#It is too early for your shenanigans sir | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitchimasnake-sss · 5 months ago

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bitchimasnake-sss presents: the one piece AUs [cause i want these men in every universe]

01. i serve! (my ex's head on a platter) ft. roronoa zoro!

brought to you by my current hyperfixation with challengers and zendaya. set-up: you've worked your ass off; early mornings, late nights, diets, workouts, everything. only to still to fall in the shadow of the current badminton world champion and your ex: roronoa zoro. bitter, agitated and absolutely exhausted, you had decided to never see him or even think of him again. but when an email from his coach dracule mihawk finds you, proposing you and zoro team up for the upcoming mixed doubles champion's cup, can you refuse? here's part 02 cw: smut, angst and dumb shenanigans! warnings: dumb people even dumber plot by me <3 zoro is a pain in the ass. nsfw includes: oral (f!receiving), penetration, doin' the do raw, more angst and more shenanigans. did i mention zoro is a pain? yeah that. mdni, shoo now. wc: 9.4k [IM SORRY I PUT TOO MUCH EFFORT INTO IT] m.list

13th of june, 10:02 a.m

"i didn't think you would come."

"me neither."

you felt dracule mihawk's gaze study you as if you were an opponent on the court, eyeing every little movement from the involuntary twitch of your fingers to the shallow breaths you heaved out. an unease crept against your throat and made a residence in there as you stood at the entrance to the kuraigana mansion, waiting for the retired world champion to say anything.

by anything, you didn't exactly expect pleasantries.

"how have you been?" mihawk's face eased, a shallow smile carving itself against his usual vampire-ish appearance.

"just fine." you replied back coolly, "and you, sir?"

"ah, you know, the usual. tournaments, training zoro." his words stilled at the mention of his moss-haired son-turned-student and he eyed you motionless face.

if mihawk wanted you to give away anything about how you felt about zoro, he was setting himself up for failure. although the mere mention of the man's name made your skin crawl and fill you with bugs, you simply smiled, "i heard he won the last men's singles in france, congratulations."

"the praise is reserved for the player, not me." mihawk stepped aside, slowly beckoning you in, "well, come on in, then."

you stepped after him into the castle-like mansion. kuraigana residence. the interiors were classic black and white with random, almost-haphazard pops of pink and purple sprinkled in, probably perona's influence on her otherwise classy father's tastes.

"looking for someone?" the man enquired, not turning around to look at you as he guided you through the main entrance.

"no." you replied quickly before putting on a faux smile, "just admiring the interiors. you have a wonderful home, sir."

"thank you. credit goes to that enigmatic child of mine, perona." the man replied modestly, now taking you through the main living room. the room was huge. littered with two black couches, a large flatscreen, coffee-table, a table tennis table that didn't match the aesthetic whatsoever, with art plastered on each otherwise barren, white wall.

"are you home alone?" mindlessly, you looked around again, perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of a certain dreadful man.

"zoro is out with a couple of friends—"

"—i meant perona."

"well," mihawk sighed, now leading you into the gigantic kitchen, "you know her. she hates to stay home for more than two days. she's in milan right now, working with a label." he pointed to the seat near the marble kitchen island, "have you been in touch with perona?"

"no," you admitted casually as you sat atop one of the many seats, as he stood opposite to you on the other side of he island, "i mean, we follow each other on instagram, that's about it. we were never really close."

"i see." mihawk grabbed two wine-glasses, perching them on the table before pulling out a unopened wine bottle from the top cupboard, "wine?"

"i'm off alcohol for the season." you answered politely, and left out the fact that it was ten in the morning.

the man hummed a faint yes before pouring himself a glass full of familiar, maroon-hued liquid. he sipped in a drink, eyeing yourself before keeping the glass back on the marble, "well that's enough chit-chat, let's cut to the chase."

you perked up, elbows propped on the island as he continued, "i presume you got my mail."

"of course."

"then you know that i want you and zoro to team up for the upcoming doubles championship."

"i do." your fingers clasped together, chin resting atop them. you took a steadying breath, "and my answer is no."

mihawk crocked up an eyebrow as you continued, "it was always gonna be a no, sir. you are- were like a father to me, and that's the only reason i dignified your request with an actual visit. it does not change the fact that i will not team up with roronoa zoro."

"calling him by his legal name?" mihawk mused, "i thought he was 'zo to you. he only let you call him that, anyways."

that was in the past, though, wasn't it? years before he was number one in the men's category and you were at two in the women's category. years before he started pretending as if he had never known you. years before you showed up at his house only to turn down the offer to play alongside him.

"we are nothing more than strangers, i'm afraid."

the man hummed as he gulped down the rest of his drink alongside your words. as he poured himself another glass, he continued, "i have to be honest. my request is a bit more selfish than what i'm letting on."

he paused as you straightened up, "i'm retiring from the position of his coach after the doubles champions' tournament." you stared at the older man as he continued, "this is his last tournament with me as his coach."

"does zo- roronoa know?"

"not yet. he needs to focus on the game." mihawk shrugged, tipping his glass towards you, "and you and him both know i am at the age where i should move away to italy and open my own wine cellar, rather than running around on the court."

a laugh escaped you at the absurdity of mihawk's request, "what are you suggesting, sir? roronoa doesn't need me to win, he is capable enough to with with anybody."

he's the bloody number one, isn't he?

"you won the champions cup last year with that kid law, did you not? i would rather take the chances with you than somebody else."

you stilled, thinking of a flattering response before spewing out, "i only won because roronoa did not play last year, sir. the competition was slim, and me and law made a good team."

mihawk set his glass down, "don't try to sell yourself short. you are not inferior to zoro, we both know that."

maybe. but you would not team up with that bastard. not ever.

you dragged your seat backwards, standing up, "i am afraid it is still a no, sir. and if you do not want me as an opponent, i would happily withdraw from this year's tournament." you bowed, "thank you for having me over."

mihawk called out your name as you turned your back on him, "i would never beg, you know that. but zoro needs you to win." you looked over your shoulder at the older man, "and i need him to win this time, no matter what. do it for this old man, for old time's sake."

for old time's sake, is it?

you looked away from the man, letting his words turn sour against your skin. a sigh escaped you, "fine. we can discuss the details through my manager. but—" you turned around, casting a sharp glance at the coach, "—i am doing this only for your sake, mihawk. nothing more, nothing less."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

16th of june, 7:52 a.m.

three days later, you were clad in your practice set, and the duffel bag with your equipment felt heavier than usual in your right hand as you run the doorbell to the kuraigana residence.

the winds were unkind, the clouds were greying and ashy, a clear reflection of your spirit as a certain moss-head opened the door. your gaze tangled against his, and for a second you felt as if somebody punched you in the gut and left you paralysed, and a seventeen year old with a broken heart again.

he was so much prettier than he seemed on camera. tousled moss hair, a scar on his eye from when you were kids and a crooked smile that he gave the cameras when he won. fucking bastard. you couldn't wait to break a badminton racket on his stupid head. put him in a fucking coma.

so what if you both didn't win? you would kill him. yes, that will satiate your hunger. prison be damned.

a wayward shock running down your spine as you moved past him and inside the mansion. wordless.

"wh-what are you doing here?" his throat seemed to have gone dry as he hurriedly walked after you, carefully avoiding saying your name lest you were a demon he could summon.

"what?" you asked as you made your way to the living room, never once turning around lest you see his face and start punching him, "what do you mean why am i here? don't you know?"

"no?" irritation snipped at the raw edges of his words, "why are you here?"

your eyes widened in part amusement, part astonishment. is he dumb? is he actually clueless? that's roronoa zoro for you, i suppose.

"she's your partner." mihawk replied coolly from where he sat on the sofa, "for the mixed doubles campion's cup."

"HER?!" his voice cracked, eyes widening as he peered down at his own father, "DAD?!"

the annoyance in his voice set you aflame and you stared down at mihawk aswell, "you didn't tell him, sir?"

"well, i did." mihawk answered nonchalantly, sipping down wine slowly, "didn't i tell you, zoro? that your partner would be coming today to practice?"

"you didn't tell me it was her." he grumbled, and your blood pressure rose as you stared down mihawk, "sir, i would not team up with such a fucking idiot."

"zoro, do not behave like a hooligan—"

zoro whipped his neck to look at you, his jaw locked and eyes narrowed, "who are you calling a fucking idiot?"

you craned your neck to stare him down in return, "you."

zoro stepped forward towards his father and pointed accusatorily towards you, his earrings chiming ever-so-softly, "i am not teaming up with her."

"me neither." you grumbled, stepping forward to match his stance, "i take back what i said, i cannot partner up with him! he's insufferable."

but mihawk stared down the both of you and for a moment, you both were two sixteen year olds who just got caught making out in his room instead of adults in your twenties about to go for a international champion's cup.

"are you both gonna behave as adults or do i need to give you a stern lecture?" mihawk asked coolly.

"'m sorry, dad." zoro mumbled and you joined him as you both stared down at the floor, "i'm sorry too, sir."

the coach stood up, "apologize to each other. now."

zoro gave you a side-eye, "sorry."

"hm. sorry."

"much better. no animosity should linger between partners." mihawk put down the glass, "onto practicing we go, now. zoro lead her to the indoor court, i would be there soon."

indoor court? what the fuck.

zoro refused to dignify you with anything as you both walked through a maze of hallways that finally opened into a proper, full-sized indoor court.

"shit." you mumbled as you took in the open roof of the court. the grey overhead clouds casted a gloomy look on the court. zoro grumbled something under his breath before switching on a button which closed the metallic roof with a soft creak.

what the fuck.

well, soon enough, you realized two very important things: first, this mansion was insane. and second, roronoa zoro was number one for a reason.

you were heaving, chest rising and falling so rapidly that it felt as if your lungs and heart would burst inwards and paint you red. your calf muscles pulsed mercilessly as sweat dripped down your eyebrow and onto the flat plane of your cheeks. blinded by exhaustion, you tried to match the movements of the man opposite to you.

he was tired but he was graceful.

roronoa zoro was heaving, sweat trailing down his hair and neck and disappearing down his black shirt. but his gaze was focused, his steps ever-so-calculated as he ran from one end of the court to the other, and as he shot down the shuttle, the muscles in his bicep rippled and came alive with a strange delight.

"zoro, don't run so much. you have nothing to prove, you look like an idiot and you would exhaust yourself." mihawk noted, his voice booming between the sounds of the air being sliced by your shots and the soft sounds of pants and groans.

mihawk called out your name next, "do not restrain your arms. think of the racket as an extension of yourself, and allow your hands to move freely. hit harder. taking it easy gets us nowhere."

"i am trying." you grit through your teeth, trying to expend force as you hit back the shuttle with all your might.

zoro moved backwards, his arms being pulled back before he hit the shuttle back to your left. you attempted to run, to catch the shuttle before it fell to the court, but your right calf cramped up and your feet wobbled as you lost your footing and fell down.

"that's enough." mihawk concluded, "this is enough practice for today."

you allowed yourself to lay down on the court, holding your pulsating calf to your chest and panting through your mouth as the oxygen slowly flooded your muscles and eased your body up.

"are you okay?" mihawk asked you as he stood above you, peering you down with his hawk-like eyes. you nodded yes with a red face and tembling lips, assuring him you were fine.

as you stared up at the ceiling, you heard zoro pick up his duffel and walk out of the court without even as much of a "good game" or a "are you okay?" and it was crystal clear how far ahead roronoa zoro was, because you were on the ground trying to catch your breath while he was whistling and walking back to his room without as much of a water break.

fuck. lot of work to be done before you could kill that asshole.

"perhaps, you should stay here." mihawk suggested as you finally pulled yourself up and he offered you a bottle of water.

you spluttered on the liquid and some of it dribbled down your lips uncharacteristically, "wh-hat? here?"

"you would have to come in every morning," he answered back, "there is no point in travelling everyday now, is there? we have many spare bedrooms."

"i-" you wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, looking up at the coach with furrowed brows, "i don't know, sir."

"we have spare rooms in the west wing, and zoro's room is in the east wing." mihawk crossed his arm, "the rest is your decision, of course."

you sighed, "is it really my decision?"

"no. a room has been set for your already." mihawk shrugged, "i thought you would agree for this old man's sake."

"jesus fucking christ, you're good at emotional blackmailing."

8:31 p.m.

"i don't understand why she's here." zoro grumbled as he munched on his dinner.

"because it is pointless for her to come and go every day," mihawk dabbed his lips with a white cloth, "and do not talk when you're eating."

"so i need to see her face everyday?"

"can you stop talking about me as if i'm not here?" you glared at man sitting opposite to you, "i don't want to see you face everyday either."

zoro smiled so politely that it made you want to rip his hair out of his scalp with a kitchen knife. prison be fucking damned.

"then, leave."

"i swear on any god—"

"—what? what do you swear? if you're asking favours from god, maybe ask for getting better at badminton." the man scoffed, thoroughly happy with his own little jab.

"mihawk," you glared daggers at zoro, "if i kill roronoa, would you turn me in to the police?"

"of course he will." zoro squinted.

you squinted back at the athelete, "no, he can just adopt me and forget about you instead. he likes me better, anyways."

"oh, does he?" zoro quipped up rhetorically and mihawk shrugged, dabbing his lips before admitting a casual "she is quite lovely."

"dad!—"

a cashmere grin, eyes never leaving the athlete. "thank you, sir."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

3rd of august, 11:07 a.m.

the next few weeks were a strange repetition, days filled only with three characteristic things: first, you woke up at five in the morning, practiced with a very-angry zoro (because god knows how much he resents those five am alarms) till you were about to pass out. second, ate food that their divinely gifted chef made. and third, bickered with zoro like a child.

"who the fuck puts a table-tennis table in the living room? money clearly cannot buy some sense of design." you glared at him as he glared right back at you. mihawk was out, the house was eerily quiet and you two had just finished up with the first practice session of the day, the adrenaline still pumping high through your mortal bodies.

"how do you know i put it in here?"

"'cause perona actually understands decor? you are the directionless idiot."

"okay. not that i have to explain to you but— first of all, it's practical for when my friends come over." he paused, thinking, "oh, do you know what friends are? they are people that voluntarily hang out with you and like—"

"oh, so funny." you mockingly laughed before crossing your arms in front of your chest. the sportsman momentarily stared down at your chest. jesus christ. he was reeled back into reality, quickly looking away and pretending to hit a mosquito. there are no mosquitoes here. a blushed crept up his face, to the tips of his ears, "yeah, i know. i'm funny."

"doesn't excuse your poor fucking decor skills."

"well, for starters, i can do what i want because it's my house—"

"—your dad's."

"and you are living in my house."

"because your dad asked me to because he likes me better."

"i-" his jaw was clenched shut as he stepped forward. his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath ragged as his gaze slowly cascaded down to your lips. his breath staggered helplessly, eyes quickly darting upwards to stare you in the eyes, "why don't you go and practice? get on my fucking level instead of bitching and moaning about meaningless shit?"

ah, you had almost forgotten how quickly his saccharine words turned sour. you had almost forgotten how well-versed roronoa zoro was in destruction, whether at the court or with your heart.

a certain ache built up in your chest as you pushed him back, and for a moment you both were sixteen, having your first fight all over again. except he was taller now, his eyes hardened and his tongue sharp enough to cut through you instead of kissing you sweetly and making amends.

your lips trembled, glaring up at him as you stepped closer to the man you had once been disillusioned enough to believe you knew, "fuck you, roronoa."

"roronoa? we're being formal now?" he stared down at you, eyes boring down in yours as he held himself off with barely tangible threads of sanity. his voice was barely a whisper when he spoke again, "didn't realize that's what you called me."

"i call you nothing, let me make that clear. we are not friends nor acquaintances, strangers is all."

well, strangers don't know how it feels to kiss someone in a poorly-lit room and taste of reckless first-times and childhood innocence, they do not know of each other's long-forgotten dreams, and they certainly don't look at each other as if the only thing holding them back was their own wounded prides.

you walked past him, your shoulder brushing against his bicep as your quick steps led you away from him and into the room you had temporarily come to call home.

fuck roronoa zoro.

11:02 p.m.

you refused to go out of your room for lunch, or for dinner for that matter.

had you been a greater woman, perhaps you would have walked out, kept that conversation behind you for the next two and a half weeks, and simply focus on winning. had you been a lesser woman, perhaps you would have locked your door and cried into your sheets about anything and everything roronoa zoro.

but you did neither.

you sat on your bed and stared down the spotless ceilings, trying to come up with ideas to kill that man without ever getting caught. well no, prison be damned. orange wasn't such an awful colour anyways. if trump could make it work, so could you.

your phone buzzed, and the low rumbling pulling you out of the symphony of wicked thoughts that begged you to either go kill zoro or kiss him so hard that he forgets he belongs to this mortal plane — both ideas that would ultimately land you playing a gamble with death. you picked up the device only to come face-to-face with an email from your manager asking for updates.

to: [email protected]: [email protected] do you want me to kill him? for legal reasons, this is a joke. update me on how things go. don't lose your radiance over that moss-head.

"fuck," your voice was soft as your feet hit the carpeted floors, eyes locked at the time. 11:02.

although your pride held up to the resolve to starve yourself of any human contact, your stomach sadly didn't wish to comply. an embarrassing rumble made you well-aware of your hunger and you decided with a defeated sigh to go down and beg the chef for whatever he could make you at this time of the night.

you walked to the door, opening it slowly as you came face to face with—

"you?" your pupils were blown wide open, taking in a the image of a guilty-looking zoro halfway-crouched at your door, "you."

your palm found purchase against your hips, face in an easy scowl, "what the fuck do you want, now?"

"nothing?" he argued back haughtily, pulling himself to his feet hastily, "i- i was going to the bathroom."

"on the opposite wing of the mansion?" your eyes drifted down to his hands where he held a white plastic bag, "with a whole grocery bag in your hand?"

"yes?" he clutched the bag tighter, "and it's none of your business."

you gave him a look he was well-versed in. a look that practically begged him to drop this act of nonchalance and come clean. a look roronoa zoro crumbled under.

the sportsman shifted on his feet, his eyes drifting downwards to your feet as he slowly held out the bag towards you. when he spoke, his voice was matter-of-factly, "you didn't eat today."

"huh?—" you clutched the plastic in your palms, peering down to look at two packets of familiar cup noodles, a six pack of beer and a toblerone thrown in for good measure. you looked up at the man as a strange feeling made home in your veins. warmth?

you stared at the packaging, dumbfounded, "cup noodles?"

"i- i don't know if you still like these ones." he admitted softly, gaze still avoiding yours, "but i heard you said you liked these in... in one of those interviews in the last women's singles, uh the one in tokyo—"

"you watched my match?"

his fingers twitched, "no. whatever, if you don't like it, i can just take it away—"

"—how did you think i did?"

the tokyo finals were against the number one in the female category: boa hancock. beauty, grace, talent: everything good and holy found a home in her, it seemed. because at the end of the match, she defeated you with a neck-to-neck match. your 20 points to rival her 22 points. her number one title to rival your number two.

roronoa zoro finally met your eyes, a proud wayward glint in his eyes that gnawed at your insides, and a simple "you did good."

"i lost."

"doesn't refute the fact that you did good."

"if i had done good, i would have won."

"don't talk bullshit." he crossed his arms, eyebrow arched and shoulder leaning against the doorframe. the muscle bulged under his navy blue shirt, earrings glittering cautiously in the dim light as his words cut through your flimsy counterattacks, "you did well, so, take the compliment. it's not about winning, it's about getting better. you did way better than last year's sweden semi-finals."

"you saw sweden too?" you asked softly, the disbelief in your voice evident in your face, tainting your pretty features a murky shade of confused.

but zoro refused to answer what was obvious, instead rambling on about the actual game, "your shots have gotten a lot more crisper since sweden. your breath control has gotten better, and your wrist work too. not to mention that—"

"—roronoa." you halted him, "what if you lose this tournament 'cause of me?"

"we're playing as a team. if we win, we both win. if we lose, we both lose." he didn't bother comforting you. just laid the truth bare in front of you, "simple as that."

"would you... hate me? if we lost, i mean?"

his face shifted, something inkling to the ghost of a smile on his lips, "how could i ever hate you?"

what the fuck.

your gaze betrayed you as it found a home against his lips. you mind begged for answers. why did he know all that, how did he know all that, why did he fucking care? and most importantly why were you not listening to his helpful advice, instead admiring his pretty eyes and the scar that ran across them.

zoro stopped himself, features going still as he propped himself back and stood up straight. he cleared his throat and hid his features under an usual cloak of nonchalance. the sportsman nodded to the plastic bag, "just eat, and sleep soon. we need to be up early. don't think dad's gonna let us off the hook cause we were fighting in the middle of the night."

you stared at him, a furious blush building up in your cheeks, "right, thanks." you looked down at the contents again, "but you brought me two packs and six beers?"

"and a toblerone." scrambling to find an excuse, the mosshead tripped over his own words, "i– well, i mean you must be hungry. are you not? of course, you are, right? if you don't want it, you don't have to eat it."

"no, it's just— uh, do you wanna come in?" you paused, "i... don't think I can finish six beers alone."

he stood before you dumbstruck. 5'10 of muscle and flesh and skin, standing before you with a flabbergasted look in his eyes. as if he didn't want that with every inch of his body and soul. but he was a man of great restraint, so, he shook his head, "thanks, but uh— we both need to be up early tomorrow."

your throat went dry, your words as it barely audible, "of course, see you."

"hm, yeah. g'night." he grew awkward, thumbing his earring just to have something to do, "i just didn't want you to get the wrong idea— like you know, we shouldn't fight among ourselves—"

"—no animosity between partners, as mihawk says?"

"something like that, yeah." he sighed, and you found yourself being kicked in the face by whatever self-esteem you had left. of course, he was just making amends. your wretched heart and it's stupid daydreams be damned. "okay then, i'm sorry for the morning. and uh, 'night."

"'night." he turned, ready to leave and his name left your lips before you could register what was happening, "zoro—?"

he turned around immediately, an apprehensive plea in his eyes, "yeah?"

"i—" you fished for the chocolate and held it in your hands, "you can have this, i don't really like it."

he took the bar, ideally turning it in his palm, "i thought you liked these?"

"used to. five years ago. i'm not seventeen anymore." you pressed your lips into a thin line, "people change."

"uh, yeah, i guess they do." a pause, "or maybe they... don't?"

that was the last (luke)warm conversation you had with roronoa zoro. days passed you by as did a rigorous, drilling schedule. wake up, practice, practice, practice, sleep. but hey! two and a half weeks of this and you would walk home with another champion's cup to your name, so, how bad can it possibly be?

that moss-for-brains asshole was a problem for two and a half week later you. yes. indeed. indeed.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

21st of august, 9:51 a.m.

you let out a shuddering breath, adrenaline pumping through your veins and hands gripping the handle tighter. you took a step backward, positioning yourself as zoro stood to your right, ready to serve the shot.

the sound of his racket slicing the air rang through the court as the shuttle made it's way over the net and onto your opponent's side. the woman in front of you lunged forward, shooting the shuttle back towards you.

mixed doubles champion's cup. barcelona, spain. finals. you and roronoa zoro vs. ino takuma and nobara kugisaki. your 19 points vs. their 17 points in the third round. just two more and you'd win the cup.

your arm pulled backwards, right foot behind your left, head tipped back as you smashed the shuttle back into their side towards where ino stood, ready. the shuttle whirled past his racket by a hairsbreadth and fell down on the court.

"20 love." the umpire announced pointing to you and zoro, and then to the rival team, "17 love."

just one more.

"fuck yeah." zoro gave you a feral smile. his hair was drenched, sweat slowly dripping off of his jawline. he moved forward, a new shuttle in his palm and he got ready to serve again, the jersey with roronoa on it crinkled and sticking to his back. he looked over his shoulder, giving you a nod, "ready?"

"fuckin' hope so." you huffed out, nodding slowly and backing to take your position.

the shuttle left your side of the court, tearing through air and onto their side. the air was tense, the audience growing impatient as both the teams lunged to their left and right to land definitive shots. ino takuma took a step back, jumping upwards as he delivered a smash that whirled past your cheekbone and landed on the court, "fuck."

