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imaginespazzi · 3 days

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Part 7: Home

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

These hands had to let it go free and this love came back to (us)

(In which with bittersweet feelings, a nostalgic writer, finally writes the end of the story)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst and Fluff

Words: 7.1K

TW: Swearing, Alludes to Sexual Content

A/N: Hello my loves! I can't believe we've actually reached the end, who would have thought huh? I'm not sure if there will be an epilogue, mainly cause I don't know what I'd write but never say never. I don't really know how I feel about this chapter and if I've done the end I pictured justice but I really hope y'all like it anyways. There's a fair amount of creative liberty taken with WNBA logistics but please just accept it for the plot. Per usual, did I edit? Yes. Are there grammar mistakes and typos anyways? Yes. As always, let me know what you liked and disliked. And finally, to all my lovelies who have liked, reblogged, commented, sent in an ask, dm-ed me or simply just silently read this fic, I just wanna say thank you guys so, so, much, y'all have made writing every word worth it and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much I enjoyed writing it <3

August 2018

Paige swears, tonight, there are stars in the Minnesota night sky she’s never seen before in her life. The summer sky has darkened with nightfall, yet the shine of the moon and its companions make it still seem ever so bright. Or maybe, it’s just the girl lying next to Paige that makes tonight feel luminescent, sparkling with the promises of something not quite like friendship that Paige has never felt before. She’d spent the whole day with Azzi at the Minnesota State fair, trying to suppress these new butterflies in her stomach that seemed to have taken birth over their time in Latvia. Or well, maybe they’d been there from the start, but they’d really only started this dance of theirs, the one that makes Paige feel all tingly when Azzi smiles, over the course of this summer.

“Paige it’s cold, stop hogging the blanket,” Azzi chastises, breaking Paige from a trance, as she tugs on the pink and purple blanket covering the two of them, “I knew we should have brought two of them.”

“It’s barely on me” Paige argues for the sake of arguing but she shifts anyway to allow the younger girl to pull the blanket, so clearly meant for one person, a little more towards her, “besides, it’s about sharing body heat.”

“You’re not even warm enough to share body heat,” Azzi mocks as she makes a show of tracing a finger down Paige’s arm and everything in the blonde feels like it’s been lit on fire at the touch. And she wonders if Azzi feels it too, the electricity, the sparks of this could ruin me that scatter through her veins before finding themselves setting her heart ablaze. It’s too much and Paige shakes Azzi’s hand off with a little more force than she means too.

When Azzi sends her questioning look, she splutters through an excuse, “your hands are cold too. Can we just do the boring shit we’re here to do.”

"Stargazing is not boring,” Azzi says indignantly, opening the little stargazing booklet she’d brought with her, flicking through the pages looking for something specific.

To be honest, sitting still in an open field and squinting at the sky trying to figure out a distant constellation isn’t really Paige’s brand of entertainment. She’s a fidgety person by nature, constantly embroiled in the urge to be moving. But Azzi had brought it up the other day, with pleading eyes and a hopeful grin and well, sometimes it felt sinful to deny Azzi of anything she wants. And that’s how they’d ended up at a campsite, not too far from the State fair, lying on the grass, heads tilted towards each other, with a single blanket shielding them from the summer breeze.

“Okay,” Azzi says after a while, using her fingers to point out a pattern in the sky, “I think that one’s Cassiopeia.”

“If you say so,” Paige nods, not really sure what she’s supposed to be looking at.

“Paaaaige,” Azzi whines, “focus.”

“Dude I can barely see anything, the fuck am I supposed to focus o-”

Before Paige can finish her sentence, she feels herself being pulled by the younger girl, the side of her body fitting into the crook’s of Azzi’s like a perfect puzzle piece. She looks over at the brunette, and the protest dies on the tip of her tongue, as she realises just how close Azzi is to her now, all semblance of air leaving her lungs. Paige gulps, eyes tracing every inch of her best friend’s face, stopping of their own accord at Azzi’s lips, before guiltily flashing back to meet the younger girl’s eyes which are just as focused on Paige. And it feels like there’s no force in this world right now that could make either of them look away. Except maybe the force of friends don’t do this.

“Just focus,” Azzi breaks contact first, turning her face back at the stars, before gently grabbing hold of Paige’s hand so she can guide it in the pattern of the constellation. And Paige still doesn’t really see it, doesn’t even particularly care about seeing it, but if it gets Azzi to hold her hand, soft skin putting light pressure against her palm, she thinks she’ll try to see some random lines in the sky forever.

“It’s pretty.”

“You don’t see it do you?”

“Nope,” Paige’s grin widens when Azzi chuckles, shaking her head fondly. Something in her blooms, delighted at being the reason for that. And she’s always prided herself in being funny, she thinks of herself as a little bit of a comedian really, but she’s never wanted to make anyone laugh quite as much as she wants to make Azzi laugh.

“Well that’s enough stargazing for us then,” Azzi rolls her eyes, closing her little booklet and making a move to sit up but Paige is quicker, pulling the younger girl back down and interlocking their fingers. Her own overeagerness causes a tinge of embarrassment to race up her cheeks, and she hopes it’s dark enough that Azzi won’t see the pale pink blush taking over her face.

“It’s peaceful out here,” she says quietly, sounding shy even to her own ears and she can’t help but wonder when the hell that happened, “you wanna stay a little longer?”

“Yeah okay let’s stay longer,,” Azzi agrees and sometimes when Azzi speaks like that, her voice lyrically soft with a secret smile hidden in it, Paige wonders if maybe it would be okay to hope for, to feel something more because maybe, just maybe, Azzi feels it too.

“You know you should come to the state championship,” Paige says after a second of silence, trying to keep her voice nonchalant but she can hear the wishfulness bleeding into it anyways.

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “isn’t that in March? That’s like months and months away.”

“Yeah but- well-” Paige shrugs, cheeks burning just a little bit, “you probably wanna book in advance cause like tickets and stuff you know?”

“You don’t even know if you’ll be in the state championship. There’s still a whole season to go.”

“Oh I know. I know we’re definitely gonna be there.” Paige smirks, cockiness back in full-fledged form.

“Then I’ll be there,” Azzi says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, “you better win though Bueckers.”

“Watch me,” and she’s jutting her chest out in arrogance sure, but really everything inside her is swelling with something else, a feeling she’s starting to understand a little too well, a feeling that terrifies her, a feeling she doesn’t think she’s quite ready to let herself feel yet, “it would be nice you know, to win a championship together at some point.”

“I don’t think my parents would be on board with moving to Minnesota.”

“I’m sure I could convince them,” Paige feels a little giddy at the thought, “but I meant more like college, like UConn.”

It’s a topic they’ve stumbled upon a couple of times, with each other, and with the other girls at Team USA. And as much as Paige would love for her other teammates to follow her to her dream school, she’s practical enough to know they might have other priorities. But the thing is that with the rest of the girls, it’s just something she’d like to happen but with Azzi, now that Paige has said it out loud, she’s beginning to realise how desperately she wants that, her and Azzi, on the same team, fighting the same battles and winning the same wars, together.

“Don’t think you can win a national championship without me Bueckers?” Azzi smirks, twisting her head towards Paige, eyebrows cocked in arrogance.

“Of course I can,” Paige’s face softens, the vulnerability that only ever seems to come out around her best friend seeping on to her features, “but I think it would be fun to win one with you. Someday.”

“Someday, “ Azzi whispers back, giving Paige’s hand a light squeeze, and then her eyes widen at the sky, “holy shit is that a shooting star? Oh my god Paige look up, quick, it’s beautiful.”

In the dark of the night, a rare flicker of gold shoots across the obsidian Minnesota sky. Paige has never seen one before but it seems fitting really, that she’d see one tonight.

“We have to make a wish,” she whispers and Azzi, never one to really believe, rolls her eyes but she follows Paige’s lead, closing her eyes. And the thing is Paige could wish for a lot of things really, but she finds herself thinking of only one word that sums up all she could ever want: someday.

***

August 2026

They’ve been playing against each other for years now and yet the thrill of the face-off still hasn’t quite worn off. Back in the handful of games in high school, it had been quickfire friendly trash talk, two best friends going at it like the competitors they were. College had been drastically different, each game, each play, underlined with the tension of two people who still hadn’t quite figured it out. But Paige thinks her favourite version of them as opponents is definitely this one, the one where they might be on different teams in the WNBA, but off the court, they both know they’re on the same side, together.

Their relationship isn’t quite a secret; it would have been impossible to hide if after the kiss at the 2025 national championship. But they’d kept as quiet about it as possible, skillfully dodging media questions, wanting to shelter it from the prying eyes of the public. It makes playing each other on national television, just that little bit more entertaining, trying to keep things as cordial as possible. If Paige’s hands end up just a little too close to Azzi’s waist, lingering a little longer than necessary against the patch of skin she’d marked with a hickey earlier this morning, and it makes the younger girl shiver, then that’s just a tactic to win. And if Azzi breathes seductive thoughts of what she’d like to do after the game when guarding Paige, and it makes the blonde want to turn around and kiss the smirk off of her girlfriend’s lips, well that’s just another innovative defensive strategy.

“Be a good girl for me and move,” Paige whispers, the double entendre in her voice apparent, as she tries to dribble the ball past Azzi. There’s only a minute or so left in the last meeting of the regular season between Paige’s Lynx and Azzi’s Mystics -funny how that had worked out- and the score is painfully close, with the Mystics closing in on the Lynx’s two point-lead.

“Always a good girl for you P,” Azzi smirks, her voice the quietest it could possibly be, but Paige hears her next words like they’re on a loudspeaker in the area, “it’s why I’m wearing your favourite purple panties.”

It takes a second, a second where Paige’s eyes gloss over with lust, as her mind rushes back to the last time she’d seen, the last time she’d touched the silky undergarment, for the ball to be stolen from her hands. She’s a step too slow to recover and by that time Azzi’s already scored the easy lay-up to tie up the game, a mischievous grin adorning her normally stoic game face.

On the other end of the court, Napheesa draws a foul and Paige and Azzi end up next to each for free throws. Paige is seething, unsure if the heat curling up her spine is from the game or the girl standing next to her.

“Sorry baby, all’s fair in love and war right?” Azzi teases, pinky brushing against the blonde’s, “I’ll make it up to you later if you want.”

“You’re such a fucking menace,” Paige practically growls. She does want, in fact she’d like it right now if it was possible. Two years they’ve been together, longer if you count the inbetween, and still, every time Azzi lights a match, Paige feels herself burn just as brightly as the first time she’d felt that magnetic pull.

“Learnt from the best,” Azzi hums with a grin as Napheesa hits both free throws.

The rest of the game passes in a blur of frenzied shots and hurried fouls but the Lynx pull out an eventual, much-needed win, to better their chances of clinching a higher seed in the playoffs. After missing the playoffs in 2024, the Lynx, despite having relatively low odds, had secured the no.1 pick and there had never really been a doubt that they would pick Paige. She’d helped the team get back to the playoffs last season but they hadn’t made it out of the first round. A championship doesn’t seem quite possible yet, but Paige has her fingers crossed that they’d at least make it to a semi-final this time.

“The two of you are terrible at this,” Aaliyah’s the first person to hug Paige during the handshake line, “I thought you’d jump each other’s bones in the middle of the game today.”

“We’re not that bad,” Paige rolls her eyes at her former teammate. She high-fives a few more of the Mystics team until she gets to Azzi, who’s already smiling, despite the loss. The cameras are quick to crowd them, clearly wanting a more sensational picture than the one they’re likely to get. Still, despite the unwanted attention, Paige lets herself nestle into the crook of Azzi’s neck.

“You owe me twice tonight,” she whispers into the younger girl’s ear, “one for the win and one for that bullshit you pulled on the court tonight.”

Azzi’s voice is breathless when she replies, “I can give you way more than two.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a promise.”

***

“With the new rules, after this season you’ll be a free agent, have you given any thought to that?”

Waiting for the Lynx’s turn in the media room, Paige hadn’t been paying much attention to the questions being asked to the Mystics players, her focus solely on how hot her girlfriend always looked post games. But the words ‘free agent’ pique her interest. The W had changed the rookie contract rules for first round draftees to two years and that meant both Paige and Azzi would be free agents after this year. But while it hadn’t reached the media quite yet, the Lynx were likely to use their core designation on Paige. Which meant the only one of them making any decision about next season would be Azzi. It was a subject the two of them were cautiously tip-toeing around, using the shield of distance to avoid talking about what it could mean for them.

“I’m focused on the season, this team and the rest of our games. I’m not really thinking about the future,” Azzi answers diplomatically.

“You’ve obviously got very strong ties to the DC area but you also went to UCLA, if the Sparks or maybe even the Valkyries, considering your connection to Steph Curry, were interested, and there have been rumours that they are, would you consider it?” the same reporter prods.

“Again, I’m not currently thinking about any of that,” to anyone else Azzi probably sounds neutral but Paige has studied the sheet music of Azzi’s voice to the point where she knows what’s hidden behind every note, behind every little indent. The tinge of irritation is masked by a smile, but the line of questioning is clearly unappreciated.

“And what about the Lynx?” the persistently oblivious reporter continues and this time Paige sucks in a breath, “you have some ties to that team don't you? Have you given some thought to maybe going there?”

Azzi’s eye twitches ever so slightly, “the Lynx just beat my team. The only thoughts I have right now are about how to beat them next time.”

That elicits a laugh from the media and finally the rather obtuse reporters seem to understand that he’s not going to be able to pry anything newsworthy from Azzi’s mouth. But even if he hasn’t achieved his desired effect, he’s succeeded in making Paige’s mind start running in circles. She hadn’t let herself think about it yet, the potential of Azzi joining the Lynx, the potential of playing with Azzi, the potential of finally just being with Azzi. Because facing the potential for all of that, facing all the things she wants means also facing the potential that maybe Azzi doesn’t want any of that.

***

The air in Paige’s living room is thick with a suffocating tension as she and Azzi sit on opposite ends of the couch. It reminds Paige a little bit of the before, a dreaded version of them she’d foolishly thought they grown out of, until something reminiscent of their past problems had reared its ugly head, and suddenly it feels a bit like she’s playing a losing game.

“Will you please stop that,” she bites out, referring to where Azzi’s foot is incessantly tapping on the wooden floors, “it’s giving me a headache.”

Azzi’s eyes narrow, flashing with irritation, “is it my tapping or the alcohol giving you a headache Paige?”

“I didn’t even drink that much,” Paige says through gritted teeth and Azzi scoffs.

It’s a lie. After both teams were done with post game pressers, she, Azzi and a couple of the other girls had ended up at a local bar as they often did when the other team didn’t have to fly out til the next day. Paige had been tense the whole evening and trying to pretend not to be, especially when Azzi could see right through her façade, had only made the whole thing worse. She wasn’t one to drink too much, always happy just being sufficiently tipsy but then she’d gotten in her head too much. And when the first shot didn’t quite hit the way she needed it to, she’d kept on going, receiving worried looks from all the girls, until Azzi had finally stepped in. The ride back from the bar had been a sobering experience, one look at Azzi’s stoic face, giving away her irritation.

“That’s why you still reek of tequila?”

“How the fuck would you know? You haven’t come near me all night.”

“Don’t you dare try and turn this on me Paige. I tried to talk to you all night til you decided you wanted to act like freshman frat boy,” Azzi spits out, hurt and anger colliding in her voice, “we barely get to spend time together during the season and the one night in forever that we do, you pull this shit?”

They haven’t had an argument like this since they’ve been officially together, the kind of argument that has them balancing on a delicate tight rope, too afraid to take a step backwards in their relationship, and too prideful to take a step forward towards each other.

“I didn’t think you cared about spending time together during the season,” Paige accuses and there’s a sensible part of her, one that’s currently being held captive by the dangers of liquor, that knows it’s a ridiculous allegation.

Azzi stares at her, lips opening and closing in disbelief, “excuse me?”

“It’s pretty simple really Azzi. If you wanna spend the whole season together, the option is right fucking there, but I- I can’t even tell if you’re interested in taking it,” Paige is pacing now, teeth gnawing at her lips like they always do when she’s nervous.

“What- what are you even talking about?” Azzi asks, clearly confused.

“Free fucking agency. They asked you about it and you said you hadn’t thought about it at all. That’s really great to hear Az, really great to know you haven’t thought about how that could literally change our whole fucking life,” and even as the words waterfall out of her mouth, Paige knows she’s being unreasonable, but the mix of stress and alcohol churning in her stomach is just enough to keep her from taking the words back.

“I didn’t- that’s not even what I said. Jesus fucking christ Paige,” Azzi rubs her face, looking defeated.

“So you have thought about it then?”

“Of course I’ve thought about it, “ Azzi throws her hands up, “but I wasn’t gonna tell the media about all of that. But you- you seriously think I haven’t thought about what this means for us? You don’t- do you really think I’m not thinking about you- about us- while trying to make this decision?”

“Well you definitely didn’t think of me- of us- when you chose UCLA,” Paige’s eyes widen at her own words, knowing immediately that of all things she could have said, those were the worst ones, “I- I didn’t mean it like that.”

In front of her, Azzi has gone deathly still, face completely devoid of emotion, until the first tear drops and all of Paige’s anger dissipates, the guilt clawing back with full force.

“I thought we were over that,” Azzi whispers, voice trembling, as she looks down at her hands, “but maybe we’ll never be over that.”

“We are,” Paige sinks to her knees in front of the younger girl, tugging Azzi’s hands into her own, “we are over it. I just- it just slipped out.”

Azzi’s quiet for a moment before she pulls her hands out of the blonde’s grip, sidestepping her as she stands up and Paige feels empty and cold and just a little bit broken.

“Are you leaving?” she whispers, peering up at Azzi through tear soaked eyelashes.

“I think I should, before anything else just slips out,” Paige flinches and Azzi’s expression softens, “I know- I know you didn’t mean it like that but I just- I need some space.”

Panic filters into Paige’s lungs, wrapping its dirty hands and squeezing so tight that she can barely breathe. She’s not sure when she’ll see Azzi again, now that there’s no more Lynx-Mystics games left in the regular season and it’s unlikely with their expected seedings that they’d meet at some point in the playoffs. It’s not like distance is new to them, but in the last two years, they’ve only ever said goodbye with an i love you attached to the end.

“Are you-,” Paige gasps for air, “are you leaving me?”

And it must be written all over Paige's face, just how petrified she is of this moment, because that's all it takes for Azzi to rush back into Paige’s space, hands cupping her cheeks, “oh baby of course not. I just- you’re still drunk and I’m upset and I don’t want us to say anything we don’t mean. And I- need time to think about free agency and I think you- you need time to think about why that slipped out.”

Paige sighs, melting into Azzi’s touch as the knots in her stomach begin to untangle themselves, “you’re so logical.”

“Someone has to be,” a half-smile flitters across the younger girl’s face as she wipes at Paige’s tears, “we’ll figure this out okay? Just- just give me a little bit of time.”

Give me time. It’s a familiar line, so similar to what Azzi had asked for when she was making a decision about college and Paige would be lying if she said there isn’t a part of her that’s terrified fate is going to make them repeat the same mistakes. But part of growing up, Paige surmises, is letting time test you with the same trials and tribulations, and the next time, coming out of the other end on the right side.

And so she squeezes Azzi’s hand, matching the younger girl's half smile, with a soothing one of her own, “okay.”

***

November 2027

Paige doesn't know when she ended up in a love triangle with Azzi and the state of California but she wishes she was competing against an actual person. At least then she could throw a punch at the other guy. The W season is barely over and it seems like every front office has thrown themselves headfirst into convincing free agents to join their team. There’s a couple of teams interested in Azzi, but no one seems to be trying harder than the Los Angeles Sparks. Paige thinks whoever gave that city a name meaning “the angels” could not have been more wrong because really it’s a city full of devils constantly trying to steal her girl and no she’s not being dramatic.

They’re supposed to be leaving for thanksgiving dinner when Azzi’s phone rings and Paige can’t help but roll her eyes when Cameron Brink’s name flashes on the CallerID. The Sparks seemed to have put her as head of their recruiting Azzi campaign and Cam had been diligently doing her part.

“Azzi, Cam’s calling again,” Paige yells out to her girlfriend who’s still not quite finished getting ready.

“Can you pick it up?”

“Do I have to?”

“Paige,” Azzi whines and Paige sighs, hitting the green answering button.

“The amount of times you’ve called my girlfriend this week, Brink, should I be concerned?”

“Jealous I’m replacing you as her favourite blonde?” Cam’s voice always sounds like she’s smiling and Paige can’t help her own smile. Goddamn Cameron Brink for always being the sweetest soul on this planet.

“As if,” Paige scoffs, “it’s a holiday Cam, give the recruiting a rest.”

“Hey, I’m just calling to wish her a happy thanksgiving,” Cam defends.

“Mmmhmm where’s my thanksgiving wish?”

“Oh please, the two of you are basically a unit. Wishing her is wishing you,” Cam is quiet for a second before speaking again, “the Sparks would be a good fit for her Paige.”

Paige sucks in a sharp breath, “I’m not the one you’re gonna have to convince.”

“I know but you know your opinion means a lot to her. I know you want her in Minnesota and she'd be good there too and I- I know it isn’t my place to say any of this but just- just don’t discourage her from doing what’s best for her,” there’s not a hint of malice in Cam’s words, there never is, but they pierce at Paige’s skin anyways.

“Okay I’m ready, hand me the phone,” she’s saved from having to answer by Azzi waltzing into the living room and prying the phone from her hands.

Paige watches silently as Azzi talks animatedly with Cam, noticing the way her girlfriend’s smile widens while talking about certain spots in L.A. They’d subconsciously decided not to breach the subject of free agency after that night. Paige hadn’t interfered in any of the Lynx’s conversations with Azzi, deciding that this time, she’d stay out of it. It hadn’t been easy, every little bit of her itching to pitch why the Lynx were the perfect fit, why Paige was the perfect fit, but she was determined to give Azzi the space -the time- she’d wanted. This time she’d leave the choice solely up to Azzi and whatever she decided, Paige would find her happiness in that.

“Paige you ready to go,” Azzi waves a hand in front of Paige’s face, eyebrows raised in question when the older girl doesn’t make a move to get off the sofa, “hey, you good?”

“Cam says the Sparks would be a good fit,” Azzi stiffens at Paige’s words.

“Paige-”

“She’s right,” Paige concedes, fingers fidgeting as she averts Azzi’s gaze.

The younger girl blinks at her, clearly not having expected that, “she is?”

“Yeah. They need a shooting guard and you,” Paige smiles, reaching out to pull Azzi onto the couch with her, “you’re the best there is.”

“I wouldn’t go that far-”

“You are to me and it’s why I want you on the Lynx,” they both let out a breath with that. It’s not a secret of course but Paige hasn’t said it out loud before.

