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penvisions · 2 months

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return the favor {chapter 22}

Pairing: Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Smuggler! Reader || M! OC x Pre Boston QZ! Reader (flashback scenes)

Summary: Memories often spring up at the worst of times, but as you continue to travel alone there's not much else to occupy your mind.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: minor character death, m! oc death, canon typical violence, canon typical language, cursing, insult, sexual content, non con, allusions to non con sexual advances, allusions to p in v, unprotected p in v that results in pregnancy, kissing, pregnancy, symptoms of pregnancy, mentions of nausea but no vomiting, allusions to child loss, fighting, blood, reader gets injured, joel gets injured, guns, gun violence, self-depreciating internal monologue, if i left anything out pls lemme know!

A/N: trying something new with this chapter, i hope it reads well! thank you to everyone who participated in the poll for the next few chapters of this fic! this one is a little shorter, but the next one will be a doozy. my mind is a little overwhelmed with school and tutoring and four different WIPS

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Joel was trying.

He was trying to tamp down the anxiety he knew would thrum in his veins the second the gates of Jackson closed behind him. Back out in the unknown and unpredictable landscape. Winter was granting him a passive day, no snow, no biting wind, cloud coverage clear for the sky to shine a light blue to crystal clear you would think it was a brisk summer day. But the pause in extreme weather aside from the near freezing temperature did nothing to quell the pulse beneath his skin.

He was alone, traveling with a teenager he had come to care about in a dangerous way.

The journey had been meant to be made with Tess, first. Strong-willed, no-nonsense saint of a woman for taking what he could offer her and not asking for anything in return. Just wanting to share space and renown within a controlled setting that allowed for them to execute their runs and make what passed for a decent living back in what was left of the quarantine zones. To share their bodies when human nature sparked connection in the oldest and most instinctual of ways. She had turned an eye to his abuse of the very same things they traded for food, for water, for supplies for their shabby apartment that had seen far better days before they stepped foot inside.

Then journey was then meant to be made with you. A surprise in the moments after her death. Skilled in many things and willing to help a man suddenly saddled with a teenager he had no clue how to interact with. But he had, once upon a time. The situation tasting of irony and self-destruction. Selfless to the point of disembarking on your own path in the wake of his own attempt at running when faced with something too real for the world. Maybe in the Before times, it would have worked out. Perhaps a meet cute as he delivered his brother to an urgent care for a drunken blunder, a work accident he himself fell victim to, or a begged visit for Sarah should she had fallen off her bike or taken a tumble in soccer practice. Maybe then it would have been given life, hopeful glances and lingering touches that would have turned into nervous dates. Nervous dates that would give way to regular familiarity and then heated nights beneath sheets of his bed.

But it had never should’ve blossomed in the now, in the after. And yet, it had tried.

Ellie was mad. She wasn’t trying.

Not the first day at least.

Speaking when spoken to, ire and hurt flaring uncomfortably in moments he could sense weren’t aimed at him. At least not completely. Aimed at you, for going back on your word. Something you wouldn’t have had to do if he hadn’t screwed up so monumentally by falling for you. He had been wrong in his accusations, throwing the proposition you made to him all those days ago back in your face. Like you had forced yourself on him, forced him into thinking of you that way, of wanting you that way. But it had been him, his decision to take you up on it in his grief. Wanting to feel something other than the gaping hole that seemed to eat up more and more of him as the years went by.

But instead of just taking his body in the ways he allowed you to, you had also begun to heal that black hole he was made up of. Slowly and so minimally at a time that he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

He stopped and made the time to teach her how to shoot the rifle, hoping it would help to bring her out of her shell. And it worked, he silently thanked the universe, it worked. She was cracking jokes and quipping like normal. Mirth lighting up her eyes and questions flowing from her. And he indulged them, as best he could. Telling her of how he supported himself before the world fell apart. About how he always dreamed of singing and making music.

But just as everything seemed to be on the mend, it was broken once again.

With the crack of a wooden bat.

“A-Angelo?” You voice was as shaky as your reaching hands, fingers brushing against the man’s face only a few steps away. He was older, that much was certain. Only a year apart back then, back when the world functioned in an entirely different way. Only a year apart, but two decades of time separating you now, turned into completely different people. A wave of emotions at finding your family by pure chance and circumstance in the wilds of a state you had never been to before while on your way to look for them hit hard. You both surged forward and embraced, the man’s arms coming around you and tightening.

“I thought it was you, the hair,” He choked out, deep voice cracking. He was so broad, tall frame looming over you, developed fully into a man who had survived the worst of nature and humanity. Just as you had grown into a woman who took nothing of ill nature aimed at you, taking the things that had happened to you and using it as a foundation to be stronger.

“It’s me, I’m okay.” You gripped his shoulders tight, pushing him back a little to look him over.

“No injuries, no bites, you’re okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m okay….We both are.”

That’s when your mind decided to remind you of the other voice you heard, the feminine one.

A young girl, no more than her teens and far too skinny was half concealed behind a tree trunk a few yards away. Her eyes were brown, honey brown and beautiful and they reminded you of so many people lost to space and time. They shown just as Taylor’s had done, once upon a time. Like you had both talked of wishing to see on a bright new, chubby face…

“Oh.” The phantom jolt of a kick felt through the skin of your aunt’s stomach so many years ago sprung to life in the palm of your hand. “Oh, Angelo. I’m-I’m so sorry.”

He detached from you, taking a few steps toward the girl, now in between you both equally. He held out a hand to her, his gloves tattered and stitching frayed in certain places.

“It’s okay, she’s okay. She’s family.”

“You’re so beautiful,” You gently coached her out, hoping nice words would help her to feel safe. “I’ve never met you, but I’ve waited a very long time to. You- you can call me by my name or Bean, if you’d like?”

“This is our cousin, from mom’s side. Do you remember her saying that we needed to go East?”

A small nod, wide eyes taking in the situation.

“It was to find her. She’s good, smart, she can help keep us alive.”

“You’ve been doing good on your own.” She didn’t move, not taking a step to back away and put distance between you nor toward you in a hesitant greeting. Her wide brown eyes were alert, telling of the things she’d experienced and been witness to. Of how cautious she was in the face of new people, a good thing to be but completely unwarranted in this particular case.

“Yes, but…Adela, we…we need help. This season, it’s harsh and we don’t know this land as well.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I know we’re practically strangers but we are related. I know that doesn’t mean much these days to some people, but it means a great deal to me. I will do everything in my power to protect you, just like your brother.”

Hours later, after a shared meal and an introduction of your gifted appaloosa, camp was made and secured. Adela was fast asleep, one of the blankets you had tucked underneath the saddle wrapped around her small frame inside her sleeping bag. Light snoring sounding from the bundle she made against the horse.

“We’re the only ones that made it.” Angelo said before you could even figure out how to ask after everyone. Outbreak day a rather taboo subject amongst those that survived it. For Joel, at least, for you it was easier to divulge but still not a light subject to talk about. You had been willing with Ellie, with Maria. The first to quell her curious questions, to allow her another perspective on the events before her time that shaped the world into the one that she knew. The second to appeal to her, to connect with someone who felt comfortable.

“We didn’t know anything was going on for a while, you know how it is working in a ware. house all day. But when I got home that evening, apparently grandma had passed during the morning. Scared the hell out of everyone when she came sprinting into the living room and lunged at dad.”

“I…I can’t imagine, I’m so sorry. I know I had a missed call from the house that day, but I had been running late. And then, you know….”

“It’s okay,” One of his gloved hands reached out, taking the closest one of yours and squeezing. “We both made it, Adela made it. I love our family and cared so much for everyone, but this world is too harsh for them. It was always going to be us and that’s the only comfort I have in what happened.”

Silently agreeing, you squeezed his hand back. He was right, your grandparents had softened in their age, his parents and your father caring for them together. Soft in their endearment too, not suited for a life of constant unrest, of constant fear and paranoia. Of scrounging for food and basic supplies, having to defend what was yours by any means necessary.

“I was traveling with a man from Boston QZ and a girl, we were trying to find her family out this way. The last lead would’ve taken us to the University of Eastern Colorado.” You admitted over dinner the next day, having taught Adela the basics of how to properly interact with a horse, how to climb up in the saddle. While she was tall, she was skinny. Alarmingly so, but Angelo assured you that he always made sure she had enough to eat. He was willing to go without to provide for her, to ensure her still growing body had as much as it needed, or close to it at least.

“We were just there,” He took a breath, savoring the smell of the coffee that you had brewed for him as you all settled around the fire for the night. Scraps of foil that had contained easy, portioned meals to through on the fire that Maria had provided you with. “Well, around there. We came across a group of people settled into an old lodge town. Not to far from the city actually.”

Something about the man’s tone had you delaying your questions until Adela had laid down to rest for the night, tired from the day of interaction. But she was warming up to you, a familiar comfortability between you both as you talked to her about her mother. She admitted quietly that Angelo wasn’t willing to talk about their parents, people she had never had the chance to meet. The chaos of Outbreak day and those following it too much for him to talk about.

“We-uh, we left the group pretty quickly.” The man cleared his throat, turning around to ensure that his little sister was indeed asleep and not feigning it in order to eavesdrop. “The leader, god – what was his name? It doesn’t matter, he was so nice at first. Preaching about how people need to stick together, that his flock chose him to lead them and look after them.”

Your heart sank to your stomach, religious fanatics always putting you on edge. The way they manipulated the words of the bible in order to further their own agenda. And the way Angelo described him as initially nice and welcoming. A ploy, a trap laid out to ensnare people.

“But the first morning there, he came to visit us in the small set up they provided us with. Asked Adela to go out on a walk with him while I was still asleep. She hadn’t wanted to go, but felt obligated. Like he was just going to give her a tour or somethin’ and it was harmless, ya know?”

The rush of blood in your ears was loud, but you strained against it, needing to hear the words coming from the man beside you.

“He- that motherfucker, he exposed himself to her. Said that if she wanted to stay and use their resources that she needed to earn her keep. She begged me to leave right that second, to gather our stuff and make a run for it. But I don’t her we needed to act like nothing happened, to wait until nightfall and take what we could. So we did….but if you said you were traveling with a girl…brown hair, short, scar in her eyebrow?”

“Yes.” You breathed out, body thrumming with fear. No….no…there was no way Ellie could’ve been taken by the same men. She wouldn’t willingly go with anyone, had been hesitant to even let you or Joel out of her sight for too long….That meant…Joel had to have been injured in order for them to steal her away from him.

“She was unconscious, they were…they were carrying her into the settlement.”

Your head shot up, drink spilling over your hands cupped around the thermos.

“No.” You stood, hands steady despite the flood of emotions raging around in your mind. “No, no, no. I know those people, without them I wouldn’t have made it back out this way. We traveled from the other coast.”

It was late, but you didn’t care. You were gathering everything you needed, your pack and half of the food supply.

Adela roused at the noise, springing up and reaching for your hands.

“No, please, don’t leave us. We’ve lost too much already.” Tears were in her wide eyes, tugging at your heart in more ways than one. You crouched down in front of her, clasping your gloved hands around her own. Giving her your undivided attention.

“Honey, please, listen to me. I’m- I – I don’t want to leave you two, but I have to. Please understand. The girl that you saw, that was…she’s important to me. And she needs my help. I’ll see you again, I promise. I swear to you, Adela, I will see you again. Behind the walls of Jackson, we can…we can have a life there.”

Standing, you pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I’ll tell you embarrassing stories about your brother from when we were little.”

Pulling the map from your pocket, you circled the spot for Jackson with a marker.

“Here, this map will get you back to a settlement. Jackson. It’s large, has walls, it works. Ask for Maria or Tommy, tell them my name and that I sent you. Tell them you’re my family, you are. Take this,” You moved to wrap your old coat you had draped over your lap over the small frame of the girl and push the map that would lead them back to Jackson in the man’s hands.

The man surged up and gripped you tight in a bear hug, his body wrapped completely around you like he would do ever since he had begun to tower over you as children.

“Please, be safe!”

“Seek refuge in Jackson. I’ll return there, I promise.” You urged as you mounted the horse, reigns tight in your hands.

You clicked your tongue and tugged hard, urging the horse forward. The sound of hooves beating on the frozen ground was the only sound in the quiet, frozen night.

The remains of the a few bodies were scattered about the derelict campus that had been the destination sought out by them. Joel and Ellie. Those you were searching for nowhere to be seen, only hints of them in the bullet casings, the torn-up dirt, a bat broken in half- the jagged ends of one piece soaked in a deep red stain of blood. Joel’s, if your cousin’s words and your spiraling thoughts were correct.

Internally cursing at the man for pulling it out, for not waiting for a better moment, for not thinking in the haze his mind must’ve been.

Just as you began to trace the trail of rather fat droplets, you heard the crunch of someone stepping on fallen leaves behind you. Before you could even turn around completely to face them, someone was wrapping their arms around your neck, cutting off your air.

Your last thought was of Angelo and Adela. Of Joel and Ellie.

‘It was hot. Sweltering. And your dress was too tight over your swollen middle. It was a small bump, barely visible from the front, more so from the side. You had thought you indulged in too much food one evening after a deer had been caught but the teasing jab soon delved into something more serious. Especially when the swelling hadn’t gone down in the following days and nausea became a morning ritual.

You had been ecstatic, a first for you. And exciting thing you had always wanted. A faint thought you hadn’t entertained even in a working world, a notion you hadn’t thought possible at all with the demise of the world. When you had told him, Taylor had shared in your excitement, immediately beginning to hoard everything he could loot from the nearby state park. Gathering everything you could use, whether it was to repurpose it or store it for the future.

You had found a pocket of happiness and security in the rubble of the world, hidden deep in the forests of Tennessee in the form of a man who welcomed you into his space when all you had wanted to do was run. Finding yourself injured and needing aid, he had offered it to you.

What had begun as a small stay to ensure you would heal okay, that your stitches were secure and wouldn’t pull. But the conversations that flowed from one to another over those first few days tied you to each other. Braiding together your futures in such a wonderful way. There was no way to know how badly the universe would fray the untethered strings.

The only consolation was that the nights were cooler, the evenings and mornings twinged with a chill that signaled the end of an unseasonable warm fall. But as time moved on, Taylor had pleaded with you to consider staying close to the cabin. You had agreed, the symptoms of your pregnancy making it hard to do much of anything for long. Hunting and patrolling far too much for you to handle at the moment.

You were tending to the horses when he appeared behind you, arms snaking around your shoulders. The tickling of his facial hair sprouting giggles from you. The horses snickered, sharing in your delight. After securing them back in the modest stable, large hands were wrapping around you and sweeping you off of your tired feet.

“C’mon, princessa, let’s go have a nap.”

“But I don’t wanna,” You whined, not wanting to waste the sunshine while it was still showing, winters notoriously gray and overcast in this part of the region. The looming mountains casting dark shadows over pockets of land. Thankfully the cabin wasn’t in one of those regions, hidden well by the tall trees and stained a dark green all along the roof to avoid searching eyes to those at a higher altitude.

“Who said we were gonna sleep, silly girl?” Taylor swooped down to kiss you fully on the lips. Stirring warmth in your core. With a deep laugh at the chasing of your lips after his, he carefully rushed up the stairs and through the front door. “I’m gonna devour you, you’re too good looking a snack to leave untouched.”

“Oh hush,” You curled your hands into the long hair he had tied into a bun at the back of his head. Taking the band from around it and causing the strands to cascade around his handsome face.

“Glowing and full of me, carrying our baby in your pretty little tummy. Good god, you’re constantly on my mind, princessa, you’re my entire world.”

“And you’re mine, mi amor.”

Bubbling giggles flowed through the cabin as he made his way up the stairs and through the small landing. Into the bedroom that you found happiness in the midst of the fallen world.’

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dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

taglist: @furiousmushroom@sawymredfox @ayamenimthiriel @bookloverkat @rosaaeles @narcissa-anastasia @littlemisspascal @oscarissac2099 @ghostwritesthings @76bookworm76 @elli3williams @sarap-77 @christinamadsen @vivian-pascal @dugiioh

#dev writes #fic: return the favor #tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #ellie williams #platonic ellie williams

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theallianceofcelestials · 4 months

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You know what's an amusing thing about the previous two Eclipses? The way the both of them were with Sun.

They were never kind to him, no, it would be foolish to say that either the first Eclipse or the backup Eclipse were kind to Sun. But regardless of which one we're talking about, Eclipse has always been more, indulgent with him.

When Sun first met Eclipse eye to eye after that fateful argument he had with Moon in Beta-10, Eclipse was... weirdly gentle? It's not even the correct word for it, but he appeared to indulge Sun and his anxious rambling, before shooting him down. He was also much more friendly than he was with Moon, probably because he did not see Sun as a threat, but still. He quite helpfully pointed out the exit point to Sun, and was acting kinda peacful. He was also less antagonistic, although he was definitely condescending.

When Sun exited the mindscape, he apologised to Eclipse, and Eclipse replied something like: "Oh, don't be sorry, only time you're ever sorry is when it actually IS your fault." which is obviously a jab. However, there's also a hidden admitance, that Sun is innocent, and is not at fault. It kind of feels like comfort from Eclipse? This was preluded by Eclipse admiting that Sun WAS a good person, but with issues (like everyone else lol).

Also, ever since Eclipse locked Sun and Moon into the Infinite Staicase SCP, and forced Moon to admit that he (Eclipse) IS better, seemed to have put more weight on Sun's opinion. Which can be clearly seen in the episode where Sun, having been fed up with Eclipse constantly throwing him and New Moon into things, exploded on him, and Eclipse just... left.

He also passed up some opportunities to actually hurt him? Like we now know, that Sun was tortured in the mindscape, but the first interaction we see between them, which is not a power struggle, Eclipse never got violent. He was a jerk, but a toned down jerk compared to how he was with Moon. Eclipse also, during the first ever video fully focused on him "Sun and Moon TRANSFORM into ECLIPSE in VRCHAT", said he was going to kill Sun, and then never followed through with it, even though he had the entirety of October to do so. Like my guy, do you or do you NOT want to kill him? You said you wanted to! Then actually do it, pussy!

And Eclipse is a killcode right? They said in the show that he is so. But compared to other people, he's actually kinda peacful. Like there are only a couple confirmed kills Eclipse has, like the homeless person he beat to death using Monty's body and the government official before that.

All these can be said to be little things, that Eclipse did not bother with, because they seemed like a waste of his time, but there is one piece of information he had, that could have destroyed both his enemies from the very beginning. A neat little fact. Moon wanted to kill Sun. He wanted to kill him, because he felt injustice at the fact that he was locked into their mind, and wanted a body of his own. The fact that it was their PLAN to do so.

