’re thoroughly entertaining yourself when you hear Zanka’s voice as he enters, Rudo not far behind him looking groggy.
Proper but brief introductions are exchanged. Pleasant. That moment may have been the only one before he brought down a hellish circuit of physical tests. The sun was bearing down on you and Rudo before he yielded for your first break. You feel like you’d run a marathon, whatever spark of confidence you had kindled was extinguished.
Chugging water and scarfing down lunch like your life depends on it. You hear a new set of footsteps enter the training area. It’s the redheaded girl, Riyo. “Looks like Zanka’s working you half to death.” She says with a smile that barely touches her eyes. “He sure is something.” You say with a humorless laugh.
“Hear you’re joining us as a giver, nice to meet you, I’m Riyo.” “It’s a pleasure. Well, mostly… I’m Y/N. ” You wipe the sweat from your hand before shaking hers. “Mind if I sit in?” She asks, her eyes studying. “I don’t see why not.” Before you finish she’s sat down next to you.
You want to talk with her more, it’s nice to have another woman around. Your hopes are dashed as Zanka calls you and Rudo back. With an exaggerated huff and look at Riyo who matches your eye roll, you’re off.
What had been endurance training in the morning had now turned into sparring. The ability to fight even without a vital instrument is surely the difference between life and death, but your body was protesting in dramatic fashion. You and Rudo kick, punch, dodge, over and over, Zanka calling out commands.
You feel eyes on you. You chance a glance to the benches and see Riyo, eyes unblinking. Her fingers are interlaced, elbows resting on her knees as she stares you down like an animal stalking its prey. It’s unsettling, a feeling of apprehension bids for attention as Rudo connects a kick to your side, sending you toppling.
“Shit!” Rudo exclaims. “Y/N don’t let your guard down and get distracted!” Zanka chides. “Yeah, yeah.” You dust yourself off. You hear Riyo’s voice calling from the side, “Zanka, this is fun and all, but isn’t it better to practice fighting with their vital instruments.” Zanka pinches his brow, “For the last time, it’s crucial to build up a foundation-” “Right, right, but I wanna see her ability. I can spar with her!”
Her voice is light, but there’s a look in her eye that puts you on edge. While you feel dubious about the source you were getting restless from not practicing with your cards. “I’d actually really like to practice with my jinki more too… I’m still not sure what all I can do…”
Zanka sighs again, looking at Rudo and seeing a losing argument; three against one. “Fine, but take it easy, Riyo.” The redhead jumps up happily. You take out your pack of cards and flutter them out around you. Seeing them hover in the air gives you a thrum of excitement. If you use your imagination, what could you do?
You're drawn from your thoughts by her approaching voice. “That’s nice and all…” She’s twirling something shiny on her index finger, “but scissors beat paper.” With a flash of green, she transformed the object in her hand into a large pair of scissors. Shit.
With a leap, you jump to the side, before she collides with you. With a sweep of your arm, three cards fly out of the spread, locking onto her as a target, she jumps back and away before honing in on you. With a jump and a kick she brings down the blades in your direction.
You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact when everything goes dark, the sound of a heavy crash in front of you. Your eyes open and you see yourself surrounded by a fan of oversized cards. “A shield?” You hear a muffled voice from outside. These cards really can protect you. Your heart clenches, gratitude. All those nights wishing to put a barricade between you and that man, to disappear from his lecherous gaze.
You kneel and prepare your next move, listening for her footsteps. Damn, you’d have to figure out a way to get visibility when using this. You hear her jump back to your left and you bolt out from the right, throwing three more cards in her direction. The domed fan of cards dissipates and whips around you. To disappear…
You form the emotion in your mind and send another card whistling at her. She takes measured leaps, back, right, then launches herself in the air. You roll, avoiding the strike she brings down. She whips around and you ready yourself for her next attack. She turns quickly, scanning with her sharp eyes in a full circle. Zanka quirks his head, looking from her to you. Rudo calls out, “What’s wrong, Riyo?” “She, like, totally disappeared!”
There’s a beat of silence as you and the boys share a long stare. Zanka puts his hands into a “T” and walks onto the court. “You can’t see her?” He asks looking again from her to you. “That’s what I said, right.” He puts both hands on her shoulders and turns her to face you. “Nope, nothing.” She states in a light voice.
Zanka rests his chin on his hand, inspecting. Rudo walks between the two of you, waving a gloved hand. “She can see you, dipshit.” Zanka says. “Ah-” He looks intently at her back causing her to twist too. “Huh, is that…?” She reaches and peels a card from her skin.
As she does, she looks directly at you, actually seeing you. “Woah! That’s so totally cool!” She gushes! Her face is cheerful, the calculating look gone from her eyes. The card zips from her hand to join the rest floating around you. “Huh…” You look at your hands, the cards. They had listened to you all along…
You’re interrupted by the loud clapping of hands. “Well that sure is something!” Enjin’s voice reverberated. She continues, tossing an arm around your shoulder saying excitedly, “She could be like a super spy!” You recall the cards into a neat deck in your hand, smiling as she jostles you.
“I dunno, her offense and defense wouldn’t be bad in a fight either.” Zanka muses. Rudo nods a bit too emphatically, he’s clearly lost. “She’ll need more training.” Zanka continues, you say a prayer, body aching. These kids have so much energy.
Enjin lights a cigarette and reclines on the bench. Around the filter he says, “Keep up the good work!” That’s just cruel, napping right there while you’re busting your ass. You want to kick him but Zanka has you and Rudo continue with physical training as Riyo bids you all a farewell. You feel them, his eyes on you.
Unlike Riyo’s calculating gaze, his is hungry. It’s annoying, distracting… So why do you miss it as soon as he leaves? The sky is tinted with deep orange by the time Zanka relents. Rudo looks like his soul has left his body and honestly you feel worse than that. “Passable work today, rest up and we can do more tomorrow.” Don’t cry, don’t cry.
“Thanks for your time, Zanka. I learned a lot.” You give him a tired smile. “I learned about all the new places my body can sweat.” Rudo huffs from his spot on the ground. “Make sure you stretch and eat a good meal.” He gives you both a wave and departs.
It’s just you and Rudo, you join him lying on the ground, surface still warm from the sun. “Is he a demon or something?” You ask. “He’s worse.” Rudo replies. You look up to the sky, colors shifting. “Say… What was it like for you?” “Hmm?” “I mean, up there in the sphere?” He props himself up on an elbow.
“It was…” His eyes darken. “Some parts were ok… Mostly bad.” You roll to your side so your bodies are facing each other. You want to know more, but the troubled look on his face gives you pause. “Can I ask how you ended up down here?” You hedge. He’s silent for a long time. “... You said when we first met that you ‘didn’t do it’ well, it’s the same for me…”
“Well, whatever we did or didn’t do, I’m glad you’re here.” You say, looking as he faces you. You continue, “Even though our lives up there were different, it’s nice to not be alone down here.”
You see his tired brain mulling over the words. “Yeah.” Is all he responds, huffing and bouncing up to his feet with a wince. He moves to leave but says back, “See you at dinner.” Before entering headquarters.
Alone, you lie on the ground, feeling the air shift to cool as the purples and pinks chase each other to the horizon. You’re not alone here.
There’s a certain kind of person who’s becoming extinct. You’ve probably met one. Maybe you are one. Someone who actually understood the tools they used. Someone who could sit down at an unfamiliar system, poke at it for twenty minutes, and have a working mental model of what it was doing and why. Someone who read error messages instead of dismissing them. Someone who, when something broke, treated it as a puzzle rather than a betrayal.
That person is dying off. And nobody in the industry seems to care. In fact, most of them are actively celebrating the funeral while billing it as progress.