"18 love." the umpire declared, "and 20 love."

just one more.

you walked over to zoro, and he wiped his forehead off with the back of his hand. his face was angled downwards, words right against the shell of your ear, "'s fine, we're leading. we're winning."

just one more.

the next few minutes were a battle on the court. flicks of wrist, sweat trailing down your back, the feel of feet shuffling on court as you and zoro worked in sync. his shots to your steps and your shots to his, as the team opposite to you kept up their assault.

your feet moved to their own accord, skidding forward before you jumped upwards. your racket made contact with the shuttle and you smacked it down with every bit of force you had. your breath was caught in your throat, heart beating loudly, blood rushing past your eardrums as you saw kugisaki fumble and drop the shuttle.

just one more.

a roar went through the audience, mihawk yelling out in an uncharacteristic manner, and you found yourself sinking to your knees. the court felt cold and sturdy against your knees, relief washed over your shuddering form and wayward tears pooled at the edge of your eyes. your gaze lifted up, and within the blindness from the overhead lighting, you found zoro giving you the smallest of nods with a reckless smile plastered to his lips.

and then roronoa zoro proceeded to ignore you for the rest of the evening. the problem for two and a half week later you was here. fuck.

12:44 p.m.

you glanced at the man next to you through your eyelashes. how he looked annoyed and shook his head, how those cursed earrings chimed as he answered a question that the press asked, how he ignored you for the nth hour of the night.

the fucker didn't even thank you or appreciate you to your face the entire day. what a bitch.

"is it true, then?" the reporter's bangs moved enthusiastically, "are the rumors of you dating true? everyone seems to notice that the air seems charged between the two of you."

"of course not," zoro leaned into the mic, his eyes boring holes into that reporter before he chased it away with a polite smile, "those are just rumors. we're just partners." he looked at you once, twice, "right?"

"yeah." you answered, monotone. "just rumors. having him in the same team was taxing enough for me, mentally. i cannot imagine him as a boyfriend."

the reporter grinned, as if having found something worth exaggerating, "so, was having him as a partner hard? would you say law was much better?" as the mention of the brunette, you noticed zoro pick up one of the water-bottles in front of him and attempt to crush it. the reporter paused, "and you, roronoa? was it hard for you too?"

"well, we've had our differences." he crossed his arms, letting go of the poor, unassuming bottle. was he hoping his biceps would distract the crowd of rightfully-thirsty ladies? slut.

"but the most important part of any doubles game is team-work." he continued, without even giving you half a glance, "and without her, i would have failed to win. that much is for sure."

"isn't that sweet?" the woman cooed.

isn't that sweet? no. no it is not.

"so would you partner up with each-other? are we gonna see more of this dynamic duo?"

"ah," zoro looked at you, at a loss of words. you leaned into the mic, plastering on a smile, "we'd see where fate leads us."

12:03 a.m.

fate led you here.

you stared at your phone as another headline caught your eye: turns out badminton is more than a clash of rackets, it's a clash of hearts! find our the story of roronoa zoro and his partn—

the only clashing will be of a plate against that bastard's head.

you scrolled further, just to run into another headline: roronoa zoro admits feelings in press conference after the match. click to—

your fingers hovered over the link, almost opening the headline just to confirm if they saw the same press conference as you. cause there were no feelings anywhere there. right? right.

then another: love island? no! it's the champion's cup! catch the story of team-mates turned lovers—

"—what bullshit." you huffed, scrutinizing the photo under the headline that depicted you looking at zoro as he answered some question with the caption "lovesick gaze."

you threw your phone to the side and it bounced twice before falling fce-down. a pathetic groan left your lips as you dragged your palm over your face.

you should be celebrating, getting drunk somewhere maybe? or you should be sleeping, feeling satisfied after the big win. instead, you were rotting in your bed, staring at the ceilings wondering what was the easiest way to ensure you never saw your ex again. this was a one time affair, after all. all because mihawk asked you—

knock knock knock.

your feet hit the wooden floors, absentmindedly walking to the door. did you order room service? maybe they wanted to give you a cake to celebrate you? or—

"—r-roronoa?" your words died in your throat as you stared down the man in front of you. he was dressed in a casual navy t-shirt and black sweats. his hair was wet, strands sticking to his forehead, and he held a bored look on his face. "do you want something?"

"can i come in?"

he looked tipsy.

"ye- no? no." you paused, a tsunami of emotions building within you. you were supposed to get away from him! "i need to sleep. it's late."

"this won't take long." his brows furrowed, eyes softened, "i promise."

you hesitantly stepped to the side, allowing for your former partner to step in. a sigh fell past your lips as you closed the door and locked it shut.

"what is it?" you asked, and your breath hitched as zoro stepped closer. his arm on either side of you as he peered down at you as if he would devour you whole. "w-what? roronoa."

"did you hear what they're publishing 'bout us?" his words felt like thunder against your soft skin.

"no," your face grew hot with the impossible possibility that somehow he knew what you were browsing minutes before he came. you blinked up at him. careful. "what are they saying?"

he scoffed, and stepped back, "that we're lovers. it's stupid."

you looked down at the wooden floors, goosebumps erupting across your body at the fleeting contact, "it's just gossip, it'll die down. don't worry."

"i guess." he sighed, running a hand across his face. he didn't meet your gaze, muttering a cowardly "i am gonna go, then."

"what?" you looked up at him, the fiery feeling in your body turning to soot and ash, "that is all?"

"yeah?"

"you don't wanna say anything else?" you found yourself walking forward, and he stepped back to maintain the distance. a glare crossed your pretty face, "this is it?"

"did i do something?" zoro looked from your eyes to your lips to your unrelenting steps towards him, "hey, woman?"

"hey, woman?" your brows furrowed, exasperated words tumbling past you and clashing against his stone-cold exteriors, "fucking hey, roronoa? hey! how are you!— are you fucking for real?"

you stopped a mere inches away from him, index finger jabbed against his solar plexus. you looked up at him, eyes filled to the brim with mirth as you found his, "y-you didn't even fucking thank me! or say congrats— or any fucking thing."

"i didn't?" he tried to ask but the dam of your emotions was open, the ugly and grotesque that were buried within your mortal body for five years toppling over each other till they turned even more vile, "shut up."

"after all you've done and said five years prior, i thought you would have the fucking decency to end it on a good note this time around." you scoffed, eyes boring into his, "i was fucking wrong. you can never change. you'd always be roronoa zoro, the star player. and i'd be the fool that waited on you."

your name made past his lips, eyes closing as he tried to fend himself off.

"—oh now you're using my name? after two fucking months?" the laugh that you choked out was barely a laugh. you jabbed the finger deeper against his muscled body with every stressed syllable, "you left. you fucking left me. just. like. that."

"let me explain. we were seventeen—"

"—shut up. i wake up one morning, and you're gone. you fucking left town and the next i see of you, you're on the national news winning bronze in olympics." a humorless laugh, "and all that after you said you loved me."

"i still do."

"fuck you, roronoa."

"that's not what you call me." he breathed out slowly, fingers finding purchase against your wrist and bringing your hand upwards to press a chaste kiss, "that's not my name."

"fuck you, zoro." you spat out, and your fingers pulled his face downwards and towards you. you halted, your lips a hairsbreadth away from his, and he decided to close the distance by crashing his lips to yours in a desperate kiss.

his hands skimmed over every inch of your body, never staying one place for too long — from the back of your neck to your hips — as he drunk down any unruly noises. your fingers dug deeper against his cheeks, pulling him into your impossibly closer.

"i hate you." you whispered through the fury of kisses, as the man dragged himself downwards and placing kisses across your neck. his teeth sunk against your pulse and you whimpered as he soothed the spot with another messy kiss, "i know."

all teeth and spit and broken resolves as you pushed him backwards till he fell atop your bed.

"i hate you." your body felt like lead, as if each action was one step forward to your untimely demise.

"i know." he propped himself up, face titling upwards as you sinfully teased him. your face so close to his, so pretty as you just barely kissed him, but never getting too close lest you lose control and allow your wicked fantasies to run amok.

"don't tease." he grinned — the savage kind — as a hand came up to pull your face downwards. his fingers were firm against the hollow of your cheeks and the kiss, bruising. as if he wanted to do enough damage to make up for the past five years.

"we sh- we shouldn't." you whined into the kiss as his fingers danced under your tshirt, teasing the skin with brief contact before swiping a leisurely thumb across your perky nipples. he pulled back, face flushed as his deft fingers pulled the hem of your tshirt upwards, "don't lie. you want this."

"don't get cocky." you glared daggers at him but complied nonetheless. your fingers softly over his as he dragged your oversized tshirt upwards. his breath hitched, eyes locked on how your skin erupted into goosebumps and perked up. he leaned forward, soft lips around your hardened nipple and he hummed at the contact, "'m not gettin' cocky."

you keened into his touches, fingers pulling his still damp hair, which only prompted him to suck harder, and then chased it with a soft kiss. but you grew impatient, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, "off."

"yes ma'am."

your fingers grabbed ahold of his jaw, tipping it backwards as you took him in. the damp hair stuck to his nape, gaze half-lidded and lips parted as he looked up at you. your gaze hardened, words caught in the thick air between you two, "this means nothing."

zoro took his shirt off, his hands pulling your warm ones to his torso. he nodded slowly, uttering false promises between open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, "nothing at all."

"i- i mean it," you whispered, your fingers tracing up and down the rigid plane of muscles and skin. your chest pressed against his as his hands snaked around your waist, "i know, baby." hot kisses smothered against your skin, "i know."

and world's number one had you pinned under him. hovering over you, the damp strands hanging loosely to frame his face. your face burned up as he traced the tip of his index finger across your face, then slowly dragged across your skin from your chest to your stomach and to the waistband of your shorts.

your hips bucked up as he thumbed the skin above the said waistband, "z-zoro."

"what do you want? tell me." his warm, calloused palms massaged your inner thighs, spreading them open to put up a show for himself. he swiped your clothed core, "wet already?"

"fuck off." a smug grin crept across his lips, head dipping down to press kisses to your exposed skin as his fingers dragged down the waistband and took off those layers off of you. he stared up, hands growing rougher, impatient, "tell me, what do you want?"

you squirmed as he continued pressing kisses, carefully avoiding your needy core. "i-" you clenched your eyes shut, embarrassment sewing itself against your skin. you mumbled, "don't make me say it."

"i need to hear ya." he licked a languid stripe, collecting the honeyed slick on the tip of your tongue. maybe he had less resolve than he had assumed, because at once he found himself licking fat strips up and down, catching your trembling bud between his lips and sucking. you tasted of divinity and sin all wrapped in one woman and he found himself at your altar, nothing more than a helpless man.

and just like that, roronoa zoro lost all sanity.

"fuck." he hummed against you, lapping at you like a man starved. his eyes stayed train on you, gaze fixated as he watched you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and arch your back. you were so pretty. it made him ache from within, something primal that made him dive into your divine cunt nose-deep and rut against the mattress like a man who knew no patience.

when roronoa zoro pulled back, you saw a man devoid of any and all trace of rationality. he was a demon ready to devour you whole. or die trying.

he held himself back, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs and hips lest he couldn't control himself. out of breath, out of mind, "tell me."

"wan' you." you mumbled, shying away from him. squirming, trying to pull away from his iron-grip on your thighs, trying, "need you t-to fuck me."

"louder." he met your eyes in a challenge, and you rivaled his stare, "fuck me."

the kiss he lay atop your hip bone was impossibly soft, his voice even more soft, "on it."

he licked quick stripes, drinking you down like you were some forbidden nectar. words barely audible as he put two fingers in your mouth. a moment later, his fingers were drilling into you. experienced hands thrusting up into you, hitting that one gummy spot over and over and over and over—

"z— ohmygod ohmygod oh—" you tried to catch your breath, tried to make sense of the situation but the mosshead caught your pulsating clit against his lips, humming and ramming into you like a mad man. watching you as you fell apart on his tongue and fingers.

twitching, bucking up, trying to run away from him as his fingers fucked you senseless. trying to run away from him?

he pulled you towards himself, putting his weight on top of your hips. you cannot run away. "don't run, don't run. not when i just got you."

"z-zoro— stop, stop it." you cried into the air, head lolling backwards as he continued his assault on your poor pussy.

"what?" he asked, gaze predatory as he continued pumping in and out of you, "see how she's gripping me? she wants me 'sbad." he thrust up harder, fingers playing against that one spot, and your body tried to turn left, to run away. but he wouldn't let you. he pulled his fingers back, just to fuck into you harder, "see. wants me so, so bad."

zoro pressed a hungry kiss to your clit, "am i taking good care of her?"

and all you could do was grip the sheets and withstand the pleasure as another tsunami built in your lower stomach. his thumb found your clit, pressing and rubbing the little nub, "answer me."

and the pressure built and built within you. tugging on your insides harshly, as he toyed with you and your aching pussy. and then it all came crashing down. spotless white washed over your eyes, head lolling back, fingers gripping the sheets so hard and a silent scream caught in your throat.

when he pulled back, his jaw was drenched, hair damp and eyes maddened. through his tunnel-vision, he found you spent on the bed. eyes clenched shut blissfully, hair tangled 'neath you, and reddened lips.

when you had the courage to open your eyes and look up at him. fuck. how dare you do that to a man? your eyes were watery, lips trembling as you told him "i can't." and roronoa zoro decided it was as good time as any to fuck you to the point of breaking.

and now he had your legs pushed to your ears, the mushroom tip dragging itself against your walls. a groan past his lips as he hooked his arm under one leg, fucking into you with all the patience in the world. so slow, so patient, so fucking agitating.

your nails dug crescent moons into his biceps, huffing out a, "f-faster, c'mon."

"hm?" his eyebrows bunched, face falling into almost a pout, "faster? think you can handle it?"

"shu-shut up ngh—" a gasp came alive as he thrust into you faster, before slowing down his pace and toying with you again. a delirious grin came to his lips as you whined out, "ugh zoro."

"just remember," he pulled it out till his tip barely kissed your entrance, and rammed it back in, "you asked for this."

and now you were pushing the same nails in his biceps, gasping as he fucked into you with abandon. he pressed kisses to your thighs, to your knees, to any part of you that was accessible to him. hot breath fanning over your skin as his dick pumped in and out of you.

"'fuck, 'zo—" he hissed like it hurt, thrusting harder at the nickname. his pace was bruising, intentions to destroy you, "say that again."

"wh-what?" you played dumb.

strong hands came up to manhandle you to sit you atop him. searing hands on your hips as he moved you up and down his cock. a stutter made past your lips as you fell forward at the sudden change in position. hands bracing themselves against the hard muscle, you bit down on your lips, eyes rolling back, "i— fuck f-fuck, zo."

balls slapping against your ass, the sound of skin on skin deafening enough between his groans and your gasps. his grip on your unforgiving as you he helped you downwards each time to meet his erratic thrusts.

heaving, sweat trailing down his bow, your nails digging into his chest as you hugged him so sinfully tight. what were you doing to this poor man and his sanity? spasming, clenching around him, unforgiving, as he rammed upwards into you.

"i-i'm gon' cum—"

"yeah?" he breathed out, eager fingers coming to tease your puffy clit. sporadic swipes of his thumb against the aching nub, raising himself up to slowly bite down on the column of your throat, "cum f'me."

"ohmygod ohmygod zo—" head thrown back, you choked back sobs of his name as the white-hot pleasure built in your stomach and released all over his abs and chest, "fu-fuck ngh sh-shit, zoro!"

you, covered in your own essence, head thrown back, hair sticking to your chest and back, face flushed, eyes clenched shut. you.

zoro turned you around, your helpless moans trapped against the pillow as his heel dug into the dirtied mattress, and he drilled his cock into you harder and harder and harder. no rhythm, no reason as he chased his own high within you.

your overstimulated cunt spasmed around him, hugging his curved dick like you were milking him for all he was worth. fuck. fuck. fuck.

"ah— fuck." he groaned in the shell of your ear, tongue darting out to lick a languid stripe at the base of your ear as you felt his hips stutter, emptying within you.

his sweaty body stilled above yours, pressing you down into the sticky mattress. a moment later, he heaved out a content sigh and pulled it out. hitched breaths, a new wave of need building within him as he stared at the milky white gushing out of your pretty cunt.

mindlessly, his fingers pushed back the creamy white back into your poor, trembling hole. he swiped at your clit one last time, and you jolted under his torturous touches. a whine into the pillow, hips bucking away from him. you warned him, "zo."

"hah, sorry." he grinned, amused at your compliant state, before collapsing next to you.

you raised your flushed face, dazed eyes finding his pretty face next to you. he looked so pretty, it hurt. his flushed face illuminated by the soft lighting from the bedside lamps, the earrings glinting as they chimed softly against his skin, the soft smile that tugged at his lips.

this was roronoa zoro, the star player.

his fingers slowly came up to your face, pushing the damp hair strands backwards. the same fingers then traced over your nose, and your bottom lips.

and there was you, the fool that always stayed.

"zo... zoro." you pulled away from his skimming touches, "you— uh, what's the time?"

you looked away from him to pick up your phone: 2:11 a.m.

"it's late." shutting the phone, you didn't turn to look at him. what if he called out your name, looked at you, persuaded you? softly, you whispered into the heady air, "you should go back to your room. it's late, and i wanna sleep."

"wh- what are you doin'?" his hands ran over your arms, desperate touches bringing you back flush against his naked chest.

"zoro." you turned to look at him, eyes barely able to hold his steady gaze, "i-" you sucked in a breath, eyes tracing downwards to stare down his tan chest, "this meant nothing, you know that."

a scoff, "are—" the expression died, eyes widening, "should i actually leave?"

you nodded before pulling back from him, "go."

"please, just listen to me—" he sat up, shoulders squaring up as if he was ready to put up a combat for that explanation. his fingers years to touch yours, "i can explain."

you pulled your hand back, holding them against your chest. your resolved hardened. this was roronoa zoro, the star player. and this was you, and you were on your goddamn level now. no longer the fool that stuck around.

"go back to your room, rorona."

"r-roronoa? it's 'zo, for you." he begged, shifting to turn fully towards, "listen to me just once."

you shook your head, "no explanation will be good enough—"

"—i couldn't say goodbye to you. or i would have never felt like leaving that town." he pleaded, hands coming up to cradle your cheek, "and that town was a dead-end for my career. i had to leave—"

"then, leave right now as well. you're good at that shit, anyways."

"please—"

"leave."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

22nd of august, 12:03 p.m.

when you saw roronoa zoro at the checkout counter, you pretended he didn't exist. he was dead. to you, anyways.

the mosshead didn't bother making conversation, too busy comprehending the reality where you didn't even bother looking at him twice. not even as you clutched the LV in your hands tighter, and walked out through the glass doors and out where your driver waited for you.

the chants of your name stopped you dead in your tracks as a swarm of reporters stood to your left, being held off by the hotel security. the swarm of cameras, notepads and haunting questions being pushed back by men in black, pristine suits.

"is it true?!" a shrill, familiar voice caught your attention. you dragged your shades upwards, giving the reporter from yesterday a compliant smile, "is what true?"

"that you and roronoa zoro are together?!"

your eyebrow twitched, and you dragged the sunglasses downwards. the world was tinted a dark brown, and you put on another polite smile. that bastard be damned. "n—"

"yeah." the jock called out, a self-satisfying smile on his face as he stood behind you. his arm came to wrap around you, flesh against flesh feeling familiar as he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, "got a problem with that?"

you whipped to look at the man that had come to become the bane of your existence and the object of your desires. but before you knew what was happening, you were being ushered by his 5'10 self into the car backseat. when you came back to reality, the car was already was on the highway and zoro was looking out the window as if he didn't just do that.

"what the fuck?!" your voice was shrill, "what the fuck, roronoa? what did you just do?!"

"it's good for publicity." he replied, solemnly. "my manager told me to do that."

"which deranged bastard is your manager?" you fisted your hand, the leather handle of the purse almost disintegrating under the intensity. glaring at him with murderous intent, you choked out a, "tell me now and i'll get sanji to murder him."

"her." zoro corrected, "name's nami. she's the best in the game."

"you're dead, roronoa."

"ah, no i'm not." he grinned, a mad man. "cheer up, babe. we have appearances to keep up."

what the fuck.

a/n: hello. uh, i have nothing to say except i just really wanted to write this 🤡. not proofread cause its uhm 10k words. nobody's gonna read this shit anyways, i think. if you've read this whole, THANK YOU!!! MWUAH MWUAH MAY BOTH SIDES OF YOUR PILLOW BE COLD AND YOU GET TO EAT SOMETHING GOOD <3 part two? yes, i wanna. roronoa zoro being a menace is my favourite gender. [psss, if you've sent in requests, girlie IM TRYING IM SORRY. may lord give me strength, and i may give you some fics!] tagging: @help-i-lost-my-sock because ur the only one with enough strength to read this. thankyou so much for putting up with my bs <3 m.list

#one piece #the op aus series <3 #opla #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #zoro x reader #zoro smut #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro smut #zoro x reader smut #zoro #zoro opla #op zoro #op

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murfpersonalblog · 7 months ago

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IWTV S2 Ep3 Musings - Daniel & the Talamasca (SPOILERS)

I can see what the reviewers meant when they complained about the Talamasca & Daniel.

We start off with Daniel nervous AF, tryna keep tabs on all the mindscrewy shenanigans (at the sushi restaurant on his lunchbreak or whatever).

Today's... etcetc Cell phones, google -- Daniel, your handwriting effing sucks. San Francisco. Polynesian Mary's Playboy magazines as a doorstop? doorstep? |CLAUDIA| Mary's cab. Coke...etcetc. Alice. They'll come for me and Kate next--you bet your arse they will! XD THIS TIME I WON'T SAVE YOUR LIFE

He draws an arrow from Save Your Life up to Playboy--I assume cuz those are two incidents with Armand that took place in SanFran?

I really like the Omakase bit--

About how many risks Daniel's subjecting himself to under the whims of these vampires--but also about Daniel's hubris/arrogance breaking the rules of engagement by thinking he has any say over what they do and what he gets out of it, by stepping onto their turf. If you can't take the heat, GTFO their kitchen.

I'm only just now noticing the foreshadowed titles of Dan's books. 🤦 Burning & Blood--AMC swears they're hilarious.

OK, Raglan's been stalking Daniel's career just like Louis did. So my early suspicion about Daniel breaking the NDA was right.

Which is SO EFFING STUPID OF HIM. They're gonna find out! Loumand's literally drawing out this giant tragedy about what happens when vampires--Armand, specifically--are LIED to, and you're gonna pull this mess on them!? You're not even being SUBTLE!

AGREEMENT.pdf--Daniel, you in danger girl.

Raglan, stop tryna gas Dan up b4 they put him off commission permanently. He's no body-snatching psychic CROOK like you.

Get this nosey bish offa my dang screen.

Oof, right in the Devil's Minion feels. U_U

O__O WOAH!? OK, so aside from Dan (played by EB, a white Jew, along with JK) throwing shade at Caucasian European Israelis (which we been knew), he's implying that Armand & Louis might be persons of interest in the UAE by the Israeli gov't & assassins, esp. cuz of their ties to powerful people. But it's funny cuz that's the exact same thing Lou asked about him.

So Dan's telling the sushi patrons there's Israeli spies/assassins crawling around Dubai--STOP, b4 you get that place John Wick'd! XD

Not MI6. 😭 I said JOHN WICK, not JAMES BOND. XD

Raglan's gone full rogue then--if he was still working for the Talamasca he'd have darn near unlimited funds--they got that dirty TEMPLAR money. 💰💰💰

Yeah, and they don't actually call the Talamasca by name in the ep itself--only in the Insider interviews the producers give.

Daniel, why TF are you talking SO EFFING LOUD, when Raglan's whispering, tryna act like he's on the phone NOT talking to you in case y'all ARE being bugged. 🤦 SUBTLETY, my guy. What kinda investigative journalist are you?

I'm starting to suspect they're not gonna do the rockstar!Lestat, and instead this stupid Great Conversion's gonna be what wakes up Akasha/Amel, when their blood/consciousness gets stretched way too thin with all these new vamps being made.

To attempt an interview...? I believe that. We already know Marius & Lestat stalked Talamasca members for decades upon decades. Ain't no way NO vampire ever tried getting close to humans & talk about their lives to someone out of loneliness or something. Esp. the ones not attached to the European covens & all their stupid Great Laws.

Rest in Preternaturalism, Raymond Gallant.