Of course it was probably an intrusive thought of Moon, corrupted by his homicide code, and was probably his greatest shame. Before Eclipse that is. And it's obviously understandable why Moon wasn't jumping at the chance to tell this to his brother, the ONLY person he could fully, truly and wholly love and care about (before Lunar also appeared), but then why didn't Eclipse?

He could have won. He could have won before the brothers had a chance to realise how screwed they actually were, before the October Takeover, before the Wither Storm, before the infamous Beta-10 argument, before anything really. All he had to do, was basically poison Sun with this hate, and ruin any sort of relationship Sun and Moon ever had. Sure, probably when he would have first told it to Sun, he would've thought him a liar, but doubt eventually would have come. That was something Moon could not have countered in any form, and he probably would not have wanted to from how terrible he must have felt about that. Moon would have probably given up, if confronted with that information, because I don't think he'd have lied about something of that magnitude.

But alas, Eclipse never told (probably cuz Reed and Davis had no solid idea about it back then). This could have been such a powerful trump card from him. He could have ruined New Moon and Sun's relationship before it even began! Because back then Sun was still (understandably) more attuned to the Old Moon. So he would not have overcome it as easily, not saying he would do so now. Eclipse could very easily break Sun's fragile little sanity. And yet he never did. He never once even uttered anything similiar to it when in front of Sun. Sure he threw insults and taunts, basically tortured the guy for funsies, but this was a line he never once crossed. And I'm not sure why.

Eclipse had a strong ace up his (non-existent) sleeve, that he could have used anytime. At all times, it would have allowed him to win. But he never once used it. He took it with him silently, everytime he was defeated. I can't stress this enough.

This man had the chance to destroy his enemies with just a couple little words.

But both times he took it to his GRAVE.

Let's see if this one will too (:

#sun and moon show #tsams #the sun and moon show #sams #sams eclipse #tsams eclipse #sams moon #sams sun #tsams sun #FunkyTimeswithSunray #FunkyFriday #(:#i'm talking so much about this goddamn dorito #he has so many issues #but he's so fun #i wanna lock him in a jar and shake it #or put him under a microscope to dissect #fuck grammar

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cozage · 9 months

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The Daughter's Return: Month 5

The Road to Love

Part One | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

This idea was sent to me by Anonymous! CW: kinda long but it's from Ace's perspective! Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 5.2k

From the moment Ace heard your name, he was intrigued.

“It’s a crazy story,” Thatch said as everyone sat down around him. “The Clandine Incident was one of the main reasons Y/N’s bounty skyrocketed. She’s got one of the highest bounties on the ship, especially for her age.”

Blamenco chortled. “She’s only got a big bounty cuz-”

“Though she’s always been a legend,” Marco said, cutting off Blamenco and ignoring his words. “The Navy has been trying to figure out who keeps ruining their plans for years. They just never expect it to be a teenage girl. It’d be higher if they knew everything she actually did.”

“Right,” Kingdew laughed. “They underestimate her because of her reckless appearance to them. They think she improvises everything she does.”

Ace raised his eyebrow. “How so?”

Izou hummed, knowing that the crew’s praise for you would have repercussions. This new crewmember seemed a little too interested in you. Still, Izou decided to indulge him. It’d be interesting to see where this all went.

“The Clandine Incident is the best example,” Izou said. “The Navy had captured about forty of our men. It was looking bad. However, they had captured non-devil fruit users, so they were all in metal cages for transport.”

Marco interrupted and took over the story. “Because so many of Whitebeard’s men had been captured, almost all of the Navy’s forces had been called back to escort the prisoners to ships to be hauled off to Impel Down. Which left their defenses low, and we could launch an assault on our actual target and free a royal member of an island we watched over. They didn’t even have time to call reinforcements before the prince was released.”

“She and Marco led the operation to free the prisoners.” Thatch grinned ear to ear, staring at the first division commander. “I heard things got quite messy, but they got in and out without any fatalities.”

“Messy?” Ace inquired, nudging his friend to tell him more. “How so?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Marco grumbled. “Just a few messes I had to clean up.”

Thatch cackled. “If I recall, it was Y/N who did the cleaning up, not the other way around!”

Marco rolled his eyes. “She’s always the one to make the sacrifice play, and she got mad when I wouldn’t let her do it. I swear she’s careful with everyone’s life but her own. ”

Ace could relate, which only made him even more interested in meeting you. “When’s she get back?” he asked, unable to hide the enthusiasm in his voice.

The whole table erupted into laughter at his question.

“She’s off limits, dude,” Vista said, giving Ace an empathetic pat on the shoulder. “If you try anything, Pops will kill you.”

“Pops wouldn’t get the chance,” Thatch said. “Marco would get you first.”

“Sorry man, they’re right. I know you’re my brother-” Marco smiled and shook his head. “But she’s outta your league anyway. Don’t even try it.”

“Look at him getting all protective!” Fossa bellowed, and the table erupted in laughter again.

Ace gave a confused smile, looking around the table. It was clear he was missing something. Something obvious that everyone else seemed to be aware of.

“Go check the bounty poster room,” Curiel whispered, giving him a little nudge. “You’ll figure it out.”

Newgate. You were a Newgate. There was no chance in hell you’d ever even look his way. And if you knew who his father was…No, Whitebeard would never allow the son of his rival to date his only daughter.

And yet, as he stared at your old bounty poster, he couldn’t help but think there was so much more to you than a name.

Months later, Whitebeard stood towering over Ace. He had been called in for a meeting with his captain, and Ace was worried that he had screwed up big this time.

“There’s something I should probably tell you, Ace.”

His voice didn’t sound upset, and Ace relaxed a bit. “What’s up Pops?”

“My daughter is returning home soon, which is quite a joyous occasion-”

Ace nodded. “I’m excited to meet her.”

Whitebeard watched the second division commander carefully. “There’s something I should warn you about.”

“Oh, Pops, don't even worry about that.” Ace’s cheeks were hot, embarrassed where this was going. Of course he knew about Ace’s flings and flirtations on the ship. Of course Whitebeard didn’t want him anywhere near you. “I’m not like that anymore. Besides, everyone has already told me.”

Whitebeard’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Told you what?”

“That Y/N is off limits. I shouldn’t interact with her or-”

Whitebeard laughed, his jolly expression returning at the absurdity of Ace’s comment. “Ace, son. I don’t care what you do in your free time. I don’t care what she does in her free time. My daughter is an adult. She can make her own decisions. I trust her with that ability. If I didn’t, she wouldn’t be my most valuable strategist.”

“Oh.” Ace suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. He had never read a situation more incorrectly than he had in this moment. “Then what did you want to talk about?”

“My daughter,” Whitebeard said, still chuckling. “She can be…intense. And unfortunately, I believe she may take out some of that intensity on you.”

It was Ace’s turn to be confused. “Why?”

“Well…” Whitebeard’s eyes flicked towards the door nervously. “I promised her the second division commander spot before she left. But clearly, that’s been filled since she’s been gone.”

“Oh!” Ace said. “I can step do-”

“No.” Whitebeard's voice was firm and final. “You are the second division commander. But I am placing her under your command.”

Ace’s mouth dropped open. He hadn’t been expecting that. He had expected Whitebeard to keep you as far away from him as possible. “Are you sure?”

“I believe you are most equipped to handle her.”

Ace laughed nervously. “Surely Marco. Or Thatch. Or Izou-”

“Are you not comfortable with it? I’d prefer she stay in division two for a few days to try it out. Would you like me to move her now instead?”

“No!” Ace rushed to say. “I’m honored to take her in my division. She’ll be a major asset.”

Whitebeard chuckled. “And a major pain in the ass at first. Give her some time, as a favor to me.”

Ace gave a nervous smile, unsure what exactly he was signing up for. “Sure, Pops. Anything-”

Suddenly a young woman burst through the door, storming up to his captain. Ace tensed, unsure of who you were or what was about to go down.

“Y/N,” Whitebeard smiled, and Ace could feel himself start to sweat. He hadn’t expected this to all happen so soon. “You’re-”

“You bastard!” You screamed, pulling out a kunai. “You promised!”

Ace could hear the hurt in your voice, and he felt sorry for you. And then he started to feel sorry for himself. You couldn’t be the girl Marco had raved about, the cute girl in pigtails, who would do anything for a piece of chocolate. You couldn’t be the girl who had the skill set of a thousand men.

You were far too rude to be the girl he imagined. Nobody talked to his father like that, especially not some entitled girl who thought it was her birthright.

He threw a knife at your kunai, knocking it out of your hand. When you shot him a glare, he returned one back. He wasn’t going to let you intimidate him so easily.

“Stay out of this, newbie,” you snapped at him. If this was how mad you were about a kunai, he didn’t want to imagine how mad you’d be when you found out about the position.

You reached into your pouch and he lunged at you, grappling your wrists. He wouldn’t let you hurt or even attempt to intimidate his father, the person who saved him and called him his own. You had no idea how selfish you were being or how good you had it, and it made Ace’s blood boil.

“I don’t know who you are,” Ace said, trying his best to sound intimidating. “But you have no right attacking Pops the moment you get on our ship.”

“Stay out of my affairs,” you snarled back.

His grip on you started to feel hot, and for a moment he was afraid he had let his anger get the best of him. And then it began to heat up so much that he had to pull away. You were simply too hot to hold onto.

You gave him a wicked grin of satisfaction, as if you were boasting about your victory in the small battle you momentarily had. But Ace was confused. How had you burned him? Nobody had managed to do that in a long time. Marco and the other commanders had talked about your ability before, but he had assumed it was just another type of fire or heat ability.

And then he remembered something Marco had said. How you had gone up against the lava vice admiral once, and you burned hotter than even him. A volcano fruit, Ace remembered. Your heat far surpassed him.

Oh, the two of you would make an interesting dynamic indeed. He was beginning to see why Pops had placed you under his command now. Ace wanted to know everything about you, and wanted to use you and your ability to his full advantage. He couldn’t wait to see what you could do, and what he could learn from you. He just had to get you on his side.

Which was easier said than done. You weren’t exactly thrilled to meet him.

And then the welcome party happened, and you all were stargazing when you had fallen asleep. He wanted to lay there forever, but Marco had eventually found you all. The first division commander picked you up and began to walk away before he turned back for just a moment.

“You’re going to fall in love with her, aren’t you?” Marco asked.

Ace scoffed in return. “I don’t fall in love.”

“Good,” Marco said. “Because she’ll break your heart.”

“Who’s to say I wouldn’t break hers?”

Marco glared at him, clutching you tighter to his chest. “If you even think about it, I’ll carry you out to sea and drop you in the ocean.”

Ace gave a light laugh, but quickly realized Marco was very serious in his threat. “Noted.”

“I’m serious, Ace,” Marco whispered. “Leave her alone. It won’t end well.”

Of course, he hadn’t listened, he was too captivated by you. After the election of new subordinate captains were solidified, Marco began switching his tune from warnings to encouragement, and Ace grew hopeful that you were interested in him. Marco even encouraged Ace to invite you to a party. But Marco was still clear: just because you needed friends didn’t mean you needed Ace.

And then Ace understood. You were about to lose most of your childhood friends, and you would need a new support system. Still, Ace got his hopes up that maybe you would feel something eventually. But for now, Ace would be okay with friends, as long as you stuck around.

A few nights later, he had really fucked up. He had taken Marco's advice, invited you to the party, and even made a bet with you about going drink for drink. And now, you were curled up against his chest, your skin warm against his. Every time you shifted or stretched, he found himself alert. He couldn’t sleep with you so close to him, his mind racing at one hundred miles per hour. You had wanted to sleep with him. Even if you hadn’t actually wanted to sleep with him, you did feel comfortable enough to fall asleep with him next to you. He didn’t know what to do.

He wanted you. He wanted to be with you. He wanted to only belong to you. He had never felt this way about another person before, but he knew it was good and true and that he was yours. He would find a way to tell you and hope you felt the same way. You had fallen asleep in his arms, after all. That had to count for something.

But the next morning you woke up in an unfamiliar place, and you had made it clear that while you appreciated his gentlemanly actions, you wanted nothing more. And so he held his tongue and went to the meeting he was summoned for, sleeping through the entire thing, wishing he was still in bed. Wishing you were still in his arms.

And then you had been offered a job by your father, one that would take you away from division two. Take you away from him. It took Ace every ounce of self-restraint not to question his captain. Why would he hurt him like this? Why would he let you and Ace get so close, just to take you away?

Instead, he went to you, begging for you to stay in the most vulnerable way he knew how. He would’ve done anything, answered any question if it meant you would stay with him just a little bit longer. The two of you had become friends. That’s how he felt, at least. He wasn’t sure how you felt, but he had to hope. And you stayed. You chose him, and his heart continued to burn only for you.

The subordinate captains’ goodbye party was a testament to your planning skills. It had mostly been for Whitey, but it wouldn’t have been obvious if he didn’t know you. And maybe he didn’t. After all, he didn’t pin you as the kind of girl to make out with just anyone after a game of shots. Not that he cared anyway. You had made it clear you didn’t want more than a professional relationship with him.

And yet, he still felt rather irritated by it all. He found himself receding from the party, deciding to find a quiet place to lean against the railing and stare out to sea in thought. He tried not to think about you, but all he could see was that red-haired boy and your lips smashed together. It should’ve been him there doing 5 shots with you. It should’ve been him getting a victory kiss. Not that little red-haired punk.

“Berry for your thoughts?” Whitey said, leaning on the railing next to Ace.

Ace looked over at her, startled. Whitey hadn’t talked to him since their fallout. She hadn’t even acknowledged his presence. And yet here she was, talking to him. She had to be drunk. It was the only explanation.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Whitey griped, though she wasn’t looking at him. “I know I’ve been shitty. But I’m not here to talk about us. I’m here to talk about you.”

“I actually wanted to find you,” Ace admitted. “I’m sorry about everything I put you through. That wasn’t fair and-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Whitey let out a deep sigh and then continued. “You’re only apologizing because you know you might never see me again. And while I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t want it.”

“It’s not because you’re leaving,” Ace corrected. “It’s because-”

Ace hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be this vulnerable with Whitey for multiple reasons. He didn’t want to open old wounds. He didn’t want her passing it on to you. He didn’t want her to laugh.

“Go on,” Whitey said, finally turning at looking at Ace. She didn’t look upset or angry. In fact, she looked like she knew exactly what he was going to say.

“It’s because I know how you feel now,” he confessed. “And it feels really shitty. And I’m sorry.”

“We both wanted different things in that moment,” Whitey said. “I’m sorry for the part I played too.”

Ace shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yeah, I do.” Whitey laughed and took a long drink of her ale. “Hold on to that person that’s making you feel that way, though. She’s really special.”

Ace froze, worried she was going to tease him. But Whitey just gave him a friendly wink and left him alone.

Marco found him a few minutes later. “Commanders and Strategists. Let’s roll.”

Ace frowned. He wasn’t ready to see you again. He was still upset about your public flirtation with someone else. Maybe you were his karma, but he still hated it.

“Come on, lover boy. It’ll be fine.” Marco chuckled, pulling Ace back to the party. He was going to have to face you sooner or later, he knew that.

Luckily, the evening only went up from there.

Less than 24 hours later, the two of you were off on an impromptu mission. It was just the two of you, really. Kala and Mihal were coming too, but you all wouldn’t be together for long.

He would get you all to himself. Away from your father’s watchful gaze, Marco’s interference, and any boy who might have a crush on you. It would just be the two of you.

It had been fun, until women began crowding him, asking for dances. His heart broke a little bit when you told him to dance with them, but he listened. He had come here to spend the night with you, not with these snobby women who were dressed in gowns that were worth more than all the money he ever had as a child. But every time he looked for you, you were there, looking as beautiful and radiant as he had ever seen you.

Then you disappeared, and his heart beat out of his chest as he broke off a dance to search for you. He found you being led away by some pompous asshole who had been staring at you all night, and his stomach churned at the thought of what that man would try to pull once you were alone with him.

He hadn’t meant to make a scene. He was just so upset. He should’ve never left you sitting alone at that table. To hell with all of those women. To hell with everyone here. You were the only one who mattered to him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and the hairs on Ace’s neck stood up.

And then you slapped him. Hard. Like you really, truly meant it. And as you began screaming at him, he slowly realized he would now have to be the decoy.

Some Marines grabbed his arms and hauled him away, but he couldn’t take his eyes from you, burying your face in that horrible man’s coat as you sobbed fake tears.

They set him in a chair and an official sat across from him. Ace had no idea who it was. If you were here, you would’ve been able to tell him his rank, name, weakness, and everything else he needed to know. But you were tucked away somewhere upstairs. Safe, hopefully.

“Listen son,” the man said, and Ace gritted his teeth. The only person who could call him son was Whitebeard, but he kept his mouth shut. The man didn’t seem to notice Ace’s seething rage, thankfully, and he continued. “I’m sure there was just a miscommunication. Why don’t you give me your commanding officer and we’ll get it all sorted out.”

“Commanding officer?” Ace questioned. He didn’t know any names. How could he have forgotten to do this? He should’ve paid more attention as you were pointing people out.

“And your name and rank.”

Ace hadn’t thought of any of those things. He hadn’t expected you all to get caught. Or at least, he had expected you to do all the lying for him.

“Kaclin McGrought, Captain,” Ace said. It was the first thing that came to his mind. “My Commanding officer is…”

Shit. Why could he only think of Garp? That would give him away immediately. Plus, Garp was here. They could just go ask him, and his cover would immediately be blown.

“My commanding officer is Clemence,” Ace tried to sound confident, like he knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Clemence?”

“From the East Blue?” Ace asked, raising his eyebrow. “Sir Clemence the Second? Surely you know him?”

The man nodded at a pair of lieutenants by the door, and they swiftly exited the room. Ace didn’t have a good feeling about any of this. He could only hope they weren’t heading to find and capture you. He could only hope you had come up with a better cover story.

A few minutes later, one of the lieutenants came back and bent down to whisper something in his interrogator's ear.

“So McGrought…” The man stared at Ace long and hard, and he knew he had been caught. “You and your commander don’t seem to exist. Why don’t you tell us who you really are?”

Ace swallowed, trying to clear the lump in his throat. He wasn’t so nervous for himself, but he hated not knowing about your status. “Who I really am?”

One good thing would come out of this, at least. The Navy would know his name now. At least they would know his power, and his position. He wouldn’t be some “failed rookie” amongst their conversations.

“Son-”

“Portgas D. Ace, Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates.” Ace erupted into flames, and most of the people took a few steps back from the heat. “And don't call me son.”

With that, he threw off his shirt, turned, and jumped out the stained glass window. He wanted the last thing they saw to be his father’s symbol.

As he burst through the window, he only had one thought on his mind: he had to get to you. He had to make sure you were okay.