This isn’t an accident. This is the result of two decades of deliberate, calculated effort by the largest technology companies on earth to turn users into consumers, instruments into appliances, and technical literacy into a niche hobby for weirdos. They succeeded beyond their wildest expectations. Congratulations to everyone involved. You’ve built a generation that can’t extract a zip file without a dedicated app and calls it innovation.
The average person who grew up with smartphones has a fundamentally broken mental model of computing. Not broken in the sense that they can’t operate their devices — they can, with terrifying efficiency. Broken in the sense that their understanding stops at the glass. They know how to use apps. They do not know what apps are. They know files exist somewhere, in the cloud maybe, or possibly inside the app itself — the distinction isn’t clear to them and they’ve never needed it to be.
The concept of a filesystem — of hierarchical storage that you own, that lives on hardware you control, that persists independently of any company’s servers — is genuinely alien to them. Not because it’s complicated. A child can understand that files live in folders. But they’ve never had to understand it because the platforms they grew up on hid it from them. iOS shipped without a user-accessible filesystem for over a decade. Google Drive abstracts away the folder metaphor entirely if you let it. iCloud will “optimize” your local storage, which is a polite way of saying it will silently move your files to Apple’s servers and give you a ghost of them on your own machine, and most users have no idea this is happening or what it means.
Ask a twenty-two-year-old to connect to a remote server via SSH. Ask them to explain what DNS is at a conceptual level. Ask them to tell you the difference between their router’s public IP and the local IP of their laptop. Ask them to open a terminal and list the contents of a directory. These are not advanced topics. Twenty years ago these were things you learned in the first week of any serious engagement with computers. Today they’re exotic knowledge that even a lot of working software developers don’t have, because you can go a long way in modern development without ever leaving the managed abstractions your platform provides.
And that’s the real damage. It’s not just end users who don’t know this stuff. It’s developers. People who write software for a living who’ve never had to think about what happens between their API call and the response. Who’ve never had to debug something at the network layer. Who’ve never had to read a full stack trace and understand every frame of it. Because the frameworks handle all of that, and the frameworks are good enough, and figuring out how things actually work is optional.
Chapter Two – Coincidences Don’t Line Up That Neatly
Summary: Rex and Starling’s letters grow more personal, their small truths slowly revealing more than either intended. Meanwhile, Rex begins noticing strange overlaps between Starling’s words and the civilian aide who constantly challenges him in person, leaving him uneasy with the odds.
Word count: 3.7k
a/n: Thank you all for your encouraging comments, you have no idea how happy they made me and how they encoraged me to keep writting this part 2. As always, hope you like it and if you have any feedback that can help me keep developing this story, it would mean the world to me.
Letters Between Stars Masterlist
The mail runner came in with the afternoon dust.
The speederbike whined down to an irritated purr as a skinny corporal swung one leg over and hopped off, cheeks windburned, sack slung over his shoulder like some regulation-grade, exhausted Santa. His boots kicked up sand, and half the camp was already drifting toward him before he’d even powered down the repulsors.
“Mail!” someone shouted from the shade. That word could still pull more bodies than “rations” on a good day.
Hands reached, voices overlapped, the usual hungry chaos of men starved for any piece of a world that wasn’t beige and metallic. A battered tin of candied nuts drew a triumphant whoop, followed by a chorus of groans when the label revealed it belonged to a completely different battalion.
“Tragic,” Jesse muttered, clutching his own letter to his chest like a live grenade he was oddly happy about.
The corporal kept moving, sorting envelopes and packets into smaller stacks. It was a ritual by now: the generals first, then command, then everyone else according to whatever order the corporal felt like that day.
Rex waited. He always did.
Command first. Then the men. Then, if the galaxy felt generous or cruel, whatever ended up in his name.
“Captain,” the corporal said at last, reaching the bottom of the sack. He held out a thin envelope with a neat, slanted hand on the front:
To: VALOR (routing 501st)
Rex’s hand closed around it before he consciously decided to move.
He told himself it was just habit now. Routine. He didn’t need the letter. Didn’t need the words from a stranger on some far-off planet with clean floors and a sky that wasn’t full of ships.
But his thumb was already working at the edge of the seal.
He stepped into the thin shade of the command awning, planted his boots, and let the base noise fade to the dull roar it always was in the background. The flimsi crackled softly.
He read.
Valor,
Today smelled like engine coolant at dawn and burnt caff by noon. I’m not sure which is worse, but I can tell you which one clings to your hair longer. (Not coolant. Somehow, caff.)
My boss broke a table with good intentions this morning. (Don’t ask.) I cleaned up the paperwork storm after, which is the kind of battle I was built for. Someone here called me “chaos with a clipboard.” I’m choosing to take it as a compliment.
What do you do when camp finally quiets? (Don’t say “sleep.” That’s cheating.)
— Starling
P.S. I found meiloorun cakes. The smuggler who sells them swore this batch would make me forget my own name. I didn’t forget, but I did have to wash my hands three times.
Rex stared at the words chaos with a clipboard a little too long.
In his mind, uninvited, came the memory: a crate of requisition forms. A collision at the command tent entrance. Papers everywhere. A sharp voice hissing watch it as she rubbed at her shin. The way you had snapped that some people kept the army running off the field.
He exhaled slowly, smoothing the edge of the letter with his thumb until the flimsi stopped fluttering against the dry wind.
Coincidences existed. War ran on them.
But he’d been counting, in one way or another, since Kamino. Numbers told him the more points lined up, the less they were accidents.
Still. You weren’t the only civilian aide in the galaxy. You weren’t the only one who knew how to wield a clipboard like a weapon.
He sat at the corner of the holotable, pulled a clean sheet of flimsi from the stack, and let bluntness do the work.
Starling,
Coolant at dawn beats anything the mess calls “eggs.” That smell means the transports will lift when they’re told.
When the camp quiets, I don’t rest. I check everything that can break. I sharpen. Boots, knives, maps. Anything that can fail me. It’s not peace, but it’s the closest I get.
“Chaos with a clipboard” sounds like my worst day. (On mine, requisition forms fall and bruise shins. Don’t ask.)
You asked for something other than sleep. When it’s quiet, I listen to rain. There’s a track I keep on an old datapad, just sound. Water on metal, gulls that don’t live where I was made. I don’t know why I keep it.
Eat the cake. Wash your hands three times. Write anyway.
— Valor
P.S. If your boss keeps breaking furniture, requisition heavier tables.
He sealed the reply before he had the chance to rewrite any of it —before he could sand down the edges or remove the small, unwary bits of himself that had slipped through and went to deliver his reply.
The corporal took it with the practiced boredom of someone who carried other people’s hearts for a living and didn’t look too closely at any of them. A puff of dust, the whine of an engine, and the letter was on its way.
Rex watched the speeder go longer than necessary.
“Someone looks like they swallowed a bolt,” a voice said dryly.
He didn’t jump. He never did. He did, however, tense just enough for Ahsoka Tano to smirk.
“I have a lot of work,” he answered.
“Uh-huh.” She followed the path his gaze had drifted and found you on the far side of the tent, hair trapped into something like a braid and immediately escaping it, a stack of reports under one arm, a stylus balanced behind her ear like a cigarette. Ahsoka’s mouth went sideways. “Work with a piece of flimsi and a stylus?"
“Ahsoka.”
“I’m just saying,” she sang, and left him as he turned back to the holotable, looking at the empty space where the envelope had been, and tried very hard not to think about how your handwriting might look.
Your own envelope lay under a ration tin in your quarters like contraband.
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. The entire program was built on letters and secrets; the censors knew all of them. She pulled it free, sat cross-legged, and unfolded Valor’s crisp, efficient reply like something fragile.