BLENDERS! XD But this is THE most Anne Ricean answer imaginable, cuz everyone lost their ish when she had her vamps flying around with GPS-trackable cellphones in their pockets as they KILLED people. Rookie mistake. 😂

Armand was on a cellphone in S01E07, and he is LITERALLY married to his iPad, so PLEASE, sir. 🙄

There's Santiago's COMPLICIT speech coming back. Ain't no moral high-ground here!

And I figured Armand/AMC was gonna pin it on AMC!Lestat, and his jaded version the Savage Garden.

Armand says technology distracts humans from vampire crimes, but what's distracting vampires from psychic/Talamasca crimes, huh?

ISTG these are the laziest vamps I've ever seen; they care so much about their privacy & security, but aren't reading Dan's mind at all? I hope one of them just casually name-drops Raglan or catches Daniel in the act or something.

Raglan said Daniel's laptop was "comically vulnerable," and uploads a bunch of data files on it from the Bibliotheca Talamasca bestiary/archives--WHY? To help show Daniel he's helpful & trustworthy?

RJ: Omakase? Louis: The conversation was easy and flirtatious.... Armand: And combative. Louis: And combative, yes. Daniel: Arguing as foreplay. RJ: Peruse at your leisure.

I hate this effing show. 🙇🙇🙇

#interview with the vampire #iwtv season 2 spoilers #the vampire chronicles #iwtv tvc metas #the hype is real #must see tv #amc immortal universe

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nolanfa-fanart · 11 months ago

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Funny batfam gen (non-romantic) recs

last rec list was not exactly happy fics, so to offset it, have funny ones:

Gen fic recs for @genuaryficrecs! Fandom: DC, batfam. Focus: Humour (most some also tear your heart out or engage in subtle character building, but you'll laugh while you cry) Humour is very widespread in fic (…in some fandoms at least), ranging from humour woven in the writing style itself, to situational absurd (crack), to making the reader laugh about absolutely horrifying shit (while still acknowledging how awful it is; which is something I feel I've only ever read in fic), to absolutely unhinged character reactions (to more I don't have in mind right now), so here, a small homage to that.

The Lone Ranger Never Had to Deal with Bruce Wayne, by @theskeptileptic (https://archiveofourown.org/works/51476074) Chapters 6/6, 25.522 words G, No Archive Warnings Apply

Main Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne

Type of gen relationship: uh. Concerned Adult to Kid? Parental-ish? Or just neighbours, depending on who you ask.

Official summary: Tim is an independent, clever, and super mature eleven-year-old. Unfortunately, his dopey neighbor, Bruce, can’t seem to understand that. When he decides to disappear on a “solo camping trip” and run away to Canada, he figures it’s the perfect plan that will make everybody happy. He didn’t expect the Waynes would tag along with him and ruin everything. A six-chaptered tale filled with identity shenanigans, s’mores, soon-to-be-brothers, and a kid who is in desperate need of a new family.

Why I love it: This is. Hilarious. The perfect mix of very competent Tim and him still very much being an 11-years-old. Himbo Bruce Wayne who just so happens to totally accidentally run into Tim several times to innocently inquire about his parents' whereabouts. The horrifying fact of what Tim is actually doing and how he thinks, in his very logical way (and the horrifying fact that his parents agree with him).

Excerpts: from: [email protected] to: [email protected] Mr. Wayne, Timothy told me you stopped by earlier today. I am sorry I didn’t get to talk with you. My thyroid was acting up and I was sleeping. Timothy is a good kid. I can make sure he’s safe skateboarding so there is no need to worry. Have a good day! Sincerely, The Nanny

from: [email protected] to: [email protected] The Nanny, Thank you for your email last week. Timothy is most definitely a good kid. One of the best. I saw him at the Army Supply Store this afternoon and he mentioned you would be taking him to Cheesequake State Park to meet a friend this weekend? My boys and I are heading that way, so why don’t we save you a trip. We’ll make sure Timothy is taken care of. If you need anything at all, for any reason, please call me at this number: 9088780078. This is my cell phone and I answer it at all hours, no matter what. Nothing is too small or too much of a bother to pick up for. Anything that you need, Timothy’s Nanny, please call. Sincerely, Bruce Wayne - “Anyway, I was on my way to the course, and I realized your father and I haven’t gotten a chance to really ‘hang’, as you kids say, and I had a late tee time, so I thought I’d invite him along.” Mr. Wayne’s teeth were bright and Tim wondered if he used some sort of diamond paste on them. He looked around Tim’s shoulder, as if he wanted to see inside the mansion better. Tim hadn’t turned on any of the lights on account of his shitty night, so the early fall haze that Bristol was so well known for didn’t do much for his visibility. “I’m sorry, sir, you just missed him.” A pause. “Well, that’s ok, son. Why don’t you get your mom and I’ll give her a message? I’m sure you’ve got things to do.” He looked at Tim vapidly, smile still firmly in place. “I’m afraid she’s not here right now either. Shopping.” Tim gritted his teeth and went to close the door. Mr. Wayne’s huge ham hands (why were they so large?) stopped it before it slammed. He chuckled and Tim winced. “Your nanny, then.” Tim wasn’t sure, but thought the question sounded more strained than Mr. Wayne’s usual flavor of airheadedness. “She’s sleeping.” “At eleven in the morning?” “She has a thyroid problem. I’ll let them all know you stopped by.” Tim pushed the door closed but Mr. Wayne had somehow entered his foyer while he was speaking. “I’ll write them a note. They can call me when they get back.” He inched closer towards Tim, who sidestepped him before he could ruffle his hair.

Ain't No Compass, Ain't No Map, by @ebjameston (https://archiveofourown.org/works/38048365) Chapters: 9/9, 51.863 words T, No Archive Warnings Apply

Main Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake

Type of gen relationship: siblings and friends

Official summary: CPS Agent, pointing at Tim Drake: We need to take him with us Red Hood: He's fine where he is CPS: He's a minor Hood: Timbo, you a minor? Tim: Can't prove it CPS: I mean, I can. There are records – Tim, who has just finishing hacking CPS to remove his own file: Oh really, tell me more about these records +++ A CPS agent gets sent to investigate a tip that Tim Drake has been abandoned by his parents and is living with the Red Hood. The CPS agent leaves with no Tim Drake, a date with Red Hood's lieutenant, and an intern who's promising to fix the IT systems at his office. It's a weird day for Theo.

Why I love it: This is probably the first (non-crossover) DC fic I read, and to date still one of my favorites. It's. Listen. It's from the point of view of a Child Protective Services agent. Who, given his whole deal is to Protect Children, has Opinions about the Robins. And interacts - unknowingly - with them when they're grown (identity porn! Banter!). And he likes them! And they like him! But they have… differing opinions. And I absolutely love it. So. Many. Feels. And humour. It's 80% jokes and 70% feels and 50% social commentary about the canon and 20% plot and 40% fluff and 30% angst and some parts are all of that at once.

Excerpt: “Nightwing, wait, serious question,” Theo says. “About when you were baby Robin.” Max’s fingers tense up a bit on Theo’s elbow, and some of the earlier tension creeps back into Nightwing’s frame. “Yes?” “Did the Batmobile have a car seat?” “Did the what have a what ,” Nightwing says. “I’ve seen your stats from when you were just getting started,” Theo says. “You weren’t anywhere close to 4-foot-9. You would’ve needed a booster seat for at least the first two years you were Robin, so.” “So, did the Batmobile have a carseat,” Nightwing repeats faintly. Theo gets out his phone to take notes. “Yes. That is what I am asking.” “Buddy,” Hood says. “Most of the Batmobiles don’t even have seatbelts.” “How would you even know that?” Bernard asks.

IRIS Log #1548, by @deadchannelradio (https://archiveofourown.org/works/51647209) Chapters: 1/1, 8531 Words T, No Archive Warnings Apply

Main Characters: whole batfam

Type of gen relationship: familial

Official summary: A Disclaimer From Your Friendly Neighborhood Oracle: The following is a transcript of Patrol Communications Audio written by state of the art transcription technology, IRIS (Interpretation of Recorded Intelligence Software). IRIS was created to provide easily searchable records, automatically, and eliminate the need to transcribe each patrol audio log manually. That being said, IRIS is still experimental, and may not always be entirely accurate. - (01:25) Red Hood: (Mild static) (Out of breath, slurred) You motherfuckers. Put some fuckin- (01:25) Batman: (Shaking) Red Hood- (01:25) Red Hood: Shut up. Put some fucking respect. On my name. Start fucking copying me. I just got thrown fucking. Um. 40 feet. Into a fucking uh. What's it. Ditch. I'm still fucking conscious. (01:25) Batman: Red Hood, do not move, we're en route- (01:25) Red Hood: What'll I win if I stand up. (01:25) Batman: (Loud) Do not stand up.

Why I love it: The format (transcription of comms) is fun. Also it's. Just. Really funny? The… energy of it? I mean just read the excerpts honestly.

Excerpt: (01:34) Nightwing: Don’t get mad, Red. He’s got a concussion. (01:34) Red Hood: (Agreeably) I am all bonked up. (Laughter: Nightwing) Hey. Cass. Cassie. Is my leg fucked. The right one. (01:34) Blackbat: It. (Pause, 3 seconds) (Reading) I am not your medical provider and can’t diagnose injuries or illness. Please ask your doctor when you are under their care. (01:34) Red Hood: Oh. Um, okay. Can you tell me as buddies? Not as my doctor. (Laughter: Spoiler, Red Robin) Just as buddies. (01:35) Blackbat: …Super busted. Bad. As buddies. (01:35) Batman: Blackbat. We are not medical- (01:35) Red Hood: She said as buddies. It’s fine. (01:35) Spoiler: (Laughing) The as buddies legal loophole.

Bang, bang, by Ididloveyou_once (@ididloveyou) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/30246978) Chapters: 1/1, 5.563 words T, Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (an accidental gunshot wound played for laughs)

Main Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd

Type of gen relationship: very much Siblings

Official summary: ‘You shot me!’ Jason gasped, stunned, ‘Holy shit, you actually shot me.’ Tim’s eyes widened and he froze. They stared at each other for a second, dumbstruck and then- ‘Don’t tell Bruce.’Or: The family enjoy a normal movie night. Except Jason has a gunshot wound and Tim’s the only one who knows and oh- that’s because Tim’s the one who shot him and they really, really need to find a way to leave before anyone finds out.

Why I love it: Hmmm okay so maybe I really like a good Jason & Tim relationship. But objectively. This is great. Peak siblings relationships. The threat of Getting In Trouble forcing an emergency alliance between two mutually annoyed siblings who scramble to hide something? Peak comedy.

Excerpt: ‘Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that either,’ he pinched the bridge of his nose, ‘I just mean. Don’t worry about me being in pain. I’m fine. And don’t worry about looking like an asshole. You shot me, you already look like an asshole. But that’s fine because now we’re even.’ Jason sighed at the kid’s sour expression. So his words of reassurance needed some work, sue him.

Into the Brighter Night, by @shoalsea (https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935463) Chapters: 12/12, 162,894 words G, No Archive Warnings Apply

Main Characters: Tim Drake, whole batfam, Young Justice team

Type of gen relationship: familial and friends

Official summary: When an unknown enemy threatens Robin, Gotham's vigilantes come together to keep him safe. Unfortunately, they're protecting the wrong Robin. Or: Tim Drake plans his own rescue. Things get complicated.

Why I love it: Oooooh not just batfam this time. Tim is way too competent, and the Young Justice have his back (and a lot of resentment towards the batfam). Hyperactive Young Justice energy, Very Good Characterization, miscommunication (as in Bruce -the whole batfam really- is trying but they're super bad at clearly expressing feelings). And the tone of it? The writing? Hilarious and rips your heart out. This is super interesting interconnected character dynamics (with the batfam and Tim's team that's so many more different relationships than usual) and a deep look at canon events, all of it wrapped in hilarious dialogue. One of my fave Tim-centric fics, and I've read some very good ones.

Excerpt: [Impulse on a long distance call with the batfam - minus Tim] Jay makes a disbelieving sound. “You’re telling me that Red Robin—Mr. Responsibility himself—helped you hide and maintain a secret spaceship for years? Seriously?” “Uh, yeah? Duh?” “No offense,” Duke says, “but that doesn’t really sound like the guy we know.” Bruce sighs. Stephanie huffs out a laugh. Impulse just looks unimpressed. “Are we talking about the same person? Robin numero tres, currently Red? The same guy who once hid an extra Batmobile in the batarang budget and shipped it to California in secret? The same guy who founded Young Justice, an unauthorized vigilante group of teens that started out with no adult supervision? And lied to the Justice League and the government to keep Secret safe?” “Secret?” Duke says at the same time Jay sputters out, “He stole a whole Batmobile?” “More like embezzled,” Impulse says. “But yeah, dude, it’s Rob. I know he gives off the straight-and-narrow vibe, like, 90% of the time he’s interacting with the public or authority figures, but that’s mostly because it’s way, waaaay easier to get away with stuff if you don't ‘openly project an air of defiance.’” “Oh my god,” Stephanie says. “He’s given you that speech too?” “He’s given us multiple versions of that speech,” Impulse says. Stephanie’s turned away from the screen now and is explaining to Duke, “Red Robin is kind of the definition of ‘I do what I want,’ but most of the time what he wants to do is at least nominally reasonable or responsible, so no one cares.” “And when somebody does care,” Impulse says, “you just gotta be sneaky and smart. Comply until their backs are turned, you know? I mean, even with the Titans we—what?” he pauses, spinning his chair, clearly distracted by something off-screen. “No, I’m just talking to the Bats. I think there’s a whole flock of them.” Conner Kent wanders into view, towelling off his hair and wearing what looks like some kind of maintenance jumper. “‘Sup,” he says to the camera, leaning in. “Superman’s not there, is he?” “Nope,” Impulse says. “Thank god. Where’s Rob?” “Batnap.” Conner puts his hands on his hips. “Dude. Weren’t you supposed to wake him up?” Impulse spins in his chair again. “Wonder Girl said not to.” “What, and he agreed?” “No. He might have been unconscious at the time. Which, technically, means Wonder Girl is in charge.” Conner groans. “He’s gonna kill you.” Turning to the camera, he adds, “Look, sorry about this, I’ll go get him.” “Heynowaitaminute,” Impulse says. “Listen. I’m the captain, you gotta at least hear me out!” Conner rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t move. “Everything is still going according to plan, okay? Rob did in fact say that we should one hundred percent wake him up as soon as we could get a call through. True. But Wonder Girl said to let him sleep. And he definitely needs it.” “Yeah, but, again, he’s gonna be pissed if—” “Listen. I have thought this through.” When Conner just looks skeptical, he adds, “I have! I worked it out logically. See, if we wake up Rob, Wondy’s gonna be pissed off. At us. Right now. If we don’t wake him up, he’s gonna be pissed off later and he’s gonna be mad at her, not us. Therefore, we should do what Wonder Girl says.”

Beef Consommé, by @vamillepudding (https://archiveofourown.org/works/42348438) Chapters: 2/2; 14.230 words T, Chose Not To Use Warnings

Main Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

Type of gen relationship: siblings

Official summary: Parenting is Bruce's thing, and Jason isn't planning on messing with that. But when Bruce fails to spot the countless red flags about Tim's home life, it falls to Jason to step up. Of course it does. Because he's literally the only one in his family who knows how to be responsible, and if Dick disagrees, he can suck it.

Why I love it: I have a weakness for the "Dick and Jason team up and adopt Tim" trope. Also, I love Jason's voice in it. (and this fic is very funny but I feel like I'm repeating myself)

Excerpts: “Pizza?” Tim repeats, sounding hopeful. Jason is on the verge of telling him to go screw himself, but then he starts wondering how long Tim has been in his apartment and whether he ate dinner before he came here. Probably not. Did he eat lunch? Should Jason ask? What would Dick do? “Fine,” he says eventually. “But I’m picking the toppings, and you can’t have dessert.” There’s a beat. “I didn’t want dessert,” Tim says, voice taking on a bewildered edge. “What are you talking about?” - It’s Wednesday evening and Jason is getting pizza. Dick’s waiting back in Jason’s apartment, because growing up with Bruce has him used to getting waited on hand and foot, and apparently he thinks Jason is his own personal servant or something. It’s oppression, is what it is. “It’s not oppression,” Dick yells after him just before Jason closes the door, “it’s called losing a coin toss, asshole!”

Birds on Jaybird Street, by @cynassa (https://archiveofourown.org/works/39115587) Chapters: 4/4, 14.717 words T, No Archive Warnings Apply

Main Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake

Type of gen relationship: Siblings

Official summary: Jason is both annoyed and weirdly flattered when the replacement turns up to ask him for help. He mentally rearranges his calendar so he can be free Wednesday evening and says, “No, fuck off, I have very important business going on.” Tim eyes his 72” TV playing Japanese wrestling more judgmentally than it really deserves. “Important crime things,” Jason emphasizes. “Make Wingdick do it.” Jason doesn't think much of it when Tim needs his help, or Damian moves in, or even when Dick turns up looking beat all to hell. But at some point he realizes that he might be the best option his brothers have to recover from the cycle of violence that Batman has set up, and all he can think is that things were much easier when he was the villain.

Why I love it: In which Dick and Jason decide to adopt Tim and Damian (Jason's kind of an asshole, but a caring one). Kind of the same reason as the previous one: love that trope, love the tone, very funny.

Excerpt: Jason lies, "Sure, I'll take it up with Bruce " "Sure you will, " Tim scoffs. Jason changes his mind, and decides he will take it up with Bruce. "I don't have the time to keep being your nanny," he announces and then says, disapprovingly, "you skateboard, why don't you have knee and elbow pads?" "I'm Robin," Tim snaps, like he didn't put pants on the costume like a little wuss.

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sixhours · 3 hours ago

Text

our endless numbered days

A continuation of the events in who knows where the time goes and reprise from the i know you by heart universe. This will make more sense if you've read those, but you do you.

This fic has everything! A dash of angst (forgive me, I can't write Joel without at least a little angst), nosy Tommy, a Joel/Tess interlude, family time with the kids, a slightly drunk Ellie, and two middle-aged dudes making out. What's not to love?

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut. Words: 12k Tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel x Tess, Tess Servopoulos, Tommy Miller, idiots in love, Joel is bad at feelings, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), Cee is also a little shit (affectionate), fluff!, soft fluff!, a dash of angst because I can't help myself, SMUT, gay sex, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, happy ending, romance, soft queer dads being so soft, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Notes: For @jessthebaker. <3 Merry Christmas from your AWLJM Secret Santa! You once said you’d read anything with these two, and you asked for Miller-family-in-Jackson shenanigans, so I hope this hits the right notes. Thank you for being such an avid supporter of this fandom and this series. <3

The title comes from the album of the same name by Iron & Wine, and specifically the song Passing Afternoon which gives me cozy Jackson vibes.

Joel wakes early, curled up against Ezra’s naked back. The other man’s ability to hog the damn bed is impressive–his arm hanging off the side, one long leg stretching to the opposite corner–but the chill in their room has Joel grateful for his closeness. They’d moved from the couch when it became obvious they were too fucking old to manage a night on the furniture, and his knees are still complaining, but there’s a giddy seed of happiness in his chest.

Outside, the fresh snow has gathered in drifts, wind-blown. They’ll need to shovel out at some point, and they’ll probably be called up to clear the town walkways later, but for now, Jackson sleeps under a pristine white blanket.

It’s a good day for pancakes.

Half an hour later, he’s donned his thermals under a pair of flannel-lined jeans and a wool sweater, built up the fire in the woodstove, and picked up their clothes off the living room floor. He’s working on coffee and the pancake batter when there’s a frantic knock at the front door.

Joel goes to open it, finds Ellie shivering on the porch in her pajamas.

“You have a key,” he grouches, ushering her inside. “The hell’s your coat, anyway?”

“Didn’t think I’d need either, you never lock it,” she says, stamping her feet to shake off the snow. She glances into the living room, squints at something. “Dude…I’m not gonna ask why there’s a pair of boxers under the coffee table.”

Oops.

“Good,” Joel says, keeping his back turned so she won’t see him blush. “Then I won’t ask why I found your damn bra in the couch cushions last week.”

“If you had to wear one of those torture devices every day, you’d take it off the first chance you got, too,” she shoots back, then looks over his shoulder at the kitchen. “Ooh, pancakes? Did I miss a birthday or something?”

“Don’t need to have a birthday to have pancakes.”

“Yeah, but usually they’re just for special occasions or Sundays or whatever.”

“Just seemed like a good day for it. Snow day n’ all.”

She peers at him suspiciously. “Huh.”

“What?”

“You’re just unusually chipper for someone who’s gonna have to spend the day shoveling this shit.”

Joel snorts. “Don’t remind me. D’you want pancakes or what?”

“Uh, duh .”

“Then make yourself useful an’ set the table. Think we still have some strawberry preserves left over from the summer in there, too.”

“Yes, sir!” she mock-salutes, heading for the fridge.

The first pancakes are ready to be flipped when he reaches across the counter to grab a spatula. He crosses Ellie’s line of vision as she’s putting butter on a small plate and suddenly she’s grabbing at his hand.

“The heck are you–oh.”

She’s staring, bug-eyed, at the simple gold band on his finger.

“What the–where’d this come from?”

She really does notice everything.

“Uh–yeah, guess we, uh…need to talk about that.”

She blinks up at him incredulously. “Is this what I think it is?”

Joel rubs at the back of his neck. “Well…we kinda–”

“Are you two–did you get engaged?”

“We mighta skipped that part…”

“You got married ?” she half shrieks.

“Uh–”

“And you didn’t tell me ?”

“I–ah shit!” Joel hisses.

Smoke wafts from the pan. He grabs the spatula but the first batch is a lost cause.

“I think what your surrogate father figure is trying to say is, it was a spur-of-the-moment lark, gem. Nothing planned, and certainly nothing we intended to keep from you.”

Ezra has appeared at the kitchen door, leaning against the frame in his sweatpants and a flannel that looks suspiciously like Joel’s. Between Ellie and Ezra, Joel’s wardrobe is slowly being co-opted into a family affair.

Fuckin’ communism.

“What he said,” Joel sighs, flipping the burnt pancakes into the trash and fiddling with the heat before adding fresh batter to the pan.

“Seriously?” she gapes, looking back and forth between them, settling on Ezra. “Oh my god, do I have to call you ‘dad’ now?”

“You don’t even call me dad,” Joel grumbles.

“Dude, shut up, I’m talking to my evil stepmother.”

“Been watchin’ too many Disney movies. Mornin’, by the way,” he say, smiling wryly at Ezra. “She knows, I guess.”

“Dude! Wait, who asked who? Did you get down on one knee?”

“He asked me, but the sentiment was mutual,” Ezra says. “And…no. Not exactly.”

Joel waits for the inevitable joke about his knees cracking, but Ellie is too entranced by this new development to make one. Small favors.

Soon he doles out the pancakes onto three plates and brings them to the table, dropping a kiss at Ezra’s temple before taking his usual seat.

“Huh. Still gross,” Ellie says mildly, prompting a revenge forehead kiss for her, too. She wrinkles her nose and pretends to push him away, but she’s grinning, reaching for the syrup. Like another child Joel adored, she pours the stuff over her pancakes until they’re practically swimming.

“Better not be wastin’ that syrup, kid.”

“You know I won’t,” she huffs, cutting into the stack and taking a giant bite before he can remind her to go easy. Practically eighteen and she’s still a tiny thing who eats like she’s starving. It’s a wonder she hasn’t choked to death.

“Sh’iz so fuckin’ weird,” she says, words muffled by her chewing. “Don’t you have to, like, register with the council or something? Say some vows? What about the cake?”

“Uh, no,” Joel says. “Don’t have to do any a’that.”

“Why the hell would you get married if you don’t even get to have a fucking cake?” she says.

“There used to be certain legal benefits,” Ezra muses. “In this day and age, it’s more a…show of commitment.”

“Right,” Joel mumbles. “Don’t need to be a big deal.”

“Hmm. I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Ezra offers thoughtfully. “It’s a very big deal. Especially when you consider the history, the matrimonial bond for same-sex couples back in the day was a pretty sad state of affairs…and Jackson is the exception to the rule. I don’t recall FEDRA giving out marriage licenses to queer folk.”