“Paige-”

“But it’s okay if you don't wanna be on the Lynx, if you wanna be on the Sparks or stay here with the Mystics or on any other team, if you think it’s the right move for you and for your career then that’s fine. It’s okay and you don’t- you don’t need my permission or anything of course but I just- whatever you decide, I’ll support it okay? What I said that night about UCLA- it wasn't- it wasn’t about you. I thought about it like you asked me to and it’s me. I was scared that I would fuck it up again and I’d lose you again-”

“You won’t,” Azzi grabs Paige’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, “I won’t let you.”

“I know. I know now that whatever happens, we’ll be okay. And so you can choose whatever team you want and it won’t- it won’t affect us, I promise. It won’t be like last time I swear. When you make your decision- I just- I don’t want you to make it for me or for us, cause you and me? Baby we’ll be just fine no matter what. Wherever you go and wherever I am, we’ll make it work, just as we have for the last two years,” Paige smirks, “besides I kinda enjoy kicking your ass.”

Azzi lets out a snort as she climbs onto Paige’s lap, thighs straddling her hips, “you really had to ruin it with that last part huh?”

“Was getting a little too sappy for me,” Paige mumbles and when she looks up, the emotions floating in Azzi’s eyes make Paige’s heart stutter. Because no one else gets this Azzi. This Azzi, who wears her heart on her sleeve, who lets her walls down, only for Paige’s eyes to see, only for Paige’s mind to memorise, only for Paige’s heart to keep.

“You mean it?” Azzi whispers, brushing a strand of hair out of Paige’s face, touching lingering, “you’d be okay with anything?”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Paige cups Azzi’s cheeks, brushing her lips against the younger girl’s, “whatever you choose, we’ll be fine. No matter what, I believe in us.”

***

January 2028

Paige groans when her phone rings at 2 a.m., fumbling around in the dark trying to answer it.

“I swear you better be dying if you’re calling me this late,” she grumbles into the phone, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Not quite,” Azzi says, and Paige’s eyebrows furrow at the amount of background noise she can hear behind her girlfriend.

“Dude where the hell are you at 3 in the morning?” she asks, now a little more awake as she sits up.

“I uh- I had a bit of a revelation,” and Paige can practically picture Azzi, wherever she might be, fidgeting with her fingers and biting her lips.

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I know. I know. Shit, I was supposed to do this in person. I had a whole plan but apparently being with you has made me impatient,” Azzi rambles.

“You’re still not making any sense,” but Paige’s heart is starting to beat erratically fast in anticipation.

“I had this realisation while I was in the gym today, it was really quiet and peaceful and I was fine you know- all day I was fine- just doing daily routines and then I just- I missed you. I miss you all the time do you know that?”

Paige does know, knows it far too well. Sometimes she thinks missing Azzi comes as naturally as breathing, an innate part of her day to day, a constant ache that she’s felt since she was 15.

“I miss you too,” she whispers.

“And I’ve learned to survive with that feeling, with missing you constantly. I mean it’s been more than 10 years at this point, how could I not? But what I realised today is that just because I can- just because I can live missing you- doesn’t mean I want to.”

“What are you saying Azzi?”

“DC is my childhood. My family is close to there, it’s part of where I grew up. It’ll always be my first home. And LA is where I found myself, my identity, and for a while it felt like home too.”

“Azzi,” Paige breathes out, hands gripping the phone as tight as possible, wrapping that one syllable in emblems of give me forever.

“But my forever home isn’t in DC or LA and it’s not really in any other place either because- Jesus this might be the clichést thing I’ve ever said but-,” Azzi lets out a chuckle, “my home is wherever you are Paige. Wherever we’re together, that’s home.”

It feels a little bit like the end of a drought, the wetness on Paige’s cheeks like the rain that comes after. In the pitch black of her room, phone clutched closely to her ear with Azzi’s words floating through it like a swan song, Paige swears she’s never felt the world glow quite like this before.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Beating your ass has been fun as hell but I think we’d make a pretty good team Bueckers.”

And it’s a good thing Paige’s walls are soundproof because the delighted whoop she lets out practically vibrates around the room, all previous wisps of tiredness completely gone from her body. Azzi lets out a tearful laugh and Paige wishes they were together right now so she could tattoo this happiness onto both of their skins.

“The greatest team ever,” Paige affirms, “When are you com-”

“Attention passengers Delta Airlines Flight 1248 to Minneapolis will be boarding soon, please have your passport and ticket ready to check at the gate.”

“About that,” Azzi says shyly as Paige’s mouth drops open at the announcement, “I uh- I had a moment of spontaneity.”

“Who the hell are you and what have you done with my overthinking girlfriend?” Paige demands and Azzi giggles on the other end of line.

“I know it’s last minute, like really last minute and it was meant to be a surprise actually but I just- I really wanna see you. Is that okay?”

“Is that okay? Fuck Azzi, it’s all I want. Baby,” Paige breathes out softly, “come home.”

***

Time isn’t going nearly fast enough Paige thinks as she checks the arrivals board for the nth time. She’d tried for about four seconds to fall back asleep after hanging up the phone but her entire body had been buzzing with excitement. And so she’d gotten to the airport far earlier than necessary, and had maybe one too many cups of coffee if the jittery shake in her left hand is anything to go by.

She swears she feels her before she sees her. The air is electric as if the whole city, the whole state is waiting for Azzi too, for them to get their elusive forever. This moment feels like years in the making, and Paige is ready, ready to grasp it and make it hers. And then there’s Azzi, a clearly chosen-at-last minute wrinkled t-shirt, eyes drooping from the tiredness from not having slept all night, baby hairs in a frenzy across her forehead. To Paige, she’s still the prettiest girl in the entire universe.

Azzi’s eyes scan through the airport until they land on Paige, a dazzling smile illuminating her exhausted features. It’s the exact same smile that Paige had first elicited from her on the flight back from Argentina when she’d told Azzi she had a feeling they'd make great friends. It’s her Paige smile. The world is still for a second, everything melting away except them and the whispers of the journey it had taken them to get to this point. Every delicately placed step towards each other feels like an ode to every year they’d spent apart. And then Paige is running, not caring about everyone else around her. She jumps into Azzi’s arm, all 6 feet of her, tangling her legs around the younger girl's waist while her arms fasten around the neck. It forces Azzi to let go of her small carry-on, not caring that it falls to the floor with a thud, as her hands wrap around Paige’s back, steadying her girlfriend’s weight on top of her.

“You’re here,” Paige whispers, still a little in disbelief, “you’re really here.”

“I’ve been in Minny plenty of times before,” Azzi quips, adjusting her balance to properly hold the girl clinging to her like a koala.

“Shut up you know what I mean. You’re here forever this time.”

“Well I don’t know about forever- OW,” Azzi shrieks, as Paige pinches her arm, “do you want me to drop you woman?”

“You’re never allowed to leave.”

“That sounds vaguely threatening.”

“Good because it definitely is a threat,” Paige says before pulling Azzi into a searing kiss, “welcome home baby.”

***

October 2028

There are moments in life you remember forever. Sometimes you know they’re going to happen, sometimes they take you off guard and sometimes, it’s a combination of both. The Minnesota Lynx’s journey to the WNBA finals this season had always felt inevitable but the journey there, for a team that had unexpectedly fallen to the 4-seed despite pre-season clamour of them being number one, had been filled with bitter losses and moments of pure uncertainty. In a way, it perfectly mirrors Paige and Azzi’s relationship.

There’s 11 seconds separating the Lynx from their 5th championship trophy as they lead the Sky by two points. The crowd is up on their feet, ready for their cheering to turn into roars the minute the final buzzer rings. Paige has the ball in her hands on the inbound, Coach Reeves yelling at her from the bench what to do, as she makes eye contact with Azzi. There are no words, not even a gesture that the other team might be able to interpret, but they know exactly what play they’re about to run.

Truth be told it hadn’t been the seamless transition the two of them had expected when Azzi joined the Lynx. They’d been naive to think years of not playing together wouldn’t have affected the backcourt chemistry they’d had almost instantly once upon a time. The first few games, there had been an embarrassing disconnect between the two of them that had resulted in a nasty berating from Coach Reeves and a subsequent argument between the two of them that had lasted into the next morning. It had taken several more practices, and a couple more games of flailing around, for them to finally become the duo Paige had always known they would.

The game buzzer beeps and Paige throws the ball to Azzi who immediately returns it back to her, and then she’s running off screen after screen to get herself open on the wing, her sweet spot. Paige dribble penetrates into the paint, dragging an extra defender with her as they try to prevent her from getting a layup, the other defender blocks her from stepping back into a pull-up. Azzi’s defender has a momentary lapse in judgement, falling for the age-old trick of thinking she should help on defence, and that’s all it takes. A second for Paige to see Azzi open on the corner and pass it to her. A second for Azzi to shoot it.

The three-pointer falls through the next with a perfect swish. Dagger shot.

A small smile flits across Azzi’s face, the only emotion she’s shown all game and Paige can’t help the much larger grin that starts to flash on her own face. She can almost taste victory on the tip of her tongue, the two seconds left in the game are the only thing separating her from finally getting her version of the things we live for. Behind her she can hear Coach Reeves yelling at them to not foul, the 5-point lead enough of a cushion for them to withstand a last minute shot. But the Sky barely make it over midcourt and when Marina Mabrey heaves up a last second prayer, Paige doesn’t bother to see if it goes in as the buzzer sounds throughout Target Arena. The Minnesota crowd explodes in noise and colour as confetti falls from the sky.

Despite the chaos of everything, Paige has never seen Azzi clearer than in this moment. Since she’d met the girl, in all of Paige’s prayers about winning a championship, one thing had always been constant, that when they’d come true, they’d come true with Azzi by her side. And she had been. The high school state champion, the college national championship, Azzi had been there for both but on the bleachers, as a spectator and as Paige’s biggest fan. But this, winning a championship with Azzi as her teammate, as her ally, as her partner, means something more. This win is theirs.

“Do you remember when we saw that shooting star?” Azzi says softly, as they find their way into each other’s arms, not caring that there’s a thousand cameras capturing their every move. Paige pulls Azzi closer to her, every inch of her body pressing into the other girls until she’s not sure where she begins and where Azzi ends.

“That was years ago,” Paige remarks but she can see it clearly, two young girls underneath the stars, unaware of what their future would be but sure that the other would be in it. Those girls would probably laugh at how long it had taken Paige and Azzi to figure out what had seemed so simple back then.

“Yeah, yeah it was. Do you remember what you wished for?” Azzi asks, smiling when Paige nods, “do you wanna know what I wished for?”

“What did you wish for Az?”

“Before we saw the star you- you said it’d be nice to win a championship together someday. And so I-,” Azzi looks down shyly, “so I wished for someday. I wished for today.”

Paige stares at Azzi, drinking in the sincerity on the shooting guard’s face, silently letting herself absorb the meaning of Azzi’s words. And then she lets out a laugh because of course of course.

“I didn’t realise I’d said anything funny for you to be laughing at me,” Azzi scrunches her nose, looking slightly offended.

“God baby no,” Paige cups Azzi’s face, and she thinks this smile on her face will last forever as long as this is her reality, “I’m not laughing at you. I just- do you know what I wished for?”

Azzi shakes her head.

“This. The same exact thing you did. For someday.”

It’s not quite the shade of blue Paige had imagined them in, the Lynx blue its own shade, something inbetween UConn’s navy one and UCLA’s sky one. But it’s perfect nonetheless. And when Azzi crashes her lips against Paige’s, someday feels a lot like forever and always.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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marksbear2 · 3 days

Note

Hi Bear!!! I hope your doing good and having a nice day. I would like to request a ftm Ghost x top male reader!! I think he will look so pretty overstimulated.

FTM- SIMON GHOST RILEY X MALE READER

Hii!! I didn’t know if you wanted a fic or Imagine so I just made Headcanons so hopefully you don’t mind!!

⚠️Warnings!! Pure smut, ftm ghost, pussy, cunt mentioned, fingering, thigh and pussyjob, trembling. Mentions dom Ghost a few times. Semi like public, anal, and more ETC.⚠️

— He was very unsure about you two having sex. He was a bit nervous but still had his guard up. He was worried that you’ll see him less of a man.

— He soon realized that it was far from the case.

— You easily get him wet, rubbing and pulling onto his clit while rubbing your free hand over his bare stomach.

— In a middle of a meeting you would sometimes bury your hand in between his legs rubbing his clothed cunt to pry an reaction out of him.

— When he doesn’t feel like having full sex, he’d let you rub your dick up and down on his pussy. He’d squeeze his thighs together and squirm around from you thrusting and sliding your cock against his cunt.

— He’d let out deep grunts and hard breaths whenever your fingering him secretly. He tries not to be loud or draw in attention.

— He loves missionary, he loves feeling your cock pound into him. He likes being forced to look at you while you drill your cock into his cock. It drives him insane.

— He also likes doing it pinned against the wall. He tries to cover himself mouth while you drive your cock deep inside him holding his leg up against the wall.

— The first time you ate him out he was shocked. He began putty when your tongue played with his clit.

— He often doesn’t moan instead groaning and grunting, but whenever you eat him out he’s moaning and whimpering. He’s easily overstimulated whenever you eat him out. He would tug and pull your head closer to his cunt so.

— The first time he squirted, he did it all over your cock, his mouth dropped during the process as he was moaning from the new found pleasure. You both kinda froze as with the only thing that broke the silence was Simon’s heavy breathing starting at one another.

— You would tie his legs apart and dive your face in his pussy eating it out like it was no tomorrow. He would struggle and squirm around in the restraints as he couldn’t do anything.

— He is very open to trying new things out with you.

— He would you vibrators and dildos to please himself whenever your gone. He would smell one of your clothes while he rode the dildo.

— His secret kink is that he loves it whenever you two mutually masturbate. He would finger himself matching the pace and rhythm of you jerking off your cock.

— He still likes to be dominant and having control.

— He’d bounce and ride your cock, he would treat you like his own personal dildo. He would edge you while he rode you pulling himself off your cock every time you were close.

— He would be very down to fuck you with a strap.

— He would force you to only fuck with your tip. Or whenever he was in a really bad mood you’d only get to fuck his thighs. You’d be like a dog behind him humping and grinding your cock into his thighs. He loves holding power over you with his pussy.

— He would dirty talk and mock you while he held your cock as he pushed himself on and onto your tip causing you to squirm and moan.

— His other secret kink is that he is very into dry humping. He loves the feeling of your clothed hard cock grinding and thrusting into his own clothed cunt.

— He loves the feeling you cum deep inside him. Even more whenever the condom either broke or slipped off.

— Pulling and tugging on his mask while you fuck him from behind has to be one of his favorite things. Pulling his gear while you pound your cock into him merciless while he either is standing or on his knees.

— He likes taking it while you two are in the spooning. He loves the feeling of your cock pushing into the side of him while your free hand played with his cunt.

— Accidentally one time while he was riding you, he lost balance and took all of you inside him causing him to let out a deep and primal moan. He usually gets himself warmed up but that time he took all of you inside at once causing him to cum. He squirmed and trembled.

— Whenever you have boner he would rub his clothes cunt onto your naked bare cock. Teasing and humiliating you about your desperate and needy you are.

— You two often going at it like rabbits.

— Him sucking your cock with his mask resting above his nose while he bounced on dildo.

— He rides your face. He looses himself to pleasure as you dig your tongue inside him.

— He gets instantly wet whenever you just lay your cock against his pretty pussy. He gets off seeing the size of your huge cock compared to his pussy.

— When he’s too overstimulated he would sometimes cuss you out, especially whenever he’s close to cumming. His accent will get all weak and croaky.

— Whenever you two are in a secluded and hidden spot in a mission you would pull his pants a bit down and thrust your cock inside of his pussy holding his waist.

— He takes it in both holes, so he didn’t react crazy like whenever you accidentally pushed your cock in his ass. He moaned and kept told you to keep moving.

— Filling up both holes with your cum. First his pretty cunt then his other hole. You’d keep going back and forth until he’s leaking out cum from the both of them. He likes being a mess afterwards.

— He would let you fuck him deeply and roughly as he finished up paperwork. It really doesn’t distract him.

— He gets flustered during aftercare. It surprises you since you two probably just got done doing the most nasty and porn like things. And he only just got shy from you taking care of him.

THE END

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ffsg0jo · 22 hours

Text

cw: nudity , suggestive 16+ , fluffy , fem/wife reader , mentions of insecurities/self-hatred , making out

i am taking requests and writing fics and matchups for gaza. check the linked post out to find out more !!

"you're so beautiful nemi," you whisper, lips pressing against the scars on his chest.

in normal circumstances, you would never have been given the chance to sit upon the wind hashira's bare torso this early in the morning.

you were both usually up and out by now, only having time to chastely kiss each other goodbye after running off to your daily training. and by the time you both stumbled back home and into bed, you were too exhausted to do anything.

but you reckon there was a silver lining to being out of commission and needing time to heal. it allowed you to have time to truly appreciate sanemi's beauty.

your husband had two strong hands planted on each side of your waist and eagerly rubbed up and down to just below your bare breasts and down the curves of your waist, resting on your hips.

occasionally, he'd stop just under your soft mounds, fingers teasing the underside and gently brushing over your sensitive nipples. he relished in the way you gasped against his skin, and your even breath stuttered.

your lips continued, following the path his scars had engraved onto his chest. your heart ached knowing the hardship and loss sanemi had faced. but his scars were proof that he was strong, that he was worthy of life.

emboldened by the surge of emotion running through you, you sit up and move your hands to gently hold your husband's face. he looks up at you in confusion, noticing the light shine in your eyes. his eyebrows furrow, and he opens his mouth to speak, but you interrupt.

"you're gorgeous, my dear husband," you say, the conviction in your words going straight to his heart, goosebumps starting to form on his skin.

he's never thought himself to be much to look at, and with the scars on his face and littering his body, even less so. but god, through your words, does he wear them with pride. he finds himself looking down at his scars, and a tiny part of him sees the beauty you speak of, buried between the layers of self-hatred and insecurities.

sanemi's speechless underneath you, and you barely have time to appreciate it before he's flipping you both and pressing his lips urgently against yours. he loves you so much he doesn't know what to do with it sometimes. it fills him to the very tips of his hair and then some, overflowing and enshrouding him.

you're still holding his face as he reaches up to hold your jaw, angling you to push his tongue deeper into your mouth. his bare chest presses against yours, and you can feel the roughened skin of his scars deliciously stimulating your hardening nipples. your moans are licked up and swallowed by your husband; he devours every single little noise like it's his last meal.

sanemi slightly pulls apart, spit-soaked lips still resting on yours. you're trying to catch your breath underneath him, and he can't help but groan at the sight of your lust-filled eyes and desire written all over your face.

"not as beautiful as you, my little tempest."

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moonchild9350 · 1 day

Text

Please Can I?

Summary: You and Minho have been best friends for a while and life has been great until one fateful movie night.

Pairing: idol dom Minho x fem reader (Hyunjin, Jisung, and Changbin make an appearance)

Genre: smut, friends to lovers- 18+ sooo MDNI please

Word Count: 4321

Warnings: cursing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), edging, denied orgasm, p in v penetration, creampie (wrap it up), voyeurism, masturbation.

Note: All my biases in one fic? yes please! I hope you like it!

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :) Let me know if you would like a part 2!

This is in no way how the boys are in reality. This is only for fun.

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

You and Minho had been friends for years, best friends even. You met at a dance intensive, both of you being in the same class. Minho was there to get some extra instruction so he could do his best for the band he was in. You, however, were only there for fun. You had been dancing since you were little and just loved the hobby, therefore, continuing into adulthood. The dance instructor had just dismissed everyone for a break, when you bumped into Minho. You couldn;t help but stare at him. He was gorgeous, which was honestly an understatement, with chocolate brown eyes, wavy hair, and the cutest freckle on his nose.

“Are you ok?” Minho asked, steadying you, as you were about to topple over. “Hmmhmm” you said, “sorry about that.” Minho smiled, shaking his head while saying, “no worries kitten.” Kitten, he called you kitten. You swooned at this man even more. Minho eyed you carefully, giving you a once over. “Would you like to practice together sometime? I saw you dance and you’re really good.”

‘This gorgeous man is asking me if i want to practice with him, oh my god, don’t panic, don’t panic.’ You were having an internal dialog with yourself, not realizing you never answered Minho’s question. Minho cleared his throat, giving you a look of concern. You snapped out of your thoughts, “Oh, um, sure. I’d love that!” Minho chuckled, “Great! Let’s plan for a day after practice.” You nodded your head still not believing your luck. Before you could say anything else, the dance instructor came back in the practice room, declaring break time over.

The first time practicing with Minho was amazing. You loved watching him move his body, he was graceful with his movements, kind of like a cat. You found yourself joining in on many dance sessions with Minho, both of you growing closer with each passing day. You found yourself reaching out to him more and more, with Minho doing the same. You eventually found out he was a part of a band, a popular one at that. Eventually, he introduced you to his bandmates and with time you became friends with them too.

Despite the busy schedule and sometimes long absences due to tours and other events, your friendship with Minho grew deeper. You were both very fond of each other. iHowever, there was one slight problem. Yes, you were best friends and would do anything for each other, the only problem was, you had fallen in love with Minho. You never said anything to him about your feelings, happy that your friendship was going well, not wanting to mess that up with messy feelings. You decided you would just toss those feelings aside and focus on your friendship.

Minho was coming over to your apartment after rehearsal, some of the other bandmates joining in a little later. The agenda of the night was movie night. Minho came over frequently, you two feeling so comfortable with each other that he even stayed the night sometimes. He stayed over so frequently that he left some of his things at your place, that way he wouldn’t have to lug an overnight bag with him everytime he came over. He even slept in your bed, often the two of you cuddling into the night, comfortable in each other’s embrace. You loved feeling close to Minho, his arms wrapped around you as you laid in bed together, talking about anything and everything. You loved how he would tuck your head into his neck and rest his head on top of your hair as you two fell asleep. Was it good for your heart? No, but nothing to you was a good enough reason to stop this tirade.

You heard the key rattle in the lock signaling that Minho had arrived. Yes, Minho had a key to your apartment. It was easier that way and plus he was your bestfriend so why not. You heard him set his keys down on the hallway table, “Hey y/n.” You turned in your spot on the couch, looking at Minho. “Hey Min. How was practice?”

“Too long,” he giggled, “was dying to get here so I can relax and we can watch that new movie!” You smiled at this, knowing that the movie that you guys planned to watch was one Minho has been wanting to watch for a long time. “Will your wish will come true,” you replied. “Hurry up and shower so we can start! What time are the others coming over again?” Minho nodded and said, “much later tonight if that is still ok. They had to finish some last minute things at the studio.” He then made his way to your bathroom to shower.