Boots, knives, maps. Anything that can fail me.
Of course. It sounded like him. Not him him, not the captain whose jaw clenched whenever she upended his supply plans with a kinder version of sense—but the Valor shaped by the lines she’d been reading for weeks. The same voice. The same efficiency. The same refusal to waste a word when a stare would do.
She frowned, then smoothed the flimsi and read the P.S. a second time. Heavier tables.
Laughter broke out of her before she could stop it, and then panic chased it when she realized the phrase—requisition forms, shins, don’t ask—aligned a little too neatly with her own humiliating collision two days ago.
“No,” she told the empty room firmly. “Absolutely not.”
Ridiculous. Dangerous.
She was losing her head, confusing coincidence with connection, projecting meaning onto a man who barely tolerated her on his best days.
Valor could be anyone. Any soldier in any unit.
Someone who wrote because they were lonely.
Someone who answered her because she made the war feel smaller.
And maybe that was why she kept writing—because in the middle of a war where she was always the outsider, the aide, the one who kept the machine running but never belonged to it, Valor’s letters made her feel grounded.
Seen.
Like someone out there understood a version of her she didn’t show to anyone else, not even the people she worked beside every day.
But imagining Rex behind the ink?
That was a mistake she wasn’t brave enough to make.
Not yet.
Yet, she reached for her pen anyway.
Valor,
Heavier tables requisitioned. (If anyone asks why my boss needs them, I’ll say it’s to hold the weight of expectation.)
Quiet for me looks like maps. Not your kind. The kind that keep people from yelling, the kind drawn between one hot temper and another so they don’t blow a hole in the tent. I sharpen words. Sometimes they fail me anyway.
There’s a stall in CoCo Town that sells meiloorun cakes wrapped in paper printed with stars. The sugar stains everything. I ate one on a rooftop and pretended the city was quiet. It wasn’t, but the pretending helped.
Is it strange to say I’m glad you listen to rain? It makes me think you were made somewhere that taught you patience and you chose something else anyway.
— Starling
P.S. If crates bruise shins where you are, tell your quartermaster to mark the edges. It prevents accidents. (No, I will not be taking further questions at this time.)
She lifted the page, blew gently, watched the ink dry, and only then let herself fall back onto the cot with the letter pressed to her chest, smiling at the ceiling like a fool.
In daylight, your world and Rex’s overlapped like two mismatched maps pressed together.
You carried requisition approvals to the command table just as Skywalker and Ahsoka were arguing over a scouting route. Three holomaps floated in midair, blue lines crisscrossing into potential disaster. Rex had just stacked his datachips into a tower, the picture of austere patience.
You set your clipboard down with a little more force than necessary.
“Respectfully,” you began, because Anakin liked it when you pretended to play by the rules, “this supply line goes through a farm that will hate us for a decade, and this one,” she tapped Ahsoka’s route while looking at her, “will make you late for dinner. The third is the only version where we don’t owe an apology and you don’t get yelled at by a Council member who believes in a better strategy, general.”
Anakin brightened. “See? Chaos with a clipboard saves the day.”
Rex’s head lifted so quickly he almost apologized. His eyes cut to your face; something unreadable flickered there and was gone.
Ahsoka made a small, delighted humming noise and spun the central map forty degrees. “Okay, this route with that timing means we avoid the farmer, duck the ridge, and beat dinner by twelve minutes. Captain?”
“Fine,” he said, and the word sounded like surrender and strategy in equal measure. “We’ll do it that way.”
“Our way,” Anakin said cheerfully, already halfway out the tent.
Ahsoka trailed him, her grin a sun. “Don’t stay up too late arguing, you two!”
“We weren’t—” Rex began, but the tent flap had already taken the rest of the sentence.
You gathered your clipboard, suddenly too aware of every centimeter of space between you and him.
“Heavier tables,” you muttered under your breath, just to let the words escape somewhere.
Rex’s brows pulled together. “What?”
“Nothing.” You slipped the stylus from behind your ear, clicked it once, twice. “Try not to trip over any crates.”
“Do you think I run into my own supplies?” he asked, genuinely offended.
You looked at him for one too-long beat. You could say it. Crates bruise shins. You could watch for the tiniest flinch and know.
Instead, you just smiled, tired and fond and exasperated all at once. “Mark the edges, Captain. It prevents accidents.”
You left before your courage did something thoroughly reckless.
That night, the camp settled early. Someone had bribed the mess droids into making something almost like stew; the sky turned the color of bruised fruit, then deepened into velvet. The generator hum became a low, steady purr. One by one, lamps in the tents flicked off.
Rex sat on the edge of his bunk with an old datapad in one hand and your latest letter in the other. He’d already read it twice. Once as Valor. Once as himself.
He could stop. He could let the thing drift into whatever current carried these exchanges and never look down to see where it went. That would be wise. He preferred wise.
But his thumb found the track without asking him. Rain on metal. Always rain on metal. He thumbed the play icon on the datapad. Rain filled the small room—soft, insistent, tapping metal, pooling in imagined gutters. No thunder. Just water and distant bird calls from a place he would never see with his own eyes.
He thought, not for the first time, about the line in Starling’s letter—someone called me chaos with a clipboard—and the way Skywalker had lobbed the phrase like a joke hours later.
He told himself he was tired.
He told himself the universe was big enough to make repetition look like fate.
He did not tell himself that the line between coincidence and pattern was thinning.
He realized, with the clarity that comes in the few quiet minutes before sleep, that he wanted to know. Really know. Name, face, voice. Not just Starling. Not just the way your letters made him breathe easier.
And that want was, perhaps, the most dangerous thing he’d let himself feel in a long time.
You wrote on your stomach again, chin perched on your folded arms, pen tapping a soft rhythm against the page.
Outside your tent, someone had coaxed a radio into cooperating. A warbling old song drifted through the canvas, something about lost planets and found chances. You tried not to think too hard about the lyrics.
You chewed your lip, then put pen to paper.
Valor,
You said you sharpen maps. I watched a captain redraw his by hand today after he’d already approved the route, as if drawing them twice made them stronger. I didn’t ask why. I don’t think I needed to.
Sometimes I think the only way to survive this is to pretend the small things matter more than the large ones. If I get the right table, and the right paper, and the right pen, then maybe the wrong war will behave.
I marked the crate edges. You were right; it helps. (I didn’t tell anyone it was your idea. I have a reputation to protect.)
What do you miss that isn’t a person?
— Starling
P.S. If I ever meet you, I’ll bring you a rain—bottle?—jar? Something to pour on metal when you can’t find a storm.
You set the pen down and pressed your thumb to the corner where the ink stacked thick, then cursed under your breath when the ink smeared anyway.
You sealed the envelope, heart doing a small, ridiculous, traitorous flip in your chest.
“What do you miss that isn’t a person?”
Maybe you shouldn’t have asked that. Maybe it was too intimate, too close to the places people tried not to look.
But then—he’d told you about rain. That felt intimate too.
Either way, you walked the letter to the outgoing mail pouch yourself.
Two mornings later, the courier arrived again with his sack of lives folded into paper.
Rex took the next envelope addressed to Valor without hesitation now. Reading your letters had become a quiet ritual, as much a part of his day as inspecting armor seals or checking blaster charges.
He slit it open, eyes moving quickly down the page, then slowing as he read your question.
He had no answer for that except the truth, which he wrote without quite meaning to:
Starling,
I miss the sound of boots on tile. When a hall is clean and the steps line up and the echo tells you everyone is where they’re meant to be. It’s not a place. It’s the proof.
I miss quiet mess halls before dawn, when the air tastes like steam and no one has yet decided to be loud.