That was the first and last time Ace underestimated your strategy ability. Even as you all spoke to his grandfather, even as you raced through the woods and spent the night in a borrowed house, he couldn’t help but admire just how brilliant you were.

As the two of you walked through the town and snuck onto the beach, as you changed your plan on a dime and found a way to make it work, as you taunted a Vice Admiral, he couldn’t help but smile giddily, knowing you were his. And he was yours.

He would have to tell Whitebeard, of course. He should’ve been more concerned about his fate, but he felt invincible, watching you as you slept on the boat ride back to the ship. You were together. Nothing could stop him now.

Standing in front of Whitebeard was a much different feeling. But he needed to tell him. Not just because it was protocol, but because Whitebeard was one of the few men Ace respected in this world. He deserved to know.

“We’re dating.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at either of your faces when he spoke the words. He didn’t want to see his initial reaction, and he didn’t want to see your wrath.

Whitebeard sent you out immediately, which was probably the best outcome. Ace could probably handle one angry Newgate. But there was no way he’d survive two of you angry at him.

Ace could feel Whitebeard’s eyes on him, but he refused to look back. He was afraid of the disappointment he’d see if he looked.

He stared at his feet instead. “I like her quite a lot, Pops. I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Ace. Son. Look at me.”

Ace looked up, and was shocked to find Whitebeard staring at him with a glimmer in his eye. He looked…proud? No, that couldn’t be. Ace was so certain that he would only be met with pushback and disgrace.

“I told you when she first got here,” Whitebeard smiled. “My daughter makes her own decisions. She’s old enough to do that, and I’ll respect whatever decisions she makes.”

Ace couldn’t find the words he wanted to express. A part of him wanted to cry. A part of him wanted to ask a hundred questions.

“I’ll never hurt her,” Ace swore. “I’ll always protect her, I swear.”

Whitebeard chuckled. “You can’t promise both of those things in the same breath, son. So be careful with your words. Because she will hold you to them. She never forgets a promise. So don’t go making promises you can’t keep.”

“Yes sir,” Ace said, silently cursing himself for promising such grandiose things. “I will keep that in mind.”

“There’s one thing I’d like you to avoid mentioning to her, though. Just for the time being.”

“Of course, Pops! Anything!”

Whitebeard hummed and scratched at his mustache. It was clear he didn’t like what he was about to request, but it had to be done.

“Don’t tell her about the circumstances around your birth.”

Ace blinked. He was about to respond, but Whitebeard continued. “If it comes up naturally, you can tell her about it. But don’t tell her unless she asks.”

“Sure, Pops,” Ace said. A piece of him was relieved he had a reason to keep that information from you. He knew you didn’t like Roger much, and he didn’t want your opinion of him scarred by his father’s legacy. “Can I ask why?”

“It’s dangerous for anyone who knows of your heritage. And the more people who know, the more likely it is to get to the Navy. I trust my daughter of course, but I’d rather not put her at an unnecessary risk.”

“Of course,” Ace agreed. “That’s the last thing I want. I just want her safe. And I promise to do everything in my power to keep her from harm."

Whitebeard nodded. “Very well. Now, if we could go over the mission, I’d like a full report of last night.”

Ace’s brow knitted in confusion, and he glanced back at the door. “Is that really all? You don’t want to-”

“I told you, son. I trust my daughter. Whatever decisions she’s making, she’s thought of every possibility and every outcome. I’m not going to question my best strategist about her personal life.” Whitebeard let out a laugh. “But she does tend to fabricate awkward events, and she does it very well. Which is why she’s waiting on the deck and you’re in here. So, a full report of last night.”

Ace suddenly realized what a full report would mean. His cheeks began to burn, and Whitebeard let out a roaring laugh. “See, Ace? I knew you were the right man for the job. Let’s hear it.”

The only thing that got Ace through that report was the thought of you on the other side of the door, and the embrace he could finally give you once he got out.

Months went by, and you and Ace got closer every second you were together. You moved in with him in less than a month, having your own dresser and your own decorations sprinkled throughout the room soon after. He helped you hang up the flowers he had handcrafted for you, which felt like a lifetime ago, and he cleared off his desk so you had a place to work.

The two of you got a cat, and though Jinx didn’t take much of a liking to you, the three of you were your own little strange form of a family. The Whitebeard Pirates were still his family of course, but you and Jinx were the family he had chosen to be his. The family he cared for so deeply, the people he could never bear to lose. He hated being away from you, and he never got tired of you being around. Where others found you brash and intense, he found you endearing and confident.

You were in the crow’s nest, staring at the night sky when he realized it.

“I love you.”

You blinked, unsure if you had heard him correctly. You turned your head to face him, but he was still staring at the stars.

“Me?”

Ace gave a soft chuckle and then turned his head to look at you. His dark eyes reflected the stars shining above you, and you swore you could see the universe in his eyes.

“Who else would I be talking to?”

“You love me?”

A smile danced across his lips. “I love you.”

You scowled at him. “No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Ace-“

“I know it’s love because I think about you all the time. Every time I see you, I smile and I swear my heart feels like it’s going to burst. The moment you leave I already start to miss you. When you wake up before me and slip out of bed to get coffee, I wake up in a panic, thinking you were just a dream. Because I swear you’re too good to be real. I love you because you’re the one person who I know I can always go to, no matter what, and I know you’ll help me in the way I need. Even if I don’t know how to help myself, you know how to because you know me.”

“Oh.” He had given a pretty solid argument, but you had felt all those things too. You had never felt them with anyone else, though. Just Ace.

Sometimes, you missed him so much your chest hurt. He was always the first person you searched for in a room. He was the person you looked to when you laughed, the person you wanted to always be near.

“I love you too, I think.”

Ace laughed. “You think?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in love before.” His confession had been so poetic. Yours felt embarrassingly weak as a follow-up.

“Me neither,” Ace admitted. “That’s how I know.”

If that was the case, his words made you certain now. Your heart quickened at the thought of confessing. You had already done it once, but the words held more weight now that you knew.

Your fingers found his, quickly interlacing with one another. You took a deep breath, still staring into his starry eyes.

“Then yeah, I love you. Because nobody has ever made me feel quite so happy with life as you do, Portgas D. Ace. Nobody has ever made me smile so early in the morning, or made me excited to go to bed. Nobody has ever made my life so infinitely better that I think I would probably die without them. Nobody has ever made me feel this way. Nobody but you.”

You would die for him. And you knew he would do the same. It wasn’t fair, but it was the way you were now. Every decision you made was to keep him alive. And every decision he made was to do the same for you.

But in a pirate world, death was always around the corner. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when. And every time you thought about the possibility of him being caught or killed, it made you physically nauseous.

Little did you know, that possibility would become a reality much sooner than either of you could have ever expected.

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#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas ace x you #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace x reader #portgas d ace #portgas d. ace #cozage #✧˚ace✧˚

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anastaaaaaaasia · 3 months

Text

Tag, you're it

Modern!Aegon targaryen x reader

Warnings: NSWF, smut, abusive and toxic relationships, mention and use of drugs, mention and use of alcohol

The party didn't go as planned and neither did your relationship. Two years is a long enough time to get to know a person, fall hopelessly in love and cry disappointedly into your pillow all night long, desperately trying to drown out your sobs. Your relationship with Aegon was the fucking wheel of Samsara, it lifted you to the peak of bliss and crashed you to the ground, harder with each turn.

The golden, no, platinum boy was born with a diamond spoon in his teeth and the same attitude towards everyone around him. “A first-rate jerk,” that’s how your best friend Margaery described him. “First class fuckbody,” you retorted. Admitting to others that your relationship was falling apart at the seams like buildings on the day of the fall of Pompeii meant admitting first of all to yourself that you had seriously screwed up. Hopeless and powerful.

Looking at me through your window Boy, you had your eye out for a little

Possessing the character of your parents, you did not allow anyone to wipe their feet on you. No one… except him. Every time you found out from acquaintances, friends and ,damn, even from his brother, that his dick had been in another girl, you tearfully swore to yourself that you would break up with him, throw his things to hell, tear up his magazines and throw him out the door of yours apartment, but every time you lied and couldn’t stand it, you lied and again deceived only yourself.

You didn't believe in gods. If you believed in them, then for all the promises you would not be allowed not only into heaven, but also into hell. You chuckled every time you thought about it.

Your friend Robb, sweet Robb, he sincerely tried to help you. Screaming in your face that your relationship with Aegon is toxic. He was the first one who brought you to a psychologist. A nice woman in her forties said from session to session that it was toxic. You knew it. But knowing does not mean being aware. But you still plunged into this sticky and enveloping relationship, time after time. Because somewhere deep down in your soul you knew you were just as toxic as Aegon. A couple created in hell and married by Satan himself.

"I'll cut you up and make you dinner You've reached the end, you are the winner"

Every time you met Aegon in the early morning when he returned to your apartment. The smell of other women's perfume almost suffocated you, and the hickeys all over his neck definitely did not belong to you. You bit, and bit so that marks remained. But you only bit him, and unfortunately he bit not only you.

Someone else's woman's lip gloss stuck to his cheeks like bees were swarming for honey. It didn't wash off his expensive shirts and designer T-shirts. You will forever remember how you sat in the bathroom with his fucking shirt. You cried for hours, drying yourself with the same clothes, crying and laughing. It was all so absurd.

Little bit of poison in me I can taste your skin in my teeth

Everyone was right, it's all toxic. That day you broke the mirror that was hanging on the wall, you could have sworn that you saw his damn reflection and grin there. But you stopped, you broke the decanter, the figurines, everything that your hands could reach. You didn’t care, he wasn’t there. You were ready to bet your soul that he was now in another bathroom at the club, driving into another girl’s pussy.

This made you laugh harder, until you realised that you were choking on tears. While cleaning the battlefield you created in the apartment, you took a fragment of a mirror. You hated what you witnessed. There were traces of mascara running from the eyes to the middle of the cheeks, lips were bitten, in blood. And your eyes. They were red, but your natural eye colour had never looked so vibrant to you. You hated it and loved your reflection at the same time. You hated the one who brought you to this state. But you loved the fact that even in such a miserable state you looked like a goddess.

That same evening you bought a ticket and flew to your home country. This was a quick flight. That same evening, having thrown your suitcase into the apartment your parents bought for you, you went to a club with friends from your former school. After six tequila shots, you told your whole story. Margaery tried to comfort you, Robb hugged you and promised to beat up your boyfriend. But it didn't help. Your other former classmates, Theon and Ramsay, helped. They said they knew how to relieve the pain. That day you tried molly for the second time in your life. The little pill gave you unforgettable emotions, you danced on the bar counter, men whistled and applauded in your direction. But you didn't care. There was nothing on your mind.

You understood that this was not a solution. And when the next morning you woke up with a severe headache and vomited for half the day, you felt killed, unsteady and wretched for the first time. Help came from where you weren't expecting. From your ex. Viserys fucking Targaryen. He was like your current boyfriend's cousin or something. He held you while you cried all evening, he helped you open a bottle of martini and mixed cocktails. He reassured you and said everything you had heard before. You have to break up with Aegon, but he was the first person to whom you admitted that you couldn’t. You allowed your ex to see you weak, broken.

"I love it when I hear you breathing I hope to God you're never leaving"

That evening when you first admitted this to someone besides yourself, it worked better than psychologists. And so now, when you are sitting in Aegon's car and he is driving you with you after the party, you wait, and wait, and pray. You pray that he will lose his temper and say something that will allow you to leave him. You provoked him, screamed how you hated the fact that he fucked other whores, you hated the constant parties. And it happened.

“Get out, get the fuck out of the car,” he screamed and slammed his hands on the steering wheel of his car. You were a little taken aback.

Running through the parking lot He chased me and he wouldn't stop

“Are you fucking high?” It was a question that did not require an answer. You were one hundred percent sure that he was high. And to be honest, you were afraid of this Aegon.

"I'm tired of you!" Aegon yelled, his face contorted in rage as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you out of your seat.

“Fucking asshole,” you muttered into space. You should have felt victory, but you couldn’t forgive such an attitude towards yourself.

Grabbed my hand, pushed me down Took the words right out my mouth

Aegon yanked you and pulled you out of the car. Your legs were unsteady. High heels and short clothes made you feel vulnerable in the darkness of the deserted street. Aegon grabbed the collar of your dress and leaned it against the stone wall of the building. “Do you have any idea how annoying you are?” he screamed.

“Oh please enlighten me,” you snapped.

Aegon's face twisted with rage. “I was with you for two years and all you did was complain, give me orders and ruin my parties. You're a pain in the ass." Aegon looked down on you, “I should have kicked you out months ago.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t want my boyfriend to kiss other sluts and find ways to get into their panties,” you replied, you remembered all the times he neglected you

“Am I that annoying because I want to have a good time at a party?” he shouted: “You are boring. I need fun." he continued, “Everyone is jealous because I have the best parties, I have the best girls, I have the best life… And I don’t want my girlfriend to interfere. You're no fun. Parties are more fun without you." "You're a bad girlfriend" he shouted

Can anybody hear me? I'm hidden under ground Can anybody hear me? Am I talking to myself?

“Our entire relationship, all I’ve done is support you, and I’m sorry if just being faithful is a really high price to pay for you,” it was true. All the times when his family was against him, you held him tightly and let him cry on your chest. It was your Aegon, but the man who looked at you with dilated pupils was unfamiliar to you. Aegon continued to argue at a primary school level, sometimes you tried not to laugh.

He looked at you with contempt: “Your only idea is to stop me from getting drunk, to stop me from kissing other girls. You want to control me. You're a control freak." He looked up and down

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

"Tell me"

A laugh escaped Aegon’s thin lips: “I see a nag. A boring nag who doesn’t allow me to live the way I want.” He spat on the floor next to you. “You're always complaining, always asking me why I drink, why I flirt with other girls…” He laughed again.

“Well, because you’re my damn boyfriend, you know when people in relationships don’t cheat, that’s the reason people invented relationships,” you were angry and already at your breaking point.

Aegon laughed, but his eyes were cold and hard: “I know you would want me to be faithful and look only at you. I tried this first. But your nagging made me unhappy. To experience life, I want to have fun. I won't be sorry if you don't like it. You don't matter."

“Then it’s better to break up, I won’t let someone like you gaslight me.” You finally said it. That phrase I thought about, fantasised about and feared.

Aegon raised an eyebrow, "Really?" he chuckled. “Then do it. Break up with me. But you won't do it." He said, grinning. “Why? Because deep down I know that you are crazy about me. You can't get enough of me”.

Saying, "tag, you're it, tag, tag, you're it" He's saying, "tag, you're it, tag, tag, you're it"

“You’re only wrong about one thing: I’m crazy about you. We’re breaking up,” you exclaimed with a smile. “It’s over, farewell Aegon,” you said and started to walk away. It felt like you had thrown off long-standing shackles, you were freed, you finally wanted to live.

Aegon grabbed your arm, stopping you. “You can't leave me. This is my job". He glared at you, “And how exactly are you going to walk home in that dress and those heels? And it's dark outside…"

“It’s not your problem, you’re not my boyfriend anymore.” Why did these words sound so sweet and melodious from your lips? You didn't know, but you were sure you would understand later.

He leaned towards your face, smelling of alcohol. "But I can't let you go into the dark."

"And why? I said dripping with sarcasm

He smirked, “Because I don’t want to risk anything happening to you. You are my responsibility,” he said, and deep down he thought: the longer I delay her coming home, the more she will miss me

“Not anymore,” you shouted and laughed for the first time from the lightness in your chest. This feeling inspired you. You continued on your way home, laughing periodically and raising your hands to the starry sky.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is there?” He said, looking at you. “What if you get lost? Or if something bad happens to you? What would I tell your father? I can't let you leave like this.” His tone became gentle as he added, “I care about you.”

“Well that sucks because I don’t care about you,” you gave him your middle finger and then licked it.

He stared at you, trying to keep his temper. His hands clenched into fists until his knuckles turned white. After a moment, he gave a sharp nod "Oh yeah? Well, do whatever you want." He said and turned away "You'll see, you little bitch, you'll come back".

You were indifferent to his words. You walked home with a smile from ear to ear, even the damn heels didn’t spoil your mood.You only heard the sharp slam of a car door and the sound of wheels that were taking your ex somewhere far away, somewhere where you wouldn’t care about him.

After 15 minutes of walking home, you were finally there. You kicked off your shoes and looked at yourself in the mirror. There stood a girl who was proud of herself. It was the only thing that mattered to you at the moment. Walking into the kitchen, you took out a bottle of whiskey. It has always been customary in your family to celebrate any victories, small or large. You uncorked the bottle and drank straight from your throat.

The idea immediately came to mind. You turned on your favourite playlist and turned the volume up to maximum. Dancing, you reached the bedroom and began to sort through things. You put all of his shirts, hoodies and other items of clothing into boxes when one box caught your attention. Lingerie from Victoria's Secrets. His gift for Valentine's Day. He always said that red suits you.

Your inner bitch woke up with new confidence and, tearing open the gift wrapping, you put on your underwear and took a selfie, which you posted on your Instagram. Compliments from friends poured in at breakneck speed, but you didn’t care. You danced drunkenly on the marble table in your living room, breaking away just to open the windows to ventilate the room.

Eenie meenie miny mo Get your lady by her toes

You didn’t even suspect that your ex’s car was parked under these very windows. Aegon gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were as white as the first snow of winter. The notification of your new post brought him out of his trance. Your body, your lace lingerie, your smile. And all this without him. But you couldn’t really break up with him after two years, could you? Couldn't she? Right?

Something instantly switched in his head and he got out of the car. Anger, betrayal and adrenaline, all this was mixed in his head and that’s why he was now banging on your door.

You didn’t hear the knocks on the door, you didn’t hear him enter your apartment, and you definitely didn’t hear him sigh as he looked at you. You danced and moved your hips, laughed and drank even more from the already half-empty bottle.

“What the hell are you doing?” Aegon exclaimed after turning off the player.

“Shit,” you exclaimed in shock. With a careless movement of your hands, you spilled the remaining whiskey on yourself and the table. "What are you doing here?"

“Well, I came to make sure you were alright since you are my girlfriend.But I can see you are more than fine. You are better than ever” Aegon said sarcastically. He was angry and pitiful at the same time. "I guess you were just joking when you told me we broke up, weren't you?"

“No, I was extremely serious. Looks like the only one crying about the breakup is you,” you said mockingly. Alcohol gave you confidence and increased all your emotions significantly.

"I don't believe you for a second… You can't get over me, can you?" He leaned in to whisper into your ear "Be so honest for once and admit that you don't want to live without me" his hands lay on your hips, and his face was centimetres from your neck. No matter how wrong it was, you didn't pull away.