Thirty minutes later, Minho came out of your room, hair still wet from his shower, and wearing a t-shirt and sweats. You tried not to ogle at him, you really did, but it was hard to do with him standing in front of you in all his glory. “Kitten move over.” You realized he was speaking to you. You scooted over, making room for the man. Minho took your legs and draped them over his lap. He then grabbed the blanket you had and rearranged it so it could drape over both of you. “Ok, I’m ready, let’s start this. I’m so excited to watch this.” Minho said. You chuckled at his outburst and pressed play.

Everything was going well, the movie was actually really good, filled with lots of action scenes. However, what you didn’t expect was the romance scenes that popped up every now and then. You watched as the couple on screen would hold each other and kiss, which wasn’t all that terrible. You could handle a few kissing scenes, and being snuggled up to your crush. Yeah, you would be fine. But, what you definitely did not expect was the sex scene that came later in the movie. The man was pleasuring the woman on screen, running his hands up and down her body, giving special attention to her breasts. You couldn’t help but wonder how that would feel with Minho. Would he drag his hands all soft and gentle down your body, gently giving your breast a squeeze before lightly brushing across your nipple? Or would he be more forceful, grazing his hand over the mounds before roughly pinching your nipple causing pleasure to shoot up your spine. You tried to shake these thoughts from your head, but to no avail.

Minho could tell something was off with you, but he didn’t say anything. He knew you would tell him whatever was on your mind in time. He just kept watching the movie, absentmindedly rubbing your leg that was on his lap every now and then. You were definitely aware of this, each touch of his causing you to internally shiver. Each touch Minho gave you went straight to your cunt, which was dripping at this point, soaking you panties. You tried to pay attention to the movie, at how the couple on screen were going at it like bunnies, the woman’s breasts bouncing up and down as she rode the man, his head tossed back in pleasure. You mind wondered once more, thinking of how Minho would look as you rode him. Would he smirk at you while he guided you over his cock? Would he scrunch up his cute little nose, with the cute little freckle, as you gave him pleasure, causing his mouth to open, showing his bunny teeth as he moaned out. You were brought out of your reverie by Minho pinching your leg and then rubbing it again. You couldn’t help but let out a little whimper. You froze, staring straight ahead, hoping Minho didn’t hear your little moan.

Little did you know, Minho did hear your moan. It was really quiet, barely audible, but he heard it. He thought you sounded heavenly. Honestly, he wished he could have you. He’s wanted you for so long, but he didn’t want to blur the lines of your friendship. He highly doubted you wanted him in that way either, that is until this moment when he heard your moan after he pinched and rubbed your leg. He looked at you through the corner of his eye. He could see the blush on your cheeks and ears as you stared straight ahead at the tv. He didn’t think you were watching the movie, or if you were, you weren’t really giving it your full attention. He thinks he knows why and he hopes to god he’s right.

The scene ended, flashing back to another action scene. You breathed out a sigh of relief. Now you could focus on the rest of the movie and not Minho’s hand on your leg, or the fact that you actually whimpered when he touched you, or that your panties were soaked, staining your flimsy pj shorts. That was your hope at least. You were surprised when you found yourself actually intrigued with the rest of the movie, it having a happy ending. You watched as the screen faded to black and the end credits started to roll. “That was a good movie Min, good pick!” you said, trying to forget the not so nice thoughts that had run through your head while watching. Minho hummed at your critique. “It was, wasn’t it. They did well with all those action scenes.” You nodded your head in agreement. Minho untangled the blanket from your legs, giving them a pat before removing them from his lap. “Bed before the guys come?” he asked, “we can watch more tv there.” “Okay,” you said. You weren’t sure why you were nervous. You had slept in bed with Minho many times before, why should this be any different?

You shook your head to get rid of your thoughts before getting up and following Minho to your bedroom. He tossed the covers back and snuggled in, opening his arms so you could come cuddle with him. You obliged, sliding under the covers and scooting next to Minho. He wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you in close, just like he always did. You felt your heartbeat quicken, hyper aware of how close you were to him. “Go ahead and pick a show to watch,” he said to you. You picked up the remote, scrolling through the options before settling on a comedy. You rested in his arms, feeling truly at home. You were warm and felt safe and before you knew it you were starting to drift off.

“Y/n?” Minho asked. You opened your eyes and looked at him. “Why did you moan after I pinched your leg earlier?” You held your breath at his question. You couldn’t believe it. He did hear you. You felt embarrassed and felt the heat rise to your face.

“Ummm….I….I’m not sure.” You wanted to bury your face in your hands in embarrassment. Why couldn’t you control yourself? Why did you have to be so horny that just a pinch on the leg caused you to moan like a dog in heat?

Minho thought for a moment. “It wasn’t because of that sex scene on tv right? Did you get turned on from that? Surely it’s not from the fact that I pinched your leg?” You froze in your spot, heart beating so fast, you were surprised Minho couldn’t hear it. “You want to know what I think?” Minho began. “I think you liked it, liked how I pinched your leg and then rubbed the pain away. I think you were thinking dirty thoughts, kitten. Wanna tell me what you were thinking? Don’t be shy, you tell me everything, right?” You were at a loss at what to say. He was right, you did tell him everything, no matter how obscene or crazy it was.

You cleared your throat before quietly saying, “I was umm, I was thinking dirty thoughts.” Minho smiled at the confession, giving your arm a squeeze. “Tell me what you were thinking, kitten. I wanna hear about it.” You paused for a moment, not sure if you should tell him. If you did, it would probably change the dynamic in your relationship. But, what if you did tell him and it didn't. What if he feels the same way about you? You made a decision and said,” I was thinking about you Min.”

“Yeah? What about me?” You cleared your throat, “I was thinking about how it would…how it would feel to be with you Min.”

“To be with me? In what way?” Minho pushed. “To be with you in that way, Min. To give you all of me.” Minho lifted your head by the chin so you could look him in the eyes. “My kitten has been having some dirty thoughts hmm? What should we do with you?” You just stared at Minho, not sure what to do or say. It felt like minutes had passed when it was really just a second or two. You watched as Minho looked down at your lips as he said, “What if I was thinking about you in that way too?” At that he leaned down to press his lips against yours. It was a feather light kiss, his lips brushing lightly against yours. “Is this okay, kitten? Tell me now, I will stop if you want me to.” You whispered against his lips, “please, please kiss me Min.”

That was all he needed to hear. Minho crashed his lips onto yours, pulling you closer to his body. You let out a whimper, deepening the kiss. Minho brushed his tongue across your bottom lip, slipping his tongue in. He moaned out, grasping your hips and pulling you to straddle his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, not wanting to let go. Kissing Minho was heaven. His lips were soft, tasting like the cherry chapstick he likes to use. Your lips fit perfectly together, as if he was made for you.

You were wet, you had been since the movie. How could you not be? Minho’s hands were sliding up and down your legs. As his hands gave your hips a squeeze, you could feel more arousal slipping out of your cunt into your panties. You rolled your hips against him, feeling his hard cock slide through your folds through the shorts you were wearing. You were probably going to have to throw away the panties and shorts you were wearing, as they were soaked through.

Minho grinned against your lips, grasping your hips harder, helping you grind against his bulge. “I want you to cum like this kitten. Can you get yourself off?” You whimpered and nodded and sped up the motion of your hips. You found the right spot and rhythm to where his clothed cock continued to slide up against your clit, making you clench repeatedly over nothing. You were a whimpering mess, gasping against Minho’s lips, chasing your high, as he guided you over his cock. You felt the coil in your belly tighten, ready to snap at any moment. Right when you were about to cum, Minho halted your hips, your high slowly ebbing away.

“Why, Min why,” you huffed. Minho giggled saying, “I changed my mind.”

Minho lifted you up off his lap and laid you down next to him. He got up to take off his sweats and t-shirt. He was left in only his boxers, his large bulge sticking out, and his sculpted chest on display. You couldn’t help but drool at the sight in front of you. The many years of dance and discipline clearly did its job. He grabbed your legs and pulled you down to the edge of the bed. He quickly pulled off your shirt, tossing it aside before taking a hand and grasping your breast. He flicked your nipple, causing you to moan. “Pretty tits kitten,” Minho groaned as he squeezed them. He leaned down and gave you a peck on the lips before hooking his fingers in your waistband, and dragging your shorts and panties down in one go. He then spread your legs so he could see your bare pussy, puffy and pink and glistening with your arousal.

“My god kitten, cunt is gorgeous,” breathed Minho, his eyes glued to your center. “I need a taste. Can I taste you?” You nodded your head, “go ahead Min.” He got on his knees, pulled your ass to the edge of the bed and brought his face to your center. He was addicted to your smell. He knew you would taste good. This was a scene straight out of his wet dreams.

You watched as he brought his tongue to your cunt and licked you from your entrance to your clit, causing you to jerk your hips up. He grasped your legs tighter to keep you in place and repeated the motion once more before shoving his tongue into your entrance as far as it would go. He licked and sucked like a mad man, moaning at your taste. Minho’s hands kept you spread open, giving him the access he needed to pleasure your sweet body. He moved his tongue to your clit, giving it kitten licks before suckling the bud between his lips. You threw your head back, lost in pleasure, grinding your hips against Minho’s face. Minho had spit and your arousal dripping down his face as he ate you out, never slowing down. Minho inserted a finger into your hole, slowly dragging it in and out. He added another finger, moving a little faster, before adding a third. He curled his fingers upwards, searching for your sweet spot, grinning against your pussy once he found it, your mewls rising a pitch.

Minho continued to suckle your clit and scissor his fingers in your pussy, bringing you close to the edge. “Min, Min, I need to cum..please let me cum this time,” you whined, feeling that coil in your belly again. Minho continued lapping at your folds, arousal dripping and clit swollen. Just when you thought he was going to grant your request, he pulled away with a grin on his face. You let out a wail, a tear falling down your eye as you felt your orgasm fade away…again. You absentmindedly reached down to finger at your clit, desperate for your release. Minho slapped your hand away, “Nuh uh kitten. You’ll cum when I say you can.” You whined at his words, but nodded your head anyway because you wanted to be a good girl for Minho.

You watched as he removed his boxers, his cock slapping up against his abdomen, and what a beautiful cock it was. It was long, with a vein running along the underside of his cock, with a mushroom tip leaking with pre-cum. He stroked his cock a few times, before slapping it against your clit. You moaned at the feeling, needing any form of stimulation you can get. He started rubbing his cock through your folds, before sliding the tip into your entrance and bringing it back out again. He repeated this motion again and again, watching you gasp and whimper at the feeling.

You were so tight, his tip breaching your cunt each time he pushed in. He couldn’t wait to sink into your wet, hot cunt to the hilt and fuck you like you deserve.

As he was about to slide back into your warmth, there was a knock on the door. Minho withdrew his cock and went to grab and put on his shorts. You had forgotten that some of the other members were coming over tonight, being too preoccupied with trying to cum on Minho’s cock.

“Oh they’re here, kitten. Wanna sit there all nice and pretty? Keep your legs spread out just like that. I’ll go get the boys. Wouldn’t you love for them to see your wet, sloppy cunt?”

At his words, you mewled out, clenching down, more arousal sliding out of your cunt. “Yes, yes, please go get them. Want to be a good girl for them too!” Minho chuckled and watched as you grabbed your legs behind the knees to open them up further. Your puffy cunt was open on display, pretty swollen clit peeking out between your folds.

“No touching kitten, I’ll be right back.” You whined in response, “hurry Min, please hurry.”

You watched as Minho left your bedroom, listening for when he opened the front door. You heard multiple voices, Minho’s being one of them, getting closer to your room. Minho opened the bedroom door, walking in and stepping aside to let Hyunjin, Changbin, and Jisung into the room. As they filed in, Hyunjin was the first to see you. His eyes went to yours before trailing down to your dripping cunt. He sucked in his breath at the site, the prettiest he’s ever seen.

“My god hyung,” Changbin said, shocked at the scene, “When you said you had something to show us, this is not what I expected.” Minho chuckled, “Thought I’d surprise you. Y/n’s been a good kitten. She’s held out for so long.” Walking over, Minho reached out to slide his finger through your lips, before giving your cunt a slap, “Isn’t that right kitten?” You whimpered, shaking your head yes.

“Need your cock, Min. Need….need something, please. Need to cum.”

You were desperate at this point. The four men looking at you with lust and awe in their eyes was too much. You needed someone, anyone’s cock inside. Minho smiled and brushed his hand down your face, “Don’t worry kitten, you’ll be cumming on my cock soon.” He pushed his boxers down once more and tossed them away, not caring that there were some of his other band members in the room, his only focus being you in the moment. He gripped his cock and brought it to your cunt once more, spreading your slick around. He pushed in with one fluid stroke, bottoming out, groans coming from both of you.

“So tight kitten, you’re clenching around me so hard.” He pulled out to the tip just to slam his hips back into yours.

You mewled out, lost in how his cock dragged against your walls. You were sensitive at this point, ready to cum at any moment from Minho’s earlier constant edging. You looked over at the boys and saw them palming their cocks, their eyes trained on you.

“How does it feel, baby?” Jisung whimpered out, giving his cock a squeeze. You watched as he slid his hand past his waistband to fondle his cock directly, never taking his eyes off of you. “It’s talking ain’t it baby, that pretty cunt is so wet oh my god.

Hyunjin then asked “Is Minho fucking you good baby?” You turned your head to see him grind against his hand as he had pulled his cock out.

You whimpered out, “yes, yes, yes, yes. Mmhgg…I’m so close, please don’t stop. Please Min.”

Minho looked at you, bringing his fingers to your swollen clit, dragging out cries of pleasure from your lips. “Should I let her cum? Hyunjin? Changbin? Ji? What do you think?”

“Fuck yeah, I want to see her face when she cums. I bet it’s a beautiful site,” Changbin replied, stroking his cock faster at the prospect of you cumming soon.

Hyunjin huffed after squeezing his cock, “hyung, let her cum. Look at her, I don’t think she’s gonna hold out long.”

Minho continued to pound into you, “You hear that kitten, the boys wanna see you cum. Think you can do it? Let go for us?”

“Yes, yes, I can cum. I want to cum. Please, so close Min.” You held your legs tighter, feeling your cunt clench and flutter around Minho’s cock. You felt that coil in your belly build up again, but this time, you were able to let it go. Letting out a wail, you felt your belly contract before you felt something flood out of you.

“Ahh shit, she squirted, look at that hyung,” Jisung said.

Minho smiled and kept pounding into your cunt, riding you through your high. “Can I fill you up kitten?” Minho looked at you lovingly, wiping a tear from your face and stroking your cheek. You nodded your head and whispered, “yes please.” Minho’s thrusts became sloppy, feeling you clench around his cock again and again. He couldn’t hold out anymore, he had to fill you up, show you that you were his now and nobody else's. With a grunt he stilled his hips and came, flooding your walls with his cum. He stayed inside you for a moment as he leaned down to give you a kiss.

He slowly pulled his cock out, his release dripping out of your cunt and down onto the sheets below. He moved out of the way, pushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “Let the boys see kitten, let them see my cum dripping out of your cunt.”

The boy’s eyes were locked onto your cunt, watching as Minho’s cum leaked out. The sheets were an absolute mess, your arousal soaked through the sheets, most likely ruining them. You looked good enough to eat and god did they want to, take a taste of your precious cunt and coax more orgasms from you.

You leaned into Minho’s touch, more than satisfied. You then made eye contact with Hyunjin, Changbin, and Jisung, pushing Minho’s cum out of your cunt. Moans were heard from all three men, as they stroked their cocks and watched you and Minho’s cum leak. You unhooked your arms from behind your knees and took your fingers to open your lips so they could get a better look at your gaping hole. Minho smiled down at you, proud of his kitten.

“So,” Changbin said. “Can I be next?”

I hope you enjoyed it if you read this far. Let me know if you would like a part 2 ;)

#stray kids smut #lee know smut #lee know x reader #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #hyunjin smut #changbin smut #han smut #hyunjin x reader #changbin x reader #han x reader #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids hard thoughts #minho smut #stray kids x y/n #minho x reader #minho x you

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itsangelll · 2 days

Text

𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ✰

A/n:hey cuties finally a fic out after a month 😭 this is a collab with @tomssexdoll I think we absolutely did amazing she’s a fabulous writer!! I hope you guys enjoy <33

parings: 2011 Mafia Bill x Freader

genre:angst to smut to fluff?

MDNI

warnings:A LOT of swearing p in v dom!bill sub!freader a bit of abuse please please do not read if your uncomfortable or sensitive with these topics!!

You and bill were forced to get married, the promise of your businesses improving if we did. You guys obviously agreed to this wanting to make as much money and more deals if you could.

You and bill had a lot of sex mainly during a middle of an argument, you were both very stubborn and immature, not willing to accept yours and his mistakes. You both had your good moments together not everything was terrible with him, sometimes he’d hold you and tell me how much he loved you, but his actions would be speak a lot more than words. Most nights Bill would be gone coming home at midnight or even later, lying to you constantly the question that always lingered in the back of your mind was that did he really love you or was he just using you?

You both had multiple fights a week some even becoming more abusive than usual, one got so bad he almost succeeded at throwing a chair at your head. You guys hated being like that towards each other but you couldn’t help it. It was way too stressful and overwhelming of being one of the top mafia couples in the world.

Bill came home late one night again saying goodbye to all his buddies as they sped off, he fiddled with the door before swinging it open and slamming it shut, You were in the lounge, it was pitch black having a cigarette lit your legs crossed, you felt like scaring him making him mad anything at all.

As he went to walk up the stairs you startled him with your voice, “And where the fuck where you exactly.” “Jesus Christ don’t scare me like that why are you in the dark for?” he grumbled before turning on a light noticing your red puffy eyes.

“Have..have you been crying?” he scoffed “As a matter of fact I have did you know how fucking worried I was about you what if you got shot?” You raised your voice after talking a long drag from your burning cigarette.

“Fuck sake like you’d care wether if I was dead or alive, can’t I have my fucking fun? I’ve been stuck here for a week with you for work” he went over to the liquor cabinet taking out his aged whiskey and sitting in his chair pouring the burnt umber drink into the glass.

“You’re a fucking asshole you know that right?” You glared at him your jaw slightly clenched “trust me I know” he lit a cigarette as well “you tell me everyday just as I tell you that you’re a whiny bitch all the time.” he gave you a sarcastic smile rolling his eyes and taking a huge sip from his whiskey.

“I can’t believe you just go out, stay out till 5 in the morning and I get no fucking call at all, you expect me to greet you with cookies and milk but yet you still think I’m a shit wife your the fucking, pathetic one here.” You shouted, “don’t yell at me you drive me up the wall here” Bill yelled back getting up from his chair and storming over to me, he grabbed your wrist with so much force pulling you up towering over you.

“oh you think you scare me? Nice try.” I snatched my wrist away, blowing the smoke in his face, Bill just stood there his gaze burning into mine a certain rage taking over him.

“You are so controlling can’t a grown man do what he wants when he wants?.” He huffed his chest heaving up and down in anger Bill was gonna snap at any moment. “I’m the controlling one here?! Aren’t you the one who gets mad at me for looking in another guys direction, you beat up any man I talk to refuse to let me go out when I’m apparently wearing something too “short” but yes bill I’m the controlling one you fucking hypocrite.” You scoffed shaking your head.

“At least I have good reasons, you’re the one getting upset over me being out late suck it up doll.” he spat his words cruel, “You just don’t get it do you? It’s not the fact that you’re out late I don’t give a shit do what you want, It’s the fact that I never got told where you are, I’m sitting here late at night wondering where you are and if I should call the police or not, I’m really fucking sorry for worrying about you is that so bad?” Your voice still raised anger coursing through your veins.

“You make me so fucking mad..” he grunted walking closer towards you narrowing his eyes at you. “Cry me a river,you’re a grown man aren’t you? Learn how to deal with your emotions properly.” You rolled your eyes, Bill grabbed your hair pulling you close “don’t fucking speak to me that way!!” he yelled inches away from your face.

You pushed him off slapping him harshly across the face leaving a bright red hand mark. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me like that” you screamed, “You know what I could kill you right now.” He yelled back rage in his voice.

“Shoot me then fucking shoot me.” I yelled my voice starting to strain. you and bill just stood there silent for a second both of your chests heaving up and down.

Without another word bill grabbed you by your waist and kissed you passionately his tongue entering your mouth searching for dominance, “Your so fucking whiny aren’t you” he muttered between kisses, his hand roughly slapping your ass you couldn’t help but moan. He pulled away from the kiss a string of salvia parting from your mouth, Grabbing your hand and taking you upstairs he had a pretty strong grip you almost couldn’t keep up.

When you guys made it to your room he threw you on the bed towering over you his dark brown orbs filled with such lust, wasting no time he ripped off your shirt then your jeans leaving you in nothing but your black lace set of lingerie. Bill groaned at the sight a large tent forming in his pants, “You’re so pretty f’me Schatzi” he said in a raspy voice, your breath hitched your core getting even more wet. Even though sometimes Bill was a complete prick you couldn’t help the affect he had on you.

He unclasped your bra and ripped off your underwear, your nipples and your wet cunt getting exposed to the cool air a shiver went down your spine running his fingers over your breasts. You whined “Don’t be a tease Billy this isn’t fair” he smirked and lifted your chin up “Does my doll want me fuck her dumb hm? Is that what you want?” His knee was rubbing your clit non stop, you could burst any second nodding desperately Bill without any hesitation removed his belt in one swift move, his jeans and boxers pool at his ankles letting his cock spring free.

Even though how many time you guys have fucked you could never get over how big he was. Bill swiped a finger at your folds his finger now coated with your arousal “I haven’t even done anything yet and your already wet for me doll you’re just that desperate aren’t you?” You couldn’t answer, He snickered without another warning he slammed into you then pulling back out fully before filling you up once again. You moaned loudly the way his cock fit your pussy was amazing, His hands made their way down to your waist gripping tightly bound to leave marks tomorrow. “Fuck Jesus you feel s’good around my cock love gonna fill this slutty hole with my cum” he groaned out.

Bill moved at a rapid pace his tip kissing your cervix perfectly moans were spilling out of you uncontrollably, you were in pure ecstasy, your walls clenched around him every time he hit that gummy spot the knot in your stomach growing tighter with each passing second “Mm Bill fuck fuck I’m close!” you breathed out he moved his hand down to your clit rubbing his thumb in fast circles, “Cum on this cock for me doll” he whispered you were about to break.

Those words were all you needed to hear, your legs shaking bringing you over the brink you screamed out his name cumming all over his cock, “Fuck baby that’s it” Bill let out a low growl before shooting his cum inside you thank god you were on the pill. He collapsed on top of you, lifting his head up and pressing a kiss to your temple, “You okay my sweet girl? Did I go to rough?” he said in worry, you smiled “Yes billy I’m okay it was amazing” you replied.

“I’m sorry about the fight earlier Liebe you just mean to much to me and I can’t lose you ever I don’t know what I’d do” you were in awe “Billy you aren’t ever going to lose me I promise you that” you took his hand in yours and kissed him passionately you really did love him.