I miss the idea of clean starts I don’t believe in.
The captain you watched redraw maps—he’s wasting paper. But have him keep doing it. It means he thinks twice, and thought keeps men alive.
If you ever bring me rain in a jar, I’ll show you what it sounds like on armor.
— Valor
P.S. Mark the bottom edges too. New men catch the lower lip first.
Rex folded the letter and set it down with a care that belied the callouses on his hands.
He told himself not to look. Not to check if you were in the tent, not to hunt for a smear of ink, not to tally up the tiny ways your world crossed with the one on flimsi.
He failed.
Across the tent, you were laughing at something Ahsoka had said, stylus tucked behind your ear. There was a dark smudge along the side of your thumb, right where he pictured it when you wrote.
He looked away, jaw tense.
He looked back.He breathed like a man who had been running too long and had seen, finally, the outline of a door.
Fives called it Alias. The rules were simple: pick a man, then guess his anonymous pen-pal’s code-name based on zero evidence and maximum imagination.
“Dogma’s is clearly Sunflower,” Jesse declared, dealing cards onto a crate. “It’s why he’s less angry now. Don’t fight me.”
“Wolffe would write to someone called Gravel,” Hardcase decided, dead serious.
“Captain’s is Schedule,” Fives said, grinning like a menace. “Or Regulation. Or Please Stop Breathing So Loudly, It’s After Lights Out.”
“Shut up,” Rex said mildly, which only encouraged them.
You came by with a stack of requisitions that absolutely did not need to be delivered in person and paused, one eyebrow lifting. “What are we calling people now?”
“Aliases,” Jesse said. “What’s yours?”
You pretended to think, then smiled too sweetly. “Mine is Chaos With a Clipboard.”
Rex coughed. Fives made a strangled noise. Jesse’s eyes went so bright they reflected the overhead lamps.
“Oh?” Jesse said, reckless. “And what does Chaos With a Clipboard write about?”
You hugged the papers a little closer to your chest but played it cool. “Meiloorun cake recipes.”
Rex’s pulse hiccuped.
“The mess doesn’t serve dessert,” he heard himself say.
Your smile tilted, small and sharp. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t get mine from the mess.”
The air thinned. The tent seemed to lean in.
Fives inhaled like he was about to say something profoundly stupid, and Jesse kicked him under the crate. Kix, from his spot by the medkit, sighed into a ledger.
“Cards,” Kix said. “Play them. Or don’t. But if I have to listen to one more loaded sentence, I’m putting sedatives in the caf.”
Everyone looked appropriately chastised.
You drifted away, papers against your chest like armor. Rex stared at his cards until the symbols blurred into meaninglessness.
Coincidences don’t line up that neatly, he told himself.
That night, the planet cooled fast, air going from hot metal to thin chill, like someone had turned down the galaxy’s volume all at once.
Rex didn’t plan it.
He never planned things like this. He planned troop movements and fuel usage, firing arcs and fallback positions. Not… this.
And yet somehow, after making his rounds and checking the perimeter, his boots brought him to the narrow strip of dirt outside your tent.
He stood there, letter folded small in his fist like a talisman against his own nerves. The lamplight inside cast a warm rectangle on the packed ground. He could see the shadow of your shoulder as you moved.
He didn’t go in.
He stood there, halfway between patrol and confession, feeling ridiculous.
Your voice drifted through the canvas, sleep-roughened and amused. “If you’re going to hover, Captain, at least pretend you’re patrolling.”
He closed his eyes. “I am patrolling.”
“Mm.” Fabric rustled. The lamp brightened a fraction. “Do you miss anything, Captain?”
The question landed like a stone tossed into still water—small, but the ripples ran deep.
He could lie. Say no. Say he didn’t miss anything, that soldiers weren’t built for missing.
He didn’t.
“Yes,” he said.
You were quiet for a beat. “What?”
He looked at the edge of the canvas, the place where the light met the night. “Not having to guess,” he said finally.
Silence answered him, then a long, soft breath that felt like it might have been both of yours at once.
“Me too,” you murmured.
You didn’t confess anything else. He didn’t accuse you of anything more.
The world went on like that for some time—two people on opposite sides of a thin wall of fabric and habit, hands tucked into pockets, pretending all this was just weather.
But the letters that left camp at dawn read a little differently than before.
The eyes that met over maps took a fraction of a second longer to look away.
And when the corporal with the windburned cheeks rode out again, his battered mail sack slung over one shoulder; Rex still felt the faint, impossible ripple of something shifting.
Cause, somewhere between here and the stars, a letter carried your handwriting toward him, and he didn’t know why the thought steadied him as much as it did.
Summary: Two programs. Two numbers. One rivalry everyone else can hear. Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd spend a season circling each other through headlines, hardwood, and silence—bound by comparison, pressure, and everything they refuse to name.
Word Count: 3.6k
Chapter 13: Parallel Lines
Dallas was louder than Paige expected.
Not in the chaotic way New York had been, or the steady hum of Storrs—but sharper. Brighter. Everything moved faster here, like the city expected her to keep up the second she arrived.
She liked it.
That surprised her.
Her apartment was still half-unpacked, boxes stacked against the walls like reminders that this was temporary until it wasn’t. She stood barefoot on the hardwood floor, phone pressed between her shoulder and ear as she listened to her agent talk through scheduling details.
“Media tomorrow. Practice Wednesday. Community event Friday,” she said. “You’re the face. They’re going to move fast.”
Paige stared out the window at the skyline, sun just beginning to dip. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
She meant it.
After the call ended, she dropped her phone onto the counter and exhaled slowly.
Ready didn’t mean unaffected.
Her body felt good—strong, responsive, sharp in a way that told her she was exactly where she needed to be physically. Mentally, though, things lagged behind. The transition from college to the league was a recalibration she’d expected.
What she hadn’t expected was how often her thoughts drifted south and west instead of forward.
Texas.
________________________________________________
Azzi’s days moved slower now.
Measured in reps and rest intervals instead of minutes and possessions. In stretches and resistance bands, in ice packs and carefully worded progress reports.
She lay on the training table with her right knee elevated, eyes fixed on the ceiling while the physical therapist talked her through the plan for the week.
“Range of motion looks good,” they said. “We’ll start increasing load next session.”
Azzi nodded once. “Okay.”
She didn’t ask how long until full contact.
She already knew.
After rehab, she sat alone in the locker room, hands resting on her thighs, listening to the distant echoes of basketballs bouncing in another gym. Texas was practicing without her.
She hated that more than the pain.
Her phone buzzed.
Madison: you watching tonight 👀
Azzi smiled faintly.
Azzi: obviously
________________________________________________
Paige’s first official game as a Dallas Wing felt surreal.
The jersey was heavier than she expected, the logo unfamiliar against her chest. The arena lights hit differently here—less forgiving, more demanding. This wasn’t potential anymore.
This was expectation.
She stood at half court during warmups, ball tucked under her arm, scanning the stands out of habit.
She didn’t know what she was looking for.
She found it anyway, in the absence.
Azzi wasn’t there.
Of course she wasn’t.
Paige shook the thought away and focused on the court.
When the game tipped, everything else disappeared.
This part still belonged to her.
________________________________________________
Azzi watched from her dorm room, laptop balanced on her knees, brace resting against the edge of the bed.
Paige moved like she always had—decisive, instinctive, seeing plays develop before they existed. But there was something sharper now too. A maturity Azzi hadn’t fully noticed before.
Or maybe she had, and just hadn’t named it.
“Damn,” Caroline muttered from the other bed. “She’s cooking.”
Azzi smiled despite herself. “Yeah.”
Paige finished the night with numbers that made social media explode.
Azzi didn’t open Twitter.