If she screams, don't let her go Eenie meenie miny mo

“I’m fucking living without you now Aegon, I can and I will,” you exclaimed. His hands squeezed you even tighter, in the mirror you could already see your reddened skin. You were sure that there would definitely be a couple of bruises.

"I don't believe you." He whispered, his breath on your neck. It had an effect on you that you didn't expect. You got goosebumps. This game can be played by two people. "You'll come crawling back. You'll beg forgiveness. That's what you always do."

“Then cry baby,” You whispered and bit his ear lightly, but with the confidence that the teeth marks would remain for a couple of days. “You fuck every girl at the university, that’s not what I wanted from a relationship,” you laughed.

That laugh triggered all his anger. "You know what? I think this breakup is permanent. You can have all your freedom. It's not like I really need you." He said, trying to sound nonchalant. But he was deeply upset, it showed in his voice and his eyes. He wanted you to run after him and confess your love for him.

“So this is the reason why you are squeezing my thighs? Because you don’t need me?” and after that you looked into his eyes. It was a mistake. Big and unforgivable. In a split second, you saw fire, hatred and desire in his eyes. There wasn't enough time for more.

His lips pressed against yours in a fiery kiss. The heat was dizzying, the moment he had been looking forward to for so long and the memory of the past two years came back at once. Your bodies were touching, and Aegon wanted more. The feelings of anger, insecurity, and jealousy were gone. His lips met yours again, and his hands were pulling your body close to him.

The next moment, your body was lying on the table where, minutes earlier, you had danced to celebrate the end of a toxic relationship. Your back felt sticky from the spilled whiskey, but that didn’t matter now. It looks like the wheel of samsara has begun another circle, but now you are at the peak of bliss. Looking at the chandelier, you thought that this couldn’t start again. It can't?

Aegon's mouth trailed down her neck, he kissed, nibbled, and sucked at your skin. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a warm flood of sensations coursing through his body. He groaned as he took in your scent. He wanted to devour you… and you will gladly let him.

He knew all your bliss points. The neck was one of them. You flinched slightly as he bit your collarbone. And at that moment the brain lost control. You pressed your lips to his, biting his lips and gently licking the blood.

His mouth continued its journey down your body until it was close to your panties.

“Red suits you,” he said with a grin. You knew it and you hated yourself for it. He will always find his own way to you. The touch of the cold metal of his rings pulled you out of your thoughts and you realised that you were already lying naked in front of him on the table.

Your mother said to pick the very best girl And I am

As soon as Aegon saw your wet pussy glistening under the lights, he couldn't resist the urge to taste it. Drooling at the sight, he knelt down between your legs, positioning himself perfectly so that he could reach every inch of your pussy with his tongue. The sound of his eager slurping filled the room, mixed with the moans escaping your mouth as he lapped at your folds eagerly. At first you tried to bite your lip to hold back your moans, but you quickly realised that it was pointless.

"Ah… fuck…" He muttered under his breath, lost in the pleasure of tasting you. He pulled away momentarily to catch his breath before diving right back in, swirling his tongue around your entrance teasingly before pushing one finger inside of you slowly, testing your tightness.

Hearing your moan, Aegon's pace increased, his tongue working faster and harder as he savoured the taste of your juices flowing down his throat. He added another finger, pushing deeper into your wetness with each pass, feeling the tightness around his digits gradually giving way to accommodate his intrusion.

"There we go," he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly with desire. "Feel good, love?" He asked, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes as he continued to pleasure your pussy with his mouth.

With one last swift motion, he removed his fingers from your pussy and sucked your clit hard into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it vigorously while biting down lightly on the sensitive nub. But you wanted more, you needed more.

Aegon felt your hands start to work on his jeans, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through him as he watched you undoing them. He knew what this meant - you wanted him inside of you, and he couldn't wait any longer.

"I can't wait to be deep inside of you," he growled, standing up and pulling off his pants and boxers in one swift motion, revealing his fully erect cock standing proudly against his stomach.

In one swift movement, he kicked off his underwear and stepped out of them completely, leaving himself completely exposed for you to see. His cock throbbed with anticipation, ready to fill you up completely. "You want this big dick inside of you, don't you?"

Aegon grinned wickedly at your nod, knowing exactly what you wanted. He didn't waste any time, he immediately grabbed onto your hips and guided his throbbing member towards your waiting pussy. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself deep within your walls, filling you up completely. The sound of their entry echoed throughout the empty room, mixing with the sounds of their heavy breathing and the slap of flesh against flesh.

"Fuck" He groaned, his voice low and guttural as he began to fuck you roughly, driving himself into your depths over and over again. His hips moved in a relentless rhythm, pounding into you with force, his balls slapping against your thighs with each powerful stroke.

Aegon felt your pussy clinch around him tightly as you climaxed, his cock throbbing with each pulse of your orgasm. He loved seeing you come undone in front of him, knowing that he was the one who had brought you to such heights of pleasure. With a satisfied grunt, he increased the intensity of his thrusts, driving himself even deeper into you as he continued to pound away at your sensitive walls.

Feeling your release, Aegon's own climax began to build up in him, and with a final primal roar, he unloaded a hot stream of cum inside of you, filling your womb with his thick seed as he released wave after wave of pure ecstasy.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, he gently pressed a kiss behind your ear and whispered, “Tag, you’re it.”

That night you came 4four times, he came three times. It was a small victory, but still a victory. you were right, the wheel of samsara has started spinning again and you just have to wait for a new blow. Aegon may have been the one who created this wheel, but now it is your turn to control it. you looked at his sleeping face on the pillow of your bed and carefully tucked a strand of his platinum hair behind his ear.

You whispered something that he will never know because it’s your time now, and you'll be ready to crush him with that wheel harder than he's ever done before.

“Tag, you’re it”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen modern

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delicateflowerss · 10 months

Text

Sweet

You knew your best friend, Sarah Cameron, wouldn't approve of your crush on her brother. But what you didn't know is how much she'll want to prove to you that you deserve better.

Warnings: 18+, DUB-CON, dark!Sarah, jealousy, slight Rafe x Reader, mentions of drugs, underage drinking, fem!reader, kook!reader, non-canon ages

Word Count: 1.4k

Even if you haven’t stepped foot outside of Sarah’s bedroom in the last couple hours, you still know a stillness has settled over the rest of the house.

By the lack of noise and lights, you can tell the rest of the Cameron’s are tucked in their beds, peacefully sleeping.

You and Sarah are the only ones awake, reveling in the midnight hour. It’s an exhilarating feeling when you can ignore the rest of the world and escape to somewhere else with your best friend.

Except your thoughts linger on another blond Cameron.

He isn’t sleeping like the rest of his family. You’re sure he’s at a party, snorting little white lines and shoving his tongue down some girl’s throat.

Before you can think about it anymore, Sarah repeats your name since you didn’t hear her the first time.

She says it like a gentle nudge on the shoulder, brown eyes settling on the somewhat distracted look on your face.

When she finally gets your attention, her pink lips form into a smile.

“What’re you thinking about?” she asks, giving one final stroke of pink nail polish to her fingernail.

“Oh, nothing,” you reply, shrugging as you hope to feign nonchalance.

Sarah takes another look at you before tightening the lid of the nail polish and setting it on her nightstand.

Your eyes look between your drying nails and the umpteenth Gossip Girl episode playing. Sarah knows how much you hate painting your own nails, always screwing up at least one of your hands. So, she usually does it for you, painting yours before hers.

She never messes up once.

“There seems to be something on your mind.”

She only sounds curious, not worried or upset that you could be hiding something from her.

She blows air on her nails while patiently waiting for you to say something.

You consider her for a moment before sighing. You hate keeping things from her and this is something that has been locked inside your heart for too long now.

“I want to tell you…but I don’t want you to be mad,” you start.

Chuckling, Sarah asks, “why would I be mad?” like it’s silly you would think that.

“Because it’s about Rafe.”

Her smile falters but only for a moment. She raises her eyebrows, urging you to go on.

“I like him.”

Your voice is only slightly louder than a whisper.

You stare at her, waiting for upset to cross her face, or at least disgust.

“You like Rafe?”

You suppose it’s confusion that lands instead.

“Why?” she asks.

Her mouth is slightly curved upwards like she’s fighting off laughter.

“I know he’s your brother, Sarah. But I don’t know. It just sort of…happened,” you explain, probably poorly.

She sighs, the slight smile disappearing.

“It’s not about him being my brother. It’s about him being him.”

When you look back at her with a blank stare, she shifts on the soft sheets under her. With a swoop, she takes your hands in hers, possible wet nail polish being forgotten.

“I don’t care that you like my brother,” she explains. “I care that he’s an asshole.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I just don’t think he’s the type of guy you’re looking for,” she continues, ignoring your silent protests. “He’s just going to end up breaking your heart.”

You listen to her, and you know she’s right, even if you don’t want her to be.

“Rafe doesn’t deserve a girl like you,” she says softly, her gaze not moving from your face.

“Why not?” you ask, like you just found your voice again.

“You’re too sweet.”

You really tried to heed Sarah’s warnings, but it was hard when you ended up standing right in front of Rafe.

You don’t know why it’s easier to talk to him outside the walls of Tannyhill, like at this party you and Sarah showed up to.

It’s a big Kook party where everyone can get drunk or high. Neither are really your thing. You just like to sip on whatever alcohol is available.

That’s how you bumped into Rafe, filling up your red solo cup.

Maybe it’s easier to talk to him at a crowded party because it feels less like you’re crushing on your best friend’s brother.

It feels less delusional and more real.

You’ve known Rafe since you were eleven, just as long as you’ve been friends with Sarah. But it was only recently you discovered your crush on him.

As you laugh at something he says, you don’t notice Sarah, watching you with a frown and a furrowed brow.

“Did you have fun tonight?”

You nod, fighting back a yawn. “Yeah. I did,” you quietly say, still thinking about earlier.

You two stare at each other, a pillow under each of your heads. The lights are off, only the moonlight spilling into the room.

Sarah asked if she could spend the night after the party, and you can never say no to Sarah.

Your parents aren’t even home, out of town for the weekend.

She sighs, blinking.

“I saw you talking to Rafe.”

You swallow, already hearing the disappointment in her voice.

“I don’t know why you think you would be happy with him.” She pauses before continuing, “he’s a coke addict with anger issues. And I can’t even remember the last long-term relationship he’s been in.”

“Sarah-.”

“No, Y/N,” she cuts you off. “I don’t know why you can’t see what everyone else can. What I can,” she pointedly says.

“Doesn’t it matter what I think?” she asks, desperation creeping into her voice.

“Of course, it does,” you quickly respond.

She reaches a hand out, caressing your cheek as if to calm you and herself down.

“You deserve someone so much better. Someone who cares.” You almost don’t notice her inching toward you. Her breath fans over you as she says, “someone who can make you feel good.”

Her lips feel soft against yours, plush and tasting like her favorite cherry lip gloss.

But it’s the sugary taste of your lips that makes Sarah deepen the kiss.

Just as it’s beginning, it ends as you gently push against her shoulder, catching your breath as you pull away from her.

“Sarah, what are you doing?”

For a second, she thinks she could stop, and then she sees the way your chest heaves up and down.

“I’m showing you what you would be missing out on if you dated my brother,” she breathlessly says against your lips.

She kisses your open mouth, tongue easily sliding in. You feel her fingers caress your inner thigh.

Her vanilla perfume dazes you, putting you in a dream where all you feel is her.

When her fingers graze your clit, your hips move into her touch, a small moan in your throat.

She moves away only to push you onto your back. Hands massage your breasts before traveling downward.

“Guys are so rough. You don’t need that,” she says as she slides your underwear off. “You need someone with a gentle hand. Or with a gentle mouth,” she adds, smirking.

She’s moving too fast, and you’re still clouded with the scent of her.

When her lips wrap around your swollen bud, you’re mercilessly brought back to reality, a loud whimper finally escaping you.

You feel her start to lap at you, her warm tongue licking at your slit before returning to where you’re aching.

If you were thinking rationally, you wouldn’t be letting your best friend touch you like this. Tongue going in circles as you can’t think of anything else besides the hot waves of pleasure swirling in your belly.

Sarah keeps one of her hands on your hip, pink nails digging into your skin as she tries to keep you glued to the bed.

The same bed where you two used to share secrets for no one else to hear. You and Sarah have done everything together, nothing separating you. That’s only truer now as she made sure of that.

Her other hand disappears as she looks at your face, watching your teeth sink into your bottom lip as she pushes two fingers inside of you.

More breathy moans leave you as she goes back to sucking at your bundle of nerves. Her fingers rock back and forth, massaging your sweet spot.

Finally, it becomes too much for you, your toes curling and your vision going white as you come.

She takes her mouth off you and through your tired eyes, you can see her lick her wet lips before plunging her fingers into her mouth.

Ecstasy paints her face like she’s drinking the nectar of the gods. A sigh falls from her lips when she removes her fingers.

She stares at you for a moment before she smirks again.

“I’m sorry, I can’t control myself. You just taste so sweet.”

#sarah cameron #sarah cameron x reader #obx #outer banks #sarah cameron x fem!reader #dark!sarah cameron #dark!sarah cameron x reader

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aquagirl1978 · 11 months

Note

Hello I believe requests are open if not you can throw this ask away! I was wondering if you would be able to do hc of the princes as Dads(mainly Clavis and Chev or anyone else you wan to do) I feel like they would be all so adorable 🥰

Thank you for this request - with Father's Day approaching, it feels appropriate to write some Dad headcanons.

IKEMEN PRINCE HEADCANONS - PRINCES AS DADS

Jin Grandet

Jin is a caring dad. As the oldest brother, Jin already has experience being the mature one of the group, the one keeping an eagle's eye on everyone else. When he became a father himself, he was overjoyed, his heart overflowing with love for his new child. The pair are often spotted together, walking hand in hand.

Chevalier Michel

Chevalier is a reluctant dad. In the past, he would have said having children is a royal obligation - and not one he was particularly interested in. But seeing you around children has changed his opinion. Having no experience with parental love himself, he had no choice but to look to you to follow your cues in raising this child. He watches how you hold this small human who bears the same hair and eyes as he, and he mimics you best he can. Over time, he becomes quite the capable parent, but if asked, he will always say that you do it best.

Clavis Lelouch

Clavis is a joyful dad. Plagued with insecuties, Clavis never thought he'd find someone who loved him as much as he loved them. But then you came into his life, and not only loved him, but created a family filled with love. Clavis has a large family army of Lelouchians. During the day, he teaches his children the ways of perfecting the Lelouchian trap, and at night, he shares in the bedtime routine of telling nighttime stories. The kids' favorite story? Well, that would be the one about Sariel and the day of a thousand rats.

Leon Dompteur

Leon is a proud dad. Leon still remembers the day you told him the wonderful news that he would be a dad. A family of his very own, of his own blood. It was almost too overwhelming for him. And the day he met his firstborn, well, that was the best day ever. Leon waited maybe a week before bringing his baby to work with him. Leon said it was because he wanted to give you some time to rest, but really, he wanted to show his baby off to his brothers.

Yves Kloss

Yves is a doting dad. Move over, Licht. Yves has a new bundle of joy to shower with love and attention. Don't worry, Yves still adores Licht and Licht is secretly happy to not have so much attention showered upon him. Yves celebrates every milestone with an extravagant tea party. Baby's first steps? Cake and cookies - it doesn't matter that the baby can't eat yet. Yves takes every moment he can to celebrate this precious child of his and let them know just how much he loves them - for who they are.

Licht Klein

Licht is a protective dad. He never wanted to be a father - given his childhood, who could blame him? But after falling in love with you and allowing light to shine in his life, he wasn't quite ready when you told him you were expecting. Thankful it wasn't twins, Licht loves his child as much as he can. And he does what he does best - protect. When his child is afraid of the dark, he first does a sweep of the room to make sure no monsters are lurking and then stays by their side all night. When they fall and scrape their knee, Licht is there to bandage it and kiss it to make them feel better.

Nokto Klein

Nokto is a tentative dad. Like Licht, Nokto didn't want to be a parent. He was too afraid he'd screw things up. When you told him he was to be a dad, boy, was he nervous. And when you delivered twins, Nokto was besides himself. But because of you and your reassurance, reminding him what a good man he is and how much love he has to give, Nokto crept out of his shell and allowed himself to fall in love with these two little babies. Nokto was known around the palace as a master negotiator, and no one could outfox him - except for his children.

Luke Randolph

Luke is a strong dad. Being raised by Gilbert strengthened Luke in many ways, not just physically. As Luke can handle Gilbert and stand up to him, Luke teaches his children this inner strength. No one bullies Luke's kids at school - not just because their dad is the biggest and strongest, but because they know how to stand up for themselves.

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hotchs-bitch · 2 years

Text

Hold On

Summary: When a case hits a little too close to home, it’s time for Aaron to face the music and be honest about his feelings after the breakup

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n), Hotch x Beth mentioned, Emily Prentiss x mentioned oc (aka @leftoverenvy)

Word count: ~12k (the girl cannot shut up) (it’s closer to 13 but it’s worth it I swear to god it is)

Warnings: hotch pov, case-compliant violence/injuries, mentions of suicide, mentions of pregnancy & pregnancy scares, domestic actions without fluff, relationship talk/references to relationship, angst angst angst, deep delving into their feelings, this is basically a case study, I once again leaned way too heavily on song lyrics so pls listen to it

A/N: As Taylor Swift said…. Dear reader, if it feels like a trap, you’re already in one. Mwahaha. Anyways I hope you enjoy this. Massive shoutout to @munsons-curls and @doctorstethoscope for fixing my many mistakes and validating me, and to everyone who has let me take them on this little ride. I can’t express how much I’ve enjoyed writing this fic, or how excited I am to write the epilogue

Find it on ao3 here and as always, happy reading <3

Prev part | Next part | Series masterlist | My masterlist

—————

There's so many dreams that we have given up

Take a look at all we've got

And with this kind of love what we've got here is enough

So hold on to me tight, hold on, I promise it'll be alright

'Cause we are stronger here together than we could ever be alone

Just hold on to me, don't you ever let me go

Once upon a time, Aaron had considered himself lucky. He had a steady job, as dangerous as it was fulfilling, with the BAU. He had a son, energetic and joyous despite all he’d been through. He had you, beautiful and strong and endlessly supportive of him. He had a version of the life he had always wanted, the normalcy of family game night and someone else making Jack eat his veggies. It had been perfect.

But then, he’d screwed up. Hadn’t he? He had opened up, just a bit too much, and told you something you didn’t want to hear. Scared you off.

Instead of spending the rest of his life with you, as he’d planned, Aaron found himself alone. He tried not to blame you, tried not to feel bitter about the inevitable result of finally opening up to someone so wholly.