A/n:I hope you guys enjoyed! Me and @tomssexdoll worked really really hard on this, she did an amazing job. but I’m glad I’m writing again, I’m gonna try and write more mwah bye cuties <33

Taglist:

@itsmealaiah

@noellethinks

@jadedchar

@madzandmore

@memzyyy

@tomssexdoll

#tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #tokio hotel x reader #billkaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer #bill kaulitz smut

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ysrjune · 2 days

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Okay another fic idea, Nerd!Anakin talking about something that the reader doesn’t understand but she just thinks he looks so cute talking about it that she doesn’t even ask questions, just sits there intently listening to every word because he has the prettiest voice and a face that matches, meanwhile he’s super passionate about the topic and doesn’t even realize she’s making heart eyes at him until she makes it abundantly clear

“Oh! and then they started talking about how—” you tuned out whetever else he was saying since you didn’t even understand. all you paid attention to was the way his eyebrows would shift upwards when he remembered something he forgot to add, the way he spoke with his hands everywhere in the air, making circles or pointing to nothing.. the way he smiled everytime he recalled something someone said that made them sound stupid.. Anakin just looks so cute whenever he talks your ear off about the things hes working on or the conversations him and his colleagues had.

He really thought you were listening since you made eye contact and nodded your head along with a few ‘mhm’s and ‘yeah’s. the only reason he didnt notice you weren’t listening was because his eyes were darting around everywhere because he always needs to be looking all over the place when hes explaining something or else he ends up repeating himself and stuttering a lot. “Maddie said she was getting tired of Vixx talking about jars..” he all of a sudden went off topic. “I don’t really get her fascination with jars, its weird, but I never say anything.” Anakin adjusted his glasses.

“Ugh, how could I forget! Vixx told Mad—” there he went again. changing topics for the 5th time. not like you even noticed.. you thought he was still talking about writing and a bunch of other things he always babbles about. it took only a few moments for you to realize that he hasn't realized you were staring at him and not actually paying attention. for a whole minute, you tried to make it obvious but he just kept saying stuff. “Anakin,” you start off, and receiving his attention right away. “yeah?” he responds. “im not paying attention to a word you’re saying, you know that, right?”

he became a little embarrassed, looking down at his hands resting on his tummy. “no, I didn't notice.. sorry for talking so much about these things, but I—” you stopped him and took his hand. “its not like you’re being annoying.. its just that whenever you talk about these things, you look really cute.” she smiles, rubbing his thumb with hers. “the way you talk with your hands, the way you adjust your glasses every 5 minutes—gosh, its just.. I cant pay attention to what you're saying while you look so handsome doing it.” Anakin blushes, looking down at his sweatpants, not smiling (because hes still a little embarrassed, but relieved for the most part.)

“Oh.” he finally replied and looked over to you. “so you have a thing for me not being able to stay still. is that it?” he laughed and kissed your cheek. “well, I think it's cute that you make heart eyes at me while I'm talking about things you sometimes don't understand.” his hand travels to her hip, bringing her in closer while he rests on his side to match her position. “I love you, baby. thanks for letting me talk and not telling me to shut up just so you can make out with me or something.” he joked again and placed a loving kiss on your lips.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

@vixxensvoid and @heartsforanakin MENTIONED 🥰🥰 (not paid actors in this HAW HAW!!)

#june replies ౨ৎ #hayden christensen #stephen glass fluff #stephen glass #nerd!anakin #nerd!anakin fluff #stephen glass imagine #nerd!anakin imagine

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djarins-cyare · 2 days

Text

Never Look Down

Part 1: Din’s Evening

Series Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+) with a smidge of explicit

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 5,330

Tags/warnings: alcohol, drunkenness, vomit (no description), numerous references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, non-explicit smutty thots, Din carries OFC a short distance, masturbation (male, semi-explicit, but I don’t think enough to push up the rating), 3rd person POV (part 2 will be 2nd person POV and OFC will become reader/you).

Author’s note: This was originally supposed to be for @beskarandblasters’ Din Djarin Fic Club Drabble Event, although drabble this is not! Kel said there was no word limit, but it grew so long that I couldn’t even call it a one-shot anymore, so I’m uploading it in two parts to make it easier to read and I think that probably disqualifies it from the Drabble Event. But Kel, thank you so much anyway for the prompt – it resulted in me finally pushing through my writer’s block and finishing/uploading something new, so I’m eternally grateful!

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

He’s panicking. It’s stupid, really – he’s been in situations far trickier and more critical than this. But Karga said he needed help urgently, and now his babysitter isn’t answering her comlink.

Should he just go and leave Grogu here? It’s not like he never left him alone on the ship.

Except… something’s changed since the adoption. Din has started to care what others think of his parenting style. He hears people whisper that fatherhood clearly isn’t coming easily to him (he thought he was doing alright). He watches how his babysitter closely monitors every move the kid makes (the Mandalorians never watched him that closely). He listens when people talk about how they raise their own children (he hadn’t realised it was such hard work). And it’s made him feel as if he’s… lacking.

He hates feeling less than adequate in any area of his life, but somehow, failing as a father cuts deep. Perhaps it’s because he grew up without one. Plus, that scolding Peli gave him after she found Grogu alone on the Razor Crest still haunts him.

Although the Mandalorian method of letting them learn from their mistakes has merit (and it never did him any harm), he wants to be there for his son. So, no. He won’t leave Grogu here alone. He can’t risk him waking up and wondering why nobody comes if he calls. The kid has probably had enough of that in his past.

Why isn’t Maia picking up?

Din paces the cabin’s length, listening to the gentle ping of the comlink as it tries to connect with the one he gave her. Even the soothing pulse doesn’t ease his frustration. Diligent parenting is hard.

Just as he’s wondering if he can wake the kid and bring him along, the comlink crackles to life.

“—know what the stinking stang is wrong with it! Ah, frotz! Hello? Is this thing totally borked?”

For a baffling moment, he can’t work out whether he’s shocked or thrilled. She certainly doesn’t use that type of language around the kid, but he’s delighted to hear her voice nonetheless.

“Maia!” He interrupts her frustrated confusion as loud as he dares, lest he wake the sleeping child downstairs.

“Shiny, hi! It works! What’s up, my metal man? It’s late… is this a booty call?”

Once again, Din can’t decide if he’s shocked or thrilled. However, his dick’s instant twitch of interest proves that it, at least, is clearly siding with the latter. Dank farrik, he wishes it were a booty call. “No, Maia, I need—”

“Course it’s not!” she interrupts, giggling inanely. “Sorry, that was ridiculous, ignore me. Go on, you were saying?”

He takes a deep breath and tries to push past the stab of dismay at her labelling the idea of a booty call as ridiculous. At least she sounds in a happy mood.

“I’m sorry to contact you so late, but Karga has some kind of crisis. IG-11 is still with the Anzellans for repairs after the last crisis, so he’s asked for my help. Grogu’s asleep, but I’m gonna need you to come over and wait at the cabin until I return. I’ll pay you double your usual rate. I just don’t wanna leave him here alone.”

“Suuure! I’ll haul my jets over to you now. Five, ten minutes, tops. If you wanna take off now, I know your door code. I’ll check on the li’l bug as soon as I arrive.”

Din breathes a relieved sigh. “Thank you, I owe you. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Happy hunting, Beskar Boy! Or happy dispute settling!” Maia signs off with a melodic laugh that instantly makes him grin beneath his helmet, despite the stupid nickname.

The grin fades as he processes the meaning of the words preceding her addictive laughter, and he sighs. She’s probably right, although he hopes he’ll at least need his blaster for whatever mess the High Magistrate wants him to clean up.

Karga was once able to intimidate the townsfolk, but these days, they see him as purely a leader and captain of industry. They respect his ability to govern and improve the town – he’s more than proven himself capable in those roles. But whipping out a blaster from beneath those ridiculous robes now gains him little more than dubious raised eyebrows. By contrast, Cara was a fearsome and capable law enforcer, and now IG-11 keeps the citizens in line.

Except a reptavian tore off both of IG’s legs a few nights ago. Apparently, whatever the droid equivalent of ‘sick leave’ is, he’s taking it.

Din doesn’t mind helping out when he’s not on jobs for Carson. As long as Karga doesn’t solicit his help too often, it’s an easy way to make a few extra credits. He supposes that kind of makes him a part-time deputy, though he’ll never accept a title or a contract. But if tonight’s job is nothing more than a neighbour dispute, he’ll be a little peeved. His friend is aware of his skillset and wouldn’t contact him unless it required weapons and armour. He hopes.

He checks on Grogu once more, then equips himself with his usual arsenal, making sure to lock the weapons cabinet behind him. For some reason, his blasters fascinate Maia. He’s given her several shooting lessons, and she always asks to hold them whenever the cabinet’s unlocked. Although he doubts she’d handle them without his permission, he’d rather be present if she’s caressing his things.

Truthfully, he’d prefer it if she handled and caressed something else entirely, though he buries that thought for now. He has work to do, and an ill-timed hard-on would be awkward at best, if not downright perverse. He can torture himself later.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Din wraps up the problem in less than an hour. It does require his blaster, in fact, and he does have to shoot someone. Okay, it’s in the shoulder to disarm him, but the guy is only on his drunken vendetta because he’s heartbroken. He doesn’t deserve to die.

A year ago, he would’ve just shot him in the head and gone home. But he’s lived among the citizens of Nevarro for several months now, and he’s almost starting to feel like part of the community. Passing through it to visit the old covert was different. The Mandalorians were a separate (secret) colony, and he was merely a visitor who lived on his ship. Even though his new home is still on the outskirts, Grogu attends the school in town, and he already knows many of the other parents by name. These days, the market stall owners try to chat with him instead of looking away in fear as they used to.

The guy standing on a table in the cantina tonight with a blaster trained on his ex and her new flame is someone Din recognises. He can’t recall from where, but disarming rather than killing him feels like the right thing to do.

Once he has him in binders, he delivers him to Karga and hurries straight home. The lava flats are quiet and peaceful this time of night, free from the nocturnal bustle of the town and lit only by the celestial display above. There’s no sulphur fog tonight, and the air smells fresh.

But as pleasant as it is, he doesn’t dawdle. Just like every other time he’s left Maia in charge, he relishes the chance to walk into his home and see her there. As if she belongs. He finds that image far more dazzling than the constellations sparkling above him. It’s far sweeter than the fresh air he inhales through his helmet filters as he hastens toward his cabin.

He can’t pinpoint when his interest in her changed from professional to passionate. Grogu made it clear that he liked her best out of the several childminders they auditioned, so he gave her the job. At some point between then and now, he became enamoured with her.

But he can’t do anything about it.

His loyalty to his son means he can’t fuck the babysitter, so for now, Maia belongs to the kid, and Din sleeps alone.

Even though he’s had no serious relationships in the past, he imagines he’d be willing to try it with her. But since it’ll never happen, it’s not worth dwelling on. He’s noticed a few locals checking him out, so he can always approach them if he’s looking to get laid. He’s much more used to casual encounters.

But none of that stops Din from thinking his babysitter is beautiful. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could run his hands over her welcoming body, indulge in her tender touch and heady scent, sink into her depths over and over until she’s crying out his name as they shatter together in ecstasy….

Dank farrik, he’d better quit thinking like that. He has enough trouble controlling his physical urges around her as it is. In fact, it’s starting to become a problem. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to dash off and furtively rearrange himself so his stomach padding hides his boner. He can’t wear the flight suits with the tight pants around her anymore, so the looser-fitting ones are getting much more use. In fact, he’s wearing his last pair. (That reminds him: he needs to do laundry tomorrow.)

Maia teases him whenever she can, but it’s always friendly, not flirty, and it doesn’t come close to being sexual. He’s never caught her looking anywhere other than directly at his visor. Still, he can’t help feeling embarrassed whenever something she says or does causes his cock to harden. He simply can’t control it.

Din reaches the cabin and punches in the door code, happy to note that his guest has locked it from inside. Her diligence and attention to detail certainly helped him trust her in his home from the outset of her employment.

Stepping across the threshold, he notices all the lights are out except for the one above the kitchen sink, which is unusual. Stranger still, all it illuminates is a near-full cup of water standing in a pool of condensation.

Nonetheless, it’s bright enough for him to survey the rest of the room cast in shadowed shades of grey.

He can’t see Maia.

Instantly, his heart rate rises, although he doesn’t panic. She’s probably just in the refresher or the kid’s bedroom with him. But the amount of moisture surrounding that cup shows it’s been sitting there almost as long as he was gone, which is curious. And there’s no light coming from downstairs either.

The cabin is small, with an open-plan kitchen and living space, and a staircase leading down to two bedrooms and the refresher. Din’s priority is his son, so he creeps down the ferrocrete steps, well-practised at following the route silently. With his night vision on, he can see that Grogu’s door is open a crack, and he pushes it wider. Little purring snores verify that the kid is sleeping soundly, and he slides the door fully closed to ensure he stays that way. Good.

Since his babysitter wasn’t in that room, and she wouldn’t invade his private space without permission, there’s only one other option. He bypasses his own bedroom opposite Grogu’s and heads to the door facing him – the refresher. He can’t pick up any sounds from within, but he’s not about to invade her privacy by listening too intently. The door is fully shut, but there’s a faint glow through the ventilation grill at the bottom, too weak to be the usual lights. A glowrod?

That’s rather odd. He’s grateful that Maia avoided putting on the hall lights while Grogu’s door was ajar, but she could’ve switched on the refresher lights once inside.

For an unsettling moment, Din isn’t sure how to proceed. He really doesn’t want to interrupt her if she’s busy. But… his instincts are telling him something is off, and he wants to know she’s okay.

He’ll give her a little longer. He’d rather be cautious than a perv.

He retreats upstairs again, conducting a thorough check of the living space and kitchen but finding nothing abnormal or suspicious. Nothing besides that abandoned cup of water, at least. Next comes his nightly check of the cabin’s weak points – the windows and entryway. He secures them all, figuring he can escort Maia out when she’s ready. Tipping away the water, he runs a fresh cup, turns his back to the stairs to lift his helmet and drink, and refills it. Finally, he disarms himself of most of his weapons, leaving one blaster in its holster and his vibroblade in his boot. He likes to bring some of his usual arsenal downstairs with him, even though he has multiple spares in a secure cabinet near his bed.

Which is where he’s headed now. Din sets the drink on his nightstand, switches off his night vision, and switches on the dim bedside light. His guest has seen him armourless a few times before, so he begins removing his beskar and the rest of his kit. He’s almost finished – just his armourweave stomach padding to go – when he hears a thump from the refresher.

In seconds, he’s outside it again, listening intently for any further clues. He’s been in the business of handling unconscious bodies for decades, and that sounded like an unconscious body.

“Maia?” he tries, keeping his voice low to ensure he won’t disturb the kid.

Nothing.

He knocks gently, giving it a few moments.

Still nothing.

Okay, now he’s really starting to worry. He returns to his bedroom, grabs his vambrace, and flicks through his visual settings until he’s replaced his night vision with the thermal overlay. He hopes he isn’t crossing a line here, but what else can he do? Walking to his doorway, he takes a deep breath… and directs his visor at the refresher.

Dank farrik, she’s on the fucking floor. Why didn’t he check sooner?

Jabbing off the thermal overlay, Din throws his vambrace on the bed, then rushes to the refresher door. He keeps his voice low in case he wakes Grogu, hoping it reaches her anyway. “Maia, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I hope you’re decent because I’m coming in.”

He gives her five torturous seconds to respond or get decent if she isn’t already, and then he keys in the override code. The door slides open, revealing his unconscious (but blessedly fully clothed) babysitter slumped near the toilet, lit by a glowrod on the floor next to her. He can now hear her breathing heavily, though it doesn’t sound laboured, just a deep state of sleep.

His helmet isn’t sealed, so straight away, he’s able to detect the lingering smell of vomit. A somewhat grim consequence of being both a bounty hunter and a father means Din can also distinguish types of vomit. Although she has flushed, there’s no air filtration with the lights off, and the residual odour tells him that Maia has been drinking alcohol.

It also explains her unconscious state, so his worry dissipates a little, and mild annoyance starts to creep in.

She agreed to look after his son when she’d been drinking?

He kneels down next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Maia. Wake up.” He shakes her, but she doesn’t stir.

He assumes she slipped from a propped-up position against the toilet, and the thud he heard was her slumping onto the ferrocrete floor. Did she bang her head? If that didn’t wake her… shit.

He tries shaking her again with as much force as he dares, and she groans and curls up even more. She’s fighting it, but he sees consciousness sluggishly returning.

“Maia, it’s Din. Can you sit up?”

“… y’can’t make me sing for the cup….” She’s still half asleep and confused, but that’s not surprising. A few seconds later, she cracks open her eyes, becomes aware of her situation, and slams them shut again. “Oh… fuuuck… no no, m’sorry… so so so s-sorry… please don’t be mad at meee….” She’s tearful and rambling but mostly coherent, even though she’s still curled on the floor with her eyes squeezed closed.

“What happened?” He can’t think of anything else to say until he’s established her culpability. He knows she wouldn’t drink on the job, so she must’ve been drinking earlier this evening. It certainly explains her overzealous response on the comlink. Dank farrik, he should’ve realised. But, no, he was busy revelling in his own drunken high from her joke about it being a booty call. Idiot.

“It was accidet— ac-ci-den-tal,” she continues from her foetal position. “Tried to call you back, but m’comlink’s busted… figured better I’m here drunk than not at all… ’m sorry sorry sorry, kark, pleeease don’t hate me. I jus’ wanted to make sure the li’l man was okay. I didn’t realise how much I’d had till I stood up, n’ it hit me worse on the way over. But Grogu’s fine, I checked. But I’ve grossed up your ’fresher, ’m sorry…”

Din sighs. In the scheme of things, Maia did the right thing. He’d rather she was here puking in his refresher than risk his child waking up alone. And it occurs to him that she achieved a surprising amount while seemingly drunk as a pirate. She secured the cabin, poured herself some water, stomached a few sips, managed to descend the stairs unscathed, and checked on the kid. Then she sealed herself inside the refresher and threw up neatly into the toilet bowl with no spills, even managing to flush before she passed out. And she did all that by the light of a glowrod so she wouldn’t wake Grogu.

In many ways, his babysitter’s actions tonight were more responsible than some of his own questionable choices regarding his son’s safety. He can’t be mad at her.

He tells her so. “I’m not mad, Maia. Thank you for coming over anyway. Can you sit up? I need to know you’re okay.”

Her eyes are still clamped shut, but she cracks them slightly as she tries to push herself off the floor. It doesn’t go well, so Din reaches forward to help, and together, they get her into a stable sitting position. Nevarro’s volcanic environment means the basement maintains a cosy warmth, so he’s not surprised she passed out down here. It’s not exactly soft, but those who grow up in the Outer Rim spend their lives making do. He likes that she’s a survivor. Like him.

“Everything’s s-spinning,” she groans. “N’ my mouth tastes like bantha balls.”

Din suppresses a snort. “Hold on.” He climbs to his feet, retrieves the cup of water from his bedroom, and then passes it to her. “Here, sip.”

After she’s taken a few delicate sips, Maia gives him back the cup. “Don’t wanna puke again.”

“You won’t,” he assures, placing it in her hands again. “Pretty sure you got all the alcohol out of your system already. You gotta rehydrate, or you’ll feel worse.”

Kneeling down next to her again, he watches her try to follow his instruction, pleased she trusts him. He can’t help but admire how adorably dishevelled she is. Her hair is mussed, her clothes are wrinkled, and she keeps pouting between sips… but it’s all so… cute.

Once she’s had half the cup, he accepts it back, though she follows it up with more apologies. “M’so sorry… , m’such a karkin’ idiot… I get it if you don’t want me to look after Grogu anym—”

“Stop,” Din interrupts sharply, unwilling to let her beat herself up. “This is as much on me as it is on you. I didn’t ask you if you were busy. I demanded you come over and bribed you with extra credits. I didn’t question why you sounded different on the comlink. And I didn’t wait for you to arrive. If I’d done any of those things differently, you might not have ended up on my ’fresher floor. So I’m sorry too.” Maia doesn’t reply besides blinking at him a few times, so he asks, “What was the occasion? For the drinking, I mean.”

“One year of freedom from a terrible relationship,” she states resolutely, and for a moment, she seems a little more sober. “Me n’ Zandi, we were both in deep with some mudscuffers who locked us in when we were too young to know any better. But we got lucky. Marshal Dune caught them dealing spice, and now they’re spending a decade mining the asteroid field at the edge of the system. The Nevarran tribunal sentenced them a year ago today, so we drank to celebrate our freedom.”

Din doesn’t really know how to respond. She’s made some previous passing remarks about the toxic relationships she and her friend escaped from, which he’s always taken as hints of her wish to remain unattached. It’s yet another reason he wouldn’t feel right about making any sort of move on her. He settles on, “You… deserve to celebrate.”

“Thanks, Shiny.” He bristles at the nickname out of habit, but he secretly likes that Maia has numerous nicknames for him. “N’ you deserve a ’fresher without a woman on the floor. I should get outta your way, Beskar Boy.”

She tries pushing herself up but instantly becomes dizzy and topples to the side. Din’s naturally quick reflexes kick in, and he positions himself to catch her, letting her fall into his chest as his arm snakes around her back. Before he can even process what he’s doing, he’s slipping his other arm beneath her knees and lifting her up.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, grabbing onto his flight suit with one hand while the other flies to grasp his neck. He almost shivers from feeling her clutch at him so keenly. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I love it! Thanks for the lift, muscles!”

He’s glad his bold move has amused rather than perturbed her, so he doesn’t answer, too busy willing his cock to remain unreactive to this sudden closeness. His main goal is to get her off the ferrocrete floor and put her down somewhere softer as fast as possible. As he elbows open the door and navigates out of the refresher, he makes a split-second decision. His bed is closer than the couch.

“Shiny! This is your bedroom!” Maia whisper-shouts as he steps through the door. At least she’s lucid enough to keep her voice low in case Grogu hears across the hall.

Din grunts in agreement as he approaches his bed and starts carefully lowering her onto it.

She keeps going in a gleeful whisper. “Is this…? Are we…? Kriff, I never thought I’d actually end up in your bed, metal man! I mean, it’s been a dream, sure, but I figured your creed thing meant, like, no sex or whatever. But holy frotz, I guess tonight really was a booty call! Count me the fuck in!”

He’s already laid her down by the time he fully processes her words.

Dank farrik, he’s a fucking idiot.

He will never have sex with any woman in this state. He’s not that kind of guy. The fact that being with Maia is a dream for him too is meaningless, and so is the possibility that she might actually want him. Because does she really? Maybe this is still the alcohol talking. It has to be. Right?

It doesn’t even matter. All Din needs to do is extract himself from this situation in the least awkward way possible and without having to reject her verbally.

But how?

He points a finger at her. “Stay put.” She bites her bottom lip and acknowledges his order with a sloppy salute.