She didn’t need to.
Her phone buzzed anyway.
Paige: we won
Paige: first one
Azzi’s chest warmed.
Azzi: congrats
Azzi: you looked comfortable out there
A pause.
Paige: that means more than you know
Azzi stared at the message, thumb hovering.
She didn’t ask why.
She already understood.
________________________________________________
Dallas became routine faster than Paige expected.
Early mornings. Lift sessions. Film. Practice. Games that demanded consistency instead of flashes. Veterans who didn’t care about her draft status, only whether she could execute.
She loved that too.
After a road win, she sat on the team bus with her hood up, phone glowing softly in the dark.
She pulled up Texas’s schedule without thinking.
Azzi was still listed as out.
Paige swallowed.
She closed the app and opened her messages instead.
Paige: how was rehab today
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Azzi: hard
Azzi: but good hard
Paige smiled.
Paige: proud of you
Azzi read that one twice before responding.
Azzi: thank you p
________________________________________________
Azzi’s comeback was still weeks away.
That knowledge sat heavy in her chest every time she stepped into the gym, watching teammates run drills she couldn’t fully join yet. She pushed herself anyway, frustration fueling focus.
Late one night, she sat alone in the training room, knee wrapped, phone resting on the table beside her.
A notification popped up.
Paige again.
A clip.
Paige hitting a step-back three in transition, crowd erupting.
Azzi laughed quietly, shaking her head.
Azzi: you’re ridiculous
Paige: coming from you that’s crazy
Azzi typed, then stopped.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Azzi: you don’t look like a rookie
Paige’s reply came slower this time.
Paige: sometimes i still feel like one
Paige: everything’s new
Azzi’s chest tightened.
Azzi: you’re doing great
Azzi: even when it doesn’t feel like it
Paige didn’t respond right away.
When she did, it was simple.
Paige: thank you for staying
Azzi closed her eyes.
She didn’t ask what Paige meant.
She stayed.
________________________________________________
Weeks passed.
Paige’s name climbed the rookie rankings. Analysts debated. Fans argued. The narrative shifted from promise to proof.
Azzi watched it all from a distance.
Some nights, she let herself imagine what it would feel like to sit courtside in Dallas—not hidden, not pretending. Just there.
Some nights, she didn’t let herself imagine anything at all.
________________________________________________
The first time Paige went to a Texas game, she didn’t tell anyone.
She wore a hat pulled low, hoodie zipped up, blending into the crowd as best she could. Officially, she was there supporting the league, the state, the sport.
Unofficially—
She needed to see Azzi move again.
Azzi didn’t play.
Not yet.
But she stood on the sideline, brace gone, posture confident, voice sharp as she called things out to teammates.
Paige watched the entire game without blinking.
Her chest ached with something close to relief.
Afterwards, she left before the crowd fully dispersed.
She texted Azzi from the parking lot.
Paige: you look strong
Azzi’s reply came seconds later.
Azzi: were you there
Paige froze.
Paige: maybe
Three dots.
Then:
Azzi: you could’ve said hi
Paige leaned back against her car, eyes closing.
Paige: next time
Azzi smiled at her phone.
________________________________________________
That night, alone in her apartment, Paige lay on the couch staring at the ceiling.
Dallas felt less foreign now.
Texas felt closer.
And whatever lived in the space between her and Azzi—unfinished, unclaimed, persistent—was no longer something she could pretend belonged only to the past.
Tyelkormo rolled his eyes and straightened up, allowing Nelya to see the parchment. Instead of tengwar, there were little charcoal doodles of bees.
“Fascinating”
“Shut up, Nelya. I’m a visual learner and translating the language of bees is a very tedious process. You have to translate their buzzing and dances into Quenya.” He paused and turned, flicking Ambarussa’s clumsy braids out of his face. “Why are you bothering me anyway?”
“I have developed a sudden interest in bees and also wanted to know if you have honey from your conquests. If you spend so much time around bees, surely you must have collected some sort of reward for your patience.”
“Aside from being stung, you mean,” he said, brandishing his arm where little welts dotted the freckled and tattooed skin. “You can just say you want honey. Besides, the kitchens have rows and rows of jars filled to the brim with different flavors as well. There’s new batches that have blueberry mixed in.”
“Yes, but this is fresh.”
Nelya sat on the other side of Tyelkormo’s workbench, pulling her skirts to the side to avoid the sticks of charcoal that had fallen on the stained wood. She pulled the bowl full of honeycomb toward her that Tyelkormo had tucked away behind his stack of books because of course she did and immediately grabbed a smaller piece.
They sat in near silence for a moment, interrupted only by the sound of the soft squish of honeycomb pinched between long, thin fingers and Nelya’s happy humming.
“Do bees have curse words?”
The question was sudden and Tyelkormo took a moment to process and then groaned, burying his face in his stained hands.
“This argument again? I don’t understand why you are so focused on vocabulary that you disagree with. You are allowed to swear, you know. You’re well past your majority and hardly live here anymore. Instead you spend half your time in your chambers in the palace or living in Findekáno’s pocket.” He lifted his face out of his hands, leaving smudges of charcoal on his forehead, nose, and cheeks.
“I refuse to limit my vocabulary to simple, unimaginative words. I know there are several that you use quite frequently.”
Tyelkormo rolled his eyes again and reached across his desk, grabbed an eagle feather quill— something he had recently acquired while hiking through the forest and immediately started to fiddle with it. He ran his thumb across the side and enjoyed the pleasant sensation of the barbs sliding across his finger. After a moment, he remembered his eldest sibling was being a menace and glared at her.
“You cannot bother anyone else? I’m working and I want to show atar that I have done something in the past two months. I know he’s excited.”
“Ah yes, your incredible work of anatomically incorrect bees and honey.” She sighed and stood. “I suppose I’ll leave you to it.”
She snagged the bowl of honeycomb on the way out of his room, humming.
Okay so hear me out… Leonie and Hubert actually have a ton in common and complement each other where they differ.
Before we even get into romance, I think Leonie is one of the few characters who before even meeting her Hubert would have respect for. Why? Because she is basically the model of the world Edelgard wants to build! Leonie is a normal young woman who, with the support of her community, has managed the incredibly usual feat of attending Garreg Mach. No other non noble character in the main cast has achieved this. Ignatz and Raphael are from the merchant class. Ashe was adopted into nobility. Dorothea is the only one who comes close, as it’s implied she’s using the funds she made from being at the Opera company. But Leonie was basically crowd funded by her community because they believed in her potential and dream. If in this version of the world that is so stacked against her Leonie can succeed, it proves that many of the common folk are capable of the exact same things the nobles are. Additionally, Hubert’s C supports are FULL of him disliking people who he views as being handed their station or taking it for granted. Leonie has worked hard for everything she has, and she is never content with her current skills, always pushing forward.
Hubert is also someone who seems to dislike frivolous activity and appreciate practical skills. Although we don’t really get to see a lot of his spy work up close, it’s likely he has way more practical skills than most nobles due to it. Leonie is basically nothing but practical skills. She has all the skills needed to live as a commoner, which probably includes things not mentioned in canon. We know she can sew, hunt, cook, and maintain weapons. But it’s also likely she can do a bunch of skills to a functional level, like wood work, butchering animals, mending common household objects.
The two of them share a dislike of nobles due to how incompetent and full of themselves they often are. Neither of them are likely to refuse to do something due to their own pride, if something needs to be done they will.
Leonie and Hubert’s morals do not line up, however we see in her support line with Felix she is way less precious about concepts of honour than most nobles. She cares about ends rather than means, something that Hubert obviously is in favour of.