“I don’t–I just meant…we don’t need to make a show of anythin’.”

“And what if I wanted a bit of fanfare, hm?” Ezra asks nonchalantly, gesturing with his fork. “The wedding of every little boy’s dreams? Flowers, champagne, a sparkly white dress–”

Ellie giggles. “Dude.”

“I could pull it off,” Ezra smirks.

Joel barely hears any of this. He fumbles for his coffee and tries to clear his throat.

“I–you–you do? I mean, do you?”

Had he fucked this up already? He’d been enchanted, dopey with lovestruck affection and not thinking entirely with his brain when he’d presented the rings. Truly, he hadn’t been thinking much at all, warmed by the fire and the thought of his future husband’s hand in his and then, well, everything had turned very–

“Awwwww-kard,” Ellie says through a mouthful of pancakes, and Joel shoots her a look.

“Kid–”

But Ezra is grinning, watching Joel get more and more flustered. “I’m pullin’ your leg, songbird. No fuss necessary on my account.”

Joel returns to his food, still nursing a seed of discontent when his thoughts are interrupted by slurping, Ellie having tipped up her plate, licking it clean.

“What!?” she says off his look, wiping the back of her mouth with her sleeve. “Told you I wouldn’t waste it.”

“Raised in a goddamn barn,” Joel mutters, looking to Ezra for sympathy, only to find him doing the same thing.

“Waste not, want not,” Ezra chirps, and Joel doesn’t miss the wink he gives Ellie across the table.

They’re already ganging up on him. Christ .

Later, after Ellie has bounced out the door with a promise to help shovel, they’re dressing to go out and brave the snow, pulling on thick coats and gloves.

“Hey,” Joel tries. “I, uh…about the whole, uh, wedding…thing. If you wanted…somethin’ more...I guess I prob’ly shoulda asked, but I wasn’t, uh…”

He rubs at the back of his neck, feeling just as awkward and fumbling as he had the day they first met. Two years together and the man can still turn him into a bumbling idiot. He’s fuckin’ hopeless.

Ezra’s expression softens. “I genuinely had no expectations…ceremonial or otherwise.”

“You sure? ‘Cause we can…if you–”

Ezra shakes his head firmly. “I’m certain. This,” he murmurs, reassuring him with a soft kiss. “This is more than enough.”

Joel is clearing the walkways in front of the Bison just before lunch when Anders walks by and claps him on the shoulder in passing.

“Congrats, man!”

It takes him several minutes to puzzle out what the hell he’s being congratulated for.

By the end of that day, enough of their neighbors have extended well-wishes that Joel knows Ellie must have talked to someone. Probably Dina, the unofficial Jackson town crier. When there was local news to share–and a couple making it official in their tiny community was exactly the kind of gossip that spread–Ellie and Dina were more efficient than a local news broadcast.

Tommy’s shit-eating grin the next morning at the stables is enough to confirm his suspicions.

“Heard congratulations are in order, big brother.”

“Ellie told you, huh?”

“Yup. But why the hell am I hearin’ about it from your kid and not you?”

Joel shrugs, smiles to himself. “Seem to remember you getting hitched without tellin’ me. Among other things.”

“You ever gonna consider letting me live that down?” Tommy asks cheerfully.

“Don’t reckon so.”

“Well, I’ll be the bigger man and forgive you,” Tommy says. “And I’ll do you one better and warn you; the girls are fixin’ to throw you two a surprise party.”

Joel groans, starts to open his mouth to protest, but Tommy holds up a hand.

“Look, you didn’t hear it from me. But don’t bother tryin’ to fight ‘em on this; Ellie’s invested and Maria’s always lookin’ for an excuse to lighten things up around here. I made ‘em promise to keep it small, but…”

He shrugs as if to say What can you do?

Joel huffs, tightens the strap on the saddle and tugs on the reins to lead Old Beardy out. Tommy follows with Justified, and soon they’re mounted up and riding through the gates.

“Gonna be a helluva week,” Tommy mutters. “Got half the crew off with that flu thing goin’ around. Think I’m on the damn schedule every day ‘til March.”

Joel grunts. “Yeah, me too.”

“Gonna make for a short honeymoon, huh?”

“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters, urging his horse to pick up the pace amidst Tommy’s delighted laughter.

It’s an uneventful if slow ride, the trail soft and not yet packed down after the storm. They take out a couple of runners from a distance–can barely be called runners, though, forced to shuffle and stumble through drifts, making them easy targets. Tommy’s in a chatty mood, and Joel is content to let him hold up the brunt of the conversation, business as usual. They’re taking lunch after clearing the outpost just outside Wilson when Tommy brings it up again, the serious note in his voice immediately setting Joel on edge.

“Y’know I’m happy for you, right?”

“Uhhh…yeah,” Joel says, opening the logbook.

“Think Sarah woulda got along real nice with y’all.”

The thought doesn’t stir the same hurt it used to, doesn’t bring him to his knees with grief, but his brother’s doing that thing he does with his hands when he wants to say something and doesn’t know how. He frowns.

“Sure…”

“I don’t–uh…I mean, I knew you weren’t…y’know. Glad it’s…glad Ezra’s good. Good for you. Even if he’s not, uh…not who I woulda…I just–”

Joel fixes him with a blank stare. “Spit it out, Tommy.”

His brother rubs at the back of his neck. Joel tenses, waiting for some just-shy-of-homophobic remark, the kind he’s grown all too familiar with over the last couple years.

You don’t look like the type.

Joel Miller? I never would’ve thought.

Although he’d really hoped never to hear it from Tommy, who, until now, had kept silent about his brother’s inclinations. As he damn well should.

But he remembers all too well where they grew up, and old habits are hard to break.

Tommy sighs. “Haven’t seen you this happy since…since Tess, is all.”

Hearing the name jars him, his pen stuttering over the page, marring his signoff. He swallows the sudden lump in his throat, feels the weight of the new ring on his finger acutely. Just like his brother, to poke at a sore spot he didn’t even know he had.

“Yeah,” Joel mutters, slapping the book shut. “Thanks.”

“Sometimes I wonder what she’d make of all this,” Tommy says, chuckling, running a hand through his curls. “Communism. Fuck, she’d think we lost our damn minds.”

It occurs to him, probably two years too late, that Tess was just as much Tommy’s friend as Joel’s. Even if they weren’t exactly on speaking terms by the time Tommy ran off with the Fireflies, the three of them had once been close enough to be called family.

“You ever think about her?” Tommy asks when they’re mounted up and headed back toward town. There’s an edge to his voice that tells Joel he knows he’s treading dangerous ground.

“Not much,” Joel says tightly. Truth be told, it was closer to not at all until today, but like hell he’s going to tell his brother that.

You don't bring up Tess, ever .

Seems like he did a damn good job of taking his own advice, for once.

“Huh,” he says, too lightly. “Well…I think she’d be happy for you, too, big brother.”

Joel grunts and says nothing, stares straight down the path in hopes of ending this conversation right fuckin’ now. It works, and Tommy’s usual chatter dies down to the occasional comment on their surroundings.

But the damage is done and a slow-festering guilt has already begun blooming behind Joel’s ribs at the mention of her name.

It’s a long, cold ride back to Jackson.

Tommy’s not wrong about the patrol schedule. For the next ten days, they’re on duty from sunup to sundown. Thankfully wintertime means they’re mostly uneventful rides, but he puts in a lot of miles, the kind of days that leave his back achy and his ass and hips sore. Most nights he comes home bone-tired, with just enough energy to eat something and shower before falling into bed.

For his part, Ezra waits up for him to make sure he has a hot meal, teases about becoming a “proper little ménagère, ” and threatens to find a frilly apron at the trading post to complete the look. Meanwhile, Joel just tries not to fall asleep on the couch…and fails most of the time.

All the while, riding the trails with his patrol partners, he has too much time to think.

And for the first time in years, he’s thinking of Tess.

Fifteen years as partners. Two months traveling together before they’d fallen into bed and swore to keep each other’s secrets. It was more than he gave anyone back then, but it had never really been enough.

She asked once. Just once.

And he’d turned away. Got shitfaced. They never talked about it again, but she still came home to their bed every night.

…not to feel the way I felt.

And it wasn’t like she’d asked for much. Certainly nothing as formal as a proposal or a ring or even a promise. Just his heart, shattered as it was, and he couldn’t even manage that.

Then it was too late. Made him promise to save who he could and sacrificed herself for him, for Ellie, for the hope of a future she would never see. She would never know what she’d done for him.

Her memory haunts him, nags at him, makes a home under his skin like a splinter. She’s there, hovering at the edges of his consciousness, a ghost in his peripheral vision. He sees glimpses of her on patrols, in the lurch of a small, slight woman in flannel, infected; in someone’s long, red-auburn hair at the stables; in a rough laugh amongst the crowds at the dining hall.

And then one night, he dreams. The kind of dream he hasn’t had in months, the kind of dream he used to have over and over, but this time it’s Tess instead of Sarah.

Tess, yelling at him to help her, goddammit, there’s gotta be something .

Tess, pulling back her collar to reveal the bite with one already twitching hand.

Tess, twisted and gnarled with infection, caught in a sea of flames.

He wakes sweating and panting with a scream stuck in his throat and her mutilated face burned into the backs of his eyelids.

“Joel? Wha-happened?”

Ezra stirs at his side, voice thick with sleep.

“It’s…it’s nothin’,” he says roughly, still trying to catch his breath. “Go back to sleep.”

Then there’s a hesitant hand on his shoulder, and he lets himself be pulled down and pressed into the cradle of Ezra’s good arm. Soon his breath flutters the hair at his temple, slow and even, but Joel doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

Five years earlier

“Shouldn’t have turned around,” Joel grumbles, hissing as he puts more weight on his bad leg. “We coulda made it.”

Tess looks up at him from under his left arm; he’s been using her as a human crutch for the last quarter mile.

“Sure,” she says drily, grunting as they take another uncoordinated, shuffling step. Behind them, black storm clouds are rolling in faster than they can walk and the wind has already picked up, whipping the first drops of rain hard enough to sting their cheeks. “You wanna get caught in this shit, be my guest, but I’m not gonna get soaked on your account, and you can’t fuckin’ walk.”

“Gonna be late. They won’t let us in.”

“Frank won’t care.”

“Bill will.”

A dry chuckle. “Yeah, well…we both know Bill’s not in charge.”

They’d done the trip from Boston to Lincoln dozens of times without incident, but today, the raiders took them by surprise. It was rare to find a group so ballsy as to fuck with Joel and Tess. Their reputation extended well beyond the walls of the QZ, but apparently these folks hadn’t heard about them, or they were feeling brave, desperate, stupid, or some combination of the three.

All four men were now littering the side of the road about half a mile back, but Joel took a bullet to the calf for the trouble.

“Just a graze,” he’d said tightly, blood pooling sticky and warm in his boot, but Tess took one look at the damage and shook her head in disgust. They were a mile past one of their cache houses, and Lincoln was at least six miles down the road.

“We’ll get to the safehouse, get that bullet out of your leg, wait out the storm,” Tess said in a voice that suggested the decision was final.

It usually was with her.

The safehouse is an old hunting cabin off a logging road. They’d set it up as a cache years ago but hadn’t had much need for it given the proximity to Lincoln. The rain has begun in full force and they’re already soaked by the time Tess confirms the place is clear, Joel sagging against the side of the building to keep watch.

Once they’re safely inside, Joel collapses onto the cabin’s only piece of furniture, a decrepit sofa. Tess is rummaging around in her pack and pulls out the first aid kit– a box of cloths, a flask of alcohol, a needle and thread, a lighter, and a roll of duct tape.

“Pants off, Texas.”

He’s in too much pain for innuendo. Tess unwraps the makeshift bandage, already soaked with blood, and he slides his jeans down with a groan and a muffled curse. Then she unbuttons her short-sleeved button-down, stripping down to her bra.

“What?” she says off his incredulous look. “This is my favorite shirt, not gonna get it all bloody. On your front.”

He obliges, rolling until he’s face down on the couch so Tess can examine his leg.

“Huh,” she says. “Never gonna believe this.”

Joel grunts. “Try me.”

“Went clean through.”

“Lucky me,” he grits his teeth.

“You are,” she says. “Few inches off and we’d be having a very different conversation. Alright, might wanna bite down unless you want every infected in a half-mile radius finding us.”

“I’ll be fine. Just do it.”

The alcohol burns like a motherfucker, but at this point, the pain is barely a blip on his radar, more of the same. The stitches are a different story. He ends up grabbing his belt, doubling it up and sinking his teeth into the sweaty, sticky old leather as Tess finishes sewing up the wounds.

“Not my best work, but it’ll hold until we can get Frank to take a look. Pretty sure Bill still has a stash of antibiotics,” Tess murmurs, digging in her pack for a fresh cloth to wrap it. “Just gonna tie this. We have the oxy–”

“Ain’t tradin’ that for antibiotics.”

Tess huffs. “No, Frank won’t let him trade for those, anyway. But you might want the oxy later. Don’t know how long the storm is going to last and you’re shaking.”

He is; he hadn’t even realized it. He’s trembling and his skin is dewy with sweat.

“Shock,” he mutters. Not the first time he’s been shot, after all.

“Uh-huh. Alright, you can roll over.”

He does, with some difficulty. Outside, rain lashes at the windows, lightning cracks and fills the room with bursts of light. Joel shivers, teeth clattering.

“Shirt off,” she says. “You’re soaked, that’s not helping.”

He tries, but his fingers are shaking too hard to undo the buttons. She pushes his hands gently away and does them herself, urging him up to take the wet flannel off, then unzips his bedroll and tucks it around him. Then she places two white pills in his palm.

“Don’t need ‘em,” he grits out. These are the good pills and he’s thinking of all that profit gone to waste for a stupid fuckin’ graze.

She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of an argument, just wordlessly holds out the flask. The shaking is making his damn leg hurt even worse. He swallows the pills with a mouthful of booze exactly as she knew he would.

The pain slowly ebbs, replaced by a fuzzy, uncaring feeling he recognizes all too well. He’s drifting on that high as time spreads like liquid honey, faintly aware of Tess’ movements about the room–digging under the floorboards to examine their cache, replenishing their ammo, checking the windows and exits, still only half dressed. At some point, she lets her hair down, damp and darkened from the rain, and combs it out with her fingers. A shorter cut would be easier to maintain, less likely to attract unwanted attention, but it’s one of the few vanities she allows herself and he secretly loves it. It always smells like her, soft burnt gold and sweet no matter how many miles they’ve covered.

Eventually, she settles on the floor next to the couch, sipping at the flask with her gun at hand.

“Sleep,” she all but orders, and he does.

When he wakes, it takes his eyes a moment to adjust. It’s night. The sounds of thunder and the roar on the roof overhead tells him it’s still pouring. Tess is silhouetted in the window, the orange glow of a cigarette moving in the dark.

His leg throbs and he can’t hold back a grunt of pain. The drugs have worn off, but he’s not going to take more if he can avoid it. She notices, though, and turns.

“Should get away from the window,” he says. “Someone might see the light.”

A deep inhale. “Not in this shit. Can’t see two feet in front of your face out there. How’s the leg?”

“Fine,” he mutters, trying to sit up, grimacing, hoping she can’t see his expression in the dark.

“Clothes should be dry,” she says, moving to his side, the smell of smoke wafting over him. Another rare indulgence, soothing her overtaxed nerves. She hands him the flask and he accepts it gratefully. Her hand is firm on his shoulder as she eases down to the floor.

“All’s quiet,” she murmurs, stubbing out the cigarette on a piece of foil. She leans her head back against his thigh and his hand finds its way to her hair, rubbing circles into her scalp until she hums.

“I can take watch,” he says roughly. “Let you get some rest.”

“You’re in no shape. We’re fine,” she says, then softens. “Was looking forward to one of Bill’s meals. Heard they found a contact and traded for a share of beef. Real steak.”

“End of the goddamned world and Frank’s still holdin’ dinner parties,” Joel mutters.

His hand drifts lower, callused fingers dragging over the back of her cheek, feels her smirk.

“He offered us a place.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Frank. We’d have our pick of houses within the perimeter. Share the work, share the supplies.”

“...and Bill’s alright with that?”

“I don’t think Bill knows.”

“What, uh…what’d you say?”

She shrugs, a non-answer. The silence grows heavy and he lets it lie. Often he doesn’t need to wait long before Tess takes control of the conversation, anyway, and he’s too stunned to find the words.

“I think Frank is worried about Bill,” she says softly. “What happens…after.”

After.

Frank has been sick for months. They’ve managed to trade for certain medications that help control the symptoms, but there is no cure, no coordinated treatment. The last time they made the hike from the QZ, roughly six months ago, Frank was no longer able to get out of his wheelchair.

“Can’t say I blame him,” she continues, frowning, picking at something on the floor. “There’s strength in numbers.”

Joel grunts, noncommittal. He’d rather have his leg amputated with a rusty hacksaw than live within ten miles of Bill.

“I keep thinking about it,” Tess says. “No more FEDRA, no Fireflies…no getting shafted on trades, hunting these assholes down–”

Joel blinks, wiping his hands over his face, trying to clear his head. This conversation feels like a dream, like it’s not really happening, and he wishes he had a couple more oxy so he could blame the drugs. Tess, the woman who had him break a guy’s fingers for shorting her three cigarettes–one finger for each. The woman who just murdered four people because they made the lethal mistake of shooting first. Tess– his Tess–talking about settling down.

“Can you even imagine?” she sighs.

He grunts again. She turns to look at him but he can’t meet her eyes.

“Aren’t you tired, Joel?”

Tired? Of course he is. His back hurts, his knees hurt, everything fuckin’ hurts. He hasn’t slept a day without booze or pills in years. But the hurt keeps him grounded, keeps him going, keeps him from feeling…everything else.

“So you wanna quit?” he says flatly.

“What is there to quit?” she scoffs. “We were never going to settle in Boston, we said it was temporary–”

“It’s been ten fuckin’ years.”

“Yeah, and we had plans, remember? Get out of the city, away from FEDRA. This could be our chance.”

“That was before. There were more of us. An’ Tommy…”

“Tommy,” she sniffs. “You really think he’s coming back?”

No, he doesn’t. Their once-weekly radio messages are growing further apart as they have less and less to say. The thought sets an aching fire in Joel’s chest and he takes a long swig of the whiskey. It burns the same, but at least it’ll get him drunk enough to forget.

“Look,” she tries again. “We go to Bill and Frank’s, we can retire. I sure as hell wouldn’t mind taking it easy for once. We’ve spent half our lives running, we’re getting too fuckin’ old for this–”

The windows flash, thunder rumbles, and he can see the lines around her eyes in harsh relief. He hates her for bringing this up, hates himself even more for the anger it stirs in him.

“Y’don’t retire from this,” he says. “That ain’t the world we live in.”

Her derision is palpable. “Just what I thought you’d say.”

He shifts on the couch, tries to stretch his busted leg and hisses at the stabbing, lancing pain. “What do you want, Tess? You wanna, what…plant a garden? Grow fuckin’ tomatoes? You can do that just fine in the QZ.”

“No, I–”

“You wanna spend the rest of your life drinkin’ shitty wine over hors d’oeuvres in Frank’s backyard like some post-apocalyptic Martha Stewart?”

He’s being cruel and he knows it, but he can’t seem to shut his mouth. Under any other circumstance she’d probably haul off and punch him and that would be the end of it, but she’s strangely subdued, almost melancholy. It’s unsettling, unnerving, makes his jaw ache from holding it tight, waiting for the strike that won’t come.

“I want to live , Joel,” she snaps. “I want more than this. Shitty fuckin’ apartment, living off rations, in lockup every other week for the dumbest shit. This isn’t a life! It’s fuckin’ purgatory.”

“I can’t do that, Tess,” he spits. “You get…you get what you get with me. I ain’t gonna settle down in some shit suburb an’ play fuckin’ house.”

“Just…fuck it. Fine,” she snaps. “Forget it. You’ve made your point. We stay in Boston.”

He takes another long, unsatisfying drink and silently begs for it to take hold, to take him past the point of caring. They stay like that, quiet and rigid in their anger, until the weight of her head against his thigh is barely there, until he can’t pin his thoughts in place long enough to let them sink their teeth in. He’s drifting and dozing when she nudges him awake.

“Move over,” she mutters, and he does.

She crawls under the blanket and tucks herself against his side. This is how they work–quick to anger, quick to forget. She’s warm and soft against his bare skin and he’s able to momentarily shut out the pain. Not just his leg, but all of it.

Sarah.

Tommy.

Everything they did to get to this point.

She makes it easy to forget.

“You’re right,” she says softly, fingers skimming over his chest. “But…we can’t keep going like this, Texas. One of these days, our luck’s gonna run out.”

Later, she shucks off her jeans and briefs and straddles his hips. Her hair falls around him, featherlight and sweet against his cheeks, forming a curtain as their lips meet. She tastes of liquor and smoke and desperation. Tight and hot, blunt fingernails digging into his pecs as she rides him slowly, grinding down to hit just the right spot, using him. But that’s fine, she’ll get what she needs, what little he can give. A warm body on a cold night, another set of eyes on her six, the brains to his brawn. Two halves unable to make a whole.

Lightning flashes and she hovers over him like an angel, haloed by the light as she comes, and he follows her into the dark.

Present day

Two weeks after his impromptu proposal, Joel comes home with a spring in his step. He’s exhausted, just about worn down to the marrow, but he’s home for dinner and the patrol schedule has loosened up. He has two whole days off.

He’s going to sleep. He’s going to spend time with his kid. Maybe pick up his guitar for the first time in weeks. And he’s going to spend at least one of those days with Ezra, because it’s been way too fuckin’ long.

There’s music on the record player and the smell of something cooking. He half expects to see a frilly apron, too, but no, it’s just Ezra in an undershirt and dark jeans standing at the stove. Joel stops in the doorway to admire the sight–bare shoulders and biceps, the dark curl of hair at the nape of his neck, the easy confidence in his movements.

“Hey,” he says in greeting, suddenly itching to touch him, to ground himself in the warmth of his body. He moves in and wraps his arms around Ezra’s waist and presses his cheek to his back. Home.

“Exercise caution, songbird, there are hot things afoot,” he says. “And a stew.”

Joel muffles his groan and mutters into the back of Ezra’s neck. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly charming, I agree. The stew should be moderately edible, if my culinary talents haven’t failed me.”

But Joel finds he isn’t much interested in the food. The sight of all that bare skin has him wanting.

“Supper can wait,” Joel murmurs, drawing his hands across Ezra’s stomach, his hip, swaying a little. “S’go to bed.”

“As much as I would love to indulge, I’m afraid we have social obligations,” Ezra sighs.

Joel pulls back, frowning. “No.”

“We’re due at the Bison in an hour.”

“Shit,” Joel grumbles. “This what I think it is?”

“I’m afraid so,” he says, turning around. “And it would be in poor taste to miss our own party. Go clean up so we can eat.”

“Thinkin’ I’m about to have a bad case of the shits,” Joel mutters, but he turns away and heads for the stairs. Poor taste aside, he has no desire to face Ellie’s wrath…let alone Maria’s.

Later, showered and dressed in one of his nicer flannels, he finds Ezra still in the kitchen doling out bowls of stew, a clean, pressed button-down shirt over his undershirt. The empty sleeve has been carefully tailored to Ezra’s form, no hastily tied knot or cut-off sleeve, and the color makes his dark eyes look even darker.

Joel swallows past the lump in his throat.

“Seems a bit unfair for you to look this good when I can’t do a damn thing about it,” he says, voice low.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, but we’re still going to the party. Eat.”

He does, and the stew is more than edible, but he can’t eat much. He’s distracted and restless, finds himself irrationally jealous of Ezra’s spoon.

“Don’t forget to pretend to be surprised,” Ezra says, adjusting Joel’s collar at the door. “And try to enjoy yourself, hmm? I’ll make it up to you.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But you smash cake in my face at any point, you lose your other arm.”

To Ellie’s credit, it’s nothing fancy. Sure, they’ve turned the fairy lights on at the Bison and there’s a cake on the bar, but they kept it small–which, in Jackson, means only a quarter of the town. God knows they’ve earned the right to enjoy themselves and Joel doesn’t mind being half the excuse, even if it means blushing his way through a few awkward toasts.