Damn it, the image of her lip caught between her teeth is now burned into his brain, haunting him with forbidden promise.

He pads back to the refresher in his socks and closes the door, relieving himself, flushing, and then pouring some cleaner down the toilet to sit overnight. He then washes up at the sink as fast as possible and refills the cup of water. Returning to his bedroom, Din places the cup on the nightstand along with the glowrod that belongs to his guest.

Speaking of whom…

In his brief absence, Maia has toed off her shoes, stripped naked and strewn her clothes across the floor, and burrowed under his covers. She’s still bleary from the booze, but he sees fire and lust behind her hopeful gaze as she blinks up at him.

It kills him.

He remembers he never finished removing his armour, so he retrieves the vambrace from where he threw it and places it on its shelf. Then he finally removes his stomach padding and puts that away too, directing his visor anywhere except at the naked woman in his bed. He’s doing everything possible to deny the physical reaction her presence is giving rise to.

When he’s done, Din approaches the bed again, acutely aware that she’s tracking him with a hunger he shares but can do nothing about.

Fuck, this is torture. The blanket has slipped down (or maybe Maia has arranged it) so low that it’s daringly close to exposing her nipples. She’s right there, waiting for him. Wanting him.

But she’s drunk. And she’s his kid’s babysitter. He tries to quell his ache by thinking about how she’s thrown up this evening, which would make kissing gross. It helps for a second, although the idea of kissing her at all ends up eclipsing the negatives, and he hardens even more.

Shit, he cannot think about kissing her. Or how naked she is. Or anything like that. Vomit. He should focus on vomit.

Okay. Din taps off the bedside light and picks up the glowrod, then heads to the door in the dark, stumbling over her clothes strewn on the floor. He can’t activate his helmet’s night vision without his vambrace control, but he won’t put it back on just to navigate his escape. Nor will he switch on the glowrod yet because he doesn’t want to see any dismay or regret in her eyes as he leaves her. He wants to remember the hunger he witnessed there.

Hazardous garments notwithstanding, he finds his way to the exit.

Crossing the darkened doorway’s threshold, he whispers, “Get some rest, Maia.” Then he fumbles for the control and taps the door close button, releasing a sigh as it swishes shut behind him.

Switching on the dim glowrod, he traipses upstairs. It’s going to be so kriffing awkward in the morning. Nonetheless, one thought keeps repeating itself to him above all others, one he can no longer prevent his dick from swelling at the prospect of.

Is she really attracted to him?

He has to know.

Din extracts another blaster from his cabinet, knowing he won’t sleep without one beside him. Then he sits heavily on the couch, thinking about how often he used to sleep in his helmet before this cabin became his home. It’s the first place he’s felt secure enough to remove it at night, so he’s no stranger to sleeping beneath his beskar mask. It’s almost a comfort in a way.

With his face covered in a darkened room lit by nothing but a glowrod while those he cares for slumber downstairs, more memories return…

Sitting in the Crest’s darkened cockpit, fucking his fist by the swirling glow of hyperspace, chasing a release during those first stressful days as a fugitive. In theory, if something had pulled him out of hyperspace, someone could’ve quite literally caught him with his dick in his hand. But the odds of anyone being close enough to peer in through the transparisteel at that very moment and notice his furtive actions were slim. Back then, he was so untethered that in his weaker moments, he desperately sought anything that made him feel good. Fleeting moments when he could pretend his life wasn’t falling apart yet again. The risk was worth it.

Here, too, although he’s locked up the cabin and closed the shutters, there’s a risk of Maia sneaking up the stairs and finding him. But a similar desperation fills him now – the utter frustration of loss. Back then, it was the loss of a stable income, the loss of his covert. Now, it’s his missed chance – the loss of what could’ve been with the woman downstairs. And maybe even the total loss of her in his life. Perhaps she’ll be too embarrassed about this evening’s events and quit. Din couldn’t take that, nor could Grogu. It’s why he tried to avoid this.

Can they get past this? Maybe he ought to find someone else to care for the kid. Would that be best? This is getting too complicated. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

So, right now, he’ll imagine the positive and lose himself in the fantasy, just like he used to. He’ll think about the hunger he saw in her eyes and let himself believe it wasn’t merely the alcohol. Just for tonight, he’ll believe it’s the truth. The risk, once again, is worth it.

He’s already tenting his loose flight suit pants, so he fumbles to expose himself and relaxes against the couch cushions behind him. The wet spot on his underwear displays just how profoundly turned on he is simply by the idea of being with Maia.

After all the temptation it’s endured this evening, his cock is extra sensitive, so he begins with measured, lazy strokes. Whilst he’d love to revel in the fantasy, he knows he won’t last long. As he imagines joining her in his bed, filling his palms with those half-exposed breasts he saw, pressing his naked body against her, his movements begin to speed up and his pressure increases. Very soon, he’s plummeting toward the edge of ecstasy like a podracer pilot with the finish line in sight.

His helmet tips back to stare at the ceiling as he pictures how it would feel to sink into her warm depths, and the notion ignites his fuse, burning rapidly. It only takes a few more strokes before the powder keg within him explodes into a million tiny raptures. His hips stutter, his muscles clench, and his orgasm tears through his body. He comes hard, and a fractured groan far louder than he’d intended escapes through the modulator as he spills forth his pleasure…

Fucking. Bliss.

Din’s mind is blank for some time, just a sense of fulfilment and contentment gently rippling throughout his relaxed form.

As the real world filters back in, he’s able to think clearly, and he now knows what he has to do. He doesn’t like it, but it’s the mature and sensible option. It’s also a fucking daunting prospect, but he’s faced worse. Has he? Yes, he has. He can do it.

He tucks himself away and finds a cloth to wipe down the mess on his flight suit. That task makes him realise he’ll have to sneak into his bedroom tomorrow without waking Maia to grab his armour and some fresh clothes. And now he really needs to do laundry tomorrow. The only pants he has left are the tighter ones, which he tries to avoid wearing around her. Great, there’s another reason to dread the morning. Although it’s not as if he’s ever caught her checking out his package – she may tease him verbally, but her gaze is always polite.

For now, he’ll enjoy the security of darkness and the lingering swirl of happy chemicals in his brain.

Din lays down on the couch and switches off the glowrod. With a deep sigh, he surrenders to the relaxing state of comfort brought on by his orgasm, letting himself fall into a contented sleep. Before he drifts off, his last thought is of Maia’s beautiful lips… leaning in for a kiss….

If only.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

[PART 2 COMING ON 1 JUNE 2024]

Those of you who've read my work before will be familiar with my copious end notes:

As usual, it’s British spellings I’m afraid. Demographic stats say about 60% of you are American, but I can’t help where I was born, so sorry about all the extra ‘u’s and ‘l’s and for using ‘s’ where you would expect ‘z’. However, I’ve channelled my inner linguist and used American language and speech patterns since the show is filmed in the US and Din’s accent is American. All other wording is internationally neutral, including Maia’s dialogue (since the next chapter is written from her POV and I’ll be switching to second person reader insert for that, e.g. you/your pronouns). I’m a little sad I didn’t get to include any Mando’a linguistics in this fic tbh. Maybe another time.

The cabin’s layout is inspired by the concept art by Christian Alzmann that appeared in the closing credits of s3e8, in which there appears to be a staircase leading down to a lower level. That makes sense to me, as Din would need total security to sleep without his armour on, and a windowless underground room seemed appropriate. I also like the parallel that on the Razor Crest he used to sleep on the lower level in a windowless room too.

I know Carl’s absence is going to be felt when we finally get the movie, so I wanted to write something where Karga is still around. If this had been a longer piece, I would’ve had him actually featuring in it instead of being in the background, but in any case, Karga lives forever in the universes I write.

The reference to Din wearing looser pants is, weirdly, Canon. One of the ways you can tell it’s Brendan Wayne in the suit is because he seems to prefer these weird baggy clown pants. Contrast to Pedro who likes them tight (Din Peña?), as does Lateef Crowder, and as did Barry Lowin in season 2. Since Brendan did the majority of season 3, we saw Din in the loose-fitting style a lot more, so I decided to write in a reason for that beyond actor preference.

Though we have no information on Nevarro’s judiciary system, they’re an independent world who have a marshal and a magistrate, so my guess is they’d adopt the New Republic’s system of having a tribunal. Generally, group decision-making is favoured during this era, in contrast to the single-judge system of the Imperial era, so it seems more likely that Karga would encourage citizens to serve on a tribunal rather than unilaterally passing judgments himself.

Apologies to @the-mandawhor1an for using the name of your longtime established OC – it was coincidental, I promise! I chose it after looking up the most common female names in the world, one of which is Maria, and I settled on the variant Maia because it sounded like a more Star Wars-y version (and for another reason which you’ll see in part 2). I only realised when you reblogged my WIP Wednesday snippet, and it was a bit late to change it by then. I guess it’s a common name in the SWU too! But I’m sorry and I hope you don’t feel like I’m muscling in on your domain. Your Maia is of course the original Maia 💖

I made the GIF myself. Sorry it’s a bit blurry, I’m not very good at making them yet. I tried to use Tumblr’s GIF-making function, but it wouldn’t let me crop out Grogu’s ears, so this was my alternative attempt. It’ll have to do.

Definitions: Comlinks are those little cylinder comms they all use. Glowrod is a catch-all term for anything portable that produces light. All the swears/insults (stinking stang, frotz, borked, kriff, kark) are from the Legends list of phrases and slang this time (it’s longer than Canon). Nevarran reptavians are the ones that Grogu saved Karga from in s1e7 and that the Mandalorians were roasting in s3e7. Ferrocrete is a compound building material (Canon and Legends) made from concrete and iron, used in roads, reinforced bunkers and building foundations. I figured Din would only be happy with something strong and defensible, so Karga had the cabin built with it. Transparisteel is used for windows and ship viewports, as well as helmet visors.

Part 2 is written and will be uploaded next weekend once proofing/editing is complete. What do we think? Is Din gonna be dumb and tell her she can’t babysit Grogu anymore? Deny himself what he wants for Maia’s own good?

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Tags requested…

@aheadfullofsteverogers @alltheotps @axolotllover225 @burntheedges @copperhalfcent

@foomoosworld @jude77 @secretelephanttattoo @stagerightlauren @the-mandawhor1an

Those tagged below showed interest in my masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs), so I thought I’d sneak in some extra tags. Apologies if it’s too forward, if you’d prefer I didn’t tag you in part 2 just let me know…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

@joelalorian @kyberblade @readingupsidedown @sunflowersunlight7-blog

@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

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randomdragonfires · 20 hours

Text

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did | Chapter 2

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

Chapter 2 | And So, We Begin Again

SUMMARY | She leans on the doorway and watches as Aemond Targaryen takes a lengthy drag out of his cigarette - tiny embers of the burning tip being the only light in all the space around him. He is withdrawn and lost in his own thoughts, always - just as she knows him to be.

It is at this moment that it strikes her.

It's him that she's in love with. It's always been him.

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst with a Happy Ending; Grooming; Attempted Rape/Non-Con; Blood and Injury; Violence

WORD COUNT | 10.2k

Check out the lovely artwork my friend @azperja has made for this fic, HERE!

IT'S A LONGSTANDING BIRTHDAY TRADITION OF THEIRS.

For each of Daeron’s birthdays, she comes in with two drinks in hand. Her choice is a Sunspearino, while his is an Iron Throne Iced Tea. There’s also a box of lemon cakes from the King’s Landing Roastery, a huge chain of cafes co-owned by two of her eight older half-siblings. It's a place they often visit when she craves coffee.

Sometimes, they would sneak whiskey from Viserys’ liquor cabinet, mixing it into their drinks while lounging on his bed. They'd watch the rom-com she selects, spending the afternoon together before Alicent’s planned dinner, a big party she always throws for each of her children's birthdays every year. Initially, their mothers arranged snacks and playdates, but as they grew, it evolved into what it is now. However, this year, on his seventeenth, it would seem that the tradition is at its end.

She has been waiting for him for three hours.

The house staff let her in and inform her that Daeron isn’t home. Despite their recent strain, she was confident he wouldn't forget her and their time on his birthday.

He’ll come, she thinks.

The clock's tick-tock seems never-ending as she hopes for his arrival to drown it out.

He'll walk in right now, and apologize for being late, she thinks.

The posters on his wall appear to mock her, reminding her of the disrupted tradition caused by a girl he's been seeing for less than a month. She wants to cry, to tear the papers to shreds and glue.

Any moment now, she thinks.

Her fingers dig into his mattress, catching her charm bracelet on a loose stray thread. It pricks her wrist as she waits, tears blurring her vision and wetting her skirt. He’s going to come right now, she thinks.

The ice in her Sunspearino, a strong black coffee with three sugars, has completely melted, forming a layer of water on top. The melted ice creates drops on the to-go cup, making her wait evident.

He's on his way, she thinks.

Perhaps she is wrong. With every passing second, her faith in him dwindles.

How did they come to this?

Her heart weighs heavy as she finally gathers the courage to stand up and leave. She takes her drink but leaves his, hoping he'll realize what he forgot when he returns to find her gone. Would he even think of her?

He’s not coming.

She leans out of his window, watching Alicent oversee the garden's decor for the outdoor birthday party. She knows what it’ll look like, having attended many of these before. Fairy lights, candles, good wine, and delicious food - she has fond memories of Daeron’s birthday parties. Last year, he convinced the string quartet to play a song they could dance to, and he spun her around - making her feel like she could fly high, higher and higher still.

The longer she stares, the blurrier her vision becomes. Rubbing her red, puffy eyes, she walks out, each step feeling heavier than the last. Helaena and Aegon will likely arrive later in the night, and her own city-residing siblings may make an appearance. Aemond will be coaxed out of hiding, and they'll all have a good time. She won't join tonight, and as she resolves to stay away, she wonders.

Is he bringing Floris Baratheon tonight?

She closes the doorknob with a flick as she steps out.

Will Floris sit with him as she has for all these years? Held by him, as she has desired for so long?

She clenches the drink tightly, some of the coffee spilling onto her hand as she allows the tears to fall.

Will he kiss Floris and dance with her this year, just as he did with her?

She walks swiftly, hoping to remain unnoticed as she desperately hides her face within her hair, which falls on either side of her shoulders like a dark curtain, allowing in just the right amount of light.

Will he even consider her presence? Will he--

First, she hears the moans, then she notices the slightly open door.

She is not quite in the headspace to make out what’s happening, but she knows this for a fact - she is not meant to see.

The drink slips down her hand and spills in a puddle, wetting her shoes and the carpet that she has no doubt will be cleaned up by angry staff in the next few hours. She gasps just enough for the woman, in between whose thighs Aemond Targaryen’s unmistakable head is nestled - the longer silver hair, an easy contrast to the haircut of the younger brother that she is very familiar with is a dead giveaway - to hear, and she looks straight at her.

She’s got striking green eyes, jet black hair and a piercing gaze that makes her want to squirm. Alys Rivers is definitely enjoying herself as Aemond continues his ministrations with his tongue between her legs. Her moans, each of which are loud and encouraging to him, come as she maintains steady eye contact with her as her own tear-struck, heavy eyes struggle to make sense of the scene before her.

She is older than his mother, and he’s just eighteen.

She runs.

Her foot kicks away the discarded coffee cup in her rush, drawing Aemond's attention to the unexpected audience. She hears him swearing faintly as she runs. First, the sound of the door closing, then opening again, but she doesn't stick around to find out what happens next.

What had she walked into?

Alys Rivers - she's seen her at numerous gatherings with her father. Co-owner of Harrenhal Communications with her brothers Larys and Harwin Strong, all children of her school's principal, Lionel. Alys isn't close to Aemond's age, and that worries her. But she can't figure out what to do - her legs are moving faster than her mind can process. She heads to the garden, intending to leave, but Alicent spots her and beckons her over, diverting her escape.

"Your movie time ended early! Come try the cak -”

"He didn't show," she blurts, noticing Alicent's softening and then hardening expression.

"I'm so sorry, my sweet." Alicent begins.

"It's fine. He was probably busy," she replies, struggling to think clearly. She just wants to leave, but Alicent insists she stay for the party. Overwhelmed, she pleads to go home, and Alicent eventually lets her go.

She's almost out when Aemond catches up and pulls her outside the gate to avoid any messy explanations. He's about to tell her something she's not ready for, she knows. As he grabs her shoulders and gazes into her eyes, she realizes she wasn't prepared for this when she arrived.

“You can’t tell anyone, Wylde.”

His words serve as a vivid reminder of the scene she has just witnessed. Aemond, buried between Alys Rivers' thighs, while Alys locked eyes with her, as if daring her to acknowledge the ecstasy. Startled, she spilled her drink and ran, ran, ran-

"How long?" she manages to ask through the fog in her mind, her grip tightening on her skirt, unable to face him, thoughts swirling in her head.

"A little over six months," he admits.

He turned eighteen six months ago. Apparently, they had been involved since he became legal to make his own decisions. The implications dawn on her - had she pursued him when he was younger? Her breath catches.

"Is she... is this..." she looks up, and Aemond, sweating, grapples with the sudden exposure of his clandestine affair. "Is she... she's old enough to be your mother!"

Silence engulfs them, the kind that’s not comfortable. Aemond's tight grip startles her, and his furious violet eye, contrasting with his brother's, glares at her. "Don't be stupid. Don't tell anyone, and you'll listen to me -" he asserts, the anger palpable.

She suggests, "Is she grooming you? Gods, is it blackmail? Should I tell your mother? Are you afraid? I-"

“Fucking hell,” he seethes. “She’s not fucking grooming me, you’d think that I’m smart enough to not let that happen to me -”

“Aemond, you can tell me.” She struggles with her words.

"You're fucking dumb, Wylde," he retorts sharply, his words spilling faster than he can process. His prosthetic eye appears to take on a life of its own in his rage.

“People usually deny it first. You don’t have to, it’s just me and I want to hel-”

“You’re fucking dumb, Wylde.” The words tumble out of his lips faster than his mind can catch up. She sees the way his jaw tightens and she knows Aemond has always been angry and too quick to react, but she is not prepared for the way his throat bobs as he swallows and prepares to strike at her heart.

“Perhaps if you weren’t such an idiot and jumped to stupid conclusions, Daeron would actually fucking like you back.”

The words are painful, harsh and probably true, and they hit her like whiplash.

With what she’d seen of Aemond and Alys Rivers, she had momentarily forgotten what she was actually at the house for. But it all comes back to her as she curls into herself as much as she can in his hold, the tears free falling in her embarrassment and sadness. Her head faces down and she refuses to let him see, and it is all becoming a bit much.

She feels her legs become wobbly and she wants to breathe and be let go of so she can run to the comforts of her room like the coward that she is - but she cannot get her body to listen. It refuses to comply and move and she stands there, still held in Aemond’s vice grip as he mutters Valyrian curses under his breath - she’s heard Daeron mutter some of the words before. He smells strongly of coffee and cigarettes and it is too much, too much -

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so fucking sorr-”

“Let go of me, Aemond.” Her voice is eerily calm and she can see that it momentarily stuns him. He doesn’t let go, however. “I’m sorry, Wylde. Just… you can’t fucking tell. I-”

“Let. Go.” She tries to wrangle out of his hold and he refuses to let her leave until she agrees to keep his secret. Her mind is running a mile a minute as she imagines Aemond being a young lad, being preyed on by an older woman and not knowing a thing. She does not want to keep his dirty secret, she wants to go-

“LET GO OF ME, AEMOND!”

Her louder tone seems to have attracted Criston Cole’s attention, and he’s quick to rush to them and pull Aemond away from her. His black shirt-clad figure moves away from her and she is stunned - so bloody stunned - and not at all prepared for Criston’s low voice.

"Your mother is looking for you," he tells Aemond, who leaves, imploring her silence with his stoic gaze - one that he does not drop till he’s out of her sight.

"Are you alright?" Criston asks, checking her for injuries. She mumbles apologies and retreats.

“No.” Her voice is cracked and the bodyguard is at a loss for words - he’s not quite used to comforting teenage girls, she can tell. She uses this as her cue to hastily mumble her apologies, and the trusty guardian does nothing as she walks away.

Later that night, she’s locked up in her room, nestled under the covers as she thinks over all that has happened. She’s sure that the party at Maegor’s is in full swing, and that they’re all probably having loads of fun.

Without her.

Her brother, one that she does not see often, texts her and asks why she isn’t there. He says he'll be staying at Rain House tonight, and she does not respond. Alicent texts her to check if she’s eaten. Helaena texts her and asks if she’s home so she can come over, and Aegon sends her a plain, “Where the fuck are you, Wylde?”

It makes her want to cry.

Aemond does not bother with her at all - and if she's being honest, she’d say she’s glad for the distance he’s put between them in the last few hours. Almost an hour later, when it’s close to midnight, Daeron texts her.

I’m sorry, can we talk?

She lets her phone fall away, leaving him to make his own assumptions. She is reminded once again of the hours she spent in his room today, waiting for him to come. She feels pathetic, wondering if he thought so less of her that he’d chosen to forego something that they’d done for years, without so much as a warning. She feels the tears prick at her eyes once more, but she is resolute - she will not spend any more time crying or missing a boy that did not want to give her time of day anymore.

When she looks back, she is thoroughly convinced that this is the day that she finally fell out of love with her best friend, even if she isn’t quite ready to admit to it yet.

OVER THE COMING WEEKS, HER LIFE BLURS into a haze of avoidance, deliberately steering clear of anything related to the Targaryens. At school, she strategically distances herself from Daeron, swiftly darting away when the bell rings, determined not to give him a chance to approach her.

"I don't want to speak to him," she asserts to Elinor Beesbury, her gaze fixed on her untouched food. Daeron’s persistent attempts to reconcile only fuel her resolve to keep her distance. It's a delicate balance between her lingering attachment and the painful recognition that their bond has irreversibly shifted.

Elinor studies her with concern, "You'll have to let go at some point, love."

She nods silently, acknowledging the futility of holding onto resentment. Months of grappling with her feelings have taught her the necessity of moving on. Yet, the wounds still sting fresh, the memories of his repeated indifference are etched into her heart.

"Soon. But not now," she affirms.

"Alright, just so you know, I hear Floris Baratheon's asked him to come with her to her senior prom," Elinor adds, trying to infuse levity into the conversation. But the prospect of Daeron moving on so swiftly brings forth an unsettling wave of emotions, mingling with her lingering frustration.

“Come on, don’t be like that! You're sexy and awesome, and he's a piece of shit! Like, sexy is… in your blood! Wasn’t a great grandmother of yours like, the OG sex guru or something?”

“Great great great great great great grandmother. And she wasn’t a sex guru, she was the first recorded published author of erotic fiction in Westeros!”

Many in the world know of Coryanne Wylde, with the wild woman being known for having written A Caution For Young Girls - an erotic cult classic that opened the doors for erotic literature in Westeros. History candidates in college end up reading it sometimes for their lessons, and it never fails to surprise her.