As Leonie is a commoner she also has 0 reason to fear Hubert upon first meeting him. At least no more reason that she might fear any noble due to the power dynamic. We also see in several of Hubert’s support lines (most notably in three hopes with Petra and in general with Ferdinand) he likes it when people who disagree with him and argue with him. Leonie always speaks her mind, and she would not hold back with Hubert.
The most significant difference between them is their general outlook. Leonie is a very positive person, and she leads with kindness (for a great example her supports with Bernie). Compared to Hubert whose outlook is very sceptical, and he leads with suspicion. I think that these however make their dynamic pretty similar to Ferdinand and Hubert’s. (In fact Ferdinand and Leonie are similar in a lot of ways.)
The specific au I have started writing for them is one that starts when Byleth has Leonie assist them in Chapter 3, during the Lord Lonato mission. On the way back Leonie and Hubert get separated from everyone else after an avalanche that almost kills then. Hubert used magic to save them and is now fucked up due to it. Leonie having to take care of Hubert allows her to show off what a practical and useful person she is and it develops from there.
(Holy shit that was so long I hope it was convincing. And I didn't even get into how their dynamic works once in a friendship/relationship lmao)
I am so so so sorry it took me so long to answer this ask
THIS IS SO INTERESTING
I am on board entirely for this
They have their hurdles to get over, namely: Hubert is from a powerful noble household and is privileged
In the days that had followed since the Galactic patrol had secured and brokered a peace treaty with the Gem Homeworld, the diamond authority had wasted little to no time in establishing embassies on many sentient planets and took to having many gems migrate or be made from the healthy mineral supplies on hand from their surface. Though Yellow and White had to wonder why Blue Diamond had so eagerly stepped up to be the Ambassador representing them on Earth of all places, considering such a thing beneath her station but many of the gems that wound up there were certainly not complaining, especially and specifically Amethyst Facet-5 Cut-8XM or just Amethyst, Ame if you were really friendly with her. And well Ame to put it mildly LOVED the planet Earth and all it had to offer, the fact she was more or less born there certainly gave her a sense of personal attachment. Where to even begin on how and why of course but ooh if you asked her, she'd be more than glad to tell you herself.
For one thung, it was certainly the variety of food on offer, okay so who cared if Gems didn’t actually need to eat, they didn’t need ti breathe or sleep either. But didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy the acts and really how could she deny the sensation of taste to herself? She especially anything spicy or sweet and Earth had a variety especially as long as you had the cash. Which she could rake in thanks to making a little hustle as a street performer using her shapeshifting and her side gig as a pro wrestler known as the Purple Puma.
Pro wrestling was another bit of Earth culture she developed a fondness for and with good reason just for all the action, the drama, the pageantry!! But if there was one thing she was curious to try that allured her, it was the act of sex, just something about it was such a humanoid thing. It certainly helped she had found plenty of porn to watch and enjoy and some of the better material really displayed the raw passion and desire. It made her non existent nerves tingle with erotic anticipation wondering what it’d be like to be skin to skin with another naked body, especially the delicious differences between men and woman….
And yet oh sure as incredible as masturbation felt, especially when flicking the bean off to some porn (particularly some of Double Z's work, that Don Juan Sanchez was an absolute unit stud!!), she'd never yet met a guy that appealed her enough to want to do it with them. Oh sure sleeping with another girl was all well and good but dildoes and strap-ons could only do so much when she had yet to feel a real flesh and blood dick to compare it to and using her shapeshifting powers herself wouldn't count at all. She wanted to be on the receiving end, not the one to go wham, bam, thank you ma'am!! But it seemed like there was a better chance of Hell freezing over than than her getting properly laid sooner rather than later.
Until of course one fine day at her personal favourite hangout spot at Beach City, she caught sight of a family arriving to spend some quality time on the local shore and its amusement park and arcade. Now for those of you reading this story, you know full well it's none other than the Chestnut/Sanchez family who were looking for a fun day out and Amethyst was finding herself unable to look away from the compact fighter. She would say it was more lust than love at first sight for sure but something within her gem was burning deep though of curse it have helped she found the guy bore quite a resemblance to her favourite porn star. Unaware of the truth but knowing it was clear, her body was down to fuck and it wanted to get plowed by a 4 to 5 foot short king!
Now of course Amethyst didn’t want to get too impulsive here so she played it low key and cool, just seeming like an exotic local girl who was hanging around checking out the rides and games on hand for amusement. Keeping her eyes trained on that short-stack dude who seemed to just really call to her with some major rizz without even trying. It was puzzling, like he wasn’t too but not a total pretty boy yet handsome in his own way and going by those arms, he was buff! Plus if he had a babe like that for a wife, he had to be doing something right.
Eventually the kinky little shortstack gem saw a chance present itself as 18 took the kid on over to the arcade, leaving Krillin alone as she followed him. Soon ducking into an isolated spot between some carnival stalls she grabbed and pulled him into it with her and pressed her lips to his. Catching the compact cutie off guard as she shoved her tongue into his mouth, moaning as she tasted his spit, pressing her frame against his as she felt the tingle of real pleasure flood her being. More so as she found a Krillin returning the kiss, his hands firmly grabbing and squeezing her violet skinned booty cheeks clad in a set of denim shorts. Which really devoured the rear with its juicy cheeks turning it into a glorified thing as she wrapped her legs around her waist, deepening the liplock between them.
While she didn’t need to breathe, she couldn’t forget that Krillin still needed air as she broke their kiss with a stand of saliva between their lips. The pair panting which in Amethyst’s case came more from the passion racing through her pseudo pulse, sensually giggling and purring at the short king as she pried herself off of him and snapped her fingers. Her revealing casual outfit disappearing as she struck some sexy poses before him now naked and showing off her quite stunning figure. Presenting her backside to him as she squatted down to the floor, sticking out her mesty asscheeks as she began to twerk, making them clap and jiggle as she courted him, calling for him to come tap her like the man she knew he could be.
And oh what a man he was, her own personal Don Jaun Sanchez as he started off intense from the word go, starting off with facefucking her with his massive cock!! Riling him uo as her lack of a gag eflex and not needing to breathe allowed her to deepthroat his jackhammering prick, the muscles of her throwt and her tongue providing just the right level of pleasure to feel like an oral pussy. But ooh when he did get to her pussy, that was when she didn’t simply feel pleasure. No she felt she had achieved what some spiritual humans called nirvana, her gem mind reaching a higher level of consciousness with very orgasm thst penetrsting shaft brought her.
It was handy that the sounds of the beach, the rides and music of the carnival and the games of the arcade managed to drown out the noises of the gem and the human’s passionate, pornographic rutting. As Amethyst urged and compelled this man she came to consider the only man she ever needed or wanted in her life to keep fucking her for as long he wanted and needed, currently pinning her up against a wall a he fucked her with vigorous pistoning motions. Their tongues dancing together as they deepened the bond of lust formin between them, her arms and legs wrapped around his naked, very sculpted physique. Pink glowing hearts in her eyes as she felt the telltale signs of hismcock twitching and pulsing, ready to unleash a flood his nu juice into her pseudo womb.
And how she loved each and every moment when he did as much as the locations she foun the most enjoyable with him like being pinned on the floor and fucked prone bone. The sensation of bouncing her fat purple ass on his powerful cock as she rode him cowgirl style, the animalistic primal mush of a mating press or doggy style. Oh now certainly oral and anal sex were too but had nothing on the rush of Krillin mounting her and penetrating her pussy in ways that would mould those muscular walls to the shape of his length and girth. It was eben more filling and satisfying than any food she had ever eaten….