He remembers his first wedding, not much bigger or more extravagant than this one. At least this time Tommy isn’t 15 years old and drunk as a skunk, vomiting in the ladies’ room because the men’s room at the Elks Lodge was out of order. His new bride had been vomiting in the ladies’ room, too–for a different reason.

This is definitely an improvement. In fact, he’s almost enjoying himself when Ellie sidles up to him, looking far too pleased with herself.

“How’s life with the ol’ ball n’ chain?”

Joel sips his beer. “The hell d’you come up with this shit?”

“Dina’s got us watching old episodes of Cheers ,” she says, wrinkling her nose. Then she grins, gesturing to the room. “So, whaddya think? Not bad for a reception, huh?”

“Not bad,” he admits, hugging her to his side, relishing the way she hangs on for a second longer than usual. “Thanks, kid. But no more surprise parties or you’re grounded ‘til you’re 30.”

“Better not get married again, then.”

“Don’t intend to,” he murmurs, watching Ezra talking to someone across the room. He can’t see her face, but her hair shines under the lights and she laughs at something Ezra has said, and in a flash of painful nostalgia he can only see Tess.

She’d never asked for anything like this. Probably would have laughed in his face if he’d proposed, not that he’d ever been inclined to. But there had been a time when she’d suggested something more permanent. Something more defined. Something much like the home he shares with Ezra. And he’d turned away, unable to think he deserved to be happy after a lifetime of brutality.

When Tess died, he’d told Ellie not to talk about her, and then he’d locked her memory away with Sarah’s. But Sarah had come back to him, with time and patience and Ellie’s influence.

Tess hadn’t. And somehow, in the scant three years since her passing, he’d managed to keep her tucked away, secreted at the back of his mind in that dark, lonely place. Nothing but a shoddy stone cairn somewhere in Western Massachusetts to show for it. But something in him has reawakened, Ezra bringing it out in him, and now–

“Joel?”

Ellie is looking up at him with concern. He blinks, squints, and the woman turns so he can see her profile–not Tess, not even close. Her hair is too short, her laugh too modest, her nose too long.

But he can’t convince his damn heart.

“I’m–uh, I just–gimme a minute,” he whispers hoarsely.

He doesn't even realize it’s happening until the panic is on top of him, until he tries to take a breath and his ribs feel bound in iron. Abandoning Ellie, he makes it to the door, slips outside without his jacket, the cold air hitting his lungs like a bomb.

He leans against the wall in the alley, willing his lungs to inflate. They do, just not as fast or as fully as he’d like. Jesus, he hasn’t had one this bad in months. Not since before Ellie and he–

A hand between his shoulder blades, a familiar voice at his shoulder.

“Breathe, love.”

“Shit,” Joel croaks, half startled, half relieved.

“Our young prodigy sent me,” Ezra murmurs. “Said you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

Joel can’t find the breath to answer, so he just nods.

“Should I be concerned?” Ezra is peering at him. “Are you chasing spirits, songbird?”

“Think they’re chasin’ me,” he rasps.

Ezra nods, draping Joel’s coat over his shoulders before his hand resumes its careful path up and down his spine.

“You know,” he says casually. “Normally one gets cold feet before they’ve exchanged rings.”

A laugh bubbles up from Joel’s throat–more a barking cough under the circumstances–but something in his chest relents.

“It ain’t that,” he mutters when he’s caught his breath. “Jus’...too much goin’ on in there.”

“Should we perhaps take our leave?”

“God yes,” Joel breathes. “Please.”

“Come,” Ezra says, threading his arm through Joel’s. “The merriment is for their sake. I doubt we’ll be missed.”

Joel isn’t so sure about that, but he lets Ezra lead him without protest, still trying to calm his heart. It’s a short walk and soon they’re standing on the porch at Ezra’s old house. He lets them in with the key Cee keeps under the mat.

“I suspect they won’t think to look for us here,” Ezra says. They shrug off their jackets and hang them in the hall, leave their boots at the door, and Joel feels a powerful sense of déja vu walking into Ezra’s office. The room is sparse now, most of the record collection having been moved to their shared house. There’s a plant in the corner on the pedestal where the record player used to be and a few books line the shelves. It’s less inhabited, less personal, but his memory fills in the blanks.

“I’m going to investigate the coffee situation,” Ezra says, leaving Joel with a pat on the shoulder.

Joel sinks into the loveseat across from Ezra’s usual chair. He hears him moving around in the kitchen down the hall, the sounds of water running. His head still feels fuzzy, but at least he can fuckin’ breathe. He closes his eyes, sags into the cushions.

Ezra comes back with two mugs and sets them on the coffee table, then moves to take his seat across the room before stopping himself. He glances back at Joel, smiles faintly. Not the only one having déja vu, apparently.

“Apologies. Old habits,” he murmurs, taking the seat next to Joel instead. “Drink.”

Joel does, relishing the warmth of the coffee despite the wood-like taste of the chicory. Ezra is watching him intently, his expression carefully neutral.

“It ain’t–it’s nothin’ bad,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s, uh…all this has me thinkin’ about someone I knew…before.”

Ezra frowns. “Your…wife?”

Joel shakes his head, realizing with a further pang of remorse; he’s never talked about her, never even said her name aloud. “That was before…Before. Tess was my…business partner. Back in Boston, we uh…we were…”

��Attached?” Ezra offers.

Joel snorts. “Yeah. Yeah, we were…together. More or less.”

Ezra leans back into the cushions, takes a long sip from his mug. Joel searches his face for jealousy or anger, any kind of sign he should stop. But Ezra has the almost infuriating ability to detach, and his expression gives nothing away.

“Ain’t a big story,” Joel mutters. “We worked well together. Survived a hell of a lot. It was kinda…kinda an unspoken thing. Happened without us meanin’ it to, I think. Spend fifteen years with a person…you get to know ‘em. We shared everything–the best and worst, I always had a partner through it. Guess it was kinda inevitable, but…but she, uh…”

“You loved her,” Ezra prompts softly. Joel looks down, realizes he’s taken his hand.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “But I couldn’t…I couldn’t. She was bit ‘fore we came out here. She saved my ass one more time, then she was gone. Told me to take the kid and…and make it up to her.”

“Which…you did.”

Joel nods, throat going tight at the thought. He’d saved Ellie, Ellie had saved him. He thought he’d done his duty to Tess, but now he’s not so sure. The ring on his finger feels heavy again, like a broken promise.

“I guess all this…just catchin’ up to me,” he murmurs. “Didn’t even say goodbye. All happened so fast. And then…then I had Ellie to think of. And Tess died…not knowin’ I…how I…”

He trails off, unable to continue. He closes his eyes and all he can see is Tess standing in the warm evening light of the State House, telling him to save who he can save.

“Lately…I keep thinkin’ I see her,” he rasps, swiping at his eyes. “Around town, on patrol…she woulda got along real nice here. Made a good life for herself. But she never got a chance.”

Ezra brings his arm up to cradle the back of Joel’s neck, guides him gently down against his shoulder so he can bury his nose in the crook of his neck, the earthy scent of his shaving lotion a distant comfort. He wraps his arms around his waist.

“She knew,” he murmurs against his ear.

Joel shakes his head, clutches at the fabric of Ezra’s shirt, presses his face more firmly into his collar.

“She did,” he insists, gentle but firm. “And I know this because I know how you love, I have been…the recipient of said attentions, and I’m certain that even in your somewhat emotionally repressed state–”

Joel shudders, a dry laugh through his tears. Somewhat emotionally repressed couldn’t begin to describe how closed off he’d been. But then, Tess had her own demons, her own hard, impossible shell. They were as bad for each other as they were good, so many times they were the salt in each others’ wounds. But over time she had warmed, loosened, become more pliant. Somewhere along the line, she’d forgiven herself, while he continued to wear his self-hatred like armor.

Ezra pulls back, looking at him curiously.

“Y’don’t know, Ez, you don’t–I wasn’t…like this,” he says thickly. “Was barely alive.”

“But you are now. What she saw in you was worthy, so you live for her.”

“Sometimes I think…I don’t…don’t deserve to.”

“Whether any of us is deserving is beside the point,” he says gently. “You’re here, so you live for the ones who couldn’t.”

Joel huffs softly and Ezra leans in, presses a long kiss to the furrow between his brows, resting forehead to forehead, sharing breath. There’s an ache in his chest with her name on it clamoring for attention, a grief mixed with shame and hope and all the leftover love that had nowhere to go until now. A rough thing worn smooth over time.

Wasn’t time that did it , he thinks dully.

When their mouths meet, it’s hard and frantic and needy, pent up desire and sadness, a need to prove something. It’s been too long and there’s been too much and he needs to forget, so he lets Ezra ease him back, knee between Joel’s thighs, both of them sliding down into the cushions.

“Aren’t we getting a bit…far in years…to be doing this kind of thing on the couch?” Ezra murmurs between kisses, lowering himself onto Joel with a groan.

“Weren’t complainin’…last time,” he grits out, just as Ezra’s tongue traces the seam of his lips, delves deeper, stealing both his ability to speak and his last coherent thought.

“Touché.”

Ezra’s hand fumbles between them, untucking his shirt. Joel growls into his mouth as his husband finds warm flesh, takes the meat of his lower lip between his teeth and tugs gently, then soothes the bite with his tongue. It’s all desperation, a hiss as Joel rakes the shirt up Ezra’s back, rewarded with the warm expanse of bare skin.

They’ve barely managed to find a rhythm before the front door opens and Cee’s voice rings out in the hall.

“Hello?”

“Shit,” Ezra hisses as they scramble apart. “Just us, birdie,” he calls, jumping up with a blush of pink across his cheeks. He’s smoothing his hair back, subtly trying to adjust himself. Joel bites back a chuckle. Hasn’t been caught out like this since he was a goddamned teenager necking in his dad’s pickup.

He hastily tucks his shirt back in and follows Ezra into the hall where Cee is unwinding her scarf, hanging it alongside their coats.

“Saw the light,” she says, nodding toward the office, looking back and forth between them. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, no,” Ezra says, sounding as out of breath as Joel feels. “We simply required a moment of respite from the festivities.”

“Yeah, I get that,” she says with a wry smile. “Don’t worry, I think Ellie’s telling everyone you two left to…y’know. Honeymoon.”

“Christ,” Joel mutters, ducking his head, warmth creeping up the back of his neck. Thankfully Ezra is quick to change the subject.

“And where is your gentleman friend this evening?”

She rolls her eyes. “‘Gentleman friend?’ Really?”

“Your…lover?” Ezra tries, grimacing even as he says it.

“Gross, please don’t ever say that again,” she shudders. “ Luke is on the wall tonight, but he sends his congratulations.”

“Aha. Well, I suppose if you’re in for the night, we should take our—”

“Actually,” she says, drawing out the word. “I skipped dinner at the caf…and I have everything for grilled cheese…”

Joel recognizes her doe-eyed expression. He’s seen it on his own kid often enough when she’s asking after something, but Ezra doesn’t seem to take the hint.

“Oh,” he frowns. “We wouldn’t want to intrude on your dinner.”

“No, I mean–you make the best grilled cheese. Plus maybe I wanted to, y’know, spend time with you?”

Ezra shoots him a look. “Oh, I–I, uh–I’m not certain we’re exactly–”

“I could eat,” Joel cuts in, reassuring him with a nod, relieved to have the focus off his shoulders for the time being.

“Well, then…save the butter for your bread, birdie,” Ezra grins. “We’d be delighted to keep you company and share a meal. Let’s introduce my husband to a…family tradition of sorts.”

Which is how Joel ends up at the kitchen table watching Ezra and Cee working together at the counter. They banter and trade gentle barbs side by side, and Joel finds himself relaxing into it, happy for the distraction.

“When we first moved to Jackson, I couldn’t sleep,” Cee explains, scraping butter from a brick and dropping it into a pan to melt. “Had a lot of bad dreams. Ez was usually awake, too, so we’d meet up in the kitchen.”

“Cee neglects to mention that we were also half starved at the time. Access to a full pantry was an extravagance neither of us could have imagined…I suppose it’s no small wonder we sought solace in sustenance.”

It’s easy to see how the two made it together; they work as a team in the kitchen just as they must have worked together to survive outside the walls. But something about watching him with Cee tugs at Joel’s heart. Ezra has always been comfortable in his own skin, but with Cee he’s even softer, even more himself.

“Didn’t have much in the way of culinary experience between the two of us,” Ezra says, frowning in concentration while cutting thin slices from a small wheel of cheese. Cee begins peeling a clove of garlic. “But we had plenty of time on our hands to learn–isn’t that right, birdie?”

“Yep. Can you believe I’d never even had this stuff before?” Cee asks, looking over her shoulder and holding up the peeled clove, and Joel shakes his head. “I had no idea what I was missing. Anyway. Ez here got really good at making cheese sandwiches and that kinda became our thing. Bad dream? Grilled cheese. Rough day? Grilled cheese.”

“Sometimes it seemed that was the only thing I could get you to eat with any regularity,” Ezra says.

“Yeah, well…some days were bad ,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“But…it got better.” Ezra looks over at her, and Joel can hear the uncertainty in his voice. It’s a question as much as a statement.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “Yeah, it did.”

Joel thinks of his early days in Jackson, Ellie’s nightmares, the gun under his mattress. The constant fear he was failing her. How they picked up the pieces and turned them into routines, rituals, things to get them through the hard days. Built something from two patched-together lives. Found their people.

Movie nights or grilled cheese sandwiches, they figured it out.

“This is cool,” Cee says to Ezra as they bring the food to the table. “I almost miss having you around here. Almost,” she teases.

“I’m sure it’s much–”

“Quieter?” Cee offers with a smirk, and Joel has to hide his own with a cough.

“I was going to say ‘less lively’ but fair enough,” Ezra mutters, then softens. “I’ll make dinner for you anytime, birdie. Just say the word.”

The food is good, but the company is better. Ezra and Cee carry the conversation while they eat and Joel lets them reminisce, contributing the occasional nod or grunt of agreement. If Cee thinks he’s quieter than usual, if she notices his eyes are still a little red, she’s kind enough not to mention it. More than anything, he wishes Tess could be here, wishes she could have had this, too.

At one point, Ezra takes his hand under the table, sensing his need for an anchor. He answers his questioning look with a squeeze, soaks in the sound of Cee’s bubbling laughter and the adoration in Ezra’s eyes, decides there might be something to Ezra’s words after all.

He may not deserve it, but he has it all the same. Shame to let it go to waste.

It’s late by the time they take their leave, bundling up at the door.

“Thanks for the sandwiches,” Cee says. “And for, y’know, not forgetting about me now that you’re all domesticated and shit.”

“I could never,” Ezra says, enfolding her in a tight, one-armed hug, offers his usual departing words of wisdom. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, birdie.”

“What, like get hitched?” she says drily.

Joel urges him out the door before that can fully sink in, has Ezra stopping in his tracks and turning around.

“Wait–”

“Relax, Ez,” Joel mutters.

“Did you–she said–”

“Uh-huh, I heard what she said.”

“But–”

“C’mon,” he says, tugging at his hand. “S’too fuckin’ cold out here.”

Ezra relents with a soft grumble, one last worried glance over his shoulder. Joel bites his lip on a smile. That girl sure knows how to push his buttons.

“Thank you for…indulging me,” Ezra says after covering some ground in silence. “I confess I…I don’t think I realized how much I missed our time together. It was just Cee and I for so long…”

“She still needs you,” Joel says, nudging him lightly before taking his hand. “An’ I don’t mind sharin’.”

The night is bitter cold and the wind forces them to hurry toward home. Ellie, loud and slightly drunk, if Joel had to guess, is just turning onto Rancher Street as they get there.

“Dudes! You missed a great party.”

She stumbles a little, giggles, and Joel reaches out to steady her.

“You owe me, fuckers. I covered for you. Even saved you some cake before the rest of the vultures got to it,” she says, just this side of slurring as she hands him a bundle of waxed cloth. “It’s super fucking good.”

“Uh-huh,” Joel says. “How much did you have to drink, kid?”

“Only three! Or wait…four, maybe? I dunno, Cat says m’a lightweight, whatever that means.”

“Three what? Fifths?” Joel asks incredulously.

“Just beer,” she wrinkles her nose. "Maria wouldn’t let me have the hard stuff even though I told her I can take it, that bi–”

“Gonna stop you right there,” Joel says, shooting Ezra a look over her head. Now it’s his turn to smother a laugh. “Remind me to thank her tomorrow.”

Ellie grunts and inserts herself between them, looping one arm through each of theirs for the short walk to the end of the street. She leans a little heavy on Joel’s arm, plunks her cheek on his shoulder. She’s running on beer and cake and probably not much else as they make it to the house.

“I’ll be right in, just, uh…gotta get this one settled,” he says to Ezra, handing him the cake.

“Hydrate, young prodigy,” Ezra advises her, and Ellie sticks out her tongue, follows it with a raspberry.

Joel walks Ellie into the garage room and she plops down on her bed with a grunt. Joel goes to the little standalone sink, fills a cup with water. By the time he places the cup on her nightstand, she’s already curled up on her side.

“C’mon, kid. Can’t sleep with your damn boots on.”

“Can too.”

Joel sighs and unlaces her boots, gently tugging until they come loose. She giggles, tries to help, only ends up kicking him in the arm, which makes her laugh harder.

“Wanna watch those space wars movies. Y’know, those ones with the robots? Are-too somethin’ and see-pee-oh.”

He cocks his head. “Y’mean Star Wars?”

“Yes! And the brother who kisses his sister,” she says, then laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “Pew-pew, motherfuckers.”

“You’re full of it tonight,” he sighs, pulling the crumpled blankets out from under her and over her shoulders before kneeling by her side. “Think you need a bucket?”

“Nah,” she yawns. “M’fine.”

“Alright. Drink the water. I’ll check on ya in a bit.”

Before he can stand, her arm wiggles out from under the blanket and wraps around his shoulders, pulls him down into an awkward hug that melts him. He closes his eyes, holds her tight, drops a kiss in her hair.

“You’re goin’ soft, old man,” she mutters, but she’s still holding on.

“Uh-huh,” he says, throat tight. “Love you.”

When she finally pulls back, she smirks up at him with all the confidence of Han Solo.

“I know.”

Inside, Joel shucks off his coat to the sound of Ezra rummaging through the kitchen drawer. He’s unwrapped the cake Ellie saved, now slightly squished and sitting on the counter.

“Has our girl found the answers at the bottom of a bottle?”

“Found an attitude, more like. She’ll be fine, just needs to sleep it off. Still hungry?” Joel asks, nodding toward the cake.

“Ah. Thought I’d see what all the fuss is about,” Ezra says, bringing out a knife and aiming to cut a slice.

“Ain’t we supposed to do that together?”

Ezra’s grin is a slow, sweet spread thick as buttercream. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They share the knife and cut into the cake, Joel’s hand warm over Ezra’s. It’s an impressive dessert by Jackson standards. Real frosting–god knows where they found icing sugar–and the center has a layer of strawberry jam. Joel isn’t much for sweets, but he takes a bite when Ezra offers. It makes his teeth ache.

“I know you said no cake smashing, but–”

Before he can duck away, Ezra has swiped a fingertip of jam and smeared it lightly across Joel’s cheek. His eyes flash with mirth as he leans in, meaning to lick up the mess he’s made with the tip of his tongue.

It snaps the band of tension that’s been simmering all night.

Joel turns his head before Ezra can finish his cleanup and crashes their mouths together in an inelegant kiss. His hands find the collar of his fancy shirt and holds him, walks him back until he’s crowded against the counter and licks into him, tastes the remnants of vanilla sugar on his tongue. He only stops when Ezra yelps, having almost knocked the remaining cake off the counter in an effort to brace himself.

“Shit, sorry,” Joel pants, half laughing, half delirious with it, suddenly lighter than he’s felt all week.

Ezra grins, tongue darting out to wet kiss-swollen lips before cupping his cheek, leaning in to nip at him. “I suppose I did say I’d make it up to you. You’ve always been a touch…impatient.”

“ I’m impatient?” Joel growls, pressing his thigh tighter to the growing hardness between Ezra’s legs to emphasize the point. There’s still strawberry jam drying sticky on his cheek. He doesn’t care. “Finish your damn cake, Ez. Let’s go to bed.”

So they do, curled up naked under the quilt. There’s the hint of something more, something wanted, limbs entwined and hands exploring as they share slow, lazy kisses. What started as a fire mellowed somewhere between downstairs and the bedroom, and the pull of sleep is strong, exhaustion settling heavy around Joel’s shoulders. The mind is ready but the body is unwilling.

“Sorry,” he sighs into Ezra’s neck when it’s clear they’re not getting anywhere.

“No rush,” Ezra murmurs, stretching out with Joel’s head on his shoulder. “There’s time.”

They stay like that for a while, Joel drifting on the verge of sleep while Ezra strokes his hair. He finds himself thinking of Tess again, of all the moments they missed because they were too busy scraping by. How this was all she’d asked of him, and he’d turned her away because he couldn’t imagine deserving such a life.

“Songbird?” Ezra’s voice is a low rumble in his chest, and Joel tightens his grip, nuzzles closer.

“Mmm?”

“The other morning over breakfast…when you asked me if I wanted…something more…”

Joel’s stomach sinks. “Yeah.”

Ezra hesitates and the silence only serves to tighten the knot in Joel’s chest. He feels the jumpy thrum of Ezra’s heartbeat against his cheek, waiting for him to deliver the letdown. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and rich and close to Joel’s ear, a whispered confession.

“I have never…had this. Men with my proclivities didn’t have a dearth of options before, and that became even less likely after…well. The life of a raider does not endeavor itself to…romantic entanglements. Not to say I’m inexperienced, but in matters of the heart I am woefully naive.”

In the dark, Joel can barely make out Ezra’s features, feels the tips of his fingers carding absently through his hair, skimming the shell of his ear, warming the back of his neck.

“Which is to say…I’ve known my share of lovers, certainly…but not…love.”

It takes a moment in Joel’s near-sleep-addled state to fully grasp his meaning. “Oh…”

Ezra tips his chin up, almost prideful. “I had long ago come to the conclusion that I wasn’t worthy of…something like this. I’d made my peace with that. You spoke of not being…deserving…and I know all too well what that’s like.”

His voice dips low, tugs at the meat of Joel’s heart.

“I don’t tell you this for pity’s sake,” Ezra continues. “Just to ensure you understand that I…this is…more than I could have hoped for, songbird. I don’t take this commitment lightly.”

Times like this, Joel wishes he was better with words. As it is, all he can manage is to grasp Ezra’s hand and hold on, press a kiss to his knuckles.

“I know,” he whispers. He’d been so caught up with his ghosts, he hadn’t stopped to consider Ezra might have some of his own.

Later, he’ll put on his sweatpants and boots and wrap himself in a robe and go outside to check on Ellie, peer in through the frosted glass pane to find her where he left her, curled in bed and sleeping soundly. But for now, he’s content to stay like this, wrapped in his husband’s embrace, sheltered from the cold.

Maybe they didn’t have to do it alone.

Joel wakes to a huff of breath against his shoulder, Ezra wrapped around him like a second blanket. He’s nuzzling at the base of his neck, tickling the hairs there, peppering his upper back with kisses.

“Songbird,” he hums, tightening his arm low around Joel’s hips, nipping at the muscle along the ridge of his shoulder, clearly hoping to finish what they started last night. In the light of day, with a good night’s sleep behind him and no plans for the morning, that looks all the more likely.

“M’awake,” Joel grunts, turning over, doesn’t even have time to open his eyes before their mouths meet, hungry and wanting. Ezra’s soft moan resonates between them, hips hitching slightly, already hard and pressed tight to Joel’s thigh. It’ll take a little longer for Joel to get there, but not by much.

“Do you remember when I first…had you in this bed?” Ezra asks, pulling back, panting slightly.

Joel swallows hard, nods, still dizzy from the kiss and blinking sleep from his eyes.

“How I took you apart on my tongue? Hmm?”

Ezra on his knees at the edge of the bed, Joel’s torso bared and his jeans around his ankles, in too much of a rush to fully undress, glow of the golden hour slanting through the window. The memory sparks a pang of longing so strong it physically aches, sends a groan rippling up from Joel’s throat and a pulse of heat through his gut.