“Exactly! You get it from your grandma! And next year, our prom is gonna be so sexy, babe. You mark my words!” She grimaces at the suggestion of involving herself with another boy, her focus fixated on Daeron and what little that remains. Despite her friend's efforts to lighten the mood, the weight of her unresolved emotions lingers - she supposes it will take a bit of time.

Heading to her locker after lunch, her path unexpectedly intersects with Aemond, whose intense presence startles her. The curious gazes of their peers heighten the tension, drawing attention to their rare encounter. Aemond's enigmatic aura, accentuated by his leather jacket and disheveled man bun, exudes an unsettling magnetism, contrasting sharply with Daeron's more approachable charm.

Her mind involuntarily delves into the memories of Alys Rivers, a stark reminder of Aemond's heavily inappropriate relationship that she is now privy to. The betrayal, the hurt, the raw emotions from what he’d said to her later surge within her, and she blurts out, "What do you want?" with an edge of apprehension, unwilling to be drawn into another tumultuous dynamic.

Aemond stands so close that she can feel the warmth of his breath, and she is stunned by how, within days of stepping away from Daeron, she's standing so close to Aemond, especially after having not even properly spoken to him in many years. They both stand in the corner of the corridor with their backs leaned back against the lockers. Aemond surprisingly murmurs to her, asking if she and Daeron are fighting because she wasn't at his birthday party or the Sunday lunch. She grunts at him, her non-response making her emotions clear.

You’re fucking dumb, Wylde.

Perhaps if you weren’t such an idiot and jumped to stupid conclusions, Daeron would actually fucking like you back.

He seems to wrestle with something within himself, his jaw clenching before he finally speaks. "I didn't mean what I said that day, you know. I was angry and it came out all wrong."

She scoffs, her hand shaking as she points a finger at him. "It doesn't matter! You had no right to say those things to me."

Aemond's grip on her wrist startles her, his commanding gaze penetrating her defenses. Despite her efforts to distance herself, she finds herself drawn into a tense exchange, confronting the pain he had caused her at Daeron's birthday.

The conflict within Aemond surfaces, his facade of aloofness crumbling as he attempts to reconcile with her. Her anger flares, yet the sting of his remorse momentarily softens her resolve, only to be replaced by the bitterness of his persistent complications.

Aemond's expression falls, and he reaches out as if to touch her, but hesitates and drops his hand to his side. "I know, I'm sorry, Wylde. But you have to understand, it's not easy for me either."

As hurt as she is by his words, she knows she wants to help him and see him through the mess he’s gotten himself into with Alys Rivers - even if he doesn’t see it that way right now. So she chooses to reach out. Just one more time.

“Then tell me. What's going on? Aemond, I know we haven't been close in a long while, but I want to help.”

Aemond's gaze softens, and he opens his mouth and shuts it close, almost as though he wants to say something but opts not to - but she's had enough. She does not want to be put in a difficult position where she’s navigating relationship dynamics that are probably a lot more problematic than anything she’s ever known - especially not if he doesn’t even want to tell her.

Pushing away from the lockers, she turns to walk away, her steps quickening with each stride. But before she can get far, she feels a surge of frustration and pain erupt within her, and she turns around, her voice raised to a shout. "I don't want to hear from you or him, ever again! You’ve both done enough."

She looks around for just a moment, very conscious of the students that were now noting them by the corner of their eyes. She knows she shouldn’t go on, and that if she did, they’d become gossip fodder - but she cannot help herself.

“You Targaryens have got everyone wrapped around your finger, don't you? Think you can say whatever you want and get away with it," she lashes out, her voice trembling with the weight of her wounded trust.

Aemond winces, the impact of her words evident in his pained expression. "I never wanted to hurt you, Wylde. Things are complicated and I…" he murmurs, gulping as his gaze pleads with hers for understanding. But her resolve remains unyielding, fueled by a well of hurt and resentment.

"I don't care about your complications. You had no right saying those things to me, and now I want you to leave me the fuck alone."

HE'S ALWAYS HAD STRONG FEELINGS ABOUT THE YOUNGEST WYLDE BEING A PART OF THEIR LIVES.

Aemond can't quite discern the exact nature of his emotions. She has been a constant presence in the family ever since her family returned to the Red Keep town all those years ago, after her father secured his place as one of the executive directors on the board of Targaryen Consolidated. Over time, Jasper Wylde had grown to be a reliable work companion to his father, leaving his wife and youngest daughter behind to reside near his boss' family.

When her second pregnancy failed and Jeyne Wylde passed, their young daughter seamlessly fell in with the Hightower-Targaryen fold under the care of his mother. Rain House had become desolate with Jasper's older children from previous marriages moving away, and the young girl was sadly left behind.

Aemond isn't certain what his mother had in mind when she practically ushered the Wylde girl into his and his siblings' lives thereafter. She had never been keen on outsiders stepping into their lives as much as Wylde had. Yet, he couldn't find it within himself to complain.

Through life's ebbs and flows - be it his eye or her mother's passing - she had always been there, gradually weaving herself into their existence. Before he knew it, she had become a daily fixture in their lives - laughing as Aegon spun her around, attempting to flirt with her; accompanying Helaena on her bug expeditions across the estate; reading quietly with him in his father's library during their childhood and transforming into Daeron's shadow in every way. She was always there when he embarked on mischief, a quintessential trait for any youngest child.

Daeron was the prankster, and she, the lookout. Always.

He witnessed their first day of school together, navigating the challenges of being around children other than each other. He observed their struggles with tying uniform ties for weeks until Alicent stepped in to teach them. He's seen her occasional presence at breakfast, sometimes ending up in the car with them on the way to campus.

He listened to their endless chatter, her incessant and somewhat annoying foot tapping during weekend lunch conversations when she felt uneasy or self-conscious, and the way Daeron's friendship with his best friend had grown stronger over the years. He noticed how her gaze upon Daeron had evolved, her friendship gradually transforming into something more, something his younger brother clearly did not appreciate or reciprocate.

He has watched and listened. For years, it's been his means of engagement during times when he preferred not to be directly involved. Perhaps, if others did the same, they might uncover why Wylde hadn't returned to Maegor's since Daeron's birthday.

"I don't know, Mum. I texted her, but she didn't respond," Daeron says.

The chair next to his younger brother remains empty, and curiously enough, the atmosphere during lunch seems quieter than usual. Aemond attributes this to Wylde's absence. Her mindless chatter effortlessly filled the gaps of awkwardness, and now, the Targaryens were left to grapple with a Sunday afternoon meal without the lively girl.

"You should apologize to her in person," his mother advises Daeron, yet her gaze remains fixed on him. His eyes inadvertently shift to Cole, who undoubtedly divulged details about the incident he had with Wylde outside the gates after she had seen him and Alys.

How much do they know?

"She's been avoiding me like the plague, Mum. I'll give her some time to cool off, I suppose."

He's watched, listened, and picked up cues over the years. It comes in handy with his mother, who never lets her emotions overpower her. Any instinctual response she has is always gone in a flash - quicker than you know - and right now is no exception. She wants to get Daeron to see sense - but if there’s one thing that Alicent Hightower has given her children, it’s autonomy.

Given how little he believes she had of it when his grandfather essentially pushed her into his father's arms, Aemond has always appreciated that it's the one thing she'd never take away from her children. He knows she has made peace with watching her children make peculiar choices she wouldn't make, but it's not her burden until they make it clear they need her. Her palpable anger at Daeron's indifference towards his best friend dissipates as swiftly as it emerged.

He knows she's concerned. They all are. Jasper Wylde is rarely present, and Rain House is a hollow residence compelled to seem lively with the presence of staff. It had been a much warmer place long ago, back when Jeyne Wylde was alive. His mother has always considered the youngest Wylde one of her own, and she's cared for her over the years as well.

"She doesn't pick up when I call either," his mother muses, her furrowed brow betraying her stoic nature and making her momentary worry obvious. However, Aemond knows. He watches and listens, always.

Just a few days ago, while atop his motorbike, he heard that Jason Lannister had asked her out on a date.

Lannister had started on the school football team when Wylde's half-brother was captain. While he made his interest in his former captain's little sister known, he knew better than to make it obvious to her brother.

He had never favored the golden-haired fool. Now in the same final year of school as Aemond, the current football team captain is shallow, self-absorbed, and, in a way that puzzles him, still popular among the students. He fails to see the appeal of someone like him - he prefers Tyland, who is much easier to converse with and not easily provoked. He always assumed that Wylde was wise enough not to slip up.

He had assumed wrong.

She was likely out with Jason, learning to replace her Sunday lunch times at his house with something else. Adjusting won't happen swiftly, he knows. It takes a great deal to disrupt an established routine - but he won't hold it against her. It was obvious to him that Daeron started it first.

"You can't be upset with me for having a girlfriend, Mum. Neither can she... It's not fair. Things change," Daeron huffs. “You’re both ruining it for me. Floris has asked me to go to her senior prom with her, and I’m going. I'm sorry that you both will probably hate me for it, but she should get over herself, and so should you!”

His mother does nothing apart from poking at the insides of her cheek with her tongue. Wylde's absence looms over the house whenever awkwardness settles, and this time is no exception. Daeron sighs at his mother's subtle disappointment and storms out, muttering about having dinner with Floris.

It doesn’t escape Aemond's notice that in a better time, he'd actually be grabbing breakfast pancakes for dinner with Wylde instead. Aemond recalled the last time she'd come for lunch. Her foot tapping had bothered him so much that he nearly contemplated plunging his fork into her thigh to make it stop. She seemed highly anxious that day, evident in the relentless tap, tap, tap, tap of her feet.

Not seeing her for a while, the absence of the irritating sound, usually accompanied by the loud jingle of her bracelet on the hand she keeps near her thigh, should bring him a sense of calm. It shouldn't bother him at all.

But it does. It does, it does, it does.

[A MONTH LATER, PROM NIGHT]

STANDING THERE IN HER EXQUISITE PROM DRESS - the fabric shimmers in a delicate blend of blue and gold - she can't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at her insides. It's a dress she painstakingly picked out, hoping it will add a touch of glamour to this otherwise mundane high school memory. But now, amid the flashy lights and pulsating music, it feels like a facade, a flimsy disguise.

Her mind drifts back to those countless mindless hours she's spent with Jason in the past month, now seeming like distant echoes of a hazy past. Going to football games with his jersey on, pretending to blend seamlessly into his world, she often finds herself feeling like an impostor, a misfit amidst his circle of friends. On her way back home from one of the games, she’d caught Aemond's gaze as she passed by their house. He was seated on his motorbike, getting ready to go out somewhere as he lifted his helmet in his hands, his loose messy bun probably about to get messier from the helmet. In that brief moment, she was sure she’d seen an expression of silent disapproval as he raised his eyebrow at the oversized jersey hanging loosely on her frame. It felt like an unspoken judgment, and she couldn't help but feel out of place - an outsider masquerading as a loyal fan in a world that was never truly hers.

She had curled into herself right then and there. She owes him nothing - just as he owes her no explanation about his messy entanglement with Alys Rivers - but it was not enough to make her feel confident in her choice.

As the days go by, she finds herself entangled in a half-hearted routine of a seemingly typical high school relationship with Jason. They often spend their afternoons at the local diner, sipping on milkshakes and sharing fries, engaging in shallow conversation that never quite delved into the depths of her thoughts. On Friday nights, they would go to the movies, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders, the scent of buttered popcorn lingering in the air. And then, they’d usually end up in her bed.

She enjoyed the sex. She wouldn’t deny it. Jason Lannister knew what he was doing.

But it wasn’t enough.

Despite the outward appearance of bliss, there lingered a persistent emptiness, a hollow void that echoed within her. She had become a fragment of someone else's world, a mere accessory in the narrative of Jason's life, her own desires fading into the background of their mindless high school romance. And as she retraced these moments, each memory served as a silent reminder of the gaping chasm between her facade of contentment and the relentless ache for something more, something she had yet to discover.

Lost. She is lost.

Standing at the prom, she feels suffocated, trapped in a reality where she has pushed away those who cared for her.

Floris Baratheon's entrance shifts the atmosphere, drawing everyone's attention with her elegance. Beside her is Daeron, exuding a charming confidence that had always captivated her. Her heart sinks as she realizes that he'll never truly belong to her.

Her gaze meets Daeron's, and she senses a detachment that cuts through her. She stands there, feeling the weight of her insignificance in his life, a mere footnote in his story.

As she turns away, her gaze skimming over the flashy arrival of the popular couple, her attention is drawn to Aemond. He stands aloof in the corner, his immaculately pressed shirt forming a stark contrast to the nonchalance with which his jacket lay carelessly slung over the edge of the nearby bench. A small group of girls from his year encircle him, all seemingly tied to his on-and-off fling, Arianne Martell, whom he has an arm draped around.

A familiar pang on condescension accompanies the sight of his disinterested expression, almost as if it were a trademark of his persona. She isn't taken aback; it seemed to be ingrained in Aemond's very being to treat those around him as if they were inconsequential. How many times has she attempted to initiate a conversation with him, only to be met with cold indifference or a curt dismissal? It is a pattern she has grown accustomed to, yet it still stings with a twinge of rejection each time.

Does Arianne know about the woman that he fucks when he’s not with her? Does she know she’s competing with someone like Alys Rivers?

As she climbs back out of her thoughts and becomes cognizant of her surroundings, she finds that his one violet eye is trained on her. And his gaze is nowhere close to normal as he eyed her date, and observed him being an utter fool in his drunkenness.

For some reason, the thought of Aemond being disappointed in her makes her want to scream.

As she glances around the crowded room, the euphoric energy of the dance floor slowly dissipated, replaced by discomfort. She finds herself feeling suffocated, trapped in a reality she couldn't quite escape - she’s pushed away those that wanted her, so what choice did she have anyhow?

Jason, in an inebriated state, becomes oblivious to her unease, accentuating her sense of alienation. Overwhelmed by her emotions, she excuses herself, seeking solace in the corridors.

What a waste.

She hasn’t been alone for long when Jason catches up to her, his demeanor laced with a restless energy that seems to mirror her own nervousness. He leans in, his voice laced with a casual nonchalance that grated on her raw nerves. "It’s starting to get boring, I think. I'm ready to bolt. You wanna get out of here?"

She musters a weak smile, attempting to downplay the unease that swirls within her. She’s not quite sure when he’d gotten to standing so close to her, but her discomfort is overpowering and apparent as she inhales the scent of his cologne. "I don't know, Jason. I think I might just stick around for a bit longer." Her voice quivers slightly, betraying the weakness that she struggles to hide.

But Jason seems undeterred by her apprehension. His hand slowly slides around her hip through the fabric of her dress, a touch that sends shivers down her spine, though not in the way she usually longs for. He moves closer, his breath warm against her ear as he whispers. "Come on, it'll be fun. Let's get out of here together."

She tries to step back, to free herself from his grasp, but his hold only tightens, encircling her with an intensity that borders on limitless possessiveness. The glint in his eyes, clouded by the effects of the spiked punch, flickers with a hint of something darker, something she refused to acknowledge until now. She looks to the side, trying to see if she could escape, trying to see anything but him. "Don't be like that, babe. You know you want to be with me."

A surge of fear courses through her, freezing her in place as she feels the cold, hard wall against her back. She leans her head back, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as she struggles to find her voice. "Jason, please... let me go."

But his grip remains unyielding, his touch branding her skin with an invisible imprint that fills her with a sense of helplessness. His hand grips onto her wrist, pressing the charms of her gold bracelet into her skin - it will bruise later, she knows. His voice takes on a harsh edge, a sharp contrast to the charming facade she has come to know.

"Come on, you know you want this.”

In that moment, as the weight of his possession bears down on her, she feels a surge of anger rise within her, mingling with the fear that threatens to consume her. She pushes against him, her voice rising in desperation. "Let me go, Jason."

But his fingers only tighten further, his breath hot against her cheek as he leans in, his eyes clouded with a sense of entitlement she had never noticed before. "You don't get to say no, not now." She could feel her heart racing, her mind sprinting for a way out of this suffocating grip. Panic seizes her, and as she struggles against his hold, her eyes brim with tears that threaten to spill over. She could feel a slight wetness where her charm bracelet had dug into her skin - blood, pricking through her skin in small spots of dark red.

She’s not quite sure how the scene changes, but it does. All she sees is a flash of silver hair zooming past her, taking Jason down with him.

Aemond.

In the dimly lit corridor, the scene transforms - a blur of chaos and violence as Aemond's fists rain down on Jason, each blow punctuated by a guttural grunt. Jason's face is a mess of blood and fury, his attempts to fend off Aemond's relentless assault futile as he claws and thrashes in a desperate bid for escape.

Aemond's voice cuts through the chaos, edged with a raw fury that she has never heard before. “Fucking stay away from her… stay the fuck away.” Each word is punctuated by a wild hit to the football team captain’s face.

Jason's cries of pain mingle with his own enraged shouts - a mix of aggression and retaliation. "You crazy bastard! Get the fuck off me!" Jason's words are punctuated by the sickening thud of Aemond's fists connecting with his flesh. “Targaryen, for Gods’ sake…”

As the violent altercation unfolds before her, she finds herself unable to process the reality of the situation. The air seems to thicken around her, suffocating her with its weight, and she slumps down to the floor, her hands pressing firmly against her ears in a futile attempt to block out the cacophony of pain and anger as she rocks herself back and forth.

Tears stream down her cheeks, her sobs blending seamlessly with the chaos that engulfs her. She feels the slick warmth of her blood from when the charms on her bracelet had dug into her wrist, now dripping down her arm and onto her elbow - a visceral reminder of the brutal consequences that had been averted by Aemond's timely intervention. Her vision blurs with the weight of her own helplessness, the fear of what might have been gripping her with an intensity she had never known before.

Aemond's voice slices through the chaos with a relentless intensity. "Touch her once again and I’ll make you regret your miserable life!"

Each word carries a seething rage, matching the force of each brutal strike that fell. Jason's desperate cries are swallowed by the unyielding onslaught, his pleas for respite being drowned out by the unrelenting ferocity of Aemond's fury. "Please, just stop! I didn't mean it!"

But Aemond's resolve remained unyielding, his voice laced with an unwavering determination. "You're not going to touch her again, you hear me? Not ever! You so much as look at her again…"

As the struggle continues, she feels a surge of gratitude mixed with an unshakable terror. Her mind races with the realization of what might have transpired if Aemond hadn't appeared when he did, the thought of her own vulnerability in the face of Jason's aggression sending chills down her spine. She huddles against the cold wall, her entire being trembling with a wave of fear washing over her.

As Principal Lyonel Strong steps in to diffuse the escalating confrontation, he finds himself confronted by Aemond's seething anger, his one working eye ablaze with an intensity that seems to ignite the very air around them.

"Enough, Aemond!" Principal Strong's voice thunders through the corridor, commanding attention even amidst the chaos. "This is not the way to handle things. We will sort this out, but you need to calm down." Aemond's chest heaves with unrestrained emotion, his bloodied fists clenching at his sides as he glares at the teachers who now surround him. "You don't understand! He had his hands on her! He had no right -"

One of the teachers - she can’t quite place who it is in her disturbed haze - steps forward, her expression as careful blend of concern and authority. "We understand, Aemond, but violence is never the answer. You're all students, and I need to ensure everyone's safety here."

Another teacher, his features etched with concern, attempts to reason with Aemond, his voice a measured attempt at diffusing the tension. "This is not the way to go about things, Aemond!” His jaw tightens as she looks, his gaze flitting between the teachers as he struggles to rein in his emotions. "You're not understanding me! He's not going to get away with this. He was touching her, she didn’t want it! Fucking look at her!"

Jason Lannister has gone limp, possibly unconscious from the beating he’d taken. She cannot bring herself to feel sorry for him.

Principal Strong's voice softens slightly, his stern facade giving way to a hint of understanding. "We will handle it, Aemond. But you need to go home for now. We will inform your mother, and we will discuss this further tomorrow."

Aemond's shoulders sag, the weight of the situation finally settling in as he nods, his expression a turbulent mix of frustration and concern. "Fine. But you better make sure he's dealt with. I won't let this slide. Swear to the Gods I…"

“We take allegations like these very seriously, son. But it does not change the fact that you were caught assaulting a fellow student. Remove yourself from the premises, Aemond. We will ensure that appropriate action is taken after a thorough investigation of the matter.”

The teachers come closer to her, trying to see if she is alright or if she needs to be spoken to. Their presence becomes suffocating to her really quickly as she slinks into herself, and Aemond is near her in an instant.

His voice cuts through the tense air like a sharpened blade, his words a fervent demand that brooks no argument. "Give her some fucking space, all of you! Can't you see she's had enough?”

The teachers, caught between maintaining order and understanding the gravity of the situation, exchange uneasy glances as Aemond kneels before her, his intense gaze a stark contrast to the gentleness that now flickers in his eyes. "Hey, it's okay. It’s me. Look at me, it’s me.”

Aemond. Aemond. Aemond.

“We're getting out of here," he murmurs, his voice a calming presence amidst the chaos that threatens to overwhelm her. She feels the warmth of his rough palm against her cheek, a gentle anchor that tethers her to the present, grounding her and making her feel safe. The echoes of chaos from the school corridor gradually fade into the background, replaced by the rhythmic cadence of her own ragged breaths, each one a testament to the fragile balance she now works hard to maintain.

As they walk, Aemond's voice, low and steady, resonates within her mind, a lifeline that guides her through the tumultuous waves of shock. "Breathe. In and out. You're here, with me. You're safe," he whispers, his words a soothing melody that offers solace in the aftermath of the storm.

She nestles closer to him, her body drawn to the reassuring strength that radiates from his very being. The weight of his presence envelops her, shielding her from the lingering tendrils of fear and uncertainty that threaten to consume her. With each step they take, the distance between them and the chaos of the school grows, replaced by the tranquility of the night and the sense of quietude that blankets their surroundings.

Aemond's unwavering gaze is on her as he guides her along, his touch a constant reminder that she is not alone in her struggle. "You're doing great," he murmurs, the tenderness in his voice a stark contrast to the raw intensity that underscores her earlier encounter with Jason.

Aemond's voice, usually reserved and clipped, softens as he speaks, his words a gentle murmur that cuts through the tense silence between them. "You're going to be alright," he reassures, his tone laced with a rare warmth that belies his usual stoicism. "Just take deep breaths. We'll get you out of here. Okay?”

His touch lingers on her jaw, a silent reassurance that transcends the chaos that still echoes within the confines of her mind. "Let's get you cleaned up," he suggests, a quiet and comforting invitation.

With careful precision, he removes the blood-stained bracelet, each movement deliberate and considerate. As the bracelet disappears into his pocket, a fleeting sick sense of nostalgia washes over her, a bittersweet reminder of the memories she seeks to leave behind. Aemond's intense gaze softens, his eyes reflecting a silent empathy that speaks volumes.