He bit back every thought of how conditional your love turned out to be, every scathing remark about how Biometrics was one of the most useless departments in the Bureau. He pretended not to care when he overheard that you were dating again, courtesy of JJ and Prentiss’ water cooler gossip.

He’d done what Aaron Hotchner always did; he’d buckled up, lifted his chin, and done what was expected of him. He’d found a nice girl, one that fell for him quickly, and he wished he could return the depths of her affection. He’d continued to work, putting away bad guys with Morgan and Reid while missing the easy way you’d always been able to read his mind in the field.

He moved apartments as soon as it became apparent that the ghost of you would never leave; he just wished that it hadn’t followed him, haunting him with thoughts of you dancing around the new stainless steel kitchen, or flopping onto the brand new suede couch.

He’d done what you asked him to, two years ago when you’d walked away from him and left him to pick up the pieces of his son’s broken heart and ignore his own.

Everyone has a breaking point, though. Aaron, to his credit, hadn’t reached it many times in his life.

There was the first time his father hit his little brother; the first time Aaron fought back. Open-handed slaps, broken noses, Sean screaming. He had never regretted it, not even when he wound up in the hospital that night.

There was George Foyet, dead on the blood-soaked carpet after a blur of a fight. Bloody knuckles, blurry vision, Haley’s blood flecked on her killer’s face. He’d do it a hundred times over if he had the chance.

There was the breakup, the one that simultaneously snuck up on him and had been inevitable. Crumpled flowers, Aaron yelling, you packing your desk. If he hadn’t snapped, would you have stayed?

And then there were the breaking points Aaron never expected to reach.

Leaving for a case the day you broke up with him, only to return to a half-empty apartment. Empty closet, the ‘hers’ sink from the his-and-hers themed bathroom scrubbed clean, your favourite mug left in the dishwasher. He had shattered the mug, thrown it off the balcony where you liked to drink your coffee in the mornings.

The first time you’d come along on a team outing after the breakup. Laughter, avoiding glances, ignoring how good you looked. He had taken home the first woman who caught his eye that night, learned her name- Beth- and given her a place in his life, like that would solve anything.

No matter how many breaking points he experienced, Aaron could never be sure about when the next one would occur. His saving grace through it all was that at least he could keep his composure at work.

Where Aaron failed, Hotch wasn’t allowed to.

Maybe that’s why it’s such a shock when the team gets news of a bombing in New York, just days after Emily’s wedding, and Hotch nearly keels over at his desk.

You’re in New York.

— — —

The drive to the airstrip is a blur; the whole team is worried, of course, but Aaron can hardly see straight until he’s on the plane with a file in his hand and Emily is squeezing his arm.

He remembers giving a quick and quiet order to Garcia, to call you and find out if you’re okay, and it doesn’t help his nerves that all she could tell him was, “Her phone is off.”

“She’s okay, you know,” Emily murmurs, discreet enough that no one else can hear. “It’s a big city. She’s just fine. We’ll catch this guy, and then you can see her. We just need to work the case first.”

Aaron- Hotch, now- takes a deep breath and does his best to hide that those words are exactly what he needs to hear right now, even if he doesn’t plan on seeing you. She’s right; they just need to work the case. “Alright. Okay,” he says a little louder, “What do we know?”

“Not much,” Morgan frowns at the file in his hand. “A bomb went off at The Vessel. It was a structure, I guess, but no one was allowed inside and that’s where the bomb was. Makes sense with the casualty numbers- Seven wounded, two dead.”

“Probably nearby tourists, taking pictures with it,” Prentiss says thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s sending a message to outsiders, but didn’t want a high body count.”

“That could be it,” Rossi agrees. “‘Stay out of my city’.”

“There’s been no communication to any news outlets so far,” JJ chimes in. “I don’t think we’ll learn much more until we get there and have a chance to check out the scene.”

Reid adjusts a few papers so they align, most of his attention focused on the task. “You know, most seemingly random bombings have a high chance of being followed up with a string of serial bombings, for a number of reasons. Sometimes the unsub gets addicted to the attention, or the feeling of killing, or the initial bomb doesn’t impact the intended target,” he continues, not noticing the look Rossi is shooting him.

Hotch takes a deep breath and tries to push back the feeling in his chest that resembles a brick being crushed into his sternum. “Alright. JJ is right. There’s not much more we can do with no signature and no other bombings. Everyone, just try to relax; I have a feeling we won’t be getting much rest in New York.”

He watches as the team follows his instruction. The tension is palpable but they know there’s nothing they can do; the waiting is everyone’s least favourite part of the job. Still, they try to relax. Morgan pulls on his headphones and closes his eyes, JJ and Reid start to play cards, and Prentiss and Rossi re-open their file folders to review case details.

As much as he’d like to do the same, Aaron can’t bring himself to move. He sits there, head against the window, and he wonders if you’re okay. Were you caught in the blast? Did you become one of Reid’s bombing statistic numbers? Or are you perfectly fine, content somewhere in the city with no idea that Aaron is on his way there?

He wonders, briefly, against his will in a moment dripping with guilt, which potential is worse.

———

Aaron Hotchner is something of a practiced master at hiding his agony. Maybe that’s why his voice is so level when the plane starts to descend, and he finally speaks to do the one thing he knows how; direct his team.

“Morgan and Rossi, go to the bombing site. See what you can find. Prentiss, head to the hospital with Reid and start talking to victims, and JJ, see if any news outlets have been contacted yet. We’ll meet at the station later.”

As though on cue, Garcia’s computer screen against the wall of the jet lights up. The tech analyst looks a bit paler than usual, and Hotch crosses his fingers and chalks it up to bad lighting until she speaks.

“Sir, there was another bombing. Three minutes ago, in a grocery store near the Village. There’s no casualty numbers yet.” She looks like she might cry now, and it’s not hard to figure out why.

“A grocery store is a serious escalation,” Rossi says, opening the file folder he’d just closed. “There’s locals, long-stay tourists, families shopping. Big jump from a tourist trap.”

“So we know he’s not possessive of the city. At least, he isn’t just trying to get rid of perceived outsiders,” JJ offers, and Morgan shakes his head.

“If this guy is looking for the homey-cozy ‘love thy neighbour’ deal, he’s not about to get it in New York no matter what he bombs,” he points out.

When the plane jostles them all a little, Hotch takes the moment of silence to re-assess assignments. “Garcia, is search and rescue at the second bombing site?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. The team is split between doing recovery at both locations,” she says, and one nod from Rossi means Hotch doesn’t hesitate to reassign.

“Morgan, you’re with me at the new site. We’ll be assisting with search and rescue before anything else. Rossi can handle the first scene by himself. Everyone else, stay as assigned.”

“Hotch, are you sure about that? I might be able to…” On what was probably going to be an offer of how he can assist at the original scene, Morgan falters. Of course he does. There’s nothing to be done when the bomb’s already gone off.

“I’m sure. There are people out there, and they deserve to be saved.”

———

When the plane hits the tarmac, his team is ready. It’s like watching a well-oiled machine, the way they pair off and head off to their assigned zones. The only pause is between Aaron and Rossi, when he grabs his friend’s arm on the way off the plane. “Dave…”

“I’ll tell you if she’s there,” Rossi promises, and then he’s gone in a black SUV while Hotch climbs into one with Morgan and heads to the Village bombsite.

“So, search and rescue,” Morgan says, raising his voice to speak over the sirens that Hotch has turned on. “Are we heading in, or assisting from the sidelines?”

“According to Garcia, the ambulances aren’t able to make it out to the grocery store. There’s too much rubble blocking the roads that aren’t under construction, and it’s New York traffic in addition to the media outlets swarming the place.” Hotch lets out a concentrated breath. “It’s going to be all hands on deck. Look for survivors, get them to an ambulance.”

“Got it.” The second Hotch throws the car into park, Morgan is sliding out of his seat and onto the sidewalk. Both men make their way through the media storm, past the ambulances that managed to park closer than they did, and into the store.

Search and rescue is there already, along with the SWAT team. They’re moving debris, lifting fallen shelves, and occasionally carrying people out to the ambulances waiting for them.

Hotch sets into motion instantly. He breaks off for the frozen food aisle where he doesn’t see anyone searching. “Is anyone over here?” He calls out, but there’s no answer.

The bomb must have come from across the store; there’s less debris here, but the shelves are twisted and collapsed all the same. Shattered glass from the freezer doors covers the ground, and he tries to avoid it as best he can as he walks down what once was an aisle.

He steps around stray items- a warped metal freezer door frame, a pile of frozen pizza boxes, pints of melting ice cream- while keeping his eyes trained for any sign of another person anywhere.

When he finally does see something, it makes his adrenaline spike. It’s a leg, poking out from under a freezer shelf. If he has to venture a guess, he’d say that someone is pinned under the bent freezer frame, but whether they’re merely unconscious or dead remains to be determined.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Hotch raises his voice a little and gets closer to the figure. He can see the leg a bit more clearly now, and a hand poking out from under the side of the freezer. The fingers twitch slightly. Thank god.

The sweatpants the person is wearing look vaguely familiar, and Hotch can’t place them until he sees the image of Nemo on them, and it clicks. As soon as he realizes, his stomach drops. His hands go clammy, the blood rushes from his face, and it’s all he can do to stay on his feet.

When the dizziness hits him, he wants to throw something and scream and maybe sink down onto the floor and cry, but he can’t.

He can’t, because he remembers when Penelope made sweatpants out of quilts for everyone on the team four Christmases ago. He can’t, because she’d had more than enough Disney quilt for two pairs, and had given you and him matching pants.

He can’t, because he recognizes those pants because they’re in his closet at home, but the only other person who owns a pair like this, obviously handmade, from a quilt covered in Disney characters, is…

It’s you.

Aaron can’t help himself, couldn’t stop it if he wanted to; he turns his head, bends over, and throws up on the grocery store floor, on layers of glass and rubble and thawed boxes of Pizza Pops. Right there, staring at your leg and hand, Aaron almost breaks.

But where Aaron has chinks in his armour, Hotch has none. Hotch is the one who takes a deep breath and wipes his mouth and straightens up, the one who uses every bit of strength to lift a warped freezer shelf up and reveal you, with a mangled wrist but looking generally otherwise unharmed.

You look terrified.

Not that Hotch can blame you, of course.

“It’s alright. You’ll be okay,” he says, and he doesn’t know if it’s Hotch or Aaron talking, because he sounds calm but he has no idea what happened or how hurt you are. “Were your neck or back hurt? You need to answer me.”

You’re looking up at him, gaze half-lidded, and he doesn’t know if he should be scared or relieved when you shake your head and croak out, “They’re fine.”

He knows it’s risky, knows he should call for Morgan or a member of SWAT or anyone with a gurney to transport you safely. But you’re in front of him, dazed, grimy and half-conscious with your wrist bent at an angle, and all he can do is pick you up and hold you close to him. “Hold on,” he instructs, and he feels your arm wrap around his neck.

“Aaron…” you whisper, and he strains to hear you as he makes his way towards the doors with you in his arms. No words follow, though, and he looks down to see you crying against him, silent with tears slicing through the coat of dust on your face. Your arm starts to slip, and he squeezes you a little.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” he promises, “But you need to stay with me. You’ve probably got a concussion, so don’t close your eyes. Hold onto me, tight. I’ve got you.”

When your grasp tightens again, he resumes moving towards the exit. The first breath of fresh air must invigorate you, because he feels you tighten your grip even more. “Aaron,” you repeat, less feeble than before, but he doesn’t want you wasting an ounce of energy.

“I know, but it’s going to be alright,” he shushes you as gently as he can until you arrive at the ambulance, and he passes you off to two paramedics who slide you onto a gurney.

He tries to step back but your hand shoots out and grips his dirtied suit with more strength than he thought you had. “Will you visit? At the hospital?”

The correct answer is no. No, there’s a case to work. No, you’ll be fine. No, we broke up and that’s weird. “We all will,” he promises instead without a hint of regret. “Just let them take care of you, and we’ll be by when we can.”

Relief shines in your eyes, and it’s the last thing he notes before your grip loosens on him and you’re wheeled up into the ambulance.

A minute or so passes before Aaron senses someone behind him and turns to see Derek, who’s watching the road the ambulance disappeared down. “She’s gonna be okay,” he says to Aaron, offering him a nod of support.

Hotch doesn’t know who he’s trying to reassure.

— — —

They reconvene at the station a few hours later, and Aaron sits mostly silent while his team discusses victimology, motives, and the chemical makeup of each bomb. He tries to contribute once or twice, but he falls quiet every time he recalls the way you’d looked up at him.

There had been fear in your eyes, of course. You’d been in a bombing, and he knows how natural fear is after traumatic events. But there had been recognition there too, a solemn kind. He wonders to himself if you wish anyone other than him had found you and brought you to safety, or if he’s worrying about nothing.

You’re safe now, and that’s what’s important. Even if you recover and stay in New York and Aaron never sees you again, at least you’re safe.

Who is he kidding? He can’t go along with never seeing you again, safety be damned. And yet…. He clenches a fist, ignoring Morgan and Reid’s discussion about chemical compounds. And yet, you’d been so close to dead. An aisle or a footstep away, and you could have been ripped away forever.

It makes him sick to think about.

He’s thinking so hard about it that he’s got no idea how long he’s had his gaze fixed on the table before JJ’s sharp “Hotch!” breaks through and gets his attention.

He clears his throat, embarrassed to be caught off guard. “I’m sorry. I was… elsewhere.”

“Did you hear what Emily said?” She asks, and he shakes his head. When he makes eye contact, JJ’s features soften. “You should go see her.”

“No. No, that’s unnecessary. We have a case to work,” he says, and Morgan scoffs at that. “We need to work it like any other case.”

“Any other case? Hotch, you carried her to the ambulance! It’s first aid 101. She could have had a broken spine, and you threw protocol out the window,” Morgan says, staring his boss down. “This isn’t any other case. You guys were in love, man. Go see her.”

Hotch sighs, wishes that the floor could open up and swallow him. Of course he wants to see you, buthe needs to catch the person who did this, first. “It’s not my priority. There are people dying, and we need to stay focused on that. I told her that we would all come visit her after the case is closed.”

“We are focused,” Emily points out. “You aren’t. You’re not helping anyone like this. Just go talk to her, see how she’s doing.” When Aaron opens his mouth to protest again, she cuts him off. “I’m not saying you should live at her bedside or propose to her, but just go say hi. It’s going to help both of you.”

When he looks to his right, Rossi has one eyebrow up. “You know you aren’t winning this one, right?” he asks, and Hotch sighs again. “Bring the girl some flowers, too.”

Aaron closes his file and stands up. “I’m not bringing her flowers,” he mutters. “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes. If anything else happens, keep me updated.”

——

When he gets to the hospital, flowers in hand, Aaron finds your room almost immediately. He knocks twice on the door, is greeted with a soft, “Come in.”

“Hi,” he says gently, leaving the door open. He watches, waits while you do a double-take like you can’t trust your own vision when Aaron Hotchner is standing at the door.

“You came,” is your response, and he can’t decide if your voice is coloured by exhaustion or disbelief. Maybe it’s both, but he doesn’t like the idea of not being seen as dependable to you, even now.

Encouraged slightly, Aaron takes a further step into the room. Maybe you do want him here, and you weren’t delirious when you asked him to visit. “You asked me to; of course I came. How do you feel?”

While he waits for an answer, he observes you. You’re in a fresh pair of clothes, and before he can enquire about it you’re speaking.

“I’ve been better.” You hold up one arm in a cast. “But I’ve just got this and a concussion, so it could be worse. Remember that case in Kansas where I broke my leg? That was way worse.”

Aaron shakes his head, wanting to scold you for speaking so lightly of an event that had very genuinely terrified him, but he stops himself. It’s not his place. In lieu of conversation, he raises the vase of flowers slightly.

“I, uh, brought you these.”

In the two long years that you’ve been gone, Aaron has never stopped reading human behaviour. More than anything, he has experience with your body language, and he looks over you with a familiar eye.

He sees the tension in your shoulders, your eyes narrowing slightly in the direction of the arrangement, and he knows that you’re remembering the last time he brought you flowers. “Thank you,” you say after a pause that’s almost too long. “What kind are they?”

“They’re Gladioli,” he says, and the words are fully out of his mouth before he remembers that he should have lied.

When you were dating, he had always brought you flowers. On your birthday, when you solved a case, when you just felt down; Aaron was there with a bouquet, one that always meant something. Celebration, or supportive love, or some other flower language message that he knew you would understand even when he couldn’t say it out loud.

He’s pretty sure that by the time you broke up, you had memorized the whole flower dictionary. But it’s possible, he hopes, that you never came across the Gladiolus flower. Hope. Love. Remembrance.

Why he bought them, he can’t say for sure. Maybe old habits die hard. Maybe he wants to know what you’d do if you recognized the flowers.

When you finally speak, it’s with an indecipherable voice. He’s got no idea whether or not you know what these flowers mean. “They’re beautiful. Can you just put them there?” You point one finger at the windowsill, and he follows your directions to place the vase down.

“Of course.” He sets the flowers down in a beam of sunlight, adjusts them this way and that until he’s satisfied. Once he stops moving, a heavy silence falls over the room.

What is there for you to discuss?

He’s racking his brain looking for something, anything, to talk about, until you speak bluntly.

“What do you know about the bomb?”

“What?” He hadn’t even considered that you might want to talk about the case. You’re a former agent of his unit, so ethically, it’s fine to discuss this with you. Still, he’s concerned about the trauma to your body and mind. Before he can speak again, or protest, you’re already talking.

“The bomb,” you repeat. “Do we know who it was placed by? Is it connected to any other bombs? What was it made with?”

This is familiar. This is okay. This is something Hotch knows how to talk about, even when you’re laid up in a hospital bed and he’s only talked to you a handful of times since you broke up two years ago.

At least it’s not awkward anymore. He can read it in the way you sink back into the bed, and how his own shoulders release a bundle of tension that’s been there since he initially heard that there was a bombing in New York this morning.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” he admits. “It was made with the same chemical compound as the one that blew up The Vessel this morning. It was a homemade compound, nothing that could have been acquired naturally without extensive knowledge of bombs.”

“The Vessel? That’s a tourist attraction.” You sit up, but Hotch shakes his head.

“A closed one,” he corrects. “People just go there to take pictures outside the structure, now. That’s why there’s such a low body count.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not just closed. The Vessel is the attraction that closed after a string of suicides,” you say, and Hotch’s head snaps up in attention. “It was a big thing on the news. Have you looked into anyone related to any of those suicides?”

“No, we haven’t.” He’s already fumbling for his phone. “I’m going back to the station. Just… keep us updated on your condition, okay? We would all like to know how you’re doing.”

“Absolutely not.” Hotch can’t decide if he’s more annoyed, impressed, or concerned when you stand up. “I’m coming with you.”