The body is more than willing this morning.

“I remember thinking to myself…that I had never witnessed a sunset more beautiful…had never experienced the majesty of a billion stars in the bliss of night, or watched the arc of a dove across the morning sky…than when you reached the apex of your enjoyment.”

Joel can’t speak, can’t breathe, fixed in place by Ezra’s dark eyes and his husked voice as his fingers trace the hollow at Joel’s throat. Their noses touch, the last words felt as a featherlight brush against his lips as much as heard.

“And I thought…in my haze of pleasure…that I want to be the reason you look like that. I want to watch you come apart every damn day for the rest of forever. And I will be there to put you back together again.”

Anything Joel might have thought to say, inadequate as it would have been, is quickly swallowed by Ezra’s kiss. His tongue skirts the pout of his lower lip and then they’re sinking into each other, a consummation of Ezra’s unexpected vows.

“Jesus,” Joel breathes when they pull apart. “You stay awake all night comin’ up with that?”

Ezra arches an eyebrow, eyes shining. “Did it work?”

With an agility that surprises even himself, Joel growls deep in his chest and rolls Ezra under him, pinning his willing form with his weight. His mouth finds the hinge of Ezra’s jaw, the freckle behind his ear, the ridge of his collarbone. The want is back, that old friend, and he gives into it, lets it lead him.

Down, teasing the ridge of a pebbled nipple with his teeth, down, lapping at the hollow of his breastbone, down, dipping his tongue into the soft circle of his navel and swirling, eliciting a stifled gasp, stomach twitching.

“You know I’m ticklish, cher ,” Ezra huffs, and Joel grins, does it again just to make him squirm before soothing the overstimulation with a gentle, firm bite to the softness at the base of his stomach.

He drags his scruff along his Adonis belt, teasing him with the heat of his breath, the slick muscle of his tongue lapping, sucking a mark into the curve at his hip. He admires the flush on his skin where he’s bruised him, the red scratches his beard has left behind, revels in the lightly painful tug of Ezra’s fingers in his hair, urging him on.

When he finally takes him in, the familiar taste and weight of him on his tongue is almost as delicious as the sound Ezra makes. It’s a whimper, a breath of equal relief and anticipation, soothing the ache while stoking the fire. It’s a heady rush, that first taste, the salt-tang of him, an invitation to see how much pleasure he can wring from his body.

Joel looks up, finds Ezra watching him intently, hungrily, head cocked to one side, chest flushed and heaving. He has to admit, the view ain’t half bad, stokes the heat roiling in his belly, and he grinds down into the mattress to find some relief. He takes him deeper, traces the ridges and veins with his tongue on the way back up, revels in the broken sounds he draws from Ezra’s lips.

“Songbird–your mouth, divinity itself could–could not–ohhh–”

He cuts himself off with a moan as Joel’s tongue circles and flutters, as his free hand grips him at the base and begins a firm stroke to help things along.

When Ezra’s hand pulls away, seeking purchase in the tangled mess of their bedding, Joel grabs for it instead, reaches up to lace their fingers, resting them on Ezra’s stomach and lightly holding him down. The intimacy is almost too much.

“Oh, oh love, you–I’m–”

Joel pulls off, still stroking, teasing. “You gonna come?”

Another throaty whimper, back arching into it. It doesn’t take long, they’ve been dancing around this for hours. He watches as Ezra comes apart in his hand with a choked gasp, spilling over his knuckles and onto the wiry curls at the base of his stomach, a breathed oh oh yes oh , and the power is a heady, giddy rush.

Every damn day for the rest of forever, indeed.

He crawls up the bed and settles on his side, allowing himself a moment of smug self-satisfaction. He’ll never match Ezra’s eloquence or even his energy, but he can manage this. Have him blissed out and shuddering in his arms, gazing up at him from under dark lashes, rendered monosyllabic. Has him curling into him, lips pressed to Joel’s throat and mumbling in French, legs tangled, arm cinched around his waist. He can hold him through the come-down. Can love him the way he deserves.

There’s quiet in the aftermath, Ezra nuzzling tenderly at Joel’s throat. His voice is all grit when he speaks.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel smirks, absently rubbing the back of Ezra’s neck. “Like you needed a reason to talk.”

“You love it,” Ezra whispers, peppering small kisses across the ridge of Joel’s jaw.

“Hmm. Reckon I do.”

Ezra’s ministrations at his throat become more urgent, the graze of teeth and lips and tongue. Joel’s cock kicks against his stomach as Ezra sucks at his collarbone hard enough to leave a mark. His hand slips between them and then he’s teasing with his fingers, stroking him without pressure, cupping and petting him until he’s aching. Joel watches, drowsy with lust, as Ezra gathers his own slick spill in his palm before wrapping it around Joel’s cock to mingle with his precome, easing his movements considerably. The sight is enough to make him shudder. He thinks he hears Ezra murmur something over the rush of blood in his ears, something that sounds suspiciously like waste not, want not , and Joel thinks there’s still plenty of want to go around.

“Fuuuuck,” he breathes into Ezra’s neck, and it’s a syrupy hot slide into the tight wet clutch of his fist.

Joel lets himself sink into it, lets the tension coiling in his gut unfurl and bloom as Ezra strokes him. He fumbles for something to hold, hand finds the meat of Ezra’s ass, the back of a thigh, hears a low chuckle in his ear as he gasps and pulls him close. Soon he’s panting into the warm crevice of Ezra’s throat, unable to form more than hollow sounds of pleasure and want as Ezra works him through it.

“Like that?” he murmurs, the words like velvet, and Joel can barely manage a nod. Somehow his lips find Ezra’s and it’s a long, broken moan into his mouth as he feels the band at the base of his groin tightening, tightening, ready to snap. There’s only the sound of his own heavy breathing and the slick slide of Ezra’s hand on him and then he’s pulsing, throbbing, falling apart with a cry.

They’re tender and warm in the afterglow, taking advantage of a rare quiet morning to laze in bed while the sun rises, but Joel finds himself distracted, that nagging doubt creeping in to fill the space created by their lovemaking.

“Tell me about her,” Ezra murmurs, sensing his disquiet. “Tess.”

He hesitates.

“You sure?”

Ezra kisses him softly. “Memory poses no threat to my affections, songbird.”

It should be awkward, Joel thinks, but the words come easily. She’s been at the forefront of his mind for so many days, it’s a relief to lay it all out.

And when he’s told him as much as he can remember, and the sun is much higher in the sky, Ezra strokes his cheek with his thumb and offers a simple truth.

“I have her to thank for your being here.”

And he does, Joel supposes.

For giving him one last kick in the ass.

For insisting he carry her hope for a cure, a future, and a life beyond the QZ.

For giving him a daughter.

For giving him a second chance.

He cups Ezra’s face in his hands, kisses him soundly, and silently promises he won’t let it go to waste.

#joel miller x ezra prospect #the last of us fanfic #prospect fanfic #joel x ezra #ellie williams #cee prospect #tess servopolous #tommy miller #i know you by heart #songbird #in my feels about these two

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thehollowwriter · 9 months ago

Text

Summary: Poll winner. Some Silas and baby Finn fluff, with accidental angst (Lamentations' lovey dovey shenanigans have kept ya'll too happy)

Word count: 1982

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤️)

Pup

If there was one word to describe how Silas felt right now, it would he antsy. Tired, too. So so tired.

They had been out for three hours, drifting through the waters and ensnaring what prey they could find. There was a notable lack of fish compared to last season, and they were forced to swim further out.

Silas was exhausted. He didn't want to be here right now. He wanted to go home. He needed to go home. He was at home without him, he can't leave him at home without him-

Silas' fins twitched, and his tail coiled in discomfort. He sucked in a breath and tried to calm down, fearing the loud beating of his heart may alert their prey.

He needed to go home. Anything could happen without his presence there. Timo can't-

"-We can cover for you, sir."

Sleep deprived and distracted, it took Silas a few moments to process the fact that someone was talking to him. He blinked, then turned to face who had a spoken- a young member of his hunting party- with a frown.

"What?"

"You can go home if you want." The blue ringed octopus mer repeated. "We can cover for you. It's getting... late... and-" She faltered. "You... seem... anxious about... your..."

Silas stared at her as she trailed off and shrank into herself, avoiding his eyes. "If you want, sir."

Silas simply observed her a minute or so, watching her fins flick and quiver nervously. Behind her, the other four waited for an answer with wide eyes.

"...Don't come back empty-handed."

Silas was darting through the water towards home before any of them could respond. They would manage just fine. They were a talented group of mers.

"Anxious"? "Antsy"? Neither could even begin to describe the pit in his stomach and the weight on his chest, the sense of dread that hung over him like a dark cloud.

He's going to open the door to an empty, silent house. He's going to be met with the stench of blood. He's going to fail. He will be gone. He's going to be alone again-

Timo's surpised yelp when the front door burst open made Silas feel just a little better.

The cuttlefish in question looked at him in surprise, a hand over his heart and skin bright yellow with alarm.

"Mister Silas, sir, you're back early!" Timo exclaimed, his colours slowly turning back to normal.

Silas ignored him, continuing to swim anxiously down the hallway.

"Where's Finn?"

"Uh... asleep? In your room?" Timo's tone was quizzical, and he followed after Silas with an incredibly confused look on his face. "Is something wrong?"

Silas didn't answer. He simply swam into his room and towards the cradle crafted from coral and bone at the foot of the bed and peered inside.

A glorious feeling of relief flooded him, and the weight on his chest lifted.

Curled up around a clam on a mattress of seasponge, his son slept soundly, the rise and fall of his chest and the flutter of gills gentle and calm.

Finn was fine. He was breathing. His heart was beating. There was no blood. He was safe.

"How was he?"

Timo took a few moments to realise Silas was talking to him. "Oh! Yeah, he was great. He was a bit fussy and started chewing on me, but I got him the clam to play with, and he fell asleep just before you arrived."

"And his food?"

"Pureed shrimp and seaweed, like you showed me. He ate it all really fast. I think he's due to eat some more now, though."

Silas nodded slowly. "Thank you, Timo, I... I appreciate it."

Tino lit up like a light. "No problem, Mister Silas!" He said, making an awkward salute gesture. "I'm happy to help."

Silas sent a small smile the teen's way. "You can take a few extra madol and a few scallops and lobsters home. I'll see you tomorrow, Timo."

Surprise adorned Timo's face, and he nodded slowly, almost like he didn't believe what he was hearing.

"T-Thank you so much, Mister Silas! I'll see you tomorrow!"

'Swim safe.' Silas wanted to say, but the words would not leave his lips. He simply watched Timo disappear from sight and waited until he heard the door open and shut.

A comfortable silence settled over the house, and, finally alone, Silas reached into the crib to gently thumb at Finn's cheek.

His chest tightened when he got no response, but the sight of the tiny, beating heart through Finn's translucent skin made him relax once more.

"You're safe..." He murmured, moving his hand away to rub his temple. "Safe."

With that mantra repeating in his mind, Silas moved away from the crib to the large clam shell bed with sea sponge and seagrass nestled inside. He settled onto it and rested his chin on his wrists, gaziny at the cradle as if he feared it would vanish if he blinked.

However, finally relaxed and lying on something soft with his pup in sight and perfectly safe, his lack of sleep began to creep up on him. Before he knew it, his eyes slid shut, and he drifted into a state of unconsciousness.

A series of clicks, whistles, and squeaks shattered his peaceful sleep, followed by the sound of crying.

Silas sat up and tiredly dragged a hand down his face in frustration, growling to himself. When he fully registered what he was hearing, he shot off the clam shell and scooped Finn into his hands, clicking to let the pup know who was there.

"What's wrong?" He asked softly, cupping his hands to look Finn over carefully. He didn't seem hurt...

Finn simply cried and squeaked in response and coiled his tail around Silas' thumb. He began to chew on it, and tiny, glazed over eyes darted around as he tried to find his father.

"I'm right here." Silas murmured, shifting Finn into one hand and using his free hand to gently stroke Finn's back. "Are you hungry?"

Finn's subsequent bite into his thumb seemed to answer his question. Finn's teeth were brittle but still sharp, and little streaks of blood bloomed in the water before dissipating.

The scent hit Silas' nostrils, and for a brief moment, an overwhelming and primal sense of dread and panic washed over him.

'There's blood in the water,' Something in the back of his mind snarled at him. 'Hide.'

Silas cursed at himself but didn't move. He stayed frozen in place with pinpricks for pupils as that little voice continued to berate him.

'Idiot. Stupid. Foolish. They will smell it, they will smell you, you put yourself and your pup in danger with no one to protect you, and-'

Silas closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose. He doesn't live in the abyss. Not anymore. Not for over twenty or thirty years. He lives inside a kelp forest, with a group of staff and a city nearby. It was fine.

It took Silas a few moments to realise Finn was still chewing on his thumb and to gently move him away. He could see the puncture marks and smell the blood, but he felt... nothing.

Finn squeaked at him and wriggled around, annoyed his chew toy was taken away and trying to find it again.

"It's alright, I've got something even better for you." Silas murmured. He snapped his fingers, and a tiny bottle the size of his thumb appeared in his hand.

"Shrimp and seaweed. Isn't that nice?" He asked, whistling a few times. He carefully pressed the teat of the bottle against Finn's lips, hoping the little pup would be as co-operative with him as he was with Timo.

To his relief, Finn grabbed at the bottle and started drinking the liquefied food as if he had never eaten anything in his life.

Silas sighed and smiled a bit as he supported Finn's little head with his finger and used his another to stop the bottle from dropping onto Finn's face.

"There we go. That's nice, right? Yummy yummy shrimp."

He wasn't good at 'baby talk', as it was called. He never knew what to say or how high his voice should go. Morrigan was far bett- no. Don't go there now. The dreams had just stopped tormenting him.

Finn finished the entire bottle in the span of about five or ten minutes and then pushed it away, chirping softly in content. Silas let go of the bottle and let it float to the floor. He could fetch it later. For now, his focus was entirely on Finn, who was now chewing on his own tail.

Silas gently moved Finn to the clam shell and silently observed the little one crawl off his hand and start curiously pawing and playing with the sea sponge.

Finn was so small. Only about the size of Silas' hand. He had frail bones and delicate skin and was completely blind. It would be so easy to kill him. Silas could curl his hand into a fist and crush him. Just a dash of magic could end him. Just a snap of teeth, and he could be eaten.

Silas was no longer in the abyss, but there were still threats lurking around every corner, from the alleys of the city to the wide plastered smiles of the citizens.

'At least most issues are dealt with if Leech keeps his word,' Silas thought. 'Perhaps I should speak to him abou-'

"Da."

Silas' train of thought came to a sudden stop, and he lowered himself down so his face was in front of Finn's, wondering if he had heard correctly.

"What did you say, my darling?"

At the sound of hus voice, Finn wriggled around and reached out to pat his face with a tiny, stubby hand. "Da."

Oh.

"Yes," Silas gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Da."

"Da!" Finn repeated. A delighted giggle left his lips. "Da!"

Silas sucked in a breath and bit his lip. That was the first time Finn had ever laughed.

Silas nodded his head, the long forgotten feeling of excitement lighting up inside him. "Yes. Yes, that's right, Finn. I'm your dad."

Finn squeaked and clicked in response, then shuffled away from Silas to play with the seasponge. Silas picked up a teething ring from his side table and placed it in front of Finn, still feeling elated.

"There, how's that? Something for your sore teeth."

Finn's hand closed around the familiar object, and he pulled it towards himself with a delighted coo. His teeth, sharp and monstrous, sank into it easily but didn't pierce through. He chewed on it happily , his tail flicking back and forth in quick succession.

Silas rested his head on the sponge bed and curled his tail to form a protective circle around Finn. He was tired but awake enough to watch his baby tucker himself out playing with teething ring and other toys Silas had placed on the bed.

After about twenty minutes, Finn lost interest in the toys and went still. A moment or two passed, and he put his hand in his mouth and looked around nervously.

"Da?" He called, following the word up with a click. There was a tremble to his finns, and he sounded like he was about to start crying. "Da?!"

"I'm here, I'm here." Silas said quickly, gently placing Finn onto the palm of his hand and bringing him close to his chest. "I'm here, precious."

Finn didn't make any further sound. He relaxed and curled his tail around Silas' finger, and then he was asleep.

Silas smiled at his lovely, wonderful, precious pup and leaned forward and gently kissed Finn's forehead. He didn't move, deciding that it was alright if Finn slept with him tonight.

"Sleep well, my treasure."

...........................................

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed! It was fun writing this, even though I'm too happy with the ending and don't think it's one of my best. Ah, well, I'll blame it on school.

BONUS:

Here's what Finn's squeaks sound like:

https://youtube.com/shorts/u_r7WwfZlFQ?si=QRFUlTUDQKROE9yZ

Tagging: @distant-velleity @theleechyskrunkly @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @the-banana-0verlord @jovieinramshackle @oya-oya-okay @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker @skrimpyskimpy @boopshoops @kitwasnothere @krenenbaker @casp1an-sea

@br3adtoasty @rainesol @galaxies-and-gore @elenauaurs @am0nline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @ramshacklerumble @elysia-nsimp

@skrimpyskimpy @casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @skriblee-ksk

#silas clearcove #finn clearcove #octavinelle #twisted wonderland #twst oc #writing

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fatecantstopme · 2 years ago

Text

I Can't Lose You

PART ONE

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Summary: The BAU team is hunting a sadistic murderer and you go undercover to reveal his identity and catch him in the act. Things don’t go according to plan and so much is revealed about you, your team, and your boss…things that will change all of your lives forever.

Warnings: Mentions of murder and prostitution. Cursing. Kidnapping. Use of pet names.

A/N: The reader in this story is named Isabelle Heywood. I needed to name her for ease of writing purposes. You'll see what I mean and I'm sorry if this bothers anyone. This will be a series because the story completely got away from me...but I'm obsessed with it. Please read the warnings for each part individually!

Part Two

You woke to the sound of incessant wringing. You rolled over and stared at the glowing numbers on your alarm clock; it was only 3am. You sighed in annoyance and picked up your still ringing phone. You squinted at the bright screen and saw the name “Aaron Hotchner” across the screen. You knew why he calling you, but you wished it was for a different reason.

You sighed again as you answered the phone, “Hey boss. You do know what time it is, don’t you?”

The voice on the other end of the phone made your heart flutter. “I know it’s really early, but we’ve got a case. It’s urgent.”

“Define urgent.”

“We don’t have time to brief at the BAU. The case came directly to me from Strauss. Wheels up in 30 minutes.”

You swore under your breath. “On my way, sir.”

You hung up the phone and dragged yourself out of bed. You had about 15 minutes to get yourself together before you had to leave. You headed into the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked completely exhausted. You regretted letting Morgan and Garcia goad you into going out last night.

“So much for having Sundays off,” you muttered to yourself. Your only consolation was that Morgan and Garcia would be equally tired.

You pulled your hair into a bun and jumped in the shower. You were used to getting ready in a hurry and 10 minutes later, you were ready to go. You’d learned not to bother with a lot of makeup when you first joined the BAU 5 years ago. It was rare that you were given much time to get ready in the morning, so you cut out the nonessentials.

You took one last look in the mirror, running your fingers through your hair to smooth it down. “Good enough,” you sighed.

You grabbed your go-bag and headed down to your car in the apartment building’s underground garage. The drive to Quantico was quick and 10 minutes later, you were pulling into your usual parking spot.

You got out of your car just as Morgan pulled up. He got out of the car and turned towards you. “You look like shit,” you said lightly.

“I feel like it too,” he grumbled. “Why’d you let me drink so much?”

You laughed. “No one ‘lets’ Derek Morgan do anything.”

He chuckled. “You have a point.”

The two of you walked into the building together and met up with the rest of the team waiting in the lobby. You smiled at everyone in acknowledgement.

“You two look awful,” Emily Prentiss said with a knowing smile.

“You’d look just as bad if you’d have come with us last night,” you said playfully.

“I had a hot date with Sergio,” Emily joked.

You rolled your eyes and turned to Reid. “What’s your excuse, Spence? Too cool to hang out with us?”

“I was at a live reading of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’. It was actually quite fascinating, they—”

You held up your hand to silence him. “I’m sorry I asked.”

The group laughed. David Rossi looked at you and Morgan and shook his head. “I’m too old for those late night shenanigans.”

“Nonsense,” Morgan started. “You’re only what? 85?”

Everyone laughed, including Rossi. “Just wait, Morgan…revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“He’s Italian,” you joked. “Better watch out.”

“Hey guys!” JJ said brightly as she walked up to the group.

Garcia trailed behind her looking much worse than you and Morgan. She had sunglasses on and she shushed everyone when they said ‘Good morning.’ “Too loud. Too bright,” she mumbled.

“Yikes. I think she had too much wine,” Morgan said.

You nodded your agreement and looked around. “Where’s Hotch?”

Rossi shrugged. “I think he’s still dealing with Strauss. You know how she can be.”

You scoffed. “Do I ever.”

Just then, Hotch came striding up to them from inside the building. Even with the dark circles under his eyes, he was still incredibly handsome. You felt your heart begin to race and your stomach filled with butterflies. You got that feeling every time you saw him, even after all these years.

You would never tell him how you felt…you couldn’t. Hotch was a strict, by-the-book kind of guy and he was your boss. You knew nothing would ever come of you telling him, so there was no point. Plus, you could even lose your job. No one else knew how you felt…even though you were dying to talk about it. You’d loved him for the last 3 years of your life. No one else could ever compare.

“Alright guys, we’re a go,” Hotch said as he joined the group. “Garcia, you can get started on the files I left in your office.”

Garcia nodded. “Yes, sir.” She headed into the building while the rest of you headed towards the tarmac.

Hotch was walking behind everyone else, so you slowed down to match his pace. “Hey,” you said softly. “Did you sleep here?”

He looked at you and sighed. “Yeah, I had a lot of paperwork to do.”

“Hotch. The paperwork can wait. What about Jack?”

“Jack’s with his aunt this weekend.”

“Still…please tell me you didn’t spend your entire day off in the office.”

“I didn’t,” he insisted. “I went out for lunch.” You glared at him and he sighed. “It really was important.”

“Nothing’s more important than family, Hotch. And that means you need to actually get away from this place occasionally.”

“I know.”

You shook your head and walked up the stairs and onto the jet. You chose the seat beside Morgan, Emily and Reid sat across from you. Hotch took a seat toward the back of the plane by Rossi and JJ.

Hotch waited until after takeoff to begin the briefing. Once the plane was comfortably in the air, he moved closer and perched on the arm of an empty seat.

“This case is highly sensitive,” he began, “and it’s likely that the locals don’t really want us there.”

“What happened?” Emily asked.

Hotch passed out files and continued talking. “Three months ago, a prostitute was brutally murdered, her body dumped in an alley.”

You opened your file and began looking at the pictures within it. “She was completely nude, stabbed multiple times, and thrown away like garbage,” you said.

“The unsub likely views her as garbage,” Morgan added.

“There’s been an identical murder every week since,” Hotch said.

“Every week?” you exclaimed.

“Why weren’t we called in sooner?” Rossi asked.

“Why wasn’t this in the news?” asked Reid.

“The locals have been keeping the murders under wraps,” Hotch answered. “They’ve had a suspect since the third killing, but they don’t have enough to arrest him.”

“Who’s their suspect?” JJ asked.

“Senator Mark Jacobs,” Hotch responded.

“The Senator Jacobs?” you asked.

“None other,” Hotch said.

“I’m assuming that’s why we’ve been called in,” Rossi commented.

“Yes…we’re expected to rule out the Senator’s involvement unless there’s irrefutable proof he is responsible.”

“That’s not how this works,” Morgan said angrily.

“I agree,” Hotch’s frown deepened. “Which is why we’re going to work this like any other case. We’re the fresh eyes, so let’s see what we can find.”

Everyone settled in and started reading through the files. Hotch went back to his seat in the back of the plane. He was facing your direction and you could feel his gaze on you. You pretended to be focused on reading, but it was impossible to concentrate under the circumstances.

After a few seemingly unbearable moments, you felt his gaze leave you and you instantly relaxed. You glanced up at him and found that he was writing intently, his focus entirely on the paper in front of him.

You got up and went to sit across from him. He looked up at you and covered his notes in a not-so-subtle manner. You raised your eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.