Eventually the who put a brief pause in their rutting, that is after Krillin had gotten his cock cleaned up by her eager, naughty little mouth. Giving it a kiss with those putty lips as she show him a wink and a smile as she summoned her clothes back on and he got dressed again, they went back to his wife and kid. 18 not surprised in the least but rather delighted to see her man had made a special new friend as Krillin introduced the gem to her and Marron. It was the beginning of a very beautifully little friendship…..
That day on Amethyst woild relish each and every visit to beach city made by the family or the occassion when she woild go visit them, making the most of their time with a marathon of passionate, intimate sex. Not to mention the fun she got using her phone to send her short king a naughty picture, video or text and of course she and 18 becam very close. Especially when she told the gem she wasn’t the only woman in Krillin’s life..and thst there was a good reason why Gems were so welcome on earth. Suffice to say, Amethyst was so wanting to kiss Blue Diamomd if and when she ever saw her personally, thst sexy glorious azure big goth mama…..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eren who?!!
Mikasa Ackerman was something of what you'd call the strong silent type, both literally and figuratively due to her very well toned body and being a woman of few words. Which to those meeting her gave her the impression of an air of mystery about herself, something she also wondered for you see, she felt like she wasn't of this world. She could only remember a few things, how to fight, her own name but everything else was a blank slate. The earliest vivid memory she could recall had been waking in a crater, nothing on but tattered rags and the remains of what had been some sort of harness device and a pair of broken blades.
Before later finding herself in a hospital, in awe of the view from her room of the vast Metropolitan skyline of what she would learn of as being called South City and finding what seemed to be a sort of local peacekeeper sitting beside her. She would come to learn his name was Krillin who had been on patrol when he and some of his partners had come across the girl and brought her to the closest medical facility. Such kindness from someone just seemed to stir within her, though that became forgotten for the time being as the physicians and a few of the compact cop’s fellow officers came by to check in on her and ask her a few questions. To which the strong, silent girl simply nodded and complied as she offhanded gripped the tattered remains of a scarf, which was among the other few items she had on her when she was found.
Thus far, she seemed to b in good physical health but seemed to be suffering from a heavy case of amnesia or memory loss but could still remember her own name. The fact they couldn’t find any record or history in her made her an enigma, to say nothing of the rags she’d had in her but she didn’t seem ti be a danger to herself and others. Krillin of course, being the generous guy he was, offered to give Mikasa shelter and help her adjust Especially if and when she ever got her memory back, his selfless chivalry once again making her feel so…warm and safe. Soon as she was discharged and left in his care, she found herself welcomed into his home by his wife and his, she had to say, adorable daughter and found she came to find something she rather liked about such a simple, quiet family life as if it was something she’d been missing.
Over the next days leading on into weeks and months, Mikasa found herself practically becoming part of the family, with Marron of course looking up to the toned yet quiet girl like a cool big sister. Krillin of course was a very caring host and 18 was in her own way quite endearing which was likely helped they were quite cool customers in their own way. Yet the young Ackerman girl couldn't help but feel...intrigued and puzzled by some thoughts and feelings she'd found herself having about the man who took her in under his roof and been something of a surrogate father to her. The likes of which lead tom some quite.....distinct dreams she found herself having at night as she slept, often waking up to find herself and her sheets soaked with sweat, face flushed red as she gasped and panted from waking up from such...intense and vivid visions.
Now Mikasa knew she wasn't lacking in sexual education, there was no denying she was having wet dreams but to do so about Krillin? She knew should be feeling weird and guilty about it and yet to her they seemed so....right, just the idea of being held in his arms as he brought her to the peak of ectasy, over and over as she drowned in pleasure. Perhaps that was she she found herself breathing in the scent on his shirts when she'd take care of the laundry...or started peeping on him as he bathed or showered if not watch him do it with his wife. Playing with herself like the shameless voyeur she found herself becoming, looking on from her secret hiding places as she visualised herself in 18's place, yearning for that cock...
Yet she never dared make a move, simply doing what she could to play innocent which only had the effect of adding to her growing arousal and desire. Until one day as she showered, mind wandering to fantasies about the newfound man of her dreams, she found herself ambushed by 18 joining her in there. The blonde stunner cornering her under the hot, steamy water as she suddenly began fingering the ones, quiet Amazon to her shock and amazement, making Mikasa squirm and moan as those digits probed her pussy with such skill that it was clear 18 knew her way around and with another woman's body sexually. Which was no wonder Mikasa found herself feeling an intense orgasm rip through her body, the ghost of a smile on the blonde's luscious lips as she heard the amnesiac girl utter her husband's name.
As the poor girl recovered from the erotic ambush, the cyborg hottie showed a softer side to herself as she snuggled and kept her company in the shower to help her recover. Proceeding to explain to Mikasa that she knew full well how bad the toned, silent babe knew how badly she wanted to be with Krillin sexually, after all she wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last. And this moment was 18's way of letting her know, she had full consent to make her move, much to Mikasa's awe and amazement. To think the man and lady of the house were so...kinky!! Suffice to say, it only made her desire for the man who took her in out of the kindness of his heart all the more so.
So of course 18 was only too happy to arrange for an opportunity to allow the Amazonian pseudo-mute to make her move and get some Krillin loving. All she had to do was wait patiently that night not long after Marron was put to sleep, sitting in the guest bedroom as she got a text on her smartphone (She had to say, something about this world and its level of science and technology was a wonder to her) telling her it was time. Making her way clad in just a sleeping gown as she knocked on their bedroom door, greeted by the sensual smile of 18 who invited her on inside, presenting her quite the sight before her. There sitting on the bed with a blindfold and a set of noise cancellinh headphones was a nude Krillin, his massive cock fully erect and coated in what had to be 18's saliva.
Before Mikasa knew it, she had ditched her robe and proceeded to kneel on the floor before her host, no her sex god, as she unleashed all her passion and desire. Grasping and stroking his cock with firm eagerness as she conducted fellatio, sucking and blowing on that length. Her sixpack washboard abs crunching as she bobbed her head up and down lewdly with the drive to deepthroat that cock until she knew her lips would be kissing his balls. Her pussy quivering and gushing with a growing puddle from the love nectar flowing and streaming forth as every groan or gasp out of Krillin's mouth felt like praise for her sloppy yet eager display of lusty devotion especially as he petted her head and caressed her shortcut hair.
But of course the sensation and pleasure of giving Krillin oral sex was a whole different thing compared to the raw rush of rapture that filled Mikasa’s being. The strength of his embrace he bald her while fucking her, plunging inch after inch if his powerful cock into her from missionary into a mating press to laying on her front as she bit and grasped the bedsheets while being fucked prone bone. Her ass and pussy especially becoming moulded to the shape of that length and girth as her womb awaited the rush of his seed sure to flood and quench her erotic fires. Her wet dreams having nothing on the thrill of the reality of doing it with this sex god among men…her alpha male, her king.
Orgasm after orgasm had rocked her nerves as 18 soon joined the fear first chance she got, further adding fuel to the fire of passion within Mikasa. The tandem assault of the cyborg and her husband overwhelming her with a tidal wave of pleasure until it was all finally too much for her. Sweetly sleeping as she basked-in the afterglow, sandwiched between the so people who now came to very special in her heart as more than just a generous pair who gave her shelter and home. The sunlight from the rising dawn filling the bedroom with a cosy sense of serenity in the sleeping trio…
Since that night Mikasa had adjusted and adapted a little more to this world, now having secured her own place (an apartment just across from where Krillin and his family lived so they weren’t far apart) and steady employment as a police officer..in Krillin’s department naturally where she found herself in some good, like minded company when it came to the short king. Not to mention a generator payment in royalties from Bulma as thanks for providing that harness gear which the genius woman found coild have some very useful applications and benefits. Work, home, finance, Mikasa felt like she had it good compared to wheeever she had come from before but above all else? She found she had plenty of love and pleasure…and if things went well enough with her regular quality time sessions with Krillin, she’d soon have a bun in the oven….
what the young Ms.Ackerman didn’t know was the source of her amnesia an the cause he winding up in this world had been thanks to a friend wishing her and a few others to have a better, happier life than the ones they used to have. A world away from misery, death and Titans and the reckless, irrational choices and actions of a foolish young hothead by the name of Eren Jeager. A name that was forgotten about by her and rightfully so as throughout her new life she came to meet some people who became great friends. Almost like she knew them in another lifetime…….