“You aren’t a part of the BAU anymore,” he reminds you. “You made that choice.”

“Yeah, well, there weren’t any lives at stake. He went after a grocery store, Aaron! What’s next, the Empire State Building? Times Square?” You grab your bag of possessions collected from the bombing and rustle through for your purse. “Did you drive here?”

“You can’t come with me. You’re in the hospital for a reason.”

“For a concussion! People are dead.” You stride towards the door, holding your purse and jacket in the hand that doesn’t have a cast around the wrist. “Can you bring the Gladioli, please?”

Is he caught? Do you want to bring them because you know what they mean, or just because they’re nice flowers? With a sigh, Aaron picks them up and pulls his car keys out, knowing that you’ve won this one. “We aren’t putting your name on any reports,” he warns, taking your jacket and bag of possessions in his other hand. “Strauss would kill us both if she thinks I’m borrowing agents from other units.”

“I don’t need credit. But we need to find this guy, before he hurts anyone else.”

———

When Aaron gets back to the station, he thinks that his agents probably expected him to come back with something like Thai food, or information about a new bombing.

They likely weren’t expecting him to bring you with him. Or maybe they were, because the response of greeting waves and murmured ‘hello’s are less surprised than he had expected.

“How are you feeling?” Prentiss asks casually, but Hotch can see the flicker of panic in her eyes when she glances at your cast.

“I’ve been worse. Listen, Aaron told me about The Vessel…” you start talking to the team as Hotch calls Garcia to loop her in, and suddenly everything feels more normal than it has in two years.

When you’ve finished filling the team in, Hotch starts to speak. “Garcia, we’re going to need history on the deaths that occurred there before it was closed down. Rossi and Prentiss, go through medical reports. Reid, I want you going through any written notes or other evidence found with the bodies.”

While he talks, he notices you slipping out of the room out of the corner of his eye. Morgan grabs his phone and calls Garcia, trying to help her comb through articles for a list of suicides that occurred at The Vessel.

Hotch sits down with Reid, paging through suicide notes and crime scene photos sent by Garcia until he feels like his head is spinning.

That’s right around when you come back, your presence subtly announced with a cup of tea placed in front of Hotch and a gentle squeeze of his shoulder as you pass.

When he brings the cup to his lips, he smiles. It’s English Breakfast tea with a dash of sugar in it; his beverage of choice when it’s too late in the day for coffee. “Thank you,” he says, and you just give him a grin before going to assist Rossi and Prentiss.

After a few minutes of idle work and murmured discussion, Derek shushes everyone and puts his phone on speaker. “Okay, baby girl, tell us something good.”

“None of that, crime fighters. After a truly depressing deep dive through news articles, I’ve got 37 names belonging to people who… you know, died at The Vessel.”

“That’s not workable,” JJ remarks, “We need to narrow it down.”

“We said he has a protective, low body count style. Could be the family member of a suicide victim. One who doesn’t have the guts to cause the maximum amount of carnage,” Rossi suggests.

“That’s good,” Hotch hears himself say, like he’s hearing it from a distance. “A parent would show aggression. Garcia, look for suicide victims with surviving siblings in the area. Focus on the ones with older siblings.”

The click-clack of her keys is the only audible sound before she reports, “16 left. Still too many names.”

“Do any of them work in auto mechanics, or in proximity to cars?” Reid asks. “There’s a specific compound in the bomb that’s almost impossible to come by unless you have access to garage-grade chemicals or a specialized lab, and the lab is unlikely for him.”

“Two names. Anything else?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hotch sees you perk up. “Did any of the victims work at that grocery store?”

“Uhh…. One! He wasn’t on our list of two, but his name was Jackson Moyer.”

“Wait, I’ve got something here.” Reid sorts through papers- suicide notes and similar images sent from Garcia, and Hotch doesn’t know when he had time to get them printed out- until he pulls out a sheet of paper. “Jackson Moyer. It says in the note that his girlfriend broke up with him on the same day he got fired.”

Emily leans over to look at the note. “It’s dated nine months ago.”

Nine months. “She was pregnant,” Hotch blurts out, and a heavy silence falls over the group.

Moments later, Garcia gives the confirmation. “Nora Carr, Jackson’s girlfriend, had the baby…. Three days ago, but she gave it up for adoption,” she reports.

“Right before the bombings started.” Rossi’s observation sits heavy for a second until you speak again.

“Back to the victim. Does he have a surviving family member matching the description?” You hold the end of a pen in your mouth, worrying it between your lips while you look at your files. “A sibling or close cousin, maybe.”

There’s a moment of typing before Garcia says, “Bingo. His older brother, Jeremy. It looks like they were really close growing up; same sports teams, friend group, classes, you name it. He doesn’t work at any kind of auto shop, though. He works in retail.”

“He felt betrayed when his brother killed himself,” Hotch starts.

He’s caught off guard when you continue his train of thought for the first time in two years. The ease with which you take over his idea is one that he’s missed; sometimes, when he’s having difficulty going somewhere with a profile, he misses working with you. It’s like you hold the other piece of the puzzle.

But now, even if just temporarily, you’re here and you’re fitting the puzzle piece into place

“And he saw giving away Jackson’s child as the ultimate betrayal. Does he have a boyfriend or girlfriend with access to the chemicals used?” You ask.

“Yep. Her name is Erica Harmon and she’s a grad student at Columbia. She’s a TA in a load of undergrad chem classes, too.”

“He’s got access to the chemicals through her,” JJ says, frowning at her list of materials found in the bombs. “Almost all of this is lab-grade, and the rest of it wouldn’t be hard to find at a supermarket.”

“And he’s probably going after Jackson’s ex-girlfriend next,” Morgan says, already grabbing his gun as the rest of the group stands up.

Prentiss looks at her boss. “Where do you want us?”

“You and Reid, head to Jeremy’s house. Rossi, Morgan, JJ, I want you at the ex-girlfriend’s apartment.”

“Where am I going?” You ask, using one hand on the table to steady yourself when you stand up and wobble slightly. “I need a gun.”

“No, you don’t. You need to stay here, and I’ll stay with you.” Aaron sits back down, pulls you into your own chair with both hands on yours while he ignores the team’s stares.

“Hotch, are you sure?” Morgan asks, but Aaron doesn’t even look over.

“Go.”

He hears the sounds of rustling to his side, his team leaving as fast as they can while Garcia says something about sending them the addresses, but he can hardly focus. “Are you okay?”

“A little…” You bring a hand to the centre of your forehead. “A little dizzy, that’s all. Are they going to be okay?”

“They’ll be just fine. We profiled that he targets the buildings themselves, not the people in them. He won’t be able to take a hostage successfully.” Aaron promises.

He hopes he’s right.

He hopes he hasn’t lied to you yet again, especially when you give him a hopeful smile.

“I missed this,” you say, so casually that his heartbeat falters before you continue to speak, giving him clarification that he doesn’t want. “Working with everyone, being on cases. Biometrics isn’t nearly as interesting.”

The confession cracks his face into something resembling a smile. “Never a dull moment here,” he agrees before the two of you fall into a silence that he can’t decipher.

Should he have said something else? We missed working with you, or I missed having you around, or Biometrics is practically an entry-level unit. Maybe even, Are you thinking of rejoining the team?

He still doesn’t know why he lied to you on the day of the breakup, why the words ‘it’s not reversible’ had ever left his lips. You could have come back to the BAU at any time, Strauss be damned. Of course, it would be his head on the chopping block, but still. You deserved to know.

He doesn’t say anything.

“How’s Beth?” You blurt out, and he wonders how long you’ve been holding onto that question before you asked it.

He wishes you hadn’t asked. He has a moment of panic, gives you a reaction he already hates himself for before he does it. Instead of answering, he stands up and picks up his now-empty mug of tea. “I’m going to get another. Do you need anything? Some water?” He suggests, brushing the back of his hand on your forehead the way he does when Jack is sick.

The look in your eyes is unreadable when you slump down into your seat further, staring at the table. “I’m okay,” you mumble, and Aaron hates himself even more for the familiar way he caresses your hair before he walks off.

His return a few minutes later finds you curled up in one of the large office chairs, your head leaned back while you speak into your cell phone. “… not sure when I’ll be back,” you’re saying, and you glance up when he enters the room. “I’ll call you back later, okay?”

You hang up and tuck the phone under your leg before you look up at him. You don’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything.

You don’t say anything.

“I brought you tea,” he blurts out.

Aaron Hotchner, ex-prosecutor, Unit Chief of the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, well-known in more than one elite circle for his nuanced understanding of the human mind and what makes it tick. That’s him.

Or maybe it’s not, because after two seconds of awkward silence he’s offering you the mug of tea he made for himself.

“I thought you went to get yourself one,” you say, but a barely-trembling hand reaches forward to accept the mug nonetheless. Thank god he’d grabbed a clean one.

“You need it more. How’s your arm doing?” He asks, and you shrug.

“It’s been better, but it’s been worse. Hurts less when I don’t think about it.”

Aaron has always prided himself on giving you what you need. If you’re telling him that you don’t want to think about it, he can work with that. He can distract you. “Who were you on the phone with?”

It’s excruciating, the length of time that he sits in silence before you answer. It feels like he’s waiting for a signed murder confession. He sits there and waits for what feels like days, weeks, maybe a month or two to hear you say, “My friend.”

“Garcia said you were visiting a friend. That’s why you bought the onesie, isn’t it?” He guesses, remembering that awkward run-in with Beth and Ella at the museum gift shop.

He can’t believe he brought it up. Can you see the shame for it on his face, or the tips of his ears red with embarrassment?

It had been a great day. He had had a rare day off, and he and Beth had taken the kids to the park. They’d gone out for ice cream afterwards, and finally for a tour of Jack’s favourite museum that ended with the museum gift shop. It’s almost a perfect memory, a day that he would fit into a snow globe to preserve if he could.

He knows that if he did that, somehow preserved the day in a sphere full of glycol, he would just remember the look on your face in that gift shop. He still can’t put a name to the emotion other than ‘torn’.

Aaron Hotchner; the master of understanding every human mind except yours.

“She just had a baby,” you respond, and he blinks twice before he remembers that you aren’t in the gift shop anymore and that he asked you a question.

You’re here in front of him now with a broken wrist and a concussion and you finally seem to be opening up to him, and he doesn’t want to risk missing it by staying in his own head.

“Boy or girl?” He asks while you sip the tea. It's an English Breakfast with nothing but a bit of sugar, but you don’t seem to mind.

“He’s a boy. His name is Tristan and he’s cute, too. Do you want to see a picture?” You’re already eagerly reaching for your phone, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you now whether he wants to see the pictures or not.

When you show him the screen, a part of him wishes he had stopped you.

The baby is tiny. Tristan is swaddled in a blanket, the top half of his head poking out just for tiny eyes to squint at the camera. Aaron can see the top of a scrunched nose, maybe the beginning of a cry or a yawn. He examines the details, the obviously-plush blanket with grey-blue floral detailing.

Aaron does his best to fixate his attention on Tristan and ignore the fact that the photo is of you holding the baby, looking almost maternal and definitely happy and…

He looks away.

He can’t help it; he hardly stops himself to consider whether it’s rude of him to actively dodge the photo. Instead, he clears his throat. “Very cute,” he agrees, “You’re right about that.”

“Yeah. He was born a little premature, so I thought I’d take some time off of work, come up and help her out for a little while.” You look down at your cast and let out half a scornful laugh. “Some help I am. I don’t even think I could hold him now.”

“I’m sure you’ve been plenty helpful,” he assures you without a thought. After all, for years you had as much of a hand in raising Jack as Aaron did. “It just might have been cut short a little.”

“Yeah, a little. I’m probably going to have to head home after this. It doesn’t make sense to stay when I can’t do anything.” You look glum at the prospect, and without a thought Aaron reaches a foot out to bump against the roller wheels of your chair. It’s a gentle tap, one that just serves to get your attention.

“Talk to your friend,” he advises. “Maybe you can still cook, or help her clean up around the house. There’s no need to cut your time off short just because you can’t hold a baby.”

Your head tilts just a bit, and your eyes narrow as though you’re looking at an equation in the air that Aaron can’t see, let alone guess the factors of. He hopes you can solve it, whatever it is. “Maybe,” you say, and that’s when he hears the conference room door open.

“Hey, double trouble.” Morgan has a trademark grin from ear to ear as he sits down at the table, and Hotch swivels in his seat to face the team as they file into the room.

How did it appear to them? Him close to your chair, you tucked into it with one leg under you and the other hanging off the side. Did it seem uncomfortable, like you didn’t want to be there? He wishes he could have taken a picture of the two of you, somehow, something he could study and examine and hope to understand.

You’ve been alone in a room for… well, he’s lost track of time, but it’s been a while and he still can’t tell if you’re comfortable or not. He’s got no clue until you pipe up and wheel your chair closer to the table.

“Dibs on being ‘double’. You can be ‘trouble’.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, and Hotch does his best not to smile. There’s no use in encouraging you, after all. Still, he can feel some of the tension drain from his shoulders at the light tone; you’re happy to be here, happy to work on this case and to talk to him.

“Actually, you can’t assign nicknames based off of a group nickname when the name itself is a play on how many members there are,” Reid corrects as he sits down with his case file in hand. “You can only do that if each nickname is a separate title.”

Morgan groans out loud at that and reaches over to swat Reid’s arm. “C’mon, man, you’re taking all the fun out of it,” he complains, leaving Reid with a mildly perplexed look on his face.

“We can try again,” Prentiss offers, slipping out of her bulletproof vest. “Hey, sugar and spice.”

Aaron can feel your reaction before you can even open your mouth, and he beats you to it by a half second by warning, “Don’t say that I’m spice.”

The look on your face tells him that that’s exactly what you meant to say. He pushes away thoughts of Look how well I know you in favour of We’re at work.

“How did takedown go?” He asks. The debrief usually happens on the jet, but it feels wrong to discuss the case without you now. Debriefing is an essential part of each case for everyone who works on it, and he does his best to make sure that each member of his team- past or present- can leave each city with a sense of closure.

If anyone needs closure on this case, it’s the woman wearing a cast who hasn’t had to face the horrors of the BAU in two years.

And maybe Aaron, because it’s just as important to him that you feel okay after the events of the last day. Maybe you need to know that the unsub is behind bars, but Aaron needs to know that you know.

Dave, who has been smirking ever since he saw Hotch quickly wheel his chair away from yours upon the team's arrival, speaks first. “Nice and easy. We caught him while he was assembling a bomb in the apartment complex's boiler room. Taking a hostage never crossed his mind.”

“He didn’t even go to Nora’s apartment. She had no idea what we were talking about when we tried to interview her,” JJ says. She hasn’t sat down yet, and is already working to gather up the metric ton of paper covering the conference room table.

Maybe Hotch should have thought to do that.

“Good. And Erica, the girlfriend?”

“She had no idea about any of it. Morgan found a copy of her keys on the unsub’s keyring, and her best guess was that he copied them right out of her purse.” Prentiss passes JJ a stack of papers and sighs. “I feel bad for that girl. She had no idea what was happening right under her nose.”

“She had no way of knowing that her boyfriend would be pushed over the edge like he was. She’s gonna need help after this, for sure,” Morgan says thoughtfully, and the group mumbles out a collective agreement.

“Either way, mi bellos,” Rossi stands up to clasp his hands together, “The case is closed and we’ve got someone in cuffs. All’s well that ends… well, you know.”

It catches Hotch off guard when his stomach pangs at the thought of leaving. Boarding the jet and heading home. Leaving New York, leaving Jackson and Jeremy and their girlfriends in the past, leaving you to deal with the aftereffects of being injured on your own.

He can’t stop himself from speaking, even if just to re-think his words before they become law. “We can stay the night.”

There’s no subtlety to the rise of Morgan’s eyebrows, or the glance that Prentiss and JJ exchange. But there’s nothing he can do about it now. The words are out there. It’s already done.

“Why would we do that?” Reid asks, always one to voice the question no one wants to vocalize. Hotch has always loved his curious mind and his need to understand every aspect of something.

Even if he kind of wants to throttle the kid right now, because how the hell is he supposed to answer that?

“Because you all did some good work today,” he answers after a painfully long minute, “and deserve a night off. We can all go out for dinner and be on the jet early in the morning.”

That answer seems to satisfy the room, and Aaron ignores the look Rossi is giving him as he glances over at you and drops his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you promise. “Do you, you know, maybe have an extra seat at that table?” You look nervous; he can read that clear as day. The idea that this could put you on edge almost makes a laugh bubble up in his stomach but he shoves it down in favour of a smile.

“I’m sure we can pull one up,” he assures you in a murmur. “We’d love to see you a bit more before we leave.”

“Oh.” You sound almost surprised, and he’s glad that he thought to hide behind the royal ‘we’. “Okay. Can I ride there with one of you?”

“Of course.” Aaron stands up and pulls your chair away from the table so you’ve got room to stand. Unnecessary chivalry; he has to remind himself to cut it out. “We can take a taxi.”

—

That’s how, fifteen minutes later, he finds himself in the passenger seat of a cab with you, JJ, and Garcia squished together in the backseat.

He wonders what you’re talking about back there behind the partition in low whispers, the occasional giggle, and one or two sharp “Shh”’s. The taxi stops too soon for him to find out, and your little group finds the rest of the team at a table already.

You slide into a seat and Hotch unconsciously moves to take the seat farthest from you- a habit he’s built in the last two years- only to find Morgan already sitting in it. “Sorry, Hotch. You snooze, you lose,” he defends with a wide smile.

By the time he turns to see what other seats are free, the only one left is right next to you. “Aaron, over here,” you say, and with all eyes on him there’s nothing to do but come around the table and sink into the stiff chair.

The waitress comes by to take drink orders a minute later, and Hotch orders himself a water. He’s here on official business, and he refuses to get drunk. It’s what his father did, and that always ended up in violence or big scenes made in public. Hotch does everything he can to avoid that side of himself, especially when he’s representing the government.

“What kind of wines do you have?” He hears you ask, and he turns his head to see the waitress produce a menu from what must have been thin air.

“She can’t drink,” he says loudly, putting out a hand like he can stop the menu from making its way to you. “She has a concussion.”

Speaking around you, to you, for you, is a dance, as Aaron is slowly learning.

You frown, and he hopes he hasn’t overstepped. You don’t say anything, and he holds his breath. You finally look up at the waitress and order a water, and he sighs in relief.

“Thanks, it slipped my mind,” you murmur once she’s walked away, and he gives you a tight smile before getting dragged into an argument between Morgan and Reid.

Dinner, for the most part, passes in a blur of quiet conversation and polite laughter. It isn’t until everyone is eating dessert, half the team feeling the effects of the wines they’ve been indulging in, that everything goes to hell.