"You're safe now," he assures her, the weight of his words offering a sanctuary that she had thought was beyond her reach only a few moments ago.

Aemond's touch, gentle yet resolute, traces a path of solace along her jawline, each stroke a tender caress that seeks to alleviate the lingering remnants of the chaos that still pulse beneath her skin. He leans his head back as he scans her for any other injuries. "You're safe now," he murmurs again and again, his voice a steadfast anchor in the tumultuous sea of emotions that threaten to engulf her.

With a haphazardly crushed pocket square that he brings out from his other pocket (his mother has forced it upon him when he leaves for the dance), he wipes away the traces of drying blood on her arm - his movements deliberate and precise. The night's breeze carries with it the whispers of uncertainty, but in the steady rhythm of Aemond's movements, she finds a sense of fleeting calm that she had thought had eluded her grasp.

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions that still swirl within her, his repeated words of comfort seem to fade into the backdrop of her consciousness. She grasps onto the steady solidity of his presence, finding a fleeting anchor in the warmth of his protective embrace. As he settles the weight of his helmet onto her head, she feels the sturdy reassurance of his world enveloping her, the scent of leather and motor oil intermingling with the rhythm of her own turbulent thoughts. She sits and makes herself as comfortable as she can on the planes of his hard leather bike seat - she has never sat on his bike before, so it is ridiculous how familiar and made-for-her the comfort feels.

His bloodied knuckles hold the handlebars of the motorbike tight, fists turning to get the accelerator going. The silver ring that he wears and the steel bracelet he has on his wrist are coated in Jason's blood.

When had he begun wearing those?

While his hands become redder in his tight grip, and the cold air hits her calves, now exposed from her hiked-up skirts on either side of the seat, she is reminded that she is with him, and nowhere else.

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

She leans into his back, her cheek finding solace in the reassuring cushion of the interiors of his helmet. She calms down to the feeling of the contours of his spine rising and falling as her vision clears up from the dried tears under the hard glass of the pulled-down visor. Her arms wind around his chest, holding onto him for dear life as the rumble of the motorbike becomes louder and louder, the pace of the noise matching her own ragged heartbeat. The chill air of the night hits her as the school becomes but a distant figure in the distance, smoke from the motorcycle exhaust billowing behind them.

This is the closest she has been to Aemond Targaryen in years. Despite them drifting apart, it is as though all the chaos of the world could be kept at bay, at least for a fleeting moment. She doesn't know where they are going, but she finds that she doesn't care - she is at ease with him.

In the faint chill of the night, he smells of coffee, cigarettes, and smoke - a blend of comfort and safety that lingers in a moment suspended in time.

THERE ARE MANY THINGS THAT SHE KNOWS AEMOND TO DO.

He has his room cleaned each week, like clockwork. He washes that motorbike of his with his own hands every weekend, even though he has staff at the house that would do it for him each day of the week if he so wishes. He rearranges his books often when he thinks nobody is looking. Always makes sure that his clothes are pressed and ready, because Gods forbid he be found looking less than perfect. He can be found spending time with the horses at the stable on the grounds of Maegor’s Holdfast - he took to horse riding after he lost his eye, and has become quite good with intense training. He jogs in the night, always right before dinner. He reads in the house library, long after the other inhabitants of the home have gone to sleep.

Beating the living shit out of someone is not one of those things.

That show of violence is not something that she attributes to him. There’s always a resigned calmness to Aemond that she only ever sees in two other members of his family - his mother and Helaena; you never know they’re thinking.

The rest of the family seems to have something that the old, absent patriarch has funnily dubbed ‘the Targaryen fire.’ But it seems like she is wrong in her assessment, for the boy that stands before her is the complete antithesis of all that she has believed him to be.

The wrinkled white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up and bright red splotches of blood that now adorn it, is not something she associates with him. The heavy silver signet ring and Valyrian steel bracelet - an heirloom that she now remembers was given for his eighteenth birthday - are both accessories that he takes great care of. And yet, tonight, they are both doused in blood. His knuckles are bloodied and bruised, nail marks visible from where Jason tries to claw at him to make him stop - the lack of cleanliness on a sharp man like Aemond jars her.

This is a completely different side to him.

She watches as he wipes off his own hand with the pocket square that is now just as dirty as she feels. She watches him remove the hair tie that he keeps his hair looped in to keep the strays away from his face. She watches him as he hangs the helmet that he takes off of her head, and lets it dangle over the rearview mirror.

She watches, keeps her eyes on him like her life depends on it. She has to. If she doesn’t, she won’t have much else to do. If she is left to herself now, she is convinced she’ll fall apart. For her own sanity, she holds onto Aemond.

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

They stand in front of Chataya’s , the all too familiar neon lights buzzing just slightly as she leans on her back against the motorbike. His black leather riding jacket is probably three sizes bigger on her, but she feels warm in it as she pulls it tighter onto her body. The parking lot is almost empty, and the air plays with her hair as it falls haphazardly in multiple directions. The beautiful dress that she wears now feels cheap to her, and she's decided that the jewelry that she wears is now tacky. Everything that she enjoyed about herself tonight is now tainted by what has happened - she can’t bring herself to think too much about it without physically recoiling.

Shame she'll have to burn the dress.

She watches Aemond through the glass, waiting for their coffees as he stands at the cash counter - ramrod straight. His blood-stained shirt is gaining him many dirty looks from the staff, but no one dares to say a word - he is a Targaryen, after all. The Aemond that she knew back when they were younger - long before they drifted apart - wouldn’t have hit someone. He was too gentle and sweet for that.

Now, however, it’s been made clear to her that he’s willing to fight if he has to.

Aemond asks one of the waitresses for something, his hands not moving much but still enough to convey the message. The woman blushes and points him to the washroom, which he emerges out of a while later, looking comparatively cleaner, blood wiped out. He then pays for the hot drinks and walks out, placing his cup on the bike seat and nudging hers into her grip as he presses the back of her hands into either side of the cup. He is so close to her that he is exuding heat, much like a furnace.

She’d almost forgotten how beautiful she thought his mismatched pair of eyes were. She remembers now.

Her eyes remain fixed on where his hands rest over hers, attempting to warm them up with the hot cup he's holding. She can't muster much beyond a sense of comfort at this moment, acknowledging how much safer his touch feels compared to Jason's.

Jason. Jason asked her out and tried to -

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

Her coffee spills out of the to-go cup, scalding her, leaving her gasping at the brown drops on the edges of his jacket sleeves. She recovers swiftly, wiping her fists on her dress and gathering herself as best she can in her hazy state. They drink in silence, gazing ahead, observing the vehicles zooming past.

The silence is soothing, but she needs a distraction. So she speaks.

And so, after years, they begin again.

"You could have killed him," she murmurs, her eyes fixed on the steaming liquid in her cup. From the corner of her eye, she glances at him. He doesn't turn to look at her, but responds in the same tone she used.

"He would have deserved it."

She can't argue with that. "I didn't know you could punch like that."

"Neither did I." A new side to Aemond Targaryen, yet his responses remain true to his character. Direct, yet everything she needs.

They stand in silence once more as she sips her coffee. He's already finished - always a quick eater, a trait she's noticed from the many times he's hurriedly left the table in recent years - and he crushes the cup, walking to the bin to discard it. On his return, he retrieves a cigarette from his pocket and bites the tip, scanning the surroundings with a searching gaze.

Then, he removes it from his mouth, using his index and middle fingers, and looks at her as if they're just casually hanging out for coffee, not as if he just rescued her from an assault and beat up a fellow classmate to almost death in the process.

"Light?" he asks, before realizing a girl with nothing but the prom dress on her back, the jacket he gave her, and the coffee he bought for her probably doesn't have a lighter with her. He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head before heading back into Chataya's - most likely to charm the cash counter staff into lighting his cigarette despite the no-smoking policy. She watches as he does exactly that, striding out with the lit cigarette between his teeth, as if he owns the damn place.

It is a Sunday night. In an ideal world, she’d be grabbing breakfast pancakes with Daeron for dinner. Tonight however, she is outside at the parking lot, looking out of place in her dress and his jacket, with Aemond fucking Targaryen.

The way the tables have turned is not lost on her. Does Daeron even know what had happened? How Jason had -

Aemond. Aemond. Aemond.

"Daeron was there, wasn't he?" Her voice trembles as she chokes out the word, remembering the reason why she stepped away from the dance floor in the first place. "Yes."

Daeron and Floris Baratheon stepping in together -

Aemond. Aemond. Aemond.

If his disheveled appearance and blood-stained clothes rattle her, she is not prepared for the way he seethes as he hears her answer. "Always behind you like a lost pup, how did he let that happen to you?" His anger at his brother's supposed lack of care for her is only set aside by the long puff that he takes out of his cigarette.

She gulps, the overwhelming emotions taking over her entire being as she holds back the tears that threaten to spill. This is perhaps the first time anyone has asked why Daeron isn't with her ever since they begin to drift apart.

She’s heard many things. At least Targaryen isn't keeping you all to himself now, is one. Found himself another girl to fuck, is another.

She is not prepared for someone to see past Daeron and ask about her.

She does not answer. She cannot. The weight of the night’s events have taken away any and all strength she may have to entertain those around her, and she stands in silence as tears pool in her eyes. The sinking feeling takes over her, and she wipes off her eyes before the tears spin out of control.

Aemond seems to understand, and gives her all the time she needs to compose herself. When she’s done, he seems content to simply stand by her with his cigarette as she takes comfort in the silence around them. The only sounds are the distant clanking of plates, the faint buzzing of the neon sign and horns from vehicles zooming past them.

Somehow, it is enough to help her climb back to the surface. She’d drowned in herself for a moment there, but the fog in her mind is clearing slowly as she tells herself over and over.

She’s safe. Safe. Safe.

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

His presence, though quiet, provides a much-needed anchor amidst the storm of emotions threatening to consume her. In the dimly lit parking lot, the city's pulsating rhythm seems to offer a peculiar solace, a reminder that time passes regardless of what happens and that the world does not stop to allow her a moment to catch her breath.

Aemond's eyes flicker with concern, the smoke from his cigarette dissipating into the night air. He doesn't offer empty words of consolation, recognizing that sometimes silence is the most potent balm for a wounded soul. The night sky above, mottled with the city's glow, bears witness to their shared solitude, a fleeting moment of understanding that needs no verbal exchange.

As the minutes pass, the weight on her chest lightens imperceptibly. A sense of resolve, tempered by the raw vulnerability of the evening, settles within her. She knows the road ahead is fraught with uncertainty, yet a newfound resilience kindles within her. Aemond's silent companionship, unobtrusive yet steadfast, keeps her standing.

Eventually, she draws in a deep breath, steadying herself against the unforgiving reality that awaits beyond the sanctity of this secluded safety that he’s brought her into. With a nod of gratitude to Aemond, she straightens her posture, the remnants of tears drying on her cheeks. Determination flickers in her eyes, an unwavering resolve to confront whatever challenges lie ahead, even if the path seems shrouded in shadows.

The message is clear. She’s ready to be taken back home.

In the soft glow of the streetlights, Aemond navigates the bustling city streets with a practiced ease, the hum of the engine merging seamlessly with the rhythm of her heartbeat. She leans into him, seeking solace in the sturdy presence of his frame, a silent reassurance that she isn't alone in this dizzying world. The wind rushes past them, tousling her hair as she holds onto him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his body beneath her grip.

The cityscape unfolds before her in a blur of neon lights and towering skyscrapers. A fleeting sense of serenity washes over her, cocooned in the safety of Aemond's embrace, as if the world beyond their world of warmth and motion is a distant, inconsequential dream.

Yet, as her house looms into view, a sudden pang of reluctance tugs at her, a gnawing apprehension that threatens to unravel the fragile peace she has painstakingly cultivated in the past hour. Stepping off the bike, she reluctantly peels off Aemond's jacket, feeling the sudden chill of the night air seeping into her bones, mirroring the chill that seeps into her heart.

She turns to him, her eyes meeting his in the muted glow of the streetlamp, searching for a semblance of the solace she had found in his silent companionship. Her fingers linger for a moment on the fabric of his jacket, a poignant reminder of the warmth she craves, both physical and emotional. The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy in the air.

Thank you , she wants to say. She can only manage a weak nod, one that she struggles through while looking down at the road, rather than his mismatched pair of eyes.

Aemond's gaze lingers on her, a flicker of concern mingling with a quiet determination. He reaches out, his hand brushing against her cheek. As though he is convinced there's not much else he can do but give her space, he nods.

As Aemond revs the engine, ready to fade into the night, she stands on the threshold of her home, enveloped in the bitter chill of the evening. She watches the tail lights disappear, and with a steadying breath, she steps inside, the echo of the bike's engine fading into the distance, leaving behind a lingering sense of quiet resolve in its wake.

When she finally manages to sleep, her mind is painted with the image of a captivating pair of mismatched eyes, etched into her brain like a welcome dream.

The bracelet that he’d removed from her wrist - still in his pocket - does not cross her mind at all.

Not once.

SERIES MASTERLIST

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 2 days

Note

Hey girlll I love ur writing. Can u do like a tangerine taking care of a pregnant wife or girlfriend. I’m not sure if u already did one I couldn’t find it but thankyouuu 💖💖💖💖💖

hii honey!! thank you! ive done hcs but realised ive never actually written a fic about it??? (I think) thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

BABY BRAIN.

tangerine x fem!reader — fluff

word count. 443

"Can I get you anything while I'm out here, love?" your husband calls out to you from the kitchen - his head poking out to see you in the other room.

You're in the living room, slumped in the armchair, too big to move —or so it feels— your thirty-week-old baby in your belly making you feel like a whale.

"Just a tea, please, honey," you reply, looking up at him from across the way. "Oh— and you know how you do those really cute little heart sandwiches? Can you make me one of those, please?"

He smiles, nodding. "Anything else?"

You take a moment, trying to figure out what your body wants. "Can I get some pickles, too, please? Just in a little bowl— only a few."

Tangerine lingers in the doorway, anticipating you have more to say.

"... and an ice lolly. I'm feeling dizzy again," you pause, trying to figure out if you've already eaten them - your baby brain making things difficult to retrace. "There should be a new box at the bottom of the freezer," you say, speaking hopefully.

With Tangerine knowing your nausea has returned, he leaves his spot in the kitchen doorframe, walking over to the freezer to fetch your frozen treats. But then you hear a quiet 'fuck', the sound almost disappointed.

He walks back into your viewline, softly shaking his head. "They're all gone, darlin'."

It was silly how much those words upset you. It was the only thing you really needed - the sandwiches and pickles coming from a place of want.

Your lips turn down into a frown, the bottom one almost wobbling. "Did you check all the drawers?"

He hums, making his way closer to you. "I did," he nods, taking a seat at the edge of the coffee table - sitting in front of you.

"Even the top one? Sometimes I hide things in there," you say quietly, trying not to get emotional over an ice lolly.

"I did, darlin'. I checked them all."

You pause, your expression begging not to cry. "Can we get some more?"

Your husband fights off a smile, trying not to upset you any further by him finding it all so endearing. "Course," he nods, standing up.

He presses a kiss into your forehead before moving out into the hallway - collecting a pair of shoes for you —ones that only required to be slipped on—

He assists as you put your shoes on, him crouched down, doing the work for you. And when you go to stand, he slips his hand into yours - helping you up.

"Can we go to the drive-thru, too?"

AAHHHHHHHHHHHH NOT OKAY🥹

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #dad tangerine #tangerine fluff #tangerine bullet train

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idleoblivion · 2 days

Text

"I Know Who You Really Are" Deuce Spade x GN Reader

Synopsis: After a run in with some former ‘friends’ of his, you reassure him that his efforts aren’t wasted.

Word Count: ~1k

A/N: I intended this platonic but read it however you want. Also I promise I don't write fics almost the exact same length on purpose idk why it keeps happening.

Warnings: Deuce is sad/insecure, reverse comfort, also you both bully Ace in a fic where he isn't even there to defend himself lol

You were sitting on the couch in your dorm, casually scrolling through Magicam when the front door abruptly swung open. Looking up, you see Deuce, who walks over to the other end of the couch and plops down. Immediately, something feels off to you. You’re confused when he doesn’t say anything to you, so you speak up first.

“Uh, hey. What’s up?”

He mumbles something under his breath that you don’t quite catch. He’s slouched over and won’t look at you. Your brow creases in worry.

It’s not unheard of for Ace and Deuce to come barging into your dorm unannounced, if they were bored or wanted to borrow your notes or whatever excuse they had. Today’s instance wasn't normal though, you could tell.

“Where’s Ace at?” “I don’t know. I don’t feel like dealing with him right now.”

“Did he do something? Or say something? He runs his mouth a lot but you know it doesn’t mean anything.” Normally a jab at Ace would get him to at least smile, but his expression stays as glum as it was when he walked in.

“No, he didn’t do anything. I’m just not in the mood.”

“Did something else happen then?” You scooch a little closer to him and put your phone in your pocket. “If you want to talk about it, you know I’ll listen.”

He’s silent again. You’re kind of at a loss, stuck between trying to push him for answers or just letting it go. Despite your concerns, you settle for the second option. You pull out your phone again and get back on Magicam. Maybe he just needed some peace and quiet.

Neither of you say anything until he starts fidgeting a little, which gets your attention back. You notice him eyeing you like he wants to ask you something, so you turn to face him again. “Come on, what happened?”

“It’s just… is anything I’m doing even worth it?” You blink in surprise. He sounds uncharacteristically serious, and you’re caught off guard by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“This… this whole ‘honor student’ thing I’m trying to do. Is there any point?” He’s slumped over even more now, looking entirely dejected.

You take a second before you answer. “You’re working hard to improve yourself and be a good student. How is there no point to that? Plus you said you wanted to make your mom proud, I definitely think you’re doing that.” The mention of his mother makes him scowl and you’re worried you said the wrong thing.

“If she is proud, she shouldn’t be.”

Your eyes widen a little at that. “Deuce, where is this coming from?”

He looks hesitant to say more, but a reassuring nudge to his shoulder from you is enough to get him talking again.

“Just…some guys I used to know before I came here… I ran into them over the weekend, and they started making fun of me for trying to clean up my act.” He takes a frustrated breath in and continues. “Talking about how I was still just like them, and this whole goody-two-shoes act is a sham. And that I’ll never be good enough to be a real honor student. That I’m stupid for even trying. ”

You take in his story for a second before frowning. “Well, that’s just wrong. That’s not right at all.”

“Isn’t it though? I’m always behind you and Ace, I try to stay out of trouble but sometimes I still can’t, and so many people just know me as that same delinquent.” He hangs his head low and clenches his fists in his lap.

“Deuce…” You rest your hand on top of his, and he looks up at you again. “That’s not your problem, it’s theirs. If they don’t want to see the effort you’re putting in, that’s on them. You’re not perfect because of course you're not, nobody is. But you always work hard, and you’ve made great progress already. It’s not your fault they choose to ignore that.”

“And more importantly,” you smile gently at him, “I know how hard you try. I know who you really are. So does your mom. And so do our friends, even with all the shit they give you. I promise they have your back just like I do.”

He pauses to think about what you said. He cautiously meets your eyes again.

“You think I’m good? You mean that?”

“Yes, I do.” You state confidently.

That seems to finish reassuring him, as he half-smiles before staring back down at his hands in his lap and muttering a quiet “Thank you.”

You nudge him again. “Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when me and Ace are done handling those guys.” You joke.

He laughs at that and flashes you the first real smile he’s had since showing up. “Please don’t, don’t start acting like a delinquent for me. Neither of you can fight anyway.”

"Hey, Ace punched your dorm leader and got away with it."

"Sucker punched him, if he was ready Ace never would've landed the hit. Also he immediately overblotted, how is that getting away with it?"

You shrug and pull out your phone again. “Doesn't matter, I've got a new idea. You think I could find those stupid guys on Magicam? How do I do that?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“See? You’re so uptight, you’ll make a perfect honor student. As soon as you learn how to study without me.”

“Oh whatever.” He’s grinning though, and he’s lost that gloomy aura he came in with.

He’s never had friends like you, who would take the time to comfort him without question. Who could see potential in him and believed he could really be something. He’s not used to this kind of feeling, but he can’t pretend he doesn’t enjoy it. You make him feel cared about, and that’s more than most people have ever given him.

Yeah, if someone like you has his back, he must be on the right path.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst fluff #deuce spade #twst deuce #deuce x reader #deuce spade x reader #deuce spade x yuu

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sequinsmile-x · 2 days

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Receiving & Giving Gifts

Five times the team witness Aaron & Emily's gift-giving skills, and one time they didn't.

The final part of my series of unrelated oneshots, each one dedicated to one of the five main Love Languages.

-x-

Hi friends,

Hope you are all okay!

This one massively got away from me, shock horror I know, and is based on an ask I got about a fic with the team point of view when Aaron and Emily buy each other things, with a focus on the fact Emily is rich af.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 5.6k

Warnings: pregnancy, a LOT of fluff

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Dave

Dave liked to pretend he knew they were together from the start.

Emily always called him out on it. She’d roll her eyes as she pressed herself closer to Aaron’s side, telling him that he was full of shit as she drank his expensive wine on pasta night. Dave knew Aaron didn’t believe him either, although he was more subtle in his attempts to let him know that, and he was fine with that.

If Dave was honest, he had no idea until Aaron and Emily told them. It made him look back at every moment he could think of over the previous eight months to see if there was anything he’d missed, any sign he’d overlooked. His friends were worryingly good at keeping secrets, something he’d already known about Emily once her past with Ian Doyle had come out, but it was news about Aaron. He’d always been private, always played his cards close to his chest, but Dave had always liked to think he could read him like a book.

Even now, six months after Emily and Aaron had come clean about their relationship, it was strange to see them together sometimes. They were professional at work, called each other Hotch and Prentiss and kept their distance unless the other was hurt, but outside of work, things were different. They’d always be huddled together somewhere, sometimes lost in their own little world as they had a conversation no one else was privy to. They were soft with each other, tender in a way he wouldn’t believe if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

It was what they both deserved, the gentle life they both had earned after waging through fire to make it to the other side.

He smiles as he watches them walk into the office together, how Emily knocks her shoulder against Aaron’s as they walk through the glass doors before they step apart from each other. They exchange a quick look, a soft smile that passes from his face to hers, and then they go their separate ways. - Emily towards their desk and Aaron towards the kitchenette where Dave is standing.

“Morning,” Dave says, smiling behind his mug of coffee as he lifts it to take a sip. Aaron smiles at his friend and grabs two mugs and places them on the counter.

“Morning,” he replies, reaching for the coffee pot and pouring it into the two mugs, “You’re in early.”

“Thought I’d try and beat the traffic,” Dave says, watching his friend as he reaches for the box of Splenda packets, his sleeve shifting up just enough to expose his wrist and the new watch Dave had never seen before. Even at a glance, he knew it was expensive, that it was worth more than anything else he’d ever seen Aaron wear and his smile gets wider, “That’s a nice watch.”