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cops & Ninjas
Krillin should’ve really trusted that funny feeling he had when he’d received new case to investigate a series of female disappearances throughout the city. Searching all over would eventually lead him to a place known as the Chaos Arena, run and operated by the demomic hoards lead by one Edwin Black and see first hand what had happened to the missing civilians and other various women. To say he was beyond livid was an understatement, besides obviously nauseous as hell and who could blame him? This place was funny of some utter degenerates!!
His rising fury was not helped that the timing which saw him walking in on the middle of one of the Arena’s notorious punishment sessions. Furious enough as he was of course, he knew he couldn’t hold down this many arrests by himself so he called for back up. During the next bout, the audience of horny bastards felt their cock and balls shrivel up as Satan City’s finest gatecrashed and started to swarm the place, fully armoured and and armed as they began to subdue take down dozens of the group. They never had a chance and it certainly didn’t help their dignity that they were mostly naked and interrogations would later reveal some of them were members of high society, yes some of them were even women as well which was just disturbing….
While Krillin went in deeper into the comped of perversion, he had soon found the swarm of Orc forces and wasted no time dusting off his training from Master Roshi to send the monsters back to HFIL! The horn dog greenskins never stood a chance and he had a lot of anger to vent snd take out given the shit he’d witnessed, it’d be a miracle if some of those girls woild ever manage to recover. Among them had been a pair of sisters, clad in some damaged but very skin tight outfits made of latex, leather and fishnet mesh in their design and who in spite of what they’d endured? Proceeded to prove they could kick some serious ass as they no doubt had some frustration and righteous fury to vent.
Never let it said that Krillin never realise he could feel scaroused like that but those 2 girls, whose names he later learned were Asagi and Sakura Igawa, were quite a sight to behold. Suffice to say, a few battered and bruised up bastards and annihilated demons later, the Chaos Arena was shut down with news headlines making the rounds for weeks and Krillin seeing quite a boost in his pay for making such a major sting so successfully. A few weeks after the event had died down, he came to find himself approached by the Igawa sisters who both wanted to thank him for saving them, albeit in a way that made it clear in their body language how they wished to do so....mainly him, them and a little bit of adult twister and the vertical to horizontal tango in the bedroom.
Krillin was originally against it, at first, seeing it as taking advantage of their trauma. So instead he offered to spend time getting to know them and in turn they met and got know his wife, as well as some of their fellow fighters and friends of course. Which Asagi and Sakura didn’t mind in the slightest, it was an advantage to them and only made them anticipate their endgame goal all the more. Krillin you see, wasn’t yet aware that the sister duo were kunoichi agents of the elusive and enigmatic Taimanin corps and they had themselves a mission.
Said mission involved having Krillin fuck them and knock them up in the hopes of baring his children, who were to have major potential as future taimanin warriors. It so happened that the Igawa clan, being the sort to have their eyes and ears in the right places, was among a select few who actually knew the truth about Cell and Mr. Satan at the Cell Games and naturally were well aware just how powerful Krillin and his friends truly are. So they and many kunoichi within the corps had been tasked charged with a long term mission to seek out seduce them for their genes. And the short king was proving to be their most viable and charismatic candidate, the fact he pretty much earned that right after saving their lives was a bonus afforded by opportunity.
Krillin and 18 were none the wiser to this of course, simply hanging out with the sisters but the cybernetic asskicking blonde could tell from their body language clearly. Asagi and Sakura were down to fuck and they wanted her man, which naturally was turning her on something fierce. So it was only right that soon as the chance presented itself that she and Krillin, after convincing him it was more than okay now to do so, invited the ninja sisters to their bed Much to the delight of the Igawa sisters at finding their patience paying off. Making quite a show of it as they slowly, sensually stripped down to their lacey bra and panties before him, giving him a fine view of their toned, tanned bombshell bodies with results only good genetics and intense training could ensure.
18 of course insisted the eager kunoichi pair start things off by getting her man all nice and warmed, get him in the mood if they really wanted to rock his 4 to 5 foot world bad enough. Asagi and Sakura obliging her as they took turns kissing and making out with Krillin as they got his clothes off of him, sensually moaning and purring as they felt up that sculpted body and felt their thong clad pussies quiver feeling the meat contained within his boxers. Which they took off soon as they had him sitting on the edge of the bed, jaws dropping as they laid their eyes on his fully exposed, stiffening cock rising to greet them. Suddenly some of their experiences at the Arena with all those gangfucking douchebags and those orcs was a distant memory as this length and girth made them all seem like glorified eunuchs, their brains flipping switches that were a mix of primal instinct and some of Oboro's twisted erotic tinkering telling them to mount this stud and have him turn them into his personal baby factories.
The short king's cybernetic hottie wife had to say, she was quite impressed how gung-ho the Igawa girls suddenly became as they started things off practically facefucking themselves on Krillin's cock. Their eyes brimming with raw, animalistic lust as they seemed torn between wanting his seed to fill their stomachs or save it for pumping into their eager, burning hot wombs. Their powersuck deepthroating blowjob tag team having an effect on the compact fighter as he proceeded to pounce and go wild on the ninja women with abandon, fucking them deep and hard. It was a mark of talent for those girls to get her hubby so horny that he went full on caveman, licking lips as she shamelessly played with herself at watching him sexually wreck and dominate them.
For Asagi and Sakura Igawa, any lingering trauma from the Arena and the wicked deeds of Oboro truly became forgotten as Krillin rocked their world with real raw erotic talent. Taking them in any and every which way you coild with two sexy bad ass bitch ninja sisters be it one on one or two on one and that was before 18 finally got shelf in on the fray no longer content to be just a voyeur. From taking Asagi in a mating press to holding Sakura up in a full nelson, plowing one in missionary or prone bone as they laid atop each other and made out to the sinful delight of being taken doggy style as the other girl got eaten out. If they didn’t leave this night with buns in the oven, they definitely had to come back again and again to ensure successful results.
And oh they certainly came back again and again, much to Krillin’s befuddlement and 18’s sensual amusement which naturally got the attention of many of their fellow kunoichi. Suffice to say Krilkin was going to find a lot of taimanin girls in his future who felt he’d be the ideal baby daddy. Many of which would see these future brothers and sisters of Marron become the finest, strongest generation of kunoichi and shinobi to grace the corps and be the bane of demon kind. But that’s a story for another
As for Edwin Black, he had gotten away from the raid of the chaos arena but Krillin might have let it slip to Goku during a conversation while training with Vegeta, that some creep might be targeting Bulma next. You can't deny, Vegeta would not let any harm come to his woman. So yes the vampiric bastard wasn’t exactly going to enjoy a little downtime recovering from this set back. Karma’s a bitch ain’t it?
As for Oboro, well soon as things died down enough since that hectic night, she was now set to operate NOMAD’s resource towards her newest target for her spiteful sense of vengeance. Oh yes how she hated that damn dwarf who had to go and stu in her fun, just when she was really getting under Asagi’s skin. Oh yes she woild see to it Krillin would suffer and if she was feeling generous? She might make him her pet…ooh if omly knew how wrong she was…