He really shouldn’t be so surprised. The evening has gone without a hitch so far- Aaron’s left arm occasionally bumping your right when you try to eat at the same time has really been the only obstacle- so he figures that you’re about due for something to go wrong. Some event to stir up the peaceful bubble he’s stumbled across.

It happens, as many things do, in the form of Emily Prentiss opening her mouth. She leans over you to speak to Aaron, and it’s like he’s watching the train crash in slow motion when she says to him, “So, how’s the single life?”

He can feel the way you stiffen up next to him, white knuckles on your fork, peering out of the corner of your eye. Do you want to hear the answer? “Prentiss, please. That’s hardly appropriate.” His voice is being held together like it’s wrapped in duct tape, but it comes out steady enough.

Emily sighs at the scolding. “I just wanted to know,” she grumbles, pushing a piece of cheesecake around on her plate. “You and Beth broke up a week ago; I’m just curious.”

“Good question,” JJ says. “Have you talked to her since? Wait, is that why she wasn’t at the wedding?”

“You told us she was sick, but statistically this is the least likely time of year for someone to experience cold or flu related symptoms.” Spencer frowns down at his rootbeer. “Did you lie? You could have told us that you broke up. We could have helped.”

“Same way I got over the second Mrs. Rossi,” Dave jokes, lifting his glass in a salute. “I don’t think I left the strip club for a month.”

“Please,” Aaron repeats, raising his voice slightly. “This isn’t appropriate.” He directs it primarily to Emily, who started this whole thing, and he notices the shell-shocked look on your face out of the corner of his eye.

“I just wanted to know,” Emily repeats, as petulant as a stubborn child.

She wanted you to know, more likely. Aaron has been careful about not talking about his relationship- Emily only knows because he developed a case of drunkenly loose lips the night of the wedding and overshared to her wife, Katie- and now you know the one thing he didn’t want to become widespread. There’s no way that wasn’t intentional.

“I should…” You push your chair back with a ‘screech’ and stand up, hurrying out of the restaurant in the direction of the lobby without further excuse.

Hotch watches you go, lets out a groaned “God.” while he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need to- I’ll be back.” He tosses down his napkin and takes off in the direction you exited.

“Now, that wasn’t too nice,” Derek points out, and Emily shrugs.

“I didn’t like the tension. At least now they’ll talk.”

Meanwhile, Aaron finds himself rounding the large fountain display in the lobby to talk to you. “Are you leaving?”

When you look up, there’s vague surprise on your face. Did you think he wouldn’t follow you? If there’s one thing Aaron knows about himself by now, it’s that he would follow you to hell and back.

“I think I should. I think that would be best.” Instead of looking at him, you fiddle with your keys and look everywhere else. The chandelier, fountain, reception desk; everywhere except at Aaron himself.

“Just… just hold on, a couple of minutes. I didn’t mean to upset you, by not saying something. I thought it would be… easier.”

That gets a reaction. Your eyes snap to his, and he can see something like hurt swimming in them. “Easier?”

“Yes. You didn’t have anything to do with it; why should I have to tell you?” He challenges, even though it’s half a lie. You weren’t faultless in the breakup, but he’s not going to be sharing that fact.

“You don’t think I would want to know?” You take a small step towards him. “Even just so I could be there for you?”

“That’s not a good idea,” he counters. “I have friends I can speak to about breakups.” He regrets his words the second that he sees the pain in your eyes. Oh, because you’re supposed to be friends now. That’s right; his last breakup was with you.

Three feet away, perched on the edge of the fountain, an older woman is watching the two of you intensely. She’s obviously listening, and that’s something that Aaron doesn’t want to deal with. “Look,” he says, his voice low and quiet, “Will you come up to my room? We can talk there, but I’m not doing this in public.”

The conflicting emotions on your face seem to be going to war until you take a deep breath and take Aaron’s hand, your fingers wrapping around his as you board the elevator.

He hopes you don’t notice David Rossi standing near the elevators. He hopes you don’t notice the thumbs up that the older man gives him, or the middle finger he gives in return.

The elevator ride is silent and long, almost excruciatingly so, and he’s half relieved once you get into the hotel room and take a seat on separate beds facing each other. His suitcase is against the wall, zipped up, and the desk is covered in various writings and readings that he doesn’t even know when Spencer had time to unpack.

You break the silence first, your face expressionless like it’s an interrogation. It feels like he’s on the wrong side of the interrogation table for once when you speak. “You and Beth broke up.”

“We did,” he agrees, and that’s when he wonders if he made a mistake bringing you up here. He doesn’t want you to hear the whole story; why not just confirm the breakup in the lobby and send you on your way?

Well, he couldn’t have done that, and he knows why. It’s still a half-decent alternative to this, though.

“Why?”

“Why… did we break up?” He clarifies, and you nod. “We wanted different things.”

Finally, emotion crosses your face; a flicker of anger. He doesn’t blame you, especially when he remembers the sacrifice you made. “Different things? So, she didn’t want more kids? Or was it work-related?”

He isn’t going to get through this without telling you the whole story; he can see that now. As hard as it is, he knows you aren’t letting this rest until you get a comprehensive answer.

“She had a pregnancy scare.”

Your sudden bark of laughter is hardly a surprise, but it makes him wince all the same. “You broke up because you don’t want to have another kid? Are you serious?”

He tries to answer. Instead, memory hits him like a brick wall, wraps its arms around him and drags him down into it.

“Aaron? Honey, where are you?” Beth’s cheery voice entered the room before she did, and Aaron looked up at her with a smile.

“Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?” He asked. He hated this domestic part, the part where he had to pretend to be just as in love as she was.

But love grows, he knew. Just as flowers could blossom from cracks in the pavement, love could develop with time and affection. It wouldn’t be fair to her, to not return the open affection she gave him.

He always wondered why it never felt easy or effortless, why he often felt like he was just a young boy playing at being in a relationship, instead of an adult who was actually in one.

“My day was good,” she said, a barely-contained smile on her face. “So, you know how I’ve been under the weather lately?”

That was an understatement. She’d thrown up more than once in the last couple of days. Love or not, Aaron cared enough that he was on the verge of taking her to the emergency room himself. “Of course. Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really. But my period was late yesterday, so I thought, why not?” Why not, what? She wasn’t making any sense, and it wasn’t until Aaron saw the little stick in her hand that the pieces flew together for him, like a puzzle begging to be solved. “And, well…”

He stared down at tanned hands presenting him the stick, two tiny lines deciding his future for him. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant,” she confirmed, throwing her arms around his neck. He slowly brought both arms up to hug her- a facade of excitement, even though his face would certainly betray him if she were to look at it. “Isn’t that great?”

“That’s… wow.” It was as honest of an answer as he could give. “Are you going to see a doctor to make sure?”

“Of course I am.” She pulled away just enough to kiss him, but he broke away soon enough. “Aaron? This is great, isn’t it? Aren’t you excited?” There was an edge in her voice, one that told him that his face- expressions of shock, uncertainty, certainly no joy- was giving him away.

He couldn’t dodge the direct question, the look in her eye. She already knew the answer before she asked the question, and they both knew that this was his chance for redemption.

He didn’t take it.

A week later, the doctor confirmed the false positive. Aaron couldn’t have brought himself to be upset if he tried.

The same afternoon, Beth packed up hers and Ella’s things, and they were gone.

He wanted to feel sad. He wanted to feel heartbroken. He wanted to punish himself, for knowing that he had missed out on the closest chance he had had to a real family in years.

It was the reason you left; your sacrifice, the heartache you’d both been left with, everything you’d both gone through was deemed useless in the deciding moment. It was his one chance, and he hadn’t taken it.

He just felt numb.

“Aaron.” Your voice, pitched sharp, manages to pull him out of his trance. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t know why you’re asking. He wants to know if you’re okay. He wants to apologize, to fall to his knees and hold onto you the way he should have two years ago.

“I’m fine.”

“So, Beth had a pregnancy scare,” you prompt. “And that’s why you broke up?”

He hesitates. “Yes.”

He hesitated too long.

“Why?” You ask.

He knows that you’re only pushing it because you know him.

You know him better than anyone; you know that he doesn’t walk away from things that he wants, not when he has a choice.

And wasn’t that what he wanted? Didn’t he want Beth, more children, a family of his own?

“Don’t do this.” It’s a plea, and it goes unanswered.

“Why did you break up? Aaron… come on.” The desperation in your voice kisses his ears. It reminds him that you’ve been hurt at least as badly as he’s been. It tells him that you aren’t there as a concerned friend; you’re there as someone who deserves the answer to the question you asked. Someone who’s a part of the twisted equation, who fits into the formula of the last two years. Someone who’s been hurt by him, for him, only for him to throw that sacrifice away.

He replies by just saying your name, the name he’s spoken so many times. He’s said it before with love, playful annoyance and affection. After the breakup he said it less often, and it was often delivered with spite or tears of proportions that he didn’t know he would, or could, shed.

This time, when he says your name, he thinks he sounds… broken. His voice cracks, his face flushes, and he looks down at his feet. He’s still got his dress shoes on, and he counts the eyelets- 3, 4, 5 pairs of them, black laces looped neatly through- without saying another word.

Your name, as broken as it is between his lips, is an admission of guilt. It’s a confession, an entreaty for you to stop pushing, and it contains unspoken defeat.

“Aaron.” Your voice is firm when you repeat his name, and his eyes snap up from his shoes- 3, 4, 5, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5- to meet yours. “Don’t I deserve to know?”

You do. He knows you do. The ‘don’t I deserve?’ angle is never something you’ve used, and he knows this is a last ditch effort to get the truth out of him.

You do deserve to know.

How can he say it? How can he tell you the truth? How can he possibly look into your earnest eyes and pretend that he can defend himself and the decisions that he’s made?

He can tell you that more kids doesn’t make sense; he knows that, in a factual sense. He wasn’t around enough when Jack was little, is hardly better at being around now. The job is priority; he could get hurt or worse, and leave behind a widow with more mouths to feed than she can handle. He could become a twisted version of his father, pitting his children against each other. He’s too old to run around with toddlers for the next ten years.

He can tell you any number of things that make sense, but you won’t accept anything less than the truth. That, at least, is written plain as day on your face.

“She isn’t you.”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice water. They slap you so hard that you have half a mind to bring a hand up to your cheek and check for sore spots. “Aaron-”

“It’s true. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear, but you wanted the truth and that’s it.” His breathing sounds more ragged now, like he’s fighting to stay collected.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, telling you. He isn’t trying to get you back. You made your choice, you walked away, and that’s that.

“Aaron. You want a family,” you remind him, your voice cracking. How can he not remember? How can he throw away the last two years, disregard your sacrifice like this?

Hadn’t that always been his dream? A positive pregnancy test with a woman who loved him? And yet, in the final hour, he’d walked away. He’d made a choice, one that he has to face now, with you.

“I know. God, I know, but it just… it couldn’t happen.”

“Because she’s not me? Are you serious?” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, fraught with disbelief and maybe a hint of fear at the potential weight of his answer, and you wish that Aaron were speaking even quieter when he responds. You wish you couldn’t hear him at all.

“Because there’s no family without you.”

The dry scoff that escapes you is answer enough, especially once it’s paired with your head dropping into your hands. “Then what the hell have we been doing?”

“I tried,” he defends. Desperation is poured into every syllable, filling in the spaces of the things he can’t say like resin on wood. “I gave it a chance, she was happy. But when I saw that test…”

Neither of you knows if he’s stopped to figure out what he should say, or if it’s because he can’t say it. He looks small, appears defenceless in a way that he never lets himself.

“I couldn’t do it,” he finishes. He spreads his hands out, a placating gesture. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want a family with her. When I saw that test, I was scared. Terrified. A baby is a commitment, and I don’t- I can’t- see myself making that commitment with anyone but you.”

“You know how I feel about kids.” For a moment his eyes flicker down, to where your phone sits on the bed, and you have half a mind to wonder if he’s going to bring Tristan into this.

Maybe he’s settled more into this conversation. Maybe he’s realized that he doesn’t have much to lose here. For whatever reason, his rebuttal to you, perched facing him on the opposite bed- worlds away, yet only mere feet- is more of a challenge than a question. “When did I ask you to have any?”

“What?” You tilt your head the slightest bit, stray hairs illuminated in the yellow-grey light, and he thinks his heart skips a beat when you blink.

“I didn’t ask you to have kids. I never asked for that.” He knows it for a fact; that simple thought has been his port at sea more than once, on the nights where he wondered exactly how things had gone so wrong.

You blink again. ‘I want us to get married, have as many kids as we can, I want all of that and I want it with you.’ Those were his words, spoken so passionately two years ago.

But there were other words, too, and they fly back into your mind like they’re trying to haunt you. Words that circle you, remind you that you were the reason he couldn’t have that life.

‘I’ve been thinking, and you’re more important to me than having more kids.’

‘Just say the word, and I’ll never bring it up again.’

‘I’m not going to sit here and tell you what I want, because I’m not forcing you into that. You don’t want it, fine. We don’t do it.’

You remember him confessing what he wanted, so earnest and unexpecting of you to go along with it.

Phrases swirl your head, sentences that haven't done so since the breakup.

Sentences that you hadn’t let yourself understand until now.

‘I would be happier knowing that I’m in a relationship with someone who wants the same things I do. I want that with you, I want you to want it, but that isn’t happening.’

‘I want us to go back to normal. How we were.’

‘You’re all I need. I mean it.’

“You want a family. That’s what you want.” Your protest is weak, and you don’t know if it’s a protest for your self-protection or his feelings.

Maybe it’s both.

“You were my family. You and Jack. I was so happy with you.”

“Not as happy as you could have been,” you counter. Aaron visibly hesitates, a moment of back-and-forth sway before he crosses the room to sit next to you on the other bed.

“You…” the breath he takes is deep and rattling. “You made me happier than I could ask for.”

You move back and he does too, kicking off his shoes to mirror your crossed legs. The two of you sit and face each other. The headboard sets the scenery behind him, cheap hotel wall art behind you. When you take a breath, so does he.

“You walked away,” you remind him. It isn’t a show of blame; it’s a reminder, pure and simple, that he wasn’t happy with you.

“No, I didn’t.” He reaches out, one of his hands trembling as it grasps yours. “I wouldn’t have.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute. Instead, he watches as his hand wraps around yours, squeezes it once.

He’s just about to let go when you squeeze back.

“You told me to go,” he whispers, staring down at those linked hands. If he looks you in the eye now, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. “It’s what you wanted.”

You laugh, and the sound is humourless and dry. “What I wanted? Aaron, you only stayed past that first day for me, to make me feel like I wasn’t ruining your life. I didn’t kick you out; I let you go.”

“I didn’t get a choice. I chose to stay, I chose you above a bigger family, and you didn’t let me,” Aaron says, and your hand tightens on his. “I tried, okay? I- I found Beth, we moved in together. For God’s- Ella called me ‘dad’. I did my best to have that life. I tried. It didn’t work.”

“I don’t know what you want,” you confess, and he hates himself a little more when he sees the heartbreak in your eyes. “I just want you to be happy. I thought I was giving you that.”

Aaron shifts himself, moves a little closer to you. He thinks he might be about to say the wrong thing, the thing that destroys whatever tentative relationship the two of you have built.

He doesn’t care.

This relationship, this dance of overdoing and understepping and caring too much without saying enough? He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t care about throwing it away.

“Nothing,” he vows, extending one hand to raise your chin when you look down, “Nothing has ever made me as happy as you did. That’s all I wanted. You.”

You avert your gaze, and you feel your face grow warm. It’s been a long time since he looked at you like this, with all of the care and attention in the world somehow pouring from the gaze of warm hazel eyes locked on yours.

“What do you want me to say?” You ask after a stretch of silence. Not even the sound of breathing dares to disrupt the quiet; neither of you want to make the wrong move right now, not when you can see the crossroads ahead.

“Whatever you want to say. Just not what you think I want to hear.”

That’s what it’s come down to, at the root. Both of you lying, sneaking, saying and doing whatever you can to protect the other’s feelings and do what you think is best. He’s tired of it.

You did what you thought was the right thing, and let him go. He did what he thought was the right thing, and chased the life you made possible by leaving. But neither of you are happy, and he can admit that now.

“I still don’t want kids.”

“I’m still not asking you to have any.” He waits two beats, unsure if he can even bring himself to ask what he knows he has to.

“Does Jack count?” He’s breathless as he waits for the answer. You could have found freedom in the last two years, after several spent living a mother’s schedule. Maybe you don’t want a hand in any child’s life, and he won’t begrudge you that.

“He’s… no,” you say, and Aaron exhales in what might be relief. “But that doesn’t mean I want more. You want more.”

“I want you,” he corrects, the same way he did two years ago. Maybe this time you’ll listen, and accept his words for the truth that they are. “I had more. I didn’t want it, not without you.”

Your breathing, shallow and timid, hitches at his words. He notices the slip-up in a heartbeat, wants to trip over himself and correct it. Before he can, you say, “But the future-”

“The future,” he interrupts, clasping one of your hands in both of his, “My future, it only matters if it’s you.If you’re happy with Jack, I’m happy. You’re what I need. You’re all I need.”

“Aaron, please.” Your voice is small, and that’s when he realizes that he’s been trailblazing this conversation with hardly a thought about what you want. Maybe you’ve moved on, or fallen out of love.

He doesn’t think you have, though. Between your conversation at the wedding and the fact that you’re still here, both hands now holding onto his, wide eyes peering into his own, he thinks he’s made a safe bet.

“Please, what?” He murmurs. He can defer to you now, let you approach this at your pace. He’s said his piece.

It’s not until he sees your eyes squeeze shut that he remembers your concussion, and he’s sure that this conversation isn’t helping what must be a painful headache.

“I… it’s getting late. And I really should sleep. My head...”

Every instinct in Aaron’s body is well-honed, trained to take opportunities that might pass him by otherwise. It’s what got him Haley, what got him into the BAU, and now it’s what might get you back.

Every instinct is screaming not to let you leave.

“Do you want to talk more about this later?” He offers, his right hand releasing your left. The other two stay linked, his fingers brushing the cast, and you make no move to loosen them as you nod.

He waits. He isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, but he waits.

You close your eyes, already on the verge of rethinking before you speak. But you’ve got instincts, too, and they’re all telling you to stay in this room. Your future is in this room, and you aren’t about to close the door on that. Even if the conversation can wait, you know exactly how it will end.

It’s clear to you now that Aaron only left because he did the same thing you did, tried to protect your feelings. He never would have left if you hadn’t forced his hand and left first, and the thought of the time that you lost makes your chest seize unpleasantly.

It’s not too late to undo old mistakes, though.

“Can I sleep here? It’s not really safe, getting a taxi this late.”