Aaron smiles as he dumps two Splenda’s into Emily’s coffee, “Thanks. It’s from Emily,” he says, a look that always shone in his eyes when he spoke about his girlfriend briefly flashing through them, “She bought it for me because of what happened last week.”

Dave nods in understanding. Aaron’s watch had been damaged in the takedown of the unsub in their most recent case, its glass face smashed against the floor as the guy made a run for it. Aaron had walked away without a scratch on him, which was something that Emily had made sure the EMTs confirmed before they left the scene. His smile turns into a smirk as he looks at the watch again.

It was something he’d noticed almost as soon as they told everyone they were together. They bought each other gifts frequently. Aaron would bring Emily flowers. She’d buy his favourite dessert and they’d both pretend it was for her, Aaron’s denial of his sweet tooth long established, and they’d eat it together. They were always small things. Tokens of affection that reminded the other that they were there, that they loved each other.

This was the first big purchase he’d seen, a rare show of Emily’s wealth that he couldn’t help but smile at.

“Nice to have the finer things in life, huh?”

Aaron frowns as he turns to look at him, “What do you mean?”

“The watch,” Dave says, nodding towards it, “It’s got to be worth $10,000.”

Aaron’s eyes go almost comically wide as he briefly looks over at his girlfriend, her focus on trying to get her computer working so she could start her day, and then he looks back at Dave, “It’s…it cost $10,000? That’s more than I spent on my first car. A lot more.”

Dave chuckles and pats him on the shoulder, “Like I said, nice to have the finer things in life,” he says, winking at him, “It pays to have a girlfriend who’s rich.”

Aaron hums thoughtfully before he excuses himself, both coffees in hand as he walks back over towards Emily. Dave watches intently as they have a quiet discussion, Emily’s brow furrowing as she looks back and forth between Aaron and his watch, the flush to her cheeks obvious even from where Dave is standing.

He finds it amusing until Aaron walks up to his office and Emily turns to look at Dave, her eyes narrowed as she glares at him across the room. He clears his throat and sips his coffee, hoping he’d be able to get through the day without her carrying out whatever revenge she was clearly already planning.

___

Penelope

To say she was delighted when Aaron asked for her help was an understatement.

She’d actually had to cover her mouth to contain her squeal when he walked into her office, a nervous expression on his face that she’d never seen before, and asked for her help to buy an engagement ring for Emily.

It’s how she finds herself in a jewellery store with him on a Saturday morning, her body almost vibrating with excitement as she looks in all of the cases, her eyes shifting from ring to ring as Aaron does the same.

“Where does Peaches think you are today?” She asks as she looks up, suppressing a smile at the slightly bewildered look on his face as he stares at the rings in front of them.

“She thinks I’m with Dave,” he replies, a smile flashing across his face, “Something about helping him build furniture.”

Penelope chuckles, “Does he know about that?”

Aaron nods as he looks back at the engagement rings in front of them, “He does,” he smiles, a rare smile she only ever saw on his face when he was thinking about Emily, “He’s still trying to get back into her good books after the incident with the watch.”

She has to suppress a smile at that, pressing her lips together as she fights a laugh at the memory of Dave coming to her, furious and insisting that there was something wrong with the firewall because he was being inundated with marketing emails from companies he’d never heard of. It turned out Emily had signed him up for several different mailing lists to get him back for freaking Aaron out about the watch she’d bought him.

The emails were still occasionally coming through even all these weeks later, and Emily never failed to find amusement in it when Dave would groan in irritation.

Penelope looks at the watch and smiles, “It’s a very nice watch,” she says, “And we have to get her a very nice ring.”

He chuckles humorlessly, “Not $10,000 nice though,” he quips, “I don’t have that kind of money, and it wouldn’t feel right to buy a ring with her money.”

She can see the insecurity that flashes across his face, a moment of vulnerability that was rare in itself but seems even more obvious in the casual clothes he’s wearing, the lack of his suit, something he always wore like armour, making it stand out. She sighs sympathetically and tilts her head as she looks up at him.

“Sir,” she starts, her cheeks going warm when he raises his eyebrow at her, something she knows is a silent reminder that she didn’t have to call him that, “Hotch,” she corrects herself, “Emily loves you. She’d love anything you gave her - even if it was one of those ring pops.”

He chuckles and nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly as his gaze drifts back to the display case full of rings, “You’re right.”

“I so often am,” she replies, smiling widely when he looks back at her, “Now,” she says, standing back at the case and looking at the rings with a level of concentration she usually only had at work, “As much as I am a fan of getting the flashiest diamond possible, we both know Emily would want something she could wear at work. So we need to pick something she can wear with gloves at a crime scene.”

Aaron nods and blows out a slow breath, “It wasn’t this complicated last time.”

She smiles sadly when she looks at him, “When you proposed to Haley?”

“I used her mother’s ring,” he says, giving her a rare insight into his life. She doesn’t push, doesn’t ask any more questions in case he stops, she simply stands there and waits for him to carry on, “I was fresh out of college and broke and…she was close to her parents,” he says as he looks at her, “So it seemed like the right thing to do,” his lips curl into a half smile, his dimples slowly appearing in his cheeks, “Emily on the other hand…”

“Isn’t close to her mother,” she finishes for him and he nods, chuckling humourlessly as he looks back at the rings.

“No she is not,” he replies, not saying anything he knows Emily wouldn’t want him to. His expression changes as he looks at one ring in particular. It was a white gold band with a teardrop diamond. Simple and beautiful and everything Emily would love, “What about that one?”

Penelope smiles as she leans over the case, familiar happiness warming her from the inside out, “I think it’s perfect.”

It’s hard to keep it a secret. Love and excitement for her friend bubbling under her skin as she watches Emily go about her days unaware of the upcoming change in her life. She has to stop herself from saying something when Emily tells her Aaron has a date planned but isn’t telling her anything about it, a hint of irritation in her voice Penelope knows she doesn’t mean.

The next morning when they walk into the office, Emily’s smile shining just as brightly as the ring on her finger, Penelope knows it had been a secret worth keeping.

___

Derek

Derek hated the mall.

He’d never been a fan of them, found them too busy, too loud and the exact opposite of how he liked to spend his free time, but the case with the missing little girl a few years ago had made him hate them even more.

He planned to get in and out as quickly as possible, a firm plan in his mind to get his mother’s birthday gift and card and then immediately head home. It’s as he’s choosing a card when he hears it, a laugh he’d recognise anywhere in one of the other aisles. He smiles to himself as he goes to investigate, his smile only getting wider when he spots Emily and Jack standing huddled together, a card in the little boy’s hands as he looks at it thoughtfully.

Derek still felt guilty sometimes about his initial reaction to finding out Emily and Aaron were together. He’d never been one to react to change well, something his mother often told him, and he knew he hadn’t on this occasion. He’d been standoffish, only talking to them both when he had to. It had culminated in Emily yelling at him, her irritation finally getting the better of her as she told him to get his head out of his ass, that she was happy and that she deserved to be.

It took Aaron getting hurt, a minor injury only a few weeks after they told the team that they were together, for him to realise how much they actually cared for each other. He saw with his own eyes that the relationship he was convinced was nothing more than a fling that would fizzle out was so much more than that. Concern flowing off of Emily like he’d never seen before until she saw Aaron herself, the relief palpable as she threw herself at him only to pull back immediately when he grimaced slightly.

Ever since then, he’d watch them together when they thought no one was watching. Observe as they focused only on each other. He’d done so at their wedding as the guests slowly left, his eyes fixed on them as they slow danced together on the empty dance floor, letting themselves be led by the love they had for each other in place of the music that was no longer playing.

He takes a moment to watch her with Jack, her focus entirely on the little boy who now called her Mom. She’d always been good with kids, he knew that, but seeing her as a mother was something else entirely.

Something that, if his hunch was right, she’d be doing more of soon.

She’d been different lately. Exhausted all the time but turning coffee every time it was offered to her and turning her nose up at food anytime someone ate in front of her. Penelope had mentioned that she knew they were trying for a baby and he couldn’t help but wonder if their family would be getting bigger soon.

He clears his throat to announce his presence, “Fancy seeing you two here.”

Emily smiles as she looks up, and she steps towards him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug, “Derek, hi. What are you doing here?”

He pulls back, “Getting my mom’s birthday present,” he says, winking at Jack, “What about you two?”

Emily opens her mouth to reply but is cut off as Jack excitedly replies, “It’s Father’s Day soon so we are getting Daddy’s card and present.”

Derek ruffles the little boy's hair, “That sounds great buddy,” he says enthusiastically, “What are you getting him?”

“We got his cologne because Mom said he smells nice,” Jack replies, not picking up on how Emily’s cheeks go bright red, her gaze drifting to the floor as she avoid Derek’s eye contact and smirk, “And then a picture of the three of us from the wedding,” he carries on, “And then Mom said she’s got him a surprise.”

Derek smiles as Emily’s eyes briefly go wider before she wraps her arm around Jack, “Come on sweetie, we should leave Uncle Derek to it.”

He shrugs, hiding a smile as he tests his theory, “I have time for a slice of pizza at the food court if you guys do.”

Emily almost turns green, visibly swallowing thickly as she shakes her head, her free hand briefly pressing against her stomach, “That’s okay,” she says, smiling tightly, “We were just there and Jack had something to eat,” she looks down at the little boy, “You ready to go?”

Jack nods and smiles and waves at Derek, “Bye Uncle Derek.”

“Bye Little Hotch,” he says, fist bumping Jack and smiling when Emily rolls her eyes at him, “Bye, Em.”

“See you at work on Monday, Derek.”

A month later, when they announce Emily is pregnant, he smiles and then immediately goes to Penelope’s office to get the $20 she owed him.

___

“I am so uncomfortable.”

JJ hums sympathetically at her friend as she sits back in the booth they are both in, a soft smile spreading across her face as she watches her friend rub her hand on her belly, “Your back?”

Emily grumbles as she tries to get comfortable, “Everything,” she complains, shifting again, “I feel so full of baby and food. I have no idea how I’ll cope when I’m further along.”

JJ chuckles and raises her eyebrow at her, “I guess you probably won’t have room for two desserts when you’re further along.”

Emily narrows her eyes at her, “The cake was good,” she replies defensively, “It doesn’t help that the mattress in our room is a piece of crap.”

“It’s bad in my room too,” JJ replies, checking her watch, “Where did Hotch get to?”

“He had to stay at the precinct,” Emily says, smiling as she rubs her hand on her stomach again, “I was going to wait but he told me to come get some food. He knows I’ve been eyeing up this diner since the moment we arrived.”

JJ smiles at her friend, “Well, I’ll always be free to go out and eat with you.”

She laughs and nods at her, “You’re a good friend,” she winces and rubs a firm circle on her bump, “She won’t stop kicking,” she smiles and sighs contentedly, “She never stops. I haven’t slept properly in weeks.”

“Totally worth it though, right?”

Emily smiles and nods, her lips pressed together as she tries to contain the joy that JJ knew she still wasn’t sure she deserved, “Totally worth it.”

They both look towards the diner’s front door when the bell indicating it was open rings, and Emily’s smile gets impossibly wider when Aaron walks in, a large Target bag in his hand. He smiles when he sees them and walks over, kissing Emily as he slips into the booth next to her.

“Hi sweetheart.”

“Hi,” she replies, kissing him again, “I thought you had to stay behind to work and you went shopping?”

He clears his throat and JJ finds the flush that tints his cheeks pink adorable and she can’t help but interrupt, enjoying the insight into their lives that she wasn’t privy to, “I didn’t even know this town had a Target.”

He looks back and forth between her and Emily, sighing at the teasing grins on their faces and he smiles tightly, “There isn’t,” he says, passing the bag over to Emily, “But there is one the next town over so I went to get this for you.”

Emily frowns curiously, “Honey, the next town is an hour away…” She drifts off as she opens the plastic bag, her eyes shining as she pulls a U-shaped pillow out of it, “You bought me a pregnancy pillow?”

He nods as if it is obvious, “You were uncomfortable and the mattress in our room is terrible. I know you have one at home but I thought this could be one we brought on cases until you stay back,” he says, reaching over and tucking some of her hair behind her ear, sneakily catching a tear that JJ thinks he didn’t know she’d seen, “I’ll carry it for you and everything.”

Emily shakes her head at him and leans in to kiss him, her hand on his cheek as she pulls back, “I love you,” she says, kissing him again, “You’re the best husband I’ve ever had.”

“I’m the only husband you’ve ever had,” he quips, and she laughs, hugging the pillow to her chest.

“Well, you’re setting the bar pretty high for your replacement,” she jokes and he rolls his eyes before he leans in and kisses her cheek.

“I’m going to order some of that pie the sign outside claims is the best in the state,” he says, stepping out of the booth, “Do either of you want anything?”

They both shake their heads and he walks towards the counter, leaving them alone for a couple of minutes. JJ looks at her friend, at how she’s looking at the pregnancy pillow as if it’s the best gift she’s ever been given, Aaron’s thoughtfulness, the fact he’d gone out of his way without being asked to get her something to make her more comfortable, making it worth more than anything else.

“You okay, Em?”

Emily looks up at her and nods, her lips pressed together as she tries to control her emotions, a slave to her hormones as she had been for months now, “Yeah,” she replies, chuckling at herself as she wipes another tear from her cheek, “I just never thought I’d have all of this, you know?”

JJ nods and reaches over the table, resting her hand over her friends and squeezing, “I know,” she says, squeezing her hand again, “But if anyone deserves it, it’s you and Hotch.”

Emily blows out a shaky breath and looks over at her husband, smiling as she catches his eye as he stands at the counter, and she nods as she turns back to JJ, “Yeah, I think you might be right.” ___

Spencer

He was always the first in the office these days.

Aaron and Emily used to get there before him, something he knew was largely down to Aaron, but they didn’t anymore. Ever since Ivy was born 6 months ago they were almost always the last in. The realities of having an infant and a 7-year-old and getting them out of the house in the morning was something that not even Aaron’s efficiency could overcome.

Spencer sighs as he settles at his desk, his cup of coffee in hand, and he starts to catch up on his paperwork. He greets the team as they come in, always arriving in the same order. First Dave, then Derek, then Penelope. JJ would come next, throwing him a wink as she passed him a pastry she’d bought for him on the way in. She also puts one on Emily’s desk, and it draws his attention to something he hasn’t seen before.

Just to the right of her computer is a framed photo of Jack and Ivy, the baby girl in her proud brother’s lap, his smile wide as he looks at the camera. Something about it is familiar to Spencer, even though he’s never seen it on Emily’s desk before but it takes him a second to place it.

Aaron had the same picture on his desk. It was a new feature there too, something he’d never seen before the recent Christmas break, but he’d spotted it the day before when he’d dropped off paperwork in his office.

“Good morning.”

He looks up and smiles at Emily as she sits down, a large coffee in her hands as she shrugs off her jacket and yawns.

“Tired?” JJ asks and Emily groans, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Ivy hates sleep,” she complains, turning her chair around, “And she hates anyone else sleeping.”

“I brought you a pastry.”

Emily groans and tears the paper bag open, “You’re an angel,” she pulls the pastry apart and takes a bite, her gaze drifting to Spencer, her eyebrows furrowing when she spots him staring past her, “You okay, Reid?”

He seemingly snaps out of it, his eyes widening slightly before he clears his throat, his curiosity getting the better of him, “I thought Hotch had that picture on his desk.”

“Oh,” Emily looks at the framed photo next to her and then back at him, her lips pressed together as she clicks her tongue, “He does.”

Derek pops his head up, seemingly interested in their conversation now there is a chance to make fun of her, “You have the same photo?”

“It’s a cute photo,” she says, slightly more defensive than she means to be, and she blows out a breath, “We…got it for each other for Christmas.”

“You got each other the same gift?” Spencer asks, furrowing his brow, “In the same frame?”

Emily pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, “Yes. We did.”

Derek laughs and leans back in his chair, “I guess it’s true that couples start to turn into each other after they’ve been together long enough.”

“Shut up Derek,” she replies, narrowing her eyes at him, “My kids are cute and it’s a cute picture.”

He holds his hand up, barely hiding his smile, “Whatever you say Princess, but the two of you aren’t that far off dressing the same.”

“Actually, Emily and Hotch co-ordinated their outfits long before they were together,” Spencer says, only realising he’d spoken when they all stare at him, varying degrees of amusement on their faces, “His ties matched your shirt often enough I actually thought you were together before you were.”

He’d never told anyone that he already knew they were together when they told them. He’d spotted them together months ago but kept it to himself, certain that there was a reason Emily and Aaron were keeping it to themselves. Even if he hadn’t seen them, he thinks he would have figured it out. Patterns had started to emerge. They would arrive at work at similar times. They would go to breakfast together at the hotels they stayed at during cases. If one was upset or hurt, the other would disappear alongside them and then when they came back they’d stand a little closer than usual.

He’d never said anything, largely because he knew no one would believe him, but also because he saw no merit in taking their secrecy away from them. It had brought them a kind of peace they both were due, and he wasn’t going to ruin it for them.

Emily stares at him for a moment before sighing and shaking her head, picking up her coffee and turning her back on them all as she switches on her computer.

“It is far too early in the morning for this.”

When Aaron walks out of his office, his tie the same shade of red as Emily’s shirt, the team all burst into laughter, something that’s only made worse by his obvious confusion.

___

Aaron & Emily

There were two things Aaron had always known about Emily.

The first was that she was rich. He hadn’t known quite how rich until they got together and she told him. He’d had to sit down afterwards, his eyes wide as she showed him that she could buy their dream house, that she could buy the whole neighbourhood if she wanted. When he’d finally pulled himself together he could see that she was worried, as if knowing this about her had changed his opinion of her. As if anything could make him be anything less than in awe of her at all times.

The second thing he’d always known about her was that she was endlessly generous.

She spent money without thinking about it. She bought dinner for the team on nights when cases got away from them, or paid the tab at the bar on a night out. She bought him a $10,000 watch when his broke. She’d paid for Penelope’s medical bills when she was shot, easily picking up the bits that the FBI insurance didn’t cover, and Aaron had learnt after they became a couple that she’d done the same for him too. That she’d paid out of pocket for him to have the best physio in the state so he could recover as quickly as possible. She always did it quietly, was less flashy than Dave sometimes was with his wealth, something Aaron thought must come down to being ‘old money’ rich instead of ‘new money’ rich, and she never seemed to expect anything in return.

As much as he loved her for it, for the way she so casually loved him and their children, it sometimes made it impossible to buy her gifts that didn’t feel like they were lacking in comparison. She would never make him feel that way. She’d react to any gift from him or the kids like they’d handed her the stars themselves.

He feels nothing short of annoyed at himself at how long it takes him to realise it’s the homemade gifts that mean the most to her. How her smile would get wider when she unwrapped a mug that had been made at Ivy’s daycare, her eyes shining with tears when she’d traced her fingers over their daughter’s tiny hand prints and then refused to drink tea out of anything else. How she’d kept every drawing Jack had ever given her, even the ones from before she and Aaron got together, and had her favourites framed and on her desk at work.

By the time their anniversary comes around, he’s worked on his gift for her for weeks. He’d found old ticket stubs and receipts from dates they’d gone on when they were first together. He carefully stuck them down in a scrapbook, pushing through the frustration when the pages would stick together because he knew she’d love it. He puts in an invitation from their wedding that he’d kept back. Pictures of them all drawn by Jack and copies of the first ultrasound images they had of Ivy.

He knows he’s not an artist, but by the time he’s done, he’s pleased with it. A scrapbook of their life so far together, pages purposely left blank so he could add to it if she wanted him to. Despite liking it, when it comes to their anniversary he’s nervous, anxiety licking at his insides as he slips it into the gift bag he’d bought.

He finds her on the couch, dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of leggings, a sleepy smile on her face as she tucks her legs up under herself and pats the spot next to her.

“Come here, honey,” she says, suppressing a yawn, “The kids are asleep, but we both know Ivy won’t be for long,” she smiles as she thinks of the 13-month-old. Their little girl had never been a good sleeper, but they were used to it now and neither of them could imagine their lives any other way, “Let’s exchange gifts and go to bed.”

He smiles as he sits next to her, leaning in to kiss her cheek, but she turns, capturing his lips with hers instead. He stamps another kiss against her before he pulls back, “We could have gone out, sweetheart.”

She shakes her head and runs her fingers through his hair, “No, this is what I wanted. You, me and the kids. And a home-cooked meal,” she kisses him again, “I don’t need to go sit in a restaurant to feel loved by you.”

He nods, knowing he doesn’t need anything else either, and then blows out a slow breath and hands her the gift bag, “Happy Anniversary, Em.”

Her smile gets impossibly wider as she takes the bag from him, stamping a kiss against his cheek as she leans back with it in her lap, “Oh it’s heavy,” she says, reaching into the bag and pulling out the book, “Your gift is a lot smaller by the…”

She drifts off as she realises what she is looking at, her fingers tracing the outside of the scrapbook before she opens it, a gasp catching in her throat as she turns the pages. Memories of their time together stuck down and on display for her to see. She feels a burning in the back of her eyes, familiar tears that she knew she wouldn't avoid shedding as she continues to turn the pages - pictures and tickets and keepsakes from the last few years staring back at her.

“Aaron…”

“I know it’s not much-” he starts, but she cuts him off, all but launching herself at him as she grabs his face and kisses him, the book trapped between them.

“It’s perfect,” she says, pulling back just enough to speak before she kisses him again, “It’s…I love you.”

She’d already preferred homemade gifts. It was as if love was pressed into the very seams of them, time and effort from her loved ones more precious to her than any amount of money ever could be.

“I love you too.”

She smiles as she pulls back and reaches behind her, grabbing a small gift bag she’d hidden amongst the couch cushions, “Here you go,” she says, nervously biting her lower lip as she hands it over, “Your’s is homemade too.”

He smiles curiously at her as she wraps her arms around her knees and hugs them to her chest, the scrapbook now between them, and his heart skips a beat when he feels a long thin piece of plastic in his hands and he already knows what it is before he looks at it. He looks down and chokes on a surprised laugh when his suspicion is confirmed, a positive pregnancy test staring back up at him.

“Em…”

She presses her lips together as her lips shake at the wonder in his voice, “I know technically you helped make this gift,” she says, her cheeks warm as he looks at her with so much love she thinks she could burst, “But I’ll be doing all the hard work and literal heavy lifting, so I thought it counted.”

“It definitely counts,” he says, pulling her towards him so she’s in his lap, his arms tight around her as he kisses her fiercely, hoping it goes some way to express just how much he loves her, “This is the best anniversary present ever.”

She nods and kisses him, her forehead against his as she sighs contentedly, her thumb pressing into his lower lip as she gently corrects him, “Best anniversary present so far.”

-x-

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