You sat down and asked, “So if the locals don’t want us there, why are we going?”

“Politics,” Hotch answered simply. “As much as I hate it, we don’t have a choice in the matter anymore than the locals do. We’ll have to make it very clear that it’s their case and we’re only there to help…we want to catch this guy regardless of who he is.”

You smiled at the passion in his voice. “You don’t have to convince me, Hotch.”

He gave you a small smile. “Sorry, I get carried away sometimes.”

“You’re a passionate person, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

He blushed and looked down. You loved it when he did that. His usual stoic expression quickly returned and he looked up at you. “What do you think about this case, Heywood?”

“Honestly, sir, I’m trying not to form an opinion before I get all of the facts.” If he was going to be professional, then damnit so would you.

He nodded. “Smart. As always.”

You blushed at the compliment and looked down at the file in your lap. “I need to go through this,” you said before making your way back to your seat.

Morgan looked up at you and smiled. He patted the seat beside him and you plopped down in it. You opened the casefile and began to acquaint yourself with the facts of the case. You tried to push all thoughts of Hotch from your mind, but you found it exceedingly difficult.

You could feel his eyes on you periodically and it was just enough to keep you off your game. You thought it was strange behavior for him and you were unsure of why he kept looking at you. Normally, Hotch was completely focused on the case, but something was clearly on his mind.

You started to wonder if you’d done something wrong, but you figured he would have just told you. Maybe it had nothing to do with you at all and you were just making things up because you wanted it to mean something.

Then the worst thought occurred to you…what if he knows? Your mind started racing and you began to analyze every interaction you’d ever had with the man. You couldn’t think of any time that you had tipped your hand. The team was family and as such you cared deeply for each other. As far as you knew, you’d never done anything that a family member wouldn’t do.

You sighed inwardly and tried desperately to clear your mind. You needed to focus on the case. You finally managed to relax and absorb what you were reading.

An hour later, your thoughts were interrupted by Hotch’s voice announcing that the plane would be landing soon. “Now that you’ve all had a chance to go over the details of the case, I want to hear your thoughts.”

“This unsub is definitely angry at someone. There’s a lot of overkill,” you began.

“The victims are all high-risk, which makes them easy targets,” Reid added. “But other than their occupation, the victims don’t seem to share any other similarities.”

“There’s no DNA evidence, despite the fact that all of the women had sex shortly before they died,” Emily said. “The unsub is careful; cleans up after himself.”

“He views these women like garbage,” Morgan said, echoing his earlier statement. “He might think he’s cleaning up the streets.”

“Isn’t Senator Jacobs all about crime control?” Rossi asked.

Reid nodded. “His campaign was run on a tough-on-crime platform. He focused primarily on drug-related offenses, gangs, and prostitution.”

“I think that warrants looking into the Senator,” you said to Hotch.

He nodded his agreement. “Reid, JJ, and Morgan, I want you to go to the most recent crime scene. Rossi and Prentiss, I want you to canvass the streets. See if any of the other girls in the area have seen anything. Heywood and I will get set up at the station.”

You felt elated at the prospect of working with just Hotch. You looked up at him to find him gazing at you with such intensity that you were certain he could see straight into your soul. He seemed to realize you caught him staring and he frowned before looking away. You felt your heart sink a little, but you push down any feelings of sadness and put your focus back where it belonged.

When the plane landed, the team separated, heading to their respective destinations. On the drive to the station, Hotch was completely silent, which was normal for him, but something about this silent felt strained.

“What’s up with you?” you finally asked.

“What?” he looked at you in confusion. “I’m fine.”

“You’re acting strangely, so I wanna know where your head is at.” You could practically see the wheels in his head turning as he tried to make up an excuse. “Don’t bother trying to lie, I know you too well.”

He let out a long sigh. “Today is Haley’s birthday,” he said slowly.

Your eyes widened. “Oh Hotch. I’m so sorry, today must be tough.”

He shook his head. “That’s just it. It’s not tough. I don’t feel sad. I mean, I do miss her, but it’s not like it used to be. Today is just a day to remember her, not mourn her. I—I just don’t know how to feel about that.”

You looked at him with a reassuring smile. “It’s okay to not feel sad. It means you’ve finally healed. Haley will always be a part of you, but it doesn’t have to hurt.”

He looked at you with that intense expression again and you felt your pulse quicken. When the light turned green, the moment passed, and he looked away. You were both silent for the rest of the drive to the station. When he parked the car, he didn’t get out right away.

“Hotch?” you prompted gently.

“I need to tell you something,” he began. “It’s important.”

“Okay…”

He shook his head. “Not now. Tonight. When we get to the hotel.”

You stared at him and your mind raced. You had no idea what he wanted to tell you, but now you needed for it to be evening. You desperately wanted to know what he had to tell you. You did your best not to panic as you got out of the car and followed him into the station.

A detective met you inside. Introductions were made and you were shown to the conference room where you could set up. You and Hotch worked in silence as you set up the boards and got everything organized. Your nerves were starting to get to you, so you took a few deep breaths to try and relax.

“Are you alright?” Hotch asked, looking at you with concern.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” you lied.

He raised his eyebrows and looked at you skeptically. “You just took several deep breaths. That’s not exactly ‘normal’ behavior for you.”

“Profilers,” you mumbled under your breath. “You can’t just drop a bomb on me and expect me to function properly,” you said louder.

“Drop a bomb on you?”

“The whole ‘I have something important to tell you, but not now’ bit you pulled in the car.”

He looked down. “So I shouldn’t have said anything?”

You sighed. “That’s not what I’m saying. I want you to be able to tell me anything. I just can’t help but wonder what’s so important and why it has to wait.”

He looked at you almost affectionately, his expression catching you off guard. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when the lead detective walked into the room. You saw Hotch’s mask slide firmly back into place and it was clear that he was once again in work-mode.

The detective glanced between the two of you as if he could sense that something was up. After a glare from you, he cleared his throat and said, “My guys would like to brief you on the case as soon as possible.”

“Is there more that we need to know that wasn’t in the files?” Hotch asked.

“Not necessarily, but they’d like to ensure you’re up to speed and on the same page as them.”

“On the same page, referring to Senator Jacobs?” Hotch asked.

The detective caught the tone in Hotch’s voice. “I think it’s important that you understand all the facts.”

“And I think it’s important that we find the facts for ourselves. It won’t do any good to have fresh eyes if they’re all biased,” Hotch argued.

You could see that the detective was going to argue back, so you stepped in. “What he’s trying to say is that we need to remain the impartial third party. We want to catch this guy as much as you do, but we need to be certain of who the unsub is before we go after a sitting Senator.”

Hotch looked at you and you couldn’t quite tell if he was grateful or annoyed, or possibly both.

The detective, on the other hand, nodded in agreement. “I see your point. I’ll tell them to cool their heels until your team has a chance to come to your own conclusions.”

“Thank you, detective,” you and Hotch said at the same time.

Hotch shot you another look and you blushed and looked down, clearly deferring to his seniority. After all, he was your boss.

The detective left the room and an awkward silence settled on the room. It made you crazy because things were never awkward between you and Hotch. You’d been friends for too long for there to be any awkwardness.

The silence was broken by the ringing of your cell phone, which you gratefully answered, “Heywood.”

“Hey it’s Morgan. This crime scene is definitely just a dump site. There’s nowhere near enough blood for her to been killed here.”

“That’s not a surprise. Thanks, Morgan.”

“Anytime, hot stuff.”

You chuckled as you hung up. Your banter with Morgan rivaled Garcia’s, which was why the three of you were so close. Derek Morgan may have been one of the most attractive men you’d ever laid eyes on, but he wasn’t the one you wanted. He’d never hold a candle to Hotch.

Speaking of Hotch, you looked up at him, intending to update him on what Morgan found. His frown had deepened and his expression was cold. It surprised you, but you carried on. “That was Morgan, he said—”

“I heard what he said,” Hotch cut in icily.

Surprise lit up your face, mixed with hurt.

Hotch seemed to realize that he’d been unnecessarily harsh and his expression softened. “Let’s get to work on the profile, okay?”

You nodded and sat down on the edge of the table. The two of you bounced thoughts off of each other as you waited for the others to return.

**********After Profile Delivery

“You literally just described Senator Jacobs,” one of the officers called out.

“The Senator does fit the profile, yes, but he’s not the only one. A number of people in this room also fit it,” you said.

“Are you saying one of us did it?” another officer accused.

Hotch stepped forward. “That’s not what Agent Heywood is saying. She’s simply pointing out that members of the law enforcement community also fit the profile, which means you can’t single out one person.”

“Just because someone fits the profile, it doesn’t mean they did it,” Reid added.

“That being said,” Rossi began, “we do believe Senator Jacobs warrants further investigation.”

“We’ll be looking into him, as well as pursuing some other leads,” Emily said.

“What other leads?” someone asked.

“We’ll discuss those when we have more information,” Hotch answered. “Thank you.”

It was quite clear that the discussion was over, so the crowd of officers began to disperse. You looked around at the faces of your team. You could see the exhaustion on everyone’s faces and you, yourself, were starting to feel it too. All the coffee you’d been drinking all day had finally began to wear off.

Hotch apparently noticed the same thing and said, “Let’s call it a night. We’re all exhausted.”

Everyone agreed and began to pack up. Within 5 minutes, the whole team had piled into the Suburbans and were on the way to the hotel. Thankfully, the drive was short and you arrived within minutes.

You checked in at the front desk and headed up to your respective rooms as a group. Everyone said goodnight to each other and headed off to their rooms. You tried to catch Hotch’s eye to see if he still wanted to talk, but he didn’t even look at you. You sighed and headed into your room, shutting the door behind you.

You started to get ready for bed, washing your face, brushing your teeth, and letting your hair down. You changed into shorts and a t-shirt for comfort. You were about to crawl into bed, when there was a quiet knock at your door.

You crossed the room and opened the door to see Hotch standing there, still fully dressed. He’d taken off his suit coat and his tie, but that was it. You suddenly felt very exposed, but there wasn’t much you could do about it.

You let him in and quickly grabbed a hoodie from your bag. It made you feel a little better about your current attire, given the company.

Hotch was eyeing you with an appreciative expression, but it was mingled with something else you couldn’t quite place…nervousness, maybe? You’d never seen Hotch nervous, and that made you nervous.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Hotch began to speak. “I didn’t want anyone else to know I was coming over here.”

“Okay…”

“I—uh, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You nodded, but remained quiet.

He took a deep breath and looked you in the eyes. “This is very hard for me,” he began. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for quite some time, but I never knew what to say.” He paused and looked down. “From the moment I met you, I knew you were different. You have the kindest soul out of anyone I’ve ever known. You have this strange ability to make me laugh and you always know exactly what to say.”

He finally looked up at you. “When Haley died, you were there for me…more than anyone else. More importantly, you were there for Jack. He adores you.”

That made you smile, but you still didn’t say anything.

“What makes all of this so complicated is that you’re my subordinate. I shouldn’t look at you as anything more than a great coworker…but I can’t help it. You make me feel things I never thought I’d ever feel again. You’re the reason that I’ve been able to accept Haley’s death and even move on from it. My life is better with you in it.” He paused. “But I understand if this is too much for you, or if I’m overstepping, I apologize. I just can’t keep going on like this and pretending everything is normal. You need to know the truth.”

Your breath caught in your chest as you waited for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. “The truth is that I’m in love with you, Isabelle Heywood. I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

Your eyes widened and you stared at him in surprise. “You…you what?”

“I love you,” he repeated softly.

You exhaled sharply. “You love me?”

He nodded. “With all that I have.”

You continued to stare at him, still in a state of shock. You’d wanted this moment to happen for years, but now that it finally had, you had no idea what to do.

He shifted his weight and you realized you hadn’t actually responded to his declaration.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “I’m just really surprised.”

He nodded and waited for you to continue. The hope on his face warmed your heart.

“When I first met you, I thought you were way too uptight. You never smiled, you rarely joked, and you spent more time at work than you did at home. Honestly, I didn’t like you that much.” You paused. “But then I started to get to know you. I pushed you to come out of your shell, I learned more about you, and I quickly discovered you are so much more than you seem. You’ve got a big heart, you’re passionate, you’re brave and heroic, but you’re also kind and gentle. You love your job, your team, and your family in a way that I deeply admire.”

You smiled at him and he smiled back. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ve loved you since the moment I realized what kind of man you are underneath the gruff exterior.”

His eyes widened and he grinned. The smile lit up his whole face. Suddenly, he pulled you into his arms and kissed you passionately, sucking the air from your lungs. Your heart pounded in your chest and you couldn’t breathe.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. The feeling of his hands on your body drove you wild and you desperately wanted more. Eventually, you had to come up for air, but it wasn’t long before his lips found yours again.

The kiss was even better than you had imagined, and lord had you imagined it. He gently pushed you up against the wall and trailed kisses down your neck. You were both breathing heavily and you could feel the desire radiating off of him. He kissed you again and your body responded with a hunger you didn’t know you had.

“Aaron,” you whispered as he kissed your neck.

He smiled against your skin as his lips caressed your jaw, your cheek, and your lips again. He pulled back and stared at you, his eyes heavily lidded and full of desire.

With his mouth away from your skin, you had a moment of clarity. You gently pushed him back and said, “We can’t do this here. Someone might hear.”

Realization morphed his features and he stepped back. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—”

Your smile silenced him. “You have nothing to apologize for. We can pick this up later.”

He smiled too, causing your heart to flutter.

You stepped forward and gave him another kiss. “By the way,” you said softly. “I love it when you smile. There’s nothing hotter.”

He smiled again and returned your kiss. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You chuckled softly and took a step back. “So…what exactly does this mean?”

He looked perplexed. “It means I want to be with you.”

“Even though it’s against the rules?” you asked softly.

He took a step toward you and grabbed your hand. “I’ve spent my entire life living by the rules; following all the policies. I can’t live like that anymore if it means living without you.”

“But Hotch…you could lose your job.”

“Call me Aaron, Isabelle,” he said gently. “And I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I’m willing to step down if it means I can be with you.”

You gasped. “I would never ask you to do that. This team needs you as its leader.”

He smiled. “You’re not asking, I’m just putting it out there.”

You looked down at his hand entwined with yours. You desperately wanted to be with him, but not at the expense of his job…or yours. “Maybe we should keep it a secret.”

“What?” he exclaimed.

“Just for a little while…until we decide what to do.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

You nodded. “Absolutely. It’s safer for both of us this way.”

“Alright,” he paused. “Does that include the team?”

Your expression was pained as you nodded. There was no one on this earth you wanted to tell more than them, but you didn’t want to put them in a compromising position.

“It’s safer for them…plausible deniability and all that.”

“You know they’d never tell anyone.”

“I know…but I don’t want to put them in that position. It’s not fair to them.”

“Okay.” He kissed your forehead affectionately. “We’ll keep it a secret.”

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“Anything for you,” he whispered back.

He wrapped you in a hug and you laid your head on his chest. The two of you stood like that for a while, just enjoying being near each other.

“You should probably be getting back to your room,” you said regretfully. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow and we’re all exhausted.”

He sighed. “You’re probably right…I just don’t want to go.”

You laughed softly. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t want you to go either.”

He smiled down at you and kissed the top of your head. “I think that actually makes it harder.”

You reluctantly separated and he headed for the door. You followed him to close the door behind him. He paused and turned around to give you one last kiss goodnight. “I love you, Isabelle.”

You smiled warmly. “I love you too, Aaron.”

He smiled one more time before slipping into the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

You locked up and slid into bed. Your mind was racing and you had no idea how you could possibly fall asleep even with the exhaustion. You couldn’t believe what just happened…you were so excited you could hardly stand it. You were dying to tell Morgan and Garcia, but you knew you couldn’t.

You sighed and closed your eyes. You could feel the tiredness creeping up on you and you began to drift off to sleep, your last thought was of Aaron and the way he smiled when you told him you loved him too.

**********

At 6am there was a knock on your door. You groaned and dragged yourself out of bed. You threw the door open to find Reid standing in the hall, fully dressed.

He walked right in and you grumbled, “Do you even know what time is it?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

“An idea so important you have to barge into my room before dawn?”

Reid looked at you in surprise. “It’s almost dawn?”

You raised your eyebrows. “It’s 6am.”

“Oh.”

“Spence…” you began, “did you even get any sleep last night?”

He shook his head and you sighed. “You can yell at me later, Iz. This is important. I think I know where the unsub is taking his victims.”

“How? Where?”

“Well, I was studying a map of the area where the bodies have been found. The only place that’s near all the dumpsites is an old abandoned warehouse. It’s be the perfect place to torture and kill these women.”

“I’m going to ignore the creepiness of that last statement and just say ‘good work, Reid’.”

“There’s a problem though.”

“And what’s that?” you asked.

“Senator Jacobs owns the warehouse.”

You inhaled sharply. “Shit. Well we can’t just go barging in there without probably cause. It’s private property owned by a freaking Senator.”

“Exactly, which brings me to my idea.”

You nodded and waited for him to continue.

“We need a reason to enter the building…and it would make matters easier if we could catch him in the act.” Reid paused. “I think you should go undercover.”

You took a moment to process his words. “You want me to pretend to be a prostitute?”

“Only until he takes you to the warehouse.”

You thought for a moment before nodding. “That actually might work.” You jumped up. “Come on, let’s talk to Hotch.”

“Uh, Izzy.” Reid points to your wardrobe and you realized you were still in your pajamas.

“Right. Let me change first.”

Five minutes later and the two of you were knocking on Hotch’s door.

He answered the door looking mildly annoyed. When he saw you, his expression softened. “What are you guys doing up?”

“Reid found something.”

Hotch stepped back to let the two of you enter. Reid explained what he found and Hotch listened intently. “So we can’t enter the premises without a warrant,” Reid concluded.

“And no judge is going to sign a warrant based on Reid’s intuition, no matter how good it may be,” you added.

“So what do you propose we do?” Hotch asked.

“We catch him red-handed,” you answered.

“How?”

“By sending Isabelle in undercover,” Reid responded.

Hotch looked between you and Reid in surprise. “No—no, absolutely not.”

“Hotch, we don’t have any other options,” you pled.

“I’m not putting you at risk.”

“It’s my decision.”

“I’m the Unit Chief and what I say—”

“No one else can do it,” Reid interjects. “JJ doesn’t have the necessary field experience and Emily isn’t the unsub’s type. It has to be Isabelle.”

Hotch looked crestfallen. “There has to be another way.”

“I’ve thought of every possible variation. This is the only way.”

Hotch looked down and shook his head.

“Please, Hotch. People’s lives are at stake,” you said softly.

He looked up at you, his face a mix of emotions. He sighed and his mask slid firmly into place. “Fine. We’ll need the day to prep you.”

You nodded. “I can do this.”

“I know you can, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

**********

“Hell no,” Derek said emphatically. “No way in hell, over my dead body…need I continue?”

“Come on, Derek,” you began.

“No, Izzy!” He looked over at Hotch. “You can’t seriously be okay with this.”

Hotch’s face remained impassive. “I’m not, but Reid makes a good point.”

“I don’t care what Reid says, we’re not sending Isabelle into the den of a sadistic serial killer,” he argued.

You sighed. “It’s not your decision to make, Morgan.”

He glared at you and you returned the stare. Neither of you backed down until JJ stepped between you. “Okay, both of you need to relax.”

“Relax? How am I supposed to—”

“Enough,” Hotch cut in aggressively. Morgan shut his mouth mid-sentence and watched his boss.

Hotch sighed. “Look, I know this isn’t the best idea, but it’s all we’ve got.” He looked at you and you nodded. “And Isabelle is okay with it. So instead of arguing about this, let’s prepare her to make this mission a success.”

Rossi stepped forward and looked at you closely. “I have the utmost faith in you, Isabelle. I just want to make absolutely certain that you are completely comfortable with this.”

You looked at him and gave him a small mile. “This isn’t my first time undercover, Rossi. I’ll be fine.”

He nodded. “Okay then. We should get started.”

Everyone gathered around the conference table. The next three hours were spent going over the plans for that evening. You could feel your anxiety ramping up as more time passed. This certainly wasn’t the most dangerous undercover mission you’d been on, but it had been years since you’d last worked incognito. You knew your team would be there and they’d have your back no matter what, but this was still extremely dangerous and there were a lot of unknowns.

“Hey, gorgeous. You still with us?” Morgan asked.

You looked up at him and nodded. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

You could feel everyone’s eyes on you and you knew they were all profiling you. Especially Hotch. The intensity of his gaze made your skin feel like it was on fire.

“Guys, stop,” you said firmly. “I can practically feel you all profiling me.”

Most of the team had the decency to look embarrassed, but not Morgan. He continued to give you the same concerned look.

“D,” you said gently. “I’m good.”

It was a few moments before he finally nodded and you released a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“Is everyone clear on the plan for tonight?” Hotch asked.

“JJ and I will be on the street with Isabelle so we can see who picks her up,” Emily began.

“Rossi and I will be parked down the street to keep watch,” Spencer added, “We’ll follow at a safe distance once Isabelle gets picked up.”

“Morgan, you and I will trade off with Rossi and Reid to make sure that the unsub doesn’t realize he’s being followed. Once they get to their destination, we’ll keep watch and wait for the signal,” Hotch finished.

“I’ll have a tracker in my shoe so you’ll know where I am at all times,” you said. “Once I’m in the car, JJ and Emily will get into the surveillance van with Hotch and Morgan.”

Hotch nodded. “Good. As for the extraction plan—”

“Wait for my signal, then infiltrate,” you said.

Hotch nodded again. He peered at you intently. “If we don’t hear from you in thirty minutes, we’re coming in.”

“An hour,” you countered.

“Isabelle—” Hotch began.

“We need to catch him doing something other than sleeping with a prostitute, Hotch. Give me an hour, okay?”

Hotch closed his eyes briefly. “Fine. One hour.”

“Hotch—” Morgan started.

Hotch cut him off with a look that clearly said who was in charge.

“Easy boys,” Emily said to ease the tension. “Us girls need to go shopping. We need appropriate outfits for tonight’s…festivities.”

JJ nodded her agreement and the three of you practically raced out of the room. The men began to bicker the moment you’d shut the door behind you.

“They’re being way too overprotective,” you said.

“They’re your family, Izzy. Of course they’re being overprotective,” JJ insisted.

“I think they’re worried that I can’t do this.”

Emily shrugged. “They don’t get it. Derek and Hotch are alpha males. They instinctively want to protect their female.”

“That’s a disturbing way to put it,” you said with a laugh.

“Eh, you know what I mean.”

“How do you explain Rossi then?” JJ asked.

“His concern was more compassionate. He’s worried about the girl he sees as the daughter he never had. I think that’s an acceptable reaction,” Emily replied.

“And this whole thing was Spencer’s idea, so it’s no surprise he’s okay with it,” you said.

“Doesn’t mean he’s not worried,” JJ said softly.

You just nodded.

Emily picked up on your mood and said, “Alright ladies, enough about them. Let’s go get us some skanky clothes.”

You and JJ laugh. “Garcia would love this,” you said.

“You know she would find you the most outrageous outfit,” JJ said.

“Yeah she would,” you paused. “She’s going to worry about me.”

“She always does,” Emily said softly. “The only thing you need to focus on is keeping yourself safe.”

You nodded. “I know, I know. You’re right.” You took a deep breath. “Okay, where do we go to find prostitute-worthy clothes?”

Emily gave you a wry smile. “I know just the place.”

You and JJ exchange glances and a chuckle as you follow Emily out into the parking lot. 15 minutes later, you find yourself in a Target parking lot.

“I figured Walmart would be a bit too trashy,” Emily said with a shrug.

You rolled your eyes and JJ laughed. The three of you headed into the store and began to scour the clothing section to find just the right outfit. After trying multiple items on, each of you walked out with the perfect ‘never wearing this again’ outfit.

“You know, the boys are going to die when they see us in these outfits,” you said.

“Especially Hotch,” Emily said with a laugh.

You raised your eyebrows questioningly. “Why Hotch?”

“Well for starters, he’s a bit uptight,” Emily said. “A little bit of a prude.”

“He is not a prude,” you said lightly.

Both Emily and JJ stared at you. You laughed and said, “Okay, he’s rather uptight. This might give him a heart attack.”