Aaron lets go of your other hand first. “Of course, you can.” He’s half situated to go to sleep already, just has to take off his tie and loosen his shirt. He doesn’t get off the bed, and that’s why it surprises him when you lay down in the same bed, on your side.

“So you don’t have to share with Spencer when he gets here,” you explain through a yawn, and his heart hurts when he sees the way your nose crinkles. He’s missed it, missed you.

Sleep comes quickly, somehow. The exhaustion of the day, of the conversation, overtakes you both in what feels like mere moments.

When Aaron wakes up, it’s with his arms around you and his nose pressing into your neck. He holds on for a moment before he has to let go; you’ll have time later, and the team is waiting.

Getting out of bed, Aaron finds the other queen bed- Spencer’s- empty, untouched.

When the two of you arrive at the jet, late with your suitcase, he says, “I stayed with Morgan and Rossi. We thought you could use some privacy.”

You let go of Aaron’s hand to reach out and ruffle Spencer’s hair, ignoring the look he gives you when you mess up his curls. “Thanks, Spence.”

If the team is anything, it’s ‘respectful when the time calls for it’. No one says a word when you and Aaron sit next to each other. No one blinks when your hand slides home into his.

His fingers lace around yours. He squeezes once, and you squeeze back. As the jet takes off, soaring towards DC and your new future, you hold onto him. It’s going to be alright.

Once upon a time, they always said that you and Aaron were the lucky ones. Maybe they were right.

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courtingchaos · 1 year

Text

Shared Inflicted Pain

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader (this is new for me)

A/N: This is a baseless one shot. We know nothing about this character outside of that one photo and the name. So this is all conjecture and I wanted him to be a Freak for Freak type, so reader is also a weirdo. Sorry not sorry. Also, wrist don’t break like that but they’re fragile and I don’t care.

Warnings: Sex, blow job imagery, shared inflicted pain and injuries, language. These aren’t two people fit for public consumption. They aren’t good people. Be aware of that. This is just like, some fucked up shit you know?

18+ NSFW No Minors

Knocked his ass out and kissed him on the cheek

“Your boys’ here.” One of the shop guys, Ty, calls up to your hiding spot. All he can see is your dangling work boot from the crawl space over the car lift.

“My boy?”

“Gator.” He watches your head poke up, that half lidded expression barely visible from your tucked away position.

“He ain’t my boy.” You grin and he walks away, raising his hand up at you as if to swat your words down before shouting back over his shoulder.

“He’s here with Roy. Might wanna come down.”

Roy talks with your brothers and father and you just grin like an idiot over everyone’s heads. Sat atop the truck cab, legs dangling heavy over the back window, you look a sight. Unwashed hair pulled back loose and metal grime under your nails; coveralls a little too worn and letting in that bullshit cold burn of a deep December afternoon. You’ve got your hands shoved in the front bib of those overalls, crossed over your chest to keep the shivering at bay.

You haven’t caught his eye yet, or maybe he doesn’t care today. Either way you’re pleased to see his big shoulders shift under his heavy jacket when he moves to grab something your father hands over. You catch sight of the antenna in his grip and speak up without thinking, cutting off something one of your brothers was saying.

“I made that.”

All eyes on you for second before said brother throws a rouge socket wrench at you. It clatters and skids off the roof of the truck, fully missing you and making you laugh. Roy doesn’t react and neither does your father but Gator looks amused.

He finds you after the huddle, before he’s off to do whatever it is Roy employs him to do. It involves the holster strapped to his thigh and what a treat that is, never fails to make you smile. Your little corner of the shop is filled with wires and knobs; engineering problems. Detritus of all the things everyone else in the building can’t figure out.

“Should you be smoking in here?”

You don’t turn to look at him, instead focused on the tiny little screw that’s outwitting you on this bracket.

“What are you gonna do, arrest me?” The joint tucked in the corner of your mouth makes you mumble but he laughs dryly. “I peeked that shiny new sheriffs jacket.”

His boots are heavy and he kicks something your way. It bounces off your own boot and wobbles on the floor for a moment, ringing in the relative quiet. “Roy get you that too?”

“Why y’sayin’ it like that?” He’s immediately on defense.

“Like what?” You do turn then, giving him your patented half lidded gaze. “Like daddy got you somethin’ new and shiny?” A taunt to get him mean. He’s a lot more fun when he’s mean. He’s quick to get his good hand on your face, squeezing your jaw between his long fingers.

“He ain’t my-“ Your loud laugh cuts him off. Of course you know that isn’t his father. You tell him as much and he just gives you a good shake and pushes your head back, your workbench digging hard into your lower back. You’ve managed to keep the joint steady in the crook of your lips until he snatches it with his casted hand.

“Hey!” The last drag on it you desperately pulled stings your lungs where you hold the smoke. Watching him drop it between his own lips ticks his first strike for you and you blow the hit in his face.

A light wince, a slow close of his eyes, and a huff through his nose. The terrible mean is there in a shift of his demeanor but before he can do any real, lasting damage you’ve been wishing for you hear the loud crack of Roy’s voice.

“Tillman! Quit playin’ with your fuckin’ girlfriend!”

Another bark of laughter from you when he pushes your face out of his hand. You know that pissed him off more than the daddy comment. He doesn’t turn to look at you grinning at him, just grumbles the whole way out into the bright afternoon about ‘not his girl’. You watch Roy give Gator a confused look before he snatches the joint out of his mouth and kills it under his boot.

“Well don’t fuckin’ waste it man!” You shout at their retreating forms. No one turns to look at you chuckling alone in your corner amongst your trash.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s a family meeting so watching Roy’s big figure meander up the walkway in the spotty darkness gives you slight pause.

“Uh, father.” The blinds flick back when you let go and turn to look at your dad over your shoulder. “Roy’s here. Got the whole tombstone gang with ‘im.”

There’s no reaction like there never is from him but your brothers are all up immediately, infighting and pointing pointless fingers. You know you have all the family brain cells so you silently stand and slide over to the front door. Undoing four heavy locks must sound funny from the outside, the genuine smile on Roy’s face oddly warm.

“Got a wolf to keep out, Red?” He steps over the entry way with no invitation, his posse of bedecked sheriffs officers pooling in behind him.

“You, normally.” He gives you a look, a quirked eyebrow under his cowboy hat. You know that Roy thinks you and your ilk are strange. You’ve overheard him a few times, knows what he says about your brothers and you and while you’d agree with him about the spares, you know you’re different. You unsettle him with your hooded eyes, that half look you give everything. Your work projects, your demolition trinkets, the bloodshed and the gore.

Uninterested and unaffected is what he tells Gator that one time he thought you weren’t around. Up in your hiding spot, this time no dangling steel toe to give you away.

“The whole god damn family is weird.”

“Where’re they from?”

“Nebraska, maybe Missouri. Some shithole. You meet the daughter yet?”

From behind the short stack of lumber that you blend into you watch the two men. You know about Gator, sought him out on account of his name off rip. He’s broad, looks like he can take hit, a solid wall of stupid meat for you to sink your fists into.

Gator shakes his head and Roy huffs around his cigarette. “You like ‘em strange, you’ll enjoy that one.” They mill around for a moment longer and when they turn to leave you scrape your boot heel across the corrugated metal under you. That slicked back hair shines under the workshop lights when he swivels his head back to look up. He stares until he catches the wiggle of your fingertips over the top of the lumber.

They’re here in the dead of night to pick up the vans your father has outfitted for Roy and whatever his Big Plan is. You didn’t care if it didn’t involve your particular assets, and after your part had been played you’re just along for the ride, hoping you get to watch them blow up something big.

Your father and Roy talk in the cavernous garage while all the little worker bees shuffle gear into the open back of the transit van, all except one. Your breath smokes out of you in big clouds, the cold biting through your layers of canvas and flannel while you glance around looking for him. More than once tonight your father has told you to ‘quit moonin’ over that moron’ but that moron is about the only thing that keeps you entertained around here anymore.

Rooted in place and daydreaming about him snatching your hands behind your back again, the loud sound of your brothers yelling yet again interrupts you, makes you snap.

“Donny shut the fuck up for once in your life!” You can be loud too. The youngest one you’re yelling at rounds on you and before he can get his small hand in your face you palm his head away and aim a punch at his stomach. There’s a deep laugh behind you and when you turn to look, he’s obscured by the fog seeping through the gaiter snug on his face.

“Good hit.”

“Oh, I wipe the floor with them every day.” You give him your grin and you can tell, even obscured, he doesn’t return it. “You gonna help out or just stand there?”

“Like you?”

“I just like blowing things up, I don’t handle gear.” His stare gets a weight to it, a shift down of his head so he looks at you from under heavy brows. “Just yours.”

It’s easy to just walk out of the garage, too many bodies doing too many things and no one to keep an eye on two terrible individuals. Both sets of boots crunch on the packed in snow between buildings, cushioned silence broken by the huff of labored breathing in the negative temperature. You lead the way back to the house with Gator dragging behind until you reach for the storm door and his gloved hand appears. He holds it open while you unlock the heavy door and he rushes in behind. Pulls off the bulky glove with his teeth and grabs your arm to maneuver you around, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Where were we yesterday?” His voice is deep as he crowds you into the corner between the door hinges and the long line of coat hooks on the wall.

“You stole my weed.” The arm he’s gripping shoots up and yanks down the fabric on his face. It catches on his long nose before showing you what you want to see. The shade around his throat left by your hands last week, finally fading into that yellowing green.

“Does it hurt still?” You press your index finger into the bruise to watch the skin pale under pressure.

“No.”

“Do you want it to?” Your eyes go wide. Finally shaking that indifference that haunts your look daily. Something about him feels like watching a bottle rocket go off wrong. Something about him and the shared inflicted pain. Your gaze drops to his right hand hanging heavy next to his hip.

“Does that?”

“What d’you think?” He squints at you and finally lets your arm go so he can rip the zipper down on your coat and push it off your shoulders. The blue cast keeps your attention while he pulls at your layers roughly.

You didn’t mean to actually break his wrist, it’d been a heat of the moment thing. Bearing down on joints bent wrong, chasing your own high and ignoring his bucking and protest under you. He’d tried to push you up and you weren’t done with him and the feel of the break under your tight fingers had actually made you stop. A deep yelp and a quick release.

“Gator I’m-“

“Well don’t fuckin’ stop.” His face pinched in pain, there’s even a trickle of a tear in the corner of his eye. You can see it balanced on his lashes while he stares at you, cradling his limp wrist to his chest that rises and falls with stuttered breaths. When you don’t move, too stunned to continue the roll of your hips, he plants his feet and bounces you up once.

“Your wrist.” You say, lamely.

“You can drop me off at the ER when we’re done.”

He’s managed to get your outside layers off before he gets huffy with you. “Take your shirt off.”

“Oh gush. The mud room, Gator?” He grabs your face again the way you like, cheeks pinched tight in his big hand. Your laugh always sets him off.

“Smart ass mouth.”

“You want me quiet? Why don’t y’just go jerk off about it?”

“What d’you think you’re here for, huh?” He never kisses you in a real sense. It’s mostly teeth biting down on your lip till he taste blood, his tongue running over the split till you pull your head back and it knocks into the wall. It’s a challenge aimed at him to follow your mean grin, tinted red at the seam of your lips.

It’s a lot of close, rough pulling of clothes. You run your hands up his chest, under his white undershirt and get stuck on how solid he is, the flat plane of stomach gives you a swirling feeling in the pit of your own.

“You goin’ soft?” He’s in your ear, hot breath fanning across cold skin. His teeth sink in wherever he can find spare skin to mark up, not a care in his mind to hide them. He wants to see the marks when he’s done with you.

“No, are you?” Your hands drift down to the thick belt, fingers nimble on the buckle and button under it, nails catching on the zipper when you pull it down too quick. He’s very obviously not going soft, your hands still roaming downward to rub firm over his cock growing hard under your touch. He leans all his weight into you to pin you in the corner. Pushes your chin up to get at the underside of your jaw, a new swath of skin to mark up while you rub him over his boxers. His teeth click between sighs, tongue laving up to taste your skin. Clean for once but that ever present smell of hot metal hangs in your hair.

It draws him in with memories of illegal things; hot wiring and recently fired guns. You’re the tang of gunpowder that lingers on his clothes and he wonders if that makes you as wet as it makes him hard. You’ve got your face buried deep in his collar, trying to re-bruise the base of his neck and he thinks about cornering you in the shop last week.

“Turn around.” He manhandles you to flip you around and lean into your back. Scrabbling fingers try to find the band of your jeans under your long t-shirt. He gets them hooked and yanks them and your underwear down your hips roughly. You laugh into the drywall at his eagerness; he thinks about you laughing when he pushed you down on your knees.

“Oh come on Gator,” You shove your ass back at him to grind on him, “gonna make me beg?”

“I should.” He breathes. Still stuck on the heavy memory of you blowing him in a frigid garage, gripping his thigh and your pocket knife sandwiched under your hand, open and forgotten as soon as he’d gotten his pants open. Your hands blindly feel around behind you to try and grab at any loose piece of him but he snatches your thumb and yanks up hard. He holds it against your spine and it pushes your face further into the wall, a smudge of red smearing when you try to turn your head. He fumbles trying to get his dick out, broken wrist making it a chore but as soon as he frees himself he slides the thick head along the cleft of your ass. A low groan from him and he’s fumbling again trying to pull your hips back in search of a better angle. Clumsy movement until he’s accidentally sliding against your drooling hole, cock prodding for just a moment.

You suck in a breath and ask in a hushed tone, “Make it hurt?”

“You’re gonna feel this for days.” He pulls your hips back in one swift move, punching the air out of you. The hand he has trapped against your back spasms. He can feel your cunt fluttering around him, adjusting to the stretch. He’s big and he knows you like the way it burns when he doesn’t go easy with you. His eyes catch the red on the wall and he wants to taste the salty copper that stains your smile.

“You g-gonna m-move or what?” Your legs already feel like jelly and he hasn’t even really started yet. He doesn’t respond but he does let your hand go to run a finger over your lip. Brings it up to his mouth to taste and you open your mouth to say something smart but the rasp of his cast pushes into the sensitive skin of your neck. He pins you in place before he drags his hips back slow and then snaps them back hard into you. You moan and the swift snap of his hips makes you stutter, your laugh bouncing with every thrust.

He’s already hitting that deep spot inside, too soon and too hard but you’ve been waiting for him get you alone for a few days. Always at Roy’s right hand or always a brother or father around to make Gator keep his rough palms off of you. The calluses on his fingers drag over the thin skin of your tits when he shoves his hand up your shirt. Braless in the hopes that this exact thing would happen, giving him easy access to pinch and twist at your nipples. It makes you want to cry. To let the fat tears roll down your cheeks while you laugh at the whole thing.

His grunts. The pain. The mud room. The blood.

It’s all funny to you in a strange way but it all makes your eyes roll in your skull. Gator and his big dick splitting you open and roughly pulling on your tits before running his hand down your stomach. His big hand splayed over your cunt, fingers running through the hair there to seek out your clit. He doesn’t exactly care about you cumming, but he does like the way you clench down around him. He’ll even admit the way you moan his name out gets him just right too, the way you whine the end of it long and high makes the hair on his arms stand up.

He doesn’t slow down, the fast circles he draws around your clit in time with his thrust making you feel overstimulated. This is the definition of a quick fuck and you can feel him already twitching inside you.

“C’mon.” He rasps and mouths at your ear, leans in to lick a fat stripe up your cheek. Your collarbone digs into the plaster, a bruise surely forming in the wake of his weight pushing into you. “I wanna hear you scream it, c’mon.” He drops his right hand, dips it under your shirt to grab a nipple again. His fingertips cold and the cast scratches at you, a sensory explosion that goes right to your cunt. “I know you’re close, I can feel you-fuckin’…” He looses his train of thought when you clench down. Fluttering walls sucking him in and reminding him of your mouth all over again. “Give it up and I’ll let you shoot my gun.”

Another burst of laughter from you but he feels you tense under his hands. Watches your face slide down the wall, elongating that smear of red when you start to curl in on yourself. His teeth find the soft give of your neck and sink in when he hears that telltale whine. It turns garbled when he stops snapping his hips and instead ruts up into you, chest pressed into your back.

“Don’t-fuck-don’t stop please don’t!” Your hand finds his hair and fists in disturbing those slicked back locks and keeping his face buried down in your neck. The pain of you pulling his hair sends him over the edge with a long groan huffed around the mouthful of your skin.

The feeling of him painting your insides finally makes you fall over that ledge, his lame arm holding you up when you buckle and shake. It takes a minute for you to unwind your hand from his hair. Takes him another to unclench his jaw and shift you up so you can lean your weight on the wall. You lazily lean down to grab at your jeans around your knees when you feel his finger swipe quick through your swollen folds.

“What the fuck?” You straighten up and pull up your pants, watching him stare at his fingers coated in his cum. He hasn’t straightened his clothes out yet, cock still heavy but softening against his zipper. You flick your eyes between that and his hand, wondering what he’s thinking before he comes out and tells you, “Open.”

Holds his finger up against your lip that’s still bleeding slowly and you part them, letting him lay his finger on your tongue. You barely close your mouth around him and he’s chasing his own hand. Lips crushing yours in a hard kiss. He never kisses you in a real sense but this, this feels like a real one. His tongue bullies its way into your mouth and he grunts at the taste of him and blood and you. Tang of metal and gunpowder. Heavy breaths between you two when he finally pulls back and you’ve already done up his pants for him, readjusting his belt so it’s centered.

“Can we go shoot tonight?” A simple ask. You can feel all the bites along your neck throbbing in time with your lip. You know what you look like. There’s a big purple hickey on top of the yellow-green bruise along his neck. He can’t get his hair to lay flat again no matter how many times he runs his hands over it.

He gives you a shrug and snatches your coat off the floor to hand to you. “Sure. Range?”

“No, I wanna go outside.”

“It’s in the negatives.”

“Do you need a thicker coat?” You raise an eyebrow at him and it’s his turn to laugh. He looks out between the blinds to watch the garage. Roy and his other sheriffs are still shuffling around, in and out of the light of the shop. He checks his phone and then shoves it back in pocket.

“C’mon.” He doesn’t wait for your to finish adjusting your layers. Doesn’t hold out a hand or even hold the door for you. Just stomps out into the cold dark and heads off to the clearing out behind the shop.

If Roy needs him he can try and call. No one’s gonna be looking for you, easier if you aren’t hanging around and antagonizing everyone. It’s in the negatives but maybe Gator’ll let you do some more dangerous and stupid things with him in the woods. A few more bites and a few more drops of blood and maybe he’ll give you another one of those maybe real kisses.

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#My Work #My Fic #Gator Tillman smut #lmao #look at me go

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