“Just wait until Morgan see you,” JJ teased. “He’ll die of delight.”

“Oh stop.” You gave her an affectionate swat on the arm. “It’s Spence who will really freak out.”

“Oh my god,” Emily cracked up. “I’m picturing his face and it’s gold.”

The three of you laughed all the way back to the station. You left your bags in the car and headed inside.

Rossi, Reid, and Morgan were still in the conference room. They were all talking animatedly and laughing. You looked around for Hotch and finally found him in the Captain’s office. It looked like they were having a very heated discussion. It was clear that Hotch was agitated.

“That can’t be good,” you said, nodding toward the office.

“Hotch looks pissed,” Emily agreed.

The three of you entered the conference room to try and get the scoop from the others before Hotch came back.

“Hey boys,” you said. “What’s up with Hotch?”

“Apparently one of the idiot goons out there was chatting with a member of Senator Jacobs’ security team. He mentioned that we had a plan to catch this serial killer in action,” Rossi answered.

Your jaw dropped. “Shit. Did he tell the guy our plan?”

“Thankfully, no,” Rossi said.

“We’ve kept to ourselves most of the day,” Reid added. “No one but us knows what’s going to happen.”

“Still…” JJ started.

“I think we should call it off,” Morgan said.

“Morgan, no,” you said.

“It’s too dangerous, Iz! What if Jacobs is the unsub?”

“As long as our plan isn’t compromised, then we’ll be fine,” you said. “Maybe the security guy didn’t say anything to Jacobs.”

“Oh he told Jacobs everything,” Morgan said.

“How do you know?” Emily asked.

“Because Senator Jacobs called Hotch to personally congratulate him,” Rossi said.

“Holy mother…I can see why he’s so pissed,” you said.

You heard a door slam and the entire precinct looked up to stare. Hotch had just stormed out of the captain’s office and was headed outside.

“I’m going to go check on him,” you said.

“You’re a brave, brave soul, Isabelle Heywood,” Rossi commented.

You rolled your eyes and hurried out after Hotch. He almost never lost his temper, so this intense display of emotion surprised you. You found him around the side of the building, pacing back and forth.

“Hotch?” you called out tentatively.

He looked up at you and the cold fury in his eyes made you take a step back. He realized it was you, and his expression softened. He stopped pacing as you walked towards him.

“What happened?” you asked, even though you already knew.

“One of those idiot cops jeopardized the entire operation!” Hotch said angrily.

“Jacobs doesn’t know the plan,” you said softly.

“Does it really matter? If he is the unsub, he’s going to be on high alert.”

“You’re right, he will be,” you agreed. “But if it’s him, then he’s also a sadistic killer. He won’t be able to resist his urges.”

Hotch looked down at you, and you were surprised by the fear in his eyes. “How can I put you in danger when I’m so terrified of losing you?”

You shook your head. “You’re not gonna lose me, Aaron.” You reached up and gently rested your palm against his cheek. “I’ll come back.”

He closed his eyes and leaned against your hand for a moment. “You can’t promise me that,” he said softly. He took your hand and pulled it down, but didn’t let it go.

“You’re right, I can’t make that promise, but I can promise that I will never give up. No matter what happens, I will fight to come back to you.”

He inhaled sharply and nodded his head. “That’ll do,” he whispered.

You’d never seen him so vulnerable before and it was pulling at your heart strings. You could feel his love for you. It was so intense that it overwhelmed you. It was also a testament to his ability to hide his emotions. You’d never noticed and as far as you knew, no one else had either.

Aaron Hotchner hid himself away from the rest of the world and you worried that if something happened to you, he would never show his vulnerable side again. Your heart practically ached with all the years of unexpressed love that you’d kept bottled up inside.

“When all this is over,” you started softly. “I want to tell you something.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You can’t tell me now?”

You shook your head. “You’ll have to wait until we catch this guy. It’s just a little incentive.”

“You’re right…” he said softly, “that is cruel.”

You laughed and flashed your brilliant smile. He leaned down and kissed you gently. Butterflies floated around in your stomach and your heart beat faster. When you parted, both of your faces were flushed and his eyes were burning with desire.

He took a deep breath and pulled you into a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered into your hair.

You pulled back and looked up at him. “For what?”

“For coming after me. For calming me down. For being you.”

You laughed softly. “You’re quite welcome.” You squeezed his hand and let go as you made your way back to the front of the building. “So what did you say to the captain?”

“I told him that his officer put one of my best agent’s lives at risk. Then I yelled a little bit.”

“A little bit?” you asked skeptically.

“Okay, probably more than I should have.”

You nodded. “Go apologize.”

He paused and stared at you. The two of you were right beside the door and you could feel the stares through the glass.

“I’m serious, Aaron. It’s not his fault one of his officers is an idiot. Plus, yelling never solved anything. So, go apologize, please.”

He looked at you and sighed. “You’re right.”

You smiled. “I know.”

He rolled his eyes before he once again slid his mask firmly into place and entered the building. You followed, but headed towards the conference room as he headed to the captain’s office.

“What did you say to him?” Emily asked, staring across the room.

“Is he apologizing?” Morgan asked incredulously.

You laughed and punched his arm. “Yes, he’s apologizing. Not all men are savage animals who can’t admit when they’re wrong.”

He rolled his eyes and crumpled some paper into a ball, which he proceeded to throw at your head. You ducked and the paper hit Reid, causing him to jump and the whole room to laugh.

“Rude,” Reid said to Morgan.

You bent down and wrapped your arms around Reid’s neck and kissed his head. “Come on, love. It was pretty funny.”

Reid laughed. “Oh, I will get you back, just you wait.”

“I’m trembling,” Morgan joked.

You straightened up when Hotch entered the conference room. He nodded to you and then addressed the rest of the team. “I’m sorry about that everyone. But the plan is still on for tonight.”

“Are we sure this is still a good idea?” Morgan asked.

“Isabelle’s still okay with it and Jacobs, if he is the unsub, has no idea what our actual plan is.”

“We profiled that the unsub would kill again, so it’s a safe bet that his urges will have him on the hunt tonight,” Reid added.

“Alright. Let’s go over the plan one more time just to be sure,” Morgan said.

The room groaned, but Hotch agreed, so everyone sat down to discuss it.

**********At the hotel

“I’m pretty sure I’ve never shown this much cleavage in my entire life,” you said with a laugh.

“Girl, I used to go to clubs practically naked in Europe,” Emily said.

You all laughed.

“Not all of us can be as cool as you,” JJ added.

“Aww, you think I’m cool?” Emily asked with a grin.

“Doesn’t everyone?” you joked.

“You’re right,” Emily said as she dramatically flipped her hair over her shoulder.

The three of you burst out laughing. You grew sober again as you looked at yourself in the mirror. “I look like a prostitute.”

Emily came over to stand beside you. “A very high-end prostitute,” she said. “And besides, isn’t that the point?”

You sighed. “I know. It’s just slightly horrifying.”

JJ laughed. “Honey, we all look like prostitutes. I’m just glad Will isn’t here to see it.”

Emily nodded. “Perks of not having a boyfriend. I don’t have to worry about what anyone thinks.”

You blushed slightly as you thought about Hotch’s reaction. You didn’t really want him to see you dressed like this…but it was for the job. He’d have to understand.

“You’re blushing,” Emily pointed out.

“Thanks for the info, Em.”

She laughed lightly. “Anytime. Now, who are you thinking about?”

“Spence,” you answered automatically.

“Reid?” she asked in surprise.

“He’s like my little brother,” you said. “I don’t like the idea of him seeing me dressed like a hooker.”

It was true, but it wasn’t exactly the answer to Emily’s question. She, however, didn’t need to know that.

“Don’t worry, Iz. I doubt he’ll judge you. Besides, I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would ever taint his view of you.”

“He looks up to you,” JJ added. “You’re the big sister he never knew he wanted.”

You smiled. “Thanks guys.” You took a deep breath. “Are we ready to do this?”

“I think the more accurate question is, are you ready to do this?” Emily corrected.

You nodded. “I think I’m ready.” You straightened your shirt and headed for the door.

The three of you went across the hall to Hotch’s room, where the rest of the team was gathered. You took another deep breath and opened the door.

Four heads immediately swiveled in your direction. Your entrance was met with stunned silence.

Rossi was the first to recover. “You guys look…”

“Like 2 dollar hookers?” you asked.

The tension in the room lifted and the boys laughed.

“Well I was gonna say ‘nice’, but I doubt that’s an accurate term,” Rossi said with a smile.

You made eye contact with Hotch and you were surprised to see the discomfort on his face. You gave him a small smile, which he tried to return, but it looked forced. He looked away and you glanced around to make sure no one saw the exchange. Everyone was chatting, not paying attention to the two of you at all…or so you thought. You were unaware, but Emily had seen the exchange and she filed it in the back of her mind to bring up to you later.

Suddenly a phone started ringing. Morgan looked down at his and smiled. “Hey baby girl, what’s cooking?”

“Well, my chocolate delight, let me tell you. I’m a bit peeved that you haven’t called me all day. I’m wasting away at my keyboard, feeling useless,” Garcia whined.

Morgan laughed. “Sorry, sweet cheeks. We got a little busy over here.”

“Fine, fine. You’re forgiven. Now, let me talk to Izzy.”

Morgan looked surprised. “Okay, hold on.” He handed the phone to you.

“Hey, Garcia,” you said.

“Take me off speaker.”

You did so before putting the phone to your ear. “What’s up, PG?”

“You’re going undercover?” she demanded.

You sighed. “Who told you?”

“Reid called me.”

You shot a glance at Reid, but he was blissfully unaware. “It’s not a big deal,” you began.

“It’s a huge deal, Isabelle Heywood! You could get yourself killed!”

“I know, Penelope. I’ll be careful, I promise. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“I worry, you know that.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well don’t do it again. I need to know what’s happening to my family, Isabelle.”

“I promise I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Good,” she paused. “Stay safe, Iz,” she said softly.

“I will, Penelope.”

“Okay. Now give me back to Morgan.”

You handed the phone back to Morgan. You didn’t hear what was said, but you could assume. You sat down and took a deep breath. You did your best to focus on the task ahead of you.

On the phone, Garcia ended the call with, “Keep her safe, Derek.”

“I’ll do my best, baby girl,” he said before hanging up.

“Alright,” Hotch said. “We need to get moving. Is everyone ready?”

A mixture of nods and ‘yes, sir’s’ answered his question. Everyone filed out of the room, you and Emily at the back of the group.

“Hey,” Emily says quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“I—uh—I saw you and Hotch…”

You tensed up. “What are you talking about?”

“When we first came into the room…the way he looked at you.”

You sighed. “It’s nothing, Em. It’s just Hotch being Hotch.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He didn’t look at me or JJ like that.”

You shrugged. “Nothing’s going on, Emily. We’re coworkers—friends. That’s all.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded. “Okay, Isabelle. If you say so.”

The two of you moved quickly to catch up with the rest of the team at the elevators. Once you were down in the lobby, you got a lot of judgmental stares from both guests and hotel staff. The men gawked and the women looked at the three of you with disgust.

Hotch led the group, with the girls in the middle, Reid on one side, Morgan on the other, and Rossi bringing up the rear. Each of them had a protective stance as if daring someone to say something.

At one point, Morgan yelled at an especially creepy man, “What are you looking at?” The man backed up and you managed to get outside and into the vehicles without further issue.

Hotch drove the three of you downtown. He didn’t look at you the entire way down. As you neared the destination, he pulled over. “Okay ladies. You’ll have to walk from here. The van will be parked down the street, so as soon as Isabelle gets picked up, start moving.”

JJ and Emily nodded.

“Stay safe out there and watch each other’s backs.”

“We will,” you said as you opened the door.

JJ and Emily got out and you were halfway out of the vehicle when Hotch grabbed your arm. You turned to look at him and found his face filled with emotion.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, too softly for Morgan to hear.

Your breath caught in your chest and all you could do was nod. He released you and you slid out of the car and shut the door. You smiled at the girls and pretended that everything was fine.

“Let’s do this,” you said as you started walking down the street. Your high heels were uncomfortable and your skirt was so short, you were afraid that your underwear was hanging out. The three of you remained silent until you could see other street-walkers just up the road.

“Get into character, ladies. It’s go time.”

The other two women nodded and you all headed into the lion’s den together. A couple of the girls eyed you suspiciously, but no one said anything. You paid attention to your surroundings without being obvious, absorbing everything you saw and heard.

You paid strict attention to the Johns that pulled up, having to quickly assess them to determine if they could be your unsub. An hour in, and no one had stuck out to you.

You walked over to Emily and said, “Hey Casey, got any bites?”

She sighed and shook her head. “Nothing good yet.”

JJ slid up beside you. “Nothing good for me either.”

“Well don’t give up just yet, Vikki,” you said cheerfully.

JJ smiled. “How ‘bout you, Lilly?”

“Not a damn thing,” you responded.

You parted ways again to continue your observations.

~In the van~

Hotch and Morgan had been sitting in silence for most of the previous hour. Hotch was too busy trying not to worry about you to have a conversation. He couldn’t quite make you out from this position, but your tracker placed you across the street.

Morgan had been fidgety for the last half hour. He was clearly restless, but Hotch had a feeling he was really worried about you too.

Finally, Morgan couldn’t stand it anymore. “What if something happens to her?” he blurted.

“Nothing’s going to happen to her, Morgan.”

“You don’t know that for sure, Hotch.”

Hotch sighed. “I’m worried about her too, you know. We just have to trust her skills. And we’re all here with her.”

“I know. It’s just…” he trailed off. “She’s just so incredible. I can’t help but adore her.”

Hotch glanced at Morgan, but his focus was across the street. He felt a surge of jealousy, which he pushed down immediately.

“I love her, Hotch. I really do.”

Hotch took a moment before he responded. “I didn’t know the two of you were together.”

Morgan barked out a laugh. “No, no. We’re not together. Isabelle’s too good for me, but that’s not what I meant. I love her like family. Sure, I’d date her if she wanted, but I’m not quite her type.”

Hotch visibly relaxed, which didn’t escape Morgan’s notice. He raised his eyebrows, but decided not to say anything. After all, Hotch was his boss. He was a little surprised that Hotch had feelings…in general. So it was almost shocking that he had feelings for you specifically. Not because you were unlikeable or anything, but because you were Hotch’s subordinate. Morgan knew Hotch was a rule-follower by nature. There was no way he would break the rules, even for someone as incredible as you.

Hotch was about to say something when a large SUV pulled up across the street. “We’ve got movement,” he said.

Morgan lifted his binoculars to try and get a better look. “The windows are tinted. I can’t see anything.”

“Damn,” Hotch said. “Reid, Rossi, do you have a visual of who is in that SUV?” he asked over the radio.

“Negative, Hotch,” Rossi responded. “We can see the girls though. Izzy’s going up to the passenger window now.”

~Back on the street~

A dark SUV pulled up to the curb and you took a step forward. The windows were tinted and you couldn’t see into the car at all. You could see Emily and JJ out of the corner of your eye. They were watching you like hawks and you were glad for it.

The passenger side window rolled down and a man leaned his head out. He pointed at you with a smile. “Hey there gorgeous. Come a little closer.”

You smiled and walked up to the car. “Hiya handsome. What can I do for you?”

The man smiled. “Well darling, it’s not for me. I’ve got a very special client that wants to meet you. You have to be very discreet. Can you do that, baby girl?”

You bristled at the nickname, but you didn’t show it. Instead you gave him a seductive smile. “Discreet is my middle name.”

“Perfect,” he grinned. “Get in the back and tell me your name.”

“Lilly,” you responded as you opened the back door. You could see JJ and Emily move closer, but you didn’t look at them. It was important not to attract attention.

You slid into the backseat and shut the door. You were quite certain these men weren’t your unsub, but you had a feeling they were going to take you to him. “Who’s this special client?” you asked sweetly.

“You’ll see real soon, darlin’.”

You smiled and sat back. You calmed your nerves by taking in everything about the vehicle, the two men, and the landmarks you passed on your way to meet this client. You remained silent and that seemed to suit both men.

~In the van~

The moment you got into that car, the rest of the team sprang into motion.

Reid and Rossi followed the SUV while Hotch and Morgan picked up JJ and Emily. Hotch’s grip on the wheel was so tight his knuckles were turning white. No one spoke until Rossi radioed and said the SUV was heading west, which meant it was their turn to follow.

“Copy that. We’ve got them,” Morgan responded.

The SUV traveled west for about 1.25 miles before turning into the drive of a luxury hotel. It was the kind of place where the staff were paid to be discreet and the rich came to do the things they couldn’t do at home.

“They’re at the Conway Hotel on Pike,” Hotch said to the team. “We’ll set up down here and watch the front. Rossi and Reid, you watch the back. Wait for Izzy’s signal and we’ll all go in.”

“Roger that, Hotch,” Rossi responded.

The nerves in the van intensified. They were all wishing they had eyes on the situation. For now, the best they could do was wait. Your tracker said that you were in the hotel. They just had to have faith you would be okay.

~In the hotel~

You stared at your reflection in the metal walls of the elevator. From the outside, you looked completely composed, as if this was something you did every day. On the inside, however, you were nervous, and frankly a little scared. You had a good idea about who this ‘client’ was and you hoped your team made the same assumptions.

You were led off the elevator and escorted to a room at the end of the hall. The door opened almost immediately after your arrival. You stepped into the room and gasped in surprise. Sitting in a chair in the front room was none other than Senator Mark Jacobs.

The Senator stood up and walked toward you. He was a very imposing man. Roughly 6’2”, former football star, and still in excellent shape despite being almost 50. Most women (and even some men) would say he was very attractive, but all you felt when you looked at him was revulsion. You did your best to hide your true feelings and focus on your persona.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked you.

“Yes, Senator, I do.”

He smiled. He walked around you. You pretended to appreciate his gaze, even when it lingered on your ample cleavage.

Once he’d finished his inspection, he turned to his security personnel. “She’s perfect, boys. Wait for me in the other room while I get down to business with our guest.”

The guards left and all of his attention was on you. “What’s your name?”

“Lilly,” you replied with a sultry smile. “And what would you like me to call you?”

“You can call me ‘sir’.” He took a step towards you. “I’ll give you $5,000 for the night if you let me do what I want with you.”

You were surprised by the amount, but you didn’t let it show. “$8,000 and you can do anything.”

He smiled. “I like a woman who knows how to bargain. You’ve got yourself a deal, Miss Lilly.”

You bit your lip and took a step towards him. “Okay, handsome. What do you want to do first?” You placed your hands on his chest and fiddled with the buttons on his shirt.

He said nothing, just watched you with hungry eyes, so you began to unbutton his shirt. Your hands slid down his smooth chest to his muscled abdomen. You pushed him onto the couch and climbed on his lap.

“Kiss me,” he demanded.

You felt your heart begin to race and bile rise in the back of your throat. You swallowed it back down and pressed your lips to his. It disgusted you to be intimate with him, but you had no choice. His hands slid up your ribcage and under your shirt. He yanked your top off over your head and buried his face in your breasts. You ran your fingers through his blonde hair and let out a fake moan.

Just then, the door to the room opened.

“Oh shit!” a man’s voice said. “Sorry, Senator. I didn’t know you had a girl with you.”

You turned around and your heart stopped. The man’s jaw dropped when he saw your face. You scrambled off the Senator’s lap and took a step back.

The man standing before you was Detective Brady, one of the officers working on this case. “Do you know who she is?” he demanded.

“What are you going on about, Brady?” The Senator asked in annoyance.

“She’s an FBI agent! She’s one people down from Quantico working the prostitute case!”

Your heart was thudding in your chest as you thought about your options. You could feel the disposable cell phone in your back pocket. All you needed to do was hit the call button and it would connect directly to Hotch.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” you said as your hand slid into your pocket. You tried to press the send button just as the Senator took a step towards you.

“What’s your name, girl?” he growled.

“Lilly!” you said emphatically.

He squinted his eyes at you and you stared back at him in defiance. At least, you hoped that was the expression on your face.

“Her name is Isabelle Heywood,” Brady insisted. “I can prove it to you.”

Your heart continued to thud as Brady pulled out his cell phone. He pushed a couple buttons before handing it to the Senator. You heard Hotch’s voice, then Morgan’s, and then your own. You realized Brady must have filmed the presentation of the profile. You took a step back and tried to determine your next move.

The Senator handed Brady the phone and looked at you again. Your hand was still in your back pocket and you just managed to press send before the Senator grabbed you.

~In the van~

Hotch’s phone rang and he glanced at it to see who was calling. “It’s Isabelle,” he said aloud.

Morgan nodded and the van fell silent as Hotch answered the call. He put it on speaker so everyone could hear, but muted his end.

“Now, what are we going to do with you, Isabelle?” a man’s voice asked.

“Get your hands off me,” you said angrily.

“Oh my god,” Emily said.

“He made her,” Morgan added.

“We need to move, now!” Hotch yelled as he jumped out of the van. “Morgan, you’re with me. Emily and JJ, stay out front in case they try to come down.”

He and Morgan ran into the building. “Rossi!” Hotch yelled into his radio. “They know who Isabelle is. We’re going in. Stay in the back and make sure they don’t escape that way.”

“Got it. Go get her Hotch.”

They ran up to the front desk. The woman behind the desk eyed them warily until Morgan flashed his creds. “A woman escorted by two men came in roughly 15 minutes ago. We need to know what room they’re in.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t give you that information.”

“She’s in danger. We need to know,” Morgan insisted.

“I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“She’s an undercover agent!” Hotch said angrily. “If you don’t tell us what room they’re in right now, she’s going to die.”

The clerk turned white and glanced down at her computer. “Room 305.”

Hotch was already running towards the stairs. Morgan thanked the clerk before chasing after him. When they reached the room, they didn’t even bother to knock. Hotch kicked the door in and the two men rushed into the room. It was completely silent, not a soul in sight.

Hotch went to check the bedroom while Morgan checked the living area. “Hotch, you need to see this,” Morgan called.

Hotch came into the living area. On the floor was a pile of clothing…your clothing. Your shoes were off to the side and the disposable phone you’d used to call Hotch was sitting on top of the clothes.

“No…” Hotch said softly as he took in the scene. He seemed to be frozen in place as he stared at your shoes.

“They’re not here,” Morgan said into his earpiece. “Anyone have eyes on them?”

“Negative,” Emily responded.

“Negative here too,” Rossi said.

“Call in back up. They’ve gotta be here somewhere,” Morgan said.

“What about the tracker?” Reid asked.

“Her clothes, shoes, and phone are all here,” Morgan replied.

“Shit,” Emily mumbled.

“We’re going to search the building. Cover every entrance and make sure they don’t leave,” Morgan ordered. He looked over at Hotch who was still frozen in place. “Hotch?”

“She’s gone. The unsub has her,” he mumbled.

“Hotch, snap out of it. We need to look for her,” Morgan insisted.

Hotch looked up at him in surprise. For a moment, Morgan could see the vulnerable man underneath the hard outer shell, but his normal stony face returned almost instantly. “It couldn’t have taken us more than 3 minutes to get up here, so they can’t have gone far,” he said.

“Agreed. Maybe they took the other stairs. I doubt they would have taken the elevators,” Morgan said.

Hotch nodded and the two of them rushed out to the other staircase. There was no sign of anyone and they made it all the way down to the lobby just to be sure.

“Shit!” Morgan exclaimed. “Hotch, there’s an underground garage.” He pointed to a sign and the two of them ran down the final flight of stairs.

“What if they have a second car?” Morgan asked.

“We have to hope they don’t,” Hotch answered.

One minute later and they’d found the SUV…it was completely empty. Hotch cursed under his breath. They went back up to the lobby and met with the rest of the team.

“I think they had a secondary vehicle,” Hotch said.

“What--are you saying they got away?” JJ exclaimed.

“Yes, and they have Isabelle,” he responded.

Reid went pale. “But…I promised her we’d keep her safe.”

“We all did,” Morgan said gently.

“We have to find her,” Reid said urgently.

“I know kid, but we have no idea who has her, what they’re driving, or where they’re going,” Morgan replied.

“We know who took her,” JJ said. “We heard his voice.”

Hotch nodded in agreement. “It was Senator Jacobs.”

“Are you positive?” Rossi asked.

“One hundred percent.”

“Then he’s taking her to the warehouse,” Reid said.